Demon Fall (Resurrection Chronicles Book 9) Page 3

  “Okay.” Knowing what that meant, I carefully got out of bed and felt my way to the shelves that held my clothes.

  The battery bank handled the load we put on it reasonably well, thanks to the small wind turbine behind the barn and the solar panels on the house. But the recent winter storm had hit us with a mix of snow and ice, and based on the depletion of power, the panels and turbine blades were still covered. We’d hoped the mess would’ve melted by now since I wasn’t a fan of heights and Adam wasn’t a fan of leaving me on the ground out in the open.

  I dressed and felt my way down the hall to the bathroom. The complete silence inside the bunker registered as I reached my destination, and I realized Adam had not only turned off the lights but the aquaponics and the radio as well. Blind, yet familiar with the space after living here for so long, I used the bathroom then headed for the control room.

  Adam had one monitor displaying four of the cameras his uncle had set up. My stomach twisted with worry.

  “How much longer until sunrise?”

  “Another forty minutes.”

  “Can we wait that long?”

  “We’re not going up there in the dark.” He stood, kissed my forehead, and steered me into the chair. “I’m going to gear up. We’ll be ready for first light. Let me know if the screen goes out.”

  I nodded, understanding what he wasn’t saying. We were dangerously low on power.

  As soon as I was seated, he left to prep our gear, and I focused on the monitor’s split video images of the main barn door, side door, cattle pen, and the hall leading to the bunker. Had I not been staring, I would have missed the fingers that wrapped around the edge of the side door.

  “We have a dead one on screen,” I said.

  Adam swore, and I heard him coming down the hall before the beam of his flashlight flooded the control room. I pointed at the screen.

  “It hasn’t moved yet.”

  When it finally did move, I shivered at the creepy way it leaned in and peeked around the door. The woman’s scalp was missing clumps of hair, and a bit of her chin was missing. Yet she moved fluidly, like she was alive.

  “It’s a runner,” Adam said. “I don’t like this, June.”

  “I don’t either. But we both know we can’t wait another day. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’s just one scouting.”

  “Maybe.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Keep watching.”

  He left the room, and I watched the dead woman peek into the barn twice more before its hand disappeared. The woman’s hand reappeared several minutes later on the main door where she repeated her peeking move.

  I switched the camera over from night to day as the sky lightened.

  “She’s a little less creepy in daylight,” I called to Adam.

  He chuckled. “Unless the patches filled in and she grew a new chin, I doubt that. You ready?”

  I checked the hall camera one last time.

  “Ready.”

  He had my boots and jacket waiting for me by the door. I quickly put both on and took the rifle from him.

  “Run to the bunker if anything goes south,” he said just before he released the latch.

  The hiss of air was barely audible. We didn’t hesitate, though, to see if the infected heard. Together, we moved forward, our steps quiet.

  How many times had we done this? Hundreds of times because we needed to feed and water the livestock daily. We knew the hiding places. We knew the difference between normal cattle sounds and distressed sounds. And having a dead human in the barn definitely distressed them.

  Thankfully, there were no distressed calls from the pen.

  Slipping into the main area, we progressed down the aisle, and the heifers called out to us as we passed them. Adam paused at the exit door near the silo, the last place we’d seen the infected, and exchanged his gun for his hunting knife. I hated that we couldn’t kill the runners at a safe distance but understood the need for silence.

  When he opened the door, I was right behind him. The runner, who was still in the yard, charged at us. Trusting Adam’s ability to deal with her, I scanned the area for additional threats. Only one set of tracks marred the thin layer of snow on the ground, though, and nothing else moved in the trees beyond.

  The scuffle noises grew in volume before silencing. I glanced at him as he picked the body up. I hated this part. Not only did we need to move farther away from the safety of the bunker, but we were about to make some noise. It didn’t matter that it was decoy noise to cover the sounds I’d make while clearing the panel. It was still noise.

  My gaze didn’t stop moving as we circled to the back of the house. Adam took over watching the area as I carefully removed the drop pit’s cover. Silently, he tossed the woman inside then helped me lean the sheets of wood against the house.

  There was a pattern to everything we did. Move, listen, watch, and repeat. That pattern ended the moment he untied the wind chime over the pit.

  We hurried toward the front of the house. Together, we slid the hidden ladder out from under the porch and got it into position.

  He leaned in close. “Don’t look down. Don’t make a sound. You’ll be fine.”

  Easy for him to say when he was the one on the ground.

  With my rifle slung across my body, I grabbed the ladder and silently ascended. The black roof shingles were clear enough that the bottom of my boots scraped against them as I moved, and the sound carried through the air more than I would have liked. Focused on the task, I crossed to the solar panels and started brushing away the ice-covered snow as quietly as possible.

  I did a rush job, knowing what little snow remained on the dark panels would finish melting, thanks to the clear skies. Walking carefully, I returned to the ladder. Trying to find that first rung without looking down was a death-defying bitch. I managed, though, and clinging to the rungs, I carefully descended.

  With the wind chimes tinkling gently behind the house, we hid the ladder and crossed the yard to the open pasture beyond.

  In the beginning, sound had attracted the infected. Then, at night, they’d been drawn in by light. Now, they were more advanced. Adam and I out in the open would be enough to attract them even if he and I were as quiet as church mice.

  The movement of the windswept, long grass exposed by the melting snow made me twitchy. My gaze never stopped scanning for hidden infected. By the time we reached the old windmill base, I was wound so tight I wondered how I’d ever make it up those rungs.

  Adam tapped my shoulder to gain my attention. When I glanced at him, he made a heart with his hands. I knew he was asking for my love and trust. He had both. It was the infected I didn’t love or trust.

  Still, I nodded and took a calming breath. His lips tilted in the same boyish grin that I’d fallen in love with the first day we’d met. In my mind, I could hear him say, “There’s my girl,” before he returned his attention to the trees lining the field.

  Grabbing the lowest rung of the built-in ladder, I glanced down to place my foot. Something else caught my gaze, though.

  Blood dotted some of the long brown grass poking through the snow within the base support. I looked up and saw something wedged between the rotor, turbine housing, and tower.

  Trap.

  My heart pounded, but I didn’t let panic set in. Instead, I scrambled up the ladder because there was no “right” choice anymore. We needed the power. If Adam saw the blood, he’d rush us back to the barn.

  So I climbed fast, and when I saw the arm haphazardly tied to the turbine housing with a shirt, I didn’t even hesitate to grab the material. Within seconds, I knocked the arm free and was monkeying back down. The frozen limb landed with a thud below, and I heard Adam softly swear.

  In my head, I pictured infected pouring from the trees. I was so terrified that I didn’t even stop to think of the height when I dropped the last few feet.

  Adam grabbed my arm and started running. We made it to the side door and hauled ass to the bunker. The door barely closed behin
d us when he grabbed me by the arms.

  “What were you thinking? An arm doesn’t accidentally fall into a turbine.”

  “But we both know I did what had to be done. We need the power for the lights and to watch all the cameras. How many infected do you think there were?”

  He gave me a long look.

  “None that I saw. Don’t take risks like that again, June. It’s not worth it.”

  I gave him a sad smile, understanding what he was implying. He couldn’t live without me.

  “I love you too, Adam.”

  Since Adam was covered in the woman’s blood, I went to the control room to check the monitors.

  “Everything’s still clear. Go shower. We can feed the cattle when you’re done then reset the wind chimes.”

  He shook his head, his expression troubled. “It doesn’t make sense. That arm was a trap. Where are they?”

  “The turbine’s been out since the storm. Maybe they got bored waiting and moved away.”

  “Maybe. Turn on the radio when the bank’s at five percent.”

  I never got a chance. Adam returned from his shower just before it reached the mark.

  “Everything still clear?”

  “Yep. Nothing’s moving.”

  “I think we should wait to feed,” he said, watching the empty screens.

  We didn’t feed on a set schedule since we weren’t sure if the infected were smart enough to notice that kind of pattern. And the whole excursion to clear the solar panels and turbine hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes, so it was still early. Yet, I hesitated to wait any longer with the wind chimes still down. They didn’t make more sound than the cattle, but it was a human-type noise that seemed to draw in any nearby infected. We used them whenever we had to do anything topside to help cover our noise.

  “Let’s get the feeding done. It’s earlier than usual, which is a good thing. Afterward, we can have a relaxing day with nothing else to worry about.”

  He gave me a considering look.

  “I’d feel better if we waited. That arm…” He shook his head.

  I walked to him and hugged him close.

  “Adam, you know we don’t have the luxury of hiding down here. This is our world. Risks and all.”

  He pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head.

  “Run if I say run.”

  “Always.”

  It took longer to make sure the yard was clear than it did to feed the livestock and barn cats. We worked in silence then reset the wind chimes and hurried back to the bunker. While Adam went to the control room, I cleaned up and started breakfast.

  A crackle of static filled the bunker. I sighed at the familiar sound and started the kettle. The water came to a boil just before a pause in the static. Adam always gave each channel a few minutes before moving to the next.

  While he scanned the frequencies for any sign of life beyond our bunker, I added the water to the dehydrated potatoes and opened a can of spam. We had plenty of both, thanks to his family. Not a lot of variety, though.

  The supply room was filled with those little cartons of dehydrated potatoes, bags of rice, cans of spam, cans of peas, and more cans of green beans. We also had several big totes filled with bags of flour and sugar and a smaller one of baking soda and powder. The powdered eggs made it possible to whip up pancakes for something different, too. Rows of jarred maple syrup, something his uncle made every spring, lined a shelf along the ceiling.

  According to the portion charts Gary had made, there was enough to feed eight people for six months. With two of us, it would last much longer. But after that, things would get iffy.

  Hunting obviously wasn’t an option. Not only would the gunfire draw infected, but according to the other preppers who’d gone silent weeks ago, there also wasn’t any game to be found out there. What hadn’t gotten killed by the hellhounds had run off.

  That was why Adam and I took care of the livestock even though there was a risk every time we left the bunker. If we wanted meat when the canned goods ran out, we needed every animal on the farm.

  I plated our portions and went to the control room. Adam stood as soon as I entered.

  “The cattle are acting up, but there’s nothing on screen yet.”

  I watched the screens while Adam geared up and got our weapons ready. The cattle seemed more agitated than usual, shuffling into a tight bunch in the corner, which worried me. Typically, they only acted up when something was in the barn.

  “Still nothing on any of the monitors,” I called.

  “Check the turbine power. Maybe the infected are messing with that again.”

  “No, the numbers are still climbing. I don’t think that’s it.”

  “I’m ready. Let’s go find out.”

  I hated leaving the bunker blindly but vacated the chair and got ready to go topside again.

  The barn was far from quiet this time. The cattle were making enough noise to cover the sound of our feet on the concrete as we checked around then peeked outside. We could hear the infected’s moans coming from the other side of the house. A fair number of them. More than we could hope to face on our own.

  We both withdrew to the barn again and hurried back to the bunker.

  “They’ll get bored and wander away. They always do. We’ll be fine.” He pulled me into his arms and hugged me close.

  I wasn’t comforted.

  If the dead didn’t wander away and, instead, entered the barn, we’d need to clear them out. So far, we’d been lucky only having to deal with one or two at a time since they didn’t seem to travel in packs. In my gut, I knew the number outside the house wasn’t something that we’d survive. And I was pretty sure Adam knew it, too, based on the way he was holding me.

  “It’ll be okay, June. You’ll see.”

  I nodded, and he released me. Together, we watched the cameras for the next several minutes.

  A dead one finally found its way into the barn. Based on its shuffling movements, it wasn’t a runner, which I thought odd given the state of his tattered blue jacket. Usually, the ones that showed signs of being dead longer were faster.

  Adam said nothing about going to clear the barn out, which confirmed my suspicion that he knew we couldn’t handle the number of dead people out there. Thankfully, it wandered out again without going after any of the livestock.

  Adam turned to me with a grin.

  “See? Nothing to it. Why don’t you go relax for a bit?”

  Behind him, the same blue-jacketed dead man reentered the barn. He didn’t shamble this time. He moved fluidly as did the woman at his side.

  Something must have shown in my expression because Adam swiveled back to the screen. When he swore softly under his breath, I knew he’d realized the same thing I just had. These infected were now smart enough to pretend not to be smart.

  The pair considered the cattle then moved to the doorway by the silo. One of the new barn kittens dashed out from the enclosure, and the woman’s head cocked as she stared after it.

  “Look at her eyes,” Adam said.

  I did and felt like throwing up. They weren’t cloudy white. At least, not entirely. They looked dingier, almost a red-brown.

  “I don’t like this,” I murmured.

  Adam held out his hand, not taking his gaze from the monitors for even a second. I grabbed hold of the lifeline he offered, and we watched as the pair finished their inspection of the barn and left.

  It took another thirty minutes for the cattle to settle down and for Adam and me to breathe easier.

  “Maybe the sound of the chimes brought them here,” Adam said finally. “We won’t use them when we feed tonight.”

  That didn’t help me feel any better about the situation, but there wasn’t much either of us could do about what was happening outside the bunker. Yes, I feared the infected. But slower or faster, smarter or lacking any shred of sense, none of that changed the fact that Adam and I still needed to eat, rest, and care for the livestock. The endless cycle didn
’t stop for weird infected behavior. And I couldn’t let my fears rule my thoughts and actions. It didn’t matter if there were now more undead roaming the surface than living people. It didn’t even matter if the infected were evolving into something the living would have no chance of surviving.

  What mattered was what I could control. What mattered was that Adam and I were doing the best we could to survive. Whatever it took, we would survive. So, I left the control room and focused on my routine.

  When I finished loading the washer, I took another turn in the monitor seat so Adam could sharpen his knife. Mostly, it allowed his eyes a break. I didn’t mind watching the cattle. The way they wandered around their pen was almost as soothing as watching the tilapia swim in the aquaponics tanks. I did feel bad for them sometimes, though, and wondered if they missed roaming the pasture as much as I missed the sun. Probably. But we were all safer this way.

  That thought fled between one breath and the next as two men strode into the barn. The tan leather pants they wore looked like nothing I’d seen before. Yet, a normal black t-shirt stretched across the broad chest of the first man, and a large jacket covered the other. The men themselves were far from normal, though. I frowned at the exposed arms then looked at their faces.

  Grey skin.

  Pointed ears.

  These weren’t men but the things we’d heard about from other survivors. The things that killed people with simple ease.

  My blood ran cold as I noted how much bigger they were than Adam. How would he and I stand a chance against them? First, the arm in the turbine, then the “smart” dead nosing around, and now these guys? Fate had to have taken my thoughts about surviving as a challenge.

  I watched the pair enter the pen. The one wearing the jacket patted a heifer then hooked his arms under it and lifted. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw the animal come off the ground. He set it down again and shrugged at the other one.

  “Adam,” I called, finding my voice. “We have a problem.”

  He hurried into the control room. When he saw what I was watching, he swore.

  We watched the grey men survey the barn. One pointed to the hay we’d just forked down, and the other ran his hand over the cow he’d picked up. The speculation on the pair’s faces was unmistakable.