Race the Dead (Book 1): The Last Flag

by Cavanagh, Wren

  Kid picks up fast, he thought. Good, I hate working with stupid people.

  They walked from a temple to commerce — worldly order and worldly riches — into an increasingly cold and hostile city. There, the concept of a human-imposed order was as dead as its inhabitants. The buildings and infrastructure were the skeletons it left behind. Tessa shivered as she stepped outside, her breath plumed in the air and her teeth began to chatter.

  “OMG! It’s really snowing. It wasn’t this bad when we went it. Mom?” Her voice rose higher in the cold air, shrill with alarm when she saw her mother. “Mom, you okay?”

  Ian focused his camera and zoomed out from a close up of Tessa into a long shot of her mother. A still, rain-soaked figure, who mindless of the rain and snow had walked off to the far corner of the block. She stood in the crossroad, without grace, almost clumsily she turned toward them, it looked like she had been about to walk away when her daughter’s voice had stopped her.

  “Mom?” The terror was obvious in the girl’s voice. “Mommy?”

  Ian felt both afraid and excited as he zoomed in on Amber and saw her face — it was the same mix of emotions he felt when he worked on a documentary, he had filmed a white shark underwater, a monster sized creature. Even though he had been in a cage when it turned and looked into his eyes as he swam back toward him, he had felt his guts sink is belly. He had done that type of job one time only, and it had been enough, no more sharks for him.

  Now here he was in an even worse situation, with no safety cage, how did I let this happened? He wondered, feeling sicker by the second, the cold spreading from his guts worse than the cold outside.

  “NO...No. No no no no.” Tessa chanted that word over and over. A useless mantra of denial; it evoked no emotions or reactions from the woman who walked toward them.

  Ian zoomed in on Amber’s face, much like he had once zommed in on the shark’s jaws, she almost looked alive, except for the dead eyes and bloodless skin. He zoomed out as she got within feet of Tessa, so the viewers would get a good idea of the imminent threat to the girl.

  Christ kid, do something! He thought. But Tessa just stood there babbling and pleading with her mother, and when Amber finally placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, the kid just closed her eyes tightly and bowed her head, lost in grief, she cried desolate tears.

  “Damn it Tessa!” Ian snapped and sprinted toward them.

  He shoved the girl hard, pushing her out of harm’s way just as her mother snapped in for a bite. And Jesus, bite she did. Her cold mouth clamped down on his wrist and her hard, sharp teeth dug in. Ian screamed and pulled away but her jaws had the staying power of a bear trap. Screaming in pain he slammed the camera repeatedly on the side of her head even as he fell backward, unbalanced by her weight as she latched onto him.

  He landed painfully on his back and kept screaming as he felt and heard part of himself getting pulled off his body, followed by the heath of his blood as it flowed down his arm, over his shoulder, and down his neck. It seeped into his clothing turned gelid along his back as he looked at the woman straddling him, mouth open, chewing away. Christ, that’s a piece of me, he thought, shock set in then, and his strength flowed out of him like water.

  Tessa came out of it as aghast she watched the man bleeding in the snow, crying and gasping she charged her mother and shoved her off the cameraman. On the sidewalk the older woman looked at her briefly as she chewed on until bits of flesh fell out the open mouth, she swallowed what was left then returned her attention to Ian, crawled back to him and pulled herself back on top as she leaned in for another mouthful. Tessa kicked her hard but her mother was too low to the ground to be toppled over. Desperate, she grabbed the back of the coat and yanked her back, Amber’s head snapped back before she could have another bite.

  Grunting with effort Tessa yanked and pulled until she had dragged her mother off of Ian, but as she did, the dead woman twisted around and wrapped her arms around Tessa’s ankles and brought her down to the ground next to her.

  Tessa’s head hit the cement walk with a thick, flat unforgiving sound and the girl felt like her brains had tried pushing her eyeballs out of their sockets, stunned by the blow, she lost control of her body and could only lay there dazed as she felt her mother creep upward toward her face.

  Worldwide, millions of viewers took to texting, twittering, posting and emailing their complaints that the cameraman was no longer focusing on the action. Something was happening, but they couldn’t see it! Someone listened to them, and as Ian fought to bring the shock under control, a voice he didn’t recognize came through his headset.

  “Ian, hi, this is Ron? Ron Tubbs? Direct from Hollywood? One of the segment producers? Can you hear me?” The voice paused before picking up again. “Ian. I think you can hear me. So...Pick up the camera? Can you pick up the camera? We are getting tons of complaints from viewers not being able to see the action there? Ian?”

  Flat on his back, the cameraman was doing his best to focus on his breathing and gain back control of his body. The shock had robbed him of strength and energy and he had almost passed out, mentally he cursed Ron Tubbs for a motherfucker. It took him everything he had left to just draw up his legs. He focused on taking steady, deep breaths, to make the dizziness go away. As his vision cleared, he was at first puzzled by what looked like the sky falling apart in fluffy white bits. Seconds later, his brain kicked into a higher gear and reality crashed in on him. The insistent wheedling voice on the headset, the screams from Tessa, the sounds of struggle.

  The snow; the cold. The red, red snow, his red, damn it.

  He rolled to his side, got to all fours, and grabbed his camera while a cheese dick named Ron Tubbs—someone he had never heard of before—ejaculated praises and congratulations in his ear.

  “Shut up!” He gasped, hoping the cheese dick would hear him, and he got to his feet. The stream from the camera came to life again. Viewers cheered and the #TLF news feeds and posts trended upward like firecrackers on the fourth of July. On screens everywhere, the view changed helter skelter, from a foot-level view of a trash can to a fast arc of a snowy skyline as Ian, unbalanced, swept the camera upward. Finally upright, he got his bearings and staggered to the struggling women. Not giving a damn what was getting filmed, he raised the camera high above his head with both hands. Before he could bring it down on Amber's head, he heard a gunshot and felt like someone had punched him hard in the gut. Fiery, shearing pain followed and he fell back on the ground screaming in pain.

  “Christ! Stop it, kid!” Lew shouted and yanked the gun from Carson’s hand then tossed it to the ground behind him as he raced toward Amber and Tessa.

  Mother and daughter were locked in a struggle; Lew grabbed the older woman and dragged her away only to have her turn on him. Before she could latch on, he delivered a controlled front kick to her chest and shoved her to the ground. The hard fall had no effect and she silently struggled to get back up, he looked in her eyes and realized the woman was dead.

  He swung his Bo and the weapon did it’s duty as it caved in the side of her head and fell Amber to street. Lew and Emma looked on as Carson ran to his mother, pulled her in his arms then just sat there cradling her, calling her name. Tessa knelt at his side and joined her brother in grief.

  The viewership metrics shot up.

  “Help, help me...” The feeble call got Emma’s attention and she got down on her knees by the cameraman. The wound was an in and out, and he was bleeding badly. The boy had hit the liver or an artery.

  “We gotta get him inside and get an extraction,” Lew got the attention of their cameraman. “Ross, call Tom.”

  “Already on it.”

  “Great, put down the damn camera now,” Lew said. “Come over and help me bring him inside.”

  Emma said nothing, just held the man's hand. He's not going to make. She looked at Lew and
shook her head, all her training told her that Ian wouldn’t last two more minutes, if that. Lew had to know that, too. She hadn’t even finished that thought when Ian’s breathing turned erratic, and soon after undetectable.

  “Ian? Talk to me?” Lew shook the man’s shoulder to no effect, the cameraman stopped breathing. “Gone.”

  Ross walked up to them; he looked as shocked as the rest of them. “Got Tom, he has something to tell you.” He gasped.

  “Better be that he’s getting those two kids and that woman out,” Emma replied softly.

  “Yeah, that’s not it,” Ross replied. “Turn on your headsets. Leave them on, he says.”

  “Forget it, they're distracting,” Lew said as he turned it on. “And we need privacy every so often.”

  “You wanted privacy, you should have stayed home,” Ross said, not without sympathy.

  “Team Striker!” Tom’s voice came over the headsets, sounding slurred and tired.

  Lew and Emma exchanged alarmed glances at each other. If the host, miles away, outside the perimeter from his comfort and safety was going off the rails, just how much control over this thing did they have?

  “You need to pick up that woman you left behind—you get a free flag for her,” Tom said.

  “Ian is dead, so is Amber, we have two kids that just lost their mother who should be extracted, and we have no idea where Scott is,” Lew said. “And this woman, she is not a contestant, you. Should be getting her out of here.”

  Tom hesitated then went on, “Will you be going back for the woman?”

  “No,” blurted Emma, annoyed. “You get her out. Why can’t the rescue teams get her out?”

  “Yeah, I'm going back for her,” Lew said and he held up his hand for Emma to calm down and hear him out. “Emma. One more flag and we're out of here, and I know where she is.”

  “Haaarghh! Jesus!” Emma’s anger and frustration was almost a palpable thing. “Fuck! Hurry up then. Everyone else — get your ass inside. Stat.” She pointed at the end of the street. Attracted by the shots and commotion, some of the dead denizens of Prideful were making their way up the street toward them, like an unsettling parade — silent, diverse, but united in purpose.

  “We got visitors,” she said “You wanna go, you better run.”

  ----------

  Lew raced away from the group and quickly backtracked the few blocks they had traveled. As he got closer to where they left the woman, the numbers of the dead that advanced in his direction multiplied. He flattened, sidestepped, and dodged as many as he could, and moved on. He loved his weapon; the Bo gave him the advantage of silence, distance, and easy execution as long as the numbers were manageable.

  He thanked God that he wasn’t sicker, but he’d have to rest soon, lord but he was tired. He forced himself to run back to where they first met her, until he finally saw the slender figure in hospital smocks, as wet and bedraggled as the others, but unlike them she was shivering, hugging the wall as she walked on. Lew looked at her eyes, they were alive and afraid and he felt sick with guilt.

  Damn, we should have taken her with us. He thought, she wants to live as much as I do.

  He watched as she tried to keep away from the crowd and at the same time constantly shooting fearful glances in their direction.

  “This...is going to be a bitch.” Lew whispered, She looked about walled in behind those things. A second careful look told him that the woman had finally seen him. Her eyes opened wide with hope and surprise, a glimmer of an expression came on the otherwise blank face. With her gaze focused on him, she tried to quicken her pace,to reach him. Lew sprinted to meet her, knocking aside the turned in range of the Bo, kicking in knees and putting down the ones too close for comfort.

  Don’t want to take you out people, he thought. I just want you out of my way.

  A few more feet of action and she was in reach.

  “It’s okay, relax.” He unceremoniously threw her over his shoulder and turned to make a break for it, but behind him, the crowd of the dead had thickened and closed off his escape route as more had joined in from the fringes of the procession. The gauntlet had closed and they were boxed in; Lew looked around for any advantage. A small alley between the buildings had promise. It was closed off by a tall chain link fence but he could handle that. He tossed the Bo over and climbed with a reservoir of strength and agility fueled by desperation, thanking God that the woman was skinny and light.

  He flipped over the edge with a controlled drop and once safely on the other side, grabbed his weapon and took off down the narrow back alley that cut trough the block. Back doors to the establishments, broke the flat cement and brick walls along the way.

  To his left, Lew spotted an open one—the only open one that he could see. A commercial delivery door; open to a dark, uninviting space.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers. We got limited options here.” He looked back at where he dropped in. The pressure of the turned against the chain link fence was pushing it in and downward. It wouldn’t hold long. Up ahead at the other end, he saw other turned: attracted to the noise, were spilling into the alley and closing off the exit. He stepped in the darkened entrance.

  “Put…me. Down?”

  “All right. But I might need to pick you back up — you're a bit slow. No offense.” He whispered back and set her down on her feet and, glad to have his hands free, rushed to close the door and scout their new digs. In the dim light he saw no threats and drew a sigh of relief.

  “Okay, the locked door should keep them out. They seem pretty much like ‘out of sight, out of mind’ kinda people.”

  “Hope…so.”

  His eyes were adjusting to the dim light. Small windows near the ceiling let in enough of it for him to move around without bumping into things. A gentle tug on his arm turned him around.

  “There. Exit.”

  Anjali pointed to a dingy and simple white door. Above it on a dirty and barely visible cardboard sign, it said just that in red uppercase letters drawn by hand. He nodded, preceded her to the door, and opened it cautiously. The place was empty.

  “Looks like a print shop. Old, old print shop.” He grabbed a card off an ancient, scuffed walnut table. “Kilroy was here,” he mused. “Kilroy J. Eames, of Eames & Ford Printing.”

  He looked up and saw Anjali a few feet away, gazing out of the windows. He joined her and took in the sight. The snow was falling fast and furious in the soft waning light.

  “That’s bad. That’s really bad. Okay let’s go—we can’t get stuck here. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to carry you to make time, at least it isn’t too far.”

  The woman nodded. “Look for. Coat.”

  “Good suggestion,” Lew chatted on. “When we left, no one even imagined this kinda weather. For Oregon, this is seriously nutty weather.” He quickly rummaged through the store, finding some clothes and rags in closet near the main office. “Lots of printer’s smocks. Found this jacket though…should fit you.” He helped her slip it on. “And this will work for me.” He put on pair of thick leather gloves.

  He gently took her by the shoulder and looked into her eyes to make sure he had her full attention. Amazed, he saw that in the brief period since they had left her behind, color and returned to them. Her irises were no longer dull and opaque, but a soft, warm chestnut brown.

  “We don’t have far to. We're going to make it—you hang on to me. Okay? This won’t be uncomfortable for very long.”

  Anjali nodded. “Okay.”

  He smiled, wrapped his arms around her and embraced her briefly — more for his own benefit than hers — and held her tight. “We're going to be okay.”

  “Fever, you...“ The heat coming from the man surprised Anjali, she stepped back and looked up at him, “Are sick.”

  “It’ll be our secret. Okay?”


  He let go, bent lower and picked her up in a fireman's carry then unlocked the front door and stepped out into the chilling snowfall. The crowd that could have stopped them had since toppled the fence and were swarming into the alley with the single-mindedness of hungry ants. Lew ran for safety.