by Crae, Edward
Pauli panted, staring up at him like a happy little goblin. Dan shut off the laptop, and then went out to cut the generator. He stood outside for a while, smoking a cigarette and sipping his whiskey and beer, enjoying the peace and quiet before lying down for the night. Despite the coming rain, and the possibility of a zombie horde descending on his house, it was a beautiful night. Even a few crickets were chirping.
At least, he hoped they were crickets.
Chapter Seven
A gunshot jolted Dan from his sleep. He bolted upright in his bed, his heart pounding in his ears. He quickly hopped to the floor, rushing to the kitchen, nearly tripping over Pauli. The sliding deck door was open, and he crept over. Drew was outside holding a rifle; its barrel smoking as he held it up post fire.
“What the fuck?” Dan whispered.
Drew turned, waving him over and pointing off into the woods. “I saw one of those green things,” he said. “A floater.”
Dan peered into the gloom, seeing a faint, green glow off in the distance. It was sputtering and growing dimmer by the second.
“Jesus, man,” he said. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” Drew said, leaning the rifle up against the OSB wall. “I couldn’t think of anything to do. It looked like it was coming this way.”
Dan kept staring at it until the glow faded completely. Whatever it was, it was dead now… or destroyed… whichever made more sense.
“What do you think it is?” Drew asked.
Dan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Let me get my boots on and we’ll check it out.”
He went inside and sat on the couch, pulling on his boots while Pauli watched him anxiously. He was unusually shaky, and his eyes looked sad or worried. Who knows? He was a dog.
“It’s alright, boy,” he said. Pauli wagged his stubby tail.
Dan grabbed his 870p, his Glock, and his coat, meeting Drew outside on the porch. Drew held a flashlight and had one of the SPAS-12 shotguns slung over his shoulder. For some reason, he had a can of Lysol in his free hand.
“Kills mold,” he said, holding up the can.
“Stay quiet,” Dan said. “We’ll sneak up and see what the hell it is.”
“I think I already made our presence known,” Drew replied as they crossed the creek.
The woods were still dark. Dan checked his watch. It was 6:21. It would be an hour before the sun came up.
“Maybe we should wait until sunup,” he said.
“It could be gone by then.”
Drew was probably right. But, still, the prospect of approaching something weird in total darkness wasn’t high on Dan’s list of fun things to do. Nevertheless, they trudged on.
A strange smell hung in the air as they got closer to the object. It was a moldy, organic smell; almost like rotting mushrooms. Drew looked at Dan with a disgusted face, his lips curled out as if he was about to puke.
“That smells fuckin’ gross,” he whispered. “What the hell is it?”
Dan grabbed his arm, and they stopped for a moment, listening to the sounds of the forest. There was a slight hissing sound, like a balloon letting out air through a slow leak. Maybe the floating object was still deflating.
“I smell methane, too,” Dan said. “Like fart gas, or sewer gas—something.”
Drew shined the flashlight forward, moving it side to side in search of his target. Lying on the ground, between two fallen trees, was a wrinkly, wet-looking sack. It glowed faintly in green, and pulsated with life. Veins covered its translucent surface, appearing as black lightning bolts against the inner glow.
“Holy egg sacs, Batman,” Dan said. “It’s a fucking spore pod or something.”
A faint pop sounded, followed by a small puff of dust from the thing’s surface. The dust swirled in the flashlight’s beam, settling in the area around the object.
“That’s not good,” Drew said. “We should probably stay away from it.”
“The gas smell must be methane,” Dan said. “It’s lighter than air. It would make the thing float if it was light enough.”
“Great,” Drew said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait,” Dan said. “Throw that can of Lysol on it.”
Drew stared at him for a second, then shined the flashlight on the can. “Hmm,” he said. “Kills 99.99% of germs and viruses.”
He shook the can vigorously, and tossed it near the spore sac. It bounced once before splatting against the wet, collapsed membrane. Dan pulled out his Glock, aiming for it with one eye.
“Stand back,” he said.
He fired, and the can exploded, spewing its contents into the area around them. The object did nothing, but the whole area began filling with the pleasant scent of Fresh Meadow. They waited for the hissing of the can to stop, watching the fog of Lysol settle like a death shroud.
“What are we waiting for?” Drew asked.
“I wanna get a closer look,” Dan said. “But we should wait for a minute for the Lysol to work.”
“How do we know it’s even going to do anything?”
Dan shrugged. “99.9%, man.”
“Of Earth germs,” Drew said.
“Well, then, hold your nose,” Dan said, creeping forward.
He could hear Drew sigh behind him, but footsteps followed.
Drew shined the light on the disgusting pile of floater remains. It no longer pulsed, and the faint glow had finally died out. The smell of mold and gas was gone; replaced by the artificial scent of the germ killing spray. The sack lay still, except for the faint movement of its gradual collapse.
It was the strangest thing either of them had ever seen. It looked like a balloon with four rib-like supports running up its sides. They met at its bottom, formed together in a nipple-like structure of disgusting, jiggly flesh. Something like an umbilical cord stretch from the junction, running for few feet, and ending in a tightly balled blob of flesh; presumably some kind of weight.
“Weird,” Dan said. “That weight probably keeps it from floating too high into the sky.”
Drew pulled out his phone, snapping a few quick pictures. “We should upload these to the bulletin board,” he said. “Maybe someone could give us an idea of what the fuck it is.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a spore sack or something,” Dan said. :That’s what the forum said, anyway.”
“Yeah, but where do they come from?”
Dan shook his head, highly disturbed. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I don’t really wanna know. Let’s get those pics uploaded and see what Strahd71 says.”
“Is that who you were talking to last night?” Drew asked as they left the scene.
“Yeah. He seems like a cool guy. He said he’s in Valpo with some other people in a National Guard armory.”
Drew grunted. “Poor fucker,” he said. “They’ve probably got that place locked down pretty good.”
Dan stopped as he heard the sound of crunching gravel from the road. Drew paused, craning his head to listen, mouthing the word shit. Headlights and a bright search light appeared through the trees. The searchlight swept from side to side, slowly and smoothly, as if mounted to a mechanical swivel.
They stayed crouched, peering through the bare underbrush, as a black Humvee came into view in front of the house. It slowed, and the searchlight settled on the house.
“Thank God the power is out,” Dan said.
Drew nodded. “Yeah, but I hope that fucking dog doesn’t bark.”
Dan didn’t think of that. If the occupants of the Humvee got out and approached the house, Pauli would likely bark it up, alerting the men to their presence. He suddenly regretted bringing him home.
As they sat in silence, Dan’s heart pounded again. He started shaking; his nerves snowballing as they usually did when he was anxious. He could feel a panic attack coming on; a big one.
“Calm down, man,” Drew said, obviously noticing his demeanor.
Dan swallowed, taking a few deep breaths. He felt like
Bigfoot was stalking up to them from behind, and would bash the shit out of both of them anytime now. But then, the Humvee continued forward, sweeping its light from side to side as it turned the corner.
Dan sighed in relief. “Fuck,” he said.
“That was close,” Drew said.
They continued to the house, Dan’s heart and breathing slowing to a normal pace. His only thought was guzzling a beer and doing a few shots to calm his nerves. It was not the solution, he knew, but it was the only idea he had at the moment.
“I wonder if they were looking for us, specifically,” Drew said, “or if they were just scoping the area.”
“They might have been looking for the other squad,” Dan replied. “The ones we killed.”
Drew took another look around before stepping onto the porch. “We need to make an entrance in the back,” he said. “Something that we can get through, but the crazies can’t.”
As Drew entered the house, Dan looked around at the property; nervously thinking of how unsecured it really was. They were sitting ducks, it seemed, with no protection from military-types. Sure, they could fight off mindless shufflers and such, but actual humans were much smarter, and could easily penetrate their defenses.
But, there was really nothing they could do about it. Securing the grounds would only make their presence obvious to anyone who saw it; anyone who happened to drive by.
Dan hooked Drew’s phone up to the laptop, downloading the photos to his desktop folder. He double-clicked one of them, and the two stared at the photo, disgusted and reviled at what they saw.
“Man,” Drew said. “It’s so alien looking. Like one of those facehuggers from… Alien.”
“Spore sack,” Dan said. “Definitely a spore sack.”
He unhooked Drew’s phone, hooking his back up to open the connection to the bulletin board. “You need to hook up and root your phone,” he said as he typed out the bulletin board’s IP address.
The forum was there, as usual, but no new videos. He clicked new post and waited for the dialog box to pop up. When it did, he clicked the upload button and selected the photos. After what seemed like an hour, the upload finished, and Dan clicked the description box.
These are close up photos of a floater that we shot and tracked. It looks to me like a spore sack or something. Once the membrane was ruptured and we got closer to it, there was the smell of mold and methane gas. There were tiny puffs of dust that I assume were spore clouds or something. I think it is dead, or non-working now. We threw a can of Lysol at it and shot it. It seemed like the logical thing to do since it smelled like mold.
Please let us know what you think.
“Very eloquent,” Drew said. “You fucking Hunter S. Thompson, you.”
“We’ll see if anyone responds,” Dan replied, clicking the post button.
He got up and grabbed a beer from outside, cracking it open and sitting back down at the table. Drew pulled out his one-hitter, quietly puffing his breakfast as Dan drank his. They laughed.
“What a couple of outstanding fellas we are, eh?” Drew joked.
Dan grinned, scrolling down the list of posts. There was a new one posted by someone named JewGodMoses. Dan clicked it.
I just saw something strange outside my fourth floor window. I’ve been staying in my apartment building in B-town, only going out at night. But now, I don’t even wanna go out at night after seeing this. It was something that was climbing the building across the street. I ain't sure what it was, but that shit was sick. It was all long and skinny, like a two-legged spider with long arms. It was climbing like it was nothing, looking in the windows and sticking its arm through a few of them. I couldn’t really make out any details, only its outline. It was black and blurry, like one of them shadow things people been talkin bout.
I was scared shitless, no joke. This nigga was quakin.
“Oh man,” Dan said. “That’s fuckin’ creepy.”
“Here’s another,” Dan said.
I went to a gas station nearby to siphon some gas from the pumps for my truck. While it was pumping, I went into the garage to see if there was any oil or anything else I could use, and I saw a huge cocoon mounted on the ceiling. It was white, glossy, and shaking. I could see things moving inside it, like it was full of little babies or something. I had left my gun in the truck, so couldn’t shoot it, and didn’t want to go back in.
What do you think it is?
Dan clicked the reply button, typing: How big was it?
He would have to check back later.
“Big cocoon, eh?” Drew said. “I wonder what kind of animal or whatever would make one that big.”
Dan shook his head. “We don’t know how big it was,” he said. “Could have been man-sized. If you were scared enough, even something that size would seem huge.”
Drew nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Let me know if anyone replies. I need some food.”
“I’m hooking the generator up to the well pump,” Dan said. “I think we should wash anything off that we collected from that floater.”
“Alright,” Drew said, pulling a can from the cupboard, “but we’re taking turns.”
Chapter Eight
After a couple quick showers, some canned soup, and some nice, cold beer to start the day, Dan and Drew set out to procure some gasoline. Their supply was running low, and without it, the generator would be useless; along with the pickup, of course. Thankfully, the Humvee had a flex-fuel engine, and could run on just about anything.
They had removed the gas tank from Steve’s piece of shit car, along with the tanks of two other abandoned vehicles on the street, and loaded them side by side in the bed of the truck. The tanks totaled fifty gallons altogether. That should get them through the rest of the month, at least.
Dan had fashioned a battery-powered siphon from a car charger and a small fountain pump from his garage. It wasn’t very powerful, and would likely go pretty slow, but that beat a mouthful of gasoline.
“I can’t believe nobody on this street has their own stash,” Drew said. “All these hermits…”
Dan grinned. “They’re not all hermits,” he said. “And not all of them were preppers, either. Some people just like peace and quiet.”
He pulled out of the driveway, heading off to the right to cross the creek. They bounced over it; every rock jolting the truck as they drove through the foot-deep water. They passed Gary and Linda’s, slowing to look at their house, and remembered the shocking events that happened there. Dan still couldn’t forget the sight of Linda’s brains rolling down the wall.
They went past Shirley’s house quickly, both of them staring as they went by. They were both fairly certain she was there in one of the windows watching them. Drew smiled and waved just in case.
After a few miles of winding, gravel road, they came upon another neighborhood. This one was more closely packed; with houses that were no more than twenty yards apart. It was very residential, as compared to the rest of the street. Most of the houses were torn apart; windows busted out, doors knocked in, and the walls crumbled and charred. Even the cars were filled with what looked like bullet holes.
“Looks like the mercs have been here,” Drew said.
Dan nodded. “No doubt they killed everybody. I don’t see any bodies, though.”
He slowed, scanning the area. Some of the cars would probably still have gas in them. None of them looked like they had even been used since the shit hit the fan. This was probably a good place to start.
Dan pulled into a driveway next to a nearly brand new, red pickup. It would, no doubt, have a large gas tank. Drew got out first, opening the fuel cover and sniffing.
“Smells like it has a little,” he said.
Dan plugged the car charger into the cigarette lighter, handing the siphon out the window. He got out as Drew stuck the intake hose into the truck’s gas tank, and Dan put the outlet in the largest of the tanks they had. In a few minutes, they had a steady stream going.
“Remembe
r that scene from that Cheech and Chong movie?” Drew said. “Where they were stealing gas and carrying it around in a garbage can?”
Dan smiled, picturing the two hippies sloshing gas all over themselves and then firing up a joint in their car. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s not do that.”
He reached into the truck to grab the empty backpack, eyeing the house with caution. “I’m going inside,” he said. “They might have food.”
“And beer,” Drew finished, “and drugs.”
Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, and grabbing a SPAS-12, he approached the front door. It was ajar, with the storm door busted out, and several bullet holes in the small glass panes. Dan peered inside. It was dark, even in the morning sunlight.
He opened the storm door, leaning up against it as he slowly turned the handle of the main door and gently pushed it open. All was quiet, dusty, and seemed frozen in time. The living room was a mess. Chairs and tables were overturned, bullet holes riddled the walls, and the flat screen TV had been smashed. All of the pictures that once hung on the walls were lying on the floor, stomped and shattered by heavy boots.
Gephardt had definitely been here.
He jumped as a rat scurried across the floor and disappeared into the kitchen. “Jesus,” he mumbled. “Fucking rats.”
He approached the archway to the kitchen, holding the shotgun out in front of him. This room, too, was in shambles. The kitchen table was piled with chunks of drywall that had fallen from the ceiling. Broken plates were arranged in family dinner fashion; empty and cracked. There were more bullet holes in the walls, and what looked like a shotgun blast. Below it, the body of a merc lay there, stiff and stinking.
Dan bent down to look. The guy had a huge hole in his chest, obviously a shotgun blast at close range. The Kevlar vest he wore was torn and burnt. Apparently, the blast was literally point-blank. He was dressed in black, as they all were, with the truncated triangle symbol on his sleeve. He wore a Kevlar helmet, and a gas mask.