The Creeping Dead: Book 2

by Edward P. Cardillo

  Morty bent down and looked at April. Her face was contorting, as she was on the verge of tears. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I stepped on something sharp,” she said, allowing herself to cry.

  Morty picked her up in his arms—an easy task as she was tiny, even for a six-year-old—and carried her back to shore. When they were just out of reach of the surf, he sat her down in the damp, hard sand. She wiped her tears with the backs of her arms as he inspected the bottom of her right foot.

  As he squeezed it, blood trickled out of a small cut on the bottom of her foot, and April winced.

  “Honey, I think you stepped on a sharp piece of sea glass.”

  She stopped crying for a moment. “I thought sea glass wasn’t sharp.”

  As a wave washed up, Morty scooped up water in his cupped hands and drizzled it over her foot. The blood washed away, revealing a small white cut. The cold water offered her some relief. “Well, it is sharp if it was just broken. It takes time to grind it down and make it smooth.”

  The truth was, since Superstorm Randy, all kinds of debris had been washing up on shore—pieces of the Albatross roller coaster, fragments of bathroom tile, small chunks of concrete, and even splinters of the old boardwalk.

  Little April considered this for a moment, frowning. “I wanna go home now.”

  Morty smiled. “That’s right. We’ll put some peroxide and a band-aid on that cut of yours, and your foot will be as good as new.”

  April scrunched up her nose at the mention of peroxide, knowing it would sting. Morty leaned in close. “If you don’t tell Grandma about the seventy-three cents, I’ll split it with you.”

  April’s frown turned upside down. “Deal!” Her attention immediately shifted to something on the beach. “Look, Grandpa! You caught something!”

  Morty turned to find his fishing rod bent. Something was pulling the line. Hard.

  “Let’s go!” Morty helped her to her feet, and they raced over to where the fishing rod was planted. It was bending, then straightening, then bending again.

  Morty bent down and snatched it up. It was almost torn from his grip. “Golly, I’ve caught something big.”

  Forgetting her injured foot, April jumped up and down, squealing and clapping her hands in excitement. “Get it, Grandpa! Get it!”

  “Get back, honey.” Morty struggled with trying to reel it in as April backed away. Whatever it was, it was taking an awful lot of his line. He leaned backwards, pulling the rod with him as it bent nearly in half.

  “That’s a big fish, Grandpa! You caught a whale!”

  Morty knew it wasn’t a whale, but it was a sizeable fish. Hell, the way it was fighting, he figured he might’ve caught a small shark. Maybe that was what the helicopter was looking for. “Get back, April,” he said again, and she took several more steps backward.

  There was a strong pull, and Morty was yanked forward off his feet. He went crashing face-first into sand, and he let go of the rod. It was dragged towards the water in staccato bursts. Something was reeling the rod in.

  April ran over to Morty. “Grandpa! Are you okay?”

  Morty pushed himself up with both hands, spitting dry sand out of his mouth. He saw his fishing rod sitting twenty feet in front of him on the wet sand. He had to move quickly.

  He pushed himself to his feet, his joints creaking and back complaining, and he lurched over to the edge of the water. As he stretched down for his rod, it was pulled just out of his reach.

  April, losing interest quickly, began to play with the sand in front of her, creating a small mound that she fancied to be a grand palace housing a princess.

  Morty splashed through the water, which was now up to his knees, and he reached down, his fingertips just barely touching his rod. The thought crossed his mind that this was a lost cause. Before he could straighten up, a hand reached out from the surf and latched onto his wrist.

  Morty’s eyes bugged out of his head, not just because he was taken by surprise, but because the pale, green hand was swollen, and its flesh was torn.

  He was immediately pulled into the water face-first, as another hand clamped itself down on his neck, pulling him further out. He struggled to push his face above water to catch his breath, but the hands held him down as waves crashed over his back.

  April.

  Morty knew he had to fight, not for his life but for April’s. If this zombie got him, she would be next.

  He thrashed around in the surf as the hands pulled him away from shore. Soon, his knees were no longer scraping the pebbles and sand. He felt buoyant, as he had been dragged out to deeper water, but he wasn’t being allowed to float.

  Morty forced open his eyes, the salt stinging them. In front of him, there was nothing. Below him was one of the dead, its eyes feral with hunger. It was bloated and discolored, no doubt from spending a couple of years at sea.

  Running out of oxygen, Morty’s vision began to fade as shadows crept from his periphery, looming over his vision. He was about to lose consciousness when he felt teeth clamp down on his right calf.

  He let out a silent scream of pain as more teeth sunk into his left thigh and right shoulder. Sea water rushed into his lungs, and they burned as the life leached out of his body.

  On shore, April, oblivious to the disappearance of her grandpa, was immersed in a game with her sand castle. She had made a drawbridge out of an old piece of boardwalk, shorn away by the superstorm two years ago. She positioned a cigarette butt upright and adorned it with dry seaweed. It was Princess April of the Bay, and she sat on a throne fashioned from a small shard of bathroom tile.

  While she oversaw her kingdom made of detritus, she did not notice the staggering figure rising up from the surf and sloshing out of the water. It zeroed in on her, reaching out, trying to screech, but its lungs were filled with sea water.

  April saw a tall shadow looming over her sand castle. “Did you get your rod, Grandpa?”

  There was a muffled grunt in response.

  “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Cat got your tongue?” She turned around and screamed as swollen fingers seized her in death’s embrace.

  * * *

  Vinnie Cantone stood at the edge of the boardwalk, peering out at the broken Blackbeard’s Pier. Nancy had reinforced the remaining portion of the pier and replaced the half of the arcade that had broken off into the ocean. The Classics Room had been replaced with claw machines, which Vinnie thought to be a travesty, but Nancy insisted they made her money. She was in the process of extending the pier with money she scraped together from her other, smaller businesses while she waited for the insurance company and FEMA to fight over who was going to pay out first.

  There was construction equipment sitting dormant in the morning sun next to piles of wooden pilings. Dozens of feral cats hid amongst the construction equipment. There had been an infestation of them since the superstorm. The town even started a grassroots movement to neuter and feed them.

  It all seemed ridiculous to Vinnie when tons of families were still displaced from their homes, some of which had been condemned. Some of those fortunate to receive an insurance check began renovations, while others elevated their homes on pilings as a precaution against future floods.

  As he looked at Blackbeard’s Pier, Vinnie thought back to that night when he, Dharma, Mike, Nancy, Alessandra, and Salvatore were trapped inside the arcade during the storm. He remembered the dead fingers probing underneath the bent metal gates, searching for them.

  He shook his head, as if doing so would clear the mental image away, and redirected his attention to a child throwing pieces of toast from breakfast to the seagulls. His daddy broke off small pieces and handed them to the little boy, who then chucked them, giggling as the seagulls caught them in midair.

  “Boo!”

  Vinnie jumped out of his skin when Dharma snuck up behind him and tickled his ribs. He shot her a look.

  She slipped an arm around his shoulders and kissed him. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I f
orgot.”

  “I don’t know how you can be completely unaffected by…what happened.”

  “Vin, it was two years ago. And that’s not true, anyway. I was affected by it.”

  Vinnie glanced down the boardwalk at the shuttered businesses. The signs above, many of them now hand-painted, read things like: Shoot the Zombie, Whack-A-Zombie, Water Gun Apocalypse, and The Creeping Dead (a zombie-themed haunted house). “It’s kind of hard to move on when the whole Bay has become Zombie Central.”

  Dharma pulled him closer, putting him in a loose headlock. “Oh, come on. This is how some people choose to deal with it. I, for one, think it’s constructive.”

  Vinnie arched a dubious eyebrow. “Constructive? Try morbid. And in poor taste.”

  Dharma looked down the boardwalk at the signs and smiled. “All this is bringing in much-needed dollars. Without it, the town may have gone under.”

  Vinnie drew his attention back to the little boy, who was now pitching his pieces of toast straight down into the sand. The smaller, black-headed seagulls swooped down first to try to claim their prize. However, the larger ones swept down, chasing them away. Might made right. Law of the jungle.

  “I just don’t know if it’s good for all the kids. You know, the little ones.”

  Dharma smiled at the little boy and his father. “This is just a phase. In a year or two, the zombie obsession will fade, and we’ll go back to being a quaint, boring little beach town.”

  Vinnie thought that Dharma was right. This was just a phase, like that time that goofy reality show was shot in Smuggler’s Bay, the dating show with the goofy Bennies, as if Bennies actually lived here.

  Dharma looked concerned. “Have you given any thought about talking to Tara?”

  Vinnie frowned. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not? You’re obviously having some difficulty getting past what happened.”

  “Past what happened? How does one get past his hometown being invaded by blood-thirsty zombies?”

  Dharma turned her back to the beach, leaning her back against the temporary fence. “I think she’s the perfect person to speak to.”

  “She lost her husband,” said Vinnie. “He tried to eat her and her son.”

  “She understands what happened,” said Dharma. “At least your family is safe. You didn’t lose anyone.”

  “I lost friends, remember?”

  Tara wanted to swallow her words. “Vin, that’s not what I meant.”

  He looked down at the boardwalk. “It’s not that I’m depressed or anything. Dharma, I’m not sleeping at night, and when I do, I have horrible nightmares.”

  “About the zombies?”

  “Yes. Every night. Whenever a balloon pops at the water gun race, or a car honks its horn, or inconsiderate people sneak up on me…” Dharma shrugged her shoulders, looking sheepish. “…I jump out of my skin.”

  Dharma put her hands up in mea culpa. “Hey, hey, I said I was sorry.”

  “What if…what if they come back?”

  “But they haven’t come back, Vin. It’s been two years, and no sign of them whatsoever.”

  Vinnie began to shift back and forth on his feet. “What if the military didn’t get them all? You know how many got washed out to sea…”

  “Exactly. They’re floating around somewhere out in the ocean.”

  “What if they’re walking the bottom? What if they’re making their way back here?”

  Dharma chuckled. “Why would they come back here? What’s so special about Smuggler’s Bay?”

  Vinnie leveled his gaze at her. “Jaws always came back to Amityville.”

  “That was only in Jaws 2,” corrected Dharma. “Jaws 3 was set somewhere completely different, as was 4. And they’re just movies, Vin.”

  Vinnie frowned. “Until two summers ago, I would’ve said that zombies were only movies.”

  Dharma frowned too. “I see your point.”

  “Maybe I should call Tara.”

  “I think you should schedule an appointment.”

  “I will,” resolved Vinnie.

  Dharma stared him down.

  “What, now? It’s too early in the morning.”

  Dharma smacked his forehead. “There’s a new invention, doofus. It’s called voicemail.”

  Vinnie pulled his cell phone out of his shorts. “You want me to make an appointment. Fine. I’ll make an appointment.”

  He called up her contact information in his phone. Dharma made him enter it and save it on his phone as a contact, step one in her relentless intervention. He pressed the call button, and it began to ring.

  “Dr. Bigelow.”

  Vinnie hadn’t actually expected her to answer. “Uh, hi, Tara. It’s Vinnie Cantone.”

  “Oh, hi, Vinnie. How are you?”

  Vinnie hesitated, but Tara was nudging him with her elbow. “Well, that’s why I was calling. I was wondering if I could schedule an appointment to talk.”

  “What, like a session? I’m not really supposed to see people I know socially.”

  She had a point. Although Vinnie wouldn’t consider her a close friend, she was a friendly acquaintance, and one he survived the almost-apocalypse with.

  “I-I figured you might be able to…offer me some perspective, seeing as how you went through…that thing we all went through two years ago.”

  “Are you having a tough time with it?”

  “I haven’t been sleeping, and I get these crazy bloody nightmares when I do. I’m real jumpy, too.” Vinnie didn’t like appearing vulnerable, and it was clear in his voice.

  Tara hesitated on the other end, considering the prospect. “Well, I guess we’re not technically friends, so I guess it’s okay. Besides, if you told another therapist about your difficulty getting over a zombie attack, they might lock you up.”

  Vinnie hadn’t considered that. Even though the attack had been all over the news, it was still difficult to swallow for outsiders.

  “Take a breath, Vinnie. I was just joking.”

  Vinnie exhaled.

  “I’m dropping Tyrell off at Marie’s store, then I’m heading to work. I’m seeing a client at four on the boardwalk. How about we meet at your pizzeria at five o’clock?”

  “Sure. That would be great.”

  “Great, I’ll see you later then.” Tara terminated the call.

  Dharma was hanging all over him in anticipation. “Well? How’d it go?”

  “I have an appointment at five o’clock.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “That’s great!”

  Vinnie was starting to feel a little better when the little boy tossed a piece of toast a little too close to the boardwalk. A seagull landed nearby and waddled over to where it rested in the sand. As he bent to snatch it up in his beak, two feral cats leapt out from under the boardwalk, tackling it. One cat grabbed its neck in its mouth, while the other grabbed its wing.

  The seagull lay there helpless, its wings splayed, one of them broken, and the cats dragged it under the boardwalk to be eaten alive.

  The little boy began to squeal in terror as his father pulled him away from the fence and down the boardwalk, away from the scene of the crime.

  Vinnie and Dharma stood there, flabbergasted, unsure if they really saw what just happened.

  “Fuck,” gasped Vinnie.

  Dharma laughed. “Like I said, boring.” She grabbed a shocked Vinnie by the arm and pulled him away from the fence. “I’m hungry, let’s get some breakfast.”

  Vinnie looked at her in revulsion, allowing himself to be pulled away from the fence. “How can you possibly be hungry after seeing something like that?”

  Dharma punched him in the arm. “Hey, I just thought of a new name to help your dad’s pizza shop to capitalize on this whole zombie craze.”

  “God, no. Please, don’t.”

  “World War Ziti.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

  She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! The Walking Bread!” S
he put her arm around his shoulders as they walked and shook him. “Get it?”

  Vinnie shook his head. “This is going to be a long summer.”

  * * *

  “Hurry up and get dressed!”

  Tara waited by the front door. Tyrell was dragging his feet, as all children do when off during the summer. However, what he—like all children—failed to appreciate was Tara still had to go to work.

  He finally materialized, pulling a T-shirt on as he shuffled to the front door.

  “Double time it, mister.”

  He yawned as he slipped his feet into his sneakers that were laced up loose enough for easy access, but somehow tight enough to stay on his feet. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

  Tara grabbed him by the wrist and guided him out the front door, which she promptly slammed and locked. The morning sun felt warm on their faces. It was late June, but it felt like late July.

  She marched him to the car, and they slipped inside. Within minutes, they were parked behind Marie Russo’s store. As Tyrell slowly exited the vehicle, Tara was already halfway up the ramp to the boardwalk. “Tyrell!”

  However, she didn’t wait for him. When she reached the boardwalk, she saw that Marie had already opened the security gate. When Tara peeked in, she saw Salvatore and Alessandra unpacking boxes. She took note of how different they looked from when she first met them two summers ago. Although Alessandra was a bit younger than Salvatore, she was beginning to catch up to him in height. Both children looked older, more mature.

  Salvatore was the first to see Tara peering into the store. “Hi, Mrs. Bigelow.”

  Alessandra called out to her mother, and Marie emerged from the stock room in back, her skin already glistening with sweat. She smiled when she saw Tara. “Hey, there.”

  Tyrell had finally caught up, walking into the store and immediately diving into the task of helping the other two kids unpack boxes of T-shirts.

  Tara smiled back. “Hey, Marie.” She looked at Tyrell working, an abrupt change in mode from five minutes prior. “I wish I could get as much work out of him as you do.”

  Marie glanced over her shoulder at the three kids working together seamlessly. “Oh, he’s a good kid, and he’s been a big help.”