Rescue: 100 Miles, page 6
part #1 of Rescue: 100 Miles Series
“That's right,” she said, her voice as an echo, “You sleep. Don't fight it. I need company. You're not leaving, and neither is Rex...”
The world turned dark as Porter's eyes closed and the drugs took effect.
Someone was speaking.
Luna... that was her name.
She fucking drugged me!
Those thoughts woke Porter slowly. The weakness was gone and the room wasn't spinning any more. But it was so slow, to manage to stand, to leave the room, pausing to lean on the frame of the open door to the hallway. With vision still partly misty, Porter saw a door ajar to a pale yellow bathroom and staggered inside, closing and locking the door. Using a toilet was priority, then turning on a tap to see clear cold water gush out. A splash of that was reviving, then Porter drank some water from the tap, killing the dry mouth sensation caused by the sedatives. Luna had drugged them... Where was Rex?
Reaching down, both guns were missing from their holsters, and the knife was gone from its sheath.
Where was Luna?
Porter felt anger rising, inching the bathroom door open to look down the hallway, seeing the view of the world outside through the small panels of glass in the top half of the cottage door where sun and cloud mixed in: Morning sun.
They could have set off hours ago! This crazy bitch had just wasted precious time, all for what, to force company, did people really go crazy out of loneliness? Luna knew a family was in danger, she also knew Rex was vulnerable... Porter's hand closed into a fist on leaving the bathroom, and as Luna's voice drifted through the hallway again, Porter was now alert enough to work out it was coming from the upper hallway.
“You'll get used to it,” she was saying, “You live here now. I think Porter will come to accept it too, in time. I hope so. I don't want to shoot either of you, because we're friends now... aren't we?”
Porter took the stairs slowly, freezing as a floorboard creaked, then placing a hand lightly on the stair rail, taking one step at a time, trying to avoid the middle of each board where the tread was likely to be worn and prone to more creaks. Reaching the top of the stairs, a shadow passed back and forth on the wall of the upper hall, as in the bedroom opposite with the door wide open, Luna walked the floor as she spoke to Rex.
“You live here now. You're mine. You and Porter are mine!”
Porter crept closer, staying tight to the wall. Looking through the doorway, Rex was tied by his wrists to the bed. He was fully clothed and looking utterly confused. He was probably not possessing a single lucid moment as he lay there, captive and convinced this woman was making him late for a tea party... he caught sight of Porter, who gestured to remain silent with a finger to lips movement, and as he looked over Luna's shoulder, that glance was enough to raise suspicion as she turned quickly, armed with one of Porter's pistols.
“Don't make me shoot you!” Luna said as a crazed look came to her eyes.
Porter held up both hands, locking with her gaze.
“It's okay, we're not leaving. We want to stay.”
Luna stared at Porter for a moment, caught off guard as she thought about that statement, she had not expected so little resistance.
“Really?” she started to smile.
“Really!” agreed Porter, returning her smile and taking a step closer.
It was obvious what had to be done. It was also risky. A bullet could shatter bone and destroy internal organs and it was a gamble, but staying here was not an option. No time was spare for pandering to the needs of a lunatic who wanted to use them as forced company.
Today is the day I kill a person, a living, breathing human being, ran through Porter's mind. Then with heart pounding and adrenaline pumping, lunging for the gun in a desperate and fast movement caught Luna off guard. Their bodies slammed together and then they tumbled to the floor as Porter grabbed her wrist and slammed it against the wooden boards, there was a crack of bone and then the gun went off, blowing a hole in the wall as they rolled and Luna yelled out and then lashed out, as Porter slammed a fist into her face over and over and then some more until knuckles were burning and bruised.
It was over. Luna was still. Her nose was split and bleeding, her lip was cut, her jaw swollen. She was still breathing, but would offer no resistance now. Porter got up, giving an aching hand a shake as knuckles throbbed, then saw the empty dinner plate with the knife and fork resting on it and used the knife to cut through the bonds that bound Rex to the bed.
“Did she hurt you?”
“I can't find my hat!” Rex responded in alarm.
Porter gave a weary sigh, spotting the top hat on the floor, and passed it to Rex, who put on and jumped from the bed with renewed energy.
“What about her?” he asked.
Porter looked down at the unconscious woman on the floor.
Good question. What about Luna, what should be done with a seemingly warm host who preyed on passing strangers?
The plan was simple and after retrieving the guns and the blade, between them, they carried Luna downstairs and left her on the kitchen floor while they opened up the pantry, took some food from it and Porter packed it in the rucksack. Rex made tea and put it in a flask, Porter grabbed another bite to eat from the fridge and then, ready to leave, they carried Luna into the walk in freezer and left her there. Closing the door and watching as the temperature began to lower once more, Porter felt no sense of guilt. In a world like this one the seemingly friendly Luna would lure trusting travellers in and then force them to stay and kill them if they refused. Zombies were not the only threat in this messed up world. It was also a place where dangerous and disturbed people thrived. Today, the world would be one less psycho on its surface... The icy cold woke Luna as she regained consciousness and ran to the door, pounding on it as her muffled yells for help carried up the hallway. Maybe the generator would give out and she wouldn't freeze to death. Maybe she would have enough food in there to last until someone stumbled across her, locked inside the unit. Or maybe she would suffocate. Either way, they didn't look back as her muffled cries became more distant and they left the cottage, closing the door firmly behind them.
Porter's right hand was painful. Bruised knuckles still throbbed. But as they walked along the narrow road, keeping to the route on the map, the way stretched on, an open road, with nothing but the breeze stirring dry leaves as they twisted from trees. No hint of the stench of the dead was carried through the air. The world was still and kept its usual silence, Mother Earth's response to the catastrophe that had befallen her.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Rex as he walked beside Porter, briefly placing a hand on his top hat to stop the breeze from lifting it.
Porter's gaze was on the horizon. The road stretched on into the distance, where clouds gathered to herald the coming storm. This was not the best place to be caught out in bad weather.
“I'm thinking, we need to find shelter.”
“Like that?” Rex pointed across the field where a small white painted house surrounded by a low fence sat alone.
“Maybe...”
They stepped into the field, crossing slowly towards the house. It looked lonely and stark against the grey heavy clouds that were ever chasing closer as a chill wind began to blow and spots of rain started to fall. As they got nearer the rain was starting to fall harder. In an upstairs window, a curtain billowed ghostly. The place looked abandoned. But it didn't mean this old house was empty – in times like these, to simply assume could be a fatal mistake.
“Shall we try for it?” asked Rex, wrapping his jacket tighter as the wind grew icy and the sky darkened over heavy and grey. In the distance, thunder rumbled.
“It looks empty,” Porter replied, drawing a gun and leading the way, watchful of the windows but seeing no movement behind the tattered curtains.
As the rain fell harder the two weary travellers made their way up to the gate, pushed it open on stiff hinges and approached the house with caution as in the distance, forks of lightning flickered against cloud. Porter approached the front door, saw that it was ajar and signalled to Rex to stay back. He didn't have a gun. Maybe I should have given him one of mine, Porter thought silently, reaching for the door and giving a cautious push. It creaked open on dry hinges to a hallway shrouded in shadow. This had once been a charming old place, but the carpet was faded and the wallpaper weathered by the door that wouldn't lock and the many broken windows, allowing the elements to creep in.
They stepped inside and Rex pushed the door shut where swollen wood scraped against damp frame, jamming the door to shut out the wind and wet weather. Porter was about to breathe a relieved sigh, glad to be out of the storm, but then a floorboard creaked and as she stepped out, long dark hair hiding half her face as her dark gaze in a mix of brown and green glared back at them, Porter's heart sank. Yet again they had walked into hostility. Rex raised his hands. Porter did the same. They were being held at gun point by a teenage girl no older than sixteen but the look in her eyes was that of a hardened killer.
“Don't move,” she said in a low voice, “Or I'll blow your fucking heads off!”
Chapter 5: Surrounded
“This is my house now. My parents left with the evacuation but we got left behind. Not their fault. This is our land and I'm protecting it. Sister got bit getting supplies. She's upstairs, she's hurt and if you touch her I'll kill you. If you touch me I'll kill you. Get the fuck out!”
The gun was held in a two handed, steady grip as the girl aimed the weapon standing there in ripped jeans and a black flannel shirt. Her finger was on the trigger poised to squeeze it. There was a look of solid, cold determination in her gaze. It was the kind of look Porter expected to see in battle hardened fighters, not in the eyes of a teenage girl...
“We only seek shelter,” said Porter, “I'm looking for my family. They were taken by a man named Sinclair.”
There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, she blinked and then slowly lowered the weapon.
“Sorry, but your family is fucked. I've seen his people. They kill prisoners.”
Those words spoken so harshly had caused a huge jolt and a stab of heartache mixed with the worst kind of fear.... No. This girl didn't know that for sure, she wasn't part of his gang, she was a teenager stuck out in the middle of nowhere in an old house with her sister for company, a sister who had been bitten...A sister who will most likely die from infection and become undead, was the conclusion that ran through Porter's mind.
The girl paused to put the safety on and tucked the weapon into her jeans.
“Who are you?”
“I'm Porter and this is Rex. He's a bit... disconnected.”
“You can call me Hatter!” he said with a bright smile as he raised his hat.
She rolled her eyes.
“A loopy? That's all I fucking need!”
“He can handle a gun.”
She looked Rex up and down doubtfully, then looked back at Porter.
“Stay until the storm is over. Then I want you out. It's our house, our land, our food and you're not taking over.”
“We really do just want shelter,” Porter reminded her, and the girl turned away and went into a front room where an oil lamp on the table burned dimly to chase away the shadows as Porter and Rex followed her in. “I'm Layla,” she said, her back turned as she began to build up and then kindle a fire in the open hearth, and she looked over her shoulder at Porter as Rex slumped into a padded leather armchair and Porter stood closer as the firelight began to flicker. Layla got up and wiped her hands on her jeans and met Porter's gaze.
“Sorry about your family. But I've heard of Sinclair. You won't see them again.”
Outside the rain was lashing the house, but in here, the window was unbroken and the heat from the fire was soon spreading through the room warmly. Layla took off her open shirt. Beneath it she wore a black vest. Her arms were adorned with home made tattoos that said Mum and Dad and down one arm was etched lettering that spelled Zombie Killer.
“Like it?” she asked Porter, indicating to the inked lettering.
“Great,” Porter replied, with a heart full of sadness at the sight of this young girl forced to become a hardened zombie killer. Before the world had changed, Layla had probably spent her days between school and friends and never would have imagined one day, every day would be a fight for survival. But she had adjusted. Layla seemed to pick up on Porter's take on the matter as she spoke again.
“I can handle myself. I'm not weak. I'm one of the strong ones.”
“Everyone who has made it this far is strong,” Porter reminded her, “We shouldn't divide a line there. All of us who are still alive are tough enough to get through this.”
Porter reached for the photograph, drawing it carefully out of a pocket and handing it to Layla.
“My family. I need them back. Even if you think Sinclair's had them killed, please don't say it. I've come almost one hundred miles to find them. The thought of saving them is all that's keeping me going.”
Layla studied the picture, then the hardened look started to slip from her gaze as she handed the picture back.
“I hope you find them. But you are fucking with the wrong people. Sinclair's lot are trouble. They don't ever come out this far, there's nothing in here for them to take.”
“There's a cottage a few miles back down the road,” said Porter, sitting on the floor by the fire as Layla did the same.
“Next house down?”
“We stayed there last night.”
Layla stared at her.
“No one ever comes back from that place. I've seen the woman who lives there, it's not really her house. I don't know who she is but people go in and they don't come out again, that's what I heard last time me and Jodie did the food run.”
“You don't have to worry about that crazy lady any more,” Porter replied, “We took care of her. She tried to hold us prisoner but she won't be making anyone else disappear.”
Rex was comfortable on the armchair as he took off his top hat, leaned back and then paused for thought as a sudden look of worry came to his eyes.
“I wonder what she does with the people who vanish?”
“Let's not think about that,” said Porter.
There was a slow and steady tap, tap, tap as Rex paused for thought and the rain came down and thunder rolled above as he drummed his fingers on the top of the hat that sat bent and battered in his lap.
“I'm thinking about that roast dinner she gave us. I hope it really was just chicken!”
Porter's stomach lurched.
“Don't even say that!”
Rex shifted thoughts away from the reality he couldn't bear to touch.
“Soon as the rain stops, we're off to find Alice!” he announced, “And I have a tea party to look forward to.”
Porter glanced back at Layla.
“Jodie is your sister?”
She nodded, slowly looking upward, her thoughts past the ceiling and settling somewhere in a bedroom upstairs, before looking back at Porter.
“She got bit three days ago. It's not a big wound, I put some vodka on it. I don't have anything else to clean it with. It's turning black. But she's not changing.”
But she will, Porter thought sadly, They always do...
“Sometimes, surface bites and scratches heal. But full thickness bites always mean infection. Are you two close?”
Layla shook her head. She grabbed a battered cigarette packet, took out a smoke and lit it.
“Me and Jodie used to fight. Not so much since the world changed, then we had to stick together. She tried to push me out of the way to get on the back of the truck when they were evacuating, but then someone pushed her off too. It was crazy. People piling in, fighting each other... that's how we got left behind. I blame her for this. We both wanted to get away, but no, her attitude was, fuck the annoying little sis, leave her for zombie meat... Now she's the one with the bite. But I killed it. I put a bullet in the one that bit her. I left the body in the field behind the house. You can hear the files buzzing round it even from the back gate. I swear flies love zombies even more than they love shit!”
For a moment, the firelight flicker reflected in Layla's eyes, then she looked down at the smoke curling from her cigarette.
“I miss the way life used to be...”
As Porter sat there in silence Layla was silent too, but as she looked up again, strength and optimism shone in her eyes.
“But there's a way through it! I'm not like him,” she indicated to Rex, who was sat there with his head turned watching the rain run down the window, “I know we're in an apocalypse. I don't cut off from real life. But when I'm out there, with a gun, if I have to shot them, I pretend it's a computer game. It's the only way to get through it. Like last time we went to the petrol station to get some food... four of 'em came at us. I've only shot two before, so I shot three, then I killed the one that got in the garden... four down, unlocked a new level, this shitty situation! But I'm still here, no zombie's going to get me. I'm not getting chewed up!”
Porter nodded, not wanting to show pity for the lone but strong teenager fighting the undead, trapped in the middle of nowhere with her sister upstairs slowly dying from a zombie bite.
“I think you're a survivor,” said Porter, “The kind who will tell their kids about this one day.”
“No,” said Layla, putting out her cigarette, “No kids for me. Not in a world like this one.”
“Maybe you'll just stay a zombie killer, then.”
She briefly smiled at that remark.
“Best way to be. Best way to survive.”
The thunder rumbled again, but sounded further out now. The rain was slowing. Layla watched the firelight as Porter sat there, thankful for the warmth. Rex was just about to doze off in the chair. Soon, the rain would stop.
