Red Hill

Skeeter raised his hunting rifle, situated it between the boards, and aimed. "I don't know. Let's find out." He picked out a target, and then breathed. "Sorry, Mr. Madison." Skeeter squeezed the trigger, and the fabric of Mr. Madison's shirt, in the spot where his heart would be, popped and sprayed open. Dark blood oozed from the wound, but Mr. Madison didn't seem to notice. "Okay. So that doesn't work." Skeeter squeezed the trigger again. This time a red dot immediately formed in the middle of Mr. Madison's temple and simultaneously seemed to burst, leaving a perfectly imperfect round wound. The man stopped midstep as his head jerked to the side, and then he fell onto his side.

  I waited for a moment, watching for any signs of movement. Nothing. "You think we have to burn them, too?" I asked.

  Skeeter frowned, his eyes darted over at me from over the sights of his rifle. "Now that's just silly."

  "Skeeter, honey, I think Jill's not feeling well," Doris said. She was wringing her hands, clearly unnerved.

  Skeeter hopped up and rushed into the kitchen. I followed behind, seeing Zoe sitting in the corner, watching her aunt Jill as she sat in her chair, crumpled over and heaving into a bucket.

  "Zoe? Zoe, come here. Come sit in here for a bit." I motioned for Zoe to join me in the sanctuary. Zoe slid off her chair and walked toward me, and when she gripped my fingers, the strength in her tiny hand surprised me.

  We sat together on a pew beside Gary, hoping the hammering would drown out some of the noise coming from the kitchen. Between the moaning noises Jill made while she vomited, she whimpered and cried for Skeeter to help her.

  "She's sweating, Daddy," Zoe said, "a whole lot." Her eyes were heavy with worry. "Then her face went all wonky and she threw up on the floor. She said her whole body hurt like she had the flu."

  I nodded. "Did that scare you?"

  "It all scares me," she said. The skin around her eyes tightened, and I could see she was trying not to cry.

  No one knew what would happen to Jill, but I had an idea of what might be happening, and I didn't want Zoe to witness it. Short of Skeeter moving Jill somewhere else, the only way to keep Zoe from witnessing her aunt's death was to take her away from the church. That meant taking her outside where it wasn't safe.

  "I'm so sorry, honey. I wish I could make this all go away." I hugged Zoe to my chest, trying to buy some time before a solution came to mind.

  Jill was sobbing now. She probably knew what was happening, too.

  I cupped Zoe's little cherubic face in my hands, scanning the splash of freckles across her nose and light-brown hair. She'd kept the same simple shoulder-length hair cut since she was four. Her natural waves made it bouncy, but it seemed like her worry had weighed that down, too. "I'm going to try to help Uncle Skeeter. I want you to stay in here, okay? You're safe in here. I won't be gone long."

  Zoe nodded quickly, glancing back to Gary and Eric as they pounded the last nails into the last board.

  "Good girl," I said, kissing her forehead.

  Skeeter was on one knee, both arms wrapped around his wife. She leaned against his chest, her face blotchy and glistening with sweat. Skeeter stared at the floor, whispering something to her, with the same hopelessness in his eyes as the woman we passed on the bridge. His young and healthy wife was dying in his arms, and they both knew it.

  Doris filled a glass with water, and leaned down to hold it to Jill's lips. She took a few sips and then spit it out, leaning down to the bucket, emptying her stomach once more.

  "We need the doctor," Doris said.

  "The doctor's dead," Gary said, dropping the hammer on the table next to Jill. "So is his wife, and kids. They're all walking around out there with milky eyes and bite marks."

  Jill sniffed once, and looked up at her husband. "Skeeter."

  "No," he said, shaking his head, still staring at the floor.

  "Skeeter, what if I hurt the people in here?"

  "No."

  "What if I hurt you?"

  "No!"

  "What if I kill Zoe?" she pleaded, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. Her breath skipped, and she pulled Skeeter's face down so his eyes met hers. "Don't let me hurt that baby, Skeeter."

  Skeeter's bottom lip quivered. "But what about our baby?"

  I stood up straight, away from the doorjamb I was leaning on. "What?"

  "What was that?" Doris said.

  "Jill's pregnant," Skeeter said, his voice desperate. "Seven weeks. Dr. Brown just called her this morning."

  I leaned down and grabbed my knees. I couldn't imagine the agony he was feeling. They didn't deserve this. They'd been trying to conceive since their wedding night, and now Skeeter would lose them both.

  Jill touched her forehead to Skeeter's chin, and then looked up at him with a weak smile. "We'll be together, and we'll wait for you."

  Skeeter broke down, burying his face into Jill's neck. "I can't do it, Jillybean," he sobbed.

  The first window in the sanctuary crashed, and everyone but Skeeter froze. Sounds of searching hands on the wooden boards made my skin crawl. I leaned back to see Zoe, Barb, and Ms. Kay turned around in their seats, staring at the broken glass on the floor. The boards were holding, but I could still feel my heart pounding against my rib cage. Eric stood next to the broken glass, inspecting the board, and then he nodded, assuring us that they would hold.

  "Wait. What are we talking about here?" Reverend Mathis said, bringing my attention back to the kitchen.

  Doris was still wringing her hands. "I can't say I . . . we shouldn't be talking about this."

  "It's okay," Jill said, cupping her hand over Skeeter's head until she had to bend over again and vomit into the bucket.

  Another window broke.

  I looked to Gary. "What is that hallway there?" I said, gesturing to the open doorway on the other side of the kitchen. There were two his and hers bathrooms, and then an open doorway leading down a dark hall. "We may need another exit."

  "Just to the stairs."

  That caught my attention. "What stairs? You boarded up windows but didn't secure the upper level?"

  Gary shrugged. "I don't think they can climb."

  "We're in the house of the Lord!" Doris said. "I'm not going to let this happen! We don't know what this is. Skeeter, Jill could get better!"

  Bob spoke for the first time. His voice was deep and raspy. "We know exactly what this is."

  Everyone turned in the direction of Bob's voice. He was sitting on a metal folding chair in the corner, where he'd been for the last hour. He'd perched his cane between his legs, resting his hands on the handle.

  His gray mustache twitched when he spoke. "This is nothing less than a goddamn tragedy."

  "Bob!" Doris said, pretending to be offended.

  "Truth is, she's just going to end up like one of those things outside, only she'll be in here with us."

  Glass crashed to the floor again, and this time a bone-chilling moan floated from the sanctuary into the kitchen.

  Bob's eyes drifted to me, and then settled beside me about waist high. That was when I noticed Zoe standing just behind me. She stared at her aunt Jill, her beautiful hazel-green eyes filling with tears for the umpteenth time that day. I wondered if she would ever know happiness after today.

  I kneeled beside my daughter, trying to think of something cathartic to say, but words wouldn't save Jill, and Jill being okay was the only thing that was going to make this hell somewhat tolerable for Zoe.

  A heavy thud sounded above us, and we all looked to the ceiling. Skeeter kissed Jill's forehead, and then motioned for Doris to sit next to her as he grabbed his shotgun. Gary picked up his hammer. I gently pushed Zoe toward Reverend Mathis, and then followed my brother-in-law, Gary, and Eric through the doorway, and down the hall. Skeeter stopped at the bottom of the stairs, pointing his shotgun to the closed door at the top.

  Gary flipped on the light. "Maybe someone crawled onto the roof to get away from them and made their way inside?"

  We heard slow, clumsy footsteps, and then so
mething was knocked over.

  Eric took in a sharp breath. "They can't climb, can they? I've never heard of a zombie climbing."

  "Why not? They used to be human. Humans can climb," Gary said, resituating the toothpick in his mouth and tightening his grip on the hammer.

  I nervously ran my fingers through my hair. "We don't really know anything about them. Assuming is going to get us all killed. I say we get some boards, take them upstairs, try to communicate with whoever is in there, and if they don't answer, we board up the door."

  "Simple enough," Skeeter said. His voice was low and smooth, and reminded me of the few times he'd invited me along on a deer hunt. That was his in the woods voice, like the guys in those hunting shows always used while they were narrating their victorious kill. He didn't pull his eyes away from the door, as if he were hunting whatever was on the other side.

  "Skeeter?" Eric said. The nervousness contrasted with his large, burly frame. "We're almost out of boards."

  Miranda

  "NOW WHAT?" ASHLEY SAID. HER voice was increasingly whiny with each mile we drove.

  I didn't want to be sitting still. I wanted to take the overly congested exit and then head west of the overpass, past the army, or reserves, or whoever those guys in green camo guarding the bridge into Anderson were, and be on my way to my dad's. A dozen or more guns were pointed in our direction, at us and everyone else caught in the mess of cars below the overpass. Three lines of cars and trucks were stopped on the northbound exit ramp by the men with guns. People were outside of their vehicles, yelling and pleading to pass.

  I had maneuvered the Bug as close as I could to the ramp, but quickly ran out of room. There was no way to get through, and we were stuck on the shoulder of the interstate.

  "What are they doing?" Cooper asked, still clutching Ashley to his side.

  Bryce tried his phone again. When he heard yet another busy signal, he let the phone fall in his lap, and hit the door with the side of his fist.

  "Hey!" I said. "She's gotten us this far! Be nice!"

  A newer, red pickup truck approached the overpass on the Fairview side, slowed, and then came to a stop. A man got out, pointing toward Anderson. The army men shook their heads, motioning for him to turn back. He kept pointing to Anderson, but when more than a dozen semi-automatic rifles were turned in his direction, he got in his pickup and backed away.

  "He came from Fairview. You think we should still go that way?" Cooper asked.

  "It's the quickest way," Ashley said.

  "So they're guarding Anderson," Bryce said, watching the scene transpire.

  "Looks that way," I said.

  "Then why are they on the Fairview side of the bridge? Wouldn't it make more sense to be on the Anderson side? Then they could guard the exit ramp, too."

  I took a closer look. The soldiers were young, and from what I could tell, seemed antsy. "There is an armory in Anderson. You think they're really soldiers? Maybe they're just trying to protect their town?"

  "The governor is in Anderson today," Ashley said.

  We all turned, surprised she knew that interesting and pertinent tidbit of information.

  "I listen to the radio in the mornings when I'm getting ready for class. They said it on the news. Governor Bellmon would be in Anderson today."

  Bryce nodded. "There's no way he'd already have soldiers there. They must be random townspeople."

  I looked at them again, and gasped. They weren't wearing fatigues. They were outfitted in Realtree and Mossy Oak. "Oh, Christ. Scared kids with AK-47s? Is the governor that stupid?"

  "Maybe it wasn't him at all? Maybe they just took it upon themselves?" Cooper said.

  "Either way," I said, turning to look out the back window. I didn't see anything that would bite us, but it would only be a matter of time before they caught up. "We have to get going."

  Just as I finished my sentence, the same red pickup from before came from the Fairview side at high speed, straight at the men with guns.

  "Miranda!" Ashley screamed.

  I gripped the steering wheel as they opened fire. The windshield of the truck broke, and then the truck veered off course, straight for our side of the bridge. It jumped over the side of the off-ramp, cartwheeled over three cars, and then came to a rest on its cab. The wheels were still spinning, making a terrible high-pitched whirring noise.

  Everyone screamed, and those standing outside their cars crouched down for a second, waiting to see where the truck would go. For a while, everyone seemed confused, nervous, and unsure what to do, but once the shock of the earlier incident became secondary to the need to get home to their families, the yelling and pleading to pass continued.

  "Maybe we could sneak by them on foot?" Cooper said.

  Bryce shook his head. "We need a distraction."

  As if it were scripted, a white full-sized van slowly approached the bridge. The gunmen were immediately on edge. The people standing outside of their cars yelled louder, and a few of them attempted to throw shoes and anything they could get their hands on at the gunmen, but none of it made it to the bridge.

  "Oh, man. Get back in your car," Bryce said.

  The driver had gotten out, and was arguing with the gunmen. He then grabbed one of the gunmen's rifles. I wasn't sure who shot the first bullet, but once a gun went off, they all opened fire. The man from the van convulsed while his body was punctured by bullets. When he hit the ground, the gunmen targeted his vehicle, too.

  "Oh my God! Oh my God!" Ashley cried.

  The gunfire didn't stop. The men with guns were agitated and angry, and the yelling from below drew their attention. The people standing outside of their vehicles on the ramp were suddenly prey, and they all began to scream and run. Following the running families, the men let their gunfire spread to everyone else trapped in the gridlock below.

  "Jesus Christ!" Bryce yelled. "Get us out of here, Miranda! Go! Go!"

  I yanked on the gearshift and backed into the car behind me, and then spun the wheel, shoving the gearshift into drive. After a few near misses and even more sideswipes, we were under the bridge. I didn't stop, hoping the psychopaths above would be too busy with the poor people on the south side to see that I was going to take the on-ramp on the other side and floor it toward Fairview.

  "What are you doing?" Ashley said. "Hide under the bridge!"

  "We'll get stuck there!" Bryce said, knowing I was too focused on getting us the hell out of there to respond. "Keep going, Miranda! Don't stop!"

  We cleared the bridge and flipped a U-turn to catch the southbound on-ramp. The Bug caught air more than once on its climb to the top--sometimes on the asphalt, sometimes not--and finally made it to the road.

  Cooper patted my seat ardently. "They're not even paying attention! Keep going!"

  We rode in silence for the next mile, but the second we were out of range Ashley began to sniff and whimper. We had left behind a massacre. Children were among the victims on the interstate.

  "Has the whole world gone crazy?" Ashley cried.

  Bryce and Cooper were sniffing, too. Before long hot tears were burning down my cheeks. Moments later, we were all sobbing.

  Bryce wiped his nose on his shirt, and then took my right hand. "You saved our lives, Miranda."

  I squeezed his hand, unable to speak. I took a long, broken breath, and tried to concentrate on the road. We would be coming up on Fairview soon.

  Chapter Nine

  Nathan

  ERIC RETURNED QUICKLY CARRYING SEVERAL boards in his arms. "I found these in the shed. I took as many as I could carry because they're really starting to gather around the church. I don't think anyone should go outside anymore."

  "They must know we're in here," I said. "It's just a matter of time before they get in."

  Gary pulled the toothpick from his mouth, frustrated. "But Eric just said we can't leave."

  "He said he didn't think we should," I said, looking to Skeeter. "Doesn't mean we can't. It isn't safe here."

 
He ignored our discussion, and began climbing the stairs, never taking his eyes off the door.

  We all followed. The silent hopes to find nothing were louder than the stairs that creaked in a slow symphony beneath our feet.

  Gary gripped the doorknob and pulled, using his body weight as leverage. None of us could be sure if the walking dead had enough coordination to climb or even twist a doorknob, but just one mistake meant death. I didn't want to take any chances, and neither did these men.

  Skeeter lifted his fist, and knocked his knuckles against the door. "Hello? It's Skeeter McGee. Anyone in there?"

  The footsteps that we'd heard before had been silent for several minutes.

  Skeeter tried again. "I have a gun, and I'm prepared to shoot. Identify yourself."

  Nothing.

  "Let's board it up," Eric said, repositioning the wood in his arms.

  Skeeter held up a hand, signaling for Eric to wait, and then he held his ear against the door. His eyes targeted me, and then he shook his head. "I don't hear anything. Don't tell me those things know how to hide. I'm going in."

  Skeeter put his hand over Gary's, and I grabbed his arm. "What are you doing? What if there's several in there? What if they overpower us and get downstairs?"

  Skeeter smiled with his mouth and frowned with his eyes. "I ain't gonna let that happen. Just like I ain't gonna leave those things walking above us. If we're going to ride this out in this church, it's got to be secure."

  I sighed, and let go of his arm. "All right. Gary?"

  Gary reluctantly released the doorknob, and Skeeter went in. I checked behind the door, and then my eyes scanned the large, empty classroom before they touched on what Skeeter had already seen.

  A young woman, early twenties, was lying next to a fallen end table and an open window. Blood marked her trail. Her arm had been chewed on, in several spots down to the bone.

  "Christ almighty, that's Annabelle Stephens!" Eric said, rushing to her side. He looked up at us after touching her neck. There wasn't a spot on her from her chin down that wasn't saturated in blood.

  We heard a whimper from the corner, and Skeeter immediately trained his shotgun in that direction. I grabbed the barrel and slowly pushed it down, seeing a little boy, alone and huddled into a ball.

  Skeeter lowered his weapon. "Hey there, little man."

  Gary let out a breath, glancing at Eric while he covered Annabelle's face and chest with the only thing he could find: a small rug. "That's Craig and Amy Nicholson's boy."