Revelations - 02

by T. W. Brown

  He finally shook free of the trance and looked at all the bodies squirming from the rafters of this large storage room. He leaned in and grabbed the bloated ankle of a fat black woman wearing a blood-stained blue frock with an apron. He pulled her towards him a bit and let go. The body swung back, colliding into others and setting off a chain-reaction. The creatures all began struggling even more, some of them able to emit harsh croaking sounds. Garrett clapped his hands gleefully and repeated the action several more times.

  Eventually he grew bored. Although, at one point, one of the skinny Latina housemaid’s panties slid down from her legs, stopping at her ankles. Garrett was transfixed by the clot of maggots wriggling in the crotch of the soiled—but long-since dried—red, cotton bikinis. He felt the stirring in his pants and winced at the pain from the injury The Toy had inflicted the other night.

  Anger welling up, Garrett waded into the room and swung his machete at the closest dangling body—the heavy, black maid. The blade almost cleaved through the thing’s neck. He had to tug and wrench it free. Gravity finished the job as the body swung and spun before the weight was too much and it tore away.

  Garrett’s mouth opened in a silent scream of victory. He looked up and his face went slack. The eyes still followed! The jaw still worked. The body at his feet wasn’t twitching or anything, but the head was still…alive?

  He reached up and grabbed a handful of kinky, black hair. It actually took a few solid tugs to yank the neck free of the linen noose. He held it up and stared into its white-filmed, black-bloodshot eyes. Teasingly, he dangled a hand close to the mouth. It snapped shut with a click.

  A smile oozed across Garrett’s face…malignant, mad, and malevolent. He dropped the head and stomped it with his heavy boots until it was a large, dark, clumpy smear.

  He hurried through the house, taking note of things he might come back for. He did pause in one room; a nursery. Dried blood covered one wall in a huge arc. He went in and looked around, only leaving when he found a tiny hand cast off in a corner.

  Two other rooms had bodies, but they were on beds, empty pill bottles on the nightstands beside them. After checking the entire house, he returned downstairs to the kitchen.

  Stuffing bags full, occasionally Garrett would giggle. Yes, he thought as he loaded all the food he could carry, The Toy would soon see. He couldn’t wait to get back. At one point, his mind drifted to the memory of seeing her naked body tied to that post. He’d ignored the pain as long as he could, allowing his excitement to try and take hold. Eventually, it became too great.

  “I have a new game, bitch,” Garrett snarled as he hefted the pack onto his back and headed for the door that would take him to the back yard.

  

  Kirsten tried to bring in a slow, deep breath through her nostrils. She was miserable. Her drool had long since dried, leaving her skin feeling itchy all down her front. Her tongue felt three times its normal size and made of sandpaper. Her eyes were swollen and sore from the crying. It’d been so strange, once she’d started, the tears had poured unlike anything she thought possible. It was worse than that first night after her daddy was attacked. Worse than when her parents didn’t come back. Worse than when Arturo didn’t come back. Even worse than when The Big Man had shoved himself inside her for the first time.

  Kirsten stared out at the mob of undead faces that yearned to reach her. The tiny body on the ground had long since been crushed to a pulp underfoot. She’d actually felt relief when that tiny head, wedged so tight and awkward against the bars began to crack. The right eye actually burst in a gray bubble of goo.

  After awhile, all the faces seemed to blur together. Pain came from every part of her and her skin began to blister under the burning sun that continued to creep slowly across the sky. Would it be terrible to die right here, Kirsten wondered. Maybe The Big Man ran into a pack of zombies. No, Kirsten scolded herself for such foolish hopes; she’d have heard the screams. He wouldn’t have gone far looking for food.

  More than once as the day drew on, she considered simply sagging and letting that line around her neck finish her off. Everytime that thought gained traction in her mind, Kirsten remembered the satisfaction of making him scream when she’d bitten down. She made a vow to herself that if he ever stuck that in her mouth again, he wasn’t getting it back.

  The constant pain and the horror she was forced to watch furthered her resolve. The day would come when The Big Man made a mistake. He certainly liked to drink whiskey and beer. He would slip. Perhaps fail to tie her up properly one night…and she could wait. She was a Malloy, A family that not only survived, but prospered. Her daddy had shared stories of how her thrice-great-grandfather came home from the War Between the States to find the family property razed, the main house nothing but a blackened husk, and rebuilt bigger than before.

  The Malloy’s were fighters and survivors. Over and over she let that mantra play in her mind. She was so engrossed that Kirsten didn’t notice The Big Man walking towards her. A series of slaps to the face brought her around and she glared up defiantly at The Big Man.

  He grinned like the idiot she assumed him to be. She watched as he pulled a cinched-up garbage bag loose from his belt. He opened it, peeking inside and then looking up, his grin even bigger…more idiotic. Carefully, he reached in and pulled out…

  A head! More accurately, September Thomas’ head. The eyes stared at Kirsten and the mouth opened and closed, teeth gnashing inches from her face.

  Kirsten looked up at The Big man…and laughed. His smile quickly faded.

  

  Reginald stared up at the ceiling. He still felt the wetness of recent sex in the area surrounding his crotch. Jane—No, he reminded himself, her name is Lucy. Lucy asked him point-blank during dinner if he wanted to fuck. He’d choked, which earned one of her harsh, braying laughs. Of course he’d finally managed to nod.

  That seemed to suffice because Lucy got up from the table, peeled out of her clothes and walked over to the bed. He’d followed, more like an errant school-boy on his way to the principal’s office as opposed to a man on his way to a sexual liason with a willing woman.

  Once in bed, it had not gone at all like he expected. First, she’d reached down between his legs and grabbed hold.

  “I guess that’ll have to do,” she’d sighed. Not a very inspiring form of pillow talk.

  He’d leaned forward to kiss her and Lucy had turned her head. “Nothing on the lips,” she’d insisted.

  Once he recovered from those two set-backs, he moved on top of her and prepared to enter. Once again, she halted the proceedings, shoving him off of her.

  “That thing’s barely gonna get the tip in with that gut in the way,” she complained. “Plus, you’re gonna pop my lungs… all that weight smashing down on me.”

  She rolled him onto his back and straddled him. Eventually, Reginald recovered from the series of stinging rebukes. Then, unfortunately, it had taken almost no time at all for him to reach completion. He did everything he could think of to try and prolong it when the sensation grew, but nothing worked. Not even trying to mentally recite the Periodic Table.

  There’d been another cutting remark, and Lucy had climbed off and disappeared into the bathroom. To make matters worse, after she shut the door, she made sure to make a big show vocally of finishing herself.

  So, he lay there, feeling every bit the failure. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t as if he spent his nights as a lady’s man. He had much more experience by himself than with a partner. Still, there had to be something he could do to improve his standing in Lucy’s eyes.

  A thought came, and in a flash, he was up and out of bed. As quickly as he could, he pulled on a set of scrubs. Play to your strengths man, Reginald thought. And that was his mind. This was something so simple, yet he had no doubt that it was something that Lucy would appreciate.

  “I’ll be in the lab,” Reginald called on his way out. A non-committal grunt was the only reply.

  Down the
hall he hurried. A feeling of excitement churned in his belly. Punching in the code, he opened the door and flipped on the banks of lights. The lab-door code, he thought as he entered the first airlock. He could see his precious lab through the thick glass portal of the second door which was interlocked so that there was no way that both could be open at the same time. He would need to give that code to Lucy…just in case.

  Closing the first door after fixing his goggles and respirator that hung on the wall of the sally-port, Reginald heard, then felt the sanitizing mist as it sprayed down the chamber. A moment later, the fans kicked on. The whole process took ten minutes until the second door-light flashed green. There was an electric buzzing sound, and he pulled the door open, entering his lab after he replaced the goggles and respirator.

  The stench of the lab was stronger today. Perhaps because he’d been so engrossed in the scent of a woman these past hours. The circulation fans were not doing a good job of keeping up with the foul odor of death…or undeath.

  An orange tabby-cat opened its eyes lazily from where it sat curled on a mostly cleared lab-bench. “Morris,” Dr. Reginald Cox greeted the animal as he slipped on his lab coat.

  After only a cursory walk-through, checking all his specimens and opening the drain to the water-filled observation chamber, he went to the rear of the lab. A single door with a keypad was behind a thick, black curtain. Punching the buttons—that was another code Lucy would need—he stepped into the long, dimly lit room and pulled the door shut behind him.

  This, he thought, is the most important part of the bunker. Walking down the first row, he inspected a near-ripe tomato under the violet-colored grow lights. It made his mouth water just a bit, but this wasn’t what he’d come for and he continued down, then left past a few more rows until he found them: strawberries. He sifted through all the plants, plucking off a couple to taste.

  Yes, Reginald thought, these will make a fine wine.

  

  Jenifer-zombie stopped. She sensed something different. Her brain did not function to the point where she could identify sound…only…different. Turning, she felt others of her kind jostle her as they passed. They’d sensed it, too. She began the walk down a long, dirt and gravel driveway.

  She did not notice or appreciate the beauty of the canopy of centuries-old oak trees overhead, nor the quaint charm of the moss that hung from the branches. The trees that lined both sides of the road flickered with tiny specks of life, but something else at the end of the long driveway had Jenifer-zombie and a dozen others shuffling along in a cloud of dust.

  At some point, Jenifer-zombie had moved to the front of the pack, so she saw the source. It was stretched out on the ground, moving slowly towards a small creek bordered by tall grass. Jenifer-zombie reached it just as all but one leg had disappeared into that grass. One stiff hand grasping an ankle.

  There was no recognition of screams of terror or pleas for mercy. Jenifer-zombie bit into the warmth and for a brief instant, the cold receded. Jenifer-zombie fed, never once comprehending the words spewing forth from that source of momentary warmth. Likewise, there was no understanding as the shrieking form on the ground was torn open. Others joined the feast, and a smaller, singular source of that warmth was pulled free. It squirmed, but unlike the larger source, this smaller form made no sounds.

  Within moments none of that smaller source remained. The larger source quickly grew cold and lost its appeal. It rose, falling in with those that consigned it to its current fate. This newest member had trouble at first staying on its feet until the thick, fleshy cable tangled around one foot tore free from where it extended out between its blood-soaked thighs to trail behind the creature as it lumbered up the long, canopied dirt road.

  

  Juan eyed the three men suspiciously. They had all placed their weapons on the ground as he’d told them to and laced their fingers behind their heads. His street-sense told him that these guys were criminals. Just like you, the voice in his head reminded.

  “You gonna keep us here like this all day,” the tall skinny one snapped, breaking the silence.

  “How ‘bout I plug you now and make it so you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout nothin’ but dyin’?” Juan swung the pistol to bear on the guy with the bad attitude.

  “Yo, Keith,” the broad-shouldered black man glanced at his companion, “you need to chill, dude.”

  “Fuck that,” Keith spat. “This guy kills us or he doesn’t. Since I ain’t shot yet, I’m thinkin’ he prob’ly ain’t gonna.”

  “I only need one of you to tell me why you’re here,” Juan shrugged, “but if you think I’m afraid to pull the trigger…you’re wrong.” Juan’s eyes narrowed and the look on the faces of the three men changed. They’d just realized that he was like them. “Only reason you ain’t dead yet is I got some people that might not understand if I shot you for no reason.”

  “We’re looking for somebody,” the third man, who’d been silent up till now, blurted. “Keith here has family on this island.”

  “Who?” Juan asked the slightly balding man with stubble growing in on what was probably a shaved head in more normal times.

  “Jack Billings,” the man named Keith said.

  A gasp from behind him made all three of the men Juan held at gunpoint glance past his shoulder to the thick brush where Margaret and Mackenzie were supposed to be hiding and keeping their guns ready just in case. Juan sighed as he heard the rustle of branches. Great, he thought, they’re coming out.

  “How do you know Jack Billings?” Margaret’s voice was an angry hiss.

  “Umm…” Keith looked nervous as his eyes stared past Juan. “He’s my uncle.”

  A shot rang out, sending Keith’s two companions diving to the ground. Keith had staggered back, and now was looking down where a crimson stain was spreading across the upper left side of his chest.

  “That bastard beat and raped my daughter!” Margaret dashed past Juan who was still stunned by the sudden turn of events. Raising the butt of her rifle, she brought it down, smashing into the temple of the stunned man who was now on his hands and knees.

  Jade began barking and lunging forward, but Margaret, who now stood beside Juan, had her by the collar. The two men facedown in the sand glanced up, and Juan could tell they were considering their chances of jumping the woman just a few feet away.

  “Everybody back the fuck off!” Juan yelled and fired into the sand close enough to shower both the men and dissuade them from the course of action they were considering. “Margaret! That means you, too!”

  “But—” Margaret turned, her tear-streaked face a mask of rage.

  “Nothing,” Juan cut her off. “Just back off. This guy ain’t done a damn thing. Now step off so his crew can check him out.”

  “He’s Jack Billing’s nephew!” Margaret insisted.

  “But he’s not Mister Billings, Mom.” Mackenzie said softly.

  “Check your partner,” Juan nodded to the two men who were glaring up from the sand.

  Both scurried up and scrambled over to Keith’s unmoving body lying sprawled on his back. The black man was tearing the bloody shirt off while the other guy placed fingers at Keith’s throat, presumably searching for a pulse.

  “He’s alive, JoJo,” the man said, and tucked the ruined shirt under Keith’s head.

  “Bullet went all the way through, Thad.” JoJo brought one hand out from behind their downed companion to display his bloodied hand.

  Mackenzie peeled off her own shirt as she let go of Jade’s collar and moved to help. Juan relaxed the grip on his gun and jammed it into his holster. He shed his own long-sleeved, flannel shirt and moved past Margaret to help also.

  “There’s a house just through those trees about a hundred yards across a cornfield,” Juan offered. “We should get him off this beach and clean this up.”

  Thad and JoJo looked up at each other, then at Juan and nodded. After quickly deciding who’d grab his feet and who would take the upper-body, they were m
oving. Occasionally Keith would cry out; Juan imagined that it certainly could not feel good to be carried that way. Once they reached the cornfield, Juan and Mackenzie moved to either side of the man’s body and made a basket with their arms that they used to help support the middle of Keith’s torso.

  Margaret followed the procession silently, Jade padding along at her side. Already, every detail of the past several minutes was becoming a blur in her mind. She’d shot a man, and now, she couldn’t exactly remember why. It had something to do with Jack Billings. But was that possible? Jack Billings was dead.

  They reached the front yard of the large, long-abandoned house. Juan glanced back at Margaret. She had a dazed, empty look on her face. Shock. Great, Juan thought, we don’t have time for this. “Margaret!” he snapped. The woman looked up at him slowly…confused. “Get up there and get the door open. Check the bathroom for hydrogen peroxide or alcohol.”

  “And some clean rags,” Mackenzie added.

  “And a bottle of booze,” JoJo piped up.

  Except for Margaret, every head turned towards him. Each with varying degrees of a scowl etched on their faces.

  “For Keith,” JoJo said defensively. “Take some of the edge off of the pain. Especially once we start gettin’ in there and cleanin’ that wound.”

  Heads nodded in agreement, everybody relaxing their disapproving grimaces. Margaret moved past, stumbling up the stairs, obviously still in a serious state of shock or detachment.