DeadBorn

by C. M. Stunich

  “Holly?” She ignores me and walks past Dawson who's sitting in one of the chairs in the lobby. His eyes are closed, but he isn't sleeping. His hand is slowly drifting across the back of the tabby cat. His body looks limp and worn out, like the blood's been drained away and he's nothing but an empty sack. “Holly, please wait.” She doesn't pay any attention to me, just moves through the doorway into the gift shop. On top of one of the display shelves is a stuffed owl with bright yellow eyes and an angry glare. I can't imagine why anyone would want it there. It's actually pretty scary. “I think we should talk.” Holly unlocks a wooden door in the back of the shop and opens it in my face. I barely have time to catch it before it slams shut and locks behind me.

  “Just leave me alone, Galen,” she says, but I know that in reality, that's the last thing she wants me to do. She starts up a set of stairs and doesn't stop until she hits the landing, pausing for just a moment before she finds what she's looking for.

  One half of the room is covered with beige linoleum and stuffed full of a random assortment of items including the bows and arrows that Holly mentioned. The other half is carpeted in the same blue that lines the downstairs hallways. Holly turns left and goes that way, making a straight beeline for the only window that's low enough for me to see out of. She steps up to it, raises the blinds and opens it.

  “We don't have time to board up all the windows tonight. Tell the others … ” Here she pauses. “And Valerie that we're sleeping up here tonight. We'll just fortify this area to start with.” Holly pushes the screen out and then drags it back through the window and tosses it to the floor. “And if that woman has other suggestions, fine. Dawson and Martin can do whatever they want, but we're staying here.” Then she climbs out on the roof and starts to walk away. I follow after her, determined to find out what's bothering her. Beyond the obvious that is. There's a lot to worry about, sure, but there's something deeper in Holly, something that's keeping her from making the decisions she wants to make.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as Holly sits down near the edge of the roof and gazes off into the distance. The sun is setting quickly, painting the sky in orange and yellow and red. It won't be long until it gets dark and I think, regardless of how we're handling things, it's freaking us all out.

  “Scouting,” she says as I sit down beside her. When I try to put my arm around her, she stiffens. I drop my hands to the roof and pick at the edge of one of the tiles. I don't want to say anything, but her attitude is stressing me out to the point where I can't even think of getting out of this alive. All I can do is tell myself that if I die, I won't have touched Holly enough. It hurts. I know I'm being pathetic, but I can't seem to help myself. She's the only thing I've ever had that I care this much about. “Don't hate me, Galen,” she says and I glance up sharply to find that she's looking right at me, topaz eyes wet with tears and face stricken with guilt.

  I reach out and try to cup her face, but she looks away.

  “Did you know that I was adopted?” she asks and I shake my head. Holly sniffles and tries to smile as she looks back at me. The smile doesn't look right, though. It's too sad and kind of droopy. I try to give her one that's more genuine in the hopes that I can lift her spirit, even for just a second. “Neither did I,” she says and then turns away so that she's looking in the opposite direction, towards a giant oak tree that towers over us. “Don't be afraid, Galen,” Holly tells me as I scoot closer to her and try to line my leg up against hers. She doesn't move away this time, but she still won't look at me. “If you stay right by me, you'll be alright. I promise.”

  “Tell me your secrets,” I say. “And you'll feel better, you know you will.” Holly shakes her head violently and her blonde hair comes out of the ponytail. I reach forward and run my fingers through it. They get stuck on clumps of dried blood that I gently try to comb out.

  “I want to save the world,” she tells me as her fingers curl into fists. Hot tears drop and splash against the roof tiles. “But I don't know how. Of all the things I know, that isn't one of them.”

  “It's not up to you,” I say and she whirls on me and slaps me in the face. Her eyes are wild now, as ardent as the fire face's.

  “But it is,” she tells me and I can see that nothing I say will convince her otherwise. “This is my fault, mine.” I shake my head, but it doesn't matter, Holly is already standing up and running from me across the roof. I can't stand to see her do that so far up, and my heart stills in my chest as she stumbles. Fortunately, she's able to right herself and get back through the upstairs window. I make as if to follow her and then pause. In the distance, there's a clacking noise, like one of those wind chimes made of drift wood that my father used to collect. It's hollow and kind of faint but very distinct.

  I wait for awhile, scanning the horizon as I try to place it. When I don't find anything, I stand up and move to the other side of the roof.

  Holly comes back moments later.

  “I never left,” she tells me and I know that's true. She said she wouldn't let me out of her sight and I believe it. Whatever she knows, whatever is going on inside of her, she honestly thinks that if I stay close to her that I'll be okay. “What's that sound?” I shrug and we walk the perimeter of the roof together. Just as we're about to give up and go inside, I spot something in the distance. It's just a bit of movement, but it's odd enough that I take notice.

  “Do you see that?” I ask. Holly takes a look and then immediately grabs me by the wrist.

  “Hurry,” she hisses as she pulls me back towards the window and we dive inside like we're running from something. I still don't know what's going on, but I follow her down the stairs where we bump head to chest into Valerie.

  “Do you – ”

  Holly interrupts the woman.

  “Get Martin and Dawson and whatever guns you have and get in here. Make sure all the outside doors are still locked.” Valerie's brow wrinkles, but she doesn't hesitate, not even a bit. Holly's convictions are so powerful that not even an adult, not even a cop, will question them.

  “What's doing on?” Dawson demands as he comes into the store and glares at the three of us.

  “They're coming,” Holly says and Dawson turns whiter than the corpse of the taxidermy owl above his head. “Not all of them but some. We have to kill them quick. Hurry and get on the roof.”

  Holly then turns and we go back up the stairs together at a breakneck pace. I stumble once and nearly break my ankle, but she doesn't stop. She's in full combat mode now.

  “How many?” I ask. “And what kind?”

  “I don't know,” she says. “I only saw one.” I don't question why she's so afraid. Even one of those things is deadly, so I help her gather up the bows and arrows and carry them to the roof. By the time we get them all out there, Dawson and Martin have arrived. Dawson is carrying the bag of guns and looks like he wants to kill something. At least from up here. Somehow, being on the second floor makes it seem safer. It's an illusion though. If those rotten angels show up, I can't think of a worse place to be.

  “I think I'm going to have to sit this one out,” Martin says as he walks over to the only chair in the room and plops down. His shirt is wet and sticky, clinging to his body like spandex and his face is clammy and pallid. I am absolutely, one hundred percent sure now that there's something physically wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but it's worrying me. Everybody else ignores him, more intent on the unknown threat than they are about Martin's well being. Holly holds up one of the bows.

  “Does anyone know how to shoot these things?” she asks as Valerie comes up the stairs with a shotgun and several boxes of ammunition. Dawson and I shake our heads and Martin doesn't respond. Valerie nods briskly and tries to hand me the shotgun.

  “I'm no good with guns,” I say and she smiles tightly. “Good. Then this should work fine.” She puts it in my hand and then dumps the boxes of ammo on the desk where Martin's sitting. “I'll help with the bows,” she says and then climbs out on the roof to
see for herself what we're up against. I follow after her and can finally make out what's coming.

  Lopers. Lots and lots of lopers. Bone bags, too. That's where the clacking sound is coming from. When they walk, their bones jar against one another and echo across the relatively flat expanses of field that separates them from us. I try to count them, but they're still so far away that it makes me dizzy.

  “Where the fuck did they come from?” Dawson asks as he sets the bag of guns down in front of him and starts pulling them out. He lays them next to one another and lines them up neatly. Valerie sighs and shakes her head like she wants to believe she's crazy but knows she's not.

  “There's a historic farmhouse down the road,” she says as she grabs one of the bows. When she sees that it's pink, she sets it down and trades it out for a different one. “The family that owned it buried their dead right on the property.” She pauses as Holly joins us and does another walk around of the perimeter. When she comes back around, she stops and picks up one of the handguns. “They donated the house to the refuge in … ” Valerie rubs her chin for a moment and shrugs. “Ah, who the fuck cares. Anyway, their one concession was that they got to continue using the graveyard.”

  “That's fucking fantastic,” Dawson says as he loads a magazine into his gun and flicks off the safety. “What was their name? The family, I mean.” Valerie thinks about this for awhile.

  “The Fiechters.” Dawson scowls and spits over the edge of the roof. He then lifts his gun, aims and shoots one of the water hags in the back of the head. She rocks on her feet for a moment as the bullet slices through her skull and comes out the other side. Otherwise, she doesn't move, doesn't even acknowledge the blood steaming down the side of her neck.

  “Well,” he says as he wipes dark hair from his forehead and then flips off the approaching zombies. “Fuck the Fiechters then.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Disaccord

  Fifteen Hours and Thirty-Eight Minutes After …

  The zombies are moving towards us, but they're not running. They're taking their time, moving as if they're out bird watching, enjoying the scenery and breathing the sweet scent of the summer air. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. The air was sweet. It smelt like hay and sun and living things. Now it just smells like death. There's a heavy, rotten odor in the air that's disguised only partially by the scent of damp earth.

  “Guess we don't need an alarm system,” Dawson says as he yawns and glances back towards the window. Somebody must've let the tabby cat in when they came up because she's now standing on the windowsill sniffing the air and making strange huffing noises. “Because these fuckin' things smell like shit. This rancid crap could wake me from a dead sleep.” Valerie chuckles and finally sits down with the rest of us. There's no need to stand. It's going to be awhile before the lopers are close enough to shoot.

  “Do you think they're coming for us or just moving randomly in this direction?” I ask. It's hard to tell. They seem as if they're heading this way purposely yet they're not running like I know they can. When they first started to pour down the hill this morning, they were faster than any of the kids on the track team.

  “They're just looking,” Holly says and we all turn to stare at her. “Trying to find me.”

  “So you fucking said,” Dawson snaps and Holly glares at him. I'm kind of glad, in a way. When he called her Holly Olly and they hugged, I just about had a heart attack. I'd much rather see them at each other's throats. “Think you might want to tell us anymore about that?” Holly shakes her head and Valerie's eyebrows raise in surprise.

  “I don't know anymore about it, Dawson,” she growls as she traces the barrel of her revolver with a shaky finger. “I only know that she wants me.” Dawson takes another shot at the water hags and misses. I don't like that he's wasting ammunition, but I also don't want to say anything when his eyes are so narrow and dark. He looks deadly.

  “So what would've happened if we'd given you to her on the highway? Would that have made it all go away? You better fucking tell me the truth, Holly, because I've just about had it. If you're the cause then you're also the solution, aren't you?” I think about what Holly said about being adopted. I don't know how she knows that, but I can guess that maybe it's something she saw in her dream. If that's the case then is the necromancer related to her? Is she her mother? I want to ask, but I don't want to say anything in front of Dawson. If he hurts Holly then I'll hurt him and we'll all end up walking the earth as DeadBorn. I make a promise to myself that I'll bring it up later.

  “No,” Holly says firmly, and I can tell she isn't just lying to protect herself. She means that. Holly's a good person. If all she had to do to end this was give herself up to Patricia then she would've already done that. “It's too late. The magic's out of her control. She can't stop it now.”

  “What the hell are you all talking about?” Valerie asks as she looks between Dawson and Holly. “Could somebody please fill me in?” They ignore her and she looks to me for answers. I just shrug.

  “So what, are we all just screwed?” Dawson turns the gun on his head and puts the barrel between his eyes. He doesn't look scared, not at all, but Holly does.

  “Don't,” she pleads, but Dawson ignores her.

  “Should I just put a bullet in my fucking head and end it now? Tell me there's a way out of this, Holly, please.”

  “I don't know,” she says and she's crying again. I put my hand on her knee and I'm relieved when she doesn't push it away. “I have an idea, but I don't know. I really don't.”

  Suddenly the lights above the parking lot flicker on and bathe the cement in blinding white. It should be comforting to know that we'll have a light source when the zombies arrive yet combined with the fading dusk, it actually makes the ambiance of our nightmarish evening that much worse. The lights are harsh and unforgiving and kind of sterile, like the lights in a hospital or a doctor's office or a morgue.

  “I'm waiting,” Dawson says and he sounds crazy. Looks it, too, with the gun pressed to his forehead like that. I can hear moaning now. It's mixing with the clacking of the bone bags and reminds me vaguely of the Halloween party Holly's parents threw last year.

  “I don't want to say it aloud,” she whispers and something about the way she says that, like she's afraid someone will hear, convinces Dawson to put the gun down. Either it's that or, like me and Valerie, he's noticed that the horde of rotten DeadBorn have just stumbled into the water hags' territory. It only takes the ethereal departed a few seconds to turn towards them and drop their knuckles to the ground. Broken flutes begin to play a requiem for the lopers as the hags skitter up the incline and smash into the groaning zombies. It's hard for us to see exactly what's going on because the melee is taking place just outside the reach of the street lamps. We all squint anyway and use the last dying breaths of the evening to try and catch a glimpse of the ensuing carnage.

  The lopers and the bone bags outnumber the water hags at least three to one, but it doesn't matter. The women in the spider web dresses with the pale lips and the hair like seaweed are risen straight from Hell and the other DeadBorn don't stand a chance.

  Limbs are torn from torsos and tossed into the lake while blood spatters the road and pools in dark puddles beneath scrambling feet. The stench has become almost unbearable now and I'm not the only one that's coughing and pulling their shirt over the bottom of their face. Valerie is the only one that seems unaffected, staring straight into the distance with her spine stiff and her eyes wide. I don't know what it is that she's thinking, but there's a bit of grudging respect there for the hags. I have to admit that I feel some myself and although I know it isn't true in the least, it sort of feels as if the water hags are protecting us. Not that I'd get close to one. I'd rather take my chances with a rotten angel.

  “Wow,” Dawson says and he's the only one that says anything for a long time.

  Eventually the water hags finish their macabre work and retreat back to their positions beside the lake. I notice a fe
w gaps in the group and search for their bodies, certain that their flowing dresses and pale skin will stand out from the crowd of carnage. Yet the longer I look, the less I see. It's as if my brain's shutting down, blocking sights from me that it knows I won't recover from. Anyway, the bodies are so mangled and smashed that all I can really see from here is a big, dark splotch speckled with bones. I know that when morning comes around, it'll be a whole lot worse. For now, there's a promise of peace. At least temporarily.

  “Hey guys,” Martin says from behind us and Dawson and I both jump in surprise. Holly and Valerie are unfazed. “Could somebody come downstairs with me? I need to use the bathroom.” Dawson rolls his eyes and stands up, but before he goes, he gazes down at Holly with a solemn stare that I can feel straight to my bones.

  “I'll give you tonight to figure out your thoughts, Holly, but tomorrow I want answers.” He pauses for a moment. “Martin's going to be useless tonight, so why don't you and Galen take first shift. You can sit out here and watch for zombies. Switch out with Valerie and me when you get tired, just don't wake us up for a false alarm.” Dawson looks up at the sky and searches until he finds the round paleness of the moon. Apparently he thinks that because Holly's keeping a few secrets, he can take over as the group leader. I'd like to see him try it under pressure. I'm betting he'd buckle. “Let the fucking water hags deal with that shit.” Then he stalks off and disappears into the dark building. Moments later, the interior lights up with a golden glow that filters out across the roof and makes Holly's dirty hair glimmer like it's been freshly washed. It's a pretty illusion.

  “Are you okay with that?” Valerie asks as she peers into our tired faces. “Because if not, I'd be happy to take a shift alone.” Holly nods and I can see that the day's finally gotten to her. That and I bet she also wants to fuck with Dawson's plan.

  “That'd be nice, thanks,” she breathes and I can tell that no matter how stressful this all is, that we're not going to have any trouble falling asleep.