Threnody (Book 1) (17 page)

John picked up the shotgun and opened the breech.  He port-loaded a round of 00 buckshot, cycled the action forward, and added eight additional rounds to bring the magazine up to capacity.  He filled the six slots of the shell holder fixed to the side of the stock, and stowed the remaining twenty five shells in an outside pocket on Reams’ pack.  Lastly, he retrieved the magazines and ammunition for the AR-15.  Realizing his pack was quickly filling up, he decided to put the magazines and .223 ammunition back in the safe.  He further rationalized this by reminding himself that Al’s house looked more like a gun store than someone’s home, so his meager supplies would be rather superfluous. The sling he typically kept on his AR-15 was there, and he attached it to the Mossberg.  Looking over the firearms, he felt much safer than he had when they were defending themselves with only sticks and clubs.  Even so, he definitely planned to grab some melee weapons as well.  While such close quarters weapons put them at a greater risk of infection, the noise from the firearms would likely draw many more infected. 
Clearly avoidance was the best option. 

John carried the bags into the upstairs bathroom where he kept most of the toiletries and medical supplies.  He grabbed a toothbrush, toothpaste, hand sanitizer, a bar of soap, and a small bottle of shampoo.  As he shifted attention to the medical supplies, he saw the toilet paper and thought to grab a roll.  Pulling the cardboard tube out of the center, he flattened the roll as much as possible before tucking in into his bag.  He thought about Reams and repeated the process with two additional rolls that he stuffed into his pack.

In regards to medical supplies, John had a little bit of everything and he packed some of each.  Bandages, antiseptics, sutures and the necessary instruments for suturing, as well as all sorts of medicines including, antibiotics, local anesthetics, and pain medications went into the first aid bag.  John affixed this bag to the outside of his pack with a length of paracord tied securely to both ends.  He shouldered the pack and tested it ensure the contents would not shift or make excess noise when jostled. 

John walked back to collect the firearms from his room.  He fixed the holster on his right side and the spare magazine pouches on his left.  As he hefted the sling bag over his head he saw a picture frame he had knocked off of the bedside table.  The photo it held – one of his favorites – was of his wife and daughter at his sister-in-law’s wedding.  He always marveled at how their individual beauty seemed amplified by one another as they stood in a tight embrace, smiling like it would never end.  Tears slowly began to well up in his eyes as he opened the frame to retrieve the photograph.  They threatened to spill over the levee and drown his soul if he did not keep moving so he pocketed the photo, grabbed the shotgun and Reams’ pack, and headed out the door. 

Taking a sharp, controlled inhalation, he proceeded to move down the stairs as quietly as possible, primarily as a means to check the gear for unwanted noise, but also to avoid disturbing the slumbering giant on his couch.  He placed the backpack on the chair next to Reams before moving through the living room and kitchen toward the doorway leading to the garage.  He paused trying to remember if they had cleared the garage.  He knew he had not done so and could not recall seeing Reams do so either.  As his heart rate spiraled upward at a seemingly uncontrollable rate, he unshouldered his pack and laid it down next to the closed door. John paused momentarily and listened for any noise coming from the garage.  Initially he heard nothing but soon thought he could hear a faint scratching sound coming from somewhere in the garage.  Though he did not hear the sound again, he found it increasingly difficult to hear anything accurately over the pounding heartbeat resonating in his ears.

Images of his beautiful little girl lying in the garage, infected and clawing feverishly to get to the two men nestled safely inside the house kept creeping into his mind, no matter how hard he willed them not to. For an instant he thought about what he would do if she were in the garage—only
she
was no longer ‘his’ daughter.  He knew he would be unable to do anything other than stand there.  Pushing back his crippling fear, he thumbed the safety off the 12-gauge and activated the forend light.  With no light in the house his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, making the intense light from the shotgun seem as unbearable as staring directly at the sun.  Quickly shutting it off, he wondered if the light had been noticed by anyone else, alive or otherwise.  He cupped his hand over the light before reactivating it in order to lessen the intensity and throw of the powerful light.  Edging forward guardedly, he froze as a floorboard creaked underfoot, tearing through the eerie, all-encompassing silence that engulfed everything in the absence of people and electricity.

Steeling his nerves, John turned the knob and threw the door open, as he stepped back to wait for the monster within to lunge toward him.  When nothing happened he cautiously inched forward into the confines of the garage.  Panning the shotgun around the two-car garage, he noticed all the normal things that had been in his garage when he left a few weeks ago.  His car was missing, but his wife’s Toyota 4Runner was still there.  His workbench, with its many unfinished projects and myriad tools scattered around, sat undisturbed. 

Easing around the large truck, he checked the corners of the room as well as under the vehicle; still he heard and saw nothing.  Just as he was convinced it had all been his imagination, the screeching abruptly returned and with renewed intensity.  He pivoted wildly, panning the full intensity of the shotgun light across the garage toward the perceived source of the noise.  As the light crossed the window on the far side of the garage, he saw the skeleton-like branches of a Dogwood tree scrape across the glass under the urging of the brisk wind blowing outside.  Realizing this was his ‘monster,’ he slumped against the truck as the stress of the situation slowly bled away. 

Feeling more centered, John moved quickly around the garage, collecting a few last items.  Among them was a hammer, a fixed-blade hunting knife that he secured to his belt behind the spare magazines, a hatchet, and a three-foot length of steel pipe that was left over from a recent plumbing project.  As he passed the SUV, he shined his light inside and was glad to see the keys were in their usual location in the ignition.

When he walked back into the house, John felt the temporary wave of energy he was riding slide out from under him as suddenly as if the rug he was walking on had been jerked out from under him.  His watch indicated it was 3:14 A.M., and he knew the sun would be up in a few hours.  Crossing the kitchen, he entered the living room where he collapsed in a comfortable plush chair next to where Reams snored on the couch.  He thought about waking him and asking him to take watch while he tried to get a couple hours of much needed sleep.  John thought Reams was dreaming as he mumbled and fidgeted randomly in his fitful sleep.  In his last moment alone with his thoughts, John pulled out the picture he took from the frame in his room.  As he gazed longingly at the photograph, he felt an uncontrollable force sweep through his entire being once again.  This time, however, there were no tears.  This time it was sleep.

* * *

Less than a quarter mile away, a former neighbor, his wife, and son, stood swaying slightly in their backyard.  The three revs had been attracted to this side of the yard by a barking dog running past their house on the opposite side of the five-foot tall wooden fence the previous day.  Despite the fact that there was an unlocked gate directly in front of the trio, the obstruction may as well have been twice as high, and made of solid steel for all the good it did them.  The ground immediately beneath the gate stayed wet on account of a leaky sprinkler head, and it was now pocked with a muddy, barren patch where the three were essentially treading in place. 

In the darkness, with no visual or auditory stimuli to attract their attention, they stood motionless near the fence.  A brief, intense flash of light suddenly erupted in the distance, effectively rekindling their attempts to walk through the fence – heedless of their previous failures.  As the three revs pushed into the fence, their feet slipped and skidded on the muddy ground.  Losing its footing, the former wife tottered and fell to the ground.  The thing’s face smashed into a 4 x 4 fencepost with a bone-breaking crunch as its nose and right cheek collapsed under the force. If it noticed the injury at all, it gave no indication. Instead, it clawed at the fence as it struggled to best the slippery mud and get to its feet.  In doing so its hand bumped the latch’s locking mechanism by sheer chance, causing the gate to fly open.  All three of the revs trundled to the ground beyond the fence as the impediment unexpectedly gave way.  After a few additional moments of uncoordinated struggling they succeeded in disentangling themselves before scrambling back to their feet.  The noise and commotion made by the revs, as well as the sudden excitement they exhibited, did not go unnoticed by several other revs in the vicinity that now joined the original three.  As the group embarked on their slow trek toward the vague mental imprint of the flash of light witnessed only by the progenitors of the procession, their hematophagous ranks continued to increase despite being entirely unaware of where they were going or why they were doing so. 

Chapter 17

October 6, 2015

After helping John to the couch where he lay moaning, Reams paced around the room.  The big man still glanced around nervously as though trying to make sure
this
wasn’t the dream and he was about to wake up to find the revs on top of him again. 

“What the hell were you dreaming about anyway?” asked John as he cradled his algetic ribs.

Reams paused, and for a moment wondered if John had indeed lost his mind asking a question like that.  “Geez, I’ve always had this crazy fear of clowns and, you see, I was at the circus.  They just kept pouring out of this tiny car – hundreds of them.  Seriously John, if you can’t guess, then you probably don’t want to know,” concluded Reams with aggravation. 

“Whoa there!  Simmer down!  Just small talk, big man – no reason to get upset,” said John.  He shifted and tried to stand, but his breath was snatched away from him as his diaphragm seized up under the ensuing barrage of intense pain.

Hearing a noise, Reams moved toward a window at the front of the house.  John heard the faint sound as well, and said, “Don’t worry about that, I heard the same sound earlier.  It’s just a tree scraping against the window,” said John.

Pulling back the blinds slightly, Reams suddenly froze.  Silhouetted by the moonlight, he saw at least a dozen human forms crossing the road toward the front yard.  Several more were already amassed along the left side of the house by the garage.  Without turning, Reams dropped the blinds and said, “We need to go, John.”

“Yes, I know.  Why the hell do you think I was packing this stuff?  My wife’s truck is in the garage. I figured we’d take that to Al’s once the sun came up,” said John.

“We need to go
now
!” replied Reams as he vacantly backpedaled away from the window.  He was certain he saw even more of them staggering toward the house in the distance.

Still bemoaning his aching ribs, John asked before thinking about it, “What’s wrong? You sound like you saw a ghost or something.”

By the time Reams turned to face him, the realization of what Reams had seen finally hit him.  The face staring back at the big man now reflected a mirror image of concern.  “Oh shit,” was all John could think to say.

Climbing painfully to his feet, John asked, “How many?”

“At least ten or twelve in the front yard, with more approaching, and a few crowded over by the garage.  What the hell is attracting them?” asked Reams.

Without wasting any time to think about the question, John motioned for Reams to grab the black backpack and shotgun as he shouldered the sling bag.  As quietly as possible, the two men crept through the kitchen and over to the door leading to the garage.  “Where exactly was the group you saw by the garage?  Are they in front of the garage door or to the side?” asked John quietly.

“I can’t say for sure.  It’s dark, and I could barely see them from the front window looking far off to the side.  I’m not certain how many are over there either,” answered Reams with concern inflecting his words.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do.  Let’s assume there are ten or so and they are pressed up against the garage door.  My wife’s SUV is in the garage, and the keys are in it.  I checked the garage and there were no revs in it earlier, but that could have changed, so we’ll assume it hasn’t been cleared.  Once we have cleared the garage again, we’ll throw our shit in the truck.  I’ll move to the window on the far side of the garage and start banging to draw the revs around to the side.  They are fairly slow, so wait until I see them and signal you.  Then I’ll run back to the truck and get ready to start her up.  I’ll cover you and uncouple the garage door from the automatic track so you can raise it manually. Got it?”

Reams nodded but asked, “Why do I have to raise the door? It’s your house.”

With a pathetic look of mock agony, John said, “I don’t think I could possibly raise it with all this pain in my ribs.  Besides, I’m driving.”

As the two men entered the garage they heard the low, hissing growls of the group clustered outside the garage door.  Cupping the flashlight, John activated it, and drew his sidearm.  They moved quietly and efficiently through the garage, ensuring no infected lay in wait as they moved to their respective positions around the SUV.  After shutting off the flashlight, John opened the driver’s door and was greeted by an insanely loud chiming sound as light flooded the darkened room.  It was as though he just tripped the vault alarm at Fort Knox, and it did not go unnoticed by the gathering horde outside. As he struggled to pull the key out of the ignition and to switch the interior light off, the scratching, banging, and moaning outside intensified dramatically.  Always leaving the dome light switched ‘off’ was one of John’s quirks, and one in which he and his wife differed.  He hated opening a car door at night only to have the interior lit up like a beacon for the whole world to see.  Though it always seemed silly, now he thought it could have saved their lives, or at the very least made their night a little easier. 

The two men tossed their bags into the now dark and quiet SUV.  John felt the original plan was still likely their best chance, and he hoped he would be able to attract the attention of the agitated revs outside of the garage.  He approached the window cautiously and could only see a few of them toward the front of the garage near the door.  He switched his light on and off a few times like a strobe as he shined it through the window.  As he did this, he tapped the light gently against the windowpane.  After a couple rounds of this his efforts paid off, as at least six of the infected things crowded around the small window, feverishly banging and clawing to get to him.  The fear inside him rose exponentially as he slowly eased backward to the SUV, intermittently flashing the light to ensure he maintained a captive audience.  Without looking over his shoulder, he said, “Reams.”

“I’m on it,” replied Reams as he crouched and edged forward toward the garage door.  He paused momentarily and pressed his ear against the door to listen for any indication there were still infected outside the door.  Though the sound from the group at the side window made it difficult to say for certain, he could not detect anything coming from the other side of the door.  Turning to John he said, “You ready to drive? Cover my ass when I throw this door up, you hear?”

John gave a terse, silent nod as he stood on the running board, wedged between the open door and the A pillar of the SUV, gun trained on the garage door.  The position forced John to hold the weapon in his left hand and, though he was left-handed, he was right eye dominant, making the left his weaker shooting side.

Reams waited for the click that came when John pulled the cord indicating the garage door was uncoupled from the track of the automatic opener.  Immediately, he heaved the aluminum door upward with minimal effort and was on his way back to the truck, almost before he finished the motion.  The door flew up with such force that it hit the end of the track and ricocheted back, partially closing the door.  John cursed and saw Reams skid to a stop to see what was wrong.

At that instant, John saw an infected boy – who was probably no more than ten or twelve – come barreling toward the garage door opening from Reams’ blind side.  Having noticed the problem with the door, Reams started back to raise it completely, oblivious to the danger lurking beyond.  John had no time to warn him and, thankfully, had no time to think about what he was about to do.  Shifting his weight into the open truck door, he pivoted to bring the pistol’s sights in line with his right eye.  A split second before Reams was directly in his line of fire, the advancing rev came in line with the front and rear sight of his pistol.  He depressed the trigger and prayed with all he had that he had not just sent a .40 caliber bullet tearing through his friend’s abdomen.  The roar of the semi-automatic pistol was deafening in the confined space of the two-car garage, but John still heard the bullet’s brass case skid across the roof of the SUV.

Though significantly impaired by the bright muzzle flash of the pistol, the details of the scene before him materialized as his night vision slowly returned. He watched with terror as Reams pitched forward.  Panic began to set in as he thought about having shot Reams when he also noticed the infected boy staggering backward.  Black, spumescent sludge gurgled out of its neck in the wavering moonlight.  All at once the thing slumped to the ground in a motionless heap, as Reams leapt to his feet and darted back to the SUV through the now wide garage door. 

John was already in the driver’s seat and turning the ignition as Reams climbed in.  The SUV rocketed out of the garage as several revs returned to investigate the sound of the gunshot and the vehicle – slamming into the driver’s side window.  John spun the steering wheel hard left clipping one rev, narrowly missing another, and completely plowing through a third before they were back on Hood Street and speeding away from John’s house.

As the chaos of their escape died down, John asked excitedly, “How bad are you hit?”

“What?” Reams said, a little confused.

“I shot you, how bad is it?” clarified John.

“You didn’t shoot me!  I dove forward so you
wouldn’t
shoot me.  I’m good, man,” said Reams.

Relieved, though still somewhat shaken by nearly shooting his friend, John said, “Well, I’m sorry for almost shooting you back there…I—”

“Sorry?” Reams interjected, “You saved my ass!  That little pint-sized shithead would have probably had his baby teeth buried in my big-ass leg before I even saw his little ass if you hadn’t taken him down, so don’t be sorry for anything.  I’ll take a moderate chance of being shot by you over a high chance of becoming one of them any day.”

Though he had just shot what remained of a young boy in the throat effectively ending whatever existence it had left, and they were discussing it like it was last night’s football game, John felt better after hearing Reams’ words.  They continued to make their way toward Al’s house, weaving around the occasional abandoned vehicle.  On Waco Street both lanes were completely blocked for a distance, forcing John to drive through several adjacent yards, as well as through a three-foot tall white picket fence in order to get around the obstruction. 

As they approached the intersection of Waco and Millhouse, they saw a group of revs shambling around the remnants of a roadblock or checkpoint of some kind.  Amazingly, a sign flashed red letters proclaiming ‘WARN…’  Either the sign was malfunctioning or someone stopped halfway through inputting its message.

“I guess the sign is keeping them here.  How the hell is that thing still working?” said John as he slowly and cautiously eased the SUV forward.  The answer to his question became apparent as two small solar panels mounted atop the portable sign came into view.

They counted around twenty infected on their side of the barricade with another half dozen or so on the far side.  The roadblock itself consisted of a couple of Jersey barriers placed on each side to funnel traffic to the center, and a few wooden, sawhorse-style barriers farther back in the middle.  There was also a squad car and what looked like a pickup truck with a camper that had ‘S.W.A.T.’ stenciled on its side.  “S.W.A.T.?” said John rather incredulously.

“How are we going to get around this?” asked Reams, “Is there another route?”

John thought for a moment before replying.  The only other route to Al’s would require them to backtrack nearly all the way to his house, and then send them about thirty minutes out of the way through a more densely populated area.  “No, I think this is the best way.  It doesn’t look like the vehicles are completely blocking the way through the barricade.  I think we should go straight through,” said John in a serious tone.

Reams was now certain his friend had indeed lost his mind.  “You want to just go straight through?  I wonder how long the wait will be?  It looks like things are kind of backed up here.  I don’t think I’ve seen that line of infected move one rev since we got here!” said Reams sarcastically.

“Seriously, I think it’s the best option.  If we keep moving we should be able to push through the crowd, and I think the truck will fit through the opening in the middle of the barricade,” said John.

“You think, huh?  And if it doesn’t?” asked Reams still dubious of John’s proposed plan. 

“I guess we figure that one out if it happens.  Now, let’s make a path,” concluded John as he reversed the SUV, moving about twenty-five yards back from the barricade before laying down on the horn. 

It had the desired effect as the group of infected turned toward the sound.  They started their slow death march toward the truck and the two survivors within.  Once they got about midway between the barricade and the SUV, John gunned the engine sending the truck rocketing forward once again.  Pleased that his little distraction worked, he saw only one rev still standing in the way.  It was an old lady who John thought probably didn’t look much different before the infection. He thought it likely that she just wasn’t able to keep pace with the others due to her physical condition at the time she became infected.  John made no attempt to go around her, as the grill of the SUV smashed into her, sucking her under the two-ton truck like a dust bunny into a vacuum cleaner.  Reams winced but noticed no change whatsoever in John’s expression; it might as well have been an insect hitting the windshield for all the concern he showed.

As John predicted, the SUV did fit through the opening between the Jersey barriers, clipping the trailer attached to the flashing sign as they pushed through.  After clearing the barricade, something in the brake lights caught John’s attention.  They were about twenty yards beyond the closest infected thing, and it was that particular thing John was interested in. The rev had been a police officer and was still dressed head to toe in S.W.A.T. riot gear, including soft armor pads on its chest and extremities.  It was the extremity pads specifically that caught his attention, as he thought they would provide excellent protection against bites.