Z 2134 (36 page)

Stop it; you
WILL find her. One thing at a time, though.

His headache
pounded seemingly in rhythm with his racing heart.

“Jonah!” Egan
screamed again, moving mercifully farther away.

After another minute,
Egan moved far enough that Jonah figured it was safe to race toward the path.
He lowered himself to a launching position, ready to bolt, but stopped short
when he saw one of the boys who had saved him from the shack — the one who had
watched over Calla when she fed him for the first time — storming through the
woods, rifle in his hand, kicking up snow as Calla followed with a matching
rifle.

Shit.

Jonah wondered
if Calla’s treachery had been discovered. Did she regret her decision to help
him? Would she try atoning for her lapse in judgment by shooting him if given
the chance? Or, like a half hour before, was Calla his only hope?

He had few
options. Save for a pipe, Jonah was defenseless, and he couldn’t count on
anyone’s help. He had minutes, if not seconds, to make a choice, then turn that
decision to action. His enemies were armed, with their circle closing quickly
around him. Inertia equaled death.

“Jonah!” Egan’s
scream was loud enough to knock trees down. Not just louder,
closer
. He
was doubling back.

Shit. Shit.

The two kids
were coming up through the woods behind Jonah, close enough that he didn’t dare
sneak another peek around the tree. He pressed his body as much into the tree
as he could and kept quiet as possible.

He looked up to
the path again. He
might
be able to make it if he ran, but he would
surely make noise. Staying safe meant sitting tight and waiting for the group
to either pass or move in a different direction.

Every step drew
Egan closer to Jonah’s hiding place in one direction, and the kids closer from
the other. In seconds, all three would arc in a circle around Jonah. He’d been
reasonably lucky since leaving City 6, but fortune wasn’t fat enough for him to
believe he could possibly escape detection from all three.

“Jonah!” Egan called,
from what sounded like the other side of the tree.

Jonah gulped,
wondering how loud the swallow sounded outside his ears.

“Face your
crimes, Jonah!”

“Coward!” the
boy called, his voice and bootlicking message both aimed at Egan. Jonah
wondered how many things Egan had said to fill the children with hate for their
“enemy.” The sad thing was, Egan wouldn’t have even had to tell a single lie.

“Jonah! I know
you’re near.” Egan’s voice dropped to a hum, as if to prove proximity. “Come
out now and make it easier on yourself.”

Yeah, right.

Jonah nudged his
back harder against the bark as he heard one, or maybe even both kids, rush
toward him, sending him deeper into panic. He’d rather die than murder
children.

Run!

Run now, and
damn it all.

If you don’t
run now, you’re dead.

Jonah ignored
his instincts as bark bit into his flesh, knowing that running would earn a
bullet in his back. He had to wait, bide his time, and hope they’d pass. Even
small, it
was
a possibility, and if there was one thing Jonah had learned
while playing The Games — the one thing that kept him alive above all else — fortune
rewarded the patient. Outwitting his opponents often meant outwaiting them,
staying hidden even when it made the most sense to run.

When fear forced
your hand, you were most likely making the wrong move. It was the simple secret
to his survival that Kirkman never mentioned.

The footsteps
drew closer.

Calla appeared
in front of Jonah, 40 feet to his right, gun in hands, creeping through the
snow and staring forward.

His stomach
turned, tumbled, and went still. His entire body was half concealed by a
shrub’s worth of brush between him and Calla. If she didn’t look, she might
miss him entirely.

Jonah waited to
see if the boy would follow but saw nothing, and he was too afraid to crane his
neck for another look. It was possible that the boy was on the other side at a
safe distance, but if Calla saw Jonah and made any sound, no matter how small,
the boy was probably close enough to bring Jonah’s death to certainty.

Egan’s voice
grew even more heated, now hot enough to melt snow. “Jonah! I
will
find
you. And I’m going to fucking kill you when I do!”

Calla inched
closer, 20 feet away, heading toward Egan, rifle held in front.

Don’t turn
your head, don’t look. Keep walking.

Calla turned.

Their eyes met.

Jonah’s breath
was buried in his throat as his mouth dropped open.

He slowly shook
his head, eyes wide and begging like a dog.

Please, no,
please.

Calla blinked
twice, then kept moving, silent.

Thank you,
thank you!

A sudden gunshot
split the calm, followed by a series of shrieks.

Zombies!

Calla spun
around, looking briefly at Jonah, then past him toward the sounds.

She raised her
rifle, took aim, and fired.

The boy’s scream
tore through the air, shrieking as though he’d fallen right into hell and into
an orgy of demons ripping his flesh. Calla screamed, racing toward Egan.

Jonah thought he
heard Egan scream, but between muffled cries from the dying boy and Calla’s
shrieks, rising above the moaning, groaning, and slurping of zombies, he
couldn’t be sure.

Jonah strained
to hear as the zombies grew louder, both before and after the gunshots. He
turned to Calla, who fired another several shots, then vanished from his sight
as she hurled herself into battle. The boy made a few final gurgles, slipping
into certain death.

Four shots tore
through the forest, Jonah figured a couple from Calla and a pair from her dad.

Go. They’re
distracted.

NOW!

Egan screamed,
“Oh God, no!”

Before Jonah
could launch himself toward the path, his curiosity got the better of him, and
he risked a glimpse and saw Calla and her father standing near the dead boy.
The six zombies who weren’t feasting on the child turned their attention on the
living.

Egan and Calla
fired into the approaching monsters but were missing more than hitting. The
zombies kept coming at them.

Jonah curled his
fingers around his pipe, wondering how many zombies he’d be able to beat to
death and whether his efforts would do any good. Would he be able to help Calla
and her father, or would he just be risking his life to add a minute to their
collective death?

He turned to the
path, bristling through instincts that screamed for him to run.

Go find Ana!
It’s now or never!

What are you
doing, dumb ass? Go, go, GO!

No.

You can’t let
them die! You can’t let Calla die.

She saved you
— twice!

Jonah was
frozen, his brain in a war with his guts until Calla’s scream grabbed his
attention. He peered back and saw Calla backing away from a zombie, its arms
out as it chased her. They were coming straight toward Jonah’s hiding spot.

“Help!” she
screamed.

Egan was
occupied, wrestling with five zombies that had cornered him, helpless to save
his daughter. Either out of ammunition or unable to reload, he swung his rifle
madly at the herd, holding them back as they huddled around him.

Calla’s
footsteps and cries grew louder as she raced toward the tree where Jonah
waited, clutching the pipe in his hands.

Calla shot past
Jonah’s tree, a zombie in close pursuit.

FUCK!

Jonah waited for
the zombie to pass, then leaped from his hiding spot and swung the pipe with a
Watchman’s trained precision into the back of its skull. The zombie fell, its
broken gourd opening on the ground and spilling a bucket of blood. Another
zombie appeared from behind, so silent that Jonah didn’t know it was there
until it was, and ran right past him, chasing after the girl.

Fuck!

The zombie was
inches away from Calla, reaching out.

Jonah screamed,
“Hey!”

It stopped,
almost confused, turning around, its white eyes narrowed on Jonah. Its lips
parted, showing Jonah two rows of broken, blackened teeth, chomping into the
meat of a dangling, rotted tongue and shredded flesh where its lips had once
been.

The zombie
groaned something indecipherable, then lurched forward, its clawed and charred
fingernails opening and closing, moaning as if already tasting the savory meal
waiting inside Jonah’s warm flesh.

Jonah lifted the
pipe, then left it hovering while waiting for the zombie’s next move. The
zombie was swerving erratically, slow at first, then deceptively fast, as if
purposely disguising its abilities to better surprise its prey. Jonah had seen
a few of the undead do this during The Darwins and had been fortunate enough,
so far, to anticipate their patterns of attack.

The zombie
lurched forward as Jonah stepped back, keeping an ear on the action some 30
yards behind as Egan continued to battle a quad of zombies. Fortunately, none
of Egan’s undead had yet taken notice of Jonah or Calla, wherever she’d run off
to.

The creature
grunted, swiping as he tried to grab Jonah. Jonah stepped back again and swung
his pipe, slamming the monster hard in its forearm. The zombie shook off the
pain and continued to charge.

Jonah kept
stepping back, baiting the zombie, drawing it toward him and farther from where
he’d last seen Calla. The creature charged, and Jonah thrust his body sideways
and fell to the ground at the last second, just as the zombie ambled past, lost
its balance, then stumbled hard and fell into the snow.

Jonah acted
immediately, jumping on top of the zombie and bringing the pipe down repeatedly
into the back of its skull. It died twitching, its dark blood flooding the snow
in a wide lake of crimson.

Footsteps behind
Jonah were thunder rolling into The Barrens. He spun to face his attackers, the
pipe tight in his hand. He swung hard but fell back as he stopped himself
mid-thrust, realizing it was Calla behind him. His muscles cramped with a
sudden electric spasm, sending Jonah to the snow.

Calla’s eyes
widened at his fall, then she nodded a silent thank you, turned to her father,
and ran toward him without another word.

“Wait!” Jonah
cried, wondering what in the hell the girl was doing.

“Wha — ?” Calla
said. “He needs help!”

“You don’t have
a weapon!”

She looked at
his pipe and said, “Gimme.”

Jonah shook his
head, pulled the pipe back, then met her eyes. The girl was determined, would
surrender anything to help her father. Jonah sighed, growled, then stuffed his
best judgment into the deepest parts of his body and ran toward Egan.

There were still
four zombies surrounding her father. Egan hadn’t managed to kill a single one
since Jonah last looked, though he had managed to stay alive.

Jonah brought
the first one down just seconds after jumping into the fray, bringing the metal
pipe hard into the side of the first zombie’s face, hard enough to tear through
its brain. It shrieked as though the skin was ripped from its body, then fell
to its knees as Jonah’s second swing landed hard in its neck. It wailed again,
then tried standing as Jonah beat its head, smashing repeatedly, shocked that
the zombie kept rising even though he’d seen the same thing on City screens
hundreds of times.

The zombie lay
in a pile of red-and-white goo, flecks of frozen ice blending in with the
syrupy blood. Jonah looked up and caught Egan’s eyes, confused, horrified, and
still fighting for his life. He swung the butt of his rifle into a zombie’s
open mouth, ripping its jaw clean off before smashing in its skull.

Jonah swung his
pipe hard, bashing, poking, stabbing, as both he and Egan fell into an insane
rage together, until there was nothing left but them, breathing, panting,
covered in blood, and staring at each other.

Calla
approached, trembling. “Are they all dead?”

Egan looked down
and nodded, then glared at Jonah. Neither said a word. Jonah had no idea what
would happen next.

Egan snarled,
then threw his empty rifle into the snow and charged at Jonah, swinging his
fist. Jonah swerved, dodging the assault and throwing his body into Egan. He
didn’t want to fight, especially in front of the man’s daughter, but Egan was
leaving little, if any, choice.

The two men
wrestled in the snow, with Jonah hesitant to strike Egan in front of Calla,
fighting him off just enough, but mostly letting Egan punch him repeatedly,
even though his entire body was already bruised and battered by the man.

Every blow, to
his chest, face, head, and ribs felt like Egan was tearing him apart, bit by
bit. Jonah relaxed, allowing the man to do his worst.

“Go ahead!”
Jonah yelled. “Kill me! Get it over with!”

“Stop!” Calla
screamed, earning her father’s startled attention. “Stop it! You can’t bring
’em back!”

Egan froze, his
left hand curled into Jonah’s collar, his right hovering a foot from Jonah’s
face. Without warning, Egan slid off of Jonah, fell into the snow, then broke
into shuddering sobs, burying his head in his bloodied hands.

Jonah sat, rose
to his knees, then wiped the blood from his broken face as Calla dropped to her
knees beside her father.

“He saved me,”
Calla said, crying into her father’s chest. “He could’ve escaped, but he came
back for me. And — for you.”

Egan’s eyes meet
Jonah’s, still brimming with anger, but softening with a gratitude he clearly
couldn’t help. After a long moment, longer in the wind’s frozen whistle, Egan
said, “Thank you.”