Gideon

by Alex Gordon

  “Just the wind, Master.” A sniffling sound. “You rest.” The door closed and the pad of Amanda’s footsteps faded. And then there was only the wind.

  And the Master of Gideon listened. And the Master of Gideon wept.

  Lauren followed Waycross upstairs while the others packed whatever cold-weather clothing they could find. First-aid items. Batteries, matches, lighters.

  “Should we bother with these?” Waycross rooted through a drawer in the bathroom vanity, and pulled out an old box of tampons. “They’re years old. Do they go bad?”

  “I don’t think so.” Lauren took the box and stuffed it into a knapsack. “I think they make good bandage material.”

  “I can see us trying to use one of those on Zeke. He’d howl that next we’d be putting a dress on him.” Waycross smiled for the first time since the rite in the barn. But it faded, and she picked through a holder full of toothbrushes as though she had never seen them before.

  “I’m sorry about your horses.” Lauren opened the medicine chest, poked through the expired prescriptions and half-empty tubes and bottles.

  Waycross stared at nothing for a few moments. Then she nodded. “Zeke was right, though. They should be able to find someplace safe.” She took a flower-shaped bar of soap from the dish by the sink, sniffed it, then put it back. “I don’t know if you noticed, but there aren’t many animals in Gideon.”

  “I know that the crows left.”

  “They left because they’re the Lady’s birds, and we displeased her when we burned Nicholas Blaine.” Waycross arched a brow, as though the thought had occurred that the Lady had gotten that one wrong. “But pets brought in from outside run off. Cats. Dogs. Birds pull their feathers out and need to be let go. Even snakes tie themselves in knots. It’s the nearness to the thin places. Gideon nerves. Poor things are sensitive anyway, and living here is just torture for them.”

  Lauren rubbed her ears—their incessant ringing had already become a feature, not a bug. The tingling in her hands. “I don’t know much about horses, but I always thought they were pretty skittish.”

  “They are, but my boys were born and raised here.” Waycross shrugged. “They just . . . adapted.” She plucked a tissue from the box on the toilet tank, and wiped her eyes.

  Lauren squeezed Waycross’s shoulder, as much of a hug as she felt the woman would ever accept. “They’ll come back.”

  “I know they will,” Waycross said under her breath, her voice uncertain, as though she knew no such thing.

  BY THE TIME they had gone through the house and gathered essentials, the snow and wind had let up enough to allow Rocky to pull his SUV close to the backdoor steps. The rest of them formed a relay line in the kitchen, handing bags and boxes down to Corey and Phil, who packed with silent dispatch.

  Lauren recovered her father’s books from Waycross’s office. Then she switched out her battered skirt and blouse for jeans and a sweater. Donned her comfortable old hiking shoes.

  Then they crowded into the vehicle, Waycross in the front with Rocky. Zeke, Penny, and Phil in the second-row seat. The rest of them pressed close in the third row, while Lauren opted to straddle the gear in the luggage compartment.

  “By the Lady,” Rocky intoned as he pulled out of the driveway.

  “In her name,” replied the rest of them.

  “I see people.” Penny pressed her face to the window. “In the woods. So many of them.”

  “Don’t look at them.” Zeke tried to pull the woman away. “They’ll take your mind if you stare too long.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They’re his, Penny.” Waycross signed herself. “Whatever they look like, they’re his.”

  The ranch was only a couple of miles outside Gideon. But there were no lights except the SUV headlights, and the snow had blown and drifted. Rocky managed no more than five miles per hour, and stayed in the middle of the road to avoid sliding off on either side.

  They came upon the first ditched vehicle within minutes. A newer Ford pickup, the headlights still blazing.

  “That’s Rusty’s.” Penny crawled over Phil and Zeke to the other side of the cabin and crouched next to the door. “We have to stop.”

  “I’m not stopping, Penny.” Rocky gripped the wheel hard with both hands. “I do, I may never get it going again.”

  “I can see him—he’s still in there.”

  “I’m not stopping.”

  “How can you say that?” Penny flipped the door lock—the door flew open and she tumbled out onto the road. Phil and Corey grabbed Zeke to keep him from falling after her, and together they managed to pull the door closed.

  “Can you slow down, Rocky?” Waycross’s voice cracked.

  “Don’t want to, Mistress.”

  “Can you back up?”

  “Don’t want to do that either.” But he did, slowly, until he drew even with the ditched truck.

  Lauren watched out the back window. Saw Penny open the driver’s-side door, then lean close to Rusty. Saw his head nod, then rock back and forth. Saw him reach out and touch her.

  Then she felt it. The same strange sensations as in the woods, the place where they had found Jerome Hoard’s car. The currents of air, warm and cold, flowing and stagnant.

  She watched Penny slowly back away from the truck, Rusty slide out after her. “I think we should go.”

  Zeke craned his neck to see past her. “They’re headed this way. We gotta make room for ’em.”

  Lauren grabbed the inside handle of the rear door and held on. “Lock the doors.”

  “But they’re coming—”

  “Lock the goddamn doors.” Lauren held on to the handle as Penny pressed close to the door and tried to open it. She smiled at Lauren as she pulled on the latch, eyes too bright and face grayed and snow caking her hair.

  “I’m gonna get you, Mullin.” A weird voice, harmonics that razored the nerves.

  “Lock the doors, Rock.” Corey held on to the handle as Rusty banged on the window.

  “I did.” Rocky switched gears, started the SUV rolling forward. “Wait—oh shit—I hit the damn thing again—”

  Corey held on to the door as Rusty tried to pull it open. Then Penny joined him, shoving her hand through the gap, fingers raking the front of Corey’s shirt.

  Rocky hit the gas, jerked the steering wheel—the SUV skidded, knocking Rusty and Penny free. Corey and Phil pulled the door closed, and Rocky hit the panic button that locked everything.

  “We’re not stopping for anyone. I don’t care who it is.” He tapped the gas, sped up as much as he dared. “Fuckin’ zombie apocalypse.”

  “At least you can kill zombies.” Lauren watched as a few more undead—nearly dead? demon dead?—emerged from the woods and joined Penny and Rusty on the road.

  “What happened to them?” Phil watched, wide-eyed.

  “Blaine.” Waycross faced front, her hand resting on Rocky’s shoulder.

  They came upon more vehicles, some abandoned, others not. As they passed the occupied vehicles, those inside emerged, and joined the others who walked the road into Gideon.

  “They’re following us.” Zeke drummed his fingers on the back of Waycross’s headrest. “It’s like they’re following us.”

  “Zeke, please don’t do whatever you’re doing to my seat.”

  “But they’re following us.” Zeke clapped his hands, then shoved them under his thighs.

  The minutes ticked by as they continued their crawl, the wind battering them and snow caking the mirrors, coating the windows.

  “This isn’t normal snow.” Rocky ran the wipers, activated the windshield defroster, swore. “It doesn’t want to melt, and it smears like a son of a bitch.”

  “I haven’t seen one other car on the road actually moving.” Corey had reached back and taken hold of Lauren’s hand, squeezed it every so often.

  “Maybe they’re all home.” Phil nodded. “They’re all home safe, waiting out the storm.”

  “Okay, this is g
oing to be interesting.” Rocky slowed as they came to the spot where the road sloped down past Gideon’s business district and through the town square. “Because I’m not sure what’s going to happen once we start down the hill.”

  Lauren looked out the back window, saw their followers through the blowing snow. “They’re getting close.”

  “We can’t get out and go on foot.” Corey looked across the square toward the houses, a few scattered lights shining through the storm. “We’d never make it.”

  “Give it your best shot, Rocky.” Waycross squeezed his shoulder, then braced her hands on the dash.

  Rocky looked back at Lauren. “You might want to buckle up back there in case we flip.”

  “She can take Penny’s spot.” Phil held out his hand to Lauren, and he and Corey helped her slide between them, then buckled her in.

  “Are we ready?” Rocky tapped the gas, and they started forward. “Here goes nothing.”

  All went well until about halfway down the hill, when they hit a bump or a pothole hidden by the snow. The SUV swerved one way, then the other. Then it spun—once, twice, thrice. As it spun a fourth time, it slammed into a parked car and slid to a stop on the edge of the square.

  The engine shuddered, then died. Rocky tried to turn it over, pressed his hands to the ignition, muttered under his breath. “A little help would be nice.”

  They joined hands. Waycross started to speak, hesitated, sighed. “My Lady, please just start the damn thing.”

  Lauren looked back, and saw the followers gathered at the top of the slope. One heartbeat. Another.

  On the third, the followers started down.

  “They’re coming.” Lauren unbuckled her seat belt. “We need to run for it. Now.”

  Waycross unbuckled, edged forward in her seat. “Can you make it, Zeke?”

  “I’ll outrun the whole damn lotta you.” Zeke unsnapped his belt, pumped his arms.

  Lauren checked once again. “They’re halfway down the slope.” She squinted. “Some of them have rocks. Hammers.”

  “Let’s go.” Rocky hit the panic button and unlocked the doors.

  The cold took Lauren’s breath away, needled through her coat, her gloves and boots. But the square was an open stretch exposed to the wind, which meant the snow had blown away, leaving wide stretches with little or no coverage. They bunched together, walked as quickly as they could.

  Looked back, and found their followers gaining.

  “Let’s pick up the pace, shall we?” Phil broke into a trot, moved to the front of the pack.

  As they approached the Great Fire Memorial, Lauren heard scratching sounding from beneath. A muffled voice.

  “Don’t stop.” Zeke quickened his pace until he drew even with Phil. The men spread out, taking the front, the flanks. Corey tried to move to the rear, and motioned for Lauren to move to the middle of the pack.

  But Lauren and Waycross looked at each other, and fell back.

  “You boys keep the way clear up there.” Waycross stooped, gathered a handful of snow, tossed it into the air. “We’ll handle the rear.”

  “What are you doing?” Lauren gathered her own handful of snow. It felt gritty, sandy, even through her gloves.

  “No idea.” Waycross looked back at the followers, Blaine’s demon horde. “Oh, my Lady, I see—” She swallowed hard. “I see Ruthie and Betty Joan and—”

  “Help! Help!”

  As they passed the gazebo, a figure wriggled out from beneath and hurtled after them. “Please.” Brittany, filthy, wearing a coat pulled over a nightgown, snow boots on her feet. “Please wait!”

  “I think she’s all right.” Lauren lagged back, waved Corey ahead when he tried to join her. In the distance, the followers dogged them, a wall of quiet menace.

  “Thinking’s not enough at the moment.” Rocky picked up a long stick, swung it like an ax.

  “She’s all right.” Lauren slowed, held out her hand, staggered as Brittany barreled into her.

  “M-mommy,” the girl stammered, wide-eyed and pale. “We hid in the diner, and they came in, and they got Mommy and Joesy and Johnny—”

  “She’s okay.” Lauren held the girl close. “Blaine’s followers don’t cry.” She caught Waycross wiping her eyes, read her thoughts as if they were her own. That Waycross had bound the girl, taken away whatever power she had, left her defenseless.

  And then the monsters came.

  “We can’t get down to Zeke’s place this way.” Rocky pointed to the entry to the cul-de-sac. “Must be a ten-foot drift blocking the road.”

  “We can go around, back behind Leaf’s place.” Zeke pointed to the next street over—

  —the unnamed street—the scattered remains of a house—

  “I don’t think they’ll hurt me, no matter what they say.” Lauren pushed Brittany into Waycross’s arms, then fell back. “But they’ll hurt you to get to me.”

  Waycross put her arms around Brittany, who still whimpered like an injured animal. “So what does that mean?”

  “It means go where I tell you to go, and stay there until I say move.” Lauren looked back at the horde, Blaine’s foot soldiers, his cannon fodder, pitied them even as she feared what they would do to avoid their Master’s wrath. “They’re spreading out. They’re going to try to surround us and cut us off.”

  “Why now?” Waycross picked up the pace, taking Brittany’s hand and dragging her like a balky toddler.

  “Because they know where we’re going.” Lauren broke into a run, slowed by knee-deep drifts. “There’s a vacant lot on the right, with a chimney—”

  “I know which one.” Corey picked up the pace. “Come on.”

  They ran, as behind them, Blaine’s horde howled and yipped like coyotes on the hunt. Lauren heard laughter amid the din. Threats.

  “Gonna get you, all of you—get you—get you—”

  They turned onto the street. Zeke fell behind, and Phil and Rocky grabbed him under the arms and pulled him along.

  Lauren ran, the buzzing in her head ramping up to a clatter that drowned out her every thought. She felt the pounding of running feet coming up from behind, knew then that the half dead of Gideon could move more easily in the snow than the living, that they had been toying with them up to now. Fuck you. She dug deep, forced searing thigh muscles to pump faster, crossed the line onto the old Mullin property just as claws raked the back of her coat.

  They ran to the fallen chimney. Zeke sagged to the edge of the old hearth, stared at nothing, mouth agape and sweat dripping despite the cold. Rocky, Corey, Phil, all stood doubled over, inhaling in great gulps. Waycross slumped against the cold brick, while Brittany stared at Lauren wide-eyed.

  Lauren turned to look out at the street at the followers who surrounded them on three sides, and drew up straight. “Wands out, Harry.”

  “What?” Waycross and the others looked around, shook their heads. All but Brittany, who crouched down and picked up a short stick, then brandished it in front of her.

  “Why don’t they come closer?” Zeke stood slowly. “They’re stopping at the edge of the lot—what’s holding them back?”

  Lauren touched her forehead, the wound that was no longer there. “It’s the blood.”

  “What you buried, you mean?” Waycross nodded. “So now what?”

  “Yeah, really.” Rocky huddled. “Because we sure as hell can’t stand around here much longer.”

  “Does anyone have a knife?” Lauren waited, then looked at each of the men in turn. “Are you telling me that not one of you is carrying a knife?”

  “I’ve got one.” Brittany dug into the pocket of her coat. “Will this work?” She handed Lauren a folded jackknife, the metal case brushed silver engraved with roses.

  “Pretty.” Lauren pried open the knife. “Hands bleed a lot, right?” Before anyone answered, she drew the blade across her palm, then raised her hand. “Do you see this?” She felt the warm blood well, flow inside her sleeve. Then she pressed the wound to Brittany�
��s forehead. Waycross’s. The others. “They’re mine, as this place is mine. You can’t touch them, or harm them in any way, or your Master will destroy you.” She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned.

  “Just making sure you know.” Zeke pointed to the woods. “The house is just through here and across the street.”

  “We have to go through the woods?” Lauren wiped the knife blade on the leg of her jeans, then folded it and handed it back to Brittany.

  Zeke shrugged, one eye on the followers. “It’s only a short stretch.”

  “Not anymore.” Lauren reached out to Zeke. “Join hands. I’ll lead the way. Don’t let go, no matter what you see or hear or sense, because we can’t come back for you.” She waited until they all lined up. “Let’s go.”

  “I don’t want to be at the end.” Brittany looked back at the followers, made a sign of the Lady over her heart.

  “Curl in next to me and Dylan, girl.” Waycross smiled. “Like a question mark.” Once the girl had nestled in, Waycross looked past the others to Lauren, and nodded.

  Lauren took one step toward the woods. Another. She could see the shadows moving along the border where the trees met the lot, and as she drew closer, they grew still and took form.

  “They’re not moving out of the way.” Zeke’s voice shook.

  “They have to let us pass. It doesn’t mean they have to make it pleasant.” Lauren squeezed the man’s hand, felt him flinch.

  “It’s the arthritis, you know.” He squeezed back, more lightly. “Hang on, just not so hard.” He paused. “Please don’t let go.”

  They entered the woods. Lauren felt things brush her face, her hands, snake around her legs. Heard Zeke’s voice in her ear. “I changed my mind. You can squeeze as hard as you think you have to.”

  But for this one time, and likely for the last time, the woods of Gideon played fair. The group emerged after a few short strides, intact, together.

  “Let’s get inside before they figure out where the hell we are.” Zeke led them across the street to an immense brick Georgian with barred windows, his house key at the ready. Unlocked the door and led them inside. Smelled the air, stamped a clockwise path three times in the entry, and pronounced the place clean.