Tainted Reality (The Rememdium Series Book 2) (10 page)

Jared looked at the amount of blood pooled on the floor by the back door and shrugged his shoulders.

Holding up his fist, the signal to remain still, Shaun took a long step backward. He peered out the small kitchen window to get a better view out back. Fearing his fellow hunters had been victims of a four-legged predator, he needed to see exactly what they were dealing with—and how many. Black bears were abundant in the area, and maybe a family of them had stumbled upon…

Time froze the minute Shaun’s brain registered the incoming signals from his eyes. A wave of dizziness hit him. Hard. For a second, he saw double of the disgusting sight.

Craig, what are you doing? Why are you eating Frank’s stomach?

Unable to contain his thoughts, Shaun muttered, “No way.”

Jared took one step forward toward Shaun’s position and whispered, “What is it?”

It was the last words Officer Jared Starkson, the forty-three-year-old best friend of Shaun Allen Kilpatrick, would ever say.

Because the second the sentence left his mouth, Craig Jackson burst into the kitchen and landed on top of Jared. Both men fell to the ground, Jared’s gun clattering across the floor. In shock, Shaun hesitated for a split second before firing. The bullet ripped through Craig’s shoulder, but didn’t stop him.

Jared’s screams gurgled to a stop when Craig opened his bloody mouth and latched on to Jared’s windpipe, tearing it out with one bite. Jets of red arterial blood shot from the wound almost two feet in the air, coating Shaun’s legs and the kitchen floor in seconds.

Taking a deep breath, Shaun took aim and fired again, this time hitting Craig’s thigh. Blood and flesh burst from the wound, yet Craig never gave any indication he felt a thing.

Jared was no longer fighting to survive. His limbs were convulsing from the enormous loss of blood. Shaun knew only seconds remained before Jared died, so he chambered another round and blew Craig’s head off.

And Jared’s, after the bullet exited Craig’s skull and entered his best friend’s.

“Oh Jesus—oh, Jesus! What in the hell?” Shaun muttered while staring at the bloody mess in front of him. He couldn’t grasp the fact he just killed two friends with one shot.

Shaun’s question was answered by the appearance of Frank Wilson’s mangled body. Unable to walk since both sets of thigh muscles were gone, Frank pulled himself into the kitchen by grabbing onto the edge of the door. Shaun felt his stomach juices burn the back of his throat when he noticed a thick smear of intestines and blood left in Frank’s wake.

Frozen in horror and shock, Shaun couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Frank’s eyes were solid black. A strange pattern of blue lines covered his face and exposed arms. It reminded Shaun of a road map.

Shaun’s wits returned after Frank opened his mouth and let out a spine-chilling growl.

On autopilot, Shaun raised his rifle and fired. The bullet pierced Frank’s skull just above the bridge of his nose. With one last gurgle, Frank’s head slammed into the wood floor with a loud thump.

Noise outside caught Shaun’s attention. Stepping over the corpses on the kitchen floor, rifle steady, he looked out the open door.

Unable to form words, Shaun’s mouth went limp at the sea of blood and flesh littering the backyard. Fourteen bodies in various states of dismemberment were strewn across the dead, dried leaves. The ground gleamed crimson underneath the rays of the mid-afternoon sun. The only way he could tell they were his friends and hunting buddies was by their torn clothing.

When he realized two half-eaten bodies were still moving, Shaun was hit with another bout of dizziness.

Stepping back into the main part of the cabin, Shaun forced his fingers to quit shaking so he could extract his cell. He needed to call for help and prayed the sporadic cellular service would work.

It didn’t. He was greeted by a robotic, droning voice: “We’re sorry. All circuits are busy. Please try your call again later.”

“That’s for land lines, not cell towers!” Shaun roared into the mouthpiece.

With no choice left but to leave and get help—or at least, get closer to a functioning cell tower—Shaun pulled his keys from his pocket. Adrenaline pumped through his muscles and he ran out the front door, across the yard, and to his truck. Nerves on edge and mind spinning, he fumbled to get the door open.

Once inside the cab, he set his rifle in the seat next to him and tried to stick the keys in the ignition. They slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floorboard. “Dammit!”

Bending down to retrieve them, the weird grunting sound he heard Craig mumble earlier hit him. It was coming from his right. Snatching the keys from the floor, he shoved them into place and the engine roared to life. The growing sense of dread didn’t stop him from glancing over to the passenger window.

“Holy fuck!”

The once-familiar face of Martin Lawson stared back at him through the glass, his eyes the same as the others. The ebony nothingness was like staring into the pit of Hell. Martin’s white cheekbones and the upper part of his teeth where the soft flesh had been ripped off, were visible. The sickening sight was like a magnet, pulling all of Shaun’s attention to the gore. The pull broke when Martin’s bloodied hands slammed against the window, making the glass crack.

“Enough of this shit! I’m outta here!”

Slamming the truck into reverse, Shaun tromped the gas. In seconds, he was on the narrow, dirt road leading him away from the carnage at deer camp. He never let up on the gas, making the three-mile, bumpy journey to Highway 270 in record time. The gravity of the situation left tears sliding down his cheeks. Inside the quiet cab, Shaun offered up silent prayers for the dead.

After about four miles, he tried the phone again and got the same results.

Willie’s Pit-Stop was less than half-a-mile away and Shaun knew he could use their phone. He pushed his Ford F-150 hard, zooming down the empty two-lane highway at over ninety. Jerking the wheel, he pulled into the parking lot and slammed on the brakes. He left his truck running, jumped out, and ran inside.

“Malvern police, official business. Need to use your phone,” Shaun yelled, looking around the quiet store for an employee. He was greeted by silence while making his way to the counter. “Hello?”

Gut instincts, honed from years of being on the force, kicked Shaun right in the stomach. He slowed his pace and inched toward the counter, eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. Less than three feet away from the cash register, he smelled it. The thick odor of copper and the stink of bowels made Shaun hold his breath.

Death.

The floorboards creaked underneath his weight as Shaun stepped over and peeked behind the counter. His ragged breath caught in his throat.

There wasn’t much left of the old man. Willie’s snow white hair looked as though it had been dipped in a can of red paint. The cavity meant to hold internal organs was nothing more than strips of flesh and rib bones. Clutched in his right hand was a Ruger, a spent shell casing resting near his head, a gaping hole on the other side.

God, I hope you blew your brains out before…

Backing up, Shaun moved over to the cash register where an ancient, black rotary phone sat. It had been in the same place since he was a boy. Willie Hopkins was too cheap to purchase a new one. Shaun hadn’t seen anyone use the old thing in years. He hoped it still worked.

Picking up the dirty receiver, he winced.

No dial tone.

A grumble rose from the back room Willie used as the office. After what Shaun experienced in the cabin down in Poyen, he didn’t feel the need to see what was making the noise.

He’d bet everything he owned he already knew.

Racing back to his idling truck, Shaun floored the accelerator and headed toward Malvern. Dead, leafless trees zoomed by in a blur of gray as the speedometer neared one-hundred. When he passed the road sign noting Malvern was only five miles, he tried his cell again.

Dead air.

“What in the hell is goin’ on?”

A thousand thoughts raced through Shaun’s mind at almost the same pace as the speeding truck. In minutes, he crossed the city limits, hitting the brakes when he came upon a blockade of military vehicles obstructing the entrance to downtown.

“What in the world?” Shaun muttered, slowing the truck down for a better look.

When he noticed a large group of people covered in blood and gore ambling toward the county jail, some in uniform, some not, Shaun stomped on the gas. He forgot all about Jared, Craig, Frank, Willie, and the others while dodging the dead.

All he could think of at the moment was getting to Marian.

And their unborn daughter.

By the time Shaun drove through town, he knew things were much worse than he imagined back at camp. Hundreds of dead bodies and abandoned vehicles crowded the streets. While dodging them, he realized the rifle in the seat next to him wasn’t near enough protection from whatever was going on.

Spotting an empty Humvee up ahead, Shaun pulled up next to the driver’s window. Making sure no one—
or thing
—was close enough to hurt him, Shaun rolled the window down and peered inside.

The front seat was covered in dried blood and brain matter. A female in fatigues lay motionless in the passenger seat, half her head on the driver’s side. Her frozen fingers were still wrapped around the grip of her weapon.

Scanning the rest of the vehicle, Shaun felt a spark of hope. Three, fully loaded assault rifles rested on the middle console, and the keys were in the ignition.

Shaun glanced around once more, making sure he was still alone. Satisfied he had enough time to check, he crawled partially through the opening and turned the key. The Humvee rumbled to life and had a half-tank of gas remaining.

He slinked back into the cab of his truck, grabbed his hunting rifle, and backed up about four feet. After rolling up the window, he shut the engine down, locked the door, and ran to the passenger side of his new ride.

“Sorry about this,” Shaun mumbled to the dead soldier. Wincing at the smell and sight, he gritted his teeth and pulled. Unwilling to just leave her in the middle of the street, he dragged the stiff body to the edge of the curb.

A grumble to his right made the hairs over Shaun’s body stand on end. He knew what it was and had no need to look. He ran back to the Humvee, climbed behind the wheel, executed a U-turn, and headed toward town.

He made it less than two hundred feet before the quiet afternoon filled with the faint sound of a siren. He slowed down and felt around for the assault rifles, overcome with the need to have them close and ready.

His hand touched an unfamiliar shape. Shaun slowed to a crawl, craning his neck to see what it was.

“A rocket launcher? Why in the world did they—oh, shit! They planned on…”

Shaun broke out into a sweat when the sound of automatic weapons drowned out the noise of the siren.

BRACING FOR IMPACT - Saturday - December 20
^th
– 2:10 p.m.

“We took care of the bodies in automotive and pet care. Jesse and Turner got all those under twelve in the toy section. They’re all busy playin’ with toys. The rest of the group is waitin’ for you in beddin’. Jane did a fine job on your head. Looks much better.”

Regina looked over at Reed then to Kyle. Both men looked as rough as she felt. Every inch of her body throbbed, including her head. Regina sensed her brother had something else on his mind while they walked toward the center of the store. He handed her a bottle of water. After taking several gulps, she asked, “What aren’t you tellin’ me, brother?”

In mid-stride, Reed stopped and so did Kyle. Reed whispered, “We’ve got a few…problems we need to tell you about before you give your little inspirational speech to the frenzied masses.”

Rolling her eyes, Regina replied, “We’ve got a multitude of shit to deal with, and today seems to be the day problems decided to come out of the woodwork. Spill.”

Kyle looked over Regina’s shoulder, making sure they were still out of earshot of the others. “The first one is we’ve got three pregnant women on our hands.”

“Oh, joy. Who? And how close to poppin’ are they?”

“The first two I don’t know. Accordin’ to what they told Jesse, one is in the first trimester, the other in the second,” Kyle responded. He grimaced and leaned closer. “The third one is Marian Kilpatrick. She’s due in a month.”

Puffing her cheeks, Regina let out a huff of air. “Shaun’s wife?”

Kyle nodded.

“Well, that gives us time to…”

Reed cut Regina’s words off. “Actually, it doesn’t. With all the stress of this nightmare, she started havin’ contractions.”

“Did I hear that right? We’ve got someone in active labor?”

All three turned at the sound of Jane Richmond’s voice from behind them.

Reed waited until Jane joined the huddle before he answered, “Yes.”

“How far apart are they? And when is she due?” Jane queried.

“About seven minutes, and next month. Martha Addison made her a makeshift bed from piles of memory foam at the end of aisle six. The poor woman is scared out of her wits. Keeps askin’ for us to find Shaun,” Kyle added.