The Roaming

by W J Hegarty

Desperation

  A flame’s reflection danced around Mayor Lancaster’s eyes while he leaned against the warm bricks framing the fireplace. A glass of Brandy held tightly to his chest distorted the flames’ light into an exaggerated image, illuminating the brown liquid. The swirling liquor and flame exposed decades of lines across the mayor’s worn face. Behind him, the large expanse of Town Hall glowed in the eerie, dancing light. His wife, Catherine, sat on a couch a little farther back, away from the fire but close enough to still feel its warmth on her skin. Their thirty-year-old doting son, Bobby, stood behind her, rubbing his mother’s shoulders.

  Bobby cared little for town politics, though he was quick to make his lineage known. He would never follow in his father’s footsteps but would certainly use Donald Lancaster’s notoriety and influence to raise capital for personal projects. His most recent work was a shelter for the needy, set up in a Philadelphia borough. It was rewarding work, and he truly cared for those under his charge, but not enough to stay when the city’s violence escalated in response to the growing crisis. Bobby knew his father’s decision to stay the night in Town Hall with only Joshua, Phillip, and their families worried his mother. Sure, the police station was right across the courtyard, but their hands would be full for the duration of the evening. For all intents and purposes, the Lancasters and their friends were on their own. Bobby kept his attention on his mother. A good shoulder rub usually eased her tension, or so he thought. What better time than now to test the theory?

  Mayor Lancaster’s two closest confidants pleaded for the lot of them to hole up with the rest of Pepperbush’s residents in the north. At least up there, shunned or not, there would be a few soldiers and a hell of a lot more guns, but the mayor would have no part of it. It was a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. Nothing would happen tonight to jeopardize their safety. Lancaster was sure of it; he guaranteed it, even. Takashi and his men were bringing undue stress into the lives of everyone in town. Mayor Lancaster would prove it by emerging safely from Town Hall in the morning. With one swift move and a heartfelt speech, he would reclaim the people’s confidence and with a bit of luck expel these usurpers from his town once and for all.

  Joshua and Phillip conversed quietly in a far corner. Their wives and young children sat quietly in uncomfortable wooden chairs away from the men. The two women and to an extent Catherine herself learned long ago the consequences of gossiping against their husbands’ goings-on. What the men decided was always for the best, for all of them. Whether the women actually believed that or not was irrelevant; they lived it with little question.

  Franklin, Phillip’s oldest, pushed away the wooden toy blocks in front of him. “Are the monsters coming here, Mommy?”

  Phillip’s wife looked nervously toward the mayor, then back around to her husband before answering the child. “No, sweetheart,” she said. “There’s no such thing as monsters, and even if there were, they can’t find us here. Your daddy will keep us safe.” She quickly dabbed her red eyes and motioned for Franklin to go back to his toys. She sniffled quietly, trying to stay strong for the boy as Joshua’s wife put her arm around her. If the attempt at consoling worked, Phillip’s wife had no time to reciprocate as Mayor Lancaster, obviously eavesdropping, interrupted their moment.

  “Come now, ladies.” Mayor Lancaster turned from the fireplace, a smug grin firmly etched upon his face. “We have absolutely nothing to fear. Come sunrise, when Pepperbush is just as calm as it is now, these soldiers and rabble-rousers with their grandiose plans will certainly look quite the fool.” Mayor Lancaster poured himself another drink. “Brandy, anyone?”

  A window shattered. Its crashing glass echoed from somewhere down the hall toward the kitchen. The continued banging of wood against wood broke the relative silence of the dining hall.

  Mayor Lancaster took another long pull from his glass. “Catherine, would you be a dear and go close that shutter for us? In his haste, old Benjamin must have overlooked it. Bobby, would you please go help your mother? I swear sometimes that handyman of ours is just plain useless.”

  Phillip and Joshua exchanged troubled looks.

  Catherine and Bobby rounded the corner to the cafeteria. The far door leading outside was wide open, blowing in the wind and banging furiously against the side of the building.

  “I’ll get it, Mom. No use in both of us getting soaked. Didn’t Dad check these doors earlier?” Bobby inquired, turning his head back to his mother’s attention as he neared the door.

  “Your father was most likely distracted by his one true love, son—that bottle of Brandy of his,” Catherine offered with a heavy eye roll while reaching above, deep inside a cabinet, searching for a bottle of her own.

  “Well that figures.” Bobby glanced back with a chuckle, eager to join his mother in some friendly ribbing of his father. As he reached awkwardly for the door, trying to keep dry, an infected lunged from the darkness, clamping its teeth down tightly on Bobby’s arm. The man screamed in agony as a mouthful of meat was torn from his forearm. Another wretched claw reached from the darkness, pulling Bobby’s head back, exposing the soft flesh of his neck as a third undead creature took advantage, biting down hard. Blood sprayed from the man’s punctured jugular, soaking the nearby wall in crimson.

  Catherine screamed. “Bobby!” She closed the distance between her and her son in a matter of seconds, punching and pulling at the carriers upon arrival. Four more infected took notice and rushed in for their turn. The added weight knocked the entire group of bodies to the floor just inside the doorway.

  Mayor Lancaster’s glass of Brandy shattered on the hardwood floor. Tiny shards of glass danced around his feet. Dark Brandy stained his white leather shoes. He stood frozen, eyes gone as wide as saucers.

  “Donald, that was your wife. Snap out of it, man!” Joshua shook the mayor furiously, but the man offered no response.

  “Phillip, with me. Everyone else, stay here!” Joshua waved for the women and children to return to their seats. He turned to the mantle above the fireplace and took down two large hunting rifles. He tossed one to Phillip, who was already fumbling for shells in a cabinet below.

  Weapons drawn, the men crept toward the cafeteria. Beyond them, just inside the opposite doorway, eight or more infected knelt down around the corpses of Bobby and Catherine, fighting over pieces of the bodies. A female carrier held Bobby’s arm close to its chest, chewing on the bloody stump as a second tried desperately to pry it from her grasp. Three more infected tore ravenously at Catherine’s intestines, spreading them out across the floor like giant links of sausage. A third carrier had its head buried deep in the woman’s exposed chest cavity. Bobby’s neck had been chewed all the way through to the spine. His head flopped back and forth as it was kneed and kick by the starving creatures.

  Phillip threw up. It ran down his chest and onto his feet. He dropped to his knees and cupped his mouth, attempting to hold back the vomit. Vile fluid spewed from the gaps between his fingers, splashing his companion’s legs.

  Joshua opened fire. Bullets tore holes in the floor, walls, and ceiling, rarely hitting his targets, much less putting any of them down. Gunfire caught a few of the carriers’ attention, as if awoken from a trance, or maybe it was the prospect of slightly fresher meat. The carriers zeroed in on the men and lunged. The first three creatures slipped on the bloody remains of Mayor Lancaster’s family. Others climbed over the fallen carriers, using their bodies for traction.

  Phillip was off his knees and beginning a sprint. He couldn’t take his eyes off the carriers and crashed into Joshua, sending both men to the floor, each clawing at the slick vomit-soaked wood and trying to get to their feet. Joshua overcame the slippery puke and rose in time to be slammed hard into the adjacent wall, dazing him. Eight or so infected were on top of the men in seconds. A carrier bit down on the back of Joshua’s neck. Warm blood oozed downward around the man’s face, collecting at and then dripping from his lips and nose. The red only served to drive the creature
s wild as they dug deeper into the man’s flesh.

  Phillip never rose. Unable to regain his footing, panic set in, followed by shock, before he fainted. The overwhelming number of infected pouring into the blood- and gore-soaked room broke the man mentally. As Joshua struggled to free himself, he couldn’t help but notice his friend’s state, but as fast as the thought entered the man’s mind, it was gone. Pain was all he knew. Joshua found himself wishing he could trade places with Phillip and sleep through his demise. Eight and then eleven or more infected piled on top of the helpless men, tearing them to pieces. Behind them, a stream of dozens more sauntered around the four bodies, some fighting for their share of the spoils, more still wandering deeper into Town Hall.

  Gunfire and harrowing screams yanked Mayor Lancaster from his daze. He righted himself against the familiar warm bricks of the fireplace, finally daring an eyeshot at his friends’ families. Phillip’s wife held her two young boys close, covering their ears from the sounds of their father’s cries. Beside her, Joshua’s wife cradled their infant son, rocking back and forth while quietly singing a lullaby in a desperate attempt to ease the child’s fear. Phillip’s wife looked at Mayor Lancaster, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, pleading for help.

  Mayor Lancaster aimed his Walther P38 at her and her child as he backed away slowly, making his way for the front door. Not once did he break eye contact with Phillip’s wife, even as she whispered, “Please.” His other hand he kept tucked behind his back, searching for an escape. Mayor Lancaster unlocked the door and backed out of the building. Tears streamed down Phillips wife’s face, and she finally began to sob. She held her children close. Behind her, Joshua’s wife held her infant son and moved fast toward the fireplace. Mayor Lancaster switched the doorknob to its locked position and pulled the large wooden door shut behind him. His final view of the interior through the shrinking gap in the door was dozens of infected filling the room.

  Mayor Lancaster secured the door behind him and broke the key off in the lock, temporarily cutting off the carriers’ pursuit and condemning those left alive to an undeserved fate. Screams from his friends’ wives were clearly audible over the storm. More infected filled the room, drowning the women and children in a sea of rotting flesh. The ones that couldn’t reach them made their way to the front of the room, following Mayor Lancaster. They pounded relentlessly against the walls and glass, eventually falling through the broken windows and spilling out into the courtyard.

  Mayor Lancaster tossed his broken keys into the bushes while descending Town Hall’s steps. He sprinted across the courtyard for the parked police vehicles as Marisol surprised him with a left hook, flooring the man.

  “What the fuck have you done?” she yelled as she darted off toward Town Hall.

  Marisol was stopped mid-stride by Soraya, who pulled her back.

  Soraya held her tight, grabbed the sheriff’s chin, and pointed the woman’s head toward Town Hall’s overflowing windows. “It is too late. Look!” she shouted. Soraya pointed to the eastern wing, then back to the front. The infected were already spilling out from the side of the building and breaking their way out of the front windows. Mayor Lancaster’s locked door soon followed. Bursting from its frame, it fell to the ground, carrying a mass of infected with it. “We must go. Hurry!” Soraya insisted while forcing Marisol away from Mayor Lancaster’s treachery.

  “She’s right, Sheriff. We have no time to waste.” Mayor Lancaster scurried down the stairs. He touched Marisol on the shoulder while peering into her eyes. “There’s nothing we can do for them now, Sheriff. We have to leave this place.”

  Marisol removed his hand from her shoulder before punching him square in the mouth. The old man fell to the ground. She followed up with a barrage of blows connecting all about the man’s face and head. Mayor Lancaster quickly went limp. Marisol wasted no time straddling the man and continued to land blow after blow. Her words were barely comprehensible during the assault. “You left them! Your fucking family, all of them! Fucking piece of shit, I’ll kill you!” she screamed as her knuckles tore open amidst her rage.

  Soraya watched the beating for a moment while keeping a wary eye on the approaching mass of infected. She knew the man had it coming; the screams emanating from Town Hall as they approached the trucks were clear for anyone paying attention. Under different circumstances, Soraya would have gladly offered Marisol assistance, but time was a luxury not afforded to any that night. “Leave him or beat him later. We must go!” Soraya grabbed Marisol by the arm and again pointed around to the infected spilling into the courtyard from all sides.

  Marisol pulled Lancaster up by his disheveled collar. “Get in the fucking truck before I change my mind.” She shoved Mayor Lancaster into the back seat of her SUV and slammed the door shut behind him before giving one final glance back at Town Hall and Mayor Lancaster’s betrayal.

  The two vehicles sped off toward Main Street as the courtyard was enveloped in a mob of carriers. Behind them, a countless number of infected poured out of or came stumbling from around Town Hall, the police station, and the nearby forest.

  4:31 am - Northern Perimeter

  Away from the conflict, the northernmost section of homes was quiet, save for the tempest. The roads in this stretch of town branched off in all directions, with seven offshoots lined with homes merging with the primary road leading directly to Main Street. More than sixty homes graced this portion of town, and they were spaced enough to afford each lot a fair amount of privacy. On foot, at a brisk pace, one could walk from the farthest property and down to Main Street in twenty minutes, give or take. While planning for the inevitable attack, it was decided the safest course of action would be to house most of the town’s residents with those who lived in the north for the duration of the fighting. Every eventuality was considered in regard to keeping the town’s people safe, and everyone agreed that there was no chance of the horde attacking from this end of town.

  Two Pepperbush residents met at the end of the main avenue for a cigarette, but mostly for a reprieve from crowded houses. Standing beneath thick foliage worked surprisingly well at keeping out most of the rain—until the wind whipped up. Cabin fever had already set in for some; that was manageable for the most part. The issue Dave and Andy agreed upon was their houseguests. Helping out was one thing, but Dave’s wife offering up their bedroom to complete strangers was unacceptable. Rather than cause a scene, he felt it best to take a walk, storm be damned. Pouring rain bouncing off their umbrellas and the leaves above only added to the deafening quality of the gale.

  “Here, take a pull off of this.” Dave handed Andy a pint of whiskey.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about, man.” Andy greedily pawed at the bottle.

  “Take it easy for fuck’s sake. That’s all I’ve got left.” Dave snatched the bottle back.

  “Sorry, it’s just the old lady won’t let me drink at home anymore. She says I need to keep my head straight, just in case. Can you believe that shit?” Andy begrudgingly returned the bottle.

  “I hear you. Betty still won’t even let me smoke in the garage. Shit, man, even at the end of the world she’s a goddamn ballbuster.”

  The men shared a laugh despite the conditions, trying to keep their damp cigarettes lit under what little protection their umbrellas afforded. The wind whipped up fast again, nearly turning their umbrellas inside out, followed by the crack of thunder. Andy jumped, dropping his cigarette in the mud.

  “You hear something?” He squinted hard, trying to focus on the darkened forest beyond them.

  “I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell with all this fucking rain.” Dave was peering, too. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  Dave shone his flashlight into the trees just off of Andy’s property line, illuminating hundreds of shambling infected closing in on the unsuspecting sanctuary. Andy opened fire while Dave abandoned his friend to run away, taking the only flashlight with him.

  “What the hell are you doing, Dave?�
�� Andy yelled after his fleeing companion.

  Andy fired left and then right in an arc, spraying the darkness. Muzzle flashes momentarily illuminated his targets, which easily numbered in the hundreds. Beside him, a few infected were crawling just out of sight, twisted, ruined legs dragging behind them. It looked as if their legs had been smashed by a falling tree. They must have wiggled themselves loose, leaving their flattened limbs behind. When Andy realized how close they were, he tried to run, but his legs were caught tight in a fast-moving carrier’s grip. Andy turned, tripped, and fell on his upright rifle. The gun’s barrel pierced his lower jaw and exited the side of his mouth. Blood poured from the wound, lubricating the gun. Andy’s jaw slid down the steel barrel, nearly reaching the stock before he righted himself. The pain was unimaginable, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. As he gripped his weapon, prepared to dislodge it from his face, flashes of pain coursed through his body.

  Even through the downpour, what little senses the infected still possessed became hyperactive over the blood in the air. Another pack of the creatures took notice of this and scrambled for their turn. In their excitement, some collapsed to their knees. Others made a mad dash for the warm wet flesh protruding from the side of Andy’s face. The pouring rain had little effect in dispersing the scent in the air. The first carrier at the scene tore into the man’s exposed pink innards with reckless ferocity. Dirty fingers clawed their way into his broken jaw, pulling apart his face and breaking off large chunks of bone and the accompanying flesh. Andy was covered by infected in seconds, not too dissimilar to ants swarming an injured insect. As more infected tried in vain to break through an impenetrable shell of bodies surrounding their meal, some carriers moved on, prompting others still to follow, pressing ever forward into the unsuspecting row of homes.

  Dave tripped over a small knee-high decorative picket fence. He landed on his face in the mud. His rifle bounced away from him, skidding down the sidewalk to disappear behind a large shrub. He jumped to his feet and stumbled to the closest window, banging hard enough to nearly break the panes of glass. “They’re here. Get the hell out!” he yelled at the house before continuing on his way down the block toward home. Even in his panic, he had the sense to repeat the process for every home he passed. “They’re here. They’re fucking here! Everyone, get out now!” Dave continued his warning until startled by Jeremiah grabbing him by the collar and stopping him in his tracks.