But last night had been so very cold and they detoured so many times to avoid blocked roads and the roving creatures. They were exhausted and it was almost dark. The Mcmansion at the end of the long, graveled drive looked so sturdy, so inviting, so safe that they hadn’t been able to resist trying to get in. Anyone living this far out probably had a well-stocked pantry and possibly a well or spring for fresh water. Maybe they died out somewhere trying to get treatment in the first days of the pandemic and the house was empty. Maybe.
The car crunched heavily across the gravel forecourt as they coasted across and parked in the encircling woodland.
Watching the windows for movement, they circled around and approached the house from behind in case the homeowner was still alive and armed, prepared to fend off opportunistic wanderers (like themselves) and the undead hordes. Snow still covered the woodland in patches but most of it melted in the earlier sunshine. Pines gave off their fresh, sharp fragrance as they brushed against the needled branches. A tarp-covered swimming pool took up most of the lawn area back here and artfully crafted terraces with bedding plants filled the rest. Whoever these people were, they had spared no expense landscaping their home. Smooth, river rocks with words like ‘Peace’ or ‘Family’ carved into them lay randomly among the shrubs.
They stopped outside the French windows that gave onto the patio. They heard no sounds other than the splashing drops of the drizzle that sent needles of icy pain down their necks. Beatrice didn’t detect the sickening scent that always accompanied the infected.
David laughed and Bea turned to see him triumphantly holding up a metal key.
“It was under the ‘Home’ rock.”
Inside the house was cold and growing dark as the evening came on. Together they cleared every room and found no one, dead or living. No electricity but there were candles in a drawer and full cupboards in the kitchen held plenty of canned goods. They sat at the table and ate cold beef ravioli by candlelight. Bea carried their dishes to the sink. The tap gurgled briefly when she tried it but produced just a few dribbles of water. She wiped the dishes off with paper towels.
David said, “You keep doing that. Why? What difference does it make if we don’t wash the dishes? I know it’s a sanitation issue but we’re not staying here. No one is.”
“Civilized people wash their dishes. It’s a small thing but it’s important, maybe even more now than before. I wish I could stay here. If my brother were with me I probably would. This is exactly the kind of place I wanted to find.” She placed the dishes in the drainer and turned around.
“So what do you think? Do we need to take turns standing watch or can we both get a full night’s sleep? It’s been hours since we saw anyone, living or not. This place is pretty isolated.”
“Let’s sleep. We’ll hear if one of them tries to get in. They’re not exactly stealthy, are they?” David stood and picked up his backpack.
All the bedrooms were upstairs. Bea chose the one at the end of the hallway at random. It was probably the master. Double doors led to a spa-like bath but it was too dark to see much and she was far too tired to spend time exploring. She locked the door and pushed a chair against it for good measure then checked her gun before placing it beside her pillow. The clip held fifteen rounds and she had another full clip in her backpack. The bed beckoned and she paused only to peel off her boots before crawling beneath the covers and falling asleep almost instantly.
When she awoke it seemed like only minutes had passed but morning sun streamed through the gap in the curtains. Struggling to wake up, she went into the bathroom and examined her face in the mirror. A drawer held cotton balls and astringent and she gratefully wiped the dirt from her face before twisting her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. She went through the homeowner’s extensive cosmetics collection and, finding an unopened tube of lipstick, put just a touch of sheer pink on her mouth.
Gravel crunched somewhere outside and she dropped the gloss. Easing the door open she saw nothing in the hallway.
A window in one of the empty bedrooms looked out over the front porch. She twitched the curtains aside and saw a lone figure wearing a torn, stained, white button-down shirt over a pair of equally stained khakis, shambling clumsily along the drive, weaving a path to the house. First it slammed into the closed garage door then pinball-like bounced over to the front door and began to slap its rotting hand against the wood. He held something out in front of him in his right hand but she couldn’t tell what it was.
Drawing her weapon she held it pointing down in front of her. No one was visible from the top of the staircase and she eased down, cringing every time the steps creaked (and they creaked a lot). The front door shook but held as the dead man pounded it repeatedly. She backed up the stairs and returned to the window just in time to see the creature back up then make another staggering assault at the door. He stepped back too far, lost his balance and fell down, then floundered to get back up from the muddy ground.
David joined her at the window, looking like he just woke up but gun held ready. She shook her head, tucked her gun away and headed for the hallway where she paused. Framed photographs lined the walls, one showing three little girls in too-big, flowery, flounced dresses. They wore white gloves and picture hats and were sitting on the lawn near the pool, having a tea party. She wondered where the girls were now.
“Let’s eat something and get out of here. The only threat he poses is that he’s making enough noise to attract others. We’ll take him down when we leave.”
Breakfast was dry cereal and a few swallows of bottled water. Bea found a road atlas in the kitchen and took it, tucking it under her arm. They constantly had to find alternate routes around blockages and this might come in handy. Exiting the rear of the house they locked the door behind them and put the key back under the rock. They stood for a moment, surveying the peacefulness of the woodland scene spread out before them. The snow was almost completely gone and everything was quiet until the sound of dragging footfalls drifted their way.
The creature staggered around the side of the house just as they reached the driveway. Its face was so badly decomposed that one eye worked its way out of the sagging socket and now dangled next to its nose. As it swayed and lurched forward the bulbous, blackened orb dropped lower and dangled near the mouth. The dead man chomped on it, only to spit it out seconds later.
David looked inquiringly at Bea and she handed him her iron fence rail. He drove it home into the empty eye socket, churning it around to destroy the brain. The dead man slumped to the ground. David pulled the rod out with a moist-sounding pop and wiped it off in the snow.
The right hand still clutched something tightly and she prodded it with the tip of her boot, finally stomping the fingers open to reveal a key. Wondering, she took it and found it fitted the front door lock.
“Look at this!” she called back to David.
David stowed the rod in his pack and walked to the front of the house. He tried the key and shook his head before closing the door again and placing the key under the welcome mat.
“What do you think? Memory or coincidence?” Bea asked as they walked to the car.
“I’m voting for coincidence. He was trying to get in the house when he was attacked and just never let go. Heaven help us if these things are becoming intelligent.”
“I wonder what happened to the rest of his family?”
“Probably nothing good.”
“You know, he was really rotten. This whole thing might be over once it warms up enough for all of them to just decompose.”
“Who knows? It’s not a perfect solution but we’ll take what we can get. One of the problems they’re having in rural areas, according to Ian, is that the ground water in wells is becoming contaminated by all the decomposing infected. That situation will only get worse and it will affect the cities, too.”
David started the car. The wheels spun briefly in the wet leaves and mud before gaining traction. They pulled out onto the graveled
drive. Bea watched the house behind them in the rearview grow smaller and smaller until it finally shrank from sight. Someone’s rural dream house was just an abandoned pile of bricks that would eventually become ruins.
Now, driving through the brief main street of this town they saw no one other than the roaming dead. The girl in the red dress stumbled over the curb as she tried to get to the car and fell headfirst against a parking meter. Her skull cracked and black ooze dribbled onto the ground. She didn’t get back up.
Ohio was dreary, wet, and cold. Staying away from major cities meant they drove through endless corn fields. The stubby brown stalks of winter stretched for miles. Large farmhouses, some intact, others partially burned, appeared sporadically. The dead shuffled mindlessly around some of the farmyards, always turning toward the car as they drove slowly past and following, at least for a short distance before they disappeared from sight.
“Other than west, where exactly are we trying to go?” Bea asked. “Where could the pilot have gone to find fuel?”
“There are small airfields, private and otherwise, all over the country. Unfortunately I don’t have a map or list of them so we’re winging it, Bea. I know there’re at least two outside Cincinnati and that’s where we’re headed right now. I landed there once. Engine problems,” David said. “A lot of hospitals have helicopter landing pads but they’re almost all infested and I really hope they don’t try to go to any of those.”
“They wouldn’t have fuel there anyway, would they?” Bea stared out the window as they passed another smoking pile of rubble that used to be a house or barn. “We’re going to need gas soon ourselves and I haven’t seen a clear station.”
“Keep an eye out for a pump near a house or more likely near a barn. Some farmers have tanks installed on their property for the farm equipment.”
She looked but saw only desolate fields with an occasional clump of trees in the distance. The gas hand kept falling as did the rain. Twice they pulled up behind abandoned cars and tried to syphon gas but both were late model with anti-theft screens inside the tank. Neither car would start so they drove on.
Just past signs for Maryville they came upon a small compound consisting of a barn, sheds, and silos off to one side of a sprawling, white, clapboard-sided house. An old-fashioned-looking gas pump stood near a barn. The buildings stood in a pleasant semi-circle. There were no signs of the living or the dead as they turned down the driveway and coasted to a stop. David stepped out with his hands held high and faced the house, looking for movement in the windows. After a moment he lowered his hands. No one seemed to be watching them.
The pump had a lock on it. A thick, heavy, key lock. Crap, thought Bea. She went into the closest shed and fumbled around until she found an axe. It was rusty with a wobbly handle but it would do. The lock finally gave after repeated blows. David backed the car up and got out, preparing to fill the tank then he stopped.
“It’s diesel. I should have checked. Great, this is just great.” He hung the nozzle back up and kicked the pump in frustration.
A faint moan drifted their way and they immediately drew close to the car, back to back and scanning the area for anything moving. From behind the barn an overall-clad figure limped eagerly toward them, teeth gnashing in ghastly expectation. The bib of the overalls was stained with a dark ichor. It paused briefly and tilted its head back and made a keening, chittering sound before resuming its forward, staggering sprint.
David took the axe and met it before it reached the car, burying the axe in its forehead. “What was that? Was it calling to someone or was it exulting over a potential meal?” He put one foot on the thing’s neck and tugged on the axe to free it but only succeeded in breaking off the handle.
Another moan sounded somewhere behind the barn. Then another.
Three men and two women, all dead, emerged from behind the barn. One of the men had a glistening red, gaping hole where his abdomen should be and a twisted leg dragging along behind him. The others were in better shape and dismayingly fast. Time to go.
The car started then died. David tried again but it only chugged. The third try resulted in a grinding sound with a few clicks then nothing. The infected were only yards away now.
“I don’t get it! We still have an eighth of a tank.” David tried again.
Rotten hands hit against the car windows. One of the men, taller and massively built, hit the roof so hard it dented and the car rocked.
Bea flinched and ducked her head. “If he hits a window next, we’re-” The passenger side glass shattered and sprinkles and shards of glass rained down on her. A massive decaying hand groped as she scrambled out of the bucket seat over on top of David who was still trying to start the car.
The rest of the dead clustered around the destroyed window, reaching and clutching for them. The car rocked again.
“We’re going to have to sprint for the house. Ready?”
David opened the door and they practically spilled out into the cold mud. Scrambling to their feet they ran for the porch to find the front door solidly locked against them. They dashed back down the steps and Bea fell, a sharp pain in her knee making her gasp before they were up again, sprinting around the house in hopes of finding a door, an open window. There was nothing except-
A truck, blue paint faded with a rusted tail-gate, stood parked under the gnarled branches of a looming oak tree. A plank swing hung by fraying ropes banged gently against the open driver-side door. The cab light was on and the bald tires had a gray look but the key was in the ignition.
A strong smell of wet dog rose from the torn, vinyl, bench seat. Bea slid behind the wheel and the engine turned over on the first try. She backed up, driving slowly across the rutted yard around the house back to the graveled forecourt.
Three infected still thronged the car, too stupid to understand their prey had escaped. Bea drove straight toward them until she smashed them against the passenger side of the car, splattering gobbets of black matter on the truck hood. They were pinned but still gibbering and all the noise attracted the attention of the others who began to stagger back.
“What’re you doing? Let’s go now!” David shouted.
Bea shook her head and got out. More dead were now less than twelve feet away. She opened the trunk of the car and began throwing bags and boxes into the truck bed. There were more new clothes, shoes, boots, et cetera in here than she or Brian ever owned in their lives. She wasn’t going to leave all of it behind. Who knew when they would find more? She paused long enough to shoot the huge infected man in the face. Last of all she snagged their backpacks from the backseat then jumped into the truck. David glared at her as she put the truck in reverse and hit the gas.
The trapped dead hammered and scratched on the hood, still struggling to reach them. Worn tires spun briefly in the wet mud before making contact with the gravel and they backed away, unpinning the creatures. One of the women, split in half at the waist, fell to the ground with a sickening, soggy squelch. She immediately began to crawl toward the truck, dragging her torso along with clawing hands, guts fishtailing in the mud behind her.
They left the farm behind. The wind blew in cold through gaps at the top of the windows. They tried cranking them up but they wouldn’t close. Bea turned the heat on and it blew out an even stronger wet dog odor. She groaned and covered her nose, slumping back against the seat and driving with one hand.
“Not traveling in your accustomed style, Beatrice Actually?” David asked.
“My accustomed style is not traveling at all. I never had the time. I only learned to drive because I took driver’s ed in high school. Well, that plus Simpson’s Road Rage and a little Grand Theft Auto. I’ve never had a car but I’m a pretty good driver.”
She sailed serenely past the stop sign at a crossroads and David winced.
The landscape was changing. They left the cornfields behind and entered an area of tree-crowned hillocks with half-frozen streams winding their way across the countryside. The clouds ha
d broken. A weak sun shone at intervals and the cold wind grew stronger.
“How far are we from an airport?”
“I don’t know but that’s not what we’re looking for. An aerodrome is a better description of what we hope to find and we should be near the Holywell site in about an hour. There could be one closer, you never know, so keep an eye out for towers and wind-socks.”
Occasionally fires and smoke appeared in the distance. Abandoned vehicles littered the landscape and they saw a few bodies, or body parts, scattered randomly. They glimpsed wandering dead who almost always turned their way and followed the truck until they disappeared from sight.
These grew more numerous as they reached the outskirts of Cincinnati and more abandoned vehicles littered the streets. The occasional stores they saw had shattered front windows and doors and looked looted.
“We’re not going into the city, are we?”
He laughed. “Not a chance. You know what D.C. was like. If I am remembering this correctly the turn-off is somewhere near here.”
After a few more minutes David told her to turn left onto a black macadam road that ran alongside a field. Savaged cattle lay scattered in irregular mounds, mostly stripped of flesh. The dead had been busy here but had moved on. She wondered why. Back in D.C. they concluded the creatures responded mostly to sound and she hadn’t seen anything to contradict that. Dr. Osawy said something about them being able to hear heartbeats, rhythmic sounds attracting them the most. What did they do when there were no sounds?
Something buzzed then vibrated against her chest. She fumbled through the pockets and finally pulled out her phone.
It was a text sent yesterday from Brian.
“He’s alive!” she laughed and held the little phone out exultantly in front of her.
“On Wrigley Field to pick up another soldier. No fuel still going west not sure where. Battery low.”
The phone chimed once and then died. “Oh well. At least that message got through. Wish I had a car charger.” She put the phone away.
The Living Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Coast Page 2