Infected Freaks Volume One: Family First (9 page)

Abraham was up and on the run. A bittersweet sense circled his soul.
Emme’s alive.
He plucked a hammer from a work bench and split the first putrid skull close to enough to taste his wrath. He ducked under the branches of the cottonwood, splashing his carved features with fresh blood. More and more plasma slapped his body as he swung the hammer toward the diseased freaks breaking out of the big red barn. The trapped creatures poured out like a river.

“Emme, you wait up there,” he yelled, and when he did, a band of infected shifted his direction. He slapped them across their temples and followed up breaking one’s moldy cheek. Rotten, withered hands reached out to greet him. He howled at them and swung down hard, fracturing bone and spilling brains. They didn’t smell too good; of course, he didn’t smell fresh himself. His nostrils flared like a thoroughbred champion kicking down the final stretch of the track.

“Let go of him, you jack wagon.” He heard Emme scream. That was something he used to say. “Go back to hell,” the twelve-year-old hollered, tossing down a shovel at one of the infected. “I hate you!” Emme had picked up her foul mouth from hanging out with Abraham.

“Emme, hold on!” Abraham glided over a broken car and stomped down an infected freak. His boot crushed the soft, rotten noddle until it spilled a bunch of plump worms.

“Get back!” Emme screamed, tossing a rake down. On her shoulders was her little black backpack stuffed with little girl things. She was too innocent for this world.

He continued toward his barn, killing anything that stood in his way. Sucking air through his mouth, he clenched his fists tight around the base of the hammer. Standing in a web of fungus was Mr. Tompkins.

“You stay back,” Abraham slurred. “Dammit, Barony, I’m not playing with you!” Like the mindless beast he was, Barony staggered forward and dove for Abraham. The blast from Hunter’s gun left Abraham’s ears ringing as a gaping hole was left in the middle of his neighbor’s face. “I warned you,” Abraham stuttered. Abraham didn’t feel bad that would come later.

Emme managed to kick a bucket down to the first level. The squishy thud brought Emme back from the ledge as she shook in violent tremors. “Take that, you piece of garbage,” she yelled down.

It was Barony’s brother, Timmy; he rose with fractured limps and lunged toward Abraham. Old Abraham dropped his hammer and reached for his pistol. The crusty old man swallowed his agony and fired, his eyes cold as a serpent. The first shot slammed into Timmy’s clustered shoulder. However, the creature’s momentum drove Abraham into the ground. The dull teeth of Timmy tore at Abraham’s flannel like a zealous dog, his dislocated jaw swallowing clumps of the cheap fabric.

That’s when something snapped in Abraham Heinz. His hands nailed up under Timmy’s cleft chin, and after the third strike, he gripped Timmy’s neck and squeezed. Rolling over, Abraham was now on top of the flesh-eating disease. He clawed his thumbs through its puss-filled eye sockets and pressed his fists through the decomposed skull. A slurping sound followed the creature’s brain as it shot out its eyes, ears and nose.

“You killed him,” Emme wailed from the second floor. Abraham saw her wide eyes flooded with tears. He knew her little mind was trying to understand what she had witnessed. “You can’t do that.”

“Dammit, Emme, get down here,” he snapped. He rested his stained hands on his knees and climbed to his feet.
No cuts
, he considered, looking at his hands.

“Timmy came by yesterday. I saw him talking with Grandma,” Emme shrieked. “And you crushed his face.” She disappeared, hiding in the shadows of the second floor. “You’re not my grandpa.”

“Timmy wasn’t himself, not anymore. Listen to me—we have to go,” Abraham said, turning back toward the mind bending sound of something immense. “Seriously? Can’t I get a flipping break?”

“Grandpa, we have a problem,” hollered Hunter, sprinting into the battered barn. He stopped short when he caught the sight of Abraham. “You got blood all over you.”

“So do you,” Abraham replied, wiping a clump of flowery gore from his flush cheek. The appearance of his grandson wavered and then came back into focus.

“It’s a septic,” shouted Sam somewhere outside in the darkness.

That was a major problem. Encouraging thoughts were in short supply. For all Abraham believed, there hadn’t been a shred of good luck in three years.

“Hunter, get up to the second floor and get your damn sister.” Abraham sprinted out of the barn and stopped dead in his tracks. Mad as hell, he holstered his pistol and cussed. At the far edge of the driveway, the frenzied septic stomped its feet into the ground, shaking everything within an acre. Abraham lifted his slung 55.6 carbine and fired a few shots into its cauliflower, pug face. The bullets had no effect. The deep-seared skin of the septic gave life to his nightmare. “It’s the big guy from the mill,” he hollered back. “It must have followed us.”

“It’s still alive,” Hunter barked, breaching the crown of the ladder to the second floor of the barn. On the second story, the boy was on the same level as the hysterical septic; its skin reeked of excrement, ash, and fouler things. “Coming straight for us,” the boy warned, sending the rifle bolt forward and getting ready to send the demon back to hell.

Abraham watched his grandson proudly.

“Make it go away!” screamed Emme. The freak’s sonic cry boomed like some sort of futuristic military weapon out of a science fiction movie. The sound forced Emme to tear the rechargeable hearing aids from her ears. There was ring of birds that scattered from the trees and darted for safer branches, if such a thing existed. “I want Grandma!”

“I do too,” Hunter said as he got down and took aim at the parasitic features of the profane fiend. He fired with surgical precision. The empty brass flew out as he rocked the rifle bolt back and then inserted the next. It was a big fucking round. Yet, it did nothing to the walking septic tank. Its saturated stink of fungus and parasites swallowed the bullets. Hunter looked at the rifle to make sure it wasn’t a toy. “It’s not working.”

“Where’s Sam?” Abraham shouted turning away from his grandchildren.

Hunter scanned the shadows. “She’s on the roof of the farm house.”

At the base of the tree was a horde of the infected tearing at the jagged bark. At that moment, the rest of the clouds parted as if the Red Mother were coming to the diseased freaks’ rescue. Abraham had slammed one of the large bay doors closed and was working on the second. With every reserve of strength, body, and mind, he heaved. Yet, when he sensed the crimson light, he knew the bad was about to take a dive for worse.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
The second door crashed closed and he fixed a wedge of timber between the rough notches and fell back. “That ought to hold them,” he gasped, reaching out his hand and climbing back to his feet.

At first there was only scratching at the bay door, then the rest of the infected slammed against the sturdy wood, trying to pry it open. He stood slack jawed and grinned. “Is that all you got?” His head felt empty, and he sank back toward the ladder, vision clouded, pain raging from the depths of his body. His hair was stained red and dripping in the remains of his undead victims.

As if the alien fungus understood his wise crack, the brutal septic charged like a steaming bull fighting to protect its life.

“Grandpa!” Hunter shrieked, rolling away from the high loft doors, above the locked bay doors. It was too late; the foul thing lowered its frame and exploded into the lumber, tearing apart the hinges. The twisting sound of metal was pleasant compared to the hideous sound waves of the immense freak. Emme curled up as part of the roof caved. The septic smashed over and over against the splintering wood. It was relentless in its desire for revenge.

“Are we sick? I don’t want to be one of them,” Emme said, plugging back in her hearing aids. Abraham’s other daughter Lilly was a scientist and created a rechargeable battery system for the device. Emme could hear without them, but certain frequencies fell deaf upon her eardrums. Starved of the solar power of the farm, she would have to learn to survive without them.

“Holy smokes,” Hunter snapped, aiming down the slanted loft doors. It was like awakening from a nightmare. Hunter was too young to understand what his grandfather had experienced in conflict. All Abraham could hear was his little granddaughter both far and near. At that point, the floor splintered and he felt gravity sucking him down toward the mammoth mouth of the creature. Hunter wedged his feet between fractured timbers and poked the tip of the barrel against the final notch and held his position for the moment. “Help!”

“Hunter!” Emme weaved through the broke structure and tossed down a cord of rope that was already secured to a hinge. “Climb, you stupid boy!” Emme must have sounded like her grandpa to Hunter. Abraham watched everything with bated breath.

The towering septic paused a moment just below the loft doors. The crimson light shone on its blistered face and must have reminded Emme of the terrible day her mother and father left. Abraham remembered Tori planting kisses on Emme’s forehead and squeezing her like a teddy. He saw the color disappear from her cheeks. Abraham shot across the barn, ready to face the beast.

The septic howled its buzzing cry, then slammed against the loft doors again. It was trying to tear Hunter down. Sometimes Hunter was a jerk to his sister, but the boy didn’t deserve to digest in the foul-smelling things stomach.

“Grandpa, do something!”

Hunter lost his rifle as it slid down into the monster’s rampage. He wrapped his forearms around the frayed rope as the rest of the floor boards were sucked down. It was like a jagged wood chipper crushing several yards below. The boy did the only thing he could—scream like a little girl. Hunter dangled above the snapping jaw of the septic as Abraham felt a certain rage take over him.

Abraham gripped the icy steering wheel of his tractor until his knuckles were white. He loved his grandchildren too much; it hurt to think of anything else bad happening to one of them. Both had lost their parents and he lost his son.

He screamed in a hysterical frenzy as his foot floored the gas pedal. The engine of the tractor whined as it plowed ahead. The sound of the timber exploding was followed by the spurts of toxic blood spraying against the protective windshield with a thump. He didn’t stop; instead, he slammed the pedal harder, despite the parasitic gore raining all around. The right leg collapsed under the septic as it was forced back, snapping whatever moldy joint was holding it together. The creature was distracted and disoriented, and on its back.

Abraham knew this was his only chance. He pressed harder as the wheels fought for footing, digging deeper into the awful flesh of the beast and a dozen of its lesser friends. The septic’s auditory yowl lasted for several seconds as its branched hands tried to heave the big green tractor off its mushy frame. Abraham simply stared ahead at the fifty shades of red, gasping and trembling, until his eyes took him to a dark place. A place that only existed in the mind of a parent trying to save their child—or grandchild.

Then, it was over, the carnage, the fright; it all ended with a loud slurping sound crushing the remains of the septic like a blender. The huge wheels spun in reckless abandon, the sound a sweet symphony.

“Nobody hurts my family,” he sang. “I don’t care how big you are.”

Abraham slumped forward in the torn tractor seat, pressing his hands tighter against the wheel. Sometimes he could think clear, and sometimes it was the demons whispering their lies. He touched the cold door handle and exhaled.
Is it over?

He winced as he hit the ground. Yet, standing there like an angel in the distance was sweet little Emme. She pushed her purple glasses up the slope of her button nose, then ran to him. No matter what, he had loved her from the first moment he could remember. Even as a baby, only Grandpa Abraham could calm her frantic crying spells. The warm embrace must have meant safety.

He held her against his pounding chest and whispered, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, wiping her dripping nose against the only clean spot on his shirt.

He pulled back and looked her up and down. “What happened?”

“The men in yellow suits with breathing masks came and told Uncle Peter it wasn’t safe. They said the infection had claimed all of the nearby towns. Uncle Peter tried to tell them we were staying and waiting for you, but the men insisted. Our family was loaded up on armored buses and taken. Grandma was crying like crazy.” Emme looked as if she were about to cry again.

“They left you behind?” he asked, brushing one of her rebellious light brown curls out of her shaky face.

“I hid. I didn’t want to go without you. I knew you would come back. I got trapped in the barn with all of those dead bodies. Only they weren’t dead.” Emme’s arms and legs were stiff when she wiggled out from his grasp. “There is blood on the ground, blood on the sky, and blood all over you!”

“Trust me, I hate the color red too,” he said, realizing the infected had devoured all of the farm animals.

Far off over the mountains, Emme heard the buzzing of more infected freaks. When her brother placed a hand on her back, she quivered. “More are coming,” she said, putting an arm around Hunter and giving him a big hug.