Page 23 of Desiderium (Devil Dogs of the Apocalypse #2)
Jax
“Ok, just remember the plan and execute it. We’ve got this.”
We wade in the water just off the running trail, a short distance down from the estate.
Instead of rushing the beach as if we were in World War One like we originally intended, Hawk is going to come at them from the side and draw their attention.
That way, they’re unlikely to surround him at any given point.
We make our way out of the water while Hawk checks his magazines, counting how many bullets he has left as he goes. Hopefully, it’s enough to see him through safely. I’m already blaming myself if anything happens to him.
“Yeah, I got it. Johnson’s is the green place, right?” he asks without turning around.
“That’s right. Best way to find it from the road is by the fish shaped mailbox out front and the giant willow tree on the side of the house. ”
He takes in the information, filing it away as he crouches down, double knotting his boots and tightening his holsters. When he’s satisfied, he stands back up, bouncing a little on his toes.
“Ok.” He nods before twisting his neck back and forth, swinging his arms around, readying himself for the run of his life. After a minute or so, he flashes his eyebrows. “Meet you on the flip side, brother.” Stepping closer, we give each other a quick hug and pat on the back and then he’s off.
I watch as he runs down the pathway towards where the house used to be but lose sight of him in the dense tree cover.
He knows what he has to do and he’s always been good at anything he does.
And, whether I want to admit it or not, Hawk is right.
He is the fastest. And regardless of if I want to put him in danger or not, he’s the best choice of us to do this.
Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it, though.
“Alright, time to get my ass in gear.” I walk back into the lake until it’s up to my neck again and then swim further out until I can see the property in its entirety.
For now, I need to wait here until the horde moves towards Hawk’s distraction, whatever it may end up being.
He’s resourceful, so whatever he thinks of will surely be effective.
As soon as I spot Hawk, however, I shake my head in amusement.
The fucker’s off to the side of the property doing Michael Jackson’s Thriller dance.
He’s clapping and stomping all over the place but, since he’s kept to a safe distance from the main group, very few of the infected are phased by his awful dance moves.
“ Hey, assholes!!!!” I hear the echoes of Hawk yelling in the distance. A few of the undead turn towards him, but the majority of the horde still stays. It’s not enough.
“ I said, HEY ASSHOLES!!!!!!” he repeats, followed by the distinct sound of a gun being shot off over and over again. I guess if it worked for Aly, why fix what isn’t broken? It worries me, though, that he needs to use his ammunition to draw their attention, but I have faith in his abilities.
He’ll be ok.
He needs to be.
The gunshots seem to do the trick as a good dozen or two turn towards his direction. Hawk sees this and turns, drawing them into the woods and away from the house while screaming like a damn banshee. He’s so fucking loud it’s echoing all the way over here.
But it’s a start. And as more of them turn towards his boisterous ass, the larger the gap I need becomes.
But I still can’t move yet.
If I start the truck’s engine while there’s still a significant number of zombies present, they’ll follow the truck and will eventually overrun us again. Even if it kills me inside, I need to be patient as he draws the majority of them away before I make my move.
After a few minutes, the numbers dwindle enough that I feel confident I can at least take out the rest by shooting them. And if that doesn’t work, I could always run the stragglers over with the truck as I make my getaway.
I reach the beach and make a run for it.
With my AR-15 equipped with a suppressor, I take out the handful that surge towards me.
I still can’t risk producing too much sound and potentially drawing the horde back to my location, so I use it sparingly.
Hawk’s done his job well. Now it’s my turn to execute mine just as efficiently.
I’m just about to round the side of the house’s remaining foundation and scorched walls when two of them stalk out from around the corner.
I don’t see them quickly enough, and the ground is still slick from the recent rain.
So when they make a lunge for me, I’m unable to counterbalance and end up flat on my ass under them.
Luckily, there’s only two of them, but my balaclava falls just as I land, exposing my mouth and nose to their horrendous breath and stench.
I gag on it, trying to reign my control back in.
Fuck, this isn’t good.
I drop my grip on my AR-15 and grab my Colt 1911 from my side holster. It’s much better for close combat. A bullet to each of their skulls takes them out in an instant, their decaying bodies falling on top of mine in a putrefying heap.
“Oh, that’s just fucking gross, man,” I groan disgustedly.
I’ve seen death. Up close and personally.
It’s not pleasant by any means. But this is something else altogether.
Their bodies aren’t fully solid like a normal, live one would be—structured with some form, you know?
These guys almost feel like Jell-o or a bunch of slime, fresh out of the tube, that hasn’t heated up yet.
It's solid at first but after a few moments in the heat it just starts melting… .
I’ve had enough of this disgusting bullshit.
I push against one of their bodies in an attempt to lift it off of me, but its damn head falls off its’ shoulders and lands right next to mine.
Its dead eyes look back at me and that..
. is fucking... it. I try to keep it in but end up retching everything I had in my damn belly at the sight.
“Fuck me!” I heave again but gather myself just enough to push at the other body so I can get away from this cesspool of festering rot. This one manages to stay together just about as well as its friend did, or rather didn’t, but at least it fell apart over there and not on me.
I manage to get back on my feet but I’m covered…
absolutely covered in fluids, vomit, various other body matter and absolute foul awfulness.
It’s even in my hair. I spit the unwanted saliva pooling in my mouth at the ground and start my run to the truck again.
I can’t even breathe in without being reminded of the overwhelming stench all over again.
I don’t think there’s enough soap, mouthwash or Hibiclens to rid myself of the odor, let alone the memory.
Unfortunately, there’s more than just the lurking reminder of death I have to worry about....
Finally, I reach the truck and open the door. I lift my foot to get in but stop myself short, looking around one last time at how many zombies are left.
Oh, thank God .
Only three remain and they’re all over on the far end of the property.
Fuck.
This.
Shit.
I lift my AR off my shoulders, set it on the driver’s seat and start to unclasp my holsters.
These clothes have got to go. There’s no coming back from that.
I yank my Henley off and drop it to the ground.
It lands there in a heap with an offending wet smack.
I dry heave again as I remove my boots, socks, tactical pants and boxer briefs until I stand there above it all buck-ass-fucking-naked.
Even with all of this off of me, the smell isn’t getting any better, but there’s no way I’m putting any of that back on.
I just have to hope that the further away I get from it, the less burdensome the smell will be.
I decide at the last second that I better take my boots, just in case, and pull my naked ass into the cab of the truck.
Ok, time to pay the piper...
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, collecting myself for the inevitable, then pull the visor down. The three-by-five-inch mirror hanging mere inches from my face will be the harbinger of my reckoning. Will it absolve me or condemn me?
Fuck...
I’ve been exposed.
At point blank range.
It’s a fifty-fifty shot at this stage in the game .
I’m either immune... or I’m not.
And if I’m not, the answer lies steady at my side, locked, loaded and ready to be delivered directly to my brain.
Ok... it’s now or never.
I open my eyes and draw in a sharp breath at my fate....