Empire Of Salt (41 page)

Natasha stopped struggling as he pointed at a trailer on the other side of the seawall. The Duvall Brothers used it for salt storage, and the windows were barred to keep out thieves. The distance from the last trailer to the salt storage trailer was about thirty feet; they would have to cross the road and scramble up the muddy seawall. Luckily the explosions had done a number on all the nearest zombies. About half of the creatures along their intended path were on fire.

Metzger removed his hand and Natasha grimaced and wiped her mouth clean of the smell.

Without warning, Metzger opened fire. It took five rounds from his pistol, but the zombies on the other trailer went down, the back of their heads exploding in a shower of bone, brains and yellow ichors.

Together Veronica and Metzger moved the bridge from one side of the trailer to the other. Metzger went first, then the others. He had to shoot a zombie tramping up the stairs at the side of the trailer, but it otherwise worked perfectly.

They repeated the process four more times until they came to the end of the row of trailers and leaned the roof down, making a ramp to the ground.

"Okay, now's the time to call him," Metzger said.

Less than a dozen zombies were within fifty feet of them. Two of those were on fire.

"Derrick!" Natasha screamed. "Come on Derrick!"

All eyes were on the grate, but nothing moved.

"Derrick!" she screamed again. She choked on a sob, suddenly convinced that he'd died down there and she'd never see him again.

"Derrick," Metzger yelled. "Hurry up, bro. We have a plan."

"Yeah! Come on," Veronica yelled, joining in.

Natasha screamed again, "Derrick!"

The grate moved. First a little, the sound of metal grinding against metal a slow, plaintive wail, then a hand came up, followed by an arm. Soon they could see Derrick's head, half of his hair scorched off and his face as black as soot. He pulled himself out of the sump and, as if it was angry to lose a meal, the pump growled as he left.

Natasha let out a laugh, but she had no time to glory in her brother's survival.

Metzger grabbed Veronica's arm. "Now hurry. Down the ramp and up the seawall."

Veronica looked left and right, ran down the ramp, crossed the road, and went up the other side. She made it halfway up the hill before the mud slowed her to a stop. Then it was hand over hand until she reached the top.

Natasha helped Auntie Lin down the metal ramp. The older woman ran like a bowlegged chicken. Natasha ran beside her.

"Run, Derrick!" Metzger roared.

The boy stumbled forward, almost tripping over the blackened corpse of a zombie. Several partially burned zombies jerked around as he passed them. Those that could ran towards him. Those that couldn't clawed and dragged their way in his direction. They all wanted him.

"Take the road around and meet us on the other side!"

Derrick hesitated and looked back at the road that ran to the still burning zombie factory, then began to lope in that direction.

Natasha got Auntie Lin about three feet up the seawall before the old woman came to a complete halt. It was just too slippery.

Suddenly a zombie spotted them and broke ranks, sprinting like an Olympic champion directly at them. Metzger ran down the ramp to intercept, lifted both pistols and fired point blank at its head. It fell, the momentum sending its feet forward, laying it out on its back.

"
You have got
to hurry," he yelled back over his shoulder.

"But she won't move." Natasha pulled and jerked to get Auntie Lin up the hill, but no matter what she did, the older woman wouldn't budge.

"Leave me!" Auntie Lin commanded.

"Never!" Natasha cried.

"Veronica, lay down and give Natasha your hand. Natasha, grab Auntie Lin with your other. Ma'am," he said to the old Chinese woman, "you better hold on." Metzger paused only to shoot another incoming zombie, then turned and, without holstering the pistols, pressed both of his hands against the old woman's butt.

"Veronica, pull!"

With Veronica and Natasha pulling and Metzger pushing, his Army boots digging into the mud, they finally made the top of the seawall beside the storage trailer. Derrick was waiting there as well. Natasha ran to hug him, but he jerked away, holding his arm gingerly. He'd lost a lot of blood. Where his face wasn't covered with grime and soot, it was pale. She examined his wound and knew she'd have to take care of it soon, but now there wasn't enough time.

There were no more zombies in sight yet, which was a blessing. Only the rain and the rotting, white-capped sea kept Natasha and the others from running all the way to Los Angeles.

But there, at the end of a rickety old dock, was one of the boats used by the salt collectors. Flat-bottomed and twenty feet long with an outboard engine, it was plenty big enough to hold them all. If only they could all make it out there in time.

Thunder rumbled from far off. As if in response, the sea flashed green yet again.

They ran towards the boat.

T
he dock had seen better days. The wear and tear of the salt and continual use by the Duvalls had turned it into a teetering version of its once sturdy self. As they ran down its worn length, the clomping of their feet made it shudder and sway.

But when they reached the boat, their hearts sank like rusty anchors to the Salton Sea floor. The bottom was a colander of holes that had allowed several inches of water to collect. Had it not been tied so tightly to the dock, the boat would have sunk long ago. As it was, there was no way it could carry all of them.

Abruptly heads began to rise from the surface of the sea as more zombies found the surface.

Metzger howled in frustration. He grabbed Auntie Lin and, carrying her in his arms like she was a toddler, sprinted back toward the trailer. The others were quick to follow. They made it to the trailer as the first zombie made landfall, standing and staring as the rain beat down on its green mottled face.

The door was locked, but two kicks from Metzger's booted foot opened it for them. They piled into the trailer, then hunted for a way to bar the door. The living room was used as temporary storage for the harvested salt. Burlap sacks filled with salt crystals covered most of the floor and were piled to the ceiling. They heaped these in front of the door. The sheer weight of them would keep it closed.

Natasha ran to a barred window and peered out, but jerked her head back as a hand shot through the bars, breaking the glass. The yellow-clawed fingers just missed her face, as she turned to look at the others. "Shit! I should have known better than that."

Metzger ran to the back and made sure that there were no other ways in.

Natasha met him in the hall. "There isn't any food or water."

"What did you expect?" he said.

"Maybe we should have stayed on the roof of my grandpa's trailer. I felt safer there than here."

Metzger scowled. "You want to go back, be my guest."

She went to reply, but kept her mouth shut. He could see the hurt in her eyes, but he hadn't been able to keep the smart_assed remarks from bubbling up.

Finally she asked, "What's wrong with you?"

He gritted his teeth and shrugged. "Dunno. What's wrong with you?"

Her jaw dropped for a moment, then she slapped him hard across the face, turned and stomped back into the living room. No one spoke. No one asked her what happened. They didn't have to. The trailer was so small that they'd all heard.

Metzger wanted to strangle himself. He slid into the bathroom and closed the door, flipped on the light switch and glared at his gaunt face in the mirror. He was a piece of work. When Natasha needed someone she could lean on, someone she could count on, all he could be was an ass. He'd always been a bully when he was high, and nothing had changed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag of meth he'd taken from Kim Johnson. There was enough there for a weekend jaunt. He poured the crystal into his hand. It seemed so harmless. He'd been to enough classes in Norfolk to understand how it worked. He knew how terrible it was for his system. But damned if it hadn't brought back old memories.

He opened the toilet. A small circle of sludge greeted him in the bottom of the bowl. He held his hand over the water with every intention of flushing it away, but instead of letting go of the crystal, his hand closed protectively around it.

He couldn't help but laugh.

Who was in charge here? Was it him? Or was it the meth?

He tried again with the same result.

Fuck it. The meth made him sharp and helped him think in tough situations. When they got out of here he'd find a way to make it up to Natasha. Until then, she'd have to understand. Yeah. She'd just have to understand.

Metzger poured the crystal onto the cheap Formica counter. Using the butt of his pistol, he crushed it into a fine powder. Without ceremony, he leaned down and snorted the whole shebang. When there was nothing left but residue, he licked his finger, wiped it, then wiped his finger across his gums.

The rush was immediate and all powerful. He was superman. He could not be defeated. He could not lose. He'd save them all. He'd be a hero. He'd get the girl and live happily ever after.

He yanked open the door and stepped into the hall.

Veronica was waiting for him, her eyes glowing yellow. A low growl came from her throat.

"Aw fuck," he said.

Then she attacked and shoved him into the bathroom.

The door slammed shut behind them, and they fell into the bathtub, the shower curtain entangling them. Her teeth tried to find him, but he was somehow able to wrap her face with the curtain. He punched her three times, hard, but it had no effect.

He scrambled over the side of the tub, grabbed the vanity to help him get to his feet, and jerked the door open. He leaped into the hall and closed it behind him. It opened inwards, so he held onto the handle as tightly as he could.

Natasha approached him.

"What are you doing?"

He glanced from her to the door and back.
Wasn't it obvious?

Veronica began to pound on the door.

"Who is that? Is it Veronica? Let her out!"

Metzger shook his head. "Zombie," he breathed.

Natasha raised her hand to her mouth in shock. Then she glanced down the hall at her brother, who was sitting at the table getting his arm bandaged by Auntie Lin.

"What do we do?" she asked.

"Gotta kill her," he said.

"But..." Although the idea revolted her, he could see the understanding in her eyes. "Oh."

"Grab the door knob."

When she did, he pulled free his pistol, checked the magazine, then stepped to the side and aimed for the door.

"On the count of three, push it open."

Natasha nodded.

"One. Two. Three!"

Veronica stood framed in the doorway. Her hair was wild, her eyes yellow, her skin a sickly green. She growled low in her throat.

Metzger fired three times, catching her in the head and face.

Veronica fell to the ground unmoving.