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

by Dyson, Jeremy

  Thirty-six

  Before the sun rises, we make our way back out to the vehicles and silently pile inside. It’s been a couple hours since the horde of the dead passed through, but more likely than not, they are still in the area. A few of the things still linger along the street and stare vacantly at the empty houses.

  We drive for a couple of sleepy hours along country roads as the dawn breaks, and then Hoff turns down the long driveway to the farmhouse where we left Fawn with the soldiers a few days earlier. My heart sinks when the vehicles pull to a stop and I step out of the truck in front of the hole in the ground in the spot where we buried James. A pack of feral dogs fight over pieces of the remains a few yards away. The site of us getting out of the vehicles scares most of them off into the woods, but a German Shepherd with half an arm in its mouth lingers and watches us.

  “Sons a bitches,” I growl. I raise the rifle and fire off a round at the dog that misses. The noise sends the dog dashing for the bushes. Firing the rifle was probably a mistake. If there are any corpses in the area it won’t be long before they descend on our location.

  Stitch growls and bolts out of the truck He takes off after the German Shepherd, even though the other dog must be twice his size.

  “Stitch!” Danielle calls after him. “No, Stitch!”

  The dog ignores the shouted commands and continues his pursuit of the other dogs.

  “Stupid dog,” Blake complains as he grabs his rifle and chases after it followed by Danielle and Natalie.

  I turn around and discover the farmhouse is gone. A pile of ashes, blackened boards, and the remnants of the stone fireplace are all that remain. Beside the house, a body hangs from the tall oak tree. The arms and legs flail aimlessly, the random and pointless movements of the dead. While I knew it was unlikely that we would arrive and find the others were alive and well, and Piper was on the mend, I never imagined we’d come back to find something this awful.

  “Fucking hell,” Hoff says as he gets out of the truck.

  “What the hell happened here?” Quentin asks. His eyes scan the farmhouse and then fix on the figure dangling from the tree branch.

  “Somebody had a fucking barbeque,” Fletcher says.

  “Bishop,” I say. “It had to be.”

  “This is a waste of time,” Lorento decides. “Let’s keep moving.” She climbs back into the front of the truck and slams the door.

  “Some of them might still be alive,” Steven says. “Maybe they took off into the woods or something.”

  I notice Stevie poke his head out of the truck and look around.

  “Get back in the truck, Stevie,” I tell him.

  “Where is Stitch?” Stevie asks. His eyes search the area, and then pause on the figure below the tree branches.

  “They’ll find him,” Steven says. He herds the boy back inside the truck and climbs in behind him.

  “I hate to admit it, but Lorento is right this time,” Fletcher says. “That gunshot is going to bring every walking stiff in the area.”

  “I just need a couple minutes,” Hoff says. “Keep the trucks running just in case.”

  We leave Fletcher and Quentin guarding the trucks and I follow Hoff as he walks across the lawn and approaches the tree beside the house. He pauses when we get close enough to see the camouflaged clothing.

  “It’s Morris,” Hoff whispers. “Fuck.”

  Even though the soldier is dead, it isn’t difficult to see that he had been severely beaten before he was killed. Most of his teeth have been knocked out. His nose is fractured with bone fragments poking through the skin. It looks like they even sliced off one of his ears.

  Hoff removes the pistol from his holster and fires a round into the forehead of the corpse and then the limbs of the soldier go limp. He adjusts his aim and fires again at the rope and then the body crashes to the ground.

  Hoff stares at the dead soldier for a moment before he turns and begins to walk through the rubble of the house, scanning the ground for something. More bodies, I guess.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to Hoff. I don’t know what else to say to him. Words don’t seem to matter.

  The soldier grunts and stares at the ground.

  “Lot of guys in the military liked to talk about the shit hitting the fan,” Hoff says. “They figured they were the best soldiers so they’d survive the longest. You know, last man standing. All that tough guy bullshit.”

  Hoff laughs to himself as he steps through the ashes.

  “The truth is, the best soldiers are the ones that die first,” Hoff explains. “They make that sacrifice, so that the rest of us can live.” The soldier stops walking and squints down at something on the ground.

  A bony hand jerks up out of the ashes and seizes hold of Hoff’s boot. The corpse in the rubble tries to sit up and dislodge itself as it reaches for Hoff. The entire body of the thing is burned to a crisp, but it still struggles to take a bite out of the big soldier. Hoff jerks his boot free and staggers backward. He stumbles over a loose board and falls hard on the ground with a grunt.

  I bring the rifle up and nearly fire off a shot, but I worry that I might miss and hit Hoff. The corpse hauls itself out of the rubble and lunges at Hoff again as he scoots away from it on his back. I stomp a boot down on the back of the corpse to pin it to the ground. The butt of my rifle slams down on the back of the thing’s skull with a sharp crack as it hisses. The force is enough to crack the back of the cranium open and the writhing body immediately goes limp.

  Hoff gets to his feet, his camo fatigues coated in a soot. He swipes away the dirt and coughs out the residue in his mouth. His eyes fix on the body on the ground. The remains are unrecognizable now. There is no way we can tell who it was. It could have been one of Bishop’s guys, or it could be one of our friends.

  I scan around the rest of the rubble for a moment and realize how futile it is to continue searching. There is no way anyone could have survived the fire and the collapse of the building. The only thing we might find is more indistinguishable bodies.

  “This is pointless,” Hoff coughs. He tries to find a clean bit of fabric on his sleeve to wipe the chalky dust off his face but eventually gives up.

  I slip my arm out of a strap of my pack and slide the bag around my other shoulder. After undoing the zipper, I retrieve the old towel and a water bottle and soak the rag for Hoff and hand it to him. I gaze off at the tree line in the distance while he cleans himself off. Something still seems strange about the whole situation.

  “Why would Bishop burn down the farmhouse?” I ask Hoff. “Seems kind of pointless.”

  “Probably just for the hell of it,” Hoff shrugs.

  “Maybe,” I agree. “I don’t know.”

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  “What if they did it to hide something?” I speculate.

  “Like to dispose of all the bodies?” Hoff says. “What would be the point of that?”

  “No,” I shake my head. “Maybe to conceal the fact that they didn’t kill everyone.”

  “I know you want to believe the rest of them are okay,” Hoff shakes his head. “But that sounds like wishful thinking to me.”

  Stitch begins to bark behind us and I turn to see him racing back for truck followed by Blake, Danielle and Natalie. The way they are sprinting through the long grass tells me something must be wrong. I look to the sky and see dozens of vultures circling. It looks to be largest kettle of vultures I’ve seen since all this started.

  “Come on,” I say to Hoff. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What is it?” Hoff asks.

  “I don’t think we want to sit around and find out,” I say.

  We stumble through the rubble and hurry to meet the others at the vehicles. As I glance over to the tree line on my left where Blake and the others had emerged from the woods, the first of the dead reach the clearing. I climb into the parcel area of the truck and look back to find the crowd has doubled in size. More and more of the things keep pouring ou
t of the woods. The line of them extends from the north edge of the field to the south end, and probably well beyond that. There are tens of thousands of them surging forward like a wave of death.

  “Get us out of here, Hoff!” Lorento yells as Hoff climbs in behind the wheel.

  I watch as Fletcher and Quentin reverse the black van down the driveway behind us. As Hoff wheels the big delivery truck around, I hear the collective moaning from the dead over the loud roar of the engine. The scene is the most horrifying thing I’ve witnessed since this all started. The delivery truck kicks up a cloud of dust behind us as Hoff accelerates down the driveway and we leave the massive horde behind us.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask. It’s more of general question of astonishment. I don’t really expect anyone to give me an answer.

  “I haven’t seen anything like that since we left Chicago,” Danielle says.

  “What are they all doing out here, though?” Quentin wonders. “A crowd that size couldn’t have come from any of these little towns.”

  “Maybe they’re moving this way for the same reasons we are,” Blake speculates. “The devastation could be driving them this way in search for prey.”

  “Those things don’t think like that,” Steven shakes his head.

  “It’s just a theory,” Blake says. “I don’t have any other way to explain that.”

  “If what you’re saying is right,” I say. “That could just be the beginning. There could be more of those things coming this way. A lot more.”

  The possibility makes our whole situation even more urgent. We need to get this scientist and fly to somewhere safe before the dead completely overrun the area. There is also the chance that we could use this to our advantage. No matter how well prepared Bishop may be, I don’t think there is anyway that he could defend his compound against such a massive swarm of the dead. It might be the thing we need to tip the odds in our favor, if we can survive long enough. I contemplate these thoughts as we speed down the country roads, feeling as uncertain about the chance that I will wake up tomorrow as I have felt since the beginning. I wrap my arm around Stevie and try not to appear as terrified as I am inside.

  “Is everything going to be okay?” he asks me as he strokes the dog that pants and laps a tongue at his fingers.

  “Of course, kiddo,” I smile. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

  I know it isn’t true. There’s a lot to worry about, but I can’t bring myself to tell him that. Even now, I find it in me to lie and try to preserve the false sense of security that children used to have; the feeling that the family around you could protect you from anything bad that might happen.

  We head west, toward Bishop and away from the dead. Lorento pokes her head into the back of the truck and addresses all of us.

  “We’re heading to Fort Leonard Wood,” she announces. “I want to secure that V-22 before we move on Bishop.”

  She pauses to look around for any indications of resistance among us.

  “I’ll be honest,” she begins. “It might be possible that we will encounter some hostiles when we reach the base, so I want you all to be ready.”

  Lorento glances around once again to gauge our reactions. Natalie stiffens her features and gives her a mocking salute. Lorento scowls at her before retreating to the front of the truck.

  “I wouldn’t piss her off if I were you,” I warn Natalie. “She doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that, too. But I’m sure she means well,” Natalie rolls her eyes.

  We all crack a smile over her sarcasm, then we shift our focus to getting our weapons and ammo prepped for our arrival at the military base.

  Thirty-seven

  “We’re almost there,” Hoff says as he takes his foot off the gas pedal of the truck. I move up toward the front of the truck to look through the windshield at the military installation. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a base in my life, and I’m kind of surprised to find it looks just like any number of other towns that we have seen along our journey.

  “This is it?” I ask Hoff.

  He nods and steers toward a ramp beneath a large green sign riddled with bullet holes that says Fort Leonard Wood.

  “Not what you were expecting?” Lorento asks.

  “It looks just like the suburbs,” I say.

  Hoff laughs to himself.

  “I thought there’d be like walls or something like that,” I admit. “I didn’t expect there would be a Holiday Inn.”

  “It’s more of a training facility than what you think of as an actual fortification,” Hoff explains. He steers the truck around an empty security building and passed a stone sign for the base carved in the shape of Missouri with the waving American flag engraved across half the stone.

  “I can see that now,” I say.

  “There’s a Dunkin' Donuts,” Hoff jokes as we cruise down the main road.

  “No wonder nobody survived this shit,” I grumble.

  “Knock it off,” Lorento says. “Keep your eyes out for anything suspicious.”

  “This whole town looks suspicious,” I say. “It’s so empty. I haven’t even seen a single corpse on the streets.”

  “Bishop,” Lorento says. “When we first arrived he had hundreds of soldiers occupying the installation while they cleaned out all the supplies and the dead.”

  “There used to be maybe fifteen thousand people on base,” Hoff adds. “Most of them are probably dead now. The rest must have either fled town or joined up with Bishop.”

  The fact that Bishop managed to clear out and secure a small town speaks to how large and well-stocked his forces are. Some of them were even military. It makes me realizes just how much the deck is stacked against us.

  As we approach the heart of the base, the signs of the battles fought here become more apparent. The barracks along the left side of the street are mostly reduced to heaps of rubble. Burned out remains of cars are scattered up and down the roads. Smashed windows, bullet pock marks, and splatters of blood are evident on nearly every building that remains standing. Rotting bodies are strewn about the lawns. The smell of rancid meat still hangs in the air. It is the closest thing to a war zone that I have ever seen.

  We take a left turn at the airfield and drive along a chainlink fence. The vehicles roll slowly down the road as Hoff swivels his head to scan for threats.

  “There it is,” he says and juts his chin toward the right side of the road.

  The V-22 Osprey parked beside the hangar is unquestionably the strangest looking aircraft I’ve ever seen. It’s like someone couldn’t decide whether they wanted to build an airplane or a helicopter so combined them into a single awkward mechanical nightmare. I have a hard time believing the thing could actually fly at all.

  “I can’t believe Bishop left that thing here,” I say.

  “He probably didn’t have a pilot who could fly it,” Hoff says. He steers the truck through an open gate and drives the delivery truck across the runway. We pull to a stop beside the Osprey and exit the vehicle as we check the surroundings. The emptiness of the military installation seems to make everyone a little cautious and edgy. Even if we aren’t walking into a trap, it still feels like we are. As soon as I am satisfied that we aren’t about to be ambushed, I walk over to where Fletcher is examining the aircraft.

  “This is the strangest helicopter ever,” I say.

  “Watch it, babe,” Fletcher says. “This is a seventy-five million dollar state-of-the-art badass piece of warfare right here.”

  Stitch brushes passed my leg and sniffs near the landing gear beneath the cockpit. He lifts his leg and sprays a stream of urine on the tire.

  “Get out of here,” Fletcher complains and chases the scruffy mutt away. “Stupid dog.”

  “Are you sure you can get it to fly?” I ask.

  “No faith,” Fletcher shakes his head. He caresses the side of the Osprey. “She might just be a little jealous, honey. Don’t listen to her,” he whispers to the
thing.

  “Fletcher,” Lorento barks. “Quit hitting on the helicopter and make sure it is still operational. We need it ready to go by dark.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Fletcher waves a dismissive hand. “I got it.”

  “Everyone else gather over here so I can go over the plan.”

  “There’s a plan now?” Fletcher asks.

  “Of course there is a plan,” Lorento says. She limps over to the black van and spreads open a map on the hood. “There was always a plan.”

  Lorento proceeds to explain her plan to raid the compound where Bishop is holding the scientist. She wants me to lead her to the access point along with Quentin. Blake, Danielle and Natalie will take up a position near the main entrance in case they try to escape with the scientist before we can locate him. Fletcher is going to fly the Osprey with Steven and his son aboard, and Hoff will man the fifty caliber to provide air support. Lorento finally points to a large clearing in a forest preserve about a mile from the facility.

  “This is the rally point,” Lorento says. “Anybody that doesn’t make it back there by the time we return with Dr. Schoenheim gets left behind.”

  “What happens if you don’t make it out of there?” Natalie asks.

  “As long as you all do your jobs right that won’t happen,” Lorento snaps. She holds her gaze on Natalie for a few awkward moments until the younger girl looks away. “Any other questions?” Lorento asks.

  When no one speaks up she snatches up the map off the hood and folds it back up. She slips the map back in her satchel and pulls back the hem of her sleeve to check the watch on her wrist.

  “Hoff,” she says. “You got the phone?”

  The big soldier reaches into his pack and retrieves a black handset with a thick antenna. It looks like a cell phone from twenty years ago.

  “You guys had a phone this whole time?” I ask.

  “Actually, we had two,” Lorento says. “Unfortunately Bishop has one of them now.”