Free The Dead Saga (Novella Part 2): Odium Origins by Claire C. Riley

from head to toe, but I can’t see any visible injuries. As I drive into the main part of town, I pass the grocery store I had been to earlier, seeing smoke rising from inside, and enough of the undead in the parking lot to fill a shopping mall, and I shudder.
    “Thank you.”
    I look across at the woman and offer a small smile. “Is the little one okay?” I nod toward the child, who has sobbed herself into a fitful sleep.
    The woman clutches the child tighter to her and nods, kissing the top of the little girl’s head gently. “She’s fine. Just frightened. She doesn’t understand what’s happening.”
    I watch the road, swerving around cars on fire and bodies in the way. I try not to think about the things I drive over, the sickening crunch always a telltale noise.
    “Do you know what’s happening?” she asks.
    I shake my head no, my gaze drawn to the old theatre house. I stare in disbelief at the car implanted in the brickwork roughly halfway up the building. “Jesus,” I mumble.
    “You think this was Jesus’s doing?”
    I glance at her and frown. “I don’t know what this is—maybe Jesus, maybe not. All I know is that things aren’t going to be the same ever again. Not after tonight.”
    The little girl cries in her sleep, and the woman kisses the top of her head again.
    “I’m Susan.” I offer her my hand but she ignores it.
    “Her daddy, he…he didn’t want to hurt her. He made us leave. He said he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.” Tears escape from her eyes but she doesn’t wipe them away and she doesn’t answer me. Instead, she turns toward the window and lapses back into silence.
    As I drive through town, I see other vehicles—some filled with passengers, others with only one or two people inside. We acknowledge each other with nods of the head and sorrow-filled eyes, all of us having seen so much tonight—too much. The police station I was heading to for safety brings me back to reality with a jolt when I see it on fire, with bodies of the dead hanging around the front entrance. Some have gotten too close and flames lick up their backs; others sway silently, limbs missing and gore running free.
    I look across at the child and see how much she’s paled. Poor thing must have been through so much tonight. She seems settled now thankfully. Her body still almost lifeless as she sleeps soundlessly.
    I keep on driving, not even bothering to slow down and ignoring their feeble attempts to follow me through the darkened streets. The town limit comes into view and I pass the sign that normally offers a cheery goodbye to any visitors. I keep on driving, not knowing where to go, where is safe, or what life will be throwing my way next. After three years of constant abuse, trapped in my prison of a home and knowing exactly what each day would bring, the thought of not knowing what will happen tomorrow or the next day is enthralling.
    Freedom like I have not felt in too long washes over me and I get tingles. Yes, the horror of the day is still there; I’m aware that people have lost so much—the mother and child next to me are evidence of that, and for that I can’t help but feel guilt. But for me, I can’t help but look forward to each day. However numbered they may be.
    I glance at the woman next to me, a small smile involuntarily playing on my lips. Her head is resting against the window, her eyes squeezed shut, sleep dragging her under. I look down at the child again and gasp. She’s staring back at me, her eyes pale and lifeless, and my sadness is stolen at the sight of something so beautiful and dead in her mother’s arms.
     

Seven.
     
    I slam on my brakes, sending the mother and child forward in their seat as the little girl clamps down on her mother’s neck, her teeth digging into the soft flesh of her mother’s throat. Blood sprays out from the wound and it seems that all three of us are screaming at once, the noise overly loud in the cramped space.
    The mother fights