Gideon
Over and over, my cane snags in the undergrowth, and my boots stick in the sucking mud. The wound in my side is screaming, slowing me down. Because my pace is slow, I’m falling behind. Falling behind means I’ve lost sight of her. Losing sight of her makes me insane with worry. Insane worry makes me rash and incredibly stupid.
“Raven!”
The thought of her in the hands of those things makes me see red. Literally. Like the blood I long to spill stains the sky, drips from the trees. Everything I look at is inked crimson. My thoughts are murderous as they turn to Pan, the board at Maddox enterprises, and myself. For once, life was good. I was happy. How did everything go from amazing to screwed so quickly?
My foot goes out from under me, and I’m on the ground, covered in swamp. Wet and rotting, when the forest exhales, its foul breath permeates my lungs. The dozen flowers surrounding me open and vomit pollen. Swearing an extra painful death to Pan, I shake yellow powder from my hair. When the dust settles, I glance up and detect a clearing just beyond the haunted wood.
It’s not the lake house that lies ahead in the distance, but Maddox mansion. I briefly think that’s impossible, but Jamis and Jenny’s safety trumps logic. Old as they are, they’re no match for Pan’s creatures. Like a fool, I must have led them all the way home.
I search through the muck with my fingers, grasping for my cane but can’t find it, and I’m out of time to look. The house needs warning, so I gather my legs beneath me, muscles burning as I rise. My exhaustion makes sense, but not the labored breathing and blurry vision. Everything hurts as though I finished a triathlon, but it’s the sharp pain in my ribs that has my attention.
Eight inches of tree branch protrudes from my side. I clench my teeth knowing it has to come out. Trembling fingers grip the stick’s end. I tense, ready my mind, and ease the wooden stake from my torso. My lips press together to gag the cry in my throat. Sweat beads on my forehead. Breaths pant from me in noisy, broken puffs.
I can’t control my shaking hands. Red runs down my fingers, splattering the leaves below until, inch by inch, the stick is out. As I examine my skewer, it tips forward from my too loose grasp and falls to the ground.
As if someone slashed a tire, dull hissing leaks through the forest behind me.
I ignore the pain in my gut, forget my cane, and limp toward the house. There’s plywood stockpiled near the garage, left over from repair work we did last month. If I can get everyone inside, perhaps we can bar the windows. Create a barricade. Once the zombies lose interest, I can slip out again and look for Raven. Not much of a plan, but it’s all I’ve got. She’s strong. Smart. She can hold on until I find her. I force myself to believe it’s true.
I head for the detached garage. Though I’m constantly watching the house windows for my employees, I alternately scan the woods for Draugar.
And then the first one breaks from the tree line. More follow, slinking along in their relentless pursuit. The zombies’ mouths hang open, no more than cavernous black holes. With their weird, hobbling gate, the things look like mummies wrapped in tobacco leaves.
Shudders wrack my body, but I keep moving.
A new group pours from the trees opposite, thick like a trail of fire ants between me and the house. Rapid heartbeats slap at my aching ribs. I’m breathing so loud I fear they’ll hear me.
Slipping through the side door of the garage, I search for anything that will make a decent weapon. The place reeks of gasoline and sawdust. Moonlight streams through rotted shingles in the roof. Between the junk piled in here and my father’s old ’57 Corvette rusting under its cover, there’s nowhere to step without making noise.
I dare a glance out the dirty window and come face to face with a zombie. Ducking, I bump the rear fender of the car with my ass. My elbow knocks a paint can over, and the hissing outside increases tenfold.
Shadows play on the cover of the Vette, staining the old, blue plastic darker. I know a dozen zombies congregate just outside. Sweat creeps down the back of my neck, dampening my collar.
Glass breaks. The door on the far side of the room creaks open. Frantic, I scan for a way out and catch sight of the rafters and damaged roof beyond. The hole may be too small to fit through, but if zombies can’t climb, this is my chance.
I’ll have one shot. Placing most of my weight on my good leg, I launch toward the lowest beam. Arms stretched to capacity, my fingers bite onto the rough wood. My injury stabs white-hot as I pull myself up, just as the door smashes inward.
Zombies burst into the room and swarm the car. One spots me, alerting the others with his shallow wheezing. They reach for my legs, but my feet scrabble up and over the beam to safety. I never find out if zombies climb—because they jump.
Crouching like spiders on the floor, they shoot upward. Limbs flailing, they windmill through the air before clinging to the beams. One grabs my boot with a hiss, its open mouth moist and foul as the pit of hell.
With surprising ferocity, I’m yanked from my perch. My body rockets toward the floor. My lids slam shut as I brace for impact. The fall lasts longer than I think it should, and my eyes open again.
Then I hit.
Pain blisters my knee, hip, and shoulder where I make contact.
Looking up at the Draugar, the distance seems wrong, and I realize I’ve fallen into a pit that wasn’t here a minute ago. My fingertips graze concrete block. Cold and damp, it surrounds me on four sides.
Above, the creatures watch. They bob their hideous heads, pace to me at bay, but they don’t attack. I’m almost afraid to know why. Then the grinding starts.
A slab of concrete at least a foot thick inches its way over the top of the pit. Only it’s not a pit.
It’s a tomb.
No vault exists in my garage. No crypt or mausoleum is kept anywhere on our property. At least, not one I know about. Yet here I am. About to be buried alive.
What are the last thoughts of a dying man?
Memories flit through my mind, but fear scatters them until I can’t hold on to any one image. I need more time. My voice rings out and returns to smother me. Reason is quickly wiped clean by the panic filling my brain. Questions knock against fear with no time left to consider anything but …
Raven. God, how I love you. Did you know?
The question will remain forever unanswered as I suffocate here alone in the earth. God help me. No, no help her.
She’s all that matters. All I ever wanted. And hers is the name I call as the lid slides shut on my grave with a final, echoing boom.