by Ron Ripley
George put the wood down on the floor, knelt beside it and arranged the logs on top of the embers. When he finished, he added a small bit of kindling and a twisted piece of newspaper, which quickly caught fire. He sat back and watched as the flames curled the edges of the paper, the newsprint blackening before the kindling began to burn. George adjusted the flue, and a soft knock sounded on the front door again.
With his hand frozen above the flue knob, George looked at the door, his heart racing inside of his chest. His mouth was suddenly dry as he thought, Please, please let me have imagined that.
Another knock told him he hadn't.
George got to his feet, glanced at Merle and the girls to make certain they were still asleep, and then walked to the front door. He paused at it, stared at the lock and then reached out and turned it. George lifted the doorknob a little, putting slight pressure on it to keep the hinges from squealing in the stillness. When he did get the door open, he gasped, his breath ripped out of him from the cold and by the sight of the person on the doorstep.
Laura looked at him, a pained expression on her face. She was dressed only in her bra and pants. Her hair was in an untidy mess, strands and locks having freed themselves from the tight bun at the base of her skull. And George realized, she was dead.
Undeniably so.
He could see through her, more so than the others who had been assaulting the house for days.
"Laura," he whispered.
She nodded, a haunted look in her eyes.
"How did you," he said, shook his head and couldn't finish the question.
"Hypothermia," Laura answered. "I couldn't get away fast enough."
"They didn't kill you?" he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.
"No," she said, but her tone became bitter. "Although one helped convince me that I would feel much better if I undressed."
"What?" George asked, confused.
"Common side effect of hypothermia," Laura said. "Your body becomes so disorientated that you think you’re too hot when you're on the verge of freezing to death. But I'm not here for that, George. I'm here to tell you that you're going to need to leave, in the morning, and as quickly as possible."
He looked over at the others, still sleeping through his strange conversation with Laura. "We can't. If you couldn't make it, how can we?"
"Because you're going to get bundled up in everything you have," she said, her voice firm. "You are going to follow my tracks and not let the girls see my body. Then you will continue on to the main road. I drifted that way for a little. There are plows running on it. Once they've cleared the main thoroughfares, then they'll come down Mulberry. You won't have that long, though."
"We won't?" George asked.
Laura shook her head. "No. Not at all. Soon they'll be through the house at the end of the street. When that happens, they'll look for anyone else who can entertain them. And they haven't forgotten about you."
"What if they come after us?" George whispered.
"You'll have your iron," Laura said, a soothing tone coming into her voice. "And you'll have me. I'll do what I can to stop them. Alright?"
He nodded.
"Good," Laura said, and her body seemed to thicken, become less translucent. "Now go start to get ready. It will be dawn soon enough."
Chapter 56: Trouble
Shane was thrown to one side, his light shattering and his head and shoulder smashing into the wall. He groaned and collapsed to the floor, vomiting from the force of the blow. A shotgun roared again, and Shane went deaf. His vision was gone, filled with lights that danced and obscured the foyer. Something cold struck him across the face, and he felt his skin burn.
Spitting bile, Shane lashed out with the knuckle-dusters and grunted with satisfaction as it passed through something cold.
A hand grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to his feet, and Shane realized he was held upright by Mason.
"Secure the God-damned door, Gunny!" Mason yelled, pushing Shane towards the doors. A guard rushed out, faintly illuminated by Mason's red lamp, and Shane took a stab at the ghost.
He missed, by a wide margin, and the blast of Mason's shotgun filled the air. Shane saw more ghosts in the hall, all of them racing towards the doors.
Oh hell, Shane thought, I’ve got to get the chains through it, or else they’ll keep coming out. Gritting his teeth, Shane threw himself against the open door. Something broken in his shoulder exploded in pain, but he managed to close the door. Hands reached through, grabbing at his clothes and pulling him against the metal. Shane slashed at them until he was free, if only for a moment, and he looped the iron links back through the handles.
He fell back, gasping for breath. The pain in his shoulder increased exponentially.
Mason fired the shotgun again, and Shane looked to see what he was firing at.
Ghosts were coming in through the front doors, and Frank was fighting them with his iron-fingered hands. Someone had wrenched the shotgun away.
"We need to get the outer doors," Shane yelled, struggling to his feet.
Mason nodded as he reloaded the weapon. Frank threw a punch into a ghost, and the prisoner disappeared.
"I'll take the walkway," Frank said, but the words were faint, difficult for Shane to hear above the ringing in his ears.
Shane could only nod as he picked up the length of chain he had left on the foyer floor from when he had beaten back the first ghost. From when Pete Dawson had let all of them out.
With his left arm hanging limp and throbbing in pain, Shane held onto the cold iron links and dragged them out. Mason followed behind him, firing twice more.
Ahead of him, Shane saw Frank attacked by a trio of prisoners, and as Shane cleared the threshold, Frank went down to his knees.
Chapter 57: The View from the Safe Spot
Ollie heard the gun blasts from inside the prison. Then he saw Frank come outside and watched as he was ambushed.
"Ollie," Pete whispered, pointing at Frank.
"Yeah," Ollie said, "I see him."
Yet even as the words came out of his mouth, Ollie saw it wasn't Frank that Pete had been pointing at. It was the ghosts rushing towards Frank.
There were three of them, huge apparitions. Monstrous in the illumination of the Jeep's headlights. They attacked Frank, and he fought back.
When Shane came through the front doors, though, Frank collapsed.
"Oh Jesus, Ollie," Pete said. "What are we going to do?"
Ollie could only shake his head.
He didn't know, and his attention was focused on Shane and Mason. Ollie watched as the shotgun-toting Mason stepped past Shane, bringing the weapon up and firing off three quick shots. Each ghost disappeared.
Behind Mason, Shane managed to close the doors, and he was threading a length of chain through the handles while Mason was reloading.
And more ghosts arrived.
Not many, perhaps four, if Ollie counted right, but Mason hadn't been able to reload.
One of the ghosts punched Mason in the side of his head, and the man howled with fury. The other two rushed at Shane. The bald man twisted around and defended himself with his knuckle-dusters, all the while his left arm was limp.
"We need to do something," Pete said, and Ollie looked at his brother in surprise.
"What?" Ollie asked, shocked.
"We need to help them," Pete said, his eyes never leaving the scene in front of the prison. "They're going to die."
"Oh well," Ollie said. "You think I'm going to risk my life for them? Hell no, Pete and neither are you. I offered financial assistance, and this was the best plan they could come up with. Oh, that and renting some hotel rooms to help whoever happened to survive the assault on Mulberry Street. Get a grip, little brother. We are not going down there."
"Ollie," Pete started to say, and then he was cut off. A pair of hands reached into the Jeep and grabbed Pete on either side of his head.
Ollie watched, dumbfounded, as his brother sh
rieked. Pete's head was smashed into the glass, shattering it, and then he was dragged out of the vehicle, legs lashing out awkwardly.
A ghost slid into Pete's recently vacated seat and looked at Ollie. He was a young man, his throat cut and his shirt dark with blood. The ghost gave Ollie a winning smile and said, "So, who are you, my fine-looking man?"
Ollie struggled a moment to find his voice, and when he did it was low and cracked. "Ollie."
"Ollie," the ghost said with a grin. "Short for Oliver, I assume?"
Ollie nodded.
The ghost glanced out the broken window, Pete no longer screaming.
"Friend of yours?" the ghost asked, his tone light and conversational.
"My brother," Ollie whispered.
"Your brother?" the ghost asked, eyes wide in surprise. "Well, I do apologize for the inconvenience. Terrible thing, having to witness a sibling's death. But then, you really didn't see him die. Just the abduction, so that's alright, I suppose. Then again, you don't have to worry about it, do you?"
"I don't know," Ollie said in a low voice. "Do I?"
"No," the ghost said, winking. "You don't."
"Why?" Ollie asked, even though he didn't really want an answer to the question.
"Because," the ghost said, "we're going to kill you next."
Chapter 58: Moving
"Shane," Mason said. "We need to move."
Shane nodded, stumbling away from the door.
They reached Frank and found the man unconscious, black marks on his face and neck from where the dead had struck him. In silence, they grabbed hold of Frank and pulled him to his feet. His head lolled from side to side.
A scream caught his attention, and he and Mason looked simultaneously at Pete's Jeep. They watched as something dragged Pete’s body out of the driver's side window, and a moment later, Pete's screams were silenced.
"Damn it!" Shane spat. He went as fast as he could through the snow, Mason beside him. They hadn't gone more than half the distance along the walkway before another scream erupted, this one from inside the Jeep.
The vehicle rocked back and forth for a moment and then stopped.
Shane and Mason continued on towards the Jeep.
A ghost slid out of the driver's door and waved at them. Mason let go of Frank and put a round into the ghost, the prisoner vanishing.
Grunting, Shane managed to hold Frank up until Mason took up the other side again.
When they reached the Jeep, Shane and Mason found the Dawson brothers dead. Pete's neck was twisted around to an unnatural angle, and Ollie, it seemed, had been strangled to death. There were black handprints on his neck, his skin burned from the touch of the dead.
Shane had seen a great many dead men in his time, and it was never easy. His jaw tightened at the sight of the brothers. He hadn’t cared for either of the men, but like so many others, neither Peter nor Ollie had deserved to die the way they had.
Shane glanced into the interior of the Jeep, the smell of urine and excrement rank thick in the air. Ollie, Shane saw, had fouled himself before he died.
Shane shook his head and he and Mason stepped away. They opened the back door and put Frank in, Mason bending over to check his pulse. After a moment, Mason said, "We're still good."
"Good."
Mason glanced at Shane, closed the door and shook his head.
"You can't drive with that arm," Mason said, stepping over Pete and getting into the driver's seat.
"No kidding," Shane said. He went around, opened the passenger door, hesitated, and then he dragged Ollie's body out. He stripped the dead man of his jacket and spread it out over the seat. Shane felt the old disconnect in his mind, the little box where he put away his horrific acts, and those that he had seen. He put the images of the Dawson brothers in that place, and got into the Jeep.
"You know where this Mulberry Street is exactly?" Mason asked.
Before Shane could answer, Frank did from the back. His words were slurred, but understandable. "Left. Second right. First right. Left."
"Good enough," Mason said, and he shifted the Jeep hard into drive.
Shane gritted his teeth as the Jeep climbed over curbs, slammed through snow banks and made its own path under the ungentle guidance of Mason. The man drove like they were in a combat zone, and Shane realized that they were.
The whole damned place is, Shane thought. And we're going to another fight.
The Jeep's headlights illuminated a street sign, and Shane saw the name on it.
Mulberry.
Mason cut the wheel hard, and the Jeep plowed into the deep loose snow on the street. The first object to catch Shane's eye was a State Police Interceptor, and the body that was near it.
Mason jammed on the brakes, pointed and muttered, "Holy Christ, Gunny. Look."
Shane looked.
At the end of Mulberry Street, a swarm of ghosts was ripping apart a house. Board by board and brick by brick.
Chapter 59: Getting Out
At first, Merle had argued with George. She hadn't seen any logical reason to leave the house. Not until he told her about Laura's ghost, and how the dead officer had come back to warn them.
After the explanation, George and Merle had worked together in silence, Alison and Rachel asleep on the couch. While the two adults gathered all the supplies and clothing they could, George had to fight down a growing fear that Jess would come home.
He had a perfect mental image of her attempting to drive down Mulberry, and of being attacked by the dead. The anxiety caused his stomach to twist into knots, his movements jerky and unsure.
George jumped when Merle put a hand out and touched his arm.
"Are you alright?" she whispered.
George nodded, forced a smile and said in a low voice, "I'm worried. That's all."
She patted his hand, then went back to putting a bag of goldfish crackers into a backpack.
Within a short time, they had packed what food they felt they could bring and still carry the girls. George went to his bedroom and took out the last of the blankets from the closet. As he carried them back, he wondered if they could escape from the house. If the dead would ignore them.
He and Merle would each have to carry one of the children, as well as a weapon. And they would have to put the sisters down in order to defend them.
George shuddered at the thought, set the blankets on the floor and pulled on his jacket, then his backpack as Merle woke the girls up.
He watched as they rubbed the sleep from their eyes, yawned, and listened to what Merle had to say. The girls nodded once they were told what they had to do, and George was amazed at the calm demeanor that each child possessed.
"They're resilient," Merle said, smiling over Alison's head at George. "Children always are."
George could only take her word for it as he held out a blanket and wrapped Rachel up in it. The girl snuggled against him, yawned again and closed her eyes.
Time to go, George realized, and he turned to face the front door with growing trepidation.
Chapter 60: Sights on Mulberry Street
"We've got people coming out," Shane said, leaning forward in his seat.
"Where," Mason started, then he said, "wait, yeah. I see them."
"Can the Jeep make it?" Shane asked.
"So long as the others don't try and stop us," Mason said, and he down-shifted.
"How bad is it?" Frank asked, sitting up, his voice thick.
"Bad," Mason answered.
Wincing, Shane unzipped his coat, pulled his injured arm across his chest and stuffed his hand under his armpit. Stars exploded around the edges of his vision, but he ignored the pain and closed the jacket.
"You hurt?" Frank asked.
Shane nodded.
"Can you handle a weapon?" the former monk asked.
"I've got my right hand," Shane said. "I'll use the knuckle-dusters. What about you?"
"No," Frank said. "I'd shoot someone. I'm useless right now."
"Can you
help someone through the snow?" Mason asked.
"What?" Frank said, confused.
"Screw it," Shane said. "We're close enough. Frank, you're with me. Mason, shotgun, protect the Jeep. It's the only way we'll get them out of here."
The Jeep ground to a halt and Shane got out, his arm sending sharp bursts of pain into his skull, which vibrated from the same pain. Frank stepped out a moment later.
"Come on," Shane said, as he started through the thick snow towards the people. He could see two adults carrying large bundles.
"Damn," Frank said, "they have kids with them."
Shane could only nod. The cold was making his injuries throb. Each step and every breath was a challenge. Beyond the people, Shane could see the house, the dead continued to destroy it.
"There's someone in that house!" A woman shouted, pulling the scarf in front of her face down. "There's an old man who lives there."
Shane glanced at Frank and saw the man wouldn't be able to help him. The distance was too far.
"Get them back to Mason and the Jeep," Shane said. "If you see me fall. Don't come for me. Let me go. Get them to Asa."
Frank didn't argue. Instead, he focused his attention on the people in front of them.
"This is Frank," Shane said, walking towards the strangers. "He's going to bring you to the Jeep."
With that said, he passed by them and made his way towards the end of Mulberry Street. In the crisp stillness, he heard the house being torn asunder. He saw prisoners doing the damage, a swarm of them ripping every shred they could off the frame. On the outer edge of the crowd, forming a cordon, there was a thin line of guards. They watched all of it and the idea that the destruction was condoned, and monitored, sent a new tendril of fear into Shane's heart.
A high, sharp scream punctured the air, a gunshot following.