“Not yet.” Officer Clapton sighed. He sat down. It looked like the events of the past twenty-four hours and being up for the past two days were taking their toll. “We’ve got the National Guard and troops from Fort Detrick coming in, and they’re doing a bang-up job at making sure these goddamn things stay down once they get up. It’s not like the movies where a shot to the head does it. Its taking total dismemberment.”
“Oh, man!”
Officer Clapton continued, as if he were talking to himself. “We’ve managed to capture a few of them, and some scientists are down from New York. They’re trying to find a way to restrain them so they can be studied. The goddamn news media is having a field day with this. Meanwhile, people are panicking, downtown Lancaster is in chaos, and looky-loos from out of the county are flocking in to watch the freakshow.”
“What about my folks? Are they coming?”
“No. I told them I wanted them to stay home for their own safety.”
“Oh.” Tim frowned. He was hoping his parents would have been here by now to secure his release.
“I do have good news, though,” Officer Clapton said. For the first time there was a hint of promise in his features. “It looks like this spell is losing its power.”
“Really? How so?”
“It hasn’t spread beyond the county, for one thing.” Clapton sighed. “We’ve been maintaining contact with cemeteries and funeral homes throughout the county. Only a handful of them from the general vicinity of the initial breakout have reported this rising from the dead phenomenon. The furthest it’s traveled is maybe five miles outside the perimeter. At the rate it spread this morning, it should have gone well into York and Berks Counties and probably into Maryland by now, but it hasn’t. It’s like it just stopped and then started weakening. Hell, it almost seems like the spell itself is over. Like it’s lost its strength and has ended entirely.”
“Really?” Tim wondered how this was possible.
“Yeah. It’s made it a hell of a lot easier to kill the remaining zombies.”
“So the people that’ve been resurrected…even though the spell itself isn’t spreading, its still powerful enough to animate the dead?”
“That’s what it seems like. It’s like whatever remaining strength the spell has, its being used in animating the dead that were affected late last night and early this morning. It’s lost all its strength in spreading, and it doesn’t seem to be affecting new people.”
“That would take other murders, right?” Tim mused aloud. “I mean…if the zombies were killing the living, they were spreading this spell, or this virus, or whatever it was.” He looked at Officer Clapton. “That would mean something was commanding them to spread itself. But if the zombies are being killed, that’s weakening the spell somewhat so…” Tim frowned. It didn’t make sense that the spell would peter out like that. In
“Anyway, we’re still telling everybody to stay inside as a precaution,” Officer Clapton continued. He looked at Tim and managed a smile. “It looks like we’re getting things under control. I can take you home if you’d like.”
“Really?” At the mention of going home, Tim completely forgot about figuring out why Gordon’s spell was ending.
“Yeah.” Officer Clapton rose to his feet. “It’s the least I could do. I feel bad about the last few days. What happened to you shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry if I came across as…well…as a hard-ass — ”
“It’s okay,” Tim said.
“No, it’s not okay.” Officer Clapton shook his head. “I imagine things are going to be a lot different in the next few weeks, what with Tom Bradfield dead. He would have been a major thorn in your side. One of our detectives paid him a visit earlier this morning to try to talk to Scott, and Tom wouldn’t let them. Told them we had to refer all questions to his lawyer.”
“You think Tom Bradfield knew what was going on?”
“You want my opinion?”
“Yeah.”
“He knew something. One of the reports I heard was that somebody was trying to paint that guesthouse to cover up all the bloodstains that were found.”
Tim felt a sense of vindication. Proof that he was telling the truth! “No shit?”
“No shit, buddy.” Officer Clapton clapped Tim on the back. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
And with that, Tim followed Officer Clapton out of the room. He couldn’t wait to get home.
Tim Gaines felt better the closer they got to home.
He’d never seen the streets of Lancaster city, much less the surrounding towns and suburbs, so crowded with police cars and military vehicles. It seemed like there was one military jeep or police car on every other intersection. Twice they passed parking lots that contained larger military vehicles designed to transport soldiers. Cops were directing traffic in some places, steering pedestrians and commuters away from certain areas. Officer Clapton had to show his shield once on the drive to Spring Valley when they reached a checkpoint. Tim tried to pay attention to what was going on by listening to the police band in the car, but had a hard time deciphering all the jargon. It sounded like things were getting under control. Self-containment units had been dispatched to all corners of the affected area, and the National Guard had set up checkpoints at various locations heading in and out of the county. The last report of a dispatch (which Tim figured meant a mass extermination of zombies) was fifteen minutes ago, on the west side of Lititz. The primary problem now seemed to be the news media, which had descended on the towns of Spring Valley and Lititz in droves.
The view from the back seat behind the wire-mesh that separated him and Officer Clapton provided a good view of what was happening. Tim took it all in, feeling better about the situation, but still worried about Chelsea and his parents. He was also worried about George, Al, and their families. “Have you heard anything about George Ulrich and Al Romero?” Tim asked.
“I haven’t,” Officer Clapton said. “But if it’ll help put your mind at ease, most people in Spring Valley are fine. The only areas that suffered serious infection were the neighboring communities that bordered Zuck’s Woods. I think your friends live far enough outside that area.”
Tim nodded. True enough. Still…
Officer Clapton made a right turn down his street. The last police vehicle they’d passed was at the entrance of their development. Almost home.
As they drew up to the house, they passed a car that had been parked on the wrong side of the street, but Tim didn’t think anything of it. The people that lived across the street had friends that sometimes pulled into their side of the street the wrong way. He was surprised he didn’t see more haphazardly parked vehicles this morning. At least his folks were still home.
As they pulled up behind his parent’s vehicles, Officer Clapton’s cell phone rang. Officer Clapton stopped the car and reached for his phone. “Go on up, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Okay,” Tim said. He stepped out of the car and took a step toward the front door.
From behind him, Officer Clapton: “Mr. Sawyer! Good to talk to you!” Pause. “Well, things seem to be getting — “
Tim tuned Officer Clapton out as he drew closer to the front door, which was wide open.
Something was wrong.
It was an instinctual feeling, the way you know a trip to the dentist to have a wisdom tooth pulled is going to be painful even though you’ve never had one done before. It was just a given. Tim felt something bad had happened and that something even worse was lying in wait for him beyond the front door to his home.
The smart thing to do would be to call out to Officer Clapton.
Tim rushed to the front porch, opened the screen door and burst through the entrance. As he did, the front door banged back and closed shut on its backward momentum. His mom’s voice came through, her voice clear, concise, and commanding. “Lock the door, Timmy, don’t let them in!”
Tim reached behind him and automatically locked the front door. He was deathly afraid now.
He smelled blood.
Sweat.
Death.
