Something moves beyond him, drawing her eye.
Karen screams.
* * *
It all happened so fast. Chris never imagined something so small could be so relentless in its attack. He barely got his arm up against the thing's chest before its teeth could sink into him. He rolled toward and through the door, carrying the living dead child with him. As he rolled, he used his body’s momentum to help toss the Tainted child across the alley. It hit the far wall with a sick, wet sound.
What in the world?
Inside, he hears Karen calling his name, but he’s transfixed by the sight before him. It’s common knowledge to know that when something is tossed through the air, it will fall back down. The Tainted child seemed to defy gravity. For a split second, Chris doesn’t understand what he’s seeing—but then comes understanding.
Metal pipes run the up the wall on the opposite side of the alley. Whether they were water pipes or electrical conduits, Chris didn’t know. Many of them were cut—others were simply twisted apart, leaving jagged, rusty edges exposed, like fingers pointing toward the sky as if telling the living the only safe place is amongst the clouds. When Chris flung the child, it struck the wall and fell—directly on one of those jagged pipes. It hung there now, arms flailing, oblivious to the fact that it wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Its chubby little arms reached for Chris. Its tiny voice hissed with hunger—it sounded like a wounded kitten.
He grabbed the machete from the scabbard and leaned forward, listening to the unrelenting sounds coming from the Tainted child. He knew what he had to do. For all intents and purposes, it was already dead. If felt no pain. It felt no love. It felt no emotion at all.
But it was a child, none-the-less. He couldn’t leave it like that.
“Chris?”
That was Karen again. He can’t let her see this.
“Don’t come out here,” he says. He bends over, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach.
There’s a sound, a shoe scrapping against loose rubble.
Karen stands in the doorway, mouth open and screaming.
Chris bolts from the ground, grabs her about the waist, and drags her inside as he covers her mouth to quiet her screams. He whispers that everything will be all right—he hopes his voice sounds convincing because he really doesn’t know if he can guarantee that it will. He can’t help but look over her shoulder at the front of the building—afraid her voice might attract other Tainted.
None come, proving the fact that Karen and her grandfather have made this town about as safe as they come.
Chris leads Karen toward the front. An old desk sits near the center of the room. It's covered with dust and debris from the ceiling above. He wipes away one corner and has her sit.
“Wait here,” he says, hands on either side of her shoulders. Still crying, she nods and turns her head toward the front of the building. He uses his thumb to wipe away some grime from her cheek and before he realizes what he’s doing, he leans in and kisses her. It’s quick and light and takes both of them by surprise.
Her eyes cut toward him. There’s something in those eyes he’s never seen before—never experienced. He recognizes it though because they reflect just what he’s been feeling. He’s been here a little over a week, but during the last couple of days, there’s been a change. He catches himself staring at Karen when she’s not watching. Just last night, the setting sun caught her brown hair in its rays, revealing hidden red highlights. He’d almost reached out and brushed his fingers through her hair but stopped himself just before she turned and almost caught him staring.
What he sees in her eyes now is longing. For Chris, the feeling is mutual.
“Wait here,” he repeats and turns to the rear of the building before he can distract himself anymore. When the Tainted child attacked, he’d dropped his other machete. Being without a weapon is something he tries to avoid. While calming Karen at the desk, he’d kept one eye on the front of the building. But there’s no way for him to know whether her screams had attracted something from the alley. He glides to the back door, peeks out, looks left, then right, and breathes a sigh of relief—there are no Tainted.
Both machetes lie in the alley. One is next to the door, the other is near the center of the alley where he’d been kneeling just moments ago. He’d left it there when springing from the ground to comfort Karen. He retrieves them now and faces the abomination on the far side of the alley. The Tainted child still squirms, hisses, and reaches its little arms toward him. Stepping toward it, he raises the machete…
* * *
The afternoon drags by but doesn’t seem to affect Harvey at all. Quincy seems to have fallen into a restless sleep—just when it seems he’s out, he jerks away, looks around, then closes his eyes again. He does this repeatedly. After watching him for an hour, Harvey realizes that the old man will not be a problem. He doubts the man can even get up without help.
Harvey stands and walks around, taking the time to explore the house and get the layout. There’s nothing spectacular about the place; however, he makes a surprising find—hidden behind a cabinet next to the front door is a double-barreled shotgun. He lifts it, smiles at his good fortune, and puts the barrel up to his nose. Taking a deep breath, he can smell the pungent aroma of recent discharge. In the cabinet are eight more shells—he quickly puts them into his pocket.
He finds guns all the time; however, he rarely finds working bullets or shells. The gun on his hip is a prime example. It's strictly for show as he could not find bullets that’ll fire. He’s not sure if gunpowder degrades over time, leaving the projectiles useless—or maybe everything he’s found has had too much moisture render them duds.
He rubs his hand over his pants, feeling the shells inside his pocket. Either the old man stumbled upon a rare batch of usable shells for the shotgun, or he knew how to make gunpowder and has the resources to do it. Harvey doesn’t care; either way, the gun is his now. He wonders if Bob and Cowboy have working guns or if, like his, they are just for show.
Either way, if these shells are good, then Harvey finally has an ace up his sleeve.
He pulls the butt up to his shoulder and looks down the barrel. Quincy’s head, eyes fluttering as he tries to focus, is inches away. It will be a shame to waste one of those shells, but if Quincy’s granddaughter doesn’t come home soon, he might just have to force the situation with something she won’t be able to ignore.
“Just do it.”
Harvey lowers the weapon. The old man is wide awake now. His skin is as pale as snow, eyes distant as if he’s looking through Harvey and into some other dimension. Maybe he is, Harvey thinks. There are more unknowns in this world now than knowns. What’s beyond this life is only one of those unknowns. Hell, ten years ago death was permanent. That’s not the case any longer. Now, the dead walk with the living—so who the fuck knows what happens when the dead finally die.
“Oh, I don’t think so…not just yet, Grandpa.” He props the gun beside him against the chair and slides his hunting knife from its scabbard. Pretending to clean his fingernails, he says, “You know something…I’ve killed a lot of men in the last ten years. In fact, I’ve killed just as many of the living kind as I have of the dead kind. Most of them with this knife right here.” He points it at Quincy. “It’s going to be really interesting seeing what a shotgun does to a human skull.”
Harvey found it hard to believe that a man as pale as Quincy could get any more white, but that’s exactly what he was witnessing.
* * *
“What the hell is this idiot doing?” whispers Bob. He and Cowboy left the horses on the outskirts of town and was now on foot. They’d heard the sounds of someone walking and ducked behind a line of overgrown bushes. Once the source of the footsteps got close, they saw none other than Poker Jack. He was literally stomping through town and calling out, not in a whisper, but in a normal voice. In his right hand, he holds a four-foot pipe.
Jack is now close enough to hear. “It sounds like he�
��s looking for you,” says Cowboy.
Bob tries to see through the leaves and limbs. “Where’s Harvey?”
“I don’t see him,” says Cowboy, also trying to see farther up the street in the direction Jack had come. “Do you?”
“Nope. Do you think it’s a trap?”
“Bob…Cowboy? Ya’ll here?”
Cowboy stands up—no better way to check on a trap than to just spring it. Bob doesn’t seem to agree, he reaches up and tries to pull him back down, whispering, “What the hell, Cowboy?” Bob gets a knee to the shoulder and falls over. He’s not quiet about it.
Poker Jack freezes in the middle of the street and turns towards Cowboy. “Holy Jesus, I’m so glad to see you.” Jack walks toward him but stops suddenly, seeing that Cowboy has his gun drawn and pointed in his general direction.
“Put the pipe on the ground…and your gun.”
Jack lowers the pipe to the ground. “It’s just for show,” he says, referring to the gun. “I don’t have working bullets…haven’t had any for quite some time.” He looks around then and asks, “Where’s Bob.”
“I’m here,” says Bob, finally getting his feet under him and standing up beside Cowboy. He’s looking around now, too. “Where’s Harvey?” he asks.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you both…I don’t care what the two of you think of me after the last few days, but Harvey has the old man hostage.”
“Hostage? Hostage from who?” Bob asks, confused.
“Apparently the granddaughter is still alive. Harvey wants her.”
“Is she?” asks Cowboy.
Poker Jack shrugs, “I have no idea.”
Cowboy makes his way around the hedge and out into the street. He stops, stoops down, and picks up the pipe Jack had been holding. He studies it, tests its weight in his hands, and then looks up at Jack.
Jack takes a tentative step back.
Cowboy holds out the pipe to him and says, “Take us to him.”
Chapter Ten
“You really look terrible,” she says. It’s the first time she’s spoken in half an hour. Despite waiting inside, she knew what Chris was doing in the alley behind the building. She wonders, will she ever be able to get the image of that child out of her head?
Chris smiles, glad that Karen seems to come out of her silent stupor. He eyes her up and down, taking in the black stains on her clothes and skin. “You don’t look so good yourself.”
“Come on,” she says, sliding off the desk and taking his hand. “I know a place where we can clean up and get some clean clothes.”
She leads him away. Her hand feels good in his. The way they mold together makes him feel as if they were made for each other.
He’s confused too. Not thirty minutes ago, they were in a fight for their lives. Then there was the dead child—which affected Karen in ways Chris would probably never understand. But how could she recover from that trauma so quickly? That was the confusing thing to him. This sudden turnaround wasn’t natural, was it?
Must be the times we’re living in, he thinks. If you don’t adapt quickly, you’ll die or go crazy.
She leads him west and out of the downtown. They leave behind the square boxes that were once businesses and move into a neighborhood of what must have once been the most affluent of society. So far, on this particular street, there isn’t a single one-story home. Most were two-story mansions but there were a couple of three-story buildings. She leads him to one of these. Leading him up the steps to the sagging porch, he can’t help but wonder who used to live here and what they did to afford a house such as this.
“We used to live here.”
“Why’d you move?”
“It was too big and Paw-paw was starting to have trouble going up and down the stairs.”
She leads him inside and closes the front door, making sure that it clicks shut. Then she locks it. Chris finds this a little strange but doesn’t ask her about it. After what she’d been through earlier, it’s no wonder she might want to feel a little more secure.
Before him, a variety of furniture barricades the main staircase. Taking his hand again, she leads him down the central hallway, past the main stairs, a dining room on the right, a sitting room on the left—she leads him all the way to the back of the house and into the kitchen. Along the back wall, a smaller set of stairs rises into the darkness above. When they reach the second floor, she takes him through the first door on the right and into a massive bedroom.
“Here,” she says, opening a trunk on the floor at the end of the bed. “We have clothes stored all over town and try to keep them locked up and protected from rodents and stuff.” She pulls out a men’s button-up shirt and holds it up to him. “This should fit.”
Chris finds some jeans that look about his size too. She grabs the clothes and ushers him through another door—a bathroom. A single sliver of a window near the ceiling is the only source of light—it’s still dark, but gets better as his eyes adjust.
“Wait,” Chris says, feeling a tinge of excitement. “Don’t tell me…ya’ll have running water piped in here too?”
Her sheepish smile is the best thing he’s seen all day. The second best thing—the first was that impromptu kiss. Thinking about it draws his gaze onto her lips. Even with the darkness, he can still make out her face, the gleam in her eyes, the tongue snaking out to wet her lips. He wasn’t to kiss those lips again. But this time, he wants to press himself into her, to taste her.
He turns away suddenly.
Her hand touches his arm. “What’s wrong?” she asks, genuine concern on her quiet voice.
He opens the shower door, reaches for the handle, and turns it on. The shower-head sputters and protests until finally, a steady stream of water flows. It’s brown at first, but after a few seconds it clears up.
He speaks without turning, “I was with someone before.” He shakes his head. He can’t believe he’s about to tell her this. “She was mean and controlling…she used me for her…”
He closes his eyes to the pain. His mouth tries to work, to say the words, but he can’t speak. Her hand touches the small of his back and slowly traces his spine. “It’s okay,” she says.
“No…you don’t understand.” He turns to face her. “I really like you, Karen…but I have a tainted mind. I don’t want what happened with Remy…” His voice freezes in his throat. He never thought he’d be able to say her name out loud—never wanted to say her name out loud. Her name was a curse on his lips and he doesn’t try to hide the poison in his voice.
He summons up the courage to finish. “Remy forced me to do things to her…things I didn’t want to do. She humiliated me and took something that I can never get back.” He takes a deep breath. “She stole my innocence and I never want to be the person who does that to someone else.”
He locks eyes with her and even in the dark room, he can see the slight smile and the sparkle in her eyes. She places a hand flat against his chest, right over his heart.
“Your heart,” she begins, then pauses—feeling it beat. “Your heart is racing.” A look of concern covers her face. “Are you okay?”
He nods. He’s more than okay. “I’ve been feeling like this for a few days now.”
The concern deepens. “Are you sick?”
Chris lifts his head to the ceiling and laughs. When the fit passes, he cups her cheek in his hand and looks deep into her eyes. “No, I’m not sick…It’s you. I feel like this whenever I’m around you.”
Yes, it’s dark, but he sees her blush non-the-less. She playfully pushes him away. “You need to get cleaned up.” She backs out of the bathroom. “And don’t take long. I want a shower, too.”
She pulls the door closed.
He removes his clothes and washes them first. He’ll wear the clothes Karen gave him, but he wanted his usual clothing back and wanted them clean. Finally, he steps under the cold stream of water, closes his eyes, and lets it wash over him. This feeling never gets old. If there was a reason to stay in th
is town indefinitely, the working plumbing Quincy set up is at the top of that list.
But that’s not true either—Quincy taught him how to do it. If there were a water tower and a decent hardware store, he could do the same thing in any town.
He’s just about to turn the water off when he hears a noise behind him.
The shower door stands open. Karen stands there, naked, smiling. “I got tired of waiting.”
She steps in and closes the door behind her.
* * *
“Are you supposed to be keeping an eye out?”
Poker Jack nods. The three of them are across the street from Quincy’s house. They watch it closely but are seeing and hearing nothing from within.
“Okay, here’s the plan…and please, if you can think of something better, speak up.” Cowboy puts a finger on Jack’s chest, “You head about three or four houses up the street…if she’s anywhere near downtown, she’ll come from there.” Next, he turns to Bob. “Circle around to the house behind…keep an eye out on that street. If she approaches from over there, you should be able to see her before she gets to the house. I’m going to wait here. If either of you sees her, bring her here. When she’s safe, we’ll figure out what to do with Harvey.”
He looks at each of them. Neither says a word. “We good?”
They both nod.
“Cool,” he says. “Now, let’s all act like we’re the good guys.”
Jack and Bob head out, keeping low and walking as quiet as possible.
Cowboy removes his pistol. It holds six forty-five caliber rounds, and he has twenty more deep in his jeans pocket. A year ago he had fifty rounds. Only a third of them were good. With those odds, that means that only two of the six rounds in the gun might be good. He has to admit that those odds aren’t good—not good at all.
He realizes now that he should have found some other form of weapon a long time ago. The six-inch blade in his boot was big enough for dispatching the dead—but he never felt he’d ever need anything to use against the living.
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