Halfway through the night, just as Angus was drifting off to sleep, a howl had sounded in the distance, and the creature outside their door responded, jerking him awake. This shriek was different than usual, and it had the hair on Angus’s scalp standing on end. He tensed, holding his breath as he waited to find out what would happen, knowing what it would be but still praying he was wrong.
The onslaught increased as a second creature joined the first, and only a short time later, another hybrid zombie had joined the two desperately trying to get in. They were in real trouble.
“Vivian,” he’d whispered, trying to shake her awake.
Her eyelids fluttered but only opened a little, and he’d decided it wasn’t worth trying to wake her. It wasn’t like she’d be able to walk, anyway.
He’d scooped her into his arms and carried her. Down the hall to the middle of the house and into the only room without a window. The bathroom. It stank of sewage and was barely big enough for the two of them, but it was the safest place in the house. If the creatures broke down the door, if they managed to get inside, this just might save them.
Angus had shut the door and leaned against it, Vivian lying half in his lap. In the small space, her body seemed to be on fire, and her breathing was twice as loud. It sounded like she was having a difficult time filling her lungs, and the raspy exhale she let out was more terrifying than even the banging of the creatures.
The crash that finally signified the front door giving way had come less than ten minutes later.
Howls and thudding footsteps filled the house, and Angus squeezed his eyes shut. Praying. Praying harder than he ever had. This was it. His last friend in the world was depending on him. She was at death’s door and couldn’t take care of herself. He needed to be strong. Needed to save them both.
The door behind him shook when a creature slammed into it. The others followed, and it seemed to rattle in its frame. There were more than three now, he could tell, although how many he didn’t know for sure. One thing was for certain, though. This door wouldn’t hold forever.
Angus had eased Vivian off his lap and pulled his knife. Axl’s knife. The knife Angus had given his brother for his birthday when he was only fifteen years old. He’d gripped it tightly, thinking about the day his brother died and all the horrible days before and since when Angus had been forced to say goodbye to people he cared about. Was this another one of those days? Was Vivian about to be ripped from this world?
Don’t do this to me, he’d silently begged whoever might be listening. Don’t let this be the end.
The crack of wood breaking filled the room, and Angus moved. He’d gotten on his knees, his knife up and ready and his heart pounding. Vivian was behind him, her raspy breaths taunting him, reminding him just how defenseless she was. Urging him to be strong. It was all up to him.
The door burst open in a splintering of wood, and the room was filled with the sweet stink of the creatures as they howled in unison. Angus hadn’t been able to see a thing when he slashed his knife through the air, but the hybrid zombies were right in front of him and missing would have been impossible. He felt his blade sink into flesh. There was a howl, followed by a slash of pain across his chest. He’d cried out and pulled his knife free, bringing it down a second time. He’d repeated the gesture, ignoring the pain cutting across his skin with each slash of the creatures’ claws, each chomp of their jaws cutting into his body. He’d brought his knife down over and over until he could no longer stand, and then he’d slumped to the floor, bleeding and weak, every inch of him throbbing. Barely able to move.
The creatures were there one moment and gone the next, howling as they streaked from the house, the sounds of their retreat fading until it was nothing more than a memory. He’d reached out then, his hand moving across the floor as he tried to locate Vivian in the darkness. Finding nothing. He was alone. She was gone, and he had failed. Again.
Angus lost consciousness.
The sun was streaming into the bathroom when he woke, but at first, he’d been too disoriented to remember what had happened. Then his gaze landed on the body of a creature, bloodied and slashed apart and lying in the hallway, and it had all come screaming back.
“Vivian,” Angus had said, grimacing as he twisted his body toward the bathroom, knowing she was gone but not wanting to accept it.
There was nothing but a streak of blood where she’d once been.
“Vivian!” He’d screamed her name loud enough that he thought the house might collapse, and at that moment, bleeding and barely clinging to consciousness, he found himself wishing it would.
He’d failed everyone in his life. His brother, his daughter, his wife, and now every one of his friends. Alone. That was his punishment. He would be alone for the rest of his life, the sole survivor in a world that was nothing but a hellish nightmare.
Angus’s sobs came quick and violent, and every shake of his body had hurt. He was in pieces, and not just on the inside. The creatures had ripped him to shreds with their claws. Had taken bites out of his arms and torso. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, the remnants of his clothes sticking to his skin from it. Despite the agonizing pain throbbing through him every time he moved, Angus took comfort in the knowledge that he was torn up. He healed fast, had survived so much, but surely even he couldn’t come back from this. Surely, he would finally, mercifully, be allowed to leave this world. Hadn’t he been through enough? Hadn’t he suffered more than any one man deserved?
He’d stayed where he was, lying on the floor as his body throbbed, and he waited to die. Waited to bleed out. Waited for the pain pulsing through him to win and for his body to give out.
Only that didn’t happen.
The sun rose higher, shining into the house through the broken front door, and still he hadn’t moved. He was too weak to go anywhere even if he’d wanted to, but he hadn’t. He’d wanted to stay right where he was. To die right where he was. To stay in the same position until he slipped into unconsciousness, and finally death.
But still, nothing happened.
The day wore on and night approached, and Angus slowly began to accept the truth. The cuts and bites wouldn’t be the end he so desperately craved. Still, though, he stayed where he was as the light faded, turning from yellow to orange then black as night fell, waiting for the creatures to return. They would finish him off. They would give him the relief he craved. They had to.
Except, they didn’t.
He dozed on the floor of the bathroom until morning came, waking to a bright day of agony. That was when he finally dragged himself down the hall, past the rotting body of the creature he’d killed and into a bedroom. The pain rivaled the years he’d spent in the CDC when he pulled himself up onto the bed, but lying on the mattress gave him a small amount of comfort. He was too weak to even think about trying to get food or water, though, and he took consolation in the thought that he might die yet. Even if the creatures never returned to finish him off, dehydration could take him. His throat was already parched, and there was no way he’d be strong enough to drag himself from the room to get water anytime soon. Not with how extensive his injuries were. He’d die of thirst. That was the answer.
He drifted in and out of consciousness the next few days. The sun set and rose, then set again, and his body dried out. His lips cracked, and he could no longer muster even a little bit of saliva. He had pissed himself the first couple days, unable to move his damaged body, but it had been more than a day since he’d had to urinate, and even though his injuries were slowly healing, he felt as weak as a kitten. Death couldn’t be far.
Two more days passed, and still he didn’t die. He had difficulty swallowing, trouble lifting his arm, but his body continued to heal. Even crazier, despite the nagging hunger and thirst, he didn’t seem to be in any danger of dying from dehydration or starvation. It was as if his body no longer needed those things.
That was how things went for him. Angus stayed in bed waiting to die for over a week befo
re finally accepting the horrible, gut-wrenching truth. He would not, could not, die.
Maybe The Church had been on to something.
By that point, his injuries were little more than scabs, and even when he dragged himself out of bed, the cuts didn’t break open and start bleeding again. He’d crawled from the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen, where he’d used all the strength he had left and pulled himself up. A jug of water sat on the counter, and once Angus had it, he collapsed on the floor, gasping like he’d run a marathon. Even the simple act of unscrewing the lid wore him out, and lifting it to his lips took a herculean effort. He’d guzzled the water down, gasping and choking as his dried-out throat tried to remember how to work. He’d paused, gasped for air, then went back for more, drinking until the jug was empty.
Then he collapsed on the floor again.
Angus remembered that day as the final nail in the coffin of the man he’d once been, because facing the reality of being alone, of losing everyone he’d loved, had shed new light on his past. It had made him understand with stark clarity just how horrible a person he’d been, how much time he’d wasted, and how much happiness he’d robbed himself of. Angus had always thought people weren’t worth his time, and that had been partly true. A lot of bad people had gone in and out of his life over the years. His father, who he’d never really known. His mother, who had never had a kind word for him, who’d ignored, abused, and belittled him. Classmates, neighbors, co-workers, and too many others to name. But there had been good people, too. People who had wanted to love him, wanted to show him what it meant to care for another person. He’d never let them, though. Never let his guard down enough to have a truly meaningful relationship until after the zombies came. Over thirty years wasted. What a fool he’d been.
Chapter Twelve
Angus glanced toward Naya, the relief on her face stark at the silence that had followed the creature’s retreat. She didn’t understand, he realized. Naya didn’t have a clue what he was going to have to do to protect her. Didn’t understand that the hybrid zombie would soon be back. That it would never give up unless he took matters into his own hands.
Wordlessly, Angus went into the kitchen and tossed the raccoon’s carcass on the counter. It hit the hard surface with a wet splat that probably splashed blood everywhere, but he wasn’t concerned about that now. He needed to get ready.
He pulled his knife, took a deep breath, then headed back to the door.
Naya watched him silently, curiosity brimming in her brown eyes, and when he reached for the doorknob, her eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”
“Hafta take care of the thing or we’re gonna be in a world of trouble.”
The girl took a step toward him, reaching out as if trying to stop him from leaving. “What do you mean?”
Angus focused on her, his hand still resting on the knob. “Hafta kill it.”
“What?” Alarm flashed in Naya’s eyes. “You can’t go out there! It will kill you!”
Her voice rose to an octave that sounded painful, and her eyes had never been so wide, and the sudden urge to hug her swept over Angus. It was so strong and overwhelming that he actually had to force his feet to stay where they were. He’d only been with Naya for a few days, and he was a man—and an old man at that. He didn’t want to scare her.
“I’m gonna be just fine,” he said, softening his voice. “Promise.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t object a second time when he turned back to the door. His hand was still on the knob, and he paused to take another deep breath. He would survive, but that didn’t mean what he was about to do would be pleasant. No one walked away from an altercation with one of the creatures unscathed, and even though he would heal, he could still feel pain. It had to be done, though.
Angus turned the knob, but before opening the door said, “Lock this behind me and don’t come out. No matter what.”
He yanked the door open and stepped out, his knife up and ready, then pulled it shut behind him.
The lock clicked. Then the deadbolt. Then two more. Good.
The forest was dark despite the early hour, the clouds above him gray and menacing, and blocking out nearly every ounce of sunlight. Water fell from the sky and dripped from trees, thick and heavy, darkening the world even more. The downpour was loud, making it impossible to know if the creature was already on its way back, so he kept his body stiff, planted his feet as he prepared for the impact he knew would come, and waited.
It wouldn’t be long.
No more than thirty seconds passed before he heard the rustle. It was close, the footsteps fast. Since he’d been the one to leave the entrails behind, he knew which direction the creature would be coming from, but he wasn’t a fool. That knowledge would only give him a slight advantage. There was a reason these things had been able to do what the zombies had failed to, which was wipe out the human race. They were fast and lethal, unrelenting to the bitter end. Angus was under no delusions about what he was facing.
The branches moved only a split second before the thing streaked from the cover of the forest, howling like a banshee and rushing up the porch steps. Angus had his knife out and aimed at the creature when its body made impact with his. The blade sank in, cutting through the thing’s thick skin, but Angus was still thrown back by the collision. His body slammed into the cabin, and he sucked in a deep breath when the impact throbbed through him, the sickeningly sweet smell of the monster filling his nostrils. Before he’d even had the chance to recover, the creature’s jaw locked on his shoulder. Thankfully, his jacket was thick, preventing its teeth from cutting into his flesh, but it would only buy him seconds. He had to get the upper hand.
Unable to pull his knife free with the creature pressed up against him, Angus twisted it instead, trying to do more damage and hopefully throw the monster back. The hybrid didn’t react to the knife lodged in its body, though, too focused on its goal. It yanked its head back, Angus’s jacket still in its mouth, and the fabric was ripped away, leaving a hole in the flimsy armor that had stopped him from being bitten. The creature spit it out and was back on Angus a second later, this time clawing at the now visible shirt.
Angus’s hand was still on the hilt of his knife. He tried to pull it free so he could get a better angle, but there was no room and the monster was holding onto him too tightly. Its cold, hairless body was pressed against its prey, forcing Angus’s back against the cabin and making it impossible for him to move. He knew what was going to have to happen, and even though he dreaded it, he allowed it.
He stopped struggling, permitting the creature’s claws to rip through the thin fabric of his shirt. They sliced into his skin in the process, and Angus let out a grunt. The scratches would have been more than enough to turn a normal person, but these creatures weren’t content with inflicting so little damage on their victims. A second later, the monster leaned forward and sank his teeth into Angus’s flesh. He cried out, pain slicing through him as blood burst from the punctures the creature’s teeth had made, spraying Angus’s beard and neck. Soaking his clothes.
The hybrid zombie pulled back, a river of blood now flowing down its chin and neck, over its chest. It was the first really good look Angus had been able to get at the repulsive thing that had once been a living, breathing woman. She only vaguely resembled a person now. Her hairless body and smooth skin were too alien, and her breasts shrunken to flimsy pancakes of flesh. Her genitals, too, had changed, appearing smooth now, as if an opening had never existed there. She’d been heavily tattooed in life, and while the images had faded, the black lines and bursts of color were still visible on her pale skin, blending with the dark veins covering her body. They went up her arms and across her chest, with others dotting her sides, stomach, and thighs.
Angus’s knife had sliced through what looked like a patch of flowers on her stomach. He pulled the blade free, wincing when pain throbbed through his shoulder, and the creature howled. It swiped at him first with one hand,
then with the other. The nails of its right hand cut across his left cheek, the nails of its other hand getting him dangerously close to his right eye. Angus gritted his teeth against the pain and the odorous scent surrounding him as he raised his knife, aiming for a group of birds flying across the creature’s chest. Right over her heart.
He brought the blade down. Hard. It sliced through her skin and cut through her ribs, finding a home in her chest, and she let out a scream of protest. Her hands lashed out, grabbing him by the neck, and her nails cut into his flesh as she pulled him closer, her mouth open. Then she sank her teeth into his throat.
Angus screamed.
The creature bit down harder, twisting her head like she was trying to rip his throat out with her teeth. Panic swept through him despite what he’d told Naya. He couldn’t die, could he? He never had before, even after that horrible day when Vivian was killed, but he couldn’t imagine being able to come back from having his throat ripped out. It wasn’t like he could regenerate—he wasn’t a god despite what The Church had claimed.
Desperately, he pulled his knife free, then plunged it back in. Over and over, stabbing the creature holding him until it finally let him go. Still, he didn’t slow in his assault. He kept it up, stabbing her chest, her stomach, her neck, and finally she stumbled back, dropping to the ground.
Her heart was still beating, but she was a mess of bloody wounds, and her milky eyes stared up at him in confusion, as if she was trying to figure out what the human standing over her was and how he’d managed to get the best of her.
Broken World | Novel | Angus Page 21