by R. J. Spears
Kilgore once again asked himself why he didn’t run. Maybe it’s because he knew it wouldn’t matter. He knew the Night Visitor would find him anywhere because there was no hiding from the devil.
An uneasy anticipation made it too much to bear, so Kilgore pushed the door slowly open with the hinge creaking loudly. The room was blanketed in a thick and heavy dark smoke swirling like the output from a volcano, but after a couple of seconds, a figure began to move in the shadows.
Run! Something screamed inside Kilgore, but he was rooted in place, paralyzed in fear.
The figure moved out of the darkness, slowly revealing itself. It was Harley, but it wasn’t him. Not anymore.
It moved in herky-jerky motions, stepping forward tentatively with one foot then another. It was bent over at its waist, and its head swiveled spastically on its neck like a bird, jerking one way then another. The hair on its head had been mostly burned away, with only singed tufts sticking out in places. The skin on its neck and shoulders was bright pink and red, as if it had been parboiled. But what was most unnerving about this new horrible version of Harley was its eyes. They were a single milky grayish-white color, with no pupils or irises.
Those eyes, or whatever they were, made Kilgore think that this new version of Harley was blind, but he had the distinct feeling that he was being seen. It wasn’t in any way that a human would see, though.
The creature that used to be named Harley stepped toward Kilgore, and he broke free of his paralysis but only partially, taking a shaky step backward.
That deep, gravelly voice Kilgore knew was the Night Visitor echoed out of the room, intensifying his fear. “This will help you find Jason Carter.”
In the swirling darkness of the room, Kilgore could see those red glowing eyes that had come to torture him night after night. They peered out of the black, like burning coals, unblinking.
“You are running out of chances to find Carter,” the voice said. “Do not fail me.”
The swirling darkness intensified inside the room as it began to twist in on itself like an intense vortex. It began to spin, whipping around almost faster than the eye could see, giving Kilgore a sense of vertigo. The thing that used to be Harley seemed oblivious, but Kilgore was forced to shut his eyes.
Kilgore heard a deep whooshing sound, like a bullet train passing by, and when he opened his eyes, the room was empty -- with the exception of the Harley-thing. He fell back another step, his knees feeling weak.
The Harley creature stepped in next to Kilgore, bent at the waist, and its head bowed toward the floor, reminding Kilgore of an obedient dog. That comparison didn’t comfort him at all.
“What do I do with you?” Kilgore croaked out the question, but he knew what he was supposed to do.
The Harley creature swiveled its neck and peered up to look at Kilgore with those empty eyes. The whole gesture seemed to ask Kilgore a question. That question was; What is your command, master?
Goosebumps broke out all over Kilgore’s body, and his jaw trembled open and closed as he searched for something to say. His mind went in two directions at once. One way took him down an inescapable path toward insanity. A place he would never come back from. Dark and tortuous. The other way became the way toward a possible release from the torture. A way to find himself again. To become the commander he once was.
It took several seconds as his jaw opened and closed soundlessly, but finally he said, “Upstairs.”
The Harley creature responded immediately, bounding across the room and toward the staircase, loping in an awkward and graceless way that made Kilgore think of a hyena. It disappeared up the stairs, and Kilgore instinctively knew that he had his bloodhound to find Jason Carter.
Chapter 14
Distractions
Twice during their ride in the darkness, they heard the helicopters overhead in the distance. In the night air, it was hard to tell how far away they were. Both times they heard them, they drove the old truck off the road and under whatever cover they could find. Each time, they turned the truck off, just in case the rattle of its engine would somehow give them away. They also said silent prayers for it to start back up. Fortunately, it did.
As they drove along, Del picked at the flaking vinyl seats of the old truck, tearing off strips, and letting them fall to the floor. Russell looked vacantly out into the dark woods and empty farm fields, not really seeing them, lost inside his own mind. Jones contemplated his place in the world and how quickly things changed. None of them spoke much, other than to mention hearing the helicopters or talk about what they were seeing out the window.
Jo was lost in thought like the rest of them, but she kept a watchful eye on the road. She had to because they were driving without any lights on, knowing they would stick out like a sore thumb in the darkness if they did. That forced her to drive under thirty-five miles per hour, and sometimes that seemed too fast.
She came around a long, sloping curve and saw two dark figures crossing the road ahead of them at the far end of the curve. There was just enough moonlight to let her know that they looked like humans, moving along upright on two legs, but that didn’t mean they were really human. She took her foot off the gas, slowing the truck to a coasting speed. “Look.”
Jones leaned forward in his seat and peered into the darkness. The figures moved in that shambling fashion that all of them had become accustomed to, but so did some geriatrics. Jo played it safe, rather than be mistaken, and slowed their speed even more.
“Living or dead?” Jones asked.
This got Russell and Del’s attentions, and both of them leaned forward in anticipation.
“You see how they’re walking,” Jo said as she pressed the brakes, slowing them to a crawl. But still, the figures were coming up quickly, “I say dead.”
“Flash them with your lights,” Jones said.
“You sure that’s safe?” she asked.
“Just really fast,” Jones added.
“I don’t like this,” Russell said.
“But what if they’re not dead and are really some old folks who need help?” Jo asked.
“First, we can’t offer them much help,” Del said, but the time for debate was nearly over as the truck was down to less than a hundred feet. “Second, we’re on a mission.”
Jo took the initiative and flicked on the headlights then turned them off after about a second. She saw all she needed to see. It was like the paparazzi of the old days with the flash cameras catching stars coming out of a night club. The flash of the lights captured the two zombies, bleaching them out and making them look like ghosts. The image emblazoned itself on Jo’s retinas for several seconds.
She accelerated and hit one of them head-on. Everyone in the truck grimaced upon impact.
The first zombie clanked off the grill of the truck and went under the tires. The truck jumped off the road just a little as the tires rolled over it. The other one bounced off the right fender and flew off into the underbrush along the side of the road.
Jo smiled just a little but knew it would have been smarter to have maneuvered around them because there was always a chance hitting them could have damaged the truck. You need a little revenge sometimes, though, and the truck just kept on rolling, proving it was sturdier than they gave it credit and it was certainly tougher than zombies.
They continued on for a couple more miles when Jones leaned forward in his seat and said, “I think there’s a big farming operation coming up on our right. I seem to remember it from our earlier trip.”
Jo, once again, slowed, and they moved ahead at just around twenty-five miles per hour for the next minute or two. They passed a small stand of trees and then the blocky dark outlines of man-made structures appeared, standing out from the night sky but just barely.
“There,” Jones said, and Jo slowed even more, looking for an entry road to the farm. In the dark, it was challenging, but she found a narrow gravel road after slowing down to ten miles per hour. She cut the wheel to the right and the
eased onto the road. Gravel crunched under the tires as they moved further off-road and toward the dark buildings.
The first building turned out to be a house. In the dark, it was hard to make out, but it looked to be a simple two-story affair with a long and steep sloping roof.
“Should we check out the house?” Del asked.
“Nah,” Jones said. “The sooner we find what we’re looking for, the sooner your people can get on the road.”
Jones left a lot unspoken. What they were looking for was a way to draw the attention of the helicopters, so that the people hiding back at the barn could get on the road and away to safety. What was also unsaid was the fact that Jo, Jones, Del, and Russell would be the key feature of that attraction.
“Look for a propane tank,” Jones said.
“You know,” Del interjected, “we could always just burn the house.”
Jones responded, “Yes, we could, but that doesn’t seem to be the eye-catching spectacle that we were thinking about. Besides, a burning house might take some time to attract attention.”
Jo arced the truck around the house and headed back toward two dark, blocky outlines less than an eighth of a mile behind the house. The road was bumpy, with deep holes and ruts, so she slowed down to a bare minimum. A first dark form became more distinct. It was a large two-story barn, more like the old-fashioned barns usually attributed to farms. The oversized front doors were closed and padlocked, so Jo cut around to the right side of the barn.
They made it just around the corner when Del yelled, “Bingo.”
As gently as she could, Jo brought the truck to a stop then backed up to be parallel with a large gray propane tank. It had been painted white in the past, but it was smudged with dirt and had faded in the sun. Rings of rust ran along the welds.
“How do we know it’s not empty?” Russell asked.
Jones turned around in his seat and looked at Del. “That’s where Del comes in, right? You were a farmer?”
“Well, I helped out on my uncle’s farm, but I did a lot of odd jobs before...” Del said but trailed off. They all knew what ‘before’ meant.
“Can you tell if it is empty or not?” Jones asked.
“I think I can,” Del said. “It looks a lot like a five hundred gallon one.” He pulled on his door handle and opened his door. The dome light came on and seemed overly bright in the darkness. He closed the door, and the interior went dark again. He flipped on a flashlight and headed toward the tank.
Russell leaned forward in his seat and asked, “How do we blow this thing up if it does have propane in it? Something tells me that this isn’t as easy as I think it will be.”
“I’m hoping Del knows something about that,” Jones responded.
“That’s a whole lot of hope,” Russell said, easing back into his seat.
Del returned to the side of the truck and said, “It’s half-full and that’s plenty.”
“How do we blow the damned thing up?” Russell asked. “Can’t we just shoot it?”
Del leaned his arms against the side of the truck and said, “It’s not that easy, but I have an idea. We have to build a fire under the tank. It has to be a good one. Real hot. Once it heats up, all we have to do is shoot it.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Russell said. “How do we know we won’t get blown up when it goes?”
“We don’t,” Del responded. “It’s not that I’ve ever done this. Well, at least not on this scale. When I was young, me and my friends were fucking around and blew up a little one, like for a backyard grill. It blowed up real good.” He knew he put on his backwoods redneck routine a little thick, but with the mood so tense, he decided it was time to lighten things up.
They spent twenty minutes collecting whatever they could find that would burn and placed it under the left side of the propane tank. Del made sure they packed it in tight but left just enough room for the fire to breathe. When they had it set, Del directed the group to get to a safe distance away while he lit the wood on fire. That put them a hundred and fifty feet away, standing on the other side of the truck.
Del started the fire and sprinted back to the truck to watch from a safe distance with the others. Just as the flames started to wrap around the bottom of the tank, they heard it in the distance. The sound of helicopter blades beating in the night air coming from the west. All their attention turned away from the fire and to the west.
A moment later, a girl’s voice asked, “Do you hear that?”
Jo felt like she had whiplash as she jerked her head in the direction of the voice. What she saw made her heart sink. Madison Bloom was leaning over the back of the pickup, looking toward the west just as the rest of them had been doing.
“Madison, what are you doing here, girl?” Jo asked, taking a couple steps toward the girl.
“I think you need me,” Madison said.
“We needed you to go with the rest of the group,” Jo said, not disguising her frustration.
“I’m just as good as an adult,” Madison replied. “Who took care of Corporal Lodwick?”
During the big showdown at the Manor, Madison had slipped a gun inside and shot Corporal Lodwick in the back. That savage and shocking act tipped the table towards Jo and the rest of the Manor people. It had been a game changer but also a surprising act of violence for a girl as young as Madison. While the people were grateful, there was something unsettling about it and her. For many, she was like having a wild creature around -- unpredictable and potentially dangerous.
“Okay, you made a big difference there, but you are still a child,” Jo said.
“Don’t call me that,” Madison said, some heat in her voice. “I’m just as good as any adult. Half the people left back at the barn are older than the hills and about as useless as dirt.”
“Then maybe you could have helped them,” Jo said.
Madison took a moment to contemplate what Jo said, and the realization of the fact that she could have been useful with the people at the barn dawned in her expression.
“Well, I’m here, and there’s nothing you can do about it now,” Madison said, breaking from her reflection.
“We should take you back right now,” Jo said.
Del broke in and said, “Ladies and gentleman, I think it’s a little too late for that. We’re getting ready to have some barbeque.”
Jo blew out a long stream of air while glaring at Madison but shifted her attention back to the task at hand. When she looked toward the propane tank again, she saw that the left side of the tank was fully enveloped in flames. The orange glow from the fire spread across the area like a warm and inviting blanket, and that’s what they had been wanting.
“Sergeant Jones, do you think this will catch the attention of the helicopter?” Jo asked.
“Please don’t call me Sergeant anymore,” Jones replied. “I’ve definitely left my military days behind. And to answer your question, yes, if they get within a few miles of us. That fire will stick out like a sore thumb, but again, it has to come close enough.”
The helicopter didn’t sound any closer, but it also didn’t sound any further away. Though, in the night air, distances were hard to determine.
“Del, how much longer until we can shoot the tank?” Jo asked. “I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to be.”
“Soon,” he responded. “We need the tank to be pretty much totally on fire.”
“Just so we’re all clear, you’re saying you need the fire wrapping around the tank before we shoot it?” Jo asked Del.
“Yeah, that’s how it works,” he responded. “Just shooting it probably won’t work, but the fire will seal the deal.”
They all watched and waited, splitting their attention between the fire and the night sky. Tension mounted with each passing moment as they weren’t sure if a helicopter would swoop out of the darkness and tear them apart with their big gun at any moment. On top of it all was the unpredictable nature of what they were about to do. None of them knew what b
lowing up the tank meant. While they doubted whether they would be directly caught up in the blast, they had no idea how far debris would fly and how dangerous it could be.
Russell seemed to feel the worst of the anxiety as he began to sweat from the heat on the front side of his body, but his backside seemed cold and clammy.
The only one of them that didn’t seem worried at all was Madison. When Jo glanced her way, Madison looked entranced by the fire and the impending explosion, a thin cord of eagerness seeming to pulse through her body as she bobbed up and down in the back of the truck.
The wood around the fire crackled and popped, and the sound of the flames seemed to be increasing in volume. Collectively, the group felt a sense of unease growing in intensity. It took five more minutes before the entire tank was engulfed in flames.
“I think it’s ready,” Del said, breaking the silence. His voice had a slight quaver to it.
“Russell, you’re our best shot unless Sergeant Jones...unless Jones wants to try,” Jo said, looking over the hood of the truck back at the fire.
Jones shook his head and said, “Russell can take the shot.”
Russell brought his rifle up and leaned it onto the hood of the truck to steady his aim. “I know I’m not shooting the broad side of a barn, but this is still going to be easy.” Russell had made much more challenging shots since the Outbreak. Most of those were at the undead, though. “When do you want me to go?”
“Ideally, we’d like to have a helicopter as close as it can be, but I don’t think we can wait too long. I don’t want the chopper to be on top of us, but it would be a huge waste if the explosion went unnoticed. Anyone else want to chime in here?” Jo asked.
Del and Jones both shook their heads.
“Then there’s no time like the present,” she said. “Madison, get out of the truck and get with the rest of us.”
Madison jumped out of the bed of the truck, pistol in hand, and they all moved behind the safety of the truck with the exception of Russell. They had no idea how far debris might be thrown by the explosion, but it was better to be safe than sorry.