PARCHED
I got Gabby off the mule and carried her inside, gently laying her down on the couch to rest until I could get the house locked up tight. I also set the animals loose outside and shooed them off after unloading all our gear, which was a regrettable but necessary action. Leaving them tied up would only result in attracting all manner of undead nasties to the place, and it would also keep the animals from being able to flee if cornered. Sure, I could bring them inside, but horse hooves on tile and concrete made a lot of noise; even on carpet they’d be loud as hell. By turning them loose, at least they’d have a chance to run if danger came around, and chances were good they’d wander back come morning. That is, so long as they weren’t being pursued by a horde of the living dead. Better them than us, I thought, but I still felt bad about it.
Heading back up the steps, I noticed a pull-down attic door that looked promising. As far as I could tell this place didn’t have a basement or bunker, but for a temporary safe house, an attic could do in a pinch. If deaders came in the place, they’d never be able to reach us in the attic. And if one of the more intelligent occult species came in the place, the attic door would create a choke point that would make it easier to stage a strong defense. So long as I could keep Gabby quiet tonight, we might be okay.
A quick look in the attic told me that whoever built this place had built it right, as the attic floor was covered in plywood and the rafters were well insulated. I guessed that they’d probably intended to make it into another room at some point, before the Great War had put a dent in their plans. Bummer for them, lucky for me. I hauled Gabby up there along with some blankets for a pallet, followed by our gear. I also left the HK up there and left the Colt near my gear (cleaning it later would give me something to pass the time), and set to barricading the front door.
The back door was already nailed shut and secure, so I put the front door back in place as best as I could and started moving stuff in front of it. First a bookcase, then a china cabinet, then a sofa with a love seat stacked on top. Fortunately, the front entry faced a wall, so once I started stacking stuff against the door and wedging it against that wall we were pretty secure.
Once that was done, I wiped up a few drops of blood that had fallen on the steps when I was carrying Gabby to the attic, spraying it down with some bleach-based cleaner I found in the kitchen. Then I hauled the dad’s corpse to the stairs, and also brought grandpa out and laid them both over where I’d cleaned up the spill, hoping that the desiccated and rotting corpses would mask the scent of fresh blood. After scavenging the house for foodstuffs, I stuffed another body in an old sheet and dragged it all over the house, and then left it on the couch to cover the bloodstains Gabby had left there, again in hopes of covering our scent in case something did get past my makeshift barricade.
Scent really wasn’t an issue with zombies and ghouls; most of them operated on sound, so stealth and sound discipline were your best camouflage. However, a vamp could smell fresh blood hours after a wounded victim had passed; I’d actually witnessed them tasting the air like a lizard, tracking wounded prey for miles. They were nasty, apex predators with an ability to hone in on a blood trail like nothing I’d ever seen among the undead. That was what had me worried most, that if there was a nos-type hunting these parts we’d get found on account of Gabby’s gunshot wound. But if I was really lucky tonight, that mule would get wind of a deader and run off to the next county, taking the scent of Gabby’s blood with it. If I was lucky.
And then of course there were the ’thropes to contend with, and I honestly had no idea how I’d fare if one of them showed up. All I had to go on were rumors and hearsay, since we’d never had even a single wolf down in these parts, not in all the eight years or so since the bombs fell and the world went mad. I’d heard they were fast, incredibly strong, and that they healed almost as quickly as you could hurt them. But if what I knew about the effects of silver on the undead held true for ’thropes, then I could at least take comfort in having several full mags of silver rounds for the Glocks and my HK handy.
As the sun was going down, I was ruminating on all this and heading back up to the attic to check on Gabby, when I heard something clatter in the house below me. Huh. I set the food I’d found down on the carpeted surface of the stairs, all of which consisted of some stale crackers and a jar of canned veggies that may or may not have been of questionable provenance. Listening for further sounds of movement, I drew my battle-axe in one hand and my Bowie knife in the other. The Bowie knife was ten inches of high carbon steel that I kept honed sharper than Stephen Hawking on Ritalin, and the axe was a modernized version of a Vietnam-era battlehawk, a military tomahawk that we’d used for breaching doors and busting heads back in the ’Stan.
Despite the neat hardware, if I got bum-rushed by a vamp I’d be truly and righteously screwed. Deaders were up and active by now, so whatever might be in here would need to be taken out quietly; that’d be a tall order if a vamp got in. But as much as I’d hate having to go hand-to-hand with a vamp, firing a gun at night in the Outlands was like ringing a zombie dinner bell; every deader in the area would be on you before you could say “uninvited.” I hoped to hell that noise was just a can falling over.
With a death grip on the tomahawk and Bowie knife, I crept down the stairs and moved in the direction I’d heard the noise. It’d sounded like it came from the kitchen, so I ninja-ed over to that area of the house, pausing around the corner to listen for anything moving. Not hearing a peep, I turned the corner with my blade forward and battle-axe high, only to see an old bulging can of dog food on the floor in front of the pantry. Letting out a sigh of relief, I walked forward to see if there might be any canned food I’d missed, and then realized that I had shut that door just minutes before. Senses on high alert, I pulled back the pantry door, took one peek, and then bolted toward the stairs just as fast as my moccasin-covered feet could carry me.
What I’d seen as I looked around the pantry door had chilled me to the bone; it was an open trap door, a miniature deathly maw that indicated someone or something else was in here with us. As I hauled ass to the attic, I mentally kicked myself for not being more thorough in my search of the house earlier. Just as I rounded the corner to the stairs, I heard the attic door close with a loud BANG! and knew I was going to be too late. I took the stairs two at a time and leapt off the top step to reach the pull cord for the attic door, yanking the ladder down and scrambling up it like a bat out of hell.
I cleared the top rung in a leap and dive rolled toward where I’d left Gabby. As I came up out of my roll, I saw an emaciated figure in a threadbare nightgown leaning over the kid’s still form, sniffing at the large amount of blood that’d soaked through Gabby’s dressing. The once-human thing before me was a ghastly caricature of its former existence. Its long brown hair was tangled and clumped with dirt, dried blood, and twigs; its face was sallow and pale, with sunken cheeks and horrid, leathery skin; and its bare feet and hands ended in claws that were as hard and poisonous as old rusted tenpenny nails.
As the details registered, one word echoed in my mind. Revenant.
I acted on instinct, launching my tomahawk at it with all the force I could muster as I came out of the roll. Almost in slow motion, I watched the ’hawk fly end over end though the air toward the creature’s head, but at the last instant it snapped out a hand and swatted the tomahawk from the air with preternatural reflexes. I watched my battle-axe clatter away into the darkness as the creature snapped its head around to look at me. The rev’s cold yellow eyes blinked at me with indifference, and then it turned back to sniff at Gabby’s wound again.
Well, this is going to suck. Going hand to hand with a rev was almost as scary as going toe-to-toe with a vamp. The problem with fighting a revenant was that they were highly unpredictable and hellaciously fast. They possessed a feral intelligence and were capable of low-level reasoning, so far as it served to achieve their drive to feed. Also, they were typically just as strong as a full-
grown man, no matter their age or size. Yeah, this was really going to suck, I thought as I switched the Bowie knife to my right hand and launched myself at it.
No sooner did I get within arm’s than I felt myself flying across the attic, the result of an incredibly powerful backhanded blow from the rev. I landed in a heap, and in the blink of an eye the thing was on top of me, straddling me in an effort to pin me down so it could finish me off and feed. I bucked my hips to get it off me, driving it forward so that its claws raked the plywood floor above my head. Once I had it off balance, I drove my Bowie knife into the thing’s back, severing its spinal column just below its shoulder blades. The thing cut loose with an unearthly howl and began clawing at its back, trying to remove the blade that I’d just sunk up to the hilt in its spine. I left it in, worried that if I removed the blade it’d heal and I’d lose my momentary advantage. Shoving it off completely with both hands, I rolled in the direction of my pack and snatched my golok machete from the sheath I kept strapped to my pack.
As I turned to face the revenant, it was still clawing furiously at its back, howling and screeching loud enough to literally wake the dead, who, I was sure, would be clamoring around the silo house in minutes. Desperately wanting to shut it up, I took two long strides forward and hacked the girl’s head clean off with one lightning-fast stroke of the heavy blade. The only sound that pierced the silence after was the thump of the thing’s head hitting the plywood floor, followed by it rolling out the attic doorway and thumping down the stairs. Thump...thump-thump-thump...thunk!
Breathing heavily, I yanked my knife out of the body and threw it downstairs to keep company with the others. As I stood there panting with my hands on my knees, I heard a weak voice speak up from behind me. “Took you long enough.” I turned to see Gabby squinting at me from the other side of the room, her face barely illuminated by the weak light from my crank lamp.
I smiled and replied, “I had it under control.”
“If you say so.” She was pale, and it looked like the blood loss was taking its toll.
“Let me check that wound,” I replied. I pulled the blanket down and I lifted her shirt. The bandage was completely caked in blood, but it was mostly dark and clotting. I decided to leave it in place, worried that I’d cause it to start bleeding again if I messed with it. I got her to take another dose of antibiotics, and helped her get as comfortable as possible so she could rest.
After she fell asleep again I stayed up for a good long while, listening to the moaning of the deaders who were now milling around the outside of the silo house and banging on the walls. If the barricade fails to hold, it’s going to be a helluva morning tomorrow, I reflected silently. I listened a few minutes longer, and once I was satisfied that we were safe I pulled the cord up through the attic door and passed out, as dead to the world as the bodies in the house below.
- - -
[3]
PRAYER
“Hello, the house!” I awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of a woman’s voice outside, and to daylight shining in from soffit vents lining the attic. Rousing myself from my slumber, I remembered Gabby and what I was supposed to be doing, and immediately felt tremendously guilty for allowing myself the luxury of sleep. I rose quickly and checked on her, noting that her breathing was becoming more labored and shallow. I was definitely concerned that if I didn’t get her some help soon, she might not make it. I needed to go look for the horse and mule, but right now my first order of business was to figure out who the hell was yelling outside.
Kitting up in record time, I headed downstairs, deftly avoiding the corpses I’d dumped the night before. The barricade seemed to be intact, although it had definitely been jostled a bit by the deaders the night previous. I snuck over to a window and peeked between two boards to see who was making all that noise outside. What I saw was rather shocking: a Latina woman, roughly forty-ish, dressed in modern US Army fatigues and combat boots. She was attractive in a Maria Conchita Alonzo sort of way, and I wondered what the hell she was doing wandering the Outlands by herself. From the way she carried the AR-15 she had in her hands, it looked like she could take care of herself. I immediately suspected a trap.
She called out again. “Hello, the house! I know you’re in there, because I just came by here yesterday, and that barricade wasn’t in place then. I’m alone, and nonhostile. Please show yourself.”
I yelled back from one of the windows. “Lady, you’re either crazy, stupid, or both. Or, you’re a punter who thinks I’m stupid. Now, get the hell out of here before I decide you’re worth killing. I gotta be out of here pronto, and if you’re standing out there armed when I come out the front door, I assure you, all bets are off.”
She nodded in my general direction and gestured with her rifle at the ground. “Alright, but hear me out. Based on the tracks I see out here, there were two of you. You came in mounted, and you carried someone else in the house once you got here. That tells me that your companion is either injured or sick.”
Surprised by her observation skills, nevertheless I remained silent. Even in the post-War era, it wasn’t common for people to have tracking skills of that caliber. She’d had to either have been watching us as we came in, or she was a better tracker than most hunters I knew. And that could mean she was more dangerous than she appeared.
“Look, I’m going to set my weapon down over here.” She held her rifle out at arm’s length, and set it down on the first step of the front porch. “Now, I’m going to back off a ways and wait for you to come out. If you don’t attack me, I’ll provide aid for your friend.” She paused, as if considering whether she was making the right choice, but something in her expression told me that it really wasn’t a choice at all for her. “I’m a doctor and I just want to help, that’s all.”
I was in a bind with Gabby, and to be honest I had no choice in the matter, either. Qualified medical personnel were about as rare in the post-War world as unicorns. And yes, I had secretly wondered if the government had some of those in a lab somewhere as well. But regardless of my stance on or belief in unicorns, or my wariness about accepting unsolicited offers of assistance in the Outlands, Gabby needed help and I wasn’t about to look a gift unicorn in the mouth.
I hollered out the window. “Alright, I’m going to pull down the barricade. But here’s the situation—I have a little girl in here with a gunshot wound to the abdomen, and she’s in bad shape. I’ll let you in to see to her, but I’m going to keep my weapon trained on you at all times. Please don’t try anything, because I ran out of patience for people in general about three days ago.”
She nodded, apparently expecting that sort of reply. “I’ll need to bring in my bag—it has my medical supplies.”
“Go on and get it, I’ll wait.” I set about moving the furniture out of the way, and once the door was clear I ushered the lady into the house, keeping the muzzle of my rifle pointed at the floor but in her general direction the entire time. “She’s up in the attic—we had to hole up in there last night.” I pointed the way to the stairs and motioned for her to proceed.
When we got to the stairs, she whistled. “Looks like you had a busy night.”
“Only two were moving when we got here. Deader and a revenant.”
She looked back over her shoulder at me. “A deader—you mean the slow ones, right?”
Now that was interesting. Either she was new to these parts, or she didn’t mingle with the locals. “Yeah, and revenants are the fast ones.”
“Walkers and wights. Got it.” She continued on up the stairs and headed up the ladder into the attic. I shouldered my rifle and followed her up. Once we entered the attic, she pulled out a chemlight and cracked it. Chemical radiance from the light stick flooded the room with a soft yellow-green glow. She looked over at the figure lying on the pallet across from us, and shook her head gently. “Aw, shit. Gabby, I told you to be careful.”
I nearly took a step back, which would have been a mistake considering that the attic opening was
just behind me. “Wait a minute—you know her?”
The woman looked back at me with scorn, and more than a small touch of regret in her eyes. “Of course I know her—who do you think sent her to find you?”
Now I was really confused. “What do you mean, ‘sent her to find me’? I came across her not more than a few days ago running around the Outlands alone, stranded by a herd of deadheads on top of a trailer home.” Then, things started clicking and I realized that Gabby had been holding out on me. “Son of a bitch—you're the Spider.”
She nodded as she kneeled down next to Gabby. “The one and only.” She began a very expert and through rapid trauma assessment, and motioned me over. “You can either stand there pointing that rifle at me, or you can help me move her somewhere that I can treat her, and maybe even help save her life. I suggest that if you want her to live, you get your ass in gear, because she won’t last much longer in this condition.”
- - -
I shook off my confusion and surprise and did as the lady said, hauling Gabby down the ladder over my shoulder as gently as I could. My heart nearly broke as I heard her moan softly when I shouldered her body.
La Araña yelled angrily at me as I jostled Gabby getting her through the attic opening. “Careful, pendejo!”
“Lady, I’m not one to point fingers, because the world is messed up enough as it is without people being assholes to each other—but I’d like to point out that she wouldn’t be in this state if you hadn’t sent her out alone.”
She hissed at me—I mean literally hissed—and gave me one hell of an evil look to boot. “Pah! She was with you—you should have been looking out for her.” Then she cussed at me some more in Spanish, words that even I wouldn’t repeat in polite company. So much for female propriety. “Lay her down over here.” She pointed to the other sofa, which was relatively unmarred by filth and gore.
THEM (Season 1): Episode 2 Page 2
