Zombie Mountain (Walking Plague Trilogy 3)

Jack chuckled in spite of his worry. “We’re getting the hell out of here, Brice. You coming?”

Indeed, neither Brice nor the captive named Julie put up a fuss about leaving. Mike lifted her into the truck bed none too carefully. Whatever kindness he’d given her before had been used up and worn out. “Just sit there and shut the hell up,” he ordered, ignoring her muffled protests.

The tire treads came off before they reached the bottom of the hill. The rims protested with an absurd screech, and sparks roostered out from the friction created by the road. Joe had to slow down significantly, but he could drive faster than the critters that used to be human ambled. From the back, Jack and Mike sharpened their moving target skills whenever one got too close. Other than the walking dead, the streets were empty.

Joe cut the engine under the cover of a large elm tree when they reached the intersection of Los Feliz Boulevard. Darker than any of them had ever seen it. The quiet was eerie, along with the soft rustling breeze that usually went unnoticed. Trash blowing along with it. The occasional crazy, the less occasional car passing. The stars... they could damned near see them all.

Indeed, the world was different now, and the six of them took it all in, each in their own way. Mostly in shock. For those few minutes, surely it sank in that nothing would ever be the same... ever again.

Chapter Seventeen

Cole had been up for about thirty hours straight, with no sleep, since he’d left Seal Beach. Presently, he leaned back in a comfortable office chair in Dodger Stadium’s media room. He chewed on a pretzel and regarded Carla. Part of his training meant going without sleep for nearly four days. Thirty hours should’ve been a piece of cake. But he felt tired... tired, irritated, and restless.

* * *

Carla sat nearby on the floor. She’d managed to get herself to a sitting position from where he’d dumped her. She met his eyes evenly. She didn’t know where Anna was, and this worried her a great deal. But she would never let on to the Agent in Black that she was scared.

Never show them your fear.

She kept her eyes on his, not allowing herself to look at the pretzel. She was ravenous beyond belief. Thirsty, too. She swallowed both back.

Fuck him, she thought.

A few hours ago, Cole had driven them to the ballpark. Parked in the huge lot, she’d watched him study blueprints of the place. Where he’d gotten them, she had no clue. Probably the military base, she reasoned. After a few moments, he rolled the papers neatly and started the SUV again.

The ground level held several loading docks and large supply elevators. Cole had picked one of the locks and drove the vehicle inside. It was dark, a stark contrast to the afternoon sun. It took some moments for Carla’s eyes to adjust to the dimness.

The vile agent cursed when the elevator didn’t work. He cuffed her hands to the steering wheel, leaving Anna, head and arms still covered, in the back.

“Be quiet,” he had reminded Carla. “We don’t know what she’s capable of, do we?” And he left.

Carla had been extremely uncomfortable in this position, but she kept as still as she could. Every time she moved, Anna shifted.

Roughly twenty minutes later Cole reappeared, smiling knowingly. The utility elevator stood open, the lights glowing behind him. He got in the car and released Carla from the steering wheel. He then drove the vehicle into the elevator. After the door closed, it brought them up to the main level, and this time the elevator’s other door opened and he drove them into the coliseum that had once hosted millions of fans in its heyday. It now sat deserted, empty.

Cole parked, re-cuffed Carla, and coaxed Anna out from the back seat. Carla watched as he led the girl down a concourse. Anna still had that jerky gait, following his voice. They turned a corner, out of Carla’s sight.

Carla stretched and wiggled to face the carpet. There’s got to be something, she told herself. She remembered the tiny objects Joe and Mike had used to their benefit; a simple bobby pin, a nail. Arms bound behind her, she used her feet to feel for something she could use.

She was sweating; Cole would wonder what she’d been up to. But Carla didn’t care. As far as she was concerned, they weren’t on speaking terms. Oh, I want to kill him, she thought as she swept her shoes methodically across the floor.

She imagined how she would kill him, in what way she would take his life. Thinking of the possibilities, she almost missed it. But there it was... a pen. She contorted into an impossible position to see it. A Bic ballpoint.

Carla kicked off her shoes and tried to grasp the smooth sides with her toes. She was on her stomach now, her intent to bring the pen up behind her...it fell onto the passenger seat. Damn it. She glanced up to find Cole returning alone.

Salty drops slid into her eyes. Maybe she could get it if she sat back in her seat. And her shoes...

He was studying the stadium as he walked. Carla wriggled again onto her back, sliding as far as she could into her seat. She shoved her shoes back on; one of the heels collapsed, she tried again. Meanwhile, Cole turned his gaze to her. She tried to appear calm, all the while searching for the pen behind her as he drew nearer. Her hand found it with just enough time to slide it into her pants and inside her underwear, which kept it snug against her skin. She could feel it poking her and wondered if it was visible from the outside.

“What have you been up to?” he asked, his voice cold. Carla ignored him at first, looking straight ahead. She’d wiped some sweat onto her jacket, but her hair was messed up.

She glared at him, unable to answer.

“Whatever it is you’re doing, it won’t work,” he advised. He unlocked the cuffs again. “Time to get going.”

He drove the SUV down the empty stadium concourse ahead until they reached the Press Room. He’d emptied the SUV of all weaponry and shattered several beer bottles, spreading the glass across the floor. Obviously, this was intended to alert him when someone attempted to rescue her and Anna. She watched him type on the computers, and test the sound system. At one point, he asked her, “Hear that?”

Other than the initial test signals, she heard nothing. It wasn’t until he turned her face to view the ballpark and its surroundings that she saw legions of the undead approach en masse from the hills, slowly ambling toward them. He wanted to make sure she saw them. Carla was amazed and frightened by how many there were.

“High-pitched sound,” he explained. “We can’t hear it, but the crazies can. Like dogs. I hope your friends are ready for this. If they are, it will be a fun, ah, ballgame.”