Grace’s stomach began to turn. She saw where this was going and didn’t find herself enjoying this as much as she had anticipated. But Terry continued.
“The undead don’t just crave human flesh,” she said. “They need it. Human flesh to them is like air and water to the rest of us. They need it to survive in their state of unliving.
“And that’s just what happened, right here, four hundred years ago. The settlers died, trying to cross the mountains. But the energy was strong, very strong, and they rose again, undead, feasting on the flesh of the living.”
Several members of the audience now had looks of disgust on their faces. Even Charlie stared straight ahead, appalled at what he was hearing.
“Those who didn’t die right away, the ones who were more fit and able to carry on, died soon after, when the undead caught up to them.” Even Terry looked terrified as she recounted the story. “And they didn’t just eat them, oh no. The undead devoured the living.” More looks of disgust. “They ripped and tore the living apart limb from limb, chunk from chunk.”
Now there were several groans from the audience; people turned their heads, horrified at the idea of being eaten alive by another person—another creature.
Terry leaned forward again with her hands on her knees as she lowered her head even further toward the audience. “They bit through skin, chewed through bone, gorged on intestines and brains.”
A man in the middle of the audience had heard enough.
“All right, Ter, I think that’s enough,” he said. He stood to leave, but Terry tried to call him back.
“Jake,” she said very quietly, raising a hand. “I’m sorry, dear, but it’s a story that has to be told.”
“But it’s not even true!” he protested. Everyone else remained still on the floor, looking up at Jake as he navigated through the audience. “The entertainment value left when you started talking about people being eaten alive. What’s wrong with you?” He stormed off, down the hall, and Terry did not try to stop him.
A woman, Barbara, sitting in the front row, asked, “What happened to the,” she paused, hesitant to say the word, “undead, when there were no more people left to eat?”
Terry slowly turned her attention to the woman asking the question. “I’m glad you asked,” she said. “After a while, the living began to thin out, the undead having nearly wiped out the whole lot of them. Those who were not completely devoured suffered the same fate; they became cursed as well, forced to carry on as creatures of the undead.
“And when none of the living remained and no more continued to pass through, the undead just perished.”
Not knowing what to think about all this, Grace looked down. But Terry was quick to elaborate.
“But every now and then, the energy generated by these mountains and by the land becomes just right.” The last part she said with a half whisper: “And the dead DO rise again...and again...and again!”
At this, most of the campers stood from where they sat and wordlessly began making their way to their rooms. Many of them exchanged worried looks. Fathers walked away with their arms around children whose faces were pale and ashen. Grace looked down at her hands; her palms were red from holding on to Charlie’s arm so tight. Her neck was tingly, much like the feeling when the hair on the back of one’s neck is standing on end. Not knowing whether these people were sickened by the story itself or by the way Terry seemed to have believed every word she said, Grace nudged Charlie‘s arm. It was time to go.
Charlie nodded and they both stood. From the corner of her eye, Grace noticed George and Cheryl getting up to leave as well. Cheryl’s face was white.
“Is this typical for ‘story time?’” Grace asked her, keeping her voice low.
Cheryl’s eyes filled with shock and terror. “I don’t know what the hell this was,” she said, and without another word, she and George walked down the main hall toward their room.
By now, Terry was up and making her way toward the kitchen. Grace rubbed her hands nervously, not sure whether they should stay and wait for the crowd to disperse and then leave or try to leave now. If they stayed, chances were they’d be alone with Terry; if they left immediately, they ran the risk of meeting her face-to-face on the way to their room. Grace pulled Charlie by the arm and decided now was a good time to go to the room.
As the room started to clear out, Grace and Charlie still found themselves having trouble weaving through the crowd of people. Some were headed toward the main hall, some toward the secondary hall with the broken exit door. Grace continued to push through. She couldn’t see very well where they were going but she knew they were headed toward their room. Grace stopped abruptly so as not to get run over by a tall man walking through. After the man passed, Grace stepped forward again.
Terry was there.
If she shrieked, Grace couldn’t tell. Her ears filled with the overall din of feet mulling through the hut, voices trailing off in every direction, and of fluid pulsing through her veins. She had been trying to avoid this moment. But here she was, face to face with the woman who had all but cleared the room with her macabre tale. Grace’s eyes darted back and forth, looking for a distraction. She didn’t want to engage in conversation. Unfortunately, Terry spoke first.
“Hey, you!” she said. “I’m so glad you two came out tonight!”
Grace was amazed at the lightness of her tone. It was as if she’d just participated in a child’s recital. This was the same woman who, just minutes ago, had woven a tale of the undead tearing at and feasting on the flesh of the living. Now she put on an air of lightheartedness. Did she even realize that she had just alienated the entire hut? Did she not understand? Grace wondered if something might truly be wrong with this woman. She tried to think of something to say, some kind of exit strategy. Luckily, before she needed to open her mouth, a man wearing a ball cap walked up.
“Hey, Terry,” the man said. “That stuff you mentioned about the dead rising again, you know, when the energy is right...” Terry nodded, understanding. “Has it happened before?”
Grace was stunned. Was this guy joking? Did he really buy into this? And further, did he really want to hear more?? Stuck between the two of them, Grace and Charlie were unfortunately going to find out.
“Oh sure,” Terry said plainly. “The last big event happened sometime in the fifties.”
Grace slowly turned her head to Terry. “Are you serious?” she asked.
“Why, yes, dear. Of course I’m serious. It happ—”
“No,” Grace cut her off. She was disgusted. “I mean, are you serious about continuing this filth? People are really upset by what you said.”
“But, dear, it’s the truth,” Terry said. The calm, nonchalant manner in which she spoke only stoked Grace’s rage.
“You honestly believe people are waking from the dead and eating people?”
Before Terry could respond, a voice from behind Grace confirmed Terry’s account.
“It’s true.” Grace recognized the voice before she and Charlie even turned around. It was Joe. “There was a couple that’d come to the campground in the early fifties. People say the man went crazy. Say he got bit by one of them...” he hesitated, “...one of them undead.”
Grace felt the blood filling her face. What was once fear had now turned into sheer anger. She clenched and unclenched her fists. Her body went rigid. She felt the muscles in her legs tighten and release.
“All right,” Grace said, pointing to both Terry and Joe. “Both of you need to stop!” Her hand shook as she reprimanded them. “I am done with the fucking storytelling for tonight! Okay? Enough with this undead bullshit!”
Charlie put his hands around Grace’s shoulders. “All right, I think this camper is up way past her bedtime!” He forced a nervous laugh. Grace whipped her head around and glared at Charlie, but before she could say anything, he was already steering her toward the hallway. “Good night,” he said to Terry, Joe, and the man wearing the ball cap. Grace turned back and
took one last look at the three of them. All three stared at her with quiet confusion as Charlie guided her down the hallway.
When they got back to their room, Grace’s temper was still boiling over.
“Lock the goddamn door,” she said as Charlie turned to close the door behind him.
“Okay,” Charlie said, holding his hands up submissively. “It’s all right, you’re just a little wound up, that’s all.”
Grace paced back and forth in their small room, from the window to the door. She pressed a palm against her forehead, as if fighting the onset of a headache. She tried to control her breathing, but to no avail.
“Wound up?” she asked. “Wound up?!”
Charlie immediately recognized he’d chosen his words poorly and attempted a different strategy. He spoke in a firm but relaxed tone. “Look, we were expecting some children’s stories. Obviously these people take their story time a little bit more seriously, that’s all. You just have to take it with a grain of salt.”
She continued pacing, her hands now at her sides, still balled up in fists. “We’re not staying here tomorrow night,” she said firmly. “We are getting up early. We’re heading to the summit.” Charlie was already shaking his head. “And afterward, we’re going straight down to the base.”
“You know that’s impossible,” Charlie said. “We don’t have the supplies for that kind of hike.”
“So then we take whatever we can from here before we leave and then we see if there’s a store at the summit. Isn’t there a fucking road that goes to the summit?”
Charlie stood silently, his arms folded. He knew he’d have to wait her out, to let the frustration run its course. He also knew Grace hadn’t expected an answer to her question, so he ignored it and went about busying himself by packing extra supplies for the following day’s hike to the summit.
While Grace turned and stared out the window, uttering things like “Who would say that kind of shit? What’s their problem?” Charlie wondered if this outburst was compounded by the story Roy had told them and the dream from last night. She’d woken up screaming and shaking that morning. And in the years Charlie had known Grace, she wasn’t one to be easily rattled, certainly not by a bad dream. But it had been an awful story about the man who killed himself. Terry’s story couldn’t have helped at all, he thought.
After a few minutes of silence, broken only by the occasional huff-and-puff, Charlie looked over at Grace. Now he saw resolution in her eyes. Her shoulders loosened and her hands became more relaxed. Quietly and unassumingly, he sat down on the bed. Grace walked over and sat down next to him. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned toward him. He breathed a sigh of relief and let his chin fall onto her head as he spoke.
“We won’t spend a lot of time at the summit,” he said. “We’ll just take a few pictures, grab some food, and head back down. That cool?” She inhaled deeply, nodding her head against his shoulder. “All right, let’s get some sleep.”
He stood up to turn off the light. Grace moved to the far side of the bed, got under the covers.
“Lock that door,” she said.
Chapter 6
Grace woke up early. There was very little visible light coming through the windows in the room. She turned her head. Charlie was still sleeping. Stifling a yawn, she carefully stretched her legs under the covers, hoping not to wake him. She picked up his watch from the nightstand. The time read 5:53 a.m. Sunrise was in twenty minutes. The events of the previous night flashed quickly in her mind and she started feeling guilty—guilty about the way she had gotten so upset with those people. She never liked being upset with someone, even with someone who had upset her. To Grace, being angry was a waste of energy. She always strove to take the high road and not allow others to get under her skin.
Grace shook off the memory. She rubbed her eyes and slowly removed the covers. She sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed. The wood floor was cold, and she quickly slipped into a pair of moccasins she’d left next to the bed the night before. As she stood, she thought about waking Charlie. He could get ready while she used the restroom, perhaps even order some breakfast. In the end, however, she decided to let him rest a bit longer. After the long hike the day before, she knew his knee could use the rest.
She quietly opened the door. The air in the hallway was still, but the light was a bit brighter out here, as the large windows in the common room allowed the morning light to flood into both hallways.
Grace found it strange that she didn’t hear a sound. Surely, someone should be in the kitchen by now—likely Terry, if anyone. The hut was near capacity, so there must have been someone awake, getting ready for the day’s hike.
She waited.
Thirty seconds passed and it was still quiet. She shrugged it off and walked down the hall toward the bathroom. The silence allowed her to hear the floorboards creak as she walked, but only slightly. When she reached the bathroom door, a different noise replaced the creaking of the floorboards.
Did that come from the kitchen? Perhaps a pot or a pan clanging against steel?
She paused and waited for the sound again.
Only silence.
Must be in my head.
She opened the bathroom door. There were three stalls on the left, two sinks on the right-hand wall. She stepped inside the first stall and sat down.
She stared forward, at the back of the door, and let her mind wander. I wonder if we’ll start a family this year. Charlie always said, ‘as soon I as turn thirty, we’re having kids.’ We’re both 31 now. She had thoughts of building their dream home, vacationing as a family, wondered if they should even have kids, given their active life style.
A sniffle from the third stall brought her back. She flinched and cocked her head to the side.
Was that someone breathing?
What was strange about it though, was that it didn’t sound like someone taking a breath. It actually sounded as if someone’s breathing had skipped or stuttered; it sounded like a cry.
Grace waited, listened. She quieted her own breathing, hoping to determine whether she had in fact heard what she thought she heard.
Another sniffle.
She wasn’t alone in the bathroom. Was someone crying in the far stall?
I’m probably jumping to conclusions.
The sniffling sound was very faint, and didn’t necessarily suggest that someone was crying two stalls over.
Perhaps it’s someone with allergies.
Then, she heard the slightest sob.
They’re definitely crying.
“Hello?” Grace called out. She wasn’t even aware she’d spoken out loud until the faintest echo of her own voice reached her eardrums. Rather than pretend she hadn’t said anything, she called out again to whoever was in the stall two doors over. “Are you okay?” She waited for a response. The sniffling came to an abrupt stop. Someone was definitely crying in the far stall, and now that person was trying to be as quiet as possible. Grace called out again.
“Do you need help?” she asked. Again, no response. Maybe this person hadn’t even heard Grace enter the bathroom. Maybe this person only wanted to be left alone.
Grace waited a bit more, hoping the stranger would make herself (himself?) known. Instead, the person in the other stall remained quiet. Grace thought about and it finally decided that, whatever was going on, it was none of her business.
“Listen, I don’t want to be a pain, but if you need anything, I’m in room—”
“Someone hurt my parents,” the voice cut her off. It sounded like a little girl. She was scared. Grace heard her begin to cry again.
“What do you mean?” Grace asked. “Who hurt your parents?”
“A man,” the little girl said.
“Which man?” Grace asked. “Where are your parents right now?”
The girl took a sob-filled breath. “My mom and dad are in our room.”
Grace asked her next question, even though she wasn’t sure she was ready for
the answer. “What did the man do?”
There was a long pause before she said, “He bit them.”
An icy sensation washed down Grace’s neck and across her shoulders. She felt her entire body, right down to her hair and scalp, go cold. If Grace hadn’t already been sitting down, she would have been knocked over for certain. She noticed her hands shaking and felt a tingling sensation, as if her nerves were now on fire. Grace realized quickly that she was probably three times the age of this little girl, and the girl was likely far more scared than she was. She composed herself before speaking again.
“Wh-who bit your parents?” Grace asked, trying to disguise the fear in her voice.
“I don’t know,” the little girl said. “He’s a man I didn’t recognize.”
“Do you know where the man is now?” Grace asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. Her voice started to waver. “He came into our room and he bit my parents. I crawled under the bed. And then after he left, I came in here and locked the door.”
Grace suppressed her fear for the moment and left her stall. She walked around to the far stall and stood at the door.
“Do you want to come with me? We can go outside and find someone to help you.”
“I don’t want to leave here,” the girl said. She started to cry harder now.
“Okay, hun, it’s okay. You don’t have to go anywhere.” Grace tried to think. What could she do to help?
Maybe I should just try to keep her talking.
“How long have you been in here, honey?”
“A long time.”
“How long?”
“It was really dark outside. It was dark for a long time. Then I saw light coming into the bathroom from outside. Then you came in.”
Grace deduced the little girl must have been in the bathroom for at least a couple hours, maybe longer. She’d managed to remain safe this long, so Grace decided to go wake Charlie, and when they both came back the three of them would all go and find help.
“All right, listen. My name is Grace. I want to help you. I know you’re scared, so I’m going to go wake up my husband. His name is Charlie. Then we’re going to come back in here and all three of us are going to go find help. Okay?”
Dead Summit (Book 1): Dead Summit Page 6
