“I have no intention of letting them skate, kid. We’re going to ram this up their asses. ”
Goat wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve. “What do you want me to do?”
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
STEBBINS LITTLE SCHOOL
“Watch out!” yelled Trout, and Dez whirled around as a zombie came at her from the shadows of the top landing. Dez fired three shots, one to the chest and two to the head, and the dead woman spun into the wall, then slid bonelessly to the floor.
“I don’t know her,” murmured Trout. Dez glanced down.
“Peggy Sullivan,” she said. “Secretary here at the school. ”
“Peggy Sullivan,” echoed Trout. He nodded and they moved on.
They were a few steps from the second floor landing. Dez was on point, but she had turned to look down at the small body of a little boy who lay twisted on the midpoint landing. The child had been shot, but it was clear that he had been infected before he’d been put down. Dez was only distracted for a second, but it was enough for the other zombie to blindside her. This impact knocked her sideways, but she twisted around and put two rounds into the creature’s face.
“You okay?” JT asked from the bottom of the stairs. He was watching their back trail and carrying the heavy duffle of weapons. Trout was in the middle, unarmed and hypervigilant.
“Yeah,” Dez breathed. She took her pistol in both hands and went up the last few steps, checking the corners. “Clear. ”
They followed her up and waited for her to check the hallway.
“I thought you cleared these things out of here. ”
“We locked some of those things in the first two rooms,” said JT. “More upstairs. ”
Dez moved cautiously forward. The classroom doors had frosted windows, but she could see awkward shapes shift and move behind the heavy glass. When she bent to listen should she could hear the low, hungry moans.
“How many are in there?”
JT came up beside her. “Six in that room, two in the other. ” He nodded down the long, dark hallway.
“Can’t leave them here,” said Dez. “They’ll get out one way or another. ”
He drew in a ragged breath. “Damn,” he said, but he nodded.
“Wait,” said Trout, “what are you going to—”
Before he could finish, Dez kicked open the door and she and JT rushed inside. All Trout could see from the hallway were shadows and bright flashes, and all he heard was the thunder as Dez and JT emptied their guns into the living dead.
When they emerged, their faces were wooden.
“Dez, I—” Trout began, but Dez pushed past him to the door on the other side. She and JT paused to reload, then they nodded to each other, kicked open the door, and went in shooting.
Trout stared in horror. Not because they were doing so much killing, but because so much was necessary. When JT pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway he looked ten years older. So did Dez. They stood there, faces dirty with gun smoke, reloading their weapons, their eyes fixed onto the middle distance and empty of all life. Like the eyes of the dead things they had just slaughtered.
Dez dropped a bullet and Trout saw that her fingers were trembling. He knelt to pick it up, and when he handed it to her she closed her fingers around his for a moment. She squeezed her eyelids shut and fought to keep her mouth from twisting with barely suppressed sobs. Then she released him, took the bullet, and finished reloading.
“The auditorium’s down and around the corner,” said JT gently, but Dez pushed past him.
She knew every inch of this old school. These drafty corridors and echoing fire towers were part of her childhood. She’d been a lonely girl who loved playing in her imagination, and the school was a castle under siege or a grand palace filled with knights and ladies, an old haunted house or the lair of a crafty wizard. She could walk the halls blindfolded. She hurried along, her gum-rubber soles making almost no sound. JT was as quiet on his feet, but after two flights of stone stairs he was huffing like a dragon; behind him, Billy Trout limped along. With each step, the sciatic pain was worse and his pace slower. It made him feel old and intensely vulnerable.
JT had grown up in Fayette County and his family had not moved to Stebbins until he was in high school, but Trout knew this old place every bit as well as Dez. He remembered the lonely, lovely little blond-haired girl, and he had loved her from afar even then.
He thought about that as they hurried through the pale glow of the emergency lights. All this time and I’m still no closer to having her, he thought. Or, maybe I’m further away.
It saddened him as much as the tragedy in town, and he could totally understand—now more than ever—Dez’s feelings of being abandoned by those she loved and trusted.