Amongst the Dead

by David Bernstein

  Chapter Twenty-One

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  They drove onward. A large portion of clothing, food, first aid and personal items were gone, left behind for the undead to trample—Riley’s journal among the articles. Silence ensued for a while after the departure from the tollbooths. Everyone seemed rattled, Riley still shaking the memories of her time on the road when she was nearly devoured alive if not for Joanne.

  “That was too scary,” Eric finally blurted out.

  “You can say that again,” Riley said, echoing the boy’s sentiment.

  “And that’s why we don’t stop when we don’t have to,” Joanne added.

  “Would this be a bad time to tell you I have to pee?” Eric asked. Silence followed the question, tension seeming to fill the air like a heavy stench before Joanne burst into laughter. Eric and Riley joined in, a combination of nervous tension being released with the simple need to laugh.

  “I…have to…go too,” Riley said, still laughing.

  “Seeing that we all got the crap scared out of us, I think we could all use a release,” Joanne said, slowing the car down. She pulled over to the side of the road, the divots in the asphalt making Riley’s teeth chatter as if she were chilly. Riley wondered why Joanne felt the need to pull over, guessing it was force of habit. With today’s barren roads, one could sit in the middle of the street and not see a vehicle for months.

  The stretch of highway they stopped on had open fields of tall golden wheat to either side, allowing Riley to feel a degree of safety. She knew without being told it was the reason Joanne stopped the car, or else the woman would’ve waited for a safer area. But still, they went separately, one at a time, with the other two on the lookout, guns in hand. After finishing up, they climbed in the car and headed onward.

  The drive over and through the Adirondack Mountains was a welcomed sight. Riley and the others had grown tired of the same old views—open fields and straight-away highway. The various maples, oaks and pines reminded Riley of her time spent in the cabin at Roscoe. She had had the worst of times and the best of times there. Oddly enough, she had grown somewhat used to the loneliness, having had to live and survive by herself. How she would love to see the place again, if only for a moment, and visit her father’s grave too. She’d sit by the headstone, if it still stood, and ask questions she wouldn’t get answers to. Was he really her father? Even if he didn’t share the same DNA with her, it ultimately didn’t matter. The man had raised her and he was her father, but she still had questions.

  Riley stuck her arm out of the window, feeling the cool mountain air against her skin. Keeping her fingers together, creating an airplane-like wing, she let it soar up and down. The last time she’d done this had been with Jack. Even though she hadn’t known him for long, she found herself missing him, grateful for all he had done for her. She should’ve at least buried him, instead of leaving him to rot in the road. But she’d been a mess and had no shovel. Looking out at the trees rushing by, she whispered how sorry she was and hoped Jack, wherever he was, forgave her.

  Halfway up the mountain, Joanne pulled the car over at a rest stop—a patch of blacktop laid out in front of a small lake with a guardrail separating the two.

  “Thought it might be a good place to eat lunch and stretch our legs. We’re in the Catskills, which at one time was protected by the Parks Department. There are no residences anywhere near here so we should be all right. But bring your guns and keep an eye out anyway.”

  They sat on the guardrail and ate lunch, enjoying the scenery. Thick forest surrounded the lake, with the back wall a sheer cliff of smooth rock. Flowers bloomed along the water’s edge and birds sung in the trees. Riley thought the place was magical—a place without the undead.

  Once they were over the mountain, the road leveled out and ran alongside a large body of water. According to the map, it was the beginnings of Lake Champlain. They passed residences, bars, town halls, shops, and all were extremely close to the road. The little backwoods towns must’ve been cute at one time, but now they were “scary” as Eric put it.

  Eventually the road led to the destination the group desired, Crown Point. They drove through the town at a steady pace, taking in the sights and looking for any signs of people.

  Crown Point was a typical small country town. They passed the local elementary and high schools, a few churches, a diner, a hardware store and two gas stations. Everything looked deserted, clearly a ghost town now. They reached the end of town quickly, the road opening up to woodlands with houses sporadically spread out.

  “How are we supposed to find a secret lab here?” Eric asked.

  “You said Oliver told you his village was on the water, on Lake Champlain, so that’s where we’re heading. Hopefully we’ll find something there. According to the map, once we hit Bridge Road, there’s only about twenty miles of lakefront.”

  They came over a hill, driving slowly, and as they crested the peak, something was blocking the road below. Joanne let the car crawl closer until the thing in the road could be identified. It was a roadblock, a makeshift gate, covered with aluminum siding and barbed wire.

  “Great,” Eric said.

  “You should be keeping an eye to our rear,” Joanne reminded him. She stopped the car.

  “According to the map,” Riley said, “we’re still about five miles from Bridge Road.”

  “This could be an outpost,” Joanne said. “Whether it’s a new one or an old one no longer functioning, I don’t know, but we’ll need to open it.”

  “Oliver said his people were friendly,” Eric reminded them. “Not a ruthless gang, but loving and caring people.”

  “We don’t assume anything,” Joanne said. “His people might not even be here anymore.”

  “So what do you…” Riley began, but was cut off, startled into silence.

  “Don’t move!” yelled a voice from the trees. Riley turned to look. Three men holding rifles were coming from the forest. Panic struck her like a hammer to the head. She held her rifle, wondering if she could get off a couple of accurate shots before they fired. She and the others were sitting ducks unless Joanne floored it, but the gate ahead would only stop them. Riley looked to Joanne. The woman was contemplating something; a look of inner turmoil going on. Riley guessed Joanne was thinking the same thing as herself.

  “Shit,” Joanne mumbled and Riley knew they’d be going nowhere except where the men wanted them to go.

  “Out of the car,” the man said. Riley saw two more men with guns approach from the other side of the road. They’d been waiting, using the roadblock as a distraction point, knowing that a fleeing vehicle wouldn’t get far. Riley swallowed, fear clutching her chest, knowing there would be no escaping this time.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Village

  They were driven, chained together like criminals, in the back of a van to a walled-in village along Lake Champlain. Riley guessed it was the place Eric’s friend had told them about. No one spoke to them during the ride, but they weren’t mistreated either, being left alone.

  As the van rolled along the road, Riley saw the encompassing wall that surrounded the village. The place was huge.

  The wall stood about twenty feet from the road. A wide, automobile-lengthditch ran alongside the wall, resembling a moat. Whether water or some other material lay inside, Riley could not tell—her vantage point too low. The wall itself looked to be constructed from steel beams sticking upright like fence posts, and cut timber piled on top of each other at least fifteen feet in height. Razor wire, circular in pattern, lay along the top. Riley saw guards walking behind the wire, guns slung over their shoulders. The place was a fortress.

  The van entered through two large doors that looked like they were made for a giant. Stopping just inside the entrance, Riley glanced over her shoulder to watch as the humongous doors were closed, her spirit sinking like a rock in a pond. Thick wooden planks were slotted into place, securing the doors.

  They were led from the
van down one of the dirt paths in the village to a colonial house. Riley glanced around, taking in her surroundings. The buildings appeared to be in good shape, looking freshly painted. In the distance, not too far away, she saw cows and chickens. People milled about, carrying tools and whatnot, glancing at the newcomers, but ultimately not showing much interest. Another day in the new world.

  Inside the house, the group was led to a room with couches and made to wait. They were offered water to drink and their chains were removed. Two guards stood to either side of the door to the room.

  Riley noticed how well the interior of the room was maintained. Pictures of landscapes—mountains, rivers and a desert—hung on the walls. The floor was swept clean and a beautiful bright red Oriental rug sat under the coffee table. Lanterns hung on the walls, not lit.

  An elderly man with a neatly trimmed white beard entered the room. The only hair remaining on his head was a band of white just above his ears. His face was smooth, not weathered like so many people Riley had seen. He was a large man, not fat, appearing to be in decent shape. He took a seat on the couch across from her and the others.

  “My name is Warren Blake,” he said, his voice gentle as if speaking to children. “I’m the leader of this community.” He looked from Joanne to Eric, stopping on Riley. He seemed to be pondering something before asking, “And what are your names?”

  “Joanne,” Joanne said. “This is my son, Eric, and my daughter, Riley.” The man smiled, his eyes appearing soft.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I’m sorry for the harsh treatment, but we have to be careful.” Looking around, before gesturing toward a window, he said, “As you can see, we have developed a community here and we need to do everything possible to keep it that way.”

  Riley kept her eyes on the man, not following his or the others’ as they gazed out the window. He seemed genuine enough, but she held onto her trepidation of the whole situation. She’d seen too many horrible things to trust in a stranger.

  “May I ask where you were going?” he said, and when no one spoke up he sighed, nodding his head slightly. “I see. We are a peaceful people, wanting nothing more than to try and lead as normal of lives as possible. But we have our resolve. We are headstrong and organized and will fight to the death for what is justly our right as humans. Don’t let our treatment of you, so far, be looked upon as weakness.” He looked into their eyes, stopping on Riley’s. His face was vacant, but his eyes had a fierce iciness about them now. The man meant business. “Where were you heading when my men intercepted you?”

  “Here,” Riley blurted out. She was tired of everything. The games, the deception, the secrets. This man was a good person, at least she assumed so, but if someone didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear it would only get bad for them. She truly believed this was the place they sought and it was time to find out.

  The old man’s white eyebrows shot up. “So, word about our community reached you? And where do you come from?”

  “Poughkeepsie,” Joanne said. She looked to Riley and Riley understood that the woman had the same feelings about talking as she did. “We don’t want trouble,” Joanne added, turning back to face Warren. “We just came here looking for a…lab.”

  Again the man appeared to be taken aback. “A lab, you say?”

  “Yes,” Riley answered.

  “And why were you looking for this lab?”

  “To find a…” Riley began, but was interrupted.

  “I met a boy,” Eric said. Riley guessed he wanted in on the conversation, picking up that the truth was being told, but Riley hadn’t wanted to reveal too much just yet.

  “Said he lived in a village in a town called Crown Point along Lake Champlain.”

  “Where did you meet this boy?” The man’s voice sounded desperate. He knew him.

  “In a gang’s encampment.”

  “What…was his name?” the man asked, his voice solemn.

  “Oliver,” Eric said.

  “What happened to him?” the man asked.

  Eric’s face paled. He looked down at the floor, his feet swaying slightly. “He’s dead.”

  Riley saw a sadness fall over the man as if a piece of him had died. The man closed his eyes, shoulders slumping.

  “Did you know him?” Riley asked the old man, her voice almost a whisper.

  “I might have,” the man said, now staring out of the window, but clearly seeing nothing. “Do you know his last name?”

  “No,” Eric said sadly, quickly raising his tone. “But he had a tattoo on the back of his neck.” Riley winced. She hadn’t wanted to share that crucial information yet—or possibly at all.

  “What kind of tattoo?” the man asked, looking sternly at Eric.

  Riley knew what was going to come out of Eric’s mouth before he spoke it. She tried opening her mouth to stop him, but nothing happened.

  “Like Riley’s,” the boy said.

  Riley frowned at the old man. The gig was up, as they say. She bent low and lifted her hair from her neck, revealing her tattoo. She heard the man gasp. Looking up, she saw tears in his eyes.

  “The boy’s name was Oliver Gamming. He was supposed to stay here with the other children, but wanted to go with his father. Somehow he snuck into the truck.” The man paused. “They never returned.”

  “He told me about this place,” Eric said. “And when Riley found out that she had the same tattoo…”

  “You were bitten,” the man said, looking directly at Riley, “and survived.”

  “You know?” she asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” he said. “I know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Revelations

  Riley and the others were told everything. Real tea was served. They were asked by Mr. Blake to be patient and relax, allowing him to tell his tale.

  “The lab,” he began, “part of an underground bunker, was a government-funded facility with the primary goal of finding a cure for the zombie contagion.

  “The United States government received reports of a deadly viral outbreak in a remote village in Indonesia. The contagion was causing the dead to come back to life. Scientists and Special Ops units were flown in to quarantine and study the problem. It was like nothing they’d ever seen before. Dead people had come back to life, wanting the flesh of the living.

  “Of course our government wanted to study the virus, weaponize it as well as find a cure. A few of the undead were brought back to the States to Crown Point where the lab was located. As you can tell, we’re in a protected national park with stringent development rules and little population, making the area ideal for an underground research lab.”

  Warren paused, taking a sip of his tea. A woman entered the room, bringing in a dish of lemons. She placed them on the table. “Thought you all might like a little tang in your tea,” she said.

  “My wife, Beth,” Warren said. Riley and the others introduced themselves.

  “Is a pleasure to meet you all.” She had a kind and gentle voice. “Now I’d love to sit and chat, but my Warren doesn’t like it when I interrupt him.” The woman winked at her husband.

  “Thank you, dear,” the man said kindly before continuing on.

  “Months were spent studying the undead. They were dissected and experimented on. More subjects were needed over time; the undead we had were dwindling in number. Nothing but pieces of rotting carcasses when the dissecting was over.

  “Criminals on death row, all appeals exhausted and awaiting their turn with the needle, were taken from their cells and subjected to the virus for study.” Riley’s eyes widened, her face showing a shocked expression of horror. “It was a desperate time and not a day goes by that I don’t wish things had been done differently.”

  “You were there?” Joanne asked. “A scientist working for the government?”

  “Yes.” Warren looked small, as if he’d shrunken to the size of a small child, before regaining his muster. “Please, let me get this out.” Riley and the others nodde
d.

  “Sometimes a person infected from a bite would turn within a day while others took as long as five days. We guessed it was simply a combination of health and will.

  “As all this was happening, other areas around the globe were reporting that the recently deceased had risen up and become monsters. We’d hoped the outbreak in Indonesia would be the only one, but we were wrong. All of the places reporting the problem were isolated villages and small towns. But we knew it was only a matter of time before a metropolitan area was hit. We had no idea how the thing was spread as it was popping up on all corners of the globe.

  “Soon enough, reports came in that Tokyo was being overrun with undead. Then Chicago. The government went into full lockdown mode, but it didn’t matter. No one understood where the plague came from or where it was heading next. Cities went into full-on panic, mass exoduses occurred, the streets and highways flooded with people trying to leave the cities. Soon zombies were everywhere, attacking and eating people.

  “The lab went into full lockdown and a small military force was dispatched to us. Our families were brought to us along with stockpiles of food and supplies. Our goal: to find a cure at any cost—and we eventually found one.”

  Riley’s as well as Joanne’s and Eric’s faces lit up as if someone had plugged them into a wall socket.

  “So there is a cure?” Joanne asked, sitting on the edge of the couch, holding Eric and Riley’s hands.

  Warren took in a deep breath, his body rising up before lowering as he let it out. Riley felt the negativity coming off of him and she began to worry.

  “Please,” Warren said, “let me finish. It will help you all understand that things aren’t as simple as they appear.

  “We were running out of test subjects. Either the zombies were too mutilated from dissection or simply rotting away, as we did not feed them. So…” The man hesitated and Riley could see he was afraid to go on. “…we used ourselves as subjects, including the children.” Riley wasn’t surprised by the revelation, but Joanne let out an audible gasp. “The adults were treated differently, given harsher amounts of drugs, but all were subjected to a variety of medicines, vaccines and herbal treatments. Nothing took. We were all but ready to give up until a young boy with a weak heart died. He was dead for a minute and a half before we were able to revive him.