Mister Cooper accepted the box from him — he’d become a lot more agreeable, and Judy suspected Missus Cooper had something to do with that — then turned toward the sofa. For a moment, Judy thought he was going to say something to her, but then he pointed past her, toward Barbra. "We better get her downstairs," he said to Ben.
Judy took the cue. She said to the other woman, "We have to go downstairs now, Barbra."
But Barbra didn’t budge or reply; instead, she looked to Ben for confirmation.
"She’s right," Ben assured her as he knelt in front of the sofa as before. "You have to go downstairs now, just for a little while, until we get back."
Still nothing but a blank stare from Barbra.
So Ben added, "Then we can all leave."
That got the reaction he was hoping for — Barbra brightened. "Oh, I’d like to leave. Yes."
Ben reach out for her, and she accepted his hand. He pulled her to her feet, and once she was moving, she headed toward the cellar door on her own. Judy collected Barbra’s coat, then nodded to Ben and followed after her.
Once Ben saw that they were indeed on their way, he joined Tom over by the front door. Cooper lingered in the room a moment longer, cast a longing glance toward the cellar, then hefted the box of jars and headed for the stairway without a word — grudging or not, he knew what his job was, and Ben was relieved that he was going to do it.
Ben set the rifle down next to the door, and Tom offered him the hammer. Ben hesitated — Were they really going to do this? Go back outside? — then accepted the tool, took a deep breath, and said, "Good luck."
"Yeah ..." Tom agreed.
And then they were unboarding the door.
It didn’t take long, but it was a lot noisier than either of them would have preferred. However many of those things were on this side of the house, this would surely draw their attention, and maybe bring a few more from the back as well. It was disheartening to see how quickly such hard work could be dismantled, but they were committed now.
Across the room, Judy peeked from around the still-open cellar door. Tom noticed as he turned to toss aside some of the wood, and their gazes locked. To his everlasting amazement, she offered him another of her beautiful smiles, and that smile both emboldened him and almost stole his nerve.
Upstairs, Cooper set the mason jars on a table beside one of the front windows, then folded first one then the other curtain up and over the rod. This whole plan was insane enough as it was — the last thing he wanted to do was set the house on fire!
Opening the window, he knocked the storm screen outward, letting it fall wherever it may. It had gotten so dark outside, he couldn’t be sure how many of those things lingered in front of the house, but he could smell them all the way up here, which meant there were a lot.
A lot of dead people.
He fought back a shudder, shoving that thought from his mind. If he was going to think about anything, it would be Karen, and Helen.
Carefully, he opened the box and removed the first mason jar, and strove to ignore the gasps and soft groans that rose up from the yard below.
At the front door, Ben returned with another of his tried-and-true custom torches. The smoke was as bad as before, and he bellowed, "You ready upstairs?!" which startled the hell out of Tom and Judy.
"Yeah!" came Cooper’s voice.
"Okay, toss ’em!"
At the upstairs window, Cooper struck a match and lit the cloth-fuse of the first jar. He was unnerved by how fast the flame caught, and he wasted no time hurling the jar outside. It struck the ground to the front-left of the truck — dear God, if he had tossed the jar any harder, he might have hit it!
But it had the desired effect: The creatures — and there were a lot more of them now — immediately withdrew, the closest ones throwing their arms before their eyes as though the eight-foot wide circle of flames were a lot hotter and brighter than it really was. Their moans elevated in both volume and pitch as they retreated in fear.
Cooper didn’t wait. He lit the second jar, but took the extra second to make sure that he hit the ground to the front-right of the truck. The things withdrew further, leaving both truck doors free for Ben and Tom to reach.
But Cooper wasn’t satisfied. To his surprise, he found himself getting a morbid thrill from this — striking back at the bastards who hurt his little girl! He threw a third and then a fourth jar, pushing the things further back, and the last jar spilled its flames right onto the legs of one of them!
To Cooper’s obscene pleasure, the burning creature danced around next to the truck. It was really moaning now, they all were, but even though it was actually on fire, the cries still smacked more of fear than of pain — its clothes, its skin was burning, and yet it didn’t go down anymore than the one Ben had shot in the heart.
My God ... it’s true. They really are dead.
He had seen enough. He bolted for the stairway.
Reaching the ground floor, he rounded into the hallway and called out, "Go ahead! Go on!"
Judy watched from the cellar doorway as Tom unlocked the front door, then ran outside with Ben right on his heels.
Tom hauled ass, practically flying off the front porch — Ben followed at a slower pace, the torch burning in one hand and the rifle ready in the other. As Tom dashed for the driver’s side of the truck, he saw that one of the things, its clothes in disarray and its sunken eyes dark against its pale face, had wandered around the fires and into his direct path. He didn’t see any choice but to take the dead man head on.
Slamming into it, he expected it to bowl over backwards. Instead, this one surprised him with its strength and coordination; it closed its arms, grabbing him by the shoulders.
God, the smell! Even if the television hadn’t revealed the true nature of these maniacs, this one’s stench alone would have given it away. The reek made Tom want to vomit.
For a moment, they danced in twisted intimacy, then Tom regained some leverage and shoved it away — it ripped the sleeve of his T-shirt, while he tore its shirt halfway off its body. Tom spun and yanked the truck’s door open, but the thing was on him again before he could climb into the driver’s seat. He braced himself and rammed his foot into its stomach, which finally knocked it to the ground. But there was another one right behind it, and Tom just barely pulled the door closed in time.
On the other side of the truck, Ben waited for Tom to get the engine started. He didn’t know where to look first, whether to shoot them or swing the torch. In the end, he opted to wait, his heart pounding — most of them were still held back by the circles of flame, but that wouldn’t last long.
There were so many of them now, so many! It was Beekman’s Diner all over again — they were all staring at him, reaching out for him, gasping, moaning, lusting for him, for his flesh. And creeping ever nearer.
In the truck, Tom tried to put the key into the ignition, but his hand was shaking so badly he kept missing. The first thing still hadn’t regained its feet, but the second was right there — inches away! — pawing at the window. Tom looked over at it; he couldn’t help himself. He saw the clammy, discolored skin; the horrible, infected-looking gash along the left side of its jaw near its mouth — hell, as far as he knew, that wound is what killed it, only to bring it back.
Tom looked away, sickened. And finally drove the key home.
In the house by the open cellar, Judy heard the struggles, the ghastly ululations through the open front door, and when she heard the truck’s engine turn over and start, she made her decision in the blink of an eye.
"I’m going with him."
And then she was running across the room toward the front door.
Mister Cooper heard her, saw her coming, and tried to block her way. "Get back in the cellar!" he ordered, grabbing at her arms.
"No!" she cried.
"It’s too late!"
And he was right, but not in the way he thought. It was too late, because her mind was made up and there was no way in hell
she was letting Tommy leave without her!
Outside, Ben heard the struggle over the rumble of the truck. He whirled about, expecting to find that one of the creatures had somehow made it onto the porch and was trying to get into the house. Instead, he was surprised to see the girl, Judy, shoving her way past Cooper and running into the yard.
Tom caught the movement from the corner of his eye and looked through the windshield. His jaw dropped in horror twice over:
First, because Judy was outside, skidding to a halt in front of the truck as she spotted the things that were trying to get at him.
Second, because at that moment, Cooper slammed the front door shut.
Judy heard it, looked behind her, then back to Tom. She was frozen, her bravado from a moment before evaporating as the reality of what she was doing — had already done — sank in.
Tom gaped at her a second longer, then twisted back toward the driver’s window, slapping his palm against it, anything to keep the creatures’ attention on him, to keep them from noticing his Judy standing out there, exposed.
Ben, bless him, broke the spell. He shouted at her, "Well if you’re coming, come on!"
Judy hurried around to the passenger side.
Ben set the torch down in the grass, grasped the rifle with both hands. "Get in!" he snapped.
He wouldn’t get any argument from her! Judy opened the door and leaped into the truck.
Ben took aim and fired at one of the things as it drew closer. The slug pounded into its chest and out through its back — it stumbled a moment, its momentum halted ... and then it was shambling forward once more.
Ben thought frantically. The only injuries that seemed to put them down for good was damage to the head, to the brain. But he was a high school teacher, damn it — he knew his way around a gun from childhood hunting with his father, but he was a far cry from being a marksman.
Rather than waste more ammo from this distance (not that the distance was all that great by now), Ben stooped and reclaimed his torch. Whatever harm they could or could not withstand, they were afraid of fire, and that was his one solid advantage. He waved the torch toward one, then another.
They slowed, but did not stop.
More of them had reached Tom’s side of the truck — for an unsettling, surreal moment, he found himself staring at a glistening wedding ring, still in place on its bloated, blue finger.
If they waited much longer, they would be overwhelmed. They had to get moving!
Tom put the truck into gear.
Ben heard the shift in the motor and took the hint. Tossing the rifle ahead of him, still brandishing the torch, he climbed over the side and into the bed of the truck.
As if sensing their prey were about to escape, the things — the dead — swarmed forward as fast as their bungling feet would carry them.
Having locked the front door, Harry Cooper rushed over to one of the windows. He crouched, peering through the openings between two nailed slats, desperate to follow what was happening outside.
Ben slipped, nearly losing his footing as the truck lurched. The dead were too damned close; Tom needed to get the truck moving, to gain some speed before he could just knock them out of the way.
Ben tried to help, thrusting the torch in every direction. One of them got too close, and Ben shoved the torch against its belly. Its dirty evening jacket caught fire and it stumbled away, slapping at the licking flames, the concept of Stop-Drop-and-Roll beyond its limited comprehension.
But there were plenty of others to take its place.
Cooper switched from gap to gap, trying to see better. He wanted to scream! Why in the world weren’t they moving yet?!
As if Cooper’s frustration lent much-needed inertia to the truck, Tom finally got it rolling backward. He didn’t run any of them over, but he knocked them down and out of the way. Wheezing and gasping, several tried to hold on to the truck, unwilling to give them up — Ben leaned over the cabin and thrust the torch against hands, into faces.
The dead fell back, and the truck was clear. Tom shoved it into a forward gear, and they were on their way!
The truck pulled around the house, out of sight from Cooper’s vantage point. Cooper hesitated — he knew he should probably stay next to the front door, since they would be coming back with those things hot on their heels ... but in the end, he couldn’t contain himself. He dashed toward the back of the house.
As Tom drove around to the gas pump by the barn, they encountered more of the dead coming in from the back fields. He gripped the steering wheel tight, knowing their venture had better work now, because all this racket was drawing more of them in than ever. He was forced to slow down as some of them bounced off the fenders, only to have others clamber along the sides. Ben held steady in the back, waving the torch every which way.
Tom wanted to gun the engine and get the hell away from this new group, but just then the engine coughed once, reminding him that they were too low on fuel for any jackrabbit stunts. Instead, he ground his teeth, reached over to hold Judy’s hand, and pressed on in low gear.
Cooper ran into the kitchen, looked around, and located the window that would best serve him. He shoved the drapes aside, leaning back and forth until he spotted them near the barn. Yes, they had pulled away from the rest of those things and were almost to the pump. They were going to make it!
Tom eased the old Chevy around in an arc toward their destination. A glance through the side mirror revealed over a dozen of the dead zeroing in on them, but they were far enough away that they should have plenty of time to fill the tank, so long as they hurried.
Leaving the engine running, Tom leaped from the cabin and sprinted for the pump. Ben jumped down from the bed, the torch and rifle in each hand. As Tom shoved the key into the rusty padlock on the pump handle, Ben set the torch down on the ground where he could grab it again at a moment’s notice, and held the rifle at ready. But when he turned, he saw Tom still fumbling with the lock.
"Come on!" he urged.
Frustrated and terrified, Tom told him, "This key won’t work!"
Ben never wavered. He took Tom by the arm and pulled him away from the pump. "Watch out."
He didn’t have to tell Tom twice. The young man backed away as Ben aimed the rifle.
At near point-blank range, Ben blew the lock to smithereens. The blast echoed through the night, and would undoubtedly bring more of the dead shambling toward them, but Tom knew they would be long gone by then. They just had to hurry!
It was the second time Tom had told himself as much. And it was his undoing.
He raced to the pump, tossed aside the stray remains of the padlock, seized the handle in a firm grip and spun around toward the truck. Unfortunately, that firm grip squeezed the pump lever halfway down, and gasoline sprayed and splashed everywhere — through the air, all over the side of the truck, and onto the ground ...
... where Ben had laid the burning table leg.
"Watch the torch!" Ben cried, diving for it.
Too late. Ben dragged it away, but not before the gasoline caught. In the blink of an eye, the back-right half of the truck was covered in fire!
In the kitchen, Cooper had been straining to see what was happening out there in the dark, but when flames raced up the side of the truck, he saw it just fine. His heart shot up into his throat and his bowels washed over cold as he watched his daughter’s best chance for rescue burning in the night. His pulse raced and his head pounded.
Those bastard ... those clumsy, stupid bastards!
This time, Ben had no idea what to do. The flames were as spread out as those created by the Molotov cocktails, but these were burning hotter and spreading faster. Too much to snuff out by kicking dirt on it, not in the little time they had before the dead caught up to the them.
What should he do? What should he do?!
Tom, so flustered that he wasn’t fully conscious of his own mistake, tried to sneak in around the side, tried to get the nozzle into the waiting gas tank, but i
t was pointless — the fire was too intense.
Tom was more panicked than ever, but what made it worse was that he didn’t know that he was panicking. He shouted, "We gotta get away from the pump!" and ran back around toward the driver’s side of the truck.
Unfortunately, Ben wasn’t listening. He had remembered a dirty old blanket in the bed of the truck, dragged it out and toward the fire. He was reluctant to put down the gun since he would need it again at any time, so he tossed the blanket down and moved it around with his foot. If they could just get it smothered fast enough ...
In a classic case of the right hand not knowing what the left hand was doing, Tom jumped in behind the steering wheel. He got the truck into gear and told Judy, "Hang on!"
Night of the Living Dead Page 14
