He’s worried now. She should have continued calling out, but the silence grows. Hearing nothing, he cracks it open and looks out into the darkness.
He opens it more and breathes a sigh of relief as after a few beats, nothing has leaped out at him.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty! Here kitty, kitty, kitty!”
Finally, he thinks, breathing a sigh of relief. That was Karen. She’s reached the other stairwell. He smiles at her method of delivery. Now, whatever noise he makes won’t matter as he’ll have this end of the third floor locked in a matter of seconds.
He throws the door open wide and light spills into the hallway. A Tainted hisses. It stands in the doorway to the third-floor landing, its broken left leg bent at an odd angle, limiting its mobility. Chris slices through its skull and the blade sticks a half-inch into the jamb. He jerks it free, slides across the threshold, and slams the door. Being security doors, wedging something against the outside was the only way for him to lock it. Any pressure against the press-bar would cause the door to open. That’s not the goal nor is it part of the plan.
The plan was to trap the Tainted on the third floor and secure them inside for the rest of their decaying lives. To make sure the door stays closed, Chris cut several lengths of wood to wedge between the door and the metal stairwell landing. When they’d make their quick walk-through of the third floor, he’d left several lengths of wood at each stairwell door, ready to wedge in place.
He wedges his board in place and before heading to the second floor, he makes sure the door won’t open. Satisfied, he turns and heads down, dispatching another Tainted that’s struggling to pull itself up the concrete steps.
Just as his hand reaches the door handle leading to the second-floor hallway, a bloodcurdling scream echoes through the building.
“Karen!”
* * *
“Chris!” she shrieks. “Fuck!”
Karen made it to the door with no problems. She’d been able to put a little more distance between herself and the Tainted in the hallway, but the lead one, the one she thought was fresh, closed the distance quicker than Karen expected. Slamming it shut behind her, she was just about to wedge the beam in place when a body slams against the other side. It opens—not enough to let the Tainted out, but the impact was so heavy that it struck the wood, sent it flying out of her hand, and crashing down the stairs out of reach.
She puts her shoulder to the door and tries to push it back closed. A gray, emaciated arm slips through.
“Chris!” she screams. She shoves the door, pinching the arm, but it doesn’t retreat. And why would it, these things don’t feel pain.
Chris is probably already on the way, but still, the panic takes root. “Fuck!” Any second now, the rest will catch up to the one at the door—when that happens, she won’t be able to hold the door closed. She’s just too damn small.
“Damn it,” she whispers, looking down the steps. The length of wood rests on the landing between her and the second floor—well out of reach. All she can do is use her body as the wedge. Hopefully, she’ll be strong enough.
She turns and places her back to the door. Leaning back, she slides down until she’s sitting on the landing. Legs stretched toward the railing, she plants her feet, locks her knees, and hopes that she’ll be able to maintain her position until Chris arrives.
Bodies collide against the door behind her. It takes all she has to keep herself wedged in place.
A hand reaches through, trying to grab her.
“Chris,” she whimpers, white-hot tears form in the corners of her eyes. “Oh, God...Chris!”
* * *
It pauses at the door, waiting for more stimulus to promote movement. A noise from within—a soft hissing and groaning. He hears other members of the herd, although this one doesn’t know that. All it knows it there’s noise, and it’s coming from the place in front of it. It moves forward, crosses the threshold, and starts navigating the stairs to the darkness above.
There’s a voice—one of the living, crying out—a beacon to the dead, directing it to food.
After the voice comes the smell. When the living are afraid, they emit a smell like none other—it drives the thing’s primitive mind into a frenzy, driving it to increase its speed.
Its legs strike the lip of the first step and it falls forward. There’s no trying to stop its fall—except for the hunger, it has no capacity for self-preservation. Its body strikes the stairs with a hollow thump, the head slams against a step, breaking the bones around its left eye. The fall doesn’t affect it or slow it down, the pain doesn’t register. Instead of standing and walking, it crawls. When it gets to the first landing, something internal triggers a need to stand. It pushes itself to its feet, steps toward the next set of stairs, then falls again. The smell of fear still permeates the air, and as long as it’s there, the thing will continue its irregular climb to the source above.
* * *
Like the third floor above, the second-floor hallway is littered with trash and obstacles to navigate. Unlike the third floor, though, many of the room doors are open and let in sufficient light, allowing Chris to run and not risk falling.
And Chris runs—he runs like he’s never run before. Karen’s cry for help still resonates in his mind. Leaping chairs and other furniture, his singular focus to get to Karen.
He reaches the opposite side of the hotel, bursts through the door and stops on the landing—the smell of rot and decay hits him like a wall. Pausing, he takes a moment to cough and clear his throat before pushing upward. Karen’s just a few feet away—Chris can hear her shouts and struggles echoing through the shaft.
* * *
A shadow and a blur of motion passes before it, heading up into the darkness. The smell of fear is heavier now. It reaches out, tries to grasp the shadow that smells of food—its grasp misses the prize by inches.
It presses on, feeling neither upset nor anxious because its meal slipped through its fingers. All it feels is the determination to press on. Food is near.
It stands on the second-floor landing, shuffles forward, and like every step its encountered before, its leg strikes against it, causing it to tumble forward where it continues its trek by crawling.
Persistence pays off. Above, two of them huddle together.
It climbs.
They stand.
It reaches out.
They move toward the edge of the landing.
* * *
Chris takes the stairs two at a time. At the landing between floors, he spots the reason for Karen’s distress. Somehow, the board meant to bar the door closed is lying on the steps just above the landing.
“Chris!” Karen shouts, seeing him appear on the landing below her. She sits on the floor, toes pressed against one of the metal uprights which holds the hand railing. Her back is to the door and she leans awkwardly. One of the Tainted has ahold of her hair, pulling her toward the six-inch gap in the open door. The hand jerks her head and she cries out in pain—a mask of terror replaces the features Chris knows and loves.
Anger washes over him. It’s because of his father they are in this situation. It’s because of him the world has turned to shit. It’s because of him the woman he’s grown to love is sitting on the floor being pulled through a doorway and eaten by humans that were once alive and now dead.
He grabs the board with his free hand, leaps up the remaining stairs, and lunges toward the door. His machete enters the gap, and he slices downward, removing the Tainted’s arm. Free from the thing’s grip, Karen slides away from the opening and with Chris’s help, they slam the door.
“Wedge it in!” Chris shouts over the groans of the dead. He hands her the board and she slams it in place. They both breathe a sigh of relief as they collapse to the floor. He takes her in his arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...I’m so, so sorry.”
She tries to comfort him. “It’s okay, Chris.” She kisses him, strokes his hair away from his face. He’s started crying and that sparks her own
flood of tears.
The door shakes beside them as the Tainted continues to slam against the unyielding door. Their groans, moans, and hisses are unnerving, and Chris can’t stand to listen to it any longer.
He pulls her feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
They turn to head down when Chris loses his footing. He didn’t slip, though. Something had grabbed him. There’s a clattering—it echoes through the stairwell like lightning in a thunderstorm.
It’s the sound of his machete falling over the side and down to the bottom floor.
* * *
They move toward the edge of the landing.
Its fingers grab onto the meaty leg. It can smell the food, can taste the fresh flesh already. It pulls, bringing itself closer. There it is, the milky white flesh, only inches away now. It opens its mouth and leans in for that first, savory bite...
* * *
Chris tries to kick it away, but the Tainted’s grip is unrelenting. It uses its strength to pull itself toward Chris while simultaneously dragging him closer to the thing’s snapping jaws. He continues to struggle but can’t shake the thing loose. It’s about to sink its teeth into his ankle when Karen steps over him. Ax in hand, she swings downward, catching the Tainted on the top of the head. The sharp metal pierces the skull, slices through the brain, and penetrates the mouth—Chris can see its silver glimmer beyond the blackened lips.
The thing’s hand opens, releasing Chris’s leg. Even though he knows it’s dead for good, he still scrambles away, realizing that he’d just had a brush with death.
Karen props her foot against the Tainted’s head and wrenches her ax free.
“Damn, that was close,” she states, turning to Chris and extending her hand. Standing, he draws her to his chest and holds her tight. It’s a funny thing how quickly roles can reverse in this dangerous world. Just minutes ago, he was coming to her rescue. She’d been on the verge of tears, to the point of giving up, when he swooped in to save her. Then, only minutes later, Karen was doing the saving.
“You okay?” he asks, mouth pressed to her ear.
She nods into his chest. “You?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Yes, please.”
He leads her down the stairs with no more surprises and as they step outside, they squint in the sun’s sudden brightness.
He stops a few feet from the door.
“What is it?” she asks, growing concerned again.
He lets go of her and walks back inside, bends down, and retrieves the dropped machete. “Didn’t want to leave this,” he says, holding it up before him. The sharp edge glints with reflected sunlight.
Side by side, they hold on to one another the entire way home.
4
“What are you thinking about?” Karen rubs her fingers gently across the center of Chris’s chest, enjoying the texture of thin hair against the pads of her fingertips. Outside, the sun was leaving, and the grays of dusk was settling in. She thought about getting up and lighting a few candles but decided it could wait a few more minutes.
He turns to her, face thoughtful.
“What?” she asks, puzzled. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She tries to laugh, but it catches in her throat.
“I think it’s time for us to leave.”
“Leave? Why?” She looks around the room, wondering if it’s something here that’s set him off.
“No,” he says, shaking his head against her shoulder. “I’m not talking about the house...I’m talking about this town. I think it’s time for us to hit the road.”
She lifts herself onto an elbow and studies him. She’s not surprised at all by the question as she’d been expecting it for some time now. As much as leaving the comforts of Martinsville scared her, the events of that afternoon scared her even more. There was no explanation for the sudden appearance of so many Tainted over these last few weeks. If the trend continues, the herds are sure to get larger. There’s no way they could pull this afternoon’s events with a larger group of Tainted. If today’s events proved anything, it’s that they can’t expect plans to unfold without a hitch—and any hitch in a plan could lead to death.
Knowing Chris, he’s probably thinking she will push back—that she’ll find every excuse she can to stay.
“Where are we going?” she asks, smiling.
He studies her and her smile widens. She sees it in his face—he’d actually been ready to deal with resistance. The relief in his eyes is priceless.
“Well,” he says, thinking. “We do have a map.”
She shakes her head. She’s known something for a while now—something that Chris might not realize. There will be no satisfaction if he can’t fill in the mysterious gaps his father left in his life. He hadn’t come out and said this, but there were conversations over the past weeks where he’d hinted at it. Somehow, someway, Chris’s father would always come up in conversation. Chris might not admit to it—he might not even realize it—but he’ll never be at peace without knowing all he can, despite him saying he wanted nothing to do with his father.
“No,” she says. “I think you need to find the answers you’re looking for.”
There had to be answers, and the first place to start is the place he once called Homestead. She explains all this too him and when she’s done, they lie there in silence as, outside, the last of the sun’s rays slide beneath the horizon.
“Homestead,” he says, and it’s as if there’s an entire universe held within that single word. “Are you sure?”
She puts her hand against his face, leans to him and finds his lips with hers. “Yes, I’m sure. No matter where we are, as long as I’m with you, I’m home.”
She kisses him again, and he pulls her close, hugs her.
Soon, their kisses convert to something more.
Tomorrow would be a new day—a day of preparation—a day of leaving.
* * *
To say she wasn’t nervous would be a lie. This is it, leaving the place she’s called home for so long—it’s a bittersweet moment.
A hand touches her shoulder. “You okay?” Chris asks, turning her to face him. She’d been staring at the place she’d called home for so long. Not the big Colonial house that she and Chris shared these past months. No, this was her grandfather’s house—the place where Harvey killed him with a shotgun.
Because of her.
Deep down, she knows it wasn’t her fault. After talking with Harvey’s companions, Poker Jack and Cowboy, they soon put all the pieces together: Harvey was sick. Something snapped in his head, causing him to go mad. His drive mirrored that of the Tainted. The only difference was that the Tainted desired the flesh to eat, to feed that internal hunger—Harvey’s drive was also of the flesh. However, his motivations weren’t to feed his physical hunger—he needed to feed his sexual hunger. Karen had been his target simply because she was, as far as anyone knew, the only living female around.
“I’m okay,” she slides her arm around Chris’s waist. It strikes her as odd she came here to say goodbye to her grandfather instead of his burial site.
Not odd, she thinks. His memories are here—he lived here. It’s no wonder this is where she would gravitate.
She squeezes him then lays her head against his shoulder. “I’m ready to go.”
“If you need more time, we can wait another day.”
She shakes her head. “If we wait, it’ll be harder.”
He returns her squeeze and gently leads her away.
The horse with no name clomps an expectant foot against the broken street, as if sensing the trip to come. However, the horse is probably expecting riders, to gallop and stretch his long legs, to run with the wind. Unfortunately, there will be no running for him anytime soon—his sole job is carrying their supplies.
She steps up to him, grabs the harness, and strokes his nose. “We should really give him a name. What do you think?”
Chris steps up beside
her and pats the horse on the neck. “Up to you, I guess.”
“How about, Pete?” she asks, remembering the name from a story her grandfather used to tell—a story about a dragon and a little boy. She loved that story.
“Sounds fine by me,” Chris states. He steps in front of the horse, “What do you think?” he asks the horse. “Do you like the name Pete?”
As if in understanding, the horse snorts and lowers its head to her hand. Karen laughs, rubs the horse between the eyes, and says, “Pete…I guess that’s your new name.”
Again, Pete bobs his head. Surprised, Karen can’t contain the laugh and rubs him again. “I guess you approve, huh?”
Chris grabs the lead rope and together they head out. On the way, Karen stops at a house and opens the gate.
Chris snaps his fingers. “I forgot all about, Trixie. You think she’ll survive on her own?”
Karen shrugs. “I don’t know. But I’m not going to leave her locked up with no one here to feed her.”
“What if she follows us?”
She shrugs and says, “If she does, she’ll be an early warning system while we travel...just as she was here.” Karen doubts she will, but if she does, no harm, no foul.
“Ready now?” he asks, taking her hand in his. She squeezes it but says nothing. He leans down and kisses her. “Here we go,” Chris declares and takes the first official step out of the familiar and into the mysterious unknown—at least for her.
5
Two days removed from Carson’s Crossing, Zak figures it’s about time to head back home for a few days. He’s scavenged enough food to get him through a few more days. Hopefully though, his gardens are producing. As much corn and potatoes he’s planted, he’d be able to survive a year if he had some way to keep it all from rotting—and keep the crows away.
Tainted Souls Page 2
