8/3

11:48 pm

Say what you want about them, but goners are hard workers. Oh sure, they’re intelligent as brain damaged lemmings, but when they get an idea in their damn rotten noggins, it sticks.

When there’s only one of them slowly, patiently banging at the door, it’s not a problem. When three others decide to join the party, even that isn’t too worrying. But when a mob of fifteen are slowly splintering the heavy oak door below you, every day, every hour, every minute, never tiring, never taking breaks you have to admire their persistence. And inhale icy dread into every nook of your heart, because you know that they’re coming for you.

James noticed first. We were trying to catch some shut-eye in room 203 when he rolled over and groaned into the darkness. “What in good God’s name is that insufferable noise?”

I opened a sandpaper eye, staring into the darkness. “Jimmy. That’s the sound of the largest woodpecker in the world knocking the window down.”

Jim moaned. “And he’s a comedian as well as major league hitter.”

I was readying another snark when the noise doubled, followed by a thin but very distinct crack.

“Oh bloody hell. Is that really those monsters?”

I nodded, then remembered how dark it was. “Yup.”

“And you’re not worried?”

“Door’s oak. I’m beat, couldn’t run if I wanted to. And there are only--”

Another sharp crack warbled up the stairwell, and I stopped.

“Shit. Changed my mind. Yes. I am worried. Must be more of them than last I saw down there. One wouldn’t be cracking it down so fast.”

Realized then how close to stinking death we were. We’ve got to get the hell out of this motel. Those oak doors won’t stand more than a day, tops, and after that they’ll be right to us. No use hiding. I’ve seen moaners splinter down every single door of a place once they get in the mood. Not the faintest idea why, but I’ve never had the chance to ask. Maybe their brain just keeps reliving all the door opening memories of the past. Maybe the devil himself whispers in their ear. Don’t know. Don’t want to find out.

Not sure Dave’s up to any travel. Slept through our entire conversation. Wound to his arm gave him a hell of a time, and he sucked down the rest of his hip flask after James patched him up. James guesses a good night’s sleep and painkillers will go a long way. Sure damn hope so, ‘cause we’re leaving tomorrow.

One way or another.