Infected Freaks Volume One: Family First (4 page)

“Are you going to be safe up here?” Hunter glanced around while asking as if he were checking the walls for climbers.

“I’ll be safe enough. It’s you two who are heading back down. But I think they are drawn out into the crimson night—it feeds them, or comforts them… Shit, I don’t know, but they seem to need it. So the bottom level should be mostly empty until dawn. Except the ones that followed us.”

“But…” started Hunter.

“Go now, and be quick about it,” Abraham interrupted, giving his concept more thought. He slid down flat on his back and stared up at the rotten wood of the water wheel outside of the window. “Wait! The water wheel—can we climb down it?”

Sam was closest and moved her head up and down. “I think it’s possible.”

“Good, now use that shit in your survival pack to set that fire and get your butts back up here.” There was a time when Abraham had believed old things held beauty. Yet in this agonizing moment, he wished everything would be torn down and made anew. In a haze, he listened to the teens make their way back down the creaking ladder. It killed him sending his grandson toward danger, but his damaged heart didn’t give him any other options.
I believe in you,
Abraham thought, scooting closer to the tower ledge.

Hunter Heinz scanned the endless shadows of the abandoned mill. A narrow gangway caked in purple mushrooms connected to an adjoining building on the second level. Could it be a way out? It threatened to bloom in the same alien fungus. To Hunter the puffs lining the gangway looked like wet peaches that breathed. He didn’t think it was any safer in that direction. The timber construct of the mill was moist and thriving in damp mold. He needed something dry to start a fire. A string of bruised mushrooms grew out of the grated floor and appeared to glow red in the dark. Every time Hunter left the farm, his grandpa was quick to remind him to take his survival bag. This time he was glad he listened. He pulled out his lighter and rolled the top, striking a flame. The wet mushrooms quivered and the boy could have sworn they hissed. Had Hunter know the hissing came from below, he would have never produced such a light in this dark place.

Then and there an ear-bleeding buzz erupted. Hunter dropped the lighter and clamped his hands over his ears and cowered, unable to think or move. Sam was next to him, trembling. Her dark eyes swept about the gloom as if whatever made the noise was near. After a few fast breaths, the energetic sound stopped as did the small quake it produced.

Oh, my God,
Hunter thought, peering over the broken ledge. He positioned his rifle as if it were an assault rifle, scanning the first floor below. Whatever had made that squeal must have been gigantic.

“It came from below,” he suggested to Sam.

Sam stayed tight to his back, giving Hunter butterflies. He bent over and snatched up the lighter as his boots clapped against the damp surface with each step. Hunter wanted to show his grandfather he could pull his own weight. He felt bad for all of the rude comments he made, but then again, he was only a teenager living in this nasty world.

“The mushrooms are a part of the infection, don’t you think?” he heard Sam ask.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back to her. One of the nearby pillars on the second level balcony was tangled in a devilish vine that produced a nasty-looking flower with teeth. The thing seemed to glow in the dark. Hunter wanted to test the theory despite his gut feeling. His lighter struck a flame and graced the center of the flower. The bud recoiled and shut its mouth. It hissed as if it were in pain. Hunter’s scrunched face told of a deep fear. He killed the glimmer of light fast and waited for the screeching to subside. Broken steps staggered below and dared him to strike a light again. The infected were searching for a way up.

As Hunter’s courage built back up, a quaking buzz stole his breath. It was louder than before, and high in the vaulted ceiling, a small amount of dirt rained down upon his head. All he could think about was taking a shower. The short distance to the stairs leading back to the first floor left his skin prickled in bumps. Below, he heard the shuffle of evil steps echoing across the shrill landscape in haste. Carefully, he took aim.

“A gang of them down there,” he mouthed back to Sam. His eagle eyes could make out a dozen shapes. By the way the things moved, he could tell they saw the flicker of light earlier.

Sam remained silent and pointed. One of the infected freaks looked like something he had never seen. Most of the infected corpses were regular human carcasses rotted in ambiguous fungus. Yet, this one was different; its flowered head had switched places with its right shoulder. Its leather flesh was bloated ten times its normal size and its hands were replaced with some sort of moldy cord of vines. He forced a second glance at the twelve foot monster stalking the open levels of the first floor. The colossal diseased corpse was too big to fit under the balcony, and now paced in front of a fortress of hay.

It was more than enough to burn the mill to the ground.

“Don’t you dare think about it,” Sam said. “We can start the fire from up here.”

“This mold is damp. Hopefully some of that hay is dry.” He stood alert, his rifle sight following his cunning eyes. “Besides, I think you’re right. The fungus is alive, and it feels the fire.” Excruciating pressure flourished in his swirling thoughts with a rush of throbbing adrenaline.

“I’ve never killed one before,” she admitted. She grabbed a fistful of his jean jacket and stared into his hazel eyes. “I need you to keep me safe.” Her trembling hands fumbled forward against his strong heartbeat.

“Don’t worry. You stay up here where it’s safe. I need to go down there and start the fire,” he said. “Remember, they’re not like us.” He held out an empty brown bottle and turned his gaze downward toward the beast with contorted limbs and deep-rooted toadstools. “If they back me into a corner, use this to draw them away. We only get one chance.”

She took the old beer bottle from him.

Hunter was fueled by the will to impress his grandfather. He had lasted this long. Of course Abraham had kept him alive for the most part. Nevertheless, now he had a chance to shine. He bit his lower lip, on the edge of courage in his awareness.

“Be safe.” She kissed him on the cheek and hurried back toward the center rail of the balcony for a better view.

God, help us,
Hunter thought, plugging his nose. He glided down the stairs as soft as a cat. His vision had adjusted to the dark as he stepped to the first floor. His heart pounded loud in his ears. A gang of the infected stumbled around the mill arranged more like an abandoned maze. He slipped to the right, then stood tall against one of the seedy support beams. He couldn’t see them all, but the big one sounded like a rabid dog. Congested buzzing through its branched nose and nasty groans left it sucking in air and spreading foul spores. Rows of warped wood herded the infected in various directions. For several seconds, with muscles tight, sweat steaming off his skin, Hunter climbed through and over a series of wooden fences. The lumber dripped with a slimy yellow fungus the boy was careful to avoid.

Looking up, he saw Sam watching him from the balcony. This gave him courage as he weaved through the obstacles, avoiding the infected at every turn. Hunter felt smart and adept. Then, he heard something drop from the balcony. It smashed hard into the ground level, alerting the monsters in the mill.
At least it was on the other end.

The infected staggered about, almost smelling their air with their blooming, clustered faces of living mold. Hunter crouched into a small void under a warped cubby and waited. The withered feet of one of the creatures stomped in front of the space. There was nowhere to run. If he fired the rifle, the creature would die, but its friends would be on him faster than flies on dung.

A second pair of rotten feet still wearing a pair of blood-soaked basketball shoes joined the first. The buzzing sound sliced through his brain like a piercing wail of evil. His sweaty hands tightened around the rifle as the cracking joints of their knees bent down. It was too late. They must have sensed him.

Out of the blue, a second crash burst in the other direction. The two infected stood erect and darted toward the sound clinking and buzzing in waves. He tore out from under his hiding spot, ready to finish the mission. Yet, before he was out, he felt the presence of another infected. He fell back and avoided the creature marching toward the sound, its budding face spilling offensive spores in haste. A nasty wound on its left thigh was knotted in rotten lumps of cool puss and bright-colored flesh. Had the boy been hydrated, he might have pissed his pants. Nonetheless, after his nerves settled, he stepped out, this time more concerned with his surroundings.

Ten yards ahead sat the dead, grass-colored fortress of hay. Already moving, he darted through the bend and slid under a broken piece of metal serving as a divider. He froze near a water trot and realized the big, nasty one stood guard near the bundles of hay. His eyes drifted up and searched for Sam, but there was no sign of the southern girl. He needed her to lure the beast away.
She already used the bottle.
At that moment, the big, nasty infected creature, clear as day, erupted in a buzzing sound that brought down a section of the second floor balcony.

Sam
! He listened for any moans from the girl. The cry of the freak was followed by the immense creature stomping forward in a manic rage. The shock had almost immobilized Hunter. Once it passed, he crawled forward and climbed up the bundles of hay. He reached into his pocket and prayed his hands would be steady enough to light the fire. He had no idea how he was going to get back to the stairs.

The heavy-rooted feet of the massive creature stumbled around, and its foul, infected face parted like the red sea as a cord of vines danced back and forth. The powerful new sound stole Hunter’s breath. He was sure the monster could smell him.
I’m fucked.

Trapped between the hay and an infected freak towering over twelve feet, Hunter had no hope. He wedged his frame between rolls of hay and the back wall, hoping to remain undiscovered. Hunter imagined the monster’s hot breath as its slow, approaching steps shook the ground. The thing reeked of decomposing excrement. Hunter squeezed his rifle and prayed. It was all he could do.

***

The abysmal creature’s feeler arms stretched against the front of the pyramid of hay, searching for the boy. The terrible odor resonating from the foul thing worked to disorient the boy.

Eyes fixed in horror, Abraham had the fright of a father watching his child get run over in the street. As he sucked in a quick breath, ready to burst, he touched Sam’s shoulder and covered her mouth. He didn’t want her to scream. He knew she would react poorly, and worked hard to twist her back, so she could see his face.

The fright in her eyes caused his hand to slip off her quivering mouth.

“Get to the third level,” Abraham whispered, his dry lips pulling back from her ear. She squirmed back and darted for the ladder to the third level. A nauseating stab churned his stomach as he was forced to imagine the terrible things Rictor must have done to her.
Hunter
, he reminded himself turning back toward the broken rail overlooking the first floor.

For Abraham, it was far worse knowing he would have to do something stupid to save his grandson. He could only hope and pray he was faster than the monster and its lesser brethren. At his age, the odds weren’t in his favor. He leveled his pistol at the rotten head of the thing; it was the size of a large truck.
It’s not enough,
he thought, spotting a half empty whiskey bottle near the second-level ledge. He crossed the grate, and suppressed his fears. His hand turned counterclockwise and the liquor splashed down upon the head of the anomaly. He longed for the harsh drink to be pouring down his throat.

The giant freak screamed, causing a momentary brain mismatch: anger, terror, and everything in an eternal nightmare too loud, too piercing. Abraham jolted back like a frightened child, dropping the bottle. Yet, he wasn’t a child; he was an old man. The buzzing continued it was the sound of demonic steel knifing into every frequency ever known. He reached into his survival pack and produced a homemade Molotov cocktail. He readied the weapon quick as he could. The flint of his lighter exploded in color, giving away his position. The rag lit and the glass left his hand in the blink of an eye. It exploded when it shattered upon the bloated frame of the immense infected freak. The flames spread out, shocking the rest of the infected scurrying about in a dark rage.

Fighting the sudden light, Abraham hurried toward an old pulley tangled with a hook. He twisted its crane-like frame, and prayed the twine wasn’t frayed. The hook swung down low, smashing the infected giant across its boiled face, and continued toward the stack of hay.

“Hunter, get your ass up here,” he snapped. The blister of flames devouring the lower levels spread about quick and wild. The thick smoke made it hard to breathe. “Hunter, move! Now!”

A second later, the teenage boy climbed to the top of the pyramid of hay and jumped into the hook.  Abraham heaved with all his might, and thanks to the boy running up the backside of the wall, he managed to heave him over the balcony rail.

Below, the flames stunned the infected. Abraham yanked Hunter to his feet and moved through the darkness. The boy was dumbfounded. Abraham found himself dragging Hunter back to the ladder leading up to the third level. Hunter stared at him as if he could not comprehend what had happened. Abraham reached out and slapped his grandson. He was out of options. It worked as Hunter erupted in a rapid cough caused by the building smoke. Abraham knew it was the boy’s asthma.

“Only a little farther,” Abraham grunted, trying to settle down.

A band of sweltering infected scrambled up to the second floor, zoning in on the boy’s uncontrollable cough. Some of them were human torches. In a matter of seconds, they were nearly on him. Hunter tried to level his rifle, but the monsters came too fast.

Abraham drew his pistol and fired, recounting the people he had killed over his lifetime. “Climb, you stupid boy!” he shouted as he emptied the magazine. The first wave was dead. However, the burning bodies ignited part of the second floor.

Hunter gripped the ladder and scaled it though the harsh coughing continued. Abraham emptied a second magazine, then pushed the boy the rest of the way up using the side of his sweat-filled, flush face. Below, he heard the infected scratching, howling, and struggling to climb at the base of the ladder. The flames were trapping them in the mill.