Zombie Apocalypse Series (Book 3): Ashes in the Mouth

by Jeff DeGordick

  Her body was running hot, but all of her limbs had quickly frozen as she clambered over the ground, finally reaching the last hill that led up to the house. She crawled on her hands and knees, using the ice pick to stab into the cold ground and pull herself up. She had gotten a good head start on them and just as she neared the edge of the woods, she stepped into the set of footprints she had been following that led right to the house, then she jumped off to the side and landed in the snow. She scurried backward, wiping the snow in front of her as she went to conceal her tracks. If the bandits were paying close attention, they would discover her trick without any trouble, and she prayed that they were too excited and focused on revenge for them to notice.

  Sarah continued until she had slipped behind a felled log draped across the top of a short mound of earth. She wiped up the last of her prints in the snow, then she stayed low and watched.

  The bandits came up the hill, still furiously shouting at each other as their eyes were glued ahead. They occasionally glanced down at the footprints to make sure they were still going in the right direction, and they crested the hill and went right past her, heading for the clearing ahead.

  When they were gone, Sarah propped herself up to see them, but she couldn't from her vantage point. She moved around to the side, this time not worrying about the marks she left in the snow, until she came up to a thick tree near the edge of the woods that looked out at the house from the front-left corner.

  The bandits came out into the clearing and sized up the property, looking from the house to the shed.

  "He's hiding somewhere here!" one of the bandits shouted. "Flush him out!"

  Sarah peeked out from around the tree, watching as the bandits started to fan out. The tension immediately gnawed at her and she felt herself become panicked, torn between excitement that the bandits would kill her stalker and a wriggling doubt whispering to her that maybe they wouldn't.

  "Jack, go check that shed!" one of the bandits cried. "Everyone else, surround the house!"

  And so they spread out, the bandits at the edges of the group trotting ahead to make their way around to the other side, all of them keeping their heads on swivels for anything at all that moved.

  Sarah watched them surround the killer, and her eyes moved back to the bathroom window where the killer had been removing nails from his body. But as she looked at it, she was met with an odd sight.

  Something was obstructing her view of the interior, and no longer did she see any orange glow from the candle. She could see the glass and she knew the window hadn't been boarded up, but it almost looked as if something had been pushed up to it from the inside, blocking it. Then she saw that the front door was sitting slightly ajar as if the bandits were being let right in. The mysterious image was so innocuous, but it filled her with a deep and terrible fear. She knew something was wrong.

  The bandit named Jack wrenched open the shed doors and disappeared into the darkness as the others completed their circle around the house, all of their rifles raised and pointing at it. They all waited for just a moment, and then the bandit leading the group said, "Let's kill the son of a bitch."

  They all converged on the house and the ones in the front shoved open the front door, followed by a sound coming from the back of the house of another door being shoved open.

  At first there was silence and Sarah waited on pins and needles. She clung onto her blanket, bringing it back down onto her shoulders as she held the ice pick uselessly in her other hand. She could hear the sound of her breath rattling in and out of her lungs, and she saw the frozen vapors she emitted floating away in her periphery.

  Shouts came from inside the house, sounding confused.

  The front door suddenly slammed shut. It happened so fast that Sarah didn't see who had done it, but whoever had was inside.

  More shouting came from the house as Sarah began to notice both windows in the front had been blocked by something as well. The fear that had started to dissolve came roaring back and she began to whimper, having a very bad feeling about all of this.

  Another loud sound rang out in the night, very similar to the front door slamming, but this time coming from the back.

  The yelling became frantic and the front door started to rattle in its frame as someone pounded on it from the other side. Black smoke seeped out from under the door and through the cracks under the windows as screams of pure terror came from inside.

  Gunfire went off in the house and bullets pierced through the door and part of the wall, but a moment later, a hungry blaze began to climb up the wood, sealing off the exit.

  The bandits howled as the entire house erupted into flames.

  The other bandit that had gone in the shed ran outside, hearing the commotion. When he saw the flames covering the building, he nearly fell to his knees. His mouth hung open as he stood flabbergasted by what he saw. He tried to mouth some words, but nothing intelligible came out. His legs started to move, slowly at first, and he ran to the side of the house looking at the bathroom window and then went around to the front, trying to find a way for them to escape. But it was too late.

  He clutched his gun, unable to help, and staggered back to the side of the house, taking in the horror in front of him. He gripped the hair on the top of his head with a hand and he was too transfixed by the massacre that had played out to notice the killer stepping out from behind the house.

  The killer walked into the shed and came out a moment later holding a long scythe.

  Sarah gasped, wanting to articulate a warning to the bandit, but by the time she caught her breath, it already happened.

  The killer marched up behind the bandit just as he lowered his hand from his head. With great power and speed, the killer swung the scythe.

  The bandit's head was instantly separated from his shoulders and his body tipped over and collapsed to the ground immediately as his head spun and hung in the air for a split second before falling.

  Blood pumped out of the bandit's stump of a neck and soaked the snow in a huge crimson pool.

  The killer stood next to his corpse, holding the scythe and looking like the Grim Reaper himself. He faced Sarah, seeing her in her hiding spot. As the house burned and the screams stopped, the killer stood there and waited for her as blood dripped down from the scythe.

  Sarah's blood ran white under his gaze. She knew the game was over. She knew that there were no more tricks. It was her and the killer and only one of them would come out of it alive.

  She stepped out from behind the tree and walked into the clearing next to the burning house. She dropped the blanket on the snow and felt the intense heat from the fire warm her body. She faced the killer and stared at him as he stared back with his demented grin.

  They each held their weapons, ready for their final encounter.

  21

  ASHES IN THE MOUTH

  The killer began to laugh and it sounded more sinister this time, more under his breath and to himself. It was like he knew that he finally had her cornered and there would be nothing she could do. The moonlight reflected off the blade of the scythe as it swayed slightly in his grip.

  Sarah's heart raced. The ice pick she held in her hand suddenly felt utterly inadequate, but still she clutched it for dear life. She wanted to run, but she knew there was nowhere to go. Her eyes stayed on the killer, ready to react to the smallest movement.

  The corners of the killer's mouth stretched up to his cheekbones. His eyes shined a crazy intensity at her, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

  A single snowflake fluttered down and landed on the tip of his nose, then more came down in a gentle fall, sprinkling white flakes on his greasy black hair. Sarah felt the wetness touch her skin, like nature was trying to remind them of its peacefulness. But the house next to them burned. Thick black clouds of smoke poured out in billowing waves. The last of the decapitated bandit's blood poured out of his body onto the snow, creating a small pond of red slush.

  The killer flew at her in a craz
ed run. His mouth hung open and his tongue dangled like a dog as he raised the scythe above his head.

  Sarah staggered backward out of instinct, her breath seizing in her lungs. The killer closed the gap almost immediately and started swinging the razor-sharp blade at her. The first swing missed her face by only inches as she rocked her head back. Another swing of the blade sailed over her head. Her heel slipped on the snow and she fell onto her butt as the killer swept the scythe behind his back, over his head, and drove it down as hard as he could.

  Sarah rolled out of the way and the blade stabbed deep into the ground. The killer yanked the handle, but it was stuck. Sarah scrambled up to her feet and lunged at him. She thrust the ice pick, but he leaned away from the strike and redirected her momentum with his shoulder, sending her face-first into the snow. She got to her feet as the killer tried to yank the blade out of the ground. She came up behind him and stabbed the ice pick into his back, driving it all the way to the handle.

  The killer grunted and clubbed her in the face with the back of his fist.

  Stars swam in front of her eyes as she hit the ground again. She shook it off and got to her feet, her legs wobbling.

  The killer paid no attention to the ice pick sticking out of his back as he finally pulled the scythe out of the ground. He turned around and marched toward her, holding it evenly in both hands.

  Sarah hobbled away, looking over her shoulder at his approaching figure. The glances of him she caught in her peripheral vision painted him as a lurking shadow like the one she saw in her dream.

  The shed stood in front of her, and it was the only place around for her to hide. She ran into the dark interior, frantically looking around for something to bar the large metal handles on the inside of the doors as the killer came for her. She saw a bundled length of rope sitting on the workbench against the wall and quickly unraveled it, sliding the doors shut and working in the darkness to wrap the rope around the handles.

  Just as she was finishing a tight knot, the doors rattled as the killer tried to pull them open from outside. When Sarah was sure that they were secure, she backed away from the door, bumping into items shrouded in the dark.

  The rattling stopped and silence followed it.

  A loud bang echoed in the small wooden shed as the tip of the scythe's blade pierced through one of the metal doors.

  Sarah jumped in terror and stumbled away from the door, tripping and landing on something sharp. She cried out in pain, peeling her lower back off of it and feeling the object behind her. The shape suggested it was a pitchfork, and she touched her fingers to her back and felt tears in her shirt and blood. The pain stung, but it was only a shallow wound.

  The tip of the scythe wiggled in the door and was yanked out, leaving a small tear in the metal and letting in a single beam of orange light from outside. Another bang rocked the shed as the blade came through the door again, this time a little farther. The killer wiggled it around and removed it, leaving a big gash in the door. He walked up to it and peeked through with bulging eyes.

  Sarah screamed. The small, dark space was making her claustrophobic and she imagined the feeling was akin to being buried alive and hearing the final nails being driven into her coffin.

  The curved blade came through the door again, burying halfway into it. The loud crashing sound of vibrating metal was followed immediately by a loud snap as the blade broke off the handle.

  Sarah could see the edge of the killer's face through the hole in the door as he tried to remove the blade. It jiggled back and forth between the sheared metal, but he couldn't get it out. Finally, he stopped and stared into the shed. She could hear his raspy breathing as he looked for her in the darkness, then he disappeared from view.

  Sarah grabbed the pitchfork behind her and pointed it toward the doors. A single bead of sweat ran down her temple as she waited, breathless.

  Silence hung in the air for a while underneath the wind whistling through the hole in the door and the ravenous fire outside. Then there was a strained sound like wood being torn off of something. A few moments later, Sarah started to hear something else. It crackled and popped, and it almost sounded like it was right next to her.

  She felt the heat and smelled the pungent smoke seeping into the shed. The interior lit up as an orange glow covered the wall next to her, coming in through the cracks in the boards. She had trapped herself inside, and now she was being burned alive.

  The killer let out a mad giggle from outside as Sarah screamed, overwhelmed by the torment that was coming for her. She felt so helpless and afraid. All of her efforts leading up to this point seemed so futile as she waited for the encroaching fire to consume her. Every moment of desperateness and sorrow since she first crossed paths with the killer revisited her, and she saw every demented look on his face, felt every ounce of fear just as strongly as the first time she had felt it. She was tired of being helpless and scared in such a cruel world. She no longer wanted to be weak and unable to fight for herself. She was tired of being the victim to all of the world's madmen. But the thought was nothing more than ironic as she had this epiphany just before burning to death.

  Then a voice came to her from somewhere deep inside that told her it didn't have to be that way. She didn't know what it was or exactly where she had summoned it from, but it was the same strength that had visited her in the barn after her botched suicide attempt. It spoke with such a shining truth that she felt it in the very core of her soul. Whatever spirit was working through her, it suddenly gathered all the strength she had up to the surface, like it was covering her body in a coat of armor. She heard the killer's giggles and saw the fire spreading around her and the rope tied around the handles, locking her inside, and it brought up a burning feeling in her that was part rage and part determination.

  Sarah got up to her feet and stood proud like she hadn't ever hurt before as she held the pitchfork in her hands. She untied the knot and pulled the rope away, then slid open the metal doors.

  The cold air outside greeted her and was a welcome reprieve to the intense heat that cooked her.

  She stepped out into the snow and looked around to find the killer gone. She looked down at his footsteps to see where he went, but in the next moment something clocked her in the back of the head and she dropped to the ground. Her vision went black as the light struggled to regain control. A strong, dull ache consumed the back of her skull and she pressed a hand to it in agony. She looked up and saw the killer standing behind her, holding a plank of wood.

  He dropped it onto the ground and crawled onto her body like a snake, his hands feeling and grabbing everywhere. He ran his nose up her torso to her neck, sniffing the whole way, letting out a grunt and salivating over her. He groped her breasts with one hand as he squeezed her mouth between the thumb and fingers of his other one, trying to pry it open as he began to lick her face.

  Sarah tried to roll her head away as he made his way to her closed mouth, trying to insert his tongue into it again. She bucked her hips and threw her elbow, catching him right in the jaw. His head bounced around and she drove her elbow into his cheek on the backswing.

  His body rolled off her and was caught in the top of the chest by a hard heel. He grimaced and Sarah crawled for the pitchfork. The killer stood up and picked up the plank of wood, carrying it over to the shed and holding the end of it to the flames. It ignited and created a burning torch as the flames slowly stretched across the wood.

  Sarah grabbed the pitchfork and got to her feet, wiping the killer's vile saliva off her face with her arm. She turned to face him just as he came running at her, swinging the burning plank. The fire brushed by her face as she stepped back to dodge it. He swung it again down at her neck and she stepped out of the way, swinging the pitchfork like a club and knocking the plank out of his hands. It sailed through the air and landed in the snow, the fire still flickering from the end of it. As the killer stood stunned for a moment from the blow, Sarah stepped forward and thrust the pitchfork at him, stabbing
him in his hip and the top of his thigh.

  He pulled himself off the sharp tines and fell onto the ground.

  A blinding fury came over Sarah as she dropped the pitchfork on the ground. She went over and picked up the burning plank of wood, then marched up to the killer and started beating him with it.

  The blows rained down on his body as he held his arms up in front of his head to protect himself. He let out a quiet grunt here and there, but it seemed like the pain wasn't affecting him like it would a normal human.

  The fire burned him with each strike and his jacket immolated. It quickly spread to the rest of his body and he shot up to his feet like a frog and walked away from Sarah in an awkward, stilted way.

  She dropped the plank into the snow and picked up the pitchfork again, following him with the grace and keen predatory poise of a jaguar stalking its prey.

  When the killer neared the cliff at the edge of the property, he dropped to his knees and began rolling around in the snow. His legs kicked like a swimmer and his arms swung around, trying to snuff out the blaze. Eventually it was extinguished and singed hairs and fibers sent up tiny wisps of smoke into the air. He lay on his back, looking haggard, his eyes staring up at the sky.

  Sarah stood over him just like the shadow that had been following her for so long. She raised the pitchfork and plunged it down, stabbing him in the stomach.

  The killer's body rocked as his shoulders lifted off the snow. He let out a sharp burst of air between pursed lips. A weak smile clung to his face, but it was starting to fade.

  Sarah stepped on his leg and used it to pull the pitchfork out of him. Thin ribbons of blood clung to the tines before falling away and splashing over his body and the snow. She stabbed him again.

  His shoulders rocked and he spit out blood in a bright spray. He turned his head and looked at her, his smile gone. He just watched her, expressionless, as she pulled the tool out of his midsection and stabbed it down into his shoulder. His arm spasmed and his fingers curled tightly as his body began to convulse.