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

by Steven Ramirez

  Holly lay in bed restless and unable to sleep, wanting me there but not wanting me with her. I could no longer be close to her, so I slept in the chair across from the bed. All feelings of love and passion seemed to have left me. When I looked at Holly, I saw a photograph of someone I once knew.

  Now that she and I were soldiers instead of lovers, we directed any emotion and caring that remained towards the kids. I became protective of Griffin, and Holly acted the same with Kyle. I don’t know when this happened, but having those two around seemed good and natural. At least it was a way for Holly and me to connect. These were our kids, and we were raising them together. Pathetic, I know. But I took what I could get in the emotion department.

  No one knew how long the outbreak would last. Originally, one Black Dragon battalion had deployed to Tres Marias. According to Chavez, they were successful in quarantining the town but at a great cost. Many soldiers had been lost. More died at the hands of the Red Militia. And I’m not talking about amateurs. Most of these men and women had seen combat. Still, they’d never encountered anything like this.

  At first we received regular updates on television. Some of the infected had gotten out prior to the quarantine. We saw news footage of violent attacks as far north as Monterey and as far south as Bakersfield. But the government didn’t talk about how they planned to stop the disease from spreading. For all we knew, it would be years—or decades.

  The intrepid Evie Champagne pressed on, following up on rumors of hit squads in major cities going after those who had gotten out in order to eliminate them before the disease could spread further. At some point the reporter and her faithful cameraman, Jeff, were caught in a melee between nailheads with guns and a massive dragger horde. After that we never heard from her again. Were the two of them out there somewhere? Evie in her signature blazer and stilettos, and Jeff in his stretched-out polo shirt? Hungering not for a story but for warm, living flesh?

  As Holly lay in bed and I sat in the chair, we talked about the uncertain future and about Griffin and Kyle.

  “If I become a dragger,” I said, “you’ll have no problem ending it, right?”

  “Please, Dave. I don’t want to think about this.”

  “You have to. Just say ‘yes.’”

  “All right, yes. And what about me?”

  “I couldn’t let you become one of those things. What about Griffin and Kyle?”

  “They don’t deserve that either,” she said.

  “Okay, so we’re agreed.”

  She sat up and stared at me. “We need to train them to survive.”

  “You mean guns?”

  “Yes, and making the right choices so they don’t end up …”

  “Okay. I think Warnick would be on board with that.”

  The next morning after breakfast, Warnick and I took Griffin and Kyle to the shooting range. We spent a long time in the armory selecting the right weapon for each of them. These kids were skinny and kind of small, so the weapons couldn’t be too heavy. Kyle settled on a Glock 19 with a fifteen-round magazine, and Griffin chose a Ruger LCP. Warnick had to talk her into the Glock because the Ruger held just six rounds and was meant for very close range. The last thing we wanted was for the girl to be within stench distance of a dragger.

  Neither of the kids had handled a weapon before. Warnick took his time with them, showing them what the weapons looked like taken apart as well as teaching them how to reassemble them. After a while, both Griffin and Kyle became enthusiastic. Later, in the shooting range, they were surprised by the recoil. Griffin howled the first time she fired her weapon. Hearing them both laugh was a comfort.

  The kids practiced half an hour each day. By the end of the week, they could hit the target every time. Holly and I knew that eventually they would have to go out on patrol with us for some real-world experience. Landry was a huge fan of this. After watching them shoot, he thought they would do fine.

  Over those next weeks, Chavez came around less and less. We knew he was struggling against the hordes of undead that were moving through the town and the surrounding forest, not to mention the constant skirmishes with the nailheads. He was also struggling with soldiers going AWOL out of fear of becoming undead themselves or defecting to the Red Militia, which was further proof of the persuasiveness of Ormand Ferry.

  Who could blame them? They saw their friends being eaten. The last time we saw Chavez was at dinner, during which he talked about the current situation.

  “I’ve tried everything,” he said. “These guys are trained soldiers. A lot of them served in Afghanistan like Warnick here. But this is different. When you kill an insurgent, he doesn’t get up again. Our guys are so freaked out, they’re becoming unhinged.”

  “What are your superiors saying?” Holly said.

  Chavez looked at her and laughed in a way that made me nervous. “Nothing,” he said. “It looks like we’re on our own.”

  “Strange how they haven’t sent in reinforcements. We need to get to the bottom of it,” Landry said.

  “You can’t,” Chavez said. “There is no bottom.”

  He didn’t care that Griffin and Kyle were with us at the table. He probably figured they might as well know what their chances were.

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Warnick said.

  “Survive,” he said. “That’s priority number one.”

  It was late August, and Holly and I had been in the fortress for six weeks. When Chavez and his men first arrived, our provisions were replenished. Towards the end, though, Chavez no longer came around and the regular supplies of food and ammo stopped.

  Warnick and Quigs tried to reach the supervisor, both by radio and cell phone. After days of trying, we assumed he was no longer among the living. We were on our own.

  We watched the outside world via satellite TV, and what we noticed over time was that the national and international channels continued to broadcast the news with no mention of Northern California. The local stations switched to recorded programming, reruns of old sitcoms mostly. It seemed we had fallen off the radar.

  Warnick and Quigs drove into town to learn what was happening. They took my truck instead of the Humvee to be less conspicuous. When they didn’t return by sunset, we began to worry. We spent the evening watching the front gate via the monitors. Around eleven, my truck rolled up and we let them in.

  Griffin and Kyle had gone to bed. The rest of us gathered in the kitchen for coffee and sandwiches.

  “So did you find Chavez?” Landry said.

  Warnick and Quigs looked at each other. “No,” Warnick said.

  “What happened out there?” I said.

  “We’re not sure who’s in charge,” Quigs said.

  “It looks like the rest of the troops have gone off the reservation,” Warnick said.

  I looked at Landry. “You said this might happen.”

  Warnick and Quigs decided they were now part of our “survival family,” as Warnick liked to call us. We were happy to have them.

  We continued our daily patrols, though we never went out at night. Too easy to get lost. We got to know the forest pretty well, and we put markers on trees using luminescent paint. That way, if we were separated from the group, we could find our way back alone.

  I’d gotten over my fear of letting Holly go out with us, and she always took her turn. I insisted on staying with her, though, so I ended up going out every time she did in addition to going out on my assigned days.

  One day Holly and I explored an area we hadn’t covered before. As we made our way towards a clearing, a flock of crows cawed shrilly at us from high in the trees. Up ahead, we saw something. It was dark and round, sitting on top of a long, wooden pole that had been hammered into the ground.

  I didn’t like the looks of it as we moved closer. We both raised our weapons and slowed our approach. Then Holly screamed. Warnick and Quigs appeared in the clearing, and we stood staring at the grisly, familiar object.

  Yang’s head.

 
It was stuck on a pike. The crows had pecked out the eyes, and the skin was ripped everywhere. The dark hair fluttered in the wind, and maggots feasted on the flesh.

  “I don’t understand,” Holly said. “How did …”

  I remembered finding Chavez the day Yang died. I recalled the black bag he threw into the back of his Humvee and the body burning in the pit. We never bothered to see if the corpse was headless.

  “It was Chavez,” I said.

  Quigs looked at me, bug-eyed. “What? No way.”

  “I need a shovel,” Warnick said. “Let’s get back.”

  We walked most of the way in silence. Warnick and Quigs returned to bury the head. Holly and I retreated to our room.

  She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I sat in the chair, looking at her.

  “What would make him do something like that?” she said.

  “This place got to him. I’m surprised we haven’t all gone crazy. I mean, look at what’s happened to us.”

  “Warnick and Quigs seem fine.”

  “On the outside.”

  “I’m glad he isn’t staying with us anymore.”

  “So am I.” For the first time, I felt sorry for Chavez.

  I watched Holly as she drifted off. When she was sound asleep, I went to find some company.

  During those next few days Griffin and Kyle hounded us every waking hour to take them out on patrol. Both had been training diligently in the indoor shooting range and were becoming proficient. As time went on, it became more difficult to come up with excuses, so the adults held a meeting while the kids played Xbox games.

  “We need to do it sooner or later,” Landry said. “What if they get into a situation and don’t know what to do?”

  “I’m worried, that’s all,” Holly said. “Kyle acts all tough, but I know he’s scared to shoot someone—even a dragger.”

  “What about Griffin?” I said. “She’s getting pretty good.”

  “Sure, with targets.”

  “It’s time they got some field experience,” Warnick said.

  “I agree,” Quigs said. “It’s time, Holly.”

  “But what about the crazy stepfather?” Holly said. “He might still be out there.”

  “I doubt it,” Warnick said. “I think he got the message to stay clear of this place.”

  “We must vote on it,” Ram said. “All in favor?”

  All of us except Holly raised our hands. She looked around the room and sighed. “Can I restrain?” she said.

  I was the only one who laughed. It had been a long time since she’d done her word-bending. Everyone waited, and then she raised her hand too.

  “I still don’t like it,” she said.

  When we came into the game room, Griffin and Kyle were gun-deep in Left for Dead.

  “I think they’re ready,” Landry said.

  The plan was to take the kids out early the next morning. We would cut a straight path down to the stream, then head back. That was a total distance of around five miles, enough to get the kids used to “hunting.”

  Holly insisted on coming and joined Kyle and Quigs. Griffin went with Warnick and me. On any other day we wouldn’t have taken so many out on patrol, but this was different. We were putting these teenagers in mortal danger and didn’t want any screw-ups.

  Before going out, I saw Kyle with his cell phone. He seemed startled and put it away.

  “Any bars today?” I said.

  “No,” he said, “but I keep checking.”

  We got a late start because Holly insisted on a good breakfast for the kids. In addition to my shotgun, I had my axe. Warnick and Quigs each carried a knife—a Benchmade 9100 SBT—along with their AR-15s. Holly, like the kids, preferred her Glock.

  Going to the stream was uneventful. The air was cool, and I could feel fall coming. In a normal world, we might have enjoyed the birds singing and the squirrels chasing one another up and down the tall, fragrant pine trees. But we were constantly on alert. My stomach was hard and my teeth stayed clenched. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. I knew, at any minute, we might encounter a hostile.

  We reached the stream and decided to rest before going back. Holly was the first to spot the horde on a ridge coming towards us. They moved together like a chain gang, dull and unaware. We were scared. While the rest of us watched the draggers, Quigs faced the opposite way to make sure nothing sneaked up on us.

  “How many do you think?” I said.

  “At least twenty,” Warnick said.

  Kyle looked terrified. “I can’t do this.”

  Holly touched his hand and pulled him close. “Yes, you can, Kyle. You know how to shoot. The key is to not panic.”

  “How do you want to do this?” I said.

  “Each of us choose a target,” Warnick said. “Remember, aim for the head. Quigs, I need you looking this way.”

  “They’re too far away,” Griffin said.

  “Don’t waste your ammo on their bodies,” Quigs said. “It’ll just make them mad.”

  “I don’t think they’ve seen us yet,” Holly said. “What if we hide until they move past?”

  “Good idea,” I said. “No use inviting trouble.”

  “Okay, everybody pick a tree,” Warnick said.

  As we split up, a shot rang out, hitting one of the draggers in the shoulder. That alerted the others, and they were already halfway down the ridge. The horde moved as one towards us, like someone had rung the dinner bell.

  “Who fired that shot?” Holly said.

  I kept looking around, but I couldn’t see where the bullet had come from. Then another one whizzed past. “Find a tree!” I said.

  We scattered and found trees to hide behind. Unknown assailants fired at us from one side, and a dragger horde came at us from the other.

  “Any suggestions?” I said to Warnick.

  “The draggers are our first priority. We can’t waste ammo shooting at something we can’t see. Quigs, see if you can get over to the other side.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Griffin and Kyle,” I said, “pick a target and go for the head.”

  “I don’t know …” Kyle said.

  “Now, Kyle!” Griffin said.

  “Kyle,” Holly said. “It’s okay. Pretend it’s Xbox and do it.”

  Instead, he dropped his weapon and ran into the dense foliage.

  “Kyle!” Holly said.

  “Leave him,” Warnick said. “Focus on the draggers.”

  Warnick was in his element. He took down three with clean shots to the head. Holly and I fired several times. I kept firing, hitting one as it rushed down the incline.

  “Griffin, shoot,” I said. I watched as she tried to calm herself. “Stay steady.”

  She bit her lip and took aim. I laughed when she took down a dragger coming right at us with a clean shot through the mouth. I gave her shoulder a squeeze as the dragger fell, the back of its head blown out, tripping the others coming down behind it.

  It took only a few minutes for us to finish off the last of the horde. When it was over, Griffin put away her weapon, sat on her haunches and shivered. Holly wrapped her arms around the trembling girl and held her close.

  Quigs had been across the way, out of sight, taking down draggers. He wandered back towards us, grinning. “That was a good day’s work.”

  Suddenly a shot tore through his shoulder, above his body armor. He staggered back, dazed. Another bullet ripped out a piece of his neck.

  We turned and saw the attackers coming at us. I was sure they were Red Militia. As they moved in, we took cover.

  “What do we do?” I said.

  “They’re human,” Warnick said, “so hit anything you can.”

  “What if Kyle’s out there?” Holly said.

  “Too late.”

  As we fired, they scattered. I saw one go down right away and turned to Holly.

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  There were more assailants. If Quigs hadn’t been hit, I was sure we
could have handled the situation much better. Now it was up to Warnick. I saw his lips moving as he took aim. Was he praying?

  Holly, Griffin and I each chose a target and tried to take it out. Like the attackers, we had trees protecting us. One thing we had, though, that they didn’t—Warnick’s eyes. I still don’t know how he did it, but he seemed to see through the foliage. He would wait a moment, notice something and fire. Each time he did this, a man screamed and cursed.

  We stayed like this for an hour. We weren’t sure how many we’d taken out, but we knew there were more still out there. The attackers must have gotten impatient, because they decided to storm us.

  “Pick a target,” Warnick said.

  There were five left. Warnick took out the first, then a second with shots to the head. Holly and I each wounded one in the chest, and Griffin hit one in the legs. Screaming, they all went down. Warnick crawled on his belly and put a bullet into each attacker’s head. He didn’t even check to see what state they were in.

  It was too late for Quigs. He was bleeding out.

  “Let’s try to get him back to the compound,” Holly said.

  Warnick examined him and found the bite mark on his left hand. It was bleeding.

  “Quigs,” he said. “Were you bitten? Quigs!”

  His eyes glassy, Quigs looked at Warnick and nodded. Warnick did his best to stop the bleeding, but we knew it was over. Quigs became quiet and stopped breathing. Warnick gave him CPR, but it was no use.

  “Sorry, man,” Warnick said, getting to his feet.

  Without hesitation, Warnick aimed his weapon and shot Quigs in the face, startling all of us. Wiping his nose, he took the weapons and ammo off Quigs and turned to us.

  “Let’s get back,” he said.

  “Wait, what about Kyle?” Holly said.

  “Too dangerous.”

  “We can’t leave him. Dave, tell him.”

  “He’s not out there,” Griffin said. Her voice sounded strange and monotone.

  “What?” Holly said. “How do you know?”