Jake chimed in. “Is it tea time? I already had elevenses.” He giggled again and the soldier standing in back of the chair suddenly reversed his firearm and slammed the butt into the back of his skull. Jake’s eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped forward, falling face first onto the floor.
No one moved to pick him up.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The soldier, who didn’t look old enough to order a beer in public, stared straight ahead, barely holding it together. I could see him starting to crack open at the seams. I didn’t blame him. No way any kind of training could prepare someone for this.
“If you hadn’t done it, I would have,” I said.
Nathan gave the soldier a sympathetic look.
“Just don’t do it again. We need him alive.”
A muscle twitched in Gabriel’s jaw as he stared at Jake’s prone body. I could only imagine what he was thinking. That—but for Dr. Albert’s antiserum—would be his fate.
I wanted to sit down, but couldn’t find a chair or section of couch that wasn’t liberally soaked in blood, so I settled for perching gingerly on the edge of the stone hearth. I almost instantly regretted my decision when I looked in the fireplace and saw charred bones mixed in with the ashes and half-burned chunks of wood.
“We’re done here,” Nathan said, sitting down next to me.
“What next?” I didn’t really want an answer.
“We take this son-of-a-bitch back to Big Red and find out what the common denominator is between him and Gabriel. Then we try and figure out what, if anything, they both share with the wild cards.” He slung an arm around my shoulder and gave me a rough hug. I didn’t know what to do with it.
“And if we’re lucky,” he continued, “maybe Dr. Albert and Simone can actually figure out a cure for this whole shitstorm.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
----
The sun was setting as we drove up the access road to Big Red. The last of the day’s light reflected off the windows of the outer buildings of the campus just beyond the defensive perimeter of Mount Gillette and the Slinky of Doom, nicknames I’d come up with during a more frivolous moment.
The former was a mini Great Wall of China made out of some military grade shaving cream that hardened to the consistency of Silly Putty when exposed to air. It could be employed quickly, and made for an effective barrier against the walking dead as long as their numbers weren’t too great.
The Slinky of Doom was my nickname for the accordion-style razor wire set in front of Mount Gillette, loops of the stuff meant to entangle rotting limbs long enough for the perimeter guards and snipers to dispatch them with clean shots to the head.
A gap had been made in the perimeter during the swarm attack, designed to funnel the zombies into a killing chute of flames and gunfire. That gap now provided access into and out of the campus, and was guarded 24/7, two trucks parked on either side of it. Guess we were safe unless a rogue biker gang came along and wanted to get into the mall.
Jake sat in the back of the Humvee, handcuffed and flanked on either side by two soldiers, neither of whom looked happy to be near him. He was still groggy from the blow to the head, and thankfully quiet as we drove through the gap. The setting sun cast eerie shadows on his bloodstained face.
As we rolled through the quad toward Patterson Hall, I thought of the first time the wild cards had faced the zombies as separate teams. It had been Gabriel, Lil, Kai, and me on our team. and we had kicked zombie ass.
I shut my eyes, forcibly willing the tears to stay back a little while longer, taking comfort in the warmth of Gabriel and Nathan on either side of me. No way I wanted to cry with Psycho Jake there.
We pulled up outside of Patterson Hall, next to the military ambulance that was already parked in front. The soldiers quickly dragged Jake out of the back, none too gently, supporting most of his weight between them.
“Where are we going?” he
No one moved to pick him up.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The soldier, who didn’t look old enough to order a beer in public, stared straight ahead, barely holding it together. I could see him starting to crack open at the seams. I didn’t blame him. No way any kind of training could prepare someone for this.
“If you hadn’t done it, I would have,” I said.
Nathan gave the soldier a sympathetic look.
“Just don’t do it again. We need him alive.”
A muscle twitched in Gabriel’s jaw as he stared at Jake’s prone body. I could only imagine what he was thinking. That—but for Dr. Albert’s antiserum—would be his fate.
I wanted to sit down, but couldn’t find a chair or section of couch that wasn’t liberally soaked in blood, so I settled for perching gingerly on the edge of the stone hearth. I almost instantly regretted my decision when I looked in the fireplace and saw charred bones mixed in with the ashes and half-burned chunks of wood.
“We’re done here,” Nathan said, sitting down next to me.
“What next?” I didn’t really want an answer.
“We take this son-of-a-bitch back to Big Red and find out what the common denominator is between him and Gabriel. Then we try and figure out what, if anything, they both share with the wild cards.” He slung an arm around my shoulder and gave me a rough hug. I didn’t know what to do with it.
“And if we’re lucky,” he continued, “maybe Dr. Albert and Simone can actually figure out a cure for this whole shitstorm.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
----
The sun was setting as we drove up the access road to Big Red. The last of the day’s light reflected off the windows of the outer buildings of the campus just beyond the defensive perimeter of Mount Gillette and the Slinky of Doom, nicknames I’d come up with during a more frivolous moment.
The former was a mini Great Wall of China made out of some military grade shaving cream that hardened to the consistency of Silly Putty when exposed to air. It could be employed quickly, and made for an effective barrier against the walking dead as long as their numbers weren’t too great.
The Slinky of Doom was my nickname for the accordion-style razor wire set in front of Mount Gillette, loops of the stuff meant to entangle rotting limbs long enough for the perimeter guards and snipers to dispatch them with clean shots to the head.
A gap had been made in the perimeter during the swarm attack, designed to funnel the zombies into a killing chute of flames and gunfire. That gap now provided access into and out of the campus, and was guarded 24/7, two trucks parked on either side of it. Guess we were safe unless a rogue biker gang came along and wanted to get into the mall.
Jake sat in the back of the Humvee, handcuffed and flanked on either side by two soldiers, neither of whom looked happy to be near him. He was still groggy from the blow to the head, and thankfully quiet as we drove through the gap. The setting sun cast eerie shadows on his bloodstained face.
As we rolled through the quad toward Patterson Hall, I thought of the first time the wild cards had faced the zombies as separate teams. It had been Gabriel, Lil, Kai, and me on our team. and we had kicked zombie ass.
I shut my eyes, forcibly willing the tears to stay back a little while longer, taking comfort in the warmth of Gabriel and Nathan on either side of me. No way I wanted to cry with Psycho Jake there.
We pulled up outside of Patterson Hall, next to the military ambulance that was already parked in front. The soldiers quickly dragged Jake out of the back, none too gently, supporting most of his weight between them.
“Where are we going?” he
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