The woman's face had been punched repeatedly. He could see the huge bruises above and below her eyes. Her nose was broken too, along with a couple of teeth.
The sight made Scooter sick and he wanted to get away from it. But a part of him was curious as well. He didn't want to see what further damage had been done to her. He simply wanted to know who she was, maybe why she was here.
He looked further into the car and saw a purse underneath her arm. He leaned in to grab it.
As he did, he got a better view of the blood that drenched her clothes. She smelled horrible. He held his breath and pulled the purse free. The woman's arm rose with it. Then it started to slowly lower.
"Shit," Scooter said.
To him, it looked as though she were doing it herself. He couldn't help but think that she might be coming back to life. It took him a moment to remember that this happened to all dead bodies.Riga-something-or-other.
He turned away from the corpse and searched through the purse.
He quickly found her wallet. A designer brand. He had seen them often enough. The women at his work had always talked about getting them. Though they had never had enough to buy anything more than the knock-offs.
He opened it.
The first thing he saw was a picture. It was a small shot of the woman and what he supposed was her family. She was standing beside a little boy seated on a swing. A man was pushing the child. They were all laughing.
The corners of his mouth raised in a saddened smile. Scooter might never have had much of a good family life, but he could appreciate it when he saw one. He felt bad for the woman and her family. He wondered if the other two had survived.
It didn't matter, he quickly told himself. He'd never know if they had or not. And, for all he knew, the man was the one who had did this. Maybe he had changed and attacked his wife. It was possible. She had probably been bringing him to the airport.
What about the kid?
It didn't matter, he told himself again.
He flipped the picture over and found the woman's license. He pulled it free and brought it up closer to his eyes.Michelle Goodmark, the name read. So that's who she was.
Scooter looked back at the woman. To his surprise, finding out her name hadn't made him feel any different toward her. There were no epiphanies, no bells sounding off. He didn't even feel his throat begin to choke up. He had thought that it would have.
"Hmmm," he said. That was all.
He placed the wallet back into the purse and put it on her lap.
Nope,he thought,it didn't matter at all.
*
Scooter walked to the entrance of the airport. He could have easily walked through any of the broken windows, but instead he made his way to one of the doors. He stopped before opening it. He couldn't help but think that that it was a bad idea to go inside.What if thosethingswere there? How would he escape?He really didn't know why he wanted to go in, anyway.
He supposed that there was food inside. But there was food everywhere. All he had to do was go to a convenience store and grab a bag of chips. There was even food in the cars. He had never realized how many people snacked while they drove. He had managed to find cookies, donuts, pizza - pretty much everything.
So why was he here?
In answer to his own question, he shrugged his shoulders. He didn't know why he was here. He simply was.And since he was, he reasoned,he might as well see what was inside.
Scooter pulled the door open. His boots crackled on the broken glass and caused him a moment of alarm. Everything had been pretty quiet up until that point and the noise sounded strange.Out of place. He hoped that it wouldn't bring about any of the creatures.
He paused and waited. Nothing came. He figured that he was safe for the moment.
He pulled the door open further and walked through.
The airport was a mess. He hadn't expected it to be clean. But he hadn't imagined it to be this bad. There were bodies everywhere. The nice marble floors were covered in blood.
Scooter stopped and thought once more about turning back around. That's what made the most sense. Turn, leave this place, never look back. He had no idea what he hoped to find, anyway. Yet something wanted him to push on.
It'll be okay,he told himself.He could always leave whenever he wanted.
His boots trampled through the blood, the liquid sucking against them every time he took a step. It sounded like he was walking through mud. And he did his best to think of it that way.
He felt the urge to call out to see if anyone else was around, but he knew that that wasn't a good idea. There might be survivors, but there might also be thosethings. He didn't want to have to fight one of them. He had seen the damage they could do. Sure, Scooter had had his share of tussles. Though he wasn't much of a fighter. He usually lost. This time he didn't think his attacker would stop once he hit the ground and cried for mercy.
He kept quiet and made his way further into the airport.
As Scooter entered the main hall, he hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. It was the best he could to to make himself smaller, less conspicuous. He didn't want to be seen. Not by one ofthem. He wanted to see what he could find without drawing any attention to himself.
He continued to walk through the blood, looking for any signs of life.
Everyone was dead as far as he could tell. There was no movement coming from any of them.
He stopped and looked at a man who had had his throat ripped out. Blood pooled underneath him.
Then he heard a noise.
At first, he had thought that it was a cry for help. Not from the man. He wouldn't be doing any calling out in his condition. But from somewhere else in the airport.
Scooter turned to look in the direction it had come from. He listened again.
It didn't take long for him to realize that it wasn't a cry for help at all. It was one ofthem.And it was coming toward him.
Scooter looked back at the way he had come. He thought of running to the entrance, but it was too far. He didn't think that he'd make it in time. He wasn't the fastest person around on the best of days. With his heavy boots and the thick blood, he'd be that much slower. He might even slip. He wouldn't risk it.
Instead, he needed a place to hide. He searched for one.
Almost as soon as he started, his eyes fell upon a coffee stand. It was off to his side. Just a little. Close enough to get to quickly.
He stood straight and ran, his arms pumping up and down beside him. He could hear the slopping sound of his boots.
He heard the creature again too. Its screams were getting louder, which meant that it was getting closer.
He took a few more steps, then dropped behind the coffee stand. He pushed his back up against the counter and waited.
The creature came nearer.
Scooter wondered if the creature would be able to smell him, and hoped that it couldn't.
His next thought was to look for something to protect himself with. A knife possibly.
He looked on the floor around him and came upon a spoon. It was the best he could find. He grabbed it and held it tightly against his chest. It wouldn't do much against one of these things, but it had to be better than nothing.
Ithad to be.
Scooter waited. The screaming continued.
He could hear footsteps now running near him, pattering against the ground.
He squeezed the spoon tighter in his grasp. He couldn't believe that this was all he had to defend himself.
He didn't feel all that good about his hiding place, either. It didn't offer much protection. A cabinet filled with pastries and cakes. A few chairs.
What the hell am I doing? he wondered.I shouldn't have come in here. I should have turned around when I had the chance.
When the footsteps stopped, so did the screaming. Scooter could tell that creature was on the other side of the coffee stand. He could hear it breathing. There was a crackling sound as well that must have been grinding teeth.
&n
bsp; Scooter tried his best not to make any noise, though what he really wanted to do was scream and run.
Stay calm. Stay quiet.
He felt himself jerk once the creature started screaming again. He was sure that it had found him and was going to attack. He squeezed the spoon again and waited.
He waited longer still.
The creature's footsteps sloshed along the bloody floor. But they weren't coming toward him. They were running away. The screaming began to fade as well.
Within seconds, it had gone.
Scooter thought about getting up, but he couldn't get himself to move. He wanted to, only his body wouldn't listen.
"Come on," he told himself. He had been lucky that the creature hadn't found him. But that didn't mean that it wouldn't if it came back. "You can do it."
He placed his hand onto the ground and pushed himself up. Not completely. Instead, he peeked over the countertop for any sign of the creature.
He couldn't see it anywhere.
He stood.
His breathing was ragged as he turned to look at the entrance.He needed to go to it and get out of here as fast as he could.
Though, once more, he couldn't bring himself to do it. For whatever reason, he wanted to see inside the airport. Maybe he wanted to find some of his friends. Maybe he wanted to see if there were any survivors.
He turned his back to the entrance and walked further into the airport, placing one foot in front of the other, slowly and quietly, as he made his way.
*
It wasn't long before Scooter came upon a narrow corridor. As with the other ones, it was covered in blood. Bodies were everywhere before him. He tried his best to avoid them.
He couldn't do anything about the blood. His feet slurped through the wreckage. Where there wasn't blood on the floor, his boots left tracks of red behind him.
He continued down the hall. He kept hold of the spoon.
He still didn't know what he was doing. Though, by now, it didn't matter. He was deep into the airport and couldn't easily get out of it.
It was strangely silent. A dull hiss was all that he could make out. He supposed that it was better than the screams from the creature, but it was still somewhat unsettling.
He took a deep breath. And another.
Then he heard something.
This time, it hadn't sounded like one ofthem. It wasn't a scream. If anything, it sounded like crying.
Chapter 4
John walked out of the basement and looked around. His house wasn't as bad as he had expected. There were a few things knocked over. But not much more than that.
He made his way down the hallway and entered the living room. He stopped as soon as he saw the broken window.Someone had come in through there and tried to kill him and his wife. That thought sent a chill down his back. So did the blood that was around the window frame.
John took a closer look. He could see hand prints pressed against the wood. There were long stretches of blood that had come from the man's fingers.
He stepped closer to the window. This time, it was to get a better view of outside. He gasped as soon as he saw it all. If his house hadn't been as bad as he had expected, outside was much worse than he had. Cars. Bodies. Death. Blood.
And people had done this to each other? His neighbours?
John turned his back to the window. There was no reason for him to stand there and look through it anymore. He had seen all that he needed to. Aside from the destruction, there was no help anywhere in sight. He and his wife were alone.
He saw the phone lying on the floor and rushed over to it. It hadn't occurred to him before, but maybe his wife had been wrong about the police. Maybe she had dialed the wrong number, pressed a wrong button. He picked it up, turned it on and phoned911.He placed the phone by his ear, hoping to hear someone on the other end.
There wasn't even a dial tone. The phone was silent.
John looked around the room. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but there had to be something that could help him.Anything.
There was. He saw a lamp. It reminded him of the light downstairs and that, in turn, made him think of the power and how it was out.
That's why the phone didn't work! It was a cordless and couldn't work without electricity!
He went to the kitchen. They had an older phone there. One that didn't run on electricity. It was hanging on the wall.
He picked it up and pressed the phone to his ear. He listened for a dial tone. Again, there was nothing.
He pressed down on the base a few times.
Still nothing.
The phone was out. Just like the power.
John felt another chill run through him. With everything not working, it meant that the trouble was wide-spread. Possibly across the whole country. Maybe the world.
It also meant that he wasn't going to be able to call anyone for help. Or contact his children.
He placed the phone back onto the base and turned to the fridge. It no longer hummed like it usually did. He knew the things inside it were going to go bad soon.
He opened the door and pulled out a carton of milk. He sipped straight from of the box, knowing that his wife wasn't around to stop him. She hated when he did that.Use a glass, John. You're not an animal!
He took another sip. Then he grabbed a glass and filled it. This wasn't for him. It was for Alice. He hoped that she'd drink it. So far she had had nothing but pop. And even that hadn't been very much.
He went back into the fridge and took out some cheese and meat, a loaf of bread.
She might like a sandwich too.
John placed the things on the table and turned around. He wasn't finished up here yet. He needed to get something to keep his wife warm in that damp basement. And he needed to go to the washroom. For both of those things, he'd have to go upstairs.
He went to the staircase in the front hall and walked up it. He made sure to take the same slow and careful steps that he had to get up from the basement. He couldn't risk falling.
He didn't.
John paused at the top of the stairs and took a few deep breaths. He was surprised that he felt so exhausted. He couldn't run up the stairs anymore, but he usually didn't have any trouble walking up them. He supposed that it had to do with all that had happened in the past little while. His body was stressed. He hadn't had much sleep. And the sleep that he had gotten had been on a workbench. Plus, he hadn't eaten anything.
It could also be that he was getting old.No, he'dgotten old.
John caught his breath and walked into his bedroom. There was nothing wrong in there. None of the people from outside had gotten into it. That made him feel a bit better.
Then he heard footsteps.
He turned around quickly to see where the sound had come from. His heart began to race.
Again there was nothing. Just his imagination playing tricks on him.
He looked back into the room and saw his bed. He wished that he could take a little nap in it.Just a little one. But he wasn't going to leave his wife downstairs while he slept. Besides, even though they hadn't yet, he didn't know if any of those crazy people would come up here. He'd give it another day or two.
He walked to the closet and grabbed a sweater for him and his wife. He didn't care which one he picked for himself, but he made sure to grab Alice's favourite. It might help her snap out of it. He tucked them under his arm and started to leave the room.
Before he got out, he saw a framed photograph on his bedside table. It was of him and his family. They were all in it - even the grandchildren. He remembered that he thought of getting one earlier.It might help her too,he thought.Though it might cause more harm than good. He'd try it anyway.
He picked up the photograph and headed downstairs.
After he got the stuff for the sandwiches and glass of milk from the kitchen, he walked back to the basement door. His heart stopped when he noticed that he had left it open. He hadn't heard anything when he was upstairs, but if one of those creatu
res had gotten into the house and gone downstairs there would be nothing that Alice could do to save herself. He didn't know if he'd be able to do much against them either, but he liked to think that he could protect his wife - if only a little bit.
That thought played through his mind.The creatures coming into the basement. John standing to fight them. His old hands raised in front of him. He knew he wouldn't stand a chance...unless he had something to protect himself with.
John considered going back into the kitchen and grabbing a knife; maybe even a cleaver. But, before he did, he remembered some of the tools he had downstairs. There was one in particular that he thought would work best.His hammer.
The idea of swinging it at someone in an attempt to crack in their head -to kill them- was bizarre. Yet the world was bizarre now. He had to think about his and his wife's safety.
If one of those people came…
He didn't finish the thought.
It was a lot more difficult for John to make it down the stairs with all of the things in his hands. Of course, he could have made a few trips to get them all down there; but that didn't seem like all that good of an idea. He'd have more chance to fall if he kept going up and down the stairs.
He simply needed to take his time, needed to be careful.
When he got to the bottom he looked over at his wife. She was still sitting where he had left her, clutching the can of pop.
"Alice," he called to her, "I've brought you a few things." He walked over to her and placed the items on the workbench.
Alice didn't look at any of them. She kept her eyes focused on the wall.
He pulled the can of pop out of her hand and replaced it with the glass of milk. "Here you are, honey. You should drink some of this."
Her fingers surrounded the glass, but he knew she wasn't going to raise it to her lips, wasn't going to sip from it. She was just going to sit there.
John took the glass back and raised it for her. "Come on, honey. Just a little bit." He tilted the glass forward and the milk rushed to her closed mouth. It ran down her chin. John swore to himself and wiped it away.
Glory (Book 2) Page 5