The Dark Trilogy (96 page)

The next few days were a nightmare of hiding and hoping. When he was finally discovered by Michael’s group, Teddy had traveled nearly twenty miles from Ellington and had only vague recollections of what he had eaten and drunk to stay alive.

***

Teddy glanced over at Ray. He was his only friend now. His father was dead, and so was his mother. Of that he was certain. Unlike George, he’d seen the devastation wrought upon his hometown and knew there was no chance she had made it out alive. He spoke to her on the phone just a couple of hours before his father got back to the house on that fateful Saturday, and she told him she was going to stay inside for the rest of the day. There were strange reports on the news that were freaking her out. It was probably no big deal, but she asked him to be careful and not do anything foolish, at which Teddy had rolled his eyes.
Like what, Mom? Get drunk with Dad?
He didn’t say it, but felt mild contempt for her concern, like any teenager would.

Thinking back on that conversation, Teddy was filled with tremendous guilt at the disdain with which he’d treated his mother. She told him she loved him, and he mumbled a response, like he always did, before hanging up. That was the last time he ever spoke to her—ignoring her warnings and grunting at her like some sort of animal.
I’m so sorry, Mom. I DO love you, and I should have listened … not only then, but every time you tried to tell me something.

It took some time, but Teddy also realized soon enough that he loved his father too. Despite the man’s flaws, Joe had revealed himself, on occasions when he was sober, as a man who actually cared about his boy. It was clear to Teddy that his father was embarrassed about his failings and what his life had become … not that he would ever admit it. Joe might not be the greatest dad in the world, but he didn’t deserve what had happened to him.

None of them did.

Ben

Author’s note: While most of this is flashback, the initial and final setting is immediately after Ben has rescued Jeff and Ray in Manchester and they are running back to the RV camp with a pack of undead hot on their trail.

Ben didn’t bother looking back at Jeff. It was wasted effort, and efficiency was the hallmark of everything Ben did out in the open these days. Pausing to make a decision about what to do could be fatal. He knew the path he was running on, so it wasn’t as if he had to make any random choices anyway. The route he had taken was one that would distract and frustrate, then confuse and baffle the simpleminded stiffs following him and Jeff. It was a piece of cake.

Once the group had decided that RVs were their best bet for staying alive, it had been Ben’s job to find a place to park them. And once he’d found a home for them at the edge of Manchester, he’d focused on committing the streets, buildings, and neighborhoods of the small town to memory so he would know all the threats and dangers that he would be forced to face in the future.

There would be no accidental dead ends and no second chances needed for his trip back to the RV camp. Even with a hundred-and-sixty-pound kid on his back and a wheezing, out-of-shape man trudging along behind him, there was nothing in the town of Manchester capable of stopping Big Ben from making his way back to safety.

***

Before today, it had always been quiet in the small town. A few wretched figures tucked away here and there, oblivious to his movements throughout the area. Once they realized one of the living was amongst them, it was always too late for that unfortunate individual. Ben didn’t waste arrows or bother pulling his knife out. If he spotted a single ghoul, almost without fail, he would move in and drive its head into the pavement before any synapses fired in its messed-up brain. One quick, fluid movement. Once you learned how to do it, it was hard to forget. The results of his assaults were generally all the same: they were rarely noticed by the other infected nearby, and there was a limited amount of mess.

Most of the bodies were dry. Blood and other fluids that were a part of the normal human body had often already evaporated or leaked out of the stiffs Ben put out of commission. So when their heads met the pavement, if he did it correctly, there was no splashback, no gory splatter. No muss, no fuss.

Most of the shadow people, as Ben liked calling them, were not restless enough to investigate another decommissioned ghoul after it hit the pavement. They mostly hid in the dark, perhaps to avoid the detrimental effects of the sun on their deteriorating physiques. Whatever the reason, he was thankful that they didn’t bother investigating the corpses of their own kind after he executed them. Dealing with singles limited his headaches.

If there was more than one, it was best to hide and wait for them to depart. Only a small percentage could sniff the big man out, and if Ben did not want to be heard, they simply did not hear him. Of course, when he was discovered, it tended to be over before the ghouls knew it.

If it weren’t so sad, it might be comical in a dark and twisted way: he could swear he saw the surprise on their faces when he crushed their throats. That first little maneuver was so they couldn’t alert their buddies with excited moans that came with their discovery of warm flesh. Sometimes there was enough time to see what might pass for fear on their faces just before he crushed their heads beneath a giant work boot or cracked their skulls with whatever blunt object might be handy. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for those tormented beings. Almost, but not quite enough to give him pause in his duties. If he slipped up, he might get bitten, so there was no room in Ben’s heart for sympathy for those already dead.

Spending time out in the wilderness of the world was therapeutic for Ben. A thousand times better than that shrink he had paid to try to unscramble his brain a couple years back. Back then, it had all been about trying to forget the life he had led, in all its lurid glory. It had been hard to do, nearly impossible at times. So it seemed amazing that something as simple as a name change did such wonders for his soul.

None of the people with whom he traveled now knew his real name. When he was dubbed “Big Ben,” he latched onto the name change like he had been thrown a life preserver. It was not as if anyone would recognize his real name, Shawn Horton, but Ben just felt right. The world had shifted on its axis once again, so Shawn Horton—who had also been known as Bloodthirsty Rick Roberts—was again adopting a new name to suit his new existence.

No one in Cincinnati other than family and friends had recognized him when he returned home from Atlanta. Being one of the masked bad guys helped ensure that was the case. When he stepped out of the ring—and more importantly, out of the spotlight—it was the first step toward abolishing all the ugly things that permeated his existence for years: the botched marriage to Becky, all the broken bones, and the part where he had sold his soul for a little bit of glory.

The final step, or so it seemed, was becoming Ben: just some big dumb guy who knew how to handle himself in a world where the dead decided to get up and start walking around again.

When Ben thought back on things, he knew it all began and ended with Isaiah. Isaiah Ezekiel Jones, head of IEJ Wrestling Enterprises, promoter extraordinaire and manager of one of the largest stables of professional wrestlers in the United Wrestling Federation. Isaiah was a retired wrestler and was slick and smart enough to have grabbed a share of the profits made with his body back in the sixties and seventies, when he was in his prime. There was not nearly as much money in it back then, but Isaiah was smart enough to invest with a chain of fast food restaurants that had a presence throughout the southeast. Isaiah was the one who discovered Shawn Horton, an ex-marine and wannabe body builder, and turned him into one of the most highly paid bad guys in the sport of professional wrestling.

Shawn had been too damn big for his own good when he was in the Marine Corps. He had seen some action in Desert Storm and had been dubbed “mountain” by the other jarheads. Not just because of his size, but because he was as quiet and immutable as stone. He obeyed orders and was surprisingly light on his feet, but had little interest in showing off his exceptional strength to everyone around him, which left him isolated for most of his tour of duty. So when his four years were up, Shawn was glad to be done with it.

He returned to the states and decided to make a go of things in Atlanta. One of the few guys with whom he had made friends in the corps told him how great a place it was to live, so he thought he would give it a shot. Not really knowing what to do with himself, he bluffed his way into a job as a personal trainer. The gym was where Isaiah discovered him.

Shawn cut a pretty impressive figure, and despite his shyness, Isaiah saw potential in the big lug. He wasn’t “pretty,” so a mask took care of that. Later would come tattoos, a bald head, and a devilish goatee. Isaiah dazzled Shawn with promises of easy money and a lot of fun along the way. He introduced him to several other wrestlers who coaxed him to take a shot at life inside the ring.

Six months later, he was Bloodthirsty Rick Roberts, one of the masked superstars of the UWF. He signed a lifetime contract with Isaiah and was taught the ropes in the business. He dyed his beard pitch black, learned all the dirty moves he could, and created a few trademark catch phrases for the fans. He was on his way.

Becky was one of Isaiah’s stable of hot girls that formed part of his traveling road show. She got paid to be one of the good guys’ girlfriends and to have the occasional catfight with one of the other girls up in the ring during introductions. It stirred up the crowd and gave the wrestlers ample reason to display what appeared to be real hatred for each other. She was a statuesque platinum blonde, and had a surgically enhanced body that could make a Playboy Playmate weep with envy. Ben was hooked on her before he even realized it, but Becky ignored him for the most part. Being shy, at least outside of the ring, he could barely talk to her unless it was part of the script, when he was trying to “steal” her away from her onstage boyfriend. It was not until he got to be a popular attraction that she took notice of him. Even then, it took him becoming one of the star attractions facing off against the other big-name talent every night before she actually deigned to speak to him.

Perhaps it was his naiveté, or maybe it was Becky’s opportunistic nature, but Shawn’s timid efforts to court her turned into a whirlwind affair in no time flat. Three months after their first date, they were married. The ever-shrewd Isaiah turned the situation, to which he was originally opposed, into something he could promote in the ring. Becky became a cold deceiver, stabbing her good guy boyfriend in the back by becoming Bloodthirsty’s main squeeze.

All Shawn knew was that he was happy and had found the girl with whom he would spend the rest of his life. Becky was brash and bold, exactly his opposite. The mask gave him enough courage to stand up in front of thousands of fans and growl at them, but Becky gave him the confidence to believe in himself outside the ring. Together they grew in popularity as one of the elite couples on the wrestling scene. Shawn knew they would be together forever.

Forever lasted exactly one year.

Much later, it was obvious to Ben that the affair had been going on the whole time he and Becky had been together. But at the time, when he caught her and Isaiah in bed, it was as if he’d been sucker punched by the deceit. For better or for worse, Shawn had trusted his little lady, and her deception had been complete. When he discovered them together, Becky tried to convince him that it was all some sort of big mistake, and when Shawn didn’t buy that, she told him she was sleeping with the boss for both of them, to help advance their careers.

Shawn, who had become Bloodthirsty Rick but had yet to turn into Big Ben, didn’t listen to a word she said and nearly killed Isaiah that night. The old man had been a pretty good wrestler in his day, and was still in good shape, but he was no match for the massive ex-Marine, who broke five of the promoter’s ribs, three of his fingers, his nose, and his right arm.

When Shawn finally calmed down, the police took him into custody and his face, his real face, was smeared all over the local and regional papers for the next couple of days.

Becky divorced him, and Isaiah sued. In the end, Shawn was banned from wrestling for life and lost his three homes and all his other possessions to Becky. Most of his wealth, which Isaiah convinced him to reinvest in the wrestling operation, was gone as well. Shawn paid off his lawyers and washed his hands of it all. He took what little remained of his fortune and moved back to his hometown of Cincinnati, where no one had any clue who he had once been.

That was almost two years ago. There was still a little money left over, and he didn’t have to scrounge for an existence. He could even afford a shrink, whom he visited every week for almost a year until the doctor told him that he had to do the talking if he wanted to get better.

He bought a small, secluded cabin in Kentucky down on Cave Run Lake, where he learned to hunt and fish. It was comforting, being down there alone. Bow hunting became Shawn’s favorite pastime. He split his time between there and Cincinnati, where he took on a job hoisting boxes in a factory. The money was crap, but it kept him busy and physically active. Age and a lack of desire to hit the gym anymore began to turn Shawn’s ripped physique ever more pear shaped. Even with his diminished physicality, Shawn still cast an imposing shadow and was still just as light on his feet as ever.

After a while, he got comfortable with this new existence, almost happy.

***

When Shawn heard the first reports about the contagion that might spell the end of the world, his plan was to make his way down to his cabin, but things got hairy way too quickly. So instead he plotted ways to escape the city on foot, fleeing the thick knot of the dead that was growing larger every day.