Those Lazy Sundays: A Novel of the Undead (9 page)

The top seemed much farther away than it had when they started, and paradoxically seemed to be getting farther away the more they climbed. They involuntarily slowed their pace halfway to the top as exhaustion set in. Though they both lifted their knees and pumped their arms as if running, their pace was no faster than a brisk walk.

Looking over his shoulder, Jack saw what he had been afraid of: the hill was an obstacle to them, but not a barrier. Several of them were half-crawling, half-walking up the steep incline. Pantsless Man was still upright, leaning forward awkwardly up the hill. They were not moving anywhere near the speed of Jack and Kate, but they were making progress nonetheless.

Jack and Kate continued to climb the hill, their advantage in speed creating distance between themselves and their pursuers. Their chests burned and their lungs ached. Kate’s stomach felt like it would explode, and she gagged and stumbled for a moment before regaining her balance. Jack briefly moved ahead of her before slowing down so they were even again. They were now walking, no longer even feigning a jog or run.

They finally reached the top of the hill, and saw with relief that the driveway leveled off, and then curved sharply again into the forest. Panting, they paused for a moment to catch their breath. They both looked down the hill at the creatures which were still advancing slowly towards them. Exhausted, they began moving again, keen to keep their distance.

After several more curves, the driveway finally straightened out into a shallow incline. They rounded a final corner, and, for the first time, saw the house. It was a good-sized structure – three or four bedrooms, Jack figured – and sported a log-cabin motif, though it was clear that the house wasn’t a rustic getaway. The building was mostly dark, with a single light on the second story illuminated, though dampened by curtains, which were tightly closed. A small wooden deck extended from the side of the house to the end of the driveway, adorned with a set of cheap white patio furniture.

The driveway widened beside the deck into a dirt parking area, leaving a space easily wide enough to accommodate three or four cars. Just one vehicle was parked there, however: a black Ford Explorer. Although the boundaries of the parking area formed a neat rectangle, the Explorer was parked at an odd angle, situated diagonally across the driveway, with the front of the vehicle pulled to within a couple of feet of the deck stairs.

 “I think that’s the car that almost hit us earlier,” Kate said.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Jack agreed.

“So what should we do?” Kate asked, trying to regain her breath. “Should we just ring the doorbell?”

“Let me look around first,” Jack replied.

 He checked behind them, but didn’t yet see anyone. Based on their pace, he figured he had at least a few minutes before they would have to worry about those people again.

Jack approached the Explorer cautiously and peered into the driver’s side window. The sun was getting lower by the minute, and coupled with the overhead cover of the forest, provided barely enough light for him to see inside the cabin. The vehicle was empty and clean, with nothing in it but a small air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Jack noted a large, dark stain on the driver’s seat. The substance had already soaked into the upholstery and it was impossible for him discern what it may have been in the fading light. He knew that it could just as easily be – and probably was – the result of a careless commuter trying to drink his Starbucks and change lanes at the same time. Still, he felt uneasy.

“Let’s see if anyone’s home,” Jack said, backing away from the vehicle.

The entrance to the house from the deck side consisted of a large set of sliding glass doors. The lights were off there as well and the curtains were also closed, blocking any view into the interior of the building. They climbed the short steps onto the deck, and Jack raised his hand, about to knock, before noticing a doorbell to the right of the doorframe. He pressed the button, and an electronic version of Beethoven’s Fur Elise played inside the house, barely audible to Jack and Kate.

They waited. The song stopped, and the house remained quiet. Jack pressed the button again, and again Beethoven played across the house. The beginning of the song went through several iterations before going silent. He was about to press the button a third time when the curtains rustled slightly. Near the edge of the door, Kate noticed that the curtain had been moved aside, creating a small peep hole.

“Hello?” she said loudly. She tapped on the glass with her fingers. The curtain abruptly fell back into place.

“Did you see someone?” Jack asked.

“Someone was looking at us,” she said. “There is definitely somebody there.”

Jack looked annoyed. He made a fist and banged on the glass.

“Hello! We need help out here! We know you’re there!” he yelled. He was still banging on the glass when a voice answered from inside the house. Jack only caught the last two words, “… the door.”

He stopped and listened. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch you,” Jack yelled in reply.

“Move away from the door!” the voice replied forcefully.

Jack and Kate backed up, keeping their eyes on the house. They moved to the edge of the deck, stopped, and waited. Two flood lights mounted above the door came on, illuminating the entire deck. The curtains rustled again, and then began sliding open. Somebody was standing off to the side, mostly, but not entirely, hidden by the portion of the curtain that remained closed.

The person stepped into the doorway and peered out at them briefly, before sliding the large glass door open.

Standing in the doorway was an average-looking man, very thin, with dark brown hair cut in a regular, conservative business style, and a neatly trimmed moustache. He was dressed in exercise attire; he wore a pair of dark blue wind pants, a gray, long-sleeve athletic shirt, and sneakers. In his right hand was a pistol.

“What do you want?” he said. His voice was mostly flat, but a slight undulation hinted of nervousness.

“We need help,” Jack replied, his eyes locked on the gun. Jack wasn’t a firearms expert, though he had visited a couple of firing ranges in his life. He guessed the pistol was probably a 9mm or a .22, but he didn’t really know.

“What’s the problem?” the man asked. “Is one of you hurt?”

“No we’re not hurt,” Jack began. “We’re… being followed. It’ll probably sound like we’re crazy, but there are these people after us and they’ll be here soon, I think. They have some sort of disease or something, it’s making them… crazy.”

“Sounds like you should call the police,” the man replied.

“We’ve tried. Something is going on. All we get are busy signals and error messages. Please, these people are after us! They’re really dangerous and we need some place to hide!”

He was careful not to say what he really thought. He assumed that showing up at a secluded house at night saying “Excuse me, would you like to buy some Boy Scout Popcorn, and also please let us in because we’re being chased by a bunch of hypnotized nutbags who want to kill us for no apparent reason,” probably wouldn’t result in much hospitality.

The man stared at them, but said nothing. It looked like he was thinking.

“Sir? Can you help?” Jack pleaded.

“So you brought them here huh? Great,” the man said at last. His voice sounded more resigned than angry. “I guess you’d better come in then.” He motioned for them to follow.

They walked across the deck and entered through the door. The man watched Kate and then Jack enter the house before sliding the door shut, locking it, and closing the curtains again. He flipped a switch on the wall, and the lights outside went dark.

The man turned and walked across the room. He favored his right leg badly as he moved, almost dragging it behind him. He turned on a small lamp that only lit half the room, and told them to have a seat. The light revealed a small but cozy family or living room. A tan sofa sat against the wall facing a large plasma television mounted on the opposite side of the room. A two-cushion love-seat was next to the sofa, and a large, reclining armchair was in the corner near the television. In the opposite corner was a red brick platform with a 19
^th
-century style wood stove sitting atop of it, its chimney running into the ceiling. A dark, stained-wood coffee table sat in the middle of the room with a collection of magazines and newspapers scattered on its surface. The kitchen was clearly visible through a wide entranceway located in the wall opposite the glass doors.

Jack and Kate sat on the love seat. The man hobbled over to the chair and sat down gingerly. He placed the pistol on the arm of the chair, the barrel pointed straight at Jack.

“My name is Phil Wittington,” he said. “I apologize. I would get up to shake your hand, but I’m a little under the weather right now.”

Jack and Kate introduced themselves by first name only, not sure what else they should begin their conversation with. The man – or Phil, as they now knew him to be – obviously knew what was going on, or at least as much as they did.

“I assume you two must live around here, since I didn’t see a car,” Phil said.

Jack shook his head.

He and Kate went over their day with Phil step by step, explaining how they came to be sitting on his love seat, in his living room. They told him about driving back from the Strive retreat, arriving at the General Store, running over the man in the road, their friends going to Allentown, and their encounter with the group of people near the driveway. Phil sat back in his chair, listening intently to their story, nodding occasionally, but not saying anything. When they finished, he leaned forward slightly, grimacing.

“I see,” he said. “I just came from around that area. I must have passed you on the road coming in, huh? Probably drove right by.”

“Actually you almost ran us over,” Jack replied.

“Sorry,” Phil apologized. “I probably just thought you were one of them. Truth is, I was driving about as fast as I could to get home, not really paying attention to anything. I just wanted to be off the road, get inside. I don’t even recall seeing you, but I must have. I’m sorry I didn’t stop to pick you up. When things like this happen, people have to help each other, you know?”

“It’s no problem Phil,” Kate replied. “You let us into your house now, and that’s more than we could ask.”

“Well, that’s no problem,” Phil said, and smiled. “You heard from your friends yet?”

Jack shook his head.

“No. We mostly get busy signals, or just no connection at all. We got through once, but it went straight to voice mail.”

“Look…” Phil began, and then hesitated. “I hate to tell you, but if your friends went into Allentown, they might be in some trouble.”

 Phil grunted in pain, and then resumed talking.

“I came from there an hour ago. It was pretty bad. Seemed like the whole damned town was catching that virus… or whatever it is. And the ones who didn’t have it were getting attacked by the ones who did.”

He shook his head.

“Kids attacking their parents, neighbors attacking other neighbors. Really nasty, really brutal stuff. I was just at my office catching up on some work. I almost never work on Sundays, you know, but my wife and kids are gone this weekend so I figured it was a good chance to get some things done. I just ran to the store to grab a soda when one of those SOBs bit me. Right on the ass, if you pardon my language. I looked around and saw them all over the place. I mean everywhere. I was going to drive to see the doctor, but I figured it would be too dangerous.”

Kate and Jack exchanged worried glances. Phil paused and shifted in his chair with a pain-filled groan.

“We have a family friend… she’s a nurse practitioner, lives over near that store you came from. Figured she might be able to stitch me up, but she wasn’t home. God knows if she’s safe or not. So I came back here by myself and patched myself up as best as I could.”

“Is there anything we can do to help you?” Kate asked. “I’m sorry, neither of us are EMTs or anything like that, but maybe…”

“I’m okay now. Just hurts like hell. But that’s not surprising.”

“Would it be possible to use your phone?” Jack asked.

“You’re welcome to try it,” Phil said. “I’ve tried it a bunch of times too. No luck. Lines are all busy.”

Phil sighed. “My wife’s visiting her mother in Montpelier. Haven’t even been able to call up there. Both my kids are in school, one’s at BU, the other at UVM. No luck with that either. But maybe you’ll have luck again. Phone’s in the kitchen.” He pointed at the entranceway.

Jack went into the kitchen, and returned a few seconds later with a black phone in his hand. He dialed Andy’s number, and listened. He was greeted with a recording informing him that all circuits were busy, and he should try again later. He pressed the “Off” button and set the phone down on the arm of the love seat.

“You’re welcome to try as much as you like.”

“Thanks,” Jack replied. “And again, we really appreciate your helping us.”

“No problem. I could probably use the company anyway.” He stood up, bracing himself hands on the arms of the chair, then grabbed the pistol and tucked it into his pocket so just the grip was showing.

“We should probably move upstairs,” he said. “If we’re lucky, the ones that were following you will give up. If not, we’ll be safest up there. Even if they somehow manage to get in, there is only one way for them to get upstairs, and there’s a pretty thick door they’ll have to get through. It’s a choke point, too. A great place to defend ourselves. If it came to that.” He paused. "Hopefully it won't."