Undead. John Russo
don’t run and just keep swinging at them…you can smash them. We’re smarter than they are. And we’re stronger than they are. We’re gonna stop them. Okay?”
The girl stared.
“All we have to do is just keep our heads,” Ben added.
They looked at each other for a moment, until Ben turned and picked up the table top again. As he started hoisting it up to the window, the girl spoke, quietly and weakly.
“Who are they?”
Ben stopped in his tracks, still supporting the heavy table top, and looked with amazement at Barbara’s anxious face. Slowly, it dawned on him that the girl had never been really aware of the thing that had been happening. She had no idea of the extent of the danger, or the reason for it. She had not heard the radio announcements, the bulletins. She had been existing in a state of uninformed shock.
Incredulously, Ben shouted, “You haven’t heard anything?”
She stared blankly, silently, her eyes fastened on his. Her reply was in her silence.
“You mean you don’t have any idea what’s going on?”
Barbara started to nod her answer, but instead she was seized with a fit of trembling. “I…I…”
Her trembling increased, she began to shake violently, and suddenly she flung her arms up and flailed them about, sobbing wildly. She began to walk in panic, wildly and aimlessly, in circles about the room.
“No…no…no…I…can’t…what’s happening…what’s happening to us…why…what’s happening…tell me…tell…me…”
Unnerved by her hysteria, Ben grabbed her, and shook her hard to bring her out of it—and her sobbing jerked to a halt, but she remained staring right through him—her eyes seemingly focused beyond him, at some far distant point. Her speech, still detached and rambling, became a little more coherent.
“We were in the cemetery…me…and Johnny…my brother, Johnny…we brought flowers for…this…man…came after me…and Johnny…he…he fought…and now he…he’s…”
“All right! All right!” Ben shouted, directly into the girl’s face—he had a feeling that if he couldn’t bring her out of her present state of mind, she was going to go right off the deep end; she might kill herself or do something which would result in destruction for both of them. He tightened his grip on her wrists, and she wrenched against him.
“Get your hands off me!”
She flung herself away from him, beating him across the chest, taking him by surprise. But in her momentum, she stumbled over one of the table legs, barely regained her balance, and threw her body against the front door and stood there, poised as if to run out into the night.
She rambled, losing any semblance of rationality.
“We’ve got to help him…got to get Johnny…we’ve got to go out and find him…bring him…”
She advanced toward Ben, pleading with tears, the desperate tears of a frightened child.
“Bring him here…we’ll be safe…we can help him…we…”
The man stepped toward her. She backed away, suddenly frightened, holding one hand toward him defensively, and the other toward her mouth. “No…no…please…please…we’ve got to…we…”
He took one deliberate stride toward her. “Now…you calm down,” he said softly. “You’re safe here. We can’t take no chances…”
She pouted, and tears rolled down her cheeks.
“We’ve got to get Johnny,” she said, weakly. And she put her fingers in her mouth and stared wide-eyed at Ben, like a small child.
“Now…come on, now…you settle down,” he told her. “You don’t know what these things are. It ain’t no Sunday-school picnic out there…”
She began sobbing hysterically, violently—it was clear she had gone totally to pieces.
“Please…pleeeeese…No…no…no…Johnny…Johnny…pleeeese…”
Ben struggled to calm her, to hold her still, as she writhed and squirmed to get away from him. Despite his strength, she wrenched free—because he was trying hard not to hurt her. She stared at him, their eyes met in an instant of calm—and then she screamed and started beating at him and kicking him—kicking him again and again, while he struggled to pin her arms at her sides and hold her immobile against a wall. With brute force, he shoved her backwards finally, propelling her into a soft chair—but she sprung up again, screaming and slapping at his face. He was forced to grab her again, in a bear hug, practically slamming her into a corner. Then—he hated to do it—he brought up one powerful fist and punched her—but she jerked her head and the blow was misplaced, and did not put her out of commission. But it shocked her into dumb, wounded silence—long enough for him to hit her again, squarely. And her eyes fell sorrowfully on his and she began to crumple—she fell limp against him, as he supported her weight, easing her into his arms.
Holding her, he looked dumbly about the room. His eyes fell on the sofa. He did not carry, but almost walked her to the sofa, permitting her dead weight to fold onto it, and easing her head onto a cushion.
He stepped back and looked at her, and felt sorry for what he had to do. Still, she looked so peaceful lying there, as though she were not in any kind of danger at all. Her blonde hair was in disarray, though. And her face was wet with tears. And she was going to have a bruise where he had punched her on the chin.
Ben trembled. He hoped for both their sakes that he could find a way to pull them through. It was not going to be easy.
It was not going to be easy at all.
CHAPTER 3
Next to the couch where Barbara lay unconscious, there was a cabinet radio of the type people used to buy in the 1930’s. Ben stabbed at a button, and a glow came to the yellowed dial indicator of the radio, behind its plate of old glass, and while he waited for it to warm up he looked around for the tin of nails he had given to Barbara some time ago. He found it on the floor where Barbara had dropped it, and he selected some nails and slid them into his pocket. The radio began hissing and crackling with static. He returned to it, and played with the tuning dial. At first, he could get nothing but static—then it spun past what sounded like a voice, and Ben adjusted it carefully, trying to find the spot. Finally, the tuner brought in a metallic monotone voice…
“…ERGENCY RADIO NETWORK. NORMAL BROADCAST FACILITIES HAVE BEEN TEMPORARILY DISCONTINUED. STAY TUNED TO THIS NETWORK FOR EMERGENCY INFORMATION. YOUR LAW ENFORCEMENT AGENCIES URGE YOU TO REMAIN IN YOUR HOMES. KEEP ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS LOCKED OR BOARDED SHUT. USE ALL FOOD, WATER, AND MEDICAL SUPPLIES SPARINGLY. CIVIL DEFENSE FORCES ARE ATTEMPTING TO GAIN CONTROL OF THE SITUATION. STAY NEAR YOUR RADIO, AND REMAIN TUNED TO THIS FREQUENCY. DO NOT USE YOUR AUTOMOBILE. REMAIN IN YOUR HOMES. KEEP ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS LOCKED.”
A long pause. A crackle. Then the message began repeating. It was a recording.
“OUR LIVE BROADCASTERS WILL CONVEY INFORMATION AS RECEIVED FROM CIVIL DEFENSE HEADQUARTERS. THIS IS YOUR CIVIL DEFENSE EMERGENCY RADIO NETWORK. NORMAL BROADCAST FACILITIES HAVE BEEN TEMPORARILY DISCONTINUED. STAY TUNED TO THIS WAVELENGTH…”
Ben waved his hand in disgust—at the repetition of the radio—and moved away as it continued its announcement. He returned to the heavy wooden table top still leaning against the wall beneath the living room window. Keeping his own body back in the shadows of the room, Ben peeled back the window curtain just enough to peer outside into the darkness of the lawn.
He saw there were now four ominous figures standing in the yard.
The metallic voice of the radio recording continued to repeat itself.
And the figures stood very still, their