The Siege

by Hautala, Rick

  Both Donna and Winfield gave him questioning looks.

  “I think we’ve seen enough crazy to accept anything you might have in mind,” Winfield said.

  “I think we’ve got a chance here to do a little more than get away,” Dale said. “Winfield won’t fit in the tunnel, so we’ll get him out another way. Maybe we can try to lure a lot of those creatures into the cellar after us. We could then touch off a fire using the gas from the cruiser and get rid of the whole lot of them at once.”

  “You’re right,” Winfield said. “That is crazy.”

  “Do you want to let those things keep living?” Donna asked, turning on him. “Maybe Dale’s right.”

  “It’s just an idea,” Dale said, pressing the point. “But we can assume a couple of things. First of all, I think Donna’s right. Rodgers has just pulled back and is waiting for the opportune time to send everything he’s got against us. And two, I think we can be pretty sure our defenses aren’t going to hold out for long under a determined attack.”

  “If we get out of here with our skins, that should be enough,” Winfield said. “To stop these things, all we’ve got to do is nail Rodgers’ ass to the wall!” His upper lip glistened with sweat, and it was obvious to Dale that Winfield was thinking how it was easy enough for the rest of them they had their escape route, he didn’t.

  “We’re going to have to deal with Rodgers,” Dale said. “If we’ve wiped out most of them, we’ll be in a little bit better position.”

  Winfield winced when he unthinkingly scratched his scalp wound, then nodded in agreement. “I suppose we have to try it,” he said. “So what’s the first step?”

  “The first step,” a voice suddenly rang out, “is to let me set the fire.”

  There was a heavy tread of boots on the stairs as Hocker came downstairs, shouldered past Tasha, and came into the kitchen. Tasha followed behind him, but Dale asked her to go into the living room and keep an eye on the front of the house.

  “Light sleeper, huh?” Winfield said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

  Hocker ignored him and spoke to Dale. “God puts everyone on this earth with a talent, right? Well, the Good Lord saw fit to make me pretty fucking good at setting fires.”

  Winfield’s eyebrows suddenly shot up. “So you are the guy they’ve got on the A.P.B.? The one who’s been torching buildings all the way up the East Coast.”

  Hocker smiled with pride and nodded. “I might have had a little something to do with a few of them. Call it a hobby.”

  Winfield’s fists clenched, and he took a threatening step toward Hocker. “It’s a damned expensive hobby! It’s assholes like you who start fires, but it’s the local firemen who have to breathe the smoke and risk their lives putting them out.”

  Hocker shook his head, holding his ground against the cop. “I never torch a building that’s being used, ever! I do empty warehouses or barns. Never houses!”

  “The fires still have to be put out!” Winfield shouted. Nothing would have pleased Winfield more than to wrap both hands around Hocker’s neck and squeeze until it snapped.

  “That ain’t the point right now, pencil-dick,” Hocker said with a snort. “If you want this house to go whoosh, I can set it up so it’ll go up good.”

  Donna shifted uncomfortably. “Wait a minute—all of you,” she said, her voice trembling. “This is my family’s house, for God’s sake! And you’re talking about burning it down as if it meant nothing to anyone.”

  Dale turned to her and grasped her by the arms. “This isn’t something we’re taking lightly. But we have to destroy as many of these creatures as we can. We certainly don’t want a whole army of them parading down Main Street, do we?”

  “Of course not,” Donna replied, shaking her head. “But this is where I grew up. This is my home.”

  “Lookee-here,” Hocker said, rubbing his hands together vigorously. “You want this place to burn, I can do it. You…” He pointed at Dale. “Do what the man says, ’n go get that can of gasoline from the cruiser.”

  “Get the road flares too,” Winfield added.

  “Road flares,” Hocker said appreciatively. “Nice touch. You bring ’em back here while we scramble up some nice flammable material and we’ll have ourselves a regular weenie roast.”

  III

  Dale descended into the cellar with only a flashlight, no weapons because he needed one hand free to carry the gasoline tank. Anyway, if he met any of those zombies out in the open, any number of weapons weren’t going to help him.

  Winfield and Tasha were posted at the kitchen door, and Hocker stood guard in the living room, ready to signal if Rodgers or his creatures knew Dale was heading toward the barn. Except for Rodgers’ limo, still parked in the driveway, the yard had been deserted for the past three hours.

  Dale tensed as he knelt down in front of the black opening and aimed the flashlight beam along the dirt-lined floor.

  “You know,” he said, “I keep hoping you’ll suddenly say something like ‘Hey! Wait a minute! I’ll do it for you!’ ”

  He looked at Donna, his mouth set in a curious twist. “I wish I could,” she said, her voice low, “but if you only knew what I went through with this place when I was a kid, you’d understand. I’m terrified.”

  “For us to get away later, you’re going to have to do it,” Dale said.

  Donna nodded. “Yeah… maybe. But it’ll only be once. And with all the rest of us. I could never do it alone.”

  Dale smiled weakly, wondering if he was ready to do it alone. The fear that, somewhere down that tunnel, the walls would suddenly narrow and close in on him, kept whispering in the back of his mind. But it was either him or Hocker, and they all agreed that Hocker couldn’t be trusted to do anything once he was out on his own. With Winfield’s key ring in his pocket, a flashlight in hand, and one last kiss from Donna on his cheek, he got down onto his hands and knees and started to crawl.

  The tunnel was narrower than it had looked, Dale soon found out. The tight, dark walls closed in around him like a huge throat threatening to swallow him. The beam of his flashlight cut a sharp V into the blackness which he followed, not even knowing when—or if—he would find his way out. His hands and knees were scraped raw on the tunnel floor, but the worst pain was in his back. It scraped repeatedly against the stone ceiling, and he could feel the bleeding on his back.

  Can they smell fresh blood? Dale wondered with a tingling sense of fear as he forged ahead into the darkness. Will they sniff me out?

  He kept talking with Donna as he moved down the tunnel, which slanted to the left slightly and seemed to be dropping a bit. His words echoed around him with an uncomfortable closeness, and soon, Donna’s replies were nothing more than a garbled distortion of sound. His breath felt hot and close to him, like the breath of an animal waiting to pounce.

  Dale followed the jiggling flashlight beam as he baby-crawled forward, wondering where this tunnel was leading. The floor was bone-dry and every time he placed his hand down, a small puff of choking dust would rise like smoke. Sooty gray cobwebs shifted in the disturbance of his passing, and all along the tunnel there was evidence of rodent droppings.

  Dale feared that somehow Rodgers knew about their plan; he had discovered the opening of the tunnel at the other end and had already sent one of his zombies down to intercept him. In the pressing darkness, Dale tried not to think what he would do if the face of one of those dead creatures suddenly loomed out of the darkness in front of him. The only reassuring thought was that hopefully he would die of fright before those teeth tore him apart.

  The further he went, the more Dale became convinced Donna was wrong: this tunnel didn’t lead to the barn at all. His best guess was that he already had passed underneath the barn and was heading God knows where! He wanted to look behind him, to see if he could see the light of the cellar opening, however dim; but the tunnel snuggled him like a straitjacket, and the few times he reflexively turned his head around, he banged his forehead on the stone wa
ll.

  This is bullshit! he thought, and he laughed. Was that his own laughter echoing in the darkness ahead of him, or was it… one of them?

  The urge to turn around welled in him like a hot spring, ready to explode into the upper air. If the tunnel didn’t lead up to the barn (and it should have done that by now! his brain screamed) but instead dead-ended, how the Christ was he going to get out of there? Would he have to crawl, slowly and painfully, backwards the whole way?

  Donna’s fear of entering the tunnel suddenly made sense. In the short time he had been down here in the pressing darkness, he felt his mind slipping its gears. If this went on for much longer when he ever made it back to the surface, he would be a blithering idiot for the rest of his life. He’d leave the last shreds of his sanity down here in the cold, dark earth.

  All the lights are on, but nobody’s home, his mind sang in a high-pitched, sing-song voice.

  Was that himself laughing again? Or was it someone else? Maybe something else?

  The tunnel gradually curved around to the left, and as he crawled along it—faster, now, as his anxiety rose, he was sure, at least he hoped, the floor was pitching upward. If it was, could it mean he had misjudged? Maybe he would still come up inside the barn, as Donna had said he would.

  He tried to force certain thoughts out of his mind.

  —that even if he did come up in the barn, he would find the place swarming with Rodgers’ creatures.

  —that he would find the trap door up into the barn, but it would be nailed shut, or Winfield’s cruiser would be parked right over it—that he wouldn’t be able to get out… he would have to return to the cellar, crawling backwards!…

  —that he would emerge into the barn, a pale, aged, white-haired corpse-like creature, and Rodgers would be sitting on the fender of Winfield’s cruiser, smiling as he said… “Welcome…”

  —that he would get the gasoline and flares, and once he got back to the house, he would find all of them—even Donna—dead!

  —that the dust from the tunnel floor was caking his nose and throat shut—that moistened with his own mucous, the dust would become as hard as cement and seal his breath in his lungs as surely as his body would be sealed in the earth.

  The flashlight was slippery in his sweating hand as he forced himself to forge ahead. What choice is there, anyway? he thought. The chances were that none of them would make it safely out of here. What he was doing now was a fool’s mission. Soon they would all be dead fools!

  He pushed ahead, not sure at all how long he had been underground or how far he had come. The gradual rise of the floor continued and in that Dale found a sliver of hope. When he angled his flashlight toward the wall, his eyes caught a dull, glowing gray light up ahead.

  Daylight?

  His heart stopped for a moment, and, holding his breath, he snapped off the flashlight.

  Yes! There it was! Up ahead!

  Suddenly, all of his fears melted away. This was definitely a way out. The clear light of day was filtering down into the mouth of the tunnel’s end. I’m going to make it!, Dale thought joyfully.

  He realized the need for caution now. If any of Rodgers’ creatures were in the barn, there was no sense alerting them to his presence. The dim glow of light up ahead was enough to hearten him as he crawled slowly forward until he came to a blocking door almost identical to the one they had removed in the cellar. Pressing his face close to one of the several thin openings between the planks of wood, he looked up and saw to his amazement the arching roof of a barn. “Hot damn!” he whispered, slapping his fist onto the tunnel floor. He craned his neck, trying to see around inside the barn, but his field of vision was severely restricted. There might be zombies up there. He was just going to have to chance it.

  As best he could in the tight confines of the tunnel, Dale wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt sleeve. Then, bracing his feet on one side of the tunnel and his back on the other, he leaned his shoulder against the wooden doorway and pushed up. He pushed until his pulse pounded in his ear and sweat dripped down his face. Soft grunts came from deep in his belly, but the doorway didn’t yield an inch. He pushed until pinpricks of light popped in the darkness, until his breath built up inside his chest like a fire, waiting to burst into the open air. He pushed, but the door wouldn’t budge!

  He fell back against the tunnel wall, breathless from the exertion, his muscles trembling. All he could think about was how much trouble they had tearing down the door on the cellar end of the tunnel, and he cursed himself for being a fool and not bringing the ball-peen hammer to help him tear this one down! It was so damned stupid, to come this far and then not be able to make it!

  IV

  “I want to speak with Mr. Harmon!” a voice suddenly called out from the front yard.

  Hocker, who had left his post watching the driveway, darted to the window and looked outside. The sudden, bright sunlight stung his eyes, but he saw Rodgers, standing beside his limo, shielding his body with the open car door.

  “Can you hear me in there?” Rodgers shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth. “I said I want to speak with Harmon!”

  Hocker glanced over his shoulder as Winfield came into the living room and took a look for himself out another window. In his hand, Winfield held the axe Dale had been using.

  “I know you’re still there!” Rodgers shouted. “I’ve had the entire building surrounded all along. There’s no way you could have escaped. I insist on speaking with Mr. Harmon.”

  “He don’t wanna talk to you!” Hocker yelled, pressing his mouth close to one of the openings. He stuck his gun out through a crack and fired off one shot. The bullet went wild, and Rodgers didn’t even flinch.

  “You’re wasting my time,” Rodgers said. “I wish to make you a sort of offer.”

  “An offer I can’t refuse, no doubt,” Winfield said, smiling grimly. He was taking his time, studying the man. On the outside, he looked completely composed and in control; but Winfield thought he detected signs of strain in the tightness of his voice and the way he stood. Things had started to unravel, quite seriously. Rodgers was going to have to do some very creative covering up if his experiments weren’t going to be “found out” by the authorities.

  “You can take your fucking deals and stuff ’em where the sun don’t shine!” Hocker shouted. He was feeling agitated, not so much from the strain of being trapped in the farm house as from the anticipation of torching the place off. It had been a long time since he had seen those gorgeous tongues of orange flame licking skyward.

  “May I speak with Mr. Harmon?” Rodgers called out. “You can tell him I have his daughter with me.”

  “He’s bullshitting us,” Hocker said, glancing at Winfield with a deep frown.

  “No shit,” Winfield said. He was no fool at reading people, and he knew right away that Rodgers had played it all wrong. He had thrown his trump card before he should have. A fool could see he had no idea where Angie was, and he was using this simply to draw Dale out into the open.

  “Harmon isn’t talking with you,” Winfield said. “He’s asleep. Your friends kept us awake all night. Anything you’ve got to say, you can say to me.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Rodgers yelled. His face looked pinched with frustration at not getting what he wanted.

  Winfield let out a loud burst of laughter. “Rodgers, this is your old buddy from town, Jeff Winfield. I didn’t think you knew I was here.”

  “Winfield…” Rodgers said, his voice soft but still carrying across the yard.

  “Uh-huh. And I’d bet right about now, you’re starting to think things may be a little worse than you thought,” Winfield said, seeing the advantage and taking it. He raised the axe and slapped the rusty head into the flat of his hand.

  “Who else is in there with you?” Rodgers asked.

  “Just some friends we picked up along the way,” Winfield answered. “I think I’d like to keep you guessing.”

  “No matter!” Rodgers suddenly
yelled, stiffening his back. “I half-suspected you were on to me back when our good friend Larry Cole was asking so many embarrassing questions around town. Poor Larry. I suppose he’s really dead now.”

  “For good,” Winfield replied.

  Rodgers paused for a moment, turned and looked over at the abandoned barn, then he continued, “Do you want to hear my deal?”

  “Talk all you want. I’m not going anywhere,” Winfield shouted.

  “I want all of you in there to give yourselves up!” Rodgers said. “You can make it easy, or you can make it hard, but one thing is certain: all of you are dead as it is. If you give yourselves up now, I’ll promise you one thing.”

  “Yeah, and what’s that?” Winfield asked in the brief pause that followed.

  “That after you’re dead,” Rodgers said, and a wicked smile flashed across his face. “I promise I’ll let you stay dead!”

  “The son-of-a-bitch!” Hocker sputtered. Flecks of saliva shot from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

  “Rodgers, the jig may be up for us, but it’s also up for you,” Winfield said. “I’m overdue for my shift and you can bet they’ll be out looking for me once they check at my house and find I’m not there. Ernie’ll be wondering where I am, and he’ll get Chief Bates involved. And then there’s the rest of us here. This isn’t going to be as easy as running one man off the road late at night on Casey’s Curve. You’re going to have a bit of a problem covering this one up.”

  “Difficult… not impossible,” Rodgers replied.

  “Fuck you!” Hocker shouted. He banged his fist in frustration against the wooden blockade, wishing just for a second he could get a clear shot at the bastard!

  Winfield shot Hocker an angry look and said sharply, “For Christ’s sake, don’t give him the satisfaction!”

  “Have it your way, then,” Rodgers yelled. “By tomorrow morning, all of you are going to be like them!”