The Living Dead 2 Part 4

Sucking wind, Grandpa Joe took the opportunity to dig among the old soapboxes for his Glock, and when he had a firm grip on it, he tried to pull himself up. Dizziness rocked him, and he tumbled back down.

"Grandpa Joe!" Kendrick said, and rushed to him. The boy's grip was surprisingly strong, and Joe hugged him for support, straining to peer down at his leg. He could be wrong about the bite. He could be wrong.

"Let me look at this," Joe said, trying to keep his voice calm. He peeled back his pant leg, grimacing at the blood hugging the fabric to flesh.

There it was, facing him in a semicircle of oozing slits: a bite, and a deep one. He was bleeding badly. Maybe Mike had hit an artery, and whatever s.h.i.t they had was shooting all through him. d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n.

Night seemed to come early, because for an instant Joe Davis's fear blotted the room's light. He was bitten. And where were Mike's three boys? Wouldn't they all come running now, like the swarm over the hill he'd seen in the field?

"We've gotta get out of here, Little Soldier," Joe said, and levered himself up to standing. Pain coiled and writhed inside him. "I mean now. Let's go."

His leg was leaking. The pain was terrible, a throb with every heartbeat. He found himself wishing he'd faint, and his terror at the thought snapped him to more alertness than he'd felt before.

He had to get Little Soldier to the truck. He had to keep Little Soldier safe.

Joe cried out with each step on his left leg, where the back of his thigh felt ravaged. He was leaning so hard on Little Soldier, the kid could hardly manage the door. Joe heard the tinkling above him, and then, impossibly, they were back outside. Joe saw the truck waiting just beyond the gate.

His eyes swept the perimeter. No movement. No one. Where were those boys?

"Let's go," Joe panted. He patted his pocket, and the keys were there. "Faster."

Joe nearly fell three times, but each time he found the kid's weight beneath him, keeping him on his feet. Joe's heartbeat was in his ears, an ocean's roar.

"Jump in. Hurry," Joe said after the driver's door was open, and Little Soldier scooted into the car like a monkey. The hard leather made Joe whimper as his thigh slid across the seat, but suddenly, it all felt easy. Slam and lock the door. Get his hand to stop shaking enough to get the key in the ignition. Fire her up.

Joe lurched the truck in reverse for thirty yards before he finally turned around. His right leg was numb up to his knee-from that bite, oh, sweet Jesus-but he was still flooring the pedal somehow, keeping the truck on the road instead of in a ditch.

Joe looked in his rearview mirror. At first he couldn't see for the dust, but there they were: Mike's boys had come running in a ragged line, all of them straining as if they were in a race. Fast. They were too far back to catch up, but their fervor sent a bottomless fear through Joe's stomach.

Mike's boys looked like starving animals hunting for a meal.

Kendrick couldn't breathe. The air in the truck felt the way it might in outer s.p.a.ce, if you were floating in the universe, a speck too far in the sky to see.

"Grandpa Joe?" Kendrick whispered. Grandpa Joe's black face shone with sweat, and he was chewing at his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Grandpa Joe's fingers gripped at the wheel, and the corners of his mouth turned upward in an imitation of a smile. It's gonna be all right," he said, but it seemed to Kendrick that he was talking to himself more than to him. "It'll be fine."

Kendrick stared at him, a.s.sessing: He seemed all right. He was sweating and bleeding, but he must be all right if he was driving the truck. You couldn't drive if you were one of them, could you? Grandpa Joe was fine. He said he was.

Mom and Dad hadn't been fine after a while, but they had warned him. They had told him they were getting sleepy, and they all knew getting sleepy right away meant you might not wake up. Or if you did, you'd be changed. They'd made him promise not to open the door to the safe room, even for them.

No matter what. Not until you hear the danger word.

Kendrick felt warm liquid on the seat beneath him, and he gasped, thinking Grandpa Joe might be bleeding all over the seat. Instead, when he looked down, Kendrick saw a clear puddle between his legs. His jeans were dark and wet, almost black. It wasn't blood. He'd peed on himself, like a baby.

"Are you sleepy?" Kendrick said.

Grandpa Joe shook his head, but Kendrick thought he'd hesitated first, just a little. Grandpa Joe's eyes were on the road half the time, on the rearview mirror the rest. "How long before your mom and dad got sleepy?"

Kendrick remembered Dad's voice outside of the door, announcing the time: "It's nine o'clock, Ca.s.s." Worried it was getting late. Worried they should get far away from Kendrick and send for Grandpa Joe to come get him. Kendrick heard them talking outside the door plain as day; for once, they hadn't tried to keep him from hearing.

"A few minutes," Kendrick said softly. "Five. Or ten."

Grandpa Joe went back to chewing his lip. "What happened?"

Kendrick didn't know what happened. He'd been in bed when he heard Mom say their neighbor Mrs. Shane was knocking at the window. All he knew was that Dad came into his room, shouting and cradling his arm. Blood oozed from between Dad's fingers. Dad pulled him out of bed, yanking Kendrick's arm so hard that it popped, pulling him to his feet. In the living room, he'd seen Mom crouching far away, by the fireplace, sobbing with a red face. Mom's shirt was b.l.o.o.d.y, too.

At first, Kendrick had thought Dad had hurt Mom, and now Dad was mad at him, too. Dad was punishing him by putting him in the safe room.

"They're in the house, Kendrick. We're bitten, both of us."

After the door to the safe room was closed, for the first time Kendrick had heard somebody else's footsteps. Then, that scream.

"They stayed for ten minutes, maybe. Not long. Then they said they had to leave. They were getting sleepy, and they were scared to come near me. Then they went away for a long time. For hours," Kendrick told Grandpa Joe. "All of a sudden I heard Mom again. She was knocking on the door. She asked me where my math homework was. She said, 'You were supposed to do your math homework.'"

Kendrick had never said the words before. Tears hurt his eyes.

"That was how you knew?" Grandpa Joe said.

Kendrick nodded. Snot dripped from his nose to the front of his jacket, but he didn't move to wipe it away. Mom had said not to open the door until Grandpa Joe came and said the danger word. No matter what.

"Good boy, Kendrick," Grandpa Joe said, his voice wavering. "Good boy." boy, Kendrick," Grandpa Joe said, his voice wavering. "Good boy."

All this time, Joe had thought it was his imagination.

A gaggle of the freaks had been there in Ca.s.s's front yard waiting for him, so he'd plowed most of them down with the truck so he could get to the door. That was the easy part. As soon as he got out, the ones still standing had surged. There'd been ten of them at least; an old man, a couple of teenage boys, the rest of them women, moving quick. He'd been squeezing off rounds at anything that moved.

"Daddy?"

Had he heard her voice before he'd fired? In the time since, he'd decided the voice was his imagination, because how could could she have talked to him, said his name? He'd decided G.o.d had created her voice in his mind, a last chance to hear it to make up for the horror of the hole his Glock had just put in her forehead. "Daddy?" she have talked to him, said his name? He'd decided G.o.d had created her voice in his mind, a last chance to hear it to make up for the horror of the hole his Glock had just put in her forehead. "Daddy?"

It had been Ca.s.s, but it hadn't hadn't been. Her blouse and mouth had been a b.l.o.o.d.y, dripping mess, and he'd seen stringy bits of flesh caught in her teeth, just like the other freaks. It hadn't been Ca.s.s. Hadn't been. been. Her blouse and mouth had been a b.l.o.o.d.y, dripping mess, and he'd seen stringy bits of flesh caught in her teeth, just like the other freaks. It hadn't been Ca.s.s. Hadn't been.

People said freaks could make noises. make noises. They walked and looked like us. The newer ones didn't have the red s.h.i.t showing beneath their skin, and they didn't start to lose their motor skills for a couple of days-so they could run fast, the new ones. He'd known that. Everybody knew that. They walked and looked like us. The newer ones didn't have the red s.h.i.t showing beneath their skin, and they didn't start to lose their motor skills for a couple of days-so they could run fast, the new ones. He'd known that. Everybody knew that.

But if freaks could talk, could recognize you...

Then we can't win.

The thought was quiet in Joe's mind, from a place that was already accepting it.

Ten minutes, Little Soldier had said. Maybe five.

Joe tried to bear down harder on the gas, and his leg felt like a wooden stump. Still, the speedometer climbed before it began shaking at ninety. He had to get Little Soldier as far as he could from Mike's boys. Those boys might run all day and all night, from the way they'd looked. He had to get Little Soldier away...

Joe's mouth was so dry it ached.

"We're in trouble, Little Soldier," Joe said.

Joe couldn't bring himself to look at Kendrick, even though he wanted to so much he was nearly blinded by tears. "You know we're in trouble, don't you?" Joe said.

"Yes," the boy said.

"We have to come up with a plan. Just like we did at your house that time."

"A danger word?" Kendrick said.

Joe sighed. "A danger word won't work this time."

Again, Kendrick was silent.

"Don't go back to the cabin," Joe said, deciding that part. "It's not safe."

"But Mom and Dad might..."

This time Joe did gaze over at Kendrick. Unless it was imagination, the boy was already sitting as far from him as he could, against the door.

"That was a story I told you," Joe said, cursing himself for the lie. "You know they're not coming, Kendrick. You said yourself she wasn't right. You could hear it. That means they got your father, too. She was out in the front yard, before I got inside. I had to shoot her, Little Soldier. I shot her in the head."

Kendrick gazed at him wide-eyed, rage knotting his little face.

That's it, Little Soldier. Get mad.

"I couldn't tell you before. But I'm telling you now for a reason..."

Just that quick, the road ahead of Joe fogged, doubled. He snapped his head up, aware that he had just lost a moment of time, that his consciousness had flagged.

But he was still himself. Still himself, and that made the difference, right? He was still himself, and just maybe he would stay himself, and beat this d.a.m.ned thing.

If you could stay awake...

Then you might stay alive for another-what? Ten days? He'd heard about someone staying awake that long, maybe longer. Right now he didn't know if he'd last the ten minutes. His eyes fought to close so hard that they trembled. There'll be rest enough in the grave. There'll be rest enough in the grave. Wasn't that what Benjamin Franklin had said? Wasn't that what Benjamin Franklin had said?

"Don't you close your eyes, Daddy." Ca.s.s's voice. He snapped his head around, wondering where the voice had come from. He was seeing things: Ca.s.sie sat beside him with her pink lips and ringlets of tight brown hair. For a moment he couldn't see Little Soldier, so solid she seemed. "You always talked tough this and tough that. Da Nang and Hanoi and a dozen places I couldn't p.r.o.nounce. And now the one d.a.m.ned time in your life that it matters, you're going to sleep?" The accusation in her voice was crippling. "We trusted you, and you walked right into that store and got bitten because you were laughing at Archie Bunker? I trusted you, Daddy."

Silence. Then: "I still trust you, Daddy."

Suddenly, Joe felt wide awake again for the last time in his life.

"Listen to me. I can't give you the truck," Joe said. "I know we practiced driving, but you might make a mistake and hurt yourself. You're better off on foot."

Rage melted from Kendrick's face, replaced by bewilderment and the terror of an infant left naked in a snowdrift. Kendrick's lips quivered violently.

"No, Grandpa Joe. You can stay awake," he whispered.

"Grab that backpack behind your seat-it's got a compa.s.s, bottled water, jerky, and a flashlight. It's heavy, but you'll need it. And take your Remington. There's more ammo for it under your seat. Put the ammo in the backpack. Do it now."

Kendrick sobbed, reaching out to squeeze Joe's arm. "P-please, Grandpa Joe..."

"Stop that G.o.dd.a.m.ned crying!" Joe roared, and the shock of his voice silenced the boy. Kendrick yanked his hand away, sliding back toward his door again. The poor kid must think he'd crossed over. Joe roared, and the shock of his voice silenced the boy. Kendrick yanked his hand away, sliding back toward his door again. The poor kid must think he'd crossed over.

Joe took a deep breath. Another wave of dizziness came, and his chin rocked downward. The car swerved slightly before he could pull his head back up. Joe's pain was easing, and he felt stoned, as if he were on acid. He hadn't driven far enough yet. They were still too close to Mike's boys. So much to say...

Joe kept his voice as even as he could. "There were only two people who could put up a better fight than me, and that was your mom and dad. They couldn't do it, not even for you. That tells me I can't, either. Understand?"

His tears miraculously stanched, Kendrick nodded.

READ REVELATIONS, a billboard fifty yards ahead advised in red letters. Beside the billboard, the road forked into another highway. Thank Jesus.

The words flew from his mouth, nearly breathless. "I'll pull off when we get to that sign, at the crossroads. When the truck stops, run. run. Hear me? Fast as you can. No matter what you hear...don't turn around. Don't stop. It's twenty miles to Centralia, straight south. There's National Guard there, and caravans. Tell them you want to go to Devil's Wake. That's where I'd go. When you're running, stay near the roads, but keep out of sight. If anyone comes before you get to Centralia, hide. If they see you, tell 'em you'll shoot, and then do it. And don't go to sleep, Kendrick. Don't let anybody surprise you." Hear me? Fast as you can. No matter what you hear...don't turn around. Don't stop. It's twenty miles to Centralia, straight south. There's National Guard there, and caravans. Tell them you want to go to Devil's Wake. That's where I'd go. When you're running, stay near the roads, but keep out of sight. If anyone comes before you get to Centralia, hide. If they see you, tell 'em you'll shoot, and then do it. And don't go to sleep, Kendrick. Don't let anybody surprise you."

"Yes, sir," Kendrick said in a sad voice, yet still eager to be commanded.

The truck took control of itself, no longer confined to its lane or the road, and it b.u.mped wildly as it drove down the embankment. Joe's leg was too numb to keep pressing the accelerator, so the truck gradually lost speed, rocking to a stop, nose down, its headlights lost in weeds. Feeling in his arms was nearly gone now, too.

"I love you, Grandpa Joe," he heard his grandson say. Or thought he did.

"Love you, too, Little Soldier."

Still here. Still here.

"Now, go. Go." Go."

Joe heard Kendrick's car door open and slam before he could finish.

He turned his head to watch Kendrick, to make sure he was doing as he'd been told. Kendrick had the backpack and his gun as he stumbled away from the truck, running down in the embankment that ran beside the road. The boy glanced back over his shoulder, saw Joe wave him on, and then disappeared into the roadside brush.

With trembling fingers, Joe opened the glove compartment, digging out his snub-nose .38, his favorite gun. He rested the cold metal between his lips, past his teeth. He was breathing hard, sucking at the air, and he didn't know if it was the toxin or his nerves working him. He looked for Kendrick again, but he couldn't see him at this angle.

Now. Do it now.

It seemed that he heard his own voice whispering in his ear.

I can win. I can win. I saved my whole f.u.c.king squad. I can beat this thing...

Joe sat in the truck feeling alternating waves of heat and cold washing through him. As long as he could stay awake...

He heard the voice of old Mrs. Reed, his sixth-grade English teacher; saw the faces of Little Bob and Eddie Kevner, who'd been standing beside him when the bouncing Betty blew. Then he saw Ca.s.sie in her wedding dress, giving him a secret gaze, as if to ask if it was all right before she pledged her final vows at the altar.

Then in the midst of the images, some he didn't recognize.