DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  I reached my home. It was in a run-down single-story apartment complex. When I had been given the slip of paper from Dr. Zahn, I really did not know what to expect. In the past year I had slept in grocery stores, under trees, in sewer pipes, and a bunch of less-than-comfortable places. Our last home was a giant log cabin forestry center that had morphed into a dorm.

  As I walked across the litter-strewn parking lot, I was surprised to find that only one other unit was currently occupied. Carol was standing in her doorway with a broom in her hand and a machete on her hip.

  “Howdy, neighbor!” she called with a smile and a wave. “And don’t be blaring your music all hours of the night or we are gonna have a problem.” She chuckled at her own joke and returned to sweeping the area in front of her door.

  I opened the door to my new home and looked around in amazement. The living room was empty except for a single love seat against one wall. I bet there was a time in my life when this place would have seemed tiny, but at the moment…it was a palace.

  I stepped inside the door and dropped my bag. All the weapons clanked and banged. I slipped the M4 from my shoulder and leaned it in the corner by what I assumed had to be the entry hall closet. I could see my empty kitchen with its useless stove and refrigerator. There was a hall that revealed a door on the left. That was the bathroom. Somebody had already put a large bucket inside the door.

  The door at the end of the hall was shut. I imagined that was my bedroom. I opened it and stopped in my tracks.

  “Welcome home,” Katrina said with a smile from my bed.

  A smile. Nothing more.

  17

  Vignettes XLII

  “This way!” Harold barked.

  Vix continued to stand…rooted in place as the wave of undead approached, sufficient in numbers to eliminate any trace of her existence. Why had she fought so hard? What had she really thought to accomplish by coming to London? Did she really believe that she was going to don a suit of old armor and rid the British Isles of the scourge that had destroyed everything that she knew?

  Her mind reeled as the losses all fought for purchase in the forefront of her memory. Standing amidst that sea of pain was her beloved husband. In the flash of her vision, he was surrounded by a nimbus of gold and had that crooked smile that was truly the essence of his soul. It was a smile that she realized now he had only shared with her.

  “You come this far, my dove,” Ivor’s voice rang in her ears like a crystal bell. “Would you simply quit because you have grown a bit weary? You have always had more strength than you gave yourself credit. Now move your arse!”

  She was certain that she heard an audible ‘pop’ in her ears as the vision vanished. She was still in the middle of the road. The mob of rotten flesh was about seven meters away and she could see each face in the first few rows; the eyes all clearly fixated on her.

  “Please, Vix!” Gemma’s voice pleaded. “Run!”

  Pushing off with her feet, Vix got her bicycle moving; and just in time as one of the horde broke free and lunged. Vix caught a glimpse of a very tattered Harlequin costume.

  “A clown!” Gemma shrieked, turning her bicycle and fleeing, no longer seeming to care if Vix escaped death.

  She turned right at the first corner and vanished from view.

  Harold seemed confused and kept looking in the direction the young girl had fled, and then back to Vix. She knew exactly what he was feeling at that moment.

  “Go after her, you muppet!” Vix urged as she started her pedals moving and began to open the distance between her and death.

  They went down a long narrow street and Vix stifled a laugh as she passed a window with the sign still visible announcing “Rabbi Daniel’s Circumcision Clinic” with a “Temporarily Closed” strip fluttering across the door. Gemma had abandoned her bicycle at a multi-vehicle smash up and was scaling the fence that separated the neighborhood from the train tracks.

  “Gemma!” Vix snapped,

  The girl spun, her eyes wild with a terror that Vix had never seen in them before at any time during their travels. Tears had etched streaks on her cheeks and her body was trembling, visibly even from a distance.

  “Clown,” Gemma repeated. This time her voice was less of a shriek and more of a whimper.

  “It is down the road, hun,” Vix said with as much tenderness in her voice as she could muster. “We left it behind.”

  The younger girl craned her neck to look past Vix and Harold as if she thought perhaps it would suddenly materialize. Very slowly, she climbed down from the fence. Normal color began to filter back into her face, but no flush of embarrassment.

  “I hate clowns,” Gemma explained needlessly.

  “Fairly obvious, that,” Harold muttered.

  “Straight from the devil,” Gemma insisted.

  “Yes, well it is gone now.” Vix could not help but glance over her own shoulder. It was true that they had left that mob of walkers behind, but they would eventually come stumbling around the corner. It might be best if they were on the move.

  She looked around at their surroundings. The pile of cars was such that they would actually have to climb over the twisted, burnt pile to move along the road. They had another option, and after looking to be sure they were not going from frying pan to fire, they all climbed the fence. Harold went last and handed over the bicycles before joining them on the other side.

  They made their way down to the rails. Back the way they came, a train could be seen lying on its side. The entire front end looked to have been hit with a massive hammer. Looking the way they were actually headed, the tracks were mostly clear. A few shambling zombies could be seen, but none were close together, and they were not in packs larger than ten or so at the most.

  The trio soon discovered that bicycles would not be useable down along the tracks. So they pushed them, knowing that they would certainly be needed again on their journey. By late in the day, they came to a spot where the tracks went over the street.

  “That’s the A10,” Vix announced. “Down we go.”

  There was no argument or discussion. In fact, Gemma had been almost silent the rest of the day. Not one single maddening question. As for Harold, he seemed to be very withdrawn. His face had lost that devilish-little-boy look that usually adorned it.

  Vix spotted something just up the street and was struck with an inspiration. If it went poorly, they would either have to run for their lives or just finally die. She weighed the option and decided that they needed this diversion.

  A short distance up the street from where they had come down from the tracks, Vix veered over to the right and brought her bicycle to a stop in front of a haggard looking building. The others had obviously not seen the sign, or they were just so deep inside themselves that they did not care. Both were fine with Vix…for now.

  The windowless door showed some disturbing signs. What looked like claw marks were gouged into the hard surface. Blood stains had dried to a brownish-black and, upon closer inspection, Vix was repulsed to discover a few fingernails torn off finishing the macabre scene.

  Dismissing it all, she first tried the door and was not surprised to discover that it was locked. Harold handed her a pry bar without being asked. She went to work and eventually gave up. The door was absolutely not going to give an inch.

  Looking around, she finally told Harold to give her a boost. She pulled herself up onto the roof and discovered that, even with Harold’s help, it was quite a task with all of the gear she was wearing. Once up, she found an access hatch. Her caution increased when the hatch was revealed to be unlocked.

  Lighting one of their precious torches, Vix ducked her head inside and waved it around. She instantly discovered why the door had not budged. It looked as if every single piece of furniture, from snooker tables to barstools, were heaped against the entrance.

  Lowering herself down, Vix looked around and eventually discovered the occupants; or, to put a finer point on it, the former occupants. A pair of old men were
slumped against each other on the floor against the bar. The dozen or so empty bottles of scotch revealed the cause of their demise. Since there was no sign of food or water, it was clear that the men had drunk themselves to death.

  After a quick walkthrough where she discovered a rear exit that had been similarly barricaded, Vix returned to the main part of the bar. The old men had been kind enough to leave a ladder propped against one wall. Minutes later, she, Gemma, and Harold were all inside the empty snooker hall.

  The bodies of the two men were moved to the defunct men’s room leaving only a trace of their lingering stench in the air. Vix wedged the torch into a space between the empty ice bin and the bar before searching for a few glasses. Giving each a good wipe with the cleanest bar towel she could find under the counter, she set them in a neat row.

  “What are we doing here?” Gemma whined as she slumped down into one of the barstools they had liberated from the jumble against the door.

  “I want us to take a moment,” Vix announced as her hand glided over the selection of bottles before plucking one and breaking the seal. “We have been running for so long, that I think we forgot what it means to be alive. So, I want to tell you about the cottage that I am taking us to with hopes that it is even still there. When I am done, I want you each to share your favorite memory.”

  “Why?” Gemma sniffed. “What’s the point in that?”

  “To remember why we are fighting to stay alive.”

  “I don’t understand the point in this,” Harold grumbled.

  “Why are we fighting so hard to stay alive?” Vix asked spied a bottle that she knew her hubby always liked to use for special occasions. She poured a few fingers worth of whiskey into each glass. “I think we have fought so hard to survive that we forgot what it means to be alive.”

  “So why here?” Gemma asked.

  “When I was a little girl, my dad used to take me with him sometimes on Saturday to this little place where he and his friends would play a few rounds. It used to make my mom so angry, but that was the one thing that my dad never gave in on. I can’t explain it, but it was just me and him…and I loved every minute of it.” Vix picked up one of the glasses and downed the contents.

  Silence hung for several seconds until Harold cleared his throat. “My mom used to make cookies, and sometimes she would let me sit on the counter and add things to the bowl…”

  ***

  The boat came into view and Juan bumped up their pace just a little. April had been silent for several minutes. He had caught her arm once as she stumbled. That was when he realized that she had been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot red and her face was streaked where the tears cut paths through the dirt that had all but hidden her normally milky white but very freckled skin.

  They reached it and only had to drop a couple of zombies that were close. There were still several wandering the area, but most had spread out over the vast grounds of the mill and the large beach of the inlet.

  Juan didn’t even bother with the knot that he had tied to secure the boat, opting instead to just sheer the line with his machete. He gave April a hand in and then followed. Using one of the oars, he pushed away and then locked the pair in place and put his back into getting them away from shore.

  They reached the open water, dodging a few long de-barked trees that had been being gathered for transport up or down river like a giant raft behind a tug boat. Once he was clear, he started the motor and gave a sigh of relief when it came to life with a water churning gurgle. He had not wanted to have to row them home. Even with the current, it would have been a daunting task.

  “They had three of us,” April began to speak, but she continued to stare out across the water. “There were a dozen or so of them. The numbers changed a lot over those first days. It was like some sort of meeting place for ex-cons I guess.

  “They were drunk or high most of the time the first several days. It actually got worse when they ran out. The abuse was amped way up and we became the new diversion from boredom. Sometimes they made us dance like strippers…that usually did not go well for me. Turns out I was the only one of the three of us that hadn’t been a prostitute.

  “One day, there is this guy pounding on the door to be let in. He was like them…but not. I guess he’d done time, but when he saw us and what was being done, he got pissed. They killed him. Well, sort of at least. What they did was beat him up really bad, then they hog tied him and dragged him outside. I heard him scream for a while…then I heard the scream.”

  Juan did not need an explanation of what she meant. Anybody still alive had heard that particular scream. It was nothing like he had ever heard before the dead started walking…and eating people.

  “One night, a few of them must have found some heroine somewhere…they got wasted. That was when the guy who made his way into our room got sloppy and left us unshackled. We all ran for it, but we went our separate ways. I hooked up with a small group about three or four weeks later, and eventually, we found your group.”

  Juan continued to steer as April sat quietly in the front of the boat and stared out at the water. When he saw Sauvie Island come into view, his heart raced just a bit. Despite everything, despite all that was said and revealed, he still did not know what April would do once they arrived. The voice in his mind told him that nobody would want a thing to do with him if they knew the truth of his past. And not just bits…the whole truth.

  As they got closer, Juan saw somebody in one of the watch towers wave to him. Already, a group was gathering at the dock where he would tie up. Mackenzie was even easier to spot with the big, black puppy frolicking at her feet. Twice, before Juan was anywhere near close, Tigah leapt off the dock and into the water. It wasn’t that he wanted to see Juan as much as it was he wanted to paddle around.

  They puttered close enough now that he could see faces clearly. There was obvious concern on most of them; after all, he was supposed to be bringing back the others…not just April.

  He came up alongside the dock and tossed a line over. Somebody grabbed it and tied it off while others were already scrambling to offer a hand to the boat’s two occupants. Juan suspected that it was more out of curiosity in regards to who wasn’t there than anything else.

  April went first, then Juan. There were hugs and lots of pats on the back, but nobody was daring to be the one to blurt out the question that none of them wanted the answer to.

  “If it wasn’t for Juan arriving when he did,” April finally spoke over the murmurs, “then I would be dead. He came just in the nick of time. As it was, we barely had the chance to say much before we were on the run from a huge pack of those things…”

  Juan didn’t wait to hear the rest of what she said. They made eye contact briefly. April gave him a tight-lipped smile and nod which he returned before taking Mackenzie’s hand and making his way through the crowd. Tigah seemed to realize that his people were gone and scrambled through in pursuit.

  ***

  The darkness was absolute. Lying in her bed, Mel could hear the soft snores of her husband and the not so soft sounds of Glenn. Twice she heard Cynthia wake him and have him roll over on his side. It seemed he was on his back once again.

  She put her hand in front of her face and marveled at how she could not see a thing even when she touched her nose. The dark heavy clouds had rolled in just after they finished the evening meal. That would mean it was going to be a very dark night. When the clouds came, the world—or at least the part that she and the others were in under that cloud cover—was shrouded in a darkness unlike anything that she had ever experienced.

  Her mind drifted back to those early days when they were still holding out hope that things would right themselves. She still remembered the day the power went out for the last time. They had been in places where power had gone out before, but they had still found a few places where it had not failed. The last place was a town called Sterling, Colorado.

  They had pulled off the freeway with a convoy of other vehicle
s. A huge sign announced that Sterling was open and safe. Of course there was an armed group of citizens manning the entrance and a processing center where doctors inspected everybody, but it seemed a small price to pay for what felt like relative safety, along with hot water and electricity.

  Large parks were open for RVs and the entire town had a great feeling of peace and calm. Construction was already at work on building a wall around the town using all available men and resources. Things were going fine until the power went down. It happened in the middle of the night. A sudden silence seemed to fall as all of the power equipment that was in use died simultaneously. The next morning, people were already leaving in the hopes that they would be able to find someplace else where the power was still on.

  The four of them had debated for several hours about whether or not to stay. The consensus had been that they all believed the power would be out every place else and that this community seemed to be on the right track to being safe and secure.

  When the military convoy arrived three days later, everything changed. The commander of that group met with the mayor of town and a few hours later, an announcement was made that the military was assuming control of the city’s operations. Everybody would be required to work. None of them had a problem with that and went to sign up. Apparently, some others were not as cooperative.

  A small riot erupted when a group of protestors were ordered to disperse. One of those protestors got the bright idea to hurl something at the soldiers. Apparently the rules had changed because the soldiers did not even hesitate to open fire on the crowd.

  The four had a second discussion that evening and decided to accept the military’s assurance that all citizens who did not wish to stay would be free to go. The main idea behind leaving came down to the idea that if this military outfit could turn on protestors so quickly—none of them could agree that a hurled rock should be answered with bullets—it was probably not a good sign of things to come.