The Red King (Wyrd Book 1)

by Nick Cole

  A moment later, there was a flash.

  Off to the southwest.

  Over Downtown LA.

  Mr. Steele turned back to Braddock. The lined and tanned face chiseled and hard like iron. No emotion. Where the wound was, where the blood had seeped through massive fingers as Braddock had watched the big man tear torn flesh from his cheek, now there was only gleaming, shining metal, underneath and exposed all the way up the cheek and down onto the jawline, making half the face like the rictus grin of the dead… or the twisted whiplash smile of a man gone recently insane.

  A distant mushroom cloud began to pile and rise up over those low hills in Pasadena above the little postmodern cul-de-sac, the hills that blocked the view of where Downtown LA used to be.

  Part Two

  “I’ve seen things down there. Dark stuff at the bottom of the well.”

  -Doctor Midnite

  Chapter Seventeen

  Holiday smelled coffee.

  He heard Frank rattling in the kitchen. Eggs were cracked. A toaster pressed into action. A few minutes later, as the symphony of breakfast prepared neared its crescendo, silence once again began to fill in the gaps. Where once there had been neighbors starting cars, heading off to work, there was silence. Kids and their constant kid noise as they were dragged into those cars and squired off to school, someone always complaining, someone always crying, now they too were missing. Or the sound on the distant toll road of a soft-tailed Harley winding up, speeding along its length in the morning light as it wove through the other still sleepy commuters, now there was only nothing. Now an overwhelming absence replaced all those people-made noises, filling in the gaps as though the silence was an ocean and the occasional noise a mere tiny island lost in its vastness.

  Holiday sat up on the couch, clutched at by a tangled blanket. He felt strangely clean. Dry almost. More clear headed than he usually felt, waking up after a night of drinking alone.

  Frank was sitting at a small dining table. He smiled at Holiday.

  “Breakfast is ready, buddy.”

  At the table, Holiday buttered toast and spread jam, watching the steam rise from his black coffee. It was sunny outside. Birds scampered from tree to nearby tree and quickly told all the other birds about it.

  “Fog’s gone,” said Holiday through a mouthful of toast.

  “Burned off this morning about an hour ago.”

  In the silence that followed, Holiday waited to hear that distant Thuuump again. Knowing he would. Knowing he must again someday.

  Ash came down. Shorts, tank top, curly long hair in a ponytail. Freshly scrubbed. Ready for work.

  “Mmmm, I’m starved,” she said as she began to attack her fried eggs while buttering toast between bites. Both Holiday and Frank had noticed she possessed a ravenous appetite.

  “Typical,” Frank expressed, patting his own gut. “And she doesn’t gain a pound. Me, I even look at butter and the scale’s five pounds heavier.”

  “So what do we work on today?” asked Holiday.

  “More of the same. I need that post-holer and a few other things. I’ve got a list. It’s important we at least get the fence up and keep any strays out. We don’t want to be surprised, and it’s too easy to think we’re safe here when none of them are around. We haven’t searched every townhome, so we don’t know who’s inside the perimeter until we get the perimeter up. Then we can do a house to house search.”

  “Other than one we passed down near the stores yesterday, I haven’t seen any more of them,” said Holiday, staring at what was left of his breakfast.

  “For now,” sighed Frank. “But who knows what’s coming our way? If this thing is local, maybe that’s it. Maybe we won’t see any more of ‘em. But, if it’s global… How much of the population has been infected? If we use this neighborhood for an example, out of close to two hundred units, you and I are the only survivors. If we apply those numbers to the rest of America, the rest of the world, that could mean less than one percent of the population survived. We’re going to want some defenses and soon. We’ve got to fortify this place and then we’ve got to get our hands on some weapons. The next few days are crucial. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Ash burped and then offered a whispered, “Sorry. That was really great.”

  “Thanks, kid,” said Frank, then, “Even with all my plans, I haven’t figured out how to block the main entrance. We’ve got to find a bus of some sort. Until then, we’ll string some fencing across it and attach a prefab gate from Home Depot. Make sure to pick up a combination lock and chain we can use to secure the gate.”

  “I don’t want to be the duck of doom,” began Ash. “But what was that all about last night? Do either of you have any idea what that was?”

  No one said anything until Holiday spoke up. “Whatever it was, I don’t think a mesh fence is keeping it out. It sounded really big.”

  A moment followed in which they all exchanged glances. A moment as they each shared the same thought.

  How could anyone have any idea what that thing was?

  Ash scooped up the last of Holiday’s fried eggs, she’d eaten four total, and said through a mouthful, “Our little fence isn’t going to keep that thing out, is it?”

  “C’mon,” said Frank, standing up. “I guess I’d better show you what I found this morning.”

  They followed him out through the door into the little tiled yard that was his front patio. They went through a small gate and stood on the sidewalk looking out into the blackened remains of the avocado orchard. A three-strand barbed wire fence guarded it. The fire-blasted low rolling hills where the orchard once was receded off into the distance. The trees had been consumed in the fire, leaving the occasional small, spindly burnt matchstick outline of one against the sky. Ashy piles gathered in other places. On the first hill facing them, from the bottom of the slope to the top of the rise, a large depression lay imprinted into the side of the hill. Blackened avocado trees lay crushed and mangled within its borders.

  Frank walked up to the barbed wire fence as Holiday and Ash remained on the patio. They all saw it.

  “It looks like a…”

  But Ash didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. They all saw what it looked like. A large footprint. A footprint with claws where there should have been the impressions of toes.

  “Well that’s just great!” said Holiday. He was already thinking about a beer. The day was getting hot. Now this.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Frank, turning back to them.

  “Yeah?” asked Holiday. “Do you?”

  It was the first moment of hostility between any of them.

  “I have a pretty good idea.” Frank paused. “You’re thinking we should run. That we should find someplace safe and hide from whatever that thing was. I know you’re thinking that because I’m thinking it too. I’ve been thinking about it since I saw this.”

  Silence.

  Holiday walked toward the fence, walking closer toward the immense claw-foot print.

  “Okay,” said Ash. “I’ll admit it. That thing scares the hell out of me. Holiday’s right, what fence is gonna keep that out?”

  Frank paused. A slight breeze blew a forelock of his gray hair across his forehead.

  “There’s no place to run to, kids.”

  “How do you know that?” shot back Holiday over his shoulder as he began to walk away. In his mind he was already opening that first beer.

  “Because I’ve looked. I’ve got binoculars. You go up to the road behind us and you can see down into the whole valley all the way to the coast. There’s no one down there. Nothing living anyway. There’s nowhere else to go, and any place is just as likely as the next place for us to get killed. But here’s what I think. I think we’ve been given a little break here. Those zombies don’t seem too interested in climbing hills. They’re like children. Childre
n when they’re lost don’t climb up hills, they always go downhill. Ask any search and rescue team. So right now, we’re close to the top of a hill. One of the higher occupied places in Orange County. For now, we’re all alone up here in the foothills. We use this time to fortify, and we’ll be safe from them up here. We run for it, and might I add, where exactly would we be running to? Well… we’ll be down in there with them and nothing but our backs to the wall. Here we can build something. Here we can defend ourselves.”

  “With what, Frank!” shouted Holiday. “A tiny gun that’s got no bullets and some axes and crowbars you want me to pick up at the store?”

  Silence.

  “Guys…” said Ash.

  Holiday turned back to them. His face was set in stone. Frank knew the look. Knew Holiday had drinking on his mind. Knew he’d walk right past them and into a days-long binge. He couldn’t let him do that. He needed him. They all needed each other.

  “Until we can find safety, we’ve got to fortify this place. It’s all we’ve got.”

  Silence.

  “And we can’t do it without you, buddy,” said Frank.

  Holiday stared at them.

  “I’m serious. We need you right now.”

  There was a moment. A moment when Holiday could have walked away from the two of them forever. A moment in which he knew what it would be like to simply shut the door on the world, even if it was ending, and drink himself blind. Maybe once he did that, everything would get better. All problems solved, no thanks to him. There was a moment in which all that seemed possible.

  He felt a cold shudder run through his body. A cold shudder no one else saw.

  “Alright then,” he said, staring off down the street toward his condo. “Let’s get to work.”

  It was dark by the time they’d gotten the last walkway fenced in. They worked by flashlight, Frank and Holiday sweating as they heaved the last roll of fencing over their shoulders and carried it to the lush walkway at the edge of the complex. They’d already set the steel poles in concrete. Now they strung the fence and secured it with tight wire ties that never failed to rip through their sturdy gloves and cut their hands. Ash held the flashlight as they worked, their breathing heavy from exhaustion. It had been a very long day. They secured the ends of the fence to the buildings with an industrial-grade, high-powered staple gun that had cost upwards of a thousand dollars. Or at least, that’s what the price tag behind the security glass inside the expensive tools case at the store had said it should cost. Holiday had liberated it from the case. The staples were massive thick metal bands that easily rammed into the wood and wire structure of the townhomes, disintegrating the tan stucco with a small explosion. Several dozen of them at each end of the fence kept it securely anchored to the adjoining townhome units. The work had gone much faster with the high-powered staple gun. They’d even managed to get the fencing strung across the front entrance and attached to the prefab gate they’d installed. Now they stacked their tools at the front entrance as Frank chained the gate.

  “I could use a swim,” said Holiday. He was covered in sweat, dirt, and concrete dust. Frank snapped the combination lock shut at the fence.

  “Me too,” said Ash, who had done more than her fair share of mixing concrete and keeping it wet and ready to use. “What do you say, Frank?”

  “I’ve got a nice pasta Bolognese I need to defrost and get ready for us. You guys swim and I’ll bring it up to the pool with some Chianti and maybe even a candle if I can find one.”

  Ash and Frank went back to his house. Holiday went home to get his bathing suit. Once he had that on, he fetched the pool keys and stopped in the kitchen. He had only a little bit of vodka left. All the beers and other liquors were gone.

  “Should’ve stopped by the Market Faire today on the way back from Home Depot,” he told the empty house. He held the vodka bottle up and considered swallowing what was left. “Nah, might want it for tonight. It’s not like I’m gonna run up there in the dark.”

  He heard himself say that.

  He heard his voice echo off the walls of his home. It sounded empty and lonely. He’d spent so much time around Frank and Ash, he’d almost forgotten the previous weeks of melancholic loneliness in the wake of the break-up.

  He put the bottle back in the cupboard.

  A few minutes later, he met Ash coming up the street. She was wearing a towel.

  “Don’t laugh, Frank’s daughter, or whoever those clothes belong to, and I don’t wear the same size in bikinis.”

  “Why, too big?” Then he realized how that might have sounded. “I mean…”

  “No. I just never had a swimsuit like this. They didn’t make them this small back in…” then she stopped. “Back where I come from.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “When I was a kid?” she said and sighed. “Kansas.”

  “Wow, that’s the most you’ve given away yet.”

  They reached the gate to the pool.

  “I feel like I know everything about you now,” joked Holiday. “Bikinis aren’t small in Kansas. What next?” He laughed. “Are you going to tell me people in Kansas drink some special drink only they have and that it’s called Coca-Cola?”

  “Funny,” mumbled Ash.

  The waters of the pool were placid. The light from beneath its surface turned the water a warm and inviting blue. Overhead, an unseen bat flapped its leathery wings in the twilight. Holiday jumped in, diving smoothly beneath the water with barely a splash, skimming the pristine white bottom of the pool, feeling the dirt and sweat and concrete fall away from him. When he came up, Ash was still standing at the edge of the pool. It was the first time Holiday had seen her body. She was slight and athletic. And for all she ate, there seemed to be no excess body fat. The tiny black bikini couldn’t have hid it if there had been.

  She stared into the depths of the pool seeing something, lost in some-when, until Holiday said, “C’mon, what are you waiting for?”

  Then she was back. She smiled, almost seemed to laugh at herself, then jumped in the pool awkwardly, sending up a huge spray of water.

  Holiday splashed her when she came up for air.

  Then he turned, kicked and began to swim laps. He swam and swam, feeling his muscles lengthen and relax. Beneath the water, he watched Ash’s shapely legs as she stood on her tiptoes to keep her head above the water. Eventually she leaned back against the edge of the pool, and long after Holiday thought he might stop swimming, he continued to, as though each lap was putting distance between himself and something he could not name, but wanted to be away from. Far away from.

  When he finally stopped, he surfaced, keeping his head just out of the water. He felt cleansed. He felt new.

  It was full dark now. The moon rode low over the burnt remains of the houses on the hill. The light in the pool shifted and wavered, throwing patterns across the townhomes that surrounded it. Scattered ground lights illuminated the manicured walkways between the units. The silence was less oppressive, maybe even kept at bay by the soft murmur of the lapping water in the pool and the night.

  “Hmmmm, this is nice,” Ash purred.

  Holiday said nothing.

  He was thinking of Taylor. He tried to remember what she had looked like in this same moment. But she was gone now. Gone from his head. Probably gone from this world.

  He thought of Ash’s tight tiny body. He thought… the end of the world might not be so bad. He didn’t think of all the human misery and tragedy and the walking corpses and the horrors and suffering that had been played out in a million different tableaus across the world. Some of those tragedies were probably still going on. Closing in on the last act. Holiday only thought of the here and the now. The her and the him.

  A distant voice told him to be better than that. That there were great things that needed doing and that what he thought about mostly, almost exclusively,
was drink, women, and himself, and not always in that order. Or any order. Just whichever was most pressing at the time.

  But that other voice had said there was something else. Something great to be done.

  “So play it cool,” he whispered to himself.

  “Huh?” asked Ash. Broken from her own reverie.

  “I told myself to play it cool.”

  Ash pushed away from the wall, slowly caressing the water as she came toward him. Her hair was wet and slick, falling down along her back. It made her large eyes even larger.

  “You’re a pretty cool customer, Holiday.”

  Holiday said nothing. He’d found in these situations, seducing women, sometimes it was better to just say nothing.

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “Mostly here.”

  “Musta been nice.”

  Holiday was silent. He tried to remember if it was actually nice. It was all he’d ever known. Which was odd. It felt like he should have known something else. But growing up in SoCal was all… all there was.

  That didn’t seem right.

  But it was.

  “It was… what it was.”

  “Mom? Dad?”

  “My Mom died when I was young. My Dad… I don’t think he cared much about anything.”

  The water lapped against the sides of the pool.

  “Is that why you drink a lot?”

  When people asked Holiday about his drinking it usually bothered him. Or to be more specific, when people made a big deal, or any kind of deal, about his drinking, it irritated him. Like Frank had done.

  But this time it didn’t.

  He felt empty. Cleaned out by the pool and the laps. He should swim every day, he told himself.

  “No. I don’t think it’s like that.”

  Holiday fell silent.

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward,” began Ash. “I just noticed you like to drink. I mean, you seem fine with it. I’ve known guys, and women, who couldn’t handle it.”