“I hope it was worth losing your job over.”
Chapter 10
Before going to bed, Abigail Clinton had laid out her clothes for the next day. In the entryway, her purse and keys sat in their regular places, the only deviation from the norm being the bag of prescriptions for Mrs. Randolph that stood next to her purse. She’d noticed when leaving the Randolph’s that Todd had forgotten to refill them, even though he’d promised to do it. Of course, she’d half-expected him to forget. After what they’d done to his brain in the asylum, it was a wonder he could walk and talk, let along think. So she always made sure to check the medicines and food each day.
Abigail believed in being neat and orderly. Before she left her house each morning, Abigail took ten minutes to go through each room of her small, two-bedroom home on the outskirts of the Lowlands, checking that everything was in its place and all dirty dishes, clothes and food containers were cleaned and put away. Unlike most of her neighbors, Abigail was proud of her modest home. She still remembered the house she’d grown up in back in Trinidad, a three-room shack filled with screaming children, dirty clothes and the crumbs from a thousand meals taken in a kitchen so small the children ate in shifts while Mother cooked a seemingly endless supply of fried chicken or goat, supplemented by rice or potatoes or plantains.
So when Abigail arrived in New York with one suitcase and forty dollars to her name, she’d vowed that no matter where she lived, she would create the type of home she’d only seen in magazines.
Which was why she knew something was amiss the moment the sound of glass breaking in the kitchen woke her from a sound sleep. With nothing on her counters for her cats to break, there could only be one explanation for the noise.
Someone was in the house!
Twenty-three years in the United States hadn’t eroded instincts for self-preservation honed by growing up in a city - and country - filled with social unrest. Abigail had learned at an early age how to defend herself; living in the Lowlands the past seven years had only reinforced those lessons. Rising quietly from her bed, she reached out and felt for the short aluminum bat she kept behind the nightstand. There was no need to turn on a light, another benefit of always having everything in its place.
A nervous tingle ran through Abigail’s body as she moved towards the bedroom door, her feet sliding silently across the carpet. The last time she’d had to resort to physical violence was when she was eighteen and two boys had grabbed her behind the school. When the police arrived, they’d found Abigail sitting on the steps, two fingers broken and a tooth missing. Her attackers had been lying on the ground, one screaming and holding his hands over his damaged eyes, the other clutching the bloody mess between his legs.
Something else shattered in the kitchen and Abigail felt her anger rise. How dare someone break into her home and destroy her things? Stepping into the short hallway, she hit the light switch and hefted the bat, calling out a warning at the same time.
“Whoever you are, you get yourselves out of my house!”
Two figures, a man and a woman, emerged from the kitchen. The moment she saw them, Abigail’s rage metamorphosed into heart-pounding dread. Pale faces covered in gray, dead-looking spots. Wet blood covering their shirts. The vacant look of their eyes. It all shouted one thing to Abigail: Zombies!
Abigail didn’t hesitate. She dropped the bat and ran for the basement door at the other end of the hall. She took the steps two at a time, dashed across the small space, and then hurried up the three stairs to the steel hurricane door that exited into her backyard. The bang of metal on metal sounded like an explosion as Abigail slammed the door open and emerged into the darkness of the summer night.
Right into the arms of four more strangers.
They attacked before she knew what was happening, forcing her to the ground and easily tearing away her cheap nightdress. Abigail screamed as she thrashed on the dew-wet grass of her neatly-trimmed lawn. In the midst of her struggles, ice-cold fingers grabbed her face and she opened her eyes to see a demon from Hell hovering over her body. Abigail cried out again, providing a perfect entry for the twisting, roiling gray mass that poured into her mouth. Abigail found herself choking and gagging as the spectral intruder violated her from the inside, forcing its frigid way down her throat and into her very essence.
They’re turning me into one of them! she had time to think and then everything disappeared as her mind and soul exploded into icy fragments. When Abigail sat up a moment later, many more thoughts filled her head.
But none were her own.
* * *
After a few hours of sleep, the four members of the Cemetery Club had gathered again at Todd’s house.
“You two look as exhausted as I feel,” Cory said, taking in his friends’ sallow complexions, shadowed eyes and slow movements.
“Between the hours of research and the constant fire and police sirens, who the hell can sleep in this town?” John groused, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Things are getting bad. We need to do something,” Todd said, putting a plate of bagels on the table. Cream cheese and butter followed.
“But what?” Cory sat down with a sigh. “We know more about the history of the town. We know more about the zombie-things, how to kill them at least. But we don’t know where the Grays come from or how to stop them.”
“Todd does,” John said. He pointed his bagel at Todd. “He did it once and they didn’t come back for twenty years. I say all four of us go down there. If we can’t kill ‘em, maybe we can put enough of a hurting on them to knock ‘em out for eighty years this time. Who the hell cares what happens after that? We’ll all be long dead.”
“Going into the tunnels and facing those things again?” Marisol shuddered. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You think I want to?” John asked. “I’m scared shitless. But better to do it our own terms, armed to the teeth, than get a surprise visit in the middle of the night. Besides, before long the whole town will be either dead or possessed. Then we won’t stand a chance. We have to do it now.”
Todd nodded. “I’m with John.”
Cory took a deep breath. “Okay, so we do this. How and when?”
“Tonight,” Marisol said. “We can’t wait any longer.”
“We’ll need Holy water, Bibles and Eucharistic wafers,” Todd said. “That’s what I used the last time.”
“And flashlights,” John added. “I’m not going down there without a lot of light.”
Todd glanced at Cory. “If you can get the flashlights and anything else that might help us in the tunnels, we’ll take care of the religious supplies.”
“We’re on it,” Cory said. “Flashlights, batteries and squirt guns.”
“Squirt guns?” John asked.
“Yeah. We can put the Holy water in them. Better than just tossing it around.”
“Speaking of guns, does anyone have a real one?” Marisol asked. “We know bullets stop the zombies.”
They all shook their heads.
“Bring whatever other weapons you can scrounge up,” Cory told them. “We’ll meet at Marisol’s in four hours, go over our strategy, eat something and then drive to the cemetery at midnight.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Todd said.
John poured more coffee. “No, it sounds like suicide. But it’s all we’ve got.”
* * *
After Cory and Marisol left, Todd checked on his mother and then left a note for Abigail, who wasn’t due for another hour.
Their first stop was St. Anthony’s church. While John filled several jars with Holy water, Todd went to the rectory and located Father Ramirez, who’d been a good friend of his parents. He’d expected Ramirez to put up an argument about handing over some of the blessed wafers but Ramirez surprised him.
“Your mother and I had many conversations after your father passed,” Ramirez said, handing the package over. “She told me why you’d gone into those tunnels. What you thought was going on. I’m not going t
o ask you to explain yourself but if you think this is something that can help our town—or at least absolve you from any guilt that these deaths might be your fault - then I stand by your actions. God be with you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
On the way out, it struck Todd that for someone who’d turned his back on religion more than twenty years earlier, he certainly had no compunctions about utilizing its trappings when the situation called for it. Did that make him a sinner? A closet believer? Or just a pragmatist?
If we live through this, maybe I’ll have to consider making some changes in my life.
Then he thought that maybe change was better done sooner than later and he paused at the last pew.
While John waited, Todd whispered a short prayer for their safety.
* * *
The first thing Cory and Marisol noticed as they approached the super-sized CVS on Main Street were the signs announcing a mandatory ten p.m. curfew for anyone who wasn’t going to or from work. If that wasn’t enough warning, the front page of the newspaper carried a headline about the drastic step.
“Good thing we know how to sneak into the cemetery,” Cory said. “If the cops caught us breaking curfew tonight, your ex-hubby would probably throw the book at us.”
“He’d throw the whole damn library.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Cory asked.
“Dangerous? No, I can’t see him getting into a fight or coming after us with a gun, if that’s what you mean. Something like that would dirty his oh-so-spotless reputation.”
Cory tossed a few flashlights and some battery packages in his basket. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of him really having us arrested or having me kicked out of town. Maybe even framing us for some of the murders.”
Marisol frowned. “A few months ago I wouldn’t have thought so. But now? I wouldn’t put anything past him. He’s a sneaky bastard.”
“That’s my impression too. One more reason to get this whole mess settled.”
* * *
From his table outside Rosie’s Café, Jack Smith watched Marisol and Cory enter the CVS. Finishing his coffee, he dropped a five-dollar bill on the table and crossed Main Street, keeping an eye on the pharmacy in case they came out before he got there. He wanted an opportunity to see what they were up to before they noticed him. Odds were they’d just stopped in for something innocuous but there was always the chance he’d see or hear something he could use against them.
Of course, they might be buying condoms or body oils. He hated his brain for providing the image of them fucking in the bed his hard-earned money had bought, their sweaty, naked bodies rolling back and forth. That they were sleeping together he had no doubt. Once a slut always a slut.
After peeking through the doors to make sure they weren’t by the registers, Jack went inside and scouted the aisles until he saw them in the row containing children’s toys. He hurried down the adjacent aisle until he was parallel to them. Peering carefully through the gaps in the shelves, he saw they had baskets filled with flashlights and batteries and were now looking at squirt guns, of all things.
A gleeful shiver ran through him.
They’re up to something. I don’t know what it is but I’m sure of it. I think I’ll drop in on Chief Travers and mention what I saw.
Jack Smith smiled at the thought of Marisol and Cory sitting in jail.
What a great way to end the day.
* * *
When the alarm on Cory’s cell phone signaled five p.m., he was already wide awake. Still, he made no move to get up. Everything he wanted out of life, everything he’d ever dreamed of, was in his hands at that moment, and he was loath to let go.
Marisol shifted slightly beneath his arm, a miniscule movement that nevertheless brought him semi-erect again as the smooth flesh of her ass rubbed against him. Without conscious thought, his hand slid from her hip to her breast, carefully avoiding her stitches, and gently caressed the nipple until it grew hard beneath his fingers.
“Mmmm, now that’s how I like to wake up,” she whispered, pushing herself back against him.
He gripped her breast more firmly, surprised to find himself ready again after the love-making session they’d finished earlier. What had started as something tender had morphed into animal lust, both of them taking turns on top until Marisol had screamed with the force of her orgasm and Cory duplicated her moments after.
Is it because we’ll soon be risking our lives against monsters from some unknown Hell? Is there really truth to the old saying that danger makes you extra horny?
He had no idea, but if this was his last time with Marisol, he intended to make every moment count.
Thirty minutes later, satiated and showered, Cory joined Marisol in the kitchen. She’d already placed out flashlights, Swiss Army knives and rifle-sized squirt guns on the counter, along with the knapsacks they’d bought. Despite the lingering heat outside, they both wore jeans, hiking books and long-sleeved t-shirts.
“I guess this is it,” he said, placing his hand over hers. “John and Todd will be here soon.”
She looked up at him. “Cory, there’s something I want to say—”
“Me first,” he interrupted. “You probably know it already but I love you. I always have. When this is all over, I want us to go away somewhere. Someplace where we can drink cold beer and walk around naked on the beach all day and night.”
Marisol wrapped her arms around him. “I’d like that too. I...I feel...”
“You don’t need to say it.” He’d heard something in her voice, a mix of relief and joy and sadness and fear all rolled into a muffled sob. “I know what you’ve been through. Me saying I love you is probably the last thing you want to hear.”
He gave her a long, strong hug and then stepped away. “I wanted you to know how I felt, so that we both had a little...extra incentive to come back alive.”
“What if we don’t? I don’t want to die without telling you I love you, but I don’t want to say it right now just because...you know.”
“We will not die tonight.” He wiped a tear from her cheek. “I promise.”
“Don’t. You might jinx us.”
“Too late. I already said it. And I always keep my promises.”
With that, he opened the refrigerator and took out the chicken breasts he’d had marinating. “Now, time to cook. Lots of protein tonight. We have monsters to kill.” He gave her a smile that he hoped didn’t look too fake.
As he placed the chicken in a baking pan, he prayed she was wrong about jinxes.
* * *
They arrived at the crypt just before twelve-thirty. The short walk from the old church to Gates of Heaven Cemetery was uneventful, but John still breathed a sigh of relief when they reached their destination without encountering any zombies or Grays. He’d been certain there’d be some waiting for them but the cemetery was silent and empty. Only the scattered howls of police sirens in town let them know the creatures hadn’t taken the night off.
“Well, one good thing,” Cory said, as they stood in front of the heavy door. “At least some of the monsters will be occupied elsewhere. That helps our odds for survival a bit.”
“Unless they come back and block our escape,” John said, his face paler than ever in the reflected glow of their flashlights.
“Always the voice of optimism.” Marisol gave him a light punch on the arm to let him know she was kidding.
“If we’re going to do this, let’s get a move on.” The beam from Todd’s flashlight jiggled back and forth, evidence of his shaking hands. He leaned forward and pushed the door open.
Metal scraped on metal with a squeal that vibrated the fillings in John’s teeth. In the center of the floor the pit looked just as menacing as it had twenty years ago, the cement around it cracked and crumbling. A fetid stench rolled past them, a stink John remembered all too well even though he hadn’t smelled it in two decades.
Maybe my nose hasn’t smelled it, he thought as
he covered his face with his hand, but I’ve relived it too many times in my nightmares to ever forget it.
Next to him, Todd gasped and backed away. Marisol coughed and muttered “Oh, Jesus, that is fucking awful.”
The foul odor seemed to grow worse, a horrible invisible monster climbing out of the pit to smother them in coils of evil. John placed his hand against the cold metal of the door frame to steady himself, the combination of smell and touch suddenly too much for him. Something opened in his brain, unleashing a flood of memories from that fateful night twenty years before.
And transported him back to the place where all his nightmares lived.
Section IV
The Circle Closes
Chapter 1
In the tunnels, twenty years ago
In the aftermath of the tunnel’s collapse, John heard nothing except his own cries for help, cries that turned into choking gasps as dirt fell into his mouth, bringing with it the rotten meat taste of the tunnel. He flailed around with his arms, desperate to free himself, praying he was digging up and out rather than down.
Then his head and shoulders broke free and he realized they’d had no more than a few wheelbarrows worth of dirt dumped on them. When he stopped his shouting to spit out grave-flavored dirt, he finally heard Cory and Marisol yelling for help.
“It’s okay,” he called to them. In the total blackness, distance and direction seemed all mixed up. Dropping to his knees, he started digging, doing his best to find where the sounds were coming from. A few seconds later, his hands touched moving flesh and he jumped back.
It’s a monster! the primitive part of his brain shouted at him even as he realized it was just one of his friends, not some bloated, maggot-filled undead thing waiting to devour him. Still, the image wouldn’t leave his thoughts and it took all his willpower to lean forward again and resume digging.
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