The Survivor Chronicles (Book 2): The Divide (17 page)

Al hadn't known what he'd been expecting but the cloud filled gray sky, and barely visible hazy sun threw him off. He blinked against the seemingly normal, peaceful day as he stepped through the doorway. He had only a minute to take in the serenity that had followed the preceding events before a loud bellow broke the solitude of the early morning.

CHAPTER 13

John

Franklin, Mass.

It's all over but the crying
. John couldn't shake that thought from his head as he spun toward the source of the bellowing. A woman, or at least what had once been a woman, waved her hands in the air much like an irate primate as she raced at them. John lifted the gun and aimed at her, but his hand was shaking and he wasn't entirely certain he could hit the broad side of a barn right now.

What had happened to her face
? Even as the thought crossed his mind he was pulling the trigger. He didn't care what had happened to her face, there was no way he was going to let her touch him or get anywhere near the inside of his bubble of space. The bullets slammed into her chest and legs, but he wasn't entirely certain if the woman was being hit by a combination of everyone's bullets or just his own. Ultimately he didn't really care just as long as she was dead when the bullets stopped flying.

Carl grabbed hold of his arm and pushed it down. It was only then that he realized he was pulling the trigger on an empty gun, and the woman was down in a tangled heap in the parking lot. Though the gun was empty and now pointed at the sidewalk he couldn't stop himself from continuing to pull the trigger.

He felt like an idiot, yet he didn't stop until the woman's legs stopped twitching and her fingers stilled on the pavement. "Move," Carl's voice was harsh; his hand trembled as he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Get to the truck."

At first John couldn't make his legs move. He could only stand there and stare at the bloody mess of what had once been a human being. Carl nudged him and John was finally able to pry his feet from the sidewalk as he scurried toward the vehicle. "Please start," John prayed.

He didn't see the man beside the truck eating God only knew what- because
he
sure didn't want to know- until he was nearly on top of him. The man's mouth was smeared with blood, his face full of those hideous sores as he continued to chomp on whatever prize it was that he had claimed.

John lifted the gun and remembered only too late that he had already shot all the bullets in it. It was pure instinct that caused him to wind his arm back and heave the gun at the guy. It twirled through the air and knocked the man's head back as it bounced off the center of his forehead. John didn't know what he'd expected, but it sure wasn't for the guy to blink at him as if he was waking up from some hideous nightmare. The stranger's eyes actually seemed to clear as he focused on John.

John's shoulders relaxed as the man looked down at the pile before him; a pile John now realized were the remains of a small dog. John thought he might have preferred for it to be one of the crazed humans as the poor dog probably hadn't stood a chance. The man looked at him again but just as swiftly as the awakening had come into his gaze, a cloud descended back over his green eyes. John would have preferred for the dog to have been a human, but he most certainly did not want it to be
him
.

Carl shouldered past him as the man rose to his feet and eyed John like he was a steak with all the fixings. Carl lifted his arm and fired a shot dead center into the man's forehead. "You would be better off holding onto the gun, at least you can use it to beat them with it," Carl told him.

"Funny," John muttered.

"Not trying to be funny, I'm telling you the truth. Don't throw it again, we need it."

John fought against the heat creeping up his neck and face as he retrieved the gun before the growing pool of blood could get to it. He didn't care if it was the last gun on earth, he wouldn't have retrieved it from the blood of one of
those
people. Carl sidestepped the puddle and hurried to the back of the truck with his gun raised. Al already had the door of the dilapidated car open and the keys in the ignition. The reassuring beep of a working battery sounded.

The car wasn't the most important thing though. John eyed the work truck, the vehicle he'd spent more hours in than his own car. It hadn't let him down yet and that was what he counted on as he joined Carl in the back. The doors were still securely locked but John imagined there was a fair amount of water in the bed.

Carl wasn't checking out the backdoors but the crowd of people still gathered within the street and unhurriedly moving about. Their clothes were even more ragged, torn and dirty than before but they seemed oblivious to their sorry state. Some of them had simply taken to sitting in the middle of the road. From the way they looked John didn't think they had any intention of getting up again. One woman's head was jerking repeatedly to the side as her mouth snapped open and closed.

"What is she doing?" John jumped a little at the voice on his left. He hadn't realized Riley was there until she spoke.

"I think, and don't quote me on this because I can't be sure, but I
think
she is trying to eat her own face," Carl answered.

"Maybe she's simply trying to chase her nose," John suggested though he thought that Carl had hit the nail on the head.

"Oh dear Lord," Riley muttered as she took a step back.

"Let's get out of this doomed town," John said. He elbowed Riley gently back as he hurried to the passenger side of the truck. The other three were standing in between the two vehicles, anxiously surveying the parking lot.

Carl already had the driver's side door open, he met John's gaze as he threw open the passenger side door. "Please start," Carl muttered before sliding the key in.

There was a small beep that caused John's heart to skyrocket in his chest, and then the engine fired up. "
Yes
!" John said as he dropped his head on the bench seat and took a deep breath.

"Get in," Carl said.

John stepped back and waited for Rochelle to slide into the middle. "Here." Riley thrust a handful of granola bars at them along with a couple bags of trail mix. "I know it's not much but until we can stop…"

"It's good enough. You got any coffee over there?" he asked.

"Just the beans," she said with a smile.

"I'll take them."

"You're not really going to eat the coffee beans?" Carl demanded.

"No, but I'm going to inhale the shi…i…" He glanced at Rochelle who smiled sweetly back at him. "Hell out of them. If you've got a problem with that I don't care," John retorted.

Riley shook her head and thrust a bag of coffee beans at him before turning away and climbing into the driver's seat of the car. "Lead the way," John told her before she closed the door.

His attention was diverted from her by Carl's gruff words, "Give me one of those granola bars."

John handed him a peanut butter one as Rochelle seized a chocolate. He opened a raisin and cinnamon bar and bit happily into it as his stomach rumbled in response. When he finished the granola bar off he opened the bag of coffee and inhaled eagerly. It didn't ease the craving as much as he'd desired and for a moment he seriously contemplated chomping on the beans. At least he would get a little caffeine out of them.

"We have to find some soda," he muttered as he closed and resealed the bag. "Do they have battery operated coffeepots?"

"I'm sure they do. I think they've created damn near every other type of gadget in the world," Carl replied.

"We're going to have to find one of those too."

"Anything else you need while society crumbles?"

"No, that should just about do it. I'm easily satisfied," John informed him.

"That's what she said," Carl retorted.

Rochelle chuckled as she finished off a bag of trail mix, wiped her hands on her shorts, and shoved the wrapper onto the dash. John glanced at Rochelle and bit back his retort to Carl as he turned his attention to the crowded and broken roadways. It seemed like people were everywhere, but there should have been a lot more of them crowding the streets.

"How many people died yesterday?"

He hadn't realized he'd spoken the question aloud until Carl answered, "Too many."

"I don't know if I'm more thankful there aren't more people, or upset by it," John said as they drove by a group of children sitting mutely upon the steps of an elementary school. John could almost believe that they were meeting to play some basketball on the playground behind the building. They remained immobile though, their mouths partially agape as they unseeingly stared at the vehicles passing them by.

"Oh that's awful," Rochelle said.

John turned away from the children at Rochelle's horrified murmur. He saw instantly what she was talking about. Bile swelled in his throat and he instinctively covered her eyes with his left hand. It was too late though, she'd already seen and there was no unseeing it. Rochelle grabbed hold of his hand and jerked it away to scowl at him.

He wasn't paying attention though as his gaze remained locked on the woman sitting on the curb at the side of the road. As he watched, she picked off a piece of skin on her mutilated and bloody arm and began to eat it. He wished he'd never consumed the granola bar as it threatened to make a second appearance right into his lap.

"What is
wrong
with these people?" he managed to choke out.

No one spoke; Carl forcefully turned his focus away from the people and slammed on the brakes. John swore as he crashed off the dashboard. He braced himself as he turned to look at what had caused Carl to stop so abruptly. One of the mindless ones was standing in front of the truck, rocking from side to side. Its eyes were glazed and bloodshot; they rolled in the woman's head as she tugged at the remaining strands of her hair. She pulled out a handful of brown tufts and stuffed them into her mouth.

"Get, me,
out
, of, this, town," John enunciated clearly.

Carl's hand was trembling as he shifted the truck into reverse. They backed up and drove around the swaying woman. John wondered if she would turn to her own skin too when she ran out of hair, but then he realized that he didn't really want to know the answer to that question.

Riley had slowed the car for them to catch up, but she was still creeping forward, apparently unwilling to stop in this town. "How much longer until we're out of here?" Rochelle inquired.

"Not much longer, but…" Carl's voice trailed off.

"But there's no way to know what else we might come across," Rochelle finished for him.

Riley eased on the brakes as she weaved her way through the broken streets, potholes, people, and burned out shells of businesses and homes. The lightning had caused a fair amount of damage to the roads, but it was difficult to tell which homes had caught on fire because of the storm and which ones had burned during the quakes. At least the crazy torrential downpour had put out the fires before they could burn everything down.

The brake lights came to life on the car as Riley halted abruptly. John didn't know what had caused them to stop until they all looked to their right. He leaned against the door as he peered out the window at a library. At first he saw nothing unusual about the building, the front doors were closed, and the blinds were drawn on all of the windows, except for one. In that one window were a handful of people pressed against the glass to peer out.

John's heart leapt into his throat, his hand pressed against the glass as he stared at the people staring back at them. He gave a small wave that a young girl with pigtails returned. "They're functioning human beings," he breathed. "They
do
still exist."

"Maybe not for long," Rochelle whispered.

Carl started driving again but John didn't tear his gaze away from the library until he was unable to look at it anymore. He turned back around in his seat and focused on the growing light of the dreary, cloudy day. Riley turned onto a side road to avoid a deep chasm in the middle of the street.

John didn't like being herded onto the side road, but the main road hadn't proven all that useful either. He watched the houses more closely as they drove past. He saw more than a few curtains pull back, but most remained empty and hollow shells of the homes they had once been.

The mindless people were everywhere, rambling about aimlessly as they moved from yard to yard and street to street. One of the angrier ones raced across the backyard and John realized it was keeping pace with the car and truck. He sat up a little straighter, his hand clenched around the empty gun in his hand. "Where are the extra bullets?" he inquired.

Carl glanced over at him. "There are some behind the seat."

"Lean forward a little."

Carl's eyebrows drew together. The fact that he was trying to look disapproving was ruined by the ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and ruined baseball cap he refused to relinquish. "What's wrong?"

"One of those crazy things is over there. I think it would be a good idea if I had some bullets."

"Yes it would," Carl agreed.

Carl and Rochelle leaned forward so that John could pull the seat forward a little. It was difficult maneuvering around but he was eventually able to fish some boxes of bullets out. He plopped them into his lap and stared at them helplessly. "The box all the way to your right," Carl informed him.

John set it on the dash and placed the other boxes in the glove box. "Steer the truck," Carl said to Rochelle. "I don't want John to shoot himself in the face, or one of us."

"Neither do I." She grabbed the wheel as Carl took the gun and bullets from him. Carl loaded the gun quickly and handed it back.

"Thanks," John muttered.

"We're going to have to find a place to hole up for awhile. We have to make a stand and teach all of you how to use these guns before someone accidentally gets shot."

John didn't have a chance to reply as a loud thwack resounded through the cab and the truck actually lifted a little on the driver's side. Carl ducked away from the impact as he slammed on the brakes. "What the…" John started.