Dead River, page 19
When he cleared the divider, Colin heard the growl of an approaching engine blaring behind him. The others went ahead, thinking he wasn’t too far behind. From the time it’d taken him to clear the road, the Jeep had not only cleared the bridge but it was now speeding up the interstate.
The driver was a stout barrel-chested Latino with tan skin, deep-set brown eyes and thick upturned lips on a wide oval face. A large red and black spider tattoo sat on top of his clean-shaven head, its legs hugging the crown of his forehead. He wore baggy denim shorts and a white-tee shirt under a white Cincinnati Reds jersey fastened only at the top.
A pair of albino twins with bright milky faces occupied the back seat. The one on the left wore baggy denim shorts, a Baltimore Orioles tee-shirt and a pair of Ray-Bans; his partner donned a bright red bandana, a bright blue FUBU tee and baggy jeans.
The tall white man in the passenger seat had a flat muscular chest and thick, broad shoulders. Sleeves of colorful tattoos shrouded both arms, molding nicely with his massive biceps. He wore a sleeveless black tee-shirt, jeans, a trio of large golden chains around his neck and thick black dreadlocks sitting atop his gaunt triangular head.
The Jeep climbed the rise at a breakneck speed, its bulky black shadow gliding up the tarmac on tires that seem to hover above the pavement. It weaved through a pair of maroon mini-vans, around a cluster of overturned sedans and through a wide lane flanked by more discarded vehicles, its front grille glinting under the sun.
He noticed the wigger was holding something in his right hand but he wasn’t sure what it was. He didn’t have enough time to inspect it quickly but all he could see was the thin metallic antenna sticking up from the top of it.
What could it have been? It looked like one of those cheap little battery-powered radios people brought them to the beach during a time when Bluetooth and smart-phones hadn’t been invented.
Colin waited for the Jeep to close in on him and then bolted out of its path. Before they could raise their pistols, it struck the rust-pocked hulk of a family sedan lying on its side next to the divider. He heard the sound of metal grating against metal followed by a string of curse words from the four men.
He followed the narrow trail etched across the concrete and ignored the sharp jabbing pain pulsating across his right hip. He heard the familiar click of a fully-loaded clip being jacked into a semi or automatic weapon and felt a mingled shot of fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He clamped his hands over his head, elbows bent, and winced.
A loud panicked cry resounded across the crest of the rising road, echoing off the tall, jagged cliffs. He knew where it was coming from and the sound of it scared him more than his own impending death. He would never imagine the amount of fear flooding through Rosie’s fragile little body nor could he imagine the mental effect it would have on her later in life.
The first shot gave a thunderous report and struck the passenger window of a red Ford Escort lying on four flat tires. A mist of hot metal and broken glass raked the air behind him and tumbled across the asphalt. He spun around on his heels, lost his balance and regained it.
He wasn’t sure if he avoided the debris but he wasn’t about to stop now. There would be time for him to lick his wounds when he had a chance. If he were bleeding, he’d done all that he could not to show any sign of it.
Colin heard the click of a bolt chucked and held his breath. A steady staccato of automatic gunfire pumped at the air, punching the tarmac around his feet and kicking up tiny plumes of dust and chunks of asphalt. He leaped over a pothole when something clenched his right sleeve and pulled him behind a red pickup truck laying on its side.
He snatched a quick breath, spun around and collided with a waist-high concrete divider. Pain exploded across his hips, sliced down the back of his legs and down his calves. He sighed, stumbled forward and clenched the pickup’s rocker panel to steady himself.
Thanks, Teresa, he thought. He heard a loud grumbling sound and felt his skin bristling with cold fear.
A tall female zombie in a bright-pink jogging suit with the word KINKY printed across the seat of her pants in bright red font shuffled toward him. A chunk of flesh had been torn from her left inner thigh, leaving a bright red stain down her leg that might’ve been mistaken for a menstrual mishap. Her pineapple blonde hair fell down from her head in two parts, clung onto the crown of her ash gray forehead and framed her round face; her wide black lips were coated with saliva.
She hissed and stretched her arms out to him, fingers groping at the air. He slapped her hand away and kicked her hard enough in the chest to squeeze the air from her lungs. She tumbled across the road, arms flailing, when a second barrage of gunfire peppered her from the side and sent her sprawling to the pavement in a bright red mist.
“Get the fuck over here.”
When he turned around to see who it was, a wave of relief washed over him like a bucket of cold water. Teresa and the others were standing together on top of the highway, peering down at him with fear etched across their faces. Pixie’s bright-pink hair beamed like a neon sign as Jason waved his hands over his head and called out to him; Rosie fidgeted inside her sling, legs jerking back and forth as if she were mocking her brother’s actions as best as she could.
He scurried away from the pickup, the soles of his boots pounding against the highway like rapid heartbeats. The Jeep’s loud rumbling engine rolled up the highway behind him, slowly closing the gap; a hot putrid stench permeated from the dead jogger’s body and stung his nostrils.
Teresa hurried over to meet him and glanced over his shoulder to see the Jeep’s hulking shadow rise over the hill. She raised the Glock and fired, her finger working the trigger with well-aimed precision, filling the thick hot air with the smell of cordite; spent bullet casings tumbled to the pavement like spilled change. The first three bullets struck the Jeep’s front windshield, spreading thin lucid cracks across the glass; the other four pinged off the hood and shattered the driver-side headlight.
Colin stopped at the top of the hill, his hot abrasive breath scratching the back of his throat. The road divided into two directions before connecting to the highway. It headed straight for fifty yards before descending toward a sharp curve hugging a tall grassy knoll and headed east; it veered northeast also connecting with the interstate heading north toward Cincinnati and Jackson.
He paused next to Jason and, glancing down the long gray slope of highway, waited for Teresa to return. He flung his left arm out from his side, urging the others to keep running when he heard a loud panicked scream from behind him. A mixture of shock and fear coursing through his veins, he spun around and peered over his shoulder.
A small horde of zombies shambled up the incline in front of them. An overweight man with dark-hair wearing a red shirt under pair of blue-jean coveralls covered in large bibs of blood, baring a large strip of flesh that ran from the back of his left ear and across his left cheek. Two basketball players in purple and white uniforms stained with blood and dirt approached from the right, the flesh along their arms and legs nearly gnawed down to the bone; an overweight woman in a floral-print muumuu stumbled past them with a massive chunk of flesh missing from the middle of her right thigh.
Colin ran past Dominic, his heart pounding with fear and slipped a hand toward his right hip. He freed the hammer from his back pocket, tightened his right fist around the black-rubber hand. He reared his arm back, drew a cloud of putrid stale air deep into his lungs and whipped the hammer hard across the fat man’s forehead.
The mingled sounds of broken bone and minced flesh rang in his ears. Blood gushed from the zombie’s ears and slid down his coveralls. His arms flailing out from his sides, it stumbled back and hit the pavement with a loud exasperated breath.
Teresa raced toward them. “Keep going or they’re going to kill us.”
Colin held the hammer down against his leg and followed them down the exit ramp, their feet pounding softly against the hot gray tarmac. The ribbon of sunbaked vehicles stretched across both the east and west sides of the interstate and would provide plenty of cover. Treetops sighed in the wind as an open-faced newspaper (detailing the world’s demise in bold black letters) clung to a street light before sliding away.
“I’m going this way.” Teresa said. “It’ll take ten minutes to get—”
The growl of an approaching engine brought a blanket of gooseflesh across Colin’s arms. When the Jeep screeched to halt on the overpass, the four thugs stood up on their seats, shared a laugh and aimed their weapons across the steep incline. A loud barrage of semi-automatic gunfire cut through the stuffy hot silence, sending them into a spasmodic dance of death, blood spraying the air on their way to the tarmac.
Teresa led them down the incline, pulling Pixie alongside of her. Colin marched ahead of them, stopped to allow Dominic and the kids to catch up when a loud clatter exploded across the highway. A burst of gunfire punched the exposed undercarriage of an upturned minivan; a back tire ruptured with such force that Dominic threw his head back and emitted a loud painful shriek.
“Take cover.” Colin said.
The road lengthened for an extra mile-and a half before making a sharp left turn toward the northeast. When they reached the mouth of the turn, a second barrage of gunfire cut through the highway and tapped at the pavement around their feet. Bullets pinged off the rocker panels, throwing bright-orange sparks across the air; through the clatter of gunfire bits of broken glass and other debris crunched under their feet.
Teresa spun around, raised the pistol in her left hand, walked backwards. She squeezed two shots toward the overpass and struck the length of concrete below the railing. When she raised the Glock again, she felt something roll under her feet.
She tumbled across the road, arms flailing out from her sides and grasped frantically at the air around her. She flew back as if kicked by some unseen force, her eyes and face wide with fear and sat down hard on the pavement. Her head flung back, snapping her teeth together and sent rivers of pain flooding across her cheekbones.
Her left arm flew and landed on its side. Needles of pain jabbed against the back of her hand and flared across her knuckles. The Glock slipped out of her hand, slid across the pavement and under the driver-side door of a red minivan sitting on four flat tires.
Colin directed the others behind a blue Ford Escort sitting on four flat tires and scooped her up in his arms. He hugged her with his right arm, pinning her against him and carried her behind the SUV.
She reached over to retrieve the Glock but he snatched it up before she could graze it with her fingertips. As she brushed the flecks of dust and debris from the seat of her pants, he ejected the clip, checked it, slammed it back in with the edge of his right hand and knelt down behind the car.
Colin glanced across the highway and cursed under his breath.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FROM where he stood, Colin couldn’t see where they were standing to get a clear shot.
As Teresa and the others waited, Colin stepped out from behind the SUV and raised the Glock. He crept back the way they’d came, making sure not to step on any debris that may give away his position. The wigger with the dreadlocks scanned the highway and sent a fresh carpet of goosebumps spreading across Colin’s skin as sunlight glinted off the edge of his barrel.
He raised the Glock in a two-handed grip, aimed the barrel at the four men, held his breath and fired. Recoil sliced up his arms in razor-sharp streams, burst across his shoulders and traced the contours of his spine. He wasn’t sure who he was aiming for as long as it counted for something.
Colin felt a wave of relief and elation washing over him and sighed. He glanced down the street, past the opposite end of the overpass and saw the leader mumbling incoherent demands under his breath.
The albino with the red bandana jacked a fresh banana clip into his AK when a giant red dot struck the middle of his back and burst through his chest. A large bib of bright red blood soaked the back of his tee-shirt. He lurched forward as the bullet punched through middle of his chest, spraying a fresh stream of blood across the air.
His eyes widened and his mouth slumped into a lopsided grin. His body lurched forward, topped over the guardrail as his AK flipped end over end.
The third gangster “wigger” glanced over his left shoulder, his Ray Bans framed in sunlight. He tapped the leader on the shoulder, pointed in their direction and screamed across the highway. They glanced down at their fallen “brother” who was now splayed out across the pavement like a broken stick, his left leg and his right arm curled inward.
“You killed my brother, you mother fucker.”
It came out brudder not brother.
A barrage of gunfire exploded across the highway. Bright orange petals of light burst from the barrels of their machine guns as spent casings flew across the air, over the railing and tumbled out of sight. Bullets struck the tarmac, sending plumes of dust and chunks of asphalt flying through the air.
Something tugged the back of Colin’s shirt. He peered over his right shoulder and saw the look of unease etched across Pixie’s face.
“We need to get out of here. Right now.” She said.
Colin peered over her right shoulder and saw Teresa and Dominic running east as fast as they could. Teresa motioned for them to follow and glanced up at the overpass with a sour look on her face. Jason stayed beside Pixie, beads of sweat sprinkled across his brows and sliding down his brows as Rosie jostled with each step he took.
“Come on, goddamnit!” She said.
Colin held the pistol in his left hand, pressing it against his thigh and followed the others. His breath coming out in hot rapid gasps, he caught up with Teresa and handed her the Glock. She nodded.
They followed a sharp left curve bullied by a tall rocky cliff on the right. Once they ran past the cliff, they came to a small slope topped with leafy oaks and neatly manicured grass.
Colin motioned to the far right. “We need to get off the road.”
The others nodded. The pained look on Dominic’s face was a sign of exhaustion, not objection. They heard the loud growl of an engine coming toward them from the distance and felt their skin prickling with fear.
The twisted mask of contempt on Dominic’s face slumped into a frozen mask of fear. He inched his way toward Colin and the kids, the contents inside of his book bag shuffling along with the rhythm of his movements. They veered to the right and followed the road down an exit ramp in hopes of hiding them from their pursuers.
When they reached the end of the ramp, the road split running east and west. If they went west, they would end up back into the city. A tall four story brick building loomed in the distance, its shattered windows glinted like jagged teeth.
A carpet of two lane-blacktop stretched toward the east, flanked by an encroaching forest on the right. There were four, possibly five cars sitting along the shoulder, shaded by a thin blanket of tree shadows.
“Where are we—”
The Jeep’s engine gave a loud protest, cutting him off in mid-sentence. Teresa tugged his right sleeve, held her gun down against her leg and pointed toward the overpass.
Colin nodded and motioned for the others. He led them under the overpass and around the guardrail as the Jeep’s engine rose from a distant purr to a loud growl. He followed the steep grassy incline and under the tiny narrow space where the hill and the overpass met; he pressed his finger to his lips and knelt in front of Pixie.
Teresa crouched, raised the Glock in a two-handed grip and glared up at the network of metal beams underneath. Colin gave Pixie a reassuring pat on the hand and stared down at the bed of gravel spread out below his knees.
They perked their ears to the air as the Jeep screeched to a halt above them, filling the air with the stench of burnt rubber. A soft wind whispered in the treetops. Footsteps scuffled along the pavement.
“They couldn’t have just disappeared in thin air.” said the wigger.
“Who knows.” The albino wigger said. “T-Bone’s dead and those fuckers are not gonna get away with it.”
Teresa slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Dominic sighed and rolled his eyes; his pale fat chin glistening with sweat. She took her hand away and cast a serious expression at everyone.
“This GPS tracker is a piece of techno shit just like everything else.”
“Let’s keep going.” Another thug said. “They’ve got to be around here somewhere.”
Colin pressed a finger against his lips and listened. Pixie’s face slumped into a mask of sadness that etched deep tiny creases into her forehead. Her cheeks blushing, a tear protruded from the corner of her right eye.
Why had she been grieving over the death of a guy who intended to kill her?
He brushed it off and peered over his left shoulder, waiting for them to make their next move. Teresa glanced to her right, her thin-fingered hand tightening around the grip of her pistol until her muscles ached. He whispered in Pixie’s ear, wiped a tear from her cheek with the pad of his left thumb and planted a soft kiss on the crown of her forehead.
His mind flashed back to a moment in his life when he once held Alicia like that. Although his body had felt heavy with grief, he still had the strength to comfort her.
They were sitting quietly around the rectangular glass patio table on the side porch, her eyes scanning the houses across the street. He gave an intense once-over to the frail-brown birds nest crammed between the far-right corner behind the porch light. Silence and nothing else.
Alicia sat curled up into a ball in her chair, knees drawn up to her chest. In her dark blue shorts and white-tee, her skin looked pale and weak in the mute gray sunlight. Her boyish-cut blood-red hair was still damp from the shower she’d taken a few minutes ago; the redness around her jade-green eyes said she’d been crying for too long.
They’d just received the worst news in the world and had no idea how to deal with such a blow. They’d tried and tried and now, with this latest bit of news, had to come to terms with defeat. He followed the map of bright blue veins streaking across the tops of her breasts and up her chest toward her face, scanning the contour of her cheeks.
