by Reece Hinze
They rumbled towards the barns.
“It will be difficult building a sturdy wall all the way from the barns to the house but that is our perimeter. Both wells and all our food will be protected.”
“That’s a good idea brother,” Luke said. “When we get back.”
“Ohhhh,” Susanne squeaked.
Luke slammed the breaks. Paul, the eldest of the three Slaughter sons, stepped from behind one of the barns into the middle of the gravel drive. He had a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder and wore some borrowed clothes that barely fit his tattooed biceps and a serious expression on his bearded face. He opened the back door and sat down unceremoniously. Susanne scampered as far away and the bench seat let her.
“We don’t need,” Luke said.
“A killer?” Paul finished. “Yes you do. Let’s go.”
Luke’s face flashed red. He looked to Wade.
“The Slaughter boys back at it again,” he joked. No one laughed.
Susanne led them towards her house. The most direct route was through downtown but Luke took a detour, choosing to avoid the chance of being spotted by any infected near the wrecked remains of his store. They pulled into the subdivision rolling slowly past the Cibolo Heights billboard.
“New possibilities. Better Living,” the sign read.
They took a long straight road, flanked by neatly planted juvenile oaks. A big stone wall separated the cookie-cutter houses from the road. Side streets, creatively named Rustling Brook or Bent Wood, passed by every so often.
“It’s the last street on the right,” Susanne said in her squeaky voice.
The whole place looked sleepy and unaffected by the chaos that gripped downtown. Cars were parked legally. The grass was mowed. Every house they passed looked neat and orderly but there were no people. None at all. And then they came to Cielo Drive.
Luke paused for a moment.
“This is the street,” Susanne said.
A car had ran through the grass of the nearest house. Windows were shattered. Bodies lay unceremoniously in the close cropped yards like the morning after a rowdy frat party. Bloody footprints ran along the white sidewalks, disappearing in the grass. Somewhere down the street, a plume of black smoke drifted into the air.
“Maybe we should turn back,” Susanne suggested.
“We can’t,” Luke said. “Take us to your house.”
They took a left and a right through the war-torn neighborhood. Luke swerved out of the way of a big fat man lying in the middle of the street. His throat had been shredded, his head nearly decapitated.
“Holy cow,” Luke said. “That’s Albert! I just saw him! He was my last customer before everything hit the fan.”
A small woman, Luke assumed was Albert’s wife, although he had never met her, stood over his body as if guarding it. Her wide bloodshot eyes stared at the old Dodge as they passed. Her mouth was open, gasping and surprised.
Wade knew Albert too. “I guess we won’t be getting any more domestic disturbance calls,” he said.
Mrs. Albert didn’t follow them as they took another left into a sleepy cul-de-sac. Susanne pointed at a generic single story house at the end and Luke pulled up.
All of their eyes shifted as fast as Susanne’s.
“Oh my God!”
The men followed Susanne’s eyes. She was looking at the bay window of the house next door. The morning sun outlined the silhouette of a body hanging from a cord and swaying gently from side to side.
“Focus Susanne,” Wade said. He snapped his fingers. “What room is your food in?”
“I’ll show you,” she mumbled. “I’ll show you.” And she got out of the car. The men had to jog to catch up to her.
“Wait,” Wade said. Her keys jingled as she slid them into the lock and turned. She had to force the door. Something blocked it from the inside. “Wait!” Wade said again, but Susanne had already disappeared inside. They quickly followed her in.
Wade shouldered the door out of the way and then they there was darkness. He halted inside while his eyes adjusted, his brothers right behind him. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. Something was here. Something was watching them.
Wade saw movement to his right and pivoted his rifle that way. All the brothers saw it. Something touched his leg and he instinctively kicked. A scruffy fur ball launched away from them screeching a long meow. He trained his weapon back to the right.
Fucking cat.
He saw the shadow now. The sunshine from the door lit up glowing eyes, cold, dead eyes, void of any emotion.
No pity.
No love.
They were a bright hazel.
“My babieeeeessss,” Susanne said. “Mommy loves you!”
“What the fuck?” Paul mumbled.
What the fuck indeed. The men stood in the entrance to the home, designed to be a large, welcoming space. Instead, they were trapped in a narrow gap between piles of God knows what. Boxes and books and cans lined their sides, putting blinders on their world. Paper and trash crumpled under their feet where the carpet should have been.
“You’re a fucking hoarder Susanne?” Wade said.
She ignored him, sitting happily on a stack of cat food cans while dozens of cats trotted on and around her. Her normally shifty eyes were squinted in delight as more and more cats came to her.
“Holy shit,” Wade said, looking around. Soon the shock of the house wore off and the mission came back to the forefront.
“Susanne,” he said. She continued to ignore him, rolling around happily in the midst of the felines.
“Susanne!” he shouted. She snapped her head around to him. “Where is the food?”
“Here is some,” she said, pointing below her. “There is some more and there is some.”
It dawned on Luke first. “Lord have mercy,” he said.
Wade looked at his brother and then back to Susanne. “You brought us out here for cat food?” He asked.
“You wanted food. I have food. A lot of food,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“You bitch!” Paul growled. He tore towards her but got caught in the horde before he got more than a few feet.
“Food is food,” Wade said. “Let’s get as much as we can and get the fuck out of here.”
“Wait,” a raspy voice cut through the midmorning gloom. “Don’t come any closer!”
Susanne screamed. The cats scattered.
Wade had his rifle on him instantly. A man stood behind Susanne with a large kitchen knife to her throat. He was skinny with a beard that was little more than a five o clock shadow. His desperate eyes scanned the armed men.
“You can’t take the food. I need it. I’m hungry.”
“Whoa, relax man,” Wade said. “No one is taking anything from you. Just drop your knife.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to hurt anybody but you can’t take this food from me. Please!”
Wade Slaughter had plenty of experience with violence, in war and as a peace officer, and he had a gift for spotting dangerous men. He decided this man was not one.
“Alright man, I’ll drop my rifle but only if you drop your knife. Deal?”
The man thought for a moment. “Alright man, alright.”
“One,” Wade counted. “Two.”
“Three.”
And everyone, true to their word, dropped their weapons. Susanne skittered away.
Paul walked past his brother. “Bad move dude,” he said, pulling a pistol from behind his pants and pointing it between the jittery man’s eyes.
“Aw man,” he said. “Aw man, come man.”
“Wait!” Wade said. He put his hand on his brother’s arm. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Paul looked at his brother and then back to the man behind the barrel of his gun and shrugged carelessly.
“We have a lot of mouths to feed Mr.?” Wade extended his hand.
The man looked at Paul and back to Wade. “Small. My name is Richard Small.”
“N
ice to meet you Richard,” Wade said. “You look pretty handy with that knife. Why don’t you come with us?”
“Wade,” Luke spoke for the first time. “We don’t know this guy at all.”
“Take me with you!” Richard blurted. “I’m a plumber. I know how to fix things, I can help defend your people. I can help! Take me with you. Please?”
Wade looked to Susanne who sat in a filthy corner of the room. The cats crawled all over her again.
“Alright,” Wade said. “But first things first. Help us get this fucking cat food loaded up.”
It took the men a good hour to load up the back of the truck with can after hoarded can.
“That’s about it,” Luke said. “At least all we could find in that mess anyway.”
“Is this shit even edible for humans?” Paul asked, slamming another three cases into the truck bed.
“I think so,” Richard said. “I’ve eaten a few cans. The cats taste better though.” He smiled and the others laughed.
“I don’t think Susanne would like to hear that,” Luke said.
“I’m just kidding anyway,” Richard said.
“Where is Susanne?” Wade asked. When no one spoke he said, “Let’s find her and get the fuckin’ hell out of Dodge. Richard, come with me. Luke, Paul you guys get the truck rolling.”
Richard, armed again with his big kitchen knife, was the first to go back in. “What the hell is that?” Richard said, pointing into the gloom.
They paused a few yards down the hoarded hallway. A repeating smacking sound was echoing through the house. It sounded like a boy breaking in a new baseball glove. Wade put a hand on Richards shoulder and shook his head. He unslung his rifle and headed into the house first, in the direction of the noise. Some cats stared at them dully as they passed while others were more interested in licking between their legs. Wade turned down a hoarded hallway into what he thought was the bedroom and saw them.
A big woman with short hair and angry blood filled eyes straddled Susanne as if they were making love. The woman had her fists together above her head and brought them down hard, making the smacking sound they had heard before. Susanne’s face, or what had once been Susanne’s face, was now a flattened piece of crushed meat. There wasn’t much left except for the red. The short haired woman looked up at them shocked, her mouth in an “O”. Richard wretched. Wade trained his rifle on her. She tried to scream but a well-aimed 5.56 bullet cut her short. Richard wretched again.
“Time to go Richard,” Wade said.
They ran outside as fast as they could. Multiple gunshots greeted them as they burst from the gloomy hoarded house into the noon-day sun. Climbing out of neighboring houses, crawling over the fences, and running down the street at them were blood drenched crazies, infected people, hell-bent on killing them.
Wade gunned down Mrs. Albert and then a boy who had crawled atop the fence to stare in blood covered surprise. Dozens more ran at them from down the street.
“Come on!” Luke yelled. Wade threw his rifle and jumped in the back of the pickup just as his brother hit the gas.
“Wait,” Richard screamed, running after the truck. Wait!” But Luke kept on. Richard ran fast. Wade leaned precariously over the edge of the truck bed and reached for him. Richard found his hand but Wade slipped on a pile of cans and lost him. “Stop!” Wade yelled to his brother. Luke didn’t stop but he did slow down enough for Wade to grab Richard’s hand and pull him up.
“Ah man,” Richard said, falling back against the cans, sucking in breath. “Thanks, man. Thank you.”
Luke drove away, dodging who he could and running over who he couldn’t. They skid around the edge of the street. A cat food can flung out the back of the truck and rolled towards the infected chasing behind.
Susanne was dead and Richard Small was with them.
Chapter XI: Where to?
James opened his eyes only to close them again. A blurry round orb burned bright past his eyelid. He slowly opened them again and as they adjusted, he made out a mat black metal roof. The way his body bumped back and forth suggested he was riding in a vehicle.
A vehicle?
As he lay there, James tried his best to put the pieces together. He was rescued from his cell only to be forced into a gunfight. The big Sergeant Cooper was there. Devreaux was there too.
I tried to fire at him but…
The fire. A great wall of fire roared at him. He knew he should have died in that garage but he didn’t. Somehow, he was alive but something wasn’t right. He raised his left hand but couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see anything on that side. A dark grinning face appeared out of nowhere. James started.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Captain,” Corporal Tupac Breaker said in a way of greeting.
James opened his mouth to speak but found the words would not come. He moved his hand towards his mouth, gesturing for water.
“Yeah, I bet you’re thirsty,” Tupac said, grabbing a squirt bottle. “Considering you just ate a ball of fire.”
James gulped the water, thanked Tupac, and glanced around. When he first woke, he thought he lay in an ambulance but then he saw the soldier Cooper called Westlake, still dressed in his futuristic exosuit, save the helmet. Westlake was a huge man, nearly as large as Cooper himself. The man had hair sprouting from everywhere it would grow, a Neanderthal type that would fit in better in the backwoods than a state of the art combat suit. He stared at James with dull animal eyes. Westlake grunted as James made eye contact.
Tupac laughed. “Westlake is happy you made it too Captain.”
“How do you know he’s happy?” James asked. The smell of burning gasoline lingered in his nostrils.
“Because if he wasn’t, he would just kill you.”
James looked at the big man again. Westlake grimaced into an expression that he assumed was a smile.
“Where am I?”
“You, my half-baked friend, are traveling in a prototype armored personnel carrier. It’s slightly larger than the military version because it has to carry big mother fuckers like that,” Tupac said. “As to where we are going? Existentially, we rescued you from torture and certain death and are traveling away from that as fast as this tub will carry us. Physically, we’re passing through downtown Dallas.”
“Downtown Dallas in an A.P.C.?” James replied. He tried to raise from his back but his throbbing head unmercifully cast him back down. The room was spinning.
“Whoa now Captain. Easy does it. I just bandaged that fucked up face of yours and I don’t want you bleeding through.”
James touched his face and realized why he could only see out of one eye. A massive bandage covered the entire left side of his head. The room spun around precariously. The smell of gasoline became overwhelming. He heard his own screams though his mouth was closed. His breath came in gulps. An alarm panel started beeping somewhere in the distance. The A.P.C. spun and spun.
“I need air,” Lasko gasped. Tupac looked to the pilot seat apprehensively.
“Get him some air,” the gruff voice of Sergeant Cooper Brickson ordered. Tupac helped James, who still wore the grey skintight bio-fiber undersuit, into a sitting position. Tupac hit a switch and a hatch opened to show a black sky. Once the guerrillas pounding drums in his head became tolerable, James stood. Tupac hit another switch and the platform under the Captain’s feet rose, bringing him into position to man a large caliber machine gun mounted on the roof, however the gun was the last thing on James' mind as he gaped open-mouthed at his surroundings.
The sky was black but it wasn't because the sun had gone to sleep but because hundreds of fires pumping pillars of smoke into the air. The big black tank that rumbled on closely behind them was nearly invisible in the haze. Skeletal skyscrapers burned fiercely, gutted by flame but still standing tall. Rows and rows of buildings lay in smoldering ruins on either side of the road as they drove by. A charred billboard snapped abruptly and fell into the road, spraying smoke and sparks into the air. Crushed and bu
rned out cars lay amongst swollen and charred bodies, chaotically strewn all about. An overwhelming smell of death forced even the gasoline from James’ nose and reflexively made him gag. James had been to battle, killed and seen death firsthand. He knew the indignity or war. Downtown Dallas however, was a sight no person should ever have to see.
A pack of bleeding screaming men and women ran past the vehicle. Half of them wore only the charred remains of clothing or none at all and suffered deep burns. Some looked entirely healthy save their savage red eyes and the blood streaming from their eyes and mouth and ears. They chased after a man with a backpack who pedaled a wobbly bicycle as fast as he could. James considered shooting into the crowd with the roof mounted machine gun but the man on the wobbly bike disappeared behind a corner and James lost sight of the man and his fate forever.
The black A.P.C. rumbled on, passing a large half-emptied fountain. An infected woman, screaming bloody murder and wearing a shirt consumed by flame, dove into the shallow water desperately trying to douse the flames that consumed her flesh. Past the burning woman, they found a road jam of vehicles too thick even for the power of the A.P.C. to crush so they were forced to divert to a side street. Either side of the road sported large buildings yet untouched by the fires that ravaged the rest of the city. James saw with apprehension, face after bloody face all forming a surprised “O” with their mouths, appear in the broken windows of the buildings on either side. They seemed called to the street by the convoy’s presence. There was a cacophony of screams and the bang of a slamming door. A woman ran out the bottom floor cradling a hysterical baby. A dozen or more of the screaming people followed her outside. The woman hurdled a corpse at full speed and ran to the A.P.C.
“Help my baby,” she cried while banging on the black steel. “Help my baby!”
James looked into her horrified eyes. “Stop,” James shouted. “Stop the vehicle!” He repeated his call again but the massive armored treads rolled on. A moment later, the woman and baby alike were dog-piled and ripped to pieces.
A furious James crouched into the vehicle. “Why didn’t you stop to help that woman?” He demanded. Another soldier who sat opposite of Westlake rolled his eyes. He was the one Cooper called Foster. James saw it and launched himself at the man. “What the fuck is wrong with you people?” he screamed. Foster recoiled with a laugh. He smacked gum with an open mouth while James struggled towards him. Tupac caught James before he got close.