Vindicta, p.14
Vindicta, page 14
She looked around the tree and spotted a fallen branch nearby. If she could get it, then she could use it to walk. It was that or crawl. She didn’t know if she could put any weight on her leg at all and she was very reluctant to try.
That was going to be her last resort thing.
Her mind felt fuzzy and unfamiliar as if she were thinking through a thick fog. She did the best she could to position herself facing the stick then, she took a step, holding her weight from her leg with her arms on the branch overhead.
It was going to be a bitch picking it up.
She prepared herself and tried to get ahead of the pain. She was soaked with sweat and it trickled down and stung her eyes. She braced herself and bent down, hair sticking to her skin uncomfortably and making her feel even hotter.
“Mother-fucking-son-of-a-bitch!” she gasped.
She was ready to amputate her own leg. She wanted it gone and wanted it to take the agony with it…but she got the stick and it was sturdy. She planted the thicker end of it in the grass and used it to help her stand up straight again.
Now she had to pass the gauntlet that was the yard and—
She groaned. The porch steps.
She inched her way along, taking precious long moments breathing her way through the spikes of pain. It was a mere thirty feet away, and yet it seemed to be a hundred miles. It took her fifteen minutes just to make it to the porch.
She thought it best to just sit on the floor and pull herself along using only her arms. No bending of the legs, no using the calf muscle, no problem.
Hopefully.
She eased herself down, keeping her stick handy, and made it to her front without any problems. She fought the exhaustion that threatened to sink her and the fear that wanted her to quit and run away.
Funny, she wouldn’t be running anywhere—fear or no fear. So she might as well not even entertain the idea of being afraid. Really, what was the point anyway?
She’d seen a lot of real-life monsters recently, and it was starting to get old.
She needed to find Young and Jen, and check on Harley. She needed to get in there and find out what was going on and how to fix it. There were still hours of darkness left, and they had nobody on watch.
She was apparently the only one still alert or capable of moving around.
Which really was a scary thought.
She turned the doorknob and pushed and was shocked to find it locked tight. She rattled the hand and beat on the door but nobody came. She put her weight on the wall and edged over to the window, clearing the siding of massive spiderwebs and their unmentionable creepy-crawlies with her sweat-soaked shirt.
She put her hand on the glass and leaned in to see through the gaps in the binds. It was completely dark inside. No light came from anywhere, and the moonlight didn’t penetrate the blackness within.
She knocked on the glass and waited.
Nothing. She tried again but wasn’t hopeful. Once again nobody came.
She leaned against the wall and searched the yard and the road and the field. There was nothing out there that would help her. There was nothing out there that would give her any answers. Conversely, she didn’t see anything that would hurt her either, so there was that at least.
She was on her own.
Should she try the back door? It was a long way around, but it might be unlocked. Even if it wasn’t, the panes would break easily. She could be in quickly. The only problem was getting there. There was no way she could smash the front window and climb in. Her leg was useless and she’d probably sever an artery on the glass.
She wracked her brain trying to come up with an explanation to what had happened here, but none came. If Jared were here he would probably tell her that aliens had invaded and beamed up all the intelligent life, or that the rapture had happened and she was a little too late on the repentance.
He was stupid.
She felt her eyes watering and she sniffed back the emotions. Knowing Jared, he was probably holed up in a bunker somewhere with a tinfoil hat on and probably a good dozen people indoctrinated into some kind of cargo cult.
She’d almost bet on it, actually.
Standing around wasn’t going to get any answers, so she collapsed back down to the porch and waited long enough for the pain and dizziness to recede.
Then, she began to crawl.
◆◆◆
The back porch was officially fifty-thousand miles from the front. It was also ten-thousand feet high, or so it looked from her place on the ground.
It had taken her thirty minutes and multiple rest breaks to make it to the back steps. There was no railing, and now she had to make it up. She kept telling herself that she could rest when she got inside, but she wasn’t sure she’d want to—depending on what she found.
She wiped her sweaty hands on her dirty pants and gripped the stick again, wishing it was a bit longer. She went to the side of the steps and sat on the highest one she could reach. She swung her good leg up and braced herself for the pain of jostling her bad one.
When she was set, she lifted herself backward onto the next step, then the next. At the door, she waited a moment, hoping nothing inside was about to attack her.
Someone could have turned. They could all be dead in there…every single one of them. She swallowed and grabbed the handle, using it to pull herself to her feet. She peered in the glass, but the kitchen was empty.
There was a pot on the stove and the burner was on low. There were no lights and no movement. She tried the handle and it was locked. She contemplated her next move.
Wait out here or go in? Try the credit card trick or break a window?
She was too thirsty to wait and she didn’t have a credit card, so she slammed her pistol into the glass. Some day, she needed to find one of those glass breaker tools. She didn’t like using her pistol to smash things.
She waited to see if the sound would bring anyone or anything, but nothing came.
She slipped her hand through and turned the deadbolt, then went inside. On the stove, a kind of thick soup was simmering and it smelled delicious, but under that, she could detect the hint of burning. She turned off the gas and dialed the knob back to the off position.
She pulled her pistol and limped through the kitchen using the counters to keep weight off her bad leg. At the dining room, she paused and scanned the pallets. They were all empty. Her breath rushed through her lungs with the exertion of the past hour and she wanted nothing more than to drink a gallon of water then lay down and sleep for a week.
She bit her lip as she hobbled into the black hallway. Harley’s bedroom was directly ahead. The door was closed. She stopped to let her eyes adjust. She couldn’t hold her pistol and a flashlight, and her headlamp was in her bag.
What she wouldn’t give for Storm and Red to show up right now.
The other doors were closed as well. She went to the first one, trying to stay silent. The knob turned and she pushed the creaky door against the wall. The bedroom and all the sleeping pallets were empty.
The bathroom was next, and aside from water dripping from the showerhead, it was quiet too. She got to Harley’s door and pressed her ear against the wood. She heard nothing but the beating of her own heart and the short, gasping breaths from her own lungs.
She turned the knob.
Harley’s bed was empty. He was gone.
This made no sense. He wasn’t well enough to get out of bed. He wasn’t even well enough to sit up. Santiago and Young wouldn’t have allowed it. She turned around, afraid that if she sat on the bed she would lay down and pass out, then where would she be?
She pulled a bottle of water from the nightstand and gulped it down along with eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen. She hoped it would help with some of the pain.
She knew her leg was infected, but at this moment it was secondary to whatever had happened to the others. She drank the whole bottle and got another one, then reached down to get her bag from the corner. She fished out the headlamp and turned it on, then looped the straps over her shoulders.
The added weight nearly killed her, but if she had to leave this place she couldn’t leave her stuff.
She opened the closet, looking for weapons. She was low on ammo, but she didn’t hold much hope there would be anything because the others had already searched the house.
She did find a cane though, and she took that.
She went through the living room, studying the place. She hadn’t been in here before and the unfamiliar layout made her uneasy. She didn’t like not knowing the places freaks could hide. There were two doors set into the wall and she suddenly felt the urge to run.
Who knew what things were slinking around in those dark places?
She reached out and turned the knob and pulled the door open. It was a coat closet and there was nothing in there. She closed it and went to the next door. The door itself was solid wood, unlike the closet. She hoped that it wasn’t a basement.
Nothing good could be in a locked basement.
She knocked.
There was complete silence at first, then a progressive thudding noise and the scrabbling of fingernails against the wood. She jerked back and fell when a bolt of pain shot through her bad leg. Then, the noise was gone.
She laid on the floor for a moment, recovering from the fall, when a blast tore through the upper-middle part of the door.
A hole the size of her fist punched through and she yanked her pistol up, unsure of who was trying to kill her.
After her hearing cleared, she heard the pandemonium coming from the basement. She couldn’t make out individual words but those were her people. She recognized Jen’s screaming pleas and Young’s barked orders.
Closer, right behind the door, she heard another voice.
“She’s one of them! Don’t you understand! She’s a freak! A monster! She’s trying to get you to open the door, and you fools would have done it! You would have gotten us all killed! You people are—”
He broke off and she heard a thud.
“No, no. Take your foot off that step there. First person that comes up these steps is dead,” he warned.
“Kate, run!” Jen screamed. “He’s coming!”
Kate scrabbled back toward the front door and strained to unlock it from the floor. She wiggled through and out onto the porch. She heard the bang of the basement door hitting the wall and she raised her pistol.
She stayed on the ground. She wouldn’t be able to run or even walk, but he wasn’t expecting her to be on the ground and it was dark. It gave her a chance.
She’d have to take him out before he got her.
She heard his steps come closer, muffled by the soles of his dress shoes, and she tensed. Her arm was weak and she couldn’t hold it up much longer. Her aim was going to suffer but she couldn’t relax now.
The door was jerked open all the way and the barrel of the shotgun was jammed through. Then, his head was there and he saw her.
He dropped the barrel faster than she had anticipated. His face was manic and coated with a sick sweat. His eyes were wide, seeing threats that didn’t exist.
She fired and rolled, feeling small chunks of wood pelt her face and back. She yanked the pistol down and fired again striking his chest, but it was unnecessary.
Craig was definitely dead.
The first round had hit his throat and the blood was still spurting out, covering her from the chest down with the hot liquid. The shotgun fell from his hands and smacked the porch. She slid over and snagged it as the life bled from his eyes.
She was shaking and couldn’t get it under control.
Sweat rolled into her eyes and she blinked and wiped her face. She scooted out of the puddle and put her back up against the porch wall. It wouldn’t do to be vulnerable to anything waiting out in the dark. Anything out there would have heard the shotgun blasts and it would come running.
She needed to be ready.
She racked another shell and braced it against her hip, leaving her pistol out just in case she needed it too. The nocturnal sounds resumed and lulled her.
She jerked her eyes open, feeling the shotgun sliding from her hands. She forced herself to stay awake. She didn’t have the energy to call out to the others.
Young would probably come up eventually.
As she was falling back asleep a roaring sound came from the darkness in the direction of the highway. Bright lights closed in and she could only watch. There was no way that she could go out there and flag them down. She could only pray that they saw the Humvees parked in the yard.
Surely they couldn’t miss them?
She remembered that Storm and the others weren’t the only ones with a Humvee. Feckley and his crew had one too, and she wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t kill her on sight.
She wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t kill him on sight.
The vehicle was moving at a moderate speed as it passed, but almost immediately the brake lights flared and she closed her eyes as tears collected in them. She pushed herself tightly against the wall and leveled the shotgun toward the vehicle, just in case it was Feckley.
Not much she could do against a fifty-cal if they decided to go that route, but maybe she could get lucky.
The lights washed over her as the vehicle pulled into the driveway. It stopped and she froze, blind. How was she going to know?
Wait for the shooting.
She heard a shuffle and the creak of a foot coming from the doorway and she moved her left hand to point her pistol at the doorway. She braced herself to possibly have to fire in one direction then the other in rapid succession. She probably wouldn’t live through it, but she could try.
She didn’t know if she expected Craig to get back up, or someone else from the group to lose their shit and start attacking. After the events of the day, there was just no telling.
A figure silhouetted by the headlights sprinted toward her and she concentrated on him first. He was the more dangerous threat. His face came into view, details emerging gradually as he got closer.
The expression on his face was alarm and devastation and shock and one hundred other emotions.
It was Storm. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and held up his hands. He looked at her with cautious disbelief and pain.
“Babe?” He focused on her face, and it felt like he was boring a hole through her skull with just his eyes.
Did they teach him that in some Army course? Mind control school?
“Put the shotgun down.”
His voice didn’t hold its usual harsh bite and she wondered why.
Oh yeah. She had a shotgun pointed at his face.
She lowered it and whipped her hand to the pistol grip, still anticipating danger from inside. Storm left his hands up as he ascended the steps.
“Young is coming out,” he told her as he got closer. “You did good, sweetheart. It’s over. You can put it down now.”
She supposed if he said it was over, then it really was over. She put the pistol in her holster, fumbling as he knelt near her and brushed her hair from her face. She winced as his knee jostled her leg.
“Red! Grab the trauma kit!” he yelled. “Where are you hit?”
She just stared at him, shaking her head.
He lifted her shirt and she didn’t have the energy or strength to object. It peeled off, saturated with blood and sweat. Not seeing anything, he unbuttoned her pants.
“My leg. Calf,” she said and he moved down to the offending limb.
She gritted her teeth and yelled as he rolled up the pant leg. “Young, take her hand. Red, give me the Tuff Cuts!”
She grabbed Young’s hand like a lifeline as Storm and Red cut her pant leg up to the knee.
“I can’t see, there’s too much blood. Get me water,” he barked. Reed uncapped a canteen and poured water over her leg. “What the fuck happened to her? How did you get here?”
“Where’s Jen?” Red hollered.
“Jen’s fine. She’s inside.” Young cleared his throat. “Back at the river, Johnson spotted a herd from the tower around eight. Kate and I went to talk to him. On our way back, we saw Feckley and Charlie One take off in one of the Humvees. They stole a lot of our supplies. We loaded up the casualties in the fertilizer truck, but they couldn’t stay in it long. We drove into town, hoping to link up with you guys there. We stopped when we found the bus—”
Storm probed a spot on her leg and she screamed in pain. “Fuck. It’s infected.”
He looked at Young for a split second and she thought she saw guilt on his face. “Harley. He didn’t make it. They cut him off and smashed in through the windows. We tried to lead most of the herd away, but when we went back there wasn’t much left—”
“Harley is alive. He’s here.”
“Dude, his arm was on that bus!” Red said. “You telling me he didn’t bleed out?”
Young shook his head. “Kate found him. He tied a tourniquet. Santiago tied off the arteries and vessels and stuff. We got him here. Just started him on antibiotics—”
“You have antibiotics? Get Kate some antibiotics!” he ordered Red, who ran into the house.
“Go on.”
“Kate, McCain, and I were talking out by the propane tank around noon when Jen came out and said something was wrong with Scott. We went in ahead of Kate. Her leg slowed her down—“
“So you just fucking left her out here alone?!” Storm punched out in an icy growl.
“She was fine when we last talked, maybe a little tired. I told her to rest. The immediate threat was in the house!” Young explained.
His lips tightened and he looked over at her face and she saw nothing there but a mask. A cold, unfamiliar mask. It was the Storm that she had first met.
Asshole Clipboard Guy was back. As a coping mechanism, she supposed it was better than drugs and alcohol.
“Scott was turning. Craig found a shotgun somewhere and blew his head off. Then he started yelling about us all turning and that they were going to attack the house. He made us get in the basement and held us there. He kept us down there until about thirty minutes ago when Kate showed up,” he said, nodding at Kate.
“Kate. Tell me what happened to you.”
