Deadlocked 5 (26 page)

I'd rushed into the store, and the debris cloud forced me to close my eyes before I had a chance to survey my surroundings. Each of the buildings that Vineyard was built upon had been gutted to make it easier to hunt Greys that might've wandered into town. The outer façade was still intact, but the inside was a shell of what it once was, meaning that we were visible to anything that had found its way in here. Unfortunately, a group of Poppers had broken in from the other side, and we were oblivious to them until they were right on top of us. Their footsteps had been hidden by the noise from the helicopters, and the dust cloud prevented us from seeing them until it was too late. It wasn't until after they attacked that I finally heard the clang of the bells tied to mannequins around us. The noise from the helicopters had all but drowned them out.

I felt teeth on my neck as a Popper wrapped its arms around me. The blonde girl beside me screamed out, but the cloud of dust hid her from me. All I could see was a silhouette of bodies piling on top of her as she struggled to fend them off. I hated to see her die this way, but she was dead already because of the virus that was coursing through her veins. I didn't have time to pity her.

The creature that attacked me was massive. In life, he must've been a huge man, and in death he was even stronger. His hunger drove his madness, and he ripped a chunk of my shoulder off as he shook his head like a feral dog ripping the meat off a fresh kill. Pain surged through me and I felt the familiar gush of hot blood soak my shirt as I struggled to turn around. He had me pinned against the counter, but I was able to push him back far enough to turn and face him.

"Mother fucker!" I pulled my knee up to push him further away as I reached for my Glock. He grasped at my face with one hand and dug his finger into the wound on my left shoulder with his other. He was trying to pull my wound apart and ripped at it with agonizing effectiveness. He was a bulbous man, and his eyes were milky white as he stared hungrily at me. My blood colored the hair on his chin and his teeth were dripping with saliva as he lashed his tongue out at me. I got the Glock and raised it up with the intention of shooting him under his chin. Then I was crushed up against the counter as more zombies lunged onto the one that had me pinned. They were desperate to share in his meal, and my hand was pinned under the fat man's stomach as his face came within inches of mine. My leg was still between us, but the weight of the horde caused his stomach to envelop me.

My hand was still on the gun, and I was able to pull the trigger, but it wasn't aimed at the zombie's head anymore. The bullet shot into his stomach, and I felt the explosion of his innards as they gushed out over my hand, but it didn't faze him. My other arm was free, and I pressed it into his mouth so that he couldn't chew on my face. He didn't care what flesh he ate, as long as it was warm.

I adjusted my aim as best I could, aware there was a good chance the shot would go through him and into my face, but that would've been a better death than being eaten alive. I pulled the trigger with the barrel pushed into his stomach and pointed towards my own
head.

It didn't work. The bullet was lost inside of him, bouncing around in his rib cage and organs. I fired again, and again, but it did little more than stun him. My arm was soaked in his internal slime, and I was able to wiggle it free. The weight pushing down on him had subsided, and I assumed that the horde had left to find an easier meal in the blonde girl that was dead near me somewhere.

The man on top of me was clawing at my face and biting into my arm. I pushed my arm further into his mouth so that I could get a better shot. I lifted the Glock and looked away as I prepared to shoot him.

Just before I could take the shot, a red axe slammed down into the top of his head. Black blood spurted out onto my face as the zombie's jaw quivered and then fell slack. Behind him, standing on a mound of decapitated bodies, was the blonde girl I'd assumed was dead. Her skintight jumpsuit showed no signs of the white color it once was, and she appeared as a nude statue, bathed in black blood, as she jerked the axe free and stared down at me. Her chest heaved with each breath, and her blue eyes glared at the massacre she'd caused.

"Are you okay?" she asked me.

"Jesus fucking Christ, girl. Who are you?"

"I don't know anymore." Her blank stare and earnest tone were unsettling. Her injuries, and the horror she'd witnessed, could drive even the most stable person to madness. "Get up," she said to me as she looked around. "We need to kill a lot more of them."

I tried to push the corpse off, but his dead weight was too much and I had to squeeze out from under him. She took my hand to help, and the slick zombie blood that covered everything made it easier to slide free.

"We need to get to the parking garage," I said as I holstered the Glock, which was dripping in slime, and took the F2000 from around my back instead. I checked the weapon and shook blood from it as I glanced around.

"You don't want to kill the rest of them?" she asked as if it would be just a minor task to accomplish before going to the garage. "I want to kill more of them."

"There's a horde out there. We can't kill them all."

"We could try."

I looked at her in exasperation. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

"I've been training my whole life for this."

Her admission startled me. Before the apocalypse, I'd spent my life training to embark on a mission to murder the people responsible for the end of the world. My life was meaningless without my mission, and her tone sounded eerily familiar. Was she the same as me?

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"I've been underground, at the Facility. Every day I trained with other girls like me to keep our bodies strong and our reflexes quick. We were told that one day we would be sent to the Surface, and I think it was so we could fight these creatures." She slapped the fireman's axe into her palm a few times for emphasis. "I'm good at this, and it's because they trained me to be."

"I don't know about all that," I said as I inspected the bite on my arm. "If they were trying to train a group of super soldiers, I doubt they'd use a bunch of girls."

She sneered at me and said, "This girl just saved your ass, tough guy."

I laughed and conceded. "You've got me there. Let's debate it later. For now, let's get to the garage and see if we can get patched up." I didn't have the heart to tell her she was going to die. I didn’t know who this girl was, or if what she was saying about living in some Facility was true, but her prowess was undeniable. She'd managed to fight off a horde of zombies with nothing but a fireman's axe; she was all right by me.

The helicopter had passed and we were able to race down the street undetected. There were Poppers everywhere, but the noise from the helicopters that were searching the area made it possible for us to move silently. I heard the chime of bells coming from all across the town as mannequins were slaughtered.

My shoulder was searing with pain, as was the bite on my arm, but we didn't have time to attend to our wounds now. We'd have to bleed until we got someplace safe.

"You still haven't told me your name," I said as I held the girl's hand to guide her along behind me.

"I used to be called Cobra Dawn, but I don't want that name anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because it'll remind me of someone who died."

"Okay then, what should I call you?"

She shrugged and said, "I don't know. You pick a name for me."

"Well, you're kicking ass with that axe. I could just call you Axe."

She shook her head and frowned as she looked at the axe in her hand. "No. I don't want to be called something mean or ugly like that. I want to be named after something that makes people happy - something that gives people hope."

I immediately thought of my conversation with Harrison about the satellites and shooting stars. "How about something about the stars? Like Celestial, or Celeste?"

She looked up at the stars above and smiled. "That's nice. I like that. You can call me Celeste."

"Okay, Celeste, my name's Ben. It's good to meet you." We slowed down as we got to the corner that we had to turn down to reach the garage. I pressed my back against the wall and peered around, hoping to see a clear street ahead.

It was empty. My diversion with the car had worked, and the area between the entrance to Vineyard and the parking garage was clear of Poppers. Celeste and I ran alongside the buildings as the helicopter continued to circle above.

Then we heard a loudspeaker crackle to life and a man's taunting voice call out from above. "Come out, little piggies," said one of the helicopter pilots. He started to make pig sounds and then laughed. "Here little piggies. Come on out and die for us." He gave a wicked, taunting laugh and continued. His helicopter came closer and I moved inside one of the buildings with Celeste to avoid his spotlight. I made sure to check my surroundings this time and was thankful to find the building was clear.

"We've got all night, little piggies. The others are headed back to refuel, but I'm staying right here. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." The loudspeaker made his voice sound mechanical and somehow more maniacal. "Then, in a few hours, another helicopter is going to come back, and after that one, another one, and then another, and another, and another. We're not leaving until every last one of you little piggies is slaughtered. The wolves are here, little piggies."

"That guy's an asshole," said Celeste. "Why does he keep calling us piggies?"

"It's a derogatory term. I've heard other military types use it for the people living outside of the compounds." Most survivors had heard rumors of the military complexes that were hidden throughout the country, but very few people had ever been in one and lived to talk about it. I'd been in and out of several.

The helicopter moved away and I started to head back out onto the street when Celeste held me back. "Wait, look." She pointed to the left, back the way we came. A few zombies had been attracted to the noise from the helicopter and chased it down the street, toward our hiding spot.

I shrugged and said, "Well, you said you wanted to kill a few more of them."

She looked back down the street again and then at me. "There're three of them." I was about to suggest that I take two and she kill one, but then she gave me a pleading look, like a child asking for a treat. "Can I kill them all? Please?"

The girl was soaked in rancid, infected blood, and the creatures had savaged her already. She was going to die anyhow, so I decided to let her have her fun. "Go ahead. Be my guest, kid."

She wasted no time and ran down the street toward the three zombies. I aimed my rifle at them, just in case she was overwhelmed, but there wasn't any reason to worry.

The creatures saw her coming and rushed at her, but she was already swinging a wide arc with the axe and the closest zombie toppled over as its head bounced off the pavement behind it. I was stunned by her strength. It was no small feat to decapitate a Popper, but she did it with ease. I expected her to retreat after the first kill, but she used the momentum of her swing to spin around and extended her left leg to trip the next zombie that dared come within range. With the second one left scrambling to get up, she focused on the third. She brought the axe back over her shoulder and then, with one hand gripping the weapon near its head and the other at the base of the handle, swung as if wielding a sledgehammer. Her strike hit the creature in the center of its head and brought it swiftly down, dead, to the pavement.

The zombie that she'd knocked down didn't bother to stand, and instead crawled at her. She dislodged the axe from the third creature and then quickly moved to decapitate the only survivor.

Celeste returned to me with a smile and said, "Thanks. That was fun."

"Wow. You weren't kidding about being good at this." I held my rifle out towards her and said, "Are you as good with a rifle?"

She shook her head. "I've never shot one."

We continued walking towards the garage as we talked. "Really? They trained you with an axe but not a gun? That doesn't make any sense."

"I wasn't trained with an axe. We sparred with sticks, but never with anything sharp." She ran her thumb across the polished edge of the fireman's axe. "After training with staves, using this almost feels like cheating."

"Wait until you get a sword, then you'll really start having fun."

We didn't run into any more Poppers until we got to the garage entrance. The ramp to the underground area was littered with bodies and we had to climb over them to get down. A gate had been pulled shut to bar the entrance to the garage and it looked as if the survivors of Vineyard had used the partition to kill anything that dared come near. The creatures at our feet hadn't been shot, but stabbed to death.

"I don't believe it," said Hero from the other side of the gate. He was sitting on the back of a parked car with a spear that was dripping with black blood. "You're alive." He got up and set the spear against the wall as he unlocked the gate and tried to pull it open. His spear was just a broom that he'd snapped the end off of, but it had been an effective weapon. We had to move several bodies before the gate could budge, and once it did we were only afforded a small gap to climb through.

"You look like shit," said Hero once we were inside.