The Reawakening (The Living Dead Trilogy, Book 1) (2 page)

After passing through Portland, we headed straight towards Bangor. The road was long and straight, and the explosion of colors enthralled me. It was refreshing not to pass a large city every couple of miles, and I enjoyed the long stretches of road where I could gaze out at the gentle hills and empty fields. With Miles Davis playing on the CD, Dar asleep next to me, and the sun’s warm rays pouring in through the sunroof, life seemed good.

I switched on the radio and listened to NPR. Congress was still at an impasse on the budget, and both parties were refusing to compromise. The government would be shut down in three days if an agreement could not be reached. The Republicans railed about the eighteen trillion dollar deficit, the Democrats about deep cuts to vital programs. The European Union was watching the situation closely since Greece, Portugal, Ireland and Italy were on the verge of economic collapse. And the Chinese were clearly not happy with the political developments in America, as they held trillions of dollars in reserve. Making matters worse, the ruler of North Korea had passed away and was to be succeeded by his unpredictable youngest son. Disgusted with the state of affairs, I switched back to the jazz and let my mind wander.

Finally we reached my brother’s farm in the northern part of Maine. The sun had just begun to set by the time I steered the car into the long driveway. Dar raised her head up sleepily and stared out the window.

“Are we there yet, Dad?” she asked, stretching out her arms.

“Just pulled in, Dar.”

“About time.”

Rick and Susan walked out to greet us. My brother and I had been competitive since childhood, always trying to one-up each other. Where my novels had taken off in the last few years, his career as a scientist had gone in the opposite direction. And yet I still remained intimidated by his towering intellect and his many scientific accomplishments. I’d played second fiddle to him for most of my life, and yet somehow I’d turned out to be the more successful of the two of us.

“How was the drive up?” Rick asked, grabbing our bags out of the trunk.

“Wonderful, bro. Can’t even begin to tell you how nice it was not to have to deal with bumper-to-bumper traffic.”

“I certainly don’t miss city driving.” He paused and then whispered, “How’s Dar?”

“She’s been feeling a lot better these last few weeks.”

“Glad to hear it. Susan and I were sick to death when we heard about that suicide attempt.” He picked up the bags. “Come on in, Thom, and we’ll grab a couple of cold ones.”

We walked inside the farmhouse and sat down at the dining room table. Susan got us something to drink and then placed a bowl full of homegrown carrots and radishes on the table. As a gift, I gave them each a signed copy of my new novel, although I knew Rick would never read it. All he cared about were his own narrow, scientific interests.

I stared out at the open fields and the cows grazing in the pasture. It was so beautiful and rustic that for a moment I understood why they had moved up here. Rick had lectured me about preparing for the coming crisis and being self-sufficient, but then again, my brother had always held radically different views from the rest of society.

I could see myself becoming accustomed to this rural pace, the hustle and bustle of city life far removed from my overburdened mind. By the time Susan started to prepare our dinner, I was as relaxed as I’d been in a long time. Dar sat in the kitchen conversing with Susan. I sat back in my chair, a cold beer in hand, and began to swap childhood stories with my older brother.

We laughed as we rehashed old times.

So why did I feel apprehensive?

Chapter 2

J
UST AS WE SAT DOWN TO
dinner, the animals outside began to act in a bizarre fashion. I walked over to the window and observed their odd behavior. The cows were staggering aimlessly on the grassy meadow, mooing and crashing into each other as if they’d suddenly lost their bearings. Although I had no experience working on a farm, I’d never seen anything quite like it.

I opened the door and walked outside, leaned on the wooden rail fence, and studied them. They cried and bellowed, loud, mournful bawling as if tormented. I noticed that the sky had turned almost jaundiced in color. A few moments later, Dar walked out and stood beside me.

“What are they doing, Dad?” she asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Why in the world would they be crying and bumping into each other like that?”

“You should ask your uncle. He’s the farmer in the family.”

“He quit his job as a scientist to come up here and farm this crappy piece of land? Doesn’t make any sense.”

“I suppose he wanted to live closer to the land and escape the rat race,” I said, shrugging. “Why don’t you go ask him yourself if you’re so interested?”

“Maybe I will. And maybe he’ll give me a plausible reason to skip going to college.”

“How do you think he could afford all this in the first place? The man’s earned a PhD in genetics for crying out loud.” I smiled at her. “Besides, Dar, when you’re older, you’ll remember your college days as some of the best times of your life.”

“Seriously doubt that, Dad. Just the thought of school makes me want to barf. Maybe I’ll move up here and be a farmhand instead.”

“I’d love to see you shoveling cow shit and baling hay all day. You’d be enrolled in college after one day of hard farm work.”

“Whatever.” Dar rolled her eyes and stared over at the distressed herd.

Suddenly Rick sidled up next to us. “You guys coming in to eat or what?”

“What’s up with the herd, Rick? I’ve never seen cows act like that before.”

“I’m still pretty new at this whole farming thing myself. The pigs out back are acting weird too.” He placed his elbows on the fence and looked out with concern. “It could be any number of things: the weather, movement in the tectonic plates, diet, or some other subtle thing in the environment that we humans can’t detect. We’ve got a saying on the farm. Shit happens.”

“That’s hilarious. Shit happens,” Dar repeated, laughing.

“That’s how we put food on the table. Shit happens, plants grow. The cycle of life.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens twenty-four-seven in our household,” Dar said, glancing over at me. “That’s been the cycle of
my
life up to this point.”

“Be nice, Dar. Now’s not the time to act bratty in front of your uncle,” I said.

She laughed. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh in a long time. She’d be off to college in the fall, no matter how much she complained about it, and because of that I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.

“Shit happens and then you die,” Dar added.

“Something like that, kiddo,” Rick said. “Come on, you two. Let’s go inside and have some grub. Susan put out a great spread tonight. Wouldn’t want you two city folks going hungry on your big trip upcountry.”

“I’m starving after that long ride. If I wasn’t a vegetarian, Uncle Rick, I’d probably try and eat you,” Dar quipped.

“I’m afraid an old horse like me wouldn’t taste so good. But I promise that you won’t go hungry tonight. We’ve got plenty of rabbit food for you to nibble on. Such a shame you won’t be able to enjoy Susan’s rib roast. One bite of that dish would knock your socks off.”

“I’m sure it would, bro, but all the same, we’ll stick to the rabbit food.”

“Suit yourselves.”

We walked back inside and took our seats at the rectangular wooden table. Despite the small talk, I felt a sense of unease in the air. Dishes appeared on the table filled with red potatoes, various types of salad and bright greens. Everything looked lovely, aside from the thick slabs of beef sitting atop their watery blood pools. Where in the past, I would have been salivating at such a meal, I now found the sight of that meat repulsive, although I kept such thoughts to myself.

“Dig in, kids.”

“It looks marvelous, Susan. Thank you for preparing dinner for us,” I said.

“You’re quite welcome. It’s our pleasure to have you two as our guests this weekend. Rick said you wouldn’t mind if I served a meat dish, but just in case, I prepared a fresh salad and some extra portions of vegetables. They’re all organic and grown right here on the farm.”

“We’re not food fascists, Susan, so no worries. It’s not like we’re going to read you the vegetarian riot act or anything,” I said, laughing.

“These green beans are ridiculous,” Dar said, spearing some on her fork.

“I’d like to throw you two back into the Stone Age and see if you’d turn up a beautiful piece of protein like this,” Rick said, holding up a bloody wedge of beef in front of his mouth. “Mmm, you have no idea what you’re missing.”

“Did you know that vegetarians are the last oppressed minority,” Dar said.

“That’s precious, kiddo. And I suppose you’ll now want special protected status as well,” Rick said.

“Nah, just more green beans will do.”

Darkness had fallen by the time we finished dinner. Rick and Susan went outside and herded the distressed cows back into the barn. A dessert of homemade ice cream and apple pie was served as soon as they came back inside. After dessert, we sat around the fireplace and listened to Susan play guitar and sing some of her original songs. Although the mood felt warm and convivial, I sensed an underlying tension in the room, for we could still hear the faint caterwauling of the cows out in the barn.

After an hour or so, exhausted, we retired to our rooms. Dar’s was located next to mine, but I could tell from her expression that she was still nervous about the cows’ odd behavior. The last thing I wanted was for her to slide into a funk while we were up here in northern Maine, so I offered her the twin bed next to mine, and surprisingly, she accepted. We immediately transferred all of her belongings into the room, and she settled in.

I slept fitfully, not able to expunge the memory of those anguished beasts outside, bumping into each other and crying out. The sound of their protests haunted my sleep. At sunrise, I slipped out of bed and walked over to the window. Dar lifted her head from the pillow and gazed up at me with her big green eyes, and I could tell just by looking at her that she hadn’t slept well. Outside, the odd yellow glow filtered in through the gauzy curtains.

“Can we go home, Dad?” Dar asked. “This place is sorta freaking me out.”

“But we just got here, and I’m supposed to go down to Bangor later today and sign some books.”

“I can’t explain it, but it feels really weird up here right now. Let’s just pack our stuff and head back to Boston,” she said, covering her head with the blanket. “And for your information, I’ve decided
not
to become a farmhand.”

“College doesn’t look so bad after all, huh?”

“I still don’t want to go to college, but I’m not about to shovel crap for minimum wage either.” She lifted her head off the pillow. “Why aren’t the roosters crowing? Don’t they usually start screaming about now?”

“Probably too early for even the roosters to make a racket.”

“Damn roosters get to sleep in later than me. Maybe they’re as freaked out about living up here in the boonies as I am.”

“I doubt they’d want to wake up in downtown Boston, in the middle of the Commons.”

I moved the curtain aside, noticing that the sky radiated a sickly, jaundiced shade of yellow. Rick and Susan were in the barn, overseeing the electronic milking of the cows. I noticed something strange happening out in the pasture—a pack of coyotes were teetering single file across the field. They trotted a hundred yards before they stopped and froze in place. They lurched forward again, stopping only to form into a semi-circle. One coyote stood front and center. The pack turned and faced the lone coyote and began to howl savagely, their long noses aimed skyward. Then, without warning, they attacked the defenseless coyote, tearing it to shreds. The ferocity of the attack shocked me. It seemed so brutal and senseless. They tore into the wounded animal, ripping off flesh and entrails, and gulping them down hungrily. As if on cue, they stopped abruptly and trotted off, disappearing into the woods.

Although the attack had happened a good distance from where I stood, I could clearly see the bloodied, tattered carcass strewn across the pasture. I wondered what had gotten into those poor beasts? But then something even more bizarre happened. I rubbed my eyes to see if I’d been dreaming. Upon opening them, I saw the mortally wounded coyote rise up from the pasture, entrails and all, its fur matted with sticky blood. It trotted off into the woods as if nothing had happened. Stunned, I shook my head and tried to regain my composure. Had I been hallucinating?

“Everything okay, Dad?”

I looked over at Dar, whose head was still hooded under the blanket. Her green eyes peered out at me. When I looked back out at the pasture, I saw nothing but blades of grass swaying in the gentle breeze blowing down from the north.

“Of course everything’s okay. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. You had this crazy look on your face like you’d seen something weird.”

“I was trying to look for those roosters. I can’t understand why they’re not cock-a-doodling.”

“Maybe it has something to do with the way those cows were acting last night.”