Undead 02 The Undead Haze (20 page)

I went left. Gunshots sounded off behind me. I heard a commotion coming from in front of me, too, just outside the entrance.

It was now or never. I slung the rifle around my back, then grabbed Don and spun him around so I had him in a loose sleeper hold. “Play along or we die.”

He struggled. “What’s going on?”

A handful of crazies burst through the door. Thinking fast, I risked using the names I’d heard others in their gang using. “Runner got Tom! And Riggy! This kid is trying to escape, I—”

I didn’t need to say anymore. There were five of them, all toting guns, and each shoved past me.

Don didn’t have to play-struggle. I felt his fear. I wanted to let go of him so I could make better time, but if we came across anymore crazies I’d rather be in acting mode than an exposed victim. We made it into the empty reception area. The double doors were still open.

I’d never seen a human on a spit before. I’d seen it in a movie at some point, I thought, but that didn’t compare to
seeing
it in real life. It had been a woman, I could tell, but any distinguishing features melted from the fire and heat. Beside the spit lay another body, but it was too far gone to tell what it had been before. Both legs were missing as well as most of an arm.

“What the hell is going on in there?”

That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?
I thought.

While I stared at the bodies, two men walked in front of me. Their suspicion showed, so I used more crazy-lingo I’d picked up. “Some of the meat escaped. Bit Riggy and Tom.”

The two looked at each other. They couldn’t dispute the sounds of battle coming from the building, but they weren’t buying
my
story.

“Why you got this guy?”

“I...”

Someone slammed into my back, knocking both Don and I forward. He broke my fall as his body hit the cleared path underneath us. The two crazies sidestepped out of the way.

I rolled onto my side in time to see an undead sink its teeth into the face of one crazy. It was a new runner. My plan was working.

Twenty feet away, my ride out of there waited. After I got back onto my feet, I stumbled towards the snowmobiles. The screams behind me helped me trek faster. Even if the runner situation was resolved quickly, it didn’t mean I was in the clear. I was as tired of facing crazies as I was zombies.

“Wait for me!”

I didn’t care enough to acknowledge Don. Instead I inspected the snowmobiles for keys. After the first five turned up nothing, I thought all was lost. Heart heavy, I checked the last one just in case. A lone key rested in the ignition.

“Hey, wait!”

My entire body shook from overworked nerves. Don was almost to the first snowmobile. Beyond him, a battle raged between runners and the crazies. I recognized the bulky form of Lumberjack, who shot wildly at a runner tearing into another man. No one saw me. This was happening. I was getting out of there.

I pushed the heap of snow off the seat and threw my leg over. The engine started with one turn of the key. I’d never driven a snowmobile before, but the upfront operation seemed simple enough. I squeezed the handle and the vehicle jerked forward. Before I ran into the fence, I steered to the right, taking a wide arc towards the gates.

As I ripped through the snow, I heard a shout from behind me. Don’s voice couldn’t compete with that of runners, crazies, and gunfire. He waved his arms, standing beside motionless snowmobiles.

Ones with no keys. Useless.

He started running towards me, but before he made it five yards two figures sprinted from the main building and tackled him to the ground.

Then I saw her. Spraying rounds of bullets into runners and shouting commands. There stood a girl I thought I’d never see again.

Gabe.

I couldn’t believe it. I released the throttle and glided to a stop as I squinted. It was too surreal. What I saw didn’t match up with what I thought was possible. My brain couldn’t cope.

Her scalp was no longer bare. The blonde stubble had grown out, but even with the longer hair I could tell it was her. The angles of her face were unmistakable. Pretty, but young. She wore a white robe tied at the waist with rope.

The rednecks circled her like a Roman phalanx, guns poking outward. They shot anything that came near. They were protecting her.

I needed answers. I needed to know how she ended up there, why she was dressed like that, and why the
fuck
she was telling the crazies what to do.

Gabe looked at me.
At me
. Her chest heaved as she drew in a breath. Even from my position on the snowy crest I heard the words. “Kill him!”

Every head turned in my direction. Guns raised.

Oh fuck.

I squeezed the throttle. Bullets whizzed by my head and burrowed into the snow as I sped away.

I didn’t need answers
that
bad.

Chapter 19

Was a full tank of gas in a snowmobile enough to get me to Samish Island? When should I stop and rest? Where am I? Why was Gabe here? I’m so cold. I can’t feel my feet. I’m hungry.

Questions assaulted my mind as I drove. My brain was in overdrive, hyped up on adrenaline and guilt. I couldn’t reflect on one idea before another overtook it. The sensation reminded me of when I had insomnia. A constant stream of incoherent thoughts smudging into one another relentlessly. There was only one man watching the main gate. When I approached, he didn’t shoot at me or ask who I was. He dragged the fence open enough for me to slip through. I wondered why they put someone like him on duty. Letting “meat” right out the door. Shame on him.

After I cleared the forest and reached the main road, I went left. The road showed more signs of use in that direction. I had no clue where I was, but if I backtracked long enough I might recognize something.

That was almost two hours ago. The blue lit console on the dashboard of the snowmobile made sure I knew how much time passed, how much gas I had left, and how other important features were doing. When the crazies went shopping for snowmobiles, they made sure they got the nicest one.

It didn’t take long to get used to the controls. The headlights were going to draw attention, but I needed them. Low, thick clouds blocked any moonlight. The forest surrounding the road curved overhead, thick evergreen branches becoming a canopy. Visibility was zero.

My fingers are numb. What is Gabe doing? Why are they listening to her? My leg is going to fall off from that gunshot. I need to stop somewhere.

Every now and then I passed the occasional side road. None of them were marked and most looked decrepit. I ignored them all. At least until the pain became too much to deal with. And the hunger. I veered onto the next one I came to, climbing up a small hill. I reached its crest, but instead of going down the hill I tapered off onto flat land. Thirty yards away, a cabin loomed in the moonlight.

“Cabin” sounds quaint, but the owners of this home probably said, “We’re summering in the cabin” when explaining their vacation plans.

It rested in a circular clearing. A deck wrapped around its second story, disappearing around the sides. Its front was floor to ceiling windows. As I approached my headlights shone through the glass. Once I was close enough, I turned off the engine.

That unique silence of a snow covered forest hit me all at once. I couldn’t hear anything because there wasn’t
anything
to hear. I peeled myself off the seat then took a deep breath, waiting as circulation returned to my legs. Then I slung the rifle across my shoulder.

I left the lights on as I approached the cabin. Snow crunched underfoot, and the wood of the steps creaked when I went up the first few. Inside were high ceilings, modern furniture, and no signs of life. Luck was on my side, since I could see the whole first story through the front windows. The living areas flowed into one another. If I took ten steps to the left, I’d see the kitchen. Backtrack to the right and I’d see a dining room and living room.

No blood on the floor, or overturned furniture. I took my time treading around the cabin, through two feet of snow, peeking through windows and listening for signs of life. There was a raised patio. Mounds of snow piled on unused tables, chairs, and a grill.

My breath came out in a ragged sigh, sending white fog up into the air as I dragged my feet up a flight of steps and walked to the glass double doors to try the knob. It was locked, but that didn’t surprise me. I ran my hand along the top of the door. There wasn’t any snow on the ledge since the eaves of the cabin covered it.

Clink.

The presence of the key weakened my knees. These days, any luck I found was hard to believe. I gripped it in my clumsy, numb fingers and jiggled it into the lock.

It didn’t work.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breaking the window crossed my mind, but instead I backtracked along the way I’d come and returned to the front of the house. People who left keys above doors sometimes thought they’d be tricky by leaving the front door key above the back door. Sometimes the key opened both doors, other times it didn’t. After raiding enough houses, I knew all the tricks.

This time the key went in smoothly. The deadbolt clunked and I pressed the door open, wincing at the sharp
crack
of ice falling away from the frame. No one had opened it in a while.

I didn’t want to leave the snowmobile on where its lights could be seen, but if something happened I needed to be gone in a jiffy. Should I turn the lights off, I’d be blind. Move the snowmobile, and I’d have more distance to travel to get back to it. I stared at the blinding lights, imagining figures approaching without my knowing, before forcing the paranoia away.

Fuck, I really need some sleep.

My first steps into the entryway were intentionally loud. “Hello?” My voice cracked. My throat was dry.

If any undead were upstairs, or hiding downstairs where I couldn’t see, they would react and give their position away. The quiet made my ears ring. I would hear even the slightest creak, wouldn’t I? I thought of horror movies where the characters called out “Hello” or “Is anyone there?” only to have a serial killer butcher them one scene later. That was me. The dumb guy yelling in a potentially zombie-filled house.

Hearing no reply, I conducted an in depth search of the first story, giving any stiffs more time to get their act together if they lingered upstairs. Photos of a couple rested on every mantel, wall, and end table, along with obscure modern art. The man in the pictures towered over his partner. His hair was gray at the temples, but otherwise dark and thick. With the healthy tan and polo shirts, he was your average, upper class rich man. A younger blonde accompanied him in the photos, body pressed against his or arm draped around his shoulder. She was young enough to be his daughter, but their intimacy was evident.

Mistress,
I thought.
That’s what she looks like.

I broke away from the photo of the two on a yacht, basking in sunlight. It was easy to get lost in peoples’ past lives. This wasn’t the first time I became sidetracked, and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

My preliminary search of the first story yielded nothing unexpected. I saved checking cupboards and drawers in the kitchen for after the entire cabin was secured. The living room, dining room, and entertainment room hadn’t been touched in ages. Dust coated every surface. Even my footsteps on the carpet sent little flurries up around my boots.

As I walked back through the kitchen, something caught my eye. I must have missed it on my first pass. Resting on the top of the fridge was a medium sized flashlight.

I pointed it at the ground and pushed the switch. A warm, orange glow lit the gray tile floor. The beam was weak, probably from dying batteries, but would suffice for my search upstairs. The light was comforting.

Even if you’d never been afraid of the dark before, the undead world ignited the fear with a vengeance.

No sounds came from upstairs, even as I walked up the steps. I couldn’t hold the flashlight and aim the rifle at the same time, so I opted to use the light. I held the gun with one hand at my side.

The second story was as spacious as the first. The top of the stairs opened into a loft with a loveseat and two chairs. From these seats, you could look down into the front entryway and living room. There was a door on the three walls behind this sitting area. All three were open. I stood in the middle of the room and shone the light into each. One was a bathroom and the other two were bedrooms.

Since the bathroom was small, I peeked in there first. Nothing but dusty fixtures and appliances.

Next was the guest bedroom. It was square and easy to search. No nooks or crannies offered hiding spots for the undead. The guest bedroom closet was huge, but empty.

Last was the biggest bedroom. Identical to the guest area, only bigger. It had a master bathroom with a gigantic tub, marble counters, and separate shower. I noted everything, but didn’t dwell on any one feature. I had higher priorities than admiring the cabin.

The upstairs was cleared, so I went outdoors and drove the snowmobile to the side of the house, this time turning the headlights off. While I was inside the wind had picked up. Powdery snow danced across the ground. When the evergreen trees swayed, I heard them creak. I hoped the wind would cover up the tracks the snowmobile made. If the crazies, or anyone for that matter, were trying to track me down, fresh snowfall would hinder their progress.

Back inside, I locked the door behind me and began collecting supplies to fix my leg. In the smaller bathroom there were only towels and hand soap, but the master bath had an assortment of products in its cabinets. Among the many lotions, perfumes, and polishes that probably belonged to the blonde, a brown bottle stood out. Good old fashioned rubbing alcohol. I plucked the bottle from its colorful, feminine companions.

A hard white plastic case was shoved in the corner of the cabinet. A first-aid kit. My heart lifted. I took that, too, and sat back against the wall. Inside were bandages, tape, and gauze. Everything I needed.