Stay Dead: A Novel

by Steve Wands

  Frankie ran around the front of the vehicle to see why he lost control of his truck and when he did he almost lost control of his stomach. He fought to hold back the vomit that was climbing his esophagus as he aimed his gun at a creature that was wrapped up and mangled in his truck's wheel-well. A mangled arm reached for Frankie and he shot it, though he couldn't imagine how the thing would ever get itself unwound and mobile. The axle was wrecked and Frankie punched his truck, twisting his wrist in the process. The three of them gathered what they could in the frenzy and ran toward the van as Ben popped out of the window again to give them some covering fire.

  With the van full, Jon-Jon pressed down hard on the pedal and sped up to the rest of the convoy. Ben kept himself half out of the van and tried to shoot a few more of the lurking creatures but each shot failed to reach its intended target. His shots were as wild as his eyes. He hung out of the window like a dog, even his tongue hung out slightly.

  The convoy drove for nearly an hour, passing what had become the usual wreckage of abandoned cars and ransacked strip malls. Occasionally a lone lurking flesh eater would stagger into view and quickly vanish in a trail of dust and exhaust fumes. Eventually the road forked and they would have to decide on taking route 287 (a surefire suicide solution) or taking route 519 into Union County and hope for the best. Shorty and Chung-Hee had been in the lead and pulled to the side of the road leaning toward 519, they waited there till the rest of the convoy was gathered. After very little discussion route 519 was chosen and Jon-Jon led the procession into Union County.

  CHAPTER 5: Good intentions

  It was getting darker out now, and the heavy foliage made it even darker. Jon-Jon eased the van down the road and took the exit for Mill Creek and continued to head west on Dry River Road. They drove past a 'Welcome to Mill Creek' sign that was in desperate need of repair or replacement.

  Under light of the moon, buildings became visible. First up was some sort of print shop that looked more like a warehouse. The parking lot was empty and there was a wire fence separating it from the woods behind it. They drove past it and soon found themselves in the middle of what looked like the main street. But it wasn't called Main Street, it was called Broadway and it was littered with newspapers, and glass from the broken windows of the storefronts.

  Beyond the ruined storefront windows were the ransacked innards of what could've been fancy shops and quaint corner delis at one point. Calmly parked cars still remained on the street and some shops which, according to the window signs, were open for business.

  There hadn't been any lurkers, or survivors, or even a stray dog, only the emptiness. It was a ghost town plucked from the pages of a western yarn with a modern aesthetic. The convoy passed several cross streets and didn't bother to turn down any of them. Instead, they continued to the end of Broadway, which was marked by the post office. The road then formed a circle around a statue of a firefighter carrying a hose over his shoulder. It looked like copper or tarnished brass, was very large and had benches surrounding its foundation. They too were covered in newspapers and other garbage. The circle opened in the back to reveal a park and the rest of Broadway which looked like a quiet little chunk of suburbia that you'd see portrayed in a television sitcom.

  They continued traveling down the road, past the park. Just beyond the park was a school, a modern building with a brick façade. There were two sets of oversized double doors on the front of the building and a fenced in area at the back. Down the road, about a quarter of a mile, was a library, and then the start of a housing development. Anything beyond that was lost in the growing darkness of the evening.

  Jon-Jon came to a stop in front of the school and the rest of the convoy followed suit. Jon-Jon, Boone, Eddie and soon a mess of folks gathered on the lawn of the school. Some people were looking for some comforting words or even a pep talk. They didn't get one. Jon-Jon grabbed a flashlight out of his bag and grabbed his pistol. He grabbed Shorty by the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Jon-Jon then walked away and Shorty followed.

  The two of them approached the school. The others talked amongst themselves and paid them no attention. Walking close to each other, they were now at the side of the school building. Jon-Jon shined the light into the first window. It was an office room, perhaps belonging to someone in administration. It looked clear and undisturbed. They moved over to the next window, which was the first in a long series of similar windows. Beyond those windows was a classroom, clean as a whistle, chairs and desks were neatly lined up and even the chalkboard had been washed. With each set of windows it was the same deal. At the back of the building, Jon-Jon leaned into the fence, moving his flashlight back and forth in an attempt to see what---if anything---was beyond the fence. Shorty stood almost on top of him. They could see two soccer goal posts in the distance, and glimmers behind that, which they assumed was the flashlight reflecting off the other end of the fence. All seemed well.

  Shorty and Jon-Jon rejoined the group. Jon-Jon turned to his side and noticed a shadow moving to the side of them. He heard the crinkle of leaves and sure enough emerged a dead creature from the darkness. It was a woman, a younger looking woman, who, apart from being dead, didn't appear excessively damaged like many of the other creatures they had encountered. She was almost attractive. She walked with a stagger, and her head twitched violently to one side and back, only to repeat the action again. Without the twitching had one could easily see how the dead things were able to do so much damage: she looked hurt and in need of help, and a few days ago any one of the group would have tried to help her.

  Jon-Jon grabbed one of Judy's pipes from her and he turned to face the broken-neck-bitch. He swung into the woman's throat propelling her onto her back. Judy came up from behind Jon-Jon, brandishing her other pipe and began to beat the woman's head into the ground. The two of them mashed her into a puddle of soft mush and red earth. They finished the job before anyone else could be of help. The dead woman's hand continued to twitch as they walked away.

  Jon-Jon quickly looked around and noticed a few more moving shadows. He headed for the doors to the school. The others followed. Everyone left their cars carrying whatever they could, crying children included. They needed to put some solid walls between themselves and the creeping shadows of death that seemed to follow them everywhere. If Death himself showed up with a scythe it wouldn't be a surprise. It might even make more sense. The main door was locked, and too solid to try to budge open with a shoulder. They then made a mad dash to the far side of the building that they hadn't checked, but was clear when they drove past it initially. It remained so.

  Two dead things started moving toward them from the street. One looked like he could be the custodian of the school. The other was a fat man wearing flannel pajamas and a tank top revealing the gaping wounds in his throat and chest. Dried blood covered the front of his body as well as his exposed arms. Frankie and Eddie took care of the fat man as Damian, Shorty, and Joseph cleaned up the janitor. Jon-Jon continued to the side entrance toward the fence. It was locked as well, but this one had a small rectangular window with chicken wire inside the glass. He looked through the window with his flashlight. It was dark inside, but he didn't see any movement. He started bashing through the window with Judy's pipe. The wire made it difficult, but he broke through it eventually. With Scott and Judy watching his back, Jon-Jon put his hand through the window. He tried to be careful, but even so, he cut and scraped his hand and forearm. By the time he was able to open the door his cuts and scrapes became deep wounds screaming for an infection. He pulled his arm out, nearly crying, and blood flowed profusely from his cuts. Judy gasped and quickly rummaged through her bag, pulling out a spare shirt to wrap around his arm.

  The rest of them had finished off the fat man and his friend and caught up just in time to head into the building. Shorty took the lead, as Judy and Scott tightly wrapped Jon-Jon's arm. Boone followed behind Shorty with his flashlight. So far the coast was clear, no noise, no moans, no scratching,
only the sounds they themselves made and the silence inside. The door they entered led directly into what the sign next to the door called the A-wing.

  Eddie and Frankie were making sure everyone got inside safely and keeping a few eyes out for any of the kids that may have been lost in the shuffle. They'd both seen it happen early on and were not interested in witnessing another occurrence. Once everyone was inside they got together a small group, including the two of them, to scout ahead.

  The group consisted of Boone, Shorty, Ben, Eddie, and Frankie. Jon-Jon wanted to go ahead with them but Judy had insisted he not. It was best he take it easy and focus on fully stopping his bloodied arm by resting and applying pressure. They headed down the hall toward the back of the building as the others stood huddled just beyond the door.

  Ricker and Dawn were smoking before they could even catch their breath and Jon-Jon took Dawn's side and eventually a few drags of her cigarette. The kids were terrified and lately that was the only expression except exhaustion their faces could seem to muster. Eddie's mother, Janice, was holding together fairly well and took it upon herself to watch over many of the kids. Everybody helped of course---especially Dawn and Gerty---but just helping the kids deal with what was happening was enough to tire anyone out. No one fully understood what was going on. They could only explain what they were seeing but it was hard to explain such things to kids when the ones doing the explaining didn't believe what they were seeing. The best they could hope for was a place of relative safety, and now, they hoped the school would be that place for a little while. Though had any of them been fortune tellers, they would've stayed at home.

  They had checked every door going down the corridor and had come up bone-dry in their search for living dead squatters. The corridor wrapped around to the right and on the left were a set of double doors that headed into the cafeteria. They slowly opened the doors and were greeted by a large clean room with a view of the fenced in grounds at the back of the school. Windows went from waist high to a few feet from the ceiling. Tables and chairs were neatly stacked into the corners of the room and on both sides were doors that exited to the grounds. Both doors were locked. Centered between the back exit doors was the kitchen and registers. Beyond the stacks of trays and a series of ordering windows, deep inside the kitchen were three large freezer doors and a giant refrigerator---the only dead things in those were unlabeled meat patties and flattened roaches. They left the large room the same way they entered it and headed to another door that led to the basement.

  Boone and his flashlight led the way down the stairs to the lower level. Ben crisscrossed his flashlight's beam over Boone's. Shorty was right behind Ben. Eddie and Frankie held the back of the line. Shorty had his pistol ready in one hand and his crowbar in the other. They stood at the bottom of the steps with their ears listening for noise. Experience had taught them you could sometimes hear a lurker before you'd be able to see one--especially in the dark. Not a sound. They continued into the initial room. Once they began searching the rooms they noted that most of the rooms were for storage; filing cabinets and old desks. They came across a break room that was conveniently labeled 'maintenance only'. The room had some unopened soda bottles and moldy bread on the dirty microwave. The boiler room followed that and it too was labeled as such with a big red sign on the door. They cautiously opened it, Shorty and Ben kept an eye in the other direction. The boiler room was quiet and the pipes weren't hissing or steaming. It was very clean and looked as if the maintenance had, in fact, been maintaining it. Shorty and Ben now stood in the doorway while the others quietly and quickly looked around.

  Upstairs, Scott, still dizzy from the collision, along with Judy, Alexis and Joseph, guided the rest of the gang in the opposite direction from Boone and the others, to the gymnasium. Alexis and Joseph had been holding the back of the line. She held a flashlight and had a knife easily accessible in her pocket. Joseph was no more than a foot away and brandished a pistol.

  Given the size of the school, the gym was not as big as one would think. Toward the left hand corner of the room was a large stack of gymnastics mats. They were in various sizes and a multitude of colors---all dingy, however. They would make an excellent place to sleep for the night, no one in the group had seen a mattress in some time, and this was the closest they were likely to get any time soon. There was also a rack of basketballs against the wall. To the right of the basketballs was a corridor which led into the locker rooms. Once they checked and cleared them they headed back into the gym, toward the gym's entrance. After they checked the rest of the floor they came back to the gymnasium.

  Scott and Judy waited near the door where they had entered the school, while Alexis and Joseph hung around the gymnasium entrance. They would wait there until the others returned from the basement. There was no other floor and no visible access to the roof.

  After a few minutes the group returned from the basement. They met up with Scott and Judy and followed them to the gymnasium.

  "Everybody listen up," Boone spoke loudly but not yelling. "We're going to stay the night, it's safe. I think it's best for everyone if we all stay inside."

  "Should we just leave our cars the way they are?" Ricker asked.

  "Yeah, leave your cars as is for now---so long as they're off, we'll worry about them come daybreak. For now just rest up."

  Everyone settled down. There were more than enough mats for everyone to use, and they did. People grouped up and spread out around the gymnasium floor. The children were freaked out being inside the school. They were used to a school being safe, bright and full of people making noise. This, to them, was another sign of the world they knew disappearing. Alexis, Janice, and a few others did what they could to comfort the children as much as possible, but it wasn't the easiest thing when they needed comforting just as much.

  Boone left the gymnasium by himself. He walked over to the door where they came in. He peered out the window, which was now lying in pieces on the floor mixed with Jon-Jon's blood, and noticed shadows moving in the distance. He took a deep breath and took twice as long to exhale. He had no idea what he was doing anymore. He used to have an idea about what to do, but it seemed no matter what he did people died. Their deaths, each and every one took a chunk out of his will and now he was left feeling uneasy and defeated. Going ahead wasn't a good idea, but there was no going back.

  Outside, under the cloak of night, the school became a lighthouse to the undead vessels lost among the debris of a world in ruin. Somehow they knew, either by scent or noise, or some omniscient knowledge. The living dead knew that life was somewhere inside that building, and they wanted it. With hands stretching outward and stiff legged movements pulling them forward they moved closer.

  For those who couldn't sleep, or needed something to do, there was a gathering outside the gymnasium. They got together anything that could be of immediate use. They sealed up the window Jon-Jon broke and began barricading any other weak spots they could find. They worked diligently as the others rested.

  CHAPTER 6: No place like home

  After the firefight at the roadblock all the boys in blue and their mish-mosh of friends and neighbors remained on edge. All with a multitude of different reasons, and some with no reason other than the obvious. There were too many questions with too little answers and nothing was making sense. There had easily been a hundred of those things descending upon their home, New Haven. They had every right to feel relief, yet they didn't feel it. Most of them were bewildered. Many of them thought that if they had been dead once before, what was to stop them from getting up after dying again. They had no reassurances. The best they could do was to put these dead things into such ill-repair that it would be impossible for them to move at all afterwards. Would these things stay dead now, they wondered? But no one knew.

  Dead used to mean dead. No one knew what it meant anymore. No one knew if it would ever stop. No one knew if things would ever be normal again, or how many more of those things were walking to town now. No one
knew anything.

  To play it safe, Sheriff Davis had been instructing everyone to incinerate the bodies as best as possible. There had been no reports of the undead reanimating multiple times, but Davis wasn't going to give these things the chance to. In Davis's eyes the news was always bullshit, and biased bullshit at that, he didn't think there were any real journalists left on earth, but it would seem that they were at least partly right about recent events. The recently deceased were returning to life, in some sense of the word, though not all. The news had plenty of halfcocked ideas; a form of human rabies, mass psychosis, murder cults. The speculative fiction grew wilder from channel to channel. The only thing Davis and the plethora of news men and women agreed upon were the means of which to permanently dispatch the dearly departed; destroy the brain or incinerate the bodies. He'd been doing both with a mild sense of satisfaction since the first time he witnessed one of the deaders stumbling through town.

  Plumes of dark velvety smoke filled the air. It blocked sight of the setting sun, and Davis's men were choking on it. The smell was unreal. It was a mix of barbecue, without the sweet, and week-old summer road kill. Ash clung to their skin and mingled with their sweat, turning it into a muddy second skin. The steady, smooth, feathery rainfall helped to peel it away, but not by much. They dragged the bodies of the dead closer together and set them to flame. The rain made it tougher, but they eventually took to it and burned up all the same. What was left of the dead looked like it crawled from out of the black top. Some of the bodies burned brighter than others, and when someone pointed it out Davis told them why.