The Rabid (Book 1) (21 page)

I meet him mid charge, place the barrel right between his eyes, and pull the trigger. “Anyone else?” I survey the crowd with my weapon, drawing dots over each of them. They shrink away, tucking tail, and disappearing into the night.

The Rabid grow louder, shaking the chain link, threatening to up heave the cement encased poles rooting it to the earth.

Vivian laughs. “There is nothing to call them off. You killed Dorian. Now they’ll come through that fence and they’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, and they’ll kill you too, so laugh it up.”

She shrugs, wiping at her nose. “I took up this cross ready to die. Did you?”

I ignore the implication, tighten my grip, and glance over my shoulders for any more stray bullets or battle ready mobs. “Momma, now, please,” I want to drag her to her feet and out the front gate, but I’m not willing to let loose of the only leverage we’ve currently got.

“Momma, we need you,” Bethany lays the second rifle across Lee’s belly. She hugs Momma from behind, wrapping her arms around her chest.

Momma curls her hands up around Bethany’s arms, weeping into her shirts sleeves.
“Oh my God, oh my God! Why? Why? I don’t understand.”

Bethany kisses the back of her head. “
Shh, it’s okay, just take a deep breath, calm down. Let’s get out of here.” Bethany looks to me for some sort of impartation.

“We’ve really got to
go, we are out of time here.”

There is a deep metallic grind that echoes from the pool of blackness hovering across the ball field. The poles are bending beneath the weight of the Rabid. The fence is coming down.

Momma stares out at the noise, and then at us. She pats Bethany on the arms and unlocks her grasp before leaning forward and wiping her nose. She blinks her tears away and kisses Lee one last time, stroking his beard with the back of her hand. Her gaze lingers just long enough to stand and check the magazine. She chambers a fresh round and nods to me.

We move down the side of the church towards the front parking lot. I lead the way with the pistol,
half-dragging Vivian. Her stiletto heels aren’t able to keep the pace and are quickly ripped from her feet by dust and stone. She winces and groans now as my boots trample her toes and the earth shreds the soles of her feet. Momma and Bethany move to the left and right of me, shouldering the automatic weapons of our enemy. Fresh magazines, loaded and ready, protrude from Bethany’s waistband; I pray we don’t need them.

“Anyone steps in front of us
, you put them down hard. Don’t hesitate.” I say as we circle around a buzzing air conditioning unit.

Momma turns, checking our
retreat. “It’s clear behind us.”

“Clear in front.” Bethany responds.

We come around the front left corner of the building into the parking lot. There is a black sedan and three church vans. The black sedan’s engine is running, the headlights washing over the front of the building.

“Take a knee, take a knee,” Momma and Bethany drop down, their sights set on the double mahogany doors. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me.” I strangle Vivian to the ground, stooping behind her.

The doors swing open.

It’s Donny and the other henchman I’d seen dragging
Ms. Cassie to her final resting place. They are double teaming a six foot duffle bag out to the black sedan’s open trunk, their weapons slung over their shoulders.

“Blast
em’,” I whisper.

Momma and Bethany pull without hesitation. The entire rear end of the sedan lights up as if under siege by a string of firecrackers. Donny drops the duffel as his hands spastically swat at the air. He bounces backwards against one of the white church vans and ducks low before pitching
himself sideways and taking cover on the driver side of the sedan. The guard that’s with him isn’t so lucky. He takes a baker’s dozen in the back and comes to rest beside the sputtering exhaust pipe.

“Who the fuck is out there?
You shot me goddamnit!”

“Who do you think it
is, genius?” I can see him scooting back against the rear tire.

“You listen up you little shit…”

“No, you listen up. You’re it, you’re the last man standing—supreme hombre, you reading me? Your crew is no more. Dorian is now a sad tale they tell little kids to keep them away from meth and religious fanaticism. If you don’t believe me, ask your pastor here.” I lay my lips across the back of Vivian’s ear. “You tell him, you get stupid and you get dead.” I loosen my grip on her throat so she can carry the message.

“Donny, they’re dead. The people have fled. I am their prisoner. What he says is true.”

“Concise and to the point, I like it.” She gasps as my grip once more closes across her windpipe. “You heard all that. Now while it sinks in, I have another question, the keys to the vans, where are they?”

“I’ve got them
.”

“And what’s in the duffle there?”

“Weapons and supplies.”

“Good enough. So here’s how it’s going to play. You’re going to toss your weapon out and then I want you to load that duffle into the van, leave the doors open, and the keys on the passenger seat. Then you get your ass back inside that church.”

“And if I don’t?”

“We’ve got plenty of ammunition
, Donny. You can die now or you can die later. Just let me know how you want it.”

Donny is a little bit smarter than I’d given him credit for. The gun comes
spiraling from behind the sedan, scratching against the pavement and coming to rest by the front of the van. His hands come up next, as he stands, slowly, wobbly. A bullet has made a tunnel through the inside part of his thigh. Maybe he’ll bleed to death later. Maybe he won’t. I don’t care. Seeing him bested and bending to my will is enough.

He unlocks the van, hefts the bag, and deposits the keys on the passenger seat. He stands there, looking out at us as if he’s got something to say, some smart ass remark or vow of vengeance meant to alleviate a little of the sting inherent in the walk of shame. Whether it’s the unblinking rifle barrels staring back at him, or the sight of Vivian in my grasp, he turns and walks back inside the church; quietly.

“Okay, let’s hustle; they’ve got to be coming over the gates by now.”

We rush for the van. Vivian falls hard to her knees. I move to reclaim her
, but the encroaching gurgle and growl just beyond the corner of the building compels me against it.

Momma and Bethany hurt
le into the back as I retrieve the keys and slide across to the driver seat. As I crank the engine, I glance over to see Vivian on her feet. One side of her face looks like a pomegranate. Deep gashes stripe both of her knees. She turns circles, trying to find the best line of retreat.

There isn’t one.

I shift into reverse and tear through the front gates.

The final thing I see before cutting a U-turn, is Vivian standing in the middle of the parking lot, arms outstretched, a monster trying to reason with monsters.

32

Momma lost it when we left the church. Completely. Bugnuts crazy. Batshit insane. Whatever they call it, that's what she was. The last scraps of her sanity had been blowing in the breeze during those few precious moments she'd helped us escape. Once that was out of the way, she made no further attempt at hanging on. She'd thrown down the rifle and started beating her head against the window and slapping her face. The depth and intensity of her hysterics had almost caused me to take us right off the road. Bethany scuffled with her and latched on. Bethany was crying too. She cried out of fear more than anything. Neither of us were used to seeing Momma like this. I had to find a place for us to hunker down. We couldn't stay out on the road. Not with Momma like this.

“
Hopefully, this will do.” I say as I pull up and park us on the steep mountain slope of a driveway, popping the emergency brake just to be safe.

It’s an indistinct house on an indistinct block twenty exits down from where we left Lee’s body. I clear the living room, the attached kitchen, the two bedrooms, and the rest of the nooks and crannies
, while Bethany waits outside in the van with Momma. Pictures of the middle class conservative looking former inhabitants still hang snuggly over the flat panel television set. Pots and pans still hang in a neat little line, smallest to largest, over the four-burner stove. Spices, table placards, fake flower arrangements, and a metal receipt spike stacked with numerical testimonies of a years-worth of doctor visits sit undisturbed around the quaint living space. The garage is pretty much empty except for a dusty single engine boat and a table saw with a knee high red tool chest sitting beside it. My guess is that the mother with short black curls, the father with a patchy goatee, and their son with his baby fat cheeks and his easy-to-make-fun-of slicked over hair-do, weren’t home when the world went to hell. They were most likely at their jobs, and at school. Maybe they'd become victims. Hopefully, survivors. But most likely, they were a little bit of both. Gaining a little and losing a little, just like the rest of us. In these times, in this specific time, their loss is our gain.

Bethany carries Momma through the front door, an arm around her waist, using the other to keep her balance on a nearby wall.

“It’s clear; checked every corner and closet. They’ve got some food we can use and some bottled water.”

Bethany readjusts her weight. Momma’s head sags, lolling back and forth with the movement. “Okay, do you think I should just set her in the master bedroom?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, let me help you.” I get under Momma’s other arm, standing her up straight.

As we’re dragging her across the living room carpet
, she starts to cry again. “Please, just let me die. Let me go, let me die, please.” She emits a brittle cough sending strings of mucus rocketing forward onto the surface of the coat closet. There is little to no fight left in her. She is broken.

We drop her face down on the bed. I roll her over and drag her up like a rag doll onto the multi-tiered wall of
hand-fluffed pillows. After situating her and brushing the fluid soaked strands of hair from her eyes and cheeks, I cloak her with a sheet and down comforter. “Rest, Momma, you just need rest and then everything will be okay. You’ll see.”

She grips my arms just above the elbows. “Tim, please listen to me. I need medicine. I can’t go on without my medicine.”

“What medicine, Momma?” I sit down beside her on the edge of the bed, easing her hands away and crossing them over her stomach. Bethany stays back, tears boiling at the corners of her eyes.

“When your daddy passed
, I was on medicine. It kept me with you; it kept me from falling into the dark. Please get me my medicine.” Her blood shot eyes bulge with desperation.

“Momma, what medicine is it?”

“It was Klonopin, Xanax, and Ambien, that’s the ones I took. Please, Tim, please get me my medicine.” She reaches for me once more, but I meet her half way.

“I’ll see what I can do, I promise. You close your eyes, I’m
gonna talk to Bethany for a minute and then one of us will be right back in. We’re gonna try to get you your meds, Momma, don’t worry.”

“Such a good boy
, Tim—such a good boy—good son, yes, you are. Bethany, my daughter, my princess, you make your Momma so proud.”

I kiss her on the forehead and stand from the bed. “Rest now
, Momma.” I scoop Bethany into the hallway with me as she’s wiping away the tears that hang from the tips of her lashes. “I need you to stay here with her while I go and track down her pills.”

“Are you crazy? You’re going to need someone to back you up.”

“Not as much as Momma is going to need someone to stay with her. She’s not all here right now. I don’t want her getting up or doing something stupid. I need you to look after her.”

“What about Dallas? What about Aunt Jolene?”

“We’re still going. But, we’re not getting there with her, not like this. That’s all the more reason to get out there and get these pills. We’ve got to get her functional before we go anywhere.”

“Okay,” Bethany wipes her nose across her sleeve. “Where are you
gonna go?”

“I saw a drug store on the way in. I’ll take the van over, do a smash and grab, and be back before you even know I’m gone.”

Bethany exhales hard through pursed lips. “Alright.”

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I promise. We’ll get Momma running again and everything will be good. You believe me?”

It takes some time, but she answers, her chin trembling with emotion. “Yeah, Tim, of course I believe you.”

“Alright then, sun will be up in a few hours, I’ll leave then. Grab some sleep while you can.”

***

The chained glass doors collapse backwards off their hinges sending a shower of glass sailing across the linoleum floor of the drug store. I waste no time coming off the driver seat, hopping over the two bench seats, and kicking open the rear double doors of the white panel van with the soles of my boots, a pistol in one hand and a flash light in the other.

There is a scraping along the side of the van to my right. Before my feet can touch the
ground, the door is slammed backwards and nearly crushes my ankles. A face appears in the window, a blood patched beard running the expanse of the jawline, and a set of creamy eyeballs. The madman peels the door back and launches the top half of his body into the van, biting and clawing for my legs. I bash him over the head with the heavy metal flashlight, bouncing his face against the floorboard like a basketball. He keeps after me; his arms flail and his teeth jitter as if they are toys. I bicycle kick him in the face, desperately trying to remain free of his embrace. I clock him across the top of the head again and again. His skull parts beneath the impact of the fourth blow, granting access to the soft matter beneath. The fifth blow embeds itself with a sickly squish, launching a back spray of debris and fluid. I kick the body from the van and wipe my face clean across the front of my shirt.

I step down and begin walking the far right aisle. It’s a simple mom and pop shop. Half the floor plan is taken up by the pharmacy and the other half by green metal shelves housing food items and a random array of vitamin and mineral supplements.

My hands are shaking. Being alone among the demons and the darkness makes all the difference. I move low and slow. I can feel my heart beating, low, right in the center of my rib cage, like an alien trying to break free from my chest. I keep the flashlight pointed down, rattles against the handgun like a maraca; if I had to shoot right now, I'd be in some shit, I couldn't hit the broad side of barn like this.

I don’t want to raise the flashlight beam from the black and white tile floor. There is a logic rooted in complete terror holding me in place. It tells me that what I can’t see can’t hurt me. The problem with
this, is that it can see me from where it stands behind the pharmacy counter. Its licking its lips at the prospect of my taste. Its flesh and blood stained teeth are bared and ready to plunge into the arteries of my neck.

I’m quick, but not quick enough. He’s coming over the counter as I light him up. I fire three quick rounds in his direction, not sure if I hit shit. I’m only able to catch glimpses of him, like fragments from a broken memory, as he dives headlong into the aisles to my right. I turn
, sending bullets blasting through bags of tortillas chips and beef jerky. The shelf rocks towards me, the chips and candy falling like icicles at the beginning of a spring thaw. I drop down to my hands and knees, as the heavy metal domino begins to pick up speed, sliding towards the pharmacy counter on my stomach, my boots just clearing the impact zone.

Bo had taught us only to blind fire as a last resort, “It eats up that ammo like a goddamned piranha, right now
ain’t the time to be feedin’ the fish.”

I’m down to my last resort.

The feet fall heavy and fast at my back. He’ll be on me in fractions of second. I don’t have time to roll over and situate myself. I hold my arm rigid, firing as I roll to my side, leaving the flashlight buried beneath me. When I reach my back, it’s evident the fruits of my labor have blossomed. The lone Rabid, still wearing his pharmacy apron, has been repulsed by the flurry of hollow point rounds. He’s clumsily trying to gain his footing amid the disarray of the overturned shelving, chewing away at his own tongue in his frantic attempt to reach me. I level off my shot and fire once, putting him down for good.

The sound of banging and scrabbling at the back door brings me to my feet in a hurry.

More of them.

A lot more of them by the sounds of it, attracted by the gunfire no doubt.
How long before they get tired of the struggle and come around front? Not long with my luck.

I jump the counter and grab a grocery bag. It’s not hard finding what Momma asked for, and there’s plenty of it. I scoop in what I
can, am back over the counter, and in the van pulling out over the broken glass and bent metal just as the Rabid begin to pour around the corners of the building.

***

Bethany greets me at the front door, her pistol removed dutifully from her waistband. She checks me over for wounds and then wraps her arms around my neck. “I was so worried. Was it bad?”

“I got in a little scrap, but I’ll survive.”

“What do you mean little scrap? What happened?”

“Nothing worth talking about,” I kiss her on the forehead and walk into the living room dangling the grocery bag. “How’re things here?”

“Been quiet, Momma is finally sleeping.”

“Is that Tim, is he back?”

“Was sleeping,” Bethany sighs.

I shake the bag. “Well, I’ve got her pills, so we’ll have some help.”

A bottle of water and a couple of multicolored tablets later and Momma is out like a light. She snores loudly as Bethany and I sit in the darkened living room with tiny slats of moonbeam falling in through the drawn curtains and blinds.

“We’ll move out tomorrow. If everything goes like it should
, and Momma stays stable, we should be able to make Texas before nightfall, two days at the most I’m thinkin’.” I’ve unloaded the magazine on my M4 and am brushing off each bullet individually before reloading it, an exercise produced out of boredom more than an instinct for survival.

Bethany is doing the same with her pistol and her M16, holding each round at eye level, and giving it a quick shot of breath and a sleeve dusting before replacing it. “You really think we’re going find anything there?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t. Aunt Jolene, if she is alive, is long gone. We’ll find dead people. We’ll find Rabid. I’m not holding out for the family reunion.”

“Then what the hell, why go?”

“Because, maybe we’ll find Aunt Jolene.”

Bethany laughs. “Doesn’t hurt to try
, right?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”