Apocalypsis: Book 1 (Kahayatle) (9 page)

Sitting on my front porch was a gray skinned, brown-haired
thing
, its eyes open and staring at my knees.
 

Someone had chopped off the head of the kid Peter had killed and left it for me to find at the front door - a grisly warning that took me less than a second to fully appreciate.
 
It was a promise of retribution staring out at me from the dead eyes of the boy who’d died too young, all because he was hungry and desperate enough to try and steal from me.

I took deep gulping breaths and fought my instincts to slam the door, instead carefully closing it and slowly moving the deadbolt back into place.
 
I ran back to the living room and dropped down on my knees next to Peter, jiggling his shoulder roughly.
 
Buster just watched me curiously.
 

“Peter!
 
Get up!
 
We have to leave
now!”

“What’d you say?” he said, confusion all over his face, his speech sounding slurred.
 
“What time is it?
 
How long have I been sleeping?”

“They friggin cut someone’s
head
off and put it on the
doorstep!”
I nearly screeched, trying to keep my emotions under control, but losing it anyway.
 
“It’s the kid you shot!
 
They cut his head off!”

Peter sat up, now suddenly very wide awake, pressing his hands to his mouth, his eyes looking around the room.
 
When they finally stopped on mine he whispered through his fingers, “That’s what they did with my sister.
 
They’re eating the rest of him, I guarantee it.”

“Wwwhat?!” I whispered, so freaked out I could barely get the word out.

He dropped his hands and used them for leverage to stand.
 
“The canners are here, Bryn.
 
They’re here in your neighborhood.”
 
His face was white, with probably no more color to it that mine had right now.

“Come on,” I said, jumping up, trying to get a handle on myself, even though my ears were ringing from my sky-rocketing blood pressure and my hands and legs were shaking with the adrenaline pumping through my veins to reach my heart and every other part of my body.
 
“Go get your damn bike.
 
Climb over the fence and bring it around back.
 
I’ll help you get it over.”

Peter stood.
 
“Wouldn’t it be easier for me to ride it over on the street?”

I looked at him like he was nuts.
 
“Wouldn’t it be easier for them to see you and eat you, you mean?!”

“You have a point there.”

“You’re damn right I do.
 
Now go. Get. Your. Bike.
 
I’m going to the cop’s place to get his.
 
Bring your gun.
 
Shoot anything that moves.
 
Put bullets in your pockets.
 
And Peter,” I grabbed his arm and squeezed it hard, “for the love of God.
 
Don’t knock yourself out again.”
 
I pulled him into a quick hug, not even thinking about it before I did it.

“I’ll try not to,” he said, patting me on the back and then pulling away to walk out the back door.
 
I watched as he stepping over the pool of gooey dried and stinking blood on the slate step just beyond it.
 
He didn’t even look down; he just kept on walking to the fence.

I ran to the front door and swallowed with effort.
 
I was going to have to walk around the head to get out of my yard.
 

I inched the door open, almost wishing it wouldn’t be there anymore, but quickly realizing how stupid that would be - since it would mean the canners were here right at this very second, moving severed heads around like chess pieces.
 

It was still there.
 
Looking at me.
 
Blaming me for its current situation.

I slowly inched out the door, shutting it behind me as quietly as I could.
 
I ducked down, using the bushes to hide my form as much as I could.
 
I looked out and tried to see if there was any movement coming from the houses or yards around me, pulling my gun out of my waistband and taking the safety off as my eyes scanned back and forth.
 
I almost felt sorry for anyone dumb enough to show his face to me right now.
 
I wasn’t going to hesitate - my new rule was to shoot first and ask questions later.
 
Or just not ask any questions at all.

After confirming as best I could that I was alone, I snuck two doors down to the cop’s house.
 
The front door was wide open and had a big brown X on its inside surface, which had me freaking out all over again.
 
But even the canners had to have enemies - other canners - so I figured if they were here, the door would be shut.
 
I didn’t even want to guess what that X meant.
 
I made my way quietly through the kitchen that was in front of the house to the door leading into the garage.

The bike was hanging from hooks in the ceiling.
 
I crept over and grabbed a folding chair on my way; it was too high up for me to reach otherwise.
 
I had to put my gun back in my pants to get the bike down, and panicked the entire time that someone was going to come in while I had that heavy weight in my hand with no way to go for my gun.

As soon as the bike was on the ground, I took my gun out again.
 
I put my two hands on the handlebars, trying to balance the weapon on top.
 
I practiced a few times, moving my first finger from the top of the handlebar to the gun’s trigger, seeing if I could do it fast enough to shoot if I were surprised by someone.
 
Once I felt confident that I would be able to, I started wheeling the bike out of the garage and through the house.

I got halfway through the kitchen when I smelled something.
 
Within a split second, my brain processed how very wrong that odor was - wrong because it smelled good, and not like rotting bodies.
 
It was like something from the past.
 
A cookout.

I propped the bike on the edge of the kitchen counter and tiptoed over to the sliding glass doors that led out to the pool area of the house.
 
I could see that the cop had one of those big, stainless steel gas bar-b-cue grills set up in his yard, with a big table and bench seats nearby.
 
It was next to the pool that had several cushioned lounge chairs around it.

The first thing I noticed were the bodies - sleeping ones on the lounge chairs.
 
There were five that I could count, all guys.
 

The next thing I noticed was the food on the table.
 
It was charred and broken into several pieces, much of it just bones … but even so, I could see what it was.
 
Or rather, who it had been.
 
I was now willing to bet that the kid with a .357 bullet in his chest was no longer on the side of my house.

I backed away from the glass, trying to keep the bile from rising up into my throat, when I butted up against something.
 
Something warm.

“Well, hello there,” said a deep, gravelly voice.
 
I recognized it instantly as the one that had been outside my window the night before.

I swung around, but not in time to keep the guy from taking my gun out of my waistband.
 

“Going somewhere?” he asked, smiling, holding up the gun and aiming it at my chest.

His teeth were dark yellow with flecks of black things in between, and his hair hadn’t been washed in months.
 
A long time ago he might have been handsome, but not anymore.
 
His eyes were way too bright, his skin red and scaley-looking with patches of acne breaking out all over it.
 
And the dried blood all over the front of his clothes told me who had been in charge of the canners’ bar-b-cue last night.

“You stay the hell away from me, you friggin canner.”

“Sorry, but that’s not going to be possible.
 
You’re being cordially invited to join us for … breakfast.”
 
His smile disappeared and he raised the gun up to my face, turning his hand sideways like some kind of thug gangster did in the movies.
 
“Go outside.”
 
He gestured towards the sliding back door with his chin.

My brain did a quick calculation.
 
There were six of them and one of me.
 
I could take this guy, I knew it, but not all of them at once.
 
They’d been eating a lot of protein and I hadn’t had much at all in months, except for the few beans I’d eaten.
 
My bodyweight was at an all-time low, and I’d foolishly let my training regimen get too lax.
 

I was on the balls of my feet, my hands raising of their own accord, my years of training and discipline taking over.
 
My father’s voice was in my head now, coaching me as my eyes took in the subtle clues that told me what my enemy was going to do the split second he’d made his decision to do it.

He stepped towards me and I met him quickly and forcefully, giving him no chance to react, kicking my foot out sharply to catch him in the knee.
 
It twisted sideways, just as I had intended, throwing him off balance and hopefully giving him an intense amount of pain.
 
He grunted, loud enough to wake his friends, so I knew I only had a few seconds to end this game.

before he could get fully upright, I kicked the gun out of his hand, sending it across the room.
 
It hit the wall with a loud thud.

He tried to swing out at me with a sloppy punch, but his knee put him off balance and he lacked all but the most primitive fighting skills, making him an easy take-down.
 
I gave him a harsh jab to the larynx, collapsing his throat and causing him to reach up to try and help himself breathe.
 
I took the opportunity to kick him square in the balls as hard as I could.
 
Practitioners of krav maga know one thing: you do what you need to do to win.
 
Nothing is tabu and there is no mercy for the enemy.

He fell down right where he stood, completely immobilized and unable to breathe.
 
I kicked him hard in the temple to send him into temporary oblivion so he wouldn’t be able to call out to his friends any more than he already had.
 
I stopped short of killing him because I wasn’t comfortable with it when he hadn’t actually tried to kill
me
yet.
 
I was okay with murder in self-defense, but right now, it didn’t feel right to go that far.
 
I looked up quickly on my way to retrieve my gun to check on the status of the other canners and saw that they were all still sleeping.
 
For the first time I also noticed that there were empty liquor bottles and beer cans all over the place.
 
The idiots were sleeping off a drunken night of partying and friend-eating.
 

Good.
 
Gives me time to get the hell out of here.
 
I looked down at the guy I’d knocked out, deciding that he might not be immobilized long enough with a ball shot and a kick to the temple.
 
I ran over to the television and grabbed the cord that was plugged into the wall and two other cords that hooked the DVR to the TV and some other device.
 
Leaning over, I felt my dad’s ring hit me in the chin.
 
It made me feel stronger, less a victim.

I used one set of cords to tie his hands, one for his feet and one for his mouth, which I secured after shoving one of his dirty socks in first.
 
I nearly gagged at the smell of it, but didn’t doubt for one second that I was doing the right thing.
 
This guy would have raped me and possibly eaten me if he could have.
 
The fact that he’d eaten one of his own friends told me he was no longer human.
 
“A bunch of friggin zombies is what you guys are,” I said to the unconscious scumbag.

After I tested the knots and decided they were tight enough, I left, grabbing the bike and running it out of there as fast as I could without tripping.
 
I didn’t bother checking for onlookers or people spying, only worried about getting the hell out of this neighborhood now overrun with cannibals.
 

I kicked the disgusting head out of the way and burst through the front door, sending Buster into fits of barking.
 
I dropping to my knees gathering him in my arms, whispering,
“Shhhhhh,
you idiot!
 
It’s just me!”

Peter came over quickly, saying,
 
“I got the bike to the edge, but I can’t lift it!”

“Come on,” I said loudly, grabbing his elbow as I jumped up to run to the back of the house.

“What happened?” he asked, already out of breath from me rushing him out on his bike retrieval mission.

“The canners are at the cop’s house, and they ate that guy you shot.
 
We have to get the hell out of here
now.”

“What?!” yelled Peter.

I swung around and frowned at him, whispering, “Shut up, you idiot!
 
Do you want them to hear you?”

Peter clamped his hand over his mouth, shaking his head silently.

I grabbed the top of the fence and vaulted myself over it, giving hardly any thought to the nearly super-human strength I’d just displayed.
 
I grabbed the bike that was waiting on the other side and threw it over the fence in the spot I prayed Peter wasn’t standing.
 
Then I launched myself back over one more time.