Undead (5 page)

Barbara shuddered.

On the dining table in the far corner of the room, she could see the silhouette of a bowl of large rounded flowers—and they stirred suddenly, in the breeze from an opened window. In a panic, Barbara raced for the window and slammed it shut and bolted it, and stood, breathing heavily and noticing that she had pinned part of the white curtain under the window frame when it came crashing down. But she was not going to raise it back up again, for anything. A shiver shot through her, and she turned to see Ben, who had come as far as the doorway to find out the cause of the noise—and she hoped he would stay, but he turned and resumed his banging around in the kitchen.

Alone in the room again, Barbara reached for a lamp on an end table, clicked it on and dull illumination filled the immediate area. The room felt empty. She started slowly toward the fireplace. Near it was a stack of logwood, and a few planks that might be large enough to nail across the windows. Still clutching her knife, she bent over the pile and gathered up the planking—but a spider ran across her hand, and she shrieked and dropped the wood with a clatter.

She waited, hoping Ben would not come, and this time he did not come to see what was the matter. Loud continuous noises of his activity in the kitchen told her why he had not heard her own racket with the firewood. She knelt and picked the planks up again, and steeled her mind not to be frightened by spiders.

Staggering with her awkward load, she hurried toward the kitchen and, bursting through the doorway, she found Ben pounding with the claw hammer at the hinges on a tall broom-closet door. One final swipe and a great yank freed the door, with the sound of screws ripping from torn wood, and the man stood it against the wall next to the broom closet. In the recesses of the closet, he spotted other useful items and pulled them out—an ironing board, three center boards from the dining table, and some old scrap lumber.

He smiled at Barbara when he looked up and saw her own supply of wood, which she leaned against the wall in a corner, and motioning for her to follow he grabbed the closet door and carried it across the kitchen to the back door of the house, which was the door with the broken bolt. He slapped the closet door up against the panel portion of the kitchen door and with an appraising glance he realized that he could use this same piece to cover the kitchen window, which was of modest dimensions and not placed too far from the kitchen door. He leaned against the piece of wood and groped in his sweater pocket for nails. The door started to slip slightly. It was not going to completely cover the kitchen window, but it would leave slats of glass at top and bottom; however, it would cover the glass part of the entrance door and would help make the door secure. Again, the heavy closet door slipped and he nudged it back into position, as he continued to grope for nails. Suddenly springing forward, Barbara helped out, by taking hold of the piece of lumber and holding it in position. Ben accepted her help automatically, without recognition, and gave the barricade a cursory inspection as he determined where to sink the nails; then, pulling several long nails from his pocket, he placed them and drove them in with swift, powerful blows from the claw hammer. He drove two on his side through the door and molding, then moved swiftly to her side and drove two more. Then, with the weight of the piece supported, he pounded the nails until they were completely sunken and stood back and began to add more. He wanted to use the nails sparingly but wisely, where they would do the most good, because he did not have an unlimited supply.

He tugged at the kitchen door, and it now seemed secure enough, and with the first defensive measures undertaken and accomplished, Ben began to take on confidence and assurance. He was still scared, and he continued to work quickly and, he hoped, wisely—and the fact that he had tools to work with and a plan to put into effect to maintain survival gave him the feeling that he was not entirely helpless and there were strong, positive things he could do to bring his and the girl’s destiny under control.

“There! By God!” he said, finally, in a burst of self confidence. “That ought to hold those damn things and stop them from getting in here. They ain’t that strong—there!”

And he drove two more nails into the molding around the kitchen window. And when he tugged at the barricade, it again seemed plenty secure.

“They ain’t coming through that,” Ben said, and he gave the nails a few final blows, until the heads sunk into the wood.

His eyes scrutinized the parts of the glass that remained uncovered, but they were not sufficiently wide for a human body to pass through. “I don’t have too many nails,” Ben said. “I’ll leave that for now. It’s more important to fix up some of the other places where they can get in.”

Barbara did not respond to any of his talking, neither to add encouragement nor advice, and he turned from the barricade with an exasperated glance in her direction before standing back and once more surveying the room. There were no other doors or windows except the door leading to the living room.

“Well…this place is fairly secure,” Ben said, tentatively, and he looked to Barbara for some sign of approval, but she remained silent, so Ben continued, raising the volume of his voice in an attempt to hammer home the meaning of what he was saying. “Now…if we have to…”

The girl just stood and watched him.

“If we have to…we just run in here—and no dragging now, or I’m gonna leave you out there to fend for yourself. If they get into any other part of the house, we run in here and board up this door.”

He meant the door between the kitchen and the living room, which had been open all along. Barbara watched while he closed it, tested it, then shut it tight.

He opened it again, then quickly chose several of the lumber strips and stood them against the wall where he intended to leave them in case it became an emergency to board up the living-room door.

He groped in his pocket and realized his supply of nails was dwindling and he moved to the shelf to check the pile of stuff he had spilled from the tobacco can; he emptied the can completely and dug into the contents for all of the longest nails and tossed just those ones back into the can. Then he handed the can to Barbara.

“You take these,” he said, and his voice left no room for argument or hesitation.

She reacted quickly, as though she had been jolted out of a reverie, and took the tobacco tin from Ben’s big hand. She watched as he gathered as much of the lumber as he could carry into his arms and started out of the room. She did not want to be left alone, and he had not told her to remain in the kitchen, so she followed silently after him, carrying the tobacco tin in front of her as though she was not sure why she was doing it.

They entered the living room.

“It ain’t gonna be too long,” Ben said, breathing heavily. “They’re gonna be trying to pound their way in here. They’re afraid now…I think…or maybe they just ain’t hungry…”

He dropped his load of wood in the middle of the floor and walked over to the large front windows, talking as he moved. His tone of voice was suddenly intense, and his speech rapid.

“They’re scared of fire, too—I found that out.”

Still standing dumbly in the center of the room holding her knife in one hand and the tobacco tin in the other, Barbara watched as Ben stepped forward and his eye measured the size of the big windows. He looked all around the room—and finally his eyes fixed on the large dining table and he moved quickly toward it, talking as he moved, resuming his train of thought.

“There must’ve been fifty, maybe a hundred of those things down in Cambria when the news broke.”

Barbara watched, almost transfixed. At his mention of the number of the things, her eyes reflected amazement and frightened curiosity. Ben dragged the heavy table away from the wall, then walked around it studying its size, and hoisted one end and turned it onto its side. Bracing it against himself, he heaved on one of the legs and tried to break it free. With a great ripping sound, the table leg came loose, after a tremendous effort on Ben’s part, and he dropped it onto the rug—with a loud, heavy thud. He continued talking, breathing heavily and perspiring as he worked, punctuating his remarks with vengeance on the table as he ripped all the legs off, one by one.

“I saw a big gasoline truck, you know…down at Beekman’s? Beekman’s diner. And I heard the radio—there’s a radio in the truck…”

He wrenched at the second table leg. It cracked loudly but did not come free. He moved to where the claw hammer lay, in the middle of the floor.

“This gasoline truck came screaming out of the diner lot onto the road—must’ve been ten…fifteen…of those things chasing it—but I didn’t see them right away—they were on the other side of the truck. And it looked strange, the way the truck was moving so fast…instead of taking its time pulling out of the diner and onto the road.”

POW! POW!

With two powerful swats of the claw hammer, he freed the second table leg, and it clattered to the floor. Ben tossed it into the corner, and moved to the third leg.

“I just saw this big truck at first—and it looks funny how fast it’s coming out onto the road. And then I saw those things—and the truck was moving slower, and they were catching up…and grabbing…and jumping on. They had their arms around the driver’s neck…”

Another table leg fell loose and thudded to the rug. Ben was breathing very hard. And Barbara was listening, both horrified and fascinated by his story.

“And that truck just cut right across the road—through the guard rail, you know. And I had to hit my brakes, and I went screeching all over the place, and the truck smashed into a big sign and into the pumps of the Sunoco station down there. I heard the crash. And that big thing started burning—and yet it was still moving, right through the pumps and on into the station—and I’m stopped, dead in my tracks. And I saw those things…and they all started to back off…some of them running…or trying to run…but they run kind of like they’re crippled. But they keep backing off. And it’s like…it’s like they gotta get away from the fire—and the guy driving the truck couldn’t get out nohow—the cab of the truck was plowed halfway into the wall of the Sunoco station—and he’s being burned alive in there and he’s screaming—screaming like hell…”

Barbara’s eyes deepened, and her face wrinkled in anxiety. The continuing nightmare, for her, was growing more and more complex.

Ben swatted the last table leg from the table, and the table top started to drop. It was heavy. He regained control of it and struggled, trying to drag it across the room. Barbara moved toward him and took hold of an end of the table, but did not really help much, as it was really too heavy for her to pitch in.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen,” Ben said. “I mean, I didn’t know if the gas station was going to explode…or fly to pieces…or what’s gonna happen. I just started driving down the road, trying to get far away in case there was an explosion…and the guy in the truck is screaming and screaming…and after a while he just stops.”

He set down the table, and wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead. His breathing was still heavy from the previous exertion. He wiped his hand on his shirt. His eyes were wide and angry with the remembrance of the events he was describing for Barbara, and it almost seemed as though he might weep.

“And there those things were…standing back…across the road…standing looking like…looking like…like they just came back from the grave or something. And they were over by the diner, and there was cars and buses in the diner lot, with lots of windows smashed. And I knew those things must’ve finished off all the people in the diner, and more were outside, all over the place just biding their time for a chance to move in. So I went barreling right across the road in my truck—and I drove it right at some of those things—and I got a good look at them, I saw them for the first time in my lights—and then…I just run right down on them—and I grind down as hard as I can—and I knock a couple of them about fifty feet, flailin’ into the air. And I just wanted to crush them—smash them filthy things. And they’re just standing there. They don’t bother to run. They don’t even bother to get out of the road. Some of them keep reaching out, as if they could grab me. But they’re just standing there…and the truck is running them down…as if…as if they were a bunch of bugs…”

Seeing the fear in Barbara’s eyes, Ben stopped himself. She was wide-eyed, staring in disgust, her hands still resting on the table top.

He refocused his attention on the table top, and started to lift it again. Barbara was practically motionless. As he tugged on the table, her hands fell away and she slowly pulled them against herself. He dragged the table, unassisted, toward the window he intended to board up with it.

He looked at Barbara. She stared back, practically expressionless.

“I’m just…I…I got kids,” Ben said rubbing his perspiring forehead with his sleeve. “And…I guess they’ll do all right. They can take care of themselves…but they’re still only kids…and I’m being away and all…and…”

His voice trailed off, as he had gotten no response from Barbara and didn’t know what to say next. He tugged at the table, and allowed it to lean against the wall.

“I’m just gonna do what I can,” he said, making an effort to sound positive. “I’m going to do what I can, and I’m gonna get back…and I’m gonna see my people. And things are gonna be all right…and…I’m gonna get back.”

His talk had begun to repeat itself, and he realized he had started to babble, and he saw the girl intently watching him, and he stopped. He composed himself with some effort, and started to speak a little more slowly. His voice became almost a monotone, with enforced calm, but beneath his anger and his fear he was a brave man, and he was bound and determined not to lose his confidence. He knew the girl was in need of bolstering, if she was going to be able to cope with the situation. Like it or not, his survival was to some measure dependent on hers, and on how well he could get her to cooperate and overcome her fear.

“Now, you and me are gonna be all right, too,” he told her. “We can hold those things off. I mean…you can just…smash them. All you have to do is just keep your head and don’t be too afraid. We can move faster than they can, and they’re awfully weak compared to a grown man…and if you don’t run and just keep swinging at them…you can smash them. We’re smarter than they are. And we’re stronger than they are. We’re gonna stop them. Okay?”