Vengeance (Twenty-Five Percent Book 3) (31 page)

They reached the tank which appeared to have suffered no ill effects whatsoever, despite its proximity to the blast.

“I get it,” Alex said, climbing up onto the hull.

Micah followed him up. “Amazing stamina too.”

“I
get
it. So why’d she break up with you?”

“Who said
she
broke up with
me
?”

Alex looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Alright, yeah, she broke up with me.” Micah thought back. “I can’t remember why. I either wasn’t something enough or was too much of something else. I didn’t really understand her reasoning at the time, but I rarely do with women. The sex was fantastic though.”

“Yes, I got that the first two times. It’s how I knew
you
didn’t break up with
her
.” Alex opened the hatch and climbed inside.

Micah looked back at the eaters following them. As far as he could see from his vantage point on top of the eight foot tall tank, the fake pheromones had drawn all the eaters in sight, but he knew there were many more on the surrounding streets. He hoped they had enough green cartridges to draw in all of them. He supposed they could come back and get the rest to follow as they had with the horde by the bridge, but he really didn’t want to have to do all this again.

Considering how often it had happened over the past few weeks, he would have thought he’d be used to the sight of thousands of eaters chasing after him by now, but it still sent a shiver up his spine. After they got rid of the eaters Boot had brought into the city, Micah planned to go back to his parents’ house to give Lucy the cure and bring her back to Sarcester. After that he hoped he could get a week or two without having to deal with any eaters whatsoever. Just a few blood and death free days when he could relax and recharge. And possibly ask Beth Cutter out.

He lowered into the hatch as the eaters reached the tank. Alex was in the driver’s seat.

“You forced me into this little jaunt, so I’m driving,” he said, grinning.

Micah rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m driving back.”

The journey began to the Norfolk Street Stadium, home of Sarcester City football club and occasional concert venue.

They circled the area around East Town first, picking up the rest of the horde Boot had brought. Micah had to use both of the remaining green pheromone cartridges to get the eaters all together, but once they were they seemed content to jog after the tank en masse with Micah halfway out the hatch, waving and shouting to keep their attention. He didn’t break into song. That was Alex’s thing.

It took them twenty minutes to travel the one and a half miles to the stadium and Micah was feeling a little hoarse by the time the massive structure, painted garishly in the Sarcester City colours of green and purple, came into view. Alex speeded up, putting more distance between them and the following horde to give them time to get inside.

“I’ll get the gate,” Micah called as they pulled up to the entrance, leaving the pheromone gun inside and jumping down from the tank.

They had been concerned the huge double gates would be locked and they were. Micah moved out of the way and waved Alex in, casting a glance at the horde approaching beyond the tank. They were about a hundred yards away, close enough to see him, but far enough away that there was time to get inside before they arrived. He couldn’t quite believe how well his impromptu plan was going.

The Challenger eased forward slowly until the end of the main gun barrel nudged at the join between the two gates. With a little more forward pressure from the huge machine, they gave way, buckling and then snapping inwards with a sharp metallic crack.

Beyond, a wide concrete tunnel ended at another set of gates between the stands towering on either side. Micah jogged in front of the tank and tried the inner gates. Thankfully, they opened. They would have been in trouble if there had been no way to seal the horde securely into the stadium. Later, someone would have to come back and reinforce the gates properly, but they needed to keep them trapped until that happened.

Micah ran into the stadium ahead of the tank and stopped, awestruck. Even though he wasn’t particularly into football, it was a rush being in the centre of the empty stands soaring into the air around him. It felt like a gladiatorial arena, even if the month-long growth of grass on the pitch made it resemble a country meadow rather than a sporting venue. He imagined thousands of fans screaming his name as he punched his fist into the air in victory, his vanquished opponent groaning in pain at his feet. He may have watched
Gladiator
a few too many times.

He couldn’t help feeling a little sad that the place was about to be ruined by the tank’s treads and the shuffling feet of a few thousand eaters.

When the tank reached the centre of the pitch and came to a halt, Micah climbed back on and leaned his head in through the hatch. “This is kind of cool,” he said, looking at Alex upside down. “You should come out here before the horde arrives.”

“I was just thinking that myself,” Alex replied. “I’ll get Theresa to the far end so we can get out there, then...”

A new sound caught Micah’s attention, filtering in above the rumbling of the tank’s engine and the distant moans of the eaters. He withdrew from the hatch. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Alex called after him.

Micah stood, scanning the sky above the tops of the stands. He was far too familiar with that sound.

The helicopter came from the west, zipping over the stadium roof and swooping down towards him. His hand automatically went to his pistol before he remembered he had no ammunition left. Why hadn’t he got some more from Ian or Tom?

Alex shouted, “Micah, get in here!”

Before he had a chance to obey, the helicopter reached him and five of Boot’s guards leaped out from ten feet up, three onto the tank and two to the ground. One of them landed between Micah and the hatch.

They turned their eyes on him. Their white eyes.

The guard by the hatch spoke. “Don’t...”

Micah didn’t wait to hear anything else. He launched himself at the other side of the tank’s hull, dropped to the ground and took off running. Glancing back, he saw the two guards on the ground sprinting after him, outpacing him easily.

But he could fight Survivors. He’d been training for this for the past eight years. Halfway to the stands he pulled a skull-spiker from his pocket and turned to meet them.

The helicopter flew overhead and Micah thought for a moment it might just shoot him, but it passed, low enough for the downdraft to ruffle his clothing. He could hear it landing somewhere behind him, but he didn’t dare move his focus from Boot’s Survivor guards. They reached him seconds later, splitting up to flank him.

These must have been the men Hannah mentioned whose loyal service Boot had ‘rewarded’ by turning them into Survivors. One of them seemed amused that Micah would try to take them on. Despite the inherent danger involved in fighting the giant white-eyes, Micah found himself looking forward to wiping the smirk from his face.

Smirking goon lunged.
Micah deflected his swinging fist with his left arm, twisting out of the way and ramming his elbow backwards into the big man’s side. The guard’s momentum sent him stumbling forward into his companion. They scuffled to separate themselves as Micah spun to face them again. The other guard pushed smirking goon away and feinted right. Micah saw the ruse and moved left instead, throwing a rapid jab into the man’s unprotected face. He staggered back, clutching his nose. When he took his hand away, blood was smudged across his face.

Both men backed off. Micah kept his balance centred. The cardinal rule to fighting an opponent of superior size and strength was to use that strength against him, so he waited for them to make the next move. When they did, it was both at once and the fight began in earnest.

A flurry of attacks, blocks and counter-strikes followed, forcing Micah to use all his speed to not only avoid being hit, which could be fatal from a Survivor, but also to deliver his own blows. He settled quickly into what he thought of as his combat zone, where the muscle memory of years of training took over and every move came as easily as breathing.

In spite of being outnumbered, out-sized, and out-powered, after a minute Micah had only caught a handful of glancing blows, while both guards were covered in bruises and cuts. He hadn’t had a good combat workout since the fight with Alex when they’d first met and although these men weren’t anywhere near as good, he was revelling in the challenge.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the helicopter door open. That probably wasn’t a good thing. Much as he was enjoying himself, it was time to wrap things up.

Smirking goon attempted a punch from Micah’s right. He stepped back, grasped the man’s wrist and pushed away. With the guard’s arm extended, Micah stabbed the spiker in above his elbow, the super sharp blade passing straight through and out the other side. The guard screamed, stumbling back and grasping the bleeding wound.

The second goon darted forward. Micah ducked under his arms and drove his shoulder into the man’s gut, pushing upwards and using the guard’s momentum to throw him over his shoulder. He crashed to the ground behind Micah with a grunt.

A gunshot cracked through the air. Micah spun to face the source.

Harvey Boot stood twenty feet in front of the helicopter, a manic smile plastered across his face. He fired the silver pistol he was holding again. A divot of grass erupted at Micah’s feet.

Boot was too far away to rush without being shot, but Micah still considered it for a second before deciding to not throw his life away. Checking the two guards to make sure they weren’t close enough to attack, he raised his hands.

It was only now that he noticed the small identifying number on the side of the chopper. Micah recognised it as the same one that had brought Alex, Frobisher and Jessup back from the hospital. The pilot must have gone back for Boot. Micah couldn’t fathom what kind of person would remain loyal to the psycho after everything that had happened.

“A pleasure to see you again, Mr Clarke,” Boot said. “That was an impressive display. I can see why you’ve survived this long.” He motioned to the guards. “Bring him to me.”

The goon who still had the use of both arms snatched Micah’s skull-spiker from him, flicked it back into its handle and stuffed it into his pocket.

“I’m going to want that back,” Micah said.

Glaring at him, the guard seized Micah’s arms, twisted them behind his back and roughly propelled him towards Boot. Micah looked back at the tank. The three guards were still on the top, casting glances at the open gates where eaters had begun to spill into the stadium. One of them was on his knees by the hatch and appeared to be holding it closed. Micah trusted Alex would get it open soon because he suspected he was about to be in very big trouble.

“Shouldn’t you be craving raw human flesh right now?” Micah said when they reached Boot.

His white eyes narrowed. “On your knees.”

“Screw you.”

The guard behind him grasped his shoulders and kicked the back of his knee. Micah grunted in pain, his leg giving way beneath him as he was forced down.

“You and MacCallum think you’re so bloody clever,” Boot sneered. “You think you can stop me, but you can’t win. I’m a Survivor now, so much better than you. This city is mine, and your time is up.”

His fist shot forward and hit Micah’s cheek. Pain exploded in his face, the force of the impact throwing him onto his back. He struggled to rise, but the guard pushed him down, pinning his arms with a strength he couldn’t fight.

Boot leaped on him with a shout and another punch connected with his face.

“No-one...”

His fist hit Micah’s side. Something cracked.

“...is better...”

A punch to his temple that left Boot’s hand smeared with Micah’s blood.

“...than me.”

Another blow to Micah’s ribcage, forcing from him a cry of agony.

Boot continued his rant, his fists pummelling his rage into Micah’s face and body. He tried to squirm away, but the guard held him in place.

The pounding continued until he couldn’t move.

Couldn’t hear anything but his frantic heartbeat.

Couldn’t see past the blood and tears.

Couldn’t think beyond the dizziness and unending pain.

Couldn’t scream any more.

Until he couldn’t do anything but lie still and wait for the end.

Alex ran to the hatch and pushed at it. It didn’t move.

He tried again, putting more force behind his shove. The metal disc opened a fraction then slammed back down again. Someone was holding it shut.

He glanced back at the window. Boot was still hitting Micah.

With a roar, Alex pushed with all his fury and strength. The hatch resisted for a moment then flew open. Alex lunged out. A fist hit the side of his face like a rock, sending him tumbling back down the ladder to the floor of the tank.

A rifle shoved through the hatch, a face beyond it. A face with white eyes.

“Get out,” the guard growled.

Alex climbed slowly to his feet, wincing in feigned injury. When he was upright, he grabbed the end of the rifle’s barrel, shoving it to one side and reaching up to grab the guard’s collar. Yanking down hard, Alex slammed his head into the edge of the hatch. The guard grunted, lifting his blood covered face. Before he could recover, Alex shoved him away from the hatch and heard him bounce down the side of the tank, the rifle hanging from its strap around his neck clattering against the metal.

Alex grabbed the rungs of the ladder and pulled up to look through the hatch. Two more guards, both of them with white eyes, were standing on the turret, still staring after their comrade. A glance behind the tank showed the horde approaching across the pitch.

Alex dropped back inside, grasped the control for the turret, and pulled. Motors whirred and the turret swung around. Shouts sounded through the hatch and Alex let go of the control to check outside. The guards were no longer on the turret, but when he pushed further out bullets erupted around him.

He jumped to the floor again, casting around for something to use. The pheromone gun was on the floor nearby, next to it two cartridges, one blue and one red. Judging by the volume of the horde, they had to be close now.

He glanced at the view to where Boot had Micah pinned down. Micah wasn’t even struggling anymore. Alex couldn’t see him moving at all. Any hesitation he might have felt vanished in a flash. He grabbed both cartridges and shoved the blue into his pocket. The red he loaded into the barrel of the gun as he returned to the hatch. He took a deep breath, grasped the ladder, and propelled himself up.

As soon as Alex was out he dropped to his stomach, bullets whizzing by overhead. The three men on the ground were standing close together as they fired at him, seemingly oblivious to the proximity of the horde. Or maybe they had too much confidence in their newfound Survivor strength and speed. Alex took aim and pulled the trigger.

The cartridge he’d loaded into the gun hit the guard in the centre and exploded. He cried out, staggering backwards, his hand pressed to his chest where burn marks peppered his white shirt. A rapidly expanding ball of red smoke enveloped the men.

At the pheromone command to attack, the horde, now just fifty feet away, went wild. The guards whirled to face them, raising their rifles and opening fire.

It was the wrong thing to do.

They should have run.

Alex scrambled off the front of the tank. The screams began as he hit the ground. He didn’t look back.

At the noise from the dying guards, Boot stopped beating Micah and looked up to see Alex speeding towards him.

“Stop him!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet.

The guard holding Micah down leaped up and ran towards Alex, raising his pistol. Two shots echoed from the surrounding stands. Alex barely heard them above the blood rushing in his ears. A sharp pain stung his left shoulder. He ignored it.

Reaching the guard, he leaped into the air, hammering his clenched fist down as he roared in fury. The huge man fell and didn’t get up again.

Alex landed and kept running. The guard Micah had stabbed took one look at him and bolted.

Boot was backing away, fumbling to raise his gun. Most of the bullets went wild. Two got lucky, but Alex gave them no thought.

Face twisted in terror, Boot turned and dashed for the helicopter. He hadn’t gone ten feet before Alex caught up with him. Grabbing him as he ran, Alex yanked him off the ground and hurled him at the helicopter. He slammed into the metal side and dropped to the ground, unmoving.

Pinner stared at Alex from the pilot’s seat inside, then grabbed at the controls in front of him. The rotors began to speed up.

Alex reached the chopper and lunged through the passenger side door. Pinner cried out, scrambled out of the other side, and ran. Alex almost followed, rage turning his vision red and urging him to destroy every one of them.

But then he remembered Micah.

He turned back and sprinted to where he was still lying in the grass.

Blood drenched Micah’s brutalised face. He was covered with cuts and bruises. Both eyes were swollen almost shut and his nose was bent to one side. His arms clutched his torso.

Alex fell to his knees beside him, reaching out shaking hands, but not daring to touch him. “Micah?”

There was no response. Heart pounding in his throat, Alex touched two fingers to his neck. Micah’s eyes fluttered open. He drew in a shuddering breath and whimpered.

“You’re going to be all right,” Alex choked. “Hannah and the others, they can fix you.” He glanced up at the approaching eaters. “But I’m going to have to move you now and it’s going to hurt. I’m really sorry.”

Sliding one arm beneath Micah’s shoulders, he lifted his torso off the ground. A cry of agony wrenched from Micah’s swollen lips. Alex felt like he wanted to throw up.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Micah’s eyes suddenly focused past Alex, towards the helicopter. Alex looked back.

Boot was on his feet, blood running down his face. His mouth twisted into a rabid grin as he raised his pistol.

Alex plunged his right hand into his pocket. In a single movement he withdrew his skull-spiker, flicked out the blade, and threw.

The black spiker seemed to move in slow motion as it spun end over end through the air. Finally reaching Boot, it embedded to the hilt in the centre of his forehead. 

For a couple of seconds Boot stood frozen, as if unaware that his life was over.

Then he slumped to the ground.

Alex stared at the body for a few moments, half expecting him to sit up again. When he didn’t, he looked away.

The moans of the horde were growing in volume. Some had stopped to feast on the guard Alex had dropped. The rest were making a beeline for him and Micah.

He slid his right arm beneath Micah’s legs, lifted him gently from the ground, and tried to stand. His right thigh exploded in pain. Gritting his teeth, Alex pushed himself to his feet.

Micah didn’t make a sound. His body was slack, his breathing rapid, shallow gasps. He didn’t respond when Alex whispered his name.

Alex turned away from the approaching horde and walked as fast as he could to the edge of the pitch. Trying to jostle Micah as little as possible, he climbed awkwardly over the barrier and made his way past the seating to the nearest set of stairs.

As he climbed, the adrenaline drained away and the pain grew. For the first time, he looked at the blood soaking his shoulder and running down the left hand side of his t-shirt. His left arm was trembling and he became afraid it would stop working altogether and he’d drop Micah. He clenched his muscles and locked his arm in place around Micah’s back, biting back a cry of pain. His right thigh throbbed as he climbed and after the first flight he was forced to lead with his left leg, dragging the right up behind it onto each step. Holding Micah’s weight wrenched at his left side and he could feel warm blood crawling down the chilled skin of his hip.

When he began to shiver, he knew he was going into shock. Still he kept going, afraid that if he stopped, he wouldn’t be able to start again.

Finally, after shuffling across a landing to another flight of stairs, his foot wouldn’t lift to the next step. Gasping in agony, he carefully laid Micah onto the smooth concrete and slowly sat down beside him. He took his radio from his pocket, dialling in the frequency he knew would reach every other radio in the city.

“We need help,” he said, his voice trembling. “Micah is hurt badly. The eaters are in the stadium. We need doctors. We need... please, come quick.”

Answers came in immediately. They were coming. He dropped his hand and the radio tumbled onto the concrete.

He looked out over the stadium. Eaters filled the space, eclipsing the grass. They swarmed around the tank and helicopter. Dozens were pressed up against the barrier separating the pitch from the stands, staring up at him, but it was too high for them to get past. Writhing mounds of eaters jostled for space as they feasted on those members of Boot’s guards who had fallen.

Alex’s gaze went to the spot near the helicopter where the psychotic, despotic CEO of Omnav himself had died. A crowd of eaters kneeled over a body Alex couldn’t see, in a moment of supreme poetic justice consuming the man responsible for the virus that had destroyed them.

When Alex tried to lift it, his left arm wouldn’t move. He shrugged the pheromone gun from his back with his right arm, laid it across his lap, and loaded in the blue cartridge he’d put in his pocket. Raising the gun into the air one handed, he aimed as well as he could and fired into the centre of the stadium. He couldn’t hold back a harsh whimper as the recoil pushed against his shoulder, twisting his torso. The pheromone gun dropped from his grasp and clattered down the steps below him.

As he watched, the eaters directly below the detonation began to move towards each other. Before long they were pressed together, swaying and moaning in an ever expanding circle. All except those who were still feeding, tearing apart the men who had fallen to Alex’s rage and desperation.

He slid his right hand across the concrete, his fingers finding Micah’s cold, unresponsive hand and grasping it. He sobbed as the movement caused a deep, stabbing agony to flash through his side.

But the physical pain he could deal with.

The rest...

Squeezing his eyes shut against the sight below him, Alex began to cry.