Undead

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Undead Page 7

by John Russo


  Ben retreated from the child’s room and tried the other closed door. The old lady’s bedroom. He did not turn the light on at first. His eyes fell on the edge of the bed, with its white sheets, and he could see well enough to know that there were several large pieces of furniture in there. He flicked a switch, and the lights revealed nothing out of the ordinary—a bed and a couple of dressers. A quilt was folded and lying on top of the sheets, but the bed had not been slept in. Probably the old lady had gotten the boy to sleep and was preparing for bed herself when they were both attacked.

  Ben entered the room and began to drag furniture out into the hallway. His plan was to get all the things of any possible use out of the boy’s room and the old lady’s room, and then board up the doors.

  He did not know if the dead things could climb or not, or if they could think or not, or if they had any way of getting into the house through the upstairs windows. But he was not going to take any chances. Besides, when he was working, it gave him a feeling of accomplishing something and he did not worry too much or feel sorry for himself.

  The noise of his work filled the old house.

  CHAPTER 4

  Downstairs, Barbara still sat dazed on the couch.

  The fire flickered on her face, and the burning wood popped loudly now and again, but she did not seem to take notice of these things. Objects in the room were silhouetted and the atmosphere was stark; if earlier Barbara would have expressed some fear of such surroundings, now she did not care. Her capacity to react had been bludgeoned out of her. She was already a victim of the dead things, because they had driven her into shock—she had lost her ability to think or feel.

  “…BROADCAST FACILITIES HAVE BEEN TEMPORARILY DISCONTINUED. STAY TUNED TO THIS…”

  From the radio, there was suddenly a buzzing sound and crackling static. Then, a hodgepodge of newsroom sounds (as heard earlier by Barbara’s brother, Johnny, on their car radio); but this time the sounds were coming in clearer: typewriters, ticker-tape machine, low voices talking in the background.

  Barbara did not stir, as if she had failed to discern any difference in the broadcast, even though the repetitious Civil Defense message had ceased and something obviously was about to happen.

  “…ER…LADIES AND GENTLEMEN…WHAT?…YEAH, YEAH…LA…. YEAH, I GOT THAT ONE…WHAT?…ANOTHER ONE?…PUT IT THROUGH CENTRAL…OKAY, CHARLIE, I’M ON THE AIR NOW…YEAH. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, LISTEN CAREFULLY, PLEASE. WE NOW HAVE THE LATEST BULLETINS FROM EMERGENCY CENTRAL…”

  The voice of the newscaster sounded tired, but he began reading his report factually and unemotionally, with the air of a professional commentator who has been covering a major event for forty-eight hours and is no longer impressed with the latest developments.

  “…UP-TO-THE-MINUTE REPORTS INFORM US THAT THE…SIEGE…FIRST DOCUMENTED IN THE MIDWESTERN SECTION OF THE COUNTRY IS INDEED SPREAD ACROSS THE COUNTRY, AND IS IN FACT WORLDWIDE. MEDICAL AND SCIENTIFIC ADVISORS HAVE BEEN SUMMONED TO THE WHITE HOUSE, AND REPORTERS ON THE SCENE IN WASHINGTON INFORM US THAT THE PRESIDENT IS PLANNING TO MAKE PUBLIC THE RESULTS OF THAT CONFERENCE IN AN ADDRESS TO THE NATION OVER YOUR CIVIL DEFENSE EMERGENCY NETWORK…”

  None of the preceding brought any response from Barbara. She did not move. She did not get up to call Ben, in case he might hear something of value in his efforts to protect them both.

  “…THE STRANGE…BEINGS…THAT HAVE APPEARED IN MOST PARTS OF THE NATION SEEM TO HAVE CERTAIN PREDICTABLE PATTERNS OF BEHAVIOR. IN THE FEW HOURS FOLLOWING INITIAL REPORTS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH, AND APPARENTLY DERANGED ATTACKS ON THE LIVES OF PEOPLE TAKEN COMPLETELY OFF GUARD, IT HAS BEEN ESTABLISHED THAT THE ALIEN BEINGS ARE HUMAN IN MANY PHYSICAL AND BEHAVIORAL ASPECTS. HYPOTHESES AS TO THEIR ORIGIN AND THEIR AIMS HAVE TO THIS POINT BEEN SO VARIED AND SO DIVERSE THAT WE MUST ONLY REPORT THESE FACTORS TO BE UNKNOWN. TEAMS OF SCIENTISTS AND PHYSICIANS PRESENTLY HAVE THE CORPSES OF SEVERAL OF THE AGGRESSORS, AND THESE CORPSES ARE BEING STUDIED FOR CLUES THAT MIGHT NEGATE OR CONFIRM EXISTING THEORIES. THE MOST…OVERWHELMING FACT…IS THAT THESE…BEINGS ARE INFILTRATING THROUGH URBAN AND RURAL AREAS THROUGHOUT THE NATION, IN FORCES OF VARYING NUMBER, AND IF THEY HAVE NOT AS YET EVIDENCED THEMSELVES IN YOUR AREA, PLEASE…TAKE EVERY AVAILABLE PRECAUTION. ATTACK MAY COME AT ANY TIME, IN ANY PLACE, WITHOUT WARNING. REPEATING THE IMPORTANT FACTS FROM OUR PREVIOUS REPORTS: THERE IS AN AGGRESSIVE FORCE…ARMY…OF UNEXPLAINED, UNIDENTIFIED…HUMANOID BEINGS…THAT HAS APPEARED…IN WORLDWIDE PROPORTIONS…AND THESE BEINGS ARE TOTALLY AGGRESSIVE…IRRATIONAL IN THEIR VIOLENCE. CIVIL DEFENSE EFFORTS ARE UNDERWAY, AND INVESTIGATIONS AS TO THE ORIGIN AND PURPOSE OF THE AGGRESSORS ARE BEING CONDUCTED. ALL CITIZENS ARE URGED TO TAKE UTMOST PRECAUTIONARY MEASURES TO DEFEND AGAINST THE…INSIDIOUS…ALIEN…FORCE. THEY ARE WEAK IN PHYSICAL STRENGTH, AND ARE EASILY DISTINGUISHABLE FROM HUMANS BY THEIR DEFORMED APPEARANCE. THEY ARE USUALLY UNARMED BUT APPEAR CAPABLE OF HANDLING WEAPONS. THEY HAVE APPEARED, NOT LIKE AN ORGANIZED ARMY. NOT WITH ANY APPARENT REASON OR PLAN…INDEED, THEY SEEMED TO BE DRIVEN BY THE URGES OF ENTRANCED…OR…OR OBSESSED MINDS. THEY APPEAR TO BE TOTALLY UNTHINKING. THEY CAN…I REPEAT: THEY CAN BE STOPPED BY IMMOBILIZATION; THAT IS, BY BLINDING OR DISMEMBERING. THEY ARE, ON THE AVERAGE, WEAKER IN STRENGTH THAN AN ADULT HUMAN, BUT THEIR STRENGTH IS IN NUMBERS, IN SURPRISE, AND IN THE FACT THAT THEY ARE BEYOND OUR NORMAL REALM OF UNDERSTANDING. THEY APPEAR TO BE IRRATIONAL, NON-COMMUNICATIVE BEINGS…AND THEY ARE DEFINITELY TO BE CONSIDERED OUR ENEMIES IN WHAT WE MUST CALL A STATE OF…NATIONAL EMERGENCY. IF ENCOUNTERED, THEY ARE TO BE AVOIDED OR DESTROYED. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU ALLOW YOURSELVES OR YOUR FAMILIES TO BE ALONE OR UNGUARDED WHILE THIS MENACE PREVAILS. THESE BEINGS ARE FLESH-EATERS. THEY ARE EATING THE FLESH OF THE PEOPLE THEY KILL. THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERISTIC OF THEIR ONSLAUGHT IS THEIR DEPRAVED, INSANE QUEST FOR HUMAN FLESH. I REPEAT: THESE ALIEN BEINGS ARE EATING THE FLESH OF THEIR VICTIMS…”

  At this Barbara bolted from the couch in wild, screaming hysteria, as though the words of the commentator had finally penetrated her numbed state and forced upon her brain a realization of what exactly had happened to her brother. She could hear the ripping sounds of his flesh and could see the specter of the thing that had killed him, and her screams struggled to obliterate these things as she hurtled across the room and crashed her body against the front door.

  Startled, unslinging his gun, Ben leaped down the stairs. The girl was clawing at the barricades, trying to break out of the house, sobbing in wild desperation. Ben rushed toward her, but she writhed out of his reach, ran across the room—toward the maze of heaped-up furniture in front of the door in the dining area which Ben had found locked.

  Suddenly that door flew open and—from out of the maze of furniture—strong hands grabbed Barbara. She screamed in terror, as Ben leaped and began swinging the butt of his rifle.

  Whoever it was who had gotten hold of Barbara, he let go of the girl and ducked, and the rifle butt missed him and crashed against a piece of furniture. Quickly, Ben brought it up, and almost squeezed the trigger.

  “No! Don’t shoot!” a voice yelled, and Ben narrowly stopped himself from firing.

  “We’re from town—we’re not—” the man said.

  “We’re not some of those things!” a second voice said, and Ben saw another man step out from behind the partially opened door, which he had thought to be locked.

  The man hiding behind the furniture stood up, slowly as though he thought Ben might still shoot him. He was not a full-grown man. He was a boy, maybe sixteen years old, in blue jeans and denim jacket. The man behind him was about forty years old, bald, wearing a white shirt and loosened tie—and carrying a heavy pipe in his hand.

  “We’re not some of those things,” the bald man repeated. “We’re in the same fix you’re in.”

  Barbara had flung herself onto the couch, and was sobbing sporadically. All three men glanced at her, as though she were an object of common concern that would convince each of them of the other’s good intentions. The boy finally went over to her and looked at her sympathe
tically.

  Ben stared, dumbfounded at the presence of the strangers.

  The radio voice continued with its information about the emergency.

  The bald man backed away from Ben nervously, not taking his eyes off of Ben’s rifle, and crouched beside the radio to listen, still holding his length of pipe.

  “…PERIODIC REPORTS, AS INFORMATION REACHES THIS NEWSROOM, AS WELL AS SURVIVAL INFORMATION AND A LISTING OF RED CROSS RESCUE POINTS, WHERE PICK-UPS WILL BE MADE AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE WITH THE EQUIPMENT AND STAFF PRESENTLY AVAILABLE…”

  Ben still stood staring at the two new people. He exuded, despite himself, an air of resentment, as though they had intruded on his private little fortress. He did not resent their presence as much as he resented the fact that they had obviously been in the house all this time without coming up to help him or Barbara. He was not sure of their motive in revealing themselves now, and he did not know how completely he should trust them.

  The bald man looked up from the radio. “There’s no need to stare at us that way,” he said to Ben.

  “We’re not dead, like those things out there. My name is Harry Cooper. The boy’s name is Tom. We’ve been holed up in the cellar.”

  “Man, I could’ve used some help,” Ben said, barely controlling his anger. “How long you guys been down there?”

  “That’s the cellar. It’s the safest place,” Harry Cooper said, with a tone in his voice to convey the idea that anybody who wouldn’t hole up in the cellar in such an emergency must be an idiot.

  The boy, Tom, got up from beside the couch, where he had been trying to think of a way to comfort Barbara, and came over to join in the ensuing discussion.

  “Looks like you got things pretty secure up here,” Tom said to Ben, in a friendly way.

  Ben pounced on him.

  “Man, you mean you couldn’t hear the racket we were making up here?”

  Cooper pulled himself to his feet. “How were we supposed to know what was going on?” he said, defensively. “It could have been those things trying to get in here, for all we knew.”

  “That girl was screaming,” Ben said, angrily. “Surely you must know what a girl’s screaming sounds like. Those things don’t make that kind of noise. Anybody decent would know somebody was up here that could use some help.”

  Tom said, “You can’t really tell what’s going on from down there. The walls are thick. You can’t hear.”

  “We thought we could hear screams,” Cooper added. “But that might have meant those things were in the house after her.”

  “And you wouldn’t come up and help?” Ben turned his back on them, contemptuously.

  The boy seemed to be ashamed of himself, but Cooper remained undaunted by Ben’s contempt, probably accustomed to a lifetime of rationalizing his cowardice.

  “Well…I…if…there was more of us…” the boy said. But he turned away, and did not have the gumption to continue his excuses.

  Cooper persisted.

  “That racket sounded like the place was being ripped apart. How were we supposed—”

  But Ben cut him off.

  “You just said it was hard to hear down there. Now you say it sounded like the place was being ripped apart. You’d better get your story straight, mister.”

  Cooper exploded.

  “Bullshit! I don’t have to take any crap from you. Or any insults. We’ve got a safe place in that cellar. And you or nobody else is going to tell me to risk my life when I’ve got a safe place.”

  “All right…why don’t we settle—” Tom began. But Cooper did not allow him to continue. He went on talking, but in a calmer voice, espousing his own point of view.

  “All right. We came up. Okay? We’re here. Now I suggest we all go back downstairs before any of these things find out we’re in here.”

  “They can’t get in here,” Ben said, as though it were a certainty. He had plenty of doubts in his own mind, but he did not feel like discussing them for the benefit of those two strangers who were, as far as he could see, one boy and one coward.

  “You got the whole place boarded up?” Tom asked. He was a bit skeptical, but he was willing to submerge his skepticism in favor of group harmony.

  “Most of it,” Ben replied, keeping his voice in an even, analytical tone. “All but the upstairs. It’s weak in places, but it won’t be hard to fix it up good. I got the stuff and I—”

  Cooper broke in, his voice at a high pitch again.

  “You’re insane! You can’t make it secure up here. The cellar’s the safest place in the damned house!”

  “I’m tellin’ you they can’t get in here.” Ben shouted at him.

  “And I’m telling you those things turned over our car! We were damned lucky to get away in one piece—now you’re trying to tell me they can’t get through a lousy pile of wood?”

  Ben stared for a moment, and did not know what to say. He knew the cellar had certain advantages, but he could not abide being told about it by someone like Cooper, who was obviously a coward. Ben knew he had managed to do pretty well so far, and he did not want to throw in his lot entirely with someone who might panic or run, in an emergency.

  Tom took advantage of the lull to throw in an additional fact, which he thought might soften Ben and stop the argument between him and Cooper:

  “Harry’s wife and kid are downstairs. The kid’s been hurt, pretty badly. Harry doesn’t want to leave them anywhere where they might be threatened, or subjected to any more attacks by those things.”

  The statement took Ben by surprise. He softened, and exhaled a deep breath. Nobody said anything for a long moment, until finally he swallowed, and made his point again.

  “Well…I…I think we’re better off up here.”

  Glancing around at the barricades, Tom said, “We could strengthen all this stuff up, Mr. Cooper.” And he eyed the bald man hopefully, looking to him to cooperate with Ben at least a little, so that they might be safer and make the best of the circumstances.

  Ben continued, emphasizing the strong points of his argument. “With all of us working, we can fix this place up so nothing can get in here. And we have food. The stove. The refrigerator. A warm fire. And we have the radio.”

  Cooper merely glowered, in a new burst of anger. “Man, you’re crazy. Everything that’s up here, we can bring downstairs with us. You’ve got a million windows up here. All these windows—you’re gonna make them strong enough to keep those things out?”

  “Those things don’t have any strength,” Ben said, with controlled anger. “I smashed three of them and pushed another one out the door.”

  “I’m telling you they turned our car over on its roof!” Cooper spat.

  “Oh, hell, any good five men can do that,” Ben said.

  “That’s my point! Only there’s not going to be five—there’s going to be twenty…thirty…maybe a hundred of those things! Once they all know we’re in here, this place will be crawling with them!”

  Calmly, Ben said, “Well, if there’s that many, they’re gonna get us no matter where we are.”

  “We fixed the cellar door so it locks and boards from the inside,” Tom said. “It’s really strong. I don’t think anything could get in there.”

  “It’d be the only door we’d have to protect,” Cooper added, in a slightly less hysterical tone. “But all these doors and windows—why, we’d never know where they were going to hit us next.”

  “But the cellar has one big disadvantage,” Tom pointed out. “There’s no place to run—I mean, if they ever did get in—there’s no back exit. We’d be done for.”

  The bald man stared, his mouth wide open. He could not believe Tom would desert the sanctity of the basement, for any reason, because he himself felt so driven to remain there, as if nothing could touch him—like a rat in his hole.

  “I think we should fortify the entire house as good as we can—and keep the basement for a stronghold, a last resort,” Ben said, decisively. “That way we can run to the cellar w
hen everything else falls through. We can maintain contact with what’s going on out there for as long as possible.”

  “That makes sense,” Tom said. “I don’t know, Mr. Cooper. I think he’s right. I think we should stay up here.”

  “The upstairs is just as much of a trap as the basement,” Ben said, analytically. “There are three rooms up there and they have to be boarded up. But those things are weak. We can keep them out. I have this gun now, and I didn’t have it before and I still managed to beat three of them off. Now…we might have to try and get out of here on our own, because there’s no guarantee anyone is going to send help—and maybe nobody even knows we’re in here. If someone does come to help—and this house gets full of those things—we’d be scared to open the cellar door and let the rescue party know we’re in here.”

  “How many of the things are outside now?” Tom asked.

  “I think six or seven,” Ben replied. “I can’t get an accurate count because of the darkness and the trees.”

 

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