by Beth Hersant
As they drew near Louella looked at them calmly, took another drag, and then flicked the lit butt in their direction. They shrieked and charged forward, but the chief just stood there, unperturbed. In another moment, she sauntered casually over to the open car door and hopped in. Still she did not drive off.
“What is she waiting for?” Peg whispered.
As the first of the infected reached the back bumper, Louella peeled away in a screech of tires and spray of gravel that peppered the husks with stones.
She led them off. While the beginning of the chase certainly looked dramatic, what followed was decidedly pedestrian. She could only go so fast or risk losing them. And so she ambled slowly toward town. However when she finally came within striking distance of her goal, she accelerated. She needed time to prepare. She crossed the bridge and there were all the cars that had gotten snarled up at the checkpoint and never made it out of Midwood. She recognized Councilman Eck’s BMW, its windshield shattered, the gray upholstery of the driver’s seat stained a dark brown. Tearing her gaze from this, she turned around and pulled back onto the bridge. She popped the trunk and hefted out a large jerry can of gasoline. The wounds on her chest and arms screamed as she struggled with the weight and soon she was bleeding freely again. But she didn’t stop. She walked back and forth on that bridge, pouring petrol until the can was empty.
The task really took it out of her and she collapsed back into the car. She was burning up now and started the engine to switch on the air con. But when the blast of cool air hit her in the face, her neck spasmed, jerking her head back. She suddenly felt very anxious and just needed that stream of air to stop. Her trembling fingers frantically hit at the buttons. Once it was off, she sat there panting.
“What the hell?” she gasped.
She was very ill now. The infection was like some alien creature inside of her that was hunkering down, getting comfortable, gripping the wheel. The pain was a living thing with claws and teeth gouging out the inside of her skull. She had an image of being turned into a hideous jack-o-lantern, her pumpkin head scooped clean of pulp and seed and pith. Like the pumpkin the Headless Horseman used for a head. And he rode a white horse and he was pestilence. And she shivered in the early August heat. She could feel something building within her and in the midst of her torment, two words flitted across her mind that brought her some relief. The farm. She could go back to the farm. Her jaws involuntarily snapped shut on her tongue. Louella cried out and spat blood. Bite. The farm. Bite. God, no, please no.
“Hurry,” she whispered and reached over to crank up the music.
She accidentally hit some button on the sound system. Def Leppard’s Armageddon It was replaced by none other than David Seville and his fucking chipmunks. Oddly enough the shock of that change brought her back to herself for a moment. She cast woeful eyes skyward.
“Really?” she said aloud. “You couldn’t just let me be cool. I had to have this as my swan song?”
Her conversation with God was brought to an abrupt halt with the arrival of the girl. She was a sad, haggard thing — filthy and battered, with wounds on her arms and face that were beginning to fester. But for all that, there was clearly something going on upstairs. She stood and studied Louella for a moment while her followers caught up with her.
“So you’re the one,” Lou murmured.
At that moment the chipmunks reached their refrain, which had about the same effect on the girl as it usually had on Louella. She howled in rage and ran forward. Louella hurriedly put up the windows and locked the doors, but she still flinched as one body after another slammed into the car. The driver’s side door buckled from the impact. Then two more were at the passenger’s side, screeching their frustration at being able to see prey they couldn’t reach. Something threw itself onto the hood and then the girl — the smart little girl who led this army of maniacs — hammered on the windscreen. Now some were scrabbling at the latch of the trunk. The bridge in front of her filled with the infected and Louella popped the lid on Fletcher’s lighter.
She leaned her head back and smiled. Almost done now, she thought and once again she recited the Lord’s Prayer as her grandmother had taught her…
“Unsah Faddah im Himmel,
dei nohma loss heilich sei,
Dei Reich loss kumma.
Dei villa loss gedu sei,
uf di eaht vi im Himmel.”
The windscreen cracked. Lines spider-webbed their way across the glass, but she didn’t care. They couldn’t hurt her now. Nothing could. She was free. As Louella uttered her Amen there was a brilliant flash. To her mind it looked like a star had gone supernova. And all was pure, white light.
Epilogue
Acorn
“You’re gonna have to look after them,” Louella had said.
“What?”
“The group, when I’m gone.”
Peg had sat on her mother’s bed as Louella leaned forward to lace up her sneakers. The old woman gasped from the pain.
“Here, let me do it.” Peg knelt in front of her to tie the shoes.
“Ah, the classic reversal. The child becomes the parent,” Lou smiled and shook her head. “Under any other circumstance that would freak me out, but it’s good. You’re gonna need this.”
“What?”
“Your mothering instincts. It’s the best way to look after North Star.”
Peg sighed and looked up at her mother. “You keep talking like I’m set to be the next chief. Why?”
“Because I think they’ll choose you.”
Margaret was growing impatient with this. Her mother was about to walk out the door and never come back. The thought left her feeling like a frightened child. The last thing she wanted to hear was some crap about the leadership of the group.
Lou rolled a pack of cigarettes up in the sleeve of her T-shirt. “They’ll choose you because, once I’m gone, no one will know this farm better than you.”
“There’s Sam.”
“Sam hasn’t graduated from high school yet.”
“Mom, no one’s gonna graduate ever again.”
“He will,” Louella nodded fervently. “Under you.” She looked at her girl sadly. “I’m sorry to lay this on you. Truly. But after so much upheaval, they are going to want consistency and you and I are a lot alike. We think a lot alike…”
“Mom…”
“I’m not saying that you’re my mini-me or whatever the hell they call it. We’re just similar. But you — you’re smarter than me, better educated…”
“Mom…”
“… and younger and more resilient.”
Peg’s chest constricted. What her mother was suggesting — she received this news the way a landslide victim receives a boulder to the gut. She did not want to think about this shit now. She was exhausted and scared and she wanted her mom. But Lou was slipping away. “Stop it,” she snapped.
Louella ignored her. “And you’re a mother. The way you love Mae — that’s how you’re gonna have to love North Star. You’ll have to love every single one of them as if they’re your very own.”
“This is crazy. I can’t.”
“Yeah, I tried that argument too. It doesn’t work. They don’t give a damn about your doubts.” She rose to leave. “Just give them your best. You do that, and they’ll see something wonderful.”
Peg was mulling that conversation over when they heard the explosion. She locked her arms around Sam as he wept and one question cycled frantically through her brain: What do I do? What do I do? As the others embraced them, she saw a list beginning to form in her mind.
“Patience,” she said quietly, “we need a small recon team to scout out the situation at the bridge. Do not engage and don’t let them know you’re there. If there are quite a few husks left, we don’t want to lead `em back here.”
Patience looked at her in surprise and
then said, “Will do.”
“Niamh, go have a word with Ginny and the kids in the basement. Let them know that the horde’s passed, but we’re going to stay quiet until we know how many are left and where they’re at.” She handed Sam over to Bib and backed away from the group.
“Where are you going?” Alec asked.
“I want to check on the animals.”
Peg walked through the kitchen and into the little back porch area that her mother had called a mud room.
I can’t do this. It’s too much.
She looked around for a pair of shoes to wear out to the barn and spotted Louella’s old rubber boots in the corner. Propped on top of them was a leather journal — Fletcher’s record of Camp North Star. A page was marked with an empty Twizzlers wrapper and there, in her mother’s neat handwriting, was the message:
I know. You don’t think you can do this. The job is so wide and so high — how can you ever surmount it? I felt exactly the same way EVERY FREAKIN DAY. And there is only one thing for it: forget the hand-wringing and simply get on with it. Do the best you can. I think that the world will see something truly awesome. And know that I love you. So much. Forever.
~Mom
P.S. Now put the damn boots on and go see to my animals.
↑
(Sorry, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to boss you around one last time).
This was followed by a smiley face with its tongue sticking out and big wonky eyes that suggested complete idiocy. Peg laughed out loud. And cried. Right. The animals. She slipped her feet into her mom’s old boots. They fit.
