The Becoming (Book 4): Under Siege (28 page)

It took him a moment to realize that Keith
had followed him out of the room, and by then he was already
halfway down the stairs. He glanced at the older man and then dug
his notepad back out of his pocket and wrote down, a bit messily,
“
We should take an inventory of where everyone is at.
”

Keith nodded. “I agree. You and I, your
sister, Isaac, Cade, and Derek are in the house,” he said. Jude
flipped to a new page and started making a list.

“Brandt?” Jude mouthed, and Keith read his
lips well enough to answer.

“Last I saw him, he was going outside to try
to track down Dominic and find out his exit point in the community.
He hadn’t made it back before the gates fell.”

“
Who else?
” Jude wrote in the margins
of his page.

“Remy and Dominic, but God only knows where
they’re at,” Keith said, making a face. “I wouldn’t trust Dominic
further than I could throw him anyway.”

“
Why not?
”

Keith read his question and then snorted
softly. “Long story, kid. Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.”

“
I’m not a kid,
” Jude wrote,
wrinkling his nose. “
I’m eighteen.
”

“Oh really?” Keith looked him up and down,
as if reassessing something in his head, and then smiled. “Good to
know. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jude raised an eyebrow and almost wrote,
“
For what?
” but decided against it. He started to lift his
hands to sign but then stopped, embarrassed, and flipped to a fresh
page to write, “
We should try to figure out where Brandt is and
try to get him over here. Something tells me we’re going to need
every capable set of hands we can get.
”

Brandt’s first instinct was to run. As he sat in the
driver’s seat of the Humvee, watching the oncoming crush of
infected flood through the newly created gap in the wall, trampling
each other in their eagerness to get to the uninfected humans
inside, he felt the urge to fling the door open, fall out of the
Humvee, and just
run
in any direction that would take him
further away. But that was suicide, he knew. He had to be smart
about this, even if it was an impossible situation.

Brandt flipped the aux switch, twisting it
to turn the battery off. The last thing he needed was to risk
drawing attention to himself with the glow from the dashboard’s
lights. Once the lights were out, he slouched in the seat, sliding
lower so he wouldn’t chance being visible. He began to inventory
what he had on him, trying to come up with a plan.

He had his M9 Beretta; he always carried
that with him, holstered on his right hip. Alongside it were two
small mag holders with spare magazines, and the knee pocket on his
pants held a handful of loose ammunition. His survival knife—the
same one he’d used to kill one of the infected earlier that day—was
sheathed on the back of his belt, and he had a KA-BAR knife tucked
into a sheath on his combat boot. Everything else was in the main
house.

In short: he didn’t have nearly enough to
make it from point A to point B on his own—and it was questionable
even if he had help.

“What to do, what to do,” Brandt muttered to
himself, almost chanting. He eased up in his seat, trying to peer
out into the community to assess his options. The main house was
about four hundred yards away, on roughly a diagonal line from
where the Humvee was parked. But he didn’t think that was an
option; any route he took toward the main house would put him on a
path right through the oncoming horde and draw said horde to the
main house.

Taking the Humvee wasn’t an option. The
assortment of vehicles were parked too close together, and he’d
left the ring of keys to the cars at the main house.

To the right of the main house was the
medical house, but he discounted that option too; it was simply too
close to the main house for his comfort.

Brandt turned his head in the other
direction. The houses closest to him were to his left and
empty—useless due to lack of materials. They hadn’t secured any of
the empty houses from invasion from the infected. He wanted to
punch himself for the oversight.

His next option was the rec center, which
lay almost directly behind him, by about a football field’s length.
It was well stocked with food, and there was the possibility of a
few weapons inside; at the very least, there was a pretty
significant stash of alcohol inside that he could turn into
weapons, assuming he could get inside, of course. He glanced at the
infected through the windshield. They were gaining on him, fast,
and if he was going to move, he needed to do it
now
.

Brandt took in two deep breaths, steeling
his nerves, and snatched the keys out of the ignition. He flung the
driver’s door open. Then he was out and running, dodging around an
abandoned bicycle. He ran as fast as he could toward the rec
center.

The sounds of the infected filled the air.
Their pounding feet hammered the ground, slapping against pavement
and concrete and dirt and other bodies. They shoved their way
around and over each other. They flowed into Woodside like water,
the stench of rot and decay breezing in with them, turning the air
into a choking, bitter thickness.

Brandt fought to not glance over his
shoulder, knowing it would slow him down; at the same time, he did
not want to know just how close the infected were to him.

Brandt’s boot came down on a doll lying in
the dirt, and his foot twisted. He toppled to the ground with a
muffled curse. The utterance wasn’t loud, but it was just loud
enough for several of the infected to hear, and they adjusted
course and started toward him. He wanted to swear again, but he bit
it back, grinding his palms against the dirt and levering himself
up.

He’d barely gained his feet when something
slammed into him from behind, taking him back down to the ground
with a snarl of hunger. Brandt bucked upward, throwing the infected
that had landed on him off like a bull. Then he rolled over onto
his back and snatched at the knife on his belt with one hand. The
man scrambled back on top of him. Using his free hand, Brandt held
the man off as he fumbled for the clasp that held the knife in its
sheath. The man on top of him growled, baring his teeth, snapping
at him with hunger. Brandt gasped as he pushed the man harder. He
swung the knife up, slamming it into his temple. The man went limp,
and he kicked the body off of him, rolling to the side and
regaining his feet once more.

In the meantime, while he’d been fighting
off that first target, the leading edge of the infected had begun
to reach him, and he immediately tried to fight them off, swinging
his knife at those closest to him. He sliced one across the face
and another on the chest, moving backward the entire time, doing
his best to steer his way toward the rec center. He switched his
knife to his left hand, squeezing it tighter, and drew his Beretta
from its holster, aiming it into the crowd, knowing it would be a
bad idea to squeeze the trigger. He didn’t have a chance to even
use the pistol, though, because two more infected came at him from
the sides, dragging him back down to the earth again. He struggled,
twisting, trying to free himself from their hands. It was then that
he realized that the cuff of his pants had been pulled free from
his boot, at about the same time a set of ragged, broken teeth sank
into the flesh of his calf muscle.

Brandt screamed out in pain, kicking his
leg, thrashing it, and tearing it from the teeth that had clamped
down. He’d only just freed his leg when another set of teeth bit
down on his right forearm…and another on his left shoulder.
Nerveless fingers released his weapons, involuntarily, and as hands
pawed at his clothing, and as he continued to struggle against
them, Brandt prayed that Cade would survive the onslaught of
infected, even if he didn’t.

Remy’s heart was jack hammering in her chest, almost
painfully so, as she followed Dominic at a dead run through the
community, racing toward the main house. Every instinct inside her
was telling her to run, not
toward
the danger but away from
it, back in the direction from which they’d come and right out of
the community to join Ethan and Kimberly. No matter how scared she
was of Ethan—irrationally so—it
had
to be safer with him
than it was in Woodside. But the rest of her friends were ahead,
not behind, and she had to help them while she could.

The leading edge of the infected was just
ahead; Remy was already freeing her bolo knife from its sheath,
ready to face them head on, but when she put on a burst of speed to
engage them, Dominic caught her arm and pointed her in a different
direction.

“Stay parallel to them!” he ordered.
“Evasion is important here, because there are too many of them to
fight!”

“Shit,” she swore, knowing he was right. But
his words were warring with her competing desires to flee or to
wade in and get her hands dirty. She swore again and adjusted her
course to one that would avoid as many of the infected as
possible.

When a pained scream filled the air,
stretching out over the sounds of the infected, she froze,
stutter-stepping right there in the middle of the street. She
nearly fell on her face when her brain caught up with the sound and
registered what—and
who
—she was hearing.

She
knew
that sound. She knew that
voice.

Without a second thought, without any
consideration for where she was or what she was about to do, Remy
screamed out, “
Brandt!
” Then she turned on her heel and
charged in the direction of his screams, toward the courtyard by
the rec center and right into the closest gathering of the
infected.

Somewhere behind her, Remy heard Dominic
grunt and swear. She heard a meaty
thunk
as one of the
blades he carried struck flesh. She heard the thud of a body
hitting pavement. He’d followed her, right into the thick of it,
and she hadn’t meant for him to. But it was too late now; they had
the horde’s attention. She glanced over her shoulder to see Dominic
fighting off several infected, their movement alerting even more to
their presence. She couldn’t leave him to fend for himself, so she
squared her shoulders and doubled back to help. Out of reflex—or
maybe one of those ingrained suicidal tendencies she seemed to
have—she inserted herself between Dominic and the oncoming
infected, her bolo knife up and ready to strike.

“What are you doing?” Dominic demanded.

“Saving your ass,” Remy bit back.

A woman ran toward her, her hands out, her
teeth bared like a crazed, rabid animal. Remy tightened her grip on
her bolo knife as the woman shifted to her right, and with one hard
sweep, Remy sliced the blade into the woman’s throat. She ripped it
free as the woman staggered with the force of the blow. Another
swing took the woman’s head clean off.

Remy didn’t pause to examine her handiwork.
Instead, she turned to the next attacker in line, stabbing the man
in the stomach to slow him down, ripping the blade free, and
spinning, using the force of her body’s momentum to slice the man’s
head off too.

It was then—after Remy had killed the second
infected and was readying herself for the third—that she realized
that something was very, very wrong.

The infected were running past her.

They were running
past
her, like she
wasn’t even there.

“What the hell?” Remy said out loud, which
earned her a few glances from some of the infected, but other than
that, they continued moving past her, flooding toward Dominic. She
swore again and pushed her way toward him, killing infected that
didn’t even look at her as she took them down. She sliced her way
through to him and grabbed his arm, nearly earning herself a
machete to the face for her trouble. She ducked to avoid the blow
and shouted over the ruckus, “Dominic! Come on!”

Dominic looked at her with wide, startled
eyes, stumbling as she dragged him free of the crowd of infected.
He seemed to register immediately that the infected weren’t
attacking Remy. “Why aren’t they attacking you?” he asked
breathlessly as they broke free of the grasping hands, hands that
hesitated when in her proximity.

“I don’t know, but don’t bitch about it,”
Remy replied, “because I just saved your ass from getting eaten.
Now come on. We have to find Brandt and help him!” She didn’t wait
for Dominic to agree to her plan; she simply hauled him along,
right through the infected, which parted before her like the Red
Sea had for Moses, closing ranks again just barely behind Dominic.
She could hear his breaths, ragged and gasping with horror, but she
didn’t have time to be horrified herself, not if she was going to
save Brandt.

The infected ahead were clustered around a
black Ford truck. They reached under the truck as if desperate for
something that lay underneath, and Remy knew that that was where
Brandt was hiding. Her suspicion was confirmed when one of the
infected jerked back with a snarl of pain, cradling a stump where a
hand had once been. Remy couldn’t help the small smile that crossed
her face. If he was still fighting, then he was still alive, and
that meant there was a chance she could get him out of there.

Now, it was just a matter of
how
.

Remy had never been one to practice the fine
arts of subtlety, and she didn’t see any reason to start now. She
glanced back at Dominic. “Whatever you do, stick close to me.” Then
she charged forward into the mess surrounding the truck.

It worked just like Remy had hoped. The sea
of infected parted, leaving a temporary corridor for her to walk
through to the truck. Cold, clammy hands reached for her, brushing
against her arms, touching her hair, sending chills over her skin
as she fought not to gag. Dominic squeezed her hand tightly, almost
painfully, as she pulled him through the crowd. She felt his
nervousness vibrating down his arm and into his hand. She worried
that he would do something stupid.