by Lundy, W. J.
“You hear that, Gilroy? Sounds like your wife is about to be shared around,” Leland taunted him. “Maybe you’ll think twice next time you try to shit in someone else’s sandbox.”
He raised his foot to kick him again, but Jack grabbed it and twisted, causing the man to yelp and spin away from him. He took the pistol from his holster, aimed up at Leland’s back and pulled the trigger twice. He rolled over to his stomach and saw the other three men staring at him. Tim and Nick dropped Sarah, and Jack fired the .40 at the one on the right, hitting him in the hip. The man—Tim or Nick, he didn’t know which—screamed as he fell.
Jack kept firing, hitting the trailer twice before getting whichever of the Tim/Nick duo was still standing in the chest. He fell to the dirt next to Sarah.
The third man, much younger than the others, fumbled with his rifle, and as he watched Jack swing the barrel of the pistol toward him, he dropped the gun and put his hands up. With his left hand, he gestured toward Sarah and the two men lying on the ground.
“Mister, I wasn’t in on that! Please don’t shoot!”
Jack grunted as he brought himself to his feet, his stomach cramping from the kick. He spat a mouthful of blood on the ground. To his left, he heard Leland whimpering. A quick glance told Jack he’d shot him once on the left side of the back, about a foot below the shoulder, and once in the center at about the same height.
He looked back to the young man, who was still holding his hands up, before looking over to the other two. The one hit in the chest wasn’t moving. The other one had his rifle in his hands, and Jack jumped to the right just as the man fired. Wood from the porch’s support post splintered as the bullet hit inches from Jack’s head. Bits of wood peppered his face and hit him in the eye.
He kept moving sideways, wiping at his eye, as the man fired several more shots. The man yelled at the young kid.
“Dammit, TJ! Pick up your damn rifle and get to work!”
“Fuck you, Nick! I’m not killing these people! And I told you a million times not to call me that!”
“Kid, you don’t get that rifle, these assholes will kill us all.”
A gunshot echoed through the valley, and blood and bone sprayed from a fresh hole in Nick’s head.
“No, just you,” Sarah said. She held her 9mm pistol in her right hand while she rested on her left elbow.
She turned her gaze to young man Nick referred to as TJ.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry about this. I didn’t want to come here.”
“How about you take a few steps away from the rifle. Where’s my husband?”
The kid stepped away from the gun, and with his right hand, he pointed at the porch.
“He’s over there on the porch. I don’t think he’s hurt too bad.”
“Jack,” she called out. “You okay?”
“Yeah! How about you?”
“My head hurts like hell, but other than that, I’m good.”
She looked at the other man lying on the ground beside her. His eyes were open, but they were dull and lifeless. His skin was pale, and he wasn’t breathing.
“I can’t say the same for these two. They’re both dead,” she informed him.
Jack walked over to the edge of the porch, his left eye squinted shut. He glanced at Nick, who had a chunk of his skull missing. Blood and gore drained from the hole. Sarah had dragged herself to a sitting position, still holding her pistol in her hand. The kid remained where he was with his hands up.
“How many more are there?” Jack asked, waving the pistol at him.
“N-none, mister. Swear! And I didn’t want any part of this! Please don’t shoot me,” the kid said again.
“Put your hands down,” Jack said, gesturing with his pistol again as he did so.
The kid lowered his arms and let out a sigh. Sarah climbed to her feet and got her bearings. She holstered her pistol and took a couple of wobbly steps toward the cabin.
“Thanks, mister,” the kid said. “I want to repeat, this wasn’t my deal, you know?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me who you all are?”
The kid took a deep breath and then started talking. “Okay, my name’s Roland, but my friends call me Rollie. These assholes,” he said, gesturing at the dead men, “are Nick and Tim. Tim is my stepdad—or was, I guess. Him and Nick called me TJ, for ‘Tim Junior.’ As if that prick was my real dad or something. They knew it pissed me off, so they did all the time.”
He paused and looked back and forth between Jack and Sarah. Neither of them said anything, so he kept going. “Anyway, Leland—he’s the one you shot in the back…not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, you did what you had to do to survive, right? Anyway, him and this other guy named Jimmy were the ones who had that roadblock set up to keep infected people out of the valley. Tim and Nick didn’t go because they said that they weren’t the police, and who gives a shit if the world is ending. It’s not like they can stop it, that’s what Tim said. Really, I think that they just wanted to keep drinking and watching that stupid fucking movie Showgirls. Tim had a thing for that actress, Elizabeth whatever-her-name-is.”
“Berkeley,” Jack said. He looked at Sarah and shrugged. “Continue.”
“Anyway, a couple hours later, they show back up in Jimmy’s truck, Jimmy bleeding all over the place, with this wild story about two crazies from the city coming up and stabbing Jimmy’s nuts and shooting him in the shoulder and crashing Leland’s truck. They made it sound like you was like the infected people on the TV. Well, that got Tim and Nick up real quick, and they made me come with them.”
“And the plan was, what? Kill Jack and rape me in the cabin?” Sarah said, an angry edge to her voice.
“No, that was never discussed. Swear,” Rollie said, turning his head toward Sarah. “They just said they was going to make you guys pay.”
“How’d they know we were here?”
Rollie turned his head back to Jack. “They followed you up the canyon with their headlights off, saw you make the turn on your road, and then they came to our trailer, where they got us. I mean it, I don’t want nothing to do with any of this, you have to believe me.”
Jack took a minute to ponder the kid’s story, when a man’s voice startled everyone.
“He’s a good kid, and his old man was an asshole, all true enough. Still, people get funny about family when they’ve been murdered.”
Jack whipped around with his good eye open to confirm what his ears told him.
“Dad!” he shouted.
26
Hobb’s Valley, Colorado
March 27th
“Hello, boy. Glad to see you made it out of the city.”
Jack’s father leaned around him and continued, “Hello, Sarah. Good to see you too. Let’s get inside and sort all of this out. Sarah, do me a favor and grab Rollie’s gun, would you?”
“Hi, Charlie. Yeah, I’ll grab it.”
She picked up the rifle from the gravel and followed the three men into the cabin. Once they were inside, Sarah took Jack to the sink and flushed out his eye while the elder Washburn slid the heavy barn door over the entry. He pushed the bolt through the hole in the doorframe and into the threaded spot on the big door, securing it in place. Then he closed and locked the entry door.
“There, now we can talk without worrying about anyone else getting itchy trigger fingers.”
Jack stood at the sink, using a dish towel to dry his face. He blinked rapidly for a few seconds, making sure there was nothing else in his eye that shouldn’t be. Finally, he turned to his father. “Dad, I didn’t know you were up here! It didn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while.”
“I’ve been up here for a few weeks, but I spend most of my time at the Gateway.”
The Gateway Pub in the nearby town of Hobb’s Valley was a haven for the locals. Out of towners, mostly people touring for hunting or fishing, got charged double for drinks and food, and never even blinked at the prices. Six dollars for a bottle of beer
was a bargain to city folk, but an insult to the locals.
“What about the house in Grand Lake?” Jack asked.
“Sold it. I have all I need right here.”
“You sold it? Without telling me?”
“Before we get into a sentimental hoedown, let’s talk about the fact that there are three dead men in my front yard. What the hell is going on?” He held up his hand, stopping the interruption from Jack before it started. “I suspect it’s got something to do with the civil unrest that’s sweeping the nation, but fill in the blanks for me. Start at the beginning.”
Jack told his father about the violence in Denver, his fight with Gil and subsequent exodus in the man’s SUV, the roadblock, and finally, the gunfight in the yard.
“So, you might be infected with this…whatever it is?” Charlie asked. “How contagious is it?”
“My guess is…very. But I’m not showing any symptoms, so maybe I got lucky.”
“Maybe,” Charlie replied, more than a little dubious.
“Everything I’ve heard says the symptoms start to show about twelve hours after exposure,” Jack said. “So I assume if I haven’t pulled my hair out by morning, I’m not going to. I plan on sleeping in the Axiom tonight so I don’t put you all at risk.”
“You’re kind of glib about this, aren’t you?”
“What choice do I have? I barely got out of Denver alive after killing my boss with a laptop, we got out of town one step ahead of the apocalypse, and I was almost killed—twice—by hillbillies. No offense.”
“None took. Tim was a hillbilly,” Rollie replied.
“…and then survived the OK Corral in your front yard. So yeah, I’m a little bemused by the concept of turning into a zombie. Or whatever they are.”
Charlie turned to Sarah. “You’re taking this well.”
“Am I? I feel like I’m freaking out. Nothing about any of this is okay. I’m pretty sure once the adrenaline and shock fade that I’m going to be a mess.”
“Yeah, well, you’re taking it well, anyway. You did what you had to do,” Charlie reassured her. “Don’t forget that.”
“That’s what I said,” Rollie interjected. “Nobody can blame them for that.”
“But others might say the same thing about Leland and the boys, too. Especially if my boy is infected. They were trying to keep that infection from getting into the valley.”
“You’re not defending them!” Sarah protested. “They were going to execute Jack because he might be infected. You don’t kill people who haven’t done anything yet. That’s called murder!”
“No, I’m not defending them. But that’s the way a lot of people up here will see it. Mountain folk are tightknit, Sarah. They stay away from the cities because they don’t like people. And you two are the people they don’t like.”
“So what do we do?” Jack asked. “We can’t go back to the city.”
“I’ll vouch for you,” Rollie said.
Charlie looked at the kid. “It’ll take more than a teenager who hated his stepdad to convince people. First thing we’d better do is alert the police. The more we try to hide things, the worse it’ll be.”
He walked to the old wall-mounted phone and dialed a local number. No one said anything as he waited for the line to connect. Finally, he spoke. “Paul, it’s Charlie Washburn. Give me a call back. I’ve got a serious situation to discuss up here at the cabin. It’s an emergency, Paul.”
He set the handset in the cradle and turned back to the three of them. “Voicemail. He’s probably at the Gateway. Some of the guys were getting a little rowdy when I was there earlier, and he usually comes by to peek in a couple times a night anyway.”
Jack and Sarah looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “I’d avoid going back to the Gateway for a bit, Dad.”
Charlie got up and went to a closet. He grabbed a wheeled table and pulled it out, sliding it over to the wall by the couch. A ham radio sat atop the table. Charlie plugged it in, made some adjustments, and listened. Silence. He grabbed the mic.
“KN0WHOW to Hobb’s Valley Police. Do you copy? Repeat. KN0WHOW to Hobb’s Valley Police, do you copy?”
Silence. No response.
“That means there’s no one at the station either,” Charlie said. “This could be bad.”
“Look, Dad, it is bad. When we left town to come up here, people were fighting the infected all over the place. It’s not like we’re in Siberia up here. They’re bound to get up here sooner or later. We need to plan for what to do next…and what to do if I’m not able to be part of it.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I need to see what’s happening in town.” Without saying anything else, Charlie got up and went to the farthest bedroom. He came back a few minutes later, wearing boots and a heavy denim coat. In his hand was a lever-action rifle. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said while removing the bolt from the sliding barn door. “You’d better get the trailer secured, and then keep this closed. But only have the bolt in a couple of turns, in case I have anything hot on my tail.”
“Dad, is this really the best thing to do right now?”
“Well, it’s what I’m doing. Best or not.”
With that, he left.
“No offense, Jack, but your dad’s gone a little crazy,” Sarah said.
“Since Mom died, he’s been…more distant. Isolated. I can’t believe he sold the house without telling me!”
“At least you didn’t have to deal with it. Count your blessings.”
“I suppose. It’s not like I’d have to deal with it now, anyway. It’s just hard to process everything that’s happened today.”
“I know what you mean. I’m sure it’s going to hit me at some point, but every time I think about it, the alternative pops into my head, and I can’t feel bad about it. Option B was that you were dead, and Rollie’s stepdad and his friends would have had a party with me as their special guest.” Jack winced as she said it. He didn’t like the imagery it forced into his head.
“They made their choices,” Sarah continued. “I’m not sorry for what I did. They forced my hand… I just have to keep repeating that until I believe it.”
They both looked at Rollie, who was washing his face in the kitchen sink, removing dirt, grime, and Jack’s bloody spittle. Their stares made him uncomfortable as he dried off with a kitchen towel.
“What?” he asked. “You two never seen a person clean up before?”
“It’s not that, Rollie,” Sarah said. “How are you doing with all of this?”
“It’s been a crazy night, but I’m not gonna lie. My life got a little better tonight. My asshole stepdad is gone, and I didn’t have to do anything. I didn’t even have to confront him or move out. I don’t have to deal with him constantly running me down in front of his friends or making me do weird shit like rubbing his stinky, gross, yellow toenail-having feet. I guess this isn’t how I would have chosen for it to happen, but it works, I guess. I’m good.”
An hour later, Charlie knocked on the door. Sarah pulled the bolt, and the massive door slid aside, allowing the older man to enter his home.
He closed the door behind him and said, “They’re all gone. Whatever this shit is, someone brought it to the Gateway. They were tearing each other apart in there, and from what I could tell, by the time Paul got there, there were too many of them. They overwhelmed him. His holster was empty, so I think he may have at least gotten a few shots off. A few people were down for good…Nancy, Martin, Jerry. The rest were all torn up and bloody, but upright. Deputy Dodd was there, covered in blood, half her face was missing. It was gruesome.”
“It was the same in Denver, Dad. Only with a few million people at risk. I barely got out of downtown, and it was growing worse by the minute. You’re lucky none of them saw you, or they’d all be ripping this place apart to get at you. At us.”
“Speaking of barely escaping, any symptoms yet?”
“None.”
“Good. You can sleep in here
tonight, but I think it would be best to put you in the attic by yourself. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning.” He turned his gaze to the teenager. “Rollie, you have the couch. You’re not going out again tonight either.”
“No argument here,” the boy said.
After they’d gone through their pre-bed routines, Sarah noticed Jack standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He smiled sadly. “I’d give you a kiss, but I don’t want to risk it just in case.”
Sarah leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. “See you in the morning,” she said.
27
Hobb’s Valley, Colorado
March 28th
Jack awoke to screams and things smashing in the cabin below him. He sprang off the cot where he’d tossed and turned all night, dreaming horrible dreams of monsters and madmen, only to remember that he was locked away from the rest of the house. Below, he heard his wife’s voice and his father’s voice shouting, but not at each other. There was a great crash, followed by Sarah screaming again. Finally, a gunshot. And another.
He pounded on the floor, banging the fold-down ladder against the door.
“Sarah! Dad! Let me out! What’s happening down there?”
He could hear mumbles below.
“Guys! Let me out! What the hell’s going on down there?”
More mumbling. Finally, his dad’s voice, muffled as it made its way through the attic floor.
“Jack, are you showing any symptoms?”
“No, I’m not. Nothing at all! What’s going on down there?”
“Stay clear of the door; I’m opening it up.”
Jack stepped back to ensure that he didn’t fall through the opening and crush his dad when the stairs started to descend. He heard the cordless drill running, removing the screws from one side of the two-by-four his dad had used to seal the stairs in the closed position. Vibrations from the side opposite him told him that he was unscrewing the other end of the board. A few seconds later, the platform descended, the steps unfolding as it went.