“Barely,” I breathed.
“Do we really know what we’re going to do when we find Wattana?”
“Nope. Hopin’ he’s got some ideas.”
This time I felt her head shake no. She said, “I know we’ve already discussed the fact that this isn’t reversible. The afflicted are doomed. How they’re even alive and moving, much less attacking, I don’t know, but their brains are soaking in that black muck.”
“They’re not so much doomed as livin’ forever, it seems,” I said.
“We don’t know that yet.”
“Hell, if it’s like every zombie movie I’ve ever seen, these things aren’t dyin’ anytime soon. Goddamned energizer bunnies of anti-humanity.”
“Make me a promise.”
I didn’t respond right away, though I knew I’d promise her anything and follow up on my word. Lying to her could lead to losing her, and that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.
“Anything,” I finally said.
“That took a while,” she said.
“I was thinkin’ how much you mean to me. How I’d do anything to keep you with me.”
“If we get there and we either don’t find him, or he’s not willing or not able to do anything about what he’s created, I don’t want to chase pipe dreams. I want to go back to Lebanon, get Terry and Roxy, and Danny and Lilly if they want to join us, and go. If there’s a small group we’re willing to take along, fine. I just don’t want to stay there. It’s too depressing.”
“You thinkin’ a cabin in the woods? Huntin’ game, maybe growin’ food?”
She breathed in and let out a big sigh. “That scenario is high up on my list of new beginnings,” she said. “Imagine if we arrived on this continent 300 years ago, and had our choice of how and where to live. We’d look for resources; for water and food, we’d want a place that was easy to secure, and we’d want to be surrounded by beauty. Probably in that order.”
“I don’t have a doubt that Danny and Lilly would be in. It’d be interesting seein’ who Terry and Roxy would want to bring, if anyone. They seemed to connect with a lot of folks in Lebanon.”
“People know good hearts when they encounter them,” she said. “Are you taking a watch tonight?”
“3:00 AM.”
“Better get some rest. You set an alarm?”
“Yeah, I told Alexa to wake me at 3:00.”
No reply came.
“I set my watch alarm,” I amended.
“That’s more like it.”
“I didn’t like that nosy bitch anyway.”
“Alexa?”
“Yeah. Always listening.”
“Good night, Cole.”
“Night, Georgie. I love you.”
Her response was a snuggle. It said the same thing.
3:00 AM came too soon, but I was ready for it.
Ω
When I woke up, it was about quarter till three. I do that; when I know I gotta get up, my internal clock is on alert, and I wake up ahead of time.
It’s probably from a long-time fear of people thinking I’m lazy. Our dad taught us early on to work hard and to pull our weight. I remember him saying all the time that only Democrats and street-corner beggars sat around waiting for handouts.
In the stables, I’d found a hand pickaxe hanging on a wall with a bunch of other rusted tools. It seemed like a good thing to have along, so I took it and put it on the porch for whoever had watch duty.
Tank greeted me with a turn of his head as I came out. I had no idea where he’d gotten it, but he had on this heavy fur coat that looked to be made out of fox. It made the already large man appear mountain-sized when he stood.
“Any trouble?” I asked.
“Not sure where it came from, but I saw one. Off that way.”
“It see you?”
Tank shook his head. I found it difficult to understand how he could manage it, because his dang neck was as thick as a tree trunk. “Nope. I could only tell it was one of the dead ones because of the way it walked. Just a shape, really.”
“A silhouette?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Never mind. He must’ve walked a long ass way,” I said. “I thought we already accounted for the only residents of the former Buford, Wyoming.”
“Coulda been some other people moved in nearby,” said Tank. “Anyway, have a good night. You’re on until daylight.”
He didn’t need to tell me that, but coming from a man of few words, our little back-and-forth was our longest conversation so far. I extended it by a word. “Night,” I said.
He threw me another wave and disappeared into the house. He was sure to close the screen door very quietly, but his heavy work boots clomped into the night as he made his way across the hardwood floors to the room where he was sleeping.
I shook my head and settled in.
I glanced at the watch on my wrist. The date said NOV 14.
I laughed to myself. It was my goddamned birthday. I never even thought about it. I suppose I was lucky I’d never let the watch die, but I imagined some other folks also had some record of the date.
This crap started in late August. I guess we got to Lebanon sometime in early October – I didn’t really take notice. No matter then, but now we were moving into the full-on winter months, and that meant life would just get harder from here.
I think Micky and everyone else was too concerned about finding Wattana to think about the weather. That’s what happens when you live in Florida too long. You stop worrying about winter snowstorms and most other weather.
I heard something off to my left and turned my head.
The thing stood there, just at the top of a set of two steps. It stared straight ahead, down the long front porch of the house, where I sat right in the middle.
I was bundled up in a heavy jacket, and I had gloves on, too. I wasn’t sure how these creatures detected their prey; I knew sound drew them, and I also knew they went after anything moving.
I’d remained perfectly still except for the initial turn of my head. I was acutely aware of the puffs of steam shooting out of my nostrils with each exhale, like a cartoon bull facing off against Popeye.
It began walking forward, but without any purpose. Why it had come there, I’m still not sure. Maybe it had been out there when we changed shifts and either heard something or saw movement.
I didn’t want to fire on it if I didn’t have to. Regardless of old news reports we’d seen saying how isolated and empty this place was, there was no telling if others were in the area. I didn’t need to draw an army of these things out of the Wyoming night to surround the house.
It had clearly been a young man. Its pants were tattered from the ankles all the way up to its knees, the old work boots it wore still holding up nicely, considering what it might have been through. The arms were bare from the short sleeves down, and pustules, cuts and gouges festooned his black, wrinkled skin. Dark stains smeared and dotted the dirty tee shirt it wore, and its mouth stretched open as it gurgled some war cry of the dead.
My muscles bunched and tensed as I felt my arm sliding back, hopefully out of view of the thing, which continued plodding slowly forward, still focused on something other than me. I dared not turn to see what that might be.
My fingers curled around the worn, wooden handle of the rusted pickaxe and I gripped it as best I could through the thick gloves.
Suddenly its speed increased. The slow stagger turned into a half-run, but only in terms of these rotting humans’ abilities, which weren’t up to snuff.
It was now three feet from where I sat, and its dead eyes still did not turn toward me. It was my chance. With a good swing ….
I turned toward it and swung the makeshift weapon at the same time, and I didn’t have time to look down to see which part – the pick or the axe – I’d be utilizing. I was swinging blind.
As it moved in front of me, I heard myself emit a grunt. As my arm came into view in front of me, I saw the axe propelling forwa
rd, and my blade slammed into the center of its chest with a squishing thud.
As it staggered to a sudden stop its head dropped, just as I heard two quick whistles. A split-second after, I heard a click and a pop, and wood splintered from a faded 4 x 4 pillar three feet to my left.
Jerking my head to the right, I saw Carla Solis, her .22 Henry in her hand. The next click had already come.
The dead man’s emaciated body toppled forward, landing squarely on my shoes, his rotted, broken teeth snapping and biting at the thick suede. As it fell it ripped the axe handle from my hand and I let it go, adrenaline sending me into a cat-like leap like I don’t think I’ve ever achieved before or since.
I used the heavy chair as a springboard, yanking my feet out from under the thing’s snapping teeth, and ended up on my ass just in front of the door, scrambling clear.
Just as I was about to push myself back to my feet, another pop sounded, and black goo sprayed onto the porch. I felt arms grab me and before I knew it, I was being dragged backward into the house, twisting and fighting by instinct alone.
“CB, calm the hell down!” yelled Danny, and I realized what was happening. I rolled around to all fours and looked up to see Tank was there beside him, and Georgie and Micky stood there, too, all looking like they’d just awakened from one nightmare straight into the next.
“Are you okay?” asked Georgina, exhilaration tainting her words as she dropped down beside me, instinctively inspecting my arms. I pushed myself up and looked at her. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Jesus. That sure went sideways.”
Two more pops! cracked the night’s silence and we saw all movement of the zombie, two feet away, stop, its guttural moans finally silenced. A moment later, footfalls hit the porch.
“You didn’t get bit, did you?” asked Carla Solis, walking into view. She kicked the monster, but it did not move.
I stared up at her as Danny held a handout. As I went to take it, I felt burly arms wrap around me and pull me straight up to my feet.
I spun around and there was Tank. “You okay CB?” he asked. The kid was strong as hell.
As strong as a tank.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. I just … I saw the thing coming and I didn’t want to wake all y’all up.”
“Seriously?”
It was Lilly’s voice. I looked at her just before she shoved me and yelled, “CB, I’ve already lost my other two brothers! Don’t take stupid chances!”
I staggered back into Danny, who steadied me and held his hands up as he stepped away. Lilly wasn’t done yet, and he knew her well enough to get that.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“No!” I said. “I was careful. I had the pickaxe. I’d have been fine.”
“Didn’t look that way to me,” said Carla. “But no sense in dwelling on it. It’s dead.”
“Buddy system from now on,” said Lilly. “No exceptions. Goddamnit, CB!”
I didn’t argue. Instead, I hugged my sister until I felt the tension drain from her muscles. “I’m sorry, Lil.”
“You better be,” she said.
“How were you even there, Carla?” I asked. “I had watch.”
“I decided to guard the back,” she said. “Every once in a while I’d patrol along the sides. When I came around, I saw you facing off with that one.” She nodded at the dead thing lying face down on the porch.
I checked my watch. It was 4:15 AM. “Y’all go back to sleep. I got this.”
Nobody moved.
“Seriously, go back to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us today.”
They began dispersing, and Georgie held onto my hand a long time before releasing it and heading back up the stairs. I nodded to her. An attempt at reassurance.
Lilly reached for her gun, leaning by the door. “You’ll have company this time.”
Ω
“Do you get how scared I was, seeing you down on your ass beside that thing?” asked Lilly.
With her there, we’d moved onto a wood bench next to the chair.
“I get it. It wasn’t as close as it must’ve looked from where you were.”
“Hold up your foot.”
“Huh?”
“Your damned foot. Lift it.”
I did.
She pulled it into her lap and I leaned back to keep her from twisting me off the bench. “Here. Teeth marks,” she chastised. “If you’d have been wearing sneakers, it would’ve torn straight through.”
“Don’t be stupid, Lil. I don’t wear sneakers. Now let go, I’m gettin’ a cramp.”
“Screw you. Just shoot the damned things next time, CB. I’d rather lose some sleep than lose you.”
She dropped my shoe and I slid back onto the bench beside her. Rather than argue, I took her hand in mine and just held it. It was clammy. As embarrassing as the entire episode was, I felt better having my sister there with me.
The rest of the night was uneventful. We hit the road at 7:00 AM. Despite the action, I knew the rest of the world would be worse than PhinDeli Buford, Wyoming.
We took several bags of ground coffee with us. It really wasn’t bad.
Ω
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Near the Hintoka Indian Reservation
Magi Silver Bolt sat in the darkness of the bedroom knowing he should have slept.
During the hours he had lain awake, he heard some of the roaming creatures, not only of the night, but of the day, and of all hours.
He created them, she had said, speaking of Qaletaqa. Magi was confused. Chief Wattana had created them; he had seen it with his own eyes.
But the Mundunugu’s trick with the camera, stopping and starting it and making him appear to commit suicide had been a failure. Survivors of the curse had seen through his ruse and now hunted him.
But he was gone. Now, of the Henomawi tribe – what he knew of it – only he and Tommy remained. The others in those teepees were no doubt dead.
The skinwalkers passed by in the night, plodding down the street on their way to whatever drew them forward. Their guttural singings, like the hospice-relegated elderly gurgling their final, rattling breaths, grated on his nerves.
They were not in hospice, awaiting death. They were beyond the threshold between life and death, men and women who should have been destined for the morgue, but who would never make it there.
They roamed. They killed and fed on the remaining living.
The girl, who had finally told them her name was Tala, promised to share with them an amazing story before they settled in for the night. They had built a small fire in the fireplace, and as the flickering glow danced from the hearth to her face, he’d studied her.
She was pretty; her nose was chiseled and came to a soft point above her small mouth and delicate, rounded chin; her long brown hair was as straight as corn silk, and her doe eyes were a deep brown. She stood close to 5’-10” tall, and she moved like she floated above the ground.
But the story she told was amazing. So much so that had the world not been flipped on its head, Magi would have believed none of it.
But Wattana or Qaletaqa – one of them, at least – had caused the black rain to fall. Perhaps the ancient elder had used his own black magic to affect what Wattana had done; altered his ceremony somehow.
To be so old meant he was either cursed or blessed by the gods. It had to be one or the other. Either he was good, or he was bad. So far, trying to murder the entire Henomawi tribe indicated the latter.
Magi thought back to his wavering faith.
Not wavering, he admitted. Not until now.
In truth, he had disregarded the gods before all this. He held strong beliefs when he was younger, but as he grew up and experienced the world of technology, and things like Facebook, Snapchat, Twitter, Instagram and the rest, he had begun to feel foolish for ever believing in the spirit world at all.
All religion tended to be mocked on the social media platforms as backward beliefs clung to by aging fools. Magi Silver Bolt, like m
ost young people, did not want to be an outcast, so he had cast out the spirits.
But Magi cared for his people. That is why he pretended to believe when in their presence, and why he had studied the ancient language of his people, if only enough to get by. He had always hoped to be chief of his tribe one day, and spirituality was part of that.
Now, he realized, his faith had returned. And whether or not it mattered anymore, he was chief. He believed in the invisible powers again, no longer because he had to remain on the good side of the Henomawi people – they were all dead – but to understand the darkness he, Tala and Tommy faced.
And how to overcome it.
Magi knew he could not afford to misstep where Qaletaqa was concerned. The ancient had either been created by the gods themselves or he was annexed by them, but his power was undeniable.
There could be no other explanation for a man who was quite possibly as old as 200 years. His spirit could be far older.
Tala was a similar, though different story; she seemed unaffected by the darkness. She admitted she had never really understood it during her first sixty years of life.
Yes. She appeared no more than twenty-six, but it was because of the ceremony conducted by her father when she had just become a teenager.
Tala had walked the earth for sixty-three years. She recalled the strange ceremony like it was just the week before.
As she spoke, Tommy leaned back against a chair, his eyes closed, as Silver Bolt watched the firelight flickering in Tala’s eyes.
“I almost forget my real birthday,” she said. “I was not allowed to tell others what it was, and for good reason. I was born in 1956, the only child to Qaletaqa and my mother, Lachina.”
Magi interrupted her. “So what is your real birthday?”
“It is the first of August.”
Magi smiled, not knowing what to do with the information except store it away. “Sorry. Go on.”
“My father, who you know as Qaletaqa, did not always appear so old. The sun and life on the reservation has aged him. You now know I am sixty-three, but most people guess my age as my mid-twenties.
Judgement Page 14
