The Hollow Men (Book 1): Crave

by Jonathan Teague

  He hefted it up and extended it to its maximum height. The spring loaded latches clacked against the rungs as it slid toward the window. Knowing the sound was like ringing the dinner bell for the neighborhood’s new inhabitants, he scaled the ladder and stood precariously on the top rung.

  Katie tugged at the window unsuccessfully. It had been nailed shut. Over the girl’s birdlike shoulder, Scott saw the zombies breaking down the door. He didn’t hesitate, smashing his elbow repeatedly into the glass. Blood streamed from the resulting cuts, wounds he didn’t notice in the moment.

  Scott yanked her out of the room just as the first of the living dead tumbled inside. He did a fireman’s carry down the ladder. Upon reaching the bottom, he kicked it over. The hollow men flopped out of the second story window in clumsy pursuit, shattering leg bones when they slammed into the earth.

  He kept Katie over his shoulder as he ran. In her hands, she clutched the lightly stuffed pillow case she had taken from her home. It tapped the back of his legs with every step.

  Katie was in awful shape. She was feverish, swaying in and out of wakefulness. She was in no state to speak. Dry rivulets of crusted blood from her injured ear covered her neck. Scott couldn’t inspect the wound underneath her matted hair. He couldn’t determine whether or not she had been bitten.

  He made his way to the nearby tree house—a small but sturdy platform with dramatically bowed walls constructed from poorly fitted quarter-inch particleboard. It had no roof. There was a child-sized bench made of weathered two-by-fours nailed to the floor: barely enough room for both of them. Still, it kept them out of reach of the searching dead and would give Scott a place to stabilize Katie and to make a plan for their escape from the neighborhood. Scott wasn’t sure when he’d catch up to his family. They’d need some supplies in the meantime: clothing, blankets, first aid and food.

  Mentally, he made a house by house inventory, winnowing the list of possibilities to a few best bets to find the things they needed. He settled on the nearby house of Joe Furnari. Joe was a widower who took his RV out for long stretches during the summer. When the weather had warmed again after Halloween, he’d welcomed the chance and got back on the road again just a week ago. Scott would either discover a cache of everything he needed or find the house bare.

  Katie held the pillowcase tightly in her hand. She snuggled her face into it, the smells of her parents’ things comforting her even in the depths of her fever.

  Scott wondered what to do with her while he searched Joe’s house. He feared her waking up in a delirious state and falling out of the tree. He also considered the possibility that he might return to a flesh-hungry creature excited to have her food deliver himself to her.

  He tore up his sweat-soaked shirt and secured her to the small bench. After all she had suffered, it felt to Scott like he was further torturing her. He hated himself for doing it.

  Scott broke into Joe’s house and the smell of stale air assaulted his nostrils. Second, the loud electronic horn of the alarm system blared, summoning every undead creature in the neighborhood.

  For Katie’s sake and for his own, he checked the medicine cabinet first. His shoulder pain was almost paralyzing him. The cupboard was empty, with the exception of some old Gillette razors. He detached a crusty bar of soap from the sink and went to the kitchen.

  Garbage sacks would serve as his temporary bug-out bag if he couldn’t find anything else. He raided the pantry for canned and boxed food, retrieving only enough for three or four days. He found 2 liter bottles of warm Coke. He took a quick drink as he rifled through cabinets and drawers: a pan, Teflon spoon, kitchen knife.

  He hit the jackpot in one of the kitchen cupboards. Ibuprofen, antihistamines, Immodium AD. He scooped up the half-full prescription bottles: sedatives, painkillers, muscle relaxants and antibiotics. He hadn’t known Joe was an amateur pharmacist.

  Far in the back, he found two bottles of methylphenidate—Ritalin. Dr. Feelgood. He hesitated, having put drug use far in his past. But his energy reserves were all burned up, and given the situation, he added a couple of the small white pills to the Advil he had in his palm and swallowed them all with another gulp of warm Coke. His drug cocktail would soon kick in.

  In the garage, he found an old Buick. The grill hung askew, the rear side panels were rusted through. By that time, a force of zombies had reached the house. Their hands drummed on the aluminum door. Scott’s experience getting the minivan out of the garage discouraged him from risking an attempt with that old heap.

  Under the Buick’s driver’s seat, Scott hit pay dirt again when he discovered a holstered, old-school Smith & Wesson revolver. He held the gun by its factory wood grip and checked—fully loaded.

  Despite an abundance of gear in the car, he needed to travel light and so limited himself to a few essentials. Matches. Flashlight. Multitool. Rubbing alcohol. Rope. Deep-Woods Off. First-aid kit that included Mylar blankets.

  In the bedroom he gathered some clothes. Joe was approximately the same height but rotund. Scott took some baggy T-shirts, donning one as he strode to the bathroom where he relieved himself and snagged three rolls of toilet paper. In the linen closet, he discovered a baseball bat and a large olive green U.S. military-issued field pack. Though the pack had seen better days, it was more than serviceable.

  Returning to the kitchen, Scott dumped the two-liter bottles of Coke into the sink with deep regret. He replaced the Coke with water. Thinking of Katie’s fever, he collected a gel pack he found in the freezer and stuffed everything into the canvas bag. He’d made out like a bandit.

  Hollow men were banging on the doors and windows. They would soon be in the house. Scott was sick of being in people's backyards. Sick of being on the run. He wanted some payback.

  Scott grabbed a twenty-pound propane tank from the garage and two gallons of gas. He dropped the propane tank from a second story window. He had always wanted to see what happened when one ignited. Today was the day he would find out.

  He shouted to attract a cluster of shuffling dead. They clawed at the siding, futilely reaching for the window. Their prey was out of reach, and he showered them with petroleum. They caught it in their gaping mouths, reminding Scott of kids trying to catch raindrops.

  He lit a match and tossed it into them. Even though they erupted in flames, they didn’t react in any way. He knew in less than two minutes the flaming zombie torches would burn out, leaving a gap in the ranks that would soon be replenished.

  Now for the pièce de résistance. He took careful aim with the pistol and hit the propane tank with the first shot. Boom! Hot air blistered the skin on his cheek. The explosion rocked the house, blowing the windows out and wrenching the front door off its hinges.

  The air was suffused with the stench of cooked flesh. Sorry Joe. Your stupid neighbor just set your home on fire and is about to cook himself inside it.

  At least the explosion served as a distraction. Crawling under the billowing smoke, dragging the duffel bag behind him, Scott exited through the back door.

  CHAPTER 44

  BROTHER’S LARGER TREAD

  In the late afternoon, the treehouse was like an oven set to broil. Katie was directly under the burning sun, no roof on the tree house to protect her from its merciless rays. The sagging walls absorbed sunlight and pushed even more heat onto the little girl. Sweat streamed from her forehead. Scott untied her and gently woke her, lifting her up to drink a mix of Advil and Tylenol in some water. Then he dampened one of the t-shirts, folded the frozen gel pack into it and placed it under her head before lowering her back to the floor.

  She drifted off again.

  Scott cleaned the blood off of Katie, taking special care when he treated her wounded ear. It hadn’t been gnawed on. It was a smooth cut from a sharp blade. The knife hadn’t stopped at the ear. It also carved a thin diagonal line that stopped at the angle of her jaw.

  He glanced at the scar on his hand. Katie’s would be remarkably similar. He flashed back to when he was
seventeen, seeing the massive elbow that appeared from the darkness, connecting with the side of his skull, knocking him unconsciousness. He awoke with a concussion, and his hand was cut and bleeding. A dead teen-aged boy stared sightlessly into Scott’s eyes. In his nightmares, he always saw those eyes.

  As he applied antibiotic ointment and bandaged Katie’s wound, he fought to keep his mind from the growing number of miles that separated his family from him. They thought he was dead and could be heading anywhere.

  Katie whimpered in her sleep. “No, Dad, no! So sorry, Chase. So sorry.” She jumped awake, afraid and disoriented. “Where am I? Who are you?”

  “It’s Uncle Scott, Katie. You’re safe. Drink some water slowly, and tell me what you remember.”

  The water was lukewarm. Probably everything drinkable would be lukewarm. They might as well get used to it.

  “I was at my house asleep in my parent’s room. A fat man with grey hair came upstairs. He said his name was Mr. Koenig and that doctors had a cure and that we could save people, even my brother. I had a bad feeling about him. But I wanted to save Chase.”

  She started to swoon and took another sip of tepid water. “He pushed me down and started yelling at me. Then it was like he fell asleep. I almost made it out of the house but he woke up. He was even angrier. He told me it was my fault that Mom and Dad were dead, and that I deserved to die too. I thought ‘maybe he’s right’ and closed my eyes. I wished that I could die.”

  “I passed out for I don’t know how long. I woke up when Mr. Koenig was gone. I don’t know how this happened.” She pointed at the remains of her ear. “My foot was tied to the bed. screamed and screamed after I woke up. I hoped that you would come for me.”

  Scott realized she must have been the one he heard screaming when he raced home from the hoarder’s house. He bitterly regretted not investigating before.

  Katie continued her story, “I finally undid the knot and opened the door. When I sneaked out I saw the dead people had come inside. I didn’t see Mr. Koenig anywhere. One of the dead people kind of crawled up the stairs looking for me.”

  “I hurried to the bedroom at the end of the hall. I tried to be quiet when I shut the door, but I accidentally knocked a glass off the dresser. I locked the door. It knew I was inside the bedroom and started hitting itself against it, making a lot of noise. I knew I wasn’t safe with just the lock. I pushed and pushed on a dresser. I didn’t think it would move but then it did. I got it to the door and sat down next to it. I fell asleep again.”

  “When I woke up again, the dresser was sliding away from the door. They were trying to catch me through the opening. There were more of them than before. I ran over to the window hoping to get out. That’s when I saw you.”

  Scott realized that as bad he thought Bill was, he hadn’t suspected just how twisted the man really was. May he burn in hell.

  “Were you bitten?” he asked.

  “I don't know. I don’t think so.” Then fearfully, “Please don’t leave me here, Uncle Scott!”

  Scott motioned for her to lie back down. “If I had to bet, I’d put my money on you being OK. Either way, I will never leave you. You are safe now. I gave you some medicine a while ago. You should be feeling better and better. Rest while I think of a way to get us out of here.”

  “Uncle Scott? What happened to Chase? It’s all my fault.” She started crying again. She looked so delicate.

  The truth was he didn’t know what had happened to Chase. His own voice cracked when he answered her, “None of this is your fault. A lot of bad things happened today. A lot more are going to happen. Here is the one thing you need to remember: it wasn’t just you, Katie. He saved us. Your brother saved all of us.”

  CHAPTER 45

  GOODBYE, GOODBYE!

  A quarter mile outside of the neighborhood, Chase stumbled onto the road from the woods. Laura could see his clothes were tattered and bloody. He limped heavily on his shredded right leg. He’d made it!

  “Maddy! Chase is still OK!” Laura exclaimed, pointing to Chase. Maddy looked eagerly through the windshield. Their hope was threefold: that Chase had hung on a little longer, that he might have news of Scott, and that Scott, too, somehow escaped.

  At the sound of the approaching van, Chase turned around. His lips were stretched in a toothy grin that wasn’t a smile at all. His entire cheek had been taken, leaving no flesh to cover his perfectly straight white teeth. He shuddered as he stared at the occupants of the van.

  Whatever Chase might have known about Scott’s fate was lost. The boy was gone; the monster remained.

  He dragged his right foot forward, then his left. His plodding shifted to an awkward skip. The urge to feed propelled him onward with more urgency.

  Laura wouldn’t think of it as killing this boy she cared so much about. Intellectually, clinically, she knew it was a mercy to end things for him. She gritted her teeth, hit the gas and steered toward him, achieving a surprising forty-five miles per hour in such a short distance.

  She steeled herself for the wet thud of Chase’s body when the van folded him over the hood or dragged him under the wheels. She was committed to finishing the nightmare for him even if she had to back up and roll him over again.

  “Thank you for saving us. Forgive us for not saving you. Say hello to your mom and dad when you see them,” Laura whispered as she closed the final distance to the mindless zombie.

  Maddy twisted the wheel at the last second, causing them to barely miss Chase. Laura temporarily lost control of the van, finally bringing it to a controlled stop six hundred yards beyond him. In the rearview mirror, Laura saw him turn their way and take up his dogged pursuit of them.

  “Mom, can we please not do it? I know he’s not Chase anymore, but…I just can’t.” With tears in her eyes, she pleaded with her mom, who had succumbed to her emotions, too. Laura couldn't violate the boy's body even though it was the merciful thing to do.

  She depressed the accelerator, throwing gravel behind them as they accelerated away. Laura held her daughter close with one arm and kissed the side of her head. Maddy rested on her mom’s shoulder and cried herself to sleep.

  The heat from the sun peaked in the late afternoon. Fifteen miles from the carnage, they were surrounded by empty fields and distant forests. It was as if they were the last living people on Earth.

  Laura stopped the van underneath a big billboard to let the kids out of the sweltering tunnel and to find some comfort in being together with them. Everyone was shaky after several hours of intense horror and their terrible losses.

  They all shed the extra layers of clothing and gulped water while they pulled themselves together. Even though the idea of food revolted them, Laura pushed them to refuel their weakened bodies.

  Physiologically, the needs of the flesh won, and they chewed into their lunch like a squad of starving Marines at chow time. They ate in silence, each of them lost in her own thoughts, processing what had happened as best she could.

  Sobs forcing their way into her throat, Laura left the girls and carried the baby to the front seat. Autumn buried her face in Laura’s breast, tugging hungrily at her, reopening the painful sores from the night before. She moaned faintly and shuddered as the baby fed. Laura closed her eyes in worried concentration. She still had a major decision to make.

  Where would they go?

  She had gotten used to the idea of going to the old family cabin. She was reluctant at first, and then her husband had won her over. She had the map and GPS on her phone to find it, but there was a major problem. Scott was the wilderness man, the only one who knew how to kill squirrels and find edible roots. He was also probably the one person on earth who could convince them to eat those things.

  Her head said to go to her sister’s farm in Pennsylvania or to her brother’s cabin in Vermont. She also thought about Tom’s idea. After all, it was his plan she’d liked best in the beginning. Making the decision was agonizing for her.

  While she sorted through her o
wn arguments, she rallied her daughters to help her throw some things out of the van. They needed room and there were several things they either didn’t know how to use or no longer needed.

  She barely kept herself together when she threw Scott’s clothes on the side of the road.

  Emily had been moving things around to create room for her and the baby to ride “above ground”, closer to the air conditioning vents. When she saw her mom dispose of her dad’s clothes, she shouted, “What are you doing, Mom? Dad is alive. I just know he is. He’ll need his clothes!” and clambered out of the van.

  Laura herself had a difficult time believing her husband was gone. She had always believed they shared a special kind of connection that enabled their souls to whisper to each other. She hadn’t felt him die. She yearned to believe he was fine and searching for them even now.

  However, she’d seen the zombies surrounding her husband, saw the resignation in his expression, spotted his jacket, and saw the patch of blood where he must have fallen. He was dead and she needed to accept it, no matter how painful.

  Stern-faced, Laura climbed into the van to finish reorganizing their supplies to make room for her girls.

  As soon as Emily popped out of the van, she rummaged through her dad’s big toolbox until she discovered a can of neon pink spray paint. She laughed softly, remembering him showing pictures of himself in high school wearing shirts that color. White jeans and pink shirts. Ha.

  She waited until her mom was deep in the van, and then she climbed the high pole to reach the billboard. Heights didn’t scare her. She planned to be up and back before her mom looked for her. Standing on the catwalk and stretching her arms to make the painting as big as she could, she sprayed the letters V B C with a big heart around them.

  Whenever she and her dad went to the library, he would take her to Dunkin Donuts for a vanilla-bean coolatta with whipped cream. She knew her dad would recognize her code and know that she counted on him to follow them.