The Dark Trilogy (55 page)

Michael’s knuckles ached, but he ignored the pain and attempted another move. Unfortunately for him, a fake jab did not elicit the hoped-for response. Billy didn’t even blink as Michael’s left hand stopped short of the hick’s face while his other hand struck him in the temple. The blow knocked the creature’s head to the side, but Billy wasn’t deterred, and his momentum carried him into Michael, driving the injured man backwards on his bad leg as they crashed to the ground together. Even as they were falling, Billy’s greedy eyes stayed focused on his prize.

Michael tensed his shoulders to keep his head from smacking the pavement, and his back exploded in pain as air rushed from his lungs. The full weight of Billy wasn’t impressive, but Michael felt a slicing sensation in his back as several of his ribs cracked.

Despite the white-hot pain, Michael couldn’t scream. He forced his forearm underneath the ghoul’s chin as he tried to catch a breath. Billy’s fingers clawed at his arms and face as the foul demon hissed and drooled. Cracked and tar-colored teeth were inches from Michael’s eyes.

He fought the urge to puke as a powerful graveyard stench poured over him. A hand grasped his shoulder, the ragged, broken nails digging into his thick camo jacket. Grunting, Michael pushed up on Billy’s throat. There was a snap, and the hissing noise suddenly stopped as the ghoul’s esophagus closed off, but the damage didn’t deter Billy. Another wave of nausea washed over Michael as the pain in his back took on an immediacy that had not been there before.

Shaking off the mitt pawing at his shoulder, Michael deflected Billy’s other hand as it came up to tear at his face. He planted his good foot on the asphalt and managed to thrust the rotting ghoul back several feet. A searing flash of pain ricocheted through Michael’s head, and his vision swam, but a surge of adrenaline allowed him to scramble over to the edge of the building. Dragging his hands across the brick surface, the bruised and battered man pulled himself to a standing position.

Fighting to stay conscious, Michael stared at the ghoul. It was trying to lever itself back to its feet, but its gimpy leg was prolonging the process. Billy attempted a growl, and all that came out through his wounded throat was a bubbling hiss. Michael shook his head in frustration. The rotting bastard looked no worse for wear, while the survivor was deteriorating quickly. It was time to finish things.

The knife plowed into Billy’s left eye socket just as he got to his feet. There was a small popping sound as the blade ruptured his eyeball and sliced into his brain. A small amount of vitreous humor trickled onto the knife as Michael twisted the blade for good measure. He snarled as he did so, reaching for Billy’s mullet to get a better grip. When the blade snapped off at its base, Michael relaxed his fingers, and the ghoul slumped sideways to the ground. The body twisted, and Billy landed face up. The victor stared down at his handiwork, and Billy stared back up at him with his one remaining eye.

A few moments later, the world came crashing in on Michael. He fought to stay on his feet as he shook with weakness. It was tempting to remain standing where he was and wait for more of those monsters to come for him. It didn’t matter anymore; he was all used up. But with the last bits of his rational mind that remained, he realized that he still wanted to survive. Wheezing, he wrapped an arm around his midsection and dragged his body toward the bank entrance.

As he pushed on the metal door handle, tears burned at the corners of Michael’s eyes. It creaked in tired protest but swung inward, and he nearly toppled forward, caught off balance. He hiccupped in disbelief at his good luck, his tears mixing with a muffled laugh as the door swung wide, granting him access to the vestibule.

Dust swirled as though furious at being disturbed, caking Michael’s exposed skin with a grungy sprinkling of dirt. He moved forward, and his hand touched one of the inside doors. The bank lobby beyond looked cool and inviting, not the least bit frightening.

The door resisted his effort, and Michael crashed into it, unable to check his momentum. It rattled in protest but didn’t budge. He turned, pressing his back against the locked doors as he slid to the floor. He felt a sharp pain from his cracked ribs as he leaned back.

As the pounding of blood in Michael’s ears subsided, he took slow, short breaths. It was too painful to breathe any faster or deeper. When he did, it felt like daggers were being driven deep into his back.

He looked out the glass doors to the world beyond and snarled. “I’m still alive, you fuckers. You haven’t gotten me yet.”

He sat and listened. They were getting closer. Looking up, Michael confirmed that there was no deadbolt, just a keyhole lock on the exterior doors. He shifted his body, enduring the agony of the movement until his good foot, with its solid black boot, was wedged in front of the seam between the outer doors while his back was flat against the inner doors. He gasped in pain, his exhaustion from the effort acute.

The noise outside was getting louder, and Michael giggled. It started deep in his throat, and he covered his mouth when it became uncontrollable. More tears rolled down his face, and he could feel his mind slipping away.

He was as much of a gimp as he had turned Frank into. At least with Frank it took a knife to do it. All the damage to Michael’s body had been caused by his own stupidity. He looked at his right foot, swollen inside his boot, and the giggles rained down. Each laugh brought a stab of pain to his back. But he couldn’t help it.

“Sorry, Frank. God, I’m sorry. For whatever it’s worth.”

The words brought another laughing jag. He couldn’t figure out if he was trying to pray to Frank or to God. Not that either one was listening. And for whatever reason, that was hilarious to Michael.

There wasn’t any point to asking for forgiveness. Michael knew he could never apologize for all the pain he’d inflicted on the people who had relied on him, and he had no desire to do so. No, he was hell bound, if there was such a place, and that suited him just fine. A grin split his face. Hell would be a vacation compared to this place.

His eyes were still closed when he heard a fist banging on the door.

Chapter 10

The bat bent on the second swing, the thick aluminum splitting and folding in on itself.

Jeff rubbed his hands gingerly. The ghoul had already been sliding down the brick wall when his swing connected with the corner of the building right above its head, sending unpleasant vibrations up and down his arms.

A decorative splat of gore remained on the bricks as the remains of the stiff hit the ground. Jeff glanced at his bat before tossing it away in frustration. It was time to find another weapon.

He had snuck in between a dumpster and the back wall of a fast food joint moments before. He’d been running in circles trying to track the gunfire while avoiding the clumps of infected scattered all over town. They were spread much thinner than at the RV wreck, and only a few had spotted him so far. He had taken care of those few, just like the one on the ground next to him, which had wandered too close as it chased a rat into the parking lot.

Jeff froze. The sharp scream was the only sound other than moaning that he had heard in fifteen minutes. It was short, full of surprise and pain. Nothing like the prolonged cry of agony he’d heard earlier. This sounded like someone had been taken off guard.

There was a response out on the street to the scream. The rotters out front grew excited and moved with purpose toward the sound.

Leaning against the dingy metal door at the back of the restaurant, Jeff stared past the drive-through menu board. The scream had come from down the street. He stood silently for another minute listening as growls, moans, and the occasional high-pitched whimper floated past his position. The bulk of the noise came from in front of the restaurant, but he caught a few stray sounds that were hard to pinpoint. A fence that ran along the back of the restaurant parking lot and past several other lots would hopefully keep the stiffs from creeping up behind him.

Jeff stood waiting, gnawing on one of his fingernails. He spit out a sliver of nail and moved on to the next. This was his fourth nail in the last half hour. He could feel the guilt curdling in his stomach. He’d been able to escape the large group of stiffs that had chased him away from the RV, but hadn’t turned back around once he was in the clear. Instead, he had heard the gunfire and followed it, like some bloodhound tracking a scent. And now he was far too twisted around and lost to find his way back to the RV. Not that he suspected the others were anywhere close to the wreck anymore. With any luck, they’d gotten as far away from that area as possible. He would search for them later … after he was sure Michael didn’t present a threat to them anymore.

When the gunshots resumed a few moments later, spaced out but steady, the noise broke Jeff’s reverie, and he knew it was time to get moving again.

The gunfire continued, and the infected moved with it, lured forward. It wasn’t coming from too far away. Jeff’s heart raced as he abandoned his hiding spot and ran toward the fence.

He looked back toward the street, pausing to make sure no one saw him climb the rusty chain link. Spotting another fence off in the distance a few lots away, he ran toward it.

For the next ten minutes, Jeff plotted a course parallel to the ghouls, sneaking behind buildings and climbing fences not only to keep up, but to get ahead of the pack. When he was sure he had gained a sufficient lead and the coast was clear, he worked his way back toward the street.

That was when he saw the two corpses lying on the ground. Their skulls had been caved in, and black ooze was still dripping onto the asphalt from the fresh wounds.

He scanned the immediate area and noticed something nearby. Moving closer, he bent over the twisted remains of a military rifle. As he ran his fingers along its metal surface, his lips curled into a dark smile.

Chapter 11

“FUCK YOU!”

Michael braced his foot as the doors vibrated beneath it. He stiffened his body as the two ghouls spit and lashed out from outside his glass prison. Each time they bashed on the frame or pushed against the doors, his back clenched up, and his broken ribs stabbed at his lungs. Yelling seemed to help. It was something he’d been unable to do much of over the past few weeks, and being granted the freedom to bellow with abandon felt liberating, despite the circumstances.

The two defectives looked nearly as bad as Michael felt. Their skin was cracked and peeled, separating from the bone while glistening fluids oozed from their wounds. As they slammed and scraped against the door, chunks of nerveless tissue broke free of their bodies and slid down the glass.

Another ghoul joined them, and Michael’s frustration turned into hopelessness. The woman, whose torn face showed the full extent of her dental work, had her hair cropped into the signature style of a soccer mom. She was dressed comfortably in a pair of athletic shoes, jeans, and a form-fitting t-shirt, which showed off what might have been an attractive figure before she was transformed by the virus into a freak show.

With a scream filled with determined anger and agony, Michael shifted his body. The pain in his back nearly caused him to faint, but he refused to give up. He slid one of his hands behind him and pressed it up against the inner doors. He gently dragged his twisted ankle until his knee was bent and pushed his weight upwards. His other foot remained firmly wedged against the outer doors as beads of sweat popped up all over his body. If he could turn around … maybe there was a way to stand without letting the doors crash open.

His injured ankle gave way, and Michael cried out as he tumbled down. His elbow crunched on the floor and prevented his back from slamming into the wall. The pain from bracing his body stung, but was overridden by other agonies. Tears rolled down the man’s face as he slammed his fist into the thin, musty floor mat in frustration.

The movements had his admirers frothing at the mouth. The rain of blows grew more frantic, desperate in their insistence. He ignored them and shifted back into the most comfortable position he could muster with his foot still wedged in place.

“So this is it, huh? I get to spend my last minutes on earth with you three cocksuckers? Just great. Just fucking great.”

Michael took slow shallow breaths as he looked around the vestibule. There was nothing of interest in it. There was a framed poster bolted to the wall, which advertised new higher interest rates on CDs, but nothing that might help.

He resisted another concerted effort by the three rotters to break in. The glass showed no signs of damage; there was not a single crack in it, and Michael wondered if it were shatterproof.

He also wondered how much longer he could hold out.

His good leg remained stiff as he pressed on the door, but with each violent thud, it was weakening, the tremors hammering him mercilessly. If just one more of those things came to the door, he was done for.

Michael let the moments slide by as he thought about what would happen if he just gave up. The infected wouldn’t leave him alone. They would stay here as long as it took for him to either give up or grow weak enough that he couldn’t hold the door shut anymore. Being stuck in this stiflingly small space like a rat in a trap was not the answer.

Michael let his knee relax, just a bit. The doors inched inward with each jarring blow. They would swing back into place for an instant, and then another meatless fist would paste itself on the glass, pushing the doors farther inward each time.

It won’t be that bad. Just a few moments of pain, then an eternity of oblivion …

After one of the more violent blasts, Michael heard a different noise outside. Looking up, he saw smears of blood along with a few teeth splattered across the double doors. As he studied the graffiti, the face of one of the ghouls slammed into the middle of the smear. The door vibrated, but stayed closed as more crud besmirched the glass, expelled from the creature’s mouth and eye sockets. It left a gooey streak until its head separated from the glass, the body’s momentum pulling it away as it crumpled to the ground, immobile.