Twigs and needles showered him as he punched blindly from the hedge. His injured shoulder struck a shirtless old man, whose ribs cracked audibly as he stepped backward. He showed no sign of being hurt, despite having a shard of bone that pierced obscenely through the sagging skin above his hipbone. Undeterred, he moved forward again, his eyes fixed on Scott. He stretched out his gnarled hands.
Scott dodged right to avoid him and felt the wind as the hands passed him. Shivers crawled across his skin, like hundreds of millipedes traveling his body. Fingers snagged his shirt, but he broke free. Another near miss.
Distracted by the old man, he missed the two others that had crept up behind him. In the inky blackness, he heard the rasping sounds of more converging on him.
Sparked by his fear, his legs finally got moving. He skirted around the church, slipping on wet grass at the entrance to the cemetery. He scrambled inside. Fallen headstones tripped him. His right shin grated painfully against a knee-high grave marker. The branches of ancient oak trees clutched at him.
Scott finally reached the wrought-iron fence.
Exhausted, Scott pulled high on the metal bars and hoisted himself over the top, dropped to the other side, and promptly fell onto his damaged shoulder, exacerbating the pain. He bit back a groan. With no time to get on his feet again, he frantically crab walked into the dense vegetation of the forest.
Scott stilled, sank slowly to the earth, and quietly covered himself with loose undergrowth, which shrouded him completely in the blanket of fallen leaves and densely packed trees. The warmth was rapidly incubating the faster-growing vegetation and afforded him even more concealment. He took shallower breaths and completely stilled himself, becoming inaudible as well as invisible.
From his hidden vantage point, Scott saw the frightening old man leading a small army of others to crowd against the metal bars of the fence. Their heads shook in a seizure-like fashion as they sought him. They didn’t reach mindlessly through the openings in the bars. They just stared quietly, patiently, waiting. Gradually they turned away, one by one, and disappeared into the aged necropolis.
Unconvinced the chase had ended, Scott stayed put.
A sudden snap of branches to his right confirmed his fears: more were drawing near. He shook off his improvised camouflage and raced into the forest. He ran with his arms outstretched to avoid slamming his body into trees. Pine needles stung his hands. Springy branches whipped his bare skin. He tripped over fallen trees and thick roots, somehow staying on his feet. The woods seemed to stretch on endlessly before finally ejecting him onto a dilapidated country road.
Disoriented from his blind plunge through the forest, he searched for a landmark. Red lights from the new firehouse glimmered in the distance; his home was less than a mile away. He bent down, recovering his breath while his eyes swept the surrounding fields, turning up nothing. Only the hum of insects filled the vast emptiness in front of him.
Barely ambulatory, Scott limped the final mile on legs throbbing from fatigue. He reached the driveway and walked up to the fence around his backyard, shoved the gate open, and locked it securely behind him.
Home.
CHAPTER 21
WITHIN THE WALLS OF HOME
Scott cursed himself for taking his run despite all the signs that the world was in chaos, that his family could be in danger if not already harmed. He charged up the stairs to check on them. He stopped just short of throwing their doors open, instead listening for a moment at each girl’s room until he detected the sounds of their breathing. He checked on Laura. She was asleep and appeared to be having an active dream, her body twitching in response.
Relieved that his family was safe, Scott slid a chair to the front window that gave the best view of the neighborhood. With a half hour before dawn, the darkness shifted from charcoal black to graphite grey. Counterintuitively, the fading darkness made it even harder to see. Contrasts softened. Nebulous shapes folded into spectral shadows. He almost expected a host of otherworldly beings to appear in the front yard.
His eyes started to burn from looking so intensely. He pressed them with the palms of his hands. Hazy afterimages swirled behind his eyelids, fueling his imagination. In his mind, a company of ghouls crawled and lurched toward his house, their advance invisible under the camouflage of a murky, grey dawn. He stared even harder into the void and waited.
Nothing came.
The more Scott focused, the blurrier his vision became; eyelids drooped, nearly succumbing to the urge to sleep. “This is pointless,” he grumbled to himself. “There is nothing out there. There probably never was.”
He stood, stretched, and walked into the family room. He sat on the thick carpet near the couch and eased his head back to rest. He ran over his recollections of the freakish morning. Within the safety of his home, he thought how silly it was, his fear of being stalked by a score of unearthly, hungry creatures lurking in darkened forests. “In these strange days, it’s possible there were people wandering the roads of Smithfield in the dark. The rest wasn’t real!” his rational side argued, but his instincts refused to capitulate.
While that imaginary debate droning on in his subconscious, Scott shifted his position and his arm protested in a deep, angry ache. The pain from his shoulder was very real.
It took a concerted effort for Scott to push himself up from the floor and onto his feet. He collected three icy gel packs from the kitchen freezer and returned to the sofa, where he made himself a pillow of frozen bliss. His shoulder sank into the revitalizing cold, satiating the pain that consumed his muscles and bones.
The air conditioner sent cool air blowing gently across his still hot, almost feverish, skin. The sweat that streaked his face and neck had evaporated into salty, dry rivulets. Sweet oblivion beckoned. He floated into it.
An hour passed before Scott convulsed into consciousness. When he rubbed the itchiness of sleep from his eyes, tiny scales of dried sweat floated onto his black running shorts.
Details from the morning’s events floated away like smoke from a dying fire. He couldn’t explain his impressions and firmly rejected the idea that he had been hunted by a staggering collective of hungry, nocturnal, no-longer-human aberrations.
Scott knew three things. One: he had, in fact, run before daybreak. Two: he had definitely wrecked his shoulder in a collision with a truck. Three: he needed a shower. Badly.
From upstairs came low thumping sounds. His oldest daughter Madison had woken up and charged to the bathroom. She always snapped out of bed early, even on the weekends, and burned every minute of wakefulness with a furious efficiency.
Maddy had a warrior’s spirit. “Natural athlete” did not describe her. “Freak of nature athlete” did. She mastered any physical activity as if born to it. Lacrosse, gymnastics, rock climbing, dance… If it required strength, speed, or dexterity, she’d conquer it. When she inevitably grew bored, she would maniacally tackle something else. She was perpetually restless, a constant blur of motion.
She had piercing blue eyes that looked into a person’s soul, and appraised. If she found nothing compelling, which was most of the time, she abruptly disengaged with the subtlety of a guillotine. When people hit that wall, they’d seek help from Scott, “Be more interesting next time,” he offered with a casual shrug.
People laughed as though he were kidding.
Maddy did have a soft side, which she revealed only to those whom she loved the most: her dad, her mom, her two little sisters, and her closest friend, Chase. With those in her inner circle, she was sweet, she was funny, she laughed easily, and she still called Scott “Daddy”.
Older boys and men had started to pay attention to her, sometimes brazenly ogling her in front of her dad. When they did that, they walked on hazardous ground. Scott always had his shotgun close. He did have a shovel. And though his house sat on only half an acre, he had his ancient family cabin in the Adirondacks. Hypothetically of course, he could hide several bodies there.
Maddy walked out of
the bathroom just as Scott reached the top of the stairs. She had taken a five-minute shower, a luxuriously long one by her standards. She’d already pulled her hair into a ponytail. “Hi Daddy!” she greeted him with a big smile, the same smile he’d adored every day of Maddy’s life.
“Hi, baby girl. How did you sleep?”
She did her typical focused evaluation of him. He put his game face on. It didn’t fool her. “You’re hurt. What happened?”
Her question was the en garde for a kind of mental fencing, moves and countermoves all made in silence. Psychological grappling with a teenager wasn’t necessarily strange in itself, but Scott always assumed his battles of will with his daughters would be fought over parties, grades or boys. He might have preferred those types of skirmishes instead.
“It’s stupid. I got lost in my thoughts and accidentally ran into a car during my run. Then I slipped into a ditch and scratched my legs on some bushes on the way out.” There was at least some truth to that.
She detected the deliberate misdirection. “Uh huh.”
Scott gave her nothing. She scrutinized him. He returned her stare and crinkled his eyes at the corners, giving her a sly smile without using his lips. “Sorry, not this time,” his expression told her.
She shrugged, let it go, and continued downstairs. Dad won this round.
In the hallway, he paused at the door of his precocious daughter, Emily. She was an old soul, mature beyond her eight years. The light in her room was on. As usual, she’d fallen asleep while reading. Scott wondered how many pages she had digested during the night, and in how many hours.
Emily frustrated her teacher. Whenever he walked around the classroom, he caught Emily hiding her Kindle inside her open textbook, pretending to follow along with the class in the appropriate subject matter: math, history, science etc. She always rushed through her schoolwork, considering it a distraction from immersing herself in a book.
She had Scott’s coloring: olive complexion, bright blond hair, and green eyes. Emily was small for her age at just under four feet, waifish, carrying only fifty pounds on her slight body. Her arms and legs offered the barest hints of muscle attached to her stick-like bones. She was tough and extraordinarily fast, however. Whenever Scott expressed worry about Emily’s size, the doctor assured him that one day she would explode to a height and build similar to her older sister’s.
Like Maddy, Emily was profoundly insightful when it came to people. Where Maddy was severe, Emily had empathy. Her greatest treasures, after her books, were her many friends. She had oceans of charisma. She was gifted in the way she listened and talked. She put people at ease and made them feel good about themselves.
Scott reached into Emily’s room, flipped off the light and closed the door, hoping the extra darkness would extend her sleep for another couple of hours.
His four-month-old Autumn slept in the room closest to the master bedroom. Scott and his wife Laura had thought they were done after having two kids, yet God had other plans and sent them another girl. Their pretty baby daughter enthralled them both. They had forgotten the happiness that came from having a baby in the house. The late night feedings and constant diaper changes were worth it. It was magical to see their baby grow and discover the world around her.
Autumn’s name suited her—she had auburn hair that already showed slight curls, growing at the base of her neck in a little duck tail. Her personality was delightfully happy, and her sisters adored her.
When Scott opened the door to Autumn’s room, her baby smell washed over him, a fragrant mix of lotion, clothes washed in special detergent, the baby herself and, yes, diapers. Since Autumn was their last baby, Scott caught himself getting emotional as she progressed into toddlerhood. He knew he’d miss that unique scent in their home. Nothing could replicate it.
He noticed the window was open. Strange. Even stranger, her room lacked the sounds of her baby snores and adorable cooing. After the night before and his bizarre experiences from the morning, his nerves were on a hair trigger. He rushed to Autumn’s crib.
It was empty.
Terror stabbed at him. Scott and Laura never brought the baby into their bed, afraid that they might accidentally roll on top of her. He hoped fervently that his wife had broken her own rule. In two rapid strides, he reached the master bedroom and threw the door open. Relief came immediately.
Autumn’s little face peeked from the small baby blanket that wrapped her like a little sausage. She slept soundly, making tiny whimpering sounds and sucking noises as if she were nursing. He wondered what she dreamed. Certainly, the storyline featured food.
Laura slumbered deeply, lying on her left side next to the baby. Quiet snoring escaped from her. She hated when she snored; Scott found it endearing.
He carefully carried the baby to her room, rocked her for a moment on his shoulder, shut the window, and put her gently into her crib. Then he returned to lie next to Laura. He put his arm around her, accepting shoulder pain in exchange for hugging her. Laura gave a tired whimper and stirred. She opened her mouth to speak, but only unintelligible mumbles came out.
Scott and Laura had met on a blind date. Not quite love at first sight—it took a couple of glances—they were engaged within four months and married in less than a year. They had been together almost sixteen years and he loved her more than he ever thought was possible for one person to love another
Laura was much smaller than Scott, stretching only to his mid-chest, and had a graceful, athletic build. Though small in stature, she filled a room with her giant personality and her infectious laugh. Each of the girls carried a part of her. Maddy got her dark hair and blue eyes. Emily got her charisma and sensitivity. Autumn continued to tease her parents with what characteristics she would take from her mom. All three of their kids showed Laura’s mental and physical toughness, which was no small thing.
When Scott and Laura were first married, they had a friendly wrestle on the floor that turned very competitive and serious. She had the flexibility of a contortionist and the power of a gymnast. Scott barely squeaked out the win. Laura claimed she had thrown the fight to keep his “manly pride” intact. Maybe it was true. Scott truly didn’t care because the rematch was a just as vigorous as the first round and a lot more fun, starting in the living room and ending in the bedroom.
He shook his sleeping wife gently. This time, she jumped up as if he had thrown cold water on her. Her eyes were unfocused and streaked with red. Her features briefly morphed into fury then fell into a tired smile. She rolled to her side, burying most of her head in her pillow.
“Last night was brutal, Scott,” she croaked in a voice soaked with fatigue. “I had terrible nightmares, and Autumn just wouldn’t sleep.” He stroked her soft blond hair as she continued. “All night, she just kept eating, sucking at me until I bled. See?”
Laura opened her pajama top to show him one of her breasts. Scott cringed. She carefully covered up again. She typically suffered chafing until the newly born girls learned to latch properly. This was a different level of trauma. Autumn’s little teeth buds had broken Laura’s skin, leaving raw sores as she fed.
“The dreams. They were worse. They were so terrible. I just want to rest. I’ve never been so tired…” She drifted back to sleep.
He gazed at her for a few minutes before going to shower. Laura was even more beautiful to him than when they first met. His loved her deeply. She was the heart and soul of their family. He hoped she found more pleasant sleep, full of heavenly dreams.
Hot water thundered at Scott with a force only slightly less savage than a professional-grade power washer. He’d set the showerhead on “massage”. The water blasted away the dirt and sweat and everything else that he’d carried with him into the house after the run. The heat melted the pain.
Tiny jets of water stung his head and neck. Leaning forward, he pressed his right hand against the sandstone-tiled wall. His injured left arm hung heavily at his side. Droplets formed at the end of his blond hair and r
an down his jawline. He closed his eyes and sifted through his memories of the morning.
Freshly showered, Scott faced the mirror. A thin glaze of steam covered its surface. He wiped it clear with his hand. The bruise on his shoulder had turned to an ugly six-inch oval of purple and green. He extended his arm in different directions, halting when the pain became unbearable. Scratches from tripping around the forest marked his face.
Checking for signs of brain injury, he studied his eyes. Green irises swam in pink orbs cracked with red veins. Yesterday’s fatigue, lack of sleep and the morning’s distress had exacted a toll. At least he didn’t appear to have a concussion—his pupils matched at normal size.
Seeking a skilled medical opinion, he left the bathroom to talk to Nurse Hale. Professionally skilled and armed with the deductive power of Sherlock Holmes, his wife was a formidable diagnostician. Even before her nursing career, for as long as he’d known her, she had a perfect record.
Steam saturated with the smells of soap and shampoo billowed past him out of the doorway. He dressed quickly and sat on the bed next to Laura and gently shook her awake again.
Laura jumped away, afraid and disoriented. Before he had the chance to speak, she picked up the conversation where she left off before he’d gotten in the shower. “I had the worst dream.” She rasped. She shivered herself more awake and told him about it.
Picturing it was all too easy for Scott, whose indulgence was zombie thrillers in every format and iteration. Scott’s demeanor turned serious when Laura described how he’d taken their whole family with him into death.
“I remember wondering if my body would continue to walk the earth after dying or if it would just die. I didn’t know and I didn’t really care. I just wanted us to be together—whether this side of life or the other. Maybe some of the dream came from the way Autumn fed last night, but it just seemed so real, more real than any other nightmare I’ve ever had. I’m having trouble escaping from it.”
The Hollow Men (Book 1): Crave Page 9