Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse (11 page)

Tana opened her closet and vanished inside among the rows of hanging shirts, trousers, and dresses, all of which looked too much like figures waiting in the dark.

When she reappeared, she held a large suitcase. “This is it.” She placed the case on the bed, thumbed the latch, and flipped back the wide lid. “Not a whole lot, but better than a bloody cricket bat, right?”

She reached in with her free hand and fetched a cloth-covered shape. “This is a .40 caliber gold-plated handgun,” she said as she removed the cloth cover. “And check this out.” A red pinpoint of light appeared, cutting the darkness like a blade. “A laser sight.” She passed it to Stu. “Larry brought home three of these.”

Stu took the gun and pointed it toward a framed print of Pink Floyd’s
The Wall
movie poster. “Is there ammo?”

“Are you kidding?” She disappeared back into the closet and returned with a smaller case. She opened the top and dumped out around twenty boxes of ammo.

Stu grabbed a box and examined it with his flashlight. He picked up a second box and found that it contained rifle rounds. “What are these for?”

Tana reached into the case and removed a larger shape concealed by a thick cloth. “This.” She unwrapped a rifle as carefully as she might a coveted Christmas gift. “This is a Browning semi-automatic. I don’t know much about guns and have only shot a couple of times with Larry at a range. But I’m willing to guess this might kick a little ass.”

Stu laid the handgun aside and took the rifle. “I’m willing to guess you’re right.” He glanced at her. “How many of these do you have?”

“Two. I’m thinking this might get us back to the store without getting killed. We need to make sure George gets one. I’ve no question he knows how to use it. If we can defend ourselves, our options are wide open.”

Tana went over to her boys’ room. Stu heard her say something about Stormtrooper Underoos, and the teenagers laughed. When she returned, she had a Hogwarts messenger bag in her hand. She dumped the contents—textbooks, pencils, a comic book, a spiral notebook onto the floor and began shoving boxes of ammo.

“Which gun do you want?” she asked.

“None, actually, but since I don’t wanna die today, I’ll take a handgun. I’ll need to sight it if I plan on hitting anything.” Stu checked the magazine, then slid the gun into the waistband of his jeans, not liking the weight or the cool touch of the steel against his skin.

“You aren’t keen on guns, I take it?” Tana loaded the .40 caliber and slid it into her jacket pocket.

Stu shook his head. “Hate them, but these are different times. I used to shoot a little. My father made me hunt with him when I was a boy. He thought it might keep me from becoming soft.” He laughed with more bitterness than he intended.

Tana touched his shoulder. “Guns don’t make a man a man.”

“They don’t hurt, I suppose,” Stu said.

“What about Brett and Josh?”

“Give them the rifles. Both of them like to hunt. We’re from the South. Bubba-blood runs deep.” Stu chuckled, but Tana didn’t seem to get the joke. “They know more about handling guns than I do. They’ll be fine.”

Tana began rummaging through her dresser drawers. “Listen, Stu. Why don’t you take a look around the apartment and see if there is anything else we could use? I just want to grab a few more things. It could be a while before I get back here.”

Stu nodded. “Maybe not too long,” he said, though he didn’t believe it. He took the rifles to Brett and Josh, who were overjoyed with their new toys, and went back into the living room.

There wasn’t anything in the apartment they couldn’t find back in the Tesco market, but he understood Tana needed a few moments alone. Their lives had all been turned upside down, and she was coping as best she could. He flopped down on the sofa, let his head drop back, and closed his eyes. Despite the cold, he began to drift off to sleep.

The wondrous images that accompanied falling slumber began to swirl behind his eyelids. For a moment, he was in his kitchen back in Wilmington, the sun pouring through the big window over the sink, those little specks of dust floating in the rays. At the table, Maddy dumped Froot Loops into a bowl, and he was about to tell her, “Not too much,” when Tana called, startling him awake.

“Stu! Come in here! Quick!”

He stood up, blinking in the darkness. No sunshine. No warmth. No Maddy. He’d dropped his flashlight and accidentally kicked it, so he stumbled after it. “Are you all right?” he asked, hurrying back to her bedroom.

Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she beamed, as did his two young students.

“You’re not gonna believe this, Mr. McCarthy,” Brett said.

Tana held up a small transistor radio. “Listen.”

Most of what he heard was static, but soon he was able to make out voices. Stu took a long, shaky breath and hoped his galloping heart would calm before he had a coronary.

Tana adjusted the dial, and the voices dissolved into static, followed by dead air. “Shit!”

“Let me.” Stu took the radio and moved the dial up slowly, straining to hear any hint of a signal.

Suddenly, a male voice came in loud and clear.
“This is Zombie Radio X, if anyone’s left out there. Looking for sanctuary? Survivors’ Sanctuary sets sail on February fourteenth. February fourteenth, Saint Valentine’s Day. How’s that for easy to remember?”

A woman’s voice chimed in.
“Just like one of those stupid horror flicks? Ragers everywhere. Never imagined we’d be living it for real. But in the bleedin’ dark? Southampton Cruise Terminal. Be there or be dead. We’re setting sail for the U.S. of A. to see how our Yankee friends are faring.”

The male voice broke in,
“If there’s anyone listening, hang in there. It’s only a few more weeks. We cannot tell you our current location. The marauders are always listening. But you’ll know us when you see us at Sanctuary. We’ll be the ones with a bloody pulse. Stay tuned and stay alive. We’ll be on again in a few hours. In the meantime, this one goes out to our not-quite-alive friends.”

The station faded into the thumping opening of Joy Division’s
Dead Souls
.

“Great sense of humor,” Tana said caustically.

“Ragers. That sounds cool,” Brett said.

“You would say that, you knob,” Josh said, shoving his friend.

“Dork,” Brett answered, to which Josh replied, “Pussy.”

“Fag.” Both boys burst in to laughter.

“Shut the hell up.
Please
.” Stu tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. He could barely contain his excitement. He turned to Tana. “Does this mean we have a way home?”

“That’s exactly what it means,” Josh interrupted.

Tana shook her head. “Wait. It sounds a bit far-fetched.”

“It does,” Stu agreed. “But this may be my only chance to get back to my daughter.”

“Stu, the Southhampton Terminal is over one hundred kilometers from here, at least. What about the crazies? And the stalled cars on the roads? What makes you think you can make it there in one piece?”

“I have to try.”

Tana frowned. “But what happens if you do make it back to the States, and things there are worse there?”

Stu shook his head. “Worse? Worse than what, Tana? I’m willing to take my chances.”

Tana pushed past him and stormed down the hallway.

Stu snatched up the messenger bag full of ammo, threw it over his shoulder, and rushed after her. “She’s my little girl. I need to know.”

Tana spun on him. “You need to know? What the hell happens when you finally know and wish you didn’t? What do you do then, Stu?” She waved the light in her fist, creating a crazy mask of shadows on her face. “What will keep you going when there’s nothing left to fight for?”

Her words felt like a slap in the face.

You. You’ll keep me going.
He couldn’t bring himself to say it. It was too crazy; he hardly knew her.

Tana crossed her arms, scowling. Finally, she sighed and thrust the radio at him. “Here. Take it. You need it more than I do.”

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Stu asked, slipping the radio into his coat pocket.

Tana spun toward the door. “Nothing. Hurry up. I need to get back to my child.”

Stu grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. “Go with me. You and Davis. We’ll keep him safe. We have these guns now. Those things can’t hurt us.”

“Screw that! I have
two
sons, in case you’ve forgotten. I can’t just take off and leave one behind.”

“He’s not the son you knew. You’ve gotta understand that by now. Think of those things that attacked us earlier.”

“Things? They’re
people
. They’re ill, but they’re not monst—”

Something crashed against the front door.

Brett ran into the living room. “What the hell was that?” He leveled his rifle at the door.

Stu raised his hand. “Quiet. Wait.” He removed the gun from the waist of his jeans and thumbed off the safety.

Suddenly, it sounded as if a dozen pairs of fists were pummeling the door. The hinges creaked, and the wood splintered along the jamb. The security chain rattled.

“Shit,” Tana whispered, bringing up her own gun. “They’re coming in.”

The pounding grew louder, more frantic, and was joined by mad, high-pitched howling.

Stu wet his lips, switched on the laser sight, and waited.

“Bring it on, assholes,” Josh hollered, readying his rifle.

The door imploded, and a half-dozen ragged, frantic figures tore in, howling and twitching, a blur of pale faces and wet teeth glinting in the darkness.

Chapter 16

Trollhättan, Sweden

Tomas tried to focus, but the world dissolved to smears of running paint. He blinked away stinging tears and tried to bring up his hand to examine the side of his head. Someone had bound his wrists. A long length of orange electrical cord snaked snugly around and between both hands.

“What the hell’s this?” He shook his head, and the world slowly swam into soft focus. He struggled to a sitting position. The entire left side of his face was on fire, and he tasted a hint of blood. He ran his tongue along the lining of his cheek, wincing at the sting when he hit a small but deep cut.

Melanie pushed through the crowd and rushed to his side. Sweat shining on her brow, she knelt, her face a mask of worry. She cupped his face in her warm hands. “Tomas? Are you with me?”

He nodded, not altogether sure if he was with her or not. She stroked his cheek, her hand trembling.

“I’m here. I’m all right.” He scanned the room for Christopher and located him in Leila’s arms, his loud crying muffled against his mother’s shoulder. Leila, on the other hand, carried an expression of complete indifference. Her eyes were heavy-lidded; she was obviously drunk.

Melanie placed a bottle of water to his lips, and he drank greedily. Next, she helped him to his feet.

“What’s happening, Mel?” he whispered. “Is Christopher all right?”

“He’s freaking out, as you can imagine. Now, listen. They’re going to send you out into the darkness.
With them
. You’re going to be sacrificed.”

Tomas swayed, pretending dizziness, and when Melanie wrapped her arms around him to steady him, he pressed his lips against the cup of her ear. “Do you still have it?”

“Yes.”

“Be ready to use it.”

***

Morgan locked his meaty fingers painfully around Melanie’s bicep and yanked her away from Tomas. “Time’s wasting.” He had a pistol tucked into the waistband of his cargo pants, the butt of the gun partially hidden by his swaying belly.

Melanie glanced around to see if any of the others were armed, but the dim lighting made it tough to tell. A middle-aged woman clutching a tattered leather-bound Bible against her bony chest stepped toward Tomas. Her graying hair was pulled back into a severe bun that was coming unwound at the crown of her head, and her dress hadn’t been in fashion since sometime in the late 1960s. She stood on the tiptoes of her dour, patent leather lace-ups and kissed Tomas’s cheek. Tomas drew back, a look of disgust crossing his face.

“One dies so many may live,” the woman croaked.

“One?” Tomas asked. “How many times have you sent one out to die since you decided you were God’s right hand?”

“God sent the flash as a sign,” the woman said. “Those touched by the light are the chosen ones.”

“What light?” Tomas asked. “What the hell is she talking about?”

Father Vernon leaned closer to Tomas to make himself heard. “Some of those people claim to have seen a flash of light just before the darkness fell. The light touched some, and she believes those it hit are God’s people.”

Melanie scanned the crowd again. Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts. Most of those faces were terrified and in search for someone to be a leader. So desperate for someone to call the shots, they’d decided to leave their lives in the hands of buffoons like Morgan, Lunde, and Henriksen. Illuminated by the dancing fire in the hearth and the dozens of candles scattered about the tavern, the wide-eyed onlookers appeared like demons.

Henriksen and Lunde accosted Father Vernon and shoved him into the center of the growing storm of people. Vernon and Tomas stood together as if waiting to be sentenced. The priest’s shoulders trembled, and Melanie knew it was only a matter of moments before the old man broke down in tears.

A young man Melanie recognized, but whose name she couldn’t remember, stepped forward and bound the priest’s shaking wrists with a length of orange electrical cord.

The Bible-wielding woman continued her sermon, waggling her book at Tomas and Father Vernon to emphasize her point. “This is God’s judgment. Those not taken are condemned until the final hour.”

“Get them out of here,” Henriksen said. A couple of strapping footballer-types moved forward, grabbed Father Vernon’s arms, and led him toward the door. The priest didn’t struggle, just slumped his shoulders in resignation.

“So, God is punishing all of us, then?” Tomas shouted. “These children? A man who has spent most of his life in this village delivering God’s message? I find that hard to believe. But maybe God is hard to believe.”