by Bryn Roar
“Then check your loads and get ready to haul ass.”
Bud withdrew his .45 and ejected the clip. Everyone save Tubby checked their ammo and filled their weapons with the box of bullets and shells Bud had in his backpack.
Bud looked up and nudged Josie with his elbow. The fire was spreading towards the Rabids, illuminating them now in its Faustian glow. In the flickering light they looked even more feral than before. Despite their numbers, though, the fire was doing the job Bud had envisioned.
At least for the time being.
Like all creatures possessed of the primeval, the Rabids were in awe of the flame. Several of the more infected individuals broke rank and scattered into the dark woods. Their primitive wails sounded like wolves in mourning. The rest stood their ground, shielding their shiny eyes from the baking light. Waiting for some signal, like a flock of starlings, grouping and regrouping, before they took final explosive wing.
“It’s working!” Josie said. “The fire stopped them!”
Rusty’s eyeglasses reflected the flames. He had his eye on the far end of the line, off to the right, where he’d seen something his friends had missed. “Heads up,Creeps! They’re making an end-run on us!”
The fire extended just so far, and some of the Rabids had puzzled this out. Those that had were already trying to reorganize the rest to their cause.
Bud thumbed off the safety to his .45.
“This is it, Creepos! LET”S HAUL ASS!”
Josie caught up to Bud and took the lead again. This time she didn’t attempt to govern the speed but ran as fast as Bud could manage. Behind them, Rusty fired off a salvo.
“Got one!” he hollered.
Tubby seemed to come to life. He sat up straight on Bud’s back and watched their sides. He saw something white flash off to their right, making a beeline for Josie, who was too busy looking straight ahead.
“Watch out, Joe!” ON YOUR RIGHT!”
The Colt’s action was stronger than he’d anticipated and his shot flew three feet over the target’s head. The Rabid burst out of the bushes and dove for Big Red.
She fired from the hip, removing its face right down to the skull. It flew backwards in a cherry mist of blood, bone, and brains. Tubby stared at Josie’s striding back in awe. The girl’s copper ponytail bobbed along, unperturbed.
Bud saw a Rabid drawing nigh on their left and he shot it in its kneecap. The creature fell over in a naked somersault, its lower left leg flopping on a gristly thread. It shrieked its impotent rage at the leering moon above.
These were solitary thrusts and parries, however, intended to distract their prey from the main body behind them. To slow them down for the kill…
Bud had had this dream too many times, though, not to heed its urgent warning: Whatever you do, it told him, don’t allow your enemy to get in front of you!
“They’re getting closer, Bud!” Rusty worried behind him. He fumbled with his gun as he replaced the spent shells, dropping as many as he reloaded. He was having more luck with the .38, though. The Rabids who had breached the end of the fire were now merging into another line, urging the others to fall in with them.
“They’ve fallen back so they can rush us en masse!” Bud shouted. “Josie, help Gnat scatter them again! Tubby and I will take the point! Let’s put some distance between us and Them!”
Indeed, the way ahead now seemed clear. The Rabids assumed their prey were just running blindly through the woods. Mice with nowhere to go. All that was necessary was to keep them in sight. Not imbued with the powers of the virus, their victims would soon falter. Then they could be more safely disarmed. If the Rabids had realized these four mice had a nearby hole to drop into, they would have surely engulfed them by now.
While Bud took the lead, Josie dropped back and let the Mossberg have its noisy say.
Tubby bounced wildly on Bud’s back. Every time the big fellow came down on Bud’s shoulders it felt as If he’d gained a thousand pounds. His heart felt as if it would explode inside his heaving chest; his straining lungs to pop any second. But we’re so close now!
Too close to think about resting.
“Take those assholes on the right, from the center out!” he heard Josie instruct Rusty. “I’ll take the left side!”
Their rapid gunfire was music to Bud’s ears. Rabids began to fall like autumn leaves in a windstorm. Their combined onslaught not only whittled the Rabids’ numbers, it had slowed them down as well! Their gunfire became more sporadic as Rusty and Josie caught up with Bud and his flailing cargo. A looming hedgerow of palmetto shrubs, scrub pines, bamboo, and hanging vines appeared on their horizon, blocking theCreeps’ escape ahead.
Bud looked to his left and right. The densely packed vegetation didn’t seem to clear in either direction.
He raised his .45 and fired blindly into the matted wall, in case anything was waiting on the other side. Tubby did the same, emptying his Colt. Bud hit the hedgerow at a full sprint. The bamboo and vines lashed out at the boys, trying to snatch them off their feet. A vine grabbed Tubby’s broken leg, and he screamed in agony, dropping the empty .45 in the process. Somehow he managed to hold on to the flare gun. All at once, he and Bud were through to the other side! Tubby peeked out from one barely opened eye.
“We made it!” he squeaked in disbelief.
Just then, Rusty and Josie broke through behind them. “YYYEEE-HHHAAA! Rusty yodeled joyously. “BREAK OUT THE SALT AND TEQUILA! ‘CAUSE THERE’S MARGARITTAVILLE!”
They had entered the clearing closer to their destination than Bud had dared hope. For once, luck was on their side. The full moon above illuminated their salvation, not fifty yards away! Lizard Lake serenely reflected the moon’s red glow in its mirrored waters. Another puzzle piece slipped permanently into place. Behind them, they could hear the desperate crash of brush and branch.
The Rabids again, closing in…
At the sight of the Bunker, Bud caught his second wind. The trembling in his muscles vanished.
Behind him Josie shouted: “They’ve broken through, Bud! Right behind us!”
The Rabids will see the entrance to our hideout now. It was, Bud knew, his last chance on altering the events about to ensue. There was nothing left to do now but play out their roles and hope for a miracle. One had already taken place in the sinkhole—why not the Bunker, too?
Sometimes, Buddy boy, the familiar voice intoned in his head, the only thing left to depend on is God.
Bud slid to a halt in front of the rabbit hole, his second wind gone now. He fumbled for the knife at his side, his legs and arms shaking uncontrollably, making it difficult for him to complete this otherwise simple task. It brought back memories of a night long, long ago, when his little hands had trembled so violently, attempting to retrieve a Cub Scout flashlight from his bedside table. Bud’s life had come full circle. Once more, he was attempting to vanquish the boogeyman. Only this time, I’m not alone.
Then again, neither was his old enemy alone.
Josie and Rusty rushed to Bud’s side, turning and firing into the line of Red Eyes racing towards them. This time their onslaught failed to divert the mad charge. The Rabids came through the bamboo like a hot wave of army ants, intent on the destruction of anything in their path. Their numbers had again increased. They raced over the bodies of their fallen comrades as if they weren’t even there. Meeting the bullets with bovine disregard.
“There’s too many!” Rusty despaired. “We’ve got to get underground!”
“Cut Tubby off my back first!” Bud ordered him. “Josie, keep blasting away!”
While Rusty frantically sawed through the ropes, Josie sought out the closest Rabids. The ones posing the most immediate threat. Three were far ahead of the hungry pack. Taking a bracing breath, Josie took careful aim. She took out the first with a clean head shot, and disabled the second with a dispersed blast to its lungs. It hit the ground and didn’t get up. Red, frothy bubbles jetted high into the air as one of its kind stomped over its ches
t.
As Rusty cut the last of Tubby's bonds, Josie swung her 12 gauge towards another nearby Rabid.
She recognized this one. The mother of one of her classmates. Mrs. Libby Tyne. Josie recalled the elfin woman for her kind smile and the tasty pecan sandies she made every year for the school bake sale.
Josie aimed at Libby’s head, shearing off the right side of her face and jaw. Still, the red-eyed bitch came on, her pendulous breasts swinging wildly from side to side.
Josie moaned. She was tired of all the bloodshed and was unable to summon up any more hate in her heart. She pulled the trigger and erased Mrs. Libby Tyne from the face of the earth. The shotgun empty now, Josie dropped the smoking Mossberg at her feet.
Bud grabbed her from behind. “Get down below!” he said, shoving her after Rusty. “Get Tubby down that ladder-well! I’ll hold ‘em off as long as I can!”
Josie didn’t argue with him. Bud didn’t need that kind of selfish distraction. Rusty was attempting to guide Ralph headfirst down the rabbit hole with little success.
“He’s out cold,” he told her. “All dead weight!”
She got behind Tubby’s head and grabbed him underneath his armpits. Behind her, Rusty guided her around the switchback. She looked down at Ralph’s waxen features. The moon was so bright outside, she could still see, even in here. Tubby had held out for as long as he could but the loss of blood had taken its toll. The muscles in his face were slack and corpselike, his breathing not all that much livelier. His blue jeans were soaked with blood, and the raw gaping hole in his leg was oozing more and more of the precious fluid. She wondered how much more time Ralph had left. His wound required immediate attention. Time, they just couldn’t give him right now.
She glanced up and saw that Bud had positioned himself protectively in front of them.
The .45 came alive in his outstretched hand, spewing out death, one copper cartridge at a time. Rusty’s nearly empty .38, and another .45 with a full clip, lay tucked in the waistband of Bud’s Levis, behind his back, within easy reach once his current gun was out of ammo.
There would be no time for reloading.
She saw where the back of his jeans and T-shirt were soppy with Tubby’s blood. Bud painted a heroic picture, standing there, the ejected shells flying off to the side, the hordes of Rabids converging on him like hungry rats to cheese. Bowing their heads, she and Rusty pulled Tubby further down into the rabbit hole.
With Bud lost from view, Josie had a premonition: I’m never going to see him again...
They got to the edge of the drop, and holding on to each other’s shoulders—Josie and Rusty anyhow—the three of them slipped down the slanted ladder-well, bobsled style, the bone in Tubby’s leg scraping against the concrete wall, all the way down. It sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard. Still, he slept on. Despite his dreadful injury, Josie couldn’t help but envy her friend’s comatose state. Chances were they were all about to die…or worse…and Tubby looked as if he might sleep through the whole thing!
As they dropped into the alcove, with Tubby’s weight falling on top of them, Josie thought she heard the barren click of Bud’s .45. She grabbed a hold of Rusty and held him still—until once more the echoes of rapid gunfire filled her grateful ears. Bud was down to one clip, maybe three rounds from the .38.
“Let’s get him on the sofa,” she said, getting up and jumping to work. They had a lot to do before the Rabids forced Bud’s retreat. They knew the sacrifice Bud was making, risking his life to give them the necessary time to get ready. “Watch out for the bodies, Rusty. There’s three of them between us and the Bunker.”
She didn’t bother telling him that one of them was Bill. If they somehow made it through the night, she would think of a way to break it to him and Ralph tomorrow.
Bud had had the foresight to light the Coleman the last time he was down here. The light was comforting in its bold luminescence. Bud had cranked it on high, too, and it lit the shelter brighter than she had ever seen it before. Much too bright for a Rabid. At least they had nothing to fear of anything lurking in the shadows. There were no shadows! Except for the dead, they were all alone.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Rusty said, seeing the stiffs.
Bud had also taken time to remove his father from the inside of the Bunker. Bill Brown lay by himself, five feet from the sheriff’s corpse and that of their mystery guest, lying underneath Rupert Henderson.
“Is that Bilbo?” Rusty asked her, not sure of the identity, since most of Bill’s head was missing.
Josie just grunted as they lifted Tubby onto the sofa. She put some cushions underneath his leg, elevating the wound and making him as comfortable as possible. Josie was attempting to pull the flare gun from Ralph’s stubborn grasp when the gunfire from above suddenly ceased.
Dropping Tubby’s clenched hand, Josie sprang into action. “Come on!” she said, running the length of the shelter. She snatched up one of the remaining Mossbergs from the gun locker. Racking a live shell into place, she handed it to Rusty. She was grabbing the last shotgun for herself, and cramming as many shells into her pockets as she could, when they heard Bud’s gravelly voice bellow.
“JOSIE! GRAB THE HURRICANE LANTERN! HURRY, JOSIE! HURRY!”
Despite the urgency in his voice, Josie felt relief wash over her. !!!HE’S ALIVE!!!
She snatched the full lantern on her way out of the storage room, Rusty right behind her. They went as far as the end of the sofa, keeping Tubby behind them, before standing their ground.
Rusty’s arm touched hers. Josie felt him tremble beside her. “I’m scared, Josie,” he said. “I thought I was past all that shit, but I’m not. I’m scared of dying.”
“So am I, Rusty. So am I.”
Then giving her best friend the bravest smile she could muster, Josie turned her attention to the gaping black hole at the bottom of the ladder-well.
Bud’s legs shot into view. He sprang out of the hole, somersaulted over the dead bodies, and landed neatly beside them. “THEY’RE COMING!” he roared.
Josie could hear the garbled hate/speak echoing excitedly down the ladder-well. The Rabids, seeing the bright light, had hesitated up top. Giving Bud just enough time to evade their desperate clutches. So many were pushing from the outside to get in, though, that the ones up front had no choice but to surge ahead.
Josie found Bud’s blue eyes, and in them she saw fear. Real fear. Recognizing it, she herself felt a level of dread that surpassed all the terror she had thus far experienced. Ashamed of his transparent emotions, Bud looked away. He saw the lantern Josie had set down on the coffee table and almost made a grab for it.
Too soon, he thought. Wait for the right juncture, praying that that promised moment hadn’t long since passed. And as the first of the Rabids fell naked out of the hole, like some nightmarish rock in a Tolkien tale giving birth to the damned, Bud grabbed Rusty and shoved him over to the bomb shelter door, propped open on the wall.
“LIGHT ‘EM UP, JOE,” he said to Josie over his shoulder, “AND SEND THOSE ASSHOLES TO HELL!”
Josie obliged, filling the Bunker with sound and fury. She tried to imagine herself at the Beaufort County Fair, popping off the startled Rabids one by one, like tin-plated ducks in a shooting gallery. The racked shells fell to her feet. Hollow husks of death. Each one a conclusion to somebody’s life. She knew it could have been much worse. The narrow entry was all that was saving them from being overwhelmed—that and the Rabids sudden emergence into the bright light. Her shoulder ached where the hard plastic stock drove into the crook of her arm with each bellowing discharge. Her hearing had taken on a high-pitched ringing as well, which even the Mossberg had trouble penetrating.
The pile of shells at her feet grew, while the ones in her pockets began to dwindle.