Dead Friends Series (Book 2): Dead Friends Running

by Carlisle, Natalie

  It was evident, however possible, that my mother hadn’t heard the broadcast or maybe she hadn’t really heard me as she focusing on driving. I repeated the entire warning to her, making sure she was paying attention now.

  As soon as I finished, I saw the immediate change in her expression. She finally acted concerned.

  “See, this isn’t good,” I stammered, dwelling on the fact my boyfriend and best friend were still in that town, and currently couldn’t fend for themselves due to illness and injury.

  I was freaking.

  “No,” My mother agreed. Or so I thought. She glanced briefly over at me again, keeping both hands steady on the wheel this time. “No, it can’t be that.” Her words contradicted with the worry on her face.

  I started to object.

  She continued talking as if I hadn’t. “It wouldn’t be Pennsylvania. That was a local station that was playing. Gavin O’Grady only reports the local news at this hour. He wouldn’t air anything from out of state.”

  I let that sink in, my stomach unsettled. “Local? You mean, as in—” I suddenly bounced up and down again, the tires hitting another large divot in the road. It was the worst one yet, and I bit back a curse. “Damn it. Can’t they fix this stupid road?”

  This time my mother slammed the brakes though, and not expecting it, I ricocheted forward. On reflex she shot her arm out, bracing it against my chest to stop me from hitting the dashboard.

  “No, I think I hit something,” my mother panicked, over the squealing protest of her brakes.

  We were almost at a complete stop, my heartrate just starting to intensify, my mind filling with haunting memories, when there was another thump. This one came from above the wheels though.

  Above the engine too.

  The crushing weight of two feet suddenly pressed into the hood, denting it inward, as a body landed from a predatory jump into a crouched position onto it. A half-devoured arm hung from its mouth like a hungry dog devouring a bone.

  My mother and I screamed in unison, and she hit the gas pedal. The swift burst of speed had the figure dropping to its knees. The arm fell from its mouth, landing against the glass. We rocked back against our seats, mouths open in horror.

  I watched as the arm grotesquely slid down the pane, leaving a trail of thick red grime and fleshy bits in its wake.

  My mother screamed even louder, slapping her hand against the windshield wiper handle, turning them on full speed. They whipped back and forth excessively, further smearing the blood across the glass, so almost the entire length was now soiled with a thin layer of it.

  Realizing her mistake, she quickly released the washer fluid next on a steady, full stream. The excessive movement and constant fluid, slowly started to thin it out, showing us glimpses of the figure, but not enough to fully see what it was doing.

  More metal crunched. I barely spotted the flash of something before a hand reached forward, catching a wiper in its grip, and yanked it right off, tossing it. The one remaining continued to swing back and forth. In a matter of moments, it snatched the other one off, snapping it right in half with its hands, making a god awful screeching sound.

  My mother’s screams intensified.

  But I fell silent as the first fist strike came down onto the glass. It pounded powerfully against it. I jumped. Another strike followed.

  I felt the car immediately slowing, no doubt my mother’s foot slipping off the accelerator in shock as the punches kept coming. I wanted to scream at her to keep driving, but I couldn’t. I lost my own voice due to similar shock of what was happening in front of us.

  The glass began to crack, spider-webbing outward.

  Another hit came. And another.

  I couldn’t move.

  I couldn’t speak,

  I just stared.

  It wasn’t long before the glass shattered and a hole opened up, the warm winter night and sharp shards rushing at my face.

  My eyes widened, as a face appeared in the opening gap it just created. Hungry, dark eyes glaring in at me, with its blood-ringed snarling lips.

  It snapped at me, and reached its hand through, grabbing me by the collar. I still couldn’t move.

  It pulled me forward, slamming my legs into the dashboard, yanking me upward, I gasped for breath as my shirt dug into my neck and my seat belt locked against my chest, halting me.

  It continued to yank, and I was suffocating. The pain making my eyes tear.

  I stared directly in its face, for three long, breathless seconds before my mother suddenly snapped out of it. She hit the accelerator again, turning the wheel sharply to the left, reaching out to grab my good arm as soon as the car started to veer.

  The unexpected momentum pulled its body away and its grip loosened, as he slid across the hood.

  Mom let go of me, urged me to hold on as I coughed at the sudden flow of air into my lungs again, and repeated the steps, maneuvering the car to the right really fast. Then she hit the brakes. I whiplashed against the seat. Without stopping, she turned the wheel, accelerated again and continued this pattern, staring out through the jagged glass hole in the windshield, until he finally went flying off the car.

  He hit the ground, rolling. We happened to have hit the brakes at that point, so we bounced forward and back in our seats. My head once again whacking against the head rest. Hard.

  Through the opening, I saw him pick himself up, and lurch in our direction. For one frightening moment I imagined what my mother was going to do next before it happened.

  She was going to run him down.

  As the car started to accelerate once again, I suddenly found my voice, screaming at the top of my lungs.

  “Stop!”

  Even though I was aware this person was just about to kill me, that he was dangerous, and obviously infected though we were in New Jersey, I just couldn’t let her do it.

  Because the figure that my mother was driving toward right this second, made the radio broadcast suddenly make perfect sense and everything I thought I knew, wrong.

  My mother lied to me. He wasn’t dead.

  Spencer.

  I was staring right at him.

  I tried to wrap my head around it.

  He must have been the escaped patient the broadcast warned everyone about.

  Health risk? Potentially dangerous?

  Shit.

  It was worse than that.

  Spencer was already one of them.

  My mother hit the brakes, and we skidded forward, and I worried we wouldn’t stop in time.

  “You said he was dead!” I yelled, tempted to shut my eyes before the impact.

  “Mrs. Reigh texted me and said he was gone. I just assumed--”

  “You assumed?” My voice cracked, completely incredulous.

  The car finally halted, with a final jolt, inches from hitting his knees. The headlights illuminated his whole body. He never blinked.

  He just glared down at the bumper blankly and in one swift movement, pounced back onto our hood, snarling as if nothing just happened.

  Oh but it did, it completely did.

  Everything in my life just changed.

  My mother shifted the car into reverse, and threw her right arm out, bracing it against the edge of my seat, peering over her shoulder immediately to look behind her as she steered. “Obviously, I assumed wrong.”

  She yanked the wheel, spinning the car into a one-eighty turn, and I just sat in my seat, staring outward, watching helplessly as my best friend once again rolled across the hood of the engine, and onto the road.

  We quickly regained speed, driving in the opposite direction as we were, away from town, away from our home, away from Spencer. We just sped blindly into the night, the muggy summer wind rushing in through the broken windshield— loud and sharply— stinging our faces. I had quickly turned my head, to block the worst of it, and in the act caught a shadowed glimpse of my best friend picking himself back up and heading the other way.

  Toward civilization.

/>   The half-devoured remains of his dinner lying in the road had crunched underneath our tires as soon as we sped off, and with a souring stomach, I thought of everyone I knew back in town.

  They had no idea what was currently running toward them.

  Or that I was the one who allowed him the freedom to run.

  About the Author

  Natalie Carlisle

  Having developed a love for reading, writing, and drawing at a very young age, Natalie has often been described as being “creative and artistic.” Spending most of her free time caught up in the make-believe world, whether it was something she read or something she wrote, because she enjoyed the adventure and mostly the happily-ever-after endings. To this day, she still loves happily-ever-after.

  When she isn’t curled up on a couch reading; writing a poem, short-story or these days a new young adult novel; or getting her hands covered with paint and oil pastels, she can be found running, taking pictures of nature, watching her favorite movies like Grumpy Old Men, Turner and Hooch and Sweet Home Alabama, or simply just spending quality time with her husband and their five dogs.

  Tell-Tale Publishing would like to thank you for your purchase. If you would like to read more from this or other fine TT authors, please visit our website:

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