The Rising Dead

by Devan Sagliani

  The Rising Dead

  Devan Sagliani

  .

  Copyright 2012 Devan Sagliani

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was as if someone had sent out an invisible signal that let people know summer had officially just ended. All around him people began pouring out of their hotel rooms, as if on cue, packing their cars until the entire parking lot was crammed full of them. Carefree smiles creased slightly sun burned faces. Summer beach folk mindlessly packed suitcases and beer coolers into pickup trucks, sedans, family vans, and SUV's. Beach balls were deflated. The trash and recycling bins overflowed. A line of cars as far as the eye could see was glistening in the golden light of the late August afternoon, moving down Ocean boulevard, up along Orange, and back over the Coronado bridge, back towards San Diego and the 5, making the slow crawl home in bumper to bumper traffic.

  Donovan could not remember having a better summer vacation than the one he had just spent with his girlfriend, Poppy, on Coronado Island. He'd loaded his Kindle up with over twenty new books he wanted to finish before heading back to school. His smile grew as he realized that he had not fired it up even once.

  He pushed his way through the mess, getting high fives and back slaps along the way from friends, some old and some new, until he reached the edge of the beach. Poppy was standing there in cut off shorts, a bikini top, and a see-through blouse. Her long blonde hair whipped around her face in the ocean breeze.

  God, he thought. She is so beautiful--I am truly lucky! Not that he'd ever let her know that. He'd acted aloof since they first started dating, convinced that if he ever did tell her just how much he cared about her she might freak out. No need to ruin a good thing. But every now and then--like that moment--it hit him, and damn near knocked the air out of him in the process.

  “It's a shame, isn't it?” she asked herself just loud enough to be sure he heard her. “A summer beach vacation without being able to go in the water even once.”

  “We're lucky they didn't just shut down the island altogether,” he replied. “It could have been so much worse than this.”

  “Where did they go? It's like they just disappeared overnight, like it was a bad dream,” she said.

  “I don't know,” Donovan replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “It's all wrong,” she said, staring toward the expanse of glistening blue water, yearning and loss reflected in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her warm body into his. He looked down at her tiny hand as it touched him. “They didn't even take down the signs. That's the only way I know I didn't make it up. Isn't that technically littering?”

  “I think it is,” he agreed, whispering into her ear before kissing her neck. “It's downright criminal if you ask me but it's not like anyone cares when it's the government. Hell this whole town is in love with the military.”

  Poppy leaned into him, lingering just a moment too long before jerking away. She grabbed his hand, dragging him with her despite his protests towards the ocean. She let go of him and crawled under the fence set up to block access to the beach, the one with all the bright new warning signs she was just complaining about. She turned back to him and flashed a wide smile.

  “Don't be such a chicken,” she taunted. “Come on!”

  Donovan glanced around nervously before following her. He complained under his breath the whole time - just loud enough to let her know he disapproved but not loud enough for her to make out his string of curse words. Once she got an idea in her head nothing could slow her down again and he knew it. The truth of the matter was this was part of what he found attractive about her, her devil-may-care attitude. Poppy was always in search of a new adventure. Her enthusiasm was nothing short of infectious. He could feel the excitement growing in him, a nervous tickle in the center of his chest that seemed to radiate outwards.

  Poppy let go of his hand and raced at full speed toward the water, her long, beautiful legs flashing as she pulled away from him. Donovan tried to keep up with her, but it was no use. She was fast when she wanted to be, damn near uncatchable. She'd run track all of high school, no doubt driving the other boys crazy with her sexy legs and her long, honey blonde hair wildly flowing behind her, waving in their faces like a victory flag as she passed. She made short work of the distance between the fence and the water. By the time he reached her, panting and out of breath, she was calmly leaning against the warning sign put up to keep people out of the water. He was trying not to let on how out of shape he was feeling. Summer had definitely taken a toll on him. When he got back home he was going to hit the gym and up his cardio routine. He was going to have to lay off the beer as well, a thought that made him wince.

  “What took you so long, slow poke?”

  “Very funny,” he managed at last, straightening up to read the sign.

  It had all started the same day they'd left for summer vacation. Donovan had been randomly flipping through radio news channels in search of a traffic report that explain the insane snarl he'd been caught up in when he'd come upon the breaking story. The Coast Guard had intercepted a burning tanker off the coast of San Diego headed up from Mexico. It was believed that some of the passengers were escapees from a Mexican island prison colony and might possibly be infected with an aggressive new strain of highly contagious leprosy. The President of the United States had even made a statement, assuring all Americans that he was taking every conceivable precaution to ensure public health and safety were not endangered by this event.

  Donovan flipped between talk radio stations where usually irreverent radio shock jocks were now arguing whether or not one of the Cartels had been involved in the prison break and if high ranking Mexican officials had been involved.

  “Whatever is on that boat,” one particularly obnoxious host cajoled, “they don't want it getting off. It's trouble, not just for the current administration, but for you and me. Mark my words friends because the liberal media is going to try to cover this up as quickly as they can. We're on our own here and your life may just depend on how much you know.”

  “Are you sure you still want to go?” Poppy looked concerned as she switched the radio off before he could hear any more. “We don't have to you know. We can turn around and head back home. I won't be mad.”

  “And miss out on our big beach vacation?” The thought was more than he could bear.

  “What if they've closed down the bridge?”

  “They won't,” he said fiercely, trying to ward off his shaky nerves. “There are too many people who live on the island. They depend on the tourist economy to stay alive. They need us to come.”

  “I don't know,” Poppy grumbled, looking at her nails.

  “I do,” Donovan fired back. “Besides, we've already paid for the hotel. Do you want to lose all that money so we can sit around the public pool back home with all the high school kids?”

  Poppy shook her head no without making a sound.

  “What is it?”

  “I got a bad feeling about this Donnie,” she said in a tiny voice.

  “It's going to be fine,” he cooed. “They've got it all under control. Aren't you excited to see the Hotel Del Coronado? I thought that was one of the main reasons you wanted to come to San Diego?”

  “I was,” she sulked.

  “Listen,” he said, turning to look at her as
they came to another frustrating dead stop in the middle of the road. “Nothing is going to happen. I promise. I will look out for you. Got it?”

  She turned and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you too baby,” he replied.

  After hours of slow crawling traffic they finally reached the bridge. There was a military checkpoint stopping cars leaving the island and a single soldier waving traffic in. It didn't look any worse at first glance than most airport security details he'd seen.

  “You see,” Donovan said. He couldn't resist letting her know he was right. “They're on it. Nothing to worry about.”

  Poppy smiled and shook her head in a supportive way but her eyes betrayed her fear. By the time they'd checked in and unpacked it was long forgotten and she was back to her bubbly self. Donovan raced to settle in then changed into trunks. He practically ran out of the room towards the water just in time to see the Army National Guard putting up barricades. Behind them, workers in hazmat suits took readings from the water and put up signs. Donovan felt like a total idiot standing there shirtless in his trunks and flip flops, towel over his shoulder, bottle of tanning lotion and a copy of the Economist in hand. He turned to the soldier. He looked the same age as Donovan, maybe slightly younger.

  “When are they going to reopen the beach?” The minute the words were out of his mouth he realized that he sounded like a spoiled, whiny child.

  “This area is currently off limits to civilians, sir.”

  Donovan couldn't read the guys face. Was he annoyed to have to answer to some rich kid? Donovan wasn't what others would call wealthy, but surely next to this poor, pimple-faced teenager who had to stand out in the hot sun telling guys in swim trunks to stay off the beach, he was well off. Donovan had studied plenty about income inequality in his civics classes. He wouldn't blame the soldier if he had some misplaced anger about their respective positions in society; that was for sure. Not that it was his fault. He hadn't chosen to be born slightly better off. It was just the way things had worked out, the cards that he’d been dealt.

  No amount of reasoning seemed to take the guilt away though. The beach air was hot, flushing his face red with embarrassment and twisting up his guts. The fact that the kid had no facial expression just seemed to make things worse. Donovan rationalized that one day, when he was an elected official in Congress maybe, he would work toward reducing poverty and creating better opportunities for people like this kid. He drew himself up and saluted the kid.

  “Thank you for your service,” he said.

  The kid soldier didn't respond. Already committed, Donovan dropped his hand from his brow, turning as he did and confidently striding away. He wanted to make sure his body language was congruent with his patriotic display. Otherwise it would look like he was mocking the guy. Not wanting to take any chances, he opted not to look back. It was only when he was back in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed and staring out the window, that he noticed his hands were violently shaking.

  I’d make a lousy soldier, he thought, trying to calm his nerves. What rattled him most was the soldier’s total lack of emotion. It was as if the guy was a robot devoid of feelings. How did people get that way?

  During the rest of their stay they had set up camp by the pool. Poppy worked hard at making all the guys jealous with her amazing body and endless supply of tiny bikinis. Nights were spent going across the harbor in water taxi's to the Gaslight district and drinking until they closed down the tiny, crowded bars. They'd missed the last boat back more than once and had to take a yellow cab back over the bridge. Once they went home with another couple, Frank and Amanda, but had chickened out when it became clear they wanted to swing and left early. They'd walked over a mile to a Denny's to order breakfast and sober up. They slept most of the next day. Poppy hadn't brought it up again and neither had Donovan. The rest of the days had flown past them like pages being ripped off a calendar.

  From time to time, Donovan would look over and see Army trucks rolling in and out of the island. There were no reports of bodies washing up on the shore. The government's official position was that the disease had been contained. Donovan kept an eye out but he never saw that pimple-faced kid again. Time seemed to go by in a blur. By the end of their vacation Donovan and Poppy were spending more time indoors drinking and exploring each others bodies than they were outside partying with their friends.

  They managed to pull themselves out of bed one Sunday long enough to visit the Hotel Del Coronado. It was old and beautiful and gave Donovan the chills to look at. Poppy had seen an episode of Ghost Adventures on the Travel Channel talking about a lady in a black dress named Kate Morgan that committed suicide while she was a guest and has haunted the place ever since. They wandered through the lobby in search of otherworldly clues, admiring the woodwork and sitting on the ancient couches before hitting the endless gift shops. Once Poppy had gotten her fill of candy and souvenirs for her little sister they walked out into the gardens that overlooked the ocean.

  Down by the water guys in white lab coats came and went, like mad scientists from a black and white horror film on basic cable. Soldiers in hazmat suits waded into the water, taking samples and bringing them back to the scientists.

  “What are they looking for anyway?” Poppy asked.

  “I don't know,” Donovan replied. “But whatever it is can't be that serious or they'd evacuate us all, right?”

  “Did you feel the chill in the lobby?” Poppy said suddenly. “All the hairs on the back of my arm stood up at once.”

  “You think it was that woman's ghost?”

  She shook her head, her eyes growing almost as wide as her smile.

  “Why didn't you say something?”

  “It freaked me out,” she said, “but in a good way.”

  Donovan suggested they walk the street back and hit the New York style pizzeria for beers and slices. Poppy jumped at the idea. They turned away from the water and scurried around the haunted hotel.

  That afternoon the news reported that the tanker had sunk. Donovan thought it was strange that no one was saying why it had gone down, whether it had sustained damage from the fire and taken on water or whether the Navy had deliberately torpedoed the hull to intentionally sink it. The twenty-four hour news feeds all had the same details. The only channel not playing it was ESPN so he spent the evening watching an NFL exhibition game and a documentary on John Wooden.

  The next day they were just gone--all of them. He woke up to get coffee and couldn't help but check for that kid one last time. To his shock there were no trucks, no scientists in white lab coats, no guys in self-contained white suits and masks, not even any soldiers. The posted warning signs were the only reminder that any of them had ever been there. It was, as Poppy had described it, eerie.

  “We're not supposed to be here,” he said. “The beach is still closed.”

  “Don't be silly, Donovan,” Poppy replied with one of her trademark carefree laughs that always seemed to melt his resistance away. “You’re always finding something to worry about. These are the last few hours of our break, the last chance we might have to be alone for a while. Between your obsessive devotion to your studies and my demanding social calendar, we might not even see each other again till graduation.”

  “I thought that's why we moved in together,” he replied. “Why we’re living in sin.”

  Poppy held her hand up to her mouth in fake shock and outrage. Donovan smirked, fighting back a smile. As much as he hated it when she mocked him, he had to admit she was pretty adorable. After all, wasn't her ability to lighten the mood in any situation part of the reason he had chosen to ask her out--over several other girls from wealthy families that insisted they would make a better match than a vacuous party girl who flunked out of college?

  “Ah, I can see the start of a smile on your face,” she teased.

  “Come on,” he protested, trying to fight it back.

  “It's fine,” she co
ntinued, ignoring him. “See?” She lifted one foot to show him the soft pink underside. “No tar. No dead bodies. Nada.”

  “I just don't want to get into any trouble. This whole area has been closed off by the military the entire time we've been here. That has to mean something.”

  “And they left in the middle of the night?”

  “The signs are still up, Poppy.”

  “Which they probably just forgot to take down on their way out of town,” she offered. “Why are you being such a little boy about this? You sound chicken. Are you a chicken, Donovan?”

  She twisted her hands up into her arm pits and flapped her fake wings, dancing around as she mocked him.

  “You do understand we could get arrested,” he countered, his argument growing weaker by the second. Poppy stopped and gave him a serious look, creasing her brow and locking her eyes on his as if she hung on his every word.

  “Do you have any idea what that could do to my chances of being President one day?”

  He tried to stick to his argument, to stay focused, but as he spoke she began to perform a very sexy strip tease like nothing he had ever seen before, pulling her light blouse over her head first, then pushing down her cut-off jeans. His head swam.

  Where did she even learn to move like that, he wondered? It was as if she had been hiding this secret talent from him, waiting for the perfect moment to unveil it. Her shorts hit the sand about the same time as his jaw did.

  “I wouldn't want to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with, Donovan. You know that.”

  His mouth had suddenly grown as dry as the sand they were standing on. Who was this amazing woman in front of him? He did his best to recover. He didn't want her to know how bad she’d rattled his cage.

  “Very funny,” he replied, darting his eyes back and forth, checking up and down the beach to make sure they were still alone. He thought he saw something that looked like a clump of seaweed about the size of a dog off in the distance, but her gentle cooing drew him back.