Life of the Dead Box Set [Books 1-5]

by Urban, Tony

  He was close enough to the gate to see it. And he saw Nestor’s truck idling beside it, the tailpipe spewing white steam.

  Way to waste gas, dickface.

  When Mitch was within twenty feet, Nestor rolled down the truck window and waved. He had a big smile plastered to his wide, dopey face.

  “Heya Wayne. What are you doing all the way out here?”

  Mitch crossed the last few feet and leaned against the door. He could feel the heat radiating out and tried to lean in to be closer to it.

  “Doc told me to exercise. Said it would be good for my recovery. Stronger my body is, the better it is for my immune system.” He thought some of that might make sense, especially to this borderline retard.

  “Well, if Doc said that, I’m sure he’s right.”

  God, how stupid could these people be? “Think I can join you for a sec? My toes feel like ice cubes.”

  “Sure thing. Climb on up.”

  Mitch circled around the front of the truck and joined Nestor. The man tilted a thermos in his direction. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks,” Mitch took a sip. It was so hot he thought it might blister his tongue but it chased away some of the cold. He held the thermos tight to his body, trying to absorb the heat from it.

  “Face is looking pretty good, buddy.”

  Mitch checked his reflection in the mirror on the visor. Nestor was lying. Even with the stitches gone, he looked like a patchwork quilt. Dark purple scars curved upward, starting at the corners of his mouth and ending just below his eyes. The one on the right side went askew and veered off toward his ear at the end. Saw couldn’t even make his mauling symmetrical.

  “It’s getting there.”

  “I’m real glad you pulled through, Wayne. You’re one of the good guys.”

  Nestor fished through a paper sack at his feet and pulled out a plastic bowl. “Hardboiled egg? I got two.”

  “Nah, that’s okay, Nestor. I’m still working up an appetite.”

  “Okay then.”

  Nestor cracked one of the eggs on the dashboard and peeled off the shell, meticulous as he tried to get every last piece off.

  Mitch was glad he was distracted because that allowed him to pull the fork from his pocket unnoticed. Mitch had filched it from the mess hall earlier that week. He bent the two inner tines back and forth until they snapped off. Then, he scraped the outer tines against a brick for a few days until they were so sharp he could prick his finger just by tapping it against the tips.

  Nestor had finished peeling the egg and he popped the whole thing into his mouth. As he chewed, he held the other out to Mitch.

  “Sure, you don’t want it?” Tiny bits of partially masticated yellow and white egg spilled from his lips as he spoke through the mouthful of food.

  “I’m good. Maybe Wim wants it though.”

  Mitch pointed out the driver’s side window, feigning a wave. Nestor turned to look and, when he did, Mitch plunged the fork into the man’s throat.

  Hot blood spurted from the wound, spraying the dash, the windshield, Mitch’s hand.

  Nestor turned back to him, his eyes wide and confused. He opened his mouth.

  “Way— “

  Egg and blood tumbled out, preventing him from saying the name. Mitch watched the man as he choked and bled out. He didn’t struggle as much as Mitch had expected. In under a minute, it was over.

  Mitch exited the truck, walked to the gate, and lifted the lever which held it closed. He tried to push it open, but the snow was too deep, too heavy. He thought he made a mistake in killing Nestor so soon. He should have made the dumbass open the gate first.

  Mitch returned to the truck but went to the driver’s side this time. He opened the door and grabbed Nestor’s coat, pulling him out of the truck where he tumbled into the snow. Then Mitch took his place behind the steering wheel.

  He put the truck in gear and turned it so it was facing the gate. Then he eased forward until the grill pressed against the wood. Slowly he crept forward, pushing the fifteen-foot-wide gate until it was the whole way open.

  Mitch looked ahead, toward the vast, featureless sea of ice that lay ahead.

  “I did my part, Saw. Now it’s your turn.”

  Mitch turned the Chevy toward the Ark. He knew driving the truck back to camp might arouse some suspicion but didn’t feel like trudging through the snow again. Besides he’d just started to warm up and didn’t feel like getting cold all over again. And if they suspected anything, so what? Soon they’d all be dead anyway.

  Chapter 46

  The hollow, metallic crack of the trailer door slamming against the outside wall woke Ramey. She sat up in bed, reached across the mattress and realized she was alone. The bed was cool under her touch.

  Where’d you go, Wim?

  The door banged again. Closed, this time.

  Ramey reached for the light switch but she still wasn’t used to sleeping in this room and couldn’t find it in the dark.

  “Wim?” She pushed the covers off herself, the cold air hitting her legs and making them break out in goosebumps. She was already tired of winter and it had barely begun.

  Wim hadn’t answered and that bothered her. She slid off the bed, pulling her nightshirt down as far as it would stretch, not that it did much to keep away the cold.

  She was half way to the bedroom door when she heard the floor creek under heavy footsteps. She smiled, relieved.

  “Come back to bed alre— “

  A shadow filled the door frame but she immediately knew it was too slender to be Wim.

  “I’ve been waiting to hear that for a long time.”

  Phillip stepped into the room. Ramey could see his big, wolfish teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

  “Get out of here,” she snapped. “Get out of our house.”

  “Oh, Ramey, it’s not a house, it’s a trailer. I know you’re white trash but even you should understand the difference.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. Was he drunk? That was the only reason she could imagine him being so brazen.

  “Get out right now. If you’re here when Wim gets back, he’ll beat the shit out of you and I won’t even think about stopping him.”

  Instead of fleeing he moved closer to her. His breath hit her face. It smelled of tuna fish - his usual - but no alcohol. Somehow that made the situation more unnerving. Ramey realized her goosebumps now weren’t caused by the cold. They were caused by fear.

  She glanced around the room, looking for something she could use as a weapon if it came to that. Pillows, sheets, a paperback novel. Even the lamp was only a few inches tall and weighed mere ounces. She hated that she’d grown so comfortable and complacent.

  Ramey took a few steps back until she hit the bed and ran out of room.

  “Trying to run off on me, Ramey? That’s no way to treat a guest. Pretty rude, don’t you think?”

  Phillip was less than an arm’s length away. She was out of room. Out of time.

  Time.

  Ramey stole a glance toward the end table and spotted the wind up, metal alarm clock. Wim used it to wake up at some ungodly early hour so he could care for the animals.

  “How about you lay down and spread ‘em so I can show you how a real man fucks?” Phillip leaned in closer, pursing his lips.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Sure.”

  Ramey reached back, grabbed the alarm clock and immediately spun and swung. It connected with Phillip’s eyebrow, opening a three-inch gash. The blood spilled from the cut into his eye, turning it red. She didn’t stick around to see the aftermath, jumping onto the bed, taking two steps then leaping off the other side. She made it to the door when she heard the distinctive sound of a round being chambered into a pistol.

  “Bad idea, girly.”

  She took another step. One foot in the hallway.

  “I’ll blow your pretty head off.”

  Ramey half turned back to him. “Then you’d have to answer
to my father. What do you think he’d say about that?”

  “Probably ‘job well done.’”

  She saw something in his eyes, even through the blood, that made her think he was right. Or that he believed he was right. Either way, she decided running was a bad decision as long as the pistol was aimed at her.

  “Okay. Then what happens now?”

  “First you put on some shoes. Then you come with me.”

  Ramey knew this was bad news. She wanted no part of whatever Phillip had planned but for the time being, she had to placate him.

  Emory had often told Wim about the field of black-eyed Susan’s toward the east side of the Ark but Wim had never seen it in person. The way he described it, it was one of the most beautiful sights around. But the flowers were gone now, just barely tan, lifeless husks. Yellow tufts of fountain grass poked up from the snow and their feathery ends caught the wind, swaying back and forth peacefully. Wim wasn’t a hundred percent sure he had the right spot, but he believed he was in the right neighborhood.

  He eased Emory’s body into the snow. Carrying it all the way out here, even through the deeper drifts, hadn’t been as much of a physical challenge as he’d expected as the old man barely weighed anything. The emotions, however, were harder to handle. As Wim had carried his friend, he was unable to wipe away his tears and they’d frozen against his cheek in salty rivulets. Now he sat down beside Emory’s body and picked the ice away with his fingernails.

  “Why’d you have to go in there by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning to do?”

  Wim knew Emory could offer no answers to his questions. And he knew crying about the situation wasn’t going to change anything. He wished he could get Ramey and Mina. They deserved a chance to say their own goodbyes, and he could also use their support, but he didn’t want to risk one of Doc’s people seeing this scene and Doc claiming the body.

  Wim took Emory’s glasses off his face and carefully placed them in his pocket. Before he’d left camp, he’d taken a can of lighter fluid. Now he popped the top and aimed the can at Emory, spraying it over his body.

  “I’m sorry about this. I wish I could give you the Christian burial you deserve, but I don’t think anything short of a backhoe is getting through the ground right now.”

  Wim wished he could think of something profound to say. Some heartfelt words that could honor Emory and give him a proper send off. He hated himself for not being smart enough to come up with anything. Emory was a man who deserved to be honored. Wim could only hope the man knew how much he loved him when he was alive.

  He then took out a book of matches and tore one off. He used his hands to shield it from the wind as he struck it, then used the lone match to set the whole pack ablaze. When he was confident it wouldn’t go out, Wim held it against Emory’s jacket which caught fire. The flames spread out in every direction and within seconds Emory’s entire body was engulfed.

  Wim backed away, then sprayed more lighter fluid into the fiery inferno. The orange flames reached up, like fingers grasping at the air. Wim tossed the can into the blaze and turned his back on it. He wiped fresh tears from his face and heard a pop as the can blew. The heat of the fire was so intense he felt sweat break out on his back.

  Chapter 47

  Phillip had secured Ramey’s hands behind her back with zip ties. He’d allowed her to slip on a pair of boots but no coat and the near half mile walk to the clinic left her almost. By the time he pushed her into the building, she thought she might need medical treatment.

  She hadn’t seen anyone during the trek and that worried her. Where was Wim? She wondered if, somehow, Phillip had gotten to him. That couldn’t be true though. She wouldn’t allow herself to go there.

  It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the florescent lights. Why were they on anyway? She was sure they were always shut off at night.

  Phillip closed the door behind them and locked it. He moved to a bin filled with medical supplies and grabbed a long bandage.

  “Put it on,” he said.

  She considered protesting, but decided that would be unwise.

  The cut on his brow had stopped bleeding. It appeared almost frozen. As she removed it from the paper packaging, she realized he was staring at her chest - at her cold nipples which poked against the thin fabric of her shirt.

  Ramey slapped on the bandage and gave it an extra hard push to stick it down, hoping to cause him as much discomfort as possible. Much to her dismay, Phillip barely flinched.

  What was up with him? Why was he so calm? The last few weeks he’d been nervous almost to the point of twitchy. It was like the real Phillip was tucked away in a pod somewhere and this man before her was an impostor.

  “Will you at least tell me why you brought me here? If you wanted to rape me you could’ve done that at the trailer.”

  Phillip opened his mouth to answer, but then his eyes drifted past her.

  “Rape?” It was her father’s voice and it came from the edge of the room. Ramey turned to see him standing at the opening to a long corridor.

  “No need to disparage the young man’s character. He was simply doing as told.”

  Phillip backed away from her as Doc neared them.

  Doc noticed the wound and raised an eyebrow. “Fist?”

  “Alarm clock,” Ramey said with pride.

  Doc nodded. “Ah.” He pointed to a metal cabinet with a red cross on it. “Get some ibuprofen and give us some time alone.”

  Phillip did as told, locking the door as he left. Ramey wasn’t as relieved to see him go as she’d expected. After almost dying multiple times trying to find her father, she suddenly had no desire to be alone with him. And deep down, even though she was reluctant to admit it to herself, she was afraid of him.

  Doc stared at her for a long while. It only added to her discomfort and Ramey found herself again tugging at the shirt. Doc noticed and finally spoke up.

  “Oh Heavens, Ramey. I was there when you were born. I changed your diapers. Don’t be so bashful.”

  That sounded a little more like her father and some of the apprehension she’d built up faded. “I asked Phillip and he wouldn’t answer. So, will you tell me why I’m here?”

  Doc’s face turned sober. “I’m afraid I have some bad news to share. There’s been another death.”

  He sat down on a metal stool with casters on the bottom and used his toes to sway back and forth.

  Oh God. Not Wim. Not after everything we’ve been through.

  She didn’t want to say it aloud though. That would be giving into her father who was enjoying this self-created suspense all too much. She bit the inside of her lip and refused to allow herself to say anything,

  Doc looked disappointed that she wouldn’t take his bait. “Your friend. The Afro-American fellow.”

  “Emory?” Ramey could barely get the word out. Her mind was a roller coaster of emotion. She was thanking God repeatedly that it wasn’t Wim but poor Emory. So gentle and caring and sweet. If her own father had a tenth of Emory’s compassion the Ark would be an entirely different place.

  “Yes, that’s him. Apparently, the old fellow’s ticker finally gave out. Sad.”

  Ramey felt her eyes sting like they’d just been doused in gasoline and tears quickly followed. She looked down at the floor, not wanting her father to see her pain.

  Doc pulled himself to her, still not rising from his seat. He set his hand on her knee. “It’s okay to cry. I know you were fond of him. That you admired him. So much so that you chose him to marry you and William.”

  Ramey’s head snapped up. Doc looked like a hazy mirage through her tears. Was he smiling?

  “Yes, I know all about that. I’m hurt that I wasn’t invited. I’d have brought a nice gift, I assure you”

  “How?”

  Doc pushed himself away. The stool carried him a few yards from her and he held his arms out to the side like he was flying. “Please, now. Do you think so little of me to believe that anything
happens here without my knowledge? For Christ’s sake, Ramey, I created this world!” Anger colored his voice. “I am all-knowing and all seeing.”

  He stood up so quick the stool skittered away, rolling until it clattered to a stop against a wall.

  “So, what, you think you’re God now?”

  “If the title fits. Although I think that’s a bit of an understatement myself. God, at least for the last two thousand years, has been a supervisor. He lets his underlings drive the action. I prefer to be more hands on.” He grinned, nostrils flaring.

  Doc strolled toward the corridor. “Come. I have such sights to show you.”

  It was barely dusk when Saw stopped his dump truck at the edge of the ice. It looked solid enough, but he wanted to be certain so he grabbed a sledgehammer from the empty passenger seat and brought it with as he jumped down from the cab. The frigid wind caressed his cheeks and he realized he couldn’t stop smiling.

  Three tractor trailers approached from behind him. He held up his hand for them to wait. Casper was in the first rig and he nodded, the brakes screeching as he came to a full stop.

  Saw stepped onto the ice which had taken on the pinkish red cast thrown by the morning sunrise. The whole sky was lit up with it. Saw thought it was beautifully fitting for the blood which was to come. He raised the sledge over his head and brought it down with all the strength he possessed. It slammed into the ice, the force of the blow pulsing up his arms. But the hammer had made little more than a divot in the thick ice. Saw grinned and licked his blackened teeth.

  He returned to land and motioned for the men to roll down their windows. They did.

  “Ice is hard, mates. Plenty strong enough for us here but further out, who knows. Once you start driving, I expect you not to stop until we hit the island. You push those pedals to the floor and don’t even think about slowing down. Because today’s the day we’re taking what’s theirs and making it ours.”