Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory
Page 1
A PERMUTED PRESS book
Published at Smashwords
ISBN (Trade Paperback): 978-1-61868-294-9
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-295-6
Life Among the Dead 3 copyright © 2014
by Daniel Cotton
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Dean Samed, Conzpiracy Digital
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.
Table of Contents
Section VIII. Sudden Death
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Section IX. Something Far Worse
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Section X. Brass
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Section XI. Point of No Return
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
In Loving Memory
To the Reader:
About the Author
Section VIII. Sudden Death
1
“So, what are we in for?”
“I told you: house full of zombies, strictly Romero rules, stupid and slow. Why? Are you nervous?”
“A bit.” Lloyd leans forward between the front seats of the van. “No one’s ever made it out of there alive.”
“Then we’ll be the first,” the driver says. “As long as we all keep a level head and work as a team, at least one of us will survive.”
“I still don’t get why we’re doing this,” the newest member says from the passenger seat. “Halloween was last month. Can’t we just go to a club?”
“No, Vida, we can’t,” Brandon says in frustration while trying to keep his tone in check. “I fought like hell to get these passes. We’re damn lucky the guy that runs the Zombie House decided to extend its season. He’s making a killing with this whole zombie craze. I know I was getting sick of the same old haunted house.” Brandon tries to enjoy the anticipation, the thrill of knowing soon they will be there, but this is a difficult task since the person behind him is bumping his seat, turning his eagerness into aggravation. “Vicky, stop hitting my seat!”
“Sorry,” the drummer for the Dogs of War apologizes for her irritating percussion, which isn’t a product of nerves but stems from her addiction to diet pills. “I wish we could have invited…”
“Don’t you dare!” Brandon glares at her in the rearview, like a parent warning an obstinate child. “Don’t you dare say his name in my van! We’ve talked about this. Dustin Barnes is a douchebag and the band is better off without him. I can’t wait for Ray to get back from vacation so I can have him officially banned from the store.”
Vicky’s legs are bouncing now, picking up the rhythm her hands aren’t allowed to make. “Can’t we wait until after the Fallen gig to tell him?”
“No!”
“But it’ll break his little heart.”
“I don’t give two shits about his little heart,” Brandon says. “He’s poison for the band! The only reason he’s been around this long is because we needed a guitarist and a car. Now we have Vida and my new van. You guys weren’t even supposed to tell him about Fallen! It’s not my fault he dropped outta school when he heard about the gig, the dumbass.”
Vida is replacing this guy she’s never met and she feels really bad about it. Her band mates have described him several times, and told her that she must have passed him in the halls at school before he dropped out. She just doesn’t recall seeing anyone that matches the description: sculpted, black ‘pretty-boy’ hair, trying-too-hard knock-off rocker clothing.
The four fall into silence as they cross the Washington Bridge heading north. Vicky ceases her constant drumming to lay her palm against the window for the entire journey over the expansion. A superstitious habit she and the other girls adopted when riding the bus. It’s supposed to bring good luck for the rest of the day. Girls from Vida’s hometown had a similar ritual for making wishes, and she notices this is the only time Vicky is perfectly still until they reach the end of the bridge.
The young group has just turned left onto the road that will take them to the Zombie House when blue and red lights bathe the interior of the van.
“This is the third cop car tonight!” Brandon indicates his intent to pull over as he slows. “Vicky, are you holding?”
“Not anymore,” she assures him. “I swear.”
Brandon moves to kill the engine and crank down his window, but the police cruiser just blows past them. The false alarm has the band breathing a sigh of relief. They follow the diminishing strobe until it pulls off the road.
Brandon inches past the driveway the squad car has pulled into, to the dismay of those with him. It has joined two others at a large white house that serves as the county’s funeral home. It’s an odd scene. All the lights in the place are on from the basement to the attic.
“God, Brandon, what’re you doing?” Vicky says. “This place gives me the creeps!”
“Really, man.” Lloyd shivers and rubs his arms. “Speed up.”
“Hold on.” Brandon is in awe of the sight. Officers get out of their cars and proceed to the entrance.
“What’s so creepy about this place?” Vida asks, thinking there has to be more to their reaction than just the nature of the business conducted within. The three story Victorian looks rather nice and inviting.
“This is his place,” Vicky whispers, as if she’s afraid to incur the wrath of whoever he is.
“Who?” Vida is relatively new to the area, so she is unaware.
“Waterloo’s own living urban legend,” Brandon brings Vida up to speed, along with the van. “Mortie the mortician. Rumor has it he has sex with his clients.”
“Gross,” Vida says, before Lloyd startles her by springing up from the backseat.
“It’s not a rumor. It’s true!” the bassist says. “My lab partner, Jake’s best friend, had an aunt who was treated by him. He told me that she smelled weird at the funeral. You
know, like she was full of Mortie’s…”
“Your lab partner is a fucking moron!” Brandon says. “Of course she smelled weird. She was fucking dead. It’s just a rumor that got out of hand, like the one about the Baily brothers and their sheep.”
“Actually…”
“If you’re about to tell me that you know someone who knows someone else that can confirm it, I’m dropping you off at Mortie’s.”
“Never mind.” Lloyd hangs his head.
Being so close to the Zombie House excites Brandon, so he picks up the beat Vicky is putting down on her legs, tapping his fingers on the wheel. He’s been a zombie fan for as long as he can remember. This opportunity is what he has been dreaming about for years. The moment he learned they were changing the old haunt into a survival horror scenario he knew he had to get tickets.
It pains the vocalist to slow down, but there are cars parked along both side of the road, giving him no choice. He doesn’t want to risk hitting one of the vehicles or a person stepping into the street, thus delaying his adventure. It’s all spill over from the parking lot. People who decided to pay a higher price at the door, rather than pay for passes like Brandon had. The forethought includes parking privileges.
A man waves them into the lot with a glowing green baton after seeing the laminated badge Brandon proudly holds out. The panel van is parked in an available spot. Farther away from the house than Brandon likes, but it’ll have to do.
He takes in the old haunt. It looks the same as it does every year, with the exception of new stockade fencing that was strategically erected to block the view of the dwelling. Brandon suspects it is meant to shroud the points of entry used by the dead from the public.
Even this late in the year, so far from Halloween, there is a line of folks waiting to get in while watching the complimentary horror flick projected on a sheet hanging from an oak tree. The horror classic flutters in the breeze. The image of a man’s face splattering with gore as he lops off his own hand with a chainsaw is distorted by the waves in the fabric.
The Dogs of War exit their ride and are stunned by the chilly air and the sounds of the roaring chainsaw.
Lloyd blows into his hands. “They say we’re in for a cold snap.”
“Who says that?” Brandon speaks up. “Your lab partner’s best friend?”
“Um, yeah, actually…”
“Just think, guys, in fifteen minutes we’ll be able to jump in front of all these chowderheads and enter.” Brandon can barely contain himself. Purchasing a pass in advance allowed them to choose their start time, and grants them head of the line privileges. The line in question is composed of the usual horror aficionados, but this year a lot of them are dressed up. Some wear rags and grotesque makeup, others decided to come as their favorite zombie-fighting heroes, and there are some that chose a more simplified costume, the bloody bandages of zombies yet to be.
The house rivals the funeral home they had driven past in size, though the sprawling graveyard that starts at Mortie’s extends to the backyard of the Zombie House. All the conventional clichés have been removed from the rear of the property and replaced with tombstones that seem to blend in with the real ones in the cemetery. Only a short stone wall breaks the illusion. Brandon hopes the layout inside hasn’t been altered too much. He’s done the old haunt enough times he can find his way around blindfolded.
Shivering from the cold, Vida asks, “So we go in and get attacked by zombies, then what?”
“We try to survive,” Brandon tells her. “See that old truck? The keys are somewhere in the house. Whoever finds them and gets into the truck wins!”
“$500 dollars,” Lloyd says. “That’s each. Right, Brandon?”
“Yup, anyone in the truck when the ignition turns over wins. If one of us dies in there, we’ll still split the winnings out equally. But that’s the real prize.” Brandon points above the concession area.
At the center of the lot behind a counter made of folding tables, above all the over-priced snacks and drinks, is a piece of plywood that wobbles in the breeze. Upon this shabbily constructed wall are t-shirts. One proudly hangs at the top, announcing: I ZURVIVED THE ZOMBIE HOUSE.
The shirt’s intentionally misspelled proclamation has been silkscreened above a black and white image of the house, minus the wooden barrier. From a graveyard beyond, zombies stand in awkward poses. Below it is a shirt those who fail to win must settle for. Pre-stained with bloody handprints, it reports the person donning it got ‘Beefed’ at the Zombie House.
“What’s ‘beefed?’” Vida asks.
“Killed. Eaten. Mauled. Mutilated--”
“Thanks, Lloyd!” Her stomach turns from apprehension.
“Don’t worry, Vida.” With his thin blue hoodie, Brandon envelopes his girlfriend from behind to warm her up and ease her nerves. “Stick with me and you’ll make it out alive.”
“Promise?” She snuggles her back against his body. She isn’t dressed to be out in the cold, but she had expected to be alone with her boyfriend on a date. Not that she doesn’t love her band mates. It just would have been nice to have her man to herself.
“Cross my heart,” he swears. “Even if it means sacrificing these two.”
“Hey!” Vicky says.
“Just kidding,” Brandon says, but the manic drummer still shoots him a scornful look.
Upon meeting Vicky for the first time, Vida noticed a peculiarity to her face that she couldn’t put her finger on. The girl has a unique look, an ‘endearing oddness’ that she hasn’t been able to discern until this very moment. It’s her eyes, Vida thinks to herself as she regards her friend’s dark eyes that are cute and small like a mouse. She’s the only member of the quartet that doesn’t seem affected by the cold. Even Lloyd is rubbing his well-developed arms against the chill. Vicky practically vibrates, but it’s more as if standing still is painful for her.
With plenty of time to spare, they casually stroll to the head of the line. Those who have been waiting for hours scowl at them since their move to the front can only mean an even longer wait.
“We’re here for the 1 AM,” Brandon tells the greeter.
“You’re on deck,” the ticket taker says without passion. She allows them to pass by, parting a weathered cable end from a post. The haunt’s equivalent to a velvet rope. “There’s a group finishing up, but they may go into overtime.”
“This can go into overtime?” Vida asks, not really looking forward to the allotted time let alone the idea of being in there longer.
The woman groans. “Tickets are good for half hour increments. If anyone survives beyond that they have another half hour to find the keys and get out. It’s rare, but it…” She looks away, distracted by a voice in her earpiece. “Beefed? All right.”
She performs a quick count of the people in the on-deck area, the four new arrivals and three others that must have also purchased passes in advance, then addresses the fans in the pay-at-the-door line, “All right, screwheads, listen up! I can take three more!”
A man and wife in their late thirties, and way out of their element, step forward with their teenaged son. Mom and Dad are nervous, but junior is grinning from ear to ear as they pay for their admittance and are allowed past the rope.
Ten wait in the wings: the Dogs of War, the newly admitted family, a pair of nearly identical blonde ladies, and one serious looking young man standing off to the side alone.
Brandon plans to talk to everyone he can about their upcoming experience inside, and his attention is first drawn to the loner who is wearing one of the ‘Beefed’ shirts. He’s been here before, he thinks as he removes his arms from around Vida to approach his peer, muttering that he’ll be right back.
“Hey.” He extends a hand to his fellow competitor. “I’m Brandon.”
The young man eyes him suspiciously but accepts the greeting. “Josh.”
“You’ve been through the house before, I see.” Brandon points to the young man’s shirt, hoping to keep him off-guar
d with the unexpected pleasantry.
“Yeah.” Josh takes back his hand.
“Any pointers?”
“Don’t die.”
“C’mon, man. We’re in this together. My band and I are about to enter the valley of the blind here, Cyclops. Let’s be friends.”
Josh looks away. A slight shake of his head tells Brandon he won’t be easily cracked. He needs to try a new tactic. “We have a deal in my group. Split all winnings even if some don’t make it out--”
“I want the shirt,” Josh says.
“You stand more of a chance getting it with us, right? I’ve talked to dozens of people who have left here with the one you have on.”
“I’m listening.”
Vida watches her boyfriend talk secretly in the corner with another guy. He had left her and taken his warmth with him, leaving her colder than before. She finds it baffling that he can be so sweet to her one moment and completely oblivious and insensitive the next. It was his sensitive side that first attracted her to him, when they had met at Ray’s Records after she had first moved to Waterloo in the spring. She still remembers the soulful, powerful lyrics he sang when he should have been working. Now she wonders if he wants that t-shirt more than her.
The greeter that let them in enters the cordoned area. “All eyes here!” I’m going to introduce you to your weapons.”
She holds a paintball gun over her head. “Some of you may have used one of these before. Others probably not. It’s fairly simple…”
“Should we get Brandon for this?” Vida asks Lloyd while the woman recites her practiced tutorial without emotion.
“Naw, he’s used one before.”
“Everyone starts off with twenty shots. Hopefully you can find one of the ammo bonuses hidden throughout the house. Head on through the front door. There are clipboards with waivers that you need to sign or you can’t play. Your time begins when the hero arrives and starts the story. Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”