Hours later, the gunshots lessened until there was none at all.
A side had won.
Everyone at the safe house gathered their weapons and climbed into vehicles, SUVs and one of the armored trucks. They made their way over to Cannibal’s house, stopping along the road just before the driveway. They exited the vehicles. The air was noiseless save for the howling winds, like unseen banshees from a local bog.
Three groups, consisting of four people each, were formed. Jack, Paul, Jill and Maria made their way up the driveway, taking the most direct route. The others headed into the woods, planning to approach the house from different angles.
The silence was eerie, the crunch of hardened snow underfoot seeming to equal the rumble of thunder. The house was viewable through the sparsely leaved trees, but until they came around the bend in the driveway, the real horrors were not revealed.
Hundreds of bodies lay about like something from a Civil War scene except here corpses were barely recognizable. The smell from the road was putrid enough, but up close, the odor was unbearable. The rotted corpses were shredded and torn apart by bullets. Some of the undead were struggling to move, but the lack of limbs made the simple task impossible. A few were pulling themselves along, their lower extremities having been blown off. Anything that came near the group was quickly put down with a single shot to the head. Arms, legs, heads and torsos were caught on the branches or wedged between them in the surrounding trees. The whole scene looked as if a bomb had gone off. The reek of death and rot was overwhelming.
Jack kicked away a fleshy jawbone as he surveyed the area for signs of life, but found none. Inside, people might still be alive. The garage doors were gone, broken through by the horde. Like grain coming from a tipped-over broken sack, the undead spilled from the garage, laid out and toppled amongst each other. There was no way he and the others were entering through there.
They headed to the front of the house. Jack tried opening the windowless double doors with no success. Gunshots sounded from within. “Stand back,” he said, before pointing his 12 gauge Remington at the lock and firing. It took two blasts before the door was able to open. He pushed to get in, but found that something was blocking the door from opening all the way. Peering inside, he saw a number of bodies on the floor. He shoved harder and was able to open the door farther, sliding two of the corpses out of the way.
The others followed suit.
The walls of the foyer were littered with bullet holes and gore. Undead bodies lay motionless—truly dead, along with a former inmate, the flesh on his face half eaten away, but the rest of him looking in decent shape. Jack pulled his .45 and put a bullet into the corpse’s head.
A wide, red-carpeted staircase that led to the second floor was draped with fallen figures. The marble banister was missing chunks and fractured throughout, resembling some ancient Greek structure from long ago.
The scrape and clatter of shuffling feet sounded from one of the rooms down the hall. Two zombies appeared, one missing its right arm. The wounds—scratches and bite marks—along their flesh were glistening with red. They weren’t bridge-zombies. Jack recognized one of them as a Cannibal lackey. Impossible, he thought—the bots took at least a day to reanimate a corpse. He aimed the .45 and put a bullet into each one’s head.
“Those were Cannibal’s men,” Maria said, as if reading his mind.
“Yeah. I guess the bots figured out a way to turn people faster. No way to know whether they were infected while they were alive and were killed quickly by the things, or died from a gunshot wound, and then came back. Either way, the bots have gotten stronger.”
The group stuck together. Jack was in the lead, heading down the hallway that led to the basement, and living room beyond. He stepped over corpses and around body parts, most of them undead, but some from the recently deceased. Anything without its brains blown out received a bullet to the head. Some of the corpses were riddled with bite marks, pieces of flesh torn away.
He passed by the basement door with a feeling of disgust in his gut, remembering how he and the others were kept locked up. Each room along the hallway was checked—nothing but dead bodies everywhere. The last stop was the living room, a place where corpses were practically piled on top of each other. Jack wanted to make this quick, then leave the place. The smells and visuals were both things he wanted to be far away from as soon as possible.
Gunfire erupted from the balcony overhead. Jack dove back into the hallway. Jill scrambled behind a sofa. Paul and Maria hugged the wall just underneath the balcony, and appeared to be out of the shooter’s line of sight.
“Stop firing,” Jack yelled, not knowing what else to say.
“Fuck you,” the voice answered. Bullets riddled the floor in front of him. Then the man shot all over the place, including at the sofa Jill was using to hide behind. “I’ll kill you all.”
A noise from behind caught Jack’s attention. He turned and saw Stilts, the extremely tall, rat-faced bastard, come from the basement. Their eyes met. Stilts went to raise his weapon.
Jack was faster with the .45. He fired twice, the first bullet clipping the lanky man’s over-sized right ear, the second hitting its mark. Stilts’ right eye disappeared as the bullet entered the socket, then exited out the back of his head, caking the walls with gore. Stilts fell back, hit the doorframe and tumbled down the stairs.
“Jack,” Maria yelled from the living room.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Fucking die,” the man in the balcony yelled, continuing to fire his weapon.
A male voice cried out.
A single shot went off, but it wasn’t from the balcony-shooter.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked.
“Paul’s been bitten,” Maria said.
Jack thought he heard wrong, but with all the dead bodies around maybe one made its way over to them and they didn’t notice it with the man shooting at them. If Paul had been bitten, then Jack needed to get the man to safety—and fast. With Cannibal’s men having turned so quickly, Paul might not have much time.
Jack bolted down the hallway and back to the foyer, then up the staircase, hopping over the bodies in his path. At the top of the stairs, amongst a pile of corpses, a female zombie grabbed his foot, tripping Jack up. He crashed into the wall, then righted himself and spun around. He met the crawling, legless, faceless thing and brought a boot down on its head repeatedly until it stopped moving.
He headed down a hallway, passing by a number of unoccupied bedrooms before finally reaching the balcony. He hugged the wall, making sure the shooter wouldn’t be able to see him should the man turn around.
“I can wait here all day,” Balcony Man said, firing off a few more rounds. “I got food and water. You people are as good as dead unless you leave me alone.”
Jack moved slowly, avoiding the fragments of broken glass and sheetrock. The shooter was facing away, leaning over the terrace.
“Drop it,” Jack said.
The man flinched, but remained where he was.
“Drop it or I’ll drop you,” Jack demanded. He could have easily blown the guy away, but there was something unsettling about shooting a man, even a scumbag, in the back.
Jack heard the rifle crash to the floor below. The man put his arms up and turned around. His nose was crooked and split across the bridge. Blood trickled from the wound, the man’s beard caked with crimson. He had beady eyes, the pupils little more than pinpricks.
“I got the shooter,” Jack yelled. Then to the man, “Let’s go.” He almost hoped the guy would try something, giving him the excuse to shoot him dead. But the man didn’t do anything except obey Jack’s commands. He kept his hands on his head and walked down the hall to the stairs, then on to the living room from there—Jack keeping his gun pointed at him the entire time.
The scene downstairs wasn’t a good one. Jill was pointing her weapon at Paul. Maria had her M4 trained on Jill.
Balcony Man started laughing. Not wanting to de
al with more than a single issue, Jack hit the man on the back of the neck with the butt of his .45 and knocked him out.
“Jill,” he said, “put the gun away; we have more pressing concerns right now.”
Paul’s left pant leg was torn and bloody. Jill’s gun arm was steady, her eyes focused on Paul’s.
“I told you we shouldn’t have brought this crazy bitch along,” Maria said.
“Everyone relax.” Jack holstered his weapon. “Jill, put the gun away. If you shoot Paul, you’ll be killing an innocent man and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
“He’s going to die miserably,” Jill said through clenched teeth. “You people want him to suffer? I’ve seen what happens.”
“So have we,” Jack said. “My wife was infected and killed. If I’d only known what I know now I could’ve saved her. We can save Paul. You have to believe me. Don’t do this.”
Maria stepped up. “I’d lower your weapon now if I were you.”
“You people are fucked up. Cruel.” Jill lowered her gun and stepped away. “Keep him the hell away from me.”
“We still got a house to clear,” Jack said, tugging on Maria’s arm, getting her mind back to the job at hand.
“Paul needs help,” she said, then faced Jill. “I’ll tell you what, how about you stay the hell away from us.”
“When he turns and infects someone else, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Jill said.
“How many times do we have to tell you that we can cure people? Get it through your thick skull. Do you think we’re making this shit up?”
Jill walked out of the room. Jack saw tears welling in her eyes.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Somewhere else.”
“Let her be, Jack,” Maria said. “This place still isn’t secure.”
They made their way upstairs and looked around until they found the weapons room. As Jack had hoped, the tasers were there, along with Zaun’s sword. They zapped Paul twice, hoping it would still do the trick, then wrapped his leg in a strip of cloth.
The prisoner was tied up and left in the trophy room. They went through the rest of the house, meeting up with Don and the others who had come in at the far end. Undead milled about here and there, but were quickly put down. What remained of Cannibal’s corpse was found inside his room of horror—a human-bone chair at the center. Three zombies were still gnawing on the big man’s flesh.
Once the house was cleared, the prisoner was brought outside. Weapons and any salvageable supplies were gathered. The weapon room was a good find, the place still stocked with plenty of guns and ammo.
A few hours later, the snow had picked up again, covering the bodies and carnage. Gasoline was brought in and the house was lit up. The corpses outside were piled together and set afire.
Everyone, including Jill and the prisoner, traveled back to Cliff House. Two vehicles were dispatched to the rendezvous houses to let the people know it was safe to return home.
That night, especially with no casualties taken, the people of Cliff House celebrated. Wine and alcohol flowed, food was prepared and eaten. Full bellies were aplenty. Jack was happy to see the people of Cliff House smile again. They deserved one night of escape, of living. Through his meandering about, talking with folk, getting numerous thank yous and pats on the back, he found Jill in the kitchen, alone. She was sitting in a chair, her back to him, looking out the window at the gloomy night.
“I need you to come with me,” Jack said.
Jill remained in her chair. “I heard Paul’s fine. I guess you people know what you’re talking about. The plague is curable, nothing more than tiny robots.”
“That’s what I wanted to show you. Paul’s well. He’s in the living room, talking and having a good time.”
“Yes. Good for him . . . I saw him earlier. From a distance. He looked good.”
Jack thought about going over to her, but decided to leave her be. Some people needed time alone to figure things out. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve been through a lot; seen horrors we thought were only in books and movies. Knowledge is power and now you have more. Move forward. If you want to talk, come find me. I’ll be around.”
Jack turned and left the room.
Chapter 29
Jill heard Jack’s retreating footsteps. She almost laughed—Jack and Jill went up the hill . . .
She looked down at the gun in her lap, a .357 Colt revolver. Her grin fell. She had found it amongst one of the dead inmates, promptly tucking into her pants. No one had seen her take it. With the way people had been acting, she felt she needed it. Jack, Maria . . . hell all of them were nuts.
After arriving back at the house, she finally talked to some of the others. They believed the bot story and how there was a cure, that cure being voltage, electricity. Jack, Maria and Zaun, their epic, incredible, heart-of-the-epidemic-story was true. She hadn’t doubted what they went through, but an underground bunker? Secret military experiment? The infected were curable? Jack’s plan, as improbable as it seemed at first, had worked. So after listening to the people of Cliff House and then seeing the proof of Paul’s recovery, she had no choice but to believe everything about the three survivors.
No one but the people involved knew what she did to the girl in the woods, to Susan, and no one but the people there knew what she tried to do at Cannibal’s house with Paul. They’d kept it to themselves. They were honorable people.
She had been angry with them, hoping Paul would get sick, turn and attack them. Then she’d show them, tell them how stupid they were. But Paul got better. The guy had never even reached any visible stages of infection. How could she have become so cynical? Hoping to see someone fall ill to make a point. Hoping in that sense was not right, but hoping in the positive sense proved fatal in her world. She’d lost her whole family relying on hope. She’d made a promise never to let anyone suffer like they had.
She’d visited the infirmary after getting back to the house. Shock sticks had been made—pieces of metal hooked up to car batteries, the voltage made to equal that of the tasers. These people hadn’t laughed Jack and his friends off when they found out. Instead, they believed and made a tool.
Jill shook with rage. She’d seen so many people die, but it was her family that pushed her over the edge, made her cold. All they needed was a little electricity. Why didn’t the government warn people? All that was said was to “remain in your homes until further notice.” There was never further notice.
Tears streamed down Jill’s cheeks. She grabbed the gun and held it. It felt so heavy. Her arm grew tired. She’d killed that poor girl, Susan. Murdered her. She’d gotten to know her, about her family, where she was from. They were even friends, right? There was no way Jill could’ve known she’d be okay after she was bitten. Up until that point, everyone that had been bitten died. Became monsters. She was doing Susan a favor.
Jill had run into others along her journey though. She’d killed them too, knowing what was in store for them. Some had been very sick, on the brink of turning, but not all. Some looked okay, maybe a little pale, sickly, but very much alive. It was the bite marks that proved they were nothing more than dead people walking and gave her the right to end their suffering.
Murderer.
But was she? She was only using the information she had at the time. Doing what she thought was right, and by no means easy. Those people would’ve died miserably—well, all except Susan. If she’d listened to Maria, Susan could’ve been here at Cliff House, talking and laughing. Breathing.
Jill’s sadness was erased by sudden anger. How could she even think about killing herself? She needed to survive. It’s what her family would have wanted. She was a good person. Not a murderer. The government was the problem. They should’ve been on the ball.
She realized she had something important to do, to help people. Cure people. Inform people. Use the new knowledge to combat this man-made plague.
Or she could end it all and not have t
o carry around the guilt she felt.
Chapter 30
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of deer meat, juice and coffee, Jack, Maria and Zaun packed up and set out to leave. The three survivors had sorted through the plundered bounty that had been Cannibal’s arsenal. All in all, along with the M4 Maria had already acquired during the escape from Cannibal’s, the two remaining M4 machine guns and tasers were found, along with Jack’s Mossberg 12 gauge, but not his Sig Sauer 9 mm. At least he had his original Smith and Wesson .45. He still couldn’t believe the first man he killed back at that house when he was running for his life had been using his .45, as if the gun truly belonged with him. Zaun and Maria grabbed a couple of Glock 9 mm’s. Maria kept, with Don’s permission of course, the Remington 750, wanting a long-range weapon in case the need arrived. A number of goodbyes were exchanged, a few tears were shared, but it was smiles all around.
Don, Paul and Duane stood outside in the driveway opposite Jack and the others. Two Polaris snowmobiles were set out, fueled up, and ready to go.
“I can’t thank you enough for the sleds,” Jack said to Don.
“I wish we could do more,” Don replied. “The people of Cliff House will forever be grateful to you all.” Don shook each of their hands. Paul and Duane followed suit.
“At anytime,” Don continued, “whatever happens in this world, please feel free to stop by or call upon us should you need anything.”
“Let’s hope the next time we meet,” Maria said, “this whole plague-thing is finished.”
“Amen to that,” Duane said.
Jill came from the house. She had a backpack on and looked ready to travel.
She walked up to the gathering. “Can I talk to you, Jack?”
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