Dead State Box Set [0-5]

by Shupert, Derek

Shane remains focused on the large, reddish-brown brick building before us. He glances to his left, past the rusted, stationary vehicles that litter the dirt covered lot.

  I skim over the face of the building, looking for a way for us to get in. Or, at the very least, be able to look inside to see if this is in fact the right place. There doesn’t seem to be anything at ground level. I look further to my right, and spot a window just above a large delivery truck that is parked next to the building.

  I nudge Shane with my elbow, then nod toward the window. “Up there. That may give us a vantage point to see what’s inside.”

  Shane peers up to the window briefly. He glances back to his left and nods in agreement. “Sounds good. I’m not seeing anything else down this way. I don’t see any guards or chasers either. I think we’re safe to move.”

  I sprint across the lot to the right, and duck behind a yellow car that has its tires missing. The windows have been busted out. Shards of glass crunch under my boots. I lift up and look through the missing driver side window at the building. Still, no movement.

  Shane’s feet pound the dirt as he approaches me. He lowers down, and pauses briefly before we venture on to the next car. We move carefully among the few cars that are scattered about. There could be eyes watching the perimeter of the structure. So far, there is no visible movement.

  We make for the side of the large truck, trampling over what little grass there is, and take cover along the driver’s side. With our backs pressed to the box-shaped vehicle, we slide toward the rear of the truck and pause. I toe the edge of the vehicle, and cautiously peer around the corner for any surprises that may be waiting for us. It’s clear.

  I swing out, and step in front of the large, roll-up door. Shane moves to my side. We look toward the roof of the truck, and ponder how we’re going to get up there. A single silver handle is fixed off to either side of the door. Beyond that, I don’t see much that would aid in us being able to scale the large vehicle.

  Shane looks to me, and raises his brow as if he’s waiting to hear what my idea is to scale the unruly vehicle. “I’m not seeing an easy way to get up there.”

  I continue looking at the handle, and the thick black steel bumper. It doesn’t look like it’s going to be easy to scale the large, bulky vehicle, but that’s never stopped me before. I’ve climbed trees much larger than this truck and found ways up those dense trunks. It took some thought and ingenuity, but I made it happen.

  “We’ll make it work.”

  Shane walks away, leaving me with my mind deep in plotting out how I’m going to scale this vehicle. I reach for the handle, and pull myself onto the bumper. My head tilts back, and I glance up at the roof.

  Crap. The machete.

  I turn and release the blade. It falls to the dirt below, and hits with a dull clump. I stretch my arm upward, fingers wiggling for the edge of the truck’s roof. I’m still a good seven feet or so away from being able to reach. I crouch and jump upward, but don’t make it too far. I land back on the bumper, and nearly fall off. This isn’t going to work. I’m going to have to go at this a different way.

  I jump to the ground and retrieve the machete. I’m not giving up. There is a way to do this. I take a few steps back and mull over the situation a bit more. I step to my left, and look at the driver’s door. There’s a steep foot side step mounted just below the door. My gaze drifts up to the large mirror fixed to the frame with a dense steel brace. Hmmm.

  An idea gels inside my head. Where there’s a will, there is a way. I don’t want to try this on the driver’s side of the vehicle, though. I’ll be exposed and out in the open. The passenger side would be preferable. We’ll be better hidden between the truck and the exterior of the building. I turn on my heels to locate Shane and find him over by the edge of the building. His left shoulder hugs the brick façade as his head peers around the bend.

  “Psst. Shane!” I call out. “I think I figured out a way for us to get up here.”

  Shane glances back over his shoulder at me as I point to the passenger side of the truck. “You go ahead. I’m going to check this way to see if I can find a way in.”

  Before I have a chance to protest, Shane vanishes around the corner. I growl under my breath, and shake my head. He better not mess this up.

  I don’t waste any more time. I near the passenger side, and carefully look down the tight-fitting space in search of any dangers. Minus the absence of any sunlight striking the shadowy space, it appears to be clear of any threats.

  If I was any bigger, this might pose a challenge. I fit with just enough room on either side of me. My body remains front and centered, and I don’t have to turn sideways to continue on.

  I’m not overly keen on such tight quarters, but stay the uneasiness creeping up my spine. I hear a noise behind me that sounds like footsteps, which stops me cold. I turn about abruptly, and scrape my right arm along the rigid surface of the brick wall. The sleeve of my coat snags on the ends of the bricks, slightly fraying the fabric.

  There’s nothing there.

  “Shane. You there?” I whisper.

  There’s no response. I wait for a moment more, and still get no reply. I bend down and peer under the belly of the truck. I spot nothing lingering under the shadowy depths of the steel undercarriage, or on the other side. Guess I was hearing things. Not finding a chaser crawling my way eases my ransacked mind. Being in such a fight or flight state constantly has me on edge, and at times hearing things that aren’t really there.

  I lift back up, and continue on toward the cab. I keep the machete up and at the ready, just in case there is something close by. I grab the steel brace that the mirror is attached to, place my right boot onto the steel step, and hoist myself up.

  The passenger side window is missing. I glance inside the dirt covered cab and spot a body in the seat close to me. A faint yelp escapes my lips, and I lift the machete in the air without thought, but stay the impulse to attack.

  As far as I can tell, the man appears to be dead. He’s slouched over to the left with his head buried in the driver’s seat. Dried blood is splattered on the dash and floorboard. I can’t see his face clearly from the angle I am looking at him, but he doesn’t twitch or show any signs of life.

  I stand there for a moment, and work out how I’m going to tackle this. I need both of my hands for climbing, so I need to do something with the machete. I don’t want to leave it on the ground, and I surely don’t want to toss it up on top of the roof. The noise that would cause would more than likely draw unwanted attention. That, and I run the risk of it not landing right and falling back down toward me. A gruesome thought. I ultimately decide to secure it between the rifle that is slung across my body and my back.

  I test the strap first. It’s rather tight against me. It should hold long enough for me to get up there. I work it around, and manage to get the machete secured in place. It doesn’t feel as though there is much wiggle room for it to move. Now, back to the task at hand.

  With both hands free, I glance up past the cab toward the roof. I spot a narrow lip that runs along the outer rim of the vehicle’s curved framed. I reach up, and test to see how much I can grip. The ends of my fingers slip into the narrow groove, and take hold. This may work.

  My left arm is not as strong as my right, so it takes a bit more energy for me to pull my bulk up. I strain and grunt. My feet lift up more until I’m on the tips of my toes. My right hand releases from the mirror and shoots up to the narrow gap. I dig deep, and pull up with all my might. I struggle to lift myself up. A stinging bite festers in my arms, the strain on my fingers amplifying the longer I dangle from the edge of the truck. Doing such things as a simple pull up makes one realize either how fit or how out of shape you really are. I’m obviously more of the latter. Still, I fight through the stinging pain invading my muscles.

  I fight my way up the side of the truck, through the narrow gap, and onto the roof of the cab. I lay flat on my back, looking up at the clear blue sky. A couple
deep breaths is all I allow my body to take before I sit up, and get my feet under me.

  I stoop back down, and inch my way toward the large windows. My eyes cut to the left, then the right, making sure there are no wandering gunmen meandering about the grounds. I don’t need to take too much time up here. I’m exposed with no cover to take refuge behind in case someone shows up unannounced.

  My boots toe the edge of the truck. I remain aware of the gap between the truck and building. I don’t want to get careless, and fall to the ground. I stretch my neck, and glance inside the grime-coated windows. It’s hard to see anything clearly, but I do spot people walking about. I squint my eyes, and lower down some to look through a section of the windows that isn’t completely smudged and covered in filth.

  They appear to be carrying rifles tossed over their shoulders. That doesn’t exactly mean this is the place. After all, most, if not all survivors, are more than likely packing some sort of firearm. I need to get a better look. I need to get inside.

  Wait. What is that?

  My eyes tilt down and notice what looks to be a steel walkway running along the wall near me. Another idea percolates in my head. I don’t dwell on the pros and cons. I don’t have much in the way of options here.

  I reach up over my back and retrieve the machete. Holding the blade, I eye the tip, then the window seal. I can’t tell for sure if the window is locked or not. I’m hoping not.

  My arm stretches with the machete’s tip targeting the bottom portion of the window. Fortunately, it’s relatively close. I go slow enough to keep my balance, but quick enough to not waste too much time. The end jabs the glass, then the brick building. I struggle to find that sweet spot in the middle. A few tries and the blade slips into the narrow groove. Now, I just hope its unlocked.

  I softly but firmly work the machete up and down, applying just enough pressure to hopefully pop it free. It doesn’t budge.

  Great.

  There’s no telling how long this building has been neglected. Just from the ragged state the outside is in, I’m guessing a really long time. It’s probably stuck.

  I’m disappointed, but not deterred. I maneuver the blade up and down a bit harder. The window finally moves slightly. Yes. I continue working the blade until the window opens far enough for me to get my fingers under.

  There. That should do it.

  I remove the machete and secure it behind me. I stretch out both arms and grab the bottom of the window. I push forward carefully. There is a bit of resistance, but the window begrudgingly swings out toward me.

  The hinges squeak and pop. I freeze, and check to see if the noise caught anyone’s attention. I lower down some, and stare inside. Mounds of crates and boxes litter the space. I still look to be in the clear. I push the window inward further until there’s enough room for me to slip inside.

  Ok. Here we go.

  I make it a point to not look down. The gap isn’t all that much, but my own fear of falling still tries to mess with me. This isn’t as bad as the rickety rope bridge I traversed on the way to my parents’ cabin, or the plank of wood that I nearly died on back in the little town of Sweet Home, but its still something that could really mess up my day.

  My leg stretches toward the bottom of the metal frame as my fingers reach for the side. They find their grip and hold on. I pull myself inside the building and quietly step down on the metal walkway before me.

  I crouch down and remain still, searching for any curious stares that may have glanced up here. I spot some armed men walking among the crates and boxes. I count only a few at the moment, but there could be more, close by.

  Good. No heads are fixed in my direction. I’m still in the clear. Time to move. I near the edge of the railing before me, and scan over the ground below. Boxes and crates of various sizes lay scattered about the area. Large, industrial type equipment rests along the walls and in the middle of the space. I glance to my right, and find more boxes before my view becomes obstructed by the walkway I’m on.

  A single gunshot rings out, which causes me to freeze. The blast echoes throughout the large structure. I follow the weapon’s discharge toward the front of the building.

  Two armed men dash through the maze of boxes toward the wall on the side I’m on. They yell at someone.

  Hold on. Is that a girl’s voice?

  I turn my head to the right slightly, and train my ear. It sounds like a girl giving them the riot act. I can’t make it out clearly, but it definitely sounds like I’m in the right place. Either way, I need to check it out. If Cassie is down there, I don’t want to waste any more time.

  I remove the machete from behind me, and tell myself to do whatever is needed to get this done. Rescue Cassie and Jenny, if she’s here, and take out anyone who gets in my way. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  I make my way across the metal walkway, and down the rusted steel steps. The soles of my boots play off each step as I quickly make for the floor. I scan the grounds, my ears alert for any subtle noises that may arise. I hit the landing without making any audible noise, and hear the sound of someone heading this way.

  There.

  I make for an opening between a couple of crates to my left that are double stacked and covered in cobwebs. I slip into the tight opening, and slide further in between the wall of wood and brick behind me. The cobwebs stick to my jacket like glue. My skin crawls with the thought of spiders slipping inside my clothes and touching my skin. A shiver slips over me.

  Two guys approach, chattering to each other. I peer through the opening among the two stacks of crates concealing my presence, and listen in.

  “Man, I tell you what. The girls our boss seems to come across are nothing more than high octane gas mixed with hellfire, and rolled into a tight skinny frame,” one of the men says.

  Damn it. I can’t get a good visual of them. I can only see a dark brown coat with a hood, and some black scraggly hair. My head moves about, shifting in any direction or position that may offer me a better look at them.

  “Well, you know better than to mess with the merchandise,” the other man responds. “If he finds out, he’ll kill you for sure. The girls are to be used for trade only. We aren’t supposed to touch them. They don’t fetch the same price if they’re damaged or used. That’s what makes them so valuable. How else are we going to get ammo, weapons, and fuel if the people we trade with don’t like what we have to offer?”

  “We kill ’em, and take what we want. Plus, we’ll still have the girls.” He snickers at the statement. Bastards. “I’ll tell you what, that one we just came across earlier is a fine piece of work for sure. Toned and athletic. Blonde hair and blue eyes. My favorite.”

  Cassie. Listening to the vile men talk about her in such a way boils my blood. I want nothing more than to rush out there right now, and hack their arms and legs from their bodies. Beat them into a pulpy, bloody mess that is filled with clothes and bones. I have to bite my lip, and clench my teeth to refrain from acting upon such primal instinct. It’s beyond hard, but I manage to keep my composure.

  “Yeah, you like them wild for sure,” the other man jokes. “She nearly scratched off your face when we nabbed her from that Humvee. Too bad her friends got away. I would’ve liked to have those keys for that ride. That’s some military grade transport right there.”

  The man, with his back to me and outfitted in the brown coat, takes a step back. I follow suit and move to the left as a bit more of his body comes into view.

  He turns to the side and pats his pants in search of something. “You got any smokes?”

  “Yeah. I got a few left,” the other man replies. “Next time we’re in a store and aren’t in a rush, we need to grab a few more cartons.”

  “Come on. Let’s go outside, and have a smoke. I’m starting to get the shakes. Need my hands steady and my mind focused.”

  The two men finally walk off. I give them a few moments to make sure they’re gone. Their disgusting banter fades to nothing more than a faint whisper.<
br />
  I briefly rethink my plan of attack to include slaughtering all these a-holes where they stand, but I quickly table that thought. I don’t need to bite off more than I can chew. That’s not the goal. Saving Cassie and Jenny is.

  I shimmy through the crack to the other side, and emerge in a small gap between another stack of crates. I keep to the wall and crates, and work my way to the left as stealthily as I can. I don’t pick up anymore chatter.

  Through the openings of the boxes and the equipment, I spot a cage-like enclosure that is outfitted with what looks to be chicken wire. I spot two bodies on the ground, huddled together as they embrace one another. I move my head about, trying to get a clearer view of them.

  I continue to thread my thin frame through the narrow, tight spaces and openings until I get to the left of the enclosure. I stay hidden among the shadows cast by the crates. I inch up a bit further and hold my position. I’m close enough to get a better visual of who is inside.

  I have found Cassie.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Cassie turns her head to the left and looks out through the crates. The girl who is weeping on her shoulder pulls away, and wipes her swollen red eyes.

  “Cassie,” I say in a low, whispered tone. She doesn’t respond. I don’t think she can hear me. “Psst. Cassie.”

  She looks around in circles before glancing back to where I am. I wave my hand at her, so she can see me.

  The rage and anger on her red, swollen face quickly morphs to relief and happiness. A warming smile breaks across her face. She whispers to the other girl who glances my way. She brushes aside the strands of her long black hair that hang in front of her face like a veil. She swipes away the tears that stream from her bloodshot eyes.

  Cassie skootches to the wall and leans back against the brick facade. “James! Oh my gosh. You came!” she whispers with joyful glee to her voice.

  “Of course, I did. I wasn’t going to leave without you.” I make sure to stay somewhat set back within the cover of the crates that are keeping my presence unknown.