Dead State Box Set [0-5]

by Shupert, Derek

  I slow my pace, eventually coming to a halt.

  Dawson moves to my side. “Do you think he actually did it?”

  I place my hands on my knees, panting. My head dangling toward the ground. Duke’s by my side, his breathing labored as well. I shake my head gingerly. “I don’t know.”

  I glance back the way we came. The moans and sounds of the chasers roll over the terrain like brutal waves of terror. I hope Tony’s at peace now.

  “Dude, I know that sucked and all, but we need to keep moving. Those things are probably right on our heels,” he cautions.

  I’ve never understood how Dawson can just push his feelings to the side, and not let it get to him. I’m trying, but it’s so hard to just bury it deep and move on. It almost seems like we’ve got one foot in the grave at all times now.

  Depressing? Perhaps, but that’s the way the world is now. Dark and grim.

  Duke nudges my hand. His head slides under my palm as he awaits his loving pat. I bend down and give him a hug. The report of a gunshot cracks through the air, followed by a thud directly behind me.

  I whirl around, finding a chaser lying face first in the grass mere inches from my boots. The back of its head has a gaping hole. The blades of grass are painted in a thick red.

  Dawson lowers the rifle. “There’s more coming, James.”

  My wake-up call. Kick in the ass if I ever needed one. Dealing with the turmoil I’m suffering with will have to wait. I can’t let it bog me down. Not now.

  “You good, bro?” Dawson asks.

  “Yeah, man. I think I’m good to go,” I say.

  Dawson reaches out his hand to me. I take it willingly and get up. The wounds on my legs still burn and sting, but I ignore the nagging pain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  The day wears on. The temperature feels as though it drops a degree with every step we take. The wind picks up, slicing through my dirty clothes and nipping at my flesh. I cross my arms and lace them across my chest in hopes of keeping warm. It does little to fend off the stinging bite of the cold.

  “How far have we gone?” I ask Dawson.

  “I can’t tell. Feels like we’ve been walking for hours, though,” Dawson responds.

  Trudging through the dense woods, in unfamiliar territory, has made it hard to tell if we’re even heading in the right direction.

  Dawson’s been leading the way using the compass his father gave to him last year. At the time, he said he’d never have a use for it, seeing as he hardly ever went out on an adventure. To be honest, I never thought to ask if he even knew how to use it.

  Dawson pauses. He holds the compass up in front of him, and moves it to the left, then the right.

  “Your dad showed you how to use that, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did, person of little faith.” Dawson lowers it and closes the lid. “I finally figured out that we were heading in the wrong direction about an hour ago and changed course.”

  “What?” I snap.

  Dawson snickers. “Just kidding, James. Just wanted to ruffle your feathers again. Sometimes you make it too easy, bro.”

  “Not cool, man. Not cool at all.” I grouse.

  Duke’s nose is glued to the ground as he sniffs about. He darts in and out of bushes, looking for who knows what.

  So far, we haven’t seen any more chasers, but that does little to stay my nerves. Just in the short time we’ve been walking, I thought I saw a number of them. Hiding in the trees, laying low in the bushes. Ready to strike and devour us. Thank goodness, it has only been a figment of my imagination, or perhaps it’s my body’s way of keeping me sharp.

  “Do you hear that?” Dawson freezes. His head tilts to the side slightly.

  I stop and listen. It’s dead silent. I’m not picking up unusual noises, which makes me wonder what he heard. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Come on!” Dawson dashes off to the right and down a small embankment.

  “Dude, wait up.” I trail after him. Duke stays by my side as we sprint through the swaying grass.

  Dawson’s not letting up, running as though his life depends on it. “Almost there, man. I can hear it more clearly now.”

  “Hear what?” I yell.

  Dawson disappears behind a thicket of trees. I’m still unable to hear whatever it is that has him so excited. We make the bend, and I find him on his knees next to a steady flowing stream.

  Winded, the palms of my hands resting on my knees, I ask, “Water? This is what you heard?”

  Dawson cups his hands together. He submerges them into the stream and brings the water to his mouth. He sucks it down. Beads of the liquid race down his mouth and drip from his chin.

  He nods and swipes his arm across his mouth. “Yeah. Wasn’t sure if I was hearing things or not. Glad I was right.”

  I step to the bank’s edge and look over the water. “Does it taste all right?”

  “It tastes like it’s better than nothing,” Dawson replies as he gulps down another mouthful. “Do we still have a canteen?”

  “Let me check.” I remove the pack from my back and open it up. I can’t remember what’s inside. I dig around for a few seconds only to find nothing of use. “I got nothing.”

  Dawson pats the grass next to him.

  “Oh, well. Guess we better get our fill while we can. Take a load off, brother.”

  I plop down next to Duke who’s still going to town. His tongue laps at the water, his fur under his chin becoming soaked.

  He pauses for a brief moment and glances at me. He leans in and licks me across the face. Generally, I would push his head away, not wanting his spit and whatever else on me, but I take his loving gesture with open arms.

  Dawson points to our left. “So, I figure if we follow this up stream, then it should get us back on track.”

  “How do you figure?” I ask, finally stopping Duke from tonguing me to death.

  “When we were being taken to hillbilly haven, they followed this stream. It’s not too much farther before we get to where we were,” Dawson informs.

  “Wow, I’m impressed. Why couldn’t you pay attention like that when we were in Ms. Johnson’s science class?” I ask half-jokingly.

  Dawson holds up two of his fingers. “Two reasons, my friend. One, she was boring as hell. Two, there were too many hot girls in our class that drew my attention. So, to be fair, it really wasn’t my fault at all. It was the school’s.”

  I try to contain myself, but bust out laughing from Dawson’s ever so predictable response. He tries to hold on to some serious expression, but quickly waivers. We get a good chuckle in.

  “You are right about that. Ms. Johnson had all the hot girls in her class. It was about the best part of going there,” I say.

  “Hey, I was just thinking. Not sure why, but do you think Kimberly’s a chaser or not?” Dawson asks.

  My face crinkles in confusion. “I don’t know. What brought that up?”

  Dawson shrugs. “Just wondering if she is a chaser, if she is still hot.”

  “Probably not, man. Have you not been paying attention to those things? Looks seem to fly out the door once you’ve turned,” I respond.

  “So, does that mean if you came across her and she was in mid transformation, you wouldn’t make out with her?” Dawson looks at me with a stare that has me baffled. He looks serious, and yet he is smiling at the same time. Not sure what he’s getting at here.

  “I don’t know, man. Depends.”

  “Damn. Dude, that is gross. I know you like that chick, but dang, that is pretty bad,” Dawson chuckles.

  “I said depends, butthead.” I punch him in the arm. It’s actually kind of nice having my mind diverted from the current dead state we are trudging through, but a big part of me is still riddled with so much guilt and hurt that it feels wrong to being doing such things. “Can I ask you something?”

  Dawson swipes his arm across his mouth, wiping away the water dripping from his chin.

  “Sure, bro.”
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  “Do you think it’s wrong for us to be talking the way we are? As if nothing is wrong and people haven’t died?”

  Dawson takes a moment and mulls over my question. His brow furrows as his right hand fetches an itch on the back of his neck.

  “To be honest, man, I don’t know. I’m just trying to cope with everything the best way I can. Is it wrong? Maybe, but sometimes to keep from crying and breaking down you need to inject some humor. It may be a dick move, but I don’t know how else to process it all. We are out of our depth here.”

  I nod in response. In some small, weird Dawson way, what he said kind of makes sense. This whole event has completely obliterated my world, and I’m lost to know how to deal with the feelings tearing at my insides. For now, we need to remain as sharp as we can. Our lives depend on it.

  We sit there for a few more minutes, talking and cutting up while I splash some water on my face. The water is frigid, but the coldness on my skin does much to keep me alert.

  I clean the wounds on my legs. They still look gross, but the water washes away the dirt and dried blood. After all, they don’t look as bad as I had guessed they would.

  “Closest thing to a shower we’ve had in days, huh?” Dawson splashes water on his face and head.

  “Not really. Remember that crossing we had to do? It was a quick, cold dunk. Although, this has been a little more refreshing. At least we aren’t currently being chased by those things and get to enjoy this some.”

  Duke pauses from drinking any more water. His ears perk up. His head rotates back, and he looks in the direction we just came from. He’s frozen, eyes peeled dead ahead. His body becomes tense.

  Dawson huffs. He rolls his eyes. “Well, that was nice while it lasted.”

  “It could just be some animals or whatever,” I reply.

  Whom am I kidding?

  The disturbance grows louder, coming closer with every second we sit here.

  Dawson gets to his feet. He gives me a hand up. Duke tries to charge the rustling noise, but I stop him.

  “No, boy. Stay with us,” I command.

  Duke barks once, followed up with a growl. He tugs a few more times, but ultimately complies with my command.

  We head off in the opposite direction, quickly moving up stream and away from the disturbance. I keep peering back over my shoulder to see if we’re being pursued, but find nothing in our wake.

  “I don’t see anything back there. Like I said, could’ve been an animal or something making all that racket,” Dawson says.

  “Did you really want to take that chance?” I inquire while glancing over at him.

  “Not really. I’m good with leaving it a mystery.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  The day wears on, which feels like an endless loop of us trudging through the woods. The sun fades behind the thick clouds rolling in just to the east of us.

  We continue upstream, passing where we were and getting back on track. I’m surprised that we’ve kept the pace we have. We haven’t had much in the way of sound sleep, and a full meal has eluded us since this whole thing started.

  Chatter has been null. Not sure if it’s because we’re both tired or the day’s events are wearing on us. With the stillness of the forest invading my mind, I start to think of Mom and Cindy. I know my phone is probably dead, but I still want to look.

  Wrestling it out of my pocket, I notice it looks rough. The corners are all beaten up. The screen has a nice crack running right down the middle. I don’t see any point in getting mad or upset, considering what I’ve put it through. Even if the battery isn’t completely drained, the damage alone is probably enough to keep it from working.

  I hold the power button on the side for a few seconds. To my surprise, the broken screen comes to life. I didn’t think it would, but I’m glad it did. It boots up and splashes the manufacturer’s logo across the screen. A warning message appears.

  You have 1% battery life remaining. Connect to charger now.

  The screen goes blank, along with any hopes of hearing from my family. I don’t see any reason in continuing lugging this thing around. I might as well just chuck it in the woods, but I don’t. I slip the paperweight back into my pocket.

  Breaking it into a million tiny pieces would only soothe my anger and frustration for a short bit. It’s the only thing I have now that is tethering me to my family, whether they be dead or not.

  “Everything ok?” Dawson asks.

  “Yeah, why?” I flatly retort.

  Dawson pushes a low-lying branch out of his way as he walks under it. “I heard you sigh like you sometimes do when you are really stressed or aggravated.”

  I groan. “It’s nothing. Just my phone is cracked, and the battery is completely drained now.”

  “Don’t sweat it, bro. If we keep hitting it at the pace we’re going, we should be to that cabin in no time,” Dawson reassures.

  I was so caught up in my self-loathing that I didn’t realize where we were. Looking about, I quickly remember the times Dad and I came out here to hunt while Mom and Cindy hung back at the cabin.

  We would venture well beyond what Mom was comfortable with. It always made her worry, but she wouldn’t say anything. Dad told her he didn’t want her coddling me too much, and that it was good for me. There was normally some good game around these parts too.

  My stomach growls. “Are you hungry?”

  “Heck yeah, dude,” Dawson exclaims. “I’ve been starving for the past few days. Just haven’t said anything.”

  “Let’s find a place to hole up for the night. We’ll see if we can catch something to eat,” I suggest.

  “My hunting skills aren’t as good as yours. Just not my thing, bro. If it’s not deep fried and in a bucket, then I’m pretty much screwed.”

  “It won’t be up to par with Colonel Sanders, that’s for sure,” I add.

  Dawson shrugs.

  “At this point, as long as it’s cooked and edible, then I’m good. Hell, it might not even need to be cooked.”

  We hold up for a moment, so we can survey the land for a place to make camp. Dad and I never stayed in these parts of the woods. I do recall a few areas that looked like they’d provide a good place for us to hole up for a bit.

  “Over there.” I point at a thick group of trees that’s layered with bushes and other foliage. “Let’s check that out and see if it’ll work.”

  Duke decides he’s going to take point. He stays a few steps ahead of us as we work our way over. I remove the Remington from my shoulder. Dawson pulls out his pistol as we near the site.

  We pause at the outer rim of the thick, prickly bushes, trying to see what it looks like on the inside. With the clouds seemingly following us, and keeping us in a constant state of gray overtone, it’s difficult to tell what’s lurking within. Looking it over, I find a narrow, almost hidden path that snakes inside.

  I bend down and rub Duke’s head. “Ok, boy. Go in there and check it out.”

  Wagging his dingy, yellow tail, Duke disappears into the thicket of bushes while Dawson and I wait anxiously by.

  Shocked, Dawson says, “Wow, man, you let him go by himself. I’m impressed.”

  “Ha ha,” I reply with a sarcastic expression.

  I bend down and look through the narrow opening, trying to get eyes on him. It’s quiet, except for the occasional rustling from what I can only assume is Duke. I’ve got the Remington lying across my legs. My finger rests against the trigger.

  Bark! Bark!

  Springing to my feet, I bring the Remington up and train it dead ahead. Dawson does the same. It sounds like he found something, but I can’t see what’s going on.

  “Duke!” I call out.

  “Dude, what do you think he found?” Dawson inquires.

  “Not sure, but be ready,” I advise.

  Patiently waiting, the disturbance comes for us. It rips through the bushes with a violent jostle. We back up quickly, holding fire for fear of hitting Duke.

 
“Duke!” I call once more, hoping for another bark or something.

  The noise suddenly stops. We hold steady. I still see nothing, not even Duke. I try to find his yellow coat among the vibrant vegetation.

  Did a chaser get him? I don’t know, and it’s killing me not hearing him.

  I take a step forward. Duke bursts from the bushes with something clutched in his mouth as he runs up to me.

  Dawson shudders from the sudden emergence. “Jesus, Duke!”

  Duke drops a rabbit at my feet and brushes up against me before jetting off in the opposite direction.

  I shoulder the Remington, and grab the rabbit by the ears. “Looks like dinner is served. Hungry?”

  Dawson lowers his weapon, and makes a slightly disgusted face. “Not particularly what I was wanting to eat, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “True. Not sure what you thought we were going to have.” I point out past the trees. “You want to gather up some firewood while I prepare this?”

  “Dude, that was a given. There was no way I was going to de-gut or whatever you call it,” Dawson says with revulsion. “Are we still going in there?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Duke didn’t find anything except for dinner. So, I’m good with that.”

  “All right. Guess I’ll get the wood, then. Be back shortly.”

  I glance up through the canopy of trees. “I would hurry. It’s getting dark quickly, and we probably want to get a fire going.”

  “Roger that.”

  Dawson heads off through some trees as Duke rushes back to me. He sniffs the rabbit. He wags his tail, and his ears fold back. I know he’s probably just as hungry as we are. Having that animal in his mouth was just a big tease to him.

  “Come on, boy, let’s go fix this up.”

  Bark! Duke leads the way through the bushes. I follow behind on my hands and knees. It’s a tight fit, but I manage. I keep the rabbit in front of me, and away from the sharp ends of the branches.

  I emerge and stand up. The area seems pretty well enclosed. There’s a narrow opening that heads off to the left through a maze of mounded rocks. I’m not sure where it leads to, and at the moment, I’m more concerned with getting this rabbit ready for roasting.