A Time to Die (23 page)

Andrew flipped the selector from safe to semi-auto and squeezed the trigger. The round punched the breastbone of a big beefy man wearing a Pittsburg Steelers shirt. He jerked and fell face first, nose splattering blood on the concrete. Another shot, this one to the neck of a woman, bare to the waist. Blood fountained and she screamed a gurgling scream. He shot her again. She fell and more pushed through. We’re losing the doors, he thought.

“Move!” someone yelled behind him. Andrew responded to the authority of the voice without knowing who it was or why. He rolled to the left, rifle tucked into his abdomen, and came up on his knees as Chris roared past, four other men with him all holding one of the big reinforced ladders between them, all running abreast. They crashed into the crazies bunched up in the door with a crash, pushing them all back until the ladder smashed against the door.

Andrew ran up and slid like a runner going into second base, leading with his titanium left. The impact jammed his stump, making him cry out in pain. But the hit pushed the bodies back out and as he scrambled back, the door rumbled closed with an echoing clang.

Chapter 19

Sunday, April 22

Evening

She knew she was in trouble. Kathy stopped the bike a few minutes ago and spent valuable time going through every one of the gas cans, holding up as precious dribbles of gas flowed into the nearly empty tank. She guessed she’d gotten a pint, tops. The cans made a pile by the trailer. The only things left in it were the gun and ammo. She couldn’t bring herself to abandon it. She’d packed her camera gear and backpack onto the rear cargo deck of the ATV, saving as much space as she could. She kept a single gas can against the possibility of finding fuel.

The last of the sun’s red rays were dancing across the western horizon when she heard it. A snuffling sound, like an animal following a scent trail. She guessed a coyote or a dog. She’d seen coyotes a couple times. “Hya!” she yelled, “get out of here!”

“Graaaah!” came the reply and the man rushed headlong from the underbrush.

“Holy shit!” Kathy screamed and backpedaled, right into the ATV and backwards over the seat. Her shoulder hit the foot peg on the far side the spikey steel peg cutting into the soft flesh and an instant later her head smashed into the baked, hard packed ground. She bit her tongue and saw stars even though the sky was still too light.

Kathy lay there, momentarily stunned and not quite remembering how she ended up laying on her back next to the ATV, its muffler making pinging sounds as the metal cooled. From somewhere nearby she heard the sounds of grunts and things being moved. Was someone digging through her stuff? The unmistakable bonging sound of empty gas cans bouncing off each other. Fabric being torn, and sniffing, grunting sounds. She reached a hand a hand back and felt a knot on the back of her head, then around to her shoulder. It came away wet with blood. An involuntary groan escaped her lips and the others sounds went away.

“Fuck,” she said under her breath and instantly the sounds of shuffling footsteps coming towards her. She spun up to her hands and knees, moving away from the sound and around the bike. As soon as she cleared the front tires she stopped. More shuffling, sniffing sounds. It was coming from right about where she’d been lying. The blood, she thought, it can smell the blood. Then she mentally snorted. That had been a man and people can’t sniff out blood like some kind of animal. She lowered herself closer to the ground and looked between the front wheels and the frame.

He was on all fours, just like she was, nose to the ground sniffing a dark patch that had to be where her cut shoulder had bled into the dirt. He was about thirty, thin with dark curly hair and completely naked except for a pair of work boots. She would have laughed in any other situation, thinking of some of the ludicrous gay porn she’d seen. Then she saw his penis dangling and felt a jolt of fear. She realized she was more afraid of being raped than eaten alive. You need to get your priorities straight, she thought. He looked up from the blood, drool running down his chin, and elevated his upper torso, though stayed on his knees. Blood stained his jaw and neck almost black, splatters of it going all the way down to his thick pubes. In a flash his head dropped and he looked right at her through the gap, face turning to a feral snarl and hand shooting through.

Kathy jerked back a split second ahead of the grasping hand. She heard his flesh sizzle as it pushed up against the muffler. He didn’t pull back, instead he tried to climb under, twisting and running the red hot muffler along her upper arm and shoulder like a branding iron. She heard the squealing sounds as the meat was cooked and the smell of it wafted to her, making her retch. She did the only thing she could think of, she turned and ran.

She got about ten steps before she realized he was right behind her. She tried to zig-zag and instantly knew it was no good. She turned to face her attacker just in time to have him slam into her, hands clawing, teeth snapping.

I’m going to die, she realized as he bore her to the ground in a dusty heap. They rolled and she somehow ended up on top. She felt his groin under one leg and weekend self-defense classes returned in a rash. She pulled the knee back and rammed it into his testicles with all the force she could manage. He gave a little grunt and grabbed at her face. She pile-drove his nuts a second time and he got a handful of her hair and pulled her head towards his mouth.

“Fucker!” she screamed and pulled away, hair tearing. She screamed in pain. His hands were grabbing at her neck. Kathy rolled away, desperately trying to get to her feet. Breath coming out in gasps and little panic-filled whimpers. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t going to get killed by a cannibalistic Mexican in the middle of the desert! She was a reporter. This kind of thing happened to other people, damn it!

His hand shot out and she felt something grab at her ankle. She tried to stutter step but her other foot caught on a root and she went sprawling again, face first this time. She tasted dirt and blood as her chin ground into the rock hard desert soil. He landed on her from behind, most of his weight crashing down on her hips and shoving her pelvic bone against the ground. She felt something hard press there into her groin and wondered dimly what it was. His hands grabbed her shoulders and she felt teeth on her back. She threw an elbow back and it contacted the side of his head. Then she felt the telltale hardness of an erection against her ass and the panic reached a whole new level. He was going to eat her and fuck her.

He was partially thrown off and she rolled in the other direction. When she came up on hands and knees she saw what had been biting into her groin. The blued shape of a revolver was lying there, dislodged from where she’d had it in her waistband. The crazy jumped at her the same time as she dove for the gun. He went over her head as she scrambled for the weapon and tried to roll away. He landed on her legs and bit ineffectively at her boots. She kicked and felt teeth give with a satisfying crunch.

She rolled again, ending up on her butt with him on all fours spinning to face her. She raised the gun, and just like her father taught her, lined up the front post with the back. It was like shooting those silly zombie targets at the range. One was a zombie cheerleader, another a zombie chef with a human hand instead of a cleaver. Only that wasn’t paper snarling at her with jagged broken teeth. The post on the center of the nose she pulled the trigger with a smooth motion.

Even out doors in the desert the report made her jump as the gun boomed. The recoil of the little Smith & Wesson was deceptive. She remembered the first time she’d fired it, marveling even then how something so small could kick so hard! A tiny hole appeared just under the man’s left eye, the hydrostatic shock blew the eye out of the socket and the hollow point expanded, sending most of his brains and a significant portion of the back of his skull flying out into the desert sands. He dropped like a felled tree, one foot twitching spasmodically.

“Holy fucking shit,” she gasped, almost dropping the gun. She’d just murdered someone in cold blood. “Holyfuckingshit!” she screamed to the desert, “what is going on?!”

Voices. Inhuman, barking chuffing voices, answered from all around her. Her eyes wide as dinner plates she stood and spun around. Ten, twenty of them, maybe more. She saw the first one, a woman, half naked, crouched by a saguaro cactus watching her with dead eyes.

Kathy turned and ran from the scene of death. She ran as fast as she ever ran in her life. The desert was alive with sounds now, all around her and all closing fast. Is this how a deer feels, she wondered, knowing the hunters are out there?

She didn’t mount the bike so much as vault onto it. The seat, though padded, smashed her girly parts painfully as she landed. Kathy didn’t give it a second thought. She ridden the bike long enough that her fingers worked almost automatically. Turn on the key, flip the kill switch to start, right foot flicking the shifter lever up into neutral, left thumb stabbing the starter. The engine whirled, coughed, but didn’t start. She’d meant to shake out the filter but hadn’t had time. “No,” she moaned and hit it again.

The woman she’d seen raced at her, just feet away. Somehow Kathy had possessed the presence of mind to stuff the gun back into her waist band and not just drop it when she ran. Her right snatched it back out, stabbing it towards the woman she stroked the trigger. Boom! The .38 bucked in her grip and the woman staggered to her knees just feet away. She looked up, eyes that were once beautiful staring hate at her, blood dripping from her lips, breasts hanging down loosely. Kathy put the next one into the top of her head and tried the bike again. It sputtered and almost caught.

“Come on!” she screamed and sitting the gun on her right thigh she gave it a little gas. It started with a grumbling roar. Her right foot dropped it in gear as her left grabbed the gun and her right smashed the gas. A young woman raced up in front of her. Kathy screamed as she rode her down like a dog in the street. The bike and trailer combination were a half ton of steel and plastic. What was a hundred pounds of meat and bone? A fleshy speed bump.

The girl made a halfhearted sweep of a hand at Kathy’s face. She saw painted nails. They were green specked with blood. Then she was pulled under the bike which jumped and bumped as the life was crushed out of her. “Stop it!” Kathy screamed. A man dove in from her left and jumped onto the cargo rack behind her, grabbing at her. She pulled the gun out with her left hand and awkwardly reversed it behind her. “Never shoot at what you can’t see,” her dad had admonished her.

“Sorry Dad,” she cried as she pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times until the man let go. She smelled blood, shit and Gatorade. To her left a thin man was racing towards her on an intercept course. Kathy felt amazingly calm as she aimed off hand, despite the panic she felt grasping her. He was only a foot away when she blew the top of his head off. Another was just behind him. She pulled the trigger and nothing happened. She stuffed it back in her waistband without another thought, trying to ignore the way the hot barrel burned the delicate skin near a very sensitive area.

With both hands on the handlebars Kathy bared her teeth and held on, crashing through and over several people. The trailer bounced and flew up in the air several times. She was terrified it would upend and take her with it. Then, just as suddenly as the attack came, it was past and she was careening up the trail. The headlight was knocked slightly askew and coated in thick blood casting the trail into red relief and it was hard to control the bike. Kathy struggled with herself and finally managed to let up on the throttle, slowly bringing the rattling, ill-running machine to a stop.

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” she kept saying over and over, getting off the bike and stumbling to her knees. She pulled the Smith & Wesson out and with her hands shaking badly she clicked the cylinder release, rotating it out, tipping it back, and pressing the ejector rod. The six empty brass casings tinkled to the rocky ground and she reached into her left jeans pocket to find a speed loader. There were two there. One went into the cylinder. She took several tries to get it to line up before it slid in place. She twisted the release, tipping the gun barrel down and the rounds fell into place. The speed loader fell, forgotten as she locked the gun closed once more. “Jesus, what have I done?!” She looked down at the gun and wondered how it got reloaded.

A growl and the sound of footsteps brought her to her feet and looking back down the trail. There was still just enough light to see dozens of figures racing after her. “Leave me alone!” she screamed at them. They responded with a unified roar and came at her fast.

Kathy considered just standing there and letting them get her. What the fuck difference did it make? The Army couldn’t stop them, it looked like nothing could stop them! A few moments of pain and it would all be over.

Just like reloading the gun she had no idea how she ended up back on the bike and speeding away. At least speeding as fast as the messed-up bike would let her.

* * *

It all came to an end less than an hour later. She’d been driving along the increasingly hard to follow trail, around cactus and across washouts. It cut back and forth constantly and always there was the howling behind her. Kathy knew that unless she suddenly stumbled across a paved road or wide open stretch, there was no way she would open up any real distance. Not only were they insane cannibals, they also seemed to possess superhuman endurance.

Just as she reached the top of a low hill the bike shuddered, made a clanking sound, and stopped. She pressed the starter and it just clicked. The gas gauge said there was a little left in the tank. Click, click, click. Nothing.

Howls behind her, louder still. She jumped off and looked at all the equipment. What to take? She grabbed her pack off the rear cargo deck and saw liquid pouring out of it. Holding it up to the moonlight she could see several holes through it. She’d shot the pack multiple times when the crazy had jumped on her from behind. It was also covered in blood.

“Raaah!” a voice screamed and feet came running. She drew the gun and turned. The man was only a few yards away when Kathy fired, the first shot hitting him in the hips and sending him spinning to the ground. Kathy shot him twice more before slinging the pack over her shoulder. She started to run up the trail, then stopped to snatch the GoPro from its mount first, then moved off as fast as she could.

Her legs were like burning bands of steel from two days of riding the bike, the flesh between her legs raw and wasted. Every single step hurt. In moments she couldn’t make her legs run any more. The hill peak continued on for some time. She could see a black line ahead, probably another creek bed, and strangely what smelled like wood smoke.