by Unknown
"Here we go!" Reginald yelled to the others. "We got 'em!"
Reginald weaved dangerously around a downed bicycle and a broken television, blocking the other car. Bright taillights illuminated the trunk. Reginald frowned.
It wasn't a station wagon. It was a red sedan.
Had Dan and Quinn changed vehicles? He didn't see how, or when, but it was possible. Perhaps they meant to throw him off. Before Reginald could make sense of the situation, two people rushed from the vehicle in a crouch, heading into a nearby building. Reginald squinted, trying to make them out in the dark. He parked the Buick and threw open the door.
To Tom and Billy, he said, "Let's go!"
"It doesn't look like them!" Tom protested.
"Let's go!" Reginald repeated.
He jumped from the vehicle and surveyed the interior of the sedan. A warning bell announced the door was ajar. The interior lights blazed, revealing an empty vehicle. Reginald reached over and shut the door, silencing the annoying noise. He looked at the building. The people had run inside an old-fashioned restaurant with two stories, a front porch containing tipped, broken tables and chairs, and smashed windows.
Reginald stalked from the road to the porch, his men behind him. The front door hung on one hinge. From somewhere inside, footsteps clapped up a flight of stairs. Reginald moved at a crouch, pistol pointed, knowing better than to run into an ambush.
"Stay low and watch out," he warned Billy and Tom.
He looked around the debris-ridden street, verifying that none of the creatures were close by, then walked from the sidewalk to the porch, stepping around smashed plates and silverware. He signaled Billy and Tom to flank the front door.
The building's interior was pitch black. He heard people panting and running, then a crash as someone knocked into something. A panicked cry echoed through the building.
I've got them now.
If Dan and Quinn had weapons, they'd have warned him to stay back, not run in fear. Reginald smiled. He pulled a flashlight from his pants and flicked it on. He shone it inside the restaurant, revealing a large dining room that had probably once been eloquent, but was now trashed and littered with furniture. The air reeked of rotten food that had been prepared and left out to fester. Several bodies were sprawled on the floor, half-eaten and obviously dead. A balcony overlooked the enormous dining room, extending around the perimeter of the upper floor. He shone his light up at the railing, catching sight of a face.
"Upstairs!" he hissed.
The face disappeared and the footsteps continued.
Reginald's mirth turned to anger. Dan and Quinn had outwitted him; they'd gotten away. Not only had they escaped, but they were taunting him, leading him on a chase to avoid retribution. He let that anger drive him as he rushed into the building with Billy and Tom, angling his flashlight up the stairs. He snuck up them quietly, keeping low as he and his men hustled up to the second floor. Reginald had the advantage. Dan and Quinn were running in the dark, but he had a light, and he had them outgunned.
Reaching the second floor, Reginald hesitated. More tables and chairs were scattered everywhere. The railing was broken away in several places where people had fought with the creatures and failed. Reginald saw several open doorways along the outskirts of the floor. The footsteps had ceased. Wherever Dan and Quinn were hiding, he'd uncover them.
He'd check every goddamned room.
He moved to the first door, shone his light in, and motioned for Billy and Tom to aim their rifles. The room was filled with supplies—folded tablecloths and napkins on shelves. They moved on to a second doorway, looking into a small, secluded dining room with several chewed, decaying bodies. Nothing.
Reginald swung his pistol into the third room, a similar layout as the second, with knocked over furniture. A breeze kicked up from outside, blowing through the smashed out windows, kicking up curtains. There were no closets or doors. He saw nothing behind the tipped, battered furniture. He was about to leave when he spotted an overturned table in the corner. Unlike the rest of the room, this appeared to be purposefully positioned. Signaling Billy and Tom, Reginald shone his light on the table. Then he slowly backed away.
He took cover behind the doorway.
He hissed, "Got you now, you fuckers."
The room went artificially still.
Someone was here. He could feel it.
"Come out now, and I'll spare Quinn."
Reginald was lying, of course. He had no intention of keeping his word. He watched intently for movement, ready to fire at the first sign of a weapon. He'd prefer to take Dan alive, but he'd do what he had to. He was about to speak again when a man with dark hair stepped slowly from behind the table, holding up a broken table leg, surrendering. The man's eyes flitted nervously around the room as he watched the doorway. Reginald made the surprise determination that it wasn't Dan.
"Please," the man pleaded. "It's just my girlfriend and I. We were looking for help. We saw someone chasing us."
A female voice echoed from behind the table. "Don't shoot! We don't mean any harm!"
A pulse of anger ran through Reginald. These people weren't Dan. They'd wasted his time. They'd distracted him enough that he'd lost whatever lead he had. He looked back at Billy and Tom, who watched him with confused expressions.
Reginald fired at the dark-haired man, catching him in the stomach. The man dropped to his knees, blood leaking from his gut as the broken table leg clattered to the floor. His lips quivered in surprise. He looked at Reginald with a combination of shock and terror, clasping his hands over the fresh wound. Reginald felt a strange feeling of elation.
He shone the light on the bleeding, begging man.
"Y-you shot me!" the man gurgled, as if Reginald might take back what he'd done.
Billy and Tom backed away from Reginald. They lowered their weapons, as if they might run away.
Reginald shot the man in the head. A sense of righteousness coursed through him as he watched the man crumple.
"Jesus!" Billy muttered.
Reginald stepped toward the table. A girl ran out from behind it, heading toward the far corner of the room. She screamed as she fled, dragging her hands along the wall, pleading for her life. She stumbled near the broken windows. Reginald followed her with his pistol, gritting his teeth, shining the flashlight in her eyes, blinding her. She held her hands in front of her face.
Before he could shoot, the girl lost her balance and toppled through the open window, landing at the base of the building with a thud. And then the night was silent again, except for the cool breeze blowing through the windows.
Chapter Eleven
Sandy, Simon, Hector, Marcia, and Anabel drove away from the gas station, watching several creatures emerge from the shadows. A few of them raced toward the truck, but Simon was easily able to outrun them. Soon they were far enough away to relax slightly.
Sandy gave Marcia the pain relievers and supplies they'd collected from the gas station. Marcia administered them to Hector, who used one of the bottled waters from the bags to swallow the pills.
After driving a few more miles, the scenery transitioned from a commercial area to an area of wide, open desert. Sandy realized she hadn't seen a building in a while. Night insects chittered around them. Sandy recalled drives she'd taken in the desert with Ben, taking in scenery, escaping the worries of the workweek. Those drives had always been accompanied with discussions of dreams, goals, and the things they missed about their childhood and their parents. Thinking about them now, Sandy had a twinge of nostalgia.
Times like that were much different than the silent, nervous drive she was taking now.
"Something's wrong," Simon said, looking at the dashboard.
"What is it?" Sandy asked.
"We're overheating."
Sandy snapped her attention to the temperature gauge, which shuddered above the top line. The engine light popped on. "Why is that happening?"
"We either damaged something or it's a mechanical iss
ue," Simon said, pounding the wheel.
"Shit," Sandy said.
"What do we do?" Marcia asked worriedly from the backseat.
"Ideally, we fix it. But I don't have any tools. And I won't be able to see much at night. We'll have to at least wait until the engine cools off. Goddamnit," Simon cursed.
Sandy recalled the thumps she'd felt during their escape. Any one of them could've damaged the underside of the vehicle. Before she could speculate further, Simon pulled off the road and shut off the car. He pulled the flashlight from his pocket and reached for the door handle.
"I'll get out and take a look, even though I doubt I can do anything," he grunted.
Simon popped the hood, opened the door, and stepped out into the street with the gun. A moment later, she saw him shining his flashlight under the hood. She looked in the backseat. Hector, Marcia, and Anabel watched Sandy with frightened expressions.
"I still don't trust him," Marcia whispered to Sandy. "If we hadn't talked sense into him, we would've still been at the lumberyard."
"If he betrayed us once, he might do it again," Hector said worriedly.
Sandy nodded. "I don't know what to think, either. Regardless, if we don't have a vehicle, we're going to have bigger problems than Simon. I'm going to get out and keep watch."
"I'll come with you," Hector said adamantly, starting to get up.
"No. You should rest."
Marcia reinforced Sandy's suggestion by holding Hector's arm.
"I'll be careful," Sandy persuaded them. "If I see any of those things around, I'll warn you."
She opened the door and stepped onto the side of the road. She surveyed the flat, vacant landscape. The moon illuminated patchy scrub brush. There were no buildings close by. To the north hung the White Mountains. Simon was focused on the engine. He creased his face as he jiggled some wires. Finally, he tucked his pistol in his pants and flashed his light at the undercarriage.
"I need to look underneath," he said. "Can you cover me?"
Simon watched her for a moment, as if he might not trust her, then hunched down and slid underneath the truck, shining the flashlight. Sandy held her knife, looking up and down the street, her heart beating fast and hard. They were broken down, stuck in this hellish nightmare together. Regardless of what happened at the lumberyard, they had to find a way out.
Sandy looked up at the White Mountains.
She pursed her brow as she scrutinized a tall building in the distance, trying to determine exactly where they were. The darkness was disorienting. She was on the verge of recognition when Simon emerged from underneath the truck, his face grave in the orange glow of the flashlight.
"I think I found the problem," he said.
Sandy's heart fluttered. "What is it?"
"The oil pan has a hole. That explains why we're overheating." Simon returned to the engine and checked the dipstick. "Yep. The tank's dry."
"We can't drive, then?"
"We'll crack the head gasket if we do," Simon explained. "Besides, we won't get far with the truck in this condition. Our best bet is to find another vehicle."
Sandy looked up and down the road, but saw no other cars, abandoned or otherwise. From inside, she heard Marcia checking on Hector. Sandy was worried about him. She was worried about all of them. Her headache still blazed behind her eyes, and her body ached from the collision.
Refocusing on the building in the distance, she realized they were near the St. Matthews Elementary School.
"Do you know what that building is?" Simon asked.
"Yes. That's the St. Matthews Elementary School."
"Is that where you went to school?" Simon asked.
"No. I grew up in Chicago. I moved here a few years ago with my brother."
"That's right," Simon said, remembering. "Your brother died at the start of this. I'm sorry."
Sandy cleared her throat and pushed away the awful memory. "In any case, the elementary school might be a good place to hole up until morning. Since it's summertime, there might not have been anyone in the building."
"That sounds like a good plan."
"Can we drive there?"
"It's possible, but we'd risk ruining the only vehicle we have. We should wait a half hour until it cools off. But it'd probably be quicker to walk."
"Okay. I just hope Hector is up for it."
Hector groaned as they helped him out of the backseat. "I'll stop complaining now," he joked, but the expression on his face showed he was still in pain. "I'm just a little dizzy."
"Take it easy, Hector," Marcia said.
Sandy stared up the street, as if the elementary school might've disappeared. But it was there, looming in the distance, looking less like a school and more like some haunted attraction, waiting for some foolhardy people to come near it. She saw no cars or signs of life around it.
"We should take as much food as we can comfortably carry," Simon suggested. "We can hide the rest."
Simon and Sandy retrieved a few bags and carried them, hiding the remainder of the food and water under the seats. Marcia and Anabel helped Hector.
"Stay quiet," Simon said, turning his pistol in his hands.
They started up the road in a nervous group, leaving the truck behind. Sandy glanced back at the vacant vehicle. With each step, they were farther from a refuge. But the truck wasn't much of a refuge, anyway. With its missing window, the vehicle would only stave off the creatures for only a few moments.
We need better protection than that.
The humid air stuck to Sandy's skin, making her tank top feel sticky. She wiped away the sweat from her forehead. A deep quiet had settled over the moonlit road, amplifying the occasional scuff of their shoes and the intermittent screech of night animals. Hector seemed to be walking fine, though she heard him sucking in pained breaths every now and again. Marcia and Anabel stuck by his side. Sandy and Simon kept on either end of the group.
Sandy stared at the school in the distance, grateful they'd found it, but nervous about what they might find there. The desolate building might mean safety. But it also might mean that others had chosen the same location, and those people might be as ill-intentioned as Reginald.
Loud footsteps made her look over at her companions. She was about to warn them to be quiet when she realized it wasn't them.
Sandy grabbed Marcia's arm, forcing her and the others to a halt as the footsteps continued slapping the earth.
Getting closer.
Something was approaching from the side of the road.
Simon swiveled, aiming his gun. Sandy caught a glimpse of a figure sprinting through the desert shrubs in the moonlight. Its rabid snarls gave it away as one of the creatures. She saw a bare chest, a few scraps of clothing hanging from a weathered body. Marcia gasped and backpedaled with Hector and Anabel. Sandy dropped her bag of food and clutched her knife.
"I've got it!" she said.
"I'll shoot!" Simon said.
"No. You'll make too much noise," Sandy countered.
The creature ran in the direction of Hector and his family, but Sandy stepped in front of them, causing it to redirect its focus. Her heart pounded fiercely as the thing got close enough to smell. Without a word, she thrust her knife into the thing's face, listening to the slick sound of blade meeting flesh. She pulled the knife free, blood splattering her face. She grimaced and stepped back. The thing collapsed.
"Jesus, Sandy," Hector exclaimed.
More footsteps interrupted their relief.
Sandy looked in all directions. Another two creatures were running down the road, but Simon was ready with his pistol this time. There was no time to be quiet. He walked straight at them, creating a buffer from the group and firing. The first bullet went wide, ricocheting off the asphalt. The second connected. The first creature plummeted to the ground in a heap, emitting a last snarl and slapping the road. The second fell behind it as Simon shot it with a bullet in the head. The gunshots echoed through the street and off the distant mountains. Sandy exh
aled as the desert fell quiet.
She wiped the blood from her cheeks, thankful that they'd survived.
"So much for staying undetected," Simon muttered.
"More will come from the commotion," Sandy said, recalling the lumberyard. "We need to get moving."
Chapter Twelve
They moved down the road at a faster pace. Even Hector seemed to have found a burst of strength, moving quietly and without complaint. Simon led the group while Sandy stuck alongside the others.
The distant building grew closer. Looking back, Sandy could no longer see the truck, as if night had swooped in and devoured it. They'd taken the keys, but Sandy found herself wondering if they'd ever return.
The future was as uncertain as it had been at the lumberyard with Reginald. Like everything else, the elementary school was a temporary destination.
The days of scrounging, hiding, and hoping were back.
Sandy recalled the times she'd spent huddled alone in buildings, thinking she was the last survivor, with only the screeches of hunting creatures to keep her company. Those had been the times she'd questioned her faith and her sanity. She'd prayed often, wondering when she'd see her brother again in some afterlife, or whether she'd die alone and unburied. If there were a higher power, why would He condemn her to loneliness? Why would He condemn her to inevitable death? She still hadn't decided why that could be.
Reginald had been the first to find her. He'd located her in a flower shop, where she'd been hiding behind the counter with a knife and a bag full of supplies. He'd coaxed her out, brought her to the lumberyard, and promised her safety, introducing her to the others. In hindsight, he probably only wanted someone to help guard the gates.
She should never have followed him.
But how was she to know how violent he'd turn out to be?
They walked toward the massive, brick building. The school was several floors high, set back from the road, surrounded by a parking lot that spilled into a larger paved area around back. Sandy looked for cars, but didn't see any.