“Be careful,” said Josh. “He could turn.”
“No,” said Rachael. “No, no, no.” She started chest compressions.
Harbaugh wheezed as Rachael forced air from his lungs. His eyes snapped open.
Josh screamed, “Rachael, look out!” He ran forward with his hammer raised high.
Harbaugh blinked and raised his head. He focused on Josh and said, “What the fuck?”
Josh stopped. “Oh.” He lowered the hammer.
Harbaugh sat up. He rubbed his eyes, then looked around at the crowd. “What are you all staring at? I'm not a zombie. If you hit me with that hammer, I'm going to be very upset.”
“Don't scare us like that, Sheriff,” said Rachael.
“Don't worry,” said Harbaugh. “I'm fine.”
***
Josh disappeared into the music classroom for a few minutes. When he reappeared, he was carrying an acoustic guitar. He sat on the ground and started tuning up.
Sinder sighed. “Joshua,” he said, “I have a headache. I think someone clumsily banging on a guitar is the last thing we need right now.”
“Actually,” said Rachael, “a little music sounds exactly like what I need right now.”
Sparks from the fire danced and rose into the twilight sky. The first stars appeared. For a long while, nobody spoke. The fire crackled, and crickets chirped along with the random tones of a guitar being tuned.
“Well,” said Buck, “now what?”
“Who the hell knows?” said Billings. “We simply don't have enough information.” He sat on the ground near the fire. The book of spells from the library lay open at his feet. “This is all fascinating stuff, but it doesn't help us much.” He peeled another page loose and turned it. “Unless you want a spell to keep rabbits out of your garden or to 'fox thy neighbor's beer.' Whatever that means.”
“I've been thinking,” Tom said. “If this is the same shit that happened in the 1800s, can we assume that it's only happening here? If that's the case, I think it makes sense to make a break for it.”
Billings said, “But how far could we really get, with those things out there and no vehicles?”
Tom shrugged. “On foot, not far,” he admitted.
“How about bicycles?” Josh asked. “Or horses? If we could make it out of town, we could see if there are any left at the McCarthy Ranch.” He cradled the guitar in his lap but hadn't played anything.
Tom poked at the fire with a stick. “It's a thought. We're just brainstorming right now. I don't think we should commit to anything yet.” After a pause, he added, “Does anybody have a better idea?”
Nobody did.
Alex said, “Hell, I say we all eat dinner, and then we get some sleep. I'm about hungry enough to eat a horse, and the saddle along with it. Anyhow, that's about all we can do right now. We can figure out the rest in the morning.”
“He has a point,” said Harbaugh, slumped against the tree stump.
“Funny thing,” said Rachael, “how much things stay the same, even in a zombie apocalypse. Sometimes you just have to get some sleep and hope things look a little better in the morning.”
Billings said, “Heck, maybe there'll be a column of tanks rolling down Main Street by then.”
Abruptly, Emily started crying.
“Now, now,” said Sinder. He sat down next to her and rubbed her shoulder. “It's going to be okay.”
“How is it going to be okay? There's zombies out there and they're eating people!”
Sinder smiled sympathetically. “The Lord works in mysterious ways, Emily. We have to have faith that this is all part of His plan.”
Rachael exhaled a plume of smoke. She said, “Some plan. We've got enough problems without that horse shit.”
Josh stood up. He walked over, carrying the guitar by the neck, and sat down next to Emily. He touched her shoulder and looked at her until she made eye contact. “Hey, it's okay,” he said. “We're going to be fine. Really.”
“Fine like Lila? Like Rudy? Like Chet?” Her voice rose, approaching hysteria. “My God, there are dead things out there and they're eating people, and it's . . . it's not okay! It's not going to be okay!”
“Josh, can't you see you're upsetting her?” said Sinder, reasonably. “Why don't you go play with your guitar somewhere else?”
Josh ignored Sinder and leaned forward. “Emily, you're going to be fine, you hear me? In a few months, this is all going to be behind you. You're going to be at Harvard, meeting new people, doing amazing things . . .”
“I don't want to go to Harvard,” she said quietly.
“Hey, don't say that. This is just a setback. You're going to get there, and—”
“I said, I don't want to!” she yelled. “I don't fucking want to go to Harvard! I never did! My mom and dad went to Harvard and Mom's a doctor, so all of a sudden I'm supposed to go to Harvard and be a doctor, and ever since I said that's what I wanted, back in the sixth grade or something, everybody's just been pushing me toward it. Harvard, Harvard, fucking Harvard. Everybody just keeps pushing me and telling me how smart I am and how great I'm going to do. They told me I was the smartest and the prettiest, and everybody told me I was the best at everything, so I had to live up to it, and I had to be the prom queen and date the quarterback even though I didn't even like him, and now he's dead and I've got to pretend like my heart is broken, and I'm probably going to have to speak at his funeral and say nice things, but . . . but he was an asshole!”
She sobbed again. “He was an asshole. There, I said it. He was a rude, inconsiderate asshole. He . . . he hit me, and I didn't even tell anybody, because I didn't want to rock the boat. And I still dated him for two years. Because I was supposed to. And I was miserable. The best thing about going off to school was that I had an excuse to break up with him. And now I'm being shipped off to Harvard to be a doctor because that's what I'm supposed to do. And I don't want it! I never wanted it. Nobody ever asked me what I want.”
“Well, what do you want?” asked Sinder.
“I don't know,” Emily replied.
Rachael chuckled. “Welcome to the club, hon.”
Emily wept quietly. Josh scooted closer to her until their knees touched. “I don't know about any of that. But I know that it's going to be okay. I just know it.”
Emily smiled a little. “You're sweet,” she said.
“Josh, didn't I tell you to stop bothering her?” said Dan.
“No, Mr. Sinder. He's okay.”
After a moment's pause, Josh settled the guitar into his lap. He strummed a major chord experimentally, then settled into a driving G-major rhythm. He plucked bass line with his thumb while effortlessly picking out a melody with his fingers, even as he shifted chords, walking down to an E-minor, then to a C-major, to a D.
The survivors stopped what they were doing and turned their heads. The boom and squeak of guitar strings echoed in the little courtyard.
Josh settled down into a groove and began to sing in a honey-sweet tenor. “When the night has come, and the land is dark . . .”
His nimble fingers kept the downbeat nailed to the floor, picking out a counter-melody with authority, rolling out offhanded flourishes and improvisations.
“. . . and the moon is the only light we'll see . . .”
He faltered once, when Emily leaned her head against his shoulder. But he recovered, turning the slight bobble into an impromptu solo, then transitioned back into the verse. He sang the last chorus twice and closed with another brief solo.
A stunned silence followed. The fire crackled and the crickets chirped.
“Jesus, Josh,” said Rachael. “That gave me chills. Where have you been hiding that?”
Josh shrugged, absentmindedly strumming the guitar. “I don't know. I like to play a little bit.”
With a laugh, Buck said, “A little bit? Kid, holy shit, you're good. You're really good.”
“That was amazing,” Emily breathed.
“Damn, kid,” said Alex. “You'v
e got it.”
Josh laughed shyly. “What's 'it'?”
“It's what you've got. That voice of yours is gonna be famous someday.”
“Nah.” Josh laughed again and shook his head, looking down at the ground. “I mean, that'd be great, but it's never going to happen. I'm not good enough for that.”
“Josh,” Buck said, “I don't know much about music, but that was . . . You've got a gift. I've been picking at the guitar for thirty years, and I can't do half that well. I'd happily pay money to listen to that for a few hours.”
Alex said, “Kid, you get up on a stage, you're gonna have the whole room eating out of your hand.”
“Play something else,” said Emily, with a contented sigh.
“What do you want to hear?”
“I don't care. Just keep playing.”
Josh picked out the familiar melody of “Earth Angel.”
Alex leaned back, smiled, and mouthed along with the words.
Sinder scowled and stalked away towards the gymnasium.
***
The fire burned down low. Buck tossed in another scrap of wood. Harbaugh still leaned against the tree stump. Billings stared off into the embers of the dying fire. Josh and Emily wandered away from the fire and into the gymnasium.
Rachael stood and walked away from the fire, down one of the darkened hallways, past drinking fountains, badly painted murals, and plastic trashcans. When she couldn't see the light of the campfire anymore, she sat down on the floor and leaned up against a row of lockers. While she held her cigarette lighter up like a candle, she pulled the black book from her purse. She opened the book and set it in her lap, then moved her finger along as she read, softly whispering words to herself.
Some time later, Buck rounded the corner carrying a lit candle. Rachael looked up guiltily and snapped the book shut.
Buck's eyes narrowed. “What's that?” he asked.
“It's nothing.” Rachael slid the book into her purse.
“What do you mean, it's nothing? What were you reading?”
Rachael stood up. “I said, it's nothing. Could you just drop it?”
“No, I'm not going to drop it. We're looking for a book, and you're hiding a book? What am I supposed to think?”
“Do you really think I'd—”
“Rach, when it comes to what you'd do, nothing would surprise me. If it's nothing, why won't you show me? What's the fucking book?” He reached for the purse and she snatched it away.
“Hey, folks, what's the commotion?” Billings came around the corner, followed by Josh.
“She's got a fucking book in her purse, and she won't show me what it is.”
“It's nothing,” said Rachael. “Really. It's just a book.”
Billings sighed. “Rachael, I think that, under the circumstances, you can see how we'd be suspicious of a mysterious book that you won't show anyone. Can you just show us what you've got?”
“It's not Rachael,” said Josh. “She wouldn't do all this.” Emily came around the corner behind him, then Sinder and Tom.
“You don't know her like I do, kid.” Buck yanked the bag out of her hands.
“Hey!” Rachael yelled. She reached for the bag, but Buck pivoted away. She hit him on the back. “You asshole!”
“Jesus, Rach. I knew you hated everyone, but I never thought you'd go as far as this.” Buck fished around in the purse. He pulled out the book. “And here we are.” He held it up to the light in triumph. “Here's our . . .” Buck looked at the cover and a puzzled expression crossed his face. “Holy Bible?”
“Are you fucking happy?” Rachael snatched the book from his hands, and he didn't stop her. “Are you satisfied now?” She glared at the row of faces watching her. “It's a Bible, okay? It's a fucking Bible. I stole it from the library. I'm the world's biggest fucking hypocrite. After all the wisecracks, all the scorn, when things get tough, I go back to God like a junkie goes back to the needle.”
Buck looked flummoxed. “I didn't know—”
“Yeah, well,” she laughed bitterly. “Raised Catholic. It's like the mafia. You never really leave.”
“I'm sorry,” said Buck, flatly.
“You should be,” she snapped. “Asswipe. You really think I'd let loose a horde of zombies on the town? Really?”
“I didn't—”
“What about you? You don't have much love for this town. Should I spill all your dark secrets?” She stabbed a finger into his chest. “Should I tell them about the real Buck Henry? The weird shit you're into? What if this was all your crazy plot to get revenge on your ex?”
Buck's face darkened. “I'm not—”
“You're not what? Crazy? A murderous psycho? All those things you just accused me of being? Well, Bucky, if you can't take it, don't dish it out.”
“Shut up,” he said.
“Or what?” she growled. “What are you going to do, Bucky? She turned on her heel and stormed off into the dark. Buck stormed off in the opposite direction.
“Well,” said Billings, after a moment of silence. “That was . . . something. Maybe Alex should—wait a minute, where is he?”
***
Alex crouched down low and crept across the roof of the school. At the far end, away from the mass of zombies milling around the front door, he paused. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he scanned the street below, his ears pricked for the shuffling of undead feet.
He climbed down from the roof and into the school's outdoor quad. The cement pad was littered with metal picnic tables. A bronze statue of Belden Ashford, hunched and scowling in a top hat and a tailcoat, glared back at him. Another pause and Alex headed toward Main Street.
He stuck close to the buildings, hiding in the shadows, pausing often, keeping his eyes peeled. All around him, the dead shuffled aimlessly, scraping, sighing, moaning and drooling.
He worked his way back through town, past the sheriff's station and the smoldering library. He paused near Annie's saloon. The place was dark, the front doors smashed in and hanging crookedly from wrecked hinges. The doorway was clogged with dead zombies. Alex shook his head sadly. “Didn't go easy, did you, old girl?” he whispered. He continued on his way.
The carnage in front of the diner was unchanged, piles of corpses succumbing to rot and bloat, the stench nearly unbearable. Buddy was still there, trussed up and moaning.
Alex reached the old highway and turned right, then walked down the asphalt until he reached the Starlite motel.
The key slid smoothly into the lock, and Alex pushed the door open. The latch clicked softly as he closed the door behind him. He pulled the thick motel curtains shut, then pulled a candle from his pocket and lit it. Dim, orange light illuminated the room. Alex set the candle upright on the dresser. His golf bag still sat in the corner. He pulled the club cover off the pommel of the katana and removed the sword from the bag. Holding the handle in one hand and the scabbard in the other, he unsheathed the blade. It left the scabbard with a hiss, then the blade was free, dancing like liquid fire in the candlelight. Alex nodded once, curtly, resheathed the sword, and set it on the bed.
He unzipped his duffel bag and took out several boxes of bullets. Sitting on the bed by candlelight, he reloaded the magazines for his pistol. Last, he reached back into the duffel and removed a western-style, leather gun belt festooned with cartridge loops and stamped leather tooling. He wrapped it around his waist and fastened the buckles so the belt rode low on his hips. He dropped the big chrome pistol into the holster. On the side opposite the holster, the gun belt had a leather loop where Alex slid the katana into place.
He snuffed out the candle and slipped it back into his pocket. With the duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he eased the door open and padded away from the motel, down the narrow alley behind the pharmacy, toward the retirement home.
A hungry moan from up ahead stopped Alex in his tracks. He stepped back into the shadows and set the bag down. One hand gripped the handle of his katana, and the other gripped the sheath.
He crouched into a low stance and waited.
Two zombies shuffled down the alleyway—an old man in striped pajamas and a young woman in blue scrubs. They both blindly lurched forward.
Alex pulled the sword and struck in one smooth movement. Two severed heads fell to the gravel of the alley. Only the sigh of escaping gas and the gurgle of leaking fluids marred the stillness of the night. With a single nod of satisfaction, Alex resheathed the sword.
The Prosperity Retirement Village was a blandly institutional, two-story building, lined by rows of neatly trimmed hedges and a narrow skirt of lawn. The front sliding doors had been knocked out of their tracks and hung wide open. Papers and magazines and bits of clothing lay scattered all around.
Alex stepped inside. The reception room of the retirement home contained a handful of waiting room chairs, most of them tipped over. A vase of flowers, still fresh, stood on the front counter.
Three zombies meandered aimlessly through the lobby. Alex cut them down before they could react. The only sound was the wet hiss of steel cutting flesh, the splash of blood hitting the walls, the thump of bodies collapsing against the floor.
The vampire hunter stood for a moment, blood dripping from the katana, listening. He moved on.
He didn't have far to go before he found something. A gas tank. But not a medical oxygen tank. Alex crouched down and lit his cigarette lighter to get a better look. “The fuck?” he muttered. He tried the valve and found it stuck wide open. He extinguished the lighter and picked up the tank.
***
The burned-out foundation of the library smoldered, embers glowing orange and red in the darkness. Charred zombie corpses lay scattered all around, and the smell of burnt wood, paper, and flesh hung heavy in the cold night air.
Alex picked his way through the ruins to the far corner of the library, feeling the heat of the embers through the denim of his jeans. The basement stairs were still intact, open to the sky, with the building around them burned down. With careful steps, Alex threaded through the charred boards and the ruined books.
He ducked to slip beneath a fallen beam. In the far corner of the basement, he found the stack of waterlogged boxes still intact. He pulled out brick after brick of soaking papers and carried them back up the stairs.
Alex Rains, Vampire Hunter (Book 2): Hell Night Page 14
