Читать книгу Respect the Dead - Shawn McLain - Страница 23

Wes stood with his hand on the knob listening to the silence in the house interrupted by the noises coming from outside. Through the closed window seeped sirens and yelling. Whatever was happening was close. This didn’t bother him, the lack of coughing did. “Reg must have fallen asleep.” He tried to convince himself, but another little voice said, “so suddenly?” Shaking the thought, he opened the door.

“Reg? Reg? Reggie!” Wes could feel the panic in his mother’s voice.

Hurrying out of his room he flung himself down the short stairway then down the hall. His mother's screaming urged him faster into the living room. He was unprepared for what he saw as he skidded to a halt on the beige carpet of the living room. His mother was screaming but he found he could do nothing for her. The scene that met his eyes stole his breath and froze his limbs.

Reggie was on his feet, blood covered his face and his hands. He clung to Wes’s mother by her upper arms. Even from where he stood Wes could see the fingers starting to break the skin. Blood starting to run down her arms. She was struggling to free herself from his steel grasp. The wound on her neck was gushing blood, soaking the skin of her neck and shirt.

Wes could see she was fighting for her life. This was something she had done many times with his father, but never with Reg. She was hitting her husband with everything she had. She kicked him in the shins, stomped his feet, kneed him in the groin and clawed his eyes. Nothing seemed to affect him. Wes stared, frozen in terror and shaking with anger as he watched the scene.

“This couldn’t be happening.” His brain screamed, “Not again!” He ran at his stepfather screaming, “You promised! You promised never to hurt her! You promised! You bastard!” Wes flung himself onto the man hitting every part of him he could reach. Reg either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Finding his efforts had no effect Wes changed tactics. He began trying free his mother. He tried to break his Reg’s grip, but his stepfather’s fingers only dug in further. Wes pulled with all his might. His mother kept her hands on Reg’s chest to keep him away. She pushed the man she had loved as far from her as she could, his teeth chomped the air between them.

Helpless to free his mother Wes backed off scanning the room for anything he could use as a weapon. She cried out again. Wes abandoned his search backup up several steps and ran hurtling himself with all his might. He smashed into Reg just below the arm. Wes heard a crack but couldn’t tell if it was Reg or himself. Stumbling back, pain shooting through his shoulder Wes jumped on his stepfather. He pulled Reg's head back trying to snap the neck. Reg did not seem to even notice he was being attack. He just kept trying to bite the woman he had in his grasp.

Reg’s face was cold and covered in sweat. Wes’ hands slipped losing grip he fell to the floor. All he could do is watch wide eyed as Reg lurched forward biting in his mother's arm. Her scream pierced Wes’ heart. Reg began to crew on the lump of flesh he had just torn from the limb.

“MOM!” Hold on hold ON!” Panicking Wes ran from the room. In the hall he turned left then right then left again. “SHIT!” Flying up the stairs he slammed through the door to his room. Crashing into the wall his hand gripped the hilt of a sword he and Beth had bought one year at a Renaissance Festival. Bits of plaster fell to the floor as the metal hangers clanged across the room. He ripped the weapon free from the wall. Spinning on the spot he hurtled from the room back down the stairs three at a time. Bouncing off the walls he sprinted back down the hall. Skidding back into the living room he held the sword high over his head, screaming, “Leave her alone!”

The blade swooshed through the air. The weight of the steel pulled Wes off balance as the blade crashed through Reg's man’s back. Wes fell forward as Reg staggered releasing Wes’s mother.

Relief washed over him as he watched his mother leave Reg’s grip. A moment later terror replaced that feeling. Reg was slowly turning to face him. Scooting away from the thing that loomed over him, Wes looked up into a face he did not recognize. It wasn’t the face of the man Wes had come to know, the man he had come to love as a father. It was distorted, hungry, angry and covered in blood.

Wes knew in an instant, this wasn’t his stepfather; this was evil staring at him. It lunged at Wes with arms outstretched. Wes grabbed at the sword laying inches away. He raised the blade closing his eyes. He waited for the pain to come but it didn’t. Opening one eye slightly he saw the bloody fingers mere inches from his face, clawing at the air.

The sword was buried deep in Reg’s chest kept him from his prey. The hilt dug into Wes’ stomach. Reg swung his arms letting out a moan of confusion and anger. Wes mustered all his strength pushing Reg over. The man lay on his side looking down at the sword buried in his rib cage. It would have been comical had it been something other than real. Reg tried to roll one way then the other only to have the sword stop him in each direction.

Wes thought for a second that it was all over. He waited for the man to close his eyes like in the movies and die. That did not happen. As Wes watched the look of confusion left the face as he looked back at Wes, the hunger back in its eyes. Reg gave up on rolling, instead he pushed himself up to his knees then to his feet. He swayed, off balance by the heavy weapon still sticking out of his body. What had been his stepfather lunged forward again.

Wes stumbled backward falling over an armchair. His arms swung wildly while he fell. His hand found the hilt of the sword again. He instinctively grabbed it as he backed away pulling the sword free but pulling Reg closer with it. Blood oozed freely from the gaping wound. Reg didn’t notice the damage while continued after Wes.

Looking from the sword to the open wound in the man’s chest, Wes dropped the weapon. He scrambled to his feet running to his Mother’s bedroom. He knew where she kept the gun. The gun she bought to protect them from his real father. He slid into the nightstand on his mother’s side of the bed. He threw open the drawer pulling out the black semi automatic. Wes cursed the fact that his mother never kept it loaded. Thankfully there was a full clip right next to it.

Wes fumbled with the clip, “COME ON!” He shouted as it bounced between the sides of the opening. Finally he slammed home, chambered a round and clicked off the safety. It was just in time. The room suddenly darkened as Reg filled the door frame. “Stay away Reg, I mean it! Don’t you come any closer! I will kill you! Don’t make me shoot you!” Wes pleaded as he raised the gun with shaking arms.

What had once been a caring, kind man came at him. Bloody hands reached out for him. The creature’s teeth were bared. It groaned as it entered the room. Wes pulled the trigger, the bullet smashed into the man’s chest, he staggered back a step, but just like the sword it had no effect.

“Stop! Damn you, why won’t you stop?” Wes demanded. A second round slammed into the advancing thing’s torso. Again Reg stumbled back from the impact but didn’t stop. Wes adjusted his sights. He took the breath and exhaled as he squeezed the trigger. His Stepfather dropped to the floor. A small hole appeared between his eyes. Blood seeped onto the light blue carpet of his mother’s bedroom.

The gun still clutched in his hand. Wes blindly walked back to the living room. His mother lay slumped against the couch. Blood covered her shirt pooling on the carpet next to her body. Wes stood over his mother staring. He knew she was dead.

“This can’t be happening.” Was all he could think. “Dad was the one that was going to kill her, never Reggie, never.” He whispered as tears began to prickle in his eyes. He looked down at his mother and thought bitterly, “at least she didn’t have to know I was the one who killed Reg.”

Wes’ heart lept when he saw his mother twitch. He swiped the tears from his eyes and stared, “Mom? “ He took a step toward her, her eyes snapped open. Slowly she turned her head toward him staring.

“No. No way No! Mom! Not you!” He wept as she began to slowly push herself off the floor. “NO NO NO. Come on Mom not you!” Wes screamed backing away while keeping the gun aimed at her. “Stay away!” He cried.

The same look of hunger and anger contorted her face. Shaking, still pleading, he pulled the trigger; her shoulder exploded. Awkwardly she continued to push herself up. Gaining her feet finally she stumbled toward her son. Wes watched the muzzle flash. The wall behind his mother changed instantly from white to red and brain matter grey.

Tears streamed freely down his face. He watched his mother crumpled in front of the couch. Closing his eyes he sunk to the floor in the living room and cried until he was completely drained.

The light was fading when it hit him like a slap to the face. “I have to get out of here, get to somewhere safe….. I have to find Beth. We have to get out of town.” He told no one as he got up. He hurrying back to his mother’s bedroom. Stepping over Reg’s body he went to the bed. Throwing open the night stand, he pulled out the extra clip and a box of bullets. “God please don’t let Beth leave before I can get there.”

He stood with his back to the doorway. “They were zombies,” He told the gun. “Unfuckingbeleivable, zombies.” He turned looking at the body of the man who had taken care of him and his mother. The man that had loved him like a son and always been there for him was now dead at his hand. Grief crashed over him again bringing back tears he thought could not fall, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed to keep from collapsing. Finally regaining his composure he pulled the sheets from the bed. He covered Reginald Smith, the kindest man he had ever known.

He made his way back into the living room. He knelt down next to his mother. He couldn’t look at her face. He covered her with the comforter he pulled from the couch. “You were always cold, Mom, this should keep you warm.” He muttered wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Picking up the sword he grabbed a towel from the kitchen and cleaned the blade. He mounted the stairs slowly returning to his bedroom. He grabbed the scabbard for the sword from the back of the closet. He fashioned a way to attach it to his back with an old belt. “Real Conan like.” He told his reflection in the mirror. Looking closely he grabbed an old shirt scrubbing at the blood on his face. He rubbed until he was raw. Checking the reflection again he breathed a sigh noting his features were clean.

Next he found his backpack. Throwing out the school books he looked around his room for “important things”. Grabbing a couple of books and some pictures he threw them into the pack. Something caught his attention out the window. A neighbor’s house down the block was on fire. People were running in the streets while cars raced by. Thundering down the stairs he jogged into the kitchen looking around for a second. He thought about what he would need. He filled the backpack with as much canned food and bottled water as he could. Now with the heavy laden pack, sword on his back, the extra clip in his pocket and gun in hand he headed to the front door.

He never once looked back into the living room. As he turned the door knob he spoke. “I love you Mom. I love you Reggie. You were the best, I’m sorry. So sorry”, he paused to let one sob shake him. Wes pulled opened the door stepping out into utter chaos.