Chapter 38
A million questions run through my mind as I paw at the bars, touching his hands, reaching through to his face.
There’s a light returning to his eyes, a flicker that nearly extinguished.
He probably thought he would never see me again, and he may have even prepared for the end.
But death didn’t arrive—well, not for him—and instead my presence is pulling him back into a world he wants to be in, and one he wants to fight for.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Blake says.
“Are you hurt?” I’m trying to look him over, but I can only take in pieces of him through the door, like his bloody hands. “Where’s the blood coming from?” I ask.
He smirks, looking down at them himself, as if seeing it for the first time.
“Nah. This isn’t mine. One of them got too close to my cell door and decided to start talking nasty about what they were gonna do to Julie, Elaine, and Meredith, so I grabbed the back of his head and smashed his face into the bars . . . a couple times, actually.”
When he says their names, a certain dread sets into his face, harsh lines of concern digging into his forehead. “Where is everyone? Are they okay?”
“Greg and Molly are up in the sniper tower keeping watch. Julie’s a little banged up. Tessa and Elaine are fine. Meredith . . .” I pause, realizing that I don’t actually know the truth about Meredith, other than that she’s alive for now. “Is gonna be okay.”
Blake inhales deeply through his nose, digesting everyone’s status, and then the scream I heard before we entered the house comes rushing back into my brain.
It comes in slowly at first, in fragments, like it’s breaking through the barrier I created to focus on the moment at hand, but it wants out. It needs to be heard.
“The Carter family,” I say. Blake looks to me, waiting for me continue, but he can read it on my face. The somber tone that we once held between us in this very spot, as we awaited his fate, has returned. The fate of an entire family already sealed. He reaches for my hand, squeezing it.
“I haven’t found my dad or JJ or Uncle Jimmy yet. Do you know where they are?”
I almost flinch, waiting for him to answer.
“I overheard the two that were keeping watch. They said something about making them dig it themselves.”
“The burn pit . . . past the fence.” I turn to run back up the stairs, the image of my family members already lying in shallow graves, dirt being tossed on their bloodied and lifeless bodies, is plastered across my mind, like the burn-in of a once static image on a TV.
“Casey!” Blake’s voice stops me dead in my tracks. “Uhhh,” he says, rattling the cell door.
“Right!”
A quick trip to the armory has Blake and me fully stocked up with weaponry, the two of us ready to take on the world, or what’s left of it.
The burners must have thought the weaponry they had on them was enough for the job, since they left my dad’s arsenal untouched, possibly saving it for another day.
Big mistake, though. They should have made that day this one.
Through the woods out near the burn pit, we can hear yelling, harsh bursts of directives aimed at a few men who are hunched down, their arms swinging in a rhythmic scooping motion, elbows rising with the handles of the shovels, before striking into the earth.
A small plume of smoke grows from a newly set fire. They’re using the corpses we already burned, biters and evil men just like them, as kindling. Their charred bodies are already sapped of fuel, so the fire is small and pallid, barely rising a foot off the pile.
No less than a dozen burners stand around the helpless diggers in a semicircle, throwing clumps of dirt and scorched body parts at them while they work.
“There’s too many of them. We don’t stand a chance,” I whisper to Blake.
I try to shake the thought of defeat from my mind, but the situation feels so hopeless, so oppressively unwinnable.
I hear a shout and look back just in time to see the butt of a rifle connect with the spine of one of the diggers.
Their body collapses to the ground as a puff of dirt rises into the air, lifting the laughter of the men toward us.
Between the dirt-caked boots standing tightly together, I see the wiry, speckled-gray bristles of a beard, rising up off the ground as its owner gets back to their feet.
“Dad,” I say to myself, my rage only being held in check by my own sense of helplessness.
A hand grabs my shoulder as a cheek presses against the side of my head, his chin resting gently on my shoulder.
“We can do this,” Blake says. “I’ve faced worse odds in the Seals.
These clowns probably have no training, and they’re too comfortable, thinking they have this place under control.
A quick burst from that SMG you have there, and you could injure nearly all of them before they even realize what’s happening. ”
I nod, keeping my eyes on the burners.
“Here’s the plan. You lay down a volley aimed at the five or six guys on the left over there.
” He points over my shoulder, and my eyes follow the line of his arm.
“That way you don’t risk hitting any of your family.
Worst-case scenario, you injure one or two of them, and they all run in a panic, scrambling to find the source of the gunfire, giving Dale, Jimmy, and JJ time to either flee or grab a weapon and fight.
Meanwhile, I strike from the wings, velociraptor-style. ”
“Clever girl.” I smile, picturing Blake emerging from the thick brush of woods, the fire in his green eyes turning them into a searing yellow as he unleashes hell.
“Exactly.”
“What’s the best-case scenario?”
“Huh?”
“You said worst case, but you didn’t tell me the best case.”
“Oh, best case, you kill all of them on the spot and it becomes two versus ten instead of what it is now. Any more questions?”
“What are you gonna do? Don’t I need to know your part of the plan?”
Blake squats down to the forest floor, using some of the still moist blood on his hands to make a paste out of the soil, turning it into a thick red-brown sludge.
He closes his eyes and smears it all over his face.
His eyes pop back open, the whites standing out like keys on a piano against his camouflaged skin.
“Don’t worry about me, Doomsday.” Blake smiles and disappears into the woods without another word.
That’s exactly what I’m going to give these burners . . . their very own doomsday.
The wind shifts, blowing smoke from the fire in my direction.
The stench is like a backyard barbecue where the grill master opted to char up some expired, rotten meat.
Boiling pus and decay mix with hair and fabric remaining on the bodies, creating a fragrance that a full diaper would be envious of.
I lift my shirt collar up over my nose, semi-blocking the smell to avoid gagging and giving away my cover.
I have no idea whether Blake is ready or in position. When am I supposed to shoot? Will he give me a signal? Or will I just know? Will the bond that ties us together manifest itself in a physical response, something to say, We can do this, Casey?
“All right, enough! They look plenty deep,” one burner yells. His face is disfigured, as though it’s been melted away by acid or scalding water. He forces my family to rise and stand at the foot of each of their freshly dug graves.
“Turn around and face away from the holes,” he yells.
“You gonna shoot us now?” my father asks, a proud defiance in his voice.
“HA! Shoot you? Where would the fun be in that?” The man snaps his fingers and holds his hand out to his side.
Another burner places a stick with a lit piece of cloth, flaming at the end, into his open hand.
“We’re gonna burn you alive. Let your screams sink into our brains so we can replay them again and again in our minds.
It’ll help us sleep at night, like a lullaby for a baby.
” He arches back, letting out a roar of laughter.
The rest of his compatriots join in. The lead burner goes quiet and raises his leg, kicking my father in the chest. The force sends him flying back into the open grave.
I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand, adrenaline surging through my body.
He points the tip of the flaming stick into the hole, while another burner comes to his side, carrying a canister of liquid.
Fuck this.
I flick the safety off and point the gun at the fifth burner in from the left and let my finger sink back into the trigger.
The gun whirs to life in a flash, four bullets ripping into the burner in under a second before I start panning to the left.
Twenty-six more bullets divide themselves among the remaining four men, blood spraying in every direction as the scene devolves into chaos.
The five men I shot at are either writhing on the ground or lying completely still, no longer a part of the equation.
The other seven have turned to the woods, firing wildly in hopes of hitting me.
I anticipated this response and took cover behind one of the many oak trees in the forest. No bullet will be able to penetrate the three feet of solid wood, at least from their current positions.
“Cowards! Get in there! Kill whatever motherfucker did this!” I hear a burner yell out, and I can guess who—that ugly, nasty one.
I spot another substantial piece of cover and dart through the woods, changing my location. As I’m running, I look out at the scene and see JJ and Jimmy struggling with the men who were standing in front of them, wrestling for control of their firearms.
Where the hell is Blake?
A heavy rustling of branches and snapping of twigs begins to encircle me as the burners enter the woods. My position of safety is quickly becoming compromised.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m gonna be surrounded. Where the fuck is Blake?