The Siege (48 page)

“Huh?” Donna said.

“Rodgers’ left eye.” He looked from her to Winfield. “I didn’t like it the moment I saw it; it bugged the crap out of me. Maybe he was using the drug on himself, too. Maybe he was experimenting on himself as well as the bodies of dead people.”

“Right,” Hocker said, snorting with laughter. “And the evil scientist, who’s uncovered this dark secret of the universe, is being warped and twisted by this powerful
zombie
drug. It’s turning him into a hideous creature!
Hah!
Bullshit!”

Winfield looked up at him, thinking if Hocker wanted a fantastic example of a hideous creature, all he would have to do is check out a mirror.

“Maybe,” Dale said, his gaze drifting out of focus. He suddenly frowned as he looked at Hocker, who had the can of soup in hand and was freely swallowing great mouthfuls. “I’ve seen what they can do. So have you.” He indicated Hocker’s wounded shoulder. “I don’t think this is just some bullshit fantasy I’m concocting here.”

“Well for Christ’s sake,” Tasha said. She hadn’t spoken much while they worked boarding up the windows, and her voice surprised all of them. “It doesn’t really matter
what
these things are or what this guy Rodgers is doing with them. The point is, if we don’t get out of here, we’re all going to be dead soon!”

Dale wanted to say something to reassure her, but when he looked at her and thought how close in age she was to Angie, the numbing fear that Rodgers would try to hurt Angie to get at him gripped his bowels and wouldn’t let go. He vowed to live long enough to kill Rodgers, with his bare hands if necessary, if he so much as looked at Angie!

“I still think this is bullshit,” Hocker said. He spat over his shoulder, and everyone involuntarily watched the glob of spit splatter against the wall. “I say that fuck-face is bluffing us, and if we just run the hell out of here, we’ll all get away.”

“You first,” Winfield said, glaring at him. “The back door’s open.”

“Fuck off,” Hocker said, and he walked out into the living room, leaving the rest of them to finish the can of soup.

“I wish to hell we could get past that one out there,” Winfield said, looking out the kitchen window at the man guarding the barn door. The slumped shape hadn’t moved or flinched since it stopped there, and if he didn’t know better, Winfield would have thought it was a mannequin or a scarecrow. He pounded his fist onto the countertop once in frustration, and then began pacing back and forth.

Dale was going to say something about the tunnel being a last resort, if they could trust Hocker not to take off without them, but before he could open his mouth, he noticed some movement outside. A dark figure walked over to the man already standing by the barn door and took up a position beside him.

“Oh, shit,” Dale said, pointing out the window. “Reinforcements just arrived.”

As if in answer, Hocker shouted from the living room, “It’s showtime, boys and girls! Your friend Rodgers just drove up!”

There was a wild flurry of activity as everyone moved into the positions they had decided upon. Winfield and Tasha stationed themselves by the kitchen door. Winfield held his revolver in one hand, and a nail-studded club in the other. Tasha gripped both hands tightly around the shovel handle. Dale considered their weakest point to be the kitchen door, so he had left all five cans of paint open on the counter. The smell added to the tension that was making Tasha’s stomach churn.

Dale and Donna joined Hocker in the living room, where each of them took a post by one of the boarded-up windows. Donna was holding one of her clubs, and Hocker held another one. His revolver was tucked into his waistband; he already knew, from painful experience, how useless a gun was against these things.

As he leaned forward, squinting through a gap at the black limo parked in the driveway, Hocker tried not to think about the pain in his shoulder. He had put up a macho front when Tasha and Donna had cleaned and dressed the wound, but the truth was he felt as though he had been splashed with acid. The wound itself really hadn’t been that bad. The zombie’s smashed teeth had more shredded than actually gouged his skin; but the pain had continually gotten stronger, until it was now a steady throbbing. Every nerve, from the back of his neck to the base of his spine, was humming. Hocker was positive it was spreading, as if the zombie’s saliva was soaking through his skin like poison.

Dale and Donna were also peering out at where Rodgers had parked, and they watched, horrified, as several pale men dressed in heavy work clothes emerged from the limo and, under Rodgers direction, positioned themselves around the house.

“If they come all at once, we don’t stand a chance,” Donna said softly. Her grip on the nail-studded club was so tight her fingers were going numb.

“How many do you think he had with him?” Dale asked.

“I counted at least twelve, maybe fifteen in all,” Hocker said. He spat on the floor. Dale noticed Hocker was holding his wounded shoulder at an odd angle, but he didn’t complain.

“Look, though,” Hocker said with a grunt. “He’s trying to get them to cooperate, but some of them are sort of drifting.”

Sure enough, while Rodgers stood by the open limo door, shielding himself from any gunfire that might come from the house, he was indicating to each man where to go; but a few of the men seemed dazed as they wandered toward the house.

“If what you said was true about the drug,” Donna said tightly, “maybe it takes away their will or something. They seem and act so mindless.”

“That may be our only hope,” Dale said. His hand tightened on the axe handle when one of the zombies lurched toward the house and stumbled up onto the porch.

The three of them waited tensely, and then there came a solid thump on the front door. Donna thought it was probably her imagination, but she was positive she had seen the door and the blockade buckle inward from the impact.

Dale shifted over to one side of the door and stood at ready, his knees slightly bent, the axe up over his head. As soon as a face or a hand came through the door, he was determined to lop it off with a single stroke. He didn’t consider for very long whether or not the rusty axe head could really do that.

Then a harder blow shook the door. Hocker smiled, but Dale and Donna exchanged worried glances.

“It sounds like he could punch his way through the wall, never mind the door,” Dale said.

Donna took another peek outside, and what she saw made her gasp. Three more of the zombies had approached the house. A twisted, snarling face loomed up in front of her, filling the crack where she was looking out. With a squeal, she fell backwards, covering her face with her arm when the glass exploded inward. She saw thin but strong-looking fingers reach in through the break and start clawing to remove the blocking wood.

“Hold tight!” Dale said. “If he starts getting through, whack him!”

The sound of breaking glass continued as the zombie pulled the window sash apart, clearing it out of his way, and then began hammering his fists on the wood nailed over the window. Donna watched with open-mouthed horror as the boards bounced with each hit. She focused on the nails, holding the wood to the inside window frame, and prayed earnestly for them not to slip out.

Hocker stayed where he was, watching Dale and Donna with a slight smile across his face. He kept glancing out through his slit to see if his window was also going to be the focus of an attack, but so far it wasn’t.

Dale stood, frozen into position, as the zombie outside the door continued to rain heavy-fisted blows on the door. Everything, the door frame included, shook under the impact, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he was sure the barricade was gradually giving to the assault. His anger at Rodgers flared and grew stronger when he wondered if he had already been to Mrs. Appleby’s and done something to Angie. He knew he had a responsibility to Angie to survive and find out if he had md take his revenge.

“It’s not gonna hold,” Donna said frantically.

“Be ready! Be ready!” Dale shouted, not taking his yes from the door. As soon as he said that, the end of the of the blocking boards popped out and swung down. The hammering sound from outside grew louder and faster. Dale became convinced there were at least two of the creatures working to get the door down.

Finally, with a loud crack, one of the upper door panels broke inward in a shower of splinters. A big-knuckled fist shot in with it. Once inside, the fingers snapped open and reached blindly for something to snag onto. Dale tightened his stance and brought the axe down as hard as he could. The blade caught on the shattered wood, but enough of it hit the exposed wrist to do some damage. Dead and rotting muscles and tendons were torn open. The hand snapped back, flat against the inside of the door.

“Take that, you son-of-a-bitch,” Dale snarled, curling his lips back and exposing his teeth in a savage grin. The fingers twitched, and the hoary fingernails made a weird tap-dancing sound on the wood. Dale pulled the axe back and swung it around quickly, before the creature could pull its hand out.

There was a loud snap as the hand severed at the wrist, and Dale watched, horrified, as it fell to the floor. For a second or two the fingers continued to twitch, but then they stopped, and the hand lay still, truly dead.

“Weird, huh?” Hocker said, standing there, watching. “No blood. No blood at all.”

“Yeah,” Dale said with a gasp, thinking he was going to throw up. “At least we won’t make a mess on the floor.”

Donna, meanwhile, was too busy watching her own window to pay attention to what was happening to Dale. Above the sound of shattering glass and breaking wood, she could hear the deep-gut grunting the creature made as he rammed his shoulder into the blockage. Every time he hit, the wood groaned. When it finally gave way, though, it wasn’t slowly, as Donna had expected; the entire barricade suddenly shot inward, and right behind it was the bulky, dark shape of a man.

One piece of the flying wood caught Donna on the side of the jaw. The suddenness of the impact caught her by surprise, and she staggered back, dazed, as the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

It was more out of reflex than thought that Donna acted. She took a quick step forward and swung the club around with a low, whistling whoop. She hadn’t even checked to see which side the nails were on, so only a corner of the wood connected with the man’s head as he lunged through the open window. There was a satisfying sound that made her think of a baseball player swatting a home run, and the man collapsed with only half of his body inside the house.

Hocker let out a loud shout as he darted over beside Donna and brought his club down, time and again, on the back of the zombie’s head. Each blow produced the sound of breaking bone as hair and skin peeled back, exposing the shattered skull. Splinters of bone stuck up through the dead skin, and Hocker caught a glimpse of the dark mess of exposed brain. The creature never flinched or stooped trying to propel itself into the house, though; arms and legs scrambled for purchase, and still the zombie struggled forward.

“Watch his hand!” Donna shouted, and Hocker had to take a quick leap backward to avoid getting tripped up. He knew how strong a hold these creatures could have, and there was no way he wanted to let this one get a hold on him.

“For Christ’s sake! Don’t just
stand
there!” Hocker shouted as he moved forward and continued to hammer on the man’s head and shoulders, to no avail.

Donna wanted to help, but she couldn’t bring herself to join in. All she could think was, not so long ago this man had been a living, breathing human being. It wasn’t
his
fault he was what he was now. Even if he was just an empty shell, totally drained of true life, she couldn’t bring herself to savage a human body. It was like corpse mutilation!

The zombie’s fingers were clawing frantically at the floor. As Hocker pummeled its head, the nails of his club tore away large swatches of dead flesh. Then, one lucky swat severed the man’s spine, and this, finally, had the desired effect. With a sudden growl, the zombie slumped to the floor face-first, his head hanging over his right shoulder at an impossible angle, looking up at the ceiling.

“That’ll do it,” Hocker shouted gleefully as he swung one last time at the twice-dead man. The head loosened some more but didn’t quite come off. Hocker could tell this one, at least, would give them no more trouble.

“See,” Hocker shouted to Dale. “You just have to disconnect the brain from the body! Pull the plug on these bastards!”

“Great!” Dale replied. The handless arm had pulled back from the hole in the door, but the hammering on the door continued unabated. He glanced over at the corpse on the floor and the broken barricade. “Get that wood nailed back up if you can,” he shouted, “before any more come.”

Another face suddenly filled the hole in the door. When Dale swung the axe at it, the creature retreated. The axe head caught on the edge of the hole, and Dale almost lost his grip from the impact. As he was straightening up, regaining his balance, two more door panels broke inward, and soon the entire door and blocking wood were caving in.

V

W
hile Dale, Donna, and Hocker were defending the front of the house, Tasha and Winfield were busy at the kitchen door. Their problems were slightly less for two reasons: the door they were defending wasn’t boarded over, so they had a clearer field of vision; and the two zombies who had been protecting the barn hadn’t been joined by any others.