Fortunes & Failures - 03

by T. W. Brown

  Fortune & Failures

  Dead: Fortune & Failures

  Written by: TW Brown

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  May December Publications LLC

  Dead: Fortunes & Failures

  ©2011 May December Publications LLC

  Split-tree logo a registered trademark of May December Publications LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author or May December Publications LLC.

  * * * * *

  Dedication

  To My Wife

  * * * * *

  Author’s Note:

  As I sit here transcribing my handwritten original to the form you now hold in your hands…I am so humbly honored that you are still here. I had lofty dreams and aspirations when I began this series. (What writer doesn’t?) While I haven’t landed on any Best Sellers list, the support I have received from the core fan base (no matter how small it may be) has been beyond my hopes and expectations. And while I may not have a hundred reviews on Amazon.com, the ones I receive are meaningful to me and push me to keep doing what I do

  This series, DEAD, is now completing its first arc. Book three marks the quarter-way-done mark. I have wrapped up a few loose ends and tried to give a satisfying point for you to set this book down and say, “That was fun!” That said, I have nine more installments in the wings.

  For the zombie fan, I hope that I have created a world that feels real. I hope there are people you love…hate…and love to hate in these pages. I never wanted this to simply be “another zombie story” with all the usual hooks and clichés. In fact, I often find myself writing and come to the realization that nary a zombie has been mentioned for a spell. That is by design.

  So, strap in…this is the end of the first leg of our journey. One that I hope you will find satisfying. For those who have complained that they would like just Steve’s story…or just the Geeks, stay tuned. I am putting together a special edition that takes all three parts and gives them their own book complete with bonus material. Anybody want to know about Garrett’s mother? Or what happened to the Geeks in Pittsburgh? And what ever happened to the friend who called Steve when the whole thing began?

  I have tons of people to thank. However, I usually do so directly. And seriously…how many of you read this looking for the litany of names who helped the writer? Just those he or she thanked most likely. However, there is somebody I truly want to thank. Chances are I have never done so directly. So here it is. Thank you. Yes…you…the person reading this. You are the reason I do this. To make you laugh, cry, or cringe. You, the person reading these words, I thank you with all my heart.

  Call me when it’s over!

  TW Brown

  September 2011

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 – Geek’s Bounty

  Chapter 2 – Home Sweet Home

  Chapter 3 – Vignettes XIII

  Chapter 4 – Geeky Soulmate

  Chapter 5 – Death Knocks

  Chapter 6 – Vignettes XIV

  Chapter 7 – Ménage a Geek

  Chapter 8 – More Good News

  Chapter 9 – Vignettes XV

  Chapter 10 – Geek Power

  Chapter 11 – Win Some…Lose Some

  Chapter 12 – Vignettes XVI

  Chapter 13 – Geek Tragedy

  Chapter 14 – Problems Solved

  Chapter 15 – Vignettes XVII

  Chapter 16 – Geek Delivery

  Chapter 17 – “We are Gathered…”

  Chapter 18 – Vignettes XVIII

  * * * * *

  1

  Geek’s Bounty

  Almost a week had passed. Kevin had stopped being able to smell either Heather or himself a few days ago. Still, there was enough intermittent noise down below and outside to keep him from daring to venture from this dark, stuffy attic that they’d taken refuge in. The only thing he was certain of at this point was that Shaw and his men were gone.

  For perhaps the thousandth time, he gave serious consideration to the shotgun sitting within reach. He’d do Heather first, then shove the barrel against the roof of his mouth. He didn’t want to leave the slightest possibility that he might merely cause serious damage. He wanted to make sure that there wasn’t enough to identify him using dental records; not that there were any dentists around anymore.

  No, sir, Kevin thought, if it comes to it, I want to be VERY dead.

  He shook the bottle leaning against his thigh. They would be out of water by tomorrow, even with the strictest rationing. Yesterday he’d heard it raining. Never was he more thankful for the darkness. It wouldn’t do his ego any good to have Heather see him cry. Now he was starting to hallucinate, because he was almost certain that he’d been drawn from his restless dreams by a female voice.

  “Heather,” he whispered. No response. That was actually a relief. He could feel his guts churning and knew that things were about to become…unpleasant.

  He could bear-crawl to the far corner that they’d designated as the toilet area. He would be able to take care of his nasty business in semi-private. Then, perhaps he might even risk taking a peek through the hatch that led to the office below.

  As carefully and as quietly as possible, he made his way to the far corner. His body did things…made sounds and released smells that mortified him to the core. Once he was finished, he tore off a few strips from the shirt they’d chosen to use as toilet paper. The only thing that he felt good about at the moment was that he hadn’t puked this time.

  Crawling over to the trap door, Kevin took a breath to steady his nerves and then pulled the square hatch up. He looked down into the debris-strewn cooridor. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the change in light. It didn’t appear that too many zombies had made it up the stairwell that led from the bank’s lobby to the business offices above where they’d fled.

  He’d gone down a few times to look around and never managed to venture farther than halfway down the stairs before retreating. He didn’t need to see. The moans and wheezes of the undead told him all he needed to know. They were in the open bank lobby in numbers too great for him and Heather to even consider fighting through. Unfortunately, they were almost out of options. Time had waited out their hand and was ready to collect. The window of opportunity to make a move was now…or never.

  Lowering the knotted rope, Kevin climbed down. His arms burned from even that small effort. It was becoming more difficult each time; further proof that they had to act. They needed food and water. The thought of eating another package of Ramen noodles dry and washing it down with a few swallows of lukewarm water had no appeal.

  One stair at a time, he crept down to the shattered doorway. Fifteen steps, his mind chanted. For the first time, he’d actually made it past the tenth one; only five to go. His hearing was hyper-sensitive and he could make out even the slightest rustle of a dollar bill partially stuck to ther floor by a congealed puddle of dried blood. Or at least he believed he could. Was that the wind blowing through a narrow hole, or a zombie’s dry moan? Was there a cluster of them waiting right behind the door, ready to tear him apart as soon as he stuck his head out?

  Finally, he reached the three-by-three sallyport that the door would open in to. He wouldn’t need to push the d
oor open; there was a huge hole from the shotgun blast that had served as his impromptu master key when they’d escaped into this place. Peeking out, he could actually see a good portion of the bank’s lobby: empty.

  Well…that wasn’t entirely true. The floor was littered with decaying bodies—all partially obscured by clouds of flies. There were bullet holes and shotgun blast patterns everywhere. Dark, chunky stains decorated the walls and floor in Pollack-like designs. There were two bodies in amidst the carnage that looked “fresher” than the rest, most likely Shaw’s men.

  Risking it, Kevin gripped the door by its edge and pushed it open. The enormous tinted windows were gone. There were bodies strewn everywhere, some in actual piles, both inside and outside the gaping holes where the windows had once been. Many of the bodies were burnt to a crisp; the rains long since extinguishing them.

  Slowly, he skirted the edge of the lobby and looked out onto the street. The husk of their SUV sat on blackened rims. The street appeared vacant! Did he dare sneak out and take a look around? The last thing he wanted was for something to happen that would leave Heather alone.

  He stood in the gaping hole and surveyed the ruins. What had life been like here in Newark, Ohio? Were the people friendly? Did they have an annual cookout…comic book, horror, or sci-fi convention?

  The sky was clear, and already it was growing warm. After the rains of the past few days, the humidity was going to be through the roof. He wasn’t too familiar with the weather patterns in these parts, but he’d lived in Columbia, South Carolina for a while and knew full well what to expect. This only increased the need for him to find water.

  Stepping cautiously out onto the glass strewn and corpse littered sidewalk, Kevin took a look both ways up what the sign dangling from beside the stoplight identified as “W Church St”. The cross street remained a mystery since the sign had apparently fallen. Not that it mattered. He crouched and tried his best to stay behind cover as he moved through what looked like a horrific battlezone.

  He reached a bullet-riddled military vehicle. The door to the driver’s side was gone. There were at least five rotting, bloated corpses in or partially in the cab. Something made Kevin move in for a closer look. A man with a bullet hole in his forehead was visible amidst the jumble. It was obvious that this guy had been savaged by the pack of zombies heaped on top of him. Kevin recognized the face: one of Shaw’s men from that terrible night at the RV campground; he still had nightmares about that night.

  From the roof of the combination shower/bathroom, he’d watched helplessly as a pack of goons shot one of his friends, Darrin Goldburn, stole all their stuff, and kidnapped Senator Angela Bergman and her three daughters. The middle daughter, Shari, had been one of those over-processed, no-talent pop stars whose videos were more about her writhing around in next to nothing than about the music. But it was the oldest daughter, Ruth, that snagged Kevin hook, line, and sinker.

  Ruth Bergman had been a lawyer before the world died. After he, Mike Rathers, and Darrin had rescued the Bergman women, he and Ruth had gotten to know each other while she rode in the cab of the U-Haul truck with him. They filled the hours talking about anything and everything. He’d really began to feel a bond growing between them. She was the reason that Kevin convinced Mike to stick around after that encounter with Shaw and his men. Shaw had given them an ultimatum: be gone in twenty-four hours or be killed on sight.

  The past week of hiding in the crawlspace above a bank waiting for death had managed to wipe any dreams of rescuing those women from his mind. The reality of survival was Kevin’s only goal. Besides, he had Heather to think of now. He’d rescued her from a nightmare the day after Darrin’s murder. That was the day he and Mike discovered that being bit wasn’t a death sentence. Heather had been bitten and not turned.

  Only a few weeks past seventeen, she’d come a long way in a short time. The girl was stronger than she gave herself credit. In fact, Heather had returned the favor of her rescue by saving his life barely a week ago.

  Looking around, his eyes rested on the charred façade of what looked like it had once been a restaurant. He didn’t expect to find any food, but perhaps some bottled water. Slinging his shotgun over his shoulder, Kevin picked up a sturdy, black-handled blade from the mélange of discarded or abandoned weapons littering the street. He made a mental note to scour the street later to find some more weapons if time permitted. From the looks of things, Shaw and his men left in a hurry. There was a small treasure in weaponry scattered about…most still appeared useable.

  Stopping in the doorway, Kevin quickly noticed that the fire hadn’t made it very far inside the building. He stepped in and gave his e yes a second to adjust to the gloom. Most of the tables were still set for a dinner rush that never came. Weaving through the dining area, he wished that he’d thought to bring a flashlight. Of course the batteries were on their last leg, but this place had potential.

  He paused in an archway and peered inside. It was too dark to even consider going in, but he could tell that this was the bar or lounge. Since alcohol was not a priority, and getting drunk could be suicidal, he turned back to the dining area proper. It might be nice to have something to take the edge off later, he thought. Maybe later.

  A swinging door with a round portal opened to the kitchen area. Just as he pushed it, something grabbed his ankle. Kevin jumped and tried to spin around at the same time. His other foot caught on something solid, sending him crashing into a nearby stack of wooden highchairs and a stack of blue booster seats.

  Looking down, the upper half of a once-corpulent, bald man clutched Kevin’s booted ankle with both hands. It gnawed impotently on the sturdy steel toe. With his free foot, Kevin kicked the pathetic thing in the face. He felt the nose crunch like a giant beetle under his heel. The thing ignored him, oblivious to the pain. Again Kevin kicked, snapping the thing’s head back. Sitting up, he brought the big knife down, driving it into the crown of the skull, ending the struggle instantly.

  “Fuck,” Kevin gasped and fell onto his back for a moment staring at the heavily cobwebbed light fixture that hung useless just over his head. He fixated on it for a moment. It had five bronze-plated arms, each held an imitation candle. The bulb was in the shape of a tiny flame.

  Pulling himself back to his feet, he went back to the dining area and flipped up all the tablecloths so he could see under each table. That’s more like it, he scolded himself after he was certain that the front of the building was clear.

  Returning to the swinging door that led to the kitchen, he looked through the portal. Seeing nothing, he swung it open cautiously. There were numerous dark and shadowy areas that he would need to be wary of as he explored. Yet, he reasoned, nothing else has come out to investigate so far. He’d made enough racket in that brief struggle to bring out anything that might be lurking. He wouldn’t assume that the place was clear, but the odds were in his favor.

  Besides the assorted grills and prep areas, there were two open but ominously dark rooms on the far side of the kitchen. A row of oblong—perhaps three feet long and a foot high—frosted windows allowed a bit of diffused light to filter in. It was just enough to see by without using the flashlight.

  Walking through the kitchen, the lingering smell of rot clung to the air. He spied the door to what had to be a walk-in refrigerator. There would be absolutely no reason to open that door. He stepped into the arch of the first open storage closet and peeked. There were metal shelves on both sides. Could he truly be this lucky? There were rows and rows of canned goods lining the shelves. Months of struggling ignited an instant sense of skepticism. It was mind-boggling as his eyes drank in labels depicting bright red tomatoes, black olives, and artichoke hearts.

  The second storage room brought tears to his eyes. Cases of San Pelligrino bottled water lined the walls. Cans of coconut milk and a variety of fruit juices—most likely gone bad by now—also took up the space. This was a bounty beyond his wildest expectations. Any moment now, he thought, I will wake up i
n that stinky crawlspace. Almost hesitantly, he pinched himself, unsure if that would work to wake him from a dream or not.

  What he needed was a way to haul all of this stuff from the storage rooms of this restaurant to someplace that he and Heather could set up as secure. Then they could pick through everything at their leisure.He recalled seeing a large military truck on the way in just a few blocks away. They’d passed it when they were trying to evade the pursuit of Shaw and his band of maniacs. If his memeory served, it looked to be in good shape. The only concern would be if the battery still held a charge.

  Grabbing a few bottles of the water and a can of tomato juice, Kevin returned to the swinging door. The dining room was still blessedly empty of the walking dead. Pushing the door he exited the kitchen with just a slight pang of regret.

  The street looked to be clear. He stepped out into the blinding light of the sun and blinked to allow his eyes time to adjust. Even in the short time he’d been inside, the temperature and humidity had climbed noticeably. He scurried up the sidewalk, eyes darting every direction, ears straining to hear the slightest of sounds.

  He ducked into the bank and quickly climbed the stairs; the dark square in the ceiling with the knotted line dangling exactly as he’d left it. His only problem was how to climb up while holding the can of tomato juice. He’d stuffed the water into his pockets, but the can proved to be awkward. He set it on the floor and gave it one final wistful glance before climbing. That task almost proved to be beyond his ability. He’d lost a lot of strength the past few days.

  “Kevin?” a voice hissed, followed by the ratcheting sound of a pump-action shotgun being jacked.