The Undead Situation (26 page)

I didn’t say thanks. Instead, I stood up and looked around for my rifle. It was missing. So were my .40 and the 9mm.

“Where are my guns?”

Michael and Angie looked at each other, then to me. He said, “They took the rifle, but during the commotion Luke got the handguns and hid them.”

“Hand them over, then.”

Angie spoke up. “No. We’re going to cut you a deal. Everyone go downstairs.”

As obedient as well trained dogs, the survivors filtered downstairs, and in no time I was alone with Angie and Michael.

“We need you to do this for us. We’re not strong enough or skilled enough.”

At Angie’s words, I gave Michael a blank look. I knew I wanted to get the fuck out of there and get Blaze back. What were they asking of me?

“We’ll only give you the guns if you kill as many of the others as you can when you get your friend,” Angie said, boldly stepping in and acting like she had an edge. I could tell she was disturbed by her own request.

I laughed then splayed my hands in front of her. “What did you think I was planning on doing? Negotiating?”

They looked at me oddly, then Michael turned away and walked downstairs. I heard talking, but didn’t pay attention. Angie still stared at me.

“Do you have a problem?” I snapped. “We need to get this show on the road, sweetie.”

“I can see why you’ve survived this long. You just don’t care about anyone but yourself. That woman, your friend, she doesn’t feel anything. That’s why she’s still around.”

This chick would get along smashingly with Gabe
, I thought.

“That’s not true. I care about Blaze. That’s why I’m going to get her.”

Michael came up the stairs loudly, both my guns in hand. “We counted how much you have left while you were under. Both these clips are full, and you have two clips for each in your backpack.”

They looked through my backpack? I was about to yell at them, but bit the inside of my lip instead and took the weapons away from him.

“I want you to know I’m not coming back here. I’m getting Blaze then we’re leaving.”

Angie’s face went red and her fists closed into balls. “I figured as much.”

“We’d like to thank you,” Michael said, trying for strong but coming off as timid. “We need to be free from all this.”

I shoved the .40 back in its holster, but kept out the 9mm. Without another word or wasted time, I marched down the stairs and out the door.

There I was, having to save someone yet again. Not just someone, but indirectly an entire group of people. I didn’t want to come off as superior, but I was. Superior. If I wasn’t, why were people chomping at the bit for me to save them?

Well, I wasn’t sure if Blaze needed my help, but I assumed she did. If the crazies were worth their salt, they’d knock her out and tie her up. Together we could make it out. All I had to do was get to her and arm her.

I remembered Michael or Angie saying the church was across from the old tennis court down the street, but I decided to stop at the Mustang and retrieve a more formidable gun, first.

The backyard gate was off its hinges and the little girl by the willow was truly dead. Her little head was half missing from what I could tell, and her body was hidden in the tall grass for the most part. No undead were in the area, which made me think they followed the crazies out when they left. Unmoving corpses peppered the backyard and a broad radius in front of the house.

Sure enough, the front of the house was void of a fence or car of any kind. They were efficient when it came to unpacking and packing a kidnapping party. Down the street, my Mustang sat pretty and red, not to mention blissfully alone.

Fortunately, the door wasn’t locked, because Blaze had the keys. When I got to it I jerked the door open, reaching in the back for a shotgun. It would do burst damage, which I’d need in the tight quarters of the church. I also took a .40 as backup. I rifled around for more ammunition, rushing in case an undead spotted me. I considered taking my pack off and leaving it, but I remembered the Hummer and decided to take it with. Someone could destroy, steal, or mangle the Mustang while I was gone. Then where would I be?

My back prickled, and I turned to see people staring out of the house I was just in. Angie was one of them, and two men behind her.

Shotgun in hand, I took a brief moment to assess the location of the tennis court.

The “tennis court” did not match its title. There was one tall fence still intact, with a few rotting corpses lashed to it. Grass grew in every crevice of the court, which was faded and cracked beyond use. Even its net was decrepit, torn and falling in most areas. The only reason I noticed it was because of the bodies. On either side of it were some baby cherry trees, creating even rows and a small amount of cover.

My vision went past them to the large, symmetrical building just beyond. The church had white siding that chipped away. There were evenly spaced windows on both the top and bottom stories, but the bottom ones were heavily boarded. Not wanting to stay in one place too long, I started off toward the left row of cherry trees, assessing the church all the while.

I had no way of knowing the best choice of entrance unless I circled the building and checked the other sides, which would take far too long. Instead, I opted for the lattice that was in the center of the building, with two two-story windows flanking it. Withered ivy would make it even easier to climb.

If I got up there, I could break a window and Rambo on in. No prisoners, no negotiations. In fact, no talking of any kind would occur. Just good old fashioned killing and rescuing. Saving a damsel in distress. I’d have to tell Blaze that one.

As I drew closer, I expected to be shot at or have an alarm to go off. None of that happened, which made me wonder what was going on inside. I ran from the trees and crossed a paved parking lot, my boots slapping against the ground too loudly for my liking.

Then I was up against the building, safe and sound. I looked out across the tennis court and saw a few corpses ambling out of whatever hiding places they came from, no doubt provoked by my noise and visibility.

There was no time to take care of them. By the time I got to the top of the lattice, they’d only be halfway across the tennis court, anyway. Unsure of where to put it, I shoved the shotgun into the back of my vest, wiggling it around until it seemed fairly secure. Not the cleverest of methods, but I wasn’t going in there without it.

As predicted, the climb was quick and reasonably easy. I tried not to hit the wall while climbing. Surprise was the most important element. If someone knew I was out there, I was a sitting duck. A kid with a pistol could lean out a window and massacre me.

Once at the top, I paused and listened. There was no noise coming from the left window, but to the right there were clear wailing noises and some shouting. Moving sideways until I could just peek into the room, I leaned back and noticed the window was slightly ajar.

It was the reformatory in Monroe all over again. I could only see a small portion of the room where two women were tied to each other, and a little girl standing near them was also bound. The panicked women were gagged and shoved into the corner. Most of their clothes were in tatters, showing scabbed, bruised flesh underneath.

A cross was painted on the wall behind them, black and ragged.

Now I was closer, I heard the yelling clearly. It was a man shouting obscenities at the women.

The little girl turned and looked at me. I was only a few feet away from her, so I noticed when her green eyes grew wide. Hanging on to the lattice with one hand, I brought my other up and gave the universal sign for be quiet.

She almost nodded, but jerked her head toward the yelling, then said, “Take me. I’ll go.”

The man stopped yelling and silence followed.

Green-eyes turned her head slightly to look at me. I could tell she was trying to reassure me, and I wasn’t sure why for a moment. Then it hit me. She was going to sacrifice herself somehow, probably so I could get in. How did she know I was on her side?

Maybe it was because I was hanging off the side of the house and not with the crazies, trying to kidnap or rape someone.

She walked out of my line of sight, but I heard her yell, “We’re leaving!”

I was going to save that kid. Green-eyes was thinking ahead, giving me signals, and creating an in. She deserved to live.

A door slammed and the quiet remained prevalent. I shifted some more and reached for the window to pull it all the way up.

The two women closest jerked their heads toward me and started to fidget. They weren’t as cool as the kid and might give me away.

Snatching my hand back, I tried to look non-threatening and took the risk of speaking. “Michael and Angie sent me.”

That was a lie, but so what? They calmed down instantly and scooted away from the window. I lifted it all the way and brought my leg up so I could haul myself in.

There were a lot of them in there. I stood before at least twenty women shoved into a tiny Sunday school room. They were all tied up, some of them to each other, and some of them to a heater in the corner of the room. All eyes were on me, the pleading in their souls tangible.

Cyrus V. Sinclair. The V stands for valiant.

Having a conscience is terrible
, I thought angrily as I moved to the closet group of ladies.
It really fucks you up.

Even after I removed their gags, none of them spoke. Once their hands were untied, they set to work on the other women. In no time they were all freed.

“I’m looking for a woman. Tall, black hair, with a mean scar on her face. They just brought her here a few hours ago. Where is she?”

A middle-aged woman stepped forward, tears welling in her eyes. “Where they take the new ones. To…you know…”

My stomach tightened. I knew. I laced my voice with sympathy. “Where?”

“Down the hall. The white door. Please hurry. They just took Jenny.”

I brought out my shotgun and pushed past all the women to the door. It was unlocked, which showed a definite lack of procedure on the crazies’ part. It opened smoothly, revealing a man standing right across the hallway, a Playboy in hand.

This was the kind of guy who was going to rape Blaze. Beer-bellied, scraggly, and habitually fetid in nature. A delightful rage overtook me as I raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger. His head exploded, gore spraying in a beautiful 360 degree pattern on the stained wall behind him. As his body slumped down, I felt a giddy sense of triumph.

One glimpse told me the hallway led off down some stairs at one end and the white door waited at the other. Two more doors lined the hall, but both were barricaded. Midway toward the white door, a man tugged Jenny along. She went ballistic with screams.

He spun around when he heard the shot, fumbling for the pistol in his jeans pocket. Confusion and panic consumed him, and he shook too much to get the pistol out fast enough. I sprinted toward him, knocking him to the ground just as he retrieved it. The gun fell onto the tarnished wood floor, right next to little Jenny’s feet.

Instead of wasting the ammo, I brought the butt of the shotgun down into the middle of his head. Again and again. Blood burst from his face as I worked, one of my feet against his chest so the fucker couldn’t get away.

Crack went his skull.

He wasn’t getting away from me.

Burst went his brain.

He deserved to die.

When he stopped moving and screaming, I heard my pulse beating frantically. Jenny stared up at me, a spray of blood across her white-washed jeans near the shins. She reached down and picked up the pistol, opening her mouth to say something. Her words were cut off by the white door opening and the thundering of footsteps up the stairs.

“This might be it,” I told her. “You and me, kiddo. We gotta cap these motherfuckers.”

“Okay,” came her weak, high-pitched reply.

A short man stood in front of me, a look of shock on his face. I looked past him and saw Blaze tied to a metal bed frame, unconscious. Her jacket was gone and she only wore the white undershirt I’d seen before. I focused on the man in front of me, just about to pull the trigger, when a little someone beat me to it.

The kickback on the pistol pushed Jenny into the wall, but her bullet hit him at an upward angle through the jaw. The top of his head flew off, blood and brain matter following his skullcap. The little girl slid down the wall, a blank look on her face.

Nothing was on my mind except getting Blaze. I took a step through the doorframe and tripped on a leg. There was a man to the right of the door, a baseball bat in hand. I fell partially onto Blaze, stirring her from unconsciousness. She opened her eyes and looked at me in shock.

Then I felt a heavy, wooden bat connect with the middle of my back. Pain jolted up and down my spine as I choked on the scream rising in my throat. My heavy tactical vest absorbed some of the impact, but not nearly enough. I rolled off of Blaze’s legs as the man tried to grab me. Legs freed up, Blaze kicked him in the side of the head, her boot connecting solidly with his temple. He fell back against the door, shutting it.