No Refuge from the Dead

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Sage’s tail beat the air in response, and she licked Cliff’s hand.

  Cliff checked the lock on the camper’s door once more before he settled into the bed. Whoever had abandoned the camper had taken everything except the mattress. All he had to keep him warm was his sleeping bag—more suited to summer than the chilling temperatures of autumn—and Sage.

  At least he had damn near everything he truly valued: his dog, his bow, and the radio that had kept them company on many a camping trip. The only problem with the camping radio was that he couldn’t load music onto it as he had with his smartphone. The smartphone’s battery had died long ago and, with it, his access to music. He’d give anything for a pair of headphones and a little music to break the monotonous silence.

  When the other casino security guards had asked him what kind of music he listened to, he had invariably replied with names like Toby Keith or Merle Haggard. Truth was he knew jack-shit about them. The other guards would’ve taunted him endlessly if he told them the truth.

  Back when his neighbors were screaming and he wanted nothing more than to leave the apartment but couldn’t, there was only one thing that provided him with an escape—his music. A pair of noise-cancelling headphones allowed him refuge in the soulful arias of his favorite tenors, like Pavarotti or Bocelli. There was something to the rise and fall of their voices, the way the songs swept the rest of the world away just enough that he could lose himself in a book while Sage slept at his feet.

  Maybe that was what all those stuffy people going to Baltimore’s opera house felt. A pang of sorrow struck him. He wondered if the days of tuxedos and arias, casinos and security guards were gone.

  He prayed they weren’t. He always promised himself he’d save up enough to get a box seat at Figaro or some other performance. Rent a tux. Act like he belonged there. But some emergency always seemed to get in the way and drain his meager savings: his transmission went out on the pickup, insurance didn’t cover some medical test, sage ruptured her Achilles tendon chasing after a rabbit. People started turning into monsters and destroying civilization.

  As he listened to the wind rustling through the trees and Sage panting at his side, his mind sparked with every snap or crunch outdoors. In his head, each of those sounds was a Skull heading toward the camper, desperate to maul him and turn him into one of their horde.

  Exhaustion tugged at his muscles, but his racing thoughts wouldn’t allow him the luxury of sleep. He started quietly humming “La Donna é Mobil,” one his favorites. Sage’s ears twitched at Cliff’s butchered rendition of the canzone from Regalotto. She lifted one lazy eyelid as if checking to make sure Cliff was okay.

  Cliff paused. “You don’t like it?”

  Sage huffed, twisted onto her side, then resumed her napping.

  Cliff continued humming, pressing his eyes closed. Eventually he stopped, listening to the music bounce around in his head and letting it lift him away from the trailer and Assateague and all the death around them.

  Sleep came at last.

  But even the emotional power of the canzone wasn’t enough to protect him from the brutal nature of reality.

  -3-

  Something scratched at the camper’s door. Cliff bolted upright in bed. It was still dark. Sage had heard it, too. She leaped off the bed and growled. Her fur stood on end.

  Cliff stretched for the knife he kept near the bed. His fingers wrapped tightly around the cold grip, and he prowled toward the door, careful to stay out of the wan moonlight.

  “Come on. Just go away,” Cliff whispered, inching out of the bedroom. “Nothing in here for you, fella.”

  More scratching. The handle twisted slightly but caught on the lock. This was wrong. The creatures weren’t that smart, were they? They couldn’t use doors.

  A howl sounded in the distance. Cliff tensed. If there was a Skull at his door, he expected it to screech in response. The monsters seemed to reply to each other like wolves.

  But there was no reply from outside the door. He crept closer, his heart beating faster. Sage never left his side. Then the door handle started shaking as if the creature out there was yanking on it. Cliff held his breath, cocking his knife hand back, ready to jam it onto the monster that was about to break in. He glanced up at the skylight then nudged the lock. If he needed a quick way out, that would be it.

  Sage lowered her snout and bared her teeth.

  The only problem with the skylight escape was that it would be as tough as hell to get Sage up and out of there with him. If a Skull made it in, he wasn’t leaving Sage behind.

  The door handle wiggled again, now shaking. The whole door seemed to be being pulled on its hinges, and Cliff could hear heavy breathing, panting.

  Another howl drifted in the night. It sounded closer, but there was no response from outside.

  Instead, he heard a single word in a deep voice. “Shit.”

  That was no Skull.

  “Is someone in there?” Now the man knocked on the door. “Please, let me in.”

  Cliff didn’t respond. He could hear the demonic choir of Skulls growing closer.

  “Please, they’re after me!”

  Sage whined.

  They had their rule. They couldn’t interfere. That would only invite danger.

  “All right, I’m coming in!” A loud bang, then the door shook.

  A hot bite of anger cut through Cliff. If that man broke the door down, then how in the hell would they shield themselves from the Skulls? With all the racket he was making, if the Skulls didn’t already know where he had run off to, they would now.

  Sage whined again, her nose pointed at the door.

  “Damn it, dog,” Cliff said.

  Another howl tore through the air. The Skulls were closer. The banging against the door was definitely attracting them.

  Sage whined and circled near the door, evidently panicked. It was as if she could sense the fear radiating off the man outside.

  “Hello?” the man said, his voice shaky with desperation. “Please, I hear someone in there. Please just let me in. They’re after me. I need to hide.”

  Sage’s whining intensified.

  “Fine,” Cliff said to Sage. “You win.”

  He whipped open the door. A young man, probably in his early twenties, stood there, sweat dripping off his forehead. His long-sleeve white T-shirt was covered in a combination of dirt and blood. His long hair was pulled back, revealing more dried blood and fresh scratches along his cheek.

  Cliff held the knife in front of himself. The radio’s ominous message about scratches or bites turning a person into a Skull lurked in his thoughts.

  “You hurt?” he asked.

  “Huh?” the young man said.

  “You hurt? By one of those creatures?”

  “No, no. This”—he put a palm to his forehead, smearing the blood—“is just from running through the woods. I couldn’t see.” He was still panting, his eyes dancing toward the shadows behind him. “Look, man, they’re coming. They see me again, I’m toast.”

  “Get in.” Cliff pressed himself against the wall.

  The young man lunged inside and slammed the door shut. “Thank you, man. Thank you. You saved my ass.”

  “Quiet,” Cliff said.

  As soon as Sage sensed the guy wasn’t about to slit their throats, she went wild, tail wagging and tongue slobbering, giving a much friendlier greeting to the man than Cliff was willing to.

  “I’m Jason.” He spoke more quietly now and held out a hand. “Thank you again. Seriously.”

  “Cliff. And seriously, be quiet.”

  Cliff nudged past Jason and peered out the window. Everything was still. Dark, but still.

  “How far away were those Skulls?” Cliff asked.

  “Skulls?”

  “The monsters,” Cliff said.

  “They were, like... I don’t know. They were on me one minute, then I got away. And then, shit, I think I got ma
ybe twenty, thirty yards or something from them. I don’t really know. I was just running. I had to get away and couldn’t turn around. I could feel their breath. Oh, God, man, it’s worse than I thought. I—”

  Cliff cut off his rambling with a wave of his hand. “How many?”

  “One at first. Then at least one more. Maybe three or four. I don’t know. I didn’t look back. I just kept—”

  Again, Cliff stopped him. “You don’t know how many were after you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Shit.” Cliff grabbed his compound bow and strapped his quiver over his back. He sheathed his knife. He stared hard at Jason. “You got any weapons?”

  “No, I swear.” Jason held up his hands, apparently misinterpreting Cliff’s intent. Cliff rummaged through his pack and shoved a knife into Jason’s hands. “Take this.”

  The knife rested in Jason’s palms.

  “Go on,” Cliff said. “You’re going to need it.”

  Jason pocketed the knife, but his eyes met Cliff’s under a furrowed brow. “What am I going to do with it?”

  Was the kid stupid? “Generally, you used it to stab something.”

  “No, I mean...” Jason let his words trail off. “I can try, but, man, I don’t know what you can do with a knife against those Skulls.”

  Something slammed against the trailer door, shaking the walls. A crack formed in the small door of the window.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

  “Get that knife ready,” Cliff growled. “If we have to take these bastards down, we will.”

  “I don’t think we can. How are we going to do that?”

  With a shriek, the Skull threw itself at the door again.

  “You stick the pointy end of the knife through the skin,” Cliff said gruffly. This boy was either denser than a goddamned boulder or he was so scared he couldn’t think straight.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Jason said. “It’s just... you know how these things... these Skulls are. I wouldn’t know how to kill it.”

  The Skull slammed against the camper again. The trailer rocked, and the Skull screamed. Two more answered. Each sounded frighteningly close. The fracture in the door grew, followed swiftly by the sounds of more scraping and scratching and slamming. The other Skulls had arrived.

  “We got to move,” Jason said. “Now.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Cliff said. This was his refuge, his home now. He had his food and supplies here. He couldn’t lose all that he’d worked for.

  Damn it. It was his fault for letting Jason in. He was growing soft and weak. Maybe he should give the Skulls what they wanted. Kick Jason out and make him run for it. It would probably draw the Skulls away.

  Sage looked up at him then at the shaking door. The glass burst from the window, spraying across them. Sage barked in surprise. Her outburst only served to intensify the Skull’s attack.

  “We gotta go now, man!” Jason yelled.

  Cliff’s first instinct was to tell the man to speak quieter, but it hardly mattered now. A hand burst through the broken window, reaching around blindly. Some kind of strange scales covered it, and claws scythed from the fingers. Fighting a creature with weapons like that might indeed be asking for death. He sheathed his knife.

  “Through there.” Cliff pointed at the skylight.

  Jason grabbed the lip of it, ready to hoist himself up. Sage whined.

  “No, I go first. You help lift Sage.”

  “Sure, whatever, let’s just go,” Jason said, eying the shaking door nervously. “Please!”

  Cliff grabbed an extra handful of arrows and shoved them in his pack. Then he pushed open the skylight and lifted himself through. He barely fit with the bow across his back. “Help Sage.”

  Jason looked confused a moment before he lifted Sage. Cliff scooped her up and deposited her on the roof.

  “Quiet, girl,” Cliff said. He turned back toward the skylight. Jason wrapped his fingers around the lip of it, starting to pull himself up.

  Sage’s fur bristled as she watched Jason. The trailer trembled under the Skull’s assault. Sage whined when Jason struggled to pull himself up. She looked at Cliff imploringly. Cliff grabbed Jason’s wrists and finished hauling him up. The camper rocked, and the door exploded inward.

  “Before they see us!” Cliff said, already dashing off the opposite side of the camper. He slid down the front of it then caught Sage and lowered her to the ground. Jason hit the dirt beside him as the Skulls tore through the camper. He hadn’t gotten a good look at them—and he hoped they hadn’t seen him.

  They started to run.

  One of the creatures spilled back out the door and into the night. It was too far away and too dark to make out any of the monster’s features clearly. Its head swiveled back and forth. Maybe it was his eyes playing tricks on him, but Cliff swore he saw spikes or thorns or something jutting from its temple and down its limbs. He nocked an arrow.

  “Best take that thing out before it gets to us,” Cliff said.

  “I don’t think you can,” Jason said.

  Cliff let the arrow fly. He’d bow-hunted for decades now, and the Skull was an easy target as it seemed to search its surroundings, standing still. Even with the shroud of darkness, Cliff knew where the center of that thing’s mass was. It should be an easy hit. And a hit like that would be agonizing to a human, if not debilitating.

  He lost sight of the arrow, but he was certain his aim was true. The Skull jumped a bit as if surprised, and its head turned their direction. But still, it stood tall.

  “What in the hell?” Cliff muttered.

  He let loose another arrow. It had to have hit.

  The Skull’s shoulders sagged slightly, then it broke into a run.

  “Shit,” Cliff said. He shot his third arrow. It flew straight at the monster. He heard a slight ping like metal against rock, but the Skull kept running. Three arrows wasted and nothing to show for it. An unrelenting iciness filled him.

  But now was not the time to let fear overtake him.

  Cliff took off. “This way.”

  Taking a hard left, he sprinted away from the scene. Sage bounded beside him. He didn’t look to see if Jason was following. Didn’t much care. He just had to get himself and Sage out of here.

  They ran into the woods, putting as much foliage between themselves and the Skulls as possible. Cliff drove them onward until he could taste copper on his tongue and his muscles burned with lactic acid.

  The howls of the Skulls had long since ceased, and when Cliff surveyed the woods, he saw no movement except for Jason slowing behind him. He paused.

  “We’re done here,” Cliff said.

  “Sorry?” Jason asked.

  “I think it’s best we go our separate ways.”

  “No, you can’t. You can’t just leave me. You saw what those things were like.”

  “I hardly saw any of ’em.”

  “You shot that one, right?” Jason asked, holding his hands out. “It didn’t stop him. You see what we’re up against?”

  “I lost that camper because I took you in. I won’t make that mistake twice. Sage and I survive because we do things on our own. Because we’re quiet. Not like you.”

  “No, man, you don’t understand. I can help you survive.”

  Cliff started to walk away. When Jason started to follow, he raised the bow. Jason held up his hands.

  “Look,” Cliff said. “You’re running around like a coyote who got his tail cut off, whimpering and screeching. That’s no way to survive out here. I’m better off fighting them alone.”

  “No,” Jason said, daring to take a step forward. “You don’t get it. I’m not talking about fighting them.” He shook his head. “Far from it. I know a place.”

  Cliff lowered his aim slightly.

  Jason stepped toward him again. “I know a safe haven. A refuge. A place with no Skulls, guarded by the military, with food and water and none of this.”

  “And why the hell should I b
elieve you?”

  “Because I can take you there.”

  -4-

  Cliff’s heart pounded. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” Jason said, holding up his hands. “I swear. Give me a chance to explain.”

  Cliff searched the forest then let his bow fall on its sling. There was no evidence of Skulls nearby other than the fetid stench of death on the breeze. He motioned for Jason to crouch nearby. “Sage, guard.”

  The dog stuck her nose in the air, ears perking with the sounds of the forest.

  “Explain,” Cliff said.

  “There’s an island in the Chesapeake. It’s connected by Route 50 to Annapolis.”

  “Kent Island. You’re talking about the Bay Bridge.”

  “Yeah, that’s it!” Jason nodded excitedly. “The military is there. Weapons, planes, helicopters, they got it all. Walls on the bridges, too, to keep back the, uh, Skulls. They’re shipping in food and medical supplies.”

  “You come from Kent?” Cliff asked.

  Jason shook his head. “No, I live in Columbia. You know, between DC and—”

  “I know where that is,” Cliff hissed. He didn’t want the guy’s bio. “I’m asking you if you just came from Kent. How do you know what’s there?”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t.” Jason looked around nervously. “Is it... is it safe here?”

  “You got another place in mind? The only safe place I had was ruined.”

  “Yeah, sorry, but... Look, you got to come with me. You won’t survive out here. I heard those things’ numbers are growing, man. Pretty soon they’ll be more common than roaches.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “It’s just an expression.”

  “Not a very good one. Tell me how you know about Kent.”

  Jason sighed. “Look, man, I can’t sit around doing this all day. When everything went to shit, my friends and I got caught up in all this before we could make it home. The ranger took us in, and we’ve been camping out in the Visitor Center with him. He heard about Kent over his radio, and he was getting an SUV, four-wheel drive, gassed up and everything, to get us to the island.”

  “Why the hell are you out here then?”