Ethan sat on the roof. He looked over the crowd to where he had laid his friend to rest and prepared to say goodbye.
. . .
It was the second day of school. He was eight years old and about to learn what it meant to have a real friend for the first time.
Ethan was finally allowed to walk home from school alone. This was big. Real big.
His mother told him to come straight home. She said his sister Emma was riding the bus and would arrive about fifteen minutes after he did. This would be a test. If he failed, he be right back on the same bus tomorrow afternoon. So he wasn’t going to screw this up. He couldn’t; he was too old for the bus.
As the final bell rang, Ethan grabbed his backpack and shot across the classroom. He didn’t stop for his usual drink of water and definitely didn’t slow down to watch Caroline Kirby walk down the front steps. If he even caught a glimpse of her, his entire schedule would be trashed. He could wait until tomorrow morning to see her. It would be worth it.
Across the lawn, down the sidewalk, and a quick shortcut through Mr. Jarvis’s front yard gave him a nice cushion. He’d hit a full stride as he passed the hardware store and only slowed for a second to give a wave at old man Tully.
“Gotta go, my mom said—” He was already too winded to speak.
Reaching the open field past Tully’s place, he heard footsteps at his back. He didn’t turn and continued running. They were close, very close. And they were heavy. This was someone bigger, someone older.
Turning into lot and taking his second shortcut, Ethan was struck from behind. The collision sent him skipping forward. Not off his feet right away, but too off balance for him to continue running. His eight-year-old legs couldn’t keep pace with the momentum of the rest of his body. He went down, face first into a half-f trashcan, and at full speed.
For a moment, he could only see a brilliant white light, backlit with tiny explosions. As he rolled onto his side, he lost track of his backpack and skidded to a stop.
The first thing to cross his mind as he got to his knees was his timeline. He didn’t care that the sixth grader now standing over him had already pulled back a balled fist. He wasn’t worried about the crowd of children from his school who had begun to gather. He couldn’t be bothered with that right now. He had a job to do, even if his head still hadn’t completely stopped spinning.
Reaching for the trashcan at his left, Ethan attempted to push himself up to stand. Before he pulled his knees up under himself, the behemoth of a kid swung down hard with his meaty fist. Ethan was happy that the big kid had more strength than accuracy, as his roundhouse only nicked the side of his cheek.
The big kid pulled back and finally revealed himself. Standing up tall, he pointed a long thick finger at Ethan. “You’re that Runner boy, aren’t you?”
He had to get home.
“You’re that kid who thinks he’s the fastest in our school?”
What was this kid talking about? Ethan didn’t have a clue. But in his limited scope, he couldn’t recall a single schoolyard fight that made any sense. Most were over something as arbitrary as who was stronger? Who was a better ball player? And now this, who was faster?
He couldn’t believe that this was happening today. Couldn’t it have waited? Couldn’t the bigger kid have just pummeled him tomorrow morning? Ethan thought about asking the monster of a sixth grader to postpone the beating, although he figured he already knew the answer.
And when the heavy right hand came down once again, he was sure of it. The first blow had barely grazed the side of his cheek, but not this one. This one connected squarely with the left side of Ethan’s face. Another meaty roundhouse. Felt as if he took a bowling pin to the side of the head. It hurt like nothing he’d ever felt.
He was scared, but he was also mad. Not really mad that he was in the middle of a fight or that he had just been hit harder than he knew was possible. He was mad that as he tried to back away and stand, his legs wouldn’t cooperate. If he was going to run, he was going to need his legs and with each second that slipped away, so did his chances of making it home before Emma’s bus.
As the big kid stepped closer, Ethan reached back for a patch of dirt. He dug out a handful, but before he was able to toss it, he was struck once again. The second blow missed most of his face, but nicked the side of his left ear as his nemesis stumbled forward.
While the big kid attempted to regain his footing, Ethan jumped to his feet. He didn’t turn. Just grabbed his backpack and started to run. But as the crowd began to laugh and point, he quickly realized he wasn’t going anywhere.
Caught from behind, the kid had Ethan’s shoulder strap in his left hand. He pulled him backward and raised his balled fist for a third time. Closing his eyes and preparing for the worst, Ethan held his breath and clenched his teeth.
Nothing—just the crowd’s gasps quickly followed by more laugher.
A second kid. A boy from Ethan’s class. They knew each other, but not well. His name was David, or at least that’s what Ethan remembered. He stood in the shadow of the much bigger kid and stared blankly back at Ethan. He had ahold of the bigger kid’s wrist, although the look in his eyes said he had no idea what to do next.
As the bigger kid turned to face David, Ethan reacted without thinking. He lunged forward and shoved the big kid in the back. Catching his aggressor in a moment of vulnerability, the big kid fell face first into the dusty grass.
Looking around at the surprised faces and then back at David, Ethan pointed to the street and yelled, “RUN!”
The big kid rolled over onto his back and decided the reward wasn’t worth the chase. He only sat in the grass watching the two younger boys scamper away.
Out away from the park and into his neighborhood, he and his new friend never looked back. They rounded the corner to his street and were sitting in his front yard by the time Emma’s bus rolled to a stop.
Ethan walked his sister into the house, got her settled, and returned a few minutes later. “Here,” he said handing David a soda. “Thanks.”
David nodded and smiled.
. . .
This was his first real memory he had of the man he’d called his best friend for the last thirty years. He wondered how long he’d still have that memory. How long before he could no longer recall that day in the park. How long before it was replaced by the horrific images that were his new reality.
Tonight, though, he came to the place where it all started and would speak to his friend for the last time. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be here. Doing what he was doing. He didn’t like having to bury his best friend. Having to say goodbye. He wasn’t ready.
Looking out over the park, he wiped away a tear and quietly cleared his throat.
“David, I’m sorry— I’m sorry that this happened to you. I’m sorry for not being a better friend. I’m sorry that I didn’t save you. That I couldn’t. That I was weak. I’m sorry for not doing what you needed me to do.”
Pausing, Ethan raked his hands through his thick dirty hair and looked into the dark sky. “But I will. I’ll get Carly somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from this mess. I promise I’ll do what you asked.”
He sat quietly for a moment and then stood and moved to the far end of the roof. Turning back one last time, Ethan said, “I’m gonna miss you.”
Frank had lost track of the time and couldn’t recall exactly how long ago the armored vehicle pulled into the lot. He could stand and walk to the end of the cell and again check the wall clock, but that wouldn’t change anything. They’d come through the door when they were ready. When the time was right. When those things didn’t offer up more trouble than it was worth… If that’s what they were even here for.
Reaching around and digging his thumbs into his lower back, he winced. His back was still a bit tender from standing in one spot and shouting for over two hours. Moving off the cot, he began to pace. He contemplated moving the cot back, getting into position, and seeing what he could see, although that also wouldn’t do anything to bring them here. Hell, they didn’t even know he was here.
. . .
Moving away from the armored truck, Griffin stayed in the shadows. He clung to the rear wall and contemplated his decision to go out looking for Ethan. If things went bad, which they usually did, he would be in no position to defend himself. And although he couldn’t stand another minute inside that claustrophobic metal box on wheels, actually finding Ethan may not be the answer.
There were only three likely conclusions to this trip. Get to Ethan while he was still alive and convince him to come back. Finding out that Ethan had been trapped by those things and then somehow managing to get to him—without the use of any weapons. Or the option he prayed he wouldn’t face—locating Ethan’s lifeless body and then having to return to the others without him.
He didn’t particularly like his odds and as he stepped out from the cover of darkness, he thought he’d heard a voice. Someone shouting for help. It wasn’t Ethan, but it was close by. Muffled, but close. Leaning back into the wall, Griffin peered into the adjoining lot and squinted to get a better look.
Nothing. The voice was coming from somewhere else.
Turning, he again squatted in the shadows and took a quick scan of the parking lot. No Feeders within sixty feet and the group moving slowly out of the lot had other interests. Closing his eyes, he heard nothing, but he sensed that the voice had come from inside the police station.
His back to the wall, Griffin stood and started toward the building, but something out in the street caught his eye. The group of four had grown. They weren’t headed for him, but they were headed somewhere. After five days of running from those things, he could sense when they were hunting—and they
were
hunting.
Moving toward the end of the wall, to where it bled into the sidewalk, he watched as the few who had exited the parking lot joined the others. A growing crowd of more than thirty pushed their way up Main Street. He couldn’t see past those up front; however, he feared the ache in his stomach wasn’t necessarily the result of hunger alone.
“Ethan.”
They’d fought through bigger crowds and for whatever reason, over the last several days, those beasts appeared to slowing down. They looked almost lethargic—like they were getting tired. This worked in his favor, but no matter how slow they’d become, the bigger groups would always pose a massive threat.
Watching the last two move away and join the growing horde, Griffin slowly walked out into the street. He looked on as the group turned left at Second Street and then one by one disappeared into the night. Whatever was drawing them away was at least a block south. Going straight through wasn’t going to be an option. He had to find another way around.
Back into the lot, Griffin moved to the brick planter at the rear of the yard and scaled the six-foot wall. He dropped down into an ankle deep puddle of water and rebounded out just as quickly. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Moving away from the wall, his shoes slapped at the drying asphalt as he ran through the rear lot of the supermarket. His feet felt like they were encased in ice and with each step forward, he regretted the decision to wear two layers of socks. Now they were simply holding in the ice-cold water. He cursed every other step.
Three abandoned trucks, an overturned dumpster, and eight Feeders sat between him and the exit into the street. Moving to the first truck, Griffin reached into the bed and retrieved a two-foot section of metal pipe. He swung it back and forth through the air and then slid it between his belt and his pants, flinching as the cold steel grazed the exposed skin along his hip.
Leaning back into the bed, he reached for the toolbox and quietly popped it open. Feeling his way through the dark, he pulled out an eight-inch crescent wrench. Recalling the years he spent as a motorcycle mechanic, the red handled tool felt good resting in his hand. However, tonight he had another use for the perfectly weighted hand tool.
Twisting to the right, he drew back his arm and tossed the wrench to a spot at the opposite corner of the lot. He watched as it clanked end over end, finally disappearing behind a large recycling dumpster. The small group of Feeders also tracked the sound and began turning away from the street.
Rounding the rear of the truck, Griffin stayed low. He crouched next to the driver’s door and was able to see past the side of the market. Peering out into the street, he saw that the crowd had already moved by the storefront and was heading toward the bank. This was bad—real bad.
If he was correct in his assumptions, those things were now on a collision course with Ethan. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. His attempt at misdirecting the few in the yard away from the street had inadvertently also caught the attention of the larger crowd. At least a dozen had peeled off and were now staggering along the side of the market. They’d reach the rear lot in less than sixty seconds.
“Well, that didn’t go as—”
He could feel their presence even before they’d made a single sound. Gripping the side of the truck, Griffin leapt into the bed, pulled the twenty-four inch pipe from his waist and turned to face them. Breathing out slowly, he cut his eyes quickly from left to right. There were three.
A Rottweiler, a badly stained German Shepherd, and some sort of Boxer mix. They stared back at him and panted as if they’d been running continuously for days. They didn’t appear aggressive and as Griffin knelt in the back of the truck, they also took to sitting. Except for the Rottweiler. The dark-colored dog with blood dripping from its jowls lunged at the truck and began to bark.