The Hollow Men (Book 1): Crave (22 page)

Maddy strode to the garden where eight-foot lengths of pressure-treated posts separated the lawn from the planted vegetables. “Let’s use these.”

“Great idea. Chase, help Maddy.”

Scott raced to the shed for a shovel and a crowbar. He threw the shovel down by Chase and Maddy, who started using it to pry up the dirt-encrusted lumber.

Scott slung the heavy crowbar on his left shoulder. “I’ll get them away from the fence before we brace it.”

He stepped up to perch on the same chair that Katie had used to see her dad. He counted six creatures scratching, slapping, and pushing on the boards.

Scott leaned over the fence. The carbon-steel bar swung from his shoulder. The curved part connected with the head of the largest zombie—a delivery driver for UPS still wearing his brown uniform. A crunch accompanied the wet thud when the metal crushed cranial bone. The brown-clad zombie folded to the ground.

Vibrations from the crowbar stung Scott’s hands, and his injured shoulder protested with a sharp ache. The ibuprofen in his system could only mask so much pain.

Scott’s first kill. He felt nothing. Not anger or remorse. No catharsis. No satisfaction. No peace. He stepped back and pulled the chair to the middle of the fence. Smack. Another went down. Blood and brain matter splattered on the crowbar. Quickly, he cleared the front lines. Another small gang staggered forward to replace them.

Scott jumped from his killing perch. By then, a small pile of strong posts rested on the ground nearby.

Chase glanced up at his father’s friend holding the gore-drenched crowbar.
Do I have the fortitude to crush the boy’s skull when the time comes
?

He shook his head and motioned to the wood near the fence. He dug holes while Chase and Maddy lowered the posts into each hole and pressed the other end diagonally against the fence. They worked as one machine. Fluid. Efficient. In sync. They braced the fence not a minute too soon.

Sounds of bodies colliding against the enclosure became more audible, insistent.

Scott returned the crowbar to his shoulder, grabbed the shovel and led the trio into the house. They dragged every movable article they could find, stacking an even bigger pile of junk in the doorway behind them.

CHAPTER 37

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he shovel barely squeezed into a small space left in the Honda Odyssey. Packed to more than capacity, the van squatted heavy and low to the ground.

Scott reentered the house to gather everyone together and get them on the move. Maddy refused. “Dad, before we go, you really need to see what’s going on outside!”

Scott gave in. He checked the neighborhood from a second story window. He was glad he did. Newscasts were helpful, but direct observation was invaluable.

From his vantage point, he saw the aftermath of attacks—human remains strewn on patches of dark, drying blood on sidewalks and driveways.

The air was hot and windless. The barest of sounds reached his ears. A car engine idled a block away. He made out unintelligible shouts from a distance. Otherwise it was so quiet that Scott could hear scratching from the feet of the once-living as they dragged their shoes across loose gravel on the road.

Scott realized for the first time that no screeches, grunts, wheezes, hisses or sighs came from the packs of animated corpses. The complete lack of sound from them deeply unsettled him.

After a few minutes, Scott realized the hollow men were forming themselves into tribes, drawn together by more than happenstance, more than the immediate proximity of ‘living meat’ on which they could feed.

Singles became pairs. Pairs became triples and quadruples. The undead pooled themselves through an indiscernible yet deliberate method of acceptance or rejection. The walking corpses were selective, seeming to shun or attract members as they formed their quorums. Scott detected no signal passing between them.

A sprinkling of Individual creatures remained aloof, detached from the others. The loners were the most erratic as they moved; their corporeal mechanisms appeared to be in the throes of anarchy.

One faction had collected themselves into a horde of more than twenty. In the midst of this hellish consortium stumbled hollowed-out Bill. The damning wound inflicted by the recently—and permanently—departed Wilma stood out on Bill’s arm. An angry, puffy pustule had formed over his torn flesh and radiated purple-veined lines that gradually lightened before blending into his naturally pallid skin. If not for the weeping sore on his arm, and for the drying gore that smeared his face and dribbled down his chin, he could pass for “normal” Bill. His movements were, for the most part, smooth and controlled, his gait affected only sporadically by minor spasms in his musculature.

The alpha herd of hollow men, to which Bill belonged, exhibited primitive cunning. Scott watched them repeat a crude strategy to capture and kill. Five of them would leave the main group and, in an occasionally stuttered shuffle, congregate at the head of the walkway leading to the front door. They stood together, facing each other, nodding like bobble-heads in a rough imitation of a neighborly chat. It was the lure that had worked with Scott’s neighbor Melissa. Minimal effort, maximum payoff.

If unsuccessful, after a minutes-long wait, the hungry dead would trudge up to the front door and slap it in a sloppy, open-handed “knock,” the sound similar to a raw steak being flopped on a kitchen countertop.

Simultaneously, the others in the group sluggishly carried themselves to the main floor windows and performed, without cadence, the same one-handed clapping against the glass and siding. When they broke through windows, disfigured faces of the undead crowded there, searching for living beings still within the structure. They operated on two houses in parallel. Scott saw them breech two empty houses and one that wasn’t.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.
The hand strikes turned louder, frenzied. A legion of animated corpses pushed, squeezed and forced their way in. Frantic screams issued from the home and abruptly expired. Those hollow men still outside turned torpidly from the house. Though their faces were empty of expression, they acted as if dejected.

The last of the attacking zombies emerged. They wore the fresh remains of the former occupants of the house: the Ulibarris. Scott knew them—a friendly older couple with a daughter named Julia who happened to be home from college for the summer. Julia was a shy, dark brunette with a ready smile and tender feelings. She’d babysat the girls when she’d been a teenager. Maddy and Emily called her “Tía Julia”.

Bill walked from the backyard. Arterial blood had sprayed his face and clothes, and his jaws ground sideways, like a carnivorous cow chewing on a meaty cud. Bill had known the Uliberris, too. He used to leer at Julia. Scott wondered if that now-dead pervert had been the one who found her inside the house. It made him sick and even angrier. Bill was a soul sucker in life. He was a flesh swallower in death.

A small group of undead gathered in front of another house. Their heads started to bobble. There were only six houses left on the Hale’s street. Their home was the last, which meant Scott had only two more cycles before five of them would inevitably appear at the end of his walkway, their heads gyrating bizarrely on swaying necks. The few would turn into the many that would pound at the doors and windows, inexorably forcing their way inside to gorge themselves on Scott and his family.

Understanding the pattern of their attack, Scott estimated the amount of time they had before the surge of creatures converged on his house and a congregation formed on his front walk.

Zero time.

CHAPTER 38

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n the living room, the newscast continued to loop the same terrible narrative. Unflappable, professional voices surfed over the never-ending stream of grim images and appalling sounds. The report pounded the family’s senses, scraping at their hope.

Dead hands began a dull thudding that bored through the walls.

The sound of glass breaking shocked them into more frenzied action. Animated corpses bumped against the windows and doors in ever-growing numbers.

“It’s time. Get in the garage.” Scott barked.

Habits were hard to give up. Even in that dire situation, Scott performed the same ritual he always did before checking out of any hotel room or embarking on a long trip: taking one last walk through the house, making sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. The family had been thorough.

Just as he was about to join them, Scott remembered the other tools he had in the basement that could make all the difference in repairing the family cabin. He had just been about to get them when Chase had burst into the kitchen.

The cacophony of battering hands and feet reverberated through the house. The wood of the fence crackled and snapped, sounding like wet wood burning in a bonfire. Soon the zombies would be inside. If they overcame the barricades while Scott was in the basement, he would never escape.

Scott decided to risk it, tumbling down the stairs in a rush.

More glass shattered from windows on all sides of the house. The zombies were pushing and scratching their way past the barricades. The furniture fell to the floor all around, above him. Their defenses failed under the hands of the attacking horde.

They were almost inside.

Scott found the tools quickly and slung the rope and pulley hoist over his good shoulder, clutching the winch in his opposite hand. He mounted the stairs two and three at a time. At the top, he saw a female zombie scramble over a windowsill and into the family room. It was tripped up momentarily in the slats of a rocking chair, close enough for Scott to see its broken, bloody fingernails as they scratched at the floor in an effort to reach him. If it hadn’t fallen, it would have already had Scott in its arms.

In his peripheral vision, he saw other bodies breaching the windows. Scott sprinted around the corner to the kitchen. The hook from the heavy pulley system thudded against his chest with each footstep.

The route to the entrance of the garage carried him past the patio doors; the panes were empty of glass. Arms materialized through gaps in the barricade. Shivers in Scott’s spine warned him just in time. He twisted sideways, narrowly avoiding the knotted hands that surged forward, coming perilously close to dragging him into the hungry mouths of the undead.

Absurdly, he was acutely conscious of the smell of the cooked pork emanating from the microwave.

Scott’s fingers closed on the doorknob leading to the garage just as the mound of furniture fell from the doorway he’d just passed. His death was inevitable if he didn’t leave the tools behind and squeeze himself through the door. He made his choice and jumped into the garage, slamming the door just in time.

He backed away, feeling temporarily safe on the other side of the door. Then he saw the doorknob wiggling and beginning to turn. The door began to swing inward.

CHAPTER 39

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ust as the door opened a few inches, it slammed shut. The cluster of undead that had entered the house pressed against the door, jamming themselves in so tightly that it could no longer open. The now all-too-familiar sounds of rustling, scraping and slapping came through the door as the walking dead jostled each other in their quest for living meat.

Rather than pack them, Scott’s family had deposited their fall jackets on the ground beside the van. They slipped the coats on themselves despite the suffocating heat that permeated the garage. The thin armor could serve temporarily as a barrier against muscle-rending teeth. Scott added his black winter coat and ski pants. Heat stroke was the least of his worries if they didn’t make it through the potential throngs of animated carcasses packing into his yard.

Everyone huddled at the van. Chase stood apart. He wore no jacket.

The family motioned him closer. He cleared his throat, “I can tell it’s going to happen soon,” he rasped and nodded outside. “It’s only a matter of minutes before I become one of them.” He looked most directly at Maddy. “I love you. You have been my family for as long as I can remember. I
will not
go with you. I refuse to put you in danger. Besides, I can give you a better chance of getting out of here.”

“No!” Maddy shrieked and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him to the van. “Chase, you have to come with us!”

Laura put her arm around him and gently pushed his back, guiding him toward the van. “No. You have suffered today more than any man could handle, let alone a young man. Stay with us for a while. Let us take care of you until….”

She stopped talking when Chase stopped abruptly.

“You aren’t listening to me. I’m not going.” He glared at Scott, daring him to try to make him change his mind or to force him into the van. A fluttering in his body grew in amplitude, sending his limbs into an exaggerated palsy.

Maddy and Laura let go of Chase, their eyes opened wide in worried shock. Scott grabbed the boy and waved the girls away. He didn’t know if they were about to lose the young man or not. He wanted to be sure and waited the heart-stopping moments it took before Chase’s tremors eased to a low shiver. At that point, Scott spun him around to look him in the eyes.