Blood of the Dead: A Zombie Novel (Undead World Trilogy, Book One)
Page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons living or dead or living dead is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-897217-79-5
Blood of the Dead is Copyright © 2008 by Adam P. Fuchs. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium.
Published by Coscom Entertainment
www.coscomentertainment.com
eBook Edition
Cover pencils and inks by Roland Bird
Cover colors by Splash!
Edited by Ryan C. Thomas
Interior author photo by Roxanne Fuchs
This is for my kids, Gabriel and Lewis.
Special thanks, as always, to my wife, Roxanne, for putting up with all the late nights and endless hours in front of the computer.
A thank you to my best friend, Bruce Hoadley, for being my “come with” guy when I went on my research trip for this book. (Nobody takes down zombies like he does.)
Thanks goes out to Brian Tanner, M.S.C., for answering some physics questions I had regarding a scene in this story, and likewise to Ian Sunderland, M.D., for being the wonderful body part specialist that he is.
Lastly, to Mari Adkins and T.L. Trevaskis for all the translation help. Thank you.
GUTS
Joe Bailey: Zombie Hunter
Billie Friday: Punk Girl
Des Nottingham: Zombie Wrangler
August Norton: Recluse Christian Dude
1: April
2: Midnight Meeting
3: Off to the Promised Land
4: Back into the Gray
5: The Rat
6: Mr. Shank
7: In a Swarm of Death
8: More
9: Ghost Town
10: At Joe’s Place
11: If Just for a Good Night’s Sleep
12: Peaches
13: Gotta Go
14: And the Dead Keep on Coming
15: Empty Building
16: Along the River
17: Empty Square
18: Good Doggies
19: On the Way Up
20: At the Top of the Stairs
21: The Cemetery
22: The Bridge
23: Just Leave Me Alone
24: It Ain’t What it Used to Be
25: Sniper
26: They Never Stop
27: Some Kind of Rescue
28: Introductions
29: Upstairs
30: When Bad Things Happen to Good People
31: Out of Options
32: Lock and Load
33: Zombies!
34: The Roof
35: Grief
36: The Storm
37: Intangible
38: The Man in the White Coat
39: In the Bowels of the Earth
40: The Escape
41: The Return
Joe Bailey: Zombie Hunter
“Whattsa matter, baby? Never made love to a zombie before?”
The man’s voice was filled with sarcasm but, looking on from the shadows, Joe Bailey couldn’t help but think the guy meant every word and that he truly did want the girl to mess around with the dead man in front of her.
The girl, a blonde of probably seventeen or eighteen, frantically tugged at the iron collar around her neck. Joe knew that getting it off would be impossible. The collar was attached to a long iron rod. On the other end was the guy who wanted to see her come apart at the prospect of defiling herself with the undead.
Who knew what they had already done to her before now. What was once an off-yellow dress was mere tatters sagging off her frame like a torn shower curtain. Her cries were muffled by the band of silver duct tape across her mouth. From where Joe lurked off to the side, he could see how her long blonde hair had been pulled forward across her cheeks and stuffed into her mouth to help keep her quiet.
The air stank with booze and dope and the funk of the dead.
The man holding the rod jerked it to the right and left, whipping the girl side to side as he steered her toward the dead man across the basement floor. Four of his friends looked on, yipping and cheering. All five men were eager for what was about to happen. Three were on one side of the room, including the man holding the pole; two were across the way, both gripping a similar iron pole. This one was attached to another collar, one clamped around the neck of an overweight gray-skinned man with a blood-stained white shirt, brown dress pants and only one shoe. The fat man, Joe supposed, had probably been a hard worker when he was alive. Though he was now dead but somehow back to life, he still carried a look of innocence in his eyes, a look of pleading behind the rage and mindless hunger that consumed him.
The jerks cackled and cheered and stepped closer as their buddy forced the girl toward the monster, the dead man trying to step forward with arms outstretched, wanting to grab her. The two guys holding the zombie at bay fought with each tug against the pole. It was a wonder the zombie didn’t spin around and take those guys out in an effort to break free. Then again, intelligence was never in a zombie’s favor. Joe had been around them long enough to know that much.
Joe remained in the shadows behind an old furnace off to the side. The creeps holding the girl hadn’t heard him break in through the first floor window of the house and sneak down the stairs into the shadows, each too consumed with the idea of bringing this girl to the edge of torment and despair before, finally, shoving her off the edge.
“Oh come on, girlie-girlie. It ain’t so bad,” her captor said. “The dude’s just hungry, that’s all. You know as well as I do that they need to eat now and then, just like anyone else.”
The girl’s muffled screams, grunts and heavy breathing through her nose sent a shockwave of apprehension through the air.
The guy holding the iron rod shook off his beaten leather jacket, first his right arm then, after switching his hold on the rod to the other hand, his left. He wore a blue T-shirt, one which reminded Joe of what the sky used to look like before it had permanently clouded over in a sickly mix of gray and brown.
“Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” Blue T-shirt sang. “One, two, the dead’s coming for you!”
The girl screeched behind her gag. Blue’s friends howled. They shoved each other playfully like drunks.
“Ready, Betty?” Blue asked.
If “Betty” was the girl’s real name or not, Joe didn’t know nor, right now, care.
He cursed himself for sitting in the shadows so long, having to watch as Betty inched toward her doom, but if he didn’t time this just right, neither he nor she would make it out of here alive. You didn’t have to be paranoid to know that each of the men were packing heat, something that had become commonplace once the dead had taken over.
The zombie snarled and a gob of bloody-spit spilled from the corner of its mouth. It violently lurched forward, catching the men holding the iron rod off guard. A muffled pop came from the zombie’s neck. It had broken it from the force of the pull.
And it still kept moving.
The men holding it at bay yanked back on the rod, jerking the dead man back a step. The zombie grunted, but kept its feet firmly planted so it only leaned back against the air at an impossible angle before tugging itself upright again. The dudes holding the rod lost their grip and the second the iron rod clanged against the concrete floor, the girl screamed, muffled and scared.
“You idiots!” Blue shouted. Indecisiveness flashed across his eyes. He wasn’t sure what to do.
; Joe pulled the large X-09 to shoulder height, cocked the enormous hammer, and got ready. As was his custom, he counted to three then kissed the tip of the thick barrel before settling his finger around the trigger. One cock of the hammer was good for two shots. He had designed the X-09 himself, a large handgun, black and smooth with a Western flare that packed more punch than a double-barreled shotgun. He could have made a fortune off it if the world was the way it used to be.
But those days were gone.
The zombie scrambled toward the girl. She veered to the side and breathed a shrill wheeze when the collar stopped her stride.
Blue yanked her back then threw her and the pole into the zombie. He and his buddies spun around and ran for the long flight of basement stairs.
Joe jumped out from behind the furnace, aimed at the two yahoos scrambling up the steps in front of Blue and sent a bullet into each of their backs. The sounds of the double gunshot froze Blue in his tracks and by the time he turned around to see the source of fire, Joe had already cocked the hammer again and had the barrel aimed between Blue’s eyes.
“What the—” Blue started. He was cut off when the girl shrieked and the zombie, who was now on top of her, growled. “Me or her. What’s it gonna be, hero man?”
“Both,” Joe said and pulled the trigger.
A blood-red hole the size of a quarter sprang to life at the center of Blue’s forehead, the back of his head spraying outward in a rain of flesh and bone. Eyes still gazing at Joe, the dude dropped to his knees then toppled face first onto the floor.
Joe turned and dove to the side as the two guys who had earlier held the zombie at bay aimed their pistols at him and fired. He pulled the trigger in mid air, sending a bullet into the zombie’s back, the impact forceful enough to send the dead man rolling off the girl and to the side.
A numby bang rocked Joe’s shoulder when he hit the ground. Fortunately the long, brown rain-ruined suede trench coat he wore was padded top to bottom so the pain wasn’t as sharp as it should have been. He cocked the hammer.
The girl rolled onto her side and tried to get up, but the awkwardness of the neck collar and attached pole screwed up her balance and she fell back down, landing on her stomach and face.
The two men with the pistols opened fire.
Joe sent off two shots, tagging each of them in the heart. Their chests exploded almost simultaneously in a burst of blood and they hit the floor.
The zombie rushed on all fours and tackled the girl, slamming its forehead into the back of her skull. She lay there, still.
Joe got to his feet, cocked the hammer, and took three huge strides over to it. He yanked the dead man up by the collar. The creature turned its head toward him, its bloodshot eyes filled with malice. It reached for Joe’s arm.
Joe pulled the trigger.
The shot took off the top of the dead man’s head, everything from the eyebrows up. The syrupy splash of brain matter and the soft sound of bone hitting the concrete followed right behind.
Now no longer moving, the dead man’s body suddenly weighed a ton and Joe needed both hands to dump it off to the side.
He got down on his knees beside the girl and checked her neck for a pulse. It was there, still frantic from the ordeal.
He turned her over and grimaced at the sight of her bloody face, a deep gouge caused by teeth on her left cheekbone.
“Crap,” he muttered.
Her tearstained eyes opened slowly then rolled back in their sockets. When they rolled forward again, a soft smile rose on her face.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Joe stood, sighed, and aimed the gun between her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
Billie Friday: Punk Girl
Where were you when it all began?
The words had sat on Billie Friday’s computer screen for the better part of an hour and, try as she might, she couldn’t quite figure out what to say next. How could she? How could anyone describe the transition between blue skies and sunny days to a world of perpetual gray and a moon that never shone? How could someone describe graduating from high school with hope and promise, a planned life of being a veterinarian by day and DJ by night, to going into hiding and secreting yourself away from legions of the walking dead?
“This is pointless,” Billie said and shoved her thick-framed glasses further up her nose.
The goal had been to write a letter, a short one, something she could print then copy and distribute to the lingering survivors of the human race, a letter asking them to stop and reflect on where they had been before the devastation began, the hope being to urge them to continue living—continue surviving—in a world gone awry and where the notion of a normal life was nothing more than a farfetched dream.
If she was to do only one thing with her life, one thing that made a difference, this would be it.
“Face it, girl, you got no class. No style.” If you did, you’d be able to write this thing no problem.
She glanced over to the small, standing mirror beside her computer monitor. The girl staring back was but a shadow of the one she’d known in a life that ended a year ago. Her bob-cut pink hair, normally a perfect sphere around her head, sat in disarray. The bags under her eyes were so big that they hung below the frames of her glasses. Yet, she supposed, she shouldn’t look any different. Anybody stuck hiding out in the bottom corner suite of an abandoned apartment building would look the same.
Fortunately, for her, the power was still up in this part of Winnipeg. The suburb, North Kildonan, dubbed by those who lived there as the “Haven,” had become a secret safe area for those trying to piece together some semblance of a regular life. She only knew of a handful of living souls in this part of the city and they had a rule about not interacting with one another, each person to their own abode, unless there was an emergency. If they had joined together and formed some kind of communal living arrangement, and if they were discovered by the undead, they’d most likely be wiped out. This way, being scattered, if something did happen, the losses would be minimal, hopefully only a single casualty, and therefore only a single person added to the undead’s number. Given the rate of the undead’s multiplication, that was a good thing.
From what she could tell from the bits she caught on the Internet, the situation was similar worldwide. Pockets of people hid out here and there, communicating via message boards and news lists and email. Thankfully, the zombies were, frankly, idiots, so there was no fear they’d learn of the survivors’ whereabouts or what plans were in motion to try and overcome the army of the dead.
Where were you when it all began?
There were those words again.
Billie remembered exactly where she was. It had been the last day of high school, the excitement of prom night hovering on the air. The only damper to the feeling was the thought of squeezing into a formal dress, something she’d hated since as far back as she could remember. No date, just her and some friends, ones she’d known since elementary school.
It had been late afternoon and school had just let out. The sudden relief of having made it through twelve years of schooling—fifteen, if she counted her two years of preschool and one of kindergarten—lifted her heart and melted the stress and weight that had plagued her all year as she studied her butt off so she’d one day be accepted one province over into the University of Saskatchewan’s Western College of Veterinary Medicine.
As always, she made her way home alone, a walk she looked forward to every day, a chance to unwind and plan her evening. And, as always, the plan was to get home, make a tall glass of chocolate milk and hide in her room so she wouldn’t have to face her parents when they returned from work. It wasn’t that she hated them, but she was tired of hearing from them day in and day out that she should quit dying her hair (though during the school year as per school rules she had to dye it “natural” colors, which then led to her dying her hair white and raising a ruckus with the principal and teachers; “Hey, white is a natural color!” she told Mr. Landon. “Onl
y if you’re eighty!” he shot back), stop listening to Green Day and that “devil music,” and for once, just once, tie her shoelaces before leaving the house.
She also wanted to avoid her geeky sister, who always sided with her parents. Audrey took this same path home, but whether her sister was ahead of her or behind, she didn’t know.
Taking a deep breath, she stopped her stride when the air shifted and suddenly grew heavier.
“Now it’s gonna rain and guess who’s going to be stuck in it?” she muttered.
With each step, the air grew thicker and thicker, the smell no longer that of clean earth and green trees and grass, but something . . . off . . . like the kind of smell that surfaced when you swore you just passed a BFI bin but there was nothing there.
That’s when the clouds rolled in, dark and gray, thick and dense, threatening to dump blinding sheets of rain.
For a long time, the clouds hovered there, taunting the earth.
On the opposite sidewalk, others walking home kept glancing up as well, everyone bracing for a storm.
Then a drop fell and landed on Billie’s hand. The droplet was warm and gray, like paint mixed with water.
“What the—” she said, glancing up.
The rain was a drizzle at first, spiky, tiny gray pellets falling from above.
Those across the way squealed and stopped walking, checking themselves over as the rain dyed their clothes dark gray.
Panicking, Billie ran and shoved her way through a group of kids further up the sidewalk.
The rain picked up and soon thick, sticky drops of gray doused her clothes and blanketed the street and sidewalk, hindering all visibility.
Keep going straight, she told herself, mouth clamped shut for fear of accidentally imbibing whatever this gross liquid was.