Empty World: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller (Empty Bodies Book 7)

by Zach Bohannon

  Shell bit into a carrot, unsure whether she should interrupt the scene by talking. She finally decided to sit back and let them devour their food. Later, she could try talking to him.

  Even from inside the kitchen, Shell could hear the flies buzzing around the corpses outside. She didn’t look forward to digging the graves, but it was the only thing she could think to do to dispose of the bodies. They had already started to leave a stench in the air, and she couldn’t imagine burning them. The smell and the fire would surely draw attention, too, if any other bandits or gangs were nearby, and could also attract the attention of Deads in the area.

  For now, Shell didn’t want to think about it. She looked at the boy’s nearly clear plate and smiled.

  “I guess you were pretty hungry, huh?”

  As she’d expected, no response came.

  “We’ll have to change your bandages here in a little bit. I want to look at those cuts and make sure they’re not infected.”

  When the boy again failed to respond, Shell turned her attention to the man. Though his plate was now empty, he still avoided Shell’s gaze. He didn’t want to talk, but Shell had so many questions for him. He’d taken out five bandits on his own without garnering even a scratch. What kind of man could do that?

  She took a bite of some lettuce, then decided to speak.

  “You never told me your name.”

  Following the lead of the boy, the man didn’t respond.

  “My name’s Shell. Shell Langford.”

  The man leaned back in the chair and looked in her direction. He still refused to make eye contact with her, though.

  “Look, I’m not doing this,” he said.

  “Doing what? Talking?”

  “There’s no point in making small talk and pretending like we’re going to be friends.”

  “Excuse me for wanting to talk. I’ve been here alone for years, and then all of a sudden, in a day’s time, I have almost a dozen people just stop on by.”

  “Well, lucky for you, I’m not staying here.”

  “Why?” Shell shook her head. “I don’t get it. I saw what you did to those men. Why can’t you do that same thing to the others if they show back up?”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “There’s a whole town here. It’s all empty. Everything we need to survive is right here. I’ve got plenty of food, loads of medical supplies, and a well with clean water. Do you have a family? They could come live with you here, too.”

  “Sorry, but I’m not interested.”

  “Why not? I’d help you fight, too. I’m a pretty decent shot with a bow.”

  The man smirked. “Yeah? You think you could take down a couple dozen bandits?”

  Shell swallowed, her eyes widening. The man nodded.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said.

  “How do you know there’s that many of them?”

  “Because I came across their camp. Part of the group broke off and I followed them here.” He took a sip of water. “But the others will come, and there’s too many of them. And, besides, I’m not interested in staying.”

  “Where could you possibly have to go that’s better than here?” Shell asked.

  He slammed his glass down onto the table and stood. Shell startled as the man headed out of the kitchen. When the man got to the doorway of the kitchen, he turned around.

  “That gang is stationed nearly a day’s ride from here, so I’m going to take you up on resting here tonight. But I’m leaving bright and early before they come back in stronger numbers. And if I were you, I’d consider doing the same.”

  He made his way up the stairs to the room Shell had told him he could stay in.

  Shell pushed her plate away. She was no longer hungry.

  Her attention turned to the boy, who’d sat in silence as her and the drifter went back and forth. She sighed and stood.

  “Come on. Let’s get your bandage changed so you can get some rest.”

  8

  The following morning, with the sun pouring in through the window at the end of the hall, Shell approached the door to the room she’d allowed the stranger to stay in. The last person who’d stayed in the room had been Kim, a widow who’d once lived a mile down the road. Her house had burned down, taking her husband with it. Kim had been one of the last people to fall to the sickness which had left Shell as the lone survivor in her town.

  Shell had spent the majority of the previous afternoon tending to her animals and sitting in her special tree with her back facing the corpses lying around in the grass. The boy, apparently exhausted, had fallen asleep before the sun had gone down and she never saw or heard him come out of his room by the time she went to sleep. The drifter had remained in his room as well, even refusing to come downstairs and have dinner with her. It had given her time to think about what she was going to do.

  The door moved when she knocked. The stranger hadn’t shut it all the way. Shell started to walk away to give him some privacy, but accidentally glanced through the crack in the door. The drifter lay on his back with his eyes closed and with no covers on top of him. His pants were still on, but he’d taken his shirt off. Not even the dirt could cover up the scars on his chest and stomach. And for the first time she could also see the nub left where his arm had once been.

  One scar, in particular, had caught Shell’s attention. It stretched down his left side and had to be eight inches long. It was darker and thicker than most the others.

  The scar had pulled her attention away from his face long enough that, when she looked up at him again, the drifter’s eyes were open, and he was staring at her.

  “I’m so sorry. I was just seeing if you were awake. Whenever you’re ready, come downstairs. I’ve got some food ready.” Shell left the room, shutting the door behind her.

  If he responded to her, Shell didn’t hear it. She turned and rushed down the stairs, nervously pushing her hair out of her face.

  “You’re an idiot, Shell. That was so creepy.”

  She was embarrassed, but she’d have to deal with it.

  When she got downstairs, the boy was sitting at the kitchen table. He looked at her with the same expressionless face he’d had since they’d first met. She hadn’t seen or heard him leave his room.

  “You’re quite the sneaky one,” Shell said. “I don’t think I have to ask how you slept. You were out before the sun even went down.” She waited for any kind of response, verbally or in his expression, but there wasn’t one. “Well, go ahead and eat and then I can take a look at your wounds and change your bandages.”

  Shell didn’t have to tell the boy twice. He scarfed down his food while Shell stared at the stairs, waiting for the drifter to come down. She had so many questions for him, and every scar she had seen on him represented another mystery. The boy burped, pulling her gaze away from the stairs.

  The boy covered his mouth, his eyes wide and his cheeks flush. Shell laughed.

  “I guess you were hungry. How about we change those bandages now?”

  The boy turned toward her, and Shell kneeled down next to him. She uncovered the wounds. They had scabbed over and weren’t bleeding.

  “They’re looking much better.”

  She dressed the cuts with fresh bandages, then stood and crossed her arms. “Good to go.”

  The stairs creaked then, and the drifter appeared in the kitchen, wearing a worn gray shirt but not his trench coat; that hung over his arm.

  “I’ve got some eggs and a potato for you,” Shell said, trying to put the awkward scene upstairs out of her mind.

  The stranger glanced around the room. His eyes fell upon a backpack sitting next to the front door.

  “What’s that about?” he asked.

  “That’s what I’m taking with me when we leave.”

  The stranger looked at her and narrowed his eyes.

  “We?”

  “Yeah.” Shell placed a plate with eggs and a potato on it down in front of an empty seat. “Me and the boy
are coming with you.”

  “The hell you are,” the stranger said.

  “What are you talking about? You said last night that we should leave with you.”

  “I never said you needed to leave with me. I’m not dragging some girl and injured boy around.”

  “Oh? So, you’ll just leave us on our own to figure things out?”

  “You seem to have done well on your own so far.”

  “I can survive on my own. But we stand a better chance of staying alive if we stay together.”

  “I’d question that assumption,” the stranger said. “I’ve done just fine on my own for quite a long time now. I don’t need you two slowing me down.”

  “Fine. You know, whatever. I’ve lived here my whole life, but I guess I’ll figure out where we should go. The highways must lead somewhere, and I guess it’ll just mean more food for me and the boy.”

  “You can’t just wander down the highways,” the drifter said. “That’s where all the road warriors and bandits roam. You’ve got to know how to navigate them. You’re better off dealing with Empties than you are gangs.”

  Shell raised her brow. “What the hell is an Empty?”

  The stranger hesitated, but finally sighed. “Look, I’m heading east. The next city is Jackson, and it’s about a two day walk from here. I’ll get you there, and then you’re on your own. Got it?”

  Shell nodded and smiled.

  “And, in exchange, I want a quarter of the food and supplies you have to bring along.”

  “That seems fair enough. Figured you’d ask for half.”

  The drifter shook his head. Then he sat down at the table and dug into his food.

  Shell grabbed her plate and sat at the table for what would most likely be one last meal in her home.

  “Dylan.”

  Shell raised her head from her plate and glanced over at the drifter. her brow creased.

  “Dylan Farmer,” the drifter said. “That’s my name.”

  Shell smiled then. She wiped her mouth and cleared her throat.

  “Nice to meet you, Dylan.”

  Dylan nodded. “Now let’s finish up so we can get out of here.”

  9

  Paul Rowland wasn’t going to die today.

  He stood with his back flush against the wall, gripping the knife tightly in his hand. Looking out onto the street, he could see the machete he’d dropped. It was only about ten yards away, but the Demons lumbered near it and there was no way he could get to his weapon with them gathered around it. Especially not with only a hunting knife in his possession.

  Shifting his focus across the street, Paul signaled to his second-in-command, Keon Jennings. Paul held up five fingers and then four, alerting Keon that there were nine Demons present in the street. Keon nodded, then passed the information to the other two in their squad.

  Using other hand signals, Paul directed Keon to head around the building and arrive at the back of the horde. He hoped the others could garner the horde’s attention while he ran into the street and retrieved his machete.

  Again, Keon nodded, and then he headed down the alley with his younger sister, Katrina. The other member of their convoy, Caleb, remained in his pre-established position, ready to provide Paul cover fire with a crossbow while Paul ran to get his machete.

  Closing his eyes, Paul drew in deep breaths. His thick, sandy blonde hair padded the back of his head resting against the concrete wall. He focused his ears, listening for Keon and Katrina to arrive in their position behind the group of Demons. Paul’s eyes opened again only when he heard a whistle.

  The Demons stopped moving moments later, and Paul heard the first arrow soar through the air. One of the creatures screamed, its body tumbling to the ground not even a second later.

  “Go!” Caleb yelled, jumping out from behind the wall and aiming his crossbow at the distracted creatures.

  Paul exhaled and threw himself out into the street. He stayed low, looking to avoid any possible friendly fire. Approaching, he watched Keon shift his crossbow around to his back and pull out his own machete, opting to use that on the creatures instead of risking firing his crossbow toward Paul.

  Regardless of the distractions, one of the Demons focused its attention on Paul and it moved toward him. The creature blocked his path to the machete. But as he worked to try and find a way around it, the monster suddenly fell, an arrow entering the side of its head above the ear. Paul looked over to see Caleb with his crossbow raised. He lowered it and gestured to his leader to make a run for the weapon as he reloaded.

  Paul eyed the machete lying near the remaining Demons. He exhaled again and made a run for it.

  The noise he made grabbed the attention of two of the Demons. They turned toward him and snarled just as he reached the machete. Paul rolled over the ground, landing in a kneel as he took hold of the weapon. Even as his hands gripped its handle, one of the creatures lunged toward him. He raised the machete, jamming the blade into the creature’s neck and up through its head, destroying it. But the Demon fell on top of him before he was able to withdraw the blade, landing lengthwise above him and pinning him to the pavement.

  The weight was too much for Paul to bear. Then as he tried to push the Demon off of him, the second one fell on top of it, only adding to the weight on top of Paul.

  The Demon snapped its jaws and clawed with its hands but couldn’t seem to figure out how to reach him. The only thing keeping it from getting to Paul was the dead creature sandwiched between them. Paul gritted his teeth, stuck at the bottom of the Demon pile. The creature moved its head over its fallen counterpart’s shoulder, its jaws snapping only inches from Paul’s face now. Drool dripped down onto Paul’s face as he continued to push upward, trying to lift the weight from his body.

  Then Paul heard the whistle fly by his ear, and blood splattered down over his face as the second attacking Demon fell limp. He’d closed his eyes, turning away and trying to shield himself from the blood, and when he looked back up, he saw the arrow which had entered the creature’s skull, the sharp tip coming out the other end. A shadow passed over Paul, a figure standing above him. Keon.

  “Need some help?”

  Paul sighed, dropping his head back to the pavement. “Get these fuckers off me.”

  Keon laughed before kneeling down and rolling the first body off of Paul, then the next.

  Paul grunted as he sat up, feeling every one of the forty-four years he’d been alive in his sore back. Keon offered his hand and pulled Paul up to his feet.

  “You’re welcome,” Keon said.

  “You mean, ‘you’re welcome, sir’?”

  “Ha! Fuck you.”

  Paul smiled and extended his hand, which Keon slapped and then shook.

  “The area’s clear,” Katrina said to Paul, coming up from behind them.

  “Thank you, Katrina. You can be so much nicer than your older brother.”

  “Damn straight,” Katrina replied. She was five years younger than Keon. Half-siblings, they shared the same mother.

  Paul said to them, “Let’s salvage all the ammo we can from these bastards and then see if we can secure that hotel.”

  As the others worked to pull their arrows from the bodies of the fallen Demons, Paul stared up at the King Edward Hotel. It was one of the tallest buildings in downtown Jackson, Mississippi. He only hoped it was empty so that they could make camp there for a few days and scour the city for supplies.

  “We’re ready to go,” Keon said.

  “All right, let’s go see what this place is all about.”

  10

  “Stay alert, everyone,” Paul said as the group crossed the threshold of the hotel’s lobby. Some light poured into the space, but the group was forced to creep into a building concealed mostly in darkness. Staircases spiraled up on either side of them, leading to a balcony above the ground floor. The front desk was all the way at the far end of the room, directly in front of them. Between the group and the counter, a chandelier had fallen, sh
attering in pieces on the neglected floor.

  From a dark corner ahead, Demons snarled at them.

  “Well, that answers whether this place is vacant,” Caleb said.

  They moved across the room, each with a weapon in hand. Paul was glad to have the machete back in his possession and he kept his hands gripped firmly around the handle.

  Stepping around the fallen light fixture and the debris, they arrived at the front desk. Three Demons roamed nearby in an area too dark to aim crossbows.

  “Keon and I will handle them,” Paul said.

  Spinning the machete at his side, Keon smiled as he headed toward the creatures. “Come ‘ere, motherfucker.” This drew the attention of two of the monsters.

  Paul reared back his machete and decapitated the Demon nearest him.

  Then Keon spun his machete again, continuing to taunt the other creatures. He waved them toward him, one of the creatures snarling and lunging at him. Keon jumped back and laughed.

  “Quit messing around, Keon,” his sister said.

  Tired of his friend’s antics himself, Paul took out the second beast following Keon, striking it down with his machete.

  “Fuck it.” Keon finally stopped messing around and raised his machete, driving it into the Demon’s forehead. The creature fell, taking the machete with it. It hit the ground, the back of its skull banging off the tile floor with a loud crunch. Keon stepped on the Demon’s chest and yanked the machete out of its flesh.

  He spun the machete again before jamming it back into the holster he wore on his belt. Not amused, Paul pushed past his friend, bumping shoulders with him.

  “What, man?”

  “There’s no time for you to be messing around like that. We have a job to do. We’ve gotta check this place out before we run out of sunlight.”

  Keon shrugged. “I know, man.”

  “Then quit fucking around and let’s get to it.” Paul turned around, catching a glance of Katrina shaking her head at her older brother.

  “Should we stay together or split up?” Caleb asked.