“Don’t worry,” Chelsea’s dad told the officer as he escorted him to the front door. “I can handle it.”
Shortly after the officer left, Dad had gone into his home office and extracted his handgun. Chelsea didn’t know what kind it was, just that it was black and looked dangerous. She didn’t like guns, felt uncomfortable around them, but Dad put her at ease by explaining he was simply going to have it on his person until they got the word that Gordon Smith and his friends were in custody.
Dad’s reasoning made sense.
Still, Chelsea felt nervous about it.
Chelsea looked out her bedroom window into the back yard. Dad was downstairs on the phone. Despite taking his laptop home, he wasn’t working. He was too wound up with worry. So was Chelsea, for that matter.
Chelsea had tried calling Tim five times this morning and had left messages. He’d said nothing about not being home today. She’d gone online to see if he was in IM. He was MIA in cyberspace, too.
When Tim’s mother finally called shortly after ten A.M., Chelsea’s momentary relief turned into further concern and fear as she learned the full details of what was happening. The threat Gordon Smith made against her to Tim last night and — worst of all — Gordon’s admitting to have taken part in murdering homeless people.
She’d been getting updates from Naomi as the morning dragged on. Dave and Steve were nowhere to be found, nor was Gordon. Scott Bradfield’s father had refused a search of his property — a search warrant was apparently being drawn up now. And something was happening in a neighborhood near Zuck’s Woods.
Chelsea had heard police sirens off and on all morning, which was strange considering the low crime rate of Spring Valley. It reminded her of the summer she’d spent visiting her cousins in Richmond, Virginia. She’d heard sirens there all the time, or so it seemed.
This morning, though, was especially troubling. It almost seemed like she heard more sirens coming from different directions.
Naomi called her one last time to tell her she and Jeff had to drive to Lancaster to retrieve something from their respective offices, but that they’d be home with Tim later in the afternoon. “I’ll have Tim call you when we get back,” Naomi said. Chelsea could hear the dim sound of a police siren in the background.
“Is everything okay over there?” Chelsea asked.
“Yeah.” Naomi paused for a moment and the siren grew louder, then cut off. When Naomi came back on the line she sounded concerned. “There’s a lot of police activity around here, though.”
“Tim’s okay where he is?”
“Tim is perfectly safe. We’re leaving in about five minutes to get him. Don’t worry, I’ll have him call you when we get back.”
“Okay,” Chelsea said. At least Tim was safe where he was. Naomi had assured her that Tim wasn’t with the general juvenile delinquent population at Brendan Hall. “I’ll be here.”
She was just thinking back on that conversation when her dad called her from downstairs. “Chelsea! Get down here, quickly!”
“What?” Chelsea got up off the bed and headed to the second floor landing. Dad’s voice had taken on a tinge of fear. “Are you okay?”
“Something on the news,” Dad said, and now she could hear it. Dad had the living room television turned to the local news.
Chelsea darted down the stairs. “What’s going on?”
And as she entered the living room, she saw what was happening, and what had made her father call up to her with that tone of fear in his voice.
A local female newscaster was broadcasting from what appeared to be downtown Lancaster. She looked distressed. “…have been reports of two dozen people missing and apparently the mass wave of disappearances is spreading beyond Spring Valley and into the neighboring town of Lititz. The Pennsylvania State Police have been called in and sources tell me that the National Guard is arriving to quell what is — ”
“Daddy, what’s happening?”
“Nobody is really saying, honey,” Dad said. He gestured for her to sit down beside him on the sofa. Chelsea sat down and Dad turned up the volume.
“ — only thing we can say with confidence is that several things are happening. One, people are turning up missing and authorities tell us they believe foul play is involved due to the signs of violence. Two, we have at least a dozen people confirmed dead and here’s where it gets strange.” The newscaster looked at the camera with an expression that suggested to Chelsea that she didn’t know how to proceed. “One source tells me that the victims are attacking other people, like something out of a horror movie.”
A horror movie, Chelsea thought. She immediately thought of movies like 28 Days Later, where infected people turned into ravenous zombies.
“Third and most disturbing…” the newscaster said, and here it was obvious from her eyes that the woman was running scared. Chelsea had no doubt that if she didn’t have to be at work, the newscaster would be getting the hell out of town. “…is what’s going on at a local churchyard cemetery. Grace Brethren Church in the small community of Spring Valley, which is located about a mile south of the initial site of the mass disappearance, has reported what can only be described as something out of a Stephen King novel. A church elder has reported — and I’m not making this up, folks, this is the real deal — that the corpses of those buried in his churchyard are clawing their way out of their graves and… attacking and biting people they come across.”
Chelsea and her father gasped at exactly the same time. Chelsea said, “Oh my God!”
“Police are advising residents of Spring Valley and Lititz to remain indoors. If you are out on the street, seek shelter in a secure location. In the meantime, citizens of surrounding communities are advised to — ”
From that point on it was really like watching a horror movie for Chelsea. She could do nothing else but watch the news with her father, entranced by what she was hearing and seeing. She became even more self-absorbed as various local and state law enforcement officials were interviewed, as live feed was played back showing exhumed graves at the Grace Brethren Churchyard, as a State Official was interviewed and claimed they were working to contain the “sudden and bizarre series of events that are taking place.”
She was so absorbed in what was happening that she didn’t even notice the sound of a muffled thump coming from the basement.
Gordon Smith almost let loose with a curse when he tripped over the coffee table in the darkened basement and tumbled to the carpeted floor.
He bit back a scream and clutched his right shin, fighting back the pain. Fuck, shit, piss, motherfucker cocksucking piece of shit motherfuck that hurt! Gordon sat on the floor and rubbed his shin, trying to control his breathing. He had to make his way back to the closet he’d been holed up in for the past few hours before Chelsea’s dad turned on the basement lights and came downstairs.
Gordon began inching his way back toward the spare room. His eyes were pretty much adjusted to the dark, but when he’d exited the spare room, the basement living room or den or whatever it was, had been pitch black. He’d inched forward, feeling his way like a blind man, and that’s when he’d smacked his shin against the coffee table and taken a tumble.
He made it back to the room and paused briefly to try to control his breathing. The tumble had scared him; he was sure somebody heard him upstairs and would head down to see what the sound was.