The Darkest Place: A Surviving the Dead Novel (16 page)

I pinned Torrance to the ground by sitting on his chest and holding my rifle across his throat. One of the fundamental rules of body mechanics is if you control the head, you control the body. I managed to hold him down long enough for Tyrel to tape his ankles and knees together, but it was a near thing.

In the process, while desperately trying to keep him from sitting up, I heard the crunch of Torrance’s hyoid bone giving way. I cursed, but kept my grip on the rifle. I kept expecting to hear him choking and gagging, but the only difference was his moans now came out in a disjointed rattle instead of the previous mewling. In that moment, it finally began to sink in that this man might be really, truly dead. And still moving around.

With this realization came an odd, inexplicable rage. I pressed down harder with the rifle, teeth bared, wanting nothing more in the world than to kill the thing underneath me. The sound of harsh, labored grunting came to my ears, and after a moment of dimly wondering where it was coming from, I realized it was me.

“Caleb,” Tyrel said.

I spoke through clenched teeth. “What?”

“Ease down, kid. Just hold him, don’t rip his head off.”

I relaxed, forcing myself to breath normally. “Sorry.”

Once Torrance’s legs were secured, we rolled him over and forced his hands behind his back. His right shoulder popped out of socket in the process, but again, the stricken man gave no indication of discomfort.

“That is just fuckin’ weird,” Tyrel said as we stood up and took a few steps away.

“No shit. What now?”

Tyrel picked up the tennis ball where he had dropped it, cut a hole in two sides, and threaded a bungee cord through it so it made a makeshift ball gag. “Now comes the fun part.”

I held Torrance’s head as still as I could while Tyrel applied the gag. He poised the ball over the man’s mouth and waited for him to open it between gnashings. When the time was right, he grasped the gag by two ends of the bungee cord and forced the tennis ball into Torrance’s biting mouth. A few quick motions later, and he had secured it in place by looping the bungee cords around the head and tying them off, then double securing it with duct tape.

“Okay,” Tyrel said. “Let’s see if he has a pulse.”

I did my best to hold Torrance still while Tyrel laid two fingers on the left side of his neck, and then the right. He repeated the process two more times, eyes closed in concentration. Finally, he sat back with a sigh.

“Anything?”

“Nothing. No pulse.”

“How the hell is that possible, Ty? Look at him.”

We stood up and backed away, watching the thing that was once a man thrash around, its head smacking with wet hollow thuds on the concrete floor. “I don’t know,” Tyrel said, voice shaken. “That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some shit.”

“What should we do with him?”

Tyrel mopped sweat from his forehead with a sleeve. “I guess we let Lola decide that. He’s her husband, after all.”

“Used to be, anyway,” I said.

Tyrel glanced at me but said nothing.

“I don’t know what to do,” Lola said.

Tyrel rubbed a hand across his beard. “Well, it’s not something I can decide for you.”

She stood with us in the basement staring at her husband under the harsh glare of my tac-light. Perry Torrance’s milky white eyes bulged from their sockets in impotent rage, his mouth working incessantly at the tennis ball. At some point during his struggles, he had dislocated the other shoulder so that both arms now hung limply from their sockets.

“Lola,” I said, “did you catch any of the news or radio reports before the grid went down?”

She looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Yes.”

“Then you heard what the government was saying about the infected?”

“You think that’s what happened to him?”

I thought,
I think it’s pretty fucking obvious, lady
. But my mouth said, “I believe so. There’s no other explanation.”

“We checked his vitals,” Tyrel added. “He has no pulse, no respiration other than when he breathes in to make that damned moan. I cut a vein to see if anything came out. His blood is like sludge, partially coagulated. You only see that in corpses, Lola. I think it’s safe to say he’s dead.”

Her voice rose. “Then how is he still moving around like that?”

“I don’t know,” Tyrel replied evenly. “Even the government’s best scientists can’t seem to figure that part out. But he’s dead, Lola. There’s no doubt about it. Whatever that thing is over there,” he pointed, “it’s not your husband anymore.”

She turned away from us and walked to a far corner of the basement. Minutes passed while Tyrel and I waited, shuffling awkwardly, unsure what we should do. Finally, she heaved a breath and faced us. “The news reports said to sever their brain stem or …”

“Destroy the brain,” Tyrel finished.

“Right.”

“I’m going to go inside and have a glass of wine,” Lola said. “In fact, I think I’ll have several. We have a collection, over a hundred bottles, some of them rare vintages. Perry loved wine, said it was an investment. That we’d leave them to our kids someday.”

Her voice choked on the last sentence, hand coming up to her mouth, tears spilling over her knuckles. She looked imploringly at Tyrel. “I think I’ll stay in the house until tomorrow morning,” she said.

Tyrel nodded. “He’ll be gone by then. We’ll clean up when we’re done.”

“Thank you. When I first saw the two of you I thought you were here to … you know.”

“We’re not like that, Lola. We’re not that kind of people.”

“I know that, now. Will I see you in the morning?”

“Of course.”

“Until then.”

She climbed the ladder and left without another word. Tyrel drew his knife and started walking toward Perry Torrance. As he reached down to roll him over on his stomach, a thought occurred to me.

“Wait,” I said.

“What?”

“Have the others seen one of these things yet?”

Tyrel’s eyes glimmered in the dark. “No. But they should.”

“Maybe we wait a while, let Lola get a few glasses in. Take care of things later, after she’s asleep.”

“Take the truck,” Tyrel said. “I’ll wait here.”

“On it.”

The air was cool, the afternoon sun low in the sky when I climbed out of the basement. A breeze picked up from the south, drying the sweat on my face and hands. I stood for a moment, eyes closed, mind empty until the breeze died down.

The truck was where we left it. I drove slowly through the empty streets watching brown grass, empty houses, and the leftover ashes from distant fires passing by on either side. I kept the truck pointed in the middle of the road, straddling the lanes for no better reason than I could. It was not as if I had to share the road with anyone.

Dad and Blake had already returned to Dale’s cabin. They radioed me coming in, and I told them I was on my way, but I was alone. No, Tyrel is fine. We found a couple of survivors and one infected. I’ll explain when I get there.

So I did.

They all went to the Torrance’s lake house. Sophia did not want to, but Mike deemed it necessary she see an infected for herself. I told him to make sure she stayed no less than ten feet away. For a second there, he seemed to think I was joking. Then he caught something in my expression and clamped his mouth shut on whatever he was about to say.

They were gone for the better part of two hours. I later learned they spent some time examining Perry Torrance’s reanimated corpse, tried to kill it a few different ways, and finally settled on slipping a knife into the base of its skull. Afterward, they drove the body a few blocks away, wrapped it in a tarp, and buried it deep in an abandoned back yard.

I spent that time sitting on the front porch watching the sun slide down the horizon on the western side of the continent. Clouds in the distance blazed orange, then purple-blue, then burnt scarlet, dark as blood over the corona of our nearest star. Birds took flight and bats emerged from hiding under a neon sky as I drank Dale’s bourbon and wondered what the sunset looked like in California.

*****

I was in bed by the time they came back.

From the chatter I heard downstairs, Lola Torrance was falling down drunk when they returned to her house after burying her late husband. Tyrel decided she should not be alone in that condition and stayed behind to keep an eye on her. Having dealt with the drunken shenanigans of my father and Dale Forrester enough times, I did not envy him the task. 

Mike volunteered to take the first watch, Blake the second, Dad the last before dawn. Blake suggested waking me up to shorten the watches, but Dad vetoed him.

“The kid’s been through enough today,” he said. “Let him rest.”

That settled, they dispersed. I stayed still and quiet as Sophia entered the room and eased the door shut. It was night outside, but moonlight through the thin curtains gave enough illumination to see her silhouette in the dark. She sat on the bed a few minutes, saying nothing, head in her hands, legs folded beneath her. Then she stood up, took off her shirt and bra, and changed into a pair of tight mesh shorts and a clingy white tank top. I’m not proud of it, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to watch.

She kept her back to me, the only part visible her left side, the moonlight painting her tan skin a pale bluish-silver. I studied the sweep of her torso and flare of hip as she raised her arms to untie her hair and let it fall down her shoulders in a deliciously tousled platinum cascade. The urge to reach out and run my fingers through it was strong, but I remained still.

It was too hot for blankets, so she covered up with a thin sheet and lay on her side, pale light outlining the valley descending her side and sweeping up over her hips. I stared and wondered how well my arm would fit in that space. 

“Caleb?” she said, startling me. I waited a three-count before answering, pushing as much grogginess as I could manage into my voice.

“Yeah?”

“That guy, Perry. He was dead. Like, really dead.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“But he was still moving.”

“Just like they said on the news, Sophia.”

“It’s not the same, somebody telling you something and seeing it for yourself.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“He wanted to kill us. I could see it in his eyes.”

“I saw the same thing.”

“What does it mean, do you think? Dead people walking. I heard a lot of people saying it was God’s judgment, the end of times, all that shit. Is it the end of the world? Like, for real, no fucking around, we’re all gonna die, end of the world?”

“I don’t know, Sophia. I don’t think anyone does.”

“So what do we do?”

“The same thing we’re doing now.” I rolled over so my back was to her, letting her know the conversation was over.

“We stay alive.”

*****

Time passed.

Lola moved into a house down the street, saying she couldn’t stand to stay in the place where her husband died. Tyrel helped her pack and drove her things to our part of the lake, helped her move in, gave her some food, a rifle, and spare ammunition. He visited her every day, sneaking off to see her whenever he could get away. If his attentions bothered her, she didn’t complain to any of us about it.

Dad and Blake mapped out all the surrounding stores and housing developments. We spent most of our time scouting them, taking anything useful, and secreting it in various caches spread out around Canyon Lake. Pickings were sparse around the lake itself, but better in nearby areas the fire had missed. We gathered as much food and other supplies as we could, cleaned out Dale’s garage, and packed it to the ceiling with non-perishables. The cabin had a den outfitted with old chairs and sofas and a massive coffee table meant to be a sitting room, a place of conversation, no TV. We tossed the furniture in the yard and filled the room with toilet paper, feminine hygiene products, soap, toothpaste, laundry detergent, and the entire contents of an abandoned drug store. The large supply of antibiotics, painkillers, and various other medicines seemed to grant everyone a measure of ease.

Everyone but me, that is.

Because Mike was Mike, and there was no stopping him from being Mike, he relieved every house we found of their finest booze. Nobody complained.

We saw Lance Morton a few times and gave him some antibiotics and pain medicine. He was polite, but kept his distance. A loner, that one. Dad gave him a flare, same as the other survivors around the lake, and since he lived so close, a radio as well.

“Stop by in the mornings and we’ll give you fresh batteries.” Dad told him.

“Where you getting the juice?” Lance asked.

“Solar panels on the cabin, on the south side, facing the back yard.”

“Oh. Never seen ‘em.”

“You run into any trouble,” Dad said, “or see any coming down the road, give us a heads up. We’ll do the same for you.”

“Fair enough.”

Against my wishes, Dad and Mike insisted Sophia and I work together, ostensibly to thaw the ice between us. It was a mute partnership that first week, both of us throwing ourselves into work to avoid dwelling on our situation.

It went well for a while. Sophia turned out to be a more perceptive creature than I had given her credit for. She left me alone for the most part, limiting the conversation to no more than what was necessary. The hostility she had displayed when we fled Houston largely dried up, replaced by a somber, unassuming acceptance. We rode together in silence, worked mostly in silence, and when we ate meals together away from the cabin, she didn’t try to engage me in conversation. But I caught her watching me sometimes when she thought I couldn’t see. If I had to pin a label on what I saw on her face, I would call it curiosity.

Outwardly, I suppose I put up a convincing enough front everyone thought I was holding it together. But the truth was, between helping out with the night watch rotation, inventorying and organizing supplies, doing everyone’s scut work because they were too busy or too lazy to do it themselves, and trying to play peacekeeper between my father and stepmother as the tension between them intensified, I felt stretched to my limit.

So two weeks after arriving at Canyon Lake, when Dad and the other men announced they wanted me to stay behind with Lauren and Sophia while they headed to the outskirts of San Antonio, I was less than pleased.

“We should have seen other refugees by now,” Dad said, interrupting my protests mid-sentence. “It’s not like Canyon Lake wasn’t popular. Everybody and their brother knew about this place. Whatever is keeping them away, it’s something we need to know about.”

“Not to mention we’re low on gasoline and diesel,” Blake added.

Dad nodded his way. “That too. Caleb, I need you to look after the girls while we’re gone. Keep your eyes peeled for strangers. Lance Morton knows where we’re going. He’s got a radio with a fresh battery. You run into any trouble, call him.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” I asked.

“He seems like a solid guy. If we were going to have any trouble out of him, I think it would have happened already. That said, don’t trust him any more than you have to.”

“I won’t. Listen, are you sure about this, Dad? Maybe I should go with you. Maybe leave one of the other guys behind.”

He shook his head. “Another time, when I’m a little surer of things. God only knows what we’re going to find out there.” He gestured to my three oldest and best friends. “You’ve known these guys most of your life. You think you know what they’re capable of, but you don’t know the half of it. Something like this, I need the best I can get. You’re well trained, son, but you don’t have their experience. So they go and you stay and that’s the end of it. Understood?”

I wanted to argue, but he had that tone of voice which brooked no dissent. I knew better than to push, so I said, “Be careful out there, old man.”

He smiled then, and I realized I had not seen him smile since we arrived at the cabin. “Old man my ass. I’ll run circles around you, kid.”