Dead Horizon (8 page)

It looked to Bill like there might be a little rain due in. He stuck his head out of the guard shack door and sniffed the air. Smelled like rain too. Last thing he wanted was to get his ass caught up in that shit.

He put on his rain slicker, grabbed his walkie-talkie and flashlight, and left behind the comfort of his warm shack and the latest episode of Jerry Springer fading in and out on the old black and white TV that helped pass the long nights at work.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Billy cut across the lot where the workers parked their vehicles. He made a cursory inspection while he was there. Not that he paid all that much attention to detail, but hell, he was already out, so he figured he might as well make a round of it. He’d log it in the book when he got back, just to make himself look like a real go-getter.

A heavy drop of rain hit him on the nose.

“Goddamnit, Leon,” he muttered. “Got me out here workin.’”

He trudged past the pump house, the maintenance buildings, and the cement storage area. Yellow-orange light bathed the area.

He cut a right and started up toward the quarry, leaving behind the light. A goddamn mile-long walk up gravel roads blasted out of a fuckin’ mountain, and that was the easy part. You had to be careful walking around the quarry because of all the holes dug up so they could test the quality of the rock. You couldn’t see those holes at night. Fall in one and you might ram your balls right up into your belly, and if you missed the holes, you might still walk right off the edge of a cliff. Four dollars and seventy-five cents an hour just wasn’t enough money for this kind of shit. He was a goddamn security officer, not a babysitter.

The rain was coming down now, and wouldn’t it just figure, the wind was coming right at Billy. He kept his head low to avoid being battered. The security company could have at least given him a truck. All this walking wasn’t good for a man. It damn sure wasn’t good for Billy. He’d taken the zombie shift so he could sit on his ass and watch Springer, not to walk around in the middle of the night in some rock quarry looking for a sleeping fat ass named Leon.

The walkie-talkie in his back pocket sputtered again. “Come in, Leon.”

Billy was half tempted to grab the walkie-talkie and tell the sons of bitches to shut up, but he thought better of it. Best just to wake Leon’s fat ass up and be done with the whole mess.

The old blue pickup truck Leon used was right where Billy expected to find it. The engine was running and exhaust puffed from the tail pipe. Billy knew what he’d find when he got there. Leon’s fat ass slouched down in the seat, snoring like a pig, with the cab smelling like beer farts and cigars.

“Wake your ass up in there,” he said, kicking the side panel of the truck as he shined a flashlight at the cab. “I ain’t got time for this shit.”

He pressed his face against the side window and looked into the cab. There Leon was, just like Billy knew he would be, full, fat, and lazy.

Billy tapped the glass with the butt of his flashlight. “I could be back at the shack lookin’ at a titty book or watchin’ Springer,” he complained, reaching for the door handle. “But no, not tonight . . . tonight I gotta come out in a goddamn thunderstorm and get your fat ass—”

Something fell out when Billy opened the door. He aimed his light at the ground at his feet and saw Leon’s head staring up at him, eyes wide open, terrified of whatever it was that did this awful fucking thing to him. The top half of the head was missing.

“Sweet Jesus,” Billy groaned.

He whipped the flashlight beam up to examine what was left of Leon in the truck. No goddamn head, just bloody shoulders, and say all you wanted about Leon’s beer farts, but a smell like that would’ve been welcome right about now.

“Aw, Jesus, Leon . . .” Billy dragged the decapitated corpse from the truck and climbed inside. “I’ll send somebody back for ya,” he said.

He was fumbling for the key and pulling the door shut when the glass on the passenger-side shattered. Billy jerked his head to see what it was and damn near lost his dinner when he saw a rotten corpse hanging through the broken window, groping at him with mangled fingers. The son of a bitch was missing an eye, and its jaw was so decayed it was falling away from the dead thing’s face.

Another one came at Billy on the driver’s side. Billy could smell its rancid breath as it leaned in to get at him. That smell was worse than any beer fart Leon could ever spit from his ass.

Billy kicked and screamed. He tried to get the old truck started, but the sons of bitches were everywhere now, climbing all over the truck, squeezing into the cab, coming up from the holes in the quarry.

The truck finally started. Billy hit the gas and tried to plow through the dead fuckers, but he couldn’t see a goddamn thing, and then one got hold of his arm and took a big bite out of it, Billy let go of the wheel.

Something started chewing on his neck, then there were teeth sinking into his scalp and maggot-infested tongues licking at his wounds.

His walkie-talkie sputtered.

“Come in, Billy,” came the control-tower voice. “You wanna get your fat ass away from the Springer show long enough to find Leon?”

Dead Inn

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Jennifer asked, trying to read the map by the dome light. “I think we should’ve turned onto Route 89.”

“This way is shorter,” Brandon said, agitated.

“It’s not even a real road,” Jennifer complained.

It wasn’t a real road by any stretch of the imagination. Deeply-rutted dirt with a gravel coating, just barely wide enough for one vehicle, and a thick stand of trees on either side. That was the extent of it, but Brandon was pretty sure it was a shortcut.

“This will bring us out at least ten miles down from where eighty-nine would’ve taken us. It’ll save a bundle of time.”

The car sputtered and spit steam from under the hood.

“Great,” Jennifer said. “We’re about to break down in cow country.”

She rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.

“Those things are going to kill you,” Brandon said.

“Jesus, Brandon, a lot of things could kill me. You don’t smoke, fine, don’t smoke. I don’t care. Just skip the sermon, okay?”

“Don’t bite my head off,” he said. “I’m only—”

The car sputtered again, then it stopped running altogether. Brandon cranked the ignition. Something under the hood rattled.

“What now, rocket scientist?” Jennifer said, blowing smoke in his direction. She got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Brandon got out, looking flustered. He popped the hood and fiddled around with the engine, not really doing anything of use.

“Don’t pretend you might be able to figure out the problem,” Jennifer said. “We both know you don’t know jack shit about cars.”

“I’m about ready to slap you. I’ve had enough of your shit.”

“Jesus, Brandon, the day you get the balls to slap me, I’ll drop down and blow you on the spot,” Jennifer said.

Brandon huffed and started pacing. It would be dark in less than half an hour, and on a road like this one, there would be no way in hell they’d be able to see anything.

“Let’s walk,” Brandon said.

“What about a flashlight. Is there one in the car?”

“There might be one in the glove box.”

Jennifer looked in the glove box and didn’t find one. Brandon looked again, just to be sure.

“You think I’m blind?” she said.

He ignored her and looked in the trunk. There was no light there either.

“Glad to see you’re prepared for emergencies,” Jennifer said.

“Remind me to dump you when we get home,” he replied.

“
If
we get home, I’ll save you the trouble and leave.”

Brandon resisted the temptation to engage in verbal combat with her. Sparring with her was too taxing. It didn’t matter what he said, it would always be a no-win situation for him.

“There has to be somewhere we can get help, or at least spend the night and worry about it tomorrow,” he said.

“You asshole, we’re in the middle of nowhere. I expect to see Andy and Opy any minute. We’re not going to find anything out here.”

“Do what you want, but I’m at least going to
try
and find something.”

He took off walking. Jennifer lit another cigarette. She leaned against the car, took a drag, and nervously studied the dark line of trees. A twig snapped, then something rustled in the trees.

“Okay, hey, wait . . .” she said. “I’m coming with you.”

Brandon kept walking. He was finished with her. If she wanted to come along, she could catch up on her own.

She was out of breath by the time she fell in beside him. “Slow down, will you?”

He kept his pace. They walked for another fifteen minutes. Jennifer had finally decided to keep her mouth shut, which was a welcome relief for Brandon. The less he heard from her, the better off he would be.

“There’s a house,” he said

A time-worn plantation-style house sat on a hill in the distance, situated at the top of a winding drive. It was half shrouded by thick bushes and covered with age-old moss.

“Looks like a real freak show,” Jennifer complained.

“Are you kidding? That’s history sitting up there,” Brandon said. “You can always stay out here. I won’t mind a bit.”

He started up the driveway, his feet crunching on gravel. Thunder boomed overhead and a flash of lightning spider-webbed across the sky.

Jennifer quickly fell in behind him.

The house was something out of a horror film, but it would most certainly offer shelter from what looked to be one hell of a storm.

A sign next to the front porch read: Dead Inn.

“Comforting,” Jennifer said.

“I’ll bet it’s a bed and breakfast. I told you we were heading in the right direction. Who’d put a bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what this is, it’s still in the middle of nowhere.”

Brandon started up the stairs. They creaked as his weight settled on each of them. He knocked on the door, then he saw a doorbell and rang that for good measure. An elderly woman answered. A sweet old thing. Somebody’s apple-pie-baking grandma for sure.

“Hi,” Brandon said. “We noticed your sign. Our car broke down about a mile back, and we were wondering—”

“You’re looking for a room?” the old woman said, a smile rushing across her wrinkled features.

“Exactly,” Brandon said.

“Do come in,” she gushed. “There’s always a vacancy at the Dead Inn, especially for a nice young couple like the two of you. My name’s Mabel, by the way, and you can’t believe how you’re going to enjoy my cookin’.”

Brandon grinned at Jennifer, more smug than ever. He loved being right because it meant she was wrong. Jennifer waited until the old woman turned away before she stuck her tongue out and flipped Brandon the bird.

Mabel led them upstairs. The room was decorated with Victorian-era furniture, elegant and beautiful. Jennifer was so impressed that she felt a rush of emotion toward Brandon she hadn’t felt in quite some time. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. The move caught him off guard. He wasn’t used to the display of affection.

“It’s great, huh?” he said. “Maybe we can stay here a couple of days before we head out. This might be what we need, a little time together in a romantic setting. Who, knows, we might be able to get along.”

“By all means, stay as long as you like,” Mabel said. “Dinner has already passed for this evening, but feel free to come down to the kitchen for a snack when you’ve settled in. Edgar and I are always prowling about if you should need anything.”

When Mabel was gone, Brandon and Jennifer explored the room. Jennifer was attracted to the bathroom straight away, decked out as it was with a huge claw-foot porcelain tub, golden fixtures, and thick towels.

While Jennifer drew a bath, Brandon nosed around the room a bit more. He was a little disappointed by the absence of entertainment. No TV, no radio, nothing but a couple of old books lying on the dresser.

He looked outside. It was pitch black. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and when a flash of lightning cracked the darkness, he was able to glimpse a courtyard out back of the house. He was about to turn away from the window when another shard of lightning shattered the darkness. This time Brandon caught sight of a gazebo further out, and he was sure he’d seen a human figure briefly illuminated and standing beside the gazebo.

“What the—”

Maybe he’d imagined the figure. He was tired, after all. Walking wasn’t his strong suit. It was highly likely his eyes had played a trick on him.

“Hey, stud, why don’t you join me?” Jennifer called from the bathroom.

He considered it. They hadn’t made love in a long time. In the end, he decided against it in favor of resting his eyes.

“I think I’m going to rest a little bit,” he called back.

“Have it your way,” Jennifer replied, and then he could hear the gentle swish of water as she settled back in the tub.

Brandon stripped off his shirt, shoes, and socks. He threw himself onto the bed, sighing as the mattress enveloped his body like a soft hand. It wasn’t long before he was completely out.

When he woke up, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The room was pitch black. He remembered seeing a tiny lamp on the nightstand beside the bed. He felt for it and turned it on.

Jennifer wasn’t in bed with him. He called her name, afraid she might have fallen asleep in the bathtub, then swung his feet to the floor and went to look for her.

She wasn’t in the bathroom, so he figured she decided to go downstairs for something to eat. She was always eating. Never gained a pound, thank God, but she was always snacking on something.

Brandon went downstairs. The house was dark and quiet. He had no clue where to find the kitchen, and what the hell had happened to Mabel and her husband, what was his name, Egbert, Eddie? Hadn’t the old woman said they were always prowling around?

He kept one hand planted against the wall, feeling his way through the dark. He couldn’t imagine Jen down here by herself, but he wasn’t sure where else to look for her.