Revelations - 02

by T. W. Brown

  “Is that—” Juan began.

  “A yacht,” Mackenzie cut him off.

  “Looks like one of those fancy dinner-cruise type ships,” Margaret whispered, “Look at all those windows, and, is that a chandelier in there?” she asked, handing the binoculars to Juan. He took them and, after a slight adjustment, took a look for himself.

  “Tight,” Juan breathed. He’d never seen anything quite as fancy looking. After taking a long look at the windows, he scanned forward. “Weird,” he said, handing the binoculars to Mackenzie who’d started poking him in the ribs indicating she wanted a look, too.

  “What’s weird?” Mackenzie took the binoculars.

  “I only see three people,” Juan whispered. “Up in front of the…bridge.”

  Mackenzie scanned forward. Sure enough, there were three men on the bridge. They all had guns. And, they all had binoculars turned in their direction!

  A squat, broad-shouldered black man with long wavy hair that instantly reminded her of one of her favorite football players, Troy Polamalu, raised one hand. And waved!

  

  “Donna!” Chad knelt beside the woman. The zombie that had bitten off her fingers lay on its back, a huge knife jutting out of its temple.

  Tearing off his shirt, he wrapped it around the bloody stumps where her fingers used to be. Next, he grabbed a rag from nearby and wrapped it around the ugly gash where a section of her arm had been ripped by hungry teeth. Standing over him and Donna, Ronni continued to cry.

  “Sweetie,” Chad looked up into the heartbreakingly sad face of his daughter, “I need you to find me a clean sheet from the box under my bed. Can you do that?”

  The girl shook her head and moved towards her mother. She wanted to be held, she wanted to hold. Her mother was laying unconscious in what probably seemed like an ocean of blood to her. Chad needed her out of the way. Especially if Donna turned into one of those things.

  “Ronni!” Chad snapped, angry at what he had to do. “Get me some clean sheets…NOW!”

  The girl jumped back as if he’d hit her and turned awkwardly towards the cot that served as his bed. She pulled out a cardboard box and shoved things aside, searching for what he’d asked for. While she did, Chad did his best to clean away some of the blood with a pillowcase he snatched off of Donna’s and Ronni’s bed.

  “Here, Dad,” a meek voice said at his back. Chad turned and saw the near blankness now on his little girl’s face. Shock, he thought. Good, maybe she’d forget or block out some of what she’d just witnessed.

  “Thank you, Ronni.” Chad gripped her hands with one of his in a light squeeze before taking the powder-blue bedsheet. “Now keep a watch for any of those things while I take care of your mother.”

  He turned back to the unconscious woman and, after tearing the sheet into several long but misshapen strips, he began cleaning her arms and face as best he could. A nearby bottle of water that was lying on its side came in handy. The whole time he could hear gunshots and more screams…and the low moan of the undead.

  “Dad,” Ronni’s voice cut into his conscious. His head popped up and he craned his neck. Ronni was backing into the cubicle. Glancing down, his shotgun was still where he’d laid it down after dispatching the one zombie that had been attacking Donna.

  The divider that separated their cubicle from all the others had about a four-inch gap at the bottom. Looking towards the front of the cubicle, he saw two sets of very small feet dragging their way towards where the entrance and the spot Ronni had been standing only seconds ago.

  “It’s Patrick and Chelsea,” Ronni wailed.

  Dammit, Chad thought as he grabbed the shotgun and rose to his feet. He glanced down once more at Donna. Her chest was still rising and falling, albeit slowly and very shallow. Then, reaching forward, he gripped Ronni’s shoulder and pulled her back, putting her behind him.

  Standing gave him a moment to get a look around and better determine the severity of the situation. He saw a couple familiar faces, only now they were slack…dead. Their eyes advertising that they had now become the enemy. Staying here was fast losing its appeal.

  A tiny figure stepped into the opening that served as a doorway to their space and then stopped. It was Patrick. Blood soaked his entire left side and a large chunk was missing from that side of his neck. The head turned, at first just a slow rotation, then a short jerk. It reminded Chad of something that short-circuited and kept getting a jolt, then losing the juice. Dark blood—not black Chad decided, just very dark—oozed from the gaping wound. Its eyes seemed to twitch slightly, and while the irises were clouded over with a white film laced with traces of tiny, squiggly lines, he could tell the thing had focused on him. Its arms came up and the hands began opening and closing as it reached out like a child who wanted to be picked up and held.

  Just then, Chelsea stepped into view and Chad felt something thick rise up in his throat as the smell hit him. Patrick’s twin sister was wearing nothing but a pair of green shorts that were almost entirely dark with blood. Her once suntanned skin was almost grey, and it made the starkness of the tan lines from her normal tank top stand out all the more. However, there was no tank top now. Her body had been ripped open, and flaps of skin hung loosely in places where she’d been feasted upon. Like her brother, Chelsea stopped and turned in the same jerky manner. Her blood-stained bare feet had come to rest on a strand of something that Chad guessed to be intestine. When she pivoted on that foot, a thick substance oozed out from the end as well as the sides that split open under pressure. The strand also took a partial wrap around that ankle and when she followed her brother, stepping into the opening of the cubicle, the strand began to unspool from the jagged hole in her belly.

  “Jesus forgive me,” Chad breathed, then brought the shotgun up and fired.

  The twins had been close enough together that the blast took most of Patrick’s head and a good portion of Chelsea’s. The recently-turned nine-year-old twins fell, Chelsea sprawling across her brother’s back. A muffled cry sounded behind Chad. He hated that she’d had to witness something so terrible.

  He turned, swallowing the lump in his throat. Donna’s eyes were wide open. Instinctively, he brought the shotgun up. Ronni, seeing her dad bring his shotgun up towards her mother, dove into the woman’s arms that were raised as if to fend off a coming blow.

  “Chad!” Donna managed through teeth clenched in pain.

  “Daddy, no!” Ronni screamed.

  Shaking his head, Chad lowered his weapon but he couldn’t take his eyes off Donna’s. They looked bloodshot, as he’d seen them on occasion when Donna had gotten stoned back when they were dating. Only…they were wrong. They were bloodshot in black.

  He didn’t have time to consider the situation. The handful of those things still up and mobile in the gymnasium had been joined by those who had fallen to their attacks. At that moment, the doors to the outside burst open and sun poured in…along with Brett and a handful of others, brandishing weapons and eager to bash or blow open some zombie skulls.

  

  JoJo stepped in from the bridge wing. “I’m certain I saw at least two people duck into those trees before that big dog turned and ran.”

  “Okay,” Thad shrugged, “we can reasonably assume there are survivors here.”

  “Could be some of my relatives.” Keith squeezed past JoJo and went out on the bridge to take a look for himself.

  “Or,” JoJo called over his shoulder, “it could be some citizens who shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “A bit late for cold feet, dude,” Thad scoffed.

  “I’m just sayin’ we need to be ready for trouble.”

  “Agreed,” Thad nodded, “but I don’t want to get into it with these people if we don’t need to.”

  “Kill the engines!” Keith yelled.

  Thad pushed the throttle all the way back and felt the turbines lessen and then cease. The vessel cruised along slowly. Keith began shouting instructions, having Thad turn in an
easy one-hundred-eighty degree arc inward, bringing them close to the shore while also killing their forward momentum. Finally, he gave the word for Thad to drop anchor. One by one he released first the port, then starboard aft anchors; then he repeated the process with the forward anchors after they’d come to a complete stop.

  “I say we go ashore and look around,” Keith announced.

  “Beats another day on this thing,” JoJo said, not hiding the eagerness in his voice.

  The three men lowered the small motorboat that hung from a beam, then tossed a rope ladder over the side. A few minutes later, they were motoring towards the now apparently empty sand beach.

  “I love a good adventure,” Thad called over the sound of the puttering outboard motor.

  11

  Geek Goes Boom

  “You really think this’ll work?” Heather whispered in Cary’s ear.

  “If Kevin says it will,” Cary placed a comforting hand on Heather’s shoulder, “then I believe him.”

  Heather peeked up over the top of the car that Kevin had told her and Cary to stay behind. Beside them were three fully loaded shotguns, seven different handguns, and a pair of hunting rifles. Leaning against the rear wheel, next to Cary, was an iron-tipped poker. Cary had taken to bringing it with him every time they went out. It was great for killing zombies. Only…that wasn’t the target today.

  The bad men were rolling, and all indicators were that they were coming this way. Kevin was at the other end of the long stretch of road that ran alongside the western edge of the huge cornfield that was starting to grow what seemed like a foot a day lately as the summer reached its hottest point. Heather was guessing it was getting close to August at the very least. She did know that it had been three weeks since Mike’s death.

  

  Her mind drifted back to that long day…there had been a lot of arguing between Cary and Kevin about how Mike had become one of those things. They’d finally agreed that it had to be transferable by taking in any infected blood. It wasn’t enough to just get some on you, they’d both had plenty of experiences with that, and eventually they were only certain that Cary—as well as herself—shared immunity.

  Kevin had related about clearing out some RV park with Mike, their friend Darrin who’d been shot and killed by these bad men, and the Bergmans. He’d talked about that woman, Ruth, like she was some kind of zombie-slaying superhero. Quite frankly, Heather was sick of hearing about this Wonder Woman.

  They’d come to the conclusion that you had to ingest it, or maybe if infected blood got in an open wound or into your eyes. That seemed to be the case with Mike. After her account of what she’d remembered, they decided that some of the gross, smelly blood that had trickled down Mike’s face from that piece of zombie guts that had landed on his forehead had to be the cause.

  Kevin and Cary had gone out and dug a hole at the edge of the cornfield. While they were gone, Heather had found some rags and fetched a bucket of water. She’d cleaned Mike, then found him some clothes that sorta fit. She’d had to pin a few things up, but nobody would notice; it wasn’t like Kevin or Cary were gonna inspect him and comment on her tailoring skills. Then, she’d found a pretty nice table cloth and wrapped Mike’s body in it and started to sew it. She’d left it open from about his chest down, sorta like an open casket.

  When the two men returned, they were hot, dirty, and sweaty. They came up the stairs and stopped cold when they saw their friend all done up in Heather’s handiwork.

  “Oh, Heather.” Cary had sunk down to his knees.

  She looked at the men’s faces and briefly felt a twinge of sadness. Maybe they’d wanted to do all that themselves and she’d ruined everything.

  “He looks…” Kevin paused and swallowed hard making a strangled sound in his throat, “he looks great.”

  Then, Kevin had taken Heather in his arms and hugged her really tight. Slowly she wrapped her arms around him and sank into the hug, patting him on the back gently and whispering reassurances. Then…Cary ruined everything by coming over and throwing his arms around the both of them. She felt a tinge of guilt at her feelings towards Cary, but only a tinge.

  They’d sat quietly while she finished closing the makeshift shroud. Afterwards, they’d carried the bundle out to the grave. Everybody said a few words, and with a gentle reverence, they covered the grave and planted a marker with ‘MIKE’ carved into the face of the cross.

  That night, Kevin had announced that he was ready to “take the fight to Shaw and his band of animals.” He laid everything out to her and Cary in clear and concise detail. When he was done, he asked the two of them if they felt that his plan was doable. Cary nodded, but Heather simply shrugged. She didn’t understand anything beyond the fact that those guys, Shaw and his men, had taken a group of women and then shot one of Kevin’s friends and now he wanted to get revenge.

  The next day, Kevin left with a pack full of gadgets. He said he didn’t have everything he needed, but he would be scavenging as he went. He was gone for a week, and Cary took that time to make several trips into Heath. Each time he left, he came back with a backpack full of stuff and went into the barn where he’d stay for hours.

  For that entire week, Heather was alone. A few times, she ventured out, determined to do a little scavenging of her own. Plus, she pitted herself against a zombie or two. She had a feeling that it was very important that she learn to take care of herself. Each day that passed with Kevin gone was a day when it was possible that he’d run across some situation that could kill him.

  “It’s fate,” Cary said criptically one day for no reason.

  She began to worry that Cary might leave and not come back. He didn’t seem too close to Kevin and hadn’t spoken ten words to her since Kevin left.

  One morning, she’d been walking up one of the rows of corn. She’d seen a few zombies roaming around and decided it would not do to wait for Cary to deal with the problem.

  Three of the invading zombies lay sprawled where she’d dropped them with a well placed spear thrust—no sense leaving Mike’s very efficient zombie-killer propped up in a corner—and she was stalking the fourth. She heard the low moan—almost like it was calling for its friends—a few rows over. Moving between a pair of brown stalks, careful to make as little noise as possible, she saw it. The lone figure had stopped. It suddenly and inexplicably turned around without warning. The zombie toppled through the corn and landed on its back in her row!

  Heather had screamed and jumped back. Her hand went to the pistol on her hip, all thoughts of stealth vanished in an instant. Then she noticed the thin silver blade jutting from the thing’s left eye.

  “Heather?” Kevin had stepped over and through into her row.

  “Kevin!” She’d forgotten herself and bounded over to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

  He’d wrapped his free arm around her in a hug, his other still being used to clutch a five-foot tall spear that looked funny…pointed on both ends. She’d been so excited that she planted her lips on his before even realizing exactly what she was doing. Kevin’s eyes had grown so wide and bulged out so much that she was surprised they didn’t shoot out of his head.

  “Sorry.” She stepped back, brushing herself off. She remembered feeling like she wished she could be anywhere else at that exact moment. Luckily, as he always seemed to do, Kevin simply glossed over everything.

  “Like my new javelin?” Kevin had asked, holding out the funny shaped spear.

  “It’s…” Heather wanted to scream at his stupid, antiquated way of looking at her. “It’s nice.”

  They’d walked back to the farmhouse after he’d hunted down the other zombie and finished it off with his javelin. They woke Cary, and, while she’d made them a breakfast of pancakes with canned fruit, Kevin explained what he’d done.

  After finding all the things he was looking for which he listed off individually to nods of approval, gasps of surprise and amazement—she couldn’t tell which—from Cary, he set his plan i
nto motion. Apparently he’d fashioned a series of motion detectors with little transmitters. He set a gray box that looked like a fancy radio on the table, then produced a small case with a bunch of big, brick-sized batteries inside.

  He’d set it up so that if something moved past his motion detectors, it would make his ‘radio’ beep. He said that he’d placed the motion detectors high enough so that a vehicle would trigger it, but that it was unlikely a zombie would. Also, he placed them in groups of three. They would trigger in rapid succession for a vehicle, but not so much for a slow, stumbling zombie wandering past.

  This morning, they’d gotten a signal. Then, in a steady series, group after group sounded. Something was on the road and coming their way. They’d been ready and waiting. Now it was time to put Kevin’s plan into full-effect.

  

  “Heather!” Cary hissed. “Pay attention! Kevin’s flashing the signal.”

  “Sorry.” She blushed, glancing up the road to see the bright, reflecting flash from the small mirror he’d held. One flash. Two flashes. Three. Four. Five.

  “Five vehicles,” Cary said grimly. He flashed back once to acknowledge.

  “You ready for this?” Cary turned to face her, eyes wide with excitement.

  “Yep.”

  “Alright,” he said. “You know what to do and where to meet if things go badly, remember these—”

  “These guys will want to take me alive, so be invisible and run for the field the first sign of trouble.”

  “As soon as Kevin detonates that rig, you have to start shooting anything that moves,” Cary lectured. “This won’t be like killing zombies. These are living people. They’ll scream, maybe even beg.”