Wormwood Dawn (Episode I) (6 page)

Dan pulled free, breathless and shivering.

“Gasoline!” Drew shouted.

Dan Staggered back as Drew disappeared around the corner toward the pole barn. Dan leveled his shotgun at the window, blasting buckshot into the creature’s face. There was a squeal as the head exploded, and a burst of stinking fluid showered the ground and walls. The loonie slid back into the window, the bloody stump of its impaled forearm breaking off and remaining outside.

Drew appeared again with two small cans of gas. He set one down, nervously opening the spout on the other. He slammed it into place in the window, and opened the other one as gasoline poured inside the basement. He slammed the remaining one next to it, and the two waited as the contents spilled out. Inside, the screaming and crying grew to the point of panic.

“Shoot it!” Drew said.

Dan leveled the shotgun, pulling the trigger. Both gas cans were shattered, but no explosion.

“
Fuck!”
Dan shouted. He searched around for something to burn, pulling a scrap of wood from outside the window. He struggled with his lighter to put it to flame; his hands shaking with panic.

Shit, shit, shit!

When the shard finally caught flame, he stepped forward and winged it into the open window. The interior burst into flame, and the shrieks erupted like a horde of locusts as the old, dry wood spread the fire almost instantly. The two men stumbled back breathlessly. Drew bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Dan’s heart was racing almost painfully. All he could picture was a nice glass of whiskey, and maybe a couple pills.

“Jesus Christ,” Drew croaked. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

“We need to load up the materials from the pole barn,” Dan reminded him.

“This house is goin’ up quick.”

“Then we better hurry.”

As smoke began to billow from Dennis’ house, the two of them scoured the pole barn for materials. They loaded up the plywood sheets, OSB, studs, and whatever else they could find; all while passing by the lifeless form of Dennis. Dan felt sorry for the guy. He was a good man who took care of his family, and worked hard every day to provide for them and make them comfortable.

And now he would rot away on the floor of his own barn.

“When we’re finished,” Dan said, “we should burn the barn down. I don’t want to leave him here like this.”

Drew pursed his lips, obviously feeling the same way he did.

Dan went into the other room, eyeing the cabinets he had seen earlier. They were old, and the paint had chipped off, but they were sturdy. When he opened the doors, he was greeted with the sight of dozens of canned food items. There were vegetables, meats, various broths, and even little cans of sardines. There were also jars filled with preserved fruits, tomatoes, and what looked like sauces.

Dan grinned. “Score,” he whispered.

The two of them collected everything they could, filling cardboard boxes and plastic bags that were lying around. The cans would last for quite a while if they rationed them. All they really needed was a way to heat them once the power went out and the propane tank went empty.

“We should go the nearest gas station and commandeer some propane tanks,” Drew said. “You still have that camp stove, right?”

“Yeah,” Dan replied. “The grill still works, too.”

“Good,” Drew said. “I could go for some ribs. I’ll check that deep freeze.”

Dan nodded, lugging the last load of cans to the truck. He arranged them in the small seat at the rear of the cab—which was way too small for the previous owner’s buddies to pack into, he guessed. When he had finished, the truck was packed about as full as it could get. Yet Drew emerged from the barn smiling. He carried two bags of frozen meat in his hands.

“Deer,” Drew said, throwing the bags in the back seat.

Dan smiled, returning to the barn to seek out another gas can. There was a large one near the tractor, full and ready to go. He prepared the spout and began splashing gas on the walls and benches. Then, with a heavy heart, he doused Dennis’ body, making a trail out the door. He pulled out his lighter and crouched.

“Rest in peace, Dennis,” he whispered.

The barn went up quickly, and soon the entire property began its slow and fiery death as they drove away.

“…director of the CDC has released information regarding the plague that has wiped out a significant portion of the population. The pathogen appears to have had an immediate lethal effect on at least half of the population, leaving the remaining half in one of two other categories; those who are completely unaffected, and those who are driven to a seemingly permanent and violent psychosis.

Authorities around the world have reported massive hordes of infected people attacking the survivors. Military personnel say the infected are ravenous, quick, and can survive injuries that would kill any normal human.

Those members of the CDC we spoke to have also discovered that the pathogen has the ability to mutate if its host survives long enough. Lab tests indicate the pathogen takes only a day to mutate, though in a human host, the time is unknown. The mutated form is able to infect others who have previously been immune. There is no word or sign of how the pathogen actually affects those currently carrying it. They do, however, state that since the pathogen alters DNA, anything is possible.”

“Fucking shit, man,” Drew said, sipping his whiskey.

“That can’t be good. I wonder if it will turn everyone into
Grays
.”

Drew laughed, choking on his whiskey. “Fuck that. I don’t wanna be a little spaceman.”

Dan shook his head as he poured himself another scotch. “I wonder how long the power will stay on.”

“Probably not long,” Drew said. “I’m surprised it’s lasted this long. There can’t be enough people to keep the turbines going. My dad says it takes at least two hundred fifty people to keep a plant up and running.”

“What about the solar plants?”

Drew shrugged. “There aren’t any of those around here,” he said. “But if Martinsville is any indication, there wouldn’t be very many people around the home improvement stores. We could find parts there. Everything’s been ransacked, but they were mostly after the food and drugs.”

“And liquor,” Dan added, lifting his glass.

Drew chuckled. “We should check them out. There may be solar systems left.”

“Solar systems?”

“Power kits,” Drew said. “Whatever.”

“Yeah,” Dan said, thinking of the power tool section. “We could use some more tools. Plus, I wonder if there’s any ammo left.”

“How are we doing?”

“Well,” Dan thought. “I already had a few boxes of shotgun shells, about five boxes of .308, and whatever we got from Dennis. Steve was packing, too. We’re good for a minor scuffle, but if a horde comes from the north or south, we’d be fucked.”

“This place is pretty far out here,” Drew said. “We’re more likely to get attacked by thieves.”

“Yeah,” Dan agreed. “That’s what I’m worried about. It already happened once; the same fucking day it started.”

He took a swig of his whiskey and a drag off his cigarette, contemplating their next move. A trip north might be a good idea, if they could get past any National Guard troops that were patrolling the highway. Drew had said the old flea market was being used as a base, so going anywhere near there would be a bad idea. But supplies would be needed. Solar power was a priority; otherwise they would run out of water once the power went out. The fireplace would serve to keep them warm when it got cold, and there was plenty of wood out there in the forest.

“Maybe we should just stick to the houses around here,” he said, finally. “There are a lot of Libertarians around with skills and supplies. We might find everything we need. I don’t think going into town is a good idea.”

Drew pursed his lips, shrugging. “True,” he agreed. “But you know they’ll eventually come this way. They’ll sweep the area looking for survivors to round up. Police state, man. It’s what they wanted.”

Dan chuckled. “I wonder what the
real
military is doing.”

“I don’t know,” Drew said. “But if they make it back, they’ll be on our side. Most of them anyway.”

Dan looked out the window, seeing that the light was fading. It was almost eight o’clock now, and the sun was about to croak. Soon, it would be time to hunt.

“Man,” Drew said. “I can’t get over that shit we saw in the basement.”

Dan sighed. “That body on the floor was just grotesque. Did you see the way it was quivering?”

“Like it was still alive.”

“Yeah, but it couldn’t have been. It was half eaten. I don’t get it. The others didn’t look that way. It was different for some reason.”

“I wonder how Dennis died,” Drew said. “He didn’t look like he was attacked, or really even that sick.”

“He might have gotten bitten or something, got a little sick, then went out to the pole barn and had a heart attack.”

“He had time to lock his family in the basement.”

Dan nodded. “I wonder if that body on the floor was the first one of them.”

Drew shook his head. “Don’t know, man. But it’s getting dark. What do we need to get tonight?”

“More canned food, ammo, bottled water, anything really.”

Drew picked up his shotgun and put on his sunglasses, grinning. He looked like the Terminator… if the Terminator was five foot six and bald.

“Let’s ride.”

The creek was a little flooded, running swiftly across the gravel road. They had gone in the opposite direction of Dennis’ house, where the really secluded neighborhoods and lonely houses were. Old State Route 37 went right through the state forest, and the road itself was twisting and hilly as it snaked through. Gary Holmes lived in the first house on the right, about a half mile from the creek. He owned ten acres on either side of the road, with his personal gun range and stables on the left.

Dan slowed the truck, peering into the dark shroud of trees. There weren’t any lights on in the house; not even the usual path lights out in the yard. He wondered if this stretch of road still had power. He noticed there was no smoke coming from the chimney.

“Gary would definitely have canned food and ammo,” he said. “Maybe even some solar equipment.”

“Do you even know how to hook up solar shit?”

Dan grinned. “No fucking clue,” he said. “But we got Google; for a little while anyway.”

He pulled the truck into Gary’s driveway. There was a bridge here also; one that was in much better shape than the one at Dennis’ house. The house was much nicer, too; newer, cleaner, and more like Dan’s style. It was stone and wooden beams, as opposed to the shitty aluminum siding his own house had. Even the chimney was nice and stylish.

“Have you ever been here?” Drew asked.

“Couple times,” Dan replied. “Gary has cookouts and shit.”

Dan put the truck in park and shut off the engine. They sat watching the house for a moment, listening for any signs of life—or whatever you would call it. The place seemed deserted, as most of the road did, and it was dark as hell.

“Does he have horses in those stables?” Drew asked.

“A couple. I don’t think we need horses, though. They would be way too hard to keep up.”

“They would be good for traveling around in the dark,” Drew said. “But you’re right. They eat a lot of food.”

They approached the house cautiously, keeping their eyes peeled. There were still no visible lights, or any movement that would indicate anyone was here, but they were taking no chances. For all they knew, Gary and his wife were stumbling around in the dark, just waiting for someone to eat.

“I wonder if the loonies attack each other,” Dan mused.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Drew said. “The ones in the basement weren’t going after each other; just the one on the floor.”

Dan wondered why, but didn’t say anything. His focus was on the front door. It was closed, and the porch light was busted. There was even a small crack in one of the glass squares that made up the top half of the heavy wooden door. Just one.

They stepped onto the porch, and Dan peered inside the window. He could see the moonlight coming through the kitchen windows, and the faint glow of a nightlight somewhere inside. Still, no movement or signs of life. He looked at Drew, and then reached out for the handle.

It was locked.

“Shit,” he said.

“I’m sure no one would mind if we broke in,” Drew said.

“What if we break the glass and wake them up? They may just be asleep.”

Drew looked at his watch. “It’s only eight twenty-two,” he said.

Dan shrugged. He put his back against the door, poised to bash in a square of glass nearest to the door handle. Drew reached out and pushed the doorbell.

“Jesus, man,” Dan said, turning his head against the door to listen.

“Housekeeping,” Drew said in a falsetto.

Dan grinned. “I don’t hear anything,” he said, preparing to bash out the glass.

Drew stepped back, and Dan forced his elbow back. The glass shattered with a minimal crash, and Dan reached in to find the lock. It clicked open with no problem.

“Open it,” Dan said, standing in front of the door and pointing the shotgun toward it.

Drew reached out, pausing for a moment before grabbing the handle. Dan’s heart thumped and he bounced a little in anticipation. Then, Drew quickly turned the handle and pushed the door open. Dan froze, gripping the shotgun nervously as he waited for a screaming horde to burst through.

Nothing.

He lowered the shotgun, stepping inside to peer into the dim light. He scowled as he sniffed the air. “It smells like cinnamon,” he said.

“That’s better than shit,” Drew replied.

He was right. However…

“I think a candle is burning,” Dan whispered. “Someone must be inside.”

“Cinnamon Apocalypse,” Drew said.

They stepped in, quietly moving toward the flickering light. There was a candle burning on the coffee table, flickering in the wind they had just created. It was a large one, around three inches in diameter, and red. It cast eerie shadows in the room that dimly lit the bricks of the fireplace and cast shadows on the walls.

Dan reached the end of the dividing wall between the hall and living room, where there was a short, two-step stairway that led down. The cocking of a shotgun startled him.

There, on the couch, was Linda; Gary’s wife. She was still, staring at Dan fearfully. Dan raised his right hand, lowering his shotgun with the other. He swallowed, hoping Linda recognized him.

“Linda,” he said. “It’s Dan.”

She sobbed, lowering her shotgun and setting it beside her on the couch. Dan walked down the steps slowly, motioning for Drew to follow.

“What happened?” he asked. “Where’s Gary?”

Linda sniffed, sulking, before mumbling the words Dan was expecting. “I killed him,” she sobbed.

Dan looked at Drew, whose face echoed his own pity. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did he get sick?”

Linda nodded. “Around noon yesterday,” she continued. “He just started choking and spitting blood. I wasn’t sure what was happening. I tried to get him in the car to take him to the hospital, but then he attacked me. I ran back into the house and got my gun.” She paused to sob, covering her mouth with her hand. “Then I shot him.”

Dan sat down next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “Where is he now?”

She sniffed hard, her face covered in tears. “I buried him in the garden,” she said. “His garden. I didn’t want anyone to find out.”

Dan nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Are you alright?”

Linda was silent, but she nodded, staring off into space.

“This is my friend Drew,” Dan said. Linda just nodded slowly, not saying anything. “We were just out looking for supplies. We didn’t know anyone was here. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

Linda chuckled humorlessly, turning to look at him. “At this point,” she whispered, “there is nothing that would shock me. It’s all over. Gary is gone. He’s gone…”

She covered her face with her hands, breaking down and crying. Dan felt uncomfortable, but did the best he could not to show it. Drew fidgeted.

“My house is safe for the moment,” Dan said. “You can come with us if you want. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Linda continued sulking, curling her fingers over her eyes and shaking her head. “Dan,” she said, reaching for her shotgun. “You guys can take anything you need.” She suddenly put the barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

The blast spewed her brains all over the back wall, and splattered Dan with blood and chunks of skull as he fell back.

“
Jesus fucking Christ!”
he shouted as he rolled off the couch.

Drew stood wide-eyed, watching the bits of flesh roll down the wall. Dan recovered, moving next to him as the two of them covered their mouths in shock.

“What the fuck?” Dan said.

“Oh my God,” Drew said, turning to puke behind them.

Dan went up to the kitchen, setting the shotgun down on the counter and resting his face on his hands. His heart pounded, and he felt breathless. That was totally unexpected. Linda was never a weakling, he remembered. He never pictured her as someone who would take her own life in desperation. She was a survivor, like Gary.