Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection (74 page)

ANNE’S LACE, RANUNCULUS. He pushed through another door, which emptied into what had been at one time a greenhouse. The arching glass walls were thick with dust, and several spots along the glass panels had been shattered, weathered glass lying amidst the dead, hanging, and dried-out remains of what had once been lively and beautiful flowers. Rats scurried underneath the tables that had once been visited by women seeking to win flower tournaments or to simply decorate their homes. He moved in the coolness of the room. He stopped and peered up through one of the holes in the glass; he could see stars smiling down at him.
I can hide here until morning
, he thought. He began to become comfortable with that thought when the assailant emerged from the shadows with rattlesnake-speed, arms outstretched, fingers twisted into claws, mouth open with teeth that glistened in the starlight.

The man leapt onto one of the snow-mobiles, twisted the key which was kept in the starter, and ignited the engine. Sarah crawled onto the seat behind him. Kyle found the handle to the garage door, twisted, began lifting it up. The gears creaked and groaned, and a harsh wind tore across his ankles. He grunted and shoved, and the garage door curled up along the ceiling. He leapt back, preparing for an attack, but nothing came. He glanced over to the man, shrugged, and jumped onto his own snow-mobile. The man took a deep breath; Sarah squeezed his shoulders, encouraging him; Kyle twisted his own snow-mobile into life. The garage reverberated with the chugging of the engines, and Kyle led the way, slamming the gas pedal. The snow-mobile launched into the grass, the Anthony Barnhart

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undercarriage wheels carrying it down the hill. The man followed after him, the headlights splashing over the twelve-foot-tall fence as they gathered speed. Kyle watched the fence looming closer, and he braced himself for impact; several dark-walkers leapt in front of him, screeching. Kyle grinned, a devilish notion, and pressed the gas pedal down harder. Most of the zombies scattered, but one hit the front of the snow-mobile and somersaulted over Kyle’s head, landing on its back in the grass behind him. The creature lifted its head and screamed as the wheels of the man’s vehicle drew two deep slashes across its chest and legs; blood surged against the side of the snow-mobile, droplets flinging off with the speed like crescent waves. Kyle gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, hunkered down close to the vehicle as it hit the fence; the snow-mobile rode up the side of the chain-links, and he feared the snow-mobile would flip backwards; the engine screamed and the wheels spun. The fence toppled under the weight; his snow-mobile leveled, and he took off across the fence, crunching the barbed-wire under the wheels. He spun around in the street and took off to the left. The man’s snow-mobile rattled over the fence; Sarah shouted something; a dark-walker lunged at them from the side. The man delivered a punch into its face, sending it to the ground; he hit the gas and sped after Kyle, leaving the monster alone on the pavement.

Anthony didn’t expect the attack, and he was thrown onto one of the tables, the zombie jumping on top of him. Its fetid breath stank of rotten flesh, the teeth decayed and hanging loose from the black gums. Long and knotted hair dangled in Anthony’s face, and he could almost see the creature before the plague, a hippy playing the Jim bay and smoking marijuana from a hookah. Drool dribbled onto Anthony’s chin, and the creature’s jaws snapped open and close as it tried to feast on his face; Anthony’s hands groped at the knotted hair along the base of the zombie’s scalp, holding the toothy weapon away from his skin. He let out a shout and kneed the assailant in the groin; the zombie released, fumbling backwards, groping at its testicles. Anthony leapt down from the table, grabbed a ceramic plate that held dirt and a dead flower, and he hurled it into the creature’s face: it shattered into a dozen pieces, and the zombie scraped dirt and grime away from its eyes. Anthony spun around and headed for the door leading out of the greenhouse; he heard what sounded like a car engine as the glass wall to his left burst open, a zombie pummeling through. It knocked into him, and Anthony fell to the ground, the zombie rolling over him and across the floor. Anthony crawled to his feet as the first zombie came at him from the side; he kicked it in its swollen abdomen, and it tottered into the table, the potted plants quivering with the force of its impact. It snarled at him and charged; Anthony backed into a wall, and he found himself pinned by the assailant. The creature bit at his neck, but the teeth found no substance; Anthony had lifted his legs, allowing gravity to pull him to the ground. He shoved his hands around the back of the zombie’s bare knees, and he yanked them close to him; the zombie pitched over backwards, landing on its back. The other zombie attacked; Anthony collapsed onto his side as it crawled all over him, snapping.

Anthony kicked it away with his feet and scurried over the dirty floor. His head bumped into a bucket filled with pottery tools. He reached inside, found a handheld hoe with curved iron spikes. The second zombie crawled after him, reaching for his ankle; Anthony kicked it in the face, and it reeled backwards. He leapt to his feet, kicked the creature in the face once more. The first zombie had come to its feet, and it jumped at him; Anthony swung the hoe, the threepronged spikes slicing a trinity of deep gouges across its face. Blood dribbled onto the floor. Anthony swung the hoe again, this time bringing the spikes into the creature’s neck; it let out a shriek and a spray of blood spit Anthony in the face, the jugular severed. Anthony staggered backwards, releasing the hoe in the assailant’s neck, and he groped at his eyes, which were now covered with the attacker’s Anthony Barnhart

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blood; his heart raced, for he was blinded. He heard a loud
thump
, and when he managed to get the blood out of his eyes, he saw the zombie writhing on the floor, blood gushing from the open wound; the hoe rested in its hands, and its body shook as the blood seeped like an artesian spring down its neck and onto the floor.

The other zombie stared at its fallen brother-in-arms, looked over at Anthony, screeched, and rushed him. Anthony ran to the other side of the greenhouse, then went onto the other side of the table that lined the middle of the hall. The zombie glared at him from the opposite side of the table covered with pots and dirt and withered, dried-out plants. Anthony looked over to the bucket of tools, saw a larger hoe with one-foot prongs leaning against the wall. He bit his lip, summoned the courage, and bolted down the length of the table; the zombie followed. He reached the end of the table, leapt over the body of the still-quivering but dying zombie, and had nearly reached the larger hoe as the other zombie intercepted, grabbing his ankles and yanking him to the ground. Anthony’s forehead hit the cement floor, and stars danced before his eyes. For a moment the world went quiet, and then he felt the zombie biting into his shoe. He jerked away, crawled over the pavement, and grasped the large hoe. He rolled onto his back; the zombie had stood and now jumped into the air, poised to fall upon him; Anthony swung the hoe around, laid it upon his chest, the spikes pointed upwards; the zombie fell atop of him, and the spikes ripped through its chest, severed its heart and lungs, and erupted from its back. The zombie’s eyes went wide, the mouth opened, and the tongue lolled out. Its eyes darted back and forth in its sockets, and blood dripped from its mouth, splattering on Anthony’s forehead.

The creature went stiff.

Anthony grunted and pushed the zombie off of him. He pulled himself to his feet, rubbed his sore forehead, saw that he was
drenched
in its blood. The zombie on the floor had gone still, eight pints of blood soaking the floor in a ruby-red pool. Anthony leaned against the wall, took several deep breaths, and then stepped onto the table against the wall and disappeared through the hole in the glass, the only testimony of the zombie that lay on the floor with spikes poking through its back.

Mark broke through the surface of the water and waste, gasping for air. A beam of moonlight shined down above him. He wiped a layer of grime and algae from his brow and looked back the direction he had come. The sounds of the dark-walkers could be heard, but it didn’t matter now. He moved to the ladder and began to climb upwards, finding the stench wafting off his soiled clothes revolting. He found that his muscles didn’t quite cooperate as he tried to lift the manhole cover at the top of the ladder. He stopped moving when he heard splashing coming towards him. He hunkered himself against the ladder and stared downwards, watched as five or six dark-walkers passed underneath.
They can’t smell me because of the sewer’s stench
.

He finally enjoyed the thought of smelling like the inside of a trash compactor. He bit his lip and tried to open the cover once more; he grunted and slid it a fraction of an inch. He curled his fingers around the cover and pushed, sliding it a few more inches across the pavement above.

That’s when the sound came.

A car engine?

A moment later he ripped his fingers away from the opening as some sort of vehicle rushed overhead, spitting gravel down into the vertical tunnel.

What

the

fuck?

he wondered, grabbing the lip of the cover.

He yanked his fingers down once more as another vehicle rushed overhead; its wheels tore into the manhole cover, yanking it away from the hole. Mark shrugged and climbed out, pulling himself Anthony Barnhart

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onto the street. He saw two snow-mobiles crossing a small bridge that spanned the I-71 interstate highway below. He heard shrieks and howls behind him; several dark-walkers were giving chase. He began running after the vehicles, crossing the bridge under the uncaring moon and naïve stars.

The zombies were nearly upon her. Tears danced down her cheeks as she ran, leaping the fallen fence outside the church and spilling into the street. Katie glanced behind her, could see that they were gaining. She ran harder, passing the Celestial Restaurant. She ran uphill, several ostentatious,

$250,000 homes on either side. Zombies spilled out from the buildings, jumping off the stoops, dodging the parked cars, joining in with the others. A zombie emerged from a German restaurant and stepped in front of her; she took off towards the sidewalk, against which were several parked vehicles. A zombie stood stoic on the sidewalk; she froze in her tracks, spun around, the throng almost upon her. She jumped onto the hood of a nearby van and crawled onto the roof. The zombies surrounded the van, reaching up at her and shaking the vehicle upon its wheels. She stretched out her hands, trying to gain balance; across the sidewalk was a large brick fence that opened up into a small park. She didn’t even think as she leapt across the sidewalk and slammed into the brick wall, her arms dangled over the top. She groaned as she pulled herself up and fell off the other side. She landed hard on her back, the wind knocked out of her, lungs not working. She feared that she had paralyzed herself, but her fingers worked. She could hear them on the other side of the wall. She pulled herself to her feet and hobbled towards a line of trees splashed across an apartment building. Several zombies began clambering over the fence, having leapt from the van. She made her way between the trees, half-skipping and half-running. Katie’s legs seared with pain, the muscles straining. She fell against a Jeep Liberty, grabbed the door handle.
Unlocked
. She ducked inside and slammed the door shut, threw the lock. She crawled down between the seats, body shaking and tears streaming down her face.

Kyle slammed on the brakes, the vehicle spinning to a stop. He left the engine running as he leapt off the seat. The man and Sarah followed, stopping their snow-mobile. The bridge was down the street, and they had left the dark-walkers far behind them: their shouts and cries could be heard, though somewhat distant. The man grabbed the keys from his belt, led them up the stoop of a three-story house with a one-car garage; it was one house out of dozens lining either side of the street. He unlocked the door, pushed it open. Sarah moved past him, into the house, and Kyle followed her. The man gazed down the street, could see the zombies appearing on the crest of the sloping road, and he darted inside, slamming the door shut and hurtling the lock down. The three of them stood in the quiet of the house, hearing only their private harsh breathing, screaming hearts, and the quivering of their muscles as the adrenaline began to subside.

Kyle wiped sweat from his brow. His voice shook: “What a night, eh?”

“Oh,” the man muttered. “It’s been sublime.”

The dark-walkers were gaining on him. Mark’s lungs dared to explode. He abandoned the bridge, ran to the far sidewalk. He ran, parked vehicles passing to his right and abandoned houses to his left. He heard a car alarm sound as a zombie pitched into one of the expensive vehicles. He glanced back to see the zombies freeze in their tracks, hunkering down, heads darting back and forth upon their shoulders, eyes wide. Mark ran up a stoop’s small flight of steps and grabbed the front door. He paused, trekked backwards, peered around the corner. The siren continued to wail, and he found it amazing and somewhat unnerving how the dark-walkers reacted. They still refused to move, just Anthony Barnhart

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looked back and forth, scanning the night skies, hunched down. Their heads turned back and forth in perfect, unbroken harmony with one another.

The siren ceased to sound.

At that instant the dark-walkers stood, and in unison they let out a single bellowing cry. They resumed their chase, darting past the vehicle. Mark cursed under his breath and returned to the door.
Locked
. He knelt down, pulled up the welcome mat, found a key. He fitted it into the lock and opened the door. He slid into the front room and shut the door, locked it, pressed his shoulder-blades against the heavy oak. He heard them running about outside. Heard one or two come onto the stoop. Heard them rapping on the window, snarling and breathing harshly. They abandoned the stoop. He wiped sweat from his eyes, began to see shapes emerging from the shadows of the house.