Rise of the Dead (Book 2): Return of the Dead

by Dyson, Jeremy

  “Fuck!” I gasp as blood trickles down from the hole in my face. I shrug a shoulder out of my pack and pull the zipper open. After digging around, I locate my other shirt and press it to my face to try and help stop the bleeding.

  “We can’t do this,” Steven says. “Christ, Scout, look at yourself.”

  “Just take Stevie and Val and get as far away as you can,” I say, the fabric on my face muffling my voice. “I should have never gotten any of you involved in this.”

  Steven drags his palm down his face as though wishing he could wipe the slate clean with a simple gesture.

  “You know I’m not going to do that to you,” he sighs.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” I tell him. “Just go, Steven.”

  Steven stares at the pavement and shakes his head. He moves his boot like he is kicking something around, even though there is nothing on the street.

  I nod at Hoff and Midhun standing on the other side of the truck and turn to walk down the road. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder, because I am afraid that Steven will still be there. There is also the fear that he won’t be. To be honest, I’m not sure what frightens me more. Finally my curiosity gets the better of me and I glance back to see them following along twenty yards back.

  “Damn it,” I whisper. “This is no place for a kid to be.”

  Hoff glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “There is no place for kids in this world. Not anymore,” Hoff says.

  “Hey!” Steven calls.

  I stop walking and look over my shoulder and realize immediately why Steven called to get our attention. A faint light on the far side of the hill behind us can only mean that a vehicle is approaching.

  “Shit,” Hoff whispers. He waves an arm to urge everyone to get off the road and take shelter in the stalks of corn. As we reach the ditch beside the road the first set of headlights appears on the horizon. I use the hand that isn’t clutching a bloody shirt to part the crops and disappear inside. Hoff creeps in right behind me and readies his rifle. More sets of headlights appear out of the darkness. The vehicles slow as they approach the pickup truck down the road. The first couple trucks roll by, but the third truck skids to a stop beside the truck. It backs up a few feet and comes to a stop again.

  “Damn it,” Hoff growls.

  I prop the rifle against my shoulder and squint into the scope. Someone gets out the vehicle and I make out the silhouette of a man as he walks in to the beam of the headlights. When he crouches down in the road to inspect something I can make out his face. It’s Arkady. Light glints off the bloody piece of glass between his fingers. I dig my nails into the bloody shirt pressed against my face. Arkady stands up suddenly and scans the surrounding fields.

  “What you got, man?” The gruff tone of Bishop’s voice sends a chill down my spine.

  “Blood,” Arkady says. He wipes his hands on his pants and walks over and puts a hand on the hood of the abandoned truck. “Still warm.”

  A door of the lead truck opens and in the light I see Lorento sitting between Bishop and the blonde woman from the diner. Bishop gets out the passenger door and looks around the road and turns back to the other trucks.

  “Get those lights on,” Bishop says. “They can’t be far.”

  Spotlights on top of several of the trucks flip on and search the fields. I crouch down closer to the ground and lean back a few more inches until the plants partially block my view of the road. We are probably far enough up the street that they won’t notice us, but there is no sense taking any chances.

  “Was that Lorento?” Hoff asks.

  “Yep,” I whisper. “She’s alive.”

  “Hernacki?” Hoff asks.

  “I didn’t see him,” I say.

  Hoff glances down at the dirt.

  “Come on out!” Bishop howls into field. “I know you’re hiding out there.”

  There’s a long pause as Bishop waits for a response. He scans the dark fields for any sign of us.

  “I tried to talk this shit out reasonably with you people,” he hoists his shotgun and rests the barrel on his shoulder as he paces up and down the road. “But you haven’t been fair with me. Instead, you sided with this crooked CIA agent.”

  The men in the truck jeer at the mention of Lorento. Bishop stalks up to the lead truck and stares at her in the passenger seat. He raises the rifle and points the barrel in her direction.

  “That woman is a traitor. She has murdered a lot of my fellow countrymen, and I intend to see that she pays for those crimes.”

  “Kill the bitch!” somebody yells from street. The men begin to clap and laugh. Bishop raises a hand to signal them to be quiet.

  He cocks his head slightly and gazes back down the road toward town. A moment later, I realize what got his attention. The moans of the approaching undead drown out the sounds of crickets and June bugs.

  “You hear that?” Bishop asks the night. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes as he savors the sound. “Just listen to it.”

  He stands in the road for a long, painful minute as the sound of the corpses grows closer and louder. We need to get the hell out of here, but if we try to move his men are sure to notice.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Bishop asks. He stalks back down the road along the line of trucks again.

  “That’s the sound of fate,” Bishop says. “That’s the sound of justice. That’s the sound of God in the machine.”

  He looks around the roadside once more. The shapes of the dead emerge from the darkness into the glow of the brake lights behind the convoy.

  “Maybe now you’ll finally understand,” Bishop muses. “This is the way all this shit is supposed to end for you.”

  Bishop opens the door or pickup and climbs back into the seat beside Lorento. Hoff pulls me back into field as the convoy rolls slowly toward us. The men fire their rifles into the air and the cornfield to rile up the horde behind them. Bullets hack through the plants around us as we retreat from the road. No sooner than the last vehicle rolls away, than the tide of corpses rushes at us, trampling the crops. We push ahead through the field and work our way back toward the road. Stevie trips over the tricky terrain and drags Val down to the ground with him. Stevie begins to cry, so Hoff scoops him up and cups a hand over his mouth as he runs with the boy in his arms. I help Val to her feet and she grimaces as she hobbles along beside me. We climb up the ditch and make our way back down the road ahead of the dead, although they follow just ten yards behind us. We can still see that taillights of the pick up trucks in the distance for a moment and then they vanish over a hill.

  We trudge on managing to gain some ground on the corpses, but they always keep coming. With no sleep in the last couple days, it is hard to keep ahead. After an hour or so, the sun peeks over the horizon. The brightness of the day hurts my tired eyes. I pause a moment to look back and see several thousand dead lumbering down the road.

  “Just keep moving,” Hoff says. “Try not to think about them. One foot in front of the other.”

  “What happens if we actually make it the airfield?” Steven asks. “Bishop is going to be waiting for us.”

  “It’s a good thing we have backup then,” I say and jerk my head to indicate the crowd of the dead.

  “God help us,” Steven sighs.

  “I seriously don’t think I can do this anymore,” Val sighs. She stops in the road and hunches over with her hands on her knees. I glance down and notice the swelling on her ankle.

  “I’m really sorry,” Stevie whimpers.

  “It’s not your fault, sweetie,” Val lifts her eyes and tries her best to smile.

  The boy wraps his arms around his father’s thigh and buries his face in the fabric.

  “You can make it,” I assure Val. I pull her arm until she stands up again. Midhun approaches her and she puts her arm over his shoulder and we push on again.

  We cross over the interstate a couple hundred yards ahead of the dead. If we had more time we could have tr
ied to locate another vehicle, but with the dead this close it would be suicide. I can feel my legs getting a little shaky beneath me. It won’t be long before my body just gives up. At one point, the world starts to spin and I have to reach an arm out to Hoff to steady myself again.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “Hang in there, Scout,” Hoff says. He jerks his head toward the road in front of us and I spot a sign for Mathews Memorial Airport.

  Twenty-one

  We’re crouched in dewy grass alongside a three-way intersection. I look down the long road to the airport through the scope until I spot a pair of pickups outside the terminal building. A sentry is positioned in the bed of each truck.

  “They’re here all right,” I say. I lower the rifle and eye the dead as they approach our location from the south.

  “This road is a dead end,” Hoff says. “If we can lead this herd down it, they’ll be blocked in.”

  “We’ll need somebody to be the bait,” Steven says.

  “I will do it,” Midhun says.

  “You sure you can handle that?” Hoff raises an eyebrow at him.

  “Piece of pie,” Midhun grins.

  “Then what?” Steven asks.

  “Was still trying to work all that out,” Hoff says as he scratches at his beard as he stares down the long road.

  I scan the area and realize there is a country club across the road from the airport. If it wasn’t for the golf carts and the occasional flag sticking up out of the tall grass, it would be hard to recognize it as a golf course anymore.

  “We can go through that golf course,” I point. “Swing around the back of the airport and hit them from the rear when they’re focused on the corpses.”

  “That could work,” Hoff says. He gazes over his shoulder at the dead as they close in on us. Then he looks down at Stevie in the grass beside him. “On the map I saw a camp ground across the road from the hangars, too. Someone can stay there with the kid.”

  The soldier glances at Valerie and she nods. A clap of thunder echoes in the distance. I glance up at the darkening clouds and spot the vultures circling above, like they can sense the coming carnage and the chance at fresh meat.

  “I got a bad feeling about this,” Steven says.

  “I can’t remember the last time I felt good about anything,” Hoff says. “Let’s go.”

  We creep along the brush until we clear the intersection, and then we cross over the street. The crowd of the dead is fifty yards away and closing.

  “Take this in case you get into any trouble,” I tell Midhun and hand him my radio. “Good luck,” I add.

  “When it comes to luck,” he says. “You make your own.”

  “That more of your Gandhi wisdom?” Steven asks him.

  “No,” Midhun smiles. “Bruce Springsteen.”

  Steven grins and shakes his head before turning and pushing through the tree branches.

  “Stay safe,” I tell Midhun, and then I follow the others into the country club. We scurry along the fairway, scanning the surroundings for threats. Since Bishop got here hours ahead of us, his men probably searched the area already. He may have even gotten to Lorento’s contact. There is just no way of knowing what kind of situation we might be walking into.

  We reach the end of the fairway and enter the woods at the back of the country club. The camping area is thick with trees that conceal us from the airfield, but it also prevents us from getting a good look at what is going on over there.

  “We have to get closer,” Hoff says.

  “Looks like the campground office over there,” I whisper. “I point a finger at a small brown building just off the road.”

  Hoff nods and I follow him forward through the trees. Birds chirp a chorus of morning songs. The noise covers the cracking twigs beneath our boots. Thunder rumbles again in the distance. A soft breeze rustles the leaves in the treetops. We rush up to the back of the building and Hoff peers around the corner to the door on the side of the building. He nods and then pivots around the corner and hurries inside the store. Out of the corner of my eye, I detect movement in the trees near the back of the campground. I wait until the others have slipped inside and frantically scan the trees. I almost think I imagined the movement, until I spot a branch swaying a bit more than it should be. My heart starts to race as I look from one side to another. I spin around the corner and stop in my tracks when I notice something unexpected coming around the front of the store.

  It’s a dog.

  I take a step back, but instead of growling or trying to attack me, the dog just wags its tail. The thing isn’t feral at all. The sight of the scruffy terrier should have made me suspicious. It was such a pleasant sight, I couldn’t help but start to smile. The joy only lasted about half a second before I feel the tip of a gun pressed against the side of my head.

  “Don’t scream,” a man says calmly.

  I hold my hands up slightly and let the rifle hang around my neck by the strap. I spot Hoff through the front window of the store. He can see me with the gun to my head, but can’t get an angle on the guy who is still partially behind the back wall of the building. Maybe I can lure him over a few feet.

  “Don’t move,” he says as soon as I lean slightly away from him. “What are you and your friends doing out here?”

  “What?” I ask. I try to get a look at his face but he nudges me with the gun to keep me from turning my head. “Tell Bishop he can go fuck himself.”

  “Who is Bishop?” he asks.

  The dog sniffs at the air and growls.

  “Quiet, Stitch,” the man says to the dog.

  Hoff bursts out the door with his rifle raised.

  “Let her go,” Hoff says.

  The man steps back, pulling me with him. He peers around my head to get a look at Hoff.

  “Don’t I know you?” the man says.

  Hoff squints his eyes at the man, then he lowers the rifle slightly.

  “You?” Hoff stammers. “You’re the guy that kept puking in the helicopter.”

  “Not my finest moment,” the man admits. He relaxes his grip on my neck, then lets me go.

  “Where’s Fletcher?” Hoff asks.

  “Right behind you,” the man says.

  Hoff turns around and finds a man in camouflage fatigues positioned at the front corner of the building with a rifle fixed on him. The man lowers the rifle and gives Hoff a wink from beneath his cowboy hat.

  “Holy shit!” Hoff gasps. He takes a hand off the rifle and walks over and bear hugs Fletcher.

  “Easy big fella,” Fletcher laughs. “What the hell you doing out here?”

  “Looking for you,” Hoff says.

  “How’d you know we were here?” Fletcher asks.

  “Lorento,” Hoff says. “She planted a tracking device on you.”

  “No shit?” Fletcher asks. “That sneaky little bitch.”

  “Where’s the rest of your unit?”

  Hoff shakes his head.

  “Shit,” Fletcher says. “Wiz?”

  “Sorry,” says Hoff.

  “I told you that whole mission was FUBAR,” Fletcher complains.

  I turn around to get a look at the guy that held me at gunpoint. He is also dressed in a military uniform, but something about him makes me think he isn't a soldier at all. Even though his face has a few scars, there is something gentle about his eyes that almost seem to apologize for pointing a gun at me. When I make eye contact with him, he flashes a reluctant smile before shifting his eyes away from mine.

  “Sorry about that,” said the guy that grabbed me. He takes a step back and pets the dog that pants and trembles beside him. “I’m Blake.”

  “Scout,” I tell him.

  Blake nods. His eyes scan the faces peering out the glass door of the building and I notice a slight smile when he spots Stevie.

  Assault rifles clatter across the road. The swarm of the dead must have reached the entrance to the airfield. The scruff on the neck of the dog bristles as it growls again. B
lake looks past me toward the airport.

  I notice four other people running up from the back of the campground. A tall black man and dark-haired woman are followed by a teenage kid with a short blonde-haired girl. All of them also dressed in fatigues and carrying assault rifles. Clearly they aren’t all with the military, but I have to wonder how they got all their gear. I start to feel like maybe we still have a shot at taking down Bishop after all.

  The brunette woman sidles up beside Blake and places a hand on his arm as she looks me up and down.

  “Everything’s all right,” he whispers to her.

  “Would you mind telling us what the hell is going on over there?” Fletcher asks Hoff.

  Midhun suddenly sprints around the front of the building. Fletcher spots him and whirls around raising his rifle.

  “Get down,” Fletcher yells. “On the ground camel jockey!”

  Midhun staggers backwards and falls on his back in the dirt. He holds an arm up in front of his face as he scoots away from Fletcher.

  “It’s okay! It’s okay!” Hoff says and grabs Fletcher on the shoulder. “He’s with us, too.”

  “Goddamn,” Fletcher says. “Nearly shot the damn hodgie off your head, man.” He lowers the rifle and reaches out to help Midhun to his feet.

  “I think we better go,” I remind Hoff.

  “Right,” Hoff agrees. He turns and looks and Fletcher. “I’ll explain everything later. Right now, we need your help.”

  “With what?” Blake asks.

  “We need to rescue Lorento,” Hoff says.

  “You have got to be shitting me,” groans Fletcher. He shakes his head and walks away. After a few steps, he turns and paces back.

  “I’m not risking my ass for her,” Fletcher growls. “Not happening.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I seethe. I can’t believe this Fletcher guy was so important we risked our lives to find him. That people I cared about died just to make it possible. What a selfish asshole. Before I realize I’m doing it, I start walking toward Fletcher. “You have no idea how many people died so we could get here. Good people. My friends.”

  Fletcher glances at Hoff who nods in agreement.