Blood of the Dead: A Zombie Novel (Undead World Trilogy, Book One)

by Fuchs, A. P.

  Two undead ambled toward the bottom of the hose.

  “No, not now,” he muttered and tried to reach his gun. His arms were already too rubbery from all the excitement. Holding himself up with one hand while trying to reach his gun with the other would be impossible, and he was already a good ten feet up so dropping wouldn’t work lest he wanted to risk twisting his ankle from landing on top of the corpses.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” he shouted.

  Billie had stopped again.

  “I’m outta stuff up here!” the old man shouted.

  “Des, give her a push,” Joe said.

  Des reached up, arm slightly shaking, and tried to give Billie a nudge on her bottom. She was a half foot too high; he couldn’t reach her. He climbed up further and just as his fingers touched her sweat pants, the two undead below swung the hose and Des quickly snapped his fingers back and clung to it for dear life.

  Billie let go.

  She skimmed past Des, her hip bumping into his shoulder, sending her spinning to the left as she fell.

  Joe shot out his arm and caught her around her small waist. She let out a choked gulp the second his arm wrapped around her middle. His fingers slipped on the hose and he skidded down a good couple of feet before the friction brought them to a stop.

  “I got you,” he said, wincing at the searing heat blazing across his palm.

  All she could do was nod.

  Des peered down over his shoulder at them.

  “Keep going,” Joe told him.

  He grimaced, looked skyward, then continued his ascent.

  Already Joe’s hand was shaking from having to support not just his but her weight as well. Billie just hung there off his arm like a rag doll. Below, a few of the dead grabbed hold of the hose and swung it side to side. One of them seemed amazed at the hose’s movement.

  “I’m gonna need your help, Billie,” Joe said. He jerked her right up against his body and told her to take hold of the hose. His hand slid down another few inches.

  The zombies swung the hose, sending all three to the right. Joe spun and his back and base of his neck slammed into the building. A dull thwunk echoed inside his head and the back of his neck throbbed.

  “GRAB ON!” he shouted without meaning to.

  Billie adjusted herself in his grip then reached up and took hold of the hose.

  “I can’t . . .” she said.

  “Yes, you can. You have to or we’re both done for.”

  A couple stories above them, Des was now halfway over the window, the old timer above reeling him in by the back of his shirt.

  “It’s okay, Joe.” She sniffled back tears. “Really. I’m finished. I can’t climb on my own. I’m—”

  “Shut up and climb up!”

  She shook her head.

  “If you let go, I’m letting go, too, but so help me I’ll kill you before they do.”

  Her blue eyes went wide.

  “Yeah, not joking,” he said, locking eyes with hers. Then, pacing his words very carefully, “Start going up. I’ll be right behind you. I’ll give you a shove when you need it.”

  The hose took a swing to the left then snapped taught as one of the zombies below grabbed on and tried climbing up. It took a few tries but the thing quickly caught on and slowly ascended.

  “It’s either me or that dead guy down there. Your call,” Joe said.

  Billie looked at the creature below; tears leaked out the corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath then started to move upward.

  Good girl, he thought. Finally.

  He slipped a notch and thought he felt the bottom of his boot skim the top of the zombie’s head beneath him. He kicked downward once and hit nothing but air. With his left hand he gave Billie a shove and ignored the pain in his shoulder as he helped push her up.

  When he was finally able to grab hold of the hose with both hands, blessed relief washed through his aching muscles. Much easier.

  The two climbed.

  “Hurry! They’re right behind you!” Des shouted.

  Before Joe could look, the hose went to the left again but this time not as much thanks to all the weight upon it. Billie shrieked.

  “Keep climbing!” Joe told her.

  If I could just reach my gun I could—Billie slipped and landed rear first on the top of his head. She must have caught herself because he only slid down another inch or two.

  He gave her a hard push where her tailbone met her bottom, renewed his grip on the hose, pulled himself up a little, then gave her a shove again. He kept repeating this till Billie was finally at the top.

  “Grab her!” he shouted at Des. The old guy wasn’t with him anymore.

  Des latched both hands onto her shoulders and heaved her in like a fisherman loading in a day’s catch.

  Something grabbed Joe’s ankle and tugged him down. Both hands slid on the hose. His palms ignited and it wouldn’t have surprised him if he saw smoke waft out from under his hands. He kicked wildly at the creature below, slamming his boot into its face, all the while scrambling up the hose as fast as he could.

  “Pull me up!” he shouted.

  Des just stared at him, Billie at his side, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, screaming at him to listen.

  “What’s your problem!” he shouted, not knowing why Des wasn’t doing anything.

  Again dead fingers curled around his ankle and yanked him down. He let go of the rope and plowed into a dead Asian dude who was on the hose a few stories above street level. The creature’s eyebrows drew into a point above its white eyes as it growled at him. Immediately the thing went to bite his neck. Joe jerked to the side and the thing’s teeth just missed him. Suddenly he had his back to the wall; the undead freak wasn’t letting up and clawed at him.

  Joe shot out his fist and caught the creature in the jaw then snapped out another punch to the thing’s neck. That only dazed it for a second before it grabbed hold of him. His hand held the hose tight while the other was intertwined with the zombie’s. There’d be no way to reach his gun now.

  BANG!

  Blood and tissue splashed his face as a black hole suddenly appeared in the Asian’s forehead. The thing let go and fell on top of its comrades below.

  Joe felt a tug on the hose and was jerked upward one foot at a time. Strength sapped from his arms, he maybe managed a few feet on his own till he felt several pairs of hands grabbing him on the shoulders and around the chest. The posh carpeted floor of an office came into view as he tumbled over the window’s edge, landing against someone’s shoe.

  An old man with a scraggly head of gray hair and a gray beard loomed over him, a rifle in his hand. “You owe me one.”

  28

  Introductions

  To see people again—real, living, breathing people—set August’s heart into a gallop, and it wasn’t from excitement. Reconnecting with the “real world” after being away from it for so long . . . well, he just didn’t know what to expect. The world he left was one where everyone fought for their own place, looked out for themselves and, as he learned over the course of a lifetime, didn’t care who or what they had to hurt to get themselves to where they wanted to be. Eleanor often told him he was being too cynical and that if he gave folks a chance, he’d see that despite their flaws most were, deep down, decent people.

  “But you forget the human heart,” he told her. “Who can know it, right? The things we’re capable of . . . . How many times have you thought the path seemed right but then, a short time later, you found out you led yourself astray?”

  She was usually silent after that. Deep down, he knew she agreed with him. It was one of the many things they both firmly believed. It was also one of the things that made them appreciate God’s Gift all the more.

  But that was before all this madness. Before the dead roamed the earth.

  August looked around at the faces of the three young people who had come in through the window. The four of them were now crowded into a small maintenance room off one of the hallwa
ys in Winnipeg Square. A small candle taken from one of the shops provided the illumination, the room cast in a warm glow that, at any other time in history, would be quite comforting. Now, it reminded August of the possibility of hell to follow should any of these three try anything.

  The power had officially gone out not long after he awoke. That meant no running water either.

  The guy in the trench coat broke the silence. “How long have you been here?”

  August studied the young man’s face, more specifically, his eyes. It could have been his imagination but he thought he saw a distant pain somewhere behind the man’s green-eyed gaze. “Not long. Since yesterday.”

  The man nodded.

  The young girl with the pink hair folded her arms. Though her eyes were cast to the floor, August knew she was addressing him when she spoke. “Are we safe in here?”

  “As safe as can be, my dear, though I don’t know for how long.”

  She glanced up at him quizzically. Should he tell them about the possibility they weren’t alone in the Square? That a creature yet unfound lurked about? No, not yet.

  “What’s your name?” the other young man asked him.

  “Yours first,” August said.

  “Why?”

  He flinched inside. He thought it was expected that you answered an elder regardless of the question posed. “You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine. And be truthful. I know kids like to make up names, if it suits them.”

  The guy smirked and shook his head. “Okay, fine. My name is Des.”

  “Does Des have a last name?”

  Des shook his head again. There was a pause before he spoke. “Nottingham.” Des looked as if he were waiting for August to say something.

  “Thank you. My name is August. August Norton.”

  “Joe Bailey,” the other young man said.

  August nodded in his direction. The three turned their attention to the girl. She unfolded her arms.

  “My name’s Billie. Billie Friday.”

  Des, Joe and Billie, August thought. You sure know how to pick ’em, Lord. He wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that.

  Silence reigned in the little room again.

  “So what now?” Des asked after a time.

  “We can’t stay here,” August said. “They know we’re in here. If they’re able to communicate with one another, they’ll surely tell their friends that a meal is waiting for them if they’re willing to dig a little.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Billie said.

  “What did you expect, my dear? The promise of absolute safety?”

  “What’s eating you?” she snapped back.

  August sighed. “Nothing. Apologies. It’s been awhile since I’ve spoken to anyone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  You don’t have a clue. “Listen, right now we need to come up with an exit strategy, and more specifically, where we’re going to go once we’re out of here.”

  “Couldn’t we just walk out?” Des asked. “When the coast is clear, I mean.”

  “If that moment comes, that’s a possibility. But first things first. I need you boys to help me board up the windows upstairs. The dead saw us climb in. They could be trying to climb in as well. They could already be inside, for all we know.”

  “Agreed,” Joe said. “When?”

  “The sooner the better.”

  “And we’ll use what to board them up?”

  “There’s a lot of office furniture up there. I’m sure we’ll find something,” August said.

  “All right. I also propose we use the buddy system. No one goes anywhere without someone else. Not even to the bathroom.”

  Billie shifted uncomfortably. “If that’s the case, I choose Des as my partner for that.”

  “Gee, thanks,” he said.

  “Arms are important,” Joe said. To August: “Have anything?”

  “Just what you see here.” He hefted his rifle. “That and a lot of prayer.”

  The other three made a face.

  “Think what you want,” he added. He surveyed the room. “I haven’t had a chance to go through everything in here so look around. Find any tools, bring them out. We’ll take them upstairs and do what we can. I also want all of us going up there together in case we run into trouble.”

  29

  Upstairs

  The four returned to the office upstairs, Joe and August taking the lead because they were the ones with the weapons. Billie followed closely behind them with Des trailing at the end. He clenched the iron pipe between his fingers as they trudged up the multiple flights of stairs to get up to the fifth floor.

  I’m getting tired of this, Des thought as he adjusted the small pouch of tools over his shoulder. He’d taken them from the maintenance room. His eyes and head ached from exhaustion. It was well past time to go to bed. Couple that with all that happened . . .

  His stomach rumbled and every muscle in his scrawny body seemed to protest this further strain he was putting on them as they climbed. He knew full well he was grouchy, but he still couldn’t shake the swell of anger and frustration bubbling within his chest.

  Up until now—namely up until Joe showed up—everything had been fine. He was finally getting used to living in an undead world and having to be “always on the run.” What’s more, he was also getting himself ready to talk to Billie, to really talk to her, and tell her how he felt. Des figured the odds of her accepting him were in his favor. There weren’t too many other “live folk” around for her to choose from. They were close. Best friends, even. But Joe changed everything. The guy, as much as Des hated to admit it, was a hero. He came out of the dark and saved their lives. He had appointed himself leader of their little band and now that they met August, he seemed to take to that role even more, though Des sensed a bit of unease on August’s part. The old guy probably figured that since he had lived nearly three times as long as each of them, he should be the one in charge. The guy had to at least be in his sixties. That and a respect-for-your-elders tradition probably played a strong part in it. With each passing moment, Des felt as if Billie was slipping away, especially because of his behavior as of late.

  Keeping cool had never been his strong point. When things got intense, it was fly by the seat of your pants for him. He’d always been one to listen to his heart even when it sometimes landed him in trouble.

  August opened the door leading onto the fifth floor and the three others walked past him as he held it open. The old man quickly moved past Des and Billie and rejoined Joe at the front.

  “This one here,” August said and led them into the office where not long before he had hurled computers and office equipment onto the street.

  August drew up his rifle and pointed it into the room before entering, just in case. Des braced himself for a rush of the undead to come pouring out.

  “Clear,” the old man rasped.

  They all went into the room. Des, Joe and Billie stopped in their tracks when August raised a finger, motioning for them to be silent.

  The entire floor was quiet, and no sound indicating movement came from the street below.

  Des and Joe went to the window and peered out. Below, dead bodies rimmed the lower edge of the building. A few straggling zombies milled about, some stopping to inspect their fallen kin, others just walking aimlessly here and there.

  “Not very intelligent, are they?” August said as he came up beside Joe.

  “I don’t know about that,” Joe said. “We’ve encountered a few who seemed to know what they’re doing. And there’re some out there who are fast, too.”

  “Different breeds?” Des asked.

  “Maybe,” Joe said. “Or maybe it just takes time for them to learn from one another or, even, for them to come to conclusions on their own in regards to what they’re capable of. Let’s face it: those are shells of human beings down there. Brain dead, for the most part. That is, smart enough to know what they have to do to survive but not so smart as to go about it in the best w
ay. Thankfully, that works to our advantage. They have the IQ of maybe a one-year-old, if that.”

  “I think it’s instinct,” August said. “Think about it: what’s their goal? To eat. Why does anyone eat? To survive. Why does anyone fight? To defend themselves or to survive, right?”

  “But why us?” Billie asked. “Why eat us? Makes no sense.”

  “I’m sure there’s an explanation for it,” August said.

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “No.”

  “There’s probably no way to find out either.” She slouched her shoulders and walked to the wall on the other side of the room.

  “What if there’s more to it than that?” Des said. “I mean, think about it. Look back to a year ago when this all began. The rain came. People turned into, well, zombies. But some people didn’t. We didn’t. If this was just some freak thing, wouldn’t all of us be like them?”

  August glanced at Joe. “The boy raises a good point.”

  Des smiled. “The question, of course, is how do we know?”

  August let go a deep breath. “Like all things, answers reveal themselves in time. If we’re looking for them, of course.”

  Billie turned away from the wall. “How did you get here?”

  “Me?” August said.

  “You’re the only one we don’t know.”