Rise of the Mudmen

by Thompson, James FW

  It was turning out to be a much better day than the previous one.

  He grabbed a hoodie from the back of Mark’s door and headed downstairs.

  Shadow waited at the bottom of the stairs by the front door to be let out.

  “Not today, buddy,” Alex told her. “You got anything to do, you can do that inside, okay?” He knew the dog wouldn’t dare go inside until she got desperate, so it was a futile thing to say, but he was not letting her out. The door would stay closed until he was absolutely certain that everything was clear outside. Even then he was not looking forward to it. They might even stay in another night, just to be safe.

  He went into the kitchen and scooped out more food for Shadow. She quickly ate it up. Although he knew his stomach was empty from the previous night, he did not feel even remotely hungry. He had to leave the room when the sound of the dog eating reminded him of the noises that followed the car crash.

  He picked up the electronic Yahtzee game, but it would not turn on: no battery power. He had left it on the day before. Alex knew he had to find something to occupy his mind or he’d go crazy thinking about the noises.

  There were a couple of magazines, a newspaper, and a lot of mail on the coffee table and the floor around it. None of it appealed to Alex, so he decided to try Mark’s room to see if there were any good magazines up there. Before he left the living room, however, he decided he should look outside so he could make a bit of a plan for the day. He took a few deep breaths, gave himself a good shake, and braced himself for the worst. He pulled back the curtain—though he hid behind it with his eyes closed, just in case. When nothing immediately hit the window, he opened his eyes and looked out.

  There was no one there.

  Bits of the car remained, black and crumpled, strewn much farther down the street than they had been the day before. The rain must have washed any blood away in the night. He was very glad for that.

  Maybe they don’t like the rain, he thought. He hoped it would keep raining until he got to the school, and until they found a cure, or whatever, for the disease.

  The empty street brought back some confidence in his former plan: to get to the school and his dad as soon as possible. He’d wait an hour to see if the rain stopped, but then leave.

  Mark’s magazines weren’t great, but Alex found a deck of cards. He played a few rounds of Solitaire, checking outside between each game, having learned his lesson. He had made up his mind that if the coast was clear on the next check, he’d head out. But then he heard Shadow scratching at the door. He got up to check on her. She must be getting restless.

  She was lying on the floor next to him.

  Where’s the scratching coming from?

  He heard it again, and it was definitely not Shadow. It also wasn’t coming from the front or back doors. Shadow followed behind him as he looked for the source, sniffing as they went.

  Alex looked out the front window: still nothing. Same with the backyard.

  Where’s the scratching coming from?

  The basement.

  The door to the basement was closed. He remembered that whenever he had slept over, Mark’s family put Buster down there. He thought it was odd, considering that Shadow was just as big and she could sleep wherever she wanted with no problems. They must have put Buster down there before they left, and he’s been trapped down there ever since. Poor thing was probably starving.

  Alex went to the door. Sure enough, the scratching was coming from behind it. Shadow growled as Alex reached for the knob—this confirmed that it was Buster; despite being friendly to people, the two dogs did not get along with each other. He opened the door. “Hey, buddy,” Alex greeted his friend’s dog.

  It wasn’t his friend’s dog.

  It was his friend. And his friend’s father.

  They half-lunged, half-toppled out of the basement, pushing the door open. It hit Alex and sent him sprawling. Dazed, he saw stars for a moment, only snapping out of it when he felt one of them crawling on his legs. It was Mark, with the same eyes as Mr. Watts. Behind, Mark’s dad was also trying to get on top of him. Same eyes. Both of them were bloody. Mark was covered in it and his dad had a deep, seeping wound on his neck.

  Alex tried kicking away from them, especially from Mark, now trying to get at his neck, but Mark had him pinned down. If his dad piled on, he’d have no chance.

  Mark drooled that same pink froth that Mr. Watts had, and both Wilsons made the gurgling growls. Mark’s face was just inches away from Alex’s own, when a louder growl erupted and a blur of motion filled his vision.

  Shadow, coming to his rescue, jumped over Alex, crashing into the other two and pushing them back! Alex scrambled to his feet.

  “Shadow!” he called, but she, snapping and growling, wouldn’t back down from the diseased Wilsons. They growled back at her, lashing out. Mark swung very close and she caught his hand in her mouth and bit hard. Alex heard bones crunching. Drops of blood welled around her teeth and splattered as Mark tried to push his hand farther in, not pull it free. No other reaction. No sign of pain. Just persistently trying to get at the dog and at Alex.

  “Come on, Shadow! Let’s go!” Alex yelled, turning, hoping the dog would follow.

  She didn’t.

  Mark’s dad did.

  In two stumbling steps, he was on Alex, swinging over his son’s head to try to grab him. Shadow let go of Mark’s hand and jumped at the larger attacker, knocking him backwards down the stairs. She’s winning this fight!

  Alex looked at Mark. His hand was mangled, his thumb and pinky finger hanging on by ripped tendons. He didn’t seem to care as he lunged at Alex again. Just in time, Shadow jumped. Mark, quicker than his father, grabbed onto the dog as she landed, and the two of them tumbled down the stairs.

  “Shadow! No!” Alex screamed into the dim basement. He heard sickening animal sounds, both from his dog and from the Wilsons. “Shadow! Come on!” He couldn’t see what was happening.

  Suddenly Mark was back on the stairs, shambling up towards him. He was slower than before, and Alex could see that one of his legs was bent the wrong way, but he wasn’t any less determined. Alex tried to see past him—to see his dog. He couldn’t.

  “Shadow! Come on! We have to go! Shadow!”

  The only sound now came from what was once Mark on the stairs, getting closer. When Mark’s hand—what was left of it—hit the door frame, Alex slammed the basement door on it with a sickening crunch.

  “Shadow! Shadow!” Alex yelled, over and over, his voice growing more and more ragged with each gasp of breath. He kept saying it even when he found himself outside on the sidewalk. He continued saying it when he saw all the diseased people he had seen the day before, now just a few houses away, clambering at something—or someone—else. He caught their attention.

  He ran away, once again not thinking about where he was going. He could only think: She saved my life. She gave her life for mine.

  Shadow.

  KAITLYN

  Kaitlyn was amazed that she had been able to sleep at all, let alone to sleep in. Her mom almost never allowed that—she either had to get ready for school or had plenty to do on the weekends. But even when there was time, her mother made her get up. Sleeping in would only make her “lazy.”

  She had been worried the night before that visions of what she had seen would keep her awake, but, as far as she could remember, she passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow. When she woke up, the sun was shining and, although she couldn’t immediately remember where she was, she thought for a brief, wonderful moment that the day before had been a dream.

  When she saw Hannah sleeping on the couch across from her, everything came back.

  She rolled over and saw the sunlight wasn’t pouring in through the window, but merely slanting through cracks between boards. Everything that had happened—everything that she had seen—was all too real.

  Looking to keep the kids busy now that things had calmed down, Dave asked Hannah to give the Laheys a t
our of the house. To show them the kitchen and her room. Her face lit up when he mentioned her room. She was very proud of it.

  “This is the dining room,” she said as she led Joanne and Kaitlyn out of the living room. “That’s where Daddy sits, and this is where I sit. Though, we usually watch TV in there when we eat.”

  “Where does your mommy sit?” Joanne said, looking at the other two chairs that Hannah hadn’t labelled.

  “My mommy died when I was born,” she said, very matter-of-factly. “That’s why I’m so little.”

  “Oh,” Joanne said, sounding aghast at her mistake. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “That’s okay,” Hannah said with a nod. “I have Daddy, and he takes really good care of me for him and Mommy. Right, Daddy?” she yelled.

  “That’s right, Boo,” Dave called from the living room.

  Kaitlyn was at a loss for what to say to the very mature little girl.

  After a brief pause, Hannah continued the tour. “Come on upstairs! I’ll show you the other bathroom if you need to use it. And Daddy’s room and my room.” She was already at the stairs before Kaitlyn started after her. “My room is at the end of the hall. You can see it from the street, ‘cause I have two windows! Come on, I’ll show you!”

  The two girls ran up the stairs. To anyone watching it would have seemed like any day, with any kids just being kids—no connections to the day before.

  Hannah ran on ahead to her bedroom at the end of the hall. Kaitlyn stopped at the top of the stairs, waiting for her mother. She could see her mother’s shadow stretching up the wall, but she wasn’t coming any farther.

  “Joanne?” she heard Dave say quietly.

  “Yes?”

  “Could you make sure the blinds are closed up there?”

  “Sure.” Her shadow moved away from the stairs, only a step. “What’s happening out—”

  Before Kaitlyn could hear an answer—how Dave really felt about what was happening—she felt a tug on her sleeve.

  “C’mon, Kaitlyn!” Hannah said, grinning up at her. “My room is the best room in the house, really. If you want, we can probably sleep there tonight instead of the living room.”

  Kaitlyn smiled at her. “Sure. That sounds good.”

  “Daddy?” Hannah yelled, her voice made huge in the silence of the hallway. “Can me and Kaitlyn sleep in my room tonight?”

  After a pause Dave’s voice called up. “Sure, Boo. Whatever you guys wanna do is fine by me.”

  This might just work out okay, Kaitlyn thought, taking it all in. A moment later, her mother was at the top of the stairs, took Hannah’s waiting hand, and was led down the hall. She smiled and followed behind them.

  Everything will be okay.

  ALEX

  Luckily, Alex didn’t run into any diseased people, but he had no idea where he was going. Tears blinded him and after a few minutes he collapsed in someone’s front yard. If anything attacked him just then, he was dead. He didn’t care.

  “Stupid, stupid,” he berated himself. “Of course they were down there! How could I think it was Buster? Idiot!” His grief quickly turned to anger. “Where’s Dad? If only he’d come back for me, then ... then Shadow would be ... would be ...” He broke down sobbing again.

  When he sat up and wiped his eyes with soaked hands, he realized it was still raining. The house in front of him looked familiar. He must have passed it hundreds of times with his friends. With Mark—the boy who tried to kill him—who’d killed his dog. The house looked untouched, like it was somehow spared. It hadn’t seen any pain. Not like the pain that Alex felt.

  He got mad at the house.

  He scrambled on the ground to find something to throw at it. He found a branch on the side of the road and hurled it at the front window, breaking it with a very satisfying shatter. He had no tears left as he stared at the hole he had just created, hating everything.

  He heard footsteps.

  While destroying the window had been therapeutic, it had also been noisy. It had drawn the attention of local residents. Diseased residents.

  They stumbled into the street—at least as many as the day before—from all sides. If they couldn’t run, he could get away. He’d be safe. If not ...

  They left an opening to his left, so he bolted for it. The people followed him, but his gamble paid off; they were far too slow to catch him. The sound of his pounding feet attracted more, emerging from homes, yards, baby barns, ditches. He passed one trapped in a car, clawing at the glass to get him with bloody, gnarled fingers.

  They were everywhere.

  He kept running.

  Soon he figured out where he was. If he kept running—as if he had a choice—he’d be at the school in less than ten minutes.

  Five minutes into his run, the rain stopped.

  Six minutes in, he smelled smoke.

  Seven minutes in, the smell grew intense. Something big had burned, like when the blast furnace at the steel plant had exploded when he was ten. He remembered smelling it all through Sydney, for miles. Even days afterwards.

  Eight minutes in, he found the source of the smell.

  Colby Elementary—his goal—was a smouldering framework of blackened wood and concrete. Scorched brick walls still stood, but the building looked hollow. He didn’t dare get any closer.

  There were hundreds of them.

  Hordes of people, crouched to the ground, huddled around things he could not see. But he knew. They clustered around food.

  Their food was people. People from the school.

  Or are they the people from the school?

  Or both?

  He hid behind the opened door of an abandoned car and watched, panic crawling up his throat. He had to get closer. He had to see who was down there.

  He had to find his family.

  He crawled to another car to get a better view and recognized faces: neighbours, teachers, people he’d regularly seen in the street or in the park. People he knew. All diseased. All tearing at what remained of other people he knew. None of them were his father or Mary.

  Maybe they left, before things got bad. Before this happened.

  “They won’t let me leave,” his father had told him.

  Alex’s breathing rasped in his chest as his panic took over.

  Very slowly, one of the people in the closest group turned toward him. It was horribly burned, its skin blackened. Tatters of clothing had melted to its body; charred muscle glistened from the rain. It saw Alex. It raised what was left of a hand—just bones and tendons—and started moving very slowly toward Alex—its joints had all fused together.

  As it approached, others moved with it, like a flock of horribly scarred birds. Mark hadn’t looked like this. Neither had Mr. Watts. These were grotesque.

  Bloody gashes slashed across heads or necks or arms. Many were missing limbs; some dragged themselves along the ground, their legs torn or burned off. Covered in blood, singed, or burnt to a char, they all should have been in horrible pain. They didn’t show it. They only showed one thing: Get Alex.

  He turned to run, but more had gathered behind him. He looked around frantically, struggling to breathe. The house behind him? But he was terrified to go into an unknown house after what had happened at Mark’s.

  Behind the house ... He knew those woods.

  I’ll hide there until help comes!

  It had to come at some point.

  He passed a lot of things, darting between trees and ducking under low branches. Bodies, mostly. And pieces: legs, arms, hands—all scorched from the fire at the school. He tripped over something and tumbled roughly into the wet leaves covering the ground. When he looked back, he saw a head, rolling from the impact of his foot.

  Farther in there were no more bodies. “Maybe they didn’t get this far,” he muttered, panting. “Maybe they don’t like the woods.”

  After a minute of straight sprinting, he collapsed, barely catching himself before his face hit the forest floor. His body simply refused to carry him an
y farther. His arms gave out and he felt the wet leaves plaster against his face. He had been running almost since he woke up. He dragged himself to a tree and sat against it. He scanned the area, then leaned his head back.

  He had no idea what he was going to do.

  Nowhere to go. No one to find. No plan.

  SNAP!

  Something else walked slowly in the woods. Something that wouldn’t leave until it found him. Fear rose in him once again, but his body ached as he tensed against the tree.

  SNAP.

  The sound brought some clarity to his mind and an image formed: his fort.

  Years ago, he had read about Superman’s Fortress of Solitude and he liked the idea: a place where he could get away from the problems or people that bothered him. Alex had built his fortress in the woods between his house and the school so that it was close, no matter who or what was bothering him. If he could get there...

  CRUNCH.

  His legs ached under his own weight as he slowly stood, leaning against the tree. He took a step and dropped to his knees. He had nothing left.

  SNAP.

  He had to go. If he didn’t, they’d have him. He got to his feet again and took some very painful steps leaning on trees for support. Ducking low almost brought him to his knees again, but he kept going.

  CRACK.

  He looked around, knowing that the fort was nearby.

  SNAP.

  He hadn’t used it for years. He hoped that wind or rain or other kids hadn’t destroyed it.

  SNAP.

  He recognized a pile of large rocks, covered in fallen leaves.

  CRUNCH.

  It had to be around there ...

  CRACK.

  ... somewhere.

  SNAP.

  There it is!

  Making things even more difficult, Alex had built his tree fort in a tree on top of a small mound. He chose it to gain even greater height, but having finally found it, he cursed having to climb even the slightest incline. He got to the tree and put his hands on the first hold.