The Survivor Chronicles: The Risen (18 page)

"Where are we?" John asked.

"Monticello, or at least that's what the
exit sign read," Carl answered. "These gas stations might be some
good places to search if they're near the cabin. They don't look as
if they've been broken into."

John nodded as they drove down a hill toward
the other set of lights. They passed the diner, a pizza place, and
a hotel all on their left before driving through the other set of
lights and reconnecting with the main road once more.

John frowned as the trees on his right gave
way and rows of barns were revealed. There were at least seven
barns along the road; each one labeled with a black letter. Another
row of barns stretched up the same hill on the other side of the
first seven barns. As they drove onward an oval, dirt track came
into view.

"What is this place?" Rochelle asked.

"If I have to guess I'd say a racetrack,
horses," Carl expounded when they both gave him a questioning
look.

But even as Carl answered, John spotted a
grouping of the large animals standing on a grassy area close to
the metal fence near the road. John closed his eyes and counted to
five before opening them again. The horses were still there, their
tails twitching in the summer day, and their heads bent to the
green grass beneath their hooves.

"They're
alive
," he breathed.

Carl slowed the vehicle as they approached
the gate; he pulled in at the last second and parked the truck in
front of the closed and locked gates before the little guard booth.
The dirt track on their left and had a few more horses walking
around the middle of it, munching on more grass. John opened his
door and stepped out of the truck. Afraid they might disappear like
a mirage, he cautiously approached the fence and slid his fingers
through the cool metal links. He could hear the others approaching
but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the animals.

There had been so many dead horses while
they'd been traveling that he'd become convinced they would never
see one alive again. Even with the locked gates, there was a sense
of freedom to the animals that kept his gaze riveted on them.

"Should we open the gates to let them out?"
Rochelle asked.

"They've made it this long, maybe these
gates are what has kept them alive," Carl said.

"Maybe we could use them to get around. I
can ride."

"They're not those kind of horses," Al told
her. John turned his head to look at him, he hadn't heard him
approach but there was a smile on his lined face and a twinkle in
his eyes as he studied the track. "They're Standardbreds, harness
horses."

"So they can't be ridden?" Rochelle
inquired.

"They probably could if you broke them to a
saddle, but right now I wouldn't recommend trying to jump onto
their backs. They probably wouldn't appreciate it much."

"Oh," the word was filled with
disappointment as Rochelle looped her fingers through the fence
beside his.

"Maybe one day kid," John said. "We'll get
you a horse, maybe even one of these, but we'll have to make sure
you have a helmet."

"That would be nice," she whispered.

"I used to come to this track years ago to
make some bets and drink some beers." Al's voice held a touch of
nostalgia as he stepped closer to the fence. "There was a driver
here; he used to sing to the horses, you could hear him clear
across the track even with a grandstand full of people. I always
bet on him just because of that singing. It wasn't in tune, it
wasn't good, but it always made me smile. I made some good money
off of him over the years. Those were some fun times."

"Sounds like it," Mary Ellen murmured.

"Well," Al said as he stepped away from the
fence. "We're almost to the cabin. We should get going if we're
going to make it by sunset."

Al turned away from the fence but John and
Rochelle remained behind, staring at the barns and horses. He was
nervous that if he turned away and left here the horses would all
vanish or be in some kind of freaky mound if they ever returned
here. "I'll get you one," John promised her. "First chance I
get."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. Come on; let's get to our new
home."

He rested his hand on her shoulder and
pulled her away from the fence. Climbing back in the truck, he
slammed the door and watched as they drove past old buildings, two
trailer parks, a few apparently empty businesses and lots of trees.
Most of the houses fell away as they climbed up a large hill and
then back down before making a turn. John had no idea how they were
going to get back out of the winding roads as they continued to
make turn after turn. He didn't feel as if they were going overly
far from the main road but it was such a convoluted path that he
lost track of it.

Trees pressed closer against the road, he
spotted small streams and mossy banks next to the drop off beside
the truck. More than a few times they had to drive around debris
blocking the road. Once they were forced to stop, pick up a small
oak and carry it out of the way, but they were also forced to
double back and find another way twice. The sun was beginning to
set, and John was beginning to think they were never going to make
it, when the car pulled into a small alcove on the side of the road
that he never would have seen.

Trees and thorny vines hung over what
appeared to have been a driveway. It wasn't until he'd gotten out
and approached the others that he spotted the gate blocking the
road. Standing beside the car, he looked in on Victor. The boy
remained motionless in the backseat with his head bent down. John's
stomach churned as he stared at the child. That medicine had to
work; Victor
had
to wake up.
Something good had to come out of the disaster that had unfolded in
Victor's house. There had to be a reason he had killed a man, but
then that outcome had probably been inevitable with Peter. If they
had made it here with Peter still alive a lot more damage could
have been done. It would have been easy enough for Peter to lead
some people into the woods and simply never return with them.

John turned away from the child and back to
the gate. He assumed the triangle shaped gate had once been the
color of metal but now it was covered with rust and sagging at the
end. The post it was attached to didn't have as much rust on it,
and remained solidly upright.

Al walked up to the gate and grabbed hold of
a box attached to the ten-foot long chain wrapped around the gate
and pole three times. Al typed in a code that opened the box and
pulled out the key hidden within. He slid the key into the lock
inside the box and the bulky padlock popped open.

"Is the property fenced in all the way
around?" Nancy asked.

"No, this gate was just to discourage people
from driving their vehicles or four wheelers down the road. There
are seven other cabins around this lake and they're all like this.
There's not much to steal from them, and it's enough of a walk to
my cabin to deter anyone just looking to party for the night. There
was also a security system and cameras."

He pointed to a sign nailed to a tree that
John hadn't noticed until now. It read,
This
property is monitored by video surveillance. Trespassers will be
prosecuted.
"Never had a problem here," Al continued as
he pulled the chain free.

Hinges squeaked as Al walked the gate open.
He pulled out another piece of chain attached to a tree and latched
the gate open. John stared down the rutted dirt road. Years of
neglect had allowed the woods to creep in to reclaim the land that
had been taken from them. This was about the time in a horror movie
when he would start yelling at the morons on screen not to go down
there. Now,
he
was one of those
morons.

Returning to the truck, he slid into the
passenger seat. He grabbed hold of the handle above his head and
braced his foot on the dash as Carl carefully drove the truck down
the road. They were barely doing five miles per hour and yet they
were still jostled and bumped in their seats. John's teeth
chattered, over their heads, low hanging branches and vines
scratched across the roof of the truck. The sound of the scraping
made him think of skeletons, hanging down from the trees in order
to drag their bony fingers over the metal roof. The clacking of
thicker vines and branches on the roof became their maniacal
laughter as they drove deeper into the skeleton's lair. He was
convinced the skeletons were taunting them, and biding their time,
until they emerged from the vehicle.

Shuddering at the thought, he cursed his
over active imagination as he tried to shut out the image of the
dead above them. Try as he might though, the image lingered and the
bouncing of the struts over the ruts became the skeleton's teeth as
they chattered in eager anticipation of getting their hands on
their prey within.

John had become half convinced he was never
going to get out of this truck again when the woods gave way. They
drove into a cleared area about a quarter of a mile wide, with a
small cabin sitting in the middle. On his right hand side, a lake
emerged from around a boulder. The blue water shimmered red,
yellow, and orange in the fading rays of the sun. In the fading
light, he spotted four other cabins surrounding the lake but the
closest one looked to be at least half a mile away.

The car pulled up beside the cabin and Carl
parked next to them. He didn't think there really were skeletons
hunting them but John still hesitated before opening the truck
door. The scent of water, algae, and fish hit him as soon as he
stepped out of the vehicle; he inhaled deeply as he savored in the
scent. It was so refreshing that he could picture himself throwing
out a fishing line and sitting on one of the boulders surrounding
the lake like he had so many times over the years. His father would
be there with him and maybe they would talk, but he knew most of
the day would be spent in companionable silence as they tossed back
the fish they caught and drank beers. It was all so clear in his
mind that he briefly saw his father there amongst the boulders,
grinning at him, and waving for him to come and join him.

Before he could become lost to the image,
and the sorrow it brought, he turned away to study the cabin. It
was only one story with a large porch that took up the entire front
of the building. The wood of the porch sagged a little but the
boards were all still in place. Four windows in the front
overlooked the lake and two more on the side faced them; all of
them had been boarded over with large pieces of plywood. A large,
upright propane tank sat on the side of the house. Numerous rust
spots had broken through the white paint coating the tank.

"It's empty," Al said when he caught John
eyeing the tank. "I made sure to have it emptied out when I knew I
wouldn't be coming back for awhile, if ever again. I also had the
windows boarded up."

Carl rubbed at his chin as he nodded. "Good
idea."

"Well, let's go check out our new home,"
Riley said as she stepped up beside them. "It doesn't look as if
anyone has broken into it but I'd still like to check the outside
before trying the door."

"So would I," Carl agreed.

John followed them around the building but
all the boards remained intact and the concrete foundation had no
windows in it. "There's no basement," Al explained as they walked.
"It's just a slab. There was electricity, cable and a working
bathroom but I also had the water turned off. I'm not sure we'll be
able to get it back on or that the pipes have even survived."

"It still sounds like a little bit of heaven
to me," Mary Ellen said.

John slapped at his neck as he felt a stab
there. He pulled his hand away to reveal the smooshed mosquito and
his blood. "Of course they would survive," he muttered and wiped
his hands on his jeans.

They stopped at the front steps and stood
staring at the cabin. "Well there's only one place left to check,"
Carl said. He pulled his gun free before cautiously approaching the
front door.

John didn't know if he was ready to see what
was inside. He was terrified that they would open that door and
find something monstrous waiting to eat them or that the ceiling
would have collapsed. They had come so far, lost so much, all he
wanted was a chance to stop and relax, even if it was only for a
few days.

Mary Ellen,

The musty smell of the cabin was the first
thing that hit her as soon as the door opened; the second thing to
almost hit her was a raccoon that would have run into her leg if
she hadn't jumped out of the way in time. The animal grunted its
displeasure all the way down the steps as Nancy and Donald scurried
to get out of its way.

"Well if that was still alive inside then I
don't think any of our not so friendly neighbors are," Carl
said.

He kept his gun in front of him as he pushed
the door back with the tip of his boot and entered the dim cabin.
Mary Ellen tried to peer over his shoulder but Carl's back blocked
her view of the cabin. John, Xander, and Riley filtered in ahead of
her; Al stayed by her side as they stepped into the shadowed
interior.

Riley and Xander clicked on their
flashlights and shone them around the large room they'd all
entered. Inside the cabin, the smell of must, wild animal and the
potent ammonia scent of urine caused her eyes to water. It would
take awhile to get the cabin aired out but it was one of the best
places she'd seen in awhile.

The gray linoleum floor beneath her feet was
speckled with shades of green and blue throughout it. The corners
of the floor had peeled up in some spots but the rest of it was in
relatively good condition. Dark wood paneling was revealed by the
beams of the flashlights bouncing over the walls. Antlers hung on
the walls, along with a deer head, and a bear. Mary Ellen looked
hastily away from the unseeing black eyes staring at her from the
animal heads. It felt as if those eyes followed her around the room
as she walked. She'd had enough of rooms filled with dead animals
and planned to take these ones down.