No, sunset meant staying inside with the windows and doors locked, no matter how hot the night air. It meant closing up shop and getting home before dark. It meant making sure the kids were in before the streetlights came on.
And it meant praying you’d still be alive in the morning.
The residents of Rocky Point knew what the Mayor, the Town Board and the police refused to admit. They knew their town was under siege, at the mercy of an unknown force that was out for blood. Even the local papers weren’t reporting the whole truth; partly because the Board wasn’t giving it to them, and partly because the reporters didn’t believe half the stories they were hearing. Ghosts in the night? Alien abductions? Zombies walking the streets? You didn’t dare suggest that kind of story to the Senior Editor. Not unless you wanted your next job to be writing for the high school newsletter. Better to go along with the official story of ‘a new drug on the streets’ and ‘a suspected leak of hallucinogenic fumes into the air, most likely from a meth lab or similar manufacturing site for illicit drugs.’
Sure, it smelled of cover up, but at least it didn’t sound insane.
Unlike many of his friends and neighbors, Tanner Wilson had no concerns for his safety after dark. A veteran of the first Gulf War, he’d used his time in the military to become something of an expert in weaponry of all kinds, from basic survival knives to rocket launchers. He’d also mastered several forms of hand-to-hand combat and self-defense. After completing two tours of duty he’d taken out a veteran’s loan and opened a personal security company. In the years since, he’d built a large customer base of high net worth individuals and medium-sized businesses.
So when four hollow-eyed, disheveled men entered Off-the-Hook Fish & Chips while he waited for his order, he felt no fear. His body immediately went into defense mode, his brain assessing the men as obvious derelicts, probably stoned out of their minds. The reek of their unwashed bodies quickly overpowered the delicious odors of batter-fried fish and hush puppies, which annoyed Tanner more than anything. He’d had a hard day and all he wanted was a greasy meal and a large soda.
One of the men grunted and the four of them spread out slightly, a strategy Tanner instantly recognized as a move to surround him. He glanced back at the counter, saw that the young girl who’d taken his order had already fled into the kitchen.
Smart kid. This is going to get messy.
“All right fellows. I’ll give you one chance. Turn around and take your smelly asses out of here and there won’t be any trouble.”
The druggie directly in front of him made a phlegmy, gurgling kind of sound. The others continued to stare at him with blank expressions. Without warning, they charged him all at once.
Tanner sent the first attacker flying through the air with a roundhouse kick. He let his follow-through bring him within arm’s length of the next one, a wiry teenager with long, greasy hair. Before the kid could make a move, Tanner struck him in the nose with the bottom of his palm and then followed the blow with two quick punches to the midsection. He’d already started his turn towards the other two assailants when it registered in his mind that druggie number two hadn’t gone down.
Shit. They must be fucked up on PCP or something. Feeling no pain.
Incredibly strong arms wrapped around his chest. The man’s stench was powerful enough to start Tanner’s eyes watering but he ignored the foul air and raked his heel down the man’s shin while simultaneously whipping his head back in a vicious blow. Bone broke with a loud crunch and wet liquids streamed down his neck.
The arms didn’t let go.
It came to him then that he might be in more trouble than he’d thought.
“Call nine one one!” he shouted, hoping there was still someone in the back of the restaurant.
One of the other attackers grabbed his arms, held them tight. Tanner struggled but couldn’t get loose. The man leaned forward and Tanner suddenly knew why they were feeling no pain.
Death stared at him from blind, cloudy eyes.
Strong hands pushed him to the floor and pried his mouth open. There was a moment when he feared they were going to pour some kind of drug into him.
Then the creature appeared above him.
The police were still two minutes away when the thing that used to be Tanner Wilson followed the other four men as they climbed over the counter and went into the kitchen.
By the time Nick Travers arrived at Off-the-Hook, it was too late. The first officer on the scene, a rookie Deputy Sheriff only a few weeks out of the academy, lay in pieces on the kitchen floor. He’d apparently arrived as the unknown assailants - four of them, according to the 911 call - were attacking the counter girl, a nineteen-year-old college student named Jennifer Waits. Apparently was the operative term because the officers who’d come after had found spent shell casings on the floor. No sign of the perps, and it was too soon to tell if any of the copious amounts of blood in the kitchen belonged to them.
Jennifer’s half-eaten body had been stuffed into a freezer.
“What about other employees?” Travers asked the room in general. Another Deputy Sheriff spoke up.
“Owner wasn’t on duty. He’s on his way here now. The night shift manager and cook are missing.”
The officer closed his notepad with more force than necessary and shoved it into his pocket. Travers didn’t say anything. He knew the man’s anger stemmed from losing one of their own.
I remember that anger, he thought. Of course, that was back before death and disappearances had become the norm in Rocky Point. Now all he felt was a cold, depressing numbness.
His radio crackled, indicating an incoming call.
“All units, 10-54 on Maple Avenue in front of elementary school. Repeat, 10-54. Ambulance needed.”
Travers couldn’t keep his groan to himself. 10-54. Possible dead body.
That’s it.
He turned and left the restaurant without saying anything. Someone called his name but he ignored them, continued walking to his car. Got inside. Turned off both radios. Started the engine and pulled away from the crime scene.
Heading down Main Street, he saw a woman dart out from between two cars. Two men tackled her in the other lane. One of them looked up, his face highlighted by Travers’ headlights just long enough for Travers to recognize him as Officer Mack Harris, one of the department’s missing officers. Harris’s shirt was torn and bloody.
Harris smiled and then bent down and bit the woman’s face.
Travers steered his car around the carnage and kept driving. When he arrived at his house, he went inside and woke his family.
“Pack up your clothes,” he told them. “You’re leaving at first light.”
* * *
At the same time Chief Travers was stuffing his daughters’ shoes into a suitcase, the ringing of the bedroom phone woke Cory and Marisol from a deep, troubled, sleep.
“Hello?” Marisol tried focusing on the caller ID but it remained fuzzy.
“Something’s happening at the hospital. I think you’d better get down here, fast.”
The line went dead.
“Who was that?” Cory asked, as Marisol sat up.
“John. Trouble at the hospital. He said we should hurry.”
“Damn. All right. Bring the Holy water.”
Five minutes later they were driving through the deserted streets. Although they didn’t see any zombies, signs of their presence were everywhere: broken windows and doors, empty cars in the middle of roads with their engines running, dark stains on the sidewalks.
The hospital was a madhouse when they arrived, with three police cars blocking the main entrance, their lights still flashing. People were running in all directions. Inside, the lobby looked like something out of a disaster movie. Chairs and end tables had been overturned, magazines were scattered across the tiled floor and a large potted palm lay crushed and broken, its dirt spread out around it like granular blood.
Marisol headed for the elevators but Cory pulled her
away.
“No enclosed places,” he said. “Let’s take the stairs.”
John’s room was on the fourth floor and they made it there without encountering anyone.
It was a different story when they exited the stairwell.
Two zombies were in the process of climbing over the nurse’s station. A middle-aged nurse - who’d already been bitten at least once, judging from the blood stains on her white uniform - cowered behind her chair, calling for help. A man and a woman stood near the elevators with twin boys who looked about six years old. The wife was furiously pressing the elevator buttons while her husband shouted at her to get the doors open. Down the corridor in the other direction, screams came from several of the patient rooms.
“Which way to John?” Cory asked, hating himself for not going to the nurse’s aid but knowing they had to get to John.
“That way.” Marisol pointed to their left.
They started down the hallway, Cory holding a baseball bat while Marisol did her best imitation of an action hero, holding a water rifle in each hand.
A zombie sprang out from a doorway in front of them. “Mine!” it yelled, nearly startling the bat out of Cory’s hands. It was the first time he’d heard any of the dead speak. Cory swung the bat just as the zombie grabbed him. There was a sound like ice cracking and the creature’s left arm suddenly had an extra joint between the elbow and wrist.
It showed no sign of pain.
Before the thing could grab for him again, Cory swung a second time, this one a perfectly-aimed blow that split the monster’s head open, revealing pink flesh and white bone. A third strike with the bat shattered the skull and sent pieces of bone and brain across the hall.
Only then did the walking corpse go down.
“Hurry!” he told Marisol. John’s room was still three doors away. More screams came from behind them and he risked a glance back as they ran. The elevator doors had finally opened, releasing five more zombies who immediately attacked the family standing there. Cory caught a glimpse of a dark, shadowy shape attached to the face of one of the children.
That would have been us if we’d taken the elevator.
Cory couldn’t believe how many times they’d managed to escape death in the past few days. How long could their streak continue, especially with the enemy growing in numbers every night?
“Cory!”
He stopped at Marisol’s shout, realized he’d run past John’s room.
Keep zoning out and you will get killed, he chided himself.
“John?” Cory’s heart sank. The bed was empty and one of the chairs overturned. Were they too late?
The bathroom door opened and Cory raised his bat. A figure stepped out, emitting a startled exclamation when Marisol shot it with her squirt gun.
“Hey! It’s me.” John had one hand in the air and the other pressed against his stomach. “I was hiding.”
“John! You’re all right!” Marisol ran to him, would have hugged him but he put his hand out to stop her.
“Stitches, remember? I hope you guys have a plan to get us out of here.”
“Stairs,” Cory said. “They were empty on the way up and hopefully they’ll be that way on the way down. But we have a stop to make…….”
“Todd?” John asked.
“Yeah. He’s in CCU with his mother. Second floor.”
“Let’s go.”
To Cory’s relief, the stairwell was still empty. The second floor was as well. No one moved in the hallways or rooms, which looked like a war zone. Beds and chairs were turned over, papers littered the floor and bloody body parts were scattered everywhere.
They found no sign of Todd or his mother.
“Oh God.” Marisol put her head on Cory’s shoulder. He placed his arm around her, felt her trembling. Warm tears dampened his neck.
“Dammit.” John’s lips tightened, as if blocking his sorrow from escaping. Cory wondered if the man could only express fear and anger, if he kept everything else bottled up inside. Or had all his other emotions been drowned by his years of drinking?
The sound of gunfire on one of the floors above them made them all jump.
“C’mon.” Cory indicated the door. “We can’t stick around. We’ll head back to Marisol’s and figure things out later, when we’re safe.”
“Safe?” John let out a bitter laugh. “There’s no place left that’s safe. Don’t you get it?”
“Get what?” Marisol asked.
“This is the end of Rocky Point.”
Chapter 6
Jack Smith paced back and forth in the Mayor’s private office, well aware it was getting on the nerves of Mayor Dawes and his secretary-cum-current squeeze, the well-endowed and willing Betty Smyrna. They’d been holed up since just after six p.m., going on close to nine hours. The attack had occurred as they’d sat down with the Town Council to discuss emergency procedures. Dawes wanted to continue keeping a lid on things. Jack wanted to bring in the big guns and restore order fast.
When the Mayor had objected, saying the bad press would ruin them, Jack had countered with “But think of the good press you’ll garner by putting an end to the crime wave. We can put a good spin on it. Say you’re not afraid to do what it takes when the town is in trouble. That you’re not a typical politician, worrying more about his reputation than his constituency.”
Unfortunately, Dawes had remained un-swayed. Had it been any other type of problem other than a crime wave, Jack would have been more than happy to let Dawes stay the course and screw things up even more, thereby opening the door to Jack’s ascension to Mayor in the next election. But in this instance, it would be guilt by association for the entire town government, which would not only mean losing any chance of re-election, but probably financial devastation as well. After all, who would do business with someone they considered responsible for needless death and property destruction?
Things had been going nicely, with several of the Councilmen jumping on board with Jack’s proposal, when the sound of breaking glass had disrupted the meeting.
Two minutes later, they’d learned that something far worse than drugs and gangs had invaded Rocky Point.
It was only due to sheer luck that the three of them had made it out of the conference room alive. The room had two sets of doors and the things had entered through the set nearest where Dawes traditionally sat - except he’d been standing next to Betty, reading a file over her shoulder. The other end of the long table, where Jack traditionally sat, just happened to be right by the second set of doors.
The moment Jack saw one of the intruders bite into Councilman
Gilbert’s throat, he’d run for the exit, Dawes and Betty a few steps behind him. The closest hiding place had been the Mayor’s office. They’d barricaded the door with Dawes’s heavy mahogany desk and then called the police station for help. No one had picked up. Jack had tried the Chief’s cell phone, had gotten only voice mail. Dawes had even tried calling the fire department and the morgue.
No one had answered.
It was then Jack realized they were well and truly fucked, that even he had underestimated the problem.
“We should see if they’re gone,” Dawes said for the dozenth time. “We haven’t heard anything in hours.”
Jack didn’t bother answering. He wished he had a gun to shoot the Mayor right in his brainless head. True, there hadn’t been noises for quite a while, but the ones they’d heard earlier - pounding, moaning, screaming - had been so awful he wasn’t sure he’d ever sleep again without nightmares.
What can be going on that the police don’t have time to rescue their own town leaders? It had to be bad. Very bad. Which meant their best bet was staying right where they were.
“But what if—”
“Wait!” Betty Smyrna held up her hand, cutting off the Mayor’s question. “I hear something.”
Jack crossed the room, joining the other two near the door. Sure enough, there was a faint noise. Thump. Thump.
Except it
wasn’t in the hall. It was above them.
“Someone’s in the ceiling,” Jack whispered, motioning them to be quiet.
The others looked up at more thumping and scuffling from above the acoustic tiles. Jack backed away from underneath, then paused. Where could they go? Their best bet was to stay silent and hope the things kept moving.
A light fixture rattled and Betty let out a short cry. She covered her mouth but the damage was done.
Jack added her to his mental list of idiots to shoot.
“They know we’re here!” The Mayor stood up and grabbed one end of the desk and started pushing. Betty Smyrna did the same on the other end.
“No!” Jack cried, but it was too late. The door flew open so hard it knocked Dawes to the ground. The Medical Examiner and several of his staff stormed in, stinking like summer road kill, their faces the same marbled white as the corpses they worked on every day. Two more dropped from the ceiling in a snowstorm of broken tiles. One of them grabbed Betty Smyrna and tore into her with its mouth and nails, spraying blood in all directions.
Dawes screamed, his voice higher and louder than his secretary’s, as the monsters fell on him like hungry dogs.
Jack jumped onto the desk, intending to leap over Betty and her attackers and out the door. For one brief moment he actually thought it might work. Then Corish grabbed him in mid-air and slammed him to the floor so hard all the air left Jack’s lungs in a single breath.
Corish pinned him down. Through a haze of sparkling lights, Jack saw something long and dark reaching for him. Before he could react, a fat, icy python entered his throat, choking him. The colored lights grew brighter as he fought for oxygen.
A thousand voices spoke inside Jack’s head.
The thousand became one.
The Horde opened Jack’s mind and peeled away the layers as if they were nothing more than tissue paper. When it reached the memories of Marisol and Cory, it paused.
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