Harvest of Ruin (Book 2): Dead of Winter

by Mongelli, Arthur

  Tim hesitantly pulled on the door, getting a waft of death in his nostrils as it swung outwards towards him. He took a moment to steady himself, raising his gun at the ready and moved into the shop. His senses were heightened. Every sound seemed amplified in his ears as he moved to the far side of the shelf and swung his pistol arm to bear on an empty aisle. He breathed a sigh of relief before the tension set back in. He moved purposefully around the magazine rack towards the register area. His heartbeat thudded heavily in his ears. He was so tense with anticipation that he briefly considered returning to the Humvee and moving on down the road rather than risking it. He steadied himself with a long breath that he blew out through pursed lips and swung around the back of the counter, gun at the ready.

  There was nothing there, just a stool and an orthopedic mat for the clerk to stand on during the long hours of the day. Relief swept over him and he let his shoulders down as he moved to the register and mashed the greasy, hand-worn diesel button so Jen could start pumping. He looked around the register area quickly before spotting a handful of maps on the rear wall. He grabbed a thick dog-eared atlas from under the counter instead. Apparently, not everyone had switched to GPS, and he was thankful for that. He wanted to grab the snacks and some magazines for Laura and Luna so he bent down to look for bags to carry the stuff in.

  The Humvee’s horn blaring through the concrete structure jolted him upright, clipping the top of his head painfully on the counter top. The crash of his head on the counter shook the register loudly, sending metallic echoes throughout the tiny shop. Looking out through the filthy windows, he could see Laura leaning over the wheel hitting the horn and Jen running back to it.

  Before he had a chance to make sense of what was happening, the back door of the little shop blew open and one of the fast undead burst through it, followed by three of the slow ones. Tim’s eyes went wide with fear as he tried to pull his gun out only to realize he had set it on the floor when searching for a bag.

  *

  A few minutes after directing the men and women at the southern barricade, Tar’s Silverado swung out onto the northbound lane of Route 125 headed back towards the heart of Donner. Their little town, isolated high in the Rockies had thus far weathered the storm of undead that had destroyed everything they knew of the outside world. Much of their knowledge of the world was summed up in two short statements from a young man named Bobcat Heller. Bobcat had gone AWOL from the Air-Force about a week prior and came into town to be with his family. He had informed them that ‘We’ nuked Los Angeles and that Denver was burning unchecked.

  The news was all Tar had needed to hear before he paid heed to Linda’s warnings and started orchestrating the defenses of the town. Donner had lost about fifty people at that point, from the virus and ensuing chaos. Once the barricades took form and the defense of the mountain community was organized, the town of six hundred swelled with people flooding in from the outlying farms and homesteads seeking shelter. Even with the addition of a few hundred from the outlying areas, their numbers were still dwindling as the undead continued their assaults from both outside the walls as well as inside. The cause of the new cases was still uncertain, and looked as if it would remain so, as Linda, the town’s only doctor, was vastly overworked.

  Linda had founded Heartland Healthcare, a hospital-clinic on the east side of town. In the early days, she had poured as much time and energy as possible into finding some answers regarding the infections causes and mechanisms. She had lost contact with her colleagues in Denver and Atlanta days before and her time was in short supply. Her duties as a physician consumed the majority of her days.

  Sour memories of the gunfight that sent Sheriff Daltry into Linda’s care came back to Tar as he took the turn on to Route 10 at speed, tires squealing. He had never killed a man before that day. The thoughts of it didn’t haunt him, he knew it had been a necessity, but his Christian upbringing whispered of his sin to him. Moreso, what pressed on him was the disappointment his wife must feel if she were in the hereafter watching over him. He straightened the wheel out and hit the gas pedal, sending the bitter thoughts from his head as the Silverado hurtled towards the east barricade. He loaded his pistol with one hand as he steered the procession across the Platte River, moving clear of the village’s structures and out into the high prairie that surrounded Donner. Tar’s hand shot under his passenger’s seat, as a thought came to him. He fumbled around for a moment before his hand settled on and retrieved his night vision goggles. He had bought them the previous fall at the Walmart in Steamboat Springs, hoping they would help him get the raccoon that was getting in his trash cans at night. They didn’t work very well and he would have had his wife return them if she were still alive, but that wasn’t something that he could be bothered with himself. Now though, in the starless winter night, he figured they might give him an edge in the coming fight.

  As he crested the final rise before the barricade, Tar steered his truck off the road, just past the Stelman’s farm shed. The farm shed was their last line of defense at this end of town. A sniper was stationed here to cover anyone in retreat from the defenses ahead. He left the headlights on, illuminating a swath of the snow-covered fields that sloped down away from the shed towards the distant log wall. He left the truck running as he stepped out and started flagging the other vehicles in alongside the Silverado, lining them up in a row. Bullets whizzed by overhead and Tar moved quickly to the rear of his truck for cover. Muzzle flashes sparked through the darkness below, the brief illumination creating a disorienting strobe effect, and the sounds of many guns firing split the air.

  “Simon, get these cars lined up to light the fields ahead on both sides of the road,” Tar shouted to the man as he stepped out of his Buick.

  The man nodded and set to work, crouch-walking behind the bodies of the vehicles as they pulled into position. Tar spun and climbed the ladder up to the top of the farm shed. When he reached the top, he found Roy Campbell looking down the field through the scope of his rifle. Men and women alike, recognizing that they were now in a live firefight, relieved their nervous bladders where they stood as bullets pinged off the steel of the cars or whizzed past. Only as small handful had ever seen combat before, and they started organizing the ranks.

  “What’s the situation, Roy?”

  “Grim so far. The wall is lost. They took out the wall and firebombed the bunkers,” Roy gulped out, leaving the implications of the statement hanging.

  “The gun nests?” Tar asked, referring to the two machine guns surrounded by crushed cars and dirt about a hundred yards behind the wall.

  Roy shrugged and remained silent for a moment.

  “Come on, Roy, save that shit for later. Give me information!” Tar yelled at the man, starting to lose his patience.

  “I don’t know, Tar. If I have to guess, I’d say they are pinned down. There is a ton of gunfire down there, can’t say for certain which of it is from our side.”

  “Fuck!” Tar grunted and climbed rapidly down the ladder.

  *

  Nick swung the locker room door open just in time to see one of those things hurtling past in the hallway beyond. It looked vaguely familiar to him even though half of its face was in blood-soaked bandages, causing him to pause as it tackled his neighbor and classmate, Sarah Gray, down underneath it. Fear-wrought adrenaline surged through him at the sight of the savagery, pushing him to move. He quickly edged around the thing atop his screaming classmate, catching a glimpse of it sinking its teeth into the girl’s neck. He watched, transfixed, as a gout of arterial blood shot wide across the hallway, surging out in pulse-like spurts, each one weaker than the last. Nick crashed into the wall of lockers, immediately vomiting up the Pop-Tart and apple juice he had for breakfast upon seeing the gruesome sight.

  A cold knot in his stomach released and only the adrenaline coursing through his muscles kept him moving through it all. The linoleum floor was slick and cold underneath his wet feet. He moved to the right at first, but seei
ng a handful of the things either currently devouring his schoolmates or moving in his direction down the hallway, he quickly turned around and headed in the opposite direction. Looking through the window of a classroom door on his right, he could see one of the shape of a person, engulfed in flames, crashing its way across the chemistry lab. It was only then that chlorine in his sinuses cleared and he noticed the wretched stench that filled the hall; it was as if someone had put dog shit on a barbecue. The cold water dripped onto his feet from his swim shorts and he hesitated for a moment, unsure of his course. Just ahead on the right, a stairwell led to the upstairs hall where his next class would’ve been. He could hear a raucous noise from that direction as a large group of the bloody, furious things came barreling down the stairs. They roared and bolted in full stride when they spotted him. His blood ran cold with the knowledge that he was surrounded.

  With no other options, Nick ran to the windows directly across from the science room and ripped the emergency seal out, violently. The alarm clanged loudly as the filament came out, dropping the heavy pane of glass out onto the stone of the courtyard. The glass was designed similar to automobile windows and shattered into small chunky pieces rather than jagged shards. This didn’t stop it from viciously cutting into his bare feet as he stepped out onto it. Two steps and he was free of the shattered window glass, but the damage was already done. Wracked by the pain of a couple dozen pieces of glass embedded in his feet, he flopped to the ground to try and pull out the shards.

  He was now out in the frigid open air of the snowy courtyard with blood gushing from his feet The terrible things came tearing out through the open window behind him. They log-jammed momentarily, having arrived from both directions at the same time. This gave him just enough time to get back on his feet and look around him. The courtyard was completely encircled by the school; the limited sunlight it received kept the foliage to a minimum but there were a few stunted trees and a small koi pond that had already been winterized. Nick quickly scanned inside the classroom windows around the courtyard as he spun away from the encroaching things, hoping for something helpful. His eyes settled on the door leading to the library on the south side of the courtyard as it swung outwards towards him. Panic surged anew and his heart sunk, until the door opened fully and the panicked face of Christine Wilhelm flagged him in.

  “Run, Nick!” she shouted.

  Leaving bloody footprints in the crisp white snow behind, he gritted his teeth through the pain and forced himself to run the thirty feet across the rocky ground. He hurtled through the open door she held for him and fell in agony to the thin carpeting as Christine pulled the door closed behind him. The things chasing after him crashed into it mightily, cracking, but not breaking, the safety-glass panels. Nick grabbed at his bloody feet, moaning in pain as the things raged and slammed themselves into the door and windows of the north wall of the library.

  “Get up, Nick!” Christine yelled at him. “It’s not safe!”

  He once again pushed the pain away again and forced himself to focus on his surroundings. They were in the rear of the school’s library, among the tables and chairs laid out as a quiet study area. Bookbags and purses lay scattered about the floor, abandoned. Nick crawled over to a gym bag and pulled out a pair of pink sweatpants and a pink tank top emblazoned with the word “PINK” on it. He rolled his eyes and pulled on the sweatpants over top of his swim trunks, renewing the agony in his feet as the elastic ankle bands ripped past his shredded feet. He started pulling on the tank top before realizing it was way too small for him; instead, he tied it painfully around his left foot. Scanning the room quickly, his eyes settled on a yellow and blue bandanna tied to a girl’s purse. He fetched it and tied it around his other foot just as a roar screeched through the vast room. Nick crouched low and pulled Christine into the stacks, cutting down the second row.

  They sat in silence for a moment before Christine couldn’t control her laughter anymore. He felt the blood rush into his face and lowered his gaze bashfully.

  “You look absolutely ridiculous,” she whispered, smiling at him kindly.

  “Thanks, Chris,” he replied, before adding: “I mean for opening the door for me, thank you.”

  “You can repay the favor by getting me the fuck out of here,” she said soberly, all vestiges of the smile now gone from her face.

  At the exact moment she got the last word out, a hand shot out from behind her, grabbing her by the bicep. She screamed, and Nick watched as panic swept across her features. He ducked his head down to look through the hole created by the fallen books and came eye to eye with one of the things. It stared back at him with dead, milky-white eyes before roaring again and redoubling its efforts to tug Chris through the shelves. The entire shelf shook and rattled as the thing raged against it. Chris screamed again as her elbow got pulled back into the shelf. Nick grabbed her by the hand and a tug-of-war ensued. The enraged thing let go after a moment and threw its body heavily against the shelf. Nick started pulling Chris to her feet while the raging thing hit the shelf again and again, finally with enough force to topple it. The heavy wooden shelf tipped like a falling tree, moving in slow motion at first, speeding up as its momentum increased. He shoved Chris roughly to the ground, falling to the ground next to her as the shelf collided with the next one in the line, tipping it over in turn. They were pinned under the weight of a great many books. As soon as the tumult settled, both started shifting and pushing forward on the ground to move clear of the mess. The books behind them shifted and the thing roared, thrashing about in the tumult.

  Nick made swimming motions to lift himself clear and push books back out of the way, eventually shifting enough so that Christine could crawl out beside him into the clear. As he struggled to get his legs free of the mess, he watched helplessly as one of the things tackled her to the ground. The two rolled in a pile of flailing limbs, coming to rest under one of the tables. It was then that he felt a hand slip around his ankle, its nails digging deep into his flesh just in front of his Achilles tendon. He gasped involuntarily, and panic driven, he tried to jerk his leg forward in desperate attempt to yank his foot free. His movement was hampered by the weight of the books and the fallen shelf above him, allowing him to do little more than shake the foot that the hand clutched. Seeing the futility in crawling free, he gripped the shelf above him and pulled with all his might. With incredible effort, he finally managed to pull himself forwards about a foot but was pulled back by the grasping hand as soon as he let go to readjust his grip. He whipped his head around to see the thing’s open mouth leaning in towards his foot.

  *

  Tim hurriedly ducked down behind the gas station counter and scooped his dropped gun off the floor as the fast undead, not even noticing him, blew through the store and out the front door. It was roaring in rage as it ran headlong towards the Humvee. Two of the three slow dead lumbering behind it veered off course as they spotted him. He jumped atop the counter and raised his gun, drawing a bead on the head of the nearest one. He fired, striking the thing in the side of the head, the report from the gun echoing loudly in the concrete structure, blowing out his damaged right eardrum. He knew immediately that the noise would likely bring the third one upon him and possibly the fast one as well. The second one came around the front of the register, its mouth open and growling in expectation of a meal. He steadied his breathing and pulled the trigger again. He watched as the undead crumpled to the stained linoleum floor before swinging his arm around to the next one. The final slow one had just begun to turn back toward him when he put a bullet through the side of its head, dropping it to the floor with the others. He scanned the area outside quickly, nervous that the fast one was coming. It only took a moment to realize that the fast one was still interested in the Humvee, but movement in his periphery showed him that more undead were spilling out from around the sides of the building.

  Tim scooped the atlas off the counter as he jumped down. He stepped cautiously over the bodies of the dead and bolted
out the front door into the windswept lot outside. A light snow had picked up and was blowing nearly horizontal as he moved into the lot. Three slow ones turned his way from the corner of the right side of the building. He ignored them, intent on the fast one that ran to the Humvee. A shot rang out and Tim redoubled his speed. He could hear the sounds of his daughter crying over the sound of the wind and moaning dead. Bjorn was standing in the turret atop the Humvee, aiming his pistol. A blast of fear went through Tim as the fast undead leapt atop the hood, gathering its feet beneath it before hurling itself bodily at Bjorn. Thankfully, Bjorn’s aim with his next shot was true and the thing dropped down and lay unmoving atop the hood of the heavy vehicle. With a quick glance around to make sure that nothing else threatened, Tim veered to the abandoned gas cans, still sitting at the pump. He grabbed them both, sliding the atlas under his arm and his pistol into his hip pocket.

  The dead were thickening in and around the lot as Tim shuffled the remaining twenty feet to the Humvee. Bjorn slid back down into the body of the vehicle, pulling the hatch closed behind him as Tim ran to the rear of the vehicle. He screwed the tethered caps back on the cans and stowed them hurriedly before jumping back in the driver’s seat.

  “Fuck!” Tim said loudly once the door clicked closed. He looked around making sure everyone was accounted for before repeating himself. “Fuck!”

  “Puck!” Luna chirped back at him, as she pulled her mouth from her mother’s chest, smiling happily at her father.

  “Are you okay?” Laura asked.

  Tim nodded as he tried forcing his breathing to steady. He held up the atlas with a smile on his face.