Читать книгу Respect the Dead - Shawn McLain - Страница 9

The woods were normally full of sound. Birds chirping, the leaves rustling with animals scurrying about. Today it was silent. All the animals could sense there was something there that shouldn’t be. Something very, very, wrong. The group that was wandering through the forest definitely did not belong there.

Several were covered in dried mud and blood. Some in nightclothes, others in clothes that were torn and filthy, one wore nothing at all. Then there were the ones with just a grey pallor and no sign of injuries. They might have just wandered into the woods for a walk and met up with these other folks. The group was mixed with young and old, black and white all searching for the same thing, all lumbering at the same plodding pace.

Reaching the edge of the woods the group paused momentarily, blinded for a second by the bright morning sun in clouded milky eyes. They moaned. The ones in the back pushing the ones in the front forward. The group began to cross the open ground.

Confusion crossed the disfigured faces of the leaders as barbed wire cut into their waists stopping their progress. Further and further it pressed through as more ghouls pressed from behind. The wooden posts snapped and protested against the growing weight. The top half of a woman parted company with her legs. Free from the fence she began to crawl ahead of the others. The posts snapped, several bodies fell when the resistance disappeared, pulling the rest of the fence down with them. The ones behind did not notice the ones they stepped on and over on their way to the farm house.

The horse in the paddock whinnied and stamped the ground. The group was crossing a field of harvested corn. Stumbling through the uneven rows. Near the back of the group one was struggling to move forward. A section of fence drug along behind it. The barbed wire caught in the thing's large midsection. Even further behind the half woman crawled along leaving a trail of gore and innards back to its trampled and broken legs. Where the fence once stood lay a body that did not stir. As they approached the pen the horse became more panicked, the wind bringing with it the unmistakable reek of death. The trapped animal bucked and neighed, banging on the fence and gate.

Jim rubbed his weary eyes as he walked to the window. The horse was making a terrible racket. He worried it would wake the boys. He and his wife had spent a sleepless night with their two sons who had come down with the terrible flu. They were sure it was the one that they were hearing about on the news. The high fever and stomach cramps had kept the boys in terrible pain all night. No matter what they tried the boys found no relief or comfort. Finally near dawn the older boy fell into a restless sleep followed by his brother.

Both were drenched in sweat, Jim’s wife kept replacing the damp cloths on their foreheads with cool ones. Jim had taken an early morning shift so she could get some rest. She was back now at the boy’s side.

“Jim we’re going to have to take them to the hospital if this fever doesn’t break soon.” She whispered. Jim cringed but nodded. Money was very tight and their insurance was not very good, but this was his boys.

His mind filled with worry for his sons. He was at the door without realizing it. "How are we going to pay for a hospital stay?" He thought turning the knob. Stepping out into the sunlight his thoughts swirled. If his attention wasn’t so distracted he may have noticed how wrong things were outside his door. Pulling on his hat to shield his tired eyes from the bright sun he kept his eyes down as he headed to the paddock. Reaching the fence he called to his frantic horse.

“You need to be quiet. We just got the boys to sleep.” He scolded while walking over to the gate. The animal stamped impatiently on the ground. As soon as the gate was unlatched the horse reared. Jim was thrown back as the horse burst through running as is if the devil were chasing him.

"Not what I need now damn it." Jim swore pulling himself to his feet with the aid of the fence. "Great, not only do I have the boys to worry about now I have horse to find." He grumbled Halfway through a swipe at his pants Jim caught a glimpse of the oncoming crowd. They were three quarters of the way across the field, somewhere between twenty or thirty people.

They must, must have been in a bus crash or something. They had to be something other than what he swore they couldn’t be. Terror fought with disbelief rooting him to the ground until the scream from the house pulled him back to reality. His wife burst through the back door as he ran to it. She was bleeding from her arms and hands.

“The boys the boys” was all her panic would let he scream. Behind her Jim could see his boys clawing at the screen door, blood covering their mouths and teeth. Seeing the oncoming horde she let out another scream. Jim pulled her along to the truck parked beside the house. Frantically he grabbed at his pockets,"keys! Where were the keys?" He shouted. A memory flashed through his mind. He tossed the truck keys onto the table when he brought home the cold medicine. His wife screamed again as a blonde spiky haired kid with the torn shirt and face appeared at the back of the truck. Jim turned pulling his wife toward the barn. The sight of his oldest boy halted their movements. He was on his mother before Jim could even react. The blonde boy was now ripping into her neck as his son bit into her leg.

Jim ran to the barn, the screams of his wife chasing him. Skidding to a halt, his way was blocked by three of them. Turning he ran to the house, his footsteps thundered on the wooden porch, the front door slammed behind him. Jim clicked the lock, pushed the large chest by the window in front of the door. He spun on the spot, windows, too many windows. The noise was too loud, the back door! Jim ran to the back of the house, the back screen door stood torn and open. Several undead approached. Jim slid across the bloody kitchen floor, crying out he slammed the door shut in the faces of the ghouls.

Gasping for breath, his blood pounded in his ears. He never heard the soft footfalls of his youngest son. The pain ripped through his upper thigh, blood flowed heavy from the wound. Jim threw the child from him. Limping he grabbed the keys from the table. He was at the front door, the chest was moved, the door opened. He could hear his son behind him, they were in front of him, beside him. Black tunnels obscured his vision he was cold, dizzy, he was on his back. Horrid faces staring down, hands began to grab at him. He could feel the tugs, the pain was far away.

The ranks of the group were now swelled by four as the man, his wife, and two children, bloody and torn wandered down the road toward the town.