Apocalypse - Keith R. A. DeCandido [35]
The first creature, the one that had been body-checked by the Harley’s arrival, got up and charged Biker Lady from behind.
Before Jill could gasp out a warning or unholster one of her automatics, Biker Lady gave one of the pews a hard kick.
Jill had opened her mouth to yell the warning, and now it just hung open in stupefaction as the pew went sliding across the church directly at the creature.
Everything Biker Lady had done up until now was at least within the realm of possibility. That kind of skill with a motorcycle, that good a shot, that fast a draw—all things Jill had encountered in real life. Hell, Jill herself was at least as good a shot as this woman, if not better.
But knocking a pew that was attached to the floor across a room with a single kick?
That was impossible.
Of course, so were walking dead people and eyeless, skinless creatures with tongues the size of boa constrictors.
Said creatures also had a good survival instinct—the thing leapt into the air over the pew.
However, that gave Biker Lady a clear shot. She unholstered the shotgun from her back, pumped it, and shot the creature right in the chest.
As the creature flew into the wall, Jill got to her feet, but she didn’t do anything. At this point, she was content to enjoy the show.
Biker Lady reholstered the shotgun and drew her Colt.
None of the shots hit the creature. After a second, Jill, a crack shot in her own right, realized that the woman had nonetheless hit everything she was aiming at.
The creature got up and, the wound in its chest notwithstanding, started charging Biker Lady.
For her part, the woman holstered her Colt and turned her back on the creature.
Just as the thing charged, the cross that had been hanging over the altar—until Biker Lady shot out its supports—plummeted to the floor, impaling the creature.
Amazingly, that didn’t kill it, at least not right away. The creature roared and its tongue flicked out at Biker Lady.
Cool as the proverbial cucumber, Biker Lady whipped out her shotgun again and shot the thing in the face.
Jill finally found her voice.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“My name’s Alice. We’re not safe in here. That fire will spread.”
Somehow, Jill restrained herself from pointing out that if this Alice woman hadn’t blown up the Harley in the first place, there wouldn’t be a fire.
Peyton muttered, “No shit.” Louder, he said, “I’m Sergeant Peyton Wells of S.T.A.R.S. This is one of my best people, Officer Jill Valentine.”
“I’m impressed that you stayed in town.”
Jill decided not to share her life story. “Protect and serve, that’s what we do.”
Alice looked at Jill. “Weren’t you suspended?”
“Yeah. I saw zombies in the Arklay Mountains forest. Everyone thought I was crazy.”
“At this point,” Peyton said, “we’re all a little crazy.” He pointed to Morales, who was popping some pills from a little case she’d pulled out. “Case in point: Terri Morales, Raccoon 7 weather girl and total basket case.”
Alice barely acknowledged Morales’s presence. Instead, she unholstered her Colt and moved quickly, gracefully toward the rear of the church.
Jill walked over to Peyton and offered her arm. The sergeant was looking even paler.
“You look like shit, Peyton.”
“Good,” Peyton said, taking her hand. “I’d hate to feel this way and not look the part.”
As she helped Peyton hobble to the rear of the church, Jill turned and looked at Morales. She was filming the flaming wreckage of the Harley.
“You coming, weathergirl?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Morales said. “This is gonna make one helluva story.”
Sixteen
Until she pulled her Harley onto Dilmore Place, Alice had thought that the only thing she had to worry about were the undead creatures.
Then she sensed the lickers.
The genetically engineered monstrosities were housed in tanks in a room in the Hive that the official specs designated as a dining hall. The irony hadn’t been lost on Alice: the things inside the room would eat pretty much anything.