by Russ Melrose
I ran to the well and took a peek over the rim. The top of the well was covered in a layer of snow. I brushed the snow aside and found a thick sheet of glass covering the well, embedded into its sides. Just below the glass, a woman desperately clung to a protruding brick and a young girl had her arms draped around the woman's neck and shoulders.
The desperate crying moans of the infected rose sharply as they drew closer. "Better be careful," Alex said, as he yawned and gazed dreamily at the sky.
I suddenly noticed an oblong rock the size of a half-loaf of bread lying at my feet. I picked it up and showed it to the woman and mimicked bringing the rock down to break the glass. She nodded her head in understanding and pressed her head against the wall of the well. At the same time, the girl buried her face into the woman's back. I lifted the rock high above my head, and just as I brought it down hard, I heard Alex warn, "Hey Jake, you better hurry." The glass shattered into a thousand pieces that hurtled at breakneck speed down the depths of the well. I grabbed the woman's left arm with both of my hands and braced myself to pull her up. But the girl suddenly scaled the woman's back in an instant and screamed like a banshee as she reared her head back before burying her teeth into the soft flesh of my forearm. I screamed in pain and …
... sat up in a state of panic on the couch. I searched frantically for the bite wound on my arm but all I found was smooth skin. There was no bite mark, though I was certain I'd been bitten. Then I became aware of a puzzling anomaly in my transition to a waking state. I could still hear the moans. That's when I realized the moans weren't coming from my dream. I turned to see a shadowy, writhing figure trying to squeeze his broad girth through a window above the nightlight.
I couldn't get over his being in the window. It was an eerie sight, more dreamlike than the dream itself. He looked as if he were trying to crawl out of a wall painting. The amber glow from the nightlight had turned his ghoulish face a surreal shade of yellow.
He'd managed to get one arm along with his shoulders through the opening, but his other arm and the trunk of his body were jammed irretrievably stuck in the window frame. He reached in my direction with his free arm, moaning pitifully. Dark lines of blood trickled down the wall from where his torso had been ripped by the remnants of broken glass still embedded in the window frame.
I became aware of a jumbled mosaic of sounds, and I wondered if the sounds had been there the whole time. A sharp knocking came from the area of my escape window. A male gray was beating his head into the window again and again. The fog in my mind began to clear and I knew I was in trouble. A chorus of muffled moans were coming from the backyard. A muted, hollow banging, like someone pounding on thick glass, came from somewhere off in the distance.
Above me, a muffled creaking sound jarred me fully awake. The sound came from the hallway upstairs. Footsteps. I straightened the way an animal does when it hears an unexpected sound. I reached for the backpack and unzipped the pouch where I kept the Glock. I set the gun next to me and threw my backpack on. That's when I realized I'd forgotten to shut the back door to the kitchen. One of them was in the house. Others would follow.
I leapt up the stairs two steps at a time. The muted banging sound was clearer now—the infected were pounding on the thick glass of the picture window. When I reached the top of the stairs, I depressed the trigger safety lock and reached for the doorknob. The garage door was no more than six feet away from the basement door. If I could get to the garage, I'd have a chance.
I turned the knob and pushed the door open, tense but focused. Across the room in the darkness, I could make out the silhouette of a small woman with stooped shoulders, half facing me as if she'd turned when I opened the door. I stepped up to the landing and pointed the gun at her. I hesitated, not sure what I should do, but she lurched wildly toward me, reaching her arm out as she moaned excitedly in a soft, gravelly voice. She raced toward me as if I were a long lost relative.
I aimed the Glock at her knee and fired three times, holding my wrist and arm steady to minimize the kickback. The shots echoed loudly throughout the house, silencing the noisy mob of infected outside if only for a second. My ears rang with a pulsing tone from the sharp report of the gun in the narrow hallway. I stretched my jaw to pop my ears, but the tone continued to echo in my head. A hint of burnt cordite teased my nostrils.
The infected woman wobbled for a brief moment before her leg collapsed under her and she fell in a heap on the floor. She didn't cry out in pain or reach for her knee. Her knee didn't seem to bother her at all. She used her forearms to drag her crippled body forward, grumbling incoherently in a low raspy voice. I kept the gun pointed at her.
The infected continued their relentless assault on the picture window, but they were right where I needed them.
I headed toward the garage door, keeping a wary eye on the old woman. My hearing was coming back. The noise from the infected was deafening. As I opened the garage door, the old woman crawled into the finger of moonlight that stretched out from the kitchen window. I could see her clearly. She had sparse, wispy white hair, the color and texture of cornsilk. Her facial skin was dusky black and leathery. It looked as if a thousand fine lines had been perfectly etched into her hardened skin. Her eyes were recessed so deeply into their sockets, I couldn't make out the color of her eyes or if she even had eyes. They were lost in dark caverns. She looked so pitiful, I thought about putting her out of her misery, but I couldn't do it. And then a dark shadow fell across her face and I felt a tugging on my backpack.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I wrenched myself free and ran past the old woman and into the living room. I turned and raised the Glock. My hands were trembling. An infected teen with shoulder-length stringy hair staggered excitedly toward me. I used my free hand to steady the Glock, and I leveled the gun at his head and fired, striking him just above an eyebrow. He took a mindless half-step forward and collapsed to the floor. I stepped back, aiming the gun at his head, but he was already dead. Three more infected lumbered down the hallway. The old woman crawled stubbornly toward me. She took a swipe at my leg as I side-stepped her. I slid through the doorway and closed the garage door behind me.
The only light in the garage came from a single window on the south wall. A shaft of moonlight splayed through the window onto the garage floor. A galaxy of dust motes floated effortlessly in the light.
The three infected from the hallway were already banging on the garage door. I ignored them. I grabbed the key fob from the roof and activated the keyless entry system. I unlocked the door and opened it. I set the Glock on the roof and slid my backpack off. I removed the bat, tossed the backpack onto the passenger seat, and grabbed the gun. Once inside, I placed the bat between the backpack and the seatback crease. I stuck the gun into my waistband.
I fit the fob into the console. All I needed now was to start the car and open the garage door. I grabbed the opener from the visor and took a breath. I held the opener in my left hand and pointed it at the garage door. I pushed the ATS start button with my thumb. The Cadillac engine thrummed to life and I breathed a sigh of relief. I engaged the garage door opener and the door began its noisy ascent.
It took five seconds for the garage door to inch up three feet. It wasn't enough. I smacked the steering wheel hard with the flat of my hand. "C'mon!" I screamed at the door, "Let's go!" My inner tension had ratcheted up. The car's headlights had come on automatically and their beams illuminated the garage door and the driveway. Another second, maybe two. I could see two pairs of legs in front of the garage. A head belonging to two of the legs ducked down underneath the garage door and peered inside. He raised his hand to shield himself from the bright lights. He wore a tattered pin-striped business suit. I put my left foot on the brake and shifted into drive, then pressed the accelerator and revved the engine.
I took my foot off the break and floored the gas pedal. The tires squealed madly and the car sprung forward. I gritted my teeth before the car slammed into the legs of the infected man in the
business suit. The Cadillac sent him flying through the air and he landed well down the driveway before somersaulting backwards. I'd hit the other infected man with the right front fender, sending him pirouetting into the yard. He sat on the grass looking bewildered.
There were thirty to forty grays in the front yard.
The man in the business suit tried to prop himself up with his forearms. I swerved around him and stopped at the bottom of the driveway not sure which way to turn. The street was crammed with stragglers. I wanted to turn right in the direction of the underpass, but there were considerably more infected to my right.
Something slammed into the passenger side door and the car shuddered. She clubbed the window with her fist. Her mouth was drooped open as if she were surprised to see me. She was moaning something incoherent and indecipherable.
She slammed her head viciously into the window and I hit the gas pedal and sped out into the street. Without thinking, I turned the ATS sharply to the right. I weaved my way around two of them but hit an infected man with the front bumper, knocking him down onto the street. Then I ran him over. There were too many in the street. I'd never get past them all.
I headed to the nearest driveway across the street and turned in and then cut across the yard. The yards were infected-free. The Holladay yards were quite spacious. In the third to last yard before the intersection, the peripheral glow from the headlights illuminated an angular figure standing motionless under a large elm tree. I knew who it was without ever getting a clear view of him. The Swimmer didn't move a muscle as I drove the Cadillac past him.
After I passed by, he began running after the car.
Everything suddenly made sense. The Swimmer had lead the infected to the Josephsons' house. He'd opened the backyard gate and let them in. And under his direction, they'd surrounded the house. He must have heard the phone, then bided his time before leading them to me. It was the most logical explanation.
I kept glancing in my rearview mirror to keep track of him. He ran with great ease, the way tall, lean, athletic men do. He'd obviously been an athlete of some kind. Once I got the ATS back out onto the street, I could distance myself from him. Just one more yard before I could turn left at the intersection. A thick Boxwood hedge bordered the yard and I didn't want to risk driving through it. I jerked the steering wheel right and drove over the curb and back out onto the street. I avoided two infected but sideswiped an infected teenage girl, knocking her to the pavement.
When I looked back, they were in pursuit, all of them, ambling frenziedly down the darkened street. But they'd never catch me. The Swimmer was the only one I was concerned with. I turned left and hit the gas. The street was clear. The ATS accelerated smoothly and I reached fifty easily before I had to slow at the bottom of the hill. At the intersection, I took a deep breath and glanced both ways. Nothing. Eight or nine blocks to the right and I'd be at 39th South. I looked back before I turned. The Swimmer was a quarter of the way down the street, running with purpose.
I accelerated up to fifty and kept the headlights on. The road would curve to the right up ahead and I didn't want any sudden surprises. I would slow once the road began its eastward bend. I couldn't believe how amped up I felt. I was bristling with energy. I couldn't be sure if it was because the underpass was so close or because of the close call I'd had. I had a feeling it had to do with my narrow escape. I found it strange the danger would excite me. I felt invincible and ridiculously confident, almost cocky. I knew I'd make it to the underpass and nothing would stop me, no matter what lay ahead. I would make it to the underpass this very night, infected be damned.
I eased my foot off the gas as the road began its eastward sweep. To be safe, I slowed to thirty-five. The ATS hummed quietly. The ride was incredibly smooth. I glanced in my rearview mirror one last time but didn't see the Swimmer anywhere in sight. The street was dark enough that he could have been back there somewhere. A few homes here and there had lights on, but for the most part, the street was dark and utterly silent. Then I saw movement a half block up on the left.
A group of infected were laying siege to a large brick bungalow. They'd shattered the picture window and were clumsily stepping over the window's low sill to get into the house. A few strays ambled about in the front yard. I turned my lights off, but it was too late. Several of them had already turned to look as I approached. It may have been the lights or the sound of the engine. I didn't know and it didn't matter. My intuition told me not to speed up. They stood quietly, not moving, mesmerized or bewildered by the Cadillac as I cruised by.
After I'd driven past them, one of the infected stumbled down the front steps in pursuit. Then a second one came and a third, maybe more. I was already a half a block past them and wasn't concerned in the least. They had no chance to catch me.
When I'd passed by the house under siege, I noticed a string of five consecutive homes that had been broken into. It was the first time I'd seen anything like it in the valley.
I left the lights off and slowed to twenty. I began to feel anxious. I was getting close. Then I caught sight of the street. From there, 39th South would be a half block jaunt to my left. Despite the long day, I felt incredibly alert. I lowered the driver side window and listened. I kept my eyes peeled for any sign of movement but saw nothing in the tar-black darkness. All I could hear were the fading moans of the infected I'd passed.
When I reached the stop sign, I was a half block from 39th South. Cars were backed up over a block from the intersection. The street lamp on 39th illuminated the area. It was a grisly sight. The street looked like an automobile graveyard. Here and there human bones were scattered about in the street. A skull lay in the gutter with a patch of dark scalp hair remaining.
Cars were crammed together, many of them smashed up. I wasn't sure what to do. I couldn't go back. I needed a closer look.
I drove through two side yards to get to the intersection. I crept up to the corner lot and came to a stop in the front yard. I checked for any infected nearby but didn't see any. The underpass was two blocks to my right. I could hear the faint sound of distant moans but nothing close by. 39th was a two-way street with two lanes and a suicide lane in the middle. But there were four lanes of cars squeezed together all heading east in the direction of the freeway. The crowded lanes were backed up three blocks or more from the freeway entrance.
Most of the cars' windows and windshields were smashed and broken. Some doors had been partially opened, but the cars were so tightly packed together, the doors hadn't opened far enough to allow people to exit their vehicles. They'd been trapped in their cars, easy prey for the infected. A faint stench of rotting bodies permeated the air and I closed the window.
It wasn't difficult to figure out what had happened. Midway up the ramp were several wrecked vehicles, the result of head-on collisions. Both freeway entrances were bottlenecked, the lone exit too. The cars on the freeway that had peeled off from the back end of the blockades must have tried to use the freeway entrances as exits. It didn't work. And with people honking their horns, it probably hadn't taken long for the infected to show up. The people trapped in their cars must have been terrified. There must have been a mad scramble to get away.
The underpass worried me. I'd be out in the open for three or four blocks. The cars would help camouflage my movements, but with the cars so tightly packed together, it might be difficult getting through.
I wasn't sure what to do. In the excitement of reaching the underpass, I'd all but forgotten about Sarah and Becky.
I studied 39th as it stretched westward. The lanes were strangled with cars for two blocks. If I could get past the backed up cars, I could be at Sarah and Becky's in a few minutes. The front yards on 39th South were small—twenty feet from the front steps to the sidewalk. I couldn't see any fences, but it was difficult to see clearly that far down the street.
I drove through the front yards and it went well till halfway down the second block. A thicket of birch trees blocked my way. The trees lined
the left side of the yard. They were too thick to run over. There was an opening between the trees and a Nissan Altima wedged into the curb. The opening spanned the sidewalk and a few feet of yard.
I eased the ATS into the opening, hugging the tree closely while avoiding the Nissan. I'd gone a couple feet when I realized the side-view mirror wasn't going to make it past the tree. I veered the car into the birch tree and it gave a couple inches but not enough to get the mirror past it. If I rode the car into the tree hard enough, I could get by if I swung right at the perfect moment, then back left. I gritted my teeth and rode the car hard into the tree, but the tree scraped against the fender and made a sharp screeching sound. I stopped, but the damage was done.
I moved the ATS forward and swung it hard into the tree, and just before the tree struck the mirror, I turned sharply right, then back left. The tree smacked the mirror hard but just the tip of it, and I eased past the tree.
Before taking off, I checked the rearview mirror, and there they were, four of them, standing under the lurid glow of the street lamp, tilting unsteadily like drunken sailors. They peered down the street at the ATS, then began to shuffle in the direction of the car. The Swimmer couldn't be far behind. I drove the ATS past the last half block of abandoned cars and swerved onto 39th South.
