What Lies Beneath: Z is for Zombie Book 6

by catt dahman

  Adam wondered what Amanda was doing or if it were all over. The map on television showed yellow for reports of sickness, orange for Red and comas, and then Red for, well, Reds who were attacking people. Places in Miami, Houston, El Paso, and Dallas, Chicago, Las Vegas, Detroit, Atlanta, and Seattle had gone yellow and then orange fast, and now, those cities showed the most red while other places in the circles around those places, were orange and yellow. The safe places looked like tiny ant trails on the map.

  "Grandma?”

  He had seen his grandmother worried before, but now, she looked as scared, as he felt. A quick glance at the clock told him that she was in his room, waking him up at 3:30 in the morning.

  "Adam, get up, and get dressed." She was throwing some of his things into his backpack, frowning, as she did so, as if concentrating very hard on what she was choosing.

  "Where am I going?" he asked, but she frowned more deeply. He wondered briefly if she were sleepwalking. She barely seemed aware of him. He tapped her on the shoulder.

  "Oh, Adam, you have to get dressed and get out of here, now." The intense look was gone, but she still seemed jumpy. Instinctively, Adam knew this calm wouldn't last.

  For years, they had moved around a lot, trying to stay away from some relatives who wanted custody of Adam; he had left friends, schools, and homes in so many different towns and cities that he had lost count and was beginning to forget some of the people he had known.

  Sometimes, he couldn't remember his mother as well as he wanted to. He hadn’t seen her since he was six when she had sent him to live with his grandmother, giving him a bus ticket, forty dollars, and a hug. She had said she was leaving the state to live with a man.

  He had never complained because his grandmother had never complained in her endeavor to keep Adam with her. She was the strongest person in his life.

  But now, tears were in her eyes, and a mad, terrible fear twisted his stomach. She looked at the quilt wadded up at the end of the bed, “We don't have much time.” She struggled to speak, "Honey, I have a fever, and I am sick; it could be a normal bug, but Adam, I don’t feel right. If it is something bad, like on television, you don’t want to see it or….”

  "You can't mean that."

  Tears ran down his grandmother's face. "I mean it, Honey. Your uncle Steve is sick, and I don’t know who can deal with this, but you are not going to stay here and watch me bleed out and go into a coma and then get up and….”

  Adam couldn't believe this was real: that Steve was sick. Steve was the coolest uncle in the world: had liked watching Pistons games with Adam, had even bought him a Pistons’ jersey, had caught Adam smoking and hadn't busted him, thought it was cool to play on computers, and had always been there when Adam needed a man to discuss girl stuff.

  Darla Perkins looked into the soft brown eyes of the grandson she loved, more than life itself. She had a huge respect for his maturity and intelligence; his intuitiveness and kindness made her treat him as much older than what he was.

  But he was fourteen and terrified by bad dreams that she suspected were caused by the news and the emails his friend had sent which made Adam think Amanda had been bitten and infected.

  Would she allow him to see her get sick and come back biting and attacking? My God, what if she bit and infected her own grandson? How could she do anything any differently?

  "Adam, I love you, and I need you to be very grown up because I am really afraid. I have to think clearly now and do what is best. You need to get away; then, those sick people will never catch you; you'll be okay. That's my prayer.”

  Adam wasn’t agreeable, but he thought that while he packed his stuff, trying to decide if this really were happening, he could decide what he would take.

  His grandmother handed him his camping canteen, and he shoved his knife, insect repellent, matches, a flashlight and batteries, extra socks, and some other things, which he always kept around for his make-believe apocalypse scenarios, into his backpack. He added his aluminum baseball bat to the pile.

  “Get dressed, boots please.”

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “The church? They should have some supplies and know what to do, and churches are well built. People will go there.”

  He dressed. “Sick people will too, looking for help.”

  She knew that was true, but where was a good place that would be safe? The television news reporters said to lock the sick people in a room and defend, but if the best advice were to lock up the infected and then bash at them with weapons, it was way past anyone knowing what to do.

  Having not gotten ill for this long, she had thought the danger was passed for them, but there was no mistaking the fever, headaches, nausea, and bleeding. She went to the bathroom to be sick again, shuddering as the water turned red when she vomited.

  “I can’t leave you….”

  “Adam, sending you away to save you is taking it all out of me. I would rather just go out and keep you here safe, but I think it would be worse for you to see me come back, beating at the door and trying to get you.”

  “Maybe it’s not Red.”

  “I need you to help me. I’m not strong enough to send you out unless you help. Please let me try to save you.” She was crying.

  Adam didn’t say anything since it would only be worse if he did. He nodded and hugged her tightly. She was upset and trying to do right by him, but he thought there was a way he could do this and be okay, so he didn’t beg or cry but took a deep breath and nodded again. “I’ll be okay; I promise.”

  “I know you will be.”

  Adam looked at the house that he'd called home for years and at his grandmother. He knew that he might never see her this way again; despite his resolve, sweat on his face turned to salty tears that flowed of their own free will.

  Angrily, he ordered himself to stop crying, swearing that he would never shed another tear over what might be. “I’m sorry Uncle Steve is sick….” He walked out, letting her watch him as he went down the walk way to the street with his head down. He turned to wave to her.

  As soon as he could be sure he was out of her line of vision, he darted to another yard, climbed over the fence, ran across a yard, and made it into his own backyard. Once there, he climbed up into the tree house, over-sized and well built, but better than that, it was way off of the ground where he would be safe and able to watch all around him.

  Uncle Steve had built it for Adam a while back when Adam was smaller. It had strong railings and a lot of room for him to stretch out. He had his pad and sleeping bag, things he wouldn’t have bothered with if he hadn’t already had this plan in mind. As long as it didn’t rain hard, he would be fine. It wasn’t as comfortable as his own room and bed, but he curled up and managed to fall asleep at once.

  This was his plan.

  3

  Rescue Station

  Evvie felt dirty, no matter how often she showered or scrubbed her hands. It was as if the stench of the make shift medical area saturated her pores. She had gone with her neighbors to the medical area, but then she realized she would help the small team, trying to care for some of the sick patients: who vomited, expelled diarrhea, poured blood from their noses and other orifices, burned up with fever, smelled of stinking sweat, and lay in their own filth. There was no way to keep up with the cleaning and laundry.

  She gave Bob, the preacher, a wave as she went to find more towels. “Jill, I need more towels, water, and some junk to clean with; bucket is empty.” She looked at her cart, which had been filled a little bit ago and was now empty. “Maybe some cookies or something for the families?”

  “If you see it, grab it. The cafeteria is empty, and we have nothing unless you can find something.”

  The school had seemed the place for a Rescue Station, and it had served them, but the classrooms were full, the cafeteria was empty, and the courtyard was now full of tarps and beds and people on sheets on the ground. What was meant for fifty patients was now over crowded with over five
hundred, and only a few military personnel outside the school kept more from coming in.

  In the street outside the school were people lying on the walks and the grass, unable to make it back home in their weakness and sickness but unable to be admitted either. They groaned and eliminated body fluids into the street, causing it to be a reeking open sewer that would spread other diseases and poison the water. Between the drone of the bottle flies and the noises of the sick, there was a constant loud buzzing.

  “Are we due any more stuff?” Evvie asked.

  “I doubt it. The military isn’t communicating about any restocking now. I think we are on our own. I would say get out now.”

  “That’s bad.”

  “Bad all over and more to come.”

  Evvie shuddered. “You don’t think those stories are right about the sick people overseas?”

  Jill bit her lip. “I didn’t. But it’s just like they said up to now: the comas, the dead. I don’t think they are zombies like in movies.” Her laugh was nervous. “Just sick people with fever and maybe the brain thing, what is it? Prions? Mad Cow?”

  “Doesn’t sound hopeful,” Evvie replied. She grabbed what she saw and kept moving. The cute man she had seen several times before tossed her a few bottles of water. She thought his name was Alex; he was attractive and smart, and in another time, she would have batted her lashes and tried to get to know him. Right now, staying on her feet was hard enough.

  To one side were several bodies that had been laid out on the floor so their beds could be used for more sick people. Men, women, and children were covered with body fluids and were stinking; their faces were also covered in filth and blood, pale with dehydration and death.

  They needed to burn the bodies in a death pit like people had used in the

  Dark Ages for victims of the Plague, but who would dig the pit and who would carry the dead?

  Family members of the departed looked at her with hollowed eyes, begging for water. She gave them two bottles for ten people and went to a different section quickly; people there looked at her with desperation and misery, and she expected to be attacked for the water she had. Soon, they would be at that stage, fighting for what would give them a few more hours of life.

  A scream got her attention.

  For some reason, a man was bashing at people with the metal stand that held IVs, splattering blood everywhere as he swung randomly at people. A small child clung at the man’s legs, and Evvie was almost sure the child was biting him. A bed flipped over as several other people began to bash at people who were filth-covered and clawing, moaning crazily.

  This couldn’t be real.

  “Get off me,” a woman screamed as her throat sprayed spit back onto the man who snapped at her. He was obviously a patient as he was dressed in his pajamas and was covered in matted body fluids, an IV trailing after him, empty and useless. She slapped at his hands, but he only moaned back. The woman went to the ground.

  A child and mother fought, but with so much blood, who was the victim was and who was the attacker might both be unclear.

  On the ground, a woman screamed, thrashing weakly as two children chewed at her stomach, the skin stretching and snapping as it tore. Her intestines, grey and bloody, slipped out of her as the children ate, pulling desperately at their meal. A terrible stench poured from her ruined bowels.

  Evvie watched, horrified. A man stood in front of her, his face ripped and chewed; she could see his teeth. His nose was gone as were his lips and cheeks, yet he moaned and staggered around.

  “Get moving,” she said to the cute guy, Alex, who snagged her sleeve and yanked her with him. She jerked back to grab the water bottles, slammed them into her cargo pockets, and ran after him.

  “We need to….” she was about to suggest helping the people who were being attacked, but she didn’t want to wade into that fight without a weapon.

  “Run,” he said.

  A man swung into action as he wheeled the preacher, Bob, away from a doorway while bloodied people followed them, streaming from the school and out into the courtyard. The man looked shocked to see that whatever was going on inside the building was also happening in the courtyard. From the screams, it was also happening outside the school. Gun shots came from that way as well.

  Evvie ducked with Alex behind the reeking dumpster, almost over flowing. “My, God, it’s like overseas; they’re getting up.”

  “Then, we know what they’re going to do,” Alex told her.

  Doc flopped beside them, huffing as he tried to get his breath. He held a bloodied IV stand. “I had to hit them hard in the head.”

  Evvie wished she had a weapon, too.

  They followed Alex, trying not to look back as he led them to the maintenance building.

  “Come on,” Alex said, slipping the door open. They went to their butts on the floor as he searched around and handed out long wrenches, hoes, and shovels. “Take your pick.”

  That was a nightmare: being asked to choose which gardening tool to use as a weapon.

  Ed came running, pushing Bob in a wheelchair, and mumbling to hurry and get to safety: the dead were coming back awake and fighting. Three were about to catch Ed and Bob in another few steps.

  Without thinking or discussing it, Alex and Evvie grabbed melee weapons, stepped outside, and started slamming down the three who chased Ed and Bob.

  Evvie didn’t even think about her action as she crashed the shovel down again and again like a baseball bat into a woman’s head, finally popping her head open and killing the woman.

  Alex hit the man, knocked him down, and went after the other woman before going back to finish the man. Together, they took care of that pair, and the others ran inside; Evvie and Alex joined them.

  They felt sick after having to do that to other humans.

  “Just like Europe and everywhere else, the bastards are coming up, pissed off, and eating people,” Doc snorted. “Why did we treat them if we had to beat them down again? Insane.”

  Bob mumbled prayers, and Evvie squeezed his shoulder hopefully.

  “ Should we have let them die and then chopped off their heads?” Evvie asked. “I guess that’s barbaric, but it would have saved time.”

  “And lives,” Alex added. “But we don’t do things like that, and did we believe it until we saw it?”

  “I didn’t,” Ed said. He watched out of one window. In a flash, he ran out of the building, with a hoe in hand, jumping over bodies that were dead or infected and not yet changed, leaping to one side to avoid a scratching, moaning woman, knocking a man off of his feet, and bashing at a child who had Jill backed into a corner.

  All around were the noises of sloppy feeding, sounds like tape being pulled off as Reds tore strips of flesh from the victims, of moaning, of screaming in fear, of calling or pleading for help, and of sounds of battle.

  Some were begging family members not to hurt them, but the victims didn’t understand the words, nor did they relate to humans as anything but their being a food source. Some were hammering at people to save themselves or others; some ducked into hiding places, moving as fast and often as possible; and more of the bloodied patients were everywhere, dragging themselves off of beds or pallets to attack. No place seemed safe.

  People fought in the middle and along the edges of the courtyard, chasing and running, only to fight again. Some ran inside the school while others in the same situation ran outside. Pure chaos reigned.

  “Come on,” Ed yelled to Jill; she, a woman dressed in blue jean shorts, and a thin teenager didn’t wait but raced from the frantic fighting to join Ed.

  The teen snagged an IV pole to use as a weapon. From another way came a muscular man who should have been able to take on the three who chased him, but he was without a weapon. Ed and the teen stepped in to take out two while the man caught his breath. Jill slammed a rolling bed into the third one, knocking it down until Ed could bash it. Blood formed small pools all around them.

  Jill was shaking so hard she
didn’t know how she could run, much less stay on her feet.

  A heavy-set black woman, a strong looking Hispanic man, and a tall white man all came from nowhere with wild yells and began using a pipe, a bat, and a board to beat the Reds back and crack open their heads. When the space was again clear for a few seconds, they looked at Ed with questions on their faces.

  “Come on.” He led them back, and only two more Reds got in their way; the group was able to beat them back to the ground, so the Reds had broken bones and spines, yet the things still tried to crawl after them, pulling themselves along with broken hands and fingers. Within a minute, they were back at the maintenance shed and through the door.

  Moaning came from all over.

  “Amazing work,” Alex said.

  “Thanks to these fighters,” Ed said, introducing himself. The heavier woman was Tiara, the Hispanic man was Adrian, and the tall, white man was Solly.

  The body builder was Patrick, who was with his girlfriend when she turned into a Red. Sniffling, the teen, Ron, said his mother turned, and the woman in shorts was Candy, who was with a boyfriend who turned. That made twelve in their party, out of over five hundred.

  The odds of survival sucked.

  “We are going to stay low until we get a feel for things; this place is huge. We can block the windows and the door and then go the back way in the school, and out after those in front have hopefully moved on.”

  “Look, we have the military out there; you think they won’t come help us?” Tiara asked. “We need to wait for them to come help us.”

  “I wish. Three were left on their feet this morning,” Doc said, “if they survive, they will run; I would anyway.”

  “Shee-it,” Tiara groaned.

  Candy lit a cigarette and glared at those who stared. “I’d be drinkin’ too if I had my Malibu.”

  “I could use a drink, too,” Doc admitted, “I bet we all wish we had one.”

  “You’d think with their just shambling about, we could outrun them or kill them fairly easy, but there’s so many. If you hit one, he just doesn’t fall back in pain like other people; he doesn’t even blink.”