Phoenix (35 page)

Wait
.

"Wait! I’m still in here!"

He was pretty sure they couldn’t hear him.
Brad slammed his body back against the door. "Fucking zombies!"

Another few seconds later, he regretted the
expenditure of energy.

His knees buckled and his legs wilted. His
strength was almost used up. The soles of his boots slapped and
skidded against the floor tiles. He dropped his gun and his hands
clawed desperately against the door. He was sliding to the floor
and the zombies on the other side were getting excited. They
pounded harder, shaking the door in its frame. Their screeches came
shorter and faster.

"Shit," Brad hissed. He turned and put his
shoulder into it, feet still sliding, muscles on fire. "Shit, shit,
shit."

The door didn’t even have a lock and there
was nothing he could use to jam under the knob. Even if there was,
the second he let his weight off, the dead would come through the
door. The panels in the upper part of the door started to split and
break. Hands reached in through the huge splintery pieces and
clawed at his hair and shirt. He yelled obscenities and tore away.
He made sure to keep his hands away from mouths that were starting
to press against the openings, but he didn’t know whether a scratch
would cause the same infection. The movies said so, the
books
even said so. Maybe it was better not to take any
chances. He swatted and shoved forearms away, keeping broken nails
from piercing and grazing his skin. He ducked his head and just
kept fighting.

Luckily, there were so many arms shoved
through the holes they’d made that it seemed to hinder their
destruction. The door wasn’t being torn to pieces and the beating
had slowed. Now the dead were just desperately trying to get a hold
on him.

His legs finally gave out and he fell to his
knees. He kept his shoulder and hands pressed to the door, trying
to throw his weight against it. Bloody, filthy hands clawed at the
air above his head. Gut-caked nails scratched and dug at the wood.
Mouths filled with broken teeth chewed and bit at nothing. Tongues
snaked out and ripped themselves open on jagged pieces of broken
door panels.

And their hungry screams nearly drowned out
the gunshots coming from outside.

* * *

"Look alive over there! Don’t let them flank
us!" a woman shouted from the back of a Jeep Wrangler. The soft top
had been removed, and she stuck up from the back seat like the
Statue of Liberty. She aimed her shotgun and took a few shots, then
barked more orders. "Hey! Get those stragglers!"

An armed convoy of five off-road,
four-wheel-drives circled and corralled the gangs of dead that had
pooled in front of the house and along the wall of vehicles.
Several were still stuck in the treetops, but even those were
frantic to free themselves. The dead had turned their attention
from the people within the barrier to the people who were shooting
at them. The armed men and women ranged in age and size, but all
were skilled hunters and knew how to put down moving prey.

The drivers weaved around the cluster of
corpses, occasionally running one or two over, while shooters
standing up in the back fired over and over. Each was fastened to
their roll-bars with safety harnesses, and they used shotguns
because the erratic driving and bumpy terrain turned rifle accuracy
to shit.

Rakburn rode in the lead car, an older model
Ford Bronco with the back half of the roof removed. He appeared to
be on a road trip, staring out the passenger side window with a
blank look on his face.

No, not blank.
Bored
.

The gunfire didn’t seem to bother him. He
didn’t react or acknowledge it. His eyelids were half closed and
his pupils were dilated. His hands rested in his lap. He didn’t
notice the two men who had appeared on top of the barricade, firing
their own weapons into the dwindling number of dead. He didn’t
notice when the convoy came to a stop, positioned in a semi-circle
and pinning what remained of the threat. Rakburn didn’t even flinch
as all the weapons opened fire at once, mowing down the walking
dead that still stood, cutting them down at the legs, ripping open
their abdominal cavities, blowing open the tops of their heads.

His total focus was on the person standing in
his mental-doorway, beckoning to him. When the empty lot finally
filled with silence, Rakburn’s eyes snapped open and his head
jerked around.

"Poppy?"

A young woman had joined the two men on the
barricade. "Poppy?" she asked again.

He smiled.

* * *

A few of the hunters stood guard thirty yards
away, while the rest donned gloves and started dragging bodies away
from the barricade and from inside the abandoned house. They piled
them for burning and did what they could to repair the door that
had been broken in. Rakburn stood with Izzy and Jeff, discussing
their options.

"Thank you, but no. I will stay here for the
time being." Rakburn looked down into her eyes and smiled.

You sure, Doc? No offense, ma’am," Jeff
tipped his hat to Izzy, "but this place isn’t exactly dead-proof.
If we hadn’t gotten here when we did, well…" Jeff cocked his head
at Rakburn. "That was some hunch you had, wasn’t it? One of these
days you’re gonna have to explain to me how you’re always
right."

"Jeffrey, you have been a most gracious
host," Rakburn said, changing the subject. "And no, I do not mean
to stay here permanently. Only long enough to help these good folk
resettle." His arm was around Izzy’s shoulders and he gave them a
squeeze. "Perhaps I may be able to teach them things learned from
you."

Jeff chuckled. "Whatever you say. Take this."
He slapped a walkie into Rakburn’s hand. "Fort’s twenty miles away,
but this should reach. You need anything, holler. We’ll come
running." He turned to help the others repair the damage to the
house but stopped. "Oh, and when you’re ready to come back, just
call and I’ll come pick you up."

Rakburn bowed his head and smiled. "Thank
you. I will do that."

Izzy waited until Jeff was gone and busy with
the others, then she stepped back and put her hands on her hips.
"You were supposed to pick me up at school."

Rakburn held up his hands. "Isabel."

"Don’t you ‘Isabel’ me, Poppy. I waited for
you to call. You didn’t. I even tried you at work and I have to
say, that guy who answered didn’t sound like an editor and then he
hung up on me!"

"There are some things that—" Rakburn sighed
and his eyes drifted away from Izzy’s angry face to those still
standing along the top of the barrier.

Mortimer
.
Very
good
to
see
you
again
.

He smiled at Mort and nodded in his
direction. Mort jerked his chin in return, but was otherwise
reserved. They had taken care of his granddaughter and kept her
alive. He supposed he owed them for this. Then again, wasn’t
sparing the lives of Mortimer and Bradley something for which they
should owe him? If that was so, then all debts were paid in
full.

"As I began to say, I have been severely
delayed since picking up on your trail."

Izzy’s face softened a bit.

"As a matter of fact, I lost track of you
entirely."

"Then…" Her brow wrinkled. "Then how are you
here?"

His thin mustache twitched. "Before losing
you, I was able to track your general trajectory. I knew, sooner or
later, your journey would end in this area. If you lived long
enough, that is."

Izzy rolled her eyes. "Nice."

Rakburn chuckled and started leading her
toward the house his friends had finished repairing. "Yes, well. I
knew that if you lived, you would arrive where your dreams were
sending you. You were pulled to this area, were you not?"

She peered at him. "Yes. But I don’t know
why."

"And neither do I for certain. But I feel it
is because we would meet here. Your precognition led you to me, and
you led me to you. A circle, you see?"

"No, not really."

He laughed and squeezed her shoulder again.
"Ah, Isabel, how I have missed you." He kissed the top of her head.
She smiled.

Jeff talked to a few in the group who were
gathering tools and loading the vehicles. He pulled off his gloves
and met Rakburn at the newly-patched door. "Alright, we’re gonna
take off. You’re good here?"

Rakburn scanned the others who had dropped
everything to help him, with only his word and a feeling to go on.
They were busying themselves with readying their SUVs and doing
weapons checks. He caught a few eyes and exchanged nods. To Jeff he
said, "Yes, thank you. I have the radio if I need you." He patted
his coat pocket.

"Okay then. Miss." Jeff tipped his hat to
Izzy again, then turned and climbed behind the wheel. He led the
hunting group away from the barricade and onto the road leading
around the village and toward the Fort.

Izzy watched them leave. "I like him."

"Yes. They are generous people. Good
allies."

"Well isn’t that a relief. For a minute back
there I was worried we had a raiding party on our hands. Like the
dead aren’t bad enough, yeah?"

Rakburn spun around and found a shotgun
barrel pressed to his guts. Mort was on the other end. The short
man smiled.

"I can’t help but feel like we’ve met. Have
we? Met, I mean."

Rakburn cleared his throat. "No. Not
formally."

"Uh huh."

Izzy stepped forward. "Mort, what are you
doing…"

The older man wagged an eyebrow at her. "Why
don’t you tell me what
you’re
doing?"

Izzy glanced back and forth between the two
men, then gestured to Rakburn. "He’s my
grandfather
. He was
supposed to meet me at school, but he couldn’t make it in time.
Remember? I told you guys."

"No, you didn’t."

"Yes I did!"

"Isabel." Rakburn raised his voice but didn’t
move. The barrel was still poking him in the middle. "If this
gentleman says you did not, then you did not."

"Move." Mort tilted his head toward the house
they used to move through the barrier. He was appreciative of the
work the other people had done to the door the dead had broken
down. He’d make sure his own group beefed that up before long.

Rakburn started walking. Mort slid behind him
and kept the shotgun at the small of his back. Izzy started to
argue once, but Rakburn silenced her with just a look. Mort also
appreciated that. She was one hard girl to quiet down.

"Perhaps you should thank me for bringing
help when it was most needed, instead of holding me at gunpoint,"
Rakburn said over his shoulder. They were moving through the
abandoned house toward the back door.

"Yeah, thanks." Mort kept the gun to his
back.

Rakburn snorted and kept walking.

"Izzy, door." Mort stopped Rakburn and waited
for her to open the door that led inside their complex.

A hand fell onto Mort’s shoulder, spun him
away, and gripped Rakburn’s arm. Before Mort could yell for him to
stop, Brad spun Rakburn around and punched him in the face. Rakburn
fell onto his back and didn’t move.

"What are you doing?" Izzy screamed. She fell
to her knees beside her grandfather and held his face in her hands.
"Brad! Why did you do that?"

Brad shook his hand and rubbed it with the
other. Grimacing, he fixed Mort with a glare. "That’s the Old Suit.
It’s him."

Mort closed his eyes and growled. "I
knew
he felt familiar."

* * *

"Are you sure you’re alright?" Mort stood
with Brad in the hallway outside their bedroom door. "You were
almost eaten, after all. You don’t have to do this. I can—"

"No." Brad rubbed his hand. It was bruised
and one knuckle was scabbed over. "I need you to keep Izzy the hell
away from this door. She’s had a lot to digest in a short amount of
time, and she doesn’t need to hear what’s coming next. If you have
to, take her and help fortify this place. We can’t afford to have
that happen again."

Mort ran a hand through his hair. "I know, I
know. Caught with our pants down."

"Among other things."

"I know. Just find out what you can and don’t
kill him. We’d never hear the end of it."

Brad wanted to smile, but it wasn’t very
funny. It was bad enough finding out that the man he’d dreamed of
for months was one of his closest friend’s grandpa. Izzy swore she
hadn’t known her "Poppy" was the Old Suit Brad had told them about.
She swore she hadn’t known he worked for PhoenTek. She
swore
she hadn’t known he’d been watching them.

All that was bad enough.

What he had to do next would take the
cake.

Brad pushed the door open and before closing
it, heard Izzy fighting with Mort in the kitchen. Rakburn heard it
too. His head jerked up and his eyes narrowed on Brad. He strained
against the duct tape holding him in the chair, his eyes flicking
to the opening behind the younger man each time Izzy yelled. Brad
kicked the door shut with his heel.

"I suppose you should tell me your name.
Unless you want me to keep calling you Old Suit."

Rakburn sneered, but relaxed now that the
door was closed.

Brad raised a brow. "You worried about her?
You think now that we know she’s connected to you, we’re going to
what, kill her? Is that what
you’d
do?"

Rakburn’s eyes tracked Brad’s movements
around the room, but he said nothing.

Brad sighed and rubbed his hand. "How’s your
face?"

Rakburn’s eye was black and there was a small
cut on his cheekbone. It was crusty with blood and turning
purple.

"You’ll get out of here faster if you start
talking."

Rakburn squared his shoulders and smiled.
"Did you like my note?"