DEAD: Onset: Book One of the New DEAD series

by TW Brown

  Just as I got the wire that held the gate closed out of the way, Carl strolled up and swept past me. I was right on his heels and getting ready to take off again when I saw him.

  The long, blond hair was a dead giveaway as it fluttered behind him in the early morning breeze. He did not look the least bit alarmed at our arrival.

  Well, that is about to change, I fumed as I brought my pistol up and aimed it at the man’s chest. Unlike a zombie, I didn’t need a headshot. The body was a pretty large target for anybody with any degree of skill at firing a gun.

  “Evan, no!” Betty screamed, veering into my path.

  I saw both kids come out the front door. Selina had little Michael by the hand and it looked like she was ripping him a new one. Michael did not seem the least bit bothered and just stood there on the landing staring at the ground like he always did.

  “Whoa!” Brandon was yelling, hands in the air and patting at his hips, looking for a weapon that was not there now.

  “Get out of the way, Betty,” I ordered as I tried to line up my shot.

  “Put your gun down, Evan,” Betty begged. “It was Michael. He found the flare gun and took it outside. We had no idea until Selina came in and asked what the smoking red light in the sky was.”

  I lowered my weapon and noticed Carl do the same. I shot a look over at the kids, unsure of what to say or do. I had no experience dealing with children—at least none that young.

  “I’m so sorry, he just slipped away. The boy is so quiet, and hardly makes a peep when he is around. It is so easy for him to disappear without being noticed,” Betty was saying.

  I recalled how he’d gotten away from us back at the café. I couldn’t hold it against Betty when the same thing had happened with me right beside him. Sure, we’d all supposedly been asleep, but the fact that he’d managed to get up and leave without waking any of us was proof that none of us were above reproach when it came to watching over the boy.

  “We can deal with this later,” Carl said, interrupting my train of thought. “We have a truck to turn around and supplies to unload.”

  “Isn’t anybody gonna tell me what is going on?” Brandon yelped. He had the look of somebody who wanted to bolt at the first chance. I hoped he did.

  “Just a case of some messed up communication.” Carl walked over and patted the man on the shoulder. “Tensions are a little high right now as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “You two had guns drawn and that guy looked like he would shoot me without hesitation.” Brandon pointed at me and I couldn’t help but feel a small swelling of pride.

  So much for Carl’s assessment, I thought triumphantly.

  “He was just trying to protect Betty and the kids,” Carl explained. “You gotta understand, ain’t nobody quite sure who’s who yet, and we barely know you.”

  Betty walked over to me and leaned in close. “I’m glad you’re back. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t much care for that fella.”

  Great, I thought, I was on the same mental wavelength as Betty.

  “I coulda swore that he was checking things out and sort of inventorying our supplies and the weapons you brought back.”

  “What?” I spun to face her, struggling to keep my voice low so as not to attract Carl and Brandon’s attention as they headed for the gate, Carl’s arm around the man’s shoulder like they were old pals. “We stored those someplace the kids wouldn’t find them. How did he find them?”

  “That’s just it,” Betty said, guiding me to follow Carl towards the truck; apparently, she was savvy enough to know that we needed to avoid suspicion if this guy was indeed the kind of person we thought him to be. “I didn’t even know he was awake until little Michael came and told me the…and I am quoting him here, “bad man” was in the guns.”

  I looked over at the boy standing beside Selina. Just maybe that flare being fired had not been a mistake or simple case of a curious kid and a gun. I wished that he would talk to me. There was something about the kid that was special. Not like he was some sort of supernatural psychic or anything like that. I just felt that maybe he understood on a deeper level than we gave him credit. The problem would be getting him to relate the information whizzing around in his brain.

  By the time Betty and I reached the truck, it appeared that Carl had managed to calm Brandon for the most part and had the man in the cab of the truck, backing it down the long driveway.

  I did not agree with that decision. All the firepower we’d risked our rear ends to bring back were in the cargo bay of that truck. If Brandon wanted to, he could just get out on the road and take off. I was about to approach Carl and make my position on this situation very clear when I noticed that the man had one hand on the butt of one of his Glocks as he walked backward and waved the truck back with him.

  One hour, and about thirty zombies later, we’d positioned the truck with its cargo area open to our gate. I got the feeling that Brandon was not very comfortable being around me. I tried a few times to make casual conversation, but he wasn’t having any of it.

  Was it possible that I was the jerk in this scenario?

  ***

  I stared at the calendar on the wall that Carl had tacked up. The individual X’s through each day were a shock to me every time I saw them. It was hard to believe that eleven days had passed since we’d been in this house.

  In that time, the city of Portland had apparently gone dark everywhere. I’d been in my room with Chewie. Her tail was healing nicely, but now it apparently itched a great deal and so I had to keep distracting her from it.

  I had the windows open and was reveling in the silence when I saw the horizon start to go suddenly and frighteningly dark. This is it, I’d thought, we are back in the times of the caveman.

  Not more than a few minutes later, there had been a knock at my door. It had been Betty “I guess you saw the lights go out in Portland.”

  When I said that I had, she simply stood there in the hall for a moment holding one of the small, battery-powered lanterns we’d found three of in the camping supplies. I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to say or do.

  She nods and looked away, seemingly captivated with the barely visible outline of a bit of bad but surely expensive artwork down the hallway. After a moment, she said, “I guess that’s it then. It’s just gone now.”

  My own eyes were suddenly drawn to the intricate wonders of the toes of my shoes. “Yeah, I think so,” I said after what felt like the world’s longest minute. “I’m pretty sure there’s no coming back from this now.”

  I forced my eyes back upward. In the dim light of the lantern, I saw Betty blink rapidly a few times, drawing in a deep breath that was only slightly shaky before turning back to face me with a tight grim smile. “Well…” she said, raising her chin. “…I guess that’s that then.” And with that she squared her shoulders and walked back down the hall.

  My throat felt tight as I stepped back into my room and closed the door. I don’t think either of us had been talking about just the lights.

  As a group, we had done what we could to fortify the place. Having a wall all the way around the property was a great bonus. The fact that it was set far enough back that you could not see it unless you were well up the road and above us was another benefit.

  We’d heard the occasional sounds of gunfire from just about every direction the first few days. Now, it was seldom and sporadic. More often than not, it was a single shot here or there.

  One thing we had accomplished was proving the theory beyond a shadow of a doubt that sound attracted the zombie like moths to a flame. All we’d needed were a few empty soda cans filled with a bit of gravel for our initial tests.

  Being up on this hill, we were able to move to a spot that overlooked Johnson Creek Boulevard. When we would spot a zombie, or even a small group, we would hurl one of those cans in the opposite direction the case subject would be moving. Uphill or down, the cans never failed to cause the walking dead to alter its course. Even more interes
ting—at least to me—was the fact that they did not actually stop to investigate the cans. Since they were usually no longer moving and making noise by the time that the zombie was turned around, I found it fascinating that the zombie would just trudge along. It did not stop to inspect the can unless it was still rolling and making noise. And even then, as soon as the can would stop, the zombie would just keep moving in the direction that we’d diverted it.

  “They have the short-term memory of a goldfish,” Carl had quipped.

  I saw more than that in our little experiment. I saw a way to divert the zombies away from us. That also meant that there had to be a way to create some sort of noise trap that we could activate in order to distract the zombies from our location if they ever came in large numbers.

  The most likely location that we would have them come from seemed to be from the south in the direction of the zombie racetrack. While there was plenty of tall grass and trees in that direction, it was also the way that offered the flattest terrain. The driveway coming up from 92nd had been blocked by three military trucks, including one at the very bottom of the driveway that made it difficult for a fully mobile and living human to get around because of the dense foliage the previous occupants had placed—likely to increase their level of privacy and isolate them from all us regular folks.

  I’d found a strand of trees fairly close together as my first location to set up what I considered our most rudimentary defense. Using some of the abundant fishing line we’d located, as well as a dozen cans that were half full of gravel, I’d placed my first lure.

  This had been a very popular plan with Selina. A pleasant surprise was how Michael also seemed eager to help. I’d let them be the ones to fill the soda cans with the pea-sized bits of gravel. Once I had what I needed, I’d simply hopped the wall and strung my line with the attached cans. Another length of twine was used to allow us to trigger the lure from our side of the fence.

  I’d been itching to test it out ever since, but Carl and Betty both out-voted me when I’d suggested having a zombie chase me through that area towards our wall. The object would be to see if it would turn around and head away once it lost sight of me after I came back over the wall.

  My second lure would prove to be more difficult to place. This one would be down on 92nd Avenue. I would need to string it between a set of powerline poles. That would be hard, but then I would need to run a line up to the house from there. I knew there was probably an easier solution to all this, but I’d become focused on this single approach. Besides, I was working with the supplies we had. Maybe later, once we ventured out and could raid some other places, something else would avail itself.

  I had my knapsack with all my gear. The night before, Carl and I had slipped out and set a ladder beside the pole I would hang the strand of cans from. That had been harder than it sounds. For one, the collapsible ladder was not very easy to tote quietly. It kept making metallic clanks and clacks as we made our way down to the road. Second, the streets had been totally empty of any activity when we’d scouted it out. Just as we were setting the ladder up against the pole, three of the bastards came out from the nearby bushes. Two of them were little kids between the ages of eight and twelve. The youngest was a little boy and again I was certain that this was the very same one I’d seen in the intersection.

  The runner’s headlamp I was wearing at least gave me something to use for identification should we meet again. He was wearing a soiled and bloodstained Seattle football jersey with the number three on it. His dark hair was actually blonde, but he had so much blood and filth that it looked black. The last and most identifying feature came in the form of his missing lower jaw. Just seeing him had made me wince. What terrible thing had led to that disfigurement? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know.

  By the time Carl and I simply set down the ladder, making sure to be as quiet as possible to prevent possibly drawing more zombies to our location, he was gone. That left the girl and a woman in a skirt that was almost totally ripped away. Considering the fact that her injuries were all around the left shoulder, I had to think that it was probably getting snagged on things all the time and would eventually be gone except for the waistband.

  Since the girl was closest, I went for her and Carl went for the lady in the tattered skirt. That was when I got my next surprise. I’d noticed that the child versions made it a point to hang back. Even now, the girl was not advancing from where she’d emerged, and, of course, the boy was gone. The woman was coming straight for Carl without any hesitation.

  I stood still for a moment just to be sure. After what seemed like an hour but was likely five or ten seconds, I pulled out my axe and started for her. Just that fast, she turned into just another zombie.

  The arms came up and her hands turned into claws as she reached for me. Her head twitched as she focused on getting ahold of me and ripping me to shreds. Fortunately for me, the child zombies are no more agile than any other type of walking dead.

  Despite everything, I still had trouble splitting her head open with my axe. When the body crumpled to the ground, eyes shut and final death granted, a lump rose in my throat and I wanted to scream…cry…rage. I’d tried to convince myself that this would eventually get easier. A day would come when I could see these things as nothing more than zombies—the walking dead.

  We’d placed the ladder and returned home. I would be making my run to set up this lure at first light.

  And now, here I was, climbing the ladder with my gear. I reached the top and glanced over my shoulder. I raised an arm and waved it back and forth twice. That was our very basic signal that it was all okay so far. I saw Carl wave back. He was on the roof of our house with a scoped rifle that he’d found during a supply run at the Zombie International Raceway neighborhood.

  I braced myself and tied off the strand of cans. Now was the hard part. I had to climb down, move the ladder over to the streetlight pole across the road and attach the other end. This part had caused a lot of debate. Betty insisted that somebody come with me, but Carl and I explained that it would be best if we stationed two people a block away in each direction. Carl could sit on the roof and act as my guardian angel.

  I realized that I was putting a lot of faith in my supposition that sound would draw the zombies away if they arrived, but I’d seen it for myself. Unlike the pre-apocalypse when everything had to be tested and governmentally approved ad nauseum, things were now strangely simple: have theory; test theory to your level of satisfaction; operate under that proven theory until proven wrong.

  I made my way back down to the ground and gently picked up the ladder, doing everything in my power to not let it rattle or clang. Once I was across the street, I started to feel giddy. Sure, this was a very primitive setup, but it was a start. We weren’t doing anything foolish or cliché like trying to secure a massive shopping mall.

  I started up the ladder with the loose end of my lure in my teeth. I was halfway up when I saw him. I was absolutely certain it was the boy. And now I was equally sure that this same zombie child had been the one I kept seeing. Again, it was a huge leap, but this was too big of a coincidence to actually be a coincidence.

  He was watching me from down below in the parking lot of the medical center. There were a few other zombies wandering around—all of the adult variety. I stayed absolutely frozen in place. Maybe he wasn’t looking at me. Maybe he was just looking this general direction. Then he stepped forward and cocked his head to the side. Now I was almost sure that I was his focus. I climbed another few rungs and watched as his head tilted with my progress.

  “Dammit,” I swore softly.

  I continued to the top, my head rotating back and forth from my actual task and the boy. Every single time that I looked away, I was certain that I would look back and find him gone. Once I reached the top, I was starting to wish that I’d been correct. He continued to stand right where I’d first noticed him. His head was craned upwards so far that he was bending back at the hips just a bit.
That was new; not that I’d been studying the flexibility of the average zombie.

  I tied off the other end and then clipped on the line that we would use to trigger this lure. The next part was going to be kind of fun. Carl had rigged one of the M4s with a device that I called the plunger. It was a simple device that fit in the barrel. The line was attached to it and all I had to do was aim and shoot and it would launch back to our little home base. He said that he “stole” the idea from his time in the Navy.

  Apparently, when ships refueled at sea, this was the method that they used to get the line from one ship to the other. Whatever the case, we’d taken it out and tested it with amazing success.

  I unslung the rifle that I had over my shoulder and checked to ensure that the line was connected to the rubber piece that protruded from the barrel. Once I was certain that everything was exactly as Carl had shown me, I brought the rifle to my shoulder and fired. I watched with my breath caught in my chest as I waited to see if the plunger made it over the fence.

  “Yes!” I exclaimed in a whispered hiss. It hadn’t cleared by much, but it had made it. Now I had to move before all the zombies came out to investigate the huge noise I’d just made.

  I slipped my arm through the strap to sling the rifle back over my shoulder. Having a background in construction, I was comfortable working on a ladder. I let go with both hands and leaned forward so that I could secure my rifle before climbing down.

  I was just ducking my head through the strap when the sound of breaking glass came from right behind me. The sudden and jarring noise caught me completely off guard and I lost my balance on the ladder. I fell back onto the sidewalk and felt something in my right arm give with an audible snap.

  I yelped in pain and just as quick shut my mouth knowing that noise would increase my chances of not making it back home alive as I gave the zombies something more precise to focus on. Forcing myself to the sitting position, I looked around and saw that I had nothing close enough to me that I wouldn’t still be able to get up and make it to the gate.