“Mom?” Jessica heard from behind her, and she abruptly spun. Dropping the bat, she rushed to the hallway door, darting outside and yanking it closed behind her as Candice emerged from the master bedroom. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
Jessica stared at her daughter, completely at a loss for words. Candice looked up at her sleepily, her hair tousled and falling over one side of her face. “I heard shouting.” Candice said after a moment.
Something deep within her applied charged paddles to her insides, jump-starting her thoughts and helping her generate an awareness that could lead her beyond the paralysis. Jessica shook herself violently. She drew a breath, exhaled, and knelt down. Reaching out, she grasped Candice by the shoulders and pulled her close, hugging her tightly.
“Sweetie, you know I love you, don’t you?” she whispered, her voice wobbling a little as she tried to focus herself on something other than the horror, the terror, and the agonizing pain that had a stranglehold on her.
Candice seemed confused, but her arms went around her mother. “I love you too mom.”
“Candy Bear, I love you so, so, so much.” Jessica whispered, forcing herself to relax her hold on the girl after a moment when she felt how tightly she was squeezing.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Candice asked, and her voice was afraid.
Jessica pushed her daughter back and held her by the shoulders, looking right into her eyes. They were wide, the whites seeming enormous in the dim hallway. “Candice, I need you to listen to me, and do everything I say. No questions. Can you do that for me?”
“Mom–”
“No questions.” Jessica said sharply, more sharply than she’d intended. Candice flinched, and Jessica softened her tone. “No questions.” she repeated more gently. “Get dressed, as fast as you can. Jeans and a shirt. As fast as you can. Then I want you to put clothes into your Dora backpack, as many clothes as you can fit. Jeans and shirts, as many as will fit. As fast as you can.”
“Okay.” Candice said, her voice weak and threadbare. “But–”
Jessica shook her head quickly. “No questions. Get dressed and pack clothes in your backpack. And, please sweetie, please, please, please. No matter what, not for any reason, do not open grandma and grandpa’s door.”
“What’s wrong?” Candice whispered.
Jessica stood and turned her daughter, pushing her into the bedroom. “Get dressed, get the backpack. Stay in your room, or come into mine. As fast as you can.”
Jessica watched as Candice glanced back at her as she walked over to her dresser, opening one of the drawers. Jessica flashed a smile she didn’t feel at all, and turned to her bedroom. Leaving the door open so she could see if Candice came out, Jessica wrenched open drawers on her own dresser. She flung a stack of jeans out on the bed, followed by the first stack of shirts and blouses she found. She whipped her nightgown off over her head so fast she heard a part of it ripping, completely ignored as she flung the thin garment aside and grabbed for jeans.
She slid into them, buttoned and zipped up, then tugged a shirt on. Lunging for the closet, she grabbed the duffle bag Brett used to take with him to the gym. Dragging it down, she knocked what seemed like half the shelf’s contents off in her haste, but she ignored all the thumps and clatters behind her as she spun back to the bed with the duffel in hand. It was empty and clean, having been washed and sitting on the top shelf waiting for its owner.
Jessica flung it on the bed now and thrust clothes inside. She grabbed a pair of sneakers from the closet and put them in the bag, jammed her bare feet into a pair of loafers, then ran back around the bed to her dresser. There was room in the bag for a little more, and she decided to grab socks and underwear. Two belts, at the last moment, just because she saw them coiled neatly in the drawer when she went for socks. She jammed everything into the duffel without the slightest concern other than that the items were inside.
Zipping the bag closed so quickly her fingers smarted from the tight grip she used on the metal tab, she grabbed the twin handles of the bag and went back into the hall. Candice was sitting on the floor in front of her dresser, the Dora backpack she’d stopped using last year lying next to her. She was just starting to put her shoes on, but looked up when Jessica appeared in the doorway.
“You have clothes in your bag?” Jessica asked.
“Yes.” Candice said, looking confused and scared.
Jessica stepped into the room and opened her daughter’s underwear drawer, then picked up the backpack. She opened the secondary compartment and thrust underwear and socks in, then zipped it closed and motioned for Candice to get up. “Come on sweetie, you can put your shoes on in the car. Here, put this on now.”
Candice got up uncertainly, still holding one sock in her hand. Jessica turned her daughter quickly and helped her slide her hands through the backpack’s straps. They were a little tight, but Jessica ignored that and picked up the sneakers Candice hadn’t put on yet. Grabbing the girl’s hand, she pulled her out into the hallway and down the stairs. She purposefully went through the front room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen so they didn’t have to go through the living room.
Jessica clamped her arm down on the sneakers as she jammed them under her arm to free one of her hands, the other still gripping Candice’s tightly. She grabbed her purse from the hook next to the door, slung it over her shoulder one handed, then used the same hand to unlock the door and throw it open. Almost dragging Candice through the door, she dug her keys out of the purse and got the car unlocked.
“Get in sweetie.” Jessica said, pulling Candice into the car by the arm. Her daughter stumbled up on the driver’s seat, then climbed across to the passenger side.
“Here.” Jessica said, reaching in and dropping the sneakers in her lap, then throwing the duffle and her purse into the back seat. She slid in behind the wheel, closed her door quickly, then hit the button that locked all the doors.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Candice asked as she struggled to get her arms out of the too tight straps of the old backpack.
“We have to leave sweetie.” Jessica said, fumbling as she tried to jam the key into the ignition.
“Why?”
The key slid in. Jessica twisted it immediately to start the engine, then started to reach over to the passenger visor to the garage door remote. She paused, her finger not quite touching the button, as a thought occurred to her. She closed her eyes and listened to the engine idling contentedly for a moment, trying to decide. She felt torn, like there was no right answer. No, that wasn’t quite true. Not quite.
She might not know exactly what she should be doing, or what was coming next, but she did know any path that led to safety, that had more on the side of protection and surety, was the path she should follow. It didn’t matter where such a path went, just as long as it stayed safe. If that path twisted toward danger, then that was when to choose another. But until that fork in the road . . . she felt Candice’s presence next to her like a magnet, and made her decision.
“Candy Bear, mommy forgot something in the house.” Jessica said, turning the car off and jamming the keys into her pocket. “I’ll be right back. While I’m gone, you stay in the car.” She twisted to look at her daughter, making sure she caught Candice’s eyes with hers. “Stay in the car. Don’t get out of the car, you hear me?”
“Yes.” Candice said softly, nodding with a wide eyed gaze that made her look younger than she was.
Jessica nodded back, forced a smile that she hoped was more reassuring than it felt as her cheeks stretched it forth, then opened her door. She closed it and hit the button on the remote to lock the car again, then went back inside the house.
The familiar surroundings already seemed alien and threatening. She lingered at the door to scan around, looking and listening, then crossed the kitchen to the open doorway dividing kitchen from living room and paused again. It seemed clear, though she’d never noticed just how many shadows cloaked the room’s nooks and crevices; each one grinn
ing malevolently at her with a promise of some hidden horror.
“Get a grip.” Jessica whispered to herself. “You’re the mom.” she said softly, her voice choking off in a strangled sob that sounded like a wounded animal. She crossed the living room, made the stairs, and went up them as lightly and quickly as she could. At the door, she paused to gather her courage, then delayed another couple of seconds by glancing up and down the hallway as if checking for threats.
Then, out of excuses, she opened the door and stepped inside the spare bedroom. Her father’s body was on the bed where he’d died, drawing her attention automatically. She felt her eyes moistening despite her resolve, and shook herself violently as if trying to dislodge some insect that was crawling across her skin. Tearing her eyes away from the blood and gore, she cast her gaze around quickly.
The bedside table held William’s watch, but nothing else except the lamp and alarm clock and vase of fake flowers that always lived there. She tugged open the drawer on the table, but it was empty aside from the little potpourri sachet she changed every few months so the room didn’t get overwhelmed with that empty smell that always seemed to thicken up in a vacant area.
“Come on.” Jessica muttered, looking around again. Floor next to the table and bed, nothing but blood stained carpet and the bat. The bat! Jessica leaned down and took it in hand, then lingered long enough to peer under the bed. Just a clean expanse of carpet over to the other side, where the bloodstains picked back up. She stood and looked around a third time, then jammed the bat under one arm and quickly went through the dresser drawers. Clothes, which she rummaged through quickly without success.
“Damnit Dad!” Jessica cursed as the last drawer opened to reveal nothing, her mother having obviously chosen to not use the bottom most one to spare the effort of needing to bend that far over. “You promised.” she muttered, turning and scanning around the room again. It was the spare bedroom, and only had the barest amount of furniture. The clutter and crowding that almost inevitably defined a room with a regular occupant was absent, just the bed, two tables, the one dresser, and the closet.
Jessica yanked open the drawer on the table on the side of the bed her mother had been sleeping in. Still nothing. Jessica vented her frustrating by slamming the drawer closed, almost catching her fingers. Then a thought occurred to her, and she blanched. Turning her head, she looked at the corpse, at her father, on the bed.
“He promised.” she whispered, making her way back around the bed again, her loafers squishing slightly in the blood on the carpet. Gingerly, reluctantly, she reached out and slowly, very slowly, slid her hand under the pillows her father’s lifeless head rested on. The weight of his skull seemed to be immense, and she gritted her teeth as a quavering grunt rippled up from her chest. Her heart was pounding, she did not like this, but her fingers contacted something that was as heavy as her father’s head.
When she got it out from beneath the pillow, she almost teleported away from the bed, eager to be away from the body. The holstered gun came with her, gripped tightly in her hand despite feeling like it weighed hundreds of pounds. When her back bumped into the wall next to the door, she stood and panted like she’d run a marathon, trying to slow her thudding pulse. A few tears were clinging to her cheeks and eyes, and she blinked several times to clear her vision.
She forced herself to draw a slow and steady breath, interrupting the quick in and out that was sure to make her hyperventilate. Another, slow inhalation, pause, steady exhalation. Better. Jessica looked at the gun in her hands almost as an experiment, as if testing to see if it would set her off. The gun’s shiny steel glinted at her around the black nylon of the holster and the dark checked rubber on the grip. She stared at it like it was an alien device for a moment, then frowned as another thought occurred to her.
Looking around again, she glanced at the closet. Stepping a little closer, she spotted the gun’s box on the top shelf. When she reached and pulled it down, the weight confirmed the spare bullets had to still be inside. Jessica set the holstered weapon atop the box and hugged both to her chest, gripping her son’s bat in her right hand, and very purposefully did not look at the bed as she left the room.
She descended the stairs much more quickly than she’d gone up them. Now that she had what she’d come back for, all she could think of was Candice waiting in the car. The dark interior of the house with its suddenly looming and irrationally unfamiliar shadows was something she found easier to brush aside now. But as she crossed the living room, a heavy thump on her left caused to her startle so violently that she tripped over her own feet.
Stumbling down to her knees, the gun hit the carpet with a heavy thump, followed an instant later by the lock box it was supposed to live in. Jessica barely caught herself with her abruptly empty hands before she cracked her chin atop the metal box. Sprawled on her hands and knees, she blinked as if taking mental inventory, then snapped her head over to the side as she heard another thump. This time it was accompanied by a cracking sound that echoed loudly through the room.
The sofa was in front of the sliding doors that opened out into the back patio and yard, where her father had insisted they move it too earlier. And the curtains were drawn. But, as she looked in that direction with a wild expression of alarm, the thump sounded a third time. And this time it was paired not with nothing or with a crack, but with an ear splitting shattering as the glass panel of the door broke and fell apart.
As she registered the door’s destruction, something thrust through the curtains. She saw . . . fingers, grasping and clawing, clearly evident through the heavy curtains. Jessica let out a shriek, she couldn’t help it. Her pulse was beating fast enough to put her right through the roof if only she could pair its energy to wings or a propeller. But there was nowhere for the terror fueled hammering of her heart to take her unless she got moving, and she felt glued to the living room floor as she stared at the groping arm on the other side of the curtains.
Jessica heard her breath whistling in her ears as she sucked air in and out, and made a tremendous effort to look away from the sliding doors. The lock box was right under her, between her arms. As she shifted to a kneeling position and reached to gather it back up, she realized she’d managed to hang onto the bat when she’d gone down. She tucked it back under her left arm, grabbed the gun, and started to stand.
There was a ripping sound, and despite her desperate determination, Jessica glanced over. Whatever was on the other side of the curtains was pulling and weighing on them heavily enough to start to bring them down. She shook herself and ran for the garage, fumbling frantically at the knob. Behind her, in the living room, she heard the curtain rod come down from its brackets. The doorknob slipped through her fingers as if it were actively trying to defy her, as she juggled the items in her arms and tried to seize hold.
Finally she got a grip and the door opened. She spilled out into the garage and stumbled for the car. Candice was looking at her with a clearly alarmed expression, and Jessica raised her voice. “Unlock the doors!”
Her daughter stared at her for a moment, then Jessica heard the locks click. Jessica wrenched the door open more by force of will than actual physical action, not exactly sure at which point during its opening when she’d managed to get a hand onto the latch. But it opened, and she dropped into the seat behind the steering wheel as she tried to shed herself of the items in her arms. The holstered gun she thrust up on the dashboard for the moment, which let her all but hurl the box and bat into the backseat.
“Mom?” Candice asked, her voice clearly tinged with an element of panic.
“Everything’s fine.” Jessica said tightly as she dug her keys out of her pocket and fumbled through them to find the correct one. When she found it, it took her four tries to get it slotted home in the ignition. The Accord’s engine came to life again, and Jessica had a fresh surge of panic when she realized the doors were still unlocked.
Hitting the button, she winced as she felt something in her index f
inger protest the force with which she pushed. ‘Get a grip’ Jessica thought, taking a second to draw a breath and try to calm down. She was on the verge, and it wasn’t good.
“Is something in the house?” Candice asked.
Jessica took another breath, then nodded tightly. “That’s why we can’t stay here.” she said as she reached for the button to open the garage door.
“What about grandma and grandpa?”
Jessica closed her eyes. “They can’t come with us.”
She heard Candice draw a breath, like she was about to say something, about to ask the question. But the question didn’t come. Jessica avoided looking at her daughter, instead focusing on the rearview mirror, waiting for the door to roll up out of the way. She mentally cursed as she saw the truck on the driveway behind her. Her throat felt tight when it occurred to her neither of her parents were ever going to drive that truck again, but she banished the thought almost instantly. Instead, she twisted in her seat and looked at the available room.
Finally, the garage door finished its cycle. Jessica shifted into reverse and backed out, cranking the steering wheel around almost immediately. The Accord left the garage at an angle and bumped onto the grass next to the driveway. Jessica steered down the side of the driveway to clear the truck, then back over to avoid the curb before rolling out into the cul-de-sac. She was so intent on avoiding her dad’s truck she never saw the figures staggering towards the car from two different directions.
A heavy bump rocked the car as the rear bumper clipped something. Jessica braked instinctively, looking from the rear view to the side mirrors curiously. As she searched, trying to figure out what she’d hit, Candice’s scream brought her head snapping around. Rebecca Johnson was less than two feet from the passenger side of the car, arms outstretched. Jessica froze, aghast at what she saw.
Apocalypse Atlanta Page 50
