by Sharp, Tracy
Then, as she shambled toward me, growling deep in her dead throat, it occurred to me that she hadn’t vanished. She hadn’t been one of the abducted children.
Because she was sick.
Apparently the aliens didn’t want, or couldn’t use, terminally ill sick kids.
Hank growled back at her, backing down the drive way. He was the smart one of the two of us, because I headed toward her.
As she reached me, arms out, hands grasping, I jammed my knife through her eye. She went down soundlessly, weighing so little that it made almost no impact on the snow.
Her mother walked toward me, short, red hair sticking up in all directions. She didn’t weigh much either. But then, I didn’t imagine she’d eaten much, with her nine year old daughter dying a little more each day before her eyes.
Her jeans and white sweater hung on her skinny frame, and the area where Sidney must’ve bitten her was dark red. The blood had spread and dried. Her throat was all but completely torn out. Huge, gaping wounds left her neck weak, and her head hung awkwardly to the side as she walked toward me, jaw hanging slack.
“I am so sorry,” I murmured. Not for what I was about to do, but for what she’d been through before she’d ended up as a deadie. Watching her child suffer and fade each day. The pain she must’ve endured was unimaginable to me. It seemed the most cruel and atrocious thing to happen to her.
I wondered if there was anything left of the person she’d been, behind those dead eyes. But then, it didn’t matter. Killing the thing she’d become would be the ending of all of her suffering.
Stepping forward, I jabbed my knife sideways, through her ear, and ripped it back out, watching her fall on top of her daughter.
Hank growled again, looking toward the street.
Turning, I noted that two more deadies had left the houses they’d been searching for fresh meat, and were heading our way. More would be joining them soon, I was sure.
“Let’s go, Hank.” I ran into the garage, hoping that the keys were left in the Pilot.
Nope.
I looked around the garage frantically. “Please, please don’t let them be in the house.”
Hank growled again, louder.
The two deadies were slowly but surely making their way up the driveway, and three more weren’t far behind.
I looked around, panic spiking adrenalin through my veins. Mr. Doriga seemed to have spent a lot of time here. Every man needs a man cave. There was a long counter at the back of the garage, and cabinets above it.
Hank followed close behind as I began whipping open the cabinet doors.
The deadies groaned a mere few feet behind me.
One cabinet door left. I held my breath.
On the back of it hung several keys.
But only one that would belong to a Honda Pilot.
I grabbed the key, spinning around as Hank barked wildly. He’d backed up to the wall, refusing to leave me. I shoved the key into the pocket of my jacket and gripped the knife.
The closest deadie was almost close enough to kiss me. I recognized him as a hot guy that used to jog up the street every morning. He stood in front of me, shirtless. Still, strangely, looking hot even though he was dead and drooling at me. He still sported a rippling six pack, even if he did look slightly grayer.
“Too bad.” Shaking my head in regret, I brought my knee back and booted him in the stomach, sending him stumbling backward, then plunged my knife through the eye of a middle aged man who’d lived down the street and had given me the willies, watching me with a dirty leer each time I walked past his house.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long, long time, creeper.” I pulled my knife out of his eye and shoved him backwards with my boot.
I risked a glance at the counter behind me and found a hammer. “Nice!”
Hank was being chased by a heavyset deadie who was doing her undead version of calling him, which was to toddle after him in a stumbling, drunk looking stagger and grunt.
“Hey!” I shouted.
She stopped and turned, then came toward me.
“That’s right. Come on over here, Mable.” I didn’t know what her name was, but Mable seemed to suit her pretty well. Her mouth opened and closed as she walked toward me. Her hot pink glasses hung lopsided on her face, and the blood covering her chin, chest and hands suggested that she’d dined fairly recently.
I swung the hammer back, bringing the claw end of it down on her forehead. It gave a loud crunch breaking her skull. Grimacing, I yanked it out. She stood, confused, but didn’t drop. I swung it down on her forehead again. Still, she stood, swaying.
More deadies were making their way across the street. Two more were shambling up the driveway.
“Third time’s a charm.” This time, I aimed for her eye. I swung the claw through the milky orb, and it sank in with a wet, slopping sound. Finally, she did drop.
If Hank and I didn’t get out of there now, we’d be quickly over run. The dead didn’t move quickly, and one, two or even three might not be too hard to kill, but in greater numbers they would be lethal.
I opened the driver’s door to the Pilot and Hank didn’t wait for the invite, hopping in and jumping into the back seat with a little whine.
The Pilot started up like a dream. It was brand spanking new.
“Never thought I’d be driving one of these any time soon,” I said to Hank. “Nice ride.”
It even drove over Mable without a problem.
* * *
“So now we have a hammer and a knife, but I think we should try to find at least one gun. What do you think, Hank?”
Hank was still lying in the back seat of the Pilot. He seemed content to occasionally look out the windows at the ever-deadening world.
And it was becoming a dead world. Things were so much worse on the main roads. Cars had run off the roads, or had crashed. The dead roamed the streets. I was witness to people being eaten alive, before my eyes.
One thing I hadn’t thought of was how vicious the living could be to each other.
The dead and the aliens were a threat, but many of the living were just as frightening. I watched people being pulled from their cars and left for dead in the middle of the road by brutal carjackers and scavengers, who stole their vehicles and belongings.
I saw a mother and infant be swarmed by the dead.
My sense of humor left me.
I sobbed as I drove through the streets as quickly as I could without crashing or running over any of the living. Stopping would mean death for me and Hank. We’d be left for dead and likely wouldn’t survive more than a few minutes, both of us torn apart as we screamed for help that wouldn’t come.
Tears blurred my vision and I gasped for breath. I made it through one of the busiest streets and took a side road to avoid more swarms of scavengers and dead.
Hank and I were safe in the Pilot for the moment. The Dorigas had just filled the tank, but eventually we’d have to stop for gas.
I drove the side streets, weaving my way out of the city as quickly and stealthily as I could manage in a blinding white Honda Pilot. The guns would have to wait. I was getting us the hell out of the city.
I took the first road out toward the most rural town in the area. I drove dirt roads for miles, heading past fairgrounds that hosted a country fair every summer. My favorite one, complete with horse pulls and country crafts.
Those days were over.
When I was sure that Hank and I were far enough in the middle of nowhere to stop for a pee break, I stopped the Pilot in the middle of the dirt road and let Hank out.
The wind had picked up, and the air felt raw on my face. Luka’s ski jacket and my mother’s hat helped to keep me warm, but the cold still found a way to chill be to me the core.
There were no sounds out here. It was deathly silent. The snow lifted in the wind and swirled in little tornados over the white blanketed fields. A crow flew down from a tree and hopped around on the road a few yards away from us. It cocked its
head from side to side, black eyes studying me curiously. The thing gave me the willies. There were plenty of dead things for it to eat, just south of here.
Let’s make this quick. I squatted on the side of the road and emptied my painfully full bladder, letting out a relieved sigh as Hank did his business a few feet away from me. He didn’t waste any time getting back to the truck, pacing around in front of it like he was afraid someone or something was out there, and would get us.
Maybe he knew something I didn’t.
As I pulled up my pants, it hit me all at once.
I’d been so distracted by the dead and the horror of how brutal the living could be to each other, that I’d forgotten about the threat just on the horizon, just a couple of hours away.
There were fields surrounding us, and beyond those were woods.
Just the kind of place the reptiles loved to make their new home.
And the sun was steadily sinking in the sky.
* * *
I drove a little further, looking for a place that Hank and I could hide out. Part of me regretted leaving the safety of the Doriga’s house, but then, when darkness fell, it may not be safe at all. There weren’t any houses out here, so the reptiles may not have burrowed down into the ground this far out of the city.
But then, they may have.
I really had no intention of finding out.
My mind raced. If we didn’t find a place to hide out, we’d have to spend the night in the Pilot. It was cold, and running the truck for heat would burn out the gas pretty quick. We needed to find shelter.
The Pilot was quiet as it moved along the snow caked country road. I kept the speed down to thirty miles an hour, sweeping both sides of the field for houses. There had to be farms out here.
We passed a dilapidated, abandoned shack, the ceiling of which had caved mostly in. I ditched any idea of spending the night there. Having the shack fall in on us wouldn’t help us. If we survived, being trapped under broken debris and waiting for something to eat us was not a happy thought.
After another few miles my search became more frantic. The light had become murky. Long shadows steadily stretched from the woods over the fields toward us. I’d never noticed how fast darkness gathered in the wintertime before.
Hank growled, then gave a low bark.
I looked at him in the rearview. He was watching an area beyond the left window.
Following his gaze, I saw what he was growling at and my blood froze in my veins.
There was movement, out near a copse of trees not far off the road.
Something was watching us.
Chapter 4
I hit the lock button and felt a small measure of comfort when all of the locks clicked, but that feeling didn’t last long.
In the gloom I saw two reptilian shapes moving low to the ground, dome-like heads moving up and down as if sniffing the air. Either they smelled my piss or they smelled me. Maybe both.
I smell your blood, Jessica had said.
Before I could even turn the key, something thumped against the passenger window.
My heart leapt into my throat as I jumped, then instinctively ducked down, looking up for the source of the impact.
I saw long claws scratching at the glass as the thing climbed on top of the Pilot. I looked up. The moon roof was closed, the reptilian banging at it with the force of hunger behind it. Dents began forming in the panel.
Two other reptilians jumped at the truck. One climbed onto the hood of the car and stared in at me. Its mouth yawned opened in an unearthly howl and saliva dripped over the rows of jagged teeth. The eyes were a strange grey, and it snapped its teeth at the windshield, trying to bite through it.
I froze, paralyzed, as the thing knocked its head at the windshield.
When that didn’t work, it brought one arm back, its scaled chest lifting with the effort, and smashed its arm down onto the glass.
Hank barked wildly, then jumped into the passenger seat and sniffed the keys hanging from the ignition.
It broke my paralysis and I turned the key. The Pilot obeyed, starting easily. But there were two reptiles on the roof and one on the hood, and I didn’t think we’d make it far before one of them burst through. The moonroof was giving, and the two reptiles now peered in at me through the small opening, strange grey eyes looking right into mine. Then, sniffing at the ever widening crack.
I jammed my foot on the gas pedal, and the reptile on the hood was thrown off. It scrambled through the air, falling on its haunches. Jumping up, it ran at the Pilot and jumped easily back on, skittering up the hood, its claws making little scratching sounds as it climbed toward the windshield.
My mind was blank with terror as I kept my foot jammed down on the gas. Hank barked madly at the moon roof, standing on the passenger seat with his paws on the back of the seat. His scare tactics weren’t working.
Neither was my crazy driving.
These things were not easy to shake.
“Hang on, Hank!” I slammed the brake, and all three reptiles slid off the truck.
Hank was thrown from the seat and banged into the back of mine.
I hit the gas and ran over the reptilian that had been on the hood. One scaled arm thumped on the hood when I turned the wheel and the Pilot’s tires rolled over it with a loud crunch.
I laughed madly, looking back at it in the rear view. “You made the ugliest hood ornament ever, asshole!”
The other two reptiles skittered over to it. Its head had been crushed under the truck wheels. They sniffed it, heads tilting this way and that, then came bounding after me.
I didn’t think I’d be so lucky again, but I had no choice. There was no other way to kill them without getting myself and Hank killed.
Killing us both in a firey truck accident wasn’t ideal, but preferable to the alternative.
I slowed, watching as the reptilians bounded up the back of the Pilot, shuddering as I got a close look at their undersides, which were covered in scales. I’d never been a fan of snakes, and these things were like living nightmares.
“Brace yourself, Hank.” Hank sat on the floor, where he’d stayed since being thrown from the back seat.
Fear clutched my belly as I hit the gas.
The two reptiles slid backwards from the Pilot’s roof and landed on the road behind me.
Quickly, I put the Pilot in reverse and stomped the gas, driving over both of them.
Their bones snapped and crunched beneath the tires.
It was music to my ears.
I drove further backward, then stopped and put the truck in drive.
Both reptiles were still alive, trying to crawl toward the Pilot; their crushed limbs moving uselessly.
I had to give them points for determination and effort.
Stomping the gas, the pilot gained momentum and drove over the remaining two.
I whooped like a lunatic, cackling as I raced down the road.
The pilot’s wheels slid and the truck skidded sideways, and the last thing I was aware of before hitting my head on the steering wheel was spinning into the field toward the snowy woods which looked as pretty as a Christmas card.
* * *
I awoke to Hank licking my face and barking. When I opened my eyes, it was full dark outside, and I was looking at the sky, hanging upside down, caught by the seatbelt.
“Oh, shit.” My head hurt, and blood had leaked into one of my eyes. I was able to move my arms, and wiped a hand over the eye. It came back slippery, and slightly congealed. It looked like the bleeding had stopped.
It was dark in the truck, and the engine was dead. Other than Hank’s quiet whimpering, there was no sound.
My head throbbed fiercely, and I was sure that I had a fair sized goose egg at the very least, a concussion possibly. I didn’t want to waste any more time assessing my injuries.
Hank seemed fine. He might be a little banged up, but he was hopping around the front of the car frantically.
His way of telling me t
o move my ass. We needed to get out of there.
“Are there any more of those things out there, Hank?” I whispered to him.
As if he understood me, he looked out the cracked windshield. He whimpered as he looked up at my window, which was now above us.
What the hell were we going to do? The truck was toast. How far would we get before more of those things came after us? It wasn’t dawn yet, and they’d hear our footsteps in the snow.
“We need to wait until daylight, Hank.”
He licked my face.
I found the button to disengage the seatbelt and it let go, dropping me downward.
The movement sent an unpleasant jab through my head.
How did those things not hear the car accident?
The simple answer was that they had. I didn’t think I’d been out for more than a few minutes. They were likely right outside the window, investigating.
Barely whispering, I said, “Hank, be quiet. Don’t bark. Shhhh.”
He lay down next to me, watching me with scared eyes which flicked toward the window every second or so.
I closed my eyes and strained my ears to hear if there were any sounds near the car.
There. I heard a shifting, scuttling sound in the snow right outside, to the left of the truck.
Hank lifted his head.
“Ssssshhhhh.” I whispered lightly, barely making any sound. Hardly touching him at all, I patted his back, barely moving, to let him know to be still and quiet.
But he couldn’t stop. The whimpering was hardly audible, almost silent, but it was there, way back in his throat.
I prayed that the things couldn’t hear him.
They sniffed at the driver’s window, then moved to the cracked windshield, making sniffing sounds at the cracks.
I pressed as far back against the Pilot’s roof as I could move, keeping my face out of the moonlight.
They climbed all over the Pilot, scratching and sniffing.
I held my breath, keeping my fingers in Hank’s fur. He sensed what I was feeling, or what I was thinking. Whatever it was, he got it, and the almost silent whimpering stopped.
