“Get the door.”
One of the men pulled on the driver side handle and managed to get it open.
“What the hell?”
John had already caught sight of the figure in the backseat before he heard the question. Whatever it was, he instantly compared to Alex. The gruesome thing’s flesh had been peeled away, revealing fully exposed teeth and partially melted eyeballs. John grabbed the cop by the hand and pulled. He heard the dreadful, guttural moan from the backseat and caught sight of it lunging forward. He jumped back, pulling the cop with him. The two fell hard on the ground with John taking most of the impact.
“Close the door,” the cop said.
One of the men did as he was told, then he stumbled back as the creature clawed at the window. The cop got to his feet and kept his eyes trained on the car. His arms were covered with deep scratches and his uniform was soaked with blood.
“Get back.”
John stood up and watched as the cop fired several rounds into the car. Three shots hit the creature in the head, the impact sending it into the passenger seat. There was another body slumped over in the seat, its head resting against the glove compartment. The creature fell on top of the body and instantly started to feed.
“No,” the cop said, firing the rest of his clip.
“What is that thing?” one of the other guys asked.
The cop reloaded his pistol, never taking his eyes off the car. “It’s a freaking zombie,” he said, “a freaking zombie.” He raised his pistol and took aim.
John had never said the word aloud and he never thought he would hear anyone else say it.
“You might want to step away,” the cop said as started walking toward the car. “I won’t become one of you.”
It took half a second for John to realize where the cop was aiming, and another to realize the last statement was meant for the flesh eater in the car. He was able to turn and run before the next round struck the fuel beneath the car. The explosion that followed engulfed the vehicle, the cop, and everyone else within twenty feet. John felt a wave of heat burn across his back from the erupting fireball. The force picked him up off the ground and tossed him several feet out into the street. He hit the pavement on his back and his head snapped with violent force. The heat from the fire washed over his face and he tried to move, but his mind went blank, followed by a flood of pure black.
#
Dim light crept through John’s eyelids. He blinked hard and tried to remember where he was. His head was throbbing and there was a constant shot of pain in his back he couldn’t account for. There was an intense heat on his face that offered no more clues. All at once, the memory of the events surrounding the explosion crashed down on him and he tried to sit up. He felt a hand on his shoulder urging him to stay down. Mike’s voice called out to him before he opened his eyes.
“Don’t move just yet. The EMT said she needs to take a closer look at you when she gets back.”
John waited for Mike to remove his hand from his shoulder, then he quickly sat up.
“You’re a terrible patient.”
John squeezed the back of his neck and tried to open his eyes. The light made his head throb worse, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open.
“How long have I been out?” John asked.
“It’s been about two hours.”
“Two hours?”
“You were in and out.”
“What happened?” John could see he was lying on the shop floor and from what he could tell, most of the other guys were standing outside in the parking lot. He couldn’t see what they were looking at, but he guessed the remains of the police car were quite a sight. “They got the fire out?”
“Yea, hell of a thing too,” Mike said. “At first, they wanted us to get as far away as we could in case the whole gas station blew, but they got a reserve fire truck on scene pretty fast and those boys went to work on it.”
John shook his head as he found it difficult to pay attention. “What about the cops?” he asked.
“What about them?”
“Didn’t you hear what that cop said before he blew the car up?” John’s eyes focused on Mike. “Didn’t you hear what he said that thing in the back of the car was?”
“No, man, I didn’t go over there with you. You’re the one that wanted to be a hero, damn lucky too.”
“What about Allen?” John asked, remembering the name of one of the guys who ran across the street.
Mike stared at the ground and shook his head. “That’s why you don’t run off and try and be a hero,” he said. “He didn’t make it. None of them did, just you.”
John put his face in his hands and rubbed his temples. He wasn’t sure of his legs, but he pushed himself off the ground and came to his feet. Mike reached out and grabbed his arm.
“What the hell are you doing? You need to sit back down.”
“I got to get out of here,” John said. “I’ll be fine once I get home.” He could see Mike was trying to think of something to say to stop him, but he beat him to the punch. “I’ll be fine.” He was headed for the rear shop door before Mike could respond.
#
John made the drive home in record time. He knew the police had more to worry about than speeders, and he took full advantage of it. He pulled into the driveway and the clock in the dash said it was only three o’clock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been home so early on a work day. The house looked quiet from the outside, but he noticed the carport door was slightly ajar. He popped open the door and stepped out, but something caused him to hesitate. He reached in the bed of the truck without thinking and pulled out a long wrench from the toolbox. He approached the carport slowly as if expecting someone to jump out at any moment.
“Angela?” He got close to the door and stopped, waiting for an answer. “Angela?”
John waited as long as he could, then he crept toward the door. He peered in through the thin crack and saw part of the living room and into the dining room. There was no sign of movement, so he pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped in. The first thing he noticed was a smear of blood on the floor at the entrance to the hall. He held a firm grip on the wrench as he moved toward the dining room, his eyes focused on the hallway. The light was out in the hall, hiding the view of anything past the entryway. John neared the couch and heard footsteps. Slow at first, the steps stopped within the hall and he made out someone in the darkness.
“John?” Angela’s voice was clear as she stepped out into the light. “What are you doing home?”
John relaxed his grip on the wrench. “Jesus, Angela, you scared the hell out of me.” She didn’t say anything and he noticed she was carrying a pair of men’s dress shoes. He looked again at the blood on the floor then back at the shoes. “What did you do?”
Angela hesitated. She glanced down at the shoes then sheepishly smiled as her gaze returned to John. “You know how we’re a few months behind on the mortgage?”
“Yea.”
“Well, that bank thought it would be a good idea to send someone-”
“Mr. Howard?” John stormed across the room and snatched the shoes out of her hand.
“Don’t be a baby, John,” she said as she stomped her foot. “Have you been watching the news?”
“Me?” John asked. “Have you been watching the news? I freaking nearly died today in a fire.” Angela’s face relaxed as she grew concerned. “I was right there when that cop blew up his car and do you know what I saw in the back seat?”
“Awe, baby, come here,” she said and threw her arms around him. “Are you alright? Sit down.” She went into the kitchen, poured a drink, and brought it back to the table. “That fire’s all over the news.”
John drank the entire cup in one gulp.
“They’re quarantining the hospital,” she said.
“Damn right they should,” he said. “This is our fault, Angela.”
She squeezed on his shoulders and messaged his neck. “We can’
t worry about that now,” she said. “We have to think about our family.”
“I know.”
He lacked the energy to argue with her and gave in quickly. Angela returned to the kitchen and poured him another drink, handed it to him, and headed for the hall. Once she disappeared in the darkness, he heard her call for him.
“I need you to give me a hand, Mr. Howard was a hardy eater.”
13
Mr. Howard was a mess. John helped Angela get Alex cornered behind the bed before focusing on the body. He was a large man with most of the weight in his stomach and hips. He lay on his back with his torn shirt exposing his gut. Alex had eaten directly into the stomach and pulled most of the entrails out onto the floor. There was blood everywhere and John doubted it would ever come up.
Alex’s face was clean compared to the carnage on the floor. It appeared the boy got most of the man’s guts down without spilling any on him. John couldn’t bear to look at his son any longer than a glance. The boy’s dark gray skin was an abomination and there were tears along his neck and chest. It looked like a cat had clawed into him and the wounds refused to heal.
Above all else, it was Alex’s eyes that his father could not stand to look at. Stained in a vile yellow tint, they stared back at the world with ravenous frenzy. Alex reached out from behind his bed, trying in vain to reach his mother. Although her tender smile looked back at him, his desire for her flesh was undeniable. John grabbed Mr. Howard by the ankles and dragged him toward the door. He realized quickly that he would have to put all his strength into getting the man into the storm cellar.
“Don’t stain my carpet.”
John heard his wife, but didn’t look up to confirm what she’d said. He swallowed his response and dropped Mr. Howard’s feet. He ripped the lone remaining bedspread off the mattress and laid it out on the ground, and then rolled the body over with one good push. He pulled the body out into the hall before Angela could offer any more advice.
The bedspread helped with the man’s girth as it slid painlessly over the wood floor. John made quick work of getting the body over the edge of the living room carpet and back onto the wood in the dining room before reaching the back door. The difficulty began in the backyard. John was feeling the impacts of the explosion and his muscles gave in faster than he hoped. The sun was still up and there was no way he could stop with Mr. Howard’s bloody corpse lying in the grass. It took every ounce of strength he had left to get the body to the side of the house, but that was when the noises started. John knew he’d heard a knock, but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from until he stopped moving. His mind figured it out a split second before he was willing to accept it. He stared dumbfounded at the storm cellar doors
“What the hell?”
His face tensed as several thoughts rolled around in his head. A moment later, he gazed at the doors like he’d seen a ghost. John took a few steps closer and leaned over the doors. There were distinct intermediate knocks followed by something dragging across the ground.
He was sure whatever was making the noise, wasn’t against the doors and as he reached out for the lock, he remembered the cat he’d found before. A few seconds later, he pulled back one of the doors and let the remaining light flood in. The sound stopped for only a second then continued, this time at a faster pace. John forgot about Mr. Howard’s body as he took a step down into the cellar. He knew the cord for the light was in the center of the room, but his thumping heart refused to let him go any further. He looked back at Mr. Howard and considered going back to the house for the flashlight.
He glanced down into the cellar in time to see a pair of filthy hands reaching out for his leg. From out of the darkness, Stacy’s mutilated body lunged up the stairs, her mouth open wide as her hands wrapped around John’s boot. By instinct, he kicked her in the face with his free foot as she tried to bite into his leg. He jumped back up on the grass as her disfigured body climbed up the stairs after him. In the same guttural tone as Alex, she growled, her sunken eyes locked on him. The exposed muscle on her face and neck appeared to move as maggots feasted on the rotting soft tissue.
“Angela!”
He turned to run, but stumbled over Mr. Howard’s outstretched legs and fell flat on his face. By the time he rolled over on his back, Stacy was climbing out of the open storm cellar on her hands and knees. She hissed at him like an animal, and he got a look at her body in the light. Alex had eaten into her thigh and the opening was a dark shade of blue. The bone in her leg was exposed as the remainder of her tattered pants swung from side to side. She got to her feet and lumbered toward him. John backed away like a spider on his hands and feet, yelling in horror.
“Angela,” he said as he managed to flip around and get up. Stacy’s arms were locked out straight in front of her as she walked toward him. He ran for his life around the back of the house, pulled open the back door, and smashed into Angela as she tried to get out. “She’s walking,” he said.
She swiped at her mouth, sure John had busted open her lip. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He didn’t explain, pushing past her into the house. He stormed into the kitchen and grabbed the first thing he saw. He ran back to the door with a butcher knife in his hands and saw Angela through the open doorway. She was standing motionless in the backyard looking in the direction of the storm cellar. He burst through the back door and turned to find Stacy coming toward him, now only a few feet away.
“Get back,” he said, pushing Angela away.
He slashed his knife back and forth like a sword. The second strike caught Stacy’s hand severing two fingers. The digits fell to the ground with little effect. She closed in on him with another step and grabbed a hold of him by the shoulder and arm.
They fought one another and Stacy’s strength overwhelmed him. She lunged forward, mouth open wide. John pulled back, escaping her bite, inches from his exposed neck. The open wounds on her face revealed the decaying muscle’s within her jaw. A bulbous, black tongue filled her mouth, the tip bitten off.
John raised his leg, wedging his knee into her sternum. He felt a burn on his arm as her nails dug into his skin as he tried to pull free. From the corner of his eye, he saw Angela standing motionless a few feet away. She watched like a statue, seemingly unaffected by the brutality of the attack. John worked his arm free with one last push, losing a long stretch of skin for his effort. Blood ran down his forearm as he brought the knife down as hard as he could manage. The blade cut into Stacy’s throat with ease, slicing effortlessly through skin, muscle, and tissue. He tried to push the knife through her neck, but felt the blade dig into bone.
Her head flung from side to side uncontrollably as she tried to bite John’s arm. He was quick to pull his hand back and attack again. He pushed his leg against her chest and forced her away. She brought her arms up toward him and he plunged the knife directly into her face, the tip catching her in the eye. The eyeball burst on impact, spewing its innards down the front of Stacy’s face. John jabbed the palm of his hand against the end of the handle and forced the blade deeper into the eye socket and into her brain. Stacy made one last rasping moan then went silent, her body collapsing to the ground. John wasted little time. Using both feet, he smashed the heels of his boots on her head until the skull burst open like a melon. The substance of her brain splattering across the grass was blackened and bloody. He continued to stomp until there was little left to recognize, then stood with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. Angela hadn’t moved, watching him without much concern.
“Thanks for the help,” he said between breaths.
“What did you want me to do?”
“Anything would have been nice. What if that thing would of bit me?”
Angela looked down at the trampled mess of Stacy’s face then back at John. “Then I guess I would have had to get food for two instead of one.”
She calmly strolled back into the house and John didn’t know what to say. He looked around and caught sight of
Mr. Howard lying on the ground on the side of the house. It didn’t take him long to decide what needed to be done. He pulled the knife free from what was left of Stacy’s face and headed for Mr. Howard.
#
John couldn’t sleep. He’d removed Mr. Howard’s head, pulled both bodies back down under the house, and then came in to find Angela in bed. He hid Mr. Howard’s car in the woods behind the house, took a shower, and ate. Now he was finding it impossible to sleep next to his wife. There was something about the way she ignored his safety that truly terrified him.
The pain in his arm was unbearable. He rubbed his fingers along the bandage and felt it soaked through. Part of him wondered if Stacy could have infected him with her nails. He slipped out from under the covers and his mind went over all of the zombie movies he’d ever seen. If his memory served him well, someone could only be infected by a bite.
He closed the bathroom door, flicked on the light, and held his eyes shut for a few seconds to allow them to adjust. A look in the mirror revealed the bloody bandage, its top a deep wine color. He pulled back the material and felt the sticky substance tug at his skin and hair. He wasn’t sure why a bite would be the only way to catch whatever the hell infected Stacy, since he was sure no one had bit Alex. Paranoid that he’d come in such close contact with her, John stared into the mirror, convinced that he might change at any moment. He examined his eyes for a while then held his hand over his heart. The simple feeling of his heartbeat calmed him down.
It was pitch black in the house a few hours later when he made his way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He tried not to think about Mr. Howard or Stacy, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw her open mouth lunging toward him. He checked his bandage again then poured himself a cup o' Joe before the machine was finished. He sat in the living room and sipped on his coffee, staring blankly at the television screen, feeling content to finish off the pot if need be.
The Last Infection (Prequel): The Hand That Feeds Page 10