Winchester Undead (Book 2): Winchester: Prey

by Dave Lund

  Bexar pulled the curtains open a little further and saw some of the undead standing near the cabin as if they were in a trance, not moving, just standing there like they were waiting for something to happen. Keeley was smart for her age, but she was still a toddler, and Jessie worked very hard to keep her playtime quiet or at least quiet enough that she wouldn’t be heard through the thin, rock-constructed walls.

  “Jess, I don’t know why they’re like that. Maybe because it was night time? But we’ve seen them move at night before.”

  “Maybe because it’s really cold out there and they slow down in the cold? It’s really cold in here too.”

  “Fine, start a fire, but keep it small in case we need to put it out in a hurry. And I don’t want too much smoke in the air above us.”

  The small wood-burning fireplace in the corner of the living area still had a stack of small cut logs next to it with a pile of wood chips to help get the fire started. Before the fall of civilization, this would have been a romantic getaway destination. It only took a few minutes for the wood to begin popping, and soon Keeley joined her mother close to the fire, trying to chase the chill away.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Bexar stood with a grimace. His leg hurt—it really hurt—but it didn’t hurt as bad as he would have thought. As a cop, he’d always wondered what it would feel like to be shot and deeply longed to never find out. Thankfully, it had only been a grazing wound. He shuddered to think what would have happened if it had been a devastating shot like what happened to Amber, Malachi’s wife. Actually, he did know what could have happened—he would have died just as she had and hopefully Jessie would have been strong enough to put him down for good before his reanimated corpse could bite her or Keeley. The thought of being a corpse condemned to walk the earth in death made Bexar realize he no longer feared death. He feared becoming a part of the undead.

  “I’m going to take the motorcycle and lead our new friends outside away from the cabin. Then I’m going to ride to Lajitas to see if I have any better luck finding us a new vehicle.”

  “If you could get another motorcycle, I could ride with Keeley in my lap.”

  “We really don’t want to do that. We would have to give up what little bit of gear we have left and we would be at the mercy of the weather, never mind having no protection from the undead on the roads at all. Besides, you don’t even know how to ride.”

  “I figured you could teach me. Anyway, how come their motorcycles work when nothing else does?”

  “I’m not sure. Malachi probably would have known, but I can say that the motorcycle I took from the guy I killed seems really old. I’m not sure what year it is, but I seriously doubt it has any electronics on it at all. Regardless, I learned to never underestimate a hard-core biker’s ability to cobble together some bullshit to keep a beat-up old Harley running with nothing but electrical tape and some barbed wire.”

  Jessie ignored the comment. “How are you going to get to the bike with the undead standing around out there?”

  “That I haven’t figured out yet, but I was thinking you could throw something out the front door while I sneaked out the back. But I don’t know what.”

  Jessie picked up a fake plant in a small ceramic pot. “I bet this would make some good noise when it crashed and broke.”

  Bexar smiled while he unpacked his go-bag to rearrange for a quick day-trip. Down to a single AR-15 between the two of them, Bexar took the majority of loaded Pmags, twelve in total. That left a few behind, but he was torn between carrying all the ammo he could and the weight if he needed to move on foot, limping as slowly as that may be. Bexar also chose his multitool, a stripped-down MRE, two bottles of water, the medical trauma kit, and the cheap binoculars he’d taken the night before. Bexar looked around the room and took one of the surplus green wool army blankets off the bed and cut a hole in the middle.

  “Why did you do that? Now our blanket has a big hole in the middle.”

  Bexar winked at Jessie before putting on his chest rig and shouldering his go-bag. He slung the rifle across his chest and put the big CM Forge knife back in the sheath on his belt next to his pistol. He tossed the wool blanket over his body, sticking his head through the hole that he’d cut in the middle. Some 550-cord made a quick belt around his waist to hold the wool poncho down against the wind.

  “See, now I won’t freeze to death on the ride. If you didn’t notice, I don’t exactly have my heavy riding jacket or face fleeces with me, so I needed something. I should be home by sundown. If something happens and I’m not, hold the fort; I’ll be back soon.”

  Jessie kissed Bexar before he limped to the back door. She took the fake potted plant in her hand. She glanced out the window to make sure there wasn’t a surprise right outside the door before opening it quickly and throwing the ceramic pot, fake plant and all, into the parking lot, where it landed with a loud crash. Bexar pulled his big knife and exited out the rear door onto the back porch. An undead teenager stood facing the desert, away from the door, in his underwear, looking a bit like he’d had too much to drink at an underage party. Bexar crept slowly behind the walking corpse and drove the knife into the back of his skull.

  The body fell, the teenager’s ruined skull hitting the pavement and the knife falling with him, pulling Bexar off balance and onto the ground on top of the body. His right leg throbbed sharply from the sudden movement. Bexar rolled off the body, fighting back the urge to throw up. He stood as quickly as he could and brushed the maggots off the front of his poncho before wiggling the knife back and forth to free it from the skull. Working it loose, Bexar bent to wipe the blade off on the only piece of clothing the kid was wearing, a pair of underwear, but he noticed that the cotton briefs were caked and stained with blood and dried old shit. The thought hadn’t crossed Bexar’s mind before, but bodies release their bowels when they die and apparently that was true even if the body reanimated afterwards.

  Bexar shuddered, brushed the remaining maggots off his poncho, and added to the gore by wiping his knife on the green wool. The old Harley was right where he’d left it and surprisingly there was no puddle of oil under it. It started without much effort. The straight pipe exhaust made Bexar’s skin crawl, the noise accosting his tactical sense of the absolute need to be quiet to avoid the undead. Side stand up, Bexar gently rolled on the throttle and blipped the motor a few times as he pulled past the front of the cabin to make sure that every pair of dead eyes were on him.

  Regardless of the reason, Bexar was happy to be in the saddle again. Motor-cops are motor-cops because they love to ride, and Bexar was no different. He didn’t realize how much he had missed being on two wheels. Slowly, Bexar rode down the hill towards the highway, blipping the throttle often, leading the undead out of Terlingua like the pied piper. Once on the highway and with a little bit of time before the following mob of walking corpses could reach him, Bexar feathered the clutch, toed the rear brake and began riding in tight circles, tighter and tighter with each figure eight on the asphalt, the floorboards scraping the pavement. Bexar’s head snapped left and right with each turn. The undead continued to close the gap, relentless, so Bexar pointed the front wheel south, rolled on the throttle, and shifted gears. Each time his left heel kicked the shifter into a higher gear, Bexar grabbed another handful of throttle, riding faster and faster while laughing, able to forget his worries for just a short amount of time with an early morning ride through the desert.

  Study Butte, Texas

  Two motorcycles riding side by side slowed and stopped in the middle of Highway 118 where it intersected with Highway 170. A motorcycle lay in the road, mostly burned. The undead near the burned motorcycle took notice of the new arrivals disturbing the peace of the feeding dead and began shambling towards the two bikers.

  “DD, isn’t that Buzzer’s bike?”

  “Yeah, and what’s left of that asshole is still under the bike. Fuck, man. Russell is going to be pissed.”

  Before the walking c
orpses could reach them, the two riders turned around on the highway and rode back to the park as fast as they could.

  Near Lajitas, Texas

  The scenery of the highway meandering through the desert was incredible. The mountains in the distance, the sun rising over the desert floor … Bexar would have really enjoyed the ride if the need to find a vehicle and get back to his family wasn’t his immediate thought. It was a blessing that they were in such an isolated part of Texas. The highway was nearly devoid of any abandoned cars or trucks and Bexar didn’t see a single undead walking on the highway. He shuddered to think what Waco or Dallas was like now.

  Bexar passed a fireworks stand on the side of the highway outside of town and stopped the bike. December 26. He hadn’t thought about the fireworks stands being open, selling for New Year’s Eve when the attacks came. Bexar found the stand completely abandoned, but hundreds of Chinese-made fireworks remained on the shelves. Bexar grabbed four big boxes of Black-Cats and a box of sparklers and stowed them in a saddlebag on the still-running motorcycle. Movement from across the highway caught Bexar’s attention. Two elderly corpses walked towards him.

  “Loud pipes save lives, my ass. All they do is call the dead to the hunt!” Bexar said out loud to no one before gingerly climbing back on the bike, his right leg still throbbing, and continuing his ride to Lajitas. A handful of modern trucks were parked in the lot for the state park’s visitor center and Bexar really had no desire to investigate it by himself—especially after the fiasco of the first day he and his friends had upon arrival into Big Bend. That memory was still raw. Bexar continued to ride until reaching the edge of Lajitas, near where the resorts were located just off the highway. He rode the motorcycle off the road and parked it on the side stand behind the sign for the Maverick Ranch. Even with basically no chance of passing traffic, he wanted the bike to be slightly hidden from anyone who might pass. So far every other survivor he had met wasn’t someone who wanted anything good. Bexar began towards the highway before returning to the bike and stuffing a small box of Black-Cat firecrackers in his cargo pocket.

  Bexar walked in the middle of the highway, approaching the local resort and spa on his left, his right leg throbbing with each step. He turned to walk into the parking lot, uneasy about the hotel and buildings. He didn’t see any movement, but that didn’t mean he was alone. He felt eyes following him through the parking lot. Bexar pulled the front of his blanket poncho aside and held his rifle at the ready.

  The landscaping near the entrance to the parking lot had an old wagon in it. Bexar moved to the wagon and crouched down, trying to stay concealed from anyone at the hotel while he tried to figure out his next step. Bexar couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, but there was no movement that he could see. Retrieving his binoculars, Bexar scanned the parking lot. He counted twenty-three vehicles in all, but not one of them looked old enough to have survived the EMP. Bexar saw a new, well-outfitted four-door Jeep Wrangler with two fuel cans on a rack by the spare tire. If he could find a vehicle, he needed fuel.

  Bexar stowed the binoculars and crept slowly around the decorative wagon and into the parking lot, careful to stay away from the vehicles and anything that could have a walking corpse hiding behind it. A decorative fence separated the parking spots, so Bexar couldn’t easily cut between parking spots; he decided to walk down the edge towards the Jeep. Parked next to the Jeep was a newer Chevy Tahoe with tinted windows. Bexar edged up to the back of the Jeep and gently tapped on the metal Jerry cans with the back of his knuckles. One of the cans still had gas in it!

  Trying to be as quiet as possible, Bexar unlatched the gas can and set it gently on the pavement. Behind him, something slammed into the glass of the Tahoe with a wet thud, startling him. He fell backwards over the metal gas can with a rattling crash. Suddenly, from between the buildings, the feeding call of the moaning undead erupted in the still air. In the rear window of the Tahoe, a child was slamming her head against the glass. Bexar looked again and finally realized that the child was not living; she was beating her head against the glass trying to get her next meal.

  The first undead appeared from between the cars by the building. Bexar raised his AR and fired two rounds. The undead body dropped to the ground, no longer moving. The muzzle of Bexar’s rifle followed the movement caught in the corner of his vision. He aimed two more shots and another walking corpse fell to the ground. More moans filled the air. Dozens of undead began to appear, shambling from around the buildings of the resort and the vehicles in the parking lot, from nearly every direction. Bexar dropped his rifle to hang on the sling and pulled the firecrackers out of his pocket and his old Zippo out of his other pocket. He lit the fuse and paper before throwing the Black-Cats towards the approaching undead.

  Bexar grabbed the fuel can and jogged as quickly as he could, limping in pain, back towards the motorcycle as the firecrackers filled the air with noise and violence. He cut the corner across the landscaping towards his motorcycle and barely missed the outstretched bony hands of an elderly corpse. The undead face flashed in his memory, ears missing, bottom lip missing and dried blood covering the front of the man’s sweater vest.

  As Bexar reached the motorcycle, he noticed his right pant leg was turning red with his blood. He was thankful he parked so close. He wasn’t sure how much further he could have jogged, as bad as his leg hurt. He sat the gas can on the ground and looked at the motorcycle, blinked hard a couple of times and stared at the back of the bike. There was no sissy bar, he had no bungee cords, he had no way to quickly get the gas can attached to the motorcycle. The sound of scraping rocks and the approaching moans brought Bexar back to the present. He peeked around the sign and saw the approaching mass of undead bodies.

  “FUCK!”

  Bexar climbed into the saddle, started the bike, and rode back the way he came, the gas can left on the side of the road. The peaceful morning ride to Lajitas now became a pain-filled angry return ride in the mid-afternoon sun. After the previous weeks, Bexar still wasn’t sure how long a group of undead would follow after they lost sight of their prey. He hoped they wouldn’t follow for long. Bexar headed towards Terlingua and his family, the day’s mission a complete failure. He would have to ride to Alpine or Marfa next; he had to keep trying, and he couldn’t think that he wouldn’t be able to find a replacement vehicle at all. Bexar didn’t know how much longer they could remain hidden from the bikers if they stayed so close to the park.

  CHAPTER 29

  Fort Bliss, Texas

  February 16, Year 1

  Chivo glanced out of the windows near the Rod & Gun Club’s small restaurant; the sky over the eastern mountains glowed orange with the approaching dawn. Lindsey and Apollo were still asleep. Chivo wished he could have slept longer, but with only two of them, they had to split the night watch in half. Neither of them trusted Lindsey with the task of keeping a security watch; besides, she desperately needed a full night’s sleep after being stranded over the highway for so many days. Besides the ammo, next to the rotting kitchen, they found the dry goods storeroom with two cases of bottled water and a case of Gatorade. They were in desperate need of water and were thankful for the lucky find, even though the smell of the rotted food and the lingering smell of death from the previous occupant still turned their stomachs.

  Chivo kicked Apollo’s boot, waking his teammate before kneeling next to his head and whispering, “I need to set up the coms and see if we can reach anyone. I’m guessing it might take me half of the morning to click through our freqs and also check some of the back channels. I really have no idea who might still be listening on the other end.”

  Apollo agreed. “Yes, if we can’t reach anyone, we need to raid some of the homes across the tracks for food. Actually, we might need to do that anyway. Also, we need better transportation and more fuel. I don’t trust the Humvee not to break and the gas mileage is horrid.”

  “Right. Well, come give me some cover while I get our coms setup.”


  Chivo and Apollo shouldered their rifles, leaving their heavy packs behind, and crept out of the back door towards where they’d left the Humvee. Frost covered the plants and tables on the range, but there was no sign of any movement. The only body they encountered was the one they’d killed the night before, which still lay by the back door.

  Reaching the Humvee, Chivo opened the back door and retrieved the case with the radio. A few feet away from the big truck he opened the case, connected the handset, and set up the antenna. The radio powered up and the battery showed a full charge just as it did when they’d left the small warehouse the night before, but both men had field experience during which radio batteries decided it was time for an early retirement without any warning.

  Chivo punched in the first set of frequencies, took an educated guess at the line of sight for the communications satellite that should be overhead, and began a process of broadcasting and waiting multiple times before moving on to the next channel in his memorized list.

  The door behind them burst open. Apollo spun around, immediately raising his rifle, and saw Lindsey running towards them crying. Apollo lowered his rifle and she ran straight to Apollo and started hitting him. “I thought you two assholes left me! I woke up and was all alone, you dick!”

  “I’m sorry. We needed to set up the radio and attempt to make contact. We have to be outside to do it and I thought you needed the sleep.”

  Lindsey stopped hitting Apollo and sat down next to Chivo, her face wet with tears. Apollo raised his eyebrows at Chivo, who looked over his shoulder at him. Chivo shrugged and went back to his task.