Dead Aware:
A Zombie Journey
Eleanor Merry
Copyright © 2019 Eleanor Merry
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]
ISBN: 978-1-9992128-0-3
ASIN: B07W1D72P2
Cover Copyright © 2019 by Brian Scutt at Hollow Creek Designs
Edited by Alexander Shedd
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to my partner in crime, and in life, Fraser. Without your support (and help naming characters) I never could have finished this one.
My beautiful daughter Sayde. I finished, despite your best efforts at distraction. Nice try kid.
My family and friends who have supported me since day one and encouraged me to write this novel. You know who you are, and I love you for all you’ve done for me as a person and author.
To all of my beta readers, but particularly my mom who proved that family can be good critiques. Your input and support on this journey have been amazing. Love you mom!
Huge thanks to my cover artist, Brian Scutt, for not only creating me some beautiful covers, doing my formatting and images but also for his constant support. Your encouragement was invaluable, and I can’t thank you enough.
To Sheila and Alex Shedd, my editors who helped elevate and polish my words.
My boss and friend, Corinne. You are such an amazing human being and mentor to me, I can’t tell you how much that means to be able to enjoy your day job solely because your boss is great.
Also, in no particular order all of my amazing friends in the indie community that have been there to help me get to where I am today: Chris Miller, RJ Roles, Cassie Angler, Abby Akiyaw, David Simms, Nikki Noir, Scott Deegan, Aaron Bader, Holly Hill Mangin, Marissa Frosch, Robin Fuchs Brumfield and so so many more I honestly couldn’t even list you all!
It is not the monsters we should be afraid of; it is the people that don't recognize the same monsters inside of themselves.
Shannon L. Alder
Prologue
Max had been in room 1201 at the Presidential Hotel in Toronto for the last few days since he died, and hadn’t been able to figure out how to get out since. He woke up disoriented, with a ravenous hunger like nothing he could remember experiencing before. Truthfully, he couldn’t recall much of anything before opening his eyes to the grey ceiling of the room.
Lifting his hands, he noticed a shiny band circling one of his fingers and knew this to be important but didn’t know why. Vague impressions and ideas fluttered through his mind, but he couldn’t make sense of them. The feeling of forgetfulness was strong and unnerving. He was sure he had been smarter, faster. It was like his memories and abilities were a word on the tip of his tongue that he knew, but just couldn’t quite grasp or remember.
As he stood beside the window, he stared at the door with longing. He knew on the other side of it was freedom, but it was like his brain was processing things at a crawl, and he had yet to solve the riddle of the doorknob. On the first day he tried slamming his body against the door and, while it didn’t exactly hurt, he somehow knew his body couldn’t withstand that type of abuse. The word “pain” floated through his mind, but not the comprehension of what that meant. He tried the window, bashing it with uncoordinated fury. After a moment he noticed red seeping from his knuckles and put the tantalizing liquid to his mouth, humming lightly as he sucked it clean.
His stomach grumbled, and he howled along with it, unable to contain the building frustration inside of himself. He could smell something that called to him, stimulating his hunger. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Whiffs of The Smell kept pouring under the door and through the crack of the open window, permeating his senses completely, making him even more anxious and angry.
In the height of his anger, he tore apart the bedding in the room, ripping and clawing at the sheets until only ribbons remained. Feathers drifted through the air.
He walked over to the door again and banged on the doorknob a few times with his fists. He knew his escape had something to do with this and roared in anger when it still didn’t move. Outside the room, something else roared with him.
Chapter 1
Clara mumbled curses to herself as she slammed the front door to her and Max’s duplex home, which was unfortunately the only way to close it. The hinges were a bit off and the wood swelled over time, making that solid push the only way to shut it properly. There was also a several-inch gap at the bottom which allowed the cold in during the winter, and tended to be a convenient entrance for ants, and other pests, during the summer months.
Putting her keys and coat down, Clara groaned as she pulled off her shoes. She hadn’t been leaving the house a lot lately, and her feet were unused to high heels. Walking down the narrow hallway into the kitchen she saw Max was busy doing something under the sink. Clara sat there for a moment, leaning against the counter and enjoying the view, which included a prime example of a cliché, the infamous plumber’s crack.
Smirking, she shouted, “Hey baby, I’m home!”, causing him to jump up and bash his head on the pipes above him.
“Ow, shi…Oh, hey.” Max responded while rubbing his head. “You scared the crap outta me.” Clara chuckled as she leaned over and planted a light kiss on top of his curly brown hair. Max smiled, looking up at his wife with adoration, before noticing the long shapely legs in front of him. This time it was his turn to smirk, causing Clara to give him a suspicious look.
“You know, sweetie, you are looking mighty fine this evening,” Max said lightly as he ran his hand up her bare calf, “Dinner can wait a while, and I’m done here….” He trailed off and wagged his eyebrows at her suggestively, hoping the combined efforts of dinner, home repair and flattery would entice her in to their much-neglected bedroom. Clara smiled at him and moved her lips down to his. At this sign of acceptance, Max immediately grinned and pulled her down into his lap and began eagerly kissing her neck, making her giggle.
Sweeping her up, Max carried her to the bedroom, bridal style, and they didn’t come out for quite some time.
Their home wasn’t the nicest. They lived in a duplex in Surrey, just outside of Vancouver. It wasn’t quite in the seedy area of town, but close enough to make it a lot more affordable. The block of homes had seen better days and the landlord who owned it was a negligent jerk. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, the occupants all bonded together and had ended up with their own happy little community. They all knew each other’s names, which in today's day and age was unique. They had neighborhood barbecues in the summer and baby or pet-sat for each other when the occasion arose. All in all, it could have been a lot worse.
Max and Clara had been living there the last few years, and while Max was always slightly bitter he couldn’t afford somewhere nicer for them, Clara didn’t mind and was just glad they had a place to call home together. They had been friends since Clara was twelve and Max was thirteen. Later, he would brag that from the first time he saw her, he knew she was the one, and that he would marry her one day.
After Clara graduated high school, a year behind him, Max proposed and, of course, she said yes. Clara went to nursing school and Max completed a business degree. The rest, as they say, is history.
While they had their bad days, like any other couple, they were still in love after all these years and knew without a doubt that they would spend the rest of their days together.
After they finished in the bedroom, Max wandered back downstairs to finish dinner with a pleasant glow on his face. It wasn’t until he remembered the news he had to tell Clara that his mood sank. In a few weeks he had to go
on a work trip, and he didn’t know how she would take it. He knew that for most couples, a few days apart wasn’t a big deal, and was even considered a small break. But not for them.
They had been apart for less than a few weeks total over their almost twenty years together, and never for more than a few days. Over the last six months, Max had been avoiding this trip, not wanting to leave her alone. Unfortunately, his boss wasn’t willing to push it any further. He would be heading out to Toronto in just over two weeks. A few years earlier, Max wouldn’t have worried so much, though he still would have missed Clara. As of late, however, she had become incredibly withdrawn and depressed, and even getting her out of the house was a challenge. It was only recently that he had convinced her to start taking art classes, encouraging hobbies and more social activities within her comfort zone. Not that Max could blame her. Not after what happened.
They had been trying to get pregnant for years and were both overjoyed when finally, 6 months before, that little pee stick showed two lines. Max was ecstatic to be a father and spent hours talking, and singing, to Clara’s flat belly.
By week 5, they had started choosing names.
By week 7, they had each picked up a few small items, a onesie here and there.
By week 9, the second bedroom had been cleared out to make room for a nursery, and they started telling friends and family.
But on week 12, Clara started bleeding.
In a panic, they rushed over to the hospital where Clara worked. Once they arrived the doctors checked Clara over and told the couple the words they were dreading; it was a miscarriage. She let out an ungodly howl upon hearing the word. A sound that would stay with Max forever. There was nothing to do but sit and wait for it to run its course. The sympathetic eyes of her colleagues burned into Clara’s soul and Max would never forget the empty expression on her face that followed. They were sent home with some painkillers and the instruction for her to take it easy until it passed.
Max remembered that night vividly, despite his sincerest wishes to forget. The feeling of not being able to do anything to help his wife, or save his unborn child, was the worst thing he had ever experienced. He looked back often to try to come up with ways he could have changed things, saved their family. He came up short every time. More than their crappy house or anything else in their past, this was his worst regret, and their darkest moment.
They found out not long after that night that the heavy periods she had been experiencing the past few years were likely more miscarriages that had occurred very early. After that night, without asking, Max had picked up condoms and started using them.
Clara became depressed after this and stopped going into work. It was almost as bad, if not worse in some ways, having to go back and tell everyone they had already told about the pregnancy. Reliving the nightmare again and again. While the hospital she worked for understood, they also couldn’t have a nurse who didn’t show up for work, and she soon lost her job.
While Max did what he could to bring her out of her dark headspace, he still had to work to support them, but found that when he spent his days at the office he would often come home to Clara sitting alone, staring off into space. Compared to the happy and optimistic woman he married, it was a contrast that worried him.
They got by fine with his income, even if it was a bit tight, but Max knew that it was depression which prevented her from going back into nursing and not job availability like she claimed. He tried not to stress her out or put too much pressure on her to return to work. He was able to encourage her in other ways, like the weekly painting class, which seemed to be slowly rebuilding her confidence. He figured she would return to the workforce when she was ready. One step at a time, he would tell himself. She’s getting out of the house again; that’s a good start.
All of this went through Max’s head, reliving it just like he had a thousand times before, as he stood and stirred the spaghetti. At least tonight we actually had sex, he reminded himself. She was as happy as he had seen her in a long time, and to keep her in good spirits he would spend some extra time with her in the coming weeks until he had to go.
He really did worry about leaving her alone, not wanting her to backtrack on the progress she had made, but he had been preparing this proposal for months and had no choice. Before he told her, he would finish the spaghetti—her favorite meal—and rub her feet. She could never resist a good foot rub.
After eating, and spoiling her, he would tell her.
While Max finished dinner, Clara bathed and thought about how lucky she was and how loved she felt. The problem with this, however, was that she also felt a selfish guilt for all the care he showered her with, especially lately.
Max had always been a loving and attentive partner, but ever since that night six months ago he had been even more so. In fact, since then, he was almost too doting. He treated her like she was breakable, afraid to cause any tension within their relationship.
At first, she had appreciated it, but it was slowly starting to grate on her. She wanted Max to feel like he could be himself with her and say what he wanted. Not that any couple wants to have strife or problems, but the complete lack of it for the last few months was starting to tempt her into picking small fights. She noticed herself doing it, saying or doing things she knew he didn’t like just to try to provoke a reaction out of him. However, Max continued being the overprotective, non-confrontational version of himself despite whatever Clara did. She wondered if maybe they should look into couple’s therapy or something but felt silly suggesting it. What would she say, anyway?
At the end of the day, Clara felt incredibly fortunate to have a partner who loved her as much as Max did. After she lost her job and she no longer contributed any income, the guilt became worse. On her darkest days, she had considered ways to free Max from herself. She would almost convince herself that suicide, or running away, was best for him. It was always right then that he would walk through the door at the end of his work day. He would smile at her and make her feel loved, and the guilt, while still present, would fade away, at least for a while. Even today getting back from her art class, he had come home, started dinner and was trying to fix the tiny leak she had noticed a few days before. Max truly just wanted to make her life better. For the moment, she willed herself to be grateful and happy for that.
She wrapped a robe around herself and looked in the mirror. Her blonde hair flowed behind her in a way she knew Max liked, and her skin glowed from the warmth of the shower. Smiling to herself, she put on a small spritz of his favorite perfume and went downstairs for dinner.
“So how long will you be gone for?” Clara asked, the slightest quiver in her voice betraying her true feelings at the idea.
Sensing the need for reassurance behind her question, Max stood up and enveloped her in a hug. Clara gave a small smile, understanding the gesture for what it was, and hugged him back tightly.
“Just a few days, baby. A week at most,” he replied into her hair, not willing to let go of the warm hug yet. Despite how long they had been together, he could never get enough of this woman.
Pulling back to look at her, he noticed a stray tear and wiped it away. “Have I told you how proud I am of you lately, or how much I love you, my beautiful, sweet, loving wife?” Max sucked up, with a silly grin on his face. Clara giggled at his endearment. She was glad for the distraction. Smiling at his success, Max took her hand and brought her over to the couch, seating her comfortably in his lap.
“Have I told you how much I love you lately, my silly, sweet husband?” She replied jokingly, making Max chuckle and pull her closer.
“Nope, but I'll never tire of hearing it,” Max replied cockily. “Now, enough of this nonsense. Why don't you tell me about what you did in your class today?”
The next day was Saturday, which Max knew was Clara's favorite day because it meant he wouldn't be working, and they could spend time together.
While during the week Max was up and out early, he tried to ma
ke a point of giving her something nice to wake up to on the weekends.
It was about 9am when Max crept upstairs with a huge spread of breakfast foods, including some hot, fresh coffee. Setting the tray aside, he crawled into the bed behind Clara and wrapped her in a big spoon. “Mmmm,” she groaned, making Max chuckle lightly. She had never been a morning person and even less so since the miscarriage. Oh well, he thought. You gotta kill it with kindness.
He started planting light kisses over her shoulder, neck, and head as he hummed one of her favorite songs lightly. “Good morning sunshine,” he whispered in her ear after a few minutes of his ministrations. “I brought coffee.”
At this last part she turned around to look at him, giving him a small, sleepy smile. “Thanks, Max.” Max smiled back at her, giving her one final kiss on her forehead before enthusiastically hopping out of bed and grabbing their breakfast.
While Clara got dressed, Max went back downstairs to inspect the sink he had been working on the day before. It drove Max nuts that their house was so old and run down. While he did his best to keep things in good repair, he often felt guilty for not providing a better place for them to live.
Cursing at the persistent drip, he made a mental note of the manufacturer and part he needed and went to see if Clara was up for a trip to the hardware store. His plans for the day included fixing the drip and doting on his wife. The sun was shining, and Max just knew it was going to be a good day.
Chapter 2
4 Weeks Later
World News:
An encephalitis virus, believed to have originated in Delhi, India, has now been reported in numerous cities across Europe. This flu-like virus is highly contagious, and those who experience symptoms are advised to see their health care provider immediately. More updates as they arise.
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