The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead

by Steven Ramirez

  “But why?” I said.

  Landry looked at each of us, took a swallow of root beer and set the can down. “Survival,” he said.

  We decided to stay with Landry for the night. In the morning we could figure out whether it made sense to stick together. Landry was a famous scrounger. For whatever reason, he’d collected sleeping bags and stored them in case of an emergency. Ben, Aaron and I lay in them around the cold fireplace, exhausted, waiting for an uncertain morning.

  As I lay there, I thought about Holly. Was she dead—or undead like Irene? There was no sign of her in that field, and it was my prayer that somehow she’d escaped that fate and gotten to safety. Landry claimed he hadn’t seen anyone in the area fitting her description.

  That’s another need that Maslow should have listed, something the undead were not burdened with. Hope.

  In the morning, over hard-boiled eggs and coffee, we discussed our thoughts.

  “I need to find Holly,” I said. “If that means going back to Tres Marias alone, I’ll do it. I don’t expect any of you to follow.”

  “Let’s look at the facts,” Landry said. “We’re fairly surrounded by the undead. I’ve spotted more and more of them over the last few days. We’re not sure if these Black Dragon Security people have things under control. If we’re lucky, they’ve established a perimeter and are keeping it secure.”

  “No one gets in or out,” Ben said.

  “Right. Dave, you could take your chances out there alone, but I would advise against it.”

  “I have to agree,” Ben said. “It’s too dangerous for one man.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So what are you guys saying?”

  “Well, my dance card is pretty open,” Landry said, and drained his coffee cup.

  “Ben?” I said.

  “Aaron and I don’t have anywhere to be,” he said.

  “So all of us go in search of Holly?” I looked at each of them. They nodded. “Okay. I can’t say I don’t feel a huge sense of relief. And gratitude.”

  Landry rose and cleared the table. “We’d better get some supplies together.”

  “Why Tres Marias?” Ben said, helping to clean up.

  “Because I haven’t been able to reach Holly,” I said, “and I don’t think she knew I was coming up here. I’m guessing she thinks I’m still down there somewhere. It’s a long shot, but I don’t have anything else to go on.”

  “Can’t reach her?”

  “No. That’s what disturbs me. I keep calling and texting.”

  “Cell service has become worse than usual since this thing started,” Landry said. “Not sure what that means.”

  “We do have one problem,” Aaron said. “I don’t think there’s nearly enough weapons.”

  “We won’t last five minutes out there without some real firepower,” I said.

  “I think I can help you there,” Landry said.

  Landry didn’t say anything as I drove my truck over a narrow, bumpy dirt road deep in the forest, towards I didn’t know what. Ben and Aaron followed in the motor home.

  “I still don’t see what all the secrecy is about,” I said.

  “Just a precaution.”

  We arrived at a clearing that had been defined by hundreds of rocks arranged in a circle. The ground looked as if it had been swept. An enormous concrete birdbath stood in the center. In it stood Diana, holding her bow and arrow, with a dead stag at her feet.

  “Are we communing with nature now?”

  “Look hard,” Landry said.

  The surrounding trees were dense, and it took me a few seconds to realize a house stood before us, camouflaged in paint. If you looked at it the right way, you’d swear you were looking at nothing more than shadows in the trees.

  “No way.”

  As I squinted through my windshield, the front door opened and a rail-thin man with a white ponytail halfway down his back and a long Rip van Winkle beard came towards us. He was dressed in khaki cargo pants, a bright Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. But for the AR-15 slung over his shoulder, I would’ve taken him for an ancient surfer named Moon Doggie.

  Landry hugged the man like they were long-lost brothers. “Boys, this is Guthrie Manson.”

  We shook hands and exchanged greetings.

  “Why don’t we all go inside. Caramel put the tea on already,” Guthrie said, and led us into the secret house.

  The place resembled something inspired by Tim Burton on a Thomas Kincaid bender. The furniture, though handcrafted, sat askew. Not a single piece was level. There were tables and chairs with five legs. The angular sofas were covered in colorful cushions made from bits of paisley, velvet, satin and an American flag.

  The rugs looked expensive. In addition to lace curtains, there were heavy blackout curtains pinned back with metal chains.

  From the ceiling hung hundreds of potted plants intermingled with little calaveras dressed as mariachis, circus performers and politicians with top hats. But what struck me was the light coming from what I assumed were hidden skylights. The room absolutely glowed.

  As we headed towards the kitchen, a woman appeared in the doorway. She looked to be around the same age as Guthrie. She also had long, white hair that reached her tailbone. She wore a loose-fitting blue muslin skirt that lingered above the floor and a filmy blouse with no brassiere.

  “This is Caramel,” Guthrie said. “Honey, meet the guys.”

  Again we exchanged greetings, then sat at the large kitchen table made from unfinished pine. As we talked, I couldn’t take my eyes off Guthrie’s beard. I tried imagining him eating soup.

  “I appreciate you helping us out,” Landry said as Caramel set out the tea for us.

  “Thanks, darlin’,” Guthrie said, squeezing Caramel’s hand, then slapping her on the butt as she returned to the kitchen. “So, Dave. Irwin tells me you need to find your wife over in Tres Marias.”

  “I’m hoping that’s where she is. This tea smells interesting.”

  “It’s jasmine,” Caramel said as she joined us at the table.

  “These are bad times,” Guthrie said. “Seems like you can’t go for a walk anymore.”

  “Can I ask what you folks do out here?” Ben said. It was a question I’d been dying to ask.

  “We grow pot,” Guthrie said. Ben almost did a spit take. “Purely for our own consumption, of course. And a few friends.” He and Caramel gazed at each other like teenagers.

  “Is that why the house is camouflaged?” Aaron said.

  “That and the fact that we’re pretty much done with people. Present company excepted, people are no damn good. Right, honey?”

  “What if someone tries to break in and …” As I said this, two nearly identical men who looked as if they’d stepped out of a Spartacus episode strode in, both armed with AR-15s.

  “These are my sons, Jerry and Frank,” Guthrie said. “Named after the two greatest musicians who ever lived.”

  Caramel, who looked like a doll next to the giants, scooted over and hugged them. “Are you boys hungry?”

  Landry swallowed the last of his tea and stood. “So let’s have a look at that cache,” he said.

  We left our tea and followed Guthrie to the back of the house. We had to step past a pack of maowing cats.

  “Jerry and Frank?” I said to Landry.

  “After Jerry Garcia and Frank Zappa.”

  “Way before my time.”

  I looked out a window and found Caramel outside watering a fruit tree and smoking a joint the size of a Cuban cigar. One of her sons patrolled along the perimeter.

  Guthrie got out a set of keys and unlocked a steel door that stood in a heavy steel doorframe. “This is it,” he said.

  We found ourselves in the middle of a thirty-by-thirty room filled with hydroponic equipment. Hundreds of marijuana plants were suspended all around under bright lights. But that wasn’t the amazing part. All along the walls were weapons. There were rifles, shotguns, AK-47s, AR-15s and other powerful hardware.

 
“Are you kidding me?” I said.

  “When it all goes down, we’ll be ready,” Guthrie said.

  “Is this stuff legal?” Aaron said, picking up a worn Uzi.

  We stared at Aaron. Red-faced, he put the weapon back.

  “One thing I will warn you about,” Landry said as he examined a shotgun. “And they don’t talk about this in the movies. These weapons are heavy without any ammo. So choose wisely.”

  “Seriously, Guthrie?” I said, picking up a Rambo-like weapon.

  “MGL six-shot grenade launcher. Bought that from an ex-cop I know in Arizona,” he said, handing it to me. “Unfortunately it only came with one crate of grenades. Got to make those last.”

  Poring over the weapons, I found a strange-looking long gun.

  “Good choice,” Guthrie said. “That’s a Kel-Tec KSG twelve-gauge shotgun.”

  “It’s so short.”

  “Yep, it’s a bullpup.”

  “I like it.”

  The twins helped us load the truck and motor home with weapons and ammo. As we got ready to leave, Landry embraced Guthrie and Caramel.

  “Can’t thank you both enough.”

  “Happy to help,” Guthrie said. “Strange times, my friend.”

  I walked over to shake hands. “Do these undead bother you way out here?”

  “Nope. Smell of the cannabis, I guess. Who knows.”

  “You take care,” Landry said. Then to us, “Back to my place for some target practice.”

  “So how do you know them?” I said as we drove back.

  “Guthrie and I go way back,” Landry said. “High school, in fact.”

  “You guys were high-school friends?”

  “When we turned eighteen, I went to college and he went to Viet Nam. When he got back, he was totally changed. Like a lot of guys back then.”

  “What about Caramel?”

  “I think he met her at a McGovern rally.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  We grabbed our weapons and waited near our vehicles. Though I was comfortable with my axe, I felt safer with the Kel-Tec. Landry surprised us by selecting an AK-47, and Aaron chose a handgun. Ben stuck with his Remington shotgun. We didn’t know what Landry had in mind. I was thinking cans and bottles sitting on an old wood fence. He thought otherwise.

  As we waited nervously, Landry unlocked the gate to the fenced enclosure. Though I’d already shot a couple of these things, the thought of gunning down what was left of my mother-in-law did not sit well.

  “Wait,” Ben said. “I mean, we’re just going to … shoot them?”

  “They’re not human, Ben,” Landry said.

  “But there are laws, dammit!”

  “Ben, I appreciate what you’re saying. But if we’re going to survive, we have to be able to kill these things on sight without hesitation. It’s the way it is. And we need to be quick because the gunfire will attract more of them.”

  Ben looked at his son. “Are you good with this?”

  “Dad, I don’t … It’s like he said. We need to protect ourselves. What else can we do?”

  “No, this is bullshit,” Ben said, and fell back.

  Landry looked at Aaron and me. “You have to try for the head. I know. I must’ve killed around twenty-five or thirty so far. It’s the only thing that stops them.”

  “This isn’t right,” Ben said, standing defiantly under a tree.

  Landry ignored him and continued. I can still hear him saying these words. They became my playbook for survival.

  “Each of us has to be capable of doing this, either to save ourselves or another in the group. This is not a movie or a video game. It’s real life. There won’t be time to think. You must respond quickly, which means you need to be observant. We don’t want innocent people being shot. Remember. Observe, assess and act. No hesitation. No remorse.”

  Aaron looked at his dad, who refused to meet his eyes.

  “There are eight plus that one dying on the ground in there,” Landry said. “It shouldn’t be too hard for the three of us to finish the job.”

  “What if we get bitten?” Aaron said.

  “Rule number one, don’t get bitten.”

  Landry swung the gate wide open. Sensing freedom, the undead headed for the opening as he fell back and raised his weapon.

  “Pick your target and fire when they come out.”

  “I can’t do Irene,” I said to Aaron.

  “I’ll take her. You take that ugly son of a bitch next to her.”

  We fired, trying to hit them in the head before they got too close. We found ourselves backing away as they picked up speed.

  Aaron took careful aim and shot Irene through her open, toothless mouth. A sharp pain tore through my heart as she collapsed to her knees and fell on her face, truly dead.

  After a few seconds, seven of the eight were down. Aaron aimed for what looked like a truck driver. He winged it in the shoulder, then shot it through the neck. Still the thing kept coming. Then Aaron realized he was out.

  “Oh shit! Oh shit!” Aaron said, his hands flailing at the weapon.

  A blast tore through the side of the truck driver’s head, and it went down like a load of cement. We turned to find Ben lowering his weapon.

  “Rule number two,” Landry said, “always have another weapon.”

  “And somebody watching your back,” Ben said.

  “Right. I think we’re ready.” Landry went into the enclosure and delivered a headshot to the creature lying motionless on the ground.

  We loaded the motor home and my truck with supplies, planning to head out before noon. The cat ran up to Landry as he was getting into my truck. I didn’t want that thing anywhere near me.

  “What about the cat?” I said.

  “She was a stray when I found her. She knows how to take care of herself. Probably better than all of us.”

  Relieved, I fired up the engine, and we hit the road.

  “I notice you still have the axe,” Landry said, glancing at the backseat.

  “Guns jam. That’s my backup weapon.”

  “Good choice.”

  I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see Holly again. We were in Hell, and all I cared about was finding her alive. I put out of my mind the thought that she might very well be among the undead, and I kept in front of me her face and her smile.

  That image was all I had to keep me going.

  I SHOULDN’T HAVE TAKEN the freeway. As we got closer to Tres Marias, the traffic hardened to the point we could no longer move.

  “Looks like they’ve started,” Landry said.

  I put the truck in park, got out and climbed into the bed. Ben’s motor home was behind me. I tried peering over the lines of vehicles, which looked to span over a mile. Then I jumped down and ran back towards Ben and Aaron.

  “What’s the deal?” Ben said.

  “They’re diverting traffic off the freeway. All I can see are flashing lights and police cars everywhere.”

  “We should’ve taken that last exit.”

  I looked back. The traffic had closed in, so now we were stuck. As I got back into the truck, Landry looked grim.

  “Chances are they’ve quarantined the whole town. Not sure how we get back in.”

  “We’re getting in,” I said.

  We sat for thirty minutes or so. Then we began to inch forward. The left lanes had been coned off, and we were being gradually forced to the right, down to a single lane. As we made our way over, we heard a deafening noise overhead. I looked up and saw a helicopter with the Black Dragon logo swoop past, flying incredibly low. From what I could make out, all the soldiers aboard it were armed.

  “This just got serious. Why didn’t they call in the National Guard?”

  “I don’t know,” Landry said. “But they might have set up an evac center. Your wife could be there.”

  As we reached the bottom of the off-ramp, soldiers directed everyone under the overpass towards the freeway entrance taking them north ag
ain. The first chance I got, I shot out from behind a minivan and headed towards what looked like a military checkpoint.

  Several Humvees were parked there, surrounded by Black Dragon troops with AR-15s. These guys must have been on high alert, because when Landry and I got out, we were greeted by nervous men with guns. We approached them, our hands raised.

  “Whoa!” I said. “We’re trying to get some information.”

  The soldier in charge nodded towards the others, and they lowered their weapons. “You need to keep moving, sir,” he said. He didn’t look like he was in the mood for chitchat.

  “I understand,” I said as I lowered my hands, “but I’m looking for my wife. Is there an evacuation center? Please, I need to find her.”

  He looked at Landry and me for a time, then at Ben’s motor home, which had parked alongside the truck.

  “They’re with us,” I said.

  “Let me see your IDs.” Landry and I handed over our driver’s licenses. “What’s your wife’s name?”

  “Holly Mitchell Pulaski.”

  He gave our IDs a cursory look and handed them back. “Tres Marias High School,” he said. “But I can’t let you through. Only authorized personnel.”

  I was about to object when Landry took my arm. “Come on, Dave. The man’s doing his job. Thank you, sir.” He signaled to Ben and Aaron and climbed back into the truck. Reluctantly, I got in too.

  “What the hell, Irwin?” I said.

  “Can’t you see you’re not going to get anywhere with these guys? They have orders to shoot.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Try being creative.”

  I pulled around the military traffic, with Ben following, and got back onto the freeway heading north. We drove for five miles. I spotted an exit that looked clear and got off.

  “There’s an old fire road that connects Tres Marias with Mt. Shasta,” I said. “If I can pick it up, we might have a shot.”

  “I know that road. Go right.”

  When Jim and I went out drinking, we’d end up on unfamiliar back roads “using the force” to get home. Landry and I did that now, feeling our way by sheer gut instinct. It worked.

  After waiting for Ben to catch up, I turned into an entrance that was barely noticeable from the main road. It was shady and covered by trees. Jim and I used to hang out on this road, drinking and chasing down deer. About a hundred feet in, we saw a locked gate. I didn’t see anyone else there. Landry and I got out and examined the lock and chain up close.