Eaters

by Michelle DePaepe

  You promised you’d keep going…

  She was about to tell Mark’s voice in her head that she’d had enough and preferred to die by her own hand rather than be eaten alive when she heard the sound of gunfire followed by a shout.

  “Cheryl!”

  It was Aidan. She saw him now. He stood on the other side of the fire waving one arm and his gun in the air to get her attention, motioning for her to come towards him.

  Through the fire?

  She wondered if she was hallucinating.

  He was frantic now, screaming as he pointed over her shoulder. She turned and fired a shot with few seconds to spare before she’d have been bitten.

  He saved me. He must be real.

  “Jump!”

  The flames in the middle where the grass had burned up were lower—about sixteen inches high. With a running start, she figured that she could jump it, but she hoped to hell that Mark’s camouflage uniform was flame retardant.

  She fired more shots behind her and backed up. Seeing Aidan’s duffel bag lying on the ground, she grabbed it and threw the strap over her shoulder. It was heavy from all the guns and ammunition inside, and she knew it wouldn’t help her clearance, but without weapons, she knew that they wouldn’t get much farther in their quest for survival.

  Praying for wings, she ran and leapt. Her boots just cleared over the fire, and she fell to the ground on the other side.

  When she stood, she saw Aidan running into the burning garage and followed him in. She saw him go to the Harley and put on the leather jacket lying over the seat and her face fell when she realized that the bike was his goal all along. He’d never intended to take the truck, because he wasn’t going to leave the motorcycle behind any more than she intended to abandon the last fragment of Mark’s shirt. It was a piece of him—the only thing he had left of himself—and she understood that.

  Still, thinking of how narrowly they escaped with their lives on the way up the mountain, the thought of charging through all those grabbing infected hands and merciless teeth with nothing but the cool air surrounding them made her uneasy.

  “Lock the door!”

  She shut the door behind her and turned the lock just before a charred hand made it through. Then she looked up nervously at the flickering fluorescent light bulb overhead, and the smoke pouring in from the burning wall.

  “Put this on,” Aidan said, tossing his dead girlfriend’s helmet to her—the same one that had kept most of her head intact on the way up the mountain.

  She dropped the bag and fumbled with the strap, but couldn’t get it fastened with her shaky fingers. He came over to help, and their eyes met for a second, a glance that contained a thousand unsaid words and emotions. He lifted her chin and gave her a tender kiss on the lips. “Hey, we’re going to make it through this.”

  She desperately wanted to hug him, to talk…

  But there was no time.

  She could already feel the garage getting hotter and feel the burn of the acrid smoke at the back of her throat.

  He leaned down and grabbed the bag, throwing it over his shoulder. “When I say, go, you’re going to turn the handle and open the big garage door. Then run and hop on behind me.”

  She knew it was a gamble. The second she opened the door, a mass of Eaters would pour in. Even if she made it to the motorcycle before they grabbed her, it would be much harder to break through them, because they wouldn’t have the momentum and speed that they’d had on the way up the mountain. The chances of getting pulled off the bike were very high.

  Aidan put his gun in the bag and zipped it up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re going to fly out of here like bats out of hell. I need both of my hands.”

  The smoke from the burning building, combined with the exhaust from the motorcycle made her eyes water, blurring her vision. She coughed as she waited for him to give her the signal.

  He revved the throttle. “Okay, let’s go!”

  It’s you or them, Cheryl. Don’t let them win.

  It was her guardian angel. She took a deep breath and felt a new flood of adrenaline zip through her body. Keeping a firm grip on her gun, she twisted the garage door handle and hoisted up the door with one hand. As she flew the few feet back to the bike, she knew they were up against insane odds. She hopped on behind Aidan and got a better view of what she’d just had a glimpse of as she’d opened the door.

  There were over twenty of them milling about. Some were engulfed in flames, shuffling around and moaning as their tattered skin crackled and burned. At once, like they’d been choreographed, they all turned towards the open garage. Leaning around Aidan, she opened fire, spraying into the crowd, knocking a few down. Aidan dumped the clutch, and they burned out. The back tire screeched on the concrete, whipping up exhaust and smoke as they shot out of the garage straight into the group.

  In one lightning fast nightmare, foul mouths opened and hands grabbed for them as they came crashing through. None of the Eaters moved to avoid them, and there was no time to shoot as they smacked against limbs, hitting one bloated mannequin in the driveway. He fell under the tires, and they rolled right over the top. The wheels slid out in the gravel, but Aidan quickly righted the bike.

  A second later, they were on the open road, tearing into the cool night, two pale faced riders with hearts beating faster than the strokes of the engine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  There was no slowing down as they sailed around curves, passing the occasional form ambling about on the side of the road, or swerving around one standing smack in the middle. Every second that passed, she worried that they would run into a roadblock just as they had coming up the mountain. In the dark, there would be no time to see them before it was too late.

  They were a good five miles or so away from the cabin before Aidan let off the throttle and yelled back to her, “You’re on fire!”

  She realized that he was right as she saw that her right sleeve had a bright yellow flame curling around the cuff. She smacked it on her knee and smothered it out.

  Where were they going? She had no idea. She wasn’t even sure what direction they were headed. Aidan just seemed bent on full steam ahead.

  The sky cracked open as a lightning bolt flashed and briefly turned the sky a pale lavender. Then a light rain started, making the road damp and slick, a dangerous situation that added the threat of tossing them off the side of the mountain if they hydroplaned or lost control. As before, Cheryl could do nothing but trust in Aidan’s skills, and she leaned along with him and the bike to keep them propelling forward.

  Soaking wet, cold, and bone weary, she felt like a third world refugee running from a war zone, holding on to Aidan with one hand around his waist, and the other clinging to the strap of the AK. Like refugees, they were traveling light, having nothing but the motorcycle, the bag of guns, and hell of a lot of luck for luggage. It was hard to believe that this was all there was now. There was nothing left of her former life.

  Survival was all it came down to. Nothing else mattered. Yet, there were plenty of times since this all began that she wondered if it was worth going on. What did she have left to live for if Mark was dead, and it turned out that her family in Arizona was too? She’d promised Mark that she’d keep going, that she wouldn’t give up. She realized that she was going to have to keep reminding herself of that every day from here on out and not be afraid to take risks if it increased her chances of surviving.

  Even so, she knew that she couldn’t keep running forever. There had to be somewhere safe to go, some destination where people had figured out how to keep this infected army at bay and have normal lives without living every second in fear.

  How far would they have to go to reach that hypothetical Shangri-La? And, could she stay strong enough to fight and hold out until they did?

  With Aidan at her side, she felt that she could.

  Part III:

  DESTINATION

  Chapter Nineteen

&nb
sp; Cheryl looked up at the stone building, ten yards off the side of the road, barely visible between the tall pines except for the shaft of moonlight illuminating its roof. It wasn’t much bigger than an outhouse and looked like some decrepit remnant of a mining operation from a couple hundred years back when silver mines in the Rocky Mountains were bustling with activity. It seemed to be the sort of dwelling that a troll might favor, or worse—an Eater who’d enjoy having her brains for a snack.

  “I’m not going in there.”

  Aidan glanced back over his shoulder, down the dark winding road behind them. “It’s a place to spend the night.”

  She shook her head. “We need to get up somewhere high…a tree…a tower…”

  “We can’t sleep on a tree branch.”

  “But we could get trapped in there.” She didn’t tell him that the small building was probably filled with spiders, and the thought of lying in sticky webs was almost as frightening as the thought of waking up in the middle of the night with an Eater gouging out a hole in her brain with its teeth.

  He stood there for a moment as if contemplating her plea, then killed the motor on his Harley and took his helmet off. “I’m tired. We’re staying there.”

  “Fine.” She didn’t have the energy to argue. It was very late, and she was exhausted. They’d been careening around mountainside curves for over an hour, putting distance between them and his cabin.

  “Take this,” he said, handing her the duffle bag that contained the rest of their guns and a few other supplies.

  She took it, forgiving his grouchiness. Aidan began to push the motorcycle up the hillside, bumping over boulders and fallen tree limbs. Despite the fact that she’d known him for less than twenty-four hours, he was her only friend in this new, dark world.

  When they reached the building, Aidan parked the motorcycle in front. He put a finger to his lips and motioned for her to stay back while he checked the building out. She set the bag down and clicked the safety off of her gun, thinking it wouldn’t be surprising to find a squatter.

  “Hello?” Aidan called out. “Anybody in here?” After a couple of seconds without a reply, he put his hand on the jagged board—the remnant of a door—hanging across the opening. The rusted hinge broke, and it fell off.

  “Nice,” she said, thinking that the building was now officially door-less.

  After a couple of seconds when he seemed sure that nothing was going to burst out and attack, he poked his head in and looked from left to right. When he came out, he said, “It’s not exactly the Hilton, but it’ll do.”

  Even a few hours of sleep on a spidery bed of leaves on a mountainside sounded like a vacation from the unbelievable horrors she’d witnessed over the last week. They could get up before dawn and keep heading west. Southwest, actually. Tomorrow morning she’d talk to Aidan about her desire to find her father and aunt.

  “I think we ought to set up a warning system.”

  “How?” she asked, conjuring up images of trip wires and wind chimes in her head.

  “We can mound up some dried leaves around the opening. If anyone steps on them, we’ll hear them.”

  She agreed it was a good idea, even if it wasn’t foolproof. She helped him scoop up piles of leaves and pine needles to make a wide arc around the front of the building. When they were done, she looked at it and wished that the leaves hid a pit for a trap underneath, because the sound of crunching leaves might not be loud enough to wake them. If they did manage to fall asleep tonight, it was going to be the sleep of the dead—they were that exhausted—although she wasn’t sure that she’d be able to sleep at all. Every little sound might make her jump: the wind rustling the leaves, an owl hooting in a tree, another rainstorm kicking up. Then there was another worry…

  “What if I have to pee in the middle of the night?”

  “You’d better wake me first, ‘cause if I hear anything, I’ll just start shooting. You shouldn’t go out alone anyway.”

  The thought of venturing into the dark silhouettes of the trees on her own made butterflies start a mob dance in her stomach. It was a feeling she was getting used to, though. Just as many seasoned actors never completely lost their stage fright, many zombie killers probably never lost that oily black fear deep in the pit of their gut when faced with a horde of the walking dead. Keeping that razor sharp edge of terror had probably helped to keep her alive by reminding her to never let her guard down.

  Aidan reached up to unbuckle the strap on his helmet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What’s it look like?” he asked as he slipped the helmet off of his head.

  She put a hand on the back of her helmet; she’d come to think of it as part of her body just like her gun had become an extension of her arm. “I’m not taking mine off, and you’re not either.”

  He raised his rifle up in the air. “This is going to protect my brains a lot better than a piece of fiberglass.”

  “Be stupid then. I’m keeping mine on.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said, propping his helmet on the back of the motorcycle.

  They were bickering now, like a couple that had known each other for years instead of hours. She’d laugh at the absurdity of it, if it were any more absurd than any of the other events that she’d witnessed recently.

  Aidan stretched, seeming to enjoy the brisk mountain air now flowing over his sweaty head. The moonlight added shadows and angles to his face, making it look pale and gray. One second, he had a handsome and chiseled look like a character in a cartoon, and the next his beard’s rough texture reminded her of flaking skin. She knew he was fine now, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t have to turn their guns on each other at some point.

  “If you knew me better,” Aidan said, “you’d know I get really cranky when I’m tired and I’ve had a bad day. Today pretty much sucked…nearly getting killed, more than once.”

  Bad day? Cheryl thought about Kyle and Claire. Who’d had a worse day than them? There was probably nothing left of either of them but a pile of charred bones.

  “It’s not going to get any better without some sleep,” she said. She rubbed her arms. “I wish we could have a fire. It’s so cold.”

  “That wouldn’t be too smart. We need to stay quiet and invisible.”

  “You’re probably right.” She was freezing, though. It might have been a ninety-degree summer day on the plains, but up in the mountains, temperatures dropped fast at night.

  Soldier up.

  Mark again, whispering from beyond the grave. Sometimes it was comforting, and other times it was downright creepy.

  “Alright, let’s get the guns inside. We can use the duffel bag as a pillow.”

  “And your helmet?”

  He turned and gave her a look, the kind that implies an eye roll without actually doing one.

  “You’re no good to me without your brains.”

  “And I thought you just liked me for my brawn.”

  She suddenly remembered the kiss back in the bathroom at his cabin. It might have been a good luck kiss or a farewell kiss, since he was about to go head first into the dark night, not knowing how many Eaters could be waiting for him. She hadn’t read anything more into it during that adrenaline-laced moment. Now, she didn’t know if he was just being a smart ass or if something else was going on. Every time she started to imagine something happening between them, she got an image of Mark in her head. It was a hazy angelic version of him with his spiky blond hair and his soft blue eyes, not the sallow-skinned sick look he’d had when she last saw him.

  Aidan grabbed his helmet. “Alright, Maria. If it will help you sleep better, I’ll keep it next to me.”

  Maria? She didn’t correct him. She knew that he was as exhausted as she was. Accidentally calling her by the name of his dead girlfriend was an easily forgivable mistake. She wondered if he heard Maria’s voice in his head like she heard Mark’s.

  He tossed the duffel bag inside the building, and they squatted down and l
eaned back on it. She felt a tickle on her face and brushed it away, thinking it would be quite ironic if she were finally done in by something as mundane as a spider bite.

  “You’re shivering. Come here.”

  He draped part of his leather jacket over her torso as she leaned into him, feeling the rough stubble on his cheek. He was warm, almost too warm. She wondered if he had a fever. In contrast, her body was shaking so much that she wondered if she had the chills.

  Through the small door-less opening, she could see the silver glint of chrome on the Harley like some great metal beast slumbering near them. She looked up at the milky clouds. The volatile sky that had doused them earlier seemed to be quieting down. If it did rain during the night, she wondered if their leaf mound alarm system would be rendered useless. With her eyes already lowering to half-mast, she tried to distract herself with another topic.

  “Why would someone go to all the trouble to build this little shack?”

  “It’s probably all that’s left of a larger building, a shack where miners lived. There’s probably a mineshaft around here somewhere.”

  She decided that he was right. As her eyes focused on the lumps and bumps of the terrain outside, she could see rectangular stones poking up here and there between tree stumps and mounds of leaf litter. She didn’t like the idea of a mineshaft nearby. It made her imagine the possibility of a group of Eaters spending their days in a dark cavern, huddled together like blind bats, and then coming out at night to feed.

  In her haze of dwindling consciousness, she wondered how safe she was with Aidan. She worried about the wound on his hand. He told her it wasn’t a bite, but if he was wrong (or lying) there was a chance he could turn in the middle of the night and attack her. She realized that she was too bloody tired to care at the moment. Que sera sera. She yawned, and her eyes fluttered shut.

  Within seconds, she heard Aidan snoring beside her and found herself slowly sinking into a black pool of water at the bottom of a well. She floated on the murky surface in a hypnagogic state, pondering her own chances of infection. It could have spread to her from various means. So, what if it was Aidan that should be afraid of her? Maybe she’d wake up in the middle of the night with the taste of his brains in her mouth. Well, maybe she should just say, sorry, in advance.