The Remaining: Fractured (21 page)

Kev watched the dog for another moment, but Deuce quieted, then laid his head down. Kev raised his attention again. “So how much of this shit is true? You really some fucking super soldier with bunkers full of shit all over the state?”

Lee touched Deuce’s neck, his fingers finding the rope that tethered him to the dog. He shook his head slowly. “No.”

Kev leaned his head back. “Don’t play coy. I said Shumate
exaggerates
. I didn’t say he’s a bald-faced liar. There’s clearly something going on with you. Besides, I found you with a tac vest and full magazines.”

Lee quirked an eyebrow, not making the intuitive leap that Kev apparently was.

“I see a man with full magazines, it means something,” Kev explained. “It’s a rough world out there these days, and ammunition is used up pretty quickly. But here you are with full mags. So either that was all the ammunition you had, and you’ve been hiding for the last several months—which means you’ve got a hell of a hiding spot—or you’ve been out running and gunning like the rest of us, but you just have a shit load of supplies.”

He pointed to Lee’s bandaged head. “I can see you’re a little banged up, but that shit is recent, which means your story about someone trying to kill you could be true. But this gets me to thinking, because no one just tries to kill someone else out here and doesn’t search the body afterwards and take every damn thing they have. Boots, knives, ammunition.” Kev showed his teeth. “Hell, I’ve even seen people eat each other because they’re fucking starved. Especially these last few months. Weather’s getting cold. Food’s getting scarce. Seem to be more infected now than ever.

“But here you are with a knife, six magazines of ammunition, all your clothing on your back and your boots still on your feet when—if you were legitimately being killed—you’d’ve been left stripped naked.” Kev cleared his throat. “But you know how this all makes sense?”

Lee closed his eyes. He swallowed, trying to ignore the nausea, and discreetly slipped his fingers under the rope collar around Deuce’s neck, loosening it just slightly. “How’s that?”

“The guy that tried to kill you wasn’t doing it to survive. It was an assassination attempt.”

Lee blew a breath and opened his eyes. “Assassination?”

Kev tapped his own head and smiled, proud of himself. “And random bums that don’t mean anything don’t get assassinated. They get murdered and robbed. Only
important
people get assassinated. Which means you’re an important person, at least to somebody.” Kev leaned forward slightly. “I think having some bunkers full of supplies would make you pretty fucking important to some people.”

Lee could feel his stomach tightening, saliva beginning to run. “Sounds like you’ve got me figured out.”

Kev shifted his position. The muzzle swung slightly more in Lee’s direction.

The movement did not escape Lee. His heart skipped, gave one solid pound, then began to hammer. His head buzzed with fever and adrenaline, nausea and nerves coiling in his gut like a live thing trying to come out. He already didn’t like the line of questioning Kev threw his way, but the furtive slide of the muzzle in Lee’s direction sealed it. It was one of those moments when Lee knew that things were about to go very bad for him. Knew it like the smell of a violent thunderstorm.

Shelley looked back. “Kev…”

“You know where that fucking GPS is, don’t you?” Kev said.

Lee looked up at him. “I have no fucking clue.”

Deuce perked up, looking out the back. He growled, loudly.

Shelley swore. “What’s that mean?”

Kev swung up onto one knee. “Shut the fuck up, Shelley!” He pointed the rifle at Lee’s chest, and began talking quickly. “Now we got even less time, so let’s get to it. You might have Shumate fooled with your act, but not me. You know where that shit is, and you’re gonna fuckin’ tell me, or I’m gonna start punching holes in you and deal with the consequences later.”

Lee had both hands under the dog’s collar, had loosened it now so that it would come off with one quick swipe. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! The GPS was stolen, man! Eddie Ramirez has it!”

“And where the fuck is Eddie Ramirez?” Kev raised his voice slightly.

Despite the commotion inside the van, Deuce continued to stare out the back, growling louder now, long, warning grumbles that ended in a chuff.

“You know where he is. Or at least where he’s heading to.” Kev smiled savagely. “And if you don’t think that I’m about to pop you, you’re in for some misery.”

“I’m gonna throw up,” Lee croaked, leaning forward.

“What?”

“I’m gonna throw up…” Lee coughed, felt the saliva stream down the corners of his mouth and spill over his lips, hanging from him in long glistening strands as his stomach began to heave. His eyes watered and he blinked them rapidly, trying to keep an eye on Kev.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now?” Kev shouted.

“I don’t think he’s kidding,” Shelley said.

Lee retched, a lumpy, yellow liquid that tasted of bile and fish. He pitched forward, tried to think about what he was doing. Tried to keep control of himself. He swiped his hands up, pulling the collar free of the dog just as the vomit reached his lips and purged out.

Kev recoiled as the vomit splashed the floor of the van. “Don’t you fuckin’ puke on me!” The muzzle of the rifle swept up, pointing at the ceiling.

And Lee saw it like a door exploding open in a dark room, nothing but daylight beyond.

His way out. His opportunity.

Do or die time.

Moving towards the open side door of the van, in mid-heave, he turned and drove straight into Kev’s body with everything he had, slamming his bound hands into Kev’s throat, even as he retched again, spilling vomit across Kev’s chest. Lee’s fingers latched onto the man’s larynx and bore down with everything he had. He could feel the thin bones snapping under his fingers, the nails digging into the skin. Kev’s eyes stared back, his jaw locked open in a silent, gagging scream as his windpipe gave under the pressure. Lee growled, strained with the effort, his teeth clenched, yellow froth bubbling madly from between them. He ripped his hands back and forth as though trying to tear Kev’s throat out, felt things moving in there that shouldn’t have been moving.

At first Kev’s hands flew to his neck, trying to claw Lee’s fingers from his windpipe. Lee felt Kev’s rifle clatter to the ground, useless when the combatants were so close together. He could also hear Shelley screaming, and from the peripheral of his vision, Lee could see her moving about rapidly, reaching for something. Then Kev torqued his body, slamming an elbow across Lee’s face and knocking him sideways.

Black and white like an ink-blot test.

Then the ceiling of the van, with purplish sparkles at the edges of his vision.

The weight of Kev clambering wildly to get on top of him. Lee kicked with his knees, tried to get them between his body and Kev’s. Kev slammed something into Lee’s midsection, driving the air out of his lungs.

Shelley, coming into view, trying to point a pistol at Lee’s head, yelling something.

But Lee was already in motion, the decision was made, the actions taken. There would be no stopping now. Not for anything.

He reached up, grabbed the pistol that stared at him, his bound wrists forcing his arms to work in tandem. He shoved the pistol up and away from him, tried to wrestle it out of Shelley’s grip, but a big hand swept across Lee’s vision, knocking the pistol out of Lee’s hand before he could get it from Shelley. It flew out of Lee’s sight, crashing somewhere in the front area of the vehicle.

Kev was still trying to get on top of him, his arms swinging in wild body blows that grew weaker with each repetition, all the oxygen burning up in Kev’s muscles, and his lungs not getting anything new passed his crushed throat. Lee had one knee between him and Kev, straining to heave the bulk of the man off of him. Kev stared down at him, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his face puffy and strange, his throat misshapen. He tried to rear back for another blow but then toppled.

“Kev!” Shelley screamed.

Lee pushed out with his leg, shoving Kev’s nearly-unconscious body off of him. He tried to roll into a better position, but Shelley tumbled into the back, her fists glancing off of Lee’s head, skinning his face as she made insane sounds and kept screaming. Lee reached up, hooked his bound wrists behind her head and pulled her down into his chest to keep her from hitting him anymore. She writhed against him in that position, clawing at his arms, his face, his neck. White-hot pain through the left side of his chest as she bit into his skin and tore her head back and forth like a wild animal.

Lee cried out in pain, kicked with his feet to rid them of the weight of Kev’s body, then rolled, desperately twisting his body until he was on top and Shelley was below him on her back. He arched his back, driving his head into her stomach, then pulled his head up and slammed it into her again. She cried out, but still fought, punching and kicking at him, but unable to move with her body pinned to the ground by Lee’s head. He had his body bridged over her so that all of his weight was directed into her midsection. Lee pulled himself off of her just long enough to throw everything he had into a knee strike that hit the top of her skull. Whether or not it had stunned her, or whether or not she would have kept fighting after that point, Lee didn’t know. He didn’t wait to find out. He kept driving that knee into her head. Felt the skull crack on the fourth or fifth blow. Kept going until he registered that she wasn’t moving anymore.

He rolled off of her, the fatigue hitting him in a single, crashing wave. His muscles burned, his lungs heaved, trying to suck every last bit of oxygen out of the air. His mouth tasted of blood and vomit. His face ached, his already broken nose bleeding again, dripping on the dirty white floor of the van’s cargo hold. He looked at Shelley, saw her eyelids fluttering, though her body was limp. Maybe still alive. Or maybe just peripheral nerves firing off randomly.

He realized that Deuce was still barking.

He twisted, looked to the back of the van. Deuce was poised on the tailgate, staring out at the street and barking his head off, his tail lowered along his legs, his ears erect and wary. He paused from his barking just long enough to look back at Lee as though to say,
I know you can hear me!

“Fuck!” Lee lurched onto his hands and knees, found himself weak and wobbly. He spat, saw blood in his saliva, along with bits of tuna and whatever else he’d voided from his stomach. The adrenaline masked much of the pain and the sickness he’d felt, but that would wear off, and he knew the hurt was coming.

He needed antibiotics. At least some fever medication. Some water. He needed to get out of the van before Shumate and James and the Quiet Man came back. Surely they’d heard the commotion. At the very least they’d heard Shelley’s screams. Lee needed to get out of here. He needed a weapon. Where were the infected that Deuce was barking about? He needed to run. To find someplace to hide…

Slow it down!

Compartmentalize.

He took a shaky breath.

First thing was first: he needed a gun. The only gun that was immediately available was Kev’s rifle, and he couldn’t handle that with his hands bound together. One of them had to have a knife. He began rifling through their pockets and belts, looking up quickly to glance out the back for infected, or out the side for Shumate and his crew to come running.

He found his own KABAR attached to the back of Kev’s belt, along with his sheath. He removed it from Kev’s belt, then slid his KABAR out. He jammed the handle between his knees and began working at the bindings on his wrists. Even after all the abuse, the blade was still sharp and after an agonizing twenty seconds, his wrists were finally free.

He spent no time working life back into them or rubbing the angry red bands that glared at him. They stung like he wore gloves filled with needles, but he knew that would pass. He sheathed the knife and shoved it into his pocket. Then he reached across Kev’s body, took the M4, checked the mag, checked the chamber—locked and loaded. He grabbed an extra magazine and looked to the front of the van, thinking,
damn, maybe I can just drive out of here…

“Holy shit!”

He heard the words coming from outside, and knew without having to look that they were back. He flattened himself against the inside of the van, trying not to be seen. Too late. Gunshots cracked the cold air, punching holes clean through the van—in one side and out the other.

Lee dove for the back end, the catastrophic noise causing Deuce to bolt out ahead of him. Lee hit the tailgate on his stomach, rolled, and fell to the concrete on his back. He scrambled to his feet, and though he couldn’t see them through the van, pointed his rifle in their general direction and let loose a volley that shredded through the taillights and caused shouts of alarm on the other side.

Lee took his chance and turned to run.

Deuce stood in the street, still barking incessantly, the hackles along his spine raised up.

Down the street about three blocks, a mass of filthy humanity spilled around the corner of a brownstone building, a horde of naked, barefooted wretches, screeching, grunting, and sprinting for them at breakneck speed.

CHAPTER 14: CLARITY

Lee ran. His boots slammed pavement, jarring his legs, but every ache in his body suddenly evaporated. All superfluous messages to his brain were filtered and discarded, his mind singular:
Get away
. Get away from Shumate, and get away from the infected.

Barreling across the street, hunched over and hoping that the van still blocked him from Shumate’s view, he looked at a wall of glass and wood. Store front windows. Most of them boarded up. Some of them broken in, but not enough to get through without getting cut. And jumping through a plate glass window looked great in the movies, but would slice you up bad in real life.

He pivoted for a door—an old, brown wooden thing that seemed flimsy enough that it wouldn’t give much of a fight. He lowered his shoulder on the approach and didn’t slow down. There was no time to slow down. No time for hesitation.