Infected (11 page)

He went out the back door and observed the barn. His father had built it after the War. The shingles were curling and the red paint had faded to a near pink. Maybe it was time to think about selling it. Next to the barn were the stables, which housed their only remaining horse, Gracey.

He walked out to the stable, which was about fifty yards from the house. As he walked, he swept the beam back and forth, watching for any sign of a coyote. Satisfied nothing was lurking between the house and stable, he proceeded to the low, white building. Something made him stop at the door, a tingling on the back of his neck, a signal telling him to stop.

He listened at the door, where a low slurping noise came from inside the stable. His guess was that an animal was in there feeding on something, but that wouldn't make sense, because there wasn't an animal around big enough to take down a horse.

Steeling up his courage, he went inside and paused for a moment so his eyes could adjust to the darkness.  There were three empty stables, with Gracey's being in the fourth one on the end. He shined the light on the empty stables and saw nothing. The munching noises continued and they were coming from Gracey's stable.

He crept forward, recalling the time as a boy when he'd seen a black bear in their campsite at Allegany State Park. Palms moist and heart thudding, he'd frozen until the bear wandered off.  This was worse.

What the hell could be in the stall? Mountain lion?

It was crouched down and had two legs, as far as he could tell. It was a man. And he was gnawing on a wound in his horse's neck. Gracey was on her side in the hay and Sam saw that her chest wasn't rising and falling. The man was greedily stuffing hunks of bloody flesh into his mouth.

He racked the shotgun, pointed it at the man's head and said: “Get away from my goddamned horse.”

A series of satisfied grunts came from the man, but he didn't turn his head.

“Hey,” Sam said. “I got a shotgun pointed at your head.”

He turned around and Sam realized he was looking into the face of a monster. The bleached-out eyes combined with the blood and saliva running down its chin made it look like something that had crawled out of a grave. A damned ghoul.

Sam started to take a step back and the ghoul slapped the shotgun from his hands. Sam glanced sideways and saw the pitchfork hanging on the stable wall. Grabbing the pitchfork, he crouched low, pointing it at the thing.  It lunged at him and he jabbed the pitchfork into its guts. It backed up, the pitchfork stuck in its midsection, the thing grabbed at the handle and tried to pry it loose.

Sam decided to help it out, pushing on the pitchfork so that the creature stumbled backward. He then grabbed the handle and twisted, but it seemed to have no effect.  The thing kicked and flailed and he pulled the fork out and brought it down on the thing's head like a barbarian warrior finishing off an enemy.  The thing kicked a few more times and then was still.

“Holy Christ,” Sam said, backing away. A sharp pain jolted through his chest and his breath came in short gasps. It would be a pisser if he had a heart attack now. Forty years of busting ass working the fields hadn't killed him, but some horror movie boogeyman might.

His breathing slowed and he put his hand on his chest. When he was reasonably sure his heart wasn't going to explode, he removed his hand. There'd be one hell of a story to tell Trudy.

It took some convincing, but he got Trudy to slip her barn coat and muck boots on. She followed him out to the stable. He put his arm out, stopping her. No telling if there was another one of those things in the stable.

“Wait here,” Sam said

With the shotgun ready, he went inside, half expecting one of the boogeymen to jump out at him. Nothing did, and the stable was empty save for the dead creature and poor old Gracey.

He went back outside, put an arm on Trudy's shoulder. “She's in a bad way. Just wanted to prepare you.”

The old horse had been Trudy's. His wife had slept in the stable when Gracey had been sick on numerous occasions. Sam used to joke that his wife secretly loved the horse more than her husband. He'd only been half kidding.

Tears formed in Trudy's eyes and she bit her lower lip. “Let's see her.”

They went in the stable and Trudy gasped at the sight of the dead thing with the pitchfork in its head, blood leaking from its eyes where the tines had penetrated.

“Dear God what is it?”

“I don't know, but I think we should call the Sheriff,” Sam said.

Trudy knelt by the dead thing, looking like she wasn't convinced it wouldn't spring to life. She had a look of utter revulsion on her face.

“It was eating Gracey?”

“Took chunks out of the poor girl,” Sam said.

Trudy stood up and went to Gracey, her muck boots smooching on the concrete. She knelt by the dead horse and stroked her mane, the animal's eye locked in a permanent stare.  Sam shined the flashlight on the horse's wound, the muscle and bone layed open in the neck. Trudy began to cry and Sam knelt next to her, putting his arm around his wife.

“I'm sorry.”

“She was a good girl. She didn't deserve this,” Trudy said.

“We should get back inside, call the Sheriff,” Sam said.

“I want to stay with her a bit,” Trudy said.

“We should head in.”

“When I'm ready. Not before,” Trudy said.

Sam knew when his wife dug his heels in like this there'd be no moving her. “Take the time you need. I'm going to keep watch, make sure our visitor here didn't bring any friends.”

He stood up and left the stable to the sound of his wife's sobs. If he found another one of those sonsabitches, he'd gut shoot them for making his wife suffer.

Emma backpedaled, emptying the Glock into the charging zombies. They continued to come at her and she retreated back down the hallway, jamming in a new clip as she went. When she reached the junction near the elevator, she steadied herself and took aim. She fired, taking down two more of them.

She turned the corner and headed back towards the stairwell. One zombie remained, and it slowed as it followed her. It trudged forward, making itself an easy target. She prepared to blast it when she was grabbed from behind and lifted of her feet.

She kicked and flailed, her attacker crushing Emma in a bear hung. She kept her hold on the Glock, which was pointed at the ground. Looking down, she saw the black, standard-issue cop shoes and knew it was George that had grabbed her. The grip tightened, and she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck.

The gun's pointed at his foot, she thought. The other zombie was closing in and she had a horrible vision of them gnawing on her lifeless body. Dinner for two. She squeezed the trigger and the bullet tore into George's foot. It was enough to loosen his grip and she wiggled loose and landed on her feet.

Spinning, she looked George in the face. His skin had turned a pale yellow and dark purple bags had formed under his eyes. The skin seemed to hang on his cheekbones. Anything that had been George was gone.  George, whose egg salad sandwiches would stink up the whole station. George, who would come to the house for dinner and play endless games of Candyland with Kayla. The George that crawled into a drain culvert to rescue the Morris' German Shepherd puppy. That was gone.

“I'm sorry. Wherever you are. I'm sorry,” she said, tears stinging her eyes.

She leveled the Glock and his head and fired. His head jerked back and he stumbled into the wall. Emma thought she might puke, but she still had the other zombie to deal with. It was almost on top of her, lunging with outstretched arms. She tried to raise the Glock and fire but it slammed into her, and they fell side-by-side.

The thing swiped at her, but she got her arms up and blocked it. She hoisted her legs up and pinned it to the wall. As they struggled and kicked, she managed to plant her foot in its chest, aim the Glock and fire, decorating the wall with its brains.

She stood up, worried that she'd been scratched.  She examined her hands, felt her face for any nicks, but found none. Winding up like George would've been horrifying.

There were still zombies to deal with and she crept back to the spot where she'd made her initial stand.  She holstered the Glock and picked up the shotgun. There were four of them left and she walked towards them, measuring her breathing. Her eyes locked on each one of them and as they came towards her, she turned them into hamburger.  Zombie meat. It's what's for dinner.

She reached the other corner and saw the closed double doors. A woman peered out of the glass, her eyes grew wide, and Liz saw her reach up and unbolt the doors. They swung open to reveal a nurse who looked like she might've been a basketball player at one time. She was wielding a bloody reciprocating saw like a barbarian warrior.

“You doing surgery?” Emma asked.

“I could kiss you right now,” the nurse said.

“I'll take a simple hello.”

“We have other people up here. Can we get out?”

“Don't know. The hospital's been overrun. Show me who's here,” Emma said.

She stepped through the doorway and waited while the nurse, whose name was Rebecca, bolted the doors again. Then they went down the hallway and found two more nurses, a teenage boy, and good old Mom. They had gathered near the nurses' station.

“How are you mom?” Emma asked.

“I'm glad to see you. Are you okay?”

Had to kill my friend when he turned into a zombie, but other than that, I'm okay.

“I'm holding up. Is anyone here hurt?”

“We haven't been hurt by those
things
, if that's what you mean,” one of the other nurses said. She was slim and olive-skinned, her hair in a long ponytail. Her ID badge indicated her name was Maria.

Emma noticed the blood on Maria's hands. “How'd that happen?”

“I cut one of the bastard's fingers off. Smashed another one's face with a hammer.”

“Where'd you get the tools?” Emma asked.

“They're renovating one of the surgical suites. Thought that would be the best place to get a weapon,” Maria said.

“Nice work, ladies,” Emma said.

“Can you get us out of here? We tried, but the lobby was blocked off.”

“The army's on the way, but I'm not sure when or where they'll arrive,” Emma said.

Rebecca said, “What about the roof? Are they sending a helicopter?”

“Can't bank on that,” Emma said.

Maria said, “We can't stay here. Those doors barely held. If you hadn't showed up, it wouldn't have been much longer before they broke through.”

“Then we're going to have to fight our way out,” Emma said. “You ladies up for it?”

Chapter Sixteen

Rob and the others rode the elevator to the eighth floor. They'd decided to return to Ramsey's offices, lock things down, and wait for the calvary to arrive. Deputy Tim had been in touch with the Army and they were sending a squad in a chopper out to help. Rob hoped they could get here in time.

They reached the eighth floor and stepped off the elevator.

Tim said, “Can you lock the doors?”

“I have keys to the stairwell door. I don't think they'll figure out elevators,” Ramsey said.

“Give me the key,” Tim said. “I'll run and lock the door.”

Ramsey handed Tim the key and he jogged down the hallway to lock the door.

Mary said, “We should wait on the roof for the helicopter.”

“We don't know when and if it'll be here,” Rob said.

“It beats waiting here. Jerry, how do we get to the roof?” Mary said.

“There's a utility closet on the tenth floor. Hatch in the roof and a ladder going up.”

“We go on the roof now and they break through, there's nowhere to go from there,” Rob said.

Tim came back and handed the keys to Ramsey. “Bad news. I can hear them in the hallway.”

“How close?” Rob asked.

“Hard to tell,” Tim said.

Ryan said, “Maybe they can smell us, or sense body heat. How else would they know to climb the stairs.”

“You're assuming they're mindless,” Rob said. “We just don't know.”

From down the hallway Rob heard pounding at the stairway door. Then the rattling of the door handle. “We need to go higher.”

“They might've already gotten up there. We're better off staying put until we know the chopper's on the roof,” Tim said.

“Bullshit. I'm putting distance between them and myself. Who's with me?” Ramsey said.

“I agree with Jerry,” Mary said. “Ryan?”

“The boss makes sense,” Ryan said.

“You might be trapping yourselves,” Rob said.

“What's the alternative? Stay here and have our brains sucked out?” Mary asked.

The pounding on the door increased, and Rob knew they'd have to make a move soon. He had a bad feeling about them all being trapped, having their skulls cracked open to feed the dead. “I have an idea.”

“Dad,” Kayla said, tugging on his sleeve. “We have to go.”