A Scent of Roses

By Michael Cummings

When Zoe Sides smells roses, someone is about to die.

Winter snows are setting in, and everyone in town is beginning to smell of roses. Before the snow thaws, Zoe and her band of survivors will face an evil that has fed on humans for millennia, wearing the husks of the dead like masks to move among us.

The possessed priest - kicked out of the church for the death of a parishioner, Father Ted is little more than the town drunk now. But he drinks to keep the voice trapped in his head quiet.

Beverly, the elderly librarian - having lost her son years ago, she's swept up by events when Father Ted shows up on her doorstep begging for help.

Will they be able to survive the coming winter? Or will they be picked off one by one to feed the entity that calls itself the Throng?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Cummings
• Release date: Jun 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386055112

Michael Cummings

Michael Cummings currently lives in the Portland, Oregon area with his three daughters, two cats, one dog, and a very forgiving wife. 

Book preview

Josh

Josh Nolan didn't set out to meet the only girl he'd ever love. He just wanted to skip school. Kneeling in the brush, he watched his parents drive off to work. He counted to ten slowly, giving his dad enough time to reach the end of the road and turn for the highway, out of sight. They would be gone until at least six, probably seven that night. By the time they got home they would be too tired to care about what Josh had been up to. So long as the house was still standing and his dad's beer was cold, they left him alone.

Josh dug in his jacket pocket, pulling out a crushed soft pack of Marlboro Lights. Not that he liked the taste of the damned things, but it was all his mother had in the house. Josh didn’t like the idea of walking down to the gas station to pick up another pack, not when he was supposed to be on his way to school, but he knew that’s where he would end up. Stan Pitchum never complained so long as you were nice to Duke, the old man’s giant bear of a dog. But Stan was friendly with all the cops in town, and they might not be as willing to put up with a kid skipping school. Josh had to play it casual, act like walking in and buying a pack of cigarettes was no big deal.

Josh needed the cigarettes because he could feel that fuzzy itch in his chest building up. Before he knew it, he was putting one foot in front of the other, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he followed the winding road down to Stan’s. He didn’t think he was addicted to smoking, not yet. That was something old people complained about after drinking away their twenties. But some mornings he woke up with that burning itch to have a good smoke. Besides, if he was going to ditch, he might as well grab a pack.

He slowed as he walked past the Pimpsky place. He didn’t exactly stare, because that would be rude, and he might be seen. But he did keep an eye on the house all the same. Everyone but George Pimpsky knew Nora was a whore, cheating on him with anyone that took the time to notice her.

Josh snuck a glance. If he was lucky, he might get a glimpse of some leg or boob. She wasn’t exactly modest, especially when she was drunk. And she was drunk all the time.

He caught a glimpse of her as he passed her house. Her long hair was pulled back, dark roots starting to show. She stood in the doorway of her house, looking out across the driveway, but not in his direction. He was tempted to stick around, maybe hide in the underbrush. He knew there was a word for that, voyager, or something French sounding. But even hidden in the doorway he could see that her robe wasn’t pulled all the way. He caught a glimpse of her thighs, no more leg than he’d seen at the beach, but still. It was enough to make his jeans uncomfortable.

Josh licked his lips, cheeks burning. Moving his hands to his front pockets to mask his growing discomfort, he started walking again, kicking at the gravel that lined the ditch.

It was another twenty minutes of walking before he got to the Gas ’n Go. He was cooled off by then. Nothing for the old perv Stan to notice.

The short yellow building sat in the shadows of drooping pine trees, a gravel parking lot stretching from the edge of the road to the front door. The Gas ’n Go had been built in the sixties and never updated since. A flat red awning stretched over the pumps, the requisite American flag flapping limply to one side. Even on the edge of Alaska's wilderness, redneck patriotism ran strong.

Stan’s dog Duke glanced up as the door chimed, his giant head not quite lifting from his front paws as he stared at Josh.

Hey there, Duke, Josh said, reaching down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. Duke gave a heavy sigh, his wet nostrils flaring before he shifted his bulk, settling into a more comfortable napping position.

Stan sat behind the counter on his stool, watching Josh. He was wearing the same yellow and brown checkered shirt he always wore, suspenders stretched over his gut to hold his grey pants up. He sipped a cup of coffee, waiting for Josh to make the first move.

Josh eyed the case of beer that ran along the far wall. He’d never tried to buy, not from Stan. Mostly because he was afraid of what Stan would do if he said no. How far did Stan’s blind eye go? He never said no to smokes, but would he draw the line at beer? Probably. Especially at only nine in the morning on a weekday.

Josh ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes, then opened the soda case. He grabbed a bottle of Dew, cold enough to sweat in the small shop, and set it on the counter.

Anything else? Stan asked, setting his coffee down to ring up the soda on the old register.

And these, Josh said, grabbing a handful of Slim Jim’s, tossing them on the counter.

Stan pursed his lips together, raising his eyebrows as he added them to the bill.

That all? he asked. Josh recognized the dance they were playing, knew they were both going through the motions. It was a game of escalations, of antes seen and raised. Both knew where the conversation was going, but Stan wasn’t going to be the one to offer, and Josh knew it had to sound like an afterthought when he got to it.

Yeah, Josh said, pulling out a few fives from his pocket. He flattened the crumpled bills out on the counter, adding offhandedly, and a pack of Marlboro Reds. For my mom.

Stan reached up, thumbing a pack out of the queue and setting them next to the Dew.

For your mom, Stan repeated. He looked like he might add something more. Through the cloudy glass of the front window a truck pulled up to the pump. A lanky man stepped out, tripping over his own feet as he stumbled towards the door. He walked into the shop and looked around, a lopsided grin on his face.

Hey there Stan.

Vince, Stan said with a nod.

Josh took the opportunity to slide his money across the counter. Stan stuffed the bills into the drawer, daring Josh to ask about his change.

Thanks, Josh said, putting the Slim Jim’s and smokes in his pocket. He opened his mouth to say something smart, then closed it. Stan had a funny look on his face as he watched Vince stumble around the small shop. Grabbing his soda, he made his exit quickly and quietly.

He was ten feet from the shop before he stopped to open his drink. The Dew was cold and sweet and tasted great. Propping the bottle in the crook of his arm, he let out a carbonated belch, fumbling for to get the pack of cigarettes open. His hands shook as he lit up, inhaling that first warm, satisfying puff of smoke.

Josh took another drag, eyes closed, head floating a little as the nicotine hit him. It might not be as good as scoring some weed, but it was a good start to the day.

The squeal of tires on gravel brought him back. Josh took a step away from the road, watching Vince drive away. Vince’s truck threw up a cloud of dust as he sped towards Old Bear Road. Behind him, a pair of lumber trucks blew by, off to fill their beds with cut lumber.

He was trying to decide where to head next when the moving van passed him, slowing down to turn just up the road. Taking another tug on his smoke, he followed it.

Josh spotted the big box shaped moving truck first. Parked outside the old Jacoby house, the backside was open to the world. Men in overalls swarmed around, carrying furniture and boxes down a ramp and then up the broad stairs of the old Victorian.

Josh walked between the movers, ignored for the most part as they hauled furniture into the house. Through the open doorway Josh caught a glimpse of a slim redhead pacing back and forth, watching the sweating men with an animal interest. There was something about the way she stood there, hands balled up in fists, lips pursed in disapproval. Josh had a flash of Nora Pimpsky, robe opening as she stood in her doorway. Cheeks burning, he turned away from the front of the house and walked around the side. Halfway around he stopped to press his face close to a window. The glass fogged, obscuring his view. He raised a hand to wipe it clean when he heard a man’s voice on the other side. He paused, arm still in the air, listening.

He heard the tone but not the words. The man stepped into view, back to the window and pressed himself close to the backside of the redhead.

I wouldn’t get excited. She’s a real bitch, but I’m sure she’ll do you. Pretty sure she’s done everyone else so far.

Josh yelped, jumping back from the window and turning around.

I was just looking around, he said, tugging the bottom of his jacket down to cover the bulge in his pants. Why was he so horny today?

Whatever, the girl said. She shrugged, hair falling into her face. She had long strawberry blonde hair and a face that was somewhere between plain and elfin. One moment she was just another girl, like any other he would see at school. The next, she tilted her head and transformed into the most beautiful creature Josh had ever seen. She brushed the hair out of her face. He could barely hear her over the sound of his heartbeat throbbing in his ears. She’s still a bitch.

That's a pretty harsh way to talk about mom.

Betty Anne is my stepmother, of the wicked variety. she said. She stuck out her hand. Zoe.

Josh took her hand in his, marveling at how soft her touch was. She gave him a curious look, her green eyes staring intently as a half-smile formed.

You're supposed to shake it, she said.

Josh. Josh Nolan, he said, recovering enough to let go.

You have any to spare? she asked, nodding at his jacket.

What? he asked. He groped in his pocket and came back with a handful of Slim Jim’s. You want one?

I was hoping for a smoke, but sure, she said. She took the Slim Jim, peeling back the wrapper and taking a big bite. Shouldn’t you be in school or something?

Teacher workday, he said automatically.

Skipping, huh?

Josh shrugged. The voices on the other side of the glass went silent. He glanced over his shoulder, but the room was empty.

Who’s your friend, Zoe?

Fuck, Zoe whispered under her breath. Her stepmom stood near the front side of the house, glaring at them.

Why don’t you go in and check the boxes the movers put in your room? Betty Anne asked, her gaze fixed on Josh.

What’s there to check? We got rid of almost everything I own to move to this shit hole.

Then go help your dad, Betty Anne said, staring at Josh. The satellite company gave us a window this afternoon to get the dish setup. He’ll need a hand wiring everything before they get here. She glanced at Zoe, mouth turning down in disapproval. Go.

Zoe opened her mouth as if she might say something, then lowered her chin. Thanks for the jerky, Zoe mumbled. She brushed past Josh, stepping around her stepmother and heading into the house.

Josh started to make his leave, but Betty Anne moved to block him. Josh averted his eyes, trying to avoid looking at her directly. He stared down at the grass, aware of how close she was to him. There was a coldness to her stare that he could feel on his skin. It made him feel ill at ease. It was like being locked in a cage with a well-fed lion. You knew it wasn’t hungry, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t still kill you.

Stay away from her, Betty Anne said, her voice hardly a whisper. She has enough trouble going on in her life right now without truant boys making a mess of things. She placed a hand on his chest and gave a little shove. Do we have an understanding?

Sure, Josh mumbled. He hurried down the driveway back towards the main road. He looked back one time before leaving. Betty Anne Sides was still there, watching him. In an upstairs window, he could see someone, probably Zoe, staring at him too. He started to lift his hand to wave, then thought better of it. Shoving both hands in his pockets, he kept walking.

Duncan

Duncan Offman didn’t see it hiding, couldn’t see anything in the overgrown yard. He walked listlessly through the tall grass, unaware that he was steps away from something his grandmother would have called a doom. It moved unnoticed under the full glare of the afternoon sun. The grass had been growing unfettered for a long time. It stood shoulder height, wheat heads waving gently in the afternoon breeze. Grass grew fast in these parts, eating the sunlight during those few months of warm weather, before the snows returned to bury them. The Jacoby’s had left the house a long time ago, leaving it unattended. It was easy to ignore something moving below eye level.

There were five of them, Duncan and the crew. Big sweaty men that didn’t spare time for speaking or thinking. The sooner they unloaded the truck and got back on the road, the sooner they were paid. They didn’t get paid extra for being quick, but the more they did, the sooner they got to the next job. And that meant the sooner they got paid again.

They wouldn’t have had to stay past lunch if it hadn’t been for the woman of the house. They were used to picky customers. Some folks were too tired to care where their boxes ended up. Others wanted to oversee the unpacking of every single figurine before letting them bring in the next box.

She was a looker, and that usually meant trouble in Duncan’s experience. For every piece of furniture they unloaded, she spent half an hour looking at it, having them move it from room to room. Then she would stare at it for long minutes before shaking her head and having them pick it up and move again.

The men took turns taking lunch. That was the advantage of having five of them, one could always be off on a break. Duncan took his break last, but he didn’t mind. The last person on break usually got the longest one, and Duncan liked to take naps on his break. Enough of his day was spent hauling and carrying other people’s shit around, a little nap always went a long way to recharging his batteries.

Duncan ate his apple as he walked through the grass. He’d spotted the tree when they pulled in, glancing over at it all day while he walked in and out of the house. It was a good-looking tree, shady with big exposed roots to settle down in for half an hour.

He finished the apple and tossed the core in the grass. With his back to the tree, he slid down, twisting and turning until he was comfortable. Distantly, he could hear the others talking as they carried a mattress and box spring. He tried to watch, but his eyelids were heavy and sleep was so welcome.

He hadn’t slept long, maybe five minutes, when he woke to the sound of something buzzing. Duncan knew the risks of sleeping under big trees, had seen his fair share of wasp nests, ant mounds, and unhappy snakes. The buzzing was low, almost a rumble that you could feel in your bones more than hear with your ears.

A sharp pain shot through his foot. Duncan opened his mouth to cry out, not understanding what could have pierced his thick boots, but no sound came out. His throat tightened, swelling shut. The reptilian part of his brain churned, thinking that this might be a good time to start panicking. By then it was far, far too late.

Distantly, as if it was happening to somebody else, he was aware of something wrapping around his ankle, tugging at his leg. His mind wouldn’t come to grips with the fact that he was in trouble. He was trying to lift his hands to his throat, to investigate why it felt like his throat was swelling, when the tugs on his ankle grew more insistent.

I can’t move.

His eyes betrayed him, refusing to blink. His gaze froze on a point just ahead and above the grass. The wheat heads were waving, moving, but there was no breeze.

His view shifted sharply, blue sky and tree branches rushing to fill his vision. Distantly he realized he was being dragged by his leg, that he should feel pain. Pain in his leg, pain at having his head dropped and bounced about.

Why am I numb?

And then the darkness surrounded him, swallowing any thoughts left in his head.

Nathan

What? Nathan asked the mover, annoyed. He had spent hours labeling boxes and plastic bags before they packed so that when he got to the new house, he could find everything he needed quickly. A hell of a lot of good that had done. So far, he had found everything he needed to setup the WIFI router except for the power cord.

I think we have a problem, sir, the man said, wringing his hands together.

Did you find it, Zoe? Nathan yelled, ignoring the man.

No, she shouted back. She sounded like she was downstairs.

There’s got to be another box labeled office down there. Keep looking. Nathan sighed. He glanced at the mover as if noticing him for the first time. I’m sorry, wasn’t my wife helping you all?

One of my guys is missing.

Nathan grunted, moving another box aside.

What do you want me to do about it? Get someone else to help you if you have to.

A woman’s shrill scream echoed through the house. Nathan felt his skin grow cold, eyes widening.

Betty Anne! He shouted, bolting past the man in the doorway and down the hall. Taking the stairs two at a time, he skipped down the creaking wooden stairs, railing wobbling under his touch. He skidded across the landing, shoes leaving skid marks as he raced to the back of the house. Betty Anne stood in the kitchen, arms folded over her chest, frowning.

Betty Anne? he asked, stepping into the room slowly, heart pounding in his chest. Everything looked normal.

Betty Anne faced him, a plate in her hand.

Do you see this? she demanded.

Yes?

It’s chipped, she said, shoving the plate into his hands. If they broke too many of them, we’ll have to throw the whole set out.

I’m sure it’s not that bad, Nathan said. His heart still ached in his chest, pounding. A little superglue and this will be fine. He set the plate down on the counter and pulled Betty Anne into his arms. You’re stressing out and letting this move get the better of you.

I know, she said, resting her head on his shoulder. There’s just so much going on, and Zoe... Her voice trailed off.

Zoe will come around. She just needs time.

Time. Betty Anne let out a sardonic chuckle. I don’t think there’s enough time to fix that. She’ll never forgive me for marrying you. Not after her mom died. I wouldn’t.

It’ll be fine, Nathan said, kissing the crown of her head. We’ll get settled, she’ll start school and make some new friends. It’ll all be fine.

I think she’s already got a head start on that.

A boy? Nathan asked, arching an eyebrow.

Betty Anne laughed. I chased him off. Gave him the keep your nose clean speech.

Nathan smiled, glancing up to find Zoe in the threshold of the dining room. She stared past them, a power cable dangled loosely from her hand.

Zoe? he said, pulling away from Betty Anne. Nathan and his daughter had grown apart since her mother’s death. She blamed him for everything, everything real and imagined that she thought was wrong in her life. He knew that, even if he couldn’t make her understand. Some things were just impossible for a father to explain, no matter how smart and clever the daughter. Seeing her standing in the threshold to the dining room made him want to cross the gap that separated them and hug and hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right.

Instead he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, staring woodenly at her.

What is it sweetheart? Did you hurt yourself?

Zoe was speechless. Lifting a shaky hand, she pointed at the window.

Nathan shifted, squinting as he looked through the window. Something hung from the tree in the side yard.

What is that? he asked.

The deputy that showed up was everything Nathan had come to expect from bad television. A middle aged, round at the waist white man with a slight drawl to his words. Deputy Doyle drove his cruiser down the long driveway, lights flashing and siren blaring. A few minutes later, he was followed by a medical van. They cordoned off the area around the tree in yellow tape, but from the house there wasn’t much to look at.

Probably a wild animal attack, Doyle told Nathan, as if to reassure him. You see anyone strange hanging around the house today?

Just us and the movers. I’m sorry, do you think it was an animal or a stranger?

There was that boy, Betty Anne said from the couch. She had unpacked the glasses and liquor and was in her third drink. For my nerves, she had explained. No one paid her any attention.

A wild animal? Nathan asked. Is that common around here?

We’re in the middle of nowhere, what do you expect? Betty Anne asked, throwing back another glass.

Doyle bit at his lip, shaking his head slowly. Not really, no. Sure, we get the occasional bear, but that’s about it. You know, being so close to the northern forests and all. But you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

Betty Anne chortled.

Excuse my wife. I don’t share your optimism, Nathan said. One of my movers was found hanging from a tree in my yard. I’m sorry if the thought of a bear in my yard makes me nervous.

Or a mountain lion, Betty Anne added. Nathan wished she would keep out of the conversation. She wasn’t contributing. He hoped she might go to Zoe and console her, but there was even less love lost between those two.

Deputy Doyle shrugged. You are in the country now, he said, as if that explained everything. Bound to be something will cross your fields from time to time. You might want to consider getting something to defend yourself.

Like a shotgun?

I don’t want a gun in this house, Nathan. Betty Anne glared at him, cheeks rosy from drink.

Anyway, Doyle said, looping his thumbs through his belt and hoisting his pants up. I should be getting along. If you folks need anything else, just give us a ring.

That’s it? Zoe asked. It was the first time she had spoken since the medical examiner had arrived. You’re just going to take the, she gestured at the side yard, thing down from the tree and mosey along?

Zoe, Nathan cautioned. She ignored him.

Miss, I understand you’re upset, Deputy Doyle said. You have every right to be.

Of course I do. We found a dead man in our yard, and you’re talking about bears. Zoe turned and ran from the room. Nathan listened to the sound of her feet as she ran up the stairs to her room.

Deputy, I’m sorry, Nathan said, leading Doyle to the foyer. She’s very sensitive right now. Her mother passed away last year. It’s been tough on all of us.

I understand, Doyle said, glancing back into the living room at Betty Anne. Nathan could see the wheels spinning in the fat cop’s brain. Be careful, you’ll give yourself an aneurism. Nathan pushed his glasses up and smiled, walking the deputy of the house and onto the front porch. Doyle tipped his hat again, then walked over to join the medical examiner. Nathan watched the two for a minute, then walked back inside. He stopped in the doorway of the living room, staring at Betty Anne.

Well that’s finally over, Betty Anne said, pouring another drink.

I’ll be in my office. I have a call I have to hop on. Why don’t you ask Zoe to help you find the Halloween decorations? It’s only a week away. He didn’t have to look back to know she had already drained the glass.

Of course you have a call, she said to his retreating back. He could hear the tinkle of her glass as she refilled it. I’ll just be down here making house if you need me.

You should consider stopping soon, before you become flammable. Upstairs, Nathan closed the door to his office, then locked it. He eased into his chair and leaned back, staring at the bank of monitors, letting them wash him in their pale glow. He didn’t have a conference call today, or even the rest of the week. He’d taken the time off so he could have a chance to settle into the new house and get things hooked up.

Today’s events had set him off page, though. To think that nearby there was someone - or something - that could reduce a man to basic scraps. It was...

Humbling.

The power, the sheer control to render the bones down, to husk a man and leave so little behind. Frightening, sure, and telling of the strength behind it, but also humbling in its display of superior control. Here was a man not an hour ago, with hopes and dreams of his own, now reduced to scraps, bits of human flesh.

If the