Life Among The Dead (Book 2): A Castle Made of Sand

by Cotton, Daniel

  11

  “Beau, you really think it’s smart to bring him in like that?” Cletus asks, once again away from his post.

  “Yup,” the boss responds absently, too busy scrolling through the songs on his new music device to pay his associate much mind. “You see that heat he’s carrying? Better to have him on our side. Could be useful. Why don’t you make yourself useful and plug this into the system. Play track nine. I love me some Rob Zombie.”

  The player is jacked into the club’s sound system, and a computer altered voice floods the smoke hazed space, “Living dead girl.”

  As the opening guitar riffs shake the building’s foundation, Dustin enacts his revenge. Using the end of two wide bristled brooms he has lashed together, he escorts the dead prostitutes to the bar.

  Beau flinches from the sight. “What the fuck?”

  “Give me my guitar!” Dustin demands.

  “Son,” Beau sounds calm, though he cringes and withdraws from the four sets of gnashing teeth. The duct tape muzzles, meant to protect the beer-addled Lotharios who frequent the place, have been removed. “I told you not to cross me. You got what you traded for. Live ladies, my dear wife and little girl in particular, cost folding money…”

  Cletus, who had returned to his post at the door, now comes running. He is winded, unaccustomed to such exertion. Aiming with his weapon isn’t necessary, especially at this range, but he looks down the barrel anyway. He has the dangerous end pointed directly at Dustin.

  “No!” Beau shouts, knowing that if the kid falls he’ll release the girls gone wild.

  The pivot point Dustin lashed at the center of the brooms is the only thing keeping him safe, and the quartet of ravenous strippers turn in erratic directions, causing them to fight against each other. The old brooms won’t hold forever and he knows it, but he only needs them to last until he has retrieved what is rightfully his.

  “I want my shit NOW!”

  The zombies are moved closer to the cowering boss. So he has no choice but to surrender the axe. He slides the instrument along the bar. Until now Dustin has held the brooms with both hands, but one will have to be released to gain the Les Paul.

  One of the zombies eyeing Beau is released, and she chases him towards the bar. He decides not to go behind the counter where he has a gun, since the counter comes to a dead end and he will only become trapped. The ladies follow him down the hall where they have been held captive, being teased by the very food they now desire and have access to.

  Beau runs, hoping to find safety, but he only finds more death, since the boy he trusted to join his family had cracked open the back door. His mosh pit enters the crowded hall, and he’s trapped. The joined zombies behind him take him to the filthy floor, where he dies screaming in agony.

  No advantage is given to Cletus, who must listen to his boss die. The reanimated blondes are swung in his direction and released. They are starving for flesh and zealously take after the large man. The two zombies’ unsteady gait is made even more uneven as they offset one another. He unloads into them with his gun, as he had in the past with his body, but just like then he is premature, and the buckshot merely pelts their limbs and trunks. Dustin isn’t concerned by the presence of the dead. He’s already on his way down the hall, heading for the exit. He passes the framed posters of the very girls he was offered, but they are hardly recognizable now.

  Dustin lets himself fall from the awning, and he places his foot against the plywood as he descends to slow his journey to the asphalt. The running dead are all inside the out-of-business club, so he must simply skirt around the crawling stragglers. He rushes to the ring of cars, happy to see his ride but at a loss as to where he should go now.

  Dustin holds no qualms with prostitution, willing prostitution. But the idea of working for a drug dealer who defiles his dead employees like that is nothing he wants to be a part of. He has food and guns, and he knows he will find a place to live. As far as female companionship, he’ll just have to see what the future holds.

  The situation makes him laugh once he has a second to relax. The signage of the joint boasts: Girls! Girls! Girls! It makes no claims to having live girls.

  He’s about to put his purple Camaro into drive when he hears yelling beyond his doors. On the roof, the younger of the two awkward dancers he had been ‘entertained’ by, Beau’s daughter, stands waving for his attention. She timidly scales down the building and squeamishly evades the dead on the ground on her way to him. Her bare shoulders are covered by a thin blue blanket.

  The time it takes the girl to climb over a compact car allows Dustin a chance to admire her in the light of day. Her anorexic frame aside, she’s actually very beautiful, and practically the last woman on Earth. She places her palms on his passenger window, and he lowers the pane to hear what she has to say.

  “Take me with you?”

  The answer is simply given by unlocking the door. A sigh of relief escapes her after she slides into the seat. The car is turned back the way he had come and the accelerator is pressed to the floor. The Flag Pole grows smaller in the rearview and he’s glad, because he wants to put as much distance as possible between him and the club.

  The two sit in silence in the speeding car. The only sound besides the engine and the road is the girl’s sniffling. Wrapped in her blue leopard print blanket, the young damsel cries softly. Dustin was hoping to play the role of hero for her, stoically take her away from her subjugated existence, and take her someplace safe where she can show him her appreciation. Instead he feels weird, as it just seems odd to let her cry and not talk, too creepy.

  Struggling for something to say, some sort of icebreaker, he comes up almost entirely blank. “What’s your name?”

  “Lita,” she answers.

  Of course it is, he scolds himself. Her dad said her name. The man I killed. Dustin returns to silence, deciding that playing the mysterious stranger angle will do just nicely. He needs to figure out where they will go.

  The girl hisses in pain, taking a sharp intake of air as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat to see her shoulder under her covering. The flesh is ravaged and raw. “Do you have a bandage?”

  A screeching halt lurches Lita forward. She is thrown to the dashboard, leaving just enough room for Dustin to reach for her door handle. He ejects the frail girl out onto the dusty road. The car resumes its traveling without pausing long enough for the passenger door to be closed. It waves goodbye to her as she is pelted with loose gravel kicked up by the powerful wheels.

  He tries not to look in his mirrors, but he is compelled to. The girl just lies in the road, and they watch each other grow smaller. Dustin tries not to feel too bad; the hamburger made of her arm can only be the result of one of the zombies getting a taste of her.

  “She’s already dead,” he tells himself on his way through the ghost town of Fallen.

  The guilt he feels isn’t lifting, and no amount of rationalization will alleviate it at the moment. He needs a distraction, so he pulls the MP3 players out of his pocket, skipping the one that holds Rob Zombie’s entire catalog and now some painful memories.

  He scans the contents of his devices, gazing occasionally at the road before him. On one of the fleeting occasions he attends to his driving, he is almost too late; where the road intersects with the highway, he must come to another screeching halt, lest he collide with a rust brown tow truck.

  The items he hauls shift forward, and he worries about his guitar. Dustin checks the instrument for damage, disregarding the damage that almost befell him until he considers the ordinance he has in his trunk. His hands now tremble on the wheel; the thought of blowing himself up suddenly makes him hesitant to drive at all.

  Taking slow, deliberate breaths through his nose, he calms his racing heart. His newfound tranquility is turned to panic once more, though, when he sees the driver exit the old wrecker. The man is not only tall but built of thick muscle.

  “Hey, moron!” the towering giant bellows while pointing to t
he side of the road. “That’s a stop sign!”

  Dustin’s wide-eyed gaze doesn’t falter from the approaching brute, not even to take in the octagonal placard the guy indicates. He simply takes his foot off of the brake and depresses the gas, crossing the highway.

  The large man has to leap out of the path of the purple speedster. Several paranoid glances behind him reveal to Dustin that the beast is not following, so he eases off the throttle. He has no idea where he is or where he’s going. He just hopes that it’s safe.

  A fluttering of nausea grips his stomach. The actions he was forced to take at the Flag Pole, and thoughts that the frightening tow truck driver he fears may come looking for him one day, is making him sick. Above that, nothing knots his guts more than the awareness that he is alone in the world.

  He contemplates his fate. Will he be doomed to wander the land, trying to survive up until the day some lucky zombie finally gets a piece of him, or until he decides to end it all himself.

  “As long as I have my music, I will survive.”

  Section VI. Dead on Arrival

  1

  The hulking man watches the purple Camaro speed off into the distance. He hasn’t seen many strangers on the road, let alone such inconsiderate drivers. The radio in his beat-up tow truck squawks, drawing him from his fuming. The driver’s side door emits a metallic squeak upon opening. He leans into the vehicle the children of New Castle have dubbed Mater.

  “Oz. Come in, Oz,” a tinny female voice beckons over the CB.

  “Go ahead, Carla.”

  “It’s getting late. Why don’t you bring it in for the night?”

  “Sure thing. I was just about to turn around.”

  “Where are you?” the self-appointed sheriff asks.

  “Near your old stomping grounds, actually.”

  “Fallen? Ew! Anything to report?”

  “Naw… Well, I almost collided with some asshole in a Camaro,” he tells her while getting behind the wheel.

  “A survivor? Are you bringing him in?”

  “He took off.”

  “Aw! Sweetie, you didn’t scare him away, did you?” she says with faux disappointment.

  “Who, me? No, I just critiqued his driving,” Oz sugar coats his explanation. “The skittish fuck just bolted.”

  “Wanna grab a bite when you hit town?”

  “Rain check. I have to help David move into his new place.”

  “I heard about that. You fellas couldn’t make it work, you know, for the kids?”

  “No way.” Oz turns his wrecker to face north towards New Castle. “We’re a complete odd couple. The oddest part being that I’m Felix.”

  “Times are hard enough on children, but adding a broken home life…” Ever since Oz had arrived in town with two dozen children and a male nurse named David, Carla has razzed him about his situation. It’s her way of showing him he belongs.

  “They’ll cope,” he says. “We’re alternating custody.”

  “That’s good!” she says with exaggerated enthusiasm. “And you’ll meet someone else. There’s plenty of fish in the sea.”

  Oz takes a deep breath. He realizes she knows the truth about his perfectly platonic life partnership with the man, forged from unusual circumstances, but she insists on riding him over it. As irritating as it is, being unaccustomed to anyone having the balls to make jokes at his expense, especially so unrelentingly, he enjoys it. He easily integrated into the team since he has a brief history with the king back in Waterloo.

  He changes the subject, “Are we still heading to Raleigh in the morning?”

  “Yup, just after Becka’s big debut,” she reports excitedly. “And guess who’s coming with us.”

  “You’re kidding!” He smiles into the handset. “The queen’s cool with this?”

  “Talked to her myself. Raleigh fits all the criteria. It’s close, walled up, and there hasn’t been any movement detected in the town.”

  ##

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Heather Williamson admits over dinner.

  Dan pauses in the spoon feeding of their youngest child, Vincent, so he can whine. “You said I could. You even told Carla I could go.”

  “I know but…” She tries to counter as she cuts the food of the oldest, Jack, into smaller pieces.

  Her husband interrupts her sentence. “And you’re always trying to get me out of the house.”

  “Not out of town.” She shakes her head. “I mean the office, or around New Castle.”

  He groans at that idea. The citizens have been getting to him ever since the crown had been permanently affixed to his head over two months ago. Plus he hates the idea of sending people into the unknown without taking any of the risk himself, as his late Uncle Bruce had advised. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be with Carla and Oz and a bunch of other guys with guns.”

  “Fine. But if you get bit, don’t come crying to me.” She surrenders the topic once again. “How was work today?”

  “I swear these people are getting stupider with each passing day.”

  Heather laughs, since this isn’t the first time she’s heard him say such a thing. “I told you, they aren’t getting any stupider, they’re just returning to normal.”

  “All they do is squabble and complain about the most asinine things.”

  “See? Normal.” She smiles. “What was it this time?”

  “The topper was a land dispute.”

  “That doesn’t sound…”

  “They aren’t even from here! They’re refugees from Waterloo. One started a flower garden, the neighbor found the property abstract… I flipped a coin and made the loser move.”

  “Can I see the coin you used?” She asks with a raised eyebrow.

  “I don’t see why…”

  “You didn’t really go off the coin, did you?”

  “The garden was already dug!” Dan exclaims. “That prick waited until the work was done before bitching about it.”

  After dessert, Dan and Heather clean up the boys and partake in playing with them. The boys’ father tickles them in what he calls ‘Gotcha-time.’ He pretends to eat them in turn while the boys giggle uncontrollably. A dark thought is always present in the back of his head during this. What if I ever do turn into a zombie? What if I actually tried to devour them? He shakes off the imagery and accompanying sounds of gleeful laughter turning into imaginary shrill screams of pain.

  The boys have been put down for the night, so the couple washes the dishes together. Dan finds the routine relaxing because it makes the place feel like home. An unspoken choice hangs thickly in the air between them. A decision must be made that will irrevocable throw off their routine, and lead to many sleepless nights. It’s the culmination of another debate the Williamsons have been having for the past month.

  “I think we should,” Dan says plainly, though the subject has not been broached this evening. “It’ll be our own return to normalcy.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asks, handing him a plate to dry. Her eyes return to the basin of soapy water, but they go wide upon the realization of what he is referring to, “A baby?”

  They’ve talked about it, neither taking a definite side, only weighing the options. They had always said they wanted two due to the expense, but that’s no longer applicable. The old inn they live in has ample room for many children, and there’s even room for their children’s children. Dan explains that since technically Jack is not their child by birth, and was instead rescued when he was nine months old, they’re not breaking their prior vow. Heather turns and hugs her husband, her hands sodden with suds. She is happy beyond words, and they have everything they have ever wanted, but who couldn’t use a little more love around the house.

  ##

  Though the night is warm, Dustin wraps himself in a blanket and clicks on the portable heater. He is fighting a chill no number of blankets or warmth can alleviate--loneliness. He has found a place to park for the night that he hopes will prove safe, on top of a hill
just north of a town called Raleigh.

  He assumes the dead won’t venture against gravity unless they are chasing a meal. But he feels vulnerable despite his precautions, weapons, and the steel cocoon that surrounds him. He feels lost though he has nowhere to be, no home, no destination. No hope.

  Sleep doesn’t come easy for him. He stares out his windshield, seeing lights in the distance, but these are false promises. He knows this region gets its power from a dam on the Charles River. Just porch lights with no one home, he thinks. He spots a red beacon in the air that he believes to be a radio tower, and it flashes on and off rhythmically, finally lulling him to sleep.

  2

  “Gooood morning, New Castle! This is your friendly neighborhood DJ, Becka Connelly, coming atcha over the airwaves. And to all of you in the listening area outside our walls, stop in and see us. Our motto is: New Castle, we won’t eat you. As coined by our fallen monarch, the great Bruce Williamson.

  “Being my inaugural broadcast, let me tell you what this show is all about. I will be passing info to you from our leaders, and announcements from your fellow citizens, between the music. You may have seen blue mailboxes all over town that once belonged to the United States Postal Service, but are now our suggestion boxes, and not to be used as trashcans anymore, guys. Write down anything you want me to say on the air, or make musical requests. Also feel free to jot down your suggestions for the town, or gripes, as these are not to be taken directly to the king or his people anymore. Mrs. McCleary, this means you! If you absolutely must see the king, please make an appointment at our town office.

  “Now, before I play the music I’d like to remind you all about ‘Living with Survival.’ It’s a support group that meets every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in the basement of the community center. A nice, safe place where you can unload tales of your life among the dead, if those memories are still giving you trouble…”