THEM Gabby's Run: Paranormal Apocalypse: A Zombie Apocalypse Military Novel (THEM Paranormal Zombie Apocalypse Series Book 4)

by M. D. Massey

  After I ate two bowls of Vi’s spicy stew, she and Raleigh took me out to one of the metal shipping containers that had been made into living quarters. It was roughly ten feet long by eight feet tall and wide‌—‌not much bigger than a small bedroom, really. Inside were a few cots, bedding, a table, a lamp, and a wood stove that didn’t need to be lit since it was still warm at night.

  Violet looked around and spread her arms wide. “Well, this is as good as it gets around here. Still, it beats sleeping in the barn with the pigs.”

  To me, it was a cozy as any safe house we used while on the trail, and I felt grateful for a safe place to sleep. “It’s great. Thanks for letting me stay here, and for dinner.”

  Raleigh made a farting sound with his lips. “Puh-lease. We never get any other kids through here. Mostly it’s just adults who are looking for work and a place to stay. So there’s no one to talk and play with but Violet. Bor-ing.”

  Violet nodded. “It does get boring, especially talking to this lunkhead all day. Hope you decide to stay an extra day‌—‌that way we can hang out.”

  I barely remembered what it was like being around other kids before the War. I tried to remember what kids talked about and what they did when they “hung out.” The truth was, I wanted to get back and see if Tony had made it home. But I also liked Raleigh and Violet and found their kindness and playful natures to be a nice change from being around Tony and Lorena.

  I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, so I decided to be noncommittal about it. “Sure, I might just do that.”

  Violet grinned. “Great! See you in the morning, Gabby.”

  She and Raleigh turned to walk out of the storage unit, then Raleigh turned back and leaned in to whisper. “Violet thinks I’m just being paranoid, but I talk to the farm hands and they say there really is a boogey man in these parts. Paco calls it a coo-coo-ee. So make sure you lock up before you go to sleep, alright?”

  Cucuy meant “monster” in Spanish. It made me wonder what this Paco guy might know about it. But it wasn’t my problem, and I had bigger things to worry about.

  “I will. Thanks, Raleigh‌—‌for everything.”

  He looked confused. “Hey, don’t mention it. Anybody would do the same, right?”

  I just nodded, and he smiled as he walked out the door. I followed him out and watched him walk across the yard. “Don’t forget to lock up, Gabby!” he shouted as he headed inside the house.

  I thought about what he said, that anyone would do the same. It made me wonder how many other people out there were as kind and generous as these people. If there were people like them, they sure painted a different picture of the world than the one Uncle Tony had painted for me. I laid back on the cot with my head propped on my hands, and thought about it for a long time until I drifted off to sleep.

  TWENTY

  TERROR

  Hours later, I woke to the sound of tapping on the cabin’s door.

  “Gabby. Psst! Gabby, open up.” It was Raleigh.

  I unlocked the door and opened it. “Raleigh, what time is it? And what the heck are you doing out here at this time of night?”

  He stepped inside the little cabin and looked at me with relief. “Phew. I thought I heard something out here and was worried that something might have happened to you. So I decided to come out and check, just to be sure you were okay.”

  I really didn’t know what to say. Honestly, I didn’t. This kid, who was obviously scared to death that some boogey man or cucuy was going to steal him from his house, had come outside in the middle of the night to check on me. On me. He wasn’t a hunter, or even a grown man. In a strange sort of way, I thought it was the bravest and sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me.

  I cleared my throat. “Um, yeah‌—‌I’m fine, Raleigh. But should you really be out here at night? By yourself?”

  He shrugged. “Probably not, but I was worried about you.” He looked a little embarrassed now that he saw I was fine.

  “Raleigh, trust me, I can take care of myself. But I do appreciate you being concerned and all.” I looked him over, and nearly busted out laughing when I saw that he was wearing a pair of house shoes that looked like puppy dogs. They reminded me of the fuzzy slippers I had at home.

  “Nice shoes, dude.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, Vi thinks they’re funny too.” He looked around, embarrassed again. “Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to sleep. Sorry for waking you up.”

  I shrugged. “Really, it’s not a big deal. My uncle wakes me up in the middle of the night all the time.” Raleigh looked at me weird, and I realized how that sounded. “No! Not like that‌—‌I mean to train and hunt and stuff.”

  He nodded in relief. “Oh, cool. That makes sense then.” He laughed nervously and looked back out the door.

  “Hey, if you’re scared to go back in by yourself, I can walk over there with you.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “No, that’s okay. I mean, it’s only a short walk. I can do it by myself.”

  “You sure?” I asked, trying to sound not the least bit judgmental.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. See you in the morning, Gabby.”

  “Good night, Raleigh.” I stood at the door and watched him take off for the house at a run. He was almost there and I was just getting ready to shut the door when a black blur came out of the dark and snatched him up, speeding off over the wall and into the night as he screamed.

  Raleigh’s frightened voice trailed off into the darkness as he yelled for help. “Gabby! Daddy! Somebody please help meeeee!”

  Within seconds I had my boots on and had snatched up my things. I was headed over the wall after them just as the farm yard lit up with torches, lanterns, and lots of people swarming around to see what had happened. Violet yelled at me from her back porch as I balanced on top of the wall, parting the barbed wire with my bare hands.

  “Gabby, where’s my brother?”

  “That thing grabbed him, and I’m going after him!”

  The last thing I saw before I leapt into the night was a look of shock and horror on her face. But also, I saw a look of accusation there as well. Did she blame me for this? I wondered as I dropped off the wall to the dirt below. I tried to put it out of my mind as I followed the scent of Raleigh’s piss and fear into the dark.

  I lost the trail sometime around mid-morning, and walked around in circles trying to pick it back up again until noon. Despite two hours of searching, I never did find Raleigh’s scent again. Frustrated and angry, I headed back to the farm to see if anyone there had turned up anything that might help me find Raleigh.

  When I entered the yard through the grate the kids had used the day before, there were few adults around. Nobody seemed to know anything except that the men were out looking for Raleigh. I knew as much, considering that I’d seen and heard them tramping about out there while I’d searched for him myself.

  I found Violet sitting on the back porch of the house, her eyes red from crying, with one of Raleigh’s puppy dog slippers in her hands. She didn’t even look at me when I sat down next to her.

  “I’m going to get him back, Violet.”

  She turned slowly to give me an incredulous look. “What can you possibly do that my dad and his men can’t?”

  “Yeah, I know I’m just a kid. Doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t help.”

  She laughed mockingly at that. “Just a kid. Right.”

  Well, that came out of the blue. Confused by her meaning, I waited for her to say something more that might reveal what she meant. Then I thought that maybe it was nothing. She was angry and scared, and she had every right to be. Nothing I said would make her feel any better, and I had almost zero experience at offering people comfort. I avoided making another attempt at saying something to make her feel better, and we sat there in silence for a good long time.

  Finally, she stirred, and her hands tugged and twisted at the slipper until I thought it might rip. “It’s your fault, you know. If you hadn’t come, he woul
d never have been out there last night.”

  I held my tongue, this time because she was right. I already blamed myself for what had happened to Raleigh. He was a sweet, stupid kid. If I hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have been taken. It really was all my fault.

  Violet sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “He’s all alone out there. Think he’s scared?”

  I nodded. “I would be. But Raleigh’s brave. He’ll be alright until we find him.”

  She laughed mockingly. “If you find him. That thing could’ve taken him halfway to Austin by now.”

  “True, but it still has to leave a trail. And I’ll find it.”

  She shook her head. “He’s gone, Gabby. And there’s probably nothing anyone human can do about it.” She stood up quickly and gave me a venomous look, then she stormed off inside the house hugging the slipper to her chest.

  I sat there for a minute and beat my hand against the steps, raging that I hadn’t been fast enough to keep them in my line of sight the night before. After I stopped and calmed down, I sensed someone watching me and looked up to see an old Latino man sitting across the yard smoking a corncob pipe in the shade. He kept staring at me, so I got up and walked over to see what he wanted.

  He was probably one of the oldest people I’d ever seen. His dark skin was wrinkled and scarred in places, and his gnarled hands looked calloused and strong despite the arthritis in them. Old people didn’t last long in the apocalypse, because death moved fast. The old and infirm generally weren’t quick enough to get out of its way.

  So this old man was either really tough, or really lucky.

  The viejo puffed on the pipe and motioned for me to sit down. I sat on a stump across from him and waited. It was a good ten minutes until he finished his tobacco and knocked the ash from the bowl. Only then did he speak.

  “I know the one you’re looking for, the one who took the boy,” he told me in Spanish. “He is El Mantequero, and I know where he lives.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  PROPHET

  I leaned in to listen as the old man sat back and chewed the stem of his pipe. He watched me carefully, sizing me up. He nodded and winked, and then he gave me a grim smile.

  “I see you have some manners. You know how to listen to your elders, and not rush them just because they don’t move like lightning anymore. Bueno. But listen to me, little lion‌—‌you may have claws, but this thing you seek‌—‌he is more powerful than he appears.

  “But first, introductions. My name is Don Francisco, but you can call me Paco.”

  I laughed a little in spite of myself, and despite the gravity of the situation. Don Francisco had been the host of a variety show my grandma used to watch every Saturday night. He’d basically been the Latin American version of a game show host.

  The old man frowned and huffed in indignation.

  “Yes, yes‌—‌like that buffoon on Sabado Gigante. There was once also a Christian singer who shared my name. He wasn’t half bad, as I recall.”

  “I’ll just call you Don Paco. How does that sound?”

  He waved and looked off to the side as if ignoring me. “I suppose that would be acceptable,” he said.

  Don Paco cleaned out the bowl of his pipe with a multi-tool he pulled from his pocket, then tapped it on his heel. He then filled the pipe and lit it again before continuing. I caught the scent of peaches along with the familiar smell of real tobacco.

  “That smells good. Did you get it from a scav?”

  He held up the pipe and looked at it. “This? No, I mix it myself. A bit of dried fruit gives it a pleasant flavor, and smooths out the harshness of the tobacco. But it is getting harder and harder to get good pipe tobacco from before the War. Perhaps I will die before we run out, yes?”

  He puffed on the pipe and blew a lazy trail of smoke from each nostril.

  “Now, where was I? Oh yes, we were speaking of this evil thing who took your friend. That boy is a pest, but he doesn’t have a single mean bone in his body. I will help you get the boy back, yes? But, I am old, and I don’t move as fast as I used to. You will have to do the heavy lifting, as these gringos say. I can only share my knowledge and my rifle‌—‌and the hope that it will be enough.”

  I waited for him to continue, but he just looked at me and smoked his pipe. The smell was oddly pleasant, and it brought to mind a long-forgotten memory of sitting on my grandfather’s porch and listening to him tell me folk tales in his strict Castilian Spanish. Why I thought of it, I had no idea‌—‌except maybe that Don Paco reminded me of my grandfather. He was a kind, yet stern man. It made me want to trust Don Paco, which was foolish. I shook the thought from my mind, and got back on task.

  “What is the thing that took Raleigh? Raleigh said you call it a cucuy, but that doesn’t tell me much. Anyway, I’ve only ever hunted deaders and ghouls‌—‌the slow ones, Don Paco‌—‌but I didn’t think that even vampires or werewolves could move as fast as that thing did.”

  He gestured at me with the stem of his pipe. “You like to think problems through, and seek the truth of things, eh? You ask me what I think‌—‌what I know‌—‌instead of assuming you know already. I am liking you more and more all the time, leonita.”

  He sighed. “I wish I had an apprentice like you twenty years ago. Then, perhaps this thing would not still be around to terrorize children today, hmm? But, we have no time to be thinking about the past. We must only deal with the present, if we are to stop this creature. So, to answer your question‌—‌the monster who took the boy is known by many names. El Mantequero is one, El Viejo del Saco is another, or sometimes his kind are called sacamantecas.

  “He always comes alone, appearing as a thin old man with a sack in his hands, come to steal the children who misbehave.” He puffed his pipe and nodded. “Or so the children are told. In reality, he steals when it pleases him. The fatter the child, the better. El Viejo del Saco has been active in this area for months now. I have been tracking him for years, up from Mexico until I arrived here. But I am old now, and slow. Yet together we may be able to get the boy back and put an end to the Sack Man. Maybe. If we pray hard enough for El Espíritu Santo to protect us, eh?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t pray much. That is to say, not at all.”

  He sat back and puffed on his pipe. “You should start, mija. You should start.”

  Don Paco gave me the rundown on what the Sack Man was and why he stole kids. Legend said that the Sack Man came around to steal kids so he could eat their fat. He was rumored to look like a skinny old man, wearing an old threadbare coat and a big, floppy, greasy hat. When captured, he was supposed to let out a high-pitched wail. But Don Paco said he’d never been successful in capturing the thing.

  “I was an anthropologist before the War. I taught at a university in Mexico City,” he said. “I had a beautiful wife, and a daughter‌—‌you remind me of her a bit. She was spirited, and older than her years like you are.”

  More than you realize, I thought.

  His eyes grew misty as he spoke. “For my job, I traveled throughout South and Central America, chasing down myths and folk tales for my books and papers, and speaking to the curanderos to learn their ways. But I never really believed any of it. It was all just superstition and folklore to me.

  “Until he took my Lucia. I brought her with me on a research trip, high into the Chilean mountains. She begged me to take her, and finally I relented.

  “You see, I felt guilty for leaving my family so often, and for such long periods of time. Back then, my work was more important than my family. How foolish I was as a young man.” He sighed heavily as he recalled the painful story. “The elder in the village warned us, but I didn’t listen. I thought they were afraid of a puma, or perhaps that bandits were taking children for the sex trade.”

  He stopped, and turned his eyes on me. “Still horrible, you see‌—‌but something within the realm of understanding of a learned man. And I carried a gun and kept my daughter close by‌—�
��so what did I have to fear, eh?

  “When the Sack Man took her, I lost everything.” Don Paco took a deep, shuddering breath and hung his head. “She was playing by herself while I wrote my notes. One minute she was there, and the next she had vanished. The village elder, he kept trying to convince me it was El Viejo del Saco, but I wouldn’t listen. I insisted she’d been taken by bandits, perhaps for ransom‌—‌I didn’t know what else to think.”

  “And then what did you do?” I asked.

  “What any fool would do. I organized a search party, and we combed the mountains looking for some trace of who might have taken her. Eventually, we came upon a small cabin, far beyond the last of the villages. When we got there it had been abandoned. But we found the bones of children, scattered all over the dirt floor inside, and human hair and skin at the bottom of a pot that had been used to render fat.”

  I hesitated to urge him to go on, but I had to know. The more I could discover about this thing, the better chance I had at getting Raleigh back. “And your daughter?”

  He shook his head. “We found her clothes in a pile in the corner of the cabin. El Viejo del Saco had taken her as his last victim, and then he disappeared. I returned home devastated. My wife blamed me, I blamed myself, and our marriage soon fell apart. I started drinking, and soon lost my position at the university. I would have died an alcoholic and with no purpose in life, if not for the intervention of a friend. A curandero I had once met found me on the street and told me my work wasn’t done yet.”

  As tragic as it was, this was like a story from the fairy tales; not the newer ones, but the really old ones that always ended in violence. I was somewhat surprised to find that the sad old man’s story fascinated me. Hoping that I wasn’t being cruel, I pressed him further.