The Renegades (A Post Apocalyptic Zombie Novel) Page 14

  Jess cleared off the dining room table and Baja helped him up. Specs’s face had gone pale. He was sweating hard. Shock was beginning to set in.

  “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Quick, get him a bucket,” Izzy said.

  Baja pulled out the garbage can and tossed the trash to one side. He handed it over and Specs leaned into it.

  “I’m sorry, man,” I said.

  “What do you have to be sorry about?”

  “If I hadn’t taken us in there, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Forget it. It’s not your fault.”

  I watched as Izzy began to get to work. Jess grabbed a bowl of warm water and some towels.

  Dax tapped me on the shoulder. “A word. Outside.”

  We climbed up onto the roof. The early morning sun was beginning to beat down. We moved away from the skylight. We were close to the edge of the building. Main Street had more Z’s staggering along. Moaning, and one was chewing on what had to be another fresh kill. Had a person come out to get supplies? How many more people were alive?

  “The next idea you have to turn this around, keep it to yourself.”

  “I was just trying to do what was right for the group.”

  “Do you have military experience?”

  “No, but neither do you.”

  “What?” He bristled at what I’d said.

  “Cut the shit, Dax. What is your problem?”

  “You. You’re reckless. It’s the very reason dad sent you to that juvenile reform center.”

  “And you’re a saint?”

  He dropped his eyes to the ground and ground his teeth together.

  “Don’t spin this around. You’re the reason why your friend is laid up in there with a bullet in him.”

  I nodded slowly, contemplating what he was saying.

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  I turned and walked away. I spent the next few hours away from the others. The truth was, I was to blame for it. If I hadn’t convinced them to come along, Specs wouldn’t have been shot. Where do you go when a zombie apocalypse hits, and you fuck up? When those around you know it was a dumb move, but they won’t say it — except for your brother.

  I took out my frustration on Z’s. I eased myself down into an alley and took out my baseball bat. I saw two Z’s chewing on a body. They looked up and before they could react I brought my bat down on their skulls like Thor’s hammer. Somewhere in the back of my head, I thought that I must have been doing some good by eliminating another biter or two from the planet.

  A thought came to me. Did they see me? How did Z’s know we were there? We knew noise brought them. But was that it alone? Could they smell the difference between the living and the dead? None of them ate each other. They only went after the living.

  I reached down and looked at what they had been chewing on. It was a young boy. He was fat. He couldn’t have been more than nine years of age. They had torn open his stomach and ripped out his intestines. His jaw was hanging by a lone muscle. How long did he feel the pain? Did he die fast or was it agonizing?

  Fixated on his dead body, contemplating how I might die, I didn’t hear a group of shufflers who had made their way into the alley down one end. I looked up and was about to go the other way, when I saw six more coming from the opposite direction. My pulse started to race. There were too many. The bat would get stuck. I had a few bullets on me. Not enough. I scanned the walls for any way to climb up. But there was nothing.

  Down on one knee in front of this dead boy, I was about to get the answer to my question. I reached into the body of the Z beside him. With both hands I began rubbing rotten blood and guts all over my face. It smelled so bad. Like raw iron and earth. Metallic and rancid at the same time. I covered my hair and ears and every part of my exposed skin, including my jacket. Chunks of this Z’s flesh were dripping off me.

  The Z’s were nearly upon me. I knew right then Dax was right. I was reckless, thoughtless and now it had come back to bite me in the ass.

  COMEBACK

  Moans rose as they closed in on me. I was now smothered in the blood of some unknown person. I checked how many bullets I had left in my magazine. Three. I’d left my assault rifle back at the apartment. I waited in breathless anticipation for the inevitable. I had considered turning the gun on myself. I mean, how long could any of us live under these conditions? Maybe we would live today, but what about tomorrow? I’d seen my father eaten alive. I’d shot my best friend. I endangered the lives of the others. What else was there that I could fuck up? Dax was right. My father knew it too. I was reckless and lacking direction.

  I raised the handgun to my head and lay back on the ground as I tried to summon the nerve to pull the trigger. I could see them shuffling forward. I would be dead before they could bite. I would be free from the pain, and the others would be free from…

  Gunfire rang out.

  A biter lumbered past me. Was it responding to the gunshot? Who was shooting? My breathing was shallow, controlled. A draft of air swept through the alley bringing with it the stench of rotten corpses. Another shot, followed by six more. Was it Dax?

  If it was, I had even more reason to end this nightmare. He would be ragging on me until the end of time about how I had once again endangered them.

  I was now surrounded by the undead, but none were paying attention to me. They continued walking, some in one direction, the others in another. More shooting. I turned my head to the side to see what all the commotion was. An industrial dumpster blocked my view. I saw Z’s dropping. Two, then four, then the final one dropped.

  “What the hell?”

  I rolled over and was in the process of getting up when I felt a hard hit to the head.

  * * *

  When I regained consciousness, I blinked. Light flickered beyond my lids. Waves of pain coursed through my head, worse than any migraine. The taste of iron swirled in my mouth. It was blood. It sparked the last recollection I had. The faces of Z’s surrounding me flashed across my mind. Where am I? Something was pinching the skin around my wrists. I moved and heard the sound of chains.

  “Our guest is awake.”

  “Ah. Good.”

  My eyes were beginning to adjust to where I was. A fluorescent light above me seemed to almost drain my energy. Power? It had to be a generator.

  “Where am I?”

  “I think you might want to be asking, why you are here?”

  I recognized the voice. Oh my God. As my surroundings started to come back into view I knew where I was. I was in my old man’s establishment. The Black Dog Saloon.

  Turning around on one of the twenty stools that lined up against the thick wooden bar was an individual clothed in army fatigues. His head was bald and he had a deep scar across his face. It cut deep into his left cheek. He slipped off the stool and downed the contents of a shot glass before tossing it to the floor. It shattered. They had me chained to the stage area. My father would bring in local bands to play. It had attracted all kinds. On any given night, he would have three hundred people crammed into this tiny establishment. I tried to stand but felt the pull of the restraints.

  He crouched down in front of me.

  “Now, you are?”

  “Is this how you treat everyone you meet?” I asked.

  “Only those that kill my men.”

  “Your men raped my friend’s family and killed them, what do you expect?”

  He snorted and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

  “You know, it’s noble what you are trying to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Act all human and shit. You honestly think life is going to return to normal, don’t you?”

  He studied my face, his eyes sweeping back and forward.

  “You want to see what’s normal?” he asked again.

  He took a deep breath and reached into his jacket. He pulled a cellphone out, switched it on, and pressed a button. I heard screaming. He turned the phone around
and I tried to turn my face away. He yanked my face back.

  “That shelter. It was missing some vital ingredients. What’s the use having all that food, water, and protection, if there is no one to procreate with?”

  It was a video of his men taking turns raping a young girl. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

  “You sick fuck.”

  He let out a laugh. “Ah, you’ll come around. This is the future. There is no going back. You either join, or die.”

  I stared intently at his scar. He leaned his head and ran his finger over it.

  “You know how I got this? Iraq. I was captured and tortured.”

  “Suits you.”

  He snorted, amused. “Believe me, this is not the worst. Do you know how they torture people over there? There are three phases. First they humiliate you, then torture you, then rape you. They try to break you down piece by piece. They force you to get on video and tell your country to stop the war against them. Whether you do that or not, they proceed to undress and piss on you, sometimes they’ll take a shit and make you eat it. I won’t even begin to tell you what else comes next, but I’m sure you can imagine it isn’t pretty. Just when you think that it’s over, then the real torture begins. Everything is fair game. You are beaten with sticks, cables, knives, anything they can either cut you, beat you, or break you with in order to make you scream, is up for grabs. Oh, and if you pass out. They wake you up again, usually by using a hot poker. Now if they don’t use that on you, they will then move on to shocking your testicles with electricity. Now how’s that for getting your freak on?”

  “Sounds like you had fun,” I replied.

  He snorted, turning back to his men. “He’s funny. Eh? I like this kid.” Without missing a beat he began laying into me. Pounding me with his fists as though he was trying to tenderize meat. Fresh blood trickled from my badly cut lip. My face throbbed.

  “Now, where was I before you rudely interrupted?”

  I spat some blood to the ground near his feet. One of my teeth rolled.

  “Um. I think you got to the part where you were being shagged by a goat, and enjoying it?” I muttered.

  Two more fists to the face and I was seeing double.

  “Oh, that’s right. After that they fuck you. They bend you over a bench and one by one their men come in and take their turn,” he said.

  “Wow. I bet you liked that.”

  Wrong answer. This time he used his elbows to rearrange my face. Once he was finished it felt like my eye was more swollen than Rocky Balboa’s. The Colonel got up and wiped off his bloodied fists with a cloth.

  Once I caught my breath, for second I thought of staying quiet. Then I thought, fuck that. “I’m hoping there was punch line to that story because I didn’t get it. Oh, hold. I think I got it.” I paused. “Yeah, that’s it, you’re trying to tell me that you’re thinking of writing a memoir called Fifty Shades of Colonel,” I said.

  The Colonel balled his fists and ground his teeth. Before he could unleash another torrent of pain, one of his men interrupted.

  “Colonel, they’ve been spotted.”

  “Right.” He turned back to me. “Looks like your friends are out looking for you. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? We’ll finish this up later.”

  “I look forward to it,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind me using a gag ball on you though as I’m kind of tired of listening to your shit.”

  He scowled, then charged out, barking orders as if he was commanding an army. Before he left, he tossed a set of keys to his man on the door. “Keep an eye on him.”

  That’s when I took a moment to groan. I blinked hard and tried to focus on anything but the pain. I was sure he had knocked more than one of my teeth. I moved a loose one back and forth with my tongue. Yep, prick! I made a mental note that if I got out of here I would plant my baseball bat firmly between his legs. One of his men stayed behind. He didn’t look like military. He was overweight. Round face, bulging eyes, and a thick, long black beard. He just resembled an average guy looking to make his mark, or perhaps fit in?

  “Did anyone ever tell you, you look like that guy from Duck Dynasty?” I said.

  “Shut it.”

  Of course I listened to him. “Your boss. Why do follow him?”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Funny enough, that’s what your mother told me before I nailed her.”

  He glanced away, shaking his head. This wasn’t working.

  “You got a cigarette?”

  He wasn’t listening. He was fixated on something going on outside the window.

  “Hey, dude. Can I get a cigarette?”

  He looked back.

  “Just one. It’s been while,” I said, hoping he would show pity.

  Reluctantly he crossed the room, keeping an eye on the door. He tapped one out of a box of Camels and put it between my lips, then lit the end with a lighter. I took a deep inhale and blew it out the corner of my mouth. It was strong. These were shitty sticks. Specs would say they were made out of Camel shit.

  “Much obliged.”

  He nodded and moved back into place.

  “Seriously though. Why do you follow this guy?”

  “Do you know anything about the military?” he replied.

  “No but my brother does. Well, let me correct that. He likes to think he does. You know it all goes back to when we were kids. He got this GI Joe action figure. You know, the one in green, with a bulletproof vest and weapons sticking out of every available part on his body. I thought it was cool. Anyway…” I trailed off.

  I took another puff and watched the end glow a deep orange. It hissed as the tobacco burned.

  “Now I swear he was fucking that thing because he never went to sleep without it. He’ll say he wasn’t. But if you know him like I do... Anyway, he became a Marine. And well, you should have been there. My father was ecstatic. You’d think he won the lottery. I don’t think I ever saw him that happy. Oh, actually, maybe one more time. When I was being driven away to a juvenile detention center.”

  I dribbled another wad of blood on the floor out the corner of my mouth, then took another hard pull on the cigarette.

  Outside I heard the sound of what was the Colonel’s voice being projected through a megaphone.

  “Listen up. We have one of your men. Now we know you are out there and you can hear me. If you want him back in one piece, you are to lay down your weapons and surrender.”

  One piece? Ok, now I knew what the punch line was.

  “Failure to do so will not only result in us feeding him to the undead, but much worse.”

  That was all I needed to hear. I spat my cigarette to one side and wiggled myself over and crushed it beneath my boot. I began hollering.

  “Ow! Ow! The cigarette, I’ve dropped it down my top!”

  The guy by the door came rushing over. With my head I gestured to my top while continuing to yell as though I had actually dropped the burning hot cigarette down my top. Hesitantly he reached into my top. Once his hand was inside I leaned my head back and with one sharp movement I brought it down on his nose. It was a crushing blow. I then whipped my legs up and over him, wrapping his head between my thighs in a triangle choke. I’d seen it done countless times in MMA matches and Baja was in the habit of using us as practice partners. As much as the guy tried to pry himself loose he couldn’t. His face was turning a beet red as I squeezed what remaining air he had in his lungs out. He groaned and went unconscious. Holy shit, I did it! Ronda Rousey, eat your heart out! Wait, maybe someone has already done that.

  I knew I had little time to get out. I could still hear the Colonel barking orders into the megaphone. I shuffled to one side and pulled the guy closer with my legs. I reached for the keys which he had in his top pocket of his shirt. The metal restraints dug deep into my wrists as I strained to pull them out. When I had them, I was panicking. There were three keys on it. Shit! Which one is it? All of them looked the same size.

 
Like Houdini the escapist who’d been handed a key by his assistant, I began the process of trying to push a key into the lock and turn. I got the first in and with a lot of difficulty I managed to twist it. It didn’t work. Shit!

  I tried the next. Outside the Colonel continued his rant.

  “Now don’t be stupid. We killed one of your men, you killed one of ours. We are even. We are not looking for enemies. We want you to join our group.”

  Oh yeah, where do I sign up on the dotted line to join your group of goat fuckers?

  I pushed the next key in and twisted, and again the fucking thing didn’t do it. You have got to be joking. I wanted to curse life itself.

  “We have food, weapons. Come down and let’s talk this out.”

  Sure, let’s talk. What a great talk we had. I spat another glob of blood, it splattered on the ground. As I was fumbling with the final key, I heard something that sent a shiver up my spine. It was a groan. The same kind I had heard in the alley. Now I was still covered in blood, and shit and God knows what else. I’m pretty sure I must have looked like a skinned animal. Off to my left, behind the bar was a doorway. I knew where it led. The basement. My father kept all the alcohol down there. But that wasn’t the only thing that was there. The door to the underground mine.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said, letting out a groan.

  The men outside were oblivious to what was coming in. I saw one Z, then two, then another. My heart was pounding in my chest. There was no way I was going out like this. I glanced at them and focused as best as I could. Once I got the key in, it slipped out. No!

  The Z’s were getting closer. These were the slow suckers. One had half its jaw missing, the other had no arm. To make matters worse, the guy beside me started to groan. He was waking up. My mouth was dry as I wiggled the key back into the lock and twisted it. It was stuck. Come on. Come on, you bastard. I kept wiggling. The man’s eyes blinked open. Five seconds and he would be up. As he staggered to his feet he was unaware of the Z’s that were coming up behind me. His only focus was on me. “You little fuck. I’m gonna—”