Death's Children_Cat's Eye Page 2

  The rustle of papers.

  A rasping groan.

  “Carl? What are you doing?”

  “No!”

  Cat listened in growing horror as the dispatcher screamed, pain lacing every note. She dropped the phone and backed away, eyes locked to the speaker. The screams continued, the vowels expanding until they became her, consumed her.

  A final peal of agony rang out, followed by strange noises before the line died. Noises that sounded like someone eating. Cat’s heart banged in her chest, and she sat down on the carpet with a thump as her legs gave out.

  Chapter 2

  “I'm coming, Mom. Just hold on.” After crying for a solid ten minutes, Cat picked herself up from the floor, determined to find her only family. “If the police can't help me, I'll have to do it myself.”

  She ran to her room and rummaged through her closet for a backpack, tossing it onto the bed. Peeling off her school uniform, she considered her wardrobe.

  “Dress for a fight. You've got no idea what's waiting outside.” Cat grabbed a sports bra and knickers. Next, she slipped on a pair of pliable skinny jeans and hiking boots, followed by a vest, t-shirt, and leather jacket. “I might die of heat, but nobody's going to chomp my flesh,” she said as she zipped the jacket to the top.

  Dropping her chin, Cat scraped her hair into a tight ponytail, tucked her phone and charger into her pockets and slipped on a pair of shades. On the way out, she paused at the mirror to admire her new look. Panic and fear had given way to a strange sense of calm coupled with a dry sense of humor. Her mother needed her, and she'd be damned if she sat around crying like a baby any longer.

  Next, Cat went to the kitchen and loaded the backpack with food and drink, tossing in her mom's first aid kit and a flashlight too. From the cupboard, she took a full inhaler plus a spare and tucked both inside her vest pocket. With her hockey stick in one hand and a kitchen knife looped through her belt, she felt prepared. At the last minute, she turned back and grabbed a meat cleaver from the counter, hefting it. “Now I'm ready.”

  With a deep breath, she unlocked the door and stepped outside. The bright light of midday had given way to the softer yellows of late afternoon, but the heat was unrelenting. Beads of sweat formed on Cat's upper lip, and she grimaced at the salty taste.

  In the distance, the wail of sirens blared while shouts sounded down the street. Remembering the terrible things she'd seen, Cat's grip on the meat cleaver tightened, her knuckles turning white.

  “You can do this,” she said and willed her feet to move. With faltering strides, she walked to the gate and looked out into the street but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  The houses were silent, their windows like eyes gazing at the deserted block. A hot breeze stirred the leaves on the trees, a soft susurration accompanying the cooing of pigeons.

  Cat reached for the lock, slipping the key into the lock. With a soft click, it opened. She unwound the chain. As she gripped the gate and prepared to slide it open, movement drew her attention.

  Across the street, growing next to the neighbor's driveway, stood a huge old tree that had probably been there for a hundred years. The spreading branches were covered in thick foliage and cast a dark pool of shade onto the ground. Inside that gloom, something stirred.

  It pushed up from the ground, each limb unfolding with slow, deliberate care until it stood swaying. The head turned towards her. A groan of longing carried to her on the breeze. The figure stumbled towards her, the left leg dragging. Sunlight fell on its face. Cat gasped as she recognized the blond hair and strong build.

  “Chris!” She shook her head unable to believe what she saw. “What are you doing here?”

  The horror that was Chris advanced on the gate, a low rasp emanating from his throat. His head turned as he shuffled and exposed the gruesome wound on the left side of his face. Teeth showed through the gaping tear, granting him a death's head grin.

  A sense of despair sapped the strength from her arms, and she stood frozen while he stumbled towards her. Each step was laborious, his progress slow but steady. His diseased eyes fixed on her with deadly determination.

  Cat jumped when Chris slammed into the gate, hands clawing through the bars. His growls sawed into her brain until she wanted to fall to the ground and cry. She took another step back, shaking her head.

  Chris banged on the metal that separated them, desperate to reach her. The gate shifted, the wheels sliding along the track as the thing that used to be a boy threw himself against it. Over and over. A gap appeared, widening with each second that passed.

  Cat sobbed, unable to nerve herself to kill him. The familiar feeling of an oncoming asthma attack poured through her, and she gasped. If she didn't do something soon, she'd be incapacitated. Vulnerable.

  Kill him.

  “I...I can't.”

  You must.

  “But he...it's Chris!”

  Not anymore.

  “No.”

  What about Mom? You have to find her.

  Thoughts of her mother flooded her mind and unfroze her limbs. Cat sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, stepping closer to the gate. It had slid open far enough for a child to slip through.

  “Don't make me do this,” she pleaded. “Please!”

  The Chris thing rattled the bars in answer. His fingers curled around the edge and discovered the opening he'd made. Pressing her lips together, Cat raised a trembling hand and aimed with the meat cleaver. A quick chopping blow to the forehead did nothing but cut through the scalp. Black blood spilled over his face.

  Cat gagged, and her stomach heaved. Chris never paused and threw his body into the gap, his weight rolling the gate further open. He fell inside and tripped over his own feet to land on his stomach. His hands reached for her. His fingertips grazed the toe of her boots.

  With a cry she danced back, dropping the hockey stick and gripping the cleaver with both hands. Chris levered himself towards her and crept forward on his elbows, mouth agape.

  She raised the knife above her head and brought it down, putting all her weight into the blow. The sharp edge bit deep into the crown, bone grating on steel as it sunk into the skull. She let go and watched as he collapsed. Blood trickled across his scalp, staining the golden hair a rusty hue.

  Cat fell to her knees. She fumbled for her inhaler and sucked in a dose. Her eyes never left Chris' face. His slack expression was so different from the boy she'd known, that her mind couldn't process it. He's dead. I can't believe it. I killed him. What's he doing here?

  She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked her messages. Throughout the afternoon it had beeped off and on, but she'd ignored it when she saw the notes weren't from her mom. Now Cat scrolled through the texts, reading one after the other in quick succession. They were all from Chris.

  “Have you seen the stuff going down on TV?”

  “Where are you, babes? You home yet?”

  “Crazy things are happening all over town. Are you okay?”

  “Why aren't you answering?”

  “I'm getting worried about you. Answer me, babes.”

  “My dad's not answering his phone either, and my mom never came back from fetching Stacy at dance class. What's happening?”

  “Peter says it's zombies. Zombies!”

  “I can't sit here like this. I'm coming over.”

  “See you soon, babes. xxx.”

  Guilt burned through Cat's veins like acid, made worse by the fact that she didn't feel about him the way he had felt about her. It was her fault he'd come here. Her fault he'd been attacked. Why didn't you just stay at home?

  Zombies. Was that what this was? It was crazy. Her eyes drifted back to Chris, taking in the gray pallor of his skin, the horrific wounds, and clotted blood. Old blood. Dead blood. The blood of a corpse. Zombies.

  “Holy crap,” she breathed. Cat studied the body and noted the twisted ankle and torn clothes. “What happened to you?” It was a question fated never to be answered.


  With trembling fingers, she reached for the meat cleaver and pulled. It was stuck. She clenched her teeth and pulled harder. The blade grated on bone. Vomit pushed up her throat, and she let go. She picked up the hockey stick instead.

  “At least I still have you, my pretty,” Cat said, her hand wrapping around the sturdy wood handle. She turned to the gate, settled the backpack in place and tucked her phone and inhaler away.

  A quick glance revealed an empty street and Cat took off, feet pounding the pavement. She sucked in deep lungfuls of oxygen as she ran and focused on finding her mom, pushing the image of Chris' dead gaze from her mind.

  “I'm coming, Mom.” It wasn't far. Only three blocks. “Might as well be thirty.”

  She held the hockey stick across her body, and her eyes roved, searching for danger. Her nerves were stretched to breaking point, like a rubber band about to snap.

  Houses streamed past in a blur, single items flashing to the forefront. A pink bicycle with streamers flowing from the handle, a dog barking at the fence, a newspaper sticking out of a post box.

  It's like nothing's happened. Her mind traveled to Nadia, and she wondered if her friend was okay, if what was happening here had spread over there too. I'll phone her as soon as I find Mom.

  This thought was shattered when the roar of a car reached Cat's ears, followed by a stunning blow to her arm. For a second, her body felt weightless, cushioned by air before she slammed into the road. The sky flashed past in a haze of blue as she rolled across the tar, coming to a stop against the sidewalk.

  Cat moaned, and pain radiated up her arm and through her shoulder. “What the hell?”

  A tremendous crash cut through the fog in her brain. She shot upright, jumped to her feet and cast around for her hockey stick. It lay about a meter away. She hobbled over and winced as various aches and pains made themselves known. Once armed, she looked around for the source of the noise.

  It was a car. The same one that hit her. It had swerved off the road and crashed into a lamppost. Steam rose from the bonnet, and the windshield had smashed on impact. Inside the ruined wreck, she spotted hands slamming on the back window and heard faint cries.

  “Oh, damn,” Cat said and ran to the car as fast as she was able. “I'm coming.”

  When she reached the spot, she slowed and peered inside the car. In the driver seat, a figure lay slumped over the steering wheel, long black hair trailing over its face. From the backseat, two frightened faces stared at her. Kids. Just kids.

  Cat fumbled with the handle and opened the back door. “Are you guys okay?” Owlish eyes blinked at her. A boy and a girl. “Are you hurt?”

  The girl, about seven or eight by Cat's estimation, shook her head and pointed to the woman slumped over the wheel. “Mommy's hurt. She's sick.”

  “Oh, man.” Cat looked at the woman, noting the blood trickling from her forehead. “Look, let's get you guys out of the car, then I'll help your mommy. Deal?”

  “Okay,” the little girl replied.

  Cat reached in to help the little boy out of the car first. He shrank back, pulling away from her with a frightened cry. I need to get them out of here. We're sitting ducks.

  Straightening up, she looked around. The street was empty. For now.

  Inside the car, the woman stirred, a low moan escaping her lips. Cat ducked her head back into the car and looked at her. “Ma'am, are you okay?"

  No answer except another groan.

  Cat reached in and shook her shoulder. “Ma'am?”

  The hair on the back of her neck rose. Something was wrong. There was something about the woman's moans that sounded familiar. Horribly so. She looked at the little girl and fought to stay calm. “You said your mommy was sick?”

  The girl nodded. “Real sick.”

  Oh, no.

  “What's your name?” she asked, plastering on a fake smile as she snatched her hand back from the woman's shoulder.

  “Theresa,” was the solemn reply.

  “Hi, Theresa. I'm Cat. Is this your little brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “What's his name?”

  “Juan.”

  “Juan?” Cat kneeled next to the open door. “That's a nice name. A strong name. Are you strong?”

  He seemed to consider her question then nodded.

  “I'm sure you are. You look like a courageous boy. Can you show me how brave you are?”

  Juan frowned. “How?”

  “By getting out of the car with your sister. I know it feels safer inside, but it's not.”

  “Why?”

  “The car could blow up, silly,” Theresa said.

  “Like in the movies?” Juan asked, staring at his sister.

  “Yup. That's why we need to get out,” she added.

  His brow furrowed as he thought this over. After a nudge from his sister, he finally decided to move and climbed out of the car. Silently, Cat cheered at this small victory but time was running out. The woman stirred, and her head lifted off the steering wheel.

  “Come on,” she encouraged.

  The moment the kids were out, Cat slammed the door shut. Seconds later, the woman threw herself against the glass with a screech. Blood from the cut on her forehead streamed across her face and lent her a grisly visage. Theresa screamed. She grabbed her brother and pulled him back.

  “Mommy!” she screamed, turning to Cat. “What's wrong with her?”

  “She's sick, sweetie. It makes her angry,” Cat replied, backing away from the car. She cast a quick glance up and down the street. Her blood froze when she spotted several figures moving towards them, some faster than others. “We have to go. Now.”

  “No,” Juan cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I won't leave Mommy.”

  “You have to. She's sick, and she'll hurt you if she can. We have to leave,” Cat pleaded.

  Theresa stared at her, and uncertainty warred across her face.

  The infected were getting closer. More emerged from houses and side streets. Where are they all coming from? The crash. They must have heard the accident.

  A grinding noise drew Cat's attention to the car. She was horrified to see that the woman had now moved her efforts to the shattered windshield and was attempting to crawl through. Her arms thrust through the gap, the glass cutting into her flesh and peeled back the skin. Move! We need to move!

  “Please, sweetie. We have to run. Trust me.” She threw a wild look over her shoulders. “These people are all sick, just like your mom. If they catch us, they'll kill us. Your brother too. You can't let that happen to him. You're his big sis, aren't you?”

  Theresa looked at Juan then at her mother who was crawling through the windscreen. She grabbed her brother's hand and looked at Cat, lifting her chin. “We're ready.”

  “Thank, God,” Cat gasped. She snatched Juan up into her arms and cried, “Follow me!”

  She ran down the street and took a sharp left turn. The road twisted and turned. Ignoring the little boy's protests, Cat followed a route she knew well, ducking behind a long row of Christmas roses in full bloom. Theresa kept up, sticking to her side. After another quick turn and a dash across an open field, she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. The infected had fallen behind, unable to follow their complicated flight, but they were not safe yet.

  “Just a little further,” Cat said when she noticed Theresa lagging. “Come on. We can rest soon, I promise.”

  Juan's little face was red as he bawled in her arms. Cat's heart clenched in sympathy for him, but she didn't slow until she spotted the abandoned old house she was looking for. “In here.”

  She helped the two over the fence before leading the way through the front door. The wood was warped, the hinges nearly rusted through. Cat shoved it shut with a grunt, wincing at the grating sound it made.

  It was deserted, the only occupants being the rats and spiders that called it their home. The air smelled of mildew and rot, but to Cat, it meant a welcome reprieve from the horrors outside.

&nb
sp; “We can rest here. Come on.” She led the way to the dining room, the best spot in the dilapidated building and sat the kids down in the corner. Shrugging her backpack off, she handed each a bottle of juice and a packet of biscuits. “Poor things. You must be hungry.”

  Neither bothered to answer, tearing into the food like rabid wolves. It gave Cat a chance to evaluate her situation, and with searching fingers, she cataloged her injuries.

  Peeling back her jacket and shirt, she studied the spot she'd been hit by the car, presumably the side mirror. Her shoulder and upper arm hurt like hell, the flesh turning a lovely shade of royal purple, but it seemed fine otherwise. Her ankle throbbed but wasn't as bad as she'd thought. The rest of her was whole. Achy and tender, covered in bruises, but intact.

  With a sigh of relief, Cat slumped against the wall. The adrenaline rush from earlier had faded, leaving her drained. She rummaged through her bag for something to eat and came up with a piece of cheese wrapped in clingfilm. The children had devoured their biscuits. She pulled out a packet of cocktail sausages and handed them out, keeping two for herself.

  After they'd drunk and eaten their fill, Cat leaned back, closing her eyes. Despair settled over her shoulders like a blanket, its leaden weight a heavy burden. What now? I’ve got two kids to look after, and I still have to find Mom.

  “Cat.” The soft voice of Theresa interrupted her thoughts. “Thank you for saving us from...the car.”

  The little girl's voice hitched, and Cat surmised she was thinking about their mother. She looked at the two, huddled together on the floor, and her heart beat in sympathy. “Do you know where your daddy is?”

  Theresa nodded while Juan started crying again and buried his face in his sister's shoulder. “Daddy tried to hurt us. Mommy stopped him, but he bit her. She pushed him inside the house, and we drove away.”

  “I'm sorry,” Cat replied, at a loss for words. For once, she was glad she didn't have a dad. Her deadbeat of a father had abandoned them years ago when she was four, leaving her mother to raise her alone. It had been tough, but they'd made it. It had always been the two of them. I have to find Mom!

  The impulse to run out of the house in search of her mother, the one person in the world who'd always been there for her, tore through Cat. At the same time, she couldn't abandon her new charges.