The Complete Deadland Saga

by Rachel Aukes

  I wasn’t the only kid leaving early. A few other parents were there, too, some with their kids, others heading into classrooms. Mom hurried us down the hallway lined with lockers. My mouth fell open, and I pointed to a woman leaning against a first-grader’s locker. “Mom, she’s hurt!”

  Mom stopped, looked at the woman and then yanked me away. “She’s sick.”

  I had to jog to keep up with Mom’s longer steps. When we burst through the glass doors, outside was even crazier. Horns were honking and people were shouting. At the Home Depot next to my school, two men were locking people into the outdoor section behind big black gates. My heart pounded in my chest. It was so crazy that it didn’t even seem real, so I sucked in a deep breath to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

  It sure felt real. And it wasn’t fun.

  Mom led me to where she parked the car on the front lawn by the flagpole.

  “Get in, Benji,” she said in a rush. “We have to hurry.”

  I swallowed. This wasn’t like Mom at all. She was always happy and chatty. I pushed up my glasses and climbed in. She’d locked the doors and gunned the engine before I even had my seatbelt fastened. I shivered even though I wasn’t cold. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  She glanced at me and gave me a half-smile, but it fell into a frown all too quickly. “I—I don’t know yet. People are…they’re…well, people are getting sick.”

  “Like the stomach flu? Blegh.” I hated the stomach flu almost as much as I hated the chicken pox.

  “Something like th—”

  Tires screeched, and I saw the blur of a car outside my window. Mom swerved onto the median and back onto the street. I held onto the dashboard. I snapped around to watch the other car drive away. “Did you see that? He’s driving the wrong way.”

  Mom didn’t say anything. Her eyes were wide and she was taking really deep breaths. She clenched the wheel so hard I could her white bones through her skin. I turned on the radio so she could listen to the country music like she always did when she drove. Voices came on instead. They must’ve been in between songs.

  Mom turned off the radio. “Not today, sweetie.”

  She was acting weird, and it scared me. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my teeth and rode out the rest of the drive home in a nervous silence.

  As we reached our driveway, the Jacobsens ran over to meet us. Mom hit the garage door opener button. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she said, pounding her palm against the steering wheel with every word.

  Mr. Jacobsen ran straight into the back of the car, and I jumped. “Whoa.” When Mr. Jacobsen punched at our back window, I frowned. “Why is he so mad?”

  “He’s sick, sweetie.”

  Mrs. Jacobsen leaned against the hood on Mom’s side of the car. Blood oozed from her neck, and she clawed at the windshield. I shrunk into my seat, trying to get away from both of them. “Mrs. Jacobsen looks sick, too.”

  “Yes. They’re both very sick. And we have to stay away from them, or else we could get sick, too.”

  Mom gunned the engine, and the lurched forward. As soon as we were in the garage, she hit the button. We both turned around and watched as the door descended—so slowly—as our neighbors approached. Mr. Jacobsen was the first through the door. The door stopped moving and the garage light flashed.

  “Shit!” Mom hit the button again, but this time the door climbed, and she mumbled something as it opened all the way and she hit the button to descend again.

  This time, Mrs. Jacobsen set off the sensor, and the door stopped.

  “No,” Mom whimpered and she repeated the process, but more neighbors were filtering into the garage, and some folks I didn’t know. There were five, no six in the garage now.

  “Look, there’s Jackson,” I said, pointing to the fourteen-year-old who lived four doors down. He walked right up to Mom’s door and punched at the window. I jumped in my seat. Jackson wasn’t smiling like he usually did. And his lips and teeth were covered with red.

  “He’s sick, so he’s not your friend anymore, Benji.”

  “You mean he won’t get better?” I asked. “They’ve got something like Gramma had?”

  Mom shook her head. “It’s not cancer. But it’s bad like it.” She lowered her head and didn’t say anything else. The only sounds were all the people growling and banging on the car. I didn’t like getting sick, but they must really hate this bug for how angry they were.

  Mom’s long hair covered her face, so I brushed the strands to the side to find her crying.

  I wiped a tear away, but more kept coming. I hadn’t seen her sad like that since Gramma died, and it made me sad. “Don’t cry, Mom. It’s okay. We won’t get sick.”

  She took my hand and kissed it. She let go, grabbed her purse, and rummaged through it.

  She pulled out a gun, and I my eyes grew wide. “Where’d you get that?”

  “I need you to do something for me, and it’s important you do exactly as I say. Can you do that?”

  I pushed up my glasses and nodded.

  “When I yell, ‘run’, I need you to hurry inside the house and lock the door behind you. Then I need you play your best game of hide-and-seek ever. I need you to find the very best hiding place in the world and don’t make a sound. You can do that for me?”

  I swallowed and nodded. “But you’re coming, too. Right?”

  “Of course.” She gave me a small smile. “I’ve got a key. I’ll come in as soon as I make sure no sick people try to get in the house.”

  “I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone.”

  She pulled me into a long hug. “I’m always with you, Perfect.”

  She clicked something on the gun and held it on her lap. “Are you ready?”

  I nodded again, and then clutched her to me. I tried to ignore all the sick people, but they were so loud. I finally pulled away, sniffled, and pushed up my glasses.

  “You’ll always be my Perfect.” Still crying, she scowled at the people banging on our car. “Hold onto the door handle. When I yell, ‘run’, you run. Got it?”

  My lips quivered. “O-okay.”

  “Roll down your window. Cover your ears. It’s going to be loud, but you won’t get hurt.”

  My fingers trembled but I did what she told me. Mom raised the gun and then a huge boom hurt my ears. My hands snapped over my ears. Mr. Jacobsen fell back, and Mom grabbed at me. I couldn’t really hear her because there was some kind of loud siren going off in my ears, but I could see she was yelling.

  “Run!”

  I tensed, nodded, grabbed at the handle, shoved open the car door, and tripped over Mr. Jacobsen who reached out to me. I stumbled around him and toward the door to the house. Jackson ran at me, but Mom shot him, too. She stood outside the car now, and started shooting everyone near me, just like she was the Lone Ranger. I was watching her instead of where I was running, and I tripped going up the two steps, but caught the door handle and threw myself inside. I fell against the door, shoving it closed, and twisted the lock.

  Panting, I raced around the house like a blind mouse, checking out my usual hiding spots like the closet and under my bed. Finally, I decided to hide in the basement and tucked in behind the furnace. That area had always been off-limits to me, so it had to be the best hiding place in the world. As I sat in the dark, brushing away cobwebs, I waited for Mom to come find me, just like she’d always done when we played hide-and-seek. I was careful to keep quiet. Mom would be so proud. This was my best hide-and-seek yet.

  I heard more gunshots and a woman’s screams, and then it got quiet. After a few minutes, I heard the garage door close, and I tensed. Mom would come inside soon and try to find me!

  I was glad I wouldn’t have to hide for much longer because I didn’t like the basement. It was dark and damp and there were funny sounds in the basement. The furnace would growl and hum. Something else would kick on that sounded a little like the furnace, too. The phone rang upstairs but otherwise it was completely quiet upstairs. It was getting pre
tty scary, but I stayed hidden and waited for Mom, just like she’d told me.

  When I’d gotten dressed for school this morning, Mom had said it was too cold for shorts, but she’d let me leave the house in my favorite pair, anyway. I should’ve listened to her. It was really cold on the concrete. It made my teeth chatter.

  Mom still didn’t come to find me.

  I cried myself to sleep sometime after the sun went down and everything went black.

  When I woke the next morning, I had to pee so bad. I crawled out from my hiding spot, with shivers running all the way into my deepest bones, and hustled up the steps, grabbing my crotch to keep from wetting myself. At the top of the stairs, I looked both ways before running for the bathroom. My eyes watered as I stood at the toilet and relieved myself.

  Finished, I tiptoed down the hallway and into Mom’s bedroom to find her bed still made. With a frown, I headed to the kitchen, but Mom didn’t have breakfast ready. The TV wasn’t even on yet. But I was too hungry to wait for Mom. I grabbed a box of cereal and ate straight out of the box, just like I’d seen Grampa do when I stayed with him.

  The phone rang, and I jumped, dropping the box. Cereal flew everywhere, and I scrambled to sweep it into a pile. As I swept, I realized that it could be Mom on the phone and I rushed over and grabbed it.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “Benji? Oh, thank God you’re all right!”

  My heart felt like it was going to burst with happiness. “Grampa! You’d never believe what happened. First, Mrs. D let us go home early. Then, Mom—”

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Grampa cut in. “Let me speak with your mother, kiddo.”

  My bottom lip trembled, but I swore to myself that I wouldn’t cry again. “Mom said she’d be right behind me, but she hasn’t come home yet. She took out a gun and shot the neighbors in our garage because they were sick. She told me to run and hide.”

  “God, no, Anna. My girl…” Grampa drifted off, and it sounded like he was crying.

  “I hid just like she told me,” I said. “And I was really quiet.”

  “That’s good, Benji. You did really good,” Grampa said, but his voice cracked. “I just miss Anna, I mean, your mother.”

  “I miss Mom, too,” I said softly. I wanted to go into the garage and check on Mom. But if she got sick, she wouldn’t want me to get sick, too. And so I had to wait until she came inside.

  Grampa wasn’t talking so I munched on the cereal in my hand while I waited. It wasn’t until after I wiped my hand on my shorts that he finally spoke. “I’m coming to pick you up, Benji. I need you to hide until I get there.”

  “Okay,” I said, but I worried about how long I’d have to hide. Hide-and-seek wasn’t fun anymore. Grampa lived far away. The car ride to his house took three hours each way. I took a deep breath. “Please hurry.”

  “Hang tight, Benji. This mess will be over in no time. I’ll be there later today.”

  “Okay. Love you, Grampa.”

  “I love you, too, Benji,” he said, his voice rough, and hung up.

  I held the phone in my hand until the dial tone switched to beeping, then to nothing. I hung it up and picked it right back up again. I hit 1 on the speed dial. The phone rang, echoed by a ring that sounded like it was just on the other side of the door. Just because I couldn’t see Mom if she was sick, there was no reason I couldn’t at least talk to her.

  “Come on, Mom. Pick up,” I said, cradling the phone against my ear. She might be upset that I didn’t stay quiet and hidden like she told me, but she’d understand. I hid all night.

  A thump. The sound was raw and crude, not gentle like Mom. But, if it was Mom, why didn’t she use her key to get in before she got sick?

  The ringing finally stopped and I got her voicemail. I held my breath. Why didn’t she answer?

  She was too sick to even talk to me.

  When the truth hit me, I looked at the phone in my shaky hand and hit 2 on speed dial.

  Grampa answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  I was too scared to talk.

  “Benji, is that you, kiddo? I’m just about to start driving your way.”

  I nodded.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “I think Mom’s sick,” I whispered, my words echoed by a pounding on the door. I gulped. “She sounds mad, and she wants inside.”

  Grampa cussed. “Can you hide?”

  The thumping was so loud, but I could still hear the fear in Grampa’s voice.

  “I can, but,” I sucked in a breath. “But, Mom always finds me.”

  “I need you to be strong, Benji. Hide where she can’t get to you. I’m coming for you.”

  “Okay,” I replied in a quiet voice and hung up the phone.

  I shivered as I walked away from the pounding at the door and toward the cold, dark basement. At the top of the stairs, I stopped and my jaw slowly dropped. I turned around and hurried for the pantry instead. It wasn’t a large pantry, nothing bigger than a tiny closet. But, I’d always been small for my age. I crawled onto a shelf, shoving canned goods against the wall, and tugged the door shut as quietly as possible.

  I’d hidden in pantry once during a game of hide-and-seek. It was the only time Mom hadn’t found me, and I’d won the game. But, I couldn’t open the door from the inside and had gotten scared (I was just a kid back then). When Mom had finally found me, she scolded me for not calling out for her, and then she held me because I cried. After a week of night terrors, she put a door handle on the inside of the pantry. But I’d never hidden inside since.

  Mom would never find me here.

  After many minutes, there was a loud bang, like the door was slammed open. Someone was definitely inside, because I could hear clumsy stomping, things crashing to the floor, and angry grunting and moans. The voice sounded somewhat like Mom’s but…different.

  When something brushed against the pantry door, I hugged myself, clenched my eyes shut, and held my breath. Please don’t find me. Please don’t find me.

  The next sound came from a bit farther away, like she was walking away from me. I tried to breathe quietly and slowly but it was hard. My heart was beating too fast. A ruckus erupted, the sound of pans banging together, and I bit my tongue to keep from giggling when I imagined Mom banging her head onto the pan rack hanging from the ceiling like she’d done so many times before. But this time, she didn’t cuss and then apologize and chuckle like every time before. She didn’t say anything at all except grunt.

  She’s sick.

  My lower lip trembled as the shuffling sounds moved away from the kitchen. I bit my lip to keep from crying.

  Over the next few hours she moved through the house, and I never made a sound. I was so hungry that I’d almost reached for a snack cake on the shelf above me, but I was afraid she’d hear and find me. My muscles felt weird from not moving, and I wanted to stretch out. After what felt like forever, the sounds neared my hiding place again and I heard her tumble down the two steps into the garage.

  I let out a big breath.

  I waited until I hadn’t heard a thing for a really long time.

  I slowly reached out for the door knob. A can rolled off the shelf and landed the floor with a thud, and I froze. I strained my ears, but I couldn’t hear Mom.

  I inched my hand to the door knob and turned it as slowly as I could. When light peeked through, I waited, then pushed it open. I jumped off the shelf and fell to the floor. Both my legs were fuzzy feeling, but I managed to get to my feet.

  I ran over to the door and tried to close it, but it wouldn’t stay closed. The wood was all splintered on the frame where it was supposed to lock. I grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and dragged it across the floor. The metal legs vibrated against the floor, so I pulled it faster and pushed it against the door, and I could hear movement in the garage.

  I jogged over to the phone and punched 2 on speed dial. The phone rang and rang until it went to voicemail.

  “I’m ok
ay, Grampa,” I said into the phone. “Mom is in the garage again. And I put a chair against the door.”

  Something banged against the door.

  My eyes widened. “She’s back! Got to go!” I hung up the phone just as the chair slammed into the wall, allowing the door to open partway.

  Mom struggled to squeeze through the doorway, and she looked so sick I barely recognized her. Her skin looked look someone had colored her with a yellow magic marker. But much of her neck and face was covered with dried dark brown mud or something. Even her eyes were yellow as they zeroed in on me.

  The chair between the door and wall kept the door closed just enough she couldn’t get through. She reached out to me. Bites, gouges, and scratches covered her arm. It was like she was gesturing me to come to her, and I found my feet taking me closer. Only this time, as I drew closer, she growled and tried to claw at me.

  I jumped back and bit back a sob. “Oh, Mom. I can’t. You’re sick,” I muttered. Then I turned and ran.

  I ran from the kitchen and down the hallway to the patio door. I heard a ruckus in the kitchen and footsteps behind me. I was too afraid to look back.

  I slid the glass patio door open and jumped outside, slamming the door closed behind me just as Mom slammed into the glass. Some of the dark brown mud on her face smeared against the glass and she lunged again. I pumped my arms as ran across the patio and to the small storage shed in the backyard. I pulled up the wide door and looked inside.

  In the corner sat my dusty bicycle. I was the only kid my age who still had training wheels. I’d quit riding last summer because I’d been too embarrassed to ride with the extra wheels.

  I was still embarrassed, but I could pedal really fast, faster than I could run. I spun the bike around and climbed on. I nearly spun out on the concrete as I pedaled as fast as I could out of there.

  Mom was smashing herself into the glass door, trying to get outside. Other people I didn’t know (but couldn’t be certain because they looked really sick) all started chasing me. They could run nearly as fast as I could ride, so I had to pedal faster than I’d ever pedaled before. A mean-looking man covered in brown stains reached out and tore off some streamers on my bike handlebar.