by Lee Deadkeys
Sam looked away. “I’m sorry.”
Angel laid her head on Jess’s shoulder. They drove for ten minutes that way. No one said a word.
The woman had finally stopped crying and all that could be heard was the purring of the van’s engine. Sam dozed. Most of his exhausted mind lay quiet in a primal, dreamless void, while a fragment stood awake and listening. When they turned down the street where Mason’s house was located, the listening part nudged the larger awake.
Sam’s eyes flapped open, something was wrong. He could feel the tension from the others hanging in the darkness of the van. They sat ridged, leaning forward and looking out the windshield.
Sam sat forward now too, dragging a hand across his eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His voice was low, raspy, like it was drug over a sandpaper tongue. God, I’m parched, he thought, alarmed at how funny that seemed; even more alarmed that he wanted to laugh out loud.
He was tempted to slap himself, but realized that under the circumstances, acting like a crazy person might be detrimental to his health. He settled for grinding a knuckle into his sternum instead. His eyes blurred with tears but he felt better. Better until he realized no one had answered him. “Uh, what’s—” he started.
“Shut up,” Mason whispered. “There are people in the street.”
Sam leaned forward into the space between the front seats and peered out the windshield. There were people, or at least vague outlines of people, about eight of them.
“Are they sick people?” Angel asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “It’s too dark to tell if they have any of that green smoky shit around them.”
“Why are they just standing there if they’re not infected?” Frank asked, his voice edgy.
“Flick the high beams on them,” Sam said and instantly regretted it. He just wanted to get inside and drink a couple gallons of water and then sleep. “On second thought, which one is your house, man? Maybe we can just slip in before they notice us.” His heart sank when he saw that Mason was shaking his head, no.
“No good. It’s the third one on the left, the one with two people standing at the edge of my lawn.”
Of course it is, Sam thought. The house was a modest Ranch style with a neatly trimmed yard. The faint glow of the porch light almost reached the people loitering there, but not quite.
Jess sat back, fidgeting with something. “I still have a full mag… well, minus one,” she said, her hushed voice trailing off at the end.
Sam turned his head and saw a gun-shaped silhouette against the whiteness of her hands. “Good for you, Lady. By the way, there’s a .357 magnum in the glove box.”
Frank quickly popped open the box, fishing around noisily and pulled out a large stainless steel revolver. Frank tried to whistle but all that came out through his dry lips was a sad sounding sigh.
Sam studied the people near Mason’s house. “They have to be sick. We’ve been sittin’ here for three minutes. Normal folks would have come over or went inside. Look at them, just standing there, waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” Angel asked.
“People. Us. Just waiting for someone to come by so they can attack,” Jess said from the back. “We have to get to that house. I say we run their asses down before they know what hit ‘em.”
“Jesus, Jess. What if they are just people like us trying to figure out what to do?” Frank tried to turn so he could look at his daughter but the angle was wrong. “You really want to run these people down in cold blood? What if you’re wrong?”
“Look, Dad, we need to look out for ourselves now and to Hell with everyone else.”
“I think she’s right,” Sam said. “At least the part about looking out for ourselves. I say, we make for the house. If they come at us, then we’ll know they’re sick.”
“Just hold on a minute,” Mason said. “I don’t want to start running people down in the street. There has to be another way….”
A powerful light pierced the darkness, blasting the people in the street and yard in dizzying whiteness. Sam jumped at the suddenness of it, and then just as quickly and quietly as it had come, it was gone.
A moment later it was back, on then off, rapidly. The people looked up toward the light but didn’t move.
“Come on you assholes, come get some!” A man’s voice yelled from the roof to the right of them. The people in the street ran for the other house, grunting and screaming as soon as the man began to yell.
Mason hunched so he could see out the window. “I don’t believe it, it’s Mr. Broaden.”
Sam hit Mason on the shoulder, “Go man! Now’s our chance!”
Mason threw the van into gear and raced toward the house, cutting across two lawns. He swerved around a tree, gunning the engine as he approached the thick hedge-wall separating his yard from his neighbor. The van hit the three-foot hedge like it was a brick wall and stopped; its passengers did not.
Sam was thrown between the seats and into the dash, his body twisting so that he landed on his back, facing the rear of the van, his head smacking painfully against the glass.
Steam rose from the van’s wrecked radiator. Sam quickly assessed the situation as he rubbed a hand over the back of his head. Pulling himself from between the front seats, he asked if everyone was okay. Judging by the curses he heard, he decided that none of the injuries were serious.
“We gotta make a run for it,” he yelled, looking through Frank’s window to make sure the infected were still occupied. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that two of them had turned their attention toward them. Frank sat up from his position and did the same. He looked to Sam wide-eyed and nodded.
They were out of the van and hopping the hedge as one, all but Angel, who lay sprawled on the grass, foot caught in the hedge.
“Angel!” Jess screamed, turning back. Sam waved her on, “I got her!” He yelled, scooping Angel up as he made his way across the lawn.
“Hurry, they’re coming!” Frank yelled.
Sam resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He felt sluggish and awkward, the front door retreating down a dark tunnel. He saw Mason, pulling some keys from his pocket as he sprinted ahead of the rest of them. The old man passed on his right and was almost to the door himself.
He heard them, right behind him. Heard them over the crazy mantra, Never going to make it! Never going to make it! throbbing through his head. He could hear their feet pounding, their grunting and uh-guging right on his heels.
This time he did look. A quick glance over his shoulder and that was it. He wasn’t sure if he saw the things or not, but it didn’t really matter because his mind filled with the image of them tearing at him, biting and then puking that green stuff into his face and turning him into one of them.
He stumbled and almost dropped the woman in his arms. She wasn’t heavy at all but carrying her threw him off-balance and he was tempted, God help him, to toss her aside and just beat it to the door. It seemed simple suddenly, I live, or we both die. He let his grip on her loosen and slip.
That’s right, Sarge, it’s all about survival now, Chad’s voice rang through his head. He glanced down at the woman, her eyes big and terrified… and worse, full of faith in him to save her life. Just like the rookie, he thought, and then, Fuck it! He firmed up his grip on her and bounded for the door.
Blood thumped in his ears, deafening all else but his ragged breathing. Then there was another sound, loud and yet muffled, like a huge whip being cracked in dense fog. It sounded again, louder this time, the adrenaline coursing through his body dampening and distorting the sound of gunfire.
Mason had the door open and now rushed to Sam. He roughly grabbed the woman from his arms and ran for the door. Sam could have kissed him. He ran with renewed ease, hitting the door a second after Mason. Frank stood to the side, big gun aimed at where they’d come, shouting for Jess to move it.
There was another crack of gunfire and this time Sam recognized it as his .357 magnum. Inside and safe,
he wanted to slam the door and then nail it shut. He moved from foot to foot, waving them in, wondering what was taking so long.
He was about to move to the door when Jess came hurtling in, followed by her father. She hit him square in the chest, nearly costing him his footing. Frank jumped to the left of them as Mason slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt.
Sam held Jess in an awkward embrace until she pushed away and turned to face the door. They all looked at the door, a weird little quintet waiting for the UPS guy to ring the bell.
There was a thud from the other side, followed by another and another. Fists pounding, nails clawing, creepy things grunting. Angel covered her ears.
The door looked solid, Sam figured it would hold up to some pounding, no problem. If pounding is all they do. The door thudded against its frame, immediately followed by a faint splintering sound.
“They’re coming through!” someone yelled. One or two more hits like that and the door would become a welcome mat. Still, no one moved. They just stood there, watching. All except Angel, who lay on the floor, back against a couch as if she’d been tossed there and didn’t have the strength to commit to one or the other.
Another big thud, the sound of wood snapping as a fracture appeared in the frame near the deadbolt. This time they all took a step back. One more ought to do it, Sam thought and realized he didn’t really care anymore. He looked at his gun in Frank’s hand, leveled at the door and wondered if he could grab it and shoot himself in the head before Frank could react and jerk it away.
Sam pondered this thought, vaguely aware of yelling from outside. Not the grunting, sometimes slurping sound, depending on how much they’d managed to mangle their faces, but an actual yelling of words. The blows on the other side of the door stopped and Sam let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Without a word, they all moved to the large window. There was a man out there, on the other side of the street, standing in a yard. The street lights were on, illuminating the road and most of the two lawns. The man doing the yelling was fully lit by security lights attached to his roof and Sam wondered crazily if that was HOA approved.
The man held what Sam’s mother would have called a spaghetti pot in one hand and a big ladle in the other. He appeared to be an uninfected man and a moment later Sam recognized him as the man from the roof.
The neighbor banged the pot, doing a strange little jump each time metal clanged against metal. A few of the things began moving away from the door. Some seemed hesitant to leave the yard completely, turning back and looking at the house. Sam inwardly wished for them to move on, go after the man over there. Finally, the last one drifted away, drawn with the others toward easier pickings.
When the first one had reached the middle of the street, the man from the roof started backing toward his wide-open front door. He banged the pot and yelled in a twisted Pied-Piper mock and was nearly to the front door when Mason yelled, “Mr. Broaden, look out!” He was standing right beside Sam, practically yelled right in his ear and the sound made his heart do a little hiccup.
“Oh, God, no! Behind you!” Jess yelled a split second later. Sam saw it now, too. There were two people moving toward Mr. Broaden from between the houses, two people that didn’t look friendly and looked even less sane. Whether he couldn’t hear them over the banging or the distance, Sam didn’t know.
He watched as one of the infected lunged for Mr. Broaden and grabbed him around the neck. Broaden screamed, dropping the pot and fighting like a crazed inmate. The others were almost to him and they moved in with renewed enthusiasm.
Broaden went to his knees, drug down with the weight of them. An instant later he was up, running for the side of his house, desperately trying to shake their grip. It was dark and could have been a trick of the eye, but Sam was sure he’d seen a dark smudge appear over Mr. Broaden’s face before he managed to disappear around the corner, the horde following his screams.
Mason rushed to the door and unlocked it. Frank moved from the window and placed a hand against the door. “You can’t do anything for him, son. Please, don’t open that door.”
Mason pushed his hand away and pulled on the knob, nothing happened. He cursed, “It’s jammed,” and pulled again. The top of the door cracked open an inch but once he let go of the knob it slammed shut, reseating itself.
Jess grabbed his shoulder saying, “Mason, don’t. There’s nothing you can do for him.” Sam didn’t see the gun in her hand anymore and idly wondered where she’d stowed it. Mason looked from her to Frank and then to Sam.
“You feel the same?” He challenged.
“Afraid so, man. You force open that door, we may never get it closed again.” Sam ran a hand over the crack in the frame and noticed an identical fissure near the middle hinge. “I’m sorry about your neighbor, but I think he’s done for.”
Mason took a step away from them, looking disgusted. “He’s still screaming out there! We’re going to let that happen, after he saved us twice?” Mason didn’t so much say as spit the words. Sam looked away, Frank and Jess too.
“I see,” Mason said, defeated. He stomped across the living room, toward a hallway. He stopped, turned his head slightly. “You three heroes find a way to barricade that door. You get to listen to him scream because I’m sure as hell not.” He shook his head once and disappeared down the dark hall.
“Mason, wait,” Angel said, startling Sam, he’d all but forgotten she was even here. She got up shakily, called after Mason one more time and crumpled to the floor. Sam watched as Jess and Frank went to her.
He could see a lot more blood now on her pants and a stain on the floor. He looked at his arms and saw dried blood on his forearm from when he’d carried her across the yard. Jess looked at her father, worried. “She’s unconscious.”
Perfect, Sam thought and went to the kitchen for some water.
Day 6,Morning
Mason’s House
Mason walked through the yard looking for Mr. Broaden. Everything was cast in a sickly dead green. He searched the bushes and grass, careful not to crush his neighbor underfoot.
He moved closer to the house and something glinted faintly it the grass. He rushed to the area and picked the small man up in his hand. Oh no… no, Mr. Broaden! They’ve turned you to plastic!
In his living room he wept as the others stood around, peering into his hand. Jess snatched Mr. Broaden away, holding him close to her face for inspection. Poor fool, she said. Same thing happened to Angel. Look at this. She produced a small plastic angel, complete with halo and wings. The figure’s arms were outstretched. The fingers looked chewed by a dog.
Jess laid the tiny neighbor on the outstretched arms of the angel. Shouldn’t let this go to waste, she said. Right, Mason? She tossed the tiny figures into the air. The angel flapped its wings and buzzed through the window and out into the night. Mason? All better now, Mason? Mason?
“Mason, wake up.”
He woke with a start, disoriented. He scanned the room, halfheartedly looking for Mr. Broaden, hoping to see him cradled away in the arms of his Valkyrie, wishing for a moment longer with the lie.
“Bad dream?” Jess asked as she rubbed a spot on his back.
He sat up fully and rubbed his eyes. They felt gummy and dry at the same time. “I’m going to kill that cat.”
Jess cocked her head at him. “What cat?”
“The cat that took a crap in my mouth while I was asleep.”
She chuckled, humorlessly. “Sorry I had to wake you. Angel is getting worse; she’s still bleeding.” She looked down at her hands. “Sorry about Mr. Broaden, too. I had a, a nightmare about him—we should have done something, more….” She trailed off and Mason thought she might cry.
He felt a stab of guilt, how hard had he really tried to save his neighbor? Had there been a moment of relief when they stopped him from rushing out to help a doomed man? There might have been. He leaned forward and pulled her to him. She went willingly; a few quiet tear
s shed against his shoulder for Mr. Broaden, a man she hardly knew.
“Has anyone slept? Anyone besides me?” He asked after a few minutes.
He felt her nod against his chest. “I think we all have, a little. Angel has been in and out since last night. She seems a little stronger this morning but the bleeding hasn’t stopped. I really don’t know how long she can go on like this.”
She sat up and looked at him. “There’s something else, too. You can’t tell my dad, he would only worry, but I thought I should tell someone.” She tugged at the tape holding her bandage together and unwound it. Mason saw the problem before she had even finished removing the bandage.
He took her arm gently and studied the angry red inflammation around the wounds. The long, ragged tears were filled with a pussy yellow and his stomach rolled.
She must have seen the expression on his face because she pulled her arm from him and began to rewrap it. “Yeah, I know. Looks bad, doesn’t it? And I’m almost out of the antibiotic cream we took from the hospital. You don’t happen to have any antibiotics here, do you?”
Mason thought about it but knew he didn’t. “We have to tell the others.” She began to shake her head and he gently took her by her good arm. “We have to, Jess. This changes things.” She lowered her head, uttered a single choked sob and placed a hand over her face. Since he’d known her, she’d hated for anyone to see her cry, usually opting to leave the room angrily or at least turn away.
Somehow this simple gesture of placing a hand over her eyes struck him painfully. It was a helpless, hopeless, openly vulnerable act, one that made him want to tear something’s head off.
He went to her instead and held her again, pushing his rage at their situation down to a safe place where it could rest, grow strong and wait for his summons.
After a few minutes, Jess’s crying softened and then ceased. Mason was beginning to wonder if she’d dozed off when she spoke.
