Dead & Alive Collection #1 [Books 1-6]

by Smith, I. J.

“Kill the fat boy!” the bearded man told the others.

  As one of them started, pushing the blade closer to Tommy’s throat. Kat screamed, “STOP!”

  Tears filled her eyes, as another man came up behind her and placed a knife against her throat.

  “You take us little girl and maybe we don’t kill all of you!” the bearded man told her.

  As one of the men took Zoe’s gun, she closed her eyes and shook her head. Thinking to herself how shit things had been since Jack died. She knew he would have seen this coming and somehow killed them all himself.

  They walked through the forest towards a muddy off-road track.

  In the clearing, the bearded man looked over to see a large, white motorhome.

  Laughing, he grabbed Kat and dragged her towards it.

  The door was already open; he pushed Kat inside. After a few seconds he dragged Kat out again, all the while, still holding the knife to her throat.

  Pulling Kat’s hair, he shouted at her in anger “WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY?”

  The four men holding Bray, Zoe and Tommy forced the three of them to their knees. One held a gun against Bray’s head. The others held knives against the throats of the prisoners.

  The bearded man dragged Kat to the middle of the clearing; looking around only seeing forest.

  “GET THE FUCK OUT HERE, OR I WILL TEACH THIS BITCH WHAT A MAN CAN DO!” He shouted in anger.

  The silence made him mad, when suddenly a stone hit him in the back. An old man approached them holding a metal bar.

  Zoe looked up in shock, as the old man approached them. She was ashamed to think what this old man could do to help them. One of the four men left the prisoners and started to walk towards the old man.

  The bearded man holding Kat warned the old man, “You’re gonna die today old man!”

  The old man shouted out, “LET HER GO, NOW!”

  Bray shook his head, shocked by the old man’s bravery.

  Holding Kat, the bearded man pointed his knife towards the old man laughing.

  SUDDENLY A LOUD POP SOUNDED OUT!

  Zoe watched as the bearded man’s head suddenly split open. He fell to the ground pulling Kat with him.

  Like slow motion, another man appeared through the darkness of the trees.

  The one of the bearded man’s friends, who was approaching the old man turned to face the new stranger, who without mercy, pierced two blades through the man’s chest. The stranger pulled one blade clear and sliced it across the man’s throat finishing him off.

  As blood sprayed out in front of them, Bray took his chances and launched his head up into the face of the man guarding him. Quickly overpowering him, Bray took back his gun and shot the man in the head.

  The two other men tried to slit Zoe and Tommy’s throats, but Zoe was quick to push Tommy to the ground covering him as Bray shot another man. The fifth and final man began to run away, but a bullet hit him in the leg. Bray walked over to the man and simply shot him in the head.

  Zoe got back to her feet and helped up Tommy, Bray approached them.

  They all turned to see Kat being embraced by the stranger. The stranger walked closer putting his arm around Tommy too.

  Bray and Zoe looked at the stranger. He wore white trainers, dark jeans and a black T-shirt. He had short shaven hair and a short beard. The stranger had two blades stored in black leather sheaves, blood dripped from the bottom of the leather.

  Zoe moved closer, the stranger turned to face her and Bray. Tommy rushed to the old man, they fist bumped as they passed each other.

  Moving closer into view.

  Zoe gasped and uttered a single word, “Jack!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SURVIVE

  Six months earlier.

  Holding the gun to his head, Jack sat there bleeding and whispered, “I love you Elle!”

  Jack began to close his eyes; time seemed to slow down for him. Memories of his past from being an orphan to his life as a soldier flashed through his mind. Gritting his teeth, he slowly pulled the trigger, a groaning noise interrupted him. Crawling up the stairs was a zombie; its legs had been torn apart and it moved slowly.

  “Fuck it!” Jack grunted.

  Remembering some words once spoken to him by a caretaker in the children’s home he grew up in. “No matter how small, if there is hope, you fight!”

  In a flash he aimed his gun and shot at the zombie, its head exploded sending a spray of blood and brain matter into the air.

  Breathing heavily, the pain of his injuries grew for Jack. Every part of him wanted to shout out to Frank, calling him back to save him. But calling him back to save him, without doubt would more cost lives, the sounds of the zombies grew louder.

  Jack pressed against his stab wound trying to slow the bleeding. He looked around him, looking over his shoulder he realized he was leaning against an elevator door. He pulled his machete out and slid it between the center door crack; with a twist of the blade he opened it enough to use his hands to open the doors all the way.

  There was light shining down, the roof was just clear plastic, looking up and then down he could see the elevator was a floor below him. The groans of the dead grew louder; he turned to see the shadows of the zombies coming down the stairs. Jack tried to reach out for the elevator cable, but the pain was too much, he couldn’t grab it.

  “SHIT!” Jack shouted.

  While breathing erratically he pushed his body weight over the ledge, into the elevator shaft. Falling through the air he landed hard on the elevator roof, the pain made him scream as the doors above him slammed shut. Jack was in serious pain when he heard the zombies crashing against the elevator doors, hearing Jacks cries of pain.

  Jack pushed his head into the cold steel he was lying on. His eyes grew heavy; he struggled to keep them open. Several dirty rags were scattered around him, Jack reached out for them, pushing them inside his vest to slow the bleeding of his stab wound. Within seconds he passed out, even with the loud groans of the zombies echoing around him.

  Jack began to open his eyes, looking up to the sun beaming through the plastic roof cover. The thought of how long he had been lying there troubled him, and of how long had he slept. Rolling onto his back, he removed the blood-soaked rag that had stopped him from bleeding to death. He reached down to touch the wound on his leg; once again blood soaked his hand.

  Jack sighed; the pale sweaty look on his face was one of a man dying.

  Frowning in pain he knew if he wanted to escape this fate he would have to do it alone.

  Grabbing his side arm, he released the gun magazine. Holding it close to his face he could see five bullets were left. Closing his eyes again he took a deep breath. Forcing himself into a sitting position, he struggled and groaned in pain as he took of his vest and shirt. Pausing because the pain was hard to bear, Jack unbuckled his belt and pushed his trousers down to his knees.

  He pulled a small knife from his vest and a small box of matches.

  Picking up the gun magazine, he used his thumb to release a bullet. He dropped the magazine and used his knife and ran it along the groove in the bullet several times. He managed to squeeze off the base of the bullet. He poured half of the gunpowder from the bullet onto the open wound on his leg. Jack then laid down and poured the rest of the gun powder on the wound on his stomach.

  Dropping the empty shell, Jack grabbed his matches. There was a look on his face, one of fear. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing the pain that was about to come. He lit the match, looking at the burning flame he hesitated. “We all have to die sometime,” he said.

  He touched the flame to the wound on his leg, igniting the gunpowder. Already screaming in pain, he used the last of his strength to light the gunpowder on his stomach wound.

  As the gunpowder burned, the smell of burning flesh engulfed Jacks senses. The fearsome burning brought tears to his eyes and unable to hold it back anymore he screamed in the worst pain of his life. His head fell back; tears ran from his eye as he screamed, mome
nts later with the pain so unbearable, he passed out. The banging of the zombies around him echoed out once again.

  Jack just lay there, unconscious as the clouds passed over and rain pounded down on the plastic roof panel. Drops of rain water fell to the top of the elevator, many drops were hitting Jack. His eyelids trembled, and with a whisper he muttered “Elle!”

  Jack was dreaming!

  Jack stood in front of a large window looking out over the ocean, he wore nothing except for boxer shorts. He held a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, he felt confused as he looked across the ocean.

  Suddenly he felt a warm touch on his back, as a pair of hands appeared around his waist, he felt someone rest their chin on his shoulder.

  “Come back to bed!” a woman’s voice demanded.

  Jack turned to see the dark hair and freckled face of the most beautiful woman. “Elle,” he smiled and said.

  Her beautiful smile made him feel warm; her touch excited him as she moved in to kiss him.

  “I love you!” Elle told him softly.

  Before he could answer she spoke again. “Fight, and come back to me!” Elle demanded.

  She slowly walked back towards the soft white bed. Before he could move, Elle turned. Her face was all rotted, with bite marks all over her. Covered in blood she raced towards him.

  “ARH!” Jack screamed out, breathing heavily.

  He was awake and back in the elevator shaft, the drops of rain made a tapping noise that kept the zombies banging. Jack checked his wounds, although he was in terrible pain the bleeding had finally stopped.

  His mouth was dry; he was cold to the touch but boiling hot at the same time. He looked around, noticing a puddle of water, clean or dirty he didn’t care, he lowered his head and sipped the water anyway.

  He grabbed his gun and replaced the magazine and put the gun away, and then he pulled his machete out.

  He knew if he stayed, their death was certain, the only chance he had was to try and get out, looking up he could see smoke was starting to appear. The fire he set was spreading, he needed to move now.

  Jack opened the panel on the top of the elevator and looked inside; luckily there were no zombies inside. “Finally, some luck,” he joked to himself.

  Although, in pain he managed to lower himself into the elevator car. But dropping the last few feet onto the floor caused him to squirm in pain, trying not to make a sound. He gave it a moment and got to his feet, and pushed the blade of his machete into the crack of the door, gently he squeezed it open, just enough to see what was out there. With a sigh of relief, he saw the area was empty.

  He squeezed through the door, trying to be quiet. He dragged his feet to the door that went into the lower level car park. He looked around and could see zombies roaming around; he could also see a familiar car, a small vehicle with no doors, like the one that was outside the house during the attack. Jack was happy, he knew the car worked, but feared the distance to it was too far for him.

  Gripping the handle of his machete he moved as quiet as possible, struggling to get to the car. Without warning, a groaning noise came from behind him and a zombie was trying to grab him. Quickly, Jack turned and sliced its head off, hurting his injuries in the process. Jack screamed in pain attracting the other zombies to his presence. Jack rushed on towards the car, inside there were no keys, and he ripped off the panel and crossed two wires. The car started straight away, but by now, another zombie came at him. Jack could not fight, so placing the car in gear he shoved the pedal to the floor and rammed anything that got in his way.

  Jack quickly found himself outside the car park, zombies still blocking his path, but Jack just rammed all of them; he slouched over the steering wheel while he drove. He noticed the sun was setting, with no idea how long he was unconscious, hoping that his friends were still at the furniture store. He drove to the store, looking across the car park, he could see the ground covered in zombies, the door wide open, and at that moment he realized that they were gone.

  Jack sat for a moment, breathing heavily and the color in his face turning paler. He checked the petrol gauge and gave out a laugh. “Let’s see how far I get,” he joked, before driving off.

  For hours Jack drove, until he was out of London and now driving down quiet roads, apart from the odd one there was hardly any zombies around. Jack struggled to keep his eyes open; many times, the car swerved, his whole weight was resting on the steering wheel. The fuel tank was almost empty; the red light on the dashboard had been on for a while. As he drove on he knew he had done everything he could to survive.

  With a spluttering noise, the car rolled to a stop. Jack sat there for a moment. He looked up at the night sky and smiled, he knew his friends made it out of London, knowing his sacrifice was worth it. He forced himself out of the car, struggling to stand he needed to hold onto the frame of the car for support, pulling his machete out he began the struggled to walk forward.

  His feet dragged, he kept thinking to himself how much he must look like a zombie. He made it almost a mile before he dropped to his knees. “I’m done! I’m sorry!” he said as the rest of his body dropped to the ground.

  As Jack lay there waiting to die, a strong light from behind him lit up his body on the road. Jack tried to look but had no strength left; he heard a vehicle stop and the voice of a man.

  Jack was turned over, with blurred vision he could see an older man with white hair and stubble talk to him, but Jack could not make out the words. Jack could see a chubby boy with curly hair and a young blonde girl looking at him.

  Suddenly he heard the old man, “Have you been bitten?” he asked Jack.

  With little what little strength, he had left, Jack shook his head, he felt his body being tugged and then he blacked out.

  The old man and chubby boy carried Jack into a motor home; inside they laid him on a makeshift bed in the back.

  “Ray, we should leave him!” the chubby boy said to the old man.

  With a fierce look, Ray turned to the boy and young girl. “Tommy, Kat, look, he is wearing a military uniform, and he needs our help!” Ray told them.

  Kat approached Ray. “Granddad, he could be dangerous!” she told him.

  Ray smiled. “Yes, he could be. He could be a killer, but I see a warrior,” He told Kat.

  Kat turned to Tommy and told him, “You drive; we will help this guy!”

  Shaking his head, Tommy did what he was told.

  Ray and Kat removed Jack’s gun and machete as a precaution.

  “Look, he is a Lance-Corporal,” Ray told Kat when he noticed an insignia on his vest.

  Ray quickly found the wounds on Jacks stomach and leg. “Take his boots off,” Ray told Kat.

  Ray pulled off Jack’s vest and shirt, before removing his trousers.

  “Oh my God!” Ray said in shock.

  “WHAT!” Kat reacted in fear.

  “He cauterized his own wounds! He has to be one tough bastard!” Ray replied.

  Looking at Jack’s skin color, he knew Jack had lost far too much blood, examining the wounds he could see infection had already set in.

  “Kat, go to the cabinet and bring the pouches of fluid and the blood kit,” he asked her.

  Without hesitation she did, bringing them back, Ray looked at the pouch of liquid. It was hospital grade antibiotics and fluid, he wasted no time in getting them attached to Jack.

  Kat held up the blood kit. “He needs blood?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  Ray gave a small frown and smile.

  Kat sighed, “The joy of having O negative blood!”

  Ray was quick to connect them both up, for the transfusion.

  He kissed his grand-daughter on the forehead, with a proud smile on his face.

  Rolling her eyes, she asked, “Will he make it?”

  Ray shook his head. “I don’t know, he’s lost a lot of blood and has the start of an infection. We’ve done what we can. Now, he has to want to live,” Ray replied.

  For the next
few days, Jack remained unconscious. The three strangers that found him took turns sitting with him, Kat had already begun to like him, and she read him stories from their selection of books. Tommy was unsure about him; he feared that he was dangerous. Ray just looked at him as a soldier needing help.

  As the days passed, Ray became more convinced Jack would die. Standing over him one-night Ray spoke, “Come on fight, you can’t die! We don’t even know your name.”

  More days passed.

  The sun was shining through a window, hitting Jack in the face. He slowly opened his eyes, unaware of where he was, pulling an I.V. drip from his arm. He sat up, feeling stiff and weak, looking across the motor home. No one was on board, the door was open, and Jack forced himself to his feet, stumbling but managed to steady himself. He was only wearing his boxer shorts; his wounds had been bandaged perfectly. With a frown, he approached the open door.

  Jack suddenly heard voice; he heard a girl scream and a man shout, “Take whatever you want, just leave her alone!”

  Shaking his head Jack approached the door, he stepped out into the light, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

  He could see two men holding a blonde girl, a large boy with a bleeding nose on the ground and an old man on his knees begging for the girl’s life.

  Jack looked at the two men; they were dressed in leather with a strange red circle with an M on the front. “Who the fuck is that?” one of them asked.

  “I thought he was dead!” the other one responded.

  Ray looked up to see Jack standing there in nothing more than his underwear.

  “Let the girl go!” Jack said in a rough dry voice.

  “Is this guy a fucking comedian?” one of the men joked.

  One of the men walked towards Jack. He gave out a loud laugh and said, “Shit, you’re nearly dead!”

  As the man laughed Jack stepped forward and thrust his hand up, using the lower palm of his hand, shoving the man’s nose up into his brain, killing him instantly. Jack looked up at the other man who still held the girl.