Raging Inferno: A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Children of the Elements Book 3)

by Alexa Dare

The sight of the chewing of a human hairball poked at Nora’s throat so that with each step a gag jabbed her tonsils in acrid strokes.

  During the hike, with a scientist’s mind, she studied them.

  First of all, they seemed to breathe.

  Second, their heart rate was not normal.

  The pulses in their necks were way far apart to monitor while on the move. They weren’t quite dead but did not possess the logic skills of the living.

  The group of dead had not harmed her but blocked her escape and forced her back to Briar Patch, so her son might have had a hand in this.

  Dread warred hope at the thought of seeing him soon.

  Forced against fallen rock, Nora crawled into a partly caved in tunnel.

  Her Zombie gang waited on shifting feet for her to lead the way.

  Even in the shadows, she discerned the peak was no more.

  Piles of rocks sunk into the ground in mounds, as tall as houses, like grave markers for the lost project. Rubble blocked most of the tunnel opening, but since the troops kept her from backing away, she climbed inside.

  Her son, with his miraculous power, must have created a virus or bacteria. Yet how did the disease transmit and propagate? How did he guide these creatures’ actions?

  How could a person of science grasp the existence of such creatures?

  And the locals thought she and the children were freaks.

  Her nervous giggle rode high in her mouth. She dared not try to swallow but breathed through the sourness rising in her throat. Their shuffling and the reek of dead flesh didn’t help as she crouched, held out her hands before her, and trudged along the lightless tunnel.

  “Nora, welcome home,” Vincent called from up ahead.

  She stepped forward. Her foot, then her knee met with bruising rocks and debris. Feeling her way along, she crawled over a rock pile into the hallway near Vincent’s lead-lined room.

  In the glow of numerous lanterns, her son held out his arms in an inviting gesture.

  For the span of stuttering heartbeat, Nora considered wrapping her monster-making arms around her proudest achievement in a motherly death-delivering embrace.

  “We found the perfect place for our lair. They don’t seem to mind the briars at all.” Vincent’s usual neat haircut looked as if he’d taken a hunting knife and sawed-off hunks of hair near the scalp every few inches or so. “You must be happy to be home. The place is not anywhere near as tidy, but my new friends will get the tunnels cleaned out in no time.”

  “Friends?” Surely, he didn’t mean… “Are there others here with you, Vincent? Did some of the militia men and women join you here?”

  “Of course, you met some of those that were gracious enough to escort you to me. You must be tired. Your quarters are not yet accessible, but I have placed a pallet in mine so you may rest.”

  “I’m, uh, much too wired to rest. This new affliction, do you have any idea the cause?”

  “Ah, your curious scientist’s mind. I drew the picture, and the pestilence found a home.”

  “The ones on the rock face or on the barns? You only drew that to warn away those that might harm you, didn’t you?”

  “The one back at the camp.” Vincent smiled such a sweet boyish grin. “A sketch of Yates in blood on my palm.”

  “But, Yates didn’t...” She glanced back over her shoulders at the growling and scuffling in the earthy tunnel darkness.

  “When you ended his life, you set the pestilence free.”

  “Yates was the source.” Nora shook her head. “Patient zero. He knew about this sickness.”

  Vincent lifted and dropped one shoulder. “Most certainly. I told him so he would know that I was the one to blame.”

  An out-of-it tingling spun behind her eyes. “That’s why Yates let me kill him.” What a fool she’d been. “So Airborne, then. How fast does the virus kill?”

  “It does not.” The symptoms lie dormant until the carrier dies. Then the disease activates when the heart stops.” He jutted out his chin. “Ironic, is it not?”

  “Once dead, the carriers reanimate.”

  “Right away, as if they do not want to miss any of the fun.”

  Nora paced a jagged path through the debris. “Were all the labs destroyed?”

  “The tunnels to the lab and the medical bay are blocked. I can set the crew to work on it right away, if you prefer.” Vincent snapped his fingers.

  A bearded man, possibly from the militia group, one arm injured, crawled out of the crevice, pawing with a single arm. One side of his face drooped, and his slack lips revealed dental silver-filled lower teeth. The grinding of his teeth stereoed with a guttural growl.

  “Vincent, they seem base, like wild animals. Never mind the stench of decay, what if they turn on you?”

  “Do not worry. I ensure they dine in style. To continue on, they must feed.” He tucked his hands behind his lower back and stuck out his chest. “They shall clear the corridor for you. After all, I know how much your work means to you.”

  “Vincent, there is no project anymore.”

  “We have always been part of the project, and now you are in charge. I am so proud of you.” Vincent tugged as his earlobe.

  In the flicker of the lanterns, she squinted at a glint of metal. “You’ve pierced your ear.”

  A wood screw, an inch long and at least a quarter inch thick, stuck out with the silver head at the front and the sharp point aimed back, served as an earring. Blood spotted the redness of his earlobe.

  A muscle twitched in her jaw.

  Vincent tilted his head and preened for her.

  The brown on the screw tip—rust or blood—sent her heart racing. “You need peroxide or alcohol.”

  “In time.” Vincent motioned toward the metal box. “For now, you need to rest.”

  “Vincent. There’s no time to rest. I need to do studies. I have to figure out how prolific this disease is. We have to assist Brody in resetting the EMFs to stop the skewed elements. There’s too much to do.”

  The rest of the zombies climbed through the half-open tunnel entry like maggots from a run-over possum.

  Half-gagging, instinct kicked in when the closest invaded her space, and she grabbed the dead man’s wrist.

  No pulse. Wait. A mere flutter.

  The man staggered. He stood stock-still for a moment, then with a pop of his neck as he turned his head, he shambled away.

  So, she might disrupt their hearts, but she could not halt the beating, at least not for good, with her touch.

  The zombies kept coming until they backed her into Vincent’s old metal-lined room.

  “You’re locking me away.”

  “You are the project head. We are merely ensuring you are safe.”

  “I don’t need to be sheltered. There’s a lot we must do. We need to plan.”

  “The dead have no need of plans. I will take care of you and them, for I am their king.” Vincent toyed with the screw piercing his earlobe and sneered.

  Nora’s skull ballooned. The thump of her heart plugged her ears and a metallic tang capped her teeth. A failure—as a scientist, project manager, and a woman. Most of all, she fell short as a mother.

  Why had she let things get this far off center?

  How?

  Nora backed into the shadows, away from the zombies shuffling in front of the door.

  “Rest well,” Vincent said from the hallway. “My friends shall watch over you.”

  “Vincent, don’t leave me. You have to listen.”

  Instead, the King of the Undead, wearing a grand cloak of rot and pungent sweat, walked away.

  Chapter 15

  Inside an abandoned Mountain Springs Bed and Breakfast Inn’s kitchen, all deep golden wood and shiny chrome, Brody, with a waded-up paper towel, wiped up the pancake mix he slopped from the bowl.

  Without a sign of the owners, Uncle Merv and his band of children, plus two, settled in as if they were at home.

  Uncle Merv, right at ease in the
B&B, stood at the flat top stove with a side built-in griddle. He stacked two cartons of eighteen eggs and three pounds of bacon on the counter beside the stove.

  “Can we take the banana out of the pancakes and add more chocolate chips?” Darcy Lynn sat on a stool at the island counter and rattled a lidded bowl of chips.

  “I reckon we’ll see what we can do, little missy.” The tiny apron across Merv’s middle teased a smile every time Brody glanced at the big man. “Especially since we’re making breakfast for a nighttime supper.”

  Abe and Hannah tromped in from the rear of the inn.

  “We haven’t found anyone, but there’s a stable of half a dozen horses all fed and tended to,” Hannah washed her hands in the three-basin sink.

  “Lots of extra hay piled up for them,” said Abe.

  The outdoor smell of hay and horsehide didn’t last long beneath the banana pancake batter and the sizzle of bacon.

  “Can I go see the horsies?” asked Darcy Lynn.

  “Pancakes.” Abe closed his eyes and drew in a mega breath. “Ah, do I smell bacon?”

  Brody inhaled the mouth-watering aromas . Ah, this was what normal felt like.

  “Darcy Lynn and Brody have scrubbed up, so you go ahead and get showered.”

  “Oh, please, Merv.” Abe, arms at his side, tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “We all know Hannah’s washed up already.”

  Merv’s belly laugh flapped his apron like a hula skirt.

  “Who’s going to help Junior get a bath?” Hannah giggled. “He’s covered in mud.”

  Laughter burst into guffaws.

  “Darcy Lynn.” Junior, at the big dining room table, stopped buttering bread for toasting and choked out a barking chuckle. “Must be windblown.”

  “So Abe would be…uh, all sooty?” Darcy Lynn balanced on her knees in a stool-type chair at the counter. The confused look on her little girl face ratcheted the humor. “I don’t want bananas, but I want to pet the horses.”

  The entire group laughed until Brody’s side ache rivaled the uneasiest in his chest. Gripping the counter, he put down the spoon to keep from flicking batter all over the place.

  Abe leaned against the fridge for support. Hannah held on to the island. Merv cooked with one hand and gripped his jiggling belly with the other. Darcy Lynn, her face scrunched with confusion, sort of chuckled and jigged her shoulders like she got their humor but didn’t.

  Seated at the table, just inside the dining room with his foot propped in an extra chair, Junior, his face beyond red, sat aside the butter knife and hugged himself and his fresh-washed marble bag tight.

  Brody feared his happy tears would thin out the pancake batter.

  With a wave of his spatula, Uncle Merv shooed the twins out of the kitchen. “The generator’s running, and there are four bedrooms with showers upstairs and a two-bedroom suite down here. Miss Irene’s showering in the suite as we speak. So, first shower, then we eat.” Merv propped his other hand on his hip. “No scrub. No grub.”

  “Oh, hearing such gleeful laughter sure does my heart good,” Irene smiled from the all-wood dining room. “To the shower, Merv. I’ll tend the stove.”

  Merv’s face deepened to a ruddy red. “Aw, Irene…”

  “It won’t work. She’ll outsmart you in a minute.” Hannah scooped up a dishtowel and flicked it toward Merv’s apron bulge.

  Abe’s brows wagged. “Might as well do as she says. Take it from us, you can’t win.”

  Irene’s green eyes sparkled, and her face, with one side only a tad pinker from the burns, lifted into a full smile. “Didn’t I hear someone say something about no scrub, no grub?”

  With a sigh that might rival a Hannah snit, Merv set aside the spatula and slumped his shoulders. Head hung, he shuffled toward the hallway. His brows drawn together in worried curves, he cast a longing glance at the stove, then at Irene as he clomped out of sight.

  A snicker caught in Brody's throat and then a chuckle burst from his chest. “I’ve never seen Uncle Merv so hangdog sad.”

  While his uncle la-la-laaaaed in the shower, Irene oversaw the griddle and the sizzling skillet.

  Ever the assistant cook, Brody poured out huge circles of pancake batter on the large griddle. “I don’t see how you know they’re done on one side if you can’t see the bottom.”

  “The batter bubbles all the way through.” Irene fanned the spatula at the banana-filled steam. “You’ll see.”

  “Where do you think the inn owners are?” asked Brody/

  “Grocery run.” Irene worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “Errands, maybe…”

  “No guests, and the staff is missing.” Brody waited for the yellow circles to bubble. The fragrance of butter as cooking oil and the frying bacon filled Brody’s nose, caused his mouth to water, and inspired his stomach to gurgle and growl. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “Nothing feels right anymore.” Irene cut her gaze toward Darcy Lynn.

  The little girl hugged the small tub of chocolate chips. Around the curved edge of the container, the tips of her little fingers twitched as if she longed to play with wind and be a carefree kid fishing with her grandpap again.

  “Did, um, Uncle Merv somehow have something to do with rescuing you up at the cabin?” Brody shrugged. “I mean you two didn’t say how you met up after Cantrell rescued you from the Safe Room out at Uncle Merv’s place.”

  “That’s right, we didn’t, did we?” Irene’s lips lifted into one of those feminine mysterious smiles.

  “No, uh, right.” Something niggled in the back of Brody’s noggin, but like with his chest pain, he couldn’t recall when his thoughts last stopped racing. At least, he wasn’t in so much all-consuming pain anymore.

  In no time, at the long formal table minus the white tablecloth, two plate-sized chocolate chip pancakes and half a banana and chocolate chip one later, Brody bemoaned not designing an automated plunger to pack the food down his throat.

  Merv ate his three heaping-plateful portions and everyone else’s leftovers. Food smeared the white apron he used as a makeshift bib, and he shoveled even more food into his mouth, sometimes two-fisted.

  “It’s been a long day. We’ll not worry about clean up and I’ll leave Colonel Dorsey and his family a note. We’ll settle up later for the grub.”

  “From the picture of Dorsey and his wife over the hearth,” Irene said, “the colonel and his wife are a handsome couple.”

  “Er, right.” Merv squirmed in his chair and cleared his throat. “Well, uh, since you kids are cleaned and well fed, I’ll take first watch.”

  “The big high fence will keep us safe.” Darcy Lynn picked chocolate chips out of a crumbled pancake.

  “Top of the line metal-barred security fence.” Merv scooped the leavings on his plate with a piece of toast. “The colonel wouldn’t have anything less.”

  “Then I’ll spell Merv,” Irene stacked plates in one of the three stainless steel sink tubs.

  “Now, Miss Irene…”

  “Don’t Miss Irene me, Merv Thackett, I can be on the lookout and shoot with the best of them.”

  “But…”

  “Two for Irene,” Hannah said.

  “Zero for Merv.” Abe passed a leftover plain banana pancake down to Merv.

  Brody grinned, but looked away. For some reason, his uncle and Irene’s banter heated his cheeks and upped the this-ain’t-happening factor.

  “I’ll tuck the children in.” Irene and the twins carried Junior toward the lower-floor bedroom.

  His tummy full, Brody tromped down the hall to the stairs with their hand-carved curved banister.

  “Me and Junior’ll take the suite. These old knees don’t do stairs,” Merv groaned and patted the wide expanse of his belly. “I’ll be up in a bit and lay on hands.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” Brody shrugged.

  Feet tromped up the steps, and then giggles drifted from the upper story.

  “Thanks for bringing us to th
e inn. The kids needed a normal place, a regular meal, and a good night’s sleep. I, uh, we appreciate it.”

  Merv burped a bacon-heavy banana belch. “Pardon me. Nothing regular about this fine feast. It was superb.”

  “Uncle Merv.” Brody’s cheeks shot extra hot. “You best watch yourself when it comes to that laying on hands. Miss Irene just might be more than you can handle.”

  “Get up them stairs.” Merv wiped his lower face on the bib-apron. “Hmm. Given time you think she might consider giving this ol’ hulk of a man the time of day?”

  Brody gripped the pineapple-shaped stair railing knob. He tried to hide his grin in a shrug. “Maybe in time.”

  Merv nodded. “All fat men need a chance.”

  “You missed a smear of whip cream on your right cheek.”

  “Tell the kids lights out and noise off in thirty minutes or less.” The wooden chair groaned as Merv rocked to his feet.

  “Will do.”

  “Brody, son, about Cantrell—”

  “Not now. Not tonight.” The ache in Brody’s chest erupted. His borrowed boot soles faltered on the stair steps.

  Maybe Uncle Merv’s healing hands might be a good idea.

  Brody took a back step.

  Merv, elbows propped on the long formal dining table, buried his face in the small apron. His shoulders and chest rose and fell in breathy close-to-silent sobs.

  Knots twisting his insides, Brody bolted up the steps. The steps creaked beneath Brody’s fleeing tiptoe run upstairs.

  The cozy antiqued bedroom of deep blues and deep reds welcomed Brody as if he were an inmate wrongly accused released from his cell and returning home.

  “Brody?” Darcy Lynn peeked into the bedroom. Her rosy cheeks flushed, and her eyes pooled with unshed tears.

  “I didn’t mean to, but I…I…I left Fluffy Dog in the ATV.”

  Brody patted the bed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” She sucked in quick sips through her nose. “I just plain forgot.” She crawled onto the high-set bed. With her chin on her chest, she sat hunched and breathing in sob-like sucks.

  Brody sat on the bedside across from a small, unlit fireplace, coated with a thick layer of damp, acrid soot, promised way more coziness than a man could stand.