by Glen Krisch
Soto nodded, not agreeing with this madman, but more certain than ever that he had to remain at Hellickson’s side.
~
All was darkness. All was still; he was insensate, drifting, intangible, matterless.
A voice greeted him, shrill and echoing off cavernous walls made of stone: “You fucking coward, Soto!”
Jarred by the sudden sound, Dr. Soto pulled away from the darkness, allowing the familiar voice to draw him to waking. Even though the deep baritone was full of rage, he knew he once held its owner in high regard.
CHAPTER 6
Billy opened his eyes, stunned to find himself coasting to a stop when he neared a fork in the road. He hesitated, his mind a muddled mess as he faced his options. He knew he had to find his dad; Charlie was by himself trying to fix the fence before—
God, zombies, he thought, feeling short of breath. They’re real?
He still couldn’t believe it. He also knew his mom wanted him to ride out to Tanner’s cabin to meet up with Kendra, and so he steered toward the fork leading to the cabins, but felt a powerful flutter in his gut that told him emphatically: No!
Kendra didn’t know what was going on, had no clue about the undead horde so close to their home. And yet … and yet he felt an overwhelming urge to not go in that direction, that any direction would be better, even returning to where he’d left Charlie.
Billy convinced himself that Kendra wasn’t in immediate danger, at least he hoped as much. He veered his bike to the right instead, feeling better about his decision. His dad would know what to do. His dad had weapons, too. And while the phone had been shut off for the winter, once his dad heard the news, he’d be able to drive into town to spread the word.
It was just so hard to believe: zombies. Unreal. It would be easier to believe in Bigfoot or alien invaders. Zombies were dead people. There was a barrier between life and death, a barrier that was supposed to be impossible to cross.
Well, he thought, I guess I’ll have to rethink that one.
He let his mind drift as he put the wooded campground lots behind him. Fallen leaves tumbled across the trail, crunching under his wheels. An approaching vehicle made him pull to the side of the road. He looked back, hoping to see his dad, or even Blake Tanner in his beater pickup, but a white van slowed to a stop behind him and the passenger window unrolled.
“How’s it going?” a bearded man said, leaning over.
“Good, I guess,” Billy said. “Just trying to get back home.”
“Oh, yeah? You live around here?”
“Yeah, my parents own the campground. I have to get back and tell them …” Billy paused, realizing how crazy it sounded. “Aw, you won’t believe me.”
“You might be surprised what I believe.” The man smiled. “Give me a try.”
“There are zombies, a big horde of them, just outside the fence on the north side of the grounds.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Zombies?”
“Yeah, I saw ’em with my own eyes. And I’m not lying, and for real, mister, I need to get back to tell my dad.” Billy hopped on to the bike pedals and started off again. “If I were you, I’d get out of here,” he said over his shoulder.
The bearded man pulled up next to Billy, pacing him. “Just a minute. You just threw me for a loop. Zombies? You don’t expect someone to say something like that.”
“They’re real. And they’re really close.”
“Okay then,” the man said. “I believe you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I can see it in your eyes,” the man said, staring into him with intensity. “You’re telling the truth. Here, let’s get your bike in the back of my van, and then I can speed you home.”
“It’s all right. It’s not too far.”
“Well, okay then. Is everyone home—your family, I mean?”
“My sister’s with her boyfriend, and Charlie, he’s my brother, he’s mending a hole in the fence.”
The bearded man slammed on his brakes, parked the van, and hopped outside.
Billy stopped riding, not sure what was happening.
The man placed a firm hand on Billy’s handlebars and said, “I know you’re just being polite, Billy, but I insist. You can’t waste a minute, if you ask me. Not when turning down my kind offer can get your brother killed.”
He was right. The horde could be overrunning the fence this very second.
“Okay,” Billy said and swallowed hard, “since you put it that way.”
“Great, let’s hurry up then.” The man smiled, slid open the side door.
Billy couldn’t help worrying about his brother, and wished he hadn’t left him behind. At the very least, he should have waited until Charlie had the fence repaired.
The bearded man stowed Billy’s bike in the back of the van. It was dark inside. A few ratty cardboard boxes and a rolled blanket were tucked next to a pillow.
Billy wondered if this man had rented a cabin from his parents. He didn’t recognize him, and surely he would’ve seen him if he’d been around for any amount of time this summer.
The man’s smile twisted into a leer as his eyes turned dark.
Billy, he’d said. I know you’re just being polite, Billy, but I insist.
“How did you know my name?”
His stomach lurched. A lump caught in his throat, and he felt like he should start screaming, but he didn’t think he could even if he tried.
He knows my name.
“You know what, I— I think I changed my mind,” Billy said, backing away from the van, even though his bike was already inside.
Before he could turn and run, the bearded man grabbed Billy’s upper arm, yanked him so hard he left his feet and stumbled into him. The man’s scent invaded his nostrils—old sweat and dirt—as he clamped a hand over his throat.
“Oh, beautiful Billy, there’s no turning back now.”
When Billy began to thrash about, the bearded man took hold of his head and slammed it against the side of the van. Billy blinked, stunned, then tumbled over onto the ground. His ears rang as his vision wobbled, darkened, then dimmed to nothing.
“Billy, I’ve been waiting for this. Waiting a long time.”
~
Billy’s head throbbed. He opened his eyes a crack, could make out the grizzled profile of the bearded man as he drove. The van’s engine hummed along, and the noise made Billy want to close his eyes again, to get some sleep. But then he remembered the sudden violence—his face slamming into the side of the van, the explosion of pain and flashes of light.
No, he couldn’t let himself fall asleep. Falling asleep would mean his death.
The bearded man started to whistle a happy tune.
From his position on the floor, Billy realized he must have been thrown into the back of the van, just behind the front seats. He tried wriggling his fingers, but his wrists were bound behind him. His shoulders tingled from constricted blood flow. His feet, too, were immobilized.
He felt like he finally had the strength to scream, but a swatch of duct tape sealed his mouth.
His plight came in to full focus, and his mind cleared. If he didn’t fight his way out of this, he wasn’t getting out of it. To not fight meant his death.
The van hummed along, and the man continued to whistle. Billy began to frantically fight against his bindings, but the walls seemed to pull in closer. The enclosed air was heavy with the bearded man’s body odor mixed with the stink of spoiled food.
“I see you’re starting to wake up,” the man said with a chuckle. “That’s good. I didn’t want to hurt you like that, Billy. Really, I didn’t. But I couldn’t let you run off or have you start screaming. That would’ve ruined everything. And I have plans for you; I’ve been waiting all summer for just this moment.”
Billy worked himself into a full-body sweat
, but he didn’t accomplish anything besides wearing himself out. His eyes shot with stars. He couldn’t get enough air, not with his mouth covered in tape.
“Shh …” the man said. “Settle down, or you’ll wind up blacking out again. You’re probably concussed as it is.”
Billy stopped struggling, not because he wanted to appease the man, but because if he didn’t, he really would’ve blacked out. He panted through his nose instead, trying to draw in more air with each inhalation.
“That’s good. Really good, Billy. I don’t want you all tuckered. At least not from huffing and puffing back there.” The man laughed again, but stopped abruptly and said, “Aw, shit …” as he slowed the van and pulled over.
He turned halfway around so he could look Billy in the eyes, reached down and placed his hand on Billy’s thigh. Squeezed.
“Now, you shut your mouth and don’t make a sound, pretty thing.” He reached under the passenger seat and pulled out a handgun, flipped off the safety and set it on his lap. “Do something stupid, and you get a bullet in the eye.”
Billy didn’t try to say anything. He felt frozen in place, even with his shoulders screaming in pain and his fingers thickening with numbness.
“Understand me?” the man whispered.
Billy nodded.
“Good,” he said, covering him with a filthy blanket.
A familiar screech—brakes long in need of repair—as a car pulled up next to the van.
“Hey, there,” a man said.
“Can I help you?” the bearded man said amiably.
“Yeah, I didn’t know anyone was still here. I’m Mark Upton. I own the grounds.”
Dad!
“Lucky you saw me then, Mr. Upton. My name’s Dylan Primrose. I’m scouting out your campground for a possible family outing next weekend. It’s my boy’s birthday, and he’s crazy about camping. We live a couple towns over—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. …”
“Primrose. Dylan Primrose.”
“Right. Mr. Primrose. With the flu season being something awful this year, we’re shutting down early. We’ve already turned off the water so the pipes don’t freeze this winter, and the only power for a mile around comes from our gennie.”
“Oh, really? That’s too bad. My Bobby’s been looking forward to it.”
This was his one and only opportunity, Billy realized. If he didn’t do something, he would disappear forever. This Dylan Primrose guy would … well, he didn’t want to consider what he might do to him.
“Try us again when spring rolls around,” Billy’s dad said.
“Will do. You take care now.”
Not without a fight. Not with his dad less than ten feet away.
Billy pulled his knees to his chest and then slammed his feet against the side of the van. His feet made a metallic thunking as the filthy blanket fell away from his eyes.
Dylan Primrose let out a grunt to try to cover it up, shot a glance his way, and then hurried to roll up the window. Billy slammed his feet again, and again, screaming against the duct tape gagging his mouth.
“Mr. Primrose,” his dad said, “mind telling me what that’s all about?”
“Oh, sure, that’s nothing. Just my dog, Lucky, in back. He’s itching to get moving, so I best get going—”
Billy screamed himself hoarse against the tape. Saliva was starting to loosen the tape’s glue. He tried prying his lips as wide as the tape would allow.
“A dog, you say?”
“Yeah, he’s a bit squirrelly. He’s a hunting dog, full of energy.”
“Mind if I check him out? I’ve been meaning to get a dog of my own.”
Billy let out a garbled scream until his voice cracked.
“That’s it. Open up!”
“I can’t do that, Mark. Not today,” Dylan Primrose said, and then fired.
CHAPTER 7
Billy watched helplessly as his dad cried out and stumbled back before hitting the ground.
No, no, no. Billy’s mind raced. Not Dad.
“Well, that changes things, doesn’t it?” Dylan said, mostly to himself, as he turned to face him. He offered a sneering smile, revealing a dark gap where he was missing an eyetooth.
Billy shook his head from side to side and tried to kick himself away, but there was nowhere to go. His head rapped against the van’s door, but he couldn’t reach out for the handle, not with his hands tied behind him.
“That’s all right, Billy. I like a little fight. Makes it more exciting.”
Billy kicked out with both bound feet when he reached for Billy’s leg, but Dylan pulled away, out of striking distance. He coiled his legs back again for another strike, and when he let loose, Dylan caught him by the bindings at his ankles and held him fast.
“That’s it. Fight! Get worked up.” Still holding his knotted ankles, he grabbed Billy’s thigh, feeling the tension through his jeans, and worked his hand high, reaching for the belt.
Billy thrashed from side to side, fighting so hard the light in the van seemed to dim again. His thoughts jumbled as he struggled for breath.
And then, somehow, the man’s eyes went wide, so wide Billy thought they’d pop from his skull. He sputtered, his lips flecking with spit and then blood. A redness gathered on his lower lip as the pointed edge of a rather large blade poked through Dylan’s throat. The knifepoint twisted inside the wound, rending apart flesh and cartilage, first clockwise, then counterclockwise before pulling wetly free.
Dylan Primrose slumped over the center console. His hot blood spilled from his ruined neck and dripped onto Billy’s pant leg.
Billy shimmied away from the blood as the entire van started to spin. He was going to throw up, and with the tape still covering most of his mouth, he would likely choke.
The side door of the van flew open, and from his bound position Billy saw his dad silhouetted in the midmorning sun. He favored his left side, and pressed a hand hard against the side of his neck. Blood seeped between his fingers, coating them in crimson.
“Oh, God, Billy,” his dad said before gently tugging the tape from his mouth. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“Dad,” Billy said, and with the stink of blood heavy in the enclosed van, he turned to the side and vomited. A nauseous heat trembled through his limbs. His dad placed a hand on his back as he heaved, and he heaved until his throat and chest hurt and there was nothing left to purge. “Dad, he— he— he took me. Knocked me out.”
“Geez, your face.”
“I’m … I’m okay. Really.”
Holding one of Billy’s wrists, his dad slit the bindings and said, “Come on. I got you,” hooking him under both armpits until he was completely free from the van.
Billy cried out as blood rushed back into his aching muscles. He stood on unsteady feet until his ankles were cut free. And it was then he noticed the flaps of skin from his dad’s neck wound had started to spread, the blood pulsing from the opening. His shirt was soaked to the waist, and he looked as weak as Billy felt.
Despite the blood, Billy hugged his dad’s right side, careful not to disturb his wound. He hugged him fiercely, and as he hugged him back, Billy realized they were both crying.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you,” his dad said, and then held Billy at arm’s length. “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.” He offered a sad smile and then his eyes rolled and he wobbled on his feet, nearly taking both of them to the ground.
“Whoa, steady, Dad. Just take it easy. Let’s get you back to the car.”
“Right. Gotta get back to the house and get this patched up.” He accepted Billy’s arm and was helped around the van to his Cavalier. “And I need to drive out to the police station and report … report this incident. I sure wish we hadn’t had the phone shut off for the season.”
“Can you driv
e?” Billy said. “Because if you can’t, I’ll give it a shot.”
His dad laughed weakly. “No, I’m not ready for you driving yet, no matter the reason. And I’ll be fine just as soon as I sit down.”
Billy helped his dad into the driver’s seat before hurrying over to the passenger side. After closing the door, he looked at his dad’s ghostly pale skin. He couldn’t just let him bleed.
“Here, let’s wrap this around your neck,” Billy said, and pulled his long sleeve shirt up over his head. “It’ll keep some pressure against that wound.” He wrapped it tight, and then tied the sleeves into a knot.
His dad grimaced in obvious pain and then pretended to choke as Billy tightened the knot. “Trying to strangle your old man?”
“Real funny, Dad.”
“You know you’re not supposed to be wandering around on your own. When you’re alone, you might as well paint a bull’s-eye on your back.”
“I know, Dad. I wasn’t by myself. I had to leave Charlie at the hole in the fence.”
It seemed like forever ago that he’d seen his brother, or the horde.
Was any of it real?
“Why would you two split up? Have I taught you nothing? You should have stuck with your brother.”
“Dad, I know, and I’m sorry, but it was an emergency. We were at the fence, saw that someone had cut through it—”
“That’s the emergency?” his dad cut in. “A hole in the fence I don’t even need to fix until springtime?”
“Charlie’s still there, trying to mend the fence. You see, there’s a horde—”
“A what?” his dad said and turned to face him. The shirt wrapped around his neck was now soaked in blood, but it looked like it was slowing.
“A horde. It’s what you call a big group of zombies.”
“Did you hit your head or something? Zombies?”
“Dad, I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I guess anybody who died from the flu … I guess they come back. And when they come back, they roam.”
