Judgment Day -03 (21 page)

“I can’t see my hand in front of my face,” she said, her voice trembling.

“What do you need to see your hand for? You planning on doing your nails?”

She chuckled. “Now, that’s funny.”

They heard Predator stumble and fall. He cursed loudly and fired a shot down the tunnel.

“We aren’t giving up!” he yelled. “My men are already on their way to the other side. Even if you do get out, they’ll be waiting.”

“We’re trapped,” she said, pulling lightly on the string between them.

“Not hardly.”

“But he said—”

“Don’t sweat it. Even a one-legged Viet Cong with cataracts could set up an ambush in this tunnel. If he follows us down to the bottom, I’ll deal with him.”

She seemed to gain strength from his confidence.

“Okay.”

Tanner extended his hands about a foot in front of his face and took small, careful steps, as he proceeded ahead. He could live with knocking a shin against a bumper but didn’t want to whack his nose into a side view mirror. Whenever he felt the cold metal of a car or truck, he moved sideways along the body, alternating going left and right with each vehicle, in the hopes that it kept him moving forward. Even so, traversing through a pitch-black tunnel filled with vehicles facing in every possible direction was a very slow process. He estimated that it would take them at least two hours to get to the other side of the mile-long tunnel. His only consolation was that once they got to where they could see the light shining in from the exit, it should go a little faster.

Tanner heard something move ahead of them. It sounded like a roll of carpet being dragged across the ground. He stopped, and Samantha bumped into him.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Shh.” He reached around and pushed her down, squatting beside her with his shotgun pointing in the direction of the sound.

A large shape moved past them in the dark. It was on the other side of the tunnel, close to the wall, but it stunk like the walking dead.

After it passed, she whispered, “Was that a Backson?”

He felt of her face so that he could put his mouth close to her ear.

“I don’t think we want to find out. Let’s keep moving, real quiet like. No more talking.”

He felt her head nod gently up and down. Turning, he continued ahead, hurrying as fast as he dared.

Less than a minute later, horrible screams sounded from behind them—men being torn apart, shrieking like children who had awoken to discover that Dracula was not only real, but leaning over their bed. The boom of Predator’s pistol sounded once, and then… nothing.

Tanner felt the string pull taut as Samantha stopped in her tracks. He was afraid to pull it too hard for fear of it coming free of one of their belt loops.

“Come on,” he whispered, his impatience growing. What was she doing? They had to move!

“It’ll come for us too,” she said. There was a finality to her words. “We can’t outrun it. Not in this darkness. It’ll catch us.”

He started to argue with her, to explain that he couldn’t fight something he couldn’t see. Then, as hard as it was to accept, he realized that she was right. It would catch them. And it would kill them.

“You know what?” he said, turning around. “You’re right.”

“I don’t want to be right.”

“I know you don’t. But let’s deal with what we’ve got.”

“How? We can’t see!”

Neither of them saw a reason to whisper any longer, and their voices were slowly rising.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s change that.”

Tanner felt around for the nearest car and ripped open the door. A cloud of blowflies buzzed across his face, and he batted them aside as he leaned in. He felt around until he found the knob that turned on the headlights. As soon he pulled the knob, bright beams blasted out through the darkness.

Samantha covered her eyes, blinded.

“It’ll see us!” she cried.

“It already sees us. This way we can see it too. Ready yourself.”

Samantha turned her back to the lights and brought up her rifle.

Tanner yanked the shoe lace from his belt loop, raced to another car, and clicked on its headlights. They were much dimmer than the first but still added some light to the mix.

They both saw a large shadowy figure shuffling toward them. It was huge and indistinguishable, like some mythical Shambling Mound that had crawled out of the swamp.

Tanner leaned through the window of a utility truck and turned on its lights too. The entire area was now lit up, and the light felt protective, like a campfire on a starless night.

“To me!” he shouted to Samantha.

She backed toward him, her eyes never leaving the creature that was approaching. It was maybe fifty yards away and moving steadily through the blockade of cars toward them.

“It’s coming!” she shouted.

“Let it come,” he said, bringing the shotgun to his shoulder. He had five shots. There would be no reloading. Either he would kill it or he wouldn’t.

When it was about thirty yards away, the Backson entered the light. What they saw had two arms, two legs, and a head. But it was not human. Not anymore, it wasn’t. The creature was more like an ogre or a troll, if such things really existed. It was impossibly large, easily weighing five hundred pounds and standing nearly seven feet tall. It had an enormous bald head covered in bulbous blisters, and arms and legs swollen with thick cords of muscles.

The Backson stopped and stared at them with shiny black eyes, each drizzling long streaks of inky goo. Then it took a step toward them, dragging its feet across the asphalt, as if they were too heavy to lift.

Tanner pointed the shotgun center mass and squeezed the trigger. The gun belched fire, and a handful of buckshot slammed into the creature’s chest. It screamed in pain and raced forward at a speed he would have never thought possible for something so big. Tanner brought the weapon back down and fired a second burst. It hit the Backson in the left shoulder, blood and skin spraying onto the car behind it. He was just bringing the shotgun back on target for a third shot when it reached him.

The monster slammed into Tanner, knocking him over the hood of a car and sending the shotgun flying away. The blow was so powerful that he briefly blacked out, and when he awoke, he felt a giant hand pulling him up by his hair.

There was a small crack of a gunshot. Then another. And another. The creature jerked with each sound. Samantha stood about ten feet behind it, popping .22 slugs into the meat of its back as fast as she could cycle the bolt of her rifle.

The Backson turned to face her, pulling Tanner around like he was its favorite stuffed animal. Samantha stepped back and lowered her rifle, her face becoming pale.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Tanner snarled, tightening his right hand into a fist and punching up into the creature’s groin. Knuckles met nuts, and it shrieked in pain.

He hit it again, and the Backson flung him toward Samantha.

Tanner landed near her feet and rolled onto his back.

“Go for the eyes!” he shouted.

Samantha suddenly felt like a toddler trying to lift a car. Fear and panic weighed on her arms and legs, making every action feel like she was trying to move through chewing gum. Her only thought was to drop the gun and run. Just run! But even that seemed impossible. She found herself standing motionless, unable to act, staring at a creature that should only belong in storybooks.

Tanner pulled the Kahr compact pistol from his front pocket, lined it up, and shot the creature in the face. The bullet hit two inches below its right eye, popping a clean hole in the middle of its cheek.

It charged, screaming with mindless fury. Tanner pumped two more rounds into it in quick procession, and then it was upon him. The Backson’s huge hands beat down on him, cracking a rib and pummeling his left eye. He rolled away barely in time to avoid a tremendous two-handed strike that would surely have killed him.

The monster chased after him, but it slowed, blood seeping from a dozen wounds. Tanner pushed to his feet and hurled himself forward, driving his shoulder up into the creature’s ribs. It grabbed him, wrapping both hands around his neck. Tanner instinctively did the same, and two struggled to choke the life out of one another.

Behind the beast, Tanner saw Samantha standing paralyzed, watching their life and death struggle. As tears dripped from his eyes, he desperately wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay, that there was nothing to be afraid of, that he would kill anything that came for her.

Tanner drove his thumbs deep into the creature’s windpipe even as he pressed his own chin down to prevent it from doing the same. He felt the Backson’s grip weakening, but he also felt his own faltering. A ring of darkness began to close in around him, and he pinpointed on the creature’s eyes—two inky black pools of pure hate. He squeezed with every ounce of strength he had left. And that was enough.

His thumbs punched through the Backson’s windpipe, and its grip immediately fell away from his throat. The creature’s legs buckled, and Tanner followed it to the ground. He crouched there for a full minute, choking the beast. When he was sure it was dead, he retrieved his shotgun and shot it once through each eye.

When it was all over, he helped Samantha to sit down, and they both settled back against the door of the utility truck. He put his arm around her and pulled her close.

“It’s over,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She seemed unable to speak as tears dripped down her face.

Tanner held her for several minutes, resting and collecting himself. He hurt from a dozen places, but the worst were his ribs. He touched them to make sure that nothing was poking out that shouldn’t be. There wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she said, choking on the words.

“For what?”

“For freezing up. I couldn’t move.”

“Wasn’t that you who shot it in the back?”

She nodded. “Yes, but—”

“If you hadn’t gotten its attention, it would have broken my neck.”

She stared at the ground, not at all convinced.

“Sam, we do what we can. Every single time.”

“I could have done more.”

“Okay. So, next time, do more.”

She swallowed and nodded.

He squeezed her shoulder, and she leaned against him.

“How can something like that even exist?” she asked.

Tanner looked over at the beast lying in a huge pool of blood.

“The virus is changing people. Making them bigger and stronger. This one lived in a dark tunnel and had plenty to eat. Ideal conditions, I suppose.”

“He doesn’t look human anymore.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Do you think there are more of them in here?” she asked, looking around.

“No,” he answered quickly.

“How can you be sure?”

“If there were, they would have already come for us.”

“Right.” She looked over at him. “What about you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. He barely even scratched me.”

“Let me see.”

He pulled away and let her have a look at him, acting as his field medic like she had on many occasions.

“Your eye looks terrible,” she said, grimacing. “It’s huge and purple.”

“It’ll heal.”

“What about here?” She pressed against his ribs, and he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming.

“Can’t feel a thing,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Okay,” she said, standing up.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, we should get going. If we hurry, maybe we can get through the tunnel before the motorcycle riders show up.”

He smiled and slowly pulled himself to his feet.

“Glad you’re back.”

CHAPTER

16

Mason spent the rest of the day driving north on Highway 321, his thoughts repeatedly drifting back to the dying horse. The pointless cruelty reminded him of when soldiers became traumatized or bored and took to tormenting the locals in occupied territories. Whether it was Nazis raping young French farm girls, or the Imperial Japanese Army brutalizing prisoners of war, people with violent authority could quickly forget their decency. When finally confronted, they would justify their barbarism, but it always came down to one simple truth. Some people lacked the moral strength to keep their humanity when they believed they would no longer be held accountable.

While leaving Fabio as dog bait was perhaps unduly harsh, it struck Mason as poetic justice. Perhaps he would get to his rifle in time and manage to kill the dogs. Even if he did, Mason hoped that their confrontation would forever serve as a reminder that actions had consequences.

Without thinking about it, he flipped on the radio and spun the dial. He didn’t know what he was hoping to pick up, maybe a news announcement, maybe an old-timer transmitting a little big band music from an antenna set up on the roof of his garage—anything to help take his mind off dead horses and the jackasses who shot them. What he found on several stations was a short government broadcast that looped over and over.

Citizens of the United States should not give up hope. Emergency supplies are being distributed as infrastructures are slowly being rebuilt. The cities of Norfolk, Virginia, Denver, Colorado, and Olympia, Washington have been designated as the first of the New Colonies. These cities, much like the nation’s founding colonies, will serve as places where people can live in safety, businesses can be established, and basic human needs can be met. Future broadcasts will indicate when citizens should move to these locations. For now, everyone is encouraged to join together with family and friends, sharing supplies and skills, in order to survive this most difficult time.