Highway To Hell 2 Page 2

  Randy knew none of this was going to happen, if he could help it, and this wasn't going to end well, either. "Just the two of you? I'm a little disappointed," he said. He was trying to stall until something came to mind. He'd never get out the door or the window, though. So, if his words didn't help him, his feet and fists would have to work. Randy stopped thinking of the consequences and the horrible images in his head, right now. "I was hoping you'd have a dozen of your butt-buddies wanting a piece of my flabby ass, too. You know, pull a train on my sweet hairy butt cheeks. Doesn't that sound awesome?"

  The first guy pointed at Randy. "Stop talking about it. That's gross. We just want to do what we need to do and be done with you. You're only making it worse."

  Randy put his hands up. "Oh, shit. My bad. Smack me after you're done raping me if I don't shake your hand, too."

  The second man took two steps and Randy punched the guy in the face, catching his right eye. He was aiming to break his nose, but the blow stunned him. At least it was something, right?

  Randy saw the punch from the first guy a second before it connected with his face. The blow was like a hammer, and Randy crumpled to the dirty floor, his head and upper body landing awkwardly on the filthy couch. He slumped down, trying to cover his body, waiting for these animals to rip his clothes off, and heard loud pops going off in his head.

  Bang. Bang.

  He closed his eyes and thought of Raven again. Maybe he could fall into his own mind and not feel any more pain. Not feel anything. This life wasn't worth this...

  "Holy shit, dude, get up."

  Randy opened his eyes and saw an angel with a rifle standing in the room, two dead bodies on the floor, and her halo lit by the morning light behind her. She had short blonde hair, gorgeous eyes and a small frame. And she looked pissed.

  "Hi," Randy finally said.

  "The only guy I think worth saving is a pussy. Just great," she said.

  "I'm not a pussy," Randy said. He looked at the two dead men. "I was just about to kick their asses."

  "They were just about to put their dicks in your ass. You're pathetic." She stepped over the two men and stopped in the doorway. "That's the second time I saved your sorry ass in the last two days. I'm done. How have you survived this long?"

  Randy shrugged. He'd asked himself the same question on many cold, lonely nights.

  "I'll see you around," she said.

  "No. Wait."

  She sighed. "What?"

  Randy stood and brushed himself off. "Thank you. My name is Randy." He didn't bother with the last name. He always hated explaining it. Even at the end of the world, he was still questioned about his stupid name.

  "I'm Lyssa. I was trying to kill the redhead when you came along. Now I'll never catch her. So technically you owe me for that, too. I'm going to kill a few zombies and anything else in my way. You have a nice day, Randy. When you grow a set of balls, feel free to look me up."

  "Where will you be?"

  She smiled, showing her perfect teeth. "Just follow the bodies."

  Chapter Four

  Randy wanted to kick himself in the ass. Man, he'd screwed up. What was he thinking? Not only did he let a pretty woman get away, she was great with a weapon, she knew her way around this city, and... well, she was hot. Technically, a different thing than being pretty.

  He'd spent the last two days trying to find her. He thought he'd figured out where she was staying, but, instead, he'd stumbled upon the warehouse where his would-be killers from the other day were living. Randy steered clear of them and made a mental note to stay off that side of town if he could help it.

  It was while exploring behind an apartment building Randy found a Jetta with the keys still in the ignition. He didn't dare try to start it. The sound of a running engine would alert everyone, living and undead, for miles, echoing around the parking lot. He turned the key to auxiliary and smiled when he saw the battery wasn't dead and it was still filled with gas. After all these months, Randy didn't know if the gas was still good and if the car itself would get more than a few feet.

  Randy decided he had nothing to lose and put his fingers on the key to turn it but stopped. He could drive out of Harrisburg and never look back. He hadn't meant to stop here anyway. He was just trying to get away from the horrors in Baltimore. This city had nothing going for it. The city was filled with zombies, no supplies, and it was way too cold. Add in a warehouse of killers who would eventually track him down for being involved in wiping out their men, and Randy could see no real reason to stay.

  Except... Lyssa. She was still out there, somewhere, hunting both the living and the dead. She'd killed five men in the short time he'd been in town, all of them trying to kill him. She was like a guardian angel.

  Randy walked the streets glancing up at the buildings, hoping to see her hopping from rooftop to rooftop like a superhero. But there was no sign of her. What if she had left? What if she was, even now, being held in the warehouse, tortured for her acts against them? Could Randy really leave her to die?

  "I can live with myself," Randy said. He was no hero. He'd had his moment of glory back in Baltimore, but his head wasn't screwed on straight. His rage had overwhelmed him. Once he'd come back down to earth, he knew he was still the same coward he'd always been. He needed to embrace it and keep on running until he found a safe haven to live out the rest of his days without having to fight.

  And if it meant leaving behind a woman as powerful and sexy as Lyssa, so be it. He didn't really know her anyway. Maybe she'd end up being just like Raven. Wishy-washy and still in love with another man. Raven had left and gone back to Crow. Randy couldn't even think of her as Becca or he'd break down and lose it again. It was better she was simply Raven, the woman who'd crushed his heart and left him to die.

  Randy didn't want to lose another woman, but what did he even know about Lyssa? Nothing. He'd fallen in love with Becca - Raven - because of her physical beauty. He'd ignored the myriad problems she had in her head and with substance abuse. She was a mess and he wanted to be her knight in shining armor and save her, but she didn't want to be saved. Raven wanted to die and be abused before she did. What a waste.

  He was pissed now. Not only at himself for falling under her spell but for what she'd done to herself. She'd ruined everything. They would've been happy together. Safe to live out the rest of their lives.

  Randy punched the steering wheel in frustration. He was sitting in a car that could take him further away from Baltimore and the memories and the pain, but he was too busy self-loathing. He was too wrapped up in his own shitty world to think straight.

  No more. Randy was going to run until he couldn't run another step, and then he'd settle down and die of old age. Alone. In peace.

  That settled, Randy turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life for a second before sputtering out.

  "No. Don't do this," he yelled and turned the key again. And again.

  What life was left in the car was now gone. Even the battery seemed to have died.

  Randy closed his eyes and punched the steering wheel again and again until his hand hurt. What was he thinking? The rest of his life was going to be hard. Miserable. Constantly on his guard and getting attacked.

  He got out of the car and kicked the door, leaving a dent in the rusting hulk. This city was filled with abandoned cars and dead batteries.

  The world is filled with them, Randy knew. What was the point of living right now? He couldn't see one.

  Now he was feeling sorry for himself and he hated it more than anything. Randy decided to march down to the warehouse and shoot everything and anything that moved and kill them all.

  Let God sort them out.

  He remembered it from a slogan on a shirt one of his uncles had worn, Uncle Greg who'd gone off to war in the early seventies and came back a mess. Randy had no idea why his thoughts were so random right now, but they usually were when he was nervous or scared or he was going through yet another self-loathing period.r />
  Randy knew he wasn't going anywhere near the warehouse. He trudged through the street, easily sidestepping a zombie and continuing on his path.

  The stupid zombies are the least of my worries, he thought. They're just in the way sometimes. I could live the rest of my life without having to face another one. Yet, he knew those that were still living were going to be the real problem.

  Randy needed a better game plan than driving away or waiting to die. Even though the weather was getting better, it was still cold some nights, and without the convenience of a weatherman on TV telling you what the seven day forecast was going to be, he had no clue what the future would bring. He wondered again why he was staying in Pennsylvania. He didn't want to go back to Baltimore or anywhere near it. Too many bad memories. He no longer had a home to run back to, either. All of the zombies seemed to be headed due south, so it didn't look like a viable option. If he went north, it would only get colder and he'd walk right into the zombies heading in the opposite direction.

  East? Maybe he could get to the Atlantic Ocean and find a boat and an island to hide on. How cool would that be? And maybe he could persuade Lyssa to go with him.

  If he could ever find her.

  Randy ducked into an abandoned store when four zombies came into view on the street, all spread apart. He'd let them pass before continuing on, even though he had no destination in mind. He'd kept to the area where he'd started and met Lyssa, but there was no sign of her. His fear was getting too far away and never seeing her again. On the other hand, she might have wandered through this area and was now in another part of the city. He didn't know.

  There was nothing left in the store, not even a dented can to steal. It had been picked clean. While he had time, he went into the back stockroom and saw more of the same: empty shelves. The back door was closed and locked from this side. Maybe he could slip out the back onto another street and not have to wait.

  When he opened the door, he frowned. It led to a small fenced in garbage area with no exit.

  He was about to close the door when he saw a bottle sticking out from under a torn blanket and realized it had liquid in it. Randy scanned the parking lot behind the store to make sure no one was around before investigating.

  Someone had left a stash of food and drink.

  Randy's stomach gurgled at the sight of the food, most of which would be stale but still edible. He grinned. His luck was starting to turn.

  He went back inside to make sure the zombies hadn't snuck in. When he was sure he was still alone, he pulled the food inside the stockroom, closed the doors to the outside and to the main area of the floor, and had a feast on the dirty floor.

  Chapter Five

  Her aim was getting so much better. All you really needed was practice, anger and the will to kill or be killed. Lyssa watched through her rifle scope as the lone figure walked through the melting snow, rifle and backpack over his arms. His hair was long and wild. He'd been out here by himself for months. Lyssa could tell by the way he constantly looked around and didn't take more than a dozen steps before stopping and trying to find something to get behind and making sure it was clear.

  She was ready to put him out of his misery when she saw movement directly behind the figure, maybe twenty yards and closing, at an angle. Two men, most likely from the nearby warehouse, were trying to get the jump on the guy.

  Lyssa grinned. She was freezing even though the sun was out. When was the weather going to turn? The snow was gone but it was still too cold.

  She waited to see if the man was going to notice his pursuers. By the way he slowed down and casually put his hand on the side of the rifle, she knew even from this distance he wasn't going to be jumped.

  And she was going to help him.

  But first, she wanted to see what he was capable of and some of his moves. She didn't know if he was friend or foe. Even if he wasn't a friend, she hoped he'd eliminate the two guys following him.

  Lyssa was getting sick of Harrisburg and Pennsylvania in general but had nowhere else to go. She knew traveling back to Iowa was out of the question, and she didn't know what she'd find when she got back anyway. She'd been brought out here because she was chasing a man as usual, and now she wondered if it was a good or bad thing. What if Iowa had been safe? Maybe the zombies had gone through and were gone, or the military had set up in the damn corn fields and repelled them.

  She doubted Iowa was safe. Hell, it wasn't safe to her growing up there. Too many drunken assholes in pickup trucks. She'd even dated a guy, Dale, who ended up being a member of some crazy KKK militia group, wanting to kill all the non-whites and non-males and non-everything. Idiots. She had been in love with him, because that's what Lyssa did. She fell for jerks and losers and guys who were verbally and physically abusive.

  Not anymore.

  She was now in control, and no man was going to dictate what she could or couldn't do. Her life was about future choices and future dreams, no matter what she decided they were.

  Right now she wanted to kill the two guys following the other one, but she held back and watched the show.

  Just as the two men approached, the long-haired guy turned. She smiled when she saw the pistol. He'd pulled it in one fluid motion, and, even though she was spying with the scope, she'd missed the exchange from its hidden spot to his hand.

  Two shots rang out, the delay audible to her ears from the distance.

  Both men dropped.

  The long-haired guy quickly went through both men's pockets and took their backpacks before running away and going out of sight.

  It was a dog eat dog world, wasn't it?

  Lyssa stood and stretched her legs. She jumped the gap between the buildings and ran the rooftops until she slipped off the side and onto a fire escape. She knew the roofs better than the streets themselves now. She was convinced, in another lifetime or in an alternate universe, she was a superhero, leaping through the air and fighting villains.

  She snickered at the thought as she got to the street, running through an alley before stopping and aiming her rifle again.

  Long-hair was in sight, slowing down without any pursuit... as far as he knew.

  Lyssa supposed she'd be a villain in a superhero world, and she was fine with it. The villains had all the best weapons and sidekicks and had a brief moment of winning and nearly destroying the hero before they were vanquished.

  "I'm not going to be defeated because all of the hero's are dead," she whispered and pulled the trigger.

  Long-hair's head jerked as the bullet pierced the back of his skull.

  He fell to the ground and Lyssa, grinning, waited. She made sure she had another round in the chamber.

  The two guys that had jumped him weren't alone.

  Four men and a woman had been following and came into view, weapons drawn and looking around.

  Lyssa laughed. They had baseball bats and broken chair legs. Nothing to shoot with and no long-range weapons. She decided to kill the woman last.

  She waited until they were out in the open before she shot one of them in the head.

  As the rest scattered like cockroaches, Lyssa tried to figure out which one to kill next. She sighted on a man and shot him in the back, even though she was aiming for his head.

  Damn, she thought. I still need more practice.

  Her daddy used to say you never learned anything from books and school. You learned by getting your hands dirty. You could waste your days reading books and trying to be educated, but the smartest men were the ones who took control and really did something about it.

  Lyssa was going to do something about it. She didn't have any of the group in sight but knew they weren't too far. They'd try to get the gear left behind by their comrades, and they'd been chasing the long-hair for a reason. He'd either stolen from them or used to be one of them. She didn't care.

  She circled to the front of the building, ignoring two zombies attracted by the noise but still too far away, and went up the stairs as fast as she cou
ld.

  Since being trapped in Pennsylvania, she'd gotten a daily workout and her body was trim and tight. She could feel the leg muscles ripple as she moved. She'd be an amazing lay for any guy lucky enough to want her, in fact.

  Very lucky, Lyssa thought. Her entire life she'd thought she was ugly. She thought she was the friend of the hot girl, the one who ran interference at the parties in high school to keep her pretty friends out of trouble. Now she knew the truth: those bitches had been jealous. They'd kept her down and the guys in town started to believe she wasn't worth it.

  Sure, she'd had sex, but it was never more than a one night stand. She'd dated a couple of guys more than once but as soon as she put out they hopped in their dirty pickup trucks and disappeared down the road.

  Lyssa missed the internet. It was the only way she'd been able to recreate herself. Online she could be a new woman, someone who was interesting to men. Someone who'd have multiple guys throwing themselves at. Unfortunately, she'd picked the wrong one right before the zombie apocalypse happened and flew to Harrisburg from Iowa, only to find the jerk was gone.

  She fell asleep most nights hoping he was a zombie and she'd already shot him in the head. Better yet, he'd be tomorrow's kill.

  Movement brought her out of her morbid thoughts and back to the task at hand: clearing the killing field.

  She took the shot and saw a spurt of blood but didn't know who she'd hit. There were more people down there than she'd originally thought there were. No matter. She had enough ammo and she had all the time in the world.

  The only bad thing would be if they figured out which building she was in and tried to storm it. Lyssa went to the hallway and looked down the stairs. She didn't hear or see anything, but it didn't mean they weren't being quiet. At this point, anyone still alive had more than luck on their side. They were also damn skilled at something, either weapons or running, or protected by those who knew how to kill and run because they offered a skill set needed in this new world.