Leroy nodded. “I’ve got some lumber in the garage. It’s only flimsy plywood, though . . . nothing sturdy.”
“That’ll work; it’s better than nothing,” Gabe said. “Let’s take a look around the garage.”
“Ohmigod!” Charlotte screamed, backing away from the window. “Th— That dead lady. Sh—she’s moving.”
Leroy, Eden, and Gabe all raced to the window. Gazing over the top of the big, neon clock, they gawked in shock as the bloodied woman propped herself up and slowly clambered to her feet. Gabe groaned in distress. “I should have put a bullet through her head while she was down.”
The dead woman in the blood-stained dress stood motionless for a few seconds, and then looked around confusedly. As if unsure of what to do or where to go, she took slow, unsteady steps, jerkily making her way toward the pavement. She stopped and regarded the Explorer in the parking lot, teetering slightly as she snatched at the empty air, as if trying to catch hold of something—anything—edible. A flock of birds flew overhead, and she emitted snarls and coarse hisses as she futilely groped toward the sky.
“Lord, almighty!” Leroy exclaimed. “What would cause a dead woman to get up and start walking around?” His questioning gaze moved from Eden to Gabe.
“Shh! Keep your voice down!” Gabe urged in a stern whisper. “Maybe she’ll wander away, and spare us from having to waste any bullets.”
Charlotte let out a frightened shriek and uttered, “Oh, no!” Astonishingly, a pack of men and woman wearing clothes that were ripped and blood-spattered were lumbering down the street. What distinguished them from the living was the awkward way they walked, the grayish hue of their skin, and the horrific growls and other inarticulate sounds they emitted.
Unlike the woman in pink, this herd of flesh-eaters didn’t appear to be indecisive or faltering as they moved in tandem toward the grocery store.
“Get away from the window. They know we’re in here,” Gabe shouted.
In his haste to duck down quickly, Leroy knocked the neon clock out of the window, and when it crashed to the floor, Jane let out a strident wail. Alerted by the baby’s cries, the gruesome herd hastened their ungainly movements.
“Charlotte, I need you to look after Jane. Feed her and check her diaper . . . can you do that for me?” Eden asked as she groped through the diaper bag and then pulled out her gun.
“Uh-huh,” Charlotte replied weakly.
Eden tossed Charlotte the diaper bag. Looking over her shoulder, Charlotte scurried to the baby products aisle where Jane screamed nonstop.
Sitting in a heap on the floor and wearing a stricken expression, Leroy shook his head and mumbled. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like it’s the end of the world out there; I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Get a grip, Leroy,” Gabe barked. “Where are your weapons? I know you keep some kind of protection around here.”
“Yeah, I have a gun,” he muttered, while looking dazed.
“Well, go get it, man. We have to take those creatures out before they break into the store.”
The notion of the undead breaking in and vandalizing his store seemed to bring Leroy out of his stupor. Enlivened, he jumped to his feet and rushed behind the counter. He emerged holding a shiny automatic, and there was a newfound look of determination in his eyes.
Gabe, Eden, and Leroy ran out of the store and lined up on the porch. Gabe took the first shot; his bullet struck one of the undead that was dressed in the bright orange uniform of a roadway construction worker. The construction worker had on a neon-yellow hard hat and was carrying a stack of traffic cones. Hit between the eyes, the construction worker went down like a sack of potatoes; the yellow hat tumbled off his head, and the traffic cones fell from his arms and rolled around the ground.
“Bull’s eye!” Gabe chortled. “You gotta aim for the head, Leroy,” Gabe explained.
Eden fired off two rounds that struck a biter in the neck and arm. Taking a risk, she ran off the porch to get a better shot.
“Eden, no!” Gabe shouted, but she ignored him. Holding her gun with her arms outstretched, she moved closer to her target. The next bullet she fired hit him in the side of the head, exploding his brain.
“We have to back her up,” Gabe yelled to Leroy. Leroy hesitantly left the safety of the porch and followed Gabe out onto the lawn.
More agile and swift than the creatures that threatened her, Eden ran around the yard, firing shots at close range. After emptying her gun, she stepped back and let Gabe and Leroy finish off the herd of flesh-eaters. Leroy took the final shot. Ironically, it was the lady in pink, the woman whose life he’d struggled to save a short while ago.
Eden nodded with satisfaction as she observed the unmoving bodies that now littered the sidewalk, parking lot, and the lawn.
“You guys go in the garage and see about that lumber. Also, grab anything we can use as weapons: shovels, hammers, axes . . . After I check on Jane and Charlotte, I’ll help you board up the windows.” She turned to go inside and then turned back around. “How come you don’t have bars up at the windows or one of those steel gates in front of the door?” Eden asked Leroy.
“I have an alarm system, and I have grates across the windows in the back of the store, but having steel bars and such in the front would ruin the aesthetics of Leroy’s Place. Doesn’t fit in with the quaint and homey look.”
Shaking her head, Eden pulled open the screen door.
“I’m starting to wonder who wears the pants in your relationship,” Leroy said snidely to Gabe.
“We’re not in a relationship,” Gabe answered. “We’re just two people who met up while trying to survive this madness.”
“You may let her walk all over you, but I’m not accustomed to taking orders from a teenage girl.”
“Eden knows what she’s doing, and I advise you to listen to her . . . that is, if you want to stay alive.”
CHAPTER 6
With no recollection of physically leaving his office, Bradley found himself slumped in a chair inside a strange room. Where am I? Weak and disoriented, he looked around the unfamiliar surroundings. An array of candles illuminated the room, and the furnishings were old-fashioned. It had a fifties . . . perhaps a sixties vibe, and judging by the musty odor, the room hadn’t been occupied in decades. What is this place . . . an old hotel? Through squinted eyes, he surveyed his environment. There were two neatly-made twin beds, a sturdy wood desk, an unlit lamp with a pleated shade, and yellowing wallpaper with water stains. The sign on the door read: Welcome to The Lilac. Check-Out Time is 12 Noon.
As suspected, this was indeed a hotel room, albeit a decrepit and outdated one. Wait a minute! The Lilac was an old, rundown building downtown; it had been abandoned for years. What the heck was he doing in a vacant hotel? He shook his head, trying to get his bearings.
Tessa’s missing! That sudden flash of memory prompted him to his feet. A fragment of another memory caused Bradley to shudder. Searching his mind, he recalled being attacked by something ghoulish and inhuman inside his law firm.
Hit by a desperate urge to escape, he jerked forward, his body poised to run. But a shock of pain radiating from his shoulders halted his movement, causing his knees to sag.
He gingerly touched the source of the pain and flinched. A warm, sticky fluid oozed through ragged holes that penetrated the luxurious fabric of his tailor-made jacket. He gazed at his blood-covered palm, wondering if he’d been stabbed in each shoulder. Desperate to get out of the dreary hotel, Bradley staggered to the door and twisted the knob. Shockingly, the door was locked. In a panic, he turned the knob back and forth. “Let me out of here,” he shouted.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he let go of the knob. He raised his hands defensively when a key turned the lock.
Bradley backed up as the door opened slowly. He stood flabbergasted as three grim-faced teens—a lean bodied male and two eerily beautiful females—glided across the threshold.
“Wha
t’s the matter with you kids . . . are you on drugs or something? If this is a prank, it’s not very funny. Kidnapping is a serious crime, and you could all end up behind bars for a long time!”
“This is no prank, Mr. Jones. We’re dead serious,” said the male, who seemed to be the leader of the trio. The young man’s eyes were dark and filled with menace. The eyes of his two female cohorts were also hardened and unforgiving.
Bradley rubbed his injured, right shoulder and then the left, as his mind searched for a solution—a way to reason with these diabolical kids. One of the girls . . . a pale beauty with deadly blue eyes swiped her finger across the wound on Bradley’s left shoulder. Appallingly, she licked the blood from her finger and then gave him a taunting smile.
He was reminded of Charles Manson and his diabolical female accomplices and was instantly filled with dread. What would these crazy kids do next—use his blood to write profanities on the wall?
“Tessa’s here,” the male leader said in a detached manner.
“My daughter’s here?” Bradley asked, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and horror.
“Yeah, she’s hanging out with us,” responded the pale girl.
“What have you done to her?”
“Nothing much; she’s cool.”
“What do you mean, she’s cool. If you’ve hurt my daughter—”
“Chill out, man. Your daughter’s fine. By the way, my name’s Elson . . . Elson Chandler.” Elson extended his hand. Bradley refused the gesture, crossing his arms in front of him, and protectively cupping the deep and painful gauges in both his shoulders.
Elson withdrew his hand and shrugged. “This is Ismene and her sister, Lisette,” he said wearing a gracious smile.
Bradley gave the so-called sisters a curious look. One was African-American and the other, with her light hair and glacial blue eyes, was a willowy girl, and pale as a Swede. Sisters, my eye . . . more like sisters in crime, he thought sardonically. “Listen, I’ve been wounded by . . . by a creature of some sort, and I need medical attention.”
“Not a problem,” Elson replied.
“And I want to see my daughter; I need to know she’s all right.”
“Requesting medical attention is one thing, but demanding we release the hostage is asking a lot, Mr. Attorney At Law,” Ismene said mockingly.
Bradley winced at the word hostage. “Why do you want to keep Tessa?” His face crinkled in confusion.
“She’s collateral.” Elson gave a slight smile; his eyes, however, were cold. “What can you offer in exchange for your daughter?”
“Are you asking me to pay ransom to get Tessa back?”
“Not exactly; you see, it’s not your money I’m after.”
“Then, what do you want?”
“I want to obtain your legal services. There’s some property I’m interested in—”
“This is an outrage,” Bradley interrupted. He’d lost his patience with these kooks. “Are you kids out of your minds? You abducted my daughter in hopes that I would oversee a real estate transaction? I should have you all arrested. Do you realize that I’m the top criminal defense attorney in this area?” Puffed up with self-importance, Bradley scanned the faces of his captors. They didn’t look impressed, and judging from their hardened expressions, they were deeply offended. A cold sweat broke out on his face. He should have chosen his words more carefully. Stammering, he softened his approach. “You kids . . . should . . . you know . . . Well, you’re too young to be concerned with adult matters. You’re only young for a short while. You should be going to parties and leading carefree lives,” he said with a forced smile.
Elson scowled. “Looks can be deceiving. We’re a lot older than we look.”
“As I said, real estate law isn’t my forte, but I’d be happy to recommend someone with real estate expertise. Now, please . . . be reasonable. Let me take my daughter home.”
Elson shook his head gravely. “Tessa’s not going anywhere, Mr. Jones. Not until you and I come to a conclusion. And by the way, you should reserve your histrionics for the courtroom. That temper tantrum you displayed a few minutes ago was unbecoming and unprofessional. Don’t let it happen again.”
Bradley wiped perspiration from his forehead. This young punk named Elson Chandler was delusional. He was certain that Elson and the two girls were on some kind of drugs. Drugs or not, one thing was for certain—they were demented and dangerous and had to be handled with kid gloves. “I apologize. I lost my head,” he conceded. “It’s just that . . . well, I’m worried sick about Tessa.”
“As you should be,” Elson said ominously. “But hysterics won’t help you or your daughter.” He clapped his hands together and shouted, “Chaos!”
Seconds later, a pallid-faced brute with a mass of kinky hair and a familiar, leering grin burst through the door.
“Greetings, Chaos,” Elson said.
“What’s up, man?” Chaos replied quickly, and then took a few running steps and seemed to glide in midair toward Bradley. His hands, with long and deadly claws, rested at his sides. He was wearing black jeans, black boots, a black shirt, and oddly . . . a black tuxedo jacket with tails that flapped like wings. His sharp and lethal fangs glistened with saliva, and his eyes burned with hunger.
Chaos, it turned out, was the same vile creature that had come through the window of the conference room and had managed to hang bizarrely from the ceiling. The psycho landed heavily in front of Bradley. Mindful of the pain that Chaos could inflict, Bradley cowered and shielded his face. “Get this maniac away from me. I’ll look at the contracts; I’ll do anything you want!”
Elson chuckled. “Wise choice, Mr. Jones. Oh, and by the way, Chaos is not a maniac; he’s a vampire, just like the rest of us.” He gestured toward Ismene and Lisette. “If he seems a bit ferocious, it’s only because he hasn’t fed this evening.”
These kids are certifiable lunatics! They actually believe they’re vampires. Bradley stole a glance at Chaos and shuddered. The kid was enormous; he was well over six feet with lots of bulk, and he was strong as an ox. Chaos gazed at Bradley through eyes as dark as his corrupt soul. Scaling walls and hanging from ceilings were circus tricks, and Bradley figured that the hulky teen was on steroids or something.
Tauntingly, Chaos licked his lips, and Bradley grimaced at the sight of his slimy, gray tongue. A cold chill went through him as he imagined this band of deviants taunting and terrorizing his daughter. “Can I see Tessa?” he asked in a voice choked with emotion. Tessa was probably out of her mind with fear. She’d led a pretty sheltered and cushy life, and to his knowledge, the worst she’d ever experience was the death of her kitten, Muffy . . . and of course, his and her mother’s divorce.
“Your daughter’s resting right now. You know, recharging and regaining her strength,” Ismene responded with a smirk.
A look of horror crossed Bradley’s face. “Why does she need to regain her strength? What’s happened to her?” His mouth stretched open, and he began to yell, “TESSA! TESSA! Don’t worry, honey, Dad’s here. I’m taking you home, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be all right.” His words of bravado rang false because there was nothing Bradley could do. Feeling helpless, he dropped his head into his hands briefly, and then looked up. “I’m ready to cooperate. Give me the paperwork for the real estate deal. I’ll look over it.”
“Not so fast, Counselor,” Lisette interjected. “Elson’s real estate interests are huge. Handling his affairs requires legal expertise and ruthless cunning. Are you the man for the job?”
“I am.”
“Pro bono, of course.”
“Of course,” Bradley murmured dully.
Elson began to pace back and forth. In deep thought, he cradled his chin. After a few minutes, he stood still and cast his gaze on Bradley. “Consider yourself very lucky. I could have transfixed you with my eyes and willed you to do my bidding, but I want you to be in possession of a sound mind when you transfer the deed to the Sherman Mansion into my
name.”
Bradley looked dumbstruck. “You can’t be serious.”
Elson rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I’m quite serious. That fine example of Georgian architecture suits my needs perfectly. As soon as the paperwork is complete, I want the Sherman name removed from the gilded gate and replaced with the Chandler insignia.”
“The Sherman Mansion is a historical landmark, owned by the city of Frombleton. It’s open to the public for tours and exhibits, and the city earns a large portion of its revenue when the mansion is rented for weddings, receptions, luncheons, and meetings. With all due respect, sir . . . the Sherman Mansion isn’t for sale; your request is ludicrous!”
Taken aback, Elson winced. He glanced at Ismene. “What did that fool say?”
“In so many words, the counselor called you crazy,” Ismene replied, shooting Bradley a look of contempt.
Bradley began to backpedal quickly. “No, no, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not saying you’re crazy. But the idea . . . what you’re proposing is preposterous.”
Elson smiled indulgently. “I’m a visionary, Mr. Jones. Nothing I contemplate is preposterous. I heard you were considered a barracuda in the courtroom, but apparently that was merely a rumor.” Elson’s smile quickly faded. He directed his attention to Chaos. “My throat is parched, and I know you’re thirsty, too. Go get the girl.”
With supernatural swiftness, Chaos exited the room. A few minutes later, he returned, carrying a moaning, semiconscious Tessa. He dumped her on one of the beds, where she lay looking crumpled and lifeless.
“Tessa!” Bradley rushed to his daughter’s side. Leaning over her, he gaped in disbelief. Blood splotches stained her clothing, her face was a sickly, purplish color, and her eyes were sunken with dark circles. When Bradley noticed the puncture marks that marred her neck and arms, he gasped in horror. “What did you monsters do to her?” Gripping her shoulder, he frantically shook Tessa. “Wake up, Tessa! Sweetheart, please wake up.”
Tessa gave a long, agonized whine. Her eyelids fluttered briefly, but didn’t open. Bradley glared at Elson. “This sick joke has gone too far. I demand that my daughter be taken to the hospital.” He stuck a hand in the pocket of his jacket, withdrew his cell phone, and hastily tapped the screen.
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