“When you hear the boom, you run." He hugged the boys and said, “I love you boys with all my heart." Unable to look the boys in the eyes again Ol’ Randy ignited the flare and charged out the door, waving it over his head in bright, smoke-filled arcs. He pulled the pin with his teeth and hurled the grenade through the air and over the fence. Even the wicked sounds of the storm did little to diminish the thump of the explosion.
Ecky ran for the fence with Bobby and Bryan close behind.
CHAPTER 10
Ecky hit the fence first with the heavy pack weighing him down. He cleared it easily. Bobby followed, making sure to land every link exactly. He twisted to avoid the barbed wire. His right leg caught in the sharp rusty spikes, sending him over in a wild fall. He hit the frozen ground hard, a crunch followed by a rush of pain exploded in his right shoulder. The rucksack and rifle knocked the wind out of him as they slammed into his back. But he did not slow. He rolled over, face skyward. The blizzard was in full swing, and it covered the Settlement in a near whiteout.
Bobby cringed with each round fired from the guard tower. The reports raged over the howling wind and screams. Amid the sniper fire, Bryan clambered up the fence. Bobby reached out to his brother, as if trying to pray him safely over the fence. As Bryan neared the top another crack rent the air.
Bryan would never know what hit him. The fifty caliber bullet hit him center mass, and its powerful kinetic energy tore the husky teenager in half. Muscle, blood and bone splattered the white snow. Bobby screamed at the sight of Bryan’s legs still stuck on the fence mid-climb. He was still screaming when Ecky grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his feet.
“Move, move, move!” the engineer shouted.
Bobby couldn’t move, he was numb. The whole world came crashing down around him. Bryan’s warm blood coated his face. Chunks of his brother stuck in his hair.…
“Bobby, you don’t move we die! Move,” Ecky screamed, smacking Bobby across the face.
The sharp blow wrenched him into coherence. And the round that blew a crater in the ground to his left, propelled him to motion.
With Ecky in the lead they navigated the car-cluttered road with ease. The engineer had made the journey down the mountain many times over the winters past. Snow, cold and blinding, he navigated the treacherous road by memory alone. Shots continued to rip the air apart. Ecky wasn’t sure if the sniper was firing on their heat signatures, or finishing the other kids off. The blizzard made it impossible to tell. He had to keep Bobby moving, had to keep himself moving. He needed to put some distance between them and the Settlement.
* * * * *
Even though it was near midday, the steel gray sky hid all instances of there ever having been a sun. And the temperature continued to plummet. Finding shelter was at the forefront of Ecky’s mind. Hypothermia wouldn’t be far off now. There was no time to properly gear up. The jackets he and Bobby wore would not be enough to protect them from long term exposure. And the few guns he managed to gather were useless against the Creepers in such thick snow. Ecky slid a crowbar from his pack, tested the weight, and continued his fast-paced jog down the road.
“Bobby.”
The boy did not respond. He was lost in the act of keeping himself moving one foot in front of the other.
“Bobby, take this,” Ecky said, handing the boy a rubber-gripped hammer.
Hearing, but remaining silent, Bobby took the hammer, brought it up and down slowly, before flipping it around so, the hooked end would be the first thing to make contact with a potential target. Sharp and straight to the brain.
Ecky continued to direct them north, going south was out of the question. The further away from the big towns and cities, the better. Possessing years of battle tested skills the engineer and boy could deal with almost any small scale encounter, but any more than that, and they’d be done for. The area north of the Settlement was mostly farmland, mountains, and even during the sane times, mostly uninhabited. Using the road, and his memories as a guide, Ecky headed towards the only structure that would provide them safety and warmth. He only hoped the blizzard wouldn’t freeze them in their tracks before they covered the five miles. His fingers were beyond numb, as were his toes, but he kept moving, and kept flexing his fingers. Bobby was silent at his side.
The wind tapered off, but the snow was relentless, fat flakes filling the sky, covering the ground, wiping out almost every color. Bobby crouched next to Ecky, watching the large concrete structure, that stood, like a massive headstone near the river’s edge. He wanted to run to it, to duck inside those thick, wind-shielding walls, anything to be out of the cold, but to do so would be suicide. Teeth chattering, core temperature dangerously low, and the horror of losing his brothers were all forgotten in that moment. Bobby’s years of training kicked in.
“We don’t have much light left,” Bobby said, blinking away a snowflake.
“Not like we had much to begin with." Ecky was not shocked by Bobby’s demeanor, scared, but not shocked. The ritual indoctrination of religion, survival, and militarism had been drilled into these children their whole lives. They were trained killers, believers, but Bobby was different . . . he was sane. The fact that Bobby could function after such a trauma, just hours removed, and function because the boy knew what needed to be done, is what put fear in Ecky’s belly. Perhaps, if he had been one of them since birth he’d be the same way, but he wasn’t. He had nearly twenty-five years under his belt before he encountered the Folks. Plenty of time to develop his own belief system, morals and views of the world, but Ecky was accepted because they needed him, though, it did help that he prayed to the same god, or pretended to in their presence. His views on a higher power had shifted over the years.
“Blizzard kept them from us I think. Now,” Ecky shrugged, “I think we’re not so lucky. They’re out there.”
“They’re always out there,” Bobby said, slipping the hammer into his pack. He chambered a round in his rifle and sighted the water treatment facility.
“Keep the hammer close. It will be better choice once we’re inside. Didn’t have a chance to grab a pistol. I got point, cover me,” Ecky said, as he slowly moved towards the facility.
Tall pines lined the road leading to the structure, and once they left the wide open view of the hill, the trees became a cage. Bobby didn’t like being penned in. He wouldn’t be able to pick off a target from a distance unless one decided to meander down the road. Off to his left Bobby heard the river rushing along. The snow crunched under his boots.
Something crashed to the ground on his right.
Bobby snapped the rifle to the sound and said, “Clear . . . it’s the snow, too heavy for the boughs.”
Ecky nodded and continued on.
The world looked so peaceful, but a cancer loomed under the crisp whiteness. Never let your guard down, he thought. Bobby’s hand trembled, he blinked, was that a Creeper drifting between the massive trunks, or shadows in the low light? The cold had already taken most of his muscle control, and now, it started to poke at his mind with icy fingers. He doubled his steps and fell in behind the cautiously moving Ecky.
The sounds of falling snow, heavy branches straining, and winter life assaulted his ears. Each sound carried an innocence with it, but like Bobby himself, the world had been robbed of innocence, and now those sounds held the potential of danger, a slow-moving death lurking amid the pines.
The rusted remnant of a chain link fence ran like a ragged scarf around the plant’s perimeter. An aluminum and vinyl guardhouse leaned at a hard angle; its roof long since collapsed under the weight of neglect, and many winters. Bits of dead scrub bush poked through the window, branching out, like a welcoming arm waving in the morning workers. Behind the guardhouse a stain of fresh blood and skin steamed in the snow.
Ecky held up a fist.
Bobby scanned the area, nothing moved. There was no carcass, but from the bits of skin scattered around the gore Bobby gathered it wasn’t human. That did not ease his tension
. When the Creepers ran short on humans they devoured any animal dumb enough to cross their paths.
“It hasn’t been dead long. I’d say was dinner for something, maybe, when we started down hill,” Ecky whispered. “Sloppy tracks lead away, towards building. Creeper. One, possibly two.”
Why would they drag away a meal instead of eating it out in the open? Bobby wanted to ask, but didn’t. The Creepers were unpredictable. Sometimes, they displayed signs of intelligence, brief glimpses, but more often than not, they moved en masse from one victim to the next. Perhaps they wanted to get out of the cold. Even the simplest of animals knew how to react to changing seasons and bad weather. Why should the walking dead be any different? Bobby took a deep breath. The fact that he had been bitten and survived was not lost on him, but shelter held top priority. In the back of his mind, gunfire and the screams of his brothers.
Ecky stepped slowly towards the water treatment facility. Its smashed windows revealing only darkness and silence. Using the lampposts as a guide, Ecky navigated the snow-covered walkway. The blizzard, in all its fury, dumped over a foot and a half of snow in only a few hours. The front of the building was cloaked in shadow. Through the falling snow Ecky glimpsed the bent aluminum frames of its double doors, shards of glass like frozen fangs clung to them, as if something bashed its way out, or in. It was hard for him to tell with the snow covering up all signs of past activity, but as he caught sight of a ribcage poking through the fresh powder about the door, he knew he was approaching a tomb. He wondered how long they had held out before the Creepers got them. Spots of blood flecked the pathway, and long, uneven grooves spoke of the telltale dragging feet. He clutched the crowbar tighter.
Going into an unknown structure was a cardinal sin. So, too, was allowing yourself to freeze to death. Ecky dropped his pack at the door and listened. Just under the falling snow, and wind whistling through the broken windows, he heard it. Slight at first, then gradually, becoming more clear . . . crunching, moaning.
“Inside, close,” he cupped his ear and continued, “but can’t pinpoint. Are you ready for this, Bobby?”
Bobby slung his rifle and had the hammer in hand before Ecky even finished asking the question. He squeezed it reassuringly, pointing it into the darkness.
Ecky removed a long, black metal flashlight from his pack. “We clear it, we get warm, seems good deal to me.”
The armor of Bobby’s training began to crack. He started to shake deep within. He wanted to fall to his knees, he wanted to open the vault and let everything out. What was the point of it all? What was he surviving for? For that matter, what were any of them surviving for? For God? For hope? If God was what they told him, how could such a deity let this happen? Tears ran down his reddened cheeks.
Ecky laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Be quick or be dead,” Bobby said, stepping in front of Ecky. He crossed the threshold into the thick shadows. He didn’t pause at the sound of brittle bones cracking under his boots.
Ecky clicked the flashlight and shined it over Bobby’s head. In the sharp glow the skeletal remains of at least a dozen bodies littered the entrance like the den of a predatory animal. Torn, dingy blue uniforms, rusted firearms, broken radios, and broken furniture covered the floor. Plaques, reminders of a valiant last stand, but another loss for mankind. Man’s brief history since the end of the First War was filled with them.
The hall beyond stretched into solid black. Spaced along its walls, at even intervals, were numbered doors. Yellowed paper and dry pine needles sullied the once brilliant tiled floor. A lone skeleton found its final resting place in front of one of the closed doors. The dried splatter of blood, midway up on the door, a reminder that there was always that option.
Ecky lifted the light higher, sending its beam to end of the hall. Bits of dust drifted in its cone. The hall ended abruptly. Something small and black scurried along the baseboards and out of sight.
“Look,” Bobby said, pointing the hammer at a trail of fresh blood that he hadn’t noticed amid the trash. With so much death and decay he almost missed it.
The random spots of blood did not go beyond the second door. A wet moan echoed along the hall.
Bobby tensed.
Ecky moved past him, crowbar at the ready.
They cleared the first door quickly, a ransacked supply closet, its shelves bare. To the right they checked the next room. A ring of scorched filing cabinets lay on their sides at its center and a pile of refuse littered with mice droppings sullied the left wall. Nothing moved. The dead plant workers had used it to warm themselves. Ecky thought of burning trashcans on cold Moscow nights long ago. As he angled the light back towards the door Bobby shouted, but before Ecky could turn back around something crashed into his waist.
The flashlight clattered to floor. He didn’t need it to know what snapped at him. The wet moans were all the information he needed. Ecky jammed the crowbar across its chest and pushed it back. A split second later Bobby had the flashlight.
Shreds of burnt clothes fused with blistered skin. The Creeper’s lower half was a mess, as if it had been caught in a wood chipper. Its legs were bent, knees held together with what was left of its muscle tissue and ligaments. Half of its face was nothing more than a charred skull. Maggots dripped from its mouth onto Ecky’s jacket.
The engineer kept its snapping mouth at bay with the crowbar across its throat, but he couldn’t free himself from the dead weight. Another series of guttural moans echoed in the hallway.
Bobby checked over his shoulder, clear. He jumped over a filing cabinet and yanked the Creeper off of Ecky. It turned on him, snapping, barely missing his arm. Bobby didn’t even flinch. He had no fear of being bitten . . . not anymore. He swung the hammer, cracking the Creeper’s skull at the temple. The brittle, charred bone shattered, strong steel finding rotten gray matter with a thock. Its body went limp, sprawling atop the garbage.
The cone of the flashlight on the door, Bobby waited.
Ecky was on his feet, taking a step back. The moan grew louder, and it was followed by the shuffling of feet.
“Come on you bastard,” Ecky said.
A swollen gray belly crossed the doorframe. It sloshed and leaked from tears that exposed the rotting innards within. The tears had the hallmarks of a desperate animal’s claw, a wild swipe as the rotting Creeper sunk its teeth in. The Creeper’s fingers worked liked rusted machinery, an after effect of rigor mortis. Dark blue jeans, a blood-stained red and black flannel, a big, bug-riddled beard, a blackened blotch across the forearm that had once been a tattoo; the Creeper did not fit in with the other’s. The thing had come well after the battle to keep them out.
Ecky swung the crowbar like a baseball bat. The curved end cracked against the Creeper’s skull and tore a chunk of it off. The stinking body hit the floor with a plop. Putrescent bodily fluids oozed out of it.
Ecky spat on the twice-dead corpse, wiping the crowbar on its jeans. With the amount of noise they made any other Creepers in the area would’ve been moaning and shuffling by now, but it was silent, save for the wind and pattering snow.
“What are you doing, Bobby?”
Bobby, hammer stuffed in the waist of his jeans, had the mangled corpse under the arms. He was no longer afraid. Whatever secret coursed through his veins made him immune to the Fection. He didn’t understand it, but it had been three days since he’d been bitten. While his bite wasn’t nearly as bad as Ryan’s, everything that had been drilled into them about the Fection gave twenty-four hours from contact before it took hold. And it wasn’t the Fection that killed Ryan, a cold bullet from Lyda’s Colt saw to that.
Bobby dropped the corpse, unzipped his jacket, exposed the purple bruise on his stomach and said, “Ryan wasn’t the only one bitten. That was three days ago, Ecky! I’m still breathing, still have a pulse!”
“Bobby, what . . .”
“I’m cold, I’m tired and my brothers are dead . . . dead . . . my broth—” Bobby lost it. The slight cracks be
came gulfs as the pain came flooding in, swallowing him, driving him to his knees. They were all dead. Tears ran down his cheeks. In between sobs, he silently wished he were with them in death, but another part of his brain scoffed at the thought. The milky eyes of the mangled Creeper stared at him. Images of his brothers’ deaths flashed at him from those dim orbs. Raw anger burned at the back of his throat, a scream that harkened back to the days of primitive man escaped him.
He grabbed the hammer and drove it down, smashing the Creeper’s forehead. He drove it down again and again, crushing the dead face to pulp. He swung harder, channeling all of his hatred into the broken visage. He struck and struck, drowning out Ecky’s cries. Cold mush splashed his face. He drove the hammer until the face was no longer there, and then he drove some more, breaking the bloodied tiles. The only thing he’d be able to recall later was the headless body, and the soreness of his arm.
Ecky used a length of rubber hose to lasso the bodies and drag them out of the room. He busied himself with the toils of preparing their shelter rather than focus on what he had witnessed this day. He stopped every so often to ensure that Bobby still drew breath. He had not gone near the boy since his wild outburst, and decided it best to leave him asleep. His fear of that military precision had been dwarfed by Bobby’s revelation and the aftermath that followed. What had the Crannen’s found? An immunity to the Fection was unheard of, yet, living proof slept the sleep of soul-consuming mental anguish just a few feet away.
Using a brittle perfume ad Ecky rolled a cigarette and lit it. Then he prepared a fire. The smoke tasted of sandalwood, but he didn’t care, foul on his tongue, burning his throat, it kept his mind from wandering to dark places. Most of the plant’s files had been burned, but Ecky managed to find a few stragglers. He dumped them in the center of the cabinets.
The Creepers Page 9