The Beginning of the End (Book 1): Toward the Brink (8 page)

Now with a 9mm pressed against his head, he wished he had kept a few of his men nearby. They weren’t on Filer Avenue proper, so there was no chance of the Guard helping him out.

“Cindy?” Elliot started, apprehension in his voice. He saw the anger in Cindy’s eyes, and he knew she was no stranger to using a pump-action shotgun.

“Get out of the way, Elliot. I don’t want the brains of this scum splattering all over you … if he has any!”

“Young lady, I wouldn’t …”

Cindy wasn’t about to listen to either of them. “If he did to you what he tried on me, you’d have shot him already, Mulhaven. Now back
off!
”

Brandt had raised his arms without being asked. If fear could be smelled as easily as a homemade pizza in the oven, this one was burning.

Cindy pumped the action on the Remington 870 and brought the barrel level with Brandt’s head. Mulhaven took a giant step backwards.

“Cindy, no!” Elliot shouted.

The twelve gauge roared, Cindy staggered, Brandt’s head shattered, and his body fell limp to the ground. Elliot ducked as best he could, but a portion of Brandt’s head tissue still splatted on top of him.

“Ah Jesus, what the …”

“I told you to get out of the way,
didn’t I
?” she said.

Elliot wiped blood, bone, and brains from his shoulders, all the time noting the steely resolve she had; Cindy wasn’t to be taken for a fool. Several officers appeared from the doorways of nearby buildings.

“Hold it right there!” and, “Drop the weapon!” they called.

Four officers had their service pistols trained on Cindy, and each one looked as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night.

# # #

The Tall Man looked about him and saw nothing but farmland. There were a few houses and barns that had cars parked out front, and he knew he’d have to walk up the driveway if he wanted to take one. After the attack he’d just escaped, stealing a car from someone’s front yard was child’s play.

“What the fuck was that thing?” he asked as he trudged up the slight incline of the driveway. “That was the ugliest fucker I’d ever seen in my life. Those red eyes … like the eyes of a demon, and … and …” His voice trailed off.

A white Saturn, probably a late nineties model, sat by itself in front of the family home. It wasn’t his first choice of car by any means, but he didn’t want to walk the half-mile or so to the next farm house. He took out his Desert Eagle and checked that there was a round in the chamber. He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, but most of these farm people owned weapons themselves, and if they were aware of him, he might find himself looking at a double-barrel shotgun from the wrong end.

“Fuck it!”

The Saturn was locked; he’d have to break the window. Looking around the yard, he saw no tools available. He’d have to use his hand or the butt of his gun.

Smashing the window is a sure way of bringing attention to myself,
the Tall Man reasoned. Still, it had to be done. He grabbed the Desert Eagle and pulled the sleeve of his jacket down over his hand. It took two swipes to shatter the driver’s side window. He grabbed the lock button and pulled it up, opening the door, and went into a crouch behind the car. The Desert Eagle was at the ready and aimed at the front door of the residence should anyone alerted to the sound of breaking glass come out. When a minute had passed and no one had come outside to confront him, the Tall Man became suspicious. Had what affected Mrs. Dennard affected the inhabitants of this house? Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and it also seemed to be winning against professional killers. He had to check it out; he just
had
to. He climbed the two steps of the veranda of the house and moved cautiously toward the front door. Then the smell hit him. He had smelled it on many occasions himself and knew exactly what it was: death.

Not knowing what to expect, he kicked the front door of the farmhouse in. The stench was overpowering. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his face as he burst through the door into the kitchen. A few knocked over chairs, some pans and silverware were in view, but nothing out of the ordinary except for the unmistakable sound of flies coming from the hallway. He eased his tall frame to the hallway entrance and took a peek. The double-action Desert Eagle was in his hand with the safety off. Three bodies lay sprawled on the floor. The blood was so thick it had formed into sticky, wet pools. Smears of blood on the wall next to blast holes from a shotgun told part of the tale. Flies swarmed over the open wounds of the dead and swam in the pools of red. The nearest body appeared to be a man. It was difficult to be certain with the head no longer present. He loosely held a double-barrel shotgun in one hand, the muzzle pointed to where the head once was. The Tall Man figured it was a murder-suicide, and from the fact that all the bodies had their heads blown off, he assumed that at least two of them had suffered from the same scourge that affected Mrs. Dennard.

The one with the shotgun obviously killed them then turned the gun on himself. It would never be known if he killed himself from sorrow or if he’d wanted to make sure he didn’t turn into one of those hideous creatures. The Tall Man understood, whatever the reason.

The flies were getting thicker, and the smell couldn’t get any worse. He was out of there. He thought about the shotgun for a moment; the smeared blood and green puke had him thinking again, however. Heading straight for the front door, he passed a key rack that had four hooks. Above were the words Ford, Truck, Post Office, and Saturn.

“Saves hotwiring it.”

He holstered his weapon, grabbed the keys and went out the front door, handkerchief still firmly held to his face.

“Jesus, that smells worse than an open …”

Two red-eyed beings lashed out at the Tall Man from the side. One knocked his arm. The ‘kerchief floated to the wooden floorboards of the veranda. The smell of death and rotting flesh hit him like a slap in the face. It was different than the odor inside, and worse.

“What the
fuck
are you, anyway?” he yelled at his two attackers. That’s when he noticed half the skin on the face of one was missing. He took a couple of steps backwards and steadied himself, pulling the Desert Eagle from its holster as he did.

“I’m betting,” he levelled the Eagle, “that all the local girls just call you
Smiley
, right?”

The .357 Magnum bucked in his hand, and Smiley staggered back out of control for a second before he fell over. The Tall Man aimed the handheld cannon at the other one, who had taken no notice that the brains of his companion had sloshed all over him.

“And you’re the quiet, unassuming type I gather.”

The Desert Eagle bucked a second time. Another head exploded.

“This isn’t some isolated incident. Time to get out of the country.”

# # #

When Tibbuts was sure his stomach was going to hold, he stepped over the remains of what was once a nurse. Streams of green goo ran from the back of her head. Before grabbing the handset of the radio, he paused, curious that the goo started to foam after a few seconds of exposure to the air.

Tibbuts wondered if perhaps the damage was worse that he first thought. The radio appeared to be fine. He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t getting a response, especially when he was calling in a Code 3.

A crowd of rubbernecks had gathered on the sidewalk. Everyone loves a car wreck, but when it involves a cop who shoots a woman in the head, it becomes a major attraction. Pictures were being taken by cell phones while others tried to call friends and tell them what happened. Luckily, most people couldn’t get through on the phone, or there’d be a lot more. Tibbuts next tried his cell phone. When that too yielded no result, he decided he would race back to Mulhaven. He jumped into the panda and started it up. The crowd began jeering and accused him of leaving the scene of an accident and murder. They moved in on the black and white, encircling it. Tibbuts was feeling uncomfortable as they moved in, but then he heard a scream, and in the rearview mirror he saw some members of the crowd hunched over, belching green fluid all over those nearby. People started running, opening a gap for him to drive through. Disoriented, eyes blurred from pain, he went through that gap and on to safety and in the wrong direction! He swerved his way through the light traffic—people that had heeded the call to evacuate—and turned this way then that way before looping around again, eventually getting onto Addison Avenue.

“Where the hell did Mulhaven get to?” he said. At the last moment, he saw the silhouette of someone in front of the car. He slammed on the brakes and pounded on the horn. “Get out the way, you moron. You wanna get yourself killed?”

He wiped his eyes and saw more people running across the road, coming from the parking lot of Albertsons. He brought the SUV to a halt and got out.

“What’s going on? Why are you running?” Tibbuts held onto the door for support as he questioned a group of people. One woman ran straight past, tears streaming down her cheeks: green tears!

A man stopped to answer Tibbuts. “There’s sick people inside, officer. They’ve attacked people and spewed up green shit. Their eyes have turned bright red, and they’re …”

“And they’re what, boy? Out with it!” The man under questioning was a good ten years older than Officer Tibbuts, but he had come to enjoy calling people “boy” when Mulhaven wasn’t around.

“They’re trying to eat the ones they attacked!”

“All right. You better keep on moving,” Tibbuts said, adding, “Do you know that woman that just ran past?”

“No, sir, I don’t.”

“Keep it that way, okay?”

Tibbuts grabbed the Remington 870 from the front of the SUV. He wiped the green sludge from the stock of the shotgun then made his way unsteadily toward Albertsons. He didn’t feel well, but he was still a cop, and he was going to do his job, a job that Mulhaven would be proud of. As he entered the car park he became concerned that everything he saw was red. Burning red.

Is this what happens before you go blind?

# # #

“I’ve got it under control. Just ease those pistols back in your holsters,” Mulhaven said.

“Sarge, she just blew the captain’s head off and …”

“I saw it. I was right here. Now put your fucking weapons away!”

Once the four officers holstered their weapons, Mulhaven explained.

“You two. You were down at the medical center. You saw what came out, didn’t you? Well, the captain had become one of those creatures you saw and was about to attack this man. This lady grabbed the shotgun and did the only thing she could to save his life.”

“Sarge, he’s holding the captain’s gun. How could the captain attack him if …”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Mulhaven bellowed, taking the shotgun from Cindy.

The officer shook his head vehemently.

“Right, you two follow me,
and
you four still have people to evacuate, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Then get on with it!” He turned to Elliot and Cindy and said with a hushed voice, “Get in the car, and do it before they have time to think it over. Elliot, you drive.” Mulhaven grabbed the two Colt Deltas from the twitching body of Captain Brandt.

He got into the captain’s SUV with the kids who had become his friends, and Elliot drove off.

“Don’t make it look like we’re escaping from our latest bank heist. Just drive easy.”

“Where we going?” Elliot asked.

“National Guard base,” Mulhaven said.

Communications were down across the state, or so it appeared. The most affected were the police and emergency units. Some TV stations were running while others, particularly those running local content, went to a commercial break and didn’t reappear. The National Guard had their own comms and so far had no problems with phone calls. The Internet was still present, but local sites weren’t updating.

The communications systems were in perfect working order, including the phone system. There just weren’t enough people around to operate or maintain the equipment, which included answering the phones—no one living at any rate.

No one was more frustrated by this than the Twin Falls Chief of Police. He, along with two officers and a civilian administrator, had barricaded themselves in the storeroom at the rear of the second floor. When several police in the station began throwing up green fluid, collapsed to the floor, then rose up, their eyes red and glaring, the storeroom was the only safe haven on offer.

“Great. Just great!” the civilian yelled. “How do we get out now? There’s no windows in this room.”

“We’ll have to wait ’till they leave. We have no choice,” the chief said.

He tried to sound upbeat and confident, but his body language was anything but.

“What the hell are they? What happened to them?”

The solid wood door creaked from pressure applied from the other side.

# # #

“I don’t know what’s going on with the damn phones. Can’t raise shit from the station, but the Guard was able to call me.” Mulhaven toyed with his cell, trying to find someone to answer a call. “The phone rings, but it doesn’t get answered. I can’t understand it. Did you get through to anyone on the phone?”

“Yeah I was able to speak with my dad, but why would the National Guard call you?”

“I’m a captain in the Idaho National Guard here in Twin Falls, and they’ve called me up for duty. I’m a cop, and I’m exempt, but I have to go to the base because I couldn’t get through on the phone. What about you, Cindy? Did you speak with anyone?”

“I was able to get through. Spoke with my mother before that … that … well, you know what happened.”

Elliot exchanged a glance with Mulhaven. The two were tuning in. She was extraordinarily calm for just having blown a man’s brains out all over her boyfriend.

“Why do you have to go to the base?” Elliot asked the sergeant.

“I have to let the commander know. I couldn’t get through to the station or the Guard, who appear to be using their emergency band communications, which means things are bad.”

“Do we have any further reports of what’s happening at the medical center?”