She carefully pried apart the squished branches of the artificial Christmas tree and added the stand at the bottom. Setting it on top of the stack of boxes, her body tingled with excitement.
It was perfect.
While it wouldn’t fit into her pack, she could easily carry it back to the train in her hand. She fished out a few light ornaments, as well, and stuffed them into the bag.
With one final look at the bedroom, she wondered if the boy who had lived in this room had moved out and gone off to college. He was likely her age, given the collection of toys and memorabilia in his room. Was he still alive? Had he been reunited with his parents, and they’d all found sanctuary somewhere together? She hoped they had.
The kitchen was her next stop, surprisingly well-stocked, especially considering raiding homes had become commonplace.
Haven popped open a jar of dill pickles, munching on them as she perused the pantry shelves. It wasn’t until she got to the bottom shelf that she stopped chewing.
Individually wrapped Reese’s peanut butter cups and Kit Kat bars were in plastic casing. She started to rip open the packages with relish, barely able to contain her anticipation.
Chocolate was her weakness. Sometimes she’d even have a chocolate bar for breakfast. She missed it so much that she could have easily devoured both packages by herself on the kitchen floor.
But she paused just as the plastic wrap tore, and the little chocolates fell to the cold tile at her feet. Even in the zombie apocalypse, people deserved a little candy, and the sweet treats would likely be the gift everyone would enjoy most. With a heavy sigh, she dropped them into her backpack along with a few other non-perishable items.
As she twisted the backpack around to shoulder it once more, the second shoulder strap looped over the lip of the open pickle jar. It crashed noisily to the floor, shattering on the tiles as pickle juice splattered onto her jeans, and the remaining pickles slid across the floor.
Her first thought was disappointment in wasting the pickles, and she briefly considered still eating them.
But a sudden battering at the door shook her from her reverie, and she spun around in horror. Hands smacked the vinyl siding of the trailer, while shadows, visible through the small window on the front door, crowded on the stairsteps outside.
With each pound against the feeble door, Haven watched the sliver of light from outside grow larger. The recliner was the only thing keeping the door closed.
She turned and ran to the master bedroom, slamming the door behind her. There were two windows, one above the headboard of the bed and one above the dresser.
Haven jumped onto the bed and fumbled for the lock on the window. She tried pushing up on the glass, but the paint along the windowsill edges had sealed it shut.
Footfall and a chorus of moans echoed from the hallway. They’d breached the front door and were headed right for her.
Haven wondered if she could hide under the bed or in the closet, that maybe the creatures would think she was in another room or would forget about her entirely if she was silent.
She chastised herself for being so stupid. It was too great a risk. Once they filled the rooms, there would be no escaping them.
Pulling the pistol from her jeans, she shifted her face away and fingered the trigger. With a loud boom, the glass shattered.
Haven clambered through the broken window, glass scraping at her skin, and she tumbled to the ground, crying out in agony. Her gun landed a few feet from her.
As she struggled to find her footing, something grabbed her and shoved her back into the dirty snow. Bony fingers burrowed into her shoulders, pulling her toward rancid, snapping jaws.
The zombie’s horrifying visage was coated with maggots that clung to its festering, pus-covered skin, and as it jerked forward to bite her, the little insects sprinkled onto Haven’s face.
She screamed for help, terrified like a child waking from a dreadful nightmare. Her hands shot out in desperation, trying to push the zombie away from her, but she was weak, and her body protested the considerable effort. She turned her head as it lunged at her again, and when she did, she saw several feet staggering toward her hurriedly.
Haven began to hyperventilate. If she couldn’t fight one, she would be doomed when the others joined the fray.
She was going to die in this trailer park, all because she went out by herself to get Christmas gifts. No one would even know she was here; her body would be hidden in the crawlspace between the trailer and the dirt.
Get it together.
Think.
You can do this.
She clenched her jaw determinedly and tried to regain control of her breathing. Her knife was sheathed on her leg, but to reach it would require that she take one hand off the zombie. Getting her gun would be even more of a risk because it was out of arm’s reach.
Before, she could have pulled it off, had the strength to push the creature away from her. But now, she could barely keep it from taking a chunk out of her neck.
Think, Haven. Think.
Her eyes looked about for something, anything. There were some icicles on the bottom of the trailer, varying from a few inches to a full foot in length, their tips shimmery and moist under brightness of the midday sun. Haven was positioned directly beneath them.
It was her only option.
With a final heave, mustering every ounce of strength left in her body, she placed her hands on the zombie’s shoulders and shoved it upward. With a sickening crunch, the icicle disappeared through the matted hair and rotting skin of the creature, puncturing the back of its skull. Too late, she tried to turn away as the tip of the icicle exploded through its eyeball, blood and creamy goo dribbling into her open mouth.
Haven gagged and felt vomit rising in her stomach, but she didn’t have time to be sick. The other zombies enticed by the spectacle were now crouching down beside her, ready to sink their teeth into her.
The little artificial tree was a couple of feet away, trampled under the feet of one of them. The backpack was on her back, and she could have left without the tree, but somehow it seemed like the most crucial item in the world. Haven decided to take a gamble, thrusting her arm out between the legs of one of the zombies and grabbing the tree, then tucked it into her body and rolled over and over again through the damp crawlspace beneath the trailer.
The zombies scurried after her, digging their nails into the dirt and dragging themselves forward to catch up. Haven army-crawled through the narrow space, her palms scraping against roots jutting out from the earth and concrete blocks half-buried in the dirt.
As she hurried along, she could see feet all around the trailer. Directly in front of her, a cluster of zombies bent down, and seconds later, more joined them, realizing their meal was headed right to them. They dropped to their knees and started to slink to her, almost smiling as they drew nearer and nearer.
Claustrophobia she didn’t know she had set in, and she tried to breathe, but her throat felt closed as panic overwhelmed her. Her limbs would be torn away from her body from all sides; the ones in front of her would pull at her head, and the ones behind her would take her legs.
Tears welled in her eyes. She was trapped.
For a moment, she wished for her gun because with it, she could end it all. With it, she would never experience the slow, tortuous death of being dismembered and fed upon. She wouldn’t turn into one of them and kill others to satiate her hunger.
Haven, stop it.
Her grandmother’s voice, loud and clear, called to her in the deep recesses of her mind.
You’ve survived worse. You can do this.
They need you.
Go home.
It was all she needed. Yanking out her knife, she twisted toward the zombies at her feet and stabbed each one in the head as they got to her. Their motionless corpses provided a temporary blockade between her and the ones behind them. They opened and closed their mouths hungrily, straining over their fallen brethren, but the space above t
hem was too narrow for them to squeeze past.
She waited for each zombie to get close enough for her to sink her blade into its skull, creating a wall so that the ones following them couldn’t reach her. She did this over and over again until she got to the far edge of the crawlspace, the area least crowded with the undead.
Crouched and ready, her face obscured in dirt and blood, Haven climbed out of her almost-tomb, a knife in one hand and the tree in the other.
Zombies were coming from both sides of the trailer; there was no time to waste. With her newfound surge of energy, she knew she could outrun them.
Winter darkness soon covered the land, the only thing lighting her path the stark white, freshly fallen snow.
It was only when she saw the beautiful, shiny silver of the train peeking through the trees that she plummeted to her knees and sobbed tears of joy.
Haven had lost so much, but she hadn’t lost everything. She was still here, kicking and screaming and fighting to survive.
Before she stepped out of the forest and into the clearing, before those on sentry duty spotted her, Haven made a silent vow to never let herself sink to such a low place, to give up and wish for death, ever again. She had life in her. She had the gift of today and a hope for tomorrow. It was a luxury her parents, her grandmother, and her sister didn’t have, and Haven would never take it for granted, no matter what.
Even though her Christmas run was silly, and she hadn’t brought back the newest or best gifts, its significance meant so much to her.
Mark had breathed new life into her. And if he didn’t think she was a monster, after everything she had done, maybe there was hope for her, too.
Chapter Nineteen
The rest of the supply run that day was uneventful. Kennedy had emphasized how glad she was that they were headed to Mitch’s for produce and meat because what they found in Stanley would barely feed passengers for a day. Although they’d been successful in retrieving fuel, if they didn’t come back with more food, they would be in trouble. The limited crops planted in the observation car were still growing and had yet to yield any vegetables. They’d have to be patient in the meantime and make sure to supplement their food with a combination of canned goods and food from Mitch. Hopefully, Mitch would have a little extra to spare this time, especially since they now had Griffin’s remaining family with them, and one of them was pregnant.
Houston leaned back against the headrest. He was ready to be home.
Home.
Was the train really home to him?
It wasn’t, he knew that. And soon it would be time to move on to something else.
He absentmindedly watched the landscape pass through the window, noticing how everything was coated in a blanket of snow.
Once the brunt of winter was over, Houston wanted to make other plans.
Kennedy lurched forward from the back seat. “What the hell?”
Houston jumped a little, for a moment wondering if she’d read his mind. Her body was rigid as she stared ahead. Adjusting his gaze to follow hers, he frowned.
Smoke billowed out from over the trees.
Kennedy’s hand went to Johnny B.’s shoulder, squeezing it in concern. He stepped on the gas before quickly turning onto a dirt road.
Houston’s heart sank. “Is this Mitch’s farm?”
Colin nodded. “Yep.” He wiped a hand over his face. “Shit.”
As they drove up the path, they saw dead cattle sprawled across the farmland. They lay on their sides, their innards in massive tangled clumps outside of their bodies.
“Looks like they were just gutted from throat to udders,” Johnny B. remarked warily.
“The fence,” Kennedy murmured.
Up ahead, the barbed wire fencing had been ripped to the ground. The wires were mangled and twisted together, and in the mess, hair, flesh, and clothing clung to the metal.
Johnny B. slowed to a stop, and the fuel truck behind them did the same.
Colin looked at Kennedy. He’d never seen her so afraid, any color washed from her face.
“So what do we do?” Houston asked them.
Colin climbed out of the SUV with Kennedy, and they went to the fence, examining it.
The rest of the team got out and joined them.
“Rotters knocked this over, not livestock,” Grady speculated.
Johnny B. went back to the SUV and took out his rifle. “We gotta check on Mitch and his family. Make sure they’re okay.” His voice wavered, and Houston could tell he was unsure in what condition they’d find the Cannon family.
Colin nodded. “I agree. They could be alive and need our help.”
“Alright,” Kennedy said. “Grady, I’m gonna leave you here with the vehicles. I don’t want to drive in and get stuck in a horde. The rest of you, lock and load. We don’t know what we’re going to find in there.” She swallowed hard, fervently hoping the Cannons were okay.
They began to jog down the dirt path. Jackson, the fastest amongst them, ran ahead.
They jogged in silence until they saw Jackson, who halted them from a distance by holding up a hand.
“Lots of rotters circling the house. Not a horde, but more than we can handle just the four of us,” he debriefed when they reached him.
Kennedy crouched down and peered through the bushes. Her eyes widened in shock. Black smoke flowed from the Cannon home, flames still licking the frame.
She stood up. “We’re going in.”
The zombies hadn’t noticed them, still wandering without purpose amongst the rubble.
Jackson pointed. “There’s a clearing around back with only a smattering of ‘em.”
“Wait a minute,” Houston interrupted. “How do we know they’re even in there? That house is about to collapse in on itself.”
“We get in, we get out. The longer we wait, the less likely we find them alive,” Kennedy answered. She started creeping forward, moving stealthily from tree to tree. Colin and Johnny B. were a few feet behind her, flanking her, and Houston and Jackson took up the rear, covering their backs.
Some of the zombies, roused from their catatonic state, began to follow. Jackson momentarily paused to put down the ones closest to them and kept running.
Kennedy suddenly came to an abrupt stop.
Three female zombies were tied to trees, completely naked with dried blood caked on their throats and chests. Flesh had been ripped from their limbs with teeth, too many bite marks to count on their bodies. One of the zombies was missing halves of her appendages.
Kennedy immediately recognized them as Mitch’s wife and daughters.
Some children were hunched over near the women, their backs to the group. They looked up and sniffed at the air, slowly standing and turning to face Kennedy’s team.
When they stood, mutilated limbs were heaped at their feet. Fibula bones protruded through raw, jagged meat. Hands and fingers were scraped clean to the bone.
Jackson wretched behind them.
The small zombies bared their teeth at the living, milky eyes crazed with hunger, their bodies buzzing with anticipation. One of them still held onto a foot, only dropping it when it saw its new prey.
Tears filled Kennedy’s eyes, and she pressed her hand to her mouth.
Mitch’s grandchildren.
“Fuck!” Johnny B. kneeled on the ground and put his head in his hands.
Houston and Colin looked at one another and nodded silently. They unsheathed their knives and rushed forward.
Houston grabbed the first child. It clawed at his sleeves, trying to tear through his leather jacket. His fingers digging into its shoulders to keep it away, Houston shuddered. The tiny zombie was so petite and fragile. Gritting his teeth, he stabbed the creature just above its ear, piercing its brain. It collapsed to the ground.
Colin was ahead of him, putting down the other two. One of them held onto the Scotsman’s leg, ready to sink its teeth into his jeans. Colin shifted right, buried his blade between the eyes of one, then turned left and
sank the knife into the top of the head of the last child. He backed away, gasping for breath, resting his hands on his knees as he stared at the corpses of the children with wide eyes.
Houston came up beside him and wiped his blade on the grass.
“I only met them once,” Colin whispered. “But…” His voice trailed off, and he looked down, ashamed.
“It’s good we did it,” Houston replied quietly. “I know it was hard, but it’s good it was us and not them.” He tilted his head in the group’s direction.
“We have to bury them. We can’t just leave them here,” Johnny B. asserted.
A few zombies began to stagger out from around the house. They turned their faces at awkward angles when they saw them and stumbled in their direction.
“There isn’t time,” Kennedy said firmly, but her eyes were sad. “We have to find Mitch.”
Johnny B. shook his head. “I don’t think he’s alive anymore. Look at what happened here.”
Jackson and Houston dispatched the zombies approaching them and returned to the group.
“What kind of monster could do such a thing?” Kennedy angrily gestured to the naked women rabidly writhing against the rope tethering them to the trees. She then walked purposefully to the females and jabbed her knife into their skulls. “I’m sorry,” she told them as she stepped back.
“We gotta get back to the truck, Kennedy. More are headin’ this way.” Jackson shuffled back and forth on his feet impatiently.
Kennedy didn’t hear him. She was looking beyond the women to a big, ugly vulture perched on something on the ground.
“No,” she murmured. Before any of them could stop her, she broke into a run.
Johnny B. instantly sprinted after her.
The rest of them strained to see what had sent Kennedy running. It almost seemed as though she was headed toward open farmland, nothing but fresh trenches in the earth dug from the plow.
A small group of zombies appeared to her right, but Kennedy was oblivious to them.
She kept running until she was ten feet from it.
Then she fell to her knees in utter defeat.
The Good, The Dead & The Lawless (Book 2): The Hell That Follows Page 25