He would have to get Angela and Alex as far away from the affected area as possible. An idea had come to him on the drive home and he was refining it as best he could. There was an old hunting trail about a quarter mile up from his driveway. He’d followed it once a few years back looking for fertile hunting ground. Several beers later and no deer in sight, he realized he’d driven over an hour north of the house. John was willing to bet that the road would take him right up to the Kansas, Nebraska border without ever crossing a major road.
The thought of getting away caused him to go faster, pushing the old camper truck to its limit. The endless fields blurred by on either side of the truck as the moonlight highlighted distant trees. It was under the moon’s light that two silhouette figures drew John’s focus from the road. Erratic movements traveling west across the field caused him to slow down and turn off his headlights. He brought the truck to a stop and stepped out onto the dirt road. There were people in the field, but it was impossible to tell what they were doing.
He pulled the shotgun from the front seat and put the keys in his pocket. He looked up the road and watched the darkness for signs of oncoming light, but found none. Satisfied, he slowly made his way across the field. He gauged the figures’ pace and angled to meet them as directly in line with the truck as he could manage. He neared the pair and slowed his pace.
There was something wrong about the shadows, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Something connected the two figures together that he couldn’t make out. They stopped, apparently waiting for him and he heard them for the first time. A raspy moan started low and rose as the figures held still. The one out front sporadically reached out at the open space in front of it. John knew the sounds of the walking dead, but could not understand why it walked away from him. He kept silent until he was close, watching the figures under the moonlight as the one in the back shifted uncomfortably. Holding on to something long somehow connected it to the figure in front. It only took a few seconds of silence for the figure to get impatient enough to speak.
“What do you want?”
John nearly fell over as the sudden wave of sound rang in his ears. He hadn’t expected the outburst and much more, he hadn’t expected to recognize it.
“Angela?”
“John?”
He ran toward her and as he did, the moonlight revealed the figures to be his wife and son. What he could not figure out in the darkness turned out to be an elaborate leash. Angela held on to one end of a mop stick, the other end secured around Alex’s neck with a rope. The boy tried to reach back for John as he approached, but the contraption held him in place. John embraced his wife, but as he did, the wind turned. The smell of the dead engulfed him and he looked at his son’s decomposing face and cringed. Alex reached for his father, his head held tight in place by the rope around his neck.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
Angela punched him in the side. “Where the hell have you been? There’s something wrong with him. He needs to eat and you left us all alone.”
“What about the last meal? That was only a few days ago.”
“I don’t know,” she adjusted her grip on the pole. “He needs to eat. Something’s happening and he has to have more.”
John looked into her eyes and saw wildness.
“Where are you going?”
She looked to the west and he followed her gaze to the dots of light on the only object standing out in the dark. He looked back at her and knew at once.
“The Davis house?”
“Your son has to eat, John,” she said.
John felt defeated. He’d spent so much energy trying to reach his family that he lacked the will to go on, now that he’d found them. He looked at his son’s withering body then sat down on the ground and stared up at the moon. He rested the butt of the shotgun on the dirt and laid his head against the barrel.
“What are you doing?” Angela asked. “I can’t do this on my own. Don’t be weak now when we need you most.”
John didn’t respond. He watched Alex with dyeing eyes. His heart sank as once again the reality of their situation landed square on his shoulders.
“Get your ass up.”
John came to his feet and started walking back toward the road.
“Come on,” he said.
“I asked you what you were doing.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Angela was left controlling Alex as the boy lunged after his father. John stayed dangerously close to the boy, his gnarled fingers nearly grabbing hold of his father’s shirt several times. Angela didn’t stop cursing at John until they were close enough to the road to see the camper truck.
“We’ll put him in the back,” he said.
He walked around the truck and opened the camper door. Angela struggled to force Alex in the back. He thrashed about against the pole and it took a good shove from John’s foot to get the boy inside. Angela forced him to the front of the camper and John shut the door. The end of the mop pole stuck out a small window in the back door, keeping Alex from turning around.
“Where did you get this from?” Angela asked.
“Oh, me, I’m fine,” John said. “I’ve only been gone for a few days, but thanks for worrying about me.”
“Oh, baby.” Angela put her hands on his waist. “You know I missed you. I knew you’d come back for us.” She kissed him. “We never doubted you for a second.” She kissed him again and disappeared around the other side of the truck.
John heard the passenger door open then slam shut. He shook his head and went around to the driver’s side. A minute later, the truck was on the road and driving back in the direction he’d come. He kept the headlights off as they neared the Davis house. By the moonlight, he found the driveway, marked by a lone mailbox. He pulled off the road toward the house and slowed the truck to a crawl.
“You think they’re in there?” Angela asked.
John brought the truck to a stop and studied the windows. The light was coming from the first floor bay window and the rest of the house was pitch-black. “I don’t know.” He opened the door and stepped out, straining to see into the dimly lit living room. He watched in silence, ignoring Angela’s impatient eyes. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Where else would they be?”
“How am I supposed to know?” John looked around for any other signs of life, but found none.
“Let’s have a look.”
He looked back at his wife and frowned. “I’m not taking you in there.”
“Why not?”
“What if they have a gun?”
Angela wouldn’t be denied. “We’re going in,” she said, “and remember that shotgun of yours isn’t going to be any good as far as your son is concerned,” she pointed at his weapon. “They have to be alive.”
John looked back at her with hate in his eyes. He’d been able to avoid thinking about what they were trying to do, but she enjoyed throwing it in his face. He pulled the shotgun off the seat of the truck and looked back at the house. “Get Alex out of the back.”
#
“Stay close,” John said then thought about it for a second, “but not too close.”
Angela held on to the pole with one hand and the end of the rope wrapped around Alex’s neck with the other. The boy’s dark eyes did not reflect the moonlight as he stared at his father with wanting desperation. His mouth hung open as the stench of death reeked about him. His limbs swayed in slow-ridged movements.
John kept the shotgun at the ready as he drew near the front door. He dropped down to a knee and took another long look at the front of the house. The living room was in clear view and he focused in on the television. The set was on and he knew at once that the Davis family was home. A sudden movement in an upstairs window drew his attention, but he found nothing beyond drapes blowing in the wind.
“They’re here,” he said.
“You’re sure?”
“Just keep close to the front door unt
il I clear out the bottom of the house.”
John tried the door and found it locked. A strong kick splintered the wood and another solid hit burst it open. He took a step inside with the shotgun close to his face. He eyed a hallway near the stairs on his left then the dining room on the other side of the front room. The only sound in the house came from a news reporter on the television. John crossed the living room with three long strides and flipped the television off. He listened for any sounds with his shotgun aimed at the stairs. A high-pitched voice interrupted his concentration from outside the front door.
“Is it safe?” Angela asked.
“Shhh,” John said.
“Well, we’re not going to stay out here all night.”
“Shut up.”
Angela fell silent, but John knew he would have to pay later for his words. He walked back to the door and motioned for her to maneuver Alex toward the dining room. John led the way and a quick search revealed the dining room opened up into the kitchen. He signaled Angela to stop and force Alex on the other side of the dining room table. The boy’s moans rose in volume, but John knew there was nothing he could do about it. It was obvious to him that his son’s appearance was deteriorating rapidly. His gaunt, pale face was covered in thin blue veins. His blackened tongue hung from the side of his mouth like a dog dying of thirst.
“Stay here,” John said, “no matter what you hear.”
He took a step into the kitchen and let the barrel of his gun sweep with his eyes. The light from the living room was enough to keep him from being blind, but not much else. He focused on the lone spot near the back door hidden from his view. As he stepped out to his left and found the back door, he hoped he wouldn’t have to use his last shell.
A quick turn brought the gun around to the central hall and a view of the front door. John moved down the hall keeping the gun aimed at the stairs. He reached the center of the house when the first signs of life came from a low, but distinct creaking board somewhere up on the second floor. John came to a stop and moved his head far enough to see the landing at the top of the stairs.
A deathly silence fell over the house and John held his breath. Time ticked by painfully slow until his lungs burnt. He heard his heart beating in his ears and just before he couldn’t hold it any longer, another sound came to him. Three steps echoed in the silence like an elephant stomp in the jungle. A deep breath burst from John’s lips when his lungs could take it no longer. He knew someone was upstairs and he had to bring them down one way or another. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get it done without killing anyone.
The bottom step creaked and John cringed the moment his foot hit it. He was no fool. Owning a gun was a rite of passage for most people in this part of the state. There was a good chance the shotgun in his hands wasn’t the only firearm in the house. The second stair wasn’t much better than the first, and he gave up any thoughts of sneaking up on someone. At the midway point, he heard muffled conversation from somewhere in the lightless dark overhead. He could see the upstairs hallway and knew at once that he wouldn’t be able to see anything once he reached the landing. The entire upstairs was covered in darkness and he guessed Mr. Davis kept it that way for a reason.
There were only three steps to go when he heard the click. It took him a second to place the sound, but he managed to pull his head down by the time the gun went off. Angela screamed several times from down stairs, but John’s ears were ringing. He couldn’t tell where the shot came from in the hall, but knew from the sizable hole in the wall where his head had been only a second before, that the wielder of that gun could see him very well.
John was stuck. There was a good chance he would get his head blown off if he tried to reach the top stair and he figured he’d get much of the same if he tried to return to his wife empty handed. In the end, he settled on a bluff. He readied his hand to catch the lone unused round as he made a loud and distinct pump of the shotgun. He caught the round midair and quickly reloaded. A few seconds later, his plan showed promise when a door closed somewhere on the upstairs hallway.
He took a hesitant step up and crouched as low as could manage. His eyes adjusted slightly to the darkness, revealing two doors on either side of the upstairs hall. He made sure each of the doors was shut before stepping up the rest of the way. The moment his feet hit the top stair, he pressed his back against the wall and tried to eye both directions at once. Sweat built on his forehead as he waited for one of the doors to open. John realized he’d have to risk too much moving down the hall without knowing which room the Davis’ were in, so he settled for a chance of courtesy.
“Come on, Mr. Davis, we can work this out.”
22
John wiped the sweat from his face and tried to see further down the hall. He knew that Mr. Davis had a gun. He adjusted his grip on the shotgun and cursed at himself. The lone remaining round wouldn’t help him if it turned to a gunfight. He’d tried a few times to get Mr. Davis to talk with no success.
“What about it? We can wait this out all night.”
John was bluffing and from the looks of Alex, the boy needed to be fed and soon. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to him since he was already dead, but he guessed he’d lose him for good. John felt a mixture of emotions about losing his son for a second time. He knew Angela couldn’t mentally handle it, which left him with few choices.
He took another look at the doors along the hall, leaning his head out as far as he could go. The bullet hole in the wall told him that Mr. Davis was to his right. He guessed there was little chance of getting down the hall in that direction. He was trying to come up with something when Angela called out in a less than encouraging way.
“What the hell are you doing up there?”
John couldn’t see her, but he could make out an outline of her shadow at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t answer in the hope that she’d go away.
“Don’t just sit there,” she said.
He tried to shout and whisper at the same time. “Give me a second. I’m trying not to get shot here.”
“But…”
John didn’t let her finish, he’d heard enough. He ran to his left and tried the first door he came to. The knob turned and he leapt inside, slamming it closed behind him. A shot went off in the hall as he hit the floor. He scanned the small room and found himself alone. Angela was still yelling up after him, but the door kept most of the words muffled.
He came to his feet and found a small bed in the center of the room and a dresser pushed against the wall closest to the door. There was little else of use, but he set his sights on the window. He crossed the room and raised the windowpane, looking down over the front yard. Angela’s voice was clearer with the window open. She was arguing with him, but he couldn’t figure out what she was particularly mad at. He focused on the edge of the roof outside and ignored his wife as best he could.
He looked back at the door and quickly considered his options. He couldn’t get down the hall in one piece, which left him to risk his chances outside. He held onto the shotgun with one hand, stuck a leg out the window and tried his footing. Once outside, he surveyed the rest of the roof and spotted two additional windows on the front side of the house. His estimation told him both windows were beyond the staircase, but he wasn’t sure where Mr. Davis was hiding. He took careful steps and eyed the front yard two stories down as he sidestepped along the roof. He neared the first window and the sounds of muted conversation became clearer.
“You think you got him?” Mrs. Davis asked.
“How should I know,” Mr. Davis said.
John stopped where he was and tried to keep himself balanced. The shingles on the roof were in poor shape and his boots slid. He placed the butt of his shotgun on the roof in front of him for stability.
“You going to go out there?” Mrs. Davis asked.
“Why don’t you go out there and have a look around,” Mr. Davis said.
“I’m pretty sure that was John Mason from down the road,�
� Mrs. Davis said. “I can hear his wife still going on downstairs.”
John had blocked the sound of Angela’s voice out of his head.
“So you want me to thank them for the fruit cake last Christmas?” Mr. Davis asked.
“I just mean-”
“Enough,” Mr. Davis said. “You saw that damn thing they pulled out of the back of the truck. I don’t care who they are. If they brought one of those things in here, then they aren’t friends of mine.”
John had little chance of getting in the room without taking a round in the chest. He was at a terrible disadvantage with only one shell left. He decided to focus on the farthest window, hoping he could work his way back down the hall. If he was quiet enough, he might be able to sneak up on the Davis’.
He steadied himself and took his weight off the shotgun. He moved up around the second window with slow, purposeful steps. The old roof was better off than he thought, and he managed to get around the window with little trouble. John knew the Davis’ had children and part of him hoped they would not be hiding out in the room he was going to climb into. He wanted to feed his son and at this point, could convince himself to do just about anything to make that happen, however, sacrificing another child was currently beyond his capability. He doubted Angela would say the same.
Another few long strides brought him to the third window, and to his surprise, it was wide open. He steadied himself and in two quick moves, he slipped into the bedroom with his shotgun at the ready. He was happy to find the space empty. John headed for the door, but was brought to a stop by the low chatter of conversation. He stood in the center of the room listening as the voices rose slightly, and then faded to nothing. He was sure it was not the voices he’d heard before, in fact, he was sure the voices were somewhere inside the room he was standing.
The Hand That Feeds: A Horror Novel Page 18