Intruders (Book 2): The Awakening

by Tracy Sharp

  “I live off the grid. I don’t get the daily paper.”

  “Shit,” Daphne said.

  A rotting hand slammed against the driver’s side window. A woman with graying skin, wearing a fifties style dress — what little hair she had left was in a bun — climbed onto the hood of the van. Rye turned the ignition. The engine sputtered. The gas needle was below empty.

  “Out of gas,” Rye said.

  “What do we do?”

  Another zombie, a man in a policeman’s uniform, smacked at the passenger side window. The van rocked back and forth, giving Daphne flashbacks of being inside the cocoon.

  “That car.” Rye pointed to a beat-up station wagon. “We need to get the gas.”

  “Okay, let’s just shoot them.” Daphne reached for the rifle.

  Rye grabbed her wrist. “No. I only have one box of shells left. We can’t waste them. Besides, that much noise would attract more of them.”

  The woman on the hood of the van pressed her face to the windshield. Her tongue was cracked and dry, like land in a drought. She bit at the glass, snapping two teeth in half.

  “Okay, well, they aren’t just going to get tired and go home,” Daphne said.

  Rye stood up and went to the back of the van. It was almost an obstacle course to maneuver around all of the radio equipment.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking the back. If none are back here, we can lure them away from the van.” Rye cracked the door. “Looks good.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Do you know how to siphon gas?” Rye asked.

  “Do what to gas?”

  “Never mind. You’re gonna hate this, but you’re gonna have to be the one to lure them away.” Rye grabbed a gas can and a small piece of hose.

  “Great. What do I do?”

  Rye eased in behind the steering wheel. “Hop out the back. Take this.” He reached under the seat and pulled out a tambourine and handed it to Daphne.

  She gawked at it. A cartoon rendition of Sonny and Cher stared back at her.

  “Got it at a yard sale. Figured it might be worth a few bucks on eBay,” Rye said.

  “So, you want me to go out there and sing ‘I Got You Babe’ to the zombies?”

  “I was thinking just shaking the hell out of that thing to get their attention, but whatever turns you on.”

  “After I get their attention, then what? I mean, I will have a horde of dead people wanting to tear me apart. You’re just sucking some gas.”

  “So you do know how to siphon gas?”

  “Of course I do. But I’m pretty sure I’m faster than you, and I didn’t want to bruise your ego by suggesting it’s best if I do the hard stuff.”

  “Okay then, smart ass. When you get out there, just don’t get eaten.”

  “That’s your plan, really? Don’t get eaten?”

  “It shouldn’t be hard for a smart, tough girl like you to avoid zombies. Think of them as ghosts and you’re Ms. Pac-Man. You have heard of Ms. Pac-Man, right?”

  Daphne rolled her eyes. “Don’t take your sweet time with the gas.” She rattled the tambourine in Rye’s face and walked to the back of the van. She turned back to Rye. “You ready?”

  Rye held up the gas can and hose. Daphne opened the back door and jumped to the road. She took a few steps away from the van so both sides were within her sight and rattled the tambourine.

  “Over here.”

  The herd turned its attention away from the van and followed the sound. Daphne walked backward away from the van, luring the dead. Every few steps, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure nothing crept out of the woods behind her. Rye watched in the rearview mirror. Once the zombies were a few feet away from the van, he opened the door. There was one small problem. The woman licking the windshield didn’t follow the herd. Rye reached under the driver’s seat and grabbed a hammer. He liked his chances against a dead old lady.

  The zombie heard the squeaking sound as the door opened. She slid over the hood. Her fingers snaked through the opening the door made.

  “You’re making this too easy,” Rye said. He slammed the door, amputating the woman’s fingers, which fell into his lap. The zombie didn’t react, but the sound of the shutting door caused three of the zombies following Daphne to turn back and investigate.

  “Be quiet,” Daphne yelled, holding the tambourine above her head. She shook it faster, trying to regain the chomping jaws of the curious three who headed toward the van.

  “Damn it.” Rye opened the door again. The woman lurched toward him, but slipped off the hood and fell to the ground. Without hesitation, Rye stomped the back of her head, splattering her skull like a bug. “Go on, I got this. Just lead the rest away.” Rye ran toward the station wagon, praying he could siphon the gas before the zombies got to him. He slid the hose in the gas tank and sucked in deep. Gas flowed. He turned his head to spit. The zombies were getting close. There was no way he could make it back to the van and fill it up before they reached him. He had to fight.

  Rye looked through the window of the station wagon. Maybe there was something better than the hammer. He smiled. An aluminum baseball bat rested on the backseat. Rye grabbed the door handle. Locked. He swung the hammer, shattering the window. He unlocked the door, took the bat, and practiced his swing as he walked toward the zombies.

  Zombies moved in a staggered pattern, their alignment almost like stairs: the tallest in the front and shortest in the back. The first one to get close to Rye looked to be a factory worker. He wore a pale-gray shirt with the name Jerry stitched on the left side. Rye took a swing, connecting with the neck. The right side of the zombie’s throat caved in. Rye hit him again, splitting the skull down the middle. “Good-bye, Jerry.”

  The next zombie within bat’s reach was a woman dressed as a mail carrier. One swing and the bat lopped her head free from her shoulders. “Special delivery.”

  The last of the merry crew was a short, stocky, bald-headed man. He wore a stained white T-shirt and khaki pants. “Damn, you’re a big boy,” Rye said, taking a swing at the head. The bat made a thud as it bounced off the man’s skull. The hit sent a vibration up Rye’s arms, numbing him. He took a step back, shaking his arms, trying to scare the numbness away. The zombie kept coming forward. Rye took another swing, hitting him in the face. The hit rearranged the nose, but nothing else.

  “Will you hurry up!” Daphne screamed. “I wasn’t planning on walking to Charlotte. Well…actually I was…never mind. Just hurry the hell up.”

  Rye looked back at the gas can. He could grab it, get by this guy, who wasn’t fast, and probably fill up the tank in the van without having to deal with the fat man. “Fuck that.” He swung with all his might and connected with the man’s kneecap. The zombie fell forward, slamming his face onto the asphalt. Rye lifted the bat over his head and brought it down onto the back of the man’s skull. And again. And again, until the dead man’s groaning ceased.

  Rye scanned the station wagon for anything good. He found a six-pack of bottled water and a box of saltine crackers. He snatched two cell phones even though cell service hadn’t worked in a few weeks. “I’m filling up now.” He took the gas can to the van.

  The engine fired up the first time he turned the key. He whipped the van around and faced the herd after Daphne. He laid on the horn. They all turned away from her and started toward the van. Rye pressed the gas, plowing through them like a wooden barricade. He slammed on the brakes a few feet from Daphne. She didn’t react.

  “Did you see that?” Rye grinned.

  Daphne ignored him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Daphne pointed to a boy of about ten years old, standing at the edge of the woods, holding an Army soldier action figure.

  Rye shook his head slowly. His heart squeezed. “Get in. We’ll leave that one. I just can’t bring myself to run over a kid.”

  “He isn’t a zombie,” Daphne said. “He called me Mommy. Those dead things don’t talk.”


  Rye hopped out of the van, but left it running this time. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Justin,” the kid said. “I’m scared. I want my mommy.”

  “I know, kid. We will help you find your mommy.” Rye turned to Daphne and whispered, “Say something. You can probably calm him down better than me.”

  Daphne stared at Justin. Her toes tingled. Her fingertips were next. She whispered back to Rye, “Something’s wrong with this kid.”

  “He’s not dead.”

  “He’s something worse,” Daphne said.

  “Hold me, please,” Justin said, reaching his arms toward Daphne. “I’m so scared, Mommy.”

  Rye moved between them, extending his hand to Justin.

  “No,” Daphne said. She grabbed Rye’s wrist and pushed him away from the boy.

  “I really wish you hadn’t done that,” Justin said. His voice was laced with static.

  “What the fu—” Rye cut his words off when the boy opened his mouth, revealing two rows of razor-sharp teeth.

  Justin unhinged his jaw. A long forked crimson tongue snaked from his mouth. The sun’s rays latched onto the boy’s skin. It had a slight yellowish-green tone with small scales.

  “He’s one of them,” Daphne said, stepping back.

  Justin blinked his eyes rapidly. At first, they were human eyes with baby blue pupils. The next blink they were bright red. And then back to blue. And then back to red.

  “Get the gun,” Daphne said, taking another step back.

  Justin continued to blink. He moaned. The sound combined a boy’s cry and a knocking sound.

  “Hurry. He is communicating with them.”

  Rye didn’t get the rifle. Instead, he fished a pink handheld mirror from underneath the driver’s seat.

  “Are you hoping it sees itself and turns to stone?” Daphne asked.

  “Just watch.” Rye held the mirror to the sun. He twisted the handle, directing the light at Justin’s eyes.

  Smoke billowed from the boy’s nostrils. The crying faded, but the knocking sound grew louder.

  Daphne’s voice grew urgent. “I’m telling you, he is calling more of them.”

  “Yeah, but they won’t come. They can’t be in direct sunlight.” Rye held the mirror steady. The light burned holes through Justin’s eye sockets. There was a moment of rapid knocking, followed by the kid’s head exploding. “Fucking A.”

  “You’re wrong,” Daphne said, completely ignoring the light show. “More are coming.”

  “What?”

  Before Daphne could answer, two lizards burst through a pile of leaves, exposing a four-foot wide hole underneath.

  Rye gaped. “Holy shit.”

  “Get in the van, now,” Daphne said. She was already in the driver’s seat.

  Rye dove into the passenger seat. Daphne jammed her foot on the gas. In the rearview mirror, the two lizards stood in the middle of the road.

  “How the hell did you know?” Rye asked, catching his breath.

  “I can feel them.”

  Rye pressed his back against the passenger door, getting as far away from Daphne as possible. “What do you mean, you can feel them?”

  Daphne rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. It starts with a subtle tingle in my fingers and toes. The closer I get to one, the more intense the shock becomes.”

  “I guess you’re like an alarm system for the lizard people.” Rye scratched the small patch of hair masquerading as a goatee. “It’s so hard to believe, ya know. I’ve always thought they were real, but seeing them in the flesh…it’s just not believable.”

  “How did you know that light would kill it?”

  “I didn’t…really. But the way it blinked its eyes gave me the idea that it was sensitive to light. Just a hunch.”

  She glanced at him. “Well, for the future, let’s not risk our lives on a hunch.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rye saluted Daphne.

  “What do you know about them?” Daphne cracked open one of the bottled waters Rye took from the station wagon.

  “There’s Icke’s hypothesis, which seems the most realistic of the things I’ve read. Some believers think reptilians are the real reason for the extinction of dinosaurs. Others think they evolved from the dinosaurs. And yes, they believe dinosaurs were aliens.”

  “What do you believe?”

  Rye took one of the Post-it notes that Daphne found earlier. “Tanner Wilde.” Rye held the yellow note in Daphne’s direction. “He was sixteen when he disappeared.”

  “And you think these lizards took him?”

  “Something did.” Rye grabbed another note, this one purple. “Sarah Glass. Disappeared when she was eighteen. That was ten years ago.” Rye held the stack of notes to the windshield, allowing light to shine on them. “This is only a handful. I have thousands just like these.”

  Her brow furrowed. “How long has this been going on?”

  “From what I can find, it’s always been going on, but the teenage disappearances became frequent in the early eighties. Most were written off as runaways. But I don’t think so. I think whatever is happening now has been in the planning for a long time.”

  “I’m not following,” Daphne said.

  “This is something you will not find in history books, so bear with me before you think I’m crazy. Just remember, a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have believed in those things either.” Rye pointed to two zombies stumbling down the highway.

  “Okay.”

  “In 1587, there was an explosion that set the night sky of Earth on fire. It’s written off as Native American folklore, but Algonquian remnants point to something very real.”

  She frowned. “So, what was the explosion?”

  “One theory around the UFO community is that the explosion signaled the end of an alien war that was occurring in space at that time.”

  “Kinda like blowing up the Death Star.” Daphne smiled.

  “Exactly! Anyway, there is a piece of Algonquian art that looks like lizards rounding up people. Some believe that’s what happened to the Lost Colony.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “The really insane part is that the lizards had chains around their necks and legs, leading many to believe they didn’t win the war.”

  “So, who, or what did?”

  “Do you really want to know what could put those things in chains?”

  Daphne chugged the water. “Guess not, but what do we do now?”

  “Pull in over there.”

  Daphne drove into the parking lot of a strip center. Not the most ideal place to shop. Cracks ran through asphalt, weeds growing through the openings. The building was comprised of four storefronts. Two were vacant, with For Lease signs on the windows. One of the occupied stores was a consignment shop. The other, a grocery store.

  “We’ll make a food run,” Rye said.

  Daphne eased on the brakes, bringing the van to a crawl. She scouted the parking lot for any sign of movement. Nothing. The stillness comforted her and made her nervous. She stopped the van in front of Mimi’s Market. The doors of the store were slightly ajar.

  “Looks like someone beat us to it,” Daphne said. “Think it’s safe?”

  “Probably not, but we don’t have a choice. We have to eat.”

  Rye grabbed the aluminum bat he found earlier and handed it to Daphne. He picked up the hammer and stepped out of the van. Daphne followed. The stench of rotting meat wafting through the chilly air scared away the hunger pangs that gripped Daphne. She didn’t know how long she was held captive, which meant she didn’t know how long it had been since she ate real food. With a white-knuckled grip on the bat, she tried to remember her last meal, but the odor grew stronger, making the idea of eating out of the question.

  “Is that smell coming from zombies?” she asked.

  “Doubt it. It’s probably meat that’s gone bad.”

  “Isn’t that what zombies are?” Daphne asked, trying to inject humor into the tense situation.


  Rye turned to her and smiled. He pushed through the doors. Flies buzzed around his head; he swatted them away. The stench was strong enough to make Daphne dry-heave.

  The store was ransacked. Most of the shelves lay on the floor, which was littered with products. There were two register stands with counters attached to them. This was a golden oldie grocery store.

  Rye looked beneath both counters for surprises.

  “All clear,” he said, pushing a shopping cart toward Daphne. “Grab all the chips you can. The expiration date doesn’t matter. There’s enough preservatives in them to keep them good. I’m going to get canned food. We’ll meet back up at the drink aisle.”

  Daphne nodded and whirled the cart toward the chips. She wasn’t expecting to find much given the overturned shelves, but there were enough chips to fill her basket and then some. It wasn’t a cheeseburger, but it was a hell of a lot better than stale saltines. She took the cart back to the front of the store and grabbed another one.

  Rye didn’t have as much luck in the canned food aisle. It was mostly picked dry. He managed to grab a few cans of corn and green beans. There were about twenty cans of peas. He laughed. Rye wasn’t the only person who hated peas. He would have to learn to love them pretty damn quick. He tossed a can of diced carrots in the basket and three cans of baked beans. He screamed, “Hell, yeah,” after stumbling over two cases of Beanie Weenies. There were at least thirty cans of ravioli and even more cans of spaghetti. Rye didn’t question why there was so much food at the end of the aisle. He turned to pick up a handful of cans. The cart slammed into an overturned shelf and flipped over.

  “What the…”

  A man, standing about six foot four and wearing a white butcher’s coat covered in blood, stood watching Rye. The milky glaze covering the man’s eyes left no doubt that he wasn’t alive. He lunged at Rye, who ducked under the massive arms and ran toward the meat section. The odor smacked him like running into a cinderblock wall, but he fought through, and ran down the cleaning products aisle toward the front of the store.

  “There’s a chomper in here,” Rye yelled. “And he’s a big bastard.”

  Daphne parked a cart full of soda, Gatorade, and water next to the cart of chips. She caught a glimpse of the massive zombie. “Shit.” She pushed both carts out the door next to the van, and then grabbed the rifle and went back into the store.