"Tom—!" she started again, panting as she strove to keep up with him.
"I’m thinkin’, honey!" he replied, his tone a little sharper than he had intended.
Judy held her peace, but she fell further and further behind him as they ran, until Tom had to choose between slowing down or leaving her. He slowed down.
"Tommy," she told him between gulps of air, "I’m scared."
"Me, too."
"We can’t keep running like this. Where are we going?"
He shook his head. "Don’t know yet. It’ll take us too long to get back to town on foot, not with those ... those weird people runnin’ around."
God, he thought, prayed, did she really come right out of the water like that? Was that real?
Thunder sounded again, and Judy insisted, "We need to call our folks, Tommy."
"There’s ..." He looked around. "There’s that old farmhouse not too far from here. Remember? I pointed it out to you last Thursday when we were lookin’ for—"
"I remember," she nodded.
"I think the old lady still lives there. It might be worth a shot. Then we could maybe borrow her phone."
"Do you really think so, Tom?"
He opened his mouth to answer, and that’s when he saw the man wandering through the field about a hundred yards away from them. That’s all he was doing, just wandering around, but after the outlandish things Tom had just seen, he was very sensitive to the man’s lurching, unsteady stride. He didn’t know what it meant, but he sure as hell didn’t like it.
Squeezing Judy’s hand tighter, he said, "We don’t have a choice, honey. We’ve gotta go. Right now."
Tom struck out for the farmhouse, and Judy followed ...
THE COOPERS
"We’re lost."
"No we’re not."
"We are lost, Harry."
"No, we are not. I know what I’m doing, Helen."
Helen Cooper shrugged. "Fine. Just make sure we have some place to stay before it gets dark."
Then she and her husband, Harry Cooper, lapsed into another cold silence.
In the backseat, their daughter, Karen, quietly read her adventure book and made no comment, no "Are we there yet?" or "I have to go the bathroom" or any of the other outbursts a normal 10-year-old would be prone to after hours of riding in a car.
Karen knew better. She knew her father, recognized his moods. She could tell from his tone of voice alone that her mother was right, that they were lost and he knew it, but would never admit it. So she remained still, calling no attention to herself, and read her book ... even though she did kind of have to go to the bathroom.
Helen glanced over her shoulder, as though sensing her daughter’s discomfort. Karen met her gaze and smiled — Helen smiled back, and apologized with her eyes. Her sweet little girl shrugged and went back to her reading.
Helen sighed under her breath and turned her eyes back to the road and the empty, rural setting on either side of it. She asked herself for the thousandth time: Is this really what’s best for Karen?
Helen and Harry Cooper had decided some time ago that they no longer wanted to be married. They each claimed to still love one another, they just didn’t particularly like one another anymore — Harry felt that Helen had gotten too "uppity" and aloof; Helen felt that Harry’s less-than-impressive height and premature hair-loss had made him too aggressive and antagonistic. But Harry’s parents had gotten divorced while he was in his teens and Helen’s had done the same while she was still in elementary school, so they had discussed the matter and chosen to remain together for Karen’s sake, at least until she had graduated high school and moved on to her own life. It was a choice that many parents made, but she was learning for herself why it was an unpopular one. Karen wasn’t fooled, not for a minute, so what was the point?
"Is that ...?" Harry asked in a low voice, then muttered even lower, "Shit." He had spotted a couple of buildings, had probably hoped that one was a motel ... but no, they were just a diner and closed gas station. Helen wanted to point out that the occupants of Beekman’s Diner might be able to provide them with directions, but she saved her breath — if Harry thought it was his own idea, he might consider it, but not if she suggested it.
But no, they passed through the three-way intersection and kept going. Helen rolled her eyes and stared out her side window. So long as Harry found a place for them to stay before it got dark, she didn’t really care.
To be fair, it was partly her fault, anyway. She and Karen were only in this mess because she had opted to be nice to Harry and do him a favor.
Harry’s annual sales convention had been held over this weekend — checking into the hotel on Friday evening; checking out on Sunday afternoon. While Harry had been too proud to come right out and ask her, he had dropped numerous hints about how it would "look better" for him if his entire family attended this year. Sure, it was boring as hell, but Karen had always been a well-behaved little girl, and if Harry came across as a successful "family man," it would impress his more conservative associates. Maybe make for a bonus, or even a promotion, this coming holiday season.
So after a few days of these hints and comments — and as Harry’s attitude threatened to edge into passive-aggressive sulking — Helen had "suggested" that maybe she and Karen should come along, too. Harry had been very pleased, and for the remaining weeks leading up to the sales convention, he had been almost cheery for a change.
When the weekend in question arrived, they had packed their Sunday best and driven down. The hotel was a little more expensive than expected, as had been the food and other amenities which his company was apparently not picking up this year, but Harry had maintained at least a neutral posture throughout.
The problems had started when Sunday morning rolled around, and it had become clear that having his family along hadn’t made quite the impression that Harry had been hoping for — no mention of bonuses, or promotions, or even new clients. Harry began to drop new hints that it was somehow Helen’s fault, that she had come across as too snooty, too cold ... and she’d had the audacity to look better than his boss’ wife.
Helen just gritted her teeth and took it. At least he wasn’t trying to blame Karen, and she wanted to spare her daughter from witnessing an all-out slugfest between her parents.
They had checked out of the hotel early, and Harry got it in his head that he knew a shortcut that would shave some time off their return trip. Helen had her doubts, but the truth was that Harry had made this trip more often than she, knew these roads better than she, so she kept her mouth shut ... until it was too late.
They’d gotten a little turned around almost immediately, but Harry refused to admit it, so they didn’t backtrack when it would’ve been easier. He wanted to save time, so they kept going. And going. And as they got more and more lost by mid-afternoon, it became clear to Helen that they’d never reach home tonight. Harry’s big plan had not only failed to save time, it was going to cost them another night in some motel.
Helen enjoyed that little victory in private.
"Now what the hell is this?" she heard Harry grumble.
She looked back to the road. Ahead of them, two small cars had had what appeared to be a minor collision, a fender-bender that shouldn’t have resulted in any injuries. What was odd, though, was the sheer number of people surrounding the cars. It had to be at least a dozen, maybe more — too many to have been squeezed into the two little vehicles.
"Lookie-loos, I guess," she commented.
"What’s a ‘lookie-loo’, Mommy?" Karen asked from the back.
"An assho—" Harry answered, but cut himself off in mid-swear. "A jerk with too much time on his hands." He raised his voice, "Come on!" and honked the horn twice as they approached the cluster, which was blocking well over half of the road.
None of them paid any attention. Harry had to come to a full stop, and he honked the horn again, longer this time. And the people still ignored him — they were too fascinated with the interiors of
the two cars from the collision.
Maybe Helen had been wrong. Maybe the people inside were hurt after all, and these witnesses were trying to help.
"Oh, for fuck’s sake," Harry snarled, throwing the car into Park.
"Harry!" Helen snapped, appalled by his using such language in front of Karen.
But Harry didn’t pay her any mind. He opened his car door, practically kicked it open, and got out.
"Just go around them, Harry," he heard Helen whine just as he closed the door, but he didn’t pay any attention to that, either. He had been trying to control his temper for a while — not an easy task, what with Helen’s endless nagging, but he had tried for Karen’s sake. So in a way, he was glad for this obstruction. Sure, he could just go around, but then he wouldn’t be able to blow off some steam.
"All right, all right," he declared, just short of shouting. "There’s been a little accident, what a sight, we’re all impressed. Now could some of you please move your asses out of our way?"
The group of people still ignored him. What in the hell where they doing, anyway? He couldn’t see exactly, there were too many of them, but from the car closer to him, he heard ... what was that? Smacking? What was going on here, a goddamn gum-chewing contest?!
As he stomped over, his short legs pumping, Harry failed to notice the haphazard way these people were dressed. A few of them wore the expected rural outfits, suitable for farmers who didn’t know the first thing about real job pressure, about having to meet quotas every month, about keeping your money-sucking wife in the latest fashions, about having so much fucking stress in your life that your hair starts falling out!
So it was only the very fringes of Harry’s distracted mind that noted something that Helen was just starting to absorb from her viewpoint in the car — several of these people were wearing hospital attire, for staff and patients alike. And ... was that blood?
What exactly was going on?
But again, Harry was too perturbed to notice this on any meaningful level, so he walked right up and grab one of the women by the arm, and not gently. Tugging her away from whatever the hell was going on in there, Harry started, "Look, idiot, why don’t you and your buddies—"
The woman tottered around on shaky feet, giving Harry a good look at her.
"Aah!" Harry blurted, letting go of her arm and stumbling back.
The woman’s face was a bloody mess from the nose down. It reminded Harry, of all things, of the way people looked after competing in a pie-eating contest, the kind where their arms are tied behind their backs and they have no choice but to shove their faces right into the tin. But this wasn’t blueberry or apple or any other pie Harry had ever heard of — if he hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn ... but no, surely not ...
The woman stared at him, her eyes looking murky and jaundiced. She opened her mouth wide, revealing more gore to turn Harry’s stomach, and made a gurgling sound in the back of her throat.
Harry didn’t like that sound, not one bit. He took another step away from her.
The woman made the sound again, reaching up with hands that were as sanguinary as her face, and others in the group reacted, rising up and out of the car to turn and stare at Harry. And they were all, all of them, were ... were ...
Harry spun on his heel and ran back to the car. He could see Helen staring behind him in shock and disbelief, her wide eyes showing too much white all the way around. As he jumped back behind the wheel, she didn’t ask any questions, she just said, "Harry, get us out of here!"
For once, the two of them were in complete agreement.
Without bothering with his seatbelt, Harry threw the car into Reverse, stomping down on the accelerator and sending the tires into a squealing fury.
Alarmed, Karen asked, "What’s going on, Daddy?"
"Be still, honey," Helen replied, not wanting her daughter to get a look at the gore-splattered insanity out—
Thunk!
The car had just started building some real speed when they were jarred from the rear. Both the Coopers had been so fixated on the people in front, they hadn’t bothered looking behind them.
"Oh, my God, Harry," Helen said, one hand covering her mouth. "Did you just hit someone?"
They both turned in their seats, their faces close together as they looked out the back window. They had indeed hit not just one, but two people. But any distress they would normally have experienced was warped by the sight of their victims, both of whom were men, both of whom wore doctor’s greens, and both of whom were missing parts of their anatomy — one was missing his arm from the elbow down, the other missing one of his eyes and part of his cheek. Neither of them seemed to be in any pain as they flailed and tried to rise from where they had bent over the Coopers’ trunk, but they did appear enamored by the sight of the Coopers looking at them, and reached out just as the woman had reached for Harry.
"God, Harry," Helen whispered, touching her husband’s arm for comfort without realizing she was doing so, "what’s wrong with these people?"
"I ... I don’t know," he admitted.
Then he went into action once more. He shoved the car back into Drive and floored it, turning the steering wheel to go around the two collided cars, something he should have done all along.
But now the group had spread out, covering even more of the road than they had before. He turned wide, trying to go around them, and the tires on his side went off the shoulder of the road, spinning in the gravel and dirt, losing any real traction.
"Harry—!" Helen cried as those insane people slammed into the passenger side of the car. They were all moving as though drunk, but the two that reached them rapidly became four, then seven, then it seemed the whole dozen or more were against the side of their car, pawing at the window and slapping at the roof and hood and trunk.
Karen screamed. So did Helen. And though he might’ve denied it later, so did Harry.
The car lurched, almost made it through ... and then it rocked up onto just the driver’s-side tires. The engine roared in protest and dirt flew everywhere. Harry heard a strange Whump!, and realized it was probably the sound of one of those people reaching right into the wheel well and losing a hand or arm for their trouble.
Then the car rolled over.
Harry got the worst of it, never having refastened his seatbelt. He reached up to catch himself, but his forehead still banged up against the roof, sending stars across his vision. Helen and Karen had their belts on, but the whole experience was so unexpected and terrifying that they cried out along with him.
The car ceased rolling as it settled onto its roof, but it continued sliding down the slope away from the road, but also away from those maniacs. The noise was surprisingly loud, and the windshield cracked as something raked across it, a rock or pipe — Harry wasn’t sure.
The important thing was, by the time the car stopped, they had gained a respectable distance from the mob, whose inebriated stride was making it difficult for them to follow down the slope off the side of the road. They stumbled and fell and tripped each other — Harry could see that much as he crawled onto his hands and knees — but it wouldn’t take them long to catch up.
"Helen!" he asked. "You all right?"
"I ..." she looked around at him from where she hung upside-down. "I think so ..."
"Then move your ass," he ordered, keeping an eye on those things as best he could. "We’ve got to get out of here. Help me with Karen."
Karen was crying— no, wailing at the top of her lungs, and Harry didn’t blame her.
After some struggling, they managed to get their daughter free of her seatbelt and pushed her out on Helen’s side. Those people, those things, were way too close now.
"You go, Helen," he said in a moment of uncharacteristic chivalry. "Go, hurry!"
Helen crawled out — grabbing her purse out of habit, the silly woman! — then reached back in to help Harry.
"We’ve got to run," Harry was saying as he struggled to get out, "we’ve got to ge
t the hell—"
Then the pitch and tone of Karen’s wailing skyrocketed; she was howling now, but Harry couldn’t see why.
"Oh, God!" Helen cried, her helping hands disappearing just as Harry tried to get to his feet. "Stop! Stop that, you bitch!"
Harry finally floundered up to a standing position, and his eyes bulged when he saw what was happening.
It was the same woman, the one Harry had grab before. She was the one who had reached into the wheel well, the one whose arm had twisted into an impossible knot as it snapped in a hundred places and wrapped around the rim of the tire, which had served to drag her along with them as the car slid off the side of the road ... and the one who had snared Karen by the wrist, then dragged his daughter closer and sank her teeth deep into the little girl’s right arm.
Night of the Living Dead Page 5