by Damon Novak
The walkway was empty, but noise drew them. Feet slamming into pavement. Screams and cries. Knocks on doors.
He moved to the opaque sidelight window, pressing his cupped hands against it as he attempted to peer through to see movement.
Light filtered through, but no motion was visible. Moving to the other sidelight, he repeated the action, straining to see.
Suddenly, a face came into view, accompanied by a horrible shriek. The thing inside slammed into the glass repeatedly, leaving bloody smears behind with each impact. It clawed at the barrier between them, backing up and ramming it over and over, pulverizing its own face as it did so.
But that close, Magi knew who it was; even through the distortion of the glass and the cloudiness, the shining eyes were familiar.
It was his friend, Atian.
He couldn’t let him stay that way. He didn’t believe Atian would walk away from him, had the situation been reversed. For all the horrible things he may be forced to do as the days ahead slipped by, he must do this one good thing now.
Sliding the .30-30 from its scabbard, he eased the lever downward, then up, chambering a round. Magi held the gun barrel to the glass, tapping, lightly tapping.
When Atian’s face, complete with his still beautiful, opaque yet shining eyes, slammed into the blurred glass again, Magi fired the Winchester, cutting off the snarl in his friend’s throat.
The thump came next as his childhood friend’s body collapsed behind the door. Only then did Magi try the doorknob.
It was locked.
If Anjeni had been there, she would’ve come.
A thought struck him.
Unless Atian had killed or wounded her.
He backed up several steps, ran at the door and kicked it, planting his heel just beside the knob. The jamb splintered, and the door slammed into Atian’s motionless body.
Running through the house, he called, “Anji! Anjeni! Are you here?”
No response came, and soon, he had been in every room. No sign of her.
His heart pounding, he forced himself to calm. He dropped down onto the bed in Atian’s room and buried his face in his hands, the coating flaking away. Suddenly, determination overtook him.
He got up and ran back to the front door, focused on his last destination. Chief Climbing Fox Wattana’s home.
He reached the porch, his eyes cast downward to hook his hand through the cooler’s handle.
The valuable skin and mud mixture in hand, he took several steps toward the street before looking up.
Magi stopped, his muscles tense.
At least thirty skinwalkers moved up the narrow walk toward him. His eyes went to his arms. Though the palms of his hands were rubbed bare, they were still coated with the strange, disgusting mix.
Finding his legs would not move, he remained still as they reached him, parting like water over stones, drifting around him, toward the house. The gunshot. The splintering wood. The noises beckoned to them until they heeded its call and found no reward.
Then they would drift away again, seeking life.
Mere inches away. He smelled them, and believed the very air was polluted by their stench.
When the last one passed, he hurried away, turning behind the hedge, and focusing on the path ahead. As he put distance between the horde and himself, he started to run. It felt somehow that time was running out. He had been inside his own head for so long, he felt as though he were going insane.
He must find Anjeni. He may have nobody else left in the world.
Ω
One Mile Off The Louisiana Coast
Aboard The Monaco Skiff
It was past lunchtime, but I didn’t feel like eatin’. Everyone was diggin’ into fried grouper sandwiches, and they smelled good, but I was gettin’ too antsy to eat.
I wanted to be ashore. I knew with the ziggin’ and zaggin’ we’d have to do to avoid Dallas and Oklahoma City, the trip was more like 900 miles.
It sounded like a million miles in my head; almost insurmountable.
Georgie was down in the salon with Roxy and Terry, and I was pretty sure Danny and Lilly were havin’ a nap or a fuck.
Behind me, sprawled out on the bench seat, was Liam. He was out and had been since he polished off breakfast. He wanted to do some fishin’, but we didn’t have any setups for trollin’, and we sure as hell weren’t stoppin’. With that kid, it was fish, play video games, eat or sleep.
What I’d give to be a kid again and let someone else worry about all this shit.
When the galley was spic and span, accordin’ to all reports, Garland had headed up to the bow. I looked down and saw him still there, layin’ on the long, bench cushion, his body swayin’ side to side as the big yacht cut through the easy southwestern swells.
I bumped the throttle forward. Brought the beast to 26 knots.
Checkin’ my watch, I was surprised to see it was already 2:45. I’d glanced down at the GPS every once in a while, but the weather was clear enough, so I could see the coastline the entire run. I’d seen land ahead of me for a long time, and I did what Danny and I’d talked about. I cut south to get around the tip of Louisiana. Not just a little bit, either.
New Orleans jutted out a good 60 plus miles farther south than Mississippi and it was a big time-killer, but we’d figured it into our calculations.
I took a deep breath. It was peaceful out on the water, and I was way too eager to get to land. In the back of my rational mind, I knew that peace might just blow apart like a goddamned dandelion in the wind once we set ashore.
A blood-caked dandelion.
We’d been goin’ about nine hours. That meant we had to be around four hours from Port Arthur, Texas.
“Can I drive?”
I turned around. Liam was standin’, stretchin’.
“It ain’t a video game, buddy. Gotta be careful. You got eight lives in your hands, includin’ your own.”
“Right,” he said with a smile. “My life. That’s why I’ll be careful. Fuck all you guys.”
I don’t know why that struck me as funny, but I goddamned laughed so hard I almost popped the button on my Levis. “Get over here, you dick.”
“You’re a dick,” he said, lookin’ at me sideways as he slid into the seat. “How fast we going?”
“Right there. That’s how many knots.”
“Dad used to talk about knots. Is that like miles an hour?”
“Nautical miles,” I said. “Knots are a measure of speed, and nautical miles indicate distance.”
“Huh,” he said. “I never knew that.”
“Now you do. Okay, repeat it back to me, what you just learned.”
He squinted up at me. “Huh?”
I laughed. “Never mind.”
“Okay,” said Liam. “Should I turn?”
“In a boat this size, you just turn that wheel a little. She’ll take a while to respond. You just watch the bow and be patient. Folks tend to oversteer boats. In a smaller boat you can look behind an inexperienced boater and see a zigzaggy wake. That’s how you know.”
“Seems easier than it is,” said the kid, his red hair blowin’ behind him.
“You’ll get the hang of it. Think you can handle it while I grab me a brewski?”
“Get me a Coke?”
“Aye aye, captain. Steady as she goes.”
He turned. “Huh?”
I laughed and pointed. “Go that way. Remember what I said about steerin’.”
We had a lot of distance between us and the closest obstacles. I’m not a total dumbass. I didn’t completely trust the kid to pilot that thing on his own, so I ran down the steps and busted into the salon like a gunfighter through swingin’ doors.
Georgie, Terry, and Roxy all stared at me.
“Who’s driving the boat?” asked Georgie.
“Liam,” I said. “He’s got it for a sec. Need anything from the fridge?”
They all held up their own glasses of whatever. I grabbed a can of Coors and a Co
ke. “Under four hours to go. We’ll spend the night on the boat and figure out a ride in the mornin’.”
“I’m not going to remember how to walk on land that isn’t moving,” said Terry.
“You and me both,” I said. “Longest I’ve been offshore in my whole life, I think.” I looked toward the door. “Better go. Seems like he’s doin’ fine, but he might be a little freaked.”
“I’ll come up in a few,” said Georgie.
“I’ll save a seat for y’all.”
I headed back up. Liam was standin’ in front of the wheel, the wind blowin’ in his face. It wasn’t Grand Theft Auto, but I had a feelin’ it was like the best video game he’d ever played.
“Here’s your Coke, Cap,” I said, puttin’ it in the cup holder on the helm.
As the afternoon slipped by along with the distant shoreline, we let Liam stay where he was. He never even asked to go to the bathroom. Before we knew it, we saw what we’d been waitin’ for on that GPS Map.
Port Arthur. We had about another hour to go, and that was anglin’ northwest to line us up with the inlet leadin’ to the refinery.
Danny moved up and tapped Liam on the shoulder as we got closer to shore. The weather was good, but the wind had picked up and the swells were buildin’. Liam seemed relieved to give up the helm, and Danny sat down, nursin’ his own beer.
“I’m goin’ down to organize stuff,” I said.
“I’ll join you,” said Georgie.
She followed me down to our cabin, and when we got inside, I walked to the closet where we’d stacked three bags full of guns and ammo.
“Leave that for a bit,” said Georgina.
I turned. “Yeah?”
She moved toward me and slipped her arms around my waist. Tiptoeing, she still couldn’t reach me, so I leaned forward and planted a good kiss on her.
“I’m horny,” she said.
“Why, Doctor Lake,” I said. “Is that a medical term?”
“It’s actually from the late 18th century, derived from the original, ‘having the horn’,” said Georgie, kissin’ me again. “I learned that in college.”
“Shit,” I said. “Knew I missed out by skippin’ college.”
She reached down and gave me a squeeze. “Oh, you’re getting the hang of it.”
Y’all don’t need to know any more. This is a chronicle, not porno.
Ω
Georgie and I were well finished and almost noddin’ off when I felt the boat slow. Before I got my pants on, I heard the anchor chain feedin’ out.
“We’re here,” I said. “Guess we’d better scramble to make it look like we were workin’.”
“I was working,” she said. “Why else would I be exhausted?”
I smiled and slapped her butt. “Get some clothes on.” I pulled my pants and shirt on. “I ain’t gonna sleep much tonight.”
“I doubt any of us will.”
I pulled the gun bags out and stacked ‘em on the floor. The bedroom was huge for a boat, and there was plenty of room. I’d stashed ‘em because I still had reservations about Garland, though he could’ve grabbed any number of guns along the way and he hadn’t.
I hoped we’d made the right call about him.
After we organized everything we’d want to haul along with us, we called a meetin’ in the salon. The seas were choppy, but the anchor was holdin’ us in place. We were anchored about a quarter mile from the inlet leadin’ into the Motiva Refinery, the name that was showin’ on the GPS screen.
Apparently, big-ass yachts had fancy-ass GPS units in ‘em.
“What about him?” asked Danny, raisin’ his chin toward Garland.
I shrugged. “Garland? You’re a grownup. You’re either in one hundred percent or you head off your own way when we hit shore. What’s your call?”
He flashed a nervous smile as he fidgeted with his long blonde hair. “I told y’all before. I know I fucked up at the start, but I didn’t kill no one. I’m a hell of a fabricator and a welder, so if there’s a need to fortify any vehicles or somethin’, I’ll be a good guy to have around.”
I looked at every face, and they were all noddin’. “Good enough, then. Trust him with a weapon?”
This time the nods came slower, but eventually, everyone was in.
“He cleans a good kitchen,” said Roxy. She looked at him, then asked, “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”
“Me?” asked Garland. “I’m twenty-eight. Why?”
Roxy smiled, and I was glad to see she was more like her mother than I’d realized when we’d first met. Kind, and willing to offer the benefit of the doubt – like her mother did for me and my brothers.
“Now that you’re showered and clean,” she said, “It’s not as prominent as before, but you have one of those faces that could either belong to a weathered 22-year-old or a well-preserved 35-year-old.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.
Still ain’t sure why. It kinda meant he looked his age.
After a little more plannin’, we all took off in opposite directions, gatherin’ supplies and parkin’ everything near where we’d get off the behemoth boat. At the crack of dawn we’d be pullin’ into Sabine Pass.
Ω
I thought I was the first one up, but when I felt my way to the Keurig, I heard it spittin’ out the last drops of Danny’s first cup of coffee.
“Hey, CB,” came from behind me, and I turned to see Lilly, fully dressed, sittin’ in the salon. Danny stirred cream and sugar into his coffee.
“Afternoon,” he said, smilin’.
“Yeah, right. Sun ain’t even up yet.”
“Will be,” said Lilly. “Noticed somethin’ on that GPS this mornin’.”
“What?” I asked.
“That pass goes seven or eight miles right through two wildlife refuges. One in Texas, the other in Louisiana.”
“Lovely,” I said. “Glad it’s a big boat then.”
“We should be fine,” said Danny. “Some big damned ships go through there, I’m bettin’. Oil transports and the like. Can’t tell how wide it is from the GPS, but it’s damned sure wide enough, and deep.”
“We’re gonna need two big trucks or SUVs,” I said. “To haul the eight of us and the gear.”
“I don’t know any oil men,” said Lilly, “but if I were guessing what kind of vehicles they drove, that’s exactly what I’d figure.”
Danny walked to the window and looked out. Light was filterin’ through the curtains. He turned back to us. “Let’s pull anchor. Come hell or high water, I wanna pull into Lebanon, Kansas tonight.”
“Come zombies most likely, bud,” I said. “But yeah. Let’s go.”
Ω
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Rendezvous Point
Lebanon, Kansas
Micky sat up on his mat and leaned against the wall, pushing the hair from his eyes as he stared out at the people spread across the gymnasium floor.
At each entry door was an armed man or woman, having taken watch shifts throughout the night. On Micky’s watch, nobody had stirred; each day was exhausting.
Fear could do that to a person.
He stood, stretched, and walked over to the northeast door. The woman guarding the entrance was of Indian heritage, and though he knew he’d heard her name, he did not remember it.
“Morning,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I’m sorry, but I forgot your name.”
“It’s Nayana Joshi, Mr. Rode,” she said. “Naya for short.”
“Thanks, Naya. Call me Micky, please. Any trouble on your shift?”
“I peeked out a few times,” she said. “Saw a few just to the south of us, but they never got close.”
“How many, you remember?”
She said, “Five. None for the last hour. The clearing we did before settling here gave us some breathing room, I guess.”
“We needed a good night’s rest after that trip. Where did you come from?”
�
�New York,” she said. “Not the city. I wouldn’t imagine too many people made it out of there. Had to have become a glass and steel killing ground.”
“Glad you made it, Naya. You get out with someone?”
She nodded and smiled as she pointed to a little boy, still sleeping on a mat just ten feet to her side. “Yamir. He’s eight. Very shy, but bold.”
Micky nodded. “I’m glad you and your son got to us. What about –”
“We are alone,” she said, her tone indicating it was just the two of them, and there was no need to inquire further.
“Okay. You handle that weapon like you know how to use it.”
“I was a correctional officer at Fish Kill,” she said. “Near the Pennsylvania state line. When the rain started, I didn’t stay. I could only think of Yamir. The way it smelled. How it stained everything. I didn’t ask; I abandoned my post and went to my son.”
“Where was he?”
“I had found a place nearby where I would drop him off for daycare. School was still out. I left work and went to him. People began to get sick soon afterwards, and I’ve always been prepared for emergencies, living in close proximity to New York City. I had a portable ham radio in the trunk of my car.”
“Smart,” said Micky. “Heard my broadcast?”
She nodded. “Not right away. I just wanted to get as far away from heavily populated areas as possible. It just seemed wise.”
She had jet-black hair tied up on her head, and her face was thin and free of lines. She stood around 5’8”, with square shoulders and erect posture. Her brown eyes were big and alert.
“Glad you made it to us,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her on the shoulder. “You both okay? No injuries on the way?”
Her eyes changed. “No. I can’t say that for so many we saw on the way to your caravan. Also on your caravan. I’m just relieved we’re here. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Micky thought for a moment. “We’re going to want to fortify at least a portion of the town, maybe making barricades with cars, or whatever. Once everyone gets up, if you could help me sort out who might help with that, I’d appreciate it.”