Intruders (Book 2): The Awakening

by Tracy Sharp

  Another dark thought moved through my mind. They hadn’t been simply going on a joyride. They’d been running from something. Trying to get away. The ice breaking. People sinking through the ice, into the frozen depths.

  Maybe it had happened not long ago. Moments before, I’d spotted the shanty as a black dot in the distance. Perhaps the fishermen had been drowning even as I’d set my sights on it, hope giving me an extra boost to keep going.

  Were they looking up at us now?

  I imagined dead legs kicking, dead hands clawing beneath the surface of the ice. Scratching. Dead eyes watching our murky shapes moving above them.

  Hank whimpered again; his head turned slightly to the right, eyes trained on a spot about six feet in front of us. I followed his gaze, and my heart froze as I caught sight of what he was looking at.

  A long streak was obscured beneath the snow, making it slightly pink instead of the bright red I knew it had been before the storm had covered most of it. A streak that led to the hole.

  Someone had been dragged to that hole. Likely kicking and screaming.

  Someone who had been bitten by a deadie? Most likely. By somebody who was getting rid of a threat before they had a chance to turn. Shove them under the ice.

  That’s what the world has come to.

  A living person had done that. The lizards didn’t live in water. Did they?

  A memory forced itself through to the forefront of my mind. A flash of my three-year-old niece, just as she’d been in the process of transforming into a lizard, soaking in the bathtub with another changeling kid watching over her. Jessica lying at the bottom of the tub, eyes wide beneath the water. I’d followed the tufts of hair and fallen teeth to the bathroom.

  I blinked, and a gust of wind threw snow into my eyes, mixing with the tears freezing on their way down my cheeks. “Let’s check out the shack, boy.”

  Hank stepped a few feet ahead of me, instinctively protecting me from possible holes. The shack was only a few yards away, but knowing what we knew now, it seemed like endless miles.

  Having survived for a couple of weeks since the compound had been taken over should’ve bolstered me, but it just further solidified the certainty in me that our survival had been largely luck, and that our luck would run out sooner or later. Like I said, good luck didn’t last long in this new world.

  I gave myself a mental headshake. Thinking like that would get us killed. We were almost there. One step at a time.

  I kept putting one foot in front of the other. The UGG boots I’d taken from the room of the teenage girl who had been a part of Hank’s previous family held up well.

  I snorted, the sound stolen by the wind. I was impressed by UGG. They were standing up against the weather, even through hours of walking in a seemingly never-ending snowstorm. And they’d passed the zombie test, many times over. They were definitely reliable. This would make one hell of an UGG commercial.

  Too bad there was nobody left in the world who gave a shit.

  Finally, we made it to the shanty. Hank gave a low growl. He knew better than to bark. Staying stealthy was the name of the game these days. Good thing he was smart, and a quick learner.

  But then, a zombie apocalypse-alien invasion will teach you pretty quick.

  There were no steps. This structure was made to be portable and light. It was meant to be unhooked from a trailer hitch or driven in on an ATV, and left for the duration of the winter, as long as the ice held. It was still here. Unlike the men who had put it here.

  Reaching out a shaking hand, I pulled the handle. The place was far more Gucci than the average ice shanty. It was a little bigger and had been modified for character, with gray paint and a fake shingled roof, the kind that comes in sheets that you just nail on. The windows were framed in black. Someone had put a lot of thought into this thing. I imagined that building it with a few buddies while sipping on a few cold ones had been part of the fun.

  The door opened silently, and my eyes shifted around the inside. There were no deadies in the place. No bathroom for one to be lurking in. But still, Hank seemed uneasy. His chest rumbled with an uneasy growl. Maybe he was just nervous. We’d encountered so many deadies in the last few weeks, and so many lizards, that he’d come to expect it.

  He brushed against my legs as he moved past me, slowly sniffing around the area. There was a fishing hole cut into the floor of the shanty that was not covered, and a thin coating of ice masked the water. The hole was cut too large. One drunk guy could easily fall through and drown. Maybe they’d been drunk when they’d cut the hole. The men hadn’t been gone that long, then. Otherwise, the hole would’ve been covered in a thicker layer of ice.

  I breathed a reluctant sigh of relief. The place was empty. There was nowhere to hide. But then, deadies didn’t hide anyway. They just came shuffling after you.

  I pushed out the long breath I’d been holding. “I think it’s okay, boy.”

  Hank didn’t seem convinced. He walked over to the hole and sniffed, and then growled. He didn’t like holes. Neither did I.

  Deciding that there was no immediate threat to us, which was the best we could hope for anymore, I turned and spotted a propane heater in one corner of the shack. Oh please, let there be propane left in it.

  My eyes caught on a cooler at the far end of the shanty. My stomach growled. Right now, the possibility of food trumped heat. I went over and searched the cooler. Beer. Soda. More beer. A few bottles of water. A couple of bags of beef jerky. “Score.”

  Hank lifted his head at the sound of my voice, his face quizzical.

  “Beef jerky, Hank. Don’t tell me you’ve never had beef jerky.” I pulled off my gloves, shoving them in the pockets of my parka, and ripped the bag open, thankful that both bags hadn’t been opened yet.

  Hank cocked his head at my question, eyes trained on the bag. He licked his chops and reluctantly left the hole.

  I frowned at the hole. We have to be careful not to fall in. That would suck after all that we’d been through. To fall through the fishing hole of a homemade ice shanty, after fighting off lizards and the dead, would just be lame.

  I pulled a nice, fat piece of jerky out for Hank. He gave a sniff at the meat before gently taking it from my fingers. His chocolate eyes seemed to light up as he chewed.

  “Ah, see? You don’t know what you’ve been missing.” I pulled a chunk out for myself, tearing off a chewy bite. As I savored the smoked flavor, I said, “Tell you what, bud. We get through this crazy invasion, infestation, or whatever it is, and I’ll keep you in beef jerky for the rest of your life.”

  He drooled a little, eyes trained on the bag.

  I pulled another piece out for him and he took it from me, chomping down on it eagerly.

  “That’s a promise,” I said between chews. I hoped that we would make it through this invasion. Most times I did think of the lizards as an infestation. They were creepy crawlers, insect-like, and they skittered when they moved. They were things made of nightmares.

  I ate another piece of jerky and gave Hank another few pieces before opening a bottle of water and drinking half of it down.

  Hank eyed the bottle.

  “Hank, why don’t you drink from the fishing holes like a normal dog?” I was sure Hank considered himself human, and I did share all the water I found with him, but if he could drink from the river, it would stretch the water supply for us.

  But Hank wasn’t having it.

  Maybe he knew something I didn’t.

  I sighed. “Okay. Hang on.” I pulled his water dish from my backpack, poured some water into it, and placed it in front of him.

  He drank all the water down. I poured the rest of the bottle into the dish.

  I walked over to one of the windows, watching the wind push the snowdrifts over the frozen, snowy surface of the Hudson. It was desolate out here. I brought my fingers up and touched the cold surface. The window was made of clear plastic. Plexiglass, maybe. Lighter than actual window glass. Didn’t do much f
or keeping the cold out, but when the sun was shining, it would help to warm the shack.

  A wave of loneliness swept over me, so powerful that my throat tightened.

  I could see why ice fishermen liked to come out on the ice and get away from everything. But at moments like this, feelings of isolation battled with the wish to be far away from anything that could hurt us.

  I felt the cold way down deep in my bones as I looked out over the white landscape.

  Turning away, I headed for the propane heater. I found the switch on the side and pressed it. It took a few tries but the thing finally lit. “Sweet.”

  I was amazed at our luck so far. We’d found a shack with water, beef jerky, and a propane heater.

  This was the life.

  I crouched, warming my hands by the heater. Hank came up beside me, studying the heater and sniffing at the warmth coming from it. “We’re in high cotton now, aren’t we, boy?”

  Hank sat beside me and seemed to smile as the heat moved over his tawny fur.

  We wouldn’t be able to stay there for long, but we could stay until the heat ran out. I didn’t know how much gas was left in the heater, but the fact that there was a full cooler of drinks and jerky told me that the fishermen hadn’t been out here long before tragedy struck.

  Hank lifted his ears and his hackles seemed to go up. He snarled and moved to the door, his head low and his ears back.

  My heart picked up speed, drumming against my chest. Something was out there.

  I stood, turned toward the door, and listened. The wind shrieked and threw snow against the windows. I couldn’t hear anything through it. But then the wind quieted for a moment, an almost imperceptible scratching sound, and a moan.

  Damn it. They’d found us. How many of them were there?

  I walked to a window at the other end of the shanty. It was mostly clear of snow, but beyond it, snow swirled through the air, blocking my view of anything within a foot of the window. But then I saw a shape in the looming dusk. The thin light was fading fast. A grayish shadow moved. Then another. I couldn’t tell how many were out there. Were they surrounding the shack?

  Hank continued his low, rumbling growl, staring at the door, and then he took a step back as the pounding began. Several thumps.

  Oh, God. Please, don’t let this be the crawlers. The dead I could fight off. The crawlers were different.

  Another moan. And another. Overlapping, beneath the howling of the wind.

  No, those were deadies. But if they didn’t cut their creeping, groaning shit, they might draw the lizards across the lake to us.

  They often traveled in swarms. Like they somehow knew it was near impossible to fight off a group of them.

  The LED lights must’ve drawn them. They had sensors that had triggered the lights when it became too dim in the shanty.

  I quickly and carefully began moving around the shack, hitting the LED lights, shutting them off one by one. There were ten in all, kind of haphazardly stuck all around the room, staggered over the walls. The fishermen had taken the time and care to insulate the shack. I could see bits of spray insulation bubbling around the edges of the particle board they’d chosen to use for walls over the insulation. But their decorating skills had left a lot to be desired. Having enough light to fish by had been a priority.

  The room became dimmer as I hit each light, one by one. Hank’s grainy figure was still, as he stared at the door, the quiet rumble of his growl contained within his chest.

  Still, it sounded too loud to my ears. Adrenaline made my nerves jangle, and I didn’t want the least bit of sound from inside the shanty to draw more of the dead. I’d learned since the world had gone to shit that if you stayed quiet and still for long enough, the dead got bored and began their slow shamble away.

  Finally, I was down to the last light. I stared at it for a moment, hating to kill it because then Hank and I would be stuck in darkness.

  A thump on the window beside my head.

  I jumped and then saw the dark silhouette of a deadie clawing at the window. If enough of them started pushing on the plastic, the window would cave, and Hank and I would be screwed.

  I hit the light, and the shack went completely and utterly dark.

  “Sssssh,” I whispered to Hank. I should’ve called him over to me before killing the light. Trying to make my way over to him would be too treacherous with that huge, gaping hole in the middle of the floor. What the hell were those dumb bastards thinking? Drink enough of that beer and they’d be staggering all over the place. It would be so easy to go teetering down into that hole, into the freezing depths.

  Something brushed against my legs and I almost screamed. It took me a second to realize it was a familiar sensation. Hank had found his way to me. I wish I had Hank’s nocturnal vision. He’d have to be my eyes.

  Crouching down, I wrapped my arms around his large, barrel body, running my hands over his fur. The winter had given him a nice, thick coat. If we lived to see spring, he’d shed like crazy. I didn’t care.

  I moved my hands around and rubbed his chest, because soothing him calmed me, and I felt his heart hammering against my hand. I didn’t know how good a deadie’s hearing was, but I wasn’t taking chances.

  We stayed like that, listening to the thumping and clawing against the door, walls, and windows, and I shivered, even as the heater’s warmth moved over me. It wasn’t the best idea to keep the thing on, but I didn’t dare take a chance at turning it off. Even the slightest sound could bring on new determination from the hungry dead outside.

  Taking long, shuddering breaths and staying in one position for hours through the night left my muscles aching. By the time the sky began to lighten, leaving the shack in a gauzy charcoal instead of black, I could tell that the dead had given up. I took a chance at standing to peer out the window.

  I saw several shapes in the distance as dawn bled into the darkness, casting a strange, burnt orange light over the Hudson.

  Relief moved over me and my knees felt a little weak with it. I pushed out a long breath. “That was close, bud.”

  Hank stood by my side, looking up at me. I ran my hand over his large head.

  We’d had a lot of close calls. I was never sure while we were in the thick of them that we’d make it through. “Let’s try not to let that happen again, ’kay?”

  Hank moved his nose into my hand as if in agreement.

  Then his body stiffened, and he jumped around, baring his teeth at the hole in the floor.

  The inside of the shanty was still dark, but was lightening to a murky gray.

  I strained my eyes and my ears, fear singing through me. Something was in the shanty with us. But how did it get in?

  Peering into the dimness, I saw it, and my heart jumped into my throat.

  Movement from the hole. A hole big enough for a drunk fisherman to fall through.

  And big enough for a dead fisherman to climb back out of.

  The dark shape of a head, still wearing a woolen hat, and large arms pulling itself up and onto the floor, froze the blood in my veins.

  ***

  Hank stepped toward it, but I held him back. “No.”

  If he got bitten or scratched, he’d be just like them. Hank and I had come across a dead dog, with milky eyes and an unearthly howl. It was faster than the undead humans, and much more terrifying. I’d had to use a precious bullet on it because those snapping teeth were quicker than my knife, and I wasn’t taking chances with Hank. He would’ve tangled with the thing until his throat was torn out and losing him would be horrible enough. But the thought of him coming back as one of the dead was too heartbreaking to bear.

  I’d have to end him, and I didn’t know if I could do that.

  He was a big boy, and I was too tired to mess with him. Best to kill him fast.

  Avoiding the hole where the dead fisherman was gaining purchase on the floor with alarming ease, I grabbed my backpack and pulled out my ax. He was tall and pasty and swollen, and the smell of him
almost dropped me. I held my breath and swung the ax and buried the blade into the side of his head.

  The deadie let out a hiss and flopped on the floor.

  I moved to step toward the door but something grabbed my ankle. I gave a short, sharp scream, and used my other foot to stomp her head. This was a little girl of about sixteen years old. Long ropes of hair hung over her face in strings, and her face drooped, having been in the water too long. She was bloated and in the ever lightening morning, her skin held a purple-blue tinge.

  The smell of her hit me all at once. The smell of death. This girl had apparently been in the water longer than the man. As she scrambled for my foot, she tilted her face to me and I saw the heart-shaped pendant on her neck and recognized her from a news bite I’d seen just before the invasion hit. This was Kirsten Gonzales, who had gone missing from her family’s summer cottage on the Hudson just the previous day.

  So these fishermen were doing more than fishing. And the hole cut into the ice shack had been for more than fishing. It had been for disposal. I was reminded that our world had been a violent place before the aliens arrived.

  What she’d turned into was a far cry from the gorgeous, smiling high school girl her school picture had shown. Revulsion and pity warred within me. “I’m so sorry, Kirsten.”

  She grunted and grabbed for me, one arm on the floor, keeping her from falling back into the water.

  I swung the ax in an arc and jammed it through her dead skull.

  Kirsten slumped, and I yanked at my ax, pulling her partway out of the hole in the process. Finally, I was able to pull the ax out of her head. I took a few steadying breaths, and then pushed her back through the hole.

  “Jesus.” I shook my head, rubbing the back of one trembling hand over my nose. Even having been in the freezing water for so long, Kirsten smelled like dead, rotting meat.

  Which was what she was, really.

  No wonder Hank hadn’t wanted to drink the river water.

  Hank sniffed at the hole, still growling. The propane heater must’ve warmed that area of the water enough that whatever had been hanging out below deck had started moving again. I had a suspicion there would be more dead crawling out of the water. More missing girls? Or was Kirsten the first? I couldn’t remember, and I didn’t want to try. It was too horrible to think of.