What Zombies Fear 4: Fracture Page 4

  "If there's one thing I hate about this place, it’s all the fuckin' zombies," Mrs. Rotelle said, squeezing the trigger. The AR was fully automatic. She never missed. The kick of the rifle knocked the tiny woman back three steps, but she didn't miss a single shot, from almost one hundred yards at full auto firing speed.

  Chapter 5

  Departure

  Victor stood just inside the doorway, leaning on the shopping cart, trying to puzzle everything out. Leeland stood on the front side of the cart where he'd dragged it inside the door. A few seconds later, Mother Rotelle walked in, set her rifle barrel up in the umbrella tree, and looked at the groceries.

  "That seems like way more than I asked for, Victor," she said.

  "Well, Mrs. Rotelle, I didn't want you to run out, and I wasn't able to get everything on the list. But now I see how you were able to survive this long by yourselves."

  "How's that, dearie? Survive what?" she asked.

  Leeland looked puzzled at the entire conversation.

  "You shoot as well as my friend John. And Leeland, do you often end up places and not know how you got there?"

  "No, never," Leeland replied.

  Victor decided not to push any farther. Either they were both firmly entrenched in their dementia or they were pretending and not going to let go. He liked them and decided to just play along.

  "All right," Victor said. "Let’s get these groceries put away, and then I need to be on my way. I've been gone from my son for far too long."

  "Oh, you have a son? What's his name?"

  Victor thought about lying, but he decided against it. He watched for reactions, switching his vision to see their auras. He looked to see what their actions would be. Their auras were as they always were, swirling rainbows of color. Most people's auras were one solid color or slashes of different colors. Both Leeland and Mrs. Rotelle’s auras were always shifting through all of the colors in big swirling patterns. It added weight to his thoughts that they may be suffering from dementia.

  "Max," said Victor.

  "That's a good strong name," said Leeland. "What was your name again?"

  "Victor Tookes, sir. It's nice to meet you." No change in either of their auras as he spoke. They really didn't remember their dinner conversation, or they just didn't care. Victor couldn't be sure.

  He finished putting the groceries away while Mrs. Rotelle made lunch for them. One thing he missed about normal life was regular meals that consisted of more than one thing. Victor was so used to eating whatever food came out of the can he happened to open, even lunch consisting of Spam sandwiches and processed cheese-food were a treat.

  When he was finished eating, Victor checked out for a minute in the middle of Leeland's third telling of the time he arrived at the house just out of the army in the summer of '53. “Kris, are you there?” he asked.

  “Well hot damn, Mr. Tookes! Glad to hear from you again. Ya get a little cooked in Atlanta?” He could hear the smile in her voice, and she continued, “That resonance idea was GOLD. I'm out of the hotel, and there's no sign of those pricks that took me. Or Laura.”

  “Great news. Where can I pick you up? I'm in Mobile now.”

  "Mobile? Damn, you work fast. I ran into another group of humans that have a settlement up in Tennessee, and I've decided to go with them. I honestly think I could help them. And to be honest? I think it'll be more...normal than the usual bullshit," she replied.

  His heart sank. He really thought after they connected, after they worked so well together, she'd reconsider leaving the group. Plus, he liked Kris a lot.

  “Nothing against you, but I've had my fair share of humanity saving.”

  “Kris, if we don't do it, no one will. We'll never be safe; we'll never be able to relax our guard. I'd rather be sitting back at the farm with my mom watching the crops grow too, but this is way bigger than both of us,” he replied.

  “I get that. I really do. I've been in your head, Tookes. We're all on the same side. Why can't I do my own part by helping another group survive?” she replied. “Besides, if you really need me, all you need to do is ask. You'll always know where I am.”

  “Do what you need to do. If you ever get in trouble, call Max. We'll be there for you. Stay safe out there, keep your head down, and try to find some happiness,” Victor said, ending the connection. He tried to shove his anger down into its box. His team was now down two members. How was he supposed to keep them all together? Not that it mattered; he'd do this alone if he had to.

  Victor opened his eyes, or rather, refocused them. They'd been open the whole time, staring into space. Leeland was looking at him strangely. "You all right, son? Looked like you left us for a while," he said.

  "Oh yea, I'm fine. I was just thinking about getting back to my family. I really need to be going. Leeland, do you know where the east-west train tracks are, up in Montgomery north of here? My family is on a train heading west, and I need to get to the tracks before they pass through here."

  "Oh yea, it’s about two and a half to Montgomery, but just over the border in Louisiana the tracks turn south and run down to Naw'lins. We can be at those tracks in Hattiesburg in under an hour."

  "Would you be willing to drive me to the tracks?" asked Victor.

  "Oh, sure. Nothin' to it. Let me know when you're ready. Probably gonna have to gas up the truck though," Leeland said.

  "I'll cover the gas. It’s the least I can do."

  "That's a deal then, son. Let me know when you're ready."

  "I'm ready now, just need to thank you both for your hospitality. I needed this night here," said Victor.

  "It was nothin' dearie. It was our pleasure to have you. Safe travels," said Mother Rotelle, hugging Victor tightly. She laid her head on his stomach as she hugged him. Once again, he was astounded at how small she was. He hugged her back as best he could.

  "It was a pleasure having you with us, son," said Leeland, holding out his hand. Victor took Leeland's hand for what must have been the twentieth time. Before he could shake his hand, Victor felt the cold of travel surround him. A millisecond later, he was shaking Leeland's hand and standing on a rail bed.

  "Thanks for the lift," Victor said. "Be safe when you head home. I don't want you to doze off like you did on the way up here."

  "Oh, it's always better when I'm driving. Nell always says there must be an off switch on my ass that gets tripped when I'm in the passenger seat," said Leeland, turning to walk away. He'd gone about five steps when he yelled back, "Stay safe, Victor Tookes." And then he was gone, leaving only that familiar black mist.

  Victor looked around. He was standing at an intersection where a small road crossed the train tracks. There weren't any buildings in sight. He was surrounded by hay fields. There weren't even crossing gates at the intersection, just a diamond-shaped sign facing away from Victor about a hundred yards up the road in either direction.

  Victor slowly got down on his knees near the train tracks and put his ear to the steel. It had always worked in the old cowboy movies, but he couldn't hear anything on the tracks. Maybe they are still too far away, Victor thought. He turned around and sat down on his backpack. It was a little lumpy but far better than sitting on the road. He sat for the better part of an hour, getting up to listen to the tracks every ten minutes. He started to worry, which led him to thinking about Kris leaving the group. That led into Leo leaving, and that lead to Victor getting angry.

  Like always, Victor shoved his anger down into a box specifically built in his brain to handle excessive and unnecessary emotion. A box he kept promising he'd open one day and deal with. For now, he needed to be busy, so he strapped his pack on his back and struck off up the road towards the nearest farmhouse. The house was up on a small rise, about half a mile from the tracks. It was the only thing he could see from where Leeland had dropped him off, so that was the target. He told himself it was to get out of the cold. It couldn't be more than a few degrees above freezing. Victor was wearing lots of layers, but the constan
t breeze was blowing right through them all.

  It took him about fifteen minutes to walk to the house. He moved slowly and deliberately, walking down the middle of the road looking through the tall grass for any sign of the undead. When he got to the house, he looked it over thoroughly. It was old, probably antebellum, although Victor was no expert on architecture. The wooden siding had once been painted white, although now it was mostly gray weathered wood with white flecks of paint. The shutters were still mostly black, and the tin roof looked like it had been painted within the last several years. It had a huge bi-level porch that wrapped around three sides of the house. On the back was a small addition, probably a washroom or a laundry room.

  Victor slowly stepped up on to the front porch, trying to avoid stray creaks that a porch this old was bound to have. He failed miserably at that task. The porch creaked with every step. The whole area was eerily silent; there were no birds, no crickets, and no grasshoppers chirping. It sounded like his footsteps carried for miles. That should have struck him as odd, but he was concentrating all of his energy on listening to the inside of the house. The front door was unlocked and opened easily. The inside of the house was dark, and it took his eyes a couple of seconds to adjust from the bright sunlight outside.

  Sitting in an ancient wingback chair in the middle of the parlor to his left was Joshua Frye. In one smooth motion, Victor pulled his gun and fired two shots. His aim was true, but some sort of shield surrounded Frye. Frye still had an aura and hadn't ever let on that he was a super.

  "I told you he'd shoot first," said Frye.

  Chapter 6

  Alicia

  She wasn’t out of this yet.

  Kris was furiously pacing the floor, deep in thought. It was obvious that she had spent too much time dwelling on what she could not do verses what she could. The knowledge that there was much more to her than she had ever imagined was invigorating. She felt revived with a new sense of purpose. As she paced from one side of the dark room to the other, a deep driving need to survive filled her mind. She was consumed by it.

  They had underestimated her the first time, but they wouldn’t make that mistake twice. Kris knew that she needed to be well beyond their reach by the time they got back.

  Two hours passed. Thin, deep red streams of light stretched across the industrial carpet, and Kris could feel the temperature dropping. She needed to get out of here, and the only thing standing in her way was that damn door, but she wasn’t strong enough to break it down. There had to be another way.

  “Miss Kris?” It was Max again. “Are you still there?”

  She forgot he had been listening. “I’m here, Max. I’m sorry you had to hear that. I don’t know how, but I have to get out of here.”

  “Daddy says all the things have a reasonable frequency. Find the tone and use your shield to amplify it.” There was a pause, and Kris wondered what a “reasonable frequency” was before Max corrected himself and said, “Resonating.”

  Kris smiled slightly at the word correction. Victor must have been listening in to their conversation. He was such a good father to Max. It was strange that children were not something that Kris ever felt drawn to. When Leslie, one of the girls she worked with, brought her four-month-old son into the restaurant, Kris felt the urge to run the other way. All of the other servers were so excited over the baby, but Kris purposely avoided the entire situation. She had awkwardly waved at Leslie from the opposite side of the bar and then hid in the kitchen. Just the idea of holding the baby made her skin crawl, and that was when Kris decided that some women just weren’t meant to have children. Maybe she was one of those women. From her experience, children were usually loud, obnoxious, and rude. But little Max was different. He was sweet, adorable, and very intelligent. As much as she hated to admit it, she really liked him.

  “I’ll try that, but what if I can’t make the right sound?”

  “Then we’ll try something else, but you can do this, Kris.” The voice was Victor’s now. “When you get out, find out where you are and tell Max. I’m going to go get Leo, and we’re coming to find you.”

  “We’re coming to find you.” His voice echoed inside her mind, their connection was abruptly silenced, and Kris was alone again. Conversations were also so damn short with these people. The world had complained about what technology had done to the ability to converse, but no one even considered what an apocalypse would do. Kris wanted nothing more than to have a moment of normalcy and have a real conversation with someone that didn’t involve how they were going to survive. Or about some insane crusade to save the world. Or maybe where she didn’t have to worry about what was coming to kill her next.

  “The frequency of resonance is linked to the time it takes for a vibration of sound to spread throughout a building, reverberate, and then how long it takes for the "echoes" to return to the oscillation,” the voice told her in its usual clipped fashion. “By finding the correct frequency, any structure can be destroyed.” Kris took over the conversation and told herself, Find the right frequency, and I can bring the house down.

  Kris stopped pacing and stood in the center of the room. Her feet were placed shoulder width apart, and she stood tall, exhaling slowly. She let all of the air out of her lungs and focused on expanding her ribcage as she inhaled. Air filled her lungs again, and she picked the lowest note she could sing. Kris created a small dome just in front of her lips and sang into the bubble. With a flick of her hand, she pushed the bubble across the room and morphed it around the door. The metal door vibrated gently and began to produce a beautiful cord inside its frame. Kris listened for the highest note in the cord and shifted her voice to fit the sound. She was singing a few octaves under the highest tone and pinched the dome into a tall cylinder to bend the pitch. As the dome pinched together, the note was pushed to screaming heights.

  The note permeated the door and filled its core. Kris could feel it rattling around in the frame, and the door shook violently before it slowly began to crumble. Before her eyes, the steel door turned into nothing but dust, and the aluminum door handle clunked to the floor. The sound was abruptly snuffed out as the door disappeared.

  “Holy shit, that actually worked!” she shouted and threw her arms into the air and shouted with joy and made a mental note to thank Vic later for that bit of genius. She ran towards the open door frame and into the hall. Kris pushed the dome out from her body and had it expand over the floor of the Sheraton hotel. The entire layout of the floor filled Kris’ mind, and she could once again confirm that she was alone. Part of the dome brushed against the elevator shaft four hundred feet in front of her, and a distinct “8” bore into her mind. Eighth floor.

  The industrial carpet was golden yellow, tan, and black in a typical modern block formation. The pattern was over-sized and terribly standard looking. As she ran, she had to be careful where her feet landed. There was wooden debris, glass, and discarded pieces of furniture that littered the floor. In her bare feet, every step was a risk. Even though she healed very quickly, Kris didn’t want anything potentially slowing her down. At the end of the hall, she found the emergency exit and threw herself against it. Kris drew the shield back around herself like a warm blanket as the door flew inward and rattled roughly against the interior concrete wall. As she stepped inside the door, she glanced around the staircase. It was silent. Kris knocked on the metal handrail, and as the sound reverberated through the open stairwell, she expanded the sphere that protected her to fill the entire area. Aside from a half-dozen rotting corpses in tattered clothing and a broken-up love seat, the emergency exit was empty. Kris trotted down the cold cement stairs. Her bare feet made soft padding noises as she crossed each step.

  “It is better for civilization to be going down the drain than to be coming up it. Henry Allen’s Law of Civilization,” the Voice told her.

  “Oh, thanks for that. Always so God damn cheerful,” Kris snapped in response.

  She only had to side step once to avoid a shattered portion o
f the stairs before she pushed open the emergency exit door that led into the hotel lobby. It must have been beautiful before the world collapsed. The tan, deeply-veined marble floor still gleamed brightly in the late evening light. Whoever had polished it last did a remarkable job and would have deserved a raise for his work. The lobby was enormous with a squat, arched ceiling and four large, multi-colored glass chandeliers. One of the four chandeliers had crashed to the marble floor and shattered into thousands of rainbow shards. All that was left attached to the ceiling were a set of wires with a few left over strands of glass. Gathered into small groups around the expansive room were black leather-bound love seats paired with two wingback chairs and a circular glass coffee table. The furniture groupings were anchored together on what used to be brightly-colored, hand-woven rugs. In the passing months, they had grown dark, dingy, and some had been stained with blood. There were more corpses in the lobby, more than anywhere else Kris had encountered, and the stench was overwhelming. She felt bile rise up in her throat, and she swallowed hard to avoid throwing up.

  There were dark patches of dried blood spread across the marble floor. There were streaks of it that led from the revolving door and straight to the main desk. Kristina Thompson, checking in. And have the bellboy pick up my bags, please. Just to the side of the streak, there were awkwardly-placed, bloody footprints that seemed to stagger off behind the desk.

  She was suddenly standing just outside of the Humvee that picked her up the night the world changed. With horror, she watched a set of zombie teeth tear into a bicep of a man that wore black swimming trunks. The teeth sank into his muscle, and out of reflex, the man’s elbow snapped upwards. Another set of teeth tore into the base of his neck. Both zombies pulled their heads backward, and strings of muscle, skin, and gore fell from their gnashing teeth. Blood exploded from the wounds and bubbled down his shirt. Another zombie had the man’s left hand in its mouth and was chewing slowly. Kris heard his bones snapping and popping, and the zombie bit down again and pulled with its teeth. The flesh and muscle was pulled from his hand in one solid motion, and all that was left was the skeletal remains.