Wormwood Dawn (Episode III) (7 page)

When they reached the bedroom door, Dan saw that the handle was bloody. He didn’t want to turn it, but thankfully the door itself was ajar. He pushed it open with his shotgun, standing back; ready to fire.

The smell of decay was stronger here, but still not quite as strong as it had been in the other houses. But here, the scene was even more grotesque. The bed was the dominant feature in the room, located in the exact center where all four men could see. Shirley’s body was there; chained to the bed posts and spread out as far as her limbs would allow.

She had been skinned.

“Holy fuck,” Dan said, stepping into the room.

The others followed, each of them gasping as they saw the carnage.

“Damn,” Vincent said. “Poor lady. Shit.”

“Dude,” Drew whispered, pointing his light high on the wall behind the bed. There were more words scrawled there; written in blood in the same hand.

Fear the Reaper

“Jesus Christ,” Dan exclaimed. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Some of her blood is still wet,” Jake said. “She’s still kinda juicy.”

“Dude,” Drew said. “This happened recently.”

Dan shook his head in disbelief. “No, no, no, man,” he protested. “No fucking way. We set
crazy dude’s
house on fire at least four days ago. There’s no way.”

“Blood doesn’t take long to dry,” Jake said. “Especially when spread out this thin. She would be dry by now. At least on the outside.”

“That crazy fucker is dead,” Dan said. “His throat was cut, and I pissed on him before we set his house on fire.”

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Drew said. “I’m about to shit my pants again.”

Dan stood still for a moment as the others stepped out. He felt sorry for Shirley, and terrified by the whole situation. Could the psycho have survived somehow? Who survives cutting their own throat? Was that even the actual guy lying dead on the bed? Had he just pissed on another victim?

“Sorry, Shirley,” he whispered, backing out.

The four of them returned to the Hummer. They were quiet and tense; Dan and Drew, especially. They all sat in silence as they contemplated the situation. Dan’s mind was abuzz with various scenarios—none of them good. If the serial killer was still alive, then where was he? He and Drew had burned his house down.

Hadn’t they?

“I want to check and see if the guy’s house is still there,” Dan said, putting the Hummer in gear. “Maybe the fire went out.”

“It couldn’t have,” Drew said. “We doused the fucker with a shit ton of gas.”

Dan pulled out, kicking rocks up as he slammed the Hummer in drive. They quickly wound through the wooded road, bouncing over the potholes and fallen limbs. Dan was focused on the road ahead and didn’t even pay attention. Fuck it, it was a Hummer.

It could take it.

The psycho’s house was burned to the ground. Only the chimney and a small portion of the fireplace remained standing. Dan breathed a sigh of relief as he scanned the property. The killer was dead, so the incident had to have taken place before they came here; maybe even the same day they “rescued” Shirley from the mercs.

“See, man,” Drew said. “It’s just circumstantial evidence. Maybe the cold weather kept her blood wet.”

Jake nodded. “That’s possible,” he said. “If she was dead, she couldn’t light her fireplace to keep the house warm.”

Dan nodded, only partially listening. “I guess so,” he said, fishing a half-pint from his jacket.

He took a swig, swallowing the sweet whiskey with a sigh. He put the bottle back and continued forward along the road, heading toward the next and last neighborhood before the old state road.

“There are more houses down here we haven’t hit,” he said. “There should be some good shit. It’s a bit more upscale.”

“The last time I broke into a rich dude’s house I got laid,” Vincent said. “That was some fucked up shit. He was gone; she was home and horny.”

“What the fuck?” Drew said, laughing.

“He must not have paid much attention to her,” Vincent continued. “When she saw me sneakin’ around, she opened her robe and dropped it on the flo’. Fucked her right there in the kitchen. That was some good shit, tho’.”

Jake laughed hard, probably harder than Dan had ever heard him laugh. Soon, he and Drew joined in, picturing the scene as they rolled down the road.

A few minutes later, they came upon the next neighborhood. There were four houses there; all of them large and perfectly kept. There was no candlelight in any of the windows, and even the houses with solar were dark and almost ghostly in appearance. The long concrete driveways were overgrown with weeds, and a single car sat in one of them. Its driver’s side door was open, and a body lay sprawled half in and half out.

“Chaos in the burbs,” Jake said. “Sounds like a great flick.”

“Rich people usually have good pills,” Vincent said. “They got them doctors in they pocket.”

“Fuck yeah,” Dan said.

“And some good wine,” Drew added. “Not that liquor store cough syrup.”

“You and your fuckin’ wine,” Dan said, pulling into the nearest driveway. “Just drink whiskey like a normal person.”

“Shit,” Vincent said. “I bet there’s some good cognac in there somewhere. Dibs.”

“Well,” Dan said, shutting off the Hummer. “Make sure you grab a brandy snifter. I don’t have any.”

“Fuck that,” Vincent snorted. “I ain’t above drinkin’ straight out the bottle.”

“I hope they have Kool-Aid,” Jake said. “Hell, I could go for a glass of milk.”

They stepped out, not bothering to be quiet. There didn’t seem to be any reason. The neighborhood was abandoned, and there would be no one to challenge them. Dan hoped so, anyway. He boldly strode forward, trying hard to blank the sight of Shirley’s skinless corpse out of his mind.

What a way to go,
he thought.
Fucking brutal.

Dan pushed the door open, pointing his light inside. The house was well kept and neat from what he could see, but there was a smell of decay hanging in the air. It wasn’t the smell of rotting flesh, but something else.

Maybe milk.

He stepped inside, moving to the right so the others could enter. As their collective lights illuminated the room, it was plainly obvious that this family had left quickly; without packing a single item. There was nothing around that would indicate they had tried to survive for a few days, or even one day. They had just left.

“Lower-upper class douchebags,” Dan said. “They probably went with the mercs willingly.”

“Well,” Drew said. “They left a houseful of shit.”

“Let’s divide and conquer,” Dan said. “I’ll check down this hallway. I don’t give a shit what you guys do.”

Vincent laughed. “Nice plan, man.”

Dan grinned, heading down the long, perfectly plastered hallway to the left. There were pictures on the walls; smiling kids, smiling parents, smiling dog. It was all picture perfect bullshit that looked like photos that came with the frames. Nobody’s family is that fucking happy.

“Every happy family is the same,” Dan said. “And every dysfunctional family is dysfunctional in its own way.”

Who said that? Did he even get the quote right?

A shorter hallway branched off to the right. Its walls were sliding doors hiding linen closets. Dan didn’t bother to check them. The door at the end was open to a large guest bathroom. There were fancy soaps, generic but functional towels, and a rubber ducky in the tub. Dan pointed at it with his finger.

“You’re the one,” he said.

He opened the medicine cabinet. Obviously there would be nothing in the guest bathroom, other than some aspirin or Tylenol. He was right. Toothbrushes, OTC shit, and a water pick. Who the fuck would use a water pick at someone else’s house?

“Fucking yuppies.”

He returned to the long hallway, turning right. The first door was open, as was the one across from it. Here was a child’s bedroom, full of toys that Dan had never even seen before. One wall was lined with action figures, completely mint and still in their boxes. This kid was quite the collector. Against another wall was a huge computer desk with countless shelves filled with CDs, game boxes, empty Twinkie wrappers for long gaming sessions, and a state-of-the-art, yet now completely worthless computer.

“Damn,” Dan said. “Fucking kid.”

The bed was perfectly made; with a tightly stretched duvet and hospital corners. Everything but the computer desk was spotless and tidy. It was like a Norman Rockwell painting, if Norman Rockwell lived in the 21
st
century, and painted stupid shit.

The other room across the hall was no different. Everything was in order, and looked like it had just been cleaned. No fucking dust or anything. He continued down the hallway, seeing two more doors. They too were across from each other. One was another kid’s bedroom, and the other was…

Locked.

“Fuck,” Dan said.

He jiggled the handle roughly, noticing that the door was cheap and paper thin. He stepped back, poised himself for a kick, and let loose. The door slammed open against the side wall, nearly falling off of its hinges.

Beyond was slightly messier bedroom, probably a teenager’s. It wasn’t nearly as tidy as the rest of them, and the walls were plastered with old posters of bands that Dan actually listened to. This kid, or teenager, was a metal head. There was even a large poster of Ronny James Dio sitting on a skull throne, flashing devil horns with that RJD face of his.

Dan chuckled, returning the devil horns as he entered.

There was a black
Jackson
guitar propped up against the bed, still plugged into the
Marshall
double stack that dominated the closet. There were effects pedals lying near it, and a pile of picks on the night stand. Dan reached down to strum the guitar’s strings. They rang out in perfect pitch.

Standard C tuning,
he thought.
Death metal.

There was a glass pipe on the night stand beside the picks. Dan picked it up and sniffed it. Weed. He opened the drawer, seeing a large bag of it stuffed in the back corner. Drew and Vincent might like it. He picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket. There was also a bottle of pills with the label worn off. He picked it up and studied it. Inside were small round pink pills. He would have to look them up in his med book.

When he returned to the living room, the others were just arriving. They all looked disheartened and empty handed.

“There ain’t a drop of liquor in this fuckin’ house,” Vincent said.

“Nothing,” Drew added. “They were like the fucking Brady Bunch.”

Dan reached in his pocket and pulled out the bag of weed. Drew and Vincent’s eyes widened. He tossed it over, and Drew caught it, stuffing it in his pocket.

“Alright,” Dan said. “Let’s hit the next house.”

“Wait a minute,” Jake said, holding up his hand. He craned his neck, furrowing his brow. “I thought I heard something. Did anyone see a basement?”

The others looked at each other, shaking their heads. Jake leaned his head against the door to listen. He shook his head, and then cracked the door a little, peeking outside.

“What do you hear?” Dan asked, becoming a little nervous.

“Though I heard some footsteps,” he said. “Maybe leaves crunching or something.”

He opened the door all the way and shined his light outside. He swept it from side to side for a few minutes, pointing it at the ground to check for footprints. There was nothing.

“Oh well,” he said. “Must be hearing things.”

They stepped outside and made their way next door. There was no reason to pile into the Hummer again, as the houses here were fairly close together; at least closer than what made Dan comfortable. Yuppies were a little different, though.

The next house was of the same style; modern, but with a Victorian-style outer décor. There was a large porch with planters on either side of the front door. The door itself was French style, with twelve panes of glass total. Dan busted one out, reaching inside to unlock the door.

“You didn’t even check to see if it was locked,” Jake pointed out.

“Who cares?” Dan said. “I like breaking shit.”

Jake shrugged, punching out another pane. “Say,” he said, “that
was
fun.”

The smell of decay was rampant in this house, and the reason why was fairly obvious. As they made their inward toward the main room, they were shocked at the number of bodies that were scattered around.

There were at least a dozen men and women lying dead on the hardwood floor. They were all dressed formally, and covered in vomit and various other dried bodily fluids. Shattered wine glasses and broken bottles were around them, apparently dropped when they suddenly became ill.

“Jesus, man,” Drew said. “Fucking party, or what?”

“Apocalypse party,” Jake said. “Why not?”

“Fucking yuppies,” Dan said, shaking his head. “They’ll celebrate anything.”

Vincent was crouched over a woman’s body, checking out her jewelry. “She got some expensive shit,” he said. “All of ‘em do. I wonder if this was a block party or somethin’. They all got together to have one last bash before the end of the world.”

“How would they know, though?” Drew asked. “The fog came in the morning. Nobody parties in the morning.”

They all stared at Drew, pointing out their own tendency to
party
in the morning. Drew shrugged. “Good Point.”

Dan kicked some of the bodies around, noticing that a few of them had been partially consumed. Bite marks covered their flesh, and some of them were deep enough to take out chunks.

“One of them turned or something,” Dan said. “Probably ate the others after they all died.”

Jake shot him a worried look. “It could still be around,” he said.

“Stay sharp, fellas,” Dan said.

Drew packed a few bottles of wine in his bag, grinning widely as he studied the labels. “Now
this
is the good shit,” he said to Vincent. “And I bet there’s a bottle of cognac around somewhere. Come on, let’s check the kitchen.”

“Right behind ya, dawg.”

The two disappeared through the double swinging doors on the opposite side of the room. Jake sat down on the fancy couch, bouncing a little to test its comfort level. “This couch sucks,” he said. “It’s hard as a fuckin’ park bench.”

“Hey now,” Dan joked. “Someone paid three grand for that park bench, prolly.”

“They overpaid,” Jake said, standing up again. “I’ve sat on bean bags that were more comfortable.”

Dan grinned as he shined his light around. There were French doors along the back wall leading to a patio, and a heavy door near the back corner with a plaque on it. He went over and lit the brass plate to read it.

Dad’s Den

“Hmm,” Dan said. “Let’s see what Dad had.”

He pushed open the door as Jake joined him. There were more French doors here, also leading out to the patio, so the room was dimly lit by the light of the moon. The walls were covered in bookcases, with an entertainment center right in the middle. A more comfortable, manly couch was centered in front of it, with large, sturdy end tables on either side that sported driftwood lamps.

“Looks like this guy was a little more masculine than the rest of the family,” Jake said.

Dan eyed the large safe to the right. It was heavy cast iron, with the Cabela’s logo on the front. That could mean only one thing; guns. He turned the handle on its front, happy to see that it was unlocked.

…and stocked.

“Holy shit,” Dan said. “Check this out.”

Jake sidled up, sighing like he just crossed a desert and was handed a glass of water. “Wow,” he said. “Daddy liked his guns.”

There were two Remington 870p shotguns with pistol grips, two lever-action Winchesters that caught Jake’s eye, and a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum. Boxes of ammo were lined up and stacked underneath, several boxes for each weapon.