The Survivalist - 02 (18 page)

“Don’t get killed. I think she lied about knowing how to drive.”

He ignored her and kept walking, his shotgun held at the ready. He traveled along a zigzag pattern in order to keep at least one car between him and the ambushers. As he got to within about ten yards of the Torino, one of the men who had been hiding suddenly stood up and stepped out. Tanner whipped the shotgun up.

“Sorry, friend,” the man said, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He was holding a shiny silver .45 semi-automatic in one hand, but it was pointed down at the ground. The man was short, but as stout as a bull shark. Homemade tattoos covered both forearms, and his ears looked like cauliflower, no doubt from years of wrestling or mixed martial arts.

Tanner saw that another man was still crouching behind the car.

“He might as well come out too,” he said, gesturing toward him with the shotgun.

The first man motioned for his partner to show himself. He reluctantly stood up but kept the car between him and Tanner. The height and build of the two men were remarkably similar, and it was clear from their distinctive Filipino facial features that they were related.

“I’m Angelo,” the first man said, sliding the .45 into his waistband. “That’s my brother, Dani.” He stepped forward with his hand extended.

“I’m Tanner,” he said, shaking a hand that was half the size of his own. “Where’d you boys do your time?”

“Over in Jesup. You?”

“Talladega.”

Neither asked why the other was incarcerated. A convict was a convict.

“That your ride?” asked Tanner, pointing to the Torino.

“It is now,” he said with a laugh. “The world’s become like Grand Theft Auto. You can pretty much drive anything you like if you’re willing to look for it.”

Tanner thought of his own selection of vehicles, which had included a minivan, a yellow Volkswagen Bug, a Ford Taurus, and, his newest, the Jeep Wrangler. He made a mental note to be a little more selective when car shopping.

“Excuse the scare,” said Angelo. “We’re trying to bag us a few of those pus-infested monsters.”

Tanner nodded. “We spent most of the night running from them ourselves.”

“I’m surprised you’re still in one piece. It gets like
Night of the Living Dead
around here after dark. We tend to hunt mostly at dawn and dusk, when their numbers are fewer.”

“And you’re doing this why? Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“We’re cleaning up our backyard. That’s all.”

“I see,” said Tanner. “And are you winning the war?”

“Not really. For every one we kill, two more show up.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“I got no love for killing, but I’ve seen these things tear bodies apart like crazed animals. They’re bringing my people down in a big way.”

“Fair enough.”

Angelo swept his arms left and right.

“We’re hoping to create a safe zone. Some place that we can live without having to fear for our lives every night.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Nearly a hundred now, and growing every day,” he said with pride.

“All convicts?”

“Not all. We started that way. Probably no different than gangs all across the country. We took what we wanted. Killed a few people who probably didn’t deserve it. Just thugs on the loose, you know?”

Tanner didn’t say anything, wondering if Angelo and his brother were going to be trouble. While they both looked seasoned, he figured he could bench press the two of them with one arm.

“That’s when Dani and I decided things had to change. We helped our brothers and sisters to see that acting like that would only get us killed. We got everyone to agree to a few basic rules. Don’t kill each other. Don’t rape the women. No freeloading. Stuff you shouldn’t have to tell people.”

“But you do.”

Angelo nodded. “It’s best not to assume that people who’ve spent their whole lives behind bars know how to play nice with others. Many of us are just now figuring out that working together is where it’s at.” He flashed a wry grin. “We’ve taken an evolutionary step, my friend.”

“It sounds like you’re setting up your own mini-government.”

“No way. That’s the beauty of it. There’s no government at all. No one owns anything. No one tells anyone else what to do. Other than our Golden Rules, we just do our own thing. It’s perfection, man.”

“Sounds like a giant Woodstock commune to me.”

“We just call it living free.”

Dani bumped his brother’s shoulder.

“We got company.” He pointed down the street.

Tanner and Angelo turned to look. Four figures were approaching the Jeep.

Without saying a word, Tanner bolted toward them. Angelo and Dani quickly followed. At about that same instant, Samantha and Libby saw the creatures and started frantically honking the Jeep’s horn.

By the time Tanner arrived, the four infected men were already at the Jeep. One of them grabbed the top of Samantha’s window, splintering it into thousands of tiny shards. She screamed and scrambled to bring up her rifle.

Tanner didn’t dare shoot the shotgun for fear that a stray pellet might hit one of the girls. Instead, he plowed ahead into the two men who were attacking the right side of the vehicle. He hit the first one head-on, knocking him off his feet. He only winged the second man, but it was enough to send him stumbling backward. Angelo and Dani engaged the two on the other side of the Jeep.

While the infected man on the ground scrambled to get back up, the second one charged ahead, screaming with bloodthirsty fury. Tanner swung the butt of the shotgun sideways, aiming for his head. The man managed to get a hand between his face and the rifle, but it made little difference. Wood met bone, splitting the skin behind his ear and sending a huge spray of blood across Libby’s window.

The incredible blow sent the man spinning, but somehow he managed to remain standing. He used the momentum to whirl around and lunge forward again, this time latching onto the shotgun. Tanner jerked the gun sideways, hoping to pull it free. No matter how hard he tugged, he was unable to break the man’s grip. As Tanner struggled for the weapon, his attacker lunged forward with his mouth open, biting at the flesh on his face and neck. Twisting the gun clockwise, Tanner finally managed to jam the barrel under the man’s jaw. Before he could push it away, Tanner used his thumb to squeeze the trigger. The entire payload of triple-aught pellets blasted up into the man’s brain cavity. The pressure was so great that his eyeballs popped out of their sockets like bloody marshmallows.

Before Tanner could wrestle the shotgun free, the second man barreled forward, catching him in the gut with a meaty shoulder. He drove Tanner back like a defensive lineman, smashing him into the side of a commercial carpet cleaning van. The blow was incredibly solid, and Tanner fought to keep from losing consciousness.

With nowhere left to push, the infected man took a step back and then jumped in again, aiming for Tanner’s ribs. Tanner brought up a knee and caught him under the chin. While it wasn’t strong enough to do much damage, it did redirect most of his forward momentum. Still winded, Tanner grabbed him by his hair and slung him sideways, hoping to buy himself a few seconds to recover.

The man shrieked and hurled himself forward, swinging his right fist with uncontrolled rage. Tanner ducked, planted his right foot, and fired a powerful uppercut. The blow caught the man squarely under the jaw, and his teeth slammed together, completely severing his tongue. He screamed in pain, and a shower of warm droplets sprayed across Tanner’s face.

Tanner hit him with a jab and then a cross, breaking his nose and spilling even more blood. The man latched onto his face, trying to drive both thumbs into his eyes. Tanner slammed the top of his head forward. The blow hit his attacker in the mouth, knocking teeth free and cutting open Tanner’s forehead. He leaned back and bashed his head forward again, this time hitting him on the bridge of the nose. The infected man’s hands fell away as he wavered from side to side. Tanner stepped forward and smashed an elbow against the side of his head, sending him to the pavement.

Before he could recover, Tanner kicked and stomped his head until there was little left but blood and bone. When he was satisfied that the fight was over, he went over and retrieved his shotgun. Angelo had dispatched his opponent with a knife, and Dani had managed to put three 9-mm rounds into the chest of the fourth infected man. Both brothers were battered and bloody from their fights, but neither looked seriously injured. Tanner leaned against the Jeep and took several deep breaths.

Samantha opened the door and leaned out. Libby peeked out over her shoulder.

“You’re bleeding again,” Samantha said, her voice shaking. “Kind of bad this time.”

Tanner felt blood running down his face. He looked in the Jeep’s side mirror and saw a two-inch gash in the middle of his forehead.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

She cringed, unable to look away.

He managed a small smile.

“I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“What?”

“The older you get, the less things hurt. I can barely even feel this.”

“Really?” she asked, squinting at him.

“Really.”

“Still, I think you’re going to need stitches.”

Angelo stepped around the Jeep, looking at Tanner’s face.

“She’s right,” he said. “That’s not going to heal right if you don’t sew it up.”

Libby slipped out the other side of the Jeep and came hurrying around to him. She was carrying a wet t-shirt. She carefully wiped the blood from his face and held the cloth tightly against the wound. She gestured for him to hold it there.

“I was about to do that,” muttered Samantha.

Tanner turned to Angelo.

“You have anyone who could stitch me up?”

“Betty could,” offered Dani.

Angelo nodded. “Betty was a veterinarian before all this. Definitely a crabby old witch, but she’s got a steady hand and doesn’t mind the sight of blood.”

“I hope she was a large animal vet,” Samantha said with a nervous laugh.

Tanner cut his eyes at her.

“I thought you were worried about me.”

She pressed her lips together.

“You said you were okay.”

Tanner turned back to Angelo.

“Do I have your word that the ladies will be safe at your compound?”

Angelo nodded. “Course you do, man.” He glanced over at the bloody mess that Tanner had left on the street. “Besides, nobody’s going to want to cross you.”

The compound was little more than two city blocks that Angelo’s group had cordoned off in an upper class neighborhood in northern Atlanta. The area was only about four miles from where Tanner had previously hooked up with Janice, a mom desperate to find a strong man willing to protect her and her family. In the end, they had parted with a warm kiss, and he couldn’t help but wonder how she had fared. Wondering was one thing; going back was something different. Janice was not someone who could be trusted, and, according to Samantha, her oldest boy was one step away from torturing kittens.

He turned his attention back to the matter at hand, following Angelo’s Gran Torino around a huge water fountain to a sprawling three-story brick building that resembled a small university. The brass plate on the front of the building identified it as the Dunwoody Country Club. Two men stood guard, holding rifles. When they saw Angelo pull up, they shook their weapons in the air like gladiators saluting.

Everyone gathered in front of the enormous building as Angelo introduced them to the two guards. Both men were Hispanic and covered in gang tattoos. They offered warm street handshakes to everyone, but their eyes never left Libby. Tanner inserted himself, and they seemed to get the message.

“Come on,” said Angelo. “Let’s get inside and see the doc. You’re going to like her.”

The inside of the building, which had once boasted shiny waxed floors and polished trophies, was now strewn with trash. The occasional stain of a cadaver island was enough to remind everyone that the Superpox-99 virus had not discriminated between beggar and socialite.

Angelo escorted them up to the second floor and into a small room that resembled a nurse’s office in an elementary school. Two twin-size mattresses sat on the floor, with a cart of medical supplies and a rolling stool between them. The room’s windows were wide open, and the chatter of people talking could be heard coming from outside. An elderly woman sat in a large La-Z-Boy recliner working a book of crossword puzzles. She looked up and grumbled as they entered.

Angelo motioned to Tanner.

“My man, Tanner, took some teeth to the forehead. Probably needs a few stitches.”

“And you’re a doctor now?” she snapped, reaching over and pumping a squirt of sanitizer onto her palm.

“No, ma’am,” he said.

“Well, neither am I,” she said, standing up and waving Tanner over. “So what the hell do we know?”

As Tanner approached, she pointed to the La-Z-Boy.

“Well, go on, have a seat.”

He lowered himself into the chair, not at all confident that he was about to receive real medical care.

“Comfortable, right?” she asked, while inspecting his wound.