Machines of the Dead (Book 2)

by David Bernstein

  Finally, the SUV reached the road and Paul steered into the previous tracks. The SUV jumped forward. Paul hit the brakes and Jack crashed into the windshield, Jill and Maria into the backs of their seats.

  “Seatbelts, people,” Paul said, having his on.

  The SUV continued up the road at a slow pace, the chains on the tires making the go easy. Heavy snow started to fall, the large, close-together flakes making it difficult to see in the distance. Maria had pointed out that parts of the road leading up the mountain could be seen from the deck at Cannibal’s place.

  “I figured that might be the case,” Jack said. “If someone notices an army of undead coming up the road, then so be it; nothing we can do about it. But with so many zombies, I don’t think it will matter.”

  “Unless Cannibal’s men meet us before we get to his house,” Paul said. “A firefight, with the undead so close behind us, would surely be bad. We’d be chow, or trapped in this tin can which would be riddled with bullets in no time, and the undead might never reach their intended destination.”

  Silence followed the statement. Jack swallowed hard, the lump in his throat a psychological manifestation of failure. If they met resistance along the way, the plan was finished, but there was nothing anyone could do about it now. Jack had to hope Maria’s assessment of Cannibal’s crew being lackluster and lazy was true.

  He stared straight ahead, trying to catch any signs of trouble that might be coming their way.

  The undead followed at a steady pace, pushing through the white stuff, never showing any sign they were cold or tired. The parade of the bot-controlled corpses was incredible, awesome and frightening at the same time.

  With each passing minute, Jack feared they would run into Cannibal’s men, the former inmates on their way to meet them, the undead, or to attack Cliff House. But an hour later, Jack and the crew were on the road that led to Cannibal’s place with no sign of opposition. The going was slow, but necessary in order to keep the undead following.

  As the SUV bounced along slowly, Jack felt his anxiety level rise. They were getting close to the targeted area. Maria had said there were no guards, but Jack found that hard to believe. Even the most lax, overconfident fortifications would have some form of watch. And now that there had been multiple escapes, Cannibal would want to make sure his kingdom was secure.

  With the snow continuing to fall, the flakes large and puffy like balls of cotton, seeing more than ten feet ahead was difficult.

  “I think we’re getting close,” Paul said. “I’ve been watching the mileage meter. It can’t be much farther ahead.”

  Jack saw what looked like three figures up ahead. He looked through a pair of binoculars Paul had in the truck. It wasn’t three armed men, but four. The road around them was plowed. It had to be where the driveway was located.

  “Stop here,” Jack said. “This is our stop.”

  “You sure?” Paul asked.

  “Yes.”

  The original plan was to head down the driveway all the way to the house, then let the undead do their thing as Jack and the others sauntered away, but things changed.

  Everyone hopped out of the vehicle, Paul turning off the engine. Jack and the others opened fire at the men down the road, knowing they probably weren’t going to hit anything. Cannibal’s men returned fire, a few bullets pinging off the truck.

  “Now,” Jack said. He and the others took off for the woods. They scampered up the hill and waited just off the road. Cannibal’s men, unable to see much, kept firing.

  The undead were coming, their putrid odor carried ahead of them by the wind. They passed right by the SUV, going around it as if it were nothing more than a natural landmark, heading toward the sound of weapons fire.

  Jack couldn’t help but smile, his plan was working perfectly.

  Chapter 26

  Cannibal was awoken by a harsh knocking on his door. He hated being stirred from a sound sleep, preferring to wake when his body was ready to do so. Whoever it was might become dinner, unless the reason for the intrusion was a good one.

  “Come in,” he shouted, sitting up and wiping the tiredness from his face.

  He needed his men for the upcoming assault on Cliff House—which should have happened already if not for his soldiers being unorganized pieces of mindless flesh sacks. Wastes. Once he had control over his children, he wouldn’t need man anymore, save for the meals they would become for him and his children.

  He foresaw the future. People were herded like cattle, made to breed and serve the undead and their father. It would all take time, but it would begin soon. He felt it in his soul. The power of the flesh he was eating was bringing him closer to ultimate power. Soon he’d be able to command his flock and take over the world. Cooking flesh would no longer be necessary; he would eat it raw like his children did.

  “Sir,” a man named Gile said, “the bridge . . . the wall . . . the undead . . .”

  “Spit it out,” Cannibal groaned.

  “Stilts was on patrol,” the man said, breathing heavily, “and saw that the blockade on the bridge was blown open. He thought he heard something this morning, but was unsure. Once it was light out, he took a look and saw it—an army of undead coming up the mountain.”

  Was this it? Cannibal wondered. Were his children coming to him? He had been feeling ready, as if any day now he’d be the king of the undead, the father they needed.

  “There was also a vehicle in front of them,” the man continued, “a black SUV. It was moving slow, just keeping out of the zombies’ reach. Stilts lost sight of it though.”

  This was odd, Cannibal thought. First the escape. Cable missing. Now this. He’d feared Cable was taken hostage, but none of the men had seen Cable with the escapees. Now a vehicle was seen leading the undead. There was just too much going on. Too much of the unknown. For all Cannibal knew, Cable was leading the undead to him. A shiver ran down his spine. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if he was ready yet. He’d felt something, but . . .

  “Get the men ready,” he ordered. “Send a squad of four immediately out to the road. Make sure they do not engage the undead. If they see them, tell them to report back here. I want everyone else to take up arms and be ready to defend our home.”

  “Defend?” the man asked. “Against who?”

  “Just do it,” Cannibal roared.

  The man nodded, turned, and ran out the door.

  Chapter 27

  Stilts and three others were told to grab some weapons and head out to the road. They were ordered not to shoot any undead. Regardless, each man took as powerful a weapon as they could find. Orders were orders, but if those rotting things came too close, all bets were off.

  They hurried up the driveway to the road, a few of the men having plowed it last night with the pickup truck. The falling snow was going to make it difficult to get a decent view of the road in the distance, but it was what it was.

  Stilts had spent most of his adult life behind bars. This newest bout of freedom looked like it was going to last awhile, maybe for the remainder of his days. The world was a whole new ball game now, one he much preferred. He knew next to nothing about technology—cell phones, computers, cars, etc. Sure, a person could read about that stuff, but who had the time? He was always busy watching his back or the backs of his friends.

  If he’d gotten out when the world was operating at normalcy, he’d be useless. He would wind up right back in the slammer for sure. Prison kept people in the past and this new world was more past than present. He’d been so worried that when he got out he’d be like a forgotten relic. He had no family, at least none that wanted anything to do with him.

  In fact, prison had prepared him for this harsh world. He’d been living most of his life with eyes in the back of his head. Taking what was his, learning to trust no one. Survival of the fittest. This new world didn’t give a shit about law and order. There were no guards to keep the peace, no police to call. Now it was “take care of business, take care of yoursel
f”, and that was just the way he liked it. The world was the criminal’s playground, as far as he was concerned.

  Cannibal was a sick fuck, no doubt, but he was a leader and had saved all of their asses. The men feared him; obeyed him. That might change one day, but for now, he was the boss. Stilts didn’t like that most of the women brought in were only for Cannibal, the men not allowed to touch them. But on occasion, the boss man gave one over to the men to do as they pleased with, which was way more than Stilts had ever gotten on the inside—at least from a female. For now, like all other things, Stilts followed the rules.

  Along with carnal pleasures, there was plenty of alcohol and guns to go around. What more could a man ask for? If it wasn’t for the undead, he’d have thought he had died and gone to Heaven, or maybe he was in his kind of Hell.

  Stilts and the other men, Stench, Mack, and Heathen made it to the road, and after fifteen minutes, relaxed a bit, thinking nothing was going to happen. They bullshitted and complained, smoked cigarettes and weed, a boatload of the green stuff having been swiped from the State Trooper barracks.

  Snow continued to fall in clumps. The air was colder in the morning, but somehow refreshing too. It unnerved him to know so many of the undead were now traipsing around the mountainside. Hopefully they weren’t coming to the house. The blown bridge blockade would mean more patrols, which meant less down time. Even with all their weapons, he didn’t know if they’d be able to stop them.

  “Fucking freezing out here,” Stench said. Stench was a smelly bastard. He hardly showered when he was in prison, the guards had to force him, which was what he wanted. He was gang raped up in Attica and had a fear of showers ever since. At least when the guards were present, he felt safe. It was strange because he hated the guards, had sent one to the ICU for calling his momma a dirty whore. Stilts couldn’t figure the man out.

  “Yeah, it’s too cold to be outside, standing around,” said Mack, rubbing his arms through his coat. “If there is an army of zombies heading our way, what are we supposed to do? Just run back and tell everyone? We can’t fire on them, and what would be the point? There’s so damn many of them.”

  Heathen lit a cigarette. “I see any of those fuckers, I’m shooting.”

  “We’ve got orders and we’ll follow them,” Stilts said, making sure he caught the eye of every convict.

  He didn’t mind the cold. It was the heat he disliked. In prison, it was always so damn hot in the summer. It was worth getting hurt just to be able to visit the air-conditioned infirmary.

  “You hear that?” Heathen asked.

  “Yeah,” said Stilts. “An engine. Chained tires.”

  “Snow tires?” Mack asked.

  The four men glared down the road. Stilts couldn’t see much, but it looked like a vehicle was heading their way. Some survivors looking for a place to hole up?

  The ca-chunk, ca-chunk from the chains colliding against pavement ceased, the engine going quiet.

  “What do we do?” Heathen asked.

  “Boss man didn’t say anything about firing on people,” Mack said.

  “Think they saw us?” Stench asked.

  “I can barely see them, but it’s possible,” Stilts said. “Let’s see what—”

  Shots rang out as people exited the vehicle. Stilts and the others returned fire. Motherfuckers were going to pay, he thought. He pulled the trigger as rapidly as possible; hoping the spray from all their rounds combined would do some nice damage.

  Gunfire filled the air as the four men stood practically shoulder-to-shoulder unloading hell on their attackers. Finally, when their weapons needed reloading, Stilts realized they weren’t being fired upon anymore. “Hold it,” he said, ears ringing. All was quiet in the land of snow.

  “I think we got them,” Heathen said.

  “We’ll have to go check it . . .” his mouth dropped open. A wave of darkness was coming down the road. The others saw it too.

  “What the hell is that?” Mack asked.

  It took a moment for Stilts’ brain to compute the image, then he knew. The undead had found them. The whole thing was a trick to lure them here. It was why the group from the truck had stopped firing. They weren’t dead; they were off in the woods, hiding.

  “Holy shit,” Stench said, and opened fire. The other men followed suit. The undead drew closer; their bodies crumbling under the hail of bullets, but the ones that went down were replaced by others, the horde getting nearer.

  “Fuck this,” Mack said, “I’m out of here.”

  The man was correct. There was no point in staying here. Thanks to the gunfire, the undead had their new target, no longer the vehicle that led them here. Stilts and the others followed Mack up the driveway. They ran hard, hoping the undead would pass them by and head on down the road. When Stilts turned back, the driveway was tranquil, and for a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief. But then he saw the first of numerous undead come around the corner.

  “Shit, we’re fucked.”

  Chapter 28

  Jack and the others sat huddled in the woods, watching the undead march by. The wind gusted, blowing the snow around in blizzard-like effect. He squinted against the cold, his eyes tearing.

  The stench from the undead was overpowering, settling over the group like some unseen veil of putrid-ness. Everyone except Jill had pulled their jackets up over their noses, the act doing little to quell the stench.

  Jill had a look of malice in her eyes, and watched the undead like a lion in wait. She was trembling, but it wasn’t from the cold or fear. It was from anger. Jack could tell by the look on her face. He tapped her arm. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  She looked at him and nodded, the fierceness in her expression remained unchanged.

  Jack wasn’t sure he believed her. He feared she might lose it. He didn’t know her, really know her. She might be crazy enough to go charging down the hill. He remembered what Maria had told him; how Jill had killed that poor girl, a person she’d spent time getting to know. And she’d done it without a second thought. She refused to believe him and the others even now about how an infected person could be cured. The people of Cliff House took their word for it, but not Jill. The girl was too damaged.

  Maybe it was better she didn’t know the truth, at least for now, because when she did, it might just push her farther down the going-insane trail to full-on insane.

  When the undead mob-train finally ended, the group worked its way down to the road. Gunshots rang out in the distance and Jack realized his plan had worked. The undead were at Cannibal’s house. Ammo would be used in great quantity. Men would die. Soon it would be time for stage two.

  The SUV had taken damage. The grill and headlights were busted up. The windshield was cracked and littered with bullet holes. The leather seats were shredded and the back window was blown out, but the tires were intact and the engine turned over. Steam began coming from the hood a mile down the road, but the truck made it to one of the rendezvous houses regardless.

  “How’d it go?” Don asked, meeting Jack outside.

  “Couldn’t have gone better.”

  Don shook his head slowly, smiling. “Unbelievable.”

  Jack and the others went inside. They rested and warmed up by the fire, drank hot beverages and ate a meal. Sentries were posted outside and gunshots could be heard off in the distance, the war at Cannibal’s was going strong. For once, Jack rooted for the zombies.

  Cannibal hadn’t felt real fear in a very long time, but the unwanted sensation was with him now. The undead, his future children, were attacking the house, killing his men. He’d given orders not to engage the rotting corpses, but that apparently didn’t matter. He’d hated having to entrust and work with such degenerates, but what choice did he have? The truth was, he was a loner, never to be understood. An evolved being, and unfortunately needed to rely on society’s scum.

  Sitting in his chair, behind a locked door, Cannibal decided to wait out the inevitable. Doubt ran rampant through his mind.
The dead were here to follow or perhaps kill him—if he wasn’t ready. But it was his destiny to lead them and to rule over the land. He’d known he was special since he was a little boy and ate his neighbor’s dog. He was reborn that day, becoming the man he was now—everything leading up to this moment. He was Cannibal, the one the demons talked to and told the truth. The one who would control the undead. Doubt was being pushed out by assuredness. He had nothing to fear, they were here for him, not to eat, but to be led. His men were no longer needed, their gunshots dwindling over time as the undead broke through the ranks and into the house.

  Cannibal threw his .45 to the floor and marched over to the door. He could smell the rancid aroma of his children on the other side of the door, waiting for him to make his appearance. Without wasting another moment, he unlocked and opened the door.

  “My children,” he said, stepping out into the living room, the place swarming with zombies. Men from the balcony were blasting away at them, heads being obliterated. Anger coursed through Cannibal’s veins. “Get them, my children. Kill them all.”

  Two zombies closest to him made their way over. Cannibal stared at them, confused, not seeing any signs of recognition in their eyes. “Go save your brothers and sisters,” Cannibal ordered, pointing in the other direction. Three more undead joined the two heading toward Cannibal.

  No, he thought. He will not fear them. They are only coming to serve.

  The first two zombies reached him. They reached out and clawed at his flesh, collapsing in on him. Panic seized the big man as he flung them off. “No, what are you doing? I’m your father!” The zombies rose to their feet and came forward, now seven in total. They encircled Cannibal. He punched and kicked a few, but the numbers overwhelmed him and soon he was being bitten and torn apart. He felt his right ear rip free. He howled as a finger caught on his lip. The skin stretched until it snapped, blood spurting forth. Pain erupted across his legs and stomach as mouths began to feed. Finally the man fell, a mass of undead descending on him. He screamed in agony as fingers and mouths took his flesh, his eyes exploding as nails pierced them. Darkness falling over him, he could still feel, and the pain lasted for what seemed like hours until finally he went numb and knew no more.