Ground Zero: A Zombie Apocalypse (19 page)

The man tugged on the chain, like it was a leash. He dragged the young woman across the room to a table. The girl went whimpering and cowered. The man slapped the side of her face with his open hand and her head snapped back.

“Move your ass, bitch,
” the guy growled. “This is happening, one way or another. It’s up to you how it goes down.”

The other guy laughed. He reached out for the girl’s face and cupped her chin in his hand. “Not bad,” he appraised her, holding her face to the light. She was tall and slim, with long red hair. The man’s fingers slid down to the woman’s throat and then continued lower.
“You’re our property now, bitch,” the man’s voice sounded like gravel in a cement mixer. “We own you. It’s the new law of the land. We take what we want, and you put out when we tell you. You’re ours to use until we find someone prettier. Until then you earn our protection by spreading your legs when we tell you. Got it?”

She was wearing a stained, dirty blouse and a dark skirt. The man’s slid his hand down inside the open shirt collar. He felt the heavy weight of her breast through the fabric of her bra and squeezed hard.

The girl tried to recoil from the man’s touch, whimpering in pain. She lashed out with her fist and struck the man on the side of the head. He laughed, but it was a nasty, vicious sound. “Seems like this one needs some training, Jed.”

The guy holding the chain tugged hard and the leash bit into the tender skin of the girl’s neck. She screamed out in pain and dropped to her knees.
One of the men slapped the woman’s face again and Cutter heard her begin to cry.

The men hoisted the girl up onto the table, spreading her out flat on her back. One of them forced her skirt up around her waist and spread her legs wide. The delicate fabric of the girl’s panties was ripped away.

She struggled. The other man was standing over her, pinning her wrists. Her blouse was ripped open and her bra forced aside so that the soft pale flesh of her breasts swayed in the light as she struggled in impotent terror. The man lowered his head to the girl’s writhing body and she screamed out in revulsion as his mouth covered hers.

Cutter braced the
Glock on the sill of the serving window and took careful aim at the dark shape of the man standing between the woman’s spread legs.

And then paused.

What could he hope to achieve?

What would he be risking?

For long seconds Cutter hesitated. Gunshots would bring any undead from miles around. And if he missed – and if the men had guns – the chances were that he would be killed. And then what would happen to Samantha? Would she suffer the same fate as the woman they were about to rape? Was he right to get involved in this?

The woman screamed again. The guy between her legs was unbuckling his jeans and forcing the girl’s knees up against her chest. His face was a dark wicked mask of malice.

Cutter fired.

The sound of the bullet was enormous in the sil
ence. It struck the man in the neck and he staggered. His expression registered a split second of utter disbelief, and then he crashed to the floor, gurgling and gasping in pain.

The guy who had the girl pinned down froze, and then whipped round in fear. He dropped to his knees and dragged at a nearby table for protection. Cutter saw the girl scramble to her feet, clinging at the shreds of her clothing. She stood, bewildered,
in the middle of the floor, and her face was a pale white blob of terror and confusion.

The guy behind the table raised his head and looked towards the darkened kitchen where Cutter waited. Cutter fired again. The bullet went wide. The man ducked
back down behind the table.

Cutter fired again, and this time the bullet was close enough to fill the guy with panic. He leaped to his feet and made a dash for the diner door. Cutter fired – not aiming for a specific point – merely aiming at the moving dark mass of the man’s body as he reached the glass door and
slowed to wrench it open. Cutter heard the bullet slap into the man’s body: a meaty thump of impact. The man groaned and seemed to arch his back as though he had been bent backwards by some invisible force. His hand slid from the door and he spun around.

Harsh
glaring light lit one side of the man’s face. He was a brute: a big solid guy with a long dark beard and greasy hair. His face was contorted in pain. He was wearing some kind of a bulky dark jacket. Cutter fired one last time and the bullet struck the man in the face and killed him instantly.

For long seconds nothing happened. The silence came crashing down again like an anvil. Cutter kept the gun aimed and waited. He heard soft gurgling sounds coming from the body of the first man he had shot. The woman stood trembling and sobbing. Cutter could hear the soft clink of the chain around her neck.

Finally he came from the kitchen into the diner and went straight to where the man was slumped inside the door. Cutter kicked at the body with his foot. It didn’t move. He went to where the other man lay. Cutter’s bullet had torn into the man’s neck. Warm wet blood gushed and pulsed out across the polished floor. The man had his hands clamped around his throat, trying to stem the flow. His eyes were wide and staring, fixed on the ceiling. Cutter let the man bleed out.

He went to the girl like he was approaching a
startled forest animal. She was shaking feverishly, clutching at the shreds of her clothes. She backed away from him and her eyes were edged with madness and panic.

“It’s okay,” Cutter said softly. He reached out his hand for her. The young woman took a deep shuddering breath and then looked up into Cutter’s eyes.

Cutter froze. He felt a sudden slide of disbelief. Shock jumped down his nerves and strung them tight. The girl’s mouth fell open in dismay and recognition.

It was Jillian. It was the young woman who had offered her body to Hos in the bookstore basement
in exchange for his protection.

Cutter gaped, and felt a
sudden ghostly chill run up the length of his spine.

“Jillian
?”

The young woman stared at him, and slowly the frenzy in her eyes
dissolved. She nodded and Cutter saw the realization of recognition and relief pass across her eyes.

“Where is Glenda?”

Jillian looked down at the man who was slowly dying on the floor at her feet. “He shot her. She’s dead.”

Cutter recoiled. “And the other woman who made it to the Forester. What happened to her?”

“Dead,” Jillian sighed. “They were waiting for us on the highway,” she said softly. “They had motorcycles. They said we had to pay a toll to go any further…” her voice broke off for a moment and then came back steadier and calmer. “Glenda tried to shoot our way through. They killed her.” As she explained, slowly Jillian dropped her arms to her side. Her breasts were full and perfectly rounded. She saw Cutter’s gaze flick involuntarily down and she did nothing to cover herself. “They killed the other woman too.”

“But not you?”

Jillian shook her head but didn’t explain further. Cutter stared into her eyes. Something changed there, a challenge perhaps, or a flicker of resentment. He wasn’t sure. She tilted her head and slanted her eyes so that her look was almost one of invitation and offering. “They brought me here – to one of the houses past the turnoff, but one of their bikes broke down on the way, so they found a station wagon,” she turned her head towards the door, to indicate the headlights still shining through the plate glass windows. “When it got dark they brought me here for food – and for their fun, I guess.”

The straps of her bra were broken. Matter-of-factly Jillian slipped the lingerie off her shoulders and tossed it aside. Her blouse hung open and she fastened the two bottom buttons slowly and deliberately, leaving a long deep V of bare flesh and cleavage. Then she scraped the hair back from her face until it hung back down over her shoulders. She stared at Cutter.

“You left us.”

Cutter shook his he
ad. “I took you as far as I could,” he said simply.

“And then you left us. Why?”

Cutter thought for long seconds, trying to find the words to explain. Finally he sighed and said simply:

“Redemption.”

At that moment, Samantha suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. She had the Glock in her hand and she came into the diner warily on silent footsteps. Jillian raised an eyebrow and glared at Cutter.

“Is she yours?”

Cutter frowned. He genuinely had not understood the question. Samantha spoke from the shadows. “I don’t belong to anybody,” she said.

She stepped into the light and lowered the pistol.

The two women studied each other, and Samantha’s chin came up defiantly as she looked into Jillian’s mocking eyes that were veiled with mystery and cunning calculation. They understood each other instantly – as though some intuitive charge of electricity had flashed between them. Jillian smiled politely.

“I underestimated you, Jack,” she said softly, letting the ambiguity
of her comment hang in the air.

The two women were about the same age, but there the similarity ended. Samantha was an inch shorter, and her body was lithe and athletic. Her breasts were small firm shapes against her shirt and her legs were slim and toned. Jillian’s figure was
more womanly with a deep flare from her narrow waist to her hip. Her breasts were larger and there was a more knowing and worldly sense about the way she held herself. It was as though Jillian had learned about the reality of life on the streets and grown into womanhood quickly. Samantha’s child-like innocence made her seem almost awkward and gangling beside her.

Cutter glanced back out through the diner windows
to where the station wagon’s headlights burned bright and stark through the night. He made a snap decision. “We can’t stay here,” he said. “If there are zombies anywhere around, they’ll be drawn to the noise and maybe the light. We’ve got to get away – now.”

Samantha hesitated. “You said we shouldn’t be on the road at night,” she reminded him. “Jack
, you said it would be too dangerous.”

“I know,” Cutter snapped. “But we don’t have any option. Fetch the bag.”

Jillian cut in suddenly. “We could use the house,” she said. “The house the men took me to. It’s just a mile or so along the turnoff.”

Cutter paused. “Is it defendable?”

Jillian made a face and shrugged. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “It seemed to be. There were shutters on the windows.”

“Did you see zombies?”

Jillian shook her head. “There were dead people on the street. I think the infection went through the area already.”

Still Cutter hesitated. “Where is the house?”

“It’s part of a small estate just up the road. It’s the house on the corner as you make the turnoff.”

Cutter looked at Samantha. He was filled with a sudden sense of inexplicable urgency. Samantha shrugged.

“Can you lead us there?”

Jillian nodded.

“Okay,” Cutter decided. “We go and stay in the house until daylight. Then we’ll double back to this turnoff and carry on north towards Eden Gardens.”

Jillian clutched at his arm, a
nd for a brief moment her wild fear returned and distorted her expression. “Will you take me with you tomorrow, Jack? I need to know…”

Cutter stared into the woman’s eyes. Her expression was desperate and pleading.
He glanced sideways at Samantha and opened his mouth to answer.

Then
suddenly the night was ripped apart by the sound of a howling roaring engine and searching shafts of blinding white light. Cutter flung up his hand to shield his eyes and drew the Glock in the same instant, knowing with dreadful instinctive certainty that he was too late.

The night had just gone to hell.

* * *

Unseen
dark shifting shapes were rushing towards the windows, thrown into sudden garish outline by the bright light. Cutter saw the shadows become silhouettes, and then hard undead forms. He swore. One of the ghouls slammed its bloody hands against the glass front of the diner and hissed with demented fury. Spatters of gore and dark slime from its mouth sprayed the window. Cutter recoiled. He drew Samantha and Jillian close to him as another zombie threw itself against the glass. It was the torn, mutilated figure of a woman. She was naked. Cutter could see the white bones of her ribs through a huge hole in her chest. She snarled at Cutter. Her mouth was filled with broken teeth and rotting putrid flesh, and her face was covered in ulcerated oozing sores.

Cutter dashed for the door and locked it. He looked around desperately for a barricade. “When that glass breaks we’ve had it,” he said. “Sam, get ready to fall back to the storage room. We’ll make our last stand there.”

As he spoke, more undead ghouls shifted in the darkness, surging closer and becoming solid. The light was growing stronger and the sound of a roaring engine filled the night until the world became a swirling maelstrom of terrifying dark apparitions and deafening sound.

Cutter swung
the Glock in an arc. Zombies were thick against the windows now. They were three deep, slamming their hands and hurling their bodies against the glass. Cutter could hear the terrible shock of each collision and knew that it must be just a matter of seconds before the windows shattered and the undead surged inside to kill them.