No Easy Hope - 01 (40 page)

I hesitated for a moment. I was first in line to respond, and I knew nothing would happen until I did. I had never killed a living person before. I knew it was a possibility when I volunteered to come along on this foray, but the concept of shooting a man and actually doing it are two very different things.

“Steve, are you sure about this?” I asked. “If you’re wrong, then we are about to be murderers. Over.”

“I’m sure.” Steve responded immediately. “These assholes are a bunch of sick fucks. We have to help the guy they have tied up. They’re going to torture him and kill him. Eric, we are out of time, these guys won’t be stopped for long.”

The men below were moving boxes and small crates into the back of the truck. It looked like they were using the abandoned gas station as a supply depot. The man Steve told me to cover jumped down out of the back and took a large gas can from one of the others. He turned it upside down and started pouring into the fuel tank. I raised my rifle and drew a bead on his heart. I was only a little over a hundred yards away from him, and I was confident I could make the shot.

“You better be right. I’m ready. Over.”

“Good. Cody, Stan, one click yes, two no. You ready?”

One click for yes. A delay, one click for yes.

“Fire on my mark. Ready…mark.”

I squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit my target in the center of his chest and slightly to the right, straight through the heart. There was a nearly comical look of surprise on his face as he looked down at the bloodstain blossoming from a hole in his chest. The bullet must have missed his spine on the way out because he remained standing. A couple of seconds later, the blood in his brain began to run out of oxygen, and he collapsed to the ground dropping the gas can as he fell. The silencer did its job. The man I killed never heard the shot that ended his life.

Off to my left, the man who drove the truck into the gas station screamed when his right elbow disintegrated. For about a second and a half, the man standing beside him gaped at his wounded companion as he clutched his arm before Steve fired again and took his scrawny arm off at the shoulder. He stood frozen, a look of shock and disbelief etched on his face as he looked at the blood pumping rhythmically from the stump where his arm used to be. A second later his left leg gave out as his knee exploded and he collapsed like a rag doll, screaming in agony.

The man sitting on the yellow traffic barrier slumped to the ground when most of the top half of his cranium exploded courtesy of Cody’s marksmanship. Stan’s target jerked twice and fell down dead as two 5.56mm rounds ripped through his chest. It was all over in less than three seconds.

“Converge now. Move!” Steve ordered over the radio.

We emerged from our hiding places and sprinted toward the gas station. Steve emerged from the woods on the other side of the road from me, only about fifty yards away. I was watching that direction, and I never saw him moving into position. I was suddenly very glad that the former Green Beret was on our side.

I reached the fallen men a few seconds behind Cody and Steve. Stan was farther away, and it was another ten seconds or so before he arrived. Three of the men in front of me lay in dark, expanding pools of blood. Two of them were still, but the one I shot twitched spasmodically in his death throes. One of the two men that Steve shot, the one with a missing arm and a raw, bloody tangle where his knee used to be, was screaming like a banshee and begging for help. The other one had slumped down against the side of the camouflage truck. His face was pale from blood loss, and his lower left arm was hanging on by a strip of flesh and a prayer. He had taken off his belt and tied it around his bicep as a makeshift tourniquet. I had to give the guy credit, even though he was severely wounded and surrounded by dead comrades, he was still thinking.

Cody and Stan wore grim expressions. Killing people outright went against everything they had once stood for as police officers. It was obvious that they were not happy with this situation. Neither was I, for that matter. I hoped for Steve’s sake that he had a very good reason for asking us to shoot these men, otherwise there was going to be hell to pay.

Steve slid the sniper rifle around to his back as he knelt down in front of the man leaning against the truck.

“Where are the others?” He asked.

The man looked up at Steve with raw hatred. He looked to be in his mid-forties, bald, with a heavy gut protruding over his legs.

 “Go fuck yourself.” He said with a thick, drawling accent.

Steve stood up and stepped forward, delivering a swift kick to the wreckage of the man’s arm. He cried out and clutched his tourniquet, spewing a stream of curses at Steve.

“Wrong answer.” Steve said, his voice flat. “I can do this all day buddy, I’m not even warmed up yet. Let’s try this again. Where…are…the…others?”

Steve punctuated each word of his last sentence with a little kick to the man’s ruined elbow. He flinched and hissed at each one.

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit. Just fucking shoot me and get it over with, you cocksuckin’ faggot.”

Steve responded by unsheathing his combat knife, grabbing one of the man’s legs, and casually severing his Achilles tendon. The wounded man let forth a high-pitched squeal of agony. He fell over onto his side sobbing from the pain. Steve kneeled down and grabbed the man’s other ankle. His blade bit into his skin just barely enough to draw blood.

“You’re going to die. Nothing can save you from that. The only thing you can control right now is whether you die quickly, or slowly. Personally, I hope you pick slow. It’s no less than you deserve.”

Steve’s yellowish eyes were empty and cold, like a hungry reptile. His face was completely devoid of any hint of expression. This man could kill and torture someone with as much effort as it took me to tie my shoes. I looked at Cody and Stan, and they were both edging away nervously. Steve ignored us and focused on the poor dumb bastard in front of him. I realized that the other wounded man had stopped screaming and looked over at him. He was unconscious. I couldn’t tell if he was still breathing or not.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you, just don’t cut me again, please.”

 He laid his head down on the ground against the concrete, crying like a baby. Steve looked almost disappointed. I shivered.

“I’m listening.” Steve said, not taking the knife away from the man’s leg.

“We holed up at an old farm a few miles north of here, just off Randleman Road.”

“How many?”

“There were sixteen of us.”

“Including these assholes?”

The man nodded quickly, teeth bared against the pain in his arm and leg. He was breathing heavily, and his skin was as white as bleached bone. Violent shivers seized him, and he broke out in a cold sweat. He was going into shock.

“Give me directions.” Steve said.

The man did, nearly losing consciousness at the end. Steve put his knife back in its sheath and took a few steps back before raising his rifle and painting the concrete with the man’s brains. I jumped when the rifle emitted a muffled crack. Sunlight glinted off the brass casing as it spun through the air and landed on the ground in a chorus of pings.

“What the fuck, Steve?” I said.

He rounded on me and I took an involuntary step backward. I almost brought my H&K level with him, but managed to stop myself. Steve stood stock still, glaring and gripping his rifle. Stan and Cody edged a few steps closer, looping fingers over their triggers. I let my rifle hang from its sling and held my hands up, palms out.

“Look, man, I just killed a guy on your say so. Maybe that’s not a big deal for you, but it is for me. I just want to know what’s going on.” I said.

The intensity of Steve’s glare lessened, and he seemed to withdraw into himself. The nervous tension in the air abated. Steve turned away from me and looked at the ground. Stan and Cody relaxed and took their hands off the grips of their rifles.

“I promise, I’ll explain everything. Right now we need to check on the guy in the back of the truck.” He said.

I realized that I had forgotten about him in the midst of all the bloodshed. I looked at Stan and Cody, and we rushed to climb into the truck. The hostage was lying on his left side. His face was bruised and bleeding, his hair filthy and matted with blood. I drew my knife and cut the rope binding his feet. Stan stepped around me and did the same for the man’s arms. His hands had gone purple from blood constriction under the tightly knotted bonds. He groaned and began to stir as Stan rolled him onto his back. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but the other began to flutter open.

“Hey, buddy, can you hear me?” Stan asked, placing one hand on the man’s chest and shaking him.

He let out a rasping croak and began to thrash weakly.

“Hey, easy there. Calm down man, we’re not going to hurt you. Settle down, okay? Everything is okay now, we’re here to help.”

His panic faded at the sound of Stan’s calm voice. He stared blearily up through his one good eye. He croaked a couple more times, and finally reached up a shaking hand to point at my canteen. I pulled it from my belt and helped Stan sit the man up. He grimaced and moaned when we got him upright against the back of the truck’s cab. I held the canteen up to his lips and slowly poured the liquid into his mouth. He gulped it thirstily, and beckoned for more. We had to give him a little more than half a quart before he was able to speak.

“Sir, can you talk?” Stan asked, falling into cop mode.

“Yeah, I can.” He rasped.

“Can you tell me what happened to you? How did you end up with these men?” Stan said.

The man’s one working eye widened and he began struggling to stand up.

“Marissa! They still have Marissa. I have to go back and find her.” He shouted.

“Whoa, whoa, buddy. Don’t try to stand up yet, you might have a concussion.” Cody stepped in and pushed the man back down. “Tell us what happened, and we’ll try to help you. Who is Marissa?”

“My sister.” The man said. “Those fuckers took her. They caught us while we were out looking for food. They put her in a different truck and headed out toward the old Greely place.”

“I know where they are.” Steve said, as he stepped next to the truck. “I’m going to go and find them. If your sister is still alive, I’ll bring her back. Do you know anything else about the men that took you?”

The man shook his head. “No. They showed up a few weeks ago, I don’t know where they came from. They holed up at an old farm not far from my sister’s house. We were careful not to let them know we were around, at least until today. I spotted them one morning not long after they got here taking a woman into a barn. She was screaming and fighting, and the sons of bitches were laughing at her. I think there were others in there with her, but I’m not sure. Marissa and I have been hoping that they would go away eventually, so we stayed put. I told her I would protect her if they ever found us.”

He broke off, his voice choked. Anger bloomed in my chest. It was bad enough that the dead were walking, but now people were taking advantage of the lawlessness left in the wake of the Outbreak to victimize other survivors. You have to be a pretty fucking low form of life to kidnap and rape when there is nothing but sorrow and destruction around you. My hand tightened on the grip of my rifle. I looked up to Stan and Cody. Judging by their expressions, they felt the same way.

“Mount up. We’re going after them.” Steve said.

We took a minute to drag the bodies behind the gas station, out of sight. If any others came by, we did not want them to see their buddies lying in pools of their own blood. The other man that Steve wounded had no pulse when I checked him. He must have bled out. I considered it a better death than what he deserved. Cody checked our new friend’s wounds, and although he had been badly beaten, there was nothing life threatening.

“What’s your name?” Cody asked him when he finished looking him over.

“Robert. Robert Gorman. Who are you?”

“I’m Cody Starnes. That’s Stan, Eric, and Steve.” He said, pointing at each of us in turn.

“Not to sound ungrateful, but how did you find me? It looks like you ambushed these guys.” Robert asked.

“We can talk about that later.” Steve interjected. He was standing by the driver side door of the truck. “I want to find those fuckers before nightfall. We need to get moving.”