Teddy watched the dresser vibrate as several fists pounded on the door behind it. There were at least three people out there with his father now, and he was sure more would be joining them.
What the hell is wrong with everyone? The thought raced through Teddy’s mind as he stood stunned and panting inside his father’s bedroom. They were all messed up to varying degrees, with his own father the least so. He remembered his father saying that someone had bitten him. Perhaps that was what caused this. Someone with rabies or hepatitis was out there attacking everyone, turning them into homicidal maniacs.
The more his mind spun, the stranger Teddy thought it was that no one out there appeared to be attacking anyone else. They were all after him, not one another. Teddy held the rifle in front of him as he glanced furtively over to the window. No one had attacked his dad—he couldn’t hear any brawling going on outside the bedroom door—and yet they all wanted to get at him. Why?
Taking one last look around the room, Teddy cursed. No telephone. His father only had one phone, and it was next to the couch. The man refused to get a cell phone, and it damn near took a court order to get him to buy an answering machine. There weren’t too many people to whom Joe was interested in talking anyway, and that left Teddy in a bind. What the hell was he going to do? In answer to his silent query, the sound of the bedroom door cracking made Teddy take a step back, deeper into the room.
The truck! His father’s truck was parked next to the house. The dilapidated old shack didn’t have a garage. Just a cheap sheet-metal cover that served as a carport. The old, beat-up Chevy S-10 sat underneath it with the boat attached behind. Teddy had always shaken his head at the amazing luck his father displayed in driving back from the small lake where he fished. They were out in the country, so he was almost always able to avoid the cops on his drunken returns home. He was not quite as good with trees and fence posts, though. The truck had suffered some pretty nice dings and dents, and Joe spent plenty of his free time fixing neighbors’ split-rail fences. Fortunately for him, they were just as apt to get ripped and do the exact same thing, so they were more or less forgiving of his indiscretions.
But where were the keys?
He thought back to his father’s return. The old man didn’t carry the damn things in his pocket like a normal person. If Joe remembered to get them out of the truck, he would usually toss them on a counter somewhere or into the midst of a pile of trash he had not cleaned up in months. “My cleaning lady will get to it, but this is her year off.” Some lame joke like that was always his excuse. When Teddy tried to clean up once, his father told him to leave it. He’d left the boy’s mother so he could get away from dealing with crap like that.
As the bedroom door splintered and the dresser shuddered, Teddy thought hard. He couldn’t remember his father doing much more than throwing up and passing out when he got home. That and talking about getting bitten. No keys. Were they still in the truck?
The question was rendered moot as the dresser moved and the door behind it gave way. The moaning outside grew louder, and it sounded like a lot more fists were pounding on the front door as well.
Teddy moved to the window and peeked through the blinds outside. Nothing. Just the weedy back yard that seemed to stretch for a mile. No more shambling forms. Anyone who’d been moving toward the house was probably already inside and trying to get at him through the bedroom door.
The window was fairly small and was set at chest height. Outside of the dresser and the bed, there was not much to climb on in the room. It would take too long to move the bed to a spot beneath the window. Being short was sometimes a real disadvantage. Teddy couldn’t remember how he managed, but he was able to slide the window open and pull himself up just as the dresser toppled over and crashed to the floor. He tossed the rifle outside as the sock full of cartridges swung like a pendulum from where he had tied it to his sweatpants.
Before sliding through the window, Teddy took one last glance back into the room, which was a big mistake. He froze halfway out the window as he stared into his father’s eyes.
The man was dead. They all were. Looking at Marge Chilton had not convinced Teddy of that, nor had seeing Phil, even with his guts ripped out. But looking into his father’s eyes as the man climbed over the toppled dresser made Teddy realize they were walking corpses. Every last one of them.
Teddy almost died alongside them right then and there. He continued staring at his father, stunned by his realization. His father was dead, but somehow moving toward him. The teen stood frozen in place as his father crept ever closer. Soon Joe would grab his son by the legs and pull him back inside, where everyone in the neighborhood would do unspeakable things to him. Then he would become one of them.
That was when Teddy felt the hand yanking him out the window.
He screamed as he fell to the ground, knocking down whoever had pulled him outside. His legs had been scraped up in the fall, and the bag of bullets had landed on his back, knocking the air out of him and leaving some nice gouges there as well.
Teddy rolled away, trying hard to catch his breath as the other person climbed to his feet. The boy rolled to his back so he could see what was going on. As he looked up, he discovered that his savior was one of them.
He didn’t recognize the man. One of the straps of the fellow’s denim overalls was missing. So was his right arm.
Teddy gaped at the man and once again felt as if he couldn’t move. The rifle was behind the ghoul, out of reach. Not that he could manage his first shot with the weapon anyway. There was no way in hell. The only thing he could do was run.
Teddy scooted backwards, but the man was moving faster than he could scoot. When he moved, he heard the bag of bullets making noise as the cartridges clicked together in the sock. He reached and tugged at it. He had tied it to the pull string of his sweats, and it had tried to break loose when he fell, but remained where he’d put it. Teddy had tied it tight, wanting it to remain snug against his body. Now he cursed as he struggled to get it loose.
The memory of how long it took to fumble the sock free played over and over in Teddy’s dreams for days. In reality, it took less than a couple of seconds before he was able to launch the makeshift sling at the man. In truth, he flung the sock well before the man could lunge for him. But in his dreams, it was always one second too late …
Teddy watched as the weighted sock traveled upward and smacked the stiffening corpse in the nose, causing the man to stumble. After a moment, the monster regained control of his erstwhile feet and moved toward Teddy again. By then the boy had snapped out of his trance and was on his feet, slipping backwards, away from the man. The truck was parked on the side of the house, past the pus bag in front of him. But that wasn’t the only problem: someone was stepping out the back door of his dad’s house, and others were following.
A voice inside Teddy’s head managed to cut through all the static and noise racing around in there. It whispered that he already knew that he was faster than any of these people. All he had to do was move, and move quickly, and there was no way in hell they could catch him.
He took the voice at its word and ran straight at the man. This seemed to take the slug off guard a bit, and it nearly toppled over. Teddy feigned another move, and the klutz did fall over this time. Moving past the wriggling form, he snatched up his father’s rifle and then darted around the other dead figures pouring from the house as he ran to the truck.
The keys weren’t in the ignition.
Teddy slammed his fist against the window and was tempted to shoot the damn thing out of frustration. That was when he saw the keys. They were on the floorboards beside a discarded fast food bag. Yelping with glee, Teddy tugged on the door handle and got into the truck. He crammed the key in the ignition and tried to start it. The engine wouldn’t turn over.
The wretched thing was fifteen years old and holding on for dear life. It had some hard miles on it and had been a good truck for many years, but it was well past its expiration date. Te
ddy, who had never driven before, was winging it. Thankfully it was not a standard transmission, or he would have been forced to run instead. He was reasonably sure he could handle an automatic.
When the first fist slammed against the glass, Teddy nearly wet himself. He stomped on the gas pedal and twisted the key again. Nothing. He remembered his father cursing the old beast a time or two and bitching about having flooded it. About how temperamental she was, almost as bad as his mother. Teddy cursed himself and brought the rifle up. There were more monsters coming.
He saw the first one moving its fist down toward the door handle, and he locked it, wondering in amazement why he hadn’t done that in the first place. After another few moments of staring at the man close up, he leaned over to click the passenger-side lock down as well.
For the next few minutes, Teddy Schmidts felt like he had been condemned to hell as punishment for not playing football as his father wished. Joe Schmidts became a drunken loser because his son was a great disappointment, but that wasn’t punishment enough for Teddy. No, he was going to be surrounded by his father’s disgusting neighbors so they could drag him down to the fiery pits, kicking and screaming.
That was when Teddy saw his father again. Having failed to follow his son through the window, the old man had come through the back door. The other neighbors in the room had followed and were out on the lawn, making for the truck. There were ten or more, and Teddy was certain he recognized at least half of them.
Later, Teddy thought a great deal about the seemingly endless time he spent behind the wheel of the idle truck. Perhaps he should have died then. Maybe it would have been easier. He considered putting the rifle in his mouth and pulling the trigger. Contemplated it, but never took the idea seriously. It was no more a viable option to his way of thinking than shooting out the window and trying to blow away all those dead people. Maybe shooting one would scare the others off, but Teddy had a sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t be bothered by such an effort. Half already looked like they had been mauled by wild dogs or worse. A mere rifle blast would probably just get them more excited.
After forcing himself to wait the necessary amount of time (based on the number of curses his father usually got out when he dealt with the flooded engine), Teddy was able to get the engine to turn over. When it started up, the rotters became even more agitated and slammed their fists into the truck even harder. Teddy flipped it into drive and lurched out of the carport. The boat tagged along for the ride, at least until he turned his first corner and it flipped off its carrier. Apparently his father hadn’t done a good job of securing it on his return trip from the lake, so the ten-foot-long fishing boat ended up in a ditch.
Teddy, who had been bound and determined to make it home to his mother’s after fleeing his father’s place, ended up crashing into a tree a couple of miles down the road when he attempted to avoid hitting an elderly man who he recognized from town. The old codger had been infected like all the rest. Fortunately, Teddy was able to escape the truck before Russell Torrance could attack him. Russell was the oldest citizen in Ellington and had a gold-plated plaque to prove it. It had even been signed by the mayor. Now he was just the oldest ghoul in town.
Teddy spent the entire night trying to find a way past the infected so he could get to his mother’s, but had no luck. After a sleepless night hiding out in the woods near town, he realized he had to leave Ellington. The area was swarming with those bastards. There had to be someone, somewhere, who would know what to do. Teddy hoped that his mom had escaped, but it was hard to believe that she had gotten out past the mess their town had become. She lived near the center of town, and the entire area was toast. Several fires had been started, and he could hear gunfire and sirens off in the distance. He prayed for her, but was already beginning to accept that she was gone for good.
The next few days were a nightmare of hiding and hoping. When he was finally discovered by Michael’s group, Teddy had traveled nearly twenty miles from Ellington and had only vague recollections of what he had eaten and drunk to stay alive.
***
Teddy glanced over at Ray. He was his only friend now. His father was dead, and so was his mother. Of that he was certain. Unlike George, he’d seen the devastation wrought upon his hometown and knew there was no chance she had made it out alive. He spoke to her on the phone just a couple of hours before his father got back to the house on that fateful Saturday, and she told him she was going to stay inside for the rest of the day. There were strange reports on the news that were freaking her out. It was probably no big deal, but she asked him to be careful and not do anything foolish, at which Teddy had rolled his eyes. Like what, Mom? Get drunk with Dad? He didn’t say it, but felt mild contempt for her concern, like any teenager would.
Thinking back on that conversation, Teddy was filled with tremendous guilt at the disdain with which he’d treated his mother. She told him she loved him, and he mumbled a response, like he always did, before hanging up. That was the last time he ever spoke to her—ignoring her warnings and grunting at her like some sort of animal. I’m so sorry, Mom. I DO love you, and I should have listened … not only then, but every time you tried to tell me something.
It took some time, but Teddy also realized soon enough that he loved his father too. Despite the man’s flaws, Joe had revealed himself, on occasions when he was sober, as a man who actually cared about his boy. It was clear to Teddy that his father was embarrassed about his failings and what his life had become … not that he would ever admit it. Joe might not be the greatest dad in the world, but he didn’t deserve what had happened to him.
None of them did.
Ben
Author’s note: While most of this is flashback, the initial and final setting is immediately after Ben has rescued Jeff and Ray in Manchester and they are running back to the RV camp with a pack of undead hot on their trail.
Ben didn’t bother looking back at Jeff. It was wasted effort, and efficiency was the hallmark of everything Ben did out in the open these days. Pausing to make a decision about what to do could be fatal. He knew the path he was running on, so it wasn’t as if he had to make any random choices anyway. The route he had taken was one that would distract and frustrate, then confuse and baffle the simpleminded stiffs following him and Jeff. It was a piece of cake.
Once the group had decided that RVs were their best bet for staying alive, it had been Ben’s job to find a place to park them. And once he’d found a home for them at the edge of Manchester, he’d focused on committing the streets, buildings, and neighborhoods of the small town to memory so he would know all the threats and dangers that he would be forced to face in the future.
There would be no accidental dead ends and no second chances needed for his trip back to the RV camp. Even with a hundred-and-sixty-pound kid on his back and a wheezing, out-of-shape man trudging along behind him, there was nothing in the town of Manchester capable of stopping Big Ben from making his way back to safety.
***
Before today, it had always been quiet in the small town. A few wretched figures tucked away here and there, oblivious to his movements throughout the area. Once they realized one of the living was amongst them, it was always too late for that unfortunate individual. Ben didn’t waste arrows or bother pulling his knife out. If he spotted a single ghoul, almost without fail, he would move in and drive its head into the pavement before any synapses fired in its messed-up brain. One quick, fluid movement. Once you learned how to do it, it was hard to forget. The results of his assaults were generally all the same: they were rarely noticed by the other infected nearby, and there was a limited amount of mess.
Most of the bodies were dry. Blood and other fluids that were a part of the normal human body had often already evaporated or leaked out of the stiffs Ben put out of commission. So when their heads met the pavement, if he did it correctly, there was no splashback, no gory splatter. No muss, no fuss.
Most of the shadow people, as Ben liked calling them, were n
ot restless enough to investigate another decommissioned ghoul after it hit the pavement. They mostly hid in the dark, perhaps to avoid the detrimental effects of the sun on their deteriorating physiques. Whatever the reason, he was thankful that they didn’t bother investigating the corpses of their own kind after he executed them. Dealing with singles limited his headaches.
If there was more than one, it was best to hide and wait for them to depart. Only a small percentage could sniff the big man out, and if Ben did not want to be heard, they simply did not hear him. Of course, when he was discovered, it tended to be over before the ghouls knew it.
If it weren’t so sad, it might be comical in a dark and twisted way: he could swear he saw the surprise on their faces when he crushed their throats. That first little maneuver was so they couldn’t alert their buddies with excited moans that came with their discovery of warm flesh. Sometimes there was enough time to see what might pass for fear on their faces just before he crushed their heads beneath a giant work boot or cracked their skulls with whatever blunt object might be handy. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for those tormented beings. Almost, but not quite enough to give him pause in his duties. If he slipped up, he might get bitten, so there was no room in Ben’s heart for sympathy for those already dead.
Spending time out in the wilderness of the world was therapeutic for Ben. A thousand times better than that shrink he had paid to try to unscramble his brain a couple years back. Back then, it had all been about trying to forget the life he had led, in all its lurid glory. It had been hard to do, nearly impossible at times. So it seemed amazing that something as simple as a name change did such wonders for his soul.
The Dark Trilogy Page 72