Undead (26 page)

The helicopter hovered above the caretaker’s cottage while a party of McClellan’s men advanced. On his walkie-talkie, a posse member received word from a man on the helicopter crew that for the past five or ten minutes there had been no signs of movement in the immediate vicinity of the cottage. The foliage of the surrounding woods was thick, and it was impossible to see the ground from the air. If there were humanoids concealed among the trees, the men would have to go in with weapons and root them out.

On orders from a police sergeant, the men fanned out and approached the caretaker’s cottage in the clear. There was no need to chance sending men into the trees and brush until an effort had been made to save whoever might still be in the cottage. Weapons ready and eyes peeled for possible danger, the men worked their way to about fifty yards from the cottage and took cover behind trees, hedges and stone fences.

The police sergeant shouted for anybody in the cottage to come out, emphasizing that he was a police officer and had come to provide help. As he could have predicted, his shouts got no response. The door to the cottage was wide open, the windows smashed in. The place had the feel of terror and death. Covered by the men who remained behind, a squad advanced and moved into the cottage. They found the signs of a terrific battle which had been waged between the people of the cottage and a party of attacking humanoids, a battle which the people had lost. There were half-eaten human remains in various parts of the house, as though the ghouls had gorged themselves and stopped, or maybe had been driven off.

McClellan arrived on the scene with the remainder of the posse, received a report which he accepted with resignation, with no outward show of emotion, and formed the men up to move on to the Kingsley mansion. The men continued to move on foot, spreading out to cover as much as possible of the terrain on both sides of the road, while ambulances and emergency vehicles followed at some distance to the rear on the dirt road. So far the men had not spotted any ghouls since disembarking from their trucks at the entrance to the Kingsley property, and this led them to expect trouble as they got closer to the mansion itself. They also knew, from McClellan’s briefing, that they had to keep a sharp lookout for the gang of looters who had captured the Miller girls and were out to rob the Kingsleys or hold them for ransom. The tension among the men, especially the civilians, increased to a degree that was noticeable in the strain of their voices and the wariness of their movements as they advanced down the dirt road.

When Dave rounded a curve and saw the figure in the middle of the road, he stepped on the gas, hitting the man and knocking him into the air. Seeing the man frozen in his tracks with a drawn pistol just before the moment of impact, Dave had time to realize his mistake just as a shot rang out and a rifle bullet smashed into his brain. Then there was a barrage of shots as the truck was riddled, its glass shattered, Dave’s body jerking and being pumped full of slugs. A bullet penetrated the fuel tank, the hit resulting in a tremendous fiery explosion, sending bits of metal flying through the ranks of the posse members still firing their weapons from where they had taken cover in the trees along the side of the road.

No one was hit by the shards from the truck.

Having been shocked into a cease-fire, the men stayed rooted in their positions for a long moment, as they watched the truck being consumed by fire. They did not doubt that they had killed one of the looters in the act of trying to make good his escape.

One of the men shouted for an ambulance as he knelt over the man who had been struck by the truck. The ambulance moved up slowly past the men who had to be told to clear out of the road. A couple of medics got out of the ambulance carrying a stretcher and some first aid equipment. The man who had been hit by the truck was not dead, but he was in shock, had suffered numerous bruises and lacerations, and his leg was broken. The attendants worked over the man, got him covered up and onto the stretcher and into the ambulance, which they proceeded to try to turn around in the road at a place where there was barely sufficient room to execute the maneuver.

McClellan swore under his breath as he watched the ambulance drive off, escorted by patrol cars in front and behind. For the sake of one badly wounded man, the supporting vehicles were now diminished by three. And who knew what was in store at the Kingsley place?

The Sheriff and some of the policemen in uniform got the rest of the men moved around the site of the burning truck so the march could be continued toward the main house. The man with the walkie-talkie had already put in a call for a tow truck to move the wreckage out of the middle of the road, so that other emergency vehicles would not be obstructed if they were needed.

McClellan did not know who had been killed in the burning truck, and he did not take it for granted that it had been one of the looters. He had asked for a description of the incident from several of the men who were close by, and nothing that they said totally erased the possibility that a mistake had been made as the result of spur-of-the-moment panic on the part of the truck driver and the edgy posse members. The Sheriff had seen worse things happen many times during his long career.

Just behind the spot where the truck was burning in the road, a police van pulled up and a group of policemen stood by while the driver of the van, also a policeman, came around to the rear of the vehicle and unlocked the doors. The van was full of police dogs, German shepherds, each dog trained and managed by one of the officers who now put the dogs on leashes and moved out to join the rest of the posse in their intensified advance.

In the distance could be heard the whir of the helicopter as it circled and hovered over the Kingsley mansion and the surrounding area, the men in the helicopter radioing reports to the men on the ground, telling them of the parties of ghouls dotting the grounds of the Kingsley estate. Finally the helicopter began to dip lower and to hover in places where men with rifles could fire at the ghouls from the safety of their whirring aircraft. They did not score too many hits in this way. Aiming for the head was difficult, and the sound of the helicopter tended to drive the humanoids back into the trees where it would be difficult for the men on foot to root them out and shoot them down. In a short while the tactic was abandoned, and the pilot took his machine higher to hover and circle while the men on the ground moved up.

Inside the house, Ann and Sue Ellen heard the helicopter in its maneuvers over the house and grounds. The sound of the machine frightened them at first, then gave them heart as they realized what it was. They were about to be rescued! Dave must have made good his escape. But then the helicopter went away, its whirring sound getting weaker and weaker until it could barely be heard. Ann Miller listened intently, watching from the windows until the roar of the helicopter’s metal blades got stronger again. This time it seemed to be hovering right over the house.

“We’ve got to go outside,” Ann said. “We can’t take a chance on its going away again.”

Sue Ellen did not reply, merely looked scared, as she kept her eyes riveted on the ceiling in a pose that seemed to say she could see the helicopter through the bricks and plaster of the house.

Ann knew Sue Ellen was terrified, and if anything were to be done she would have to do it herself. “I’ll go out on the porch,” she said. “I’ll take the rifle. You stand watch by the door.” She said these things looking at Sue Ellen, who did not look at her. Then she went back to the window, pulled back the heavy brocade curtain and looked out. The immediate area around the house seemed clear. But the helicopter had gone away again; it was hovering over a group of ghouls way out on the edge of the lawn. As Ann watched, men in the helicopter opened fire on the ghouls, hitting one and knocking it down while the rest retreated awkwardly and hid themselves in a clump of trees. The helicopter immediately rose in the air, and Ann expected it to go away, but instead it circled back toward the house where it hovered once more, directly overhead, the sound of the thing seeming to radiate straight down through the ceiling.

Ann whirled around and confronted her sister. “Sue Ellen—open the door! I’m going out!” She took her sister by the hand and led her to the door where they both began removing the bars.

The helicopter still kept hovering and circling over the house. Ann opened the door cautiously and stepped over the threshold, anxiously peering back to make sure that Sue Ellen stayed in the doorway with her pistol, keeping watch. Ann looked up, and moved to the edge of the porch. The helicopter made a wide circle, and Ann waved. To her surprise and delight the pilot dipped and waved back. Ann smiled and waved frantically. The pilot circled tightly and waved again. Convinced that the men in the helicopter knew she was a human being who needed help, Ann backed into the house and shut the door.

“They saw me,” Ann cried. “We’re going to be rescued for sure!” She hugged Sue Ellen, and they began to weep before they thought of securing the door. All they had to do was sit tight until their rescuers arrived.

“Ghouls! Ghouls—all over the place!” a voice yelled, and a bevy of gunshots split the air.

More men moved up, running and firing from behind trees.

The police dogs growled and strained at their leashes, hating the scent of the dead things.

The posse advanced in squads, firing repeatedly, felling the dead things with a hail of bullets.

Each time a ghoul fell, one of the men moved forward and hacked at it with a machete, until the head was severed from the body, making doubly sure the thing would not get up again.

Sheriff McClellan and his men had advanced to the lawn of the Kingsley mansion and were crouching and firing repeatedly, blasting down the dead creatures that surrounded the place.

“Shoot for the eyes, boys!” McClellan cried out. “Like I told you before—if you aim for the eyes you’re gonna hit the head!” He aimed his own high-powered rifle and fired, and a dead thing fifty feet in front of him clutched at its face with a convulsive movement and toppled to the earth with a dull thud.

More gunshots rang out. And two more of the ghouls fell heavily to the ground.

“Get up here, boys!” McClellan yelled. “There’s three more for the fire!”

The men with machetes moved up and, hacking quickly and furiously, severed the heads from the dead ghouls.

The flurry of gunfire was constant—
crack
!—
crack
!—
crack
!—as the posse surrounded the Kingsley house.

Then there was silence, as all the ghouls had apparently been felled, and the men’s eyes scanned the house and its surrounding lawn, looking for a new target to gun down.

McClellan knew by means of a radio message from the men in the helicopter that at least one of the Miller girls was alive and well inside the Kingsley house. When he and his men had worked their way closer, he himself stepped up onto the front porch and rapped on the door—an action that struck him as a weirdly ordinary finale to the bizarre and unnerving events which had happened just before. He waited while the bars were removed and the door swung open slowly. Ann stood just inside the foyer, a shocked look on her face and a rifle in her hand. McClellan did not jump back. The rifle was being clutched by its foregrip in a weak and inept way which told him that the numbed girl was certainly not going to use it in any dangerous way. When he took a step toward her, the rifle dropped to the floor, landing softly on the plush carpet, as the girl collapsed in his arms. There was another girl sitting quietly on the sofa, a pistol lying on the floor between her shoes.

In the surrounding woods, sporadic gunfire continued.

Escorted by an ambulance and two patrol cars full of armed men, Sheriff McClellan rode with Ann and Sue Ellen to the Dorsey farmhouse, where they expected to claim Karen’s baby and take it in the ambulance to the nearest hospital.

They found the Dorsey place overrun, the family apparently the victims of a force of ghouls too numerous for them to overcome. The doors to the farmhouse were battered down, the windows broken in. There were no remains of the Dorseys. McClellan suspected that the family had been carried off and ripped apart elsewhere.

There were no ghouls around either. They must have done their damage and wandered off with their bellies full.

Pistols drawn, McClellan and two of his men entered the house. The place was quiet and still as death. The living room and kitchen had been wrecked in the final battle which had taken place. There were bloodstains, but no other signs of the ghoulish attack. McClellan began to wonder if, in those last moments, the family had panicked and run from the house. He mounted the stairs, followed by both of his men.

A bedroom door was half ajar. McClellan nudged the door open and pointed his pistol inside. He saw a tiny infant, alone by itself on the bed. The baby appeared to be asleep. The Sheriff gathered it up in its blanket and carried it downstairs to the patrol car which contained the Miller girls.

Ann and Sue Ellen smiled wanly as the Sheriff approached with the bundle in his arms. He smiled himself, as he bent and peeled the blanket from the baby’s face. The two sisters began to cry. Ann took the baby from the Sheriff.

“We’ll have him taken care of,” McClellan said. “Or her, as the case may be. We’ll get it a thorough checkup at the hospital and get the little rascal off on the right foot. If you don’t feel able to take care of it, well, maybe me and the wife…”

“Oh, no!” Ann said. “We
want
the baby. It’s all we have left of Karen. She’d
want
it that way.”

She looked down at the baby and tried to smile but the smile didn’t come. She wondered why the baby stared with its eyes so wide, so lusterless, so lacking the sparkle of new life. Yet it continued to breathe.