Sanctuary (16 page)

In a few minutes, he'd reach the house where Meredith and Quinn were staying. He already had a story prepared. He'd tell them Dan had been injured and they needed to get to him. Then he'd take them somewhere else and kill them.
 

He'd tell them about Dan while was torturing them. He'd tell them Dan was dead.
 

His new plan sated his anger.

Dan would live the rest of his life in torment, knowing that he'd failed his family. It wasn't Tim's plan of choice, but it was a good one nonetheless.

After he'd flayed Meredith and Quinn, he'd head in the opposite direction from Abbotsville. He had no desire to find help. Keller was already living out his dreams, and he wasn't about to let them end.

Meredith and Quinn were in the upstairs bedroom when they heard a car approaching. Meredith darted for the window.
 

She reached it and parted the shade, expecting to see her companions. What she saw made her blood freeze. There was a car in the distance, but it was coming from the opposite direction from where Dan or Tim had gone.
 

It wasn't them.

The vehicle, a small black sedan, was approaching fast. There were two occupants, but neither fit the profile of the men she knew. What if they slowed down? What if they stopped?
 

"It's not Dan and Tim!" she hissed. "They're coming from the wrong way."

She glanced back at Quinn. The little girl's eyes were wide, her face ashen. Meredith surveyed the room. On the same wall as the door was a bureau. She considered pushing it in front of the door. But if she were to do that, they'd be trapped. She envisioned the barricades at each of the entrances. Even if they wanted to flee, she'd have to remove them, and without making noise.
 

"Hold tight," she whispered, as much to herself as to Quinn.

Hopefully the car would pass them by.

She stared back out the window, her pulse soaring. Just a minute ago, Meredith had been prepared to reunite with her companions and head to Abbotsville. And now she was being forced to hunker and hide.

The car was about a hundred yards up the road. The vehicle slowed, and her heart jumped. She crouched so she was just at eye-level, the shade barely parted.

The car weaved to the left shoulder, driving in the wrong lane. The occupants turned their heads as they surveyed the house. The driver adjusted in his seat, and she caught the glint of a gun in his lap. He rolled down the window and jabbed his finger outside.

Keep going. Keep going.

The car rolled a few feet farther.
 

The car stopped.
 

Meredith's heart knocked in violent rhythm. Ernie sat up on the bed, his ears perked. The sedan purred as the driver idled the engine. The driver's door opened. A man's leg swung onto the pavement.
 

Dirt-covered jeans. Black boots.
 

Meredith watched with growing dread as the man came into view. The man was dark-skinned, with a black T-shirt and the beginnings of a beard. He was wearing a baseball cap. In his hands was a rifle. He spit on the pavement and advanced toward the house, studying the interior. He furrowed his brow.

Meredith released the shade and ducked. After a few seconds of quiet, she risked another glance. She saw the passenger rummaging through the glove box. After a minute, he emerged and joined his friend. The passenger was a heavyset man in his fifties with shaggy gray hair and a white shirt. He was holding a pistol. The voices of the men echoed off the front of the house. Without the hum of appliances, the property was silent, catching every sound.

"It looks like the place is empty," the second man said. His voice was low, with a southern drawl. "I don't see any cars."

That's right,
Meredith thought.
Keep moving.

"No blood and no bodies in the yard." The fat man shrugged. "That's a first."

"Wouldn't you rather find someone alive? I'm getting bored. I could use a little fun." The other man laughed.

"Dead or alive, I don't really give a shit. As long as there are supplies."

To her dismay, they started toward the house.

The man in the black T-shirt stared at the windows. Meredith slipped out of sight, letting the shade flatten. She held her breath, as if the extra precaution might affect their decision, as if she could ward off danger. She glanced at Quinn, who was clutching her chest in fear.

"That last house was empty. Do you think we should bother?" the first man said.

"Might as well check it out."

The words were like a switch, turning Meredith's anxiety to panic. She swallowed the acidic taste in her mouth. They needed to run out the back door.

If the men searched the house, there was a good chance they'd be discovered. If they could make it outside, maybe they could hide in the grass.

"Quinn," she hissed. "Let's go."
 

She motioned for Quinn to follow her. Ernie jumped off the bed and ran over, his tail pumping. She grabbed hold of him, hoping to keep him quiet. If he barked…if he made noise…

She snuck into the hallway, carrying Ernie, Quinn in tow.

They crept down the stairs, trying not to make a sound. Boots creaked the front porch. One of the men coughed. She heard them trying the door.
 

"Locked," the driver said.

"I'll shoot it open," said the other.

"Really? Why not just kick it down? Come on, man. Save bullets."

"All right, all right…"

She heard one of the men back up, then the sound of boots stamping across the porch. The ensuing bang made Meredith's heart skip. Wood splintered and caved. Meredith and Quinn had made it down the stairs, headed for the back door. She hugged Ernie tight, praying he didn't bark. The footsteps retreated, probably preparing for another kick.

When they reached the living room, she crept over to Quinn, her heart pounding furiously. "Help me move the barricade," she whispered.

The little girl nodded.

Meredith set down the rifle, but kept hold of Ernie. She lifted the table with one hand, Quinn assisting her. The small kitchen table was light enough to move without noise. They started clearing the chairs.

Another boot kicked the front door. The man swore from the other side. Meredith worked faster, her pulse racing. The men kicked again. The door was about to give way. There was no time…

Meredith glanced at the windows in the kitchen, but they were blocked, the shades drawn. There'd be no getting through them, not without making noise. The men kicked the door again.

"Back upstairs!" Meredith whispered.

If they couldn't get out, they'd have to hide. She tugged Quinn's hand and they darted back up the staircase. They'd just made it to the bedroom when the front door gave way. She heard the wood splinter, then the sound of the men kicking away the pieces. The couch slid across the hardwood. Meredith motioned for the closet.
 
She slid the door open, praying the tracks didn't squeak. They didn't. Meredith ducked inside with Ernie, shushing him. Then she closed the door, pitching them into darkness.

The men were in the house. She heard them climbing over the couch, scuffing the floor with their boots.
 

"Anyone home?" One of the men snickered.

"It looks like someone was here recently."

"I'll check upstairs. You check down here."

Footsteps creaked the floor, then the stairs; a procession that could only end in death. Meredith clung to Ernie and Quinn, praying silently, aiming the rifle at the closet door. As soon as it opened, she'd fire. The stairs groaned under the weight of a man's feet, getting closer. The man had reached the bedroom. She heard the hiss of his breath, the subtle creak of the floorboards adjusting. Just a few steps and he'd find them. Just a few steps and…
 

A car engine sounded in the distance.

"You hear that, Marty?" the man in the room asked.

Meredith froze. The footsteps retreated, making their way back down the stairs and outside. She sucked in a breath, surprised she could still breathe at all, and rolled open the closet door. She hissed for Quinn to stay put, and then crept over to the window and glanced outside. Another car was on the horizon.

Was it Dan and Tim?

This one was coming from the right direction. The men ran out into the street and raised their rifles, aiming at the approaching vehicle.

Dan struggled as he walked down the road, trying to get back to Quinn and Meredith. The pain in his head had become overbearing, and he fell to his knees and vomited. The bile burned his throat, adding to the dizziness that threatened to pull him under.

He couldn't give up. Not here. Not now. He still had a ways to go to get to Meredith and Quinn. Their faces appeared through the haze, like spectral guides coaxing him onward. He glanced behind him, but he'd already lost sight of the house. He was making progress, as slow and excruciating as it was.

The images of his daughter and sister-in-law pushed him back to standing. He walked several more paces. His eyes narrowed and came into focus, then fixated on a sign a hundred yards ahead. In order to make progress, he'd set goals. He clambered toward the diagonal white sign. There was nothing else in sight. His only companions were the dense golden fields that surrounded either side of the road, and the bright, blinding sun that seemed more foe than friend.

He flicked his gaze to the road, hoping to find a weapon he could use when he got to the house. He ignored the fact that he could barely walk, let alone carry it.
 

The country road was barren. No cars, bodies, or debris. For a moment, he considered the idea that he'd dreamt the events of the past week, or that he was dreaming now. Either would be preferable to this. He envisioned waking up at his house in St. Matthews, Julie nestled under his arm. It was a scenario he'd give anything to relive.

He knew that couldn't happen.

He concentrated on the sign, trying to read the words. He remembered passing it on the way. It was white and faded with age, the black letters cracked. On its face was a route number. Seventy-one. The number meant little to him now, other than a point of focus.

The image of Julie disappeared, supplanted by a memory of Quinn. He remembered the hope that had glistened on her face as she'd opted to go to Abbotsville. Despite all she'd been through, Quinn had kept her faith, refusing to give up. If his daughter could find that strength, so could he.

He stared at the distant sign, letting the numbers blur until they'd become a pixelated version of his daughter, her face calm and inspiring. She stared at him with her mother's eyes. She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. After a few seconds, her mouth cracked open, and she opened her jaw to reveal a mouthful of dirt-stained teeth.

It wasn't Quinn, after all. It was one of
them
. The infected.

Dan's eyes snapped open as he realized what was coming. One of the creatures—a mottled gray woman with sallow cheeks and inky eyes—was staggering toward him. It plodded forward on shaky legs, as if Dan were advancing toward some twisted version of himself.

Before he knew it, the creature was upon him, its hands unfurled like claws. Dan held up his arms to defend himself, but the thing lashed out with sharp nails, trying for his skin. It closed its mouth and opened it, as if its jaw was on a hinge. Its teeth clacked together with a sickening crunch.

Using what little momentum he had, Dan pushed the creature backward, hoping to topple it over, but the infected woman kept on, inspired by its weakened prey. He grabbed hold of the thing's hands. They swayed back and forth like lovers in a dance, waiting for the final note to tear each other apart.
 

Dan gave the thing another heave. This time the creature lost its balance and fell to the pavement. Dan skirted around it, avoiding its reaching hands, and continued walking. He was parallel to the sign now. Seventy-one. He'd made it to his landmark.
 

The knowledge gave him little comfort. Reaching it only resulted in a new obstacle.
 

The creature was back on its feet. He heard it scrabbling behind him.
 

He glanced over his shoulder and saw it coming toward him, faster this time. While Dan's strength was waning, the creature's seemed to be growing. He shuffled forward, trying to gain distance, but the thing had caught up, and it grabbed hold of him. Its claws dug through his shirt, sparking a wave of pain.
 

Anger took hold of him.

Dan spun, shook the thing off, and grabbed hold of its shirt. Then he thrust its head into the sign. The creature connected with the metal, its skull caving. Dan grabbed hold of it again, his anger mounting, and whipped it into the sign again, watching its nose burst. Fluid and bone leaked from its face.

The thing's mouth flapped like a broken drawbridge.
 

Dan didn't stop attacking it. He kept ramming its head repeatedly into the metal until its face was a dripping, pulverized mess of skin, an inanimate object that barely looked human. When he was finished, he watched it fall to the ground in a heap. He wiped his hands on the sign, smearing off some of the gore, and then staggered down the road to find his family.

Meredith watched the approaching car with a mixture of relief and terror. The men aimed their guns at the driver, prompting the new car to slow down. The driver decelerated, coming to a stop twenty feet from the scene.

Meredith's heart did a somersault. It was Tim, all right. But Dan was missing. Tim sat in the driver's seat, unmoving, as if he were a commuter at a traffic stop rather than a man about to be killed.

"Get out of the car!" the man in the black T-shirt barked. He waved his gun.

Tim stayed put. He rolled down the window. "I'm not looking for trouble," he called out. "I'm just passing through."

"Get the fuck out!" the second man said.