The chaos around Matt was the first real thing he had felt in months. His brain came to life while the world exploded. Time slowed, and his perception of things all came into focus. Greg was dead. Whoever killed him was going to die.
The rapid ack-ack of heavy machine gun fire erupted from outside the house. Wood snapped like a raging fire as round after round shattered glass, splintered wood, and shredded fabrics. Tara screamed frantically, grabbing at Steve, pulling him tighter over her body in fear of dying as Bill’s home was being ripped apart. They barricaded themselves in place, prisoners of time waiting for an opportunity to strike back.
Matt could hear his own breaths. They were heavy, controlled, fueled by thoughts of vengeance. The shooters had stopped. He seized the moment, pushed out of cover, and presented his body to the shattered remains of the living room window.
“That bullet was mine,” he whispered, and opened fire.
He heard the rattle of someone else firing back as he looked through his sights. He saw the magnified images of ghostly shadows jump and dive for cover from bright flashes of hot tracer rounds. Whoever was shooting was raining hell with a belt-fed machine from the sounds of it. They screamed with the rage of a thousand warriors. Matt never took his eyes off his sights as he released his own fury of short bursts.
Then… Click.
The last round of his only magazine flew from the ejection port and bounced off the wall. Matt lowered his gun and looked out to the ridge. Nothing moved. No one fired back.
“No!” a voice cried out. “No, not my Cate. Not my Cate.”
Matt held the AR loosely in his strong hand and fast-walked around to the kitchen.
Bill knelt on the ground, holding his wife in his arms as if to hug her. With one arm, he propped what was left of her head up, the other keeping her dead weight supported so as not to fall. He pressed his head to hers but it lolled backward when he let go. He howled with despair. Her arms fell limply to her side. Blood rained out of her body.
The entire kitchen had been shot to hell. Bullet casings from Bill’s SAW machine gun littered the floor next to black links and splintered countertops and cabinets.
Cate hadn’t been hiding in the kitchen. She had been murdered there, shot so much her insides had become slush. Her face was ruined, all but blown off. A large chunk of her skull and brain had been shot out of her head and rested on the floor next to her body.
Tara cried in agony at the sight of her friend.
Bill heaved bile and whiskey from his stomach onto the floor, never releasing his wife’s mangled body.
Their world had been fragile ordnance all along. And finally, it detonated. There was no recovering from this.
“You!” Bill said venomously. He pointed to Matt. “You, this is your fault. We made it. We had always made it until you showed up.”
The room hung in silence as Bill cried over his wife’s dead body.
“We never had any problems, then you show up with all your waste. This is your fault. My Cate… My Calamity. She’s dead because of you. Get out…get out now before I kill you myself.”
Bill struggled with Cate’s dead weight. He shifted her lifeless body up toward his chest and held the remains of her face against his cheeks.
“I’m sorry, my love…” he whispered in her ear. Then Bill screamed as loud as his lungs would allow. He screamed and screamed and screamed. Then he stopped and buried his head into her bosom and cried.
Matt let go of his rifle. It clanked loudly as it hit the ground, butt stock first, then the barrel. The noise echoed and rang in their ears. He shuffled over to Jody and knelt down next to Greg to grab an arm and sling it over his shoulder.
“We have to go. Help me carry him out,” Matt said. “We’ll take him to the barn house for now while we figure out what to do next.”
Jody obeyed. He stood to grab hold of Greg’s legs but stopped short as the sound of metal sliding over metal penetrated the air.
“I said, get. The. Fuck. Out of here now,” Bill growled, his face screwed up with pure hate. His jaw clenched, eyes wide and empty. His body was covered in blood and grey matter.
Matt nodded. “We’re leaving.” He walked out, carrying Greg with Jody.
“I’m sorry, Bill,” Steve said, but his sorrow went unacknowledged. “We can help fix this if you give us the chance. This isn’t Matt’s fault. But I get it, you need a scapegoat—”
“Leave.” Bill scowled.
Steve didn’t say another word. He held Tara in his arms and walked out, hoping Bill wouldn’t shoot them in the back on the way out.
They gathered what little supplies they had left and packed their bags to leave. Greg’s body would have to be carried out on horseback to be buried off the ranch, if Bill would allow them to take the horses. But first, Matt argued with Steve to go back inside and make amends with Bill. He needed to fix what they had destroyed. No one agreed. They all felt they had overstayed their welcome and needed to leave before first light, but Matt refused. He would have continued to push the issue but stopped as Tara collapsed to the floor.
“My stomach… Something’s wrong,” she cried in a broken voice. “I think it’s the baby.” She looked up at Steve with wide eyes and grimaced through the waves of pain.
“Not now, not now,” Steve begged.
“Dammit,” Jody uttered. “She’s going into labor.”
Matt had no choice now. He had to convince Bill to help them. He ran toward the main house, but stopped outside the barn as Bill walked out with a shovel.
Not now, not right now. We need you, man, Matt thought.
Bill headed toward the field and began digging up the ground. At first, only heaps of white snow glistened under the moonlight, but then the sparkles faded and the snow mixed with mud. It looked like filth, not suitable for Cate’s body. But that was what the earth was—filth.
Matt watched Bill angrily shovel a grave for his wife, his Cate. It pained him to watch. He didn’t want to intrude, but he had to. Tara was in labor. They needed him.
“Fuck it,” Matt muttered.
He ran toward Bill, each breath pumping out plumes of hot air from his stressed breaths. The sound of snow crunching and cracking under each footfall split the air between his grunts. Would Bill try to kill him as he approached, or would he do this for him because it was Tara?
Bill turned around and gripped the handle of the shovel with a sudden jerk of shock. “You,” he said in a shaky voice. “I told you to get out.”
“It’s Tara, Bill. She’s in labor. We need you.”
Bills lips quivered. Matt wasn’t sure what Bill was going through in that moment. Was he torn between his own anguish and despair and the need to help when help was needed? Or was he engulfed in rage?
“No, you don’t get my help anymore. Not for you. Not for Tara. Not for no one. I said go. Now, go before I murder you where you stand.”
“This isn’t like you, Bill. You help people. It’s what you do. You helped me when I needed it. And you promised to help her when she needed it. Blame me for this all you want, but not Tara. Don’t take this out on her because of me.” Matt paused. He thought about what he was going to say next, knowing it was going to enrage Bill. But he needed Bill to bend even if it meant infuriating him even further. “Cate would want this. Cate would want—”
“You don’t get to say her name, dammit. You never say her name again,” Bill snapped.
“Bill, don’t do this.”
That was the last of what Bill was willing to listen to. He picked up the shovel and swung it at Matt’s head, missing it by a mere inch. He slipped on the snow and fell flat on his face. The noise of his body impacting the snow made a thump followed by an air-depleting grunt.
Bill rolled over onto his back, gasping for air, his hand clutching his gut. “Cate,” he groaned.
All Matt could do was shake his head in defeat as he looked down at the broken man wallowing in the snow, torn apart by a broken heart. He bent down, yanked the s
hovel out of Bill’s hands, and finished digging the hole.
“When I’m finished, you will help Tara. Not for me, but for her,” Matt said as he pointed the spaded end toward Cate’s lifeless body. His voice was flat but commanding. “She would want you to.” Then, he slammed the shovel into the ground and began to dig.
Between shovel scoops, Matt heard the broken man sob. In the few minutes he’d been digging, Bill had dragged his body through the snow and laid his head on his wife’s chest. He lay there and cried while Matt dug a shallow grave.
Inside, Matt was anxious. His mind focused on Tara and the baby. He didn’t have time to be outside digging a grave. He needed Bill to be inside the barn helping with the delivery. But what good was the man at this point? Even if he was helping, would he be focused enough to safely bring a child into this world?
It wasn’t long before Matt dug a hole large enough to fit Cate’s body and deep enough to keep the animals from digging her up. It had taken half an hour, maybe ab hour at most. Bill had stopped crying about the same time Matt stopped digging. He threw the shovel onto the snow before turning to move Cate into the grave. He wasn’t sure Bill would allow it, but he wasn’t going to give the man a choice.
“I’m finished. I’ll help you move—” Matt started.
He stopped at the sight of Bill’s body. The man’s face was blue, eyes open and unblinking. Frost had formed over his eyelids from tears. His mouth hung slightly open, enough to freeze his tongue in place. The man died with his head rested on his wife’s chest and a single arm wrapped around her waist.
Matt stepped out of the hole, his own heart empty of emotion, his mind unable to process anything other than the urgency to get back to the barn and check on Tara. He grabbed Cate by the shirt to drag her into the grave first, but Bill’s body had been frozen to hers. He had to drag them both. The resistance of the extra dead weight pained Matt’s old wounds. He dug his feet into the slick ground as best as he could and heaved. It took several pulls but finally, Matt laid them to rest, together for eternity.
23
After the Thaw
Matt busted through the barn door, his heart racing from exertion. He found Tara lying on her back, knees up, screaming in pain. Jody knelt between her legs with a hand inside her body.
“What the fuck?” Matt muttered, loud enough for Steve to hear.
Steve sat behind her body with her head in his lap. It didn’t look real. Was he imagining this? Matt heard Jody talking, but couldn’t make out the words. Then, Tara screamed again. Her screams were followed by heavy panting and the cries of natural childbirth. Steve sat quietly rubbing her head.
“Where’s Bill?” Jody asked as calmly as he could.
“He’s dead.”
Jody looked over his shoulder and glared at Matt. Steve was focused on Tara as he continued to wipe the sweat off her forehead.
“He died trying to bury his wife…I buried him with her.”
Jody turned his attention back to Tara. “Okay, darlin’, I need you to focus on me. We can do this.”
There was nothing left Matt could do for them. He didn’t want to distract Jody from trying to deliver. And, he didn’t feel he deserved to be part of it. He had caused so much pain and turmoil over the past months that this moment didn’t need to be tainted by his presence. He turned and walked away, leaving the barn unnoticed.
Outside, he could see his breaths as they fumed out his nostrils. He heard Tara’s labor pains over his heavy breathing. The cold air didn’t have the usual bite of winter. It was almost comfortable. Maybe it was the stress of everything ramping up his heart rate, warming his body from the inside out. Maybe he was numb. However, the snow had been melting over the past few days. Maybe it was closer to spring than he had realized.
He listened to Tara’s cries. He listened to the moan and hum of the night, an unfamiliar noise that alarmed him subconsciously. He listened to it all fade away as he walked out to the ridge where the shooters had been. He pressed fresh tracks into the melting snow, saturating his socks. He wiggled his toes as he walked. All the old wounds of the past months resurfaced with subtle but new pain. He tongued the old wound in his cheek, now healed, and wished he had died back there by the cabin in the woods. Maybe then all of the events of the day could have been prevented.
He arrived at a single female body sprawled out on the ground in snow painted with blood. Her body was contorted and mutilated by bullet wounds. The dead figure clutched her neck with one blue, frozen hand while the other still gripped her rifle. Empty bullet casings were scattered around her like fallen leaves from a dying tree.
She died fighting for something. Why did she attack us?
Matt looked around and found a pair of fresh tracks leading away from her body down the backside of the ridge. It looked as if the tracks were headed in the same direction their old cabin would have been, or possibly toward Aspen. He wasn’t sure. His sense of direction was off and based on having only left the ranch once to go to a nearby housing community. He hadn’t gone downtown. But judging by the roads and direction of travel, it made sense.
He followed the tracks down the ridge. Whoever had made them no longer walked but slid down the steep declination that formed the saddle. Blood trailed over the footprints. They were injured too. The tracks came to a point where the snow had been worn down to mud. A plastic baggy smeared with blood lay discarded nearby.
Matt picked up the baggy. It was a medical gauze pack. They tried to bandage themselves. He assumed they hadn’t bled out and didn’t think it was wise to travel any farther. He needed to go back.
However, he slipped trying to go up the steep embankment. Pain shot through his leg. He grunted loudly from it, much louder than he would have liked. The wolf bites reminded him of his limitations and stupidity. Once again, he’d wandered off when he should have been with his team, with his family. He steadied himself enough to stand and listened to the echo of his cry, a cry that turned into a moan, and then a moan that roared to life from inside the darkness of the hills.
He froze at the unknown sound. This was no anxiety attack. This was reality. The shadows that surrounded him came to life. Moans of hunger from a season of hibernation replaced the thumping of his heartbeat and heavy breathing.
Matt tried to run, but slipped again, twisting his ankle and once again releasing a siren-like response. He turned around in time to see the first of his attackers—a rager with a bandage wrapped around its arm.
Tara pushed.
She pushed again, releasing a flood of tears, both happy and sad, fueled by so much emotion. Worried by so many questions. This was not how the birth was supposed to be. Cate and Bill were supposed to deliver. There should have been more time. More time.
She pushed with Steve rubbing her head and Jody encouraging her.
“Come on, you got this, Tara,” he said.
Hours ago, the man had watched his best friend get murdered, somehow survived a massive firefight, and now, he delivered a baby. It didn’t seem possible. Maybe it was a nightmare and she would wake up with a fresh start. But then the pains of labor came again, consuming her body, and she was reminded just how real everything was.
She cried.
Steve bent down and kissed her forehead.
“One more time, Tara. I can see the little guy’s hair. Come on,” Jody encouraged her again.
She closed her eyes and pushed with every muscle and ounce of strength insider her body. A searing pain shot through her that stemmed from her center. Warmth ran down the insides her thighs.
Then she heard the beautiful cries of her newborn baby.
Jody’s voice was muffled and distant, but she was able to make out what he said before she passed out.
“It’s a boy!”
Broken teeth and torn lips snapped and chomped inches away from Matt’s face as he held the dead thing at bay with both arms pressed into its chest and his hands gripping its shirt. The rotten stench of the dead being’s mouth permeated fro
m somewhere deep inside its bowels. Black drool oozed from its nose and dripped from its mangled lips onto Matt’s face. All he could do was close his eyes and press his lips together, hoping not to get infected as the rager tried to maul and claw his flesh, snarling.
The rager roared like an angry bear. The sound was nothing like the moans of the withered. This thing was angry, fierce. It seemed to be truly pissed off and blame Matt for his infection. Hell, it wanted vengeance. With few options, Matt did the only thing he could do to gain control—he headbutted it.
Flesh squished under the impact of his forehead and whatever bone and cartilage remained in its putrid, pus-filled nose ruptured and spilled out sewage-like contents. The impact bought him enough time to kick the thing off and begin to make a slippery run for it. But not before several withered reached out and latched onto his clothing, once again pulling him back to the ground.
This is it, he thought. This is my death.
Tara’s eyes opened. Her mind was foggy, the world a blur. Her body was weak. After blinking a few times, she was able to make out clearer images, but she trembled uncontrollably. Something’s wrong.
“Hey,” Steve said softly.
Tara looked around, dazed. “Where’s Jody?” she murmured.
“Jody went outside to get some air and find Matt.”
She looked at Steve as he held their child. He smiled back, a big, toothy grin. The baby was asleep, wrapped in one of the blankets Cate had made. When Tara sat up, vomit pushed its way out of her stomach and onto the ground next to where she was lying.
“Jody said you might throw up.”
She reached down between her legs and felt the warmth of sticky fluid on the tips of her finger. When she looked at her hand, it was covered in blood.
“Am I supposed to be bleeding?” she asked. Her voice was shaky and weak.
“Don’t know, Jody didn’t say.”
Her stomach turned with nausea and the room spun violently. “I don’t feel good. Something feels…” She paused. “Something feels wrong.”
A Thousand Miles To Nowhere: An Apocalypse Thriller Page 22