Jessica Meigs - The Becoming (7 page)

“Gone! Not here! Away!” Gray snapped. “Should I get you a fucking dictionary? Or would you prefer a thesaurus?”

“She can’t be gone! She’s dead!”

“Well then, her body is gone! Who moved it?”

“Nobody moved it,” Jack said. His tone was wary, and he edged toward Gray, trying to get a look around him at the newly empty table. He was distracted by the sound of the chairs and tables scraping on the floor again, though, and he hurried to join Brendon and Smitty in their efforts to push the furniture back against the doors securely.

Gray took a deep breath and turned back around. He knelt to peer under the table, as if April’s body had somehow rolled off the table or magically sunk through it to the floor below. He shook his head and straightened, rising from the floor to find himself face to face with April Linder. He gasped, even as she lunged at him, her hands out, grasping for him as she let out a snarl similar to the ones made by the people outside. Gray staggered backward with a shout of alarm, trying to dodge her grasping hands, even as the door behind him gave way and the animalistic people from outside flooded in.

Chapter 8

The sound of the gunshot seemed to hang in the air around Theo as he sat heavily against the edge of the jump seat. He stared at Jonathan’s motionless body lying just beyond on the edge of the doorway, horror washing over his mind as he gripped the leather seat with both hands. His breath was coming out hard and fast, and he felt a twinge of dizziness tickle at his brain. He shuddered and closed his eyes for the barest of moments, trying to slow his breathing before he hyperventilated. He had a sudden appreciation for Gray and what he went through when he had asthma attacks.

Now wasn’t the time to get panicky, Theo reminded himself. He had work to do. He had to get out of the ambulance. He had to get moving. He had to find his brother.

Theo wasn’t exactly sure where to start, though. He had no idea if the shot that had clearly killed Jonathan had been a stray one that had just chanced to hit the man or if it had been an intentional kill shot. If it had been an accident, then Theo was reasonably sure it wouldn’t happen again and he’d be okay stepping out of the truck from the back. Granted, “reasonably sure” didn’t translate to “absolutely sure,” and if the shot had been intentional…

Theo sighed and shook his head, edging toward the door. The least he could do was pull the top door shut to minimize the risk to himself. The less exposure, the better. But he wasn’t going to lie, not even to himself: Even being within spitting distance of the door made him nervous. Figuring it was better to do it quickly, he rushed forward, grabbed the metal bar on the door, and yanked it hard, slamming the door closed before he quickly backpedaled from it.

Theo’s heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at the door, waiting to see if anyone would come after him, if any bullets were going to tear into the open space on the lower half of the doorframe and rip into his body. When nothing was forthcoming, much to his relief, he turned to gather the trauma bags. The best place to exit was the side door that was now above his head. Though he wouldn’t be any less exposed climbing out on top of the ambulance, he figured that people were less inclined to look up when searching for dangers—or people to shoot—so it could at least offer him some semblance of cover from that perspective. Besides, if he remembered correctly, the exterior cabinets next to the door had extrication equipment in them, including a crowbar and a fire axe. If he was going to go out after Gray, he wasn’t going to do it completely unarmed.

Theo hadn’t decided what the plan was for when he got to Smitty’s. It wasn’t an immediate concern. His main priority was getting to Gray, first and foremost, and then seeing if he could help Gray’s friend before she died. From what Gray had described, though, considering the amount of time that had passed while Theo tried to get out of the ambulance, there was a chance that April was no longer alive.

Theo sighed and slung the heavier of the trauma bags over his shoulder. It took only moments for him to climb onto the edge of the jump seat and unlatch the door. With a firm shoulder against it, he swung the door open and out against the side of the truck.

A cool gust of air blew in and ruffled his blond hair as he dropped back down from the seat to grab the other bag. It didn’t take him long to slide them out onto the top of the ambulance. A few minutes later, after collecting his flashlight from underneath the stretcher, avoiding the body sprawled on top of it, Theo managed to join them with some difficulty, pain shooting through his shoulders as he hauled himself over the edge of the door and fell onto his side. He lay there panting for several long heartbeats before he slid across the side of the truck to one of the exterior cabinets. The chill of the metal leeched through his uniform, and he started to shiver as he fumbled at the door’s handle.

Theo couldn’t get enough leverage from his position to haul the door open; he vaguely remembered seeing a notation on the maintenance log that the doors had been sticking. He was forced to slide onto his knees and pull on it again. It popped open with a loud squeak. Theo tensed, instinctively ducking low, freezing as he flattened himself back against the metal siding. He lay there, breathing heavily and listening for anyone approaching, anyone trying to get after him. Once he was assured of his relative safety, he knelt once more and swung the second door open. He freed the flashlight from his right knee pocket again and turned it on, shining it into the cabinet. He discovered he was holding his breath only when he let it out on seeing the tools he was hoping for inside.

“Oh thank Jesus,” Theo breathed in the barest of whispers. He reached in and picked up the axe and crowbar. The sledgehammer was going to be too heavy for him to carry for any extended distance. The axe, too, would likely be too heavy in the long run, especially considering he would be bringing two trauma bags and an intubation kit along for the ride. But he would bring both tools anyway, at least as far and as long as he could physically carry them.

Wielding his newly acquired weapons, Theo slid to the edge of the truck, peering off the side to make sure no one was below, waiting to pounce the moment he dropped to the ground. Satisfied that everything was clear, he lowered his bags and weapons off the side, switched off his flashlight and returned it to his pocket, and then slid off the truck. He landed in a defensive crouch and scanned the darkness as best he could. Gunshots still snapped through the night nearby, and his nerves still trembled under his skin, but the act of actually
doing
something, of getting out of the ambulance, of facing the mission to save his brother, was invigorating. He huffed out a heavy breath and scanned the road in front of him. Not seeing any immediate dangers within ten yards of him, he collected his bags, shouldering them and balancing them against his back. He slipped the crowbar beneath his belt and hefted the fire axe in both hands. Then he waded into the darker shadows alongside the road and began to walk rapidly in the direction of town, his fingers clenched painfully around the axe’s handle, praying he would make it to Gray before something horrible happened to him.

Chapter 9

Gray threw his arms up instinctively as April’s fingers grabbed at the front of his shirt, simultaneously trying to block her advance and protect his face as he stumbled backward. His retreat was impeded by the blood stained pool table behind him, and as she reached for him again, he dodged low, ducked under her arms, and cut around the corner of the table. He straightened in time to hear a shotgun blast from the direction of the door, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off of April. His instincts told him that if he did, he’d likely end up injured. Or dead.

Or just like her,
the niggling suspicion in the back of his brain suggested. Gray shook it off and reached a hand out to the pool table, hoping to find a potential weapon somewhere on it. His fingers closed around a pool cue. He hefted it, wielding it between them like a sword, hoping to hold her at bay with it. April didn’t seem fazed by the heavy stick; if anything, she only quickened her advance.

Gray’s heart raced in his chest as he held a hand out to her, hoping against hope that she would stop, that she wouldn’t actually
attack
him. All evidence—especially the evidence currently mobbing en masse into the bar itself—spoke to the contrary, though. He drew in a deep breath, shaking his head slowly as he held up the pool cue like a baseball bat. His shoulders tensed as he readied himself for the next attack, the one he
knew
would come.

April bared her teeth at him, her once beautiful face hard and full of wild fury. Gray took a short step back, braced himself, and swung the pool cue, the heavy end leading, at April. It collided with the side of her head, sending her careening sideways against the table. She righted herself, struggling to find her feet, even as Gray took several quick steps backward to give himself breathing room. His eyes flickered in Jack’s direction. Jack, Brendon, and Smitty didn’t seem to be having much luck holding the mob off; he was honestly surprised they were still standing. Even as Gray watched, Smitty blasted another round from his shotgun right into the crowd, but none of the people who were hit with the buckshot seemed affected. That only assured Gray of the correctness of his “zombie” suspicions. It was the only explanation he could come up with, regardless of how ridiculous it appeared.

Gray didn’t have time to dwell on the assorted possibilities. April was back on her feet and coming toward him again. And Jack was yelling something at him, but with the distraction of the woman in front of him coupled with the noise from the mob crushing into the bar, Gray couldn’t make out a word of what he was saying. He shifted his eyes back to April, and his gaze met hers. He could read the intent in her brown eyes clearly.

Before April could act on that intent, Gray lifted the pool cue and brought it down on top of her skull with all of his strength. As she fell against the table, Gray lifted the cue and slammed it down, again and again, beating her mercilessly on the head until blood flowed freely. When she finally stopped moving, finally stopped reaching for him and clawing at the air between them, Gray sagged against the table, dropping the pool cue onto the floor with a loud clatter as his lungs heaved, straining for air. But, as before, he didn’t have time to stop and stand around catching his breath. Jack was yelling at him again, and now, he was able to focus enough to figure out what the other man was saying.

“Gray! Go! Get the fuck out of here!” Jack shouted across the gap between them. He paused to swing a chair leg at a man grabbing for him before looking back at Gray again. “Back door! Head for your place!”

“What about you?” Gray managed to reply, fighting the words out past a cough threatening the back of his throat.

“I’ll catch up and meet you there!” Jack said. He took another swing with the chair leg before adding, “I’ll be damned if I let Theo kill me because you got hurt. Now go!”

Gray hesitated one second more, watching as Jack turned his back on him and swung the chair leg more vigorously. Then he shook loose his frozen muscles, forcing himself to turn and do as Jack instructed. Managing to suck in a deep breath, pulling much-needed air into his lungs, Gray turned on his heel and sprinted across the bar, dodging stools and free-standing tables, aiming for the storage-room door behind the bar’s long counter. If he remembered right, there was an exit on the back wall of the storage area that would drop him onto the street immediately behind Smitty’s.

Thankfully, Gray had remembered correctly. He burst into the storage area unimpeded and slammed the door closed. The first thing on which his eyes landed was a glowing red sign that proclaimed EXIT, attached to the wall immediately above a door. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he headed for it, skirting boxes of alcohol and bar nuts stored in organized stacks on metal racks. The sign on the door that warned of an alarm sounding gave him only momentary pause, but with a glance over his shoulder back the way he’d come, Gray decided an alarm was the last of his worries. Blowing out another breath, he grasped the bar and shoved the door hard.

As the metal door bounced off the brick wall outside, a shrill alarm cut through the air, startling him with its volume and sending him scrambling through the doorway. His heart stuttered in his chest as he ran for the corner of the building; he peered down the narrow street alongside Smitty’s. He figured if he could get to his car, he could get away much faster than on foot, especially since he wasn’t in any physical shape to be running. Even as the thought of his beat-up Cavalier flitted through his mind, he smacked at his pants pockets, searching for his keys. A low groan escaped his throat.

His keys were still in his jacket pocket. And his
jacket
was in his
car.

“Oh, Christ on a cracker,” Gray muttered. He was screwed. Royally, truly screwed.

Gray crept down the short street to the corner of the building to get a look at the parking lot out front. He peeked around the corner cautiously, his fingers scraping the brick wall beside him, and shuddered. Those crazy people were everywhere; there was no way he would be able to even cross the parking lot without at least one of them spotting him. And he’d stupidly left the only weapon he’d had in his possession on the floor inside Smitty’s. He desperately wished he had the pool cue in his hands right then.

Gray took another half-step forward, and his car came into view. The moment he saw the vehicle, he knew that trying to gain access to his car would be physically impossible; there were simply too many of the crazy people—
zombies,
his brain suggested again—gathered around and near it. A couple of them were even leaning over the side of the car, pushing and shoving each other as they fought to lap at the red fluid staining the window and driver’s door. April’s blood. Gray swallowed the bite of nausea threatening the back of his throat and inhaled shallowly through his nose so he wouldn’t vomit at the sight.