The Hand That Feeds: A Horror Novel

by Garza, Michael W.

  “We haven’t gotten to that yet,” he said.

  Angela’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you would do anything for this family.”

  John hesitated. “I will.”

  “Good.”

  There was a long tense moment of silence then Angela got to her feet. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  John kept his eyes on the screwdriver. “I asked you to pack a few bags. Chances are we won’t be coming back.” She took a step toward him and he fought the urge to run. “We can still leave tonight if you think it’s best.” A bead of sweat rolled down from his forehead to his cheek.

  “What about getting some sleep?” she asked. “Don’t you need the rest?”

  “That was more for you.”

  “I can watch the house while you sleep,” she said.

  “I’m fine.”

  Angela went silent, eyeing John as she adjusted her grip on the screwdriver. Her shoulders tensed and she widened her stance. John considered making a preemptive move, but as he did, a set of headlights flashed through the bedroom. Angela spun around and ran to the window.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  John ran after her. “Don’t open the drapes.”

  They looked out through a small slit between the drapes at a lone vehicle. It pulled off the main road onto the driveway and then stopped before continuing up to the house. The headlights switched off.

  “That can’t be good,” John said.

  “What do they want?”

  John headed for the hall. “I don’t know, but this may solve our feeding problem.”

  He ran to the kitchen, doing his best to avoid the light over the dining room table, and found a steak knife in the drawer by the sink. He slid his face along the kitchen doorway, focusing on the front bay window. The car was facing the house at the end of the driveway, but had not moved. Angela was standing at the end of the hall looking across the dining room at him. He could see fear in her eyes, something far different from what he’d seen only moments before in the bedroom. He motioned for her to stay still, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled into the living room.

  He passed the couch and fell prone as the headlights came on. He crawled forward, this time on his stomach, reaching the bay window. He laid the knife down on the carpet and pushed his back against the wall adjacent to the window. Time passed slowly, but he didn’t move. To his surprise, Angela stayed put.

  Several minutes passed before the headlights turned off again. John took the opportunity to get a better look. He moved his face along the window seal until he could see the front yard. The car was perfectly silhouetted at the end of the driveway and he counted three figures sitting within. The two figures in the front seat were having a heated discussion while another sat quietly in the backseat.

  “Who is it?”

  John’s head snapped back. He turned around and found Angela poking out from behind the couch.

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “What are they doing?” she asked.

  He turned his attention back on the car. “Looks like they’re talking,” he said.

  “That’s it?”

  “You’re welcome to go out and ask them.”

  Angela didn’t respond.

  John watched the car as the argument inside continued until the driver’s side door opened and someone got out. The passengers soon followed and all three met at the rear of the vehicle. The trunk popped open and John lost sight of them. “I think they’re coming,” he said, spinning around. His mind filled with panic as he looked up at the door. The main entrance was locked, but a scan of the door to the carport revealed it was still open. “Quick.”

  Angela crawled over as fast as she could move, slammed it closed, and locked it. John turned back to the driveway and watched all three figures look out from around the trunk.

  “Damn it, they heard you.”

  She crawled back behind the couch. “Sorry.”

  The trunk shut and the figures walked toward the house shoulder to shoulder, each wearing suits covering their entire body.

  “They are definitely coming.”

  John pushed away from the window and crawled across the floor. He found himself on his hands and knees behind the couch staring at Angela. He moved around her so he could get a better look at the front door. A loan shadow passed in front of the bay window followed soon after by a knock at the door.

  “Are we going to answer it?” Angela asked.

  “Are you serious?”

  “What if they’re part of the government response?”

  “Of course they’re part of the government response,” John said. “You want to let them in to inspect the house?”

  Angela’s stare hardened. “We need them, John.”

  He knew she wasn’t referring to their support. “I saw three of them,” he said. “We can’t let anyone get away.” He didn’t wait for a response. He crawled into the hall and into the bathroom. There was another knock at the door, this time with force. John unlocked the bathroom window and tried to push it open quietly. He poked his head out and scanned the backyard.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  Angela’s sudden question caused him to slam his head against the windowsill. He rubbed it and tried not to scream. “Just hide.” He stepped up on the edge of the tub as the first words came from the new arrivals.

  “We would like to have a word with you.” The man’s voice was muffled through the door, but loud enough so John could hear it from the back of the house. “We represent the Federal Emergency Management Agency.”

  John got half of his body out through the window and tossed the knife into the grass. He reached for the ground and dropped down the rest of the way. A moment later, he was kneeling in the grass with the knife in hand. The sound of intentionally light footsteps came from the carport side of the house and he realized why he’d seen only one figure pass in front of the bay window. He ran around to the far side of the house and stopped at the doors to the storm cellar. He couldn’t hear footsteps, but the new, demanding voice of the man at the front door echoed around the property.

  “We’re not going to leave,” he said. “Open the door. We just want to talk with you for a few minutes.”

  John moved to the edge of the house, crouched down as low as he could and leaned out. The front porch light was out, but he could clearly see the lone figure. He was wearing a hazmat suit, like something John had seen on television. His head was covered and there was a clear material over his face that allowed him to see. John moved around the corner of the house and kept the front hedgerow between him and the lone figure. The man pounded on the door with his fist, and then leaned back to look at the darkness under the carport on the opposite side of the house.

  “Try the side door,” the man said.

  John saw someone move from within the carport that he hadn’t seen a moment before. The figured disappeared, leaving John’s focus on the man at the front door. John knew there were at least three of them and his only chance was to take them on one at a time. The banging on the door under the carport was clear and so was the response.

  “Leave us the hell alone.”

  John heard his wife’s voice and cringed. Any hope that the men would give up and drive away was now lost. He assured himself that the knife was ready and prepared to rush the front door. The man on the porch was reinvigorated by Angela’s plea.

  “Open the damn door,” he said. “We have the authority of the United States government and I will pull this house down around you if I have to.”

  John started to come to his feet with a rushing approach in mind when a sudden sound from around the house froze him in place. The noise was subtle, but in the silence of the surrounding farmland, it was enough to get his attention. He pulled back and ran toward the rear of the house. Once he cleared the corner, he discovered the third government man only visible from the waist down, the rest of him was inside the house climbing through the bath
room window.

  John reached him as he tried to pull his legs through the window and grabbed a hold of his feet. One quick yank pulled him out to his chest and another dropped him on the ground. The man rolled over and went for a gun holstered under his arm and John reacted with a fist to the nose. The first hit on the plastic hood covering his face knocked his head back, and then the second splattered blood over his cheeks. John put the blade to his throat and the struggle came to an abrupt end. “Yell and I’ll slit you throat.” He ran his freehand along the man’s side and pulled out a revolver. John took a step back and aimed the gun. “Get up on your knees and face the house.”

  Hesitantly, the man did as he was told. In the dim moonlight, it was difficult to read his face, but he was obviously stalling. Once the man was in position, John hit him on the back of the head as hard as he could with the pistol grip and he fell to the ground in a motionless heap. John dragged him further out into the yard and rushed back to the house, heading toward the carport. He rounded the rear corner and came face to face with another government man coming from the other direction.

  John reacted first and managed to hit the man in his face shield with his revolver. He fell and landed on his back. The moonlight revealed a gun in his hand and John had little time to react as the man brought the weapon to bear. John pulled the trigger and a moment later, the man lay motionless on the ground, a bullet hole in the center of his chest.

  “Mike?”

  The sound of the man’s voice at the front door kept John’s mind on the moment.

  “Mike.”

  The voice drew closer. John ran back around the house, jumped over the unconscious man out behind the bathroom window and turned the corner on the opposite side of the house.

  “Damn it.” The man’s voice was filled with anger and frustration. “Jerry?”

  John heard someone running into the backyard and guessed he’d found the unconscious man. The yard went still and there was no sound of movement from either side of the house. John readied the revolver and tried to calm his nerves. He took a step toward the backyard and a flash of light pulled his attention to the front of the house. He took cover behind the front corner of the house and peered out toward the road. The light was coming fast and moving in pairs. John swore under his breath and spun around; he was going to have to act fast, reinforcements were on the way.

  24

  Two cars came to a stop on the road in front of the driveway, their headlights highlighting the parked car. The car doors opened and in the dark, three figures stood near the driveway entrance. They talked quietly among themselves before one called out.

  “Marcus, are you here?”

  John didn’t wait for the response. He headed around the back of the house with his revolver held high. He turned the corner and came to an abrupt stop. The remaining government man and the unconscious agent were gone. Someone yelled near the carport.

  “They’re in the house and at least one of them is out here with a gun.”

  The situation had quickly gone from bad to worse. John ran to the end of the house near the carport and hesitantly peeked around. A man in a protective suit stood in front of the house. John rummaged through the dead agent’s suit and found another gun, this one a 9 mm automatic. He dashed to the bathroom window and crawled in. He landed in the bathtub and looked up to find Angela standing over him with the screwdriver in hand. He put his hands up in defense.

  “Hold on.”

  “What do they want?” she asked.

  “What do you think they want?” John got out of the tub and brushed her out of the way. “They have to know about Alex. I bet they stopped at the Davis house and got the story about our little visit.”

  She flung herself on him and put her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. “Oh, John, you won’t let them take our baby.”

  He tried to look past her and out into the living room at the bay window. He patted her on the back and stroked her hair. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I won’t let them,” he said. She smiled and kissed him. John slid her out of the way and crouched down. He kept a gun in both hands. “Get out in the hallway and keep your head down,” he said as he stepped across the hall and reached the end. He heard her feet shuffle down the hall as he leaned out for a look at the living room. The headlights from the cars lit up the room, but he couldn’t see anyone outside.

  “We know you have an infected person in there.”

  The voice came across unnaturally loud. John recognized the sound of the bullhorn, however, as best as he could tell, the speaker wasn’t the agent in the plastic suit. He got a glimpse of a break in the headlights and took the opportunity to fire. His shot shattered the largest pane of glass in the bay window and brought most of the adjacent pieces down with it. There was a lot of yelling outside the house and a moment later, John got his response. He ducked back into the hallway as the front of the house was lit up by a violet burst of gunfire.

  Shots tore through the front wall as splinters of wood blew off the door. John heard an automatic weapon between the small arms fire in an attack that lasted a full minute. He was balled up on the floor with his hands over his ears, his guns on the ground near his feet, when the shooting finally stopped. The ringing in his head was constant and he could barely hear himself breathe. He got up to his knees trembling and tried to gather his nerve.

  “You alright?” he asked.

  Angela was sitting against Alex’s door with her arms wrapped around her knees, her legs pulled close to her chest. She didn’t answer, but managed a frightened nod. John picked his guns up and leaned out to get a look at the scene. The entire living room was shot to hell. The television was full of holes and the bay window was gone. Most of the living room floor was covered by small pieces of fluff that used to be contained inside the couch and love seat.

  He waited several minutes before making a move. He didn’t care much about the damage to the house, because he knew if they hoped to survive they would have to make a run for it anyway. The headlights from out front gave him the clue he was searching for. A shadow passed in front of the cars and John aimed and fired. The shadow moved erratically and fell to the ground.

  “Damn it.”

  The cry told John he’d hit his target. The result was another heavy thrashing of the front of the house. This time the government agents fired for several minutes, took time to reload and fired again. John waited for the onslaught to stop and then duck walked down the hall to Angela. She had her face buried between her chest and knees.

  “Check on Alex,” he said. The sound of her son’s name brought a quick response of recognition. Her eyes were wild, but she agreed with a nod. “I’m going to see if I can get a better look from the bedroom.”

  John continued his awkward walk past the turn in the hall and headed toward the bedroom. He reached the midpoint of the hall when he heard Alex’s door open and Angela begin sobbing uncontrollably. He could see the far bedroom wall had not escaped the damage of the hail of bullets, but he knew he had to keep Angela in check if they hoped to survive. He reached Alex’s room and found Angela kneeling over the boy’s decaying body. There was movement in the boy’s hands, but the power that animated his corpse was losing its hold. Even in Alex’s slumbered state, his hands reached for his mother. His groans were reduced to a whimper and his feverish appetite lost with his strength.

  “He’s dying,” she said.

  John didn’t have time to explain to her how strange a comment it was. “Stay here with him, but keep down,” he said, and then headed back out into the hallway. “If they come through the door, I’m not going to be able to hold them off.” He reached the end of the hall and walked to his bedroom. From a crouched position, he made out the agents around the cars, each in a hidden, defensive position. He counted four men and as best as he could remember, that left one somewhere out of sight. One of the men ran toward the house and John lost him from the window.

  “The house is surround
ed.”

  John heard them and understood where the other man went. The chances of ever getting out of the house were growing dimmer by the minute. He darted back through the house and reached the back door. Not taking the time to think about what he was doing, he flung the door open, and jumped out into the backyard.

  Gunfire erupted the second he broke away from the house. Lights flashed on his left and right as small arms fire echoed off the house. John’s heart beat wildly in his throat as he desperately tried to control the fear consuming his mind. He fired at both ends of the house unable to focus his sights on any one target.

  The firefight lasted for another few seconds before everything fell silent. John was on his knees in the grass facing the rear of the house. He could see shapes moving on either side of the house and figured both men were still alive. He fell forward lying in the grass and waited. His chance came moments later when the figure near the carport took a step out behind the house. His attention was on the open back door and he was making a straight line for it. John took aim as best he could in the dark and pulled the trigger three times. The first shot hit the house, the second directly into the man’s leg, and the final trigger pull ended with a dull click.

  John left the gun lying in the grass as he rolled away from his position. He took aim at the man with his 9 mm as he tried to limp his way back to the side of the house. He saw from the corner of his eye, the second man step out and John instinctively pulled his face toward the ground and wrapped his arms around his head. The man fired several times, covering his companions escape. The shots flew wild, but one found its mark, grazing John along his shoulder. The night lit up from constant fire as they shot back and forth at one another. John’s arm felt like it was on fire as warm blood soaked through his shirt. He felt the strength in his arm going, but managed to keep his gun level.

  Neither government agent kept their aim well enough to hit anything. John watched both men disappear, and then waited in the grass, listening to the silence until the subtle sounds of heated conversation echoed around the house. Convinced it was safe enough to move; John struggled to get to his feet and rushed for the rear of the house. He let his back slam against the wall beside the open bathroom window. He heard the light whimpering of his wife nearby.