Revenence (Novella 2): Dead Tired Page 3

  "Daddy, can you see me?" she called as she knelt in front of a batch of multi-colored flowers, supposing herself to be camouflaged.

  Adrian feigned confusion. "Did one of those flowers just talk? I'm not sure--" He paused as he swooped in and scooped her up. "But I think it must have been the sweetest flower outta the whole flower bed." He smelled her hair, and she giggled. "Yep, definitely the sweetest." He tickled her, and she laughed with wild abandon.

  "Adrian." Rachel's voice was sharp and jarring, demanding his attention.

  "Yeah?" he said, gently lowering Celia to her feet.

  "Laura needs help getting a TV upstairs. She's pregnant, and her husband's overseas 'til after New Year's. We told her you and daddy would help."

  Her tone left no room for argument; not that Adrian would have put up any. He didn't mind helping, but he despised Rachel's condescending approach. He suppressed his feelings as he brushed past his wife.

  "Not a problem," he said. "Happy I can help."

  He mused as he and his father-in-law lifted the 42-inch screen up the stairs and into a bedroom that perhaps he should have reminded Rachel to keep an eye on Celia.

  Nah, he thought to himself, feeling a slight twinge of guilt. Give her some credit.

  In the end, though, it turned out that he had been right. Having delegated the task, Laura had left the two men to continue visiting with Rachel and her mother. During that time, Celia vanished from the front yard where she had been playing.

  "Where's Celia?" Adrian asked Rachel as he and the other man exited the front door.

  "She's right there!" Rachel snapped, annoyed to be interrupted from her conversation. As her face turned in the direction of her outstretched arm, her expression shifted from irritated to alarmed. "Oh, my God," she blurted. "I don't know. She was there a minute ago."

  Each adult present began to panic to varying degrees. Other parents nearby picked up on the fact that a child was missing, and the hysteria quickly spread throughout the neighborhood. Trick-or-treating was cancelled, as many feared that a kidnapping had taken place. It was less than an hour, however, before the toddler was found by Adrian, hiding in a late-flowering shrub a few houses down from the one where she had gone missing.

  During the time that his daughter was unaccounted for, Adrian had been forced to consider what it might feel like to lose her. He had hoped to never be put into a situation where he had to relive that feeling.

  As he sped down the post-apocalyptic highway, he wished that it was like Halloween when Celia was two years old. He wished that he had any hope of finding her, safe and unharmed, hiding in a shrub. The encroaching flood on both sides of the highway magnified the psychological pressure threatening to overwhelm him. He rode on, a broken man, and wondered how he would hold the pieces together.

  It was early afternoon when Adrian began to see Tulsa in the distance. He had beat the flood by the skin of his teeth. There was a point where he had stopped on high ground to urinate, looking to the northeast over his shoulder as he unzipped his fly. In the distance, downhill, he could see stretches of road upon which he had traveled only minutes before, now awash with rushing flood water. He saw carcasses, mostly fish and frogs, but also the occasional human or zombie, especially as the water rose high enough to enclose the road and shoulder, where corpses and undead tended to be clustered.

  "Good thing I ain't going back," he muttered as he zipped his fly and straddled his motorcycle, continuing to the southwest. As Tulsa loomed on the horizon ahead, Adrian decided to detour west. He took a county road that cut between the Tulsa International Airport to his left and Owasso, a nearby suburb to his right, north of the city. He drove west down the eastbound lane, separated by a grassy median from the westbound stretch, and approached a narrow band of industrial and residential districts that would lead him to the country once again, northwest of the city.

  As his motorcycle rumbled nearer to the airport, a herd of undead reared their rotting heads over the top of the hill which had been mounded up around the perimeter of the facility. The base of the hill was capped with a four-foot-high concrete wall topped with a two-foot-high length of chain-link fence. The tight knot of undead, or at least the part which was visible to Adrian from up the road, was several dozen strong.

  As the bulk of them crested the hill and descended its far side, in search of their warm, noisy, living target, some began to lose their tenuous balance. Their knees buckled, sending them toppling down the hill toward the concrete barrier waiting at the bottom. Some of them took out others below and around them, or tripped those to their rear. The result was the majority of them tumbling down the hill, most rolling but some somersaulting end over end. A few skidded and were subsequently trampled. Adrian was impressed by the few that managed to remain on their feet the entire way down the slope. As they reached the concrete barrier separating them from the road, he saw that they were fresher than the rest, having turned fairly recently. He estimated them to be several days dead, at best.

  As the bodies accumulated at the base of the hill, they formed a mat that was high enough for those still standing to crawl across the undead heap and overcome the obstacle of the wall. More than a dozen started across on all fours, coming to stand on the top of the concrete wall. As Adrian neared the stretch of eastbound highway that ran past the airport, they threw themselves over the top of the fence, falling six feet to the grass on the other side. Most of them rose and sped toward the road, where Adrian was approaching. He was preparing to stop for a presumed confrontation when he saw what he was certain must be an exhaustion-induced hallucination.

  Two full-size tigers exited the woods to his right and entered the westbound lane of the highway, roaring at the undead in the road. The undead, devoid of fear as they were, approached the tigers. Although zombies generally preferred to eat human flesh, attacks against animals were not unheard of. The deadly cats growled more loudly as the undead crossed the median and stepped onto the westbound stretch of asphalt. The tigers pounced on the first two undead in the oncoming horde, pushing them down to the ground by the shoulders with their massive front legs before going for the throats with their deadly fangs. With the feline predators and the undead all preoccupied in the westbound lane, Adrian had no trouble riding past the ordeal. He tore down the eastbound stretch, heading west at maximum speed to put as much distance as possible between himself and the tigers lest they should abandon the undead in search of a fresher meal.

  He had driven about a mile when he came across a sign indicating that the Tulsa Zoo lay to his right.

  "Well," he said aloud, his voice lost to the rumbling of the engine, "that explains that mysterious little bit of business."

  He spotted a water tower in a sparse industrial district just ahead. He pulled over next to the tower, having a good look at the area before turning off his ignition, leaning the bike onto its kickstand, and ascending the tower. Reaching the top of the ladder, he pulled himself up onto the wrap-around platform encircling the top tank. For several minutes, he stood listening, trying to discern any audible sign of human activity. There was the uneven scraping sound of undead limping in his direction, but as his scanning eyes locked onto them, he saw that there were only two in the vicinity, and they were sufficiently decomposed to make them of little concern. Instead of using his shotgun, he decided to climb back down to their level and deal with them quietly.

  "Ya'all aren't worth my ammo," he mumbled as he descended the ladder.

  Hopping down onto the ground, he strolled out to the road. He produced his wrecking bar, knowing from the state of decomposition that it was relatively safe to engage in melee combat with the approaching undead. He planted the edge of the wrecking bar into the forehead of the first to amble within swinging distance, a former healthcare worker whose scrubs were beginning to fuse with the rotting flesh beneath. The skull cracked open with ease. He pried the bar loose, enlarging the fissure it had created on its way out. The undead professional crumpled to the ground, and Ad
rian swung the opposite, curved end at the next one as it came in close. The titanium implement made contact with the severely decomposed, softened face, which was bloated due to the recent excess of rain and humidity. The curved extremity sunk into the face cavity, pushing the nose and cheekbones in with it. Adrian brought one leg up, planting the sole of a well-worn boot into the incapacitated zombie's abdomen. He pushed with his leg, freeing his crowbar as the corpse fell to the asphalt.

  With both of them down, Adrian waited roughly a minute before turning and strolling back to the water tower, whistling Molly Hatchet in a low tone to himself. He climbed once again to the top, leaning his weight onto his elbows on the railing as he gazed down over the area. He took out his binoculars, then stood as still as possible for a few minutes, listening for any sounds that weren't attributable to nature. The city, like many others, seemed to be teeming with wildlife. Deer could be seen regularly, wandering freely in residential districts where they grazed from overgrown gardens, planted in the spring before being abandoned, and dwarf fruit trees. Scavenging animals proliferated, with rings of vultures overhead, their wings still, in ever-present circles wherever dead things existed.

  After many seconds of listening to the varying sounds, he picked up something else. It sounded like motors coming from somewhere in the distance, to the south. He lifted his binoculars, peering toward the city center with its tightly-clustered high rises. Although he couldn't discern anything in particular, he saw flashes of movement from between two buildings. From the sound of it, most of the vehicles were motorcycles, but he saw the flash of at least one much larger vessel, some sort of large truck. His gaze scanned the area from which they were leaving, just west of the city center. Billowing black smoke clouds were pouring upward into the horizon, though he couldn't tell exactly what was on fire.

  Minutes later, the sound of the engines had receded into the distance past the point of audibility for Adrian. He stood atop the tower, enveloped by the sounds of the birds, animals, and wind. Climbing down to street level, he straddled his motorcycle and headed west.

  After having driven about a half-mile, he came to Tisdale Parkway, which snaked its way through the gently rolling hills toward the skyscrapers in the southern distance. He had intended to avoid going anywhere near the metropolitan center of the city, but he was given no choice. He had to investigate whatever it was burning in the distance, try to ascertain which roadway the group had used to make their exit, and then go from there. He didn't know the identities of the group he had seen, nor whether or not they left on account of his presence. Still, the logical and only course of action was to probe the situation to the south.

  He quickly gathered that the route wouldn't be as quick as he would like. The four lanes were littered with car wrecks. There were long stretches which were clear and passable, but they were punctuated with pile-ups, some of them composed of dozens of vehicles that stretched across the lanes and occasionally also the shoulder. More than once, Adrian was forced to walk his idling bike between reeking cars containing bodies months deceased, entering the grassy median and forcing himself to proceed slowly until he could re-enter the highway. He roused the attention of many undead trapped within their cars, where they were sufficiently melted to ensure their harmlessness, had they even been able to open their doors to liberate themselves. Several tried to crawl through broken or partially open windows, and a few even succeeded. Adrian, however, ignored them and focused on his path ahead as they hit the ground and struggled to stand on their ruined legs. He followed the toxic black cloud of smoke to the south, its smell getting stronger and more noxious the closer he rode. He wondered if the sadists ahead had also taken the congested route he currently used, but then he recalled the larger vehicle he had seen, the truck. No way that got through here, he thought. He then spoke aloud, only partially conscious of the barely audible words leaving his lips. "Must be another way through here. Have to remember for the way back, maybe."

  He was close to downtown Tulsa, within blocks of its high rises, when he saw that the road ahead of him was about to enter a tangled system of loops where Tisdale Parkway merged or made contact with several other major roadways, some local and some part of routes leading out of town. About a quarter of a mile ahead, an overpass loomed. He squinted as he approached to read the signs hanging from the northern face of the bridge, directing the southbound lane. Downtown, the sign read in regards to the left two lanes, EXIT ONLY. He was hesitant to take the highway into the heart of the city, where it was likely to be more congested with crashes the deeper he went. He saw the cloud of smoke coming from a source not far past the overpass, and even orange, licking flames here and there.

  Given the circumstances, he decided that it was time to exit the highway. He took the exit to his right. At the end of the ramp, he came to a T-intersection. Turning left, he crossed the overpass that ran above Tisdale Parkway beneath. He took the first right after having crossed the bridge, his eyes on the fire nearby. He knew he was close, because the trees and buildings in the foreground began to eclipse the flames once again, and he could hear the licking flames devouring the unseen structure.

  His motorcycle entered a shaded stretch where several lanes of interstates and local routes crossed overhead. As he neared the end, where the sky reappeared, he saw the source of the fire. It was a complex that lay to his right, and a sign informed him that it was the Tulsa City Jail. The fire itself seemed to be coming from somewhere near the center of the structure, though there was enough smoke to obscure much of the building itself. Although Adrian heard no screams or cries for help, he knew that it didn't preclude the possibility of victims. He didn't allow himself to fully conceptualize the thought, but he knew that if there were to be any victims, there was nothing to say that his daughter wasn't one of them. It could be that Celia had finally given them too much trouble to be worth the hassle of keeping her.

  Pushing the thoughts away, Adrian forced himself to continue with the task at hand. He sat straddling his idling bike, glancing to his west toward the web of entrance and exit ramps. The group he had seen had clearly been heading out of town, but he wasn't sure which route they had taken. He stood, coming to the rear of his bike to rummage through the storage compartment for his road atlas. He thumbed through until he found the page featuring Oklahoma, tracing his finger down to Tulsa and having a thorough look at the roadways on the city's western side. He whistled absent-mindedly as he perused the network of local, state and interstate roads. Sand Springs Expressway led west to the nearby town of the same name, but he surmised that they were just as likely to have taken a minor road north of the expressway that ran parallel to it. As Adrian ran his finger along the road, marked locally as Edison Street, he saw that it ultimately dipped south, joining with the expressway just east of Sand Springs. He replaced the atlas in his trunk, deciding to make the satellite city his next objective. He would take Edison Street in the hopes that it was less congested than the more major route.

  Before he mounted his motorcycle, he heard a female voice from his left, across the street from the jail.

  "Getting ready to hit that lonesome road again?"

  He reached for his shotgun, pointing its twin over/under barrels toward the voice before his gaze could seize on the target. When his eyes caught up to his ears a moment later, he saw that it was a woman in her forties or early fifties. She was smirking down at Adrian from the roof of a one-story building.

  "That's a nice firearm you got there," she said, nodding at Adrian's shotgun. "Couldn't just have that in the open back in the day, could you?"

  "I suppose I couldn't," Adrian said without lowering the barrels.

  "You shorten that barrel yourself?" the woman asked.

  Adrian glared up at her. "Ma'am," he said, "with all due respect, you don't want to make my shotgun any of your business." He paused, his weapon still trained on her. "I don't suppose you're alone?"

  "I am now," the woman replied. "I was with the group that left here
a little while ago." She gestured toward the flaming jail building across the street. "Torched the place on their way out, probably figuring I was still inside. No matter, I'm done with them now. I'm a free woman again."

  "Congratulations. So you're not a fan, either," Adrian ventured.

  "I guess you could say that," the yet-unnamed woman said, tossing a waist-length, dark-blonde braid over her shoulder. As she continued, she grimaced slightly, squinting beneath blunt-cut bangs highlighted with white streaks. "You could also say I maybe murdered a couple of 'em. Pissed them off pretty good. I wasn't ready to do the thing they were asking me to do at the time, and I hit a breaking point." She shrugged. "Figured it was as good a time as any. But I tell you, man, you came through at the right time. Made for a good distraction. They were already way behind schedule, having to detour around all the wrecks, then they heard you coming into town. Normally they're not the types of folks to shy away from confrontation, but they don't want to piss off the big guy back at headquarters any more than they already have. They were already eager to get back on the road, then you hurried them along."

  "Glad I could help," Adrian muttered.

  "What's your beef with these guys?" she asked. "Is it personal? Wait, don't tell me--you're that little girl's father?" She studied his face, nodding slowly and running her hand over her own visage. "Yeah--I can see it, in the face. The eyes, mostly. I'm Theresa, by the way."

  "Is she alive?" Adrian asked, the words coming from his mouth almost as if they were pressurized.

  "Yeah," Theresa said. "I mean, I'm assuming they took her with them. I can't say much about her condition. I would have liked to get her out, but when they left, everything happened so fast, I--I'm sorry. But yeah, last I checked, she was still alive and more or less intact. I mean--sorry." She paced the edge of the roof for a few seconds while Adrian mounted his motorcycle, preparing to lay chase once again. "You know where they're headed?" she asked just before he turned the key in the ignition.