Verge of Extinction (Apex Predator Book 3) (17 page)

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t do that.”  He looked to the younger soldier and gave him the slightest of smiles.

None of them would ever know why the Bishop did what he did next.  In a single, fluid motion his right hand shot up and hit Terrance under the chin.  The punch caught them all by surprise.  Stars exploded in front of him as he fell to the ground in a heap.

SSgt Brown barely had time to react before a side kick caught him in the solar plexus.  He stumbled backwards several steps, struggling for air.  The Bishop did not allow him a moment’s reprieve.  He slammed the toe of his boot into the big NCO’s ribs.  SSgt Brown fell to the ground gasping for air. 

Jackson was ready when the older man kicked his left leg at his midsection; a quick turn to the right and the blow missed by a few inches.  He continued his turn and brought his hands up, ending in a good fighting stance.  His first instinct was strike back at the older man.  But, he didn’t.  Instead, his gaze fell to SSgt Brown. The man was struggling to his feet as he tried to catch his breath.

Suddenly, the Bishop stepped inside the young trooper’s defenses.  He simultaneously grabbed the young man’s shirt and drove his left knee into his midsection.  Pain exploded from Jackson’s abdomen at the same time his breath was forced from his lungs.

He stepped back a step in an effort to put some distance between himself and the Bishop.  The Bishop expected this and continued to move forward.  He swatted Jackson’s left hand down and drove a punch into the trooper’s face.  Blood exploded from Jackson’s mouth as several of his teeth were driven through his bottom lip.

He stumbled back from the blow.  It was at this time that he realized someone was yelling for them to stop.  He didn’t immediately recognize the woman’s voice, but he agreed with the sentiment.

The thought had barely formed in his mind when something shiny suddenly appeared in the Bishop’s right hand.  “I’m gonna gut your black ass like a fish,” the Bishop hissed.  Jackson had no doubt the man had every intention of gutting him.  He’d never seen a man look so wild.

Jackson dropped his right hand to his hip.  He could feel the hilt as his fingers unsnapped the nylon strap that secured the bayonet into the scabbard.  He realized immediately he had made a mistake.  As soon as he lowered his right hand, the Bishop slapped at his left hand with his free hand.  At the same time he lunged forward and brought up his knife hand.

The Bishop’s eyes went suddenly wide.  Jackson felt something strike the left side of his ribs.  He winced at the pain that never came.  It took his mind a moment to realize that nothing pierced his side.

The Bishop crumpled to the ground.  A large hunting knife was lodged under his still-outstretched right arm.  His knife was still spinning on the ground inches out of his reach.  His chest heaved erratically as he struggled to draw air.

Jackson’s mind finally began recognizing sound again.  “These are my people!  They’re my friends!  You can’t have them!  You can’t hurt them!”   It was Kerry.  She kicked the dying man in his stomach as she screamed.

Jackson hadn’t seen her so angry.  He’d known her to be the meek victim that had been abused by a couple of rednecks before they had found her.  This woman, the one screaming at the Bishop, was strong.  She was angry.  This woman was a fighter.  By that time SSgt Brown had regained his feet.  The two men watched in horror as the woman jerked her knife from the man’s side and quickly drew it across his neck.  She wiped her blade off on the dead man’s pants leg as blood spread across the dock.  His arms clawed at the wound in his neck as his feet twitched uncontrollably.

Day 42

The Haven

Jen awoke with a start.  The room she was in was dark.  It took her a minute to realize where she was.  She was in a chair in the room with the injured woman.  She must have fallen asleep.  She waited a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the light.  While she did, her other senses took over.

The room smelled like unwashed bodies.  She wondered if that was her or the woman who smelled so bad.  She hoped it wasn’t her.  There was something else in the air. She couldn’t place it.  At first she thought that maybe she smelled the infection in the woman’s hand.  Gangrene has a terrible odor, but that wasn’t it.

Her ears perked at a sound.  Was it breathing?  The girl had been breathing just fine before.  This breathing was raspy and coarse.  If the girl’s breathing had deteriorated that bad in only a few hours, she was in trouble.  She began to think about what antibiotics to use for pneumonia.

Suddenly, there was another sound.  It sounded like someone drumming their fingers on something.  It started out very slow, but seemed to pick up in both tempo and volume.  What was that?  She stood.  Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the darkness.  Her balance was off without some frame of reference.  She reached a hand out until she found the wall.  She could hear a soft scraping sound as her hand slid along the wall for a few inches.

She realized that the sound in the room had changed also.  The drumming had stopped.  “Sherry,” she whispered softly.  “Are you ok?”

She could hear the sound of air escaping someone’s lungs.  It sounded like a sigh.  Then the rattling started.  It sounded like it was coming from the direction of the woman’s bed.  She cursed herself for not having a candle or flashlight.

There was a crash from the direction of the bed.  Then the sigh turned into a moan.  Oh shit!  Her mind screamed.  Get out!  She allowed her hand to slide along the wall in the direction of the door.  What was between her and the door?  A table, she remembered about the time she bumped into it.  Several unseen objects fell from the small table and crashed to the floor.

The moaning grew louder.  She suddenly heard something that sounded like metal dragging on the ground.  She reached the door.  With her right hand, she tried to open it.  The knob wouldn’t turn.  Locked!  It was locked.  She began to panic.  “Help!” she screamed.

The scraping was getting closer.  She could finally, barely, make out the shape of her attacker.  The woman was only a few feet away.  Do something, her survival instinct yelled.  Do anything!  She lunged for the chair, tripping over the table as she went.

She jumped to her feet, the metal chair held in front of her like a lion tamer.  The monster slammed into the chair as if it hadn’t seen it.  Jen could feel the monster getting closer.  She planted her back against the wall and shoved with all her might.  The monster’s forward progress was halted.  It reached out with an arm; the fingers grasping the air a mere inches in front of Jen’s face.  She could feel the little breeze they caused as they opened and closed.  “Help!” she screamed again.

The fingers got closer and closer to her face.  She was losing.  Another wave of panic set in.  “Help!” she screamed louder this time.  The back of the chair was beginning to dig into her belly just below the ribs.

She leaned harder on the wall and kicked the monster with her right leg.  The kick connected with the monster’s left knee.  Off balance, it fell to the side; taking the chair with it.  Jen heard it crash to the ground, but could not see the monster on the dark floor.  Move! She thought.

She slid farther away from the door along the wall, ears listening for any clue to where the next attack would originate.  Nothing, it was quiet.  Even the moaning had stopped.

She jumped at the sound of jingling from the door.  Light beams drew lines through the room as the door flew open.  Several settled on the figure on the floor.  The Sherry-zombie was crumpled on the floor, chair leg sticking into her mouth and out the back of her skull.  The monster’s right hand remained tied to the bedrail that it had been dragging.

Suddenly light drilled into Jen’s brain.  She held a hand in front of the beam and squinted against its assault.  “Jen,” Theresa’s voice squealed.  The beam of light shifted as the girl embraced her tightly.  “Oh God Jen, are you ok?”  The panic in the girl’s voice mirrored the panic she had felt only a moment before.

The Island

The meeting started as soon as the cooks had finished serving breakfast.  The entire population of the Island had been invited to the meeting.  SSgt Brown, he disliked the rank of Lieutenant, had suggested a town hall meeting.  The Bishop had failed to put a chain of succession in place before his untimely death.  SSgt Brown thoughtlessly rubbed the top of his stomach where the Bishop had kicked him.  This morning he had awoken to find a bruise shaped like a man’s boot.

They had asked Jerry to lead the meeting.  He had been the Bishop’s right-hand man, and knew the major players on the Island better than anyone else. He stood at the front of the room.  The room had been a briefing room of some kind in a former lifetime.  On that day, it was filled to overflowing.  It seemed like the entire population of the Island, 183 people at last count, was in attendance.

“Thank you all for coming,” he bellowed.  SSgt Brown was impressed at the volume the little man could muster when he needed too.  The room quieted.  “As most of you know, the Bishop is dead.”  He paused as a low murmur ran through the crowd.  Most people knew he had died, but few knew the details.

“As many of you know, our leader had a bit of a mean streak.  Couple that with his short Cajun temper, and he turned out to be a ticking time bomb.  Unfortunately, he decided to attack several survivors last night.  He died while they attempted to subdue him.”  Another round of murmuring followed.

“This leaves us without a clear cut leadership structure in place.  I’ve heard some people say that this is preferable to our old form of governance.  I happen to agree.”  He paused for a moment to let people digest what they had just heard.

“It has been proposed by Mr. Westergart and Staff Sergeant Brown that we form an elective government.  It has been proposed that we elect a seven member council to run the day to day operations of the Island.”  There was more murmuring.

An hour later, it had been decided.  The Island would be run by a seven member council, elected from the population annually.  There would be no running for a particular seat.  The candidates receiving the highest numbers of votes would be elected.  The most votes going to the leader of the council.

For the time being, all laws would be proposed by the council and voted on by town council.  This would change once the population of the Island exceeded 700.  The only people exempted from voting would be children under the age of 18.  SSgt Brown had tried to get that lowered so Theresa would have a say, but he was voted down.

Sam, Terrance, Jerry and SSgt Brown were all voted onto the council.  The other three council members had been original Island survivors.  Tabitha was a young black woman who had been paralegal at some public defender’s office.  She was smart, well spoken, and knew legal matters better than the rest.  Stan was a butcher.  He had made it out of rural Mississippi with four other survivors.  He was smart, witty, and had a terribly foul mouth.  But, SSgt Brown had thought, Stan was a straight shooter.  He would do well for the council.

The last council member was Miranda Sanchez.  Miranda had been a maid before the world fell apart.  But, Miranda was more than that.  Miranda had spent the better part of a decade attending one class per semester at a small university in Alabama.  According to her, she was three classes away from earning an International Finance degree.  She had specialized in international trade.  She also spoke four languages, was a mother of two children who she managed to drag halfway across the state, and was an excellent cook.

The council agreed to meet that evening after SSgt Brown had returned.  Terrance had asked SSgt Brown to run the mission today.  He’d received the most votes, and was there for the mayor.  He wanted to spend the day conferring with Jerry; finding out all that he could about the Island, its people, and available resources. He wished him good luck and God’s speed.

The Haven

Theresa watched Jen as she slept.  It was well past breakfast.  She’d had a rough night to say the least.  She had been too wound up to sleep after her brush with death.  The two had cried together for a long time before either was able to sleep.

Theresa couldn’t help but feel guilty about last night.  She had agreed to stay with Jen to ensure her safety.  Instead, she had eaten a nice dinner and slept on a cot in the front room of a quarantined house.  She had absolutely not been there for Jen when she had needed her most.

Tears began to flow down the girl’s cheeks.  She couldn’t help it.  Jen and Mike had been there for her and Davy since the day her parents had died.  They had gone above and beyond to help the two teens.  They had even tried to save the Landry’s, a boy from Theresa’s class and his father.  She couldn’t help but feel like a failure.  She buried her face in her hands as she quietly sobbed.

After a few minutes, she wiped the tears from her eyes.  She looked again at Jen.  Silently she promised the woman that she would never let anything happen to her.  Then she looked to the ceiling.  She promised God that she would forever be in his debt if he would help her protect Jen.

SSgt Brown and Jackson strode into the front gate of the Haven.  Behind them were ten well armed men and women.  When they explained to the people of the Island that they had found other survivors and they were going to raid a former military base for equipment and supplies, they actually had to refuse volunteers.  SSgt Brown stopped counting at 26.