Haven couldn’t believe the dire reality of the situation. They weren’t supposed to follow them into the water. Instead, she’d figured that they would crowd the shoreline near the house. Surely they couldn’t swim. Swimming required coordination, and from what she had seen, their coordination had been comical at best. But they weren’t deep enough in the water yet. The canoe moved along sluggishly, mired in only a few feet of water.
Without thinking, Haven swung the paddle against the massive ghoul’s face. Aside from dislocating its jaw, it did little to deter the creature. With lightning speed, it grabbed hold of her grandmother, yanking her weak form towards its gaping mouth, bits of flesh from its last victim still hanging from its teeth.
Haven lifted the paddle again and this time, slammed it into the zombie’s throat. It fell into the water clumsily, but clutched the end of the canoe as it collapsed and soon pulled itself back up.
The little boat dipped dangerously low into the water. Brett paddled furiously from the bow, trying to keep the boat steady in spite of the battle taking place at the stern.
More undead reached them, waist-deep in the water. The zombie from before snatched one of Rosemary’s arms once more and began dragging her away. Haven screamed in protest and scrambled forward instantly, jerking her grandmother’s body back by her legs. The enormous zombie was stronger, and before they knew it, they were being pulled back towards the shore, back to the hungry monsters awaiting them.
In spite of this, Haven’s grip on her grandmother didn’t falter. She refused to give up. She could still save her.
Rosemary’s eyelids fluttered, and she groaned as she was tugged in two different directions. She looked around groggily, trying to fight the infection that was consuming her.
Even at the edge of delirium, she noticed the panic-stricken expressions of her grandchildren and following their eyes, saw that they were being jerked back to the shore, towards certain violent deaths.
Rosemary shakily reached for the machete resting at her side, the weapon teetering in her grasp. Her eyes were almost entirely clouded, but she managed to fasten her gaze on her grandchildren.
“Let me go,” Rosemary whispered above the moans, her expression a mixture of determination and sadness. She looked right at her eldest grandchild.
Haven shook her head, tears pouring freely then.
“No,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Let go, baby,” Rosemary repeated hoarsely. “And know that I love you.”
It was the last time they ever saw her. Several pairs of gnarled, mangled hands suddenly grasped Rosemary’s body. Roughly yanked backwards out of the canoe, she was ripped forcefully from Haven’s fingers.
Haven sat perfectly still for a second as she registered what had happened, her face streaked with dirt and water, and her mouth agape in shock. Then she leapt to the stern of the boat, screaming as the zombies thrashed and muddied the water while they fought over Rosemary’s torn limbs. Dark scarlet liquid bubbled up to the surface.
“NO!” she screamed, fury and pain searing through her. She grabbed the Ruger and began firing into the mound of zombies as they feasted. When the gun was empty, she took another step.
Brett sensed that she was about to jump in and lunged forward, clutching the bottom of her jacket.
She punched at him wildly, spittle frothing at her lips as she fought him, kicking and struggling to get out of the boat.
“No, Haven! NO!” he yelled at her. “She’s gone! You can’t help her!”
Her screams of rage turned into anguished sobs.
Some of the zombies turned to look at her, staggering to their feet with the enticement of more food. Brett held her tightly against himself, not sure what to do next. If he let her go, there was a very strong possibility, knowing his sister, that she would risk her own life to avenge the death of her grandmother. He was well aware that in this moment, she could not be trusted to be rational. If they didn’t get out of there fast, they would be the next ones consumed by the undead.
In his desperation to save Haven, he hadn’t heard the sound of a motor behind them.
Out of thin air, a large hand reached out to him.
He looked up to see a tall man with brown hair and calm green eyes standing in a small motorboat alongside the canoe.
Brett faintly registered that he was wearing a kilt.
The man extended his hand again.
“Hello there. We’ll have time for introductions later, but for now, I think you guys had better get aboard,” the stranger said in a heavily accented, deep voice.
Brett lifted Haven and bodily handed her to the man. He gently picked her up and sat her down on a cushioned seat in the boat. Then he turned to Faith and Brett and helped them cross over from the canoe just as the zombies reached it, fresh gore and curly gray hair pasted on their faces. Brett shut his eyes and cringed.
The man guided the boat away quickly, steering them in the direction of the isolated side of the lake.
“I’m Colin, by the way,” he offered, breaking the silence as he resumed his position at the helm.
Brett was too shaken up to answer. He held on to his sisters realizing that they were the last two remaining members of his family.
Chapter 23:
Colin glanced behind him at the people he had just rescued. They were visibly distraught and silent. He’d approached their boat just as an elderly woman had been yanked into the water from their canoe and devoured before their very eyes. He could only assume that losing her was the source of their melancholy.
Earlier when his boat had gotten closer to the swarmed shoreline, his attention had been focused on the dark-haired young woman. She’d fought viciously against the zombies, and when the older woman had been pulled in, he had witnessed the brunette tried to tear out of the young man’s arms to help her. However crazy that maneuver was, he had to admit that she had a fire, or perhaps an insanity, in her that he admired, to which he was automatically drawn.
He threw a quick look over his shoulder at her as he steered the boat back to the lake house. She was sitting alone in the back, her eyes focused on her home as it grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Her long hair whipped about her face, but she ignored it, her jaw tense. He noticed a thin trail of tears along her cheek. In spite of the situation, it hadn’t escaped Colin that she was beautiful.
The blonde girl wept openly, but the young man with them was stoic, hugging his knees to his chest as he watched the brunette.
Finally noticing Colin, Brett nodded to him.
“Thanks for saving us back there.”
Colin nodded. “Don’t mention it.” He kept his eyes on the lake.
Brett stood and made his way to the front of the boat. “How did you know...?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “You can hear them from across the bloody lake. That constant... moaning. Plus, the gunshots kind of gave you away. I figured they were after something living. You guys are the first ones I’ve seen in a good while.”
Brett extended his hand. “I’m Brett. Sorry we haven’t been more... talkative. That was our grandmother, the one who...” His voice trailed off, laced with sorrow, and he glanced at Haven.
Colin patted him on the back. “Hey, don’t worry about it, mate. I’m sorry about your grandmum.”
Brett leaned against the side of the boat. “Yeah. Me, too. This virus... It’s destroying so much.” He sighed heavily and was silent for a few minutes, rubbing his eyelids tiredly. Eventually he asked, “So, you live here? Where’s that accent from?”
Colin chuckled disdainfully. “I wish I’d never set foot in this country. I was visiting my father for a few weeks when all of this shit started happening. When I’m not fighting zombies, I live in Scotland.”
“Oh,” was all Brett managed to say.
“So what is your family going to do now?”
Brett’s shoulders slumped. “I have no idea. Haven is the organized one who usually comes up with a Plan B, but... she’s ob
viously not up to that right now.”
Colin gestured to Haven. “Is that Haven?” When Brett nodded, Colin said, “She’s got a lot of fire, that one.”
Brett smiled ruefully. “Ah, you saw that, huh? Yeah, she does. But she won’t take this well. She and Grandma were really close.”
The moans of the zombies still reverberated across the lake. There were so many of them. Their ravaged arms reached out to the boat pleadingly, hungrily. But for now, they were unable to follow the little boat with its whirring motor.
Colin stared ahead of them as he slowed the boat and pulled alongside the small dock near the lake house. “You know, I have a theory. I think that with something like this, you have to do what you need to do to survive. You can’t just stop and give up. You have to keep going. She’s a survivor. You can see it. I’m telling you, mate, she’ll make it through.”
***
Houston thought he heard barking. Lots of barking. Maybe it was just a dream. He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.
He groaned and shifted slightly on the log. His eyes fluttered open when a paw landed on his head, Texaco leaping around and snarling like a crazed animal.
“What the…?”
Houston almost went into cardiac arrest when a pair of sunken white eyes met his mere inches from his face.
He let out a surprised yell and twisted away just as the newcomer opened its jaws and sunk its teeth into the rough bark he’d been sleeping on moments before.
Jumping to his feet on the log, he inhaled sharply when he saw several creatures around him. Five zombies had approached the fallen tree, with the rotting beauty he’d awoken to in the lead. Luckily, the log was high enough that they couldn’t climb it, and it offered sufficient space for him to remain out of their clutches. They reached for him numbly, their hands slapping the log near his boots.
Texaco continued to bark, aggressively pacing back and forth along the trunk and occasionally nipping at any hands that got too close to Houston’s feet. They ignored the Border Collie, more focused on the larger and tastier human prey.
Houston looked at them for a moment. From the looks of it, they were a group of campers. A couple of them still had on their backpacks. Aside from a couple of wounds in different places on their bodies, they were surprisingly intact.
But it was hard to imagine that they’d been people once, living, breathing human beings. Now, the parched, leathery quality of their skin pulled the flesh on their faces taut, twisting their features to appear angry and ghoulish.
They wailed and groaned as he stood there, the eerie noise echoing throughout the forest, bouncing off of the tall pine trees. If there were any others nearby, they would surely come. He wondered how they had been attacked this deep into the forest. He’d seen very few zombies along his journey. And the ones before him now wouldn’t cease their predatory call until they had stripped every last morsel of flesh from his body. Houston knew he was going to have to put them down if he didn’t want to be trailed. If he didn’t, it would only mean dealing with them later.
“Can’t a guy get a decent night’s rest?” he mumbled as he lowered his gun.
Five bullets and five head shots later, he crouched down and reloaded his gun, retrieving ammunition from the small box in his backpack. He rationed a stick of beef jerky, half for him and half for Texaco, and packed up the rest of his scant belongings.
Houston leapt down to the ground and scratched his head. All of the mediocre sleep he’d been getting lately was starting to take its toll out on him. He was more sluggish than he had been the previous days, not as lucid as he wanted to be in a world overtaken by the undead. Additionally, he hadn’t had a shower in days, and their limited supply of beef jerky and candy was swiftly dwindling. Reminding himself not to wallow in self-pity, he decided to be grateful for simply being alive. And having some toilet paper left from the roll he’d taken from his apartment.
At least he wasn’t using leaves.
Thank heaven for small favors, he thought with a slight smile.
A couple of hours later, he came across a clearing in the forest. A small town lay ahead, nestled in a valley beneath the tree line.
In many ways, it looked as though time hadn’t touched this little enclave of society. From his vantage point, he could see old stores and restaurants lining narrow streets and a charming white church at the end of the town.
“Petersburg. Never heard of it,” Houston said softly after taking out his binoculars and noticing a dark green sign with the name sprawled across it in cheerful, welcoming cursive. In the distance, he could also make out the tell-tale signs of a highway. Highways meant traffic, and traffic meant lots of people. So close to the town, it could mean that Petersburg was already overrun with the infected.
While Houston could see pockets of stragglers shambling through the desolate streets, the activity wasn’t overly disconcerting. Yet even from where he stood, there was a certain stench in the air, like old, smelly garbage mixed with cooked liver. Houston held a strong disdain for liver. After battling reeking corpses on a daily basis, he wasn’t planning to change his opinion on the matter any time soon.
He looked up at the sky. With winter approaching, the days had become much shorter, and within a few hours, it would be dusk. Houston figured he could use the darkness as cover to get into the town and pick up some more supplies. He didn’t know when he would come across another town again, and there was absolutely no way he was going into a city even if he happened upon one, especially Atlanta. He decided that he’d better take advantage of the opportunity, gather what he could, and continue on his way.
He sighed and replaced the binoculars. Although he knew how to read the map in his backpack, he, along with the majority of society, was painfully dependent on technology. After unsuccessfully looking at the map to find out where Petersburg was in relation to Haven, he realized that the trip would have been much easier with the Garmin GPS in his car. That handy gadget could find a needle in a haystack. The map he’d packed only showed large towns and cities, and small as it was, Petersburg was not one of them. While such technology was certainly a luxury at his fingertips, he ruefully acknowledged that his reliance on it had crippled him to some degree. Still, being a wilderness guide had equipped him with essential navigational skills, and without them, he couldn’t imagine how the rest of the population was faring.
Houston removed his canteen from the side of his backpack and took a brief swig, then poured a little into the cap for Texaco.
The Border Collie was an excellent watchdog and had saved him on more than one occasion, but it would be next to impossible to traverse through Petersburg undetected if he brought Texaco along. Its automatic reaction upon seeing the infected was to growl, bark, and attack. While helpful if he was in the middle of nowhere sleeping like a baby as he had been this morning, in a town possibly infested by zombies, this would only draw unwanted attention and potentially get him killed.
He knelt down beside the dog.
“I hate to do this, buddy, but you’re going to have to stay here. I can’t have you barking and letting them all know we’re here. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve saved my bacon more than once, and I’m eternally grateful, but this once, you’ve gotta stay put and be quiet.”
Texaco wagged its tail, not understanding.
When nightfall enveloped the landscape in a blanket of darkness, Houston pulled out the rope from his backpack and tethered Texaco up to a tree.
“Stay,” he said sternly, pointing at the dog. Texaco sat still, but whined. “I’m going to walk down there, get some food and water for us, and come right back. No barking, okay?”
Texaco lay down, resting its face on its paws as it looked up at him with sad, uncertain eyes.
Houston hoped his confidence was better than his dog’s.
***
Exhaustion hit the group rather suddenly by the time they finally settled into the lake house. Faith was asleep on Colin’s bed, her mouth wide open as she
succumbed to her weariness and despondence.
Haven sat outside on the beach, refusing to sleep. Brett watched her tiredly from the window in the house.
Colin walked over to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and handed him a blanket. “Get some rest, friend. I’ll watch her.”
At first, Brett looked at him skeptically, unsure whether he could trust the stranger. Upon reflection though, he realized that Colin had rescued all of them, putting himself at great risk while doing so. If he’d wanted to hurt them, he wouldn’t have put his life on the line like that.
Brett gave in, took the blanket, and lay down on the floor.
Colin stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind him.
Haven barely acknowledged him when he took a spot beside her.
“So you’re Haven,” he said, looking out on the lake as she did. It was a clear, crisp autumn day, perfect in every way. The sun sparkled across the lake, orange, yellow, and red leaves dancing along its surface. In the far off distance, Colin could see the tiny outlines of houses dotting the shore.
Haven didn’t answer him, but wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened to your grandmother,” he added softly.
Still nothing. He glanced down at her. Her fists were balled in her lap, her anger palatable.
“I lost my dad.” Colin’s voice cracked slightly. He turned away.
At this, she looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry.”
They sat in silence for a while. Haven seemed to calm down, and she unclenched her fists. He noticed that she had a small pocket knife in her hand. She drew thin, abstract lines in the sand, deep in thought.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” she whispered finally.
Colin ran a hand over his head and exhaled harshly. “I wish I knew. The last thing I remember was my father going to bed after getting really sick. The next thing I know, he’s tearing this girl to shreds, eating her.”
The Good, the Dead, and the Lawless: The Undoing Page 25