Eaters (28 page)

“You okay?” Aidan asked as they limped to their feet.

“I think so,” she said as she straightened up and dusted off, feeling like every bone in her body was bruised or cracked.

The moans came closer, and she saw the first of the line rounding the curve.

“We gotta go.”

Sore and stunned, they hobbled over to the bike. Its tires were spinning and the engine was still going, but it had a rough, whining sound. With a heave and a grunt, Cheryl tried to lift it up, but found that it was too heavy. Aidan shifted his weight to his good leg then gave her a hand.

“I could have done it,” she said, although she wasn’t really sure that was true.

Aidan shot daggers with his eyes, a look that seemed to say that this was no time for bravado.

Two seconds later, they were back on the road with the motley crew just a few feet behind them. After the group was far behind in the rearview mirrors, she inhaled a deep draught of the crisp mountain air and sighed it out. The rain clouds had long cleared out, and the sky was a crystal clear shade of azure blue. Her heart still pumped wildly in her chest. They were out of danger for the moment, and she felt a strange sense of exhilaration. Maybe it was the wind blowing in her face, the sense of accomplishment after the world’s shortest course in Motorcycle Stunts 101, or maybe it was simply from once again cheating death.

Mark? Where are you?
Throughout that ordeal, she hadn’t heard his voice at all.

Here.

She felt a pang in her heart.
You’re still with me.

No, you’re still with me. You came through that on your own.

It was true. She had done some miraculous things without guidance from his spectral voice, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t still need him.

* * *

A half hour later, they were following mountain curves up and down passes and had chased the morning sun fifteen miles further down the road. Aidan wasn’t holding on to her any more from behind. Her mind was far off, and she was startled when he signaled for her to pull over with a pointed finger over her shoulder.

She let off the gas and slowed to a jerky stop by the side of the road, leaving the engine running as she eyed a semi-truck parked in the middle of the road, fifty yards up ahead.

Aidan slapped her back with his hand. “Get off.”

“What?”

“I said get off.”

She twisted around and looked at him, worried that stress and fatigue were causing him to lose it. Through the clear plastic of his helmet, she could see that his eyes were wide with fury. Her body tensed as she got off the bike

“Why did you lie to me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The bike—you told me you’d never driven one before.”

“I haven’t.”

“You’re a liar.”

She stared at him, not knowing what was prompting the accusation.

“Thing is, I don’t know why you would lie about such a thing.”

“You’re out of your freakin’ mind. I’m not lying to you. I’ve been on the back of a motorcycle before, but I’ve never driven one.”

“I don’t believe it. You handled it like you’ve been riding for years. There’s no way a virgin could have done that.”

“Virgin?”

“Who are you, Cheryl Malone? Have you been bullshitting me ever since we met? You told me you were an insurance agent when this all started, but you’re standing here next to me wearing bloody combat fatigues, you shoot an AK-47 like it’s a kid’s BB gun, and you just popped a wheelie on my Harley like it was a damn crotch rocket.”

She thought about it for a second. Everything he mentioned did seem strange, but then, life had
gone
strange. Beyond strange. In a matter of days, the world was unrecognizable from what it had been, and his accusations were insulting. What did he think, that she was some sort of double agent? A thief out to rob him? Of what? His leather jacket? His precious motorcycle? Did he think that all of her actions were just part of some grand scheme to trick him? Into what? A spew of defensive four letter words began to swirl in her mind when it suddenly occurred to her that his paranoia might be a symptom of infection. She hoped that he was just insane with misplaced anger and not sick. She nixed her angry rebuttal. “I can’t explain any of that, I’m just trying to survive.”

His eyes turned into slits, crinkling at the corners. As she looked into them, she also checked out his hands in her peripheral vision, noting that they looked strong and tan with no hint of a gray pallor or peeling skin.

“I’ve heard that adrenaline can give people super powers. In a crisis, some people can suddenly lift an entire car to save a person trapped underneath. Maybe it’s possible that you can also acquire new skills,” she offered.

“I don’t buy it,” he said. “But, given the state of my knee, I guess I’m glad that you acquired these bizarre super powers, if that’s what it was. All I know is that if we’re going to keep hanging together, you’ve got to be straight with me. No secrets.”

Secrets?
She didn’t have any secrets. She was just an average person who, until just a few days ago, had worn pretty suits and handled insurance claims in a stuffy office for an annoying boss, and had dreams about a princess wedding to a fiancé who was now nothing but a pile of ashes.

She supposed it was fair to suggest that she’d acquired some emergency superpowers since then. How many Eaters had she put down by now? After the attack at the cabin, the count was easily up to at least a couple dozen

All of a sudden, she wanted a cigarette. It was an odd craving, since she’d never smoked. She felt dirty on the outside with all the blood and grime and wanted to feel as foul on the inside, make her transformation complete. Mark had smoked. It was his one flaw in an otherwise perfect regimen of habits. If he was here with her, instead of Aidan, she’d have bummed one off of him, and he’d have been shocked at the request.
Or maybe he wouldn’t.
She’d probably be unrecognizable to him at this point.

A metal clang rang out from the truck parked up ahead.

“I don’t know why that’s sitting there, but I don’t like it.”

Aidan didn’t glance at it as he slid forward and took the handlebars. “Just get on.”

She didn’t argue, just hopped on behind him, glad that he felt ready to drive again, even if he was being a jerk. Feeling awkward with him for the first time, she tentatively put her arms around him, holding on tightly when he rolled forward.

As they neared the truck and they heard more thumps and bangs from within, she wondered if it was filled with cattle that had been on the way to a slaughterhouse or horses that had been bound for a ranch on the western slope. The thought of distressed animals trapped inside caused a pang in her heart. For a fraction of a second, she wondered if they should stop and try to open it to set them free.

But as they got closer to the truck’s cab, she came to her senses.

They coasted by the driver’s side window and saw faces pressed up against the glass—trapped Eaters with black tongues, parts of skull visible under sections of torn, rotten flesh. Their eyes were vacant, though they seemed to stare at them as they passed.

Cheryl could only guess that the truck had been transporting them somewhere when they’d broken through the glass partition that separated the cab from the bed and killed the driver. Now, they were trying to figure out how to get through the glass. All it would take was one inadvertent elbow smacking the door handle, and they’d come tumbling out to terrorize anyone passing by. They rode past, and she looked back at the mash of gray and bloody faces smashed up against the windshield and hoped that one of them had accidentally hit the
lock
button.

Aidan drove for a while without another word to her. They didn’t see any other traffic on the road until a blue compact car passed them. It wove erratically across the yellow line before disappearing around a curve up ahead. The windows were tinted too dark to see the driver who didn’t respond to their waving hands, attempting to get his attention.

Shortly after, they passed a sign that said
Idaho Springs – 3 miles
. Just before they reached the town, Aidan pulled over next to the parking lot of a small mom and pop store with a sign that said
JLM Mart
. Cheryl thought that it would have looked like a pleasant place to stop for a soda and a snack if they were a couple of people out for a leisurely drive on a normal day, but there was nothing normal about this day, or
any
day now.

On this fine sunny July day, the shop’s windows were boarded up, there were cars outside with smashed windows, and there were dozens of blood splatters and dribbles across the parking lot making it look like a giant Pollack painting created by some demon artist in the sky.

Chapter Twenty

Cheryl surveyed the scattering of litter on the lot. There was a plastic grocery bag on the ground with its contents spilling out: a shattered bottle of spaghetti sauce, broken eggs, and a dented can of chili. She suddenly had a flashback to the morning of the first day that the world began to unravel when she and Mark had stopped at a gas station on their way down from the mountains. That place had been eerily deserted, and at that time they didn’t have any clue that the owner had probably abandoned it and fled. This place was just as quiet and still. “I don’t like this. It looks like a battlefield.”

“We need a place to rest, lick our wounds. Figure out where the hell we’re going and get some supplies.” He started to dismount. “Wait here and leave the bike running.”

She was about to tell him that it might not be wise to do that and waste gas when something caught her eye. She grabbed his arm. “Wait!” She pointed towards a dumpster on the far side of the building. “Look.”

Aidan saw the jeans and work boots sticking out from underneath. “So? Looks like he’s dead.”

She didn’t let go of his arm. “Shouldn’t we go in together?”

“Until we’re sure it’s safe in there, we can’t risk leaving the bike. Stay here. If I don’t come back in ten minutes, take the bike and go.”

“No,” she said, digging her grimy fingernails deeper into his leather jacket. “I don’t like it. I’m not staying out here.”

His eyebrows rose at her rebellion. He leaned in towards her and put his hand over hers. For a half second, she thought he was going to kiss her again. Then any imagined tenderness in his eyes seemed to evaporate, and she wondered if he was about to slap her. Instead of doing either, he shoved her hand off. “You’re getting to be a stubborn brat…you know that?”

Cheryl saw a vague movement in her peripheral vision and looked back towards the dumpster.
The legs underneath were gone.

There was a dull
CLANG
like someone hit it with a fist.

“Aidan!”

A loud
POP
whizzed beside them.

“Get down!” He shoved her to the ground.

They sprawled down flat on the gravel behind the motorcycle. Cheryl’s heart played hopscotch inside her chest. It didn’t make sense that someone was shooting at them, unless the person was afraid that they were infected or they’d just plum lost their mind.

“Hey!” Aidan yelled, waving a hand in the air like a white flag. “We’re healthy!”

Glancing through the wheelbase of the bike, she saw the barrel of a rifle poke out through a broken corner in the lower front window. A man’s harsh voice rang out. “You two can just get on down the road.”

Aidan raised his head up, making her nervous. The helmets might provide some protection against the walking dead, but they certainly weren’t bulletproof.

“We’re just looking for a few supplies!”

“We don’t have anything for you!” the man yelled back.

The gun pulled inside, and they heard the sound of two voices quarreling. A higher pitched voice that sounded like a woman’s volleyed back and forth with their gruff greeter.

Cheryl exchanged a glance with Aidan, one that insinuated hope.

A man’s face appeared on the other side of the window. She could make out a mouth and a graying mustache as he spoke through the hole.

“Alright. My wife says we have to help you out—if you’re not sick. Leave your gun by the motorcycle and come close to the window, so we can have a look at you.”

There was another bang on the dumpster.

“We’re not alone out here!” Aidan said. “We’re not leaving our guns.”

That statement created more discussion inside. A moment later the man came back. “Well, alright. You can—”

With a deep guttural growl, a burly figure emerged from behind the dumpster. The man looked a good three hundred pounds with a gut as big as a haystack underneath the shreds of his overalls. His entire front side, from the scraggly beard down to his crotch was covered in deep crimson blood and bits of slug-colored flesh as his sunken dead eyes trained right on them.