by Mark Tufo
She’d watched one take several gunshots, and it still managed to take down a soldier before it finally died. She assumed the soldier died since he didn’t move, but he must’ve only been injured, because then she watched as he morphed into one of them. The transformation of flesh and bones was something right out of a horror movie.
She hated horror movies.
Those infected killed indiscriminately—anyone and everyone was fair game. She couldn’t understand why they enjoyed killing so much. It was as though the virus made them into bloodthirsty hunters. They seemed to find glee in death and dismemberment.
Right now, she watched a trio of infected skulk down the empty street. The group moved erratically, their joints and bones making odd cracking and popping sounds. One would make a guttural moan before running up to a house and sniffing it out for signs of life. They moved forward with purpose, like military scouts—albeit alien scouts—as they laid claim to Sheila’s block.
One ran up to Kelli’s house but then bypassed it as if it already knew no life waited for them inside. When another let out a primal scream and ran toward Sheila’s house, she held her breath. She couldn’t see the creature once it got close, and she prayed it would move as swiftly past her house as the other had Kelli’s.
The other two in the street stopped and turned as one to face Sheila’s house. No, no, no. What are they doing?
The peephole was suddenly covered by a yellow eyeball less than an inch from her own and Sheila tumbled back, landing on the floor with a thud.
The infected just outside her peephole screamed. Sheila bit back a scream of her own.
“Mommy?” Jenny whispered.
Sheila furtively waved her hands before pressing a forefinger to her lips.
Her daughter’s lips scrunched together as though it was a struggle to keep silent.
Sheila’s heart pounded. How in the world had it climbed the house?
Glass shattered downstairs. Sheila whimpered and Tasha gasped. Both her daughters’ eyes grew wide.
Jenny took off at a frantic scuttle over to Sheila, making a swish-swish noise across the floor. She crawled onto her mother’s lap, and Sheila clutched on to her. The sound of claws scratching at the ceiling beneath them sent goosebumps across Sheila’s skin. She motioned to Tasha, who moved far more quietly but just as quickly as her younger sister had, and wrapped an arm around her as well.
When something scraped against the attic door, Sheila wanted to cry out for help. Instead, she disengaged herself from her daughters as carefully as possible, though both struggled to cling to her. With them tucked behind her, she pulled out the Glock and aimed it at the only way in or out of the attic. The scratching grew relentless, and Sheila craved to yell at it to go away, to cry for help, or just to shout out every profanity she knew.
She remained silent, and her two girls remained diminutive statues behind her. She chewed on her bottom lip, praying for the infected to grow bored and leave them alone.
Instead, its impatience and agitation seemed to grow because the scratching increased. The infected were supposed to be dumb, their brains fried by fever. Yet, the attic door moved as though the infected knew where its prey hid.
Sheila leapt forward, jumping on the door and slamming it closed just as the infected tried to press it open. An angry scream reverberated through the floor. A second later, the door flung upward and Sheila was tossed to the side. The infected popped up from below and its gaze settled on her daughters, who were cowering in the corner.
Sheila rolled and fired several shots point blank at the back of its head. It fell and landed on the floor below with a thud. She leaned over the edge, aimed, and fired the remaining rounds at its chest.
It didn’t move, but she couldn’t tell if she’d killed it. A small part of her wondered who it’d been. Private Vadreen? Reed? Parker?
She slammed the attic door closed as she hurriedly reloaded her gun. She looked at her daughters. “Are you okay?”
Jenny sniffled and nodded.
Tasha swallowed. “Yeah. Did you see that thing?”
It was then Sheila noticed the bullet hole just above where her girls were sitting. She glanced down at the gun she held and tapped it against her forehead. Idiot! Parker would never make that kind of stupid mistake, she scolded herself.
Damn it, where are you, Parker?
She’d nearly shot her own daughters. She hadn’t even considered what was on the other side of the infected when she’d fired.
Tasha shuffled to one of the peepholes. “I don’t see the other monsters, Mom. I think they left.”
Filled with doubt, Sheila crawled over to look outside. Sure enough, she could see no infected, but she wasn’t taking any chances. This time, she sat right in front of the attic door—between the door and her girls—and aimed.
When the door lifted, Sheila fired, but the infected dodged her shot with uncanny speed. Her eyes widened in shock, and she took aim again. An explosion tore through the attic. Sheila felt herself thrown like she was tumbling beneath a waterfall. For the briefest instant, she felt a blissful weightlessness before she crashed. The impact knocked the breath from her, and her vision went black.
When she came to, she heard the rat-tat-tat of gunfire, but it sounded warbled, like she was underwater. A peaceful silence followed until she noticed a strange sensation, as though she was being shaken.
“Miss?” a distant voice asked.
Her eyelids seemed to fight against her as she pried them open, forcing herself to consciousness. A soldier in full battle gear was kneeling over her, grabbing her shoulder.
“Are you injured?”
She frowned, then shoved his hand off her. “You blew up my house.”
“I saved your life,” he corrected.
My life. The web in her mind morphed eventually into a straight line of coherence. She looked up toward the attic to find a large hole where much of the attic had been. “My girls.”
“Excuse me?” he asked.
She lunged to her feet, only to collapse in a dizzy spell to the floor. She reached out with her hands. “Tasha! Jenny!”
“Mom!” came Tasha’s voice from the attic. “We’re up here!”
The soldier, realizing Sheila wasn’t alone, rushed over to stand beneath the hole where two other soldiers stood. “Come on, girls. Jump on down. It’s not safe up there.”
Sheila pushed herself up, more slowly this time. Her vision tunneled, but she didn’t black out. When she saw the two soot-covered girls peer over the edge, she cried out. “Oh, sweeties!”
The soldiers reached up. Tasha helped her younger sister down before letting herself fall into another soldier’s arms.
Sheila let out a sob, rushed forward, and got down on her knees, hugging each girl as she was lowered to the floor. After a precious moment, she pulled back and brushed hair from their faces. “Are you okay? Do you hurt anywhere?”
“My ears hurt,” Tasha said.
Jenny lifted her elbow to reveal a minor floor burn.
Sheila let out a sob of relief.
“How those kids survived that blast is a goddamned miracle,” one of the soldiers said.
“Watch your language,” Sheila scolded, and returned her focus to her girls.
“Sorry,” the man said.
When she remembered why the soldiers were there in the first place, she looked around her and found the remains of two infected on the floor. An amputated hand lay mere inches from her knee.
She stepped back, pulling her daughters with her.
“Don’t worry,” one of the men said. “This pair’s days of scaring little girls are over.”
Sheila shook her head. “There were three of them.”
The man who’d first approached Sheila spoke. “It’s probably long gone by now, looking for more of its friends. They’re sneaky like that.”
“Sometimes, I swear they’re hunting us as much as we’re hunting them,” another said.
She protectively hel
d her girls tighter.
The man shrugged. “Now, the noise is likely to draw in more, so we need to get a move on. Fort Bragg has transferred headquarters and shelters to the tunnels. Grab whatever you need, and we’ll bring you there. It’s the only safe place for you and your girls.”
Sheila frowned. She’d seen the tunnels before. “Impossible. They’re not big enough to hold everyone.”
The soldier grimaced. “They’re plenty big enough.”
Sheila froze and watched the man for a moment before turning robotically to her daughters. “I need you to run to your rooms and grab your bags.” She paused to glance at two of the soldiers. “These men will go with you.”
The men gave small nods. “You need to hurry. We’re not going to wait for anyone,” one of them said.
When both girls continued to watch her, she shooed them away. “Grab your bags, just like we talked about. Hurry.”
Jenny, with tear-filled eyes, took off at a run to her room, sliding flat against the wall to stay far from the bodies, and a soldier jogged to catch up to her. Tasha, with her jaw set hard, took tentative steps alongside the soldier serving as her guard as they stepped over the bodies.
“Ma’am,” the third soldier said. “Is there anything you need?”
Sheila gave a tight nod. Bile rose in her throat as she stepped over the first mutilated corpse. It no longer had a face, and its chest was a mishmash of tattered organs. Still, she feared that it would reach out and grab her at any moment. She refused to look at the second.
When she reached her bedroom, she grabbed Parker’s Texas Tech cap hanging behind the door and slipped it on over her greasy hair. She felt odd having a strange man in her and Parker’s bedroom, but he didn’t enter, as though sensing she needed the space. She grabbed the duffle bag she’d already packed with a couple outfits and extra cash. She opened the underwear drawer and ruffled through the underwear, socks, and ties. Some folks would find it odd how many ties Parker had for never needing one for work, and memories of their times together brought out a smile.
Her humor faded as quickly as it came, and she grabbed the extra boxes of ammo for her Glock and dropped them in the bag. She turned. “I’m ready.”
The soldier nodded, and they headed down the hall.
She stopped at Tasha’s room, where her older daughter was standing in the middle of the room, holding a purple T-shirt in her hands.
“Hurry up, dear. We need to get moving,” Sheila said.
Tasha sighed and held up the shirt. “But, my dinosaur shirt hasn’t been washed.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.”
“But, it has a stain.”
“Just grab it. We’ll wash it when we get to the tunnels.”
Tasha frowned at her mother before stuffing the shirt into her bright backpack. Strapped to the front of the pack was Blinky.
Sheila turned to check on Jenny, who was already wearing her little backpack and holding her favorite fuzzy green blanket. Sheila frowned when she saw Jenny’s limp bag. “Are you sure you’re all packed?”
“I’m all ready,” she said in a hurry, her eyes flitting around the room.
Sheila stepped forward and motioned for her daughter to turn around. “Let me see.”
She twisted away. “I’m ready, Mommy, really.”
That piqued Sheila’s curiosity. “Stand still, beanpole.” She held her daughter and unzipped her pack to find it empty except for a very large Colt .45 pistol.
Sheila’s eyes widened, and she glanced back at the soldier who seemed just as surprised. She yanked out the gun. “How did you get this, Jennifer Lynn?”
Jenny fidgeted. “It’s Daddy’s.”
“I know full well it’s Daddy’s. I asked, how did you get this?”
“I-I found the key to Daddy’s gun case, but I wasn’t stealing it, I swear! It’s his favorite. I just wanted to give it to him.”
Sheila gave a weak smile. “What do you say I hold on to it for now? You can give it to him when you see him. Now, how about you put everything back into your bag?”
Jenny nodded and ran over to her bed where the bag’s original contents sat in piles. She stuffed an armful into her bag. Sheila helped her with the zipper, and Jenny marched to the door.
The soldier standing in her room grabbed the blanket left on the bed. “Hey, squirt. Aren’t you forgetting something?”
She turned and saw her blanket, and she rushed back for it. She grabbed it and then tugged his hand. “Pick me up.”
“Jenny, you’re too big—” Sheila began.
The soldier picked up the small girl in a swift movement, and Jenny giggled.
“Looks like someone had a visit from the tooth fairy recently,” he said.
She pulled her lips back farther to showcase her missing teeth and held up two fingers.
“Wow, that’s impressive,” he replied.
Sheila smiled. “You’re good with kids. I’m guessing you have some of your own.”
He nodded. “Three. Ages six, nine, and twelve. They’re already in the tunnels, so you can meet them when you get there.”
When all six reached the living room, Sheila looked across the men’s faces. “Thank you.”
The soldier shrugged. “Just doing our job, ma’am.” He motioned outside. “Let’s load up and head in. It’s been a long day.”
Before they headed out the front door, Sheila paused. “Oh, just one second. I have to leave a note for my husband.”
The soldier nodded and motioned the others to the Humvee parked on her front yard.
Sheila ran to the kitchen, grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote on the chalkboard wall:
Parker – Went to tunnels for shelter. Love you! Sheila
Satisfied, she set the chalk down.
Gunshots erupted outside.
Her gaze shot up. “No!” She ran from the kitchen and out the front door. The three soldiers were fighting with a single infected. She searched for her daughters, but couldn’t find them anywhere.
She pulled out her pistol and ran toward the fray. By the time she reached them, the infected was down, along with two of the soldiers. The third began to pace, cussing up a storm.
Sheila gave the infected lying on the ground a wide berth. “Where are my girls?”
The man ignored her.
She looked at the Humvee and yanked open the door to find her daughters hiding in the back seat on the floor. “Oh, thank God,” she muttered. “Are you both okay?”
They looked up and nodded.
Jenny began to cry. “Mommy, I want the monsters to go away!”
Sheila rubbed her daughter’s head. “They will, sweetie.” She gave Tasha a reassuring squeeze as well. “We just have to be strong for a little bit longer.” She’d almost said until Daddy gets home, but she realized that in all likelihood, Parker Horn was already dead.
“No, no, no, no, no,” the remaining soldier continually repeated to himself.
Sheila glanced back at her daughters. “Wait here,” she ordered before turning to the man pacing the ground. “We need to get to the tunnels.”
Still, he ignored her.
She grabbed his shoulder.
He swung his rifle around at her, and she jumped back. “Hey!”
She noticed the blood streaming from his neck, and she covered her mouth. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m bit,” he said in a monotone voice. His stressed features morphed into robotic movements as though he were on autopilot. Then, he turned his rifle on himself and pulled the trigger.
Sheila cried out and found herself doing a three-sixty to regain her bearings. She stumbled to the Humvee and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Mom, there’s blood on your face,” Tasha said from behind her.
Sheila looked at herself in the mirror, finding blood splatter across her cheeks and forehead. Terror climbed her spine, and she used the bottom of her shirt to scrub the blood away. Would the soldier’s blood be infectious already? Could she get sick
that easily?
“What do we do now?” Tasha asked.
Sheila numbly looked around the interior. The only access to the tunnels that she knew about was over ten blocks from her house. Ten blocks was an impossible feat when they couldn’t make it twenty yards outside the house without being attacked. She looked at the steering wheel. Worse, she didn’t have a driver’s license.
She sucked in a deep breath and turned to face her daughters. “I’m going to get us to the tunnels.”
— 7 —
Sheila Horn had been behind the wheel of a car before. After all, driver’s education was a required course in her high school. She understood all the fundamentals of driving, but when it came to putting them all together, she had the coordination of a drunk giraffe. The D+ she got in that class was the lowest grade she ever got in her life. Her dad had said it best when he told her on her sixteenth birthday, “Some people can’t play the piano; some people can’t sing. You, pumpkin, sure can’t drive a car.”
She started the vehicle and popped the Humvee into gear. She stepped on the gas and they lurched forward. She slammed on the brakes and they slammed to a stop.
“Mom, I don’t think you’re doing it right,” Tasha offered.
“Yeah, it doesn’t do that when Dad drives,” Jenny added.
“Thank you for your helpfulness, girls,” Sheila replied drily before adding, “This is a very big vehicle. It doesn’t drive like Daddy’s car.”
She tried again. This time, she was able to keep the speed slow enough for her to maintain control, and—rather than making a U-turn, which she deemed was logistically impossible—she decided to drive around the block to get turned in the right direction.
In a way, she was lucky that there were no other vehicles on the road, because she would’ve driven right through them. She tried to keep the Humvee straight, but every time she moved the wheel, she overcorrected and ended up jumping curves—on either side of the road. By the time she’d taken out the third mailbox, she felt like she was finally getting a handle on the driving thing.
“How much farther?” Jenny asked.
“A bit farther,” Sheila answered.
