The Turned Page 2

  But as Sheriff Wylett had parked and made his way up the front porch steps, dreading every footfall as he neared the front door, he still hadn’t composed what he was actually going to say. He had been expecting Susan Chambers to step out and meet him, but then he heard the music playing and looked through the side window.

  There she was, singing along to a song he didn’t know on the radio, a spatula in one hand and an oven glove on the other as she took her freshly baked cookies and transferred them from the wire frame and onto a plate, all the while still singing along to the tune. It was the absolute picture of family bliss, the young mother waiting for her husband and little boy to return from their Sunday outing.

  Only they weren’t coming back, not on that Sunday evening or any other evening, because Sheriff Wylett had just left their bodies at the morgue. Little Charlie, four years old and the absolute apple of his mother’s eye, laid out on the cold slab, next to his father. Another angler had found them in the afternoon, both floating face down in the lake, Wylett finding their upturned fishing boat an hour later.

  And then he had to tell Susan Chambers. Not only that, she was also going to have to officially identify the bodies. Jake Wylett didn’t even know how to tackle that bit.

  He had watched her for a moment, a woman totally at peace and being blessed with everything she could ever want, knowing he was going to end it all. As Wylett wrapped hard on the door, wanting but not wanting to be heard above the music, he had still been battling with his words.

  He needn’t have worried. As a smiling Susan answered the door one look at the lawman told her something horrible had happened. A sentence or two later and she collapsed in his arms, howling that it couldn’t be true.

  Sheriff Wylett had been a lawman all his life, becoming Brentwood’s Sheriff before he even hit thirty, carrying on the tradition just as his father and grandfather. In his time he had been shot, fought more fights that he cared to remember, and battled everyone from meth-heads to drug barons, and every type of lawbreaker in between. But that spring evening, telling Susan Chambers she had become a widow and lost her only child, was easily the worst of his forty year career.

  And it didn’t end there. Susan Chambers held it together as best as anyone could, but once her family were in the ground she began her descent into self-destruction. First it was the booze, self-medicating to gain sleep until it became her staple diet. Not satisfied with that, she upgraded to any drug she could lay her hands on to keep herself from remembering. And with the new lifestyle came the new men, men attracted to those who are lost and vulnerable.

  By the time it was a year gone since losing little Charlie and her husband, Susan the mother and wife was no more, replaced by a drug and alcoholic dependant mess. It was a pitiful sight, the damaged widow draping her arms around any man who would buy her what she wanted, in return for what they wanted.

  She’d lost her family, she was in danger of losing her home, so losing her self-respect was just another add-on.

  Sheriff Wylett did what he could, warning the male scavengers away, only for another to take his place. And once Susan Chambers turned her bitterness towards him, Wylett knew she was gone. The woman he would lock up for being a nasty and abusive drunk, was no longer the woman he had held that evening on her porch.

  The last time Wylett saw her, as the virus was breaking, Susan Chambers was sporting a black eye and split lip from her latest waster beau, and jeans and a sweater that were in need of a wash, as was she. When he had offered words of advice, she had spat in his face.

  That bitterness and longing went with her when the virus claimed the widow. Only now that damaged soul was equipped with razor-sharp talons, and elongated razor-teeth. Together with the enhanced strength and agility that the virus gave them, those infected like the widow posed a formidable and rapidly growing threat.

  She was watching their every move from behind the boards, her infected brain recognising the Sheriff, but only in the sense that he was just another man who had let her down, but that was nothing to what Susan felt when she saw Travis Trent.

  Her vision narrowed to a single point as she focused in on the sweating mechanic as he manoeuvred his tow truck. Certain memories were immune to the virus, and Travis was one such lingering image. It had been at the time when Susan was still clinging on as she battled her debts and demons, and somehow holding down a waitressing job, just to feed herself.

  She had visited Travis’s workshop one lunchtime, desperate to get her junked ride fixed so that she could get to her job. Susan told him she couldn’t pay, but offered to do his admin and paperwork as payment if he could help her out and fix the car.

  The smiling mechanic, dressed then as now in his oiled dungarees, told her there was another way to settle the bill as he pointed to a filthy couch in his office as he stared longingly at Susan’s chest, making his terms of payment crystal clear.

  The tearful widow left her car and never went back, getting drunk to numb her pain, and losing the job she could no longer get to.

  And now that sweating pig was ramming his tow truck into her home, scaring her new family as they hid in the cellar. But Susan wasn’t scared, she was just hungry. And she had no intention of letting history repeat itself.

  Sheriff Wylett was dragged back from his painful reminiscing by the sound of Hank shouting.

  ‘Travis, you damn fool, get down from there!’

  Wylett looked up, confirming his suspicion that Travis was definitely a full-time idiot. The mechanic had ignored his instructions to be careful, and was standing on the lifting gear of the tow truck as he tried to smash its hook into a suitable gap. He was at full stretch as he lifted himself tip-toe on the frame, reaching up to just below Susan Chambers’ bedroom window.

  The Sheriff caught his breath, stepping forward as his hand reached for the chrome .44 magnum pistol sat on his hip and spitting away the roll-up. He called up to Travis, knowing he had to sound calm so as not to convey the imminent danger the man was in, hoping to avoid panic.

  ‘Best you come down, son. We ca . . .’

  Susan Chambers head and shoulders burst through the boards of her bedroom window, plucking Travis off his lifting gear as if his three hundred pound bulk was nothing at all, and disappearing back inside with the screaming mechanic.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ hollered Hank as he unloaded his Remington at the hole Susan had made, peppering the boards with buckshot as he worked the pump-action.

  Sheriff Wylett dashed forward as he aimed at the window. ‘Stop firing, Hank!’ he bellowed. ‘You’ll hit Travis!’

  ‘He’s already dead, Jake!’

  4

  Susan slammed Travis against her far wall, not even registering the several pellets of Hank’s buckshot as they sliced into her shoulder. The widow pushed the screaming mechanic’s face into the chipped plasterboard as she curled her talons into a fist, punching the centre of the rolled flesh on Travis’ back, easily snapping his spine with the power-blow.

  Travis emitted an even higher scream as his legs gave out, but Susan easily held his bulk as she spun him around and cupped his whimpering face with her hands. The enlarged saliva glands in her throat, and the added tumour growths that ensured the blood she fed on travelled straight to her enlarged heart, together with the extended roots her new teeth were producing, all made it impossible for her to speak.

  But Susan Chambers could still smile. Savouring the fear from her captive she held her face close to his, fluttering her eyelids as she smiled wide to show off the razor fangs she had acquired. Travis wept as he looked into her blood-red eyes, all of Susan’s capillaries haemorrhaged from the pressure produced by her maxed-out adrenal glands, knowing the human part of her was calling in the payback for his trying to take advantage of a bereaved woman at her lowest point.

  Once Susan was satisfied that the stinking bully was as scared as it was possible to be, the virus in her took over, seeking its own satisfaction as she sunk her teeth into the sweating f
olds of his neck and drank.

  Sheriff Wylett met Deputy Gribbin at the back of the police cruiser as she opened up the 4x4’s rear door. She knew he was already blaming himself for losing another of the group, another person he was responsible for, but there was only so much he could do.

  ‘I shouldn’t have let him near this place,’ Wylett began. ‘I knew he wa . . .’

  Gribbin gripped his arm. ‘Hush now, Sheriff,’ she ordered. ‘We’re battling the end of times here, and this town would have fallen already if it hadn’t been for you.’

  The Sheriff towered over his diminutive Deputy, knowing for the moment that she was in charge.

  ‘There’s only so much we can warn these folks if they want to play our game. Travis was an accident waiting to happen.’ Gribbin looked up at the scorching sun. ‘We got a full day ahead, and at least another ten properties down the road to clear, and it’s only gonna get nastier.’

  Then she looked her boss in the eye. ‘So let’s hear no more about blame, and get this bitch put down.’

  Wylett was silent as he nodded, knowing, as usual, that his Deputy was right. Theirs was an unusual bond, but an unbreakable one, although never spoken of. The feisty, twenty six year old Deputy, a gym and cross-fit addict, who only moved to Brentwood as that was where her wife wanted to settle down. Slap-bang in the middle of “flyover” country, Lisa Gribbin had been expecting the worst, having been brought up to believe the people in such places were the polar opposites of the hipster urbanites she was used to.

  But she couldn’t have been more wrong, feeling like she belonged the first day in town. The locals certainly weren’t the townies she was used to, and that made for a pleasant surprise, with the new Deputy meeting characters every day. She was the shortest in the department, at barely over five feet tall, the only woman, and certainly the only gay officer, but Lisa Gribbin was made to feel right at home from day one.

  When her short-lived marriage ended, it was the other Mrs Gribbin who moved away.

  Sheriff Wylett told her he had no intention of losing his star Deputy, stating that the estranged wife’s loss was his gain. The veteran lawman didn’t have a paternal bone in his body, having never had children and himself divorced two decades earlier, but he would be lying to himself to think that he didn’t care for his young charge, and was happiest in her company.

  Gribbin would often turn up on her days off when she knew the Sheriff was pulling an all-nighter, bringing him a casserole to make sure he ate. When they were out patrolling he did his awkward best to point out suitable females that he thought might be eligible for her to date, which only resulted in the both of them collapsing in hysterics.

  They were an odd pairing, but one which worked, with neither prepared to give up on the other as they battled the infected that were rapidly overtaking their town, just as the dwindling numbers of others like them across the country were trying to resist the pandemic that was turning its people into vampires.

  ‘Did you leave anything for the National Guard,’ asked Wylett as he looked in the back of the cruiser at the small arsenal Gribbin had acquired from the army before they pulled out, laughably imposing Martial Law as they abandoned Brentwood to its fate.

  ‘Our need is greater, Sheriff,’ Gribbin replied as she picked up an M4 assault rifle and ammunition, handing the same bundle to Wylett. ‘Let’s get this done.’

  Wylett nodded as he looked at his watch, just as Hank joined them whilst reloading his Remington.

  ‘Any idea where she is,’ asked Hank as the taxidermist glanced back at the house to make sure no one else was getting creative, which they weren’t. The remainder of the posse were keeping their distance as they pointed their rifles at the hole Travis had made.

  Wylett shook his head as he shielded his eyes, looking down the dirt track. ‘No, but she’ll be here.’

  Susan drank just enough from Travis to fire up her endorphins and keep her alert. The mechanic was still whimpering as she lifted up his dead-weight and carried him to the landing, throwing Travis over the bannister railing.

  She looked over as he crashed on the stairs below, just as a speeding figure darted out of the gloom and seized Travis. Susan smiled again as she saw it was the newest of her darlings, the little Kitner boy. She had only just turned him and he was ravenous for the new food source that he now craved. As she looked down with pride, he was joined by the others as they fell on Travis, dragging the still conscious meal down the steps, along the hallway and down into the cellar.

  The big man would easily keep them going for the time being, even with eight of them they could still sink into a bicep or a wrist, a thigh or a calf. The sound of her children squealing with delight as they drank filled Susan with joy, but then another noise drew her attention.

  Racing back to the window, Susan Chambers hissed anger at she saw what was approaching up her dirt drive.

  Daisey Hues didn’t let up on the gas as she tore up the track, knowing she was late for the party. But she still managed a wave and a smile for Sheriff Wylett as she roared past him. Daisey felt guilty at finding a crumb of happiness amidst all the horror that the two of them had finally rekindled their affair. It had been over a decade, but they both knew that nothing was guaranteed anymore, least of all time for regrets.

  Then Daisey lifted up the front bucket of the industrial digger truck she was driving, aiming for the hole Travis had made.

  Wylett waved back as she passed him. ‘Told you, Hank. You can always rely on our Daisey.’

  The others in the posse ran out of the way as Daisey blasted her air horn, scattering them all ways as she ploughed into the widow’s house.

  Susan Chambers lingered too long in her room, snarling at the incoming threat. As the bucket tore through the wood cladding a large chunk of it flew across the room and smacked into her forehead, concussing Susan as she staggered back and fell to her knees.

  ‘Same again, Daisey!’ called the Sheriff. ‘Open it up so the daylight can do our job!’

  Jake Wylett still didn’t understand the mechanics of the virus, only its end result once people had turned, but everyone knew the infected couldn’t stand the sun’s rays. Daisey did a quick manoeuvre, handling the rig with surgical precision as she tore another hole next to the first, allowing the daylight to flood in.

  Susan was still stunned by the blow to her head. Despite the enhanced abilities she had gained from being turned, the widow could still feel pain and concussion, even though she would quickly recover. Susan frantically crawled out of the shafts of sunlight filling the room as she ducked behind her bed.

  As she did so Susan was expecting another charge from the digger truck, and she knew the children were in danger, but the sunlight was filling the doorway, and her exit from the bedroom. But the digger’s bucket didn’t crash through again, even though she could hear its engine close by. Realising she had to make her move, Susan seized her chance.

  As she stood, ready to bolt, the widow stopped in her tracks. The digger bucket had returned, but was static in the air, hovering just outside the hole it had made. And stood inside was Deputy Gribbin, an M4 wedged into her shoulder as she aimed into the room and straight at Susan Chambers.

  The widow lunged for the door, just as a burst of automatic fire lacerated up her side, hurling her through the doorway and crashing onto the landing.

  She dug her talons into the floorboards as she shrieked in pain, just as an object rolled to her head.

  Susan Chambers had only ever seen them on the television, usually in a war movie. But there was no mistaking what it was and, even in her pained state, and having never seen a real-life one before, the widow could see the pin was definitely missing from the hand-grenade she was now staring at.

  5

  Deputy Gribbin ducked down in the digger bucket as Daisey tilted it up to shield her from the blast. As she hunkered down the grenade exploded, with some of the shrapnel escaping back out of the hole and peppering her protection. But it had worked. />
  Gribbin looked over the back-side, giving the thumbs-up to Daisey, and the bucket tilted forward again as the deputy quickly scanned with the M4, prepared for the infected widow to jump out, but she knew, infected or not, Susan Chambers was done. Gribbin opened the cool-box nestled at her feet and grabbed one of the Molotov cocktails, snapping her lighter to life as she lit the protruding cloth.

  ‘All of you aim at that fuckin’ hole!’ bellowed Sheriff Wylett from below.

  As Gribbin threw the flaming projectile into the bedroom, a hail of fire hit the splintered wood around the opening, insurance against any nastiness getting ready to bail. But nothing popped out as the flames took an immediate hold of the wooden framed room, just as Gribbin tossed another flaming bottle inside, followed by one more.

  As Daisey lowered her to the ground the fire was already spreading through the top of the property. Wylett helped the Deputy out, the relief evident on his face as Gribbin squeezed his shoulder.

  ‘Told you it would be fine,’ she offered, smiling.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied, looking tired, ‘but everyone’s stayin’ on the ground and outside until this place is ash.’

  Daisey set to work, with Hank riding shotgun in the cab as she smashed the digger into the bottom of the house, opening up the cellar and exposing the little demons hiding down in there, and releasing the putrid stench of the cadavers they had been feeding on.

  As she reversed out, the huge hole Daisey had punched through filled with sunlight, just as those within hissed and scampered out of the way.

  ‘They ain’t what they were before!’ shouted Wylett, knowing the children infected inside ranged from four to twelve years old, all too aware of the horridness of it all. ‘We’re just puttin’ ’em out of their misery.’