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

by Steven Ramirez

  Warnick and Springer had spotted the horde and came to assist now, dodging fire as they ran. The draggers moved fast. Those we missed attacked the nearest humans, tearing out their throats. Those unfortunates dropped in place, squirting bright red blood and gurgling into silent death. Predictably, they rose to join the undead and infect more of the living.

  Springer sprinted ahead and lobbed a grenade into the center of the horde. The explosion was deafening and sent blobs of infected flesh in all directions. Now, more Black Dragon soldiers converged. I hurried over to assist Holly. A pile of bodies—soldier and civilian—lay in front of us. Those who hadn’t been blown up reanimated in seconds, transforming into fresh draggers that needed to feed.

  Through the smoke and the blood, I saw Pederman mercilessly firing rounds into the arms and torsos of oncoming civilians. I stood over one of them, his torso leaking blood. He whimpered and prayed and babbled. I couldn’t kill him.

  “My parents,” he said, delirious and gritting through the pain.

  “This isn’t right,” I said to Holly.

  Ever prepared, she threw her backpack on the ground, dug through it and found a bunch of white plastic ties. She handed some to me, and I rolled the bleeding men on their stomachs and tied their hands behind their backs.

  “You’re under arrest,” I said with an air of unreality, “for … trespassing.”

  When the other soldiers saw what Holly and I were doing, they crawled over and got more of the ties and took them to the other wounded lying on the ground. After a while, the shooting stopped and all was quiet—except for the sounds of moaning and crying and the angry beating of the helicopters’ blades.

  Ambulances—over twenty of them—arrived to take the wounded to the hospital. Our men regrouped, and Pederman ordered us to make sure there were no new draggers lurking. Incredibly, no one in our unit was wounded.

  For the next hour we walked the area, checking the twisted, motionless bodies for pulses and putting a round through each of their heads. In all, we’d lost seventeen Black Dragon troops. Nearly a hundred civilians lay dead or wounded.

  It would take our unit till early evening to clear the area of draggers. Others stayed behind and reinforced the barricade.

  The night was black and cold as we returned to our vehicle. Warnick’s radio crackled. It was Pederman.

  “We’re not done, boys and girls,” he said.

  Warnick sighed and brought the radio up to his face. “What have we got? Over.”

  “Patrol spotted two men in the forest. We think they’re civilians who broke through and are trying to make their way to town.”

  As Pederman continued, a Black Dragon helicopter swooped low over us, its blazing spotlight cutting a stark, burning-white path through the dense trees. Bands of light from the other helicopters pierced the darkness farther away.

  “I’m west of you guys,” Pederman said. “Take your unit into the forest, and let’s catch these numbnuts. Over.”

  “We’re on our way. Warnick out.” Shaking his head, he turned to us. “This is where we earn our pay.”

  “We’re getting paid?” Springer said.

  “Shut up.”

  I touched Holly’s cheek. “You okay?”

  “Outstanding.”

  Though we were exhausted, we returned to our Humvee to replenish our ammo and grab flashlights. We walked for nearly a mile before the crunching of branches nearby alerted us. At first we didn’t see anything, then a shadow moved towards us.

  We shone our lights on the approaching figure. Dragger. Wearing a green Starbucks apron. Its filmy grey eyes took us in, open wide despite the bright illumination of our flashlights. Holly raised her weapon, but Warnick touched her arm.

  “Bayonets,” he said.

  When we signed on, we were trained in the use of the military issue Ontario 490 M9 Bayonet. The blade was deadly sharp—I’d almost sliced open my hand while practicing attaching it to my AR-15. Of all the weapons I’d employed against the undead, this was my least favorite.

  We attached our bayonets and stood in a line as the dragger approached, black drool dripping from its lower lip. More undead appeared from out of the darkness—all civilians—most in an advanced state of decay. We had a dozen new targets.

  “Spread out and get what you can,” Warnick said.

  These past few months, I’d encountered draggers with varying degrees of intelligence. Looking at these things, I could tell they were the dumb ones. Slow and stupid. But hungry.

  We arranged ourselves into a half-circle and went to work. As we moved into position, one of them let go a hair-raising death shriek—the kind that always froze my blood. That was their signal to attack. They came at us, and we knifed each in the head as quickly as we could.

  When you run your blade through the enemy’s skull, there’s always a delay as you pull it out. Too long and another dragger could be on you, gnawing your hand or your neck. The groaning sounds these things made as we took them down were horrific, the smell of rot coming from their heads nauseating. Within the space of a few seconds they were still.

  “Let’s hope that’s all of them,” Warnick said, signaling for us to continue moving forward.

  For the next mile or so we saw nothing and only heard the sounds of the nighttime forest—crickets, frogs and an occasional owl. I remembered all the time I’d spent with my friend Jim, trekking through the forest at night. Drunk. Macho. For us, the forest had never been a place of fear. It was our home. Now, I felt only dread.

  A clearing appeared up ahead and a dark shape moved. We slowed, lowered our flashlights and kept our voices to a whisper.

  “Looks like our guys,” Springer said.

  We killed the flashlights and waited for our eyes to adjust. A full moon shone coldly through the branches. A gaze of raccoons moved in, like they smelled something good. The group of eight Black Dragon soldiers stood in a half-circle around something we couldn’t make out. We got closer.

  “Hey!” Warnick said.

  No one moved. It was like they were waiting for something. Someone screamed—a man. “Please God, help me!”

  I heard a steady crunch like teeth tearing through gristle. We jogged over. Even after everything I’d witnessed and suffered through, what I saw now made me want to scream.

  The soldiers surrounded a man lying against a tree, bleeding from his side. Next to him, another man—or what was left of him—lay on the ground. What had been his legs were now reddish bone—the meat and muscle picked clean. His thighs were tied off with tourniquets made from AR-15 slings. His face wore a terrified, frozen grimace.

  He was alive.

  Watching the wounded, whimpering man carefully, we rounded the tree to face the other unit. Though they didn’t look undead, each was chewing the fresh raw meat they had hacked off the civilian’s legs with their bayonets. And unlike the draggers we’d encountered, they appeared calm, as if eating rare roast beef at a Sunday dinner with the family. Their eyes glowed an eerie purple.

  Holly grabbed my arm. “How is this happening?”

  “Are these some of the missing men?” I said. “Warnick?”

  His jaw set, he raised his AR-15 and took aim. “Bullets,” he said.

  We put them down in seconds. The lingering scent of blood and gunpowder hung thick in the air. The injured man lay there silently as we examined his partner, who was too far-gone to help. He was surely infected and had lost a massive amount of blood. He’d never make it back alive.

  “J-just … end it,” he said. “Please … please. Can you end it?”

  Springer granted his request with a single bullet to the head.

  “Were you bit?” Warnick said to the other man.

  “No. Shot. By your guys.”

  “Can you walk?”

  He nodded fiercely and got to his feet, crying out from the pain. He’d lost a lot of blood as well, and I hoped the bullet had missed his vital organs. “I didn’t shoot anyone, I swear.”

  “Who
was your friend?” I said.

  “K-Kevin. Wasn’t my friend. He was a guy I knew.”

  Warnick radioed Pederman, who instructed us to proceed to another clearing where a helicopter would pick us up.

  “Come on,” I said, throwing the man’s arm around my shoulder. “I’ve got you. What’s your name?”

  He was clearly going into shock, but he managed to answer. “Steve,” he said. “Steve Zimmer.”

  “Why’d you come back?” Holly said as we made our way out.

  “I have … a wife and kid. Needed to be with them.”

  “What’s your wife’s name?” I said, more to keep him calm than to satisfy my curiosity.

  “Nina. I-I have a daughter. Evan, she’s …”

  I stared at Holly as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” I said as calmly as I could. “They’re alive. Hey, can you understand me? Your wife and daughter are alive.”

  Sometimes you get lucky.

  IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT when Holly and I returned to our trailer, spent and aching. Seeing what those soldiers had done confirmed the suspicion that had nagged at me ever since we’d found Ariel. Someone was infecting people and releasing them. It was horrifying to think that something man-made could devastate a town the way the virus had. But what was worse was they were using Tres Marias as a working laboratory. We’d been forced to become some insane experiment.

  As we walked in, Erzen greeted us, looking fresh and alert and wearing a crisp uniform. Greta was sprawled on the floor, wagging her tail and whining softly. She didn’t even bother getting up.

  “Griffin’s asleep,” Erzen said.

  Holly gave her a hug. “Thanks so much for looking out for her.”

  “I heard it was pretty bad out there.”

  “There were a lot of casualties,” I said. “On both sides.”

  “So, you found the missing soldiers?”

  “Some of them,” I said. “How did you know?”

  Erzen waved her radio. As we put away our weapons, she set out sandwiches and sodas for us. “I’m heading out. Radio me if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” Holly said, and as the other woman walked out, my wife followed her. Though they spoke for a few seconds, I was only able to hear the last part.

  “Erzen, I don’t know if I can do this much longer,” Holly said.

  “You’ll be fine. From what I hear, you’re a real ass-kicker.”

  Holly laughed and hugged Erzen again before she left. Though she hadn’t come with us, Erzen sounded like she knew exactly what we’d been through. I wondered about her. She never spoke about herself, but in her eyes I saw a deep understanding and life-livedness.

  After we ate, I tried sleeping, but all I could do was lie there with my burning eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Holly lay next to me. I couldn’t hear the soft snoring I knew so well, which told me she was awake too.

  “Of everything that’s happened to us,” she said, “this was the worst.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think they’ll do with Nina’s husband?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve decided I’m going to help him.”

  “How?”

  “Ask me in the morning.”

  Earlier, the helicopter had flown us to the high school’s football field after dropping Steve Zimmer at the hospital, where he was treated for the gunshot wound. The last we’d heard, he was in stable condition. The other wounded soldiers and civilians were also being treated there. The dead had been hauled away to the incinerators.

  The wounded soldiers would eventually return to the command center and these rogue civilians expelled. Though technically the intruders had broken the law, the Tres Marias police department didn’t have the manpower or resources to handle the load. So, contrary to what the mayor had said about cleaning up the town, he had agreed to let everyone go. They could still be arrested and charged at a later date.

  Before returning to our trailer, Holly and I went to see Nina Zimmer to give her the news about her husband, Steve. At first she couldn’t comprehend what we were saying, then it dawned on her that he’d risked his life to come back to her. She broke down, insisting that she needed to go to the hospital—which was not permitted. Holly and I promised to keep her informed. We didn’t tell her that, like the other rogue civilians, he would probably be sent away once he was able to walk.

  Now in the darkness of our bedroom, Holly found my hand and held it close to her heart. The steady beating pulsed against my palm, and I thought again about the other small life growing inside her, marveling at the idea that two would become three. The rhythm relaxed me and soon I went out. I don’t remember hearing anything else till the urgent knocking at our door cut through my sleep.

  It was Springer. Pederman and Warnick were waiting for us in the administration building. I rubbed my eyes and gazed out at the grey early morning light, the sky dark with clouds.

  “What time is it?” I said.

  “A little after seven.”

  “Give me a minute to get Holly up.” I looked past Springer and saw Erzen already on her way to our trailer. A few minutes later, Holly and I walked with Springer across the parking lot through a light rain.

  “Get any sleep?” I said to Springer.

  “Most of the time I can’t tell if I’m asleep or awake. I rely a lot on muscle memory.”

  As we passed soldiers and civilians, the mood was somber. Word of yesterday’s incident—the casualties—had spread and reminded people that the terror and the violence were far from over.

  Fabian came down the steps as we went up. “Hey, things are pretty tense in there. They sent me out to get coffee.” Then to me, “Is Griffin okay?”

  I bristled but sucked it down. “She’s fine.”

  When he was gone, Holly said, “Why do you dislike him so much?”

  “He needs a hobby.”

  “Looks to me like he has a hobby.” I glared at Springer and he shut his yap.

  Inside the conference room, Pederman, Warnick and Walt Freeman, the deputy mayor, sat around the table. Next to Walt sat Becky, ready to take notes. Everyone wore expressions that reminded me of those giant Easter Island heads—dark and inscrutable.

  “Take a seat, guys,” Pederman said. “Coffee’s on the way.”

  I didn’t know what was coming, and Warnick’s expression betrayed nothing. Springer, Holly and I found chairs. On the table, manila folders stamped SERIOUS INCIDENT REPORT in red block letters waited at each seat. I opened mine and skimmed the first page, which was a checklist. My eye caught the item PHOTOS OF DISTURBING SCENE, and I realized what this meeting was about.

  Walt flicked his finger at Becky, who began typing on her laptop. “First of all,” he said, “I want to offer everyone my condolences on the casualties your company sustained. After reading Mr. Pederman’s account of the events, I can only conclude that you were under serious attack.” Pederman said nothing. “That said, there were also a high number of civilian casualties. Now, the mayor asked me to conduct an investigation. Once I’m finished, the draft report you see before you will become final.”

  “Walt,” Pederman said, “I can assure you that we followed procedure to the letter.”

  “I know that, Kelly. But there was a high loss of life. Like-uh-said, we must abide by the rules. The mayor has been in touch with your leadership in Pittsburgh.”

  “I thought all communication was down,” I said.

  Walt barely acknowledged me. “We have a secure channel.” Then to Pederman, “Their recommendation is that you be relieved until the investigation has concluded.”

  “What?” I said. “You can’t just—”

  “Dave, please,” Pederman said.

  “In that case,” Warnick said, “who’s in charge?”

  Walt stood and tried to yank his belt up over his generous gut. “Until further notice, Black Dragon will report directly to Captain O’Brien.”

  Springer pushe
d away from the table in disgust. “What?”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said. “The police?”

  Pederman got to his feet. “Dave …”

  “No, this is bogus. What about the separation of church and state?”

  “This isn’t a joke, son,” Walt said. His ears reddened—he was getting steamed.

  “I didn’t mean it to be.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions. I will need each of you to read that report, to ensure everyone agrees that nothing was left out, so on and so forth. If there’s a discrepancy, feel free to come and see me.”

  After Walt and Becky were gone, we sat again. No one spoke for a long time.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Pederman flipped his copy of the report open and closed several times. “Forget it, Dave. Look, he’s doing his job.”

  “But how is this going to work? Those LA cops are idiots. And besides, they’re totally in bed with the mayor.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” Warnick said. “We need to make the best of it.”

  Fabian returned from the cafeteria carrying a plastic tray of coffee cups. “Sorry, I had to wait for them to make a fresh pot. Wha’d I miss?”

  “They cut off our nuts,” Springer said.

  Holly glared at him. “Speak for yourself, Springer.”

  “They cut off my nuts.”

  As Fabian handed out the coffees, I flipped through the report. Pederman had been thorough and, from what I could tell, completely factual and impartial. He hadn’t tried to whitewash our actions, and he hadn’t overstated what the civilians—and the dragger horde—had done to us. He had, however, left out something important.

  “There’s no mention of the soldiers we found,” I said.

  Pederman reached over and took my copy of the report. Then he went around the table and collected the rest. “I included them in the list of Black Dragon casualties.”

  “But—”