The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  “He disappeared after dark last night and no one’s seen him since?”

  Gracine nodded without a word.

  “No vehicles missing?”

  “He didn’t duck out if that’s what you’re asking. The cars were there, and I didn’t see any evidence he was attacked.”

  “Juan was shot recently. Could there have been some complication related to that?”

  “He was healthy. No fever, no sweating, nothing like that.”

  Sutton sighed. Vazquez didn’t strike him as irresponsible, or likely to depart without saying something to the others.

  “Where do we start?” he asked.

  “I’ve already checked our neighborhood over there, and Jillian doesn’t particularly want to see you, so we’re going to start downtown, and branch out to the houses if that doesn’t work.”

  A few minutes later, the pair exited the car and Sutton let Buster join them as they walked toward the front entrance of the general store. Both of them had seen the inside numerous times as they plucked goods from the shelves on a daily basis. Unfortunately, most of the useful items ran low in the inventory as the group took from an already depleted supply when the townsfolks ate food and used medical supplies as they survived, grew sick, and died in that order.

  Struck with a feeling that something wasn’t right about Vazquez’s disappearance and his surroundings, Sutton stopped short of the front door, noticing Buster sniffed the air, obviously sharing the sentiment. He entered the store with a little more caution than usual, followed by Gracine and Buster as their footsteps echoed throughout the general store’s interior.

  A true throwback to such stores, the building sported a wooden floor along the front half, and concrete in the back where bulk goods and building materials were stored. Even a barefooted visitor would assuredly cause the floor to emit clops and creaks, so their entrance wouldn’t go unheard if anyone else occupied the building.

  Although he’d seen the store several times during his time in South Hill, Sutton harkened it to the Christmas section in a retail store where all of the good items were picked over before, or soon after, clearance prices were applied. Less desirable items during the apocalypse remained on the shelves, like toys, pet items, decorations, and virtually anything that required electricity to operate. A number of Halloween items sat atop endcap shelves near the front of the store, and one of the front display windows contained a string of orange lights wrapped around it along the inside. Halloween displays remained frozen in time within many a store since the world’s end began around Labor Day.

  “This is weird,” Sutton noted, seeing empty spots where candles and incense lined the shelves just days earlier.

  “That’s not all,” Gracine said, motioning for Sutton to join her at the end of the aisle.

  She led him one aisle over, standing near an endcap of wicker baskets and picnic essentials where an odor struck Sutton’s nostrils before he spied a pile of human waste on the floor.

  “So, someone pissed and shit right here rather than using the restroom?” he questioned.

  “Apparently so. And none of us are in the habit of dropping our britches right here.”

  Like Gracine, Sutton suspected the town of South Hill had more visitors, but if the group hadn’t seen new people, he wondered where they chose to make camp.

  “You think Juan met up with some people?” she asked.

  “I think he unwittingly found some unfriendly people. The fact that he just disappeared doesn’t bode well for the rest of us. We need to find him, or circle the wagons with everyone we have left.”

  “I’m not giving up on Juan,” Gracine said sternly. “He’s the only one who can fly us wherever we want to go once Jillian moves on.”

  “If she moves on. She can’t stay handcuffed to her dad’s grave forever.”

  “You’re one to talk, considering we were doing just fine, about to go look for your sorry ass, until you brought the Klan to our doorstep.”

  “Look, I was surviving and trying to get back to all of you. I can’t state this enough.”

  “We would’ve been just fine with the dog and your box truck.”

  “Thanks,” Sutton replied, turning to walk to the front of the store.

  He’d seen what he needed to inside, so he wanted to take the search elsewhere.

  “You’ve got everything you came for, so why aren’t you out looking for your boys?” Gracine pressed, walking behind him. “Why exactly are you sticking around with your project?”

  “My project?”

  “The sole survivor of your last posse. You didn’t shoot him, and now you two are thick as thieves. What gives?”

  “I fight and claw my way back to you, and because Jillian’s pissed at me, and my roommate choices are slim, you’re criticizing me?”

  “Something tells me you were along for the ride with those boys,” Gracine chided. “You’re all about Colby Sutton when it comes down to it.”

  Sutton stepped outside before turning to address Gracine directly.

  “I stopped for you, didn’t I?”

  “Oh, you stopped alright. But we both know it didn’t go down the way you tell everyone.”

  Sutton could have thanked her for allowing him to spin the tale his way, but he didn’t. In truth, he didn’t appreciate her badgering him for his recent choices, and the pair didn’t have enough history for him to take jokes very well.

  “My hero,” Gracine said sarcastically.

  Even as she spoke the words, her eyes noticed something in the distance that Sutton had already spied. His eyes immediately focused on a plume of gray smoke in an area other than where the group made camp at the large house.

  Sutton knew the difference between a campfire and the darker smoke billowing from a burning structure. During his travels he’d seen destruction and disasters of all kinds, already possessing far more life knowledge than most people he encountered along the way.

  “Someone set up camp,” Gracine uttered the same words Sutton thought.

  He looked to her, and she nodded, indicating she wanted to check out whatever campfire was burning down the road in a neighborhood less than a mile from where the main group stayed. Sutton considered the close proximity dangerous, and either someone moved in, oblivious to nearby occupants, or they brought malicious intentions with them.

  Sutton wished Jillian had come along, because her knowledge of the town might prove invaluable when approaching the area in question. She wasn’t ready to forgive him, and might never reach that point. Had Sutton found his sons, only to have them ripped away from him in an instant, he surely would have felt the same rage as Jillian.

  “Come on,” he called to Buster, who sniffed something near the front door, which his owner guessed might be some kind of odor related to food.

  Buster jumped into the backseat, and Gracine drove them in the direction of the smoke, turning onto a road that took their car into a comparatively nice residential area. No words were spoken and he and Gracine scanned the yards and buildings for any unusual activity. Not one member of the undead was visible, and Sutton only recalled seeing two enter South Hill during the past week. Jillian’s father had done a remarkable job of clearing the town, but now it seemed strangers chose to make themselves at home.

  Sutton smelled the wood fire from several blocks away, and Gracine slowed the car, not wanting to ruin any element of surprise the pair held over the strangers. When they pulled within a few blocks of the smoke, he questioned why she wasn’t pulling over, because he felt they were dangerously close. He decided to say something when Gracine pulled the car into a driveway behind a van, and for a split-second, Sutton wondered if the owners would mind. He snapped out of his old-world thinking, attributing his thoughts to how tidy the town remained compared to other settlements.

  Houses on the street were lined up parallel with residenc
es the next street over, usually divided by wooden privacy fences of natural or white coloration.

  “We should get over there and sneak a peek at whatever they’re doing,” he suggested, receiving a nod from Gracine.

  As they exited the car, Sutton addressed Buster.

  “You stay put, and don’t destroy anything,” he said, making certain the window was rolled down slightly in case he was gone longer than planned.

  Both of them crossed a lower mesh wire fence nearby, staying on the pavement of the other street to avoid making noise. Several driveways held cars, trucks, and vans, as though the owners might be inside, or skipping work for the day. Sutton knew from experience that everyone reacted in different ways that fateful day the apocalypse undeniably took hold of the world.

  Some sheltered at home, others fled for a safe haven, or to meet family, and many simply died before they understood the danger surrounding them.

  Sutton believed himself organized and prepared for the worst, but the necessary travel to find his sons threw his plans to the wayside. Never much of a people person, Sutton avoided survivors for the longest time until he found it necessary to merge with a group. He always played off the fact that he stuck with a group as a means to survive, but Sutton secretly required some interaction with others, or his mind traveled to some dark places. He’d already done things in a world of the dead that he never envisioned during his previous life.

  He smelled the smoke more intensely as they drew closer to the yard, and the crackle of wood entered his ears, meaning the mysterious residents made no secret of their arrival. If Vazquez hadn’t gone missing, the others might not have noticed the smoke, or the fact that someone else arrived in South Hill, but Sutton wasn’t going to leave without knowing if these people were tied to his disappearance.

  Now two houses away from the yard in question, Sutton heard a throaty growl, which concerned him. A look to Gracine, only a few paces to his right, indicated she heard the noise as well. He knew the undead didn’t start fires, and this certainly sounded like a zombie, rather than any kind of animal. Sutton chose a yard adjacent to the backyard where the fire and smoke originated, standing on his tiptoes for a look over the wooden privacy fence. Unable to see much from the angle, because this house’s fence extended to the front corner of the house, Sutton decided to try a different angle.

  He walked along the front of the house, remaining quiet in case someone living occupied any of the houses or yards. Gracine remained close behind, and as they reached the other side, the pair discovered a weakened area of the fence that Sutton was able to push down silently. They stepped into the yard, crossing the space with crouched walks, hearing the crackle of an outdoor fire and at least one throaty growl.

  Gracine found a plastic outdoor chair, pulling it to the fence for use as a substitute ladder to allow her a view into the next yard. Sutton found one of the wooden slats broken near the top, so he put his face up to it, shocked at the view next door.

  As though cued by his presence, a male zombie on the other side turned to sneer and growl at Sutton. Slightly unnerved by the zombie staring back at him from two feet away, Sutton noticed the member of the undead was chained to something heavy in the yard, stuck in place like a guard dog on a chain. A collar secured around its neck ensured it didn’t stray more than a few feet, and in order to break free, the zombie would literally need to break its head free from the neck.

  What disturbed Sutton to the core, however, was the zombie across the yard with a steel post through its abdomen and left shoulder, securing it in different fashion. Like a moving statue, it flailed its arms and tried turning its head, and eventually its flesh might deteriorate enough for it to pull free from the rod, but for now it acted as a display piece only. Several vehicles and wagons painted like carnival movers sat beyond the cryptic scene, and Sutton wondered if a band of traveling carnies had settled into the area.

  He glanced at Gracine, who appeared equally unnerved by the scene in the yard. The fire pit, little more than a circle of stacked bricks, contained a small fire where sticks and a chunk of wood continued to burn. Although the rear entrance to the house next door appeared open, no one emerged, and no voices or sounds came from within the recently occupied residence.

  Gracine turned to him, pointing to the zombie across the yard from the pair, mouthing words that Sutton couldn’t understand. He sidestepped her way, monitoring his surroundings because he didn’t trust the bizarre scene separated by a weakened wooden fence.

  “That’s Juan,” she whispered when he drew close enough to hear the words, and as Sutton stood on his toes to have a look, he saw the eyes of the zombie turn to meet his with a lifeless glossy gaze.

  Sutton agreed immediately with Gracine, standing frozen in shock momentarily because someone he saw alive the previous day now failed to recognize him. Up to this moment, the undead were always something impersonal to Sutton, simply an obstacle that required permanent removal. Vazquez stared at him, not as a man, but a creature seeking to devour him if fate dictated it. One look at the man’s chest indicated he was stabbed or shot, ensuring he became the trophy placed inside the yard by at least one deranged individual. Someone murdered Vazquez, and Sutton felt his blood boil because the man didn’t deserve to die, much less given such an undignified afterlife. Unless the man was bitten or contracted the disease in another way, Vazquez shouldn’t have become a zombie, and Sutton couldn’t explain what he witnessed.

  Seeing Gracine turn from the corner of his eye, Sutton heard her scream for the first time ever as he spied something behind them. He turned, too late, seeing a mammoth blur already upon him, driving him into, and through the fence, knocking the wind from his lungs. Gracine started to run to assist him, but her eyes locked with something frightening, and she turned to retreat instead as Sutton’s large assailant hovered over him. The man clutched him by his shirt collar, yanking him to his feet.

  Uttering grunts and groans, the man attacking Sutton seemed like something out of a horror movie, possibly part of some cult, following orders to appease friends or family. Sutton didn’t get a good look at the man, but a glimpse indicated the man possessed hideous features and a simple, yet angered, look in his eyes. Nearly three-hundred pounds, Sutton considered himself a physically capable individual, but the man attacking him possessed animal-like strength, outweighing him by at least fifty pounds. Sutton was scooped off his feet with ease by his larger adversary, tossed like a ragdoll before he could react.

  As he hit the ground, Sutton heard Gracine shriek once again, and he knew she was being pursued by a different adversary. Hearing a growl overhead, he looked up, seeing Vazquez in undead form staring down at him with ravenous eyes, unable to attack because the rod held him in check. Instead, his former friend snapped his teeth repeatedly, staring at him with unblinking, glazed eyes that viewed him simply as food.

  Still disoriented, with his surroundings beginning to spin, Sutton quickly regained his footing but his attacker slugged him across the jaw with a fist, sending him to the ground. Sutton wanted to rise up again, but his body refused to cooperate as his attacker stood over him, waiting for orders, or for Sutton to make a move.

  “Put him out,” he heard a woman’s voice say from the rear entrance, prompting his attacker to bend over and ram a large fist into Sutton’s right cheek, throwing his head back against a concrete landing and rendering him unconscious.

  Fourteen

  As though attempting to spite Metzger personally, the military leadership didn’t give Timmons the assignment to fly the small group back to Buffalo. Even so, the trip went smoothly, and Metzger barely spoke a word to his brother the entire way. Because their headset was wired in with the four Marines traveling with them, he wouldn’t have brought up the topic of Bryce’s lapse in judgement during the last mission.

  Unlike the last time, it appeared Bryce was placed in charge of this particular assignment, and the Marine
s accompanying them were protective brawn. The four men spoke little, and seemed mildly annoyed that they were the unlucky ones assigned to a reconnaissance mission.

  Like the last time, both the pilot and his copilot stayed with the cargo plane while the group traveled in two armored vehicles. Since Bryce didn’t know the location of the school, Metzger instructed the driver of his Humvee on which roads to take until they reached familiar territory that he didn’t particularly care to see again. While he felt satisfaction that he’d helped good people escape the tyranny of Xavier Fournier, the school served as a cold reminder that his parents died from unnatural circumstances.

  “What should we expect?” the Marine driving the Humvee asked Metzger through his headset.

  Everyone on the mission had been briefed, but none of them viewed earlier events like Metzger.

  “If we’re lucky, we’ll find friendly people at the school, and that’ll serve as a starting point. Xavier and his cronies were pissed when they lost the school, so hopefully he hasn’t gone too far.”

  “Careful what you wish for,” Bryce commented. “This guy obviously has resources, especially if he knew all of this was coming.”

  Metzger feared he only helped kick a hornet’s nest if Fournier possessed additional people and resources outside of the schoolyard. For all he knew, he and the former prisoners at the school took out one small faction of evildoers while the others were away gathering resources or people to imprison.

  “I’m hoping Molly and the others found additional clues after I left,” he said. “Fournier must’ve had paperwork of some kind connecting him to Nadeau if they planned all of this ahead of time.”

  “He wouldn’t keep that around,” Bryce scoffed.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Once he set up shop, there wasn’t any need to leave a paper trail. Hell, I doubt he ever planned on communicating with the man again.”