Dead Pulse Rising: A Zombie Novel

by K. Michael Gibson

  “Miss Karen,” one of the boys in her care broke the silence.

  She turned around to meet his gaze and saw him pointing down the road. Karen followed the boy’s outstretched hand to a man stumbling in the roadway about a hundred yards away.

  “Shit,” Karen whispered under her breath. She hoped that it was just some old man out for a walk after the morning rain, but something gnawed at her gut telling her otherwise. It was the way he walked, she supposed, his strange jerky movements—almost as if he were being controlled by some unseen puppeteer. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to will the image away. Sadly, when she opened her eyes, the man remained, only he had shuffled a few feet closer. Another man came around the side of an old brick building across the road over by the next intersection. The man stepped off the curb into the street, tripped, and fell face first into the asphalt. “I want everyone to hang on,” Karen said as she revved the engine.

  The kids squirmed nervously in the back of the van, clutching on to one another. The children whimpered as the van thrust forward into the intersection.

  She moved the vehicle forward, cautiously at first, looking back and forth around the streets and buildings, scrutinizing possible escape routes should things go south. At the moment, the two infected that had stumbled into view were still far enough away that they didn’t pose much of a threat. The man in the middle of the street was slowly pulling himself onto his feet, focusing on the moving van. She gazed at him as she pulled past. His eyes—oh, Christ, his eyes—they were completely and utterly vacant. They were the eyes of the dead.

  Karen unconsciously sped up, keeping her eyes on the lanky grizzled man who reached out from the roadway, grasping at the air trying in vain to get her in his clutches. The van jolted, and the children screamed as she struck something in the roadway. She ground the van to a halt as she slammed on the brake pedal. Blood coated the windshield; spidery cracks formed on the glass where something had impacted.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed, not knowing if what she had hit had been normal or infected. With all the noise, figures inside of row homes and shops began to stream out into the streets, hundreds of them—as if they had been waiting for her to hit the center of town. Karen threw the van in reverse, but the infected were pouring out in droves from in front and behind. “Shit, Shit, Shit,” she hissed.

  Something slammed into the side of the van; one of the figures began pounding on the side window hard enough to cause it to shudder under his assault.

  The kids screamed in fear and panic.

  “Keep your heads down!” Karen shouted over the increasing noise as the men and women outside shrieked with rage and fury.

  The kids ducked down low, some of them even coming out of their seats and lying on the carpeted floor.

  Karen stepped on the gas pedal, moving slowly, trying her best to push the men and women aside as she plowed through them. Figures fell to the ground and sent the van bouncing up and down as if riding over speed humps. Karen gritted her teeth and held back tears as she moved. She had to get to safety; she had to get these kids out of here. Her mind at that moment drifted to her husband and her own children. Christ, among all the chaos she hadn’t even had time to think about her own kids. What kind of mother did that make her? She hoped that they were safe, that this disease, or whatever it was, had not spread that far and wide.

  She was always happy with the onset of summer, which was the time when she and her husband would drive the kids out to a small town in West Virginia to spend several weeks with Kyle’s grandparents and cousins. The kids loved it there; there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment out there in the holler; however, the kids were free to make their own fun. One problem with living this close to a city like Baltimore, the incessant crime in the area made a parent fearful to even let their children play out in one’s own yard, let alone run the neighborhood.

  In Tornado, however, everyone knew everyone else; and if your kid was doing something stupid, you could count on one of the neighbors to round them up and march them straight home, by the ear if necessary, as if they were one of their own. Karen herself loved the freedom it provided her as well. She spent so much time with children working with them during the day and dealing with them all night long. Sometimes it seemed as if she never got a break, never had a day off, so she relished in the time they spent away. She missed them, of course, but as she would tell them, “The farther away you are, the more I miss you.” She would grin and smack them on the behind.

  he passenger-side window shattered as several hands thrust inside of the van’s cab. Karen tried to jerk the steering wheel to the left, but the bodies surrounding the van prevented the vehicle from maneuvering. One of the infected managed to get a grip on her arm as she tried to reach for her shotgun in the passenger seat. Karen gripped the steering wheel firm and hit the accelerator. The van lurched forward at what seemed like a snail’s pace as she rammed into the bodies of the infected that lay beyond. The man’s grip on her arm loosened and then wrenched free as she moved forward; the infected, however, managed to remain clinging to the inside of the window.

  She grabbed hold of the shotgun one handed, raised the weapon up, and placed the muzzle up against the man’s open mouth. He bit down on the cold metal as she screamed and pulled the trigger, sending blood and brain matter flying out into the crowd. The recoil of the weapon damn near knocked her arm out of its socket; her hand stung as she dropped the gun back into the seat. The man’s body slumped over the broken window. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and floored it.

  The large Honda slammed into the teeming infected, throwing them askew like cordwood. She plowed up and over the fallen and finally broke free of the crowd and onto the open road. Several clung to the bumper in an attempt to reach them but failed as the rough asphalt tore away their clothing and flesh. She watched them roll away from the van, in the rearview as she rocketed forward, leaving the small town behind.

  She veered off onto a side road that would take her toward her mother-in-law’s home; light faded and flitted by as she crossed under trees that hung over the roadway. Her eyes scanned the tree line for threats as she moved forward. She glanced into the rearview mirror to observe the children.

  “Everyone okay?” she asked, trying to hide the tremble in her voice, but failed as the words caught in her throat.

  The kids cried and whimpered but were otherwise unscathed.

  She focused her attention back toward the front of the vehicle and studied her forearm for a moment. Finger-sized bruises formed on her wrist and ached slightly. Thankfully, it appeared that she had suffered no other damage. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, she pulled into the driveway of Mr. and Mrs. Walker. She sat in the car for a long moment and studied their home, searching for any sign of life. Trees swayed and leaves rustled in the breeze, droplets of rain just beginning to evaporate under the emerging sun. For all intents and purposes other than the craziness that they had all just endured, it would otherwise be a beautiful day. She shut off the engine and turned in her seat to face the children.

  “I’m going to check things out. I need you all to stay here and stay quiet. Can you do that for me?” Karen asked, faking her best smile. The children reciprocated by nodding and slinking down into their seats.

  Gathering up the shotgun, its grip reminding her of the stinging that still resounded through her wrist, she cringed as she noticed the blood-caked barrel. Coagulated gore clung to the end near the large bore at the front of the weapon, a fragment of tooth sticking in the drying viscera. Taking care not to touch the contaminated barrel, she gripped the stock, and opened the door.

  She stepped out into the humid air and quietly closed the door behind her. The smell of earth hung deep in the air as the breeze wafted scents of the surrounding forest. It was almost peaceful. She cautiously walked around the front of the home and peered along its side, studying the expanse of trees for movement. Carefully, she walked down a hill, around to the rear of th
e home, and onto the patio. She approached the sliding glass door and cupped her face, placing it against the glass, and peered inside. The basement area was dark and empty. She tried the handle, but the sliding door held firm.

  “Damn,” she stated. She continued around to the other side of the property as one of the children let out an ear-piercing scream. Karen hauled ass around the side of the building and collided with an infected that just seemed to be standing there. A woman, a neighbor Karen realized, stumbled backward and fell to the ground snarling. She quickly began to scramble to her feet as Karen brought the shotgun up high in the air and screamed. She struck the woman in the temple with the business end of the shotgun, snapping her head back with a resounding crack. Blood oozed from an open head wound as she brought the shotgun up and struck again, sending the older woman to the ground.

  Karen stifled a cry as she heard the kids scream once more. She ran around to the front of the house just as a large black man in nothing but boxer shorts and socks reached into the van through the broken window on the passenger side. She could just make out the scene of the children cowering in the far corner of the van, all of them piled on top of one another. She ran up behind the man and smashed the shotgun into his wide, exposed back.

  He halted his assault, extracting his head from the open window, and turned slowly to face her. He was massive, his face contorted in a mix of agony and rage.

  Karen stepped back a few steps, gripping the stock of her weapon like a shield. The man let out a low rumbling growl and took a step forward; Karen raised the shotgun and hesitated. If she fired this close to the van, she would almost certainly hit one of the children. Karen made what her husband called a command decision; she took another step back as the humongous man took another lurching step forward, raising his large meaty hand out toward her. Karen spun on her heels and ran for all she was worth, hoping to draw the beast away from her charges. Her plan worked as the large man gave chase, lunging and sprinting in her direction.

  Karen ran for her life, the man’s large stride easily catching up to her. She could feel his fevered breath on her neck as she broke right and plowed straight into the forest, hoping to slow him down. Branches struck her in the face and thorns tore into the tender flesh of her legs as she ran. She could hear the man come crashing through the underbrush as he pursued her. She wanted desperately to turn around and shoot this asshole, but she knew if she stopped for even a second, she was done for.

  She saw her opportunity as she ran directly for a fallen tree; quickly she hopped up and over, hoping that the infected man lacked the coordination to mimic her maneuver. She was correct as the beast slammed headlong into the exposed roots of an old rotted oak. He scrabbled at the tree in an attempt to somehow get over the top. Karen darted to the left, effectively running in a circle, doing her best to work her way back around to the children. The infected noticed and reacted as she darted past through the underbrush. Karen burst back out into the yard and charged toward the van, fumbling with her keys as she ran. She had put a little distance between herself and the infected man, but he was still too close for comfort. She depressed the button to open the van’s automatic sliding doors and called out.

  “Everyone, out of the van! Get to the house!” Nothing moved, however. No children frantically scrabbled out into the driveway desperately running for the house. Karen reached the car door and thrust her head inside. The van was empty. She gasped and stepped back, looking frantically from side to side, searching the area for her wayward children. The large half-naked black man burst out of the woods and ran straight toward her, snarling and howling like some bloody devil. A noise to Karen’s right caught her attention as her mother-in-law’s front door burst open; a smallish graying-haired woman frantically beckoned her over.

  “Karen, get your ass in here!” the woman shouted.

  “Terry? The kids,” Karen replied, motioning toward the van.

  “They’re inside. Come on, hurry. He’s getting closer!”

  Karen looked back at the charging figure that was only about twenty feet away from her position. She spun on her heel and took off running, still grasping the shotgun.

  Terry grabbed hold of her by the arm and ushered her inside, slamming the door behind them just as the large man crashed into the sealed ingress.

  Karen panted on the other side of the door, sweat running down her forehead; her heart hammered in her chest as the man on the other side of the portal slammed heavy fists on the door in frustration. Karen eyed her mother-in-law, who stood before her, holding out her hand.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t think he can get in. Come on. The others are upstairs.” Terry took Karen by the hand and helped her to her feet. Shaking and exhausted, they ascended the stairway.

  .

  Chapter 16

  Richard and I continued our march along the ruined streets surrounding BWI airport. Although the rain had stopped and the sun was trying its dandiest to make an appearance, ash from the blast flitted slowly down out of the sky like snow, giving the area an almost surreal visage.

  We traveled slowly and deliberately, watching every step we made, taking care to observe the areas around abandoned cars. Between the two of us, we were able to guard each other’s flank. I kept watch over our right, while Richard guarded our left. Every so often, one of us would turn and walk backward for a few feet just to make certain we weren’t being pursued by the infected, or anyone else, for that matter.

  “This shit sucks,” I said, breaking the silence. “I mean, how the fuck does this even happen?” I said more as a statement then a question.

  Richard looked over at me for a moment and shook his head. “Does it really matter? It is what it is, and we’re stuck in it, so do us a favor and get a grip and just deal, or we’re both gonna die.” He turned his gaze forward once more.

  Another gunshot resounded out in the distance, this time closer that it had been previously, which meant whoever was doing the shooting was remaining stationary. Last stand, I thought to myself and hoped that if it were some wayward survivor, that Rich and I would make it in time to do some good. I was fairly confident at this point that it was not Homeland’s goons, however. If it had been Homeland’s boys, I believed there would be a hell of a lot more gunfire going on. If one thing was certain about those assholes, they traveled in packs. Pussies, I mused, giving myself a small grin.

  I was snapped out of my revelry as I tripped over a hubcap that lay rusting in the middle of the road. It skittered noisily across the road’s surface and into the surrounding grass. There it was again, the universe trying its hardest to fuck up my feet. I felt an ache in my pinky toe, and I was reminded painfully of the knock I took this morning as I banged into the dresser at home.

  Home, I sighed. All I wanted to do was get there, see my wife, make certain she was okay, and then get in touch with the kids. As much as a pain in the ass the little buggers were, I missed them now more than ever. I just hoped like hell this disease, or whatever it was, hadn’t made it out there to West Virginia. If it did, I hoped my grandparents were keeping my little miscreants safe. As we walked, Richard looked over at me wide eyed.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” he said eyeing the wobbling hubcap. I shrugged, and we continued walking.

  We reached the end of the highway and walked down an exit ramp that led into the surrounding town. It was funny; I had driven by this same expanse hundreds of times over the past ten or so years and never really gave it too much thought. Every so often I would wonder about a lonely shoe that rested on the shoulder, curious to what had become of the shoe’s occupant. I was always reminded of the old cartoons, you know, the ones where some cartoon character is standing on the side of the road as a car zooms by and tears all of its clothes off. I shook the image from my thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand.

  We walked toward several rows of small buildings, most appeared to be office buildings of some sort. There was even a 7-Eleven off to one corner. I wondered if I
could get a cup of coffee. That was until I noticed it was on fire. It was difficult to see from our vantage point, but gray, black smoke squeezed itself through what I assumed were the doors on the other side of the store and ventilation ducts on the roof. I could take a good guess at what had started the blaze, being that there must have been a ton of flaming debris raining down all over town after the bomb had been dropped on the highway. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we encountered more infernos along our route. Which kind of sucked being that it would seriously limit our options if we ran into any trouble and needed to beat a hasty retreat, and hold up somewhere.

  As we approached the end of the off-ramp, we noticed what looked like the remnants of about five cars smashed into one another effectively creating a barrier of twisted metal at the end of the exit ramp. The cars were piled up in such a way that it looked as if one or two on the end had just abruptly stopped, causing the others to plow into them. You could see the evidence of this judging by the skid marks that lined the roadway up to that point. Richard and I exchanged furtive glances with each other, both of us undoubtedly wondering the same thing. What caused them to stop? From the looks of things beyond the pileup, at least from our perspective, the roadway seemed to be perfectly clear. Sure, there were several cars parked along the sides of the road, and a few scattered in parking lots, but the road itself looked completely empty. As we neared the sight of the collision, I noticed what had caused it. At the end of the off-ramp set two concrete barriers, the same type you would find separating most roadways. I looked at my companion and raised an eyebrow.

  “They trapped these poor bastards.”

  Richard nodded in agreement. “I think it’s safe to say that the feds had no intention of letting anyone off this road alive,” he said, never taking his eyes off the wreckage.

  As we moved forward, I scanned the area surrounding the vehicles for signs of escape. Sadly, there were none. Doors still remained closed; airbags that had been deployed were deflated, hanging limply from steering columns—many of them with a body slouched over top of them.