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

by Urban, Tony

  "Good on ya. Now hold him."

  Saw took a deep breath and Mitch saw his body tense. Then, Saw thrust the steel rebar further up Lumpy's ass and the opposite end popped free from his gaping mouth. Chunks of tissue and shards of shredded intestines clung to the metal and several of the women and a few men in the crowd screamed.

  Mitch realized Sally Rose wasn't watching and he wrapped his arm around her waist. "It's okay. He's a zombie. Nothing but a meat suit."

  She risked a glance toward the arena, saw the skewered version of Lumpy and immediately turned away again. "How could he?" She asked.

  Mitch couldn't understand why this bothered her. He thought it was pretty damned fantastic, but they could have that conversation later. Right now, his attention was on Saw who stood over Lumpy whose arms and legs twitched, but he wasn't going anywhere with a few feet of metal jutting from his asshole, a few more feet poking out his mouth, and the rest filling him up in between.

  Saw took a playful bow, then pretended to tip a hat that he wasn't actually wearing. "And that, people, is why you don't want to lose inside the ring." He turned back to the other men. "Take him to the east side of town. I gots me a plan for him."

  Polo and Fernando quickly took the ass end of the rebar. The view might not have been the best, but at least their end hadn't travelled all the way through Lumpy's insides. That left the gore covered piece for Kwon. Together, the men lifted and carried the zombified version of Lumpy like a pig on a spit. They took him out of the ring and out of sight.

  Mitch locked eyes with Saw and in that manic, gleeful gaze, Mitch found the man to whom he'd entrusted his life four years ago. And that gave him renewed hope.

  Chapter 32

  Almost two full months after leaving Brimley to go to the Ark and kill Doc, the round trip was nearly finished. Wim had considered parting ways with Mead and Aben (and Pablo, before his demise) several times along the return trip but he'd grown quite fond of the men and he knew he had nowhere else to go. He knew his stay in Brimley would not be permanent, but he had to admit to himself that it would be nice to spend the coming winter with others rather than going it alone somewhere. After that, time would tell.

  He'd had plenty of time to think during the ride. Sometimes too much. He wondered if killing Doc had been worth all the effort. Worth Pablo's life. Doc's death hadn't solved anything. It hadn't reversed the plague. And it certainly hadn't brought Ramey back. He didn't get an apology nor a smattering of remorse. The only closure came in seeing the man's lifeless body lying in the grass with the blood that made him human spilling into the ground. He supposed that had to be enough.

  Try as he might, Wim struggled to find a purpose now that doc was dead. He kept hoping somehow he'd find one along the ride, but as they passed by the hand-painted sign that declared, "Ahead: Brimley. A safe place," he realized he was still waiting. And he knew he might end up waiting for the rest of his life, however long or short that may be.

  They were on the straightaway leading toward town when Wim thought something was amiss. He had better eyesight than Aben who rode near his side while Mead and the donkey lagged a ways behind. The burro acquiesced to being ridden, but any time Mead tried to encourage it to pick up the pace, the beast only trudged along slower.

  When they got another ten yards closer, Wim looked from Brimley to Aben, checking to see if the man had realized what laid ahead. He hadn't yet, but that changed soon enough.

  "What in the grand hell..." Aben said when he saw it.

  The front wall of Brimley was nothing more than a jumbled pile of fragmented metal and debris.

  "This is bad," Wim said, stating the obvious. He pressed his heels against Gypsy's side and she picked up the pace. Aben did the same with his mare.

  For some reason, Wim's first thought was that a tornado had gone through. Maybe because his Mama watched The Wizard of Oz every time it played on the TV. That was the only thing that made sense to him. What else could cause such destruction?

  But, when he was close enough to look past the place where the wall had been, he could see the charred remains of houses and buildings standing like blackened skeletons inside.

  Wim looked behind, searching for Mead at their rear and seeing the speck of him still nearly a hundred yards back.

  Wim and Aben were close enough to town, or what had been a town, to smell the leftover acrid aroma of the fire. Its pungent, sulfur smell made Wim think of putting eggs on the stove to hard boil and forgetting about them until the pan had gone dry. It made his eyes water.

  "Goddamn it, Wim. Goddamn it. What happened here?" They were within ten yards of the town and Aben hopped down from his horse, trading it for an off-kilter jog toward his onetime home. Wim did the same.

  Ahead of them, a wicker basket sat on the ground. Before either of them could see the contents, Wim realized the smoke smell had become mingled with another too familiar odor. Death.

  The basket was covered with a white cloth that had taken on a puss-yellow color in the center. Flies buzzed around it, diving and swooping through the air. Climbing under the cloth and slinking out from beneath it.

  Wim and Aben stared at each other as if that would somehow solve or explain things.

  "I’ve seen enough bad shit to know that whatever’s in there's going to be fucking awful," Aben said.

  All Wim could do was nod.

  "Christ, I don't want to do this." Aben squatted down and reached toward the cloth. He did it slow, like he was afraid something might jump out and bite him, but he muscled through whatever worries he had and took hold of it.

  He ripped it away in one clean jerk and when Wim saw the contents, he wished he'd have parted ways with the men hundreds of miles ago just so he could have avoided seeing it.

  Inside the basket was a woman's severed head. Wim didn't know her name but recognized her as the woman with whom Mead had shared an extra-long goodbye when leaving Brimley. Her curly blonde hair was rust colored with dried blood. Her eyes were gone, the sockets filled with hundreds of maggots that writhed in the vacated cavities. Her mouth hung agape and inside Wim saw flies and their white wormy offspring had infested that orifice too.

  Her forehead was covered with deep gashes which at first looked random because the skin was swollen and ragged from being eaten at by the maggots, but as Wim looked closer, he realized it was letters. He tried to make it out through the carnage but Aben beat him to it.

  "Repent."

  Wim turned away from the dead woman's head, trading that view for Abe's pained face. "My God, who'd do this?"

  Aben acted as if he had an answer in mind but--

  "What's going on up there?"

  They both spun around toward the sound of Mead's voice. He wasn't a speck now, but he was still seventy-five yards away.

  "Oh, Christ," Aben said and he threw the sheet over the basket. "He can't see this. It'll ruin him."

  "Hey!" Mead yelled. He'd abandoned the donkey and was running full bore.

  "Stop him," Aben said. "Do whatever you have to do but stop him, Wim."

  Aben grabbed the basket and looked around at the flat land, his face awash in panic as he tried to find a place for the basket and its horrible contents.

  Wim let him handle it and ran toward Mead who was sprinting his way and screaming.

  "What happened! Where is everyone!"

  The two men met within seconds. Wim was bigger and used his body to block Mead's view as much as possible, but Mead's eyes were frantic as they looked past him.

  "What the hell are you doing, Wim? What happened?"

  "It's gone, Mead."

  "What? What the fuck are you blabbing about?" He pushed past him, and Wim grabbed hold of his collar, trying to hold him back. Mead struggled, but Wim held tight, which only made Mead angrier. "Let go of me you motherfucker!"

  "Stop, Mead. Stay here, with me."

  Mead stared at what was left of Brimley and, Wim realized, Aben. "What's he got there? What's he carrying."

 
Wim jerked him backward and their bodies collided. He still held Mead's collar and used his free hand to grab the man's shoulder. "We've got to talk."

  Mead stopped struggling and Wim thought some of the fight went out of him. As if he somehow realized it was too late to bother. "Then talk, Wim. What are you two trying to keep me from seeing?"

  "I don't know what happened, but it was bad. The worst kind of bad. I don't know how to say this but--"

  Before Wim could think about breaking the news as gently as possible, one of Mead's oversized, steel-toed work boots collided with his groin. An explosion of pain sent him careening backward and he landed in the dirt, on his rear. All he could do at that point was watch.

  Mead dashed toward Aben and caught him. The two men were twenty yards away and Wim couldn't hear their words. It was like watching some tragic, silent movie only without the subtitles. As he saw Mead rip the basket out of Aben's hand, Aben gestured wildly but it was no use. Mead set the basket down and tore off the cover. Both men stood motionless for a moment. Then Mead's screams broke the silence.

  It was the sound of a wounded, dying animal. Maybe the worst thing Wim had ever heard. And all he could do was cup his aching balls and wait for it to come to an end.

  Chapter 33

  If she'd have eaten breakfast, Mina would have thrown up. Saw stood at her side, holding her elbow and staring at her like a schoolboy showing off an elementary school art project and waiting for his mother's approval.

  "Don't keep me waiting, love. What do you think?"

  It was like he was encouraging her to stare at an eclipse. She didn’t want to see it, but she knew he wouldn't give up until she did.

  Before them was the naked zombie that had been skewed the night prior. The man with the metal bar all the way through his body had been planted in the ground, or more accurately, he'd been staked in it. The end of the bar that emerged from his ass was buried into the dirt and the zombie had sunk onto its knees. It kept trying to stand up, but always failed. It looked like it was genuflecting to an unseen God. Or to its king.

  Mina turned to Saw, eager to stop seeing that horrible sight. "How did you come up with something like this?"

  Saw grinned, baring his rotting teeth. "Dreamed it up one night, I did. Thought it would send just the message we wanted to anyone apt to wander along."

  She risked another look at the zombie, to its upper half where the metal jutted from its open mouth, extending several feet into the air and keeping its head tilted skyward in perpetuity. "It's... something."

  Saw pulled her in tight against him. The heat came off his body like she was being swallowed up by a blast furnace. She wanted to be free of him but didn’t dare pull away. At times, Mina tolerated Saw. At times she loathed him. But all the time, she was afraid of him. While Saw had never raised a hand against her, had never said a cross word to her, she knew he was only one perceived slight away from beating her senseless. Or maybe even impaling her on a stake and planting her beside Lumpy, here at the outskirts of town. Saw had kept her safe, but she'd never stopped feeling like his hostage.

  Mina watched as the zombie on the metal stake worked its jaw, chewing against the steel. She saw one of its front teeth snap in half. The broken piece tumbled into its gaping maw and she thought the creature gagged or choked and its body gave a quick shiver.

  "I wanted you to see it first," Saw said.

  Mina was relieved to have an excuse to look away from the zombie, but Saw's prideful face wasn't much better. "Why?"

  "Because I love ya."

  She knew he wanted to hear her say she loved him too. She'd never said those words and she was damned if she ever would. Instead, she kissed him. When they broke apart, he grabbed her by the waist and slid his hand into her pants, cupping her groin, his fingers exploring her.

  He knew what buttons to push, literally, and she found herself wanting him in her even though she hated almost everything about him. He pushed her pants and underwear down in one quick motion. She unzipped his jeans and let loose his ample manhood.

  They fucked in the open, Mina's back in the dirt, dust rising as they thrust against each other. She stared up at the featureless, gray sky. Her eyes settled on the impaled zombie. She watched it as Saw grunted into her ear, breathed hot, fowl breath into her face. As the sweat dripped off him and onto her.

  She watched the zombie as it wiggled and struggled, helpless against the pole where it might remain for the rest of eternity for all she knew. And as Saw gasped and groaned and pounded his seed deep into her, Mina thought this place was Hell.

  And she wanted the Devil dead.

  Chapter 34

  It had been weeks since they found Brimley destroyed and the people who lived there gone. Wim thought, aside from the bombs and fires, it looked like some sort of stampede had gone by the town. The ground was trampled, every blade of grass, every weed, pummeled. It made tracking whoever or whatever was responsible easy and he, Mead, and Aben had been doing just that.

  Mead was certain that the pastor with the traveling tent revival was behind it and, considering that 'repent' had been carved into the forehead of Mead's lady friend, Wim tended to believe him. After they found what they found, Aben opened up about his experiences in the early days of the plague and the man, Grady O'Baker, who had seen his dead son destroyed before him, only to go catatonic and later reemerge thinking he was some sort of prophet. From there, it was easy to do the math.

  Their travel, by horse and donkey, was slower than it needed to be. Almost as if none of them were in a hurry to get where they were going and were only doing so because it was expected. Conversation was slim. Even Mead who usually talked enough for a half dozen men barely spoke more than a few words a day. Wim could see he was hurting because he'd been there before. Heck he was still there. That kind of pain never goes away. At best, you acclimate to it and live with it for the rest of your life.

  In some ways, Wim blamed himself. If he hadn't set out to kill Doc, these men wouldn't have followed him there. They'd have been at Brimley when hell rolled into their town and maybe they would have had a chance of preventing it.

  But, Wim doubted that. Two more warm bodies (or three if you counted Pablo) wouldn't have made a bit of difference against what had happened. Still, he carried the guilt with him like a satchel on his back.

  They hadn't seen a solitary zombie since leaving Brinley in the dust, a fact that seemed impossible to believe if Wim hadn't lived it. It didn't matter whether they passed through the countryside or through middling towns. Everything in their path was gone. Nothing but a trampled, dusty path in its wake.

  Wim had his theory as to what might be brewing, and his thoughts were fueled by a story Aben told about that pastor having a conniption fit when another man killed a zombie. He didn't mention his thoughts to the others as it seemed impossible to believe, but at the same time, it seemed almost horrifically possible.

  They were somewhere in southwest Texas, where the land had made the transition from green to brown, when he got his answer.

  Typically, they spent the nights in a house or trailer or even a barn when the pickings were slim, but they'd wandered far enough off the beaten path that, around the time the sun set, there wasn't a structure in sight, so they decided to camp out under the stars.

  Wim didn't like the idea much. This land was as foreign to him as Mars and he found the notion of spending the night on the ground unappealing. He worried about snakes and scorpions, plenty of which they'd seen as they rode. They'd even heard some coyotes a few days earlier.

  That was why he set off looking for whatever passed for high ground in this rolling terrain. He found a little butte that wasn't anything to brag about, but as he looked at it from below, he thought it might suffice. For some reason, he felt safer higher up. As he scaled the steep hillside, his feet sent rivers of pebbles and dirt cascading downward as they slipped and dug for traction.

  After struggling for a few minutes, he made it to the top and all he
wanted to do was sit down and catch his breath, but what he saw put a quick end to that. In the distance - it was hard to judge from that vantage point but he supposed it must have been at least a mile to the west - he saw a dark mass that looked something like a black pond against the sea of tan dirt and sand. At first, he thought maybe it was a body of water, or maybe a large copse of dead trees, but neither made any sense.

  He took his rifle and pressed the stock against his shoulder. He hesitated before peering into the scope as if trying to decide whether he really wanted to see what was out there, but he knew he couldn't ignore it and he steeled himself and took a good look.

  What Wim found gathered in the hollow West of him, was Pastor Grady O'Baker's army of the undead. There were so many he had to keep waving the rifle back and forth as he tried to take them all in. They appeared to be roped to one another and they stood mostly in place, only occasionally shifting a foot or two in any direction.

  As he watched, every now and again one would seem to take issue with its nearest neighbor and swat or grab at it, but the scuffles died out fast, like they knew it was pointless and since they were all dead, there was no sense in fighting amongst themselves.

  Somehow, this seemed familiar to Wim, but he couldn’t fathom why that was. He'd never seen anything like this. Heck, he doubted anyone had. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of zombies, lassoed together to create some kind of invincible, unstoppable killing machine.

  And then he remembered the rats. What had Emory called them? He tried so hard to recall that his brow furrowed, and his eyes squinted. Think, Wim. Don't be so dumb. There was a word for it. A foreign one. But what was it?

  Rattenkönig. A rat king.

  That was it. It was like the jumble of rats he'd found in the barn in the days before the plague came to his little farm. They'd scurried and skittered about, eating anything in their path and, by God, this cluster of zombies he saw in the distance must behave the same way.