Wormwood Dawn (Episode VIII) (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Maynard trudged through the hard snow, his four escorts chained to his waist. He didn’t like to go outside the safety of his property without them, as there were dangerous creatures out there roaming the hills. His four pets afforded him some protection, as the fungal creatures were afraid of them, and the mutants often ignored them.

He reached a country road nearby where he frequently harvested the flesh of a massive graveyard of the dead. Here, something violent had taken place during the initial days of the event, resulting in the executions of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people.

All of them just lay there in the streets, dead and rotting. It was a virtual smorgasbord of scrap meat for his pets; except those that were currently with him. He never fed them, as doing so would trigger their desire to transform. Instead, he starved them, alleviating any nesting instincts they had.

It had been successful so far. None of them had ever tried to escape and form a cocoon. But it was a lesson that he had to learn the hard way. His previous attempts at taming the strange, half-mutated humans had failed. He tried fresh blood—his own—with no luck. It was only when he ran out of food to give them that he discovered it was eating that drove them to complete their transformation.

They were much like caterpillars that way.

Finding a good place to harvest, he set his bucket down and began sawing off the leg of a nearby corpse. It was frozen, as he expected, but fat and meaty. It would make a good snack for his other pets.

When he had finished sawing off the limb, he cut open the corpse’s abdomen, pulling out the stiff and freezing innards and slopping them in the bucket. His four pets stirred, pressing toward him in curiosity, but blocked by the wooden poles that connected him to them.

It was a brilliant idea.

“Now, now,” he whispered. “None of that. No yummy num nums for you.”

The creatures groaned, gradually losing interest. Maynard continued harvesting organs, finding that this particular corpse was chock full of gooey innards.

“Aren’t you a hardy one?” he whispered to the corpse. “It’s too bad you couldn’t transform. You would have made a glorious rager.”

He chuckled to himself, taking great pleasure in gutting the dead. But his pleasure was cut short by that same screeching howl that flashed by him in the blink of an eye. He froze, startled and frightened. He thought he had caught sight of the creature, seeing the vague shape of… a little girl.

He cocked his head, grinning crookedly. “Interesting,” he said.

His eyes darted around, searching for the strange being. In his mind he thought of the ancient legends of the old country; those legends of the banshee. Were they real? If they were, why was he hearing the keening? Was he about to die, or was someone he loved doomed.

The being flashed by again, streaking right across his line of sight. He barely saw the ghastly, twisted face, with its jagged mouth and black eyes. He sighed with a strange pleasure… or was it fear?

“Aren’t you a pretty one?” he whispered, drool dripping from his bottom lip. “Come to me, my sweet child.”

There was another shriek, and the shattering of wood as his tethers were severed. He fell back, unbalanced, crawling backward as he realized his four escorts were now free.

“Damn you,” he growled, struggling to reach his bucket.

The four creatures fell upon the nearest corpses, munching on their frozen flesh and moaning with the pleasure of a tasty meal. Maynard scrambled to stand, drawing their attention. They stood back up, each of them gazing at him hungrily with blood-soaked lips and hungry, hollow eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Maynard said, backing away.

He turned and began running, lugging the heavy bucket with him. He knew he could outrun them, as they were slow and clumsy. When he reached the edge of the road, he spun sideways, skiing down the small bank, laughing as he went.

Then, he was impacted from behind and knocked onto his face. His bucket went flying, spilling it contents everywhere. He landed on his face, feeling the impact of the rough icy surface as he slid across it.

“Goddamnit!” he hissed. “Fucking little bitch!”

He broke through the surface trying to stand, ignoring his bucket and tramping across the snow in his effort to escape. His heart was beating wildly now, and he felt the unusual sensation of fear. Behind him, the creature shrieked again, sending chills up his spine. His breathing became ragged with fear, and his heart felt as if it were going to explode.

Was he dying?

“Fuck you,” he whispered, breathless.

He stopped suddenly as the creature blinked into existence right in front of him. His legs gave out, and he flipped straight onto his back, still locking eyes with the demonic thing.

“
What are you?”
he howled.

The creature was gone, having blinked away. He wasn’t even sure he had seen it. Maybe his fear was playing mind games. Defeated and on the verge of collapsing, he rolled over and got to his feet, only to be knocked down again.

This time, the demonic thing had drawn blood. He howled in pain, clutching his shoulder where the sharp claws had raked his flesh. He was bleeding heavily, and the pain was enough to crush his very soul. Crying out in agony, he struggled to his feet again, whimpering as he made his way home.

He could see the dim lights of his lanterns through the windows, and he focused on them as he desperately ran to reach that safe place. Every breath brought a whimper, and every whimper brought more pain. When he reached the edge of his property, he began crying out, hoping that perhaps his pets would hear him and come to his rescue.

He collapsed onto his porch, clawing at the wood to pull himself up to the door. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, hoping that Toby was still in his blocked off area of the cabin. It would be disastrous for Toby to see him this way. He had to get in without alerting the boy.

Finally, he found his key, and pulled himself up to the doorknob. The shriek sounded again behind him, and he turned in terror. The thing was only ten yards away, blinking in and out rapidly, each time with an even more terrifying scowl on its evil little face. Maynard cried out as the key slid into the lock. He burst through the door, slamming and locking it behind him. He stayed pressed against it for several terrifying minutes, fully expecting the demon thing to burst through or appear right in front of him.

It never did.

It was quiet outside, except for the wind. He sighed with relief, his breathing gradually slowing, and the pain in his chest subsiding. He had barely escaped, he knew. He came way too close to becoming demon chow. The thought amused him. He chuckled out loud in the darkness, thankful that he was now in his safe place. His cradle.

His womb.

“So,” Grace said to Travis. “You used to be a doctor?”

Travis shrugged, grinning. “
Used
to be,” he said. “But shit happens I guess.”

Grace took a drink of her “freshly brewed” instant coffee. “What kind of shit?”

“Well,” Travis began, scratching his head. “I was prescribing medications off-label, and AMA or the FDA didn’t like that.”

“What kinds of meds?”

“Suboxone,” Travis said. “It’s used to treat opiate addiction, but I was giving it to patients for depression.”

“Why?”

“European doctors have been doing it for a long time,” Travis explained. “It works really well for people who don’t respond well to standard psychotropics.”

“Ah,” Grace said. “I see.”

Travis nodded, hoping Grace wouldn’t think badly of him.

“Did it work?” she asked.

“Actually it did,” he said. “Several patients went on to get their lives back together with new hope. But, of course, I was labeled as a drug dealer for not using what the big pharm companies wanted. It’s all just about the money, man. Nobody cares about patients anymore.”

“Why did these patients not respond well to psych drugs?”

Travis shook his head. “Some people just don’t. They have bad reactions, suicidal thoughts, extreme anxiety, or sometimes just the opposite effect of what the drug is supposed to do. They came to me as a last resort since all the shrinks wanted to do was… zombify them with mind poison.”

“Right,” Grace said, nodding with an understanding smile. “I took Paxil when I was a teenager. It didn’t do shit.”

Travis smiled. He liked Grace. Other than Max, and to a certain degree, Dan, Grace was about the only person who really understood things from his own point of view. Even Eric was skeptical of his ideas, although he did agree that “big pharma” was dangerous.

“I’ve noticed Dan popping pills,” Grace said. “What’s that about?”

Travis shook his head. “Ah, that’s his thing. He loves pain killers, and sometime the ADHD meds. I’ve never seen him get too high or anything. He just uses them the same way I prescribed Suboxone I guess.”

“Is he a good leader?”

“Yeah,” Travis said, nodding. “Yeah. Really good. He’s not afraid of shit, and he’s a lot tougher and smarter than he looks. He and Drew survived out there for a long time by themselves. They were all fucked up most of the time, too.”

Grace chuckled. “Whatever works, I suppose.”

Travis got up from the table. “I think I’ll have a glass of wine. Would you like some?”

“No thank you,” Grace replied. “I had enough whiskey earlier.”

“We’ve got just about everything,” Dan said to Gena as she looked over their selection of weapons in the storeroom.

Gena walked along the racks, smiling with approval at their arsenal. Dan opened the drawers beneath, showing her their supply of ammo.

“We have enough weapons and ammo to fight a war with Cuba,” he said. “You know, just in case we think they need some freedom.”

Gena chuckled. “I doubt there are many people left,” she said.

“So, what’s your poison?”

“My poison?” Gena asked. “My weapon of choice? Well, I kinda like that Blackout you have.”

Dan smiled, tucking his rifle behind his back. “Sorry,” he said. “She’s spoken for.”

Gena stopped in front of an FN SCAR-H, a designated marksman rifle chambered in 7.62x51. She ran her hand up and down its length, her mouth curling into a crooked grin.

“This is pretty,” she said, pulling it from the rack. “I’ve been wanting to try one of these. Some bros I know use the SCAR. They were pretty happy with it.”

Dan reached down and handed her a box of rounds. “It’s yours, chola,” he joked. “No shooting gringos.”

Gena shouldered the rifle and took the box of rounds with a grin. She began loading up a few magazines while Dan went to the boarded up window to look outside.

“I wonder how long it will take for the clouds to move on,” he said. “It looks like they’re dissipating already, but doing it slowly. I hate it.”

“Me too,” Gena said. “But it’s not really the darkness that bothers me. It’s the cold mostly. Hey, you have a suppressor for this?”

“Drawer on the far right,” he said. “There’s a pair of pliers in there to get the muzzle brake off.”

He heard her shuffling around in the drawer, but kept his eyes outside. He stepped up on a crate to get a better view, as the small window was just about at eye level. Outside, the amber glow of the sky reflected off the snow and ice, giving the world a weird, Mars-like aura.

Even the snow, which by now was broken up and chunky, looked like the rocky surface of the red planet. But there was something strange about the horizon. It looked like smoke from a chimney rising up above the tops of the trees. He could be mistaken, but he felt sure that he could see it. Maybe it was just an illusion caused by the clouds.

“Look at this,” he said, waving Gena over.

She came and climbed up on the crate next to him, and he pointed his finger in the direction of the column of smoke. “Do you see that?” he asked. “Just to the left of the tallest tree.”

Gena squinted. “Maybe,” she said. “I’m not sure what it is, though. Could be a fire in the distance.”

Dan sighed. She was probably right. There may be a building burning in Columbus. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Toby had found some shelter and was warming himself by a campfire. Was he capable of doing that? The boy was only ten years old, and had spent most of his life watching cartoons and playing video games. Could he have figured something out?

“You’re thinking about that boy, aren’t you?”

Dan nodded. “Yeah.”

Gena put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s good that you care about your people, even when they’re not related. That makes a good leader.”

Dan shook his head, sighing. “It’s my fault he’s gone,” he said. “We went looking for his mom, and he left for some reason.”

“Maybe he thought he saw her.”

“He couldn’t have,” Dan said. “We found her in the other direction.”

“Dead?”

“Not yet,” Dan said. “But we killed her. Had to.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean he didn’t
think
that he saw her. Those cameras can play tricks on your eyes, especially the night vision cameras.”