Billy’s face was awash with anguish. He turned for a moment unable to witness his former friend’s body in such a painful position. The corpse braced its left hand on the cement, its right was twisted with the back of the hand pressed into the floor; its thumb dislocated and bulged at the joint. It pulled a knee up into its chest and began to stand like an exhausted boxer standing before the ten-count.
Mason stepped to Billy and reached for his rifle. Billy tugged it back.
“I should do it. He’s my friend.” Billy whispered.
“That’s why you shouldn’t.” Mason said and slipped the twenty-two out of Billy’s hands. “Don’t look. Just get in the truck.”
Mason turned and pressed in the safety on the little rifle. The corpse of Gabe Duffy shuffled to its feet with an unsteady teetering. It wobbled and looked around, settling on Mason.
“Andy, you should probably see this.” Mason said, his gun trained on Gabe’s undead body. Gabe sniffed at the air but made no move to attack. Green drool slowly crept from its mouth and stretched into a long string. Andy turned away. Mason fired. The twenty-two popped a relatively small blast but everyone in the gas station jumped with its report. Mason spat and looked to Tony.
“Help me put him in the back.” He said. Tony nodded and pulled a plastic trash lining out of a garbage can between the pumps. He dumped what little trash there was out and moved to help.
“We’re outta here.” Mason said.
Jack Mason drove the Chevy up the steep grade out of town. His whole body felt heavy; burdened by the thought that Travis and Gabe would still be alive if he hadn’t asked them to come to Whisper for the paintball tournament. He couldn’t bear to look at Billy in the passenger’s seat next to him. Bill was all that was left of the trio from Healdsburg. Jack couldn’t imagine what he was going through having lost both his friends.
“When we leave; I’ll drive you back to Healdsburg myself.” Jack said. When he heard no answer, he took his eyes off the road long enough to look to his right. Billy nodded affirmation while obviously holding back his anguish; or was it anger? Jack wasn’t sure. The hand radio at his belt squawked and he heard Veronica’s quiet voice.
“Hello? Are you there?” She asked.
“We’re headed back now, we had some trouble.” Mason said into the radio.
“So did I…”Veronica said. The radio crackled and hissed. Mason held it higher and pointed the small antenna forward. Veronica’s voice became clear.
“Mrs. McCormack… She didn’t make it.”
Mason brought the Chevy to the side of the road, stunned by the news. The Bronco followed and parked a few car lengths behind.
“She died?” Mason asked. They had spent too much time messing around; Tony’s mission to save the kid and then at the gas station.
The nice lady is dead because of stupid distractions
.
“How long ago?” He asked.
“An hour and a half. I… I forgot about the radio.”
“An hour and a half.” He said and did some quick math in his head. At that time, they were still in the pharmacy. It was almost pointless after the fact but Mason wanted to know if their delays had cost the nice old lady her life. He wanted to yell at someone but quickly realized that they couldn’t have made it no matter their course. Still, he felt like yelling.
“Maybe longer. I’m not sure.” Veronica’s voice was tired.
“We’ll be right there.” Jack said.
“Wait, there’s a problem.” She said.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes… We had a visitor. It was Lance’s father. He came in a helicopter with soldiers; heavily armed soldiers. They questioned me and then went to the lake… to look for his son. They were pretty scary.”
“Okay, we’re coming to get you outta there. Wait by the gate.” Mason said and dropped the radio.
Tony was shocked at the news that the nice old lady had died. They had all heard the conversation over the radio. If Lance’s father was looking for him, with soldiers, then they needed to get the hell away from the estate. The last thing they needed was to become Goldilocks to Richardson’s Bear. Tony looked to Nikki. She sat next to him, between he and Andy. Her gaze affixed downwards, her face a heavy mask of sadness.
We failed
, he thought. He cranked the steering wheel to the left. He eased the Bronco forward and started a U-turn.
“What are you doing?” Nikki asked urgently.
“I’m taking you to your parents.” He said.
Tony picked up his radio but before he could press down on the send button, it barked Mason’s voice.
“Sanchez!, Where the hell are you going?”
“I’m taking these people to the high school. Go get Veronica and meet us there.” He said.
“Bullshit! We stick together.” Mason shouted. Tony almost thought that he could hear him from the Chevy.
“Dude, I’m in Homeboy’s Bronco. Not a good idea to be caught at the scene of the crime. Just meet us there.” Tony said and handed the radio to Nikki.
“Nothing’s gone right today; but I’m damn sure gonna get you to the school.” Tony said. He nodded towards the radio in her hands and said, “Set it to channel two. Tell your Pops, we’re coming.”
Mason was still yelling when Nikki switched channels.
Thirty-Nine
Veronica set the radio down on the nightstand and steadied herself to take one last look at Margaret’s sheet-covered form. It didn’t feel right to just leave her here all alone. Maybe Richardson would have his men give her a proper burial. He seemed to hold her in some regard. She didn’t think that he had sent his medic in just for show. Veronica would like to do it herself but knew she couldn’t risk being around when the helicopter returned. Who knows what they found and what mood they’d be in. She was running out of time but still felt she should do something. She got on her knees next to the bed and folded her hands in prayer.
Veronica searched her heart for something to say but prayer wasn’t something she did often. She wished she had the words; the lady deserved some kind of send-off. The effort brought tears to her eyes. Veronica dropped her hands and looked at the sheet covered face. She smoothed her hands over the cold stiff fabric. Frustrated, she simply said,
“Goodbye Ma’am, it was an honor to know you.”
Veronica noticed a tiny bit of moisture on the white cotton sheet above Margaret’s nose. The area slowly grew as absorbed liquid proliferated into the fabric becoming a small round spot. At first it was just a darkening of the material, as all cotton does when it gets wet, but as the spot grew, Veronica noticed a greenish color.
Veronica’s heart began to race, began to pound in her chest as her eyes widened. The urge to stand built up in her like a rising tide. She felt disconnected from the world as if everything that had happened over the past few days were not real. Margaret’s body twitched, her arm moved, and she coughed; splashing more infected fluid on the inside of the white sheets. Veronica suddenly found the strength to communicate once again with her body, found reason to see the reality of the situation. She sprung up to her feet just as the corpse pushed the sheet off, revealing Margaret’s death mask, pale and slack, with a dark green discharge from her nose. The dead eyes opened and saw Veronica. The corpse’s arms lifted towards the frightened young lady and a dry hollow inhale reverberated in the quiet room.
Veronica backed away from the corpse as it sat up stiffly from the bed. She saw mottled red and brown bruises on the backs of the corpse’s tiny legs as they slid out from under the sheets. The ghoul’s paper thin skin now revealed more of the creature’s vascular system than when she was alive. All warmth had been drained from this now hungry visage. Veronica backed into the doorjamb unaware of its proximity. Startled by the abrupt stop, she turned and ran down the hall. The corpse let out a weak squeal and followed.
Veronica shook off her confusion as she raced down the stairs two at a time. Reaching the bottom she turned and saw the corpse of Margaret McCormack stumble at the top of the stairs. Veronica choked back stomach acids at the repulsive sight of such a dear lady now transformed into a thin, wisp of a ghoul. Veronica reached for the doorknob, her shaking hand slipping on the polished brass. The corpse held onto the railing with its right hand and slowly negotiated the stairs downward. Its eerie dead stare never leaving Veronica. Its head bobbled with each uneasy step but its eyes remained locked on a terrified Veronica. It opened its mouth instinctively drawn to the life in the girl but was interrupted by another foul cough. Dark sputum ejected outward from the force of her expulsion. More green discharge ran from the corpse’s nose, and down the valleys of the woman’s wrinkled face.
Veronica remembered that the shotgun was upstairs along with her radio. She couldn’t stomach the idea of physically challenging the frail specter. Tears blurred her vision as she knew she would have to leave the poor woman in this state. Helplessness crushed her as she turned the doorknob. Veronica looked back and saw the scarecrow-like form of Mrs. McCormack’s reach the bottom of the steps. Veronica began to hyperventilate. She thought that if this what the world has come to, where death means walking around even without being infected, then why go on. Her body shook as she wondered how bad it would hurt; how long would it take, to just let the old woman end her life. Just a little pain, some bleeding, and then she might be able to see her father again; for a moment she almost surrendered to the thought.
Then it hit her; the question of infection. Margaret wasn’t bitten, yet she was looking at her infected form not four feet away, approaching slowly.
Why is she infected
? She needed time to think. Veronica found her strength, threw open the front door, and exited. She pulled the heavy door shut with a loud slam. She didn’t think that a corpse could open doors. Just the same, Veronica continued backing down the porch steps. Something slapped on the door making her jump and instinctively ball-up her hands into fists. Another slap, then another, and Veronica decided that the body of the old woman wasn’t going to be lurching out the door towards her. Looking at the open garage door, Veronica dashed inside to make sure the kitchen door was secure. The inner door was closed, and on seeing it so, she slowed her run. She stood alone in the middle of the garage trying to keep from screaming.
She paced. She coughed from exertion. She ran to the door and doubled over and vomited. The involuntary effort forced more tears from her eyes but the pain in her gut, and her wound, brought her some clarity. The woman wasn’t infected, she was sure of it. Yet she changed anyway. This was important. This was a mystery; something she could hold on to. Veronica stood back up and looked at the door to the kitchen. An idea formed in her mind, a gruesome plan that she almost wished hadn’t occurred to her.
Veronica didn’t want to leave the hand radio behind. If the soldiers found it, they could listen in on the boys and possibly cause problems. She knew that she could outrun the poor old lady’s reanimated remains. All she had to do was run in through the kitchen, and back up the stairs to grab the radio and the shotgun. But the stairs presented a problem. They were the only way up or down. By the time Veronica snatched the radio and headed back down, she was sure she would have to face the creature. Then she remembered how heavy the front door was.
Veronica sprinted to the porch. She heard weak slaps and horrible, pathetic growls on the other side of the door. Veronica paced for a second, her body buzzing with the anxiety of her diversionary ruse. She wanted to scream, but clenched her fists and focused. Veronica gritted her teeth and turned the knob, pushing the door open about a foot as the creature wrapped its thin fingers around the door. She leaped off the porch and backed away. She saw the wretched face of the woman slowly emerge. Its wrinkles were deeper then before as its skin seemed to have lost any elasticity. It moved a shoulder inside the gap and outstretched its left arm. Veronica’s heart broke as she saw Margaret’s wedding ring glimmer in the sunlight. The hand that clutched at the air towards Veronica was bony and the ring moved around the digit loosely, only stopped by the thick knuckle. The specter began to worm its way outside.
Veronica started her sprint, her wounded flank giving her less trouble now as her adrenalin peaked. She flew into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her and rushed to the front room. Upon seeing that the corpse had exited the front door, Veronica changed course from the stairs towards the door. She rammed the front door closed with all her momentum. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she looked to the front window. A shadow moved closer and began pounding on the front. She turned away, leaning on the solid wood door as her heart thumped wildly.
Catching her breath, she tried to calm down but her heart was still beating loudly in her chest. She could feel the rumble of it but it was impossibly fast. As her body calmed she put two fingers to her carotid artery. Her pulse was slowing but she still experienced a powerful pulsing sensation. Then she realized the thumping was coming from outside of the house; the “Thwap-thwap-thwap” of an approaching helicopter.
*****
Mason felt a chill when he caught a glimpse of the long black shape in the sky. He saw the pylon mounted rocket pods and knew he wasn’t looking at just a transport chopper. He couldn’t blame Veronica for not knowing the difference.
“That’s a God-damned gunship!” He said and dodged the Chevy to a screeching halt under a thin sliver of trees next to the road. With the engine idle, he could now hear the distant sound of the Blackhawk’s rotors. The radio squawked to life.
“Blackjack? Do you hear me?’ Veronica’s voice was urgent, the sounds of the helicopter also coming from her microphone.
“Yeah.” He said, “I see it. Can you make it to the gate?”
“No, there’s...” Veronica struggled. “It’s Mrs. McCormack.”
“Just leave her, there’s nothing you can do about that. Run, get past the gate and meet us.” He urged.
“No. She’s... She’s one of them. She got back up even though she wasn’t infected.” Veronica finished. “There isn’t enough time. They’d see me and then come after us in the helicopter.”
Gunship
, thought Mason and he thumped the radio on the steering wheel. Billy looked at him as if to say, ‘Don’t break it.’ She was right though; that Blackhawk was a flying weapons platform capable of holding a squad of heavily armed men. If it took to the air, there would be no hiding from it. It was most likely set up for infra-red and could find them even in full dark. The machine guns alone would be able to pulverize any commercial vehicle.
“Can you hide?” Mason asked.
“No. I think I’ll be all right. I’ll stick to my story like before. I’ll try to call you later.”
Mason leaned his head back on the rear window. “Okay, channel one. Conserve your batteries but we’ll be listening all night. We’ve got plenty.”
“You’re not going home?” she asked. Billy looked at Mason and shook his head.
“No, not until you’re safe.” Mason said.
“I’m sorry Jack.” She said.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you out somehow.” He said and heard the Blackhawk’s engines cycle down. “Sneak out if you get a chance.”
The radio went silent.