The Scattered and the Dead (Book 1)
Page 46
Erin
South of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
70 days after
Terror took hold, and for a moment Erin couldn’t speak. Eventually she forced out a hiss.
“Run!”
They both bolted toward the back door, but it was too late. The basement door was flung wide and the thing roared, an inhuman noise that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
It looked like a man, but not. Something was wrong with it -- something that went beyond the fact that it was covered in blood. There was a gaping wound on one side of the head, and the eye on that side was crusted shut. But even with just the one eye open, Erin could tell the thing was dim. Like a — she didn’t want to think it, but it was too late — like a zombie.
The thing swayed there at the top of the stairs, blocking their exit, and the lone eye wandered, never seeming to focus on any one thing. Erin wasn’t sure why it hadn’t come at them yet. Could it not see them if they held still?
And then it lurched toward Izzy, and without thinking Erin jumped forward.
“Hey you!”
She pulled her phone from her pocket and threw it at the zombie-thing.
It rounded on her, and she fumbled at her belt for the gun. She lifted, pointed, squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
She squeezed again, and Izzy yelled, “Shoot it! Shoot it!”
And then the zombie launched himself teeth-first at her.
His bulk knocked her to the ground, pinning her there. Up close the smell was nauseating — the stench of rotting flesh and dried blood and unbrushed zombie teeth. She had a handful of his matted hair in her fist, which was the only thing keeping him from taking a big juicy bite out of her neck. Her other hand still held the gun. She pressed it to his skull and pulled the trigger again, but it wouldn’t fire.
Over the snarling beast on top of her, she heard Izzy’s voice.
“The safety! You have to turn the safety off!”
The gun was gummed up with zombie goo now, and Erin’s hand slid down the grip. She clenched her fingers around it, refusing to let go, and somehow she managed to flick the little switch with her thumb. This time she pulled and it fired and there was an eardrum bursting blast and a wet chunky spray hit her face. The zombie went limp on top of her.
She wriggled out from under it part of the way, but the dead weight pinned her down.
Izzy ran over and threw herself down next to Erin, clutching her shoulder and half-screaming, half-crying. When the ringing in her ears faded a little, she realized Izzy was asking if she was OK.
“Are you hurt? Did it get you?”
Erin tried to push the thing off her, but she was all shaky. Her muscles felt like Jell-o.
“I’m fine.”
Izzy let out a sob of relief, then started babbling again.
“I told you! I told you there were fucking zombies!”
“Dude, language!” Erin said.
They were quiet for a second, and then they both laughed.
“Now get this thing off me.”
Izzy helped her roll the body off. Erin scooted away from it and tried to find a dry patch of her shirt to wipe her face with.
“Here,” Izzy said and handed her a roll of paper towel.
“Thanks.”
Erin looked over at the zombie. They both did for a long moment. Silent.
It seemed different now than it had moments before. Smaller. The expression on its face more sad than aggressive. It wore a blue and purple tie dye shirt with some iron-on letters that spelled out “MITCH” across the chest.
“What’s with the shirt?” Izzy asked.
The tie dye looked like a do-it-yourself project, and the letters were all a little cock-eyed.
“I bet it was a gift. From-”
Erin pictured the little socked feet in the bedroom then.
“Never mind.”
How stupid was she? Finding the gun, coming up with her Jonestown scenario in which the whole family offed themselves, but never wondering where the bodies of the adults were? Dumb.
“How sad is that?” Izzy said.
“What?”
Izzy’s eyes were still locked on the tie dye shirt.
“That he ate his own family.”
“How did you-”
“You said not to go in the back bedroom. Like I don’t know what that means. Kids.”
Erin poked Izzy’s belly button.
“Stop being so smart, will you?”
A gong sounded, and for a second Erin thought it was some kind of warning, some harbinger of more bad shit to come. They both went rigid and held their breath, bracing themselves for it. And then Erin recognized the melody. It was the grandfather clock, striking noon.
Erin slapped a hand over her chest and let her body slump back into the counter.
“I just peed in my pants a little bit,” Izzy whispered.
Erin sighed.
“Me too.”
Ray
North of Mt. Pleasant, Texas
2 days before
He brought another Twinkie wrapper to his mouth, ripped it open like a soldier pulling the pin out of a grenade with his teeth, and ate it. He didn’t know why. He felt nauseous from eating the first four, and they didn’t taste very good. He guessed that he must have liked them when he was a kid, and the desire for them lingered even after the affection for their flavor had faded.
The PT Cruiser hurtled down the road. As they moved, that quiver of anxiety in his chest finally let go. From what little he knew about nuclear weapons, they would now surely be far enough outside of Dallas to survive the initial blast and radiation no matter how big of a bomb got dropped. The long term fallout aspect was trickier, but not getting disintegrated was a nice first step.
His eyes stung, and when he caught glimpses of them in the rearview mirror, he couldn’t believe how bloodshot they were, little bursts of red like fireworks everywhere around each of the irises. He was tired as hell, but that was one thing the Twinkies helped with, at least. The sugar seemed to wake him up a bit.
Lorraine slept in the passenger seat. She smiled just faintly in her slumber. He always thought you could tell a lot about a person by their facial expression as they slept. Meek types frowned. Hostile people scowled. And the nice people all wore the slightest of smiles.
He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number again, listened to it ring. He knew she wouldn’t answer, and she didn’t. He put the phone away, and just as he looked back to the road, she spoke.
“Who have you been trying to call?”
He flinched. She’d startled him pretty good.
“What?”
“Every time you think I’m asleep, you make a call that no one seems to answer. You don’t have to tell me. Just curious.”
Ray didn’t say anything for a moment. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips a couple of times.
“My ex-wife. I’d still like to get a hold of her. Thing is, I can never really know if she is in trouble, or if she’s fine and just doesn’t want to talk to me. She’s not the biggest Ray Dalton fan out there. So I just keep calling whenever I get a moment alone.”
“Why so gung-ho to conceal that from me?”
Ray licked his lips a couple more times.
“I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t want some lady I just met to know how cut up and bleeding I am about my ex-wife who I’ve been apart from for nine years.”
They were quiet for a while, watching the road signs and the dead grass flit by on the sides of the road.
And then a flash filled the sky, a burst of light that pulsed and seemed to hang there in the air for too long. Ray watched it shimmer in the rearview mirror, hearing a gasp and only realizing it was his own after the fact.
He pulled over to the side of the road as the flash gave way to a billowing cloud of smoke. They got out and stood on the shoulder, watching smoke fill the sky. The sound came upon them after a moment, a sizzling rush more
than the thunderous rumble he’d anticipated.
“Airburst,” he said.
“What?”
“They burst it in the air to minimize the fallout. That’s why we can see it. If the fireball doesn’t touch the ground, the radiation will dissipate in the air over the coming days. The power of the blast itself is still enough to wipe out Dallas, even burst some ways up in the sky.”
“Wow.”
Her voice fluttered when she spoke. He realized she was shaking, her fingers rising to her lips and trembling there. He reached out for it, took her hand in his, and together they watched the mushroom cloud rise into the sky.
The Scattered and the Dead
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- About the Authors -
Tim McBain writes because life is short, and he wants to make something awesome before he dies. Additionally, he likes to move it, move it.
You can connect with Tim on Twitter at @realtimmcbain or via email at tim@timmcbain.com.
L.T. Vargus grew up in Hell, Michigan, which is a lot smaller, quieter, and less fiery than one might imagine. When not click-clacking away at the keyboard, she can be found sewing, fantasizing about food, and rotting her brain in front of the TV.
If you want to wax poetic about pizza or cats, you can contact L.T. (the L is for Lex) at ltvargus9@gmail.com or on Twitter @ltvargus.
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- Books by Tim McBain & L.T. Vargus -
The Scattered and the Dead (Book 0.5)
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The Scattered and the Dead (Book 1)
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Casting Shadows Everywhere
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Fade to Black (Awake in the Dark #1)
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Bled White (Awake in the Dark #2)
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Red on the Inside (Awake in the Dark #3)
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Back in Black (Awake in the Dark #4)
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