This Jerry, remembered so much more than what was typical of a Fiend. As was standard in the destruction of so much of the healthy brain, This Jerry had lost its ability to speak, lost its connection to the personality that was That Jerry, but This Jerry remembered the life that had been That Jerry. This Jerry was different from most of the Others. This Jerry was capable of giving direction where chaos otherwise reigned, and Others could sense it, falling into line behind It.
In the now demolished Nantucket Stop & Shop grocery, This Jerry focused the hundreds of Others that had been fully involved in a raging orgy of food and sex. It focused them on This Jerry’s desire. This Jerry knew that there was one genuine Fresh One on the Island. It remembered That Jerry watching the young Fresh One playing in a yard, watching it from up a pole while doing routine maintenance. That Jerry had never cared a wit about the young Fresh One; other than the maddening way that it brought back the nightmares of That Jerry’s son pleading with his daddy to save him, screaming with his mother as they were pulled to the ground, dismembered and feasted upon. Now, every fiber of This Jerry’s being wanted to feast on that young Fresh One; the young one who had played in the yard. Feast on it. Feast on it like a live suckling pig and listen to it squeal. This Jerry knew the Others that were with the young Fresh One wouldn’t just let that happen. This Jerry knew that those Others were immune. Plus, This Jerry had felt the Children in the house, the Children with the pointy ears and sharp teeth and the funny legs — felt their minds wandering. This Jerry had no fear of those Children of Others. This Jerry knew exactly where It would hide a Fresh One on the island. This Jerry would need some help ferreting it out. This Jerry had a gift; This Jerry could give order to the chaos; This Jerry had a potential army of naked raging Others to follow it.
As the pucks tentatively stepped into the kitchen, Nikki and Jon took a step back toward the mudroom door.
Having become inured to Hansel and Gretel’s presence, Dean watched the proceedings with renewed eyes. Putting himself into the newcomer’s shoes, he felt a mild sympathetic constriction in his chest. The children, the offspring of the infected, the pucks as they called them, were astonishing to behold. As they entered with hesitation, the twins were unable to contain their naturally sharp toothy grins. Gangly and tall, their already huge dark eyes were dilated even larger to allow for the maximum of information. Their pointy ears were articulated forward and he felt their minds briefly reach out then snap back as Eliza gave them both an admonishing look. Most astonishing, their legs; built for speed, the puck legs were hinged like the rear legs of a four legged predator; more catlike than human. Actually, thought Dean, more like a raptor.
Jon found himself reaching for a pistol that hadn’t traveled on his hip for a decade or more, then without taking his eyes off the pucks, he let his hand fall and touch Nikki’s.
Eliza held up a hand in a calming gesture. “They won’t harm you.”
“See. They hate us,” said Gretel.
“We can feel it not just from their minds, but from their skin,” said Hansel.
Eliza said, “They just haven’t met you.” She continued to hold her hands out, beseeching calm. “Hansel, Gretel. This is Nikki and Jon. They are immune to the disease so you needn’t worry about that. Jon, Nikki, Hansel and Gretel have been with me since their infancy. They have been extremely helpful during our long trip. They will not harm you.”
Sanders snickered, “Just don’t make any quick moves toward Eliza.”
“Or Billy for that matter,” said Gallagher with a lame attempt at follow-up-humor.
Eliza scowled at the men, who both looked to the floor like scolded toddlers. She said, “Hansel, Gretel, won’t you please introduce yourselves properly?”
Gretel offered an awkward slight curtsey, saying, “How do you do?” Hansel offered a curled lip and a half bow while saying the same. They then looked expectantly at Jon and Nikki for the correct response to the polite query.
Nikki cleared her throat. “Um. Hello.”
The reporter in Jon kicked in. “Hi.” He looked at Eliza. “How is it that you have trained Fiend children? Are there more? We were informed that they can do that thing — that ESP thing or whatever.”
Eliza said, “Yes. They are capable of telepathy… and much more. All offspring of the infected are.”
Jon nodded slowly. “Are there… Are there a lot of offspring?”
Eliza glanced at Dean for a cue on what to say next.
Nikki focused on Dean. “Let’s just lay our cards on the table, hmm?” While pointing in a generally western direction, she said, “Jon and I came here to find out what you know, about out there. You claim to have urgent information. Whatever leverage you think you have to save the Halflies here is obviously now moot. You need to say what you have to say so we can focus on getting the hell out of here.”
Dean offered a bitter smile and he looked out the window. A small gap between the planks that they had nailed across the frames offered a view of the breeze swept grassy dunes. He shifted his focus back to Jon and Nikki while gesturing at Hansel and Gretel. “There is a massive population of these beings out there. We don’t know how many, but we do know that they have a presence from at least Central America all the way up to the very outskirts of the Terminus. They have enslaved thousands of survivors from both North and South America. They are watching us. Meaning, what’s left of the free human race. They are merciless. They have a twisted theology — yes, I said theology — which they use to unite them. And they will take over your mind in a blink and devour you alive while enjoying the pleasure of your agony. We have every reason to believe that they intend to conquer and eat us all. Oh, and they keep their Fiend parents alive, worshiping them as ancestors who need taking care of. They use them as soldiers of a sort. So there’s that too.” He gestured at Gallagher. “And then there’s The Shoremen. There’s an entire island of survivors on what was the Delmarva Peninsula, who have not only carved out a new nation that they call The Shore, but who are also quite hostile to the notion of the surviving United States and any meddling that… that our country might do. Mister Gallagher here is a member of that society and the sole survivor of a group of them who dogged us all the way across the mainland and down to the Nicaragua Canal. There you have it in a nutshell.”
Nikki grew a bit pale. Almost ignoring the pucks who remained warily standing in front of her, she pulled out a chair and sat.
Jon grew red faced. “You… You people have this life and death information and you’ve been withholding it?”
Dean said, “We wanted to save all of the people, including those on this island. It was the only bargaining chip we had.”
A banging against some of the planking they had hammered over the back door window caused them all to jump. A man’s muffled voice called from outside.
“Captain Dean. Captain Dean, please let us in. It’s Ballantine, sir. Ballantine and five more. Captain, you’re in there right? Your dock cart is out here, sir. Let us in, please.”
Sanders looked at Dean. “Ballantine’s a good man, Cap.”
Dean stepped through the mud room to the back door. “Who’s with you, Ballentine? Any of you got fever?”
“My crew, sir. Hap and Gin.”
Another voice interrupted. “Also Williams here, Stewart. And my crew, Page and Benson. None of us are sick.”
Dean spoke out of the side of his mouth to the others in the kitchen. “Fishermen.” He called back out the door. “Were you followed?”
Ballantine said, “Don’t think so, sir. Can we come in and get out of sight? We have sacks of salt haddock.”
Dean looked back at Sanders who nodded. He called out, “If anyone is just a little sick — “
“We’ll do ourselves, sir. Nobody wants to become one of them.”
Dean glanced at the pucks and paused before putting his hands on the cross brace that held the door shut. Calling out again, he said, “We have a situation in here that I’m not going to hide from
you. You’re not in danger, but you’re going to be in for a shock.”
There was a pause on the other side. They could hear the men’s muffled murmurs, then Ballantine said, “No one in there with the fever, right?”
“No. A different kind of shock.”
There was a pause and more muffled conversation, then, “That’s fine, sir. Just please let us in. Most of the folks that’s turned are leaving the ones who haven’t alone. But some aren’t. We’ve seen some pretty terrible stuff.”
Dean looked at Billy and kept his voice low. “Usual drill. These guys are contagious either way. You and Gallagher need to get upstairs and stay there. Keep watch. More are likely to come. It’s going to get out of hand faster than I hoped.”
Billy and Gallagher didn’t question Dean’s wisdom. They left the room and headed upstairs. Dean looked at Eliza and the pucks, “Are you okay with this?”
Eliza nodded slowly. Hansel spoke with a kind of wisdom that belied his young age, “You will do what you will do, Stewart Dean.”
Jon and Nikki knew they didn’t have a say, so kept their mouths shut. Instead they moved to the most neutral part of the room and stood ready.
Dean lifted the brace and opened the door. Six terrified looking men, varying from thirty to sixty, stood outside. They were loaded with backpacks and carrying fish pikes and filleting knives. They lowered the weapons to appear less threatening. Dean said, “Sanders will collect your arms. You’ll get them back soon enough. Just don’t need any mistakes.”
Sanders stepped to the door and held out his hands. The men reluctantly passed him the weapons.
Dean waved, “Well, in with you.”
As the men filed into the now overcrowded kitchen, Hansel and Gretel kept their backs to the hallway. Nearly as one, the newcomers stood up straight and stepped back into each other at the sight of the pucks.
“Jesus, fuck!” said Williams.
Dean pushed through and put himself in front of the pucks. “No worries. They’re not hostile.”
This Jerry could feel the blood coursing through Its veins, heard the rush of it in Its ears. Its sense of smell was nearly overwhelmed by the richness of the sea breeze, the scent of the beach grass, the stench of sea life left behind by a retreating tide. As the wind lifted up a thin layer of sand and scrubbed the land with an abrasive gust, This Jerry’s hearing picked up the rustle of every branch and blade. That Jerry had never had great eyesight, had always relied on glasses to make things out in the distance. This Jerry’s eyes were no better, but its nose, ears and its very skin filled in the gaps left by poor sight.
This Jerry felt deep hunger as It marched across the dunes with Its retinue of mad followers; the monsters having full faith in This Jerry’s guidance. This Jerry smelled the blood that dribbled down the leg of the young Other that limped along beside it. The young Other had snagged itself on a long forgotten piece of wire fencing that had become part of an abandoned plan to break up the island’s North Shore into smaller parcels. The young Other had thought nothing of how to free itself, only that it needed to get free and thereby yanked so hard as to tear a flap of flesh away from its outer thigh.
The smell of the blood was salty and iron rich and the bright red color acted like a flashing light of distraction in the corner of This Jerry’s right eye.
So as to insure maximum contagion, the diseased mostly left fellow victims alone. However, exceptions regularly occurred.
When This Jerry suddenly turned and bit into the neck of the young Other — a male of perhaps thirteen — it squealed in agony and tried to bite back. In the space of a heartbeat, the thirteen Others who also followed This Jerry, dove on the squealing Other like a flock of carrion birds, their arms flapping as they muscled their way in to tear and chop chunks of flesh from the howling victim.
As This Jerry sat on the sand and slowly chewed on soft cheek meat, It continued to think on the young Fresh One that That Jerry had observed from the telephone pole. Though Its hunger had slackened, Its desire for uninfected flesh was just as intense. When This Jerry stood again, Its faux-fur-fringed hood hung round Its neck in bloody testament to the kill. With Its face full of gore, the lion marched off, Its royal retinue forgotten as they shoved and snapped over the remains of the feast.
The Fiend who had been Jerry Mulcahy, the saboteur, lifted his nose into the breeze. He picked a loose piece of flesh from between his teeth and savored it once again — chewing almost thoughtfully as he disappeared over the dunes.
CHAPTER NINE
Nowhere To Go
Nikki rubbed a hand across her face and closed her eyes. Jon immediately recognized it; she was formulating; frustrated but formulating. The kitchen was overcrowded and quickly becoming clammy with human breath and stress-laden-sweat. On top of that, the pucks added an odor that was distinctly unpleasant.
Nikki stood and directed her focus on Dean. “You know as well as I that we can’t stay here.” She pointed at the newcomers. “If they came, others will come. We stop moving, we die.”
Jon pointed to the planks over the windows. “And planked up windows never stopped one of them.”
Sanders scowled. “More about keeping eyes out, not hands.”
Nikki turned to Jon. “We got what we came for. I say we find our way off.”
Dean sighed and said to the fishermen, “I need to speak to my people. We’re going to step over into the parlor down the hall. Make yourselves comfortable and feel free to eat and drink.” He began to walk down the hall saying to Nikki and Jon, “That means you two as well.”
When they were all in the parlor, Dean shut the doors and spoke in a low voice. “There’s only one way.” He looked at Jon and Nikki. “Like I said before, the sloop that we came up here on can make the mainland. We couldn’t get to it. The first infected were all over the docks.”
Sanders said, “No reason to think they left.”
Dean said to Hansel and Gretel. “If we go for it, maybe at the least you two can keep the infected off Billy and Gallagher. Think you can do that?”
Gretel said, “It is not as simple as you wish, Stewart Dean. We can control many minds at once, but when there are too many…plus, there is the madness within them. Difficult.”
Sanders said, “I got an idea.” He pointed rapid-fire-fingers out the window, his tongue having a hard time keeping up with his thoughts. “What if we, we, we get ‘em to control Helprin’s goats. Infected folks’ll follow a herd of goats to the far side of the island. Hell, maybe straight into the water.”
Dean said, “Long walk to Helprin’s farm. Chances are the old man and his hands got sick and already ate the goats. Still, it’s an idea.” He looked at Jon and Nikki for a response.
“It’s your island,” said Jon who tapped his watch. “Tick tock. How far away is this farm?”
Sanders looked at Jon’s watch with a bit of envy. Hardly anyone had a working watch on Nantucket. “What time you have?”
“Five-forty.”
“Yeah, too far to get there before dark. Better to set out in the morning. Nights out here… can’t see your hand in front of your face.”
Nikki had begun to pace like a trapped animal. Jon recognized it immediately. He was remembering so many things that, despite the situation, he was feeling overwhelmed with warm feelings. Her pacing told him she knew when to bug out and this situation wasn’t offering a window.
Dean asked her, “What do you think? Other ideas?”
Nikki just kept pacing. Jon briefly held her wrist. “They do sleep.”
“Really, Jon?” She yanked her wrist away. “‘Cause I remember those motherfuckers coming day or night.” She pointed in the general direction of the kitchen. “Chances are those fishermen led the whole infected town out here.”
Jon said, “It’s not like we can feel our way across open land, and we can’t exactly shine a light around.”
“Did I say we should? Do I look like I turned into a moron since we broke up?”
The room
went silent. Hansel and Gretel smiled at each other, absorbing the intense energy.
A House Divided: Book 3 of The Of Sudden Origin Saga Page 8
