The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again
Page 36
“Was the pastor one of those people?” Metzger asked.
“Yes, but not for about a week. By then we knew what was going on. One of our members stopped by to check on us before traveling to Georgia to meet his family at a property they owned. We knew what needed to be done, but it felt like murder because these people, these things, were still up and walking.”
Holcomb appeared agitated, but Metzger couldn’t tell if his unrest stemmed from the maintenance man’s words, or the fact that he doubted his own take on the situation. He stood, running a nervous hand through his hair, still clutching the gun in his right hand. Before he could decide how to handle the situation going forward, Jillian whispered something to Sutton before the man stepped forward to speak to Metzger.
“Jillian says the graves are marked like the guy said.”
“Okay,” Metzger answered.
“There’s something else,” Sutton said, keeping his voice low. “She heard noise coming from beneath the sod.”
Metzger closed his eyes a few seconds, exhaling through his nose as he processed the new information. He decided exactly what needed to be done to bring the situation to a close.
“Can you dig those two graves up without letting whoever’s under there loose?”
Sutton returned a skeptical look, as though this wasn’t one of Metzger’s better ideas.
“Trust me.”
Sutton didn’t appear convinced, but he left the church in search of a shovel just the same.
“What was that about?” Holcomb asked with irritation.
“My friends verified that Robert and Julia Holcomb were indeed buried in the graveyard.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” Holcomb sneered angrily. “Why are you doubting me when clearly these two have wronged eight people?”
When he spoke the words, Holcomb pointed toward the tombstones on the other side of the wall, and Metzger noticed a band around his wrist where the skin wasn’t as tan as the rest of his flesh. It could have been from a watch band, but he didn’t see a round spot in the area where the watch itself might have rested.
“I don’t know you, kid,” Metzger said firmly. “I’m still trying to figure out exactly why you’re here now and why you weren’t with your parents when all of this went down.”
“We were separated. I couldn’t get to them.”
“Where were you?” Metzger pressed, leaving anger and distrust out of his tone, realizing he was teetering between a breakthrough and a mass shooting with the young man.
“I was being held somewhere against my will,” Holcomb answered simply.
Vazquez approached Metzger from behind, leaning in to speak with him.
“After looking around, I’ve found photos and information about most of the people who attended this church. There was information about the Holcombs, and even a picture, but nothing about this kid.”
“Maybe he wasn’t a regular?” Metzger offered.
Vazquez returned a skeptical look.
“The register was pretty thorough.”
“What are you two talking about?” Holcomb asked heatedly. “If you’re going to doubt me, I might as well off these geezers right now and be done with it.”
“Let’s settle down a minute, Graham,” Metzger said calmly. “You’ve clearly been patient during these past few days, and I’m guessing you haven’t slept very well.”
“I haven’t,” Holcomb confessed after a few seconds with an unclear stare that didn’t have a specific direction.
Vazquez slowly backed off to avoid irritating the young man any further. Metzger watched as Holcomb rubbed his face several times with the palm of his hand, the gun waving at more random intervals in the other. For the first time Metzger truly feared the young man might take sudden aim at Alderson and his wife, murdering them both without regard for his own safety.
“I have to ask,” Metzger said, directing his attention at the couple once more, “what’s with the slumber mix inside the greenhouse?”
He hoped to draw Holcomb back to his side, or at least a neutral stance, by interrogating the couple a bit further.
“Some of our members knew what they were going to become,” Alderson answered. “They didn’t want to suffer for days on end once they were bitten, so they opted to simply go to sleep and not wake up.”
“You took them out so you could have this place to yourself,” Holcomb said as though it was a fact everyone should have known.
He flushed with anger, his tone and expression showing how close he drew to the breaking point as frustrated tears welled in his eyes. Once again he grew highly agitated, putting both hands up to the sides of his head, still clutching the gun.
“Isn’t that technically a form of suicide?” Metzger inquired of Alderson. “Don’t most Christians consider suicide a one-way ticket to Hades?”
“Is it really suicide if you’re on the way out anyway?” Alderson countered. “Only a few of them asked for it, and we had the plants, so we helped them on their way.”
Holcomb let out a brief scream that indicated he couldn’t hear any more of their tale. Metzger knew he needed to act, but he didn’t want to put anyone at risk, if at all possible.
“Graham, I need you to come with me,” he said with coaxing, soothing words, as though he genuinely wanted to help the young man. “My friends went to check the graves outside, and they heard some noises below the surface of the ground.”
“What kind of noises?” Holcomb inquired, genuinely surprised and hopeful.
“I think these people may have buried your parents alive.”
“What?” Holcomb asked, aiming the gun purposefully at Alderson, who shielded his wife with his own body in case bullets flew.
“No!” Metzger said, trying to draw Holcomb back to him. “If your folks are alive, you should be the first person they see. One of my friends has started digging to get them out of there.”
Holcomb stood in awe for a moment, possibly trying to assess the validity of such a ludicrous notion that anyone buried in the ground might still be fighting for life. In truth, Metzger suspected exactly what happened with the eight people buried in the graveyard, but he needed the young man away from the couple if at all possible. He also needed to verify one last thing before he carried out the heinous plan swimming around in his mind.
Unwilling to simply trust Metzger at his word, Holcomb snatched Melissa from beside her husband, holding her hostage with a gun to her head.
“Lead the way,” Holcomb urged, using the older woman as leverage to make everyone else walk in front of him toward the graveyard.
Most of the others had already started the walk to side of the church, and Metzger made certain to give Holcomb a wide berth as he exited the church, ushering Alderson to him. Alderson appeared fearful of what might happen to Melissa, turning every so often to ensure that the young man didn’t harm her. Halfway to the graveyard, Metzger leaned into ask Alderson a question, wondering if he should have simply put a bullet in Holcomb and been done with it.
“Why didn’t you keep them from coming back after they died?”
“At first we didn’t know,” Alderson said, his eyes indicating shame for having participated in any of part of killing someone, even if it was a mercy killing they requested. “Even after we found out, it still felt like murder to shoot or stab them, so we just buried them quickly.”
“Less chatter,” Holcomb demanded, even though most everyone around him still held firearms, and could easily overtake him at any given second.
Metzger’s morals still didn’t permit him to carry out cold-blooded murder, even though the incident at the school edged him closer to that line he didn’t want to cross. He worried about having to inform his brother about the death of his parents, thinking he might want to omit the part about the cafeteria skirmish that left one of Xavier’s people dead. Bryce tended to think analytically, rather calculating and detached sometimes. It made him a better warrior like the military wanted, but it left him lacking as a bro
ther one could confide in sometimes.
“You said you remember coming here as a kid,” Metzger commented to Holcomb. “Do you have any good memories about coming here with your parents?”
“I remember walking up to the place every week,” Holcomb commented. “On rare occasions it would snow and I remember feeling sheltered inside like nothing could ever touch me. I couldn’t wait to get out of youth group to go home and make snow angels or build a snowman.”
In his own mind, Metzger couldn’t determine what Holcomb had created through fantasy or psychosis, and what truly occurred during his childhood. He did know holes existed in the young man’s story, and while Tom and Melissa Alderson may have been guilty of some version of a crime in the old world, they simply assisted their fellow church members and tried leading a quiet existence until Holcomb, or whatever his real name was, came along.
Metzger needed to test one last thing before sentencing the young man to whatever fate he deserved, and as they came upon Sutton digging up a shallow grave, everyone froze where they stood. Due to the unforeseen circumstances, Sutton hadn’t started on the second grave yet, lacking time to properly finish unearthing the first body.
“Mom?” Holcomb asked, a despondent look crossing his face as he spied the dirt mound beside the grave.
Metzger circled around, finding that Holcomb indeed knew the right grave. He seemed focused on certain aspects intently, while overlooking details that most people might automatically provide when prompted.
Sutton stopped and stared at the group momentarily. Realizing they were waiting for him to finish, he continued carefully plunging the shovel into the ground, trying to avoid stabbing into the body. A moment later he discovered minimal surface area of what looked like a canvas sack. He used the shovel to carefully remove the dirt from the top of the covering until most of it was revealed and the sack moved within the hole like an insect larva squirming along the ground. On instinct alone he took a step back and prepared to crash the shovel down upon the zombie thrashing and hissing within the sack.
“No,” Metzger said, holding up his palm toward Sutton.
Sutton complied, allowing Metzger to draw the knife from his side and kneel down beside the recovered body.
“I have one last question for you,” he said to Holcomb before taking the tip of the knife to the canvas, delaying the freedom of the zombie below him.
Holcomb stared anxiously as though his mother was indeed alive and Metzger endangered her by keeping her inside that canvas sack. His reaction alone told Metzger he couldn’t be allowed to continue to roam the earth as a danger to himself and other living people when so few good people existed.
“What is it?” Holcomb virtually pleaded, releasing Melissa whether he intended to or not.
“Do you swear to me that you attended that church, that very building as it stands, since you were a child?”
“Of course I have,” Holcomb said as though the question was preposterous.
Metzger stared at the ground, feeling defeated because no other choice lie before him as he cut the first slit into the canvas sack. He motioned for Holcomb to come over to the hole, handing him the blade as he stepped a safe distance back. Part of him felt guilty for encouraging the delusion in the man’s head, but the other half of him wanted to give Holcomb every last millisecond to come to his senses and realize the truth surrounding him. Whether the man had gone his entire life with an undiagnosed mental illness, or ran out of medication in the weeks following the apocalypse, didn’t matter. There simply wasn’t a good place for him in this world if he couldn’t function properly on his own, or with others.
“I’m here, Mom,” he mumbled, carefully taking the knife and cutting the sack open.
While everyone else recoiled in horror at the sight of a decomposing zombie more dirty than most, with her hair a mix of blond strands and earthworms, Holcomb drew a relieved smile. Metzger couldn’t imagine what distorted visage the young man saw, because everyone else saw a menacing, hideous, and revolting being rising from the grave. Metzger audibly sighed with relief, only because his suspicions were proven correct and his conscience wiped clean.
Perhaps Holcomb saw a loving mother smiling back at him, or she appeared relieved for him rescuing her from the evil couple who buried her alive. Regardless of what he saw in his mind, it was fictional and completely opposite of what everyone else staring downward viewed.
The young man maintained his skewed version of events until the zombie lurched forward and chomped into his throat, ripping pieces of flesh and ligaments away from his body. Blood spewed all over both of them, coating the dead woman’s already filthy dress with the crimson liquid and existing dirt. Holcomb immediately went into shock, not realizing what was happening to him, or the grievous error he made due to his impaired judgment.
Sounds of slurping and crunching that sounded like a dog chowing down on a mix of meat and tendons on a bone reached the group’s ears and a few of them turned away. Holcomb faded quickly, his throat and upper torso immediately torn into by the zombie’s mouth. Sutton simply pulled his sidearm and angled his shot to enter through Holcomb’s skull and exit through the zombie’s, saving ammunition. He fired, bringing the bloody mess and the grotesque sounds to a sudden end as the shot echoed through the nearby fields.
“How did you know?” Alderson asked, still openly numb from the series of events that unfolded.
“I didn’t know much except that he wasn’t who he claimed to be,” Metzger answered. “I also noticed your church had some kind of dedication way too recent to extend back to his childhood.”
“The original building burned about five years ago,” Alderson said as though the destruction still plagued him. “We built this one and the barn with the insurance money.”
Alderson’s wife stumbled over to him and they finally embraced with the danger out of the way. She cried openly as tears ran down her cheeks, indicating the couple hadn’t dealt much with the horrors of the apocalypse in regards to dangerous living people.
“You might want to take those roadside signs down,” Vazquez said, half-joking with the couple.
Nodding, they forced understanding grins, knowing the signs served no purpose except to attract trouble.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Metzger said. “It’s just terrible luck.”
“If you people hadn’t come along who knows what he would have done,” Melissa stated, wiping a tear from her cheek.
“What will you do now?” Jillian asked her.
“We’ll survive somehow. We’ve made the church our home while we’ve waited for any of our flock to return.”
Metzger walked over to the now fully deceased young man, tugging a wallet from his back pocket. He opened it, finding an identification that revealed his name to be Graham Owens, twenty years of age, from North Carolina.
“Well, he kept half of his name true,” he muttered.
Staring at the wrist and its strange tan line, Metzger figured he was correct in assuming a band had occupied the man’s wrist for a few weeks before falling off or getting slit. Graham Owens likely left a mental institution or a hospital psych ward shortly after things went bad, possibly overtaking a guard, or maybe getting released by a sympathetic staff who didn’t want to see him starve in captivity as they abandoned their posts.
“If we miss your brother,” Sutton said as he walked by, stabbing the shovel into the ground, “it’s completely on you.”
Sutton continued walking, and Metzger knew he was right. By doing the moral and correct thing, he put them further behind schedule. If he had chosen to go with his initial choice, the group would have inevitably followed and gotten over his decision in time. In the scheme of things, saving the older couple was the right thing to do, but no one knew if Owens would have killed them, or if they would have overpowered him in his sleep at some point. Every decision felt as though it held life or death consequences in the modern world, and one slip sometimes meant joining the undead.
“I think it can wait until morning,” Metzger said. “You need to start thinking more clearly about whom you can trust and what to do with the undead.”
Alderson gave a thin smirk.
“It’s a little late in life for me to start changing my ways. We trusted that boy, even though we didn’t recognize him from the church. He gave us some sob story about being lost until we brought him inside. Only then did he claim to be the son of Robert and Julia, and we didn’t know if a single word he spoke was true after that.”
“Did they even have a son?”
“No,” Alderson said solemnly, shaking his head. “We figured he snooped around the graveyard and the barn, creating this elaborate story in his mind about what happened. Once he took us hostage, he firmly believed his parents were murdered by us.”
Everyone took a final glance at the two bodies lying atop the open grave before heading up the hill toward the church. In his mind, Metzger knew hitting the road after dark wasn’t safe, but he didn’t want to linger around the church much longer. The group needed to make up for lost time, and Norfolk felt extremely close.
“What can we do to repay you?” Melissa asked no one in particular as they neared the main building. “Can we put you up for the night, or give you some supplies for your trouble?”
“We don’t want anything,” Metzger assured her. “We pulled in here to get shelter from the storm, and that’s enough.”
“Are you certain? We don’t have much, but we want you to have something in case you don’t make it back this way.”
Metzger was about to ask what she meant, but he recalled saying something to the imposter about heading to Norfolk.
“Thank you, but no. Maybe we’ll bring you something if we make it there and back.”
Saying goodbye to the older couple felt somewhat awkward to Metzger and the entire group, except for Sutton. He had already started trudging down the hill toward their vehicles while everyone else exchanged quick hugs with the caretakers. Metzger felt less regret for assisting them after seeing how thankful they appeared. Their future likely consisted of taking in a few stray refugees, hopefully with additional screening, and burying the occasional soul down the hill. He wasn’t certain how long they’d make it, but he knew they weren’t foes in the new world.