There is a scream.
I don’t recognize it as Bethany at first.
It’s muddled.
Like a conversation at the bottom of a lake bed.
The snarling,
The pounding,
The Rabid!
“HELP!”
Momma and Lee hear it too apparently; they are behind me with weapons raised before I’m even aware of their presence.
Momma is panting, spiralling into a blind panic. “Oh God no, ohnononono!"
“Momma, voice down, she’s alive.”
They crowd behind my right shoulder as I navigate the corner, peering in and out, searching every angle. Monsters may be blind, but I’m not taking any chances. One good whiff of my scent, one tactless maneuver, and I’ll end up with a set of teeth in my jugular.
There are two of them; one with its mouth and hands plastered to the back window, the other in the bed working the rear windshield. Bethany is sitting sideways on the seat, her gun raised, ready to fire through the glass.
She sees me.
I shake my head frantically and motion for her to lower the weapon. She nods, hysterical, begging for my help. She braces a hand against her lips to control the screams.
Good girl, Bethany. Just keep it together. Just like last time. I’m not going to let them hurt you.
Lee raises his rifle.
I grab the muzzle and jerk it towards the ground. “No, if you miss them and hit her, we’ll have a whole new set of problems.” It’s more a venomous hiss than it is a whisper. “Who knows how many more there are lurking around here. No gunshots. We do this quiet.”
“And what exactly do you propose? The shovel is in the truck along with the bags.”
“Just keep that one in the back off me. Momma, you cover us from here, but do not shoot unless we are overrun and out of options.”
I take off, full sprint, no hesitation, the butt of my rifle pointed directly at the head of the one on the ground in front of me with his lips suctioned to the glass. I give no thought to the ruckus I’m kicking up; I figure the sight of Bethany will keep them preoccupied, while I close the gap.
As my rifle slams into the skull of my target, Lee breaks off to my left.
“Come on down.” He kicks the truck. “Come on, bring it to me you bastard!”
My prey recoils off the window, his scalp peeling away, revealing the skull underneath just before he falls back onto the concrete.
Green tattered necktie,
tweed jacket,
shiny cufflinks.
Probably was a businessman. A successful one given his get up. A wife. Shiny convertible. Couple kids. Maybe a dog and a goldfish.
Useless.
May as well be a janitor, or an arm junkie handing out back alley cocksucks for another bite of candy.
I don't give a fuck.
This disease doesn't give a fuck.
Hell hath no favorites.
I am outside of myself. I obliterate his skull. I stand over him and bring my rifle down on his head until it’s nothing more than a chunky puddle of flesh and powdered bone. I’m only torn from my madness by Lee’s cries for help. He’s on his back using his weapon to barrier himself from the gnashing teeth of the demon previously occupying the bed of the pickup.
I retrieve the fold out shovel and flick it open with a snap of my wrist, before burying it in the skull of Lee’s attacker. It goes straight through, a knife through butter, a spoon through a gelatin mold, right down to the neckline. The two fleshy halves flap back and forth, spurting blood as the body falls away and Lee picks himself up.
“Jesus, oh shit, oh God, oh, Jesus Christ. Too fast...way too fast, he just got on me man.” Lee walks circles, wild eyed, jerking the rifle up and down with each shell-shocked proclamation like some black balled bandleader doing baton exercises.
“Lee, we gotta go before more of these things show up.”
Momma is already at the truck checking on Bethany. “Baby are you okay, did they get to you?”
“I think I gotta use the restroom now.” She whimpers.
22
It took me awhile to notice the red streaks of brain matter cutting crop circles across the old grey carpet beneath my feet. It works as a scrub brush of sorts, scraping my rifle clean with the chattering of my knees. By the time I take notice, the damage is so substantial that it doesn't matter. I'm past the point of no return, in more ways than one. The silence filling the truck is the loudest noise I’ve ever heard. A dull buzz that rises with each quarter mile ticking away on the odometer.
I am alien,
monster,
psychopath.
Bethany is curled against the door, as far away from me as humanely possible. To move further away would require her tumbling across the highway at 20mph. She is shaking like a withered leaf. It wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge. To detach her and send her swirling beyond my reach, to be crushed beneath the boot heels of time and circumstance. We're all barely hanging on at this point. There are moments when I feel it; my brain seizing against the walls of my skull, threatening to leave me crippled and helpless. The mind can only take so much. It’s not an infinite resource. It’s not impenetrable. If you hammer away at it long enough, it’s bound to break. I hold the same fear for all of us. We're all sleep deprived. Sleep is the minds natural medication: to process stress, to gain perspective, temporarily, a chance to forget. That eight-hour vacation that so many crave has been yanked from our grasp, and in its stead, we are hammered mercilessly, day in and day out. We anchor one another. That’s the only thing that has kept us afloat. To see Bethany fleeing from me, her eyes pinched shut, is the hardest part, she can’t even look at me. It cuts to the core. She is beyond my comfort. She is beyond my happy-go-lucky words.
Momma eyes me in the mirror, faintly shaking her head.
Disappointment? Disbelief? Disgust?
Lee holds a clenched fist over his mouth; it’s been in place since we left the rest stop. The color that fled his face the moment I buried the folding shovel in the head of his would be killer, has yet to return.
Momma breaks the silence like a pebble through glass. “Dangerous, so dangerous, dangerous and stupid, that’s what it was. Dangerous and stupid, do you understand me, Timmy?” Her eyes flash like fire in the rear-view as she cycles her anger, her voice slowly rising with each new turn of phrase.
Dumb, that’s what it was!
Careless, how could you be so careless?
If you ever do it again…it was just stupid, what were you thinking?
Lee swings in to my rescue. “Pull over, pull over.” He heaves towards the dash, clasping a hand across his lips.
Momma drops the tires into the emergency lane. Lee is out the door on his hands and knees, puking across the pitted blacktop before the truck can stop rolling. I follow him, standing guard, watching the tree line and the road for any signs of the Rabid.
“I’ve been there man, it’s alright,” I assure him.
“I’m not cut out for this, Two-Step.” Strings of mucus and saliva intersect and gather in his moustache. His whole body clenches and releases, he wipes his mouth across his shirtsleeve before lifting his glasses and padding the water from his eyes.
“I don’t think any of us really are to be honest.”
“No, no, you’ve—you’ve got it.” He brings a hand to his chest as if he’s about to lose it again, quivering and quickly regaining control. “You get it done. Me, I can’t even protect myself. Forget going to bat for your mom or your sister, I can’t even keep my back out of the dirt.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself. This is all new. It’s not like I’ve got some super power that you don’t. Give yourself a break. We’re still alive, that’s what matters.”
“Is it? We’re alive, for what? To live like this? Running, puking our guts out on the side of the road because our nerves are so fried we can’t see straight.”
“I can’t answer that for you. You've got to
find your own purpose, Lee.”
“What’s your purpose, kid?”
I don’t have to think on it long. “Seeing my family to safety, everything else is a bonus.”
He comes to his knees, head bowed. The locks of his hair fall across his face like a willow tree, having fought their way free from the clutches of the bandana. “That was mine, seeing you guys to safety. But there you were, rescuing me, peeling me off the pavement.”
“Yeah, well, you’d do the same for me.”
He laughs. “Would if I could, kid, would if I could.”
“You’ve gotta let go to hold on. When I ran in there, I didn’t care if I lived or died. I wasn’t thinking about the possibility of pain, or considering that I might fail. All I could see was what would happen to my sister if I didn’t make a move. If something happens to them, it’s going to be because I’m no longer breathing.”
“You go blank?”
“Yep.”
“Mindless killer?”
“Something like that.”
“So you become one of them.”
Momma’s voice echoes from inside the idling truck. “Everything alright out there? We really need to keep moving, this isn’t safe.”
I help Lee back to his feet. “They live to kill. We kill to live. Remember that.”
He puts an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze.
23
There is no talk. No moment of vindication or pardon. We simply move on. I’d scared them. I’d shown them a side of myself they weren’t aware existed. I didn’t even know it was really there until the butt of my rifle came down on that flesh eaters skull. But, we’re family. You accept what you can, forgive what you can’t, and you get on with it.
As night begins to fall, Lee searches the map for an off the grid locale. “No more sleeping on the main road. It's too dangerous, even behind the metal and glass.” He spies a small farm road two miles ahead of us, tracing over it with a finger before giving it his stamp of approval. Minutes later, we are bumping over displaced gravel and bouncing in and out of potholes that send us shooting towards the roof, only to be ripped back down by the iron grip of our seatbelts. There's forest on either side of us. It reminds me of home, yet it feels sinister. Something is lurking, watching, and waiting. It's probably just my paranoia. After all, these things, they don't watch and wait, they go straight in for the kill.
“How is this better than the road?” Bethany is between the seats, straining to see what lay ahead.
“I've gotta say, Lee, there are no turn around spots here. This isn't exactly the most tactically sound idea. We get rushed here and it's going to be narrow pickings.” Inside the tree line on either side, the terrain appears to slope down and out of sight. An over correction in either direction would send up toppling ass over teakettle.
“Yeah, honey, this isn't good.” Is all Momma has to say. She's zeroed in on driving. Her hands are vice grips, soaking the leather bound steering wheel with the sweat rising from her palms.
“It's a little late now folks, let's just see what's at the end. There's got to be a turnaround there. As long as we keep moving forward we're perfectly safe.”
Ha, perfectly safe. Lee, the dreamer. Or maybe he was trying to be the protector, bringing comfort through white lies and half-truths, the way I have done so many times with Bethany.
The driveway opens up slowly into a flat parcel of splotchy land. There's tall grass and a fenced in garden of wilted vegetation, backed up against a broken down doublewide trailer sitting on cinder blocks. Intermittent sections of petrified lattice skirt the bottom of the old trailer, where vines creep and crawl from the shadows, attaching themselves to the metal exterior in circlets of aggressive growth. On the other side of the land parcel, there is a two-story barn. It's of moderate size. It was painted a traditional red color at one time, complete with the white trimming, and a rooster window above the doors. It'd faded over the years and the current owners either lacked the resources or willpower to keep up with it. There is an old pick up and a small tractor parked back off the main drive.
“Looks like someone is here.”
“Just cause there's a vehicle doesn't mean they're here.” Lee is already opening his door.
“Wait,” Momma leans across to grab him. “You think this is a good idea?”
“It's a hell of a spot to hold up. We could back into that barn, shut up the doors, and we'd be good for the night, no worries. It's at least worth a look.”
“And what if someone's here?” She's almost whispering.
“Then we'll ask them if we can use the barn.”
“If someone's here, man they're probably pretty antsy, we're likely to get our heads blown off. I'm not big on this one.” It all looks quiet from where I'm sitting, just the wind moving through the tree tops, but there are shadows and unchecked corners.
“Two-Step and me, we'll check it out, anything seems off, we're back in the truck and on the road.”
Gotta love being volunteered to risk your ass without so much as a consultation, but there's no point in harping on it, I'd have gone along either way. “Sure, why the hell not.” I slide a round into the chamber of my rifle. Bethany makes a whimper and reaches for my arm. “No worries, keep your pistol ready, shoot anything that tries to bite.”
“You two get back here if you hear or see anything, anything at all, understand me?”
“Gotcha, Momma.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Lee gives her a quick peck on the lips and slides out of the truck.
We move to the front of the hood, I stagger back a bit, watching the angles and periodically checking the rear for anything that might be sneaking up on us. “So how do you want to do this? Check the barn and then the house, or what? Probably doesn't matter, does it?”
“I was gonna submit to you on this, given your track record.”
“Your take is as good as mine. I don't really think it matters either way, we gotta check em' both anyway, right?”
“Right.”
“The hell with it, let's do the barn first.”
“Okay then, well, you want me to lead it?”
“Sure, go ahead, I got your back.” I could tell he wanted to play point man, a chance at redemption, at proving to himself that he could be a hard man amid the hard times.
The barn doors lay slightly ajar, clapping in the mild breeze. I turn circles behind Lee, my eyes following the barrel of my rifle. The shades are pulled down across the windows of the house, there is no movement, no signs of tampering, the glass is intact, the front door pulled tight. There are toddler toys spread about, a big wheel, a grimy white plastic baseball bat, and a plastic water gun with the top dangling open.
“Two-Step, you smell that?”
“Yeah, smelled it since we stepped out of the truck.”
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“I don't know, dead smell seems to be everywhere, nothing new, not worth mentioning.”
“Yeah, except it seems to be seeping out of there.”
“The barn?”
“Yeah, kid, the barn. Stay close on me.”
I step right a little, aiming down the sights at the seven-foot tall brick red double doors. The thin line of shadow peering out at us grows more ominous by the second. Lee is within punching distance. He looks to me, hesitant to make the next move.
“Just pull it, I've got it covered.”
He flinches like a grade school girl reaching for an insect, his fingers curling back against the palm of his hand as he draws towards the handle. And then, like pulling a Band-Aid from a patch of hair, he yanks back on the door, slinging it open with one swift motion. He lets the kinetic energy take over, releases the door, and drops to one knee, shouldering his weapon against the receding darkness.
The smell washes across us, mixed in deeply with the escaping air, it assaults our senses with every breath. “Yeah, something is definitely dead.” I concede.
“Dead and walking, or dead-dead that is the
question.”
I gaze up and see the answer to the question dangling from the rafters. “Lee, look up.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
With weapons resting at waist height, we move into the barn. The dangling man's face is swollen and purple, his eyeballs bulge from their sockets like baseballs preparing to be launched from a pitching machine; he's much too disfigured to identify. The wind rushing in from the freshly opened doors catches him and begins to rock him back and forth, as the beam overhead groans under the shifting weight.
“Oh, God, oh my God, Two-Step, look at this.” Lee is rushing away from a stack of hay bales, one hand clutched across his mouth.
I approach the scene hidden away in the corner beyond general line of sight, I am ready for the worst, or so I think.
It's a mother and her young son. She is holding him tight against her chest. Her hand is cupped behind his head, her fingers in his hair. She is readying him for encroaching death. Whispering sweetness in his ear. Taking him to other places. Rainbows and magic and all that horse shit. They each have a hole in their skulls. They've begun to blacken and swell. The smell of decay rises from their entwined corpses. A .22 calibre rifle lies nearby. I've never placed a bet, but if I were going to start, I'd wager that the man hanging from the rafters had left his fingerprint on the trigger.
“Two-Step, let's just go, let's just get back in the truck and get the hell out of here.” He's already out the door and grasping the handle, waiting for me to follow so he can slam it home.
“Wait a second, just calm down; you're freaking out again, just think for a second. These people haven't been chewed on. We haven't checked the house yet, but I see no evidence of looters, nothing that suggests an attack. These folks just look like they got desperate and decided to end it.”
He shrugs at me like I'm stupid. “What's your point, kid, this isn't a barn, it's a tomb.”
“My point is, this can still work for us. We can still hold up here.”
“How do you figure?”
The Rabid (Book 1) Page 12
