Dominion of the Damned (2 page)

He moved surprisingly fast, considering. It only took him a few minutes to cross the yard, but as Hannah watched it felt like forever. As he drew closer to the grave, she swallowed the bile in her throat and blinked away the tears. She raised the gun, and fired.

She let the tears come as she dragged her father into the grave. He landed on top of her mother, and Hannah tried to take some small comfort in the fact that at least they were together as she shoveled dirt on top of them. She only filled the grave in part way before realizing that the gunshot had attracted more of them. They were filing into the yard from the front and crossing the field that adjoined the back yard.

Hannah didn’t waste any ammo on them. They were still too far away to be an immediate threat or provide an obstacle between her and the shelter. She wanted to shoot them, to destroy them all for interrupting this moment, for not allowing her to finish burying her dead. But that would only bring more of them.

As she headed back to the shelter, Hannah tried to take solace in knowing that she’d given her parents peace.

TWO

The lights were on in the house.

Hannah’s mind raced as she climbed up out of the hatch. It had been 30 days since the last time she’d emerged to check the lay of the land and try to raise someone on her dad’s ham radio. Did she leave the lights on after her last trip to the house?

A shadow passed behind the kitchen window. Somebody was in there.

She debated what to do next. If the house was infested, she might still be able to make it to the the truck to try the CB radio. It would be safer to go back inside and wait, but for how long? What if those things never left? What if help was out there, but she missed her shot at it?

What if whoever was in the house was alive? What if they could help her?

She checked the magazine on the .45 she carried to reassure herself that it was fully loaded, and slid a bullet into the chamber. She had another pistol tucked in the back of her waistband, and an automatic hunting rifle slung over her shoulder. If there was one thing her dad had stocked no shortage of, it was defensive weapons and ammo. If they could eat bullets, she and Noah could live down there indefinitely.

But since they couldn’t, she had to risk venturing out once in a while. Not that they’d run out of food any time soon—there was enough for a family of four to live on for at least six months, including an ample supply of baby food and formula. Hannah figured she could make it stretch more than a year if she had to. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to. That’s why she made the trip to the house once a month, to see if civilization had started to find its footing once again.

So far, every trip had resulted in nothing but radio static and target practice.

Maybe this time it would be different.

She lifted back the flap of the sheet she used for a makeshift baby sling. Noah was snuggled up against her side, sound asleep. That baby could sleep through almost anything. She envied him that talent, but was glad that he had it. It kept him quiet. Every time she left the shelter, she debated whether she should take him with her, but visions of him being left alone if anything happened to her, helpless and starving, always convinced her to take him.

Quietly, she closed the hatch. She held the .45 ready as she crept forward, choosing her steps carefully. The bodies that had littered the yard were gone. Had someone removed them? Or did they get up and leave on their own? She gave a wide berth to the spot where she’d dug her parents’ grave, partly to avoid falling into it, but mostly because she didn’t want to see if any part of them was still exposed.

At the back of the yard, Hannah waded through grass that had grown waist-high, but as she got closer to the house she found that it had been recently mowed. She headed toward the east side of the house and the gate that led into the front yard. She stepped softly, careful to make no sound.

She picked up speed as she crossed the middle of the yard, hurrying to get into the shadows cast by the wooden privacy fence that ran along the property line. She was almost there when a bright light snapped on, temporarily blinding her and leaving her completely exposed.

The back door swung open. Hannah pointed her pistol in that general direction and squinted into the light. The shape of a man stepped out and asked, “Who’s there?”

He was back lit by the flood light, and Hannah couldn’t make out his face. She could make out the silhouette of another shotgun in his hands, though, so she lowered her gun and called out, “Don’t shoot!”

“Who are you?” he asked. He sounded like an older man, probably around the same age as Hannah’s father. He kept the shotgun trained on her.

“I live here,” she said. “This is my house. Who are you?”

He pointed his shotgun away from her, but he didn’t completely lower it. “Your house? If that’s so, where the hell’ve you been all this time?”

“Hiding.” She didn’t mention the shelter. They had obviously missed the concealed hatch when they cleaned up the yard. If things went to hell again, she didn’t know how she felt about having to share it with this guy.

He lowered his gun and gestured toward the door. “Well, come on in. All this standing around and talking’s liable to raise the dead.”

Hannah hurried inside. She paused to look around the kitchen, which looked pretty much as they’d left it. A wave of grief and nostalgia washed over her as she remembered the last time they’d all gathered there around the kitchen table, laughing and playing Pictionary and having no clue what the next morning would bring. Her throat tightened, and she coughed to clear it as a woman came into the kitchen.

“Albert, who’s this?” she asked sweetly. She was a thin woman, about fifty, with gray-streaked brown hair done up in a loose French roll. She wore a pair of dark glasses. At Hannah′s questioning look, she waved a hand. “I just put in eye drops. The light hurts my eyes.”

“Um,” said Hannah. “I’m Hannah.” She turned to get her first good look at Albert as he stepped inside and locked the door behind him. She’d been right about him being older; he looked like he had about ten years on her father. He, too, was slim, but wiry and strong. He avoided looking directly at her as he moved past her toward the woman. “Says she lives here,” he said. “Says she’s been hiding out all this time.”

“Good gracious,” said the woman. “Where on earth were you hiding, child?”

“Around,” said Hannah, still wary about mentioning the shelter. “My dad was a survivalist. He taught me a few tricks.”

“Well, how about that, Albert?” She approached Hannah and held out a hand. “I’m Marie. You already met the old coot I’m married to.”

Hannah studied Marie’s hand before reaching out to shake it. “What are you folks doing here?”

“We thought it was abandoned,” said Marie. “We’ve been here just short of a month. You seem a little young to own a house. Are your parents hiding out around here, too?”

Hannah went still. “No.”

Noah picked that moment to wake up and start squirming and fussing. “Oh, Albert, look! A baby!” Marie leaned over to peel back the sheet and have a look. “Hi there! Look at you! Oh, you’re so scrumptious I could just eat you up!”

“Marie!” Albert barked. “Let the girl get her bearings.” As Marie pulled away, he propped his shotgun by the back door and asked, “What made you come out of hiding?”

“The radio,” Hannah said as she lifted Noah out of the sling and snuggled him. Marie stood there gazing at him, her hands clasped in front of her chin almost as in prayer, and grinning from ear to ear. “The ham radio, I mean. I’ve been coming here once a month to see if I could raise anybody who could give me some news. Is it still here?”

Albert grunted. “’Fraid a power surge fried the circuits. I stripped that thing for parts.”

Hannah bit back a surge of anger. He didn’t know any better, she told herself, and wondered if the CB in the truck still worked. Or had they dismantled the truck, too?

“We can tell you the news, though,” said Marie. “This area’s been cleaned out. It’s a safe zone. All those poor plague victims have been gathered up and burned, and the ones still walking around have been put down.” She smiled and held out her hands, clearly expecting them to be filled with baby. “May I?”

Hannah was reluctant. She thought she’d be nothing but overjoyed to see living people after so long, but she couldn’t shake a feeling of wariness that kept gnawing at her gut. Still, Marie hadn’t been anything but nice so far, and Hannah didn’t want to be rude. “Sure,” she said, handing the baby over. “How did you guys end up here?”

“Government initiative,” said Albert. “They’ve started repopulating the safe zones, dividing up abandoned homes among the displaced.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a wallet. “There’s a number to call if any unaccounted for survivors turn up.” He started digging in his wallet. “I’ve got it here somewhere.”

“I already called them,” said Marie as she snuggled the baby. “They’re sending somebody out to pick you up.” Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. “Oh, I just love the way babies smell.”

“We haven’t cleared out all of the bedrooms yet,” said Albert. “Your things might still be up there, if you’d like to take anything with you to the processing center.”

Hannah’s eyes drifted to the ceiling. Nice or not, the thought of these people up there pawing through her bedroom, through her parent’s bedroom, made her ill. The edge in her voice was sharper than she’d intended as she said, “Thanks. I’ll go check it out.”

“We’ll watch the baby while you do,” said Marie.

Hannah hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s never been separated from me. He’d probably get scared and start to fuss.” As if to back her up, Noah started to cry and look around for Hannah. “I’m right here, Boo,” she told him as she took him from Marie. “He’ll settle down in a minute or two,” she said as she headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

The nursery looked the way her mother had left it, except that Albert and Marie had used it to store some of her parent’s things. All of her mother’s hard work, the antique crib she’d painted and the decor she’d carefully chosen, had been totally disregarded, and framed family photos and other belongings casually gotten out of the way. Just like they were getting her out of the way. As nice as they seemed, Hannah had to wonder what kind of people wouldn’t so much as bat an eyelash about taking over someone else’s home and turning out its rightful inhabitants. She realized that this was an extreme situation, and everyone was just doing their best to survive. But there hadn’t even been a hint of guilt or shame as they made it clear that she and Noah no longer belonged here.

The baby monitor still sat on the changing table next to the crib. The rechargeable transmitter was nestled in the charger base, and the receiver sat next to it. Hannah removed the transmitter from the base and turned it on. She set Noah down in the crib—
his
crib—and stepped back into the hall. Quietly, she edged toward the top of the stairs. Albert and Maria’s voices sounded muffled and distant, like they had gone into the kitchen and closed the door. She slipped her shoes off and set them by the bedroom door, and then tiptoed down the stairs, careful to avoid the steps that creaked. She never thought she’d be so grateful for all of the times she’d had to sneak into the house after curfew as a teenager.

She placed the transmitter at the foot of the stairs, tucked out of site beneath the banister. Any guilt she might have felt about spying on her unwanted guests was swallowed up by anger. Who the hell were these people, and how did they not feel just awful about stealing her home?

Back in the nursery, she found the receiver and turned it on. Their voices were still muffled, and even harder to hear over Noah’s crying. “Shh,” she soothed as she took him out of the crib. “Look, Boo! This is your room! Your mommy and daddy put this all together for you.” She sighed. “Maybe we can talk these people into giving it back.” She glared at the monitor and considered the weapons she still wore. “Or maybe Sissy could just take it back.”

Noah’s crying abated to the occasional whimper. Carrying both him and the monitor, Hannah slipped back out of the nursery and went to the door of her room. She paused with her hand on the knob, afraid of what she’d find when she opened the door. Bracing herself, she turned the knob and pushed, then blew out the breath she’d been holding. This room remained untouched. It was exactly as she’d left it all those months ago, right down to her unmade bed and her discarded pajamas lying on the floor by the closet.

Hannah patted the baby’s back as she crossed to the window and looked out at the street. Lights were on in the Gifford house across the street, and in a few other houses as well. Apparently Albert and Marie weren’t the only squatters in the abandoned neighborhood. Her dad’s truck still sat parked in the driveway. Everything looked normal, as though nothing bad had ever happened here.

She went to the bed and sat down, settling Noah in her lap. She felt numb as she looked around the room. Her entire life, this had been her room. Even after going to college, her parents had kept it for her, and her bed had always felt welcoming whenever she came home to visit. She set the monitor on the nightstand and lay down. Curling up with her brother, she pulled the covers over them both, and closed her eyes, and prayed to wake up. For a few sweet moments, she allowed herself the luxury of pretending that this had all been a bad dream, that she would open her eyes again and find that her dad had never shaken her awake, that she’d never gotten out of bed, that her world didn’t end.