As the ferocious horses reared up and whinnied loudly, he ran for the drawer he’d just put knives away in and started waving them, then stopped. Both horses stood now, pawing the ground and moving their feet, nostrils blowing, but not charging. They simply stared at Karla, who had her forty-five out and cried silent tears.
He wanted badly to get to Rachel and Jack, but he barely dared to breathe for fear the horses would attack again.
“Thunder. Lightning. I love you. Why didn’t you stay in the barn? Why? They found a cure. But you… You… Why did you have to do this?”
Her words were barely comprehensible as the tears closed her throat. Her hands never wavered, but she moved closer to the horses, who’d started to back out of the house. Not fighting her, though one lifted her head and nodded at her. He would swear to anyone who’d asked that the horse had given Karla permission to shoot her.
As soon as they were out the door, Seb ran to the teens to check them, but half his mind was on Karla and what she faced. The other half was screaming in pain that his son was hurt, maybe worse.
When would this nightmare end?
Chapter Twenty Two
Karla never talked much about what happened. Not even when… No, I’m ahead of myself. This is hard to write. Harder still to relive. But once, just once, she gave me the full story. How much more could we all take?
How long until the cure was given? Would we even survive until it happened?
Also, was it really a cure? I held so many doubts as to the timing of it all. But at that moment, I could only hope for the best, for Karla’s safety, while I tried to ascertain the damage to my son and Rachel.
God. My son…
Karla
Karla held her gun so tightly, the grip bit into her hands. The revolver weighed on her, twice as heavy as its actual poundage. The horses’ skins were repulsive-looking, but she still wanted to touch them. To soothe them as if her touch could make them back to the way they were. She was being stupid standing there. If they both charged her, she’d be dead.
Mentally, she drew the line from eye to opposite ear then did the reverse route, other eye to other ear, on Lightning. She grabbed the gun with both hands, and with a whimper she bit down on, she shot the gelding she’d loved for so many years. Lightning dropped with nary a sound, but the thud of the body, followed by a slight squishy sound which hurt her again. However, she didn’t watch the fall; she watched Thunder.
Thunder skidded back at the report of the gun and possibly the motion of her arms at the kickback, but she didn’t charge. She pawed the ground, blew air out her nose, and ducked her head. The black skin oozed blood. Some fell, as the horse couldn’t seem to stand still, but most stayed. A dark smell cloyed to the horse—musty, and gray, and sour.
“Thunder?” she said, and her voice broke.
The horse whinnied in response.
“Oh God, how can I? You’re a part of me. I—” The tears fell so fast and hard, she couldn’t focus on the X-spot on the forehead. Her hands shook, and even two-handed, the pistol didn’t point where it needed to.
All at once, the horse reared again. The whites of her eyes showed, only they weren’t white anymore; they were gray, with army-green streaks. That helped steady her like nothing else could. This horse wasn’t all hers. Yes, Thunder still remained in there, but slowly, her brain, her body, was mutating to become something else, something grotesque, and more importantly, something dangerous.
This time, when Thunder dropped back to all fours, Karla shot her. Thunder dropped in much the same way Lightning had, only with more squish in the sound. Still, she stood over the horses. She didn’t know how long, but there she stayed. All the horror stories said the brain shot, and zombies were dead. Right?
But all those horror stories were urban legends and myths to scare the masses in a safe environment. What was the truth? To her, this disease, this virus or whatever it could be, had been created to make creatures that would emulate the fables, and therefore, would likely die the same way. She didn’t bother with worrying about whether or not she hit the brain. At the distance she stood, she could see the individual whorls unique to ech of them. And the size of her pistol? Overkill.
She’d read all the magazines about what to do in case of an emergency, or you were too far out for anyone to help. A specially made compartment held her twenty-two rifle locked up in her trailer. Didn’t matter. She still would have used the forty-five. Whatever they were dealing with could take getting shot with multiple arrows, and she had no idea on gunshot wounds.
The brains were all she could think of to do it right for horse and zombie. She hoped the poor thing forgave her in the afterlife. Still holding her pistol at the ready, she went to her truck to get the gasoline. Whatever happened next, they couldn’t leave the bodies here to rot and possibly infect others.
And speaking of others, she’d expected a bit more from them. Instead of the screaming she expected, the sounds were—she frowned.
With worry biting into her own grief, she looked to the house, but saw nothing, heard nothing. Shit. What else had happened?
Chapter Twenty Three
For the first time since Jack had whooping cough as a young child, I wished I had medical training. I can’t tell you the fear I felt for both of them, as I already considered Rachel a daughter. Karla’s heart, probably twice as broken after the brief hope from the news broadcast, didn’t stop her from doing what was needed.
It couldn’t stop me either. I had to face it. Problem I had was knowing what the hell was needed—and thinking past the pain of seeing them unconscious.
This will be the last chapter I write before we leave here. I’m not sure when I’ll have the safety and time again. Or if I’ll have the heart. As I read what I wrote last, I realized I can’t leave the story there. So I’m taking a last few minutes to write this.
Sebastian
Seb dropped to his knees and stared at Rachel. With no covering for protection, like the door when the horses trampled through, he worried for her the most. As gently as he could, he rolled her over to check her breathing. Shallow, but she did at least move air. He let out the breath he hadn’t known he held and moved on to Jack.
The door, hopefully, helped him, but that head wound… He probed it with his fingers. Already, the wound had swollen up so Jack appeared to have a robin’s egg on his head. All prepared to fling the door, he stopped. What if he spooked the horses? Holding the weight of the door off his son, he watched Karla. When she took the first shot, he flung the door. With any luck, the gunshot sound had covered him.
With great tenderness—and greater fear—he rolled his son over. Seb wept when his son took in a gasp of air, then groaned. A bruise stretched out along the lower jaw, probably from hitting the floor, but otherwise the front appeared okay. Now that the fear of them not breathing had passed, he realized he probably should have checked their backs before moving them.
Fuck. With no medical training and only a basic recall of his first aid class, he felt lucky to remember to check their breathing first. Now what could he do? Couldn’t exactly call an ambulance. Or take them to the hospital. Or anything he’d been used to doing.
He slammed his fist on the floor, then put his face in his hands and sat back on his heels, shoulders sagging. Another shot rang out, this time, making him jump. But apparently, the adrenalin woke his brain up. He had a smartphone. The Internet still worked.
Rapidly pulling it out and loading the Internet, he put in, injuries from horse trampling. Following the directions, he got ice, then checked for obvious breaks and bleeding. He finally took a cold washcloth to his son’s face, and the swelling began to go down.
Rachel awoke groggily, still calling for Jack.
Karla came in, looking worried. What a woman. She held so much inside her, she still cared about others in the midst of her own trauma.
“Jack,” Seb croaked, still wiping his son’s forehead with the cool cloth.
Karla bent down n
ext to him and held his other hand. Rachel held Jack’s hand. Not long after, Jack stirred. He sat up, sore, but otherwise, seemingly okay. Seb helped Jack to the couch, and Rachel brought him drinks even though the adults tried to make her sit down as well.
They turned the news back on and found out that their area would be “decontaminated in two days.” Seb thought Karla would faint she turned so white.
It took many hours of tracking down pain meds, bandages, making up ice bags, and watching television as they tried to take care of their wounds and bury the horses’ ashes. Seb and Karla buried the ashes in the dirt after all the flesh was gone.
He wrote that night, wanting it all down. Despite the news, he and Karla both were skeptical about how well the cure would work, but agreed to go back as soon as the news said it was safe, as both Jack and Rachel were moving gingerly, and they were worried about broken ribs and possible concussions. Course, death by zombie had the prize of biggest worry until then.
Would there even be a hospital to help them in two days?
Chapter Twenty Four
I had no idea what we would face upon returning home, but we kept preparing for it. New lines showed on my face when I checked myself in the mirror. My age seemed closer than it ever had, as if I’d grown years older in the last week.
Jack moved gingerly, but still tried to help as much as he could. Rachel, I think, had matured the most out of all of us. Her childhood had been nearly idyllic, her parents strict and not exposing her to much. I saw things in her eyes that made me want to cry.
The only saving grace I had was the knowledge that she probably would have ended up worse if she’d been left home alone. At least, that’s what I told myself to appease my conscious. I hoped on all that was ever holy that it was the truth.
Karla…
My dearest Karla. The pain etched on her face bit at me the most. Her poor horses. Her poor heart. I wanted to go home, pick up what pieces of our lives that we could, and try to find something good in it.
Would that ever be possible?
Karla
Two days since she shot the horses, and they did the last of the preparations to leave. They had commandeered extra pillows for the still-bruised and sore teens. They also took as much food as they could fit into the vehicles. Guns and bows were stowed up front in preparation of being on the road.
Call him cynical, but Seb hadn’t wanted to trust in the supposed cure, and she’d agreed with him completely. No way would she be without a weapon again.
Rachel and Jack slowly moved toward her, one on each of Seb’s arms. Karla settled Rachel in her truck, and Seb did the same with Jack in his. Karla’s estimation of Rachel, already high, went up a notch as she saw the girl fight back tears as she moved. It solidified for her that they were making the right choice. The kids weren’t improving enough on their own and needed medical attention.
Seb came over to her vehicle and gave her a quick kiss.
“We need to stop at the first gas station we see. Or the second if it’s still overrun, or the dusting didn’t work as promised,” she added as the sound of the crop-duster plane circled around on the horizon. At least, she hoped it was the government as promised. God knew what they’d do if the zombies started flying. As it was, she didn’t know how far out they dusted, but the news said it was finished in town.
“Okay. Maybe we can grab snacks too. I think the teens could use some junk food.” Seb gave her a wry smile, and she nodded.
“I agree. Injury time is treat time. I could use some sugar myself.”
They started down the dirt road, with Karla in the lead, hauling a horse trailer full of supplies. As she neared the end of the lane, she stopped and called Seb.
“Is that what I think it is?” Rachel whispered.
“I’m afraid it is.” Karla kept her fear in abeyance, hiding it as much as possible from her passenger, and called Seb on her phone.
“Seb, we got problems. Road block and what appears to be a few escapees from the cure.”
“We should probably make sure if they’ve had the cure or not.”
She didn’t think so by the looks of them, but she reluctantly agreed. “Right. That’s true. But we should check. Suppose we should talk to them first. I’m still holding my gun.”
“Seb, being the gentleman he is, has pointed out they may be uninfected, and we should try and talk to them first,” she told Rachel.
“God save us from gentlemen,” Rachel said, eyeing the milling crowd.
“Amen to that.”
Karla checked her weapon was loaded, grabbed the twenty-two pistol she’d taken out of the trailer, and handed it to Rachel. She’d given the 10mm to Seb for Jack in case they had a situation at the gas stations. “The recoil isn’t bad, but in your current condition, it’s still going to hurt. Shoot for the bridge of the nose.” Rachel nodded, and Karla got out.
Eyeing the group before her, she shook her head.
“God save us from gentlemen is right. Infected or not, these guys are gonna be trouble.”
Chapter Twenty Five
I wanted to tell Karla to run down whomever she saw. But, what if they were just people like us trying to make sure no one infected hurt anyone else again? Despite my instincts, I’d suggested we check things out.
What a goddamn mistake that turned out to be. I needed to start thinking with my newly formed idea of the world, and not the past me. I needed to in order to protect my son better.
Hopefully, it’s not too late.
Sebastian
Seb nearly shit his pants as he moved to the side of Karla’s trailer. What looked to be about thirty people milled about on the road. A loud metallic sound reverberated, and everyone turned and laughed. Except Seb and Karla.
Seb looked closer and saw that all the cars were crunched as far as he could see both ways. Now he realized why Karla hadn’t really wanted to talk. “How much ammo on you?” he asked her.
“I’ve got a hundred rounds in my jacket and another weapon with a fifteen-round clip. Left a hundred with Rachel, and the box I gave you for Jack held two hundred.”
“Is it cowardly to admit that I’m relieved you’re a gun-toting woman?”
Her grin faded all too quickly. “No. And not to burst your bubble, but there’s only four of us, and we have to hit them just right. They just need to scratch us. And it takes time to reload. Longer for the three of you.”
She made good points, but they had little choice. “What should we do?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t noticed us yet, but it’s not like we can just back up the road and they won’t notice us and follow.”
“Do we wait until they do, or start picking them off?”
“Well, you had a good point. We need to make sure. I’m not ready to become a murderer.”
And shit on me for being civilized. “Okay. Here goes. Hey there, can you move your cars?” he called out.
The silence which followed was eerie. It lasted longer than it should have. Then, out of the crowd, someone yelled, “Fresh meat!”
Karla had three shots off before he’d taken one, and they all shot a zombie nearest them. He dropped the first one he saw in his sights, and the fight was on. More and more of them headed their way, some running.
Seb and Karla moved toward the cars, back to back. “Remind me to not be so polite,” he said.
“Yeah, no worries. I will...if we live through this.”
“Back to the cars,” he suggested.
“That was my thought.”
He covered her until she was in the vehicle, then moved back to his. A lot of zombies were dropping from their shots, but more seemed to just come up out of the ground. Seb knew the cars hid them and made it look that way, but he couldn’t stop the vision of them rising from the netherworld as bodies littered the ground.
His early estimate of thirty was grossly under. Apparently, the cars were full of them, and more came. He paused in his shooting long enough to get into the SUV, then rolled d
own his window and began shooting again.
The hordes kept coming. His mind screamed in silent horror as bodies surrounded the car in front of them and started to shake it. Some were still dropping, and the new zombies would stand on the old ones until they stood on the roof.
The boom of the rifle and Jack’s pistol filled the car compartment, the deafening noise making it hard to think. His heart beat so fast, he thought he’d started on a heart attack from the pain it created. Then he saw more headed toward them.
“Roll up your window. Only a crack, like we did before when Ruff saved you.” But Ruff wasn’t there. They kept shooting as their car started rocking. Seb couldn’t see the car ahead of them anymore as gray-faced zombies clambered onto his hood and clomped toward the windshield.
One of them looked right at Seb then grinned as he raised his foot and started to kick at the windshield. Seb knew then, they had minutes to live. He kept shooting though. He’d get as many of them dead as possible.
“I love you, son. Sorry I failed you.”
“You never failed me. I’m so lucky to have had you as a father. I love you, too.”
Seb took another shot. The zombie trying to break his windshield stomped hard, and the crack that slid its way across the windshield penetrated all the gunfire and sent an arrow of death straight through his mind. He froze.
“Dad. Dad!” Jack shouted.
At the sound of his son’s voice, he shook off the fear and kept shooting. The windshield cracked more, starring, then shattering into a hundred pieces, but the safety glass still held. He shot down another one, and there was no replacement at his window. It shocked him, and he peered out to see. There weren’t any more coming.
“Jack, we’re almost through them. We have to keep shooting.” Another one came up to the window, but Seb had seen that there was an end to the zombies’ numbers, and he shot and reloaded with renewed vigor.
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