Manel Loureiro - The Wrath of the Just

The Aryan stared at the Swede sprawled on the ground. “Have it your way.” He pointed his gun at Alejandra and Lucia, who cowered next to Strangärd, their clothes singed, eyes wide in horror. “Seth, take one of those sluts behind the tank.”

Seth Fretzen flashed his rotten smile as if it were the happiest day of his life. Out of his jacket pocket, he pulled out some strips of paper. He swiped a strip across the scratches on Alejandra and Lucia’s faces and waited a few seconds. His smile grew evil and filled the women with horror.

“They’re clean, Malachi. Both of ’em. No sign of the fucking virus.”

Grapes waved his gun, as if to say, I don’t give a shit . He locked eyes with the Swede.

“Names, faggot. I want names.”

“Go to hell,” Strangärd growled, paler than usual but just as strong as Grapes.

“Suit yourself. Everything that happens from now on is your fault.”

Two Greens grabbed Alejandra’s arms and lifted her into the air. The Mexican woman kicked and cursed, but she was no match for the Aryans.

“What’re you doing?” Lucia cried. “Let her go, you assholes!”

“Don’t be in such a hurry, pretty lady,” Seth laughed as he dragged Alejandra behind the tank, out of sight. “You’ll get your turn. We’ve got enough for you both.”

For a few seconds, Alejandra screamed, struggling with her captors. A punch rang out and her screams trailed off into tearful pleading. Clothing ripped. The sounds they heard next left no doubt about what was happening. The rhythmic beating against the side of the tank speeded up until it reached a climax. A man’s voice bellowed and the pounding stopped. All they heard then were Alejandra’s sobs.

Seth Fretzen appeared from behind the shield, hitching up his pants, a satisfied look on his face. On the other side of the tanker, the pounding and sobs began again as another Green took his place. Six others waited their turn, a greedy look on their faces.

“Names,” Grapes repeated. “Give me what I want or she’s next.”

Strangärd spat on Grapes’s boots. Enraged, the Aryan kicked the Swede in the chest so hard he doubled over.

Strangärd gasped and looked up at Lucia. “Sorry, but I can’t do it. They’re going to kill us anyway.”

The second man was even noisier than the first. As the third guy was unzipping his pants, they heard heavy gunfire approaching fast. The radio in Grapes’s Humvee suddenly came alive with excited chatter.

“A column of tanks is rushing through the ghetto—identification unknown!” Seth shouted in alarm.

“Stop them once and for all, for fuck’s sake! They’re running out of ammo,” Grapes replied, annoyed at the interruption.

“The men say they can’t,” said Seth, suddenly frightened. “They’re armed to the teeth and rolled right over our forces. They’re headed straight for us.”

Grapes raised his head and felt stymied for a second time that fateful night. Was it an ambush? Did I underestimate those fuckers? “Where’d they come from?”

“From… from…” Seth Fretzen hesitated, as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing on the radio. “… from outside the Wall, Malachi.”

The Aryan reeled from the news, but recovered right away. There were more of them than he’d thought. And apparently they had plenty of ammunition.

“OK. Let’s give ’em a welcome they won’t forget. Spread out around the plaza. None of those sons of bitches gets out of here alive. Seth, move the Bradley into position next to those—”

A huge explosion thundered through the night. Everyone looked toward the horizon in alarm. To the east, on the other side of Gulfport, a huge plume of fire rose in the air. Hot air that smelled of gasoline blasted through the ghetto. Embers flitted among the ruins.

“What the fuck was that?” Grapes’s voice cracked. Greene’s simple plan was turning into a nightmare full of surprises.

“No idea,” Fretzen replied. “It came from the refinery, outside the ghetto—”

“Confirm that by radio, you worthless piece of shit!” Grapes yelled. He was suddenly nervous. He had amassed all the available troops for the final assault on the ghetto. Only about fifty inexperienced militiamen and six Aryan guards protected Reverend Greene. Now there was an explosion on the other side of town. That was not good. No, goddammit, that was not good at all.

From off in the distance came the faint but unmistakable sound of assault rifles. Grapes didn’t hesitate. Something big was happening on the other side of the Wall—and protecting Gulfport was his first priority. These helot bastards would have to wait.

“Let’s go,” he ordered. “Seth, radio everyone to fall back behind the inner wall and get the fuck out. Turn the helots in the truck loose and head for the other side. On the double!”

“Whadda we do with them?” Seth stammered, pointing to Strangärd and Lucia.

Grapes dug his pistol into the Swede’s neck. Without blinking, he coolly fired. Strangärd fell dead on Lucia’s lap, blood spurting out of the hole in his neck. Lucia screamed as warm blood soaked her clothes.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Grapes muttered, pointing his gun at the girl. At that moment, the tank started up and began to move. Alejandra came into view.

She looked terrible. Her clothes were torn, her face was covered in bruises, and blood dripped down her bare thighs. Grapes saw her out of the corner of his eye a second before she threw herself on him, a homicidal rage burning bright in her eyes.

The Aryan jumped aside as he squeezed the trigger. The first bullet hit Alejandra in the shoulder and spun her around like a top. The second bullet went straight into her temple and blew off the top of her head like the lid of a pan. She crumpled to the ground. The whole grisly scene lasted fewer than ten seconds.

Panting, Grapes turned to take out the last survivor. The Aryan cursed at the top of his lungs. Lucia was gone. He looked around, trying to spot her in the darkness, but he couldn’t see a thing. Lucia had slipped away when he shot Alejandra.

Grapes cursed himself for letting her get away. He gave the order to head back to Gulfport, and the rest of the soldiers rushed to their vehicles.

She could be hiding anywhere, but I don’t have time to look for her.

“I’ll take care of you later!” he shouted into the darkness. “You can’t hide from me, I’ll find you!’

He jumped into his Humvee and it roared to life. The convoy sped through the inner wall, out of the ghetto. Behind him, Bluefont was a sea of flames, death, and pain. Thousands of helots rushed around, frightened and confused. On the other side of town, Grapes and his men would face a very different battle.

For three hours the North Koreans hid in a dense swamp, half a mile from the Gulfport Wall. Hong’s men maintained an ironclad silence as mist rose off the swamp, enveloping them in lazy wisps of fog. Two squadrons had patrolled the perimeter and confirmed what they’d seen in satellite images. The town was fortified by a concrete wall, strong enough to keep out the Undead, but not Hong and his men.

Their first idea had been to demand the town’s surrender. Capturing the town intact would be ideal. That way, they could use it as a starting point for other invasions. But Hong realized he didn’t have enough men to defend it. And as he always said, only the weak surrender. Survivors in the new world must be the strongest of the strong.

As the colonel studied the refinery’s tower, glowing in the distance, he thought about how his plans had changed. Discovering the town’s source of oil was no longer his main objective. His gaze darted to the bottle of milky liquid tucked away in his kit bag. He’d hit the jackpot. With that miracle drug, his country could send an entire army to conquer the world without worrying about infection. Once Hong had the town’s fuel supply under his control, the army could leave without delay. All the colonel had to do was find out how the thick, sweet-smelling liquid was concocted. He felt sure he’d solve that mystery soon.