The Reawakening (The Living Dead Trilogy, Book 1)

by Joseph Souza

  “Might as well shoot me because I’m not leaving. Those bastards will lick these bones dry right in front of you.”

  “I’m telling you to back off, fella. Get on your bike, and ride the hell out of here.”

  “Look over there,” Dar said, pointing. “A bunch of them freaks are marching down the driveway. Now be real, Rick. His Harley’s not going anywhere without gas.”

  “In the name of God,” the biker pleaded, falling to his knees. “I’m begging you to let me inside just until I can get some fuel and be on my way.”

  Dar pushed her way past Rick and unlocked the door.

  The man rushed in, tracking snow and mud in with him, and collapsed in one of the chairs. Rick slammed both doors shut, making sure to lock them securely behind him. He turned to the kid, who was now leaning on the edge of the table.

  “Just until you get some gas in that bike of yours and ride safely out of here.”

  “Sure, man.” He turned to Dar. “What’s your name?”

  “Dar.”

  “Thanks for letting me in, Dar.” He held out his hand, but Dar stared at it as if repulsed. “The name’s Thorn.”

  “Do I look like I give a shit?”

  “Sean Thornton’s my real name, but my friends call me Thorn because I’m a real prick to deal with.” He smiled.

  “Now there’s a reassuring thought. I’m so glad to have you on board, Thorn, now that I know you’re a giant prick,” Rick said, stomping around the dining room in frustration.

  “Thanks for saving my ass, Dar.”

  “Don’t thank me, because I honestly couldn’t give two shits about you or the horse you rode in on! You just better carry your weight for as long as you’re here.”

  “Oh, I’ll carry my weight all right. You won’t be disappointed, girl.”

  “It’s Dar, shithead, and don’t you forget it.”

  “Wow, not exactly the hero’s welcome I was expecting.”

  “Shut up, kid. You’re lucky my niece let you inside because I wouldn’t have. And remember, I can still kick you out of this house anytime I want and feed you to those land sharks.”

  “Only problem, Rick, is that those dead fuckers like to eat brains,” Dar said, “and I don’t think this guy has any.”

  “Have you know I earned a degree in English Lit from the University of Maine.”

  “Great, show your fancy degree to those creatures out there and see how happy they’ll be that you graduated summa cum laude. Better to chew on that big, fat brain of yours,” Rick said.

  Thorn looked at Dar and laughed. “That dude needs to take a serious chill pill.”

  “Maybe you need to shut the hell up and listen to him. This is his house and his food. He might end up saving your life, asshole,” Dar said.

  “The deed’s already done. You let him in, Dar, and there’s no turning back. As for the rest of you,” Rick said, addressing everyone gathered, “if any of you let another person in this house, it will be at your own expense, and you will forfeit your spot in here. Understood?”

  We all nodded in agreement.

  I studied Thorn. He was in his early twenties with black hair that fell to his shoulders. It seemed to highlight his sharp, angular features and make him look less pretty than he might have been. He was tall, lean, and his long legs were accentuated by knee-high leather riding boots. Stubble sprouted from his baby face, and his blue eyes seemed to radiate in their hollow sockets. He wore clunky silver rings, one of which was a large skull on his middle finger. In his right earlobe dangled a silver loop, and in his other lobe was a white plug. A black leather motorcycle jacket fit snugly over his lean torso and crinkled loudly when he crossed his arms.

  “Everyone needs to be on the lookout from now on,” Rick said, turning to stare out the window. “Another wave of those creatures may be headed this way.”

  “A headshot is the only way to put these maggots down and have them stay down.”

  “Thanks for the information, Bowser. Try telling us something we don’t already know,” Rick said.

  “Just trying to be helpful.”

  “If you want to help, then go grab a rifle and stand ready,” Rick said. “We’ll see how good of a shot you really are.”

  I walked over to the window and counted seven cannibals heading this way, trampling through the freshly fallen snow. None of them were dressed for the weather, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on them. Their nerve endings and organs were most likely dead, so I doubted they felt any pain, although I hoped they hurt like hell. I wanted them to suffer interminably for what they’d done, but deep down I knew they were only a symptom of a larger problem.

  The wanderers staggered past the Harley, paying it no special attention, and approached the house. The falling snow covered their heads and bodies. As soon as they reached us, they began to pound on the siding and windows with their rotted fists. It was a good thing Rick had replaced the old farm windows with this expensive, unbreakable glass. I thought it was crazy when he told me about it, not to mention the cost, but now I was grateful for such detailed preparations. No matter how hard they pounded on the glass, it appeared they could not get inside—I hoped.

  “They must think this place is the Outback Steakhouse,” Thorn said. He walked over to the window, waved his arms in the air, and shouted, “Want a piece of me, shitheads? Come on, and step up to the buffet table so I can blow your skanky asses away.”

  “What did you see out there, son?” Rick asked Thorn.

  “So now it’s son, huh? You were just about to serve me to those cannibals and now we’re on father and son terms. Well, kiss my ass, Dad. Wasn’t for that crazy chick over there, I’d have already been dinner.”

  “For better or worse, we’re stuck here for a while, kid, so we might as well make the best of the situation.”

  “Look, Thorn,” I said, “we’ve all been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. Rick’s wife died yesterday and so did Gunner’s wife, one of the other members of our group.”

  “I didn’t know. My sincere apologies.”

  Rick stared at him for a second before walking away.

  “Gunner’s in the other room with his two children, one of whom is also sick. We’re all stressed out because of what has happened.” I held out my hand. “I’m Thom Swiftley, and you’ve already met my brother, Rick. He owns this farmhouse, so you better be awfully nice to him. And I see that you’ve met my daughter.”

  He shook my hand and stared at me. “Thomas Swiftley? The famous novelist?”

  I nodded, not caring now about fame or celebrity.

  “I read one of your books for a Modern Literature class. The End of Everything Good and Noble. Got an A on that essay. Movie sucked, but the book rocked.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Let’s save the book discussion for later, ladies, shall we? Thorn, tell me what’s going on out there,” Rick said, ignoring his praise about my book.

  Although he wouldn’t admit it, Rick had always been envious of my writing success. In some ways, he felt that the research he did was far more important in the greater scheme of things than my highbrow works of fiction. And truth be told, he was right. But the fact that I’d earned millions from writing these novels highlighted the disparity between our careers. In America, money defined success, and I’d been very successful.

  “These freaks are running all over town, and I barricaded myself inside my house for as long as I could. They were breaking glass and trying to get in from every window. Had one of those satellite dishes, and I was trying to catch the news when it started. Shortly before the dish died, they announced on all the networks that nationwide communications would be shut down. Soon after, my Internet connection shit the bed. Must be chaos out there, with no way of getting a hold of anybody. A rumor had been circulating on CNN that the North Koreans were about to drop the big one on their neighbors to the south.”

  “And then everything died?” Dar asked.

  “Died is a rela
tive term these days,” he said, smiling. “I stayed in my house until these dumb asses showed up and crashed the party. Had my 9mm and was able to take a few out, but no way was I getting them all. They don’t move very fast, which helped me escape. One of them looked like a wolf or something. Hair, fangs, and claws instead of hands. Moved faster than the others, too. Slug in the head slowed that motherfucker down. You got anything to drink here? Maybe a beer?”

  Dar went over to the refrigerator, pulled out a can of beer, and tossed it to him. Then she got one for herself.

  “You’re too young to drink,” I said.

  “You going to try and stop me?”

  I wasn’t.

  “So what did you do next?” Rick asked, ignoring our family drama.

  “Hopped on my bike and hightailed it the fuck out of there. Stopped at the Llewellyn’s homestead a mile down the road and found the old lady’s daughter hunched over her mother and licking her skull clean like it was a bowl of frosting. Popped her in the head once and got back on the road. Crossed over Fiddler’s Ravine and kept driving. Then it started to snow, and I realized I forgot to gas the Harley up yesterday because I hadn’t gone to the bank. Way the white stuff was coming down, forgetting to gas up probably saved my life. Passed a bunch of these retards stumbling in the snow. Saw your lights on in the kitchen and figured I’d check it out and see if any normal people were home. But I got you guys instead.”

  “You were alone in your house?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Who else was with you?”

  “My brother, Brian. He was the reason I didn’t leave this shitty town years ago and move down to Portland. Brian was on disability from the army. Stuck in a wheelchair from one of those Iraqi land mines.” Thorn stared outside.

  “What happened to your brother?” Dar asked.

  A tear dripped from his eye as he swilled his beer. “One of them things got to him while he was sleeping in the other room. I heard him shout, and so I ran inside and saw the crack-head climbing over his body and gnawing at his throat. Popped it in the head. Brian got real sick after the attack and died a few hours later. Soon as I covered him up, he got up and started to walk towards me with that stupid look they give you. His spinal cord must have regenerated or some shit because Brian hadn’t been able to walk since getting shot in Iraq five years ago. I had no choice but to drop him.”

  “Sorry,” Rick said.

  “Know how hard it is to drop your own brother? And this is a guy who put his life on the line to defend this lame-ass country.”

  Thorn sipped his beer as we stared at him in shock. Just then the pounding stopped, and all the fuckers started to back away. I went over to the window and watched them stumble back onto the driveway. Once they reached the grassy area, they began to wander aimlessly around the pasture, searching, yearning, and crying out. Rick held his hand out and apologized to Thorn. He called me over, passed me a rifle, and told me to cover him while he went outside. I clutched the rifle in my hands and waited for his cue.

  Rick unlocked the doors and stepped out. As soon as he did, the creatures turned and began to stagger in his direction. Rick waited until they got closer, took careful aim, and then methodically dropped all seven of them as they headed toward the house.

  “Shit! That’s some damn good shooting, mister,” Thorn said once Rick returned inside. “Where in the world did you learn to shoot like that?”

  “Countless hours of practice,” Rick said, locking the doors. “And two years in the military didn’t hurt either.”

  “I’ve got some skills with a rifle, too. My stepdad used to take me deer hunting every fall. Try hitting a moving target from a hundred yards away.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind the next time we go deer hunting,” Rick said, putting his rifle back in the gun locker. “In a few hours, we’re going to need to go out back and get some wood for the fireplace.”

  Thorn and Dar sat down at the dining room table. I went to the window and watched as maybe a dozen more circled about, blanketed by the snow that was still falling. The sky above appeared cloudy but bright, not one bird to be seen. If not for the corpses littered along the driveway, this scenery would have made a perfect postcard picture. I felt myself shivering. The temperature must have dropped by at least twenty degrees inside the house. A harsh wind blew down from the north and caused the snowdrifts to swirl about. When I looked back down, I realized I could see my own breath.

  I tried to wrap my mind around what Thorn had told us about the state of world affairs. If true, it did not bode well for the security of our nation. Without the ability to communicate, riots would ensue everywhere. Crimes would be rampant and the police would be useless to prevent them from happening. Desperate people did desperate things. Religious groups would most certainly proclaim this moment as the end of times. North Korea dropping a bomb on South Korea would trigger a world war that threatened the extinction of mankind.

  Thorn gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke to Dar, and I could tell that despite her harsh words she was warming up to him.

  I walked into the living room and checked in on Gunner and the kids. Emily lay asleep on the couch. I put my hand to her head, and it felt cool to the touch, which was an indication that her fever had broken. Gunner sat on the floor, his head resting on the edge of the couch and supported by his forearms. Next to him laid Amber, wriggling her arms and legs, and smiling up at me. She giggled when I looked down at her. She put her fingers in her mouth and drooled. She was a cute little thing who I felt extreme sympathy for. I squeezed Gunner’s shoulder and told him to wake up, pointing towards Amber on the floor. He grabbed his bag on the opposite end of the couch, reached inside, and pulled out an orange bottle of baby formula. Circles of discolored skin darkened his eyes, and his face was covered in dark stubble.

  “Thanks, man,” he said in a low voice.

  “Get some shut-eye?”

  “Not much, but I figure I got the rest of eternity to sleep.”

  “True words.”

  I squeezed his shoulder, walked back into the dining room, and poured myself another cup of coffee. The helplessness of our situation left me dispirited and depressed. I worried about my wife and son back home in Boston, frustrated at my inability to do anything. If there was only some way I could contact them and reassure her that we were okay. Or if she could provide me with some reassurance that she and Stephen were safe and sound, and ensconced inside our capacious Back Bay home.

  As beautiful as northern Maine was, I missed the city. But Rick was right. Everything about our lives had flipped upside down on a dime. Disease, violence, and crime threatened to tear apart the delicate fabric that we called society. It truly felt like the end of times.

  Despite my success as a novelist, and despite the piles of money I’d made off all the movies and books, I now realized that Rick had made the right decision by moving up here and building a self-sufficient life for himself and Susan. And now, Dar and I found ourselves’ dependent on his knowledge and supplies for our imminent survival.

  The sound of Rick’s voice broke me out of my train of thought. He stood in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, holding on to the doorframe.

  “Can I talk to you for a moment, Thom?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Come on downstairs, and I’ll show you. I really think you should see this.”

  Chapter 11

  I FOLLOWED RICK DOWN THE LONG flight of stairs and into the basement, which felt like one of those twisted rooms straight out of some B movie about experimental Nazi doctors. Rick pulled out his set of keys and fumbled for the right one. He turned to face me.

  “It’s too late for squeamishness, but brace yourself just in case.”

  “Brace myself for what?” What the hell did he mean? “I’ve already seen her reawaken.”

  “Yeah, but there’s more. Lots more. You’ll see.”

  I said a quick prayer before entering the room.


  Rick switched on the lights. I looked around, averting my eyes from the creature writhing and arcing on the cot. I felt afraid to look at it, unsure of what else I might find. But the raspy grunts and heavy breathing were difficult to ignore, and the rank odor made me want to vomit. I turned my head and gazed at the creature, and was surprised to find it exactly the way we had left it: tied to the cot and struggling furiously to free itself from the vinyl straps holding it down.

  “Notice anything different?” Rick said.

  “Not really, except for that terrible smell.”

  “It does smell bad, I’ll give you that. Smells like a barn on a hot summer day,” he said. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and then handed a pair to me.

  “It smells far worse than that. Like that thing is decomposing. Except it’s not quite dead, or however you want to characterize it.”

  “It’s decomposing all right. Reawakened may be the better way to phrase its conscious state,” he said. “Come over here. I want to show you something amazing.”

  Rick reached down towards the creature’s face. It gnashed its teeth angrily and let out a high-pitched howl.

  “Take it easy now, babe,” Rick whispered to it, holding his hands inches above its head.

  I watched in fascination as he moved his hands past its foaming, greedy mouth and down around the neck. He gently removed the towel over its throat and placed it down on her chest. A thin red line ringed her throat. He brought both hands to either side of her head and pulled it up ever so gently away from its body. To my horror, the head was now completely severed from the trunk, and yet the body seemed to suffer no consequences from the separation. Its fingers, hands, legs and feet still continued to wriggle. What the hell was going on?

  “Isn’t that the craziest thing you’ve ever seen? I’m going to rewrite the laws of microbiology and physics after this is all said and done.”

  “But how is that even possible?”

  “I biopsied the brain. It appears that there is an electromagnetic component to the regeneration process that takes place inside the cerebral cortex, although I still don’t fully understand the physics behind it. But what seems to be happening is that the regeneration of the brain’s cells takes place on a completely different dimension. I’m guessing that this process is somehow related to string theory, which theorizes that there are twenty-six space-time dimensions.”