Buck fished a soda bottle out of the trash and jammed a candle into its spout. Rachael volunteered her lighter. They all climbed down the old wooden steps to the library basement.
“There's lots of old crap down here,” said Billings, ducking his head to avoid a low pipe. “There are plans to expand this into more shelf space, but what with the town blowing away like a dry leaf, nobody's gotten too serious about it. It's a hell of a mess, really. Janice . . . well, she was slipping a little bit before she disappeared. She was always a neat freak, but she went downhill fast towards the end. To top that all off, a pipe burst last week, and a lot the books and the documents down here got waterlogged. It's still pretty wet. But like I said, it's basically just little old me working for free, so it hasn't all been cleaned out yet. It'll probably all rot before I get to it.”
Stacks of water-logged, cardboard boxes leaned against the walls along with piles of old furniture. Old bookshelves sagged under the weight of old books and magazines and huge, thick periodical reference catalogs.
“This one looks interesting,” said Rachael. She pulled a small waterlogged book from a stack. The cover read a collection of spells and petty magicks by abigail swinford. She peeled the cover back, and it came off in her hand. “How old is this? Look, it's hand written.” The pages were soaked together into a brick. Rachael pried it open to a page somewhere in the middle. She read aloud, “A simple glamour for the shewing of truths or falsities. Upon the full moon, gather thee a whyte hen, and with its blud draw upon the floor . . .”
Alex peeked over her shoulder. “It say anything about zombies?”
“It's a little hard to make out,” said Rachael. “It might take a while to peel this all apart.”
Harbaugh looked over her other shoulder. He said, “Do you suppose this is the book? The one that turned up at the high school?”
“That's not it,” Billings answered. “I remember we passed it around the teacher's lounge a bit. It was bigger than that and had a black cover.”
“Still,” said Alex, “I think we're on the right track. There's got to be something more down here.”
“We don't need this blasphemous trash,” said Sinder.
Alex ignored him. “What's all this crap?” he said, pointing to a sagging stack of waterlogged boxes.
“That's all stuff out of Janice's office. I swear the lady never threw anything away. Once the town council finally railroaded her into getting a computer, she never used the damned thing. She had an IBM Selectric typewriter on her desk until the day she died.”
“How do you know she's dead?” asked Harbaugh. “Officially, she's just missing.”
“She . . . well, I just assume. Everyone assumes. Where else would she be? Anyway, you could send her an email but she'd never check it. She simply didn't trust computers. In light of today's events, I suppose she had a point.”
“Here's another one,” said Emily. It was a small, simply-bound pamphlet. The cover bore a date of 1655. It read an accounting of the truth of vampyres, of their nature, habits, and infiltration of society, by walter grimm.
“Well, that does sound interesting,” said Alex. “Let me take a look at that one.” He flipped through the little pamphlet. “This all came from the Ashford Mansion?” He peeled back another page. “I think I see where his interests lay.”
Billings stood with his hands on his hips, looking around the basement. “Like I said, I've been converting all the records to digital. At the same time, I've been doing an audit, trying to match records up with physical books. Of course, I don't have access to the computers right now, but I printed out this copy of the missing books I've found so far. There's maybe a few dozen.” He unfolded a piece of paper. “Why people steal from a library is beyond me, but God knows it happens. Most of them are pretty run of the mill—the library's copy of Fifty Shades of Gray is missing, and I don't think that has anything to do with zombies—but four of these missing books seem to be on a theme. First up, we have Codex Animo.”
Emily said, “That's Latin. It means, more or less, book of animation, or book of making alive.”
“Exactly. Next, we're missing Theory And Practices of Vodun Amongst the Haitian and Similar Peoples of the Caribbean and West Africa. Printed in 1797. Then we have Mathematical Principles of the Occult and one simply titled Book of Summoning. I believe that last was the one that turned up at the school.”
“This is blasphemous filth,” repeated Sinder. “We're wasting our time. There's only one book that can help us now.”
Rachael sighed.
Alex opened a box and shuffled through the papers inside, holding them up to the candlelight. “Boy, you ain't kiddin'. This lady didn't throw anything away.”
“Do we really have time to be reading through Janice Bueller's correspondences?” said Sinder. “What could that possibly have to do with anything? I mean, magical library books? This is preposterous.”
“Shit,” Alex continued. “She's even got her old Post-it notes filed away.” He pulled a random page out of the stack and started reading.
A rifle shot sounded from above. Then another. And another. “Uh, guys?” Josh's voice reached them, high and reedy. “Hey, you guys!”
Alex dropped the letter and sprinted toward the stairs, the rest of them hot on his heels.
When they found Josh, he was standing at the window with the rifle against his shoulder, peering between the boards. He fired another shot.
“What is it, kid?” asked Alex.
“There are more zombies coming,” Josh answered.
Alex laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “After all the shit we seen today, y'all are getting excited about a few more zombies?”
“Yeah, but . . .” Josh hesitated. “Well, they're kind of . . . they're kind of on fire.”
Chapter Ten
“You have got to be kiddin' me.” Alex peered out between the boards covering the windows.
Outside in the street, six zombies approached the old library at a shuffling run, engulfed in flames. They burned like torches, molten flesh dripping from their fingertips. The zombies didn't notice. They quickened their pace, dropping into a disjointed lope as they approached. Alex aimed his pistol and dropped them all with six evenly-spaced shots. “Well, that's that.”
“There's more coming on the north side!” Harbaugh yelled.
Flaming zombies shuffled toward the old library from all sides.
Alex ran from window to window, picking off zombie after zombie. The air grew thick with acrid gunsmoke. “How the hell did they manage to get themselves lit on fire? What kind of sense does that make?”
“Let's worry about that later,” said Harbaugh, as he fired his rifle between the boards nailed to the window.
A zombie slipped past. It thumped against the wooden doors. Another crashed into a window, slamming the boards and splashing fire into the library. Flames raced across the floor and licked up a bookshelf before anyone could stop it.
Another zombie smashed against the door so hard that the building shook.
Fire eagerly spread across the stacks, racing upwards toward the ceiling. The reek of burning flesh mixed with the smell of burning paper. Billings ran the fire extinguisher dry, but it wasn't enough. The fire continued to spread. It raced along the shelves, licking up to the wooden ceiling. More zombies crashed into the broken window, slamming the boards so hard that nails began to pull out of the windowsill.
“Water is usually gravity feed,” said Alex, as he looked up at the ceiling. “Ain't the sprinklers gonna kick on here in a second, even without power?”
Billings sighed. “Guess which pipe burst last week.”
“Well, shit.”
“We have to move!” shouted Harbaugh, as he stood in front of the window and aimed his rifle out from between the boards. A zombie practically ran into the muzzle of his rifle before he pulled the trigger. Flaming gore sprayed out into the street.
“Where?” Alex asked. “Back to the station?”
“It's l
ike they're waiting for us to go back there. Look.” The zombies crowded thickly around the front steps of the sheriff's station.
“Where then?” repeated Alex.
Buck fired again, and a zombie's head exploded. “The high school?” he suggested.
“It might work,” said Billings. “The place should already be locked up tight in anticipation of the shutdown. All the exterior windows are boarded up. We always said the place was built like a prison. And it's made of brick, so hopefully it won't catch on fire.”
“How far?” Alex asked.
“A few hundred feet,” said Harbaugh. “You can see it from here, right down Old Mine Road on the right.” He jingled his big keyring. “I have a skeleton key for the front doors.”
“Well, alright then. This is all gettin' real familiar. No offense, sheriff, but I think one of us can get to those doors faster than you.”
“None taken.” Harbaugh unclipped his keys from his belt and handed them to Alex.
“I'll do it,” said Josh. He took the keys from Alex.
“You sure, kid?”
“Yeah,” said Josh.
“I'll go along with him,” said Buck.
A bookshelf collapsed, and burning books slid across the floor. A ceiling beam crashed down. The air grew thick with hot smoke.
“Okay then, let's get to it.” Alex handed his rifle to Billings. “Here,” he said. “Take this. I still got a pistol.”
“Thank you,” said Billings. He looked the rifle over with a casual familiarity.
Alex kicked the flaming front doors, and they swung wide open. He mowed down zombies until his magazine ran dry. “It's all you, kid. Run for it!” He slapped in a new magazine.
“Be safe, Josh,” said Emily.
Josh nodded silently. He stood for a moment, then took off at a sprint, Buck along with him.
The zombies turned and shuffled after. Harbaugh and Alex laid down a withering cover fire. Bodies littered the broad street.
Josh reached the door and searched for the right key.
Buck turned his back to Josh and knelt, covering the road with his shotgun. Zombies shuffled toward them on all sides. Buck took careful aim, conserving his ammunition, dropping any of the dead who wandered too close.
Josh tried key after key, sparing the occasional glance over his shoulder.
“Any time, kid,” said Buck.
“I'm trying, I'm trying.” Finally, the lock turned, and Josh pulled the big front doors open. “Got it,” he said.
Buck waved to the rest of the group still huddled in the burning library.
“Okay, y'all move,” said Alex. “Me, John, and the sheriff are gonna be right behind you.”
Emily led the way, followed by Sinder, Rachael, and Tom. They crossed the intersection at a run, single file, weaving between the crush of zombies. Fire from both sides carved a path for them.
Emily reached the school's front doors. She immediately turned and joined Buck and Josh, aiming her pistol with both hands and firing into the crowd of zombies.
Rachael slipped on fresh gore and tumbled to the ground. Her pistol skittered across the pavement and disappeared into a forest of undead legs. Tom, running close behind, tripped over her. His rifle flew out of his hand. Zombies eagerly closed in.
“Shit,” Alex muttered grimly. He fired faster.
Tom crawled on his hands and knees toward his rifle. Rachael screamed and blundered to her feet, running blindly.
“Rach, this way!” screamed Buck. He ran out into the street after her.
A zombie lunged at Tom from behind. He kicked it in the face as he scrabbled on the pavement for his rifle. Finally, he felt the reassuring plastic grip slide into his palm. He rolled onto his back, firing upwards into the faces of the dead.
Alex picked off the zombies around Rachael until he pulled the trigger and only heard a dry click. “Shit, goddammit.” He tucked the pistol into his waistband and ran out the door, the baseball bat in his hand. Harbaugh and Billings followed.
Buck's shotgun ran dry. He frantically patted his pockets for more shells.
Alex bludgeoned a path toward Rachael. He swung the bat frantically, but the zombies seemed to close ranks in front of him, cutting Rachael off. “Dammit, girl, fight!”
She didn't have room left to swing. The zombies pulled the crowbar from her hands.
Niel Jordan, the postman, was still dressed in his blue shirt and shorts. Half his face had been chewed down to the bone, and one eye was a gaping, red socket. He leaned in with bared teeth, almost delicately, toward the pale, white flesh of Rachael's neck.
Blood sprayed from Neil's ears as the butt of Buck's shotgun crashed down on his head. The zombie dropped. “Come on!” Buck yelled.
Sinder stood, seemingly frozen. His hands were clutched beneath his chin, deep in concentration.
“Dan, goddammit, what are you doing?” screamed Tom. He slapped Sinder across the face. “Quit fucking praying and help out!”
Sinder shook his head, then regarded Tom with a glare so poisonous that Tom took an involuntary step back. After a long moment, Dan smiled thinly. He raised his pistol, took careful aim, and shot down a few zombies.
Rachael, Tom, Sinder, Alex, and Buck plowed their way through the dead. Harbaugh caught up, and then Billings. Together, they finally reached the door of the high school.
Josh and Emily still stood outside the door, picking off any zombies that strayed too close. Rachael charged through the open door followed by Sinder, Tom, and the rest. Harbaugh and Alex came last. They slipped inside and slammed the door. Josh turned the bolt.
Zombies slammed headlong against the metal doors of the school. Blood splattered on the door's wire-reinforced windows.
Harbaugh collapsed to the floor. Alex paced back and forth angrily, muttering, “Son of a bitch. Son of a gol-damned bitch.”
Josh stood and stared out at the carnage on Old Mine Road. Sinder brushed dust off of his sweater vest.
The library was engulfed. Flames churned out of the windows and licked through the roof. A black smudge of smoke rose into the cloudless sky, blotting out the afternoon sun. Bodies sprawled all across the roadway, heaps and piles of corpses, splattered brains, and shattered skulls. Some of the dead still burned where they lay. Streams of blood formed rivers then ran into the storm drains. A few zombies, only crippled, moaned softly and crawled toward the high school.
Zombies crowded around the tiny windows in the school's front doors. They blotted out the sunlight and threw the foyer into a shifting darkness.
Rachael sank to the floor. Her face crumpled like paper. Tears channeled her mascara as she shakily lit a cigarette. “Goddammit.”
“You're welcome,” said Buck.
“I don't know about y'all,” Alex said, “but I've had about enough of this shit for one day.”
***
The school's small enclosed courtyard once had a tree, but now there was only a sheared stump squatting in the middle of a dead lawn. The courtyard was surrounded by a covered walkway. On one end there was a door leading to the foyer. The other end opened onto a hallway that then led to the basketball gym. Along the right side were the science classrooms; along the left side, woodshop and music. Thick plywood had been screwed in over the exterior windows. Plastic tarps covered furniture and equipment.
The nine of them sat, shell-shocked, in the high school's little courtyard. For a long while, nobody spoke. Sunlight shone over the tops of the school buildings, and shadows crept across the wilted lawn in the courtyard as the sun sank low in the west.
“Okay, folks.” Finally, Harbaugh stood up from the tree stump. “It's going to get cold tonight. We need to get a fire built, and we need to find some kind of bedding. John, Dan, Emily, and Josh, you all know the school pretty well. What do we have to work with?”
“There's all kinds of scraps in the woodshop class,” said Billings, “and they might not have cleaned out the cafeteria yet.”
“I just checked the faucets
in the bathroom,” said Josh. “There's still running water. For now.”
“Great. Good thinking,” said Harbaugh. “Be nice if we had some blankets or something.”
“The stadium blankets,” said Emily. “There are probably a hundred of them in the spirit store.”
Josh added, “And we could sleep on the gym mats.”
“Good,” said Harbaugh. “Make it happen.”
They went their separate ways.
Buck kicked in the door of the woodshop and came out with an armful of wood scraps. He built a fire pit on the dead lawn of the courtyard and got a fire going.
Tom and Josh returned from the cafeteria, carrying steel pots and a bag filled with canned food. “Looks like we're in luck,” said Tom. “They haven't cleared out the pantry yet.” He set down the pot and picked up a can. “I hope you guys like beans.”
“Beans will work,” said Rachael. “I'm so hungry, I'm about to go fighting the zombies for scraps.” She produced a tiny mirror from somewhere and examined her smeared makeup. She cringed. “God, I look like a dead raccoon.”
Josh took a metal pot and left. He returned a moment later with the pot full of water. He set it over the campfire.
Alex filled a smaller pot from the one over the fire. He dipped a bandanna into it and rinsed the dirt and crusted blood from his face.
Tom sat down cross-legged on the ground and opened cans with the can opener on his pocket knife. He dumped them into a pot, then perched it on some rocks above the fire. Soon, the aroma of cooking food filled the courtyard. Gradually, the survivors gravitated toward the fire.
The sky above turned from dusky blue to orange to indigo. The stars came out, the temperature fell, and the whine and yip of coyotes rose above the incessant groans of the undead.
Harbaugh sat down on the tree stump again. “You know,” he said, “this has been a really shitty day.”
Nobody disagreed. Rachael lit another cigarette.
Harbaugh slid off the stump to the ground. He lay there unmoving.
“Jim!” Rachael yelled. She ran to him and crouched down. The others crowded around. “Jesus, he's not breathing.” She rolled the sheriff onto his back.
Alex Rains, Vampire Hunter (Book 2): Hell Night Page 13
