The Rotting Souls Series (Book 1): Charon's Blight [Day One]

by Ray, Timothy A.

  He lay there on top of Casey, his lungs heaving, cheek stinging, wondering where the next shot would strike.

  “Get the fuck off me! This fucking hurts!” his buddy screamed, shaking Todd into the realization that he was putting pressure Casey’s bullet wound. “That son of a bitch shot me in the ass!”

  His cheek hurt like hell, his limbs felt like jelly after the brief conflict, but his funny bone was struck by his friend’s exclamations. He couldn’t help but laugh as he rolled over and fell on the Huey’s deck. Monica had shut the door and was working on trying to inspect the wound on their fallen comrade. “You don’t need to be touching his ass!” he yelled, laughing harder. They had survived and his joy only fueled his good humor.

  His wife ignored him and Casey screamed again as her fingers clamped a compress over the wound, the choppers first aid kit open at her side. The Huey began to tilt and his laughter suddenly died in his throat. As he began to slide towards the now-closed doorway, he turned his head towards the cockpit and saw Rodger’s head sitting at an awkward angle. Had he passed out?

  He got to his feet, adrenaline pushing him forward and helping to restore his strength. He grasped the seats and hopped into the copilot seat. They were beginning to lose altitude and he quickly made adjustments to right the craft and stabilize the falling chopper. His feet made small adjustments, the training he had limited but working in small steps to keep them airborne. “Monica, I need you!” he yelled, hoping that she could hear him.

  She came to Rodger’s side and he stole a quick glance, his stomach churning. There was blood sliding down the older man’s head from under the helmet he wore. There was a dent in it, an impact mark that hadn’t penetrated but still done enough to knock the old man out. There was a hole in the cockpit interior to the left of the Rodger’s head and he knew that the helmet saved the man’s life. His wife’s fingers were placed over his jugular and when she nodded, Todd knew that his friend was stable enough to survive the trip home.

  He grabbed a nearby headset and slammed it over his head as the compound appeared on the horizon. “Ben, get the med lab ready,” he spoke into the mic and heard the frantic young man respond quickly to his commands. He knew that Lucy had to be rushing to the tunnels, the news of her husband’s injury putting her into panic mode. She would meet them when they touched down and escort them back to the medical bay on the first basement level of the compound. He only hoped that his limited amount of time in the helicopter would be enough to set them down safely or they’d end up scattered across the forest below.

  Despite his doubts, he felt a surge of relief when the helicopter jerked to a halt on the runway. It wasn’t smooth, but they were down. He hadn’t tried to land on the dirt pad reserved for the Huey; he could worry about moving it later. He flipped switches and began shutting it down. He was overjoyed that they’d made it in one piece, despite the gunshot wounds. Neither of which appeared to be life threatening, though he wouldn’t know for sure about Rodger until they inspected the wound.

  Casey groaned from the back and Monica was busy trying to remove Rodger’s helmet. He put a hand and grasped hers, shaking his head. “Leave it for now, the bleeding might increase if you remove it. We don’t want him to bleed out.”

  They wouldn’t be able to move both men at once.

  He climbed out of his seat, hopped out of the chopper, and went to the pilot’s side to give his wife a hand. Rodger’s dead weight nearly drove him to the ground as he undid the man’s seatbelt and lowered him out. Monica had gotten out and together they carried him in the direction of the tunnels.

  After a hard few minutes of strenuous exertion, they had him in the back seat of one of the jeeps. He reached out and took his wife by the shoulder. He wanted to hug her but the time didn’t seem right. They had survived, neither of them had been hurt; but to celebrate that while two of their friends were injured seemed wrong. “Take him to Lucy, I’ll go back for Casey.”

  She didn’t argue, just gave him a weak smile as she jumped into the driver side and started forward. He stood there for a moment, watching them go.

  He hoped his older friend had just been knocked unconscious from the blow to the head and that the dent in the helmet hadn’t broken through his skull. It hadn’t been that large, but it had been enough to break skin and cause the man to bleed. Though, he knew from experience that head wounds tended to bleed excessively despite the amount of damage it suffered. He hoped it was superficial, because if he had an inner brain bleed there would be nothing that they could do but sit back and watch their friend slip away.

  Sighing, he tiredly climbed the steps out to the tarmac and approached the quieting Huey. Casey hadn’t moved from the spot he had fallen on; too busy writhing in pain and shouting about his ass. The blood loss had slowed and the compress was no longer getting soaked. It was a shallow wound, the extra flesh had probably prevented the bullet from going too far, or else Casey would have been in a lot more pain. He believed it was more psychological rather than physical that was making his stoner friend act like his life was coming to an end.

  “Oh shut up already, it’s not that bad you fucking baby,” he said, trying not to laugh at his friend’s discomfort. Casey was lying across the deck spread-eagled, his face turned and his eyes glaring at him. “Seriously? Dude, it can’t be that bad. Your ass has stopped leaking. Well, blood anyway,” he commented, trying to lift the dread from his day in a vain attempt at humor. He waved his hand in front of his nose for effect and his young friend stared daggers at him.

  “You are going to carry my ass for that shitty remark,” Casey said, trying to look serious and failing.

  He broke into laughter; he couldn’t help it. “Shitty? See? Your humor is intact, it can’t be too bad,” he remarked, slapping his friend’s leg and making Casey yelp in feigned pain.

  “Oh, you’re definitely carrying me now asshole,” the younger man snarled.

  “The hell I am. If you get your lazy ass up, I might just lend you a shoulder,” he returned. He had collected his rifle and was busy shouldering Casey’s bag. He already felt laden down and wondered briefly if he should make two trips instead of pushing it.

  Sighing, Casey slid his front side backward, his legs dangling from the Huey. He cried out in pain as his ass stretched, making the wound bleed anew.

  He fought the urge to slap the man’s other cheek to even out the pain. Bullet wounds were not really funny, but at times like this he could either laugh or cry. He had chosen humor instead of sorrow. He helped Casey to his feet, the man leaning heavily on one foot, arm draped around his shoulders for support. As they began to limp forward, the bag slipped and tumbled to the ground with a large clank.

  Casey bent to pick it up. “Leave it. I’ll come back for it later,” he told his friend, feeling his strength starting to ebb. He wouldn’t be able to support the weight for long; he needed to get them into that jeep and on the way back to the others.

  “Todd, I love you man, don’t get me wrong. But if you think I’m going to sit in that jeep, blood seeping from my ass, and not inhale something to distract my mind from this pain—then you are out of your fucking mind. Ain’t happening bro,” his young friend said weakly, taking the bag strap in hand and limping along.

  “You know I can’t be around that shit. You want to finish what that sniper started?” he asked, trying to smile. “You know I’m allergic.”

  “Better hold your breath brother,” Casey returned; then grimaced as the wounds on his body began to take their toll. “Get me out of here Man.” They pushed forward and took the steps at a slow pace. Casey was having to take it one at a time. “How’s Rodger?”

  “His vitals were stable when we put him in the jeep, but it’s a head wound,” he replied, not needing to explain any further. He leaned forward so that Casey could grab the edge of the jeep and pull himself into the back seat where he could lay down.

  Although he had joked about it, his friend did not bother going for the stash in his bag
. Instead he laid it on the floorboards of the jeep and tilted his head slightly, their eyes meeting. “Thank you for coming for me. If anything happens to Rodger—.”

  “If anything happens, we will do some hunting of our own,” he replied, patting Casey’s leg. The young man screamed and he realized he had just made the pain flare up. “Oops, sorry,” he laughed as he climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the engine over.

  “Yeah, fuck you too motherfucker. This shit hurts. Why not get us the fuck out of here and get me some morphine already?” his friend cursed from the backseat.

  “Hooah that,” he returned, shaking his head.

  No matter what else happened today, at least one of his friends had made it. That provided hope that some of the others might as well. He stretched his back and neck in an attempt to liven up. He applied the gas and started the long trip to their new home, the moaning man in the backseat crying out every time his ass touched the seat cushions. His laughter echoed through the darkness behind them.

  Chapter 24

  Street Fight

  Saint

  Tucson, AZ

  A red light could be seen in the distance and her heartbeat quickened. She realized that they would soon be reentering civilization and the horrors that came with it. Drexel was ahead and though it was usually a quiet area, she wondered how much that had changed in the past twelve hours. The street light changed to green, but there were no headlights in view to signal that it mattered. She strengthened her grip on her bag and wished that she had a weapon; she hated feeling defenseless. All they had was Randall’s bent pipe for protection; and that wouldn’t last much longer before becoming useless as well.

  She had expected to see the bright red and white sign of a Circle K off to the left when the intersection came into view, but that side of the road was pitch black. Had it lost power? If so, how were the street lights still on? Not to mention the soft green glow of a Diamond Shamrock sliding into view on their right. The street lamps began to illuminate the road and her eyes searched the visible environment for any signs of life; or non-life as it were.

  As her eyes adjusted to the new light, she began to think the Circle K had completely disappeared from the corner it had occupied for most of her life. A glint of moonlight off a piece of glass caught her eye and she could see the dark outline of the building; barely visible to the naked eye. There had been an explosion at the gas station, the entire front of the store was destroyed and blackened from fire. There was a piece of twisted white metal near the center and the shell of what used to be a vehicle resting on top of it. From experience, she knew it was where they stored their propane tanks. What the hell had happened? It bothered her that there was a fire station right down the street and that no one had responded to the fire. There weren’t any signs that anyone had even attempted to put it out.

  The Diamond Shamrock however, was still intact. The lights were on and there were no cars evident in the parking lot. The hope of finding another vehicle quickly was looking slimmer by the moment and she tried to fight off the feeling of despair descending upon her. They slowed at the intersection, trying to decide if they should stop off at the convenience store or not.

  “We should get some water before we go on,” Randall offered. It was the one useful thing he’d said since they abandoned his truck. From his size, she was sure that he was after more than water, but he did have a point. She nodded and the others didn’t disagree. She began to move in that direction when the sound of movement reached her ears. She came to a sudden stop, ears attentive, and her eyes searching.

  A large herd of undead shambled into view; not yet aware of their presence. They moved steadily forward on their cold dead legs and she knew it would only be seconds before they were spotted. She took a couple of hesitant steps back, trying to move without being seen; it didn’t work.

  One of the dead men looked up, his blackened torso and work shirt making it obvious that he had been working at the convenience store at the time of his death. His eyes found hers and she nearly screamed at the look of joy that crossed his face. He made a slight noise and lunged at them. The others noticed the movement and all the heads came up; eyes fixing on them. The entire herd began to run their way; they were fucked. They didn’t have any real weapons, nothing but desert to either side, and a long empty road behind them.

  They dropped their bags and turned to flee. She hardened her heart against what would come next; her death at the hands and teeth of those monsters was almost a sure thing now.

  A battle cry erupted from her right and out of the darkness charged a group of the living. They were streaming out of the parking lot of a tire repair shop behind the Circle K and were heading straight for the closing herd of zombies.

  Most of the creatures heard them and stopped in their places, turning to see the new source of food so willingly offering itself to them. The lone zombie that hadn’t been distracted by the newcomers was the clerk and he was coming straight for her. She stopped trying to run and turned to meet the threat. She was not new to a fight and though she was terrified, the adrenaline pumping through her veins refused to let her back down.

  Randall strode from her left, crossed in front of her, and grabbed the young man by the head. The hands clawed at the big man’s arms as he lifted the zombie off his feet and jerked his hands to the left. There was a pop and the arms suddenly dropped. The teeth were still gnashing, eyes raging, but the body hung there limply. Randall tossed it aside like it held no further value or threat.

  Her blood was pumping wildly as she gave a small shriek of triumph and rushed forward to join the fray.

  The fighting was vicious and she had nothing to lose by joining in. Anyone that died would only turn and reinforce the zombie herd, so it was better that they all worked together to ensure their survival. To her surprise, Jesus was at her side. She turned her head to see Randall and Jeff working together to take down a half-naked female that had tried to tear into them.

  She reeled around just in time to help a young man who was grappling with an older Hispanic lady in a nightgown. She was close to tearing out his throat and with a swift punch, she nailed the woman in the back of the neck. The sickening crunch sent a jolt up her arm, causing her wrist to go numb. It wasn’t enough to do any real damage, but it caused enough of a distraction that the young man was able to bring a tire iron around, burying the tip in the head of the dead woman, killing her for a second time.

  Another body flung itself at her and she found herself fighting a younger white male in street clothing. His hands clawed at her face and it was all she could do to keep those teeth from finding a piece of flesh to bite into. She screamed in fear, her heart hammering in her chest. That mouth was closing in and none of her efforts were making a difference.

  A bat slammed into the head from behind. Disgustingly, the head caved in and teeth blew outward; showering her face with gore. She screamed again, the body pitching forward and falling dead at her feet.

  Standing before her was a tall black man with glasses. He was bald and had a dark goatee covered in sweat and blood; mouth hung open in rage. For a moment, she thought he was one of them, but then he raised the bat in triumph and howled at the sky. She had started to feel a tickle of recognition, but it struggled to come to her in the face of such naked fury.

  “Robert?” she asked, unsure. What the hell was he doing there?

  He didn’t answer, barely even registered her presence as he turned and swung his weapon at another zombie. The head split apart and another body fell to the ground at his feet. He surged past her and continued fighting, rage spilling forth with every swing, every corpse a yell of triumph.

  Heaving loudly, he brought his bat up again; but there were no longer any targets to swing at. The entire herd was lying dead at their feet. Some of the group were gasping for air as others kicked the corpses angrily; profanity following each swing of the leg. There were only ten of them now and a couple looked wounded.

  Someone to her l
eft let out a yelp of pain; one of the fallen corpses was attached to the man at the ankles, teeth tearing into flesh. Apparently, the celebration had been premature; they hadn’t checked to make sure these things were down for the count. The younger man broke free, jerking his leg backward, and bringing a steel pipe down on the creature that bit him. He bashed at it repeatedly, rage pushing him far past the point of mattering. The thing would never bite anyone again.

  The man noticed that they were all looking at him with fear in their eyes. “What?” he asked, not understanding; his hand running through his hair. The steel pipe hung limply at his side.

  Robert stepped forward and without warning brought the bat down on the man’s head. The look of surprise turned to sudden terror. Before an arm could be raised to block the blow, the bat caved his head in. The body fell to the ground and joined the pile of undead corpses. Surprisingly, there were no cries of outrage from anyone. They just stood there, trying to catch their breath, stunned at what had just happened. None of them appeared as disturbed as she was by Robert’s actions. Why had he done that?

  Someone on her right suddenly started to back away from them. He was 5’9, thin, with dark skin, and frightened brown eyes. He wore a dark t-shirt, black pants, and he was holding his right arm behind him as he stepped slowly away. She saw wet liquid on the ground by his fleeing feet and a dark revelation settled upon her; he was bit. He had just watched another man get killed for that and must have realized he could be next. It dawned on her that she knew this guy as well. It was Erik, another coworker and Randall’s roommate!

  What the hell?

  By this time, Robert had seen Erik’s attempt to put some distance between them. He raised his bloodied bat and began to stalk his prey. The rest of the group seemed content to let it happen, watching with a combination of awe and shock. Were they going to let this go on? Robert brought the bat up and closed the distance. Erik began to scream.