Catalyst (Book 1): Decay Chains (9 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

DAYS UNTIL THE SUPERVIRUS GOES GLOBAL: 30:19:12

Stan stomped halfway down the stairwell before turning to face Stormy. She knew his glare wasn’t for her, but that didn’t make it less imposing. “Where’s your car?” he asked.

“One more down. At the far end of the lot.”

He climbed the steps, mindful not to come too close as he passed her. The door closed behind him as he eyed something on the wall. Glass shattered. When he took the stairs a second time, a wooden handled ax dangled at his side.

Stormy freaked when she heard the blast. The force damn near knocked her down. The walls threatened to collapse. Concrete bits crumbed and fell down on her like tiny warning shots. They both looked up, but Stan hustled downstairs first. They didn’t slow down when they reached the landing.

“It’s the Jeep. Blue trim,” she yelled.

Eyes fixed on her vehicle, Stormy stayed the course when Stan cut across an aisle. He was between two cars when a cop, who had been dead a while, toppled him. They rolled over each other on the pavement. When they settled, Stan was on top and the fight was six feet from where it started, and where the ax remained. After wriggling free, the cop put Stan in a headlock. Stan jabbed his elbow into the cop’s ribs over and over again. He yanked on an ear, which fell off in his hand. He jammed his elbow into the cop’s gut again and the force knocked the air out of his chest. Undeterred, his teeth scratched against the top of Stan’s head.

“I’m fucking tired of this shit,” Stan said.

Stormy grabbed the ax and sprinted to him. “Move your legs.”

The ax sunk into the cop’s left leg seconds after Stan’s limbs cleared the area. After severing the limb, the ax scraped against the pavement, and it was on. Lashing out, the cop abandoned Stan to attack Stormy full force.

The ax rose high over Stormy’s shoulder. She made a wide sweeping motion across the cop’s neck, after which, a headless body collapsed onto a thoroughly pissed off Stan. He pushed the corpse off and checked that he was still intact. The severed head rolled until it bumped into the rear left tire of an old Ford. The car’s alarm went off. Seconds later, supers filed out of aisles and crawled around cars.

With Stan back on his feet, and in tow, Stormy sprinted the length of the aisle. She dug in her pocket for keys while Stan darted around the Jeep. He banged on the passenger side window while she fumbled. She dropped the keys once. They landed on the edge of a sewer grate. Stan looked around, tapped at the window, and then his eyes were back on her. She ignored him so he couldn’t unnerve her further.

The alarm blared, her fingers shook, and Stan yanked on his door handle. It took a few tries for the key to make contact with the lock. Eventually, it slid in and clinked as she forced it to the right. She flung her door open and unlocked Stan’s side so he would quit torturing the handle.

Stan locked the doors while she floored it in reverse. A faint glimpse of hope lay just beyond the hood. Stormy stalked it. The Jeep sailed over a series of speed bumps, and supers that became speed bumps, as it rounded the turns marked
Exit
.

Neither of them said anything when they reached Doc’s car. The Cadillac’s crumpled hood was jammed up the backside of a column. Passed out against the steering wheel, Dr. Louboutin’s aura was everything but peaceful. Anger swelled within Stormy as she edged the Jeep around the car and sped up.

That was a mistake because now they were going too fast on the winding exit ramp. The security booth loomed ahead with the guardrail lowered. She couldn’t stop in time. Trapped on the entrance side by an overturned minivan, the guard’s body lay crumpled over the booth’s window. Getting him to lift the rail was out.

“Floor it,” Stan yelled.

“I am. Stop fucking yelling at me.”

The Jeep sailed into the guardrail so hard it knocked Stormy’s head into the steering wheel. Dazed, she jerked the wheel to the right. In response, the Jeep rammed the garage wall. The rear end smashed into the guard shack. The impact freed half the security guard and set his torso down directly in front of the minivan. A second collision with the garage wall became an unavoidable certainty.

Determined to course correct, she jerked on the wheel. The Jeep plowed into the wall, and then careened back toward the shack. She yanked on the steering wheel again and forced it all the way to the right. The Jeep jumped the curb and jammed its grill into a stop sign.

Shots pinged off the sides of the Jeep. Stan pulled Stormy’s head down and covered her with his upper body. Another explosion went off. The Jeep lit up in a yellow glow for a few seconds just before the boom. The blast was close enough that smoke crept over them. Gunfire was much louder in open air. Stormy tried to see, but Stan pressed her down harder. Searing pain engulfed her entire neck. She cursed him and tried to push him off her.

Stan let up, but only a little. “Why the hell are they shooting at us?”

“My guess is they think we’re infected. If you would get off me, I might actually know.” Bullets zipped by. Stormy shook with each pass. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Stan’s head rose up, and then darted back down followed by a rain of gunfire. “Stormy listen. Crawl down into the floorboard so we can switch seats.”

“Why the hell would I let you drive?”

He held his hand in front of her face. It was covered in blood. “Your neck’s bleeding bad. I can get us out of her while you dress you wound.”

Convinced, and a little queasy, she dropped out of her seat and onto the floorboard. From there, a corner of the window was visible. She saw no gunmen on the street, just bodies, crashed vehicles, and trails of smoke. Fires burned out of control. Bodies wriggled underneath others. Bullets sank into those who stumbled and those who sprinted. The gunmen didn’t discriminate. Once hit, they all flew backward. With wicked speed, most of them got back up.

Stan spread out flat on the seats. His hair was matted with blood and his face was filthy. He sighed deeply into the seat and then lifted his head to examine her positioning.

He pointed at the passenger floorboard. “Now crawl over to this side. Keep your head down.”             

The window caught movement behind Stan. He read Stormy’s expression, but didn’t have enough time to react. A hand smacked against the window and smeared blood across it. It turned into an angry fist and banged away.

Stan scrambled onto his back. He pulled the ax out of the floorboard and held it across his body. The hand jiggled the handle, and then the whole body ducked down as gunfire lit up the vehicle. Stan leaned overtop Stormy to shield her.

“Fucking open up if you’re still alive in there,” the voice said.

“Go die somewhere else,” Stan said.

“Josh?” Stormy’s eyes widened.

“Stormy, is that you? Open up. Ian’s hurt.”

She squirmed under Stan. Her fingers searched the door panel for the unlock button. “Unlock the door. He’s my friend.”

“Getting shot at out here,” Josh said. “Fuck, that was close.”

The button clicked. Josh started to open the front passenger door.

“The back! Get in the back!” Stan tried to catch the door handle with his foot and pull it shut. Josh left the front passenger door cracked. A moment later, the back door opened and his round face appeared right behind the front seat.

“Thought I was going to steal this,” Josh said. “Maybe I’m just borrowing it.”

“Where’s Ian?” Stormy asked.

“I’m gonna go back for him. He’s hurt. Over there.” Josh looked where he pointed.

“Where’s your car?” Stan asked.

“In the junk yard. Car accident. Escape by foot was a bad idea.”

“Escape by car hasn’t been a marvelous plan either,” Stormy said.

“This is your boyfriend?” Josh asked.

“No, and you don’t want to run into him either,” Stan said.

“Oh, okay. Whatever.” Josh slammed the door and ducked next to the vehicle. “Going to get Ian. I’ll be right back. Don’t fucking leave me.”

Minutes passed and the Jeep was being shot to pieces. Stormy feared they would have to make a run for it. After tending to her wound with one of Matt’s old tees, she pressed down on the accelerator with her hand and gloried in the sound of the engine revving. The Jeep was still down for this mission. Stan’s fingers danced along the seat cushion. She could tell he wanted to get going, with or without Ian and Josh.

She pulled herself off the floorboard. “I’m going to help.”

Stan pushed her back down. “No, you’re not.”

Her eyes flared. She reached up again. Stan returned a similarly threatening glance.

“Fine. I’ll go,” he said.

He snaked his body across the Jeep and kicked the door open. A barrage of bullets responded. “I’m gonna give them a minute,” he said.

A fair sixty-three seconds passed. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be shot to shit, Stan slammed the door behind him and crouched beside the vehicle. As soon as he was outside, Stormy got back in the driver’s seat and scanned the window. Stan huddled behind an AC system. The bullets came in harder on that side of the vehicle now. A side mirror flew off the Jeep and shattered to pieces along the concrete. She damn near pissed herself.

Just ahead of Stan, Josh hid behind a tree with Ian under his arm. Symbols and gestures flew between them once they located each other. The wordless conversation looked like a panicked exchange between pitcher and catcher on an infield.

The outfield was a different story. Garden-variety supers came in from all directions. Every flavor of gruesome imaginable gravitated toward the guys. The undead stumbled across the lawn by the dozens and effectively blocked the path back to the Jeep.

They were pinned down. Stormy slid back from the window to open the door. Pinging sounds multiplied as she dropped to her knees outside. She darted behind the vehicle to look for the half of the guard she freed earlier. Bullets whirred past her. Scared shitless, but undeterred, she raced the bullets to the busted guard shack.

Farther back in the garage, she found the guard’s torso under a piece of clapboard paneling, but not his gun. On the way back to the vehicle, she stopped to overturn pieces of the guard shack and underneath one she found his lower half. Stormy undid the snaps, tugged, and pulled his bloody belt up around her arm. Hunched over, she ripped the Glock from the belt and barreled into the gunfire.

Back in the driver’s seat, she reversed the Jeep until it was off the stop sign. Then she popped the shifter into drive and floored it in Stan’s direction. It knocked the air out of her when the rear end raked over the massive curb, but once over, her vehicle seemed to agree with the manicured grass. However, mowing over the supers in her path felt like repeatedly getting hit by a brand new punching bag.

She shot randomly to pull the gunfire toward her. An explosion went off to her left. A rain of chemically burned limbs and torsos sprayed the Jeep. She cut to the right and damn near rammed the air conditioner Stan hid behind.

He hopped in and they headed to the tree. Supers stalked the Jeep, even ones that she had run over already. They dragged their crumpled limbs, snarled at the gunfire, and feverishly continued their quests.

It took both Stan and Josh to lift Ian into the back seat. He winced at every movement, which slowed the rescue operation. Supers encroached and bullets stalked. Stormy revved the accelerator to encourage them to hurry the hell up. Once everyone was inside, she jerked the Jeep around the tree and back onto the street. The curb dividing the roadway and the lawn was no more forgiving than the first one.

The Jeep dodged overturned cars, one fire truck lodged in the side of a school bus, and an ambulance that was merely charred metal surrounded by gurneys. Stormy kept the gas pedal flush with the floorboard. Soldiers clad in chem suits and gas masks, which made them look like camouflaged spacemen, fired on them from nearly every rooftop.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DAYS UNTIL THE SUPERVIRUS GOES GLOBAL: 30:18:19

“The fucking United States government shot me in my cast,” Ian said.

Another explosion went off directly in front of the vehicle. Stormy jerked the wheel to the left. The Jeep hit a curb and a mailbox before making it back onto the road.
It’s like driving in a damn carnival game.

“Oh, c’mon. Seriously?” Ian said as the bullets pierced his side of the Jeep. “Shooting me once wasn’t enough?”

“They won’t be happy till they blow this Jeep off the map,” Josh said. “We might get to see the predator today. Right before it takes us out.”

“No, it’s more accurate than that. It would’ve hit us by now, even the way she’s driving. Plus, you wouldn’t see it. That damn thing flies like ten thousand feet up.”

“Thanks for ruining the one thing I had to look forward to, asshole.”

“My pleasure. I do what I can.”

The back windshield shattered. Everyone’s heads ducked. Stormy peered at the road from the open space in the middle of her steering wheel.

“You’re shooting at the wrong people assholes,” Ian said.

Stormy blew straight through an intersection. She lifted the gun from her lap and threw it at Josh. “Make yourself useful.”

“Oh what the hell?” Stan said. “You’ll give him a gun, but not me?”

Josh turned around to take aim out the broken back windshield. “I have a damn good Call of Duty score.”

Stormy waived the belt in Stan’s direction. “As long as you don’t shoot anyone I care about, you can have the extra magazines.”

Stan didn’t answer her. She dropped the belt in his lap and used both hands to veer the Jeep around a stalled pickup truck. She hit two elderly supers on the way around. Tangled up together on the hood, their fingers groped around after anything within reach. Stormy cut the wheel right, which tossed them off their perch. As the Jeep rolled over the supers, it bumped up and down. Everyone lifted from their seats momentarily. The rearview mirror captured the supers as they climbed back to their feet and watched the vehicle speed off. She shook her head in amazement and took a right at the next intersection.

Stan whipped around to shout at her. “Do you realize you’re going around the block?”

“What? No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re going in circles. That’s why they’re still shooting at us.”

Josh and Ian looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “I really don’t want to make another pass,” Ian said.

She looked to her side and immediately recognized the building. She didn’t want to let on that her nerves had poor directional skills.

“Then how do I get to the highway?” Stormy asked. “Tell me how. I thought the onramp was on this side of the hospital.”

“Just get gone. Out of the Business District,” Josh said. “We’ll be able to think when they stop shooting at us.”

She hit the brakes hard, threw the shifter into reverse, and backed up into the intersection. A quick collision with a speeding cop car crunched the passenger side of the Jeep. Both vehicles skidded across the intersection, but settled in different spots. Josh’s side of the backseat folded in and all two hundred and fifty pounds of him pressed down on Ian’s injury. Ian gripped his cast and cursed all of God’s creations.

Stan’s head was bleeding. A decent sized welt was in the works. He patted her arm. “Maybe you should let me drive.”

Stormy’s head hit the door frame, but rested there only a short time. She completely ignored Stan’s suggestion. Instead, she threw the shifter back into drive and straightened the Jeep out. Without saying a word, she sped away from her third hit and run of the day. The lights on top of the cop car, which was now lodged in the entrance of an impressive bank, spun around offering a dizzying ambiance in the rearview mirror. She pretended not to notice.

The gunfire hit the ground in front of them before it lit up the Jeep again. A bullet took out the right side mirror while Stormy was using it. Her composure wavered as her surroundings registered. Desperate for tunnel vision, she focused on the road ahead, but the horror found its way from her peripheral to center stage.

A couple of very dead gothic kids stalked a drug store and pounded their way inside. In the middle of the street, a body jerked around so much that the super had to hold him down as he was chewed. Legs trapped underneath an overturned hot dog cart flopped about as an obese super approached.

Stormy didn’t realize her eyes had fixed on the hot dog cart until she heard Josh yell. She faced forward in time to see the Jeep hit a man. Limbs snapped as the grill plowed through his lower body. A gut-wrenching moan escaped from his lips as he collapsed on the hood.

He’s not a super.

Her foot let off the accelerator and the Jeep coasted to a stop. Stan looked from the hood to Stormy and back. Josh’s gun clicked as he checked his magazine.

Stormy leaned in as she stared at the man on her hood, whose eyes had rolled into the back of his head. Panic overtook her as she realized what she had done. Her hands fell from the steering wheel to her lap, and then one crept toward the door handle. The man stirred and she jerked her hand back. She jumped when the man came to and flailed about. Stan yelled at Josh, who redirected his gun to the hood.

“Help me.” Panic prevented the man’s fingers from finding purchase.

“Stormy gun it,” Stan yelled.

“He’s not bit,” Josh said.

Stan’s eyes fixed on something. “Yes, he is.”

“Look what you’ve done,” the man screamed. “You broke my fucking legs.”

His broken lower body slowed him down. His fingers left blood smears as he crawled up the hood. His labored breaths drowned out every other sound Stormy’s ears collected, even his cries for mercy and safe passage. When he reached the windshield’s edge, he pawed at the cracked glass in search of a steady place to grip. Stormy looked to Stan, who mouthed, “Go.” A tear fell from her eye as she fought the urge to get out and carry the man inside.

“They’re coming,” Ian said. “We need to move.”

Josh’s fingers tapped on Stan’s headrest. “Let’s go. Time to go. Gotta get out of here now.”

“We’re going. Shut up,” Stan said.

“Please,” Josh said. “Time to leave. I’m ready to go.”

From all sides, supers closed in on them. Stormy wanted to flinch, hide her head, do something, but she couldn’t take her eyes of the man she had doomed. Stan would say the guy was bit just to keep moving. Every time Stan’s lips moved, lies were born.

A thick palm slapped against Ian’s window and then slid forward, announcing the enemy’s arrival. Ian shirked back from the door and bumped into Josh. A pair of jaundiced eyes, then two more, settled on Ian. Filthy hands smacked, pounded, and rocked the vehicle, like fanatics vying for a piece of a superstar. A few pair of milky eyes turned into a half dozen, then a dozen, and then way too damn many. A few stragglers headed directly to the rear and stuffed their heads inside the broken windshield. Josh ended them.

“Fucking get me out of here,” Josh said.

Ian punched the back of Stormy’s seat. “So we left the hospital to die here in the street?”

Stan dove over her and yanked the steering wheel all the way to the right. The man lost his grip and slid back and to the left, leaving blood stains in his wake. His side was exposed now, so was the huge bite mark in his neck.

Stan’s voice was low and full of anger. “Dammit, Stormy gun it.”

Stormy’s hands lay still in her lap while her foot thumped down on the accelerator and pressed it to the floorboard. The man’s gaze locked on her. When she couldn’t handle anymore, her eyes shut on their own. She tried to ignore his agonized screams and the sounds he made as the supers ripped him apart. In that endeavor, she was unsuccessful.

“Stormy, you can open your eyes,” Stan said. “But do not look behind you.”

She knew what that meant. When the man screamed again, she flinched. Every time she blinked, she saw him in bloody pieces. She didn’t need to look behind her to be haunted by his last moments. She saw them vividly.

The Jeep darted from one side of the road to the other and peeled out onto the sidewalk when absolutely necessary. The passengers lifted out of their seats and plopped back down promptly as the Jeep jumped onto curbs, and then sauntered back onto the roadway.

Stormy’s jaw clenched and her teeth raked across each other with each bump, dive, and lift. Ian clenched the grab handle for dear life. The look on his face was somewhere between dire pain and nausea. Josh tried to give him space and mind his leg, but the backseat had essentially been cut in half by the accident. At least the gunfire didn’t follow them off the block.

They barely made it three quarters of a mile away when they hit a roadblock. It was foreboding at first, until Stan pointed out that it looked like a war zone after the fighting was over. Soldiers’ bodies lay crumpled everywhere, like neglected rag dolls on a child’s bedroom floor. An M-RAP lay in a pool of iridescent liquid. Smoke filtered out its hood. Every barricade was shot to hell.

Josh thrust his pointed finger and entire right side into the front seat. “Don’t hit him!”

Up ahead, a soldier dragged his buddy across the street. Using both feet, Stormy slammed on the brake pedal while Stan jerked the wheel to the left. None of that helped. The soldier tossed his wingman up over his shoulder and dove out of the way. That was the only reason he continued to breathe.

The Jeep fishtailed until it turned completely around. After coming full circle, it slammed into the center barricade and everyone lurched forward. Ian’s eyes held a forlorn look that wouldn’t go away no matter how much time elapsed. A man in desperate need of a paper bag, he tilted his head back and hyperventilated.

“Please let Stan drive,” Josh said.

Shaken and disoriented, Stan searched for his bearings. His hand clenched the door handle. His gaze wandered outside the Jeep. “He’s not infected.”

“I’m going to check on him,” Stormy said.

“Let’s just go.” Ian’s breath hitched between choppy words. “Switch seats and let’s go.”

“He might arrest and quarantine us,” Josh said. “He’s no better than a cop.”

“Or the guys that shoot at us,” Ian said. “He’s wearing the same camo. You go over there, he shoots us all.”

Ian used both hands to prop his leg up, but just as quickly dropped it back down. He looked like he wanted to cry, but bit his lip instead.             

“He can’t take us all in,” Stan said. “It’s only him.”             

“He might need help,” Stormy said.

“At this point, I’m pretty sure you’re the one that needs help,” Ian said. “And me too, for letting you drive.”

“And whoever gave you a license,” Josh added. “No offense.”

Stormy killed the engine, effectively ending the conversation. Stan leaned into the window and squinted. Seconds later, he drew his gun, jumped out of the Jeep, and raced toward the soldier.