DEAD RAIN: A Tale of the Zombie Apocalypse (8 page)

19

Kerri soon discovered that Route 47 was a deathtrap. The walking dead were everywhere—crawling through broken car windows to sate their insatiable appetites on the unconscious victims of accidents… swarming unlucky people who’d survived the wrecks and tried to walk away but were too stunned or injured to escape their clutches… ambushing unsuspecting pedestrians who’d ventured out for a late night snack.

As slow as the zombies were, there were just too many of them.  Kerri tried to rescue a drunken man but he was too befuddled to cooperate. She ran to help a woman who staggered from a crashed Volvo, pleading with her to run, but dazed and hysterical with fear, the woma
n refused to act decisively. Kerri watched in horror as both were swarmed and bitten. The cannibalistic fiends seemed drawn to exposed areas first, feasting on the soft cheeks and chins and stripping the flesh from fingers.

She aimed Jurgensen’s Glock at the corpses attacking the woman, but couldn’t get a clean shot, and then it was too late. As she turned away, a hissing woman with dead eyes stumbled towards her. She raised the gun and fired. The shot took a piece of the woman’s head off and she spun to the ground—but every zombie in the area turned towards the sound of the shot.

Kerri gave up trying to be a hero and retreated to a sleepier side street, moving steadily into darker territory, dodging an occasional zombie in the fog. She kept the Glock in her hand, but resolved not to fire another shot unless it was her only option to survive. Aside from the unwanted attention it drew, she knew that the madness was just beginning and figured she’d better save her bullets for truly desperate situations
.

She reached an intersection and paused to consider her route. The homes on the quiet residential street were mostly unlit, but there were slow-moving silhouettes scattered throughout the fog. Beyond them she could see thick throngs of zombies shambling about in the lights of Route 9.
Whatever this is,
she thought,
it’s obviously worse on the main roads.

Suddenly the power went out, plunging the entire town into darkness. Kerri realized that she had to get out of the area if she were to have any chance at all of surviving the night. Changing course she headed west—away from Route 9—hoping to find refuge in the semi-rural communities that bordered the Pine Barrens. She was tempted to run, but knew she needed to pace herself. It might take hours to reach a safe haven on foot. And like her bullets, she wanted to conserve her physical energy for
when she might really need it.

As she hiked down the suburban street she tried looking for signs of life in the houses she passed, but the blackout had left them all dark. There was no way to tell if anyone was home or what lurked behind their closed doors. And with the homes set back in wooded lots, it was too dark an
d risky to leave the open road.

A woman appeared suddenly from behind a large bush. Kerri stepped toward her, then quickly backed away when she saw tha
t the woman’s nose was missing.

She whispered a silent prayer then ran off into the night.

The woman turned, a rattling growl in her throat, and slowly plodded after her.

20

Emma
fidgeted in her sleep. Even in her dreams her primal instincts were on guard.

She heard a growl in her ear and rolled over on the couch. Opening her eyes she found Buddy kneeling beside her, face to face, just a few feet away. His face was bloody and torn. His eyes were cold black pearls. He bared his teeth and lunged forward—and his head exploded with a bang, splattering
Emma with blood.

His body dropped forward and slid off the edge of the couch, revealing Sheriff Leeds standing behind him, holding a smoking revolver. He smiled at
Emma and aimed the gun at her face. She opened her mouth to plead for her life as he cocked the cold steel hammer.

Flames shot from the barrel as he squeezed the trigger.

Emma woke suddenly, startled by a loud booming noise. She lay on the sofa, unnerved and disoriented, then realized it had only been a crack of thunder as raindrops started pelting the bungalow’s roof, announcing the arrival of the dreaded nor’easter.

The creaking of a floorboard sent a fresh jolt of alarm through her nerves. She was relieved to see her mother shuffle out of the kitchen in her housecoat and slippers, carrying a mug of steaming milk. “You left the TV on,” her mother said sleepily. “Want some warm milk? There’s more on the stove.”

“No, mom. Thanks.”

“What time did you get in?”

Emma considered how much she should say. Her mind was still sideways—groggy from the sedative she’d taken but skittish with anxiety. She needed to choose her words carefully before she spoke. If she started talking about zombies now her mother would simply assume she’d had a bad dream, or worse, had spent the evening on drugs. That would be the end of the discussion and the start of a nasty argument.

She decided it was pointless to say anything at all. It could wait until morning. They couldn’t do anything productive until then anyway. “Not too late,” she murmured, trying to sound casually convincing. “We took a wrong turn in the woods.”

Her mother grunted skeptically and waddled away to her bedroom.

Emma
breathed a sigh of relief. It was a small miracle that her mother hadn’t made an issue about her late arrival home. She sat up on the sofa, too awake to go back to sleep. For a moment she regretted not telling her mom the whole story, but decided again to wait for the light of day. Maybe by then the news would be out and she wouldn’t have to risk being locked up in an asylum.

She switched on the television
, half expecting to see a report of zombies on the loose. A message screen told her the satellite dish was trying to acquire a signal. She cursed softly and turned it off. The reception would likely be out until the storm passed over. That could be days, if the weather reports were accurate.

Her laptop was in the shop, getting a new hard drive. The only radio in the house was in her mother’s bedroom. She’d have to wait until morning to try it. She tried her cell phone but it had no signal.

She thought about using the house phone.
To call who?
She didn’t trust 911. Not after the lawmen had betrayed her at the cemetery. And it was too late to call anyone she knew.

Paranoid thoughts started running through her mind.
How many people know about those things in the cemetery? Is it a local thing… or are there places like that everywhere?
Is the entire government in on it?

Waves of rolling thunder grumbled outside. Flash memories of her narrow escape from the cemetery welled up in her mind, rekindling her fear. But the sound of the rain on the roof was marginally soothing. She imagined it would slow down the walking dead. Maybe even drive them back into their graves.
Wash the earth clean of their evil.

Something thumped outside. A muffled sound, barely audible through the teeming rain.
Emma’s pulse raced. She told herself it was nothing. Debris knocked loose by the storm. Maybe a tree branch falling on Russell’s car.

The lights flickered… o
ut for a second, then on again. Twice more they went out briefly, then came on.

Emma
drew her legs up and pulled a knitted afghan up around her neck. The dampness of the storm was seeping through the clapboard walls. Wind whistled through the cracks. Her thoughts drifted to Russell. She felt guilty for having abandoned him.
I shouldn’t have left him like that. He saved my life. I owed it to him to do more. To at least try to help him.
But deep in her heart she knew there was nothing she could have done. He’d clearly been infected, with whatever murderous evil existed in that cemetery.

She heard the thumping sound again.

Something is out there… just outside the front door.

Her blood turned cold as she flashed back to being trapped in the wooden building at the cemetery.

Oh my God, it’s that Sheriff. He found me!

No. No, he couldn’t have. How could he? It’s just your imagination. He doesn’t know who you are. No possible way could he know where you live.

Then she remembered Russell’s car, parked outside.
He knows what kind of car we were driving. I told him.

But just as quickly she realized that as distinctive as the vintage Ford was, the odds of the Sheriff driving around and finding it in her driveway were virtually nil.
Not in this weather. First the fog, now the rain. If he’s out there he can barely see the road.

Something banged lightly against the front door. The doorknob jiggled softly.
Emma eyed the knob. It moved again, ever so slightly. Like someone was trying to get in.
If someone is out there why don’t they knock like a normal person? Or call out for help if they need it? Unless it’s one of those things…

It can’t be one of those things. They’re miles away. It’s nothing. Just the wind.

She sat quietly, wrestling with her conscience and her fear. Again the doorknob jiggled. Again something thumped against the door.

Please just go away, whoever you are. Leave me alone.

She thought about going to the kitchen for a knife, but was too scared to move a muscle. Instead she sat perfectly still, whispering a silent prayer.

Finally the noises stopped.
Emma waited with bated breath, hoping her prayers had been answered. Long seconds ticked by in silence. Then something thumped sharply against the door. And thumped again, more insistently.

Emma
sat numbly, torn between fear and guilt. The thumps were not strong. They sounded like they were made by someone in need. Possibly an old person. Or a child. Or someone who’d been injured.

Emma
thought of her neighbors, running through the list in her head, considering who might be out there seeking her help.

Stop it. It’s not a person. Something broke loose and the wind is knocking it around.

The thumps stopped. A scraping sound replaced them, like a dog scratching to be let in. The suspense made the hair on Emma’s neck stand up. Gathering her nerve she crept quietly towards the door. She’d had enough of the suspense and needed to find out once and for all if anyone was out there.
She thought about switching off the house lights, but that would be too obvious, letting whoever was out there know that someone was home, and awake.

A bright flash of lightning
flickered through the windows, followed by a deafening boom of thunder. A second later the power died, plunging the house into darkness.

Emma
froze, her heart in her throat, then she stepped to the door and slowly drew back the curtain. The top half of the door was one big window, but she saw nothing through the rain-drenched glass. Nothing but pitch blackness.

A flurry of lightning flickered across the sky. The flashing light revealed Russell standing outside. He stood in an expressionless daze for a moment, then his head jerked stiffly and his dead fish eyes locked on
Emma through the window.

Oh God no… it can’t be.

The window exploded as Russell punched his hand through and grabbed Emma by the hair. She shrieked and tried to pull free, but even in death his grip was strong. He yanked her head forward, trying to bite her face. A shock of pain and terror lit her up.

“No, Russell, please!”

Russell’s other arm squeezed through the broken glass, oblivious to the jagged stalagmites slicing into his flesh.

In a galvanic reflex
Emma planted her feet against the door and launched herself desperately backwards. A clump of her hair tore off in Russell’s fist and she landed hard on the floor.

Russell pushed his head and his arms through the broken window. Glass shards dug into his torso, slowing his progress, but his dead flesh felt no pain.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Mrs. London’s voice rang out as she stormed into the room and found her daughter sprawled on the floor. “Emma… are you alright?”

Emma
was numbed into silence, watching in terror as Russell continued wriggling his torso through the window, hampered by his stiff uncoordinated limbs and the glass digging into his body.

Her mother was speechless, perplexed by the bizarre scene unfolding in the darkness before her. “What the hell?” she finally gasped.
“Is that who I think it is?”

Emma
stumbled to her feet and grabbed her mother’s hand, trying to drag her away to safety. “Mom, come on! It’s not safe here! We have to go!”

Her mother jerked her hand free, standing firm. “I’m not going anywhere, young lady. I won’t put up with this kind of nonsense in my house. I told you he was no good.”

Emma watched in horror as her mother marched boldly toward the door, where Russell was halfway through, wedged clumsily in the window frame, stuck on a big shard of glass jammed into his belly. “Mom, no! Keep away! He’s not himself! Something’s happening!”

Bu
t her mother’s temper was aroused. There’d be no stopping her now. Under normal circumstances, Emma wouldn’t have bet on Russell to win the battle. “Get the hell out of my house, you lousy bastard! I’ll have you locked up! Emma, call 911!”

“Mom, no! Stop! He’s not normal!”

“I can see that! Jesus Christ, what the hell did you do to my door, you drugged up delinquent?” her mother bellowed, and charged at the door as Emma dashed forward to stop her. “Get out! I’ll press charges, I swear!”

“Mom! Stop!”

Before Emma could stop her, her mother had completely lost her temper and was raining blows on Russell’s face. Her punches were solid, launched with unrestrained fury, but she might as well have been pounding a brick wall.

Russell clawed at her flailing fists and managed to grab hold of one.

“Mom! Get back! Come on!” Emma grabbed her around the waist and gave a desperate tug, trying to pull her free. But her mother kept swinging her free fist wildly, and her manic momentum dislodged Emma’s grip.

Emma
lost her balance and fell.

Russell bit her mother’s arm. Her squeal of pain told
Emma the fight was over. “Mom!” she cried hopelessly, but her mother was merely enraged.

“Bite me, you rotten freak?” she shrieked. Grabbing a dollar store vase from a nearby shelf she smashed it into Russell’s face. Pieces of cheap ceramic lodged in what was left of his cheeks, but he grabbed her and bit her again, harder and deeper, tearing a vein in her arm.

In a flash of lightning Emma saw the look of disbelief on her mother’s face, and the dark blood spurting from her wound. “oh my God, no, mom! Not you!”

Russell grabbed her mother with both arms and pulled her close, biting into her neck.

Emma saw her mother’s eyes roll up and her body spazzing uncontrollably. Half mad with fear she turned and ran through the house into the laundry shed beyond the kitchen.

The back door was locked. She tugged at the doorknob fruitlessly, her mind clouded with terror.
Emma heard a brief scuffle then her mother screamed a final scream, an ear-piercing cry that died in a garbled moan. It was followed by horrendous thumping as first her mother then Russell tumbled to the floor.

My God he’s in the house!

In a moment of clarity she finally turned the back door lock and yanked the door open. The commotion in the house grew louder and closer as Russell rampaged through the dark living room, knocking over lamps and pieces of furniture.

Emma
grabbed her mother’s raincoat from a peg on the wall and ran out into the pouring rain. The icy downpour had a halting effect. She paused for a moment to think, then dashed into the woods behind the house.