Night Zero- Second Day

by Rob Horner

Outside the two people continued to bang on the doors, and a new sound ramped up, a harsh, guttural growl. Tina let her breath out and tried to push away from her son. Maybe her husband was lost—maybe!—but what if one or more of the dogs were still okay? Didn’t the animals deserve a chance to be saved.

  “Don’t,” Jessica cautioned. “I’ve seen one dog acting strange tonight, and Dr. Crews said he was bitten by one. I don’t think it’s safe to assume they can’t be…um…changed.”

  The growling increased, doubling, a second dog adding its voice to the first.

  “I see two white dogs out there, big ass things,” Jessica reported, once again parting the blinds. “I don’t see any of the black stuff on them, but their fur’s so thick I’m not sure I’d know where to look.”

  “Let me see,” Bradley offered, moving to the window. “That’s Charlie and Bear, the two boys. I…oh God, Karrie!”

  This time when he turned away, the young man did vomit, spewing noxious green bile over the beige carpet.

  The growls turned to barks, deep, window-rattling explosions of noise.

  And Dr. Crews rose to his feet.

  * * * * *

  “Dr. Crews?” Jessica called again.

  The doctor ignored her, moving along the wall.

  “What’s he doing?” Bradley asked.

  “He’s heading for the stairs,” William said.

  “Doc, you can’t go up there,” Jessica added. “We don’t know what’s up there. You remember the…guy in the road. What if he followed us? He could be up there waiting.”

  The doctor continued, now halfway along the long wall of the rectangular basement, maybe ten feet to the stairs.

  “Bradley?” William said, unwilling to release his mother.

  The younger man wiped bile away from his mouth, still hunched over with his hands on his knees. He was paying attention but wouldn’t be able to do anything.

  Jessica couldn’t wait for him to get himself together.

  She moved, climbing over one couch and angling to intercept. She didn’t like the doctor’s silence and didn’t think he was heading to the stairs out of any sense of curiosity or sacrifice. His movements were calm and paced.

  He isn’t limping!

  She didn’t want to do it, but she found her hand easing toward the small of her back, where the 9mm Phantom nestled with its barrel riding the crack of her ass like an organic holster.

  “Dr. Crews,” she tried again. Her hand closed over the pistol grip, but she didn’t draw out the gun.

  Maybe he’s still in shock after losing his family.

  Instead she edged closer, ready to reach out and grab but wary of him in a way she never thought to be. He was Dr. Crews, not Johnny. He wouldn’t strike out at her.

  What if he isn’t anymore?

  The doctor didn’t see her hand, didn’t try to avoid it or bat her away. She grabbed his left arm and pulled, putting everything she had into it, hoping to distract him out of whatever fugue he’d fallen into. She got him with his left leg raised, spinning him away from the wall.

  His eyes were dull and half-lidded; his mouth hung open, slack. He didn’t rush forward or try to grab her, but she took a step back regardless. His head immediately swiveled back to the stairs. His left foot planted only long enough to shift his weight back in the direction he wanted to go.

  “Dr. Crews?” she tried again.

  It was like he’d been stricken dumb, unable to hear and incapable of speech. His face was utterly lifeless, different from the raving psychotics they’d encountered in the hospital, but no less disturbing.

  Jessica reached out to grab the doctor’s arm again, but he was ready for the move and pulled it away. He stepped forward, only a few feet away from the stairs.

  “I don’t want to shoot you, doctor,” she said, backing up and pulling the pistol.

  “Jess!” Tina yelled. “You can’t.”

  “There’s something wrong with him,” she said.

  The doctor took another step.

  “Can one of you come help with him? Maybe we can tie him up.”

  Another step, and the doctor’s foot fell on the first stair.

  Above them came a shuffling, one or more people moving about in the hallway. If Adam reached the top of the stairs and let them in, all hell would break loose.

  “I don’t see Dad anymore,” Bradley reported.

  When had he moved to the door?

  “And only one of the dogs. Bear. Charlie’s gone, too.”

  The shuffling above resolved into a set of lighter footsteps accompanied by a clicking/ticking noise, the sound of a dog’s claws on hardwood.

  No one moved to help Jessica, so she backed away. The doctor gained the second step, about to turn the corner to the long stretch of ten stairs leading to the upper floor. The lighter footsteps pranced above; Jessica had no problem imagining a large dog dancing from paw to paw, impatient. There were at least two heavier forms moving up there as well. One of them made a lot more noise than the other. She struggled to remember if the man they’d seen on the streets was wearing shoes.

  “We should make a run for it out here,” Tina said. “I mean, with Bill gone and all.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” Bradley said, his voice nearing a whine. He looked big, Jessica decided, but he was younger.

  “I got Brad,” William said. “But you guys will have to deal with the dog and…um…the girl.”

  Bradley sobbed again.

  Dr. Crews disappeared around the bend. His steady gait proceeded up the stairs.

  “Okay,” Jessica said, thinking fast, “let’s do this.”

  “You’ll want to turn right as we leave,” William said calmly. “There’s a gate around the corner of the house to the right, just a dozen feet away, past the AC units.”

  Useful. Considering all the light was to the left, back by the kitchen, that’s the direction she’d have headed.

  Plodding up the stairs. Dr. Crews would be nearing the top.

  Tina moved to the door, the shotgun held loosely in her right hand. With her left she flipped the deadbolt and the door lock. Jessica moved past her, the Phantom in her right hand and pointed at the ceiling. One dog remained outside, bouncing with the force of its barking. It was to the left of the door, and the door opened out to the right. The girl, Karrie, was just on the other side of the door. If she opened it fast enough, she might catch the girl with it and knock her away.

  “Get ready, Tina. I’m gonna shove this open as fast as I can. You’ll have to take out the dog before it gets me.”

  Tina started to say something then closed her mouth. Probably, “Oh, he won’t bite,” or something to that effect.

  “This is crazy,” William offered.

  A rasping sound came from the stairwell, followed by a thunk.

  They were out of time.

  “Go!” Jessica yelled, and slammed open the door.

  Chapter 20

  She followed behind Jessica, Mossberg held low at the hip and pulled tight to her side. As the nurse slammed into the screen door, and the screen door slammed into the somehow-upright dead body of the neighbor girl, Tina pivoted left, the gun swinging around as she turned.

  Gathering his paws, Bear was a coiled spring. A large mouth full of sharp, slightly curved teeth hung open, though no slobber leaked over his jowls.

  That detail stuck with Tina, though she didn’t even recognize it as a difference at the time.

  She was too busy making sure, in the split second before the dog sprang, that her barrel was clear of Jessica’s back, and that her finger was on the trigger and not the trigger guard. She pulled, and nothing happened at first. The trigger gave rather than resisting, and Tina wondered if she’d doomed herself and her kids by neglecting to load a shell. Her mouth opened as she drew in a breath to scream, and then the pull of her finger overcame the resistance of the trigger, and the Mossberg belched out a tight spray of pellets in the voice of a dragon. The stock kicked against her hip—s
he’d sport a bruise there for weeks afterward—and her right elbow jerked along with it, cracking painfully against the screen door.

  The dog’s head exploded in a garish display of white fur, red blood, and gray brain matter. Nothing looked off, at least not in the initial spray, and she didn’t have time to examine the animal more closely.

  I have to save my boys!

  She clung to the thought, made it her sole focus, which kept her from thinking about the precious dog she’d just shot, the beautiful male she’d hoped to show and breed, who acted as much a family dog and playmate to the boys as he did a protector.

  Jessica fired off two quick rounds from her pistol; Tina didn’t see where they struck, only a body falling away from the door. Then the nurse was holding the screen for her and Tina was reaching back, swinging her left arm blindly, grabbing a hold on someone’s arm and feeling their hand grab hers in return. She yanked, pulling, and felt the pull transmitted into the room, one boy leading the other.

  Rushing past the doors, she turned right. There weren’t any exterior lights on the right side of the house, something she and Bill—oh God, Bill!—had discussed correcting since there were so many exposed roots along that side leading to the small gate. They had a generator in a small chain link “pen”, but it was tarped over during the summer months, the cord coiled atop the unit so the dogs couldn’t worry at it. She moved from light into darkness, her right hand gripping the shotgun while her left clutched hard on one son’s arm, unwilling to let go despite that the boys were moving fast enough to stay with her.

  The screech of metal on metal sounded as Jessica found the gate latch.

  “You have to lift it a little, ma’am,” William said softly. The metal skree’d louder, and then they were through the gate.

  “I got it,” William said a moment later, taking the time to shut the gate again. “Should keep the other dogs in.”

  “Hurry,” Tina whispered, hating the few seconds it took to secure the gate but unable to deny the value in doing so.

  The bark of a dog reached them, muted by brick and drywall and the width of the house as they rounded the short side and emerged in the front yard. No sidewalk connected the side gate to the wrap-around drive. Instead, a brick-bordered flower bed ran the length of the house outside the porch. With Jessica leading, Tina and her sons trampled over the rich soil, racing for the minivan parked with its nose pointed to the street.

  “It’s unlocked,” Jessica said, motioning for the boys to go ahead. “Hurry up. Get in.”

  The screen door banged open behind the house.

  The street was still silent. Except for the noises coming from her home, the world lay asleep. Whatever craziness was going on, it hadn’t yet descended fully on their part of the county.

  But it has, Tina thought. Even if it’s only my house, the craziness is here.

  The van door ratcheted open, sliding on its track. The interior dome light came on, noticeable only as a mild brightening in her peripheral vision. Jessica was turned around, walking backward but spinning every which way, trying to keep her eyes on the street, the front yard, and their backtrail. Tina was also paying attention behind them, certain that whatever or whoever was in her house was about to come tearing hell around the side, racing to catch them. The front door to the house stood open. The lights from the kitchen glowed, a welcoming sign, beckoning her back into the safety of this home, this place, where she and Bill had chosen to raise their sons.

  Nothing moved, which could either be viewed as an ominous sign, or a good thing.

  The shotgun was still at her hip, pointed back toward the side of the house.

  Bradley screamed, pulling her around.

  There was a man in the back of the van, a black man with ripped and torn shorts. His penis flopped out through one of the holes, but it was…wrong…ragged and torn, like a garden hose after being run over by a lawnmower. The man lunged, hands on Bradley shoulders, his face darting in toward her son’s neck.

  Jessica yelled from the other side of the van, one hand on the driver’s door. She stood indecisive for a moment, caught between jumping into the van and running back around it.

  Tina turned, raising the shotgun, but couldn’t fire it. Both her sons were in the way.

  Then William reached out, one hand braced against the man’s forehead, straining to keep the gnashing teeth away from his brother. The other latched onto Bradley’s shirt, pulling him back and away.

  Bradley screamed again but was unable to resist his older brother’s pull.

  The man released the younger son and focused instead of William. Bradley toppled out of the van, almost knocking Tina over as she rushed forward.

  The young black man reached, fingers curling, grasping, grabbing onto Will’s arm and yanking it down, off his forehead.

  “Ah, you sonuvabitch!” Will yelled as his hand was pulled over the man’s face, the wide arc of flesh between thumb and forefinger disappearing into his gaping mouth.

  “Pull him out!” Tina screamed, reaching into the vehicle, trying to grab something…

  Don’t look at it!

  …to help.

  “Shit! Watch out! Dog!” Jessica yelled as a hundred pounds of white fur charged around the side of the house, leaped into the van, and went snout first at the man’s exposed crotch. Jima began pulling back, planting all four paws on the floorboard and heaving.

  The three came out, dog, boy, and man, ass over teakettle and limbs tangled.

  “Get him off me!” Will shouted as his hand came free.

  Jessica, Bradley, and Tina pulled the man away, shoving him to the ground behind the van. Jima placed herself between them, dark eyes narrowed, fangs bared, and a deep, rasping growl showing her willingness to continue the fight.

  The man rose to his feet, not with any indication of pain or understanding of the damage he’d taken.

  It looks like Jima took off even more of his…

  “Don’t look, guys,” Jessica said, firing another round of her pistol. The man’s head snapped back, and he fell to the ground. This time he stayed down.

  “We need to go,” William said. His cradled his right hand with his left and resisted Tina when she tried to look at it. “Let’s just get moving. You can examine it later.”

  Jessica met Tina’s eyes as the boys climbed into the vehicle.

  “Don’t say it,” Tina warned.

  “I wasn’t going to,” Jessica replied. “I don’t need to.”

  No one argued when the dog followed the boys into the van.

  * * * * *

  As soon as he heard the deadbolt slide out of its bracket, the hunter ordered Dr. Crews to turn around and head back down.

  Do whatever you can. Go get them.

  He opened the door and allowed the father-become and the dog-become to precede him into the basement. The father moved with alacrity, not coordinated enough to run down the stairs, but not shuffling either. The dog bounded, then tripped over its front legs, turning a somersault as it caught up to the doctor, barreling into him and sending him caroming off the dogleg wall. Both spilled into the basement.

  There was something odd about the animal, as though the process to become didn’t work as expected on their brains. He couldn’t reach them, couldn’t order them, and they didn’t move as naturally as they did prior to becoming. Perhaps a better mind than his could figure out the answer.

  A loud boom echoed into the basement, causing the hunter to flinch. A second later, almost as an afterthought, a smaller bang rang out once, then a second time. Caution and his sense of self-preservation fled, and the hunter raced down the stairs, making the turn at the bottom and shoving past the doctor, who hadn’t yet regained his feet. The dog was already up and running at the door to the outside, but it was closed. The animal stopped, staring at the door. He barked almost as though he thought the noise would make the barrier disappear.

  Growling almost as loud as the dog, the hunter raced forward. He reached for the knob, twist
ing and pulling the steel core inner door inward while bulling out through the thinner screen door behind it. The dog—stupid creature—tried to rush out as the hunter opened the door, with the result that the animal caught the brunt of the solid door and fell backward into the room.

  Then the hunter was outside with the screen door closing behind him, the hot scents of a late summer night swamping his senses. He scanned left and right, eyes and nose working independently. The large body of one dog lay to the left, head and most of a massive upper torso blown apart by a short-range shotgun blast. Ahead of him, just a few feet away from the arc of the screen door, was a young woman. She sprawled away into shadow, but he didn’t need to see her to know she’d been unmade, probably by one or both of the smaller caliber shots which followed the shotgun.

  Nothing else moved.

  His nose provided the proof of the tableau he envisioned. Cordite lay heavy on the still air, almost visible as three distinct clouds. The scents of the defeated become were there but fading. The hunter turned left, expecting the prey to have fled from one pool of light to another, but their scent trail made him change his mind.

  To the right, then.

  He spun to pursue, leaping forward.

  His bare foot slipped on dew-wet grass and he toppled forward, but his lightning reflexes—another gift of his transformation—kept him upright and moving. The other two become inside the home were at the back door now, opening it, and the canine become was with them, eager to be free.

  A piercing scream sounded from around the front of the house and the hunter smiled.

  His trap had been sprung.

  All he had to do now was catch them while they were preoccupied.

  His feet caught up to each other and he sprang forward.

  As fast as the transformation had made him, the hunter was no match for the speed of a racing kuvasz.

  The livestock guardian dogs never growled when they hunted.

  Wily and wary, Jima plowed into the hunter from upwind, catching him on his left side as he turned right around the side of the house. He was strong and agile, but completely open to her attack and unable to compensate for her rushing speed. The eighty-pound animal tore into his left calf just below the knee, teeth catching, meeting, and tearing away a sizable chunk of muscle and tendon as the momentum carried her between his legs. The hunter’s left foot was lifted and pulled to the right, and he went over onto his left side.