Chapter 11 (Carrie)

Carrie flees her parent’s house and has time to revaluate humanity.

Standing outside she shivered. She had forgotten her coat. A wail down the street made her forget the weather. Three doors down a near naked woman ran out of her front door; her swinging breasts covered in blood. A man in a rumpled dark suit pursued her screaming at a blood chilling volume. 

 The man quickly overtook her and tackled her with a flying dive. The woman fought the man but his viscous clawing was slowing wearing her down. Within seconds her limbs merely twitched as if having a mild seizure.

 Carrie panicked. Forgetting her mother's car she climbed into the Subaru. The keys were still in the ignition. Turning the car over she swore and beat the wheel with one fist. The motor turned and belts screamed. 

 The man in the dark suit looked up; head twisting in all directions attempting to pinpoint the sound. The second attempt at starting the Subaru brought him to his feet. The third had him running down the street towards Carrie.

 At the fourth attempt the Subaru fired up, bellowing a huge cloud of steam like a mechanical fart. Carrie shifted the car into reverse and stomped on the gas. A large portion of the bumper tore off as the car extricated itself from Brad's pickup. 

 Carrie backed over a curb nearly crushing the mailbox before she applied the brakes and shifted the crumpled car into forward.  A glance in the rearview mirror showed a sprinting man. Arms and legs pumping in a wild fashion. Carrie glanced over at her parent's house. She had left the front door ajar!

 Slowing she debated getting out to close it. Suddenly the man jumped onto the roof of the hatchback. He screamed. Carrie let out a small whelp and punched the gas pedal. The movement caught the man off balance and he tumbled off the roof. As Carrie sped down the quiet street she scanned the rearview mirror. She watched as the man in the suit lurched to his feet; head swinging back and forth as if listening or smelling. Then he noticed the open door and scrambled towards it. Carrie sobbed and averted her eyes to the road before her. 

 Angling north across the Mississippi River and away from Red Wing, Minnesota Carrie sought to merge onto Highway 10. A gently curving East/West highway that eventually led into Marshfield, Wisconsin which was near her uncle's farm. 

 Uncle Nate was a stocky gregarious man who had made a very comfortable living selling Amish made furniture from a rustic roadside barn. He had bought up cheap farmland and leased it out to local farmers. After 20 years he had turned the business over to his oldest son and focused on raising game birds. 

 As she drove Carrie scolded herself. She had forgotten her coat, her iPhone, even the necessities like her purse and bottled water. The car was running roughly and had just under a quarter tank of gas. Carrie steered with one hand and leaned over to rifle through her father's glovebox. Throwing handfuls of receipts and crumpled candy wrappers onto the floor she dug deeper. Towards the rear of the compartment she spied a few random green bills. Taking her eyes off the highway she leaned further towards the passenger seat and grasped the money. Pulling the cash out of the glovebox she saw that her fist contained a few crumpled twenties. Laughing she placed the bills on her lap and brought her eyes back to the road. 

 An overturned motorcycle loomed before her. A twisted body was lifeless in the opposite lane. Carrie slammed her foot on the brake pedal and twisted the wheel. The Subaru veered into the gravel shoulder and slide sideways. Tires grated on gravel and the car leapt off the shoulder and going airborne briefly landed in a sodden field. It shuddered to a stop and quickly sunk to the undercarriage in the slush and mud. 

 "Goddamnit!"

 Carrie feebly pounded the wheel with balled fists and started to cry. Then a bloody face slammed against the window. Screaming she recoiled into the passenger seat and kicked away from the window. Her seatbelt held her in place so she thrashed and panicked.

 A smear of blood and mud was running down the glass. Vacant glazed over white eyes stared back at her. They reminded her of a dead fish laying on a muddy riverbank in the summer heat. The mouth slowly worked as if chewing a large chunk of taffy. Then the hands started robotically clawing the glass. Carrie fumbled with the shotgun while pushing herself  further away with her legs. 

 The white eyed man started to try to chew the glass. She leveled the shotgun and pulled back the slide on the automatic. The spring launched a shell forward into the chamber and Carrie clicked off the safety. 

 The gunshot was terrific in the small car. Shattered glass exploded outwards and the thing was flung backwards. Carrie fumbled with the seatbelt catch and scrambled out the opposite door. She shouldered the gun and stalked around the rear of the car. 

 In the mud the creature was spinning in writhing circles clawing at it's ruined face. Carrie exhaled and backed away. At the passenger door she scooped up her oilskin ammo bag and pocketed the cash. Looking around she saw a red farmhouse with a rusted metal roof at the other end of the field. Without looking back she started jogging towards the homestead.

 As she panted and exhaled foggy breath she heard a high scream. Looking behind her she saw four running figures cutting across the field towards her. Carrie cried out and jogged faster.

 The red farmhouse was still too far to reach before the creatures would overtake her. A small utility shed was considerably closer so Carrie veered to the east and nearly collapsed when she reached the wooden door. Fumbling with the latch she burst into the shed and looked around for something to barricade the door with. She rolled a push mower in front of the door and dropped the shotgun to start piling sacks of dried corn onto the mower. After she had piled on a measly three bags the first creature collided against the door. A cold sweat broke out on her brow and she yelped in surprise. 

 The door opened about 6 inches and a pale arm wearing the tattered remains of a letterman's jacket groped about like a pet shop employee with an arm in a goldfish tank. Picking up the weapon she clicked off the safety and fired point blank into the arm. 

 The appendage immediately bowed like a gory Australian boomerang. Carrie pulled the trigger again and the limb severed and hung by a bloody leather ribbon of coat sleeve. Backing up she chambered three more rounds. Another creature slammed against the door and the barricade shifted. A curious white face appeared in the gap and Carrie fired off two shots while screaming. The flesh evaporated and the creature seemed to smile a toothy grin; seemingly unaffected. 

 Then a gunshot rang out from outside the shed. The pounding stopped then another shot pierced the cold afternoon. 

 "Got that son of a b***h!" a young man's voice shouted triumphantly. 

 "Get some!" another man yelled before firing again.

 There was some laughing then a final shot. Silence prevailed for a long moment before she heard footsteps approaching the shed. A beer or soda can was cracked open and Carrie stood rigid still. 

 "Hey you in there." the younger voice hailed "We're not sick so you can come on out."

 Carrie just stood in shocked silence. A soft sob racked her body and she relaxed a fraction. She tried to speak but the words wouldn't come out.

 "Listen." the older voice said in an assuring tone "We're friendly. You can trust us. We have a nice fire going in that red house back there. Got a big ol' pot of Campbell's on the stove."

 Carrie audibly sobbed this time and took a step forward. Cradling the shotgun in her right arm she pulled the door open with a shaking left hand. Squeezing through the gap she emerged into the farmyard. 

 "Would you look at that." the young man said. Then he let out a low whistle.

 "Shut up, Phil." the older man scolded.

 Phil was in his early 20's and boasted a healthy crop of acne. He had greasy looking black hair that was due for a trim. His eyes were deep set and had a horse mouth with protruding gapped teeth. As he looked Carrie up and down he took a swig of Coors. The kid held the beer like a proud 21 year old drinking in front of his parents for the first time; boastful and cocky. He had an old lever action rifle in his other hand and looked a bit too proud of the weapon to ease her jangled nerves.

 "Don't mind him." the older man said while smiling "He's about as smart as he looks."

 "Goddamnitt, Tom." Phil cursed.

 "Watch your mouth, kid. This woman just went through a terrible thing. She don't wanna hear your blaspheming."

 The younger man stared down at the dirt slightly dejected.  Shaking his head he took another drink. Carrie thought he looked like something that would lay on a lily pad in a swamp. 

 "We better get inside, Darling." Tom said while scanning the field with lively chocolate eyes. He also held an old hunting rifle "The reckoning has come."

 He put a fatherly hand on her shoulder and led her towards the farmhouse. They stepped over the corpses of the creatures and avoided the pooling blood. Phil lagged behind with a sour look on his face. Soup did sound good. And Carrie was cold. So cold.

 Carrie spooned soup into her mouth as she listened to Tom talk. He had a soft comforting voice that calmed her. Pinewood knots popped in the fireplace and she felt the weight dropping as her body warmed. She was safe again.

 "I was helping Pastor MacDonald cover the rose bushes at the church when this all started." Tom related "We had those white styrofoam buckets that you put over them. You know, the ones you buy at Walmart."

 Carrie nodded and offered the man a lame smile.

 "Oh my Lord and Savior, Jesus. This is hard to tell."

 Phil snorted so Carrie placed a small hand on the man's wrist. He recoiled slightly from the touch but continued. As he spoke Carrie shot Phil a dark glance. The kid smiled. A dirty wry toothy grin.

 "It all happened so fast. We had heard about this…this sickness. It was all over the news. Zika virus. E coli. God is always showing us our frailty."

 He looked at Carrie, eyes brimming with tears.

 "Pastor MacDonald had just raked around the bush and I was covering it with the bucket. That man loved his rose bushes. He always said a dew covered rose sang our Lord's prayer."

 Phil laughed at that. A contemptuous sound of loathing and mockery. The kid tossed his empty beer can aside and opened another. Carrie and Tom ignored him.

 "I said to Pastor MacDonald, why did we wait so long to cover these roses? It's nearly winter and there's already snow. Do you know what he said? Tribulation. He said every living thing needs to test themselves and sacrifice a little in order to appreciate God's bounty. I loved talking to that gentle man. He was a living inspiration. So pious and beautiful."

 "Sounds like a f*****g f*g." Phil suggested.

 "That mouth of yours is filth." the older man said through clenched teeth.

 Carrie looked at Phil and shook her head. The man leered back and leaned against a wall. He took another drink of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. 

 "Go on, Tom." Carrie urged.

 "A woman came running down the street. I knew the woman from our congregation. Mrs. Mendoza. A widow. A proud woman and a kind one. She had a chunk of her cheek torn away. She was crying and yelling in Spanish. I don't understand Spanish." the man said while shaking his head.

 "You don't understand much of anything." the younger man replied after taking another drink. 

 Tom's eyes darkened but he continued regardless. The soft chocolate tone turning to coal.

 "Pastor MacDonald pressed a handkerchief to her face and cradled that noble woman. He knew Spanish so they started to speak. She didn't want to be held. Even without understanding what was being said I knew something was wrong. She broke into English then. Maybe she had calmed down a bit. Maybe she just wanted me to hear and understand. She pointed down the street and said "Judgement Day." I looked down the street but it was normal. Leaf piles. Quietly sagging pumpkins on porches. It was so quiet and normal."

 Tom looked up at her with pleading eyes.

 "Then we heard a scream. Mrs. Mendoza pulled away from Pastor MacDonald and he just stood there holding that bloody handkerchief while she ran down the street. A few seconds passed then we heard another. The world turned into this giant clock; everything just slowly ticking. Just ticking second by second. Does that make sense?"

 It didn't make much sense to Carrie but she nodded politely anyways.

 "Then a man was running down the street towards us. He was screaming and covered in blood. We both knew that God had finally decided to judge us all. Pastor MacDonald stepped forward and I ran." Tom laughed and shook his head "I ran for a couple blocks before I realized I still had a stack of those styrofoam buckets. I put them down on the street and went into a small tavern. That's where I met Phil."

 Carrie glanced at the younger man. He was peering out of a window. 

 "We left the tavern with the bartender and some other man that was incapacitated by drink. The bartender was a young woman; full of youth and vitality."

 "Full of warts maybe." Phil added.

 Tom shrugged the comment off then looked back at Carrie.

 "We left the man behind. God forgive us. He just wouldn't get in the car. The girl ended up getting hit by a stray bullet. She died in my arms.  Then Phil started driving. I don't even know where we are."

 Carrie stood up and ladled another bowl of soup.

 "Tom, maybe you should ea…"

 "Car in the driveway!" Phil yelled excitedly. 

 Tom jumped up from his chair and grabbed the rifle off the table. He joined Phil by the window and watched the car careen down the long graveled drive.

 "He's coming at us like Hell is behind him." Tom whispered.

 Carrie put down the bowl of soup and reloaded her weapon. She was apprehensive for some reason. Suddenly feeling like being a female was a dangerous proposition.

 "Tom." she said.

 Tom turned around and came towards her. Looking into her eyes he seemed to understand her anxiousness.

 "It's okay, darling. We won't let anything happen to you."

 The car could be heard coming to a skidding stop. Doors opened and voices were speaking. They both sounded tense and nervous.

 "Should I let them in, Tom?" Phil asked.

 "No, wait a minut…" Tom said before being cut off as Phil opened the door.

 Two men burst into the farmhouse. Both were in their twenties and looked dirty; as is they just completed a shift at some factory. One was a tall farm boy with a wild goatee, a hook nose, and a sleeveless Budweiser shirt. He was holding a rusty tire iron and looked around warily. The other was a stocky African American with short cropped hair and baggy Dickies pants. The black man smiled when he saw Carrie. He had a gold front tooth.

 "Does your phone work?" the tall man asked.

 "Phone's dead." Tom replied. He looked at Phil and shook his head.

 Phil glanced down at his boots but had a smirk on his face.

 "How can we help you gentleman?" Tom said as he stepped forward and extended his hand.

 The black man stared at it distastefully for a second then shook it.

 "I'm C. That guy there is Jason."

 "C?" Tom replied.

 "His name is Claude." Jason said while chuckling.

 Claude looked at Jason and the man stopped laughing.

 "I'm Tom. The young man over there is Phillip. And this young lady is Carrie. I assume we're all going to behave like gentlemen?"

 "Yeah, just like gentlemen." Jason said with a lopsided smile.

 C just stared at Tom's gun. A cold and calculating stare. 

 "Well come get some soup. Phillip, will you warm up more?" Tom requested as he went back into the dining room.

 Carrie watched the two men nervously. They blatantly stared back. She shivered and followed Tom.

 "Where did you fellows come from?" Tom asked as he sat back down at the kitchen table; his rifle close at hand leaning against his thigh.

 "The ironworks factory down the road." C replied and he slurped on soup that Phil had dished up for him.

 "It ain't gonna be open tomorrow." Jason mentioned while laughing; it was a terrible grating laugh "That m**********r caught on fire big time!"

 Tom looked at the man disapprovingly but Jason ignored him and stirred his soup. 

 "He means to say that we're on vacation." C explained "We're not working for no paycheck anymore."

 C looked up and appraised Carrie. Tom caught the look and cleared his throat. 

 "As much as we'd like you to stay with us, we have…limited resources." Tom mentioned while staring at C.

 C set his spoon down gently and stared back at the older man.

 "I see. You mean you don't like n*****s."

 "I don't like ignorant people." Tom replied.

 Jason just chuckled as if he was behind a dumpster in the schoolyard and someone had just told him a real zinger of a Frenchmen joke.

 "You got the f*****g pink slip for this farmhouse, old man?" C asked while smiling; the gold tooth reflecting firelight.

 "This is my pink slip." Tom stated as he hefted his hunting rifle onto the table.

 From behind Phil swung his rifle butt down onto the old man's head. Tom's neck twisted at a sick angle and he slumped back into the chair before falling off to the side like tattered driftwood.

 "There's my pink slip you bible thumping f**k."

 Carrie screamed.