Slowly, one by one, she walked down the stairs, hearing them groan under her weight. She paused again when she got halfway down to hear if anything had shifted from the noise she was making. But once again it was silent. She clutched the plastic bag of first aid supplies as she continued down the rest of the steps into the darkness.
The culprit was a window at the top of the wall in front of her. It had been slid open and the cold, fresh breeze of the morning came in along with the faint edges of the sun's light that did little to illuminate much of the basement. The window was narrow and seemed doubtful that someone would have been able to slip through it, but she kept her wary eyes on it for a moment.
The illumination from the candle she held cut into the darkness where the faint light from outside had faded, and a pale orange danced around boxes, old bicycles, and weight equipment as she passed them. In the darkness, even the innocent candle flame twisted into something sinister as it hid sly shapes roaming around in the cold basement.
When she reached the middle of the room, she saw the fuzzy edges of a table sitting just on the precipice between the light and the dark. She approached it, letting the light encroach upon it and fulfill her ghastly curiosity at the objects that were beginning to take shape.
The table fully came into the reach of the flickering orange flame, and there were two zombies sitting on opposite sides in plastic chairs. Neither of them showed any signs of life, and there were rough gashes all around their necks, like they had been decapitated and then had their heads reattached. One was a male who was dressed in nice church clothes, and he was perched forward with his chin resting on a propped arm. His other arm was outstretched, holding a fresh flower in his hand. The zombie on the other side of the table was a female sporting a long sundress with a blond wig on its head that was about the same length as Sarah's hair. She sat back in the chair lazily with her hands folded up in what looked like a representation of disinterest.
And scratched into the middle of the table was a name: "SARAH".
She dropped the plastic bag of supplies and backed away as her blood ran cold. The hand holding the candle started to shake and the flame flickered dangerously, threatening to go out. Dark shapes moved around in the blackness all around her. Noises came from every direction, closing in on her. She felt chilly breath on the back of her neck and she spun around, dropping the candle and bolting for the stairs. She didn't know which sensations were real and which were imagined, but the killer was in the house with her. And she didn't know where.
She shot out into the living room and rounded the corner to the front hall, heading for the second floor. The heavy objects she blocked the door with now looked like large bricks sealing the exit to a tomb. Sarah clambered up the stairs with only one thing on her mind: the hatchet. Everything else was a blur to her.
She burst into the little girl's room and saw it sitting on the nightstand on the far side of the room, waiting to be used. She rounded the bed to get it, and a hand reached out from below and caught her by the ankle.
Sarah crashed to the floor and her head snapped to the side, trying to figure out what happened.
The killer was lying underneath the bed, long and greasy black hair coming out of his head like stiff wires, and a deranged smile across his face, wider and more demented than a human should have been capable of. In the next instant, he crawled his way out from underneath, still holding onto her ankle.
Sarah rolled on the floor and kicked at him, hitting him in the face. His head rolled back and he let out a quiet grunt, but it didn't seem to hurt him, and the smile didn't waver. She frantically kicked her legs like a seasoned swimmer and she finally managed to pry her ankle from his grip. She got to her feet and lunged for the hatchet.
The killer shot to his feet and lurched after her.
Sarah picked up the weapon and spun around, slashing it at him.
He held up his hand to protect his face, and the blade sliced across his open palm, leaving a bloody gash. The corner of his mouth faltered for a moment as he looked at his hand, but he still beamed his insane grin. When he turned his attention back to her, blood dripping off his fingertips, a look of complete horror washed over Sarah's face and she backed into the nightstand.
The killer started to laugh, but it was quiet—more to himself than her—and it came out in a half-giggle, like it was made by an amused child. He slowly walked up to her as she leaned back over the nightstand and against the wall behind it. He held up his bloody hand, making a grabbing gesture as he approached.
Sarah gave him a couple warning slashes and he reached forward each time, like he was trying to catch the blade. When she knew she wasn't deterring him, her instincts told her to throw herself over the bed and try to scramble to the other side of it.
In a swift motion in perfect synchronicity with hers, he sailed over the bed after her, his body gliding through the air like a dolphin leaping from water. She didn't even land on the soft surface before his arms were around her, grabbing at her face and her throat, trying to gain control of her.
The blood from his right hand smeared against her throat as Sarah tried to pry it off. She bucked wildly on the bed as he shoved his bodyweight against her and pinned her down. She coughed as the grip over her throat tightened and she desperately swung the hatchet backward over her head with the power and effectiveness of a gimped chicken wing.
The killer let go of her throat and reached for the hatchet that was coming close to his head. He caught hold of her wrist and tried to pull it down by his side, but she managed to use the momentum of his yank and the heavy butt of the steel hatchet head came down hard on his temple. He closed his eyes and let go of her as his limbs were momentarily paralyzed.
She scurried out from under him and made it over to the other side of the room. When she got to the door, she glanced behind her to make sure he was still down and saw that he was already back on his feet and marching toward her. His smile was gone, replaced with an utterly blank look. He had dead eyes, and the way he moved was terrifying. He shouldn't have been able to just get back up and be unbothered by the pain she had inflicted, and he moved, in fact, like he had not been inflicted by it at all.
Sarah ran for the stairs leading down to the main floor when something struck her in the back, knocking her off course and causing her to fall to the floor of the hallway. A mini wooden table painted pink bounced on the ground behind her, and the killer stood in the doorframe of the little girl's room in a long stance with his arm thrown forward.
Catching her breath, she picked up the hatchet that she had dropped when the table hit her, and she ran for the master bedroom in front of her. She didn't know where she could go, and it felt like her very life was being squeezed out of her and the walls were closing in.
The bedroom was empty, save for a big dresser and a nightstand sitting next to where the bed used to be before she dragged it downstairs to block the front door. There was a closet on her left with flimsy sliding doors, and two windows were perched in the far wall, looking out over the neighborhood. The walls of the room were painted a dull grayish-white, and they matched the carpet in its depressing grayish-blue, creating a miserable look that didn't appear far removed from a jail cell.
Sarah spun around to face her attacker, trapped and with nowhere to hide.
He walked for her, not too quickly, like he was savoring this. He carried the pink mini table in his hand as blood continued to drip from it, staining the carpet with a pattering of deep crimson.
Sarah backed up toward one of the windows in the far wall and raised the hatchet. She swung it through the air to try to scare him off again, ignoring the results of how the tactic worked the last time. Tears came down her face and her mouth was twisted into a wretched grimace, juxtaposing his demented grin that had returned to his face.
He held up the table by its legs with both hands, using the flat top of it as a shield to her swings. Step by step, he advanced on her and pushed her back against the window. When her b
ack bumped into it and made her jump, she did what any cornered and frightened animal would do.
With an awful howl, she lunged forward and swung the hatchet at him with everything she had. It sliced through the air vertically and started its descent to bury itself into the top of his head.
The killer lifted the table at the last moment and blocked her strike. The blade of the hatchet slammed through the flat surface to the underside in a burst of wood splinters in every direction. The impact sounded like a cannon went off in the small and echoing room.
He yanked the table and the hatchet wedged in it out of her grip, leaving her to watch in horror as he held onto the neck of the weapon and tried to pry it out.
Before another thought could race through Sarah's head, the killer pulled out the hatchet and hurled it at her with incredible force. She ducked just in time as the blade brushed across the hair on the top of her head and smashed through the window. The glass exploded with a loud bang and rained down on the sunny, peaceful day outside.
The killer dropped the table and charged at her, causing her to back up to the window and inadvertently fall out of it.
She screamed as she tumbled from the second story, not knowing which direction was which; not knowing if she was alive or dead.
The ground stole the air from her lungs and covered her eyes with a blanket of darkness. Her head rolled around on the weedy grass, but every other function of her body had ceased. Her mouth hung open and her lungs gaped, but all that was drawn in was pain. Her body spasmed and she thought she would suffocate.
After an indeterminate time spent in her blind panic, the blanket of darkness lifted from her vision and she began to breathe again. The pain was still extraordinary and she thought she had broken several bones and wouldn't be able to get up. She rolled onto her back as her body groaned.
The killer's head poked out of the window she'd fallen out of and stared down at her. He only looked for a moment, and then he was gone.
That incredible sense of urgency filled her again and she forced herself to get up. She rolled onto her stomach and pushed her torso up, moving her legs under her and pushing, praying that she was still in one piece.
A dull but strong ache shot through her legs and she whimpered at the pain, but she got up. She took a few wobbly steps, but it seemed that she hadn't broken anything and could still move, despite the pain.
Sarah was on the front lawn of the house and the zombies in the neighborhood already took notice of her. A small pack traveling from the lawn of the next house over was already in full sprint for her. She took off and headed back for the highway, glancing at the zombies and at the house behind her, waiting for the killer to emerge at any moment in pursuit.
Her tired legs pumped for all they were worth, and even her arms pained her just to swing them through the air. Her throat was drier than ever, and it felt like there was a rock wedged inside every time she swallowed. The hunger pangs didn't take long to start, either, but she ignored all of it and just ran.
Cries and moans came from her mouth and her eyes were filled with tears again. She was terrified. She didn't look back anymore because she knew that if she did, she was dead. She waited for something to catch up to her and grab her at any moment, and the fear of not knowing when that moment would come was the hardest to bear.
Sarah flew across the highway and ran into the woods on the other side. The killer would catch up to her in no time if she ran down the road, and her only chance was to try to lose him behind the maze of thick trees.
Each tall trunk whizzed by her and she tried not to slam into it, but her motor skills were starting to fail. She was beyond fatigued and she was going to collapse soon. She thought she heard footsteps behind her, following along the dead leaves, but she wasn't sure.
She didn't know how much time she had left, but she didn't think it was long. She was terrified of what he would do to her and the fear started to shut her down. She darted into a small clearing covered in orangey-yellow leaves and her legs gave out.
Her heart leapt into her throat and she fell. She fell much farther than she thought it would take to reach the ground, and then she realized that something was very wrong.
In the last moment of her confusion, she saw the ground rise up over her head on all sides, covering her in blackness.
Then she hit the ground. Hard.
She screamed as intense pain tore through her ankle and her body convulsed. Her head shot around, trying to figure out what happened, feeling like a trapped animal.
A faint bit of light came down and highlighted walls around her that were crudely made with stone. She was in a box that looked no bigger than a few feet each way, and, looking up, she saw the edges of trunks and the bare branches of the trees that she had been sailing through only a moment ago. The bright sky shone brilliantly through them and seemed to taunt her and her new state of captivity.
She fell into a trap that someone had built and there was no escape. The cracks between the stones in the wall were too thin to gain a foothold and the hole was at least eight feet deep.
Sarah tried to rotate her ankle, but was met with tremendous pain. Her chest heaved in and out and she felt nauseated, on the verge of throwing up. Stars swirled around her periphery and she glanced back up at the opening above her.
The killer stared down at her, his head and shoulders poking just over the edge of the hole. The features of his face were invisible—just a silhouette in the brightness above him—but his wiry black hair hung down from his head and gently swayed in the breeze as he enjoyed his view.
And then he began to giggle. It echoed in the tiny space and this time it didn't sound childlike, but truly insane.
Sarah felt sick, like his depravity was dripping down onto her, and she closed her eyes and turned her head away. When she opened them and looked back up, he was gone.
But the fear was not.
7
IN THE HOLE
The dank hole smelled of moss and wet leaves. The otherwise benign smell went to her head and made her queasy. The feeling was amplified by her claustrophobia as the dark walls stood guard around her. They didn't move, but bit by bit, it felt like they slid inward to squeeze the life out of her.
She closed her eyes and tried to block out everything around her, focusing on slowing her breathing. She pulled her legs up to her chest, sliding her left foot very slowly across the dirt floor, careful not to agitate her injured ankle. She was certain that she broke it, and she knew there was no way that she would be able to go on, even if she got out of the hole.
Delirious fancies of dying of thirst or being tortured by the killer before she was put out of her misery floated through her head. Her face scrunched up at the terror she felt and she waited for more salty tears to come out of her eyes, but none did.
She was terribly dehydrated, and her body could produce no more moisture. She involuntarily swallowed and felt the ripping pain in her throat. She cried out softly, wanting to wail at the misery she felt, but she just didn't have the energy. Only a few seconds after she fell quiet, she heard noises somewhere in the distance outside of the hole.
"I think I heard it!" someone shouted.
Footsteps swept across dried leaves and the sound floated down and echoed into the tight box Sarah was in. They were coming toward her.
"Yep! I see it!" the person yelled. "Get the ladder!"
Sarah's heart skipped a beat as she looked up at the sky above her. Though the killer had never spoken a word in front of her except for her name, she knew his voice and she knew that whoever was coming toward her wasn't him. She began to stir in the darkness, but was unable to do much of anything. Her fingers climbed up the walls, limply gripping onto the slightly jutting stones, but she didn't have the energy to pull herself up to her feet.
"I got you, you little sumbitch!" the man yelled as his footsteps came to a stop at the edge of the hole above.
A vague mass came into view, blocking out the light from the sky above. S
arah couldn't make out much of it, but she saw the distinct shape of a head poking out the top of a rotund body, and there was the faint outline of something long and narrow pointed at her, like a rifle.
"What is that?" the man said to himself under his breath. The silhouette of his head swiveled around and he yelled out, "Jimmy! You got the lantern?"
"Yep!" another voice shouted out as more footsteps came to the hole, followed by another black mass, this one taller and thinner.
The two men muttered back and forth to each other as the skinny one dropped the ladder on the ground next to the hole and fiddled with the lantern.
"It don't look like a deer," the first man said. "What do you think?"
"Only one way to find out," Jimmy said as he lit the lantern and lowered his arm down into the hole.
The glowing orange light revealed all to the three of them, and they each jumped when they saw the other party. The two men above jumped because the last thing they expected to find was a battered woman stuck at the bottom of their trapping pit, and Sarah jumped for a reason that she wasn't really sure of, other than the fact that she was just chased by a murdering maniac and everything set her on edge.
"Good Lord!" the first man shouted. "Who are you, lady? What are you doing down there?" He leaned over the hole to get a good look at her.
As Sarah looked up at him, she was frightened at first, waiting to see what he would do to her. Her first reaction, and rightly so, was that these two men were just more savage degenerates who wished to harm her, but then she saw the sincerity and worry in his eyes. There was a softness to them that she never saw in the eyes of any murderer.
Then all at once, the floodgates opened and her emotions poured out. She sobbed uncontrollably as she blurted out words that were completely incomprehensible at first.
The man instinctively reeled back at her outburst, shocked to see someone in such pain.
"He's trying to kill me!" Sarah managed at last. "He's out there! He's there right now!" Mucus filled her nose and her words came out like she had a bad cold.
Zombie Apocalypse Series (Book 3): Ashes in the Mouth Page 6
