Dead Run_A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by R. J. Spears

  “He could have a woman with him,” Kara said. “They do allow women in the armed forces now. Well, they did before.”

  I stayed silent, wanting to avoid a discussion of gender politics.

  “Hello?” the voice said. “Anyone inside willing to talk with us?” It didn’t sound angry or annoyed. It came across as genuinely inquisitive but with an underlying sense of tension.

  I reached out and pushed my window up a few inches, as I lowered my head down to the level of the opening. It took me a moment to consider what I had to say. I had had no chance to rehearse any lines, either.

  Finally, I shouted, “What do you want?” Not original, but it got to the heart of the matter.

  “We want to know what you’re doing here,” the voiced asked in reply.

  Now, that was a good question. Other than being scared shitless, what were we doing? Waiting, of course. That probably wasn’t the best response.

  But why were they asking that question? Had we stumbled on turf issue? Was this there’s and we were trespassing?

  The only way to know was to ask.

  “Why do you want to know?” I shouted back my question.

  I could see the men hiding behind the cars in front of the house, looking back towards a specific house across the street. It was a beige one-story with a detached garage. Before the Outbreak, the most frightening thing about it would have been how boring it was.

  Sadly, the men were looking back at someone I couldn’t see.

  “We want to know because we are here and have been for some time,” the voice said, and this time it had worked past nervousness and sounded a little annoyed. “We need to know if you plan to stay.”

  I took a moment to collect my thoughts then said, “We’re only here for one more day, then we’re going.”

  There was no immediate response and I got the sense that the woman behind the voice was getting advice and counsel before she spoke.

  I turned back to Kara and asked, “Can you check with the others to make sure this isn’t some big diversion for some kind of sneak attack on our flank?”

  Kara just nodded her head and gingerly walked out of the doorway and into the house. I hated asking her to do anything in her condition, but we were working from a position of weakness, and I needed anyone I could manning a window.

  The voice spoke up again, “Where are you from?”

  This was beginning to sound like some sort of meet-up or networking meeting.

  Where are you from?

  Topeka, really? I heard it’s nice this time of year. Where are you from?

  Blah, blah.

  “We’re from down south,” I responded. “We don’t mean any harm. We are just camped out here temporarily before we move on.”

  “We heard it was bad down south,” the voice said. “What do you know about that?”

  This was a strange conversation. I’d bet she’d ask me about my mother in a minute if it continued this way much longer. It certainly didn’t seem like it was the prelude to attack, but who knew these things for certain?

  “It was bad,” I shouted back. “We ran into some real trouble down in Chillicothe.”

  “What do you know about the helicopter attack down there?” the voice shot back with a question.

  What did they know about that? Was this some satellite offshoot group from Marlow’s?

  Where my guard had been slipping down, now it was back up.

  “Not much,” I replied. “We got out of there when it happened.” It was a little white lie. I had actually called the helicopter, and it created a lot of chaos, and we used it as a way of escape.

  “This shouting is getting a bit old, don’t you think?” the voice asked. “Can’t you come out and we talk face-to-face?”

  Was this a ploy to draw me out into the open, only to gun me down? Golly-gee, this zombie apocalypse was just full of uncertainties.

  I decided on the direct approach with my response. “How do I know your people won’t shoot me if I come out?”

  There was a brief pause, and the voice responded, “I’ll have our men pull back from the street, and I’ll meet you halfway. How does that sound?”

  It sounded good, like a really good trap, but if they had wanted to kill us, they had the drop on us already. Of course, it was a lot easier to shoot us when we were out in the open.

  That meant that I was going outside.

  “That sounds good,” I yelled out the window. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll come out.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” the voice said.

  Like what kind of idea would that be? I had worked through all the scenarios in my head, and I couldn’t see one in which we shot our way out of this, unless of course the people outside backed off, which I didn’t see happening.

  “Yeah, yeah, no ideas here,” I said. “I’ll come out unarmed if that helps.”

  “That would be great,” the voice said.

  Footfalls came from behind me, and I saw Kara back in the doorway, her face shiny with sweat. The bruises on her face, a result of the beating she had taken from Marlow, had turned from black to light brown. My heart ached for what she had gone through. I wanted her to have some more time to recuperate, but the zombie apocalypse never lets you rest.

  I had no idea what this effort was doing to her, but we had so little latitude that we needed her in action. She was the best one to carry messages.

  “There’s no movement from any of the other sides of the house,” she said. “Brother Ed said he felt like his men have pulled back.”

  “Okay then, I think I have to take a leap of faith and go outside,” I said.

  “Do you think that it’s safe?”

  “No. Well, I mean there are a number of people out there with guns. We don’t know their intentions. That said, if they wanted us dead, they have the manpower to have done it already. Then again, there are worse things than death as was proved in our time in Marlow’s compound.”

  I scanned their people outside. They seemed just a little more relaxed for whatever that's worth. I said, “We don’t have a lot of choices. We could refuse and see what happens. They could pull back, but I’m doubting that.” I took in a long breath of air and then let it out slowly. “Whoever it is out there said she’d pull back their men. If they do that, I feel like I have to give it a try.”

  She didn’t look very confident, but she was smart enough to see our position. “Don’t screw around with these people. If they try anything, just start shooting.”

  This was way out of character for Kara. At heart, she was a peacemaker. I was beginning to worry how far-reaching the aftereffects of what Marlow did to her ran.

  I said, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I turned back to the window and shouted, “Pull your men back, and I’ll come out, and we can have a little pow-wow.”

  Not a lot happened in the next few moments, but after about a minute, the two men hiding behind the cars out front backed away and slid between the houses on the other side of the street.

  “Come up to the window and take watch,” I said in Kara’s direction. “I’ll check with the others and see what’s up with their men.”

  “I can cover you,” Kara said.

  “You can barely stand,” I replied. “If you weren’t leaning against the wall, you’d be flat on your ass.” She opened her mouth to say something, but I interrupted her. “You know it. Besides, I need to get you your rifle if you’re going to cover me.”

  She conceded by take two unsteady steps my way. I met her halfway and helped her over to the window, where she knelt. I started to kiss her on the top of the head, but she sensed it and pulled away.

  Yes, there was a lot of damage done to her.

  “We’re going to be okay,” I said, not really believing it, but you have to say something, and it beat telling the truth that I had no idea if we would be alive in five minutes. They could hit us with grenades or missiles from all angles at any moment and we’d be post toasties.

&nb
sp; It took me just about two minutes to check in on our other posts and to learn that the men outside those areas had receded from view. Brother Ed doubted that they had gone far, but at least, they had made the appearance of de-escalating the situation, and it’s appearances that really count, right?

  After my check-ins, I retrieved Kara’s rifle and brought it to her. When she took it, she asked, “Are you sure about this Joel?” Her brows creased with worry. “If they make a wrong move, I’m going to start shooting. You get down.”

  “I don’t like this anymore than you do, but I don’t see a lot of other options.”

  “So, are you going out there unarmed?”

  “Yes, mostly. I’ll tuck this,” I held out my pistol, “in my waistband.” I shoved it in my waistband at my back and pulled my shirt over it.

  It took a few seconds, but she looked outside and said, “They are pulling back. I can see that, but I don’t trust them.”

  “I see my general pessimistic attitude is infectious,” I said, squeezing her shoulder.

  “I’m beginning to think that’s a good thing.”

  I headed for the front door. Opening it was a monumental gesture on my part, but those first three steps outside were the hardest. My body tingled in the places I envisioned bullets hitting. Leaving the front porch of the house was like leaving a sinking boat to get onboard an even more dangerous life raft. Or maybe to mount a shark.

  There I was, the world’s best walking target, leaving the front yard and stepping into the street. I could have only felt better if someone had written in bold letters on my chest, “Shoot Here.”

  Chapter 20

  Pursuers

  The Harley-thing was down on all fours like a dog sniffing the ground just twenty feet away from where Kilgore and Soto were standing. Kilgore was both fascinated and repulsed, but he felt like they were making some progress. He hoped that counted enough to keep the Night Visitor at bay. Had he had any ounce of real faith yet, he might have prayed for that, but any of that had dried up not too soon after the Night Visitor’s first appearance. When he reflected on it, he thought having visits from the devil would make you believe in God. If there was evil, there had to be good. Didn’t there have to be?

  But for Kilgore, it was the exact opposite. If there was a God, he had forsaken Kilgore and, in that case, He might as well be a long forgotten child’s fable.

  “Colonel, what the hell is that thing doing?” Soto asked.

  Kilgore wanted to say he knew, but he really had no idea of the specifics of what the Harley-thing was doing, but he wanted to look in full command, so he said, “He’s tracking.”

  They were stopped at a crossroads just east of Circleville. There was a wide one-story house there sitting on a triangle island of grass between three intersecting roads. Next to the house was a detached garage with a small boat on a trailer that was capsized in a gravel driveway. Behind the house was a road and then an expansive farm field filled with the green of soybean plants and weeds. Weeds were winning the war for dominance, but still the breeze across the field was fresh and clean, making Soto think of more innocent times back on his grandfather’s farm in North Texas. That made him wonder how the hell he had ended up here at this moment in time and what sort of deed had he committed to shackle him to this surely cursed task.

  He was working up the courage to ask another question when the Harley-thing jerked up from where it was sniffing and rushed towards them, loping along a broken gait, its arms lolling down and its legs moving in a stutter-step fashion. It reminded Soto of a wild dog or some carrion creature. Despite this unnatural method of locomotion, it was closing on them quickly. When it made it to within ten feet of the two men, Soto took a step back, and his hand instinctively went to the sidearm in his holster, but he didn’t pull the weapon because Kilgore stood his ground.

  Just as it seemed that the Harley-thing would slam into Kilgore and send him tumbling back into Soto, the Harley-thing stopped and skidded to a halt right in front of Kilgore. The Harley-thing, still bent over at the waist, looked up to Kilgore, and even though its eyes were milky white, Kilgore could sense the creature was beseeching him to do something.

  The Harley-thing whipped its head toward the house and back to Kilgore three times in quick succession, and then it broke from him and bounded across the grass and toward the house. He was there in ten of his broken loping strides, and he slammed against the door. It flew open and he disappeared inside.

  It was so obvious that Soto got the message, but felt compelled to ask, “Are we supposed to follow?”

  “I think we are,” Kilgore replied but then held his index finger into the air in the universal signal to tell Soto to wait a moment. Kilgore walked back to the truck where Miller and Beltran sat gawking out at the scenario that had just taken place.

  Once Kilgore got beside the truck, he leaned in the window, resting his left forearm on the top truck door. He didn’t say anything but seemed to be collecting his thoughts, then he said, “I know what you’re thinking. This is some crazy mission, and the old man has lost his marbles. That this is insane on an epic scale. I acknowledge that this is out of the ordinary, even extraordinary, but in the face of our times, what can we say is ordinary?” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “What I can assure is that I am not crazy. I have a mission that is greater than you can even conceive and that is what is going on, and I am not on the way to the nuthouse. Far from it.” Again he stopped to let what he he had said sink in. He stared directly at the two soldiers, letting them see that he was completely serious. “Soto and I are going into this house.” He nodded his head back in the direction of the house. “What I can tell you is that, if this truck is not out here when we come back out, I will use Harley to track you down. And he will find you, and what happens to you then, you do not want to find out. Are we clear?”

  Neither of the two men were eager to speak, and neither were ready to find what that Harley-thing would do to them or whatever force was behind Kilgore would do.

  Beltran cleared his throat and spoke in a weak voice, “Yes, sir.”

  Miller took a moment longer and said, “Yes, sir. Crystal clear.”

  “Good, then, I’m glad we have an understanding,” Kilgore said, smiling, but there was no warmth behind it. What was behind it was an intense fierceness that both of the men took to heart, and it chilled them to the core.

  Kilgore leaned back away from the truck but slapped the side of the vehicle the way a cowboy might slap a horse. He turned and strode by Soto, never taking a glance back at the two men in the truck and taking it for granted that Soto would follow. And he did.

  Kilgore was inside by the time Soto had caught up.

  “Where is he?” asked Soto as they stood in a narrow but long living room with light pouring from the outside through a long set of windows on the front of the house. The room had a plush couch covered in a floral pattern with an overturned coffee table in front of it. An overstuffed chair sat beside the couch. A fireplace was situated on the north wall with a stone hearth.

  “Not sure,” Kilgore replied then added, “but listen.”

  The two men stood quietly until they heard a loud thumping noise in the recesses of the house. Before they could start moving, a whining keen came from what seemed to be the same location as the thump.

  Kilgore was in motion first as he stepped into a long, narrow hallway that bisected the house, leading south to north. The keening sound came from the south, and that’s the direction Kilgore headed with Soto right behind with his pistol out. They passed by a bathroom, which they barely gave notice, and entered a room that was the source of the sound and found the Harley-thing standing by a queen-sized bed, weaving back and forth, stopping randomly to prod the bed with both of his hands then pushing off and walking away.

  Eerily, it reminded Soto of his dog, Shep, when he was a kid when it had trapped an animal under their storage shed. Old Shep would whine and bark, carrying on until someone took notice.
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br />   A yellow and gold bedspread laid partially off the bed. The sheets were off-white, but were yellowed with age. A bloodstain broke up the off-white color halfway up the bed. The sheets weren’t soaked in blood, but there was a basketball-sized spot with some tributaries leading off to the sides. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t cause much excitement, but this stain looked fresh.

  This is the area where the Harley-thing kept bouncing back and forth -- from the spot and to Kilgore over and over again.

  A broad smile spread over Kilgore’s face, and he put his hands on his hips in a self-satisfied gesture. Soto was almost sure he was going to say, “Good boy” to the Harley-thing, but instead, he said, “Now, we’re getting somewhere. He knows they have been here.”

  Chapter 21

  Signal Loss

  Henry held the walkie-talkie close to his ear as he listened through the static. He had braved a trip to one of the exterior classrooms of the school and was partially leaning out a window ten feet above a playground complete with a sliding board and monkey bars. He knew there was a good chance that he was well past the range of the walkie-talkie, even if it was military grade, but he had to give it a try.

  “Jo, this is home base one,” he said after depressing the talk button. “Can you hear me?”

  The voice he had heard just a minute before had filtered through the distance and was so weak and indistinguishable in the thick and crackling static that he hadn’t even been sure it was a voice, but he thought it was.

  “Is it Jo and the others?” Ellen asked.

  “Shhhh,” Henry said, giving his mother a hard stare.

  Jones had told him that the maximum range for the radios was around thirty-five miles. If the air was moist and there wasn’t much interference, you could stretch that to forty, but that would require an exact alignment of so many factors it was almost laughable.

  While Henry didn’t know it, he was forty-one miles away from Jo’s position.