Fallout

by Derek Shupert

  I let loose of Duke’s collar. Something explodes out of the bushes. A chaser. It knocks me down hard, sending me sliding into the stream. I dip under the water for a few seconds before my head pops back up. It’s freaking cold. My body shivers as I lift up out of the chilled water.

  Bearing teeth, Duke charges the chaser. He grabs it by the leg and pulls, twisting his head from side to side as blood flows free from its leg. He digs in deep, chunks of flesh being torn free as it falls to its knees.

  “Duke, get away from it, boy!” I yell.

  In a jerky and creepy tilt of its head, it glances back at Duke.

  “No! Let it go, boy,” I yell, fighting to get out of the stream.

  He doesn’t listen, continuing to attack the chaser viciously. Dad taught him, as a pup, that he is to protect his family at all cost.

  “Hey, I’m right here, you dead freak!” I yell, trying to get the chaser’s attention. It reaches for Duke, but stops and puts its focus back onto me. “Yeah, that’s it, come and get it!”

  Bear crawling toward me, his soulless eyes peering deep into mine, he comes for his meal. Duke’s still holding strong, his growls muffled by the mouthful of chaser flesh.

  I wade in the water, waiting for the chaser to get closer.

  Almost there.

  He reaches out and grabs my shoulder. He pulls himself in with his lipless mouth opening wide for his first bite.

  “No meal here today,” I explode out of the water with my knife clutched tightly in my right hand.

  I jam it hard into the base of his skull, sinking it in deep. He lets out one last gasp before becoming motionless.

  Duke stops his attack. He walks around the dead body to me. He sniffs my face. I hold him at bay.

  “I don’t think so, dude. Not till you get a drink of water and wash that nasty mouth of yours out.”

  He groans and sits down briefly to scratch and lick himself before burying his snout into the water.

  I finally manage to drag myself up the embankment. Drenched from head to toe, I flip over onto my back and peer up into the sky. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, I lay there for a moment and take in the view.

  There’s not a cloud in sight now, just hundreds or maybe thousands of stars sparkling in the vast space. Well, actually that one might be a plane or something since it’s moving.

  Duke comes back over and gives me a good licking across the face. His mouth smells just as bad as ever, but I don’t complain. There are worse things to have this close, and right now, I’m lying next to one.

  “I’m about ready to be at the cabin. How about you, boy?”

  Bark!

  The flashlight flickers and tries to go out. I smack it against my palm which brings it back to life, for the moment anyway.

  Slowly and painfully, I get back to my feet and pull free my blade from the chaser’s skull. I wipe his juices off on his tattered clothing, and place it back in its sheath.

  Not too much further. I hope, at least.

  We get back on the move. I anxiously wait for the first glimpse of the cabin’s brick chimney. Smoke will be billowing out of the top, and maybe the smell of some home cooking filling the air. Granted, it is extremely late, and not sure why Mom would be cooking, but a guy can dream, can’t he?

  The flashlight flickers once more, cutting in and out, as we make a mad dash over the open grassy plain. Continuing the pace, I slap the flashlight against my palm a few more times. It sparks back to life, but only for a few minutes longer. Eventually, it dies out.

  I let Duke take the lead, seeing how he’s roamed all over these parts more than once. I keep close on his tail trying to keep pace with him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he wants to get there just as bad as me. I have to tell him to hold up some as he starts to pull away, leaving me behind.

  “Slow down, boy.” I pause to catch my breath. With my hands on my knees, I gasp for air. A smell hits me. Burning wood. Perhaps from a fireplace or something. It’s faint, but strong enough to perk me up.

  Sniff! Sniff!

  “I think we’re almost there, boy. Come on!” I take off. Duke catches up as we race across the grassy field toward a hill.

  It’s all starting to come back to me now. Me and Cindy running around playing tag while Duke tried to keep pace with his stumpy little legs. The smell of Mom’s homemade pot pies drifting from the kitchen while Dad sat on the porch reading his books.

  We scramble up the hill and stop at the peak. There it is. I can see the outline of the brick chimney through the darkness. The smell of burning wood tingles my nose, which brings a smile to my face.

  “We’re here, boy!” I bust out in joy. I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him, feeling like I’m on cloud nine. “Come on, race you there.”

  I get to my feet and race down the other side, nearly tripping over myself as I make a beeline for the front door. It almost seems surreal being here. I’m almost afraid that this is a dream, and as I get closer, the house will vanish.

  Duke zooms past me and leaps over the stream that wraps around the cabin. I stomp my way through without care, seeing nothing but the front door and the back of Mom’s car on the opposite side of the cabin.

  “Mom! Cindy!” I yell as I leap onto the porch.

  My smile and new-found life are quickly dashed. The front door is ajar, and the glass windows are busted out. The jagged broken pieces litter the floor.

  Duke stands at the entrance with his nose to the ground, sniffing the broken glass. His body is rigid, his tail taut.

  “Be careful, boy. That’ll hurt you,” I caution.

  I reach down and get my knife. I hold it tightly in my sweaty palm as I peer inside. I don’t see Mom or Cindy, or anything else for that matter. No sounds of movement at all. It’s dead silent.

  “Mom? Cindy? It’s James,” I call out.

  Still nothing. No response or sounds that anyone is in there. I feel like crumbling, but I hold it together.

  “What do you think, boy?” I whisper to Duke who stares up at me. He groans and moves closer to the door, nudging the faded wood with his nose. “My thoughts exactly. Wait here.”

  With my free hand, I gently push open the door. The hinges squeak from lack of oil. The broken glass crunches under my boots as I survey the interior.

  It’s mostly dark. Shadows plague the space. The only source of light is the lamp off in the corner near Dad’s chair. It’s been knocked over and broken. The fire in the fireplace is almost completely out. The red ambers slowly fade away.

  The entire bottom floor looks to have been turned over. Dishes thrown everywhere from the kitchen, and the living room is in disarray.

  “Mom, are you in here?” I call out again.

  The floor stretches with every step I take, creaking and crackling under my weight. I forgot how loud it was.

  Duke waits patiently at the entrance. I can hear him moan and groan, his paws getting antsy as he paces back and forth.

  My hands shake. I’ve got this knife clutched so damn hard my knuckles are white. Where the hell are they? Are they hiding? Oh, no. Are they... dead?

  I search the entire bottom floor for clues. Anything hinting at what might have happened here, but come up with nothing but more questions.

  A boisterous rap upstairs catches my attention. Duke rushes to my side. I don’t scold him, but keep him from dashing up the stairs to investigate.

  I take a step forward and spot a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs. It trails up. Boot size impressions from the looks of it and some that are not my Mom’s size. Bigger. More like a grown man’s shoe.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  The banging intensifies, becoming louder as I peer up into the semi dark space. The howling wind catches the front door and slams it against the wall, rattling my nerves even more.

  I’m not entirely sure that I want to go up there. I might not like what I find. However, I didn’t come all this way and lose so much to stop right here.

 
“Let me go first. Stay down here, and if you see anything, bark your head off.”

  Duke groans and licks his chops. He brushes up against me as he turns and walks away.

  “Whatever you find up there, deal with it, James,” I whisper to myself.

  Exhaling slowly, I cautiously hit the first step and begin my ascent. With every step I take, I crane my neck to get a better view of the room. Its Mom and Dad’s bedroom, and we weren’t really allowed up here to play, so I can’t entirely remember how it’s laid out.

  The stairs creak, stopping me cold as the banging ramps up again. It sounds like it’s coming from their closet to the right, but I’m not entirely sure. It could be a chaser trapped, trying to free itself from the walls that confine it. That would explain the mindless constant banging noise. I don’t know, but I will soon find out.

  I pause briefly, and look back over my shoulder to the first floor, getting a sense of what happened here. Duke’s still pacing about, his nose to the floor and stopping every so often to glance up at me.

  I continue my ascent, making it to the landing. The commotion stops. The cabin falls silent once more. I really wish I had my Remington instead of this knife. I ready myself for what might come and what I might have to do to defend myself if need be. It won’t be easy, but I’ll have no choice.

  Carefully, I enter their bedroom with the blade poised and ready to strike. The small flower lamp on my mom’s side of the bed has been thrown on the floor, casting a portion of the room in a massive shadow. I spot some hair poking out from the edge of the bed and race over.

  “Mom, are you-”

  One of Cindy’s dolls stares up at me. Actually, her favorite. I’ve never seen her without it. Mom and Dad tried to break her of carrying it with her everywhere she went, but failed to do so. That baby doll was stuck to her like glue.

  I pick up the doll. There are streaks of blood covering its face.

  Thump! Thump!

  I whip around, facing the door. I discard the doll onto the bed and slowly approach.

  Thump! Thump! Bang!

  The closer I get, the more it sounds like one of those things. There are no muffled pleas for help or anything of the sort. Just intense banging.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  Standing next to the door with the knife poised, I exhale.

  My head presses against the aged wood, listening for any reply. The floor creaks under my weight. The person inside is now silent. My free hand grips the bronzed handle that is worn and faded. My knife is at the ready.

  I contemplate whether I’m ready for what I might see on the other side. To be honest, I’m not. I start to twist the doorknob clockwise. The thing on the other side screeches.

  It slams into the door with a harsh thud. I feel each blow as the wood vibrates.

  I take a few steps back and rethink my course of action. Wait. What is that? A piece of paper half hangs out from the bottom of the door. I retrieve it from the floor.

  Opening it up, I begin to read.

  First and foremost, your sister and I are safe and sound. The cabin was overrun by those things and we managed to trap one in our closet, so please do not open the door.

  Sam and some of your other army buddies were up this way and came across us just in time. They’ve taken us to a temporary safe zone south of Portland that is currently under military control. I tried to get the location, but wasn’t able to. I wanted to wait for you, but we couldn’t. More of those things were nearing, and we had to leave.

  Lord, I miss you two so much, and hope you’re safe. Be careful and take care of each other. See you soon.

  XOXO

  Mom

  My eyes well up with tears. Happiness and sorrow fill me completely as I break down at the top of the stairs. I’m relieved that they’re safe, but knowing that they’re heading so far away, I feel as though they might as well be on the other side of the planet. I’m not sure I can get to them. How I’d get to them.

  Overwhelmed and dead tired, I tromp down the stairs to where Duke’s waiting for me. I leave the chaser in the closet, paying no mind to its relentless beating on the door. It knows food is near, moaning and growling with delight.

  “Eat your damn arm if you’re that hungry. Just shut the hell up!” I snarl.

  Pointless, I know, but I need to vent.

  I slam the porch door closed and slumber in Dad’s chair. It’s not that comfortable. The springs have all been worn out, but I guess that’s what makes it just right. Plopping down my lifeless body, I sit there in the corner, and watch the remaining flames from the fire crackle and pop.

  The orange glow loses its intensity. Soon, it will be gone. I drive the blade of my knife into the old oak end table as Duke sits down at my feet. Rolling over to his side, he falls fast asleep.

  Sitting there, I drift in and out of sleep. The wind slips through the many bullet holes in the walls, creating a low whistling noise.

  The chaser continues its ravenous rant, still beating at the door. I don’t worry if it will get out or not. At this point, it doesn’t even matter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  The next month trudges along. I think I’ve worn this chair out even more, if that’s possible. Every time I sit down or shift my weight, the springs creak and pop and act as though they’re going to release their tension.

  The only saving grace is that it’s now silent. No moans or racket from the annoying chaser upstairs. I finally disposed of it a few weeks back. The door sounded as though it was weakening to the point of total failure. So, I set it free. And when I say free, I hit it in the back of the head with a hammer and sent it tumbling down the stairs. It got blood and brain goop everywhere, which I have yet to clean up.

  The old oak floor is stained red and chunks of its skull remain. I doubt Mom will care, considering she’ll probably never see this place again.

  I’m still unsure what my next move is going to be. I checked Mom’s car shortly after arriving. I found her keys lying on the floor in the kitchen. I wish that would’ve been the hard part.

  Both front tires are toast, and a stray bullet caught the engine. Even if I could turn it over and it somehow miraculously started, I wouldn’t get far on just one spare tire. Riding on the rim isn’t an option.

  I thought about us hiking out and heading toward Portland on foot, but decided against it, for now. It feels as though it’s on the other side of the world from where I am. That, and I really don’t know where I’m going anyway. I’m just a kid after all. Besides, Dad always did a good job of keeping this place stocked with food and water.

  Hell, Duke and I have been eating like kings. That is, if kingly food is Spaghetti O’s and Frank and Beans. I’ve avoided the tuna. Can’t stand the taste. Gag. We aren’t complaining, though. Better than squirrel or some other rodent.

  “Another one down,” I mutter in my lifeless tone, tossing the empty can across the room to the mounding pile.

  Duke just lays there at my feet, about as worthless and lifeless as me. Fortunately, no more chasers have crossed the cabin.

  Sitting here, lethargic and full from processed food, I drift in and out. The stench fuming from my body has driven me crazy for some time now. I still haven’t found the will to drag my lazy ass to the shower and remedy it, though. Yeah, a chance to take a semi luke warm shower and wash away all this filth, and I haven’t yet. Weird, huh?

  Duke’s ears perk up, and he gets to his feet like something’s going on. He groans and moans, pawing at the door with unrelenting intent.

  “What is-”

  Then I hear it. A faint noise that is hard to make out. It almost sounds like a… vehicle.

  Grabbing one of Dad’s many rifles from the cellar, I scurry to the kitchen window.

  It’s midday, but you wouldn’t know it from the thick clouds hanging overhead. I haven’t really seen the sun much lately. I think that might have a lot to do with my current vegetative state.

  Looking through the scope, I see a truck barreli
ng over the top of the hill. It weaves from side to side, narrowly missing the trees. I don’t see anything pursuing the vehicle, so I’m not sure why the person is driving so reckless.

  Pushing up the window a few inches more, I slip the barrel out. I shift the rifle to the corner and keep a keen eye on my visitor.

  “Hold tight, boy,” I calmly say to Duke who is standing at the door. He peers over at me, then back to the door.

  Taking the safety off, I wait patiently as the truck plows through the stream, sending a tide of water that spreads outward. It heads straight for the porch.

  Dents cover the body of the dark blue truck. Smoke plumes from the grill as the tail end fishtails around the bend.

  I can’t get a good look at the driver from where I am. The truck straightens out and heads straight for me. My finger slips over the trigger, ready to fire if it doesn’t stop.

  The truck continues toward the cabin before it comes to a grinding halt. The tires lock up, sending the vehicle sliding over the grass.

  The engine idles rough and loud for a few seconds. There’s no activity I can see from within. The man sits there with his hands latched to the top of the steering wheel.

  Finally, the engine dies.

  The door squeaks open.

  A scruffy, burly man steps out. He stays behind the driver’s side door. Thick black hair crawling down from under his Trailblazers ball cap, obscures his face.

  He looks around, first at Mom’s car and then to his right just past the cabin. I can’t tell if he’s scoping the place out or not. I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it’s hard trusting people here lately. It’s been a mixed bag of those that want to help and those that have tried to feed us to the chasers. Either way, I need to play this smart. My life could depend on it.

  After a few moments of surveying the cabin, he steps out from behind his door, and walks toward the porch. That’s when I spot the shotgun he’s totting by his side.

  “That’s far enough!” I yell.

  Startled, he puts his hands up and stops. “Hello? I don’t mean any harm.”