The Rabid (Book 1) (2 page)

“You need to let me go, right now
, sir. I’m not leaving here without my sister.” I strike out at his hands, pounding at his knuckles with the heels of my palms. He keeps right on moving as if he doesn’t even notice.

“Quiet down the racket kid, you’ll get us both killed.” He is pulling me further away from my mission, and putting Bethany’s life in jeopardy with each additional second he delays me. She is out there, waiting for me, and if it’s up to Coach Fitz
, she’ll stay out there to die.

Bethany is smart. She'll be hiding somewhere. She'll be waiting for me. She'll be waiting for the sound of my voice telling
her it's safe for her to come out.

Unless those things have gotten to her already.

No, not an option, she is safe, and waiting.

As we enter the atrium
, my legs are starting to tire of the struggle, we are quickly closing in on the double doors with the big red exit sign, when something inside of me clicks over. These are drastic times, and in drastic times, drastic measures have to be taken.

I straighten up, take two steps forward to match his stride
, and kick up from behind with a steel toed boot tip.

THUMP!

Right between his legs.
I feel the crunch of his testicles, a surge of sympathy, and a hint of regret. He gasps like a punctured balloon and falls to his knees, the Broomspear clattering to the floor beside him. His face is strawberry red as he rocks back and forth clutching his crotch, muttering broken lines of profanity with the little bit of voice he is able to muster.

“I’m sorry
, sir, but it’s my sister, and I’m not leaving without her.” I grab his weapon, figuring I’ll have more use for it where I’m headed.

2

Back at the entrance of the freshmen wing, I pause to catch my breath. The sensation still reverberates through my leg where I let loose on Coach Fitz. I feel awful, part of me secretly hopes he’ll get chewed on so I don’t have to answer for my crimes down the road.

With my conscience soothed and my breathing
steadied, I slither around the corner, Broomspear leading the way from the confines of my chattering hands. An entire section of lockers are overturned, and buried beneath them is a familiar face, Ray Goodman, one of my sisters close friends. I’d caught them in the woods a month ago gathered around an old stereo, smoking cheap cigarettes and listening to unlabeled CD’s from some obscure garage band that his cousins played in. She’d begged me not to rat her out to mom, and so far I hadn’t. It appears now that I won’t need to.

Ray looks dead from where I stand. It’s the way his arms are splayed out, all crooked, like some gore soaked snow angel. Lines of blood dribble from the corner of his mouth. I inch towards him, part of me expecting him to kick the lockers through the wall, and come at me with those bleached out eyes.

He stirs and startles me with the sound of his voice. “Tim…my…are we dead?” The parting of his lips frees the dammed up river of blood that has been building inside his mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice as it splashes violently to the floor, dotting the tops of my boots upon impact.

“No, we’re still in school.” I crouch beside him, letting
the Broomspear rest on the floor above his head.

“So we’re in hell then.” He gives a weak smile, observing me through tiny slits.

He’s fading fast, and I have questions. I don’t want to be rude, he is dying after all, but this is the closest I’ve been to finding my sister. “Bethany, do you know where she’s at?”

“Yeah…I..
.I seen her.”

He grimaces as I grab his arm, a reflex borne by the jolt of unexpected revelation. I pull myself together, sort of. “Come on man, I know you’re
hurtin’, but you gotta tell me, where’s Bethany?”

More blood, darker than the last batch, beats his voice to the punch.

“Hang in there, fight it, and just tell me where she is.”

He is choking now, coughing, and speckling the front of my shirt in crimson. It doesn’t faze me. I'm not sure if my indifference is due to the horrors I've seen
, or my eagerness to locate my sister; probably a little of both.

I grab his face in my hands, the fleshy area between my thumb and index finger acting as a miniature cliff for the river of life that flows from deep inside his belly. “Look at me
, Ray, where is Bethany? Just a few words, that’s all I’m askin’.”

“Home…room...” The syllables are muted bubbles of sound, but I catch every single one.

“You saw her in homeroom last, Mr. Stewart’s class?”

A tiny nod of affirmation, and then nothing.

I let his head fall, and shut his eyes the rest of the way. It’s the third time that I’ve seen someone die. It feels heavier than the rest. Probably because it’s the first time they haven’t come back as some flesh eating rage demon.

Time to get my sister, and go home. Mr. Stewart’s homeroom is just around the next corner.

I
’m slithering and sliding against the wall once more, inching towards the edge, just trying to get a glimpse of what lay in wait beyond the bend. My hands are hot and soggy as they grip Broomspear tight against my chest.

I break the corner, expecting to find instantaneous death staring me in the face.

In a sense, my expectations are met.

Blood streaks the walls and has gathered in boorish puddles around four mangled bodies spread out across the floor. I forget about my own safety
, and surge forward to check their face. My heart is about to explode. My breathing comes in spurts. My ears ring as my pulse takes the needle into the red, “Don’t be Bethany, don’t be Bethany,” I fall beside each corpse, desperately turning their face in my hands. I do my best to subdue my gag reflex as I recklessly handle each mangled body. They’ve been chewed up and spit out, or swallowed. It’s like scraping through a bowl of partially solidified gelatin, pieces slip and slide between my fingers.

Three girls, one boy.

Bethany is not among them.

Thank God, oh thank God.

The bites hadn't caused their deaths.
Broomspear had. There are gaping holes in their head and neck, maybe even a few in their chest, I can't really tell, it's all peeled flesh and black holes. Coach Fitz had definitely been on the front lines. The blood on his shirt told the tale.

I fall back on my butt against the lockers, resting in the makeshift graveyard. Fatigue overtakes me like a
shadow; my legs feel like noodles, the adrenaline high is dying off just when I need it the most. I feel a mess, for crying out loud, I look a mess, like I've jumped into a pool of molasses with all my clothes still on. That sickly sweet smell of copper tinged with feces and vomit, it’s starting to become familiar to me. A constant companion. Can I teach myself to like it the same way folks do with grain whiskey and pop music? 

I gather my strength, and my stomach, and slide up the wall of lockers, steadying myself so as not to bust my butt in the filth spread out beneath me.

Mr. Stewart’s homeroom is just over my shoulder.

With
Broomspear leading the way, I press down on the L-shaped handle and venture into the darkness beyond. There is movement in the shadows, dancing between the strips of light that creep in through the pulled blinds. There are two of
them
. Their backs are to me, they are hunched over like gorillas, sniffing the outside of the metal supply cabinet at the rear of the room. Their breathing is low and frothy. They are hunting.

Bethany!

It has to be. She is in there. I move forward, quickly, desperate to reach her before they do. I’ll stab them…

or
I’ll bop them across the head…

whatever
…

it’ll
come to me.

::
:SNAP:::

A pencil explodes beneath my shoe just as I get beyond the first row of desks.

They turn on me.

Growling.
Wet and ragged. Just like the others.

One half of the duo is
Mr. Stewart…

…sort of.

His typical white polo is nothing more than thin strips of bloody fabric, threatening to fall from his shoulders with each deliberate step taken in my direction.

The other half I vaguely recognize. Some girl, one of Bethany’s clique, she’s passed me in the halls on a couple of occasions after the final bell.

They are fast, uncommonly so, just like Jeff. They
plow through the desks as if they aren’t even there, sending them pin-wheeling in either direction. I can practically see myself in the ivory of their eyes before my reflexes kick in. I retreat back, keeping Broomspear aimed in their general direction, as my lower back connects hard with the teachers table at the front of the room, rocking it up on its back legs, and sending the projector crashing to the floor. The pain is immaculate, surging up my spine, and quivering my legs.

Even more immaculate, I find, is my desire to live.

The girl comes at me from the left, the closer of the two. A hideous bite mark presents itself with pride across her jugular like the worlds’ most painful hickey, the mark that has turned her into this thing that now seeks a soft comfortable place on my body to sink its teeth.

I jab at her quick, deliberate, sinking the tip into her shoulder, and pulling back before she can get her hands around it and rip it from my grasp.

Momentum, use it!

I swing to the right,
pummeling Mr. Stewart across the ear hard enough that it sends him careening off course, belly first into his own desk.

Momentum, it is all about momentum.

I continue the spin, sinking low as I come around, catching the girl across her right knee. She goes down on one leg. Even with all that, she is still coming towards me, resilient as all get out.

Do these things feel pain?

I come up under her chin, cracking her across the jaw. The force puts her back on her feet and sends her pirouetting far enough away that I am able to roll back over the table, and put some distance as well as a barrier, between us.

“Bethany, run, now,
run!” I know she is in that closet, I can feel it in my bones.

“Timmy!” The metal doors of the supply closet crash open. She looks the same as she had that morning when mom dropped us off; purple on black hair, skinny pants, high top converse shoes, and that black scarf she wears no matter the weather. “Oh my
God, are you hurt?” Two flesh-eating monsters stand between us, and the only thing catching her eye is my appearance. I know I look a mess, but perhaps it’s worse than I thought.

“I’m fine, run, don’t stop, I’ll be right behind you!”

Bethany hugs the left side of the classroom, eyeing the girl I’ve just stabbed and beaten as she scurries towards the open door. When the girl turns on her, I seize the distraction and slide across the table, shoving Broomspear right through the back of her neck in one swift motion. It bursts through the front of her throat and she falls to her knees, her hands pulling at the three inches of wood protruding from the cold flesh over her voice box.

Bethany locks up.
Her face a collage of terror. Her eyes dinner plates serving up the reflection of the monster writhing on the end of my spear.

“Bethany! Pull it together and move!” She makes it quickly through the door as I use my heel to push the girl off the end of
Broomspear. Mr. Stewart is lifting himself up from his desk behind me; his right ear is split completely in half from where I made impact. I race to join Bethany in the hall. “Don’t stop running!” I yell, trying my best to close the distance. “To the atrium and out the side exit, don’t stop until you hit the street.” These boots aren’t made for running, and I swear, if I make it out of this, I’ll never wear em’ again.

“I can’t believe you came for me.”

“No man left behind!”

We hop the fallen lockers. I’m not sure if she saw Ray’s body or not, there is no pause in her step, no double take.

Good girl, Bethany, survive!

We practically drift into the main hall. Me more than her, my boots slip and slide as I try to cut the turn without breaking speed. Behind
us, there is a thunderous collision, followed by the sound of collapsing cinderblocks. I circle around, slowing my speed, still walking backwards.

Mr.
Stewart is plucking himself from a crater he’s made in the wall. Talk about overshooting the turn. Perhaps it isn’t my boots after all. A plume of dust and debris rise around him as if he is some rock star taking the arena stage. Ceiling tiles fall from overhead like so many adoring fans bras and panties, bouncing off his shoulders, and coming to rest at his feet. He raises his head and lets loose with a roar, like some demonic jungle cat.

Cleveland! Are you ready to
ROOOCK
?

And then he stands there, staring out at us with those white lamps
and that sickly gurgle juggling around in his throat.

“What’s he doing? Why’d he stop chasing us?” Bethany huffs, her hands gripping the top of my arm.

Before I can answer, the air around us erupts with a soundtrack straight from hells own recording studio. The rest of the monsters…the ghouls—

Monsters & Ghouls: One Night Only.

—hundreds of them, all of them answering his call.

An army.

Marching.

Destroying everything in their path.

Closing in on our position.

One goal.

To…

…peel…

…the…

…flesh…

…from our bones.

“He just told
em’ where we are, they’re coming for us.”

We are off again, through the atrium, weaving around benches and potted plants. The windows and doors of the classrooms and offices that line the large open room explode around us. They come from above.
From below. From beside.

I can see the exit sign now, glowing red. “Keep going, just a little further.”  We are going to
die; I know we are going to die. I just don’t want her to be scared. I want her to die with hope still in her heart.

Empty.

Destitute.

That’s no way to die.

Bethany’s arms pump furiously, she is setting the pace a few steps ahead of me. The black scarf pulls behind her like a kite, the tiny arms of yarn on the end tickling my nose.

And then she is gone.

Wrapped up by the arms of some monster.

It’s our assistant princip
al, her face dripping with the blood of her previous meal. Her eyes the color of a fog shrouded sunrise. She vaults the planted divider that runs the center of the room, pummeling Bethany and sending her sprawling to the ground, inches from freedom.