Pack Animals [An Undead Post-Apocalypse Thriller]

by Cain, Kenneth W.

  He glanced back at the jester.

  The disturbed man struggled as he crawled across the lawn, sobbing as he made his way toward one of the blackened houses. As he neared the scorched siding, he tried to pull himself closer, grasping at the tufts of burnt grass. They pulled free in his hands. The jester moaned, “It killed my Holly and my two little girls.”

  No!

  Allen felt his face melt into a frown. Suddenly the world so heavy again. He tried to occupy his thoughts with something else.

  Looking at the bus, he made a mental note of what name the jester had given to it. Sensing an opportunity, Craig and Isaac went to work, trying to see if they could get the vehicle started. Allen returned his attention to the jester; saw the fallen house, the way the man groveled in the presence of this horrible machine. It made him want to throw up. He would have, too, if it hadn’t been for Sydney.

  “You okay?” She put an arm around his waist.

  He didn’t answer, staring into her eyes. A stinging sensation prickled at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to grant his tears freedom but refused himself the emotion.

  “This isn’t your fault, Allen.”

  He nodded.

  “You can’t keep punishing yourself for whatever crimes Landon committed against humanity.”

  He didn’t want to, but that was a difficult hurdle for him to leap over. Every day he saw things that were a constant reminder of what he had fought for, and, how everything he had believed in had been laid to waste as if it were nothing. No matter where he looked, he saw it; in the land, in the people, felt it in his heart. Every death was an end that came of his choice to stay with one party over the other. God, how he loathed the politics of it all.

  If only I’d felt that way sooner.

  A loud bang shook him out of his thoughts followed by the rumble of an old engine roaring back to life. Allen and Sydney spun in unison; saw Craig in the seat of the bus and Isaac standing on top of it triumphantly. The vehicle awakening surprised the jester, too, yanking him out of his anguish with disbelief, showing in his troubled expression.

  The jester charged the bus, making a fist and shaking it wildly in Craig’s direction. Allen wasn’t sure he actually saw Craig, as he seemed capable of seeing only a make-believe creature; that of the dragon, a beast that had taken his family in a burst of flames.

  Were they infected?

  Maybe they were caught in the line of fire. Whatever the case, Allen’s heart broke for the man, watching as the jester brought his bare fist down on the front end of the bus. Each blow against the hood did little more than dent the metal, but they did more damage than anyone thought. When the jester’s fists connected, the pain in Allen’s heart worsened.

  “You won’t take us, foul beast!’ the jester said. “We’ve come to smite thee!”

  The anxious man looked to Allen, then the others, as if expecting them to join in the fight. Allen wasn’t sure what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of. He drew Sydney’s sword and darted for the man. The jester saw him charging and shrunk away from him. Allen exploded with a battle cry and took to the man’s side, holding the sword in a menacing fashion, and attacked the bus.

  “We shall smite you, dragon!” A smile creased Allen’s lips as he boldly muttered the words. His eyes found Craig who looked uncomfortable sitting there, unsure of what to do or how to react. Allen winked at him, but he didn’t seem to get it at first. “I shall strike you in your heart, and you will no longer breathe!”

  The sword felt light when he thrust it forward, being careful not to cause any real damage to the vehicle, but trying to make his fight sound real enough. He pretended to stab it low, aiming for where a dragon’s heart might be. Metal touched metal, a slight clang resonating before he drew the sword away. Then Craig picked up on Allen’s plan and shut down the bus. The vehicle’s engine sputtered off, only helping Allen’s cause to make this dragon appear to die.

  When it was finished, Allen thrust the sword up toward the sky and rejoiced. He looked at the jester and saw his confused state. This hint of distress turned to a twinkle of hope, but behind that crazy sheen was something else. Perhaps a glimmer of realization as to what they were really fighting.

  The jester regarded Allen with an awkward grin and fell to the ground.

  Allen followed.

  Through tears, the jester tried to speak, but his voice cracked and it was difficult to make anything out. The jester tried again. “Why did this have to happen to me?”

  Allen knew why. He hadn’t seen it then, when all of this began, but he saw it clear enough now. Mankind could not be trusted with power. Throughout history, whenever one man was given too much power, they often abused it. It was a reflection of human nature. This situation with the dragon hadn’t been any different really.

  He placed a hand on the jester’s shoulder. “We killed it.”

  The man’s crazed eyes peered back at Allen, as if trying to enjoy the moment but failing. In that moment, Allen couldn’t help but wonder if he had made the right choice, acting as he had. He worried the man would never be free of his grief. He couldn’t blame him. The jester had lost his entire family. Such unfathomable sadness shouldn’t exist, and yet it did.

  CHAPTER 44

  When Orson awoke, his instinct told him to run. And he considered doing just that. Then he wondered whether it would be better to stay put at the school or make his way on foot toward the place his mom had gone. Neither choice gave him much hope. If he decided to journey into the unknown, that was likely what he would get in return. Maybe he would find his mother and maybe he wouldn’t.

  Although the school provided little more of a guarantee, it did stand as a central place where his mother could find him if she did manage to return. But the school did offer some safety, and that alone made it the best choice. So, he resolved to stay at the school for now.

  From inside the darkened school, Orson gazed out into the night through the many windows in the classroom he and his mother resided. A hideous scream alerted him, and he scanned the field of dead corpses looking for movement among the creatures. He saw nothing and was sure it must have been some other creature, a wolf or maybe a fox, something like that announcing its presence having come to feed upon the dead flesh. Only no creature revealed itself, but then Orson did see movement, something the soldiers had neglected, the downed soldier with the front of his suit torn open with jagged edges of metal.

  The man inside the suit writhed about, trying to free himself of the contraption. With each failed attempt, the man let out the most horrid of bestial cries. When it became obvious he would not escape the suit, the dead soldier’s body went slack. A strange curiosity fell over him, wanting to see what the soldier looked like, as he couldn’t quite make out the details from here.

  What should I do?

  He had to fight the urge of exit the building, to see whether the dead soldier had surrendered to his fate or was readying to try to free himself again. If he went outside, he might be able to put the man out of his misery. But he also might seal his own fate by doing something so bold. That could prove fatal.

  Before he got the chance to do anything so stupid, the suit shifted. Its hydraulics repeatedly failed, the mechanical sound speeding up, then slowing down, over and over like an engine revving. The metallic body rocked, and somehow the soldier rolled onto its stomach. From that position, the undead soldier was able to push himself up. When it did, there was a struggle to stabilize its footing, but gradually, as a child learns to walk for the first time, so did the soldier in this suit.

  If the monstrosity would have fallen back to the ground right then, Orson would have taken the opportunity to follow through on his initial thought, to go out and behead the thing while he had the chance. But the soldier never faltered and even appeared to gain strength, controlling the machine with greater ease. The soldier took cautious steps around the immediate area, somewhat fascinated by its form. Then it spotted a horde on the horizon and stood fr
ozen, gazing off to the east. After a moment, the soldier ignored the pack, an odd reaction Orson hadn’t expected.

  The soldier crossed the yard. Each step brought a groan as the damaged hydraulics struggled to carry the undead man any farther. A flicker of light, then a spark, all of it indicating at least some of the functionality of the suit had shorted out. Then the dead man turned toward the school, and Orson’s heart sunk.

  He lowered his head as fast as he could, praying the thing didn’t see him. Only when he felt safe enough to do so did he move away from the windows, hiding behind a desk, his eyes raised just above the surface, so he could see the soldier. The soldier was so close now, and what Orson saw in those next few seconds horrified him.

  The soldier’s head and upper body were fully exposed, gouges of ripped flesh along his cheeks and across his chest. The rest of his body was still encased by the suit. One of the creature’s eyes was bulging out from its socket, appearing strained and fake. The other eye was missing altogether, a rather large red puckering cavity where it should have been. The deep scratches on each cheek looked almost like battle paint. The left side of the soldier’s jaw had been torn away, revealing a toothy grin full of bright white teeth.

  Orson lowered himself again, worried he’d been seen. In truth, it was more than that. He worried the soldier could smell him. He didn’t know much about these creatures other than they liked to travel in a pack. This one seemed okay with its solitude though, which made it unpredictable. Orson’s heart raced as he ran through the probability of his mother coming back in time to save him.

  I should have gone with the others.

  Regardless of what he wished for, he was stuck here at this school, the dead soldier outside his only company.

  I’m trapped.

  As the soldier patrolled the grounds, his interest in the school seemed to flourish. Orson knew the soldier was searching for something, maybe for the very thing the woman survivor had said went missing. It was looking for Orson.

  CHAPTER 45

  Sydney extended her hand down to the man, but the jester only recoiled away from her and collapsed to the ground. Fear crossed his face. Judging by Allen’s sullen appearance, he thought this strange man’s misery was well deserved. No doubt Allen felt guilty.

  Why not just leave the guy here?

  Yet she found herself asking the improbable. “Will you ride with us?”

  The man gazed up at her, his eyes empty and wide with dread. “You mean, in the belly of the beast?”

  “No,” Allen said, his voice rising in cheery regale. “On top of it. That is where the true hero rides when we haul our defeated foe back to the castle for all to see. A hero’s welcome.”

  The jester regarded Allen, seeming to find something appealing with his proposal. “Oh yeah?”

  Sydney wanted to be absolutely certain, extending her arm to help the man to his feet. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” Allen said and bent to help the man up himself.

  Her husband seemed rather happy to help the man, and although she could see it was an act, she was not so sure the jester knew it.

  “We shall bring our kill to the King!” Allen said.

  The strange man’s eyes twitched. “To the king?”

  Allen regarded the jester with a smile. “Of course. He will want to reward us for our bravery.”

  Sydney loved the way Allen acted all of this out for the jester’s benefit. She hoped he would be this way with Orson.

  A nervous smile crept across the jester’s mouth. Then he burst into a beaming smile. “Yes, to the king. I know him well. All hail King Hughes!”

  When the jester spoke the name, Allen’s grin faded. Sydney knew why, but surely this was only coincidence. She could see Allen’s mind churning, working out the possibilities, having witnessed this thought process often prior to their separation. At some point, Allen would want to have a heart to heart with this man. But he was also smart enough to know now was not the time for such conversations.

  Allen spun away from the man, a scowl adorning his face. The jester turned his attention to the dragon, scampering atop with glee. He took a proud seat behind the fire cannon. Sydney wasn’t sure she trusted him in that particular spot, but this was also the only means by which they could convince him to tag along. Besides, now she could see the man might have valuable information for them.

  “Chris? Allison? Let’s get going.” Sydney said.

  The two of them rose, not hand in hand, but Sydney was certain something was brewing between them. She hoped it would stick, as it offered her some relief of the guy. The last thing she needed was a jealous Chris bothering her when Allen and she were so close to making amends. Many wounds had already healed, the process was well underway.

  Will Orson be so forgiving?

  She hoped so.

  CHAPTER 46

  Once Orson mustered up the nerve to look through the windows again, he expected to find the dead soldier ogling back at him. A chase would ensue, the soldier barreling for the window-filled wall and breaking through it with ease. Then he would pursue Orson wherever he went.

  Where can I hide?

  He had already tried to think of all of the places he might be able to conceal himself, concentrating on those that would prove too small for the mechanical suit to enter. Orson remembered the stairway that led to the boiler room below the school. When school had still been in session, Orson had once sought that place out. It was a murky dwelling that lent itself to anyone’s worst imagination. Despite the armed guards watching over the school back then, he had been terrified to be asked to fetch the janitor for one of his teachers. The obese man was dirty and rarely left the dwelling. As a result, he smelled of putrid sweaty odors.

  Orson had a disturbing thought. What if he’s still there, rotting away?

  He hoped not.

  What could be worse than an undead soldier equipped with a mechanical suit, one that would allow him to tear through walls or human flesh? Orson didn’t know for sure, but the idea of the janitor creeping around in the darkness below the school drove him mad with disquiet.

  A noise distracted him, and for a brief moment he was certain the janitor had come to claim him. Still smelly and quite hungry, Orson was certain the janitor would find him.

  Orson rose and listened carefully.

  Nothing of consequence.

  You’re letting your mind get the best of you.

  Even the soldier didn’t seem interested in Orson. Thinking of him, Orson scanned the worn schoolyard, looking for the soldier. There were no traces of him.

  He got closer to the windows, searching for the soldier. Even turned an ear to the glass windows, listening for the heavy footfalls, hoping they would come from a distant range. He heard nothing.

  A loud crash erupted down the hall.

  That’s close to the boiler room stairway.

  Despite the janitor, he thought he would be safe there if he dared brave the darkness below. Cursing his creativity, Orson wanted to kick himself now for not seeking shelter there before this happened. With the path to basement blocked off, he had few other options. So what to do?

  Stay here. Hope he doesn’t find you.

  He could hide under the pile of desks at the far end of the room.

  The other option was to run. Could he outrun such a monstrosity?

  Orson yanked open one of the windows. It slanted in toward him and he crawled over the top of the vented air unit that ran the length of the wall. Nothing came from the vents, although they provided Orson a better means of hearing the monster crash around the building. The soldier roared, an expression of frustration or maybe hunger; Orson didn’t know.

  The heavy thunder of footfalls came one after the other, steadfast to his position. He lifted one leg over the window and crawled through. Hanging from the sill, ready to drop, the soldier burst through the wall. A cloud of dust filled the room and Orson froze, thinking he had been discovered.

  Holy Jesus. His body trembled ag
ainst the window, causing it to rattle.

  As the silhouette of the beast approached, its gruesome eyes zeroed in on Orson. Seeing him, the soldier hurried. Orson dropped and ran as fast as he could, hoping to outrun his pursuer. Realizing it futile, he hid behind a large dumpster, listening to the noise of failing hydraulics stalking him. He gulped in air, his heart struggling to overcome his fear of eminent death. If captured, he would become one of them.

  Two lights in the distance drew him out of his terror and back into the real world. Whatever it was, it advanced fast, also sounding mechanical. Dirt crunched beneath its wheels. A strange clicking noise rattled over and over, as daunting to Orson as the mechanical soldier. Orson found himself caught between two beasts, positive either one would be happy to kill him and feed upon his remains.

  A loud puff erupted and a flame emerged atop this new creature. The flame grew to a foot long, and a grinding noise arose as the fire swiveled around to his position. There was a clacking noise as the fire locked in on Orson, ready to decimate him.

  A strange, unfamiliar voice rose from the darkness, calling out to him. “Get the hell out of the way, boy!”

  CHAPTER 47

  A mix of emotions flooded Allen when he heard Sydney call out their boy’s name. He sprang to the front of the bus and peered through the tiny window, scanning the area for his son, wanting to see him. When he did, a sense of euphoria seized Allen. Then he saw the large mechanical monster chasing Orson and fear grasped his heart with icy cold fingers.

  Someone up on top of the bus was yelling at his boy, words Allen couldn’t make out at first. Then he heard them, a man telling Orson to “Get out of the way” and another emotion shrouded over Allen when he realized whose voice that was.

  What’s that crazy jester doing?