"For now," I said.
Wesley took off in pursuit after the half dozen primitives that were running through the woods. I followed him.
We chased them to the end of the driveway, then stopped, placed them in our sights and tried to take them down. They kept going. One was knocked out of commission amid a cry of surprise and pain. I kept shooting at the others, but moving targets are a bitch to hit, as I've found out.
"Shit," Wesley said. He looked panicked. His eyes were wide with surprise and shock. "Goddammit, those things heard Naomi call out to them! She's been fucking calling them the past few days and they heard her!"
"They were coming to rescue her," I said, panting from the exertion of our firefight. I was watching the remaining five primitives become small specks in the distance.
"Goddamn right they were," Wesley said. He was watching the retreating primitives, too. I had the feeling that if he had a vehicle handy he'd take off in pursuit and hunt those remaining primitives down, killing them for the sheer revenge of it.
"Fuck." For the first time since our skirmish erupted, I was consciously aware of my surroundings. I scoped out the area, the trees, the driveway, and the house. Several primitives were dying, some howling in pain.
"You got any more ammo?" Wesley asked me.
"Yeah."
"Let's finish these fuckers off and get out of here." Wesley headed back toward the house and shot the first wounded primitive he saw. It ceased to howl as its brains spattered the gravel driveway.
As I helped Wesley take down the remaining primitives, my injuries became readily apparent. I was wobbling on shaking legs; my right leg was weak from what was obviously a massive charley horse on the muscle of my inner thigh; my right shoulder throbbed with agony. I could feel blood trail down my chest. I paused to check out the bite wound quickly. It looked ugly; motherfucker had sunk his teeth in good. The wound was a crusty mass of red and was beginning to swell.
Wesley stepped up to the porch that led to the mudroom. He pointed the muzzle at the big male primitive that had bit me and fired two shots into its head. For a brief moment I was mad at Wesley for doing that. I wanted to be the one to kill that fucking thing.
Wesley turned to me. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
"Change of plans," Wesley said as he stepped off the porch and headed towards me. "We're getting the hell out of here now."
And that's exactly what we did. We made it back to the jeep, alert for any sound, nervously jumping at every unexpected rustle of leaves. We climbed in and I slapped in a fresh magazine in my M4. My heart was fluttering in my chest.
"Okay?" Wesley looked at me with concern.
"Yeah."
"We gotta get that wound cleaned and dressed." Wesley rummaged in the back of the jeep and pulled out the first aid kit. He handed it to me. "You okay enough to do the honors while I get us out of here?"
"Yeah," I said, clutching the first aid kit.
"Good. Make it quick." Wesley started the jeep and swung it back onto the road.
As Wesley sped down the road in the direction we'd come, I opened the first aid kit and shrugged out of my shirt and jacket. I got my first good look at the wound. It was ugly, but while the primitive's teeth had broken the skin the cuts weren't that deep. The bleeding had stopped. I opened a bottle of peroxide, poured some in a dressing, and cleaned the wound. It stung. I gritted my teeth and washed the blood out of the wound as much as possible. Who knew what kind of disease these things carried. Of course, the first thing that crossed my mind was that old horror film standby—get bitten by a vampire, a werewolf, or a zombie, and you become one of them. Naomi obviously hadn't been bitten by one of them in order to get turned. She'd turned for reasons we didn't understand and that we needed to learn if we wanted to avoid a similar fate.
After hurriedly cleaning the wound, I slapped a bandage over it and closed the first aid kit. By the time we reached the Manning city limits I was cradling my M4 to my chest, the adrenalin rush now wearing off as we raced toward home.
Eighteen
Alex was still asleep when we got back to the cabin.
We stumbled inside and Tracy took one look at me and panicked. "Oh my God, what happened?"
Emily was on the floor scrawling in a coloring book. She looked at me and her eyes got wide. "Daddy!"
"I'm okay," I said. Tracy led me past Emily to the kitchen, asking me what happened. Martin and Lori came out from their respective locations and began asking their own questions, which I could hear Wesley answer as he gave them a briefing in the living room.
As I sat down at the kitchen table, Tracy was visibly upset. She grabbed a pot. "Let me get some water to boil. That cut needs to be cleaned out better. What happened?"
"I got bit," I said.
"Bit? By Naomi?" Tracy exited the kitchen to draw water from the spring in the back of the house as I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes.
I felt a tiny hand on my knee. Opened my eyes. Emily stood in front of me, concern etched in her features. "Daddy?"
I reached out to her and she flung herself into my embrace. As I held her I could feel her little body tremble. "Daddy, I'm scared," she whimpered.
"Everything will be okay," I said. They seemed like the most useless words in the world considering the situation, but what else was I going to say?
"No it won't! That...that thing...with the wings..."
"What about it?" I took her gently by the shoulders and looked at her, trying not to appear panicked or scared. "Tell me, Emily, what do you know?"
"I don't know!" She started crying. She flung herself at me and buried her face in my chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
Tracy entered the kitchen with a pot of water. She set it on the stove, turned on the electric stovetop. I held Emily, trying to comfort her and failing miserably. Tracy knelt down to Emily. "Honey, Daddy's going to be okay. Mommy just has to clean his cut better and—"
"The winged thing is coming!" Emily cried. She turned to her mother as she said this and I saw Tracy's eyes widen in fear.
Once again, I felt another chill race through me.
"Tell me what you know, Emily," I said gently.
Martin, Wesley, and Lori entered the kitchen. I glanced at them quickly and they seemed to understand the situation intuitively; whether they'd heard the brief exchange from the living room, I don't know. Whatever the case, they gathered around us in the kitchen, silent and curious to hear what Emily had to say.
Lori closed the kitchen door and knelt down to Emily's eye level as Tracy continued trying to calm her down. "Did you have bad dreams about the winged thing, baby?" Lori asked.
Sniffling, Emily nodded.
"And what happened in the dreams?"
"It was flying over us," Emily said solemnly. Her face was red, eyes still damp from tears. "It was flying all over the place and those wild people were outside. They were...attacking..." she started to cry again.
"They were attacking us?" I asked.
Crying again, Emily nodded.
We five adults were silent as Tracy, Lori, and I tried to calm Emily down. When her sobs had trickled down again, Tracy smoothed her hair back from her face. "Did you have these dreams at night?"
Emily shook her head, paused, and then nodded.
"You don't know or you aren't sure?"
Emily shrugged. "I don't know. I...I had them at night...last night and...today...just before Daddy and Wesley got home...when I was having my nap."
Tracy would have put Emily down for a nap shortly after we left the house to deal with Naomi. The timing implied in Emily's revelations was disturbing, to say the least.
"Why didn't you tell me about them, honey?" Tracy asked softly.
"I don't know!" Emily said, her voice threatening to break down again. She looked frustrated and scared.
"Were you afraid to tell me?"
Emily nodded, starting to cry again.
I touched Emily's shoulder, brushed her hair back. "You don
't ever have to be afraid about telling us things, Emily," I said. "If you ever feel afraid or have any kind of weird dream...even if you just feel that weird sense like we experienced a month ago...you tell us. Okay?"
Emily nodded, sniffling. I could tell she understood.
"Do you feel okay enough to tell us about the dreams again?" Tracy asked her.
Emily nodded. "Yeah."
"Good. So what else happened in the dreams? You said the thing with wings was flying over our house?"
"Yeah. It was flying all over the place and those wild people...they were running around outside and some were...attacking us. I was trying to hide from them. I...couldn't see you or Daddy anywhere and I was afraid."
"Could you hear us?"
She nodded. "I could hear all of you. And I could see Wesley." She looked at Wesley. "He was carrying one of those big guns and shooting it. I was hiding in the cabinet by the TV. I closed the door and was hiding there, peeking out through a little hole and watching."
"And what happened?" Tracy asked.
"I saw that girl," Emily said. She looked fearfully at Tracy and me. "The one that didn't like me. Heather."
"And what was she doing?" I asked, instantly feeling a sense of dread wash over me. I glanced at Tracy quickly. How did Emily know Heather didn't like her?
"She was here," Emily said. "She was...I could tell she was dead...she looked like one of those dead things in that cartoon...the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy...what do you call them?"
"Zombies," I said, immediately noticing the implications.
"She looked like that. And there were more with her."
"How many more?" Martin asked.
"A lot." Emily wasn't crying anymore.
"Were the zombies attacking us too?"
Emily nodded. "Yes. And Heather was leading them. She..." It looked like Emily was going to break down again, but she managed to get out what she needed to say quickly. "She...I was hiding, and I could see her coming into the house and she came straight towards me...and got me...she pulled me out of my hiding place and then—"
"Honey, don't, it's okay," Tracy said. She took Emily into her arms as the little girl began to sob again.
"That's when I woke up," Emily said, crying. "That's when I realized I was just having a bad dream, but now..."
"You were having a bad dream," I said, making a feeble attempt to soothe her nerves. With all the ugliness and death Emily had seen the past month, it was no wonder she had such a horrible nightmare. It was also obvious that despite the shielding Tracy and I had done to prevent Emily from learning about Heather's disdain for her and her death (in the days following that altercation back in California, we simply told her that Heather decided to go off on her own, which she never questioned), somehow she'd picked up on both counts.
Emily looked at the five of us gathered around her. "Now I'm not so sure if it was a dream. It...felt too real."
Another chill raced down my spine. Was Emily somehow becoming psychically linked with the God of the New World? Was she receiving visions?
The thought must have been on everyone else's mind judging by the looks on their faces.
"Is there anything else you can tell us about your dream?" Wesley asked.
"Was the winged creature looking for us?" Lori asked.
Emily nodded. "It was looking for us and...I don't know how it found us. But...I get the feeling..." For the first time I saw a vision of Emily as a grownup; she suddenly looked mature beyond her years. "...that Heather knew where to find us...and led him to us."
"Was Heather...did it seem like she was being controlled?" Wesley asked.
Emily frowned. "No...but...she didn't seem...like she was there. It was like...I could see it was her even though she was a zombie but...it wasn't Heather." Emily was beginning to show the signs of frustration.
"I understand," I said quickly, rubbing her shoulders. I glanced at the gathered throng quickly. That's enough questions for now. Everybody got the message.
"I'm going to take Emily upstairs," Tracy said, picking Emily up. "Lori, can you help clean and dress David's wound better?"
"Sure thing." Lori knelt down beside me as Tracy and Emily exited the room.
Now with Emily and Tracy out of the room, it was open season on what we could talk about. "I don't feel good about this," I admitted.
"Neither do I," Wesley said.
"Did Wesley tell you two what happened?" I asked Lori and Martin.
They nodded. Lori applied a warm cloth to the bite wound on my shoulder and began to gently clean it out. I winced. The pain throbbed, and in certain spots it was tender and throbbing.
"There's no doubt Naomi was communicating with them," Wesley said. He was pacing the kitchen, still wound up with adrenaline from our earlier confrontation. "And if she was communicating with them there's not only more of them, but they have some kind of link to this...thing...this God of the New World or whatever it is."
"What about this thing with Heather?" I asked.
"What about it?"
I briefly told them about my earlier conversation with Emily when she said that Alex was a "good guy." "I'm getting the feeling Emily might possess some kind of psychic ability."
"You think her dream represents something that might happen in the future?" Martin asked.
"It's too much to be coincidental. We never told her about Heather's death. How would she know?"
Nobody had an answer for that.
Lori patted my wound dry. "I'm gonna apply another dabbing of peroxide on this and some first aid cream, then I'll slap a fresh bandage on it," she said.
I nodded.
"You hurt anywhere else?" Lori poured peroxide into a dressing and began to clean the wound again.
"Just my inner right thigh where I was kicked a few times," I said. "But I can live with that."
"What about you, Wesley?" Lori's focus was now on tending to our wounds.
"I'm fine." Wesley was still pacing the kitchen, still trying to work through what had just happened and what Emily had told us.
"That story Stuart told us last night," I began, "the one about the sacrifice he saw. He said he saw the primitive that was sacrificed come back, and that the God of the New World was flying over it and that it appeared the primitive was being manipulated. Like the God was pulling its strings, directing it. Possessing it, maybe. It was also taking on the God's physical characteristics. Remember that?"
Martin nodded, suddenly looking pale. Lori stopped her ministrations on me, a look of terror on her face. "Jesus, David, I never thought that. My God, that would mean—"
"That the God of the New World is raising the dead? Yeah, I think that's what it means."
And with that, the implications became even clearer.
If the God of the New World could reanimate the dead—primitive and non-primitive alike, then we really were screwed.
* * *
Once my wound was dressed and I got a little soup in me, it was decided that Lori, Wesley, and I would be with Alex when he woke up, that we would break the news of Naomi's death to him as gently as possible. Because we had left the cabin in a hurry and did not bury Naomi's body, we could not go with our original plan, which was to have him lead us to the property the following day and discover her absence, chalking it up as escape on her part. It was best to get this unpleasant task over with as quickly as possible. So I made a brief trek upstairs to check on Tracy and Emily. They were sitting on the bed, drawing in a coloring book. As hard as Tracy had tried to divert Emily's attention from the madness we were living in, my daughter's face still bore the signs of strain. "You okay?" Tracy asked me.
"Yeah." I gave her a brief recap of Lori's first-aid procedure and pronounced myself fit. "I'm going back downstairs. We're gonna be there when Alex wakes up."
Tracy nodded. The original plan had been her idea, and I could tell she was devastated that there was no practical excuse for us to stick to it.
I joined the others in the liv
ing room where Alex was on the sofa, still fast asleep. He looked almost serene lying there.
The early evening setting sun was casting grim shadows across the room. I motioned to Martin. "What time is it?"
Martin checked his watch. "Almost six."
I nodded. It was hard to believe so much time had passed.
"How long's he been asleep?" Wesley asked.
"Almost four hours now," Lori said. She knelt down beside him and felt his forehead. Alex stirred at her touch and made a sound. "It's okay," Lori told him.
"Hey," Alex said, opening his eyes. He stretched, yawned. "What's going on?"
"We just wanted to see how you're doing," Lori said.
"I'm okay," Alex said. He stretched, yawned again, and rubbed his eyes. I felt conspicuous standing there.
Wesley nodded at Lori.
"Baby, we've got something to tell you," Lori said. She laid a hand on his shoulder as he rose to a sitting position. "It's not good news."
"What?" Alex looked at us wide-eyed, the sleep still in his eyes. He must have seen the grim expressions in our faces because he suddenly looked frightened. "What happened?"
"Naomi is dead, Alex," Wesley said.
Alex said nothing. He looked stunned; dumbfounded.
"David and I went to your place to help her," Wesley continued, speaking calmly, gently, with the right inflection of sincerity and condolence in his voice. "She was making that howling noise you described. That howling...the other primitives could hear it. She was calling other primitives—they arrived shortly after we got there and—"
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