Infected Freaks (Book 2): The Echo of Decay (6 page)

“You’re too big, and way too old. Besides, Sam isn’t one of your grandchildren.” Bob raised his hooked nose and appeared to take in a fragrant smell. This was puzzling because the garage smelled like a years’ worth of backed-up waste. “Sam isn’t yours, is she?” Bob asked, crossing his eyes back to the bald mechanic.

“No,” Abraham admitted.

“I’m smaller,” said Emme. “I could glide through the vents.”

“Yes, that would be most welcomed. All she would have to do is slide through the vent and unlock the door on the other side of the reinforced wall. But you’re his grandchild.”

“I’ll go,” Sam said, stepping forward. Sam was a smart girl. She had been around criminals all her life and Abraham was thankful for her courage. But did the teenage girl really understand how men like Bob operated? If she didn’t go, bad shit was going to happen regardless. So Abraham wasn’t going to reason with her.
Does this make me a bad man?

“But I can take Jeffery with me,” Emme contended. “He will protect me.”

Abraham wasn’t the least bit amused by her naming the wild boy with mental health issues. “I could,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Why did you name him?” Abraham asked.

She smiled and pulled out a pair of dog tags nested around Jeffery’s neck. “It says Jeffery Miller.”

Abraham blew out his cheeks.

Bob closed his green eyes and must have imagined something pleasing. Was he plotting something for Sam? Abraham didn’t like the direction the journey was heading.

“The small boy, is he some sort of retard?” Bob made a fist and pressed it against his jawline.

“How dare you,” Emme snapped, ruffling Jeffery’s messy black hair. “I should go. Sam is too damn big.”

Sam rolled her eyes.

“You’re twelve years old,” Abraham replied. “You will not go.”

“So, I shot the shit out of the infected freak in the lobby.” Emme crossed her arms and canted her head.

Shit
, Abraham thought wishing he hadn’t cussed around the girl so much. “Watch your mouth, little girl.” He turned his attention back to Bob. “How far is the school?”

“It’s a nice walk. I would send more of my own men, but they’re all too big to fit through the vent.” He threw up his hands and smiled. “Besides most of them will spend the rest of the day killing the infected freaks you brought into our safe zone.” Bob glared at Abraham with his piercing green eyes. They were not the eyes of a man he could trust. The drumming of another infected freak at the considerable metal door was followed by another blast from a gun. “So what’s it going to be?”

“Okay,” said Abraham, realizing he had no choice. He reached over and shook Bob’s icy hand. It was worth all the promise in the withered world. At least to Abraham it meant something. Bob smiled too much, and he wondered what the old mechanic was working behind the scenes.

“When are we leaving? After the storm?” Sam asked.

“Best to travel in the heart of the storm. It messes with their senses,” the bald man muttered, never taking his bold eyes off Bob. They were talking without words, but Abraham didn’t know what they were saying. “I’m Scott by the way.”

“But I’m hungry,” she whispered. Everyone heard her stomach growl.

“We can’t send you off to school without a meal,” Bob replied. He appeared to undress the girl with his eyes. “The storm usually doesn’t peak until after dark anyways.”

“As long as I get to eat first,” Sam said like a true con artist. If Abraham could see through her, so could Bob.

“See? That wasn’t too hard.” Bob stepped toward a backdoor and cracked it open. “Scotty, take them upstairs to the guest rooms and give the old man something to wash himself with.” He stepped through into the dim light and slammed the door closed. Abraham finally realized that maybe Bob wasn’t the right person to visit during the apocalypse. But what choice did he have?

Samantha crouched next to the eroded shell of a truck. Scott Mahoney made her nervous, and it wasn’t all in a bad way. The proud mechanic wasn’t bald for lack of hair growth. He was the kind of man who shaved his head along with his face every morning. His muscular physique made him look like a bad boy, and Sam had enough bad-boy boyfriends in the past to make her sick. Still, he was the finest thing she had seen in years. She thought of Hunter and told herself he was only a boy. She needed a man. It was ignorant, but an unmistakable emotion that pained her confusing thoughts. The pit of her stomach was locked in a vice of teenage confusion and anxiety. Abraham told her not to trust the mechanics. However, she couldn’t take her eyes off his pulsating muscles as he remained crouched next to the vehicle.

He’ll keep me alive,
she thought, swallowing hard. Scott was a durable man, and that meant something in this world. She almost liked the way he looked at her with no love or enthusiasm. Scott was all business. The first part of their journey was without incident across several abandoned blocks of the ruined town. Now they were about to head into infected territory. She would see what this savage man was capable of against the freaks.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Am I ready?” she repeated, trying to be curt with him, but the man didn’t seem to care. “I mean, yes.”

He lifted his hunting knife tethered to an extensive metal rod and squeezed his forearm. Then he let out a trifling breath and darted to the next vehicle in the obscure parking lot stuffed with shadows. He looked back and waved his massive hand for her to follow. Scott made it look easy as he weaved ahead. Why then, when she pushed off the ground, did she feel awkward?
Get it together, girl.

Sam wobbled through the metal shells of what used to be working cars, kicking rocks and anything else that littered the asphalt. She was no scientist, but it wasn’t hard to imagine that some of Bob explosives must have leveled the area in the past. It was a short run, but it felt long and tiring like a marathon. The whisking clouds blocked Red Dead, and for that, she was grateful. However, the terrible buzzing sound rode hard through the shrill night.

“We don’t have much time,” he whispered back to her.

Scott wore a manly scent that lingered out of his every pore and continued to excite Sam’s senses. She watched him scan the distance between the school and the parking lot, infatuated. Then she wondered if his strong scent was going to attract the infected freaks. Sweating in the cold breeze wasn’t her ideal look, but she couldn’t help herself. For reasons unknown, she felt unpleasant.
This isn’t a date.

Still, she joined Scott at the front of the vehicle and slipped somewhat out of her gray coat. It was chilly on this autumn night, but the silly girl wanted to look her best for this handsome stranger. After a few seconds, she shrugged the comfortable coat back on and tried to gather herself in a realistic manner. For some strange reason she found herself thinking of Hunter again.

Then and there, a loud buzzing erupted behind them. It brought the tiny hairs on her neck up in a hurry. “Were trapped,” she said.

“Shut up,” he replied, crawling ahead. He slithered up like a snake under a worn bus, rusted out through the years. Sam trailed closely, afraid of being left behind. In front of her, a series of swollen ankles in broken heels bopped across the asphalt. The rotten odor stung Sam’s eyes as the freak kept pace around the vehicle. The whines of the monsters in the distance increased tenfold and drew the freaks attention. She felt better when the corpse staggered around another vehicle in the parking lot, responding to the call of its kin.

A sudden crash of thunder brought Sam to a scramble and the buzzing sound that followed brought Scott out from under the bus in a straight shot toward a standing fence encircling the school. He scooted around a bend of trees and dug through a large opening under the fence and continued on toward a Dumpster. Sam was amazed at how fast she followed. It had to be the mounting fear.

Her body was close to his. She could feel his heart working overtime. Touching the surface of his shirt, it felt rough and thin. He turned back and glared at her, baring his teeth.

“Once we get inside, it’ll be dark. Whatever you do, don’t turn on any light.”

She peeled her hand off his back and nodded. She knew about the light and the danger it brought. Panic was not an option. Survival followed the swift and smooth thinker in the new world. There were plenty of serviceable weapons back in Bob’s garage. Still, Sam preferred the crossbow. She could do a lot of silent damage from a distance. Distance was a friend in dealing with the freaks. The thought of getting close to one brought a quiver all the way to her tailbone. Nonetheless, if she needed to get close to kill it, she wouldn’t think twice. But Abraham told her she might need to use the weapon on one of the mechanics. This only confused her.

Sam scanned the shattered school yard. A handful of infected freaks skittered around in a playground to the right. The broken swings trudged forward and backward as the monsters staggered between. One of the freaks, a child, waddled toward them, almost unrecognizable beneath the infusing fungi. Spores seeped from the thing’s gaping mouth. The rim was stained with the remains of the monster’s last meal. Blood clung to its curls like morning dew and its eyes were empty sockets stuffed with fist-sized mushrooms. The playground had become a communal jungle of horrors.

A sudden snap of thunder directed the dead boy’s attention away. Sam sighed. She didn’t know if she had the grit to murder a child. It was hard to imagine such a place teeming in the playful screams of children running up and down in joy and adventure.

To the left, she saw a loading dock with an eighteen-wheeler backed into and through the building. In an instant, Scott shot to his feet, putting as much force as he could behind his sprint. A wave of fear tingled Sam’s senses. An upsurge of discomfort crept up her thighs as she bounced up the front of the semi-truck, trying to keep pace. The icy touch of the metal drove her farther down the crashed semi’s spine. At the far end was a narrow opening between, and when Scott disappeared into the darkness of the school, she had no choice but to follow.

Sam tensed, ready to fight as her shoes stung against the ground. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dominating darkness. Minutes passed. She listened to her soft breaths over the tick of her heart. At that moment, the images of the room took shape. She followed Scott across the daunting space to the central hallway of the devastated school house. Sam eyeballed the door to a sealed lunchroom. The moans of the dead pierced the sound waves in a nightmarish manner. The doors were loosely chained closed and rattled under the weight of the prisoners.

Being trapped in a school stuffed with infected children was almost too much for her to handle. She ran forward and struggled to keep up with Scott. All of the shadows blended in a maddening fashion. Dazed, she tripped over the spine of a textbook. The edge of her crossbow clashed against the wall in an uncomfortable clout. The sound brought a frightful silence. She felt the echo of the hallway magnify her footsteps to the point she stopped. Then the screams of the infected came barreling down the hall. She imagined a bat and the way it sensed its surroundings using sonar. The freaks had similar qualities.

Here they come.
She froze, unable to move or breathe. Scott hurried back and took her hand when she didn’t move. He mumbled something under his breath, registering his displeasure. The reverberations of the dead ran up and down the walls. One thing was certain; the freaks were coming toward the distinct sound she foolishly made. Scott dipped out of the hall and into a modest storage closet, dragging Sam like a bag of dead weight. He kept the door cracked to view the hall.

“Close the door,” she whispered.

“Shut your mouth,” he replied through compressed teeth. Right away, they saw a small swarm of infected freaks scurry down the hall. They snarled and wailed as they fought for every ounce of scent that lingered in their wake. The awful sounds of slurping airways and congested lungs forced Sam to close her eyes and pray. The infected sniffed the air and followed the curve of an adjoining hall.

“Don’t move,” Scott whispered as the freaks moved on.

Fear tingled through Sam’s fingers and hands. The infected things had left bloody footprints on the wet tiles. The sound of death dipped down a few notches, and then the freaks disappeared back into the guts of the school, giving a glow to Sam’s tight features. Something was different about these infected. They appeared more bloated in fungus and blight.

Determined, Scott moved farther into the hallway, crouching to give himself a tactical advantage. If something leapt out at him, he looked ready to meet it head on with his makeshift weapon. Sam glanced back over her shoulder at the empty halls.

They’re gone.

The wind outside continued to slam against the structure, hard and steady. The harsh noises everywhere must have confused the infected. The fierce storm was reaching its peak. As Sam strode down the hall, she drew her crossbow and jammed her finger into the trigger, ready to fire. Her experience with criminals taught her to never let her guard down. This was an internal security measure she had come to rely upon. She feared Scotty almost as much as she did the infected. But she also wanted to kiss him.

“Over here!”

She spun to the right with her crossbow leading the way. Sam didn’t understand the concept of only pointing a weapon a something you’re willing to shot. She quivered when Scott dropped to the floor. She removed her trigger finger and showed her cutest smile as an apology. “I wasn’t going to shoot you.”

Scott climbed back to his feet, whispering curses. “Don’t point that weapon at me again.” He pointed to the gymnasium door and wiped his glossy head. They stared at each other for a moment. “The vent is through the gym.”

Sam nodded. She was ready to end this expedition. Keeping one eye on the darkness of the hallways and the other on the door, Sam prayed for safety. The creaking sound was soft as Scott pulled the door open. When she saw nothing came running out, she followed him in the large cavity.

A hive,
Sam thought, touching her pounding chest. The basketball court was a jungle of fungus and flesh merged into something profane. The high windows were blocked out by a heavy layer of blight.
Abraham was right
, she told herself, stepping around a tangle of vines and clusters of snowy puss. A dozen rotten corpses sat on the bleachers, infection settled on every piece of exposed surface.

“This is where they sleep,” she whispered to Scott.

“Be quiet,” he replied, keeping an eye on the bleachers.

He must have known what lurked behind the rotten bleachers. Sam tried to make out the monstrous size of the block-shaped creature blended with the fungus growing up the wall. But she couldn’t see its horrid details. However, she somehow knew it was watching them.

The deep, wrinkled arch on Scott’s forehead told of his dwindling courage. He strode over toward the far side of the gym. A green jelly of spores dripped down the frame of the double doors with golden handles. “We have to get through,” Scott whispered.

“What’s inside?”

“Inside is a short hall with a vent that will lead you into the maintenance bay.” Sick of wasting time, Scott cut at the unknown jelly with his makeshift weapon. It poured down like honey, sticking and clinging to his weapon. Frustrated, he slipped through and entered the next room. Whatever was behind the bleachers must have scared Scott in a severe way.

Sam held her breath and followed him through, not wanting to find out the reason for his anxiety. She didn’t see the shocking creature peeling itself from the wall behind the bleachers, nor did the jelly touch her as best she could tell, yet that wasn’t enough to calm her.

A sudden smear of guts and blood brought Scott to his back. He was too busy looking behind to notice the terrors ahead. The thump was nothing compare to the infected freak climbing on top of him, gnashing its teeth near his face.

“Scott,” she squeaked. Sam was rattled with nerves as she aimed at the fight.
Damn
, she thought, unable to get a clear shot.

Scott reached back for his rod with a knife on the end, and when he did, the thing tore out a chuck of his throbbing neck. His hands were dripping in fungi as he continued to struggle.

He pulled the thing closer and shouted, “Run.” The thing bit him in the chest over and over. Scott’s fists hammered away at its head with little effect.

Sam’s body weakened. She shuffled forward, putting her back up against the wall as she inched by the nauseating fight. She could hear the mastication of flesh. When her eyes met Scott’s, she felt as if she had taken a bullet to the brain. His glossy eyes glanced up, beckoning her to climb through the vent. His eyes pierced right through her soul. There was a ladder near where they had tried to access the ductwork and failed. She clawed up the rusty scabs on the ladder held together by cheap welding and dove into the filthy darkness of the vent.

Turning back, Sam saw Scott stabbing the infected freak over and over. Yet, there was a series of bites up his chest all the way to his wet neck. Chunks of meat were missing in a dramatic fashion.

“The door,” he groaned, cramming his hand into his leaky neck. The pale bluish glaze to his skin told of the swimming infection running through his blood.