Revelations - 02 (36 page)



Cary looked up. He saw them coming, and knew he’d be lucky if he managed to take out one before vanishing under the mob. Taking the knife, he looked down at the bluish lines on his left wrist. One quick slash and blood welled up, then began to pour from the cut. He switched hands with the knife and repeated the process.

“Fuck you all,” Cary spat.

The mob converged, pouring through the final row that separated them from their prey.
C’mon, bleed faster,
Cary thought. If Kevin wouldn’t have turned this into a debate, he’d be dead by now.

The first set of cold, dead hands grabbed him, and teeth tore into the meat of his right arm. Try as he might, he couldn’t summon the strength to break free. Another set of teeth latched onto his left cheek and Cary did the only thing he had strength for…he screamed. Hands ripped at his clothes and jagged nails cut into his stomach. Then, new pain. Blood actually exploded from his gut where it had been pooling from the several internal injuries he’d suffered.

The pain was beyond description as he saw things being pulled from his body. Then…it was gone. Cary’s scream faded and his eyes glazed over. Those feasting on his entrails continued to do so, but those tearing at his body quickly lost interest and rose up, wandering after the others.

A moment later, Cary sat up. Awkwardly he rose to his feet, stumbling past the priest and the gray-haired old lady involved in a grisly tug-of-war over a strand of his intestine. Falling in with the mob, he joined the march. Something “told” him that there was food nearby.



“Kevin,” Heather grabbed the man’s shoulder, doing her best to help him roll over onto his back. “Where’s Cary?” She’d heard the scream…but she still refused to believe it.

“Heather,” Kevin said, the relief clear in his voice. “I am so glad I found you.”

“Me, too,” Heather looked up, she could hear them coming, and even with the wind blowing towards what she knew to be a large herd of zombies, she could smell them, “but where’s Cary?”

Kevin only shook his head, tears continuing to stream freely down his cheeks. It was sad…and Heather wanted to cry also, but now wasn’t the time.

“We have to get moving.” Heather stood, extending a hand to the man still sprawled at her feet.

Slowly, and in obvious pain, Kevin got up. As they limped through the rows of corn, Heather told Kevin about her find. She was equally proud that she’d found something that might be a little better: a van. It was up the road a couple hundred yards. It was full of tools and it started when she’d turned the key still fortunately hanging from the ignition.

After another eternity, they reached the road. It was now time for the moment of truth: the trailer or the van. Heather looked expectantly at Kevin. She’d done her part, now it was time for him to make a decision. It was important somehow. All Heather could think of was that old axiom about falling off a horse. Kevin’s last set of plans…the last decision he’d made for ‘the group’ ended poorly. It wasn’t so much that it was his fault, just that the bomb turned out to be too strong.

As Cary was so fond of saying, this wasn’t the movies. If it were, then the bomb would’ve been perfect, taking out the bad guys while leaving them unscathed. The fires wouldn’t have started and they’d be in the farmhouse watching the zombies shuffle past, leaving Heath open for them to pick clean.

“The van,” Kevin said through clenched teeth. It was obvious that he was in considerable pain.

Together, they hobbled along the road towards the van. On the side was blue lettering which read simply, ‘John’s Plumbing’. Both of them were trying to look everywhere at once, neither feeling all that comfortable with being out in the open. Also, it was hot! Heat shimmered up from the black asphalt, and a water mirage rippled in the distance, always staying out of reach.

Why hadn’t she brought the van closer, Heather wondered now. She hadn’t been thinking clearly. Also, she remembered how startled she’d been at the sound of the van’s engine roaring to life. She was lucky she hadn’t broken the key off in the ignition she’d turned it off so quick. Still, it wouldn’t have hurt any to just drive up that relatively short distance that now seemed eternal as they basically ran for their lives.

They reached it and Kevin climbed into the driver’s seat. Heather closed his door and rushed around to the other side. Climbing in, she rolled down the window to allow some of the heat to escape. It didn’t seem to help much.

“Where to, Miss Daisy,” Kevin affected a very poor imitation of a drawl.

“I know someplace!” Heather suddenly brightened. “There is a dairy farm about five miles that way.” She pointed back over her shoulder. “It’s all by itself in the middle of nowhere between here and Newark.”

“Sounds like the ticket,” Kevin agreed and started the van. It sounded rough. He shifted into reverse and, after a bit of finagling, he got it turned around. He glanced up as he shifted into drive and began up the long, empty road. The leading edge of the zombie mob was just emerging from the cornfield.

Heather mentally smacked her forehead. There she was not thinking things through again. She’d better start if today was any indication. Not that she wanted it, but at any moment, she could be on her own.



They’d ditched the van about a mile away. Kevin climbed into the back and came out with a huge, red pipe-wrench and a three-pound sledge hammer. Then, he locked up the van and pocketed the keys.

“I don’t think anybody will steal it,” Heather laughed.

“No,” Kevin agreed, “but if somebody breaks in, we’ll know because, chances are, they’ll bust out a window. Also, if this van is here, it might come in handy if we need to bug out in a hurry, but I don’t want to park it in front of where we’ll be staying. It might draw attention.”

“How do you do it?” Heather asked as they ducked through the barbed wire fence and began crossing the expansive field that once served as a pasture for the Simon Stanley Farm cows.

“Do what?” Kevin said as he glanced over his shoulder. All it would take is one zombie to ruin this as a potential hideout and temporary resting place.

“Well, I didn’t know Darrin, but I talked to Mike. He said if you woulda tried anything that night, all three of you would probably’ve ended up dead,” Heather said. “And Mike? How could that be your fault? Cary?”

“Both died because of my plan…my single-mindedness about rescuing—”

“Ruth,” Heather cut him off. “Yep. But don’t you see? You’re
doing
something. We could’ve all just left you to it. We’ve followed you because, through it all, you’re
doing
something. You didn’t make us go out there. We did it because it is right to want to help people. It is right to
not
want to allow bad people to do the things those men are doing.”

“But I’ve gotten everybody killed!” Kevin insisted and came to a stop in the middle of the vast, empty pasture. “My friends are gone. Dead. Hell…I fucked up so bad, I got one of ‘em killed twice!”

“People are dying everywhere,” Heather countered, turning to face Kevin. “I sat in a basement and watched all my friends die and turn into those…things. And if that weren’t bad enough…I had to watch…” her voice trailed off as tears began to trickle down both cheeks. “I’ve tried to forget it. Tried to push it someplace where I could forget about it. Only…it’s too crowded in there.”

Kevin stared down at Heather, and for the first time, he saw her not as just a school girl he’d helped rescue, he saw a young woman doing everything possible to survive. And now, she was all he had. Each of them were all the other could turn to in this nightmare. Stepping close, he took her in his arms and held her close. For just a moment, they were both oblivious to the world as they clutched one another and found just a bit of comfort. They were two survivors.

After a moment, they slowly relinquished the grip each held on the other. Looking around as if just realizing that they were standing out in an open field, they joined hands and walked towards the house.

Heather considered the hand she held now for that tiny bit of comfort it gave. Only an hour earlier, her heart would’ve been fluttering in her chest. Now…something was different.
The crush is gone
, she thought. For a moment, she sought any of those feelings that had kept her in such a haze the past several days. Nothing. So what did she feel? Closeness, certainly. But it was the closeness of comradeship…of shared experience.

Heather smiled as they neared the large aluminum gate that would open to a chute leading to the milking house.
This ain’t the movies,
she heard Cary’s voice in her head. There was no love story here, only two people fighting to survive.

“Smell that?” Kevin’s voice intruded on her thoughts.

Heather sniffed. “Ewww! What in the—” she clamped her mouth shut, aware of how loud her outburst had just been. She continued in a whisper, “What in the world is that? It doesn’t’ smell like zombie.”

“I think so,” Kevin added as he unlatched the big gate. He escorted Heather through, then shut it behind them. Taking a look to ensure the coast was clear, he shoved the pipe-wrench and sledge through the space between the slats of the chutes and began climbing over.

“Where are you going?” Heather asked, looking down the length of the chute to the closed door that would lead to the oblong milking house.

“I think it would be best to look through the windows.”

“Oh,” Heather nodded, and began to climb over to join Kevin. She stopped with one leg over the top, straddling the fence. “Ummm, Kevin?”

Kevin looked over at the rather extravagant three-story house. It certainly had a lot of windows. Now that he got a better look, he could see that most, if not all of the windows on the ground level were busted. Coming out of the open backdoor to the place were three badly mauled child-zombies. He guessed the two boys were no more than four. The girl looked close to Heather’s age.

“Gretchen Stanley,” Heather sighed.

“Stay put,” Kevin held up a hand, “I’ll take care of this.”

“No,” Heather said as she swung her leg over and jumped to the ground. Tugging the sledge hammer from Kevin’s hand, she looked him in the eyes. “We’re a team. Those aren’t people.”

“Fine,” Kevin shrugged, seeing the resolve in her eyes, “which one do you want?”

“I’ll take Gretchen,” Heather said as she turned, grim-faced to confront the approaching undead. “Besides…she borrowed my favorite sweater a few months ago and never returned it.”

“Whatever works,” Kevin smiled.

Together, they converged on, and made short work of the zombies. Kevin only managed the one smallest boy while Heather put down Gretchen with amazing efficiency, then the other small boy.

“How you doin’?” Heather asked needlessly. It was obvious that Kevin was in pain. They needed to get inside and actually get some rest.

“That took a bit out of me,” Kevin admitted.

“Let’s check out the milking house later,” Heather insisted. “Whatever is in there…it’s bad. But nothing is making any noise, banging on doors and such. Let’s not risk it. It’d be better if we check that house out and find if we can get a little rest.”

“Okay.”

Heather waited, but apparently there wasn’t going to be an argument. That was a testimony to just how bad off Kevin was. Of course there was still a matter of ensuring that the house was clear.

They reached the open door and peered inside. The stench of undeath was thick, and the two both took an involuntary step backwards.

“Been awhile,” Kevin gasped.

“Yeah,” Heather agreed. She hadn’t realized until just then how free of that smell they’d been.
Gads,
she thought.
What must it’ve smelled like in that
tiny room in the basement of Heath High School?

“Can we be lucky enough that those three were all that were still inside?”

An eerie moan from the depths of the house answered the question. An old man in coveralls with most of his right arm gnawed down to the bone below the elbow stumbled around the edge of a tipped over chair. Directly behind him was an elderly lady wearing jeans that looked stiff from all the dried blood. There was no sign of a shirt, but the remnants of a bra were gore-welded to her loose, sagging, bluish-grey skin. A softball-sized hole in her right side allowed something rope-like to dangle, swaying against the hip like a meaty wallet-chain. Add-itionally, the right side of her throat was eaten away and a piece of her loose jowls hung freely, shivering with the awkward steps taken by the rickety zombie.

“Mister and Missus Stanley…the grandparents.” Heather backed up. “Should we bring them outside, too?”

“Absolutely,” Kevin agreed. “Good thinking.”