“What about you?” I said.
“Oh, I cut my hand on the damn glass. EMT gave me a tetanus shot and fixed me right up. No big deal.”
This was typical Fred. Downplaying the whole thing so as not to worry the rest of us. What a martyr. But what if whoever that guy was who broke the glass was infected and his blood had spilled onto the door? Fred would be infected. No one knew how the undead were being created, but I had to assume that whatever the cause, it was transmittable through bodily fluids. That’s what Isaac thought. And as with other deadly diseases, blood and saliva were suspect.
“Fred, do you feel okay?” I said.
“I’m fine. Just a little tired. Guess I lost more blood than I thought.” He turned to go over to a cash register. I noticed that he was already walking stiffly. The jimmies. Not good.
“Take it easy,” I said, and went to work.
Twenty minutes later, Fred announced that he was going to the break room to lie down, saying he felt funny.
“It feels like a fever, but there’s this buzzing in my brain. I can’t shake it.”
He headed for the restroom. Having to pee myself, I followed him in. Without speaking, he went into one of the stalls and threw up.
“Shit!” he said.
I swung the door out as he straightened up and wiped his mouth. Whatever it was that he’d upchucked, the water in the toilet bowl was black.
“Fred, you need a doctor,” I said.
“Naw. Going to lie down awhile. I’ll be fine. Let me know if anything comes up.”
An hour later, Stacey came running, scared shitless. “There’s something wrong with Fred! He—he doesn’t look like he’s breathing!”
I followed Stacey into the break room and found Fred lying motionless on the brown Naugahyde sofa. His skin was greyish in the fluorescent lights. I ran and got a pair of the plastic gloves we use to change the toner in the laser printers. I checked Fred’s eyes and listened for any kind of breathing.
“Call 911,” I said.
Fred sat up and blinked like we weren’t there.
“Fred, you okay? You gave us a scare.”
He ignored Stacey and me as she waited on hold for the 911 dispatcher. When he tried to speak but couldn’t, I knew. He kept moving his mouth in an unnatural way, like he had awakened and found that he now had jaws. I recognized the symptom.
“Fred, we’re calling the paramedics. You’re going to be—”
He took a weak, angry swipe at my head, and I jumped back. “Stacey, get out!” I said. But she was frozen, unable to comprehend what was happening. “Stacey! Get out!” She snapped out of it and ran from the room.
Fred made another feeble attempt to claw me, then stopped and looked around the room and up at the ceiling lights. The brightness seemed to bother him. He tried again to say something, but instead ground his teeth so hard I heard the scraping of bone against bone. One of this teeth broke, and he spit the bloody pieces onto the floor.
Dear God, I knew what was coming. The urge to run away was overpowering. I didn’t want to die. What kept me going was the thought that I might be able to help Stacey and the others. I scanned the room, looking for a weapon. There was nothing. A coffee maker, a water cooler, several five-gallon plastic bottles of water lined up on the floor, a refrigerator and a push broom.
The broom was it. All the time looking at Fred, I backed away and grabbed it. Then I unscrewed the handle and held it in both hands as Fred watched me, unaware of any threat, like he was seeing an actor in a play.
Outside I heard Stacey scream, then someone grabbed me from behind. I tried to get away, but they had a firm lock on my head. I smelled sick, fetid breath but heard no breathing. Then I saw a hand. Bone was sticking out through ripped fingertips.
I dropped to my knees and rolled hard to one side. As I turned, I saw Missy staring at me. How did she get into the store without anyone seeing her? As I scrambled to my feet, holding the broom handle out in front of me like a lightsaber, something strange happened.
She turned and called to Fred in a series of short, piercing chirps that broke the stillness of the room. His ears seemed to prick. She directed her dead eyes back at me, and Fred came at me like a linebacker in sudden death. She was giving him commands!
I heard a siren. A moment later, two EMTs rushed in with Stacey.
“Careful,” I said. “They’re dangerous.”
Too late. Missy turned and swiped a ravaged claw at an EMT’s face, ripping it half off. Wailing and grabbing the raw flesh and bone, he fell back, blood gushing everywhere, while the second EMT tried to grab her.
Fred and Missy went after the second man. With the efficiency of wolves, they went to work on him, starting with his throat.
“What’s happening?” Stacey said.
As I jumped past, Missy grabbed me and sank her teeth into my shoe. But the bite didn’t go through the leather. Kicking her in the face, I grabbed Stacey and forced her out of the room.
In the main part of the store, I screamed for everyone to get out. The few customers we had didn’t know what was happening. All at once they tried to make it through the inner exit door, but panicked, they jammed it up.
“One at a time!” I said.
Now Missy and Fred were there. I looked back as the customers went out. Then I grabbed Stacey by the hand and dragged her towards the inner door, but there were still people going out the door.
“Come on,” I said.
I tried the manager’s office in the front. I could lock us in there till more help arrived. As usual, the door was locked. I tried finding the right key as Stacey whimpered behind me.
“Dave, hurry!”
Before I could get her into the office, Missy leapt ten or twelve feet over the checkout station and brought Stacey down like she were a gazelle.
“Dave!”
I tried hitting Missy with the broom handle, and it snapped in two. Missy feasted on Stacey’s eyes, tongue and throat. She must have hit an artery, because a jet of hot blood pumped rhythmically onto the front windows of the store like an automatic sprinkler. This excited Missy even more, and she washed her face in it as Fred joined in.
Repulsed, I tried to make it through the outer exit doors, but Fred grabbed me, screeching. Pulling back for a second, I gripped the broken broom handle and shoved the jagged end hard through his open mouth. It stuck there, and as he staggered in circles trying to dislodge it, I saw it protruding from the back of his neck.
I made it outside, where a cop stared in horror at what was happening. It was dark out, and the parking-lot lights cast everything in a sickly orange glow.
Missy came out, hungry only for my blood. The policeman drew his gun and fired at her, hitting her in the arms and chest and driving her back.
“The head!” I said. “Shoot her in the head!”
But he was out. He tried to reload as Missy straightened up and continued towards us. She was three feet in front of us when two more cop cars screeched to a stop. Seeing them, Missy fled around the side of the building. The cops in those cars went after her.
I sat on the ground, covered in Stacey’s blood. I didn’t think I was bit, but I felt like passing out.
“I don’t understand,” the stunned officer said.
“Can’t you see what they are?” I said. “They’re all dead.”
Fred, still trying to dislodge the broom handle, stumbled outside, lowing like a cow that had fallen into a pit.
“Holy shit!” the cop said.
“You need to kill it.”
“But he’s still …”
Disgusted, I grabbed his gun, took aim and fired repeatedly at Fred’s head. God help me, it felt good. A bullet tore through Fred’s left eye and he dropped, his body propped up at an unnatural angle on the broom handle.
The two other cops came jogging back over to us, their guns still drawn. I recognized one of them as Norm, the one who had arrested me. The scared cop took his gun back and pointed it at me. “You’re under
arrest!” he said in a high, Barney Fife voice.
“Put the gun away,” Norm said. “Can’t you see it was self-defense?”
* * *
It was late when I found myself sitting on the curb, mourning Fred. How could I have shot him? But it wasn’t Fred, another voice said. It was a dead thing that looked like Fred. A monstrosity that tried to kill me.
When my dad was alive, he liked taking me to the shooting range. Though I had a talent for it, I’d never killed anything in my life, not even a deer. I felt sick as I replayed the scene over and over in my head. Grabbing the policeman’s gun, taking aim and blasting a baseball-size hole in Fred’s face. What made it worse was that no one did anything about it. It was self-defense. I was a hero.
I looked around, imagining I saw Missy lurking in every shadow. Another two ambulances arrived to wipe up the carnage. I didn’t know if those bodies were coming back as the undead, but I guessed we’d know in a few hours. Fred was gone. Stacey, mauled and bled out.
After the last ambulance left, Detective Van Gundy came over and sat next to me. “How are you holding up?” he said. “The guys told me what you did. It’s okay, you did what you had to.”
“Whatever this is, I think it’s mutating.”
“What do you mean?”
“I found Jim days before Missy killed him. I know, I should have told you. Whatever. He was in this trancelike state for a long time. Days, weeks—I don’t know. He was harmless. I noticed that after Fred cut his hand on the contaminated glass he turned much quicker. In hours, not days.”
“So if someone gets infected—”
“Those bodies they took away, they need to make sure the brains are destroyed.”
The detective nodded. “It’s spreading,” he said. “We’re getting reports that these things—what did you call them, the undead?—have been seen in Mt. Shasta. Maybe even farther north.”
I felt for my keys and walked away fast.
“Where are you going?” the policeman said.
“I have to get to my wife.”
“You can’t leave town.”
I stopped and stared at him. “Then shoot me.”
He looked at me for a few seconds. “It’s not that,” he said. “Security forces are on their way. All the main roads will be blocked soon. They want to contain this thing.”
“I have to try,” I said.
“Right. Good luck, Dave.”
I didn’t wait around to wish him the same.
Chapter Nine
The Lake
What would I say to Holly when I saw her? Beg her forgiveness? Convince her I was a changed man and not a coward? Whatever happened, I needed to find her and protect her.
Though I was anxious to get on the road, it was after midnight when I arrived at the motel. I was exhausted and afraid of falling asleep behind the wheel. So I decided to catch a few hours’ sleep and leave in the morning. Holly would be safe tonight at her mother’s.
As I lay sleepless in bed, the thought of Fred Lumpkin—or what used to be Fred— made me feel sick, not heroic. My eyes closed, I saw Stacey writhing on the floor, bright blood shooting from her neck, that horrible screeching ripping at me as Missy and Fred ate her. In that moment I vowed to kill Missy but had to settle for Fred. The way things were playing out, there was more killing to come.
People talk about survival. What they mean is killing the other guy.
* * *
At first light I trudged over to the office. Except for me, the place was deserted. The motel manager was an Indian national named Ram Chakravarthy. He had a Duchenne smile as big as the moon and an accent as thick as honey. Whenever he spoke, he did a head-bobble thing that became unnerving when accompanied by silence.
“I need to check out,” I said.
He looked up from his laptop, which he always seemed to be in front of, and smiled. “Twenty-four-hour cancellation policy. I must charge you for tonight.”
I didn’t have time to argue, so I paid.
Sitting in my truck, I made several attempts to call Holly. Each time it went to voice mail. I texted her and waited. No response.
I made my way through the deserted streets of Tres Marias, looking for breakfast. I saw soldiers gathered on street corners and assumed they were National Guard. There were military vehicles everywhere. The whole thing was unnerving.
Inside the 7-Eleven, two soldiers were buying coffee. They eyed me as I walked past towards the refrigeration units. I thought I might buy just one beer. You know, to calm my nerves. To a normal person this was reasonable. How bad could one be? What I’d forgotten in that moment of weakness is, one turned into six into a case. Into oblivion. It was the original slippery slope, and no drunk in history ever had beaten it.
Instead I bought a six-pack of Mountain Dew, a package of little chocolate donuts and some jerky and got back on the road. I hoped I wouldn’t be stopped.
Driving to Mt. Shasta, I thought about my job—or what used to be my job. Now that Fred was gone and there was the potential for more undead to invade the store, I decided it was best to avoid the place. Soon the money would run out, but I still had my credit cards. I wondered how long money itself would be of any value if the outbreak spread to other towns, other states.
The window was rolled down, and as I drove through the forest, I heard a distant shriek, then I saw a frightened flock of birds tearing out of the trees. I closed my window and concentrated on getting out of the woods.
It was lunchtime when I reached the lake. Thank God I didn’t see any undead along the way. I’d called Holly earlier to let her know I was coming. She still didn’t answer.
When I reached the house, Holly’s car was gone but her mother’s was still there. I climbed the brown wooden steps to the front door. It was unlocked. I jogged around the side where her mom kept the firewood. I found an axe and took it. Then I went into the house, my skin prickling.
Though things seemed normal, I knew they weren’t. There were dirty dishes in the sink. Holly’s mother hated a mess, which told me that they must’ve left in a hurry. I tried calling Holly again, but she didn’t pick up.
As I walked back outside, two strangers appeared from the darkness of the surrounding trees. I was scared and watched the way they moved. Raising the axe to my chest, I waited for them to identify themselves.
“It’s okay,” one of them said.
A man who looked to be in his forties, bald, slight, with a moustache and wire-rimmed glasses, and a young guy, eighteen or nineteen, with reddish hair and freckles, came towards me. The older man carried a pump-action shotgun and walked with a mild limp. The other clutched a hunting knife. They looked scared.
“It’s okay,” the older man said again. “I’m Ben Marino, and this is my son, Aaron.”
I lowered the axe and shook hands with both of them. “Dave Pulaski.”
“You live here?” Ben said.
“No, it’s my mother-in-law’s place. My wife was staying with her, but now they’re both gone.”
“You know what’s going on, right?”
“Yeah, I think I do. Want to come inside?”
I was able to scrounge up some canned chili and coffee. Ben and his son seemed grateful for the hospitality. Afterwards we sat in the living room. I wanted to find Holly, but I had no idea where to begin.
“Aaron and I were camping,” Ben said. “You know, a little father-son time. We were out on the lake today fishing …” He choked up, and his son touched his knee. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s so crazy.”
“Did something happen out there?” I said. But I already knew by the way they sat, hunched over and closed in.
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
“There was another boat,” Aaron said. “Just off the shore. Couple of guys drinking and fishing. Mostly drinking. We were around fifty yards from them. One of them was peeing off the side and fell into the water. At first it was funny. Neither of them wore a life jacket. I guess the guy who went in couldn’
t swim.”
“We saw him go down,” Ben said. “Aaron and I rowed as fast as we could. As we were about to get to the other boat, the second guy jumps into the water. He looked like he knew how to swim, and we saw him dive down. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen, twenty feet. The thing is, neither of them ever came up again.”
“You mean, they drowned?” I said.
“No,” Ben said. He circled the room like something was after him.
“I was going to dive in,” Aaron said, “but Dad stopped me. We have this high-power flashlight, you know, in case we’re out after dark. Dad shone it down into the water. At first we couldn’t see anything. Then we saw something moving.”
Ben stopped in front of me and spoke haltingly. “The men were being held down by people. At the bottom of the lake. And they were—”
“They were eating them,” Aaron said. “We couldn’t believe what we were seeing. We kept staring. Then something bobbed to the surface.”
“It was a torso,” Ben said, grimacing as if tasting the waterlogged flesh. “It was completely hollowed out.”
I tried to imagine those creatures down there—the undead. They could have fallen into the water, unable to swim, and sank to the bottom like rocks. I guessed they didn’t need to breathe. So they stayed there. Hungry. Waiting.
“You got anything to drink?” Ben said.
I went through all the kitchen cabinets and found an unopened bottle of Johnnie Walker Double Black. It was surprising that Irene kept it around. Her husband had been a heavy drinker and died from esophageal cancer when Holly was fourteen. It’s funny what people hold on to out of sentiment. She also kept a chipped “Gone Fishing” coffee mug containing a half-smoked cigar, toothpicks and a pack of matches from the Titties Galore Bar in Redding, where her husband used to “entertain” customers.
I brought out the bottle with two glasses and set them down on the coffee table.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 203
