The Doomsday Sheriff: The Novella Collection (Includes Books 1 - 3) Page 6

  “Here goes nothing,” said Max as he lit the flare and tossed it onto the wood pile.

  At first nothing happened. The flare blazed and sputtered sparks, but the gas didn’t light; he had missed. A few of the screamers turned toward the bright flare, and their milky eyes widened. Max pulled the door closed slowly, noticing through the crack that one of the screamers had seen him. But the creature’s gaze went from the shed door to the flare, looking mystified.

  The screamers began to walk toward the wood pile like a pack of curious apes seeing fire for the first time. Suddenly the gas caught. There was a loud whoosh and a flash of light, and the screamers reeled back like scared cavemen.

  “Now’s the time, let’s go,” said Max. He grabbed Alan’s coat and pulled him through the door. They made a beeline to the left side of the radio station, passing awestruck screamers slowly lurching toward the fire. They noticed Max and Alan, but they seemed drugged by the brilliant light, hypnotized by it. Like lethargic spring houseflies just waking up from winter, they staggered toward the flames, heads lolled to the side and faces blank.

  Everything went smoothly until Max and Alan turned the corner of the station and came face to face with those screamers who couldn’t see the fire. Max met the eyes of the closest screamer, a woman who might have been a hottie yesterday, but now looked haggard and possessed. A moment later the woman cried out and charged toward him. The second flare sparked to life, and Max thrust it out in front of him. The screamer skidded to a stop and reeled back, slipping on an icy patch. Other screamers had begun to charge, and they too stopped abruptly and gazed upon the blinding tip of the flare with wonderment. Max thrust it out toward the group, who reeled back drunkenly.

  “Come on,” Max told Alan, and he parted the crowd with the flare as a stark-white Alan trained his shotgun on them, protecting the rear.

  Max continued toward his Bronco, feeling as though he were wading through shallow waters teeming with sharks. He thought that at any moment, the spell might be broken, and the horde would descend upon them and tear them apart. But their infatuation with the flare continued, even as Max carefully backed into the Bronco behind Alan as he scurried across the truck to the passenger seat.

  The Bronco came to life with a roar that seemed to snap the screamers out of it for a moment. They growled and leered at Max, who now held the flare out the window. He put the truck in reverse and threw the flare into the snow. It landed butt down, and the screamers fought each other to get a closer look. Max peeled out, whipping the truck around and popping it in drive.

  In the rearview, the horde gathered around the flare.

  Max let out a long pent-up sigh and rubbed his face. He glanced over at Alan, who seemed to be holding his breath as he stared at the side-view mirror.

  “Boo!” Max screamed and grabbed Alan’s shoulder.

  “Ahhh!” Alan cried, jumping in his seat so hard that he hit his head on the roof. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that!”

  Max chuckled, unable to help himself. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

  Alan cracked up and shook his head. “I just about shit myself.”

  Max sniffed. “You sure you didn’t?”

  Alan offered him a stubby middle finger.

  “Alright,” said Max. “Enough playing around. Let’s go catch us a screamer.”

  Chapter 11

  Undead got Talent

  After fifteen minutes of cruising through Lake Placid’s backstreets, Max and Alan came across a screamer wandering around alone. He was a greasy-looking man with thin hair, wearing Carhartt pants and a camouflaged jacket.

  “How are we going to capture it?” Alan asked.

  Max grinned and hit the gas. “Like this.”

  The truck lurched forward, and Max hit the screamer before it could get out of the way. He’d only been going twenty miles an hour, but the screamer must have hit the bumper just right, for it was thrown back through the air and landed on the back of a parked car.

  Max threw Alan a length of rope and bolted out the door. “Come on!” he yelled at the portly DJ.

  The screamer scrambled onto all fours on the car trunk and sprang at Alan like a cat when he came rushing over. Max charged to intercept the screamer and, swinging the shotgun by the barrel like a baseball bat, he slugged the screamer in the chest as it descended on Alan. But Alan was quicker than he looked and ducked down in time. Max hit the screamer again, this time in the side of the head, and the beast finally went down.

  “Tie his feet!” said Max, putting a knee into the screamer’s back and wrestling for control of its flailing arms.

  By the time Max got the wrists tied, the screamer was already singing. There was no way to get the beast to shut up short of blowing his head off, so Max endured the ear-piercing cry and carried the screamer to the back of the Bronco. They managed to get it up onto the roof and were tying it off when another cry answered their captive.

  “That’s our cue.” Max jumped off the roof and nearly broke his neck on a patch of ice, but he kept his feet.

  A small group of screamers were sprinting down the road behind them, and Alan closed his door just in time as one slammed into it. Max hit the throttle and took off down the road, turning left toward Main Street. He drove slow enough to attract attention, like an ice cream truck driver trying to lure the neighborhood kids. Max’s jingle wasn’t a happy tune, however, but the demonic cry of the screamer on the roof. Still, it worked like a charm.

  The screamers came out of the woodwork in droves, men, women, and children alike, chasing after the truck with alarming speed. Soon there were hundreds of the Thriller extras, and Max led them up Alan’s road. He pulled ahead a half-mile and stopped at the bottom of Alan’s driveway.

  Alan nervously fidgeted as they waited for the screamers to respond to the siren call of the dude on the roof. A few seconds later, the screamers came running, having seemingly forgotten about the mesmerizing fire; either that, or the flames had died down to nothing.

  “Alright,” said Alan as Max began down the road once more. “We’ve got a few hundred screamers after us, now what?”

  “Now we get them out of town.”

  After a few miles of luring the screamers out of town like the Pied Piper, Max turned onto a seasonal road that led to a popular hiking trail. There were numerous such trails in and around Lake Placid. Aside from being the location of the legendary Miracle on Ice, in which the US underdog hockey team had beaten the Soviet Union during the 1980 Winter Olympics, Lake Placid was also known for its hiking.

  The road was terrible, and Max feared they might get stuck as the Bronco muscled through the heavy snow. About a half-mile up the trail he parked the truck and went to work with Alan, untying the screamer.

  They moved him off the roof and tied him to a tree before hopping back in the Bronco and taking off. Another seasonal road would lead them back to civilization. Through the open window he could hear the screamers far behind them as they charged down the road. They would soon find their friend, and Max and Alan would be far away.

  “Eat shit!” he yelled out the window, and suddenly the front right tire dropped off the side of the road.

  Max yanked the wheel to the left, but too late. The back right tire went over the shoulder as well, and they stopped suddenly.

  “Ah shit,” said Max.

  “You had to be fucking around, didn’t you?”

  “Shut up.” Max put it in reverse, but that only made things worse.

  The screamers were getting closer. Their tortured cries echoed through the woods, sending birds flying to the safety of the sky. Chipmunks frantically chittered their warning from high in the trees.

  “What now?” Alan asked.

  “Now you get out and push,” said Max.

  “Push? Why me? You’re probably stronger.”

  “I’m driving.”

  “Well get out, and you won’t be.”

  “Hurry up, Alan. We don’t have much time.”

  Alan cur
sed incoherently as he grudgingly got out of the truck and slammed the door. Once he was in place, he gave Max the middle finger and started rocking the truck. Max pumped the gas as the truck rocked back and forth, but they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. There was a hump that the truck just couldn’t get over.

  In the rearview, Max saw the screamers coming down the road. They were perhaps two hundred yards away.

  “Push!” he yelled to Alan, hoping the huffing man didn’t look behind him.

  The truck made headway and Max gave it some juice, but the back just slid farther to the right. The sound of the screamers drew near, and Alan finally turned around.

  He gave a cry and slammed into the truck, screaming, “Come on!”

  Max gave it gas, and the truck almost made it over. It fell back onto another ledge and Max hit the brakes, holding it there for a moment. “Give it all you got!” he yelled to Alan. He let up on the brake as Alan pushed. Max pumped the gas, and the front right wheel finally climbed back up onto the road. Alan rushed around to the passenger side even as Max was peeling out of the ditch. The screamers were on them now, and they began climbing over the truck like an army of ants attacking a lethargic cockroach.

  “Die, die, die!” Alan cried as he shot at the ceiling with his pistol.

  “Knock it off!” Max yelled, though he barely heard himself over the ringing in his ears.

  A screamer’s fist burst through his side window, and Max punched it in the face. The man’s head snapped back, but he held firm to the inside of the door. Max didn’t want to kill him, but when the screamer grabbed the steering wheel and almost put them in the ditch again, he had no choice. He grabbed his gun and put two bullets in the screamer’s head. Arms flailing, the screamer fell off the side of the truck and connected with a tree.

  “Ahhh!” Alan screamed as his window shattered. Three screamers were standing on the running boards, and another was reaching in from the top of the truck.

  Max steered toward a tree that was too close to the right side of the road. “Watch out!” He grabbed Alan and yanked him over as the truck clipped the tree, which scraped down the right side, peeling the screamers off and leaving them in a twisted heap. The one on the roof lost a hand, which was torn off at the wrist, but that didn’t stop him from reaching into the cab with a bloody stump.

  Alan batted it away and pushed into Max, who turned and skidded onto the main road. The truck fishtailed in the snow, but Max had control of the vehicle. He could see two screamers standing on the bumper and clinging to the back of the truck, and there was only the other one on the roof left to be rid of.

  “Cover your ears,” said Alan, though he didn’t give Max enough time before firing six rounds into the roof.

  The dead screamer fell over the side when Max took a corner, and Alan gave a victorious cry. The celebration was short lived, however, as a screamer they hadn’t known was on the roof reached in and grabbed him by the collar. Alan gave a startled cry as he was pulled through the window by the screamer. Max grabbed Alan’s belt as the portly man hung out the window, cursing and thrashing and fighting the unseen assailant on the roof. Max fought to keep the Bronco steady while at the same time trying to pull Alan back in. Alan’s ass was on the window, and his entire upper body was outside the vehicle. Gunfire ended the skirmish between him and the screamer, and Max finally managed to pull Alan inside.

  “You alright?” said Max, looking for blood.

  “Yeah.” Alan laughed nervously. “That was a close one.”

  He was holding the other side of his head, and Max grabbed his arm.

  “It’s nothing, just a scratch,” said Alan, pulling away.

  “Let me see!” said Max, yanking Alan’s arm.

  “Watch out!” Alan cried.

  Max turned his attention to the road, and there was Piper, right in the middle of the street. He was going to hit her!

  He slammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel to the side. The truck hit the snowbank and jumped it, flying off the road and landing on its two right wheels on the side of the hill leading down into a hotel parking lot. Max tried to steer into the hill, but the tires caught, and the truck lurched to the side and rolled over. Loose papers, coffee cups, and spare change took flight as the truck rolled again. Max tried to keep his arms inside and gripped the wheel while chaos ensued. When the truck finally came to a rest, it was back on its wheels in the hotel parking lot, idling sluggishly.

  “You alright?” Max asked Alan. He glanced over and was met by Alan’s milky-eyed stare.

  Chapter 12

  Till Undeath do us Part

  Now that Alan’s head was turned toward him, Max could see where the screamer had bit his ear, taking off a chunk. The screamers on the hill gave a collective cry, and zombie-Alan reached for Max with a sudden snarl. Max grabbed Alan’s throat, knowing his teeth were lethal, and allowed himself to be scratched and pawed at while he fished his Taser out of the center console. Max jabbed it into Alan’s ribs and pulled the trigger, sending 50,000 volts coursing through his body. A stuttering cry escaped Alan’s bloody mouth, but his grip on Max lessened considerably. Max hit him again and pushed him off before turning to check on the screamers on the hill.

  He came face to face with Piper, who grabbed him through the window and yanked him out of the truck as though he were a ragdoll. Max landed high on the hill and rolled down to the bottom. He staggered to his feet, pulling his gun. He was surrounded by six screamers, with Piper between him and the truck. He looked to her wrists, wondering how she had gotten out of the handcuffs, and his heart ached when he saw that she had pulled so hard getting them off that she had peeled the skin from her left wrist all the way down across her hand. Blood dripped into the snow from the raw wound, and the cuffs dangled from her other wrist.

  “Piper,” he said, using his best swinging-the-white-flag voice. “Are you still in there somewhere?”

  She cocked her head to the side as if studying him with curiosity. The mask was still duct-taped to her face, but the left side was torn, leaving it hanging at a cockeyed angle. She had lost one of her bunny slippers, leaving her foot exposed to the cold snow. Max wondered if the screamers could get frostbite, or if their bodies ran at a different temperature. The other screamers watched her blankly. Some had been horribly injured and looked to have risen from the dead, and Max knew that these poor souls could not be cured, for it seemed they would die should the space worms be forced from their bodies by alcohol. They all seemed to have one thing in common, however; they apparently looked up to Piper.

  “Piper, it’s me, Max.” He reached out a hand and took a step toward her.

  The screamers all looked to their leader expectantly. But Piper did nothing. Max took another step, and then another, holding his shotgun in his left hand, cocked and ready. His right hand reached for her, palm up.

  “I know you’re in there, Piper. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ve found a cure.”

  She cocked her head to the other side and sniffed at the air. A low growl began in her throat and soon turned into an all-out howl.

  “Piper!”

  On her cue, the screamers attacked. Max didn’t have time to consider that some of these people were his neighbors, that some were people he knew. It was kill or be killed, so Max did what he did best. He raised his shotgun and blew off the closest screamer’s head. Another came at his right side and he slammed the butt of the gun in the woman’s face and spun, pulling his sidearm, and shot two more screamers in the head. The woman he had hit went down, and two more men leapt at him from behind. The shotgun put one of them down, but the other got ahold of Max and tried tearing out his throat. Max lost his balance and fell in the snow, down beneath the screamer. He had all he could do to fight the big guy off him, but he managed to get the shotgun between them and keep the snapping jaws at bay.

  The screamers that Max had shot twitched and staggered to their feet, doing their best Thriller dance rendition as they stalked toward him. The man on
top of him snapped and frothed, eyes glazed white and drool dripping onto Max’s face. His opponent’s strength was incredible, and though the screamer was a big man, Max suspected that the alien worm had something to do with his power.

  Time was running out. The screamers were getting closer, and Max was getting weaker. Soon he would be overwhelmed, and the screamers would descend on him and make him one of their own.

  “Piper! I know you’re in there somewhere! If you can hear me, this would be a great time to help!”

  He caught a glimpse of her staring at him blankly, head cocked to the side.

  The screamers drew closer.

  “Piper…Her name was Jules. Our baby’s name was Jules!”

  The screamer on top of him pulled himself closer and stretched his mouth open unnaturally wide. Max shoved the side of the barrel into it and turned his head from the sickening stench of the man’s breath. Another screamer fell upon the first, slamming him into Max and leaving him unable to breathe. Max screamed and cursed, trying desperately to fight back. But he was trapped beneath the weight. Any moment those infected teeth would sink into his flesh.

  An otherworldly scream ripped through the air, rattling Max’s eardrums, and suddenly the screamers that had fallen upon him were torn off and sent flying. The cry had come from Piper. She stood between the other screamers and Max in a crouch, that terrible cry forcing him to cover his ears. He staggered to his feet and cocked the shotgun, blowing away the closest screamer. The others were incensed by the sight of their fallen brethren, and despite Piper’s apparent order, they charged once more. Max blasted two more screamers, ran out of bullets, and pulled his sidearm. One of the screamers, a tall lanky man in blue jeans and a flannel shirt, lunged at them, and Piper sprang at him like a cat, meeting him in midair and driving him to the ground, where she proceeded to gouge out his eyes. Max unloaded his gun into the remaining zombies and pointed the gun at Piper’s assailant, but the man now lay motionless, his head twisted all the way around and planted in the snow.