Escape (12 page)

“Got it.”

Dan slowed the vehicle to a stop about ten feet from the entrance. Beyond the chain-link fence he saw several buildings: a main warehouse, a small red building that looked like an office, and a repository for lumber that was stored outside. The place looked deserted.

“Are you sure anybody’s home?” Dan asked.

He looked behind him, noticed that Sandy and Charlie were both looking toward the small red building on the other side of the fence. He followed their stare, but saw nothing of interest. The small structure had only one door facing the gate; it was closed.

“Usually somebody’s inside. I think it was Tom’s turn to watch,” Charlie said. He frowned. “We don’t usually leave the entrance unmanned. I’ll go and rattle the gate to get their attention. Wait here.”

Dan watched as the young man exited the vehicle, leaving his rifle in the car. He stalked over to the fence, scanning in all directions, and then clasped his fingers around it and started to shake.

“Tom? You in there?”

Charlie pressed his face against the metal, peering into the yard. After a minute, Dan saw movement from the red building: the door cracked and a face peeped out.

Without warning, the door swung open and the person inside started to shoot. Sandy screamed out for them to stop, but she was too late.

The bullets had found their mark, and Charlie pitched backward and collapsed in the dirt.

15

T
he town center was only a few minutes away. As she drove, Meredith kept a close watch on John, suddenly fearful that he would lose consciousness.

If he passed out, how would she revive him? What if there was no help to be found?

Since leaving the furniture shop, she’d seen no signs of life on the roadway, no evidence that others had survived. The quiet in the air was all encompassing. Instead of giving her relief, it gave her unease.

“Stay with me, John,” she said.

Her companion had slumped over further in the seat, his head pressed against the windowsill. It looked like his leg had started bleeding again. She reached over and shook his shoulder, and he blinked to attention.

“Sorry. I’m trying to stay awake,” he said.

In the horizon, Meredith could make out specks of buildings growing closer. It was the first inkling of town she’d seen since everything started happening, and she felt a sense of dread creep through her body.

Normally the town gave her a sense of comfort, but not today.

Minutes later she was passing the first signs of civilization. She hit the brakes, inspecting each structure. On the surface, the buildings seemed normal enough. The houses and shops were all as she remembered them: quaint, familiar, and inviting. Aside from the lack of people, it might as well have been another day in town, and she could very well have been on one of her grocery runs or taking a trip to the store.

It was when she looked closer that the subtle differences started to reveal themselves.

Doors had been left open; windows were ajar. Although the town was small and trusting, things seemed different than usual, as if an aura of foreboding had descended over the buildings.

About a block into town she noticed a shadow in one of the windows, and she hit the brakes and slowed to a stop. The figure was in motion, roving from one room to the next. Although she was unable to make out the person’s details, she knew whom the house belonged to. The owner’s name was Deborah Fratzel.

Meredith cranked down the window and called out toward the building.

“Deb? You in there?”

The figure became more animated, roaming even faster. Like many of the other properties, the entrance to Deborah’s house was open; Meredith could make out the woman’s living room through the front door.

“Hello?”

The figure was at a window adjacent to the living room, on the right-hand side of the house. Before Meredith knew it the figure was on the move. The person crashed through the living room and out into the open, descending down the front set of steps and toward the pickup.

It was Deborah, but her hair was wild, her fingernails poised and feral. Her face was covered in blood, as if she’d dipped herself in a vat of the crimson fluid. Meredith flashed back to the scene she’d witnessed earlier—the one with Sheila and Marcy—and shuddered.

She hammered the gas pedal with her foot, tires spinning, and tore off down the road. In the mirrors she saw Deborah chasing behind them.

As they progressed deeper into town, more shadows appeared in the windows, but she knew better than to stop. All of their movements were erratic, their gestures inhuman.

With the streets barren, Meredith was suddenly conscious of the noise she was making. The town had fallen into relative silence—no machinery running, no chatter of conversation—and the pickup’s engine seemed exponentially louder, echoing off the surrounding buildings like an air horn.

Before long, the shadows around her had emerged onto the street. The creatures had picked up on the noise, and they barreled out of the surrounding entrances with alarming speed.

Meredith recognized many of their faces, but instead of welcoming grins, their mouths had drawn up into possessed sneers. She pushed the truck faster, tumbling through the streets in a haze.

Everything she’d known was gone.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words came out in little more than a whisper.

“We shouldn’t have come here.”

She looked next to her for John’s reaction, but his eyes had closed and his hands had collapsed to his sides. She listened frantically for a sign that he was breathing, but heard none.

All she could hear was the roar of the pickup’s engine as the vehicle drove deeper into a town that felt like hell.

Several streets later, having outrun her pursuers, Meredith took a left-hand turn into a parking lot with two small office buildings. Both were brick and square; each held a sign out front. The one on the left belonged to Dr. Steadman.

She needed to get John help, and fast.

Her only hope was that somehow the doctor had escaped the infection, that maybe he was somewhere inside. The nearest hospital was towns away.

The parking lot contained several vehicles, but none were occupied. Meredith backed into the handicapped space right next to the door and threw off her seatbelt. She leaned over and touched John’s neck, searching for a pulse.

It was faint, but there.

This time when she listened close, she heard the wisp of his breath, and she could see that his chest was rising and falling. In any case, he wasn’t out of the water yet. He’d lost a lot of blood, and he needed stitches and his wound cleaned. Although Meredith wasn’t a doctor, she knew that much.

Given John’s size, there was no way she could carry him. She’d have to go in alone. Meredith unlocked the door and grabbed the rifle, then jumped into the parking lot.

She gave one last look around. The parking lot was empty. Relieved, she slammed the door shut and dashed up to the entrance, leaving the vehicle running.

The doorway contained a covered overhang and two doors—one to a dental office, the other to Dr. Steadman’s. She tried both handles, but both were locked. She banged on the door to the doctor’s office.

“Dr. Steadman? It’s Meredith Tilly! I need help!”

There was a window on the right side of the doorway, and she leaned off the steps to get a look inside. What she saw made her heart drop. The waiting room had been torn apart: magazines littered across the floor, chairs overturned, supplies scattered. The glass window leading to the reception area was smashed.

There was no sign of Dr. Steadman or his employees.

Undeterred, she rapped on the windowpane, screaming the doctor’s name once again. At the same time, she kept a watch on the parking lot, certain that she’d draw the attention of some of the infected nearby.

It was a risk she had to take. John needed treatment. She couldn’t fail him.

In spite of her efforts, there was no response.

She kicked the door below the handle, hoping to cave it in inwards, but it held fast. She was just about to try the back of the building when a pale white face appeared at the window. Meredith jumped back.

She instantly recognized Dr. Steadman: round, bespectacled, and sporting a thin gray moustache. The man’s mouth hung agape, and he stared at her with vacant eyes. In spite of his appearance, he didn’t seem to be infected. She waved her arms, hoping to snap him out of the trance he was in, and motioned to the door.

“Let me in!” she shouted.

The man at the window stared at her but didn’t move. She continued to yell, banging on the pane in front of him. After a few seconds he disappeared from sight.

She waited another minute, but the door remained closed.

Footsteps rang out behind her. Meredith spun.

Across the street, one of the building doors had crashed open and a mound of creatures spilled from inside. Her breath caught in her throat, her instincts screaming at her to run. She stared at the back of the pickup, where John’s motionless figure sat inside. She turned back to the window.

“Help!” she screamed.

She pounded the door again, then she raised her foot to kick it. Before she could exact the maneuver, the door swung open and someone tugged her inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

Meredith was in the waiting room. The doctor stood in front of her, hands shaking.

“Meredith?” he asked, as if she might somehow transform into someone else.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“My God.”

The doctor reached out and took hold of her sleeve, pinching the fabric as if to verify she was real. In all her dealings with the man, he’d always been stoic and professional. She’d never seen him lose his calm, and she’d never seen him rattled. Now, as he looked her up and down, it looked like he’d encountered a ghost.

“Dr. Steadman, I need your help. John Parish is injured, and he—“

Thud-thud-thud.

Before she could finish her thought, the door shook behind them, straining against the hinges. Dr. Steadman fell against it, shielding the entrance with his body. Inhuman cries spilled from the other side, and he cried out with each blow, holding his forehead with his hands as if to will the creatures away.

Meredith raced to the window and stole a glance. The creatures had bombarded the front steps; a few were lingering around the pickup. By the looks of it, John still hadn’t moved.

I shouldn’t have left him behind.

But what else could she have done? John needed medical treatment, and she’d found him a doctor. What she couldn’t have anticipated was that the doctor would be in such a frayed emotional state.

She glanced over at Dr. Steadman, who’d tucked himself into a ball by the door. His eyes met hers, and he shook his head, as if hoping to clear the images that resided there.

In order to get his help, she’d have to snap him out of it.

“Doc! Help me secure the door!”

She grabbed his arm and led him to a coffee table in the center of the room, then instructed him to help her carry it. The two hoisted it in front of the door. Once the table was in place, Meredith snagged several of the waiting room chairs and propped them above the table. It wasn’t the best barricade, but it would have to do.

“Is there anyone else in the building?” she asked.

“N-no,” the doctor stammered. “Everyone left when this all started happening. I watched them leave the parking lot, but then some of them came back when they turned into those things. In fact, I think that’s Rosa—my nurse—right outside.”

Meredith listened as a high-pitched shriek erupted from beyond the door.

“We need to get your medical supplies and get to John Parish. He’s in the truck, and he needs our help. This is an emergency.”

The doctor nodded and tipped his glasses back on his nose.

“What happened?”

“He was bitten by one of them and there’s a huge gash in his leg. He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s been in and out of consciousness.”

She watched the doctor’s demeanor change, his expression harden. It was as if the prospect of treating John had somehow jolted him back into reality. Her only hope was to keep him focused.

“We need to hurry!”

“Let’s go back to my office and grab some things,” he said. “After that, we can find a way out of here.”

16

C
harlie twitched on the ground and then grew still. His hooded sweatshirt had been ripped apart by bullets, his stomach covered in blood. The figure in the red shack ducked back inside and out of sight. It sounded like he’d run out of bullets. At the same time, it was very possible that he had another weapon.

Dan held his position behind the door of the Buick.

At the sound of gunfire, he’d instructed the girls to stay down in the backseat. He peered behind him to make sure they were all right. Sandy’s face was wet with tears; her lips trembled.

“Who’s in the shack?” he asked.

“It looks like Reginald. But why would he do this? I don’t understand.”

“Maybe he knows we’re here for the car. Maybe he’s found what we have inside, and he’s putting the pieces together. Whatever the case may be, we need to get inside, and we need to get that food.”