4. Chapter 4
Chapter four
Shelby
Chuckling, albeit hysterically under my breath, I inch down the wall that leads to the back of the building, only to pause when an arc of light bounces against the crumbling brick.
When I turn and look up, I spy a similar glint on top of the grocery store although nothing else stirs. Setting that aside for the mystery it may remain, I continue my trek down the wall.
At the corner, I wipe the sweat from my brow onto my shoulder before glancing at the dog. Her wide brown eyes meet mine and I touch my nose to her silky pale fur.
She’s been suspiciously quiet for a Chihuahua but I’m not about to complain. Maybe her senses are more acute, and she knows the danger surrounding us. In any case, I’m grateful because I don’t think I have it in me to leave the dog behind.
“Okay,” I whisper, “I can do this.”
When Bean wags her tail, I swallow a chuckle that feels more like a sob before peeking around the corner. It’s clear but for one lone thing banging on the back door.
Unfortunately, he’s not small and I assume, based on the bowling shoes he’s wearing, that he was enjoying a game before this all started. If he’s standing at the door, what’s inside?
With a shiver, I lean against the brick and let the sun baked stone warm my back. I don’t have a weapon because the only thing I grabbed off the counter beyond Ben’s keys were his sunglasses.
Ben.
Did Randy find his body? Does it matter? The odds are Randy’s dead right along with their parents and I don’t feel a damn thing about it.
They all knew what was happening to me and not a single person stepped in. I mean, let’s be real, Cason, a complete stranger has been kinder to me and the man hijacked my vehicle with me in it.
Focus, Shelby.
Shaking my head, I peek back around the corner. The big burly dude with a tattoo on his arm that says, Annie, still stands before the door but now he’s just staring.
Cason told me to aim for the head but what does that mean? If this guy, whose neck looks like a fileted fish, isn't already down, what can I possibly do?
This is insanity which is why I back away only to freeze when something brushes my back. I’m afraid to look but also too dumb to run and when I turn, it’s too late.
A few wispy hairs and shiny forehead are all I see because he’s already aiming for the tender part of my neck. His fetid breath stains my skin as I stumble back, slamming against the side of the building.
My stifled cry is the only sound beyond this thing’s weird ass groans and my limbs shake uncontrollably as I smack the atlas uselessly on his head until finally he pulls back. To my relief, all I see are blackened gums in the gaping of his mouth before I sidestep his clawing hands.
When Bean struggles, I have no choice but to let her go. She yelps when she hits the ground, and I spare her a glance before smacking the atlas still clutched between my fingers against the thing’s head once more.
Immune to my assault, his pale blue eyes roll in the sockets while his fingers, bent with arthritis, reach for more.
Despite his frailer frame, I’m no match for his determination and when he wrenches on my shirt, I stumble back, hitting the building.
To my left, I see a dozen or more of those things spin our direction and with a wave of despair, I duck under his arm before racing around the corner.
On the other side, though, the dude with the tattoo perks up and I slow. I’m going to die. This is it and I freeze when the tattooed man approaches, and the original threat brushes my back. I’m caught between them, and I know I can’t do this, so I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable.
However, a thundering crack breaks through the grunts and moans and when I peek through my lids, I exhale to find the tattooed man staggering back with a macabre hole now decorating his forehead.
I don’t know what inspires me to drop to the ground, but I do and shortly after the ghastly monster behind me also falls.
My heart beats so strongly in my ears that I barely register the second shot as I look back to the store, noting once more the glint of something on the roof. A man, perhaps?
I don’t really know what to do but I wave the atlas in my hand in appreciation before pushing to my feet and staggering away. I manage to swoop up Bean who’s cowering against the wall as I do, and now that the path is free, I stop before the door to the bowling alley before pausing once more.
What if there are more inside? I’m woefully under armed for what’s happening, and I wish that I had thought to grab Ben’s firearm. I’m no crack shot but it would make me feel safer to have it on hand.
When more gunshots erupt behind me, I shove the dog under my armpit before grabbing the door. Is Cason okay? Or is he now dead after trying to save my pathetic ass?
My throat closes at the thought, but I shake the image away and pull, except the damn thing doesn’t budge. Of course, it’s fucking locked and with a few choice curses, I kick at the metal while tears build in my eyes.
For my efforts, my toes sting but I do freeze when a muffled voice beyond the door asks, “Who’s there?”
Simultaneously two of them round the back of the building and I slam my fist against the door, shouting, “Please, please let me in.”
After an interminable minute while I stare at my doom, the door opens and a tall man with a shock of gray hair asks, “You bit?”
Shaking my head, I step inside and squint into the darkness. When I can’t see what’s before me, panic sizzles down my spine and movement to the right forces me to back up and away from the man who says, “It’s fine. Just the crew is all.”
Crew?
Thankfully, my eyes adjust quickly, and I take in the people watching me as a woman points at my clothes and says, “Thought you weren’t bit?”
Glancing down, I confirm I look like I wrestled with a bear before it hits me. Technically I did and now my husband’s cold dead body lies in a closet next to Christmas ornaments.
“It’s not mine,” I whisper, images of Ben’s blood seeping into the hardwood floor dancing before me while I swallow a hysterical laugh behind a sob.
When the woman’s brow furrows, a man standing beside her says, “Bathroom’s that way.”
He scratches his belly hanging over his jeans and I nod, pausing to say, “Cason. My friend. He’s coming.”
“We’ll wait for him,” the man by the door says with a shake of his head.
The combined odor of dirty socks and popcorn tingles my nose. Despite the quasi-disgusting smell, my stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since yesterday and my tummy protests that fact vehemently.
Once in the bathroom, I set the dog on the counter and scrub violently at my fingers before wetting a towel and wiping down my face. Nothing but a shower will wash away the remains of that thing’s brain though.
I’m surrounded by blood, and it coats my skin in guilt. Maybe this is my penance after all.
“Get over it, Shelby,” I mumble, spinning around when the door opens and the woman from before eyes me.
“Here,” she says, holding out her hand and with a wan smile, I take the shirt she offers.
After she nods and leaves, I slip into the bowling shirt, eyeing the name emblazoned on the back: Lousy Bowlers League.
It’s too big but I’m not about to complain. As it stands, my dirty dishwater blonde hair hangs in tangles around my head, the ponytail now a lopsided lump. Dark circles ring my eyes, rivaling those of the things out there with my left eye yellow and purple with bruising.
Ben once told me that I had the most beautiful blue eyes, comparing them to his mother’s favorite actress, Elizabeth Taylor.
Back then, I ate that shit up because I could hardly believe he was interested in me, the poor girl from Arizona who could barely afford school.
He made me feel special, unique and it took a year before the shine of those emotions started to wear off.
Now I know, I wasn’t special beyond his recognition that I would be his perfect slave. What that says about me I don’t want to contemplate. Either way, it’s not something to brag about and this is when the tears roll down my cheeks.
When will this stupid story ever end?
Eventually, Bean nudges me with her head, breaking up my pity party and I glance down, eyeing her before grabbing her up and leaving the bathroom.
At the end of the hall, I pause though when I hear the low rumble of their voices.
“She ain’t one of us,” someone says, and I wince.
“What do you want me to do? Send her back out there?”
While I understand their reticence, forcing me to leave would be a death sentence and once again I fight back tears. I have zero desire to be here, but I have no choice.
“Enough. We ain’t savages. She stays,” the hard tone belies the feminine voice, and I do believe this comes from the woman who brought me the shirt.
Although the men grumble, they don’t argue, and I exhale quietly before entering the main area. It’s dimly lit now but I can imagine the fluorescent lighting shining off the bowling balls as they struck the floor before tumbling down the lane.
“You hungry?” the woman asks and with a grateful nod, I collapse on the seat facing the lanes before inhaling the hotdog and fries she places before me.
With a small smile, she sets a bowl in front of Bean, who wags her tail and emits a cute little yip.
The soda feels amazing on my parched throat, and I gulp it down before covering my mouth and the burp I can’t contain. Meanwhile four pairs of eyes watch me like I’m an escaped convict before I say softly, “I’m Shelby. This is Bean.”
The guy who opened the door and let me in says, “Hank.”
Beyond him stands a tall man with a full head of gray hair and a menacing frown. He wears a matching shirt to mine although the buttons strain against his belly, which he proceeds to scratch as he says, “I’m Larry.”
Nodding, I move to the next man. His bright blue eyes track my movements with an intensity that raises the hair on my nape. When they fall to my face, his brows furrow and he looks away, heat creeping into his cheeks.