Dead State Box Set [0-5]

by Shupert, Derek

“Whenever you’re ready, James.” He rests his head to the side of the cab.

  I got this.

  I place my foot on the brake, and grab the gearshift on the column. I push it toward the floor, and shift the truck into drive.

  My foot switches over to the gas pedal as the truck begins to roll forward. With a ginger, but stern touch, I apply pressure to the gas.

  I move out into the center of the highway. The truck slowly starts to gain speed as I adjust my weight. My hands stay firm at ten and two. Dad would be proud of me. Mom would probably be beside herself.

  Forty.

  Fifty.

  The truck reaches fifty-five before Lucas interjects.

  “Keep it around there. That’s a good cruising speed for you. Let me know if you need anything.” Lucas lowers his hat down just below his brow. He closes his eyes, and tucks his arms across his chest. “Oh, James, one more thing.”

  I keep my attention focused straight ahead. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t kill us, ok?”

  It seems as though I’m not the only one who can dish out a serving of sarcasm. “I’ll do my best. No promises though. This road is kind of slick.”

  The idle banter quickly dies off as Lucas passes out. He must’ve been tired. I’m the captain of the ship now. The man in charge. It’s up to me to make the tough calls. Not sure Lucas would agree with that bold statement, but hey, he agreed to let me drive. That, and he’s asleep.

  It is completely possible that I’m reading too much into such a simple daily task that most people do on autopilot. For me, though, it’s a huge step. A threshold of sorts that I’m scared, yet wanting to cross.

  All the times that Dad wanted me to drive, and I showed such hesitation and lack of confidence, wasn’t because I didn’t think I could do it. I just didn’t want to let him down. But given the insurmountable task that has been laid out before me, I have to man up. I have to own my fear of failure and self-doubt. It’s time to show up, and handle matters as Dad would have.

  Besides, this whole driving thing doesn’t seem so hard. Stay on the road, and don’t hit anything.

  Got it.

  Our course is relatively easy to navigate too, which helps out tremendously. Stay on Highway 20, then cut over to Interstate 5. That’ll lead us to the safe zone. I don’t plan on driving that far, though. Just long enough for Lucas to get some sleep, so he’ll be a bit more alert.

  About the only aspect of traversing a post-apocalyptic world that draws concern from me, are the number of abandoned cars that plague the roads. Fortunately, Highway 20 is not as traveled a road as Interstate 5. So, the number of vehicles that sit dormant on the roads are few. Still, there are some.

  As we pass by, I slow down, and try to guess what happened. Not that it’s too hard to tell. Some have busted windows, others have flat tires. Most, if not all, tell a grisly tale of a painful demise.

  Blood.

  Bodies.

  And at times, chaser’s feasting upon their lifeless corpses.

  I cast a morbidly disgusted glance at the decrepit souls devouring their prey. They pay us no mind as they slurp up the moist, meaty strands of flesh. The chasers are knee deep in their victims—a mushed pile of tattered clothing and human remains. The victim’s faces are frozen in a moment of pure terror and suffering before what life remained was ripped from their bodies by the vile demons.

  The chasers’ hands are a bloody mess. Some get to their feet, and stare as we pass by. I imagine what little brain activity remains calculates if we are worth leaving their present meal for or not.

  My face contorts in disgust. My stomach turns over. But still, I want to see the carnage. Perhaps it’s my subconscious keeping me focused and my guard up. Not that I would ever let it slip, but still, it’s good to be reminded regularly just how dangerous the world is now.

  The damp road has all but run dry. The sun has forced its way through the dense clouds. The fog that plagued a portion of our trek has vanished.

  I settle into this whole driving thing. My nerves lessen. My confidence has blossomed to the point where I feel as though I have been doing it forever.

  Lucas is still sound asleep, his mouth gaped open. A deep exhale of air filters out through his mouth as his chest expands.

  Duke places his head on top of the bench seat. He stares at me with those big eyes and groans. He needs some loving, and probably some space to stretch his legs and relieve himself. I reach back and rub him for a second to calm his nerves.

  “I know, boy. We’ll stop here in a bit, and let you handle your business.”

  He grumbles some sort of dog mutter, then tries to lick my face. I lean away from him, moving closer to the driver’s side door. He gives pursuit with his tongue. I remove my attention from the road for a split second to push him away.

  Lucas starts to come to. He rubs his hands over his face and lifts his hat back up onto his head. He sits up straight. His face is thick with sleep, but he sounds as though he didn’t fall into a deep slumber.

  “How are you doing over... watch out!” Lucas shouts, and points out of the windshield.

  My attention snaps back to the road. It has only been diverted for a few seconds. A chaser is rushing headlong at us in the middle of the highway. I jerk the steering wheel hard to the right.

  The tires squeal.

  The back end of the truck wants to fishtail.

  I’m losing control of a situation that I thought I had conquered. I am, in fact, the captain of this ship.

  Duke barks.

  Lucas gasps as he reaches over and fights with the steering wheel.

  The chaser doesn’t alter his course. His brain doesn’t register danger. It’s only seeking out the strange noise with the hopes that there might be something to quench its hunger.

  I hold my breath as the driver’s side of the truck smashes into the chaser’s bulk. He hits with a dense thud. His head busts through the window. Tiny shards of the fragmented glass rain inside the cab. His crippled frame disappears from sight.

  We dart across the highway like a bat out of hell. My foot frantically searches for the brake as we make for the ditch. We’re on a collision course with an abandoned hatchback.

  I mash the brake as hard as I can. The truck’s tires seize up, but it’s too late. We collide with the rear of the vehicle.

  The sound of tortured and groaning metal creates a horrifying crescendo. My seatbelt holds my body in place as my head is thrown forward. The steering wheel explodes like a shotgun blast. A brief puff of smoke is followed by the airbag being deployed.

  Within that split second, my youthful, fragile life flashes before me as the world around me goes black.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Smoke fills my lungs, and rips me from my unconscious slumber. I cough. I hack on the fumes that emit out from the engine.

  My eyes wearily crack open. I blink. They burn with an irritating sensation that causes tears to flow freely. I squint hard, trying to relieve the stinging.

  The left side of my face is fixed to the airbag. Smoke filters into the cab through the vents on the dash. A cool, crisp breeze flows through the busted window next to me.

  I’m disoriented. My head swells with confusion, and a throbbing headache, but at least I’m alive. Every inch of my body aches. The seatbelt has done its job, though, and held me in place. For now, I’m still among the living.

  I lean back to the bench seat from my slumped over posture. I bring my hands up to my face, and dig the heel of my palms inside each socket as my dizziness wanes.

  I catch sight of the rearview mirror. Blood trickles down from the top right portion of my scalp. I grimace. My fingers probe the wound gently as I clench my teeth. As far as I can tell, it’s not as bad as it seems. It’s sore to the touch, but appears to be only a minor flesh wound.

  I don’t hear Duke in the back, or see Lucas in the seat next to me. His door is slung open. Blood is smeared on the dash and trails out through the opening of the truck.

&n
bsp; “Duke? Lucas?” Just the hissing of the busted engine answers me back. “Duke, come here, boy.”

  The seatbelt is snug. Locked into place. I can’t move from the restriction it has placed on me. I try to twist and peer over the seat into the back, but can’t.

  A part of me panics. Is Duke dead in the back seat? Did Lucas ditch me and flee, or did a chaser get a hold of him?

  Questions flood my fragmented thoughts. I can’t think clearly, or rationalize my downward descent into sheer, unhinged trepidation. One thing I do know is that I have to get loose from this seatbelt. I have to get out of this truck, then I can sort things out.

  The latch on the buckle that holds the seatbelt in place won’t respond. I pull and tug on it, trying to release the latch. It’s pressed in, but still, I’m a captive of the truck.

  My agitation amplifies. Anger surges. Lips press firmly together as my blood boils. I grab the strap, and pull with all my might. Not only is it me against the world, but now I have this stupid truck to contend with as well.

  Something touches my left shoulder. My head whips about. A chaser stands just beyond the door. From the look of his bloodied and contorted face, it’s the one who met a painful demise by our hand. Or so I thought.

  His chest heaves. His eyes are deadlocked on mine. His teeth grind against one another as he comes for me. I close my eyes, and brace myself for the violent end I know is coming.

  “No!” I cry out. My hands push and shove. I do everything I can to thwart the demon’s advances.

  “James, are you ok?” a voice calls out to me. It sounds faint and distant, like the person is whispering. A restraining hand is placed on my shoulder. I continue my strife. The voice grows louder, like a freight train barreling toward me. “James, you’re ok.”

  I curb my rebellious efforts.

  There are no teeth digging into me. No tearing of my flesh. Just a singular voice beckoning me to respond to them. To discontinue my defensive state.

  My eyes crack open. The tension in my body has my muscles taut and ready. My hands are balled into fists. The knuckles of each hand have turned a milky white.

  No chaser is there, ready to strip me clean of my flesh and soul. It’s just Lucas.

  “Breathe, James. It’s just me.” Lucas eases his grip on my shoulder. He nods his head in a reassuring manner.

  My head is still thick with confusion. I’m not sure what’s going on. I take a moment and breathe in and out, trying to clear my mind. The tension that fills my clenched fists lessens, allowing the color to return to them.

  “Wha... where’s Duke?” I grumble.

  “He’s fine. He’s out here next to me.” Lucas glances down toward the ground, then back to me. “He was a little shaken by the accident, but otherwise, he seems to be fine. Are you ok? Everything in working order?”

  I nod, and sit up straight in the seat. The airbag has deflated and hangs lifeless from the exposed steering wheel. My hands go back to the buckle as I struggle to get free.

  “The buckle is jammed. I can’t get it loose.”

  Lucas hushes me. He peers to the left. Then, his head snaps to the right.

  “What is it? Chasers?” I ask.

  “Not sure, but we need to keep moving.” He takes a step back, and opens the door. Duke is right beside him, waiting patiently. He glances up at me. “Sweet Home is roughly a couple miles or so up the road. I figure if we maintain a decent pace, it shouldn’t take much more than an hour to get there.”

  Lucas removes the knife he has secured in its sheath on the side of his hip. He grabs the top portion of the seatbelt that is laced across my chest, pulls it away from me, and slides the blade along the strap.

  The knife slices through the seatbelt with little effort. He reaches for the strand that runs over my lap, and repeats the process. He maneuvers the blade carefully over my leg and under the strap. He twists the blade upward, with the serrated edge resting on the belt. It slices through it easily. I throw the loose strap from my lap and exhale a breath of relief. I’m now free.

  Lucas moves to the door behind me and slings it open. I slowly exit the truck. Duke wags his tail and groans. I drop to one knee, bring him close, and hold him tight. My hands rub his sides as he licks my face repeatedly.

  He’s happy to see me. That never fails. One of the many things that I love about him is his unconditional love. Given what has just transpired, I eat up every lick he offers.

  I knead the crown of his head while my other hand attends to the bottom of his snout.

  “Are you ok, boy?”

  There are no visible injuries that I can spot. He doesn’t walk with any sort of impairment. He is full of life. A part of me wishes I could extract some of the energy. I imagine he’d share it if he could.

  Lucas tosses my go bag to the ground. He then hands me my rifle. “Here, James.”

  I give Duke one last rub, and stand back up. He shakes his thick coat and offers a subtle bark.

  “I know, dude. We’ll be leaving shortly.” I take the rifle from Lucas, scoop up the go bag from the road, and sling it over my right shoulder.

  Lucas continues to quickly sift through the abundance of supplies and gear that he offloaded from the cabin. We won’t be able to take it all. It makes me feel bad about wrecking the truck.

  I stand just beyond the door, biting my bottom lip as I wrestle with any words of apology. “Hey listen, I’m sorry for-“

  Lucas’ hand springs up. He doesn’t look back as he opens a box.

  “It’s ok, James. No apologies are needed.” Lucas is hard to read. He always has that gruff, rigid demeanor, so it makes it difficult to know if he’s mad or not. Unless he actually smiles, it’s always murky water for me to slog through. “Ah, there you are.”

  I crane my neck to see. “What are you hunting down?”

  He pulls two small boxes from the truck and turns toward me. “Here. Do you have any room left in your bag for one of these?”

  A box of ammo for my rifle.

  “Maybe.” I slide the bag free of my shoulder, and pull the zipper around the outer portion. I open it up and peer inside. The pack is already stuffed with the supplies Lucas loaded it down with. There is but a small spot at the top that could possibly accommodate the ammo.

  The angry yowls of the chasers capture our ears. We both pause and listen. My eyes stay glued to Lucas, who shifts his head in the direction of the incoming wails.

  “How far away do you think they are?” I ask.

  “Close enough for us to hear them.” Lucas reaches inside the truck. He retrieves a few bottles of water and stuffs them into another pack. He crams the box of shotgun shells clutched in his free hand into the other pack he is lugging around.

  He steps clear of the door, and slams it shut. He is weighed down with gear on both shoulders. The added bulk doesn’t seem to bog him down any.

  Lucas moves with purpose. His shotgun is clutched tightly in his hands as he walks past me. He doesn’t give the truck or supplies we have to forgo, a second look as he continues walking.

  “You coming?” he calls out.

  I cram the ammo inside the pack with a single shove of my hand. I secure the supplies, and retrieve my rifle that is leaning against the truck. I scramble after him.

  Duke stays by my side. We make it alongside Lucas on the long tree-lined stretch of highway. The chasers’ squalls continue to taunt us. It’s difficult to gauge their position.

  Lucas’ demeanor doesn’t waiver. He doesn’t show any signs of panic or concern about the infected that are seemingly all around us.

  The next hour and a half fly by. We stop and check any vehicles that appear to be in decent shape. No flat tires. Void of any chasers inside. We don’t want to take the chance of having to use our weapons and drawing in anymore that might be close by.

  Any that meet this requirement, Lucas is quick to inspect further. None pan out though, for one reason or another. After the last one, we decide to just bypass the rest and get to Swe
et Home. We’re wasting a lot of time without finding anything of use.

  Conversation is null. Lucas keeps a watchful gaze on the tree line as his shotgun remains at the ready. I imagine he doesn’t want to discharge the loud weapon unless absolutely necessary. The only words he does offer to me are not to fire unless he says so.

  Right now, we have the ability of keeping our presence from the chasers. In an age where noise can be detrimental, silence is golden.

  I have no qualms about holding my tongue. To be fair, I don’t have much to say anyway. All that cooks on my brain is Mom and Cindy. Everything else is repressed. It’s inconsequential.

  Besides, I’m not known for being an overly talkative person. At school. At home. I enjoy my solitude. I thrive in the silence. Some of the best memories I have are being able to hang out with people where we just sat and enjoyed one another’s company. It’s not always about what is said, but what isn’t.

  Lucas raises his arm and balls his fingers into a fist. He comes to a dead stop in the middle of the road.

  I nab Duke’s collar and halt him. “Do you see something?”

  His gaze is fixed directly in front of him. I follow his line of sight to the road sign that has been vandalized. The additional commentary does little to keep me calm. It reads:

  Welcome to Sweet Home. Gateway to the Santiam Playground.

  I couldn’t tell you what Santiam is. But at least it has a playground of sorts.

  The light green sign is spray painted with a dark red circle, that has a diagonal line running from the top left to the bottom right. The color has run down, creating thick lines that look more like blood than paint. At the bottom of the circle are the words: Town gone. Full of chasers.

  “Well, the welcome mat they’ve laid out here doesn’t inspire a bunch of confidence in me.” Duke sits down by my feet. I release my hold from around his collar.

  “I’ve been through this town, but it has been a number of years since the last time. Some nice folks here,” Lucas replies.

  He peers back over his shoulder to the way we just came. The edge of his hand presses to his forehead, right above his brow. He’s deep in thought. I can see the gears twisting and turning inside that head of his. I have a hunch of what he’s contemplating, but I’m not overly sure.