Connor pulled his knife back out of his pocket, the handle still slick with blood. He dropped the naked blade to the guy’s chest and sliced the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt open from top to bottom, revealing a quarter inch hole through the well-formed muscle on the right side of his chest. Blood bubbled from the hole, which emitted a sucking sound with every breath he took.
“Matt, I need your help,” Connor yelled. Instantly, he heard Matt thudding toward him through the dry grass and sticks. Ten seconds later, Matt was by his side. “He’s hit in the chest,” Connor advised without emotion. “He can’t breathe. Help me roll him on his side.”
They moved the man onto his left side revealing another hole in his back, this one much larger than the first. “See if you can seal that hole up,” Connor said, handing him a rubber glove from his pocket.
Matt firmly pressed the glove against the man’s back, covering the hole and sealing it from the outside. Connor rolled the man onto his back again with Matt’s arm beneath, holding the glove in place. Connor took the other glove and placed it over the entrance hole when the man’s chest contracted, hoping to seal it and allow his good lung to fill with air through his mouth rather than his chest cavity filling with air through the holes in it. The next time his diaphragm expanded, the look of relief on his face assured them he was getting at least a little air into his lung.
“Now answer my question or I’m going to move my hand and let you suffocate. Where are our families?”
“Curtis took them to the ranch,” he gasped.
True to their word, after he provided the information they sought, Matt and Connor tended to his injury as best they could. Within minutes he succumbed to the wound and drifted from this life to the next. Neither Matt nor Connor mourned his passing.
“We have to get them back before Curtis does something that can’t be undone,” Matt snarled bitterly as he turned back to the tree he had used for cover. Connor silently followed him, trying to formulate a plan as they walked.
They quickly collected the pistol magazines Matt had dropped around the tree as the bullets ran out.
“Are there any forty cal bullets in the shed or did they all get put in the house?” Matt questioned.
The day before, they had moved a large quantity of bullets from the sheriff’s station to Connor’s house. Most of the bullets had been secured inside the house, but they had placed a couple dozen cases in his tool shed. All of the bullets they stored in the house were destroyed in the fire, leaving only what was left in the shed.
“Most of the forties were burned, but I think there are a couple cases in the shed,” Connor answered.
Connor picked up the empty AR magazines outside the shed while Matt retrieved a case of .40 bullets. With their hands full, they quickly returned to the Jeep they had left parked in front of Connor’s smoldering home.
“I’m keeping this thing on me from here on out,” Matt said as he placed his rifle sling over his shoulder, leaving the gun hanging from his chest. “I won’t be caught without it again. Let’s pick up Zack and Martinez and go get Curtis.” Matt’s face had hardened to an unreadable slate, giving no indication of the emotions raging through his mind. Even so, Connor understood what Matt was feeling because he was feeling the same things.
The rage that had been building within Connor over the past two days was about to boil beyond his ability to contain. The dam would break, and whoever was in his path would be annihilated. Beside the rage was a welling sense of panic. Curtis had kidnapped his family, and he was terrified by what Curtis would do to them. He had proven himself to be a homicidal sociopath. The only reason he would keep them alive was that he thought he could gain something by doing so. The fact that he had taken them and not killed them on the spot produced a small ray of hope, but he could change his mind at any moment.
It didn’t take long to return to where they had left Zachariah Glenn and Sgt. Martinez, the two surviving members of the Army reserve unit that had been sent to Lost Hills to establish a perimeter around town in hopes of stopping the spread of the infection. Earlier in the night, Curtis had ambushed the three teams and taken their Humvees and heavy weapons. Martinez, the sole survivor of the attacks, had been wounded and left for dead. Zack had been with Matt and Connor during the attack. After finding Martinez wounded, Zack stayed to care for him when Connor had received a text from his wife, Katie, with a frantic cry for help.
Zack and Sgt. Martinez had moved to the edge of the field where Martinez had been found. The four dead soldiers from Martinez’s team had been laid side by side in front of the dilapidated old barb wire fence that separated the shin-high alfalfa from the roadway.
“Martinez has a bad concussion, but he’s going to be okay,” Zack announced. “That said, he’s a lucky man; look at this.” He shined his flashlight on the left side of Martinez’s skull, which was covered in a blood-soaked bandage that encircled his head. “A bullet hit him right there,” he said, pointing above his ear, “and split his scalp all the way down the side. Half an inch to the right and it would have been lights out for sure. Where did you guys run off to?” he asked, realizing something was bothering them besides the slaughter of his teammates.
“Curtis hit my house while we were doing recon on his place. He burned it to the ground and took our families.” As Connor said it, the lump began building in his throat again. He didn’t trust himself to say more.
Zack took a step toward him and put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “We’re going to get them back. Where can we leave Martinez?”
Matt pulled his phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and placed it to his ear. A moment later he started talking. As he talked, he moved away from Zack and Connor. He hung up the phone, walked back, and said, “Frank said we can leave Martinez at his parents’ place. He’s going to come with us. There’s no talking him out of it.”
“Does he know about Jeb?” Connor asked.
“I didn’t tell him the specifics. All I said was that one of Curtis’s guys shot him before the infection took him.”
Except for the squeaky suspension of the Jeep, the ride to the Black’s farm was silent. Nobody said a word. Martinez moaned occasionally when the shocks failed to fully absorb a bump in the road.
The Blacks’ home had been transformed from the welcoming residence Connor had last visited to a boarded up garrison. Pine two by fours, separated by eight inch gaps, overlaid all of the ground floor windows, their unpainted surfaces marring the appearance of an otherwise immaculately maintained farmhouse. The second story windows were unobstructed, but were shut tight. Normally on a summer night, country windows were left open to permit the cooling breeze to blow away the stifling afternoon air. Tonight, no chances were being taken.
Before they could exit the Jeep, Frank bounded down the stairs from the porch, followed by his dad. They met Connor as he slid across the torn fabric that covered the driver’s seat of the Jeep. The duo drew up three feet short and Frank’s dad, Merv, extended his hand.
“I’m sorry about Jeb,” Connor said as he shook Merv’s hand. “He died saving our lives tonight.”
Merv nodded his head, eyes blinking. His voice broke as he said, “He would have…” he paused trying to compose himself. “That sounds like Jeb.”
Frank moved to the passenger side to assist Zack as he eased Martinez out of the vehicle. They helped him inside as Matt and Connor filled Merv in on the details of what had happened to Jeb.
Tears flowed down the old rancher’s leathery cheeks as the story unfolded and he heard of his son’s exposure to the infection and of his selfless death.
Frank and Zack bounded down the steps toward Connor and Matt
After the events regarding Jeb were related, Connor turned to Matt. “I’m going to stop by the station and pick up some more rifle mags and ammunition. When Frank has his gear together, have him drive you guys over there. I’ll have everything ready when you arrive, and we won’t have to waste any more time.”
As Connor fired up the Jeep’s engine, Merv said, “Take care, Connor,” and turned back to the house.
Looting had started in town. Store windows were broken out with dropped goods trailing to the parking lot. Connor passed several infected walking aimlessly in the streets. They turned as he passed, but showed no real interest in him. Perhaps, in the darkness, all they could see and hear was the squeaky Jeep. Perhaps they didn’t realize there was a meal in the driver seat. Whatever the reason, they ignored him and he didn’t have time to do anything about them.
Connor parked in back of the station behind a locked gate and fence topped with concertina wire. He hurried inside to collect the ammo and extra magazines they would need for the raid to free Katie, Eve, and the boys.
As he thumbed round after round of nickel plated cartridges into magazines, Connor heard the motor of a vehicle as it pulled up to the sidewalk in front of the station. He increased his pace, frustrated that he hadn’t finished before they arrived.
As he continued to hurriedly shove bullets into hungry magazines, he heard glass shatter in the lobby. Connor quickly dropped the magazine he was loading, picked up one of the rifles, and racked a round into the chamber. A moment later, he heard a foul string of obscenities followed by, “Dude, you cut yourself bad.”
“You think I don’t know that?” the voice belonging to the obscenities growled angrily.
“You’re dripping blood all over the floor. They can test that for DNA. They keep a sample of your DNA in a data base when you go to prison. All they have to do is put your blood in the machine and they will know you were here,” the voice said in distress.
“Are you stupid? They don’t keep your DNA and even if they did, there’s nobody left to care,” the obscene voice said irritably as it kept pace with the boot falls clicking their way down the hallway.
“Both of you shut up. Let’s get the guns and ammo and get back to the ranch before Paul gets into trouble. Not only is he incompetent, but I don’t trust him to keep his hands off the women even though I told him they’re mine,” a third voice interrupted angrily. “I don’t want those women spoiled before I get to enjoy them myself.”
Connor had been moving toward the open doorway when the third person spoke. His body stiffened and his heart rate spiked at the sound of Curtis’s voice. Connor raised his rifle to his shoulder and flicked the safety selector to fire as he spun around the doorway and into the hall, locking eyes with Curtis, who was a step behind the two men who had been arguing. Both of them had guns in their hands. Before they had time to register the threat Connor presented, he had already pulled the trigger twice, smashing two slugs through the chest of the thug on the right. Before his crumpling body had fallen to the ground, Connor had already jerked his rifle to the left. A rapid double tap to the center of his forehead sent the second member of the trio falling in a heap to the floor.
Satisfaction flooded through Connor’s body as he aligned his sites on the center of Curtis’s startled face and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
He pulled the trigger again, this time jerking it backwards in desperation.
Nothing.
A smirk appeared on Curtis’s face as they simultaneously realized the rifle had jammed. He lunged at Connor from six feet away.
Connor thrust the barrel of the rifle toward the bridge of Curtis’s nose. Seeing the impending blow, Curtis tilted his head to the right and took a glancing impact to his left cheek. As he slipped passed the end of the rifle, Curtis’s left hand grasped the weapon’s forend and pushed it to the side as his right fist began an arcing haymaker toward the side of Connor’s head.
Knowing he could not dodge the punch, Connor lunged into it while it was still in its inception and before it had built the momentum necessary to do any damage to him. The blow caught the left side of Connor’s head without any real force.
Connor parried with a left hook that landed solidly below Curtis’s right eye, but they were in such close proximity that Connor’s punch had little effect. It momentarily distracted Curtis without causing any significant damage.
Curtis unleashed a flurry of punches at Connor’s head, but Connor was able to deflect most of them with his raised left arm. Curtis moved in close and wrapped his right hand around the back of Connor’s head and drew it toward himself. Curtis released his grip on the rifle and clawed at Connor’s eyes.
Since Connor couldn’t shoot the jammed rifle and they were too close to use it as a club, he threw it behind him to keep it out of Curtis’s hands. Connor ducked his head protectively as he tried to pull away from Curtis’s grasp. His hand dropped for his pistol to end the fight, but Curtis sensed the movement and gripped the top of the slide as Connor pulled it free of the holster. Connor pulled the trigger as the muzzle cleared leather, but Curtis had redirected the barrel clear of his torso and the bullet buried itself in the wall at the end of the hallway. Connor pulled the gun backwards and the barrel came back in line with Curtis. He pulled the trigger again and nothing happened. Curtis’s grip on the slide had kept the action from cycling and drawing a fresh bullet from the magazine. Connor was left with nothing but a club over which they continued to struggle.
As Connor fought to maintain his grip on the pistol, Curtis pummeled him again and again with crushing right handed blows to his face. With each blow, Connor’s vision momentarily darkened. He wrenched his right hand away from Curtis, the pistol slipping from his hand, but in the process, Connor lost his grip as well and the two and a half pounds of plastic, ceramic, and steel clattered across the floor behind them. With his right hand free, Connor swung savagely with an uppercut to Curtis’s jaw and sent him staggering backwards.
Curtis lowered his head and charged Connor in an attempt to take the fight to the ground. Knowing Curtis frequented the local MMA gym, Connor wasn’t going to let him take the fight into his comfort zone.
Connor sidestepped and smashed his fist down into the back of Curtis’s head in a hammer blow. Already off balance, Curtis crashed onto his stomach. Connor lashed out with his foot, kicking Curtis in the side.
Connor knew better than to think this was a gentleman’s fight with rules. It was a no-holds-barred brawl to the death. At best, only one of them would survive.
Curtis grunted as Connor’s boot drove the air from his lungs. Before Connor regained his balance, Curtis’s right leg snaked out in a blurred, arching motion and swept Connor’s feet off the ground. With his base knocked from beneath him, Connor toppled to his back. Curtis scampered across the floor and lay across Connor’s chest as he swung his leg over Connor’s stomach and achieved a full mount, sitting astride Connor’s abdomen with a leg on either side. Connor bent his arms ninety degrees at the elbows and brought them up over his face to deflect the death that was raining down from above in the form of one monstrous blow after another. His mouth was full of blood, his ears rang, and his vision was going in and out.
Connor knew he wouldn’t survive long in this position. With all the strength he could muster, he pushed with his legs and bucked his hips up as far as he could. Curtis lost his balance and fell forward, his hands falling to the ground as he came to rest on all fours, his hands and knees straddling Connor.
Connor wrapped the crook of his elbow around Curtis’s right arm and pulled it inward as he bucked his hips again. With the support of his right arm pulled away, Curtis’s body tumbled to the right as Connor knocked him off balance. As Curtis fell, Connor rolled into him, his momentum driving Curtis off and onto the floor.
Having quickly realized he was no match for Curtis in a grappling fight, Connor used the momentary reprieve to regain his footing rather than attempt to gain the advantage on the ground. He staggered backwards, trying to create distance between them to give his senses time to return before he pressed the attack.
Realizing he was losing his advantage on the ground, Curtis lunged at Connor’s ankles, trying to trip him up and drive him back to the floor. Connor lashed out with his foot and kicked Curtis in the face. His boot thudded solidly, rocking his enemy’s head backwards.
Connor’s brain had been beaten into a thick fog. He reached for his pistol and his hand grasped desperately into the empty holster until he realized the gun wasn’t there. Confused, he reached to the opposite side of his belt for his Taser, but in his state of delirium, he couldn’t remember how to work the release to free it from the holster. In the struggle on the ground, Connor’s baton had worked its way out of the ring on his belt. He had no advantage to use over Curtis as he rose to his feet. Curtis looked at him, realized the bad state Connor was in, and smiled. Two dark voids filled the place where his top teeth had been moments before. Connor’s desperate kick had driven them from his gums.
Curtis turned his head to the side and spit. A red glob of blood and saliva struck the wall and slowly rolled downwards, leaving a trail behind like a slug inching its way toward the floor.
Connor lethargically shook his head in a futile attempt to free the cobwebs that were inhibiting his ability to think and move. Curtis, sensing victory, smiled wider. “Don’t worry, Buddy,” he said arrogantly with blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll end this quick and put you out of your misery.” He wiped his forearm across his lips, pulling most of the blood away but smearing a streak across his cheek. “Then I’m going back up to my place in the hills to get acquainted with your family. I’m going to start by slitting your little brat’s throat in front of Mommy to erase any doubts from her mind about who’s in charge. Then I’m going spend some quality time alone with her, if you know what I mean.” His braying laughter filled the narrow hallway as he advanced toward Connor.
Connor’s eyes were unable to focus. The repeated blows to his head left him seeing twin images of Curtis standing in front of him.
Fury overwhelmed Connor; fury at the fact that Curtis had ruined so many lives over the last twenty four hours, fury at the people Connor knew who had been killed by the infection and the infected, fury at the government for attacking their community, but mostly, it was fury at himself. He realized he was going to lose this fight and leave Katie and Toby with nobody to stand between them and this vile, wretched man. Matt, Frank and Zack would continue on without him, but they would arrive too late. Curtis would have already committed his barbaric acts of violence against Connor’s family.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you almost as much as I’m going to enjoy acquainting myself with your wife,” Curtis taunted. “And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
Connor back peddled, trying to give his head time to clear. He took another step and then another. Curtis kept coming, matching Connor’s speed step for step, no longer feeling the urgency of pressing the attack. Curtis was enjoying his victory lap, basking in what he perceived to be imminent triumph. As Connor continued backwards, clarity began returning to his thoughts and the two images before him joined together as his brain regained the fine control over the lenses in his eyes and they once again focused in conjunction on a single point in space.
Connor’s head still throbbed. Rivulets of blood continued trickling into his left eye from a gash in his forehead. What had to be a broken rib rattled with every breath, but Connor’s determination to kill Curtis solidified. Hatred toward Curtis and what he stood for grew along with the rage that had been building since the outbreak in the diner. Connor clenched his fists and raised them to defend himself as he took a step forward toward the death that awaited one of them.
Curtis led with an arcing right. Connor ducked beneath and answered with a hard left jab to Curtis’s unprotected nose. His head rolled back, pivoting at the neck and Connor followed with a right jab and a left hook, both of which rocked Curtis to his heels.
Curtis staggered back two steps before he regained his balance. Connor pressed forward, swinging wildly with both fists, leaving his face unguarded. Seeing the opening, Curtis sidestepped a punch and answered with a hard jab that opened the flood gates behind Connor’s nose. Blood burst forth and his eyes were flooded with tears. Connor coughed as the blood running down the back of his throat momentarily threatened to choke him.
They stood toe to toe, swapping devastating blows at an unsustainable rate. Connor’s lungs gasped for air as his muscles greedily extracted every molecule of oxygen available to them. His muscles burned from fatigue and yet he continued to swing, matching Curtis blow for blow.
Curtis shot in close, once again wrapping his arm around the back of Connor’s head, holding it in place while he pummeled it with his free hand. Connor brought his knee up solidly into Curtis’s groin, crushing everything between his knee and Curtis’s pelvis. Curtis howled in agony but refused to release his clench on Connor’s head. Connor landed a solid blow into Curtis’s abdomen, loosening his grip enough for Connor to raise his head fully erect. Tucking his hand in close to his body, Connor’s elbow whipped through the air and smashed into Curtis’s temple, splitting the skin and loosing a river of blood which cascaded down the side of his face. Curtis reeled backwards and would have fallen to the floor had the wall not been behind him. Connor willed his body forward to continue the attack, but it momentarily refused to obey, having been racked with exhaustion.
They eyed each other, five feet apart, searching for a weakness to exploit. Curtis’s hand slinked into his pocket and withdrew a knife. With the press of a button, a stainless steel blade streaked up, locking in place with a snap. Holding the knife in close to his side, blade facing up, he stepped toward Connor.
Connor’s eyes focused on the razor edge as it darted at him without warning. He slapped it aside, inches short of it burrowing its way into the tender flesh of his stomach. Curtis’s torn lips parted in a bloody grin as the knife arced toward Connor’s ribs. The blade cut deeply into his side before grating against the bone. Connor reached for Curtis’s hand, but he had already withdrawn it. If not for the sticky wetness running down his side, Connor would not have known he had been cut. There was no sensation of pain.
Connor fumbled for his Taser again, but Curtis’s attack was unrelenting. He didn’t leave a chance for Connor to drop his left hand from its defensive position long enough to draw the electronic weapon. Curtis lunged again and Connor twisted to the side, this time catching Curtis’s wrist in his hand. He struggled to maintain his hold while he battered Curtis’s head with his free fist. Pushing the knife to the side, Connor dropped his shoulder and plowed into Curtis, driving him into the wall behind. The wall’s impact to his kidneys took Curtis’s breath away and left him momentarily stunned. Connor gripped the bottom of the knife handle that was extending below Curtis’s hand and twisted it up and between his fingers, freeing it from Curtis’s steely hold.
With the knife now in his uncontested control, Connor struck out and the blade sank, unfettered, into Curtis’s unprotected chest. Curtis gasped as Connor withdrew the blade and sank it in again and again, releasing a torrent of blood which rapidly soaked through the fabric of Curtis’s white t-shirt.
Realizing he had been dealt a fatal blow, Curtis ceased his struggle. He slowly slid down the wall coming to rest on his knees, his hands gripping the handle of the knife extending out of his chest. Lacking the strength to withdraw the protruding instrument of death, he slowly panted, his eyes locked onto Connor’s.
“Do you know what I’m going to miss the most?” Curtis asked, wheezing as he spoke. “I’m going to miss the opportunity to get to know your wife.” Curtis broke into a grin and coughed, spewing blood on Connor.
In his peripheral vision, Connor saw his pistol on the ground at his feet. He bent to pick it up and stumbled to his knees. The gun still lay at his side. Willing his hand to do his bidding in spite of exhaustion, Connor picked the pistol up. Racking the slide, he freed the empty casing that was blocking the action. He aligned the sites with Curtis’s smiling face and pulled the trigger, sending him on a one way journey into the fiery blazes of the hottest furnaces of Hades.
The pistol slipped from Connor’s hands and clattered to the ground. He leaned back against the wall and stared in complete exhaustion at his defeated nemesis.