by R. J. Spears
She swatted this arm away easily, dodged around another zombie’s outstretched arms, and started running toward Russell. Her steps were unsteady at first, but she gained a certainty of purpose as she focused completely on Russell. He became the only thing in the world, and she would get to him even if it were the last thing she ever did.
Rex quickly pulled back the gun. As much as he would like to stay and watch the reunion, he knew an open victory party was a bad idea. He slowly backtracked behind the bar and then edged along the woods and out of sight, wondering if the intruders had any idea what was in store for them.
Chapter 12
Repercussions
“What the hell were you thinking?” Brandon shouted.
All Paige could do was sob. She was crammed in the backseat of the truck between Russell and Devin as Brandon floored it in their return trip to the Manor. Russell did what he could to comfort her, but she was near hysterics. It was like losing her family and friends all over again.
“Do you know three men are dead because of your stunt?” Brandon asked, but it really wasn’t a question. He didn’t want an answer.
“Hey, take it easy on her,” Russell said.
“Fuck that,” Brandon said. “We lost men. We lost weapons. We lost a truck.” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “We told you not to do this. We told you.”
“It’s over,” Russell whispered as he patted her arm. “It’s over.”
“It’s far from over,” Brandon said. “We should drop her right here and right now. I don’t even know if I would slow down to do it.”
“Brandon,” Travis shouted from the passenger seat. “Something’s wrong with Devin.”
“What is it?” Brandon shouted.
“He’s having trouble catching his breath,” Travis said.
When Russell looked over, he could see Devin’s face. It looked pinched and splotchy. His hands clutched at his throat, and his breaths came in ragged wheezes.
“Devin, Devin, what is it?” Travis asked, leaning into Devin’s face.
“Asthma,” Devin choked out.
“I didn’t know you had asthma,” Travis said.
“Out of medicine,” Devin croaked as he slumped forward, his head hitting the back of the seat.
Paige screamed.
“Drive faster,” Travis said.
Brandon punched the accelerator, and they surged down the road.
As soon as the spotters on the highway announced the return of the truck, I was on my way to the front gate. It was the word ‘truck’ singular that bothered me most. We had two trucks in the field that morning. Only one coming back meant bad news.
“Do we know which truck it is?” Kara asked as she jogged beside me.
I brought up my walkie-talkie and asked the guards. They reported that it was Brandon’s truck.
“Any sign of the other truck?” I asked.
“No. Only one.”
“What does that mean?” Kara asked.
“Nothing good,” I said, bracing myself for the worst.
It only got worse from there as my walkie-talkie blared to life. “This is Russell. We’re coming in fast. We have a man in trouble. He can’t breathe.”
I keyed my walkie-talkie, “Is he hurt? Has he been shot or bitten?”
“It’s Devin. He’s having an asthma attack,” Russell said. I heard someone speak away from the walkie-talkie. “Brandon says have the gates open.”
“Will do,” I said and relayed that command as we jogged toward the front of the Manor. I also called for Doc Wilson to come and meet the truck.
Kara and I pushed out the front doors just as the truck came through the main front gate. The truck seemed to be intact, but hauling ass. I saw no damage or bullet holes. It jerked to a stop in the circular drive, skidding sideways and tilting, but staying upright. The back door flew open, and Travis jumped out. He reached back into the truck and pulled on something. A moment later, he yanked Devin out of the door, pulling him from under his arms. Devin was as limp as a rag, and his lips looked blue.
Brandon bounded out of the driver’s door. His face was contorted as if he were in pain, but I saw no wounds on him. Someone was crying inside the vehicle, and it wasn’t anything subdued or controlled. It was all out wailing.
“This is fucked up,” Brandon yelled.
Brandon didn’t know tact or restraint, and it was up to me to calm him down. With the way he was lathered up, this would be no small task. But if I didn’t, he could start a panic.
“Brandon, let’s find out how we can help Devin,” I said as I walked by him toward Travis and Devin. Kara shouldered her way past me and knelt beside Devin. She tilted her head and leaned down close to Devin’s face.
“It’s a bad asthma attack,” she said. “He’s breathing, but I don’t know how much air he’s getting.
“It’s that bitch’s fault,” Brandon said, pointing toward the truck.
“Brandon,” I shouted at him, “you need to calm down.”
He didn’t. “She led them into a trap is what,” Brandon shouted, color suffusing his face. “We were lucky to get out of there alive.”
Doc Wilson ran out the doors with his medical bag. “Where is he?”
“Over here,” Travis said, waving Doc Wilson to where Kara knelt over Devin. Doc Wilson was by Devin’s side in three steps. He reached into his medical bag and brought out an inhaler.
“Get his head tilted back,” he told Kara. She moved Devin’s head, and Doc put the inhaler into Devin’s mouth and pressed it three times. He pulled it back and looked down on Devin, his face laced with concern.
The seconds ticked by, and we waited. Brandon paced back and forth. After what seemed like hours, Devin’s eyes fluttered open. His complexion colored slightly.
“Let’s get him down to the infirmary,” Doc Wilson said. Travis helped Devin to his feet, and one of the other guards got under him, too. He was wrung out and listless as they carried him inside.
The back passenger door opened on the truck, and Russell rushed around to the door that Travis had pulled Devin from. He reached in, and I watched as he guided an obviously shaken Paige out of the truck. She nearly collapsed as her feet touched the ground, but Russell got under her just in time, as they leaned back into the truck.
Doc Wilson rushed over to them, “Is she hurt?”
“No, no,” Russell said. “She’s, she’s... she is just in shock,” Russell said.
“Let’s get her downstairs, too,” Doc Wilson said.
Russell put an arm around her, and with Doc Wilson’s help, they got Paige into the building.
“Where’s the other team?” Kara asked.
“They’re dead,” Brandon responded. “Well, except for her. Stupid bitch!”
“That’s not helping,” I shouted at Brandon.
“She got them killed,” he shouted back.
“What the hell happened?” I asked, feeling a flow of adrenaline course through my body.
“It was him,” Travis said, and I knew right away whom he was talking about. It was Russell’s Lord of the Dead. “Or someone like him. All the zombies had those control devices. There were live people with them. They must have ambushed the first truck. Whoever was inside the truck was dead, and someone was dead on the road behind it. We think one of them was Ben Westin. Paige and Wayne Carleson were outside the truck and under attack when we got there. The zombies got Wayne. We picked up Paige and got the hell out of there.”
That was a lovely summary of a total disaster. It was why we didn’t want anyone going to town on their own. I could feel some of Brandon’s anger infect me, but I worked to tamp it down. That’s when Brother Ed came out of the door. As if it couldn’t get any worse, now he was there to stir the stick in the beehive.
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
“Ed, we’ll handle this inside,” I said.
“Joel, you can’t just push this under the rug like you always do,” he said, wading up beside
me, his face pulled into one of his patented scowls.
Travis stepped up in front of Brother Ed, and something in Travis’ face made Brother Ed take a step back. “Give it a rest,” Travis said.
“I expected better from you, Travis Underhill,” Brother Ed said, trying to summon up all his righteous indignation.
“Not now!” Travis said pushing Brother Ed aside and heading inside. Ignoring Brother Ed, Kara and I followed him down to the infirmary. When we got there, we discovered that Doc had given Paige a sedative and put her to bed. Russell kept vigil in the bed next to her. He looked as if he had aged thirty years. Poor kid.
Travis stood nervously next to Devin’s bed. It seemed like yesterday that he had been on the same watch over his father’s bed.
After things settled down, I walked down the hall to check on Jason and Jo. He was looking better than he had in days, and Jo was happy to have someone spell her as she left when I entered. It was now evident just how much of a toll all those transfusions had taken on him. The color had returned to his cheek, but he still looked insubstantial, as if any force might bring him down again.
“What is going on?” He wrote on his dry erase board.
“Someone wanted to go into town to check to see if any of the church people had survived. We didn’t want them to go and they were ambushed. We lost three good people.”
A dark cloud of emotions passed over his face. There was nothing he could write that could make the situation any better, so we sat in uneasy silence for several seconds.
He broke the quiet by writing on his board again. “I see trouble coming. I had a new vision.”
“I did, too,” I told him.
He shook his head and wrote, “Don’t tell me. Let’s see if we see the same thing.” He wrote up his version of my dream and it was similar to mine. Scarily so. He mentioned that there was something different about these zombies, but, like me, he couldn’t see this difference.
“That’s troubling,” I said.
“Why do you think we can’t see what’s different about these zombies?” he wrote.
“I’m not sure why God is only giving the abridged version of this vision. Maybe we forgot to renew our subscription to Visions ‘R Us.”
He smiled and shook his head. It warmed me inside to see him smile. There was something contagious about his positive energy that couldn’t be warded off. Too bad, it wasn’t portable.
My next task was the unenviable one of telling some people their loved ones wouldn’t be returning. Most probably already knew, if Brother Ed had his way, but it was my job to make the official visit.
God, let me tell you something: leadership sucks.
Chapter 13
Trojan Horse
Russell slept fitfully throughout the night, nightmarish images of the previous day’s disaster haunting his dreams. He saw the blazing truck and the body lying on the road behind it. Flashes of the zombies tearing into Wayne and devouring him floated at the edges of his subconscious. Wayne’s screams acted as the soundtrack to the horror film playing in his mind. He saw Paige running toward him, but in this nightmare, he watched as she stumbled and fell. The zombies jumped on her instantly and tore into her with their teeth and hands, ripping her apart. She looked up and her eyes met his as she screamed for his help, but she was way past any help. They had her and would never let her go. That’s when he shot awake.
He felt disoriented and couldn’t figure out where he was, then it came back to him. He was in the infirmary because he had decided to spend the night with Paige. After her hysterics of the day before, Doc gave her a second sedative to help her sleep. Russell, on the other hand, was haunted throughout the night by what he had seen the day before.
A wet choking sound, like someone gargling and crying out at the same time, came from his right. In the dim light of the infirmary, he could only see the blocky dark outlines of beds. Paige’s was just across from his. Doc Wilson had placed Devin’s bed closest to the door, in case Devin had another breathing episode in the night and needed immediate attention.
Russell wondered if the sounds were just a hangover from the dream and closed his eyes again, starting to drift back to sleep when he heard something thump against the floor like a wet sack of carpet wrapped around a load of rocks.
Something moved toward him on the floor. In the dark, it looked like a dog as it crawled on all fours. All Russell’s mind could do was to ask, What kind of dog is that?
The dog slammed into one of the beds, reached out a paw, and drew itself up onto two unsteady feet. This two-legged form was no longer a dog; it was a human. It wobbled, trying to steady itself, but fell back against the bed.
Russell reached to the nightstand next to his bed and grabbed for his flashlight, but in the dark, he grabbed it from the wrong end. His thumb jammed against the side of the flashlight, but missed the button.
The form, walking in the dark, found its footing and started toward Russell, shambling along shakily. Russell’s fatigue addled brain finally figured out the flashlight, and he flipped it around as he sat up in bed. His thumb found the on button, and he pressed it.
The beam shot out like a javelin, cutting through the semi-darkness as it fell on the figure. Russell wondered if he might still be dreaming because this had to be a nightmare. Devin stumbled toward him, caught in the bright intensity of the flashlight beam – or something that used to be Devin. His face was a ruined mess. Something had gnawed away large portions of his flesh, exposing his teeth and the blackened cavity where his nose used to be. One of the eyes was nothing more than a bloody, dark socket. His throat looked completely torn out, and blood soaked its chest and upper body.
The thing that used to be Devin shot out a hand that was missing most of its fingers. They had been bitten off. Clots of blood dripped onto the floor. The form slammed into the foot of Russell’s bed and clamped its mangled hand down on his ankle. Russell screamed as if he had never screamed before, a low hoarse shriek that rose in pitch and intensity as it built up steam.
A chorus of screams woke me from a dead sleep and I found myself standing beside my bed before I was even aware I was awake. The dim morning light shone through a window, filling the room with a diffuse, cool glow as I shook my head, hoping that action would bring me to full consciousness. It didn’t seem to be working since I still felt as if my world were filled with murky water.
The door on the side of my room burst open, and two dark figures rushed at me. I turned to reach for my gun on my night table, but my sleepy reaction time wasn’t quick enough. The first figure slammed into me and wrapped its arms around my lower torso, knocking me off balance as I fell back onto the bed. The second figure jumped onto the bed, but stayed there, looking back at the door.
I started to reach down when the first figure spoke, “Joel, something is happening downstairs.” It was Naveen.
Madison spoke next, “I heard some terrible screams.” Madison and Naveen stayed with Kara in the room next to mine.
Another shadowy figure came into the room and spoke, “Joel, what’s going on?” It was Kara.
“I don’t know, but I’d better get downstairs to find out,” I said, trying to rub the sleep away from my face. “Can you stay with the girls?”
“Sure,” she said, and I was out the door ten seconds later, shoes on and gun in hand.
More yells filtered up the stairs as I took them two at a time on my way to the first floor. I came out into the hallway just as two people rushed by. One of them was Steve Hampton.
“What’s going on, Steve?” I asked.
“Someone thinks a zombie is loose in the building,” he said, his head swiveling back and forth, trying to look in all directions at once. “I think the noise came from the basement.” He pointed back down the hall, and then he retreated in the other direction, away from the danger which was so typical of him. I didn’t give it a second thought.
Someone screamed in the direction of the dining room, and I sprinted that way.
A small stampede of footsteps came at the room from different directions. Brandon and Aaron burst into the room from a hallway just across from me. Both of them had their assault rifles in hand and looked ready for a war. I wondered if they slept with their guns.
Brandon looked to me and asked, “What the hell is going on?”
“I have no idea,” I said, “but Steve Hampton said there’s a zombie loose in the building.”
“Bullshit,” Brandon said “we have this place locked down tighter than….”
A weak scream cut him off. “Help!” It came from an adjacent corridor.
The three of us sprinted in that direction. As soon as we entered the corridor, we saw a figure stumbling our way. It staggered along in deep shadows for a couple of steps with one hand against the wall for support and the other hand draped on its neck. Brandon and Aaron jerked their guns up into a firing position, but I shot out a hand to stay their action.
The figure slowly shuffled out of the shadows. It was Sally Jeffers. Blood covered her shoulder and dripped off her hands.
Brandon moved up beside me, his rifle aimed at her.
“You’ve got to help,” she said, “there’s a zombie loose downstairs. I think it killed Phil.”
“What are you talking about?” Brandon said.
“It was the new woman from town. Paige.”
