The Gristle & Bone Series (Book 1): The Flayed & The Dying

by Roach, Aaron

  Strapped to the dead parachutist’s body were a small pack, a holstered pistol, and a large knife. She stripped the corpse of these items and pressed on towards the wreck.

  The rear of the fuselage hung open like a garage. Francesca cautiously ascended the small incline of the ramp and then stepped inside, sheltering herself from the biting wind. She was immediately struck by the smell of burnt flesh. It rumbled her stomach, sickening her while also reminding her how famished she was. The source of the stench sat on the bench to the right. There, still strapped into their seats, were two corpses burnt beyond recognition. She moved past the bodies and peered into the cockpit. In the pilot’s seat, a third body sat cooked among shards of broken glass, its mouth hung open in a silent scream. She tried not to look at it as she rummaged around the cockpit and beneath the seat. There, she found a plastic case, partially melted, with the remnants of the word ‘Emergency’ printed on its top in big red letters. The latches to open the case were so deformed by the heat that she had to smash it hard against the floor to crack it open. Inside, she found a small first aid kit and a large brick of plastic that resembled a handheld radio. She took both and dropped them into the deep pockets of her lab-coat before turning to leave.

  Outside, the biting wind greeted Francesca with a howl. She walked past the frozen parachutist and, as she stepped out from behind the fuselage, came face to face with a walking corpse. The thing lurched for her, open mouthed and snarling. She screamed as she thrust her arms out defensively, catching the weight of the thing in her hands. They fell into the snow, the corpse snapping at her face yet unable to reach her by the frames of her elbows she kept pinned beneath its jaw. It growled and clawed to pull her closer, but she maintained the distance until she was able to heave her hips upwards and roll. She suddenly found herself on top and looking down at the undead face. Without pausing, she reached for the newly acquired pistol in her pocket, thumbed the safety off, and shot the thing between its eyes, splattering the pillow of snow beneath its head with red. She remained there, on her knees, for several heartbeats, breathing heavily and trying to control the rising panic that came out in billows of steam. She cursed herself. She had let her guard down and had almost paid dearly for it.

  And it wasn’t over.

  Francesca knew the dead. And now, because of the corpse beneath her, the dead knew her. Almost on cue, in the distance, the screeching began.

  She was on her feet in an instant, cutting a path through the wet snow as she sprinted back towards the bunker. Ahead, she saw stonemen leaping from rooftops across the facility, or bursting through windows and doors. They hit the ground running, kicking up snow as they landed and moving quickly to intercept her.

  Francesca arrived at the bunker with as much speed as she could in the deep snow, slamming into the door hard. Frantic, she typed the entry-code into the number pad and swore when the light beeped red. “Fuck! Come on!” she shouted at her numb fingers. She entered the code twice more before she hit the right sequence and the light flashed green. She threw herself inside just as the first stoneman came screaming up behind her, and pulled the door shut before it could gain entry. She watched the heavy entrance jolt for several moments before it finally stopped, and she permitted herself a long exhale of relief. She turned and made her way back downstairs, into the lonely room with the bloody wall and her makeshift bed beneath the desk.

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Francesca began dissecting the contents of the pack she’d lifted from the dead parachutist. It was a survival kit of some sort. She pulled out a compass, a multi-tool, a knife, a penlight, wire of some sort and an assortment of other miscellaneous items. Her eyes filled with happy tears when she pulled out a small plastic bag of trail-mix, some dried fruit and three protein bars. They were peanut butter flavored, her favorite. She quickly opened one of the bars and took an eager bite, her mouth flooding with saliva as her body registered the long-awaited food. She chewed slowly, savoring the taste and remembering a time long ago when she’d come home on a summer day to a toasted peanut butter sandwich, courtesy of her mom. She swallowed and took one more small bite before letting the memory fade. She folded the wrapper over itself so that the half-eaten bar was again covered before putting it aside to be rationed later.

  She felt the heavy weight of the handheld radio in her pocket. Pulling it out for closer inspection, she realized it was no such thing. Though it had a retractable antenna at the top and a button on its side like a walkie-talkie; there was no speaker or receiver on it, nothing to listen or speak into. Instead, printed on it were the words:

  ‘Personnel Recovery Device (PRD) - Press and hold Location Activator for five seconds to transmit encrypted signal. For best results, use outdoors, with antenna aimed towards sky.’

  Oh my god!

  Francesca scrambled out from beneath the desk to look at the PRD in the light of the hanging bulb. She gaped as she reread the words and couldn’t believe her luck – the morning had yielded not only food but also a device that could communicate with the outside world. It was a hope she had forsaken when the dead had taken over the facility and the communications building was burned in the ensuing battle.

  Now she had what she needed in her hands. She just had to get it outside, activate it and drop it.

  Easy.

  Francesca made the climb back up the stairs and returned to the now-silent door. She stood there, watching it unmoving in its frame, her eyes distrustful of the quiet.

  The bastards were smart.

  Francesca knew, that they knew, she was in there. She also knew they might still be waiting. She pressed her ear against the door and listened. Was that them howling? Or the wind? She sighed. The sound was so muffled there was no way to tell without seeing for herself. She had to risk it. She took in a deep breath, gathered her courage, and opened the door a hand-width wide. She peered out into the low day.

  Nothing.

  She crouched low into a squat and stuck her hand out into the biting wind, holding out the device. She pressed the button down and began counting.

  A low growl had her snapping her gaze up to see a stoneman’s face at head-level above her, pressing its skull into the gap and drooling.

  …four…five.

  Francesca dropped the transmitter into the snow pile just outside the entrance, its antenna aimed skyward. As she scrambled to pull the door closed, the growling beast shot what remained of its arm – a pronged, jagged radius– into the gap, narrowly missing her shoulder and preventing her from closing the door completely. She roared in desperation and ducked beneath the stabbing limb before bringing her shoulder up beneath the thing’s elbow and ramming it sideways against the doorframe. It snapped at an odd angle like the sound of a gunshot. The creature screeched and pulled its wounded limb back out with it. She yanked the door closed then, hearing the latch click, before collapsing onto the floor in an adrenaline-fueled cursing fit. When she finally composed herself, she went back down to her makeshift den and hoped against hope that the beacon was transmitting.

  Alive down here.

  -52-

  When they had buried Jacob on the face of the mountain, they didn’t have a shovel, so Gabe had been forced to dig his son’s grave with his hands, tearing at the hard earth until his fingers were mangled and bloody. Still, he had dug until Jacob’s final resting place was wide enough and deep enough for his boy to rest comfortably. They laid his body upon a bed of grass, surrounded by wildflowers, before saying goodbye. Then, as Molly sobbed quietly next to him, Gabe pushed the pile of dirt back into the hole. Within minutes, his son had been covered away forever.

  Now, a little more than a week later, Gabe sat on the dirt floor between Molly and Riley inside the massive cavern, staring through a crackling fire at the man who had killed his boy.

  Bishop Daniels.

  Bishop was on his feet, speaking fervently to the other survivors from Darby who watched, nodding their heads enthusiastically at whatever he was saying. Gabe wasn’t list
ening to his words, though, just as he hadn’t listened that day when the man had fallen on his knees before him, weeping and apologizing for firing the shot that killed his boy.

  Accident or not, Bishop was going to die for that.

  Molly must have sensed his seething rancor. She placed a calming hand on his arm and rested her head against his shoulder, giving him strength. “I know what you’re thinking, hon. I feel it too. But what he’s saying makes sense,” she murmured into his ear. Gabe bit back his anger and tuned into Bishop’s speech.

  “We can pick up supplies from The King’s Fare in Darby. What better place to find food than the supermarket, eh? It was virtually untouched when I came through there. We can’t live off the Sullivan’s provisions forever.” Bishop threw a conciliatory look their way, which Gabe ignored, keeping his face impassive. The man must have suspected Gabe’s continued animosity towards him, yet he insisted on including him in conversations, trying to win him over.

  It made Gabe hate him even more.

  Bishop continued, “We can be there and back within the hour. Some of you still have vehicles in town, yes?” A few of the others nodded. “Well, we’ve got three trucks up here. I say we pile into the trucks, head to town, pick up supplies and more vehicles, and convoy our way back up here.”

  “You’ve only got two trucks, Bishop,” interjected Gabe pettily, trying to throw a kink into the man’s plans. “Mine’s not going anywhere.” Molly squeezed his hand hard, and Gabe softened his tone, slightly. “The piece of junk would never make the trip. It barely made it up here in the first place. Best to keep it here for when we need parts or something.”

  Bishop nodded, “Okay, two trucks then. That’s more than enough to get a raiding party down there and back. The rest can stay behind and defend the cave.”

  “And how do you suppose you’ll get the other vehicles up that hill?” said Gabe to throw in another kink. “There’s no way a sedan loaded with supplies is going to make it up here. It’s too steep.”

  But Bishop already had answer for that. “My truck’s got a winch and a tow bar. We can figure something out,” he said with a smile.

  Bishop’s son, a young man of nineteen years by the name of Nathan, stood and positioned himself next to his father. “It’s a good plan, Dad,” he said, before turning to the rest. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can eat,” he said seriously. “Who’s in?”

  The others in the group muttered their approval, and Gabe didn’t argue any further. In the end, his qualms weren’t with Bishop’s plan, but rather the man himself and what he’d done. So, when people started raising their hands to volunteer, he did so too, albeit grudgingly. The plan confirmed, those around the fire began rising to their feet, brushing dirt from their backsides. Some even shook Bishop’s hand, thanking him for his leadership and Gabe had to look away to keep from saying something biting.

  Instead, he directed his attention to his daughter who was playing with Little Brother, the name she’d given the pup shortly after they’d buried Jacob. When she had told him the name, it almost broke his already damaged heart. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he said, pulling Riley into his arms. Little Brother yipped and licked at his chin as she included him in the embrace. “I’ve got to go to town for a little bit. You and Little Brother stay here and protect your mom, okay?”

  Riley nodded, but said nothing. She had said very little since Jacob’s death. Gabe turned and gave Molly a kiss and walked back to the far end of the cavern where his family kept their belongings. He picked up his rifle and Jacob’s shotgun and slung both weapons over his shoulder before following the crowd of volunteers through the slim crack in the rock, the only way in and out of the cave. He emerged into sunshine and a cool breeze.

  Behind him, Nathan Daniels clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Glad to have you with us, Mr. Sullivan.”

  Gabe mumbled a non-response and kept walking, following the other volunteers towards the trucks. He opted not to ride with the Daniels, but instead climbed into the truck bed of the town butcher, Andy Williams. When Andy walked past to hop into the driver’s seat, he gave him a sympathetic smile which Gabe ignored. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but he was tired of everyone treating him so delicately.

  The two trucks roared to life and rolled their way down the steep face of the mountain. As they passed Jacob’s grave, Gabe watched it go by and sent him a small prayer – I should have saved you.

  The trucks cleared the woods at the bottom of the slope and pulled onto the road that would lead them to Darby’s main street. Gabe kept his eyes on the passing trees, watching for movement. This was the most dangerous part of the journey, where the dead could come exploding out of the forest and where the vehicles could become quickly surrounded. He was ever aware of the sound of the trucks’ engines, which seemed to be amplified by the tremendous quiet of the woods around them.

  A branch snapped somewhere beyond the treeline to his left and he swiveled at the noise, raising his rifle. There was definite movement somewhere in the brush. His eyes darted from tree to tree, afraid of what they might find, when he registered two dark orbs staring back at him. The trucks drove on past, but the orbs never moved. It took him a moment to realize they were the eyes of a deer, a massive buck patiently waiting so it could cross the road unmolested. Seeing the animal, Gabe remembered the kill he’d brought home on the first day of the apocalypse, when he’d come out of the forest without realizing he was walking into a new world.

  God, that felt like years ago.

  Gabe and the deer watched each other, the distance growing between them until there was a bend in the road and the deer disappeared entirely.

  As they reached the outer perimeters of Darby, the pickups slowed to a stop. There, up Main Street, was a large army truck and a line of soldiers that stretched from the back of the vehicle into The King’s Fare. Boxes of supplies were being passed from soldier to soldier and loaded into the waiting truck.

  The cave’s raiding party quickly reversed and turned around a bend before they could be seen by the soldiers.

  “What do we do?” asked Andy as Bishop exited his pickup to talk with them.

  Bishop looked uncertain for a moment before his face set, decision made. “We fight them and do what we came here to do. This is our town and that’s our food.” Again, those around Gabe nodded their heads at the man’s plan, but Gabe was having none of it – to take on trained soldiers was lunacy.

  “You’re going to get us fucking killed, Bishop,” Gabe argued, keeping his voice low. “Why don’t we just go talk to them?”

  But even as he said it, he knew it was a bad idea. All civilians were supposed to have evacuated this area, and any who weren’t were to be rounded up and brought to one of the safety zones. They’d heard enough about the zones to know they were more like undersupplied prisons, which is probably why the soldiers were here, taking their food, in the first place.

  Bishop looked at him, his lips pursed, “Gabe, I understand you are upset with me. I get it. And I’m sorry, I truly am, but me and the boys came here for a reason – so we can feed our families. If you don’t want to eat, we’ll make sure to bury you next to your boy.” He turned to the others, “This needs to happen. Leave the keys here in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

  The others began jumping from the trucks, weapons in hand. Gabe sat there for a few moments before following, staring at the back of Bishop’s head as he walked away. He shifted his shoulder, feeling the weight of the guns strapped over it. Okay. He exited Andy’s truck and trudged after the others as they dispersed into the woods that surrounded the town.

  Most of the men, Gabe included, were armed with hunting rifles and shotguns, and he sure as hell wasn’t planning on getting close enough to use the shotgun. Instead, he found a tree that would give him an excellent vantage point over the town and the armed troops therein. He climbed up it with some difficulty, and perched himself on a strong and high branch, peering through the scope of his rifle
at the events that were about to unfold.

  -53-

  Ward leaned his head back against the canvas shelter that covered the bed of the heavy truck. Behind closed eyes, he thought about what he had learned in that morning’s briefing – they were dangerously low on supplies, there were not enough men to quell the increased rioting, and a serial killer was loose in the camp – when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “You’re cowards, both of you,” said the soldier next to him.

  “Excuse me?” Ward answered, opening his eyes to look at the man. “What did you say?”

  “You and your friend,” answered the soldier, tilting his head at Litz. “You were in the Battle of Boston and you got out alive. You abandoned your unit, cowards.”

  “Hey man,” said Litz angrily, leaning in to join the conversation, “you weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.”

  The truck hit a bump, causing the soldiers to bounce in their seats. The man continued, “All I know is I’ve got four confirmed kills on the skeletals and have probably taken out at least three dozen groaners. Easy work. If I’d been in Boston, I wouldn’t have run, I would’ve stayed and fought.”

  Ward shook his head and re-closed his eyes, choosing to ignore the man. But Litz wouldn’t let it go, “Screw you, man, I don’t care how many kills you’ve got. You don’t know shit about what happened in Boston.”

  “Davis is right,” said another soldier, Sasser, sitting across from them. “How come every single unit sent into Boston was massacred, and yet you two just happened to come out of it unscathed? It ain’t right. There’s no explanation except that you two ran when the shit hit the fan. You can’t be trusted to watch our backs,” he finished.