The Undead World (Book 6): The Apocalypse Exile (War of The Undead) (5 page)

Sadie cleared her door with two quick shots and then leaned dangerously out over the reaching hands of the zombies to shut it—all the while clutching Eve to her breast. The door was shut for barely a second before she saw the handle turn. Shoving the gun under her leg, she reached out and grabbed the handle. There was a shot behind her. It was a tinny sound and she guessed that Joslyn had used the .25.

There were more gunshots cracking the air outside. As Sadie strained one-handed to hold the door closed she had a perfect view of the side mirror. In it, she could see the last truck reversing down the road, heading toward the large warehouse. Veronica was in the passenger seat, blasting back the beasts with a shotgun. She looked desperate and afraid, but all Sadie could think was that they were abandoning her as well. Just as Neil had.

But did it matter whether or not they left? The side mirror also showed her that the zombies were piled so high they were at the height of the tailgate and were climbing up into the bed. There was a fierce battle going on back there to keep them at bay, while upfront, both doors were being assaulted. Sadie glanced back at Michael. He should’ve been doing something about getting the truck freed but he was red in the face, straining to keep his door from being pulled open.

The only person who seemed to be doing nothing was Joslyn. She sat between Michael and Sadie completely useless. “Take... the...baby,” Sadie gasped.

At first Joslyn appeared shocked and slightly appalled at the idea of handling Eve, but when Sadie added: “Now, you stupid cow!” she put down her little gun and took the infant, holding her like a man might.

“We’re fucked,” Joslyn said.

It appeared so, Sadie thought, as she witnessed the first of the zombies climb onto the hood of the five-ton. It didn’t hesitate. It threw itself at the windshield, thumping the glass with it fists and snarling like a rabid dog. A second zombie joined it a few moments later and the glass shook under their blows.

Sadie’s hands began to ache with the strain of pulling on the door handle for so long. She wouldn’t be able to last.
If only Neil and Grey and Jilly were here
, she thought. Neil wasn’t the smartest, or the toughest, or even the bravest, but he always came through, somehow. And Grey would’ve been able to fight off the zombies and drive the truck at the same time. And Jillybean would’ve been able to figure out a way to lock doors that had no locks and she would’ve been able to fulcrum the truck right off the pile of undead.

Sadie couldn’t do anything of those things. All she had was her guts and her quickness.

Her hand tired and the door handle slipped out of her sweaty grip. The door flung wide. Dozens of clawed and diseased hands reached for her, but she was too fast. Sadie grabbed up her Glock in a blur and fired five-six-seven times. She could’ve fired a hundred times and it wouldn’t have made all that much difference, but seven was enough to clear the door. Before the beasts could recover, she leaned out over them and pulled the door inward.

An arm was in the way, keeping the door from closing. Sadie kicked at it, however more hands and fingers reached up under the edge and began to pry the door back open again. “Son of a bitch!” she hissed and then let the door open a little more and fired through the crack. Four bullets were enough to clear the door. Those were four bullets that she desperately needed. The Glock had started with a load of fifteen; she had four shots left and another fourteen in a spare clip in her back pocket—that was it. Nineteen rounds. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Fearing she wouldn’t have time later, she dug out the full spare and switched out clips. She had just slapped the spare clip in place when there was a renewed scrabbling of claws on the door and she saw the handle begin to turn once more. She grabbed it with both hands.

Now, a crack appeared on the corner of the windshield. The beasts there were pounding with hate-driven strength. Gradually the crack started questing upwards.

In the bed, there were screams of terror and gunshots that sounded with a constant rhythm. Joslyn made a whining noise in her throat. “Someone do something,” she said. The only one who could do anything beyond what it took for personal survival was Michael.

Keeping one hand on his door handle, he reached over and, with much grinding of gears, he struggled the long-handled stick into reverse. He then fed it gas and the machine shuddered and shook as the wheels spun. The truck pressed against the hundreds of straining bodies and it didn’t move more than three feet. He then ground the transmission into first gear and the truck bounced back to where it had been. He revved the engine, but after a few useless seconds of this, he let off the gas and once again grabbed the door handle with his other hand. He had done everything he could within his limited ability.

The hood was covered in the undead now. Michael’s door started to open and he was forced to use all his strength to keep it closed. The gunfire from the bed reached a fevered pitch; they had no door to hold the beasts back. Sadie began thinking about the end. Should she pray? Would it matter if she did? The black cloud in her mind, the one that whispered ‘murderer,’ suggested that it wouldn’t. The black cloud knew how many people she had killed. It knew how many she had murdered. It knew she deserved the death that was coming.

“But I still have nineteen bullets,” she said, gripping the gun. There were seventeen for ‘them,’ one for Eve and one for herself. She decided that Joslyn and Michael would have to fend for themselves. They had guns and they were adults. Sadie took a breath and released the door handle, letting in the great stink of the zombies. She felt amazingly calm.

“What are you doing?” Joslyn asked, her eyes were huge in fear.

Before Sadie answered, she fired three times to clear the door. “My hands are too tired and too slippery with sweat. I can’t hold the door and...” Sadie paused to fire again, enjoying the hot gunpowder smell that wafted from out of the barrel of the gun. “And we’re stuck. I’m going to end it right. You two should consider doing the same.” She shot once more. From this range she couldn’t miss. “Eleven,” she said, keeping track. Another shot: “Ten.”

Joslyn gaped for a second and then as understanding struck her, she beat on Michael’s arm and cried out: “Drive or do something.” He tried, however the truck only rocked and shuddered and roared. It was hopelessly stuck, three quarters of it buried in the undulating mound of the dead. It started pitching side to side under the power of the zombie horde.

“Seven…six…five…” Sadie counted down. A sense of relief, of letting go, swept her. It was a pleasant feeling, but a sad one. She felt unfinished. She felt as though there were a thousand things she had left undone or unsaid and a thousand places she hadn’t been, and a thousand sights she hadn’t seen.

When Sadie’s gun ran dry, she paused to switch out the clips. Now there were only two rounds for the undead, one for Eve and one last to send her to hell. “I hope you’re ready,” she said to Michael. She didn’t care for or about Joslyn but she knew Michael to be a nice man.

He licked his lips and then jerked as the cracks in the windshield began to star. The panel of glass was beginning to bow inwards. He nodded. Their time was done.

Sadie turned back to the door, stuck her arm out so that the barrel of the Glock was an inch from the hungry mouth of a zombie. With part of a blouse hanging from its putrid body, Sadie saw it had been a human woman at one time. Perhaps it used to have a family and a job and a nice house. Maybe it once had a life worth living. Sadie shot it and felt a moment of jealousy. 

“Three left,” she said. There were four or five zombies in the lower part of the doorway. She kicked the closest one in the face and then turned to Joslyn. “Let me have Eve.” Even though it was obvious what Sadie was about to do, Joslyn didn’t hesitate. She gave up the baby and then pointed her little .25 in Sadie’s direction. “Don’t be stupid,” Sadie said. “I’m not going to waste a bullet on you. You’re safe from me, but not from them.”

The Goth girl turned back to the door with the gun pointed out at the sea of zombies that were swamping the truck. Sadie then forgot about Joslyn, her mind was on the now heavy gun and the little bundle in her arms. “Make it quick,” she said to herself. “One for them, one for Eve, one for me. Make it quick.” She had to be quick; three zombies had fought to the top of the heap and were in the lower part of the doorway struggling to climb up into the cab.

She had to be quick, but she hesitated—Eve had reached out and took hold of her black t-shirt. That little, soft hand with its tiny fingers had such a grip. It clung with the desperation of life. Still with the ear protection clamped on her round head, she was pouting and afraid. She saw the monsters coming for her and held desperately to the girl who had called her sister for the last seven months.

The gun shook and Sadie was never further from pulling the trigger than just then. However a slime-covered hand fell on her leg, the long, broken nails making a whisker sound on her black jeans. “One for them,” Sadie said and killed the undead beast. “One for Eve.” She pointed the still smoking barrel Eve’s way. Suddenly, the world drew away and became so silent that Sadie could hear the hissing of the gun barrel as it cooled and she could hear Eve’s breath coming in and out of her pert little nose, and she could hear the springs working in the Glock as she drew back the trigger.

The trigger went back as far as it could, releasing the coiled spring and sending the firing pin flashing forward.

In that split second, another foul hand took hold of her jeans at the cuff just above her right Converse and pulled, jerking Sadie around just as the gun barked and flashed and Eve flinched, as her head whipped back. Instantaneously, the impact of taking yet another innocent life struck Sadie like a sledge between the eyes. Regret over shooting the gun stabbed her in the heart and she silently begged for the bullet to come back, to undo the damage it had done.

There was no undoing the act. There was now only her own death to accomplish and that was happening quickly. Even then, she was being pulled around and then down toward the mob of undead and all she could think about was the terrible thing she had done. Hands tore at her and teeth gnawed on the tough hide of her black jeans.

Slowly, almost casually, Sadie brought the gun to her temple. The muzzle burned her flesh, marking her with a small, red circle. She squirreled her right eye shut from the pain and from the imminent blast of the gun, and started to pull the trigger one last time—but then a new sound came to her, breaking through the cacophony of the moans and guns blasting.

Meep! Meep! Meep!

It was the sound of a horn. Captain Grey’s truck was returning! It was plowing through the wash of undead and as she watched, Captain Grey climbed out to stand on the fender as Neil took the wheel. Grey’s M4 carbine was aimed straight at her and for a heartbeat she was sure he was going to shoot her. He would be within his rights considering what she had done. In fact, the idea of rescue suddenly made her sick. What would they say about Eve? What would they do when they found out that Sadie had killed the baby? It would be better for everyone if he killed her right then.

His gun flashed a number of times and the hands holding her fell away. She was half in and half out of the truck and she could have, if she wanted to, climb back in, only she didn’t want to. Guilt held her back. With tears streaming down her face Sadie put the gun back to her temple.

She brought the baby up one last time to kiss her goodbye...and nearly dropped her. Eve was crying, howling like a banshee. Her earmuffs sat cockeyed on her head and there was a wicked dent on the metal band that held the muffs in place. Sadie’s bullet had missed!

Sudden feeling swept over the numbness that had gripped her and she could see and hear and breathe again. She was still alive and everything was still good. She fought and clawed back into the truck as Grey fired all around her. Then, miraculously, she was inside again, live and whole, as was Eve.

Grinning, she shut the door. When she turned, she saw Joslyn staring at her in disbelief. Michael hadn’t seen anything. He was too busy fighting with all his strength to keep his door from being yanked out of his hands. He weakened a second later and the door was pulled halfway open. Desperately he tried to get his M16 from the floorboard before he could be pulled out of the truck by the zombies.

Sadie saw he’d be too slow by half. She leaned across Joslyn and fired over Michael’s back, killing a single zombie who fell back into the crowd. There were others but she was out of ammo. Still with the screaming baby clutched to her side she tossed the Glock on the seat and grabbed the .25 from Joslyn’s useless hands.

“Hey!” Joslyn cried.

“Lean back or I’ll shoot you,” Sadie said. Her voice was deadly cold. Joslyn flattened herself and Sadie shot across her breasts, clearing the door long enough for Michael to shut it again. There wasn’t time to celebrate this minor victory. Captain Grey was yelling and pointing at them but they couldn’t hear what he was saying. “Try the truck again,” Sadie suggested as she attempted to calm the baby down. Putting the earmuffs back in place helped and corking her mouth with a pacifier reduced her cry to a chest-hitching sniffle.

Michael tried to move the truck again, but it was still just as stuck. Eventually, Grey stopped yelling and with a scowl, he climbed back into his truck before the zombies could swamp them as well. Then he left, heading back to the large warehouse in their rear.

“Hey, where are they going?” Joslyn demanded, angrily.