Alex Rains, Vampire Hunter (Book 2): Hell Night

by Kincade, Matt

  Alex glanced back. The zombies still crowded around the front of the building, mesmerized by the sight of Emily. They reached the side door of the maintenance shed. “Okay,” whispered Alex, “give me a few seconds with this lock.”

  Buck looked at the crowd of zombies shuffling away. “Hey, no hurry, man. Just take your time.”

  ***

  The zombies grew more and more agitated. They crushed in closer, reaching blindly toward Emily, moaning and gasping. They chanted, “Come to me, my queen . . . My Eve . . . Zipporah . . . Bathsheba . . . you will sit at my side upon judgment day . . .”

  “I… I don't understand!” cried Emily. “What are you hoping to accomplish?”

  “A purging . . . a cleansing . . . a new world . . . A new world for the righteous . . . for the chosen . . .”

  ***

  Alex squatted down next to the maintenance shed door and fished delicately with the lockpicking rake, his other hand gently pressing on the tension wrench. He felt one last tiny click, and the lock cylinder turned. Alex rotated the tension wrench until the deadbolt retracted. He turned the knob. The door opened. “Got it,” he whispered. He eased the door further open. Buck stepped inside. Alex grabbed the roll of chicken wire and followed after him.

  ***

  Billings peered through the tiny window in the high school's back door. He saw Alex turn the lock and pull the door open for Buck. Alex picked up the roll of chicken wire and maneuvered it in through the door. The door shut again. Tom turned and flashed a thumbs-up to Billings, who in turn relayed the signal to Rachael. Rachael got Emily's attention and made a cutting motion in front of her own throat.

  Emily nodded slightly, then turned back to the crowd of undead. “I don't know, Mr. Sinder,” she said. “It's . . . it's a lot to digest. Can you understand that? I have to think about it. Please, just don't hurt anyone else.” She stepped away from the edge.

  As she climbed back down the ladder, the chorus of voices outside rose to a frenzy. “Emily . . . Emily . . . my love . . . my queen . . .”

  She still heard them as she climbed down. Josh held the ladder steady and gave her a hand for support as she reached the ground.

  Emily managed to take her hands off the ladder before she burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God, he's completely insane,” she moaned. “Why is he doing this to me? I mean, why me? Why couldn't he find some other girl to creep over?” She looked at Rachael. “I mean, you're hot. Why couldn't he obsess over you?”

  Rachael laughed. “Yeah, it's a real shame.”

  “I'm sorry,” said Josh.

  Emily buried her face in his shoulder. “I can't take any more of this,” she cried. “I just can't.”

  He ran a hand down her hair. “It'll be over soon. They'll get the bus started, and we'll be out of here.”

  “And then what?” she asked.

  “And then we'll figure something out.”

  ***

  The garage smelled like motor oil and cold cement. Buck held one end of a blue tarp against the window while Alex secured it with duct tape. “So, hey, man,” said Buck. “I guess you and Rachael have a thing going?”

  “What makes you . . .” Alex ripped off another section of tape. He blushed. “Oh. Y'all heard.”

  “She never could keep it down.”

  “Ah . . . So . . . you and her . . .”

  Buck nodded.

  “She never mentioned that.”

  “She wouldn't.”

  “I didn't know, man. Not tryin' to step on anyone's toes.”

  Buck waved a hand. “Ancient history. Don't worry about it. I just wanted to get that out there. Just . . . just watch yourself. She doesn't let anybody get too close.”

  Alex laughed. “If you'da met my last girl, you wouldn't be too worried about me.”

  They finished sealing the edges of the tarp around the window. Alex lit a few candles and stuck them to the top of the tool chest. “Where do we start?”

  “Hell, I don't know.” Buck popped the engine compartment on the old yellow bus and peered inside. “I guess we just start wrapping shit in tinfoil and chicken wire until the bus starts.”

  “Dang, I'm glad I brought you along. Couldn't a figured that out on my own.”

  ***

  They sat around the little camp fire. Billings threw a few more scraps of wood onto the blaze. The heap of dismembered zombies had begun to attract flies. Outside, the horde of dead moaned and wheezed, thumping against the windows, scratching on the glass. They still chanted, “Emily . . . Emily . . . Emily . . .”

  “I wish they'd just stop that,” said Emily, with a shudder.

  “You and me both,” said Rachael. “And you know what, you're right. I'm insulted. Why aren't they chanting my name? Where's my horde of undead worshipers? I mean, what am I, Dan? Chopped liver? No room in your heart for a brazen biker slut?”

  Billings poked at the fire with a metal yardstick. “Apparently, no love for elderly geology teachers, either. Well, Dan always was an asshole.”

  “I always thought all you teachers got along,” said Josh. He held Harbaugh's fire ax across his lap and examined the cutting edge by firelight.

  Billings smiled and leaned back. “Mr. Easton, that's a thing we call professional courtesy. In the real world, we sometimes have to show up for work every day and cooperate with people we despise. Dan never made any bones about the fact that he disliked me. He disliked the entire faculty. We didn't like him much, either.”

  “Am I the only one in town who didn't hate him?” said Emily.

  Josh answered, “Yes.”

  “Rest assured, Emily,” said Billings, “he brought it on himself. We tried to be friendly with him. I think everyone did. He just thought he was better than everyone. I mean, we're seeing the depth of his commitment to his philosophy. He honestly believes he's God's right-hand man. He hates the entire world. He hates this town enough to murder everyone in it. And he is a man who deeply, fervently believes that the world is six-thousand-years old and was created in six days by an angry, invisible man in the sky. You can imagine that the clarity of the geological record is not something of which he wants to be reminded.

  “As long as I can remember, he'd been trying to cut the life-science budget at the school. Luckily for me, this town's lifeblood for the last two hundred years has been mining. They weren't about to cut the geology program. Still, Dan kept trying to sneak biblical creationism into the curriculum. 'Teach the controversy,' and all that nonsense. He challenged me to a debate once about the validity of evolutionary theory. I don't think I'm bragging when I say I wiped the floor with him. He never tried that again.”

  Josh laughed bitterly. “I remember he spent an entire class period one time explaining to us how improbable it was that the bombardier beetle just evolved by random chance and why bananas disprove evolution,” said Josh. “And he kicked someone out of class for wearing a Harry Potter shirt.”

  “That sounds about like Dan,” Billings responded. “He's the only teacher I've ever met that really seemed to enjoy crushing students. In the teacher's lounge, he'd gloat about it. 'You should have seen the look on so-and-so's face when I handed his exam back.' I never did understand how someone so highly educated could be so willfully ignorant. We all rode him a little. He was like the kid brother who was too much fun to mess with.”

  “All I know about him is that he's a shitty tipper,” said Rachael, “and he always found something wrong with his meal. I should have poisoned him when I had the chance.” She paused for a moment. “God, I want a cigarette.”

  Josh laughed again. “You know who he reminds me of? He reminds me of my dad.”

  “How so?” asked Billings.

  “Oh, just the way he finds a Bible verse to justify any asshole thing he wants to do. Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him. That was always my dad's favorite. When he'd . . . I used to read the Bible just so I could spit quotatio
ns right back at him, and he'd get so mad . . .” Josh laughed softly and stared into the fire.

  Nobody spoke for a moment. Emily leaned against Josh. “All this time,” she said, and shuddered, “I assumed Mr. Sinder was treating me like his daughter. How could I be so blind? Everybody else in school hated him. I thought they were just jealous because they weren't working hard enough. Because they weren't as good as me.”

  “Hon,” said Rachael, “I hate to say it, but you've just learned a valuable lesson. Men are completely full of shit. They'll say and do anything to get in your pants.” She laughed once, short and sharp. “And they want to rule the world with zombies, apparently.”

  “Not all men,” said Josh.

  “I stand corrected,” said Rachael. “Not all men. Just most of them.” She smiled and winked at Josh. “There are decent guys out there. Lord knows I don't know where they're all hiding. But if you manage to find one, you'd better hold on to him, because you found the pony under the shit pile. God, I want a cigarette.”

  “So . . .” Billings leaned forward again and cupped his hands in front of the campfire. “How long do you think it's going to take them with that bus?”

  ***

  In the garage, Buck's feet stuck out from under the bus. “Okay, hand me another.”

  Alex tore off a strip of aluminum foil and passed it under the bus to the mechanic. Foil crinkled, and Buck swore loudly.

  Alex cringed and glanced towards the window. “Hey, man, keep it down. There's still zombies out there.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Buck scooted out from under the bus and stood up, dusting himself off. “Okay, I think I've got all the main components shielded. Let's give it a try.”

  Alex climbed the stairs up into the bus, carrying a lit candle that he set on the dash. The interior of the bus was gray metal with two rows of dark-green, vinyl seats. He swung into the driver's seat behind the big round steering wheel and turned the key. “Nothin'.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Buck wiped grease from his hands. He squatted and looked into the opened engine compartment at the rear of the bus. The whole thing was cocooned in multiple layers of chicken wire mesh, individual components wrapped in tinfoil. “I don't get it,” he muttered. “I've covered up every electrical component I can find. I mean, the engine bay by itself should damned near do the trick. What am I missing?”

  Alex leaned against the side of the yellow bus. “Well, did it run before the apocalypse hit?”

  “That'd be hilarious, wouldn't it?”

  “If you mean hilarious in a we're-all-gonna-die kind of way, then yeah. Hilarious.”

  “Okay. Let's think. Starter motor, check. Fuel pump, check. What am I . . .” He slapped his forehead. “The ignition switch. I'm an idiot.”

  They walked to the front of the bus and stared at the keyhole embedded into the dash. “How are we gonna work this?”

  “I don't know yet,” said Buck. “Give me a minute.”

  ***

  Josh shimmied up the ladder to the roof, crouched low, and looked out over the sea of zombies. The sky began to lighten, the stars in the east disappearing as black faded into blue. Rachael climbed up behind him. The dead below still crowded in close, bumping and stumbling into each other, gnashing and growling. Still no sign of life from the bus garage.

  “Where do you think Dan is right now?” said Josh. “I wonder if he's watching us.”

  “Who cares?” Rachael answered. “I just hope they've got that bus worked out, because I don't know what the hell else we're going to do.”

  ***

  Buck had the dashboard disassembled and strewn across the floor of the bus. He held the ignition switch—and the wires leading to it—in his hand. He put the key in the keyhole. Alex handed him a few more sheets of aluminum foil, and he wrapped them around the whole thing—keys, wires and all. “Okay,” he said. “We just grab the key through the foil and turn. Should work.”

  “You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Yeah, but now I mean it. Here goes nothin'.”

  He grabbed the shapeless lump of aluminum foil with both hands and twisted. He heard a single click.

  “Shit,” said Alex.

  “It clicked. A click is progress. You know what, I know that noise.” Buck walked to the engine compartment and tapped the starter motor sharply with a mallet. “Try it now.”

  Alex turned the key one more time. The engine grudgingly turned over. “Hot damn,” he said. He tried it again. The engine wunk-wunk-wunked a few more times before it finally caught. The rattling purr of a cold diesel engine filled the garage. Black smoke poured from the tailpipe. “We'd better be quick,” he said, “or we're going to die of carbon monoxide poisoning instead of zombies.”

  “I hear you. Just give her a minute to warm up, and we're out of here.”

  From outside the door, Buck heard a thump and a moan. The big roll-up door rattled as something struck it. “Time's up,” he said. “They know we're in here.”

  ***

  Back up on the roof, Josh paced restlessly. He heard a noise from the garage, the crank of an engine. The zombies heard it, too. Half of them broke off and ran at a shuffling lope toward the bus shed. He leaned down over the courtyard. “Hey, you guys,” he said, “I think we'd better get ready.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The diesel engine's rattle smoothed and quieted as fluids circulated and the engine warmed up. Alex goosed the throttle, and the bus shook. “I think we're about ready to go.”

  “This is going to be tricky,” said Buck. “There's a lot of them out there. We'll have to be quick. As soon as I open this door, they're going to come pouring in here.”

  “Well . . .” Alex pondered for a moment. “Who says we gotta open it? How strong do you guess that roll-up door is?”

  Buck grinned. “I like the way your mind works. Okay, let's Dukes of Hazzard this shit.”

  Alex sang, “Jee-ust-a good old boys . . .” He jammed the shifter into reverse, revved the old diesel engine, leaned around to look behind, and dropped the clutch.

  The bus's tires chirped on the cement and, the old beast lurched backward. The roll-up door split like paper and birthed the big yellow bus into the world. The square back end of the bus mowed down zombies like a bulldozer. The dead thumped against the back bumper and folded under the bus. Blood splattered on the rear window, and the rear tires ran over zombies with wet, meaty crunches. Alex kept backing up through the crowd and onto the blacktop ball courts.

  The zombies limped and shuffled toward the bus from all directions.

  Alex slammed on the brakes, jammed the gearshift into first, and took off again. The tires screamed as he pulled a wide turn on the basketball courts. More zombies slammed into the grill, bouncing off the flat front of the bus, churning under the wheels. Blood sprayed the windshield. “Whoo-ee!” Alex yelled. “Now we're talkin'! I hope them folks inside are ready.” He flicked a switch on the dashboard. “Shit,” he said, “windshield wipers don't work.”

  Next to him, Buck stood and held onto a vertical metal support pole. “Sorry man, I didn't think of that. Next time.”

  Alex pulled around in a wild circle, flinging broken zombie carcasses all across the playground. The bus screeched to a halt in front of the school's back doors. Rachael and Josh peered through the door's glass inset. Alex waved. They pushed the doors open.

  Alex pulled the hydraulic release handle, and the bus's passenger door honked open. “All aboard!” he yelled.

  They filed in, stomping up the metal steps and sitting on the green vinyl seats—Josh, then Emily, Rachael, Billings, and Tom. Already, zombies squeezed into the narrow space between the bus and the school. Tom leveled his pistol, blasted three zombies, then jumped up into the bus. Alex pulled the lever again, and the door swung shut.

  “Alright, kiddies,” said Alex, “buckle up. We're gettin' the hell out of here.”

  “School buses don't have seatbelts,” said Josh.

  “Oh, yeah.”
Alex shrugged. “Well, shit, just hold on to something.”

  Rachael said, “If anybody starts singing 'The Wheels on the Bus,' I'm going to stab them.”

  The survivors sat uneasily and peered out the window like students on a macabre school field trip.

  Zombies surrounded the bus. Alex gunned the engine, let out the clutch, and rammed through them. Bones crunched and innards splattered as the bus skidded over a pile of zombies. Josh looked down from his window in time to see red gush from beneath the wheel, leaving a ten-foot splatter on the blacktop.

  “I'm startin' to wish this thing had four-wheel drive,” muttered Alex. He shifted into second, plowing through a chain-link fence and swerving left onto Old Mine Road.

  The bus left the crowd of zombies behind. Alex pulled a squealing right turn at the corner of Old Mine and Main, past the burnt-out library and the sheriff's station. Yesterday's bloated corpses exploded under the bus's tires.

  “What about Annie?” said Rachael. “Do we stop for her?”

  The bus slowed and rolled to a stop in front of the old saloon. They stared at the broken-in front doors. “I think we're too late,” said Alex.

  “Look up ahead,” said Billings. “I really don't think we have time to find out.”

  Alex looked to where Billings pointed. His face fell. “Well, dip me in shit and roll me in bread crumbs.”

  Up ahead, in the space between Rudy's diner and the pharmacy, a mob of zombies pushed Harbaugh's patrol car into the middle of the street. An old Toyota pickup appeared from the alley on the other side. A dozen zombies worked in concert, pushing at its back bumper. Another one sat behind the wheel and steered the car into position.

  “I don't believe this shit,” said Tom.

  “Motherfuckers better not touch my '55,” Alex muttered.

  “Go,” said Buck. “Go, go, go!”

  “Damn right.” Alex floored it. The bus squealed into motion.

  Even more zombies appeared. They pushed anything they could find out into the road—bicycles, dumpsters, trash cans, all heaped into a haphazard roadblock. With a terrifying unity of purpose, the crowd of zombies lifted and flipped the patrol car onto its side. One zombie stumbled around with a gas can and doused the pile with fuel. Another lit a road flare. The whole mess went up, along with half a dozen zombies. The flaming corpses staggered toward the bus.