It was one of those times, that he was startled to look back at the road just in time to see several infected staggering through a narrow gap between wreckage. A garbage truck had crashed into a street pole, tipping it over into the nearby house. The wreck must have caused a domino effect, because along the other side of the road was a tangled mess of vehicles.
Shuffling through the narrow gap were three infected, their clothes bloody and mangled.
Not daring to stop in the middle of the street, Tom instead accelerated toward the group. The bright headlights lit the scene like some macabre stage play. One of them, a portly woman, wore matching faded pink sweatpants and sweatshirt. One of her arms was a bloody, tangled mess. Another looked like a high school student, still wearing a backwards baseball cap and a backpack over his shoulders. The third, farther back from the others was an elderly man with short grey hair and a comical plaid vest. Blood caked his face and neck. In another situation, Tom would have thought the trio was getting ready for some kind of twisted flash mob.
Pink sweatshirt’s head poked out just above the hood, her teeth bared in a bloody grimace. Her eyes never showed a hint of awareness before disappearing below the truck in a sickening thud. Next came Student, never even getting turned around to see the truck before it smashed over him and bounced as he went under the tires. The impact shattered the driver side headlight. The elderly man, seeming more aware of the situation, was actually able to shuffle far enough to the side to avoid getting ground into the pavement like his friends.
Navigating the streets with a single light made the houses and cars seem to close in on them. It was like being in an ever narrowing tunnel, the sides closing in, threatening to smash into their truck.
“See that.” Ben said.
Squinting into the darkness ahead, Tom responded. “Yip…looks like lights on the move.
A few blocks ahead of them, nearly to the freeway, was a soft glow, shifting and bouncing on the pavement. Tom stomped on the accelerator, not wanting to lose an opportunity to find other survivors. Cars and debris were quickly appearing out of the darkness. Focusing intently, Tom dodged through the wrecks, tires chirping with the quick direction shifts.
Directly ahead, the glow continued to brighten, and then suddenly a motorcycle zipped across the nearest intersection and into the darkness. The red glow of the taillight remained briefly burned on Tom’s retinas, before fading away. Stomping on the accelerator, he flew down the road before tapping the brakes briefly to crank around the corner. The tires squealed and the cab lurched to the side, nearly tipping.
A half block ahead the single red taillight could be seen glowing.
Easing off the accelerator, not wanting to frighten them, Tom flashed his light several times. The motorcycle seemed to slow. No brake lights, but it was definitely letting them catch up. Just as it passed a wrecked van lying on its side, the bike hit the brakes and darted in behind the protection of the tipped over vehicle.
Tom eased up next to the bike while Ben hit the button to lower his window.
“No way!” Ben blurted out.
Looking over to the passenger window, Tom could hear two voices from below, both familiar. Both Hank and Rachael’s excited faces suddenly filled the window.
“Get in, get in.” Tom said.
Not needing to be spurred on, Rachael opened the rear door and slid in across the long bench seat, laying the crossbow next to her. Reaching over the front seat, she wrapped her arm around Tom’s chest and said, “Thank God. I didn’t know if I would see you again.”
Tom turned and looked over his shoulder to see tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s really good to see you guys. I didn’t know who was on the motorcycle…we could hear it a ways off.” He patted her hand that rested on his chest and looked out the back window to see Hank setting a couple small gas cans in the back.
After Hank piled into the back and closed the door, Tom said, “Worth throwing the motorcycle in the back?”
Hank shook his head. “No way, that was the hairiest ride I’ve ever been on, like running around tapping on hornets’ nests in your birthday suit. Sounds exciting, but really it’s just plain terrify’n.”
Tom turned and sped away from the bike.
“Danny?” Rachael asked from the back.
“We haven’t even looked for him yet. He’s still out here.” Ben replied, clearly angry about the situation.
Tom said, “I’ve been trying to get fuel and transportation first.”
“Well, let’s go find his sorry butt.” Hank added from the back, sensing an argument brewing.
After several minutes of dodging through wreckage and navigating narrow streets, they were back to what they all agreed was the scene of the attack that had separated them. They drove slowly down the street, stopping directly in front of the house that Tom had last seen Danny disappear behind. Still holding the flashlight from earlier, Ben jumped out before anyone could say anything, oblivious to the dangers. Tom backed the truck up a bit and angled it so that the headlight lit up the space between houses.
“I’m going to follow him. Hank, hop up here and jet out of here if you have to.” Tom said.
Rachael started to say something about how bad of an idea this was, but he was well aware of that and already out the door into the cool night air. The sounds of infected still echoed through the small houses. Without street lamps, he was barely able to see halfway down the block before shapes faded into black.
Gripping the pistol, Tom stalked after Ben, using the truck headlight to find his way. The space between the houses was narrow, mostly taken up by several large shrubs that were big enough to be trees. The air smelled damp, earthy.
Tom could see Ben’s light bobbing in the darkness just beyond the reach of the truck’s headlight. He chased after the glow as it rounded the corner that led to the back of the house.
Just as he turned the corner there was a loud shout, “No!”
The light sat motionless near the back of the yard, pointing down at the ground just out of Tom’s vision. He did not have to see what Ben was looking at to know he had found his brother.
Running up next to Ben, he looked down at what was left of Danny. The level of gore was more than he ever could have expected. Sneakers and tatters of his green shirt were all that were recognizable. Most of his face appeared chewed off, leaving bits of gristle and bone in a mound of red. The rest of his body had fared no better. Legs, arms, chest, stomach, all ripped up and only vaguely identifiable. The grass all around was smeared in bloody footprints from the feeding frenzy.
Like getting startled by a lightning bolt, Tom suddenly realized they were just standing there, exposed, likely with infected nearby. If none were close initially, Ben’s scream was sure to draw them. Tom spun around, pistol out. Other than the faint light spilling between the houses, he saw only darkness.
Turning back to Ben, he whispered, “We gotta get out of here.”
Ben spun around, lunging at Tom, knocking both of them to the ground. “You killed him! You killed Danny!” Spit flying out of his mouth, he continued to scream obscenities at Tom.
The flashlight lay in the grass, partially spotlighting the two men.
All of Ben’s weight pressed down on Tom’s chest, his arm’s pinning him to the ground. Tom struggled to breath under the weight. He knew he could bring the pistol to bear, but Ben did not deserve that. He was pissed. Rightly so, just at the wrong person. The infected had killed his brother, Tom was his punching bag.
“I told you…we left him…” Ben choked up, sobbing, and then finished with a growl of frustration, still holding Tom to the ground.
Tom heard another growl to his side. Twisting his head, he could see several slow moving undead shambling into the light, their shadows huge and distorted on the nearby house. Their movements were slow, but methodical. They had more prey in sight.
“Coming…their coming.” Was all Tom could whisper out, his voice barely audible even to his own ears.
/> Ben continued to put all of his weight down on Tom’s chest, screaming obscenities in his face. Tom no longer heard Ben’s words, but only watched as the slow procession continued to approach, nearly to them. He could now see that they were covered in blood. Long red globs hung from their chins.
With the undead nearly on top of them, desperation took over. Raising the gun up next to Ben’s head, Tom pulled the trigger. The loud boom echoed through the night.
Startled by the sudden noise and concussion right next to his head, Ben twisted to the side, letting off of Tom’s chest. This was just the relief he needed. Quickly raising his right shoulder, he heaved Ben off of him and rolled onto his side. Firing rapidly, he began dropping the undead. The first two fell to the ground, nearly landing on Ben. Several more continued their slow onslaught. Trying to get to their prey, the next wave began tripping over their fallen brethren. Tom sat up to get a better angle on them and gain distance from their reaching grasp. Squeezing the trigger, the left side of the first undead’s head blew off in chunks. Continuing to rapidly pull the trigger, the lifeless bodies piled up in a grotesque heap of twisted limbs.
Tom had not been counting the shots, instead firing rapidly out of sheer desperation. He noticed Ben backing away into the dark to his right. Two undead remained as Tom felt the deflating sensation of the slide locking back into place on an empty magazine. Gaining his feet, he turned to run.
Hank’s shadowed form came rushing out of the darkness, crossbow at the ready. Tom heard a high pitched whistle as a bolt flew past him, slamming into one of the undead. Turning, he saw the lead walker pitch over with a bolt sticking out of his forehead.
“Get to the truck!” Hank shouted while hunched over reloading.
Instead of listening, Tom waited for him to let loose the second bolt. Immediately after the second undead dropped to Hank’s shot, Tom ran in and yanked both bolts free of the corpses. Turning to race back to the truck, he could hear howls throughout the town, many sounding very close.
Hank’s silhouette disappeared around the side of the truck as Tom sprinted toward the bright headlight.
“Get in, they’re everywhere.” He heard Hank shout from somewhere inside.
Tom leapt into the bed of the truck, landing hard on his side. “Go!” he shouted. Rolling onto his back, he grabbed his shoulder, pain shooting down his arm. Unsure yet if it was a serious injury, he just hoped they hurried and got out of here. The growls and screams were right outside the truck. Several loud thumps sounded as the demented slammed into the side of the truck, shrieking in rage. Their screams were blotted out by the squealing of tires as Rachael stomped on the accelerator.
As they were pulling away from the nightmare, Tom saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw a pair of blackened, swollen hands reaching up into the truck bed. With an angered growl, a head popped up over the side. It was a middle aged man with dirty, cracked skin, his eyes red and swollen. Pulling back his lips in a grimace, the demented heaved a leg up and over the side, climbing into the bed.
Rachael swerved hard, trying to shake him off the back.
The movement caused Tom to shift onto his shoulder, pain shot down his arm and up into his skull. Looking back, he saw the demented still clinging to the side, nearly in the truck bed. Desperately, Tom began rifling through the items lying in a mess next to him.
With a thud, the demented dropped into the truck near Tom’s legs. It immediately began scratching at Tom's legs, tearing and pulling at him. Tom tried to kick at it, but could not get his legs out of the thing’s grasp.
The truck came skidding to a stop, tires screeching, and white smoke rolling in billowing clouds. Tom slammed hard into the rear of the cab as suffocating smoke washed over him. The air smelled of exhaust and burnt rubber. Right in front of him, the demented’s face screamed with anger, opening his mouth to take a piece out of Tom. Lifting his left forearm, Tom pushed back with everything he had, trying to keep the demented away. He could hear shouts to the sides, and the truck bounced as someone climbed in. With amazing speed, the thing was ripped away from him and flung out the back of the truck. Ben stood at the back, watching the thing fall to the pavement.
Hank came rushing around the back and disappeared out of view, only sickening thuds and grunts of exertion could be heard.
Tom tried to get to his knees, but his muscles would not listen. They trembled, trying to obey, but had finally run out of fuel. He heard the tailgate open as Ben reached down, pulling him to his feet.
“Let’s get out of here.” Was all he said.
Chapter 10: Dawn
Before even getting out of bed, Kelly knew something was wrong. It was not the rhythmic pounding that still came from downstairs, but instead the lack of all other sounds. Like every house, her's had noises. They were the noises that woke new home owners, ticks and snaps that startled them in the night, but having lived in the house for more than ten years it was their disappearance that seemed so loud.
Rolling over in bed, she checked to be sure Sam was still next to her. Head resting on his balled up “Blankie,” arms splayed out to his sides, he slumbered the deep, peaceful sleep that only toddlers could obtain. Looking down at him, she nearly felt the ugly world slip away, his calm innocence nearly bringing her to tears.
Whispering, she said, “I’m so sorry baby. You don’t deserve this.”
Sitting up, she looked at her alarm clock, its face stared back, black and dead. She tested the lamp and found it dead as well.
Working her way downstairs, she tested a few switches on the way, confirming the power outage. Nearing the base of the stairs, she was still amazed the pounding at the front door still continued. It had slowed and become quieter over time, but the Chandlers were relentless.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she found the rooms dark, lit only by the slivers of light slipping their way around the wood shutters. Small dust particles fluttered in the sunbeams, like tiny butterflies basking in the sunlight. She peered into the darkness, sensing something there. Only after several minutes of standing did she decide it was the deep silence, interrupted only by the pounding that had her mind playing tricks on her.
Use to the house in the night, she was able to make her way to the kitchen. Once there, she rummaged through the junk drawer until her fingers found the cold metal of the flashlight. Clicking it on, she began scanning around the kitchen, knowing a bloody, angry face would appear out of the dark. Her heart raced. In her mind she could already see the hideous face, opening its mouth to chomp down on her flesh. She wanted to shut the flashlight off, close her eyes and race back upstairs.
Nothing’s going to be there. You’re just being paranoid.
Only after scanning the kitchen and making a loop through the entire downstairs, did she begin to feel better. Now standing near the front door, she listened intently, wondering if there were others with the Chandlers. The sound was staggered, but rhythmic, not seeming to come from more than one or two people.
A shuffling noise from behind her caused her to spin around, flashlight aimed at the stairs.
“Mommy.”
Partway down the stairs stood Sam, wearing only his super hero underwear, Blankie draped over his shoulder.
“Honey, it’s early.” Walking over to him, she said, “Why don’t we climb back in bed for a little while.”
Sam nodded his head and turned to lead the way. Kelly began to follow him, but stopped when she heard a new noise. It sounded nothing like the pounding at the door and as she listened intently she could tell it did not even originate from there. This was coming from somewhere near the back of the house and sounded more like scraping.
“Go ahead and climb back in bed, Mommy will be right there sweetie.”
She continued to watch him climb the stairs while listening intently, trying to pinpoint the source. Slowly walking down the hall, light shining into the darkness, she decided the noise was coming from one of the two back rooms. It was either the office o
r the laundry room, both of which she had previously checked for an intruder.
Hesitating, she wondered about returning to the bedroom to grab the shotgun, feeling a weapon would be very comforting about now. Thinking for a moment, she decided having found nothing on her initial sweep of the downstairs, she would continue along the hall.
The noise reminded her of cats scratching at wood to sharpen their claws. Tearing and scraping that could be felt at the base of a person’s neck. The scraping got louder as she neared the doorways. Before she even reached the opening, she knew the noise was coming from the office and not because of the sound, but instead the flickering light on the floor.
Turning into the office, she immediately saw the wooden shutters shaking and something wedged between them. The piece of metal slid up and down, nearly touching the glass. She was unsure if whatever was outside knew what it was doing, but even if it did not, it was about to flip the metal hasp that held the shutters closed. Enough of a bump and through blind luck it would have them open, and then only the thin glass would separate her and Sam from the horror that desperately wanted in.
Standing in the doorway, her heart began to pound in her chest each time the metal hit the hasp, nearly knocking it from its perch. Knowing something had to be done, she used both arms to sweep all the paperwork that lay on the desk off onto the floor. She slid the desk across the wood floor and tipped it up next to the window, blocking all but the top few inches.
With the racket caused by moving the desk, the scraping became louder, desperate. The small room was filled with the distinctive crinkle of breaking glass. The shutters still held, but enough force was applied to the metal to pry them apart and hit the glass, sending shards falling to the floor behind the upturned desk.
Before she was able to better fortify the window, there was a sudden clatter from somewhere toward the front of the house. Her heart raced as she spun and ran for the living room to see what was going on.
Flashlight in hand, she scanned the living room and saw that one set of window shutters was rattling from something outside shoving at them. No sooner had she determined the source of the noise, than the next set of shutters began the same shaking and banging.
The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented Page 14