Glory (Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter 3

John opened the door and stepped into the hallway. He hated leaving his wife in the basement, but she hadn't given him any choice. She wasn't going to move anywhere. Or, at least, nowhere upstairs
.
The fear in her eyes...

He walked to the staircase that led up to the top floor of the house. He was tired and his body ached, but he had to deal with it. He needed to make his wife a bed. He placed his hand on the railing and began to climb.

By the time John made it to the top, he was out of breath. He took a moment before heading to the master bedroom. A few deep breaths, then he went on his way.

As he stepped into the bedroom, he stared at the bed
.
Just a quick na
p
, he thought. All he had to do was pull the blanket over him and drift off. Simple enough.

But his wife was alone downstair
s
. He couldn't leave her any longer than necessary. He had to get the blankets, bring them down, and make a bed. Once he got his wife into it, he could sleep. It was too back that it was going to be on the hard floor.

That thought bothered him. He didn't want his wife to sleep on the ground
.
But what else could he do? She wouldn't come u
p
.

He shook his head and made his way over to the bed. He grabbed at the blanket and sheets. They were tucked tightly underneath the mattress - something that his wife had done for the past 40 years.

It was also something that he could't stand
.
Tucking in the sheets
.
He never understood why it was important since they messed the sheets up every time they got into bed. He had even asked her to stop doing it, but she hadn't listened.

Of course, he could have always just made the bed himself, then he wouldn't have had to worry about it. Except he didn't like making the bed. Actually, h
e
hate
d
it.

So, sorry, the sheets were tucked.

He walked over to the side of the bed and pulled them free. He threw them onto the floor and looked at them.

That's what he was going to have his wife sleep on?

It bothered him again
.
It didn't look like a bed. And it definitely didn't look comfortable. He knew that his wife deserved something better than this. Somethin
g
mor
e
. She was in shock. She was suffering. She couldn't lie on the floor, wrapped in blankets.

John looked back at the bed. At the mattress. It was queen sized. Big
.
Too big
.
They had bought it a few years ago. After 35 years of using another mattress they had finally decided to spring for a new one. It had been a great purchase. John and his wife had loved it
.
But now
?
It just looked huge.

Could he bring it downstairs?

John walked over to it and tried to lift a corner. It was heavy. He tried again. This time he was able to lift it up further. He repositioned himself to help further. It was still difficult.

John looked at the sheets on the floor again. They weren't good enough.

Try again.

Instead of lifting the mattress, John decided to push it off of the bed. He crouched down and leaned against the edge. He readied himself, steadied his feet. Then he pushed.

The bed moved. Only a little
.
This thing was big!

He pushed again. And again.

The bed moved further each time. He had to keep repositioning himself, had to keep taking little breaks. But, eventually, the mattress came off the edge of the box spring and tilted onto the floor.

John landed upon the top of the box spring. His arms splayed out before him. He was spent.

That had been hard!

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. When he opened them, he knew that the hard part had yet to come
.
He'd need to get it downstairs.

Just like he had gotten it off of the bed, John knew that he'd have to push it there
.
Prop it up on its side and slide it
.
They had hardwood floors, so that would help.

He got off of the bed, feeling a little bit better now, a little more refreshed, and made his way over to the side of the mattress. It wasn't going to be easy to get up into position, but he had to do it if he wanted to get it downstairs. He slipped his hands underneath the mattress.

"You can do it," he told himself. "You can!"

He tried to stand, the mattress in his hands.

It moved slightly. Then a little more. He could feel himself getting excited
.
It was working!

But, before long, the mattress slipped from his fingers and came crashing down. It slammed into his knees and pushed him back a little bit.

"Damn!" he said.

He looked down at the mattress. Th
e
massiv
e
mattress. He wasn't ready to give up. He didn't think that he'd ever be. It wasn't an option. He had to get the mattress downstairs. No question about it.

He bent down again and placed his hands under the mattress once more.

"Okay, now I need to think about this."

He did. He thought of all the possible ways that he could get the mattress up. Several came to mind. But he didn't feel too confident about any of them. Most required brute strength. And, though he didn't like to admit it, he didn't have a lot of that anymore.

"All right," he finally said. "I've got it."

John kept bent down and pressed his hands a little further underneath the mattress. Then a little further still.

He stopped, took a few more deep breaths, and lifted.

The mattress didn't get up very far, but it was enough for John to scurry underneath. The mattress came down on his head and shoulder. It didn't crush him. And that was good.

"Okay," he said again. "Keep going."

He pushed a few more times and slid himself further and further underneath the mattress. It continued to rest against him.

Then he eventually got the mattress to stand up on its side. John wanted to cheer, but stopped himself. It felt strange enough talking to himself. Cheering would be that much more bizarre.

He stood up and put his hand on the top of the mattress to keep it balanced. He walked to the back of it and pushed. The mattress was still heavy. And it was hard to get going. But the mattress slid forward. He was able to push it out the door and down the hall.

He really felt like cheering now
.
This was going to work!

When John came to the top of the stairs, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to guide it down them. He only had one choice: to push it.

He didn't know if it was going to damage anything
.
Though
,
if it did, what did that really matter
?
The world had been destroyed. Who cared if some more things in his house were as well?

Because the hallway was narrow, John had to bend the mattress a little to get it to point down the stairs. He had to push a little bit harder, bend it a little bit more. But he was able to get it moving.

As soon as it broke loose from the wall, it started to slide. John watched it go. There was a big smile on his face. Something about this made him feel like a little kid. He watched the mattress slide down the stairs. It bounced against each one of them before slamming into a small table at the bottom. There was a vase on top of it that smashed onto the floor.

"Woo-hoo!" John screamed. He no longer cared about feeling weird. He was excited about his accomplishment. Plus, it had been fun.

John hurried down after the mattress. Well, as fast as he could go. It was more of a waddle as he made his way carefully down the stairs.

He was feeling good. He was feelin
g
aliv
e
.

He came upon the mattress. It was leaning against the wall, so he wouldn't have to lift it up again.

"Woo-hoo!" he cheered again.

He pulled it off of the last few steps and repositioned it to head down the hallway, toward the basement stairs.

"Almost there," he said. He started to push again.

John was out of breath by the time he reached the basement staircase. He needed to take a rest. He leaned against the mattress and rested his head against it. He could hear his breathing. He could feel his heartbeat.

He stood up straight and looked at the mattress
.
Just a little more to go
.
He had already come so far!

He opened the basement door and pushed the mattress through it. It slid over the top stair and teetered for a little bit. Then he pushed it one last time.

It dropped. John watched it go.

The mattress banged on the steps, thudding as it went, and came to a stop at the bottom. No crash this time. Nothing to bang into.

He had done it. He had gotten the mattress down stairs!

John looked down at the mattress. It was lying against the basement wall, waiting for him.

But there were no blankets, no sheets, no pillows
.
It was bare, white, unappealing.

"Damn," John swore. He'd have to walk back upstairs to get the things he had left behind. "Damn, damn, damn."

*

John got everything and made his way to the basement. He looked over at his wife. She was still sitting in her chair. She hadn't even noticed the mattress come bounding down the stairs.

He was going to call out to her, then thought better of it. She wasn't going to respond. He knew that. He simply needed to get the mattress set up.

He moved it into place in the far corner. Away from the broken window. Away from the dead body staring in at them.

Next, he put on the sheets. He really did hate doing this. The sheets never seemed to straighten out for him.

He sighed
.
This was for his wife
.
She liked it this way. Liked them looking perfect.

"Okay, Alice." He wasn't speaking to her. He was talking to himself. Knowing that he had to make things right for her.

John stretched out the sheets. He tried to flatten them down and make them look nice. After a while, they didn't look too bad. At least that's what he told himself. He even went so far as to tuck the sheets underneath the mattress. His fingers scraped against the cement floor as he did.

All for his wife.

When he finished, he walked over to Alice and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Alice," he said. "I've got a bed for you. I think you should like down on it." He didn't wait for her to reply, which he knew she wouldn't do anyway. He simply put his hand underneath her arm and directed her up. She followed. "Just over here."

He led his wife to the bed. He pulled back the sheets and lowered her onto the mattress. He placed her head on one of the pillows. "There you go." He pulled the sheets over her.

Within minutes, his wife was asleep. He looked down at her and smiled. He ran his hand along the top of her head. She looked peaceful on the bed. He hoped that she was peaceful in sleep too.

And when she awoke, who knew, maybe she'd be better. He had to hope for that as well.

Chapter 4

Scooter opened his eyes. He had been sleeping. He looked around and could see light shining in through the cracks in the hangar door. He knew that it was going to be a beautiful day.

He looked down. Julie was nestled in his arms. Emily in hers.

The little girl was still covered in blood. Her clothes now dry with it. Her hair a mess. After all he had gone through to get her something to wear, he had left the clothes in the cart. The woman outside had caused him to forget.

The attack. The axe that he had put in her head.

He looked at his own hands. They were still covered in blood. But, as with the little girl, the blood had dried on him as well.

He pulled himself away from Julie. He saw his hand prints on her shirt. Stained red.

Had she really been in his arms?

He couldn't remember how they had gotten into that position. It seemed so unlikely for him to just reach out and hold her. Yet there they had been.

They had been scared. And probably cold
.
It made some sense.

Julie moved when he did. Slowly, she came out of her sleep.

When she craned her neck to look up at Scooter, he noticed splats of blood on her face. He didn't know how they had gotten there. She hadn't been involved in the fight. He supposed that it could have been anything. It could have come from the little girl. Or even himself.

She smiled up at him. It was a strange sight for him to see. Out of all that had happened, Scooter didn't understand
a
smil
e
. There was nothing to be happy about. Nothing to feel good about. Maybe Julie was just happy to be alive.

He tried to smile back at her, but it seemed fake. Forced. H
e
wa
s
happy to have made it through the night. He simply couldn't smile about it.

"I'm going to get up," he said, his voice a whisper. He didn't want to wake the little girl. "I want to see outside."

Julie nodded her head.

He pushed himself up off of the ground. His knees brushed against Julie's back.

His body was sore. His legs felt weak. His arms pained him. But he didn't bother with stretching them out. He could do it later. Right now, he had to look outside.

Scooter walked to the small side door. Sunlight shone in through the cracks around it as well.

He turned back to Julie. He could see her watching him. She had leaned back against the wall, her arms remained wrapped around Emily. He nodded his head. She smiled again.

He turned to the door. Then paused. He needed to be ready. Especially if one of those things were back there. He needed his axe.

He looked around for it. It was beside Julie.

He thought about going back for it, but changed his mind. He'd only open the door a little. If something was out there, he'd lock the door again and run to get it. He thought that that was safe enough.

He turned back to the door.

He placed his fingers on the lock and pulled it free. The sound clanked loudly within the hangar. Scooter hoped that it hadn't awoken the little girl, but he didn't have a lot of time to worry about it. He needed to stay calm and focused. He had to be prepared if one of thos
e
thing
s
was out there.

He pulled the door open. It creaked louder than the lock. Once more, he chose not to worry about it.

The door opened. The light shone through.

It was bright and Scooter had to wince his eyes. He kept them squeezed, almost shut. But he listened, sure that if one of thos
e
thing
s
came after him he'd at least hear it.

He waited. His eyes began to adjust. Nothing had attacked him.

He looked out of the door and could see the woman lying there, her face split down the middle. There was a bright pool of blood underneath her. It hadn't completely dried and sparkled in the morning sunshine.

Scooter peeled his eyes away from the sight and looked around. There was nothing moving out here. None of the creatures. No survivors. Nothing.

But he had been right
:
it was a beautiful da
y
.

Scooter took a few steps outside, then looked back at the hanger. A lot of things were going through his mind
.
Julie, Emily, the creatures, his family, his co-workers, himself
.
He couldn't let himself think about them all. He needed to focus.

Julie, Emily and himself
,
that's what was most important. He had to get them all food and water. He had to get them to safety. He could worry about everything else after
.
If there was an after.

He walked back to the the door, trying not to look at the dead woman as he went. It was hard. He couldn't help but take a glimpse of her...o
f
i
t
.

No, he couldn't spend time thinking about it. What's done is done
.
He had to focus on the present.

He walked back to the hangar and looked inside. He could see Julie still sitting there, her eyes wide open. He placed his hands on the door frame and leaned forward.

"I think it's safe," he said.

"Really? Are you sure?"

Scooter shook his head. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I think it's okay."

As he spoke, he saw the little girl move. She hadn't opened her eyes, but he knew that she would soon. Of course, then she'd ask about her father…

Don't worry about that
,
he told himself
.
One thing at a time.

"We should get going," he said.

"Where?"

Scooter didn't know. He only knew that they couldn't stay here. That was the first step. They needed to leave. "I don't know. I've been thinking about it, but I really don't have any idea."

Julie nodded her head. "Okay," she said.

The little girl moved again. This time she opened her eyes. Slowly. Once she could see, she looked at Scooter. Straight at him.

"Good morning, Emily," he said.

He thought that she might not know where she was. That she probably wouldn't remember what had happened. But she smiled. And that smile brought some happiness to Scooter.

He walked back into the hangar.

He still didn't know what they were going to do or where they were going to go, but that didn't seem to matter. For the moment, they were safe.

"What about the clothes?" Julie asked. "Did you find any?"

The clothes
!
"Yeah," he said. "Just wait a minute." He came back with the suitcases and laid them onto the floor. "Take your pick."

Both Julie and Emily got up and walked over to them. Emily didn't seem to know why.

It was then that she looked down at her own shirt to see what was wrong. The little girl's eyes opened wider at the sight of the blood caked on her. She stared at her hands, turning them around to get a better look.

"What is this?" she asked.

Scooter was at a loss for words
.
How could you tell a kid that it was blood? Her father's blood.

"It's dirt," Julie said. She leaned down and grabbed the girl's face. "It's just dirt. We need to get some clean clothes."

Emily didn't seem to believe her. It didn't look like dirt. It looked like…

"Where's my dad?" the little girl asked.

Scooter didn't know what to say. This was the question that he had been dreading. He didn't want to have to talk to her about this. He didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. He just wanted her to pick a shirt and follow him out of the hangar. He wanted to keep her safe, not talk to her about death. Not tell her that her father had turned into one of thos
e
thing
s
. He couldn't do that. H
e
wouldn'
t
.

"He's dead," Julie said. Last night, Scooter had told her a little of what had happened, how he had found her. She wrapped her arms around the little girl.

Scooter's jaw dropped. He couldn't understand why she would have said such a thing. Why tell a little girl that her father is dead? How was that going to help? He wanted to reach out and shake Julie. Maybe even slap her.

He wouldn't
.
No, n
o
. But h
e
wante
d
to. And that was enough.

Emily looked up at Julie. She had to crane her neck because Julie was holding her so tight. "He's dead?"

This time, Julie didn't look so confident. It was as though she was second guessing her decision to be so honest.

Scooter wanted to sa
y
told you s
o
. But he hadn't told her anything. He had just thought it. And that wasn't the same thing.

Julie looked into Emily's eyes. "Yes," she said. "He's dead."

The little girl continued to stare at Julie. She seemed to be processing the information, though Scooter didn't know how
.
How could a little girl understand that her father was dead?

"He wasn't sleeping?"

"No, he wasn't."

Emily continued to think about it. Scooter could see tears building in the young girl's eyes. He could also see that she was trying to fight them. As though she wasn't going to cry until she had fully understood what Julie was telling her.

"How?" Emily asked. Just one word. It was a good question. One Scooter didn't know the answer to. Neither did Julie. No one did. Maybe no one ever would.

"I don't know," Julie said. "It just happened."

"In the elbator?"

"Yes, in the elevator."

Emily thought about it some more, things whirling around in her head. "Like the old woman?"

It took Julie a second to answer before it clicked. "Yeah," she said. Julie broke eye contact with the little girl and looked out the hangar door. She couldn't see the old woman out there. Not from where she was. But she knew that she was there. She had seen the old woman's face split in half by an axe. "Like the old woman."

"Why? What happened?"

"I really don't know. None of us do." Julie looked at Scooter for support.

He was still a bit angry at her for saying anything about it in the first place, but now that she had started he might as well help see it through. He shook his head. "No, we don't know."

"My father's dead? Really?"

Julie grabbed Emily tighter. "Yes, really."

Emily started to cry. Scooter thought that she was going to start shouting that it wasn't true, that she didn't believe them. But she didn't. She just cried.

Julie and Scooter didn't stop her. Why would they? The little girl was coming to grips with the death of her father. It was a horrible thing for her to have to do. It was a horrible thing fo
r
anyon
e
to have to do.

They waited for her to stop crying.

When Emily finally raised her head, Julie could feel that her shirt was wet from the little girl's tears. Scooter looked at her. He wasn't sure what was going to happen next. He thought that maybe she'd ask more questions about her father - questions that Scooter didn't have the answers to.

Emily looked at Scooter. He felt his heart sink. He was nervous. He really didn't want to get into this. It was too hard.

She opened her mouth to speak. Scooter wanted to stop her. But he wouldn't. He braced himself for the question.

To his surprise, the question never came.

"I want that pink shirt," Emily said. She pointed at the top shirt in the suitcase.

He reached over and picked it up. He handed it to her. She took it from his hands without any trouble. She wasn't even crying anymore. Though she still looked sad.

"I'll wait outside until you two have changed, okay?" Scooter said.

Emily didn't respond. She just took the shirt and held it in her lap.

Julie nodded and stood up to help Emily. She took the little girl's hand and lifted her to her feet.

He grabbed a shirt for himself and walked away.

*

It wasn't long before Scooter heard footsteps coming up behind him.

"We're done," Julie said.

He turned around and saw them standing in the doorway.

The T-shirt fit the little girl perfectly. And, aside from the blood smeared all across her face and in her hair, she looked good.

Julie looked good too. Her T-shirt was a little bit too tight, but that made it look all that much better. Scooter tried not to think about that, though
.
Not no
w
. He bit his lip and looked away.