by Brown, TW
“Sugar,” Barry’s voice changed. It had a tone and quality I’d never heard before. “Be still, baby. All that carryin’ on ain’t gonna do no good.”
“Let me go,” the woman howled, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Let me go to my husband!”
“Randi,” Billy’s voice was soft, but powerful and easily heard. Still, it had no effect on the distraught woman.
“Randi!” he barked. Complete silence fell across the field.
“Barry,” the woman sobbed and collapsed to her knees.
“You listen to me Randi Patrice Jenkins,” Barry said. Tears were trickling freely down his face. “I ain’t got long to talk, so don’t interrupt. I want you to know that I love you. I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you. You have been the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Being with you these years…I…I love you, baby. You take care of these folks …they’re gonna need you.”
“B-B-Barry,” Randi managed through a series of heart-wrenching sobs. “I can’t go on doin’ this alone. I need you.”
“No,” Barry shook his head, “that’s where you got it backwards. It’s always been me that needed you. I was just lucky enough to have you.”
Susan had remained silent during all of this. Slowly, she slid to the ground, coming to rest beside Barry. She was propped against his legs, her legs curled underneath, her chin down. Teresa was suddenly at my side with a long, sharp poker. She and the boys had made several similar weapons using the long pine branches that they’d shaved the bark off of, then attached metal tips that were beaten and sharpened to wicked points. So far, we had a dozen, and they wanted to make a hundred.
“Here.” Teresa handed me the weapon.
I looked down at it for a moment before reluctantly holding out my hand. She gave it over; I swear the thing seemed to weigh a ton. When I turned back to Barry and Susan, her head had risen.
“Barry,” I whispered, “step away.”
Susan’s eyes widened a bit as she looked at me. If the damned things actually see that is. In any case, her white-filmed eyes now amplified the blackness running through them. Her mouth opened, and a mewling gurgle sounded as blood-thickened drool cascaded down her chin. Hands reached out for me until Barry moved. Then, her head jerked around suddenly. She lunged, but missed, sprawling face down on the ground.
I moved in and stepped over her, both arms above my head as I clutched the weapon with a white-knuckled grip that was a mixture of anger, fear, and frustration. As the uncoordinated body at my feet struggled to roll over, I took a deep breath, and drove the steel-tipped spear through the temple, pinning it to the ground.
“Them two boys might be trouble for you,” Barry whispered low enough so nobody else could hear. “Their fight separated ‘em from the rest of us when all them zombies showed up. If they got bit and turned…”
“They might come back here,” I finished his sentence.
“And bring a bunch of trouble with ‘em.”
Damn.
“What about Fiona?” I’d almost forgotten her in the shuffle.
“Lost her in the woods,” Barry said as he turned and began walking towards the trees. His steps were shaky and he staggered like a wino. I hurried to his side and threw his arm over my shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“The woods,” Barry answered. “Unless you wanna jam somethin’ through my head in front of Randi.”
“Barry!” I heard the woman wailing behind us. He stopped and I helped him turn back to face the crowd of anguished onlookers. “We’ve said our farewells, now go inside and let me tend to my business. I’ll see you in Heaven, Randi.”
We turned back and headed into the woods. I could still hear the crying and protests from Barry’s wife. I let Barry lead, and we walked for a good ten minutes before he pointed to a fallen tree. I eased him down to the ground and he leaned back against it with a sigh that turned into painful sounding coughs.
“Don’t wait till my eyes open back up,” Barry finally managed after wiping dark blood from his mouth.
“What?”
“I said don’t wait for my eyes to open back up before you do it. I don’t want to spend one second as one of those soulless abominations.” Barry looked up at me with those hideous eyes.
“Alright,” I said with a nod.
“Promise me.”
“Of course,”
“No, Steve,” Barry pounded a weak fist on the pine-needle strewn ground. “I want a promise. You say it.”
“Okay,” I brought my hands up, signaling for him to calm down, “I promise.”
“Shoulda known better than to volunteer to go with those two idiots,” Barry wheezed. “Thought I could help keep the peace. Thought it was time somebody other than you put his ass on the line.”
“What in the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“I’m talking about how you seem to think you have to do it all. How you think you have to make every run, pick every work crew,” Barry explained. “You have it in your head that you need to run this show, and every time things go wrong…you take it on your shoulders like it was your own shortcomings made it happen. Thing is, it’s like sports. The coach can call the plays, but the team has to execute them. It ain’t the coach striking out, missing free-throws, or dropping passes.”
“Maybe not, but if he has a shitty game plan, his team will get its ass kicked,” I replied.
“Ain’t no planning for this.” Barry shook his head.
“Maybe not, but when I screw up, I get people killed,” I protested. “Seems like I’m doing that a lot lately.”
“Will you cut it with the self-pity,” Barry snapped. “You stepped up to be the leader. You’ll make mistakes. Don’t make ‘em twice in a row. That’s the best you can hope for these days. You’re the leader, be a man and accept that when you screw up, there will be casualties. However, without a leader, the chances of survival for this group go down fast.” He coughed and was silent for a moment.
“I may not’ve said it,” he finally spoke again, his voice was noticeably weaker, “but I don’t think Randi and I would be alive today without you. Same goes for the rest of ‘em. Well…except for Teresa. I do believe that young lady will out-survive cockroaches due to pure stubbornness.” He coughed in the middle of chuckling and I could see blood spraying from his lips with the spittle.
“I need you to be the man I believe you to be,” Barry continued after a few slow tears rolled down his cheeks that seemed to be graying before my eyes. “I need to know my Randi will be okay. I need you to promise—” He began to choke, eyes widening. I leaned down, but he brought his hands up, warding me off.
“Barry,” I said, trying not to cry. “I can’t—”
“Promise to watch my…” his eyes went wide for a second, then, he went slack. His whole body slumped down as a final exhale escaped his lips.
“Dammit!” I cursed, drawing my blade. Stepping forward, I plunged the blade into his temple. His hand twitched, but I think it was just one of those post-death contractions.
Liar.
I sat down, my back against a tree, facing Barry Jenkins. The handle of my knife jutted obscenely from his head. Another promise. How many had I given since all this began? I’d lost track.
I just needed to rest for a bit. I needed to clear my head. Only, there wasn’t time. Fiona was missing and needed to be found. Plus, with Lee and Jason out there in who knows what sort of condition, the group was in danger. And it was my fault. Dr. Zahn had protested, told me it was a bad idea. I hadn’t listened. Maybe secretly I hoped that Jason would kill Lee. Perhaps I wanted Lee to go out there and not make it back. I lacked the guts to do anything, so I’d put him in a situation where it could happen while I kept my hands clean. Only, this time, it’d cost more than I bargained for. I would have to face Randi Jenkins every day for the rest of my life. I—
Something rustled in the woods off to my left. I scrambled forward and retrieved my knife. There it was again. Closer. I watched a tall clus
ter of ferns shake, then, out stepped Lee Jones.
He was a mess.
His dead eyes locked onto me and he began to stumble my way, his one remaining arm reaching out, fingers seeming to point accusatorily at me. Two more stepped out on Lee’s heels. Barry’s fears had been justified; Lee Jones was one of the walking dead and he’d led his brethren to us. Three more came through the ferns. I stood…and saw my worst nightmare coming true.
They were coming, and there were lots of them. I clapped my hands together after wiping the blade of my knife clean on my pants leg. Heads turned my direction. Lots and lots of them.
“Come to papi, you fucks!” I snarled and began moving in a slow arc away from the direction of the campground.
Like rats to the Pied Piper, they followed. My responsibility to keep the others safe felt like a ten-ton weight on each shoulder. I simply could not make any more promises. However, I would do my best one more time to keep the others safe.
Through the woods, I stomped. Making as much noise as possible. Occasionally I would taunt my undead parade of stinking, moaning zombies. There was no way I was going to fail all those who counted on me. Every so often I climbed up on a stump or fallen tree. Yes, I thought, follow your leader. It looked like the herd had taken the bait. Several hours later, as the sun began to set, they continued to follow.
***
It’s been three days. I thought I could shake ‘em when I got to town. Unfortunately, walking for over forty-eight hours—almost non-stop—must’ve messed with my perception a bit too much. I made it into town and was certain I’d given that mob the slip. Maybe I did and maybe Lee knew right where I was heading.
I can hear them pounding on the walls and doors. I can hear them in the hallway. I did manage to make it into the same storage room where Ian and Billy camped. I’m pretty sure the last of my luck has been used up…there was an unopened box in one corner. A case of bottled water. No food, but I got water.
I’ve kept my promises for as long as I can. I’ve tried to take care of everybody for as long as I can. Hearing them outside my door is almost therapeutic. If they’re out there…that means they didn’t swarm the camp. Now it is simply a question of what lasts longer: the water, the door, or my sanity.
Fortunes & Failures
(Book three of the DEAD series)
Written by: TW Brown
To My Wife
Author’s Note:
As I sit here transcribing my handwritten original to the form you now hold in your hands…I am so humbly honored that you are still here. I had lofty dreams and aspirations when I began this series. (What writer doesn’t?) While I haven’t landed on any Best Sellers list, the support I have received from the core fan base (no matter how small it may be) has been beyond my hopes and expectations. And while I may not have a hundred reviews on Amazon.com, the ones I receive are meaningful to me and push me to keep doing what I do
This series, DEAD, is now completing its first arc. Book three marks the quarter-way-done point. I have wrapped up a few loose ends and tried to give a satisfying point for you to set this book down and say, “That was fun!” That said, I have nine more installments in the wings.
For the zombie fan, I hope that I have created a world that feels real. I hope there are people you love…hate…and love to hate in these pages. I never wanted this to simply be “another zombie story” with all the usual hooks and clichés. In fact, I often find myself writing and come to the realization that nary a zombie has been mentioned for a spell. That is by design.
So, strap in…this is the end of the first leg of our journey. One that I hope you will find satisfying. For those who have complained that they would like just Steve’s story…or just the Geeks, stay tuned. I am putting together a special edition that takes all three parts and gives them their own book complete with bonus material. Anybody want to know about Garrett’s mother? Or what happened to the Geeks in Pittsburgh? And what ever happened to the friend who called Steve when the whole thing began?
I have tons of people to thank. However, I usually do so directly. And seriously…how many of you read this looking for the litany of names who helped the writer? Just those he or she thanked most likely. However, there is somebody I truly want to thank. Chances are I have never done so directly. So here it is. Thank you. Yes…you…the person reading this. You are the reason I do this. To make you laugh, cry, or cringe. You, the person reading these words, I thank you with all my heart.
Call me when it’s over!
TW Brown
September 2011
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Geek’s Bounty
Chapter 2 – Home Sweet Home
Chapter 3 – Vignettes XIII
Chapter 4 – Geeky Soulmate
Chapter 5 – Death Knocks
Chapter 6 – Vignettes XIV
Chapter 7 – Ménage-a-Geek
Chapter 8 – More Good News
Chapter 9 – Vignettes XV
Chapter 10 – Geek Power
Chapter 11 – Win Some…Lose Some…
Chapter 12 – Vignettes XVI
Chapter 13 – Geek Tragedy
Chapter 14 – Problems Solved
Chapter 15 – Vignettes XVII
Chapter 16 – Geek Delivery
Chapter 17 – “We are gathered…”
Chapter 18 – Vignettes XVIII
1
Geek’s Bounty
Almost a week had passed. Kevin had stopped being able to smell either Heather or himself a few days ago. Still, there was enough intermittent noise down below and outside to keep him from daring to venture from this dark, stuffy attic that they’d taken refuge in. The only thing he was certain of at this point was that Shaw and his men were gone.
For perhaps the thousandth time, he gave serious consideration to the shotgun sitting within reach. He’d do Heather first, then shove the barrel against the roof of his mouth. He didn’t want to leave the slightest possibility that he might merely cause serious damage. He wanted to make sure that there wasn’t enough to identify him using dental records; not that there were any dentists around anymore.
No, sir, Kevin thought, if it comes to it, I want to be VERY dead.
He shook the bottle leaning against his thigh. They would be out of water by tomorrow, even with the strictest rationing. Yesterday he’d heard it raining. Never was he more thankful for the darkness. It wouldn’t do his ego any good to have Heather see him cry. Now he was starting to hallucinate, because he was almost certain that he’d been drawn from his restless dreams by a female voice.
“Heather,” he whispered. No response. That was actually a relief. He could feel his guts churning and knew that things were about to become…unpleasant.
He could bear-crawl to the far corner that they’d designated as the toilet area. He would be able to take care of his nasty business in semi-private. Then, perhaps he might even risk taking a peek through the hatch that led to the office below.
As carefully and as quietly as possible, he made his way to the far corner. His body did things…made sounds and released smells that mortified him to the core. Once he was finished, he tore off a few strips from the shirt they’d chosen to use as toilet paper. The only thing that he felt good about at the moment was that he hadn’t puked this time.
Crawling over to the trap door, Kevin took a breath to steady his nerves and then pulled the square hatch up. He looked down into the debris-strewn corridor. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the change in light. It didn’t appear that too many zombies had made it up the stairwell that led from the bank’s lobby to the business offices above where they’d fled.
He’d gone down a few times to look around and never managed to venture farther than halfway down the stairs before retreating. He didn’t need to see. The moans and wheezes of the undead told him all he needed to know. They were in the open bank lobby in numbers too great for him and Heather to even consider fighting through. Unfortunately, they were almost out of
options. Time had waited out their hand and was ready to collect. The window of opportunity to make a move was now…or never.
Lowering the knotted rope, Kevin climbed down. His arms burned from even that small effort. It was becoming more difficult each time; further proof that they had to act. They needed food and water. The thought of eating another package of Ramen noodles dry and washing it down with a few swallows of lukewarm water had no appeal.
One stair at a time, he crept down to the shattered doorway. Fifteen steps, his mind chanted. For the first time, he’d actually made it past the tenth one; only five to go. His hearing was hyper-sensitive and he could make out even the slightest rustle of a dollar bill partially stuck to the floor by a congealed puddle of dried blood. Or at least he believed he could. Was that the wind blowing through a narrow hole, or a zombie’s dry moan? Was there a cluster of them waiting right behind the door, ready to tear him apart as soon as he stuck his head out?
Finally, he reached the three-by-three sally port that the door would open in to. He wouldn’t need to push the door open; there was a huge hole from the shotgun blast that had served as his impromptu master key when they’d escaped into this place. Peeking out, he could actually see a good portion of the bank’s lobby: empty.
Well…that wasn’t entirely true. The floor was littered with decaying bodies—all partially obscured by clouds of flies. There were bullet holes and shotgun blast patterns everywhere. Dark, chunky stains decorated the walls and floor in Pollack-like designs. There were two bodies in amidst the carnage that looked “fresher” than the rest, most likely Shaw’s men.
Risking it, Kevin gripped the door by its edge and pushed it open. The enormous tinted windows were gone. There were bodies strewn everywhere, some in actual piles, both inside and outside the gaping holes where the windows had once been. Many of the bodies were burnt to a crisp; the rains long since extinguishing them.
