by Lori Whitwam
That was the best news I’d heard all day, but I still felt anxious.
People started shifting around, gathering items they’d spread out during the day for entertainment or comfort, and stretching their legs in preparation for getting out of the van.
Eventually the brake lights flared on Marcus’ SUV, and he turned onto a long lane, the rest of us following. I saw a battered sign reading ‘Stratmore Estate.’
“I know this place,” Ty said incredulously. “It used to be some rich family estate, way out in the country. But they went broke in the 1929 market crash, and the place sat empty for a long time.”
“I remember now,” Cody said. “My cousin was a bigshot with Val-Konn Pharmaceuticals in Lexington. He was always going to corporate meetings, retreats, whatever…and this was one of the places they used.”
Ty nodded. “Yep. Stockholder meetings, company team-building, that kind of shit. Just an excuse to spend company money on a vacation, if you ask me. Fancy restaurant and bar inside, three putting greens, a pool, even a stable—which is why I was here. I came a few times to work with the horses.”
Well, this could be a nice place to spend a night. I stared straight ahead until I could see a sprawling white mansion through the open gate set in a high brick wall.
Wait. The open gate?
Shit.
The lane we traveled was too narrow to consider turning around, with trees close on each side, so we had no choice but to continue forward. As we passed through the gate, I saw both sides had been torn from their hinges, flinging them inward, as if rammed by a tank.
The next thing I saw was the zombies. They were everywhere. The large parking area before us teemed with them. There were more shambling in and out of a side gate—also standing open—and the massive double front doors of the mansion were also gaping wide.
“Holy fuck!” Patrick shouted just as his radio signaled.
I heard, “Driveway, follow it around!” through the static.
“Look,” Ty said, pointing to our right.
A wide circular drive curved around the perimeter of the parking area, under a portico extending from a wing of the mansion, clear around the other side and back toward the gate. It was the only way we could go. As we started counterclockwise along the right side of the circle, the dead closed in, swarming the vehicles.
“Don’t slow down! Don’t slow down,” Cody yelled.
As if that were an option. Bodies began falling to either side, knocked away by the plow-like attachment on the front of the lead SUV. At times the brake lights flashed as Marcus and John bumped over fallen zombies, which were then crushed further beneath our own wheels. Rotted, festering hands slapped at our windows, and jaws snapped at us from beneath clouded, empty eyes as we forced our way through. Even from three vehicles away, I could hear the horses screaming.
We swept under the portico, and more dead swarmed out of the mansion. We forged ahead, around the left side, and finally I could see the gate again. As we neared it, I was mildly surprised to find I’d reached over the back of my seat and was clutching Ty’s hand. I started to pull back, but he tightened his grip and wouldn’t let me. I looked out the window and was glad to see the rest of the column strung out behind us, all still moving, crushing or dragging zombies in their wake. Phil and Monte, in the turrets atop the SUVs, were by far the most vulnerable. They were both peering over the edges of the steel enclosures, no doubt terrified beyond words. There was nothing for them to shoot. There were too many for it to do any good, and would only leave them more exposed.
An interminable amount of time later—okay, probably less than a minute, but it was one long, hellish minute—we were back on the entrance lane and picking up speed. I let go of Ty’s hand, turned around, and tried to remember how to breathe.
Patrick was alternately swearing and receiving instructions on the walkie-talkie, and Melissa and Faith had their arms around each other, their faces hidden.
“That concentration of dead, way out here, somebody’s been there. And recently,” Cody observed.
It was the only explanation, and it was not welcome news.
We traveled several miles further down the road in the direction we’d been headed, then Marcus’ vehicle came to a stop. I noted it was on a long, straight stretch of road with decent sightlines, and no dead currently in sight. With the hills of this part of the state, opportunities like this were few and far between, and I was sure Marcus needed to confer with the drivers and the escorts.
Marcus ran past our van, carrying the page from the AAA road atlas, and back by a few minutes later. The drivers and escorts all hastily re-boarded, and I noticed Monte had gotten inside the SUV rather than returning to the turret. It was a good bet Phil had done the same.
“Got a backup location,” Patrick informed us. “About thirty or forty-five minutes farther.”
Jocelyn fluttered a hand over her chest before opening a bottle of water and taking a deep drink. “Lord have mercy. Maybe if something drew that many dead to that mansion, there won’t be too many left out wandering around.”
The general consensus was we all sure as hell hoped so.
As we went along, though, that didn’t seem to be the case. There were none at first, but after about fifteen minutes we began seeing the same small groups and random patterns we’d observed all day. We were short on options, though. The sun was sinking, and it was far too dangerous to continue to drive the narrow, twisty, hilly roads in this region after dark. We’d do that only if there were truly no other options, no potential safe havens.
We’d gone about five minutes without seeing any clusters when we turned abruptly onto an intersecting road. The sign pointing the direction we were going said five miles to some small town I’d never heard of, and which likely didn’t exist anymore. A couple of miles later, our apparent destination came into view.
It was a motel, circa the 1960s. I noted a cracked and crumbly stucco exterior, two stories, a flat roof, and an exterior walkway encircling the upper level. Our caravan rolled around to the back, out of sight of the road, and came to a halt.
The building was constructed in a square, around a central courtyard. An open breezeway bisected the center of the front and back sides of the square, giving guests in exterior rooms access to the pool I could see in the enclosed area. Above those, smaller walkways allowed courtyard access for the upper outside rooms, and I assumed that was where you’d find an alcove with ice and vending machines.
The first floor windows all appeared to be boarded up. If the breezeways could be blocked, and we all took interior rooms on the second floor and secured the stairways, we should be relatively safe, despite the lack of any sort of perimeter fencing.
Marcus and John ran from vehicle to vehicle, issuing instructions. The SUVs and vans were parked at the bottom of the exterior stairways. The livestock truck was backed up against the rear breezeway, where it fit perfectly, with only a couple of inches of clearance on either side. I thought this was clever. The animals would be accessible to us from the courtyard, enabling us to care for them, but there would be no easy access to them from the exterior of the building. Despite the risk of theft, the cargo truck was parked across the front breezeway. While a person—alive or dead—could crawl under the trucks to get inside, this configuration would be much easier to defend, especially if we were able to block the underside with furniture or something we found inside.
It wasn’t great, but given the situation, it would have to do.
The vehicles all situated, we gathered in the courtyard to discuss further preparations. It was already getting dark, so we needed to organize quickly. The outbreak had hit in early March two years earlier, so the pool was not filled with stagnant, slimy water. Two small trees, scraggly weeds, and a withered flowerbed were the only other amenities.
Marcus stood at the foot of one of the staircases and called for attention. “I know we have plenty of rooms here, but don’t think you’re gonna claim your own private s
uite.” He did not smile when he said this. “I want two to four to a room, assuming they mostly have two double beds.” He pointed to the upper level, which would be to the left if you were standing at the front entrance to the building. “I want us all together, consecutive rooms, on that side there. We’ll post a guard on the roof, probably two, to keep an eye on the vehicles and any activity that might come along. Questions?”
Neil stepped forward. “Two. Stairways and animals.”
Marcus jerked his chin up in acknowledgment. “I say we block the stairs behind us when we go up for the night, mattresses or tables, chairs, whatever you find. As for the animals, I think we…”
“Wait,” Rebecca interrupted. “Leave ’em loaded.”
“Why?” Melissa asked, her voice a tad shrill.
Marcus gave Rebecca a questioning look, and she explained. “I got a bad feeling. I think we need to be prepared to evacuate, like in minutes, and loading them would take too long.”
Most of us knew Rebecca well enough to trust her zombie radar. It was sometimes uncanny the way she sensed when and where they would turn up.
Marcus turned and conferred with Theo in a low voice. Then he said, “Compromise. Cats come inside, in one of the bathrooms, and the chicken cage can sit on the ground right outside the back of the truck. The ventilation in the truck ain’t ideal when it’s sitting still, and we can’t afford to lose the chickens. Worst case, we toss the chicken cage back in, and open the doors of the room and let the cats go.”
Melissa wasn’t thrilled, but I knew it was a decent solution. The cats were semi-feral and used to roaming. These four were just the ones lucky—or unlucky—enough to be rounded up in our pre-departure kitty rodeo. This whole ‘living in a crate’ thing was new to them, and they were definitely not fans of the arrangement. If need be, they’d do just fine in the surrounding countryside.
We started to head upstairs when someone had the brilliant thought that accessing the rooms would be much easier if we had keys. Duh. Had we thought they’d be open, or were we going to pick the locks or kick in the doors? It took only a couple of minutes for Davey and Cooper to find the office and the old-fashioned metal keys on faded, oval plastic fobs.
Once the rooms were claimed, the camp stove was set up on a splintery picnic table in the courtyard, and two pots of water were on to boil. Jocelyn ladled hot water into series of foil freeze-dried meal pouches. There was no time, and frankly no desire, for anything more elaborate. I got chicken and noodles. I really wanted beef stroganoff, but Melissa grabbed the last one. Brat.
The horses and goats were brought out and given food and water, the truck shoveled out, and the disgruntled animals were put right back inside with some buckets of water and secured for the night. The chickens scratched the dry ground and pecked at some grain, while the cats were taken up and secured in the bathroom in the unit Melissa and I were sharing with Jocelyn and Faith.
Someone had the bright idea that most of the toilets probably had water in the tank, enough for one flush, so keys were borrowed for some of the unused rooms and everyone got a bit of privacy and luxury for once. Any remaining toilet paper was tucked away in backpacks and duffel bags, because one thing you did not pass up was a chance to stock up on toilet paper.
Javier came down from the roof, where he’d been scouting the vicinity. He reported he’d seen two small bands of zombies pass by on the road, moving toward the estate where we’d initially planned to spend the night, but they hadn’t taken any notice of the motel.
“But,” he continued, “I did see some activity in the woods. Just stragglers or pairs here and there, but they’re out there.” Not the best news, but as long as they didn’t take note of us, there was nothing to do but proceed with our duties.
Finally, chores complete, we called the dogs from where they were chasing each other around the empty pool and headed upstairs, securing the stairways behind us.
As I was about to enter my room, Ty caught up to me. “I’m next door,” he said, looking into my eyes. Was that some sort of invitation? Since he had a roommate, I assumed not, and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. My thoughts must have shown on my face, because he flashed a crooked smile before continuing. “If anything goes down tonight, I want you to find me, okay?”
“Of course.” I’d always intended to do exactly that, but he didn’t need to know it. He was clearly used to being an alpha male, and he might chafe at the idea of a former librarian thinking he needed looking after. I leaned against my door, and he moved closer. He placed one palm on the wall beside me and bent down. I smelled a hint of whatever he’d used when he trimmed his beard that morning, and a bit of the dried peaches we’d had for dessert a short while ago. His eyes drew me in, and I couldn’t look away. His lashes were long and thick, and I tensed as his gaze moved over my face. His other hand trailed across my jaw, followed by his lips. He barely grazed the corner of my mouth, and brushed across my cheek. Not a kiss, not really, but enough to set my heart racing. It had been a long time since I’d been even almost-kissed, since Quinn, and for the first time, I thought I might not only want a kiss. I might want…more.
Ty straightened slowly, a soft smile spreading on his face. “I mean it, Ellen. If you leave this room, I go with you. Deal?”
I somehow got enough air into my lungs to say, “I said of course. Do you have guard duty?” The way my head was spinning, I congratulated myself for posing a question that actually had some relevance.
He shook his head. “Not tonight. Guard changes at one o’clock, though. If I’m still up, who knows? Might as well be useful.”
“If we get where we’re going tomorrow, there’ll be tons to do. You should get some sleep.” Was that my hand splayed on his broad chest, right over his heart? Yes, it was. Damn. I hadn’t realized I’d even moved. I withdrew it slowly, but Ty grasped it in his for a moment before he returned it, and I found myself resting it on the handle of my machete.
Ty gave another crooked smile. “Somehow I don’t think I’ll be getting a lot of sleep tonight.”
He turned, unlocked his door, and disappeared into his room. My trembling fingers finally opened my own door, and I stepped inside, blissfully clueless as to how prophetic those last words he said would prove to be.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I surged awake in the pitch-dark room, and felt Melissa sit up beside me. Had that been an explosion? As if in answer to my unspoken question, another sharp crack and rumble resounded, and I leapt to my feet. I had slept in my jeans, and groped blindly for my machete on the floor beside the bed, tripping over my shoes in the process.
Jocelyn flicked on the battery powered lantern on the stand between our beds, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted. “What time is it?” I asked her, jamming the machete in its sheath.
Never without a watch, so meal times could be planned in more predictable times she glanced at her wrist. “Couple of minutes before one.”
Right at shift change.
I turned to Melissa and opened my mouth, but she spoke first. “I know. Stay put.”
“Exactly,” I said as I headed for the door.
On the walkway outside our rooms, I ran into Ty immediately. “Going somewhere?” he asked.
“Not without you.”
“Damn straight.”
Marcus and Theo came out of their room. “Wait here,” Marcus called to us as he raced for the small passage leading to the outside perimeter of the building.
Along the walkway, the team poured from their rooms, heavily armed and ready for whatever we were about to face.
Marcus barreled around the corner from the passage and shouted, “Swarm, on the side opposite here. We need all hands, people!”
Hearing his call, the team members who would usually stay securely behind closed doors emerged from their rooms, including Jocelyn and the girls. They wouldn’t go down into the battle, but Marcus handed Jocelyn his bow—she was a very good, if not great, shot—and Melissa and Faith were iss
ued guns and spare ammunition. They’d fight from the relative safety of the second level walkway. I heard Skip barking frantically and clawing at the inside of our door. He’d be safe there, at least.
Vincent Mills stood with his girlfriend Sheryl—our horticulture and herbal medicine asset—and asked Marcus, “Where do you want me?”
As our doctor, he was usually kept out of harm’s way as much as possible. When Marcus told him to grab his weapons and follow him, I knew we were in trouble.
The team ran through the passage to the exterior walkway and around to the opposite side of the building. As we rounded the corner, I almost stumbled, shocked by the sight. At least fifty or sixty zombies were in the parking lot on that side, and more emerging from the trees every second. Those closest were already beneath us, clawing and pounding on doors and the boards covering the windows.
“They can’t get inside, right?” Melissa asked, clutching my arm.
I tore my gaze from the horror in front of me and turned to Melissa. Her face was white and her eyes wide. “No. They can’t.” I hoped. “Even if they broke inside one of the rooms, there’s no interior hall. They’d be stuck in the room.” I tried to draw a mental floorplan. The rooms backed onto each other, didn’t they? Was there some sort of maintenance corridor between them, and if so, how was it accessed? I’d been so tired when I got to my room, I hadn’t done much exploring.
Marcus turned from where he’d been watching the swarm, and I didn’t care for the look on his face. “Not likely, but it’s possible, I think.” Shit. “In my room, instead of the door for an adjoining room going to the one next door, it went to the one behind mine, facing the outside of the building.”
Ty addressed Marcus. “Mine was the same way. I don’t know if they all are, or just some. But even if they got in an outside room, the adjoining door leading to the inside room should be closed, shouldn’t it?”
Marcus went on a short tirade about stupid fucking old buildings and how that layout couldn’t possibly be up to code, and what the hell had they been thinking. Ty was reassuring him that code or not, at least the connecting door should be secure, when they were interrupted.
