Uncle Sam's Ammo Dump smelled like army surplus. It's that mix of canvas and oil that seems to linger on everything in the room. It was an older shop, primarily serving up WW2 items, as well as military issue from foreign countries. The walls were covered with uniforms and helmets and a few mannequins stood fiercely guarding random stacks of MREs and baskets full of duffel bags. "What do we need in here?" Tracy asked. I made some comment about how useful these items could be, but my real intent was to get what wouldn't be on the shelves. In my experience, people who ran such establishments almost always had some fanatical obsession with defense and combat, and almost always had a few illegal items stashed in the back, items we could find useful in the days ahead.
A middle age man with wisps of grey peppered through his dark hair stood behind the counter, oiling a leather holster. He was solidly built, and wore an olive drab tee shirt with the words "ARMY" in black across the chest. It was faded from years of wear and looked as though it may have been something he received as a young recruit. His hair was short and tightly cut on the sides, and he had day old grey stubble on his chin and cheeks. He reached his thick fingers into a small silver tin, pulling out a glob of grease and rubbing it generously into the tough leather. As he worked the paste into the grain he watched the news playing on a small TV behind him. A reporter playfully stood in front of a very familiar scene, and I elbowed Tracy when I saw it. "Local movie fans gathered around what appeared to be an animatronic zombie." The reporter stood next to a couple of teenagers. "Tell us what's going on here today." One of the teenagers stood silently, frozen in fear. He stared blankly at the camera and didn't move. The other was practically leaping around in excitement. "This movie exec showed up with this sweet puppet. Don't know how he got it to work, but he's controlling it with a remote control or something." He looked up at the roofs as though searching for someone with a radio control. The reporter looked up too, still smiling but a little confused. The kid looked back at the camera, eager to keep the reporter's attention.
"Its got cameras in the eyes so he can see what is going on. Watch this!" The boy stepped toward the half corpse and it immediately moved toward him, reaching, trying to grab him again. "We knew it was a robot when it grabbed my friend." He pulled up the other boy's sleeve and showed a puss-filled, bruised forearm. The reporter jumped back, clearly startled by the nastiness of the wound. "Son, are you okay? You need to have a doctor look at that." The noisy boy laughed nervously and lied "Oh, its just makeup, the same stuff the dude used to make this little crawler!" The reporter was visibly relieved. "And this is all to promote a movie based on a popular video game coming out soon?" The boy got very excited at this point. "Sure is, and its gonna be sick! We've already pre-ordered it!" He slapped his friend on the back and put his arm around him jovially, but the boy still didn't move or react. The reporter turned back to the camera with a smile and made some comment about the lengths people go to in marketing.
At this point I looked over at the shopkeeper, gauging his reaction. "You ever see anything like that?" I asked. He looked at the floor for a moment and then back at me. "Son," he said with a serious tone. "That's no movie prop." I looked at him in disbelief. "You know what's going on?" I asked eagerly in a low whisper. The shopkeeper gestured toward a doorway covered by a large canvas curtain. I pulled it aside and stepped behind it, meeting him around the corner in a small, confined office. There were piles of boxes and stacks of thick duffel bags everywhere, and it was hard to move with all the clutter. He motioned for me to follow him and we rounded another corner and came to a dead end. "You didn't look surprised to see that thing on TV," he said to me. I nodded seriously in reply, waiting to see what he knew. He reached down and lifted a tarp off the floor, revealing a thick metal door embedded in the cement slab. Pulling upward, it made the smallest creak as he strained to open it all the way. It was dark and musty, and a cool breeze blew into my eyes, causing me to squint. He stepped down the ladder and disappeared into the darkness.
"You coming?" The gravelly voice called up from the hole. I stepped cautiously into the void and wiggled my leg around, searching for the step. My toe touched a hard metal rod protruding from the cement. I put my weight on it and lowered myself down. Step after step, I moved slowly down into the darkness. It was deeper than I expected and I found myself wondering when I would reach the bottom. I looked up at the only source of light coming from the opening above, a square that seeming to be shrinking with each step downward.
I must have been hundreds of feet below ground before I felt the hard surface of the floor beneath my feet. I looked around, my eyes searching for any hint of light. I heard an intake of breath a few feet to my left and my heart jumped. I backed against the ladder, looking in that direction, searching for some recognition that the man I'd followed down here was still in control of the situation. I heard a scratching sound and saw sparks as a single match burned bright, and I could see his worn face staring into my eyes. He looked older in the dim light, careworn and tired. There was also a hint of... Was it sadness? I couldn't quite tell. "You okay?" He asked, in a rough voice. I nodded and looked around. We were standing in a hallway about 5 feet wide. I tried to look past him to see our destination, but the cement walls seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness. "This way" he said pointlessly, as the only other option would have been to return the way we came.
His match burned bright, but still only lit enough of the darkness to progress forward. When it burned out he lit another, repeating the process until we reached a tall metal door. He stopped and turned to face me. "What are you here for?" He held the match so close to my face I thought he would singe my eyebrows. I leaned backward to avoid the flame and replied with some skeptical nervousness. "You told me to follow you." I said, searching his face for his meaning. "Before I open this door, why are you in my store? What is it you are looking for?" I began to wonder why he hadn't asked this question upstairs when I first walked in. Unsure as to whether I could trust him, I tried to respond as vaguely as possible. "I'm preparing for a certain scenario and I thought a place like this might have a few survival items." He eyed me closely, his tongue darting across his lips to dry them. I felt exposed, like he could somehow see inside me, see my thoughts. I looked back at him blankly, not wanting to win nor lose this staring contest. We stood in the dark hallway, eyes focused on each other, until I finally broke the silence. "What is it that you are going to show me?" He smiled, as though I had passed some sort of test. "That's the right question." He reached for the large metal lever and pulled upward. A thunk echoed into the darkness, and as he pulled the door open the sliver of light grew until it filled the doorway and the darkened hall. Gradually my eyes got used to the brightness, and when they did my jaw dropped. He stepped inside and smiled as he gestured towards the contents of the room. "Not bad, eh?"
You know how it ends. Now read how it begins...
Chapter 39- Showcase of Horrors
"Don't get too close." I warned the teenagers as they took a step toward the monster perched on the hood of my jeep. The boys were grinning and laughing, posing in front of the jeep taking pictures with each other. "Mommy, how's he doing that?" The toddler standing nearby asked, fascinated. The mother took a knee next to the little boy and I heard her say "It isn't real, its just a puppet, and the lady back there is controlling it." The man with the phone was circling the jeep, looking for wires or antennas. "Seriously dude, how did you make that?" One of the teenagers asked. The other teenager was staring at Tracy hungrily as though he might have a chance with her if he could muster up the courage to say hello. This is truly an unusual situation. Here was a monster, determined to end our lives, now almost powerless and being put on display for the public to laugh and mock. I wondered how long it would take for them to realize it wasn't a robot or some hollywood prank. "You guys know this is real, right?" Tracy asked. "This is what's left of the woman who used to work back there." She pointed to the gas station and the glass spread across the parking lot. "She leapt out of that window and attacked us." I could hear the agitation in Tracy's voice. The teenagers didn't seem to register the seriousness of the situation. "So cool. This for some movie or something, right? Or like a website?" I held my hand up in front of them. "Guys, you seriously need to step back." They ignored me and kept pushing closer. "I just wanna touch the latex. I'm not gonna hurt it." Before I could stop him one of the boys reached toward the creature and touched its skin. With lightning fast reflexes the monster grabbed the boy in a vice-like grip. He screamed like a little girl and his friend started laughing. I grabbed the boy's other arm and began to pull. The beast's grip wouldn't loosen, and the two of us pulled her right off the hood of the car. The group stepped back, crying out as the torso dropped to the ground with a splat. Luckily the fall broke the monster's grip and the boy stepped back, rubbing his wrist. I looked down at his arm- the skin was broken and bruised, and he wrapped it in his shirt. "My dad is gonna sue you for that!" He threatened. His friend's reaction went from laughter to confusion.
The monster on the ground sprang to life, pulling itself toward the toddler. The mother picked him up and screamed, "Stop it, that's not funny!" She said, looking back at Tracy. Tracy motioned for me to get in the jeep. I realized that there was nothing we could do to convince this crowd, and the longer we stayed here the more trouble we could be in. I looked over at the man, still circling the area, nervously watching the crawler on the ground. His eyes flitted to mine and I gave him a serious, penetrating stare. His eyes widened and I gave him a nod. I put the jeep in gear and backed up slowly. I could see the man back on his phone, calling someone. I didn't wait to see who arrived.
The monster on the ground sprang to life, pulling itself toward the toddler. The mother picked him up and screamed, "Stop it, that's not funny!" She said, looking back at Tracy. Tracy motioned for me to get in the jeep. I realized that there was nothing we could do to convince this crowd, and the longer we stayed here the more trouble we could be in. I looked over at the man, still circling the area, nervously watching the crawler on the ground. His eyes flitted to mine and I gave him a serious, penetrating stare. His eyes widened and I gave him a nod. I put the jeep in gear and backed up slowly. I could see the man back on his phone, calling someone. I didn't wait to see who arrived.
Chapter 38- Long Live The Queen
"How much do you think we could fit in here?" Tracy asked over the hum of the oversized tires. The jeep was pretty amazing, but the large off-road tires were loud at high speeds, making it hard to hear, especially when you added the wind and the other cars speeding past on the opposite side of the road. "As much as we can" I said. "But we need to find some place where we can hold up indefinitely, some place remote." Tracy pushed her hair out our face, but the wind blew it right back. "I thought the plan was to use those storage units as a safe house?" Tracy asked. "That's why we got more than one, to spread out our supplies and create staging points at key locations." I nodded, agreeing with her. "Yeah, that was the original plan, but if we end up the last two people on earth we don't want to be stuck in a storage park hiding from the entire population of the city." Tracy remained quiet after that comment. I wondered which was giving her more pause, the thought of the two of us being the last people on earth, or facing a mob of the undead.
The sun was getting lower in the sky, but we still had at least 5 hours of good daylight left. "My family has a cabin up in the mountains." Tracy said. "Its a bit of a drive, but it could be perfect." I looked over at her but couldn't read her expression. A beep drew my attention back to the console. The symbol of a gas can was glowing bright orange. "I say old chap..." I said, mocking a british tone. "We're almost out of petrol!" Tracy rolled her eyes. I looked around for a place to fill up. This was the industrial part of town, so many of the factories maintained their own fuel stations, closed to the public, so finding one open to the public would be rare. We passed fenced in yards loaded with shipping containers stacked as far as the eye could see, tall metallic towers whose purpose was unknown to me, and large brick buildings with smokestacks filling the air with their grey cloud. Finally, on the left I saw the rusty sign of a old gas station and pulled in.
"Is this thing even open?" Tracy asked, noticing the rust covered pump. The station hadn't updated since pumps started taking credit cards, and all the gauges were dials, not digital. "Look" I pointed to a small tin roof shack covered in advertisements. A glowing "open" sign hung in the window. I popped my seat belt off and hopped effortlessly out. "No door makes a quick escape, doesn't it?" Tracy said, standing up on her seat. "I want to stand like this while you're driving." She said, leaning against the roll bar like a railing. "I bet the wind feels amazing."
I approached the window of the small shack. Cigarette cartons and drink cans decorated the edge of the window, and inside an older woman read a tabloid in darkness. I slid a $50 bill in the slot and pointed over to our vehicle, but the old woman continued staring at her magazine and didn't even acknowledge me.
I removed the handle from the pump and flipped the bar. Squeezing the handle I could feel the steady flow of gasoline into the tank. I wondered if this newer model jeep got better gas mileage than my old one. "Gas" I told Tracy suddenly. "We haven't stored any gas." Tracy nodded in approval. "Yeah, we definitely need to figure that out. I'll google it." She pulled out her phone and was about to turn it on. "Wait!" I called out. She bit her lip and softly hit herself in the forehead. "Sorry, habit." She said. I could hear the gas nearing the top of the tank and realized I had gone over the $50 I had given the clerk. "Is there a $20 in there?" I asked Tracy as I replaced the nozzle. She reached in the bag and pulled out a $100 bill. "This is the smallest bill I can find." She handed it to me and I walked over to the window where the clerk sat, enthralled in some ridiculous article. "Hey" I called out, rapping on the glass. "I went over." I slid the $100 bill under the window and noticed that my $50 was still just sitting on the counter. "Hello?" I rapped on the window a little harder. What could be capturing this old biddies' attention? Squinting my eyes I read the cover of the tabloid. "Queen of England Turns into Zombie, Kills Prince and Two Palace guards." I would normally have made fun of such a story, but in light of recent circumstances it turned my cheerful mood somber. "Ma'am, I need my change please." I rapped on the window again with no response. I poked my fingers through the slot to try and reach one of the bills but could only touch it enough to move it further away from me. "Ma'am?" I called again. "Ma'am?" I looked back at Tracy who looked quizzical. "I have a bad feeling about this" She said, let's just go." I looked at the money behind the glass. "That's $150" I said. I only pumped $56!" I reached under the glass again, pain pinching the back of my hand as I struggled to make it fit. In frustration I banged the glass with the heel of my left hand so hard it felt like the entire shack shook. The paper dropped and I saw a gaunt face with thick, yellow eyes. Her mouth curled into a snarl and I could see her swollen gums cracking and broken, puss and blood mixing as it dripped down her chin. She lunged for the window, smacking her forehead against the glass and cracking it. It spiraled out like a spiderweb and she shook her head for a moment, disoriented. I backed up in disbelief. Were these things everywhere? Again and again she smacked herself against the glass, each strike leaving a stain of dark clotted blood on the cracking glass.
I kept my eyes to the right, watching the shack carefully as I climbed into my seat. Tracy was holding the shotgun in her hands, pointing it toward the shaking structure. Suddenly we heard a loud bang to our left, like something heavy slamming against the industrial siding of the building next door. "What was that?" Tracy said nervously as I started the car. "I don't even want to know." I replied, shifting the car into 1st gear. Another bang and we watched the siding buckle. As the jeep left the pump the glass in the cashier booth broke and we saw an arm reaching through the hole, scratched and bloody. It lacerated against the edge of the hole and thick, black blood dropped like raspberry syrup. Tracy immediately raised her shotgun but paused, ready to fire. With a giant crash the window exploded and the cashier burst from the hole with a ravenous look in her yellow eyes. I shifted into 2nd but flubbed the clutch. The car lurched and the engine stopped. Tracy looked back at me with a look of panic and we heard a crash on the opposite side. The door of the building was on the ground, two large mechanics stumbling out. They were lurched over, their backs hunched like apes. Their eyes were yellow and swollen, and one had a large gash across his forehead. They all looked, for lack of a better term... hungry.
All three tore after us, and Tracy held on to the roll cage as I reversed. "Should I shoot?" She asked. The decision gave me pause. Eliminate the threat, protecting others but risking our own lives, or leave in safety, but allow these monsters to spread the infection to others. "We can't let them hurt anyone else." I said, braking about 50 feet from them. They were gaining fast as Tracy stood up in the seat. Leaning the shotgun over the top of the windshield, she took aim. "Wait, I have an idea." I called, tugging at her pocket, urging her to sit down.
I put the jeep in first gear and accelerated. The gap between us was closing fast. I shifted into second and swerved the jeep toward the first mechanic. CRUNK the sound of his body pinning against the front bumper was sickening and we climbed over him effortlessly. I pulled to the left and hit the second mechanic dead on, his body folding in half before being pulled under. I could hear the sickening splat as the back tires devoured his limbs, and the jeep didn't even seem to lose momentum. I recalled my dream and how the flaming bodies flew like rag dolls when hit by my car. This was different. It was real, and somehow... satisfying. I realized my sorrow for these monsters ended when they were no longer human, and looking into their pale swollen eyes I knew all humanity was gone. The cashier ahead lurched and moaned, but unlike the mechanics she was too injured to run towards us. I shifted into third gear and decimated her broken body, spilling her thick, gelatinous blood across the hood of the car. Her torso flipped up onto our hood and Tracy and I watched in horror as she tried to crawl up towards us. "How is that possible?" Tracy screamed. We watched as she grabbed the arm of the wiper and pulled herself up, grasping the top of the windshield. She smelled like the dead animals I would find in the forest when I was young: rotten and putrid. Tracy stood up in her seat, smashing the butt of the shotgun against her hand. Her fingers snapped off and fell to the hood, the wind blowing them away like leaves. I swerved to the right, and with only one hand gripping the wiper her body slid across the hood. The wiper began to bend under the weight of the remaining half of her body. Tracy leaned over the edge, attempting to smack the other hand to loosen the grip. Instead, the hand missing with the fingers smacked at the shotgun, knocking it away. The force of the blow nearly pulled Tracy over the windshield onto the hood. She screamed as the monster grabbed her hair, pulling her closer. I slammed on the brakes and held the back of Tracy's jeans to keep her from flying over the edge. "Hang on!" I called out, pulling the Jeep to a full stop near an intersection. Tracy hooked her foot under the column of the steering wheel and I leapt out. Rounding the front of the Jeep, I could see smashed body parts hanging from the grill and dripping from the bumper. The air was filled with the horrific stench of death and decay. The monster snapped her teeth at me, but refused to loosen her grip on Tracy's hair or the wiper blade. Her spine and entrails were disgusting, pouring loosely across the car, wiping fresh blood as thick as tar with every movement. I covered my nose from the smell. It almost seemed like whatever was infecting her was rapidly rotting her from the inside out. Some sort of accelerated decomposition, keeping her body alive when it shouldn't be.
I heard a scream behind me. A mother holding the hand of her toddler was pointing at the scene and covering her son's eyes. A man crossing the street was on his phone, talking to someone and pointing directly at us. A car stopped to avoid hitting the man standing in the street and two teenagers in the back seat immediately pulled out their phones and began taking pictures. I heard a tearing sound and looked back to see Tracy using a pocket knife to cut her hair free. Stepping back into the safety of the Jeep's cabin, she rubbed her head and stared at the monster on the hood. "So what do we do now?" She asked, pointing first at the half dead, yet still living creature on our hood and then at the bystanders. "I say we let them come." I said as I motioned for the group to come closer. "Its about time the world knew what they were up against."
The sun was getting lower in the sky, but we still had at least 5 hours of good daylight left. "My family has a cabin up in the mountains." Tracy said. "Its a bit of a drive, but it could be perfect." I looked over at her but couldn't read her expression. A beep drew my attention back to the console. The symbol of a gas can was glowing bright orange. "I say old chap..." I said, mocking a british tone. "We're almost out of petrol!" Tracy rolled her eyes. I looked around for a place to fill up. This was the industrial part of town, so many of the factories maintained their own fuel stations, closed to the public, so finding one open to the public would be rare. We passed fenced in yards loaded with shipping containers stacked as far as the eye could see, tall metallic towers whose purpose was unknown to me, and large brick buildings with smokestacks filling the air with their grey cloud. Finally, on the left I saw the rusty sign of a old gas station and pulled in.
"Is this thing even open?" Tracy asked, noticing the rust covered pump. The station hadn't updated since pumps started taking credit cards, and all the gauges were dials, not digital. "Look" I pointed to a small tin roof shack covered in advertisements. A glowing "open" sign hung in the window. I popped my seat belt off and hopped effortlessly out. "No door makes a quick escape, doesn't it?" Tracy said, standing up on her seat. "I want to stand like this while you're driving." She said, leaning against the roll bar like a railing. "I bet the wind feels amazing."
I approached the window of the small shack. Cigarette cartons and drink cans decorated the edge of the window, and inside an older woman read a tabloid in darkness. I slid a $50 bill in the slot and pointed over to our vehicle, but the old woman continued staring at her magazine and didn't even acknowledge me.
I removed the handle from the pump and flipped the bar. Squeezing the handle I could feel the steady flow of gasoline into the tank. I wondered if this newer model jeep got better gas mileage than my old one. "Gas" I told Tracy suddenly. "We haven't stored any gas." Tracy nodded in approval. "Yeah, we definitely need to figure that out. I'll google it." She pulled out her phone and was about to turn it on. "Wait!" I called out. She bit her lip and softly hit herself in the forehead. "Sorry, habit." She said. I could hear the gas nearing the top of the tank and realized I had gone over the $50 I had given the clerk. "Is there a $20 in there?" I asked Tracy as I replaced the nozzle. She reached in the bag and pulled out a $100 bill. "This is the smallest bill I can find." She handed it to me and I walked over to the window where the clerk sat, enthralled in some ridiculous article. "Hey" I called out, rapping on the glass. "I went over." I slid the $100 bill under the window and noticed that my $50 was still just sitting on the counter. "Hello?" I rapped on the window a little harder. What could be capturing this old biddies' attention? Squinting my eyes I read the cover of the tabloid. "Queen of England Turns into Zombie, Kills Prince and Two Palace guards." I would normally have made fun of such a story, but in light of recent circumstances it turned my cheerful mood somber. "Ma'am, I need my change please." I rapped on the window again with no response. I poked my fingers through the slot to try and reach one of the bills but could only touch it enough to move it further away from me. "Ma'am?" I called again. "Ma'am?" I looked back at Tracy who looked quizzical. "I have a bad feeling about this" She said, let's just go." I looked at the money behind the glass. "That's $150" I said. I only pumped $56!" I reached under the glass again, pain pinching the back of my hand as I struggled to make it fit. In frustration I banged the glass with the heel of my left hand so hard it felt like the entire shack shook. The paper dropped and I saw a gaunt face with thick, yellow eyes. Her mouth curled into a snarl and I could see her swollen gums cracking and broken, puss and blood mixing as it dripped down her chin. She lunged for the window, smacking her forehead against the glass and cracking it. It spiraled out like a spiderweb and she shook her head for a moment, disoriented. I backed up in disbelief. Were these things everywhere? Again and again she smacked herself against the glass, each strike leaving a stain of dark clotted blood on the cracking glass.
I kept my eyes to the right, watching the shack carefully as I climbed into my seat. Tracy was holding the shotgun in her hands, pointing it toward the shaking structure. Suddenly we heard a loud bang to our left, like something heavy slamming against the industrial siding of the building next door. "What was that?" Tracy said nervously as I started the car. "I don't even want to know." I replied, shifting the car into 1st gear. Another bang and we watched the siding buckle. As the jeep left the pump the glass in the cashier booth broke and we saw an arm reaching through the hole, scratched and bloody. It lacerated against the edge of the hole and thick, black blood dropped like raspberry syrup. Tracy immediately raised her shotgun but paused, ready to fire. With a giant crash the window exploded and the cashier burst from the hole with a ravenous look in her yellow eyes. I shifted into 2nd but flubbed the clutch. The car lurched and the engine stopped. Tracy looked back at me with a look of panic and we heard a crash on the opposite side. The door of the building was on the ground, two large mechanics stumbling out. They were lurched over, their backs hunched like apes. Their eyes were yellow and swollen, and one had a large gash across his forehead. They all looked, for lack of a better term... hungry.
All three tore after us, and Tracy held on to the roll cage as I reversed. "Should I shoot?" She asked. The decision gave me pause. Eliminate the threat, protecting others but risking our own lives, or leave in safety, but allow these monsters to spread the infection to others. "We can't let them hurt anyone else." I said, braking about 50 feet from them. They were gaining fast as Tracy stood up in the seat. Leaning the shotgun over the top of the windshield, she took aim. "Wait, I have an idea." I called, tugging at her pocket, urging her to sit down.
I put the jeep in first gear and accelerated. The gap between us was closing fast. I shifted into second and swerved the jeep toward the first mechanic. CRUNK the sound of his body pinning against the front bumper was sickening and we climbed over him effortlessly. I pulled to the left and hit the second mechanic dead on, his body folding in half before being pulled under. I could hear the sickening splat as the back tires devoured his limbs, and the jeep didn't even seem to lose momentum. I recalled my dream and how the flaming bodies flew like rag dolls when hit by my car. This was different. It was real, and somehow... satisfying. I realized my sorrow for these monsters ended when they were no longer human, and looking into their pale swollen eyes I knew all humanity was gone. The cashier ahead lurched and moaned, but unlike the mechanics she was too injured to run towards us. I shifted into third gear and decimated her broken body, spilling her thick, gelatinous blood across the hood of the car. Her torso flipped up onto our hood and Tracy and I watched in horror as she tried to crawl up towards us. "How is that possible?" Tracy screamed. We watched as she grabbed the arm of the wiper and pulled herself up, grasping the top of the windshield. She smelled like the dead animals I would find in the forest when I was young: rotten and putrid. Tracy stood up in her seat, smashing the butt of the shotgun against her hand. Her fingers snapped off and fell to the hood, the wind blowing them away like leaves. I swerved to the right, and with only one hand gripping the wiper her body slid across the hood. The wiper began to bend under the weight of the remaining half of her body. Tracy leaned over the edge, attempting to smack the other hand to loosen the grip. Instead, the hand missing with the fingers smacked at the shotgun, knocking it away. The force of the blow nearly pulled Tracy over the windshield onto the hood. She screamed as the monster grabbed her hair, pulling her closer. I slammed on the brakes and held the back of Tracy's jeans to keep her from flying over the edge. "Hang on!" I called out, pulling the Jeep to a full stop near an intersection. Tracy hooked her foot under the column of the steering wheel and I leapt out. Rounding the front of the Jeep, I could see smashed body parts hanging from the grill and dripping from the bumper. The air was filled with the horrific stench of death and decay. The monster snapped her teeth at me, but refused to loosen her grip on Tracy's hair or the wiper blade. Her spine and entrails were disgusting, pouring loosely across the car, wiping fresh blood as thick as tar with every movement. I covered my nose from the smell. It almost seemed like whatever was infecting her was rapidly rotting her from the inside out. Some sort of accelerated decomposition, keeping her body alive when it shouldn't be.
I heard a scream behind me. A mother holding the hand of her toddler was pointing at the scene and covering her son's eyes. A man crossing the street was on his phone, talking to someone and pointing directly at us. A car stopped to avoid hitting the man standing in the street and two teenagers in the back seat immediately pulled out their phones and began taking pictures. I heard a tearing sound and looked back to see Tracy using a pocket knife to cut her hair free. Stepping back into the safety of the Jeep's cabin, she rubbed her head and stared at the monster on the hood. "So what do we do now?" She asked, pointing first at the half dead, yet still living creature on our hood and then at the bystanders. "I say we let them come." I said as I motioned for the group to come closer. "Its about time the world knew what they were up against."
Chapter 37- Withdrawl
"Well, here goes nothing!" I said as I took a deep breath and opened the door of the bank. Tracy walked in quietly behind me, head down so as not to draw attention.
The bank was cool and clean compared to the dusty street and warm sunshine outside its doors. It was quiet like a library, and all around we're men and women in professional attire, typing quietly on their computers or paper clipping various documents together before placing them in a nearby basket. I approached the teller who looked up and gave me a short smile. "I'd like to make a withdrawal" I said, handing her my ID. She smiled and looked at the ID then back at me to make sure the faces matched. "Thanks for doing that" I said casually. She looked confused until I explained. "A lot of people don't bother making sure the ID matches the person, so almost anyone could use someone else's identity these days. I just really appreciate it when people take the time to actually check." She smiled pleasantly and asked "How much can I get for you today?" I lowered my voice and said "All of it please." She blinked and looked back at her screen, then back at me with a quizzical look. "All of it? Are you closing your account today sir?" I shook my head. "No, but I want to make a deposit on a new car, so I need all of it." She politely started explaining all the benefits of a cashier's check, the safety and security against loss or theft, and that all those wonderful features could be mine for just a small fee. I thanked her for the information and repeated my request for cash. She swallowed and said "Just a minute please." As she walked away I heard the click clack of her high heels on the marble floor, and thought she looked like a librarian with her grey wool pencil skirt and black cardigan pulled over a serious looking shirt with ruffled collar. She stepped out of sight into an office toward the back of the bank, and then stepped back out again, pointing towards me. An older man lowered his spectacles and stared in my direction over them. He looked soft and pouty, with his nose lifted in the air as though the money I was asking for was out of his own pocket. I smiled and waved cheerfully, rocking back and forth on my shoes. I looked down at my jeans and saw the mud and blood. I wonder if they would ask about our appearance. We clearly looked like we'd been up to some mischief, and asking for such a large sum of money, in cash no less, could potentially be suspect. I cooked up a story in my mind quickly.
The pouty bank manager walked over to me, surveying me closely as he approached. I gave him my biggest, warmest grin. He did not return it, but looked even more annoyed at my apparent lack of propriety. "Can I help you sir?" He asked quietly yet with a distinctive air of snobbery. He stared at me expectantly. "Yes, that would be wonderful." I said in my most salesman like tone. "We've just come from that forest fire where we've been volunteering in the rescue and evacuation effort." Tracy looked at me in shock for a moment then bit her lip and waited. "I found my current vehicle to be somewhat lacking in its ability to traverse the terrain there, and require an upgraded mode of transportation." I gave him a look as though he was the only one would could truly understand my plight. "So many of those other people don't appreciate the value of a good safari vehicle, but men like us cannot afford to drive around in such dirt and mud in a common sedan, can we?" At this comment the Bank Manager straightened up a bit and nodded in agreement. "So I thought I'd grab a small sum and pick up a suitable replacement. I would assume you have a contact at a nearby dealership that you could call and have them ready something appropriate? A man of your stature always has such good connections." The Bank Manager was practically glowing by now, so involved in the tale I wove that he didn't even notice how Tracy could hardly stop from bursting out in laughter. "As a matter of fact I do know one man who would be perfect for such an adventure." He said in an almost british accent. "He's helped many of my best customers in their philanthropic endeavors." He was practically bursting with pride. "Let me make a call for you." He turned quickly toward his office and motioned toward the teller, giving a little snap. She immediately jumped to action and began filling a cash counting machine with $100 bills. The soft whirring of the machine spat out the money quickly and she wrapped them in bright bundles and tucked them into a manila envelope.
I walked out of the bank with a fat envelope full of cash under may arm and a piece of paper with the name "Harold" and an address on it. I looked over at Tracy, who could barely contain herself. "Wow." She said, stifling a laugh. "Someone's got a little vein of snootiness in him." I pointed my nose into the air and took a few high steps "I haven't a clue as to what you might be insinuating" I said in my snobbiest english accent. She smiled and tucked her arm in mine. "So, where to now?" she asked. "I think we need to pay old Harold a visit."
Harold apparently was a pretty important guy at a local car dealership. When I asked for him the attendant ran off very quickly, returning almost apologetically a few moments later. "He'll be right here. I am very sorry you have to wait." A few moments later a very tall man came walking around the corner. He wore a camel colored suit and his head was shiny as though he never had hair or it was shaved hourly. His shirt was a pattern reminiscent of the 70's, and his collar was open to reveal a large tuft of thick black hair. He wore sunglasses with a yellow tint, and his thick black mustache curved over his mouth, hiding it until his broad smile showed rows and rows of bright white teeth. "He said you'd come." He said in a cheerful high pitched tone. I was surprised by his falsetto voice. I expected a man who was clearly over 6'5" to speak an octave lower than I did. "I need something versatile." I said cooly. "And off the books." I lowered my own voice, looking him in the eyes with a penetrating stare. I could tell I was fulfilling some boyhood dream to be part of a spy story or mystery thriller, because his eyes lit up with joy. "I have the perfect match." He said in a whisper. "You come." He gestured for us to follow and we walked through the thick semi-trasnparent curtains to what appeared to be a metal shop. Chains hung from the ceiling and racks of sheet metal sat on thick shelves. The floor was a cold concrete, stained with years of oil leaks and engine repairs. A man in a welding mask was working on an old truck, sparks bouncing off his helmet and falling softly onto the floor. He paused, flipping his mask up to look at us, his face scarred on one side and twisted into a horrible grimace. He stared at us emotionless, watching to see who we were and what we would do. Tracy edged closer to me and gripped my forearm, not taking her eyes off his face. Harold beckoned us past the old truck and through another door which was so low he had to duck through it.
We stepped into a room with only a single window. The small shaft of light reminded me of the room in my mothers basement where she kept her jars of peach preserves. The walls were thick cinderblock, and to the left a garage door covered in rust marked the only other entrance or exit. In the middle of the small room was a large object covered in a tarp. Harold grabbed one edge of the cloth and pulled, showering the room in dust and debris. He held out his hands as if to say "ta-da" and as the dust cleared we saw a midnight black jeep. It was lifted, with large beefy tires and thick steel bumpers. On the side we saw a bright red sticker with a biohazard symbol. Around the outside edge were the words "Zombie Outbreak Response Team." I looked at Tracy and she looked back at me. Harold's cheesy tone became more serious. "With this you may save us all, no?" I started to protest, but he put his finger to his lips, shaking his head. He pointed behind us. We turned to find the scarred welder from the previous room standing there silently, his disfigured face still void of emotion. In his massive hands he held two bundles- thick coveralls, boots, and modified welding helmets with the glass removed. The biohazard symbol was etched into each helmet roughly, and there was the faintest trace of red on the edges. Paint or blood? I decided not to ask. We took the bundles gratefully and he turned to leave before we could say anything. Harold placed the keys on top of the hemet in my arms and motioned toward the jeep. I lifted my bundle and placed it in the back seat, pulling out my manila envelope. Handing his a stack of cash from inside, he placed it quickly in his pocket, placed his hands together as though he were about to say a prayer and made a deep bow, stepping out of the room. The door to our left began to open, the rusty hinges squealing in protest. The sunlight filled the room and we quickly hopped into the jeep. The powerful engine roared to life and I pulled out of the garage, feeling the wind in my hair. I looked over at Tracy, who sat silently in her seat, staring at the road ahead. "Did that just happen?" I asked over the sound of the wind. Tracy looked at me without smiling. "We have a job to do."
The bank was cool and clean compared to the dusty street and warm sunshine outside its doors. It was quiet like a library, and all around we're men and women in professional attire, typing quietly on their computers or paper clipping various documents together before placing them in a nearby basket. I approached the teller who looked up and gave me a short smile. "I'd like to make a withdrawal" I said, handing her my ID. She smiled and looked at the ID then back at me to make sure the faces matched. "Thanks for doing that" I said casually. She looked confused until I explained. "A lot of people don't bother making sure the ID matches the person, so almost anyone could use someone else's identity these days. I just really appreciate it when people take the time to actually check." She smiled pleasantly and asked "How much can I get for you today?" I lowered my voice and said "All of it please." She blinked and looked back at her screen, then back at me with a quizzical look. "All of it? Are you closing your account today sir?" I shook my head. "No, but I want to make a deposit on a new car, so I need all of it." She politely started explaining all the benefits of a cashier's check, the safety and security against loss or theft, and that all those wonderful features could be mine for just a small fee. I thanked her for the information and repeated my request for cash. She swallowed and said "Just a minute please." As she walked away I heard the click clack of her high heels on the marble floor, and thought she looked like a librarian with her grey wool pencil skirt and black cardigan pulled over a serious looking shirt with ruffled collar. She stepped out of sight into an office toward the back of the bank, and then stepped back out again, pointing towards me. An older man lowered his spectacles and stared in my direction over them. He looked soft and pouty, with his nose lifted in the air as though the money I was asking for was out of his own pocket. I smiled and waved cheerfully, rocking back and forth on my shoes. I looked down at my jeans and saw the mud and blood. I wonder if they would ask about our appearance. We clearly looked like we'd been up to some mischief, and asking for such a large sum of money, in cash no less, could potentially be suspect. I cooked up a story in my mind quickly.
The pouty bank manager walked over to me, surveying me closely as he approached. I gave him my biggest, warmest grin. He did not return it, but looked even more annoyed at my apparent lack of propriety. "Can I help you sir?" He asked quietly yet with a distinctive air of snobbery. He stared at me expectantly. "Yes, that would be wonderful." I said in my most salesman like tone. "We've just come from that forest fire where we've been volunteering in the rescue and evacuation effort." Tracy looked at me in shock for a moment then bit her lip and waited. "I found my current vehicle to be somewhat lacking in its ability to traverse the terrain there, and require an upgraded mode of transportation." I gave him a look as though he was the only one would could truly understand my plight. "So many of those other people don't appreciate the value of a good safari vehicle, but men like us cannot afford to drive around in such dirt and mud in a common sedan, can we?" At this comment the Bank Manager straightened up a bit and nodded in agreement. "So I thought I'd grab a small sum and pick up a suitable replacement. I would assume you have a contact at a nearby dealership that you could call and have them ready something appropriate? A man of your stature always has such good connections." The Bank Manager was practically glowing by now, so involved in the tale I wove that he didn't even notice how Tracy could hardly stop from bursting out in laughter. "As a matter of fact I do know one man who would be perfect for such an adventure." He said in an almost british accent. "He's helped many of my best customers in their philanthropic endeavors." He was practically bursting with pride. "Let me make a call for you." He turned quickly toward his office and motioned toward the teller, giving a little snap. She immediately jumped to action and began filling a cash counting machine with $100 bills. The soft whirring of the machine spat out the money quickly and she wrapped them in bright bundles and tucked them into a manila envelope.
I walked out of the bank with a fat envelope full of cash under may arm and a piece of paper with the name "Harold" and an address on it. I looked over at Tracy, who could barely contain herself. "Wow." She said, stifling a laugh. "Someone's got a little vein of snootiness in him." I pointed my nose into the air and took a few high steps "I haven't a clue as to what you might be insinuating" I said in my snobbiest english accent. She smiled and tucked her arm in mine. "So, where to now?" she asked. "I think we need to pay old Harold a visit."
Harold apparently was a pretty important guy at a local car dealership. When I asked for him the attendant ran off very quickly, returning almost apologetically a few moments later. "He'll be right here. I am very sorry you have to wait." A few moments later a very tall man came walking around the corner. He wore a camel colored suit and his head was shiny as though he never had hair or it was shaved hourly. His shirt was a pattern reminiscent of the 70's, and his collar was open to reveal a large tuft of thick black hair. He wore sunglasses with a yellow tint, and his thick black mustache curved over his mouth, hiding it until his broad smile showed rows and rows of bright white teeth. "He said you'd come." He said in a cheerful high pitched tone. I was surprised by his falsetto voice. I expected a man who was clearly over 6'5" to speak an octave lower than I did. "I need something versatile." I said cooly. "And off the books." I lowered my own voice, looking him in the eyes with a penetrating stare. I could tell I was fulfilling some boyhood dream to be part of a spy story or mystery thriller, because his eyes lit up with joy. "I have the perfect match." He said in a whisper. "You come." He gestured for us to follow and we walked through the thick semi-trasnparent curtains to what appeared to be a metal shop. Chains hung from the ceiling and racks of sheet metal sat on thick shelves. The floor was a cold concrete, stained with years of oil leaks and engine repairs. A man in a welding mask was working on an old truck, sparks bouncing off his helmet and falling softly onto the floor. He paused, flipping his mask up to look at us, his face scarred on one side and twisted into a horrible grimace. He stared at us emotionless, watching to see who we were and what we would do. Tracy edged closer to me and gripped my forearm, not taking her eyes off his face. Harold beckoned us past the old truck and through another door which was so low he had to duck through it.
We stepped into a room with only a single window. The small shaft of light reminded me of the room in my mothers basement where she kept her jars of peach preserves. The walls were thick cinderblock, and to the left a garage door covered in rust marked the only other entrance or exit. In the middle of the small room was a large object covered in a tarp. Harold grabbed one edge of the cloth and pulled, showering the room in dust and debris. He held out his hands as if to say "ta-da" and as the dust cleared we saw a midnight black jeep. It was lifted, with large beefy tires and thick steel bumpers. On the side we saw a bright red sticker with a biohazard symbol. Around the outside edge were the words "Zombie Outbreak Response Team." I looked at Tracy and she looked back at me. Harold's cheesy tone became more serious. "With this you may save us all, no?" I started to protest, but he put his finger to his lips, shaking his head. He pointed behind us. We turned to find the scarred welder from the previous room standing there silently, his disfigured face still void of emotion. In his massive hands he held two bundles- thick coveralls, boots, and modified welding helmets with the glass removed. The biohazard symbol was etched into each helmet roughly, and there was the faintest trace of red on the edges. Paint or blood? I decided not to ask. We took the bundles gratefully and he turned to leave before we could say anything. Harold placed the keys on top of the hemet in my arms and motioned toward the jeep. I lifted my bundle and placed it in the back seat, pulling out my manila envelope. Handing his a stack of cash from inside, he placed it quickly in his pocket, placed his hands together as though he were about to say a prayer and made a deep bow, stepping out of the room. The door to our left began to open, the rusty hinges squealing in protest. The sunlight filled the room and we quickly hopped into the jeep. The powerful engine roared to life and I pulled out of the garage, feeling the wind in my hair. I looked over at Tracy, who sat silently in her seat, staring at the road ahead. "Did that just happen?" I asked over the sound of the wind. Tracy looked at me without smiling. "We have a job to do."
Chapter 36- Requiem
I looked down to see Tracy's head laying on my chest. She was holding onto my shirt tightly, her brow furrowed. Was she was having a similar nightmare to the one I had? She was even more beautiful when she slept. I looked over at the other double bed in our cramped motel room. The blankets were ruffled and pushed about, exposing the stained, discolored sheets underneath. She must have woken in the middle of the night and climbed over onto my bed. She was still wearing her purple shirt and jeans, and she smelled like sweat and dirt and smoke.
She stirred, and I ran my finger softly from the bridge of her nose to her eyebrow and across her temple. The touch seemed to pacify her, and her downturned mouth relaxed. I watched her, illuminated by the cracks of light streaming through the thick shade curtains. Her hair was pulled back, held with a small black band.
Outside, the world began to move again. The sound of distant voices and doors opening and closing caused her to stir. I looked down at her face, enjoying these last few moments of peace. A slam of a nearby door caused her to open her eyelids and lift her head to look around. Our eyes met and she realized where she was. Blushing and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she sat up. She squinted the sleep from her eyes she looked around the room for a clock. "What time is it?" She asked, more to avoid a question she felt too embarrassed to answer. "Not sure." I said, pointing to the "12:00" flashing on the motel alarm clock. "Mid-morning I'd guess."
Tracy moved to the end of the bed and flicked on an old square box TV. It sat on a rickety cart and had a wood grain finish and golden knobs. A true relic from a fading age. A pop accompanied the small dot of light in the middle of the screen which spread horizontally until it reached the curved edges. The line expanded and a fuzzy picture slowly faded in from the dark screen. It was black and white accompanied by glitches of static, but we could make out the feed of a local news chopper, circling above a forest fire burning through a thick paddock. The words "FOREST FIRE CLAIMS LOCAL HOMES" were scrolling across the bottom of the screen, and we could hear the voiceover of a local reporter: "The fire had raged almost uncontrollably for hours now, and we've confirmed that at least 7 homes have been destroyed." The image changed to a serious looking reporter with stern features standing in front of a fire truck. He pointed toward a group of firefighters carrying hoses. "Authorities say the residents were evacuated before any casualties occurred, and that the fire is almost under control." He turned to his right where the camera panned over to show a middle age man in a green button up shirt. "You were evacuated from this neighborhood, correct?" The reporter asked as the resident nodded sadly. "And your home was one of the ones destroyed?" The man pointed toward the burnt part of the forest. "Yes, I lived about a mile back into those woods. Police called our home to inform us of the danger and we were able to get to the evacuation facility before the fire got to our home." The reporter nodded, probing further. "So you and your family are now living with the other evacuees at the Community Center, correct?" The man stared blankly for a minute, as though confused by the question. "My family is... out of town." He said almost robotically. They are very lucky that they didn't have to experience this." The lines almost sounded rehearsed and the reporter seemed frustrated that the momentum of his story was dying, so he quickly changed the subject away from the man's family. "What can you tell us about the other homes and families in the area?" We're actually really lucky that the fire has hit this part of the neighborhood. The first homes that were destroyed were all owned by people who are on vacation or gone for the summer." He said with a shrug of his large shoulders. "The Johnsons next door, well, we've been picking up their mail for them, and I know most the other houses further back are vacant or for sale." The reporter looked back at the camera, his serious hook nose staring into the viewers eyes. "An inferno under control, but affecting the the lives of this wonderful community nonetheless. This is Rich Stone for Channel 5, live on the scene in Merriwether Woods."
The feed switched to the anchorman at the television station, who made some empty comments about how lucky we all were that no had been hurt. Tracy flicked off the TV. "Stupid cover up!" she said angrily, turning and throwing the remote against the pillow in frustration. I sat down next her. She stared at her hands, picking at her cuticles idly. "Believe me, I'm frustrated about it too, but maybe its better this way." I said. "Do you think they really want the world to know what is going on? Think of what that would do to society as we know it. Right now people are still going to work, still buying groceries, still paying bills. Imagine how all that would change if that anchor did a story on how they were purging a zombie-like infection from a local neighborhood because it had already claimed the lives of several residents." Tracy was appeased but not happy. "People have died." She said. "They deserve better than this. I mean, that poor family, that couple, even your own mother..." As soon as she said it her expression changed from anger to reproach. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." She hung her head and I smiled weakly, trying to pretend that the words didn't bite. "Its okay." I said softly. "She had a wonderful life, and at least now I know she's not out there destroying other people, right?" Even as I said it I could feel the doubt in my mind. I didn't know, and the truth was the more I thought about the less confident I felt about the whole thing. I only assumed that the backyard grave contained the body of my mother, and the more I thought about it the less sense it made. After all, why would a man take the time to bury a rabid old lady that had attacked his family? Wouldn't he have called the authorities? The more my mind worked on the details the more convinced I was that the person in that grave was not my mother, and was in fact the little boy. Why else would the man have been so distraught when we arrived? I could imagine the entire scene in my mind. Crazy old woman comes out of the woods, infects a kid who attacks his mom, turning her into a monster. Dad is forced to kill his own son to save her, but doesn't realize its too late. Now he's lost them both and in his sorrow, digs a grave and buries his son in it. Meanwhile the old lady runs off and attacks other homes. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed possible that she could be alive still, and possibly hurting other people right this very moment. I pushed the thought from my mind, trying to convince myself that the fire consumed all remnants of that horrible night. My stomach grumbled and I stood up, grateful for a chance to change the subject. "Let's eat." I said, holding my hand out and lifting Tracy to her feet. "I'm starving."
I always preferred small, local places to eat. Not part of a national chain, but some place that has been a staple in the community for years, somewhere renowned for its recipes and its atmosphere. In this particular case it also had the luxury of not asking too many questions, so when two people smelling like smoke and wearing clothing stained with mud and blood came asked for a table, the waitress didn't even seem to notice. "A grapefruit, some wheat toast, and... do you have any yogurt?" I asked the middle age woman who looked more tired than she should at her age. Tracy looked at me and laughed. "What are you, a vegetarian?" She confidently stared at the waitress and address her by the name sewn into her dingy pink uniform. "Janice, I want 3 eggs over-easy, sausage, bacon, grits, and a stack of your house pancakes." I raised my eyebrows at her. "And a glass of OJ. Not a small glass either. Something this size." She held her hands about 8 inches above the table surface. Janice seemed to brighten up at the large order and the prospect of a customer who might actually leave a decent tip.
"So what do we do?" Tracy asked, grabbing a sugar packet and flipping it over in over in her hands. "We certainly can't just live in motels forever." I unrolled my napkin and placed my fork, spoon, and knife in their proper locations, just as my mother had taught me. I stared at them for a moment, remembering how my mother would fuss over table manners. I missed her. I looked up at Tracy who was looking at me expectantly. "Sorry, thinking about my Mom. You were asking about the plan, right?" Tracy nodded, giving me time. "Well the people that took your car know everywhere we might go, so if they want to cover up what we've seen, they'll be watching our homes and the office." Tracy put the sugar packet back and took a drink of water. "Do they even know about you? They have my car, and they'll know I have my memory back, because of where they found it, right?" She pointed her spoon at me. "But they don't know about you." I shook my head. "No, we have to assume that they know I'm with you. I'm sure they found my fingerprints all over your car, right, plus they pulled my Jeep from the water after that girl from the hospital stole it." Tracy looked confused, and I explained how the girl at the nurse's station had helped me get my mother out of the hospital and over to Mr. Munn's only to steal a syringe of the memory erasing elixir. Janice showed up and brought our food. "That was quick!" Tracy said appreciatively. Janice glowed with pride. I glanced down at my meal and then over at Tracy's food. It did seem a little sparse in comparison. Tracy shoved a piece of bacon into her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring the sensation on her tongue. "Swine..." she said in a joking trance. "So fine..." I laughed and scooped a spoonful of yogurt. "Here," I said, offering her the first bite. "This will help counteract what you are pumping into your arteries."
"So this nurse, what's her deal?" Tracy asked as I opened the door to our motel room and looked around before stepping inside. It appeared undisturbed. "Why would she work so hard to get something to erase a memory?" She asked. "And how did she even know about all this stuff to begin with?" It made me wonder about this mysterious organization. How long had these lab coat guys had been doing this? Were there more people like us? Others who knew what was going on and were fighting back? "Well, if that agency knows about us they will probably be tracking us though cell phones and any bank transactions, so we can't use credit or debit cards." I said. "How much cash do you have?" I looked in my wallet, only a $10 bill remained after paying for the motel room in advance. Tracy looked at me, pulling her pockets out of her jeans. "I'ze broke." She said, mocking a poor man's accent. "Remember, I left my purse in the car." I assumed my savings was still intact, but who knows how long that money would still be there. "I have enough in savings to get us out of here, but we'll need to move fast to get it before they freeze it, unless they already have." I said. "Wanna go to the bank?" Tracy picked up her shotgun and cocked it. "Should I bring this?"
She stirred, and I ran my finger softly from the bridge of her nose to her eyebrow and across her temple. The touch seemed to pacify her, and her downturned mouth relaxed. I watched her, illuminated by the cracks of light streaming through the thick shade curtains. Her hair was pulled back, held with a small black band.
Outside, the world began to move again. The sound of distant voices and doors opening and closing caused her to stir. I looked down at her face, enjoying these last few moments of peace. A slam of a nearby door caused her to open her eyelids and lift her head to look around. Our eyes met and she realized where she was. Blushing and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she sat up. She squinted the sleep from her eyes she looked around the room for a clock. "What time is it?" She asked, more to avoid a question she felt too embarrassed to answer. "Not sure." I said, pointing to the "12:00" flashing on the motel alarm clock. "Mid-morning I'd guess."
Tracy moved to the end of the bed and flicked on an old square box TV. It sat on a rickety cart and had a wood grain finish and golden knobs. A true relic from a fading age. A pop accompanied the small dot of light in the middle of the screen which spread horizontally until it reached the curved edges. The line expanded and a fuzzy picture slowly faded in from the dark screen. It was black and white accompanied by glitches of static, but we could make out the feed of a local news chopper, circling above a forest fire burning through a thick paddock. The words "FOREST FIRE CLAIMS LOCAL HOMES" were scrolling across the bottom of the screen, and we could hear the voiceover of a local reporter: "The fire had raged almost uncontrollably for hours now, and we've confirmed that at least 7 homes have been destroyed." The image changed to a serious looking reporter with stern features standing in front of a fire truck. He pointed toward a group of firefighters carrying hoses. "Authorities say the residents were evacuated before any casualties occurred, and that the fire is almost under control." He turned to his right where the camera panned over to show a middle age man in a green button up shirt. "You were evacuated from this neighborhood, correct?" The reporter asked as the resident nodded sadly. "And your home was one of the ones destroyed?" The man pointed toward the burnt part of the forest. "Yes, I lived about a mile back into those woods. Police called our home to inform us of the danger and we were able to get to the evacuation facility before the fire got to our home." The reporter nodded, probing further. "So you and your family are now living with the other evacuees at the Community Center, correct?" The man stared blankly for a minute, as though confused by the question. "My family is... out of town." He said almost robotically. They are very lucky that they didn't have to experience this." The lines almost sounded rehearsed and the reporter seemed frustrated that the momentum of his story was dying, so he quickly changed the subject away from the man's family. "What can you tell us about the other homes and families in the area?" We're actually really lucky that the fire has hit this part of the neighborhood. The first homes that were destroyed were all owned by people who are on vacation or gone for the summer." He said with a shrug of his large shoulders. "The Johnsons next door, well, we've been picking up their mail for them, and I know most the other houses further back are vacant or for sale." The reporter looked back at the camera, his serious hook nose staring into the viewers eyes. "An inferno under control, but affecting the the lives of this wonderful community nonetheless. This is Rich Stone for Channel 5, live on the scene in Merriwether Woods."
The feed switched to the anchorman at the television station, who made some empty comments about how lucky we all were that no had been hurt. Tracy flicked off the TV. "Stupid cover up!" she said angrily, turning and throwing the remote against the pillow in frustration. I sat down next her. She stared at her hands, picking at her cuticles idly. "Believe me, I'm frustrated about it too, but maybe its better this way." I said. "Do you think they really want the world to know what is going on? Think of what that would do to society as we know it. Right now people are still going to work, still buying groceries, still paying bills. Imagine how all that would change if that anchor did a story on how they were purging a zombie-like infection from a local neighborhood because it had already claimed the lives of several residents." Tracy was appeased but not happy. "People have died." She said. "They deserve better than this. I mean, that poor family, that couple, even your own mother..." As soon as she said it her expression changed from anger to reproach. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." She hung her head and I smiled weakly, trying to pretend that the words didn't bite. "Its okay." I said softly. "She had a wonderful life, and at least now I know she's not out there destroying other people, right?" Even as I said it I could feel the doubt in my mind. I didn't know, and the truth was the more I thought about the less confident I felt about the whole thing. I only assumed that the backyard grave contained the body of my mother, and the more I thought about it the less sense it made. After all, why would a man take the time to bury a rabid old lady that had attacked his family? Wouldn't he have called the authorities? The more my mind worked on the details the more convinced I was that the person in that grave was not my mother, and was in fact the little boy. Why else would the man have been so distraught when we arrived? I could imagine the entire scene in my mind. Crazy old woman comes out of the woods, infects a kid who attacks his mom, turning her into a monster. Dad is forced to kill his own son to save her, but doesn't realize its too late. Now he's lost them both and in his sorrow, digs a grave and buries his son in it. Meanwhile the old lady runs off and attacks other homes. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed possible that she could be alive still, and possibly hurting other people right this very moment. I pushed the thought from my mind, trying to convince myself that the fire consumed all remnants of that horrible night. My stomach grumbled and I stood up, grateful for a chance to change the subject. "Let's eat." I said, holding my hand out and lifting Tracy to her feet. "I'm starving."
I always preferred small, local places to eat. Not part of a national chain, but some place that has been a staple in the community for years, somewhere renowned for its recipes and its atmosphere. In this particular case it also had the luxury of not asking too many questions, so when two people smelling like smoke and wearing clothing stained with mud and blood came asked for a table, the waitress didn't even seem to notice. "A grapefruit, some wheat toast, and... do you have any yogurt?" I asked the middle age woman who looked more tired than she should at her age. Tracy looked at me and laughed. "What are you, a vegetarian?" She confidently stared at the waitress and address her by the name sewn into her dingy pink uniform. "Janice, I want 3 eggs over-easy, sausage, bacon, grits, and a stack of your house pancakes." I raised my eyebrows at her. "And a glass of OJ. Not a small glass either. Something this size." She held her hands about 8 inches above the table surface. Janice seemed to brighten up at the large order and the prospect of a customer who might actually leave a decent tip.
"So what do we do?" Tracy asked, grabbing a sugar packet and flipping it over in over in her hands. "We certainly can't just live in motels forever." I unrolled my napkin and placed my fork, spoon, and knife in their proper locations, just as my mother had taught me. I stared at them for a moment, remembering how my mother would fuss over table manners. I missed her. I looked up at Tracy who was looking at me expectantly. "Sorry, thinking about my Mom. You were asking about the plan, right?" Tracy nodded, giving me time. "Well the people that took your car know everywhere we might go, so if they want to cover up what we've seen, they'll be watching our homes and the office." Tracy put the sugar packet back and took a drink of water. "Do they even know about you? They have my car, and they'll know I have my memory back, because of where they found it, right?" She pointed her spoon at me. "But they don't know about you." I shook my head. "No, we have to assume that they know I'm with you. I'm sure they found my fingerprints all over your car, right, plus they pulled my Jeep from the water after that girl from the hospital stole it." Tracy looked confused, and I explained how the girl at the nurse's station had helped me get my mother out of the hospital and over to Mr. Munn's only to steal a syringe of the memory erasing elixir. Janice showed up and brought our food. "That was quick!" Tracy said appreciatively. Janice glowed with pride. I glanced down at my meal and then over at Tracy's food. It did seem a little sparse in comparison. Tracy shoved a piece of bacon into her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring the sensation on her tongue. "Swine..." she said in a joking trance. "So fine..." I laughed and scooped a spoonful of yogurt. "Here," I said, offering her the first bite. "This will help counteract what you are pumping into your arteries."
"So this nurse, what's her deal?" Tracy asked as I opened the door to our motel room and looked around before stepping inside. It appeared undisturbed. "Why would she work so hard to get something to erase a memory?" She asked. "And how did she even know about all this stuff to begin with?" It made me wonder about this mysterious organization. How long had these lab coat guys had been doing this? Were there more people like us? Others who knew what was going on and were fighting back? "Well, if that agency knows about us they will probably be tracking us though cell phones and any bank transactions, so we can't use credit or debit cards." I said. "How much cash do you have?" I looked in my wallet, only a $10 bill remained after paying for the motel room in advance. Tracy looked at me, pulling her pockets out of her jeans. "I'ze broke." She said, mocking a poor man's accent. "Remember, I left my purse in the car." I assumed my savings was still intact, but who knows how long that money would still be there. "I have enough in savings to get us out of here, but we'll need to move fast to get it before they freeze it, unless they already have." I said. "Wanna go to the bank?" Tracy picked up her shotgun and cocked it. "Should I bring this?"
Chapter 35- Inferno
I felt like I was driving in a tunnel of flame. Fire raged all around us, trees snapping and popping as their hard trucks cooked, their branches sending pillars of smoke into the sky and their leaves turning to ash in the wind. The SUV we were driving was almost as wide as the road, and if we had rolled down the windows we would be able to touch the flames. I could feel heat through the glass like sunlight in the middle of summer.
White flakes were falling lightly all around, and had it not been for the horrendous scene of flame and doom closing in, we might have found it magical or even romantic. The road turned left and right, and maintaining any speed was challenging. I pulled quickly around corners, hitting the accelerator but then rapidly braking as the next turn came. The fire was a monster. It seemed to move faster than our car could travel, and I began to worry that we would not make it out in time.
Soon entire trees came toppling down, their trunks splashing against the ground in a shower of sparks. Tracy screamed as a large pine tipped across the road, its fiery branches reaching out toward our car though it wanted to hold us in this forest forever. I jerked the wheel to the left and the SUV jumped into the ditch, the front tire bounding upward, leaving us momentarily weightless in our seats. The branches scraped across the top of the car, pinning us for a moment, but I engaged the four wheel drive and hit the accelerator, watching in the rear view mirror as the tree slid off the back of the vehicle and crashed onto the road, sending sparks and ash high into the air.
All around us the air was white hot, and we found it hard to breathe. Tracy looked at me and I could tell she was nervous but still hopeful, and the desire to protect her gave me courage. I tried to give her a reassuring look, but saw her face pale as a look of terror crossed it. I turned to see shadowy figures trudging through the forest, their bodies aflame. They seemed to be advancing toward us, almost anticipating where we would turn next. As they emerged from the flames I could see their faces, blackened and scorched. They limped slowly toward us, an endless growing mass closing in on the road. I urged the car forward, wondering when this would end, desperately searching for civilization. The bodies began to step on the road, trying to block our way. As we hit them their bodies tossed to the left and right like rag dolls. With each collision our car slowed a little more, and I felt my stomach turn as I heard the crack of their bones trodden under the wheels. Soon the horde in front of us was impassable, and the car lost all its momentum with which it might carry us free. Where did they all come from? How were they still alive? Tracy screamed as their arms smashed across the hood and against the glass. They pounded on the car, relentlessly reaching for us.
We pulled our knees up, leaning away from the windows and huddling together as they lunged against the side of the car, throwing their weight into the glass. There must be dozens, even hundreds of them. I searched for an escape, looking down the road, to the sides and back behind us, but we were surrounded by endless waves of shuffling monsters, mindlessly burning, resolutely advancing. They pushed on the car, closing in with their blackened faces. I looked into their thick yellow eyes and saw emptiness. I pulled Tracy close, wanting to comfort her in these final moments. She hardly moved. She simply sat there, staring out the window, all emotion gone from her face. Had she finally given up? I called out to her, begging her to say something, to speak to me, but when she finally turned her face to mine I saw her eyes had turned a thick, sickly yellow.
White flakes were falling lightly all around, and had it not been for the horrendous scene of flame and doom closing in, we might have found it magical or even romantic. The road turned left and right, and maintaining any speed was challenging. I pulled quickly around corners, hitting the accelerator but then rapidly braking as the next turn came. The fire was a monster. It seemed to move faster than our car could travel, and I began to worry that we would not make it out in time.
Soon entire trees came toppling down, their trunks splashing against the ground in a shower of sparks. Tracy screamed as a large pine tipped across the road, its fiery branches reaching out toward our car though it wanted to hold us in this forest forever. I jerked the wheel to the left and the SUV jumped into the ditch, the front tire bounding upward, leaving us momentarily weightless in our seats. The branches scraped across the top of the car, pinning us for a moment, but I engaged the four wheel drive and hit the accelerator, watching in the rear view mirror as the tree slid off the back of the vehicle and crashed onto the road, sending sparks and ash high into the air.
All around us the air was white hot, and we found it hard to breathe. Tracy looked at me and I could tell she was nervous but still hopeful, and the desire to protect her gave me courage. I tried to give her a reassuring look, but saw her face pale as a look of terror crossed it. I turned to see shadowy figures trudging through the forest, their bodies aflame. They seemed to be advancing toward us, almost anticipating where we would turn next. As they emerged from the flames I could see their faces, blackened and scorched. They limped slowly toward us, an endless growing mass closing in on the road. I urged the car forward, wondering when this would end, desperately searching for civilization. The bodies began to step on the road, trying to block our way. As we hit them their bodies tossed to the left and right like rag dolls. With each collision our car slowed a little more, and I felt my stomach turn as I heard the crack of their bones trodden under the wheels. Soon the horde in front of us was impassable, and the car lost all its momentum with which it might carry us free. Where did they all come from? How were they still alive? Tracy screamed as their arms smashed across the hood and against the glass. They pounded on the car, relentlessly reaching for us.
We pulled our knees up, leaning away from the windows and huddling together as they lunged against the side of the car, throwing their weight into the glass. There must be dozens, even hundreds of them. I searched for an escape, looking down the road, to the sides and back behind us, but we were surrounded by endless waves of shuffling monsters, mindlessly burning, resolutely advancing. They pushed on the car, closing in with their blackened faces. I looked into their thick yellow eyes and saw emptiness. I pulled Tracy close, wanting to comfort her in these final moments. She hardly moved. She simply sat there, staring out the window, all emotion gone from her face. Had she finally given up? I called out to her, begging her to say something, to speak to me, but when she finally turned her face to mine I saw her eyes had turned a thick, sickly yellow.
Chapter 34- Firelight Repose
"What do we do?" Tracy's voice had a hint of panic that seemed to go beyond yellow eyed monsters and having her car stolen. Through the trees I could see the hint of yellow flame like a wall of light moving toward us. It wasn't fast, but it was advancing steadily, and at the rate it seemed to be increasing I knew getting out on foot was not an option. "Back door!" I called out and we raced toward the rear of the home. I hopped up the steps and leapt onto the landing, pulling open the screen door quickly. Giving the door a kick I could tell it was just as solid as the front, and I aimed my shotgun at the handle. BLAM! Tracy shuddered and covered her ears as the shrapnel tore through the wood of the door, leaving a gaping hole the size of a cantaloupe. Nudging the door it swung open with ease, and I stepped into the dark house. Tracy stayed back, looking from the door to the forest. "Come on!" I urged her, and she stepped up with trepidation. "Remember I only have one round." She said nervously. I nodded and looked around the room, trying to figure out the layout. It was similar to the other houses in the neighborhood but still different enough that we'd need to wander a bit to find what we needed. "Hopefully we can just locate the garage, grab a car and get out of here." I looked left and right quickly but cautiously, moving into a hallway. Finding a door where I estimated the garage would be, I turning the handle to reveal a white SUV parked next to a set of ATVs. Slapping the garage door opener and looking back at Tracy in the kitchen I called out "We need to find keys."
We searched the counter and cupboards for any sign of keys. There were cabinets filled with antique china and plastic cups, cereal and snacks, but no baskets or hooks where keys seemed to be laid. "What about the entryway?" Tracy asked. It was worth a shot. I moved cautiously into the hall, glancing through the living room to the front window. The fire was getting closer to the tree line and it's flickering light began illuminating the inside of the house. The hallway table had no keys, and at first glance the body laying in the hall didn't appear to have any pockets. I rolled it over carefully with my foot, checking his hands. He was old, probably in his late 70's. I watched his chest but could not see any sign of breathing. His face was jagged and torn, and I could see bite marks in his neck. His pajamas smelled as though whatever attacked him caused him to soil himself before dying. The smell made me gag, and I grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and covered the body. Moving back to the kitchen I saw Tracy waiting expectantly. "No luck." I said. "And the fire is getting closer." Tracy looked increasingly nervous. "I looked in the car and around the garage," she said. "But I couldn't find any keys." Suddenly a thump directed our attention to the ceiling. Something or someone was upstairs. Raising my shotgun I slowly moved back into the hall, eyes keenly focused on the upstairs landing. I stepped slowly over the body covered by the blanket on the hallway floor, my feet grazing its stomach as I lifted my leg over. Tracy stood back, unwilling to walk past the covered body. "Its okay." I reassured her. I gave it a hard kick in the back and she gasped a bit but relaxed when she saw it didn't move. "You don't need to worry about him." I said, keeping my attention upstairs. Tracy walked around the body nervously, keeping her gun pointed at the blanket.
We heard another thump this time followed by a dragging sound, like someone had pulled blankets off a bed and was using them to drag something heavy across the floor. I took a few steps up the stairs and paused, waiting, watching. Tracy glanced across the living room at the window. "Whatever we're gonna do here we gotta hurry..." I took a few more steps upstairs, my gun moving as I rounded the corner.
The upstairs hallway was dark, and with all the doors closed I couldn't see anything but the silver cracks of light underneath each door. On the left a shadow crossed one of these cracks. If this home had the same layout as the last, the master bedroom would be on the right, a more logical location for keys, and I could be in and out without disturbing whatever was inside that room. I walked to the end of the hall and slowly turned the handle. The door opened quietly into a large dark room with a four post bed and matching dresser. The blinds on the nearby window were closed, and firelight flickered through the cracks, revealing a shape in the bed, like a body sleeping. "Hello?" I whispered. I moved slowly closer but couldn't make out who it was. I could tell they lay on their back, as though staring at the ceiling but couldn't determine whether they were alive or dead. I reached for my flashlight but it was missing. Keeping my eyes on the bed I moved to the dresser and saw the shape of a small basket on top. Inside I found a wallet, watch, a wedding ring and a pocketknife but no keys. I glanced back but the body on the bed hadn't moved. Rifling quietly through the top drawer, I looked for any sign of car keys, but only found piles of old underwear, tube socks, and an unloaded WW2 pistol. Looking around the room I couldn't see any logical place to keep keys, and began to get very worried.
I walked over to the window to the right of the bed and pulled the cord to the venetian blinds. The familiar zipping sound revealed the forest covered in a wall of flame, hundreds of feet high and equally wide. The heat radiating through the window brought a feeling of impending dread to the magnificent display. I knew had to hurry, it was only a matter of time before the flames leapt onto the house, if they hadn't already. Looking back at the bed I could see that the shape was an old woman, laying silently. She was still breathing, but as the firelight danced across her wrinkled face, I could see a blank expression with yellow eyes staring emotionless at the ceiling. I felt a wave of sadness in my heart. What had this woman done to deserve such a fate. She reminded me of my own mother, who's fate was certain yet unknown to me. The woman seemed frozen in time and though I knew what she would become I had no desire to disturb her. As I moved to leave I felt something under my feet. Looking down I could see something on the floor. It was a pair of pants. My heart leapt as I imagined the old man removing his trousers before climbing into bed with his sweet wife. I picked them up and felt the heavy rattle of something in the front right pocket. Keys!
I clasped them in my hands triumphantly and took one last glance outside. In horror I watched as a large tree began to tip, it's fiery branches looming toward the house. The distant crack of splintering wood echoed in the tumult and I saw the tree falling right toward my window. I dove toward the hallway door as the flaming branches tore through the roof and lit the room on fire. The woman, impaled by a charred branch the size of my leg, sat up and screamed. Her eyes looked blankly at the wall, her gums swollen and bloody. She scratched at the branch desperately, not trying to remove it from her body, but trying to escape. The flames from the branches caught the sheets and pillows on fire and she screamed louder, reaching her claws out into the air. There was something bestial and primal about the way she struggled, like an animal that was caught but didn't understand why. I backed out slowly and turned down the hall, only to see the door to my right was now open. I hesitated for a moment and then dashed past it and down the stairs.
Around the corner I ran, into the kitchen. "Tracy!" I called out. "I have the keys! Tracy! Where are you?" I moved quickly out into the garage as I heard the floor above the kitchen starting to crumble. Inside the garage Tracy knelt on the top of the SUV, the woman from earlier clawing at her, trying to climb up. She snarled and sputtered, infuriated that she couldn't reach Tracy but unable to understand the mechanics of how to use various surrounding objects to her advantage. Tracy looked up at me in horror and relief, and I yelled at the woman before pointing my shotgun. BLAM! The first hit knocked her backward, tearing through her torso with shuddering force. Tracy clapped her hands over her ears and squinted her eyes shut, backing up to avoid the second shot. BLAM! I fired again, throwing her further backward into the driveway. She attempted to stand up again but her legs no longer responded, so she began to crawl toward me as her husband had done earlier. This time I was ready. BLAM! This shot hit its mark, and I turned my head from the grisly scene. I reached up and helped Tracy down from the roof, her eyes wet with tears and filled with fear. All around us the house was crumbling, and we could see fire raging in the grass and in the trees. I opened the driver's door and Tracy climbed over into the passenger seat. I started the car, glanced at the fuel gauge, and put it into drive.
The engine roared as I tore out of the garage, and I looked in the side mirror to see most of the house engulfed in flames. "Look!" Tracy called out, and we saw the shape of the old woman dive out of an upstairs window. With a sickening splat she hit the ground, but almost immediately stood back up. With a limp she began walking in our direction, reaching toward us, one half of her body burnt to a blackened crisp and the other half still on fire. "She's hurt, is she..." I knew Tracy hadn't seen what I had seen, and I shook my head. "No, she's gone. She's one of them." I wondered where my mother was. I would probably never know. I closed my eyes to stop the tears and hoped she was buried back in that shallow grave.
We searched the counter and cupboards for any sign of keys. There were cabinets filled with antique china and plastic cups, cereal and snacks, but no baskets or hooks where keys seemed to be laid. "What about the entryway?" Tracy asked. It was worth a shot. I moved cautiously into the hall, glancing through the living room to the front window. The fire was getting closer to the tree line and it's flickering light began illuminating the inside of the house. The hallway table had no keys, and at first glance the body laying in the hall didn't appear to have any pockets. I rolled it over carefully with my foot, checking his hands. He was old, probably in his late 70's. I watched his chest but could not see any sign of breathing. His face was jagged and torn, and I could see bite marks in his neck. His pajamas smelled as though whatever attacked him caused him to soil himself before dying. The smell made me gag, and I grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and covered the body. Moving back to the kitchen I saw Tracy waiting expectantly. "No luck." I said. "And the fire is getting closer." Tracy looked increasingly nervous. "I looked in the car and around the garage," she said. "But I couldn't find any keys." Suddenly a thump directed our attention to the ceiling. Something or someone was upstairs. Raising my shotgun I slowly moved back into the hall, eyes keenly focused on the upstairs landing. I stepped slowly over the body covered by the blanket on the hallway floor, my feet grazing its stomach as I lifted my leg over. Tracy stood back, unwilling to walk past the covered body. "Its okay." I reassured her. I gave it a hard kick in the back and she gasped a bit but relaxed when she saw it didn't move. "You don't need to worry about him." I said, keeping my attention upstairs. Tracy walked around the body nervously, keeping her gun pointed at the blanket.
We heard another thump this time followed by a dragging sound, like someone had pulled blankets off a bed and was using them to drag something heavy across the floor. I took a few steps up the stairs and paused, waiting, watching. Tracy glanced across the living room at the window. "Whatever we're gonna do here we gotta hurry..." I took a few more steps upstairs, my gun moving as I rounded the corner.
The upstairs hallway was dark, and with all the doors closed I couldn't see anything but the silver cracks of light underneath each door. On the left a shadow crossed one of these cracks. If this home had the same layout as the last, the master bedroom would be on the right, a more logical location for keys, and I could be in and out without disturbing whatever was inside that room. I walked to the end of the hall and slowly turned the handle. The door opened quietly into a large dark room with a four post bed and matching dresser. The blinds on the nearby window were closed, and firelight flickered through the cracks, revealing a shape in the bed, like a body sleeping. "Hello?" I whispered. I moved slowly closer but couldn't make out who it was. I could tell they lay on their back, as though staring at the ceiling but couldn't determine whether they were alive or dead. I reached for my flashlight but it was missing. Keeping my eyes on the bed I moved to the dresser and saw the shape of a small basket on top. Inside I found a wallet, watch, a wedding ring and a pocketknife but no keys. I glanced back but the body on the bed hadn't moved. Rifling quietly through the top drawer, I looked for any sign of car keys, but only found piles of old underwear, tube socks, and an unloaded WW2 pistol. Looking around the room I couldn't see any logical place to keep keys, and began to get very worried.
I walked over to the window to the right of the bed and pulled the cord to the venetian blinds. The familiar zipping sound revealed the forest covered in a wall of flame, hundreds of feet high and equally wide. The heat radiating through the window brought a feeling of impending dread to the magnificent display. I knew had to hurry, it was only a matter of time before the flames leapt onto the house, if they hadn't already. Looking back at the bed I could see that the shape was an old woman, laying silently. She was still breathing, but as the firelight danced across her wrinkled face, I could see a blank expression with yellow eyes staring emotionless at the ceiling. I felt a wave of sadness in my heart. What had this woman done to deserve such a fate. She reminded me of my own mother, who's fate was certain yet unknown to me. The woman seemed frozen in time and though I knew what she would become I had no desire to disturb her. As I moved to leave I felt something under my feet. Looking down I could see something on the floor. It was a pair of pants. My heart leapt as I imagined the old man removing his trousers before climbing into bed with his sweet wife. I picked them up and felt the heavy rattle of something in the front right pocket. Keys!
I clasped them in my hands triumphantly and took one last glance outside. In horror I watched as a large tree began to tip, it's fiery branches looming toward the house. The distant crack of splintering wood echoed in the tumult and I saw the tree falling right toward my window. I dove toward the hallway door as the flaming branches tore through the roof and lit the room on fire. The woman, impaled by a charred branch the size of my leg, sat up and screamed. Her eyes looked blankly at the wall, her gums swollen and bloody. She scratched at the branch desperately, not trying to remove it from her body, but trying to escape. The flames from the branches caught the sheets and pillows on fire and she screamed louder, reaching her claws out into the air. There was something bestial and primal about the way she struggled, like an animal that was caught but didn't understand why. I backed out slowly and turned down the hall, only to see the door to my right was now open. I hesitated for a moment and then dashed past it and down the stairs.
Around the corner I ran, into the kitchen. "Tracy!" I called out. "I have the keys! Tracy! Where are you?" I moved quickly out into the garage as I heard the floor above the kitchen starting to crumble. Inside the garage Tracy knelt on the top of the SUV, the woman from earlier clawing at her, trying to climb up. She snarled and sputtered, infuriated that she couldn't reach Tracy but unable to understand the mechanics of how to use various surrounding objects to her advantage. Tracy looked up at me in horror and relief, and I yelled at the woman before pointing my shotgun. BLAM! The first hit knocked her backward, tearing through her torso with shuddering force. Tracy clapped her hands over her ears and squinted her eyes shut, backing up to avoid the second shot. BLAM! I fired again, throwing her further backward into the driveway. She attempted to stand up again but her legs no longer responded, so she began to crawl toward me as her husband had done earlier. This time I was ready. BLAM! This shot hit its mark, and I turned my head from the grisly scene. I reached up and helped Tracy down from the roof, her eyes wet with tears and filled with fear. All around us the house was crumbling, and we could see fire raging in the grass and in the trees. I opened the driver's door and Tracy climbed over into the passenger seat. I started the car, glanced at the fuel gauge, and put it into drive.
The engine roared as I tore out of the garage, and I looked in the side mirror to see most of the house engulfed in flames. "Look!" Tracy called out, and we saw the shape of the old woman dive out of an upstairs window. With a sickening splat she hit the ground, but almost immediately stood back up. With a limp she began walking in our direction, reaching toward us, one half of her body burnt to a blackened crisp and the other half still on fire. "She's hurt, is she..." I knew Tracy hadn't seen what I had seen, and I shook my head. "No, she's gone. She's one of them." I wondered where my mother was. I would probably never know. I closed my eyes to stop the tears and hoped she was buried back in that shallow grave.
Chapter 33- Vacancy
As we pulled down the road the car began to sputter. Tracy tapped on the fuel gauge. "Empty." She said, crestfallen. "Of all the bad luck..." I looked over at her and said in a high pitched high-school girl voice "Oh Johnny, you did this on purpose, didn't you?" She smiled and poked me in the chest. "You wish!" She said in a mocking yet playful tone. We got out of the car, grabbed our shotguns, and started walking down the road. "Well, shall we go steal someone else's car?" I asked, kicking a rock on the gravel drive.
We'd been walking about a mile and noticed the sky was beginning to lighten. "We've been out here all night." Tracy said with a yawn. I glanced at my watch. 5:23 am. Walking around a tree lined bend we saw a clearing with a house similar to the others we'd seen in this neighborhood. It was medium size, with brick exterior and white shutters. Two dormers topped the roof and a large red door with a brass knocker centered between two long glass windows sat squarely on a wrap around porch.
Aiming shotguns toward the exterior we watched for a moment from the safety of the trees. "You know this is the wrong way to approach a house. We're gonna get the cops called on us." Tracy said in a whisper. I smiled at the thought of some old man opening the door in his bathrobe to see the two of us aiming weapons at his morning paper. "I'd take that over what we faced at the last house any day." I said, and watched Tracy's smile fade. This was real, and we both knew we needed to treat it as such.
I walked up to the door, banging loudly one last time. Still nothing. Taking a step back I kicked the door as hard as I could below the knob. It didn't budge, and the resulting shock sent a twinge of pain up my leg and into my lower back. "I think I just herniated a disc!" I said, laughing but almost crying. The seriousness of the previous moment went out the window. "Should we try an easier door, or do you think you can get that one?" Her voice had the subtle hint of mockery and I nodded and accepted defeat. "Yeah, that thing's not going anywhere. Let's try the back door."
As we circled around the house we saw long trails of smoke pouring out of the top of the forest. "Is that from Mr. Munn's?" but as the words left my lips I knew it was bigger than that. The smoke was thick and dark, and appeared to several hundred feet wide. I noticed a few birds, a squirrel, and deer fleeing the woods. Peering through the trees I saw flickering yellow. "Tracy..." I said cautiously. "Is that what I think it is?" Tracy looked and said in an almost whisper "Forest fire?!?"
We'd been walking about a mile and noticed the sky was beginning to lighten. "We've been out here all night." Tracy said with a yawn. I glanced at my watch. 5:23 am. Walking around a tree lined bend we saw a clearing with a house similar to the others we'd seen in this neighborhood. It was medium size, with brick exterior and white shutters. Two dormers topped the roof and a large red door with a brass knocker centered between two long glass windows sat squarely on a wrap around porch.
Aiming shotguns toward the exterior we watched for a moment from the safety of the trees. "You know this is the wrong way to approach a house. We're gonna get the cops called on us." Tracy said in a whisper. I smiled at the thought of some old man opening the door in his bathrobe to see the two of us aiming weapons at his morning paper. "I'd take that over what we faced at the last house any day." I said, and watched Tracy's smile fade. This was real, and we both knew we needed to treat it as such.
I took a few steps toward the house. I turned to the right, scanning the windows for any sign of movement inside. The windows were dark. Tracy followed my example and started moving to the left. "Wait!" I called out. "We stick together." She immediately nodded and sidestepped to her right until she was a few feet away from me. "Let's move counter clockwise, and stay within 10 feet of each other. You cover behind us and I'll watch ahead." Tracy didn't say a word, which I assume meant she was okay with the plan. I stepped forward again, moving slowly, sweeping my gun left to right, scanning for any sign of movement. "Remember..." Tracy breathed behind me. "She moves fast. Be ready." I nodded and moved forward again.
We made a full circle around the house. Facing the front door Tracy took a few paces back while I walked up the steps. The smell of fresh wood stain filled my nose as the soft creak of the decking arched beneath my weight. Pulling the screen door open slowly, I held it with my foot as I rapped the hardwood door with my knuckles. Nothing. I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered through the glass. The house was silent, and a bulge lay on the hallway floor. Was that a dog? No, too big. It almost looked like a body. I knocked again, louder, watching for any signs of movement. The shape lay motionless. I pulled out my flashlight from my back pocket and shone the beam into the house. There on the hallway floor was the body of a man in pajamas. I couldn't see his face, but there was a pool of red near his head. I stepped back immediately, looking left and right. "What is it?" Tracy asked nervously, holding her shotgun up but unsure of where to aim. "Someone's in there, but they are either unconscious or dead."
"This is too big for us." Tracy said, shaking her head. "We need like the CDC or some team of quarantine experts." She sat on the ground, staring up at the house. "I mean, no signs of forced entry, the door is locked, We'd have to assume that everyone's still inside, right?" I watched the upstairs windows intently, looking for any sign of movement. "If they are in there..." I said slowly. "Then we have a chance to contain this here and now." I looked down at my shotgun. Only 3 rounds. I would have to be precise. I could feel my resolve thickening, my nerves turning to steel. "Give me your shells." I said, looking at Tracy. She opened her mouth to argue but saw the look in my eye. Almost obediently she handed me her shotgun. I cocked twice, leaving one shell in the chamber for her. "I want you to stay here." I said to her slowly. She started to protest but thought better of it. I looked at her seriously. "Does your cell phone get service?" She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen, then nodded affirmatively. "Good." I said. If something happens to me, get out of here and call 911. Ask for a detective, say you have information about a murder, and tell them everything." I looked back at the house. "I sure could use some theme music right about now." I said, smiling.
I walked up to the door, banging loudly one last time. Still nothing. Taking a step back I kicked the door as hard as I could below the knob. It didn't budge, and the resulting shock sent a twinge of pain up my leg and into my lower back. "I think I just herniated a disc!" I said, laughing but almost crying. The seriousness of the previous moment went out the window. "Should we try an easier door, or do you think you can get that one?" Her voice had the subtle hint of mockery and I nodded and accepted defeat. "Yeah, that thing's not going anywhere. Let's try the back door."
As we circled around the house we saw long trails of smoke pouring out of the top of the forest. "Is that from Mr. Munn's?" but as the words left my lips I knew it was bigger than that. The smoke was thick and dark, and appeared to several hundred feet wide. I noticed a few birds, a squirrel, and deer fleeing the woods. Peering through the trees I saw flickering yellow. "Tracy..." I said cautiously. "Is that what I think it is?" Tracy looked and said in an almost whisper "Forest fire?!?"
Chapter 32- Conflagration
I approached the shed cautiously. "Tracy? You in there?" No sound at first, then the scratching of something heavy and metallic sliding by the door handles. The door opened slowly, and Tracy's head peered out. "Is she gone?" she asked with trepidation. I gestured with my thumb over my shoulder. "Ran off through the woods that way." She looked visibly relieved. "Are you okay?" She nodded, still shivering a bit. "What happened?" I asked. She stepped through the doorway and into the night air. She had a long heavy crowbar in her hands, wielding it like a baseball bat. "Where's your shotgun?" I inquired, wondering why she didn't use it against that monster. She looked toward the house and back at me, still nervous. "Over there" She pointed. "You okay? I heard shots." She looked around nervously, not convinced that the area was safe. As we walked up toward the house she seemed to relax a little. Looking around in the darkness she searched the grass at our feet. "I was inside and saw something moving out here. When I came out, she jumped me, sent my gun flying before I could do anything. I saw that shed and bolted for it." She located her shotgun and picked it up, inspecting it. "But once inside I was trapped like a rat in a cage. It was terrifying. I tried calling out to you but I guess you couldn't hear me."
I looked at her standing in the moonlight. It was hard to imagine her afraid of anything. Here she was, standing in a strangers backyard with a loaded shotgun, talking comfortably about how helpless she felt. She truly was an amazing woman. "Sorry I didn't hear you." I apologized. "He finally turned and attacked me and I emptied my entire gun to stop him." I said. "I assumed you were inside and when I started firing and you didn't show up I was afraid something had happened to you." I took a step closer to her, and her gaze moved from scanning the tree line to looking into my eyes. She looked vulnerable and honest, and stunningly beautiful in the pale light. I pulled her close, and she let me. "I'm glad you're okay." I said, my adrenaline rushing. I leaned in, and she closed her eyes and tilted her chin up. Suddenly a distant scream echoed out into the night. Stepping away from each other we both looked toward the trees.
"It came from that way." Tracy said. I squinted, trying to see the source. "It's gotta be the next house over. That's the direction she headed." We were suddenly faced with a challenging decision: go after this monster before it had a chance to infect others, or call the authorities and hope they could dispatch the beast. I knew in my heart that the right thing to do was to go help, but I felt ill-equipped to do much with a single shotgun, a kitchen knife and a crowbar. I looked at Tracy. "There's more ammo in the duffel bags, but it's a long walk in the opposite direction." I gestured toward Mr. Munn's house. "We could just split the shells from your gun, and go with what we have." Tracy gave me a huge smile, as though there was something I'd missed. "It will take more time to go load up," she said. "But we need to be prepared as we possibly can be." She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "And I love that running away wasn't even an option in your mind." She walked toward the garage. I stood there for a second, rubbing my cheek and smiling like an idiot. "Where are you going?" I asked. "Your car is that way!" I gestured towards the woods, the way we came. She looked over her shoulder and laughed. "You really want to walk?" She asked with a wry smile.
She pulled the keys off a hook on the wall when I put my hand on her arm. "We can't do this- its stealing." She laughed. "You're kidding, right?" She looked at me in disbelief. "With all that's happened are you really worried about that?" I followed her into the garage where she opened the door to the sedan. "Don't you realize? If the police come here and see all this they won't understand what's happened. They'll see a dead body mutilated in the front yard, a shallow grave with who knows what inside it, a bathtub full of blood upstairs and our fingerprints all over the place." Tracy stopped and stared out the front window. I could see her processing the information. "The world isn't over." I continued. "It might feel like it with all we've gone through, but doing this will put us in a cell rather than keep us free to help stop this madness." My logic was sound, but brought a certain reality we had to face. Tracy looked at me. "Stealing a car or not, we either need to clean every finger print from this place or be here when the authorities arrive." She said matter-of factly. "And if we stay, what do you suggest we say? 'We were wandering through the woods looking for his mother who we stole from the hospital when we stumbled across a family of zombies?' We'd be trading that jail cell for a padded one." She had a very valid point, and outside of trying to wipe every print of everything we touched and burying the bodies, we were in a tough situation. Another scream echoed through the woods. "And what about them?" She asked. "Regardless of our own situation, we're some of the only people who understand what they are up against. We need to help them." A feeling of guilt and responsibility gnawed at me. Was this my fault? Had my mother been infected by Mr. Lawrence and is now responsible for a chain of events leading to the screams we hear in the distance? I nodded quietly and opened the passenger door. "Let's get our ammo, go help those people, then come back here and clean up."
The trees rushed by the window rapidly as we sped silently down the single lane road. Neither one of us spoke, both lost in our own thoughts. As we drove I began to question whether the twisting road
through this secluded neighborhood really was faster than the foot path we'd used earlier in the woods. It became increasingly clear that while the two houses were geographically close to each other, they were accessed by completely separate roads, and the only way vehicular traffic could get from one to the other was to exit all the way out to the main road and return on the separate private drive. The residents in this area apparently enjoyed their privacy so much that no houses were built within sight of each other, a fact that might work to our benefit. After all, if no one bothered anyone out here, it increased our chances that the home we just left would remain undisturbed until we returned.
We made the turn onto Mr. Munn's drive and I sat forward in my seat. "Wait, slow down" I pointed toward the tops of the towering trees. Flickering light danced along the leaves, and the faintest glimpse of bright yellow could be seen through the tall trunks. "What is that, emergency flashers? Floodlights?" I saw some large bushes to the left and gestured toward them. Can you get behind that? Let's hide the car and go in on foot." She steered the car across the ditch and behind the row of shrubbery.
We got out and closed our doors quietly. Shouldering our shotguns, we walked slowly toward the house. The flickering light got brighter and brighter. Tracy clapped her hand over her mouth in astonishment as we saw Mr. Munn's house, flames bursting from every door and window. Two black SUVs were silhouetted against the glow, and several men in suits walked around, their figures distorted by the heat. There were no attempts to slow down or stop the fire, and we saw Tracy's car being winched onto a shiny black tow truck that seemed to match the SUVs. A man wearing a white lab coat seemed to be motioning towards the other men, giving them orders. "So much for the supplies" I said quietly to Tracy. "You don't think they'd be willing to help us with our little problem, do you?" Tracy gave me a 'you can't be serious' look and pointed at the fire. "That's not help, that's a cover up." She seemed more than a little perturbed. "This is probably the same group that injected me with that serum. They probably hadn't heard from Mr. Munn and came to investigate." We watched for a moment longer and then stole silently back to the car.
We sat quietly for a moment, thinking about what to do next. "Well, looks like this is our only form of transportation." She said, getting ready to turn the ignition. "Wait..." I whispered, and we saw headlights come around the corner ahead. Ducking down, I looked over at Tracy who had her fingers crossed. I pointed to them as the black SUVs roared past with the tow truck close behind. "That totally helped." I said with a boyish grin. Once they had passed Tracy sat up and smacked the steering wheel in frustration. I looked over at her. "You okay?" She nodded and grinned. "My purse was in there, and I had a new pack of gum I hadn't even opened..." I couldn't help but smile. She had such an amazing way of lightening even the hardest of situations. "Let's go." I said, looking at her. "Those people need our help."
I looked at her standing in the moonlight. It was hard to imagine her afraid of anything. Here she was, standing in a strangers backyard with a loaded shotgun, talking comfortably about how helpless she felt. She truly was an amazing woman. "Sorry I didn't hear you." I apologized. "He finally turned and attacked me and I emptied my entire gun to stop him." I said. "I assumed you were inside and when I started firing and you didn't show up I was afraid something had happened to you." I took a step closer to her, and her gaze moved from scanning the tree line to looking into my eyes. She looked vulnerable and honest, and stunningly beautiful in the pale light. I pulled her close, and she let me. "I'm glad you're okay." I said, my adrenaline rushing. I leaned in, and she closed her eyes and tilted her chin up. Suddenly a distant scream echoed out into the night. Stepping away from each other we both looked toward the trees.
"It came from that way." Tracy said. I squinted, trying to see the source. "It's gotta be the next house over. That's the direction she headed." We were suddenly faced with a challenging decision: go after this monster before it had a chance to infect others, or call the authorities and hope they could dispatch the beast. I knew in my heart that the right thing to do was to go help, but I felt ill-equipped to do much with a single shotgun, a kitchen knife and a crowbar. I looked at Tracy. "There's more ammo in the duffel bags, but it's a long walk in the opposite direction." I gestured toward Mr. Munn's house. "We could just split the shells from your gun, and go with what we have." Tracy gave me a huge smile, as though there was something I'd missed. "It will take more time to go load up," she said. "But we need to be prepared as we possibly can be." She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "And I love that running away wasn't even an option in your mind." She walked toward the garage. I stood there for a second, rubbing my cheek and smiling like an idiot. "Where are you going?" I asked. "Your car is that way!" I gestured towards the woods, the way we came. She looked over her shoulder and laughed. "You really want to walk?" She asked with a wry smile.
She pulled the keys off a hook on the wall when I put my hand on her arm. "We can't do this- its stealing." She laughed. "You're kidding, right?" She looked at me in disbelief. "With all that's happened are you really worried about that?" I followed her into the garage where she opened the door to the sedan. "Don't you realize? If the police come here and see all this they won't understand what's happened. They'll see a dead body mutilated in the front yard, a shallow grave with who knows what inside it, a bathtub full of blood upstairs and our fingerprints all over the place." Tracy stopped and stared out the front window. I could see her processing the information. "The world isn't over." I continued. "It might feel like it with all we've gone through, but doing this will put us in a cell rather than keep us free to help stop this madness." My logic was sound, but brought a certain reality we had to face. Tracy looked at me. "Stealing a car or not, we either need to clean every finger print from this place or be here when the authorities arrive." She said matter-of factly. "And if we stay, what do you suggest we say? 'We were wandering through the woods looking for his mother who we stole from the hospital when we stumbled across a family of zombies?' We'd be trading that jail cell for a padded one." She had a very valid point, and outside of trying to wipe every print of everything we touched and burying the bodies, we were in a tough situation. Another scream echoed through the woods. "And what about them?" She asked. "Regardless of our own situation, we're some of the only people who understand what they are up against. We need to help them." A feeling of guilt and responsibility gnawed at me. Was this my fault? Had my mother been infected by Mr. Lawrence and is now responsible for a chain of events leading to the screams we hear in the distance? I nodded quietly and opened the passenger door. "Let's get our ammo, go help those people, then come back here and clean up."
The trees rushed by the window rapidly as we sped silently down the single lane road. Neither one of us spoke, both lost in our own thoughts. As we drove I began to question whether the twisting road
through this secluded neighborhood really was faster than the foot path we'd used earlier in the woods. It became increasingly clear that while the two houses were geographically close to each other, they were accessed by completely separate roads, and the only way vehicular traffic could get from one to the other was to exit all the way out to the main road and return on the separate private drive. The residents in this area apparently enjoyed their privacy so much that no houses were built within sight of each other, a fact that might work to our benefit. After all, if no one bothered anyone out here, it increased our chances that the home we just left would remain undisturbed until we returned.
We made the turn onto Mr. Munn's drive and I sat forward in my seat. "Wait, slow down" I pointed toward the tops of the towering trees. Flickering light danced along the leaves, and the faintest glimpse of bright yellow could be seen through the tall trunks. "What is that, emergency flashers? Floodlights?" I saw some large bushes to the left and gestured toward them. Can you get behind that? Let's hide the car and go in on foot." She steered the car across the ditch and behind the row of shrubbery.
We got out and closed our doors quietly. Shouldering our shotguns, we walked slowly toward the house. The flickering light got brighter and brighter. Tracy clapped her hand over her mouth in astonishment as we saw Mr. Munn's house, flames bursting from every door and window. Two black SUVs were silhouetted against the glow, and several men in suits walked around, their figures distorted by the heat. There were no attempts to slow down or stop the fire, and we saw Tracy's car being winched onto a shiny black tow truck that seemed to match the SUVs. A man wearing a white lab coat seemed to be motioning towards the other men, giving them orders. "So much for the supplies" I said quietly to Tracy. "You don't think they'd be willing to help us with our little problem, do you?" Tracy gave me a 'you can't be serious' look and pointed at the fire. "That's not help, that's a cover up." She seemed more than a little perturbed. "This is probably the same group that injected me with that serum. They probably hadn't heard from Mr. Munn and came to investigate." We watched for a moment longer and then stole silently back to the car.
We sat quietly for a moment, thinking about what to do next. "Well, looks like this is our only form of transportation." She said, getting ready to turn the ignition. "Wait..." I whispered, and we saw headlights come around the corner ahead. Ducking down, I looked over at Tracy who had her fingers crossed. I pointed to them as the black SUVs roared past with the tow truck close behind. "That totally helped." I said with a boyish grin. Once they had passed Tracy sat up and smacked the steering wheel in frustration. I looked over at her. "You okay?" She nodded and grinned. "My purse was in there, and I had a new pack of gum I hadn't even opened..." I couldn't help but smile. She had such an amazing way of lightening even the hardest of situations. "Let's go." I said, looking at her. "Those people need our help."
Chapter 31- Hell Hath No Fury
I pulled the trigger of my shotgun and felt the warm spray of sticky liquid hit my face. The copper taste of blood on my lips was familiar but it was thick and rotten and I found myself instantly sick. I turned over onto my side, vomiting hard. Pausing to get my breath I waited a brief moment and felt my face flush as another wave hit me. I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the grass and rolled onto my back, looking up at the night sky. What a horrendous ordeal, I thought ruefully. All across the world there are people sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to the traumatic scenarios into which I have been thrust over the past few weeks. Those few who have seen these monsters seem to have their memories altered or erased, like Tracy had. I wondered if that would be a better solution than this reality I faced.
I propped myself up onto my elbows and surveyed the carnage. The body at my feet was a disgusting mess, and my clothes were covered with its blood. I pushed it off my legs and stood up, wincing in pain as my broken fingers moved. I looked back toward the house, wondering where Tracy was. A feeling of dread filled my heart. Surely she would have heard the shotgun. I contemplated running back through the woods to Mr. Munn's house for more shells but knew that would take too long. I wished I had brought a handgun or a machete or something. I felt helpless, unarmed and unprepared. It was an uncomfortable, exposed feeling, and made me nervous about my ability to protect Tracy or save her from whatever trouble she might be facing. I looked around in desperation and saw the shovel with the blood covered handle. I picked it up and hefted it, testing its weight. I looked back at the house and took a deep breath. "Leroy Jenkins" I thought to myself, and walked toward the front door.
"Tracy?" I called out, listening as I stepped over the threshold. The house was silent. I moved through the hallway cautiously, gripping the shovel tightly. If something did leap out at me I wouldn't have much room to swing this thing. I thought of all the other weapons I'd rather have and cursed myself for not being more prepared. The living room looked empty as did the kitchen. I moved past the kitchen island and glanced inside the office. Nothing. A small room lay off to the side of a kitchen filled with coast and shoes. A door in the room looked like it led out to a garage, and I turned the handle slowly. The hinges creaked slightly and I could see steps leading down to a cement floor. Stepping into the doorway I looked around in the darkness. A double light switch laid next to the square glowing button of a garage door trigger. I flipped on the first switch and squinted at the sudden brightness. Four overhead fluorescents illuminated the garage where a minivan and small sedan were parked peacefully. They weren't new, but they were meticulously maintained. I felt a bit of sadness at the thought of the hard working man who had provided a comfortable home for his small family. Stepping backward into the kitchen I picked up a photo sitting on a countertop near the door. The woman smiled so happily in the photograph, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck as he held their infant son on his lap. What a proud father. I wondered if I would ever have that feeling, the joy of being a parent. My mind immediately thought of Tracy and the feeling of dread and urgency flowed back into my veins.
I bounded upstairs, more confident in my ability to search the rooms now that I understood the layout. Checking each quickly to confirm that no one was inside, I spun back down the stairs. Where could she be? I went back into the garage and pushed the button, watching as the door slowly lifted on its track. The night was dark and a cold, unwelcome breeze chilled me. Tossing the second switch the outdoor flood lights flicked on, pouring light through the windows in the garage and across the driveway leading up to the house. Several hundred feet outside the house I saw the outline of a small shed. Something was moving outside, clawing at the door. As the faint light cast its shadow upon the shed the figure immediately reacted, turning toward me for the briefest moment and then rushing in a what I would best describe as a limping sprint. I watched in horror as it approached me aggressively, and as it came fully into the light I could see that it was the woman from the pictures. My mind puzzled for a moment. If she was here, who was buried in the dirt, and who's blood was in the tub upstairs?
Shaking myself from my thoughts I pressed the garage door button too late, and watched as the door closed too slowly. Reaching the door before it was even halfway down, she crawled underneath, triggering the door's safety sensor. As the door began to raise again, I pressed the button repeatedly in desperation, but the door remained unmoved and the garage light flashed in protest. She clambered into the garage and stood erect, staring at me for the briefest of moments, head cocked to the side as though studying me. Her hair was greasy and her clothes filthy. She had the same mud caked on her knees and thighs as her husband did, as though she must have helped dig that grave in front. She snarled at me, her eyes a putrid yellow, thick with puss-filled cataracts. Her infection looked disgusting and juicy, as though simply getting a drop on me would infect me with the same madness she was suffering from. She took a step toward me, purposefully, as though she was hunting me. I recalled the mad, almost blind rage of Mr. Lawrence, how he seemed to sniff the air, listening for signs of movement. She was different. She seemed to know exactly where I was, and was moving in such a way to ensure I didn't escape her. I backed toward the door and she paused, watching me. Her hair was almost dripping down her face, her mouth curled in a horrible sneer. Her gums were swollen and bleeding, and there were chunks of fur wedged between her teeth. I thought of the poor dog I had found upstairs and knew how it must have been injured. Her hands were covered in the dark stains of blood and mud, and she was truly the most horrible thing I'd ever seen. I gripped my shovel tightly, unsure whether to fight or flee. Remembering the damage my mother had done to Mr. Munn I knew a younger, healthier woman could be even stronger, so I leapt backward and grabbed the edge of the door. As I slammed it closed I saw her face fill with rage as she charged, the force of her body hitting it as I held it closed. She wiggled the handle violently, and it took all my strength to keep her from pushing it open.
I held the door closed with my foot and wedged the shovel into the drywall behind the cabinet. I brought the long handle up and pushed it under the door knob, doing my best to secure the door. I stood back for second and watched the door buckle under her attack. The drywall cracked and the cabinet moved outward a bit, giving her enough space to reach a blood stained hand out. The hand grasped frantically, looking for the shovel handle. I backed up slowly, worried that she might succeed. Looking to my left I saw a block of kitchen knives and grabbed the largest one. It felt small and ineffective, but I passed it from hand to hand to see which grip felt right. Her force moved the cabinet further, and her hand came out, twisted around until her fingers touched the handle of the shovel. With steady resolve the hand grabbed the wood and I watched in horror as it almost splintered in the powerful grip. She pulled upward, but the handle stopped against the handle. I darted in with the knife, jabbing at the forearm. A long cut across the sleeve of her mud stained shirt showed very little blood, and she didn't even react to the injury. I lashed out again, removing a finger and almost vomiting as the thick blood dripped slowly from the stump. A horrible smell filled the air and I choked and back away. The arm was still violently pulling back and forth on the shovel, and the cabinet began to give way. I turned and ran.
Racing past the couch and down the hallway to the front door my eyes caught the images of this family hanging on the wall. Instead of the happy family smiling all I could see were the yellow, angry eyes. I rushed out into the night, passing the body of the man and the animal wrapped in the rug, which now lay motionless. Glancing back at the house I heard a tremendous scream, like a banshee in pain and agony. It was frustration mixed with fury, and it was followed by a large crash. I could only assume the door had finally given way.
I ducked behind the woodpile and crouched down. Peeking through a space under two large blocks of wood I could see the front door and the bodies laying in the yard. The light from the hallway filled the night and the bodies cast long deformed shadows along the grass. I heard some shuffling in the house and looked at the front door. The woman's silhouette filled the front doorway, and she paused a moment before stepping out into the night air. Looking left and right she completely disregarded the mangled body of her husband laying on the ground in front of her, nor did she show any remorse as her eyes passed the dirt pile under which I can only assume her son lay. She waited, standing silently for a moment, searching the tree line. Something caught her attention in the distance and she limped off rapidly. I watched her disappear into the night and worried that I might have just unleashed something horrible on the world.
I propped myself up onto my elbows and surveyed the carnage. The body at my feet was a disgusting mess, and my clothes were covered with its blood. I pushed it off my legs and stood up, wincing in pain as my broken fingers moved. I looked back toward the house, wondering where Tracy was. A feeling of dread filled my heart. Surely she would have heard the shotgun. I contemplated running back through the woods to Mr. Munn's house for more shells but knew that would take too long. I wished I had brought a handgun or a machete or something. I felt helpless, unarmed and unprepared. It was an uncomfortable, exposed feeling, and made me nervous about my ability to protect Tracy or save her from whatever trouble she might be facing. I looked around in desperation and saw the shovel with the blood covered handle. I picked it up and hefted it, testing its weight. I looked back at the house and took a deep breath. "Leroy Jenkins" I thought to myself, and walked toward the front door.
"Tracy?" I called out, listening as I stepped over the threshold. The house was silent. I moved through the hallway cautiously, gripping the shovel tightly. If something did leap out at me I wouldn't have much room to swing this thing. I thought of all the other weapons I'd rather have and cursed myself for not being more prepared. The living room looked empty as did the kitchen. I moved past the kitchen island and glanced inside the office. Nothing. A small room lay off to the side of a kitchen filled with coast and shoes. A door in the room looked like it led out to a garage, and I turned the handle slowly. The hinges creaked slightly and I could see steps leading down to a cement floor. Stepping into the doorway I looked around in the darkness. A double light switch laid next to the square glowing button of a garage door trigger. I flipped on the first switch and squinted at the sudden brightness. Four overhead fluorescents illuminated the garage where a minivan and small sedan were parked peacefully. They weren't new, but they were meticulously maintained. I felt a bit of sadness at the thought of the hard working man who had provided a comfortable home for his small family. Stepping backward into the kitchen I picked up a photo sitting on a countertop near the door. The woman smiled so happily in the photograph, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck as he held their infant son on his lap. What a proud father. I wondered if I would ever have that feeling, the joy of being a parent. My mind immediately thought of Tracy and the feeling of dread and urgency flowed back into my veins.
I bounded upstairs, more confident in my ability to search the rooms now that I understood the layout. Checking each quickly to confirm that no one was inside, I spun back down the stairs. Where could she be? I went back into the garage and pushed the button, watching as the door slowly lifted on its track. The night was dark and a cold, unwelcome breeze chilled me. Tossing the second switch the outdoor flood lights flicked on, pouring light through the windows in the garage and across the driveway leading up to the house. Several hundred feet outside the house I saw the outline of a small shed. Something was moving outside, clawing at the door. As the faint light cast its shadow upon the shed the figure immediately reacted, turning toward me for the briefest moment and then rushing in a what I would best describe as a limping sprint. I watched in horror as it approached me aggressively, and as it came fully into the light I could see that it was the woman from the pictures. My mind puzzled for a moment. If she was here, who was buried in the dirt, and who's blood was in the tub upstairs?
Shaking myself from my thoughts I pressed the garage door button too late, and watched as the door closed too slowly. Reaching the door before it was even halfway down, she crawled underneath, triggering the door's safety sensor. As the door began to raise again, I pressed the button repeatedly in desperation, but the door remained unmoved and the garage light flashed in protest. She clambered into the garage and stood erect, staring at me for the briefest of moments, head cocked to the side as though studying me. Her hair was greasy and her clothes filthy. She had the same mud caked on her knees and thighs as her husband did, as though she must have helped dig that grave in front. She snarled at me, her eyes a putrid yellow, thick with puss-filled cataracts. Her infection looked disgusting and juicy, as though simply getting a drop on me would infect me with the same madness she was suffering from. She took a step toward me, purposefully, as though she was hunting me. I recalled the mad, almost blind rage of Mr. Lawrence, how he seemed to sniff the air, listening for signs of movement. She was different. She seemed to know exactly where I was, and was moving in such a way to ensure I didn't escape her. I backed toward the door and she paused, watching me. Her hair was almost dripping down her face, her mouth curled in a horrible sneer. Her gums were swollen and bleeding, and there were chunks of fur wedged between her teeth. I thought of the poor dog I had found upstairs and knew how it must have been injured. Her hands were covered in the dark stains of blood and mud, and she was truly the most horrible thing I'd ever seen. I gripped my shovel tightly, unsure whether to fight or flee. Remembering the damage my mother had done to Mr. Munn I knew a younger, healthier woman could be even stronger, so I leapt backward and grabbed the edge of the door. As I slammed it closed I saw her face fill with rage as she charged, the force of her body hitting it as I held it closed. She wiggled the handle violently, and it took all my strength to keep her from pushing it open.
I held the door closed with my foot and wedged the shovel into the drywall behind the cabinet. I brought the long handle up and pushed it under the door knob, doing my best to secure the door. I stood back for second and watched the door buckle under her attack. The drywall cracked and the cabinet moved outward a bit, giving her enough space to reach a blood stained hand out. The hand grasped frantically, looking for the shovel handle. I backed up slowly, worried that she might succeed. Looking to my left I saw a block of kitchen knives and grabbed the largest one. It felt small and ineffective, but I passed it from hand to hand to see which grip felt right. Her force moved the cabinet further, and her hand came out, twisted around until her fingers touched the handle of the shovel. With steady resolve the hand grabbed the wood and I watched in horror as it almost splintered in the powerful grip. She pulled upward, but the handle stopped against the handle. I darted in with the knife, jabbing at the forearm. A long cut across the sleeve of her mud stained shirt showed very little blood, and she didn't even react to the injury. I lashed out again, removing a finger and almost vomiting as the thick blood dripped slowly from the stump. A horrible smell filled the air and I choked and back away. The arm was still violently pulling back and forth on the shovel, and the cabinet began to give way. I turned and ran.
Racing past the couch and down the hallway to the front door my eyes caught the images of this family hanging on the wall. Instead of the happy family smiling all I could see were the yellow, angry eyes. I rushed out into the night, passing the body of the man and the animal wrapped in the rug, which now lay motionless. Glancing back at the house I heard a tremendous scream, like a banshee in pain and agony. It was frustration mixed with fury, and it was followed by a large crash. I could only assume the door had finally given way.
I ducked behind the woodpile and crouched down. Peeking through a space under two large blocks of wood I could see the front door and the bodies laying in the yard. The light from the hallway filled the night and the bodies cast long deformed shadows along the grass. I heard some shuffling in the house and looked at the front door. The woman's silhouette filled the front doorway, and she paused a moment before stepping out into the night air. Looking left and right she completely disregarded the mangled body of her husband laying on the ground in front of her, nor did she show any remorse as her eyes passed the dirt pile under which I can only assume her son lay. She waited, standing silently for a moment, searching the tree line. Something caught her attention in the distance and she limped off rapidly. I watched her disappear into the night and worried that I might have just unleashed something horrible on the world.
Chapter 30- Narrow Escape
"This guy had a whole family" I whispered to Tracy. We watched as the man stood stoically above the mound of dirt. Tracy chewed on her thumbnail but kept her eyes fixed on him, as though any moment she would be called to action. "Any sign of your mother?" She asked without moving her eyes. I shrugged my shoulders. "Nothing yet. Do you think she's responsible for all of this?" I gestured toward the man holding his blood stained shovel. Tracy signed. "For all we know" she gestured toward the dirt at the man's feet. "She could be in there." I was ashamed to feel a wave of relief at this thought. Part of me would be glad if she was already dead. It was hard enough to see her mind gone, staring blankly at the TV in the hospital room, but to see her become one of those monsters... I wondered if I could make the decision to end her life or if, in that moment, I would let her take mine...
"I'm gonna go look around" Tracy said, patting me on the shoulder. "You okay?" I nodded, my eyes never leaving the silent form I knew would soon become a monster. "Be careful in there." I called out as she walked toward the house. "And thanks for coming with me, for sticking with all this." She smiled at me. "Are you kidding? If this really IS the zombie apocalypse the hardest part is gonna be pretending I'm not excited!" She posed like an overpaid action hero and cocked her shotgun, flinging a shell into the air. As it spun downwards behind her she turned her head at the perfect moment and kicked the shell across the grass. She looked at me with a look of shock and glee on her face, and I could tell she didn't expect that to happen. We both started laughing. "You just wasted a perfectly good round!" I called out as she walked away. She waved her hand, still laughing. "Aww, there's plenty more in the car!" she called back. Considering the horrific circumstances I found it odd that we both were laughing, but also genuinely hopeful. It felt good to smile, and I felt happier than I'd been in weeks.
I turned back and looked at the man standing over the mystery grave. Who is in there anyway? I kept my weapon pointed in his direction. It was getting heavy, but I didn't want to lower it. Any minute now this fool was going charge me and I needed to be ready. I thought about that for a moment. Why be ready? Why wait for that moment and hope I prevail? Why not just pull the trigger now? If I know he'll turn it wouldn't be any different, right? In fact, I might actually be doing him a favor. I thumbed the safety on and of, the clicking like a timer helping me make my decision. No, that was wrong. What if he never turned? What if he was simply in shock, so upset that his mind was blocking out the horrific scene he'd witnessed earlier? There's no doubt I'd make it short and sweet when he did change, but until then I had to wait.
I looked down at my gun. The black powder coat was almost invisible in the darkness, and as I turned in over it caught the light and reflected streaks of silver. It really was a beautiful weapon. I wondered if other people appreciated such simplistic beauty. In my other hand I clicked my flashlight on an off, pointing it up into the air, then down onto the ground. I was almost bored. I shone my light into the forest, half expecting to see my mother standing there. I wondered if she really was buried under that man's feet. The pile f dirt was big enough to have covered his wife and son and my mother, but there is no telling what was under there, and he certainly wasn't talking. The thought occurred to me that I could dig up the bodies, but I put that from my mind immediately. I didn't want to see her, not like that.
I was jarred out of my thoughts by the whimper of the dog wrapped in the rug on the ground by my feet. I had almost forgotten about it. I unrolled one half of the rug, petting the dog's nose. "Its gonna be okay boy." I reassured him. "It will all be over soon." I wondered if the dog was going to change... now that is something I definitely didn't want to see, and certainly felt less guilt about putting a wounded animal out of its misery. I pointed my gun at its head and almost immediately the dog began to whine as though it knew what I was doing and was begging for mercy. I hesitated, and looked back at the man. No movement. The dog's cries got louder and louder, as though it was suddenly experiencing an intense amount of pain. I tried to comfort him, to calm him down, but nothing seemed to make a difference. The sounds were annoyingly shrill, and I found myself getting almost angry at the dog for being so loud. "Quiet!" I yelled, aiming my gun, but then lowering it. I couldn't do it. Those eyes, those poor, sad eyes.
In the tumult I almost didn't hear the man behind me, and turned just in time to see the shovel swinging toward my head. I ducked and instinctively raised my shotgun to block. A sickening crack and bolt of pain confirmed that at least of one of my fingers just broke. Pain shot up my arm and into my back, and I stepped backward, tripping over the dog. As I fell downward I pulled the trigger but missed completely, sending shot flying into the air pointlessly. The blast didn't even startle the beast and he stumbled over the dog and staggered toward me. I cocked the shotgun, clearing the spent shell and loading the next int the chamber. Pointing it with my good hand I pulled the trigger. I watched as the projectiles tore though his thigh, but he didn't even seem to care. He limped toward me, determined. I winced in pain as I pushed the slide downward and pulled it back up again. I pointed and fired again, this shot removing his left hand up to the forearm. Still he moved forward, slowly, but determined. I scrambled to my feet and fired again. This shot connected with his knee, spinning him to the ground. I breathed a sigh of relief but watched in horror as he spun over onto his chest and began crawling toward me. I pointed my shotgun down at his skull and pulled the trigger. Click. Misfire? Was I out? I cleared the jam and looked into the chamber. I was out of shells. I looked around, trying to find that shell Tracy had flung into the air earlier. A hand grabbed my pant leg. I tried to shake him off but his grip was like a vice. He pulled me to the ground and I was powerless to stop him. "Tracy!" I yelled. Where was she? Hadn't she heard the shots? I looked back toward the house. "Tracy, help!" I called out again. I crawled on my hands and knees, kicking at the monster's face, but nothing seemed to make a difference. Then I saw a hint of red in the grass ahead of me... The shell Tracy had discharged! I stretched out my hand, but it was just out of my reach. It teased the tips of my fingers and every time I almost had it it seemed to slide away a little more. Behind me the beast was grabbing my ankle and pulling himself up closer. I placed my other foot on his forehead and pushed off, launching myself toward the shell. His grip didn't break, but I was close enough. I loaded the shell and pointed my gun at his head...
"I'm gonna go look around" Tracy said, patting me on the shoulder. "You okay?" I nodded, my eyes never leaving the silent form I knew would soon become a monster. "Be careful in there." I called out as she walked toward the house. "And thanks for coming with me, for sticking with all this." She smiled at me. "Are you kidding? If this really IS the zombie apocalypse the hardest part is gonna be pretending I'm not excited!" She posed like an overpaid action hero and cocked her shotgun, flinging a shell into the air. As it spun downwards behind her she turned her head at the perfect moment and kicked the shell across the grass. She looked at me with a look of shock and glee on her face, and I could tell she didn't expect that to happen. We both started laughing. "You just wasted a perfectly good round!" I called out as she walked away. She waved her hand, still laughing. "Aww, there's plenty more in the car!" she called back. Considering the horrific circumstances I found it odd that we both were laughing, but also genuinely hopeful. It felt good to smile, and I felt happier than I'd been in weeks.
I turned back and looked at the man standing over the mystery grave. Who is in there anyway? I kept my weapon pointed in his direction. It was getting heavy, but I didn't want to lower it. Any minute now this fool was going charge me and I needed to be ready. I thought about that for a moment. Why be ready? Why wait for that moment and hope I prevail? Why not just pull the trigger now? If I know he'll turn it wouldn't be any different, right? In fact, I might actually be doing him a favor. I thumbed the safety on and of, the clicking like a timer helping me make my decision. No, that was wrong. What if he never turned? What if he was simply in shock, so upset that his mind was blocking out the horrific scene he'd witnessed earlier? There's no doubt I'd make it short and sweet when he did change, but until then I had to wait.
I looked down at my gun. The black powder coat was almost invisible in the darkness, and as I turned in over it caught the light and reflected streaks of silver. It really was a beautiful weapon. I wondered if other people appreciated such simplistic beauty. In my other hand I clicked my flashlight on an off, pointing it up into the air, then down onto the ground. I was almost bored. I shone my light into the forest, half expecting to see my mother standing there. I wondered if she really was buried under that man's feet. The pile f dirt was big enough to have covered his wife and son and my mother, but there is no telling what was under there, and he certainly wasn't talking. The thought occurred to me that I could dig up the bodies, but I put that from my mind immediately. I didn't want to see her, not like that.
I was jarred out of my thoughts by the whimper of the dog wrapped in the rug on the ground by my feet. I had almost forgotten about it. I unrolled one half of the rug, petting the dog's nose. "Its gonna be okay boy." I reassured him. "It will all be over soon." I wondered if the dog was going to change... now that is something I definitely didn't want to see, and certainly felt less guilt about putting a wounded animal out of its misery. I pointed my gun at its head and almost immediately the dog began to whine as though it knew what I was doing and was begging for mercy. I hesitated, and looked back at the man. No movement. The dog's cries got louder and louder, as though it was suddenly experiencing an intense amount of pain. I tried to comfort him, to calm him down, but nothing seemed to make a difference. The sounds were annoyingly shrill, and I found myself getting almost angry at the dog for being so loud. "Quiet!" I yelled, aiming my gun, but then lowering it. I couldn't do it. Those eyes, those poor, sad eyes.
In the tumult I almost didn't hear the man behind me, and turned just in time to see the shovel swinging toward my head. I ducked and instinctively raised my shotgun to block. A sickening crack and bolt of pain confirmed that at least of one of my fingers just broke. Pain shot up my arm and into my back, and I stepped backward, tripping over the dog. As I fell downward I pulled the trigger but missed completely, sending shot flying into the air pointlessly. The blast didn't even startle the beast and he stumbled over the dog and staggered toward me. I cocked the shotgun, clearing the spent shell and loading the next int the chamber. Pointing it with my good hand I pulled the trigger. I watched as the projectiles tore though his thigh, but he didn't even seem to care. He limped toward me, determined. I winced in pain as I pushed the slide downward and pulled it back up again. I pointed and fired again, this shot removing his left hand up to the forearm. Still he moved forward, slowly, but determined. I scrambled to my feet and fired again. This shot connected with his knee, spinning him to the ground. I breathed a sigh of relief but watched in horror as he spun over onto his chest and began crawling toward me. I pointed my shotgun down at his skull and pulled the trigger. Click. Misfire? Was I out? I cleared the jam and looked into the chamber. I was out of shells. I looked around, trying to find that shell Tracy had flung into the air earlier. A hand grabbed my pant leg. I tried to shake him off but his grip was like a vice. He pulled me to the ground and I was powerless to stop him. "Tracy!" I yelled. Where was she? Hadn't she heard the shots? I looked back toward the house. "Tracy, help!" I called out again. I crawled on my hands and knees, kicking at the monster's face, but nothing seemed to make a difference. Then I saw a hint of red in the grass ahead of me... The shell Tracy had discharged! I stretched out my hand, but it was just out of my reach. It teased the tips of my fingers and every time I almost had it it seemed to slide away a little more. Behind me the beast was grabbing my ankle and pulling himself up closer. I placed my other foot on his forehead and pushed off, launching myself toward the shell. His grip didn't break, but I was close enough. I loaded the shell and pointed my gun at his head...
Chapter 29- Fragments
"Are you okay?" Tracy asked, gesturing toward the man's hand. He didn't look at her, but kept his eyes focused on me. "Did you bury something there?" I asked. He sniffed and kept his eyes locked on me, not answering. "Is that an old woman?" I asked, my voice shaking. The man kept staring, but when he spoke the emotion was fading from his voice. "It started in my hand, but it moves quickly." He twitched and a shudder ran down his body, straightening his back. "It's like an itch you can't scratch." I took a step forward and shine my light into his eyes. The color was fading from his retinas, and the whites were a familiar, faint yellow. It wouldn't be long, maybe an hour, possibly less.
Tracy motioned toward the house. "You go look, I'll stay and watch him." I nodded and walked slowly toward the front door. Turning off my light and pocketing it, I held my shotgun cautiously, walking through the half open front door. The hallway table had a picture of a family, the man outside, a woman, and a small boy about 6 years old. Other pictures of the same people dotted the hallway. One picture of the woman had a red stain on it, and I noticed a few other drops on the floor. I stepped into the living room cautiously. "Hello?" I called out. "Is anyone here?" I circled around the couch and turned off the TV. Turning to listen, I waited for some sound, something to tell me where the other members of the family were. I couldn't hear anything but the rapid thump of my own heart pounding in my chest.
I moved into the kitchen and stopped short. On the floor a great red stain seeped into the hardwood floor. Drops were splattered all over the room, even on the ceiling. "Hello?" I called out again. "Is someone there? If you need help say something!" I heard a thump upstairs, and looked toward the ceiling as if to identify the location. Looking around, I located a stairwell and moved slowly, cautiously upstairs. "Mom, is that you?" I asked hopefully, knowing in my heart that if it was, it wouldn't be the mother I knew.
I stepped cautiously onto the landing and scanned the hallway. Two doorways on the left, one on the right, and a bathroom at the end of the hall. All the doors were open. As I moved slowly toward the door that seemed to be the source of the sound, I glanced toward the other doors. The lights were off in every room. Nervously I pulled out my flashlight and switched it on, keeping the muzzle of my shotgun facing forward.
The room was decorated in blues and greens, with toy trains in shelves and a bedspread with cheerful caboose stitched across it. Behind the bed something shifted, and I froze as a chill ran down my spine. I listened intently, and could hear the slow, labored pace of something small breathing. Cautiously I moved around the bed and found a dog laying in a pool of red. It's fur was matted and there were large scratches in it's side. Its eyes watched me intently but it did not move, and I heard a faint whimper as though it was asking for help. I bent down and examined the gashes. I couldn't tell what made them, but it was clear the animal could not survive much longer. It was laying on a small green rug trimmed with a little train driving around its edge, and I folded the corners to wrap the dog up like a giant burrito. Lifting it carefully I walked back into the hall. I glanced toward the doorways of the other rooms. They needed to be searched.
Laying the dog down carefully I looked into the next room. From the hall I could see the shape of a desk and a chair. I shone my light into the room and could see shelves of little plastic bins, each one containing thread or colored paper. It appeared to be some sort of office/craft room. A long table backed against a wall held half finished pages of a family camping trip, the man standing next to the boy, who was holding up a fish proudly for the camera. The smile on his face was so innocent, so happy. There were other pictures of the woman cooking a marshmallow over a fire, and smiling as she rolled up a sleeping bag inside a tent. I placed my hand on the photos, like I could somehow soak in some of the happiness they had. Looking out the window I could see the front yard, still shrouded in darkness, the faint light from the windows outlining the shapes of the tree line.
I walked slowly and cautiously to the next room, my light leading me along the darkened hallway. The master bed sat ominously in the middle of the room, and through the large windows on the opposite side the moonlight lit the room with an almost silverly glow. After checking the side of the bed I turned to the closet door. My light reflected back into my eyes from the mirror over the bathroom sink. Looking cautiously inside I saw a walk in closet, stand up shower and a large garden tub. The tub was spattered with bloodstains and the curtain was missing, leaving the rings dangling alone, a few remnants of shredded plastic hanging from the loops. I backed up slowly and moved to the hallway. Slinging my shotgun to my shoulder, I lifte the animal and walked slowly downstairs and out the front door.
Tracy stood outside, her flashlight and gun trained on the man. She looked nervously at the bundle in my arms. "It's a dog." I said. "Still alive, but probably won't be for long." I set the dog down on the ground behind the man. "Has he said anything?" I asked. She shone the light directly into his eyes and I could see his retinas had changed to a sickly, pale yellow. The whites of his eyes were swollen and veiny, the yellow tinge fading to a brown like an overripe banana. "He hasn't said a word" Tracy said. "And hasn't moved an inch." I knew what would be coming next, and I didn't want to face a rampaging behemoth with a shovel. Tracy looked to me for counsel. "What should we do?" She asked, her eyes submitting to my judgement. I looked at her and held up my shotgun. "We protect ourselves."
Tracy motioned toward the house. "You go look, I'll stay and watch him." I nodded and walked slowly toward the front door. Turning off my light and pocketing it, I held my shotgun cautiously, walking through the half open front door. The hallway table had a picture of a family, the man outside, a woman, and a small boy about 6 years old. Other pictures of the same people dotted the hallway. One picture of the woman had a red stain on it, and I noticed a few other drops on the floor. I stepped into the living room cautiously. "Hello?" I called out. "Is anyone here?" I circled around the couch and turned off the TV. Turning to listen, I waited for some sound, something to tell me where the other members of the family were. I couldn't hear anything but the rapid thump of my own heart pounding in my chest.
I moved into the kitchen and stopped short. On the floor a great red stain seeped into the hardwood floor. Drops were splattered all over the room, even on the ceiling. "Hello?" I called out again. "Is someone there? If you need help say something!" I heard a thump upstairs, and looked toward the ceiling as if to identify the location. Looking around, I located a stairwell and moved slowly, cautiously upstairs. "Mom, is that you?" I asked hopefully, knowing in my heart that if it was, it wouldn't be the mother I knew.
I stepped cautiously onto the landing and scanned the hallway. Two doorways on the left, one on the right, and a bathroom at the end of the hall. All the doors were open. As I moved slowly toward the door that seemed to be the source of the sound, I glanced toward the other doors. The lights were off in every room. Nervously I pulled out my flashlight and switched it on, keeping the muzzle of my shotgun facing forward.
The room was decorated in blues and greens, with toy trains in shelves and a bedspread with cheerful caboose stitched across it. Behind the bed something shifted, and I froze as a chill ran down my spine. I listened intently, and could hear the slow, labored pace of something small breathing. Cautiously I moved around the bed and found a dog laying in a pool of red. It's fur was matted and there were large scratches in it's side. Its eyes watched me intently but it did not move, and I heard a faint whimper as though it was asking for help. I bent down and examined the gashes. I couldn't tell what made them, but it was clear the animal could not survive much longer. It was laying on a small green rug trimmed with a little train driving around its edge, and I folded the corners to wrap the dog up like a giant burrito. Lifting it carefully I walked back into the hall. I glanced toward the doorways of the other rooms. They needed to be searched.
Laying the dog down carefully I looked into the next room. From the hall I could see the shape of a desk and a chair. I shone my light into the room and could see shelves of little plastic bins, each one containing thread or colored paper. It appeared to be some sort of office/craft room. A long table backed against a wall held half finished pages of a family camping trip, the man standing next to the boy, who was holding up a fish proudly for the camera. The smile on his face was so innocent, so happy. There were other pictures of the woman cooking a marshmallow over a fire, and smiling as she rolled up a sleeping bag inside a tent. I placed my hand on the photos, like I could somehow soak in some of the happiness they had. Looking out the window I could see the front yard, still shrouded in darkness, the faint light from the windows outlining the shapes of the tree line.
I walked slowly and cautiously to the next room, my light leading me along the darkened hallway. The master bed sat ominously in the middle of the room, and through the large windows on the opposite side the moonlight lit the room with an almost silverly glow. After checking the side of the bed I turned to the closet door. My light reflected back into my eyes from the mirror over the bathroom sink. Looking cautiously inside I saw a walk in closet, stand up shower and a large garden tub. The tub was spattered with bloodstains and the curtain was missing, leaving the rings dangling alone, a few remnants of shredded plastic hanging from the loops. I backed up slowly and moved to the hallway. Slinging my shotgun to my shoulder, I lifte the animal and walked slowly downstairs and out the front door.
Tracy stood outside, her flashlight and gun trained on the man. She looked nervously at the bundle in my arms. "It's a dog." I said. "Still alive, but probably won't be for long." I set the dog down on the ground behind the man. "Has he said anything?" I asked. She shone the light directly into his eyes and I could see his retinas had changed to a sickly, pale yellow. The whites of his eyes were swollen and veiny, the yellow tinge fading to a brown like an overripe banana. "He hasn't said a word" Tracy said. "And hasn't moved an inch." I knew what would be coming next, and I didn't want to face a rampaging behemoth with a shovel. Tracy looked to me for counsel. "What should we do?" She asked, her eyes submitting to my judgement. I looked at her and held up my shotgun. "We protect ourselves."
Chapter 28- Perquisition
"We're here." Tracy's voice woke me and I sat up, looking around. I rubbed my eyes, expecting to see a hospital or clinic, but instead found myself facing a large iron gate. A sign to my left hung over the window where I could see the grumpy face of Lou, the caretaker of SafeT storage. "Hey Lou!" I called out sleepily. I could see his "Harrumph" as he spun away from the window and back to whatever dark hobby captured his cranky attention. I looked over at Tracy, who gestured toward the keypad by her window. "Code's changed..." she said expectantly. "Yeah, sorry, it's 8712." I replied and watched her punch the numbers into the pad. We waited as the gate slowly opened. "When did you change it?" She asked casually. I rubbed my jaw, looking in the mirror affixed to the visor. A dark bruise ran from my chin up to my ear. "When I wasn't sure how you'd lost your memory I figured they could have stolen all your secrets out of your brain, you know?" Tracy laughed out loud. "You make it sound like aliens abducted me!" She poked me in the ribs, "Besides, if they had the power to record my memories, do you think a gate at a local storage facility would have stopped them from getting our stash?" She smiled and poked me again. "You're getting paranoid like Jeff, aren't you?" The smile faded from my face as I thought about it. "I'm not sure its paranoia with the stuff I've seen lately..." I looked out the window as Tracy pulled up to the large unit. "It doesn't seem possible, and I certainly don't know what to expect anymore." Tracy nodded and turned off the car. Without getting out, she turned and looked at me. "Your Mom, do you think..." I looked toward the big orange gate with new resolve and pulled out my keys. "I don't know, but we have to find her."
We loaded various supplies and weapons into large duffel bags and began placing them in the car. "Not exactly the ideal vehicle for what we're doing." Tracy said as she heaved a duffel bag into the trunk. I shrugged indifferently. "It's great." I replied quietly. Tracy looked at me, searching my eyes for some glimmer of hope. "I'm not saying I don't like my car, I just... I thought your jeep was pretty cool." I nodded but did not reply. I was thinking about my mother. Where did she go? Could she really have scratched off Mr. Munn's face? Something must have given tremendous strength to overpower a grown man. If that was true would we be able to stop her? Would I even have the heart to do what was necessary? I looked down at the bag in front of me. A few pistols, a couple shotguns, and several boxes of ammunition lay inside. The thought of hurting my mother was almost inconceivable, but was she still my mother? I remembered the blank look on her face as she stared at the wall, her eyes changing into blank, unrecognizable windows. What if she was attacking innocent people right now? What if she hurt a child? The thought terrified me and I steeled my resolve. "We need to go." I told Tracy authoritatively. "We need to find her." Tracy tossed me the keys and hopped into the passenger seat. She started loading shells into a 12 gauge tactical shotgun as I started the car.
I switched off the lights and cut the engine, letting the car coast slowly up to Mr. Munn's house. The door was open just as we left it, the blood stains now a dark, dry red. We got out of the car and switched on bright LED flashlights. Pressing the button on the back added an extra set of bulbs, illuminating the ground in front of us even more. "Costco is awesome." Tracy said with a smile, admiring the flashlight. Her smile faded when she saw the look on my face. "So this is Mr. Munn's house?" she asked. I nodded and looked toward the front door. "Stay here" I told her. "Watch the woods." She shone her flashlight toward the trees and I stepped inside the front door.
I was greeted with the horrid smell of dead animal, and followed the dried blood back to the room where my mother had been. I could see Mr. Munn's boots on the side of the bed, unmoved from the location where I had seen them last. A new stain of sticky congealed blood was spattered on the wall behind the bed, but I did not go around to see the grisly scene. Backing up slowly, I closed the door behind me and left the room.
Outside, I heard Tracy's voice. "I found something." She called to me. Approaching the spot where she stood I shone my flashlight on the ground. The faintest trail of blood led us across rocks, sticks, and grass. "You any good at tracking?" I asked Tracy. She shrugged her shoulders "I guess we'll find out." We shone our lights left and right, looking for any sign that she passed through. "Here!" Tracy called, a few feet to my right. A bush with a blood smear led us deeper into the woods. As we searched I looked off into the distance- I could see lights of another house not far off. We stepped cautiously in the bracken, looking left and right but proceeding toward the house. Twigs snapped beneath our feet, echoing out into the night. Every 20 feet or so we'd see another smear on a leaf or stain on a tree trunk, confirming that we were moving in the right direction.
The forest started to thin and we saw a comfortable looking house nestled in a clearing. It's tall windows gave it a golden glow in the moonlight, and I motioned to Tracy to lower her shotgun down by her side as we approached. We turned off our flashlights and approached the living room window carefully. Standing outside we peered into the house, looking for any sign of disturbance. The TV was on, but the house seemed otherwise empty. I moved to the left towards the front door and froze when I saw the dark shape of a man standing next to a woodpile. His back was to me, and he held a long handled shovel. He wasn't moving. Immediately my mind was drawn to my neighbor, who mindlessly pounded his own car until going crazy and trying to kill us. I put my finger to my lips, telling Tracy to be quiet. She nodded and we moved to the right and left, encircling the man, walking slowly and carefully to reduce the sound our footsteps made on the thick grass. I could feel my adrenaline pumping and my heart racing as we moved to see his face. Stepping sideways, we kept a distance of about 15 feet away, putting enough space between us that we would have time to react if he were to attack. The lights from the house hid his face in shadow, and I motioned to Tracy to stop. She raised her gun cautiously and I clicked on my flashlight, concentrating its beam on the ground in front of me. As I slowly raised the beam toward his feet, the man twitched a bit but did not move. The light ran up his legs, revealing wet brown mud caked on his jeans. His shovel was caked with dirt, and I could see dark red stains on the handle. A large gash on his hand was wrapped poorly in some loose gauze that barely covered the wound. As the light reached his face he turned his head to face me. His eyes were filled with sorrow. Tears made paths through the dirt covering his cheeks as he stared at me. He opened his mouth, moving his jaw as though he hadn't spoken in years. "I had to do it." He said with a sob. He looked down at the ground, and I noticed he was standing over a massive pile of fresh dirt in front of the woodpile. He held up his injured hand, turning it over as though examining it. "I'm next." he said with an almost vacant sorrow. "I can already feel it inside me."
We loaded various supplies and weapons into large duffel bags and began placing them in the car. "Not exactly the ideal vehicle for what we're doing." Tracy said as she heaved a duffel bag into the trunk. I shrugged indifferently. "It's great." I replied quietly. Tracy looked at me, searching my eyes for some glimmer of hope. "I'm not saying I don't like my car, I just... I thought your jeep was pretty cool." I nodded but did not reply. I was thinking about my mother. Where did she go? Could she really have scratched off Mr. Munn's face? Something must have given tremendous strength to overpower a grown man. If that was true would we be able to stop her? Would I even have the heart to do what was necessary? I looked down at the bag in front of me. A few pistols, a couple shotguns, and several boxes of ammunition lay inside. The thought of hurting my mother was almost inconceivable, but was she still my mother? I remembered the blank look on her face as she stared at the wall, her eyes changing into blank, unrecognizable windows. What if she was attacking innocent people right now? What if she hurt a child? The thought terrified me and I steeled my resolve. "We need to go." I told Tracy authoritatively. "We need to find her." Tracy tossed me the keys and hopped into the passenger seat. She started loading shells into a 12 gauge tactical shotgun as I started the car.
I switched off the lights and cut the engine, letting the car coast slowly up to Mr. Munn's house. The door was open just as we left it, the blood stains now a dark, dry red. We got out of the car and switched on bright LED flashlights. Pressing the button on the back added an extra set of bulbs, illuminating the ground in front of us even more. "Costco is awesome." Tracy said with a smile, admiring the flashlight. Her smile faded when she saw the look on my face. "So this is Mr. Munn's house?" she asked. I nodded and looked toward the front door. "Stay here" I told her. "Watch the woods." She shone her flashlight toward the trees and I stepped inside the front door.
I was greeted with the horrid smell of dead animal, and followed the dried blood back to the room where my mother had been. I could see Mr. Munn's boots on the side of the bed, unmoved from the location where I had seen them last. A new stain of sticky congealed blood was spattered on the wall behind the bed, but I did not go around to see the grisly scene. Backing up slowly, I closed the door behind me and left the room.
Outside, I heard Tracy's voice. "I found something." She called to me. Approaching the spot where she stood I shone my flashlight on the ground. The faintest trail of blood led us across rocks, sticks, and grass. "You any good at tracking?" I asked Tracy. She shrugged her shoulders "I guess we'll find out." We shone our lights left and right, looking for any sign that she passed through. "Here!" Tracy called, a few feet to my right. A bush with a blood smear led us deeper into the woods. As we searched I looked off into the distance- I could see lights of another house not far off. We stepped cautiously in the bracken, looking left and right but proceeding toward the house. Twigs snapped beneath our feet, echoing out into the night. Every 20 feet or so we'd see another smear on a leaf or stain on a tree trunk, confirming that we were moving in the right direction.
The forest started to thin and we saw a comfortable looking house nestled in a clearing. It's tall windows gave it a golden glow in the moonlight, and I motioned to Tracy to lower her shotgun down by her side as we approached. We turned off our flashlights and approached the living room window carefully. Standing outside we peered into the house, looking for any sign of disturbance. The TV was on, but the house seemed otherwise empty. I moved to the left towards the front door and froze when I saw the dark shape of a man standing next to a woodpile. His back was to me, and he held a long handled shovel. He wasn't moving. Immediately my mind was drawn to my neighbor, who mindlessly pounded his own car until going crazy and trying to kill us. I put my finger to my lips, telling Tracy to be quiet. She nodded and we moved to the right and left, encircling the man, walking slowly and carefully to reduce the sound our footsteps made on the thick grass. I could feel my adrenaline pumping and my heart racing as we moved to see his face. Stepping sideways, we kept a distance of about 15 feet away, putting enough space between us that we would have time to react if he were to attack. The lights from the house hid his face in shadow, and I motioned to Tracy to stop. She raised her gun cautiously and I clicked on my flashlight, concentrating its beam on the ground in front of me. As I slowly raised the beam toward his feet, the man twitched a bit but did not move. The light ran up his legs, revealing wet brown mud caked on his jeans. His shovel was caked with dirt, and I could see dark red stains on the handle. A large gash on his hand was wrapped poorly in some loose gauze that barely covered the wound. As the light reached his face he turned his head to face me. His eyes were filled with sorrow. Tears made paths through the dirt covering his cheeks as he stared at me. He opened his mouth, moving his jaw as though he hadn't spoken in years. "I had to do it." He said with a sob. He looked down at the ground, and I noticed he was standing over a massive pile of fresh dirt in front of the woodpile. He held up his injured hand, turning it over as though examining it. "I'm next." he said with an almost vacant sorrow. "I can already feel it inside me."
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