Fall of Man | Book 2 | Homefront

by Sisavath, Sam

  “But he didn’t turn. We saw his eyes. They weren’t bloodshot.”

  “Barton and Troyer don’t know that.”

  “You mean we’re going to lie?”

  “What’s the other alternative?”

  “Tell them the truth. He attacked Pete.” Greg pried Savannah off him just enough to look her in the eyes. “What happened? Why did he attack Pete?”

  Savannah couldn’t stop crying, not that Emily blamed her. She had just seen her boyfriend’s head get repeatedly smashed into the wall. Hell, there were still chunks of Pete’s flesh and hair matted to the blood dripping from that exact spot now.

  “Savannah,” Greg said, lowering his voice to a soothing degree. “What happened? Tell us what happened?”

  “He attacked me,” Savannah finally said.

  “Who?”

  She glanced back at Chrisman’s still and lifeless body.

  Emily was pretty sure Greg was going to ask, “Why did he do that?” but he didn’t—or stopped himself in time. Because the answer to his question was a no-brainer. Why would Chrisman have attacked Savannah, forcing Pete to come to her defense, and paying the price for it? The answer was obvious and didn’t need to be verbalized.

  Emily crouched next to Chrisman’s body just to make sure he was really dead. Not that she had doubts about it, but, well, you could never be too sure these days.

  She checked his vitals and found them flat.

  “Is he dead?” Greg asked.

  She nodded.

  “What now?” Greg asked.

  Emily stood up. “We stick to the story. He went psycho and attacked the kids while they were in here with him.”

  “But that’s not what happened, Emily.”

  “Troyer and Barton won’t know the difference. They’ll only know what we tell them. Chrisman can’t disagree. Dead men tell no tales.”

  “Emily…”

  “I need you to trust me on this, Greg. This is the right call.”

  “But we have truth on our side.”

  She sighed. Was Greg really this gullible? Or just naïve?

  She said, as evenly and patiently as she could muster, “Now is not the time to have faith that two strangers with a lot of guns will just take our word for what happened and forget that we killed one of their own. We don’t know how long they’ve been together. It could be days, weeks, or years. If they’re close, they won’t just accept our side of the story.”

  “You think they’ll retaliate?”

  “I think I don’t want to take the chance. But if they think he turned, then I really had no choice.”

  “How do we explain him turning just now?”

  “I don’t know. How does anyone explain anything that’s happened the last couple of days?”

  “That’s a good point.”

  I know, that’s why I came up with it, Emily thought.

  She looked across the room at Chrisman’s duffel bag, crumpled up in the far corner. Eureka. She’d been waiting for the opportunity to raid it, and there it was.

  “I still think we should just tell them the truth,” Greg was saying.

  She sighed again, maybe louder than necessary this time. And here she thought she’d gotten through to him—

  “What truth?” a voice said from behind them.

  Emily turned around, the thoughts, Goddammit. Not yet. I needed more time. I needed more time!

  Her first instinct was to hide the 1911, but it was too late for that.

  Barton and Troyer stood at the opened backroom door looking in at them.

  “Well?” Troyer said. He’d been the one that had spoken earlier. “What didn’t you have any choice about?”

  Chapter 13

  Troyer walked over, his eyes snapping from Pete’s lifeless body to Savannah crying in Greg’s arms to Chrisman’s body on the floor. If the sight of Chrisman’s unmoving form elicited anything other than curiosity from the deputy, Emily couldn’t see it. That made her wonder just how close the trio was to begin with.

  “Someone wanna tell me what happened here?” Troyer asked.

  “He became infected,” Emily said.

  “Chrisman?”

  “No fucking way,” Barton said.

  The other deputy hadn’t moved from the door. Or, Emily noticed, lowered his shotgun. Not that he was pointing the weapon at her, Greg, or Savannah, but it wouldn’t have taken very much for him to do just that. Certainly, he could lift the pump-action and fire before she could do the same with the 1911 in her hand.

  …the 1911 in her hand…

  She resisted the urge to hide it. There was no way to do that now without attracting attention. Unless they were blind and dumb, Troyer and Barton would have spotted it in her hand already, even if neither men had mentioned it yet.

  Emily turned to Troyer. “I saw his eyes. They were red when he attacked Pete.”

  “He turned?” Troyer said.

  “That’s right.”

  “How?”

  “How should I know? How does anyone know anything about what’s happened the last two days?”

  Troyer crouched next to Chrisman, lying flat on his stomach. But the dead man’s head was turned slightly, and Troyer peered at his eyes.

  “Well?” Barton said from the door.

  “I don’t see shit,” Troyer said.

  “Look closer,” Emily said, even as she prepared herself to mentally shoot Troyer, then spin and shoot Barton. It wouldn’t be easy, and she’d have to risk just one bullet on Troyer before taking Barton.

  It was risky, but if she had no choice…

  Emily sensed Greg staring at her and looked up at him. She shook her head—slightly. Not enough that anyone would notice if they weren’t staring right at her. She just hoped Barton wasn’t doing just that from the door. She couldn’t tell because she was looking in the wrong direction.

  Troyer, meanwhile, had kneeled down on the floor to get a better look at Chrisman. He couldn’t get too close because of all the blood the deputy had bled out, but he was near enough that he would know Emily was lying about Chrisman’s eyes.

  First Troyer, then Barton…

  Troyer looked up and over at her. “His eyes look fine.”

  “They looked red to me,” Emily said. She spoke calmly and with confidence. “Maybe he didn’t get a chance to fully turn, but I know what I saw. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have attacked Pete.”

  Troyer glanced over at Pete. “Goddamn. Chrisman did that?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. “I didn’t have any choice.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “She’s right; his eyes were red,” Greg said. Then, when Troyer turned to him, “I saw them, too. So did Savannah.”

  Troyer looked over at the girl.

  She peered back at him from the safety of Greg’s arms.

  “You see his eyes too, missy?” Troyer asked her.

  “Yes,” Savannah said. Or squeaked.

  “He was smashing Pete’s head into the wall when we came in,” Emily said. “He was out of control. I recognized the look. We all did. He was psycho. Maybe he hadn’t fully turned yet, but he was turning.”

  Troyer stood up and, hands on his hips, stared at the wall covered in Pete’s blood.

  “Unless your friend was some kind of crazy bastard, why would he do something like that to Pete?” Emily asked.

  Troyer turned to her. “He wouldn’t. Because he wasn’t.”

  “So he turned. Or was in the process of turning. Either way, he killed Pete.”

  “You’re guessing,” Barton said from behind her.

  She glanced over one shoulder at him. “We all are. Just making guesses about this thing. Whatever ‘this’ thing is that’s happening out there.” She faced Troyer again. “He was coming after me next. I had no choice.”

  As if he were noticing the 1911 in her hand for the first time, Troyer asked, “Where’d you get the gun?”

  “It’s Pete’s,” Emily said.

  “The boy?”r />
  “Yes.”

  “Why does he have a gun?”

  “It’s his dad’s,” Savannah said, her head still partially buried in Greg’s chest.

  “You didn’t tell us you had a gun,” Troyer said to Emily.

  “You didn’t ask,” Emily said.

  He smirked. She wasn’t sure if that was amusement or annoyance. “How are we going to ever trust each other if we keep hiding secrets?”

  “I can ask you the same question. What’s in the bags?”

  “Supplies.”

  “Show me.”

  “No. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  “I see.”

  He grinned, before looking back down at Chrisman. The deputy hooked the steel toe of one boot underneath the dead man and turned him over onto his back.

  Troyer whistled. “Multiple shots, and you hit Chrisman with every single one of them.”

  “I got lucky,” Emily said.

  “Must have, because otherwise I might think you’re more than just a lonely housewife waiting to be rescued.”

  “What makes you think I’m lonely or waiting to be rescued?”

  Troyer chuckled, and so did Barton somewhere behind her. Emily wanted desperately to turn around to keep an eye on the other deputy, but didn’t give in to the urge. She had to be satisfied with knowing he was back there, maybe waiting for a reason to shoot her.

  She wasn’t about to give it to him.

  Neither was Greg nor Savannah, who had remained quiet for some time now.

  “Maybe I read you all wrong,” Troyer was saying to Emily.

  “Maybe you did,” Emily said.

  “What did you do before all of this?”

  “Before all of what?”

  She knew what he meant, but she wanted to hear him say it. She wanted to prod him, to see what kind of man was hiding behind those blue eyes, that square jaw, and good looks.

  “The housewife gig,” he said.

  She shrugged. “I had a boring desk job.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I really don’t give a shit what you believe, Deputy.”

  He chuckled again, but there wasn’t very much humor the second time around. “No wonder you’ve survived this long. I get the feeling you’re going to outlive us all.”

  “God willing.”

  “You believe in God?”

  “Don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. What’s happening out there, with the psychos as you call them… That’s the kind of stuff that can make a believer out of even an atheist.”

  “End of the world and all that?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Maybe something like the Rapture.”

  “Maybe something like that. Take the good people, leave the bad ones behind. Which makes sense for me, Barton, and Chrisman.” He smiled. “But what did you do that made God leave you behind?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “It was just a question. Don’t have to bite my head off.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Or shoot me.”

  “Funny,” Emily said.

  The deputy chuckled again. It sounded even more forced than the last time. “But hey, keep it a secret if you want. No skin off my nose. Just as long as you don’t point that thing at me.” He looked back down at Chrisman. “Anyways, if you said he was turning, I guess he was turning. After all, we weren’t here, so we’ll just have to take your word for it. Though, I have to say, it’s weird his eyes aren’t bloodshot.”

  “Yeah, that is weird,” Emily said. “I saw blood, though.”

  “Did you?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Hunh.”

  “I saw it, too,” Greg said.

  “Me too,” Savannah added.

  Troyer looked back at the contractor, then Savannah. Then he turned back to Emily. “Well, if all three of you said you saw Chrisman turning psycho, I guess Barton and I will just have to take your word for it. Right, Barton?”

  “I guess so,” Barton said behind Emily. “Poor Chrisman.”

  Troyer smiled at her again, though Emily didn’t believe it for a second. “That neighbor of yours. Don something?”

  “Don Taylor,” Emily said. “Is he dead?”

  “He’s scrappy.”

  “So he’s not dead?”

  “Nope. Like I said, scrappy.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Barton tagged him, but he got away.”

  “He got away? You fired a lot of shots.”

  “Doesn’t mean much if they don’t land.” He smirked in Barton’s direction, still somewhere behind Emily. “Right, Barton?”

  “Pretty sure I put some buckshot in him,” Barton said.

  “So you keep saying.”

  Barton chortled. “Pretty sure.”

  “Bottom line? He ran lickety-split outta there,” Troyer said to her. “Fast little bastard. Was making himself a nice ol’ home in that house.”

  “What did he used to do for a living?” Barton asked.

  “Who?” Emily said. “Don?”

  “Yeah.”

  “As far as I know, he was a CPA.”

  “No shit?” Troyer said.

  “No shit,” Emily said.

  “Well, damn,” Barton said. “Slick fucker, for a CPA.”

  Troyer grunted. “I guess they’re teaching crazy things in CPA school these days.”

  “I guess so,” Emily said.

  She finally allowed herself to glance back at the other deputy. Barton had lowered his shotgun to his side and didn’t seem quite as threatening anymore. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. The fact that neither he nor Troyer seemed especially angry about Chrisman was a point of confusion, and the only conclusion she could draw was that they weren’t longtime coworkers. Maybe they didn’t even like the other man. That was entirely possible, given what Chrisman had tried on Savannah, then done to Pete. Maybe the other two deputies had even seen him do worse things.

  Bottom line: their surprisingly easy (okay, so maybe it hadn’t been that easy) acceptance of her story made her even more cautious.

  Emily kept the gun right where it belonged: next to her side, her forefinger against the trigger guard.

  “By the way,” Troyer was saying to her, “we’re going to take that boat in your boathouse out back.”

  “What?” Emily said.

  “The boat. We’re going to take it and head down the lake, see what else is out there.”

  “You’re taking my boat?”

  “Why not? You don’t seem to need it.”

  “It’s my boat.”

  “Not anymore.” He grinned at her. “What? You thought we were going to stay here forever?”

  “What’s out there?” Greg asked.

  “Maybe answers, maybe nothing,” Troyer said.

  “Whatever’s out there, it’s not going to come to us just sitting around in here,” Barton said. “We were hoping this side of the lake was better, had some answers, but it’s the same story, different shit. The idea was always to go hunt down some answers.”

  “You guys aren’t curious about what’s happening out there?” Troyer said. He had walked over to stand next to Barton, as if Chrisman’s body didn’t mean a damn thing to him anymore.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  “You don’t wanna know what the rest of the city is like?” Troyer continued. “The state? Hell, the entire world?”

  The truth was, Emily did wonder. That was all she had done these last couple of days. But she also didn’t want to leave Arrow Bay—or even this house—because it was the only place Cole knew where to find her with any certainty. Out there, regardless of what she found, there was no beacon for Cole.

  “Any of you wanna come, you can tag along,” Troyer was saying. “We got an open spot now.”

  Emily met Greg’s gaze across the room. The contractor might have been thinking the same thing she was: That Troyer and Barton cou
ldn’t care less about what had happened to Chrisman. They didn’t even seem slightly irritated anymore.

  “We’re going to take our chances in here,” Greg said. “Maybe you guys can come back and tell us what you found out there.”

  “Sure, why not,” Troyer said, not even trying to be convincing.

  “Suit yourselves,” Barton said. He glanced down at his watch, then back at Troyer. “It’s been a tough day. Tomorrow morning?”

  Troyer nodded. “Tomorrow morning. Then we’re outta here.”

  Emily wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but she didn’t.

  Because it was too easy.

  It was way, way too easy.

  Chapter 14

  “When are you guys leaving exactly?” Greg asked.

  “Why, you changed your mind?” Troyer said while shoveling sweet corn into his mouth with a big silver spoon.

  They were gathered around the dining room table, where there was still enough light coming from the barricaded windows that they didn’t have to waste the batteries in the LED lamps.

  “Just wondering,” Greg was saying. “Don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find the two of you gone. Along with those guns.”

  “And here I thought it was our charming personalities you’ll miss,” Troyer said, chuckling.

  “That, too.”

  “We’re thinking about eight,” Barton said. The shorter of the two deputies was rooting around the bottom of a can of beefaroni with his fork. Emily only knew that because the deputy was being very loud about it. “About an hour after sunup, but still early enough to be moving in cool weather.”

  “You guys leaving on foot?”

  “We’re thinking about taking the Audi in the garage,” Troyer said.

  Greg didn’t answer for a moment.

  “You think she’ll mind?” Troyer, and Emily pictured him just barely trying to hide his smirk as he said it.

  “I’m pretty sure she will,” Greg said.

  “I’ll ask nicely.”

  “Doubt that’ll work.”

  “I can be very convincing.”

  Troyer chuckled again. He, along with Greg and Barton, were distorted figures against the face of the framed photo next to the front door. She had been listening and watching them using the glass for the last few minutes. Her back was pressed against the wall, the opening into the dining room to her right, just slightly out of view. They couldn’t see her, but she could hear them just fine.