The Heartbeat Saga (Book 1): A Heartbeat from Destruction

by Reece Hinze

  “Bridgett, Bridgett, are you okay?” He said, examining her with his black round glasses. He turned her chin this way and that making sure everything was just so.

  “I’m okay,” Bridgett laughed, gently smacking his hands away.

  “I was telling Star Wars but I heard you in trouble.”

  “What episode are you on this time?” Luke asked.

  Apparently satisfied Bridgett was unharmed, John stood and smiled. “We finished episode six yesterday so now we are on episode one again. I was just telling them about how Jar-Jar,”

  “Jar-Jar?” Luke interrupted. He was a Star Wars fan as well and the two had hashed this conversation out countless times. It never failed to prick a nerve with John.

  “How many times do I have to tell you Luke?” John said, putting his fists on his waste and giving him the same stern look he cast on the boy causing trouble minutes earlier. “Jar-Jar Binks is funny and is important to Star Wars. He saved…”

  “Look there,” Luke said, pointing back towards the children. A group of around twenty of them stood in the yard, looking into the trees directly at them. “It looks like your audience wants to hear the story again.”

  John’s breath caught in his throat and he ran his hands nervously through his hair. “They love Star Wars too!” He said laughing. He mumbled a few other things but his voice trailed off because he was walking back towards the kids, waving his hands excitedly.

  Luke smiled.

  He looked brilliant and clear headed today. Luke looked towards Bridgett and the two gazed at each other for a moment. “I brought lunch,” Luke said, showing her a basket. “We had a good run this morning. I was hoping you would join me for a picnic.”

  “A picnic?”

  Bridgett smiled.

  They walked out of the yard and into the woods. Luke took a small path to the left where the main trail went right around an old oak tree. An ancient and faded carving in the big tree had the initials P - B in between a crude heart. Luke missed it completely but Bridgett saw it and then she squealed as she ran through a cobweb and Luke laughed, hugging her close and wiping away the webs, assuring her no spiders hung in her hair. The pair smiled at each other but Luke grabbed her hand and led her through a small thicket of bushes and they were there.

  “I remember this place!” Bridgett said with a gasp. It was a small clearing, just big enough for three or four people to sit comfortably, as beautiful as it was small. Insects and birds filled the forest with noise. Luke hung his basket on a low hanging branch and flipped a blanket into the air like he was fighting a bull and laid it down next to a small patch of blue bonnets. Countless yellow, red, and orange flowers filled the spaces the blue flower of Texas didn’t.

  It was a magical place.

  “We were all just kids when we found this place.” Bridgett smiled, gazing at the flowers.

  Luke picked one and brushed her hair back from her ear before gently placing it. He smelled clean, a refreshing change from the alcohol and body odor of the previous day. “Luke, I…” she began but stopped because he embraced her, bringing his lips to hers. He ran his fingers through her dark hair as they kissed. She resisted at first, tense as a cornered animal, but then let herself go.

  Bridgett thrust her tongue wildly into Luke’s mouth and suddenly the pair couldn’t get enough of each other. Ravenous sexual hunger overtook every thought. She gripped and pulled at his shirt and threw it behind her head as she unbuckled his belt. Luke undressed her in the same frantic way and soon they lay naked together in the grove of flowers.

  Bridgett stared at Luke with glazed hungry eyes. She reached down and found him ready.

  Birds chirped happily overhead, bees buzzed around a nearby honeycomb, and for the third time that day, Bridgett screamed.

  It was full on dark, a good and a productive day. Wade adjusted his rifle sling, crouched, and smiled. Two sleepy eleven year old girls stared back at him. The two shared a large sleeping bag Wade had found on one of the first scavenging trips after they brought the kids back from school. Neither of their parents had shown up since his rescue at the school and he doubted they ever would.

  “You two sleep tight now,” Wade said gently, caressing a head full of blonde curls.

  “We will Mr. Slaughter,” they said in unison before hugging each other and closing their eyes.

  It was dark in the barn loft, the only light coming from a small propane lantern they kept in the middle of the floor on a stool. Wade stepped over child after sleeping child and found his old friend Danny and John chatting softly near the door to the barn. It was their night to guard the kids.

  “But that’s what’s so stupid about it John,” Danny said. Wade could see the red rising to his cheeks, even in the dark light. “They introduced a racist caricature into an ill-plotted prequel which was absolutely horrible. And then in episode two and three, they double downed by making him the most important character in the saga!”

  “No, no, no,” John said. He shook his pudgy arms in front of him and stared daggers through his round black glasses. “You don’t get it at all Danny. Jar-Jar is about bringing Star Wars to a new generation!”

  Wade glanced sideways at John, always astounded by the passion of the man, though Wade never considered anyone so involved in science fiction “normal.”

  “Holy shit, are you guys ever going to ever stop arguing about that movie?” Wade said. “You’re as bad as Luke.”

  John turned to him and cleared his throat before speaking. “Wade, we are debating, not arguing, and Star Wars is a saga, not a movie.” He said the last word with air quotes.

  Wade laughed and shrugged. “Who gives a shit man?”

  John gasped, shocked at his comment. He waved his hands frantically as he replied, “What do you mean who gives a poo? We are talking about one of the most monumental achievements in motion picture history!”

  His tirade woke up a sleeping child nearby. “Oh,” he gasped and went to check on the child without another word.

  “That’s a good guy,” Danny said after John had walked out of ear shot.

  “Hell yes he is,” Wade replied. “The best. I’ve never seen anyone in all my life so genuinely honest and good natured.” He half opened the door. A gust of summer night air shot through the crack. He slapped Danny on his shoulder. Like Wade, the man still wore his police officer’s uniform.

  “You going to see a nice little blonde tonight?” Danny inquired.

  “This night and many more my friend,” Wade replied. “Victoria is making this whole end of the world thing pretty pleasurable.” Both men laughed.

  “Night bro. I’ll see you…” Wade paused to sniff his friend. “Holy fuck man. Just because it’s the apocalypse doesn’t mean you can stop bathing. Shit!”

  Danny waved him off. “Whatever bro. I don’t have any sweet ass to look after on this farm like you do.”

  Wade laughed. “Your time will come my friend! Who knows who the next person to drift by will be?”

  “This sure is some shit huh man? Iraq and back to the States but still in a war zone.” Danny smiled and leaned his head back against the barn’s aluminum siding. “Night brother,” he mouthed.

  “Good night man,” Wade said, patting his friend’s shoulder again.

  Insects buzzed loudly, swirling in the humid night air. The moon was out in full tonight. Wade thought of his Grandfather. An Apache moon he used to call it. Named so because the famed Native American tribe sent their war parties out on nights just like this, or so the legend goes. And Wade was looking at the moon and smiling when he slammed into something solid.

  Coming around the corner of the barn in a hurry was Bobby Atwood. His eyes shot wide when he recognized Wade. He gripped a large tool box to his chest like Wade was about to take it.

  “The fu…”

  “Sorry Wade. Sorry,” Bobby stammered.

  “Yeah, no problem man,” Wade said but Bobby was already gone, walking as fast as he could towards the second barn
where the Atwood family had taken up residence. He opened the door and disappeared inside.

  Fucking strange ass hole.

  Wade shrugged and made his way past the front well and clicked open the small picket fence that lined the yard around the Slaughter home. He was happy to find his brother Paul and old Clifford Worsby sitting on the porch. The only light was the glow of the Apache moon and the soft flare of Clifford’s cigar as he puffed.

  “It’s gunna rain,” Clifford said in greeting.

  “And how do you know that?” Wade asked. He took a seat on the railing of the porch and propped his rifle against his leg.

  “These old bones don’t lie son. See?” The old man dropped an arm down from his chair to pet Bridgett’s wounded Great Dane. The two had grown a liking for each other. “Sophie knows it too.”

  And sure enough, the dog was alert. She looked from this tree to that, examining swaying branches and debris rolling in the wind.

  “You’re a regular dog whisperer huh?” Wade prodded.

  “Just like that kid Jacob,” Paul put in.

  “I ain’t nothin’ like that one. Ya hear me boy?” Clifford responded with surprising force. The comment sucked the good humor out of the moment. “Nothin’ like him.”

  An awkward silence hung over the men as they looked out at the swirling wind in the yard. Paul cleared his throat but decided whatever he had to say wasn’t worth it.

  Wade glanced at a leaf rolling end over end. “They are a strange group though, aren’t they?”

  “You remember what Mom said about them?” Paul asked. The story didn’t sit right with any of them.

  “I just ran into Bobby. Literally ran into him,” Wade said.

  “Yeah? What was he doing?” Paul asked.

  “I was checking up on the kids and he came busting around the corner of the barn in a hurry. He stammered at me and then hustled into their barn. It was strange.”

  “Almost like he was up to no good,” Clifford said and then spat.

  “Almost like it,” Wade agreed and glanced over at the barn the Atwood’s were staying in. Paul’s half built palisade wall connected to the Atwood’s barn and jutted into the yard. “Nice wall man. That’s a good idea. We have more than enough food for a while. Tomorrow, I’ll give you a hand.”

  Paul nodded. “With the two of us, we can probably finish the entrance tomorrow and…”

  “It’s called a gate boy,” Clifford interrupted. “When you build a wall, you don’t have an entrance you have a gate.”

  Paul raised his hands up in apology. “Alright old man, a gate. Like I was saying, we can probably finish the gate tomorrow and maybe another week to close off the place completely.” He pointed to Clifford. “It was his idea actually. It’s called a palisade wall.”

  “I know what it is,” Wade said laughing. A drop of water fell from the heavens and landed on his cheek, making him flinch. “The rain might slow us down though.”

  “Here it comes boys,” Clifford said. And so it did, gently at first but soon, a full on deluge.

  “I’ve always enjoyed the rain,” Wade mused, content on watching the drops slam into the yard.

  “Somethin’ tells me this will be a bad one,” Clifford said and both brother’s looked at him. “A bad one,” he repeated, rocking in his chair, puffing on his cigar.

  “We better get inside. Let’s check on Dad,” Wade said.

  Rain splattered loudly on the tin roof and already forming puddles in the yard. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Leaves fell to the ground under the relentless bombardment. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled and somewhere in the house, Anne screamed.

  Chapter XVII: The Breaking Point

  Rain pattered the old windows of the downstairs bedroom. The wind howled loudly with the sudden summer storm. Anne held her husband’s hand. She was watching his chest fall up and down under the soft glow of the candle light when the seizure hit him. He gripped her hand hard, so hard he was hurting her, and shook ferociously. She looked around for anything she could put in his mouth to keep her husband from choking on his tongue and found his wallet. She pried out a few credit cards and forced them into his tight mouth. Her hand was going numb.

  “Stop it, stop it!” She shouted as if he were shaking on purpose. The bed cracked and hammered against the wall with Tim’s jerks. Blood dripped from his ears and she screamed again, a terrible shout of pure terror for her husband was drying and she was helpless.

  The scream brought a banging at the bedroom window. Anne ignored it at first but it sounded again, too heavy to be the wind. She turned and saw nothing but the black of the night and streaks of rain racing down the pane. In her trance-like meditation, she had forgotten to draw the curtains. Tim’s shaking intensified. There was a bang at the window again, much louder this time but it was too dark to see. She looked closer. The candles flared with a sudden gust and she saw the white teeth and red eyes. Blood flowed like tears out of his eyes and nose. It was one of her neighbors, Mr. Flowers. He had a look of barely containable surprise on his face when they locked eyes.

  Tim squeezed harder. She could no longer feel her hand. Time slowed. Her husband violently shook in their bed and Mr. Flower’s bleeding eyes stared at her from outside her bedroom window.

  “Mr. Flowers?” she said.

  As soon as she spoke, his look of surprise turned into rage and he screamed a terrible scream that cut through the howling wind and rain and the loud slamming of the bed against the wall as Tim seized. Mr. Flowers raised a fist and slammed it into the window pane. Anne jumped, frightened. Miraculously, the old glass held but Mr. Flowers was already raising his fist again.

  Mr. Flowers shattered the window, spraying glass all over the floor and bed and he reached for her. There was a wanting in his eyes, a primitive craving. Anne’s instincts told her he would stop at nothing to harm her. She tried to run but her husband held her hand tight. She couldn’t get away.

  Till death do us part.

  Pure terror overtook her. Her bowels felt loose and watery. Mr. Flowers leaned through the window to grab at her with a bloody hand. Shards of glass cut his stomach but he was undeterred, reaching farther and farther towards her. His bloody fingers touched her foot and she howled in revulsion. Mr. Flowers propped a leg on to the window. His bloody fingers wrapped around a curtain, dragging it to the ground. He lunged for the kill.

  There was an immensely loud noise and Anne’s senses overloaded. She saw Mr. Flower’s head snap backwards and he fell out of the window leaving only smeared blood and shattered glass behind. The torrential rain poured through. Anne was in a daze. She turned her head to see Clifford holding a smoking pistol.

  “The children!” She screamed. Wade and Paul glanced at each other and turned to sprint out of the room.

  Luke sat straight up, startled from a peaceful sleep. “What was that?”

  Bridgett snuggled closer to him. They lay on their picnic blanket, their quickly discarded clothing littering the surround. “Oh my God, we must have fallen asleep,” she said giggling.

  Luke glanced around in the dark. The woods surrounded them, so comforting and familiar in the day, now threatening and mysterious in the night. The songs of the insects and birds had been replaced by the steady patter of rainfall against leaves. Bridgett smiled innocently at him, her generous breasts exposed shamelessly. The blue moonlight bathed her and shown her naked beauty clearly, even at this time of night. A big drop of water fell from above and splattered her head and she laughed.

  A low rumble of thunder boomed from somewhere in the heavens and Luke sighed and cradled his roaring head.

  Must have just been the storm.

  “What’s wrong?” Bridgett asked, leaning her head against his shoulder.

  He needed a drink.

  “Nothing,” he stammered. “Nothing’s wrong sweetheart. You’re beautiful.”

  Bridgett smiled at him and reached between his legs. As she started pumping her arm, Luke leaned in to kiss her but
then they heard it.

  Gunshots. Lots of gunshots, loud and frantic from the direction of the Slaughter homestead. Bridgett gasped but Luke was already standing, throwing on his clothes. “Get up,” he shouted. Bridgett, snapped out of her romantic revelry and was suddenly very aware they were in the woods, alone, and at night. She glanced around her while frantically grabbing for clothes.

  “That came from the house,” Bridgett said.

  Luke pulled on his boots. “And we’ve been out here for who knows how long.” He was suddenly overcome with anger. How could they have been so foolish? This wasn’t High School. This was the Goddamn End Days and he left his family to fend for themselves. He slipped on his last boot while Bridgett barely had one leg in her pants. “Come on!” he shouted and headed down the trail.

  “Wait!” She called frantically. “Wait!”

  But Luke was running. Branches slapped his face and tore his clothes. He slipped in a puddle of mud but recovered quickly. “Wait!” Bridgett called behind him but the sound was distant and the rapport of gunfire grew louder. He half ran, half slid down the dried creek bed and turned the corner to the last part of the trail and suddenly his home stood before him.

  Luke had never seen so many people before in his life. Packed together, like the vast herds of the near extinct plains buffalo, hundreds, maybe thousands of people clamored up the hill to swarm over the simple barbed wire fence. A half-finished wooden wall blocked some of them but they just went around, pouring into the yard. Some surged over the white picket fence and into his parent’s house but the majority of the pack clamored towards two men running in the yard.

  Luke squinted, trying to determine who they were. Bridgett came up behind him and slapped him hard on the back. “You don’t ever leave me like that again. I was terrified and…” the air caught in her throat as she stared at the scene before them.

  Gunshots rang out in the night. Muzzle flashes illuminated two doomed men as they ran from the horde of infected. Luke’s fists clenched as he realized the men were his brothers. They fired and several infected fell but they didn’t put a dent in the horde.