Riposte (The Redivivus Trilogy Book 2) (4 page)

Even though both men had a sense of what lay in store for them within the house, the scene proved far more grisly than either could have imagined. The beam of the flashlight illuminated a gruesome tableau in which at least two people appeared to have suffered immensely before their deaths. Dried blood covered everything and looked like black tar except for the subtle, dark crimson rim around the edges. A viscous, oily slime surrounded the corpse sprawled across the linoleum kitchen floor, as if all of the juice had been wrung out of the dead person’s tissues like a wet towel. The putrescent fluid made the floor extremely slick, and Reams prayed he would not fall as he gingerly crept through the room.

Ahead of him, Ethan stopped and motioned toward a door to the right. Based on John’s description of the layout of the house, he knew the garage should be through there. At the mouth of a long hallway on the left, Reams saw the remains of another person; though they were so badly mutilated he could not be certain it was only one. The area around the body looked like a run at a dog kennel, except that it was gore ground into flattened carpet instead of grass into dirt. Before he could ask Ethan’s opinion, the man opened the door leading to the garage and let out a low whistle.

Through the door was a spotless, black Hummer H2 SUT, complete with a lift kit and a sturdy roof rack. As it was clear the truck rarely left the garage, Ethan wondered why Mr. Taylor had bothered with the high-end off-road modifications. “Holy shit! Reams, check this out! The only thing better would be a Bradley!” the soldier said with unbridled excitement in his voice.

Reams walked up to the passenger side window and peered inside with ease, despite the truck’s impressive lift kit. “That is, if we had the keys,” Reams said as he stared at the empty ignition. He opened the door and searched through all the usual places one might hide keys in a parked vehicle but came up empty-handed. “Dammit! Did John say where we might find the keys to this thing?”

“No, he didn’t,” Ethan replied, feeling momentarily deflated until his light settled on two five-gallon gas cans resting on a nearby shelf. “Come on. Let’s head back into the house of horrors and find the keys. You check the kitchen, and I’ll head down the hallway toward the front door.”

When Reams reached the kitchen, he scanned the table and the counters but found no keys.
They could be buried under all this gore and no one would ever know.
For a moment, he imagined himself chiseling away at the dried blood and tissue like an archeologist looking for a fossil at a dig site. “Hell no! I’d rather walk to Atlanta,” Reams muttered.

A distinct thud came from the front of the house just as Reams was finishing his search. He paused, and was reassured when he heard nothing else. All of a sudden a much louder crash erupted from the same direction, and a chill shot up his spine as the image of the worn, gore-trampled carpet surrounding the second body flashed through his mind.

* * *

Ethan advanced through the hall that connected the rear of the house to the foyer. He assumed the most likely places to find the keys would be by the garage, in the kitchen, or by the front door. If not, he planned to check the bedroom next. While he knew it was a possibility, the last place he intended to look was in the pockets of the rotten meat piles they found in the house.
Please don’t let it come to that…

As the foyer came into view, the beam of his flashlight fell on a long narrow table against the wall just inside the front door. He saw various items scattered across its surface—junk mail, an unread newspaper, and a shallow wooden dish. Before he could get close enough to discern any more detail, a low
thump
resounded from somewhere down the hall behind him.

Startled, he spun around, training his pistol and flashlight on the emptiness of the hall. Since there were no doors leading off of the hallway, he assumed the sound echoed from another location entirely. Still, he had definitely heard something, and he moved cautiously to discover its source. Although he could not be certain, he did not think Reams caused the sound, as it seemed to originate from somewhere between their respective locations. The noise sounded far too close to have come from the back of the spacious home.

While he heard Reams moving in the kitchen moments before, all was quiet now, and Ethan assumed the big man was investigating the noise as well. Without warning, a thundering crash of splintering wood and flesh colliding erupted from above Ethan’s head. His gaze shot up reflexively, and the drywall showering down upon him filled his eyes, eliminating what little vision the darkness allowed him. Next, a searing pain shot through his head and down his spine as his mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

Reams rounded the corner and immediately came to a screeching halt, unable to wrap his mind around the chaotic scene before him. Beyond the swirl of dust dancing lazily in the beam of his flashlight, he saw far more arms and legs than he expected. Lying in a tangle of splintered wood and pink cotton candy insulation, Reams could make out at least three moaning and writhing forms. A thin veil of white drywall dust covered everything, making it appear as though someone was in the midst of a flour fight in the middle of a bake-off. As the figures struggled to disentangle themselves, their uncoordinated movements made it clear they were infected. Seeing Ethan’s bandana moving amongst the bodies, Reams feared the worst. He breathed a sigh of relief when the thing holding the bandana turned and he caught sight of a matted, rat’s nest of dirty blonde hair still tied up in a pink bow.

At once, a grisly scenario materialized in Reams’ mind. He realized the two corpses they found in the house were likely those of Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, and they had very likely been infected. Confused, fearing for their lives, and having nowhere else to go, the children must have sought refuge in the attic in an attempt to escape the wrath of the monsters their parents had become. Perhaps they had been cornered and had no means of fleeing the house—the attic the only viable safe harbor. Maybe they did not want to leave their parents, no matter what they had become. Regardless of the reason, it seemed that at least one of the children had been bitten before retreating to the attic.

Trapped in the attic’s dark confines, amidst the insulation, dusty Christmas decorations and useless, soon-to-be-forgotten family heirlooms, the three Taylor children huddled together; unaware that one among them was a veritable ticking time bomb. The thought of the three children having to witness the horror of their own parents transforming into savage monsters, and in turn, trying to inflict harm upon them made Reams’ stomach roil. That one of the kids soon joined their parents in the ranks of the infected only to attack the other two who were trapped with nowhere to run was beyond imagination. The three infected children had been imprisoned in the attic until the sound of Ethan moving through the house below led them to fall through the ceiling directly on top of him. As if to confirm his theory, he saw a single, motionless leg wearing a combat boot poking out from beneath the jumble of bodies and debris like the leg of the Wicked Witch of the West.

Horrorstruck, Reams watched Pink Ponytail break free and stumble out of the fray toward the place he assumed Ethan’s head would be. Without a second thought, he charged full-speed toward the infected trio, who looked far worse than most of the infected he had encountered. Their desiccated skin was pulled taut over their small, skeletal frames, making them appear almost mummified. Reams felt the heat coming from the attic above and wondered if that was the reason for their leathery appearance. Diving headlong, he threw a massive arm around each of the revs still entangled atop Ethan before his shoulder collided with Pink Ponytail’s legs, eliciting a sickening crunch as the frail extremities shattered under the force. Struggling to his feet, Reams hurled the two adolescent revs against the wall like shot put.

Seemingly unfazed by the decimation of its legs, Pink Ponytail crawled toward him on hands and elbows. Its mouth was twisted into a feral snarl that perfectly complimented its hissing growl. Reams sidestepped, easily avoiding its slow, reaching arms. Choking back a mournful sob, he brought the full weight of his boot down hard, directly on the pink ponytail. The thing that had once been a beautiful little girl shuddered once, and then went still. He stared straight ahead through watery eyes that might have been the result of pain, dust, or the heinous thing he had just been forced to do.

The sound of the other two revs moving behind him drew his attention back to the present. Knowing his soul was not capable of destroying two more infected children, Reams launched a front kick that struck the lead rev in the chest, and sent them both sprawling back onto the floor. Not wasting a moment, he surged forward and grabbed them by the back of their shirts. After tossing them into a nearby room, he closed the door to seal them in.

Brushing away bits of drywall and wood, Reams found Ethan’s arm and pulled the unmoving man out of the pile of debris. After confirming that Ethan was breathing and had a pulse, he rushed to the foyer to search for the Hummer’s keys. Much to his relief, he saw a set attached to a key ring adorned with a large letter
H
lying in a wooden bowl on the table. “Bingo!” Reams said, as he pocketed the keys and crept back to an unconscious Ethan. Although he had been out for a couple of minutes at most, the fact that he had not even stirred worried Reams considerably.
The quicker I get him back to John’s house the better!

Reams placed Ethan on the back seat and tossed the spare gas cans into the truck’s small bed. As he was on the clock and working alone, he wasted no time pulling the garage door’s emergency release before sliding it up with one hand. Remembering the close call at John’s house, he kept the FN pistol trained on the road outside. The morning sun was up, and he squinted against the brightness filtering in through the door. Fortunately, he saw only a single rev standing in the road near the foot of the driveway.

Reams climbed into the large truck and shook his head, as even in the oversized vehicle, his legs felt cramped. He turned the key, and let out the breath he had been holding when the engine sparked to life. Throwing the transmission into reverse, he sped down the driveway without attempting to miss the rev gawking at the rapidly approaching taillights.
Thunk.
Shifting into drive, he sped toward John’s house, glancing in the rearview to see the rev slowly climbing back to its feet as though it had simply tripped while on a leisurely stroll.
What is it that makes those damned things so oblivious to nearly everything, including pain?

A dark thought flashed through Reams’ mind.
What if the infection doesn’t actually change us as much as we think? What if it simply removes our restraints, unleashing the unadulterated, carnivorous id dwelling inside us all? What if the person that guy was is still in there, capable of feeling and experiencing, but entirely incapable of reacting?
Reams refused to believe that was the case; the possibility was far too horrifying to imagine.

4

October 22, 2015

Marengo County, AL

The frenzied horde crowded around the base of the low sandstone cliff like sharks circling in chum-filled waters, eager for the prey they sensed nearby. Although their quarry was not in view, the horde had pursued it to this point, and somehow knew it was still close. Arms extending skyward, they scrabbled and clawed at the crag before them as through their cumulative efforts they might somehow succeed in tearing it apart. Were they capable of such things, they would have described the feeling as maddening, like an itch just millimeters beyond the reach of an outstretched finger. As it was, they knew nothing of madness or itching or any other human sentiment; they knew only an insatiable need to pursue and devour the uninfected.

Their quarry, though young, had grown skillful in avoiding and out-maneuvering the infected that had become the predominant inhabitants of the new world, as well as the current reigning kings of the food chain. The prey cowering atop the low cliff had known a group of bad ones was in pursuit, so it was the pack of nearly ten infected approaching from the left that forced a change in course as they converged to join ranks with their pestilential brothers. Not knowing what they really were, the prey referred to the infected as the
bad ones
, as that described them about perfectly.

Up to that point, the prey had moved stealthily amongst the shadows, diligently seeking the essentials of survival while evading the relentless pursuers. Now, crouched amidst the scattered boulders atop the sandstone bluff, the frightened but resolute prey gazed into the distance through tear-filled eyes. The place looming several hundred yards away called to mind the horrors of the first day, and the heinous things that occurred. With a heart full of despair, the prey stifled a sob.

As if by premonition, the prey suddenly looked out beyond the snarling abominations hell-bent on scaling the rock face, and focused on a point farther in the distance. Dubious eyes blinked repeatedly as disbelief etched lines across the prey’s face. Having been more or less alone since the start of the loathsome plague nearly a month ago, loneliness and isolation had certainly exacted its mental toll.
It can’t be…how is that possible?
While her brain shouted to her that it was
not
possible, that the mirage
before her eyes was merely a cruel trick of the mind, her heart screamed an altogether different opinion. Heedless of the monsters lurking below, Ava Wild leapt to her feet as she stared at the lone figure silhouetted against the distant horizon. She knew without a doubt that the man standing a few hundred yards away was her father.

Her time spent surviving alone in the outside world left her barely recognizable in comparison to the cute, well-groomed eleven-year old girl she had been a month ago. To the uninfected, she likely appeared to be a sapling or other such element of the natural world—camouflaged by the dirt and grime that sullied her once pristine form. To the infected, she looked like a dinner for two. Inside, she screamed with a frustration greater than any she had experienced before.
It isn’t fair! He’s so close I could almost yell to him and still an impossible distance separates us!
With the mass of infected congregated below, Ava knew that calling to her father was tantamount to death.

Unfortunately, her sudden appearance atop the cliff did not go unnoticed by the waiting monsters that snarled and gnashed their teeth in excitement at the visual confirmation of their quarry. With a sharp inhalation, she dropped behind the cover of the rocks, cursing herself for her careless mistake.
You haven’t made it this far by being such an idiot! What were you thinking?

Despite the fact she was only eleven years old, Ava had always been worldly for her age; the hard times since the outbreak and the collapse of society only strengthened that quality. Now, as she huddled behind the boulders, she prayed the infected below would just forget about her, though she knew that would never happen. She wondered if her father had been to their house at 1406 Hood St. and shuddered at the thought of what he found if he had.

* * *

Both Ava and Rebecca responded to the thumping sound coming from the front door, with Rebecca arriving a few steps ahead of her daughter. Seeing the UPS deliveryman, she unlatched the deadbolt and began to open the door. The large hand slammed against the glass leaving a crimson trail as it slid down the smooth surface. Rebecca tried to force the door closed but it was already too late. The thing that came calling had one foot inside, seemingly oblivious to the heavy wooden door smashing against it.

“Ava! Go to your room and lock the door, now! Call the police!” Rebecca screamed.

Ava complied without hesitation, racing to her room, and locking herself inside. She dialed 9-1-1 repeatedly without success. It rang and rang as if the operator had simply gone on break. She heard gruesome sounds outside her door, and Ava tried to imagine that the television had been left on. Her mother’s shrill voice, strained to its breaking point, entwined with the feral, masculine sound of the deliveryman as she fought him tooth and nail. After a couple of minutes, the cacophony faded from that of a raging battle to a soft, whimpering sound.

Sensing the danger had passed, and feeling that her mother might need assistance, Ava unlocked her door and carefully crept into the quiet hallway. At the end of the hall, the foyer lay in complete disarray. The walls were mired with the same dark crimson she had seen on the window by the door, as well as far more vibrant, bright red splotches that shimmered beautifully in the light like the glossy paint of a pristine, cherry-red sports car. When she entered the foyer, she saw the overturned table and the smashed lamp. To her horror, the deliveryman lay motionless on the Oriental rug, the reds and browns of the carpet perfectly concealing the vile fluid oozing from his lifeless body. Ava began to tremble uncontrollably as she noticed a cerise trail leading into the kitchen like sticky, sanguineous breadcrumbs marking the path of a previous traveller. The kitchen door still swung slightly as if someone had only recently passed through.

Inching toward the door, Ava heard the low, wet gasps of someone trying to breathe through too much mucous. Cautiously, she nudged the door, and found that it moved freely. A slowly expanding pool of scarlet crept lazily from behind the door, darkening near its periphery as though a shadow was being cast over it. The smell, like a scrap metal yard after a rain shower, caused an intense wave of heat to spread through Ava’s body, and for a moment she thought she might pass out.

Willing herself forward, she struggled against the blackness constricting her vision like the shutter of a camera lens. When she could finally see around the door, she let out an involuntary gasp, and all thoughts of her own discomfort vanished.

Slumped against the cabinet—bubbles of blood and mucous ebbing and flowing with each shallow, gurgling breath—was her mother, Rebecca. Her once beautiful face was a ruined mess of cuts and bruises; her left eye already swollen shut. Ava saw the relief in her mother’s right eye when she realized her daughter was safe. Feebly, Rebecca raised her right hand, and in a voice that was little more than a whisper said, “Ava, baby, come here.”

Kneeling next to her mother’s battered body, Ava felt the warm, tacky blood against her bare legs. The blood-drenched hand caressing her cheek brought the nauseating, metallic smell even closer to her nose, but Ava did not dare pull away. No sensation, no matter how unpleasant, could have driven her back at that moment. Ava collapsed onto her mother, who in turn, let out a faint wheeze of pain.

“You’re going to be okay, Ava. Your daddy will be home soon. He will take care of you, just wait here for him and he’ll come for you. I promise…” Rebecca said, her head lolling weakly to the side.

Ava raised her head to regard her mother, sensing the unspoken meaning behind her words. “No, Mommy!
We’ll
wait for Daddy! He’ll come for
us
! Please! Mommy!” Without realizing it, the little girl’s voice grew steadily louder as tears began to pour down her cheeks.

Mustering a surprisingly strong smile, Rebecca continued, “I’m sorry, Ava, but I don’t think so. Mommy isn’t feeling so well. I’m tired and I need to rest. Ava, you are a strong, smart young lady. I need you to keep your wits about you. In a minute, when I go to sleep, I want you to go hide in your room and wait for your father. No matter what you hear, don’t come out until you hear his voice. Do you understand?”

Crying too hard to force any words past the enormous lump in her throat, Ava responded with a reluctant nod of her head.

“That’s my beautiful girl,” Rebecca said in a voice so weak it barely existed. “Now, it’s time for you to go and hide, Ava. It is time for me to rest.” Rebecca gave Ava’s hand a gentle squeeze before weakly nudging her toward the kitchen door.

As much as she wanted to stay, something in her mother’s voice told Ava she needed to obey her mother’s request. Ava turned to look at her mother once more but could scarcely see anything through the torrent of tears obscuring her vision.

Some time later, Ava woke with a start, curled on the floor of her bedroom closet. It seemed impossible that she could have fallen asleep after what had just happened. Ava imagined it was a response to the stress of the situation. She heard a noise like that of someone putting away dishes coming from somewhere inside the house.
Mommy!
Yearning for the comfort of her mother’s touch, Ava crawled out of the closet, sprang to her feet, and ran to the bedroom door. She was out the door in a flash, racing down the hall in the direction of the sound. All thoughts of her promise to remain in her room vanished with the notion that her mother was okay. Upon reaching the kitchen door, however, she skidded to a stop abruptly. There was another sound in the room beyond—a wet, crackly rasp that she could not identify. Nervously, Ava pushed the door open.

Inside, Rebecca Wild stood next to the island in the center of the room, her back to the kitchen door. Swaying unsteadily, the side of her face intermittently collided with a large pot hanging from the rack suspended above the island. Something about the person she thought was her mother appeared unnatural. Whether it was her off-balance stance or the complete lack of acknowledgement that her face was banging into the heavy metal pot repeatedly, Ava was not certain, but something made her falter in the doorway.
What is wrong with her? Why is she just standing there like that?

As she considered her next move, the swinging door slipped from her sweaty grip and banged into her shoe with a dull thud. The noise drew her mother’s attention, and she swiveled in the direction of the sound. As she did, her head again banged into one of the pots, this time causing her to list dramatically to the opposite side.

Forgetting her previous concerns, Ava acted on instinct and rushed forward to steady her injured mother. As she drew closer, Ava saw none of the warmth and recognition she was accustomed to seeing in the depths of her mother’s eyes. Instead, she saw only raw, unblinking malice. Equally disconcerting was the fact that there was no trace of the pain and exhaustion she had seen on her mother’s face earlier. For the first time in her life, Ava found herself utterly terrified of her own mother.

Ava leapt back reflexively when the look in her mother’s eyes morphed into one of feral need. As she did, she lost her footing and went sprawling backward onto the bloody tile floor. Momentarily dazed by the impact, Ava opened her eyes to find the previously still form of her mother lunging toward her. Scrambling away, Ava kicked out frantically, making contact with her mother’s leg and further off-balancing her. A small window of opportunity opened as her mother teetered unsteadily to one side. Rolling forward onto all fours, Ava scurried past as she tried to recover from the kick. Turning, Ava stood to face the monstrosity, scanning the room for any possible avenue of escape. Finding none, her gaze came to rest on the wooden knife block that held an assortment of kitchen knives on the counter. She grabbed the handle of the closest blade, and in that instant, her fear for her own life overrode any thoughts of what she was going do with the knife.

Advancing once again, the infected thing closed the distance to the little girl cowering in the corner of the room. Light reflected wildly off the finely honed blade of the knife that shook violently in Ava’s hand, making it seem as though a disco ball hung in the room. Through blinding tears and cries of terror, Ava pleaded with her mother to stop, “Please, Mommy! No! Stay back! Leave me alone!”

Despite her adamant protests, the grotesque thing continued its slow, relentless advance. Ava shrunk deeper into the corner with each advancing step, as though propelled back by the magnetic force that exists between two identical poles. When her spine pressed against the wall and she could retreat no farther, she closed her eyes and prayed.

Ava felt cold hands, viscid with coagulating blood, groping for her. Unbridled fear surged through her body as ropy fingers tightened around her throat. Struggling to pull oxygen through her constricting airway, the rancid smell assailing her was fouler than anything her young nose had previously experienced. With the wild-eyed confusion of someone being drowned, Ava lashed out blindly in a final desperate attempt to restore her ability to breathe. A halting thud reverberated through her arm, causing her to let go of the blade. The murderous grip around her throat loosened almost instantly. With great reluctance, Ava opened her eyes and saw the horror that used to be her mother’s face less than a foot in front of her. The menacing black knife handle protruded from her mother’s left eye socket, a near-translucent gel oozing from around the hilt.