“Yeah, more blood but no bodies,” Palmer scoffed. “What the hell is going on around here? It's like some crappy PG-13 horror movie.”
A gunshot was heard from inside the house. Jetta jumped with surprise and looked at the house. She was very familiar with the sound of gunshots but rarely heard them away from the shooting range. All four men ran for the house. Styles suddenly emerged from the house and onto the porch with his gun still in his hand. He looked shaken and out of breath.
Palmer stopped before him and appeared alarmed. “What happened?”
“I--I don't know,” Styles stammered. “I had to break into the upstairs bedroom and Barb attacked me. We struggled on the floor. Next thing I know, the gun went off and she went down. I think she's dead.”
Daniels returned to the helicopter, grabbed one of the bags, and ran inside with Anderson and Milton in tow. Palmer watched them run into the house and groaned loudly with a look of disgust and irritation on his face.
“Damned yahoos are going to compromise my evidence,” Palmer cried out. He was about to run in after them when he noticed blood on Styles' pants leg and immediately became concerned. “Is that her blood or yours?”
Styles pulled up his pants leg to reveal a freely bleeding gash. “Oh, Jesus, that's mine! I must have cut it when she tackled me to the floor. I never even felt it.”
“Oh, that's it. That is it,” Palmer shouted then turned and pointed at Jetta. “You--take him to the hotel. Have Doc fix his leg. You're finished with these damned yahoos. I want them off my island!”
“I can go?” Jetta asked with enthusiasm.
“Go. Take Foo Wong Chung with you,” he shouted back then scoffed lowly, “Probably cut his damned leg kicking down the damned door.” Palmer headed for the open front door. “This day can't possibly get any worse!” As he headed inside, he was still heard ranting as his voice trailed off. “Damned yahoos!”
Jetta looked at Styles and the gun he still held. He noted her look, eyed his gun, and sheepishly holstered it. She helped Styles toward her helicopter and offered a sympathetic smile.
“I have an emergency kit under the seat. We'll patch you up and get you to Doc.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was a little before five o'clock. Desmond's car pulled up to Cross' beach house from Millers Road. Desmond got out of his car and looked at the front door now standing open. He uncertainly approached and slowly entered the living room. Desmond looked around with some concern. Several lamps and photos were lying shattered on the floor. The state of the room suggested a struggle had taken place. Even while taking on multiple, imaginary terrorists, Hunter never made a mess. At least not the sort of mess others could see. The amount of damage seemed impossible. It had only been twenty minutes since Jetta talked to Hunter.
“Hunter?”
There was no response. Desmond now appeared alarmed as he approached the kitchen and slowly entered. The French doors were broken with dried blood smeared on them. He appeared horrified and looked at the island counter. Chairs were toppled and there was dried blood on the counter and on the floor. A man's shoes stuck out on the floor from behind the island counter. Desmond gasped and hurried for the counter. The male zombie lie motionless, face down, with his head turned unnaturally to the side. Desmond stared at the zombie with a look of shock. He uncertainly looked behind the counter. The female zombie lie behind the counter with a butcher knife through her forehead. Someone appeared behind Desmond. Desmond turned with a startled cry. Hunter casually stood alongside the counter with his empty teacup.
“Did you want some tea while we wait for Jetta?”
Desmond stared at the casual look on Hunter's face. He uncertainly looked at the motionless zombies then back at Hunter. “What--what--what the fuck!”
“Coffee then?” Hunter asked with a curious tilt of his head.
Hunter never knew anyone could be so upset by the offer of tea. Desmond was wound too tight for someone so young. Maybe Ziggy needed to find Desmond some temporary company. It seemed like he needed it more. Hunter stepped over the dead female zombie and poured more hot water into his cup.
“I'm hungry for pizza. Maybe we could have some delivered, although the phone doesn't seem to be working,” he informed Desmond while casually dunking his teabag. “What time will Jetta be home?”
Hunter again stepped over the body and headed back through the broken doors for the deck. Desmond uncertainly followed Hunter onto the deck and suddenly stopped. He watched Hunter step over zombie Ted's body and stared at the man with his arm missing. Ted's head was methodically bashed in. Hunter casually relaxed in his chair. Zombie Teresa was across the deck on her hands and knees with her head wedged between the vertical rungs on the railing and struggled to free herself. Zombie Jeremy was seen at the bottom of the steps and pawed at them while attempting to pull himself up without use of his severely broken legs. He snarled at Desmond. Desmond stared at Jeremy's bloodstained teeth, missing flesh, and blood-soaked clothing. The female jogger lay awkwardly on the steps having been impaled through the eye by a broken railing onto which she’d obviously fallen.
“Oh, my God! They're--they're zombies!” Desmond suddenly cried out.
Hunter appeared surprised and looked at Desmond. “You mean they're actually real?”
Desmond stared at Hunter with his mouth hanging open and appeared unable to respond. He suddenly exploded, “Of course they're real!”
Hunter looked at all four zombies with little emotion. “Huh? How about that?” he remarked then casually sipped his tea.
Desmond stared at Hunter with possible shock at his calm demeanor. “What's wrong with you? We need to call Sheriff Palmer!”
“The phone isn't working,” Hunter reminded him then set his teacup down and finally stood. “Do you think there are more of these zombies?”
“I don't know, but we need to get to the hotel and find Jetta,” Desmond announced in a state nearing hysteria.
Hunter stared at Desmond a long moment. Something clicked in his mind, and his expression suddenly hardened. Jetta was in trouble? Did he let that happen? He certainly wasn't going to allow a bunch of zombies get their decaying hands on her. Those sons-of-bitches were going to regret even thinking about touching her! Anger and rage swept over him.
“Keep an eye on them,” he gruffly ordered then hurried inside the house.
Desmond remained horrified while staring at zombies Jeremy and Teresa, who tried in vain to reach him while snarling. Hunter returned from the house with one of the military swords from the living room wall. Desmond gasped and jumped out of his path. Hunter casually walked down the steps to zombie Jeremy, who reached for him, and lobed off his head with the sword. Desmond watched with surprise and appeared almost sickened. Zombie Teresa pulled free from the rung and staggered to her feet. She snarled and lunged for Desmond. Hunter suddenly appeared with the sword, swung for her neck, and decapitated her in front of Desmond. As her body collapsed to the deck, her head flew over the railing and landed in the sand below. Desmond uncertainly looked over the railing to see Teresa's face staring back at him. He appeared unable to move or speak.
“First rule of engagement,” Hunter firmly announced, startling Desmond back to reality. “Take no prisoners.”
Desmond just stared at Hunter and the coagulated blood covering the sword he held. The look in Hunter's eyes was serious; and it was frightening.
Chapter Fifteen
Jetta sat in the pilot's seat of the helicopter as the countryside whizzed past. Styles moaned softly from the co-pilot's seat. She looked at him then the blood soaking through the bandage wrapped around his calf. His head rested against the co-pilot's door, and he barely moved now. Her concern for his condition was evident by the speed she was traveling. She looked at him several times while attempting to concentrate on her flying. For a brief moment, she debated taking him straight to the mainland hospital. His injury didn't appear that severe, but if something happened while they were in the air, she
wouldn't be able to do anything about it, especially while flying over the ocean. She needed to get him to Doc. Doc could make the call and fly with her, if necessary.
“Are you still with me, Deputy?”
There was a chilling moment of silence. Jetta felt her hand twitch on the controls. He groaned softly and lifted his head. She glanced at him several times. Styles painfully straightened in his seat and looked at her.
“Yeah, I'm still here,” he replied then laughed weakly. “My first injury in the line of duty. I was sort of hoping it'd be something more heroic; not wrestling a suburban housewife to the ground.”
“I can't believe Barb attacked you like that,” Jetta remarked. “Do you think drugs were involved? The Zion's just don't seem the type.”
“It had to be drugs. The woman was possessed. She tried to bite my face off,” he announced then cringed in pain. “I guess that's when I injured my leg.” He sank into thought and suddenly appeared alarmed. “Oh, God, I hope I didn't accidentally shoot myself. I'll never hear the end of it from Sheriff Palmer.”
“No, that wasn't from a bullet,” Jetta informed him. “I've seen bullet wounds of almost every kind.”
“You have?”
“The guys in my father's team take pictures of their wounds and send them to me,” she announced then made a face. “I think they actually do it just to gross me out.”
Styles was oddly silent a moment then he suddenly appeared pale and trembled. “I killed her,” he gasped with realization. “Oh, my God! I killed Barb Zion!” He sobbed softly. “I've never even drew my weapon on anyone before. I don't even remember pulling the trigger.”
Jetta uncertainly looked at the sobbing deputy. Oddly enough, she had been in this same situation many times with Hunter since his near death experience. She had gotten good at soothing tortured souls.
“Sheriff Palmer said there was blood all over the sofa in the landscaping office,” Jetta announced gently.
Styles sniffed and stared at the fields flying past them. “There was blood all over the living room too,” he said softly. “And at Albright's house. We didn't find any bodies. All that blood and not a single body.”
“It's possible Barb went insane, Deputy,” Jetta said gently, although she couldn't imagine Barb being capable of killing a fly. “I don't think you had much of a choice when you pulled the trigger. If you'd hesitated, you may have been the one killed.”
He slowly nodded, wiped his eyes, and leaned his head against the seat. “How does your father do it?” he said softly. “All those missions in all those scary places.”
“I don't know, he doesn't talk about it,” she replied. Jetta indicated the town of Winter Harbor rapidly approaching. “There's the hotel. Think you can walk?”
Styles forced a smile and nodded.
†
The elevator doors opened within the empty hotel lobby. Jetta helped Styles out of the elevator. He avoided weight on his injured leg and leaned heavily on her shoulder. Stacy saw them from her position at the front desk, appeared alarmed, and hurried for them.
“What happened?”
“Styles was injured out at Zion's place,” Jetta informed her. “Can you call for Doc? He's in a lot of pain.”
“The phones stopped working half an hour ago,” she replied with concern.
Jetta considered her options. “I'll fly back to the hanger and run to Doc's office,” she said. “It's only a block away. I'll return here with him.”
Jetta handed Styles off to Stacy. She helped the deputy to a sofa as Jetta hurried back to the elevator. Styles painfully collapsed on the sofa and appeared pale and exhausted. Stacy looked at the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around his injured leg. She appeared mildly panic-stricken and uncertain of what to do.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Deputy?” Stacy asked while fidgeting.
“A shot of alcohol would be great, if you've got it,” he teased while grinning.
She offered a sympathetic smile and hurried from the lobby. Colleen had been standing near the front desk when Styles was brought out of the elevator. She uncertainly approached and stared at him where he lie, exhausted on the sofa.
“What did you do to your leg?” she asked.
Styles looked at her and considered his response. “We were checking out one of the homes,” he said with discomfort. “I was injured in the struggle.”
Colleen knelt before his leg and met his gaze. “It's okay,” she said gently and offered a compassionate smile. “I'm a nurse. Mind if I have a look at it?”
Styles shook his head while cringing in pain. Colleen gently unwrapped the blood-soaked bandages and stared at the gash on his leg. Stacy returned with a glass of whiskey and stopped when she saw Colleen examining the bleeding gash. Stacy gasped and dropped the glass of whiskey. It shattered on the floor. Colleen looked at Stacy with surprise then relaxed.
“Is there a first aid kit?”
Stacy slowly nodded. Her eyes suddenly rolled back, and she collapsed to the floor. Colleen and Styles both looked at the unconscious woman and appeared surprised.
†
It wasn't even five-thirty that evening and there were several vehicles already parked outside the tavern for Friday night happy hour. Country music blared from the jukebox just inside. Two men got out of their truck and walked across the parking lot toward the tavern door while laughing and joking with each other.
“Okay, stop with the fish stories, Glenn,” Herb said while laughing. “I was there, remember? I don't know who you're trying to impress.”
“At least I'm not bragging about other things like you do,” Glenn informed him with a cheap grin. “I've seen you in the locker room. You have nothing to brag about, and, I promise, no one's impressed.”
“Oh, you're real funny,” Herb sneered then laughed. “Do you think Lee will be here tonight?”
“As if you stand a chance with her,” Glenn remarked. “I tried to ask her out once, and she made me feel like an idiot for even talking to her.”
Zombie Pam appeared in the shadows alongside the building in her blood-covered nightgown. Both men noticed she was only wearing a nightgown and immediately became concerned for her.
“Pam? What happened?” Glenn suddenly asked. “Did Dennis do something to you?”
They quickly approached her alongside the building. She stepped out of the shadows to reveal her decaying flesh and severe injuries. Both men cried out with alarm. She lunged for Herb and tackled him to the ground. She tore into his neck, ripping his flesh with her teeth. As he screamed, Glenn took a step back with a look of horror on his face. He turned and nearly collided with zombie Stan, whose intestines trailed on the ground several feet behind him. Glenn jumped backward while crying out and narrowly avoided Stan's bloodstained hand. He turned to run and collided with zombie Dennis. Dennis grabbed Glenn and sank his teeth into the screaming man's neck as he tackled him to the ground. He thrashed beneath Dennis as he ripped flesh from his neck. The music blared from within the tavern, drowning the chilling screams as zombie Dennis feverishly fed on Glenn's flesh.
Just inside the tavern, a small gathering of locals were drinking and having a good time. Wes, the bartender, poured drinks to the patrons who mostly gathered around the bar. Shelly, the attractive waitress in a tank top and blue jeans, served a table near the back, where two men, Wayne and Edwin, sat. Wayne was an older man in his late fifties. Edwin was his twenty-something year-old nephew. Shelly hesitated by their table, appeared distracted, and listened while looking around. Both men noted her look, fell silent, and appeared curious.
“Something wrong?” Wayne asked.
“I thought I heard something,” Shelly replied then smiled and waved off her concerns. She placed a full pitcher of beer on the table and removed the empty one. “You boys are starting early tonight. What's the occasion?”
“We thought we'd get a jump start on the weekend by blowing off the rest of the day,” Edwin teased. “The boss was a little pissed, but he'll
get over it.”
Shelly grinned and eyed Wayne. “Are you over it?”
Wayne chuckled lowly. “He's buying, so I guess the boss is over it.”
Shelly again looked across the tavern, this time toward the door, and appeared bewildered. Both men again stared at her and appeared curious.
“Hearing things again?” Wayne asked.
“I don't know,” she replied. “I thought I heard something coming from outside. I'd better have a look.”
Wayne stood and stopped her while offering a charming smile. “I'll check it out. You never know what's out there this time of year.”
“Bear, raccoon,” Edwin teased. “Big foot.”
“Give me a break,” Wayne scoffed then headed for the door. “No one believes you actually saw big foot.”
Shelly remained tense while watching Wayne approach the door. He pushed open the door and looked outside. The parking lot appeared quiet. He turned his back to the open doorway and grinned at Shelly.
“Nothing out there,” he announced. He allowed the door to close behind him.
Shelly appeared relieved, smiled at Wayne as he approached, and affectionately patted his chest. “You're the last of the true gentlemen.”
“Yeah,” Wayne said with a sigh. “Too bad I'm too old for you.”
Shelly giggled and returned to the bar. Edwin glared at his uncle and rolled his eyes. Shelly approached Wes at the bar and returned the empty pitcher. Wes gave her a disapproving stare. She wasn't even aware that he was jealous. She looked around the tavern with enthusiasm.
“Good crowd for the early hour, don't you think?” she asked while grinning.
“Yeah, well, don't get too excited,” Wes remarked. “There's a home game at the high school tonight. We'll be dead until well after ten.”
“Maybe, but we're going to be busy the rest of the night,” she replied cheerfully. “If we're lucky, some of the away team visitors will find their way out here as well.”
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