Walking With The Dead (Book 2): Home with the Dead

by Dziekan, PJ

  “We have a plan. Dylan and I go in, find Ryan, get out. Simple.”

  “How do you get out? Where’s your backup? Oh, yeah, stuck five miles away.” Mick shook his head. “Not happening, Sarah.”

  “Yeah, it is, Mick,” she said softly. “We agreed on this. I know it’s not the best plan; we won’t have you and Becca close by, but we can do it. There has to be some way for the residents to drive out. We’ll find it.”

  “Sarah, please let me do this. He’s my brother.”

  “Mick, you know that won’t work.” She leaned forward, took his hand. “I owe him. He saved my life. He brought me you. I have to do this.”

  “I don’t like it. I’m not happy about it.” He sighed heavily. “But I don’t have a choice, do I?” He turned to Dylan. “If anything happens to her, don’t bother coming back.” Dylan nodded once.

  “OK, then, let’s do this.” Mick squeezed Sarah’s hand then released her. “There was a gas station a couple miles back. We’ll make camp there. If you’re not back in a week, I’m coming for you.”

  “OK.” Sarah was outwardly calm. Inside, she was terrified. She didn’t know what she was facing. She was leaving the only comfort, the only family she had known for years, for a potentially deadly situation. What if they were like the people that fired on them months earlier? Hell, they probably were those people. She took a deep breath. She could do it.

  “Take the sardines.” Becca handed them to Sarah, who dumped the tins in her backpack.

  The rain eased a bit. “We should get going,” Dylan said.

  “OK.” Sarah felt like a parrot. But she couldn’t form the words. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, all of her fears would come tumbling out. And she couldn’t do that. She had to get Ryan out of there.

  Becca reached over, grabbed Sarah in a tight embrace. “Be careful.” The young girl’s voice broke in Sarah’s ear.

  “Oh – I will.” Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled away. “Keep Mick out of trouble, will you?” She gave Becca a slight smile.

  “I will.”

  “Let’s get your pipe from the back.” Mick climbed out as Dylan shut the Jeep off. Sarah followed, hearing Dylan and Becca saying goodbye as she did

  The rain was a steady shower, the drops cold on their skin. They walked to the back and Mick opened the hatch, sliding Sarah’s pipe from the back and handing it to her. “Don’t take any stupid chances, OK?”

  Sarah managed a smile. “Me? Take stupid chances?”

  Mick didn’t smile. “I’m serious, Sarah. Come back to me.”

  Sarah leaned into him, kissed him. His arms came up to circle her back. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to stay in his embrace, never leave. She forced herself to pull away. “I’ll see you in a week.”

  Mick rested his forehead against hers. “Sarah, I –”

  She placed her finger over his lips. “I know. Tell me when I come back with your brother.”

  “Mick.” Dylan was there, his hand out. “I’ll watch out for her.”

  “Thanks.” He shook Dylan’s hand.

  Sarah pulled up her hood and shrugged into her backpack. She slid the poker into a loop on the bottom. She looked at the pipe in her hand then held it out to Mick. “I’ll come back for this.” Their hands touched as he took it. She let out a breath. “Let’s go, Dylan.”

  She turned away and started walking. Dylan fell in step beside her. She could feel Mick’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

  They stared up at the tangled mess of vehicles looking for the best way to get to the other side. Dylan found a gap between a bus and a truck, but they needed to climb on top of a late model Dodge, then a Ford Bronco, dropping behind the Ford to get to the gap. Dylan went first. Sarah wiped the rain from her eyes as she watched him climb on the trunk of the Dodge. He turned, holding out a hand to her. She debated shrugging him off, doing it herself, but she knew the metal would be slick. She grasped his hand, the other on the trunk lid as she stepped a foot on the bumper. She pushed up as Dylan pulled and the car shook as she landed on it.

  Dylan released her hand, climbing to the roof of the car. The toe of his boot found the door handle of the Bronco and he used that to raise himself up so he could reach the roof. Wrapping an arm around the aftermarket light bar, he pulled himself up, sliding his belly over the wet metal. He shifted over, the pool of rain on the roof soaking into his shirt. He motioned for Sarah to get to the roof of the Dodge so he could help her up.

  One foot made it to the edge, the other slid. She came down hard on her right knee, her hands slamming down, stopping her face from hitting the glass of the rear window. She heard Mick call her name. Gritting her teeth against the pain in her knee, she stood up.

  “You OK?” Dylan whispered.

  “Fine.” She stepped up onto the metal before she could think about it again, this time making it up to the roof. She looked up at Dylan.

  “Put your foot on the door handle. I’ll pull you up.”

  Taking a deep breath, she did as he said, reaching above her. Dylan’s hands grabbed hers and he pulled her up with a grunt until she was scrambling for purchase on the slick metal of the roof. She lay on her back, staring up into the rain.

  “You OK for this?” Dylan asked.

  She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her in the gloom. “I’m good.” She pushed herself up. “What now?”

  “Now we gotta get back down to the ground.”

  Sarah looked down. The ground was over ten feet away. “Fuck,” she muttered.

  “I’ll get down, you jump, and I’ll catch you.”

  “Be careful.”

  Dylan shifted around until his legs were curled around the top of the Bronco. He took a breath and dropped. He landed hard; the air pushed from his lungs as he fell against a bus. He straightened himself and looked up at Sarah. “C’mon.”

  She looked back. Mick and Becca were standing in the rain, watching. Becca had her hands up to her face. Mick’s hands were fisted at his sides. Sarah waved, taking a last look at him before she turned back to where Dylan waited, arms up. She closed her eyes and pushed off the roof.

  Dylan caught her. He set her gently on the ground. “OK?”

  Sarah opened her eyes and nodded. “OK. Let’s go.”

  They started walking at a fast clip, Sarah wincing with every step. Dylan noticed her slight limp. “You sure you can do this?” He asked.

  “I can do it,” she said through gritted teeth. “Besides, what would you do if I couldn’t? Carry me?”

  “If I had to.”

  Sarah looked at him. “You’ve changed.” He shrugged. Then it hit her. “When you found out I was pregnant.”

  He shrugged again. “Things are different now.”

  She shook her head. “I wish you people wouldn’t treat me different. I’m not. I’m still me.”

  He shrugged for a third time. “Sorry.” But he didn’t sound it.

  Sarah laughed lightly. “It’s OK. I like you better this way, anyway.” Dylan laughed.

  They walked in silence, through the shimmering rain, dodging weeds and potholes on the road. Suddenly Dylan spoke. “Do we tell them you’re pregnant?”

  Sarah thought about it. “I guess it depends on how they react to us,” she finally said. “It might be a good thing, it might not.”

  “Why wouldn’t pregnancy be a good thing?”

  “The woman becomes a liability. Can’t run, can’t fight. Once the baby comes, if they both survive, not only is the woman still a liability, so’s the baby. It cries. It needs constant attention. It might get sick.” She fell silent.

  “You’ve really thought about this,” Dylan said softly.

  “Haven’t thought about much else.” Her voice was soft and sad.

  “Guess you should have used protection.” There was the old Dylan.

  “Fuck you, Dylan, we used condoms,” she spat.

  “Maybe you shoulda used two.” He smiled as he said it.r />
  Sarah realized, in his own weird way, he was trying to make her feel better. “But then we would have run out,” she replied with a smile.

  “Next time, get a case.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The pain in her knee settled into a dull ache. Her clothes were soaked from the rain, a chill settling into her bones. Her breathing was labored, the rapid pace Dylan set taking its toll. “I need to take a break,” she finally admitted. They had walked nearly three miles.

  Dylan looked down at her. The rain was dripping off her wan face. Lifting his head, he peered around, but there were no buildings in the immediate vicinity. He spied a small stand of trees about twenty yards further. “We’ll take a quick break there,” he said, pointing at the trees. Sarah nodded, saving her breath. She struggled to maintain the same steady pace for those last twenty yards. She hated showing weakness.

  As soon as she was under the canopy of trees, she dropped, gasping as her bad knee hit the ground. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing. It was the only thing she could control. She was so tired. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe she should have left it to someone else.

  She flinched when she felt Dylan’s hand on her back. Her eyes flew open and her head whipped around to stare at him. “It’s OK,” he said. “You’ll get your strength back. First trimester is the worst.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but had to gasp for air. “What makes you the expert?” She finally managed.

  “My wife,” he said simply. He looked away from her, into the thin canopy of leaves above them. They were sheltered from most of the rain, but not as much as they would have been just a month later.

  Sarah didn’t think he was going to say another word. Then: “She had a rough time the first three months for all of them.”

  “How many children did you have?” Sarah asked softly.

  “Four.” His voice was so low she barely heard him over the rain spattering on the leaves.

  “Were they – did you...” Sarah stopped, not knowing what to ask. Not knowing if she would like the answers.

  “They all died. Every one of them. My wife, my daughter. I had to – I had to –”

  “I’m sorry, Dylan.” Sarah reached for his hand.

  They sat under the dripping tree, Sarah squeezing his hand, Dylan trying not to cry as he remembered those last moments. His last child, his precious little girl biting his wife, then trying to bite him. The gunshot that took half her pixie-like features, along with her brains. His wife, blood pouring from her arm, cursing Dylan for killing their child. The horrible last thing she said to him before she succumbed, before he put his pistol to her temple and ended her undead life.

  They rested a while, the sky barely lightening as the night passed to day, grey clouds still overhead. Sarah took a deep breath. “I think we should go.”

  “OK.” Dylan stood and held out a hand. With a smile, Sarah took it and he helped her to stand, her knee protesting. “We’ll move a little slower. Not like we can get any wetter.”

  “Need to work on our story, too,” she said, emerging from under the trees.

  “What? You’re a daughter who obeys her father.”

  Sarah laughed. “You wish.”

  They walked at a slower pace under the dull grey sky, the rain finally tapering off to a light mist. Sarah was cold, miserable, aching and hungry. It felt as if they had been walking for months. Her earlier fears had disappeared. She just wanted to sit somewhere warm and dry. She didn’t care where it was.

  Dylan touched her hand, bringing her from her reverie. Sarah lifted her eyes from the road and looked over at him. He motioned forward with his head. She pulled her tired gaze from his and looked ahead. About half a mile away, barricades crossed the road. There was a car parked on each shoulder, right next to the wooden horses.

  Finally, she thought. She looked back at Dylan. Impulsively, she grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. He squeezed back. He didn’t let go until they were almost to the barricade.

  “That’s far enough,” A deep voice called from the gloom.

  Dylan and Sarah stopped about ten feet from the barricade. “We’re just looking for somewhere to get dry,” Dylan said.

  “Find somewhere else.”

  “Please, can you let us in for just a couple hours?” Dylan asked. “My daughter’s tired and cold.”

  “Your daughter, huh?” A second voice spoke up. His tone sent a shiver of disgust down Sarah’s spine.

  “Shut up, Austin,” said the first voice. “What have you got?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “To trade, old man. What do you have to trade?”

  “Uh – a couple cans of sardines.” Dylan tried to think about what was in his pack.

  “That’s it?” The one named Austin scoffed.

  “I – I have a carton of cigarettes,” Sarah said hesitantly. They had decided she would act meek and mild, less of a threat.

  “Shit, really?” The first guy said.

  “Y-yeah. You can have them if you let us in, let us get warm.” She injected a note of entreaty into her voice. “Please.”

  “Hands up, walk slowly to the barricade.”

  Dylan and Sarah raised their hands and moved slowly forward. “Where’d you get cigarettes?” Dylan whispered.

  “Mick found them months ago,” she said softly. “I threw them in my pack before we left.”

  They reached the barricade. Sarah noted that the cars on each side lacked a door. A short guy with a blonde mullet got out of the car on Sarah’s side, holding a pistol pointed at her. She recalled Jack’s descriptions of the men he saw and thought he fit the description of the man who beat Ryan. Not wanting to take her eyes from him, she used her peripheral vision to watch another guy unfolding himself from the other car. She got the impression of a taller guy, dark blonde hair going grey. He held a gun as well, pointed at Dylan’s head.

  “Up against the car and spread ‘em, sweetheart.” The short guy motioned with the gun. Sarah recognized the voice as Austin. She moved over to the car, leaned against it, her hands still in the air.

  “You guys clean?” The other guy asked.

  “We haven’t been bit, if that’s what you mean,” Dylan answered.

  “That’s what we mean,” Austin said. He moved behind Sarah. “On the hood, sweetheart.” He pushed her down, her chest hitting hard, her cheek pressed against the wet metal. She gasped.

  “Hey!” She heard Dylan call out.

  “Uh-uh, buddy.” The other guy’s voice rang out. “You stay right here.”

  “What’s he doing to my daughter?”

  “Checking her for weapons. Just like I’m gonna check you.”

  Austin pulled the pack from Sarah’s back and threw it aside. He leaned close; his breath hot on her cheek. “You got any weapons on you, honey?” He pulled her arms straight out and ran a hand down the underside of each one. She gritted her teeth as his hands reached her torso, skimming down the side. His hands burrowed between her abdomen and the metal, dislodging her shirt, exposing a strip of skin. She flinched when the cool air hit her flesh, rising up off the hood.

  “Uh-uh,” he breathed, pressing his body against her. His hands moved up her torso, lingering on her breasts.

  “Please don’t,” she murmured. She wanted nothing more than to flip herself over and kick him in the balls.

  He chuckled, pressing his body to hers. “I can do what I want.” His crotch ground against her, his hands squeezing her breasts.

  Sarah clenched her fists. She had to suffer through this. Ryan’s life could depend on it. She took a deep breath. When she felt him getting hard against her ass, she thought, Fuck this. She tensed her muscles, ready to spring.

  “Austin, get off her. Now.” With one last push against her, Austin stepped back.

  “Can I get up?” Sarah asked. It was hard to maintain the meek and mild voice.

  “Just a second, sweetheart,” Austin said. “I’m not quite done.” She felt his
hands slide over her hips, down her legs, then back up the inside. One hand grabbed her crotch then he was gone. “Get up, sugar.”

  Sarah stood, pulling her shirt down. She turned in time to see Dylan stumble towards her. She reached out to steady him and he stood beside her, an arm around her shoulders.

  The other guy moved in front of them, the pistol back in his hand, pointed at the two of them. “Austin’s gonna go through your bags, make sure you don’t have any weapons.”

  She watched as Austin rifled through both of their packs, his eyes widening when he saw the familiar red and white packaging on the carton of cigarettes. “Shit, Harry, she really does have a carton of smokes here!” He exclaimed. “Good ones, too, not generic.”

  “Any weapons?” The one called Harry asked, his eyes still trained on Sarah and Dylan.

  “Nah, just pocket knives. She has a poker.”

  “OK, bring ‘em over.” Harry lowered the gun. Austin walked over, thrust their packs at them.

  Sarah shrugged hers over her shoulders. “Can we go inside now?”

  Harry’s eyes softened. In the dim light, Sarah thought she saw pity. That couldn’t be right. “Austin, take ‘em in. Make sure Bill gets the smokes. All the smokes.”

  “I’m not stupid, Harry.” He shoved the carton in the raggedy backpack on his shoulder and turned. He started walking. “You two coming or what?” Sarah turned to Dylan. He shrugged as they started to follow.

  “Are we in?” Dylan asked.

  “Not yet. You gotta talk to Bill.”

  “Who’s Bill?”

  Austin glanced back at Dylan. “You ask too many questions, old man.”

  Dylan flicked his eyes at Sarah. She cleared her throat. “Will we at least be able to get warm?”

  Austin turned to face them, walking backward. “I can get you warm, honey,” he leered.

  Sarah didn’t have to fake a shudder. She looked down to the road, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. She heard Austin laugh.

  After she no longer felt his gaze on her, she lifted her head and looked around. The road was completely clear, vehicles moved off to the shoulders. There was no trash, no debris, none of the corpses they had become accustomed to seeing on the road. She caught Dylan’s eye. “What do you think?”