Dead Rising

by Carl Hose

  * * *

  “Slow down,” Terri Lynn said. “There’s something going on up there.”

  “I see it,” Johnny replied sharply, showing his irritation.

  They’d passed several signs pointing to a town called Faith. At Johnny’s best guess, they should almost be there. He slowed down to exit the highway and a military jeep met them at the bottom of the exit.

  Columns of black smoke rose in the distance, beyond a large wooden structure that appeared to be blocking off an entire town.

  The military vehicle pulled alongside the VW. One of the soldiers motioned for Johnny to roll down the window.

  “What’s goin’ on, guys?” Johnny asked, trying to keep it friendly.

  “We’re at war,” the soldier in the passenger seat said. “Don’t it look like a war to you?”

  That was all Johnny could take. He was fed up with idiots. “Look, wiseass,” he said. “I got two women and another guy in here. We just wanna get somewhere we can settle in. We got weapons, so if you need a hand, we can pitch in.”

  The driver said, “Get the colonel on the horn, see what he says.”

  The passenger-seat soldier didn’t look too happy, but he keyed the mic. “Come in, Colonel Edgewater,” he said.

  “Go,” Edgewater came back immediately.

  “We have four civilians detained at the east edge of town. Two men, two women. Please advise.”

  The radio gave a burst of static, followed by Edgewater’s voice. “Are they alive and able bodied?”

  “Yes, sir, alive and able bodied. They say they have weapons and are willing to fight.”

  “Then you send their asses right through,” Edgewater said.

  “Roger that, Colonel,” the soldier said. He hung the mic up. “Your lucky day,” he said to Johnny. “You just joined the United States Army.”

  Johnny followed the jeep to the entrance of Faith. A front gate swung open and both vehicles passed through. Once inside, the jeep made a U-turn and headed out again.

  Johnny lit a cigarette and took time to look around. Faith appeared to be the New Mecca. There were military vehicles everywheretanks and helicopters and trucks, all carrying weapons and soldiers.

  “This is where we wanna be,” Johnny said.

  He wasn’t sure where he was going, so he followed Main Street and made a right at the first stoplight. Wanda, Terri Lynn, and Bobby pressed their faces to the windows to get a better look at all the activity. Something whistled overhead, followed by a godawful explosion.

  “Jesus, Johnny, you brought us into the middle of World War Three,” Wanda said.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, the world’s gone south, baby. World War Three would be a cakewalk compared to the neck-deep shit we’re in.”

  “This is a bad trip,” Terri Lynn said. “A real bad trip.”

  “Get used to it,” Johnny said.

  He drove until the military congestion made it impossible to go any further, then he parked the VW and got out. Wanda was next, followed by Bobby. Terri Lynn decided she was staying in the mini-bus.

  Johnny took one look at Edgewater across the street and knew that was the man to see. He could spot a man in charge a hundred miles away, and that motherfucker was boss man.

  Edgewater caught sight of Johnny at about the same time as Johnny saw him. The two of them met in the middle of the street, each strutting like a rooster claiming a hen house.

  “You the new recruits?” Edgewater said.

  “Wat’s that?” Johnny asked.

  “You just get here? That’s what I’m askin’, son.”

  “Yeah, we just met the welcoming committee,” Johnny replied.

  “Can’t be too goddamned careful,” Edgewater said. “We like to keep it tight. Don’t get too comfortable, you hear me? We’re in the middle of a fucking war and there’s no time to shit, shower, or shave.” He paused long enough to give Johnny the once over. “You look like a troublemaker to me. Are you a troublemaker?”

  “If I get pushed,” Johnny said.

  “Well, son, the military is in charge here. You don’t like the rules, you can get right down the fucking road. You got that?”

  “I ain’t in the military,” Johnny said. “I work for myself.”

  “I ain’t askin’ you to work for me, son, just saying we won’t tolerate any bullshit. You wanna make trouble, you go handle the fucking dead things on your own time.”

  A burst of static from Edgewater’s radio interrupted his initiation speech, followed by a panicked soldier.

  “Colonel, sir, they’re picking up weapons,” the soldier said.

  “Come again,” Edgewater responded.

  “The corpses are shooting us with our own arms, sir,” the soldier replied.

  Edgewater keyed his radio. “How the hell are they getting our weapons? Do not, I repeat, do not let them get their grubby hands on our goddamned weapons, is that clear?”

  “Colonel, sir, we’re doing our . . . aaagghhhh . . .”

  Edgewater shook his head in disgust, slipped his radio back in its pouch, and turned his attention back to Johnny. “You see what I’m up against here?” He glanced over Johnny’s shoulder at the VW, where Wanda, Bobby, and now even Terri Lynn were waiting for direction. “That your rag-tag bunch eyeballin’ us?”

  “Yeah, those are my friends,” Johnny said.

  “I want their asses armed and dangerous. Everybody in this fuckin’ camp will be ready to fight. You ain’t in Kansas anymore, son.”

  “I ain’t from Kansas,” Johnny said, then turned on his heels and strode away from the colonel before he could mouth off again.

  * * *

  “The Steinbergers live here,” Colbrook said.

  He and Dalton were standing in front of a cozy little yellow house with a colorful flower bed in the front yard. The front door was wide open.

  “Real old couple,” Colbrook said. “Pretty much keep to themselves.” He cleared his throat. “Martha, Franklin, you okay in there?”

  He glanced at Dalton, shaking his head slowly, indicating he didn’t have a good feeling about what they were going to find.

  “We better just go in,” Dalton said.

  “Yeah, I guess we better,” Colbrook agreed. “I mean, these folks never leave their house. They even have their groceries delivered.”

  The sheriff started toward the entrance of the house, with Dalton close behind. The sheriff’s hand hovered over the butt of his Smith and Wesson.

  Something moved in the back of the house as soon as they entered. Colbrook unsnapped his holster and drew his gun. He gave Dalton a nervous glance and made his way toward the noise.

  “Anybody here?” he called, not expecting an answer.

  The first room they came to was a small bedroom dominated by a large antique bed. The door was slightly ajar. Deep shadows made it impossible to see into the room. Colbrook placed a hand against the door and readied himself to enter.

  “Now I wish I’d brought the shotgun,” Dalton whispered.

  Colbrook nodded agreement, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. Franklin was sitting on the floor just inside the room. His wife’s half-devoured head was in his lap. Strings of bloody flesh hung from his lips; his face was flecked with bits of what could only be some of what Martha used to think with.

  “Holy Jesus,” Colbrook said.

  “Over there,” Dalton said, nodding to where a pale, wrinkled arm protruded from beneath the bed.

  Colbrook glanced at the arm and turned his attention back to Franklin, not wanting to let his guard down.

  “You know what I have to do, right, Dalton?”

  “I know what you have to do,” Dalton said.

  Before Colbrook could bring himself to shoot, Franklin lunged at him. Martha’s head fell to the floor and rolled off somewhere. Colbrook didn’t see where it went because he was too busy backing out of the room, bumping into Dalton in the process.

  “Out, go,” he shouted, pushing Dalton as he c
ontinued backpedalling.

  They made it out of the room. Colbrook slammed the door. Franklin collided with it on the other side.

  “We’re going to have to open it again,” Colbrook said. “I’ve got to put him down.”

  “Guess so,” Dalton agreed, but without any real enthusiasm.

  “Count of three,” Colbrook said.

  “Wait,” Dalton said.

  “For what?”

  “Just stallin’, I guess.”

  “Dalton, damnit . . .”

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  He counted fast and kicked the door. It hit Franklin, knocking him back into the room. Colbrook rushed into the room, raising his gun as Franklin came at him faster than he’d ever moved in life.

  “Sorry, old man,” Colbrook said.

  He squeezed off a round that drilled into Franklin’s forehead. Franklin halted in mid step, jerked twice, and dropped to the ground.

  Colbrook stood for several seconds without moving, his gun still aimed where Franklin had been standing only moments earlier.

  Dalton looked into the closet. “I found the rest of Martha,” he said.

  * * *

  The last gunshots and explosions rang out as a major battle of the war for Faith came to an end. Corpses adorned the landscape north and south of Faith. Some were twice dead, others were visiting for the first time. Zombies and soldiers alike, now hard to distinguish between the two. Those lucky enough to be blown to pieces stayed down. Some of them walked again, ready for the next round.

  Edgewater was on the radio. “Pull back,” he ordered. “We’ve lost too many in this skirmish. Let’s cut our losses here and, by God, regroup.”

  He cussed himself in hushed tones as troops began to roll back into town. It pissed him off to have to pull back. The idea of giving up ground to those disgusting, rotting corpses was like a corn cob up his ass. It simply wasn’t the American way, but it was the best battle strategy he had at the moment. The more goddamned soldiers that dropped with their heads still intact, the more fucking dead things there were to contend with, and that just wouldn’t do.

  Edgewater saw some of his able bodied soldiers tending to the wounded. Christ in a hand basket, what the fuck was that all about?

  He strode across the street with fire in his eyes, nearly trembling with anger. “Shoot any-goddamn-body that’s been bitten, scratched, or even looked at hard by one of those things,” he barked as he reached the group. “I don’t give a damn if your bleeding heart thinks they can make it or not, we can’t afford to have ’em gettin’ up and walkin’ around.”

  His men looked up at him with confusion written on their faces. Some still held their bleeding comrades in their arms.

  “But, Colonel—” Private Daybrook began.

  “Don’t but me, Private. I said kill every one of ’em.”

  To make his point, Edgewater drew his .45 and leveled it at one of the wounded soldiers. “That a shoulder wound you got there, son?” he said, overly dramatized for everybody within earshot. “Let me help you.”

  He squeezed the trigger, blowing the soldier’s brains across the pavement, then he turned to Private Daybrook. “I suggest you grab your family jewels in one hand and your gun in another. Kill or be killed, Private, are we fuckin’ clear?”

  “We’re clear, Sir,” Private Daybrook said.

  “Damn good,” Edgewater replied, holstering his .45 as he strode away to the musical sound of gunfire.

  Fifteen

  Colbrook looked like death warmed over. His eyes were red and rimmed with dark circles, and he was as pale as any one of those dead things.

  Sarah came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You doing okay?” she asked.

  “A little tired is all.”

  “You look more than a little tired,” she said.

  She began rubbing his temples. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the way it felt. When he opened his eyes again, Sarah was watching him. Something passed between them that neither could deny. It was a hell of a time for such feelings, but they were there nonetheless.

  Colbrook sat up, then stood and took Sarah into his arms. He let a proper moment pass before he kissed her.

  “I’ve been waiting for that a long time,” she said when the kiss ended.

  “Have you?”

  “Oh yes, Sheriff Colbrook, a long time.”

  They kissed again, this time with more intensity. His hands slid over the front of her uniform and fumbled with the buttons.

  “Let’s lock the door,” he said.

  After locking the door, Colbrook cleared a desk with one sweep of his arm, sending everything onto the floor. He lifted Sarah and went to work on her clothes, disrobing her in record time.

  She fell back on the desk, pulling him down with her, panting and gasping between kisses. She got his belt undone and his pants and briefs below his ass, then he was between her legs, groaning as her soft fingers stroked his cock and guided him into her.

  The sex was hot, fast, and verging on violent. Maybe it was the desperation of the moment, maybe it was a sudden new outlook on taking advantage of life while there was still life to take advantage of. Whatever the reason, they devoured one another. When it was over, they lay together on the desk, neither of them breathing steady for several minutes.

  “Is it ever going to be the same again?” Sarah finally asked.

  “I don’t know about that,” Colbrook said. He kissed her on the forehead. “I wish I had an answer for you.”

  “I feel so cheated,” Sarah said. “All this time I’ve wanted you, and when I finally get what I want, it’s in the middle of a living nightmare.”

  “I know what you mean,” Colbrook said. “This whole thingzombies, Edgewater, the military rolling through town like it’s some war-torn country, I don’t know how much more of it I can take.”

  They were silent for a long while. Every so often there was the sporadic sound of gunfire outside.

  “I killed people today, Sarah,” Colbrook said. “Not live people, no. They were dead, but they were neighbors. People I’ve shopped with, nodded to on the street, hell, some I’ve even fished with and played cards with. I had to look into their eyes and blow their heads off.”

  “You did what you had to do, Jeff.”

  “I know that. The worst part is, I’m okay with it. I’m okay with it because when I looked into their eyes, all I saw was nothing.”

  Sarah didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t. She pulled Jeff Colbrook close and held him tight, letting him bury his face against her breasts. There was more sporadic gunfire, then silence except for the sound of Jeff Colbrook shedding tears for a life that may never again be right.

  Sixteen

  Edgewater sat at the counter in Edna’s, digging into a big plate of food and oblivious to everyone around him. That’s the way it would seem to anyone looking, but Edgewater was never oblivious. He knew everything going on around him. It was his business to be aware.

  The cafe was crowded, mostly with tired soldiers lucky enough to grab a meal away from the battle zone. Dalton and Jed occupied a corner table.

  Johnny, Wanda, Bobby, and Terri Lynn were in a booth nearby. Although they’d been accepted into the town, they still felt like outsiders.

  “Here you go,” Abigail said, setting food in front of Jed and Dalton.

  “Thanks, Abby,” Dalton said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Their eyes met briefly and Abigail blushed.

  “Order up,” Edna Jean shouted.

  “I better go,” Abigail said. She started to turn away, hesitated, then said, “Can I see you later?”

  “Sure thing,” Dalton said. “Meet you after you’re through here?”

  “Can you give me a lift home?”

  “You bet.”

  He watched Abigail head back to the kitchen. Jed caught the look on Dalton’s face. It had been a long time since Jed had experienced such a feeling as what Dalton was experi
encing, but he recognized it all the same.

  “There’s love in the air, I’ll tell ya that,” Jed noted. “Young’un’s got a thing for you, if you ain’t too blind to see it, Dalton.”

  “I see it fine,” Dalton said. “Being cautious is all.”

  “Well, throw it to the wind. We might all be livin’ on a short string, if you get my meaning. Make the most of the time you got. That’s my advice, if you’re interested.”

  “It’s good advice,” Dalton said. “I just might take it to heart.”

  “You do that. Sometimes an old coot knows best.”

  Dalton watched as Abigail was gathering orders. She brushed a strand of blonde hair behind one ear. That single move was enough to make Dalton’s heart do all those funny things a heart does when everything’s good.

  “Sometimes an old coot does know best,” Dalton said. “I believe that.”

  Seventeen

  While new love blossomed in the town of Faith and the dead were momentarily repelled, those in surrounding communities were not so lucky. The survivors (and there were few) in those surrounding communities sought shelter wherever they could, waiting it out as their dead spewed forth into the world, many on a collision course with Faith.

  Billy Evans was one of those survivors. He was fifteen years old and holed up in a root cellar beneath the country farmhouse he’d shared with his mother, father, and sister. They were all dead now, and though Billy didn’t know it, shambling along the road to Faith at this very moment.

  Billy had managed to grab his daddy’s Mossberg shotgun and a box of rounds. He knew how to use the shotgun, which he was grateful for. His daddy had seen to it.

  It was dark in the cellar. Billy wasn’t sure how long he’d been cooped up there. Except for the occasional foray into the house for something to eat or drink, he hadn’t been out in several days. He’d found an old bucket to relieve himself in when the need arose, which made for an awful stench that Billy wished he didn’t have to smell.