The Decaying World Saga Box Set [Prequel #1-#2 & Books #1-#2]

by Garza, Michael W.

  “You think you got him?” Mrs. Davis asked.

  “How should I know,” Mr. Davis said.

  John stopped where he was and tried to keep himself balanced. The shingles on the roof were in poor shape and his boots slid. He placed the butt of his shotgun on the roof in front of him for stability.

  “You going to go out there?” Mrs. Davis asked.

  “Why don’t you go out there and have a look around?” Mr. Davis said.

  “I’m pretty sure that was John Mason from down the road,” Mrs. Davis said. “I can hear his wife still going on downstairs.”

  John had blocked the sound of Angela’s voice out of his head.

  “So you want me to thank them for the fruit cake last Christmas?” Mr. Davis asked.

  “I just mean—”

  “Enough,” Mr. Davis said. “You saw that damn thing they pulled out of the back of the truck. I don’t care who they are. If they brought one of those things in here, then they aren’t friends of mine.”

  John had little chance of getting in the room without taking a round in the chest. He was at a terrible disadvantage with only one shell left. He decided to focus on the farthest window, hoping he could work his way back down the hall. If he was quiet enough, he might be able to sneak up on the Davises.

  He steadied himself and took his weight off the shotgun. He moved up around the second window with slow, purposeful steps. The old roof was better off than he thought, and he managed to get around the window with little trouble. John knew the Davises had children and part of him hoped they would not be hiding out in the room he was going to climb into. He wanted to feed his son and, at this point, could convince himself to do just about anything to make that happen; however, sacrificing another child was currently beyond his capability. He doubted Angela would say the same.

  Another few strides brought him to the third window, and to his surprise, it was wide open. He steadied himself and in two quick moves, he slipped into the bedroom with his shotgun at the ready. He was happy to find the space empty. John headed for the door and then stopped at the sound of quiet conversation. He stood in the center of the room listening as the voices rose slightly and then faded to nothing. He was sure it was not the voices he’d heard before; in fact, he was sure the voices were somewhere inside the room he was standing in.

  He gazed at the bed and then got down on a knee and looked underneath. The bed was clear and he thought for a moment he was still hearing Angela yelling outside. He refocused on the door but was drawn back to the room when the whispering returned. He cocked his head to the side and followed the sound to the closet door in the corner of the room. A long step pulled him within an arm’s reach and the voices cleared.

  “You check.”

  “No, you check.”

  John knew what he’d found even before he saw them. The Davis boys had hidden themselves away in the closet. John’s stomach turned as he considered his options. He readjusted his grip on his shotgun and reached for the closet door. The doorknob turned with ease, but he had to pull hard to get it to open. Moonlight flooded in through the lone window in the room, revealing the closet’s interior. John hesitantly poked at a pile of laundry on the floor with the barrel of his gun and a single jab brought a response.

  “Don’t hurt us.”

  John peered at the clothes and found two sets of eyes looking back at him from underneath. He brought the shotgun up to his face and aimed. The eyes gaped back at him, never moving although the clothes shook. John thought of his son and the unstoppable need he had to eat. He would need the kids alive.

  “You’re going to keep your mouths shut,” he said, “and do exactly as I say.”

  The clothes slipped to the side as one of the boys pushed his head out from underneath. John saw the youngest of the Davis family in the dim light. He guessed the boy to be about eight, but he couldn’t remember either of their names. The boy’s pale face recoiled in fear as he poked at his brother. The two boys got to their feet inside the closet, huddling close to one another. The older of the two was a skinny thing and his knees knocked together as he tried to keep from trembling. They looked at John as if he was the devil, and for a brief moment, he remembered Alex. John remembered the curious and playful boy he’d loved since the moment he first laid eyes on him.

  “What do you want?” the younger of the two asked.

  John started to speak but found the words stuck in his throat. He motioned toward the window with his gun but couldn’t give the orders. He tried to focus the barrel back on the boys but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Finally, he aimed the barrel at the room’s door and shut the closet.

  “Stay down,” he said. “Don’t come out until someone comes and gets you.”

  He reached the room’s door a moment later and quietly turned the knob. He slid his head along the doorframe, positioned a single eye in the small open space, and looked out at the hall. He discovered two doors, one he knew to be Mr. Davis’s hiding spot, the other he guessed to be a hall closet. John edged out into the hall slowly, risking one last glance at the closet door. He guessed the boys were terrified enough to hold still for quite some time. He took slow steps with his back against the wall, focused on Mr. Davis’s door, and kept his gun at the ready.

  Sweat rolled off his forehead and on down the lines in his face. Every noise echoed throughout the hall and John swore Mr. Davis was going to pop out at any moment. A few steps brought the first door within reach, but he still wasn’t sure what it was he was going to do. He would have to make a decision and make it soon.

  His heart weighed on him. He could scoop up one or both of the boys and head back out onto the roof. Even now as he readjusted his grip on the shotgun, he couldn’t imagine going through with it. The Davis boys and his memory of his own son were, however, the end of his conflict. Either Mr. or Mrs. Davis would take care of Alex’s problem, and it would get him back in the good graces of his wife. The trick would be getting his hands on one of the Davises and then keeping them alive long enough to get out of the house. The situation thrusted forward before he had time to consider a plan of action.

  John’s foot touched the floor in front of the slightly ajar hall closet, and the door to the room near the stairs sprang open. Mr. Davis took a step out into the hall, keeping half his body concealed within the room. In the pale light, John saw the sure outline of a pistol raised chest high. He plunged into the closet as Mr. Davis fired, and the round buzzed past his head and into the far end of the hall. The high-pitched screams of the two boys in the far room were echoed by Mrs. Davis’s shriek somewhere behind her husband.

  John stepped back out into the hall and brought his shotgun to bear. Mr. Davis tried to recover, but John was too fast. The reverberation of the shotgun firing made the pistol sound like a popgun. The round hit Mr. Davis in the arm and spun him around like a top. The old man slammed into the door and fell back into the room.

  John took a long stride before the reality of his situation came back to him. He was out of rounds, reducing his shotgun to a well-balanced club. His first reaction was to rush into the bedroom and catch Mr. Davis while he was down, but he hadn’t expected Mrs. Davis to be carrying a pistol of her own. She grasped the small gun with both hands and stood over her bleeding husband, catching John dead in her sights. He watched Mrs. Davis close her eyes as she pulled the trigger. He fell to the floor as the gun went off, missing him by inches.

  “Leave us alone.”

  Mrs. Davis moved farther out into the hall as she pressed the attack. Tears streamed down her face as she ran awkwardly, holding the gun out in front of her. John stumbled to get to his feet and dashed for the boy’s room. The gun went off behind him, and he was hit with a barrage of splintered wood as the round lodged into the wall.

  “You stay away from my children.”

  John pushed into the room as Mrs. Davis fired two rounds into the door behind him with no signs of slowing. He had the presence of mind to slam the door closed and felt the
impact as the door struck Mrs. Davis square in the face. She hit the floor and the pistol went off again.

  John hesitated, and then he heard a new sound that changed his mind from rushing toward the window. Mrs. Davis had apparently decided to put a round through the door, which would have been a good idea with John standing directly behind it. Her idea and noticeable strength came to an abrupt end when she pulled the trigger and heard only a loud click. She tried again in vain to get the gun to fire.

  John pulled the door open and stood over a terrified Mrs. Davis, still lying on the floor. She pulled the trigger several times with no result and screamed as John leaned over her and punched her twice in the face. The first hit split her lip and the second nearly knocked out a tooth. She continued to scream but managed to kick John in the gut. He doubled over as she scrambled to get on her feet.

  “Get over here,” he said.

  He decided she’d be the one he would take. He came to that conclusion quickly, mostly because he figured she’d be easier to carry but also to make up for the swift kick he’d received moments earlier. He grabbed at her as she started to run back down the hall. In her frantic state, she seemed incapable of choosing between running for safety and turning back for her children.

  She turned toward John and swung the pistol like a billy club. He saw the pistol grip but couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. The hit caught him on the jaw, and in one blinding moment, his face felt like it caught fire. The next second, he was lying on his back in the middle of the hall and Mrs. Davis was already past him.

  John shook his head trying to get his vision straight. He heard the door of the boys’ room slam closed and another door screeching open behind him. He struggled to get to his feet and stumbled to turn around. He found himself face to face with Mr. Davis. The old man’s shoulder was covered in blood, and his eyes were filled with desperation. He focused on the pistol in Mr. Davis’s hand, and it was only then that he realized he’d dropped his shotgun on the floor. John stood defenseless without as much as his gun to use as a club. The two men stood silently staring at one another until Mr. Davis spoke.

  “How could you?” he asked.

  John didn’t have an answer. He figured whether he spoke or not, he was a dead man.

  “It’s the hard times that make the man,” Mr. Davis said. “What kind of monsters are we if we turn on one another?”

  John felt like the old man was reading him his last rites.

  Mr. Davis raised the pistol and pointed the barrel at John’s forehead. “You come in my home and attack my family. There’s no place in this world for a man the likes of you.”

  John closed his eyes, but the next sound he heard wasn’t what he expected. In her unmistakable tone, Angela’s impatient voice filled the hall, carrying up the stairs.

  “What’s taking you so long?”

  The slight hesitation was all John needed. Mr. Davis glanced back at the stairs and received a fist to the face for his trouble. The old man’s nose crushed against his cheek as a splatter of blood covered his face. John grabbed the gun and pushed Mr. Davis to the ground. The two men wrestled for control of the weapon, knowing either one of them would be dead if they lost the fight.

  The wrestling match rolled across the hall. John slammed Mr. Davis against the wall several times, but the old man never gave up. For his own brand of attack, Mr. Davis kicked John in the shins every chance he got, even once managing a knee to the groin. John felt his shoulder roll over the shotgun and decided to make a move. In one quick motion, he let go of the pistol, grabbed the shotgun and got up to his feet. Mr. Davis was still on the ground when John brought the shotgun down over his head like an axe. The first swing missed as he rolled out of the way, but as he tried to aim the pistol up at John, he left himself vulnerable. The second swing of the shotgun hit Mr. Davis on his forearm and the bones cracked at the moment of impact.

  Mr. Davis screamed but kept the pistol in his good hand. John brought the shotgun around for another swing as the revolver went off. The shot lit up the dim hallway for a brief second and then died away. John froze in place, the shotgun over his shoulder. He’d felt the burn in his side and knew he was hit but didn’t know how bad.

  Mr. Davis was up on one knee, cradling his broken arm and trying to keep the pistol aimed at John. Silence filled the hall as John backed away. The pain in his side intensified and part of him thought he was done for. He reached the top of the stairs before Mr. Davis moved again. He let the shotgun go and heard it topple end over end down the stairs behind him. Mr. Davis took aim, but before he could squeeze off the finishing round, John felt his feet slide out from under him.

  John yelled every time his body slammed into a stair. He came out of a roll and landed at the bottom of the staircase lying flat on his back. His vision blurred, but he could see Angela near him. She had the mop pole and leash contraption attached to Alex and, for the moment, appeared genuinely concerned for her husband. The sentiment didn’t last long.

  “So get back up there,” she said.

  It took a moment, but John discovered he wasn’t about to die. There was very little blood on his side and he figured he’d escaped with a flesh wound. He got to his feet, ignoring Angela as best he could. She was carrying on about Alex’s needs when he decided he’d had enough. He found the shotgun near the bottom of the stairs and made sure Mr. Davis wasn’t following him down, and then he turned and aimed the barrel at Angela.

  “Go get in the truck.”

  Angela’s eyes widened more than he thought possible. John knew the gun wasn’t loaded, but he also knew Angela had no idea. Her tone changed sharply.

  “But, baby?”

  He thought how bizarre it was that pointing a gun at her face had become an acceptable option during a domestic dispute. He held a single finger up as a point of emphasis.

  “Get. In. The. Truck.”

  She pouted and stomped a foot but did as she was told. A combination of pushing on the pole forced against the back of Alex’s head and pulling on the leash around his throat maneuvered the staggering boy out the front door. His grossly decomposing face locked in a long moan as he passed his father. John took one last look at the dark and empty staircase and then followed them out.

  23

  Angela sat silent in the passenger seat of the beat-up camper truck. John had been stern with her, and she’d turned to the silent treatment to make him feel bad. The old trick wasn’t going to work. He wanted to scream at her, but he kept his eyes focused on the road. The turn off to their house was close, and he didn’t want to miss it.

  He didn’t need her to tell him that Alex still needed to eat. Whatever kept the boy’s body going was losing its strength and only the refreshment of fresh tissue would give him what he needed. Angela crossed her arms and looked coldly at her husband. John glanced at her but did not respond. It was another ten minutes before she gave up the attitude and took a different approach.

  “I’m sorry for yelling at you,” she said, then slid across the seat and pulled close to him. Her hand found its way to the inside of his thigh. “I get so crazy sometimes. I know you’re trying to help, but now what are we going to do?”

  John was surprised at how quickly she’d gone back to the Angela he loved. Her voice was soft and in some way arousing. His mind shifted, feeling sorry for snapping at her. He was just as concerned for their son.

  “I’m trying to figure that out,” he said. “I know he has to eat, so don’t say it.”

  They sat in silence the rest of the way home. The truck turned onto the long driveway, and John felt relieved. Some part of him expected the government to be waiting at his doorstep with guns at the ready. The house was dark, but the door off the side of the house was open.

  The truck came to a stop, and Angela slid across the seat and popped open the door without a word. She walked to the rear of the camper and began fiddling with the door. John didn’t help. He got out, stood at the open doorway, and listened for anything out of the o
rdinary. Angela managed to get Alex out of the camper and used the pole and leash device to get him in the house. John watched his son cross the living room and could barely stand what he saw. The boy stared at his father with lifeless eyes until he was forced down the hall.

  “We’re going to have to get out of here,” John said when Angela returned to the living room. “He’s never going to be safe here.”

  “We can hide here,” she said as she sat down on the couch. “We’ll close the drapes and lock ourselves in.”

  John shook his head. “Won’t work.” He sat down beside her. “You haven’t seen what I saw the last few days. This thing is out of control. The government is going to have to do something.”

  “You think they’ll come after Alex?”

  “Yes.”

  Angela laid her head on his shoulder. “You have to protect us.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” He looked out the front window at the moonlit yard. “The old hunting trail.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’ve taken that road north for hours. I bet we could get into Nebraska before we crossed a highway.”

  “But John…”

  “I know.” He looked back at her. “He’s got to eat.” The camper would provide the perfect transportation and if his estimation about the hunting trail was correct, they might actually get away. However, he didn’t know how he was going to get Alex fed soon enough to keep him moving. Angela’s mood could go downhill quickly, so he refocused her attention. “I want you to go to the bedroom.” He stood up with her in the center of the living room. “Pack a bag for me and you. Take only what we need.” Before she could question him, he spun her around and pushed her off toward the hall.

  John headed for the kitchen and started fixing sandwiches for the trip. He didn’t know how long it would be before they got to safety, and he wasn’t ready to try and figure out what he was going to feed to Alex. Peanut butter was the only thing left in the cupboard. He made four sandwiches before he realized the rest of the house was silent. Something about the stillness scared him. He poked his head out into the living room but saw nothing. The only light on in the house was over the dining room table.