Applewood (Book 1)

by Brendan P. Myers

  “Um, Officer, I think you’re making a mistake here.” The cop ignored him, so Dugan added, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Dugan hated the way he sounded. When the cop finally did look back at him, Dugan saw that he was smiling. His chill increased when he realized that the look on the cop’s face reminded him of something. Someone. He had seen that same serene look on the face of the woman from the Historical Society. Dugan remembered two words he had read in the Daniels diary: Cat’s Paw. The cop got out of the car and walked back to open the door for Dugan. When he did, Dugan leaped from the vehicle, but the cop was ready for it and caught Dugan on the side of the head with his flashlight. A galaxy of stars exploded in Dugan’s head and he collapsed onto his knees.

  The cop reached down for Dugan’s belt and began dragging him across the hard asphalt toward the station. In the moment just before Dugan was either going to pass out or throw up, he opened his eyes and glanced up to see that the nameplate on the cop’s uniform read, “Cotter.”

  * * *

  Larry had already run halfway up the broken-down tower before he realized what he was doing. When he turned around to glance behind him, vertigo almost overtook him. He reached out and placed one hand on the stone wall to steady himself before he once again began walking up the stairs.

  Stopping suddenly, he realized he’d run himself into a trap. There was no place for him to go now but up, and he didn’t want to do that. But they hadn’t followed him. He heard them gathering outside at the base of the tower. They were laughing at him. Jeering him. He remembered that day in the shower and stopped moving.

  As he stood on the cold stone steps halfway up the tower, his face took on a determined look and then he began to crack a smile. If he was going to go out like this, he thought, he was going to do it on his terms.

  He walked up a few more steps until he was just below one of the large windows that provided light to the stairway. The heavy bars that once protected the climbers were long gone now.

  As he got closer to the opening, he heard them more clearly. They were just below the window. Whispering to each other. Maybe coming up with some kind of a game plan to smoke him out. Or maybe, he thought, they were thinking up some other fun games they could use him for. Shaking his head and still smiling, he climbed up into the window and looked down. He had been right. They were indeed scattered about on the ground that was now forty feet below him.

  * * *

  Dugan began to come around and slowly became aware he had been placed in one of the cells. When he opened his eyes, he saw the stainless steel toilet and matching sink. He started to sit up, but thought he might puke, so he rolled off the cot and placed his head over the toilet until the feeling passed.

  He reached up and felt a baseball-sized welt on the back of his head. While he was feeling around up there he noticed that the back of his ear had opened again as well. He stood up slowly, walked over to the bars and pushed against them.

  Not surprised when they didn’t budge, and having no other plan in mind, he pressed his face into the gap between two bars and began shouting himself hoarse.

  * * *

  Larry stood up straight in the tower window, surprised that it would accommodate his full height of five feet. He looked down and saw them all pointing up at him, laughing, snarling and jeering, knowing he had nowhere to go. Larry looked around until he spotted Stephen Harris.

  Even from this height, Larry could see that his face was as white as a mime’s. Harris’ open mouth revealed his own newly acquired set of pointy canine teeth.

  Larry judged the distance and figured he could just about make it.

  * * *

  Dugan’s voice was only a harsh whisper now. He had spent more than a half hour shouting, screaming and swearing to no avail. Not a sound came from the small window in the steel door at the far end of the row of cells. Dugan figured that even if the place was full of cops, they probably heard this sort of stuff all the time. By this point his shouts and screams had turned into almost inaudible rasps of, “Help me. Please help me.”

  He kept repeating it like a mantra and even considered saying a prayer before he rejected that thought. Dugan didn’t think God answered prayers sent up from Hell and he knew that was what Grantham had turned into. They would be coming for him soon. He knew that was why Cotter had taken him.

  He wondered whether they were using the cop to collect the stragglers, all of the others like Dugan and his friends who somehow had managed to remain alive during the onslaught.

  What did they plan to do once they had everybody?

  Dugan didn’t want to know and didn’t want to think about it. It would be so easy to just give up now, to give in and let whatever was going to happen, happen. Just when he decided that this would be his new plan, he heard shouts come through the window in the steel door. Right after that he heard the reverberating thunder of a gunshot.

  * * *

  Harris had never been happier. He couldn’t imagine that the novelty of doing whatever you wanted, to whomever you wanted, would ever wear off. There were downsides, of course. The constant Hunger. The everlasting cold. But ever since the change, his headache was gone, and for that he would be forever grateful. He would never trade the Hunger for the headache, because you could always do something about the Hunger.

  Although the Colonel could be a bit of a douche sometimes.

  Even now, as he stood beneath the tower awaiting this evening’s feast, Harris knew that the Colonel could see and hear everything he was up to, because it was the Colonel who had made him. That seemed to be the way that it worked. But Harris felt himself grow stronger with every passing night, and it wouldn’t be long before he could do something about the old man too.

  And he had grander dreams than that. He smiled to think that one day, the whole world would shudder at his power.

  Just as he was about to signal his friends that playtime was over and it was time to eat, he looked up at the tower one last time. At that very moment, he felt a stream of acid pour down onto his face, and only as it began to burn did he remember what it was like to feel pain.

  * * *

  After reaching down to open his fly, Larry tried to relax. He’d had more than a few sodas at the banquet, so he knew that it would eventually come. After another moment of listening to the cackling laughter from below, it did, and he began pissing out the window.

  When he got a good stream going, he raised his dick and pointed it straight at Stephen Harris. His timing was perfect, because just as Harris raised his head, Larry hit home. He began laughing when he saw smoke, or something like it, begin steaming off Harris’ face.

  He laughed even harder when Harris’ howl shook the walls of the tower, almost losing his balance. He wondered then, was there something in pee that was dangerous to them? From biology class, he remembered there was water, and salt, and ammonia, and urea. What else? The distraction helped him keep the stream going and his aim true, but in the next instant…

  ….Harris’ now corrupted and steaming mask of a face was only two feet away and directly across from him. Larry compensated for Harris’ move by aiming higher and laughing even harder.

  He managed to keep his stream going until the moment before Harris reached out to take hold of his neck. Still laughing his ass off, Larry dodged the creature’s grasp and turned around suddenly, to throw himself out of the window, into the air, and toward the hard ground forty feet below.

  4

  Hoofbeats

  The echo of the gunshot had only just stopped ringing in his ears when Dugan began to hear the jingling of keys. After that, he heard the metal on metal sound of a key being inserted into a lock. He moved backwards in his cell, stopping only when the backs of his calves brushed against the stainless steel rim of the toilet. A moment later, he heard the metallic creak of the heavy steel door opening. Dugan watched as a long metal pole slowly began to appear through the door. It kept coming and coming until Dugan thought it was the longest pole
he’d ever seen, and then he saw hands on the pole and realized he was looking at the barrel of a long rifle. He watched in fear as the figure holding the rifle began creeping slowly into the narrow corridor. Now backed all the way to the rear wall of his cell, Dugan braced himself for the inevitable. He had his eyes squeezed shut when the rifleman spoke.

  “You all right, boy?” It was a man’s voice.

  Dugan half opened one eye and saw Skunk standing in front of his cell. His red hat was slightly askew and Dugan noticed he wore the flaps up today, probably because of the nice weather. Still unsure of Skunk’s intentions, Dugan did not allow himself to relax until he saw the man set the rifle aside and begin trying keys in the lock. The third or fourth key he tried hit home and he slid the cell door open.

  “Come on boy. We don’t got all night.”

  Skunk picked up his rifle again and motioned Dugan out of the cell before he started back down the hall. After another moment, Dugan followed. The two walked down a long corridor decorated with photographs of uniformed officers and then found themselves in an office area. From the dispatcher’s station in another room came the tinny sound of static followed by metallic voices. Dugan noticed a chair had been knocked backwards on the floor before he saw a pair of black shod feet pointing upwards. They belonged to a uniformed Grantham officer whom Dugan did not recognize, who now lay dead on the floor of the police station in a pool of his own blood. Dugan looked away quickly.

  Skunk crept along slowly, the rifle still held in front of him. After exiting the office area, they walked through a public vestibule in the front of the station house and out onto the street. A Grantham cruiser was parked and running in front of the station. Dugan saw that two bikes, one of them his own, had been stuffed into the half open trunk. Skunk got into the driver’s seat, motioning Dugan to get in the other side. After their doors slammed shut, Skunk put the cruiser into gear and floored it. The tires screeched and rubber burned. Dugan looked at Skunk and saw him grinning widely, noticing for the first time the whiteness of the man’s teeth. He reached over and tugged at the sleeve of Skunk’s flannel shirt.

  “Thunderbird,” Dugan squeaked out, forgetting for a moment he had sacrificed his voice in the echo chamber of his jail cell.

  “What you say?”

  Dugan swallowed and cleared his throat. The second time he said it, Skunk understood.

  Slamming on the brakes, he pulled a U-turn in the middle of the state highway and began driving back the way they had come. Skunk maneuvered down a few side streets and parked the car behind the fence of an auto salvage yard. “Let’s go,” he said.

  The two crept along the streets and dodged from shadow to shadow behind the darkened buildings. The crisp spring night was punctuated occasionally by a scream here and there. At other times, Dugan heard a kind of obnoxious laughter. They ducked around behind the dumpster of the Odd Fellows Hall for a moment before slinking back behind the fire station and daring their first glance out onto the open street.

  Dozens of them moved about in what looked to Dugan like a busy shopping day right before Christmas. Some were in jogging suits. Others wore pajamas or business suits, whatever they had been wearing when taken, Dugan supposed. Much of their clothing was now tattered and torn. Dark stains and drops of splatter could be seen on most of them, telltale signs of their new diet.

  When one of them stood for a moment underneath the glare of a streetlamp, Dugan saw hideously distorted and pale features like overdone caricatures of human beings. Pulling him out of his reverie, Skunk grabbed Dugan by the arm and motioned it was time to go. They crept along the alley until they were at the back door of the Thunderbird. When Skunk found it locked, he battered the hasp with the butt of his rifle until it gave way.

  They walked slowly down the dark corridor and past the rest rooms. As they moved closer to the bar, Dugan heard the reassuring sound of the television. Skunk motioned Dugan to wait a moment. They stood and listened to the tail end of Carson. The nasal voice indicated that David Brenner was filling in for him this evening. Dugan heard Shelley Winters begin telling a naughty joke as Skunk began to move, and followed him into the empty bar. The joke must have met with the audience’s approval, because just as they walked into the room the audience began applauding wildly.

  Besides the television, the only light in the room was a yellow glow coming off the nicotine-stained Budweiser clock on the far wall. Dugan looked down when he felt his feet sticking to the floor and saw a half-inch of liquid. At first, it made him think there had been a flood of some kind, and then he smelled it, an overpowering aroma of sticky sweet liqueurs mixed with sour mash Tennessee whiskey. There was another smell underneath all of that. He didn’t want to think about what the source of that might be.

  Looking up, he saw that the bar area had been laid to waste. The mirror over the bar was shattered. All of the bottles had been smashed and thrown about. Grabbing him by the arm, Skunk told him to wait a moment before walking behind the bar. Dugan couldn’t help himself and followed, stopping suddenly when he saw a pair of feet pointing into the air and recognized his father’s shoes. He choked back a sob. Skunk bent down behind the bar, standing only a moment later to raise his head and look back at Dugan. When Dugan began to run over, Skunk stepped out quickly from behind the bar and blocked his way, then half-carried him kicking and silently screaming back the way they had come.

  Halfway back to the car, their way was blocked by a pack of them. Skunk began backtracking to the other side of the town center. They went behind the sub shop and the mattress place, then down another side street, putting them near the town green and the Historical Society. Dugan looked over toward the old library and saw that the entire manse was lit up. Torches had been placed to the left and right of the large wooden door. Dugan blinked twice before opening his eyes again to look at her.

  She was wearing a different large hoop skirt, this one blood red and accented with white frilly fabric. With her hair pulled back, she looked for all the world like the lady of an antebellum house. Even in the torchlight, Dugan could see the blush in her cheeks that indicated clearly it was still her own blood swirling in her veins.

  Dugan turned to Skunk and squawked, “Lights burn again in the Pope mansion.”

  Looking to his right, Dugan saw a number of the creatures reflected in the firelight of huge torches that had been put up along the Town Green. They seemed to be massing underneath some sort of dais or raised platform that had been erected there. As he turned to look again toward the Mansion, both he and Skunk began to feel vibrations of some sort underneath their feet, moving closer and closer.

  Turning to Skunk, Dugan asked, “What is it?”

  Skunk did not look back at him when he answered. “Hoofbeats.” After another moment, they saw them.

  The Colonel was leading the charge. Above his head he raised a large golden sword, glinting in the firelight, a sword that Dugan had seen once before in a black and white photograph. His heart sank when he saw that the Colonel rode Penny, his favorite horse from the Circle L Ranch. To the Colonel’s left, Stephen Harris was riding Jimmy’s horse, Chance.

  He saw three or four others also on horseback who he didn’t recognize before Skunk forcibly pulled him away from the scene. The two scurried along side streets back to the cruiser and sped off. Skunk remained silent during the ride, and Dugan was puzzled to realize that for some reason, Skunk didn’t need directions to his house. When they were about halfway home, Dugan turned to Skunk and asked, “What are we gonna do?”

  “Gonna have to kill ‘em.”

  Dugan thought a moment. “What did Daniels do?”

  Skunk looked straight ahead when he answered. “Don’t matter what he did. Didn’t work, did it?” Dugan could find no flaw in that logic.

  They were almost at his house when he asked Skunk to go beyond his street to drop him off at Moon’s house. After pulling up in front of it, the two got out of the car. Skunk helped Dugan get his bike out of the back. When they wer
e finished, Skunk began moving quickly back to the driver’s side door.

  “That his rifle?” Dugan asked his retreating back.

  Skunk stopped walking for a moment and Dugan saw him almost imperceptibly nod before he began moving again.

  “I liked your books, professor,” Dugan said. “They made me laugh.” Skunk didn’t stop this time. As he opened the car door and began to get in, Dugan began choking up. “Thanks a lot for tonight. I really appreciate it.” A moment later, he shouted, “And thanks for all the Cokes!”

  Dugan watched Skunk or Remlinger or maybe Isaac Daniels get back into the cruiser and slam the door shut. He waved once as he pulled away from the curb and drove off into the night.

  Dugan stood outside the house for a moment to get control of himself before he began pushing his bicycle around back. He went down into the basement. Moon and Mike were bent over the old ping pong table, still hard at work on the special project he’d assigned them. The room reeked of strong glue.

  Artie and Mark were down there too. As Dugan came down the steps and into the basement, four heads turned to look at him. They seemed to sense immediately that something had gone very wrong. Mark was the first to ask the question.

  “What’s it like out there?”

  Dugan took a moment to think before he replied. “Vamp City.”

  5

  Splatter

  Dugan spent the rest of that night in Moon’s basement with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He fell in and out of sleep before finally waking when he felt the rays of the morning sun coming in the narrow basement window. A moment after opening his eyes, he heard Jimmy’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He sat up and asked Jimmy to come outside with him. In Moon’s backyard Dugan told him everything: how he and Larry had disregarded the curfew, his arrest and jailbreak, Skunk. Finally, he told about his father. Jimmy listened to it all without interruption. When Dugan was finished, Jimmy grasped him by his shoulders and looked him in the eye.