The Dead Series (Book 2): Dead Is All You Get

by Steven Ramirez

  The doors opened on the waiting room. It was still clean and pleasant, with nice furniture and artificial plants. A chirpy attendant greeted us, young and clean-shaven, wearing a fresh set of scrubs and black clogs.

  “Dr. Fallow has already begun the autopsy,” he said.

  Warnick moved past Holly and me. “We’d like to see him.”

  “I’ll need his permission.”

  When the attendant returned, he used his card key to admit us to a room labeled CONFERENCE ROOM—PRIVATE, which turned out to be the autopsy room. The interior was brightly lit. Four large tables stood in a single row, each with its own sink and surgical equipment. Over each table hung a microphone operated by pedals. Despite the acute presence of Death, the room smelled antiseptic and a little musty. I recognized Dr. Fallow standing at the farthest table, recording an observation.

  As Warnick and I headed towards him, Holly hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” I said, touching her hand.

  “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  “Isaac?” I said, barely containing my excitement.

  Doctor Isaac Fallow was the medical examiner in Tres Marias, as well as a family practice physician. He’d known me my whole life and was my friend. We’d last seen each other when the outbreak started. After we’d witnessed a vicious rampage at the hospital and before the quarantine, he’d taken off for San Francisco to find some answers. I wondered if he’d learned anything.

  Isaac turned to me and smiled. “Dave! Can’t shake your hand—I’m right in the middle of this.”

  “Isaac, this is Warnick. Warnick, Dr. Fallow is a good friend of mine.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Isaac said. “I hope you’re taking good care of my boy here.”

  Warnick smiled. “He’s a handful.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  I tried to see Evie as just another corpse but I couldn’t. Even in death, the authority and the confidence shone through—something her killer couldn’t take away. Then Isaac removed the top half of her skull with an oscillating saw, and the light went out. Now, she was a body on a slab. He proceeded to trace the path of the bullet, which had exited through her forehead. I had seen too much death over these last weeks and months for this to affect me much. But the sweet smell of brain tissue forced me to swallow my gorge.

  Warnick didn’t seem fazed. “Less blood than I thought there’d be.”

  “We froze her body first,” Isaac said. “And I’ve already removed and weighed the fluids.”

  I turned to Holly and found her seated by the door, her head between her legs. I was surprised at her squeamishness, considering she’d dispatched a fair number of draggers herself.

  “Dave, I can’t tell you how happy I am you survived. So you’re working for Black Dragon?”

  “It’s all Warnick’s fault,” I said. “Oh yeah, that’s Holly over there.” She waved weakly from a distance, not bothering to look up.

  “Holly, you’ve got a good man here.”

  “I know,” she said. “I think I’ll wait outside.”

  “So what have we got so far?” Warnick said.

  Isaac carefully separated the folds of the brain with his thumbs and leaned in close.

  “Well, this is clearly a homicide. Judging from the condition of the body, I’m guessing it happened before midnight. There are no bites and no sign of disease. Unfortunately, the soldiers who found her didn’t recover the spent bullet. But from what I can see, it was a fairly large caliber.”

  “How was it done?”

  “I found bruises on both knees, so I think she was forced to the ground. The shooter must have stepped back and fired from between three and four feet away.”

  “So she was executed,” I said.

  “Looks that way.”

  We needed to get more information from Isaac, so rather than return to the command center we decided to hang out in the hospital cafeteria until he was finished. It wasn’t fully operational yet, so we helped ourselves to coffee and semi-stale donuts. It was good to see doctors, nurses and orderlies milling around. One more sign that a normal life might be in reach.

  Ignoring her donut, Holly sipped hot tea and rubbed her temples.

  “Feeling any better?” I said. “Want me to see if I can find some ibuprofen?”

  “No, I’m good. I can’t understand why that affected me so much.”

  “Blame it on the pregnancy,” I said. Then to Warnick, “I’ve been thinking about Evie. Anyone in Black Dragon could’ve killed her. Most of us have large caliber weapons.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “What about the cops?”

  “How do you know that patrol didn’t do it themselves?”

  “Look, we have a record of when they went out. It was early morning. When our guys found her, the body was already covered in blowflies.”

  “What if it was another patrol? Or someone who wasn’t authorized to go out?”

  “Dave, you keep wanting this to be about Black Dragon. You work for us now, remember?”

  “I know, but—”

  “Look, every patrol takes a different sector. This one happened to go down that alley and found her.”

  “Sorry, it’s just that with everything we went through …”

  “I get it. But I really don’t think it was our guys.”

  “So we have no idea who wanted her dead.”

  “No.”

  Holly reached over and ran a hand over my beard. “You need a shave.” Then to Warnick, “What happens to the draggers’ bodies after they’re terminated? We haven’t seen any fire pits since we arrived.”

  “Want me to show you?”

  Warnick took us outside the hospital and around to the rear, where we discovered three huge, grey boxes that resembled shipping containers with chimneys.

  “What the—” I said.

  “Mobile incinerators,” Warnick said. “They’re all over town.”

  I glanced at Holly. “You’re not going to hurl, are you?”

  “Shut up.”

  A forklift moved a pile of dragger bodies towards the incinerators, where soldiers in hazmat suits shoveled them one-by-one into the units. A separate crew removed the ashes from the ash pits and poured them into red hazardous waste bags. Others loaded the bags onto trucks for disposal.

  “What do they do with the ashes?” I said.

  Warnick continued watching the operation. He didn’t seem concerned. “They’re taken to the landfill.”

  Clean and efficient. Pederman was right. Things were getting better.

  We went inside and rode the elevator to the administrator’s office. Holly looked at Warnick. From her expression I could see her little woman at work.

  “Warnick, you said these incinerators are everywhere, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what’s to stop someone from throwing an extra body or two on the pile—say, someone who was executed?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So whoever did this, why didn’t they try to get rid of the evidence?”

  Something was nagging me about Evie’s death—Holly had nailed it. “Remember when we found Yang’s head on a pike in the forest? I still think it was Chavez who left it there.”

  “What does that have to do with this?” Warnick said.

  “Don’t you see? It’s the same thing. Whoever killed Evie wanted us to find her.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a warning.”

  The elevator dinged and we got off.

  We’d been waiting in the hospital administrator’s office only a couple of minutes when Isaac walked in. He took a seat and leaned heavily on the desk, his pale hands folded. He looked tired, with the same weariness that infected us all.

  “So, this is your office now?” I said. “What happened to Dr. Vale?”

  “She left before the quarantine. After what happened with that other patient … I think it broke her. Look, I’ve finished the exam, and it’s as I suspected. Someone shot Evi
e Champagne execution style. It happened sometime during the night but not in the alley. Her body was dumped there later.”

  “So what happens to your report?” Warnick said.

  “I have to file it with the coroner’s office and also send copies to the police department. It’s officially a homicide case.”

  “Isaac, did you find out anything in San Francisco?” I said. “About the outbreak, I mean.”

  “I met with a number of immunologists. They’re the ones who eventually developed the blood test to detect the virus. They’re currently at work on a vaccine.”

  “Any idea how it all got started?” Holly said.

  “No. And the CDC was no help, which continues to puzzle me.”

  “You planning to stick around?” I said.

  “People still need doctors. You bet I’ll be around.”

  We thanked him and left his office. In the parking lot, we climbed into our vehicle. I sat in front with Warnick.

  “I want to go to Old Orchard Road.”

  “Robbin-Sear?”

  “We need to find out what happened.”

  “I’ll agree to it,” Warnick said. “But I want to pick up a couple of extra guys. And more weapons.”

  “Good idea. So, is this going to fly with Pederman?” Warnick responded by giving me the stink-eye.

  Holly touched my shoulder. “What about Griffin? We could be gone a long time.”

  “I can’t let her come with us,” Warnick said. “Too much liability.”

  “But she can kill draggers as well as any of us,” I said.

  “I know, but she’s not permitted to carry a weapon.”

  “I can stay home with her,” Holly said.

  Warnick shook his head. “No. I’ll assign someone to look after her. There’s a female soldier I know.”

  “I want to meet her first.”

  “As soon as we’re back, I’ll send her over to your trailer. You’ll like her. Trust me.”

  A tall African-American woman in her late twenties and wearing a crisp uniform showed up at our door. We’d already explained to Griffin what was happening and—though she was unhappy about the situation—she seemed to accept it.

  “I’m Erzen,” the woman said. “May I come in?”

  I shook her hand. “Of course. Is that your first or last name?”

  Her raised eyebrow told me to stand down. Holly and Griffin walked over to meet her.

  “This is my wife, Holly, and this is Griffin,” I said.

  “How are you, Griffin?” What, now she was charming? “I understand you’ve been in combat.”

  “Yes,” Griffin said, averting her eyes. She seemed embarrassed by the attention.

  “I’m not here to run your life, so you don’t need to worry. But I will expect you to check in with me before each meal. You can usually find me in the administration building. And I’ll come by once at twenty hundred hours. That’s curfew, young lady, and you need to be home. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I’d never heard Griffin call anyone ma’am or sir. I was beginning to like Erzen.

  “Looks like we’re all good.” Erzen smiled broadly. She struck me as a genuinely caring person—but with a tough exterior. “See you at lunch.”

  After the woman left, Griffin looked at us imploringly. “Can’t I come with you guys?”

  “Afraid not,” I said. “You’ll be safe here.”

  “But what if something happens to you?”

  “All the more reason for you to stay here.”

  I hadn’t meant to sound harsh. I thought we’d be able to move past this, but then I saw the tears welling in Griffin’s eyes. Holly saw them too and touched her hand.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” she said.

  “Why did they have to kill Evie?”

  Holly and I looked at each other. I knew then and there that anything I said would sound awkward, so I left it to Holly. She walked Griffin to the sofa and sat down next to her. Now, the girl’s tears flowed freely, reminding me that I really hadn’t dealt with Evie’s death. A pain shot through my heart as I thought about the fearless reporter.

  “I won’t lie to you,” Holly said. “These are really dangerous times. But Dave and I are trained soldiers. Evie didn’t even carry a weapon.”

  “But I can handle myself.”

  “I know you can. But things are different now. We have to follow the rules. I’m sorry.” Holly hugged Griffin like a daughter. “It breaks my heart when I think about losing you. I guess you feel the same about us. But we’ll be fine. You have to trust us, Griffin. Do you think you can do that?”

  Griffin wiped away her tears with her sleeve and tried to smile. “Yes.”

  “I promise you, this is for the best,” Holly said, glancing at me.

  “At least Erzen is nice,” I said.

  Griffin looked completely dejected. “I guess so.”

  We both hugged her and went outside to meet Warnick and the others.

  “Do you think she’ll be okay?” Holly said, wiping away her own tears.

  “I think we can trust Erzen.”

  There were six of us in the Humvee. Warnick drove, with Springer riding shotgun. It was like old times, except for the new guys, who sat on either side of Holly and me. Sleep was rare lately, and I must have drifted off. I saw Evie walking away from me in a mist. She was following someone—I couldn’t make out the figure but it was definitely a man. He turned. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it was Walt Freeman. I startled.

  When I opened my eyes, dense trees filled the Humvee’s windows—we’d entered the forest.

  “Did we hit something?” I said.

  Warnick turned towards me. “Pot hole.”

  Holly leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. Rubbing her eyes she sat up and looked around. “Where are we?”

  It was early afternoon. We didn’t appear to be in the same area where we’d been rescued. A heavy mist clung to the forest floor, making it difficult to make out details among the trees.

  “Not too much farther,” Warnick said, consulting a map.

  Springer fiddled with his phone. Why did he even bother?

  “I think we might be close,” Warnick said.

  If I’d had to guess, I’d have said we were somewhere to the east. The trees were less dense here.

  “Is this a fire road?” I said.

  “No. It’s a private road. See the fencing?”

  Someone had erected miles of fence hewn from logs. There were no markers, but they’d mounted lights on the trees. Who would be out here driving at night?

  Holly straightened up and stretched. “Are we there yet?”

  “Whoa,” Springer said.

  Up ahead stood a series of low, unmarked buildings surrounded by a fence similar to the one Ram Chakravarthy had erected around his compound, which the Red Militia had later destroyed. The gate was on wheels. Warnick stopped in front of it and we got out.

  We stood at the gate, afraid to touch it. It was probably electrified. A sign read PROSPECT CORRECTIONAL FACILITY.

  “Look,” Holly said, pointing.

  A dead raccoon, its fur singed, lay next to the fence.

  “How do we get in?”

  A woman’s scream broke the silence. Immediately, we returned to our vehicle to get our AR-15s. Warnick didn’t need to say anything. Someone was in trouble. We’d do a sweep of the area. If we encountered a horde, we’d double back to our vehicle and get to safety. We knew the drill.

  Each of us grabbed an AR-15. Holly and I stayed with Warnick and Springer while the other two branched off. We cut a path through the trees, which thinned into a clearing. Two figures—humans—raced across it towards us. A man and a woman, each dressed in blue jeans and dark shirts. The man held a long catchpole.

  “Hurry!” the woman said. “They’re coming!”

  Both wore glasses and carried backpacks. The man ran ahead and, pulling a remote control from his pocket, opened the gate. As we ran inside, Warnick jumped into the
Humvee and drove through. The man closed the gate and we waited.

  We didn’t wait long. Forty or fifty draggers, dressed as tourists, forest rangers and Black Dragon soldiers appeared in the distance and closed in fast. Holly raised her weapon, but Warnick gently pushed her arm down. The noise would only attract more.

  We watched as the draggers grabbed the fence, did a crazy dance from the electricity coursing through their dead bodies, then fell off, stunned. Unable to learn their lesson, they repeated the exercise. Best to leave them alone till they tired of the electric Kabuki dance.

  I turned towards the main building. It had no windows. Cameras mounted on the roof took in the surrounding area. I expected dogs, but none came.

  The front door opened. A frightened-looking middle-aged man—disheveled, wan and unshaven, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and jeans—stepped into the afternoon light. His hands shook. He stared at us with dilated pupils, and he smelled ripe. His curly black hair was overgrown, and his horn-rimmed glasses practically slid off the end of his nose.

  It was Bob Creasy.

  “YOU CAN’T BE HERE,” Creasy said as we forced our way inside. He glared at the man and woman. “Why did you let them in?”

  “We were almost killed out there,” the man said. Then to us, “I’m Doctor Larry Evans. This is my wife, Doctor Judith Evans. Thank God we didn’t have to engage those things. Judith and I can handle one or two, but …”

  After exchanging greetings, Warnick instructed the other two men to stand guard outside. Then to the Evanses, “What were you doing out there, anyway?”

  Their eyes darted towards Creasy. “Research.”

  Creasy seemed edgy and unfocused—different from the way I remembered him—like he hadn’t slept in weeks. And he’d lost a ton of weight.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to—”

  “Do you remember me?” I said.

  Creasy squinted and shook his head. “Afraid not.”

  “A few months ago—July, actually—you picked me up on the highway. I was injured. You asked if a dog had bitten me. Remember?”

  Creasy shot a questioning look at Larry and Judith. “Oh, yes,” he said, picking at the backs of his arms. “I dropped you at the police station.”