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Nation Undead (Book 1): Neighbors

Page 21

by Ford, Paul Z.


  The creature was tall and had red blood in its facial hair and dripping down the front of its neck. It snapped and held its long arms up, revealing both hands crudely amputated at the wrists. Kahn shook off his shock at the sight. The homeowner crouched and waited, knife up and ready, until it started to bend and point the bony ends of its handless arms down toward him. Kahn sprung up, dashing one dead arm away as the other touched his shoulder. He brought the sharp knife around in a big arc, landing a solid blow and burying the blade in the creature’s forehead to the hilt. It immediately fell forward onto the gravelly road with a thump. Kahn kneeled and breathed heavily, trying to extinguish the accomplishment he felt, to consciously replace it with guilt or shame in taking a life. But this wasn’t a life, this was an abomination. He killed the threat, and he was proud.

  After a moment he regained his grip on the knife that rested in the dead brain in front of him. He pulled and rocked the knife, dragging the gruesome body and expelling sour-smelling blood onto the ground. He finally stood and placed his foot on the corpse’s shoulder, bending at the waist and pulling the knife straight out. He went to clean it on the corpse’s clothing and it scraped against something metallic. He felt something hard and unusual on the small of its back, and pulled its sweatshirt up to examine his odd find. It was a metal chain, wrapped around the dead waist and extending out into the darkness. Was it a tether? The monster was tethered to the fence in between both gates.

  He jumped up, suddenly aware that something was wrong here, and held the dripping knife out toward the shadows. The chain clanked loudly as it fell to the ground.

  “Drop the knife,” a raspy voice stated calmly from behind Kahn. He spun toward the car and saw the outline of a person holding a pistol backlit by the headlight. The soft rumble of the engine punctuated their standoff as Kahn calculated his move. He gritted his teeth and held the knife toward the stranger, flexing his knees in preparation.

  A metallic click sounded behind him near the gate and caught his attention. The obvious noise was, Kahn guessed, a safety catch being released. Another click over his left shoulder made him look in that direction. He saw the glint of light on a rifle barrel pointing directly at him.

  Surrounded, he held up his free hand and dropped the knife with a clatter. The backlit person with the raspy voice put his pistol away and looked toward the other ambusher. Kahn saw an exaggerated nod before a shock of pain dropped him back into unconsciousness.

  He awoke, cold and in pain, with his face in wet grass. He gagged and coughed as the smell of fuel filled his nostrils. He jumped onto all fours and sputtered and hacked bloody phlegm into the grass.

  “Oh, good. You’re awake,” a familiar voice sounded to Kahn’s front. He lifted himself onto his knees and felt a throb of pain from the back of his skull. He blinked and tried to focus on anything but his hurt and fear. He saw blurry shapes of people standing in front of his house. His garage door and front doors were open to the night. He rubbed his eyes and tried to see details.

  “Where’s my wife?” he spat at the fuzzy shapes in the dark. A couple people laughed, there were at least ten men all around him. The one in front, the one with the gravelly voice, raised his hand and waved it.

  Engines started and lights flashed along the edge of Kahn’s property. Three trucks came to life and blinded him as they revved their engine. Kahn held his hand up and tried to see around him. The vehicles seemed to be sitting right on his rear fence. After a moment he realized they were, in fact, on the fence. They had done something to flatten the barrier behind his home. The terrifying blackness of night came from the thick trees behind the trucks. He looked at his attackers and his suspicions were confirmed. Llewelyn stood in victory, hands on hips, working on lighting a cigar in the new light.

  “Don’t worry, son. Your wife and kid are fine. Here look,” he gestured toward the dark house. Aisha and Daniel were dragged onto the front stoop by a large man with a rifle slung over his back and a pistol at his side.

  “Hal?” Aisha called in a shaky voice. The man who held her arm shook her violently in response. Daniel was sobbing. Both of them had eyes as wide as dinner plates, kidnapped unexpectedly by these armed men, and looked in tears at Kahn as he kneeled helpless in front of them. Hot tears ran down Kahn’s face as he watched the people he loved most held captive by these hateful Neighbors. Llewelyn waved again and the man dragged the family back into the house.

  “They’ll be fine. They’ll be fine,” he took a drag on his cigar and breathed the gray cloud up into the shiny, cold air. “It’s up to you what happens next.”

  “Let them go.” Kahn gritted his teeth and shifted forward on his knees. Two of the Neighbors in front pointed their rifles back at him in response.

  “Now listen, boy.” Llewelyn walked closer to Kahn, casting shadows crazily around the ground as he walked. “You ain’t going to make it out of here alive, but careful what you say. I’m trying to decide if I’m going to take your family like you took mine. You know, my wife died a long time ago and I think yours might make a good replacement.”

  “No!” Kahn tried to stand, fists tightly clenched in rage, but he was grabbed by the shoulder and forced back to the ground.

  “Your boy, too, he’ll replace my son Griffin. You remember, he’s the one you killed!” Llewelyn punctuated his last word by rearing back and kicking Kahn in the chest. He went to the ground, coughing and writhing, as Llewelyn walked back to the driveway.

  “Leave us alone,” Kahn groaned. “Let us go.” The man behind him grabbed him and forced him back into his kneeling position. He sagged and hunched over, resting on his legs and heaving his damaged lungs.

  “You stole. You killed. You came to my home and killed my people, good people! You should have left and gone back to your own country when you had the chance. You won’t live to see what you did to my country!” Llewelyn angrily drew his pistol and tapped his chest with it for emphasis. “Besides, you’re weak. We are strong. We have plans to fix all this and make this country great again. You can’t bring us down; your violent nature won’t save you. Look at you. Weak.” He spat on the ground and replaced his pistol in the holster.

  He turned and brought two of his companions closer for a private conversation. They whispered quietly for a moment before nodding and looking back at Kahn. The two men walked to him and grabbed him roughly, dragging him across the grass and into the open garage. They dropped him on the floor amongst the boxes and equipment. The smell of gasoline burned his eyes and lungs as they forced him to sit on a short cardboard box. His pants squished into the wet books stored in the old box. Llewelyn and his men rearranged themselves on the driveway, blocking his escape.

  “You know tomorrow’s Friday, right?” Llewelyn puffed and the red glow of the cigar lit his face. Kahn shook his head. He had no idea what day it was now. Llewelyn chuckled. “We get ourselves a new president tomorrow, boy. One who will get rid of you people. We’re here to help him make America great. We’re going to start with sending you back where you came from.” Some of the others smiled, confident in their victory. Kahn shook his head and furrowed his brow again.

  “The dead are walking around and eating people and all you care about is what we look like? We aren’t terrorists! We aren’t Muslim, or Syrian, or anything but people trying to survive!” Kahn shook uncontrollably, not sure of his or his family’s fate but unable to listen to this man anymore. “You call yourselves ‘Neighbors’ to others, but you call me a terrorist because of how I look! You need to work on getting rid of the dead instead of wasting your time getting rid of us. Because we look different, because we aren’t white? Fuck you!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he angrily fought back with words. Kahn braced, breathing heavily, for Llewelyn’s retaliation. Instead he smiled.

  “I thought you’d say that. I knew you couldn’t keep your racist thoughts out of this once I pressed you. We ain’t all white, right boys? But you know that already, don’t you?” Llewelyn’s smile seemed to grow a
nd he looked back. On cue, one of the Neighbors walked out of the shadows escorting a huge body. Kahn recognized Kimble immediately, his dark silhouette dwarfed any of the others around the garage. As he stepped into the light Kahn saw his hands were bound in front. His nose and face were swollen and bloody. His eyes were almost shut and he limped in pain.

  “Kimble!” Kahn shouted, unable to help himself. Kimble winced as his escort stopped him on the driveway.

  “You see, son. Mr. Kimble here was one of our Neighbors. He ate our food and slept in the safety of our walls. He ain’t white, is he? We welcomed him as one of our own. A true Neighbor. But then he lost his way, he forgot that you people are natural killers. He brought you to us, and now he brought us... to you. You see, boy? There ain’t no loyalty here.” Llewelyn’s expression darkened suddenly. “We should kill him, shouldn’t we? Answer me, boy!” he shouted angrily.

  “What? No!” Kahn shouted back. Llewelyn grabbed the bottom of Kahn’s face and pointed with the smoldering cigar at Kimble’s shape.

  “He betrayed you! He told us where you live! He told us you had a family here! He can’t be trusted!” Llewelyn pushed Kahn’s face and took another drag, red cinders breathing dangerously around the gas fumes. “You tell me what to do with him. That’ll help me decide what to do with you and your family.” He stepped back and turned his back, arms crossed as if stubbornly awaiting an order. Kahn reeled, he looked at Kimble but the man’s swollen face remained blank and betrayed no instruction. The two men with rifles raised them up toward Kimble.

  Kahn considered the vague options presented to him. Decide Kimble’s fate, and Llewelyn would decide Kahn’s fate. He didn’t think these people would let him live, or let Kimble live, but maybe he could make a decision that would allow Aisha and Daniel to live through the night. He put himself in the madman’s mind, trying to think like him. Kill Kimble, show you’re tough on transgressions, and maybe he would see the similarities in their thinking. Refuse to kill Kimble, show forgiveness, maybe Llewelyn would realize he wasn’t a violent monster. It was impossible to decide.

  “No,” Kahn said quietly. “I won’t, I can’t tell you what to do with him. Let us go. Let us go and we’ll leave here and never come back. You’ll never see us again. We’ll never bother you again.” Kahn hung his head and awaited their leader’s interpretation of his answer. Llewelyn blew blue smoke into the air above his head and turned slowly toward his captive.

  “You’re wrong,” he said, almost in a whisper. “You will bother us again. You people are a virus that is ripping this country apart. You have gotten away with subverting our values for too long. Okay, boys close up the house. Block the doors. They ain’t getting out of here. Put him,” he gestured to Kimble, “in the truck.”

  “No! Wait!” Kahn yelled as he rose and tried to walk toward Llewelyn. He was punched in his midsection by one of the Neighbors near the garage. The blow knocked him to the gas-soaked ground and made him wheeze for breath. The attacker reached up and closed the garage door, leaving Kahn in darkness. He heard frantic banging from outside the door, along the edges of the rolling frame. He gagged and tried to catch his breath despite the fumes.

  Kahn felt around in the dark, looking for anything that could help. He grabbed the handle of the garage door and tried to pull it up. The door wouldn’t budge and Kahn realized the violent banging that reverberated through the room must have been the Neighbors damaging the outer frame, trapping him inside. He crawled and pushed boxes around, feeling his old Army gear and searching for a knife he knew was there. He gripped and pulled on a small sheathed camp knife, not sure what he would use it for but feeling better with a weapon in his possession. If only he could get to the guns locked in the bedroom safe. He stuck the knife in his cargo pocket.

  “Good luck, son!” Llewelyn’s muffled voice called from outside the house. “Sending you back to hell from where you came!” Kahn came up onto his hands and knees as he saw a bright flash and heard the whoosh of flames licking up the garage door. Orange flickering began to catch the door and the tips of the flames showed in the high windows of the garage door. He quickly stood and tried the door into the house. It clicked, locked, in the frame.

  Suddenly, the popping of gunfire cut through the crackling sound of the fire. Kahn’s heart sunk, thinking of Kimble. The man had given him advice when he knew the world had changed, and he had saved Kahn’s life more than once. He thought Kimble was better than those people, he didn’t deserve this.

  Kahn heard engines roaring as the Neighbors’ trucks drove by the house. The glow of the fire lit the contents of the garage and Kahn searched for anything that would help him. The boxes of books looked like dangerous, fuel-soaked tinder. He threw some of them aside and opened cabinets on the far wall of the room, searching for anything that might help him get into the house.

  Finally, he found a long, metal object next to one of his cabinets. It was the water key he could use to turn the utility on and off at the edge of the property. The key was several feet long and made of sturdy, black metal. It had a pointed, two-pronged fork on one end and a t-shaped handle at the other. He immediately used it to attack the door to the house. He repeatedly struck it near the doorknob and lock, trying to land a blow that would help him in. Blow after exhausting blow landed on and around his target. The door knob finally snapped and hung down, as Kahn started to cough from the incoming smoke. It was beginning to fill the garage. His eyes started to water and blur as he continued to strike the lock. The knob fell away and he hit the interior of the mechanism until the other side fell through into the laundry room. Focusing on the deadbolt, he first destroyed and knocked away the outer frame, then the locking mechanism itself smashed and fell through the hole into the house. He rushed his shoulder into the solid door and it held tight on the damaged deadbolt. He backed up and kicked at the door, over and over, bending and cracking the wood against the hinges.

  One last kick finally freed the bolt from the frame as the warped door held. He grabbed at the splintered wood, bloodying his hands, as he pulled the door outward, frantically trying to get out of the burning garage. The door scraped against the floor and the frame as he pulled it toward him, thoroughly damaged by his furious attack. He looked back as he pulled, now seeing flames emerging around the bay door and threatening the books inside.

  The door let loose the damaged part of the frame as he pulled, making him stumble away from the portal. Dark smoke billowed in and started filling the top of the laundry room at the entryway. He covered his mouth and nose with the crook of his elbow and ducked in under the smoke. He held the sturdy metal rod of the water key out in front of him, trying to see his way into the familiar house.

  He walked through the kitchen into the living room and was greeted by a wall of fire entering from the front door. He heard a whooshing explosion from the garage as the gas ignited his scattered belongings. He recoiled from the heat and smoke of the flame, backing slowly toward the hallway leading to the back bedrooms. He coughed and fell to his knees, weak from lack of oxygen, making his way toward the back rooms.

  He came to the end of the hallway and stumbled into the open door of Daniel’s bedroom, directly across from the closed master bedroom door. He fell onto his knees and retched from smoke inhalation. He struggled to a crouch and threw open the closet, dashing aside toys and throwing hanging clothes aside. They had to be here somewhere. He had to find them. He coughed and struggled to see as his eyes began to water profusely. He spun around the room, looking to see if his wife and son were unconscious or tied up somewhere. He didn’t see them. He was running out of time. The heat was getting intense and the billowing gray smoke was getting thicker. He crawled out of the room, trying to make it across to search his bedroom.

  He grabbed the doorknob of the room and yelped in pain, pulling his hand back in panic. The metal knob felt like the surface of a stove and the heat in the house made him feel like he was being cooked in an oven. He shook his injured hand against the burn. Tr
ying to yell out only made him gag and cough against the thick smoke. He fell down onto the floor and held himself low, away from the choking air toward the ceiling. He lay on his side and pounded on the door to the master bedroom, coughing and desperate to find Aisha and Daniel.

  He blinked his tears away and saw orange flame flickering underneath the entry to his room. The doorknob began to glow red hot and he heard shattering glass through the roar of the flame. He backed away from the door on his hands and knees, panicked from the heat. He was desperate to find his family, but his body acted independently of his mind. He escaped the heat in self-preservation, hating himself, and crawled into the hallway bathroom. Desperate for air, he stood and used his makeshift weapon to quickly smash the small bathroom window. It shattered outward into the yard and smoke followed it out and up into the night air. He stuck his head out, gasping for breath, as he held his body in place from the inside.

  Strong arms grabbed his neck and pulled. He blinked away tears and tried to register the sudden intrusion over his shock of surviving the fire. His arms were trapped inside the bathroom, and he struggled to pull his body back toward the smoke. It turned into a blind game of tug-of-war against the assailant. Kahn worked to free his arms, but the water key trapped them inside the house.

  Then he heard the growls of the creature holding him. He became frantic, trying to thrash and move his head away from the deadly teeth. The strong hands gripped him by the side of his head, scratching at him as he struggled. He was blinded by escaping smoke, and felt the heat from the blaze that grew in the house behind him. He growled and pulled in return, scrambling for purchase with his feet and hands against the flat interior wall of the bathroom. Kahn freed one hand and reached for the small knife in his cargo pocket. He thrust it into the dark cloud of smoke and felt it catch in dead flesh. The creature still fought and Kahn immediately lost the weapon in the melee.

 

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