Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory

by Cotton, Daniel

  The morning is surprisingly warm compared to last night. Though it looks to be a beautiful day, he grumbles like a bear emerging prematurely from hibernation.

  “Coffee’s almost ready, Marko,” one of his two cohorts says from the freshly stoked campfire.

  “Hurry it up!” he snaps from the collapsible chair he has dropped himself into.

  Marko’s head is throbbing from a severe hangover. He lights a cigarette and coughs several times. Each one worsens his headache with stabbing pain. He finally hacks a thick gob of mucus from his lungs that he spits off to the side while waiting for the heavy set camper to bring him his caffeine fix. As per his usual routine, he cracks open a tall can of beer, needing ‘the hair of the dog’ to get through what he has brought on himself. The first cold sip is glorious as it moistens his dry, sticky palate.

  Marko and his friends, a pair of dimwitted cousins that he often suspects have a much closer blood tie, have been camping and hunting in these woods just off of the highway for almost a week. Technically, according to the gaming laws, they are poaching. Though it is deer season and they do have a couple of tags for their quarry, they only intend on using said tags if a game warden wanders too close. Whenever possible, they slaughter their kills in the field with a chainsaw lubricated with vegetable oil rather than the standard inedible variety. The trio simply slices off what meat they want, and the heads, leaving the rest of the carcasses to rot in the woods.

  They haven’t had much luck this time out. Not a single deer. They’ve seen several, but with Biff and Jessie always carrying on the way they do the Whitetail prance off before they can take their shots. Marko doesn’t mind, which is unusual for him. Any other excursion they’ve been on he’s berated the pair for scaring off the deer. This time he’s just happy to get away because a recent break up with his on-again, off-again girlfriend has him depressed.

  He’s always considered it a blessing to be rid of girls in the past. It gave him a chance to find something better. But not Carla. She’s special. He wouldn’t call it love because he isn’t even sure if he’s capable of the emotion. A girl like Carla is more of a trophy. The most gorgeous girl he’s ever set eyes on let alone been with. He’d choose her over any starlet from television or movies, including pornographic. He’d choose her over any of the other girls at the Flagpole. That’s no longer an option due to the restraining order that makes it abundantly clear he mustn’t go anywhere near her.

  The twenty-four ounce can of beer is drained by the time Biff brings him a steel mug of coffee. He’s feeling better already, partly due to the quiet. That leads him to notice the missing third of their party. “Where’s the other moron?”

  “Out taking a shit,” Biff says. His orange hunting vest seems less blinding to Marko now that he has his coffee and his beer and first smoke of the day.

  “Well, he needs to hurry up!” Marko says loud enough for the man squatting somewhere in the woods to hear and pinch it off quick. “We gotta hit a town and get more brews. We’re fresh out.”

  Biff doesn’t say a word. He knows better. He just begins to break camp as Marko hinted at. An approving nod from Marko makes him beam with pride.

  He’s learning, Marko thinks as he sips his coffee. After going to town to fill their cooler with beer and ice, they’ll settle in a new spot. One not sullied by their human stench. He’s starting to get his bloodlust back. A sign he’s moving on. He desperately wants to kill something beautiful.

  Jessie emerges from the woods, followed by the pungent smell of his business, just as Biff is packing up. The tents have been taken down and folded up and the fire has been doused.

  He asks, “We leaving?”

  Marko can only shake his head with dismay at the dullard who scratches his head, seemingly confused.

  Jessie risks asking, “Then, why are we breaking camp?”

  “I wasn’t shaking my head ‘no’, I was…” Marko gives up. Explaining things to these two can be exasperating. It’s like they fucking share a brain. Marko groans. Just when one shows promise, the other gets stupider.

  Jessie follows Biff’s example and loads the backs of their pickup trucks. “We heading home?”

  “No.” Marko doesn’t want to go back to their depressing small town just yet. “You guys are going to follow me to Worchester. We’re gonna grab some shit then set up camp around there.”

  “Where’s that?” Biff asks. “I ain’t never been there.”

  “That’s why you’re gonna follow me,” Marko says. “It’s a big town near Poland Creek.”

  The cousins dutifully follow Marko’s large black truck in their much smaller red pickup. They should know better than to question their leader about the region. He knows every road and town in these parts like the back of his hand.

  2

  The soldier’s tells Vida he is Private First Class Larsen, but she can call him Brad. She has been trying to gain an understanding of the phenomenon, but he seems bent on keeping the conversation away from the current events, the tragedy on the bridge, and what’s in store for them once they get to Eagle Rock. When she asked how it’s possible for the dead to rise, he told her the truth: he hasn’t a clue.

  Her persistent questions caused him to snap at her, but he apologized, blaming it on the stress of the day. He seems nice, and Vida feels a lot safer being escorted by an armed soldier. Now silence fills the open space of the jeep and is swept out by the rushing air. He slows the vehicle whenever they do talk, so hearing one another isn’t so much of a chore.

  “So tell me the story of your life,” he says, wearing a serene smile, “minus the recent chapters.”

  “My name is Vida Calavera--”

  “That’s pretty. What is that?”

  “Mexican. My great grandparents came from there. I’m a senior at Waterloo High… until last night. My parents moved us from San Diego last spring.”

  “I’ve never been to California. I hear it’s nice.”

  “Yeah, I love it there.” She sighs. “I don’t think I like the cold much.”

  “It actually gets worse.” He laughs. “Wait until the snow starts falling. They say we’re in for one hell of a winter.”

  Vida begrudgingly moved from the southwest and has never seen snow before aside from movies and on television. She’s certain that she’ll grow tired of it before winter is over. She looks out at the fields they pass, quiet once more. Thoughts of her old life and her family have dug up fresh sorrow. She is thankfully too exhausted to cry, having been awake for more than twenty-four hours.

  “Do you have any hobbies?” he asks.

  “Music. I play guitar. My grandmother taught me. I was in a band.”

  “What kind of music?”

  “Rock. My band was supposed to play some place up north called the Flagpole…”

  “The strip club in Fallen?”

  “Yup. It would have been the Dogs of War’s first paying gig. My first gig ever with the band actually. The guy that owns the club said something about wanting to ‘class it up’ with some live music.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” Larsen says. “The place is a real pit. The girls are cute for the most part--or so I’ve been told.”

  She gives a small chuckle at his joke before closing her eyes. Vida is lulled to sleep by the quick breeze overhead that caresses her scalp as it blows through her honey-brown hair. The gentle drone of the engine and the secure feeling she gets from her savior also urge her into slumber.

  3

  “What is it? Some sort of holiday?” Marko says as he and his friends exit their respective rides.

  The town of Worchester is a large community with a typically slow pace, but today it is positively dead. They hadn’t seen any traffic on the way in either. The stillness reminds Marko of a movie. One where the entire population of the planet is wiped out save for a handful of people.

  From the parking lot of one of the few gas stations, they can see no movement inside. A sign indicates the place is still closed despite
the hours of operation posted on the window. Jessie knocks on the glass and cups his hands to take a peek. “Someone’s in there.”

  “Knock louder,” Marko says as he approaches a police car across the street. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’ll be this guy.

  The squad car is stopped at an intersection, though the light is green.

  “Excuse me, officer,” he politely greets with a wave.

  The car’s engine isn’t running, and Marko can’t see clearly inside the window due to the glare of the sun. He can only make out the officer’s blue uniform as the cop turns within his seat belt. Marko wonders if the cop somehow got locked in after the engine died.

  “Oh, are you trapped in there, little piggy?”

  The policeman lunges at the glass. His hands grope and claw as he presses his face against the pane. The cop’s face is twisted and distorted and his movements make his skin swirl and his nose turn up like a pig’s.

  The sight takes Marko by surprise, having never seen a policeman act so immature. Saliva smears over the window from the cop’s protruding tongue.

  “Very nice.” Marko turns away from the childish antics only to see his friends doing the very same thing at the shop window. Shaking his head, he joins them at the door. “What are you assholes doing?”

  “She started it.” Biff points at a woman on the other side of the glass while Jessie keeps up his retaliatory face making. The woman inside the store is right up against the pane. Her and Jessie’s actions gives the illusion they’re kissing through the thin sheet of glass..

  “I think she likes me,” Jessie says. Before he can return to his new girlfriend, Marko yanks him away.

  “Get offa there!” Marko scolds, not knowing if whatever is going on is contagious. “This town is sick with the stupids and yer dumb enough already.”

  “They look all right.” Jessie points his meaty finger to draw Marko’s attention down the block. From the streets, handfuls of people are slowly making their way towards them.

  Marko can’t help but be unnerved by the sudden appearance of life in the sleepy town, and finds it odd that all these citizens are converging on their location at the same time.

  He looks into the dark store at the woman near the glass. She is in her mid-thirties, wearing a simple sleeveless dress, and under one of her thin shoulder straps is a thick bandage. It is tinged red and held to her skin by a liberal application of silk tape. Marko glances back across the street at the cop that is still playing his childish game against his window. Processing the information, and adding in the amassing horde of townies, leads him to only one impossible solution. “Get in the truck!”

  “Which one?” Jessie asks as he and Biff follow faithfully on Marko’s heels.

  “Mine. It’s bigger.”

  Biff and Jessie run to the passenger side, but they have trouble lifting their heavy legs high enough to step into Marko’s full ton pickup. However they manage to squeeze into the cab. The two slower witted men just sit and watch as the townsfolk enter the parking lot.

  Dozens of blank faced people surround the black truck, with more on the way. Most of them are injured, Marko notes. All of them share the same interest in him and his partners.

  “Why are we hiding?” Jessie asks.

  “Precaution.” Marko’s voice is a paranoid whisper.

  Hands and faces slap against the windows, and the people shove one another aside for a turn at the glass.

  “Turn the radio on, Biff.”

  The man in the middle jabs a fat finger at the radio between his knees, instigating a blare of music.

  “Not the Skynard!” Marko yelps. “Turn the news on!”

  The radio is switched out of CD mode and automatically tunes itself to the clearest station. A droning voice fills the cab, “…advised to remain indoors and avoid any contact with the recently deceased and any who may have been bitten by the walking dead. If confronted, and you are left with no alternative, the zombies, as they are official being called, can be dispatched by severe trauma to the brain using a firearm or a blunt instrument. This is not a hoax. The dead are reanimating, and you are still advised to remain indoors.”

  The recorded warning repeats over and over. Marko listens to it several times as it confirms his suspicion. The impossible is happening. He thinks of all the films he has seen in the past and how he had often wondered what he’d do if this ever occurred, and how awesome it would be.

  Marko fights against Biff’s girth to reach behind the seat for a weapon. He forgoes the rifles resting on the rack. They are just for show, should a game warden come nosing around their site, since technically it is muzzleloader season. The ‘real’ guns are hidden. Now he wields a Russian style AK-47, already loaded and ready to go. Using the controls on his door, he lowers the passenger window.

  “Hey!” Jessie says, pushing away from the breach as far as he can, which isn’t very far at all.

  “Shut up,” Marko says. His truck is so high the dead have a hard time grabbing at them.

  Marko fires into the faces of the dead as he allows his truck to crawl backwards. Every round thrills him by creating a quick flash of red a split second before the heads of the zombies snap back. Biff flinches with each shot and covers his ears. Hot casings eject and Marko knows they must burn the large man’s skin.

  “Hold my AK,” Marko orders, then raises the passenger window and shifts into drive.

  The black truck pushes the dead to the ground, and the men inside bounce as the tires run over bodies. They make it through the crowd only to turn around and plow through the zombies again. Marko is delighted over the maniacal possibilities of this situation.

  Jessie and Biff cringe as bones crush under the tires. Ignoring their squeamishness, Marko makes pass after pass, wanting to eliminate the horde in order to commence with all of the wonderful ideas he has. The zombies in the lot are reduced to quivering mounds of flesh within sacks of cloth in no time. Marko turns off his engine and addresses his shocked companions, “Grab your guns, boys.”

  The cousins hesitate for a second, but do as they are told once Marko steps out of the truck. He doesn’t wait, but quickly grabs more ammo from a red tool box behind his seat and heads for the lady in the window. He puts a round into her head then smashes the rest of the glass away with the butt of his gun.

  Jessie and Biff are about to follow suit, taking aim on the stragglers that still head their way from deeper parts of the town, but both are too afraid to pull the trigger, which allows the dead to draw even closer.

  “Just do it!” Marko says.

  The corpses are now within yards his partners, who tremble so much they can barely aim their shotguns. The cousins fearfully back away, leaving Marko to take the zombies out.

  “See?” he says. “They’re already dead, coming to eat us.”

  “But…” Jessie stammers. He and Biff don’t look convinced.

  “See the cop?” Marko points to the man in the squad car that thrashes in his seat, wanting to get out. The AK-47 releases one round into his head. “Now you don’t.”

  The window explodes as the living dead lawman falls toward the passenger side. His safety belt leaves him suspended above the seat.

  “The world is overrun with zombies,” Marko explains. “We have the power to stop them. We know how to shoot, how to survive. This is just like Red Dawn!”

  “Is that the one that happens in a mall?” Biff asks.

  “No, not Dawn of the Dead,” Marko snaps. “But that’s not a bad example.”

  His needs to get his friends into the spirit, convince them that they can be heroes and do the world a great service. But his true motivation is greed. Why be a hero when I can be a god? Marko thinks to himself. Go anywhere. Do anything. No laws. No rules. Nothing to stop me.

  4

  “Vida, it’s time to wake up,” a voice gently says from miles away. A hand shakes her shoulder slightly, and then moves down to her bicep for a second attempt at rousing her. The unfamiliar hand
moves once more, becoming too familiar with her chest.

  “What the fuck?” She wakes with a start and gives Brad a shocked, accusatory look.

  He withdraws his hand, blushing with embarrassment as he quickly explains himself, “I’m so sorry! I was looking around the area while trying to wake you. I wasn’t paying attention to my hand.”

  She straightens in her seat, wrapping her thin sweatshirt around herself tightly like a robe. Their jeep is parked within a town under a darkening sky. Broken and smeared bodies lie in the streets.

  “Holy shit,” she says softly with a hand to her mouth. The sight makes her nauseated, even as the waning light robs it of its full gory effect.

  “Looks like whoever did this is long gone,” Brad says, scanning the area once more for possible threats.

  “Are we close?” Vida asks.

  “Almost. We’re in Worchester. I just fueled up and wanted to know if you were hungry.” A hitch of his thumb indicates a small market. The glass in the front door is broken.

  Vida notices Brad gassed up and moved the jeep closer to the store while she slept through it all. “Yeah, I can eat,” she tells him.

  “You’ll have to cover me.”

  “Cover you with what?”

  “This.” He pats the large machine gun bolted to the back of the jeep. Her eyes go wide at the sight of the menacing weapon. “Don’t worry. It’s easy. She’s ready to rock. Just point and click.”

  “Ok,” she says, not sounding too sure of herself, but she takes her place behind the imposing firearm.

  “You look good up there,” he says, attempting to instill some confidence in her. He takes a second to admire the contrast.

  Vida familiarizes herself with the pivoting machine gun, looking down the length of it to line up its sights. Her hand trembles as it closes around the grip and trigger. She’s never held anything like this before. The paintball guns at the Zombie House were harmless, but this is deadly. She nervously scans the area, moving the weapon from side to side in a sweeping motion. She never even fired her father’s gun, and the thought of actually pulling the trigger frightens her more than the things she would be shooting at.