The Dead Trilogy (Book 1): Fast Walkers (Outbreak)

by J. D. Bishop

  Christy turned from the eyewash station in a rage, all thoughts of her gumming eyebrows and yucky mouth forgotten. “Really? I mean, fucking seriously?”

  Wes was confused at Christy's rage. “What?”

  “I fucking fulfill your fantasy—”

  Wes shook his head, grinning defensively. “Hey, it was awesome, but a blowjob isn't my fantasy. Pounding you doggy style while you wear fishnet stockings and spanking that bodacious ass of yours pink while you call me Daddy is.”

  Christie blushed—that was so fucking hot—but continued. “Give you the best blowjob of your life and let you come all over my beautiful face, and you say let's fucking kill ourselves afterward? What the fuck?”

  Wes thought, then shrugged. “Well, we did agree to kill ourselves, didn't we?”

  “I thought you were supposed to be smart, not a fucking mongoloid from a third-world country! I'm almost ashamed to tell you if you didn't already know. I'm fucking pissed because I do that for you and I get nothing in return before we OD? Fuck you, Wesley.”

  Wesley had a dumb look on his face. “Oh, I didn't think about that. Sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

  “Fuck off.” Christy turned, but Wes grabbed her by her arms, pulling her in close and kissing her. She resisted him at first, but for a skinny beanpole, he had strong hands, and as his tongue twisted around hers, she felt herself giving in. He did have a tremendous cock, and she wondered if maybe he could be convinced to forego the fishnet stockings when the sound of gunfire exploded outside the window, startling both of them apart, Christy breathing fast and her nipples hard bullets again in her hospital robe.

  “What in the hell?” Wes rushed to the window, Christy following right behind him.

  There were several army tanks below them, bulling their way past the cars that choked most of the parking lot, their machine guns on top chattering constantly. The bullets tore through the dead like a scythe, literally cutting some of them in half as the tanks covered each other, running over some of the zombies and pulverizing those that the machine guns didn’t cut down. Christy shrieked in fear as one of them fired the big main gun, turning a three-SUV pileup unto a twisted mass of steel that flew apart in a fiery rain.

  Wesley did a little jump of excitement, his bony ass becoming visible from the back of his hospital gown. “Wow! We're getting rescued. I would have never thought. I thought they forgot our asses!”

  Christy wasn't so sure. “What makes you think they're coming in here to get us? They haven’t stopped to see if anyone’s normal or not.”

  As if in response to Christy's question, gunfire could be heard from inside the hospital. The sounds of it got closer and closer, seeming to be coming from the floors below them, until it sounded as if it was right on top of them.

  Someone pounded on the door. “Open up, US Army! If you’re alive in there, open up!”

  Wes whooped for joy, rushing to the metal cabinet. “Chris, come help.”

  Christy was not so quick, and she grabbed his arm. “Wes, you sure we can even trust them? I mean, look at how long it took them to actually do anything when this stuff has been going on for hours. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you? Even if you let go of the fact that you saw military guys shooting the patients in the head earlier?”

  “We're in here,” Wes called excitedly. “They had to then, I get that now. Come on, Chris, quit your whining and help me.”

  Sighing, Christy helped Wesley move the cabinet out of the way. As soon as it was clear, the door burst open, armored men fanning out around the room.

  A man who seemed familiar to Christy walked in behind the small squad. He wasn’t dressed like them, his fatigues dark grey and black instead of the Army standard the soldiers had, and in his hands was a different kind of rifle. “You two. Wesley and Christina. You’re coming with me.”

  Wes blinked stupidly, surprised that the man knew their names. After a moment, Christy finally recognized him and her jaw dropped open.

  It was Becky's father.

  CHAPTER 20

  “A re you ready?” Elijah asked as he pulled his backpack over his shoulders. Inside were four bottles of Coke from the machine. They’d scrounged enough change from the desks and bought them, along with breaking the glass front on the snack machine to fill the rest of the backpack with granola bars. It was a start on supplies.

  Patricia stared at the office she had come to know, love, and hate. This had been her life for the better part of her adult years. Now, it was time to say goodbye to it and goodbye to any sense of normalcy.

  She let out a deep sigh and nodded. She looked down at her feet, which were clad in, ironically, April’s boots. She and Patricia were the same size, and the girl’s posthumous gift of sensible hiking boots looked strange with her skirt, but they were a lot better than her heels.

  They had decided to let Tim rot in his office. It was kind of a fitting end to a man whose favorite gripe was that he would spend eternity in a newsroom and that he wanted to be buried with a studio mike in his hand. They stopped at the supply room, where they’d moved April to join the other bodies, all of them covered with spare jackets and towels as some sort of shroud. Patricia said a silent thanks to April and walked toward the exit of the building.

  “So what now?” Elijah asked as they headed down the stairs. “Your place?”

  “Usually, when a man says that to me, the meaning is quite different,” Patricia said, both of them chuckling with gallows humor. “But yeah. I have to know one way or another, Elijah. So we go there, and then if we can, we get them and get out of town. You staying with us?”

  “I’m not leaving you now, not after finally getting to kiss you,” Elijah said, smirking. They reached the exit, and he put his hands on the push bar of the fire escape. With a pop, they opened the exit door, Patricia blinded by brilliant lights shining in her face.

  “Patricia Oakley?” Pat couldn't tell who was talking. The lights were blinding, and she shielded her eyes, but she couldn’t make out much more than a few tall, imposing figures.

  “Yes?” she asked, holding her arm over her eyes.

  “You are under arrest for treason against The United States of America.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “T hey were just babies,” Greg said, purging his terror in a flood of words and tears. His tears flowed down his bloodied face as he squatted on the sidewalk, hugging his knees to his chest. “I put as many out of their misery as I could. I found a t-ball bat. I tried, those who’d at least gone unconscious, but it became too much for me. I had to leave. Now I'm scared to go inside. Scared at what we might find.”

  They were standing outside Becky's mom's SUV, gathered in a small group, listening to Greg tell what he saw at the elementary school.

  Becky put a comforting hand on Greg's shoulder, a look of sympathy on her face. Jeff was surprised. It was the most emotion Becky had shown for the past several hours. Jeff was honest with himself—he didn’t like it all that much. It made him feel like a sidepiece. “You don't have to go in if you don't want to, Greggy.” That was Becky's nickname for Greg, a nickname she seldom used. “We can check for you.”

  “No. If they’re in there and are turned, I have to be the one to put them down. They're my family.” Greg had told them that was his mom's car was parked in the driveway, so she had to be inside the house. No one came out and said it, but the chances were that Greg's relatives were zombies inside. “Everyone, be quiet when we get inside. If, by chance, they are zombies, let's not alert them to our presence by being noisy. Let's go.”

  They walked in a single file up to the door, Greg in the front and Dante taking up the rear. Taking a deep breath, Greg opened the door slowly, saying a quiet prayer of thanks when the door didn't creak loudly. It sometimes did that, especially after it rained.

  The house was quiet. It felt empty. Dead. Greg's heart fell when he saw blood all up and down the hallway. There was so much of it. The group fanned out around the living room area, looking about. The
y knew now for sure that zombies were in the house. Greg motioned for the girls to stay put. He directed Jeff to go down the hallway, Sean to the kitchen, and Dante to the back of the house.

  Greg himself headed up the stairs, toward where the bedrooms were. He hoped that if Natalie or his mother were still safe, they’d barricaded themselves up there. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard a male voice screaming. Cursing, he ran back downstairs.

  It was Sean who was being bitten viciously on the neck by his mother. She’d clamped onto his back, her teeth digging into Sean’s skin and worrying him back and forth, Sean trying frantically to flip her off but not finding a grip through the pain. Finally, Sean flung himself backward, the two of them cracking into a doorframe and jostling her off a little. Though he never really got along with his mother, the sight of her being a zombie brought Greg to his knees. “No, no, no,” he cried over and over. “Mama, no!”

  “Greg!” Becky yelled, coming into the kitchen, a handgun drawn. “Get your ass up and finish the bitch now . . . or I will.”

  They were odd words coming from Becky. They were so filled with authority and strength that Greg had to look over at her through his tears. He wasn’t used to seeing her act so strongly. He was even more shocked at what Becky did next.

  She pointed the gun at Sean, who had gone into shock and was shaking violently, and shot him directly in the temple. Blood and what looked like maybe part of Sean’s brains splattered out the other side of his skull and painted the wallpaper. Tara let out a horrified scream at the sight.

  His mother let go of her meal, now that it was dead, and Sean dropped to the floor. Not wasting any time, Becky rushed his mother, pulling out a blade she had at her waist, and chopped both of his mother's hands off in mere seconds, the blade going right through at the wrists, almost with surgical precision. Then his mother came for Becky, but without hands, her only danger was her mouth.

  Becky spun behind his mother, elbowing her between the shoulder blades, knocking her forward. She stomped on the back of his mother’s knee, pinning her down, and grabbed her by the hair, bending her back. “End her,” she commanded Greg. Her eyes were cold, devoid of compassion. “You need to be the one to do it!”

  Staring at Becky with a stunned expression, there was one question that burned in Greg’s mind. Where had this badass Becky come from?

  “End her!” Becky repeated, yelling at the top of her lungs. “This is your last chance.”

  Reluctantly, Greg rose to his feet. Then he came toward his mother, sobbing all the way.

  With a mask of coldness, Becky handed him the large knife. Greg took in in numb fingers, but he tightened his grip until he was sure he wouldn’t drop it.

  “I never got to say this much to you, but . . . I love you, Mom.” His mom gave no sign that she understood him, gnashing her teeth and hissing at him with her bloody mouth. Crying huge, hot tears, Greg ran his mother through the head with the knife with all of his strength, the knife going in under her chin to bury itself all the way to the hilt in her brain. With a wide, gaping mouth, a hint of bloody steel shining from deep inside, his mother fell to the floor with a thud. His body shaking with grief, Greg collapsed to the floor beside his mother's body, sobbing.

  The others gathered around Greg, standing around and not really knowing what to do. The boy had just killed the one who brought him into the world. It was something none of them could fathom having to do. Becky stroked Greg's hair in sympathy as he cried.

  Greg didn't know how much time passed before he heard a little voice that sent his heart soaring to the heavens.

  “Uncle Greg?” It was Natalie standing in the kitchen doorway, clutching a teddy bear to her chest.

  “My little angel,” Greg rejoiced, scrambling over to Natalie and scooping her up in his arms. Yelling with joy until his throat was raw, he swung his niece around in a circle, showering her with fervent kisses. He was getting blood all over her little body, but he didn't care. He was just so happy to see her and know that she was alive.

  “Uncle Greg?” Natalie said after Greg had stopped spinning her around.

  “Yes, baby?” Greg asked, nuzzling his face into her hair, enjoying her little scent. “I love you.” He was overwhelmed with joy that there was a bright spot in all this darkness.

  As he slowed down, he noticed something for the first time since picking Natalie up—she felt cold. The girl shivered, and Greg’s heart blanched as he saw that her lips looked blue.

  “Uncle Greg . . . I feel sick.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “M y God,” Jeff whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. “Please say this isn't happening.”

  Greg had just gone through hell putting his mother down, and now his niece was infected. Jeff's heart bled for him. Maybe he was jealous of Greg for the care shown him by Becky, but nobody deserved this double-dose of horror. Even Becky, who had become nonchalant through the madness, looked on in misery, her face pale.

  The look on Greg's face was one that was unbearable to look at. Jeff glanced around the room. Everyone was in multiple states of shock for various reasons. They had just lost another friend from school. The realization that their families were probably all dead or infected had set in. Now, someone had to make a choice of killing a little girl. It was a depression that could cause madness.

  “Someone end me now,” Greg cried. “I can't take this anymore.” Greg was sobbing with that deep, aching pain of someone who could hardly get sound out, the sound coming from deep within his stomach. He retched, his body shaking as he went into shutdown mode, his mind refusing to support his body any longer.

  Jeff could no longer contain his tears as he broke down at the sight of his friend in so much pain, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, hiccupping as he tried not to think of his certainly dead family. It was all so unfair. How could anyone go on after this? Even a hardened inner-city kid like Dante’s dark skin was stained with tears.

  Becky dropped down beside Greg and pulled him into her arms, soothing him as he sobbed. The rest of the group shielded the little girl from her grandmother's dead body that lay in the kitchen, trying to spare her the horror of what she had already seen.

  Natalie had a confused expression on her face. She came over, patting him on the shoulder and bending to try and look him in the eyes. “Uncle Greg, why are you hurting so much? Did I do something bad?”

  “No baby, no.” He pulled her back into his arms, cuddling her, while Becky held onto him. “Oh, God, Nattie, you’ve never done anything bad to hurt me ever. I love you, baby.”

  After a long while, Greg was finally able to get ahold of himself enough to start asking his niece questions.

  “What happened, Nat?”

  Natalie took a deep breath. “Mommy told me that you weren't coming to take me to school today. That you were with your girlfriend, so she called Granny to come get me.”

  “God damn it!” Greg yelled angrily. “Had I not taken you all for that ride, my baby would be okay.”

  He seemed on the verge of breaking into sobs again. Becky ran her hands over his shoulders, bending her forehead to touch his.

  “It's impossible to say how things would have turned out in situations like these,” Becky softly told Greg. “You'll just beat yourself up over nothing.”

  When he could speak again without breaking down, Greg asked, “What happened to Granny?”

  “She was sick when she came to get me. I gave her a drink and she said she had to go to the bathroom. She told me that if she felt better after the bathroom, she would take me to school. She was in the bathroom a long time, so I went to see if she needed help. When I opened the door, her eyes where white and were looking at me, and there was blood in her mouth. It made me really scared. I ran in my secret hiding spot where she couldn't get me. I came out when I heard peoples' voices.”

  “Smart girl,” Greg said, thinking. He turned to the others. Greg's eyes were bloodshot red from crying. “You know none of us knows
how the virus is transmitted. Everything has been so crazy I think we all assumed it was caught just like a cold, but what if we are wrong? What if that isn't it?”

  Becky seemed to be thinking about something, as if trying to remember something important. In all the terror, her survival training had kicked in, but there was something else, something that she’d been told. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “I need a drink,” Tara said in a weak voice. “This emotional rollercoaster has completely dehydrated me.”

  “I'll get it,” Dante said, sparing Tara from having to go in the kitchen with the bodies.

  He came back a moment later with a glass of water. Tara took it gratefully and took one long sip.

  “I want a drink also when you done wit dat,” he told her. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind sharing a glass of water with a cute white girl like you.”

  It was at the mention of water that Becky's eyes widened in surprise, letting out an alarmed yell. It all fell into place. “Phoenix Down . . . oh, God, Tara! Stop!”

  Tara stopped mid-gulp. A moment later, the water went down her throat.

  “It's the water,” she said sadly, looking at Tara as if she was doomed. “It's the water.”

  The sound of glass shattering on the floor hit everyone's ears after Tara’s nerveless hands released the glass. She stood there shocked, staring at Becky in disbelief.

  Jeff gazed at Becky intently. He was sure, now more so than ever, that Becky knew more than a little about what was going on. “How could you know that?”

  Becky sighed, stepping away from Greg. “My dad works for the government—something to do with Homeland Security. I don't know what he does exactly. I'm forbidden to ask questions or to know anything beyond that. My dad left for a work trip last week, and just before he left, he told me not to drink from the water while he was gone. When all of this started happening, I never connected the two things together . . . or maybe I didn't want to, because that would mean my dad knew about this and had an involvement in its taking place, so I didn't want to believe it.”