Pack Animals [An Undead Post-Apocalypse Thriller]

by Cain, Kenneth W.

  A stench rose from the cage, reeking of what smelled like rotten fish. It was this smell that brought the Gollum of the books to life in Allen’s thoughts.

  But that’s impossible.

  Then again, years ago, there had been many people who thought the notion of a bunch of reanimated corpses walking around, biting people, was insane. Now there were packs of them everywhere.

  Another odor seized Allen’s nostrils, a sulfuric odor. He turned to make sure the brothers were still there, and also to make sure they weren’t up to no good. Clyde took a long drag off a freshly lit cigarette he held between two dirt-ridden fingers. Dale chugged a beer, withdrawing the can and leaving a foamy mustache on his face. Cheesy grins framed both of their faces, each daring Allen onward with a wave of their hand.

  As he turned back to the cage, the estranged face met him. Seeing this man so close surprised Allen, and when Gollum growled, it sounded like some abnormal cross between a monkey and a lion.

  Allen jumped back, his heart racing. He steadied himself right away, returning to his stony demeanor instantly. If nothing else, he refused to make the wrong impression on these men. Having never seen one this close, he edged back to the cage.

  Glaring yellow eyes looked Allen up and down.

  Maybe I’m not the only one surprised.

  A starburst of red veins strained at the sides of each of Gollum’s protruding eyes, as if they alone kept the eyes from popping out of their sockets. They almost looked as though they had taken on water, perhaps the effect of the virus filling them with pus. The creature’s dead flesh appeared a dullish gray. Purple arteries and veins covered what Allen could see of Gollum’s body, as if they no longer carried the necessary resource required to maintain life.

  They have to carry something; don’t they?

  Allen could not fathom a monster like this moving so fast, with above average functioning legs and arms, without some form of blood passing through those deadened passageways. But that wasn’t the only strange thing about this creature.

  Showing signs of balding himself, Allen sympathized with Gollum’s lack of hair. Truth told, the brothers were spot on with their assessment; this creature was the spitting image of the Gollum he had formed in his head long ago. He guessed all of the infected resembled that fictitious character to some degree, but none so close as this one.

  An out of place sense of joy rose on Clyde’s face. “See? Told ya!”

  “Little fucker looks just like him, don’t he?” Dale said.

  “Yes,” Allen said. His thoughts were distant, examining the legs now.

  The way the creature sat back on its haunches reminded Allen of a frog. Perhaps, this was in part due to the tint of the flesh. All the same, there was a disturbing familiarity there. The legs were lean, as if the muscles were compacted, similar to how they strengthened plywood. He observed how the muscles functioned as Gollum shifted his weight.

  Allen looked back at the brothers. “How did you capture him?”

  “Bait.”

  Allen found Dale with questioning eyes. “Bait?”

  Clyde agreed, but something still didn’t seem right in his head. “That’s right. Bait.”

  “What did you use? A cat? Dog?”

  They looked at each other as if Allen had missed the point. “We used Clyde.”

  “What? You’re kidding?”

  Both of them shook their heads.

  Allen grinned. “How the hell did you get out of the cage without getting bit?”

  Maybe they didn’t escape.

  What if under Clyde’s clothing there was some seething wound, slowly turning him into one of these horrid creatures. Allen hoped that wasn’t the case, but, all the same, he would shoot Clyde if that ended up being the truth.

  Clyde smiled; his dark gum-lines showing the neglect his teeth had suffered over the years. One tooth looked as though it had once been a gold filling. Now, though, it had faded to something more like tarnished brass. His smile faded as his eyes turned to the carriage, then sheepishly away. “It weren’t no easy thing, I’ll tell ya that much. Those bastards are fast, like shit out yer britches after eating raw crawfish fast. I had me a shovel I used to pry my way by the son of a bitch.”

  Even as the thought occurred to Allen, his mind went blank. “I would think there might be someone out there somewhere who would be most interested in seeing this specimen.”

  Dale twirled his fingers at Allen waiting for his name. “Uh—”

  “Allen. Sorry, it’s Allen.”

  Dale didn’t seem to notice the glower on his brother’s face. “Allen? You think them places would be willing to pay to see such a thing?”

  CHAPTER 6

  The thing about the Toyota Prius was Craig Murphy had read somewhere—maybe Consumer Reports—that this hybrid car was not only excellent on mileage, but it provided options in emergencies. Others agreed with his findings. Sydney thought it probable Craig had been one of those types who read those sorts of reports daily, as he often had opinions on matters like these, valuing one product over another. As for her, she had always bought whatever looked nice. In this current situation, she preferred a vehicle that would invoke a sense of caution to any potential intruders, perhaps a large pickup truck or the like. However, since the generator supplied the energy they needed and they were short on gas, the Prius made sense.

  If they had a larger vehicle, she might have been able to plow right through packs they encountered on the road. However, since the Prius was small, she would be forced to go around any stragglers. One thing about these packs, though; they didn’t give up on a free meal so quickly. And the packs tended to be everywhere, all around them. They should have met several by now. The fact they hadn’t ran into a single one concerned her. If a few of the infected ended up chasing the Prius all the way to Springfield, it wouldn’t be an issue. But she couldn’t help but worry what would happen if a whole pack took interest in them.

  In their absence, she found herself contemplating the packs. It had been ironic, actually rather amusing, to see the various infected party alliances gathered together in a single pack, their differences no longer an issue. The infected grouped together out of what she interpreted as instinct; a thing Sydney thought could only be understood upon becoming one of them.

  Eventually, the larger packs split into smaller ones. Then, they split again. Sydney wasn’t sure what caused the splitting or the separation; whether some were eaten, starved to a second death, or merely roamed about less densely populated areas. All Sydney knew was that every single one of the infected had a nasty bite and an insatiable appetite.

  She had never stuck around long enough to watch anyone change, but she had heard plenty of stories. She was also aware the larger packs stuck close to the cities, primarily because that was where they became infected, but also for the food supply. Larger cities, though destined to have higher concentrations of infected, they also presented the possibility of survivors, though why anyone would stay there baffled her. She supposed some of that came down to how confident one was in their own abilities.

  Sydney felt good about her chances. She had formal training with the sword, back when she was younger and still single. Her dad had taught her how to use guns. She was above average with both weapons. Glancing at Chris, she saw the old shotgun in his hands. She wasn’t sure he knew how to use a gun. He had soft hands, like those of an office worker. Despite his muscular build, it was the sort of strength from a gym and not hard work.

  Noticing her attention, he smiled. She refocused on driving. From then on, she kept her eyes hidden behind her dark shades.

  Gavin had an axe. She wasn’t sure an axe would do anyone much good against these creatures, as such a weapon was slow to swing. At least the old man had a couple of handguns he appeared familiar with, though Sydney believed his draw might be a little rusty and his aim not as good as it once had.

  That meant it would be up to her to protect them best she could, should anything happen. Af
ter several revisions, she had prioritized them for just such an emergency. Gavin came first, because he was still young. The younger a person was, the longer they had to live. She derived this notion from her wishes for her own son.

  Next was a difficult choice. It bothered her that Craig ended up before Chris, as Chris was the younger of the two. It concerned her how this might look to others, should they ever question her about such a choice. But, in truth, Craig had more to offer the group. He was knowledgeable, far beyond Chris, who barely seemed capable of thinking with anything other than his smaller head.

  Her eyes glanced to the rearview mirror again. Chris was still staring at her, waiting for her to do something, no doubt. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. The way he gazed at her made her stomach flutter, and she couldn’t help but let a thin smile form on her lips. She regretted it instantly, hoping it appeared as forced as she thought it was. But she doubted Chris would notice the difference.

  He was a nice enough guy, and Chris did take good care around Orson. That in itself should have been enough for her to at least like him. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself, knowing he would always want more from her. More than she was willing to give to another man.

  Somewhere out there, perhaps very close by, her husband might still be alive. Of this fact, she had little doubt. He always had been a smart man, so calculating in his actions. That was a large part of the reason her husband made it so far up the ranks as fast as he had, during the war. Smarts had never been the problem, though. It was trust that ruined their relationship, and although Chris seemed like a trustworthy guy, she couldn’t allow herself to let him in to her life because of her past.

  Chris appeared cheerful enough even after her smile vanished. But he also seemed to see something was bothering her. “What?”

  From behind her dark lenses, she stared at Chris, considering an excuse. When she found one, it wasn’t her first choice, but the necessary one. In the rearview mirror, a handful of infected trailed the Prius. They were still fairly far away, but as they neared Springfield, the city rising fast on the horizon, she worried her worst fears were coming to fruition. Seeing only a few of them, though, she wondered if this might just be a very small pack. Even then, no matter how small, might one pack draw another?

  Yes, I think so.

  Craig bit down on his lip as he turned around in the passenger’s seat. “Just my luck.”

  Sydney tried to speed up, but the Prius didn’t have the punch she required in this type of situation. She wished she had pushed for the truck, something better suited for the trip. But what resources they had left determined much of what they did or didn’t do.

  At best, they might be able to lose the infected in the streets, once they reached the city limits. With that thought firmly planted, Sydney searched for the right opportunity.

  CHAPTER 7

  The battered carnival cart rolled down the road pulled by two horses to the beat of The Doors. Allen found it somewhat entertaining. These two brothers had cycled through much of their discography already, appearing to never tire of the same old music over and over again. They had already gone through two hours of eighties music and were now revisiting what Allen thought might be Dale’s favorite. Although Clyde hadn’t seemed to enjoy the band, the more he drank, the louder he sang along with The Doors. Whenever the batteries died, they were quick to replace them, and always picked up right where they left off.

  What if they run out of batteries?

  That didn’t appear to be something they worried about, as they seemed to have an endless supply in their packs. Each time the cassette player slowed down, one of the brothers went digging until he rose with glee, fresh batteries in hand.

  Right when Allen thought they might finally be tiring of throwing back warm beer and singing, the “Alabama Song” came on. None of that was so bad out in the middle of nowhere, but Allen was on edge as they approached the city. So, it was good Allen wasn’t much of a drinker. He preferred to stay alert and keep a level head, remain steady with his guns should any danger present itself. And he wasn’t above ditching the brothers to save his own butt if it came down to it. If trouble came knocking down their doors, it would have come of the brothers doing, so they were accountable. Why should he feel guilty about that?

  Allen didn’t have a carriage to tow behind, so he thought he could outrun any threat. He also didn’t owe these men anything.

  Do I?

  He wasn’t so sure. Or was this his conscience rearing its ugly face again, rejecting all logic? It had a nasty habit of doing just that, one of the reasons he had remained with the last group so long.

  When the first of the infected appeared on the horizon, it unnerved Allen. Still singing, both brothers drew pistols, each waving them menacingly in the air. They emphasized the words of the song that made them the happiest.

  “Whiskey bar,” they said together, the only words in the song they seemed to know. They clanked their warm beers together in a toast. Then they aimed their guns at the infected, neither pulling their trigger.

  A concerned Allen, found himself desperate. He wanted to intervene before it was too late, to step in instead of fleeing. Knowing that, he tried to remain calm, a task that was becoming increasingly difficult the louder they became.

  Cooler heads prevailed.

  “Wait till you see the whites of them eyes,” Clyde said, yelling over the music as he nudged his brother.

  Dale rocked forward, his face flushed. Allen watched with curiosity, wondering if maybe he hadn’t made it through the explosion without getting infected. Dale’s face twisted into knots as he tossed his cookies right then and there. A trail of mucous rushed down from his seat, alongside the carriage. Gollum rose from the far corner of his cage, rushing over with sudden interest. His hand dangled out, collecting some of the warm bile, and shoving his moistened fingers in his mouth.

  “Holy shit!” Dale said.

  Concern struck Clyde’s face. “What?”

  “Gollum done ate some of my puke.”

  A brief second of silence followed, then the brothers burst into laughter, clanging their beer cans together as they drank in celebration of the sick act. Allen thought they might have even forgotten about the infected that were chasing them. But when one of the infected came within range, both brothers broke free of their festivities long enough to fire. Both bullets struck the dead soul in the head, knocking it backwards, once more removed from this world.

  Clyde wore the smile of a hunter who had just scored a big buck. “That one’s mine!”

  “Nah! No way, it’s mine. I shot that fuckaroo right square betwixed his brows.”

  “It’s mine I tell ya, now stop your bitchin’ or I’ll smack ya upside yer damn head.”

  An unconvinced Dale turned to Allen. “Which one of us got that bastard first, Allen?”

  Both brothers awaited his answer like children anticipating praise from a schoolteacher. He looked at the dead man, then at the two brothers. “What difference does it make?”

  Frowns formed on both men’s faces. Clyde’s lips curled up in a snarl. “It matters ‘cause we got us a bottle of whiskey, is why.”

  “Wait…” A serious expression pressed to Dale’s face. “You drink, Allen?”

  Allen shook his head. He used to, but hadn’t touched the stuff in quite some time. Mostly, he didn’t want to allow himself such pleasures. He didn’t deserve to celebrate anything.

  “Phew.” A satisfied Clyde’s smile returned. “Thought we were gonna have to kill ya for a second there.”

  Allen laughed, though he wasn’t sure why. He thought he should be concerned to some degree, as joking around seemed to be these boy’s motto. They might not be altogether there, judging from what he had seen thus far. Perhaps, they really were crazy enough to off him if he accepted the kindness of a drink. Until he knew otherwise, he would need to remain careful around them and their strange ways.

  “Here comes another.” Dale said.


  Clyde grimaced. “Now don’t shoot so soon this time. You damn near ruined that last one.”

  “Shut yer mouth. I shot right after you did.”

  “Yee haw! I told you, you fucker. I told you so.” Clyde was so excited he nearly fell off the carriage, catching himself at the last second before toppling over the edge.

  Dale didn’t seem to understand. “What?”

  “You just said, that last one was my kill. I shot first.” He openly mocked Dale. “Unless you think your bullets travel faster than mine for some reason unbeknownst to all mankind?”

  Dale stewed over his slip up. “Double or nothing?”

  Clyde grinned. “Done.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Sydney’s group pulled into town with only a few infected people on their tail. She had an idea how best to handle them, but when she looked in the rearview mirror, there was Chris smiling at her. Even at a time like this—when lives were at stake—his mind was elsewhere, where it shouldn’t be. Knowing that sickened her. Regardless of how she felt about the guy, she had to focus, for all their sake.

  “Chris,” she said into the mirror, “I need you to stay with the car. Have it ready for a quick getaway. And don’t leave unless you absolutely have no other choice. Understand?”

  After further consideration, she thought it a good plan. Craig would be her backup, likely her only reinforcement if things went really bad. She would keep the kid with her, so she could protect him. And Chris? Well, she hadn’t thought Chris would make it right from the start. This would ensure sure he did. Staying in the car should keep him safe.

  “Whatever you say, babe.”

  Babe?