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

by Cotton, Daniel

  17

  “Dead on arrival! Massive hordes are inbound. I estimate forty five minutes,” Carla reports to Dan.

  “I want archers and long range rifles on the wall. Let’s keep eyes on the distance at all times,” he says, while helping a group of men move weapons from the gun shop to the back of a flatbed just outside the police station. “Get all kids and non-combatants to the school. I want all private paddocks cleared and the animals ready to roll up the hill.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “If the hunger crazed zombies we saw in Raleigh are any indication, there’s a good chance they’re going to find a way in. We’ll want to take higher ground.”

  “Gotcha!” She rushes off to get the cogs of the plan moving. En route, Carla speaks into a small radio she always carries, which is her direct line to her brother. “Sid?”

  “What? I’m busy,” he complains on his end.

  “I need you to get your ass up the hill and get it to the ranch… No, now, Sid! Shit’s going down and I can’t do my job if I have to worry about you. Yes, you can take your video games.”

  18

  She had watched him drive away. Dustin hadn’t called on his walkie-talkie or even checked in on her. She has no idea if he’s coming back. The floor moves like the deck of a boat, teetering back and forth. Eve unfastens her straps in the dark; her lights went out once she became disconnected from the truck. Solar panels are keeping her life support humming, for now. She knows it won’t be long before the sun goes down.

  She could wallow in her predicament, wondering why she had been left behind, but she chooses to be more proactive. One of her fictional heroes was in a bubble, and in the film he had escaped using a homemade suit. Eve knows such a construction isn’t possible, but she does have a portable respirator with a full face mask. As long as she doesn’t breathe the air, and she sanitizes herself completely afterwards, she thinks she may be able to make it to New Castle. It’s risky, but her options are limited. The girl knows she could die waiting for Dustin to return. If he returns.

  The mask is secured so tight it causes her pain, but she must endure the discomfort since a perfect seal is essential. A small green tank the size of a thermos will provide her with four hours of oxygen once she leaves. Before she can breach the door, she slathers a barrier cream all over her exposed skin to prevent microbes from entering through her dermis.

  “Just one small step for a bubble girl,” she says to boost her confidence as she opens the airlock. The antechamber makes a hushing sound when she locks herself between home and the unknown. Eve hesitates to push the button that releases the outer seal. Eyes clenched tight, she finally hits it, not allowing herself to second guess her decision.

  A slight breeze blows her hair, unlike the vents of her trailer. It isn’t an even flow; it’s ever changing and tickles her scalp. She can’t risk anything penetrating her feet while she walks, so she doubled up her socks and put on her sturdiest pair of slippers. Through the thick footwear, she can feel the hard asphalt. Though the cushioned antimicrobial carpeting of her pod was far more comfortable, it makes her smile.

  “This is real!”

  Eve begins to walk, feeling like an extraterrestrial on an alien planet. She hasn’t known true freedom from her protective captivity since the day of her birth. As a little girl she was able to venture out using a special lightweight suit that was bestowed to her by the head of the Rosie Parson’s project. Like many that have had to live in isolation, Eve suffered from depression at the onset of puberty, when she realized she would never lead a normal life. Never date or get married, never have kids of her own. So she refused a new suit once she outgrew the first, saying it was an unfair tease. Now she wishes to touch everything, taste the very breeze that makes her hair fly, stop and smell the flowers, but such actions could kill her and she hasn’t the time.

  She only stops long enough to pull two latex gloves onto her right hand so she can pick up one of Dustin’s guns from the road--a large silver revolver with a bulbous, dangerous end she knows from television to be a silencer. Should she encounter one of the ‘unclean,’ as her father called them, she will surely need it.

  19

  “Will you stop staring at me?” Oz asks his passenger, who hasn’t stopped smirking since he picked her up.

  “Sorry.” Becka blushes. “It’s just that you’re one-half of the latest power couple in our world.”

  “We’ve met before!” he insists with irritation. “I’m the same guy.”

  “So I’ve been thinking of a nickname to call you two on the air, like Brangelina. How do you like Coz?”

  “Jesus.”

  “If you don’t care for that one, there’s…”

  “Not you.” He points while slowing his wrecker. “That.”

  Becka was too distracted to notice the overturned semi, or the trailer that hangs over the embankment. “That wasn’t there this morning.”

  “It wasn’t there thirty minutes ago.” Oz takes his shotgun from the gun rack behind them. “Stay here.”

  The engine is left running so the large man can examine the fresh scene. He isn’t only compelled due to the recentness of the occurrence, but also because this trailer is like nothing he’s ever seen. It’s no simple RV; it’s a house on wheels. Mobile homes only earn their names because they can be moved, typically one time, then they are left to sit. This is a thing of beauty.

  Custom built and donated by the Rosie Parson’s Project, he reads from a small brass plaque that’s affixed near the door. The peculiar opening beckons him; it leads into a tight breezeway. Oz pushes a button on the interior door, and after a slight delay the outer one shuts behind him. He is trapped in the claustrophobic space between portals while a small screen counts backwards from 10. The numbers stop at 3 with a loud buzzer and flashing red lights. The screen alternates messages telling him there has been an error, and that it has detected extremely high bacteria levels. Two options are given to him on the touch sensitive screen: sterilization and emergency override.

  If this enclosure is what Oz thinks it is, he may be putting the inhabitant in danger, however the alternative isn’t much better. He chooses to consider the situation an emergency. The inner door opens. He calls into the darkness but gets no response.

  His eyes adjust to the dim light entering through the windows, and he is starting to creep deeper into the home when Becka’s voice startles him. He had grabbed a walkie-talkie before departing Mater. “Oz, what’s going on?”

  “Have you ever heard of a bubble boy?”

  “Yeah, find one?”

  “Just the home of one. Actually, it’s the home of a bubble girl judging by the clothes and color scheme.”

  “Where’d she go?”

  “Outer door was open. I think she went for a walk.”

  “Won’t that kill her?”

  “If she has to live in a setup like this, she must have it pretty bad. She should be all right if she has a suit or takes precautions.”

  “How do you know so much about this?” Becka is forced to ask.

  “I have a son. Doctors thought he would have to live in isolation…”

  “One of your kids?”

  “No, he was my own…”

  “What happened?”

  “His immune system kicked in.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” He leaves the subject closed. “Anyways, I did a lot of research on it.”

  “Oz…”

  “Becka, I’m not going to tell you…”

  “The dead are coming!” she reports in a panicked whisper.

  20

  Eve didn’t get too far before she saw one of the unclean. A woman, from the looks of her tattered clothing. Beyond her apparel, there isn’t too much to go on in determining gender. The emaciated ghoul and the girl locked eyes for a split second before each started running. Unaccustomed to exercise, Eve is getting winded fast, sucking deeper and faster of the dry bottled air.

/>   The frightened girl has made some ground in her race with the zombie. Her fear of the weapon she carries is too great to allow her to use it. Now about to stop from exhaustion, she sees something that forces a second wind upon her and adds vigor to her strides, a mob of the unclean more than fifty strong.

  As far as she can tell they haven’t spotted her from where they travel in a pack along an intersecting road. She diverts swiftly and cautiously through the woods. She can’t allow herself to fall, for the slightest break in her skin will let her microscopic enemies in. Further, she can’t allow the undead lady on her heels to catch up to her.

  One can’t have Eve’s condition without learning many facts about bacteria, germs, and viruses. She knows that the dirtiest mouths in the animal kingdom belong to the alligator and the human--a dog’s bite is far cleaner. There’s no telling how filthy a zombie’s mouth is.

  Eve must push on in blind hope of stumbling into the town of New Castle. She has to believe that if these people have been able to survive in this world they have to be able to help her. A glance back shows she still has a healthy lead on the undead woman that follows her, but this also causes her to misstep. The girl sets all her weight down on the trunk of a fallen tree; a slight bend in the wood has caused an arch. The log rolls forward, swinging out from under her.

  Caught off guard, Eve finds herself on the ground. She instinctively catches her fall with her hands and knees, bringing her a new sensation. Her protected existence has made her a stranger to pain. Tears blur her eyes while she inspects her body for breaks and abrasions, relieved to find none. Her relief is robbed form her once she hears her pursuer, though. The dead woman wails fervently as she rushes to where her quarry has stumbled. Eve’s misfortune is the zombie’s chance to eat at last.

  But the corpse steps on the same log Eve had and suffers the same fate. Unlike the girl, she cannot feel pain, nor does she fear the gun pointed at her. All she knows is hunger.

  Before the trigger can be squeezed the zombie is on her, and her mask is knocked away by cold and zealous hands. The girl’s weapon is pushed aside by the ghoul trying to satiate its gnawing appetite. Eve’s heels dig into the earth, trying to gain distance from the unclean woman. She attempts aiming her silent revolver, but the zombie lurches forward, sinking her teeth into her shoulder.

  21

  “Fucking coward!” Dustin screams at himself, punching the steering wheel. He has just left the person he loves to die on the side of the road, all alone. “How the hell can you do this to her?”

  His actions are motivated by his characteristic ‘cut bait’ solution to any situation that is too scary, too tough, or too real for him to deal with. But he corrects himself, “No! I’m going to get her help at New Castle. They have to have trucks.”

  He tries to breathe slower, sniffing back his tears. Stop worrying. Nothing can get to her. It’s not like she’s going anywhere, right?

  “What if she saw me run away?” he ponders out loud, instantly feeling horrible again. Dustin attempts to relax. He can’t think of any recourse Eve might have taken even if she did witness him turning tail. Other than hating me.

  While debating if he should turn around to tell Eve of his new plan, or lie to her about his old one, he sees a sign indicating he is close to his desired location. Dustin refuses to waste the time it would take to double back and floors the accelerator instead. This new sense of urgency leads to a disregard for the off-ramp’s advised speed limit of 25 miles per hour. The Camaro hugs the downward curve all the way to the overpass, plowing deep into a gathering of walking figures. Bodies crash and splatter across the car that comes to a halt among the throng.

  The structure overhead obscures the sun, darkening Dustin’s waking nightmare. Slack, ghoulish faces surround him. They stare in through the windows, sneering with grins forged from decomposition. Just thin, fragile panes of glass stand between him and the dead that batter them, driven mad from starvation. They leave behind greasy smears and slabs of skin as they assault the vehicle.

  Stepping on the gas has no effect; the car remains motionless, aside from a slight side to side rocking. The frightened boy has no idea his tires rest upon the torsos of the fallen and are spinning fruitlessly in their slick innards, like mud. He throws his machine into reverse, hoping it will work better for him.

  The passenger window cracks under the assault, just as the racing engine finally prevails and the tires once again have purchase on the asphalt. Dustin lurches forward as the car blindly retreats through the crowd of corpses. He takes his ride backwards until he is on open road. He sees now that he had run into the tail end of a massive migration that seems to extend forever along the road he had wished to travel. As far as the eye can see there is nothing but walking dead.

  The zombies under the overpass still have their sights on the purple car. Dustin has it in drive as they begin to build speed in their pursuit. He floors it back up the onramp and hangs a left, ultimately heading back the way he had come as fast as he can.

  The breeze entering through the broken window feels nice, soothing. He concentrates on the line of asphalt he had already traveled, while he thinks of Eve and how to explain his disappearance. His focus is too narrowed to observe the hand that still grips the missing quadrant of the window. Jagged glass slices bone-deep into an unfeeling palm. The feet of a living dead hitchhiker scrape along the blacktop, while inch by inch it makes progress towards the absent portion of glass.

  The refreshing air rushing in becomes pungent. It smells like shit and boiled cabbage! A moan rides on this very foul wind, and it draws the kid to the grisly sight of a face in the window. The dead man has gotten his right hand onto the side mirror; it would be salivating had it the ability, being this close to food.

  As the small opening is breached by the traveling cadaver, Dustin attempts to shake him loose by swerving. The thing isn’t letting go, and its face scrapes against the shards, shearing off the left side. A quivering ear remains outside as its owner squeezes in. Dustin goes for his pistol, only to find it isn’t on him.

  As a young boy, Dustin used to step on the tails of caterpillars to watch their insides purge out through their heads. He was too young to realize he was killing the creatures, the phenomenon just fascinated him. A human version of the act is playing out before his eyes; the dead man is shedding his clothing and skin in his efforts to get closer to lunch. Dustin is petrified by the sight.

  The gravity of the situation hits him, and Dustin slams on his brakes. The peeled face nearing him sails forward to the top of the dash.

  He hurries to retrieve his M-16 from the floor of the car where the rough driving had displaced it. The muzzle is facing him in its current position. Yanking on the strap proves useless because the ammo magazine is caught against the cushion. The lost seconds cost him dearly, for the dead man slithers in deeper still, writhing like a serpent. Teeth locate his hand.

  Anger, fear, and disappointment send Dustin into a frenzy. He pulls his infected hand from the ghoul’s mouth and starts punching it. Dustin has the beast against the dashboard so he can wail relentlessly on the thing that has tarnished his plans. He cries as his knuckles split against the skull that refuses to still, the bones that just won’t break.

  The boy’s arm falls limply to the center console, though his foe still reaches for him. Cold fingers brush his crestfallen face. He’s failed himself, failed Eve, and now he will turn into one of the very things that lie before him. He morosely stares into the eyes of the ghoul, those vacant eyes. Porch lights on with no one home.

  “I’m not dead yet,” he tells the twitching corpse that cares not for words. “I can still help her. She still has a chance. Even if I ain’t it, she needs a hero.”

  22

  The gunshot was a mere whisper of what she had expected, though the recoil had sent her frail hand flying in the opposite direction. The gun became lost in the underbrush. Released from the dead woman’s hold, Eve just laid on the forest floor, looking up t
hrough the foliage. The sun shined down between the leaves, but the girl was unable to appreciate the grandeur. Terrible nausea wracked her midsection like a twisting dagger as minute particles in the air sent her into a coughing fit. Eve’s insides spasmed and cramped unbearably, giving her the worst pain she had ever felt.

  She feels nothing now as she rises to her feet. Not the discomfort that plagued her belly, nor the shoulder that had been gnawed on by the zombie. The motes in the air don’t offend her anymore, nor the bacteria and germs she had been protected from her entire life. Her first steps are unsteady on the uneven terrain of twigs and rocks.

  “How?” she asks her hands, extending the question higher, to her forearms. She continues up to the shoulder the corpse had sunken its teeth into. The cloth of her dress is mangled and stained with her blood, but the skin below that should be ravaged is unbroken. The only evidence of the attack is a large pink star of scar tissue; the bite wound has already healed. She is bewildered by the fact she is alive, but knows she can’t waste this second chance. She needs to get to town and out of the woods.

  23

  “We have visual,” Carla reports to Dan, the update hardly necessary since the shooters on the wall have opened fire.

  “Are all our patrols back yet?”

  “Everyone but Oz and Becka.” She sounds worried.

  “Did you get him on radio?”

  “Yeah, he’s heading for the mountain pass since all the gates are sealed.”

  ##

  The mountain pass is an old service road that leads to Parson’s Dam and continues all the way to the Williamson ranch. The dam had been walled up on the far end to prevent trespassers, living or dead.