Riposte (The Redivivus Trilogy Book 2) (30 page)

Like a panther stalking its prey, Charon advanced on the infected horde in a low crawl. When the closest of the infected was roughly fifteen feet away, the dog surged forward with a startling burst of speed. He slammed into the back of an infected adolescent that likely weighed less than seventy pounds. The thing snarled and reached for him, but Charon clamped down hard on its pant leg, growling menacingly as he dragged it away from the group. One by one, the others took notice of the noise and commotion. Then, as if attached by a string, they began shambling after Charon and the infected thing he dragged away. He continued tugging the thing’s leg, intermittently shaking his head violently to knock it back to the asphalt and keep it from getting a grip on him.

After Charon had dragged the infected kid nearly two blocks away, he gave him one last tug before letting go and racing away from the approaching mass.

Gawking at the infected horde clearing out, Garza was speechless. Anthony beamed as he watched his dog work, and said simply, “I told you he could do it.”

“I’ll be damned. Let’s go. Stay behind me,” Garza said in a low voice, as he eased out of the shadows. The front of the truck faced them, and was covered in blood and gore left by the infected mass. Garza did not hear the few remaining infected still banging on the truck’s rear doors until the comparatively louder din of the retreating horde faded somewhat.  By then, he and Anthony were nearly on top of them. Slinging his rifle and drawing his knife, Garza pressed his back against the side of the truck. After signaling for Anthony to hold, he took a steadying breath and turned the corner to the truck’s rear.

Two ruined figures, both dressed in military BDUs, continued uselessly battering the ballistic glass of the rear door. Without wasting a second, Garza kicked the legs out from under the closest one before driving his blade into the base of the other’s skull. Its head rebounded off the window with a dull
thud
as it crumpled to the pavement in a lifeless heap. The thing’s dead weight pulled his knife with it, the blade firmly lodged between the bones of its skull and spine, and he followed it to the ground. Wrenching the blade to the side, there was a sharp
crack
followed by a pulpy, snapping sound as the blade tore free.

Pivoting, he brought the knife down onto the other infected as it climbed to its feet. The six-inch blade plunged deep into its left eye socket, the pressure causing the globe to pop out of the orbit like some hellish version of a jack-in-the-box. It went still instantly.

Panting breathlessly as he knelt on the ground next to the dead soldiers, Garza heard a scraping noise that made his blood run cold. Peering under the truck in the direction of the sound, he stared in horror as the bones protruding from a decimated lower leg rasped against the concrete, foot trailing uselessly behind like a puppy on a leash. Garza saw Anthony’s shoes less than three feet ahead of the approaching thing, facing the opposite direction, and he sprang into action.

Diving headlong under the truck, he wrapped one hand around the thing’s severed ankle. The cold, slippery skin felt like raw, soused meat. He struggled to maintain his grip as he pulled with everything he had. A sickening crunch reverberated through his hand as its knee buckled upon impact with the truck’s running board. Off-balanced, the infected thing fell to the side, its outstretched hands missing Anthony by millimeters. Before Garza could react, the foot attached by a few sinewy strands of tissue whipped around, striking him in the face. He fought back a wave of nausea as its bare toes brushed past his mouth.

Regaining his composure, Garza watched as Anthony pounced on the fallen thing, smashing its head repeatedly with a piece of metal. The look he saw in the boy’s eyes as he bludgeoned the infected monster was one he recognized all too well—
wrath
. Although he understood where it came from and even knew it would likely serve to keep the boy alive, he felt a tinge of sadness at knowing the boy had been afflicted by so vile an emotion at such a young age. Winded from the exertion, Anthony locked eyes with Garza. Despite the fact that his eyes still held the same unmistakable rage, Garza gave him a reassuring nod that conveyed both understanding and acceptance. He was glad when the boy’s expression morphed into one of sadness and fear.
At least this harsh world hasn’t stripped him of all of his humanity yet. A little fear will go a long way toward keeping him safe.

Garza pulled himself out from under the truck, and Anthony helped him to his feet. He put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder, and said, “You did good, kid. That’s never easy, even when they’re infected.”

Anthony lowered his head and nodded.

Even though the boy didn’t say a word, Garza knew every emotion he conveyed with that small gesture. Now that the clamor of the horde was fading in the distance and the last of the infected around the truck had been dispatched, they heard a soft beep coming from inside the truck. Garza pressed an ear to the door but heard nothing else. “Maybe that’s what was keeping them here,” Garza said as he strained to see through the gore-stained windows.

All of the truck’s windows were painted a nearly opaque reddish-brown, effectively obscuring the vehicle’s interior from view. Garza thought he detected a hint of movement inside the cab, but decided he had merely seen Anthony’s shadow crossing a window on the opposite side of the truck. He stood on the tire and peered in through the windshield. Both of the front seats were empty, and he was relieved to see that the driver’s side door was unlocked. “Anthony, I’m going to enter from the driver’s side,” Garza said.

Steeling his nerves, Garza gripped the handle and pulled the door open.  He reached around the steering column and was relieved when he felt the keys hanging in the ignition. Despite having smelled what he imagined to be every horrid odor in existence since the beginning of the outbreak, the revolting stench that poured out of the truck took him by surprise, nearly making him jump back and slam the door. Before he could do so, he heard the unmistakable click of another door opening. Garza’s momentary confusion was usurped by alarm when he heard a startled shriek coming from the rear of the truck a second later. He wasted no time as he leapt into the cab.

Choking back the vomit rising in his gorge, Garza looked past the ungodly mess inside the truck and immediately saw the reason for the boy’s alarm. An officer, dressed in full SWAT gear including a Kevlar helmet and gas mask, staggered toward the open door and the boy standing transfixed just beyond it. Based on the officer’s uncoordinated movements, there was no doubt he was infected. It moved slowly, hindered by the tangle of ruined bodies littering the floor as well as the fact that he was so large he barely fit inside the vehicle. Even without the full compliment of gear, Garza could tell the officer was massive—standing well over six feet tall and weighing at least two hundred and fifty pounds. Every inch of his skin was covered in armor, and Garza imagined he looked like some sort of alien astronaut to the boy.

“Anthony! Close the door, and get to safety!” Garza said, before addressing the infected officer. “Hey, asshole! Why don’t you pick on somebody closer to half your size?”

Garza watched the rear door start to close, but it rebounded open immediately. This repeated once again before Anthony yelled, “It won’t close! There’s a leg in the way!”

“Forget it! Just get the hell out of here!” Garza bellowed, as he took a decisive step toward the hulking officer.
There’s a leg in the way? Damn, this is one messed up place!

Garza knew that any shot he fired within the confines of the truck would be far more likely to kill him than the infected behemoth. The truck’s bulletproof plating combined with the officer’s body armor could cause a bullet to ricochet in a completely unpredictable manner. Holstering his pistol, he advanced, unsure of exactly what he intended to do to the hulking man. As soon as he was in range, Garza launched a powerful front kick that landed squarely in the thing’s lower back. Stumbling forward, the thing fell hard, slamming into one of the bench seats with a sickening crunch. The infected officer rolled partly onto its back, and Garza saw that the gas mask’s visor was cracked as though a bullet had punctured it. The inside was coated with dried blood, rendering the glass opaque and obscuring any vision the thing still possessed.

Using this to his advantage, Garza leapt nimbly past its reaching hands to the bench seat running along the opposite side of the truck. The black vinyl seats were covered with a thick cast of dried blood that crunched under his weight when he landed. The blinded officer’s head turned abruptly toward the sound. Another officer, whose face had been gnawed off before he was shot in the head, was still strapped in one of the seats near the back of the truck. Eyeing the combat knife secured to the front of the dead man’s tactical vest, Garza moved quickly to retrieve it, wincing at the sound of each footstep as he did. A meaty hand clamped down on his ankle just as he grabbed the handle and popped the sheath’s thumb break.

Twisting around, Garza pulled his other foot free and slammed it repeatedly into the officer’s face. It felt as though he was stomping on concrete, and the blows had little effect on the giant. Even when the gas mask’s visor shattered completely and he felt its facial bones collapse, the only notable change was the increased volume of its growls. The grip on his ankle never even loosened. In fact, Garza felt as though he were being dragged steadily closer to the officer’s snarling jaws despite his repeated attacks.

Not liking how things were going, Garza realized he had seconds to act before his leg would be in range of the officer’s snapping teeth. Thankfully, the gas mask strapped to its face served as a muzzle of sorts, but Garza was not about to rely on that alone to prevent him from joining the ranks of the infected. Redirecting his kick, he brought his free foot down hard on the thing’s wrist. While he had hoped to break its wrist, rendering it physically incapable of maintaining its vise-like grip, he only succeeded in allowing the monster’s other hand to get a hold of his free ankle. “Son-of-a-bitch!” Garza bellowed.

With both feet now hopelessly trapped, Garza pulled hard with his legs, bringing himself even closer to the fallen officer. Crunching forward, he sat up and brought the combat knife around in a wide arc. Garza was relieved the soldier was not wearing a ballistic collar, as the blade found the narrow gap between his vest and helmet. Contaminated blood, cold and sticky, ran down his arm as the razor-sharp blade dug deeply into the soft flesh just below the base of his skull. He engaged the serrations on the knife, and with a few violent jerks the thing’s head toppled to the side. It sounded like a bowling ball when it hit the truck’s metal floor, where it wobbled away like a Weeble.

Garza was surprised to find the officer still had a solid grip on both of his ankles. In a panic, he yanked his legs back hard, only this time he was able to break the hold. As he did, he fell back and his head came to rest in a thick, tarry pool of partially coagulated blood. The nausea that had been threatening to overtake him from the moment he opened the truck’s door finally did so. Rolling to his side, he added the noisome smell of vomit to the truck’s rancid bouquet.

“Anthony! You okay?” Garza shouted, as he hauled himself up to the bench seat.

The boy peered in through the rear door, his cautious eyes scanning from side to side as if expecting the enormous officer to take up the charge again. His face went pale when he saw Garza sitting next to the headless body. “Holy shit, Mr. Garza! That guy was like The Incredible Hulk or something!” Anthony said with genuine disbelief.

While the adult in him told him he should tell the boy to watch his language, the rest of him managed only a small, exhausted chuckle. “We need to get back to the others, but first we need to clear these bodies out of here. Where’s Charon?” Garza asked.

As Anthony turned to call for Charon, Garza took a good look at the truck’s interior. In addition to the headless titan and the faceless officer, several other corpses were scattered throughout the passenger compartment. Most were dismembered to the point that it was difficult to determine how many people they had originally comprised. Every inch of the steel gray interior was splatter painted with deep burgundy. Worst of all was the smell—a concentrated blend of blood, excrement, spoiled meat, and sour milk. The cloying stench hung in the air like a pestilential fog, occupying all of the air vital for life, and consequently forcing its consumption with every breath.
Remember, it’s armored and can drive through damn near anything. ARMORED.
As the last few dry heaves passed, Garza climbed to his feet and began clearing out the carnage.

He was nearly finished removing the bodies from the passenger compartment when Anthony returned with Charon at his side. The dog was even filthier than before, a feat Garza would not have thought possible. “We’ve just got him to get out of here,” Garza said, as he pointed to the huge, headless officer.

“Okay…” Anthony replied, unsure of how they planned to accomplish such a Herculean task. “Any idea how to do that?”

Garza glanced around the inside of the truck looking for inspiration. He had tried to drag the man but had not even budged him an inch. He was about to say that he would just have to come along for the ride when he was struck by an idea. A coil of rope hung on a hook just inside the door. Unfurling the rope, Garza gave one end to Anthony and instructed him to tie it to anything bolted or rooted firmly to the ground. He passed the other end under the officer’s arms and tied it. When they were satisfied both ends were secured, Anthony and Charon jumped into the passenger compartment and moved toward the cab.