A House Divided: Book 3 of The Of Sudden Origin Saga

by C. Chase Harwood

  Dean swore quietly under his breath. He spotted a door on the far side of the room and stepped back out into the hallway to find the root to it. At the same moment, rapid footsteps had him turning just in time to see two of the kitchen soldiers coming down the hall with weapons drawn. He glanced behind him, saw no path for escape and instead, went on the offensive.

  With unforced indignation, he stepped toward them with his finger pointed into the observation room. “What the fuck are you people do—“

  He fell to the ground and shook in pain as both soldiers tasered him at once.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  So Many Boats

  Littlefield held an arm around Marlena’s waist, her right arm over his shoulder as she limped. Her wound, which had been left bare for the monsters who would dine on her, had been scraped back open during her scramble to get out of the tent.

  They had worked their way deep into the forest with its odd juxtaposition of dead trees and a green floor. The doctor was counting on the bay being close. His hope that they could escape — if he could find a boat. A very big if. Water remained the only natural barrier for the Children of Fiends. Like their parents, who had lost the mental skills for swimming, the children of the infected had never learned the skill. Each time the vast army came to a water obstacle, its progress came to halt until a crossing or a serviceable bridge could be located. They’d learned to use boats, but boats enough for an army had never been evident. As the horde reached the Eastern Seaboard, they ran up against one unusable bridge after another, all destroyed in the failed effort to stop the spread of Cain’s.

  The rising moon was three quarters full, and shone on and off as high clouds passed, offering brief periods when Littlefield and Marlena made swifter progress. When it fell behind a cloud, walking became treacherous. Nevertheless, hope filled their steps. There were no voices behind them, no call to hunt, no releasing of the ancestors to chase after them like a pack of rabid hounds. The explosions and resulting fires continued to create a diversion. Most of the runaway humans had headed north, the never ending rumors of a holdout part of the country, creating desperate optimism. A few had chosen Littlefield and Marlena’s path. They were regularly startled by the sound of an occasional crack of a branch, even a yelp of pain or surprise. The refugees were mostly running alone. They had long ago learned to rely solely on themselves. A few small groups were running together out of instinct to be among others rather than a strategy for survival. The doctor did his best to steer himself and the girl away from anyone else.

  After perhaps twenty minutes, they saw moonlight glinting off the water through the trees. Abruptly, they stepped out on a road. It was lined with modest houses in various states of decrepitude. The road led straight to the waterfront. A glance back told them that the fire was getting weaker — the clouds above the forest barely reflecting the orange light. Marlena stumbled and the doctor pulled her back in close, his arm aching from the constant effort. The road was buckled and frost heaved, making the walk nearly as tricky as the dark forest.

  The air felt a little warmer as they got closer to the water. Despite his exertions, Littlefield felt chilled. He needed to get his shirt back and find some clothes for the girl. He glanced at her wounded shin. “Maybe one of these houses.”

  “Hm?”

  “We have to keep moving but maybe one of the houses is open. Maybe we find a medicine cabinet, some clothes. Let’s get a little further though.”

  The girl seemed to understand and nodded.

  The sound of heavy footfalls behind them caused them both to freeze. A wild-eyed man came running down the street. Perhaps in his late twenties, he looked as emaciated and as drawn as a terminally ill fifty-year old. Littlefield recognized the man. William was his name, a mechanic from Arizona. William said, “I heard them, Doc. Fiends in the woods.”

  “Are you sure? We’ve heard nothing. There are other people in the woods, I know that.”

  William nodded with vigorous fright and kept running. Somewhere in the dark behind them, a man let out a terrified screamed that switched to unspeakable high-pitched agony. A mad gleeful cackle followed and was joined by whoops of insanity from others. Marlena clutched Littlefield’s arm with a surge of painful strength. He switched arms under her and they walked/ran as best they could.

  As they got closer to the bay, they could hear small wavelets touching the shore — a gentle pattern that belied the horror behind them. The houses gave way to more commercial buildings that had once serviced the great waterway. In the back of Littlefield’s mind he noted the absence of destruction. Clearly there’d been an orderly evacuation back in the day. Might as well’ve been 4am in any sleepy town — a place on the verge of awakening for business. Another scream of fear and agony cut through the night. Littlefield nearly carried the girl as his muscles reacted of their own accord. He couldn’t help but think of her bare feet on the rough mangled black top and he tried as best he could to steer her across the smoothest parts.

  The road came to a T on a long street of warehouse-sized buildings, mixed with gravel parking lots and boat yards fronting the water. It was the boat yards he cared about. A weathered sign to their right stated Sonnet Yacht Brokers. It was fenced off with chain link and a crown of barbed wire. The main yard was littered with parked boats, most of which were covered in now tattered whitish plastic sheeting meant to keep the elements at bay. He checked the front door, confirming it was locked. There was no way past the fencing and the gate was well designed so that no gap would allow a person — even a starving one — to slip through. The clouds separated for the Moon, and they searched desperately for an open driveway.

  Sampson waved for Marlena to follow him, whispering, “Come on.” She winced. He looked down at her feet. Black wetness glinted on the ground where she stood, the blood filling the spaces between her toes. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  She whispered, “Sorry, Señor.”

  He turned and crouched. “Quick. On my back.”

  She hesitated, not wanting to add to his burden, then the crazed howl of a Fiend had her leaping onto him. He surged forward, losing his balance for a beat, grabbing the chain link to steady himself and cursing as the fence, despite the rust, let out a jingle of life. They heard running.

  Littlefield ran, his ability to scout for an escape route wiped away by shear terror. Business after business were closed off to them, chain fencing a thin but impenetrable barrier.

  There was a laugh of glee behind them, joined by another. They’d been spotted. A cry for mercy in the distance turned to one of begging agony echoing among the shipyards.

  “Here, Señor.” The girl tried to wriggle off his back. He’d run right past it; a boat repair place, the gate wide open. They ran inside. Only then did Littlefield allow himself to turn and seek his pursuers. They were barreling down the street, completely oblivious to the effect on their own bare feet. Together, he and the girl swung the gate closed. There was no latch, just a loose chain with a closed padlock hanging on it. The doctor threw his back up against the gate and pressed his feet firmly into the ground.

  The Fiends — two scraggly old females — slammed into it. He jerked forward before pushing back, his eyes squeezed shut with the effort. He felt their fingers scratching at his back, pulling his hair. Marlena grabbed the loose chain and fed it around the adjoining pole — but there was no way to lock it. One of the Fiends screeched at her and got an arm past the opening, grabbing a handful of Marlena’s shirt. The girl jerked away, spit in the monster’s eyes and looked at the ground for a weapon, a rock, a brick, anything.

  “There!” pointed Littlefield. Along the fence dividing the repair yard from its neighbor was a bin full of rusty scrap steel. He pushed back against another surge and felt the hot reeking breath of a creature directly behind his ear as it screamed in frustration. Ignoring her ruined feet, Marlena hobbled to the bin and rooted around, grabbing a short length of pipe and what looked like rusted plumbers tape or some kind of met
al strapping. The creatures pushed hard, creating a gap, allowing one to try to push past.

  Letting out a howl of her own rage, Marlena charged back, swinging the pipe and striking a devastating blow to the head of the thing. The Fiend staggered back and fell onto its ass. Littlefield watched in amazement as the girl, with extraordinary nerve, calmly fed the chain back around the adjoining post, then slipped the strapping through two links, bending it closed — in effect, making a lock. She stepped back in satisfaction. Littlefield stepped away from the fence and turned to look at his attacker. The thing that had been clawing at his back looked like somebody’s pissed off grandmother, probably had been. She hissed in frustration. Marlena stepped up and spit in that one’s eyes as well. “Puta madre.”

  Littlefield turned his back for the girl to inspect. She looked at and felt his back and shook her head. “You OK.”

  He crouched again. “OK. Hop on.”

  He angled for the small warehouse that was the boat repair shop and set her back down as they reached a steel door set back under a rusting and collapsing metal awning. He tried the handle. It turned with squeaking protest. He put his shoulder into it and the door scraped against the frame, a sprinkle of rust falling on his hair and shoulders. Another shove and the thing popped open.

  Dirty, single pane windows, let in just enough moonlight to allow them to negotiate the space. Like every abandoned building in America, the room was a time capsule, the date set to the great Exodus — the race to escape the marauding hordes of infected. In this case, but for a layer of gathering dust, the shop was a mess of old furniture, hoists, walls of boat parts, outboards, tool benches — all of it reeking of oil. Marlena stood by the door with her arms wrapped around herself as Littlefield moved efficiently, searching along the wall to his right first. Immediately he found a dusty hoody sporting an Orioles logo and several coveralls. He grabbed the smallest coverall and handed it to the girl, who immodestly nodded thanks and began to remove his shirt.

  “No no. Keep it. I’ll wear this.” He held up the hoody and pulled it over his head.

  She smiled gratefully and started pulling on the coveralls.

  Covering for the mildly awkward moment, he said, “Gonna be cold on the water. Need all the warmth we can get.” He began to pull a second pair of coveralls over his pants. There were no shoes to be found. He grabbed some rags that looked clean from a nearby bin and had her sit with the intent to bind her feet in a way that he hoped the rags would stay on.

  She tapped his shoulder. “Señor, aqui.” She pointed toward the roll up door on the bay side of the room. A pair of rubber boots sat on the floor.

  He said, “Good eyes.” The boots were big. He guessed a mens US12. He wrapped her feet anyway, then helped her pull the boots on. She took a few painful awkward steps. They’d have to do.

  The Fiends at the fence were joined by another. They let out cries of frustration as Littlefield and Marlena stepped back outside. Screaming down the long driveway, they roughly rattled the gate, the action seriously testing the strapped chain. The third one was a male, a bit younger, and it began to climb. Littlefield scooped the girl up and ran, working his way through a graveyard of boats in various states of abandonment and disrepair.

  Storms over the years had toppled boats off of risers and trailers. In some cases gravity had simply caused things to collapse. At the water’s edge there was a small crane and a launch ramp. An aluminum row boat lay turned over along the fence by the ramp. The shaking gate behind them gave a jerk with the sound of the male leaping from the top. The doctor set the girl on her feet and pulled the boat over so that it landed with a bang upright, rocking on its keel. The weathered oars where neatly stacked on a couple of risers on the ground and he felt a thick splinter break off into the palm of his left hand as he tossed them into the bottom with a clang. He and the girl dragged the boat down to the water’s edge. When it was in ankle deep, it began to float and he helped Marlena inside. The male Fiend reached the top of the ramp and screamed with glee as it charged down at them.

  With an adrenaline charged shove, Littlefield pushed off and frantically struggled to get the oars into the locks as the momentum of his shove faded fast. The Fiend crashed into the water and waded toward them as fast as it could. Marlena screamed with equal parts anger and fear, her hands fruitlessly searching the bottom for a weapon. The wave from the charging infected gave the boat a small shove, but not enough. Suddenly the male had a hand on the transom. Littlefield had gotten only one of the oars in a lock when he let go, lifting the other and using it like a lance to smash the snarling wraith in what remained of its teeth. It was enough of a blow to break the things grip and the doctor kept pushing, using the monster’s face to get the boat to move further from the shore.

  Marlena leapt for the untended oar as it started to slide off into the water and dropped it back in the lock. Littlefield got his oar into the other lock, then side by side, he and the girl pulled hard, swiftly escaping into deeper water.

  “Donde?” asked the girl, her eyes scanning the dark horizon.

  “This is the Chesapeake. Can’t see it but there is another shore on the far side.” He pointed east. “Uh, more land, comprende? No idea how long it will take us.” She said, “Si,” but he could see the question remained on her face. He offered what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Lucky the weather is calm. I wouldn’t want to do this if it was rough. Probably die of thirst anyway.”

  The girl didn’t really understand, but she offered a smile, saying, “Yes.”

  As he pulled, the splinter in his palm felt fresh and raw against the oar.

  The Shoremen stood tightly packed together inside the sentinel camper watching the monitor over the driver’s shoulder. The machine and its 2 man escort were rapidly approaching the far shore. They could see that the firelight in the distance was diminishing. The sentinel boat was headed toward a marina. Hundreds of small boats were tied up and squeezed together among the docks. One of the escorts, a Corporal King, said, “This is weird. Seeing this you are at home?”

  Olsen reached over Singletary, the drone driver, and touched the button for the mic. “Seeing what, Corporal?”

  “Studied this sector I have not, sir, but impossible it is that these boats have survived like this all these years. Gathered them here, someone has.”

  “That hardly seems possible,” said Dr. Harrison, more to himself rather than as a contradiction.

  This thought was interrupted by a squawk from a different radio lying on the console in front of the operator. “Colonel Olsen, sir? Silver here, you copy?”

  Olsen grabbed the hand-held. “Go for Olsen, Lieutenant.”

  “Sir, one escaped from the barn. Have him under control we do, in the main house. Your input, we could use, sir. Over.”

  PART FOUR

  Divided We Fall

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Extinction is Nigh

  With the still brightly burning oil fire before him, Paul breathed through one nostril of his blackened nose, and as Arthur had taught him, willed himself to remain calm. Yet his mind and body struggled against the blind rage he was feeling. Long ago he had learned that such displays were pointless and didn’t allow for focus. He reached out to the Lamb and prayed for a steady hand.

  After overcoming the initial shock of the catastrophe, he set his people on a rapid coarse toward recovery. The injured were tended to, all but the biggest fire doused; the still blazing oil isolated so that it couldn’t spread. He also released the ancestors. He was done rounding up stray and troublesome Fresh Ones. He would let the ancestors feast.

  In fact, they would all feast.

  He let the one that was thought of as Full Face tend to his wounds; and while the acrid smoke still swirled around them, he, Peter, John and Simon said prayers for Mary’s blessed departure to join the Lamb. As a thank you to Full Face, Paul told her that when he felt healed, he would have her lay with him in return for her ministrations. Full Face was nearly overw
helmed with the honor and failed miserably at hiding it — rather, she flushed with excitement. The distraction briefly caused her to lose focus on relieving the leader’s pain and a snarl of sudden displeasure crossed his freshly burnt features. She immediately went back to work and he relaxed. He smiled a mouthful of sharp teeth as his eldest son was brought forward by his nurse. The boy was free of burns, but Full Face saw now that he suffered from lesions on his skin, and his eyes appeared hollow and sunken. He looked like many of the Chosen who were showing signs of illness and exhaustion. Bending to the burnt corpse of Mary, Paul peeled a chunk of her cooked flesh away, and with his teeth, tore off a smaller piece. He fed this to his son who hopped with pleasure over the morsel. Stepping on top of the burnt corpse, the bulge of its unborn sibling very much in evidence, the lad joined his father in consuming the remains of his dead mother. The rest of The Five were invited to join, Paul nodding for Full Face to eat also.

  As Extra One observed Full Face with deep jealousy, Teeth Broken On Bones placed a mental hand on her shoulder, advising restraint.

  As he ate, Paul reached out to the other Chosen watchers, who were spread among the far reaches of the North, and who patiently waited for his instructions. He confirmed that they would begin at the next rising light. The time had come. The Fresh would be wiped from the world.

  In the hour after Dean’s escape, Jon did nothing but strain his ears for a sign of… anything. Growing exhausted with the effort he called over the wall to Nikki. “You still awake?”