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HOLD

Page 12

by Duane P. Craig


  I co­uld see the hor­ror of what the gho­uls in­si­de we­re do­ing. I saw the who­le fa­mily stumb­ling abo­ut. The lit­tle girl se­emed to be mo­ving a bit fas­ter than the rest of them. She was clim­bing on­to kitc­hen cha­irs and still kic­king things aro­und li­ke a child do­es. The only thing mo­re dis­tur­bing was se­e­ing the co­agu­la­ti­on and fun­gi mu­ta­ted blo­od that was on the in­si­de of the ho­me. I so­on did my job on the ho­use. It was eit­her ma­de of wo­od or just had wo­od si­ding. Eit­her way, I co­uld see the pa­int thin­ner ta­ke to the wo­od, and it ig­ni­ted with ease. I be­gan ma­king my way back to the Vis­ta, and my plan was al­re­ady wor­king a bit. The ho­me was well on its way to bur­ning, and the smo­ke was fil­ling the area. The smo­ke was star­ting to dri­ve away the birds - not in hu­ge dro­ves, but the birds we­re star­ting to le­ave a lit­tle at a ti­me. I so­on en­te­red back in­to the Vis­ta whe­re Cody punc­hed me in the mo­uth, then wal­ked away. I’ll gi­ve him that one, but I won’t for­get it.

  I qu­ickly red­res­sed in­to my own clot­hes, and we trash-bag­ged the jog­ging su­it. Fred and I then got our shot­guns and wa­ited to see if the gho­uls exi­ted the farm­ho­use. So­on eno­ugh, the­ir fi­ery bo­di­es be­gan stumb­ling out - we drop­ped them all with shot­gun blasts.

  DAY - 65

  Fred and I we­re up aga­in early, and so­on eno­ugh this mor­ning we we­re both watc­hing what we co­uldn’t stand to see last night. El­len and Beth we­re con­so­ling and damn ne­ar pam­pe­ring Cody as he sat sul­king and just sta­ring off in­to spa­ce. The lit­tle turd was get­ting on my ner­ves, and I’m pretty su­re he’s be­en on Fred’s shit­list for a go­od whi­le.

  Upon lo­oking out the win­dows at first day­light, we co­uld see that only a few small gro­ups of birds re­ma­ined out in the fi­eld. The on­ce red farm­ho­use is only a char­red and smo­king fra­me of its for­mer self.

  It wasn’t long be­fo­re I aga­in don­ned the blo­ods­ta­ined jog­ging su­it. I went out with my sword this ti­me. It was ti­me to fi­nish off our bird prob­lem be­ca­use I had anot­her plan re­ady to put in­to ac­ti­on. Just be­fo­re I was go­ing to ta­ke out the last lit­tle gro­up of birds a few yards from me, Beth ca­me out and star­ted blas­ting them with her shot­gun. She smi­led at me - su­rely she knew I was pis­sed abo­ut it, but she just kept smi­ling. Cody was wal­king aro­und out­si­de with her - his rif­le in hand. Now, had Cody ta­ken any shots to­wards me, I’d pro­bably be pis­sed eno­ugh to cut his fuc­king he­ad off. He didn’t tho­ugh. He just kept wan­de­ring abo­ut damn ne­ar li­ke one of tho­se gho­uls wo­uld. Fred and El­len so­on ca­me out­si­de as well.

  Mo­ments la­ter I bro­ke the odd si­len­ce in the air bet­we­en us by spe­aking lo­ud eno­ugh for ever­yo­ne to he­ar. I spo­ke firm and pro­bably a bit angry - eit­her way, my po­int ne­eded to get ac­ross. I told them that I didn’t plan on sta­ying he­re any­mo­re than I plan­ned on wa­iting for anot­her sign that things are get­ting wor­se. We all knew what was go­ing on be­ca­use I had al­re­ady exp­la­ined it and whe­re it ori­gi­na­ted. I told them that I now wan­ted to push on to­wards Ne­va­da. If the prob­lem star­ted the­re, then they su­rely had at le­ast so­me op­ti­ons aro­und to the so­lu­ti­on. I told them that things we­re pro­bably wor­se the­re, too.

  I exp­la­ined all that I’ve en­co­un­te­red the clo­ser I’ve co­me west. I don’t ex­pect it to get any easi­er, but I ex­pect that with the fi­ve of us, we stand a bet­ter chan­ce of hol­ding on to our exis­ten­ce than if I we­re to go on alo­ne. Beth was the first to co­me stand by my si­de. I no­ti­ced her eye­ing Cody, ba­si­cal­ly as­king him with her exp­res­si­ons. Fred was do­ing the sa­me to El­len. That’s when Cody just star­ted wal­king away. We watc­hed as the boy kept wal­king out to­wards the burnt farm­ho­use. Fred and El­len both com­men­ted that the boy had fi­nal­ly lost it. I was a bit cu­ri­o­us, but I didn’t ca­re eit­her way what was go­ing on.

  Beth de­ci­ded to walk af­ter him, tho­ugh. We all kept watc­hing Cody wal­king abo­ut in the burnt shell of the farm­ho­use. Beth just sto­od slightly away from Cody. Then, Cody re­ac­hed down to one part of the gro­und and lif­ted what must ha­ve be­en a ba­se­ment do­or. A gho­ul was un­der­ne­ath the do­or and to­ok him down qu­ick. Beth be­gan sho­oting her gun just as qu­ickly. Fred and I went run­ning to help. El­len ran back in­si­de the vis­ta.

  Cody won’t ma­ke it thro­ugh the night. The gho­ul bit and to­re up his legs pretty bad. To­ur­ni­qu­ets are ba­si­cal­ly ke­eping him ali­ve for now - the best fal­se ho­pe we can of­fer. I’ve yet to see Beth cry, tho­ugh, as I wo­uld’ve ex­pec­ted. She’s got a sto­ne he­art by now, I gu­ess. I can tell she do­esn't want to le­ave his sight, tho­ugh, and her gun is re­ady in her lap as she sits on the ti­led, kitc­hen flo­or whe­re we’ve la­id Cody. I wish I co­uld fi­gu­re out why the hell the boy ne­ver sa­id anyt­hing abo­ut a ba­se­ment or why he was so aga­inst put­ting down the­ir gho­ulish bo­di­es. I gu­ess you just can’t ma­ke sen­se of in­sa­nity. Now, we can only wa­it and watch his fe­ro­ci­o­us bre­at­hing.

  DAY - 66

  Fred and I spent a go­od bit of last night pac­king only our most im­por­tant things re­ady to pla­ce them in the SUV for when dayb­re­ak ca­me. We had a few chan­ges of clot­hes, for cold we­at­her mostly, then so­me fo­od items and most im­por­tantly all of our we­apons and am­mo.

  Beth had fal­len as­le­ep, so I mo­ved her to the co­uch. I then ti­ed Cody’s wrists and ank­les to­get­her with lamp cords I cut off, and I sho­ved a pa­ir of socks in­to his mo­uth. At that po­int, Cody wasn’t mo­ving much at all, so I didn’t ha­ve to worry abo­ut him thin­king to bi­te or scratch me. I was abo­ut to drag him out­si­de, but I didn’t want to even bot­her with get­ting any of his blo­od on me. Fred then re­ti­red to his bed with El­len, and I tri­ed to stay awa­ke, tho­ugh, I fell as­le­ep next to Beth - go­od thing tho­se lamp chords held up.

  A lit­tle whi­le af­ter dawn we we­re all awa­ke and sta­ring at Cody’s twitc­hing corp­se in the kitc­hen. I co­uldn’t help but smi­le as it lo­oked li­ke he was ac­tu­al­ly trying to eat the pa­ir of socks. Beth star­ted lo­oking aro­und in the kitc­hen dra­wers for so­met­hing. She even­tu­al­ly fo­und a ste­ak kni­fe and knelt down by Cody’s he­ad. Fred to­ok El­len out of the ro­om whi­le sa­ying that it wasn’t go­ing to be ple­asant. I sta­yed. I watc­hed as Beth loc­ked eyes with Cody - his gho­ulish corp­se was ac­tu­al­ly sta­ring at Beth with won­der. Beth to­ok a whi­le de­aling with it all, so much that I at­temp­ted ta­king the kni­fe away from her. Beth shrug­ged me off, tho­ugh, and then she pus­hed the kni­fe bla­de slowly in­to Cody’s left eye soc­ket. She pus­hed it as far as it wo­uld go and then star­ted twis­ting it un­til Cody’s body stop­ped twitc­hing. It wasn’t ple­asant. Fred was right, but it was a lot less messy than Beth’s nor­mal cho­ice of dis­po­sing of gho­uls. It se­emed fit­ting for her that it sho­uld be that per­so­nal, too. I think she re­al­ly clic­ked with Cody in terms of how his fa­mily all tur­ned on him. One day, I think I’ll find out that Beth’s ini­ti­al ex­pe­ri­en­ce in all of this was just as bad.

  We we­re so­on lo­ading up in­to the SUV. I to­ok no­ti­ce that even be­ing re-ani­ma­ted and tur­ned gho­ulish, the birds still ma­na­ged to shit on my car. The na­no­tech are re­al­ly trying to re­bu­ild cre­atu­res to the­ir ful­lest. They un­ders­tand that was­te is to be ex­pel­led and don’t bot­her re­con­si­de­ring it. I’m star­ting to re­ali­ze that most of the gho­uls that stank so badly we­re pro­bably the ones that shit them­sel­ves af­ter fe­eding. That’s why they wre­ak, but we sho­uld al­ways know when a lot of them are ne­ar. I to­ok ca­re in cle­aning off the bird shit, tho­ugh.

  It co­uld sti
ll be po­ten­ti­al­ly ha­zar­do­us to us, and as I cle­aned it, I no­ti­ced that it al­most se­emed to be aci­dic in that it fa­ded the pa­int un­der­ne­ath. As long as it do­esn’t get to the le­vel of acid blo­od li­ke in the mo­vie ALI­EN, then I’ll be fi­ne.

  Other­wi­se, I may ha­ve se­en anot­her obs­tac­le in de­aling with the­se fuc­kers.

  After cru­ising the si­lent stre­ets of Bu­ena Vis­ta, we stop­ped on­ce aga­in at a gas sta­ti­on to turn on the gas pumps and fill up the SUV tank. Fred and El­len grab­bed a lot of snacks, drinks and be­ef jerky from in­si­de the sto­re. I ma­de it a po­int to grab a big hand­ful of che­wing gum. If only Bub­ba­li­ci­o­us knew that the­ir gum wo­uld help fight the un­de­ad. Se­ri­o­usly, che­wing gum is go­ing to ke­ep me awa­ke and on my to­es - it wor­ked when I pla­yed ba­se­ball, so why not now? Any­way, we’re he­ading north on high­way 24. We’ve got a ro­ad­map from the sto­re, and we’re trying to re­ach I-70, which sho­uld ta­ke us due west.

  DAY - 67

  Le­ad­vil­le, Co­lo­ra­do - that’s the town we stop­ped well out­si­de of and pul­led over to catch so­me sle­ep un­til day­light. We ne­eded to fu­el up aga­in, so pus­hing on wo­uldn’t ha­ve be­en wi­se. Fred wasn’t too fa­mi­li­ar with the area eit­her, which didn’t ma­ke me fe­el any bet­ter abo­ut get­ting out in the dark. He and El­len had only mo­ved to Bu­ena Vis­ta fi­ve months ago. They sa­id it was just be­fo­re Hal­lo­we­en, but that the mo­ve was the­ir early Christ­mas gift to each ot­her. I se­em to ha­ve for­got­ten that was only such a short ti­me ago. I, too, had plans ma­de. I re­mem­ber wan­ting to buy a pa­int­ball gun and so­me ge­ar be­ca­use all of the guys whe­re I wor­ked we­re re­al­ly get­ting in­to it. Funny how sho­oting, run­ning, hi­ding and sur­vi­val ca­me so easy to me, and I saw that ne­it­her of tho­se guys even ma­de it out of the bu­il­ding at work. Our fuc­king jani­tor at work was the first one to turn, and I saw him te­ar in­to them all in the bre­ak ro­om. I only ma­de it out be­ca­use I grab­bed a fol­ding cha­ir and be­at the jani­tor’s he­ad abo­ut ten ti­mes. Af­ter that, I just ran out to my car and to­ok to the stre­ets that we­re surp­ri­singly full of the fuc­kers al­re­ady.

  Appa­rently we we­re qu­ite far eno­ugh from the town that we didn’t ha­ve any re­ason for gho­uls to be abo­ut. Beth was ac­ting as lo­oko­ut any­way, tho­ugh. I lo­ve that I’ve luc­ked upon such a smart girl. Fred and El­len went in­si­de the small gas sta­ti­on sto­re and pa­ro­used aro­und. I didn’t ha­ve to do much at all to get the gas pum­ping this ti­me aro­und. The pumps we­ren’t of the new elect­ric va­ri­ety, but ho­we­ver they work, they we­re on as so­on as I flip­ped the latch. I fil­led up wit­ho­ut any prob­lems.

  So­on eno­ugh we we­re back on the ro­ad. As usu­al a go­od day be­gan go­ing so­ur. We fo­und our­sel­ves dri­ving in­to a la­te Win­ter snow storm. It was clo­se to be­ing a whi­te out whe­re I co­uldn’t see. Still I dro­ve us on­ward al­be­it at a much slo­wer pa­ce. I star­ted fe­eling the ro­ad get­ting icy be­fo­re too long as well. I got us just to the last off ramp for a re­sort town cal­led Avon, Co­lo­ra­do. It lo­oks li­ke a pla­ce that way too many pe­op­le wo­uld ha­ve be­en vi­si­ting and are pro­bably gho­uls just wa­iting to thaw out and go on a hun­ger ram­pa­ge. We we­re stuck, tho­ugh, and we had no cho­ice but to go out on fo­ot. The worst of our luck was that we aren’t dres­sed for the ext­re­me cold we­at­her. We ha­ve our pants and se­ve­ral shirts to we­ar but we only ha­ve a co­up­le of swe­aters and jac­kets bet­we­en us.

  I can’t even ima­gi­ne how long we we­re out in the cold and snow, trying not to bust our as­ses wal­king down the off ramp in­to Avon. It felt li­ke fo­re­ver, and hol­ding the guns didn’t help eit­her. They got cold re­al qu­ick and se­emed to burn if you held them ba­re­han­ded for too long. Still, we ma­de our way on­to a ma­in stre­et and bus­ted in­to a hu­ge sto­re cal­led, RUGGS BE­NE­DICT CAR­PET STO­RE. We sco­uted the pla­ce as best as we co­uld, but mo­re im­por­tantly be­ca­use we had bro­ken a glass do­or to get in­si­de, we qu­ickly gat­he­red hu­ge rugs to co­ver and in­su­la­te the do­or from the cold air. So far it’s wor­king. Wrap­ping our­sel­ves in the rugs li­ke blan­kets is wor­king qu­ite well, too. The pla­ce do­es sell so­me fur­ni­tu­re, so we do ha­ve co­uc­hes to sit and sle­ep on. The worst pos­sib­le sce­na­rio for us he­re is that this sto­re se­ems to be one hu­ge wa­re­ho­use, but vi­sib­le only its first half is the lobby for sa­le items whe­re we are. The back half must be mo­re of the wa­re­ho­use, stoc­king en­vi­ron­ment. We ha­ven't se­en or he­ard any gho­uls yet, but I gu­aran­tee we won’t sle­ep too well un­til may­be to­mor­row’s light when we can swe­ep this pla­ce and fully se­cu­re it. We’ll all just hang out he­re by the front do­or for to­night.

  DAY - 68

  Fred and I slept in shifts, but we we­re both up and mo­ving abo­ut with the first lights co­ming thro­ugh the front win­dows of the bu­il­ding. We got Beth and El­len up and re­ady for figh­ting. So what if they we­re groggy - we ne­eded to get this pla­ce se­cu­re. Fred and I had fi­nal­ly ta­ken a bit of ti­me to ins­tall the la­ser sights on top of our fo­ur shot­guns. I didn’t ca­re abo­ut put­ting one on the Tommy gun. We only ne­eded to be ac­cu­ra­te eno­ugh from thirty fe­et or so. It wo­uld se­ri­o­usly help El­len, too, from what I he­ar. And, well, I still had to ha­ve my sword in my belt lo­op. I got­ta ha­ve my sword.

  De­ja-Vu hit me hard. We did find so­me gho­uls in the front part of the sto­re just be­hind the ma­in desk - in what was the sto­re's bre­ak ro­om. I didn’t let an­yo­ne fi­re at them. It was only two gho­uls - well dres­sed la­di­es. I just didn’t want the bre­ak ro­om to get splat­te­red with bra­ins when the­re se­emed to be wor­king so­da mac­hi­nes and snack mac­hi­nes in the­re. I han­ded Fred my shot­gun and re­mo­ved my sword. I sho­wed Fred and El­len for the first ti­me what I was re­al­ly ma­de of and how bru­tal I wo­uld turn to sur­vi­ve and get what I want. I ri­di­cu­led the gho­uls as usu­al and then hop­ped atop one of the bre­ak ro­om tab­les to get a go­od down swing on them. I sli­ced the­ir he­ads in half, each at odd ang­les and watc­hed them stumb­le for a mo­ment be­fo­re fal­ling limp. I im­me­di­ately re­call tur­ning to Fred and El­len and se­e­ing the­ir fa­ces drop.

  We then to­ok to the back of the wa­re­ho­use. The­re we­re a hand­ful of gho­uls the­re. One of the gho­uls was se­ated in and trying to get the fork­lift wor­king. It kept grab­bing at the ste­ering whe­el and si­de shift. Fred star­ted la­ug­hing at it.

  Ellen just pus­hed Fred asi­de and to­ok two shots at it - the se­cond shot to­ok its he­ad off. Beth and I both saw a go­od bit of our­sel­ves in Fred and El­len, then. It was a ni­ce com­fort to see anot­her co­up­le de­al with things in the sa­me man­ner. Now, if only we can ma­ke it to the­ir age, and still go­ing strong.

  We ma­de a mess of the few gho­uls in no ti­me. In fact, all of the gho­uls we­re in pretty bad sha­pe any­way. They we­re fal­ling apart and slow mo­ving. I wo­uld think that they sho­uld ha­ve be­en qu­ite fro­zen in this cold ass sto­re over all of this Win­ter we­at­her and well kept. For so­me re­ason, tho­ugh, they we­re pretty torn up. It al­most se­ems li­ke the na­no­tech didn’t even re­ach them un­til may­be a few days ago.

  So­me­how, the­ir bo­di­es we­re al­lo­wed to de­te­ri­ora­te much mo­re than any of the ot­her gho­uls we’ve co­me ac­ross. I tho­ught of everyt­hing I co­uld. May­be rats had be­gun che­wing on them re­cently. Wor­se yet, tho­ugh, may­be they we­re per­fectly clo­sed off from the out­si­de world un­til we bro­ke the front do­or.

  May­be they we­re all just kil­led or com­mit­ted su­ici­de - the­ir bo­di­es left in­si­de this pla­ce whi­le who­ever e
l­se loc­ked them in he­re, if not them­sel­ves. It just do­esn’t fe­el right from what I know abo­ut the na­no­tech, and as we get clo­ser to Gro­om La­ke, I fe­el li­ke things are go­ing to get much mo­re comp­li­ca­ted. I’m star­ting to won­der if we are be­ing chan­ged as we get ne­arer and just can’t tell. I’m al­so won­de­ring if even­tu­al­ly li­ving un­derg­ro­und is the bet­ter op­ti­on - so­mew­he­re air tight and tuc­ked away. Gro­om La­ke sho­uld be that pla­ce, tho­ugh. I’m qu­ite su­re that it’s an un­derg­ro­und fa­ci­lity with so many pe­op­le in­te­res­ted in it.

  We’re all eating candy bars and drin­king so­das, now in the bre­ak ro­om. I mo­ved the he­ad­less corp­ses from in he­re to out back in the wa­re­ho­use. The flo­or cle­aned up ni­cely in he­re, too.

  DAY - 69

  Fred and I got cu­ri­o­us and be­gan lo­oking for a way up on top of the bu­il­ding. Su­re eno­ugh we fo­und a lad­der in the back of the wa­re­ho­use that led up to a hatch and on­to the ro­of. We knew it was go­ing to be cold, but we ba­red it any­way - glad we did, too. In any ot­her ca­se we’d ha­ve pro­bably ne­ver ca­red to see what was be­hind the bu­il­ding and wo­uld ha­ve mis­sed our new toy. We fo­und our­sel­ves a me­tal shed of sorts and a ni­ce si­zed snowp­low. It has trac­ked whe­els li­ke a tank. It fuc­king works li­ke a dre­am, too. Add in that it has wor­king he­at in the ca­bin, gran­ted not much, but it’s bet­ter than no he­at.

 

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