Harvest of Ruin (Book 2): Dead of Winter

by Mongelli, Arthur

  The babbling water called to her as she moved; she hadn’t bathed in nearly a week. Her days had been filled with watchful travel and she shuddered at the mere thought of immersing herself in dark water at night. Eventually, her inhibitions wore down and she cautiously crept to the edge of the road, pausing to get a lay of her surroundings in the shade of a tree. She immediately spotted an eddy pool that she eyed with excitement. She scanned the area for a full ten minutes before deciding that it was safe enough. She clambered down from the road and undressed under the cover of a pair of pine trees. She left the gun on top the clothing in case she needed it quickly. She then tiptoed painfully across a few meters of the rocky river bank, where the river would swell with the spring melt.

  She often went swimming in a pond in the backyard of her childhood home in rural Minnesota, so the cold water, although a shock at first, was pleasant to her. It helped her remember better times. She relished in the feel of the icy water cascading around her in the pool her on its path through the mountains. The chill water numbed her broken arm and relieved her of its useless weight, making it a bit more tolerable. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on her eyelids. Even this late in the year, the warmth brought memories sweeping back, of summers on Ludlow’s Island as a teenager. After finally being able to escape her family obligations, sneaking off to meet up with summer friends, scrounging beers and flirting with boys. It was in those fond memories of seasons past that it dawned on her that she might never see her father again. She had no idea how widespread this thing was, but other than the band of rapists and murderers, she hadn’t seen a living soul in four days. She felt the emotion welling forth at the thought of her father’s face and pushed it away, willing more pleasant thoughts to come to mind.

  As hard as she tried to relax again, the magic of that moment in the river was over. She sighed, heavily, thinking with a weighted heart of her father’s face, before she got to work scrubbing her body as best as she was able to with a single bare hand. She hoped that without soap she would still be able to get the dirty feel off of her skin. She knew she had lingered too long when the sounds of motorcycles boomed down through the mountains to either side of the roadway. Fuck, they’re coming back! her inner voice screamed. She clambered up the rocky bank of the river and ran as quickly as she could on the jagged rocks, back to her pile of belongings.

  *

  “What the fuck, Jen?” Will asked out of the open rear door of the Jeep as she approached.

  Jen couldn’t put her thoughts in words at that moment; at least any that would make sense to anyone. Instead, she shrugged and shook her head with tears coming down her face. Will pulled her close into his arms as soon as she came within reach.

  “Let’s clear the garage, like Bjorn said,” Tim called down from the moon roof, looking down into the cab of the Jeep.

  As Tim climbed down through the Jeep, Laura shot him a concerned look. He wasn’t surprised, but didn’t know how to reassure her. He was a bit unsettled by the whole thing himself; but he was also reasonably confident that Jen wouldn’t hurt them. He gave Laura’s arm a reassuring squeeze and winked at her as he slid out the driver’s side door. His hip was still very sore, and although he walked with a pronounced limp, he was able to walk, even jog if absolutely necessary. Nearly a week of resting and recuperating in the farmhouse helped a great deal, but his ability to cope was mainly due to the codeine he had been taking regularly. He met Jen next to the shop door, sitting just to the right of the oversized bay-door in the center of the building.

  Tim reached across and tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand and he nodded to Jen as he pushed the door inwards, stepping back. She had her rifle pointed into the darkened doorway, her eyes working desperately to penetrate the gloom. After a moment, she breathed deeply and stepped through the door. Tim moved in tandem to cover her. Once inside the shop, their eyes adjusted quickly. The middle bay was vacant, allowing them a safe area in which to get situated. Tools lay scattered about and covered in grime. Oil stained the floor in puddles, both great and small, scattered about the huge area. Tim flipped a light switch and overhead fluorescent lights blinked on. He grabbed the door chain next to the light switch and hoisted the big bay door open noisily, letting more light spill into the dim garage. The door lifted with a clattering squeal of ungreased rollers, both on and off their tracks. Tim winced through the racket the doors made, while Jen nervously scanned the garage, waiting for the undead to come out of every shadowy recess. Nothing moved within.

  The two moved to the bay furthest from the house first, scouting their way nervously around a beat up yellow AMC parked there. Once they ensured that the bay was clear, they moved back across the wide, open center of the garage to the last bay, the one closest to the house. There was a row of heavy steel shelving that blocked the view of it off from the rest of the garage. The shelves were covered in exhaust piping, batteries, tires, wheels, and a vast array of other car parts that neither of them could identify. The pass-thru into the bay was at the darkened rear of the garage. The two moved back towards it stealthily. The tension grew with each step that took them further from the Jeep, moving into the looming shadows. Jen first moved to the back door of the structure, and flipped the deadbolt, to lock it.

  When Jen returned, she and Tim moved together to the gap and stepped through into the final bay. Jen’s foot accidentally struck a wrench, sending it skittering noisily across the floor before crashing into a box of rusty piping. The box tipped in slow motion as it fell, its contents clattering noisily across the concrete floor. The two froze, cringing at the sound, waiting for the answering movement they both feared would come. The seconds ticked past as the last of the metal parts drifted into silence. Silence greeted them in return. Even through his nervousness, maybe because of it, he had to fight the inclination to giggle about the racket Jen had made. The bay was dark; its fluorescent lights either didn’t work or were controlled by a different switch and the crowded shelving blocked out the daylight from the open door just on the other side. The only light that came into the darkened area, shone through a set of windows set into the side of the garage. The windows were filthy, opaque with years of blown dust and grime and cast a hazy shade of gray light across a couple large objects on the floor.

  Tim moved further into the bay, cautiously stepping over the scattered exhaust pipes on the floor. By the time he moved clear of the mess of piping, the tension that had been mounting broke and he lost his struggle. He started giggling uncontrollably thinking about the racket Jen had made. As the anxiety grew in the dark room, he found that he was able to control it less and less, by the time he edged over to the bay door to hit the light switch he was crying with laughter. Great heaving sobs of laughter spilled out, doubling him over. He hit the light switch and kept it together just long enough to ensure that the bay was clear of undead before collapsing to the ground to finish his laughing fit. Jen, who at first was genuinely concerned at his laughter, thinking he may have lost it, steadily eroded herself. Thirty seconds later, she found herself sitting on the floor laughing with him. The heaving sobs died way after a minute and Tim began to relax. He wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks, his stomach aching from the effort of laughing. With his head clearing, he noticed a familiar tread poking out from under the tarpaulins in the middle of the floor. He stood up and ripped the vinyl sheets off. Sitting on the floor in front of them were three snowmobiles.

  “Holy shit!” Jen shouted, scrambling up from the dirty concrete floor. “Jackpot!”

  The two high-fived and did a victory dance around the machines. Tim had a pang of guilt as they danced around joyfully. After a moment, he thought of how concerned Laura must be, out in the Jeep while they were in here dancing and laughing. If he couldn’t share in the moment of joy and laughter with her, at the very least he needed to let her know he was alright.

  “Gonna open the bay door, Jen. Cover me please,” he called, moving to the chain on the right side of the
door.

  The mirth and levity slipped from her face instantly as she knelt down and aimed her rifle straight past him as he pulled on the chain. The door slid up easily revealing the snowy driveway and the front of the Jeep. Tim jumped back from the doorway cautiously, before returning to duck his head around and make sure it was clear. The two started moving back to the Jeep when they heard a gunshot from the house, freezing them in their tracks. Nervously, the two moved back towards the Jeep, waiting for a better indication of what was happening. They waited for a few moments but no other shots came.

  *

  Nala flopped onto the ground next to her pile of clothes and scrambled to pull them on. The tell-tale sounds of the motorcycles roaring past on the road behind her tore through the narrow valley. Still topless, she rolled with the gun and the rest of her belongings under the outstretched boughs of the nearest pine tree, using it as cover. The roar of the motorcycles was deafening as the procession passed by, barely twenty feet from where she lay. She remained completely still, gritting her teeth through the fresh blossoms of pain her recent efforts had elicited from her broken arm, and watched as the motorcade turned down the nearest entrance into the housing development. They came to a stop just off the main road and dismounted from the motorcycles. She suspected that they either had found a victim and were bringing her back for the night, or that they were beginning the hunt for one.

  Almost in unison, the noise from the motorcycles sputtered as the engines, starved of fuel, ground to a halt. The silence they left was deafening. She watched in horror as they gathered on the road, in plain view, barely a thousand feet from her. Hearing the sound one of them striking a match to light a cigarette, she knew that she had to remain absolutely silent.

  Six of the men moved off, and breaking into two teams of three, they started towards the first houses. They left one man behind who leaned relaxed against the front quarter-panel of the pickup truck smoking a cigar. They are hunting, she thought as the smell of the cigar drifted into her nostrils. She recognized the brand immediately; it was a “White Owl,” the brand her uncle smoked. The sounds of smashing wood and breaking glass drifted down the river to her. An inhuman roar issued from across the river, almost directly behind her, nearly startling a scream from her. She craned her neck back around to see a person running down the bank on the opposite side of the river, then a second person, followed by a half-dozen more. One of them was naked. She shook her head to get the cobwebs out, unsure of what she was seeing. When she refocused on the people, she immediately could see that they were dead like the rest of the zombies. These ones were so fast that her blood ran cold with fear. They hit the water in unison, never slowing. Two were hit by the faster current in the middle of the river which swept them off their feet and carried them downstream, even closer to Nala.

  The man by the pickup truck blew a coach’s whistle, its shrill chirp cut through the air. The five zombies that remained on their feet were halfway across the wide river when the sounds of heavy booted feet running drifted over to her. She stared in terror at the two flailing about in the water, just twenty feet off, trying to regain their footing. One of them drifted ashore about ten feet in front of Nala, the other was beached just behind her. Her hand closed around the grip of the gun and she tensed, peering back over her shoulder.

  Neither one of the zombies even glanced in her direction. As soon as they climbed out of water, they were off again at full speed towards the men. A couple more roars issued in the distance on the far side of the river. The sounds of many guns firing snapped her out of her petrifying terror. She watched as bullets riddled one of the thing’s body. The scene verified everything she knew about zombies, noticing that only a shot to the head kept them from getting back up. As she lay under the boughs of the evergreens watching, one of the things came running headlong down the road from the west, from the direction the motorcycles had ridden in. She could see from the group of men gathered on the banks of the river that no one noticed this one; they were intent on the dead below on the rocks, crossing the river and climbing the bank.

  Nala watched, mesmerized by the speed and fury as the fast thing swooped in from the side, blindsiding the man smoking the cigar. Its teeth tore a hole in the man’s shoulder and blood ran freely and quickly down from the wound. The thing atop him was savagely ripping at him with both its mouth and its hands. One of the other men quickly stepped over and fired a shot into the side of the zombie’s head. The man then turned, firing again, this time into the cigar-man’s face, dropping him to the ground next to the truck. Nala audibly gasped; she hadn’t expected that. Thankfully, the sound of her gasp was lost amid the roaring, splashing, shooting, and shouting in the chaotic scene.

  Over and around the sounds of the gun battle, the sound of fresh splashing from behind her tore her attention from the gunfight. Looking back over her shoulder, a shudder rippled through her as she saw dozens of slow-moving zombies tumbling down the opposite bank and lumbering into the river. Fear clutched at her heart as she watched them, listening to their breathless moans. A few were swept from their feet by the river. Without the speed and fury that the fast ones possessed, these ones were mostly swept away by the current.

  Another sound tore her attention from this new gruesome image and her panic reached a crescendo. It was the sound of a half-dozen motorcycles roaring to life. She snapped her head back towards the men just as the convoy roared away down the highway to the west. A moment later, the few remaining fast ones ran down the roadway after them, slowing to a stop as the sound of the motorcycles dissipated into the thin mountain air. Nala quickly came to appreciate the precarious situation she was now in. The slow ones had turned and started moving in the direction of the motorcycles, leaving them ‘staring’ in her direction. She was afraid even to breathe, knowing if she made any noise the fast ones would be on her in seconds, with the slow ones barely thirty feet distant. Minutes ticked by that seemed like hours, and hours that seemed like days. Still, the undead just milled about. She slowly came to the realization that they were waiting for some new stimuli to sweep them elsewhere.

  Three hours later, her whole body was pins-and-needles from the awkward way she had been laying in order to avoid putting weight on her broken arm. Even worse, the sun had begun its rapid descent towards the peaks of the mountains to the west. She briefly considered jumping into the river, but that would just bring her back to where she had come from and would leave her shivering and wet as night was setting in. She decided to save the river as a last-ditch escape plan, leaving her to ponder what her primary plan was going to be. The beginnings of an idea began to take root in her head; it was risky and she wasn’t confident in it, but she was out of other options and running out of daylight. At the very worst, she figured if it went to pot she could just jump in the river. She took a few deep breaths to steady her nerves.

  *

  “Let’s go make sure they are okay,” Jen said after a moment, moving away from the Jeep in the direction of the side door of the house.

  “Jen, wait,” Will called after her, concerned over what danger the gunshot might mean for the woman he loved.

  Tim looked to his wife, holding up a hand to let her know it was okay before he joined Jen on the walkway leading to the house. As they approached the door, Bjorn exited with Nick right on his heels. Both men were pale. Nick ran around the corner of the house and leaned over a bush, vomiting.

  “What the fuck happened?” Jen demanded.

  Bjorn, pale and obviously upset, just shook his head and looked at her somberly before answering.

  “You did the right thing killing him, Jen,” he held her gaze while speaking to her. “If he were still alive right now, I’d be the one putting a bullet in him.”

  Tim looked at his friend inquisitively, hoping to get some kind of idea what was going on, but the man just edged around him without even looking his way. Nick moved away from the bushes and made his way through the heavy snow back toward the Jeep, pausing momentar
ily to spit on the man’s dead body before moving past it.

  “Do you think we should?” Jen started to ask, looking at the open doorway.

  “No. No, I think that we should trust by the looks on their faces that there is nothing for us to see,” Tim said, genuinely curious, but unwilling to traumatize himself. “Let’s figure out if we can get the snowmobiles and get out of here.”

  The two lingered on the walkway for a moment longer before they returned to the Jeep. Bjorn was clutching Sophie into his chest in the back of the vehicle.

  “Bjorn, I think we may need your welding skills,” Tim said after a few minutes of waiting patiently for the man to pull away from his daughter.

  “What? Why?” he cast back, turning to address his friend.

  “We found a few snowmobiles. If they run, we should try and bring them in case another opportunity doesn’t arise.”

  “So what do you need my welding for?”

  “See if you can weld that trailer over there to the back of this one,” Tim replied, pointing at a landscaper’s trailer, complete with mowers and a half-dozen line trimmers stored on the side of the garage.

  “That’s a twenty-foot trailer. Let’s just load everything onto that one,” Bjorn answered back.

  “Or that.” Tim smiled sheepishly at the much simpler plan.

  *

  Nala steadied herself and slid out from under the low-hanging boughs of the tree, moving into the open. She quickly and quietly started pulling the rest of her clothes, shoes first. She figured if she was spotted, she would need every advantage possible to get away from the fast ones, and running barefoot across the tumbled mountain rocks wasn’t something she was willing to try. Behind her, the sounds of splashing sent a chill up her spine. Those ones are slow, you have a few seconds, she reassured herself as she painfully struggled to tie her second shoe. Finally, she slipped on her shirt and scooped the rest of her belongings into the oversized lady-purse and glanced around.