Live (NOLA Zombie Book 3) (7 page)

It was strange to think my life was now dependent on these men.
 
With my hands cuffed and my only clothes this stupid spandex dress, I wouldn’t make it far if we were overtaken. I would freeze to death or be eaten. I didn’t know what was worse, probably being eaten.
 
That would hurt like a bitch.
 

Sure enough, the Z population exploded the moment we passed the airport and crossed the bridge that led into the neighborhood of Gentilly. We were near the University of New Orleans in a highly populated area. A bunch of undergrad zombies were about to ruin my fucking day.
 

But then, what the hell did I have to live for? Why was I in so much of a hurry to get to the next point? What did I have to look forward to, a biker gang that wanted me as a sex slave? Maybe I should be wishing for a little zombie intervention, to take us out, to
take me out
. Hopefully, they would get the two Uglies first, maybe Clara. I wasn’t looking forward to forced prostitution. But was death a better choice?
 

Lani had thought so. There was no coming back from death though, no big comeback. That was the big finale. If I lived, if I made it to Lakeview, even if I did have to put up with some heinous shit, I would still be alive.
 
There still might be an opportunity to escape. I had to hang onto that hope. There was always a chance for escape if you were alive. There was always a chance for better. No matter what shit I had to go through, I was still alive.

And I wanted to live. No matter what, the choice was to live.
 

BLAKE

We went up and down 90 a few times, looking for any signs of life and finding none. It was long and tedious and we switched places a few times, just in case one of us might have missed something. By the third pass, I was done with this bit of drama. It was my idea, but it wasn’t proving successful. I was a big boy, I could admit when I was wrong. Not out loud though.
 

When we passed Venetian Isles for the second time, I remembered the family that was holed up in there. They were our closest neighbors; they kept to themselves and probably kept a watchful eye on the area. We had said we should talk to them, now was as good a time as any. I hoped they were still around. If they had been wiped out or moved on, we would have no way of knowing.
 

I pulled over to the side of the road when I had the sudden insight to talk to them. If there was a family living in here, alone, they had to be paranoid, ever watchful. If there were other people roaming around in the area, they would know.
They had to know.

“You think the family is still living in here?” I asked Zach.

“Yeah, from what I know, I haven’t seen them in a couple months, though. They might be gone.”
 

“Let’s go ask them if they’ve seen anything. If the rednecks are in the area, they gotta know something.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” he shrugged.
 

I put the truck into gear and pulled into the neighborhood, heading to one of the back properties. It was a large house, raised, with a wrap-around porch, like most of the houses in this area. The lawn was overgrown and there were weeds taking over their boat launch, but other than that the house was in good order.
 

Our truck was a diesel, so the rumble of the engine would be heard from inside the house if they were still around. As we pulled up I saw motion from the porch, the flick of a curtain, the movement of a shadow at the window.
 

I reached in the back of the cab and pulled out a few bags of MREs and got out of the truck. Zach jumped out and went around the vehicle to stand at my side. I held up my hands, MREs in hand, showing them that I was unarmed and I elbowed Zach to do the same. He was tense and at the ready, I didn’t know what he would do, I had this sudden fear that he would go up there guns drawn, demanding answers.
 

“Neighborly,” I whispered.

He huffed and I think he responded with, “No shit, asshole,” but I couldn’t be certain.
Hey, better safe than sorry.
 

I knew the family was a bit on the paranoid side, but I wasn’t going to confront them unarmed. We both had Brownings, our handy 9mms, tucked into our waistbands, hopefully the family would see this as protection and not aggression.
 

The front door opened and a boy who couldn’t be older than eighteen came out onto the porch. He had a shotgun in his right hand and didn’t look the least bit welcoming.
 

“We come in peace,” Zach said in a sarcastic drawl and I could have shot him. The guy had no social etiquette.
 

“We just want to talk,” I added and held up the MREs again. “I have a few MREs if you want them. We just want to ask you a few questions. We’re from the compound a few miles from here.”

“Yeah, I remember that one,” the teen pointed a finger at Zach. “We don’t want no trouble, we just want to be left alone.”
 

“We respect that, we wouldn’t bother you if we didn’t need help,” I said.

“We don’t have anything, we can’t help you out,” the teen said belligerently.
 

“Just information,” Zach spoke up quickly before the teen could slip away. “We don’t need anything, just information.”
 

“Have you noticed any other men in the area? Maybe a pickup truck with two men in it? An old woman?” I quickly asked.

“Why do y’all need help with other people? You going to hurt them?” he asked suspiciously.

“They took one of our group, a woman, and we don’t think they have good intentions. We have to get her back, if you’ve seen them…” Zach said.

“She’s family, they took our family,” I added to promote empathetic feelings from the kid.
 

“They took your woman? That ain’t right.” The teen finally looked like he was more open to helping us.
 

“No, it’s not and we want to find her quickly, if not, we’re scared of what they’ll do to her. We think they’re stealing from people, grabbing women and trying to take anything they can by gunpoint. They aren’t good people.”
 

“That’s bullshit. This world may be gone to shit, but stealing ain’t right,” the teen spat. “We did see someone, an old woman and a couple of big men. Fat fuckers, look like ex-cons or something, not big like you guys, fat. They’re up in a camp closer to New Orleans near those industrial places, about a couple miles down. We saw ‘em while we were in the boat. Big yellow camp, think they called it “Fishing Around” or something like that, had a flag. You can’t see it from the highway.”

“Thank you,” Zach called. “You don’t know what this means to us.”
 

“If they’re taking women, I don’t want them anywhere near this area. If you do find them, take them out, make sure they can’t come back here, we only want to worry about the infected.”

“Will do,” I called as we backed away. I wasn’t going to turn my back on this kid no matter how friendly he seemed.

“Leave the MREs on the sidewalk and y’all go on. We’re neighbors and all, but I think this was enough conversation for one day.”
 

“Thanks, man, really.” I placed the MREs on the sidewalk and then got back in the truck. We had a fishing camp to find.
Like now.

ALEXIS

Ugly One and Two had obviously made this trek before. They knew the back ways and how to avoid the large packs of Z’s that prowled the streets. It also helped that the streets were mostly clear of cars and debris. New Orleans resembled a ghost town.

As we pushed deeper into the city there were a few vehicles sporadically parked across the streets as if the occupants had just jumped out and run off. Some still held their occupants, the windows rolled up, their decomposed faces pressed against the glass as their mouths slowly opened and closed. It was reassuring that they were unable to work something as simple as a door handle, but pitiful in the same sense. Whatever lived within these creatures, whatever fueled their damned existence–their driving hunger, it was relegated for an eternity within the confines of their cars. Changed, in a violent act, but still so normal as they sat forever behind the wheel, wearing the same clothes they died in.

It took only a few minutes to make it onto Robert E. Lee Boulevard and cross into the City Park area, finally coming to a stop when we reached the Orleans Avenue Canal. There were large bastions full of sand blocking the road, placed strategically so you couldn’t drive a vehicle over the bridge. Two guards stood with rifles raised, coming to attention as U2 and U1 raised their hands out of the window.

“We got girls for trade,” U2 called out the window.
 

“That you, Phil? You got those girls you were talking about earlier?” one of the guards called.

“Yeah, we got ‘em in the back, pretty little things, you give us safe passage?”

“Yeah, Spider’ll take ya in,” U1 and U2 got out of the car and they both went to the back doors, yanking them open. It was the quickest I had seen them move. They were scared of these bikers.

U2 grabbed me, yanking me out of the car. I didn’t have shoes on and I scuffed my toes as he pushed me forward. My dress was pushed up and my hair was in my face, I must look like a hot mess. I hadn’t looked in the mirror in a long time, but it was likely I also sported a few bruises and scrapes from my tussles with these winners that were selling me. Hopefully it drove their asking price way down. I didn’t want these fuckers making much off of me.

“Move it, girlie.” He pushed me forward and a cold blast of air hit me. I wished I could wrap my hands around myself, but they were still tied together.
 

“Those cuffs really needed?” one of the guards asked as he walked up and eyed me. He was wearing leather and an ornately decorated jacket with typical motorcycle club patches on it. He was an older man, bearded, with a bit of a paunch and a flush to his cheeks and swell of the nose that spoke of alcoholism and substance abuse.

“This one here is a spitfire, she took out Henry and Frank,” U2 said.

The biker laughed so hard that I thought he might fall over. It was one of those big belly laughs that had him bending over and gasping for breath. If I wasn’t so pissed and miserable I might have joined in on the festivities. “Y’all are the dumbest cagers I ever met, you let a fucking bitch take out your brothers?” He eyed me and didn’t look impressed with my mad killer skills.
Good
.

“She’s tough,” U1 said, but he looked embarrassed.
 

“Take her fucking cuffs off. When we get to base make her look good or Brandon ain’t giving you shit. He don’t want anymore bitches, only quality pussy. And what the fuck is wrong with that one? She’s injured, she’s not fucking bit is she?” He backed up a step, fear evident on his face.
 
It was good to see that these bikers had a healthy fear of the zombies.
 

U2 pulled tiny keys out of his pocket and pulled me to him violently. “Nah, she ain’t bit, this one here stabbed her. I told you, ya gotta look out for her. She’s a crazy bitch.”
 
He unlatched my cuffs and I had the sudden urge to let him see just how crazy I was, but I was outmatched and underdressed. The two bikers were armed to the teeth and I was wearing nothing but this stupid fucking dress. I had to come up with a new plan of attack. The first step was to make them think I was harmless. Harmless meant no cuffs. Harmless meant they would only see me as an object and not something to be wary of. Harmless meant potential escape.

I rubbed my wrists, wincing like it hurt much worse than it did. Then I pulled my skirt down and patted at my crazy hair, trying to get it into some order. I looked up and met the bigger biker’s eyes and he smirked at me. I wanted to growl and attack him, but I held myself back.
Pitiful, I had to look pitiful.

“She’s a pretty thing, Clem, Brandon’s gonna be pleased and since you’re my contact, that means I get a cut. Don’t fucking mention she killed your men though, if he hears that he’ll get paranoid.” He looked over at Clara.
 
“Don’t know if you’re gonna get much for this injured one though. Limping and ugly ain’t a good sale. You might want to just take her back with ya. Y’all don't have any women, do you?”
 

“I gotta get something, we need food, Mom’s gonna kill us if we come back without our fair share. She’ll look good when ya clean her up, one of those girls that looks better with a bit of lipstick slapped on her.”

“Take ‘em in, Spider.” He leered at me and swatted at my ass as I followed
Spider
, who looked more like a cockroach than any arachnid. He led us to a truck parked at the side of the road, U2 pushed at my back as I slowly trudged my way over. I wasn’t going to hurry my ass for this.
 

“Get in the back,” Spider growled and U2 practically picked me up and threw me in the back, climbing up behind me, his large bulk causing the truck to dip down.
 

U1 yanked at Clara to get moving and had to practically throw her into the back of the truck next to me. She scrambled as far away from everyone as possible as soon as she got up onto her hands and knees.
 
The biker, Spider, got behind the wheel and pulled off without allowing us to orient ourselves, squealing the tires and slamming us around in the unsecured, cold bed of the truck.