The Living Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Coast

by Albemont, L. I.

  She felt something tugging, trying to pull David from her shoulders and she fought back, kicking and aiming for the knees, hoping to break the decaying bones and at least knock the creature to the ground.

  “Supergirl! Wait! It’s me.”

  Carl lifted David and slung him easily over a shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  They climbed the last few feet of the bank and cautiously entered the silo. Startled birds fled through a large hole in the silo’s roof. Carl lowered David to the floor and Bea pulled the door closed on the following dead.

  Bea assessed the building. They were in a cavernous, empty space, smelling of damp earth. A ladder ran up the side to a small platform near the damaged roof. Bird droppings formed a thick layer on the ground. The slime-covered, metal walls were rusted away in places and there were gaps near their base, large enough for something to crawl through. And from the sound of it something was approaching.

  The blows started almost immediately, the metal vibrating under their force and echoing painfully inside. The dead knew they were in here. And they were hungry.

  David started to vomit and she ran to roll him on his side. Dirty water mingled with the bird droppings and created a smelly soup. He retched one last time and sat up, shuddering.

  “Where-?”

  “Silo. On the west side of the river. Can your guy find us here?”

  “Depends. Where’s my pack?”

  “We lost everything.”

  “My phone’s gone then. That’s what they were supposed to be tracking.”

  The noise from the attacking dead was deafening and worse, groping hands found the gaps in the walls. Broken nails dug ceaselessly at the ground, widening the gaps even more.

  Bea went through her pockets and pulled out her phone. Water was behind the screen and she couldn’t see anything on it. She shook it in frustration. Calming down, she touched the screen as if it were working and she was pulling up her contacts. Running her finger down the screen to where Brian’s number usually appeared she tapped it. And waited. She heard nothing.

  David tried to stand but staggered. His pants were shredded below the knee and his calf throbbed in pain. Lifting the shreds he saw a four-inch gash, wide and jagged. He tried again to stand and blood poured down his leg. He leaned one-legged against the silo wall, feeling faint.

  “That needs stitches,” Bea said. She thought she caught a glimpse of white bone deep in the wound.

  David shook his head. “Eventually. Can you dial a number?”

  “Maybe. That’s what I’ve been trying to do but my screen isn’t visible. Give me the number and I’ll try it.”

  She tapped in the number he gave her and then put the phone on speaker. They heard the line ring then a sound as if someone had picked up, a garbled voice message, then silence. David took the phone and recited a rather long string of letters and numbers before handing it back.

  “Well, we know something is working, somewhere. We should know if they’re looking for us soon enough.” His face was gray and strained just from the effort of staying upright and blackness flickered at the edge of his vision.

  Just then they heard a loud moan and looked over to see an infected crawling under the wall, partially into the room. Carl stomped the head until the skull cracked and black fluid flowed into the ground. Two more broke through and grabbed Carl’s ankle. He fell and a putrid mouth tore into the flesh of his calf. Dirty, skeletal hands pulled him under the jagged metal wall and out. Bea grabbed his arms and pulled him back but lost her grip and he was gone. Immediately more decaying hands appeared in the gaps and continued to dig, clawing at the soft, moist soil.

  They were out of time. If a rescue were underway it was going to have to happen now. Not knowing what else to do they climbed the little ladder up to the platform, David’s leg pouring blood the whole way. He missed his footing once and nearly fell but finally made it to the top and fell prone, exhausted. Just before he lost consciousness he heard thunderous hammering on the metal walls and felt vibration as if they were collapsing. Darkness, comforting and quiet, beckoned, and he surrendered without a struggle.

  Chapter Seven

  White Paper written by Department of Defense CDC liason, Hamm Schilling (Pro Tempore), on the decision to use tactical nukes within the continental United States. Post Urban-Shield.

  PRIORITY: URGENT

  Overview:

  Addressing the current plan involving the scheduled tactical bombing of population centers within the United States:

  The effects of a nuclear blast are well documented. Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and the Tunguska event (strictly speaking not a nuclear bomb but a nuclear event nonetheless) have been thoroughly examined, dissected, discussed, and divulged. Most of us consider a nuclear bomb the most destructive and deadly weapon known, having been conditioned to do so from childhood. Yet how effective is it really?

  At ground zero it is true the impact is devastating. With the explosion of a one megaton bomb anyone and anything within a radius of 2 kilometers will be obliterated. A bomb this size will generate hurricane-force winds. An enormous crater, over 60 meters deep and 300 meters wide will form. For anyone living, death will be instantaneous as their body is vaporized in the blast. The death toll at this range is approximately 100 percent. Destruction of the infected inside this area is a near certainty.

  However, if we move beyond ground zero to an area 4 kilometers outside the blast zone the picture changes significantly. Here we will find the skeletons of some structures still standing. Poured concrete buildings often hold up against the hurricane force winds at this distance and underground shelters are quite effective. Approximately 50 percent of the population is dead here and 40 percent are seriously injured either from burns or being hurled into objects by the winds. A significant number will suffer “flash blindness” from the brightness of the explosion and everyone not inside a shelter will suffer deep flesh burns that reach to the bone. Most of these victims will linger just long enough to die in agony. Deleterious effects on the infected will be minimal.

  Fallout:

  The effects of fallout, long term and short, cannot be disregarded. Depending on wind speed and duration, radiation will continue to spread for some time. Within a 50 kilometer radius death will probably occur the same day of the blast and the area will be contaminated for years. A more gradual but still painful death awaits all those within a radius of 350 kilometers.

  But what effect will it have on the infected?

  Conclusion:

  It is my expert opinion that the impact on the infected will be minimal outside of ground zero. The infected are not destroyed by burn wounds, blindness, or blunt force trauma unless it is applied to the cranial area. It is highly doubtful that they will succumb to radiation sickness. The long-term effects of nuclear bombing are known to be devastating to human beings as well as the environment.

  I further contend that the bacteria destroying properties of radiation may well retard the degradation and decomposition we are already seeing in the virus victims and thus I counsel patience rather than rash action. By deploying nuclear weapons we may well be prolonging the ‘life-span’ of the infected while further damaging and weakening the living as well as poisoning our environment for decades and longer.

  Therefore I urgently request that all preparations for tactical nuclear strikes be immediately abandoned and we pursue a course of patience and when possible, simple avoidance of the infected. Warm weather will soon blanket much of the country and will accelerate the decay of the dead.

  Respectfully submitted for your consideration,

  Commander Hamm Schilling (Pro Tempore) CDC liason

  ~

  Office of the President of the United States

  Dear Commander Schilling,

  Your request has been received and after due consideration, is hereby denied. We believe the current crisis demands the utmost urgency and believe the “wait and see” course you recommend is inadequate and would fail to secure the s
afety of the American people.

  Desperate times often call for desperate measures and it is with full knowledge of the seriousness of our situation that we resolve to address this crisis to the full extent of our ability.

  ~

  FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

  U.S. Department of Defense Publication No. E-N549

  Having determined that containment measures have failed to stop the spread of the Z-virus, beyond question the most destructive natural disaster the modern world has ever faced, and that large urban population centers must be considered high risk sources of infection the D.O.D. in cooperation with Homeland Security is issuing the following warning:

  Strategic nuclear strikes to be the initial step in Operation Clean-Up and intended to replace failed Operation Urban Shield will begin immediately and are scheduled in the following order:

  Dallas/Ft. Worth area- immediately

  Washington, District of Columbia-within advised time-frame

  Atlanta-to be determined

  New York Metropolitan area-to be determined

  These strikes will be in accord with our stated strategic policy of containment/elimination. Unintended casualties are inevitable but are within the limits of acceptable risks. Citizens unable to evacuate the intended strike zones should shelter in place as they are able and should keep in mind the following information:

  Devices will be detonated as close to designated ground zero areas as possible, thus minimizing fallout but directly hitting intended targets.

  Most damage will occur within 1.7 miles of ground zero. Above ground structures inside this radius will be destroyed. If you are within this area and cannot evacuate you should seek deep, underground shelter.

  Severe damage will still occur outside of this area up to a 7.4 mile radius of ground zero. Anyone unable to evacuate these areas should also seek deep underground shelter.

  Chapter Eight

  In the 1930’s, the “Golden Age” of Hollywood, California was one of the few places in the country where an enterprising entrepreneur could make a fortune. Everyone who could afford it went to movies or “pictures” as they were called then, to escape the hopelessness of life during the Great Depression. Errol Flynn, Charlie Chaplin, Mae West, and of course the delightful Shirley Temple, all cavorted on the silver screen and helped audiences forget their troubles, if only for a little while.

  Vic Capra, an Italian-born film director, made his fortune with a series of noir thrillers. With that fortune he built his dream house high in the hills, secluded and secure. Elaborate wrought-iron fences surrounded the stucco house and small guest cottages that sprawled luxuriously across the rocky hillside. He and a successive string of wives gave lavish and scandalous parties that were legendary even in this land of excess.

  Thick stucco walls kept the indoor temperature pleasant now and before the days of air conditioning. A cool stream from a spring on the property ran straight into and through a stream bed flowing through the large atrium before it exited into a rock pool outside. Rare plants from around the world were incorporated into the splendid gardens. Various magazines ran feature stories on the estate and its illustrious owners. That was before society fell. Before the property assumed its new function.

  Refugee camps are seldom a pretty sight and the new western command center of the United States of America, which now doubled as a camp, was no exception. Makeshift tents and lines of laundry flapping in the shore breeze obscured the ocean view. Small campfires dotted the twelve acres of gardens. Full-sized marble statues of Mars, Neptune, Jove, and the lovely Venus, were set into a thick hedge of myrtle that surrounded the rock pool. The Roman emperors Augustus and Hadrian were represented as well but all the statues looked less than dignified draped as they were with drying shirts, pants, and various types of undergarments. Small children, watched by parents, splashed in the rock pool. Primitive latrines, stinking in the hot afternoon, dotted the edges of the property.

  Mounted at intervals on hastily constructed turrets, machine guns overlooked the receding hills as well as the vast throngs of teeming dead below. They shuffled and jostled but paid no real attention to each other. Many lay on the ground, some barely moving, some not moving at all. The offshore wind blew their decaying odor inland and up to the estate.

  Two boys, one plump with dark hair almost the blue-black of a crow’s plumage, the other thin with thick, blond hair in desperate need of a trim, ran along the wall’s perimeter. Their feet kicked up dust as they pounded along the trail worn into the lawn by countless patrols. Just behind a barrier of orange cones encircling a cleared, level area of ground, they stopped. Both boys wore expressions of wariness and tiredness that looked out of place on faces so young. Rifles hung from straps across their narrow shoulders.

  The sound of beating rotor blades, distant at first then growing louder as the shiny chopper came into view, drowned out all the other noises of the camp and most of the refugees looked up. The pilot deftly maneuvered the craft onto the area designated as a landing pad.

  As the motor powered down another sound rose to take its place. The dead at the bottom of the hillside, excited by the noise the helicopter made, started up a moaning, cacophonous chorus, chilling to everyone in the camp. All the refugees had nightmares that included that sound. Nightmares that often made them wake screaming in the night.

  Two men ran up the hillside and eased a stretcher out of the chopper, carefully carrying the unmoving occupant down and through large doors into the main building. Two more figures emerged, one, a woman in a Superman tee shirt. The blond boy shouted, ran to her, and burst into tears. She scooped him up, crying and laughing at the same time. Putting him down she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and together they walked into the main house.

  ~

  “So did you get my text when we picked up that guy in Wrigley Field? You should have seen it, Bea! The whole city was full of dead people. They were all jammed up around the stadium. You would have thrown up, the smell was so bad.”

  They were sitting on the floor outside a curtained-off passageway that had been dubbed the infirmary. Apparently the camp didn’t have any doctors but did have several R.N.s and David had immediately been taken to them. That was late yesterday and so far she had heard nothing other than that he was in “stable” condition.

  After everyone exited the helicopter they went through a checkpoint where a nurse examined them and they were thoroughly sniffed by two dogs. Bea’s cut in her forearm was cleaned and bandaged and she spent the night in what amounted to quarantine, watched over by armed guards. She was examined again this morning and given a bill of health by the nurses.

  The camp seemed to be preparing for an assault. Boards were being nailed to windows and some doors. Everything that could serve as a weapon, screwdrivers, utensils, iron skillets, and chainsaws was arranged for ease of access. Everyone, except for very young children, carried some form of self-defense.

  Electricity came and went randomly. No one in the camp really knew why but Brian thought it was due to some sort of automatic brown-out system set up to deal with power blips.

  Brian’s new friend, Moshe, was with them, listening to Brian’s story as if he hadn’t heard it a hundred times already. Everyone here had a story of how they survived and what they had seen and often what they had lost but Moshe wasn’t eager to share his, whatever it was. Telling their survival story was almost de rigueur for new arrivals and everyone regarded it as a form of therapy and a bonding experience but Moshe remained silent. She noticed that he watched everyone warily and once flinched visibly when a patient in the infirmary moaned aloud.

  “We’ve been drilling with weapons every day but not with bullets. I mean, we know how to put them in but we can’t waste them on target practice. Ian said it might be more useful to train with swords and I think that would be cool except we don’t have enough of those either. They haven’t let us go on any foraging raids yet but that’s what we want to do, right, Moshe?”

  Moshe
nodded enthusiastically and added, “Ian says we should start going soon so we’ll know our way around in case the ‘regulars’ don’t come back. They don’t always all make it back.”

  A slender woman wearing blue jeans, a red tee shirt, and tall, scuffed leather boots entered the hallway, holding a sleeping baby over one shoulder. Seeing them sitting on the floor, she hurried over.

  “Bea! You made it! I knew they had located you guys but I didn’t know exactly when you would get here.” Virginia leaned over and ruffled Brian’s and then Moshe’s hair. The baby swayed down with her and didn’t wake up but tightened his grip on his mother’s hair. Wincing, she tried to disengage his fingers but the plump little fist was thoroughly entwined with the strands. She sighed and shifted her son higher on her shoulder.

  “Have they told you how David is yet?”

  “No. I’m still waiting for someone to come out and talk to us. He had a really bad cut on one leg and several blows to the head so- I just don’t know.”

  Virginia was reassuring. “Barry, Pam, and Mei-Mei are really good. We’re lucky to have them. Even with limited supplies they’ve practically performed miracles. Don’t worry. By the way, Ian can’t wait to talk to David about-well, a few things. Did you see much on the trip here?” Her tone was pointedly casual.

  Bea stood and the two women walked down the hall, a little way from the boys. “We flew above clouds until Texas. After that, yes, I saw a lot.”

  “Tell me.” Virginia’s voice was low and urgent.

  Bea swallowed and her voice shook a little as she said, “There were a lot of fires burning so even without cloud cover visibility wasn’t that great but everywhere, as far as you could see, there were infected. I wouldn’t have even thought there were that many people in the entire country. We stayed pretty high up. The pilot said some of the areas are still radioactive and will be for a long time. I didn’t actually see the blast crater; the pilot said that was too hot even to fly over at this point. But I still saw more than I wanted to.”