Decay (Book 2): Humanity

by Locke, Linus

  “Wait,” Reese interrupted, “you spent almost two weeks driving from Cali to Denver?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Elliot jumped in. “Roads were blocked off, forcing us to take less traveled paths. We spent some time with a few other groups here and there. We may be way behind Jonathan’s schedule, but it’s been an adventure.”

  The group went quiet after that. Laikynn had a story of her own, but she wouldn’t share it now. She just watched each of her new companions, feeling sure they were who they said they were, but still unsure as to whether they could be trusted.

  An hour was all Laikynn would spare them before she threw snow on the fire and set out.

  The morning sun was creeping across the mountains by the time they approached the camp. “Should we be heading back here?” Tyler asked.

  Laikynn looked and him, then down at Reese. She nodded at the shorter woman, who turned and released a strange whistle that sounded like a high-pitched turkey gobble and lasted about two seconds. The reply was a much shorter, yet similar, whistle, and Laikynn continued walking toward the camp.

  They past the poles they had been tied to and walked right up to the camp. There was so much blood that it had melted the snow and softened the ground beneath. Fiends continued to tear into their victims. All of the bodies of the people from the camp had had their heads flattened, but not by the violent fiends.

  “Why aren’t the ghouls put away?” Laikynn asked in her thick Irish accent.

  “We’re working on it, ma’am,” replied a young man with an eager voice. He was working with a group of people who were herding the fiends into cages in the back of a U-Haul truck.

  The two fiends that were left stood and walked toward the new group. Before making it more than a few steps, however, they had been snared by the young man and his group and led over toward the cages. Checking that all was secure, the young man smacked the side of the truck and yelled, “Get ‘em out of here.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you people?” Layla asked as she looked around at the camp. Body parts, chunks of flesh, and blood covered everything. The whole camp was drenched in it. “These were human beings!”

  Tyler wrapped his arms around Layla to both comfort and warm her.

  “They were, but not for a long time,” Laikynn retorted without as much as a glance toward Layla. “They were no better than the ghouls that walk this earth looking for life to destroy. They murdered our people. Took friends and family, even the wee ones. You have any idea what it’s like to listen to the screams of a child while they are being cooked alive?”

  “I’ve heard the screams of a man who had asked for forgiveness before being cut in half. That didn’t seem to bother you, but yes, I have heard the screams of children being killed by ghouls, as you call them,” Layla said sharply.

  “Oh, lass. It gets much worse when their flesh bubbles and boils and drips from their bones. After the dead rose and began killing the living, everyone banded together, you probably know this well,” Laikynn looked at each member of the group before her. “We all felt safe around the living. The children felt especially safe, as they came to believe that the grown-ups would protect them.

  “Then, a few months back, they showed up. We took them in and before long our children started to vanish. If the wind blew right we could hear their screams in the mountains … and smell their flesh burn. Those men back there, along with everyone that was in this camp were a part o’that. They captured you. They were going to eat you with not a care for how you felt about it. None of ‘em will get pity from me.”

  Layla stared at the redheaded Irish woman, unsure of how to rebut. She turned to Tyler looking for him to have her back, but she knew he wouldn’t. Not because she thought he was a coward, even though she did, but because even she knew that Laikynn had her. Before the attacks happened, she would have loved to see every murderer, rapist, and criminal face the death penalty. Each life seemed a little more important now.

  “Can we stay in your camp for the night? Give us a chance to warm up before we continue on. I don’t speak for us all, but I would be willing to provide some labor on our behalf,” Elliot offered.

  Laikynn glared at the group. They seemed genuine, but so did the last group. She let out a long sigh and said, “You can stay on one condition. You help remove this cancer from my mountain.” Without waiting for a replay she continued, “Both the cars, are they yours?”

  “Yes,” replied Jonathan.

  “Me’n Reese drive the BMW back to town. You can ride in the hippie car.”

  “What do you mean, “hippie car”. That car gets excellent gas mileage. Something that has proven to be very valuable in the times we live in now,” Tyler exclaimed.

  “Hippie car,” Laikynn said as she walked toward the BMW.

  Jonathan sat in the back of the Prius between Guillermo and Elliot. It was roomier than he thought it would be, but they were crammed together. Through the front window, he watched as his BMW spun around in circles; snow rooster-tailed high in the air as the powerful engine went to work. He couldn’t tell if his face was hot from the sickness he felt from thinking she would total his car or from the heat that blasted from the vents.

  “Man, that looks like so much fun,” Guillermo laughed. “We have to try that when we get to their town.” His smile seemed larger than life, and the glint in his eyes made Jonathan think of a child on Christmas morning.

  Jonathan glared at Guillermo, but he agreed. It did look like fun. The BMW’s engine roared loudly as Jonathan assumed Laikynn had her foot to the floor and a smile on her face. A picture of the Duke boys tearing up Hazard County in the General Lee formed in his mind. A show a little before his time, yet it was one his father enjoyed. He just hoped his car would survive the trip to wherever they were going.

  The snow finally stopped spewing from the rear tires and the car straightened out. As they slowed to a stop, Jonathan could see a black dump truck with a large plow on the front sitting just off the road like a bear in hibernation. The truck in front signaled with a flash of his lights, and black smoke rolled from the dump truck’s exhaust stacks as the bear awoke.

  The dump truck backed up and revealed a snowy path through the trees. Tyler followed the BMW, with the BMW following the two trucks ahead of it, as they turned off the main road. Before turning, the passengers in the Prius caught a glimpse of Denver half a mile east down the mountain. The massive city was empty and overrun by countless mounds of drifted snow that blocked every street.

  The man driving the dump truck, Charlie Butler, is a man of average height in his early twenties who was in and out of jail before the attacks. Nothing serious, Charlie was a mischief maker, a little graffiti here; public intox there. Weed before it was legalized (which was only shortly before the collapse of society). He watched for a moment as the vehicles headed up the path. He then used the plow to build up a snow pile at the entrance of the mountain road. After completing a five-point turn he had the large truck facing up the mountain. Charlie began his drive back to the town, but movement in the trees to his left caught his eye. The dead woman came from out into the clearing and shuffled slowly through the deep snow toward him.

  Charlie lit a joint and cracked the window just enough to suck the smoke out. Then he grinded the transmission into reverse and backed up, angling his truck as he did. He aligned the front of the truck with the dead woman, and he drove forward. She was knocked off her feet and rolled up into a snow pile before being smashed between the plow and a thick tree. Laughing the whole time, he backed up and smashed her again; the chain-wrapped tires on the heavy truck had no problem finding traction.

  He backed up once more, checked that there were no other dangers in the area, and climbed out of the cab. A twisted smile formed on his smooth face as he looked down at the snow pile. Pot smoke rolled through his smile as he exhaled a lungful of the gray vapor. The woman’s neck twitched as she tried to move her head. Her broken fingers squirmed and her right foot c
ame to rest next to her left shoulder. Thick blood crept from her face and turned the snow dark red.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Charlie laughed. He leaned down close to her and flicked the ashes from his joint in her left eye. The woman gnawed in a hopeless attempt to bite his hand. He stood up, looked around, and unzipped his pants. “Looks like ya got something in your eye. I’ll wash it out for ya,” he said as he laughed again. The stream of piss was dark yellow and reeked of stagnant dehydration.

  “Don’t eat the yellow sn—“

  He was interrupted as a hand reached into his mouth. The cold, slimy fingers triggered his gag reflex, causing him to vomit. What was left of his breakfast had nowhere to go with the fingers blocking their exit, so they built up in his throat, blocking his airway.

  Charlie grabbed the disgusting arm with both hands and tried to pull the slimy fingers from his mouth, but the undead hand had a tight grip on his bottom jaw. With no other choice, he bit down hard, finding it tougher to bite through the bones in the decaying fingers than he thought it would be. Just as the whole world began to spin out of control, he managed to grind through the fingers. His stomach contents, as well as the dead fingers, spewed out onto the rotting arm.

  Cold, fresh air rushed into his lungs, and it burned like hell. He fell back into the snow, his vision still blurry and the world still spinning as if he was riding a carousel that was built for torture. He laughed slightly, but it was a scared laugh. “Let me put my dick away. Then I’m gonna fuck you up,” he said as he did so. The front of his jeans was soaked. He caught a quick glimpse of the dead man that had attacked him, but all he could really make out was the blood-stained blue jacket. Vomit oozed from his sleeve.

  Another set of hands grabbed him by his shoulders, ushering a scream. He looked into the new attackers face through his tears. The little girl’s eyes dangled like mirror dice, hanging by the optic nerve. Her dried skin cracked in the freezing temperatures of the mountain. As Charlie tried to fight his way free of the girl, the dead man plunged his five-fingered hand into his mouth. The dead man clutched Charlie’s jaw, jerking and twisting until it shattered, sending shrill screams through the mountains.

  Laikynn climbed out of the BMW and smiled at Jonathan as he walked up to her. “Welcome to Moorford. Nice ride,” she said as she patted him on the shoulder. “If I wasn’t such a good person, I’d tell you that you all looked pretty comfortable in that hippie car. Luckily, I won’t do that to you.”

  Unsure of how to answer, Jonathan said, “Thanks. I guess. We really do appreciate you taking us in for the night. We do not have much, but we can barter for some supplies.”

  “We’ll feed you. Don’t worry none about that. As long as you are reasonable, you can take what you need for your journey. As for now, make yourselves at home. There is a common area over there where you will find cooked meals. Help yourselves. Ask for Tom, he will set you up with rooms in the hotel on the east side of town.”

  “Thanks,” Jonathan said. He turned back to his companions standing by the Prius.

  “One more thing, though. For our hospitality, we were serious about you helping us,” Laikynn said.

  “Sure,” Jonathan replied. He knew he owed her, but he didn’t like the vibe he got. Her comment about removing the cancer from the mountain came back to him.

  “We’re going after those murderers, now that we know where they are. You and your friends are coming with us. We’ll kill every one of them,”

  “I,” Jonathan had no clue what to say. Luckily the screams that travelled across the mountains drew everyone’s attention. The whole town went quiet as they all tried to hear which direction they came from. They lasted for several seconds, but in that few seconds, so much pain could be heard.

  “Charlie, you damned wanker,” Laikynn said, only the slightest bit of mourning could be heard in her voice. “I need a few men to fetch the truck before someone passing by sees it. Watch your backs.”

  “I’ll volunteer,” Elliot said. The muscular black man stepped forward. “And I’ll go after your murderers.”

  “Good to hear. You’ll leave with a few of my guys now to get the truck. Then tomorrow we start planning our attack on the cannibals,” said Laikynn.

  Chapter 5

  “I lost everything,” Roger calmly said as he looked down at Bradley who had sweat running down his face from the pain. “I won’t be the only one to lose it all and watch as everyone else finds new life in this desolation. You think I don’t know that you want to rub it in MY face that YOU found love?” Roger’s temper flared up the more he spoke.

  He knew what would happen next as this dream haunted him every night since he destroyed the lives of two good people; one of them was only a child. Certainly children died every day, especially in these times, but this boy was only twelve, and all he wanted to do was help.

  Tyson slammed into him hard, driving Roger to the concrete. The voices were muffled, but he knew that Bradley was telling Tyson to run away, and unfortunately he chose to stay. Rage and hatred festered to a diseased rot deep inside Roger’s gut, and as Tyson tried to help Bradley, Roger picked up the desk leg and drove the hook into Tyson’s back. The tip of the hook just barely broke through the skin of the boy’s stomach, soaking the front of his shirt as blood ran from his body.

  Roger wanted nothing more than to stay and be torn apart by the ruthless undead mass that marched toward them. The end was so terrible for Bradley and Tyson, and Roger knew that no death he could die would make up for the pain he put them through. His legs began to move. His cowardly legs ran to safety, and his cowardly ears drowned out the screams.

  He sat up on a hotel bed, wrapped in a thin sheet. The pillows and blankets were scattered around the floor at impressive distances. The nightmares would drive him insane. More than once he tried to end his life, but he knew he had to suffer. After leaving the group at Jonathan’s, he did what he set out to do. Now he just needed to die, but he couldn’t. There was always this feeling that he would wander the earth until the end of time. Perhaps he was dead, a fiend, and this is how it was for all of them. They didn’t know they were dead, but Roger knew that was also too good for him. He deserved far more pain. Far more agony.

  It was foggy outside, so he had no idea what time it was as he stood up and walked toward the window. He could see most of the south side of Clay Hills from here, which is why he chose this spot. Although he couldn’t see Jonathan’s house, it was close enough to make an easy trip to check on things. Deacon had left Sophia and the twins, Andy and Amie. He didn’t know why, but he felt a need to watch over them while he was gone.

  On several trips out, Roger would sit by the wall surrounding the property and listen to the old woman, Mrs. Johnson, teach the twins how to read, write, and do basic math. Before he left, Deacon would play with them in the yard, yet he always sounded distant when speaking. Roger assumed this had something to do with why he left.

  A distant rumble reached Roger’s ears as he gazed out the open window. It wasn’t the sound of Deacon’s truck. Roger would recognize that anywhere. This sound was much deeper. He could almost feel the sound as well as hear it. As he scanned the surrounding area for what he assumed was new arrivals, he heard the crash. Something large had crashed into a building and the first thought he had was of the wall.

  Chapter 6

  The ocean surf engulfed the bare feet of Corporal Mark Davis as he stood in the warm sand of Kahanamoku Beach. The breeze felt great as its refreshing coolness washed over his body. He wore khaki cargo shorts with no shirt. His muscular abs shimmered in the moonlight as the salty water dripped from his skin. Normally he would be off duty today, but since the terrorist attacks started three days ago there is no longer an “off duty” for anyone.

  Whatever the terrorists were doing had the whole island on high alert. No fatalities were reported, but there were a few minor injuries. There wasn’t any real damage to any property (a few barricades were damaged and the few small fires were easily
contained). For the most part they were just a handful of flashy explosions which were accompanied by a message left burning in the sand. I AM COMING. All of it happening at random times in equally random places.

  Mark looked back at his palm tree. Next to it was his assault rifle. They were given the order to shoot on sight. In the sand next to his rifle was some SCUBA gear. He had a plan tonight. Through his binoculars he caught a glimpse of a boat floating clear out in the ocean. He would swim to the boat and wait for the terrorist to return. His best chance at success was to go now.

  With the SCUBA gear strapped into place and his rifle at his side, Mark walked out into the ocean. The cool water was dark, but he knew that carrying a light would give him away. The waves tried to force him back, and as soon as he was out far enough, he plunged underneath them. Twenty yards out he swam within ten feet of the terrorist; both men unaware of how close they had come to each other. The terrorist, however, had no plans of terrorizing tonight. Tonight, he had other surprises to prepare.

  The small boat was twenty-five feet long and perhaps seven to ten feet wide, certainly larger than it had looked from the beach, yet Mark still felt like it was too small to travel around the ocean, especially this far away from the mainland. He pulled the binoculars from the small pack her carried and scanned the ocean further out. A slight flicker of light caught his attention a mile or so away, and he was fairly certain it was a yacht. He was still amazed that anyone would take even a large yacht from the mainland all the way to Hawaii. Turning off the oxygen, he pulled himself up and out of the water.