“Everyone stick together,” Jubal said. “We find Robin and then we leave.”
He moved slowly over the ground, swinging the barrel of his weapon at every sound, which usually turned out to be that of a dying Sanctuarian.
“Now there’s a plan a man can sink his teeth into,” Mother said, walking alongside his friend. “The sooner we find that little girl and the farther away from this place we get, the better.”
Right behind them came the rest: Heather, Nestor and Amara.
“Those of you without a weapon,” Jubal continued, “will notice some on the ground.”
“Yeah,” Nestor said, his voice filled with wetness. “On the ground, right next to the severed body parts and the guts and the blood.”
Mother grunted. “What happened to saving all the children of Sanctuary? We giving up on that plan, Jubal?”
“Take a look around. There isn’t much left to save here, and besides, does it appear to you we stand a snowball’s chance in Hell of making it out of here alive?”
That last had just slipped out, and he knew it was a stupid thing to say the second it left his lips. Jubal was more nervous than he thought, shooting his mouth off, spouting nonsense without checking with his brain first.
But who could blame him? Something had gone through this town like a chainsaw through a sack of newborn kittens and he had no idea what it was; all he knew was what Amara had told him: that he was at the top of its “Must Kill” list.
It didn’t help that the thoughts of the creature were now nipping at the edges of his mind just like the necros used to do. Ever since he had been bitten in the neck by an undead girl back in Serenity, he had a weak connection to whatever psychic forces the aliens had spawned here.
“I found one!” Nestor shouted as he grabbed an old-fashioned revolver off the ground. He stared at it cautiously. “Is it loaded?”
“You’ll find out soon enough if you keep screaming like that, you doofus,” Mother said, shaking his head.
They had reached the center of town which, like everywhere else they’d been, was littered with the dead and dying citizens of Sanctuary.
In the distance, somewhere around the park area, a tidal wave of cries arose. Those voices, each and every one, were filled with pure, human terror.
It sent a chill down Jubal’s spine and he almost lost it right there. The only thing keeping him sane at the moment was the thought of Robin out there, lonely and scared, without her mother.
“Hey, let’s ask that guy what’s going on,” Nestor said in a loud whisper.
Jubal looked to where the baker pointed.
Staggering from around the corner of a cabin, about fifty yards distant, was a man. Dressed in ragged clothing with no shoes, he moved as if he were wounded and, once he had noticed Jubal and the others, made right for them.
The approaching man began to grunt and moan.
“Um…I don’t think we should ask that “guy” anything,” Mother said. “I think that dude is walking around way past his expiration date.”
And then came more from around the corner of the cabin, and from between other buildings throughout town as well.
The shield was down and the undead had finally caught up with them.
Again.
“Fuck this!” Jubal shouted. “We need to get to the town arsenal and we need to get there now!”
* * *
So puny, these hu-mans! So easily toyed with and killed.
Certainly, they had a few crude and formidable weapons, but they had little opportunity to use them because they were clumsy and slow when compared to the creature; it could run circles around them before they even had time to form one tiny thought. They moved lethargically, almost as slow as those who were dead. It wondered how they had ever evolved to even this sorry state in their evolution.
Two men stood before its might, shaking and screaming like striplings, their weapons worthless in their useless grips, as if the mere sight of the creature had unhinged their fragile minds. It was a strange, cowardly reaction, but one the creature had grown accustomed to from the dwellers of this world. It was only right that the hu-mans should fear it. The Masters had recognized its superiority to other life forms and had utilized it accordingly.
Perhaps, if it ever developed the inclination, it would force the beings of this world to worship it and do its bidding, just as the creature itself did the bidding of The Masters.
Something stung its hide, interrupting its grandiose scheming.
One of the little hu-men had apparently found the trigger on its gun, but upon witnessing how useless the attack had been against the creature’s magnificence, the hu-man had thrown the weapon to the ground and begun running in the other direction, leaving its companion standing alone, still making a horrible sound with its “O” of a mouth.
The creature bellowed a war cry and waded into the weak hu-men once again, enjoying the easy kills, savoring the screams and blood of these inferior beings, knowing that eventually it would run up against The Prey.
And that’s when the fun would really begin.
* * *
Lauren had stood by as Burton took a point blank, wild shot at the hulking monstrosity before them.
And watched still as nothing happened.
The nightmare thing hadn’t even flinched, and now it looked even more pissed off than before—if one were really capable of determining the emotions of such an alien horror. Beneath the shiny sheet of pure terror slicing through Lauren’s mind, he registered its appearance: It had the bulk and thick hide of an elephant but moved with the grace and speed of a panther on speed. A panther on speed with an extra set of legs, all its padded feet tipped with barbed claws, perfect for the evisceration of its victims. Three tails flickered from behind it and at the front gnashed rows and rows of razor-sharp, dagger-like teeth. Twinkling from within this arsenal of pure hell were two slitted eyes as black as the creature’s soul must be. A black, forked tongue flickered out from between the cluster of teeth and whipped the air, as if savoring Lauren’s mounting fear.
Something smelled foul and Lauren wasn’t sure if it was the zombies, the creature, or the pile of shit in his boxers.
Regardless, Burton had the right idea.
Lauren took control of his quaking body, turned and began to run.
* * *
“I’m not going anywhere until I find my daughter!” Heather screamed and lifted a bloody machete from its previous owner’s severed hand. “You go find this armory if you like, but I’m searching for Robin.”
“Heather, if we don’t get some firepower, no one’s going to make it out of here alive,” Jubal said, eyeing the approaching dead people nervously.
“No!”
Great. The woman he was closest to in the whole world may have just lost her mind. It hurt Jubal in his heart. He hated seeing her like this but it wasn’t like they had a lot of time right now for dramatics. There was only time for action. “Okay, Mother, stay with her and help her find Robin. The rest of you, come with me to the armory.”
“Hold it,” Mother said, moving toward Heather, shotgun ready. “You think splitting up is a good idea? With our undead friends fast approaching and something even worse over yonder?”
“I’m going to find weapons. Big-ass, motherfucking weapons!!” Jubal knew he sounded like an idiot but he couldn’t make it any plainer, and he had no time anyway. He was convinced that without bigger guns, they were all as good as dead. “If I can’t find you after I’m done at the armory, we’ll all meet up at the other end of the tunnel. If we can’t meet there, we’ll try the river.”
The end of Mother’s shotgun exploded, causing them all to jump.
The top half of a dead woman sprayed a cabin wall with dark matter and gray guts.
“You’re the boss!” Mother said. “Let’s go find Robin.” The big man and Heather moved off, and Jubal wondered for a moment if he had just sent his best friend and his best girl to their deaths.
He turned to Amara and Nestor, both of whom were eyeing the approaching dead people nervously. The baker lifted his revolver and hit one of the closer zombies in the arm. “Hey! It works!”
“Okay, you two. Let’s move out. We have to get some firepower and then we have to meet with Heather and Mother.”
“And Robin,” Amara muttered.
“Yeah. Let’s hustle!”
Jubal turned and began running in the direction of the weapons building, which, unfortunately, happened to be in the same direction as the horrible cacophony of screams and moans coming from the park.
Amidst that hellish, heart-rending sound of terrified humans dying, came a strange piercing cry—eerie and alien.
* * *
Nestor struggled to keep up with Jubal. During their trek to Sanctuary the plump man had lost a little weight, but once they arrived in Sanctuary and he started working on the kitchen, he quickly regained the pounds and added a few more.
The kitchen.
From the sounds and the bodies and the smells, Nestor was certain he’d cooked his last meal in Sanctuary. That thought, even as he was fleeing for his life, made him so sad. He knew he would never see his wife and daughters again, so baking was the only part of his old life—his real life—that he had left. If he survived, it was unlikely he would ever see a kitchen like that again.
Nestor grimaced as tightness in his chest threatened to squeeze the ragged breath from his body. The stress of the last hour was catching up with him. Yellow spots formed at the edge of his vision and there was numbness in his hands and feet.
Oh, God. Please not now.
When the world had ended, when his family died, Nestor was prone to sudden panic attacks. Attacks that felt like what was happening to him now. Once the initial symptoms of the attack faded, Nestor would be almost paralyzed by a deep, suffocating depression. Eventually, the attacks had ended, though some form of the depression remained. Even that had lessened as he settled into his new life here.
Now the familiar old devil had returned.
Nestor stumbled and fell to one knee.
Jubal hadn’t noticed. He continued on toward the armory.
“Nestor, what is it?”
Amara appeared next to him. She, too, was moving slower than usual, thanks to the wounds she received back at the motel and from the violent security man. Nestor suspected she could have made better time, but she didn’t want to leave him alone at the back of the pack. Over the last several weeks he had come to realize that her stoicism masked a deep compassion. He was glad she was his friend.
“It’s…nothing,” he said. “It’s everything, I guess. I don’t know.”
Amara touched his shoulder and the tightness in his chest went away. He drew in a deep breath and gasped.
“What did you do?”
“Listen to me, Nestor,” Amara said. “I know you have so much pain. That is because you are a good man. War hurts the good most of all.”
Her large brown eyes held him. They were like the surface of a deep pool, hiding a treasure of great knowledge.
“But you have to put the pain away for a little while. We have to find the child and take her from this place. We also have to protect Jubal.”
“Protect him? What does that mean?”
Amara tilted her head, as though she heard a song being sung far away. “His destiny has arrived. He must now confront it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t matter. We must go. He needs you. I need you.”
She took his hands in hers and helped him to his feet. Though the battle raged on in the distance, Nestor actually felt better. The panic was gone, and he felt stronger. It didn’t make sense. Still, he wasn’t going to question it.
“Thank you, Amara.”
The tall woman nodded. She started forward in a jog, Nestor followed.
* * *
Jubal reached the armory. He looked behind him and saw Amara help Nestor to his feet. He turned back to the armory. One of the Sanctuary security men stood guard outside the cabin. He was just a kid not much older than 19. He paced nervously and jumped at every gunshot or explosion. Jubal was surprised that anyone had been left on guard duty when it sounded like the whole goddamned place was being destroyed. On the other hand, their security teams didn’t seem to be very organized and were not set up for this kind of emergency.
As Jubal approached the building, the kid squinted at him and touched the butt of his holstered handgun.
“Easy, kid,” Jubal said.
“Who are you?” He had a squeaky voice. Jubal downgraded his age estimation by a couple of years.
“I’m Slate.”
Understanding dawned on the boy’s face. He tried to pull out his pistol, but he had forgotten to unsnap the holster. While he attempted to undo his mistake, Jubal strolled over and placed his hand over the kid’s.
“Let me go,” the boy yelped. “You can’t do this. You’re not even supposed to be here.”
“You know about that?”
“They said you were—” He nodded in the direction of the tunnel door.
“Yeah, I was. Plans changed.” Jubal pulled the kid’s hand from the weapon. With his free hand, Jubal removed the gun. It was a Glock. “Now open the door.”
“I-I don’t have the keys.”
Jubal raised the pistol. The boy cringed.
Jubal fired four shots around the lock. The wood splintered. Jubal struck the lock with the heel of his hand. It broke free with a crack and fell inside the cabin.
With his mouth hanging open, the boy stared at Jubal.
Jubal stepped into the cabin. The one room was nearly empty. Apparently the vast accumulation of weapons was mostly what the security men carried on their persons. He saw his Desert Eagle and his father’s rifle, both tossed on the floor against the cabin’s rear wall. Mother’s Shredder was there too, along with the guns the others had carried. He picked up the big handgun. It felt good to hold it again. His extra ammunition had been in his backpack, which wasn’t in the cabin. God knew where it had ended up. Jubal stuck the Desert Eagle into his waistband. He heard heavy breathing from outside and stepped to the door.
Hector and Amara had arrived. The boy stood where Jubal had left him. A small wet spot spread on the front of the kid’s jeans. It probably happened when Jubal fired the Glock.
“Grab some guns,” Jubal said.
Amara walked into the cabin without looking at the boy.
Nestor nodded to the kid and said, “Hello.” He followed Amara inside.
Jubal stayed outside.
“What’s happening?” the boy said in his just-reached-puberty voice.
“I don’t know,” Jubal said honestly. “What did they tell you?”
“Nothing. This is where I’m posted. A little while ago the screaming started and I...I didn’t know what to do.”
“The force field is down,” Jubal said.
The kid paled and his knees buckled. He leaned against the wall of the cabin for support.
“The zombies are in,” Jubal said.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”
“Better keep it together,” Jubal said. “I think there’s something worse here, too.”
The boy looked at Jubal like he was speaking Chinese.
“Worse? What’s worse than zombies?”
The aliens, Jubal thought. The necros. But they were gone. Yet whatever this was, Amara thought it was their doing.
“I don’t know for sure,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. You have to haul ass. Try to make it to the river. You know where that is?”
The kid swallowed hard, then nodded.
“Here.” Jubal handed him the Glock.
The kid’s hand shook as he accepted it. It took him three tries to get it back into the holster.
“How did you know I wouldn’t shoot you?”
Jubal shrugged. “I didn’t.”
The boy just looked at Jubal for a few seconds. Then he nodded his thanks.
“Now scoot,” Jubal said.
The boy took off at a full gallop.
“Hey,” Jubal said.
The kid stopped and turned around.
“Stay alive,” Jubal said.
The kid nodded and took off again, headed for the tunnel.
“Jubal,” Amara said.
When he entered the cabin, both Amara and Nestor had rifles slung over their shoulders and handguns in their waistbands. Jubal retrieved his dad’s rifle.
“Check it out,” Nestor said. He pointed to a rocket launcher and a dozen grenades on a webbed belt.
“There was no group called The Damned,” Amara said. “It was the people here. A ploy to drive us to Sanctuary.”
Jubal mulled that over. It made sense. The idea of an armed force roaming the same hills where a heavily populated town existed was a little hard to believe. Large groups of surviving humans were few and far between in Jubal’s experience.
He picked up the rocket launcher. It was a shoulder-mounted RPG. The weapon was lighter than he expected.
“This could come in handy,” he said. He held it out to Nestor. “Think you can carry it?”
The plump man took it in both hands, than rested it against his shoulder. “Yeah, I can do this with no problem.”
“Good.” Jubal retrieved the belt of grenades and fastened it around his waist.
“Ever use a grenade before?” Nestor said.
“Nope. You?”
Nestor laughed.
“Jubal,” Amara said. “It knows you’re close. It’s coming.”
He nodded.
“Whatever this ‘it’ is, I’m not going to like it, am I?” Nestor said.
“No,” Jubal said.
“And I suppose baking a carrot cake with cream cheese icing wouldn’t help?”
“Nope.”
Nestor slapped the rocket launcher with his free hand. “Then let’s go kick some ass.”