by Joe Augustyn
Ryan stepped inside, leading the way with his keychain LED, which cast a tight bright ball of bluish light. Kerri followed closely on his heels, eager to get out of the rain.
The place was chilly and damp inside, with the musty odor of mold. Heavy drops of rain plopped through the weather-damaged roof, forming large puddles on the floor. Twigs and leaves and a thin layer of soil covered the rotting floorboards—years of debris blown in through the broken windows. Most of the furniture was gone, but a few old chairs remained. Empty wine and beer bottles littered the room.
“Home sweet home,” Ryan joked, keeping his voice low.
“Don’t knock it,” Kerri replied just as quietly. “It beats the rain.”
“Barely,” said Ryan as a blob of gelid rain smacked his scalp.
“We better check it out before we get too cozy,” Kerri suggested. She closed the front door and propped an old wooden chair under the knob.
With Jurgensen’s Glock in one hand and her flashlight in the other, she moved cautiously towards the back of the one story house. “Watch your step. The floor isn’t very stable.”
“I’d call that an understatement,” Ryan whispered, shining his light on a rotted out hole in the floorboards.
Kerri brushed cobwebs away as she stepped through the kitchen doorway and swept her flashlight around. Ragged scraps of linoleum clung to the mildewed floorboards. The plumbing had long been gutted. The sink was filled with fallen plaster and ancient debris.
The back door appeared to be firmly closed, but there were big wet patches on the floor. Kerri’s first alarming thought was that they were footprints, but when she shined her light on the ceiling she saw drops of water dripping through sagging cracks.
“Nothing in here,” she said quietly, brushing past Ryan as he stepped up to take a look. She crossed into the next room, swinging her light ahead of her.
Without warning she cried out and jumped back, landing on Ryan’s toes. But she instantly relaxed, chuckling in embarrassment. Ryan looked over her shoulder, shining his light in. A long strip of wallpaper dangled from the ceiling, swaying eerily in the drafty room.
“Sorry,” Kerri whispered. “I guess I’m a little jumpy.”
“Don’t apologize,” said Ryan. “It’s good to be afraid. If we’re not afraid, we won’t survive.”
Kerri swept the room with her light. It was empty. Just a moldy old mattress on the floor. “It’s clear,” she said quietly. But as she was about to step away, she heard a creaking floorboard and stopped.
“What?” Ryan whispered.
Kerri put a finger to her lips and pointed to a closed door across the room. Holding the pistol before her she moved slowly towards it. Ryan backed her up, aiming his police 9mm at the door. He had the trusty old Colt stuffed in his waistband for backup.
Kerri crossed the room as silently as possible… pausing whenever a floorboard creaked underfoot. Finally she reached the closed door. Swallowing her fear she reached for the antiquated latch. Slowly she lifted the primitive handle. It clicked softly.
The door banged open and a shadowy figure crashed into her. Kerri’s flashlight flew from her hand and her Glock discharged as they tumbled in a heap to the floor. High-pitched cries rang out in the darkness.
Ryan swung his LED light toward the commotion. He aimed his pistol but held his fire, afraid that he might hit Kerri.
“Don’t shoot!” a girl’s voice cried out. “Please don’t hurt me!”
Ryan stepped closer. His light revealed Emma’s frightened face.
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Kerri, dusting herself off. “You scared the living shit out of me, girl. What the hell were you doing in a closet?”
“I heard someone breaking in,” Emma said meekly, “I thought it was…”
Kerri sighed. “Lucky for you it wasn’t. You would have been trapped in there. Jesus, my heart’s still pounding.” She helped Emma to her feet. “I’m Kerri. That’s Ryan.”
“Emma. Emma London. I live down the road.”
“What are you doing in here if you live nearby?” Ryan asked.
“I had to get out of my house. My boyfriend… he’s… one of them… and he… he got… my mother.”
“Mine too,” said Ryan somberly. “I mean… my mom was…” He choked on his words.
“How’d you get in here?” Kerri asked, quick to change the subject before either of the teens broke down emotionally. “The door was locked.”
“The back door,” Emma explained. “I knew about this place. We—I mean, the neighborhood kids—used to come here to party.”
“By any chance do you have a car?” Ryan asked hopefully.
Emma nodded. “There are two in my driveway. But one’s almost out of gas. And it’s blocking my mom’s car.”
“You know we need to get out of here, right?” said Kerri. “It’s only a matter of time before those things catch up to us if we stay here. Do you have the car keys?”
Emma shook her head. “They’re back in the house. But it’s not safe to go there. I told you…”
“How many are in there?” Ryan asked. “Just the two?”
Emma shrugged. “As far as I know. But there are bound to be more.”
“That’s why we have to go now, before they get here. I’ll make a run for the keys,” volunteered Ryan, “If you can tell me exactly where they are. I don’t know what’s up with those things, but they seem to move pretty slow. I’m pretty sure I can dodge them.”
“I know,” said Emma, her voice quivering.
“You know what?” asked Kerri.
Emma lowered her head. She wanted to tell the whole story but her throat was knotting and tears were filling her eyes. “The cemetery…” she croaked weakly, before breaking down in relentless, undulating sobs.
Great, thought Kerri. This one’s losing it. She wished she had a light sedative to give her, but the closest thing she had in her bag of paramedical tricks was far too strong to administer under the circumstances. They needed to stay on their toes.
“Cemetery?” asked Ryan. “What cemetery?”
But Emma was in no condition to elaborate. She was crying uncontrollably, her emotions unblocked by the knowledge that she was no longer alone.
29
“There it is. The Lenape Creek station,” Cat said. “Looks like someone’s inside. I see a light.”
The station was just a small simple building. Bronski parked the SUV close to the door and they darted through the rain to the overhang shielding the door. “Hello?!” Bronski called out, banging on the screen door, which was latched. “Anybody here?”
Sheriff Leeds came out of his office to greet them, carrying an electric lantern. Goddammit. Just what I do not need right now. He beamed a phony smile as he unlatched the door. “Well, good evening. What brings you fine troopers out in such ungodly weather? If you’re here to alert me about the storm I already got that memo.”
“We haven’t heard from you guys in a while and got a little worried,” said Cat, happy to be out of the rain. “The phone lines are down and your radio signals don’t seem to be getting through the storm.”
“I know the lines are down. Power’s out. Makes you long for the old rotary dial phones, doesn’t it? But I guess you’re too young to remember them, huh? All the fancy new hi-tech crap takes a major dump around here as soon as Mother Nature sneezes. Well, step on into my office, I just made a fresh pot of joe.”
“Thanks,” said Cat. “That sounds really good right now.” They followed him into his office.
“So what’s been going on down here, Sheriff?” asked Bronski. “Headquarters got reports of some kind of mayhem.”
“Mayhem? Hah!” the Sheriff smirked. “It’s nothing but the storm. Everybody’s jumpy since Superstorm Sandy. They crap their pants at the first sign of thunder and lightning. We’d all be better off if the idiots would simply evacuate like they’re told to.”
“You’re saying you’ve had no unusual incident reports?” asked Cat.
“Unusual reports? What constitutes unusual on a night like this?”
“Increased violence? Criminal activity?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, no, nothing like that. We have had a few extra fender-benders due to the weather, but nothing unusual. My deputies are out there now, checking the roads. Why? What exactly have you heard?”
“Nothing concrete. But headquarters seemed to think something was going on. They sent us down here to gather intelligence.”
“Intelligence? Ha! Well, between you and me, the brass is usually short of intelligence. Yours truly excluded of course.”
The troopers exchanged glances as they sipped their coffee. Something in the Sheriff’s demeanor seemed hinky, and they both felt it.
“Well, I’m happy to hear it’s nothing,” said Bronski.
The Sheriff grinned good-naturedly and pointedly raised his lantern. “People get a little goofy whenever the power goes out. They get spooked when they lose their creature comforts. I’ll bet you a dollar to a dime if the phones were working, our switchboard would be lighting up all night with idiots claiming they saw the Jersey Devil creeping around their yards.”
Bronski laughed. Cat looked around, studying the room. There were several portraits on the wall showing previous Sheriffs, from recent framed photos to quaint antique paintings dating back two hundred years. A handcrafted cross made from tree branches and coils of thorns hung above the door.
“What jurisdiction is this, Sheriff?” Cat asked curiously. “Cape May County?”
“No,” replied the Sheriff. “This township was founded long before any of the current counties existed. We remain an independent entity. Self-incorporated. We prefer to take care of our own affairs.”
“Interesting,” said Cat. “I admire your spirit.”
“Well, I can’t claim credit for our independence, I just maintain the traditions of our ancestors. Some of our families have been here for going on four hundred years,” said the Sheriff proudly. “They cleared the first homesteads and filled in the swamps. Took the land from the Lenape Indians and kept it from the Redcoats during the Revolution.”
“Wow,” said Cat. “That’s impressive.”
“Yes, fascinating,” said Bronski politely, not wanting to get stuck there all night, listening to the old man chatter. “Well, I guess we’d better be on our way. The sooner we finish our rounds, the sooner we can get back to our nice warm barracks. Thanks for the coffee, Sheriff.”
“Yeah, thanks, chief,” added Cat. “It really hit the spot. I’ll have to come back and visit when the weather is nice. I love history. Majored in it at Rutgers.”
“And you ended up a cop?” the Sheriff asked.
“Well, after serving a few tours in Afghanistan, I thought I’d probably be bored teaching a bunch of school kids.”
“You might have been surprised,” Leeds replied. “Schools these days are the closest thing we have to combat zones. Not here in Lenape Creek, of course. We keep a tight lid on things.” He smiled unctuously, steering them towards the front door. “You might as well head back up. Ain’t nothing going on down here that we can’t handle. And you don’t want to get stuck on these roads in a big nor’easter. In an hour they’ll be running like a river.”
“We’d love to, Sheriff,” said Bronski. “But we have our orders.”
“Don’t be foolish,” the Sheriff gently urged, “I told you there’s nothing to report. And the brass won’t know how far you went on your appointed rounds. I promise I won’t snitch on you.” He winked.
“We’d know,” said Bronski.
The Sheriff forced another grin. This one had a sour edge. “Ah, yes. Young pups. I admire your cockeyed idealism. But I’d seriously consider heading home right now, before the roads get any worse. If you’re worried about reporting back too soon, there’s an all-night diner up in Millville that serves killer fried chicken. Free range.”
“Thanks, Sheriff,” said Bronski. “We’ll have to try it sometime. Maybe after we make our rounds. Good night.”
Cat caught a glimmer of displeasure in the Sheriff’s eyes, which he covered with another forced smile.
The troopers hurried out to their SUV. Leeds stood in the doorway, watching in dismay as they drove off in the direction of the shore towns.
***
Bronski turned the wipers on high. As they slapped streams of rain from the windshield he tried the police band.“Radio check, this is state police unit One Alpha Two Four Seven, does anybody read me? Come in if you copy.”
The only answer was static. He tried once more then gave up.
“What was up with that old toad?” asked Cat. “I don’t think he wanted us down here poking around.”
“Of course not. You’ve served your time in the army, you know the type. Sitting on his ass in a nice warm office while his deputies are out working in the rain. He obviously feels guilty and would prefer it if everyone was just like him. Everyone except the grunts under his command, out there doing his job.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right, Cat. I’m always right.”
Cat snorted.
“What?”
30
Deputy Hayes drove slowly down the dark semi-rural road. There wasn’t a speck of light other than that from the lights of his cruiser. His spotlight cut through the rain, illuminating the driveways of the homes as he crawled by.
A figure staggered toward him down the street. He slowed to check it out, alarmed as he recognized the long dead face and raggedy clothes of a resident of the cemetery. He turned his wheel to steer around the shuffling corpse, then impulsively swung back and ran the cadaver down, not stopping until he felt its bones crunch under his tires.
“God forgive me,” he whispered contritely, not exactly clear about what he was repenting. He’d been wrestling with his conscience all night, ever since leaving the girl in the cemetery. He shifted into reverse, about to drive over the hapless corpse again, feeling compelled to crush it out of existence, but something caught his eye in the glare of his spotlight. He pulled forward a little further and angled the spotlight—illuminating the 1958 Ford sitting in a driveway.
He quickly scanned the area in all directions. The street seemed deserted. The only other being besides himself was the thing lying in the street, dragging its mangled body down the road toward his car. Putting the cruiser in reverse he drove over it again, crushing its backbone and flattening its ribs, pinning it under his car.
Turning off all but the emergency flashers he got out of the cruiser. Unholstering his gun and switching on his flashlight he crept around the shrubs and trees that lined the side of the property, keeping a wary eye out for unexpected company. Finding the driveway clear he hurried forward to check out the vintage Ford. His flashlight revealed it was empty; parked and locked in a normal manner.
She’s alive, he thought, with mixed relief and trepidation. He’d witnessed people getting bitten and turning, and he knew it was a fast-acting process. There’s no way she could have driven that car this far and locked it up like that. Not if she was one of them.
Hayes turned his attention to the house. It stood like a pitch black mirage, barely discernible from the dark woods flanking it. He felt like Providence had smiled on him. The fact that the Ford was parked outside and he saw no light inside the house—not even a candle burning—meant the girl must be inside and was probably sound asleep.
He switched off his flashlight and crept stealthily towards the house, his feet sinking in soggy puddles, doing his best to ignore the numbing rain. As he drew near his mind spun off on a perverse tangent, entertaining inappropriate thoughts about the girl and what she might be wearing when he found her.
His fantasy dimmed when a bright flash of lightning revealed the damaged front door. Uh oh. What the heck happened here? He thought of the thing he left squirming on the road, wondering if it had paid the girl a visit. Oh Jesus. Wouldn’t that be ironic? If she made it a
ll the way home, only to be bitten by a midnight visitor?
He wondered if the thing had followed her home. Wondered if it could. Did their brains function well enough to do that? Based on what he’d observed over the years, he wouldn’t have bet on it. But what did he really know about them?
Maybe Sheriff Leeds is right. Maybe they’re being restored by Providence… brains first.
He moved closer to the house. Thunder rumbled from the heavens, followed by several quick flashes of lightning. His fantasy of capturing the pretty young girl in her bedroom was replaced by trepidation. He dreaded what he would likely find now. He knew the dead liked soft tissue. Cheeks. Chins. Juicy lips.
His stomach tightened as he reached the door and found its window broken out. Streaks of blood coated the jagged shards of glass still in the frame, along with pieces of Russell’s shirt and fatty chunks of his flesh.
He peeked carefully through the busted window, straining to hear any sounds inside the house between distant grumbles of thunder. Nothing moved in the darkness. He heard no sounds. Turning on his flashlight he slowly swept the living room.
The place was a wreck, but it appeared to be vacant.
He tried the doorknob. It was locked. Leaning through the window frame he unlocked the door from inside—not noticing Russell, who had stepped around the side of the house and was staggering purposefully towards him.
31
“So these people you saw in the cemetery,” said Kerri. “What makes you think they started it? How do you know they didn’t just wander in there after being infected?”
“The place was locked up when we got there, and they were already inside. And they were old,” replied Emma. “Really, really old.” She was seated on an old wooden rocker, feet drawn up, arms wrapped around her legs. It was comforting to have other living people with her, but the whole thing felt unreal, like some spooky dream, complete with flashes of lightning through the windows and demonic peals of thunder.