Tandem of Terror (37 page)

Williams almost fell onto the couch as he sat
down. His face was full of pain and anger. He looked up at Robby
and Simon. "Go outside and make sure that our visitor is gone."

Simon and Robby stood motionless for a
second.

"
That's an order," Williams
said more firmly.

Robby unslung his M-16 and checked its clip.
Simon sat down his coffee on the table by the couch with obvious
disgust and drew his pistol. "Ok, Sarge. We're goin', ya don't have
to get nasty about it." Robby and Simon disappeared out into the
snow.

Clay took a seat on the couch next to
Williams. "We're all doing the best we can," he said placing a hand
on the Sarge's shoulder.

"
I know," Williams shrugged,
"I know but we've got to get to the shelter. They might need us
there."

"
I don't think five grunts
will make the difference in saving what's left of civilization in
this part of the world," Clay said in complete honesty.

Nick had already fallen asleep in his chair.
Clay glanced at his pale skin and rail thin body. "You think Nick's
got the bug, Sarge?" he whispered.

"
Which kind?" Williams shot
back and Clay let the question drop.

The snow had picked up and now fell steadily,
thick white flakes dancing on the wind and increasing the
difficulty of seeing anything in the dark woods. Twigs and fallen
leaves crunched under the heavy boots of Robby and Simon as they
wandered around the house searching for any sign of the man Nick
had seen.

"
Shit, man." Simon laughed,
"Ain't nobody stupid enough to stay out in this. How do we even
know Nick wasn't just hallucinating?"

"
We don't," Robby answered,
"But I for one would sure feel better if we knew for
sure."

"
Well even if there is
someone out here, we sure as hell ain't gonna find him tonight. I
can hardly see my own hands in front of my face."

The sound of automatic gunfire thundered
breaking the stillness of the night.

"
Damn it!" Simon shouted,
dropping to the ground before he realized that it had came from
within the house. In an instant, he was back on his feet and
running after Robby as they raced towards the house's front
door.

Robby busted through the broken door, his
rifle at the ready. Williams and Clay were sprawled upon the couch.
Blood leaked from the jagged wounds of point blank shots staining
the gray cushions. Williams' mouth dangled open in a silent scream
and Clay's head lay at unnatural angle, half his face torn away.
Robby fell to his knees, vomiting on the wooden floor. Simon shoved
him aside as he entered, taking in the scene.

"
Where's Nick?" he screamed
at Robby, attempting to cover both the kitchen and bedroom doors at
once with his pistol.

"
What..." Robby asked,
wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

"
Nick!" Simon shouted again.
"The little bastard, where is he?"

"
I-I don't know," Robby said
pulling himself to his feet using the couch's armrest. "You don't
think..."

"
Who else?" Simon snapped.
"Even if there was someone out there, do you think some backwoods
hick has this kind of firepower?" He gestured at the mangled
corpses on the couch.

"
That little freak's been
faking it! Waitin' for a chance to make a break for it."

"
A break for where?" Robby
asked.

"
How the hell should I
know?" Simon raged, picking up his cup of coffee from the table.
"Ain't none of us exactly sane any more." He took a sip and spat it
across the room. It tasted strange and salty. When he looked down
into the cup, he saw swirls of red floating in the brown liquid. He
hurled the cup into the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces
which clattered to the floor like rain. Simon bent over and grabbed
Williams' rifle from the man's cooling hands.

"
C'mon," Robby urged tugging
at Simon as he headed for the door.

"
Are you crazy?" Simon said
slipping out Robby's grasp. "That little bastard's got to pay for
this!"

"
It doesn't matter, Simon.
Let him go. We're still alive so let's get the hell out of here
while we still can. We can still head for the shelter.
Maybe..."

Simon whirled around bashing the butt of his
rifle into Robby's moving mouth. Robby stumbled backward, loosing
his balance and crashed onto the floor as he spat blood and teeth.
Simon pointed the barrel of his rifle downward and fired a quick
burst into Robby's scalp.

"
Never liked you anyway,
faggot." Simon said to the bloody mess at his feet.

Simon jumped at the sound of Nick's voice
behind him.

"
So now we get to see the
real you," Nick smiled, standing in the kitchen doorway, his own
rifle pointed at Simon's chest.

Simon knew that he'd be dead before he could
turn and fire.

"
What do you want, Nick? Has
the virus finally reached your brain?"

"
Me?" Nick asked, "No, it's
you that's infected, Simon. Just like the rest of them were when we
were exposed back in the city."

Simon dropped his rifle, eying Nick, his hand
crept behind his back searching for the pistol he'd tucked in his
belt. "You're full of it, Nick. None of us, except maybe you caught
the bug."

"
Is that so?" Nick tried to
laugh but his attempt ended in a burst of coughing.

"
Yeah, it is." Simon said
drawing his pistol in a blur. Nick opened up, cutting Simon nearly
in half with a stream of full auto armor piercing rounds. Simon was
hurled backwards into the living room wall. His lifeless form slid
down it leaving a trail of red as his body slumped to the
floor.

Nick walked over Simon's corpse on his way to
the door. "Maybe you were right, Simon, but I didn't intend to risk
my life by waiting around to find out."

Nick left the house, heading out into the
snow. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself to fight the
chill. In his backpack he carried a small can of gasoline which he
had siphoned from the generator. Alone, now, he would find the
truck they'd left behind and head onward to the shelter because
there simply was nothing else he could think of to do. The world
was dying but at least today, he had survived.

In Her
Name

John Grover

A cold fall day in 1662

The dogs howled as they led the three men
over the hill .

"We'll teach that bitch!" the leader cried.
The tall man's eyes were fiery, just like his red hair and beard.
"Make a fool of me will she? Now the town will see what she is and
destroy her."

At the bottom of the hill lay a small
cottage. It belonged to the widower Abner McBrey and his only
daughter Sarah.

The red-haired man and his two followers
kicked in the door. The startled father and daughter ran into each
other's arms.

"Do not stand in our way, Abner McBrey. Your
daughter is a witch, the Devil's whore."

"Sarah is not a witch, you lie, Silas
Hanson." Abner shielded his daughter.

"Out of the way, old man," Silas roared,
hurling the feeble man to the floor. The old man struck his head as
blood soaked his brow.

"Father!" Sarah screamed. "No, let me be."
The raven-haired girl cried with terror. "I am no witch, Silas, you
do this because I do not come to your bed!"

"Enough of your lies witch. You bear the mark
of the Devil," he said as he restrained her and exposed the mole on
her neck to the others; a mole she'd had since birth.

"Proof enough," the youngest of the three men
cried. "Bring her to town for judgment."

"I will do better," Silas answered. "I will
bring her for punishment."

Her screams filled the cottage as they
dragged her off. "I am no witch. I am no witch. Father..."

"Sarah!" Abner struggled to rise but they
kicked him back down. Pain stricken and weak, he watched helplessly
as they took his daughter away. "Sarah..."

Night fell as the crowd gathered. Their
torches illuminated the town center, where Sarah stood before them,
a noose slung around her neck.

"Here be the witch, Sarah McBrey," Silas
said, from atop the gallows.

"I see no man of God, Silas Hanson. The proof
is not yours," Sarah cried in her defense.

"I have seen the deeds myself," he proclaimed
to the crowd. "Our crops have been blighted, the cows have gone
dry. She has even visited me in the night, filling my dreams with
perverse thoughts. The Devil has been seen in her cottage. She will
destroy our town!"

"You lie!" Sarah cried. "I am no witch. He is
scorned for I will not come to his bed side."

Her words went unheard as the other men
joined in. "We too have seen her deeds," they called. "She has
visited us at night and tried to murder our wives. She is filled
with lust. She is a seducer. A whore of the Devil."

"Hang her, hang her, hang the witch!" the
crowd called over and over. The moon rose high and fat.

"You will have your punishment witch," Silas
called as his eyes at last met those of Sarah's.

A fire burned within Sarah as she gazed deep
into his soul. "Hear me, Silas Hanson. You want deeds and curses,
you will have it. I curse thee. I curse you three and all of your
descendants. For the crime and lies against me an avenger will rise
and in my name make justice. You will never see another moon rise
and your descendants will never live beyond my age of twenty-four
years. This I swear on my soul." With that, she spat into his face,
sealing her curse. A green-colored star streaked across the
sky.

"No more curses witch." Silas released the
trapdoor under her feet. She died instantly, the rope snapping her
neck like a twig.

The crowd dispersed, leaving the body of
Sarah McBrey to sway in the moaning wind.

Later, her father retrieved the body and
buried her. He prayed for hours over her grave at his cottage. The
townsfolk had refused to allow her burial in the town
graveyard.

The next night the moon rose again. Screams
filled the night, paralyzing the town with fear. They all knew too
well what was happening.

In the morning, Silas Hanson and his two
friends were discovered dead, their skulls and spines crushed.

Abner McBrey heard the news. He sat in his
cottage and smiled. His daughter's words were only beginning to be
fulfilled.

A Fall Night 1992

There was something strange in the night. Joe
Hanson could feel it as he lay in bed, unable to sleep. He tossed
and turned, trying to relax but unable to do so.

Soft cries came again, as they did so often.
Beside him, his wife stirred.

"I'll do it," Joe whispered to her.

Gina answered with a soft "okay," and went
back to sleep.

Joe climbed from the bed and stumbled down
the dark hall. In the next room he found them both awake-- his twin
four-month-old sons Matthew and Mark.

He cradled one in each of his arms and sat
with them in his favorite rocking chair. They always woke
together.

Rocking in rhythm, he gazed out the nursery
window and thought about how lucky he was. Life couldn't get any
better, and his birthday was next month. Twenty-five already. How
time flew.

A falling star caught his attention and he
tracked it to earth. It flew sleek and quick, a flash of silver and
gray glittering across the sky.

Kerry McLellan forgot about the burning eggs
and bacon, her attention caught by the shocking news of a town
resident's brutal murder.

"Phillip Hopkins was found murdered in his
home this morning. As of yet the police have no suspects. They're
calling it the most brutal killing in this town in twenty
years..."

""Kerry!" Brian yelled as he sat down at the
kitchen table. "Where the hell is my breakfast?"

Kerry jumped. Her husband was already in a
foul mood and that usually didn't happen until he got home. Panic
swelled within her as she scooped the overdone eggs and bacon onto
his plate and approached the table.

"What the hell is this?" he said. "You call
this slop 'food'? I'm not eating this shit." Hurling it across the
room, he narrowly missed Kerry's head. The plate shattered and
dropped to the floor. Crying hysterically, Kerry bent to pick it
up.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he thundered. "You
eat it, Kerry, and stop crying or I'll give you something to cry
about. I'm outta here." Shoving his chair into her, Brian left the
house and slammed the door behind him."

"Are you sure there isn't anything more you
can tell us, Mr. Hopkins?" the police officer asked.

"No," Paul answered. "I've told you
everything."

"Okay. We'll be in touch."

"Yeah, you do that. You'd better get whoever
killed my brother, before I do." Tears streamed down his
cheeks.

The police said nothing as they closed the
door behind them. Paul's mother hugged him tightly, weeping and
holding her only remaining son in her arms.

"Not fair, Mom," Paul murmured. "Both Dad and
Phil, both killed so young. Twenty-four and they never found Dad's
killer either."

"Hi honey," Joe called as he came in the
door, his smile bright and wide.

"Hello," Gina said as she fussed with the
twins.

"Were the boys good for the babysitter?"

"Oh yeah they were great for the babysitter,
now they're just acting up with me."

"It's because they know the softy is
home."