The Dark Trilogy (69 page)

She looked normal in the sunlight. George’s eyelids narrowed further. The movement was regular, her legs steady underneath her as she walked out into the parking lot. There was no blood and no discoloration to her skin. Her hair was long and dark, falling straight around her head. Her face looked unharmed: two eyes, a nose … no bones peeking through. It looked like she was scanning the cars that surrounded her. It appeared as if she hadn’t noticed the old Chevy moving down the road toward her just yet.

George looked over at the doors of the Taco Bell. Seeing inside was impossible with the glare bouncing off the large sheets of glass that wrapped the front of the building. None of the windows was shattered. There was no plywood up either, no makeshift barricades he could see. If that was where the woman had been hiding, she must not have been there very long. Looking back at her, he saw that she wasn’t carrying any weapons and was wearing shorts and a filthy t-shirt. Nothing that would protect her from any sort of attack.

Pressing the brake, George brought the car to a stop. He gripped the steering wheel as his foot twitched, ready to return to the gas pedal if necessary. Memories of the ambush from a couple of days earlier had him nervous. But even as he looked from restaurant to restaurant, waiting for some kind of trap to be sprung or someone to come rushing out to attack him, he let the car continue to idle.

Nothing moved. Even after he swore he saw a shadow twitch near the Wendy’s, there was nothing. His eyes went back to the woman. She was looking in his direction now, but he couldn’t see any reaction. Her age was hard to guess. Lank, greasy brown hair clung to her face and allowed two larger-than-normal ears to stick out.

Letting out a slow hiss of breath, George moved his foot off the gas pedal and let the car inch forward. As he did, he rolled down the window and stuck his head out to speak to the woman.

There was no smile on her face, no excitement at seeing him, but no fear either. He watched as she plucked at her shirt with her right hand repeatedly. The cotton had almost worn through where she touched it. George moved close enough to see her eyes and knew for certain. They were the same dull, watered-down brown as her hair. Uninspiring, but more importantly, uninfected. He put his foot back on the brake and stopped the car a few feet from her. He put on a smile that he hoped didn’t look threatening.

“Hello! I’m sure glad to see you!”

Any concerns he had about being deceived, or of getting trapped, evaporated. Instead, there was an almost overwhelming urge to connect with someone who was still alive. The pain at leaving Jason and the others felt like a rusty knife digging into his gut. Seeing this girl up close made George realize how desperate he still was for human contact.

She didn’t stop moving or react to the words. For a moment, George stiffened, and his foot screamed to be allowed off the brake.
Roll up the window! Hit the gas! Get out of here now!
But the feeling passed when, instead of moans, words escaped her lips.

“Mel? Where’s Mel?” The girl’s voice startled him as she leaned forward and looked in through George’s open window. The words were a squeak, barely audible, yet they blindsided him nonetheless. She continued to lean forward, her hands resting on the door as she ignored George. Without even thinking about it, he moved farther into the car, his body pulling away as her head popped through the window frame.

“Ma’am? Are you-”

“Mel! Quit hiding and get out here before I tan your hide!”

The increased volume rattled George even more than the aggressiveness with which the woman forced her head into the car. She looked like a ghost—thin, pale, and tall, with an almost boyish figure. She was young, with acne scars running across her cheeks like constellations. Her teeth were a dingy yellow, matching her jaundiced complexion. She smelled of dirt and grease.

“Lady, what the hell are you doing? Mel’s not in here!”

The words spilled out, blurted without thinking as George shrank back in his seat from the young woman, who likely weighed no more than a hundred pounds, bulling her way in through his window.

She continued screaming, the words angry and irrational as she yelled for Mel and pushed past George. She reached and grabbed, her dirty and ragged fingernails scratching him as she did.

“Stop it. Get the hell away from me, you crazy bitch!”

The hard shove that accommodated the words knocked the deranged woman back out of the car and dumped her to the asphalt. To George, she felt like a bundle of dried sticks. He watched as she slid across the road and sat, stunned.

He didn’t know what to do. His heart was racing and he felt guilty. Almost involuntarily, he looked around, embarrassed at his brutal response to her inane inquiries. It was foolish, but he was worried someone might have seen what he’d done. He put the car in park, opened the door, and stepped out. Holding out his hand, he moved toward the woman.

“I’m sorry ma’am. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

As he moved forward, the disheveled woman scooted backwards, trying to regain her feet and stay clear of George at the same time. She was finally looking directly at him, and her eyes were much clearer now, focused. He wondered if she had snapped out of whatever daydream she’d been having. He stopped moving and kept his hands where she could see them.

“Are you all right?”

She lifted herself up off the ground. There were a few new scratches on her legs, but nothing major. George felt more guilt and wanted to help her up, but was afraid to get closer. Especially as he saw the look on her face.

The sudden change of expression was unnerving. The transition from hazy bewilderment and befuddled determination to animalistic rage took less than a second. Now it was George’s turn to backpedal.

“What did you do to Mel, you motherfucker?”

The words were laced with acid, and spittle flew from her dry lips. Her fingers curled into claws, and her dingy teeth were looking more menacing by the second. There was hatred in her eyes the likes of which he had never seen before. A lunatic abhorrence reserved for murderers and rapists. Even Cindy had looked tame by comparison. The woman took a step forward.

“Lady, I don’t know who Mel is, and I didn’t do a thing to him!”

George slid back into the car. Any thought of helping this deranged creature was gone—chewed up and spit out with her instant mania. George almost fell back into his seat as she closed on him.

Thankfully, he hadn’t turned off the car. Slamming the door shut, he rolled up the window. The woman came up to the window and glared at him with malignant eyes. George guessed that she wasn’t infected with the virus, but with a madness that was probably just as dangerous.

Without preamble, she banged on the window and screamed. The words were laced with curses and profanity as she spit and scratched, screaming for Mel. George was shaking as he put the car back into drive. He flinched as the window vibrated under her blows.

Even as he pulled back onto the road, the woman stayed next to the car, demanding to know where Mel was. George’s head swam as she cried out, shouting the name over and over again. He kept his eyes forward and tried to ignore her, but it was impossible.

As the car continued to roll forward, he spotted movement off to his right. He took his eyes off the road long enough to make out several shambling forms inside the KFC. As he surveyed the area, he could see more movement from one of the gas stations and another fast food joint.

George put on the brakes again. The woman, who had been picking up speed in an effort to keep up with the car, came to an abrupt halt and was silent for a moment as she was caught off guard. The Corsica’s idle wasn’t whisper quiet, but it was easy to hear the sounds of moaning at this distance.

“Give me back my baby, you bastard! I’ll rip your eyes out if you don’t give me my baby!”

George no longer feared the crazy woman; he feared
for
her. Driving away and leaving her alone in her madness was no longer an option. He braced himself as he reached for the door handle.

His eyes never left her as he stepped free of the car once again. There was movement all over now, not just from the KFC or gas station. The woman’s voice and the sound of the car’s engine had carried, echoing up and down the highway. It was obvious that undead that probably had been hibernating for weeks were now awake, just like they had been awoken back in Manchester.

George prepared for whatever attack this hopeless woman might launch at him. He pushed on the car door as she leaned against it, hoping to knock her back to the ground. The girl was more nimble than he expected and moved back quickly enough to avoid the door. As George stepped out onto the street, the madwoman continued to backpedal. Her eyes were livid, still filled with the mysterious anger that fueled her, but she also looked skittish, unsure of herself.

George moved forward, not wasting any time with useless diplomacy. “You have to come with me, miss. Those things are coming.”

George pointed back at where he had seen the shadowy figures as they dragged their carcasses out from their hiding places. The woman flinched when he moved, perhaps fearing he was planning to attack her. She kept moving backwards, shaking her head as she started to cry.

“You killed Mel. Why? Why did you kill him? You killed my baby!”

George shook his head, doing his best to roll with her vacillating emotions. Sweat trickled down his back. He crept forward, his nerves shot as his mind raced with different ideas of how to get this woman to climb into the Corsica with him.

“Keep back! Stay away from me!”

She looked poised to run. Her legs were bent, and if he continued coming for her, she would take off, away from him and into the arms of dead. She seemed completely oblivious to the danger she was facing.

George froze and lowered his hands. He took one last look around the area and noticed that the only building in sight without bodies filing out the doors and shattered windows was the Taco Bell where the woman had been hiding. They were running out of time.

“I didn’t kill Mel. I swear I did not kill your baby. But …” He looked her in the eye, hoping that she saw the sincerity in his gaze. “But if you come with me, maybe we can find him. Maybe he’s not dead.”

George had no idea where the spontaneous lie had come from, but after he spoke the words, he held his breath, waiting and hoping for some kind of positive reaction. For a moment, there was a spark in her eyes, something like lucidity that hadn’t been there before. It was a brief shining instant, perhaps the only one this poor soul had experienced in a very long time, in which she was sane again, and understood what had happened to her and what she had become.

The moment passed, and the haze that had gripped the woman fell upon her like the closing of a window shade. She turned and ran. George moved forward a few steps and screamed after her, pleading for her to return, but whatever moment of understanding she had gained was gone, and she was lost for good.

She ran back to the Taco Bell, pulling the door open and sliding into the dark shadows inside the dead restaurant. Already, some of the ghouls that had been shambling toward the Corsica were changing course to follow her.

George paused, his throat hoarse as he cried out to the woman one last time. The stiffs that hadn’t adjusted their trajectory were still headed in his direction. The path to the girl was already close to being blocked off. At least a dozen infected were already crossing the parking lot, while more than twice as many were headed in his direction.

George could hear moans from all sides, but no screams. Not yet. His shoulders sagged as he turned back to the car and slid behind the wheel. He wouldn’t wait for the screams. Not this time.

Six weeks earlier … June 30
^th

“What’s happening? What the hell is wrong with everyone?”

“I don’t know, honey. It’s crazy everywhere. Everyone here is freaking out and wants to go home, just like me.”

There was a pause. George tried counting his heartbeats, which he could hear as his hand quivered around the cell phone. He could feel the pulse beats in his hand, in his temples, and throughout his entire body. His head throbbed, but the pain was only a distraction. He could hear the fear in her voice. The strain. She was trying to hold it together … for him and the girls.

“Helen? You still there?”

After ten beats, he couldn’t wait any longer. He glanced at the cell phone to see how the coverage was. It had been spotty lately, with complete outages alternating with seemingly interminable busy signals.

“I’m still here. It’s just that … I don’t know, George. Everyone in the neighborhood has gone completely nuts.”

There was another pause, and George let out a quiet hiss of breath between his teeth. He stared at the walls of his hotel room. It was new, built less than a year ago. He had spent a few weeks in it over the past few months and liked staying there. The sink wasn’t rusty, and the wallpaper wasn’t peeling like the dive in which he’d been forced to shack up on previous trips to Gallatin.

“Yes. They were attacked last night! In their home! God, George, I don’t know what happened, but Angela said it was a bunch of teenagers. A bunch of psychotic teenagers from around the neighborhood. She said that when the police got there, it was a mess. Mr. Patel was already dead, and his wife … I don’t even know if I can believe what she said happened to her.”

“What about the kids?”

“Huh?”

George rubbed his temples. He was wound too tightly and was about to snap. Any time Helen told him about trouble when he was out of town, it was like this. Being helpless to do anything about it made him angry, and sooner or later he couldn’t hide it from her. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting backwards from ten.