Dead Coast: A Zombie Novel (Jack Zombie Book 4)

by Flint Maxwell

  I’m not Indiana Jones. I’m not James Bond. I don’t have many slick moves in my bag of tricks. I’m not graceful. I’m more of a bull in a China shop type of guy.

  But I have to do this because I have to get Darlene.

  “Jack!” Abby shouts. Her face, which I see out of the corner of my eye, is a blur, so is the dark carbine she holds in her one good hand.

  I’m thinking rockstar. I’m thinking power slide.

  I’m thinking, Pain.

  Then I do it. I drop at the last possible second to prevent my head from smacking into the rock door at upwards of ten miles per hour and I slide under the small gap.

  And boy, is there a lot of pain. My ass feels like it’s on fire. Rough, packed sand is nothing like a musical stage at all.

  But it works. I go sliding into the building. Yeah, that’s great and all, but what isn’t is the momentum I’ve built up, which is only slightly slowed down by my ass running along the ground. I don’t hit the door. I hit the wall and I hit the wall hard.

  I’m only down for about a second before I spring back up into a crouch with my weapon raised. There’s no one.

  The corridor in front of me is empty. The walls are like the inside of a cave. It makes sense, I guess, since we are inside of a mountain. I smell wetness. Old earth. Worms. Dirt. It makes me think of my childhood and playing outside all day in the summer before my crippling social anxiety and love of all things nerdy kept me indoors for much of my teenage years.

  Outside of the building, I hear Abby’s footfalls and her breathing.

  “Jack!” she shouts. “Jack, are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  It’s quiet in here…too quiet. I don’t like it. With the quietness, I can hear my heartbeat and my blood pounding in my ears.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  She emerges from under the door a few seconds later. She points her carbine down the hallway, which is dimly lit by a stream of lights hanging on the walls. I’m reminded of coal mines. I’m reminded of claustrophobia.

  Then she takes one look at me and I don’t have to answer.

  “Where is he?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  We creep down the corridor. I want nothing more than to run, but I don’t think it would be smart.

  The hallway stretches on for what feels like a mile. I can hear lurches and groans from deep within the mountain, sounds of the world, I think. Sounds we probably won’t hear ever again if I don’t catch that rat bastard son of a bitch. The corridor bends until we come upon a stairwell. The stairs are not lit like the corridor and the only light that hits them comes from the top. And it’s just a pinprick of light up there, like looking at the stars from the earth.

  Abby and I exchange glances. She has a look on her face that tells me she wants to stop. “You don’t have to go,” I say. “You can stay here and guard my back in case they try to flank us.” We both know that’s a lie. They won’t try to do that. They’re in the safety of their mountain and it’s so quiet in the corridor, we’d hear them coming a mile away.

  Abby shakes her head and rolls her eyes, but there’s no enthusiasm in the gesture. “I’m going. Watch me.” And she steps right by me and mounts the steps. She takes them at a light jog.

  “Pace yourself,” I say. “Looks like we got a long way to go — ”

  Abby stops and looks down at me. I can barely see her face, but from what I can see, she looks confused. “What?”

  “Shh!” I say, my finger up to my lips.

  Up above, I hear something. It’s a faint tinkling noise. Footsteps on metal.

  Abby’s eyes dawn with realization. “Klein,” she says.

  And I swear the footsteps and the tinkling get faster. He hears us just as we hear him. Abby turns and takes off up the steps. Now, I follow her.

  61

  We race up the steps until my legs burn worse than my lungs.

  Just as we hit the top, I hear a loud thud of a door slamming shut. Not a wooden door, not a normal door at all. It sounds like iron. Like a casket, even.

  “It’s too late!” Klein says. “It’s too late. You’re going to hell. You’re all going to hell now. I gave you a chance, Jack! I did.”

  We run down the corridor, our footsteps splashing in the puddles on the ground. There’s a constant dripping coming from somewhere. The smell is musty like an old basement, which is the weirdest thing considering we are God knows how many feet from the ground now.

  I break into a sprint, urging myself forward. Darlene, I’m thinking. I have to run for Darlene.

  I don’t know if there’s an afterlife. I don’t know where we’ll end up. It’s all uncertain, thinking about it scares me so much that I don’t even want to. But what scares me worse than all of the thoughts of God and the Devil are an eternity without Darlene.

  I hit the door hard, only letting up at the last moment. I’m not the Incredible Hulk, not Superman. I’m not going to bust this door down with my brute strength — because I have none. I’m going to bust it down with my brains.

  Abby’s footsteps rush up behind me. She’s out of breath. Her face is hopeless, eyes drooping low, mouth a grim line.

  “Now what?” she asks.

  I take the carbine from her. I push her back as I back up myself, aiming the gun. I’m going to shoot it down.

  Abby grabs my arm, dropping her own gun. “What? Are you crazy? The bullets are going to ricochet and then we’ll really be done for.”

  I blink once, twice. She’s right. I laugh. It’s the laughter of a madman. And I was going to get us out of this with my brains. All of a sudden, I want to collapse unto the rock floor.

  Too late. Too late.

  “I don’t know,” I find myself saying. I must look pretty dejected because Abby turns away from me and starts scanning the rock corridor we’re in.

  I don’t hear Klein’s voice. I don’t hear much of anything anymore except for the constant dripping.

  “I wish I had a flashlight,” Abby says.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  A voice in the back of my head asks me if I’ve tried the door handle. I laugh again. Another madman’s laugh. I really am losing it. But I try the handle anyway and unsurprisingly the door doesn’t budge.

  I let go and start pacing. I’m not looking for anything because I don’t think there’s anything to look for. We are trapped in here. The only way we can go is backward and I’ve never been a big fan of doing that. Not lately.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  Ah, it makes me want to tear my hair out or bring the barrel of the carbine up to my face and —

  A drop of water splashes down on me. It’s very cold. It sends shivers up my spine. Then another one. I look up. All I see is darkness. There’s no telling how high the ceiling stretches for. It could be two feet or two hundred feet.

  “What?” Abby asks, looking at me like I really am crazy.

  “Come here,” I say.

  She does. I position her to almost the exact spot I was standing at.

  “Jack — ” she shrieks, cutting her off. “What the hell, man? Water? What, are you thirsty or something? I don’t think you realize, but every second we spend in here playing with water is another second closer we get to losing our lives. We have to find another way — ”

  “Don’t you get it?” I say. My eyes bug out from my face. It’s so simple.

  “You’re crazy? Yeah, Jack, I get it. I’ve suspected it for a long time.”

  “No! The water. It has to come from somewhere, right?”

  “Yeah,” she says. She has stepped out of the spot and has now put her hands on her hips. “We’re in a mountain, man. There’s water inside of mountains, isn’t there? I almost failed Earth Science, so I don’t know for sure…” She shakes her head. “Jack! Get to the point.”

  “Pipes!”

  She narrows her eyes at me as if I’ve just revealed the secrets of the universe to her and it’s impossible to understand.

&nb
sp; “Pipes,” I say again. “Plumbing. This is a building as much as it is a mountain.” I keep my voice low. I don’t know who could be listening. The inner workings of this place seem to be very primitive, but there could still be cameras, microphones, or other types of spy gear like there were on the military base. Then again, I don’t think whatever is left of Central expected for anyone to break into their base, especially not Jack Jupiter. God, I really am going crazy.

  “Okay…” Abby says. She matches my tone. Then she gives me a crooked look that seems to last an eternity before she starts walking toward the steps.

  I don’t try to stop her. If she doesn’t get it, I’ll just have to show it to her. I take the carbine and I point it at the ceiling. It’s time to find out just how far those shadows stretch.

  “Cover your ears,” I say.

  “What — ” But I’ve already pulled the trigger.

  62

  The shadows disappear with the burst of gunfire. I see the jagged edges of rock above, the stalactites, the knobs, the gnarled looking faces within, and most importantly the metallic vent just below the line where the roof and wall meet to form a ninety degree angle.

  “Jesus Christ!” Abby says. I barely hear her over the ringing in my ears.

  “Did you see?” I try to match the same tone, but if I am, I have no fucking idea.

  Realization dawns on her face again. Yeah, she did see.

  “Pipes!” I say. Now, I can hear myself. All the reverberations come from inside of my head. The vent is only about eight feet up. I can probably reach it if by combination of running and a boost from Abby. If we were normal people, I’d give her a boost because she’s undoubtedly lighter and more spry than me, but alas, we aren’t normal. She’s a hand short and wouldn’t be able to climb with just one hand.

  “How do you suggest we get up there?” she asks.

  “Jump,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “There’s no way.” But I’m desperate. “Jack, if you — ”

  I cut her off again. Actually, I don’t, my gun does. I spray shots into the general vicinity of the grate. Bullets whine off the rock. Dust and debris crumbles and falls onto the ground below us. The corridor takes on this smoky quality. It smells like gunpowder and fire. When the shot’s impacts stop sounding muted by the rock and start sounding like bullets hitting metal, I know I’ve hit the right spot. Little flashes show me intermittent glimpses of the grate, and I shoot until the clip empties and the metal grate is nonexistent.

  Stupid, but effective.

  Abby covers her left ear with her stump and plugs up her right ear with her finger. Me, well, I just take it. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll need a hearing aid pretty soon. It beats the hell out of going on without Darlene.

  As the shots hang in the air and what’s left of the metal grate falls from the rock wall and onto the ground with a loud clank, I hear a deep ringing in my head. Looks like I’m going deaf sooner than I intended.

  “Jesus Christ!” Abby shouts. I barely hear her, but I know she’s shouting because of how red her face gets.

  “What? What?”

  “Are you stupid?” she asks. “What if you hit a gas line or something?” She talks like she doesn’t really know what it is exactly that she’s talking about.

  “Gas line, Abby?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. Right now is not the time I want to see that gesture.

  “I’m not stupid,” I say, walking over to the hole-riddled wall, “I’m just desperate. You should be, too.”

  She doesn’t meet my eyes. She looks past me at the metal door. Her lips press together until the redness is gone from them. “I-I can’t, Jack. I’m scared.”

  And this surprises me. I walk away from the wall and toward her. I know this isn’t the time for sappy speeches and whatnot, I know there’s a madman behind those walls with my fiancé and who plans on ending the world, but I can’t not ignore Abby. But then again, I don’t know exactly how to approach this.

  “I’m scared, too,” I say. Time to get serious, I guess. I’m honest, too. I am scared. This is really fucking scary. I’m in a mountain in the middle of the desert with only a few shots left in the carbine rifle we took off a dead man. One of my family members is at the bottom of the lake thanks to a gunshot courtesy of me. Darlene could be dead. Norm is gone. Yeah, I’m scared. I’m really scared.

  Abby sees this — it would be kind of hard to hide on my face — and I know I said it’s not the time for sappy speeches and all that, but sometimes they’re damn inspiring.

  “It’s okay to be scared,” I say. “I’d be more worried if we weren’t scared. This is scary shit.”

  Abby nods, still not meeting my eyes.

  “And it’s only going to get scarier, but that’s okay,” I say.

  She looks at me. “Is it? I’m sick of being scared, Jack. I’m sick of losing people I love. The first time — in Woodhaven — that was the worst. I told myself, Abby, it gets easier. It’s like losing a pet you loved, like my cat Simba, and then I met Brian and I liked him, Jack. I really did. He was cute. And he was funny. I think I could’ve even loved him, Jack, and that means a lot coming from me.” She gives me a look that says, Sue me. “Then Butch did what he did to him and it wasn’t easier. It was just as bad. Almost as bad as having to kill my own mom.” Tears run down her dirty face, slicing through the dust. Her voice is unsteady, wavering. “Then…then Herb happened.” She puts her face in her hand and sobs. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. I was too scared, Jack. I was too scared! I can’t lose Darlene, too.”

  My heart sinks. “Me, either. So let’s save her. Let’s save the world.”

  She smiles. Tears are still rolling down her cheeks.

  “Abby, I mean it.”

  “How can you? You don’t know what lies ahead. You’re not psychic,” she says.

  “No, I don’t. You’re right. But I don’t have to be psychic to know what lies ahead. I’m a firm believer that you make your own luck. So what lies ahead is up to me and my actions.”

  Abby smiles. This time, I think, genuine. She nods, too.

  “What lies ahead then?” Abby asks. “What do you see?”

  “I see happiness.” I reach out and grab her shoulder. She puts her hand over mine. I didn’t notice, but the gesture I just made was one of comfort. Darlene must be rubbing off of me. “Now, let’s do this and make our own luck, cool?”

  She nods, smiling. I notice there’s an intensity in her eyes I haven’t seen since she was bitten. Sure, she didn’t recoil like Norm did after the events of Eden, but she still suffered some form of post-traumatic stress. Now, I see that fire again. I see the girl who helped me escape the clutches of Pat Huber and the zombies of Woodhaven. I see the old Abby Cage, and let me tell you, I really missed her.

  “Let’s do this,” she says.

  We both look toward the open black hole in the low light. It’s about eight feet off the ground, shrouded by shadows. “Hell yeah, give me a boost,” I say.

  She walks over and gets on her knees.

  “You ready?” I ask her.

  She nods, her good hand at the ready. I back up as far as the narrow corridor allows me and start running at an angle. I’ve never been very athletic, I’m sure I’ve mentioned this more than a few times, but what choice do I have?

  I have to save Darlene, and I have to do it now.

  63

  I step on her thigh and her hand. Abby’s not the strongest woman I know, not physically at least, but she gives me enough of a boost to get a few inches higher than I would’ve on my own. I hang in the air for what seems like a long time. The dark hole gets closer and closer until my hands feel like they’re bitten. Sharp rock slices my palms. I feel wetness and it’s so dark up here that I really hope it’s just sweat, but know it’s blood.

  I scramble up the rest of the way, kicking my wet socked feet against the rock wall. This wouldn’t be my first time scaling up some kind of structure. I’m season
ed from my time in D.C., and I guess that’s a good thing.

  “You got it?” Abby says from below. She sounds very far away. I do got it. The blackness engulfs me and probably from her point of view, I disappear. I can see nothing, but what I feel is damp, dirty, clumpy. I try not to imagine rat droppings or dead spiders. It’s really hard not to imagine that stuff. My heart races.

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah,” I grunt. “Yeah, I’m fine. Throw me my gun.”

  Abby tosses the gun up to me and from in here with all this darkness, I see it coming easily. I grab it in one go, by the strap. Metal clunks against rock. I pull it the rest of the way inside.

  “Good catch,” Abby says.

  “Thanks.” I undo the strap and let it hang. The sound of my voice echoes along the seemingly endless vents and pipes beyond. It’s unsettling, causing me to shiver. “All right,” I say, looping the straps around my fist tight without losing too much length, “I’m gonna brace and pull and you’re gonna have to help me by climbing. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah,” she says.

  The strap goes taut and my knuckles burn. The blood from my cut palm soaks into the material, rolls down my arms. I have one leg braced around the corner of the vent where the black ducts lead to nowhere in particular, and another leg tucked under me. It’s a pretty uncomfortable position, but Abby can’t weigh that much.

  “Be careful,” I shout. She’s automatically at a disadvantage because of her missing hand. I’d hate for her to drop and bust an ankle or reopen her cauterized wound. That’d be pretty bad timing.

  I grunt. I pull. Abby grunts, too. Her breathing gets heavy.

  But she makes it. When she’s within reach, I grab her by the shirt, then the shoulder and arm, and then the waist. She’s in.

  I’m sweating. I’m bleeding. I’m out of breath.