Blood Dawn (Blood Trilogy Book 3)

by Jason Bovberg

  “Could it be some survivor targeting them?” says Scott. “Like we were doing? Some kind of assassin?”

  “Doesn’t look that way. The damage to the bodies, the blood and bone spatter—it’s all consistent with a detonation from inside.” Kayla gives a sickened look, but he goes on. “If we were talking about a projectile from outside, or some kind of explosive like a grenade, you’d have a very different spray. And the collateral damage suggests suicide bombers, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “From the looks of it, those other bodies were survivors, and they were the ones targeted.”

  “But targeted how?” Scott says.

  “That thing in their heads,” Rachel says. “That glowing … thing. They’re detonating themselves.”

  “That’s what I’m betting, yeah. Let’s roll.”

  As they drift past the wreckage, Rachel steels herself and takes a long look. Immediately she’s reminded of the aftermath of the attack on the truck at the hospital. After the roar from the crimson sky, those bodies at the small pines beyond the parking lot—those two businessmen—had become abruptly mobile. They had spidered toward them, and—if Joel’s theory is correct—they had thrown themselves like grenades in an effort to destroy human beings. Rachel shakes her head, knowing Joel is right. Maybe a part of her knew it all along.

  There are also two formerly infected bodies on the ground here, and Rachel imagines them detaching from trees and doing the same thing to these poor people. She can barely glance at the targeted corpses. There are three of them. What, had these people been on foot? Shrapnel wounds dot their bodies, darkly red. Still fresh, but beginning to dry. Their faces are frozen in anguish, surprised in death, the corners of mouths down-turned, teeth showing. Rachel tears her gaze away.

  As they pass Canyon Avenue, Rachel feels a spurt of adrenaline, knowing she’s close to home. Just a few blocks now.

  The sky is still on fire, but at least the raging fires of a few days ago have calmed. No longer churning great black cumulous clouds of noxious smoke, the fires have turned mostly gray, either nearing the end of their fuel or calmed by somewhat cooler temperatures, the rain, and no wind at all. At least that’s what Rachel imagines.

  She considers that. Since this thing began, there has been no wind or breeze of any kind. As if this presence—whatever it is—has not only destroyed humanity but all of nature. Is it possible? She hasn’t seen any animals either. Insects, even.

  “Rachel,” Kayla whispers. “Are they going to kill us?”

  “Shhh, no, honey.”

  “How do you know?”

  Rachel feels a lump in her throat in anticipation of her lie. “Because we’re so much stronger than they are.”

  But Joel’s interpretation of the attack scene has filled Rachel with a new nervous energy. The survivors’ plan so far has been ambiguous at best, and now the thought of confronting these things again—this collective menace—seems impossible. If the reanimated bodies are still attacking, as has become clear, is Joel’s idea of going on the offensive still the best idea? Perhaps they should be fleeing east with the rest of them. Night is approaching rapidly, and that prospect too gives her the chills.

  She leans forward to give voice to her fears.

  “Are we doing the right thing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Should we be going in the other direction?”

  Joel pauses before answering. He’s watching the surroundings carefully. Behind them, Scott is fidgeting but doing his best to hide it, Kayla looks meek and drained, and Felicia seems to be on the edge of consciousness, coming to slowly.

  Joel rolls his window down and gestures for Pete to drive up next to them. In a moment, the vehicle slides up, and they’re face to face with Chloe and Zoe, peering out from the front and back passenger seats. More than ever, it’s like seeing double, with their exhausted sunken eyes and their twin expressions of teeth-gritted anticipation. Both of their windows are rolling down.

  “Hey,” they say in unison.

  “What do we got?” Pete calls from the driver’s seat. “We almost there?”

  “Not yet, a few more blocks to Rachel’s house, but—that scene back there.”

  “Yeah?”

  Joel tells them about what he suspects. His words are quick and efficient.

  “I’m not turning back, man,” Pete says. “Those fuckers took out my only brother. I want to go right to the source and burn ’em to hell.”

  “Well, that’s pretty cut-and-dried.”

  “I’m serious, dude.”

  “I know you are, but what about your companions there? You gals still game for this?”

  The twins look at each other, then back up at Joel.

  “We never figured this was gonna be easy,” Zoe says as Chloe nods. “You spend a little time with Pete, and you start feeling like you can take on anything.”

  The big man, startled by the compliment, blurts out, “Damn right.”

  As the Hummer idles, Joel turns his gaze to the occupants of his own vehicle.

  “Look, the bottom line is this: Even though we’re armed up and pretty well defended, it’s still dangerous out here. Something’s going to happen, I think we can count on that. I still think we have them on their heels, and I’ve made it clear that I also think we have an advantage in this truck. Two of them now.” His eyes dart to Felicia, who is waking up. “I want to make sure we’re all in.”

  No one speaks for a moment.

  Finally, Scott says, “Yeah, Joel, we’re all in.”

  “Okay, let’s do it,” he calls, loud enough for everyone to hear. “A few more blocks, then we’ll hang a right.”

  He settles back and motors forward toward City Park.

  Kayla squeezes Rachel’s hand, and when Rachel looks down at her, she is surprised to find an optimistic expression on her face.

  “We’re going to win,” the little girl says.

  “Of course we are.”

  Rachel almost manages to keep her voice from breaking. Because at the moment, she’s feeling far from positive about their course forward. She’s about to say goodbye to her father and then hurtle forward into an uncertain future with only an indefinite plan for success against a gigantic, unfathomable threat.

  In moments, they’re passing Joel’s wrecked police cruiser at the mouth of her neighborhood. The Honda Pilot that her dad rammed it with sits crookedly against it. The memory is a tough one, and she can feel Joel recalling it too. She remembers the bodies rushing toward them. She remembers escaping them by the narrowest of margins. Good God, they had come so close to meeting their ends. So close! The memory makes her shiver.

  Next to Rachel, Felicia is murmuring more loudly.

  “… she … she …”

  “Hey, you doing all right? It’s me, Rachel.”

  Felicia blinks and stares at her, then at Kayla.

  “Is she … did she survive?” Felicia whispers, looking around.

  “Yes, she did. I got some morphine in her, and she’s in the back of Pete’s truck. She’ll be fine.”

  Felicia twists her neck to try to get a glimpse.

  “Don’t worry, she’s back there, she’s fine.”

  “No ... no, she’s not.” Felicia appears overcome with sadness. She turns toward the window, and Rachel hears the bump of her forehead touching the glass. “I need to be back there with her. I can help her.”

  “We’re making a stop, so we’ll see what we can do, make sure she has everything she needs.”

  Felicia is silent.

  Kayla reaches across Rachel and pats Felicia’s right leg affectionately.

  “It will be okay,” she says. “We’re going to win.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Rachel’s home appears ahead of her like a dream inside a nightmare. As they draw closer, she watches the familiar yard, the small porch, the cracked driveway. There’s a corpse at the edge of the lawn—an unclothed young woman who has suffered some kind of head w
ound. Her limbs are askew at impossible angles. Did her father actually shoot this body during his escape, before he rammed Joel’s cruiser? She remembers, years ago, him telling her about grandpa’s gun—showing it to her with a sense of reverence, communicating its power—and she knows he kept it in a safe somewhere in his bedroom, although she has never seen it. The thought of him using that old gun to fire a bullet into someone is beyond her comprehension, but then so is this world.

  Joel pauses the Hummer in the middle of the street, his eyes tracking the rows of homes. Nothing but heavy silence out there.

  “Which one’s yours?”

  “That one.”

  He inches forward, still scanning.

  “Two bodies there, you see ’em?”

  “Yeah.”

  The second body, that of bloated Mrs. Carmichael, is now on her porch. Last time she saw Mrs. Carmichael, the woman was gnawing on the Bristlecone Pine in Tony’s side yard. Why is she on her porch now?

  “This all went down before we found your dad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How do we look? Anybody see anything? Scott?”

  The neighborhood is deathly still, under a troubling sunset, under the persistent white-gray of diminishing smoke. As Rachel scans the blackly broiling skies, she senses unrest but relative calm. The air coming in through the vents isn’t as rank as it was a couple days ago, and it’s blessedly cooler, by perhaps thirty degrees since the worst of it. Colorado summer evenings have always brought relief, and that holds true even now.

  “Nothing out there,” Scott says. “Not that I can see.”

  “Let’s get this done,” Joel says, lurching the Hummer to a stop and setting the transmission to Park, leaving the big vehicle to idle. He reaches for his door handle, then pauses. “Just to be clear—if anything happens, if we see anything aggressive, we’re outta here.”

  “I know, I get it.”

  “Do I get to go to the bathroom now?” Kayla says.

  “Yes, honey, you follow me close. Take this flashlight.”

  Just as Rachel hands Kayla one of the flashlights, Felicia opens her door and hops down to the pavement. In the dim light, Rachel watches her hurry, hobbling, to the rear of Pete’s truck to check on the woman there. Felicia peers over the sideboards, reaching an arm over.

  “What’s she doing?” Joel asks.

  “All I know is she wants to help that lady,” Rachel says. “I don’t know, maybe she—maybe she feels the kinship?”

  “You gotta tell me something—what in the hell did she do in that bus?”

  “Heck if I know.”

  “Think she can do it again, if we find more?”

  “I’m not sure how much strength she has. Whatever she did, it brought her down for the count.”

  Joel nods, then turns to Scott. “You’re on watch, okay? The whole time we’re in there.”

  “Got it.” Scott now has a rifle in his grip.

  “All right. Rachel, you ready?”

  She nods.

  “You’ll lead the way with Kayla, and Pete and I’ll carry Michael through to his bedroom. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You armed?”

  “Yes.” She has taken Joel’s revolver and become accustomed to the heft in her grip.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Two doors open, and they spill out into the smoky night. Joel motions to Pete, who is watching from the truck directly behind the Hummer. He opens his door and drops out heavily. He and Joel go directly to the rear of the Hummer and lift out Rachel’s father with a little difficulty. Rachel looks away and starts up the lawn toward the porch.

  The first thing she sees is that the front door is slightly ajar—her dad must have left in a hurry. And during whatever frenzy he faced, Mrs. Carmichael met her end right there on the porch. Her massive body is splayed out on its stomach, hanging halfway off the concrete and into the large rose bushes there. She looks as if she tried to squeeze underneath the white porch railing—maybe in pursuit of her dad?

  Rachel stutters to a stop when she sees that Mrs. Carmichael’s limbs are still twitching.

  “Wait here, Kayla.”

  The little girl bounces backward, away from the porch.

  “What is it?” Joel huffs behind Rachel.

  Rachel steps onto the first step, and a ghastly wheeze escapes the large woman’s mouth. Mrs. Carmichael’s head, dotted with blood, twists to peer and scowl at Rachel as she tiptoes closer. The mostly unclothed body, its flowery muumuu tangled up near the armpits, roils fleshily but can’t move more than a few inches. One arm is hopelessly stuck, immobilizing her.

  Rachel gestures. “She’s not dead.”

  “Rach, get out of there!” Joel shouts, coming to a realization a split-second before Rachel. “Now!”

  Rachel springs backward off the porch, takes three stumbling strides, and a bomb explodes behind her, strobing the street red. As hot blood sprays her back and flank, she tumbles to the ground, both ears ringing.

  “Jesus!” she yells, muffled, still rolling on the grass. She spins, watching for Kayla, sees her all the way back at the truck. Relief floods her.

  A hand finds her shoulder and holds her still. She wants to get away, farther from the porch, but she’s being held by a vice grip. It’s Pete.

  “Did you fuckin’ see that?” he shouts in the aftermath of the concussion.

  “Yes I did,” comes Joel’s muted voice.

  “What happened?!” one of the twins yells from the truck.

  “Rachel!” Kayla cries.

  “Corpse blew up on the porch!” Joel responds, his eyes wide, scanning the vicinity.

  “Blew up?”

  “Head fuckin’ blew like a grenade!” Pete says.

  “Let me go!” Rachel writhes on the ground. “Is Kayla all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Joel says, close now. “You took the brunt of that one. You hurt?”

  His hands touch her back lightly, feeling for wounds. “Christ, I need one of those flashlights. Scott, can you—”

  “Here.” He hands it over.

  “I’m fine!” Rachel cries.

  “Hold still, girl.”

  “I’m not a girl!”

  “Hold still, lady.”

  “Oh for chrissakes—”

  The mag light is in Joel’s hand now, and sudden light blinds her then moves down her body. She feels his fingers swiping at blood, determining whether it’s hers.

  “I don’t see any injuries, actually,” Joel says. “You are one lucky—”

  “Jumpin’ Jesus!” Pete says, standing up. “That thing went off!”

  “Scott, stay focused, willya?” Joel says. “That blast was loud enough to wake the dead. Literally.”

  Joel helps Rachel to her feet, and she brushes herself off, feeling embarrassed and horrified in equal measure. She wipes at her neck and feels slick, fresh blood. She undergoes a full-body shudder.

  “Gah!”

  She glances up to see the twins rushing to her with towels.

  “Damn!” says Chloe, voice warbling. “That was too frickin’ close!”

  “Here, let’s clean you up,” Zoe says, wiping her arms and back. “Did that thing really—”

  Rachel nods miserably. She catches a glimpse of Kayla near one of the Hummer’s big tires, watching nervously, holding her flashlight like a talisman that might ward away evil. Rachel gives the girl a shaky thumbs-up, mouths It’s okay. Then she gestures at her to come back.

  Behind the Hummer, still leaning over into the truck bed, Felicia watches Rachel almost impassively.

  The blanket-mummified body of Rachel’s dad lies between the Hummer and the truck, and her heart aches at the thought of Joel and Pete simply dropping him there. She looks away, then shrugs the twins away.

  Kayla is back at her side.

  “You’re okay, right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Which isn’t exactly true, but close enough.

  Joel and Pete have
surrounded Mrs. Carmichael’s body, staring down at it with frank curiosity. The mag light aimed down at her has a slight tremble.

  Rachel hears Pete say, “Lord have mercy!” The ringing in her ears is already subsiding.

  She moves toward the porch, shielding Kayla from the sight.

  Joel catches the movement. “You sure you want to see this?”

  “Yeah.” She clicks her jaw, and her ears pop.

  “Oh my God!” Chloe says, stopping.

  Mrs. Carmichael’s head is gone, and so is most of the top of her body. Her torso is a parody of human flesh, torn apart from the head down, sloppy piles of yellow fat glistening in pools of blood across the porch. A great cavity reaches down toward her bowels, and the torn flesh is still bleeding out. There is no black scorch from an explosive, just splayed-open muscle, devastated bone, and sickly, veined adipose tissue. The window behind the mess is shattered, and brain matter is sliding down a glass stalagmite still clinging to the pane.

  Long moments pass before Rachel looks away from the red ruin, her gorge rising. Her mom’s rose bushes are splattered with blood and pieces of skull and brain, and in a flash she sees that these bushes might have saved her life—or at least injury. They acted as a partial shield from the bone shrapnel.

  “Let’s finish this and get going,” Joel says. “I think this is a pretty convincing illustration of the danger out here. I’m sorry we won’t be burying your dad, Rachel, at least not now. But we can leave him here with his wife.”

  “I knew that going in,” says Rachel, still shivering, still shaken. “Come on, Kayla, the bathroom is right through here.” She kneels next to Kayla, facing her away from the atrocity on the porch. “It’s right there, to the left, okay? Point your flashlight right there. See it? See that door?”

  Kayla nods and goes inside.

  Rachel turns back to the porch.

  “Get back to the truck,” Joel calls to the twins, “help Felicia with that woman.”

  “Right,” Zoe says.

  “Keep a constant eye on everything, got it?”

  And the twins are off.

  “C’mon, Pete,” Joel says, handing Rachel his mag light.