Undead. John Russo

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 arms dangling, aspects of their silhouettes revealing tattered clothing or shaggy hair. They were cold, dead things.

      Something in the distance suddenly startled Ben. From across the road, a figure was moving toward the house. The ghoulish beings were increasing in number, hour by hour. It was nothing that Ben had not expected, had not taken into account; still the actuality of it caused his heart to leap with fear each time he saw new evidence of it.

      If the things increased sufficiently in number, it was only a matter of time before they would start to attack the house, hammering and pounding, trying to force their way in.

      Ben spun away from the door and rushed to the fireplace. He reached for his matches. In a little stand by the couch where Barbara lay unconscious, there was a bunch of old magazines. Grabbing them, Ben ripped pages loose and crumpled them into the fireplace. He piled kindling wood and a few larger logs, then touched the paper with a match and watched a small fire take hold.

      On the mantle was a can of charcoal-lighter. Ben grabbed it gratefully and sprayed it into the fire and it whooshed into a larger blaze, almost singeing the big man’s face as he worked. The larger logs began to burn. He returned to the window.

      The recorded message continued to repeat itself.

      “…FORCEMENT 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…”

      Ben hoisted the table top to the windowsill and struggled to brace it there while he placed a nail into position. He pounded hard with the claw hammer…driven by desperation…another nail…and another. With the table secure, he checked it hastily and rushed to another window and lifted the edge of its curtains and peered out.

      Now there were five figures on the lawn.

      Ben pivoted, letting the edge of the curtain drop, and rushed to the fire, where the biggest logs had now begun to blaze. He seized two of the discarded table legs, ripped curtains from the boarded-up window and used strips of the cloth to wrap around the ends of the table legs, then drenched the cloth with charcoal-lighter and plunged the table legs into the fire making two good flaming torches. A torch in each hand, he moved toward the door.

      He nudged a big padded armchair ahead of him to the door and, taking both torches in one hand, pulled the curtain aside for another look at the yard.

      The figures out there still stood silently, watching the house.

      With charcoal-lighter, Ben drenched the padded armchair and touched it with a torch. It caught fire instantly, and the flames licked and climbed, casting flickering light throughout the house. The heat on Ben’s face was severe, but he had to fight it as he lunged for the door, unbolting it and flinging it wide open.

      From the doorway, the flaming chair cast eerie, irregular illumination out onto the lawn, and the waiting figures stepped back slightly, as though they were afraid.

      Ben shoved the chair through the doorway and slid it across the front porch. He toppled it over the edge, and the flaming bulk tumbled down the steps onto the front lawn. In the rolling motion, flames leapt and sparks flew, and small particles of the chair’s stuffing leapt and glowed in the night wind.

      The bonfire raged in the tall grass.

      Ben watched for a moment, as the waiting figures backed farther away.

      Inside the house again, Ben banged the front door shut and fastened the bolt.

      “…ORCES 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…”

      Hurrying to the window, Ben put more nails into the table top, fastening it securely, then he stood back and surveyed the room, his glance lingering on areas of possible vulnerability. There was the second large window, still unboarded, to the left of the door; a smaller side window; a window in the dining area on the other side of the house; and the front door, which had been bolted but not boarded up.

      Ben turned, still inspecting, and his eyes suddenly grew wide.

      The girl was sitting up on the couch; and it was her demeanor that had startled Ben more than the fact that she had regained consciousness. Her face was bruised, and she sat in silence staring at the floor. The radio droned on, enveloping her in its metallic repetitious tone, and the fire played on her face and reflected in her eyes…staring…and blinking very seldom.

      Ben took off his sweater and moved toward her. He fixed the sweater over her shoulders and looked sympathetically into her face. She just stared at the floor. Ben felt dumb and helpless, and he was both ashamed and embarrassed by what he had done to her to end their struggle earlier, even though at the time it had been a necessary thing. For a long time, he waited for a response from the girl—perhaps an outburst of anger or resentment—but no response came. Forlornly, he moved to the pile of lumber in the center of the floor, chose a table-board, and went to the front window, which was still unboarded.

      “…BROADCASTERS WILL CONVEY INFORMATION AS RECEIVED FROM CIVIL DEFENSE HEADQUARTERS. THIS IS YOUR CIVIL DEFENSE EMERGENCY RADIO NETWORK. NORMAL BROADCAST FACILITIES HAVE BEEN…”

      Ben succeeded in boarding up the other two windows in the living room, then moved to the front door. He got the ironing board and placed it across the door horizontally, drove nails through the board into the molding and tested it for strength; it seemed to be sufficiently strong to help keep the things out. Ben moved on in his urgency to make the house secure against attack.

      In the dining area, there were two closed doors. Trying one, he found it locked, examined it, and found no latch; apparently, someone had locked it with a key. It seemed to be a closet door. Ben yanked and tugged at it several times, but it would not yield, so he concluded it was secure enough and left it alone…concluding that it had obviously been locked by the owner of the house, who lay dead in the hallway upstairs.

      Ben found the other door unlocked, and it led into a den with several windows. Disappointed at the added vulnerability, Ben let out a long sigh, then thought for a moment, staring around the room. Finally, he exited briskly, slamming the door to the den and locking it behind him with the skeleton key protruding from its keyhole. His intention was to board the den up instead of attempting to secure the bay windows.

      But the skeleton key gave him an idea, and he snatched it out of its keyhole and went to the dining room which would not open before. He jammed the key in the keyhole of the dining-room door, tried to turn it, jiggled and played with it for a while, but the door would not open. He put the key in his pocket and gave up on the door.

      The supply of lumber in the center of the living room was dwindling. Ben’s eyes fell momentarily on the motionless, sad figure of Barbara as he moved to check it out. She did not look back at him at all, and he bent over the pile of wood and selected another of the table-boards, for the purpose of boarding the den door. About to start hammering, a thought struck him—and he unlocked the door again and entered the room. There were chairs, a desk, a bureau…he stepped to the desk and started to rummage through the drawers. He pulled out papers, a stack of pencils and pens, a compass—a СКАЧАТЬ