A head popped up next to his. It was Andy, and he was fighting to stay afloat, clearly not the strongest swimmer. He mouthed something that looked like shit but Connor couldn’t be sure. Cleo and Olive appeared behind him, both of them swimming toward the group.
“Where is it?” Olive yelled, her eyes swiveling crazily as she searched for the monster. It was nowhere in sight. “Where did it go?”
“No idea,” Connor said, realizing for the first time he’d dropped his gun. It was no doubt lying among the seaweed and coral on the ocean floor.
“The boat!” Cleo yelled. “We gotta get to the boat.”
“Swim for it,” Olive said, her teeth already chattering, her lips blue.
Connor made for the boat, his shoes weighing him down and making it incredibly hard to swim in the rough sea. His hands and arms were so cold he could barely feel them. With every stroke he expected the beast to grab him and drag him under. In the brief second he’d seen it before it tipped the boat, he had seen all of its arms and legs and heads covered in seaweed. It was a hisser, all right, but how it had managed to swim was anyone’s guess. Or had it just been wallowing on the sea floor until they’d happened by it? Had it been tracking them?
Andy swam by next to him, doing the dog paddle. Cleo was true to his words, and was the fastest swimmer. He was almost at the boat when something came out of the water and dragged him under.
Olive screamed. Andy stopped paddling and did his best to tread water.
“Fuck! Where’d it go!” Olive shouted.
Connor tried to stay still, only using his arms and hands to stay afloat, keeping his legs together, hoping that the creature wouldn’t notice him if he didn’t make noise, but he could not help splashing again as the waves crested over him and threated to drown him. “It got him,” he said through a shivering jaw, fighting to stay on top of the rolling water. “It got Cleo.”
“Cleo!” Andy yelled. “No!”
“We have to get to the boat while it’s got him,” Connor said. His words were insensitive but he knew this game, knew this this was their only chance to survive. If it had Cleo then Cleo was dead. Olive knew it too, and nodded. Together they swam for the boat, which was now listing in the current.
They had gone twenty feet when the sea turned red to his right. If it was Cleo’s blood, Connor couldn’t tell but he knew it was somebody’s. It was thick and looked almost purple at times, spreading out and heading right for him. He paddled sideways, trying to stay away from it, knowing the monster was somewhere in it, but it was closing on him.
“Stay away from the blood!” he yelled. Both Andy and Olive saw it now too, and swam sideways, cutting around it. It bubbled up with renewed ferocity, as if the hisser were purposefully spitting it toward the surface.
“There’s the boat,” Andy said, pointing.
And then Andy was gone, yanked under the water like Cleo had been. There one second, gone the next.
Olive screamed and lost control, flailing as she swam with all her might. Again, Connor knew their only chance was that the hisser stayed preoccupied with Andy long enough for him and Olive to get to the boat. He kicked as hard as he could, keeping an eye out for anything red, suffering the icy water to his very core. The boat finally coughed to life, began to turn, come back for them. At the wheel, Hugh yelled for them to swim faster. He pulled up beside them and ran to the gunwale, throwing his hands over. “It stalled! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Quick, grab my hands! C’mon!”
Olive was there before Connor, lurching up out of the water like a sea lion making for a hoop at Sea World. Hugh caught her, yanked her up and over into the boat in one swift motion. She turned back, sea water running down her face, and screamed something inaudible. Connor reached the side of the boat, which yawed in the water and hit him, pushing him backwards away from the craft. Backwards in front of the hisser which had now popped up from under the waves just behind him. He screamed, fighting to get back to the boat. He hit the fiberglass side and tried to scramble up. Olive was reaching down, trying to get his hands. Her eyes were wide and he could see by the horror on her face that the creature was right on top of him.
“Screw you!” Hugh yelled, leaping off the boat and drop kicking the monster. Both the former cop and the hisser went under the waves and disappeared.
“Gimme your hand, Connor. Don’t look back. C’mon, reach!”
If he had Olive’s toned, dancer body this might be easier, but he was not as tall as her and might even weigh more. He waited for the boat to roll in the waves, and when it pitched down he stretched himself up as far as he could. Olive caught his hand, pulled him up until he could grab the side and heave himself on board. He scanned the deck for a gun but found nothing. The only weapon in sight was an oar affixed to a storage rack on the side. He unfastened it and held it up, ready to hit the hisser if it appeared near the boat.
All around them the sea was turning red, chunks of flesh bobbing in the current. The red water finally encircled the boat and dyed the sides red. Connor checked himself, his clothing. None of it was red. He had stayed out of it somehow. More importantly, he wasn’t scratched or bit. Next to him, Olive appeared safe as well.
“Where’s Hugh?” he asked.
“I don’t know. He jumped in and kicked that thing in its head. One of them anyway.”
“Which means he’s in the blood now.”
“Yeah. You don’t think it could still turn him, do you? I swallowed so much water it could easily…”
“We can’t just leave. What if he’s okay? What if he swam off underwater and is just waiting to pop up?”
“That thing is still down there. We can’t wait too long.”
They didn’t have to wait long at all, because at that moment Hugh’s head broke the surface on the other side of the boat. “Over here!” he yelled.
Connor and Olive raced over, saw him bobbing in the water, which was all red. Is it his blood? Is he bit? What do we do, Connor thought. Even if we get him on board he might be infected. Olive glared at him, perhaps having the same thought.
“Help me up,” Hugh cried. “It’s gone.”
“What do you mean gone?” Olive yelled back.
“Just gone. I don’t know. I saw it coming after me, and then there was a big white thing near it, then it was just gone. Please, hurry, help me.”
“We can’t leave him, Connor,” Olive panted.
“I know. But we have to be careful, keep an eye on him for bites. We see one we drop him back.” Reluctantly, Connor reached down, his hand open and ready. “Grab my hand, we’ll pull you up.”
With a grunt, Hugh reached out for Connor’s hand. What happened next came so fast it barely registered in his mind before he was screaming. A gray and white torpedo shot across the surface, ripping Hugh in half, then disappearing under the water again, leaving just Hugh’s outstretched arm floating on the surface. A fin cut the surface of the water and trailed off.
Then all was still. Connor remained lost in a scream that seemed to last forever. It took a minute for Olive to calm down too, for Connor’s heart to stop pounding. He sat down on the boat’s floor and shook, both with cold and fear. “That was a great white,” he said, understanding why the hisser had just disappeared while chasing Hugh. That much blood in the water, all those body parts like chum. It had been called by nature to clean up the waters. If it had turned into a hisser itself, he would never know, did not want to know. An undead shark? No thanks.
“Its teeth were red…It looked at me. Oh my God. Olive…”
“Jesus Christ, kid. They’re all gone. Oh Christ. Oh shit.”
“Olive, get us outta here.” All Connor could see in his minds eyes was the scene in Jaws when the shark rammed the boat. Only this shark might soon have other heads and arms sticking out of it. He touched his pocket and thanked God the drive was still in its baggie inside. “Please just go.”
She turned the key in the ignition and the boat started. She angled it south and drove with shock
in her eyes and tears on her cheeks.
SATURDAY, 5:12 PM
They thought they were in the clear. They’d gone half way across the desert without incident, wondering what Ron had been talking about, wondering where the hissers were and all the threats they were warned about, when they realized they were not going to pass through without incident. The sun was getting low, but daylight still promised to linger for at least another hour, when the hissers faded into view in the middle of the road. They were washed in heat wave, milling around a pile up that blocked the highway. The majority of them were bikers, their leather vests and faux German pith helmets covering mutated faces and twisted bodies. Others were unfortunate motorists and families that had fallen victim to the disease. A small group of undead Army Rangers were among them. So much for their help. Some of them had begun to form into larger monsters, scuttling around in the dirt looking for prey. They stood on the hills on either side of the road, just waiting to attack whoever tried to drive through the pass. They almost seemed organized.
Doug slowed to a stop, put the truck in park, the engine running and waiting for instructions. “This ain’t good. It’s pretty much an ambush.”
Amanita checked the side mirror, saw hissers spilling out of the hills behind them too. How had they coordinated this? They were not smart. They were just crazy, blood thirsty undead maniacs. Were they getting more intelligent, or had they just learned from repetition, instinct? Even a fish knew how to lay in wait for a worm, but it didn’t mean it could do crossword puzzles or understand why you don’t match stripes and plaids. Yet something about all this felt too planned. Slowly, they drifted down off the rises and started coming for the truck. “They circling us,” she said, her voice quaking. “Doug, they’re everywhere.”
“I know, darling. I know.”
“Do something. Drive through them.”
“Can’t. We’ll hit those cars and bikes and get caught up. Them hills on the sides are too steep to get over in this thing.” He turned and looked out the back window. “I could go back but they’re already forming a mob of teeth and claws back there. Probably make it through them with some damage. Only that means we go back, not to San Diego.”
“Nathan’s dad was right. This is a death trap.”
“Well we don’ have a lot of choice here. If we don’t go back now we’re gonna get stuck here and I don’t think we’re gonna win this battle.”
“What if there were none of them things around the cars in the road. Could you get by? Could you move the bikes?”
“Am, there are at least a hundred—”
“Just answer the damn question, Doug!”
Am’s sudden change in tone shocked him. She wanted to apologize but there was no time. “Could you?” she asked again.
“Probably. Yeah. Put a couple of those cars in neutral and push ’em outta the way enough to drive by. Scoot those bikes over. Yeah.”
She opened the door. Doug reached over and grabbed her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Something stupid. Something Connor did for me when I was trapped, and so I’m gonna repay the favor so to speak.”
“Are you nuts! You can’t outrun them!”
“Well neither can you but one of us has to lure them away so you can get the truck by the jam. Now shut up and let me go.”
“No!”
She yanked herself free of his grip. “Yes.”
“Am, don’t do this,” Doug pleaded. “You can’t outrun them here. Your legs are already ripped up. It’ll kill you. And there’s nowhere to hide.”
“Don’t need to hide. And I’ll deal with the pain. Just need to give you time. Let’s say…Folsom Prison Blues.”
“What?”
“Sing it. Now! I hear the train a-coming. Sing it!”
Doug spoke the first line frantically.
“Keep going,” Am said. “I’ll meet you!” She bolted from the truck and hit the dirt, running for the hills, listening to Doug screaming for her.
***
She didn’t know if she could do this, and just because she’d seen Connor do it back in Castor didn’t mean she could. He was athletic, played on the soccer team, had been wearing sneakers. Seth had attempted the same tactic and it had backfired, and he’d died horribly right in front of her. Out here in the open, there was almost nowhere to run. No trees, no houses, no fences or buildings to hide behind. Just her and the dirt beneath her, and hordes of undead gunning for her.
They came from both sides immediately, closing in. She juked left and ran closer to the blockade of cars, yelling to draw their attention. The wounds on her legs opened up again and she could feel white hot pain lancing through her. Oh god it hurt so bad. Tears streamed from her eyes. “I hear the Train a coming, it’s rolling round the bend!” She kept time with the song, praying Doug was on the same line, praying that when the song ended he’d be past the pile of abandoned cars.
She screamed as one of the undead lunged at her, just narrowly missing her. It fell in the dirt and scrambled to get up. As she raced up the sandy hill, she glanced back once over her shoulder to see the entire horde of decaying bikers coming for her. She couldn’t tell if Doug was moving in any direction or not.
There was nothing but more desert on the other side of the hill, and she had no choice but to keep running, fighting through the pain in her thighs, listening to the wave of predators coming after her.
***
“When I hear that lonesome whistle, I hang my head and cry…” Doug was just about crying himself, panicked and a nervous wreck that Amanita was getting mauled this very second. He watched the hissers run away from the crashed cars and give chase after her. Except for a handful that had seen Doug was still in the truck. They came for him, gunning down the pavement, leaving bloody footprints in their wake.
He mouthed the notes to Luther Perkin’s first solo of the song as he put the pedal to the floor and hit the first two hissers trying to engage him. They bent in half, their heads smacking so hard on the truck’s hood that their skulls caved in. They went under the truck, their bodies crunching as their bones snapped under the vehicle’s weight.
Doug continued to mouth the solo, in the key of B flat now, stopping just in front of the blockade. He grabbed the lead pipe he’d taken from Ron’s place, got out, and stood like a batter awaiting a pitch. The next hisser opened its jaws as it came. It had a second set of hands on its shoulders which grabbed at the air. “I bet there’s rich folks eating…” He swung with all his might, caught the monster in the head and knocked it sideways with such force it did a complete flip.
“...And smoking big cigars…” The next one was wearing a biker helmet, which wasn’t going to make things easier. Doug hit it in the face and it stumbled but its momentum carried it past him. Now it was behind him somewhere, but he couldn’t look because another one was on him. He jabbed the pipe forward and it caved in the the thing’s face, knocking its lower jaw loose. He kicked it back and it staggered and tripped over a motorcycle lying on its side. Doug flipped up the bike, grunting as he struggled with its weight, and toppled it on the creature. It lay pinned underneath, too weak to lift it off.
***
“…those people keep on moving, and that’s what tortures me…” Amanita’s legs were burning, her chest so tight she could barely draw a breath. The hissers were on her heels. She was not going to make it. She wanted to scream, to cry, but she found it too hard to stop now. She just kept running, down to the bottom of the hill where a handful of dead bodies lay, eaten beyond recognition. Casualties that were lucky enough to have had their brains destroyed and not come back from the dead.
She hopped over them, praying the monsters behind her would trip. She heard them kick the bloody bones out of their way as their grating SSSSSSS rose up in determination.
The second of Luther Perkin’s iconic solos sounded through her mind. Doug had waxed philosophical with her about Luther’s style. A minimalist guitarist who relied on an economic approach, rather
than a flashy one, Perkins created the signature Cash sound people came to call the boom chick. That meant little to Amanita, until Doug had played some of the songs for her again, and she could hear how simple yet important it was. And when it came to his solos, Perkins ignored the high pitched string bends and double taps of the rock n roll guitarists of the time, instead bringing his soloing style down to the bass notes on the low E and A strings, and incorporating that boom chick style. “Imagine Walk the Line or Folsom Prison Blues without those iconic guitar riff intros,” Doug had said. “Johnny may have been the engine that drove the band, but those guitar riffs were the gasoline.”
She was back into the lyrics, purposefully screaming them as she ran so that the mob would follow her. She could see the road ahead now, which curved out of the jammed-up pass and back into open land. If Doug could just get the cars moved and get by, get out there and pick her up, she might live. If not…
***
The first car moved easily. Doug opened the door, climbed in and threw it in neutral. He grabbed the wheel and the side of the windshield and pushed as hard as he could, steering it about five feet to the left. It hit another car and got stuck.
“Shit.” He ran back and found the next car in his path, used his elbow to smash the window. There were no keys in it, and when he tried the wheel it was locked. There was no way he was going to move it. “Shit.”
The third car had keys in it, and it started when he tried it. He floored the pedal and the car lurched forward, smashing through two motorcycles, and crunching into the hood of a mini Cooper, which folded in like an accordion. He considered just keeping the car—it ran and it was strong—but it was covered in blood and all the windows were broken. The truck was in better shape.
Hissers II: Death March Page 18