In his state of constant pain, near exhaustion, and blood loss, Bob found it somewhat amusing that he was praying to God to allow him to live long enough to kill another…for revenge. His mind kept nagging at him that this just wasn’t right. Something about ‘vengeance is mine’ sayeth…someone. Something his grandmother had told him when he was little. Or maybe he had heard it when she dragged him to Sunday School. It didn’t really matter. He still begged for the chance.
Another car, another locked door. Another twenty feet of dragging his broken and bloody body across rocky, dusty roads to the next one. He paused at a long station wagon with the windows cracked and peeked inside. No water, no food, no signs of intelligent life. A map, some stuffed toys, and fast food wrappers that looked like they may have survived from the Kennedy era. Bob staggered back a step and took in the car. It looked like a late-Sixties or early-Seventies Oldsmobile. He smiled to himself as he realized, this hunk of junk would be considered a classic now. Tuna boats, he had called them. An honest gas-guzzling dinosaur. Probably got the same mileage as the motorcoach. Could probably take a harder hit than themotorcoach, too.
He staggered on to the next car and checked it. As Bob continued down the road, he was oblivious to the helicopter flying overhead in a zig-zag pattern, nor was he aware of the soldiers over the next rise sneaking up on a trio of infected. As he lifted the door handle of the Lexus, the alarm went off, startling him and causing the trio of infected to turn in the direction of the noise, noses lifted in the air, snuffling for a scent.
Bob staggered away from the offending car, willing his feet to move him farther down the line of vehicles and hopefully to something with an open door and, God willing, keys in it.
Bob grunted with pain as he forced himself to move faster down the line, mindlessly pulling on door handles, pushing buttons, or tugging on pulls. He could hear something moving rapidly in the woods over the sound of the nerve-wracking honk and bleep of the alarm from the auto behind him. He kept casting nervous glances back over his shoulder as he searched for the source of the noise in the woods, but he didn’t see them yet. Sometimes, the imagination is worse than reality; but somehow, he doubted that this was the case.
As he reached a slight bend in the road, he saw an empty space in the line of cars, thrown gravel along the road indicating somebody had left in a hurry. He used that break in the parked cars to slip on the other side and pray that he could hide himself from whatever broke through the woods.
He continued to check the door handles, his energy ebbing, sweat pouring down his face, when a shot echoed through the woods. Bob froze, threw himself against the side of the SUV he stood next to, and slowly slid down the side of it. Another shot rang out and a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the woods.
Bob lay on the ground, his ragged breathing sounding unusually loud to his own ears when an answering scream came from nearby. He wished that he could have been anywhere but where he was at that moment. He could hear movement in the woods close to him when the first screamer sounded again and a figure burst from the woods uphill from him. It stood near a truck and stared across the line of cars into the woods on the other side of the road.
Bob held his breath as he stared at the filth-covered figure. It had once been a man, but now, with his clothes ripped to tatters and his face and hands covered in fresh blood, Bob wasn’t sure if its humanity could ever be recovered. The man creature listened intently until another scream echoed through the woods, then bolted across the parked vehicles and into the forest at breakneck speed.
Bob let out the breath that he had been holding, and his body slumped into the dirt. His hands shook as his mind accepted the realization of just how close he had come to being a Manwich for Zom Doe. He did his best to gather himself and tried to get moving again when more shots rang out in the woods. He didn’t even want to take the time to wonder if the zombies got a hunter or a soldier got a zombie or…no. There were too many variables for him to even try to guess.
He worked his way farther down the line, pulling at door handles. One of these damned things had to be open. And when he found the one he knew providence had in wait for him, he’d be able to travel without totally draining his energy. He had to save some of that in order to get his revenge.
“Richardson, what are you doing here?” Maggie asked.
“Me? I work here.” Mitch stepped farther into the office. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Hatcher pushed his way into the office and looked around. “Where is Vickers?”
Maggie turned to stare at Hatcher as though he had materialized out of thin air. “Who are you?” She turned to Mitch and hooked a thumb at Hatcher. “Who is he?”
Hatcher stepped closer to her, closing the gap and definitely getting into her personal space. “I was here earlier, sweetheart,” Daniel hissed through clenched teeth. “Vickers sent me off to the showers, told me to sit the fight out. Ring any bells? Said if my people weren’t here by the time he got here, to write them off. Jogging your memory?”
Maggie’s eyes widened as she stared at Hatcher. “Oh, you’re the game warden guy.”
Hatcher’s eyes narrowed. “Park ranger,” he corrected.
“Right.” She turned back to
