They pursued me to the cabin steps. I quickly ascended to the top of the stairs. I looked down at those who had once been my neighbors.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and having no other choice, I let the blade sing. Mrs. Fletcher was closest to me. Taking a couple of steps back, I made a running jump. I cleared the stairs, slicing off the top of her head as I passed. I turned as I landed. My cut had been a good one. Her erect body stumbled in a circle then fell. Mr. Fletcher let out a strange howl and then lunged. With an under-hand to over-hand spin, the shashka twirled through the air; I sliced his head in half. He fell instantly. They both lay on the ground, jerking spastically. After a few moments, they fell still.
“Grandma!” I screamed. “Grandma!” I ran into the house, weapon in hand, but she was nowhere to be seen. My mind half bent on Ian and the other half worrying about my grandmother, I headed to the barn and the guns. I grabbed the weapons, sliding the shashka back into the scabbard and stuffing the Glock into a holster. I strapped the Colt around my shoulder and took the safety off the Magnum, holstering it as well. I grabbed three grenades and stuck them into my vest pockets. I headed out of the barn. As I turned the corner, I found myself face-to-face with what had once been my grandma. Her face was as pale as the moon; her eyes were an occluded mix of pearl white and veiny red. White froth dripped from her mouth.
I heard my grandmother’s voice inside my head: Kill me.
I raised the Magnum. Just as my grandma lunged at me, I shot her between the eyes. She fell with a thud.
You see, my darling, kill-shot, I heard her say, and then I heard her no more.
Her body twisted once and then fell into a peaceful slumber. I dropped to my knees beside her. Every fiber of my being wanted to pick her up and hold her. But then I remembered, the man from the CDC had said to avoid physical contact. I saw she had terrible bite marks on her hands.
“I love you,” I whispered and then rose, wiping tears from my eyes. I went to the tack room at the side of the barn and opened the door. There I found a Yamaha dirt bike, another of Grandma’s recent purchases. I jumped on. It started with a kick. Careful to close and lock the gate behind me, I gunned the engine and peeled down Fox Hollow Road.
Chapter 6
Fox Hollow Road emptied at the base of Morrigon Hill. I sped up Morrigon Hill, making a sharp right toward the elementary school. I drove across the playground. At its other end, I found myself perched at the top of Kelly Street which looked down toward the community center. There were 50 or more undead outside. The crush of them had nearly broken down the door. The only other exit, the door to the medical center, was also surrounded.
Help them. I breathed deeply—in, out—I turned the bike and gunned it.
Moments later I dropped down onto Main Street. Around me, five or six of the diseased were moving toward the community center. I pulled out the Glock. “Brain activity,” the man had said, “brain activity.” I raised the gun and fired directly toward the brain as the undead lunged at me. The first three shots were a hit. For the last two, I missed and missed again. Finally, I took down the woman. Just as he reached me, I managed to hit an over-sized man who I did not recognize until the last second as Mr. Lewis, the hardware store owner.
Distracted by the gun shots, some of the undead at the community center turned toward me.
“Please, please help me,” I whispered, not sure who I was praying to. I pulled out one of the grenades and gunned the bike again. I dodged a few of the undead who tried to grab me, getting in as close as I could to the community center and the mass of undead crowded there, then slowed the bike for a split second. Pull the pin. Toss. Hit the gas.
The bike tire squealed as I hit the gas hard, turning toward the baseball field across from the community center. Seconds later the grenade exploded. The bodies of the undead flew everywhere. The roof of the community center porch collapsed, trapping others.