Summer's End, page 26
Dice gave it to Fletcher, who promptly tucked it in his hand, while everyone’s focus was on Heston leading the way.
Gunshots continued, growing in number and intensity. Some of the verbal commands outside had been replaced by screams, raising Fletcher’s heartbeat in the process.
Heston, Edison, Krista, Summer and Frost were now outside the central building, being protected by a lineup of Krista’s guards and Frost’s men. The dog was there too, his legs moving in lockstep with Summer, never leaving her side.
They all stood together, unarmed, a few yards from the end of the booths marking Trader’s Row. The vendors had all fled, leaving their trinkets and other valuables behind.
Fletcher and Dice caught up, stopping two steps behind Frost, who was bracketed by the remainder of his guards.
To the right, Summer stood on one side of Edison, Krista on the other, with her team holding position in front of her.
A skirmish line of Heston’s guards stood in front of everyone, using a half-moon formation, firing with their rifles level to the ground. The barrels moved left and right as the gunfight continued.
Fletcher knew the signs—they were spraying and praying, each of the thirteen men hoping to take out the threats ahead.
“Everyone back!” Krista snapped, her eyes focused on the swarm of Scabs climbing over the fence line ahead. Her hand went for the holster on her hip, but it was empty. She looked at the cowboy closest to her. “Hey you!”
He peered back with a puzzled look on his face, his rifle still engaged and shooting one round at a time.
“Your sidearm,” she said, motioning at the weapon on his hip.
He let go of his rifle with one hand, then pulled the revolver from his holster and tossed it to her. It floated with almost no rotation, much like a knuckleball from a pitcher. She caught it, flipped it around, and cocked the hammer, aiming it at the Scabs ahead. “Tell the others, too.”
He did as she asked, spreading the word, bringing more pistols out of their respective holsters. The revolvers were passed from man to man until they were in the hands of both Krista’s and Frost’s men.
The Scabs were everywhere. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, flooding the compound in waves, their hands and feet scaling the switchback fence line with the dexterity of tree monkeys. Some of their heads exploded in a burst of red after bullets made impact, but the rest of the throng kept advancing.
A flood of Scabs broke off and swarmed the two guard towers, climbing the struts like an army of ants. The men in the towers got off several shots, but there were too many coming at them. It only took seconds for the horde to overrun their position and begin their munching feast.
Edison and company shuffled to the rear while the bullets and commands continued from the guards standing firm in front of them. Some of the orders were issued by Heston. Others were from Krista and Frost, each leader invested in repelling the attack.
Fletcher opened the tube Dice had given him with a twist of its cap, then put a finger over the spout to control how much fluid would leak out. He flicked it at Dice while Frost was turned away, sending drops of the pheromone solution onto the redhead’s shirt.
Fletcher did the same to himself, then raised an arm to sample its odor. It wasn’t strong, but it was noticeable, if anyone took a moment to sniff. He didn’t think that was likely, not with the pandemonium unfolding ahead of them, which is why he waited until now to deploy the deterrent.
“There are too many! We gotta run!” Summer yelled.
“Isn’t there a back gate?” Fletcher asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes. Follow me,” Heston said, pointing. “This way. Hurry.”
One by one, their group peeled off and followed Heston’s lead, passing close to Fletcher. Frost was the first, pulling a rush of frigid air with him.
When Summer scampered by with Edison, Fletcher applied the elixir to both of them in a covert splash.
Then he did the same to Krista, who followed behind Edison and the girl, walking backwards with her gun at waist level, firing two rounds at the Scabs.
Krista must have felt the liquid hit her skin, her eyes turning fierce. “What the hell is that?”
“No time to explain. Just trust me,” Fletcher said, his voice barely audible over the barrage of gunfire. “We gotta go! Now!”
Krista lowered the gun, then turned and ran after the others.
Fletcher put the cap on the tube and stuffed it inside his pocket before he and Dice followed behind Krista.
Their group turned a sharp corner along the back side of the main building and jogged past the backhoe, eventually running into a stampede of Scabs coming from the right. They were packed together and snarling.
Fletcher saw one of Heston’s cowboys climb the metal steps and enter the cab of the John Deere, then slam the door closed. He started the turbo-charged engine and spun the seat around before grabbing the control sticks.
A moment later, the hydraulic arm on the back of the dirt mover swung sharply. First, he brought it to the right, smashing into a collection of Scabs who were looking the other way.
The sudden impact sent them in the air as if they were hockey pucks heading down the rink. They landed on top of several more of their kind, knocking them down like pins in a bowling alley.
The operator brought the bucket back the other way with a jerking force, swatting three more cannibals, this time separating one of the meat-eater’s legs in the process. Blood shot out in a wide arc as the bucket followed through, catching another Scab in the head. It, too, blew apart, sending brain matter and blood on the same trajectory.
The Scabs must have finally realized what was happening and turned their attention on the great machine, swarming it from all sides. Soon the yellow paint across the forged steel disappeared from view, fully engulfed in human scavengers.
The man inside the cab didn’t stop what he was doing. He brought the backhoe bucket up about fifteen feet and then started to pound Scabs from above, stamping them flat like cockroaches. Strike after strike was made. Boom. Boom. Boom, each time the bucket compacting one of them into a pile of bones and goo.
It reminded Fletcher of squishing ants, at least until the horde ripped the door open on the cab and forced the driver out. He disappeared into a flail of revenge, his life now in pieces and part of their digestive system.
Summer must have seen all this, too. She took a quick step back and stumbled, as did Edison, both of them landing on the ground with surprised looks on their faces.
A quartet of Scabs closed on Edison’s position, looking as though they were going to attack. However, that was not what happened. They scampered past the old man and Summer as if they weren’t sitting there defenseless.
The four Scabs had eyes on Heston, taking a direct path toward him. The man turned and ran toward another building, this one smaller and made of wood instead of brick.
Krista ran to Edison’s defense as more Scabs advanced. She took position in front of him, then unleashed two more rounds.
Summer worked the professor to his feet, while Krista’s bullets hit the mark, liberating skin from bone in a dramatic spray of marksmanship.
Krista pulled the trigger again, but the gun only clicked.
Two of Krista’s men joined her as a dozen Scabs descended on their location. Her troops fired their pistols, but soon their ammo ran out as well, leaving them no choice but to go hand-to-hand.
The men wrestled and punched, throwing haymakers, elbows, and jabs. They repelled a few Scabs, but it wasn’t long before they disappeared under the weight of the pack, their limbs getting torn to pieces in a flurry of teeth.
Krista slipped away just as Heston’s men arrived for additional support. The guards tried to stop the carnage in progress, but they were no match for the sheer number of targets.
Moments later, Heston’s men became Scab food as well, their torsos shredded inside a bloody wrap of clothes.
Frost ran to the edge of the melee and snatched a sheath lying on the ground. It was still attached to a leather belt that used to belong to one of Heston’s cowboys.
Two Scabs turned and noticed him, changing their focus. Frost didn’t hesitate, letting loose with a sharp right, stinging the chin of the closest Scab. The barely human assailant went flying, tumbling sideways as if it had just been hit by a bus.
Frost brought his other fist around and under, nailing the second Scab with a powerful uppercut, landing a blow under its jaw. The punch sent the cannibal into the air. Like the first, its consciousness disappeared into the dark recesses of dreamland.
Frost made a hasty retreat, pulling the ten-inch hunting knife from its sheath. He dropped the belt and brought the blade up, its edge glistening under the burn of the sun.
The man held off another Scab by gripping his giant hand around its throat. He lifted the Scab off the ground, sending its eyes wide and skinny legs into a dangle. Its tongue flopped out of its mouth in a gurgle as its face turned a deep shade of red.
Frost brought the dagger up and gutted the meat-eater in an upward, slicing motion, starting at its navel and ending mid-chest. He tossed the dead Scab aside, then took a step back, taking position in front of Summer.
Fletcher couldn’t believe his eyes when Frost put his arms out with the blade in a defensive posture, looking as though he was prepared to defend the girl and the professor.
Then it happened.
Frost whirled around and jammed the knife into the side of Edison’s neck. The tip entered the skin just under the ear, sinking deep.
Edison gasped.
Summer screamed.
Frost withdrew the blade with a quick yank, dragging tissue and blood with it.
Edison brought his hand up and covered the wound as blood shot out in spurts, squirting red between the gaps in his fingers.
Krista’s attention came around. She froze with her face stiff as Edison toppled to the ground. A moment later, she ran to the professor, only to get decked by a swift roundhouse punch from Frost.
She flew sideways with her shoulder hitting the dirt first, then her body twisted, smacking the back of her head into the ground in a whiplash motion. She lay there stiff, her arms and legs no longer moving.
Frost bent down to Edison and readied the blade again, aiming the bloody tip at the man’s eye.
Summer let out a roar as she jumped onto his arm, her hands latching onto his bulging forearm. She pulled and twisted, wrapping her legs around his neck, trying to leverage the weapon away from Frost.
Frost tore Summer off with a yank to her hair, making her scream as he swung his shoulders. His power and weight sent her flying like a ragdoll.
She hit the ground hard, her butt landing first, then her elbows and back, making her wince after the impact.
The dog joined the fight, running and leaping at Frost, its powerful jaw clamping down on his wrist. Teeth entered skin, making Frost cry out in pain.
Dice stood firm. So did Fletcher, both men watching the dog tear into their boss. Neither of them moved while Frost battled Sergeant Barkley, whose paws were off the ground, its entire body hanging from the man’s arm.
Frost brought the knife around and let out a commando scream as he stabbed the dog in the hip.
Sergeant Barkley yelped, causing him to let go and fall to the ground in a twisted lump of fur. The dog squealed and whimpered, its head looking heavier than its body as it looked back at Summer.
When Fletcher saw Frost take a step toward Summer with the knife in a striking position, he took action. He used a flying leg kick, nailing Frost in the center of the chest.
The collision altered Frost’s course, sending the goliath stumbling backwards, his feet trying to regain their footing. He fell on his ass about ten yards later, landing in front of a knot of Scabs approaching from the rear.
The hunger gang surrounded Frost as he got to his feet. He managed to fight off several, landing punches to their heads and blade strikes to their necks.
He outweighed them by a hundred pounds each, but soon there were too many. They dogpiled, gnawing at him like a pack of wolves, ripping the man’s clothes from his body, then tearing into his skin.
Fletcher went to Edison and scooped him up, carrying the senior in his arms. “Hang in there, Professor. We’re going to get you out of here.”
Dice shook Krista, rousing her from her dirt nap. She pushed to her feet, looking dazed.
“You okay?” Dice asked.
“Barely,” she answered, her dazed eyes scanning the scene. She rubbed her jaw, then opened and closed it, obviously testing to see how badly she was injured.
“We need to go!” Dice said, nudging her forward. He looked at Summer. “You too.”
Summer ignored the man and ran to Sergeant Barkley, her face smothered in tears. The animal lifted its head to greet her, then tried to stand but couldn’t, its hind legs covered in blood.
“Come on, I’ve got you,” Summer said, scooping the animal up in her arms. She turned in a flash and ran to join the group, all of them heading at an angle to the left—the only direction free of Scabs—for the moment, anyway.
CHAPTER 34
Krista jogged alongside Fletcher as her adversary carried Edison in his arms. She matched Fletcher’s stride, step by step, allowing her to keep her hands pressing on the wound in the professor’s neck. “We need to pick up the pace, Fletcher.”
“I’m trying, Carr, but he’s heavy for an old man.”
She smirked. “He does like his pancakes in the morning.”
“Here, let me,” Dice said to Summer, the two of them following ten yards to the rear.
Krista glanced back to see Dice holding his arms out, motioning to take Sergeant Barkley from Summer.
“Nah, I got him,” Summer said with strain in her voice. The animal’s head hung loose, bobbing as she fast-walked. So did its legs, flopping like cooked spaghetti. “Come on boy, stay with me. Please.”
“I guess that answers that question,” Fletcher said in a sarcastic tone, bringing Krista’s attention forward.
Fletcher motioned with his eyes, directing her gaze to a slew of body parts littering the area to the right. Some had been cleaned of flesh down to the bone, others were partially intact. Heston’s cowboy hat sat on top of the mess, its brim covered in a run of gooey tissue.
“Poor bastard,” Krista said, her mind flashing a violent scene of Heston’s death.
“Is that—” Summer asked, her tone charged with angst.
“Look away,” Krista said, hoping to save the young girl from a visual she would never forget. “You don’t need to see this.”
“Seriously,” Dice said to Summer, as if he’d been cued to distract her. “Let me take the dog. He’s too heavy for you.”
“I said no. Don’t you understand English?” Summer snapped in a strained voice, turning to avoid the man’s reach.
Fletcher carried Edison to the narrow gate at the back of the Trading Post, angling sideways to open the latch and squeeze through the opening.
Krista lost contact with Edison’s neck when they went through. Blood shot out again, spraying more of Fletcher’s clothes before she caught up and was able to resume her triage.
“Hang in there, Professor,” she said, wondering if her mentor could hear the words. His eyes were no longer open, but at least his chest was still pumping air.
Fletcher brought his eyes to Krista. “I don’t know; he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“He’ll be okay. He’s a lot tougher than he looks,” she said, not wanting to admit the man was right. She motioned to the left with her head, taking an extra gulp of air to recharge her lungs. “The trucks are that way.”
“He’s not gonna make it that far.”
“He doesn’t have a choice. We have to get him back to the s—” she said, stopping herself in mid-sentence, before she revealed that Nirvana was in an underground silo.
“I’m sorry, the what?”
Krista changed her words in a panic, using a stutter to buy time to adjust. “—the station. Doc will fix him up. No problem.” She scanned the area ahead in a noticeable fashion. Probably too noticeable, but then again, that was the idea to draw attention away from her near-reveal.
Fletcher took the bait. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” she said after an eye squint, pausing her words for effect. He needed to think her sudden caution was the reason she stopped her sentence short a few seconds ago. “Where the hell did they all go?”
“The Scabs?” Dice asked, his voice landing on her ears from behind.
Summer spoke next in a breathy voice, almost as if she could read Krista’s mind. “It’s like they all went home or something.”
“Or gave up,” Dice said.
“Something obviously drew them away,” Fletcher said, sounding indifferent to the discussion.
“Or someone,” Krista mumbled without thinking, her mind pondering the tone Fletcher had just used.
Fletcher continued, his chest pumping harder than a minute ago. “No telling what happened. But I wouldn’t worry too much about it. All that matters is they’re gone. We’ve got more important things to deal with.”
“He’s right,” Dice said.
Krista’s mind latched onto a recent memory, one that took place a few minutes before. She kept her legs moving as she sniffed her shirt. A strange odor caught her attention. “What the hell was that stuff you threw on me back there?”
Fletcher hesitated before he spoke, looking as though he was debating whether or not to answer her. “Something we’ve been working on.”
Krista pondered the recent events in her mind, digesting some of the more curious aspects about the attack. The Scabs had run past a defenseless pair of easy meals in Summer and Edison, only to attack Heston. It didn’t make sense. Predators never ignore the easy prey. Not when they have a choice.
Her vision changed again, this time showing the dogpile of Scabs on Team One after they had come to her rescue. She was there, too, with her troops, in harm’s way, but the Scabs left her alone, only tearing into her men. Her heart twanged with grief, thinking of their brutal deaths.
