by JJ Zep
He stood at the top of the stairs and looked down into the dusty cellar. Joe had persuaded him to bring some supplies down here and Hooley had reluctantly agreed. Anything to stop Joe ragging on him about how they’d be better off in town. Now Joe had gone off to ‘run a reckie down to the road,’ as he put it. The thought of Joe stalking the bushes like a pathfinder coaxed an involuntary chuckle from Hooley. Ol’ feller sure did have a Rambo complex.
Hooley stooped and grabbed a hold of the mattress he’d been dragging down into the cellar. He stepped onto the first wrung of the wooden staircase and felt the structure shift underfoot. The second step delivered a loud creak as he dragged the mattress over it. A moment later he was at ground level and pulling the mattress into position.
Hooley had never been into the cellar in all the time he’d lived in the house. It seemed to him like another world, perhaps the seventh circle of Hell. All it needed was a few demons.
As if in response to that thought, the staircase delivered a keening whine.
“Well, if it ain’t the old fuck who blindsided me and my boys,” Creed Dumfries said from behind him.
twenty five
“What’s the deal with that?” Skye said.
“With what?” Charlie said.
“The way you keep touching your pocket, like there’s something important in there.”
“Only my heart,” Charlie said. “But that already belongs to you.”
“Ha ha,” Skye said.
They were driving along Tahoe Drive, working a quadrant of houses, knocking on doors and updating people on the situation. So far they’d found only two families at home. Both had immediately packed up and left.
“Seriously,” Skye said, as Charlie turned from Tahoe onto Mockingbird. “What are you hiding there?”
Charlie reached for his breast pocket, produced an I-POD and handed it to her.
“An I-POD?” Skye said.
“That’s not an I-POD,” Charlie said. “That’s a Z-killing machine.”
Skye tweaked the controls, handed it back to him. “It’s dead.”
“Afraid so,” Charlie sighed. “Lost the charger back in El Centro and haven’t managed to find one here in the mighty metropolis of Big Bear Lake.”
“So why do you keep it?”
Charlie thought about that for a moment. “Lucky charm, I guess. I can’t tell you the number of scrapes this has got me out of. Besides, do you know how much damage this could do if I threw it at a Z?”
A house appeared on the right, set back from the road on a weed-choked lot. Charlie angled the Caddie to the curb and rolled to a stop.
“This is our last call,” he said. “Old man Bayliss, renowned local eccentric.”
He reached for the door handle.
“Charlie?” Skye put her hand on his arm.
Charlie felt his pulse quicken, the moisture evaporate from his mouth. When he turned to face Skye, her brow crinkled into a frown that he though was just about the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He fought back the urge to lean in and press his lips to hers.
“Skye?” he said, giving her a crooked grin.
Now she looked almost embarrassed. “Why didn’t you tell them?”
“Tell who,” Charlie said. “And tell them what?”
“Why didn’t you tell your folks about Messenger?”
Now it was his turn to frown. “I thought I did?”
“Not everything,” Skye insisted. “You didn’t tell them what he said about me.”
“What? That he’d find you wherever you ran?”
“Words to that effect.”
Charlie considered the question. Skye was right, he hadn’t said anything about that. Why not? He guessed he didn’t want anyone to think that Messenger was coming to Big Bear Lake only for Skye, like he’d have passed by if Skye hadn’t been here, like all this was her fault.
To her he said. “I didn’t say anything because it wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“But it would have made a difference,” Skye said. “Messenger would never have come here if it wasn’t for me. If I was to hand myself over to him –”
“Skye,” Charlie said. “Don’t even think that. I’d die before I –”
At that moment the rear window of the Caddie imploded.
twenty six
“Get down!” Charlie shouted. He flipped the door, dropped to the tarmac and ran, bunched over, to the rear of the Caddie. He worked his 9-mil loose from its holster and peered around the car towards the house, a decrepit bungalow with paint peeling from its gray-white walls. He scanned the shuttered windows for any sign of the shooter, searched the overgrown garden for potential cover. He needed to move from the car, to attract fire away from Skye.
Another shot rang out, this one punching a hole through the Caddie’s flank. Like it or not, cover or not, he was going to have to move, to make a dash for the side of the house and flank the shooter. He bunched his muscles, sucked in a breath, did a mental count. One, two…
The screen door at the front of the building yawed open and a grizzled old man in faded red long johns stepped through. He was carrying a rifle that looked as ancient as he was. Charlie had never met the reclusive Penmore Bayliss before, but he’d heard stories about the old man.
“You, hiding out behind that fancy Cadillac. Come out where I can see you.”
Charlie held his position.
“Fine,” Bayliss said. “I guess I’ll just exact my revenge on this fine piece of American engineering you’ve got parked in my drive.”
Charlie heard a rifle being cocked. He got to his feet and raised his hands.
“What are you doing on my property?” Bayliss demanded holding the rifle on him. “I told you fellers before, I don’t want no part of your schemes.”
“Mr. Bayliss?” Charlie said.
“How’d you know my name?” Bayliss said. “Did that cocksucker Rolly Pendragon send you?”
“No sir, I just wanted to warn you –”
“Warn me? Are you sassing me, punk?”
“No sir,” Charlie said. He chose his words more carefully this time. “I just wanted to let you know. We’re evacuating the town. We’ve got Z’s headed this way.”
“Z’s?” Bayliss said. “Well, it’s about goddamn time. I didn’t join no goddamn army to hang around no Beverley Hills Hotel guarding no goddamn VIPs. Especially not that halfwit Rolly Pendragon.”
“Mr. Bayliss, I’m really going to have to ask you to –”
“Knox Pendragon, now there was a man worthy of the Pendragon name. Joe Thursday, too. Not a Pendragon, of course, but the best goddamn chairman the corporation ever had.”
“You know Joe Thursday?”
“Know him? I could tell you some stories sonny boy. The things me and ol’ Smokin’ Joe done together you wouldn’t even begin to fathom.”
Charlie saw his opportunity and took it. “Well, that’s good news then, Mr. Bayliss. Chairman Thursday’s the one who sent me out here to get you.”
“Chairman Thursday is here?” Bayliss said. He adjusted his grip on the rifle, scratched at his chin with his free hand.
“Yes sir,” Charlie said, lying through his teeth. “He’s up at Lakes Mall right now, waiting for you.”
Bayliss got both hands on the rifle again, swung it towards Charlie. “You think I was born yesterday, sonny boy? Chairman Thursday ain’t here. He died at the battle of Lancaster, gone fifteen years now.”
Charlie considered contradicting the old man but thought better of it. No point in riling a man with a gun. He was going to have to leave Bayliss here to fend for himself. The old feller was obviously well gone.
“You’re probably right,” he said. “Guess I got my wires crossed.” He turned towards the car. Skye was peering through the passenger window. Charlie indicated for her to stay down. Old man Bayliss might just have second thoughts and open up again.
“And you can tell Rolly Pendragon from me,” Bayliss said. “The next gob spittle he send
s up here, I’m sending back with a hole clean through him.” Charlie hadn’t yet reached his car when he heard the door of the bungalow slam.
Darkness was taking up residence over the town by the time he pulled away from the curb. He was keen to get Skye back to the hospital. Wackjob had been manning the lookout post alone all afternoon. He needed to be relieved.
“Charlie, Mr. Collins?” Wackjob’s voice came over the radio.
Charlie stretched for the handset. Before he’d reached it, he heard his father’s voice.
“What’s up Wackjob?”
“Sir, we’ve got Z’s coming up the road, a few miles out.”
Charlie felt his stomach do a flip. He felt suddenly as if he’d gargled a mouthful of battery acid.
“How many?” he heard his father ask.
“More than I’ve ever seen in my life, sir.”
twenty seven
The full moon had crept early into the sky, throwing the woods into an eerie half-light. Joe picked up a trail and oriented himself in the direction of route 18, moving with an ease that belied his less than athletic build. It had been twenty-five years since he’d done time as a mercenary in Africa, at least four since he’d been involved in any kind of serious action. He realized now how much he’d missed it, the thrill of being out on a mission at night, the excitement of imminent danger, the challenge of pitting his skills against whatever he might encounter. These were the things he’d been born to.
The woods were strangely silent, as though every creature, every tree, were holding its breath in anticipation of some tumultuous event. Joe maintained a steady pace. He followed the path until the vegetation began to thin and he could see the surface of the road glistening in the moonlight like a gently flowing river.
He crouched near the tree line and directed his attention first left, then right. If there were Z’s out there they were the quietest Z’s Joe had ever come across. Still, he waited fifteen minutes, focusing his hearing and scanning the woods on the other side of the road for any sign of danger. At one point he heard a car gearing down, but the vehicle didn’t pass along the stretch of road he was watching. Sound could be deceptive up in the mountains. Eventually, he rose from his position and headed back.
With the threat of immediate danger discounted, he took the homeward journey at a less vigorous pace, giving himself time to contemplate their current situation. Was there really an army of Z’s descending on Big Bear Lake? Joe had seen enough in his time to know that the idea couldn’t be entirely discounted. He remembered the zombie horde that had destroyed Lancaster, the even larger force that had rampaged through Manhattan. But those were settlements with a large human population. Big Bear Lake was a backwater, a mere blip on the map. What did it profit Messenger to come here? Surely he’d continue north, to Santa Barbara, Sacramento and points beyond?
If Chris hadn’t taken the threat of imminent invasion so seriously, Joe might have discounted it. But he trusted his friend’s intuition. Collins tended to veer on the side of caution, but his judgment was right more often than not.
Thinking about Chris made him realize that he still hadn’t called in to let him know that he was staying out here with Hooley. He’d have to rectify that as soon as he got back to the house. It wasn’t far to go now. He slung his rifle and picked up the pace. That was when he heard the shots.
twenty eight
They were going to have to leave. No matter what the doctor said, no matter how hard Kelly protested, they were going to have to load Jojo up into the ambulance and head north and take their chances. There was no way they could hold out against the number of Z’s Wackjob had reported, especially not here at the hospital with its glass frontage, plentiful windows and multiple access points.
Chris swung the Jeep into the parking lot and raced towards the front of the building, his headlights casting a swathe across the darkened facade. It seemed like that was all he’d been doing today, rushing from one flashpoint to another. This was turning into what Joe would call a cluster fuck.
He brought the Jeep to a skidding halt, vaulted from the cab and headed for the entrance, a thousand thoughts competing for attention in his head. He still had so much to do, pulling everyone together, loading Jojo into the ambulance, fueling up the vehicles, finally getting Joe on the radio. Where the hell was Joe anyway? He pushed through into the foyer and was about to call out to Kelly when Sugar came loping towards him, the dog clearly agitated.
“What is it girl? What –”
“No! Please God, No!”
Chris’ mind had been cluttered with all of the details he still had to take care of. Kelly’s agonized cry banished those thoughts in an instant. He sprinted across the foyer, rounded the corner into the corridor, the 9-mil appearing in his hand as if by magic. A faint light spilled out of one of the rooms to his left and he headed towards it.
“Hold him down! Hold him…” That was Shane Whitfield.
Chris burst through the door and into the ward. For a moment, he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. It looked like a scene from a movie he’d once watched, The Exorcist.
Kelly was lying on her stomach across the foot of the bed, Shane similarly positioned near its head, both of them wrestling with the figure convulsing beneath them, writhing like a man possessed by some demonic force.
“His legs!” Shane screamed. “Get his legs!”
Chris ran towards the bed, holstering the 9-mil in the back of his waistband as he did. He lay himself across Jojo’s shins, easing Kelly away as he did. His son writhed under his weight like a bagful of snakes.
“What’s happening?” Charlie’s voice came from the doorway.
“Get in here!” Doc Whitfield demanded. “Both of you!”
“What the hell’s happening?”
“Hold him down!”
Charlie brushed by Chris, headed towards the top of the bed and draped his weight across Jojo’s chest. Wackjob did the same, pinning Jojo’s midriff as Jojo continued to struggle. The doc, meanwhile, was working a syringe into a vial of clear liquid. Now he held the needle to the light, ejected a few droplets and then plunged it into Jojo’s arm. A moment later, Chris felt the tension ebb out of his son’s body.
The small room was crowded. Kelly, Sam and Ferret stood huddled together in shared grief. Skye was in the doorway with eyes wide. Charlie and Wackjob were just standing up from the bed, Charlie’s expression creased into a frown that matched that of the doctor.
“I was afraid this might happen,” Whitfield said. “It often does in these cases.”
“What does?” Chris said. “What the hell just happened? Is he going to be okay?”
Whitfield chewed at his bottom lip, looked from one eager face to the other. “He has continued to bleed into the brain cavity,” he said. “The pressure’s been building. I’m afraid –”
“Do something,” Chris interrupted.
“You don’t understand.” Whitfield said. “I’m not qualified to do this. I’ve never had to do anything like this in my life before.”
“Doc,” Chris said. “We’ve got a zombie horde heading our way. They’ll be here in the next hour. If you do nothing, he dies. If you wait any longer we all get eaten alive. Whatever it is that you think might help, do it.”
“It’s unconventional,” Whitfield said. “Something my father told me he once did as an army doctor.”
“Do it,” Chris said, his voice conveying a certainty that was far from what he felt. Jojo was probably going to die, and if he did, Chris knew that he’d be carrying the burden of guilt for the rest of his days. But right now there was no choice in the matter, no room for wavering. The hard call had to be made. He was making it.
“Mr. Collins, I don’t think you understand. His chances of survival… and even if he does survive, the possibility that he’ll be left with permanent brain damage…”
“Do it,” Chris insisted.
“Don’t,” Ferret wailed. “Don’t, you’ll kill him.”
Chris turned to face her. “It’s our only hope,” he said. “Unless the doc does this, Jojo will die. That right Shane?”
“Almost certainly.”
“We have to try then. I trust Doc Whitfield here to do what’s best. And Jojo is a tough guy. If there’s anyone who can pull through this, it’s him.”
“Please don’t hurt him,” Ferret cried. “Please don’t.”
“I’ll do my best Ferret,” Shane said. He turned to Chris, swallowed hard. “I’m going to need a drill,” he said.
twenty nine
If there was one thing Joe Thursday had learned over the years, it was to trust his instincts. Right now those instincts were jangling, telling him to stay concealed even as another part of him wanted to run towards the house, to call out to Hooley, to make sure that his friend was okay. The cabin, and the yard that fronted it, lay in moonlight and shadow, tall pines crowding in on every side, providing perfect cover for a shooter.
Joe shifted his weight, scanned the darkness, listened. He heard nothing untoward, nothing to raise alarm. But something was definitely wrong here. The shot had come from the direction of the house. Hooley must have heard it. That being the case, why hadn’t he come out to investigate? Even in his current state of mind he’d have done that much.
Joe was just about to break cover when he heard a creak from the direction of the porch. A shape separated itself from the darkness and stood at the top of the stairs, looking out on the yard. He recognized Colt Dumfries immediately.
Dumfries! He might have known it would be those miscreants.
He brought the AR-15 to his shoulder and drew a bead on Colt’s chest. One squeeze of the trigger and he’d spill the man into the dirt. But of course, he couldn’t do that. Wherever Colt was, Creed Dumfries wouldn’t be far away. A shot would alert him and take away Joe’s advantage.
Colt dropped down the three steps into the yard, humming tunelessly to himself. He walked towards the far corner of the house and unzipped his fly.
