Horror Within : 8 Book Boxed Set

by Mark Tufo

  I nodded to Brendon, he nodded in return, she had most likely already recounted the entire trip for him, and he had been there. He sat down heavily on the loveseat. Stress that had been etched on his face was only just now beginning to ease.

  “So luckily,” she began, “we were already on our way over. We wanted to get some of the boxes we have piled in your basement out to our new place—”

  Travis interrupted from the kitchen. I could hear him open the refrigerator and then close it quickly, obviously not having found what he was looking for.

  “I’m going to get drinks, does anybody want anything?” he yelled from the kitchen.

  Everyone had a request, even Tommy. “Do you have any Yoo-Hoo?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “We’ll get some tomorrow if we can,” I answered as I saw the disappointment on his face.

  “Pepsi will be fine.” Tommy’s head was bowed.

  “Coke alright?” Travis asked.

  “I guess that’ll have to do,” came Tommy’s reply.

  I heard the back door and then the screen open and shut. I was listening to Nicole’s account, when I abruptly jumped off the couch like my ass was on fire. My foot caught the edge of the coffee table as I went down screaming. Screaming not from the pain, but for what laid in wait. My ‘man-fridge’ was located in the garage. At one time it had mostly been stocked with beer, but it had became a lot easier to just put all of our beverages in there: coke, juice, extra milk, whatever.

  Tracy’s face froze as she saw the sheer look of terror flit across my features.

  “What’s the matter?” she shrieked.

  I scrambled to gain purchase.

  I distantly heard Tommy. “Coke’s fine, Mr. T!” he bawled, reacting to my dread.

  I was in a nightmare. I couldn’t move fast enough; the ground was sucking me down. Gravity became a fiend. I weighed too much to move effectively. My feet were slipping and sliding on the area rug, but I finally gained purchase. Unfortunately, once I hit wood, I had too much thrust and slammed into the wall as I turned left into the hallway. I heard more than felt the snap of impact as I dislocated my shoulder. The pain was blinding, the pain was clarifying. I was soaked in sweat running down the small hallway that connected the living room to the kitchen. By now, everyone in the house was close on my heels trying to discover my intentions. I made it to the kitchen. Now I had to make a hard left through the family room so I could finally make it out the back door. The gore on the soles of my sneakers made it nearly impossible to get traction on the linoleum. I moaned, a deep and mournful sound. Travis was half in the house holding the screen door open with his left hand, seeing my whole comedy of errors.

  “Holy shit, Dad! You alright?”

  “No swearing!” Tracy scolded him.

  And now I did sob, some from the pain, but mostly in relief at the sight of my son. “Zombies in the garage!” I mustered before my tunneling vision rapidly began to close.

  “Holy shit!”

  “I said no swearing!” I heard from a million miles away.

  I awoke about ten minutes later…according to Nicole.

  “Brendon set your shoulder back,” Nicole said. Concern crisscrossed her face.

  I sat up, waiting for an explosion of pain to rip through me; I was grateful for the moderate throbbing that met me instead.

  “Travis?” was all I could manage as I tried to break through the cobwebs that spidered through my thoughts.

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I heard from the other side of the kitchen counter.

  Tommy had taken up nearly my entire field of view. “You alright, Mr. T? You know you still smell bad right?” Tommy said as he tried his best to put on a brave face.

  “Help me up, big guy.” As I extended my hand out, he almost pulled that one out to match the left as he launched me to my feet. I swayed for a moment as my blood did its best to catch up with my movement.

  Tracy was at the kitchen table, head in her hands, fresh tears staining the tablecloth.

  “You alright, Hon?” I asked as I stayed close to Tommy, using him as a balance beam.

  “Just relieved.” She looked up, I knew it was more than that, of course it was, but what was the point of pushing it.

  “What are the chances that anybody grabbed the garage remote out of the car?” I looked at everybody, including Nicole and Brendon. I was that desperate. Everyone slowly shook their heads in negation.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said as I headed to the front door. “I just want to tell Jed to expect some noise.”

  When I came back I could hear shuffling in the garage, but it was damn near impossible to ascertain their location. Who’s to say that one of them wasn’t right up at the door waiting for some unsuspecting person to stick their arm through? It would take me less than two seconds to open the door, grope wildly for the garage door wall switch, and then pull the door shut. But how long would it take a zombie in waiting to bite my arm? I went in and put on three sweaters, a heavy parka and a set of work gloves; so unless these zombies had fangs I should be able to do what needed to be done without becoming infected. My hope was the added bulk wouldn’t burden me too much. I did not want to sacrifice speed.

  “Dad, do you want me to go with you?” Nicole asked as I headed out the back door. “I could cover you with…with a gun,” she added.

  I looked down at her trembling hands. A palsy victim would have been appalled. “Um, no, I think I might be safer if you stayed in the house.”

  She looked both hurt and relieved.

  “I love you, sweetie,” I said as I pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

  Justin came with me, standing right outside the closed back door, rifle not aimed yet but at the ready. Travis, Brendon, and two guards from the bus gate who came to help finish off this mission, waited about ten feet to the side of the garage in the alleyway. I walked over to the garage entrance and took a couple of heavy breaths in preparation, listening one last time to see if I could make out the zombies’ respective locations in the garage. I glanced over to the kitchen window. Tracy and Nicole were looking out, watching. Tommy’s bulk in the background was unmistakable. The tension of this moment was lost on him as I watched him playing with one of Travis’ old toys. I looked again and crossed the yard, passing Justin. Before he could ask the question that was on his mind, I walked back in the house. Nicole and Tracy both stared at me in confusion. I walked over to Tommy. “Hey, buddy, whatcha got there?” I asked.

  “A spaceship!” he said with a sparkle in his eyes.

  “Where’d you get that spaceship?” I asked.

  He seemed to like this new game. “It was on the floor of Mrs. T’s car,” he answered.

  It must have been flung off the visor with all the impacts the car had been through.

  “Do you think I can borrow your ‘spaceship’ for a minute?” I asked.

  “Yeah, no problem, I figure it’s yours anyway, I found it in your car,” he answered.

  “Thanks, buddy.” I grabbed the garage remote and headed out the back gate to get rid of our unwanted guests.

  The six of us were lined up in a row. We knew they weren’t going to come out sprinting, but we were all poised as if that was exactly what was going to happen. This didn’t ‘feel’ right. All the zombies we had killed so far had been a kill-or-be-killed scenario and we hadn’t known any of them. This just seemed like cold-blooded murder. I don’t think a court in the land would convict me of killing a dead person though. This was much more personal; Jo(e) was…had been my neighbor. I had drank beers with her and talked sports and yeah, even women. (It had been a little strange to talk to a woman about what they found attractive in another woman.) I was staring down the gun sights of my M-16 about to kill someone that I considered more than an acquaintance. Goddammit, I considered her a friend! That inconvenient truth wasn’t going to make it any easier.

  “Now remember,” I said to everyone, “we wait until they come out of the garage before we start shooting.�
�� (I didn’t want anyone putting a hole in my Jeep.)

  Everyone nodded in agreement. Killing in the heat of battle was one thing, lying in wait and calculating death was a whole different story. The garage door rumbled up. We didn’t have long to wait, both of the zombies had been lurking by the door. Whether they had heard us, or, more than likely smelled me, it didn’t matter. They walked out the door and into a hailstorm of fire and lead. The scene was a staccato burst of fire and shadow. The strobe light effect disoriented me. It made everything appear as if it was happening in slow motion. Jo(e)’s right arm was literally blown off. I watched in fascinated horror as the bits of bone and tendons flew in an arc, the wild flashing light highlighting their ascent and then rapid descent. And yet she still came forward. Merl, as I was to later learn his name, didn’t make it a foot out of the garage before Justin had put a .30-06 round through his belfry. Merl’s head swelled to twice its normal size trying to make accommodations for the bullet. When his noggin blew, it looked like someone had placed an M-80 in a watermelon. That was the simile I held onto, it allowed me to sleep at night.

  And still Jo(e) kept coming. Travis seemed to have the stomach for this killing; his shotgun was slowly dissecting her, but the final blow hadn’t landed yet. I hadn’t even turned my safety off yet and still she came. I flinched every time the shotgun roared. Brendon walked up to Jo(e), a mere arm’s length away, and shot her dead-on (no pun intended). The .380 round thankfully wasn’t as blisteringly strong as Justin’s round, so we were all spared the sight of Jo(e)’s brain bucket scattering across the alley. Her head lashed back violently and her neck snapped loud enough to rival the Mossberg. She crumbled to a heap no more than five feet away from me.

  “I’m sorry, Jo(e),” I said to her collapsed form.

  The two men from the gate produced some body bags and made short work of disposing of the bodies, I didn’t stick around to compliment their efficiency. I walked into the garage solemnly, too distressed to even comment on the bird shot that peppered my passenger side quarter panel. This night just wouldn’t end. It was 10:30 p.m. and I still hadn’t had a shower.

  CHAPTER 7 - December 9th 6:45am

  Journal Entry - 7

  I woke up with a start. I had to pry myself off the bed. It wasn’t just that I was still bone-weary, which I was. I was stuck to the comforter I had plopped down onto the previous night, where I had immediately fallen asleep. I didn’t even want to linger on what was keeping me so affixed to the quilt. I was trying to convince myself that I had fallen into a vat of cotton candy. That illusion, however tenuous, was broken when a bit of bone fell out of my hair. My eyes were adjusting to the vestiges of light that were seeping in from and around the drawn shades.

  Tracy was not here. I sat up with a start. What was going on? Then it hit me! The putrid stink of death! They had made it past Jed’s barriers and were now in the house! My gun was right next to me. I jumped up and out of the bed, anxious to see who, if anybody, could be saved. Fear gripped my chest in a vise. I could let air escape, but I didn’t have the capacity to let any in. I was on the verge of panicking. All that I held sacred in this world was in trouble, and my worthless ass had been sleeping. I could hear no sounds of hysteria, but that did little to stem the rising tide of trepidation that threatened to dash me against the rocks of sanity. The living dead don’t make much noise.

  I heard crunching! Bile involuntarily rose in my throat. I would choke on vomit long before I was able to help anyone. I flew down the stairs, turning the corner of the landing in one deft move. Henry greeted my heaving body, bone in his grinning mouth, short stubby tail wagging a mile a minute.

  “Well, hey there, sleepyhead,” my beautiful, beautiful wife said from the kitchen as she sipped on a cup of coffee. Dark rings circled her eyes, but I don’t think I had ever beheld such a sight. I laid the rifle down, approaching my wife for a hug and kiss of reassurance.

  “Oh hell no!” she said as her eyes lit up in alarm.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, what was amiss?

  “There’s no way you’re hugging me smelling like that,” she laughed. “Your stench is what made me wake up this early. Go take a shower, and if you can at least get to the point where you smell better than Henry, I’ll think about kissing you.”

  Henry looked up to my wife with a hurt expression as if to say, ‘Don’t compare me to that guy, he stinks.’ And then went back to the delightful chore of chewing on his steak bone. Relief poured, no GUSHED through my system, a wave of euphoria momentarily made me lightheaded. Thankfully I was already halfway back up the stairs. What the hell was going on with me? I was having feelings, I had sobbed and now I was swooning, a couple more days of this crap and I was going to need some Tampax.

  I took a brief but intensely hot shower, hoping that I would be rewarded with a renewed and cleansed soul to go with my clean body. When I emerged from the steam and swept my hand over the mirror to wipe away the condensation, I noted that I looked a whole lot better than I felt. Last night’s ordeal had aged me beyond my years. I looked to all concerned to be forty-three. I, however, felt to be about sixty-three. No more time for reflection. I walked out of the steamy bathroom into the relative coolness of our bedroom. The reddish glow to my skin lit the way. I dressed quickly, delighting in the feel of my t-shirt NOT sticking to my neck, back, or arms. I wanted to revel in the cleanliness a little longer but I was already running late for the town hall meeting. I grabbed my jacket from the hook at the bottom of the stairs and was about to head out.

  Tracy yelled from the kitchen. “Do you want some breakfast before you go?”

  “No time,” I shouted as I turned back to get my rifle; it wouldn’t do to go anywhere without it any more. The old American Express ads moved into my hemisphere of thought. Don’t Leave Home Without It. “Thanks, Karl Malden,” I murmured to myself.

  “I made scones,” Tracy teased.

  I stopped short, lucky to not twist an ankle with the forces I used to turn around. “What kind?” I asked, hoping beyond hope. (Not the cranberry almond, not the cranberry almond, not the cranberry almond…) My fingers crossed like a third grader’s.

  “Blueberry.”

  “With glaze?” I asked, my voice tremulous.

  She nodded.

  “Yes!” I pumped my fist in the air. “I might be able to spare a minute or two,” I said as I closed the front door.

  “I thought so,” she answered as she poured a glass of milk.

  The meeting was being held in the complex’s clubhouse. It was a sturdy-looking structure, an ‘A’ frame that would probably look much more at home at some alpine setting than here in Aurora, Colorado. I showed up to the meeting twenty minutes late.

  “Nice of you to show, Talbot,” Jed said from the dais at the front of the committee room. Everyone present turned to see.

  “Um, I got a little detained,” I answered sheepishly.

  “What is that on your mustache?” Jed said, straining to get a better look. “Is that blueberry?” he asked incredulously.

  I licked it away furiously before he could confirm his suspicions.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked trying to change the subject, only realizing too late that I had just made matters worse.

  The room was usually standing room only, and that was if we were only going to discuss the mailbox placement. This seemed infinitely more important, and there were dozens of available chairs.

  Jed let the blueberries go. His shoulders slumped. “This is all that’s left,” he answered.

  I sat down with a thump into one of the many vacancies. “Oh, dear God,” I muttered.

  Jed was a crotchety old fart but his community had been turned asunder and he was having a difficult time coming to grips with it. This was the fastidious man who scolded children for sledding on the snow-covered hills, fearing that they might tear up the grass underneath. And now his assembly was reduced in one night to a third of the mass it had been. It had been a shock to him, but the tough
old badger was going to make sure the rest of us made it through the turmoil. I was impressed, considering he was prior army. I wouldn’t have thought he had the intestinal fortitude for this. But he had already gone far above any of my expectations. While everyone had been running around like chickens without heads, he had the northern gates shut, guarded, and appropriated an RV from the Millers, who were here and still glowering. He had also somehow got hold of a bus to close off the last gate, all the while assembling a team to go house to house (not garage to garage) to dispatch the enemy. I was amazed, and that offer of a kiss was still valid if he ever decided he wanted it. I had done everything humanly possible to save my family; Jed had thought on a much broader scale.

  The first part of the meeting had been a sounding of the bell ceremony for the Little Turtle fallen. I was thankful I had missed that. I had no wish to hear the names of the dead. They were just about to get to the meat of the meeting (sarcasm intended) when I showed up.

  Jed continued. “I know it’s going to be difficult to guard so much area.” There was no reason for him to verbalize the reason; there were so few of us now. “We have to keep two people at each of the fenced gates at all times, and I’ll take ideas on how to shore those up. They were never designed to stop a determined pedestrian. No need to worry about the southwest gate. The RV isn’t going anywhere.”

  Old man Miller got up to protest. “You didn’t say anything about turning it over on its side when you borrowed it, Jed,” Gerald Miller sneered. “That was mine and the missus’ vacation home!” he yelled as loud as his oxygen tank-fueled lungs would allow.