DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  The world of science had already been able to prove that the brain of a three-year-old toddler was actually more active than that of a college student (even the ones that studied more and partied less). It was this reason that made Emily-zombie and many like her so different. Those sparks of electricity would have been spotted in child zombies up to about the age of twelve. Had more children survived, it is likely that humanity would have perished within the first year.

  The brain of the child zombie allowed for a rudimentary degree of cunning that the adults would never possess. While not sophisticated, the child zombie was capable of devising traps and ambushes.

  Emily-zombie loosed a soft moan. It was answered by another just across the road. Over the days and weeks, she and many of the others had actually set up what some might consider a trap. They had this particular area surrounded. Anything—

  man or beast—that was unfortunate enough to wander through, was subject to springing this rudimentary trap.

  From under cars and piles of rubbish they emerged. Numbering close to thirty, Emily-zombie and her fellow child zombies came at the five person patrol. The living humans never stood a chance.

  Emily-zombie still hung back until those pillars of heat had been dragged to the ground. Of all the members of this group, she had the brain that would have showed the most—albeit minimal—activity. Emily-zombie was making connections faster than the others. It had been she that had gone around and actually placed some of the others in position. She did so each night just before the shadows melded and brought the perfect blackness to the world.

  Tearing at the throat of one of the figures on the ground, Emily-zombie felt the surge of heat course through her and leave just as suddenly as it arrived. When the attack was over and two of the large ones rose to stumble away, Emily-zombie made her way back to the tall grass of a nearby yard and sat down. The little ball of fur soon joined her and began licking at her fingers, then at her chin.

  Emily-zombie was not paying attention. Another spark had come. She spent the remainder of the night puzzling over it. That warmth was never a feeling that lasted; if anything, she felt even more empty and void afterwards.

  Another flash came. This one was a series of faces. She could not actually pull any meaning from those faces, but she was aware of a feeling.

  Sadness.

  The names meant nothing, just the faces. She could not recall specifically who Teresa was, or Barry, or Joseph. Yet, she had a feeling about them…about losing them.

  Then another face came, and this one stayed until it burned itself into something almost tangible. She could see him as he was…and then as he had become.

  Dad.

  The memory of seeing her father in the trench as one of the larger ones came to her with amazing clarity and vividness. The feeling of loss washed through her. It took three days, but eventually she was able to make the connection that her stealing of the warmth and creating more of the larger ones was something…bad.

  Then, one day, the little warm, furry creature in her lap got up and walked over to a nearby house. It stretched out in the shade provided and laid on its side for a long time. There were strange noises; a few were loud enough to bring some of the other zombie children. It also brought some of the larger ones.

  More than a handful of times, Emily-zombie rose to her feet with a large rock from the edge of a nearby flowerbed. She would stagger away from where the cat was now surrounded by over a dozen of the zombie children and bang the rock on one of the many abandoned cars that could be found in the area. This would divert the larger ones and send them off in a direction away from the cat.

  One time she returned from such a task to discover two brand new and very tiny heat sources. In fact, they were so small that they would often seem to be reabsorbed by the mother cat as they nuzzled in to suckle. When it was all over, nine of the tiny, mewling creatures were nestled to their mother.

  Mother.

  Another spark ignited in the brain of Emily-zombie.

  ***

  “Where?” Vix spun suddenly, causing both Harold and Gemma to jump back in fright.

  “W-w-w-where what?” Gemma stammered, but her face flushed red and her eyes immediately dropped to the ground.

  “Where did you get bit?” Vix took a step closer and inspected Gemma’s face, grabbing her by the chin and tilting her head up so she could see better.

  “On the leg…it was just a nip really,” the girl started to cry as she spoke. “I’m so sorry, I know that I’m always mucking things up…I just got so…upset…and angry.” By now she was near hysterics and Vix was having a hard time understanding the girl as she made an effort to explain herself through the wash of tears that were now flowing down her face.

  “When?” Vix forced her voice to sound calm and as reassuring as possible. Yes, she still wanted to smack the fool teenager upside the head, but that could come later. Right now she had more important matters to attend.

  Gemma looked up at Vix with her eyes brimming over. Harold was standing beside her, looking unsure as to what he should be doing at the moment. It was clear that he wanted to put his arms around Gemma, but it was also very apparent that he was not sure as to whether Vix would approve.

  “When what?” Gemma sniffed.

  “Oh…for the love of a duck!” Vix fumed. Reaching forward, she grabbed Harold’s arm and placed it around Gemma’s shoulder, then, she cupped the girl’s chin in her hand and looked her straight in the eyes. “When did you get bitten?”

  Gemma’s face scrunched up and then her eyes went wide. “Late last night…maybe early this morning. I didn’t see the foul thing. It was one of those nasty buggers that had no legs and the thing came right out of some grass and nipped me while I was sitting down trying to catch my breath from running.”

  “Are you certain you got bit?” Vix asked. “I mean, did it break the skin or did it just bite down on your jeans and pinch you real hard?”

  Gemma rolled up the cuff of her jeans, but Vix already knew before the girl managed the amazing feat of getting the leg of her skinny jeans to hitch up a few inches. The cuff was ragged and there was dried blood. In truth, it wasn’t much of a bite. In fact, the girl had probably nicked herself better giving her legs a shave. Still, Vix had seen nothing to indicate that a little bite was any less lethal. No more so than being a little bit pregnant or having a little bit of herpes.

  “You’re fine,” Vix snorted and got to her feet. “Now let’s get moving.”

  “Wait…are you saying—” Harold began.

  Vix was already back on the move and simply called over her shoulder, “The stupid girl is just like you, Harold. She is bloody immune to the bloody bite!” Under her breath, she added. “Bloody figures.”

  The trio headed back to the cottage. As they walked, each was lost in his or her own thoughts. Vix bounced between two main ideas and was actually thankful that they had a couple of hours before they would be back.

  The first was more of a worry; if they were not allowed to come back in because of all of Gemma’s drama, where might they go next? However, it was the second thought that preoccupied most of her time. Before the zombies had gotten up and ruined everything, she had been a nurse. Actually, she had been a head nurse at Basingstoke’s North Hampshire Hospital.

  One of the things that she was fairly sure of was that certain resistances were genetic. Things like basic allergies all the way to a person’s resistance to nasty little things like Avian Flu—which seemed a bit mundane given the current circumstances in the world today—were often passed down from parent to child. If Harold was immune and Gemma was immune, then perhaps a child conceived by the two would have a better chance of being immune as well.

  That was the thing about Mother Nature, Vix mused to herself as she walked down the long, empty country road. She could send in some whoppers to knock humanity off its horse, but she always allowed for a few souls to be able to withstand it and continue on.

  Of course the
re was the whole matter of Gemma becoming pregnant. And then how would she actually be able to test the child for immunity.

  “Pardon me, Gemma, need to take your baby out to the fence for a little nip by a zom…gotta see if the little screamer is immune. Back in a jiff.” Vix stifled a snort.

  They reached the last hill that sat between them and the cottage. She was all the way at the top and looking down when Vix realized that she was alone. Turning, she saw the couple standing at the bottom, foreheads touching and Harold speaking earnestly. Each time he would finish, the girl would shake her head frantically.

  Vix wasn’t stupid, she had a good idea what this was about. Truth be told, the girl had every reason to be embarrassed. She had acted like a perfect fool. Still, if they were able to go back in with nothing more devastating than a sincere apology, then that was okay.

  Stomping back down the hill, she was ready to give the two wayward youngsters a lesson in growing up. Harold saw her first and held up his hands as if to ward off a blow.

  “Before you get all up in a huff…we aren’t coming back.” Harold stepped in between Vix and Gemma. “That place just isn’t for us.”

  “You mean her,” Vix snapped, pointing a finger at the girl. “We have come a long ways, and we have gone through seven different types of hell to get here. Now you want to leave because she got her bloomers in a bunch?”

  “No,” Harold said with a shake of his head. “You brought us here…this was your choice…your destination. We came along because nobody had any better plans.”

  “And where would you go?”

  Harold shrugged his shoulders, but it was now Gemma who stepped forward. She had a look in her eyes that said this was clearly not going to be something that Vix could talk her out of doing. For whatever reason, the pair had made a decision.

  “There are islands all around…just east of London there are a few,” Gemma started, and then turned to Harold for support.

  “Isle of Sheppey for one.”

  “And you think that maybe Queenborough escaped all of this?” Vix retorted. “When will you two figure it out! No place is safe…there is nowhere to run. The best you can do is find somewhere and try to create enough of a defense that you can keep the zoms away…not starve…and not die of thirst.”

  “This is England,” Harold said with an easy laugh. “The rain will keep us from dying of thirst. As for food…the sea is full of fish and maybe we can get a farm up and running. Folks lived here for a long time before we got so automated and relied on the market for our meals.”

  “You once mentioned going to an island,” Gemma was almost pleading now, “so come with us.”

  Vix thought it over. There was actually a lot to be said for the idea of trying for an island. And if not the Isle of Sheppey, Gemma was absolutely right in that there were a lot of smaller ones all around Great Britain.

  With a sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, Vix nodded. The three of them had become a bit of a family. They had their problems, but what family didn’t? If she settled in with Amanda and her people, she would be the outsider…the Janie-come-lately. Here, with Harold and Gemma, she was sort of the leader, and often the mom. Since she was not ever going to have children of her own, this would have to suit her. Besides, on the plus side, she had avoided all of that changing of the nappies business.

  “What about the stuff we left back at the cottage?” Vix grumbled.

  “I think we can find new stuff,” Harold urged. “C’mon, let’s go. I am sure that they were perfectly nice people…but wasn’t the point of this to set up a place that is ours?”

  “Fine.”

  Vix fell in beside the other two who were practically skipping away. She only looked over her shoulder once as they crested one of the many gentle slopes that stretched out before them.

  ***

  “Get everybody alerted. Tell them to be prepared for a fight. You know what you need to do.” Juan held Mackenzie’s arms to her side and looked into her eyes.

  “But—” she started to protest, Juan cut her off.

  “No buts, Mackenzie. This is serious. You get your team together and get the kids down to the boats. We don’t have time to discuss it.”

  “I love you, Juan,” Mackenzie breathed as she reached up and kissed him.

  Juan allowed himself this one moment. He had no idea what it was that Keith and the others had gotten so riled up about, but he had a feeling that they had misjudged their departure time. The enemy was at the door. It was very possible that he would die today because he would not surrender for any reason. That just was not in his belief system.

  “I love you, Mackenzie,” Juan returned the sentiment after the kiss. “Now go!”

  He watched as she took off. Looking up, he saw the little old lady out on her porch. She was smiling at him. “Glad you two worked it out, young man.”

  “Thanks,” Juan said as he turned to go. “Now I suggest you get someplace safe. Things are about to get nasty.”

  The little old lady cackled. “Then I guess it is a good thing I just cleaned my baby.” Juan looked over his shoulder to see Miss Schaeffer reach in the open front door and produce a massive double-barrel shotgun.

  “Jesus,” he muttered as he ran home with Tigah at his side. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t pressed his luck and tried to get past that woman to see Mackenzie.

  At the house, Juan grabbed everything that he would have taken on a run: knives, machete, longsword in his over-the-shoulder harness, crossbow with a case of bolts, and the .30-30. With the scope on that rifle, he was not likely to miss anything…ever.

  Two men were running towards the house, both already packing similar loads to his. Juan pulled up and waited, taking the time to pat Tigah on the head.

  “You stay here, big fella, Daddy will take care of things and then come home with mommy. Would you like that, Tigah?” Juan said, surprising himself when he realized that even with all hell breaking loose, he had used his “doggy voice” with the massive pup. What did not surprise him were the quick thumps of the tail and then a pair of huge paws up on his shoulder. The dog soaked him with one pass of its tongue and then dropped to the floor.

  “What the hell is going on, Juan?” one of the men gasped.

  He was terribly out of shape and his face was already beet red. Juan had to wonder what the heck some of these folks were doing with their time. Personally, he was probably in the best physical shape of his life. Food was plentiful, but not so much that a person could gorge themselves. Plus, any and all junk food was but a distant memory. He would probably go into shock if he ate a candy bar these days. His body would reject it as something foreign.

  “It is possible that a large invasion force is trying to come and take us out,” Juan replied; no sense sugar-coating the situation. “A group left just a short time ago to scout them, their size, and, if possible, their intentions. I think we know their intentions.”

  More people were coming, many at a dead run. Men, women, and those who had once been considered children answered the call. Juan marveled at how fast the response had been. He knew that they had drills or something every so often—Mackenzie’s idea, and obviously one that had been taken seriously—and now the entire community was acting exactly as they were supposed to in such a situation.

  There was a buzz of expectancy once they were all gathered. Juan had certainly not realized the number of people that were now calling Sauvie Island their home. To see them like this was actually a bit awe-inspiring. He shook his head. He would have time later to marvel over such things.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his loudest voice so that hopefully everybody could hear, “it seems as if we have come under attack. Reports have a force of unidentifiable number moving our way. A team left just a short while ago, but I believe that we already know the answer for any chance at a peaceful resolution. They are coming to take what is yours…what you have worked so hard to create.

  “We have been through a lot, and we
have worked hard. Still, I know that some of you might not want to fight. That is your choice. Nobody will think different of you if you decide to leave.”

  Juan had to try very hard to say that last statement without an outward reaction. It had been Mackenzie’s idea. She had told him that she felt confident nobody would actually take that offer, but it would “earn him points” with the people of the community. Personally, Juan did not care about earning any points.

  He scanned the faces looking back at him and was surprised to discover that he was relieved when nobody walked away. Maybe the people here would make it…maybe this community would not just survive; perhaps it would thrive and grow in the coming months…years.

  “Then each of you has an assignment. You have practiced for this, and now, as sad as it seems, you are being called to action. Do not let these people come and take what is ours!”

  There was a cheer that rose from the crowd that actually caught Juan off guard. He felt a little like that guy who had painted his face blue in that movie, but damned if he could actually remember the name.

  Juan came down off the overturned washtub that he had used to stand on so that he could be seen better. A few people clapped him on the back as they hustled past to their assigned positions. Juan checked his gear one final time and then set out for the bridge tower.

  As he approached, he started to hear some sporadic gunfire. If this was a large invasion force, he expected that would soon change. Passing the old general store building, he saw that a group had already stacked some debris from bits of the bridge that had never actually been cleaned up after he’d blown up the middle of it. Nodding his approval, Juan hurried over to the five individuals crouched down behind some chunks of twisted metal and concrete.