She swallowed hard and ran forward until she reached the edge of the kitchen. Without thinking, she jabbed the spear into the back of one of the zombies. But small as she was, she struggled to pull the spear free.
“Get to the attic, Faith, now!” Rosemary screamed over the hungry moans and famished snarling.
“No, Grandma! Not without you!” Faith yelled back, dodging the clutching hands of a monster as it shambled up the three steps to the kitchen. Her eyes widened when she saw that the one that she’d attacked with the spear had turned to her. No matter how gravely it was injured, it wouldn’t die. Her breath came in raspy gasps as she shoved the zombie away, the sheer effort of avoiding being eaten exhausting her.
Rosemary saw her granddaughter struggling. As if she had been given renewed strength, she pushed back on the zombies surrounding her. She landed crushing blows to one’s skull with a skillet, managed to stab another in the eye with a large, serrated knife, and in a last ditch effort, threw a handful of colorful ceramic bowls at them.
Finally, they cleared enough space to make a run for the garage.
“Go!” Rosemary gasped, pushing Faith ahead of her. She was breathing heavily, completely spent.
Faith grabbed her hand and pulled her along. She dared to cast a glance at the den. Dozens of figures were entering the house, crowding the windows as they numbly pushed their counterparts to the ground, all of their eyes locked on to the live prey.
“Sweet Jesus,” she whispered.
She ran to the garage door and slammed it shut once they were safely on the other side. Out of habit, she turned the lock on the door knob. Faith knew the flimsy wooden door wouldn’t hold for long.
She jumped up and yanked at the thin rope for the ladder to the attic. When the ladder came down, she reached for her grandmother to help her up the steps, firmly grasping Rosemary’s upper arm.
Her body stiffened immediately when she felt something warm and wet beneath her fingers.
“Grandma!” she gasped, pulling back to examine her hand in the faint moonlight streaming in through the windows. Faith’s heart stopped.
Her fingers were stained with crimson.
Rosemary sighed and paused on the third step. “Pumpkin, I’ve lived a long life. I don’t have any regrets. If this is what the good Lord has planned for me, if it’s my time, then I’m at peace with that.”
The zombies on the other side of the door relentlessly pounded against the wood. Glass shattered throughout the house. Tears streamed down Faith’s rosy cheeks.
“No, Grandma. No,” she cried, sinking to her knees on the dingy brown carpet.
Rosemary came over to her and held her tightly.
“No,” she said, choking back sobs, her shoulders shaking violently. “It’s my fault! I should have come sooner!”
“Hush, baby, it’s not your fault,” Rosemary replied quietly.
“It is! It is my fault,” Faith repeated. Tears and snot covered her face.
She had seen enough on the news in the last couple of days to know what that bite meant.
“It’s not,” Rosemary insisted firmly. She looked nervously at the door. It vibrated viciously on its hinges. “We can’t stay here, sweetheart. If we don’t move now, there won’t be another opportunity. Come on, honey.”
Rosemary gently helped her to her feet and led her up the steps.
No sooner had they gotten into the attic did the garage door splinter apart as the zombies burst through.
Rosemary leaned back against the wood paneling of the dark, dusty attic, her breath coming in unevenly.
Faith lay in a fetal position across from her, her guilty, heart-broken sobs drowned out by the ravenous roar of the monsters below.
Chapter 18:
“How are Grandma and Faith?” Brett asked, glancing in the mirror to see his sister.
Haven buckled her seat belt as they drove along, keeping a close eye on Phillip. “They should be fine. Faith wanted to come, but you know how she is. And Grandma is holding down the fort, being awesome as always.”
Brett nodded and stared out of the windshield. Fires burned brightly in the distance, their orange flames consuming once-beautiful farmhouses. Heavy gray smoke billowed high into the sky.
“What’s happening to this world?” he whispered forlornly. “I woke up one day, went to class, and when I got out, everything had changed. I just want it to go back to how it was, Haven.”
She tried to be positive. “At least we’re all together, safe and sound. I couldn’t ask for anything more right now.” The stars twinkled over them, the moon full and bright in spite of the world going to hell. “Except for Houston. He’s not here.”
Brett looked at her again. “Have you heard anything from him?”
She sank back in her seat and took a deep breath. “No, the phones have been down for a while now.”
He reached back and patted Haven’s knee reassuringly. “He’s industrious. I bet he’s holed up in a bomb shelter or something.”
“I don’t think so. I think he’s coming here.”
She dug her nails into her palms as her eyes welled up with tears. She wished with all her might that he wasn’t in the city, that he had made it out before everything turned upside down.
A change of subject was needed. “So... what are we going to do with your friend?”
Brett felt her eyes on him and averted his gaze. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t even understand what’s happening.”
“We need to tie him up at least,” Haven offered.
“You have any rope lying around?” he asked her sarcastically, knowing full well that she didn’t.
Haven thought for a moment and looked about her. A red and black pair of jumper cables sat on the floor. “He’s got jumper cables.”
“Are you serious?” Brett gave her a smoldering look.
“Last time I checked, you were in the front seat, buddy.”
“Geez. You’re brutal. I’ll pull over a little further down the road, and we can check on him then. There are some cars up ahead that I want to get around before we stop and are out in the open.” They drove in silence as Brett maneuvered around the abandoned vehicles.
“What are we going to do with him?” she persisted quietly several minutes later.
“How’s he doing?” Brett ignored her question.
Haven glanced over at Phillip. “He’s drooling something fierce. I don’t think we have much more time. He looks unconscious.”
Brett sounded guilty. “We’ve gotta get him help. I feel bad letting him suffer like this without anything to numb the pain.”
Haven gaped at him and tried not to roll her eyes. “Painkillers? We need to put him down, Brett.”
He literally spun around in his seat. “We aren’t killing him, if that’s what you’re implying!” he exclaimed in horror.
Haven had fire in her eyes. “Are you kidding me? Haven’t you been paying attention? You get bitten by one of those, you die only to come back as a flesh-eating lunatic!”
“We don’t know that for sure!” he retorted, although his tone was not as confident as it had been before. In his frustration, he pushed harder on the gas pedal sending them careening down the old road.
Phillip’s eyes were still closed. She could barely see the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to breathe. He surely didn’t have long now. She really didn’t want to have to bash his head in with the chair leg in front of her brother when his friend turned, but at the same time, she also didn’t want to risk any of them getting bitten by prolonging the inevitable. He was going to mutate into something Brett wouldn’t recognize, and there was nothing any of them could do about it.
Haven felt darkness seeping into her thoughts. She turned to Phillip, watching him intently for a few moments. An idea had come to her, and it was an idea that her brother would hate.
But she didn’t care.
Her number one priority was to protect her family. Phillip presented a terrible dan
ger to all of them that she wasn’t willing to tolerate any longer. She had already placated her brother long enough by agreeing to drag Phillip out of the dormitory.
There was only one other option.
She unbuckled her seat belt and lunged forward. In one deft move, she reached across Phillip’s lap, yanked the door open, and shoved him out roughly into the cold night air.
She leaned out, her hair whipping around her face, and watched as the body bounced a few times, limbs raggedly torn from their sockets, skin ripping from his body and revealing muscle and bone beneath, until he finally skidded along the pavement to a violent stop. As his figure got smaller and smaller, she saw the youth slowly begin to twitch.
Haven squeezed her eyes shut and closed the door, sweat beading her forehead.
Brett stared at her with his mouths agape, unbelieving of what just happened.
“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered. She looked at her brother. “It was either him or one of us. I...”
Her voice trailed off, and she looked down numbly at her hands.
***
Colin had ventured back to the lake house hours later after the last zombie had cleared the shore. He was soaking wet to the point that his skin had pruned.
After climbing through the window, he closed it tightly and tossed any spare piece of fabric he found along with some aluminum foil over the two windows in the one-room house. He didn’t want anything looking in at him while he slept. And he was so exhausted and hung over that he couldn’t be bothered by sunlight.
There was very little furniture in the tiny house, but he pushed the old refrigerator against the window in the kitchen and maneuvered the table and two chairs against the other window he used to enter and exit the structure.
He glumly checked the cuts and insect bites on his body. At least there weren’t any nibbles from snakes. Or zombies.
Colin collapsed on the thin mattress, wrapping himself in the rough woolen blanket. He was shaking violently, from the cold, from exhaustion, from fear.
Now that the pack of ghouls trailing him had passed, he hoped he could rest easy. In the morning, he would make some fortifications to the house, figuring he should stay for a little while. For the moment though, he had no idea where he was headed. He had no friends or family in this country. He had no destination or goal.
Colin felt very alone and despondent, both unusual feelings for him.
He tried not to dwell on the fact. All he wanted to do was get a good night’s sleep undisturbed and maybe, just maybe, wake up from this horrific nightmare.
***
Houston estimated that he’d hiked approximately seven miles in the past hour and a half. He had maintained a good clip, with Texaco leading the way to scout ahead for any trouble. While he hadn’t run into one zombie, he knew that he couldn’t let his guard down in spite of that.
When he considered the loss of his car, it disappointed him that he wouldn’t make it to Haven’s as soon as he had initially hoped.
Houston paused to take a canteen of water out of his backpack, remembering to pour a little into the cap for Texaco.
“Well, Tex, I think it’s time you and I settle down for the night,” Houston said quietly. He looked around for a suitable shelter. “The thing is,” he added, taking a swig from the canteen, “I don’t know where we can stay that’s really safe. I feel like camping out on the open ground is a bad idea. I don’t want to wake up and have one of those things gnawing on my arm.”
Texaco ran a few feet ahead of him, sniffing the ground curiously.
Houston had been watching the dog’s actions closely. He knew that Texaco would detect any unwanted presence before he could. So far, the dog had eagerly trod along, happy to guide its new owner through the dense forest.
He wished he had his car so that he and Texaco could get a decent night’s rest without needing to sleep with one eye open. However, knowing that Steven, Jessica, and Blake had a much better chance of survival with the Trans Am made him miss it a little less.
A rustling in the treetops caused him to look up. As far as he knew, zombies weren’t hiding in the trees, so he shrugged his shoulders assuming the noise came from a squirrel.
Then his eyes caught sight of something rather interesting.
He reached into his pocket for the flashlight and aimed it high into the trees.
About the size of a small tree house, an old wooden tree stand sat high in the branches of a sturdy pine. Leaning against the trunk, a thin metal ladder led up to the stand.
Houston couldn’t believe his luck. He circled the tree a few times, thoroughly checking the stand to make sure it would be sturdy enough to hold him. It looked like it hadn’t been used in a while, but if it kept him out of harm’s way for one night, he was more than willing to give it a try.
“Okay, Tex, stay here,” he pointed sternly.
He put one foot on the first rung, testing it to make sure it would hold his weight, and began a swift ascent to the top.
It was perfect. Rectangular in shape, he could easily curl up on the bottom of the camouflaged hideaway.
He looked down at Texaco who stared up at him with big eyes, tail wagging excitedly.
The only problem was getting Texaco up with him. He rubbed his face as he thought, the thick stubble like sandpaper across his hand.
An idea came to him. He climbed back down to the ground and took off his jacket. Walking over to the dog, he tied the article of clothing around its torso securely, almost like a little hammock. He unzipped his backpack and took out a long length of nylon rope, which he’d intended to use in conjunction with the small blue tarp tucked into the bottom of the bag. Constructing simple shelters in a short amount of time was something he would do often when camping with Haven. They’d tie the rope between two trees and throw the tarp over it, putting large rocks on the four corners to hold the material down. Houston was always prepared. An avid rock climber and wilderness guide before the infection broke out, he kept his climbing gear and basic emergency supplies in his trunk.
He looped the rope in two places through the jacket, near the front and hind legs of the dog. Then he climbed up the ladder while holding the rope until he reached one of the largest branches near the tree stand. Throwing it over the branch a couple of times, he began hoisting the dog into the air. Texaco looked petrified as soon as its paws left the ground, licking its chops nervously, tail between its legs. Houston continued to pull the dog up until Texaco was level with the tree stand. Hooking his foot on to the edge of the stand, he reached out and pulled the dog in. Texaco squirmed in his arms until Houston firmly planted the pup on solid ground and took the improvised harness off. It sniffed around the space and then circled one spot a few times before turning in for the night.
Houston smiled and sat down beside the dog. He sifted through the food contents of his backpack and pulled out a stick of beef jerky. Chewing it contemplatively, he leaned back and rested his head on the side of the stand. It was a beautiful night out, clear skies, twinkling stars, an invigorating chill in the air.
Wherever they were, Houston hoped those he loved most were safe.
Chapter 19:
Mark was losing track of time. He only knew that winter was coming because the days were so short and cold. He’d spent the last night curled up under a desk in the cubicle of an office space. Surrounding his thin form were colorful wrappers of chocolate bars from the vending machine near the small kitchen. Aside from that splash of color, the rest of the office was dark. He had lowered all of the blinds and had painstakingly moved several desks in front of the main entrance before falling asleep.
The chance to sleep indoors had been a blessing. With the exception of having been roused in the middle of the night to coyotes howling in the distance, he had slept relatively unperturbed, and he’d badly needed it. He was losing strength fast from a lack of decent food and rest. For much of the journey, he’d spent his nights in the backs of cars since his first night alone on the
highway when the Honda CRV had proven a good hiding spot. Hundreds of zombies had bumped lazily against the vehicle, and while everything seemed mired in time, Mark had eventually been rocked into a deep slumber under the sleeping bag. The sun had been high in the sky when he had awoken, warming him inside the CRV. He’d groggily opened his eyes and looked around, confused at first before panic and despair set in when he realized why he was alone. Much to his horror, he discovered that he had thrown the sleeping bag aside at some point during his slumber and was uncovered. He felt grateful that none of the undead passing by the night before had caught sight of him while he dozed or they would have eaten him where he lay.
Mark stretched and reached for a warm can of Coke that he’d taken from the vending machine. Taking a few sips, he realized that his bladder was full, and that he needed to relieve himself. Luckily, there was a bathroom in the office. He made his way around the bleak space filled with nondescript cubicles until he came to the men’s restroom. Opening the swinging door with a loud creak, he walked to the stall that was furthest from the door. He sat there for a bit, his chin resting on his open palm while his head lolled up and down tiredly.
The trail of his sister’s Cheerios in the backyard of the house next door had vanished within minutes of Mark’s narrow escape from the clutches of the hungry zombies, including his mother’s stupid boyfriend, Brandon. While he hadn’t given up hope that someday he’d be reunited with his family, he knew that for now, he needed to find a group of people whom he could trust. Maybe they’d be able to help him on his quest. He was sick of being exhausted and lonely, sleeping with one eye open just to stay alive and avoid becoming dinner. Mark wanted to have friends again; he wanted to feel a part of something even if it was some pseudo-family that could temporarily take the place of his own. He could do whatever was necessary to survive for a little while, but he was quickly realizing that he didn’t want to do it singlehandedly forever.
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