The Remaining: Fractured Part 17

The air moved languidly through the van. Deuce raised his muzzle to it for a moment, his nose working. Lee watched the way the dog's ears twitched back just slightly. The way his mouth tensed, just a bit. Like he was about to growl. He smelled something he didn't like. But he never growled or barked. Instead, he just looked at Lee and then rested his head on his knee with a huff.

Shumate rapped his knuckles on the side of the van. "Does that mean we're good?"

Lee shrugged. "They're here. He can smell 'em. But they're not very close."

Shumate sucked on his teeth. He seemed unconvinced. "We'll see," he said.

Then he and his two companions turned their backs to the van, and it seemed any further conversation was put on hold. Their shoulders cinched up, their heads scanning back and forth, weapons held at a low ready. The Quiet Man moved out first, followed by Shumate and then James in the back. They crossed the brick sidewalk and dipped cautiously into an alley between two storefront buildings and disappeared.

Lee watched them go, his brain working quickly as he tried to breathe evenly and steadily to control his heart rate and to appear relaxed, or at the very least subservient. The three of them would stay close enough to hear whatever signal Sh.e.l.ley prearranged to give them if the infected showed up. Probably a honk of the horn. And if they were close enough to hear that, they would be close enough to hear a gunshot or a scream. Especially with all the doors open.

"f.u.c.k, it's cold," Sh.e.l.ley complained from the front seat.

"You'll be alright," Kev murmured as he settled into position, taking up the entire opening of the side doors. He faced the back of the van, leaning against the front pa.s.senger seat, with one leg hanging out the open door and the other tucked up to his chest, his rifle resting there on his knee, the muzzle partially pointed at Lee.

"So," Kev said conversationally. "Captain Harden. The savior of humanity. The Navy SEALs, Army Rangers, and Force Recon all rolled into one man-all of their strengths and none of their weaknesses." He smiled mockingly. "Pretty f.u.c.kin' impressive."

Lee leaned back, took a breath, leaned forward again.

His stomach began to turn.

"Heard some pretty interesting stories about you," Sh.e.l.ley joined in.

Kev nodded. "We all know how Shumate likes to exaggerate, so I figured I'd try to get some information straight from the horse's mouth."

Lee snapped the other man a look. "You don't trust Shumate?"

Kev seemed to ponder the question before answering.

Sh.e.l.ley snorted. "He never got bit. No one survives a bite."

Kev's answer was more reserved. "I know the difference between a bite mark and a burn scar."

Lee nodded. "The same thought had crossed my mind."

Still situated between Lee's feet, Deuce let out a low, mumbling growl.

Kev's eyes fell to the dog.

Sh.e.l.ley turned in her seat. "What was that? What's that mean?"

Lee shook his head. "It means they're here. But we already knew they're here." He looked out the open back doors at the street that stretched out behind them. Quiet. Still. Very little wind to stir anything. "He just got a whiff. The closer they get, the louder he gets. I think we're okay for now."

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 s.h.i.t is true? You really some f.u.c.king super soldier with bunkers full of s.h.i.t 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 h.e.l.l of a hiding spot-or you've been out running and gunning like the rest of us, but you just have a s.h.i.t load of supplies."

He pointed to Lee's bandaged head. "I can see you're a little banged up, but that s.h.i.t 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 d.a.m.n thing they have. Boots, knives, ammunition." Kev showed his teeth. "h.e.l.l, I've even seen people eat each other because they're f.u.c.king 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 a.s.sa.s.sination attempt."

Lee blew a breath and opened his eyes. "a.s.sa.s.sination?"

Kev tapped his own head and smiled, proud of himself. "And random b.u.ms that don't mean anything don't get a.s.sa.s.sinated. They get murdered and robbed. Only important people get a.s.sa.s.sinated. 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 f.u.c.king 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.

Sh.e.l.ley looked back. "Kev..."

"You know where that f.u.c.king GPS is, don't you?" Kev said.

Lee looked up at him. "I have no f.u.c.king clue."

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

Sh.e.l.ley swore. "What's that mean?"

Kev swung up onto one knee. "Shut the f.u.c.k up, Sh.e.l.ley!" 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 s.h.i.t is, and you're gonna f.u.c.kin' 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 f.u.c.k you're talking about! The GPS was stolen, man! Eddie Ramirez has it!"

"And where the f.u.c.k 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 f.u.c.kin' kiddin' me right now?" Kev shouted.

"I don't think he's kidding," Sh.e.l.ley 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 f.u.c.kin' 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 Sh.e.l.ley 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.

Sh.e.l.ley, 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 Sh.e.l.ley'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 Sh.e.l.ley. 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 repet.i.tion, all the oxygen burning up in Kev's muscles, and his lungs not getting anything new pa.s.sed 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!" Sh.e.l.ley 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 Sh.e.l.ley 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 Sh.e.l.ley 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 Sh.e.l.ley, 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!

"f.u.c.k!" 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 Sh.e.l.ley'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 pa.s.s. 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, d.a.m.n, maybe I can just drive out of here...

"Holy s.h.i.t!"

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 ma.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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.

He went through the door in a cloud of splinters, sprawled out in the middle of a narrow hallway. White tiles with little black accents, worn smooth by pa.s.sing feet. His body hurt blindingly for a flash, mainly in his chest and shoulders, but it almost immediately abated to a dull ache. He scrambled to his feet, took a glance behind him and found Deuce slipping through the door.

To either side of him were waist-high platforms where antique furniture and other useless trash was displayed in ornamental fashion for window shoppers. Lee dove for a wooden chair. It felt creaky and ancient in his hands, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He kicked the door shut and jammed the back of the old chair under the loose doork.n.o.b.

He turned. Found himself in nearly complete darkness.

Outside, there was a horrid sound building to a roar. The sound of hundreds of infected, screeching, barking, yapping at each other. There were human shouts amid the noise, the shouts of Shumate and James and the Quiet Man, and the rapid pop-pop-pop of gunshots.

Lee shuffled his feet down the hall, his right hand gripping the rifle and pulling it into his shoulder, the left extended out in front of him like a blind man. His vision adjusted slowly, and from the spears of light coming in through cracks in the boarded windows, Lee could just make out the interior of the shop.

It smelled of cedar chests and pine furniture and old fabric pa.s.sed down through generations. Musty old clutter in dark towers to his left and right, strangely shaped and ominous in the dark. He realized he was breathing rapidly with his mouth open. He closed it. The bile in his mouth had dried to a sickening paste. He spat, tried to clear his arid throat.

Find a safe place. That's what you need to do. Find a safe place.

Behind him the front door of the shop banged loudly, as though an irate customer was demanding entry. He swiveled, pointing the rifle at the door. He could hear the commotion outside, but the bang was not repeated and it did not seem that anything was pressing to get in. Perhaps Shumate and his crew had distracted the horde long enough for Lee to get away.