Dead State Box Set [0-5]

by Shupert, Derek

  Mack lowers the rifle. He takes one last look before handing it back to me. “I think you’d be better off with a handgun right now. You’ll be able to maneuver with it much easier in close quarters. That, and the report from a handgun will be much quieter than that of your rifle.”

  I take the rifle from Mack, and sling it over my shoulder. “Do you have any extra handguns I can use, then?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I’ll have Cassie get you set up.” He turns toward where Cassie disappeared. “Grab James here a Beretta and a machete as well. We have an extra one of those, right?”

  “I think so. Let me check to make sure,” she calls back.

  I remove the knife that I had clipped to the side of my hip, and show it to Mack. “I’ve got this knife I can use if we can’t discharge our weapons.”

  Mack scans over the blade, then pushes my arm down as to dismiss the thought. “That pig sticker is all well and good, as a last resort, but you need a good slashing weapon. One that you can remove arms and heads with if need be. Quick and efficiently.”

  It seems as though he has done such a thing from the way he describes it to me. Almost as if it were a daily routine that he does without giving it a second thought.

  “Not to rush you or anything, but when do you think we’ll be able to get going?” I inquire.

  Cassie approaches from my right. She wields a machete in one hand and a handgun in the other. A black tactical vest is draped over her right arm that is stuffed with extra magazines. “You had an extra vest in your cabinet. I think it’ll probably be loose on him, but at least he won’t have to worry about finding a place to stuff these extra mags.”

  Mack takes the black padded vest from her. He holds it up next to me and cocks his head slightly to the right. “It’ll be big on him for sure, but it should do as needed. Take your pack off, so we can get this on you.”

  The rifle slips off my shoulder, followed by the weighted pack. I hold my arms out as he places the vest over me. The added bulk presses down on me as he shifts it from side to side. He grabs the bottoms of the vest and pulls them together. He zips it up as far as it will go, which falls right below my throat.

  “How does it feel?” Mack inquires. “You think you can manage with it on?”

  I glance at my chest. The vest engulfs my entire upper body. My arms look like meager branches sticking out from a dense tree trunk.

  “Yeah. It should be good.”

  Cassie hands me the machete as Mack takes the Berretta from her. My fingers wrap around the black leather-bound handle. I move it from side to side, testing its heft.

  The blade is fairly wide but not too long, perhaps a foot or two of scored black steel that has its sharpened edge tainted red with blood. It feels substantial in my small hands. I briefly imagine burying its blade deep into a chaser’s head, stopping it cold before it can kill me or someone I care about.

  Morbid?

  Perhaps. But that’s what helps me get my mind focused and ready for the task before me. Whatever gets in my way will taste the bitter end of death. That is certain.

  Mack holds the handgun in front of me. I lower the blade, and set it down on the ground next to me.

  “You ever fire a handgun before?” he asks.

  I haven’t, but figure it can’t be any more difficult than shooting a rifle. My body is already used to the high-pitched pop. I don’t flinch much at all now when the trigger is pulled, and death is dealt to my target. After every discharge, it only becomes more natural to me.

  “No. My dad only let me shoot a particular stock of the rifles he had,” I respond with a shake of my head. “He was going to teach me about handguns, but never got around to it.”

  Mack ejects the magazine from the bottom of the pistol. He tilts it toward me, and points to the brass bullets loaded inside. Cassie stands off to my right with her arms folded across her chest. She acts as though the quick tutorial being given is a bore.

  “There’s sixteen .45 caliber rounds loaded into each magazine. One is already in the chamber. When you hear it click empty, use your thumb of the firing hand, and press the magazine release button here.” Mack points to a small black lever on the left side of the grip that is just behind the trigger. “You with me so far?”

  I nod.

  Cassie adds her two cents to the expedient lesson being given. “It’s super easy. Once you do it once or twice, it’ll become second nature.”

  Mack points to the pockets on my vest that are loaded with additional ammo. “You’re going to grab a magazine from the vest, and load it into the well. Then load the magazine with the bullets facing the barrel. Guide it into the well, and push up until you hear it click. Once seated, take your free hand, and pull back on the slide sharply until it stops. Then release. This will chamber a round, so you’ll be ready to rock and roll.” He slaps the magazine back into the pistol and hands it to me. “You got it?”

  I take the handgun from him, and hold it in my right hand. “Yeah. Seems simple enough.”

  He places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a single hard pat. “It is. Just remain calm and all. You’ll be fine.” He glances over at Cassie. “You got our packs ready?”

  Cassie unfolds her arms and stands up straight. She peers back over her shoulder and points toward a set of boxes to her right. “Yep. They were already good to go. I grabbed your vest, and made sure we had plenty of magazines and all. Plus, the machetes.”

  He follows her finger, then brings his focus back. “The frag grenades?”

  “I got three sitting by your pack.”

  “Good girl.” Mack walks away with Cassie following close behind. I hold the gun for a few moments longer before stuffing it in the front part of my pants. After all, that’s what most of the people I watched on TV did with the guns they carried.

  I reach down, and retrieve the machete from the wooden floor. Between the two weapons, I seem to favor the blade over the pistol. There is something about it that seems more primal to me. It feels more natural than the pistol, at least at that moment. Granted, we are in the safety of a building away from the chasers, but still, I feel more at home with it. Either way, I’ll use whatever I have at my disposal.

  I glance down at Duke as I strike a pose. I feel as though I look like a badass. In reality, I probably look like a jackass.

  “What do you think, boy?” Duke groans, then hikes up his hind leg to tend to an itch in his private area. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

  Cassie appears out of the corner of my right eye. She has her pack loaded onto her back. I fumble with the blade, and try to save myself the humiliation of actually acting my age in front of her. Not that I think she would mind.

  A smile cuts across her face. She grabs her blonde hair and pulls it back into a ponytail. “You ready to go, Rambo?” She offers a wink, and the hint of a giggle, as she continues toward the landing.

  My face goes flush with embarrassment. I clear the frog that has taken immediate residence inside my throat, and gather myself. “Um, yeah. Of course.”

  Mack passes by and shakes his head. He keeps his eyes on the ground. Not my finest moment by any stretch.

  I scoop up my pack and rifle. Both are slung onto my back and right shoulder. I make sure everything is secure before heading over to them.

  Mack takes point and heads down the rickety sounding staircase first. With each heavy footstep he makes, the slats creak and pop as if they can’t bear his bulk.

  Cassie steps to the side and holds her arm out. “You and Duke should stay in the middle.”

  I pause, and glance her way. “What about you?”

  “I’ll cover our rears.”

  “You can take the middle. Me and Duke can cover us.” Her hanging back doesn’t set well with me.

  She grasps the machete, and twirls the brown wooden handle in the palm of her hand. The way she wields the blade makes it seem as though she is more than comfortable using it. “Don’t worry about me, James. I can take care of myself. Besides
, I wouldn’t want you gawking at my backside and getting distracted. I’d like to survive this.”

  “Oh, lord no. That’s not what I was getting at, at all,” I protest, as once more my face swells with the awkwardness of a shy person. Which I’m not really.

  “Sure, sure.” She snickers, then motions for me to move along.

  I turn sharply around, and make my way down the stairs. Duke stays by my side as we head for the bottom landing. Cassie follows close behind. I refrain from looking back over my shoulder. I can feel her eyes boring into the back of my skull. I don’t know what has me more on edge in that moment, the chasers, or her.

  She steps off to my right as we both ready ourselves for whatever confronts us on the other side.

  Mack has the left side of his head against the door’s scuffed wood grain. He presses his finger to his lips to hush any undue noise. He pushes away and grasps the handle to the door. He carefully cracks it open. His gaze sneaks out between the narrow slit. I crane my neck, and try to sneak a peek for myself, but can’t get past his broad frame.

  He glances back to us and speaks in a low whisper. “Remember. We stick together and move quickly. No talking, and no firearms unless absolutely necessary.”

  Both Cassie and I acknowledge the order with a tilt of our heads.

  He inhales two deep breaths. His fingers reposition themselves over the machete’s brown wooden handle. He opens the door slowly and steps out into the alley.

  Nerves swim in my gut as I follow. Whatever happens from this point forward, I have to be ready for anything.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The silence is the worst part. It grates on my nerves like a chainsaw. I’m almost afraid to breathe for fear the chasers will hear and find us.

  We’ve already crossed paths with a chaser who was ambling down the alleyway in search of its next victim. He looks famished. Nothing but a skeletal frame dipped in a mixture of dirt and dried blood.

  His ribs are visible to the point where you can easily count each one from a distance. His jaw chomps up and down. His teeth chatter rapidly and his hands tremble uncontrollably.

  The sight of the unclothed fiend claws at my stomach. A part of me feels sick from the ungodly mess that is this ravenous, infected soul. But more so, I feel justice is being served to the chasers. Are they going hungry, and dying from lack of human flesh?

  Perhaps.

  Mack tests my theory without me having to speak a single syllable. He holds us up and motions for us to stay silent. He keeps close to the building’s rough brick exterior as he edges his way toward the chaser.

  Slow and steady, he stalks the gaunt man. The prey has now become the predator.

  The chaser’s head twitches at the nothingness that plagues him. His boney fingers fidget in the air. The closer Mack gets, the more the chaser becomes excited. Did the chaser pick up his scent?

  The chaser’s nose tests the air. His teeth chatter with excitement. Mack stays glued to the wall as the chaser’s head twitches from left to right. A hiss of warning escapes his stained, thinly laced lips as he hones in on Mack.

  Duke growls and shifts his body beside me.

  I hold him close with my fingers wrapped over his collar.

  The chaser rushes at Mack, wailing and reaching out for him.

  Mack draws the machete back. He brings the wide blade down at an angle. The sharp edge burrows into the chaser’s upper right shoulder, bringing the enraged man to a grinding halt. Blood pours from the open wound, and races down his naked body.

  His arms flail in the air wildly, fingers searching for the meal before him.

  Mack wrestles the blade from the man’s body. He pushes the chaser back, creating enough space to engage once more. He swings the machete at the man’s neck. The blade slices through the thin sheet of skin with ease. It continues on through his spine.

  A red mist follows the blade as it emerges out the other side. The chaser’s head wobbles about before falling to the ground. Mack shoves the headless demon in the stomach with his boot, knocking him backward into the trash bags that have been piled up.

  Mack kicks the decapitated head out of the way like a soccer ball. He slices down. Blood splatters on the cement.

  He glances at us. “Let’s move.”

  We get our feet under us, and make haste. We keep close to the building’s wall. Mack moves with a cautious step as he nears the edge of the structure. His head pivots from right to left. The closer we get to the highway, the more my nerves take hold.

  I steady my breathing, and stay my tremoring hands as I tighten my grip over the machete’s handle. Duke is ready as well. Just like when we went out hunting, he is poised to do his part. It is ingrained into his DNA now.

  Mack pauses at the opening of the alleyway. He cranes his neck to the left. He leans over slightly and surveys the highway to our right. He carefully takes in the periphery of the town’s storefronts, and open grassy lots as he pivots his head to the left. He leans out, and glances the way we are heading.

  He offers a thumbs up, then motions for us to move.

  Staying low, he darts out onto the sidewalk. Duke, Cassie, and I follow, moving in unison. The only noise we offer is the shifting of our packs bouncing up and down.

  I search the shadows of each storefront we pass by to see what might be lurking within. I imagine there are chasers hidden among all of the tables and other décor as the void of any stimulus keeps them in a catatonic state—another theory of mine that I’m not sure is true or not.

  I spy nothing, but that means little. A few chasers are manageable. Hordes of them would be a much different story.

  Mack has us going at a slight jog. Between the vest, my pack, and the rifle bearing down on me, my lungs start to burn. I wheeze. My legs and back ache with every heavy step I make. Exhaustion saturates my muscles, but I keep pushing on.

  After a few blocks, Mack holds us up in front of a laundry mat. He takes a knee, and peers back over his shoulder. “We’re making good time. How are the two of you holding up?”

  I nod, and offer a thumbs up. My body sucks in air as beads of sweat race down my face.

  Cassie kneels beside me. She brushes her right arm across her forehead as she gives a nod as well.

  “How much further to the auto parts store do we have?” I inquire.

  “About another four blocks or so,” Mack answers.

  Cassie points in the direction we are heading. “I thought I spotted some movement up there. It could’ve been nothing, though.”

  Mack lifts from his kneeled position. He glances out over the highway.

  I turn toward Cassie. “Chasers?”

  She shrugs. “Not sure. It’s hard to tell with all of the crap cluttering the road. Like I said, it could be nothing.”

  Mack turns his attention back to us. He brings up his machete. He slings it hard, sending the large blade end over end past us.

  My head snaps back over my shoulder in panic. The broad end of the blade slices through the air and burrows deep into a chaser’s sternum that is rushing headlong at us down the sidewalk. The sudden blunt impact halts the creature’s forward movement and sends it flat on its back.

  The cracking of bone fills my ears. A brief yowl escapes the man’s dispassionate face. The chaser squirms on the sidewalk—down but not dead. Blood flows from his chest cavity as he fights to get back to his feet.

  Mack rushes over, and frees the machete from the man’s torso. He presses his boot down onto the gash. He brings the blade up and hammers the edge into the man’s head.

  A sickening final wail escapes the chaser’s mouth as his body goes limp. Mack jerks the blade out of the man’s splintered cranium. He turns toward us. The howls of the chasers fill the air.

  We freeze.

  It’s hard to tell where they are coming from. The noise seems to be all around us. Bombarding our ears from every angle possible.

  Worry floods Mack. He motions for us to get up quickly.

  Another chas
er emerges from the corner of the laundry mat in front of us. Tattered rags drape over its pale skin like a demon coming for its victims.

  Duke breaks away from my grasp and rushes at the wailing chaser. Growling and bearing his teeth, he lunges. The two collide.

  The chaser crashes to the sidewalk as Duke tugs and pulls at his right arm. The chaser growls and tries to grab Duke’s coat with his bloodied fingers.

  Duke has the chaser’s arm stretched out as he thrashes his head violently and pulls back. The chaser growls as it catches sight of me racing toward them.

  I spring into action with the machete at the ready. My arm lifts in the air. The blade slices downward with all of the might my body can muster. It strikes the chaser’s forearm, just below the elbow joint. It doesn’t cut all the way through but far enough to make the arm worthless.

  The chaser kicks Duke, breaking the hold he has on the man’s appendage. I hack and cleave at the nearly severed arm as the man struggles to gain his footing.

  Two more hard swings, and the arm is finally gone. Thick, red blood pours from the mangled stump. The chaser kicks and tries to find its footing. Its severed stump presses against the concrete. It bears down on the ghastly wound and pushes up. No discomfort or pain shows in the chaser’s enraged face. His arm continues to function as if the missing appendage is still attached.

  My blade slices across his chest and knocks him hard against the storefront’s large glass window. My mind swirls down the drain of adrenaline pumping hard through my veins. I hack at the chaser until there is nothing left except a pile of butchered flesh.

  In that heated moment, I feel no purging of the hatred I have for the infected. Taking the chaser’s life, as I imagine he has done to so many others, feels like vengeful payback. It is not survival, but personal.

  A hand grabs my shoulder. I whirl around with my machete at the ready.

  Cassie puts her hands up in the air. “Whoa there, killer.”