Stage 3: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (10 page)

There was no way he could have been prepared for what was waiting for him on the other side. The little man was back on his feet, but his clothes were stained red from the chest down, and he was standing in the center of a massive pool of blood. Mason had a single second to register the horrible gaping wound in the man's chest, then the attack came. The man's movements were slower and more awkward this time, but he came at Mason with teeth gnashing and hands clawing the air.

By rights, the little man should be dead. No one could survive an injury like the one he'd suffered. Mason was caught off guard, but he reacted quickly. He didn't swing the weapon, but instead thrust it again like a spear, again stabbing the man through the chest just to the side of his sternum. From what Mason could tell, the thing pierced the man directly through the heart, but this time he didn't he didn't go down. Like a creature possessed, the little remained on his feet, and to Mason's horror, actually took another step toward him. As the man advanced, the rebar sunk even further into the creature's chest, but still he remained on his feet, gnashing his jaws and glaring at Mason with wild, blank eyes.

Mason put all of his strength behind his weapon and shoved it hard, driving it forward until he could see the point of the thing breaking through just below the creature's shoulder blade, but the man still didn't drop. He absorbed the assault without uttering a sound, then he actually took another step forward, then another, then another, riding the length of rebar through his chest like a train riding along a track.

For the first time, real fear gripped Mason's heart and turned his blood cold. He stepped back, jerked the weapon free with a horrible
shluuck!,
and jammed it forward again. It punched a ragged hole through the creature's chest where it's heart must surely have been, but still the creature fought on. It gnashed its teeth and clawed at Mason, raking the air mere inches from his face. There was only one more thing that Mason could do. He brought up his foot, kicked as hard as he could, and pulled the weapon free as the little man stumbled backward, then he swung the rebar high over his head and brought it down in the precise center of the creature's head.

The man's skull split open like a ripe melon, spewing gore in every direction. Mason felt a tiny gob of detritus splatter at the corner of his mouth and uttered an inadvertent "ugh!" as he wiped it away with the back of his hand, then he watched the little man crumple to the floor in a tangled heap. Mason grunted in disgust as he gawked at the carnage he'd caused, but still, there was something about the gory sight that fixed his attention upon it. There was something that seemed wrong; something out of place. He studied the horrible scene for several long moments, and then he finally had it.

Cranial trauma of that magnitude should be literally gushing blood. It should be spraying from the wound like water from a fountain. Here, there was nothing. Not a drop of blood issued from that gaping, cavernous wound. He looked to the man's chest and knew that all three holes should be spurting blood like geysers, yet there was nothing. The one through his heart should be painting the very
ceiling
, but there was nothing at all.

"Christ!……." he hushed aloud.

Was it possible? Was he seeing what he thought he was seeing? As much as his logical mind refused to believe the impossible, he couldn't deny the evidence of his own eyes. His first strike with the lance
had
killed the little man. He'd been killed as surely as Caesar at the feet of the statue of Pompey. And yet, this lifeless creature had somehow stayed animate. And then it had attacked. Jaws snapping and hands clawing, it had attacked.

With a sudden awareness, Mason realized that somehow, in this new world of the damned, dead wasn't exactly dead.

He shuddered at the revelation, but as difficult a concept as it was for him to conceive, he had to accept the fact. Dead men could walk. Dead men could attack. Dead men could kill every bit as gruesomely as those other monsters tearing down his beloved city. His active mind suddenly on alert, Mason stood over the apparently lifeless corpse, rebar held high. He stood there for the better part of a minute, every fibre of his being on high alert. The moment the creature stirred, he would bring the metal rod down again and again until its skull was turned to pulp. If it still wanted to come at him after that, it would have to do so without a head, and even in his confused and anxious state, Mason could think of little the creature could do without ears to hear or teeth to bite.

He stood over the body, watching and waiting, and only after another full minute passed did he begin to relax. He poked at the thing a few times, gave it a few swift kicks to be sure, and finally abandoned the vigil. Now content that the man was well and truly dead, he left the back room and pulled the door firmly closed behind him. Just to be sure, he grabbed a chair from the far side of the counter and shoved it under the door knob to block it, then he collapsed back to the floor beside Mackenzie. He took Mackenzie's hand in his and sat gasping for air for some time as he wrapped his mind around this latest development.

"There was someone else?" Mackenzie asked.

"Nope," Mason panted.

"So you didn't….."

"Yes, I did," Mason interrupted her, "I most certainly did. And I had to do it
again."

The girl was quietly contemplative as she considered what she was hearing. At last, she looked up at Mason with her bright green sightless eyes and pulled back a thick tangle of hair.

"So, what does that mean?" she asked with a gentle tilt of her head.

"It means," Mason told her honestly, "that our problems just got
way
bigger."

CHAPTER VII

"Ready, Mack?" Mason asked.

The girl took hold of the hand he offered and answered back staunchly, "Ready, Mace."

They'd spent another hour or more in the coffee shop, discussing plans and backup plans and  backup plans to the backup plans, but they both knew that all would likely be thrown to the curb the moment they left their temporary sanctuary. Mason tried to explain to the girl that their best bet lay in making their way south to the suburbs and that anticipated Red Cross girl with the coffee and doughnuts, but she would have none of it. Even after Mason told her everything he'd seen and experienced, holding nothing back about the extreme threat they now faced, Mackenzie had only one goal, and no matter what said to dissuade her, she remained absolutely resolute that this be their primary mission.

"We have to find Sarah," she insisted, over and over.

No matter how succinct Mason's arguments were as to the problems associated with covering four miles of cityscape, and the probabilities of the Trident Urgent Care Center being overrun with the infected and the undead, he could do nothing to convince Mackenzie that it was a fool's errand. He finally came to conclusion that if he didn't agree to take her there on the off-chance that her aunt was still alive and on-site, she would go it alone. Mason could have bound her hand and foot and slung her bodily over his shoulder to ferry her away, but she eventually would have found a way to escape and return to the city. And quite right, too, he ultimately had to concede. Her aunt Sarah was the only family she had left. If Mason'd had any family left, he probably would have felt the same way.

And so he had two choices. He could either accompany her on this wild goose chase, or he could go his own way and let Mackenzie go hers. But, of course, it was no choice at all. After banging his head against the proverbial brick wall for the better part of an hour, he finally capitulated, but not without several caveats, the most important of which he called the 'Prime Directive'. In essence, the Prime Directive was Mason's power of veto. They would both be equal partners in this endeavor, free to share suggestions and debate courses of action, but Mason would have the final say in all matters, and Mackenzie was duty-bound to comply without question or hesitation. On this one point Mason was adamant, and at last his young charge conceded. After all, his age may or may not give him wisdom, but she couldn't argue with the fact that he could actually see.

He found a backpack stuffed under the counter, apparently left by one of the young baristas in her haste to flee back home, and once he emptied out the text books and notepads and feminine sundries, found that it quite adequately fit several bottles of water, a few cans of sugary soda, and the last of the muffins. Mackenzie even managed to sniff out a box of granola bars, so the haul would keep them fed for several days if they found nothing else. Mason slung the pack over his shoulder, hefted the length of rebar, took Mackenzie's hand in his, and stepped to the front door. He snapped the lock open and watched for a response to the sound, and when none came after thirty seconds, he cautiously stepped across the threshold and back into Bizarroworld.

Mackenzie's footsteps were as silent as a mouse's, but Mason didn't see a few shards of glass on the sidewalk before stepping into the street. The glass crunched, and three creatures immediately tore around the corner and charged at them. Mason dropped Mackenzie's hand, and on prearranged agreement, she stepped away from the fray and huddled into a doorway.

The nearest creature bashed into Mason with the force of a freight train, but Mason deflected the force of the blow away from him with a well-positioned shoulder, propelling the creature down to the ground. But before he could bring up his weapon to finish the thing off, the next one was on him. He stepped to the side and stuck out a foot as the creature flew past him, then watched it stumble to the ground. In the time it took Mason to swing the length of rebar to crush in the back of its skull, the first creature was back on its feet. Mason turned his attention back to this first creature, but then the third one launched itself into Mason's unprotected flank, and they both tumbled over in a mad scramble of limbs. Mason found his feet quickly, but by then the first creature was nearly on him. He held the weapon point outward as the thing charged, and like the creature in the back room, the monster impaled itself on the rebar. Mason planted his foot against the creature's chest to pull the lance free, then he swung it around in an arc that brought it down directly on top of the last creature's head. Its skull cracked open like a walnut, and the thing collapsed to the ground with a sickening wet
thud!.
Mason then turned back to the creature spouting blood from its chest and swung the length of rebar down with as much force as he could, turning its skull to mush.

Mason clicked his cheek and Mackenzie came at a run. He gathered her into his arms, and she put her little head in the crook of his neck.

"I've got you, Mack," Mason cooed gently, "I've got you."

"But who's got you?" Mackenzie mewled softly into his ear. "Better let me down. There's more coming from behind you. Three of them."

Mason put the girl down and directed her into a doorway, then he leapt back into the middle of the road to meet the threat. He raised his weapon and fairly removed the first monster's head from its shoulders with the force of his blow. The second one was on him a heartbeat later, but he swung the rebar as hard as he could and caught the creature on the side of the neck, shattering its spinal column and sending a spray of blood high into the air. The third creature wasn't far behind the others, but Mason had time to crouch and propel the monster over his back in a perfect hip-check that dropped it in a heap and disoriented it long enough for him to bash its head into pulp with his club.

Once done, he returned to the girl huddled in a ball and pulled her to him. They shared a brief hug, then joined hands and set off south as softly as they could and as quickly as they dared.

The first stop on their agreed agenda was back to Mackenzie's apartment building, four blocks away. It took thirty minutes, several tense moments, and one more violent altercation to get even that far, and there followed a heated but whispered debate as to the merits of continuing north, but Mackenzie remained intransigent. Mason tried to invoke his veto while they huddled in a doorway, but Mackenzie expertly argued that the Prime Directive applied only to the mission of finding Aunt Sarah, and Mason was back to his earlier dilemma. Conceding the dispute with a heavy sigh, Mason quickly located a discarded purse, took a lipstick from inside and scrawled a message on the brick facade of the building in the biggest letters he could manage.

Sarah Cullen. M is safe. Go 2 where u saw funny dogs.

The funny dogs were from Mackenzie's store of memories. Mason knew that if Aunt Sarah was alive, she'd fight her way home to find her young niece, but the building wasn't safe anymore, so he'd asked Mackenzie for a place nearby that Aunt Sarah was sure to know but that
only
she would know. The girl told him of when they had stopped for lunch in a park just as two Papillon Spaniels turned up with their owner. Aunt Sarah had laughed and called them gremlins, and thereafter, they were referred to as the 'funny dogs'. From the way Mackenzie described the nearby marina and the fish 'n' chips hut shaped like a giant sea urchin, it couldn't be anyplace other than Mission Creek Park, a few miles south.

For sure, if Aunt Sarah returned home, she would see the message and know where to go, so that eventuality seen to, Mason gathered Mackenzie to his side and strode quietly north toward the Trident Urgent Care Center. Four miles. Thirty-six blocks. Mason did the math in his head and saw that it would take them
days
to get that far at their snail's pace. It was going to be a slow, careful slog through chaotic city streets, facing death every step of the way. It wasn't bad enough that they had to avoid or battle through swarms of homicidal lunatics, but now there was the added issue of the undead to worry about. Mason was confident in his abilities with his big metal club, but if those bastards could get right back up after he delivered a killing blow, then all bets were off.

At last, he decided that they had no choice but to revert to his previous plan and go underground. The sewer system generally followed the road network, so it shouldn't be hard to gauge location, and four miles underground could be covered in a fraction of the time it took them on the surface. The sights and smells wouldn't be pleasant, but it would be the best way to see that Mackenzie was safe while they tilted at windmills.

He huddled Mackenzie into a corner and whispered the plan in her ear. It was clear that she didn't much like the idea, but she acceded to the Prime Directive and let Mason guide her where he saw fit. Moments later, he released her hand, instructed her to stay, and she heard metal scraping on stone. Several strained grunts later, there was the sound of something heavy being lowered carefully to the ground, then a click of a cheek drew her forward, and Mason's hand was back in hers.

"There's a step," Mason cautioned the girl, lowering her down into the hole.

"I feel it," she whispered in a hush and wrinkled her nose. "It smells like poo."

"It'll get worse," Mason promised her.

He held onto Mackenzie until she was almost swallowed up by the hole, then he guided her hands to the sides of the ladder, and let her lower herself down. With one last look at the monsters approaching at a run from all sides, Mason quickly clambered through the opening, and descended into the sewer. He didn't have the leverage to move the cover fully back into place, but he managed to drag it far enough across the opening that none of the crazies would be able to drop through. Once down, he allowed himself a moment to shine the dim light from his cell phone to both sides, then he took hold of Mackenzie's hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"All good, Mac?" he asked.

"All good, Mace. Stinky, but good."

He started to laugh, but quickly cut it off short.

You goddam fool…..

It couldn't last. It could
never
last. This sweet, beautiful girl was infected. It might be hours or it might be days, but sure as hell, this sweet little thing was going to change. That angelic face would turn dark, and those thin lips would curl back into a snarl, and when that happened, Mason would end her torment. He'd bring down that discarded scrap of rebar and turn her beautiful little head into mush. And then he would cry. And maybe he would never stop crying. Maybe he would fold up in this fetid, squalid sewer and weep his whole life away. And if his last action on Earth was to destroy such an incredible creature, maybe he'd just lie in this putrid shithole and cry until the virus took him, too.

But until that eventuality, they were on a mission. Mackenzie needed to know whether or not Aunt Sarah was alive, so they would do what they could
while
they could, and deal with the consequences as they presented themselves. And when Mackenzie finally saw that all was utterly lost, they would turn back south, and they would go on for as long as they could. 

"I don't hear anyone," Mackenzie whispered.

Mason put his dire thoughts aside as best he was able and focussed focused on the here and now. He listened closely, but could only hear the dripping of water and the distant squeaking of rats.

"I wish I had your ears, Mack."

The girl turned her face up to his and replied grimly, "I wish I had your eyes."

Christ!
  The dark thoughts came back in a flood, and the best Mason could do was shrug and offer a meek, "Well, we're a team, right? So I guess we have both."

The girl said nothing at first, but after their shoes began to stir up the sludge, she grimaced and quipped blithely, "I could do without my nose, though."

This time, Mason laughed aloud, and he let it come. As the sound echoed down the pipe, Mackenzie heard the echo and giggled. Then she let loose a little hoot. When she heard it bounce back, she called out, "Hellooooo!" and giggled when it, too, echoed back to her ears. Then it became a game, and she would sing snippets of songs or shout at the top of her lungs or whisper furtively, and she giggled every time the echo came back.

Mason knew that it was more than just a game. This was the first time Mackenzie had felt safe since fleeing home, and she was reveling in it. It wasn't just her whistling through the graveyard; it was her crying out loud to the world, "I'm still alive!" Mason did nothing to stop her antics, and even came up with a few shouts of his own, laughing along with her every time they bounced back. Finally, they began to sing a chorus of 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat' as a round, letting their echoes fill in the gaps, and Mason drank in every bit of the gaiety.

The line they were in was narrow enough that Mason had to stoop over as they walked, but the trek wasn't difficult considering the alternative. His phone gave off enough light to illuminate a few yards of pipe ahead, and Mackenzie had no problem at all with the odd rat scurrying past her feet. In fact, she giggled when one or another dashed past, and it was all Mason could do to keep her from trying to reach down and pet each and every one. Instead, she contented herself by giving each rodent a name as they were encountered. There was 'Splashy', 'Stinky', 'Pudgy', 'Princess', and, oddly, one big animal the size of a raccoon that she insisted on christening 'Manfred the Magnificent'.