Who knew what waited them outside? Which direction should they go once they left the cellar? Not south. What if a meteor hit the nuclear power plant? What if the air were tainted with a plague, every breath a danger? That’s one thing Mom hadn’t purchased. Masks.
She choked back a hiccupping sob. The decisions were now left to her, and she had no clue what to do. She didn’t want to be the one in charge of a twelve-year-old and a fifteen-year-old. Almost seventeen was too young. She wanted her mother.
“What do you think is going on out there?” Mychal pulled out of her embrace, most likely embarrassed at his display of what he would consider childishness.
“Sodom and Gomorrah. Could you get me the first aid kit?” She needed to clean and dress the burns on her forearms.
Mychal scooted off the bunk and rummaged in a metal trunk under the table. Within minutes, Chalice applied a cool balm to her burns and began wrapping the wounds in gauze.
“Is that where Mom touched you?”
Chalice nodded. “Now, she’ll always be with me. I have the marks to prove it.”
“I wish she would’ve touched me.” Hanna wailed and threw herself face down on the bed.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Mychal plopped in a chair and covered his face with his hands.
“No, I won’t let that happen.” Chalice closed the medicine box.
“People will find out we’re here, they’ll kill us, and they’ll take our stuff.”
“Stop it.” Chalice lunged to her feet. “Don’t talk like that.” She glanced at Hanna. “Mom would want us to be strong and brave.” She could at least pretend, regardless of the fear that skittered through her. Once she deemed it safe enough to venture out, they’d take their guns and head to the coast. Somewhere there would be survivors. There had to be.
###
Colton rolled into a ball and covered his ears as bombs exploded outside his cave. He probably shouldn’t have hidden alone. There was safety in numbers, right? What happened when it was safe to go outside? Being alone would thrust him into a dangerous situation. Especially with what would only be a fight for food and water. He eyed his bike.
He’d stay to the back roads. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to hotwire a car and take that as far as the gas would allow. But where would he go? The coast? Where would that start now? Arizona? Were the tsunamis as large as the scientists feared? How long until the water receded?
Bile rose in his throat. He ticked off in his mind the acts he’d need to take to survive. Anything to take his mind off what was happening outside. Maybe he shouldn’t have left the Forrests’. Were they still alive? Would taking them with him have guaranteed their survival? What about his friends? None of them believed him, not really, when he’d explained the likelihood of a meteor strike. They’d scoffed and called him a scaredy-cat, and worse. They’d put too much faith in mankind’s strength against space.
They’d angered him at times, making fun of him being a foster kid when he was almost eighteen, yet he hadn’t wished a single one of them dead.
He shivered, and scooted farther from the entrance where he’d piled rocks only hours before. He shut his eyes to try and block out images of what the outside world must look like. Death and destruction. Balls of fire exploding on impact.
Acrid air drifted through the gaps in his barricade. Through the smoke he could make out flickers of flames.
He’d never felt more alone, or frightened. Not even when walking into a new foster home. Now, he lay huddled in a hole in the mountain and prayed the horror outside would pass him by.
There was enough food to last him two months, if he was careful, but he didn’t know if he could stay alone that long. He closed his eyes and wished for it to end.
Chapter 3
One month later.
Colton rolled the stone from his cave and shivered. If not for the watch on his wrist, he would’ve thought the time of day was dusk. Instead, the hands showed ten a.m. A spring morning that felt like winter. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his ears and stepped outside.
No birds sang. No dogs barked. Instead, a brisk wind whirled ash and dried leaves around his feet. Thankfully, his hiding place hadn’t received much more than pebble-sized rocks raining down. Colton scrambled to a nearby bluff and gazed over what once was the city he grew up in. Cedar Creek resembled the set of an end-of-the-world movie lot.
Skeletons of buildings dotted the landscape, rising fingers of blackened wood that stretched toward a grey sky. Somewhere in the distance, a gunshot ricocheted. So, there were other survivors. Colton shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Even after being alone, shut up in a dank cave, he had no desire to meet any of them. And it would be the last time he left the cave without his weapon.
He glanced north toward Interstate 40. A lone bus traveled at a snail’s pace. A few people shuffled along the shoulder. Maybe he ought to see about securing a vehicle and head out himself before someone found his lair and stole what little he had.
He loped back to what he called home and surveyed the pile of supplies. Grabbing the bike and his rifle, he set off down the mountain, intent on stealing the first vehicle he came across. Hopefully, he’d score something with a full tank of gas and keys.
Ironic how a natural disaster could turn an honest person into a crook. Now every thought seemed to be about what he could claim next.
“I’ve become what everyone said I would.” His voice sounded strange to his ears and floated away on a wind that smelled of sulphur.
Thirty minutes later, a bandanna tied across his face, he rode into the yard of a burned-out farmhouse. He put down the kickstand of his bike, whipped his rifle from the strap around his neck, and approached the shell of what was once the home of a school buddy. A bull mastiff bounded from around the corner.
“Hey, Buddy. Where’s Mark?”
The dog wagged his massive tail.
“How come you don’t look like you’ve been starving?” Colton relaxed and patted his leg, encouraging the dog to come closer. He rubbed his hand over the dog’s matted fur. “Mark didn’t make it, huh? Or did they leave you behind?” He eyed the black Suburban by the barn. “What’s the chance of being able to take that?”
Buddy barked.
“Okay, I’ll take that as permission.” Hope leaped in his chest as Buddy followed close at his heels. He’d take the company of a dog over that of humans anytime. The isolation of the last several weeks ate at Colton, showing him that no matter how brave he tried to be, he didn’t like to be alone. “Does Mark still hide his secret key in the barn?”
He prayed his friend did. Buddy loped ahead of him.
Sure enough, the keys to the truck still resided in a tin can shoved deep in the hay. A ripped bag of dog food answered his question of what Buddy’d been eating. Colton grabbed the other fifty pound bag of food and hoisted it to his shoulder.
“Can’t leave you out here all alone, can I? Although I don’t know how I’ll feed you when this is gone.” He moved outside and tossed the bag in the back of the Suburban, before turning to study the house.
A meteor seemed to have struck close enough to set the house on fire, but not disintegrate it. There might be something salvageable inside. He hoped so, anyway.
He stepped through the front door and grimaced at the sight of three burned bodies, arms outstretched as if they’d tried crawling the last few feet to safety. The smell seeped through Colton’s bandana, turning his stomach. He turned his head, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. He could do this. He had to. If he didn’t scavenge, someone else would.
Making a wide skirt around the bodies, he headed to the kitchen. Nothing left of the cabinets, and the weak outside light streamed through the holes in the walls, but the refrigerator still stood. Colton opened the door and gagged.
Spoiled meat, milk, and eggs assaulted him. He held his breath and grabbed the couple of water bottles on the shelf and a jar of pickles. He stepped back, took another deep
breath and scanned the remaining items. Nothing he trusted not to kill him. He yanked off what remained of the pantry door.
A box of pop tarts, and some boxes of fruit juice were added to the pile at his feet. Not much, but what could you expect from people who’d scoffed at the idea that a meteor would dare strike Earth. Still, the little he found was more than he had before. He counted himself fortunate.
The stairs leading to the second floor looked too unstable to chance climbing. But he was still tempted to search and see whether he could find a thicker jacket. No, he’d best be on his way before someone came along.
He added his new supplies to the bag of dog food, secured his bike to the back of the truck, and then climbed behind the wheel. One more trip up the mountain to retrieve the rest of his things and he’d see where the road west would lead him.
###
Lady’s bark yanked Chalice from a deep sleep. Her eyes probed the darkness, ears strained to hear.
Footsteps pounded above them. Survivors. But were they friend or foe?
“Lady.” she hissed. “Quiet.”
“What is it?” Mychal whispered. “Should I open the door?”
“No, not yet.” Chalice kicked off her blankets. “See to Hanna. Make sure she doesn’t make a sound and keep the dog quiet.”
She fished for the rifle propped beside the bed and slid her feet across the floor to feel her way. Something bashed the door. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Another bash, then the window shattered.
Hanna shrieked.
“Hey! Someone’s down here.” A bearded face peered down at them. “It’s a bunch of kids. I bet they’ve got food.”
Chalice lifted the rifle and planted her feet to prepare for the gun’s recoil. “Get behind me Mychal. Hanna, too.” She didn’t want to shoot anyone, but she would if it meant saving their supplies.
“Go away. I swear I’ll shoot you.” She aimed for the hole.
“Sure you will, little girl.” The man stuck his arm through the window and grasped for the handle.
Chalice pulled the trigger, blowing away two of his fingers. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. The man howled and pulled back. She held her breath, and waited.
“We’ll be back, girlie. You won’t be so lucky next time,” someone yelled.
Chalice plopped into a chair and cradled the gun. She’d recognized the second voice. One of the Baker brothers. They’d hold good to their promise.
She felt around the table top and pulled close the cigar box she’d decorated with pasta when she was in kindergarten. Please, God, let the station wagon be left unburned. She opened the box and fished out the keys. Tears welled as she thought of all the little things her mother had prepared for.
“Start gathering up everything that will fit in the back of the wagon. We have to leave.” Chalice stood and lit the oil lamp. “I’ll get the car from the woods and meet you back here. Don’t let anyone in but me.”
“Where are we going?” Mychal stared at her with wide eyes.
“Wherever the road takes us.” She reached out a trembling hand and unlatched the cellar door, then stepped back with the gun pointed at the entrance. When nothing moved, she shoved it open and stepped outside. Although her watch showed noon, the day appeared to be early evening. The sky looked dirty as clouds moved lethargically across the pewter slate. The air tasted of dirt. She pulled the collar of her shirt over her nose and hunched against the biting wind.
Instantly her eyes were drawn to where her mother’s body once lay. Dirt covered her, leaving nothing but an innocent looking mound. Chalice glanced around the yard then ran to the woods in the back of the house. She choked back a sob at the sight of the old station wagon that had been her mother’s pride and joy. Thank you, God. This would become their new home for awhile.
Besides some new scratches down the wood side panels, it appeared to be intact. Mom had filled the tank the morning of the disaster and bought new tires. Chalice drove it back to the house, then climbed out and kept guard.
“Y’all, start loading the car.” Chalice stood back, senses alert, ready to defend what was left of her family.
She shivered as her siblings piled their precious belongings in the car. What little they’d left in the cellar could benefit anyone who came searching, and good luck to them. They weren’t leaving much, just a few odds and ends that wouldn’t fit in the car. She ushered the kids, and Lady, into the car then took one last look at the place she’d spent her entire sixteen years. She sniffed back the tears, refusing to cry anymore. As the new head of the family, she needed to be strong.
Removing one of the charms from the necklace she wore, the one of a rose, she dropped it on her mother’s impromptu grave. Thank you for your sacrifice, Mom. Thank you for all you did. I miss you. Chalice squared her shoulders, marched to the car, and then slid behind the wheel without another glance.
They’d head west as far as the roads would take them. When they ran out of gas, they’d walk as long as the three of them had the strength.
Pulling out of the drive, she glanced one last time through her rearview mirror. A burned body shuffled from the house, arms outstretched, and tried to follow. Chalice blinked. Mom?
She shook her head. No, she’d watched her die. Burn. That image would haunt her for the rest of her life. She carried the marks on her arm to prove it.
Chapter 4
Chalice idled the Rambler station wagon in front of the local Baptist church. Six men surrounded a man kneeling on the ground. One of them pulled back his leg and kicked, sending the one on the ground backward. Blood spurted from his nose.
“That’s Pastor Morgan,” Mychal stated. “We have to help him.”
Hanna popped up from the backseat. “Why are they beating him?”
“I don’t know.” Chalice reached for the rifle. “Stay in the car. If something happens, drive away. Mychal, cover me.”
Mychal’s eyes widened as he grabbed the second rifle from the back seat. “I don’t know how to drive.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Chalice’s mouth filled with cotton. What was she doing? It’d be best to leave the crowd to their business. But she couldn’t. Not when a nice man lay at risk. She shoved open the car door and slid out. Two more men added kicks and punches to the melee. Someone in the building behind them screamed.
She raised the gun toward heaven and pulled the trigger. Half a dozen faces turned to face her. “Leave him alone or I’ll shoot the nearest one of you.” She aimed for the man who’d kicked first.
“What’s it to you?” The man puffed out his chest. “This preacher promised us everything would be all right. Now, we’re low on food. We’ve lost family, yet his are safe in the walls of the church. Look around. We aren’t alright. The sun ain’t come out in a month. Crops are wasted, fish are belly up in the creeks, and dead people are walking around eating those of us still alive. We’re living in hell, missy, and the pastor lied about it all.”
Dead people? She fought to steady her trembling arms. She couldn’t let them think her weak or they’d overpower her and steal her weapon. “Seeing how I’m armed and you’re not, I could make the next choice. I’ll only say it one more time. Move out.”
The man eyed her car. “I hope you’re going a long way, sweetie. Because that kind of attitude will get you hurt.”
“No more than you beating on a man who had no say in what happened.” Chalice lifted her chin. “He’ll struggle right along with the rest of us.”
The crowd surged closer. Chalice aimed the gun at the man’s feet and fired. Dirt the color of cigarette ashes covered his gym shoes.
He jumped back with a yelp, then waved his arms. “Okay, folks. Let’s go home. There’s nothing here, and these shots will draw the attention of every person affected by the plague.”
Pastor Morgan struggled to his feet and wiped the back of his hand across his bloody lip. A purple knot grew above his right eye. “Thank you. Where you headed?”
&n
bsp; “West.”
He glanced at the church. “You’re welcome to stay here with my family.” A blond woman and three small children peered through the open door. “The highways are crawling with those poor unfortunate souls.”
Chalice shook her head. “Thanks, but we’re looking for a kinder place.” There had to be somewhere they wouldn’t have to look over their shoulders at every turn. A place where she wouldn’t have to aim her gun at every person she met.
“Let me send you on your way with something to show my gratitude.” Holding an arm close to his rib cage, he shuffled into the building and emerged with a jug of juice and a box of crackers. “It isn’t much. It in no way repays your kindness, but I’m appreciative for your help.”
“You need to find yourself a gun, pastor.” Chalice accepted the gift.
“I’m a man of peace.”
“Doesn’t seem like many of the others are. Not anymore. I’ve got to ask though, what were those men talking about?”
The pastor shuddered. “The dead aren’t staying dead. It’s like they’re zombies or something.”
Nausea rose in her stomach. “There’s no such thing.”
“There is now. Something is affecting these people.” He pointed a finger at her. “Remember everything you’ve ever seen in a zombie movie. It’s all true now. Make sure you act accordingly.”
“Thanks. Good luck.” She nodded and hurried back to the car and scooted behind the wheel.
“That was awesome.” Mychal plopped against the backrest of his seat. “Scary, but awesome.”
Chalice slammed her door and took a deep shuddering breath. “I was frightened out of my mind.” She handed the food and drink back to Hanna. “But if helping others keeps giving us supplies, it might be worth stopping for.” How could she tell her brother people were talking about zombies? The whole idea was stupid. But what if, on a small chance, it was true? By not telling them, they could be surprised and end up dead.
She put her arm across the back of the seat. “Um, you know that show you watch every Halloween about zombies?”
A Zombie Awakening (Book 1): The Darkening Page 2
