The Rotting Souls Series (Book 3): Charon's Debt

by Ray, Timothy A.

  “You’ve grown up,” he finally admitted; not liking how many of his self-delusions had been shattered lately. “I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t want you to go. I’ve already got someone untrained tagging along that I’m going to have to look after and I can’t do that if I’m worrying about you. We need to stay small, be quick, and get in and out before anyone else notices. If I keep taking more people, then that makes it impossible to pull it off.”

  “Are you going to leave the Humvee in Tucson then?” the boy asked, his eyebrow raising.

  “What are you—?” he began, then thought of his mother’s rampage and knew that he’d probably have to soundproof her living quarters next. “No, of course I’m not. Your grandfather is going to fly your Nana and Aunt Kat back. The rest of us will return in the Humvee.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have a problem with me tagging along. I won’t leave the Humvee,” his son pushed again. “There isn’t a place safer than in that armored tank.”

  “Your mother would kill me,” he said softly, feeling the fight leave him. He couldn’t keep them hidden from the world forever and maybe it would be all right to take him along. He was relatively safe within the vehicle; the only problem would come if they had to ditch it for some reason. He doubted it would come to that, but still.

  He sighed again, shaking his head.

  The door opened and his father peered out at them. “The others are ready, you coming or not?” He glanced at his grandson for a brief moment, then closed the door again.

  “I’m better trained than he is,” his son said, jerking his head towards the group waiting inside.

  “He’s been to war son, you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he mumbled, trying to think of a way out of this and not able too.

  His son snickered. “Dad, he flew in the back of an airplane from base to base, he never actually saw physical combat. A crew chief on a bomber in the Vietnam War didn’t have much in the way of aerial competition. He spent most of it in Okinawa and Guam.”

  The door was opening again and he pushed inside past his father and to the other members of the group that were going with him. Joseph, Sabrina, and Rosilynn were already geared up and ready to go.

  His son was close on his heels and Rosilynn actually snickered as they approached. “Taking the runt with us?” she grinned, giving his son a high-five. “Told you that ambushing him near the staircase would work. Too worn out from arguing with his mommy to put up much of a fight. You happy I stopped you from asking him before he went in there?”

  Joseph wasn’t laughing and Sabrina was brooding. Her hair had been trimmed and her hand kept pushing through her missing locks, her eyes showing her dissatisfaction. “We have enough people to look out for already,” the large sniper commented dryly.

  “He’s not going to leave the vehicle, if he does, shoot him in the knee,” he told his pal, trying to get through that serious façade.

  It didn’t even faze him.

  “Hey!” his son protested, rushing to grab the skin-tight suit that he had worn on their trip out of town. His son was too eager and his mind kept saying, it’s never too late to say no.

  As he pulled on his own suit, standing there in nothing but his boxers, he couldn’t help but notice Rosilynn watching him. He shot her an inquiring look, but she glanced away and he thought he saw color rise in her cheeks. Sabrina was trying to pick out a helmet that would fit over her new cropped hair and her fingers kept sliding past her newly discovered ears.

  “No matter how many times you rub it, it isn’t going to grow back,” he told her with a smile.

  The glare she gave him could have frozen the warmest of hearts. “Have you made up with your wife yet? I don’t see how that’s going to happen if you take your rug rat with us,” she retorted.

  She had a point and he knew that he was going to have to come up with something to tell his wife—or she’d finish him off before the zombies could.

  Chapter 16

  Words From Beyond

  Monica

  Compound 2

  She stormed through the open doorway and into their living quarters; slamming the steel door behind her. She had forgotten that the kids were probably still asleep in their rooms; they had all been up late the night before and did tend to sleep in.

  Blowing out a pent-up breath, she eyed the bottle of tequila on the counter and briefly thought of taking Sean’s route; drain the world away until the bottle was empty and the world forgotten. She was so mad right now that she was about to combust. However, she knew from personal experience that alcohol never solved anything, and she’d only regret it later when the migraines set in.

  Instead, she set about making coffee, inwardly fuming at her husband’s treachery. Who would be better to watch his back while rescuing her family than her? She knew her mother’s apartment complex like the back of her hand and he had never even been there before. She wanted to see them with her own eyes, to be assured that they were okay; not sit here at the compound like a scolded child, worrying about the safety of her family.

  She toyed briefly with the idea of just setting out on her own. Fuck him if he didn’t want her to go, she’d just do it anyways. Hell, if she left right now, she could be gone before he even noticed. She sighed, she knew how foolish that would seem. Too many things could go wrong while she was out there by herself and Todd would probably kill her when she got back. Or at least find her reanimated corpse and kill that.

  The coffee maker stopped perking and she hit the button to cease the annoying beeps the infernal machine was issuing. She poured herself a cup, reaching up with her right hand to get the cream and sugar while trying to cool it off enough to drink. The coffee was like her temper; they were both hot and ready to go.

  Despite the fact that she had dictated how her kitchen would be laid out, she was not the one who had stocked it. This morning her dumbass husband had the sugar out and waiting for her; finding where he had stashed it was proving to be quite the adventure.

  She took the first sip; the coffee acting like a suppressant rather than a stimulant and her nerves began to settle, her body to relax. She knew that Todd was right. It was unwise for the two of them to go pick up her family; things were dangerous enough already and the kids couldn’t be left alone. It was the fact that he was treating her like one of their children, dictating to her what she was going to do, not giving her a chance to offer a rebuttal, that was pissing her off. He always had to have the last word and it made her temper flare to be pushed into a corner with no other choice but to give in.

  As she sipped her coffee, a noise from the other room startled her out of her reverie. Setting the cup down, she walked quietly down the hallway towards the kids’ bedrooms. It was too familiar, an act that she had been performing since their oldest began sleeping in her own room and began suffering from the occasional nightmares.

  She paused outside of Michelle’s closed bedroom door and thought she heard a sob. Impulse told her to throw it open and make sure her daughter was okay, but she forced herself to knock softly and turn the knob.

  Sitting in the middle of the bed, still in her nightclothes, her oldest daughter sat with her knees drawn up, hugging them to her chest like they were a lifeline. Even from a distance, she could see the dark circles under her daughter’s eyes; her face paler than usual and wet with tears. Her head lay sideways on her knees and even though she was trying to be quiet, the occasional hitch of the chest gave voice to her inner sorrow.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, stepping inside the room and shutting the door behind her.

  “Oh Mom,” Michelle hiccupped, vaulting herself off the bed and into her mother’s arms. “They won’t leave me alone. I try to close my eyes, to ignore them, but their hovering and insistent need for attention is driving me insane. I think I’m going crazy.”

  “Who won’t leave you alone sweetheart?” she coaxed, sitting them both down on the bed and rocking her daughter like an infant. She knew fro
m recent experience that she was anything but, however the motherly instinct she had overrode her common sense. The protectiveness in her wanted to shield her daughter from the world, to protect her with her own body if needed, in order to prevent any harm from befalling her.

  “All my friends,” Michelle sobbed anew, tears streaking down her face as she cried. “Alexis, Sophia, Linda, Jackie, Brittney, Paul! I was there when Paul died, so I know what this means. They’re all dead! I know it! Daddy says that Linda and Jackie are okay, that they probably just broke their phones, but there they are, just hovering around my bed staring at me. Do you know how hard it is to sleep with dead people watching over you?” she thundered, her eyes wide. They searched her face for understanding and she didn’t know how to respond.

  She continued rocking her, knowing that she was upset enough that she would need to cry herself out before she calmed down. Inside though, she was terrified. Was this some dark imagining torturing her daughter or was it possible she was actually seeing ghosts? She had never encountered anything like this in her life and she knew instinctively that her daughter was probably right, that her friends were dead.

  She didn’t want to upset her further, but there was little point in trying to spare her feelings when the world had become such a harsh place overnight. She always had a hard time lying to her children, always preferring the blunt honest truth than trying to sugar-coat things. Let her husband gloss things over; she knew the kids understood she would always tell them exactly how it was.

  “I believe you, sweetheart,” she said in her most soothing voice, while she stroked her daughter’s hair. “I’m sorry that this is happening to you and I wish I knew what it meant; how to spare you from it. I wish that none of this ever happened, that somehow, we could have prevented it so no one would be out there dying. You know that we couldn’t have saved everyone, right?”

  Her daughter gulped and nodded, struggling to control her sobs. “I know, Mom,” she responded softly, her voice coming out small and sad. “I’m happy that we are all okay, that our family is mostly safe, but my heart hurts for all those we have lost, and will lose.”

  Her eyes closed briefly, struggling to hold back tears as she continued, “we have to be strong to survive this, baby,” she choked out. “As long as we’re here, we’re safe. It will hurt so much that you won’t be able to breathe sometimes, but I promise it will get better. Keep your friends safe in your heart, honey, and they will never die.”

  Her daughter nodded against her chest and they sat there for a moment, letting the grief flow and shared in the comfort of each other’s presence. She had just gotten into a severe argument with her husband and he was preparing to go out into the chaos that the world had become in order to save her mother and sister. Maybe she should make up with him before he left; she didn’t want their last words to be that of anger if something happened out there.

  “Mom?” her daughter asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Yes Hon,” she smiled, kissing the top of her daughter’s head.

  “Paul says that if you stop Nick from going with Daddy, that he’ll die out there,” she spoke in a horrified gasp and Monica’s heart stopped.

  Chapter 17

  Eight

  Robert

  Safford, AZ

  He was drifting in and out of consciousness when someone kicked him in the stomach. Fully awake he cringed and the built-up bile in his throat spewed its contents on the cold concrete in front of him. He managed to say “Ow!” but his throat was raw and he didn’t even think it had been audible; he certainly didn’t hear it over the thundering in his ear drums.

  “Okay number eight, it’s your turn,” a voice told him and he felt someone messing with the shackles that bound his feet. There were other footfalls approaching and soon hands were lifting him up. His frozen feet were too numb from the circulation being stifled from the restraints and they barely held his weight when he tried to stand on his own. His chest was irritated, whatever they had given him had dulled the pain, but it threatened to let loose its fury at the slightest sign of provocation.

  “What’s going on?” he groaned and a hand darted out of the shadows to strike him in response.

  “You talk when you’re told to talk, otherwise keep that fucking mouth of yours shut,” the voice commanded.

  Summoning what little strength he had, he straightened himself up, pulled back his lips and showed his teeth as he firmly said, “fuck you, asshole.”

  Instead of getting slapped again, as he had anticipated, the three people surrounding him broke into laughter. “The balls on this one,” one snickered, slapping him hard on the shoulder. He winced but he did everything he could not to fall from it; he would not give them the pleasure. “Be a shame when they get eaten off.”

  “He’s got some fight in him at least, unlike that last one,” the original voice countered. “Without her knives, that bitch was pretty much useless. At least I got a taste of her before the Zoms did,” the male voice said, then broke out in cackles. It sent shivers down his spine and his mind began to reel when considering the man’s words. He had to be talking about Nina, what the hell had they done with her? Had they fed her to the walkers? If they had, he would make them pay for it, dearly.

  A shadow blocked out the light streaming through a doorway and he heard a man ask what was taking them so long. “We’re coming, we’re coming,” a male on his left said, and he was pushed from behind, pitching him forward.

  He was barely able to keep vertical and another hand reached out and grasped his arm—painfully. He was being lead through the doorway and into the unknown world beyond; his eyes closing as the painful light seared his eyes. He could hear cheering and the stomping of feet ahead and his body ached from the abuse it had been given as he was drug towards those clamoring screams. He was barefoot, naked but for his ragged boxers, and he was sure that the sticky parts he felt all over his body was dried blood. He was in no shape to fight and he had a sinking feeling that he was marching towards his death. He straightened out his shoulders and flexed his hands; he would not go down without a fight.

  “Wouldn’t do that Ese,” a Hispanic male warned from his left; sensing his motives. He was wearing dark blue clothing with a doo rag on his head covering his black oily hair. The man on his right was also wearing a similar getup, but was a foot taller and wider at the shoulders. The guy leading their group, the one that had kicked him, looked like a white hick in a flannel and John Deere hat to boot.

  What the hell was going on? This made no fucking sense.

  He looked around and tried to get his bearings and realized that he was being drug to a small stadium in some hick version of a fairgrounds. The bleachers ahead could be distinguished by the roar of the crowd and the stomping of the feet in response to whatever show they were putting on. The realization dawned on him that he might be the next act and began readying his soul for what was to come.

  As they rounded the corner he found himself in that alleyway between bleachers and had a full view of the stadium beyond. The ground was mostly dirt with mounds of grass sporadically growing here and there. Two chain link fences surrounded a large rectangular arena that had probably been used for concerts put on by some local band. The closer fence was about chest high and looked like it had been there for a while, but the taller one a few steps further looked freshly erected. In the middle of the arena were five or so walkers chasing a wounded white teenager who had just stumbled over one of those grass patches and fallen to the ground. The crowd was on their feet and their cheers thundered to the heavens as the walkers fell on their prey and tore the little boy apart.

  He had done and seen a lot of things since this all had begun, but even he wouldn’t have gone this far. He couldn’t believe that these people were actually cheering, how could they stomach it? When he had passed through here the day before it seemed like a humble peaceful town, how had they become savages overnight? He looked along the sides of the fence as far as he was able an
d saw men in blue shirts holding automatic weapons; they were turned facing the crowd and not the arena beyond.

  They were crowd control.

  He suddenly began to understand that maybe not all of the spectators were there willingly and he cringed as the grip was tightened on his arm; it was almost time to go. Something wet impacted his head and he felt a warm blob start sliding down the back.

  “You’re next Nigger,” came a trailer trash voice from above and the anger in him swelled. He didn’t look up, because if he did, he’d try to bust loose of his captors and rip the guy’s throat out.

  A gunshot thundered near his ear and he ducked, sure that he had just been shot. The crowd grew quiet as their attention was drawn their way. A body thumped to the ground beside him and he looked down on a fat white boy in a cut off flannel shirt and blue jeans. There was a piece of straw that had fallen out of the man’s mouth that began to mix with the blood flowing from the destroyed face. He turned towards the man that had done the shooting, the hick that had kicked him in the gut was just lowering his side arm and bore a grim smile on his face.

  “There’s no call for language like that,” the man said with a twinkle in his eye.

  He understood that look, he had it himself. The guy didn’t care what the other one said, he just needed the excuse to kill and that hick asshole had given him one. The two of them were kindred spirits, and he would have to keep that in mind when the time came to kill him as well.

  Speakers blared as feedback quieted the stadium.

  “Well now boys and girls, that one sure was exciting, wasn’t it? Whoa boy, that kid could run. Not that it did him any good though, he’s Zomfood now. But don’t you worry, our main event is just now arriving and I tell you, it’s going to be a good one. Hailing from Tucson, Arizona, this next guy is the one responsible for all those dead zombies out on the highway at the Circle K. He singlehandedly killed over fifty walkers with just a baseball bat. It was so freakin’ awesome that our host and leader, Mayor Renny, has gone to extraordinary lengths to bring back in here to see if he can do it again. Let’s all put our hands together and welcome to our new arena, Number Eight!”