Untaken Read online

  “C’mon you monster,” he murmured under his breath. The Marked was not slowing. It dashed across the street, past the fence, and into the yard with its arms spread wide. Bill crouched at the last instant and shoved his sword upward into the solar plexus of the Marked. Its shriek pierced the night.

  Bill stood and took one slice sideways with his sword, severing the head from the body. He joined the others in the basement, sliding the steel tubing over the opening.

  They heard approaching footsteps and growls across the street, but they were hidden, and the Marked were left to sniff out new blood.

  “Keep quiet,” Bill warned. His coveralls were red. Blood had spilled in from the well onto the basement floor. He had put up a good fight.

  “How are you still here?” Jake asked.

  “I’ve been putting up a squabble. They won’t take me easily.”

  “I mean…the dark clouds. You’re still here.”

  Bill laughed. “I’m as surprised as you are. An old cuss like me, I thought I was first on the list. I must have scared Beelzebub away with my sword.” He made a jab at the air with his sword just as he did previously with Jake when the sky was still golden.

  Brooks sat Emily up in the corner of the basement. He pushed the power button on a flashlight but it failed to light up. He shook it up and down and tried again.

  Jake handed him a lighter from the table. “Everything is out. I couldn’t start my car earlier. I don’t know what it is, but nothing starts up the way it should. My car, my phone, my alarm clock this morning…”

  Brooks grabbed one of the torches from the pile, and put the lighter to it. He shielded the flame with his hand as best he could. The only window was covered with the steel tubing, but he remained cautious and did what he could to keep the light low. He grabbed a jug of water, unscrewed the cap and helped Emily to a swallow. The jugs were filled with holy water, and the effects on Emily’s appearance were immediately noticeable.

  The priest, “Holy water cures them.”

  “The demons?” Bill asked.

  “The Marked. Emily was healed.”

  “I find that the best medicine is the edge of my blade.” He had stripped his t-shirt off under the coveralls, and his body was dripping with foreign blood.

  “Those are people,” the priest insisted.

  Bill shrugged. “Either way, go easy on that water. The hose stopped flowing, so it’s all we got.”

  Jake handed the priest some new rounds for the handgun. “Are you sure you’ve never shot a gun before?”

  “Beginner’s luck,” the priest said, referring to the precisely targeted rounds that now lay inside the dead bodies of two of the Marked outside.

  Bill sat down Indian-style on the basement floor near the opening to the well, unaware or unconcerned with the blood that pooled beneath him from the window. It made no difference. He was drenched in it already. “What brought you back here, Jake?”

  “We came from the church. Everyone in it is gone now,” Jake said.

  “Poof, eh?” Bill asked. “I saw it happen to a few folks outside the window.” He reached under his coveralls and scratched at his bulging hairy belly.

  Brooks stood from caring for Emily and walked up behind the priest, towering over him by at least half a foot. He kept the torch shielded by his hand, but it lit up his against his face and the whites of his eyes showed up clearly.

  Bill perked up in surprise. “Holy hell. A black fella.”

  Both Jake and the priest looked at Brooks. He just stood and looked back at the old hippie.

  Bill continued, “I’ve seen a few of ya in my lifetime. Good folks, I just never seen one up close is all. How tall are ya?”

  “Six-four,” his voice was deep.

  “Yeah, big alright. Muscled too. I ‘spose you’ll be handy to have around with these biters outside.”

  Jake changed the subject, “I need to find my father. I have to know he’s ok, and if he is, we have to bring him here.”

  “You want to go back out there?” the priest asked.

  Bill cheered in, “I’m up for it. To be honest, I’ve been looking forward to this day for a while.”

  They heard rustling past the window. A scream in the distance.

  “Cut the light,” Bill said. Brooks was already on it.

  One of the Marked was walking in the yard outside the well. They could hear him sniffing, the way a dog does. It reminded Jake.

  The Marked ran off, and they heard nothing again.

  “There’s a dog out there that we need to get, Bill. Oscar.”

  “Still alive out there…well, we shall get him.” He used the blade of his sword to help himself up from his sitting position. Jake moved to the window and slid the steel tubing aside just enough to make a crack big enough to strain his ear through for any noise outside.

  “When we come back in through that window, you take care not to pop us,” Bill said to the priest, then turned to Jake and waited for him to lead the way out.

  They made it to the fence. The night was growing more silent. The screams were being heard further apart as the survivors no doubt made their way into hiding. The Marked were taking their time to find them, tearing down doors and ripping into homes. The noise of destruction was still prevalent in the blackness of the unseen world.

  Jake heard a low growl on the other side of the fence. He looked around, but didn’t see any of the Marked. He saw one down the street, but it was far away and moving in the opposite direction. Bill was right behind him at the fence. The growl grew louder.

  He popped his head up to look over the wood slats. The firelight of the neighborhood gave him just enough to catch a glimpse of Oscar huddled in the corner of the yard, his teeth bared and a low growl came from his lips.

  “Shh…it’s ok, Oscar,” Jake tried to soothe the dog and reassure him that he was friendly. He heard a shrill scream that came just yards away and it rattled his senses. In the center of the backyard, a Marked who had been creeping up on the dog, turned its attention to Jake at the fence.

  “Oh, shit.”

  The Marked sprang at him, letting loose a banshee shriek, crossing the yard to the fence in a run. Jake dropped to the pavement on his back, the shotgun pointed up to the top of the fence slats. As soon as he could see the Marked leap over, he was going to answer with the trigger. Bill crouched at the ready.

  The fence slats between the men burst open in a splintered mess and the Marked was there. Surprised, Jake rolled toward it with the shotgun, but the Marked was already on him in the darkness. He heard Bill give a courageous battle cry, and felt the sting of teeth in his shoulder. Its jaw clenched tight, and he heard a grunt as the Marked responded in pain to Bill’s plunging blade.

  The teeth were clamped so tightly that Bill had to pry them open with his sword like a crowbar. Jake looked at his shoulder. It displayed deep teeth marks that resembled the bite of a small Great White shark. The Marked had failed to pull back before Bill’s blade pierced its heart, and Jake was fortunate to not be missing an arm. Blood trickled down his ribcage and he felt it warm against his leg, filling his shoe.

  They heard more screams and the clatter of disturbance in nearby homes as any Marked within hearing distance was alerted to their presence by the noise.

  Ignoring the pain, Jake dove through the hole in the fence and called for Oscar. The dog, recognizing his neighbor’s voice, came running. They ran back through the fence-hole together, and moved to the window well past Bill, who looked prepared to take on an entire army, smiling gleefully at the opportunity.

  They heard footsteps on the pavement. A lot of them. Jake dropped the dog into the window where the priest was waiting with open arms. He turned around to face what was coming and lifted the shotgun to his shoulder. He found he still had full control over his left arm, but he was shaky.

  Bill was already in full battle mode, jabbing the point of the sword under the chin of an approaching Marked. The blade went in to the hilt, and Bill kicked
the Marked in the chest to free it.

  There were three more on the street. Further down the pavement, he saw six more, all giving their undivided attention to the two warriors. Bill swung around in time to decapitate one, crouched and cut through the legs of another. Jake, knowing he had only two shells in the shotgun before having to pause to reload, waited for the second wave.

  “Get back in, Bill.”

  The hippie gave another gung-ho exclamation and buried his blade into the open stomach of the third Marked. The six on the street were closer now. Just a few more strides and they would be sharing the same yard with them.

  Jake grabbed a strap of Bill’s coveralls and pulled him to retreat. Bill, seeing the six Marked moving in, saw the wisdom in Jake’s decision. He jumped into the open window below as Jake’s shotgun leapt in his hands. Jake shot again, buying them more time, then dove in headfirst through the window opening, landing hard on the basement floor.

  The priest stood at the opening, and fired a shot that sounded like a cannon against the basement walls. He cocked the revolver again and shot once more. The Marked were at the window, climbing in with surprising agility. One went right past the priest and landed on top of Jake in the basement. The revolver reported again, stopping the last Marked in its tracks at the window.

  The Marked who was on top of Jake, reared its head back, a moment away from burying its teeth into Jake’s skull. It was ripped away quickly by a thick black arm and slammed violently into the steel tubing in the basement. Brooks’ hands squeezed the neck of the Marked hard, as the priest and Bill replaced the steel tubing over the window passageway.

  Brooks clenched his jaw tight and let his hands wrap securely around the neck of the Marked, constricting in a powerful grip. The Marked flailed its arms and dug its coarse fingernails into Brooks’ arms ineffectively. Brooks put all his strength into his hands, and the Marked gave a wicked gasp. Tighter, with everything that he could manage, Brooks crushed its windpipe and broke its neck before dropping it to the floor.

  They heard more approaching outside, the rotten snarls sounded like they came from right outside the window. They heard the steel tubing at the window rattle and shake, but Bill held it firmly, and the priest held the revolver pointed and ready. They kept silent in the basement.

  The Marked left the well, scrambling up and out, the group hoped in search of easier prey.

  Emily was already at Jake’s side, inspecting his shoulder wound. The pain of the bite was starting to sink in, but Jake ignored it and cracked open the shotgun and shoved two fresh shells in the barrels. The priest dug into the backpack and reloaded the cylinder of the revolver.

  “Are you sure it’s dead?” Bill pointed to the strangled Marked on the floor.

  “I felt the neck snap,” Brooks said.

  “He’s not going to…come alive again is he?” Emily asked.

  “Put some water on him,” the priest said. “If he does come back, we’ll need him on our side.”

  “We need to conserve that water.” Bill walked past Brooks and swung the edge of his blade sharply into the neck of the Marked, the steel of the sword clanged loud against the tubing behind it. The head tumbled, finding a peaceful spot on the lap of the Marked.

  Bill wiped the blade against his coveralls, “Done. And these aren’t vampires. They aren’t coming back alive.”

  Emily was tearing at the fabric of Jake’s t-shirt. She pulled a piece large enough to fashion as a sling, and set his arm inside. She popped the lid off a jug of water and carefully washed the wound, making sure to fill each tooth depression. Jake let out a relaxing exhale as the water soothed the burning flesh.

  Oscar came slowly out of the corner of the basement and lapped his tongue to Jake’s face, thanking him for the rescue.

  “They know we’re in here,” Brooks said as the torchlight flickered against his face.

  “Why aren’t they trying to get in?” the priest asked.

  “Scared of me, I told you. They see the bodies of their kind at the entrance and want no part of me,” Bill was in a good mood.

  Jake eased up into a more comfortable sitting position. “We can’t stay here. If they do have any sense, they’ll be back and they’ll figure out a way inside.”

  “I can’t hear them anymore. We’re safe,” the priest insisted.

  “Either way, I’m not staying. I need to find my father.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Brooks said.

  “Me too,” Emily agreed. They all looked at her.

  “Are you feeling ok yet? Are you healed?” Brooks asked.

  “I feel fine. I don’t want to stay here and wait for those monsters to break in.”

  “If we get through this, we’ll need you.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ll need you to…you’ll be the only woman on the earth.”

  “You’ll need me to repopulate the world?”

  Brooks looked embarrassed to have spoken what he believed was on everyone else’s mind. It was spoken with care and with a sense of protectiveness, but when Emily brought the thought out into the open, it just sounded shameful.

  “There are more people out there. More women. But we do need to make a base, and here is as good as any. You should stay,” the priest said.

  “I’m going with Jake,” she said again.

  “Just a moment ago you were too weak to stand, and now you want to go running through a parade of demons?”

  “I’m better. It was the water. I feel fine.”

  They looked at Jake’s shoulder. The deep wounds were healing fast. The tooth marks looked to be more of a scratch now than a wound. Each of them kept their eyes on his shoulder. It seemed to be regenerating new skin right before their eyes. He flexed his shoulder and lifted his arm out of the sling, over his head. It felt tender, but better.

  A scream was heard outside. Oscar whined.

  Jake stood and unslung one of the straps of the backpack of ammunition from his shoulder. “I’ll leave the .357 ammo here with you.”

  The priest waved it away and put his hands on Bill’s table of weapons. He had reluctantly changed his mind about the situation, “No need. I guess Emily is right. We should all go.”

  They all readied themselves. Nobody wanted to be left in the basement only to be searched out later by a blood-thirsty group of the Marked.

  “Besides,” the priest continued, “if we do find more people out there, this place won’t be big enough. We’ll need to find a stronghold somewhere else.”

  “My father’s home is just two blocks away.”

  “There is a grocery store that’s three blocks away. We should stock up on food and head to a secure location.” The priest looked at the ground, trying to envision the layout of the neighborhood and any buildings that would provide a solid base for a growing community of survivors. “What about the Three Rivers Expo Center? It’s big enough and empty. The Marked won’t look in there.”

  “It’s too big. Too many doors to cover. That’s why we left the church, isn’t it?”

  The priest looked at Jake, and then decided for everyone. “We need to find another church on the other side of the city where the destruction is less and there might be more survivors. St. Patrick’s.”

  “That’s all the way on the west side of town.”

  “Exactly. We are in the days of the Great Tribulation. Ten days to-,” he looked at Jake, “…tend days or seven years to get to the church before the end. And we need to gather more people.”

  Jake looked at him with skepticism, but didn’t argue. The church that they had left was too big, but that was for the four of them. With more people, more hands to fight and more eyes to keep a lookout, a church was as good as it was going to get. What demon would want to make its way into a church? Still, Jake couldn’t help but to point out the obvious. “There are no people out here. What if it’s the same throughout the city? What if every survivor is in hiding?”

  The priest rolled the revolver cylinder against his
arm, “We shall find them.”

  Brooks picked the crossbow from the table, and loaded the arrows in a sling that he made from one of his socks. With the other sock, he tied two of the water jugs together and slung them over his shoulder. He managed to secure the long handle of the battle axe into the looping handles of the water jugs. It wasn’t an agile way to go, but he didn’t want to leave a weapon behind. He held the torch in his unarmed hand.

  Emily put the mace spray into her pocket and grabbed a water bottle filled with holy water. The priest handed her the samurai sword from the table.

  “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “You can do it. It’s you or them.”

  She grabbed the sword with both hands and held the blade in front of her. Despite its age and the rust that had taken a hold of it over the years, it still showed an edge that was clean and sharp enough to slice through human bone. Bill had neglected the backside of the steel, but the blade glinted sharply in the torchlight. Brooks handed her several of the pre-made torches. She put them down the front of her shirt, the ends sticking up past her chin on one side of her face. She put the cigarette lighter in her pocket with the mace spray.

  The priest put the WWII flamethrower on his back. The straps were old and frayed, but they held tight. “Does this thing still work?”

  Bill tilted the torch in Brooks’ hand close to the flamethrower tip and clicked the pilot a few times. It gave a surge of firelight before holding a steady blue flame.

  “You bet your bippy it does.” He had kept it in working order and recently refurbished it as he had anticipated the end times and believed it would come in handy. “It has a hair trigger, though. Keep your finger off of it until you’re ready to cook, otherwise get ready to extinguish one of us.”

  The priest held the revolver in his other hand.

  On the table still were the baseball bat and the fencing sword. Jake was content with his shotgun and still held the curled dagger in his pocket. Bill was more than happy to keep his hands on the short sword that he had already demonstrated he could wield with astonishing effectiveness.