Infected Freaks (Book 2): The Echo of Decay (7 page)

Samantha Downs was petrified. She clawed her way forward through the suffocating vent. It took everything to drag her frame through the narrow space. The wails of more approaching freaks caused a second surge of panic and alarm that threatened to stall the girl. The freaks would be swarming the gym in a matter of seconds. She tried her best not to imagine the creatures devouring him. Desperate, she kicked the vent shaft and spilled upon the cold cement floor. The dust covered Sam in gray powder from head to toe.

Darkness engulfed the hollow. She clicked her flashlight and followed the beam of light from concrete wall to concrete wall. Sitting in the middle of the rather clean garage was a dirty yellow school bus. The screams of Scott cursing and calling for her to open the door amplified. Sam sprinted up the ramp toward the secured metal door.
I can’t open the door.
If Sam opened the door, she would be dead.

“He’s already infected,” she whispered as a single tear rolled down her blistered cheek.

“They’re coming,” he screamed. “Open the fuckin door!”

Sam gathered her strength for a few seconds, listening to his pleas. She reached for the door handle, mind numb, eyes locked in madness. Scott’s screams were reaching new limits.

“Screw it.” She opened it, heart pounding.

Scott fell through the door.

“Move,” she shrieked, trying to drag him out of the doorway. She could hear the clutter of a dozen feet stamping through the gym. Time was running out. Scott slithered across the space. She heaved her tiny frame against the door and pushed. Sam blinked away the images of being devoured by the approaching horde as best she could. At the exact second the door closed, the first infected freak smashed against its sturdy frame. A sharp pain set fire to her mind.
I shouldn’t have let him in.

Scott shook like a man who felt an electric sting clawing through his blood stream. He was flat on his back with his arms pressing against his messy wounds. “What happened?” He pulled out his flashlight and turned it on and then sat it on the ground.

She hesitated. “You got attacked.”

He cracked his jaw and fluttered his milky eyes. It must have been an abysmal deep boiling pain. The infection—Sam couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like. Huge drops of salty sweat poured down his face. His attention flittered between Sam and the surroundings.

“Resist it,” Sam said as if it were that easy.

His balance wavered as he nearly fell over twice. Then, he turned his attention to Sam. “You did this,” he muttered, using the smooth walls to climb to his feet. “You set me up.”

“What?” Sam was frightened. “I saved you.”

“Saved me? I’m already dead. I don’t want to live as one of those things, you stupid bitch.” He fumbled toward Sam like a drunk after dark. “Who told you?”

“Told me what?” Sam rushed into the smothering darkness of the maintenance bay. She wasn’t going to let him near.

“Bob, he wanted you for himself.”

Her mind darkened as her heart surged. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play stupid. I brought you out here to keep you as our little pet. I was going to return and tell that old man you died. You were going to be our slave. That way nobody got hurt.”

Except me,
she thought. She’d spent too long as Rictor’s prisoner, and there was no way she was going back to that sort of life. Her fists tingled as she drew her eyes toward the stumbling brute. Her soul was screaming for revenge. “Why me?” she asked, wanting to move, pace, anything to keep her mind from settling.

“You think those people you’re traveling with care about you? Abraham would sell you for a chance at finding his family. In fact, he practically did, sending you out here. Bob thought about asking fuel for you. But this was easier. Abraham and Bob used to serve in the military back in the day. I bet those two are working together.”

She faced Scott. The striking man was a thug, a low life and a no good piece of human trash. “Did Tyrell come through your town?”

“Ah, I see Bob didn’t tell you everything. That black boy came through and it was a bloody war.”

Sam’s trembling fingers fumbled at the trigger of the crossbow. Her breathing was shallow. After several heart beats, she managed to build the courage. “Did you kill him?”

“The black boy, no, but I will have you before I turn.” He slipped his hand to the floor and picked up his makeshift weapon. He scooted along the wall, half awake. “Was it Bob? Or was it one of the others? Did you they promise you something for killing me?”

“It was Bob,” Sam said, knowing the lie would hurt him. The palm of her finger pressed the trigger back as she grinded her teeth. The crossbow bolt sailed out across the space at the same time Scott charged.

Excruciating pressure was released in his head as the tip of the bolt pierced his skull. “You son of a bitch,” she muttered. The bolt bent as it shattered his cranium.

How long had she been alone in life, Sam no longer knew.  She paced around the dead body of Scott Mahoney, chewing her fingernails to a nub. Reality seemed to shift into something she no longer understood. “I killed him.” It felt good to say.

Deep in the trenches of thought, she wondered if she would forever be haunted by this memory. This group of mechanics planned on keeping her as a slave and Abraham might have signed off on that deal.
He would never…
But she really didn’t know him.

The things they would have done to her, the nightmare she would have experienced. Would she ever trust a man again? “Hell no,” she blurted. Her time in the darkness allowed her to think, and thinking brought her to the conclusion that everything was Tyrell’s fault.
If he never left me,
she told herself, shedding stinging tears.

Abraham knew Bob Hatchet was plotting something under his phony smile. The felonious man was less than honest with him during the Winter War, yet he had no choice but to tolerate Bob’s plan at this point. Abraham saw through his old war buddy, but Sam seemed smitten, almost obsessed with Bob and his band of mechanics. Sam was a smart enough girl. Nevertheless, she seemed to find pleasure in the company of crooks. Abraham only hoped his intuition was wrong. Perhaps Bob changed after decades removed from the carnage of the Winter War.
War never changes, and neither does the man returning from battle.

He closed his eyes and visualized the tattered family picture nested in his vehicle dashboard. His family was his strength. Looking across the cluttered bedroom, he exhaled a grave breath of desire.
She has been gone too long,
he thought. Bob promised they would have the fuel first thing in the morning. However, something about the situation stunk. It was the preferred scent of criminals. He felt as if it was wrong for him to be safe in bed, and Sam out in the darkness evading infected freaks. Sam and Scott left late, under the cover of darkness and a harsh storm. Still, he believed she should have been back by now.

Unable to stop his racing mind, Abraham slipped off the cold leather sofa and laced up his boots. He turned back to the far end of the room and saw his grandchildren were fast asleep on a sturdy metal bunk bed crammed in the corner of the cluttered room. Hunter hugged his rifle like an old teddy bear as Abraham imagined better times. Abraham knew his grandson would keep Emme safe. Sure, they fought like cats and dogs, but what siblings didn’t? Hunter would do whatever it took to keep his family alive. In a way Hunter had become him. Then again, it was Emme that saved him with his own pistol.

The rest of Bob’s men were sleeping in a shoddy hotel across from Bob’s garage. This gave him a false sense of safety. Stepping out into the second floor hall, he churned through the possibilities. He needed to get to the Red Tower and rescue his family. He covered the distance to the end of the damaged hall. A fine, icy rain fogged the nearby window. Using the palm of his hand, he cleared a little spot in the glass to get a better view. He turned up his jacket collar and stared at the network of buildings lined in deep shadows. The low-level storm clouds had blocked Red Dead and its bloodstained tint for most of the day and night. It made all the difference in the world. The storm didn’t stop him from remembering what was out there, preying upon the living. He tried to focus on the positive for the first time in over three years, but it was a waste of time. Nothing in this world was charming anymore.

At that time the color ran from his wrinkled face. In the reflection on the sliver of glass, he saw Bob Hatchet coming up from behind.

“Can’t sleep?” Bob asked, emerging from a stairwell. He carried a candle on a chipped plate.

In the hallway, chairs were tossed on top of desks, piled between couch cushions, and trimmed in lamps and anything else that would make it hard for the infected freaks to penetrate if they ever infiltrated the residence above the garage. It wasn’t meant to stop them forever, only slow them down. Or maybe this space was used as an attic for all the things Bob didn’t want to throw out.

Bob and his mechanics had spent most of the day killing the freaks that penetrated the small compound. Abraham and Hunter were tasked with baiting the horde into the kill zone. This was their punishment for creating the problem. Somehow they survived and managed to patch up the massive hole in the side of the building using a truck trailer. It was an eventful day.

“I seldom sleep.” Abraham paused. “Why is it taking this long?” In the dark beyond the safety of the walls, the wind rose to a crisp howl.

“Scott is a tough man. He uses stealth and that takes time. He served in several special operations with me.” Bob bit his lower lip. “Let’s take a walk to the garage. I don’t want to wake the children.”

Abraham narrowed his eyes. “A walk could help clear my head.” He followed Bob down the stairs. This led back to Bob’s garage. “So what are you planning on doing with an armored bus?”

“Seriously, I told the truth.” He adjusted his leather jacket and found a seat on a torn bar stool. Bob was nervous as he got back up right away. Abraham watched him pick up a loose extension cord and wrap it on a rusty nail. “So what were you planning on doing with the black girl?”

“Sam? I’m taking her to Denver.” Abraham saw a glimmer of Bob killing innocent people in Russia. The truth of Bob’s brutal crimes would never rest in Abraham’s mind.

“Would you be interested in a trade?”

Abraham ran his hands through his hair. “What do you mean?” He knew what Bob meant. He saw the way Bob looked at Sam, the way his men were pissed when he cut him down. Bob took whatever he wanted during the Winter War. Why would he be any different during the apocalypse?

“You know what I mean. I could help you get back your family. And in return you could leave the girl behind. You’re going to need help against the men in yellow. It would be like old times. And the rest of the prisoners at the Red Tower could populate this town.”

So you can have more than one slave.
“Are you mad?” Abraham touched one of his sore ribs. “Were you ever a good man? Or did the countless battles distort your humanity?”

“Probably not,” Bob said, appearing to think back. He sorted through a tool box and the metal clank of each device echoed across the tense space. “We wouldn’t treat her bad. She would be one of us.” He almost sounded sincere. “And the rest of the prisoners at the Red Tower would have a second chance at life. This town could be a place of refuge.”

Fueled by a persuasive mix of agony and worry, Abraham’s mind stormed in uncertainty. His blood circulated as he looked across the various work benches for something he might use to disable his old acquaintance. Abraham’s strength was indeed temporary and he would have to be quick. “So that’s why you sent her to the school?”

“It’s not like that,” Bob contended. “Scott and Sam will return soon, and as I said, you all can leave with a little fuel.” The sound of Bob’s scuffled footsteps echoed across the space. His pitted face was flush and flooded in anger.

“A little fuel now, huh?” Abraham questioned, reading the lie written on Bob’s smug face.

“Sam’s brother owes me a lot of money. We could break that debt and call it even if you’d leave her behind.” Bob’s fingers danced back and ran across the surface of a mounted buzz-saw. He flipped the switch and listened to the whine of the powerful engine. The grinding gears reminded Abraham of the infected creatures. It also reminded him that Bob’s garage had plenty of electricity from the makeshift wind mills on the roof. It was in that moment, he saw Bob pick up a crowbar and show his ugly teeth. “We need a good woman. She could be our queen, the queen of the mountains. This place will be all that is left after Denver tears itself apart.”

“Sam has already been through too much. Keep your fuel. We’ll find our own way in the morning.” Abraham paced farther back into the dim garage. With each passing moment, the gloomy layers of doubt burned away. He knew a battle was coming. Bob had too much pride to let him leave in peace.

“It doesn’t work that way.” Bob gasped, coming to a stop. The truth of his intentions spilled out on the rage of emotion scrunching his features. “I will have the girl.”

The panic Abraham felt left him winded. “You’ve got to be kidding me. She’s not property.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Abraham looked at the loud saw humming and then rolled his eyes. His injuries were great, and his chances of escape slim. Yet, he knew if he didn’t act fast, he would lose everything. Sure, he understood it would have been easier to trade the girl and save his family. However, he was an honorable man. He would rather die.

“What the hell, Bob?”

“This is a dangerous world. You were a fool to think I’d let you leave without some sort of payment. I tried to work out a deal because of our old ties. However, you shoved it back in my face. Agree to my terms and I might make you the Sheriff of Fairplay.”

Bob turned for a second and in that flash, Abraham steamrolled him. A piece of cold steel stole the moment as Abraham’s trusty hammer crippled his old friend’s cheek. By the time Bob saw the sudden movement in his peripheral vision, it was already too late to defend. The hammer crashed down a second time, bruising Bob’s spine with the force of his metal.

Mr. Hatchet collapsed. He folded to the oily ground, stunned and dazed. “I warned you, Bob!” Abraham gripped the back of Bob’s leather collar and lifted him. After two hits from a hammer, Bob still struggled to fight. He pushed and Abraham redirected. Bob fell forward toward the mounted buzz-saw and screamed.

Thick dots of red stained Abraham’s vision as the machine severed Bob’s right hand at the wrist. “Shit,” he cursed, tossing his old comrade to the floor.

The sudden explosion of pain caused Bob to black out. Abraham knew when Bob woke there would be hell to pay.

His tired eyes fluttered as he heard the screams of his granddaughter penetrate through the thick walls. Bob, the infected freaks, and his missing family were all forgotten in that jarring moment. There was only Emme’s voice rising and falling. Abraham felt a sharp tear in his humanity. It was a warm rush of unmatched courage and rage that brought him toward the sound.

***

It sounded like a thousand running lawn mowers coming straight for her. Emme’s hearing aids picked up the vibrant sound of a hundred infected freaks on the prowl. The dark utterances said something, but she couldn’t understand. The high-pitched sound stung through in a static swirl that brought her off the top bunk in a hurry. For a second, the harsh sound was loud enough she thought it might kill her. Yet, it stopped after several agonizing flares. All she could picture was the infected she killed coming back for revenge. Emme continued to shriek, staring at the empty blanket where Grandpa Abraham was supposed to be sleeping.

Her yelps woke her brother in a panic. She watched him scramble to his feet, wiping the sweat from his uneven brow. “What’s wrong?”

Emme stood next to the bunk bed in hysteria trying to figure out if it was only a bad dream. When she knew it was real, she hesitated as she approached her brother.

“Was it a bad dream?” Hunter couldn’t hear what his sister heard.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she realized it was three in the morning. Outside, the wind continued to lash the building with long showers of rain. The window thudded against the frame as the buzzing continued driving her to scream even louder.

***

Running as fast as he could, Abraham tore the bedroom door open. Holding the palm of her hands over her ears on the floor stood his sweet little granddaughter.

“The creatures are coming,” she muttered with her brother standing next her. “I swear on everything, they’re coming for us.”

“Who’s coming?” Abraham questioned, wondering what was wrong with his granddaughter. Was she having a night terror? “What is going on, Emme?”

Jumping up and down, she recalled her time in the barn. “A mob of infected! They found a way into the compound. Shit!”

Emme didn’t usually sleep in her hearing aids, but she was so exhausted, she drifted off fast on the couch. Abraham carried her to the bed and didn’t want to risk waking her by taking them out.

“Get your things. We have to go now!” Abraham had expected to find one of the mechanics standing over his granddaughter. He would have torn them part with his bare hands.
This is a blessing,
he thought, hoping the infected would occupy the mechanics while he planned their escape.

Given the fact he dismembered Bob downstairs, he didn’t think the rest of the mechanics would welcome him with open arms. Truth was, Abraham was damaged enough to approach life in a darker light. “Hurry—back to the Blazer.” He looked down the hall and saw the shadows of lengthy men on the prowl. “Where’s Jeffery?”

Emme scanned the shoddy room and then shrugged. “He was sleeping on the floor. I don’t know where he went.” She slid into shoulder straps of the little black backpack and stomped into her boots. “We can’t leave without him.”

“Or Sam,” Hunter added.

Abraham reached for his pistol and took aim. Out of the stairwell two men holding bats stepped forward. “Abraham, get your ass over here,” one of them shouted. “What you did to the boss is minor compared to what we’re going to do to your family.”

Without a second thought, Abraham fired. No one would harm his grandchildren. The bullets tore into the clumsy men. He was a tangle of rage and passion as several sprays of blood were followed by the foolish men falling to the floor. They weren’t dead yet. Standing over them, Abraham fired a shot between each of the wailing men’s eyes. He had to make sure they were dead for good.

He heard Emme crying behind him. But he didn’t have time to comfort her. “This way,” he called back, running down the stairwell. He saw the set of blood-spattered footprints leading up and wondered if it was his boots or the men he just killed. It didn’t matter.

Back down in the garage, he could smell a heavy odor of alcohol. He prayed the mechanics were all drunk and numb. It would make his escape that much easier. He saw a smear of blood where Bob had passed out, but his body was missing. He was certain one of the mechanics must have helped him escape through the wide open roll down door. Two sets of footprints were stamped in the pools of blood.