Dead State (Book 5): Evolved

by Shupert, Derek

  The chaser inches closer on its hands and knees. It looks me over, then leans in. I can feel its warm breath on the side of my face, which makes my skin crawl with disgust. It sucks in my scent as the other chaser moves around behind me.

  I panic, the whimpering becoming louder with each grunt the dead creature makes. It snarls, then screeches as the other releases a boisterous yowl.

  The distant barking of Duke catches my ear. The creatures grumble and shuffle about within the grass. The report of a single gunshot echoes in the silence.

  The familiar buzzing noise grows louder, followed by a splat as it finds its mark. A brief grunt leaves the chaser behind me as it drops to the ground.

  I glance to the side, and find the other chaser spinning about in the grass, searching for the source of the disturbance. Duke’s barking has grown clearer. He’s not too far away.

  Through cloudy vision, I spot two figures running toward us. Looks like Bill and Duke. The chaser charges at them. Bill opens fire and places a slug in the creature’s skull. Its head snaps back, and it falls to the ground face first.

  Duke rushes to my side and whines. His warm, sticky tongue licks across the side of my face.

  “All right, boy. I’m happy to see you to.”

  He lets up as Bill stoops down in front of me. “You ok, James?” he inquires. “Are you hurt? Did they bite you?”

  “They didn’t. Not sure what they were doing, though,” I say.

  Bill grabs my arm and helps me off the ground. He looks me over, then turns me to the side.

  “I said they didn’t bite me. I think they were working up to it before you arrived, though.” The ends of my fingers burrow into my eyes, trying to clear away the haze in my vision. A dull pain stabs my side and radiates throughout my body. The wound on the side of my head hurts, but at least the dizziness from being rolled has waned. Between the chopper crashing and me tumbling down that floor and hitting the ground, my body has been put through the meat grinder.

  Bill looks at the hole in the side of the building that I was belched from.

  “You were pretty lucky there. Taking a fall like that, you could’ve broken an arm or a leg. Maybe something worse.”

  Duke licks my fingers as I peer at the opening within the side of the decrepit structure. From the looks of it, I fell from the second floor.

  “My body would disagree with the lucky part. Spots hurt that I didn’t think could.”

  Bill smirks and nods in agreement.

  The faint yowl of the chasers booms from the busted windows and gaping holes of the building.

  Duke growls at the ominous sound.

  Bill ejects the magazine from his pistol and looks it over. A scowl forms on his face as he grumbles. He reaches around his waist and retrieves a fresh mag from his back pocket. He slaps it into the magazine well and cycles a round.

  “Here. Take it. We’re going to need all of the firepower we can get if we hope to make it out of this alive.” He holds the gun out to me.

  I take the pistol as the clamoring of the chasers grows to a fever pitch.

  Bill slides the rifle free of his shoulder and holds it against his chest. “I’ve got a truck parked close by. If we haul ass, we might make it to it before the dead pick us off.”

  No rest for the weary.

  I spot a chaser rushing out of the doorway of the building behind Bill. I bring the pistol to bear and shove Bill to the side. The pistol barks its harsh report as I squeeze off two rounds. One goes wide and strikes the building while the other round hits the chaser in his upper shoulder. The impact stuns the creature, and twists it to the side, but doesn’t take it down. The chaser gnashes its disfigured teeth and growls while peering at me. I think I just pissed him off more than anything.

  Damn it.

  Bill shoulders his rifle and takes a knee. He fires a single shot. With a faint yowl, the chaser falls.

  A flood of chasers pushes through the narrow doorway of the building and out into the light of day. Gaunt bodies painted in dried blood and other filth fill my gaze.

  The barrel of the pistol shifts from one enraged face to another. There’s too many to take out, even if I manage headshots on each and every last one of them.

  Duke barks and growls at the horde of dead who refuse to give up.

  Bill springs to his feet and grabs a handful of my coat. He forces my arm down before I have a chance to open fire.

  “Save it!” he says.

  We take off in a mad dash as the chasers charge after us. Side by side, we dart across the overgrown plot of land nestled within the center of the surrounding buildings. Each step I make is painful at best, but the alternative is much worse.

  Ahead of us, more chasers emerge from the buildings. Their frail frames and sallow faces hone in on ours.

  The corpses surge toward us—a wall of teeth and vile temperament. Bill veers closer to the building next to us and cuts around the corner. The gear in his rucksack clatters with every stride he takes. He huffs and puffs as though he’s out of breath. I feel the same way.

  We maneuverer around trash cans and a large dumpster that is filled to the brim with rotting waste. I tip over each can as we race by. It’s a feeble attempt at slowing the chasers down.

  They knock the waste bins out of their way, and stay on our six.

  “How much farther till we reach your truck?” I ask through each gulp of air.

  Bill glances to the side while moving at a steady clip. “Not much farther. Just past this building here and we’re golden.”

  The incessant howls and trembling of the deads’ feet punishing the ground keeps me looking back over my shoulder. It feels like they’re not more than a few inches away.

  I tighten my grasp over the grip of the pistol as we zip past the edge of the building. Across the street sits a dark-blue Ford truck that faces an open field. It’s covered in dents and rust that has eaten away at the paint job. At least the windows appear to be intact.

  Bill points to the bed of the truck as he runs for the cab. “Get back here!”

  What the hell?

  “Why can’t we sit up front?” I counter.

  Bill slings the driver’s side door open. He shoves his pack and rifle into the cab. “The passenger side door is jammed. Has been since I came across the truck. Just get in bed of the truck, will ya?” He slips inside and slams the driver’s side door shut.

  I pound the palm of my hand on the tailgate. Duke leaps into the bed. He turns and barks at the mass of dead bearing down on us. I climb up, and scamper to the front of the truck as Bill turns the engine over. It grumbles and whines, but comes to life.

  I beat on the back window, and yell, “Go!”

  Bill punches the gas. The rear tires spin out, and the back end of the truck fishtails as the chasers close in. Duke rushes to my side and barks at the dead who reach out for us.

  The truck takes off as the chasers fight to make their way into the bed. Most fall from the truck. A few cling to the thick steel chain that’s attached to the tailgate.

  The smooth, solid surface of the road changes to a punishing ride that rattles my teeth. The ground is unforgiving, tossing us every which way. Each depression and rut sends Duke and I into the air, then back down with a thump.

  The horde of dead run faster to shorten the gap between us, but they fall farther behind.

  I struggle for a clean shot at the dead who are pulling themselves into the bed of the truck. I can’t keep my arm steady or my aim true.

  Duke attacks and bites at the chasers’ appendages. They swat at him with their free arm as they growl in return. Both hands clutch the pistol and fight to stay trained on the creatures, but I can’t get a clear shot without risking hitting Duke.

  Crap.

  I work my way toward the tailgate as Bill swerves from side to side. I’m thrown into the wheel well as Duke slams into me. His claws scrape along the steel surface of the bed as he tries to find traction.

  “Hey! Don’t forget th
at we’re back here!” I yell.

  One of the chasers grabs the top of my boot and pulls me forward. Duke bites the creature’s wrist, sinking his fangs into the decayed skin. He pulls and tugs while growling through a mouthful of the chaser’s limb. I take aim and open fire.

  A single shot crackles from the sidearm. The slug nails the chaser between the eyes. It’s head snaps back in a blink as the bullet punches through its skull. Brain matter taints the air as the lifeless corpse releases my shoe.

  Duke let’s go, allowing the chaser to fall to the grassy field we’re traveling through. It hits hard and disappears within the tall verdure. One down, one to go.

  The last remaining chaser deals Duke a hard blow to the side of his face with his bloody hand. The harsh impact knocks Duke against the side of the truck. A yelp slips from his snout and draws an angered growl from me.

  The creature pulls itself further onto the bed of the truck. It gnashes its teeth and reaches for me. My brow furrows and a scowl forms on my face.

  I ram the thick sole of my boot into the chaser’s face as hard as I can. Between each violent blow, I capture brief glimpses of its bloody face and disfigured nose. Trails of thick blood race from each nostril and its mouth.

  Christ. This thing is stubborn.

  Bill jerks the truck hard to the right and sends us sliding about. I grab the rusted chrome railing that runs along each side of the truck bed. He hits a deep impression. The chaser catapults from the truck.

  Duke crawls over to me and cowers by my side. I wrap my arms over his trembling body, and hold him close. The rigid bumps of his tongue streak across the side of my cheek.

  I remain prone on my back on the bed of the truck as we race across the plot of land that is overgrown with weeds. I spot the chasers running through the tall blades—a glob of pasty white flesh that refuses to give up.

  A dull thumping catches my attention from the cab. I glance to the back window and find Bill hammering the glass with his fist.

  I move Duke off me, and crawl to the front of the bed. I pull myself up and peer inside the cab. Bill turns and looks to me with a worried expression. He offers a thumbs up, then nods. I shrug, but offer a reassuring thumbs up in return.

  Bill drives through a missing section of fence that encompasses the overgrown lot.

  The treacherous terrain morphs into pavement. Bill pumps the brake and jerks the steering wheel to the right. The echoing of the engine bounces off the buildings next to us as we race down the alleyway.

  I skim over the street ahead for any chasers or other threats for that matter. It looks clear from here, but I can’t be sure.

  Bill brings the bullish truck to a dead stop. He keeps the engine idling and hops out of the cab.

  “You two good back here? Did we lose those chasers? I lost sight of them.”

  I’m winded and wind-blown. I sit there with my legs bent and my arms resting on the tops of my knees. The pistol dangles from my hand as I tilt my head.

  “About as good as one can be while being thrashed around the bed of a truck while going ninety to nothing,” I jab. “It was hard to tell if you were trying to lose the chasers or us.” The tone of my strained and agitated voice is laced with sarcasm. I’m joking, some.

  Bill smirks, then slaps the palm of his large hand against my arm.

  “But did you die?”

  No, but that isn’t the point.

  A snappy comeback gels in my head.

  “Shh.” Bill cranes his neck and looks beyond the field of swaying weeds. I follow his gaze. I don’t spot any movement, but that doesn’t mean the creatures aren’t there. My head is still a bit foggy from the punishment I’ve been dealt over the past twelve or so hours.

  Duke stands up from the bed of the truck. The fur running along the ridge of his spine stands on end. A growl looms from his throat and rises with every second that passes.

  “How are we fixed for ammo?” I inquire.

  Bill rubs his black beard, then cuts his gaze to me. “We need more. Lots more.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The chasers are tenacious. I’ll give them that much.

  They haven’t given up. I don’t know the area, or if there’s anything else left alive for them to even hunt.

  Duke growls at the swaying grass. His body is rigid. He walks to the edge of the tailgate and barks at the incoming horde of dead.

  Bill slaps the side of the pickup and backpedals to the driver’s side door. “Come on. Get inside the cab, now.”

  I scuttle to the tailgate, and jump down to the pavement. I grab Duke’s collar, and pull him from the bed of the truck. Bill’s waiting by the driver’s side door. He moves his arm around in a circle, motioning for us to move faster.

  Duke leaps into the cab and walks across the ribbed bench seat. He turns, looks out through the window, and barks at the incoming mob of dead. I slide next to him with Bill following me in. He slams the door shut and grabs the gear shift on the column. He jerks it down and slams the gas pedal to the floorboard.

  The tires squeal and peel out. We race down the narrow passage that has us sandwiched between buildings and the tall chain link fence that runs the length of the field.

  The mass of infected barrel out of the weeds and hit the alleyway. They turn in circles, their heads titled back and noses testing the air.

  Bill looks to the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder at the gathering mob of dead.

  “Son of a bitch,” he mutters under his breath.

  He jerks the steering wheel from side to side while trying to avoid any debris in our path. Once again, we’re tossed around in the cab, our bodies sliding from one end to the other.

  A loud knocking noise comes from the engine. It doesn’t sound promising. The needle squeezes past fifty and continues to rise as we bear down on the road ahead. Through the fence, I spot more chasers racing down the street—a twisted glob of decayed flesh and outstretched arms that want whatever is making the noise.

  I point through the windshield. “We’ve got more incoming!”

  “I know. I know,” Bill snaps back.

  We hit a dip at the end of the alley that bottoms the truck out. Reckless and wild, we slide out onto the street. Bill spins the steering wheel, cutting the tires to straighten us out.

  The truck doesn’t respond as fast as we need it too and goes wide. The palms of my hands press against the dash as I brace for impact. The front half of the truck digs into a parked brown sedan. The sound of tortured and groaning metal creates a terrifying crescendo.

  Bill pulls us off the car and back to the middle of the street. Smoke sifts out through the crumpled-up hood. The knocking noise grows louder with each passing second.

  I turn and peer out through the window to find the gang of dead merging from the alleyway and street. Their bodies merge as one nasty creature that refuses to give up.

  “Come on,” Bill growls through pursed lips. He slaps his hand against the steering wheel and grumbles some choice words under his breath.

  I keep an eye on the chasers who are gaining some ground.

  “We need to go faster,” I advise.

  “I’m trying, but I think the engine is toast. We’re losing power.”

  I look to the dash, and find the needle dropping like a lead weight in a pond. The truck spits and backfires as the smoke venting from the hood grows thicker.

  “So, what’s the plan, then?” I ask.

  Bill slams the gas pedal to the floor. He pumps it twice, but the truck doesn’t yield to his command. He pulls over to the side near the sidewalk and puts the truck in park.

  “We run.” He throws the driver’s side door open and gets out. I toss his rucksack at him, and hand his rifle over. I shimmy out of the cab with Duke hot on our tails.

  The un-nerving chorus of the chasers’ grunts aren’t far behind. Bill takes off down the sidewalk in a dead sprint with me and Duke following in his wake. He’s got his gear slung over his shoulder with the rifle fastened within his
hands.

  The storefronts on either side of the road are in dire shape. The large glass windows are busted out. Jagged pieces rim the outer portions like teeth. Shards crunch under our boots. Some look to have been ravaged by fires. The brick and darkened interiors are blackened from the heat that consumed the space.

  We need to find a place that we can hold up that hasn’t been compromised. From the looks of things, that may be easier said than done.

  Bill points to a sign that hangs from the side of a reddish-brown brick building. Pete’s Ammo and Firearms.

  “We should be good in there until things die down.”

  Seems like as good a place to hold up as any.

  He stops, and cuts down the alleyway next to the ammo shop. He traces down the cluttered passage and navigates the dumpsters and trash that the wind has collected into small piles.

  “You sure this place is safe?” I probe.

  Bill heads for the gun metal door that has steel bars attached to its front. He reaches for the brass doorknob, but pauses.

  Blood is smeared across the surface of the door and over the knob. He peers down the long stretch of alleyway, then back to the side entrance of the building.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” I ask.

  Bill shrugs. “Last time I was in here it was, but that blood wasn’t there, so I don’t know.”

  The chasers grow closer the longer we stand here. If we’re not going in, then we need to move to find cover somewhere else.

  My head turns in every direction from the groans and shrills of the chasers closing in. My heart punches my chest each second we stand here. I don’t like lingering in the open with the dead hot on our trail.

  I bring the pistol up, and train it at the street. “It’s do or die. Once they see us down here, we’re screwed.”

  Bill slips his hand through the bars and opens the cracked door. He takes a step back and trains his rifle into the interior of the structure. He heads inside with Duke close behind. I backpedal to the entrance, and dart in just as the chasers come into view.