“Over the fence is out of the question,” Ed replied. He looked around the church’s fenced in lot. “The carriers will tear us to shreds. We’ll have to go through the building to get out.”
Trish glanced around the moonlit yard. “Those guards are armed. They’ll mow us down before we make it two steps.”
“Better to go head to head with them on our terms than sit and wait for them,” Terry said.
“I don’t think going unarmed against a bunch of guys with guns is really on
our
terms,” Jasper added.
“Would you rather be locked up in that cell back there?” Terry asked.
Jasper shook his head. “Point taken. But how the hell are we going to get our hands on a gun?”
Before anyone could answer, the sound of automatic gunfire erupted from within the church. A few moments later the back door opened and a dozen men brandishing knives, baseballs bats and guns spilled out.
Lester stepped into the kitchen that had once belonged to the former Rita McClaren, recently deceased. It seemed a foregone conclusion that Chloe would be up, perhaps sitting in a chair, shotgun across her lap, simply waiting for him. Waiting to expose him, to call him out for what he was. Sam would be there, at Chloe’s beck and call, foolishly proclaiming Lester’s innocence...until he saw the blood, of course. The blood on the floor and the blood on his hands would sign Lester’s death warrant. Chloe would pull the trigger and Lester would flash to black in a shotgun’s explosion.
But the kitchen sat empty and dark, the congealing blood pools on the dirty linoleum inky and black in the dim light. The bloody knife lay where he’d left it, a faux pas in the old world of forensic science and nosey police, but simply an afterthought post-virus, a detail that could be cleaned up with a simple rag and some water. No dusting for prints, no collecting of hair and skin samples, no analysis of semen stains. If he cleaned up before the teenagers woke up to what would likely be their first hangover then he’d get away with it.
And if not, then he’d slit both their throats and go back on the hunt.
But it would be a shame to end things prematurely, so he got busy with the cleaning. He swabbed the floor with the old rags and the water he’d found, smearing the red mess everywhere before eventually getting the bulk of the stuff mopped up. The bloody rags went under the sink as they became saturated, one by one until the floor showed virtually no residue from the messy event that had taken place only hours before. He finished up by cleaning the bloody door handle. He changed his clothes, stuffing the bloody stuff in an old box in one of the back rooms.
He used the last of the water to rinse out the bloody film in the sink before rinsing his hands clean. As the water swirled down into the drain, a sound came from the living room. Taken by surprise, Lester spun around to greet it.
A moment later a bleary-eyed Chloe appeared, squinting in the meager light. “What are you doing up?”
Lester dried his hands on his pants. “Couldn’t sleep,” he lied. “You?”
“My head, it’s killing me.”
“That’s the whiskey.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Lester ignored the remark. “You need some water. You’re dehydrated.”
Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you were doing in here? Getting water?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lester asked.
Too harsh
, he chastised himself.
Keep your cool.
Chloe paused before taking a deep breath. “Nothing,” she replied, exhaling. “I just feel like shit.”
“Been there myself,” Lester said, smoothing his tone. “It’ll pass.”
Chloe took a step deeper into the kitchen just as Lester noticed the knife he’d used to kill Rita stilly lying on the counter where he’d left it, thick blood congealed on the blade like dark syrup.
“No,” Lester said, holding up a hand. “Have a seat in the living room. I’ll bring you some water.”
Chloe gave him another suspicious look before finally agreeing. “Sure,” she replied before heading back into the living room.
Close call
, Lester thought. He wrapped the knife in one of the rags and hid it in the back of the cabinet beneath the sink. That would do for now, at least until day came and he could dispose of the thing properly.
The knife had been a close call, but he wasn’t free and clear just yet. He still had to concoct a story about Rita’s whereabouts and then deliver said story with conviction to Sam and Chloe. As long as he could get Chloe back to sleep without asking any tough questions he’d have time to think it through.
Lester poured the tepid water into a reasonably clean plastic cup retrieved from one of the kitchen cabinets. He delivered the water to Chloe on the couch.
“Thanks,” she said, sipping the water.
“Sure.”
Chloe glanced at the rocking chair. “Where’s Rita?”
Shit. The girl was sharp, Lester had to give her that. “Asleep in her bed, I’m sure,” he said, covering. “You saw how much whiskey she had.”
Chloe nodded.
A few seconds passed. Lester waited, wondering where things might go.
“You’d better not be full of shit,” Chloe said, breaking the silence.
“Come again?” Lester braced himself. Had she figured him out?
“For Sam’s sake you’d better not be full of shit. Don’t fill his head with a bunch of bullshit and then flake out.”
Lester sighed with relief. Not quite out of the fire, but not accused of murder. Not yet, at least. “I’m not sure where this is coming from.”
“Look, I want to trust you. I care about Sam and I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
“Neither do I,” Lester replied.
Chloe nodded, a look of suspicion on her face. “I’m just telling you now that if you’re full of shit then leave. Make yourself gone before he wakes up and I’ll break the news to Sam. I’ll even tell him I told you to leave. But if you’re still here, then you better be legit. No bullshit. Now’s your chance to leave if you can’t keep up your end of the bargain.”
“Understood,” Lester said. “I’m legit.”
She stood, still eyeing Lester in the dim light. “I’m going back to sleep,” she said. “Thanks for the water.”
Lester watched Chloe disappear back into the guest bedroom. A smile formed on his face. No wonder he liked her. She was clever…too clever, maybe. He wondered if he’d be able to keep his true self hidden from her for as long as he needed to. If anybody could sniff him out, she’d be the one.
Chloe was going to be a challenge, all right. He almost hated to have to kill her.
Almost.
A shot rang out in the night. A split-second later a bullet tore through the head of a man standing beside Ed. Dark blood and brains exploded from the back of his head before he dropped to the ground in a heap.
“Get down!” Terry yelled.
More shots ripped through the churchyard as more men spilled through the doorway.
“Who the hell are
they
?” Jasper said.
Gunfire erupted from behind Ed and the rest of the prisoners. He glanced back to see three men in robes firing automatic rifles toward the unknown attackers, trapping Ed and the others in a crossfire in the dark.
Ed and Trish gathered Zach and Jeremy together, hunkering down behind a large pile of firewood in an attempt to avoid the gunfire. Jasper followed, along with Terry and a dozen of the prisoners. The remaining prisoners scattered, spilling out into the churchyard as rifle fire chattered from both sides.
“You guys okay?” Ed asked. Trish, Zach and Jeremy said they were.
“How the hell do we get out of this?” Jasper asked. “They’re all around us.”
“Over the fence?” Terry suggested. “Take our chances with the dead heads.”
“No,” Jeremy replied. “
They’re
out there.”
“Who?”
“The white carriers.”
“The what?”
“They’re carriers, but different. They’ll kill us if we climb over the fence. Believe me.”
More shots crackled in the night air. A man cried out in pain somewhere out of sight.
“Then we need a plan quick,” Terry said. “Got any ideas?”
“Not yet,” Ed replied.
“What about the others?” a gaunt woman asked. Ed took inventory of the people crouched behind the woodpile. He recognized John, leader of truck one, squatted with his back against the pile, staring out into the dark. The Kevins were there, along with the dingy woman in the army coat that had shushed Ed back at the Kansas City compound. The remaining three, including the gaunt woman, he didn’t recognize. He had no idea where the others had gone off to.
“Well?” the woman asked again. “What about the others?”
More gunfire erupted. Men yelled at each other from the other side of the yard, but Ed couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Ed glanced at John who seemed to have checked out. He noticed the rest of the group weren’t looking at John though. They all looked to Ed, searching for answers, for a plan. The thin woman stared intently at him, her cheekbones high and protruding, her eyes beseeching. In the dark, her sunken eye sockets looked like black pits.
“I don’t know about the others,” Ed replied. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do for them. We have to get to those trucks, with or without them.”
“We can’t just leave them here,” the thin woman said, her voice breaking.
“What’s your name?” Ed asked.
“Ann.”
“Ann, listen to me. We don’t even know where the others are. Everybody scattered. But what I do know is that our lifeline is those trucks. Our food, our supplies and our weapons are in them.” Ed looked around the group, making eye contact with them all. “Without the things in those trucks, we’re dead. We’ll never make it to the coast and you can forget about Hawaii.”
“He’s right,” one of the others added. The man had graying hair and a large, gray beard to match. Ed recognized him from Kansas City. He must have been in Alice’s truck.
“But they’ll die if we leave them,” Ann said.
“We’ll die if we try to go after them,” Gray Beard argued.
Ed placed a hand on Ann’s shoulder. “We’ll save who we can, if we can. We won’t leave anyone behind if we can help it. I can promise that much, but no more.”
Ann paused for a moment, considering. She placed her hand on top of Ed’s and nodded. “Okay.”
Ed smiled at her in the dark. He peeked around the woodpile and searched the area. Pale moonlight shone on the landscape, creating a phantasmagoric scene of intermingled light and shadow. The church lay fifty feet ahead, the prison building behind them. The tall fence that surrounded the church and its yard ran alongside the main building, creating a four foot gap between them that stretched to the front of the building and hopefully would lead them out.
But they’d be exposed as they ran across the church yard, before disappearing behind the church.
Ed turned back to the group, pointing out the narrow corridor running alongside the church building. “That’s our route,” he told them. “It should take us around the front of the church.”
“Let’s do it before we don’t have a choice,” Trish said.
Ed turned to Zach and Jeremy. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Just stay together, okay?”
The boys nodded in reply.
Trish met Ed’s eyes. “I have them.”
Ed smiled. “I know you do. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she replied.
“I’ll go first,” Ed said to the group. “Stay behind me in single file. Be quick, but careful. Don’t make any sounds.” He glanced out from behind the wood pile before turning to the group. “Now,” he said, slipping out from behind their cover and into the moonlit yard.
* * *
Ed ran beside the church building, his children in tow, Trish following behind. Jasper, Terry and the others brought up the rear. The chatter of gunfire in the yard behind the building quieted as they put distance between.
Ahead, the edge of the church building grew closer. No walls or fences blocked the way, providing Ed with a small sliver of hope. Beyond the corner of the church building was where they parked the trucks. With any luck they’d still be there. And with any luck there wouldn’t be armed guards waiting to gun them down once they arrived.
At the front corner of the church Ed paused, holding up a hand to the others in the group. He peered around the edge of the church, assessing the layout before him. Illuminated by the full moon, Ed had a clear view of the yard in front of the church building. The trucks were there, where they’d been parked hours earlier. But two additional vans sat in the parking lot in front of the building, along with the trucks. The vans looked empty, as did the stretch of the church’s front lawn and the bordering parking lot.
“What do you see?” Trish asked.
“Looks clear,” Ed said.
“Are the trucks there?” Terry asked.
“They are,” Ed replied.
Terry squeezed around, positioning himself beside Ed. He peeked around the corner himself, scanning the scene. “Where’d the vans come from?”