Brian Keene

by Dead Sea (epub)

  "Okay," Chief Maxey said. "Turn, you prepare the lifeboat. The rest of you arm yourselves. I'll go relieve Chuck on the bridge and take us in."

  We should have smelled them first, but the breeze was blowing toward the shore. We saw them soon enough, though. Lined up along the ship's port side rail with several pairs of binoculars that we'd taken from the ship's displays, we stared in horror and disgust. The summer heat and exposure to direct sunlight and the elements had done a job on them. The dead looked like bloated, oversized ants shuffling along the beach. They crawled through the sand and sprawled in the surf, wandering aimlessly in search of prey. Seagulls darted down out of the sky and plucked away bits of rotting flesh and the insects that burrowed inside the zombies. Then they'd take flight again and fight each other in midair for the choicest morsels. Decaying ears, cheeks, eyeballs, and noses dangled from their beaks. Occasionally, a bird moved too slowly or sat on a zombie's shoulder for a second too long. Then, dead hands lashed out, seizing the birds-ripping and chewing in an explosion of blood and feathers. As we stared through the binoculars, we saw more zombies on hotel balconies and patio decks. Virginia Beach's boardwalk was actually off the beach, hidden behind a row of hotels and restaurants and stupid trinket shops. We caught glimpses between the buildings as we sailed by. Both the boardwalk and the streets were choked with corpses. I couldn't believe how many of them there were. We saw no signs of anyone still alive-the zombie's food source had to be running out. Why didn't they move on?

  "Look at them all," Chuck gasped. "If you didn't know they were dead, it would be like a regular day at the beach."

  Joan paled. "I can't watch. I'm going to be sick."

  She handed her binoculars to Nick, and then leaned out over the rail and threw up. Nick adjusted the focus, peered through the binoculars, and then closed his eyes and turned away.

  "Jesus." He sounded like he might be getting sick, too.

  "I want to see," Malik said, reaching for my pair of binoculars.

  "No," Carol admonished. "You don't need to see that."

  "Damn straight I do. Let me get those binoculars, Lamar."

  "Malik." Carol's voice grew stern. "What did we agree in regards to your cursing?"

  "You said I shouldn't use swear words, but I don't remember agreeing to it."

  Tasha slapped him on the head. "Quit being a dork."

  "Stop hitting me! Lamar, Tasha hit me."

  Sighing, 1 handed my pair of binoculars to Basil. Then I bent down and put an arm around each of the kids.

  "Listen, guys. Mitch and I have got to go with the others to the mainland, so while I'm gone, you need to behave. Don't fight. Don't give Miss Carol or Miss Alicia any shit."

  Carol pursed her lips and scowled at me.

  "Urn, I mean, trouble."

  "Why do you and Mitch have to go?" Tasha asked.

  "Because we need stuff' Food, water, medicine. We don't want what happened to Stephanie to happen to anyone else."

  Malik pulled away. "Can I go, too?"

  I shook my head. "Not this time."

  "But I can fight zombies. I'm good. Just give me another grenade."

  "I know you can, but we need you here, Malik. We need somebody that we can count on to stay behind and keep everyone on the ship safe. Can you do that for us? Protect everyone?"

  He nodded. "You can count on me."

  "Okay." I gave them one more squeeze and they hugged me back.

  Eventually, we passed beyond Virginia Beach.

  The hotels and developments vanished, replaced by trees and dunes. Within a few more miles, the forest grew thicker. Tall pine trees towered over the shoreline. The only sign of civilization was a cell phone tower sticking up above the treetops. Then the rescue station came into sight. It wasn't much- just a small cove with a single dock, and a few white, cement block buildings and a long, tin-roofed warehouse. There was also a tiny chapel. Someone had mounted a basketball hoop in the parking lot. A single vehicle, a dark green Ford Explorer, sat beneath it. A tattered American flag fluttered in the breeze at the top of a pole in the compound's center.

  The Spratling slowed to a halt and Chief Maxey dropped the anchor. Turn, Mitch, Tony, Runkle, Hooper, and I boarded the lifeboat and took our seats. Chuck and Chief Maxey lowered us down to the surface and then we cast off. Turn started the motor and we cruised toward the cove. While en route, he turned on his battery-operated radio and checked communications with the ship. Chief Maxey answered him, his voice loud and clear.

  The shoreline was deserted. The flag slapped against the pole. A few birds perched on the roof of the warehouse, but there was no other movement. I sniffed the salty breeze but smelled no sign of zombies. Turn pulled alongside the dock and shut off the motor. Hooper stood up carefully and tied us off. He glanced around, nervous. After confirming the coast was clear, the rest of us climbed up onto the dock. We agreed that Turn would stay with the boat just in case we had to make a quick getaway.

  "Mitch," Runkle said, "you take point. Hooper, you bring up the rear. The rest of us will move spaced ten feet apart. Everybody with me?"

  We nodded.

  "Good. We'll start with the closest building. Once it's clear, we'll move on to the next. We do this as a group. I don't want anybody going off by themselves. And if we do get into some shit, watch your shots. Last thing we need is to catch each other in a fucking crossfire. Understood?"

  We nodded again. In the trees, a flock of crows suddenly took flight, startling us all. I nearly squeezed my trigger.

  "Weapons check," Runkle said. "Everybody make sure you're locked and loaded."

  Once that was completed, we moved forward. Mitch approached the Explorer first and peered inside while the rest of us hung back. He opened the door and checked the interior. Then he popped his head back up.

  "Empty."

  "Anything we can use?" Runkle asked.

  "Not unless you guys are into Fallout Boy, John Tesh, or gospel music. There's a bunch of CDs in the console, but they're all shit. End of the fucking world and Fallout Boy is all that's left for our descendants to find."

  Tony and 1 snickered. Runkle motioned toward the first cement block building. Mitch crept toward it, weapon at the ready. We followed. My palms were sweaty, and I had to keep switching the pistol from hand to hand so that I could wipe them on my shirt. My armpits grew damp. My ears felt hot and my pulse pounded in my temples. A headache started to bloom behind my eyes.

  Mitch flattened himself against the wall of the first building and listened at the door. He looked back at us, nodded, and then reached out and tried the handle. It was unlocked. Taking a deep breath, he lunged forward and threw the door open. Runkle and Tony ran through it, their pistols extended. Hooper and I followed. Mitch came in behind us. The room, some type of communications center, was deserted. A massive, dust-covered two-way radio sat on a shelf behind the front desk. A microphone dangled from it, swinging by the cord. There were two telephones, a box of what looked like replacement parts for the radio, and several maps and charts. Taped to the wall were a list of maritime distress signals and important emergency phone numbers. There was a single closed door at the back of the room.

  Hooper picked up one of the phones and held it to his ear. The rest of us looked at him hopefully.

  "Dead," he told us. "Didn't figure it would be working, but it never hurts to check."

  Mitch inched to the second door, listened carefully, and then tried the handle. The door swung open, hinges creaking. Mitch reached inside, found the light switch and turned it on. Then he whistled.

  "Got some stuff we can use here, I think."

  Runkle told Tony to guard the entrance, and the rest of us filed into the room. Cardboard boxes were stacked against the walls. Mitch pulled out his pocketknife and sliced one open. It was full of D-sized batteries. The next one contained AA batteries. We continued going through the supplies, and found more batteries, emergency flares, portable two-way radios, extension cords, rope, steel chain, shove
ls, rakes, brooms, and other assorted tools. There were also cases of spark plugs, engine oil and bearing grease, and several marine batteries for a small boat.

  "Haul the batteries out and set them on the sidewalk," Runkle ordered. "The flares, walkie-talkies, and oil, too. We'll wait and see what's in the other buildings before we grab any of this other stuff."

  We carried the boxes outside and stacked them against the wall. There was a stack of magazines near the front desk-months' old issues of Time, Newsweek, and Outdoor Life. I flipped through one of them and sighed wistfully.

  "What's up?" Tony asked.

  "I used to read these all the time. I was a news junkie."

  "Not me, man. I never bought into stupography."

  "Stup-what?"

  "Stupography. Media that makes you stupider the longer you watch it. Everybody talks about how biased the media is. Either for the left or the right. What they don't realize is that it all comes from the same source. They wanted us to stay asleep, and look what happened."

  He went back to work. I dropped the magazine back on the pile. Then I noticed four comic books amidst the stack-New Avengers, Spider-man, The Simpsons, and The Walking Dead. I stuffed the first three in my back pocket, thinking Tasha and Malik might like them. I left the last one lay where it was. Didn't think the kids would want to read about more zombies. But then I changed my mind. Judging by how much Malik liked blowing them up, a comic about destroying zombies might be exactly what he'd enjoy. Wasn't like it would give him nightmares. Real life could do that just as easily.

  Then we moved on to the next building, where we hit the fucking jackpot. It was a bunkhouse and living quarters, and in the rear were a small kitchenette and a walk-in pantry. The metal shelves were lined with cans and dry goods, bags of flour and noodles, snack food, and cases of soda and bottled water.

  "Holy shit!" Tony gaped at the rows of canned goods. "Green beans, peas, corn, peanut butter, kidney beans, succotash, fruit fucking cocktail-we are good to go."

  "I can't believe they left all this stuff behind," Runkle said. "Doesn't make sense."

  Mitch nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. If you knew this stuff was here, and the zombies were on the march, wouldn't you hide out here? Makes sense, right? But it looks deserted. No people and definitely no dead. Can't even smell them nearby. There's no blood, no signs of a struggle anywhere."

  Runkle picked up a jar of jelly. "Maybe the personnel assigned to this station went out to perform a rescue at sea and didn't get the chance to come back?"

  "Could be," Mitch agreed. "Sucks for them. Good for us."

  "Let's check the rest of the compound," Runkle said. "Make sure it really is free and clear. Then we'll start hauling this stuff back to the boat."

  The next building was a small infirmary, and we found a large stockpile of medicine. Since none of us were doctors, we didn't understand what a lot of it was, but we grabbed the stuff we recognized and set it by the door. The warehouse was full of vehicles and equipment-lawnmowers, a forklift, tractor, several old pickup trucks, and a speedboat sitting atop a trailer. Another boat was suspended on jacks. It looked like someone had been working on the hull at one point. Now it would probably sit here for all time. Outside, behind the warehouse, we found skids with fifty-five gallon drums of motor oil, gasoline, diesel fuel, and kerosene, along with propane bottles, a pump, and several empty plastic gas cans.

  "The chief will flip when we bring all this back," Runkle said. "Unbelievable."

  I tapped a drum. "How are we going to get these down to the boat?"

  "The forklift." Tony laughed. "We should have had Chuck come with us. He drove a forklift for a living. But I can run it, okay long as there's keys and fuel in it."

  For a moment, I thought that I heard Turn's voice, calling out for us. When I glanced around, I didn't see him, and nobody else mentioned it. I figured it was my imagination.

  "I got to take a piss," Hooper said. "Be right back."

  "Wait a second." Mitch grabbed his shoulder. "We still need to clear the chapel."

  Hooper brushed his hand aside. "Man, ain't nothing in the chapel. Look around. This place is deserted. Anybody that was here ain't here now."

  "Well," Runkle said, "you still shouldn't go walking off by yourself."

  "I got to piss, and I ain't pulling my dick out in front of Lamar. Fucker might try to molest me and shit."

  "Trust me, Cleveland-I'm not interested."

  He scowled at me, and then stalked off into the trees, muttering under his breath. We watched him go, shaking our heads.

  "Asshole," Mitch said.

  "He may be a dick," Tony said, "but he's right. We're all on edge. But this place is zombie free, man."

  A crow flew overhead. Something pink dangled from its beak. I thought I knew what it was. Before 1 could say anything, the wind shifted, blowing from inland out to the sea.

  Mitch cringed. "Oh yeah? Well if that's so, then what's that smell?"

  Deep inside the forest, Hooper screamed.

  Chapter Seven

  We ran into the forest and pushed our way through the thick undergrowth. Vines and thorns tugged at our clothing. A few yards beyond the tree line, the foliage abruptly cleared. Sand gave way to a thick carpet of pine needles, and the trees were spaced far enough apart for us to move freely. Hooper screamed again, his voice closer.

  "Cleveland," Runkle shouted, "where are you?"

  He answered with another shriek.

  "Hooper!" Mitch cupped his hand around his mouth."Sound off, man. Let us know where you are."

  "I'm over here! Oh, fuck me. Fuck me running! Ya'll get over here, right now."

  We followed his cries and emerged in a circular clearing. Hooper was in the middle of the clearing, staring upward. We brushed past the branches and stood beside him. Each of us froze, gaping in horror. I felt my gorge rise. I ran to the edge of the clearing and puked.

  Except for the section where we'd entered, the outer edges of the clearing were lined with crosses. Somebody had made them out of fence posts and logs. A zombie hung from each cross, nailed through the wrists and ankles, their legs, arms, and waists tied down with thick coils of bare copper electrical wire. The stench was terrible, but even worse were the flies. Their buzzing filled the clearing. Maggots writhed inside the corpses and fell out of various orifices. They squirmed on the ground. Birds sat on the creatures' shoulders and heads or perched on the crossbeams. They'd stripped the crucified zombies of most of their skin. What remained were pink, wet, human-shaped things-internal organs, lips, tongues, and eyeballs missing. Their nerves and veins hung like limp strands of spaghetti and bones poked through the glistening tissue. One of the zombies raised its blind head, as if sensing our presence, and moaned. Worms burrowed in the empty eye sockets. Bird shit covered an exposed section of skull. The creatures' stench made my eyes water.

  "Jesus fucking Christ…" Mitch bent over and threw up all over his boots.

  I wiped the bile from my lips and rejoined the others. My stomach lurched again. The comic books in my back pocket brushed against my spine. I'd forgotten all about them. I was surprised they were still there.

  The buzzing flies grew louder. Another bird flew off with some intestine. The grayish-purple strand looked just like a big, fat worm.

  Runkle gagged. "Somebody… somebody did this. The zombies couldn't have crucified their own. They're not that smart. They don't function that way. A human being did this."

  "How"-Tony choked-"How did they get them up there? If the bodies were already dead and infected, they'd have turned into zombies before they were finished with the crucifixion."

  "And if they were still alive when they were crucified," Runkle said, "then how did they turn into zombies? How did they get exposed to Hamelin's Revenge from up there?"

  "Maybe they were exposed and then nailed to the crosses before they actually died," Mitch said, gasping for breath. "But that still doesn't tell us why."

  "It was God's will."
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  The voice came from behind us. Hooper screamed again, his voice growing hoarse. We all whirled around, weapons raised and ready. A man slowly stepped out of the forest. He was short and thin, and looked to be in his late forties. A few wisps of white hair clung to the sides of his head. The rest of his scalp was bald and shiny. He was dressed in black pants, a white short-sleeved dress shirt, and had a dirty preacher's collar around his neck. A small silver cross was pinned to the collar. Sweat stains covered his shirt and there was mud on his pants. His dirty yellow fingernails were long and ragged.

  Mitch stepped forward and pointed his pistol at the stranger's head.

  "Don't you fucking move."

  The man held up his hands and smiled sadly. "You have no reason to fear me, son. I am a man of God." He had a Hispanic accent.

  "What the hell happened here?" Runkle patted the man down, carefully searching for weapons. "Who did this?"

  The man's smile remained. "I told you. It was God's will. This is the Lord's work. Only he can grant life after death."

  "He's fucking crazy," Hooper muttered. "Just shoot him and be done with it, Runkle. The hell with this shit."

  "Please," the man said. "As I already told your other friend, I mean you no harm."

  "Our other friend?" Runkle stepped away and holstered his weapon. "What are you talking about? You better start making sense."

  "The man on the boat. He was your friend, yes? He said his name was Turn. He told me all about your trials, how you escaped from Baltimore and traveled here, looking for a safe harbor. I spoke to him while the rest of you were here in the forest. I explained to him what has actually happened- told him all about the resurrection and the life. He's in the chapel right now. Come, I'll take you to him."

  Mitch's finger tightened on the trigger. "Have you hurt Turn?"

  "No," the man said, as if speaking to a child. "Why would I do that? I am a man of peace. I merely told him about the glory of God."

  "I'm telling ya'll," Hooper said. "We should shoot this crazy old fucker right now."

  "Shut up," Mitch snapped, not taking his eyes off the preacher.