Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (11 page)

I glanced down
at the gas gauge and noticed it was hovering below half a tank. The fuel my
Chevy had added was being consumed quickly. It wasn’t panic time, but the route
I was taking would get us to Corpus in around 8 hours- significantly longer
than if I’d taken the direct route on the major highways so we’d definitely
need to find gas at some point.  

I didn’t really
agree with Sherry’s assessment that we head to the coast and hop on a boat.
Sounded like a long shot fantasy. I remembered Susan of course- the friend I’d
often seen Sherry with, who’d taken one of the kickboxing classes also, looking
decidedly awkward trying a jab-side kick combo that landed her on her ass. Not
sure she was the type of person I’d be inclined to trust my survival to.  

But it was
eerily serene driving through the Texas countryside listening to the tires on
the highway, so I could keep on this course, toward Corpus and Susan, until my
brain came up with a better, safer option. I could even almost imagine I was
going on a nice vacation to the beach. Nice car, nice day; I glanced over at
Sherry and had to admit, pretty nice company also. I was just really enjoying
my fantasy world when I saw the outline of an RV on the horizon. Slowing the
car to a crawl as I approached, I saw that it was one of those giant ones- a
 quarter of a million dollar baby that likely lost all its value in the
first year. It was a THOR Tuscany, one of the big class A diesels, basically a
house on wheels. Fancy-shmancy. The owners must be rolling in dough.

I glanced around
the T-Bird. Low on water, virtually nothing edible- aside from chocolate bars
and a few diet shakes- and no clean underwear. My guess was Apocalypse 101
would teach us to expect to shit our pants once or twice. Possibly per day. So,
clean underwear was high on my necessity list. I laughed mentally. Maybe
crapping my pants would make me less appealing to the flesh-munchers.
Here,
monster, monster. Come get a whiff of delicious diarrhea. El buffet de mierda,
a su servicio.

I brought the
T-bird to a full stop and shifted into park. Yep, I was definitely going to
check out the motor coach. There had to be some useful items to salvage. And I
was hungry. Wasn’t very manly to admit, but the last meal I’d had was a side
salad and a chunk of herb-crusted salmon. Wish I’d opted for the double decker,
bacon and bleu burger with endless fries now. Those calories would have lasted
me several days. I rarely splurged on junk foods though- my line of work meant
that healthy eating was a lifestyle, not a hobby.

 Twisting
in the seat, I dug through the gear until I found something I felt comfortable
wielding. The ASP collapsible baton had been half-obscured by the backpack and
Marty’s body, but finding it gave me peace of mind. After raiding the RV, I
really needed to inventory everything Sherry had gotten from the Sheriff’s
station.

Not really
wanting to wake Sherry and Marty, I eased the door open. The quiet around me
hit like a sledgehammer, pounding against my body with silent force. Not a
sound. Not the whistle of a bird, hum of a cricket, thrum of a car… nothing. It
was like a black hole, a vacuum sucking away any noise. . Freaky didn’t even
begin to describe the situation. My skin tingled and the hairs on the back of
my neck stood at attention while taps did not play in the soundless abyss.
 

I quietly shut
the T-bird’s door and snapped my wrist, extending the collapsible baton.

Fully extended, the
baton was almost two feet long and in the hands of the right person, it could
be just as deadly as a gun, maybe more so. I didn’t really comprehend what was
going on, nor had I seen anything with my own eyes, but one thing was certain-
if the boogeyman did come a-knocking, then he better be one bad ass cabron,
because an ASP baton in the hands of this Puerto Rican was as deadly as a Glock
in the hands of the NYPD. You could bet your life on it.

I left the car
behind and eased my way around to the side of the RV, stopping at the corner to
peek around the fender. The main side door was open and its once-attached
screen door was angled towards the ground, still held to the RV by the lower,
badly-damaged hinge. A body lay inert on the ground. The body had been here for
long enough that the majority of the flesh was marked by wild animals and the
ground surrounding it bore both coyote and bobcat prints. That wasn’t unusual,
there were several feeding grounds were the two predators cross-hunted. Now
that the body wasn’t fresh though, it was just a buffet for the vultures. A few
hovered around the dead person now, hopping and fluttering and occasionally
nipping in for a bit of ‘food’.

Death wasn’t
anything new to me. When I’d first come to the mainland after my abuela, the
only family I had left in Cuba died, I had tried to open a training school in
Miami, but the only area I could afford to rent in was a rough neighborhood.
One morning I’d arrived to open up for business and I’d found a kid, not more
than 13 or 14, beaten and cut up by some local gang and left for dead on my
stoop. That was the day I’d packed up and moved to Texas. I’d come to the
states for a better life and that didn’t involve dialing 911 at seven AM and
cradling a dying boy in my arms.

I shook the
memory of the brutalized kid from my brain and scanned my surroundings. The
mountains on the horizon were thrown into shadow now as the sun dipped further
down in the sky. I swore I saw some movement in the distance, but I couldn’t be
sure. Avoidance. I was actively concentrating on other things so I wouldn’t
have to turn my attention back to the RV. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d
wanted to raid the vehicle and now I was procrastinating. Rolling my neck and
listening to it crack, I took a steadying breath and resolved  myself to
get the hell on with it. Slowly, I rounded the front of the vehicle and stepped
toward the corpse; the vultures didn’t like me approaching. They shuffled back
and forth, wanting to stay near their food source, but it wasn’t in their
natures to fight. They were scavengers and their instinct took over- forcing
them to leave their meal in self-preservation. I stepped over the corpse,
ignoring the birds which now circled in the air above me. Peering into the RV
opening I saw and heard nothing. My body was tensed to the point that my head
was beginning to ache. My intuition was screaming at me not to enter, but my
mind was calling me a pansy ass. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of. The guy
on the ground probably just had a heart attack and keeled over. No
people-eating toddlers or human-hungry preteens. Just mother nature and poor
eating habits.

My right hand
was tingling and I realized that I had a death grip on the baton that was
forcing all of the blood from my digits. It took a lot of willpower, but I
managed to relax my grip. I squared my shoulders. There was no one else here,
but if there was, I’d be ready to fight.

I stepped up
into the RV and looked around, but there was nobody home- just like I’d
thought. See- one dead guy, massive coronary, no worries. Just reality, not
fictional horror.   I relaxed and collapsed the baton and stuffed it
into the cargo pocket of my pants. I could appreciate the vehicle now- it
wasn’t ostentatious, but fully-loaded all the same with a large flat screen and
at least thirty Blu-rays.
I could get used to this. Corpus Christi would be
one heck of a comfortable ride and there’s got to be a couple kids’ movies in
that stash for Marty.
Making my way to the front of the vehicle, I seated
myself in the driver’s seat. The key was in the ignition- it was a large fancy
thing with an oversized keychain decoration. Had to have been a kid’s choice;
no way would an adult opt to have a giant pair of bedazzled lips hanging from
their key.

I turned the key
one notch toward the hood and the fuel gauge  came to life, inching
upwards until it settled itself near the ‘F’. Some of these luxury RVs could
have upwards of 100 to 150 gallon tanks and sometimes get more than 10 miles
per gallon. Jesus. This beast could take us a long way.

Rotating the key
back to the off position, I abandoned the cab and refocused on exploring. I
began opening cabinets one-by-one. Grocery shopping gold mine- everything from
instant mac and cheese to caviar. I’d be able to fill Murray’s backpack up
until it bulged at the seams. Moving toward the sleeping section of the RV, I
pulled back some curtains to reveal bunk beds. They were slim, slightly
recessed against the wall since this extension was retracted for driving.

There had been
more than one passenger. This had housed a family. The top bunk had a dark blue
comforter and a fire truck pillow. The bottom bunk had a pale pink blanket and
a stuffed ballerina.
Where are the kids? Where’s the mother?
I turned my
body to face the narrow door that separated the master bedroom from the rest of
the RV. My footsteps were weighted down by concrete shoes. My fingers shook as
I pulled back the accordion-style door.

“Mierda…” I
whispered, my heart skipping a beat. The mother was here.

Just as dead as
the father. But the animals had not wrecked her body. No.

She was moving,
her eyes soulless, her forearms covered with small teeth marks. The way her
head rotated atop her neck, her gaze following the noise over to the opening
door, I knew Sherry had been telling the truth. This woman was no longer a
person. She was a shell and the saliva dribbling from the corner of her mouth
said ‘hungry’.  

Zombies.

Real. Live.
Zombies.

I didn’t bother
to correct myself this time, not now that I was faced with the reality.

The mother began
to move toward me, dragging her right foot behind her and I realized it was
angled strangely, busted at the knee and a large piece of her calf was dragging
behind her, hung on by a thick string of bloody and tattered flesh. I yanked
the flimsy door shut so quickly and with such force that it separated from the
frame. “Shit!” I stumbled backwards, awkwardly pulling the ASP from my pocket
and re-extending it.

Two adults. Two bunk
beds… two children. Four. Two accounted for. But the kids… shit! The kids.

The description
of Sherry’s ordeal came racing into my brain like a steam locomotive.
Children!
Sweet Jesus!

Like a lightning
bolt of realization, I remembered the movement in the distance and went to the
side window of the RV to look out. Frantically, my eyes searched, but I found
nothing. No sign that there was anything out there with Sherry and Marty other
than the vultures waiting to resume mealtime. I sighed in relief. Maybe the
kids were a long way off now. That would make sense. There wasn’t anything left
for them here besides a dead father and a zombie mother. The movement in the
distance wasn’t there anymore and I sighed in relief, thinking that I had
dodged a bullet. I could rationalize the mother’s state. Maybe rabies. Yeah.
The mother contracted rabies, killed the father, scared the kids into running
away. Sure. That was it. A down to earth, no killer kids explanation.

I was about to
turn my attention back to salvaging when I saw movement. There was something
outside…
outside where an unsuspecting Sherry and Marty slept soundly in the
T-Bird.

Moving swiftly
and with determination, I exited the RV. The sounds of the growling mother in
the master bedroom followed me. I tuned them out. I was going to have to fight;
I knew it in my gut. And the best thing to do is focus, mentally expel
everything, but myself and my adversary. The body of the father still lay
inert. The vultures were on the ground, pacing not too far away. Something had
scared them off their meal before I’d exited the vehicle. Further confirmation
that a big bad was lurking.

Or maybe… maybe
Sherry had just woken up and was trying to find me. That was a possibility. If
only life could be that easy. My abuela always used to say you could wish in
one hand and shit in the other and see which one filled up first. Basically, my
gut was telling me that the shit was at max capacity and no amount of wishing
would change the fact that, somewhere nearby, there was something that wanted
to chomp into my flesh.

Listen to me,
I scoffed,
letting
Sherry’s nonsense get to me. My gut is wrong and Sherry is wrong. There’re no
evil kids killing adults. That woman in the RV was just sick,  something
naturally occurring. Sherry’s just gotten into the crazy juice with old Kyle
and kidnapped someone’s little boy. Can’t let her get to me. Just stories. No
damn way.
I kept mentally reassuring myself that everything was normal, but
my heart was racing and my mind kept showing me images of the mother’s arms,
all bitten and bleeding.  

Walking toward
the back of the RV, I kept the baton pointed at the ground. My fingers were
clenched around its hilt and I knew if I looked down, that they’d once again be
pale with the strain of my grip. I paused before rounding the rear of the
vehicle, needing to breathe deeply and center myself. Just when I’d worked up
the nerve to move again, a resounding crunch behind me had me whirling back
around, full fight-mode switched on.

 I
instinctively swung the still-extended ASP as I jerked my body around toward
the movement, but its length caught nothing but air. The thing was just a blur
for a moment, reacting faster than humanly possible. It moved backwards and
away from my weapon.  

Finally locking
eyes on my adversary, my mind froze mid-thought and my body went slightly rigid
with shock. Up until now, I’d flitted back and forth between belief and
disbelief- even after seeing the woman in the bedroom. I couldn’t deny the
truth anymore, not when it confronted me with such brutality and strength.