by James Bierce
She vaguely remembers staying here as a kid once. In the middle of the property, surrounded by every cabin on the place, was where the adult campers all used to get together to light campfires and roast hot dogs and marshmallows, while the kids ran around in the dark corners of the grounds, away from the watchful eyes and boring stories of their parents. In her memories, it always seems like a magical time, feeling the warm ocean breeze of summer move through the air as they ran through the sand dunes and pine trees after dusk. It was also the same summer that she developed her first crush, an infatuation that lasted only a day and a half as it turned out, but she still remembers it like it was yesterday. Her family had been here the entire week, and his arrived on Friday evening, bringing with them an arsenal of food, fireworks and alcohol — a combination which seems rather irresponsible in retrospect, but nobody seemed to think anything of it at the time. Before leaving, their parents all exchanged phone numbers and addresses, promising to keep in touch — but as the months passed by, life got busy again, and none of them were ever heard from or talked about again. As enamored as she was with their oldest boy, she doesn’t even remember mentioning him to any of her friends back home, and to this day even his first name escapes her. Not that it makes any difference today anyway — she knows that he’s probably dead, along with his younger siblings and his parents, and her own parents for that matter. She’s most likely the only survivor of that camping trip, and considering her current circumstances, she’s not completely certain that’s a good thing.
She’s suddenly startled by a loud crash in the next room, tearing her away from the memories of her youth, and back into the harsh reality surrounding her today. After briefly glancing back through a crack in the door, she sees two women fighting in the middle of the living room, throwing punches and wrestling to the ground. She watches for a minute, then turns her attention back to the window. The grounds outside are filled with moving silhouettes, walking in and out of the cabins with no apparent purpose, aimlessly wandering in the same patterns again and again.
Except for the cabin on the far left side of the property.
One person has been standing and facing her on the porch for a while now, occasionally shifting their position when someone blocks their view. Although she can’t be certain it’s not Jake, her gut tells her that it’s probably one of the ‘watchers’, as Beth calls them. She said they first noticed them in Sequim — people that didn’t act like the others, and mostly just stood back and observed everything around them. They also follow you, staying hidden in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike when your guard is down. The man that grabbed Ben off of the wall was apparently one them, according to Beth anyway.
Looking around at the rest of the grounds, she notices that something has piqued the interest of the people toward the entrance of the property. After looking in that direction for a few moments, a couple of them start walking that way, followed closely by a few others. When she hears someone step outside of the living room and onto the front porch, she takes another look through the crack in the door and sees three more people in the middle of the room, all of them watching whatever is outside. She considers making a run for it, hoping that everyone is distracted enough to let her slip away without being noticed — but that thought quickly disappears when she hears a gunshot somewhere nearby. She hurries back to the window, almost tripping over a box of clothes lying on the floor, and then carefully scans the area in front of her.
The campground seems silent somehow, even deserted — and it takes her a moment to recognize that anyone is still out there. The man watching her from the porch is gone, and so are the dozen or so people that were walking between her cabin and the next one over. The lone person still out there, who looks small enough to be a child, is slowly walking toward the road near the gravel parking lot — and then they suddenly stop in their tracks and start to turn around, scrabbling to get away from whatever is out there. Sarah sees the bright light from the muzzle flash behind them like it’s in slow-motion, and sees the person fall to the ground immediately afterward, but it’s not until the second and third shots that she hears the cracking of the gunfire that follows. Her first instinct is to drop to the floor, but she raises her head just high enough over the window sill to see whether it might be Jake or Curtis — or possibly somebody else. The first thing that she recognizes is the long trench coat that Curtis bought only a few weeks before they moved here — but as they get closer, she can see that they’re heading straight toward her cabin, not even looking at the others, and Curtis wouldn’t know which one it was.
“Sarah! Are you still in there?”
This time she drops completely to the floor, recognizing Jake’s voice immediately. She hears another gunshot, and then another, and can feel the thud as two bodies hit the floor in the living room. She crawls to the hatch in the floor, trying desperately to pry it open — and then she hears the sound of footsteps on the porch, and another gunshot that sounds like it came from inside the cabin. Her fingers are sore and bleeding, which makes it that much more difficult to get a good grip on the makeshift opening, but she can feel the wood starting to give way, and the cold rush of air from the crawlspace below as it cracks open on one side.
“Sarah, you can come on out, I cleared the room,” Jake says, his voice calm and reassuring, and still sounding as if he’s outside.
When the hatch finally opens, it makes a loud popping sound, and Sarah sees a beam of light appear on the wall behind the headboard almost immediately after. She considers climbing through the opening before he spots her, but instead decides to back herself against the wall underneath the window. She can see the beam search the entire room, and then stop on the open hatch.
“Shit…” she hears Jake grumbling through the window.
Hearing him step off of the porch and onto the gravel path, she stays put and doesn’t move, afraid of making any sound that might give away that she’s still in the room. A minute later the faint sound of another door opening can be heard, and a glow of light comes up through the open hatch in the floor. Knowing that she doesn’t have much time, she jumps up and pushes the dresser away from the bedroom door, and then rushes through the doorway, nearly slipping on a puddle of blood coming from one of the women lying dead on the floor.
Once she’s outside, she gives the campground another quick scan, and after seeing no sign of anybody around she steps from the noisy gravel and onto the rain-soaked grass beside the pathway. She knows there’s no point in running toward the highway, since everything in that direction is in the open where she’ll be easily spotted, so she decides instead to run north, where there’s more pine and fir trees shading the ground below them. When she reaches the next cabin over, she runs around the corner and waits there for a moment to catch her breath, then peeks around to see if she’s in the clear. She sees Jake walking up onto the porch, shining the flashlight into the living room, and then around the rest of the campground — a pistol clearly visible in his other hand. She watches him for a moment, waiting to see what he does next — but he doesn’t move, he just stands there carefully surveying the area.
With the wind still howling in the trees overhead, and the light sprinkles of rain starting once again from the storm, Sarah doesn’t hear the heavy breathing coming from behind her at first. It’s not until she hears the cracking of a fallen branch on the ground that she glances behind, and by then it’s too late. Whoever it is grabs her around the waist, and places their hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming. Their hand smells horrible, like human filth — pulling her deeper into the shadows of the brush behind the cabin.
CHAPTER 20
GRAYLAND: DAY 5
Beth can hear the floor in the hallway softly creaking as the person gets closer, followed by a door slamming shut as another gust of wind hits the trailer. Larry stands up and moves to the middle of the room, aiming his gun in their direction. “Larry, don’t shoot unless you have to…” she whispers.
“There’s no need to whisper, I’m pretty sure they already know we’re in here,” he replies in a normal volume. “Keep an eye on those people outside…”
Beth looks out the window again, but the entire trailer park seems to be empty. “They’re gone, I don’t see anyone.” She stands up alongside Larry and carefully inches her way to the right, until she has a clear view of the hallway and bedroom at the end. She can only see the silhouette of a man standing halfway down the corridor, but he looks massive — tall and overweight, and carrying something in his right hand that looks like a large machete.
Larry motions for Christine to get off of the couch and to stand behind them, but when she does the person takes a couple of steps forward, then stops again.
“Can you talk?” Larry asks, but he doesn’t get a reply. They just stand there, breathing heavily and making small shaking motions with the blade they’re carrying. “If you take one step further, I’ll shoot you — do you understand?”
“I don’t see anyone outside, do you want to make a run for it?” Christine asks as she grabs her bags.
“I think we might have to,” Larry responds. “Any ideas as to where we could go?”
“That house up front, the one with the family in it,” Beth says. “We can’t go running down the highway in the middle of the night, especially with the weather like this. There’s no way we could hear anybody coming.”
“Okay, Beth, set my bags next to me, then grab yours. We’ll go around to the backside of the house, maybe scope it out a little before we approach them — but we have to stick together, no matter what.”
“What if they won’t let us in?”
“I guess we’ll figure it out.” He sees Beth put her gun away, and then she moves his bags right next to him. As she turns around to pick up her own bags, the person down the hallway steps forward a few steps, very slowly. Larry begins to open his mouth to order the trespasser back, but then he notices two more people moving in behind them. All three are moving slowly down the hall, and all three appear to be armed with similar machetes. “Christine, go — now!” He fires a shot at the person’s chest, and for a moment they stop moving and actually block the passage, but then they regain their posture again and continue forward. He can clearly see now that it’s a man, probably in his late thirties or forties. Larry fires two more shots, this time at his head, and the second bullet lands squarely in the middle of his forehead, dropping him backward into the other two.
“Larry, come on!” Beth yells from outside the door.
Watching the two people scramble from beneath the man, Larry fires another two shots before holstering his gun and grabbing the two bags next to his feet. Once they’re all outside, with no way to lock the closed door behind them, they quickly make their way down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, all three of them running for the house as they hear the front door of the trailer opening behind them.
The small house they’re trying to get to, which is the only stick-built structure on the grounds, is close to the entrance of the park, on the west end near the highway. With the wind and rain blowing directly at them, and the moon almost completely obscured from sight, it’s impossible for them to see more than about ten feet in any direction — but they can hear people laughing and howling throughout the small town, some of them sounding alarmingly close.
“Larry, I think there’s somebody in front of the bushes over there…” Beth says, pointing to their left at a clump of rhododendrons.
He glances over and sees the person that she’s talking about, a middle-aged woman that looks healthier than most of the infected survivors they’ve seen — but then again, most of the people do in this town. She’s getting closer and walking at an angle, as if she’s herding them in the same direction they’re already going — and when he looks over his back, he sees a small group of people doing exactly the same thing. “Just keep moving, ignore them.”
Finally reaching the house, they find a screened-in, covered deck attached to the backside of it — and no signs of lights or activity visible on the inside. When Larry turns the handle and finds that it’s unlocked, he stops for a moment, fearful that they might be walking into a trap.
“What are you waiting for?” Beth asks.
Larry looks around, and not only sees the same people following them as before, but more out by the highway as well — all walking slowly in their direction, with several of them carrying blades or pipes in their hands. Still feeling uneasy about trapping themselves in an enclosed space, Larry steps inside of the shelter and then motions for Beth and Christine to do the same once he takes a quick look around. He sets his bag down on a table, and then starts laying handguns down in a line across a bench, making sure they’re all loaded.
“What are you doing?” Beth asks him.
“They’re up to something, and I’m not waiting around to find out what it is.”
“So you’re gonna kill all of them?”
“That’s pretty much the plan, yeah.”
“Larry?” Christine says, her voice frightened.
“What is it?”
“You’d better look at this…”
Peering out into the darkness, barely able to see the road through the heavy rain, Larry spots a man dragging something up the driveway behind him. It looks like another person, or possibly a corpse — it’s hard to tell for sure. As he drags it past the people lined up along the driveway, each one takes turns beating on it or kicking it as he passes.
“I wouldn’t worry about them too much, I’m sure they’re already dead.”
“I’m not talking about the dead guy, I’m talking about the people down the road.”
Larry hears Beth gasp right before he sees what she’s talking about — a line of men and women, all armed with some sort of primitive weapon, stretching into the darkness as far as he can see, and they’re still coming. There must be at least thirty of them already in sight.
“Do you have that many bullets?” Christine asks.
Larry turns back to the table, then begins placing the guns back into the bags. He has more than enough bullets, that’s not a concern, but there’s no way they’ll be able to hold back a crowd that large with only a limited amount of cover.
“Are you armed?” comes a frail voice, barely audible.
Larry looks up and sees a woman standing in the doorway to the house, wearing a heavy winter coat with bright reflective colors covering it. “Yes, we’re armed.”
“Are you from around here?”
“No, we’re from Hoodsport, we just got here yesterday. Are you alone, ma’am?”
“No, my husband is in here too, and our son.”
Seeing some movement in the window next to the door, Larry can see the outline of a man standing next to her, with a rifle aimed in their direction. “I don’t think it’s safe out here, do you think we can come inside?”
The woman looks to her right, then opens the door all of the way and motions them inside. Locking the flimsy door on the screened wall first, Larry follows Beth and Christine up the stairs and into the home, where a bolt-action rifle is aimed right at his head. Walking further inside, into an area lit with several burning candles, he hears the woman lock the door behind them, and he sets his two bags down in the middle of the living room floor, then sits down on one of the couches — exhausted and out of breath.
“I’d feel better if you’d hand over your guns,” the man says, still aiming the gun at Larry, his hand trembling with fear. He’s tall and skinny, with thick eyeglasses that look slightly tinted. He also has a full beard and long hair, but nearly every man they’ve come across does.
“That probably isn’t a good idea. Have you seen what’s outside?”
“Yes we have,” the woman replies, before turning to the man. “Bill, they’re obviously not sick, put the gun away.”
Beth and Christine set their bags down next to Larry’s, then join him on the couch — as Bill eases the rifle down to his side.
“My name is
Rachel, and this is my husband, Bill. Our son, Travis, is sleeping in the bedroom.”
“I’m Larry, and this is my sister Beth, and our friend, Christine. You might wanna wake your son up, there’s a pretty good-sized crowd headed in this direction, and it looks like it could get ugly.”
Rachel leaves the room, headed for the back of the place, while Bill sits down across from them, his gun still resting across his lap.
“Where did you say you’re from again, Hoodsport?” Bill asks.
“Yeah, up on Hood Canal,” Beth answers. “Are you from around here?”
“Not really, we came from Olympia.”
Beth can’t help but notice how fidgety he is, like he’s having a nervous breakdown. “Did you come through Aberdeen?”
“What’s left of it, yeah. It’s mostly just smoke and ashes.”
“You didn’t run across a man named Jake by any chance did you?”
“No, I think you’re the first healthy people we’ve come across since we left Olympia.”
Rachel walks in, with a teenage boy around Christine’s age behind her. He looks healthy enough, but tired. They both sit down at the kitchen table, which is on the edge of the living room. Beth turns around and peeks out through the venetian blinds, and sees two silhouettes standing in the parking lot in front of the house.
“Are they doing anything?” Larry asks her.
“No, they’re just standing there, watching us.”
“Have you been south of here?” Bill asks.
“Christine has.”
“You didn’t find anything?” Bill asks her.
“No.”
He waits for her to say something more, then turns to Beth. “She doesn’t say much, huh?”
“She does once she knows you better. I take it Olympia was bad?”