Animals Page 29

  They were getting close; the old church was just ahead. He was near the rear of the pack, right in front of Richard. His cousin wanted him close in case he had any questions. He took another sip of whiskey from his camelback and didn’t even grimace. He was getting used to the taste. Like the others, he was half lit from the alcohol in his hydration bag. He was sixteen now. He drank and smoked, took turns with the girls and popped pills the same as the rest of them. He was a man.

  Pole was in the lead and knew the fun was about to begin when his headlight caught the church they’d burnt down. They were just around the corner and the back gate was only another mile beyond it. He came out of the bend, took another sip of tequila and goosed it. The machine shot up to fifty miles an hour then slammed into something solid. He didn’t see the cable stretched across the road. It caught the snowmobile right above the skis and sent it tumbling end over end before it snapped. Pole flew through the air, arms waving frantically and bounced off a telephone pole. His leg bent in places it wasn’t supposed to bend and he screamed when he felt the bone break and spear through his flesh and snowsuit. His machine continued to spin and roll, fiberglass pieces and bits of metal flying in every direction, headlight flashing like a strobe. He howled in agony at the pain and nearly passed out when he saw the sharp, bloody end of his bone sticking out of the snowsuit.

  Jester was right behind him, dodged to the right to miss the wreck and caught the second cable strung across the road. It caught the tip of his fairing and rode it up, smashed through his windshield and caught him across the chest. He was going thirty when it snapped his ribs, sent him flying in one direction and the snowmobile in another.

  Two more riders, reaction time dulled by booze and blowing snow, the vibration of the machines and the warm electric suits, jerked the handlebars to avoid Jester who was flying right towards them.

  They slammed together and Cappy’s gloved hand slid over the thumb throttle, revving to big Polaris to redline. It answered instantly. The studded track dug in, lifted the front skis skyward and powered the machine up and across Maggots back. The steel barbs shredded the seat, his snowsuit then sent chunks of muscle and flesh spraying across the snow.

  Cappy tried to scream but choked on a mouth full of alcohol as he held on for dear life. The machine launched into the air, hit the same cable and snapped it. The flying end caught the wildly spinning track, tangled in the sprocket and jerked the sled towards the tree where it was tied. Cappy went flying the other direction, landed hard and the camel back flattened. It shot a half liter of booze down his throat. The impact knocked the air out of him and his coughing fit turned into drowning as he sucked the tequila into his lungs.

  The rest of the machines slid to a halt, helmet visors were flipped up and they started yelling questions at each other.

  “What did they hit?”

  “What the hell just happened?”

  A war cry erupted from the wood line, a flaming spear shot through the darkness, an arrow from a compound bow drove deep into a rider’s heart and screaming children on polar bears charged out of the night swinging saw bladed battle axes.

  “Shoot them! Shoot them!” Gordon shrieked in panic and fought to rip his gloves off so he could grab his own gun.

  The Yamaha behind him erupted into a geyser of flames and someone ran past him beating at a burning suit, trying to tear it off.

  Two shadows leapt from the ditch line, one with a spear and one with claws, and a rider trying to pull his rifle from its scabbard was knocked sideways off his machine. Snarling white fangs sank into his shoulder as claws tore his snow suit to ribbons. The man tried to scream but vomited blood inside his helmet when something hard and sharp tore through his belly. Donny withdrew his steel shafted spear from the man’s stomach, twisted it to cut lose the trailing bits of guts and let Yewan finish the kill.

  Skull tore his AR-15 out of its bag and aimed at the big, brown bear that felt like it was making the ground shake as it thundered towards him. He squeezed the trigger, heard the bear roar in pain and fury before an arrow knocked his aim off. It hit the hard plastic of his hockey pad and shattered but it caused his bullets to go wide. The boy they had tied to the front of Gordon’s machine leaped for him, a wicked looking Warhammer swinging for his face. Skull jerked the gun up just in time to block the hammer from knocking his head off, iron smashed against metal and plastic, sent the rifle flying away. He grabbed the boy by a handful of hair as he fell over the seat and pulled him down into the snow while flaming pieces of plastic rained down all around them.

  Swan sent arrow after carefully aimed arrow into the bunched-up machines, silent death coming at them from the shadows.

  Richard couldn’t get his gloves off to pull his pistols; they were velcroed to his suit to keep out the cold. In his panic, he pawed at the slick, waterproof material and kept slipping. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Half his guys were already down and screaming, being mauled by crazy looking kids in war paint and monster animals that were supposed to be hibernating.

  Another flaming spear came out of the dark and another snowmobile splashed bright orange, lighting up the night in a ball of flame. Roiling black smoke from burning plastic joined the wind whipped snow to shroud them with a haze that was hard to see through.

  The fight was over before it even began, he had to go. He had to get away. He’d just seen half-naked kids riding polar bears and swinging a homemade axes cut down one of his men. How did you fight something like that? Gordon had lied, this was no easy way to get a few more girls, and this was a slaughter. He stopped trying to pull his gun and hit the throttle of the idling machine.

  Kodiak twisted his hammer, tried to hit the hand curled in his hair but it was knocked aside. Skull was three years older, fifty pounds heavier and still heavily muscled. He head-butted the boy with his helmet then rammed his face into the Kevlar track. Blood exploded from Kodiaks nose and Skull jerked him back to slam it again and again but was suddenly lifted off his knees and flung through the air. Six inch long claw as big as cigars shredded his armor, slashed through flesh and tossed him some ten feet away next to one of the burning snowmobiles. Otis towered above him silhouetted by flames with blood matting his shoulder where the bullet had hit. He roared, the polar bears answered and the savage growls of the wolf and panther drowned out the screams of terror and war cries of fury.

  Snowmobile engines revved to life adding to the cacophony of horror as riders tried to escape from the nightmare. Otis clawed at a passing rider, sent him tumbling towards the ditch then dropped to all fours to chase a fleeing machine.

  Kodiak wiped the blood out of his face and saw Skull reaching for the rifle. He rolled to his feet, double fisted his hammer and raised it over his head as he catapulted high in the air. He drove it straight down against the rider’s helmet, putting all his strength and all his weight behind the blow. It was a solid hit, cracked the plastic and slammed him back down to the ground. He swung again like he was wielding a baseball bat and trying to knock one into the stands. Chunks of the helmet broke away and the rider stopped reaching for the gun. He pushed himself unsteadily to his knees and tried to crawl away. He had no more fight left in him. The helmet pieces fell to the snow as he hung his head and in the dancing firelight, Kodiak saw blood oozing out of his ears. The boy was helpless, was trying to crawl away but was headed back into the madness. Gordon’s gang member had tried to shoot him, had hit Otis at least once. The boy had tried to break his skull and blood still cascaded from a gash across his eye. Kodiak gripped the long, iron handle, raised it high over his head and aimed for the back of boys’ neck. It would be like slaughtering a pig, all he had to do was bash his head. It was unprotected. The boy would never even feel it. Kodiak held the Warhammer high for a moment then let it fall. He kicked him instead, knocked him flat again.

  “You’re going the wrong way, idiot.” he said then ran into the smoke, looking for targets that could fight back.

  Richard spun his snowmobile out of the
cluster, ducked low behind his windshield and raced around the roaring bear for the open road. Otis slashed out, splintered the front of the machine and swept his paw across the boy’s chest. His massive claws sent him flying, sheared through the snowsuit and raked four deep gouges across his ribs. His machine careened through the ditch and came to a halt with its nose against a tree. Richard hit the ground, staggered to his feet and ran, clutching his wounded chest. He fled towards the forest, hit the ditch and stumbled. A wolf came out of the darkness, ripped into his leg, pulled him down. His screams were lost in the night, mixed with the others as the wolf shredded his clothes, anxious to get at the flesh beneath. The snarling beast was jerking him around like a rag doll but he managed to get his knife out of its sheath and slashed at the thing trying to rip his leg off.

  Swan dropped her bow when she heard Zero yelp. She had a tomahawk in each hand as she left the woods and ran to the ditch to join the fight. Zero had backed off, a long gash across his muzzle but his teeth were bared and he had a rumbling, snarling growl deep in his throat. Swan hurled one her tomahawks as she leaped down the embankment and slid to a halt by Zero, her own growl on her peeled back lips. The spike slammed into the boy’s shoulder, buried itself to the head and he looked up at her in shock and surprise. Richard turned his hunting knife towards her, stared at the soot blackened face, the spotted hyena hide she wore over her shoulders, and knew he was going to die. These kids weren’t human, they were something else. Something vicious and wild. Another snowmobile exploded into flames and the screaming albino twins were slashing at anyone they saw. Their bears ran them down after they had smashed through the clustered snowmobiles, scattering everyone in panic. Nobody was firing their guns, nobody was fighting back, it was complete chaos and the feral children were butchering them one by one.

  He dropped the knife and held up his hands.

  “Please.” he said “Please…”

  Swan stopped short of driving the blade into his skull, put a hand on her wolf to stay his spring. To stop his killing lunge.

  His terror filled eyes were wide, his hands held up in a feeble effort to protect himself from the wolf girls’ terrible anger. From the gleaming tomahawk in her hand.

  “Please…”

  Swan hesitated, ground her teeth. He flinched and gasped when she snagged her other tomahawk out of his shoulder then stepped back.

  “Run.” she said.

  It was a limping, ungainly run that left a trail of blood melting the snow behind him but he fled as fast as he could.

  Vanessa lit the flare and tried to spot another gas can, another target, through the swirling snow. She heard the twins yelling their battle cries, the roaring and snarling of the animals, the screams of men in pain. The winds lashed the flames and illuminated the ambush area in dancing orange light. Dark smoke whipped through the pandemonium of battle. One of the riders had managed to strip off his burning suit and armor, dig out his pistol and fired as he ran straight at her. Bullets whizzed by her head, splintered bark from the tree, but she didn’t cower and hide. She let her spear fly, its duct taped magnesium flare sending a shower of red fire out of the end. It flew true, hit him square in the chest and sunk deep. He dropped the gun, sank to his knees, gripped the spear and stared in shocked disbelief. His insides were on fire, he was glowing pinkish red and smoking. She came out of the woods, small, dark and silent, running at him with a machete.

  He was being killed by ten-year-old.

  A dark-skinned girl with scars and paint on her face.

  She had a tight mohawk, feathers and beads around her neck and he was so stunned he didn’t feel the blade as it sliced open his neck when she ran past.

  Gordon screamed his frustration and jumped on a sled that didn’t look damaged. The crazy twins and their bears had scattered everyone and smashed most of the machines. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had the numbers and they had the guns. It wasn’t fair. They were losing and everyone was running as fast as they could. He didn’t know where his cousin was, he thought he saw him take off a few minutes ago, and he really didn’t care. Pole pulled himself along in the snow, trying to get back to the sleds, a mangled, broken leg left a blood trail behind him. Gordon goosed the machine to knock a twisted snowmobile out of the way and almost didn’t see the crawling boy in the confusion. He heard the snarl of Swan behind him and didn’t have time to go around. Pole would understand, nothing personal, he would have done the same thing. He bumped over him, dodged around Donny and Yewan as they appeared out of the smoke and pressed the throttle. The machine shot forward, out of the reach of Swans tomahawks and Yewans fangs. He saw Cody when he passed by the burning sled and cut the skis.

  He grinned maniacally as he bore down on him. It was small revenge but it was all he was going to get this time. At least he would accomplish something on this messed up mission.

  Kodiak heard the quick revving buzz of the engine, threw himself out of the way as Gordon sped by. The handlebar caught his buffalo robe, jerked him off his feet as the snowmobile jagged sharply and caught the rear end of a burning sled. One of the skis on Gordon’s machine hooked something solid and snapped off. The fiberglass and plastic fairing exploded as he fought for control. It nearly jerked his arm out of its socket but the machine righted itself and he leaned his weight to the opposite side to keep it moving forward. He breathed a deep sigh, threw a hateful look over his shoulder and gave gas again. The machine would ride with one ski. It might be hard to handle but that was okay. It was better than being dead. He turned around just in time to see a giraffe appear out of the darkness and a flail of spiked steel coming straight for his head. He threw up his hands barely in time to stop it from impaling his face and screamed in terror as he went sprawling off the sled. The tough, padded armor saved him from two shattered arms but the plastic tore free on the spikes. They gouged through his flesh, leaving bloody rifts in both arms. The machine came to a halt a dozen yards up the road and he scrambled to get back to it. To get away from these lunatic children. To escape.

  A huge yellow and black head swung for him and once again the giraffe sent him tumbling away. Harper spun in her saddle, hopped on to Bert’s long, sloping back and slid to the ground, using his tail to slow her fall. Gordon tried to clear his head, tried to stand but she knocked him flat before he could get to his feet. Harper stood over him, her blonde hair whipping in the wind, her face painted like the rest of them, her morning star ready to bash his head in if he tried to move. He heard other snowmobile engines revving and fading as they took off through the woods or down the road, running for home. Swan and Donny came out of the smoke and snow, bloody wolf and bloodier panther padding slowly beside them. Kodiak appeared, him and Otis both bleeding but they walked steadily forward. He heard more cries of pain, more engines starting up. Headlights split the night and shot down the road, injured riders crouched low and fleeing for their lives. Leaving him behind. The fires behind the kids turned them into shadowy wraiths as Gordon crabbed slowly backward, away from the girl with the tomahawk. Away from the boy with the spear. Away from the animals who would shred him alive and feast on him as he died. The twins materialized out of the snow, white on white and splashed with red.

  Harper kept pace, not trying to stop him, just watching him with an inscrutable look on her painted face. Gordon’s eyes flashed to each of them looking for mercy but saw none. He remembered his gun and fumbled with the zipper of his suit. As Kodiak approached, he pulled the pistol from his pocket, pointed it before anyone could react and squeezed the trigger. Fire erupted from the barrel and the bullet hit Kodiak at nearly point-blank range. He stumbled as it struck, felt the burn as it plunged through the thick buffalo robe, his plastic breastplate then buried itself into his chest.

  Barely.

  The children’s response was instant and Gordon would have been speared, flailed, hatcheted, macheted and slashed to ribbons with sharp toothed axes if Kodiak hadn’t yelled for them to stop. Donny was the quickest and barely alter
ed his thrust to snap Gordon’s wrist instead of plunging the steel through his faceplate.

  They heard the bone break, saw the pistol spin away to be lost in the snow. Kodiak reached under his chest plate and plucked the flattened little bullet out. It was still hot so he let it drop the ground and sizzle in the snow. The fire in the background was slowly dying out, but there was enough light to illuminate the panic and terror on Gordons face as he cradled his broken wrist.

  “I’ll do it.” Kodiak said. “I’ll carry out the judgement.”

  They backed off, formed a half circle as he approached and adjusted his grip on the hammer. Their bloodlust was still high, these men had come to kill, rape and enslave. They didn’t have pity and they wouldn’t show mercy. Gordon started to keen, a drawn out high pitched nooooooo coming from somewhere deep inside him.

  They heard someone crying, a girl, and turned to watch as a naked woman staggered out of the smoke, most of her hair burnt off and smoldering bits of Gore-Tex snowsuit fused to her skin. They smelled her then, the sickly-sweet smell of burnt flesh as she stumbled and sobbed, her body raw, blistered and red. They slowly lowered their weapons and their faces softened.

  “She came to kill us, too.” Swan said. “She deserved what she got.”

  Her heart wasn’t in it though and when the girl fell, Swan was the first to run help her.

  52

  Diablo

  Diablo slunk through the tree line, his senses alert. The smell of burnt fuel irritated his nostrils and he sneezed. There was another scent though, blood. His acute nose homed in on it and he approached stealthily towards its source.

  Behind him, the Savage Ones followed. The crows, ravens and vultures soared overhead in oblong circles. The raccoons, opossums, feral hogs, stray cats, dogs and foxes followed in his wake. Some of them had felt his ire when they got too close. Powerful jaws crushed fragile bones and his laughing bark warned them to keep their distance. The fallen became food for the many as they fought over the scraps of whatever unfortunate had met Diablo’s wrath. Yet they followed still, drawn by his power and commanding presence. They had been eating the undead for months and it changed them. Subtly altered the way their brains worked. The virus that turned the humans into frenzied flesh eaters almost instantly was caused by microscopic man-made nanobots. It didn’t affect the animals in the same way, it didn’t turn them into undead monsters. The more of the infected flesh they ate, the more they wanted. It was addictive, easy to hunt and plentiful. It slowly changed them over time. It didn’t make them undead, it made them crave the same thing the undead craved. It made them hunger for human blood. The more dead flesh they ate, the more living flesh they wanted.