Burnout (The Invasion Chronicles Book 1)

by Alex Barnett

  “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it!” Caleb’s voice rose over the noise of their weapons, and Lydia blinked hazily, looking around. There were no more figures lunging at her and smell of blood and burned flesh filled the air. The Royce’s backyard was strewn with bodies, collapsed on the ground like grotesque puppets. The grass shimmered wetly and Lydia swallowed, her stomach twisting hard as her mouth turned sour. Don’t look, she told herself firmly.

  She jumped as a heavy thud sounded on the other side of the braced yard gate and her eyes flew to her makeshift doorstop. The Burnouts would not be held back forever. There was still no movement from the Royce’s house, though even as she was searching the windows, there was another burst of gunfire. Still alive. Someone was still alive.

  Caleb dropped to his knees beside the carry-case of ammunition, scrabbling it open. He held up one of the spare charge cartridges, tossing it to her when she nodded. They reloaded their weapons as quickly as possible, Caleb’s fingers fumbling over the unfamiliar gun. Lydia bit her lip as she worked, most of her attention on the sounds of the Burnouts pounding at the yard gate. The gunfire from the house wasn’t letting up, and she could only imagine what was happening out front.

  “Okay listen,” Caleb said, straightening and slinging the carry-case over his shoulder. “Once we get in there, we gotta—”

  Whatever else Caleb was going to say, she never heard it.

  Another scream rose up above the other sounds, drowning out the Burnouts and the gunfire. Lydia heard it, and was racing for the Royce’s back door before she even realized she was moving. Some part of her registered Caleb’s shouts behind her, but only barely.

  Ava.

  Ava was still alive, and Ava was screaming.

  She hit the back door with bone-rattling force, screaming herself when it refused to budge. When she peered through the glass, she could see the kitchen table—the table she, Ava, Zack and Caleb had all been sitting around just that morning—wedged up against the door. Another burst of gunfire. Another scream.

  Lydia slammed her fist against the doorjamb next to the deadbolt once, twice, and on the third time, she shoved with the power still bubbling inside her. Fire flashed down her spine again, nerves already scraped raw protesting what she was asking. The door slammed open, the table skidding across the kitchen to smash into the opposite wall. Lydia stumbled through the door, knocking her shoulder against the frame hard. Her vision doubled for a few heart-stopping moments and she scrubbed at her eyes furiously, trying to clear them.

  The kitchen had been ransacked, the few pieces of furniture that had not been used for the barricades tossed to the floor. The cabinets were hanging open, as though someone had been going through them for anything that could be used as a weapon. The gunfire nearly split her eardrums, and she raced for the living room, yelling for someone, anyone to answer.

  “Grandpa! Ava! Where are you?!” she called, uncaring of what heard her. If the Burnouts had breached the house, they were screwed either way.

  “Lydia, wait!” She heard Caleb’s voice behind her, but ignored him. She flew down the central hall that ran through the length of the house, coming to a skidding halt in the living room.

  It was pure chaos. Every available piece of furniture was tossed up against the front door and the wide picture window looking out onto the front lawn. Most of the windowpanes were broken, shattered, and Burnouts were pressed up against them, trying to shove their pale, silver-veined bodies through the openings. Fallen corpses partially blocked the windows, but more and more Burnouts were piling in on top of them, pushing their way in. The glow of their eyes practically lit the room.

  Grandpa and Mr. Royce crouched behind a table that had been flipped over on end and shoved up against the largest window in the front room, frantically trying to stem the tide. Even as she watched, Grandpa racked the slide on his shotgun and blasted another Burnout that was trying to crawl through a gap. The front door, blocked by the Royce’s sofa, was rattling ominously. Its frame was starting to splinter around the deadbolt as Burnouts crashed against it again and again. The sight of her grandfather, alive, alive, and unhurt as far as she could see, broke her out of her paralysis.

  She darted a quick look around the living room, trying to see where she could help the most. Jim Perry was a few feet away from Grandpa and Mr. Royce, huddled against the wall catty corner to the large picture window. He was clutching a handgun Lydia knew belonged to Mr. Grant, firing in quick bursts. Jim was trying to let the Burnouts get just far enough in through the broken window that they slumped down in the frame when he took them out, plugging up the hole with their bodies. It was working, for the most part…but as fast as he could get one positioned, another was pulling and shoving it out of the way.

  And behind Jim…oh thank God, behind Jim…were Ava and Zack. Lydia thought her heart was going to batter itself out of her ribcage. Ava was all right, as well. Her family was still alive.

  Ava and Zack squatted down on the floor, clustered together in a corner of the room. What looked like the rest of their available arsenal was on the floor in front of them. As fast as she could, Ava was stuffing bullets into empty magazines. Zack was tracing his hands over the guns in front of him and loading them as quickly as Ava could hand him a magazine.

  “Ava!” Andrew Royce screamed suddenly, whipping around and putting his gun down. He gave it a forceful shove, so that it slid across the floor and fetched up against Zack’s foot. Zack reached down and grabbed it as Ava snatched a loaded laser rifle up and slid it back to Andrew. Tears poured down her friend’s face, and Ava shrieked as another piece of glass broke out of the picture window, crashing to the floor…but her hands were steady as she seized another magazine and began reloading it.

  There was no sign of Eric Grant, Jill Royce, Iris Perry, or Emily DeSantos.

  And a swath of blood ran down the wall underneath one of the windows…red, fresh, and gleaming.

  Lydia took it all in, in the time it took for Caleb to come skidding to a halt beside her. She heard him take a sharp breath as his eyes fell on his brother, heard a muttered thank God, and then the two of them were moving. Lydia threw herself to her knees beside Grandpa, while Caleb raced over to give Jim Perry some backup. Grandpa startled when Lydia landed beside him, but almost instantly slumped again.

  “Lyddie,” he breathed out, fear and overwhelming relief rolled up into the word.

  “I’m fine!” she shouted. She took her own aim and added her firepower to Grandpa’s and Andrew’s. Her head was still pounding unmercifully, but her aim was true. A few horrifying faces dropped out of view at the shattered remains of the picture window. “You?”

  “Been better,” Grandpa huffed.

  “We can’t hold them off,” Andrew cried.

  He was right. There was no way they were going to win this…they would run out of bullets long before they ran out of Burnouts. And more would be coming, with all the noise.

  “Back way’s clear, Mike!” Caleb yelled. He slung the carry-case off his shoulder and tossed it to Ava. “Lydia blocked off the gate.”

  “If we run for it now, we should be able to make it out over the fences. Caleb’s truck is right in front of the barricade,” Lydia continued. “Where’s—where’s everyone else?” she asked, unable to keep a tremble from her voice. Grandpa’s face turned stony.

  “Jill and Eric are dead,” he said. Lydia went cold, her fingers faltering on the trigger. She glanced over at Andrew, who was staring straight ahead, firing at the horde in the window with bleak determination. “Emily and Iris are getting supplies together upstairs.”

  There were emergency bags packed in every house—food, water, blankets. No doubt Emily and Iris were attempting to cram what medical supplies they had into the bags. Lydia licked her lips, her heart hammering against her ribs. The Burnouts were relentless, pounding against the door; clawing through the broken windows. Their sheer weight threatened to break the door down, and tables and sofas weren’t going to protec
t them.

  “Mike, what do we do?” Jim Perry demanded. With Caleb’s help, he was holding the Burnouts off, but only just barely.

  Grandpa took another shot, and then slid the gun back over to Ava, receiving a freshly loaded pistol in return. “Have to run for it!” he shouted back. “Ava, go get Iris and Emily! Lydia, you and the boys fall back with them, get out of the house and over the fences. We’ll be right behind you!”

  14

  Ava threw Lydia a terrified look, but obeyed. She squeezed Zack’s shoulder as she leapt to her feet, passing him the gun she had been loading. Caleb took a final two shots and abandoned his position, scrambling over to Zack. He snatched the carry-case back up and began stuffing their ammunition into it, while Zack reloaded his brother’s rifle with a calm swiftness that was out of place in the chaos, his fingers flying over a weapon he couldn’t see.

  “Grandpa,” Lydia started, the thought of leaving him here to try and hold the line scaring her more than anything else that had happened so far.

  They’d lost Jill and Mr. Grant, already—and she knew what Grandpa meant. They were going to Burn…or had done so already. She’d lost track of the time. How could Jill and Eric be gone? Thin, nervous Mr. Grant, who told stupid jokes and cheered for the Bengals every year; and sweet, kind Jill, who canned tomatoes for fun…how could they have Burned? She couldn’t bear the possibility that her grandfather might not make it out of the house, might just be gone, as well.

  “Don’t argue with me,” Grandpa snapped. A Burnout shoved its way through the broken picture window, and swarmed halfway onto the floor before Andrew put it down. A sudden splintering sounded from the front door, and the whole bottom half of caved inwards. Ava, Iris, and Emily appeared in the doorway to the hall, the latter two clutching bulky, blanket-wrapped packages to their chests while Ava shouldered a backpack the emergency food and water were stored in.

  “Mike, just go with them,” Andrew said abruptly, his voice quiet and leaden. “You and Jim, both. I’ll hold the bastards off.” Grandpa whirled on him, eyes flashing.

  “Not an option!” he snarled. “Andy, don’t you dare…”

  “They’ll be through as soon as we stop shooting,” Andrew interrupted. Lydia fired again, and the door caved inward further. Caleb straightened, one hand hooked under his brother’s elbow. He and Zack had gathered up the spare guns into an awkward, deadly armload. “You’ll need as much of a head start as you can get!”

  “You stay here by yourself, you’ll die,” Grandpa insisted. “Damn it, she wouldn’t want you to just give up!”

  The others began hurrying back towards the kitchen, Ava leading the way while Caleb and Zack brought up the rear. There was a final, tremendous crack, and the Royce’s front door nearly split in two, the deadbolt finally giving way. Several gruesome figures crowded against the splintered pieces of the door, shoving at the sofa in a frenzy.

  Andrew looked at Grandpa and smiled. The expression was terrible—broken. His eyes were red and wet. “My best girl’s out there, Mike. Fifty-three years, I’ve never left her behind…I’m not startin’ now. Go.”

  The sofa started to slip where it was wedged in tight against the corner of the Royce’s small front hall. Grandpa shoved Lydia’s shoulder, urging her up. There was no time to stay and argue with Andrew. She jumped to her feet and took off after Ava and the others. Behind her, she heard Jim fire off another few shots.

  “Mike, we gotta go!” he yelled. It was followed by a terrible explosion of sound. Lydia wanted to squeeze her eyes shut against what was happening, wanted to find a corner and just hide, hide, hide until this was over. She ran harder, catching up to Ava and the others just as they hit the back door.

  Lydia crowded up close behind Emily, and one hand snaked free of the bundle she was clutching to grip Lydia’s wrist. Emily’s face was ghost-white, blood streaking down from a cut on her temple that was only just starting to scab over. Her entire frame trembled. Beside her, Iris Perry wasn’t much better off, sweat standing out on her forehead in great beads and her eyes so wide the whites showed all around. Her lips were moving in a constant stream, murmurs of Lord Jesus protect us, Lord Jesus see us through barely audible over the noise.

  Caleb and Zack were shifting the weapons around for easier carrying. Apart from the rifles Lydia and Caleb got from the McCain’s, there were two shotguns and a pistol. Grandpa had a second pistol, and Lydia still had the blaster tucked into her holster. All that was left were the rifles Jim and Andrew were using, and the blaster Caleb had in his pocket. There was no sign of the shotgun Eric owned—had owned—or the pistol that Jill had favored. Silently, Caleb handed the pistol to Ava, leaving Zack to tuck the two shotguns under one arm as he gripped his brother’s belt with his free hand. Nine guns against who knew how many tens, dozens, hundreds of Burnouts outside the ruined fences. It would have to do.

  Caleb met her eyes briefly, jerking his chin towards the door as though asking if she wanted to take the lead. Behind them, there was a hail of gunfire. Iris groaned low in her throat, and for a moment, it seemed she would run back to find her husband. Emily let go of Lydia’s wrist to wind her arm tightly through Iris’s, pulling her along. Lydia swallowed, charged up a round into the laser rifle, and shouldered her way to the front of the group.

  “Come on,” she said.

  “What about Mike?” Ava asked.

  “He’s coming!” Lydia prayed with all her might that she was telling the truth. “We have to get out of here.”

  They dashed out into the back yard, stepping over the carnage she and Caleb had left only minutes—how had it been only minutes?—ago. The moon was rising, silvered light shining down on the bloodied corpses. The turmoil at the side gate was still going strong, but the fence post Lydia sunk into the ground like a security bar was holding. She could hear the gate creaking, though, and knew it wouldn’t hold forever.

  They hurried to the fence between the Royce’s yard and Emily’s. She and Ava took the lead, with Zack and Caleb drifting behind Iris and Emily, trying to form a loose circle with a weapon handy no matter what direction danger might come from.

  “Lydia,” Ava said uneasily as Lydia gripped one of the hinged slats that formed the doorway in the fence.

  “He’s coming,” Lydia insisted, already knowing what Ava was going to say.

  Behind them, the gunfire went suddenly, terrifyingly silent. Lydia closed her eyes.

  Please, she chanted to herself, Grandpa, please.

  She held her breath, and pulled the slat open just enough to see if any other Burnouts had come through the ruined fence. It all looked quiet. “All right…we go straight out the hole in the fence, and back around Jill and Andrew’s yard,” she said decisively. “Just run. There’s a truck parked just in front of the van.”

  “Tailgate’s unlocked…first one there, get in the cab and gun the engine. Everyone else just cram in the back,” Caleb added.

  “What if those things are out front, too?” Emily whispered.

  In the house, the gunfire started again—slower, this time, with longer intervals.

  Grandpa, please.

  “Just stay together,” Lydia replied. She cast one last, frightened look at the house, and nearly sagged to her knees in relief when the back door suddenly banged open, and Grandpa and Mr. Perry came rushing out.

  “Jim!” Mrs. Perry cried.

  At the same time, Ava shouted, “Mike!” and grinned widely.

  “Go, go, go!” Grandpa bellowed, waving them forward.

  Lydia ducked through the fence, followed by Ava. As soon as she was through, she had the rifle up, while Ava turned around to help Zack through the makeshift doorway. Caleb hopped the fence while the rest of them got through. Emily let out a quiet gasp when she saw how the back fence had been torn down.

  Grandpa and Jim Perry slipped through scant seconds later. Iris launched herself at her husband, burying her face in his shoulder. Grandpa was panting, heaving like he’d just run a marathon. There wa
s a bleak, forbidding set to his wrinkled face. As soon as he was through the gate, he reached for Lydia, drawing her close in a crushing hug.

  “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he whispered against her hair. He squeezed her tightly for a moment. Without a word, Caleb took one of the rifles from his brother’s grasp and held it out to Grandpa, who took it with a nod of thanks.

  “Where’s Andrew?” Emily asked in a trembling voice. Grandpa just shook his head. Emily bit her lip, clutching the supplies to her chest.

  In the house, there was another shot.

  Then awful, awful silence.

  Grandpa straightened his shoulders. His jaw hardened. “We’ve got to move,” he said. “Reed’s truck. We’ll have to try and come back for the other cars later. Everyone keep moving and for God’s sake, stay together!” Grandpa shouldered his way to the front of the group and they ran for the ruined section of fence. Behind them, Lydia heard glass breaking.

  The backyards on Meadowbrook were all bordered by the same landscape—wild scrub with knee-high bushes and brambles. There were trees, too: large knots of evergreens and maples that formed a wall around the spur of Meadowbrook Court. This close to the houses, though, all the trees had been cut down. There was no real cover for them to duck behind or hide in. Lydia told herself it was only a few hundred yards to the relative safety of the truck. They just had to run along the fence until they could duck around the corner of the Royce’s yard.

  She concentrated on that—on the sound of Ava’s breathing beside her, on the hole torn in the shoulder of the plaid shirt Grandpa was wearing, on the weight of the rifle in her hands. She concentrated on small details and tried to ignore the huge, hulking knowledge that Eric, Jill, and Andrew were all dead. Andrew had sacrificed himself to buy them time. They tried to run quietly, but the brush had been baked to a dry brittleness under Ohio’s summer sun. It crackled with their every move. Beside her, Ava yelped when her arm caught against a large thorn. They ran, Iris and Jim lagging a little behind and Emily falling back to grab Iris’s hand and try to pull her along. They ran, and Lydia could see the corner of the fence ahead. Just a few more yards and they could make a dash for the truck. They were almost there. Almost safe.