DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  “Excellent plan,” Vix agreed.

  They resumed their trek. Vix was feeling better than she had in a while. The countryside was turning a lush green with the spring rains, and twice they had passed a huge pasture with actual living horses. Gemma had wanted to stop everything and go after them to exchange for the bicycles, but Vix had used one of her stockpiled veto votes.

  “We would need to provide care for them, and we would also have to search for harnesses and bridles…all that sort of thing,” Vix explained patiently. “The lovely creatures seem to be doing well for themselves. Let’s not muck it up for them.”

  Gemma had agreed and Vix had celebrated inwardly. Her new approach was working exactly as planned.

  “Hey,” Gemma called, snapping Vix out of her state of road hypnosis, “what’s that up ahead?”

  They had been pedaling along down a road marked as “Stifford Clays Rd.” for the past several minutes. Everybody applied their brakes as the trio came to a staggered halt.

  “Looks like a small town,” Harold called over his shoulder.

  “No…” Gemma huffed and pedaled up beside the young man, pointing off to the right. “I see the village, I am talking about that!”

  Both Vix and Harold followed where Gemma’s finger pointed. Harold cocked his head and pushed off, starting his bicycle forward. The other two followed until they got close enough to be able to make out the mysterious object.

  “Is that sign made from arms and legs?” Harold choked.

  Vix swung her leg over and laid her bicycle down on the road. This was more what she had expected in a zombie apocalypse. Most of the sane and rational people had likely perished due to a mixture of trying to save the foolish or completely disbelieving the events unfolding around them. That left the nutters.

  “That is exactly what it is,” Vix breathed as she read the sign. It had a simple message: Fort Tilbury is zombie free!

  “I wonder how many poor souls that sign has trapped?” Vix muttered.

  “What?” Gemma gasped. “Are you saying that is just some sort of trap?”

  “That is exactly what I am saying,” Vix said with a shake of her head as she returned to her bicycle. “Perhaps we can go a little further up and search for our boat there.”

  “We aren’t even going to go have a look?” Gemma asked with a hint of a whine edging into her voice.

  “It’s a trap,” Vix repeated with a sigh as she prepared to use another of her precious vetoes. “Let’s just go a bit further up the Thames and search for a boat when we have put some distance between us and the Tilbury Fort area.”

  “No!” Gemma actually stomped her foot and Vix was not in the least bit surprised when she turned to see the girl had her arms crossed over her stomach. “We should at least go look.”

  “That place is probably full of degenerates, perverts, and the worst of the nutters,” Vix insisted.

  “You read too many of those stupid books,” Gemma argued. “You think that everybody is evil or has some secret plan. What could it hurt to just go and look?”

  “She’s right,” Harold chimed in. “We could just go see. Maybe this is for real.”

  “And so normal and decent people make signs out of zombie arms and legs?” Vix pointed out.

  “It got our attention!” Gemma snapped. “Not like paint stores are open these days.”

  The argument continued to the point where a few straggling zombies, drawn by all the shouting, limped out of the tall grass.

  “So we can leave behind a perfectly good compound with a female football team to start a place of our own, but you two want to just go barge into a camp that announces itself with a sign made from the severed limbs of the undead?” Vix challenged.

  “I’m not saying that we would stay…I am just saying it is worth taking a look,” Gemma huffed.

  Vix shook her head. She’d tried, she knew that perhaps she had been a bit strong-handed early on. She even accepted that all the major decisions had been hers and these two had been dragged in her wake. Still, she cast another glance up at the sign and stifled a shudder, this had all the markings of one of those worst-case situations from her books. Sure, the zombie apocalypse had been more than a bit disappointing in comparison to her favorite brand of fiction. There had been no carefree runs through an empty market. Most of those had been looted by deadly mobs in the first few days. But this was just too much.

  “Fine,” Vix waved a hand. “You two go on. I will wait for you…” She looked around and spotted a big grove of trees just to their south beside the A13. “I will wait in those trees. Three days…no more. In three days I go on with or without you.”

  “Won’t you come with us?” Harold asked sincerely.

  “Not on your life.”

  Vix got off her bicycle and pushed it to some tall grass. She would leave the bicycle near the road and make her way to the trees on foot. Drawing her machete, she gave one final look over her shoulder and then disappeared into the grass, her head barely peeking above the top.

  ***

  Juan ushered the group away from the makeshift barricade and pointed for the nearby field. This one had not been touched since everything began, and the growth was almost at shoulder height on him. That actually put it above the heads of a few of his small group.

  From behind, he heard an increase in gunfire. He hoped desperately that some of that might actually be from Keith and his team. Unfortunately, he had no real idea where they might be. For all he knew, they could have packed some supplies, taken their pick of the choicest weapons, and ran for the hills.

  Somebody yelped as bullets whizzed past, cutting down stalks of whatever it was around them that had grown so tall. On instinct, Juan dove for the ground. He was basically on his own now. He heard the rustle and noise as the others continued to try and escape.

  There was a pause in the gunfire and Juan thought he heard a whistling sound from nearby. Turning his head first to the left and then to the right, he found the source. One of the members of the group was on his back. His hands were clutching his throat as blood leaked through his fingers. That whistling had been the air coming in and out of the hole. Unfortunately, now it seemed that the hole had filled with blood and the man kicked his feet, flailing and trying to stave off the inevitable.

  Getting up to his hands and knees, Juan began to crawl away. The man was dead, he just did not know it yet. And there was not a damn thing that Juan could do about it. Like it or not, it was every man and woman for themselves.

  There was a muffled explosion and Juan felt a wave of heat wash over him from almost directly behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he was hit in the face by a cloud of dust and debris. Sputtering, coughing, and nearly blind from all the grit in his eyes, Juan forced himself to ignore the discomfort and move.

  More gunfire came and there were commands and shouts, none of which he could actually make out or understand. Between the distance, the closely packed in growth, and the fact that he was much more interested in getting clear of this particular scene in order to try and regroup, Juan could only tell that there was a lot of yelling going on and it sounded disagreeable.

  In what felt like an eternity later, he emerged from the field to find himself on a mostly overgrown dirt track that had two distinct ruts from years of being driven on. Climbing to his feet, Juan looked back to discover that there were several small fires burning in the field. He could not actually see the road, but he could still make out the peak of what remained of the old bridge. What he saw made him almost want to be ill.

  There were people on the bridge; lots of them. He was willing to bet that just those he could see had to number close to a hundred. In addition to that, the field was dotted with the heads of even more invaders. They had spread out and were systematically making their way across. Also, as he scanned, he saw plumes of black, oily smoke rising from the first five towers on either side of the bridge tower. He could only hope that the people who had manned them had been smart enough to fal
l back.

  Juan guessed that he was almost a good mile to the south and just slightly east from the central part of the community. He needed to get there and tell everybody to scrap the plan to fight. The only choice here was to run. As sad and horrible as it seemed, there was no way to realistically push back, slow down or defeat whoever these people were that had come so suddenly and without warning.

  More gunfire erupted and Juan broke into a run. He had lost a good bit of his gear somewhere along the way. Patting himself as he ran, he still had one of the two knives on his belt, the rifle, and the longsword on his shoulder.

  It seemed like forever, but at last the houses up ahead began to take on distinct shapes. He rounded the last corner and could see people rushing about. Obviously the word was reaching everybody that this problem was bigger than they could handle. However, it was also now obvious that things were spiraling into mass chaos.

  Juan pulled up and scanned the faces. He cursed himself for not having taken the time to get to know people’s names. With a sigh of resignation, he turned for his and Mackenzie’s house. He was starting to regain his ability to think clearly and a plan was starting to form.

  Rushing inside, Juan made quick work of grabbing a few things. Some of them were foolish and took up space, but he felt that they were important. He had done at least one thing right. Juan had made certain that he and Mackenzie had a place where they could meet up in the event that something catastrophic were to occur. This was about as catastrophic as it could get as far as Juan was concerned.

  Satisfied that he had what he came for, Juan hitched his pack up a little higher on his shoulders and patted his leg for Tigah to join him. Exiting the house, Juan glanced around at the place one final time. He had doubts that he would ever see it again.

  His eyes drifted along the porch and he recalled that first time that he met Mackenzie and Margaret. It had almost ended his story right there. In the end, he’d earned Margaret’s trust and Mackenzie’s love.

  Heading down the path and through the gate, Juan closed and latched it out of habit. All around him, chaos was in full swing. He shook loose from one hysterical woman who kept asking him what she should do. As far as Juan was concerned, he was through giving those sorts of answers.

  He paused when he found himself in front of the house belonging to Miss Schaeffer. The elderly woman was standing on her porch, shotgun cradled in her arms. She looked down at Juan and gave a polite smile and nod.

  “Ma’am…” Juan began, shaking off the urge to just keep walking.

  People had to make their own decisions. The moment that they let others do it for them, they were done for. They may as well be one of those deaders, content to mill about with the pack and go wherever the majority led.

  “Ma’am,” he cleared his throat and started again, “you should probably get moving. The folks coming this way are carrying some serious firepower and there seems to be a lot of them.”

  The lady just stared at him blankly, and Juan had to wonder if maybe she had not heard, or perhaps that he had not actually spoken. At last she gave him a wink and a smile.

  “You run along and go find that gal of yours. I think I am done with running about. A person my age shouldn’t be out there in all this craziness. I probably should have died a long time ago. Certainly shouldn’t be about these days. I’m slow, my bones ache, and perhaps it is time I just said enough was enough. If those ruffians want to come and shoot an old lady, then I guess it is better that I not live in a world like that and let them have their way.”

  Ruffians, Juan thought, these were killers. This had all the look and sound of an organized mob. And having seen what he’d seen with Gary and Travis back in the jail in those early days, he was not sure that this lady realized what sort of nightmare was coming her way.

  “You give ‘em hell, ma’am,” Juan finally said with a nod.

  “And you take good care of that Miss Mackenzie,” the little old lady said with a smile and nod of her own.

  Juan took off again at a jog, Tigah at his side. He would have to get to the beach. Oddly enough, it was from where they had just sent April Cable away.

  As he climbed the stairs and emerged on the other side of the trees, Juan held his breath. He had not even thought about the possibility that these raiders could be hitting them from both sides.

  ***

  Cynthia ran across the roof. There were a dozen or so pyramid-shaped Plexiglas domes jutting from the roof that she figured to be skylights; when she reached the first one, she paused to look inside. This one was above what appeared to be the cafeteria. Now, however, it was rows and rows of cots. Strapped into many of the cots were human shapes. It was not bright enough for her to tell if they were living or not.

  What she did not see was any sign of actual people moving about. Not guards or doctors…or anything. Cynthia hurried to the next closest one and found herself staring down into what looked like the gym. There was no doubt as to what she was seeing. Milling about were what had to be a couple hundred zombies. The dark stains and smears on the floor looked old, but that didn’t mean anything. Blood dried pretty quick and turned almost black within a day or two.

  She went from one of the skylights to the next, peering in each time to try and see something that would give her a reason to go inside. It was the seventh or eighth one that she looked in that she got her first glimpse of what had to be a living person. Actually, it was three of them.

  This particular skylight was above a class room. It took her a few seconds to realize what she was seeing. There were a few stoves and long counters. This must have been the Home Economics lab. She was actually surprised to find that they still existed. It seemed that schools were always cutting programs.

  The three people, one man and two women by the looks of them, were hunched over something. At last, one of them moved enough so that she could see and Cynthia felt her stomach get a bit queasy. On the counter was what looked like a large aquarium; inside it was a head. It was obvious that the head was still animate. The three were putting things in front of the head and then withdrawing them. One of them would take notes in a huge binder after they would converse briefly about whatever it was that they were trying to observe.

  Moving to the next, Cynthia spied what looked like a class room that had been converted into a dorm. There were ten bunk beds, each with a pair of foot lockers. The room was empty, but showed signs of occupancy.

  The next few were a bust and Cynthia was starting to feel the frustration rise. She was beginning to think that this had all been just another terrible mistake. She had sent Glenn on a mission to act as human bait to lure the zombies away. And while it was not too much trouble to stay ahead of and outsmart the undead as long as you did not back yourself into a corner, there was still a very real danger to it.

  Then she saw her.

  Cynthia froze and stared down into what could only be called an overblown version of a mad scientist’s lab. There were beakers and tubes of numerous shapes and sizes. Microscopes and coils of copper tubing that led from one odd-shaped container to another were spread out along black counter tops. The stack of propane tanks told one story, but it was the series of ten exercise bicycles that were connected to some strange device that took up almost a third of the room that drew Cynthia’s attention. On the bicycle were people, each connected to an IV. Behind each bicycle was a zombie that was secured by chains. The individuals on those contraptions were all pedaling at a very steady rate, but there was a look of fear etched on each face that was unmistakable.

  Walking among those people was the woman who had called herself “Ann.” She was brandishing a slender blade, and judging by the razor-thin slices that adorned a few of the riders, it was obvious what the weapon was for. Still, what she did not see was any sign of Baby Xander. It was the most difficult thing in the world for her to pull herself away and continue her search.

  It was five more of those skylight fixtures later when she saw something that made te
ars flood her eyes in happiness. This was a nursery of some sort. However, the children aged from infant to about four years old. The children were surrounded by an abundance of toys and they all seemed no worse for the wear upon initial glance. As her vision cleared, she did notice that many, if not all, of the children had a Band-Aid applied on the upper part of the shoulder or forearm. Many had more than one.

  There was one more thing, and this is what gave her pause. There were two women in the room. One of them looked to be in her early twenties, the other in her mid-to-late thirties with just the slightest hint of gray starting to invade her brown, shoulder-length hair.

  The children seemed perfectly at ease with the women, and on many occasions, they would bound over to one or the other and show some just finished piece from a coloring book, a doll that needed one thing or another adjusted, or perhaps a word in a book sounded out. It was like looking in on the model example of a daycare center.

  Cynthia sat back and let her breath out in a sigh of frustration. Yes, there were certainly indications that something dark and sinister was taking place. The problem was that she could not make out what that might be. To compound her frustration, the children seemed to be very well cared for.

  A swirl of emotions tumbled through her with a physicality of falling rocks. Could she walk away and leave her nephew behind? Was it possible that he might have a better chance at a future if he stayed here in this compound?

  Perhaps she was not seeing something. Of course it was impossible to overlook what this woman “Ann” had done. But she was not Ah-nuld or Sly. She was Cynthia Frey, a veterinarian and wife who had not even fired a gun until this past year. Now she was trying to mastermind some sort of infiltration on a compound with an unknown number of armed individuals inside.