Dead World (Book 1): Dead Come Home

by Nathan Brown

  Real cool, Mike … you’re just John Wayne cool, aren’t you? Now what, pilgrim?

  Mike gripped the zombie to his front by the opposite shoulder with his free hand, leaned back with all of his bodyweight, and spun on his heel. The zombie fell off balance and right into Mike’s throw, barreling in the direction of the mob to his back. Unfortunately, Mike also lost his grip on the hatchet handle, which had become slippery with the blood and saliva oozing from the head in which its blade was embedded. The careening zombie hit the others like a bowling ball, and those at the center of the group fell down like pins.

  Had he hesitated, Mike may not have made it to the vehicle safe and sound. Seeing an opening in their line, Mike decided to chance making a break for it. He shot a beeline for the driver side door and fumbled with the handle for a second before finally getting it open. He slammed the door shut, hit the locks, and nailed the accelerator like a prom date. As they sped along the road out of town, Mike realized he had been holding his breath. He let out a deep sigh and began gasping for air. They were clear, and now had enough weapons and ammunition to get them to their destination and then some.

  My God, Mike thought in a rare moment of optimism, we just might make it there alive after all.

  “Holy shit, Mike,” Joseph said as he climbed forward into the passenger seat and buckled himself in, “I vote we don’t try anything like that again. That was way too close for comfort.”

  “Oh, really? Ya think? I couldn’t tell,” Mike replied between gasping breaths. How long had he been holding his breath? “And what in the hell did you think you were doing?”

  “What?”

  “With the Winchester,” another gasp of air, “What were you going to do? You could have shot me trying to hit them.”

  “Actually,” Joseph said with a nervous chuckle. “The rifle was for you.”

  “What?!”

  “Well, I figured I was going to have to shoot you if you didn’t make it.”

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “Just thinking ahead, Mike.”

  For some reason, this suddenly struck both men as rather funny. They soon found themselves unable to resist laughing hysterically as they turned back onto the main highway, heading south. This moment of laughter would prove to be one of so very few, as the road they traveled would prove to be a difficult one. In fact, as they would understand soon enough, they may as well have been traveling on the path into hell itself.

  Dead Come Home

  Chapter 9

  All Roads Lead to Haskell

  Lily woke up face down on a bed that wasn’t hers. In the predawn darkness she could see vague outlines of the room. It wasn’t her bedroom. For a moment, the memory of the last few days escaped her. She had no idea whose guestroom she was in or why she was there.

  Her right hand bumped into and closed around cold metal and rubber. She knew immediately there was a pistol with her in the bed.

  Lily sat up and wiped the last of the sleep from her eyes with her left hand. With her right, she tucked the gun in the back of her waistband. She felt safer with the gun there, and it triggered her memory of where she was and why.

  The morning after she shot Brian, she left the mill, her apartment, and her life on her own behind. She was trying to get home in a world gone to hell.

  To the dead, she corrected herself.

  Last night, she stopped in a little town well off the beaten path in Oregon. She had spent two days driving down back roads, trying to get back to Haskell, Texas. Last night, she stopped in a built up area for the first time since leaving the Seattle area.

  Lily could hear the sound of someone else moving around in the house. Instinctively she pulled her gun. Gun in front of her, she crept out of the bedroom and in search of whoever was moving around.

  “Good morning, deary. Would you like some breakfast?” the kindly old woman asked, half turning to face Lily.

  Lily quickly tucked the gun back into her waistband. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes.

  “Breakfast sounds great,” she answered calmly.

  The lady, who introduced herself as Abby, had offered to let Lily stay as long she wanted. She had been driving home early yesterday evening and seen Lily’s truck on the side of the road. In an age where most people didn’t pick up hitchhikers out of fear of rapists and/or serial killers, the old woman stopped and asked Lily why she was pulled over. When Lily told Abby she planned to sleep there, on the side of the road, the old woman said “nonsense” and insisted Lily stay in the spare room of her home.

  “I need to get to my family,” she said. “I have to leave tomorrow morning.”

  Lily drove into the town proper and maxed out her credit cards on food, water, ammo, gasoline, and, almost as an afterthought, a tarp and bungee cords to cover her truck bed. She cringed at breaking her parent’s “twenty-five percent rule” on credit cards, but was certain they would understand given the current situation.

  It was the first time in more than two years that Lily was happy she owned a truck instead of an economy car. For months, she had been considering trading it in for something a bit more gas efficient. Now, the cargo space was coming in more than handy.

  In the parking lot of a small hardware store, she stretched the tarp over the bed, concealing her goods under it. She almost wished she had a camper shell; that way, she could lock it and not have to worry about someone getting into her stuff as easily. As a precaution, she stuffed a few days of food and water and all of the ammunition in the rear floorboard of the cab. It was mid-afternoon when she got back to the old woman’s house.

  The smell of meatloaf and gravy greeted Lily when she opened the door. Dinner was meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a mixture of green beans and carrots. The meal reminded Lily of her mother’s cooking. Under any other circumstances, she might have been choked up. As it was, it only reinforced the urgency of getting home.

  Lily talked to Abby—well, listened anyway—until evening gave way to night. The old woman turned on the TV after a while to watch her shows. Lily slipped upstairs and packed the few things she had taken out of her backpack. She left a few toiletries out for in the morning. Some routines were just hard to get out of.

  She heard the faint sound of brakes locking up, a long drawn out screech of tires. She didn’t hear much after that. Still, an uneasy feeling washed over her.

  It was starting again … the infection had reached the area.

  Lily opened the window and stuck her head out. Her truck was where she parked it, about fifty feet from the front door. Two trees stood at the end of the long driveway one on each side, partially obscuring the view of the road. She looked down the street, trying to find the source of the screeching tires. There was nothing in either direction.

  She left the window open and went back downstairs. Abby was still watching TV.

  Lily threw the deadbolt on the front door and set a chair under the doorknob. She didn’t count on it to hold for long if someone really wanted in, but it was better than nothing.

  She went back upstairs. Mostly, she listened and occasionally stuck her head out for another look.

  Lily didn’t hear gunshots or screams, but stayed upstairs listening near the window anyway.

  The screams started just after ten o’clock. She went downstairs to check on Abby.

  “What’s all the fuss about?” the old woman asked, shuffling towards the back door.

  Lily tried to stop her.

  “No! Don’t open the door!”

  Too late.

  Abby opened the door and stepped out into the back yard. Lily was too far away to hear that she was talking to a figure walking up the yard.

  “Come back inside, Abby” Lily said in a frightened, hoarse whisper that got stuck in her throat. “Come back inside before they get you.”

  Lily pulled the gun from her waistband and turned the safety off. Finger over the trigger, she crept down and into the living room so she could see the back door. Ab
by was still talking to her neighbor, but was clearly worried that he wasn’t answering her. The distance and darkness made it impossible to tell, but Lily was fairly certain that the neighbor was no longer alive.

  “Come back inside,” Lily kept whispering.

  Suddenly, Abby was screaming. The shrill note of her cries made Lily’s heart skip a beat.

  A large person wearing the jagged remains of a T-shirt had grabbed the old woman from behind. The neighbor grabbed Abby’s left arm as she flailed around, trying feebly to beat the first assailant off of her.

  Lily started to move to close the back door and thought better of it. She crept back upstairs. Without turning on the light, she slung on her backpack and looked out the window at the front lawn.

  She didn’t see anything down there except her truck and the old woman’s car.

  A zombie started to beat on the back screen door. The back door soon crashed in as the zombie fell through it, scaring Lily almost out of her skin. She crept back and quietly closed the bedroom door.

  The window slid the rest of the way open with little noise. Lily stepped out on the steep and narrow overhang that covered the wraparound porch. She put the pistol’s safety back on and stepped off of the roof.

  Her boots were probably all that kept her from breaking her ankle, but she still felt something in her foot pop when she landed. Lily threw her left arm in front of her to counter her momentum from the jump.

  Two zombies stood beating on the front door. Neither of them acknowledged her presence. Checking over her right shoulder one more time to be sure they hadn’t noticed her, Lily crept around the rear of the old woman’s car.

  She started limping as the pain in her left foot reached her brain. Lily pushed aside the impulse to whimper or cry with each step and forced herself to continue towards her truck. The fifty feet from the front door to her car door seemed like miles.

  Finally, she rounded the back of her truck. Shifting the gun into her left hand she fished out her keys and unlocked the door.

  A twig snapped not far behind her. Lily spun and raised the gun. She instinctively squeezed the trigger with her off hand. No matter how hard she pulled the trigger nothing happened.

  She could see the zombie coming toward her—a heavy set, older man. Lily counted her blessings that the zombie wasn’t moving any faster than a slow walk.

  She shoved her keys between her teeth, and switched shooting hands. Her index finger automatically pushed the safety off. She fired three shots. One hit the man in the belly, one hit him in the shoulder, and if the third had been any higher it probably would have only glanced off his skull. Luckily, the third bullet did the trick and the body fell backwards.

  The zombies on the porch and in the yard now turned her direction. In a near panic, Lily jerked the driver side door open and jumped in.

  She flattened a middle-aged female zombie and smacked another, a Goth-dressed teenager, with the passenger-side mirror as she backed down the driveway at top speed. Four of the zombies chased her as far as the next house before they lost interest.

  About two miles out of town, she put the gun on the passenger seat and turned off her headlights. With just the running lights, she had to drive slower, much slower, than she would have liked, but she was afraid the light would attract the wrong kind of attention.

  * * *

  Mike drove from Seymour south along US 277. They traveled under the speed limit only because there was no other option. The highway was a well-maintained two-lane blacktop, with curves and hills that could hide any number of unseen hazards. It also had a fair amount of road construction and detours. Already, they’d had a near collision with one overturned vehicle as they came out of a curve, almost causing them to miss the last jog of the detour back to the main road.

  Joseph spent most of his time toying with the stereo dial, trying to locate a working radio station frequency. He figured it was an exercise in futility, especially in West Texas, but it beat trying to make idle conversation with Mike.

  “Do me a favor, Joe, and just turn the damn thing off,” Mike said rather suddenly, glancing at Joseph.

  “Wha-?” Joseph began, a bit stunned to hear Mike’s voice.

  “The static’s giving me a headache. So just give it a rest, huh?”

  “Sure. Just remind me to grab some CD’s next time we stop somewhere.”

  “Riiiiiight.”

  Joseph stared out his window and watched the country roll by. Unlike the cities, there was no chaos out here, almost no signs that anything was awry in the world. They could have been a couple friends going on a hunting excursion, road trip, or just buddies on vacation.

  The more Joseph tried not to think, the more he couldn’t help but ponder the events of the last few days. He’d killed a coworker, fled the scene of a crime, broken about a hundred traffic laws, watched as a fat, shotgun-wielding man was bitten by a zombie, looted three stores, moved a bunch of corpses, killed five zombies, and survived with the odds stacked against him … and, it would seem, against the rest of the world. Now he was sitting in a car loaded with canned goods and guns, most of which were stolen, heading he knew not where with a man he’d only known for a short time, but who’d saved his life more than once and vice versa. That was a lot to digest for a business intern who hadn’t so much as held a gun until yesterday and didn’t have any family to speak of.

  Mike pulled onto the right shoulder about ten miles south of the town of Munday.

  “Grab the rifle. I gotta use the head.”

  “The what?”

  “Just get out of the truck and watch my back.”

  Joseph scanned the area, rifle at the ready, while Mike “watered” a mesquite bush.

  “Your turn,” Mike said, taking the rifle from Joseph.

  Joseph walked over to the bush and started to relieve himself. He could hear Mike on the phone behind him.

  “Hanse … yeah buddy I’m heading your way. Me and a kid I picked up. Ma? … No … no, she um, she didn’t make it. So we should be your way in another day or so. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

  Joseph finished and walked back to the truck.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Let’s roll,” Mike said, climbing into the passenger seat.

  Twenty minutes later, Mike broke the silence once again.

  “Killing comes pretty easy doesn’t it?”

  “Where the hell did that come from?”

  …

  “Forget it. Talk to me about something … like about who you were before the world went all loco.”

  The two men pulled into Haskell, Texas, still talking about who they used to be, and who they had thought they were going to be … before the dead woke up.

  It looked as though most of the town was out on the streets of Haskell, and almost everybody working. A group of men were working diligently to build a sandbag and barbed wire barricade. The men looked tired but determined, and seemed to be making good time with their work. Joseph imagined they would eventually surround the entire town with this wall. A group of hard faced women were hard at work boarding up the ground floor windows of every building, and/or reinforcing weak doors and locks. It was as if every neighbor in Haskell had joined together to make sure each house was buttoned up good and tight when and if the craziness of the outside reached them. Haskell, Texas was no longer some Podunk little town … it was a beacon of light and would prove to stand so for a time, as one of the last strongholds of the living.

  Neither man saw any of the tell-tale signs of chaos or disturbance, such as bloody windows or looting … or zombies.

  “They have no idea what is going on, but they’re still preparing for the worst,” Mike said. “Let’s see if there’s a motel. This place looks as safe as we’re going to see for what could be a long while. We might as well get a decent night’s rest while we’re here. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

  An older man, shotgun resting in the crook of his arm, waved for Joseph to s
top the vehicle.

  “Where you boys headed?”

  “Well sir, we’re headed for a friend’s house in Arizona, but we thought we might try to grab a meal and a night’s sleep if you have an open motel,” Mike said.

  “What’s the word on what’s behind ya?”

  “We didn’t see too many cars on the road, and those things haven’t started coming this way yet, either,” Mike said.

  The old man thought about it for a moment.

  “Thar’s a motel just the other side of the big intersection,” he said pointing down the main road.

  Joseph followed the main road to the heart of town. Not a block after US 277 crossed US 380, they found a clean-and-cheap-enough looking motel.

  Dead Come Home

  Chapter 10

  Day 4

  Joseph and Mike woke up at the sound of the alarm. It was still dark out, but would not stay that way for long, and they had every intention of moving on as soon as it was light out.

  “Go ahead and take a shower,” Mike said as Joseph stretched out with a loud yawn.

  Joseph staggered into the bathroom and shut the door while Mike sat down at the table under the window and started to clean and oil the pistols. Joseph turned on the water and let it run for a moment before climbing into the shower. He let the hot water run ecstatically over his shoulders for a few minutes before he scrubbed himself down. His muscles relaxed for the first time since he’d fled Dallas the previous morning. After he finished washing, he stood under the water a few minutes longer, just enjoying the feeling.