After the Bite (18 page)

“We
’ll just wait for the convention to move on, then,” Andrew said.

But it soon became clear that things were only getting worse. The things pounded at the door and the walls, threw themselves into the barn, tried to get in. Chris and Andrew locked the front door
s and waited.

The inside of the barn consisted of two levels, separated by a wooden ladder, and around the barn were various tools and devices. The majority of the space was occupied by hay.

“There aren’t any holes in this barn, are there?” Andrew asked. Chris was shocked.

“I don
’t know, actually,” he said. Andrew grunted.

“Figures.”

Then there was a noise. A pile of hay began to move. The two aimed their guns in the direction of the movement, but then there was more than one noise, more than one movement in the hay.

“Damn it!” Andrew s
aid. “The thing’s full’a holes!”

“We
’ll be safer on the upper level,” Chris said. The two made for the big wooden ladder as the creatures outside began to tear at the loose wood, widening the holes, and crawling through the hay into the barn. Andrew tried to knock the ladder down, but it was bolted in place and reinforced with steel.

“Just keep them off the ladder!” Chris said.

“Got it,” Andrew said. “Don’t shoot unless you have to, though.”

Andrew grabbed a nearby pitchfork, and Chris reached for a broom. Whenever one of the creatures figured out how to work the ladder, it wouldn
’t get very high before being knocked back down. This defense continued into the night.

“They can
’t keep this up forever, can they?” Chris asked. He was beyond tired, and very hungry.

“I know we sure as hell can
’t!” Andrew said. It was dark, but the cracks and holes in the roof let in just enough light to see shapeless forms moving about, just enough for the two to tell when one of the things was ascending the ladder. They had no idea how many of them had managed to get into the barn, or how long they’d stay there.

“Andrew,” Chris finally said, breaking the eerie quiet that filled the place, as well as the monotony of the groans and the shuffling of feet.

“Yeah?” Andrew said.

“You saved my life. Twice.”

“I may hate you, but that don’t mean I want you dead. Not on my hands, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Chris said.

“Yeah,” Andrew said. The defense continued on, and the two took turns, one sleeping, one guarding the ladder, until the barn began to get brighter as the sky above the holes in the roof grew lighter and the dawn finally came. The sleep shifts finally ended, and the two continued to watch the ladder together.

“That box,” Andrew said after a while, “what the hell d
’you think is in it?”

“I don
’t know,” Chris said. “I don’t know that it matters, now.”

“I don
’t know that it ever did,” Andrew said.

Below, one of the creatures stumbled into a large gas barrel, spilling gasoline all
over the bottom of the barn.

“Shit,” Andrew said. “Better watch out for that. All this hay and old wood; this barn
’d go up like a torch.”

The gasoline smelled bad, but the two realized they preferred it to the smell of the creatures below, some of them injured and smelling of infection, many smelling of urine and defecation.

A few hours passed, and it was getting late again. Andrew and Chris were feeling increasingly defeated as time went on.

“I don
’t think they’re going to leave,” Chris said.

“Me neither,” Andrew replied.

“The gasoline,” Chris said, “do you think we could use it? Maybe take them out with it?” Andrew chuckled.

“We light that gasoline, and we seal ourselves in here, too,” he said.

“Yeah,” Chris said, sounding disappointed, “I guess you’re right.”

Another moment passed.

“Unless…” Chris said.

“Unless
what
?” Andrew said.

“Unless we could get the door open. If the door wasn
’t locked, if it was open, we could probably jump out through it, right past the fire.”

“Yeah? Well it ain
’t open, is it?”

“No,” Chris said. But he didn
’t sound disappointed.

“Think we could reach it with the pitchfork?” Andrew asked, knowing very well that they couldn
’t.

“No,” Chris said. Then he jumped.

He hit the ground and rolled, and the things didn’t seem to notice at first. It surprised them just as much as it had surprised Andrew. Chris quickly shoved his way to the door, the nearby things taking notice and reaching at him, scratching and pulling, but Chris continued on like a quarterback heading for the end zone, even after being bitten once, twice, again and again, finally reaching the gate and lifting the gigantic wooden bar, all of Andrew’s attempts to keep the things off of him from a distance with the pitchfork failing, and then the door was open and Chris was lying on the ground, revolver in hand, pointed at the barrel, and he pulled the trigger.

There was a large blast, and Andrew was disoriented for just a moment. He sat up from where he discovered himself lying on the upper level of the barn, noticing the heat, fire everywhere below, the things burning to death but not seeming to notice, heading farther
into
the fire, a dying Chris on the dirt outside the barn, abandoned by the creatures, the fire spreading slowly toward him.

Andrew jumped for the door, landing on the outermost edge of the flames, and rolled. His pants caught, but only a
little, and he quickly patted the fire out. He grabbed Chris’s motionless body, dragged it as far as he could, past the creatures still in the field who were now rushing right past the two defenseless men and into the flames.

“God damn you!” Andrew
said. “I didn’t save your ass so you could go and die for me!”

“I wish I would
’ve known.” Chris struggled to get every word out, his eyes swiftly changing in ways Andrew couldn’t even comprehend, blood leaking from his many wounds, his revolver long forgotten. “How stupid we were.”

Andrew finally set him down, sat down next to him, tears in his eyes.

“You dumb bastard,” Andrew said, not to Chris, but to himself. Then his words returned to Chris. “I never hated you, did I? I couldn’t have. I never knew you.”

“We lied,” Chris said. “We lied to ourselves. Told us the other was the enemy. We lied so well, I never even knew you were my best friend
.”

“I
’m not worth it,” Andrew said, unable to hold back the tears now. “I’m not worth dying for.”

“Of course you are,” Chris said. For just a moment, he became as aimless and as dazed as the creatures all around were, but then his eyes closed, and he ceased to move.

By morning the barn had been reduced to ash, and the things inside it had as well, and much of the field continued to burn. Andrew had buried Chris near the well and erected a makeshift gravestone, carved out of wood:

Here lies Chris Holmes, the only friend I ever had.

He turned, then, to the box. For the first time, he saw it not as some vague obelisk, a great treasure that had been stolen from him without ever having been touched, but as a monster equal to those from the field, an accursed thing, an evil thing.

What had been inside? What treasure did it hold, what evil thing was it
that had torn so many men apart?

He ripped the chains from it, no longer wanting what was inside but to know what it was, hoping somehow that
it was worth the last few generations of hatred and stupidity. The rusted chains easily broke, and the lock also went with a few heavy strikes from the shovel Andrew had used to bury his friend. He opened the box, and then he understood everything.

Inside there was no gold, there were no jewels. There was simply a small wooden frame, with a portrait inside, a portrait protected by a magnificently crafted frame and strong glass, a portrait similar to one he had had in his house for as long as he knew, only this one bigger, this one more complete. It was a portrait of two families, united as one, smiling, shaking hands after having completed their homes, a portrait made and then sealed away, the story kept from
descendants, a surprise gift to future generations. On the back was an inscription, written in the same writing that was on the front of the box:

“The Holmes family and the Whitaker family, united as one after the completion of a shared farmland property. To our future generations: We are as united as our land: One family.”

And so Andrew took to the road, the beautiful treasure which so many had forgotten tucked in his bag along with a few food items and the last of his ammunition. He took a new name as well, given to himself by a family too hastily forgotten but now remembered and restored. Along that country road, Andrew Holmes-Whitaker left the middle of nowhere. A new life waited for him somewhere down that road, with the sun rising, the man ready to bear the weight of several generations of lives that should’ve been shared but were not, and only now could be.

Grim is the Truth

Day 908
… It’s winter. God damn it. It’s fucking freezing!

My nipples are so cold. I wouldn’t be surprised if I could cut diamonds with them. I’m in a library. I gathered some books a few hours ago, and broke down some shelves. I’m glad I was able to make a spot in this place where I could contain a decent fire. I’m sitting here now, waiting for the fire to get bigger. Maybe I can cook some of the dog I caught. It was the only thing I could fucking find. I do what I can.

That dog
, I think it was a terrier. I didn’t look too closely. It was surprisingly good. Actually, I’m surprised it’s lived as long as it has in this bullshit. The thing tasted like a mix between beef and… something else. Let’s hope it will continue snowing, and being fucking cold so that the rest can freeze good for later.

I
’m feeling a little lonely. This weather reminds me of a group of travelers. It was in the 1800s, and they trudged through a fucking ocean of snow. One guy dies, he gets eaten. They begin killing each other for food. They don’t even wait for them to die. They did get pretty damn clever about it though. They labeled the meat, so family wouldn’t accidentally eat family. Pretty clever, right?

I won
’t eat people. I won’t lower myself to the Dark Ones’ level. That’s just fucking rude. People are just living their lives. They don’t deserve to be eaten. Fucking jerks. I’ll kill myself with my own ribs, right out of the cage and into my own Goddamned neck, before I consume people. Those sick fucks can burn in Hell for all I care. Sure would make my life fucking easier.

Day 1,887… I think that’s right. So many fucking days have past. Hard to keep track.

Ring around the rosy. Pocket full of posies. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down… I smile and sing this from time to time. It’s comforting, and the funny thing is, I don’t really remember why.

Today
’s crappy. I miss her. I miss them. My family. I broke a finger today. It hurts like hell right now. What was I thinking? Oh, I wasn’t. Well, that serves me right for bending it backward. My finger hadn’t done anything wrong.

Sometimes I enjoy sitting in the corner of this room. I press my face against the wall. Press my nose tight against the rough scratched surface. Until it hurts. Until it hurts a lot. It seems like a good punishment. I don
’t really deserve to live, but suicide is not the answer. I decided that from the very beginning. I sit in my corner and press my big nose into the wall. It dries the tears for a little while. It drops the guilt just a bit. Whether or not—if this wasn’t fucking ink, I’d erase. I don’t like scribbling out my mistakes. It makes it look like a bloody mess.

Oh, one more thing before I wrap this fucker up. This makes me smile. I
’ve found a companion in my travels. He’s been great. I just met him the other day in a scrap with the Dark Ones. He smells strange though, not like body odor really, something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s not a big deal. His name is Breckhart. What a fine fellow. He’s great to talk to, really. A real great listener.

Day 1… What is happening here? People are attacking and even eating each other…

I would like to say that this day began and ended on a wonderful note, but that would be a lie. It
began
rather lovely though.

In the morning, I gathered some clothes
: a nice turquoise polo, some tan slacks, and whatnot. I took my shower, and prepared for the afternoon celebration. It was my maternal grandmother’s 75
th
birthday today, and we celebrated by throwing a big dinner party.

Things went famously for the afternoon, and everyone was having a good time. It wasn
’t until the evening when madness struck. We were getting the cake ready, and we turned the lights off. It was dark, and I heard a blood-curdling scream escape Aunt Janet’s throat.

Grandpa seemed a little odd before the lights were shut off, but no one really paid it any mind. I guess we should have. In the
dim light from the candles we were lighting, I saw Grandpa digging his old whites into Janet’s neck. She pushed against him, and he let go for a moment, growling. He tried to stand and fell to the floor. Grandpa could barely walk without a cane, so he couldn’t get to his feet, but he went for Janet’s ankles as she was holding her neck. Her face was tight from pain and fear. It was horrific.

It wasn
’t just Grandpa. Uncle Phillips, he went too. That man had made me laugh for years, and now, he’s dead… he’d gotten hold of my nephew Timothy… this is horrible.

When it became clear that this was some kind of pandemic, w
e moved Grandpa, Uncle Phillips, Aunt Janet, and Timothy to the back yard and burned their bodies. We all sat around the living room with the windows boarded and the doors locked. We sat, tuned into the news, until all the channels just went off the air. We were able to gather some information at least: these creatures can draft you into their ranks. Don’t get bitten if you can help it, because there is no known cure to this… whatever the fuck this is.

The evening
’s events did eventually come to a close. I am sitting here now, with a cold bowl of beans. Everyone is fast asleep, well, sleeping the best they can, to my knowledge. You can’t blame the family if they are up with horrible images racing through their minds. Erin is laying nearby on the futon, asleep. She just fell asleep a little while ago, I think, and I will lay down next to her soon. When I’m through with these beans, and this entry. I’ll wake up my brother, James, to take the next guard shift, and then hopefully get some Z’s.

Of course I
’ll say a prayer first. It’s important to keep faith, even in times like these.

Day 71… What a day! Fuck me! What a horrible day. Dear God…

I don’t feel right. I might puke after today’s events. I’ve managed to keep pretty secure where I’ve been. These fuckers are relentless sons of bitches. It’s really horrible having to deal with adult Dark Ones. It’s terrible. But when you’re faced with a child, a mere, innocent-looking child… it’s not easy. I cut myself today. It helps relieve the pain a little. Even if just a little, it makes my life easier.

I was in need of some supplies. I go on runs periodically
, and I was in the store. The empty fucking store. I thought it was empty, anyway. A little girl walked out from behind a cart of groceries. She was wearing a pink Barbie shirt with frilly sleeves. It was covered in blood. Some of it was turning brown, but most was fresh. It was wet, and probably still warm. Just past her was a body with all its unconsumed innards poured out on the cold floor.

She heard me, and I saw her see me. I froze momentarily, and didn
’t know what to do. I felt as if it were day one all over again. The little fuck charged at me. The Dark Ones are rather fast these days. She was trying to get me open within a few seconds, and I kicked the girl off. I didn’t care to deal with her shit any further, so I pinned her down, and she squirmed and gnashed her bloody teeth.

I brought the gun I
’ve been carrying for a while now to her forehead. Her head moved back and forth while my finger rested on the trigger. I saw her eyes, and suddenly felt a great emotional tidal wave. This was a fucking little girl once. She played with Barbies, judging by her taste in clothing, and she probably set up tea parties with her stuffed animals and spent time with her family on Sunday mornings. I’ve never had to deal with a child that was changed like this. Her eyebrows were slanted down, and her mouth was in a tight scowl, but her eyes. Her eyes, though they didn’t look right, seemed sad. They were a dark grayish green, and they seemed so sad. I hesitated, and was almost fucking bitten.

That seemed to turn off my emotions for a moment. This saved my life. I shot the girl right in between the eyes, and she fell limp on the floor, blood leaking out
of her head. I sat down next to the little girl’s corpse for a little while with the gun in my hand. I felt a song creep into my head, and heard the tune escape my closed lips in a soft hum. Pretty soon, I found myself singing it. A creepy children’s rhyme. It makes the pain melt away… for a time.

Day 1,902… Everyone keeps fucking dying around me… it must be my fault.

Breckhart looked at me from across the dinner table. He wasn’t hungry. He just stared ahead in my general direction.

He was practically drenched in blood, sitting there. I wanted to say something, but I didn
’t want to argue with my only fucking buddy. No fucking this up. He’s all I have now. He smells awful. I don’t understand this. It’s such a horrid smell, but I guess I can just learn to live with it. He sits in his chair, flies buzzing near him. They adore being around him.

Gross
.

I hope he doesn
’t hear some of the mean things I say about him. God forbid he read this entry.

Day 1,903… Breckhart… no. You’ll be missed, my friend…

Breckhart is dead. We were playing cards to kill the boredom. The boredom was really getting to me. Don’t wanna get too fucking crazy. First, he had a pretty bad fit of coughs. It seemed endless, until it ended. He fell over, and was just gone. He didn’t respond to me. He didn’t even turn. I looked him over, and realized he’d had several ribs exposed on his chest. There were other sections of decomposing flesh all over him. When I felt his skin, it was ice cold. So quick, too quick. Why?

No one will read this and be able to tell me, so why would I ask?

I buried my dead friend today. It was a sad funeral. I don’t want to write anymore about this matter. Leave me alone; I’m gonna sit in my corner in a minute. It’s my punishment for letting Breckhart die, among other things.

Day 6… We needed supplies, and we got them. But we paid dearly for them…

A few days ago we decided to send a few of the more able-bodied people out to the nearest store for some food. Some stayed behind to guard the house and the people inside, like our grandparents. Erin, myself, and four others headed out. It seemed safer to go in one car, so we all went in the SUV.

There were accidents all over the streets, bloodshed, bodies littered the curbs and sidewalks. There were a few in the parking lot
of the store, some defiled, some intact, all covered in blood and attracting wildlife. We went into the store with our weapons, carefully. I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t ventured outdoors since we burned the dead in the back yard.

All went smoothly until we reached the furthest reaches of the store. The back
room was dimly lit, at best. The lights were dark, and it was hard to see what was there, but we thought there might be something useful back there. Barry, Erin’s older brother, lit a lighter, and that made him our leader. The flame illuminated the dark areas as we moved along. It was quiet, and that worried me.

As Barry led us with the light, I heard a chewing sound. The flame light washed over an open torso, legs and arms sprawled out. The Dark One making those sounds looked up immediately, and Barry didn
’t have the chance to react when he was pounced upon. We worked to get the creature off of Barry, but the scratches on his arms and bite marks on his chest and arms were pretty bad. I knew what we should have done, but Barry protested. He sobbed, and Erin defended him. It was terrible.

I was not the one who
proposed the idea, though. It was a friend of mine, Marty. He had been my friend for years, but he wasted no time threatening to shoot my wife’s brother, just like that. I know it was silly to think Barry wouldn’t be affected by his bites, but for God’s sake, Marty just pointed the gun straight at Barry and began shouting.

He yelled that he was going to end
Barry’s life so that he wouldn’t end ours. That did not go over well for the rest of us, Erin especially. She stood in front of Barry, who was completely mortified. He had always been so afraid of death, as long as I’d known him. He cried, and begged to stay with us until he turned. He didn’t want to die. I couldn’t blame him.

It felt like a nightmare that just got even worse when Barry stopped crying and grabbed Erin. She screamed
, and I tried to grab Barry off before he sunk his teeth into her. We wrestled for a moment, but I was too late. Erin was crying, and she fell to the ground, holding a bite wound. When Marty got a good chance, his hand shaking as he did it, he shot Barry. Barry collapsed, he was dead. Marty went over to Erin, hesitantly.

“Don
’t you fucking dare!” I remember saying to Marty. He looked at me, and grimaced. With a nod, he turned away, and said we need to hurry, and get the rest of our shit together, and that we didn’t want to make those at the house worry about us.

I was thankful for the gift I received that day. I was lucky to have Erin for significantly longer than she
’d had Barry after the bite. We sat alone together and talked. It was sad, but at the same time it was light, almost a little happy. I tried my best not to think about her inevitable fate. It was going to come at any moment, so I had Marty’s gun ready. I kept it from her view though. I think that her not knowing I had it put her better at ease for our last moments together.