Riposte (The Redivivus Trilogy Book 2) (19 page)

13

October 23, 2015

Dallas County, AL

“Ethan?” Kate questioned with doubt flooding her reeling mind.

“Kate, are you okay? We need to get moving,” the spectral form replied, his dark outline contrasting against the faint illumination of the night sky beyond.

“…but…the infected…they…” Kate stammered, clearly unable to articulate the emotional roller coaster inside her.

“We can talk about it later, but now we need to move before more show up,” Ethan added as he extended his hand to the cowering woman.

Together, they raced across the open field despite the untended, waist-high grass that obscured their footfalls. While the limited visibility made him worry about the possibility of a mangled rev lying in wait in the steppe like a lion stalking its prey across the Saharan grasslands, Ethan worried more about the likelihood that every able-bodied rev in a mile radius was now moving in their direction. That thought spurred him on, forcing him to move faster.

Emerging from the tall grass, he spotted the vague outline of the gas station about thirty yards ahead. The mammoth black H2 stood out sharply against the lighter backdrop of the concrete parking lot. As they inched forward, Ethan suddenly froze in his tracks, holding a hand in the air to signal Kate to do the same. A linear streak of light flashed momentarily near the pumps as moonlight reflected off brilliantly polished steel. Thinking of the weapons and equipment his two companions carried, Ethan could not imagine what could have caused the bright flicker of light.

“What is it?” Kate whispered.

Without taking his eyes off the scene ahead of him, Ethan replied, “Light—a reflection I think, but from what I’m not sure. Something seems off.”

Through the mirky blackness, he thought he could see the faint outlines of John and Reams crouching next to something on the ground.
Maybe they’re having trouble siphoning the fuel.
Then, as though an apparition were weaving in and out of the ether world, Ethan caught sight of a dark, ominous figure towering over the two kneeling men. Suddenly realizing what was happening, he fought his gut reaction to stand and shout a warning to the endangered men. Deep down he knew it was too late for that, and such an action would only serve to sign the two men’s death certificates. If they were going to help them, Ethan knew they were going to have to use stealth and force to regain the upper hand.

“John and Reams are in trouble,” Ethan said. “Looks like someone got the drop on them. I can see them on their knees with at least one person standing behind them. If we are going to have a shot at helping them, we need to act now.”

Ethan witnessed a frightening transformation as he informed Kate of the situation. He no longer saw the cowed, helpless woman he found in the field moments ago. Instead, the face he saw appeared hardened, adorned with an uncompromising cast of savage determination. Her menacing eyes stared straight through him to the spot where John and Reams were being held captive, causing a shiver to ripple down Ethan’s spine.
Thank God
I’m
not on the receiving end of that stare!

Sensing the need to intervene before Kate’s unexpected wrath led to her to do something rash, Ethan said, “Hold on! So far I’ve seen only one person but there must be others. No one goes anywhere alone and survives for long these days. We should observe the situation for a minute to see what we can learn about them before we go charging in.”

As if in response to his words, a smaller figure moved into view next to the first person. Despite being fairly close, he could make out relatively few details about the captors in the low light. Dressed in black from head to toe, the two individuals blended seamlessly with the darkness making them all but invisible except when they moved. One of the captors was taller by at least a foot and possessed the solid disposition of an oak tree—moving only rarely, and always deliberately. On the contrary, the shorter and wirier of the two seemed to be in perpetual motion, giving the impression of a cunning fox.

A low moan came from somewhere behind the mysterious attackers. Ethan watched the smaller figure break away, twirling as a pair of vicious brush tools appeared out of nowhere to decapitate the approaching rev with a single, decisive slash. He heard a faint whistle as the steel whirled through the air at lightning speed, followed by a wet
thwack
and a soft
thud
like a sack of potatoes being tossed onto the pavement. A second later the figure reappeared behind John, the honed edge of one of the brush tools pressed firmly against his neck.

Kate inched up alongside Ethan, taking in the scene for the first time. Ethan could just make out the hushed words of the larger man warning the smaller person to take it easy. “There are two of them!” Kate said in an excited tone that she struggled to hold to a low volume. If Kate was honest with herself, she thought it looked like her two companions were about to be executed at any second.

Glancing at Ethan, Kate saw an unanticipated expression on his face—part shock and fear, part awe and admiration. Buzzing with thoughts of the nearly forgotten, gruesome scene he had witnessed more than a month earlier, Ethan’s mind flashed back to his first real glimpse of the true savagery of the post-apocalyptic world.

14

September 30, 2015

Birmingham, AL

Driving south from North Carolina to find his family at the beginning of the outbreak, Ethan Long watched the traffic on the nation’s interstates go from heavy to virtually unmoving. Once panic set in and people began to flee their homes in a desperate attempt to reach any place they imagined might be safe, the roads quickly became gridlocked. Fortunately, Ethan managed to get off the highway and onto the less congested back roads before becoming totally stranded in the sea of cars. When he came to a section of impassable road just outside Birmingham, he was forced to find yet another detour. It was then that he first witnessed the harsh reality of the plague and the new, apocalyptic world.

Everywhere he looked, he saw the death and destruction brought on by the unfathomable pathogen that swept across the globe. As night fell and he searched for a way to bypass the clogged road, Ethan stumbled upon a particularly troubling scene. A woman in her late twenties was surrounded by at least twenty of the infected on the far side of a large parking lot. Parking his truck across the street, Ethan surveyed the scene and realized that the woman’s situation was truly a dire one. Somehow she had become stranded atop a dumpster, besieged by an ever expanding mass of infected.

As they scrambled relentlessly to be the first to reach the woman on top, the infected exerted more and more force on the sides of the heavy metal container causing it to rock violently from side to side as though it were little more than a cardboard Hollywood stage prop. The lid of the dumpster was of the split variety, and was constructed of cheap, lightweight plastic. One half of the lid was open leaving the frantic woman little room to maneuver and still remain atop the trash bin; falling in would be a death sentence. The side access door was open and flailing arms groped inside in a fervent attempt to find the morsel they sensed was so close. With every jarring shudder of the dumpster, the frightened woman staggered that much closer to the reaching arms of the infected horde and her certain death. While not obese per se, the woman was by no means petite, and the flimsy lid sagged increasingly with every movement. Her little island oasis grew steadily closer to being swamped by the burgeoning tidal wave of terror, like some helpless tropical atoll caught in the path of a massive tsunami.
My God! I have to help her!

At nearly one hundred yards away, Ethan had no idea how he could intervene in time to save the marooned woman. With mounting frustration, every potential plan he conceived ended the same way in his mind—with both he and the woman dead or infected. All of a sudden, the dumpster was surrounded by a veritable blur of movement. Unlike the constant centripetal pressure exerted by the infected, always reaching and clawing inward, this force was clearly centrifugal in nature. It flowed through the writhing horde, causing it to quiver en masse, and then to expand for an instant. Ethan realized that the infected were being forced apart into a looser congregation; all the while their numbers steadily dwindled. Almost as quickly as it started, the flurry of movement ceased.

What remained was as perplexing as it was amazing, and Ethan had trouble rectifying all the details in his mind. Two figures stood alone amidst the sea of carnage that had been the besieging horde. It took him several moments to realize that the duo standing there, unmoving as though patiently waiting in line for a Sunday afternoon matinee, were the same people that only a moment ago had been little more than a blur as they brutally and mercilessly slaughtered the infected with efficient, practiced ease.

Ethan recalled them swirling around within the horde, shoving the infected back to create space until it was their turn to participate in the expertly choreographed ballet of death. Whirling slashes sent limbs flying like projectiles launched from an exploding pipe bomb. The macabre dance was simultaneously a thing of beauty and horror, grace and total annihilation. Less than ten seconds later, the two stood amongst a ruined tangle of entrails, extremities, and blood—the sole survivors of the grim spectacle.

Even at a distance, the two figures seemed incongruous with one another. Bathed in the yellow of the streetlight overhead, the larger of the two stood a foot taller than the other, and was wider by nearly as much. Ethan had not seen the man move since the brawl ended, almost as if he felt it unnecessary to concern himself with his surroundings unless he was fighting.

The smaller statured figure, on the other hand, looked everywhere at once. Like luminous orbs casting a laser stare, his eyes flitted around in their sockets with feverish intensity while his head turned as though on a swivel. They appeared as dissimilar as night and day, each serving as the perfect counterpoint to the other.

When the low moan started behind the two figures, Ethan looked on in horror. The pair turned in unison to see the woman they fought to save lurching toward them with an unmistakable look of malicious hunger in her eyes. Ethan realized the woman must have been bitten despite her best efforts to avoid the monsters surrounding her. With startling speed, the smaller figure lashed out, the two blades swirling like those of a lawn mower. The infected woman was down before another moan escaped her mouth.

Intrigued, Ethan advanced cautiously, figuring that the two warriors could not be all bad given that they had just risked their lives to save the woman. Moving stealthily amongst the shadows, he took in more details about the mysterious figures as he drew closer. They were muscular and certainly in excellent physical condition based on the slaughter he just witnessed. Clad in black from head to toe with padding and makeshift armor, no skin was left exposed to the searching teeth of the infected. Enclosed face shields, like those used by riot police, rounded out their alien ninja assassin look. The shorter one held a pair of matching brush tools with fourteen-inch blades that looked razor sharp as their finely honed edges shimmered in the light. Dangling nonchalantly at his sides, the utilitarian tools would not have been so menacing were it not for the crimson fluid that glistened and dripped from the cold steel.

The larger of the two was perhaps more intimidating despite his overall nonchalant demeanor. Standing a couple of inches taller than Ethan, the melee he just witnessed dispelled any notion about the larger man being lackadaisical in spirit. While he wore the same makeshift body armor as the shorter person, he carried a completely different arsenal of weapons. He had metal gauntlets affixed to both forearms with four-inch tapered, metal spikes protruding near the wrists. In his right hand he held a long weapon that was reminiscent of a wide, two-pronged pitchfork. Ethan had seen him use it like a sasumata, restraining the infected at a distance until he could definitively deal with it. A long, metal spike protruded from the opposite end of the weapon’s four-foot long handle. In his left hand he held a short one-handed machete that looked like a Nepalese kukri.

As if somehow sensing his approach, the enigmatic duo cast furtive glances in his direction before quickly vanishing around the corner of the building. When Ethan reached the scene of the slaughter, he lost his footing, slipping on the ground that was greasy with the residue of the battle. Stabilizing himself against the equally gory dumpster, he managed to avoid falling to the blood-soaked pavement. Everything exuded a thick, coppery blood and shit tang that hung heavily in the air. The odor was so overwhelming that he imagined his sense of smell, if it still existed after such an insult, would be forever altered.

Moving to the corner of the building, Ethan peered around the side tentatively. He saw no evidence of the two figures or any infected. Turning back, he took in the abundant carnage that was the only evidence the duo had been there at all.

“Ethan! Ethan! Snap out of it. John and Reams need us. What should we do?” Kate asked in a quiet yet frenzied voice, as she shook him to rouse him from his trance. Seeing his eyes refocus, Kate slowly edged forward, ready to pounce on the two captors.

Ethan grabbed her arm as his thoughts cleared, and said, “Wait! These two are exceptionally dangerous. I have another idea.”

Confused by his words, Kate asked with incredulity, “You know them?”

“Not exactly, but I think I’ve seen them before. Just trust me, they are not people you want to pick a fight with,” he added.

With a huff of disbelief, she said, “Uh, I think
they
already picked the fight, Ethan.”

“Just follow my lead and don’t do anything until I give you the signal.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Kate said as she gave a mock salute.

Without acknowledging the jab, Ethan lowered himself into a prone position and crawled toward the two restrained men. As he drew nearer, Ethan could tell that the two captors were arguing about something, though he was unable to make out exactly what was being said. He heard John begin to say something but his friend was quickly silenced by a threat from the smaller figure. Ethan was surprised by the pitch of the captor’s voice, which sounded like that of an adolescent boy. John lowered his head slightly, though his blazing eyes stared straight ahead.

As the black-clad captors continued their hushed debate, their eyes remained locked on one another giving Ethan the opportunity he needed to signal John. Concealed by the dark shadows, the former soldier crept to edge of the grass, mindful not to alert the two figures standing sentry over John and Reams. While the noise of the intensifying wind hindered his ability to hear everything in his surroundings, he was grateful for the increased camouflage it provided.

When he finally reached the break in the grass less than ten yards from where John knelt, he carefully extended his hand and gave a small wave. Ethan was relieved when John appeared to notice of his signal. Reams’ eyes remained downcast and Ethan did not think the big man had seen his subtle gesture. A soft but clearly audible crack came from somewhere behind Ethan, causing him to go rigid as the captors’ conversation instantly ceased and they stared in his direction. He held his breath, eyeing the smaller man and preparing for him to lunge in his direction.

All of a sudden, John muttered something that was lost amidst the howl of the wind, immediately diverting the smaller figure’s entire focus onto him. Whatever he said had the effect of kicking a hornet’s nest, as the tension surrounding the four individuals in the gas station parking lot rose exponentially. Ethan saw John struggling against the blade wedged against the side of his neck.

With the situation deteriorating rapidly, Ethan decided it was time to make a move. He signaled to Kate to stay concealed before he stood, hands raised in surrender, and said, “Hey, wait a second! I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding here. We don’t know one another but I’ve seen you two before, outside a building on the outskirts of Birmingham—maybe a month ago. There was a woman stranded on a dumpster and you two tried to save her. I was trying to do the same but was too far away. By the time I got there, you two had already fled. Do you remember?” Ethan asked, nervous about the response his attempt to connect with them would elicit. Recalling John and Reams’ reaction when he first met them, Ethan was grateful for the darkness that obscured his facial deformity.

The smaller figure’s demeanor remained absolutely unchanged, the razor-sharp edge of the brush tool still pressing firmly against the skin overlying John’s carotid artery. Ethan thought he detected a glimmer of recognition in the larger captor’s eyes. Hoping to further diffuse the tense situation, he continued, “Please, we don’t want any trouble. We just stopped to look for fuel and supplies. If you guys have claimed this stuff, we’ll move on.”

The larger man’s head nodded almost imperceptibly as though Ethan had just confirmed what he had been saying all along. Aside from the subtle gesture, neither of the captors moved a muscle. Locking eyes with John, Ethan tried to convey a sense of control to the restrained man, urging him to relax and give him a chance to defuse the volatile situation. The larger man shifted his head ever so slightly toward his comrade, never taking his steely eyes off of Ethan. Although he could not make out every word, Ethan thought he heard him say ‘Ann,’ and ‘we don’t have to do this.’

After a tense moment, relief flooded through him as he saw the smaller figure’s body tension ratchet down by several degrees. For the first time, the larger man spoke clearly, “Keep your hands up and move closer. Try anything and my friend here will put these two down before I’ll have a chance to convince her otherwise.”

Ethan had no doubt about the truth behind the man’s words. When he stepped forward into the pale moonlight, his disfigured face came into view for the first time.

The captors tensed instinctively upon seeing the damage, conditioned to associate such things with the infected. Having heard him speak, however, they knew that was not the case. They also noticed that the telltale stench—virtually pathognomonic of the infection—was conspicuously absent. Just as the larger figure’s apprehension diminished visibly, the first unmistakable trace registered in his olfactory cortex—a smell so vile that it was like inhaling death itself and using melena as air freshener.

Ethan detected the odor at the same time he saw the man’s eyes narrow. Seeing the alarm rising in his eyes once again, he said, “My name is Ethan Long. As I said, we don’t mean any harm. Listen, I know you can smell them, and I’m sure you heard the glass breaking earlier. We accidentally shattered the door at the hotel…called out a lot of revs, so I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”