The Dark Trilogy (51 page)

“I’m really sorry, baby,” Cindy whispered in a husky voice. “But it looks like they’re not the only ones that need saving.”

She nibbled on his ear, gently tugging at first, but then Michael felt a sharp pain as she sank her teeth in, ripping away part of his earlobe.

“You stupid bitch!” Michael screamed as he gave Cindy a violent shove. Her laughter sent a spike of anger through him as she landed hard on the asphalt. Grabbing for his ear, he hissed in pain as his fingers met raw, torn flesh. Cindy continued to laugh hysterically as her boyfriend’s blood dribbled down her chin. As the shock of what had just happened wore off, Michael limped toward his assailant, a homicidal look in his eyes.

One was small, withered, hunched over. The other stood tall and ramrod straight, its spine unaffected despite its having been dead for several weeks. They had crept out of a store nearby whose door was hanging wide open. They made a fine odd couple: one looked like a little old lady—stiff, brittle, and fighting a monumental case of arthritis, while the other looked like a young boy who had been cut down in the prime of his life. It looked like the younger of the two had a lazy eye, but Michael realized the socket had been traumatized and the eyeball was floating freely inside the creature’s skull. Its other eye stayed focused on Michael. The old woman (or man or deformed child … he really couldn’t tell) let loose with an excited moan, and a thick pus-colored liquid spilled from its mouth.

“What, don’t you find me fascinating anymore, darling?”

Michael ignored Cindy’s mocking words as he slid the M16 off his shoulder. Gripping the weapon in both hands, he drove the butt of the rifle into the face of the taller ghoul. Not waiting to see the results of his handiwork, he winced and shifted his weight, hip-checking his geriatric opponent to the ground. Turning quickly despite his ankle, he saw that Stretch, as he had dubbed the taller stiff, was still vertical. The rotting creature had stumbled backwards from the blow to its nose, but hadn’t fallen. Michael advanced and slammed his rifle into Stretch’s head once again, ignoring the outstretched arms reaching for him. His blow connected with the boy’s forehead, and there was a satisfying pop as the younger assailant crumpled to the ground, inert. Michael gritted his teeth at the throbbing pain in his ankle and looked over at the older fiend, who was having a hard time getting back up. Before he could make a move, Cindy advanced on the aged ghoul. As the brittle creature reached out to grab her, she raised her right leg and brought it down hard on the bridge of its nose. Black goo squirted from the new fissure in its skull as Cindy ground her heel into the thing’s face. When its arms stopped twitching, Cindy stepped back to wipe her dripping shoe on the pavement.

Michael glared at Frank as his dumbfounded crony stared at the remains of the ghoul near Cindy’s feet. “Feel free to jump in any time.”

Frank looked confused, and his eyes grew wide. “I thought … I thought you were gonna shoot them.”

“Idiot,” Michael mumbled under his breath as he turned and began walking again. He slung the rifle over his shoulder as he gently touched his bleeding ear. He would deal with Cindy later, but his first priority was to find a working vehicle so they could get the hell out of Manchester.

A quick glance around confirmed that there were plenty of cars, but none looked drivable. Someone must have had some fun with fire as things got out of hand in the town. Several businesses had been torched, along with most of the cars lining the street. A few charred bodies inside some of the automobiles made Michael wonder if they had already been infected when the fires came or if they were just poor fools who’d gotten caught up in whatever riot had consumed the area.

It wasn’t long before Michael’s sense of urgency was spectacularly reinforced. As the trio continued moving down the street, a dark shadow blotted out the sun momentarily and a body landed nearby. It sounded like a bag of mushy potatoes as it splattered all over the pavement. Cindy had seen the shadows shift and yanked Michael back from the point of impact just in time. He stumbled back and yelped in pain as he put his weight down on his bad leg, but Frank’s scream of terror drowned him out completely.

“Will you shut it? You’re going to bring the whole town down on us if you keep up that crap!”

Frank’s mouth slammed shut as he stared up at the two-story building from which the ghoul had jumped. When it appeared that no more bodies would be following the first off the rooftop, he gave Michael an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, man, but this shit is really starting to freak me out,” he moaned, his voice on edge as his eyes darted back and forth. “I wish I still had my shotgun. Damn, I miss my baby.”

Michael was ready to lay into the whiny idiot when four figures stepped out of an alleyway to their left. The rotters were already on top of them—just a few steps away and closing fast.

The sound of rifle shots filled the air. Michael ripped off two three-round bursts and watched as four bodies fell to the ground, their spoiled brains dripping on the asphalt.

Cursing silently at the noise, Michael kept the rifle out as he limped down the street as fast as he could. He had just announced their presence to every stiff in town. Frank bounced along beside him, bumping up against the other man repeatedly, like a dog whose leash was too tight. As he did, he verbalized what Michael was thinking.

“We’re fucked now, man! They’re gonna keep coming at us!”

As if Frank’s words had magical power, several moans echoed off the steel canyon of buildings surrounding them. Michael slowed, trying to get a fix on where the noise was coming from. Frank skidded to a halt as Michael gestured for silence. He swung the rifle in front of him in a wide arc, hoping to spy movement ahead.

“Cindy, do you see anything behind us?”

Michael knew how doggedly persistent the infected could be. They were able to track a normal person with uncanny ease. Chances were, in this small downtown section of Manchester, that the three of them were already surrounded. But if they could move a few blocks in any direction, they would be out of the cramped urban setting and have more room with which to work. The injured man could feel his ankle stiffening up and knew they were running out of time.

Michael screwed his eyes shut and clutched the rifle to his chest. The temptation to yell for Cindy was strong, but he already knew where she had disappeared to and why. It would be pointless to call out to her. She would ignore him.

The crazy bitch had abandoned them.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” was all he could mutter as he shook his head in disbelief.

Doing his best to blot his psychotic girlfriend from his mind, Michael tried to focus on more pressing concerns. The moans were getting closer.

“Oh shit.”

Michael opened his eyes at the sound of Frank’s fearful voice. He raised the M16 to his shoulder and stared at the shifting shapes out in front of them. There were six in all, the closest about half a block away. More moans were coming from behind but didn’t sound as close.

Frank grabbed Michael’s shoulder and pointed at another batch of ghouls coming from their left. They were everywhere. At present, the two men could only spot a few, but other rotting forms seemed to be boiling up from the earth like ants. Michael spun, not sure where to shoot first. Then something caught his eye. Tensing, he made a quick decision.

“This way.”

Gesturing toward a side street that appeared clear of the undead, he limped in its direction. Frank moved forward, barreling ahead of his gimpy partner. There were more echoing cries of excitement as the stiffs closed on their position. Michael glanced back in time to see more coming, small groups merging to form a larger pack. He turned and kept limping down the road.

Frank glanced back, and Michael could see how tempted the cowardly bastard was to take off and leave him behind. But his beady eyes moved down to the M16 again, and the fat hick’s expression changed. He slowed to give Michael a chance to catch up, not interested in being too far from the man with the weapon. Frank even smiled as he urged Michael forward, his loyalty on full display.

As they moved farther down the street, the moans grew louder.

Michael ripped off several shots in quick succession, switching the rifle to semiautomatic mode to preserve ammunition. He had only two thirty-round clips and had already burned through several rounds in the first one.

Only two of his targets went down as bullet holes appeared in the chests of several others. He cursed silently and scanned the buildings surrounding them in the hope of finding a safe haven. There were surprisingly few shattered windows or smashed-in doors, and there were only a couple of abandoned cars on the road, with no corpses lying out in the open. It felt like a massive and deadly contradiction: the bright sun casting its rays down on a relatively pleasant little street while two people raced to escape a couple of dozen ravenous cannibals trying to eat them.

“Michael, we need … we need to get out of here! Please! Get us out of here. I can’t handle this anymore … please!”

Frank was losing it. If they didn’t get somewhere safe fast, he was going to get them killed.

Gritting his teeth, the man with the rifle searched the area until he saw the perfect place for them to go. Michael knew it would solve all their problems. He raised his hand and pointed.

“Let’s head that way. But you’ve got to help me, man, it’s hard for me to walk anymore.”

Frank glanced down the alleyway Michael had pointed out. He could see daylight peeking out from the opposite side. It was narrow, but not a dead end. Frank continued to quaver, but nodded in agreement.

Michael slung the rifle and lifted his arm. Frank slid underneath it and allowed the taller man to lean against him. They moved toward the alley at a brusque pace while a slow parade of rotters followed. Despite their awkwardness, the two men managed to increase the distance between them and their pursuers while closing in on the narrow opening between the two buildings. Michael looked back, satisfied at the distance between them and the nearest hunters. As they moved down the alley, he gripped Frank’s shoulder and urged him to slow down. Frank anxiously obeyed.

“You know, Frank, I’ve been thinking.”

Frank looked up at the man he had obeyed dutifully for over a month, his expression filled with hope. Michael was smart, and when he focused on a problem, he typically came up with a solution.

“You need a weapon. I think my knife will work,” Michael said as he unsheathed the blade.

Frank frowned, disappointed. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather have something I won’t have to fight up close and personal with.”

Michael shook his head. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

When the knife entered Frank’s belly, his expression didn’t change. It was only when Michael drove the blade deeper that the bolt of pain hit and the heavyset man looked down to see the hilt protruding from his gut. Frank looked back up at Michael, confusion stamped on his face. He shook his head as if to reiterate that he really didn’t want the knife.

Michael wriggled out from Frank’s grasp and pulled the knife free. Without the other man to hold him up, Frank slumped to the ground, landing on his knees. His thick fingers covered the wound as he stared at the blood gushing out of it. As he toppled backwards, he screamed.

When Frank felt the hand on his leg, he shrank back toward the wall and stared at Michael, his eyes wide with fear. Only when he saw that his former friend was trying to say something did he stop screaming.

“… truly sorry. I really am.”

“Wha-? Why ... Michael? Michael! What have you done to me?”

Michael shook his head and grimaced as he leaned in closer and clamped his fingers even more tightly around Frank’s leg. The other man was too busy trying to hold his guts in to squirm out of the iron grip. Frank kept looking down as if he expected his organs to start spilling out of the hole in his belly, but so far there was only blood.

He started to cry, and Michael shushed him like a baby, raising a finger to his lips and shaking his head back and forth, a stern look on his face. Before Frank could blubber even more, Michael spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I really am. But you’re just too damn weak.” His fingers dug into Frank’s calf, but the injured man didn’t seem to notice. “I can’t babysit you any longer.”

Frank felt another sudden sharp pain, this time from his ankle. For a moment, the agony in his belly was forgotten as Michael’s knife cut efficiently through his Achilles tendon.

Michael stood up, a grunt of pain escaping his lips as he balanced on his good leg. A look of grim satisfaction claimed the murderer’s face as he stared at the mouth of the alley.

Frank howled as he tried to wrap his fingers around the sliced ankle, recoiling in pain the instant he touched the wound. Groaning heavily, the fat man tried to lever his body up the alley wall behind him, but only made it a few inches before slipping back to the ground, exhausted.

After a few moments, Frank’s eyes refocused on Michael, who was still backing away. His limp was far less pronounced now.

“You were a good soldier, Frank. Weak, but a good soldier nonetheless. You should feel proud of what we accomplished together.”

As Michael stared down at the bloody mess Frank had become, the hamstrung man lay motionless, his eyes dull as they stared back at the man who had betrayed him. His crying had stopped; perhaps he was going into shock