Intruders (Book 2): The Awakening

by Tracy Sharp

  He grinned; I grinned back, and then turned and headed toward the jackets. I called over my shoulder. “What size jacket do you wear?”

  “I don’t know. Just grab something that looks like it’ll fit me. Anything in a tan or taupe will really make the shade of my eyes pop.”

  I snickered, tempted to get him the gaudy forest-patterned jacket displayed in front of the outerwear aisle. But then, I couldn’t be that cruel. The guy had been through enough.

  And we didn’t have time to fool around. The deadies were literally at our door, and night would come soon. The crawlers would be coming out of their holes.

  The thought wiped the smirk from my face and made me move a little faster.

  ***

  I found a back staircase that led to a fire escape. Once on the fire escape, I spotted another metal ladder leading to the roof of the building. Why there was a ladder leading to the roof, I didn’t know, but at that point, I was just glad there was one. I told Hank to stay put because the ladder looked too steep for him. He didn’t like it, but he obeyed and sat, looking up at me with dubious eyes.

  “This is handy,” Daphne said from behind me.

  “Careful. It’s a bit slippery.” All we needed was for one of us to get hurt, break a leg or something. We’d be screwed. We couldn’t exactly call an ambulance.

  As if reading my thoughts, a much dryer, warmer, but still unsteady Rye patted Hank on the head. “I’ll stay with Hank. Keep a lookout so nothing sneaks up on you.”

  “Okay,” I called down to him. I was glad Hank had someone to hang with while we looked the town over from the roof. The view might give us a good idea of which direction to take. We needed a good vehicle. I murmured, “Maybe there would be a shabby little used car dealership not far from here.”

  “Every town has at least one,” Daphne said. Little plumes of frozen breath billowed in the air in front of her face.

  Once we stood on the roof, the wind picked up, spitting hard little snowflakes at us. It felt like I’d been cold for so long that I’d never get warm again. Winter had always made the air smell cleaner to me. But what I smelled now was dead meat. Rotting flesh. That smell was always in the air now.

  We did a slow turn and surveyed the town. The roof gave us a pretty good view. The deadies were still hanging around the front of the store, which was good. If we were careful, we could make a clean getaway without any of them noticing.

  Daphne barked out a laugh, and I turned to her. She tipped her chin and looked out over the town. She looked almost translucent with the snow dancing all around her. Her coffee-colored hair looked darker against the snowflakes. “Looks like we found a place to get a car, and damn if I haven’t always wanted one of those.”

  I followed her gaze and felt a smile break out over my own face. “Hells, yes.”

  The huge Mercedes-Benz sign wasn’t lit up, but the font and logo gracing the top of the glossy silver structure were unmistakable, even in the dying light of the approaching dusk.

  “Let’s go get a Benz.” She headed back toward the edge of the roof.

  ***

  “Unless we want to have to keep hot-wiring a car whenever we want to start it, we’ll need to get the keys from inside the dealership.” Daphne looked at the windowed walls of the dealership, similar to Jim’s Outdoor World, but much bigger, and windowed all around instead of on just one side. That way everyone could drool over the new, shiny cars in the showroom.

  Cars that the average slob could never afford.

  But, thanks to the end of days, someone resourceful enough could get their grubby hands on one.

  “How are we going to get in?” Rye asked. “The locks on these doors aren’t really pickable, assuming one of us knows how to pick a lock.”

  Daphne looked around, spotted something, and headed toward the lot. “Hang on.”

  We watched her walk up and down the aisles of used Mercedes. You could buy a used one and still feel like a hotshot because it was a Benz. But if you had the means, you could get a new one every couple of years. That, however, was so yesterday.

  Daphne bent down, running her hand along the bottom of several of the older cars.

  I grinned. “I know what she’s doing. Smart girl.”

  Rye nodded, but I think he’d already figured out what she was doing before I had. “Yeah. She is.”

  Within moments she rose, holding up a key, a satisfied smile on her face.

  Car owners sometimes forget about the spare key in the magnetic key holder they stick to the underside of their cars. They put it there and forget about it.

  Lucky for us they’d lived in good areas where they hadn’t had to worry about sly car thieves who were savvy to this fact.

  We needed a vehicle that had a full tank of gas, which meant getting one either off the showroom floor, or getting a key to one of the new ones on the lot.

  She fitted the key into the lock of a sleek smoke-gray sedan — thank God it wasn’t a keyless entry — and sat behind the wheel.

  Figuring she’d just drive up and we’d get in the Benz, Rye and I stepped back a little, giving her room. Even Hank wagged his tail and seemed to smile his approval.

  But then she floored it and bulleted past us. We watched in amazement as she crashed the sedan over the walkway and through the glass wall, astoundingly missing any of the cars in the showroom.

  “Well, I, for one, am impressed with those tires,” I said. “They didn’t even skid on the snow. I guess you really do get what you pay for.”

  “That’s a hundred-thousand-dollar car,” Rye said, wincing.

  “Money, my friend, is no object.” I whooped and carefully walked over the broken glass and into the showroom. “Careful, Hank!”

  “Over here, Hank. Watch the glass, boy.” Rye pointed to the ground and then led Hank around the shattered pieces, taking him through an area that somehow was mostly free of shards. Hank padded softly behind him, watching where he stepped.

  Daphne walked around the showroom, a smile on her face and a glint in her eye. She ran the fingers of one hand over a stunning little silver coupe. “Oh yeah, baby.”

  Rye chuckled. “Yeah. That is a nice ride, and good on gas mileage because it’s small, but I don’t know how practical it is in a zombie apocalypse-slash-alien invasion, occurring in a particularly stormy winter.”

  “Buzzkill.” Daphne narrowed her eyes at Rye.

  “He’s right,” I said. “We need something sturdier.”

  Daphne sighed. “Just let me dream for a minute, would you?”

  “Dream away,” Rye said, heading away from the smaller vehicles and toward the more durable SUVs.

  “What about that one?” I pointed to a white SUV sitting near one corner of the room. “It looks pretty sturdy.”

  “That’s not a bad choice.” Rye nodded. “But I’m thinking something more along the lines of that one. The G63 AMG. Base model starting at about a hundred and forty grand.”

  I followed his lusty gaze to a muscular, boxy SUV that reminded me a little of the older model Land Rovers. “That’s going to be a gas guzzler, Rye.”

  He eyed it a little sadly and then nodded grudgingly. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s a V8 engine. I just really want it.”

  “We’ll let you dream a little.” Daphne grinned as she headed our way.

  “It’s too bad because this thing was built for off-roading, which means it could probably plow through just about anything,” I said.

  Rye nodded, more enthusiastically than the conversation called for. “Yeah. It would kick serious zombie ass. Mash the shit out of aliens, too.”

  Having mashed a couple of aliens in an SUV before, I had to agree. Still, it wasn’t practical mileage-wise. “But it really would suck up too much gas.”

  “Hey, there’s the all-new GLA. Fuses turbo power with fuel efficiency, featuring the ECO stop/start engine, flexible, versatile, and fun.” Daphne’s velvety commercial voice-over impression was spot on. “Perfect for the bold, yet respo
nsible apocalypse survivor.”

  Rye shook his head, chuckling.

  I snorted a laugh. “Sold. Let’s do that one.”

  Chapter 9

  Griffin Murphy rammed the horns of the toy Triceratops into the belly of the T. rex. Most of the paint had faded from the rubber animals, leaving pinkish spots. Not surprising given they were nearing thirty years old. He laughed as the T. rex tipped over. It was an epic battle between two of the most recognizable beasts of the Cretaceous Period. Griffin spent many an afternoon in his room engaging the dinosaurs in fights to the death.

  Triceratops always won. In the real world, the likelihood of an epic battle between the two monsters ever happening was nil. The T. rex was the ultimate apex predator, after all. It would surely recognize the horns of the Triceratops as dangerous, and the bony frill that shielded the Triceratops’ neck as a lot of work to fight through. And there were much easier ways to get food.

  There never was definitive research that the two giants ever fought, only marks on Triceratops’ bones that would suggest a T. rex took a bite, but in no way does that mean they fought to the death. There are many characteristics that go into being an apex predator: being a badass is the most obvious, but being smart may be more important.

  “Power at eighteen percent. Dimming lights thirty percent,” the monotone computerized voice said.

  “You’re not much of a good friend,” Griffin said, placing the rubber dinosaurs back on a shelf. “You only talk to me when you have bad news.” He pulled a handful of batteries from a desk drawer and placed them next to a flashlight. Griffin hadn’t heard another human voice since going into lockdown. Things disintegrated so fast. The meteorites hit. The world went to hell.

  The only person in the museum besides Griffin was Hal. Griffin was always the last scientist to leave and on his way out, he always made it a point to say good-bye to Hal, who was entrusted with keeping things safe throughout the night. Two weeks ago, Griffin watched his friend of ten years die. He wasn’t attacked by aliens or zombies. Hal clutched his chest, fell to his knees, and then slipped away. Fifteen minutes later, he rose to his feet and started walking aimlessly through the museum. Griffin saw it all from the monitors as he locked himself safely away in the Bunker.

  The Bunker was a newer addition to the museum. The September 11 attacks served notice that terrorists were stepping out of the shadows. It was rare when a day went by that an act of terrorism wasn’t plastered on the evening news. Jake Boone convinced his brother that the museum needed protection. History needed protection. There were assholes looking to make history by destroying it.

  “I have no idea where you are right now, Jake, but thank you for being more stubborn than me.” Griffin put the batteries in the flashlight.

  For years, he fought Jake on the Bunker. Griffin wanted to put the money into research. He looked down the hall, through the crack in his office door, at the nearly complete velociraptor, and thanked his brother again. If not for the Bunker, these fossils would have been destroyed with everything else above ground. Griffin looked at the toy T. rex again. “The ultimate apex predator.” He flashed the light onto a picture next to his laptop. The black-and- white photo was slightly out of focus, but there was no denying the subject — a four-foot lizard frozen in a block of ice.

  “As screwed up as this is, I know you would love to be here to witness it, Jake.” Griffin flipped the photo over. On the back was written Grímsvötn 2011. “Are you the ultimate apex predator?” He tapped the flashlight on the photo.

  “Power at fourteen percent. Dimming lights twenty percent. Running at minimal capacity, there are two hours of power left. If electricity is not restored in that time, the Bunker will seal for its protection.”

  “Never good news. Never.” Griffin looked at his watch. “About four hours until dark. I didn’t want to do this, but there is no choice.”

  The only purpose of the electric generators was to bide enough time for power to be restored given a scenario of total darkness. The main source of backup energy was the solar-powered generators. They tapped completely out two days after the meteorite shower. Griffin was surprised the electric generators had lasted this long.

  He loved the museum, but there was no way he was going to let it become his tomb. He’d hoped the military would have rescued him by now. That wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t know the extent of the damage to the solar panels. Given the severity of the meteorites, it could be as simple as a coating of dust blocking the sun or as drastic as total destruction. Now was the time to find out.

  Griffin filled his backpack with a couple handfuls of leftover Halloween candy, his laptop, and four bottles of water. He took the fire ax from its clip next to the extinguisher, trying out a few different grips to make it a viable weapon. On the monitor behind him, Hal roamed around the kids’ exhibit Hatch-A-Dino. Once he felt comfortable enough with the ax, Griffin flung the backpack over his left shoulder and placed his index finger on the red scanner near two metal doors.

  “Warning. Power at nine percent. Opening the doors will deplete to four percent. There will not be enough power to reopen the doors without recharge. If you wish to proceed, scan again.”

  Griffin took one last look at what had been his life for the last twenty years, at the office where he’d brought the past back to life through years of bones and dust. If it all were to end today, Griffin’s life had been good.

  He ran to his desk and tossed the toy dinosaurs into his backpack. He thought back to the Christmas morning he got them. Sitting around the tree, watching Jake pretend to dig under the rug with his new camping shovel. His mother yelling at Jake not to scratch the floor.

  Griffin missed his family every day, but for the moment, he was thankful they didn’t have to live through the hell he was about to endure. He could easily join them. His good friend Hal could see to that, but that wasn’t Griffin. There were goddamn aliens on Earth. Jake would never forgive him if he took the easy way out and didn’t find out why they were here.

  When they were kids, just about every night, Jake would call Griffin to the backyard to stargaze and look for strange things in the sky. The brothers never saw anything other than a few shooting stars, but that never stopped Jake from telling his younger brother, “They are out there…watching.” He’d been right.

  Griffin placed his index finger on the scanner again.

  “Initiating doors.”

  The doors opened. Not at their normal speed, but more like an electric razor fighting battery depletion. The smell of destruction, not death, rushed through the opening. Dust tickled Griffin’s throat. A hint of gas teased his nostrils. It was a good thing he was leaving. The building could blow at any time. Adrenaline fed Griffin’s veins like heroin to a thirsty addict. The doors were moving too slowly. He pried them enough to slip through.

  Endless dark surrounded him. The cameras in his office ran night vision. The fact that everything outside the office was pitch black never occurred to him until he threw himself into it.

  “Flashlight. I forgot the damn flashlight.”

  The doors were closing again. There would be no way to open them. He placed his hands in the gap that was still big enough for him to fit through, and fought the doors.

  “How the hell am I going to keep this thing open?”

  Griffin was in good shape. He hit the gym at least three times a week. Ran races monthly. Practiced the Five Tibetan Rites every morning, but these doors had only one job — to close. And he couldn’t hold them until they drained of power. His shoulders ached. Stabbing pain raced up his neck to the back of his head. The pain was so bad, he let go of one of the doors, and reached for his neck. The discomfort in his other shoulder intensified. Griffin fell back and landed on his butt, conceding defeat to the metal doors as they closed.

  “Note to self: more upper body exercises, when I get out of this mess.”

  He rubbed his neck, kneading out the ache. To his left was the Discovery Room, where he cleaned
and tagged fossils. There was no exit that way. The only way out was to his right. He climbed to his feet. The hallway was narrow. As long as he walked a straight line, he wouldn’t run into anything until he got to the doors. Griffin extended his arms and made fists in front of him, to gauge the distance to the doors, and headed to the exit.

  He had the option of left and right once he made it out of the Bunker and into the museum offices. Both led to exhibits, but Hal was roaming the Hatch-A-Dino exhibit, which was to the right. Griffin would go left. He felt his way to the door and entered the Living Dinosaur. Griffin closed his eyes and pictured the exhibit. To his left was a Stegosaurus. On his right a brontosaurus. Rope blocked off the dinosaurs. He reached into the dark, grabbed the rope, and used it as a guide.

  “About ten more feet, and I’ll hit Main Hall.”

  From Main Hall, Griffin could access the stairwell leading to the roof and the solar panels. Fresh air sounded as good to him as a steak. Being cooped in the Bunker for so long had taken its toll.

  Something brushed against Griffin’s left side. He froze. Another bump. There was a low grunt, followed by the smell of rot. A second grunt. This time, it was louder. Something pawed at Griffin. He blindly swung the ax in its direction. The ax connected, creating a shattering sound followed by a sickening thud. Griffin fell back against the rope, flipping over it, and into the brontosaurus exhibit. One of the poles holding the ropes smacked him in the side of the face.

  “Think. Think,” he said, rolling behind a plant on his left.

  The grunts were more rapid. The smell of death closer. Griffin stood up, using the plant as a shield, and swung the ax again. It lodged into something. He jerked back. The force put him on his butt again. There was a clank, like metal hitting concrete. Whatever it was that hit the floor bounced a couple of times. On the third bounce, a beam of light caught the thing in front of Griffin — Hal.

  He was hovering over Griffin with a tar-like substance spewing from his mouth. There was a huge gash in his chest from the ax. A good chunk of his left leg was missing. After the initial shock, Griffin followed the beam to a flashlight. It must have dislodged from Hal’s belt. He picked the light up just as Hal grabbed his leg. His dead friend pulled Griffin through the plant, and toward his chomping mouth. Light flashed on and off of Hal, who lowered his head for a bite.