I was wrong.
TWENTY-ONE
CIPHER
The sunlight was fading fastand I was no closer to finding Kitten. Had I gotten off track after my bloody encounter with the Rabids the night before? Was it possible that I was following someone else’s tire ruts in the mud? My confidence in this route diminished with every step I took. With darkness falling, my best bet would be to find a tree where I could hole up during the night, but my body, tired as it was, wouldn’t let me stop.
I was dead on my feet, but I had to keep going.
And then I heard it. Gunshots in the distance, the rapid fire of an assault rifle, which could only belong to an individual with a well-stocked arsenal. The sounds were better than a shot of adrenaline to my system.
I got my bearings, determined exactly where the noise was coming from, and then I ran. I stumbled almost immediately and ate shit because I wasn’t paying close enough attention, but I quickly regained my footing, going slower so that I’d not alert my target with my clumsy gait.
The gunshots grew louder, their source ever nearer as I came upon a dark clearing. No flashlights, no fire, no light whatsoever except for the moon, which allowed me to make out the shadow of Jeremiah’s rig, a blunt object blotting out the night with the silhouette of a man on top of it.
Jeremiah was standing on the rig with two machine guns on tripods that swiveled on their mounts, mowing down Rabids left and right. The only flashes of light were at the ends of his gun barrels as he whooped it up over his kills.
And then I saw Kitten in the clearing in front of the rig. He was tied to a wooden stake, head drooping as if he were dead, wearing only his underpants and a torn t-shirt. I pulled out my gun, intent on killing the bastard straight away, but if I did that, the Rabids would surely reach Kitten. I had to be smart. It was too dark to be certain, but I thought I saw the gentle rise and fall of Kitten’s chest, which meant he was either drugged or he’d passed out, probably from stress.
Up in his mount, Jeremiah continued to hoot and holler at the chaos he was inviting, and that was when I realized he was using Kitten as live bait for this massacre, same as we’d used that goat. Fucking animal. My vision blurred and my fist gripped my gun harder. I’d fucking kill him, tear his throat out with my teeth. I wanted so badly to put a bullet through his head right then, but I had to be smart and stay focused on the mission: save Kitten.
I ducked behind a tree and waited for Jeremiah to finish mowing down Rabids, praying a stray bullet didn’t hit Kitten in the process. Dozens of them stumbled toward their death, unable to resist the temptation of human flesh. I felt a stab of pity for the diseased, driven by an unnatural hunger they couldn’t control. Some of them were on the smaller side too, like the Rabid child I’d encountered last night. This explained why there were so few Rabids surrounding Promised Land. Jeremiah must have been culling them on the regular.
The last of the gun shells fell and the forest went silent again. Rabid bodies were strewn all over the clearing, the bloody detritus of a wholesale slaughter. With one last cry of victory, Jeremiah jumped down from the Humvee, still strapped with his guns and knives, and made his way over to Kitten. He smacked his face harshly, the sound echoing in the quiet night, which nearly caused me to reveal myself right then, but I held myself back. Jeremiah then felt his neck for a pulse. Shaking his head, he turned and made his way over to the pile of Rabids, some still writhing on the ground or attempting to crawl away. I was too far away to get off a good shot, not to mention it was dark as hell and my hands were shaking with rage.
I needed to calm the fuck down. I’d have exactly one chance to get this right. If at any moment Jeremiah sensed my presence, he’d turn that rifle my way and it’d be a shoot-out, one that I’d probably lose. Luckily, he hadn’t been wearing any noise protection and his ears were likely still ringing from the rain of bullets he’d brought down upon the Rabids, not to mention the adrenaline high likely humming through his veins and making him feel invincible.
I could use that to my advantage.
I approached on silent feet, gun raised and at the ready. Jeremiah was distracted as he counted his kills. Wearing night vision goggles meant that he couldn’t see me approaching from the side, but he must have heard something because he suddenly spun around, twisting his upper body with his gun already pointed in my direction. We both fired off a shot. His bullet went wide, while mine landed in the center of his broad chest. He shot again, a spray of bullets flying wildly as he stumbled backward. He tripped on the pile of bodies and collapsed on top of the heap.
I strode over and kicked his gun away while he stared up at me, at first with confusion and then with recognition.
“Remember me?” I said. He glared up at me with menace and spat. The spray of blood landed on my pants.
“I hope Rabids get you and your prissy bitch too,” he snarled.
“Fair enough,” I said. I put a second bullet in his head, then spun around and sprinted toward Kitten. Yanking the inhaler from my pocket, I placed it gently to his mouth, pinching his cheeks so that his lips would part. His face was swollen because that bastard had hit him, more than once. I wanted to kill him all over again.
The steroid did its job and Kitten inhaled sharply, then lifted his head. Groggy and dazed, the first expression to cross his face was fright, which morphed into something softer as recognition slowly dawned. “Cipher?” He twisted in his bindings and searched all around, probably looking for his tormentor.
“He’s dead, Kitten. I killed him.”
“Are you sure?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.
“Dead as a fucking doornail.” I pointed to where Jeremiah lay with a crimson cloud on his chest and a neat bullet hole through the center of his forehead. Kitten started hyperventilating, so I held the inhaler to his mouth again and pressed the button so he could take another hit. He smelled like sweat and urine and something else… something bitter with a mineral tang… semen? It was crusted across his face too. I swallowed and bit back my self-loathing at how I’d failed him.
“I’m going to get you out of this,” I said.
“Don’t leave me,” he begged, voice cracking.
“I won’t.” I laid a hand on his shoulder as I circled the wooden post. “I’m right here. He’ll never hurt you again. Is there anyone else?” I needed to know if there were any other threats to our safety.
“No, we were alone.”
“Okay, sit tight and try not to move. I’m going to cut the ropes.”
He nodded. His eyes pooled with tears but he held it in, trying to be brave. We had to both be quiet because it was still nighttime and we were still in the middle of Rabid Country.
