Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse (12 page)

The Bible woman let out a shriek of horror. “Non-believer!” She struck Tomas across the face, the slap echoing in the tavern like a firecracker and sending Christopher into a fresh round of wailing.

Seething, Melanie pushed forward again and, before she even realized what she was doing, balled her fist and slugged the older woman. “You don’t touch him!”

The woman reeled and dropped her Bible. Her bony hand flew to her injured ear. The place fell into complete, shocked silence for a moment, soon broken by the rumble of male laughter.

“Shut that harpy up, pretty thing!” someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

The woman scooped up her Bible and stood face to face with Melanie, her foul breath hot in Melanie’s face. The weak orange light made her long nose and sharp cheekbones appear too prominent, and she looked very much like a Halloween witch. “You’ll find yourself in Hell, little girl.”

“Then I’ll see you there.” Melanie met the woman’s bloodshot eyes until the woman turned on her heel and marched away, weaving through the bodies.

Melanie glanced at Tomas. The woman’s handprint was tattooed in crimson on his beard-roughened cheek. A line of blood trickled from the corner of his lip, and he licked it away. Things were getting out of hand quickly. Her stomach roiled at the thought of bringing out the gun. What if she screwed up and made things worse?

But how could the situation get any worse? With his wrists bound, Tomas stood no chance of fighting off those things once the guys shoved him outside. He’d be nothing more than fresh meat.

Father Vernon turned and faced his jury. “I’ll go. Perhaps I performed some trespass. No matter what, it is clear that I’ve failed this village.”

“These people have failed themselves, Father,” Tomas said. “They’ve given up and decided to huddle in here like a bunch of superstitious peasants. This isn’t the Dark Ages.”

“But it is the Dark Ages, Tomas,” an elderly man cried, dashing forward and gesturing wildly. His white hair spiked out all over his head, and he hadn’t shaved in a while.

After a moment, Melanie realized the man was William Holmberg, her chemistry instructor in secondary school, but she’d never seen him look less than dapper. In that state, he could have been a homeless man.

“The night is full of demons,” Holmberg went on, his deep voice distinguished despite his shabby appearance. “We’ve entered the time of unyielding darkness. The last night has fallen.”

Morgan laughed. “What else could it be, Tom? You tell us. You’re the educated one here.”

“I-I don’t know,” Tomas answered. “Some sort of atmospheric occurrence? Maybe it was those electromagnetic storms the news mentioned. Or an explosion of some sort has kicked up dust, blocking the sun. Shit, I don’t know! But what I do know is that this is not divine retribution.”

Melanie glanced at Leila, who remained expressionless, Christopher pressed against her breast. Absently, Melanie touched her ear where Tomas’s lips had pressed and imagined it was still warm from his breath.

“That doesn’t explain the hysteria that seems to be catching. Either way, I doubt it matters very much.” Lunde took a drink of ale. “What we need is a warm body or two out there to keep those things occupied while we get over to that bodega for more supplies. It ain’t sacrifice; it’s distraction.” He nodded at his cohorts. “Let’s get them out there.”

The crowd converged, jostling Melanie and shoving her backward, further from Tomas. She lost her balance and grabbed at a table to keep from falling. She felt the gun slip and was afraid she might lose it down the back of her jeans. She faked scratching her back and secured the gun at the top of her waistband. She glanced through the smoke, located Leila, and moved to her side.

“Are you going to allow him to be put out there without a word?” she whispered. “Are you going to let Christopher watch him die?”

Leila met her gaze for an instant, but her eyes wavered drunkenly.

“Don’t you even care?” Melanie pressed.

“Doesn’t matter. Tomas is better off. He’ll be dead and finished with this torture.” Leila’s breath was sour with wine, and Melanie turned her face away, both disgusted and pitying the woman. Both were emotions she never would have imagined having toward Leila, who was more beautiful and sophisticated than Melanie would ever be.

“When he’s gone, the decision of what to do next will be mine. We’ll be done with it, as well.” Leila stroked Christopher’s hair as she calmly discussed killing him.

Melanie was stunned. “I’d never let you do that to him.”

“You have no say in the matter, Melanie. You’re not part of my family. You’ve never been anything more to me than a pain in my ass.” Leila nodded toward the front of the tavern. “Now, your love is about to be fed to the wolves.”

Melanie shook her head. “I used to think you were everything I could never be. I thought you must be something special to get a man like Tomas. I assume now, you must have been nothing more than one hell of an actress. You’re nothing but garbage, Leila. Tomas has always known it, too, but he was too good to say anything.”

“So what? Isn’t it a little late for this proclamation of self-worth? I mean, it is the end of the world.”

A group ushered Tomas toward the front door. He glanced around and, for the first time, looked truly afraid.

Melanie slipped her hand up the back of her coat and wrenched the gun from the waistband of her jeans. For a horrifying moment, it snagged on the elastic of her panties, but she managed to free it without notice, and without wounding herself.

She raised it and fired at the ceiling. The kick snapped her wrist backward, and the report startled her. Someone screamed, then the entire tavern hushed, heads swiveling toward her.

Ginger-colored sawdust rained down like a dusting of nutmeg. Christopher crushed his tiny hands to his ears and hollered for his father again. Several other children joined him, crying loudly.

Lunde ambled toward her, ale still in one thick fist, the other hand open in front of him. “You’re going to hurt someone.”

Melanie raised the gun even with Lunde’s bearded face. “Come any closer, and you’ll be the first. Now, let him go.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Morgan said, stalking toward her.

“It is,” Melanie answered, her voice more even and sure. “Or I’m going to shoot you.”

Morgan laughed.

Melanie grabbed the edge of Leila’s coat and guided her toward the still-locked front door.

“Tomas isn’t going anywhere, and neither are you.” Lunde took a menacing step toward Melanie. He slung his ale bottle to the floor.

Melanie suddenly felt she had the starring role in a bad western. Her finger caressed the trigger. More than anything, she didn’t want to fire and hear that awful thunder crack again. The children were quieting, with only occasional sniffles and hiccupping sobs. She sure as hell didn’t want to get that wailing started again.

“Watch him,” Tomas cried.

She saw Lunde reach behind his back. Things unfolded so fast, Melanie never had a moment to think. Her every movement was action and reaction. Tomas brought his bound fists up and back down across the side of Lunde’s thick neck. Lunde’s pistol clattered to the floor, a stray round whizzing so closely past Melanie’s face that she felt the breeze of it touch her skin. Tomas shoved the pistol toward her with the toe of his boot, and she snatched it up before anyone else could get their hands around it.

Morgan spun around and slugged Tomas in the face, driving him to his knees. Tomas was quickly swallowed up by a half-dozen bodies, kicking and hitting as if they were putting out a fire.

“Stop it!” Melanie screamed. Her breath caught with every dull thud that landed on Tomas’s defenseless body. Lunde lunged at her. Grabbing her wrists, he began prying her fingers from the gun. He smelled as if he hadn’t bathed since well before Solstice. His lank hair was a curtain in front of his bloodshot eyes, his lips curled back from his neglected teeth.

Grunting, he yanked her index finger back, and she both felt and heard the dull snap, like a dry twig underfoot. She screamed, black spots spreading in her vision for a moment. She fought unconsciousness, determined to get Tomas and Christopher from the tavern of madness. Her lungs seized up, and her breathing came in weak, labored wheezes.

Tomas was no longer fighting back. Time was getting short. The group of men dragged him across the floor, shoving the old priest aside. Henriksen unbarred the door and tossed the plank aside.

Melanie refused to let go of the gun, but it was becoming slick in her hand from perspiration. Lunde had the barrel in his fist, pulling and tugging on it, his face a mask of rage and determination.

Melanie squeezed the trigger again, and the shot thundered in the small barroom. The children resumed their howling, and Lunde spun away, bellowing and gripping the right side of his neck.

Then, all but the crying children went silent, and Tomas was briefly abandoned. Lunde pulled his hand from his neck and stared at it with an expression of disbelief. “Son of a bitch! She shot me.” His voice rose with panic. “That little bitch shot me.”

Melanie’s mouth became very dry, and again, she fought to keep from fainting. Her entire hand throbbed like a toothache, and she couldn’t bend her finger. Mentally, she began to count, breathing with the beats.
Hold on, Melanie. You can’t fall out now!

“Who’s next?” she gasped, her teeth gritted against the pain. She pushed through the crowd and went to Tomas’s side. Leila stumbled drunkenly with her, Christopher still cradled against her chest, wide-eyed, his thumb wedged securely in his mouth.

Tomas struggled to his feet, fresh blood coming from his nose and a new gash below one eye.

“Everyone get away from him,” Melanie ordered

Tomas’s eyes met hers briefly, and he smiled.

“Now, we’re leaving, and nobody is going to do anything about it.” Melanie pointed the gun at a trembling boy who appeared to be no more than seventeen. “Untie him.” She found she quite liked the instant power that came with wielding a firearm. For the moment, she was untouchable. She was in charge and safe. Her breathing began to calm, her lungs opening, welcoming the dank air.

The boy seemed to take forever to get the extension cord unknotted, his hands shook so badly. Once Tomas was free, Melanie gave him the pistol Lunde had dropped. Lunde was bleeding out, and nobody made a move to help him.

Keeping the gun up and ready, Tomas grabbed Leila’s arm and guided her toward the door.

“I’m not going,” Leila said, pulling away. “We’re staying here.” She hugged her writhing son tightly.

“No!” Christopher hollered, hysterically kicking his small legs. “I want Daddy!” His face turned a frightening shade of grape-purple.

Tomas frowned and pulled at her coat. “Don’t be stupid, Leila.”

Christopher screamed for Daddy again, and Leila relented with a sigh.

Tomas threw open the door and took a quick glance outside. “Come on. It’s clear. Quickly!” He pressed the button on his keychain, and the Rover’s doors unlocked with a sharp click.

“Can I come with you?” the young man who had untied Tomas asked.

Tomas ignored him, but Melanie’s heart broke for him. How long would it be before they sent him out as a sacrifice? “I’m sorry,” she said, climbing into the backseat. Bo licked the side of her face sloppily, overjoyed his people were back with him.

Henriksen rushed to the door and yelled after them, “How the hell are we going to make it with only one goddamned gun? You’ve just signed our death certificates!”

Tomas locked the doors and turned the key in the ignition. He slipped the magazine from Lunde’s gun and tossed it at Henriksen, who was still leaning out the door of the tavern and cursing them in Swedish. He then hooked the gun over the top of the Rover, where it landed on the opposite side of the street.

“Why did you do that?” Melanie asked, somewhat annoyed. “We could have used that extra gun.”

“We could have. But I couldn’t have it on my conscience.”

Looking at him in the rearview mirror, Melanie noticed his gashed eye had swollen nearly closed, but he was grinning. Despite the pain in her broken finger and the tightness in her chest, her heart raced. As they started away from the madness of the tavern and her childhood village, she knew she would be safe as long as she was with Tomas.

Chapter 17

London, England

The four of them opened fire, but even with the aid of the laser sight, Stu took a moment to become acclimated to handling the gun. The weight of it felt like a foreign thing newly attached at the end of his arm.

Josh and Brett seemed to be faring much better, their years of deer and duck hunting evident. They took out several of the grunting, snarling
Ragers
, as the broadcast had called them, but as quickly as the first intruders fell, more climbed through the splintered doorway.

After a moment, the ones who had been wounded began climbing back to their feet, and soon the entire living room was filled with dozens of writhing Ragers. Rancid blood misted the air, mixed with the acrid smell of gunfire. Thin smoke clouded Stu’s vision, but he got a clear shot off, the round tearing off the top of the head of a shambling woman in a housedress. She dropped, motionless and didn’t try to get back up.

“Aim for the head,” he shouted, unsure if he could be heard over the deafening gunfire.

“We can’t hold them off,” Tana cried.

Stu moved closer to her. “Is there another way out? What about a fire escape?”

“The boys’ bedroom,” Tana told him.

“Then go! We’ll be right behind you.”

Stu’s gun was already empty, and there was no time to reload. He’d wasted too many shots missing his target. Now, the only option was to flee the scene. He shoved her toward the hallway. “Go, dammit!”

Tana hesitated, but then took off.

“Now!” Stu yelled, tugging the back of Josh’s coat. The three of them followed Tana to the small bedroom that had belonged to her two sons, one dead and one somewhere in between. Brett slammed the door and twisted the lock on the doorknob, then stepped aside as Stu and Josh barricaded the door with one of the single beds.