Riposte (The Redivivus Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

Aside from the woman lying motionless on the floor, she found herself alone after the tall man departed the room. As she thought of the injustice that allowed scum like them to survive the fall of the civilized world while millions of decent, moral people perished, a burning hatred welled up inside her. Her son, husband, and brother—all of whom were good, honest people—were killed by this shitstorm of a plague despite being good, honest people, yet these scumbags survived largely because they were scumbags.

This was nothing new; she had seen the same theme play out countless times before on the evening news. Johnny Drugdealer was shot eighty-seven times and is in stable condition, but the five-year old innocent bystander died instantly from a single stray bullet.
None of these men would so much as step out of the slimy shadows they live in to help their own mother, much less anyone else. Yet here they are, alive and well, at the end of the world.
Her pointed thoughts forced her upper lip into a quivering snarl of contempt.

She heard Bill, Turtle, and Chowder in the other room discussing what to do with her. Chowder’s southern drawl boomed louder than the others, as he said, “I’se the one that seen her first! I smashed that blame thing’s head in ’fore it could
git
her!”

As she listened, she envisioned thick spittle, flecked with bits of chewing tobacco, flinging off the jagged edges of his two gnarled teeth.

Bill replied in a more authoritative tone, “Who’s the boss around here, huh? Tell me that, Chowder. Now I don’t want her ending up like ol’ Alice in there. You boys need to learn how to behave, and until then, hands off!”

After a several minutes of arguing, Bill finally relented and agreed they could each have a go later, provided none of them roughed her up too much. Huddled in the dark room, she began to tremble at the thought of what she just overheard. Straining her ears, she listened intently for the sound of boots shuffling toward the door. Instead, she heard nothing at all, not even the soft, shallow breathing of the woman she knew was named Alice.

The next time the three men spoke in the adjacent room, their conversation centered on the topic of food. She heard the sound of cabinets being opened and closed with a great deal of force. “Is this all the food we have left?” Bill inquired loudly, clearly agitated by what he saw.

“Chowder’s fat ass eats like a horse. What do you expect, Bill?” Turtle said.

“Well you can
kiss
my fat ass! I’m hungry as hell right now as a matter of fact! Other than what we took off the woman, we ain’t had shit to eat for days except some of that potted meat, and we’re plumb out of that! What I would give for a nice bologna and cheese or a PB and J…,” Chowder said in a voice far louder than necessary for conversing indoors.

After the last comment the woman noticed a definite change in Bill’s tone of voice, as he said, “You keep your damn peanut butter the hell away from me, Larry. You understand?” The use of what she assumed was Chowder’s birth name made Turtle giggle like a little girl.

Something about Bill’s tone stuck out in her mind. After considering it for a moment she recognized what it was: fear. He sounded genuinely afraid, as if the fat man had just threatened his life. Mind whirling, she tried to put everything together in the hope of coming up with some way out of her current predicament. She thought more about Bill’s words as the men continued to bitch about their hunger and what they most wanted to eat now that food was becoming a precious commodity. All at once it dawned on her and a huge smile creased her face. Although she knew it was a long shot, an inchoate plan materialized in her mind.

After much discussion, the three men decided they would head out to search a few houses on the far side of the neighborhood that afternoon. They unanimously agreed that they should have a little fun with their new girl before they headed back out. As the leader, Bill insisted he go first while the other two stood watch. Upon hearing that, she silently thanked the heavens.

When the bikers found her on the sidewalk, they patted her down
really well;
confiscating her knife, pistol, and a few other items she had come to rely on for survival. They also immediately consumed the four cans of food stowed in her pack. Now she waited nervously for Bill to enter the room, thinking of the two small foil packets the men failed to notice in the left pocket of her jeans. Despite being tightly bound to the table leg, she was able to raise her hips slightly and shimmy from side to side until one of the packets fell to the ground. The jeans had been tight on her a month ago, but weeks of near constant walking and minimal caloric intake had caused her to lose nearly twenty pounds.
Nothing like an apocalyptic plague to jumpstart your diet.

Shifting her body around, she brought her head down to where the shiny packet lay on the filthy floor. She gripped it with her teeth and nimbly maneuvered it into her mouth. Grinding the package between her teeth, she gnawed at the foil until it gave way, the pressure from her tongue expelling its thick contents into her mouth. She dropped the empty foil from her mouth and carefully nudged it out of sight.

A moment later, Bill stepped into the dimly lit room and began to untie her, mindful to keep his pistol trained on her the whole time. “Don’t try anything stupid, sweetheart,” Bill said in a nauseating tone, replete with faux softness and concern, as though he thought the two of them might just go on a little date and maybe fall in love once he finished his business.

She nodded quietly, careful not to open her mouth to utter a single word of protest. For a split second, she thought he might have picked up on the smell or noticed the wrapper on the floor, but she was relieved when he resumed unbuckling his pants. Beckoning her closer, he tore her shirt open brusquely and fondled her breasts. When she felt his calloused, slightly tremulous hands on her skin, she fought to keep her rage in check and forced herself to caress him in return.

Bill chuckled softly and muttered something about her liking it rough as she snaked her way up his neck. He sighed with pleasure when her soft skin brushed past his ear. The smell of his hot, musty breath was overwhelming even in the rank confines of the room.

She knew her plan was a long shot, but it was all she had. Frankly, she was not all that concerned about whether it would even work. She was well past the point of caring if she lived or died; her only goal being to deny the pitiful excuses for men what they wanted. In truth, she had eagerly anticipated death as she lay on the sidewalk. That these men took that away from her only added to her fury.

She knew she needed to work fast in order to avoid detection. With the skill of a well-trained concubine, she used her body to distract him as she deftly slid her lips around to his in hopes of delivering the literal kiss of death. Her tongue moved with urgency, forcing the contents of the foil packet into his mouth. She tried not to think of the consequences she faced if her plan failed.
It has to work!

Her son, Aaron, had suffered from asthma as well as myriad other allergic issues. In addition to countless inhalant allergies, he was also deathly allergic to peanuts. They had discovered this when he was four years old and a small amount of peanut butter on her fingers came in contact with his skin. Within seconds the boy was facing certain death in the form of severe anaphylaxis. Throat swelling and lungs failing, his face quickly turned a sickly shade of blue as his oxygen supply was cut off. She watched the light in his eyes slowly fade, only to be replaced by a pleading so intense it made her want to join him in order to escape the misery of watching him suffer helplessly. All of sudden, she remembered the EpiPen his doctor had prescribed as a precaution in light of his allergic predisposition. Slamming the device into the meat of his small thigh, Aaron barely winced as the needle deployed, and the lifesaving medicine was administered. From that experience, she knew something of the fear that such a condition could incite. If her observation had been correct, Bill’s reaction to the earlier discussion was not the result of a profound distaste for the creamy substance but rather due to a severe allergy to peanuts. Everything hinged on that being the case. She only hoped the man had not remembered to bring an EpiPen to this little party.

Momentarily caught up in the eroticism of the situation, Bill let out another brief sigh of ecstasy before his expression shifted abruptly with the realization of what was happening. Just as the deadly smell registered in his panic-stricken brain, he felt the first tingle in his throat warning him of the swelling that was already beginning to choke his life out. He let out a shrill cry of alarm as he pulled away violently.

Thinking fast, she immediately unleashed a cry
of her own in the hope of masking Bill’s all too evident pleading. Her ruse worked, as she heard raucous jeering and catcalls coming from the two dumbasses eagerly waiting their turn in the other room.

“Git you some, Bill!”

“Save some for us!”

Struggling to stay tight against the man until the job was done, she rode his wilting body to the ground. Keeping her head close, she locked her legs around his body realizing she only had to control him for a couple of minutes.  He flailed and swatted frantically to no avail. In seconds, Bill was no longer capable of screaming, his constricted airway unable to draw the requisite breath needed to generate sound. She watched with callous indifference as his eyes flooded with the all too familiar panic and pleading brought on by impending asphyxiation.

As he struggled in vain for a mere fraction of the ubiquitous, yet completely unattainable oxygen all around him, she quietly retrieved the second packet from her pocket, tore it open, and squeezed the nourishing substance into her mouth. The renewed spark of fear in his eyes at the sight of the second packet made the creamy spread all the more satisfying. In that instant, the peanut butter was the absolute best thing she could ever recall eating, and she lamented not having been able to enjoy the other packet as she licked her fingers.
That’s not entirely true—I did enjoy it.
Scooting Bill’s lifeless body to the side, she arranged it to appear as though he was merely resting in the darkened room.

Quietly, she searched Bill’s pockets for anything of use but came up short. Moving to his pistol, she checked its load. When she discovered both the magazine and the chamber were empty, her mind froze at the unexpected hitch in her plan.
Think! You can do this. You just need to get one of the other’s weapons.
Then, without bothering to button her shirt, she feigned breathlessness and called out to the other room, “Turtle, you’re next!”

This brought on a renewed round of hooting and hollering from the biker as he shuffled toward the door. She heard Chowder complaining about always having to be last or something of that nature. When the door cracked slightly, she said in an affected nubile tone, “Come on in. Bill is tired and wants to rest. Maybe watch a little? I’d
really
like that.”

With a nervous chuckle of excitement, Turtle glanced toward Bill’s body lying motionless in the dim light, and said, “Want to see how it’s done, eh? I suppose the master can share a few tricks!” She rolled her eyes at his bravado. With the increased courage garnered by the initial success of her plan, she strode confidently toward the lanky man who fumbled clumsily with his belt. His demise began in much the same way as Bill’s had.

“Let
me
help you with that,” she said softly as she reached into his waistband and drew his hunting knife. With a quizzical look of surprise, he started to speak, but the only sound that came out was the gurgling hiss of air escaping through his severed trachea. She fought back an intense wave of nausea as the blade bit deeper, and she felt the spurting release of warm, sticky blood gushing down her arm. The arterial spray hit her with such force that she envisioned it coming from a fire hose. As he collapsed into her, she eased the dying man to the floor as quietly as possible. Eyeing the pistol in his waistband, she drew it and was relieved to find a full magazine and a round in the chamber.

Eight shots, three men left. Well, two men and Chowder’s fat ass.

Wasting no time, she burst through the door and fired three quick shots into Chowder’s ample belly. The impact of the bullets sent his bulky body flying onto the sofa, the momentum toppling it over backward.

Writhing in pain, the fat man groaned, “What the?”

Any other words he intended to say never saw the light of day as she pulled the trigger again, sending a .45 caliber full metal jacketed bullet tearing through his throat and brainstem, before punching a hole through the back of his skull with a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter.

Just two more miserable bastards left.

From somewhere outside the house, she heard the voices of the other two men. “Aw, hell! Come on. Let’s go find out what they done to her now!”

She hastily retreated to the second story where she lay in wait for the men she knew would come for her. Thankfully, she did not have to wait long once they discovered their dead comrades.

Hate-filled screams of rage preceded their heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. She crouched on the far side of a bed trying to become as small as possible. The awful things the man shouted and the venom in his voice caused her to tremble. As the sound of the approaching men grew closer, she began to hyperventilate.

With a loud crash, the bedroom door burst open. “I know you’re in here, bitch! I can see your filthy footprints,” the enraged man bellowed.