Eaters (19 page)

Riding along, the breeze made Cheryl’s damp torso shiver again, and she reflected on their weird situation—a couple of strangers following two other strangers who barely knew each other. It seemed inevitable that, at some point, trust was going to become an even bigger issue between them, maybe even a matter of survival.

She squeezed herself into Aidan’s back, trying to stay warm, and prayed that by night fall, she’d be in a much safer place than she’d had been at Barry’s house last night. She realized that there were no guarantees of that, so she told her heavy eyelids to stay at half-mast and drop no lower. It was important to stay alert, no matter how tired she felt. It was tempting though, to close her eyes and drift off into a dream about a safe and cozy cabin with a crackling fireplace. She was close to doing that a few minutes later, when Aidan screeched the motorcycle to a stop. She jolted awake and saw three Eaters ahead in the road, wobbling towards them like marionettes. She shot them as Claire let out a blood-curdling scream from their car behind and knew that it was going to be another long night.

Chapter Fifteen

“Built this place myself,” Aidan said after he turned off the engine and began to roll the motorcycle over the last few yards of his dirt driveway towards the cabin. “I plan to retire here after I save up enough money from working in town. Might take me another fifteen, twenty years though.”

As she stretched her legs, Cheryl nervously panned the property. She didn’t like how dense the forest was around the quaint little log building. Even in broad daylight, it would be hard to pick out a man or an animal from the trees.

“What’s with the barbed wire on the windows?”

“It’s the only thing I’ve found that keeps the bears out. They broke in half a dozen times in the last couple years looking for food before I put that up. Thankfully, it’s working, because I nearly needed a hazmat suit to clean up the mess after each time they came in.”

Before Cheryl could ask him what kind of damage they’d done, the couple’s car pulled up behind them. It rolled to a stop, and Claire opened the passenger door and jumped out. Her eyes were swollen, red, and bulging like golf balls. “You…you
shot
people!”

Aidan came to her defense. “Did you see them? Those weren’t people. They were infected. Walking dead things. If they’d gotten close enough, they’d have killed us, and if we’d let them go, they might have followed us to the cabin.”

Claire didn’t look convinced as her eyes went to Cheryl’s gun.

Cheryl realized that Claire was at the early sensitive point that she had been at during the first day of the crisis. That day, in the span of few hours, she’d seen someone get sick and go berserk, seen a host of blood-spattered corpses, and witnessed her fiancé shoot a woman in the head. There was shock, there were tears, then there was a stolid resignation to the situation. She wished that she could put Claire on fast-forward.

Claire wrapped her arms around herself and looked left and right at the woods surrounding the cabin.

“How do you know it’s safe here?” Kyle asked.

Aidan replied, “It’s got to be safer than being in the city. If there’s—what’d Cheryl call them? Eaters—out here, they’re fewer and farther between. I’m also guessing that there aren’t as many folks infected up here, because mountain people tend to keep to themselves. They don’t congregate as much and spread germs.”

Aidan rolled up the door on the detached garage and woodshop next to the cabin then rolled his motorcycle inside and parked it next to a large Ford pickup. He lingered at it, running his hand over the seat and giving it a pat like a trusted horse. It had been fairly clean when she’d first met him. Now, it was covered in dust, rust-colored splatters of blood, and gray bits of…she didn’t want to know what. After staring at it for another moment, he shut the garage door.

“Alright, let’s get inside.”

Cheryl followed closely behind his dusty work boots, but Claire and Kyle dawdled. She couldn’t blame them. She’d been just as doubtful and in shock in the beginning. And hell, she had just met Aidan herself a little over two hours ago. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but she figured Ted Bundy probably did in the beginning too to all his victims. She wasn’t afraid of her new acquaintance, though. After her experience with Sting, Aidan was a life raft.

At the top of a slew of hand-hewn steps, they reached the creaky deck. It wrapped around the front of the cabin, six feet above the ground and even included a gazebo with a table and chairs inside.

“This place is beautiful,” she said, admiring his handiwork.

“Thanks. Maria used to—” He seemed to choke off his memory as he fumbled for the right key to the front door.

Cheryl noticed that Kyle was holding onto Aidan’s gun with tight, white knuckles as if he expected someone to jump out and assault them as soon as the door was opened. Claire clung to his backside like she was trying to use him as a shield against whatever lay ahead.

Aidan unlocked the door and opened it just an inch. He whispered over his shoulder, “Give me your gun.”

Cheryl took it off her shoulder and flipped off the safety. “You know how to use it?”

He turned and glared. “I’ve never shot one of these, but I can take an elk out at fifty yards. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

With one swift kick, he opened the door all the way, revealing the cave-like darkness inside.

“It’s quiet,” Cheryl said, hoping that meant the cabin was empty and no one was lying in wait for them.

Aidan motioned for the rest of them to stay back. Then, without a word, he tiptoed inside. After a couple of seconds, a lamp popped on in the main room, and another followed that one, filling the cabin with a warm, inviting glow.

“It’s alright,” he yelled a minute later from a far room.

Cheryl and the timid couple ventured in.

The cabin made of knotty pine logs had a truly rustic feel. There was a stone fireplace, heavy blankets piled up in an oversized basket near the Indian print couch for chilly mountain nights, and a watercolor painting of a moose on the far wall. In different circumstances, it would have felt cozy and welcoming, but she reminded herself not to relax; this was simply a shelter just like the crowded sandwich shop and the church.

Claire and Kyle lingered behind, but Cheryl wandered into the next room and stopped cold. There was no one in the kitchen, but it had definitely had a visitor. The refrigerator door was open, and food and trash were scattered all over the floor. A half-gallon of milk spilled out into a white lake, surrounding a half eaten steak, a chunk of cheddar cheese with blue circles of mold, and a ripped open bag of limp lettuce. The window above the sink was broken, and glass and blood covered the brushed steel sink below it.

“Aidan!”

He came running in then put on the brakes.

“Could have been a bear, right?”

“Maybe.” He went over to the sink and inspected the mess inside. “Unfortunately, I don’t think so.” He pointed to a clump of blond hair matted to the faucet and stared at it for a moment. “That’s definitely not fur. The rest of the place looked clear, but maybe we should look around again.”

They went back to the main room and saw that Kyle had found the television, a flat screen tucked away in a cabinet. He held the remote and flipped channels, getting nothing but static until he finally stopped on a station that kept fading in and out. A reporter with a carpet of spiked silver hair and dark purple circles under his eyes was trying to talk into a microphone over the staccato sound of gunshots in the background.

“…
the infection… hordes… are… streets… inside… only prayer… myself… feeling—”
Before the transmission cut off, the reporter turned towards the sound of an explosion, revealing a gray cheek with a strip of flesh peeling near his stubbly chin. Kyle and Claire continued to watch the screen filled with nothing but static, standing with their arms around each other and blank expressionless faces.

Cheryl touched Kyle’s arm, trying to break him from his trance. “There’s been a break-in. I need the gun.”

Kyle held it vertically in front of him with one hand like it was a magic wand that could beam him out of there if he could just squeeze it tightly enough. Cheryl gently pried it out of his fingers, which recoiled back into a fist after they let go.

With Aidan at her side, she inspected the hall bathroom, small guest room, and the master bedroom and its bathroom within, checking in the closets, under the beds, and behind all large pieces of furniture. After a couple more minutes of searching, Aidan shook his head and said, “Whoever it was, they’re gone now. We’d better board up that window.”

Back in the main room, Kyle and Claire were on the couch, wrapped around each other like a big, soft, twisted pretzel. Cheryl pitied them. Love wasn’t going to make any of this go away. They might as well get over their shock and face up to the reality that life as they had known it had turned into a matter of survival, with no happy ending guaranteed at the end of the story.

Aidan didn’t seem to be in any sort of compassionate mood either. His voice was gruff when he shouted. “Kyle! Give me a hand, will ya?” When Kyle didn’t respond, he had to get in his face and give him a short lecture about the need to stay strong.

Kyle finally trudged behind Aidan out to the garage to get some wood to board up the window, and Cheryl went back to the kitchen and stared at the broken glass in the sink and the gaping hole in the window. Whoever—or whatever—had come in that way had also gone out that way, and she wanted to know where they had gone. It was possible that they’d left a trail of blood after cutting themselves on the barbed wire and the glass. Now that she’d found herself on the defensive side,
more than once
, she reminded herself, the idea of taking a more proactive stance sounded a lot better than just sitting around waiting for something bad to happen. She left Claire curled up like a roly poly on the couch and went out to find the guys in the garage. They were picking through a stack of wood against the far wall when she walked in.

Realizing that she was still carrying the small caliber rifle, and they could use some stronger firepower, she asked, “Aidan, do you have any more guns?”

He smiled and pointed towards a steel gun cabinet next to the workbench. After a few seconds of twisting the dial around to enter the combination, he opened it then spread his arms wide to show off his treasures.

There were seven guns inside. From the smattering of education she’d gotten from her fiancé, she could identify some of them, including a 30-06, a lever action cowboy rifle, an old Winchester, and a Ruger with a scope. Most of them were hunting rifles with the exception of a couple of pistols

“Don’t you want this one back?” he asked, pointing to the AK at his side.

“There isn’t much ammo left.” She felt around in her pockets, pulled the last magazine, and set it on the workbench.

She pointed to a 12-gauge shotgun with a camouflage finish. “Can I borrow this one? I want to have a look around to make sure your guest is gone.”

“The Remington Magnum? That’s got a hell of a kick.” He looked at her for a second as if he was waiting to call her bluff. When she didn’t flinch, he picked the gun up, opened the shell case and closed it. “It’s loaded.” He flipped the safety off then handed it to her.

She hesitated for a moment until she heard Mark’s voice in her head.
Come on, Cheryl, soldier up. You can do it.
She took the shotgun in both hands.

“Be careful. That thing can literally blow somebody’s head off at close range.”

“Good,” she said, more assured than afraid of that knowledge.

It felt heavy and a little shaky in her hands when she took it, but she didn’t want to give it up. If she didn’t fight for her own survival, who would?

“Wait,” he said , throwing her a box of shells. “Here’s some more ammo.”

She tucked the box in the front pocket of her shirt. “Thanks.”

“If anyone’s around, shoot first then worry about asking questions. Even if they aren’t sick, they’re trespassing on my property probably looking to loot.”

“Okay.” Shooting an Eater was one thing. Shooting a human being, well, she supposed that she’d do what she had to if her life was in danger. She was on her way out the garage door when Aidan stopped her again.

“Really, Cheryl. Be careful. If I hear a shot or a scream, I’ll come running.”

“Alright,” she said, looking back at him. “I appreciate that.”

He went back to selecting pieces of wood, thrusting them at Kyle as he cherry-picked from his stash. She stood in the doorway for a second, watching him. He was probably only ten years older than Kyle at best, but he talked to him like he was instructing a son on the job they had to do. There was compassion in his voice, a sensitivity to Kyle’s fragile state, that bespoke of a softer side of him that she wished she had time to get to know better under different circumstances. The thought was cut off by Mark’s voice returning.
Get moving Cheryl.

She began walking around the perimeter of the property, looking for tracks or blood, and found herself frequently looking over her shoulder, afraid that someone was going to sneak up on her and grab her from behind. She remembered leaving Barry’s house, thinking that her surroundings looked clear, only to find that living volleyball with a pair of eyes staring at her over the fence across the street. Here in the mountains there were so many trees, so many shadows and places to hide. An Eater—or dozens of them—could be lurking anywhere.