Voodoo Plague - 01

by Dirk Patton

  I don’t know how long I would have stood staring at the inferno, but my attention was pulled away by another of the screams that had first brought me to the window. In the swamp, wading through water to her waist was a woman who appeared to be completely naked. Behind her trudged three men. As I watched, one of them stepped into what had to be a deep hole and fell forward into the slime choked water, but instead of swimming he started thrashing violently until he sank from sight. His two companions never even turned their heads or tried to help him, just maintained their pursuit of the woman.

  They were gaining on her as she struggled through the water and she turned her head to see how close they were and let out another scream. This was the scream that got me moving. I burst out of my hotel room door and collided with an immensely fat man that was standing in the hallway. I bounced off him like a tennis ball, spinning sideways but managing to maintain my footing. I started to apologize but the words died in my mouth when he turned towards me and I saw his face.

  Morgue grey is the only description I can come up with for the color of his skin, at least what I could tell from the emergency lighting in the hall. His eyes were solid red orbs, no pupil or iris visible. Black blood dripped from both ears and nostrils and his lips were skinned back exposing bleeding gums. He took a lumbering step towards me, raising an arm in my general direction and making a sound that was half way between a snarl and a wet gurgle.

  The nerve agent was here! I didn’t know if I could help him, but I knew I could help the woman in the swamp if I could just get past Shamu and to the fire stairs.

  I slipped to the side and the fat man cocked his head as if he was tracking the sound of my movement, then swiveled his bulk towards me.

  “Hey, buddy. I need to get downstairs to help...” I didn’t get to finish the sentence before his head snapped into direct alignment with me and he charged. Maybe stampeded is a better word given his size, but regardless he was at least 400 pounds of beef on the hoof charging directly at me. A wet, gurgling snarl was coming from his mouth as he built up speed.

  I remembered Max’s words, “the nerve agent is causing hyper aggression”, and that was sure what I was seeing. I dodged to the side, threw an elbow with all of my 230 pounds behind it to his kidney and danced backwards as he slammed into the wall with a crash that rattled the doors around us. Immediately from several of the rooms around us a clatter of fists banging on wood and the same wet, gurgling snarl started. I looked around to make sure none of the doors were opening behind me, then turned back to the mountainous threat that had righted itself and was coming towards me, showing no sign of injury from either my elbow strike or the impact with the wall.

  The way to the fire stairs was now clear, and I could have run, but I didn’t like the idea of leaving this guy to shamble after me. Dancing to the side I leaned out and delivered a straight kick to the side of his left knee. The already overstressed joint gave with a wet snap and he collapsed to the floor, still snarling but showing no indication of pain. He tried to stand up, and when the ruined knee couldn’t support his bulk he started pulling himself towards me on the carpet with his arms. Now I turned and ran.

  I hit the fire door at speed, trusting momentum to carry me through any threats that waited on the other side of the door, but the stairwell was empty. I raced down the stairs, some of my speed fueled by the creepy encounter I’d just had in the hall, some by the thought of the struggling woman I was trying to save.

  I hit the ground floor exit door with a bang and crashed into the parking lot. Thirty feet in front of me the parking lot ended at a grassy border then the swamp began. The woman was another fifty feet out in the water struggling directly towards me and started screaming for help when she saw me. The two men chasing her were closing the distance on their prey and I was too far away to tell if they were in the same condition as the fat man I’d just put down.

  To my right in the parking lot were three more men who had been moving towards the woman’s screams but had now changed direction towards me. They were close enough for me to see the solid red eyes and hear the same wet, gurgling snarl coming from each of them. Oh shit!

  Remembering how the fat man seemed to track me by sound I froze in place and held my breath, but they kept coming, snarling continuously. Then the woman in the swamp screamed for help again and all three of them swiveled towards her and picked up speed.

  They weren’t what I’d call fast, but they could cover a good amount of ground in a relatively short time. Their pace was probably comparable to an average person walking fast. I could easily move faster than them.

  I met the eyes of the woman and even from a distance I could see the terror and fatigue in her face. She wasn’t going to last much longer if I didn’t do something. Looking around for any type of weapon, I spotted a sapling pine tree at the end of the building that had two large landscaping stakes driven into the ground supporting it. These are the thick wooden stakes that are about seven feet long with a sharpened point that looks like a pencil that is driven into the ground and tied to a young tree for support.

  As quietly as I could I stepped onto the grass, moved to the tree and started working one of the stakes lose from the ground. Apparently I made more noise than I thought because the man closest to me swiveled his head in my direction, then changed course directly for me. He was less than 10 feet away when the pole finally released from the ground and I ripped it away from the tree tie downs. Just like the fat man his eyes were blood red orbs and blood trickled from his ears and nose. As I raised my weapon his pace didn’t falter and the blank expression on his face didn’t change. He just kept coming.

  I planted my feet well apart for balance and swung the stake in a giant arc like I was trying to break open a piñata. It struck the side of his head and snapped off a good eighteen inches of its length from the impact. The man dropped like the proverbial sack of potatoes and lay still. I hoped he was down for the count.

  The sounds of our scuffle had attracted the attention of one of the other men from the parking lot who was now heading directly for me. I’m a big guy at 6’2 and 230 pounds, but this guy had at least three inches and 50 pounds on me. There was no way I wanted to get into a grappling contest with him.

  Risking a glance at the swamp I noted the woman had stopped moving and was sobbing as her pursuers from the swamp and parking lot closed the distance. Time was running out quickly. With few options I charged my attacker with the pole extended like a lance and buried the sharpened end into his stomach. There was a moment of resistance when the stake met his flesh, then I could feel the sharp point push through the skin and bury in his abdomen. This guy was finished.

  I pulled back on the length of wood, wanting to use it again and was caught unprepared when he grabbed it and yanked towards him, pulling me with it. I barely recovered in time to avoid his clumsy attempt to wrap me up in a bear hug and backed away in shock. He stood there, gently swaying, with at least a foot of the stake buried in his guts and there was no indication that he felt any pain from a wound that should have put him down permanently. He started to turn to face me and I grabbed the wood and wrenched it out of his guts before he could get another grip on it.

  I stepped to the side, raised the stake over my head and using both hands drove the sharp point directly into his blood red right eye. If I had hoped that I could take him out with a thrust to the head I was disappointed. The taper on the end was too shallow and while it pierced his eye it was stopped from reaching his brain by the eye socket. I felt the hard stop in my arms and quickly pulled away, stepped back and swung for the bleachers. The wood snapped again when it hit the side of his head, leaving me with about a four foot club with a nasty 10 inch splinter as thick as my thumb protruding from the end.

  He was slowed down, but not stopped. Quickly lunging forward I buried the splinter in his left eye, my forward progress stopping when it hit the inside of the back of his skull. Pulling the club out of his head I spun towards the swamp as he hit t
he ground with a wet, meaty thump.

  The woman was still standing in place, but she had stopped sobbing, apparently too terrified to even cry. The two men that had pursued her through the swamp were no more than 10 feet behind her and the remaining parking lot guy was about 15 feet in front of her. She was in water to mid-thigh and I could now tell that she wasn’t completely naked. She was wearing what looked like a gold sequined G-String, and nothing else. Stripper flashed through my mind, but she could just as easily have been dressed that way in the privacy of her own home and had to run for her life. See how my mind works?

  I had a moment to evaluate the situation. When she had gone quiet her pursuers had stopped in place. More evidence for my theory that the blood red eyes indicated blindness, and they could only track us by sound. What I didn’t know was how long they would stand still waiting for a sound before they started flailing about looking for their prey.

  Up on my toes I circled around behind parking lot guy, holding an index finger to my lips to tell the woman to stay quiet. In position behind him, club held in my right hand like a spear ready to be thrown, I hissed loud enough for him to hear but hopefully not the guys in the swamp. He immediately snapped his head around and let out the start of a gurgling snarl. He never finished the turn or the sound because I buried the splinter in his eye the second I had a target. He dropped, snapping off most of the splinter in his head as he went down on the asphalt.

  “Run to me now!” I hissed at the woman, frantically making the universal ‘come here’ wave, and bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet.

  She threw a look over her shoulder and then seemed to gather her strength for a final surge through the thigh deep water. Pulling ahead of her pursuers she gained speed as she reached water that was below her knees, high stepping the last few yards onto the grass and sprinting to me.

  The woman was exceptionally pretty, even soaking wet and streaked with muck from the swamp, but I didn’t have time to admire her. I expected her to run and stop beside or behind me, not throw herself against me and wrap her arms around my neck. She looked to be in excellent physical condition and was tall for a woman, nearly as tall as me despite being barefoot, so the unexpected impact of her body nearly knocked me off my feet.

  She was breathing like a locomotive, shaking like a leaf and doing her best to squeeze me in half but wasn’t making a sound. The men in the swamp weren’t so quiet. When she had surged forward and made a lot of noise splashing through the water they had also started forward, snapping their jaws and snarling their wet, gurgling snarl. I was getting a much better look at them now, both of them with the red eyes and blood dripping from ears and noses.

  The guy on the left looked like a college student. Hair too long to have a real job, silver stud glinting in his right eyebrow, made all the more noticeable by the contrast to the red eyes. The other one was a Georgia State Trooper. Amazingly his Smokey Bear hat was still in place and his weapon was still holstered yet he gave no indication he was even aware he had a weapon as he approached us.

  I still had a four foot wooden club in my hand, but didn’t like my odds against these two. I wrapped my arms around the woman’s waist, pressed my mouth to her ear and mumbled so only she could hear, “They hunt by sound. I’m going to move us. Don’t make any noise. Quiet!”

  I lifted her free of the ground and slowly began stepping sideways towards the open parking lot. By this time they had reached the edge of the asphalt and both stumbled with the footing change then came to a stop. I had moved us maybe a dozen feet out of line with their advance and when they stopped I froze. They stood in place, swaying slightly, heads tilted back and swiveling side to side. I could hear them sniffing the air and it scared me even more than I already was. Hiding from something hunting you by sound was difficult, but manageable. Sound and smell? Exponentially more difficult. There was no breeze to worry about upwind or downwind, but that could change at any moment, blowing our scent directly to them.

  Normally I would have enjoyed holding a G-String clad stripper tight against me, but let me tell you this was anything but erotic. She was absolutely silent, but still shaking like a leaf in a strong wind. Whether cold from being in the water or out of sheer terror, at least she had silenced her breathing. Unfortunately she still had me in a stranglehold, and if our hunters charged us we were goners. Carefully wrapping my right arm around her waist I slowly exerted pressure to the side, peeling her off of me. She resisted at first, and then relaxed enough for me to guide her to a position beside and slightly behind that would allow me freedom of movement. My hand still resting on the small of her back as she moved, I started to step back with her and managed to kick what was probably the only empty beer can in the parking lot.

  The can clattered across the pavement loud enough to, no pun intended, raise the dead. Both heads instantly snapped toward us and they charged, arms extended forward and wide to sweep in any prey that they might have run past. I pushed her hard towards the larger open parking area and side slipped the Troopers grasp, his fingers brushing my sleeve.

  His snarl rose an octave and he whirled in my direction, the college student turning towards the snarl. I stepped in and rammed the now blunted stake into the bridge of the Trooper’s nose with all my weight behind the blow. I might as well have been striking a tree for all the good it did. His head rocked back from the force but he didn’t even notice the nasty gash I opened on his face and the blood pouring down from his broken nose. He just kept snarling and advancing.

  Back pedaling, trying to get room to fight, I tripped over my own feet and crashed to the ground. The stake slipped out of my hand and clattered across the pavement. For a moment they paused, heads tracking the direction of the clatter, but somehow they knew their prey was still right in front of them and they started forward again, looming over me. I was scrambling backwards like a crab on its back when the woman started yelling.

  “Hey, assholes! Over here! Come get me if you’re man enough. Come on you fuckers. I’m right here!” I risked a glance in her direction. She was screaming at the top of her lungs and jumping up and down, waving her arms.

  They stopped their advance on me and I froze, holding my breath. I knew she was trying to distract them, and the courage she was showing was incredible. Their heads turned toward her, but they didn’t move.

  “Come on you dickless cocksuckers! I’m right here!” She screamed even louder than I thought possible, and they finally turned away from me and started a slow rush in her direction.

  Looking for my club I spotted it farther away than I thought it could have gone, but also spotted a nicely rounded rock about the size of a small cantaloupe laying at the edge of the parking lot. Quietly scrambling to my feet I scooped the rock up in both hands and charged the cop with it raised over my head. He heard my approach and turned in time for me to cave in the front of his skull. He crumpled to the ground at my feet without a sound.

  The college student was still moving towards the woman’s screams, and she was getting pretty creative in her names for him. Ripping the Trooper’s pistol out of his belt holster I rushed the college student. The weapon was a standard police issue Glock 9 mm, and I quickly made sure a round was chambered. Coming up beside the last attacker I put the pistol’s muzzle against the side of his head and pulled the trigger, blowing blood and brains across the parking lot. He dropped as silently as the Trooper had.

  Breathing hard I stood still and stared at the man I’d just killed. Was he a man, or had I killed some kind of zombie thingy? The little voice in my head was moments away from a hysterical giggle when I contemplated the idea of zombies, but I pushed it down. I stepped back to the Trooper and took the duty belt off the body, strapping it around my waist and holstering the Glock. The belt had two magazine pouches, both will fully loaded spare mags, a pair of hand cuffs strapped on to it at the small of my back, and various rings and hooks that I had no idea what they were for. At the moment all I cared about was the weapon and extra ammunit
ion.

  “Thank you,” the woman had come over to me while I was robbing the dead. “You saved my life.” She stood in front of me wearing next to nothing, covered in filth, yet didn’t appear to be the least bit self-conscious.

  “I think we’re even. That was pretty brave to draw them away like that.”

  She looked away then back at me, “It was as much self-preservation as anything. They’ve been chasing me for over two hours. I couldn’t have survived much longer without your help. You’re the first normal person I’ve seen in at least an hour.”

  I was shocked to hear that. “An hour? Where were you? What happened?”

  “I dance at a club not too far from here, but you can probably guess that from looking at me,” she made a ‘look at this’ gesture with her hands in front of her nearly nude body. “I was on stage when all hell broke loose.”

  4

  Rachel Miles reached behind her back and undid the clasp that held up her gold sequined bikini top, slid it over her shoulders and as it dropped to the stage used her upper arms to press her breasts together to the hoots and howls of the crowd. She was a third of the way through her second song, on stage at the Toy Box gentleman’s club north of Atlanta. New York had been nuked hours ago, but the fat pig of a boss that owned the club refused to close early and had threatened to fire her if she didn’t go on stage. The bar was half full of hard core drinkers, but Rachel couldn’t see any of them because of the bright lights focused on her performance.