DeadBorn

by C. M. Stunich

  Holly waits until we think the appendage is out of the water hags' range and then moves forward and begins to wail on it. The zombies don't seem to notice; they're too wrapped up in tearing the rest of Dead Doug to bite sized pieces and eating him. Wriggling flesh slips between their pale blue lips while crimson floods drain down their white chests and stain their ragged gowns. I vomit into my own mouth, swallow it and turn away.

  The arm is still quivering, flickering flesh pulsing as Holly takes a breath and then freezes. Her face and arms are covered with little, red drips and her eyes are as blank as a DeadBorn's. She stands so still that I start to move forward, prepared to grab her and carry her back to the car when she suddenly explodes into action. The bat rises and falls above her head and hits the ground with wet thumps that churn my stomach and finally draw the attention of the water hags. When they start to race up the hill towards us, I panic and grab Holly's wrist, drawing her away from the now quiet lump.

  They don't quite make it that far, but I still don't know what it is that's keeping them so close to the water. Since the tether that's tying them there isn't physical, I can't judge if it's about to break. I decide that safe is so much better than sorry and drag a whimpering Holly back towards the trailer. Doug has a nice stack of white towels in his bathroom. I'm going to take one of them and clean Holly off. She needs that, I think, or she might start to break down.

  “The keys,” she says as if that's still important. I shush her and guide her up the stairs with my hand around her waist. I forget to check the inside of the trailer and am relieved to find that I didn't just make a deadly mistake. It's still empty.

  “What just happened?” I ask her, trying to distract her from all of the violence by using the mystery as bait. “Why the heck would they attack each other? Aren't they on the same side?” Holly hiccups and wipes her arm across her face. It comes away stained with crimson and she gets caught staring at it. I go immediately for the towels and soak one of them in warm water. I snatch a bottle of soap from the sink and carry the items to Holly.

  “The water hags aren't under Patricia's control,” she says and I wrinkle my brow.

  “Who's Patricia?” I ask. It's the first time I've ever heard that name, but I have a bad feeling that it won't be the last.

  “The necromancer,” Holly tells me in a whisper and I can see that she's ashamed at holding back the information. I try to match up the name with the woman in the black cloak and can't make it work in my brain. I just can't imagine that somebody named Patricia could stand beside an army of the dead. It's too normal, too everyday. All of this is just too weird. It doesn't fit.

  “Why wouldn't they be under her control?” I ask, trying to recall any latent information I might have about necromancers. I've played them – and fought them – on a handful of games, but I have no way of knowing if anything I've learned is accurate. Until this morning, I didn't even know they really existed. I try to console myself by promising that if rotten angels and water hags exist, then guardian angels and fairies probably do, too. For all the bad we're seeing, there has to be a match on the good side, right?

  “She didn't mean for any of this to happen,” Holly tells me as she cleans her face, takes off her sweatshirt and trades it out for one of Doug's that's lying across the back of the couch. “It's all just one, big cosmic joke, punishment for a crime that was never even committed, Galen.” I kneel down next to Holly and put my hand on her knee.

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” I say, trying to keep us both calm. “Start from the beginning, tell me everything.” She shakes her head and stands up abruptly.

  “When we're safe,” she says and then pauses. “Or safer. We'll never really be safe again.”

  ***

  Eleven Hours and Six Minutes After …

  Martin and Dawson are still sitting by the entrance and I'm glad to see that they're both unscathed. Well, except for Martin who's now sporting a row of nasty cat scratches on the back of his hand. Holly looks furious when she sees that her new friend is missing, and Martin rushes to explain.

  “When you started shooting … ” he begins. Dawson cuts him off and stands up excitedly.

  “Did you kill one?” he asks, sounding eager. Holly shakes her head and Dawson sits down heavily. He stares at the blood on Holly's shorts and raises an eyebrow. Neither of us rushes to explain. It's all just too much to talk about. Living it once was more than enough. I don't want to be forced to recap it. “Well?”

  “We're going to have to break a window.” Holly looks at the entranceway. There's a single glass door surrounded by windows that I know she won't choose. It leads into a square waiting area with yet another locked door. “Let's find an office that looks like it might have keys. We'll shoot the window out and go in that way.” Dawson scowls and runs a hand through his dark hair.

  “And then what? Hide from the horde of zombies in a building that we have no problem breaking into. I don't know about you, but this seems like a stupid, fucking idea to me.”

  “You have the keys,” Holly says and nods her chin at the car. “Nobody's making you stay.” She then spins on her heel and starts off towards the back of the building. I follow and so does Martin. Dawson stays behind.

  “I don't think he'll go anywhere,” he tells us both uselessly. “While you were gone, I told him the basics about zombie survival. He knows this is the right decision.” Holly ignores him and moves past a couple of picnic tables and under a green and yellow awning.

  “Which are?” I challenge. I don't know why, but something about Martin's annoying chatter makes the day seem less hopeless. In a roundabout way, I think I kind of like it.

  “Speak softly and carry a big stick?” Martin jokes. He laughs, but neither Holly nor I do. He clears his throat and continues as we pause at window after window and try to peer into the darkness of the building. It isn't easy as most of the offices have their blinds down, but we keep trying anyway. Eventually we'll get a break or at least I hope that we do. I don't know how much hopelessness a single person can take before they crack. “Well, it's not as simple as you might think and I'm of the opinion that a lot of the guides that are out there are wrong.”

  “There are guides?” I ask as we round a corner and pass by a row of green garbage cans.

  “Yeah, tons of 'em. Handbooks, too, but I don't think most of them would work in this situation. These zombies are hardcore. I mean, that fire spitting thing was crazy.”

  “Those aren't zombies,” Holly says as she slaps one of the windows in anger. “I can't see anything. We're just going to have to pick one and go for it.” I hand her my gun and she aims it at the center of the glass.

  “If they're not zombies,” Martin asks as he stares down at his I Heart Daryl T-shirt with a weird mixture of awe and fear. “Then what are they?” Holly fires three shots at the glass and it comes crashing down like a crystal waterfall. For a split second, it's a thing of shattered beauty, all prisms and light and texture, then it hits the ground and blends into the wood chips below our feet. She looks back at Martin and in her eyes is an unease that sends chills down my spine.

  “They're demons.”

  ***

  Eleven Hours and Fifteen Minutes After …

  The alarm system goes off, but Holly doesn't seem in any rush to turn it off. Instead, she unlocks the office door and props it open with a rubber wedge. I don't know about Holly and Martin, but secretly, I'm hoping the police will show up and arrest us. Then that would mean that everything is normal, everything is okay again. Even if I have to go to jail for breaking and entering, it would be better than living this nightmare for who knows how long.

  “Come on,” Holly says as she gestures for us to follow her into the dark hallway. She turns on a switch and several fluorescent lights flicker to life along the length of the room. There are dead animals everywhere: geese, ducks, little brown and white songbirds. Their marble eyes stare down at me menacingly as if they, too, could suddenly take flight lik
e the rotten angels and come crashing down on our heads. I pull my gaze away from them and try to focus on Holly's pretty blonde head. She's striding confidently down the blue-brown carpeting and turning the corner as if she's been here a hundred times. As far as I know, she's only been here once.

  “I'm going to shut off the alarm and then we'll see if we can find some keys,” Holly shouts over the screeching wail of the security system. It sounds like a mix between an ambulance and the moaning water hags. I resist the urge to copy Martin and stuff my fingers in my ears as we approach another door. This one separates the offices from the part of the building that's open to the public. Luckily for us, we're on the side with the lock. Holly does the same thing with this door and leads us to the front. I can see Dawson sitting outside on the bench. I don't think he realizes we're watching him because fat, round tears are falling down his cheeks and splattering the fur of the tabby cat who's returned and draped herself over his lap.

  Holly and I exchange a glance as she opens the final door between her and the alarm system. She moves forward, flips down the white plastic panel and punches in a number. Seconds later, the ear piercing wail stops and silence settles over the building like a blanket. At first it's nice, a reprieve for my aching ears, but it quickly becomes stifling. The quiet gets swallowed down my throat and threatens to choke me.

  “Should we load the stuff in now?” I ask Holly and my voice sounds loud in the little room as it ricochets off the glass and back at me. Holly bites at her fingernail and nods.

  “Martin,” she begins and he steps forward, wiping brown curls off his sweaty face. He genuinely wants to be helpful, I can see that. “Why don't you and Dawson bring the stuff in here and set it up by the water fountains. Galen and I will look for the keys and then we'll start boarding up the windows.” Martin grins and gives her a double thumbs-up.

  “Works for me,” he says as I open the front door and look out at Dawson. He's wiped the tears from his face and has the cat clutched against his chest like he's annoyed with it.

  “Holly wants – ”

  “I heard,” he says, interrupting me and standing up. I hold my arms out for the tabby, but Dawson moves past me and puts the cat down on a chair in the lobby. After a few, careful back scratches, she lays down and starts to lick her paw. Dawson stares for a moment and then moves away, grabbing the front door from my hand and pushing it back until it clicks into place and stays open. “Hurry up,” he growls as he starts to lift bags and blankets from the cement. “If one of those fucking things attacks me while I've got pillows in my hand, I'm gonna be pissed.” Martin chuckles which garners a glare from Dawson. I don't think he was trying to be funny.

  “Come on,” Holly says to me. I follow her back down the hallway, my eyes catching on the gold plates beside the doors. I wonder if any of these people are dead or if they even know that something's wrong with the world. Will they show up for work tomorrow and find us here? As awkward as that situation sounds, I hope for it with every beat of my heart. “All of the offices are locked and I really, really don't want to break anymore windows,” Holly explains as we reach the sea of broken glass and crunch across it to the desk. “Besides, I want to get upstairs. They've got tons of food up there and,” Holly grunts as she pulls open a stuck drawer and frowns at the coffee stains splashed on the papers inside. There are no keys to be seen. She closes it and continues. “They always hold archery classes in the summer. My dad – ” Holly stops talking and just stands there with her fingers gripping a brass handle. I reach out, take her opposite hand in mine and squeeze it gently. There are no words to make her feel better, no gestures warm enough to take away the pain. I know that, but I try anyway.

  “Want to know something weird?” I ask. Holly doesn't respond, but I keep talking anyway. “I've never played a game of solitaire. Not even once. Not on the computer, not with real cards, never.” Holly finally looks up and a frown crosses her pretty lips. Holly Arget is a self-confessed card game addict, and I know that's a bit of information that even she won't be able to resist.

  “There better be a deck around here somewhere,” she says as I release her, satisfied that she's been temporarily calmed. “Because that's just not right, Galen.” I smile as I continue helping Holly with the search. I don't believe that we're going to get the chance to play cards anytime soon, but it's a nice thought to entertain. Besides, it's distracted her from her feelings so it's served its purpose either way. She returns to the previous conversation as if nothing has happened. “Anyway, my dad told me that they've got a whole arsenal of bows and arrows on the second floor.” I grin as I open another drawer and find it stuffed full of candy.

  “Martin oughta love that,” I say, thinking of the T-shirt he's got on. “Any crossbows?” Holly shrugs.

  “No idea,” she says and her slight smile turns into a frown. “Not that it really matters. It seems like the only way to stop a DeadBorn is to beat it into a pulp.” I say nothing in response to that. It's a hopeless enough statement as is. With their near invincibility, I doubt that we could handle more than one at a time. “Bingo,” Holly says as I look up to find a massive key ring hanging from her fingers. “Now let's lock this place down.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Batten

  Thirteen Hours and Six Minutes After …

  It doesn't take long for us to realize that boarding up the windows is going to be a lot harder than we'd first anticipated. Dawson and Martin are just starting on their second one while Holly and I are struggling to figure out what we're going to do with the front entrance. In all, the building has thirty exterior windows and three sliding glass doors, and we have only one hammer that we took from home along with a handful of nails. A picnic table's given its life for the cause, but nearly half of it is gone already.

  “This isn't going to work,” I tell Holly, but she already knows. I can see it written across her face, plain as day. She purses her lips and paces back and forth. The tabby cat weaves around her ankles and meows for attention, but Holly ignores it and pinches her brow in thought.

  “Did you see that office on the end?” she asks me, but I have no idea which one she's talking about. Honestly, they were all covered with dead animals and nature calendars, so I can't distinguish one from another in my head.

  “What about it?” I ask as my eyes fall on the lake. The hags are back to their silent stations, taking turns dipping into the water and staring off into the distance.

  “It was for the fire crew,” she says as she points at the golden grasses. They're waving at us, stirred by the gentle breeze into a slow, mesmerizing dance that tricks the mind into thinking there's nothing but good in the world. “They burn certain areas of the refuge to keep the whole thing from going up in a blaze.”

  “So?” I ask as I give in and pat the cat's head.

  “So that means they've got to have equipment somewhere. Did you see the barn across the parking lot? I bet that's where it is.” Holly grabs my hand and drags me down the sidewalk and into the middle of the parking lot. “See?” She raises her hand and points at the massive red and white building. I'd seen it, for sure, it was impossible to miss, but I hadn't given it a second thought.

  “Do you think there's a firetruck in there?” I ask, fantasizing about confiscating one and making a run for it. Despite what Holly thinks, I'm afraid to stay here. In my mind I can just imagine Patricia and her horde of undead marching towards us in a seething mass. And if one of those fire faces comes around, we're screwed no matter what we do. A firetruck could probably plow through lopers and bone bags, no problem. It would give us as good a chance as anything. I try not to think of the rotten angels and how easy it was for them to drag the choppers to the ground. That line of thinking only leads to an endless void where hope goes to die. I can't go there, not yet, not ever.

  “Don't be stupid,” Holly says and I can see that she's already made a decision. “Let's go get Martin and Dawson, lock the doors, and grab the weapons. I want in that barn.” I don't
say anything, just follow her dutifully back to the building and find Dawson leaning against the doorway with a frown smeared across his face. He's taken off my yellow T-shirt and his chest is dripping with sweat. I search briefly for it, but can't find it anywhere. I remind myself that it isn't important and look around for Martin.

  “He's in the bathroom,” Dawson explains before I get a chance to ask.

  “I think I'll go, too,” I say, suddenly realizing that I have to pee. I haven't gone all day, not once. And I haven't eaten either. I know that sooner or later, my body's going to catch up with me and I'm going to crash. Dawson knows it, too. I can tell as we meet gazes and his slides down to my toes and back up again.

  “This isn't happening fast enough,” he says to Holly. “Either we keep running or we figure out how to make this place safe and we do it now. I don't want to be stuck out here nailing boards after dark.” Holly gathers her hair into a ponytail and uses a green hair tie with a frog on it that she stole from the gift shop.

  “I have an idea,” she tells him as she explains about the barn. “I think there might be wood in there, maybe axes, probably more tools, and who knows what else.” Dawson doesn't look convinced.

  “What if there are zombies in there, too?” Holly shrugs, but I know she's already thought about this.