The Siege (49 page)

Still, two of those creatures are problem enough
, Winfield thought.

Before the two zombies made their move toward the kitchen door, Winfield and Tasha had a few minutes to speak. Tasha maintained her quiet reserve, an attitude, Winfield had no doubt, she used with all authority figures, but she did, after a fashion, apologize for kicking him in the balls.

“Hey,” Winfield said, “I’ve got to hand it to you. I’ve rousted drunks and deadbeats and vagrants for a good many years around here, and then it takes a teenage girl from Florida to scramble my eggs.” He snorted with laughter and was pleased to see the slightest of smiles flit across Tasha’s face.

“I’ve figured it out now, too,” he said, keeping his eyes on the dark figures standing in front of the barn. “After you nailed me, I saw you run off into the woods, heading south when, actually, you wanted to be going north. You were trying to misdirect me, in case I caught my breath and gave chase, right?”

Tasha shrugged and looked down at the floor. “Yeah, it seemed like the thing to do.”

“I think it was a pretty clever move, but I don’t think your reason for doing it was very smart.”

Tasha looked at him, her expression suddenly steely.

“I mean, if you were protecting
him
!” Winfield said, hiking his thumb toward the living room.

Tasha’s gaze went in the direction he indicated, then she looked back at him and sighed deeply. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t want to defend Hocker. She knew he was an asshole; he was just a little bit less of an asshole than most of the other men she had ever met.

What she didn’t like was another thought that had reared up on her like a spooked horse: she was scared to death! And she knew they all were facing death here. Everything else Hocker had done—knocking that old man cold, stealing his truck and money, burning the truck was like a joke compared to what was going on now! That man out there in the limo was using these
things
to try to kill them!

And even though she tried like hell not to react to this cop, calling her a “teenage girl,” that was exactly what she was. She was a kid, and suddenly, actually without realizing it until it was too late, she had gotten in too damned deep. A phone call to her father wasn’t going to patch this one up! Her parents’ “emotional Band-Aids” weren’t going to get her through this! What she was fighting was the feeling that all she wanted to do was just break down and fall apart. Let this big, tough cop and those other people in the house solve this problem for her. All she wanted to do was curl up in a corner somewhere, close her eyes, and cry until it was all over and she was safe… or dead.

“You know, I meant what I said earlier about getting you off the hook,” Winfield said, intruding on her thoughts.

Tasha looked at him, feeling equally attracted and wary. “And what makes you think I need your help?” she said. Even as the words were out of her mouth, she was angry at herself for acting so nasty, so stupid.

“Why?” Winfield said. “Because I’ve seen a lot of guys like Hocker in my time. They’re what we cops call
Triple-P’s
. That’s short for ‘piss-poor-protoplasm.’ ”

Tasha snickered and shook her head. “Aww. He ain’t that bad,” she said. “He may be a little fucked up, but who isn’t?”

“Yeah, well, the offer stands,” Winfield said. “If we get our butts out of here intact, I’ll make sure you don’t get in any deeper.”

Oh, great
, Tasha thought,
just like dad: Mr. Fix-it!

They didn’t have a chance to talk anymore because just then both of the zombies by the barn started moving slowly forward, their blank gazes fixed on the kitchen door, arms extended.

Both creatures clambered up onto the porch at the same time, but the narrowness of the doorway forced one behind the other. The lead zombie thrust both hands straight through the glass, shattering it inward along with the snapped wood of the window grid. The creature’s knees pounded against the door, making the whole frame rattle as it pushed forward.

Winfield watched, fascinated, for several seconds as the creature mindlessly tried to grab at them through the broken window. The door was just a momentary impediment, he knew, but he couldn’t keep himself from staring at this
thing
that had been turned from a human being into a monstrous parody of life.

Tasha was cringing back, away from the door. One hand loosely held the shovel; the other was clamped across her mouth, muffling the screams that vibrated her throat. Winfield gave her a quick, reassuring nod, then raised his revolver and fired rapidly, point-blank, at the zombie’s face.

The revolver kicked in his hand as it spat out lead, but the bullets had about as much effect on the creature as if they had shot through paper. Small, dark holes like black marbles appeared in the zombie’s forehead, but his eyes never blinked; his face never flinched as he reached into the kitchen.

“Hocker told you that wouldn’t do anything!” Tasha screamed, shifting backward toward the cellar door.

Winfield smiled grimly and, not taking his eyes off the creature, said, “I just had to see for myself.” He slipped his revolver into its holster, gripped his makeshift club with both hands, and leaned into a vicious swing at the creature’s head.

There was a satisfying whack upon impact, and the creature sagged to one side, but still there was no change of expression in its eyes. It unblinkingly groped forward… to
kill
!

Tasha’s screaming rose shrilly when the door, with the added weight of the second creature bearing down on it, suddenly caved in. Winfield was caught by surprise and was knocked backward against the counter. His club clattered to the floor. When he dove for it, his hand just missed it. A sudden, crushing weight dropped onto his back, forcing the air from his lungs in one big burst.

Tasha almost turned and ran, but she felt a sudden loyalty to this man. She brought the shovel around in a whistling swing, and she couldn’t help but smile when the shovel blade caught the first zombie under the right ear and sliced cleanly through the putrid flesh.

Winfield never made a sound as he worked under the weight of the zombie to get his club. In less than a few seconds, dirt-crusted teeth would be working their way into his living flesh. The panic that seized him was nearly blinding, and even though he couldn’t breathe, he kept his focus clearly on the club; that was the only thing that was going to save his ass!

Glancing over her shoulder, Tasha saw the second zombie lurching through the door, its eyes fixed blankly on her. She swung the shovel again and caught that one squarely in the chest. The shovel
thumped
into the creature’s chest, ripping it open to expose a xylophone of yellowed ribs. The creature was knocked back a few steps, but he regained his balance and started forward again just as Tasha swung again.

“Die! Goddamn you!
Die!
” Tasha wailed as she swished the shovel back and forth like a razor-sharp pendulum. Each swipe cut into the creature, exposing bone and blackened muscle, but it didn’t stop coming at her!

“You son-of-a-bitch!
Die!
”

She spied the opened cans of paint on the countertop, with a few quick side-steps, moved between the door and the scrambling mass of Winfield and his attacker. When one particularly firm hit had sent the zombie attacker reeling, she quickly turned and grabbed a can of paint and tossed it straight into the zombie’s face.

The effect was exactly what she had wanted! The creature didn’t hesitate as it continued to move forward, but now it was blind; she had the edge! With that to bolster her confidence, she braced the shovel close to her body, like a knight’s lance, and jabbed it directly under the creature’s jaw. Pink paint dribbled and splashed everywhere, a crazy parody of the blood this thing should have been shedding. The zombie’s head snapped backward, and there was a stomach-wrenching snap as the rotted spine broke. The head dropped to the floor with a dull thump, and the body crumpled down after it, landing right in the puddle of paint.

Winfield, meanwhile, was struggling to keep the creature’s open jaws away from him. He knew he couldn’t keep this up for long. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and his arms ached as if he were trying to bench-press a Mack Truck. With a frantic lunge, he finally managed to grab his club and bring it around. Using the heel of it, he pounded the zombie’s face just as it was opening its mouth and leaning down to set its teeth into his neck. The only sound Winfield was conscious of was his own roaring intake of breath as the weight on him eased up enough to breathe.

The creature’s long fingernails scraped across his scalp, spreading neon-bright pain along his nerves. The teeth, clicking and clacking, came closer to the top of his head.

All Winfield could think was,
This is it! I’m done for!
But then the creature suddenly lurched to the side and, looking up, Winfield saw Tasha standing over him, smiling grimly. She had brought the shovel blade down hard onto the back of the creature’s neck, and the blow had severed the spine, disconnecting the brain.

The zombie’s head hung back over its left shoulder blade as it fell backward onto the floor. Winfield hurriedly kicked the dead body aside, stood up, and took a quick inventory of himself to make sure he wasn’t wounded; he knew the adrenalin charge of fighting could numb the pain of a severe wound, and he didn’t want to find himself collapsing suddenly from loss of blood. But the scalp wound was the total of his injuries, so he and Tasha set to work, cleaning up the damage.

“Where are we gonna put…
those
?” Tasha asked, wrinkling her nose as she pointed down at the two headless corpses.

Winfield glanced around the kitchen, then smiled when he saw the storage closet by the cellar door. “Stuff ’em in there, I suppose,” he said. “I don’t particularly relish the thought of dragging ’em outside. First, though, I want to get that door back up and nail as many boards over it as we can. There’ll be more of them!”

Tasha shivered as she looked at the smashed down doorway. “Maybe we can put something across it, like those bars they used to block castle gates. I don’t want to get trapped in here with all the doors locked.”

Winfield looked at her, his gaze suddenly darkening. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell your friend Hocker about it?” Tasha smirked and, shaking her head in agreement, said, “He’s not my friend. We sorta ended up together on the road. You don’t know how many times I wanted to dump him and take off on my own.”

Winfield understood the dynamics of the situation. As crazy as Hocker was, Tasha felt secure with him, probably because he had never tried to put the make on her, and because he was nuts enough to do some fairly outrageous things. She probably thought that would translate into protection for her if worse came to worst.

But worse had come to worst, Winfield thought, and Hocker hadn’t shown any signs of untapped nobility.

“But you didn’t leave him,” he said. “And you’ve got to admit, you’re in pretty deep this time.”

Tasha had to look away, and when she did, her stomach did a quick flop over. Spread on the floor in front of her were two dead men and these weren’t the first she had helped kill. She was sure, now, that the three men who had attacked her and Hocker in the woods two nights ago had been creatures like these. She knew how lucky they were to have survived that attack. Pink paint, the color of Canada Mints, was splattered all over the walls and floor. The splintered door was wide open, an invitation to enter if there were any more of those
things
out there. And she
knew
there were more out there!

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision of the kitchen, so she kept her face turned away from Winfield. But when a deep sob shook her body, she knew she couldn’t hide it anymore, and with a shuddering groan, she fell into his arms and buried his face in the hefty warmth of his chest. “It’s okay,” Winfield said softly as he stroked her hair. He was glad she had finally broken down. He knew that’s what had to happen before she would find the courage to shake herself free of the control Hocker exercised over her. Winfield was keeping his eyes fixed on the opened doorway, positive that, as soon as he let his guard down, more of those creatures would come piling through the door and swarm all over them.

Tasha’s shoulders shook as she cried into his shoulder. Her tears were hot, and her breath caught in her throat. Sniffing, Tasha looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. He found himself imagining that she was his daughter, and that made him think about the wife he had never had and the children he would never raise.

“Over by the coal bin where Hocker kept us tied up last night, there’s a narrow tunnel way that leads out to the barn,” Winfield said. Only with great effort could he keep his voice from breaking.

Tasha started to say something, but her voice choked off.

“Dale and I have been thinking about it, and we think if things get really bad up here, the rest of you, including Hocker can easily fit through. Once you get to the barn, you can either hightail it into the woods or, if my cruiser still runs, drive on out of here.”

“What about you?” Tasha asked, sniffing loudly and running the back of her hand under her eyes.

Winfield chuckled. “A few too many sugar donuts at Kellerman’s,” he said slapping his paunch. His other hand was still resting lightly on Tasha’s shoulder.