by Reece Hinze
The glow from nearby Main Street cast long shadows over the men in the dying sunlight. Luke looked towards his little brother. “Any word on the paramedics?”
Wade shook his head. “Not a fuckin’ peep bro. Dispatch has gone quiet. I’ve never heard of anything like this before. Do you think terrorists...?”
“Wade… Wade are you there son?” All of them recognized the gravelly Texas draw of Tim Slaughter. All of the officer’s radios, including the dead Officer Smith’s, picked up the transmission.
“Dad?” Wade said, astonished. “What are you doing on this channel? Don’t you know how illegal this is?”
“I know, I know son, listen. Your Mother isn’t home yet. All the phones are dead. Will you swing by the school and check on her?”
Mrs. Anne Slaughter had faithfully taught the younger generations for over 30 years and considered retirement, like her husband Tim, but figured she would keep working as long as her love of teaching and fire for inspiring young minds burned bright. She hadn’t lost her passion for it yet.
“Of course Dad. Listen…” Wade paused, searching for the right words. “Something happened at the Feed Store today…”
“What do you mean? Is Luke okay?” Tim asked.
“Yes Dad, Luke is fine but listen.” Wade looked around at the group. “I’m sending Danny, Luke, and a few others to the house tonight. It shouldn’t be for more than a day. I’ll explain when I get there with Mom.”
Mr. Worsby gave him a slight nod.
There was a brief silence on the other end. “Ok son, I don’t mind the company. Is there anything I should know?”
“Just stick tight Dad. They will be there in a few minutes.”
Silence.
“Dad, are you there?” Wade asked.
“Yeah, somebody is banging on the door.” Tim sounded annoyed. “I need to see what they want. I’ll see you soon, son.”
Wade’s eyes shot wide. “Dad, don’t answer that door!”
“I think I have to,” Tim said. All of them could hear the commotion through the open line. “They are liable to break the thing down they are banging so hard. You get your mother. I’ll see you soon.”
“Dad!” Wade shouted. “Dad, don’t answer that door!”
“…Dad!”
Silence.
“Shit!” Wade spat, punching the air. “Shit, shit, shit!” Luke shot an uneasy glance towards Main Street. Harris Tool was on fire. Thin wisps of smoke rose steadily on the wind.
“Okay,” Luke said, taking a knee as if he were about to call the game winning play. “Wade, you have to find out what’s going on with Mom. Take Clifford and…”
“I’ll go on my own,” Wade snapped.
Luke was about to reply but Clifford interjected first. He prodded a bony finger into the Sergeant’s armored chest. “Listen here young man. I may be old as sin but I’ve been in this situation before, generations before you were born I might add. My wife went home to the Lord. My kids are grown and far away. I figure I can lend y’all a hand.”
Wade stood with an incredulous look.
Mr. Worsby leaned on his cane, looking him directly in the eye. “If the Nazis couldn’t kill me boy, then this sickness damn sure won’t.”
At that, Wade smiled.
“You are Mr. Worsby head to the school and find Mom,” Luke continued. “I’ll take Danny, John, and Bridgett to the farm like you said on the radio.”
Wade stared at his older brother, thinking for a long moment.
“Alright Luke, but you’re not going anywhere without a proper weapon.” Wade jogged to Smith’s squad car and rummaged around in the trunk.
“He’s looking for Smith’s go-bag,” Ramirez said, looking downward. “Wade insists we carry them even though I told him we would never need it in this backwater, skid mark of a town.”
Wade grabbed a large heavy black bag. On his way back to the group, he paused at Officer Smith’s corpse. He touched the dead man’s shoulder and bowed his head. “I’m sorry brother. Rest in peace.” Wade nodded before ruthlessly stripping the corpse of any valuable gear. He gave Smith’s AR-15 and go-bag to his brother.
“Mr. Worsby, I have a sawed off with slugs in my patrol car. You’re welcome to that or this rifle. Up to you.”
Clifford puffed slowly on his cigar. “I’ll handle that shotgun you have there, son. Those plastic rifles you boys use now a days just seem like toys to me.”
Wade smiled again. The old man was growing on him.
A sudden gust of wind kicked up a swirl of dust. The group had to shield their eyes. A moment later, a faraway boom of thunder rolled through the sky.
Clifford crushed his cigar stub beneath his foot and looked into the sky with closed eyes. He sniffed the air. The others exchanged looks of confusion. “A storms a comin’ boys,” he said, sniffing a few more times. “It’s gunna be a bad one too. We better get a move on.”
Luke embraced his little brother. “Be careful bro.”
Wade gave him a weary smile but said nothing.
Luke gestured to Clifford. “Take care of him Mr. Worsby. I’ll see you two very soon.” He shook Clifford’s hand and thought it felt like loose leather draped over dry twigs.
“Oh, here,” Wade said, throwing his brother Smith’s pistol. “For Bridgett.”
Luke looked towards the brunette in the stained Dallas Cowboy’s tee shirt, sitting on the curb with John. The soft light from Main Street made her porcelain skin glow and her wet eyes dance.
What a day to come back to town.
Luke nodded and the brothers parted with a shake of hands. Wade headed towards his patrol car with old man Worsby shuffling along behind and skid out of the parking lot in the direction of his mother’s middle school.
“Danny, don’t move a muscle. I’ll pull the truck up.” Luke fired the ancient diesel, inherited from previous Slaughter generations along with the rest of the store, and pulled it up alongside the wounded Danny. His headlights shone on the destroyed storefront but he tried not to look. He didn’t want to think about how much the repair would be.
John and Bridgett walked towards the cab. Ramirez stifled a scream as Luke set him down in the truck bed. Luke had to push away empty beer cans so Ramirez could get comfortable and he hoped Bridgett didn’t hear the jingle. He handed Danny his rifle.
“Hang in there buddy,” he said and walked to the driver side door.
“Bridgett,” he said. A strong gust tore through the open windows of the cab. It smelled of smoke but there were no sirens on the wind. Harris Tool was now in full blaze and the Dairy Queen was smoking too. He looked into the rear view mirror at an exhausted, emotionally drained, and completely beautiful woman. “I have something for you.” He reached into the back of his pants and pulled out Smith’s Glock. John reflexed when he saw the pistol and hid his eyes in Bridgett’s shoulder. Luke stared at her through the rearview mirror. “Have you ever used one of these before?”
“No, Luke,” she said dryly.
“You hold it like this. This pistol doesn’t have a safety so if you pull the trigger, it fires.”
“No Luke, I…”
“You have to. You have to protect yourself.” Luke nodded towards John and lowered his voice, “and John too.” He handed over the pistol and two spare magazines. “Keep this close Bridgett.”
She took the pistol and magazines and stowed them away in her purse.
“What about my dog Luke?” She asked. Her voice was hollow.
“We will come back for her as soon as we can. I promise.”
She looked away and said nothing.
Beer cans rattled and clunked in the truck bed as Luke headed towards the Slaughter family farm.
Two lonely eyes watched the truck disappear from sight.
Chapter VII: Schools Out For…
Cibolo Middle School had been built two years previous after a record high tax bond. The town was growing with growth came more students. The School Board decided to build for what the town
would become instead of what the town was and the outcome was impressive. On an old hill, the old timers said was a burial place for the native people, a huge modern structure towered over the nearby hastily built subdivisions. Three big wings spread out from a circular central structure which was covered in towering windows designed to make the entire facility more energy efficient. The windows worked well to that purpose but, as Clifford and Wade found that night, they had a sinister double effect.
“Oh my God,” Wade said.
The parking lot was a disaster.
Multiple car fires burned, made bright by the reflection of the big school windows. The tall parking lights popped and crackled. Abandoned vehicles lay everywhere, some crashed or tipped on their sides and some sitting peacefully in their parking spots, waiting for their owners to return and drive the kids to soccer practice. Sometime in the chaos, a school bus had jumped the curb in front of the main entrance and tipped on its side. It lay like a felled beast in the middle of the crushed courtyard fountain. The yellow frame turned black as flames gutted it. The huge fire illuminated the unmoving corpses in the young night. They littered the surround. Some hung out of their vehicles, others slept on blood soaked sidewalks, and others still were no more than collections of charred body parts strewn across the pavement. Long flickering shadows, dark reminders of who they once were, danced in the firelight.
The carnage sent Wade’s combat instincts on high alert. Throughout his two tours in Iraq, he had seen more than his fair share of death but never anything like this. How could anyone survive this madness? He quickly cast such thoughts aside.
I’m coming Mom.
Wade turned off his headlights and coasted forward. Both men scanned for any movement.
“Silent as a tomb,” Worsby mused.
“That’s not funny,” Wade replied, turning his wheel to avoid running over two charred and shrunken corpses.
“I know it, son.” Clifford looked out the window and into the sky. “I know it.” Whatever omen he saw made him adjust his black World War Two Veteran hat and grip his sawed off shotgun tighter.
“It’s fucking true though isn’t it? There isn’t any God damned movement at all.” Wade had visited his Mother’s classroom for career day earlier in the year. It had been a very proud moment for him. He never imagined having to one day, step over the corpses of the children whom had aspired to be him. Anne’s classroom was in the left wing of the building. Wade wanted to get as close as they could before abandoning the vehicle. He glanced at his ancient companion.
The less time on foot, the better.
He revved the gas pedal and they bumped over the curb. “Maybe the sick ones just haven’t seen us yet,” Wade said. He pulled a few yards from the door before shifting his vehicle into park.
“Now who’s the one being funny?” Clifford asked, unsmiling.
“Here, take this,” Wade said, handing the old man a police radio. “In case we get separated. And remember, keep the volume off unless you need it.” Mr. Worsby nodded and strapped the radio to himself.
“I only have one flashlight for the both of us so stay close,” Wade said. He attached the thing to the forward rail on his rifle and tried the thumb activated switch.
On. Off.
Works.
Fat rain droplets splashed into the windshield.
Wade looked at the old man. “Five minutes, in and out. I’ll take the lead.” Wade pulled on the door handle but felt Clifford’s hand on his shoulder.
“We’re gunna to find her, boy. You understand?” For some reason Wade couldn’t meet the old man’s gaze. Emotions churned within him, threatening to overflow his man-made dam.
“Let’s just get this shit done,” he said, pulling the door open.
Both men closed their car doors silently. Wade kept the engine running. Silent as ghosts, they jogged the short distance to the double door of Anne’s wing. A lightning bolt flashed. Wade thought the suddenly light would reveal them but no one came in the wet darkness. Thunder boomed a few seconds later. Wade slammed against the brick wall near the door and looked at his partner. Clifford had decided to leave his cane behind. A bandolier of extra shells looked heavy on the old man’s rail thin body but nevertheless he moved nimbly, matching him step for step. Clifford’s bushy eyebrows cast deep shadows over his dark cheeks. The fire from the parking lot danced in his eyes. He nodded at Wade, gripping his shotgun expertly.
The rain grew heavy and loud, soaking the two companions. Wade thought his heart might pound out of his chest. Surely Mr. Worsby could hear it over the roar of the bus fire and the booming of the thunder. Gathering up his courage, Wade nodded and pulled at one of the doors.
Locked.
He tried the other door.
Locked.
Wade let out a string of curses and cupped his hands around his eyes to look through the dark glass. He couldn’t see a thing so he lifted his rifle and risked a quick burst from his attached flashlight. Wade saw the outline of several people standing just a few feet away. In the brief moment of light, he saw them pivot his direction, attracted like moths to a flame.
“Shit,” Wade said, pulling Clifford to the ground with him. Rapid footfalls approached the door. Wade looked up and saw small circles of breath fog on the rain spattered windows above them. They heard gurgling breath and the scratching of fingernails while they waited for blood craved maniacs to bust through the door but the window breathers went no further.
Wade whispered, after more than one tense heartbeat, “We will have to go through the other wing.” He jerked his head to the left. They turned the corner, running swiftly and quietly down the back wall of the wing. Wade signaled for them to halt half way down and crouched to survey the situation.
Lightning blasts revealed a deserted playground behind them. After the playground was a fence which separated the school grounds from the surrounding neighborhoods. There was a space, about two hundred yards from their current position, where the duplicated roof tops stops and tall aluminum sheds grew. Wade recognized it instantly. The district’s new bus barn. Several street lights shone on the lonely tops of yellow school busses.
Wade’s focus shifted back to the school. He saw a door leading inside but hesitated before leading his companion to it.
He knew where that door leads.
The gym. It was the largest and most unconcealed place in the entire building and if the sickness had spread that far… He felt his vest.
I’m not sure if we have enough bullets.
A bright flash of white lightning covered the area and a deafening boom cracked no more than a second later. A black rain spattered hand tapped Wade on his shoulder. “We better get inside boy.” Clifford yelled to be heard over the deafening storm.
In a moment, the decision was made. Wade signaled in the direction of the gym door.
Beer cans rattled as Luke’s rusty Dodge bounded down the old gravel drive. A cold breeze flowed through the open cab. A storm wind. Luke stared down the long, familiar track and thought absently, he could navigate the thing with his eyes closed. After you open the swinging iron gate and rattle over the first cattle guard, you follow a long winding path through the front field. A second cattle guard meets you where the woods begin. The whole place sat on a long gradual hill and at the precipice stood the Slaughter family farmstead. The farmhouse was one of the oldest buildings in town, well over a century old. Although “civility” closed in on them, the Slaughter land had remained mostly unchanged as the years and decades crept by. The old farmers who had once been their neighbors, found that selling their land was an easier route to retirement than tilling and planting. Now the outer fence of the Slaughter land was almost completely surrounded by housing developments, hastily built and enormously profitable.
“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” Bridgett said as the truck labored past the empty cow pasture and into the woods. She was holding John, a man who never let his Downs Syndrome get in the way of living his life. He hadn’t sai
d a word since they left his gunned down mother in a pool of her own blood. A strong blast of thunder roared through their open windows. Lightning popped in the sky. It was far away but Luke thought the storm headed their way. Ancient oaks towered above, forming a living tunnel over the drive. Every year the forest tried to swallow the old driveway and every year the Slaughter’s cut it back and every year vehicles continued to pass underneath.
“We’re almost there,” Luke said. He looked over his shoulder and stared at Bridgett for a moment. “Make sure you keep that thing close at hand.” Bridgett had kept a hand on the cold steel since they left the Feed Store. A crack of lightning tried its best to shine through the tree limbs and several moments later the low boom of strong thunder echoed through the forest.
The Dodge bumped over a pothole and Danny groaned loudly from the truck bed. “Dammit,” Luke cursed. He glanced in the rear view mirror. Bridgett looked up in surprise for it was very uncharacteristic for him to curse.
Luke yelled through the open back window. “Hang in there buddy!” Danny had his head slumped but gave the back window two reassuring taps. The adrenaline of the fight at the Feed Store was long gone and Danny now endured his injury without any help from his body’s natural pain medicine.
When they came out of the living tunnel, two tall barns, one on either side of the driveway, loomed before them. Lightning revealed spots of rust and wear. The huge tin roofs creaked and groaned as they released the heat of the day and struggled against the wind. The truck headlights swept past the corral, whose iron posts and shoots lay just past the barns, to wash over the horses inside. They threw their heads back, trotting from side to side in their pins.
“They look agitated,” Luke mumbled, hoping it was just the storm. John had an arm out the open window and sported a wide smile despite his tear stained cheeks. He loved horses. Luke looked at his friend in the mirror and smiled.
Sometimes I envy him…
Luke turned back to the road and his eyes shot wide. He slammed on the brakes and the truck skid to a stop. A hunched figure stood in the middle of the road. Dust kicked up from Luke’s tires and drifted towards the figure, enshrouding them completely before Luke saw who it was.