The Demented Z (Book 3): Contagion (2 page)

“I don’t
want
you
to…if there is any chance of stopping this…I don’t…what do you think?”

“I’m worried about you guys.”

“We’ll be fine up here.  
They stay low…away from here. You
know we can take care of ourselves.”

“Boy, isn’t that the truth.”

“I shot my dad in the face.”  
Hannah said. The orange glow of
morning struck her face from the side, making her tears glisten like dew.

Tom was struck speechless by the words.

“I never got along with him growing up, but I still loved
him. Toughest thing I ever did.
  He had already killed my mom.
  Over time my vision of his rage filled face,
covered in gore, has morphed into the dad I knew…eats at me…”
  She quickly wiped the tears away.
  “Never told anyone…sorry not sure why I did
now.”

“I’ll do it.” Tom
said.

“That’s not why I told you.”

“I know. Kelly and I
decided earlier.”

Hannah nodded her head.  
“Thanks. We can make a
difference.”

“To the military base…that’s where the spray came from.
  After that, I don’t know…might come back up
here.”

Hannah nodded again.  
“I understand.”

Kelly and Tom had already said their goodbyes.
  She had plenty of food and supplies to last
nearly a month. She could always hunt if
needed. When she had said they could
take care of themselves it was no exaggeration, but Tom had Hannah draw
her a map to the compound just in case.

Before leaving, Tom knelt down beside Sam’s bed and ran his
hand through the little guy’s hair. His
head felt hot to the touch and his face was pale.
  “How you doing buddy?”

“I’m fine.”

“Daddy’s going to head down the mountain and get you some
medicine… get you feelin’
better.”

Wet tears began to pool at the edges of Sam’s eyes.
  “I don’t want you to go.”

Tom’s throat tightened seeing the little guy so sad.
  He held back tears, knowing he needed to stay
strong. Even with Sam’s pleading eyes
squeezing Tom’s heart, he said, “I won’t be gone long.
  Some medicine will get you all fixed up.
  Mom’s staying here with you.
  She always takes care of you…right?”

Sam reluctantly nodded his head.
  “Yeah.”

“Okay then, you watch out for her
too. You’re the man of the house until I
get back.”

“Man of the cabin Dad.”

With a final pat on the head and a smile, Tom said, “That’s
right buddy.”

Tom met Hannah back in the kitchen.
  She was fully geared up and ready to go.

“I’m guessing you already have a plan.”
  Tom said.

“Back to the compound to get supplies and
another couple bodies.   From there
we can head for the base.”

******

Miles stood over her sleeping form, debating how he should
kill her. Gray moonlight spilled in from
a narrow window directly above the head of the bed.
  Any sound would easily be heard in the
surrounding shacks. He reached over her
and silently lifted the unused pillow next to her head.
  His heart raced with anticipation.
  He wished he could make it last like he used
to, but times were different now.

Clutching the pillow to his chest, he closed his eyes and
slowly sniffed at the air, breathing in the aroma.
  This is what always lasted longest.
  Weeks later the scents would still linger in
his memory, placing him right here again, if only in his daydreams.
  There were times that he would catch a whiff
of something and instantly be taken back to one of his kills, reliving it in
every delicious detail.

One final draw on the musty air and then he pushed the
pillow over her face. At the same time
he placed a knee on each side of her hips, using the weight of his upper body
to hold the pillow tight. Her struggle
began immediately. First, she went for
the pillow, trying to determine what was covering her face.
  Next, her hands went to his arms, pushing and
pulling in an attempt to get him to let go.  
Her legs kicked and her hips ground upwards, trying to get his body off.

Miles was prepared for what came next, it always did.
  Full panic took over and she began scratching
desperately at his arms and trying to reach his face.
  Her legs jerked and kicked rapidly.
  Not much longer and all of her movements
slowed and eventually stopped all together.

He sat back up, staring down at her lifeless form.
  Like a giddy child at Christmas, he slowly
pulled the pillow back and took everything in, from her wide eyes to her frozen
scream. He placed the pillow down on the
bed next to her and stood back up. With
the care of a mother, he pulled the blankets tight, removing the ripples, and
then tucked them up to her chin.

He took in the scene one final time, hoping the image would
never fade from his memory, but knowing it would.

A quick check of his shirt and pants proved his worst fears
come true – she had messed up his clothes.  
He tucked the loose ends of his shirt in and brushed at his pants,
making sure every last scrap of dust was removed.
  He double checked over his whole body.
  A mirror would have helped, but he felt
fairly confident that his attire was acceptable for now.

The room was tiny, really just a bed and dresser.
  One at a time, he pulled drawers out and
carefully went through their contents.  
Each item was taken out individually, checked over, smelled, and
meticulously put back in its place.

Even knowing that it would take at least several hours for
her to turn, he still occasionally glanced over at the body.
  This upset him.
  He had the visual image he wanted, and she
was messing it all up. Everything had
been perfect. His whole life had been
perfect and now the infected were messing it all up.
  Several deep breaths calmed him and cooled
his simmering rage.

In the bottom drawer he finally found what he was looking
for. With the steady hands of a mom
pulling a newborn from their bassinet, he lifted the heart charm.
  With a careful flick he opened it and read
the inscription inside –
Until Forever,
Nathan
. He snapped it closed and
tucked it in his shirt pocket. He
stroked the pocket, absently trying to flatten the bulge.

“I know just the individual that requires this.”
  He whispered to himself.

******

“Every week we’ve
been seeing more and more infected in the trees.
  Leave’n
the cities.” Hannah
whispered. She pointed to the nearest
infected. “See the one in pink there?
  They don’t like the snow.
  Typically they’ll only go through it if they
have a reason.”

Tom watched the woman in a matching pink jumpsuit continually
step off the rocky bank into the powdery snow and then back again.

Hannah continued, “Winter has mostly
kept them at bay, but with the snow melting they’re starting to spread out.”

“Let’s avoid them. I
don’t want to be their reason for entering the snow.”

Hannah nodded her head in agreement.
  The two of them remained crouched in the snow
behind a fallen pine. “On my way up I
ran out of passible road. Truck’s parked
maybe a half mile further down.”

Tom nodded and pointed to a shallow ravine that knifed away
from the small group of infected. “We
cut through there. It’ll lead down
around the hillside. Might
have a short climb back up to the road.”

Hannah grabbed the Ruger Mini-14
off her back and checked the chamber.  
She already knew it was loaded, but habit always took over.
  The old walnut stock brought back memories of
shooting cans with her dad when she was little.  
It was the only thing she took from his house.
  Just ahead of her, Tom was already crouched
low, working the length of the fallen tree.  
He had his rifle out at low ready.

Occasional deep snow drifts made breaking trail
exhausting. His legs were burning with
exertion and his face dripped sweat despite the cold.
  The snow got deeper as he entered the ravine,
some of the drifts nearly reaching his crotch.  
He glanced back real quick to check on Hannah.
  She was right behind him, a look of
determination etched across her face.

They had barely made it into the ravine when an infected
stumbled to the edge and spotted them.  
The ragged man immediately began
huffing
into the sky, calling to anyone within earshot.  
In the remote mountains, Tom hadn’t seen infected in months, but it all
came rushing back in an instant. All the
terrifying memories he had pushed to the back of his mind immediately popped
front and center. His stomach clenched
and skin tingled with fear.
What have I done?
  What am I doing?

Tom pulled up his compound bow, drew back, and with the
muscle memory built by thousands of shots, let the arrow fly.
  The shot struck the demented in the chest,
silencing him as he tumbled over the edge.  
Tom threw the bow over his shoulder with his homemade sling and drew his
rifle. “There went the quiet.”

“Movement ten o’clock.”  
Hannah shouted from behind him.

“Save your shots.” No
longer concerned about being spotted, he picked up the pace, high kneeing and
plowing through the snow as quick as possible.  
He looked up to see an infected scrambling over the ravine’s edge and
beginning his descent. The thick snow
tripped him up and he fell-slid face first down the slope.

A loud shrieking echoed out of the trees ahead.

“No visual.” Tom
shouted.

“Movement high right.”

Tom looked up and saw the dark form shifting between the
trees. It hadn’t yet reached the lip of
the ravine, but was moving almost diagonal to their position and would be out
in the open soon. To Tom’s left, the
demented that had fallen was struggling back to his feet.
  Tom raised his rifle to put him down for good.

Boom.

Hannah’s rifle sounded from behind him.
  The shot caught the demented in the side of
the head, spinning him sideways and splattering red across the snow.

Tom lowered his rifle and continued his downhill rush.
  His legs were on fire, lactic acid boiling
through the muscle tissue.

Another
bark
from Hannah’s
rifle took out a demented that reached the edge of the ravine out ahead of
them. Tom checked behind him to see if Hannah
was falling back. He was shocked to see her
lowering the mini-14 and continuing to sprint almost directly behind him.
  Wishing he wouldn’t have wasted time checking
on her, Tom pushed ahead, grunting with effort.

The ravine took a slow turn, flattened out, and then faded
away into a large hillside. At the top,
the road’s silver guardrail poked out above the white snow.
  The red paint of Hannah’s truck could just be
seen down around the turn. Ahead of Tom,
drawn to the noise, were more than a dozen infected.
  Some of them staggered with slow awkward
movements, while many sprinted toward them, oblivious to the snow.
  The first demented were just beginning to
clear the guardrail.

“See them?” Tom
shouted.

“Yeah.
  More to the right.”

It only took a peek to the right to see that there were a
half dozen or more demented rushing out of the trees in a pack.
  They hadn’t yet cleared the ridge, but soon
would. Tom knew they couldn’t allow
themselves to get pinned down in the bottom of the ravine.

Hannah must have thought the same thing when she said, “We need
the high ground.”

Tom was exhausted, but knew he had to make the hill to the
truck. “Cover right.”
  He shouted as he slowed to a stop, raised his
rifle, and sighted on the nearest one.  
Two rapid shots brought it down.

Hannah’s rifle roared to life next to him as she began
raking fire along the ridgeline.

One after another Tom continued to drop infected as they
crossed over the guardrail. “We
gotta move.” Tom
shouted. Immediately after the words
were out, he lowered his rifle and began racing up the hillside.
  He slung his rifle onto his back and pulled
the pistol from his side holster.  
Demented continued to pile over the rail.

“Tom!” Hannah
screamed from behind him.

He turned to see her hunched over, working on her boot.
  Unable to tell what the problem was, Tom
stood motionless, caught between rushing back down to her and turning to defend
both of them from charging demented.  
Three more demented raced in from the side as well.
  Mind made up, Tom sprinted back down the
slick hillside.

“My leg’s tangled.” Hannah
shouted.

Tom holstered his pistol as he came sliding up to her.
  Her boot was snagged on a twisted coil of
barbed wire fencing that snaked its way under the snow out of sight.
  He pulled his Leatherman from his pants
pocket. His cold fingers fumbled with
the icy steel, trying to flip it open.

“They’re coming.” Hannah
shouted while raising her rifle.

The concussion was mind numbing so close to Tom’s head.
  The muzzle flash was blinding.
  Hot shell casings bounced off his snow parka
and disappeared into the white void.

He flipped the Leatherman fully open and used the wire
cutter to snip the barbed wire on both sides of Hannah’s boot, leaving a bundle
of it still attached.
Good enough
.
  He pulled his pistol back out and spun toward
the demented he knew were coming at them from the side.
  He felt slow, like his body was stuck in
sludge. The ringing in his ears was
disorienting. The small pack was nearly
on top of him. He hastily pulled the
trigger, firing volley after volley into the mass.
  Demented rapidly dropped to
the barrage of lead. Behind him, Hannah
continued to fire up the hillside.

“I’m out.” She
shouted.

Tom knew he had nearly run his pistol dry as well.
  With only a couple slow moving undead
remaining, he said, “Let’s move.”

Hannah shouldered her rifle and drew her .357 revolver from
her side. It looked like a cannon in her
small hands, but she was comfortable with her old service revolver.
  Ahead of her several more infected raced out
of control down the hill. Powdery snow blew
to the sides around them, swirling in their wake.
  The revolver roared and kicked.
  Her first shots went wide.