Winter's Salvation Page 12

  Eric’s hands released from the pistol. He turned his back on Rod and walked out the swinging barn door. The undead were gathering around the house with the majority piling up around the front porch. He began to walk away from the barn and down the small hill away from the farm house. He knew he was running out of bullets for his rifle and had what would equal a whole box full of 9mm. ammo that was inside one of the back pockets of his book bag. Eric was slow to move further away from the barn because in order for him to make it he was going to have to have that pistol. Turning to the barn he watched as the zombies circled and crawled at the farm like bees swarming over their nest. Their groans were loud enough that he did not have to worry about how much noise he made at this distance.

  A shot was fired and light flashed between the red boards of the barn. Not being worried about how much noise he was making, made him comfortable with his movements, but the loud bang of the pistol forced him to jump and cringe, because he knew they all heard it. Every mouth that was seething with anticipation to get into the farm turned its attention to the barn and Eric. Quickly, instinctively and with everything they had they began to move toward him. Most of them were clumsy and stumbled at the start, but some started to move smoothly and methodically one foot after another with control. These were quicker and would soon be at the barn.

  He ran back into the barn and saw Rod leaning against a stack of bailed hay. He ran over to him trying not to see anything above his chest. He tried not to look at his face and focus on the gun that was still grasped in his hand that rested on his left bare thigh. He could not help himself and had to see what Rod had done.

  The shot was not to the back of the head, but the bullet traveled up under his chin and out the top of his head. Rod knew this would not kill a zombie, but he did it this way because he did not want anyone to know he was a zombie. Rod wanted whoever it was that was going to move him and clean the mess up in the barn that, this body, his body, was not a zombie and he took his own life before he changed.

  Removing Rod’s loose fingers from the pistol, Eric picked up the smoking gun. The sound of constant footsteps and a groan was walking down the hill toward the barn. Running out the opposite side of the footsteps he ran down the hill away from the farm house. He ran so the barn was between him and the mass of ghouls and when he hit the tree line he broke north to catch up with Drew.

  Chapter 9

  Nightmares and Shadows

  The wind was picking up when she finally fell asleep and the sound of the leaves rustling against each other drowned out the moans of the undead. The air was cool in the house and a breeze from the barely open window brushed her cheeks.

  Naomi finally fell asleep spooning up against Sam with her arms folded over her protecting her from the things that wandered outside. The cool breeze traveled down her left ear, across her smooth jaw bone and down her neck. It blew again, but this time the wind had a weight behind it and tickled her. She brushed her jaw and cheek swatting away the invisible force and some of the braids that wrapped around her. The feeling came back except this time she opened her eyes just a little and adjusted to the light coming in the window and reflecting off the wall.

  Within the striped shadows of the blinds stood the figure of a person on the other side of the window. She spun around quickly and saw the creature she ran over in her driveway, falling on top of her. The left side of it’s face was caved in and it’s jaw swung loosely on the left side. The crimson red faced creature reached for her, as it fell through the window.

  Naomi sat up with a hard gasp, waking Sam up as well. She reached for her face and then reached for the window. The sun was shining brightly this morning and when she looked at the wall, no shadows were visible.

  “You scared the crap out of me.” Sam said getting up and letting out a stretch. She pulled her shoes from under the bed. “I’m going to see what Mr. Cook was going to make for breakfast.”

  “Leave Mr. Cook alone,” she adjusted her shirt and bra and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to wipe away the nightmare. “We’ll fend for ourselves and maybe get back into the house to get some of our own food.”

  Samantha heard her mother, but did not want to go back into their home. Their house was infested with the undead and she did not want to have to deal with them again. She was very content with staying here for as long as possible.

  Just then a small knock interrupted them and Mr. Cook’s rough morning voice spoke through the old wooden door of their bedroom. “I got some sausage, bacon, and a few eggs, ready to be eaten.”

  Sam looked to her mother, raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes as if to say see. She opened the door and traveled away with the old man. The smell of cooked meat filled her nostrils and her stomach immediately responded with a low growl of appreciation.

  Mr. Cook had a wide display on the dining room table. Their plates were already set and in the middle of the table was another serving dish with more pieces of bacon, sausage and some toast. On the far end of the table was a sizzling Coleman stove that was cooling down from the feast.

  Upon Naomi’s entrance to the dining room kitchen area she forgot how yellow the room was and had to give her eyes a second to adjust. She opened her eyes slowly and was shocked at the amount of food that was prepared.

  “Now I know what you’re going to say before you say it and I have a good reason for cooking all this food.” Mr. Cook said as he sat next to the green Coleman stove. “We have to start eating some of this because this food will start to go bad. I threw some of it in the deep freezer in the garage, but that’s only going to keep for so long. This was mostly stuff that was in the fridge.”

  Naomi wanted to come back with some kind of solution, but it was too early in the morning and she did not have an acceptable one at that moment. “Thank you.” Was the only thing she could think to say.

  “Maybe in a day or two if we’re still here, I’ll break out the generator and hook it up for a little bit just to freeze the food a little more. We might be able to operate like that for a few days at least.”

  Naomi just nodded in agreement and then rubbed her eyes again.

  “Yeah I always wanted to paint this room another color.” He responded to her squinted adjusting eyes, while she scanned all of the Yellow knick knacks littering the walls. “I have gotten used to walking around this place with my eyes closed, until I had my first cup of coffee. You know it has got to be about twenty two, maybe three years now that I have had to squint for about forty five minutes before I can actually fully open my eyes in the morning. I have told myself time and time again, as soon as she passes I am painting these damn walls and getting rid of these damn knick knacks.”

  Blushing, Naomi apologized, she did not mean to offend Mr. Cook, but he would not accept her apology. He knew the walls and décor were horrendous and he jokingly made fun of it. “I have the paint in the garage just waiting. Its been sitting there ever since she passed. I just always find something better to do when it actually comes time to painting. Either that or it is too cold and can’t keep the windows down or it’s too hot, so I keep the AC running and I don’t want the house to stink.” He ran a piece of white bread through the bacon and sausage grease that was starting to thicken on the Coleman stove.

  They sat and ate the largest breakfast they’ve had in a long time and Naomi started to wonder what they would do when all the food was gone. “We have more food at our house. If you wanted to run over,” she paused for a second, “or I could go over and get it.”

  “Hun you look like your back is giving you more trouble than my old decrepit one is, so I think it is fair to say you should probably just relax a bit.” With that she sat down on the plastic covered chair and began to make a plate. “I set up a generator in the garage, this morning.” He said.

  Naomi looked at him oddly and was about to say something as soon as she finished her mouth full.

  “I ran an exhaust line under the garage door, so we won’t get gassed out. I figured we c
ould run it an hour or two every night just to refreeze some of the stuff in the deep freezer. I have two five gallon gas cans filled and another one that has two maybe three gallons in it, so that should last us a few days.” Mr. Cook said with a raised eyebrow. He always tried to stay positive.

  After they had finished their plates, seconds and forced thirds, Mr. Cook stood up from the table. “If you have to leave take the keys and” he waved his hand in a follow me gesture. “come with me, I’ll show you how to open the garage door.”

  When he opened the door that led to the garage from the kitchen; the sound of a quiet moan stopped them from moving forward. Mr. Cook put his arm out and stopped them from entering the garage.

  The white aluminum garage door was not closed all the way and the only light came from the small opening from under the garage door. The bottom of the door was open about six inches, more than enough to allow room for the generators exhaust hose. Two pair of feet could be seen walking just on the other side. The garage was filled with clutter with the exception of a small path that led to the driver’s side door of his blue Chevrolet pickup truck. Mr. Cook never cared for cleaning the mess because he was the only one that had to get to his truck. Ms. Cook’s car was next to his, but boxes and garbage bags filled with various house hold knick knacks laid on top of and surrounding her cream colored hatch back; and now a small generator was pilled amongst the debris. He never got around to cleaning the garage after she passed. That was one of the many things he said he was always going to do.

  The two pair of feet were walking past the roll up door and then the sound of rustling from a trash bag caught his attention. The old man walked down the two wooden steps that led into the garage and grabbed a shovel that was hanging on the wall next to the steps. There was a tight squeeze between the back of the bed of his truck and the aluminum door, but he sucked in his large stomach and moved between them. When he was half way out from behind the blue truck he could see a bare grey arm covered with dried dirt swinging back and forth under the garage door, trying to reach for anything it could grab. The bag it was touching was just out of fingers reach and each time it swung its thin arm, it’s finger tips just barely brushed a black bag in front of the hatch back.

  Mr. Cook turned to the open door of the house and looked at the two women standing in it. He did not want them to see, but his truck blocked their vision and it was too dark in here to make out what he was actually doing anyway. He grabbed the top of the bag and tossed it on the heap on top of the hatch back. The creature under the door began to moan, as if it knew something was happening. Another hand reached from under the door and the swinging arm moved its attention to Mr. Cook’s feet. He stepped back and came down on the new arm with the shovel and the sound of metal against concrete rang out as it cleaved through the ghoul’s arm just below its elbow.

  It let out another moan, but it was no louder than the one before and continued to reach for his feet with it’s now black bleeding stump. Mr. Cook came down again on the other arm and repeated the process.

  “Mr. Cook,” Sam said and pointed to the opening of the garage.

  Two more sets of hands were reaching under the garage. The two that were walking away came back responding to the calls of the first reaching zombie which was still trying to get to Mr. Cooks dirty white shoes. Instead of squeezing between the door and the truck he stepped on the back tire and crawled over the bed of the truck.

  “Naomi,” he cried out in a loud whisper, “come pull down on that chain!” He pointed to the chain connected to the roll up door. Naomi knew exactly what he was talking about and pulled on the two chains insuring she would pull the proper side and not open it instead of closing it. Naomi could now see the two sets of arms swinging under the door and she tested the chain with a light pull insuring the door was not going to open even an inch.

  Unlocking the chains she pulled as hard as she could without putting strain on her back. Mr. Cook was off the truck and at her side in seconds taking her spot at the door. The ghouls constant reaching was putting pressure on the door to open it and it was shifting up slightly with each push of the undead hands. Mr. Cook leaned back on the chain and pulled down hard. The door closed and smashed down on the reaching arms pinning them to the concrete. He leaned back more and then slid the chain onto the latch.

  He walked up to the girls and they both looked at him confused. “I’m going to take care of them.” He said.

  They walked through the house and looked out the windows looking for any undead that were in the vicinity of the fence. Sam pulled the shades back from one of the windows and looked out of it just as a ghoul had passed. She was startled and immediately let go of the blind. It was walking in the direction of the distressed zombies. “I got one.” She whispered loudly, so everyone could hear.

  Mr. Cook walked to the front door passing the kitchen table and grabbed the M1 that lay on it. He looked to the girls, “So don’t lock me out. Ok.” He said jokingly, but deep down inside he was very serious.

  Naomi caught hold of his sarcasm and agreed she would not lock him out.

  With rifle in one hand and the shovel in the other he stepped out of the house. There was a small group of about six or seven outside the long drive way fence that wanted to get inside the yard. He scanned the perimeter of his fence and counted six more that were walking aimlessly, but turned toward Mr. Cook now that he had revealed himself. As he turned the corner toward the garage of the house he heard the sound of his garage door being beat on. He could see the zombie that was walking had stopped at the garage and was pounding on it with its bloody fists.

  The ghoul was pounding with both of it’s fist simultaneously and was moving back and forth spreading smears of black blood across his white roll up door. He knew he could not get a clean shot, so he took aim and hollered “Hey!” He used this method often when he was hunting deer to make them stop in their tracks and figured it would work well in this situation. He spoke just loud enough, so it would hear him and turn to face him. As soon as he spoke it stopped and looked directly at him. It opened it’s mouth and Mr. Cook pulled the trigger, dropping the zombie in a heap.

  The other two that were being held down by the garage door crushing their arms, turned to him but could not move. He stepped over-top of them, straddled them and drove the shovel into the back of their necks. It took two chops to each, but their heads were severed. Now all he could think about was the black blood, leaking from the stumps of their necks, spreading onto his garage floor from under the opened garage door. The heads moved slightly even though they were severed from their bodies. He turned over the first head of the zombie he killed and saw the creature’s eyes and jaw were moving. The jaw moved in such a way that made it appear like it was trying to draw closer to him.

  He picked up the spade shovel and raised it over the first ones head. The decapitated head opened it’s mouth reaching out with it’s lips, snapping at the air. Mr. Cook thought about driving the flat blade into the side of the head, but the thought of it turned his stomach. Instead he slid the blade under the head, causing the metal end of the shovel to scrape against the cement. Cook began to walk through his yard to the fence. The head rested on the blade facing him stretching his broken and chapped lips, trying to take a bite out of his carrier.

  The undead around the perimeter of the yard started to move toward him and crowded the section of fence closest to him. Six undead walked the outer edge of the fence with the exception of the horde at the main gate, but while he has been outside the number of ghouls seemed to be growing. With careful precision, Mr. Cook swung the shovel up and launched the head sending it spinning high into the air over the growing crowd at the fence. The undead paid no attention to their ally, but squeezed and forced their fingers into the chain links.

  Cook looked across his large multi-acre property to the front fence and watched as more undead gathered around the perimeter of his yard. From this distance they looked small and appeared to be moving very slowly, but
he knew their sheer numbers would soon be overwhelming.

  **********

  The following morning Naomi was greeted to another breakfast, but a little bit smaller. The smell of instant pancakes made her feel slightly at home until she was assaulted by the horribly bright colored kitchen.

  “Good thing we still got water pressure.” Mr. Cook said turning to her, taking his attention from the propane griddle and the pancakes. “At least until we still have water up there.” He pointed up as if the tower were right over top of them. “We’ll have breakfast in just a couple of minutes.”

  Sam, kneeling on the couch, was looking out the window that faced her house. “Is it ever going to move?” She got up from the couch and sat at the set table ready to eat. “There is one of those things standing at the window. Just standing there.” She paused as Mr. Cook slid a large platter of three massive, perfectly round pancakes that covered every surface of the white plate. Another smaller dish filled with sausage links was slid next to that. “It has been standing there since before you started cooking.” She was taken aback by the size of the breakfast that was placed before her. “Wow.” She said responding to the pancakes.

  “We used to always try to make the largest pancakes possible. My son and I would always make these ridiculously huge pancakes that never turned out right. They always burnt right on the edge and never fully cooked in the middle, but” He threw his finger into the air in a little celebration. “I have perfected the largest and best pancake ever.”

  “Is there syrup?” Sam asked.

  Cook looked around and then answered, “No. I didn’t even think about it until they were just about finished.”