CHICAGO
UNDEAD
: Encounters
By
Shawn Weaver
Copyright 2018 Shawn Weaver
All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are the products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously.
For further information on Chicago Undead: Encounters and other upcoming works. Please go to www.shawnweaverauthor.wordpress.com
Books by Shawn Weaver
Fantasy
Tides of War Series
Sense of Honor Dragon’s Chest The Dark Caravan
Rose Marie Honored Son Fall of Ishtabar
Children
Brooklyn and the Magic Ring Nathaniel and the Tangled Web
Dominic and the Great Jungle Rescue
Horror
Little Valley Wolves in Springfield Welcome to Plainfield
Widows Hill Mississippi DEAD (short story) Roots Run Deep
In the Ground (short story) Salem (short story)
Before Sunrise (short story)
Chicago Undead: On the eleventh floor
Chicago Undead 2: Deep Freeze (short story)
Chicago Undead 3: A Bad Way To Stat Your Day (short story)
Chicago Undead 4: Field Trip
With Donnie Light
Ripper’s Row Ripper’s Revenge Ripper’s Wrath
Collected Works
Tides of War Volume 1 Two Tales of Horror
The Little Ones Chicago Undead: Encounters
The Ripper Trilogy (With Donnie Light)
Author’s note
The morning that I started Chicago Undead: Encounters, I decided to continue on the path that I had started with Chicago Undead: On the eleventh floor. My main character, Robin Briggs, worked in the funeral home that his grandfather started years ago. So, it was clear that this novel would deal with the workings of the Briggs and Sons Funeral Home.
Then came the questions. What would happen in the funeral home on the day that the dead started to rise? Do the dead rise if they haven’t been bitten? Do the undead have rational thought? Or, do they only follow the need to feed?
I knew I could deal with these questions in one novel. But I decided to challenge myself, and write two stories that were separate, and yet, could be put together to form one complete work. So, you have it. The combination of Chicago Undead 3: A Bad Way To Start Your Day, and Chicago Undead 4: Field Trip, make Chicago Undead: Encounters. Two totally different perspectives of the worst day in Chicago history.
CHAPTER ONE
No matter how many windows were down as they traveled north on Sheridan Road, the smell of exhaust from the rusted tail pipe filtered in through every crack in the frame of the bus. And the faces of the seated students showed their anxiousness to arrive at the Briggs and Sons Funeral Home. Only the bus driver and Mrs. Foust, seated directly behind the him, seemed not to notice the smell. As they were more concerned with all the erratic traffic this morning, than the toxic fumes that were building in the back of the bus.
Pushing glasses up on a squat nose that sat in the center of a block shaped head. Arlo Berry asked, “Mrs. Foust how much longer till we get off this death trap?”
“A few more minutes, Mr. Berry.” Mrs. Foust replied, sitting straight as a board against the hard-padded seat. By the look on her face it was clear that she was uncomfortable. But she did not dare sit back and touch the grimy green vinyl.
“We’ll all be dead by then,” Arlo replied, as he settled back in the corner of his seat, and looked out the dirty window, watching building pass by.
Wearing light purple lipstick and a thick coat of mascara. Violet Delany leaned forward from her seat behind Arlo. “If we’re lucky.”
“We all don’t want to die like you, dead girl.” Hunter Tare said from his seat, three rows ahead.
Tiffany Larou raised her head from resting against Hunters well-muscled arm. Looking back, she said, “Try to enjoy life for once.”
Sticking her tongue out at the schools most popular cheerleader. Violet twirled a finger around a lock of her dyed jet-black hair. As the school’s dream couple snickered at her, Violet looked out the window to her left, and tried to imagine herself in a better place where the bullies of the world met the fates that they deserved.
Turning off Sheridan, the bus continued down a two-lane road. Quickly the environment changed from multi-story business to quiet blocks of houses with small fenced in yards, and local shops tending to the needs of the people who lived close by.
Slowing, the bus turned right into an empty parking lot big enough to hold at least a dozen cars. To the left of the lot sat a squat two story building with tall columns out front supporting a porte-cochere that stretched across the front of the building.
Cutting the wheel to the left, the driver pulled to a stop. Putting the bus in park, the driver pulled on the handle of the door arm control, opening it.
“We have arrived,” he said, taking a clipboard from the tray just below the window on his left. In one fluid motion, he popped the seatbelt, and took a ballpoint pen from the left breast pocket of his uniform shirt.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Foust said, as she stood in the isle, straightening down her plain green skirt.
Glad to finally be at their destination, the noise level of the twelve students elevated.
“Everyone please settle down,” Mrs. Foust said, as everyone started to gather their belongings. “As you know todays field trip is a look at the other side of life. Remember to take notes, and ask questions. Your reports will be due on Monday. No exceptions.”
A low groan rose from her students as Mrs. Foust paused for a moment to let the news sink in. Looking over her students, she zoomed in on Thomas Windsor, the only student still sitting as he texted on his phone. “Do you understand Mr. Windsor?”
Realizing that he had been spoken too, Thomas looked up from his phone. “Yes ma’am.” Shoving the phone into a back pocket of his jeans, he rose and joined the rest of his classmates as they filed down the aisle.
“Stay together,” Mrs. Foust said, shouldering her purse. Hugging a black binder to her chest, she moved down the steps. Reaching the blacktop, she stepped to the side and waved the kids down.
Pilling out, the students circled around their teacher. Most of them disinterested in the class trip. But glad to be out of school for the morning.
Looking back up the steps, Mrs. Foust smiled at the driver. “Thank you, we’re supposed to be picked up at 11:30.”
Tapping his itinerary sheet on the clipboard. The driver replied, “Yes ma’am, got it right here.”
Dropping the clipboard back into the window tray. The driver pushed against the lever and the door slid close.
“I hope everyone has all their belongings,” Mrs. Foust said, turning from the bus.
None of the students reacted as if they had forgotten anything.
“Remember, keep together.” Mrs. Foust continued, as she started to walk across the blacktop.
On cue, the ornate white front door of the funeral home opened and out stepped a woman in her mid-thirties, dressed conservatively in a skirt suit. Her blonde hair cut pixie style. A well-practiced smile crossed her face as she greeted the class and held her hand out for Mrs. Foust to shake. “Mrs. Foust, I’m Jennifer Andrews, Funeral Service Manager here at the Briggs and Son
s Funeral Home.”
Shifting the binder to her left hand. Mrs. Foust shook Jennifer’s hand quickly. Breaking contact as fast as she could.
“And this is your class,” Jennifer said, looking the motley crew over. “Good morning everyone, and welcome.”
A few students replied with, “Good Morning,” though most just stood there waiting for things to get moving.
“Shall we get started?” Jennifer continued, as she turned for the front door and held out an open hand.
As Mrs. Foust led everyone inside. A somber feeling fell over everyone as they stepped into a lobby painted a calming cream color. Positioned to try and relieve the anxiety that most families felt on their visits here. Oil paintings were placed strategically on the walls. While tall flower filled vases stood in every corner.
Just off the lobby, stretched a long hallway with two large rooms on the left. Solid white double doors stood open to each room, and all could see that the first room was set with rows of lacquered white wooden folding chairs. Lush purple curtains hung across the back wall where a coffin lay on a five-foot-long casket stand covered by table skirt that matched the curtain.
Stopping just before the hallway, Jennifer faced the gathered crowd. “Today we will be showing you the inner workings of a funeral home. From the time a grieving family sets foot in our doors. Through the process of funeral arraignment.”
From her place at back of the group, Violet eagerly asked, “What about the embalming room?”
Surprised by the goth girl’s excitement, Jennifer replied, “Yes, we will be visiting the preparation rooms as well.”
“Cool, are we going to get to see someone get embalmed?” Violet continued.
“No, I’m sorry. That would require permission form from the deceases family.” Jennifer replied. “But we are a working funeral home, and the dead are prepared here daily. So don’t be surprised if we encounter a customer or two.”
Murmurs rose from the group. With practiced authority Mrs. Foust brought them all to silence with one curt, “Quiet.”
Looking back at Jennifer with a pleasant smile, she said, “Please continue.”
Jennifer glanced at the gold-plated watch on her right wrist. “We have a few hours until our first viewing begins. So if you all will follow me. We can get started.”
As the group followed Jennifer into viewing room one. A young lady with dark brown hair that framed her round face. She wore wire rimmed glasses and a crisp jacket and slacks. Tentatively she stepped from a small office on the right side of the hallway. Stopping just out of the doorway, she clasp her hands in front of herself and patiently waited for Jennifer to look her way.
As they made eye contact, the receptionist lifted her eyebrows and gave a polite, I need you immediately, smile.
“If you will excuse me for a moment,” Jennifer said, as she guided the last of the students into the viewing room. “I’ll be right back.”
Once sure that all the students were in the room. Jennifer hurried across the hall without showing any outward signs of concern.
“Is there a problem, Samantha?” Jennifer asked as quietly as she could.
Sounding stressed, Samantha replied, “Mrs. White’s on the phone.”
“And?” Jennifer looked at her watch again. “Brice should be on his way to pick up her mother by now.”
“No,” Samantha said, “he doesn’t need to anymore.”
“What do you mean? The Schubert’s didn’t swoop in again and steal another account. Did they?” Jennifer’s voice got tense at the thought of the competing funeral home, and their tendency to steal accounts at the last moment.
“No. The White’s signed their contract last week, and paid the deposit.”
“Then what is it?”
Samantha gave a nervous smile. “Mrs. White said that they were mistaken. Her mother wasn’t ready to pass after all.”
“Mistaken? That’s impossible, she was terminal.”
Samantha shrugged, “Maybe the doctor made a mistake?”
“You said she’s on the phone?”
Samantha nodded, “Line four.”
Looking back at the group standing in the viewing room, Jennifer said, “Can you give our guests the company spiel, and answer any questions until I get back?”
Surprised, Samantha replied, “I’m only the receptionist?”
“You’ve been wanting a promotion. Now here’s your chance to prove yourself.”
A terrified look crossed Samantha’s face for a moment. Then quickly vanished as she nodded. “Alright.”
“Good girl,” Jennifer encouraged, “go get ‘em.”
Giving Jennifer a nervous smile, Samantha pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then walked briskly to viewing room one.
Hoping that the receptionist did not get eaten alive by the group of teen-agers. Jennifer stepped into the office. The room was just big enough for desk with two padded faux leather chairs set in front. A row of file cabinets stood against the back wall near a closet.
Rounding the desk. Jennifer pushed Samantha’s rolling chair to the side. Reaching for the phone, her hand hesitated for a moment before she picked it up.
Putting the receiver to her ear, she looked out the large window that gave a view of the lobby. Then down to the phone, and the row of buttons. Button number four shinned demandingly at her. Biting her bottom lip, she pressed the button. As the line clicked over, a chorus of loud voices assaulted her.
Pulling the handset from her ear, she said, “Mrs. White, this is Jennifer Andrews.”
She could hear Mrs. White on the other end of the line breathing heavily. Then the background noise lowered as she readjusted the phone. “Miss Andrews it’s a miracle.” Mrs. White said, sounding confused and relieved at the same time.
“Yes, it is,” Jennifer replied. “Have you called a doctor yet?”
“No, I called you right away. Isn’t this the most wonderful news.”
“Yes ma’am, it is…” Another loud rush of voices came from the earpiece. Jennifer couldn’t make out what was being said. But she could tell that there were at least half a dozen people near the phone.
“Mrs. White?” Jennifer said.
As she waited for Mrs. White to come back on the line. Jennifer glanced up at the row of flat screen TVs mounted on the wall above the door. Each one showing security footage of the perimeter of the funeral home. The first, showed the front of the parking lot from a camera placed under the porte-cochere. The second camera was set on the front door. While the third was an extended view of the backlot from a camera mounted by the dock. She could see the loading bay and the green dumpster to the left of a ramp leading up to the dock. Two large vans with blackened windows sat in stalls on the far side of the lot next to a hearse. While Mr. Briggs BMW sat parked in its usual place near the street.
Everything looked calm when compared to all the noise coming thru the phone. Looking at the dock, Jennifer noticed that the loading door was up revealing double doors. Everyone knew that the loading door was to be closed at all times, unless receiving a body.
“Mrs. White?” Jennifer repeated into the phone as the noise on the other end suddenly dropped.
She then heard Mrs. White put the phone down. “Mother you shouldn’t be out of bed.” Then the line went dead.
Jennifer looked at the handset then hung up the phone. It was a good day when someone’s loved one succeeded in fighting off death. But bad when it meant losing another commission.
Glancing at the monitors again, she noticed a little old lady in a flower print dress was slowly walking by the dumpster. By the way she was moving, Jennifer could tell that the old lady was disoriented as she made her way up the ramp to the loading dock.
“Crap,” Jennifer said as she moved around the desk.
As she came out of the office, she heard a burst of laughter coming from the viewing room. Figuring that Samantha had everything under control, Jennifer turned right down the hall.
At the end
of the hall was a staircase leading to the second-floor business offices and grand showroom. On her right was an elevator. Before that, a short hall leads to the men’s and women’s restroom on the right side and a door leading to a room on the left where the deceased were checked into the system before heading downstairs to the cooler or embalming room.
Pushing through the door, she crossed through an empty room painted eggshell white with a matching tile floor. Florescent lights were recessed into the drop tiled ceiling. While a large surgical light connected to a retractable arm was mounted to the wall by the rear door.
High heels clicking against the freshly waxed tiles, she stepped through the rear door into an empty hallway leading to the docks. As the door swung closed behind her, motion sensors activated and three sets of florescent lights recessed in the ceiling came to life.
Looking down the hallway, she could see the double doors to the loading dock and the elevator across the hall from it. At the end of the hall stairs lead down to the basement, and the most critical rooms of the funeral home.
Pushing through the dock doors, Jennifer expected to see the little old lady rummaging through the dumpster for something to eat. She found it hard to confront the homeless who had come to this way of life. But to think that a funeral home threw away anything that was edible was a hard stretch. It was more likely she was looking for clothes. That was a more accurate assumption for the funeral home did dispose of quite a bit of clothing from the deceased.
The dumpster sat untouched, its heavy black plastic lid down to keep the seagulls and other scavengers out. She looked across the dock to the ramp, then back to the steps on the other side. The old lady wasn’t anywhere to be seen. But how? It was clear that she wasn’t fast enough to have left the parking lot without being seen.
Jennifer heard the ding of the elevator. The doors slid open, and was followed by the sound of a garbage cans hard rubber wheels being pushed roughly into the hallway.
As the doors to the elevator slid shut. The loading doors opened with a bang as Bob Briggs manhandled a fifty-gallon grey plastic trashcan thru. Just a few years into his twenties, Bob was thin framed, with dark hair cut into a 1950’s style, minus the brill cream. He wore blue dress pants, and a matching button-down shirt, without a necktie. Over that, he wore a starched white lab coat that stopped at his knees.
Chicago Undead (Books 3-4): Encounters Page 1
