The Remaining: Fractured Part 6

Because of Abe Darabie.

Lee's eyes popped open. His fingers suddenly wrenched down into a fist.

That one little thread had suddenly unearthed the whole ugly truth that had been hiding beneath the silt of his injured mind. And it hit him like a gut-punch, just like the first time he'd learned it. Abe Darabie-his closest friend-had sent people to kill him. To terminate him. To execute him. To keep him from opening any more of his bunkers. Because that wasn't in the cards. It wasn't in the plan to let North Carolina live. It wasn't in the plan that Lee's portion of the mission actually be successful. Lee was just a waste of resources. A rogue operative.

A non-viable a.s.set.

"Motherf.u.c.ker," Lee mumbled under his breath. He looked at the dirty dishes surrounding him on the kitchen counter. For a brief moment he wanted to sling them across the room. Just to see something besides himself get broken.

But he didn't. He just looked at them, slowly shaking his head as the picture became clear. The whole, terrible picture. And he silently argued with himself, his own mind opposing himself like a madman: Everything east of the Appalachians has been written off. We're in a dead zone. A no-man's land. And then there's everything west of the Appalachians. All the interior states, surrounded by mountains. A convenient buffer between them and all those over-populated coastal cities.

So if I were to make a guess, I'd have to say Eddie Ramirez is heading west. West with my stolen GPS, to cross the Appalachians. Probably into Tennessee.

So, great. You've really narrowed it down.

Somewhere near the border of Tennessee and North Carolina.

In the f.u.c.king mountains with a two-day head start.

I'll find him.

There's no f.u.c.king way you're going to find him.

I will. I have to.

The sound of Deuce growling snapped him out of it.

For a moment he stood confused, as though the growl required interpretation. Then abruptly he dropped to the ground. He fumbled with the knife in his hand. Felt his heart lodge firmly in his throat. He put his back to the cabinet doors. Leaned out just slightly, peering around the corner. From there he could see straight through the living room and to the front door. It still hung open from when Lee had kicked it in.

It was open about a foot, and through that opening he could see a thin sliver of the world outside. Green-brown lawns. The charcoal strip of the street. A single mailbox. He waited there, not breathing, not moving, his whole body just a bundle of muscles and nerves locked down and ready to bolt at any minute.

Beside him, Deuce stood stiffly. The hair along his spine risen and his head was lowered. He continued to growl, but it was low, subdued.

Lee focused on the door again. He couldn't see any movement outside, and Deuce was not barking yet. But his window of opportunity to get the h.e.l.l out of the house was rapidly closing. He had to a.s.sume that whatever infected Deuce smelled were moving closer. And all Lee had was his knife. If he was still in the house when they got close enough to sniff him out, or hear him moving, it would be all over. He might take one. Maybe two. But after that they would overpower him.

Lee reached out and poked the dog gently in the side of its neck.

Deuce looked at him and grumbled.

Lee put his finger in front of his lips. "Ssh."

He rose slowly from his crouched position, eyes still locked on the front door. When he was on his feet, he turned and faced the back door. There was a window in that door, and through it Lee could see the backyard and the strip of woods beyond. Then the next street over. More houses. Lee stared at them for a long moment but saw no movement.

Deuce growled again, this time a little louder.

"Alright," Lee said. "We're going. Just stay quiet."

He pulled the table out of the way as quietly as he could and opened the back door. It creaked loudly, the weather stripping cracking as it separated from the door. Lee grimaced at the noise and swore under his breath. With the door open, he leaned out and looked both ways.

All clear.

He stepped through the door, Deuce on his heels and then trotting past him, casting wary glances back behind them as they headed for the trees. He didn't want to be in the house, but the woods weren't much better. The last few days had been dry, and the leaves would be loud. He wasn't sure how far away the infected were, but he always a.s.sumed that they were in earshot.

He jogged to the woods and then slowed. "s.h.i.t!" He turned back to the house, one hand flying to his head. He'd left the jug of water sitting on the kitchen counter. His feet moved unsurely, as though one foot wanted to go back and the other wanted to go forward.

He looked forward through the woods, to the back of the next line of houses. He could hole up in one of those, take a minute to barricade the doors and windows, keep watch and wait for the neighborhood to be clear of infected before running back for the water...

He shook his head.

Bulls.h.i.t. He wasn't going to get himself killed over a half-gallon of water, no matter how thirsty he was. And he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't going to escape one house just to cram himself into another one less than a hundred yards away from the first.

He stepped into the woods with fresh urgency, picking his way as quickly and as quietly as he could. The dried leaves and twigs felt more like tripwires and sensors, threatening to give him away at each step.

Deuce was already on the other side of the strip of woods, looking back at him with what seemed like impatience.

Yeah, I'm working on it...

Lee forced himself to focus completely on the forest floor and where he put his feet. In his mind he pictured a pack of the filthy creatures tumbling around the corner of the house and seeing him picking his slow progress through the woods, locking onto him like a pack of wolves on a wounded deer.

Just get to the other side.

His feet hit gra.s.s. He looked up and found himself in another back lawn and he broke into a jog. Deuce lingered for a few seconds, sniffing the air, his body language cautious. The houses here were packed close together so that the side of two adjacent houses created a narrow alley perhaps ten feet wide. Lee went to the left of the house directly in front of him, making for the street on the other side.

Halfway down that narrow alley, he stopped and looked behind him. Deuce wasn't following.

"Deuce," he said at a loud whisper. "Come on!"

When he faced forward again, something large and dark stood in front of him and it lashed out and turned his vision into stars and he tasted blood.

CHAPTER 6: GUT CHECK.

Lee hit the ground on his back. He rolled onto his side and tried to bring himself up, gripping the knife in close to his body and praying that he wouldn't lose it. He could smell dirt and gra.s.s and when the sparkles cleared in his vision, he was looking at mildewed vinyl siding, wriggling patterns cut through the green by the slime trails of slugs.

"Stay down!" someone shouted. "Drop that knife or I'll blow your f.u.c.king head off!"

Lee opened his mouth, felt blood dribble out onto his chin, and he wondered if he'd lost another tooth. He twisted slightly, slumping against the dirty vinyl siding. The figure stood over him, just an impressionist blur. Lee blinked rapidly, trying to bring the figure into focus.

A large man, well over six feet. A giant, reddish-brown beard that looked like it had been grown long even before the collapse, only now it clumped into dreadlocks towards the bottom. An old black cap with no logo and a crumpled and tattered brim shaded the man's narrowed eyes, dark and suspicious. He wore a black hooded sweatshirt with the sleeves bunched up at the elbows, revealing a clutter of blue tattoos on both forearms. The man held an M4 carbine, the barrel oriented perfectly with Lee's face.

"I said, 'drop the f.u.c.king knife'!" the man yelled again.

Lee complied, half because he truly believed the man would shoot him, and half because he wanted him to stop yelling. He held up both hands, palms speckled with dirt. "Alright," he said quietly. "I dropped the knife. You need to be quiet."

"What the f.u.c.k did you say?" two thick eyebrows came together in the center of the man's face.

Lee's mind kicked into gear. Slightly delayed, but better late than never. The barrel of the man's rifle was too close to Lee, only inches from his face. Action would always be faster than reaction, and a trained man would know to keep his gun out of reach of his enemy.

Lee pointed back behind him. "There're infected back there!"

The man's eyes tracked up, away from Lee.

Lee pivoted his foot underneath his body, getting a good stance, about to launch himself.

Then two other figures appeared around the corner of the house.

Lee stopped himself.

One of them held an AK-47. A pale, skinny kid that couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. He pointed his rifle at Lee and eyed him coldly. "What we got here, Kev?" He stood with his head c.o.c.ked to one side, and he spoke in that certain way that said he desperately wanted to appear tougher than he was, but had likely come from a soft, upper-middle-cla.s.s life.

The second newcomer was a middle-aged man with dark hair and a beard, both shot through with gray. He wore a blue knit cap, under which his long hair hung in a single braid, just slightly longer than shoulder-length. He held a pistol-grip shotgun with a sidesaddle full of spare sh.e.l.ls. His eyes were a frosty blue and he looked like the type that didn't talk much.

Kev-the guy with the big, red beard-looked back down at Lee's face. "You f.u.c.kin' with me bro? I don't see any infected." His moustache and beard compacted as though his lips had disappeared from between them. He reached down with one hand and hauled Lee to his feet. "Get the f.u.c.k up against the wall."

Lee didn't resist it, knew that he'd already lost any impetus he might have gained by distracting Kev. The big man shoved him up against the wall and kicked his legs open. Lee's mind scrambled and he cursed himself silently-for thinking too slow and for letting himself fall into this situation in the first place. He could feel Kev's hands roughly grabbing through his pockets and pouches, searching him quickly. Appropriating his knife and the two magazines from his chest rig.

He's going to search you and then he's going to kill you.

Because you're no good to him.

Kev put a hand on the back of Lee's neck, pushed his face into the side of the house. He tasted the bitter taste of the mold, the copper of the blood running from his nose down into his mouth. He closed his eyes and breathed, tried to marshal himself.

"You ain't got much," Kev observed.

What are you gonna do, Lee?

How are you gonna get yourself out of this?

The tough-guy-wannabe spoke up: "Kev, man. f.u.c.k this guy."

Lee's eyes came open. He couldn't fight. That wouldn't work. All the bravery in the world wasn't going to get him out of this one alive. He needed to think his way out. He needed to trick his way out. And that meant that his damaged brain needed to start working.

Lee felt cold metal against the back of his head.

"Well..." Kev drawled, casually.

"Yo, head's up," the wannabe said. "There's a dog back there barking at us."

Lee seized on it. Opened his mouth and the words tumbled out. "Wait! Don't shoot the dog! He's not barking at you. He can smell infected. That's why I told you there were infected coming. He starts barking when he smells them."

There was a sort of stillness. Like Kev and the wannabe were processing what Lee had just told them. Lee could hear Deuce yammering his head off and when he twisted just slightly, he could see the dog, skirting back and forth along the edges of the woods. He didn't want to stay so close to the woods, but he clearly didn't want to be near the unknown men that were holding Lee at gunpoint.

Kev shifted. "Don't f.u.c.k with me, bro."

"I'm not f.u.c.king with you," Lee said. "That's why I keep that dog around. Because he can smell them coming. So they don't sneak up on me. Like an early-warning system."

Silence.

Lee pushed forward. "He doesn't bark like that unless they're close."

"How close?"

"Real f.u.c.kin' close."

The wannabe spoke up. "Kev, man. Let's get the f.u.c.k out of here."

"James," Kev's voice was irritated. "Could you shut the f.u.c.k up and let me think for a minute?" Kev seemed to readdress himself to Lee. He prodded Lee's head with the muzzle of his rifle. "You wouldn't play games with me, right? You wouldn't play games when your life was on the line, would you?"

Lee swallowed and closed his eyes. "No games." Lee wasn't going to play coy. He wasn't going to hide his own desperation. Between the rifle muzzle against his head, and infected moving in on them, he didn't have time for Kev to put the pieces together on his own. Lee was going to have to spell it out for him. "Look, man. The dog will stick with me, but he won't go with you guys. He doesn't know you guys and he's already scared. If you keep me alive, I can control the dog. We can work for you. Tell you when the infected are coming. I know you could use that. I know..."

Kev silenced him by banging Lee's head against the wall. "Alright, shut up."

Deuce's barking bordered on panic now. The same sound Lee remembered him making when he'd stood over Lee's barely-conscious body when he lay in the middle of the road, left to die by Eddie Ramirez with a gunshot wound to his head.

Come on, Kev, Lee pleaded silently. Make up your mind you stupid f.u.c.k.

Lee felt a hand close around one of his wrists, yank it behind his back.

"Zip ties," Kev commanded.

"Seriously?" James-the-wannabe gawked.

"Zip ties," Kev barked loudly. "Now!"

"Aight, aight..."

Lee's other hand was yanked behind his back. A thin plastic band looped around his wrists. It tightened, biting into his skin, but Lee didn't really feel it. Because he'd just earned himself some more time. He'd managed to buy it with a little bit of quick thinking. It wasn't the most flattering of positions to find himself in, but Lee would do what he needed to survive.

And right now he needed to play nice.

With Lee's hands secured, Kev pulled him off the wall and pointed to the dog. "Call your dog. And he better f.u.c.king come when you call."

Lee looked out at the nervous animal and then glanced behind him. "I'm not gonna run. But I need ya'll to back up or he's not gonna come."

Kev grit his teeth. "You run and I shoot."

Lee nodded. "I know."

Kev motioned his little crew back a few feet. "Give him some f.u.c.king room."

James and the older man with the shotgun shuffled back, looking unsure of themselves.

"Deuce!" Lee called. "Come on, boy!"