THE VALUE OF JADE (Mace of the Apocalypse #2)

by Daniel J. Williams

  As they got back in their cars and began to drive off, Mace thought about the twisted roles the devout had taken after succumbing to infection, then about the twisted roles of the religious fanatics who had created it. He recalled an old conversation with Father McCann, after he had discovered God for the first time. "Be careful not to fall into the trap, Mace. Religion is ruled by man. It was meant to be pure and guided by Spirit, but it is prone to error, judgment, and evil. Listen and follow your heart. It is the truest path to God." As he looked in the rear view mirror at the flames leaping high, he nodded to himself in understanding.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Standing outside the entrance to the Century Theaters, Travis and Brett planned their assault. Travis talked excitedly as he unzipped the canvas bag, showing Brett the contents and handing him the timer to inspect. “If they’re in there, we can set up the charge in the lobby and blow it by timer. We’ll have plenty of time to clear the area.”

  Brett looked nervously around as he handed the timer back. “Let’s just get this shit over with. If they’re in there, I don’t want them to know we’re anywhere near them. Let’s go.”

  Travis zipped the bag back up and followed Brett as he slowly inched the front door open. The lobby was empty. They slipped inside, moving quietly along the perimeter wall towards the theaters. The theaters were lined up down the hallway. The closer they got to the theater doors, the darker the area became with no interior light for illumination.

  Brett paused in the growing darkness, listening for any sounds. There were none. He slowly moved towards the first theater door, his heart speeding up as he approached. He slowly inched the door open and pressed his ear against the crack. His heart immediately jumped to a sprinter’s pace as the low moans of infection seeped through the opening. He could hear shuffling sounds close inside, and in his mind he pictured an infected directly on the other side, face pressed close to his, ready to barrel through as it detected his presence.

  He was then hit by the fetid whiff of corrupted flesh. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed it back down, grimacing at the foul taste. He kept his head together as he closed the door quietly and backed away, with Travis mimicking his backward motion.

  He turned to head back towards the lobby, his movement seriously controlled and slow as a snail’s pace. The sound of his breathing and each footstep seemed amplified in his ears, and sweat broke out on his forehead and back. Moving forward, he kept his head focused on his footsteps, and he bumped into the back of Travis, who stood frozen still before him.

  Looking up in confusion, he saw the face no more than ten feet away, a nightmare vision in partial darkness that sent momentary sparks of blinding light shooting through his brain. Its eyes, wild beyond madness and pooled with blood, bulged as it recognized them for what they were: What it could never be again. Alive, with the capacity for hope and love. Unrelenting rage exploded inside it and it roared, its mouth stretching in a twisted, diseased exaggeration of rage, the sound echoing and bouncing off the walls of the hallway.

  It raced towards them, the urgency for their complete and total annihilation the essence of its being. They bolted in the opposite direction with it right on their tail, heading further down the hallway as a mass of infected poured into it from every doorway. They were cutoff with nowhere to go. They rushed towards an open door opposite the theater entrances. Brett felt a hand grab him and he yelled as Travis yanked him into the open doorway. Travis slammed the door hard, feeling for the locking mechanism as the infected slammed against it. Pulling out his flashlight, Travis lit up the small area, a supply closet, the light flickering as his hand trembled.

  “There’s no way out!” Brett yelled in the small enclosure, dropping his rifle off his shoulder and holding its muzzle against the door, small cracks appearing as wood splintered. The infected pounded away, furious in their rage.

  Travis aimed the flashlight at the ceiling. “Through the ceiling! Go! Go! Go, Alice, go!”

  Brett stepped on one of the closet shelves, spilling cleaning compounds on the floor as he rammed his fist through the ceiling tile. He pounded through it with his upper body and then grabbed a ceiling support bar and began hoisting himself up. Travis pushed him from below and Brett was flung onto the top, precariously balancing himself as he barely kept from falling over the other side.

  Travis set the flashlight on the ground, light facing up, and unzipped the canvas bag.

  “What are you doing?! We’ve got to go now!” yelled Brett, peering down, holding his hand out for Travis.

  Travis looked up, sweat rolling down the sides of his face. “Get going, Angie, I’ll give you as much of a head start as I can!”

  The doorway continued to splinter, and Travis went back to rummaging through the bag, pulling out the timer and blasting cap.

  Brett shook his head vehemently. “C’mon, you stupid glory-hole, we can still make it!”

  A brief smile curved Travis’ upper lip. “You would have picked a fucking chick flick, you pansy. Get going! Now! I’ll catch up! ”

  A look close to disgust crossed Brett’s face as he stared down at his comrade. “Just hurry the fuck up! I’m not leaving without you!”

  Travis chuckled lightly as the doorway splintered further. “Go! I’m setting it for two minutes. Go! Go!,” he yelled as he put the timer back in the bag, zipped it up, and pushed it as far as he could under a shelf. He rose to his feet as the door crushed inwards, jumping onto the shelving as the infected crashed through. Brett scrambled across the top as Travis maneuvered his way up the shelving onto the ceiling support, the shelving breaking as he pushed off. The infected jumped for him as he pulled himself up. He got to the top and his knee slipped off the support. As he began to fall sideways back into the closet, he felt Brett’s hand grab his belt, heaving him back up. The infected shrieked at him, their breath hot against his face as he was righted again.

  “Go, Barbara, go! What the fuck are you waiting for!” Travis screamed as Brett stared at him in disbelief. Brett started scurrying across the ceiling supports, yelling, “You are such an asshole!” behind him as he went. They headed in the direction of the front lobby as the infected fought each other in their rage to reach the ceiling. The broken shelving slowed their progress.

  “How much time we got?” yelled Brett, as they closed in on the front wall.

  “How the fuck would I know? You think I’m checking my watch! Jump, asshole, and let’s get the fuck out of here!”

  Brett reached the end and kicked at the ceiling tiles next to him, hesitating as the tiles crashed to the floor ten feet below.

  “Aww Shit!” he yelled as he made the drop, hitting hard and rolling on impact. Travis jumped directly after him, crashing into him as he jumped to his feet.

  The infected heard the commotion and came rushing out of the theater hallway, shrieking wildly.

  “Fuck! Go! Go!” Brett yelled as he shoved Travis through the front doors. They fell as they breached the doors, stumbling to get to their feet as the infected moved fast behind them. As the infected reached the doors an expansion of light burst from the interior hallway, starting as a thin line that spread rapidly out before bursting into an all-consuming force, illuminating everything in a bright, hot spotlight, freezing it for a moment in time before an explosive blast of orange and blue ripped through the theater.

  Travis and Brett reached the back of the truck as the light flashed. “Truck bed!” Travis yelled, and they dove over the side of Brett’s Ford F-350 and sprawled onto their stomachs, covering their heads with their hands as an enormous explosion of glass and flames shot over them.

  Minutes later, Travis and Brett continued to lay in the back of the truck bed, unmoving. They were covered in dirt and debris. Both their eyes were open, and they stared at each other, amazed that they were both still alive.

  “I think I shit my pants,” Travis finally whispered.

  Brett moved his head a quarter of an inch, signaling a nod. “I think I smell it
. It's how I know we're still alive. Heaven wouldn't smell like that.

  “We’re still alive, Margaret. I’m just afraid to look up to see what else is.”

  Brett's head moved another quarter inch. “I don’t hear nothin’, but I sure as hell don’t want to move and be proved wrong.”

  “I can’t just sit here. I need to change my shorts.” Travis pushed the pile of debris off himself, rising to a sitting position. He took a quick look around. The theaters looked like they should under the circumstances: Blown apart and burning. The bodies that lay around them were badly charred and dismembered. Travis shook his head. “Somebody sure is looking out for us. That’s all that I can say.”

  The pile moved and Brett stuck his face up, coated in white plaster and black ash. “I am never going to the theater with you again. You are a lousy fucking date.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “What the hell was that?” Mace said as he slowed the vehicle down to a crawl. They were halfway to Cheyenne, traveling through Wyoming on Hwy 80 after another long three days of slow but uneventful travel. They had exited the freeway to find a place to rest for the night. "Did you see that? It looked like a kid. He darted off behind those trees over there.” Mace pointed to the left out the front of the windshield.

  Everyone in the vehicle stared in that direction, seeing nothing. Mace picked up the Walkie-Talkie to keep the rest of the caravan informed. “I think I just saw a kid. Let’s take it slow.”

  They were in a rural neighborhood with large lots and ranch style homes. It was woodsy with a lot of tall pines and brush behind the ranch-style fences. Everything was overgrown or dying. The area looked completely deserted.

  Moving the SUV down the street at a slow pace, Mace spotted the kid again up ahead, peeking out to spy on them from behind a bush.

  “He’s got a cowboy outfit on,” Mace said, surprised, pointing again. This time they all spotted him. He couldn’t have been any older than eight, wearing a cowboy hat and gear. He had a toy gun belt strapped around his waist but no guns in the holster. He looked dirty.

  “He looks like Woody!” yelled Chelsea from the back seat as she spotted him. The kid disappeared again. “He looks just like Woody from Toy Story!”

  As they continued slowly down the street they passed a long dirt driveway on the other side of the street where a little girl around the same age stood completely still, watching them as they passed. Chelsea spotted her first. “She’s a princess!”

  They all turned to see the girl, who was still standing in the same spot, dressed in a dirty princess costume. She had a tiara on her head and stared at them with a blank expression. Her hair looked matted and she had dirt on her cheeks.

  “What the hell is going on?” Lisa said from the back seat. The girl suddenly darted away, disappearing from view. When Mace looked back towards the street the boy with the cowboy outfit now stood at the edge of the street, fifteen feet in front of them. He kept his hands behind his back.

  On the other side and further down the street they spotted another kid, wearing a rubber devil mask, peering out from between two trees.

  “This is giving me the creeps,” said Jade, squirming around in her seat to check all directions around the vehicle. “What are they doing out here and what is going on?”

  As Mace inched the vehicle forward the cowboy kid took off again, running back around the bush. “Keep your eyes peeled,” he said.

  Shawn’s voice crackled over the Walkie-Talkie. “What have we stumbled onto? This shit is weird. You see that kid in the white pickup?"

  They all looked at the truck parked just off the street up ahead to the right. In the back window a kid in a Scream mask stared at them. He didn't move. They passed him slowly and his head turned to follow them.

  Another small child appeared on the porch of a house to the left. His face was painted orange. Chelsea squealed, “He’s an Oompa Loompa!” As they passed him slowly he stared back expressionless. Chelsea had her hands and face pressed against the window, watching him in fascination. She began bouncing on her seat. “Oompa, doompa, doompa-dee doo!” she sang, repeating the lyrics over and over. “I want to play with them, mommy! There are kids here!”

  Lisa looked nervously around the neighborhood. “We don’t know what’s going on yet, honey,” she said quietly, as Chelsea went back to singing the song, looking out the window for more potential playmates.

  Mace stopped the car. “There,” he said, pointing to the left again up ahead. More children in dirty costumes appeared, either together or alone. They all stood still, at the edge of the street, staring blankly at the cars. The kid with the Cowboy outfit was suddenly standing in the middle of the street, facing them.

  Over the Walkie-Talkie, Shawn said calmly, “Holy shit, I think we stumbled upon the Children of the Corn.” They could hear nervous laughter coming from Yvette and Jim in the background. They all stayed quiet, glued to the kid in the street.

  Paul’s voice popped over the radio, more excited. “That little girl is coming up behind us! Let’s get out of here!”

  Jacqueline’s voice was next. “She’s just a little girl, for God’s sake.”

  “Yeah, but she’s not coming up behind you!”

  A second later Jacqueline's opinion changed. "Shit. We got kids at the curb staring at us, too!"

  Mace turned around in his seat to see kids appearing from everywhere. They all wore some type of Halloween costume. They surrounded the caravan.

  Mace picked up the handset and said, “Stay in the cars. I’m going to see what they want.”

  He looked towards Jade. “Be ready in case I need backup. I don’t know if this is some bizarre setup.”

  She looked uneasy. "Be careful. This is just wacko."

  He opened the car door gently and stood straight up, checking out the swarm of kids. When he exited the vehicle a few of them took a few steps closer. They were all young, none older than ten. There were now close to thirty staring at him from both sides. Many wore rubber masks over their faces. The one closest to him wore an evil clown mask and outfit, making him look like some demented circus dwarf, giving Mace the chills. The little girl in the princess outfit stood motionless ten feet behind the Turchett’s vehicle.

  “Where are your parents?” asked Mace, addressing the Cowboy kid, who he took to be the leader. The kid remained silent. Mace took a step forward and the kid’s left hand went back behind his back.

  “What are you kids doing out here all alone?”

  More silence.

  Mace took one more step forward and the kids hand flew back around his body with a slingshot firmly gripped. With the other he snatched a rock out of his gun holster and immediately had it loaded and aimed at Mace’s head.

  “Whoa there, little fella. I’m not looking to hurt you.”

  The slingshot snapped and Mace dodged as the rock whizzed by his skull. Before he could say anything else another one was hurtling in his direction. He tried to dodge again but it caught him across the cheek, just below the scar he got courtesy of the teenage gang at the hospital. It was just a scratch but it hurt like hell.

  He turned and ran back to the car as more rocks came hurtling at his head. He felt a jab in his back and said, “Damn, that hurts,” as he jumped back in the vehicle. He looked at Jade and said, “They ARE the Children of the Corn!” Another rock cracked their windshield. He looked and saw that all the kids now held slingshots.

  A loud shout could suddenly be heard as an older woman appeared from the middle of the children. “Woody! Get out of the street! Get over here now!”

  Chelsea, fascinated by all the children and enamored by their costumes, squealed with delight. “I told you it was Woody! I told you!”

  The woman appeared to be in her mid-sixties. Woody did as he was told, lowering his head and walking moodily towards her. Mace noticed the shotgun hanging by her side, and said, “I’m going to check it out. If anyone else takes a shot at me I’m going to be pissed.”

  Exiting
the vehicle again, the old woman raised her head and moved the gun around so he could see it. “We don’t want any trouble,” she said. “The children just get a little excited by new people. We’ve had a few run-ins here. They know to be cautious.”

  “What is going on? Shouldn’t they be inside? How dangerous is it to just let them run around?”

  The old lady looked at the scratch on his face, which now held a tear drop of blood. “By that scratch I’d say you found out how dangerous THEY can be. I’ve had to bury more than one who underestimated them.”

  A shocked expression appeared over Mace’s face. “They’ve actually killed people?”

  “More zombies than anything, but yes, there have been a few people they have disposed of.”

  Feeling a chill run down his spine, he asked, “What is going on here?”

  “I run an orphanage. The children and I hid in the basement when it all happened. They are all expert marksmen and excellent scavengers. We’ve done just fine here.”

  The children still remained eerily quiet.

  “We had no idea what was going on,” said Mace. “The Halloween costumes were freaking us out.”

  The old lady chuckled. “I’ve always kept a large supply of costumes for Halloween. With an orphanage, you’d go broke if you had to buy new ones every year. After the world ended I let them dress up however they wanted. I even let them change their names.” She motioned towards Woody, who just stared back at Mace with a blank expression.

  “If you would like to come in we have some fresh meat and vegetables. You have no idea how resourceful these kids are.”

  Mace looked over the kids, who were expressionless and dirty. “Do any of them bite?”

  She laughed. “Only that one,” she said, pointing to the kid with the orange face. “Stay away from him.”

  The kid made a gnawing gesture towards Mace.

  “Will do,” he said, staring at the kid, not sure what to make of the situation.