American Infection (Book 2) (8 page)

"Matt, how far down Price is your parent's place?" I asked.

"Maybe a quarter mile, half mile, something like that," he said. "About four blocks."

"Alright, now all those things are in the street, right?" I said, speaking to everyone. "I'm thinking we can work our way behind the houses. Long as we stick to the back yards, stay close to the ground, take our time, we can do this."

"And what happens when one of those things sees us between houses and starts going ape‐shit?" Brian asked. "They'll surround us before we have time to piss our pants."

"Don't get seen," Rob said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Listen, guys, this is ridiculous," Matt said. "There's no way in hell my parents are even still alive. Not with that many infected in the streets. If there was anything alive in West Chester, those things would be all over it. Not just standing there. It's my call. And I say we turn back. I'm not gonna risk all of us ending up dead, too, and then Sarah and Melissa are on their own. I won't do that to them"

"Finally, some fucking logic," Brian said. "Thank you."

I looked at Matt. While I couldn't read his thoughts behind the blackness of his eyes, I tried to allow my own eyes to express that I would still follow him into the city. He shook his head and looked down, breaking my stare.

"If that's that, then we need to get the hell out of Dodge," Dale said.

One by one, we stepped from the porch into the front yard, still staying close to the house. Brian led the way again, crossing at an angle into the neighbor's yard toward Miner Street. Brian, perhaps relieved that we had chosen to head back, carelessly stepped into the road, then froze. Heading north on Miner, straight toward us, was another group of about fifty infected, ambling along. Until they saw Brian. Then they let out a chorus of unholy shrieks and charged in unison in our direction.

We were trapped between two hordes. I guess we'd be cutting through those back yards after all.

Friday, 7:45 a.m.

Simultaneously, the five of us turned and ran, cutting behind the house where we'd deliberated on the porch, through the back yard, and into the next yard up. I could hear the swarm behind us, but I couldn't tell if they had alerted the horde that was waiting in the street ahead. Surely they must have heard, but if they did, I would've expected them to be filling the lawns in front of us.

As we ran, I tried to see what was happening on the road in front of the houses, but the homes were so close together I couldn't get a clear view of Price Street. We hopped wooden fences and metal fences, separating nearly every yard. Rob threw the bag of ammo over each fence before jumping it himself. Dale, the old man, had a difficult time with some of the higher wooden ones, but Brian slowed to offer him a hand.

As I pulled myself up onto a four‐foot high stone wall, I stood at the top and looked behind us. The fences seemed to be slowing the approaching infected. They didn't have the wherewithal to lift themselves over, so they'd pile up in front of each fence until there was enough height for the infected behind them to use the ones closest as an inhuman ramp. There was a whole hell of a lot more of them than before, though. It seemed like the horde from Price Street had merged with the group we'd run from.

I considered telling Rob to toss a grenade at the pile of infected, but realized he'd likely blow the fence, as well as attract the horde on the other side of the houses that so far hadn't thought to inspect the back yards.

Four more fences and we were standing behind the last house on the block.

"That's Bradford," Matt said, referring to the street on the other side of the tall wooden fence. "Two more blocks to my parent's, if that's still an option."

Brian leaned into the fence and peered through a slit between posts.

"There's a few in the street, but not nearly as many as the other street," Brian said. "I'd say maybe thirty that I can see."

Behind us I heard the infected spill into a yard about three houses down.

"Alright ladies, time to get those trigger fingers ready," Rob said, checking his magazine and rifling through the bag. He pulled out a grenade and held it in the air. "Whatcha think? A little distraction for the fuckers on the other side of this fence?"

"Make sure you give it a good toss," Brian said. "Draw them away from our position."

"You got it, Captain," Rob said before pulling the pin and lofting the grenade over the fence and into the street.

I instinctively ducked and covered my ears. The explosion rattled the wooden slats of the fence and a cloud of dust and debris erupted toward the sky.

Rob jumped to his feet and looked through an opening where one of the slats had become loose.

"Rock and roll, fuckers," Rob shouted, tossing the duffel bag over the fence before hoisting himself.

I heard his rifle begin firing the instant he fell to the ground on the other side.

Dale, then Brian, then Matt all went over the fence. I checked behind us again and saw the infected beginning to flood into the next yard over. I really hoped my buddies were cutting a path through the infected in front of us, because the ones behind had nearly caught up.

I took a running start, jumped, and grabbed the top of the fence with both hands, then flung my lower half over and onto the ground. Rob, Brian, Matt and Dale were in spread formation. Rob and Dale were moving forward, clearing a lane to the next set of back yards and fences. Matt was firing at a smaller group of infected moving toward us from our right. I moved to help Brian, who was dealing with a much larger mass coming at us from Price Street. The explosion and subsequent gunfire had attracted every infected within earshot.

The group coming at us from Price was beginning to flank us, filling in the open spaces behind us. The group that had been following us through the yards was now climbing over one another onto the street, spilling over the fence we had just hopped ourselves. They were moving slower as they approached us, perhaps still human enough to sense the danger of our weapons, or maybe just confident that they far outnumbered our ammunition.

I continued firing my rifle, but every time an infected fell there was one right behind it. I was certain they would overrun us when I heard Rob shout.

"Let's go, up and over," he said. I turned to see Rob standing feet from a four‐foot high wire fence.

Rob hopped over in one leap. Brian and I were right on his heels and followed him over a moment later. As Matt turned to sprint to the fence, an infected ran past him and sprung toward Dale, fingers digging deep into Dale's flesh as it tackled him to the ground.

Matt ran past the creature and Dale, writhing on the pavement. As Matt hurdled the fence, I watched the infected sink its teeth into Dale's neck and rip away a chunk of skin and muscle, blood shooting from the wound and covering the creature's face.

Rob fired two quick shots, ending Dale's pain, as we backed away from the fence. The horde hit the wire barrier, causing it to buckle almost immediately. We turned and vaulted into the next yard as the fence gave way and infected flooded into the yard we'd just left.

As we sprinted from one yard to the next, I couldn't help but think of Dale's bloodied corpse being trampled or eaten, though I wasn't sure if the infected would continue feasting on a dead body. Either way, that street, Bradford, would likely be his final resting place. A man who had survived two tours in Vietnam, now reduced to maggot food on an American street.

Friday, 8:15 a.m.

As the distance grew between the four of us remaining and the infected hunters behind, I noticed the homes seemed to be in decent condition. This block was all row homes, with small yards, and most only had a small stoop extending from the back door. From this perspective, most of the homes didn't appear to be damaged, although I'm sure the view from the street in front portrayed the horror that had taken place at the virus' outbreak.

We jumped the far fence of the second last house and landed in a yard surrounded only by a short wire fence, putting us on full display for the dozen or so infected milling about in the street.

With rage in their eyes, the infected tore towards the yard. Most were stopped by the fence, but a few tumbled over the low railing onto the grass just feet away from where we stood. Rob raised his rifle then fired, one, two, three shots, each perfectly striking the fallen infected in the center of their skulls. Black sludge‐like blood oozed from their heads onto the grass.

Matt, Brian and I mowed down the remaining infected piled against the fence, then climbed over and into the street.

"They're on this block, about halfway down," Matt shouted.

"Lead the way," Brian said, still firing as more infected turned the corner from Price Street onto whatever road we were on.

The homes on this block were slightly nicer. Doubles rather than rows, brick rather than siding. And no fences to hurdle, although that meant less resistance for the infected.

It also meant the infected could filter into the back yards between homes, which they did.

Matt was about twenty feet ahead of the rest of us, firing at anything cutting through the street out front into the yards we needed to cross. Brian followed, then Rob and myself, staving off the larger number of infected that were approaching from behind.

I heard Matt shout, something indiscernible, and looked to see him holding his gun in the air. He screamed at Rob to toss him a clip from the bag as two infected breached the alley between two homes and rushed toward him. Rob dropped to his knees, flung the duffel bag from his shoulder, pulled out a magazine and lobbed it fifteen feet to Matt but it was too late. The infected were on him.

And then they weren't. Again, just as they'd done with Dale, they completely ignored Matt and went straight for Brian behind him. Brian was ready, though, yanked his handgun from his waistband, and fired two shots through the infected's foreheads.

"What the fuck is going on?" Brian shouted over the thrum of gunfire.

"He's one of them," I screamed over my shoulder, unsure if Brian heard me. Probably better that he didn't.

Matt snapped the magazine in place, crossed another yard and cleared all three steps leading to the back porch of a brick double, nearly identical to the rest on the block. Rob, Brian and I were right behind him, working our way backwards toward the porch. As we got closer, Rob turned and took out three infected sprinting along the far side of the double. Brian checked the alley on the near side, fired two shots, then all four of us were on the porch or the steps, still emptying our weapons into the clusters of infected that were tearing through the grass toward us.

I heard Matt shaking the door, trying to will the bolt to unlock itself. In frustration, he aimed his rifle and fired at the knob. The door began to swing slowly inward until Matt thrust it open the rest of the way and barged into his own home.

The rest of us followed, shuffling backwards through the vestibule. Soon as we were all inside, Matt swung the door shut and pulled the refrigerator down on its side. We heard the first of the infected slam into the other side of the door. The refrigerator slid slightly. It would slow them down, but not for long.

The kitchen was otherwise empty. Guns drawn, we walked through a doorway into the dining room, also vacant. As we reached the entrance of the next room, Matt lowered his gun. I slid through the opening next to him, looking into what must have been the living room.

The bay window looking out onto the street was shattered. The front door barely hung on by a hinge. The TV was flipped onto its face and a loveseat had been thrashed and gutted, its stuffing strewn across the hardwood floor.

And over the back of two recliners facing Price Street, were the tops of two heads, sitting still and silent, watching the infected meander by on the road below.

Pretty sure we'd found Matt's parents.

Friday, 8:45 a.m.

I glanced behind us. The back door had pushed the fridge another foot, and several infected arms were reaching through the opening. It wouldn't hold much longer.

As if reading my thoughts, Brian sauntered into the kitchen and kicked the fridge with the full weight of his body. It slammed back against the door frame, dismembering a few of the arms and hands that had been poking through.

Matt rushed around the recliners, looked at the occupants of both chairs, and grabbed the person on his right under the shoulders, pulling him to a standing position. Matt released his hold and the man stood on his own, then reached out and wrapped his arms around Matt in a strong embrace.

"What the fuck happened to mom, Dad?" Matt asked.

Just as he finished the question, the front door flew off its final hinge and crashed onto the living room floor. An infected stood in the doorway, deciding which one of us to gorge upon first. It didn't matter, as Rob placed a bullet between its eyes, its body falling limp to the ground.

"We need to fucking move," Brian shouted, returning from the kitchen.

Another infected had taken the place of the first in the doorway and Rob fired again. We had moments until the rest of the creatures in the street flooded through the front door. The deluge of infected at the back door ensured we wouldn't be escaping the way we entered.

"Up to the attic," Matt's Dad said, finally turning to face his son's companions.

Brian, Rob and I gasped simultaneously, just as we had back when we saw Matt's black eyes for the first time, following his wrestling match with an infected. His father shared the same blackness, the same void. He wore a short‐sleeve polo shirt and I noticed his arm bore no indication of the bite Matt's sister had mentioned days earlier. Either the wound had healed remarkably quickly, or the infection had occurred by some other means.

More infected struggled through the front doorway, with Rob dropping one after another. Before I realized he had even moved, Matt's father was halfway up a staircase located just next to the entrance from the dining room to the living room. Matt was right behind him and I followed Matt.