Escape from the Damned (APEX Predator Book 2) (3 page)

“When’s The Rabbit due next,” Joe whispered.

Allen looked at his watch.  “’Bout 3 hours.”

“Shit, that’s too long.”  He looked around.  “We have to go tell the boss about this.”

“The fuck we do,” Allen whispered.  “The boss said stay here.  I’m staying here.”

“Look, those folks are separated.  The boss may want to make a move now.  Shit, you see they had women right?”

“You saw what happened the last time someone got creative,” replied Allen.  “No way dude, that fucker’s crazy.  You wanna go, take off.  I’m staying right here.”

“C’mon dude,” pleaded the younger man.  “You know he’s gonna want to know about this.  He’s not gonna get pissed if we bring him back something valuable.  You don’t think those chicks would be valuable?  And all those GI Joe mother fuckers; you know they got good equipment.”

He pointed to the Taurus revolver on Allen’s hip.

“You rather have that or one of them machine guns they got?”

“Ok, I guess you’re right,” Allen finally conceded.  “But, this was your fucking idea.  If he throws a fit, you step up and take the blame.  Got it?”  Joe nodded his head.

The two turned and began a slow jog.  A half hour later they stood in front of a wrought iron fence, the gates to Valhalla.  Valhalla was actually a two story house surrounded by an eight foot high concrete wall.  There was only one way in or out, and that was the wrought iron gate.  The wall surrounded about six acres of beautifully tailored gardens and several secluded out buildings.

The compound had been occupied by the man they knew as Thor before the zombies had shown up.  Joe had heard rumors that Valhalla had been used to traffic drugs and women into and out of the country.  He hadn’t really believed it until he’d wandered into the basement of the little pink guest house.

There he found six heavy wooden doors on both sides of a short hallway.  Each room contained a single mattress, a wash basin with towels, and another basin that smelled of piss and shit.  The walls of several of the rooms were also splattered in blood.  Joe wasn’t sure if Thor’s people had killed the human cargo there or they had popped a few zombies.  He didn’t want to know, so he never asked.

“What are you two doing back,” asked Lurch.  Joe saw that the 6 foot 2 inch guard’s finger was on the trigger of his AK-47. Joe knew the wrong answer would get him killed.

“The folks at the vet clinic are moving and we needed to tell Thor,” Joe answered.  “It couldn’t wait.”  He could feel his stomach churning and his palms sweat.  Lurch was one of Thor’s guys from before the zombies.  Joe had witnessed him shoot two of the less reliable survivors in Valhalla.

“Ok,” replied Lurch as he unlocked the gate.

The two men walked hurriedly to the main house.  This was where Thor held court.  They found him sitting in a leather swivel chair behind a large oak desk.  A road map of the area was laid out on the table.  Several areas of the map were marked in a red box or circle.  Joe knew these were areas deemed too over-run by zombies.  Thor called them red zones.

Thor looked up from the map.  Joe could see the anger in his eyes.  “What the fuck,” he asked.  “I thought I told you gentlemen to stay put.”

Joe tried to speak.  His mouth was so dry and his voiced cracked as he tried.  Allen, realizing that Thor was growing angrier by the minute, spoke up.

“They split up,” he blurted.  Slow down Allen.  Explain it calmly.  “They sent a group north and a group south.”  He pointed at the map.

“Ok, how many?”

“Five went north in the big truck, and three went south in the Hummer,” Allen answered.

“So, all eight left?  Did it look like they were coming back?” he asked.

Joe finally found his voice.  “They still have a guard on the roof,” he blurted out.

“I thought you said there were only eight,” accused Thor.  “Doesn’t three plus five plus one equal nine?”

Neither one could speak.  They just gave a collective nod.

“So, if you two retards can’t even count to ten, how the fuck can I trust anything else you’ve told me?”

“They’re inside of a building without windows,” Allen replied.  He immediately regretted his tone.

“Then you’re useless to me,” Thor announced.  BANG!

Before Joe knew what had happened, Poncho Villa had pulled out a chrome plated dessert eagle and fired.  Allen crumpled to the floor, the red mist of his brains splattering Joe, and the wall to his right.

“Now fuck head,” Thor started.  “You had better give me something that I can use, or you’re next.”

Joe was frozen in fear.  His ears were still ringing from the gunshot.  He could feel a warm, wet sensation down his leg.

“There’s women!”

“What?” asked Thor. He signaled Poncho Villa to lower his gun.

“The…the…there are women.  Two went south with the black soldier and one went north with the other three soldiers.”

Thor thought for a minute.  He looked at the blood on the wall.  There are only two women here in Valhalla.  Both were part of his last shipment.  Both were young and pretty.   There were definitely more men than women in Valhalla.  They could use some fresh blood.  The men were getting tired of the same two girls.  Plus, with all the afterhours work the men required of them, the cleaning and cooking was starting to lack.

“Show me on the map which way they went,” he barked.  The younger man did as he was told, thankful he was still alive.

Ten miles south of the vet clinic

Jackson and Theresa stacked on the left side of the door, while Mrs. Arrington was to the right.  One last look to the rear by Mrs. Arrington and a thumbs up by Jackson, she pulled down on the handle, and pushed.  The door to the hardware store opened with a quiet squeak.

Jackson peeled left as Theresa continued moving towards the right corner a few steps, followed by Mrs. Arrington.  From the entrance, the store appeared empty.  The group regrouped to move down the aisles.  Mrs. Arrington made it clear that this was an in-and-out operation.  Three minutes she announced to them in the Humvee.

Aisle three contained the gardening tools.  They found several shovels, a pick ax, and two axes.  Mrs. Arrington picked up the pick ax and handed it to Theresa.

“Here honey,” she ordered.  “Hit the top part of that weed eater with this.”  Theresa swung the heavy pick, missing the weed eater, and knocking the metal divider from the shelving

“That’s kind of what I thought,” she said.  “Here, try it with the ax.”

Theresa swung the ax as ordered.  This time she missed the motor of the weed eater, hitting about six inches down the shaft.

“Here try hitting this box,” she quickly ordered.  Theresa swung again, this time catching the bottom corner with the axe, causing the box to tumble, half broken, from the shelf.

“I was afraid of this,” Mrs. Arrington announced.  “These things are too heavy for the children to use.  You’re older than they are and can’t hit a box that’s not moving.”

“I could try it again,” the girl interrupted.  “I just need some practice.  I could…”  Theresa suddenly stopped, raising the axe above her head.  A look of fear crossed her face.

It took Mrs. Arrington and Jackson a few seconds to realize what was happening.  At first the teacher thought that the girl was going to hit her with the ax.  She ducked to her right, falling as she did.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a pair of blood covered work boots.

She realized what was happening at the same time she heard the wet crunching sound.  Theresa had brought the ax down in an overhead chop.  The zombie fell to the ground with the ax still buried to the handle in its forehead.  Theresa stuck her foot into the zombie’s chest and freed the ax, bits of brain and black gore dripping from it.

“Where the hell did he come from?” asked the teacher.

Jackson held a single finger up to his lips.  He could hear the shuffling of feet.  He tried to count them:  Nope, too many.  He tried to discern direction:  all around.  He shrugged his shoulders, and made a circle in the air with his finger.  The meaning was clear to the two women.  I don’t know, but they’re everywhere.

Mrs. Arrington pulled her pistol from her holster.  Jackson shook his head, no.  He pointed to the ax Theresa was holding.  Mrs. Arrington and Jackson each grabbed a shovel.  Jackson slowly stood, looking over the shelves as he did.  He could see at least four zombies on the aisle to their left and three a couple of aisles to the right.

“Follow me,” he whispered as he moved.  The women did.

As he rounded the corner, he realized he had grossly underestimated the numbers of zombies in the store.  There were four females and two children advancing towards them.  The closest was almost within arm’s reach.

Jackson took two steps back and brought the edge of the shovel down on the zombie’s head.  He could feel the child’s skull crunch under the blow.  The zombie crumpled to the white tile floor.

Theresa and Mrs. Arrington lunged forward, dispatching two more zombies.  Jackson thrust his shovel towards the face of the forth zombie.  The zombie’s head snapped back with a crunching sound.  It fell to the ground limp, jaw still snapping at its attacker.

Theresa turned just as two more zombies rounded the corner behind them.  One was a large man, the other another child.  Both were covered in blood of their latest victims.  She hit the man with her ax in the neck.  He fell backwards still moving.  He was down, but not out.  She spun and kicked the child zombie in the chest, sending it skittering across the floor.

“We’ve got to move,” she barked.  She heard a scream behind her.  She turned to see Mrs. Arrington being pulled off her feet by a zombie.  Jackson and another zombie were grappling over his shovel.  He couldn’t help.

Theresa half raised, half swung her ax down on the zombie’s head.  The ax connected with the front of the zombie’s head in a downward motion, slicing its face cleanly off.  The attack stopped.  Theresa quickly dispatched the zombie that Jackson was struggling with.

“Let’s go!”  She wasn’t even trying to be quiet anymore.  “Get up!  We have to move.”

Mrs. Arrington was visibly shaking.  She wasn’t focusing.  She was frozen.

“Jackson,” Theresa barked.  “Get her.  I’ll get the stuff.”

Jackson reached down and picked Mrs. Arrington up in a fireman’s carry.  Theresa picked up the shovels and axes.  Outside, it was quiet.  Jackson and Theresa ran to the HMMWV.  Jackson placed a still dazed Mrs. Arrington in the backseat.  Theresa threw the tools into the back of the vehicle then climbed in herself.  Jackson floored it, heading north.

“I think we’re good for today, how ‘bout you?” asked Jackson.

Theresa looked at Mrs. Arrington.  The teacher was still not moving.  She just stared out the window.

“We can’t do much else with her like that,” replied the girl.  “Maybe we hit a gas station or something where we can stay near the truck.”

Jackson agreed.  They stopped at a gas station a few miles north of the hardware store.  Jackson found several gas cans of varying sizes and a siphon pump just inside the broken glass.

“What the hell was that?” asked Jackson.

“What?”

“Was that bring your kid to work day or something?” the trooper asked.  “I don’t think I’ve seen so many child zombies in one place before.”

“I guess it was kinda weird,” she answered.  “Maybe there was a school or something around there.”  The thought of a school full of zombie children made Theresa think about her school friends.  This made her think about Davy.  She fought back tears at the thought of her big brother.  Oh she missed him.

Jackson could hear her sob, even though she tried to hide it.  He didn’t know what to say.  He’d never been good at consoling people.  He just patted her knee with his hand.  She sobbed even more.  Way to go Jackson.  Just let her cry next time.  We’re almost home anyway.

The sound of gunfire from somewhere up ahead interrupted the trooper’s thought.  The Humvee slid to a stop.  He could tell that the fire wasn’t close.  He estimated a mile or so ahead.  Shit!  Who’s shooting?  It’s too far away to be the vet clinic.  He didn’t think any of their group would be close.

He tried to reach SSgt Brown on the walkie-talkie.  No use.  He’s too far away.  Damn!  He looked at Theresa.  She shrugged, glancing at Mrs. Arrington.  The science teacher was still curled up in the back seat of the Humvee.  The message was clear:  We can’t take her into a fire fight.

“Ok,” he decided.  “We sit tight here until things quiet down.”

The gunfire finally ended about ten minutes after it started.  They waited and listened for another few minutes.

“We have to move,” Theresa announced.  “Let’s see what happened.”

The scenarios began to play out in Jackson’s head.  Did someone run across a zombie horde?  If so, are they alive or dead?  Did a group of survivors find another group of survivors? The image of the Adams brothers flashed in his head.  He wondered if the survivors were friendly or something less than friendly.

“C’mon Jackson,” the girl pleaded.  “If nothing else, we get home faster.”

“Fuck it.”  The truck lurched forward.

Steve knew he was dying.  He couldn’t believe this.  He and his sister, Jackie, had not only survived this long, but they had even found some good people.  Now here he lay bleeding, two bullets in his stomach, the pool of his blood growing larger under him.