Red Hill

“Skeeter?” Eric said. The nervousness contrasted with his large, burly frame. “We’re out of boards.”



Miranda



“Now what?” Ashley said. Her voice was increasingly whiny with each mile we drove.



I didn’t want to be sitting still. I wanted to take the overly congested exit and then head west of the overpass, past the army, or reserves, or whoever those guys in green camo guarding the bridge into Anderson were, and be on my way to my dad’s. A dozen or more guns were pointed in our direction, at us and everyone else caught in the mess of cars below the overpass. Three lines of cars and trucks were stopped on the northbound exit ramp by the men with guns. People were outside of their vehicles, yelling and pleading to pass.



I had maneuvered the Bug as close as I could to the ramp, but quickly ran out of room. There was no way to get through, and we were stuck on the shoulder of the interstate.



“What are they doing?” Cooper asked, still clutching Ashley to his side.



Bryce tried his phone again. When he heard yet another busy signal, he let the phone fall in his lap, and hit the door with the side of his fist.



“Hey!” I said. “She’s gotten us this far! Be nice!”



A newer, red pickup truck approached the overpass on the Fairview side, slowed, and then came to a stop. A man got out, pointing toward Anderson. The army men shook their heads, motioning for him to turn back. He kept pointing to Anderson, but when more than a dozen semi-automatic rifles were turned in his direction, he got in his pickup and backed away.



“He came from Fairview. You think we should still go that way?” Cooper asked.



“It’s the quickest way,” Ashley said.



“So they’re guarding Anderson,” Bryce said, watching the scene transpire.



“Looks that way,” I said.



“Then why are they on the Fairview side of the bridge? Wouldn’t it make more sense to be on the Anderson side? Then they could guard the exit ramp, too.”



I took a closer look. The soldiers were young, and from what I could tell, seemed antsy. “There is an armory in Anderson. You think they’re really soldiers? Maybe they’re just trying to protect their town?”



“The governor is in Anderson today,” Ashley said.



We all turned, surprised she knew that interesting and pertinent tidbit of information.



“I listen to the radio in the mornings when I’m getting ready for class. They said it on the news. Governor Bellmon would be in Anderson today.”



Bryce nodded. “There’s no way he’d already have soldiers there. They must be random townspeople.”



I looked at them again, and gasped. They weren’t wearing fatigues. They were outfitted in Realtree and Mossy Oak. “Oh, Christ. Scared kids with AK-47s? Is the governor that stupid?”



“Maybe it wasn’t him at all? Maybe they just took it upon themselves?” Cooper said.



“Either way,” I said, turning to look out the back window. I didn’t see anything that would bite us yet, but it would only be a matter of time before they caught up to us. “We have to get going.”



Just as I finished my sentence, the same red pickup from before came from the Fairview side at high speed, straight at the men with guns.



“Miranda!” Ashley screamed.



I gripped the steering wheel as they opened fire. The windshield of the truck broke, and then the truck veered off course, straight for our side of the bridge. It ramped over the side of the off-ramp, cartwheeled over three cars, and then came to a rest on its cab. The wheels were still spinning, making a terrible high-pitched whirring noise.



Everyone screamed, and those standing outside their cars crouched down for a second, waiting to see where the truck would go. For a while, everyone seemed confused, nervous, and unsure what to do, but once the shock of the earlier incident became secondary to the need to get home to their families, the yelling and pleading to pass continued.



“Maybe we could sneak by them on foot?” Cooper said.



Bryce shook his head. “We need a distraction.”



As if it were scripted, a white full-sized van slowly approached the bridge. The gunmen were immediately on edge. The people standing outside of their cars yelled louder, and a few of them attempted to throw shoes and anything they could get their hands on at the gunmen, but none of it made it to the bridge.



“Oh, man. Get back in your car,” Bryce said.



The driver had gotten out, and was arguing with the gunmen. He then grabbed one of the gunmen’s rifles. I wasn’t sure who shot the first bullet, but once a gun went off, they all opened fire. The man from the van convulsed while his body was punctured by bullets. When he hit the ground, the gunmen targeted his vehicle, too.



“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Ashley cried.



The gunfire didn’t stop. The men with guns were agitated and angry, and the yelling from below drew their attention. The people standing outside of their vehicles on the ramp were suddenly prey, and they all began to scream and run. Following the running families, the men let their gunfire spread to everyone else trapped in the gridlock below.



“Jesus Christ!” Bryce yelled. “Get us out of here, Miranda! Go! Go!”



I yanked on the gearshift and backed into the car behind me, and then spun the wheel, shoving the Bug into drive. After a few near misses and even more sideswipes, we were under the bridge. I didn’t stop, hoping the psychopaths above would be too busy with the poor people on the south side to see that I was going to take the on-ramp on the other side and floor it toward Fairview.



“What are you doing?” Ashley said. “Hide under the bridge!”



“We’ll get stuck there!” Bryce said, knowing I was too focused on getting us the hell out of there to respond. “Keep going, Miranda! Don’t stop!”



We cleared the bridge and flipped a U-turn to catch the southbound on-ramp. The Bug caught air more than once on its climb to the top—sometimes on the asphalt, sometimes not—and finally made it to the road.



Cooper patted my seat ardently. “They’re not even paying attention! Keep going!”



We rode in silence for the next mile, but the second we were out of range Ashley began to sniff and whimper. We had left behind a massacre. Children were among the victims on the interstate.



“Has the whole world gone crazy?” Ashley cried.



Bryce and Cooper were sniffing, too. Before long hot tears were burning down my cheeks. Moments later, we were all sobbing.



Bryce wiped his nose on his shirt, and then took my right hand. “You saved our lives, Miranda.”



I squeezed his hand, unable to speak. I took a long, broken breath, and tried to concentrate on the road. We would be coming up on Fairview soon.



Chapter Nine



Nathan



Eric returned quickly carrying several boards in his arms. “I found these in the shed. I took as many as I could carry because they’re really starting to gather around the church. I don’t think anyone should go outside anymore.”



“They must know we’re in here,” I said. “It’s just a matter of time before they get in.”



Gary pulled the toothpick from his mouth, frustrated. “But Eric just said we can’t leave.”



“He said he didn’t think we should,” I said, looking to Skeeter. “Doesn’t mean we can’t. It isn’t safe here.”



He ignored our discussion, and began climbing the stairs, never taking his eyes off the door.



We all followed. The silent hopes to find nothing were louder than the stairs that creaked in a slow symphony beneath our feet.



Gary gripped the doorknob and pulled, using his body weight as leverage. None of us could be sure if the walking dead had enough coordination to climb or even twist a doorknob, but just one mistake meant death. I didn’t want to take any chances, and neither did these men.



Skeeter lifted his fist, and knocked his knuckles against the door. “Hello? It’s Skeeter McGee. Anyone in there?”



Footsteps that we’d heard before had been silent for several minutes.



Skeeter tried again. “I have a gun, and I’m prepared to shoot. Identify yourself.”



Nothing.



“Let’s board it up,” Eric said, repositioning the wood in his arms.



Skeeter held up a hand, signaling for Eric to wait, and then he held his ear against the door. His eyes targeted me, and then he shook his head. “I don’t hear anything. Don’t tell me those things know how to hide. I’m going in.”



Skeeter put his hand over Gary’s, and I grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? What if there’s several in there? What if they overpower us and get downstairs?”



Skeeter smiled with his mouth and frowned with his eyes. “I ain’t gonna let that happen. Just like I ain’t gonna leave those things walking above us. If we’re going to ride this out in this church, it’s got to be secure.”



I sighed, and let go of his arm. “All right. Gary?”



Gary reluctantly released the doorknob, and Skeeter went in. I checked behind the door, and then my eyes scanned the large, empty classroom before they touched on what Skeeter had already seen.



A young woman, early twenties, was lying next to a fallen end table and an open window. Blood marked her trail. Her arm had been chewed on, in several spots down to the bone.



“Christ almighty, that’s Annabelle Stephens!” Eric said, rushing to her side. He looked up to us after touching her neck. There wasn’t a spot on her from her chin down that wasn’t saturated in blood.



We heard a whimper from the corner, and Skeeter immediately trained his shotgun in that direction. I grabbed the barrel and slowly pushed it down, seeing a little boy, alone and huddled into a ball.



Skeeter lowered his weapon. “Hey there, little man.”



Gary let out a breath, glancing at Eric while he covered Annabelle’s face and chest with the only thing he could find: a small rug. “That’s Craig and Amy Nicholson’s boy.”



Skeeter kneeled down, put his gun on the floor behind him, and held out his arms. “I went to school with Amy. You must be Connor. C’mere, buddy. I know you’re scared, but you’re safe here.”



Connor shook his head quickly. He held his knees against his chest, and his chin was resting on his knees as he rocked back and forth.



“Is Annabelle his aunt?” I asked.



Skeeter shook his head. “Annabelle’s the first grade teacher at the elementary school.”



“She saved me,” Connor whispered, “from my mom.” His breath caught, and then he let out a sob.



Skeeter scooped him up into his arms. “Sssh, buddy. You’re safe now. You’re safe, I promise.”



Skeeter walked to the window, opened it further, and then stepped out onto the roof. I followed him. From what I could see, the entire church was surrounded.



“A lot of them followed us here,” Connor said.



Skeeter nodded, noticing the drag marks along the roof and the windowsill, and the trail of blood on the sidewalk leading up to the church. “Annabelle bled out. We’ll probably have them coming from all over town.”



“At least we know they can’t climb,” I said, pointing to the group lifting their arms and scratching at the church’s outside walls.



Connor sniffed. “Annabelle was already on the roof. She saw me running and climbed back down.”



Skeeter gave Connor a squeeze. “She was a sweet lady.”



Connor peaked over Skeeter’s shoulder at the rug covering Annabelle, and then shut his eyes tight.



“We can’t stay here,” I said.



“We can’t leave. Give it a couple of days, Nate. They’ll move on.”



“What if they don’t? We’ll be trapped here.”



Skeeter sighed, pulling the toothpick out of his mouth with his free hand and throwing it down to the growing crowd of undead below. “I can’t move Jill.”



My eyebrows pushed together. “What if she gets worse? What if she turns into one of those things?”



Skeeter looked down, and then back at me, resolute. “You should go. Get Zoe some place safe. She shouldn’t be here when Jill . . . but, I can’t leave, brother. I wouldn’t have anything to live for, anyway.”



My stomach dropped, and goose bumps formed on my arms. Skeeter was going to die in this church, with his wife.



“I’ve gotta get Zoe out of here.”



“I know.”



Skeeter crawled back inside carefully with Connor still in his arms. He walked past Eric and Gary, but stopped in the doorway. “Board up the door.”



“But,” Eric said, pointing to the sheet, “they can’t climb, and Annabelle’s dead.”



“In case she comes back as one of them,” I said, nodding to the window.



Gary frowned. “Maybe we should roll her off the roof. She’ll start stinkin’ before long.”



“No!” Connor cried.



Skeeter patted his back. “The smell might help cover ours. Leave her be. Board the door.”



Gary and Eric nodded, and Skeeter and I walked back downstairs to the kitchen, joining Bob and Evan, Reverend Mathis, and Doris. They had made Jill a pallet on the floor with a rolled-up dish towel for a pillow.



“Oh my Lord in Heaven! Connor Nicholson! Are you all right, sweetheart?” Doris said, taking him from Skeeter.



Connor hugged Doris tight, wildly sobbing all over again. They obviously knew each other, but I wasn’t sure how.



Doris blanched, looking up at Skeeter. “Where is Amy?”



“She’s outside. Annabelle Stephens helped him up to the roof.”



“Well . . . ?” she said, looking past Skeeter. “Where is she?”



Skeeter shook his head. “Upstairs. She didn’t make it.”



About that time the hammering began. Doris held Connor while he cried. Reverend Mathis went to the sanctuary to check on Barb and Ms. Kay, and Skeeter sat on the floor next to his wife. Jill was unconscious, her bloodshot eyes barely visible between the two thin slits of her eyelids. She was nearly panting, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her paling skin.