Back From The Dead

been going on here and learning what’s happened…” Harry gestured around them at the splotchy paint-work in the guesthouse living room, the bloodstains on the floor and walls they were trying to cover up. “I see things have come full circle with Scott. And you know something? Scott’s much worse. Killing Billy and Candace may have been something that was carried too far that night, something that was just spur of the moment.”

“That’s right,” Tom said, his back to the front door of the guesthouse. “It was spur of the moment. I never thought it would go that far. You know that, and Victor knows it. We’ve talked about it so many times, Harry, that’s why we — “

“That’s why we covered it up, I know. But things are different with Scott. You can see that, can’t you?”

“All I see right now is we have to cover this up or the police will not only be all over this place, they’ll be traipsing through the woods and they might find where we buried — “

“As far as I’m concerned, Scott belongs in prison!” Harry cut in, overriding Tom, who started, shocked that Harry made such a bold statement. “The only reason I’m even here is for my own self interest. I don’t want those woods searched either. I don’t want those bodies found for the simple reason that I don’t want an investigation started. I’d like to think enough time has passed that any witnesses or evidence or whatever is so old it can’t be used. I mean, none of us were questioned back then, right?” Harry looked from Victor to Tom. They shrugged and shook their heads. “But still, you never know what can happen with DNA and stuff. So I’d rather have them where they are. Buried, where they can’t be found. I think that’s a shitty thing to say, but…for the first time in years I’m sober, I’m on a good track with my job, I’m married to a great woman, and I’m connecting with my kids. I’m even going to be a grandfather. I want to be there for my grandchild, I want to be there for him more than I was for my son when he was growing up. I want to make that up to him by being there for his kid.” For the first time Harry looked like he was imploring Tom and Victor to understand his position. And for the first time, Tom understood completely where Harry was coming from.

Tom said, “I understand, Harry.”

“Do you?”

Tom nodded. “Yeah, I do. Now can we finish this?”

“We’re going to finish this, all right. But remember what I just told you. I’m only here for my own self- interest. I don’t care about you or Scott. When this is finished, I don’t ever want to hear from you again. If the police question me, I’m going to deny I even know you. You got me?”

You self-righteous prick, Tom thought. Despite his sudden flare of anger, Tom fought it down. “Whatever you want, Harry. Let’s just cut the shit and get back to doing this.”

Harry bent down and picked up his paintbrush. He glanced back at Tom and the sudden change on his face was so swift that Tom had no time to react. Harry’s features went from sullen anger and defiance, to sudden stark shock and fear within a second. He opened his mouth and managed a quick “What the fuck is that?” and that’s when Tom felt the presence of somebody approaching from behind, at the front door.

When Tom turned around he caught a quick glimpse of a kid in dark jeans and a black and white T-shirt. He caught a glimpse of the words “Dr. Chud” on the T-shirt. The kid’s eyes were vacant, his throat ripped open, and Tom saw that his T-shirt wasn’t black, it was dark red from the great cascade of blood that had poured out of his torn throat. The kid, a young guy in his early twenties with brown hair, lurched forward and launched himself at Tom.

Tom stepped back, trying to scramble out of the way, and more people swarmed into view: another young guy who might have been Dr. Chud’s sidekick, his guts hanging out, and a short skinny kid with a horrible head wound that made his left eye protrude from its socket. Others swarmed in from the yard, about half a dozen, and as Dr. Chud slammed into him, propelling him onto the ground, the others entered the guesthouse and scrambled past, heading toward Harry and Victor, and the last thing Tom heard before Dr. Chud ripped his throat out with his teeth were the sounds of Harry and Victor screaming.

* * *

“Did you hear that?”

Scott stopped from the grisly task of separating Neal Ashford’s arm from its socket. They’d broken one of the blades of the power saw while trying to saw through Neal’s legs and had replaced it with a sturdier one. Dave had tried hacking away at the other corpse with an axe and wasn’t having much luck. Bones were harder to break than he thought, which was weird considering he’d broken facial bones with his bare fists in past wilding sessions. “Hear what?”

“That noise.” Steve was crouched by the fireplace in the den, pausing in his task of feeding dismembered remains into the roaring flames. The basement was stiflingly hot and sweat was pouring in rivulets down their bare backs and chests.

“What noise?” Scott called out. It was hard enough to hear in the workroom with the power saw going and Dave trying to cut Neal into little pieces with the axe. Had Steve heard police sirens?

“Sounds like somebody’s outside,” Steve said.

Scott turned off the saw and stepped away from the workbench. As the silence settled into his system he heard something from upstairs. Somebody entering the house through the kitchen.

“Hold on,” Scott said. He brushed past Dave, who set the axe down and followed Scott to the den where they joined Steve. The only remains left of the zombie to dispose of in the fireplace was an arm, a foot, a lower torso, and the head. Neal’s disarticulated pieces were still back in the workroom.

They stood in silence, listening. There was definitely somebody upstairs. Scott relaxed. It was Dad. Who else would it be?

“Did you hear sirens?” Scott asked. “Or the sound of a car pulling up?”

Steve shook his head.

They listened some more. In addition to the sound of footsteps in the kitchen there were other sounds; something was being dragged across the floor, more footsteps outside, and footsteps tramping their way in from the side door. Scott felt his stomach clench as the footsteps exited the kitchen and traveled through the living room.

Scott stepped forward. “I’ll go up and see what’s going on.”

As Scott headed upstairs he heard another sound, a tinkling of glass breaking. He was just opening the door to the basement, peeking out, and was having second thoughts about heading up the stairs when Dad stepped into his field of vision. Dad had his back turned to Scott and was looking toward the kitchen, presumably toward the sound of breaking glass. Scott opened the door and stepped out of the basement. “Everything okay?”

Dad turned around and Scott yelled.

Dad was dead. His throat was ripped out and by all rights his head should have been lolling forward on his chest. Scott could see a part of Dad’s spine through the meat and gristle of his neck. Dad stepped toward Scott, arms reaching toward him, and that’s when the rest of them poured into the living room from the kitchen.

Dad’s friends Victor and Harry were first, similarly torn up, bloody and very dead. They shambled in and immediately zeroed in on Scott as other figures tumbled into the room, several of them young guys, also dead and bloody, one of them wearing a tattered T-shirt with the words “Dr. Chud” emblazoned on the front. From the opposite direction, a woman Scott didn’t recognize strolled into the living room. She was naked from the waist down; her gutted abdomen trailed loopy ropes of intestine behind her.

Dad reached Scott first and the force of his momentum catapulted Scott backwards down the stairs. Dad clung to him, his fingers clawing into his flesh. Scott’s head cracked on the stairs and he saw stars. He was dimly aware of Steve and Dave in the basement yelling out in surprise, then fear as the rest of the zombies piled down the basement stairs and swarmed the room, then his Dad bit into his face with his strong jaws, working the flesh off with savage shakes of his head, the pain filling him with an intensity he’d never experienced before, and then everything exploded and he knew no more.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Naomi Gaines was doing one more quick check to make sure she had everything in her purse when the phone rang.