Dead Legends (Book 1): R.I.P. Van Winkle (17 page)

CHAPTER 27

Rip and his men sat around the fireplace. The pale glow from the fire was a reason for concern, had it not been for the black sheets and assorted blankets across the windows. The light from the fire would not attract any prying eyes or wandering undead. Little was said as the group filed in, with Danny Murphy bringing up the rear. Clay had parked the truck around the back of the house as to not draw attention as well.

Danny closed the door gently, latching a makeshift bar across it afterwards. “We don’t see many people around anymore, but we ain’t stupid, either.”

Rip set his M4 down as the others milled around the living room. The house was surprisingly spacious, despite its squalid appearance. The smell of body odor, piss, and shit permeated the house. As Rip looked around, there was little in the way of furnishings or anything to sit or sleep on.

“Hey, big hoss. Where are we supposed to sleep?” Rip asked, annoyed.

Danny looked around the living room, surprised that Rip had not pulled up real estate in the area. “Why not on the floor in here? I know it doesn’t look like much, but the floor is comfortable, and as long as we keep the fire going, it’ll be plenty warm.”

Rip waved off the backwoodsman. “Whatever, buddy. Listen, where is your family? If we are gonna give you food, then I think you ought to share with them. Don’t you?”

Danny shuffled for a moment, again unsure how to proceed with having guests in his home. “They’re probably in the master bedroom. It’s the only room that has a bed. They don’t have much strength, so they stay in bed quite a bit. My wife and boy will be happy to eat with us if they have the energy, if not, then I will take food to them.”

Rip grabbed up a small medic kit and a pair of MREs. “Well, let’s have a look at them. If they need medical attention, Seabass here is an excellent medic.”

Danny stepped in front of Rip and held his hand in Rip’s chest. Rip fought the urge to smack the redneck’s hand away, and instead merely moved it aside.

“My wife and son haven’t seen anyone other than me for quite some time now. You have to realize what they’ve been through. My boy was born into this world, so he’s not real keen on strangers. I’m sure that you boys can understand that kind of thing, especially with you going after your boy. I’ll let them know that we have company, and like I said, if they want to come out, they will. If not, I will let them rest and give them some food.”

Annoyed, Rip handed a pair of MREs to Danny. “Just make sure that they are taken care of. I don’t want this whole thing to be a huge-assed waste of time.”

Danny graciously accepted the MREs and quickly made his way out of the room. Rip watched as the skinny redneck walked down the hallway, looking over his shoulder several times to see if Rip and the men were following. Something about Danny still did not sit right with Rip, but he let it go for now. Having taken care of the host, Rip turned back to his men. He motioned for the group to gather around the fireplace.

“So, what do you all think of our host?” Rip asked.

Casey sat down with the rest of the men. “He seems harmless, but something doesn’t feel right about him. I can feel something wrong with this whole house. There has been a lot of death here.”

“Honey, there has been a lot of death in general. What makes this place so different? Your spider sense tingling?” Rip asked.

Casey grinned. “A little bit. I suppose we ought to tell the boys here about what is going on. I think we owe it to them to tell the whole story.”

Casey’s comment drew ire from everyone in the room, especially Hacker. Colonel Patterson was the lone stoic face. He knew part of the story, but like the others, was still in the dark about the exact details.

Rip sat down in the middle of the floor. The matted, dirty carpet in the house stank, but it was better than nothing. They were warm and in one piece; there wasn’t much to ask for more than that. As he sat, the others followed, and all eyes were on him.

“I know you guys want the whole story about why I’m here and what exactly I know. Well, here it goes. I was on a training exercise ten years ago when I was approached by the ghost of a friend who I had lost in Afghanistan,” Rip started.

“A ghost? You’ve got to be shitting me, sarge,” Hacker retorted.

“Hacker, in a world where the dead have come back to life led by a headless Horseman, don’t you think you should have a little bit more of an open mind?” Rip replied.

Hacker held a hand up and bowed his head. “Fair enough, sarge. Continue, please.”

“Anyway,” Rip continued, “this same friend had been taken by insurgents in Afghanistan a month, or so, before we found him. According to him, the zombie plague was started by these insurgents to speed up the end of the world. They were trying to get back at the infidels who were invading their land.”

“So what about the Horseman? What is his deal and why do the undead do his bidding?” Seabass asked.

Rip pointed to Seabass. “According to my dead friend, his body and soul were separated when they cut off his head. The good side of my friend was forced to roam the earth as a lost soul until someone killed his body. Unfortunately, his body is the Horseman. My friend—his nickname was Crayon, so I will refer to him as such—said that we have to destroy the Horseman’s head in order to stop the undead. According to Crayon, when we kill the Horseman, it will end the zombie plague. Take it as you will, but I don’t have a reason to doubt him. The down side of killing the Horseman is that I will die in the process. I know how it sounds, but it is way beyond our understanding. Crayon said there was much more going on in the caves of Afghanistan than we ever knew.”

You’re damn right there was, Rip.

Crayon’s voice had not made an appearance in quite some time, so the sudden intrusion of his dead friend into his mind startled him a bit. Rip chuckled slightly.

“And then there’s the voices,” Rip continued.

“Voices? What voices?” Seabass asked.

“Crayon’s voice is in my head. Again, it is an unfortunate thing, but I can tell what the Horseman is thinking sometimes as well. I hear his voice, but it’s altogether more sinister and threatening.”

“Wait. What? You hear voices? You will die if you kill the Horseman? What kind of fucked up curse is this?” Hacker asked.

“One that I didn’t have a say in, Hacker. Crayon had some shaman helping him. The shaman gave him a choice to have someone fight for him, and he chose me,” Rip answered.

“So you were asleep for ten years?” Clay asked.

“Yeah. Crayon gave me some weird potion or some shit that made me invisible to the Horseman. I don’t know why I had to hide from him for so long, but I guess it’s just something that I will never find out. I have to just accept the fact that it has been ten years since I’ve seen anyone.”

“How does Crane fit in to all of this?” Seabass asked.

Rip held up his hands in an
I give up
gesture. “I was hoping you could tell me something about that, Seabass. All I know is that my wife found out something that she wasn’t supposed to and my son was the one who told her about it. He killed my wife and had nearly brainwashed my son. I hoped you had heard something Crane may have done or something that he was planning. You were with him for how long?”

“I don’t exactly remember, but somewhere close to eighteen months. I didn’t like what was going on with him, but I didn’t have a choice. By the time I found out about Colonel Patterson and the Knights, I had already aligned myself with the wrong people. I knew better than to cross Crane.”

“Well, somehow my son, my wife, and Crane all fit into this scheme together. I don’t know what Geoffrey Junior found out, but it was something worth killing for. That is what I am here to find out. I want to know why Crane killed her, what the Horseman is doing with my son, and what exactly I can do about it. If I die while killing the Horseman, then I’m not doing anyone any favors. No matter what, I can’t save myself. The truth will kill me one way or the other.”

The group sat for several seconds in silence, each one engrossed by their own thoughts. Rip was trying to figure out what it all meant. Colonel Patterson was wondering how they were going to all make it to Sleepy Hollow in one piece. They brought plenty of ammo and other goodies, but had had less than ample opportunity to use them, aside from the escape from Utica with the Ma Deuce. Hacker was doing the math in his head on the fuel situation. They were still going to be several gallons short, even under the best circumstances.

Casey was trying to filter out some of the voices in her head. From what she could tell, there were several in close proximity of the group. They could be wandering undead, but most likely they were something else, something much less sinister, almost sad. She slammed her eyes shut, desperately trying to sort out the gloomy feeling that she couldn’t shake.

Clay wondered where Danny Murphy had gone.

The redneck host had been noticeably absent for the last fifteen minutes and it was not lost on Clay. For a man who was so desperate to get food to his family, he had seemed less than grateful for it thus far.

Clay got to his feet, slowly meandering around the room. None of the rest of the group seemed to notice when he wandered out. He left the ample-sized living room and turned down a hallway to his right. The hallway had four separate interior doors and one back door that led outside, barred across like the front door. Clay slowly stepped down the hallway. There was little noise other than a rustling sound behind the last door on the left. He squinted in the fading light. As best as he could tell, there was someone moving behind the door, and he assumed Danny was taking care of his family. God only knew what they had gone through to survive.

Clay stopped short of the last door. He leaned forward to catch a glimpse of anything that might be useful, when the door cracked open. The door opening startled him slightly, but he remained in the hallway. As the door opened, a small candle burned in the room, barely lighting up the small space.

Danny Murphy opened the door and stepped out, revealing what was behind him and the reason that he had not made an appearance.

Clay stood still, cemented in place.

“What the fuck?” he stammered out.

Before he could react, Danny spun on his heels and grabbed him by the throat. Even though Danny had a good ten years on him, he was quickly overpowered. With one swift motion, Danny clamped his hand over Clay’s mouth, drove him into the wall, and stabbed him through the trachea. Danny pulled forward, yanking the knife free of Clay’s throat, taking a sizeable chunk of cartilage with it. Blood filled his airway, choking him immediately.

Clay stumbled against Danny’s grip. Even though he managed to get Danny’s grimy, filthy hand off his mouth, no sound came. Danny had used an old-school Special Forces technique that involved removing the option of screaming. Having plunged the knife straight through Clay’s voice box, no sound would ever come from it again. He was dead within sixty seconds.

Before Clay faded into unconsciousness, desperately trying to scream and feeling the air push between his fingers as he tried to stop the deluge of blood, he got a clear view of what he was in for.

Danny dragged him into the room occupied by his wife and daughter, and gently closed the door.

CHAPTER 28

Rip was nearly asleep when he heard the thud. Random ramblings and a nagging suspicion had kept him awake thus far, but the unexpected sound drew him back into reality. He blinked away near-sleep and looked around. Once again, each one of his cohorts was busy doing their own rendition of absentminded nothingness.

Rip got up and wandered about the living room. Upon standing, he saw that the room was much smaller than he originally thought. It was like when someone bought a new house and saw the room without stuff, and then took a good look at the room when a couch, chair, loveseat, TV, and other furniture were placed.

Once he was near the front door, Rip gazed down the hallway to his right. Something caught his eye. He squinted and started to make his way down when he heard another thud. Something hit the floor and he could feel it through his boots. Rip grabbed for his .45 and regarded his cohorts.

“Hey, get off your asses. Something is banging around down here,” Rip commanded.

Hacker and Colonel Patterson jumped up first, both men looking around. It was Hacker who first noticed something amiss.

“Where is Clay?” Hacker asked.

The rest of the troupe looked around for their missing man.

Colonel Patterson took out his own .45 and followed Rip.

“Something’s not right. What do you think, sergeant?” Patterson nodded to Rip.

“Yeah. Something’s off. I heard something coming from one of the bedrooms back here,” Rip said, motioning down the hallway. “Come on.”

Rip stalked down the hall. The pungent odor was stronger as he moved forward. As his eyes adjusted to the faded light, a single flicker drew his attention. It was coming from his left, a moving bit of light underneath a door. Rip eased forward and grasped the door handle. As he did, another thud shook the floor, directly behind the door.

Rip gripped his .45 harder and turned the handle. As soon as the door swung open, the smell nearly knocked him down. Danny was kneeling on the floor with three bodies around him. At first, it looked as if all three were dead, but upon closer inspection, only one was.

The dead one was Clay.

He was being eaten by Danny, his wife, and child.

Only they weren’t zombies.

Danny’s wife was chained to the wall. The drywall and plaster had been taken out around one of the studs in the wall, and both her hands were tied together above her head around the stud. She was emaciated, dirty, and the smell was akin to tear gas. The other body tied to the stud was a child, although it was impossible to figure out what sex or age it was. The child was approximately three and a half feet tall and just as disheveled as its mother. Curly hair that obscured its face and features hung down to the middle of its chest. It looked as if the child had never seen a pair of scissors.

Rip’s arm went slack. He dropped the .45; it fell from his hand, hitting the floor with a loud thump. Danny—who was chewing on what looked to be a large portion of Clay’s arm—looked up in morbid surprise.

Rip didn’t have time to react. Colonel Patterson stepped forward, shoved his .45 into Danny’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. The sound in the enclosed space was deafening. Chunks of brain matter splattered against the wall; blood sprayed over the singular candle, extinguishing it and leaving the room macabrely dark.

Rip tried to hear what the woman and child were saying, but his ears were ringing with an intensity that he had never encountered before. Aside from the fact that Clay was dead, he couldn’t make sense of what he saw. After being witness to some of the most gruesome acts imaginable in Afghanistan and Iraq, it was altogether different seeing someone back in the States doing something as cruel as what he was bearing witness to right now. For some reason, it felt like the United States was immune to such things. Third-world problems had no place in a first-world country, but this was much worse than anything he had witnessed in Iraq or Afghanistan.

Before Rip could rationalize what had happened, Casey was standing in front of him, protecting the woman and child. She held her arms out as if to stop someone from getting past her. Colonel Patterson was waving an angry finger, as was Hacker. Even the normally calm Seabass looked like he was about to lose his shit.

“No! We can’t kill them! Look at what they’ve been through already!”

Colonel Patterson grabbed Casey by the arm and attempted to pull her away, but she was having none of it. “Look, missy. It’s hard to tell how many innocent people have died because of these fuckers! This is just more bullshit than what we can handle! Clay is dead, and if we don’t…”

Two more shots echoed in the room, again deafening anyone that had the misfortune of being there. As the acrid smell of cordite hung in the air, each one of the group took turns looking towards the man that had fired the shots. The child lay dead, as did the mother, each one with a singular hole in their forehead. No chance was given for them to turn on the people who had discovered them; no explanation was going to make any of it any better.

Rip stood, his .45 in his hand, a wisp of smoke still coming out of the barrel. Without a word, he holstered the sidearm, spun on his heels, and left the room.

Casey ripped herself loose from Colonel Patterson’s grip. She stormed down the hall after Rip. “Come back here, Rip!”

Rip didn’t bother stopping until he was back in the living room. He took a seat and hung his head between his knees. Stress was going to kill him if the undead did not.

Casey walked up to him and shoved him in the back as he sat, nearly pushing him over. “What the hell was that? You didn’t give those people a chance! What if my family had been in the same situation as them? Would you just have shot us and been on your way? We helped you, goddamnit! It was the right thing to do! You can’t just—”

Rip shot up and stood nose-to-nose with Casey in a split second. “I can’t just what? Execute someone who was eating one of our friends?”

Casey pointed her finger to within a few inches of Rip’s face. “That child and that woman did nothing wrong! They were chained to a wall for fuck’s sake!”

Rip grinned slyly. He hadn’t heard Casey curse like that before now, and it seemed out of place for the young woman. She was trying to make a point to him, but there was no discussion to be had. Humanity had taken a giant shit on good taste and kindness; there was no room for bleeding hearts anymore.

“Wrong place, wrong time, Casey. I would expect you to do the same for me if—”

Casey slapped Rip across the face, the open palm making a sound like the crack of a whip as it struck him. “I’m not doing
shit
for you anymore, Geoffrey Irving.”

Casey stormed over to where the few belongings that she had brought were stashed. She snatched up her pack and the MP5SD that she carried. By now, the rest of the crew had come to the end of the hallway and watched in morbid fascination as the sixteen-year-old girl smacked the taste out of their leader’s mouth.

Rip watched as Casey grabbed her things. He should have stopped her, apologized, or done something to mend the bridge between him and her. Instead, the only thing he could bring himself to do was to take a few steps back and open the front door. He held his hand out, motioning for Casey to leave if she so desired.

“Have fun out there, Casey. Let’s see how generous you are when the dregs of humanity come face-to-face with you again,” Rip said.

Casey paused for a moment. Rip couldn’t figure out whether she was going to keep going or not. She figured that speech was not the one that he was going to give her. For some reason, she hoped a small shred of his humanity would come through.

It did not.

Casey stormed by Rip, not bothering to look him in the eye as she did. Without a word, she walked out the door into the dark night. Rip slammed the door after she stepped outside and clapped his hands once.

“I’d say that it’s time for some sleep, boys. Don’t you?”