Текст книги "Best new zombie tales, vol. 3"

Автор книги: James Daley

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Holly reached up, took the man's hand. She was amazed at how soft the skin of his palm and fingers felt. It didn't seem to match his rough appearance.

"Is it Sunday?" she asked. She really didn't know.

"To the best of my knowledge. It's not like the TV Guide shows up every Monday anymore. I just marked the days off on an old calendar. Once we reached a year, I started marking 'em again. This isn't a leap year, is it? That would've thrown me off."

Holly shook her head, a little dumbfounded by the man's rapid speech.

"That's great! I've been worried about that for months. Don't want to go calling to worship on a Saturday, right? It's not like we're Catholics here."

She shook her head again. Her mouth tried to form words, but only a light clickescaped her lips.

Brother Toby dropped her hand, and it fell back into her lap. She hadn't even realized they were still shaking. Something about Toby confused her, seemed to sap her intelligence and will. Maybe it was his rapid and boisterous method of speech. Maybe it was that smile that seemed to grow wider and wider with each passing moment.

Maybe she had just grown paranoid over the past year. Billy Hudson's assassination attempt would have had that effect on anybody. It was possible that there were still good people in the world. Hell, until a few minutes ago, she hadn't been sure there were people of any kind left.

She took a deep breath and decided to give Toby the benefit of the doubt. At least he was still alive.

"So, sister. What should I call you?"

She blinked, hoping she hadn't been silent so long it was noticeable. Time had been slipping away for her so much over the past few months, and she'd spent the last day or so wondering if she'd ever have a conversation with anyone other than herself again.

"Holly," she said, and she gave him something she hoped looked like a smile.

"Sister Holly! It is a real pleasure."

"Please, Holly is fine. I was never anybody's sister."

Toby shrugged. "We're all brothers and sister to one degree or another. The Lord says so."

"He does?"

"Sure, he does. It's right there in the bible."

Holly wasn't about to argue with him. She was a lot of things, but a bible scholar had never been one of them. If Toby said it was in there she was willing to take his word for it. It sounded biblical, at least.

She decided to change the subject.

"How long have you been here, Toby?"

A shadow crossed his face. "Since shortly after... well, I'm sure you know. I came from near Friendship."

"Really? I'm from Millwood."

"Millwood? That's marvelous! I've been through Millwood a time or two. Nice little place. What brings you my way?"

"Long story. We tried to get out. We didn't make it. I guess that's the short version."

One of Toby's eyebrows arched upward.

"We?"

"There were others. A busload, as a matter of fact. There was a wreck, though, and the dead got everybody else. I managed to escape and hide in the woods. Later on, I started walking."

He nodded. His face was a map of concern.

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It's okay." It was a lie, but she didn't feel like being the brunt of his condolences right now. She just didn't have the strength.

"So where were you headed? Were you just wandering, like Moses in the desert, or did you have a destination in mind?"

Moses?she thought. The guy was a little over the top. She'd thought the evangelicals and such stayed farther south. Was she going to hear about a plague of frogs next, or did he plan to jump right to the Second Coming?

"I'm headed toward the Jefferson Proving Ground," she said. "Thought it might be safe there."

He nodded, then shrugged. "Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Jefferson's a ways off, and I'm afraid I just can't tell you one way or the other."

She'd figured as much. The lines of communication had unraveled since the dead had risen. Even Millwood had only received news whenever a fresh crop of refugees arrived, and that hadn't happened in more than four months.

"Am I headed in the right direction at least?" she asked.

"I think so. You'll have to cut east eventually, but that shouldn't be so bad. You'll hit Route 62 if you keep along this road, and that'll take you to 421. It might not be the easiest path, though. I'd recommend you stay away."

"Really?"

"Sure. What place is safer than a house of the Lord?"

Holly fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Toby. I'm just not sure I believe that anyplace is safe nowadays."

"Belief is usually the problem."

She looked up. Toby's face had grown solemn, the lines in his dark skin deep and shadowed. He didn't look angry, though, just sad.

He shook it off.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not trying to freak you out or preach to you, okay? I'm just trying to offer some kind of... I don't know... stability in this big clusterfuck we've got going on now.

"I found this church about a year ago. The preacher and his wife were dead, so I got rid of them and set up shop. I'm not really a holy man or anything. I'm just feeling my way as I go. I pulled the piano out here, and I play every Sunday. Every now and then somebody hears it and wanders along. Most of the time they don't. I'm just trying to make a difference Sis–Holly, give a little comfort to anybody who might happen by. I don't mean to creep anybody out."

Holly stared at the worn wooden steps for a moment, then nodded. "I'm sorry. Really. I didn't mean to come off like that. It's just, well, you know what's happened to the world. We all do, right? We've all got to be careful, and I guess I'm trying to be a little more cautious than most. Like I said, I'm sorry."

Toby dismissed her with a wave. "It's not a problem. I won't have you pretend that it is, okay? You stay if you want, or you go along your way when you feel you're ready. In the meantime, let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

The offer made Holly's throat burn, and she realized she had been without water for at least a day. She tried to swallow, but a scratchy dryness prevented it, and she almost coughed out a few rough notes before she managed to recover.

"You got any water?" she asked, and her voice sounded raspy, like old newspaper tumbling across hot concrete. She rubbed her throat with one hand, wincing at the pain the sentence had caused.

Toby's fingers leapt from the keyboard. He stood almost as quickly. "Water? Sure! I always keep a few jugs handy. It's not cold, of course, but it should help your thirst a little bit, regardless."

"Thanks."

He stepped to the church's double door and motioned for Holly to stand. "C'mon in, Holly. It'll do you good to get out of the hot sun, anyway."

She couldn't argue with that. Even this early in the morning the heat and humidity seemed to press down on her from all sides. A few minutes inside, where she would at least be in the shade, would probably do wonders.

She grunted and pushed herself to her feet. She dusted her jeans off with her hands. "Sounds good, Toby. Lead the way."

Toby opened one of the doors wide. He gestured with a flourish. "After you."

She gave him a playful curtsy. His smiled turned into a chuckle. She laughed, as well, and then she stepped through the door and into the small church.

The smell hit her at once.

The dark church reeked of death. The rotting, clinging smell squeezed the air from every direction, forcing its way past Holly's nostrils and down her throat. She gagged, bending in half as her stomach fought to expel its meager contents. She bit the urge back, but her body convulsed once, twice, and then she fell to her knees, vomiting all over the church's carpet.

"Yeah," Toby said behind her, "I never really got used to the smell either."

She looked back over her shoulder, straining to see Toby through the darkness and her own tears. She saw his fist cock back and she tried to move, but he was too fast. The hand struck her just behind the ear and she collapsed into unconsciousness.

~

"Wake up, Sister Holly. Time to rise and shine!"

Something wet and cool splashed against her face, and Holly sputtered. She tried to blink the liquid–she hoped it was only water–from her eyes. She tried to wipe her face off, but her arms wouldn't budge. An instant later, she awoke enough to feel the ropes cutting into her wrists.

Toby had tricked her. She'd let down her guard for a single moment and the bastard had gotten the drop on her. Now she was trapped in an isolated church in a world where nobody would hear her scream for help.

Helluva a mind you got there, Holly. You're a step ahead of everybody, a real thinker.

She let the thought die and concentrated on her current problem. She was tied to a chair, and Toby stood over her. He grinned down at her, his face smug and frightening at the same time. A gleam that could only be considered malevolent blazed in his eyes.

She couldn't see much of the church. It was too dark, and Toby stood too close. She guessed she was at the front, near the altar, or whatever you called it. She could catch a glimpse of sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows, bursting through in solid rays where the glass was broken. That clinging aroma of death and rot filled the room, and she could make out the rattling of chains somewhere beneath the ringing in her ears.

She glared up at Toby, wishing she could burn him with her hate.

"What the fuck is this, you piece of shit?"

"This?" he asked, spreading his arms wide and looking around. "This is my church." He pointed toward the door.

"Back there is the steeple."

He crouched in front of her, his face filling her vision.

"I brought you inside..."

He whirled away.

"...so you could see all the people!"

Molly screamed.

The pews were full of the dead, their rotting bodies writhing and shaking. There were men and women, adults and children. They wore clothes of every type: suits and sundresses and t-shirts and shorts. Some had been dead longer than others–their flesh hung from bones in dried strands and clumps–while others were fresh, their skin moist while it decayed.

A leather collar wrapped around the neck of each, a chain securing them to the pew. Their arms had been removed, the stumps raw and black and running. They hissed through their teeth, snapped their jaws, straining against their binds. The pews were heavy, though, made of sturdy wood, and they never even budged as the dead fought their trappings.

Holly stared in wonder, her mouth open and her voice dying to a rasp. The dead leaned toward her, their remaining teeth clacking uselessly as they ached for a meal. Holly shook her head violently, then looked to Toby with frantic eyes.

She could see now how insane he was. It was so obvious.

He patted her head.

"Okay. Maybe I wanted to freak you out a little."

She looked back out at the living corpses that filled the pews. There were at least two-dozen, maybe three. How long had they been here? How long had Toby been keeping them, and why?

As if in answer, Toby slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"I know. It's hard to understand. I get that; believe me. I wasn't lying to you before, Sister Holly. I did live in Friendship. Lived there my whole life, as a matter of fact. Hell, I was there, sitting in my living room, when the first reports came over the tube.

"Like just about everybody, I guess, I watched the first week or so on television, wondering what to make of the whole thing. I mean, c'mon! Dead people were returning to life, eating the living people, and turning them into walking dead folk. That's not something you see everyday!

"So, I sat there, and I watched, and I searched my mind for an answer. There had to be one out there, some way to make sense of all of it. I just had to sit and ruminate on it long enough. Sooner or later, it was going to dawn on me.

"And it did."

Holly watched him, holding her breath.

He leaned in close and whispered to her. "Angels."

He took a step toward the first row of pews, swinging a single arm wide.

"Angels, Sister Holly! What else is going to make the dead rise from the grave? What else could possibly stop death in its very tracks and transform it into life? The angels have come down from heaven and taken root in the only form available to them, that of the dead and rotting.

"I realized they're trying to tell us something, Sister Holly, something important. All we have to do as a species is prove ourselves worthy of God's love. Once we've done that, the angels will deliver their message, and a new era of peace will greet the Earth!"

Holly let his words settle for a minute, then she replied, her eyes never leaving Toby's. "You're fucking crazy."

His fist struck hard and fast, jolting her head back like a speedbag. She let out a single groan and tried to shake the cobwebs loose.

"You think I'm crazy? Who the fuck are you, Sister? Miserable little shit, got her whole town massacred and ran away from it! You aren't holy, bitch; you're a Goddamned heathen! You just want to feed off the Earth, suck it dry! I want to learn, Sister Holly! I want God to bestow his blessings onto me so that I can heal this sick world!"

"By killing these people? You killed them, didn't you?"

He shook his head. "I did no such thing. I made vessels ready for the coming angels, and if I take good enough care of them–if I can prove myself worthy and ready–they'll deliver God's lesson."

"Take care of them? Is that what lobbing their fucking arms off is for?"

He frowned. "I'm not a fucking retard.

"Truth of the matter is, The Lord works in mysterious ways. These angels, they're one of those ways." He walked down the center aisle, and the dead on either side snapped at him, their chains keeping them at bay.

He patted one on the shoulder, snatching his hand away when the zombie tried to bite him. "See? They kill us, but they want to save us. It's all very Old Testament; I don't expect you to understand."

"So what do you expect me to do, Toby? You going to kill me, make me another member of your little flock?"

A hurt expression flashed across his face. He placed a hand to his heart, leaning back. "What? Why, no, Sister Holly! I have enough angels. Now, I just need to take care of them, bestow blessing unto them until they feel the desire to bestow their blessing unto me."

A chill raced down Holly's spine. She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them. She had an idea what was coming next.

When Toby drew the knife out of his waistband, she realized she was right.

He approached her slowly, letting her get a good look at the blade. When he drew close enough, her grabbed a fistful of her hair.

"It appears it's communion day!"

The knife sawed through her hair, yanking the roots from her scalp. She screamed, then bit down and rode out the pain.

The pressure suddenly eased, and Toby stepped away with a handful of her hair, the hair that she hadn't even realized had been growing so long.

He stepped toward a zombie seated directly across from her in the first pew. It wore a filth-smeared suit that might have once been a lighter shade of blue.

"This used to be the preacher here," Toby said. "I believe he told me his name was Michael, but I can't be too sure. It was a pretty long time ago."

He pulled a few strands of hair from the fistful he carried with him, dangled them over the dead man's head. The former preacher leaned back, his jaw opening and closing, black tongue flopping out like a dying fish.

"That's right, Padre. Little appetizer for ya." Toby lowered the hair into the corpse's mouth, and the preacher sucked it in like pasta, chewed it for a long moment.

Holly had to turn away when the creature swallowed.

She heard a crescendo of groans, heard Toby cheer the dead on as he fed them morsels of her hair. She tried to think. There had to be a way out of this, someway to break free. She pulled against her binds, but they held fast. The son of a bitch had tied her to a chair. She was his to play with until he felt differently.

She guessed that would be a long time coming.

She tried again, leaning forward as far as she could, opening her eyes to watch her captor as he fed his congregation. She eyed him so carefully that she almost didn't notice the chair's rear leg's lift from the ground.

Her eyes widened. She could move! She watched Toby, making sure he wasn't watching, and she checked her balance. She leaned forward, curling in half until the chair lifted completely off of the ground. She lowered it to the floor again, but continued to struggle. She had an idea, but she knew she would only have one chance, and that depended on catching the lunatic off guard.

She glanced at the dead folk in the pew in front of her, watching as the former preacher and three others chewed on her hair, an expression like ecstasy filling their faces. They looked so anxious, so hungry. She knew the next thing Toby carved off of her wouldn't be hair, and she also knew she couldn't let that happen.

He'd have to kill her first.

"All gone!" he said, his voice almost child-like.

You can do this, Holly,she told herself. You ran a town for almost a year. You can handle one religious psychopath.

"What happens now?" she asked, putting an extra hint of terror in her voice.

He smiled. "Oh, I think you know, Sister Holly." He pointed the knife at her, twisting it in the air as he stepped closer. "I think you have a really good idea what I'm gonna do next."

He stepped past the first pew, stood directly in front of her.

"Do you have a good idea?"

"Yeah," she said. "I've got a fuckin' great one."

She screamed at the top of her lungs as she surged forward, lifting the chair behind her. She slammed her shoulder into Toby's gut, and she almost smiled when she felt him double over, the air whooshing from his lungs. She kept pushing, pumping her legs across the carpet, until she hit something solid.

Toby flew off of her, landing on the preacher and the rest. He tried to scramble away, but it was too late. Their teeth had already clamped down on him. The dead holy man had him by the throat, and with a great wrenching movement, ripped the flesh and tendons and veins away, spraying the area with blood.

Toby's scream died before it could even get started.

Holly staggered backward, then leapt into the air, leaning back. She landed with her full weight, and the chair cracked and splintered around her. She kept her eyes on Toby, watching the light drain from his eyes, as she struggled to her feet and managed to wrench her hands free of the rope coiled around her wrists.

"Is that the message you wanted?" she asked, but the only reply was the sound of teeth chewing meat.

Slowly, Holly walked down the center aisle, ignoring the dead as they leaned out, trying desperately to reach her with their jaws. She didn't bother to stop and look for water. She would find a creek in the forest. Instead, she stepped across the church's deserted lot and onto the country road beyond. She would walk until she found Route 62, and from there she'd make her way to the proving ground.

Maybe there she would find something worth believing in.

Those Below

JEREMY C. SHIPP

Say you're lost in the hustle-bustle of the local farmer's market in search of some shiny bibelot for your girlfriend, and you find your mother mouth-to-mouth with a man who isn't your father. In fact, he's nothing like your father. He's skinny and shaggy and short. You tell yourself that if he at least looked like your father, you could stomach the scene. Deep down you know that's not true.

And maybe that's not how it happens. Maybe you track her down. Maybe you climb the fruitless mulberry in front of their house and that's how you cut your leg. Maybe you bought yourself some night-vision goggles off of e-bay. Maybe you're watching and waiting, and when you finally do see them together, in their bedroom, naked, you drop a bomb of vomit onto an unsuspecting yard gnome below.

You think, "Get your fucking hands off my mother."

But she's not your mother, is she? She used to be. Before she moved in here. Before she changed her name. Before the funeral. Say this was your mother, and this is your life. You'd be here too, like me. You'd hear about Porter from a friend of a friend, and you'd show up at his doorstep with a hundred bucks and a wrenching knot in your gut.

Porter opens the door. "Yeah?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

"You're Hadley?" he says.

"Yeah."

"Alright. Come in.

I follow him inside. My mind spins, but I still notice that his home is a shitty place. Every step and my feet crunch down on trash and squish on soggy carpet. Lines of duct tape patch a few holes in the wall, but most are left gaping. I stop breathing through my nose before I have time to identity the sour stench assaulting the air.

He takes me to an empty room. At this point, the walls are more hole than wall. Under more relaxed circumstances I would crack up over such irony as the tarp on the floor, but I'm more in the mood for weeping.

"You brought the money?" he says.

I nod and hand him the bill.

He gives it back. "Not until after."

"Oh."

He takes another look at the money. "That's a hundred dollar bill, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think I've seen one before. In person, I mean."

"Oh." I stuff the thing in my pocket, almost violently.

"Should I get undressed?" he says, and starts for his belt.

"I'm not here for... that."

"I know, man." He grins. "Just some people like me naked when they're doing it. I don't mind either way."

I consider this. "Keep your clothes." Part of me, though, wants to give the other answer. The thought makes me shudder.

"Whatever floats your boat." He kneels. "Whenever you're ready."

I take a step forward, and then pause. "Is this going to hurt you?"

"Fuck, man, what do you care?"

"I care."