ONE - DAY ONE: CRASH TEST ZOMBIES
TWO - DAY ZERO: THE DAY BEFORE
THREE - DAY ONE: ESCAPE
FOUR - DAY TWO: GOMER
FIVE - DAY THREE: STRAIGHT KENTUCKY BOURBON WHISKEY
SIX - DAY FOUR: WD-40
SEVEN - DAY FIVE: "THE DEMON"
EIGHT - DAY SIX: ZOMBIE SUICIDE
NINE - DAY SEVEN: CONTACT
TEN - DAY EIGHT: FLIGHT
EPILOGUE - THREE HOURS LATER
About the Author
Contact Us
THE DEMON DEAD
A NOVEL BY
ARTHUR M WYATT
Copyright © 2011 by Arthur M Wyatt
This story takes place in South Carolina. I have taken certain fictional, temporal and geographical liberties.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental with the exception of the Black Lab Suzie. Her character was used with written permission and certain royalty considerations.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without the written permission of the author.
Cover concept and design by the Author. The cover contains depictions of the Arthur Ravenel Bridge, the Sullivan's Island Lighthouse and the Palmetto Tree with Crescent.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Marie, Nicole and Andrea for allowing me the time and the peace and quiet to... um... I mean... well, thanks anyway.
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.
Edgar Allan Poe-
There has to be evil so that good can prove its purity above it.
Buddha-
You may purchase a print copy this book on-line by visiting:
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ONE - DAY ONE: CRASH TEST ZOMBIES
The tires squealed as the car spun out of control. Helplessly, John held onto the steering wheel with all his strength. The overturned bus had seemed to leap out of the darkness and fill the windshield just as he rounded the curve. The car barely missed it as he swerved to avoid a collision. The road was filled with those…things. Each one stopping to look up when the headlights fell upon them. Their eyes reflecting the light. Some had entrails and flesh hanging from their mouths. All were covered in blood. For some strange reason they reminded John of crash test dummies. The thought left his mind just as quickly as it had come.
The bus was overturned half in and half out of the road. The victims were strung out along side it. Each one besieged by these monsters... these walking corpses. Each body was in a different state of being consumed. Some now nothing more than bloody skeletons with meat clinging to bones here and there. Intestines and other body parts littered the road. There must have been a hundred of the creatures. Many were crushed by the car as it careened wildly. The stench that blew into the car was overwhelming. John felt his stomach begin to churn.
The bus driver, partially decapitated, hung out of the broken front window. His body being devoured as if by vultures on road kill. Except these weren’t vultures and they were no longer human. They were grotesque, bloody, evil caricatures.
As the car slid sideways it left the roadway and slid into the dirt on the shoulder. The tires dug into the soft ground as dirt flew in the window and into John’s mouth, nose and eyes. He felt the car leave the ground as it started to barrel roll, first once then two more times. The air bag smacked him in the face first, and then the overnight bag with his belongings hit him as it flew out the window.
Stopping on its side, the car sat there for a second then slammed back down, upright on it’s tires. Steam escaped from under the hood as blood from a gash on his forehead began to fill his eyes. Frantically he clawed at the seat belt trying to free himself.
Once free, he searched the car for his bag. He had to have it. It contained everything he needed to survive.
Still dazed he looked up the road toward the bus lying no more than seventy yards away. Smelling fresh blood the creatures turned and started toward the mangled car. John crawled out the window and flopped to the ground. He checked himself for injuries. Other than the gash on his forehead, a massive headache and bruised ribs, he seemed to have suffered no other damage. His head throbbed with every heartbeat.
The bag was lying in the road half way between the car and the bus. Regaining his feet, John shook the cobwebs from his head, ran around the car and took off. Ahead he saw two of them heading for him at a much faster pace than the others and with more purpose.
“Ah hell,” he said out loud, “not them again.”
These two, or demons as John had come to refer to this different type of walking corpse, were faster and more intelligent than the others. He didn’t have time to ponder the reasons why they were different, but had made note of the different way they moved and carried themselves. They were pretty easy to spot if you knew what you were looking for. And here they were again.
Frantically he raced for the bag, reaching it mere seconds ahead of the fastest one. John unzipped it and grabbed the 9mm. Flipping the safety off he raised the weapon and fired three rounds into the first attacker as it closed in. The first and second round hit it in the chest but didn’t seem to slow him down. The third round entered his forehead spewing blood and gray matter out the back of it’s skull in a crimson spray. It dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap.
The second one was only three yards away and coming fast. John fired three more times in quick succession into its face. The demon’s head disappeared in an explosion of blood, brains and bone.
The rest of them were still twenty yards away at this point, lumbering towards him with a steady gait. Slower than the other two and seemingly acting purely on instinct.
Gathering up the bag, he ran back to the car, reached through the window, put the car in park and turned the key on the outside chance the car may start. Amazingly it did.
Praying it would still move he threw the bag on the passenger’s seat, crawled back in, put the car in drive and pushed the gas. The engine screamed but the car refused to move. By this time those things were at the passenger’s side window, filthy, bloody hands reaching in. John raised the gun once again and shot the two groping through the window once each in the face. Their heads snapped back with a sickening sound. The contents of their skulls splattering the ones behind them. He put the car into first gear and gunned the engine again. The car lurched forward. John pulled back onto the road and away from his attackers. Screaming in protest the car rolled down the road with three flat tires and a smoking engine.
“At least it’s running,” he said out loud.
The zombies stopped their pursuit after he had traveled only a couple of hundred yards. Slowly they turned and went back to their previous activities of eating the unlucky bus riders.
He continued on for another twenty minutes. The car protested as the engine rpms revved too high for the gear he was in. Several times he put the car into second gear or drive but each time the car refused to go. Finally after five miles the car groaned, sputtered and coughed then died altogether. Overheated, smoking, and with rims glowing cherry red from the friction of rolling tireless on the pavement, the car sat motionless in the middle of the road. John sat listening to the hissing engine and tried to plot his next move.
With the smell of burning rubber, motor oil and antifreeze filling his nostrils, John crawled out of the car and sat down on the pavement. It was a full moon and he could see up and down the road in both directions. Retrieving his bag from t
he front seat he reloaded his weapon and placed it in the waistband of his pants. Sipping from a water bottle, he had to fight the urge to drain it of its entire contents. He had no idea when he would get fresh water again.
A cold beer sure would be good right about now, he thought.
Taking inventory of his bag, he had useful items such as a flashlight and batteries, a hunting knife, binoculars, and a military type rain poncho. He also had some bottled water, breakfast bars and cans of tuna. Also in the bag was his shaving kit.
The shave kit was all he had had time to grab when he made his escape and then only because the extra ammo for his handgun was inside. The items in the overnight bag had been there since a recent camping trip. The gun he had packed Monday morning for protection while on his business trip. A trip that was to take him to the capitol, then up Interstate 77 into North Carolina then back to the upstate before returning home to Charleston.
He wondered if he would ever be home again. If he would ever see his wife Susan again. He was at least two hundred miles away with no transportation, no way of communicating and no way of knowing if she was even still alive.
John decided to look through the car for anything else of use. In the trunk he found, a blanket, crowbar, first aid kit and a ball of twine. In the front of the car were a couple of maps, some pens, a box of tissue, his running shoes and a jacket. He added these items to his other meager possessions placing everything except the crow bar, the jacket and the blanket in the bag. He rolled the blanket up and tied it with string then tied it to his bag. Using more of the twine, doubling it up three times for strength, he fashioned a make shift sling for the crow bar which would allow him to carry it over his shoulder.
The running shoes he changed into and put his dress shoes in the bag. He knew that any moment he might have to run for his life again.
He needed to decide what to do next. Survival was his first priority. Getting home and finding Susan was second. He could do her no good if he was dead so he knew he had to be careful and not take any uncalculated risks in his anxiousness to get home.
It was now 11:30 p.m. and the autumn night was beginning to get colder. He pulled on his jacket and sat down to take a look at the map. By now he was exhausted and decided that tonight he would concentrate on finding a place to rest then decide his next move in the morning.
He passed no houses or buildings since the bus crash. The last intersection was a couple of miles before. He pulled a flash light from the bag and spread the map out before him. He hesitated to turn the flashlight on for fear of drawing attention to himself but the moonlight, while more bright than usual, wasn’t bright enough to read the map. He saw that he was a couple of miles from the next intersection.
“Surely there should be some type of building there,” he said to himself.
With the crow bar slung over his shoulder and flashlight in hand, he headed off south east again. He thanked God for the moonlight. It made travel at night much easier. He wanted to avoid turning on the flashlight unless absolutely necessary.
He had walked for less than thirty minutes when he came to a large clear pasture on the right side of the road. In the center of the pasture was a large barn. Careful not to get caught on the barbed wire he slipped through the fence and started off toward the structure. There were groups of cattle here and there taking little or no notice of his passage.
“I hope animals are immune to all of this,” he said.
Being careful not to make any noise, John approached the barn cautiously. He took the bag and the crow bar from his shoulder and laid the bag on the ground. With crow bar in his right hand and the flashlight in his left, he checked to make sure he could pull his gun out quickly and slowly approached the open barn doors. He stopped at the entrance to listen.
He turned on the flashlight and directed the beam inside. There was a scream as a black mass flew out of the darkness and came at him. He let out a scream of his own as he swung the crow bar and ducked just as it went over his head and out into the night. He could hear the sound of its wings as it receded into the distance. Hooting as it went.
Completely frightened out of his wits now he lay on the ground trying to catch his breath and calm down. Finally he got to his feet and scanned the barn with his flashlight looking for more surprises. There were none.
The interior of the barn was open in the front half with four stalls on each side in the back. Double doors like the doors he just entered were on the other side of the barn. The doors were closed and the locking bar was in place. A loft covered half of the barn and had a permanent wood ladder off to the left side. On the far end of the loft were double swinging wood doors. The door on the right had a broken hinge and rested on the loft floor. There was a rope and pulley system for raising bales of hay attached to a beam that jutted out three feet over the opening.
There were different kinds of farm equipment scattered around the barn. Scythes, rope, empty coffee cans, bridles and items he couldn’t identify.
Slowly he climbed the ladder. Once near the top he raised the flashlight and looked around. Nothing. Just bales of hay. He went back down, retrieved his bag from outside then closed the doors and put the locking bar in place.
John decided to spend the night in the loft. From his bag he took the hunting knife and twine. Gathering several of the empty coffee cans, he drilled holes in them with the knife and tied them together. He then tied them to the ladder leading to the loft. The ladder would be the only way anyone or anything could get into the loft, so if something attempted to climb up, the cans would rattle and wake him. He hoped.
Putting the knife and twine back into the bag he gathered his things and climbed the ladder. Once at the top he laid his blanket out near the open loft door. He decided to leave the door open. He wanted to hear if something approached. As a precaution he pulled up the rope and tied it off to the beam.
Exhausted, he laid back to try and sleep. As he lay there the events of the past couple of days played over and over in his mind.
TWO - DAY ZERO: THE DAY BEFORE
John woke at 5:30 a.m., took a shower and shaved. Susan slept soundly as he dressed. He loaded everything in the car then went back inside and sat down on the side of the bed for a moment. He gave his wife a hug and kiss goodbye then grabbed some coffee and a cinnamon roll for the road. He backed out of his driveway and drove to the interstate.
The drive to Charlotte would take him about three hours. His first appointment wasn’t until 10:30 a.m. so he had plenty of time.
Arriving at 9:45 a.m. he made it to the first meeting with plenty of time to spare. After the meeting he took his client to lunch, then having a couple of hours to burn before his next appointment at 3:00 p.m., wandered around a book store downtown.
The three o’clock went well and John was finished with that by 4:30 p.m. He stopped to fill the gas tank then headed for Greenville, South Carolina.
He had two appointments the next morning. The first at 8:30 a.m. and the second at 11:00 a.m. after which he would take his client to lunch then head back to Charleston. He should be home by 5:30 p.m. Tuesday afternoon. He planned to spend Wednesday working at home finishing up the paperwork from his trip.
Arriving in town at 6:40 p.m., John checked into the hotel then ate a nice meal at the hotel restaurant lingering for a while to have another drink. He picked up a couple of beers to go then went back to his room and settled in to watch TV and read.
John was lying on the bed reading at 9:00 p.m. when the phone rang. His wife Susan always called him around this time when he was out of town. They talked for ten minutes, said I love you and good night and hung up.
John watched TV for a while then started reading an old Arthur C. Clark novel, Childhood's End. This was the third time he had read this particular book. It was one of his favorites. The first time he read it he was in middle school. Then he spotted it in a used bookstore recently and picked it up.
He read for a while then was dozing in and out with the book
on his chest when the phone rang. It was Susan again.
“Hello.”
“John, were you asleep?”
“No, I was just reading a little before bed. Are you ok?” he asked. “Is anything wrong?”
It was out of the ordinary for Susan to call him this late. They usually had their nightly talk around 9:00 p.m. Most days when he was out of town he would try to call her at lunchtime, or, as she insisted, when he arrived safely at his destination and when he left to come home so she would know when to expect him.
“John, I'm…,” she said. Then there was a long pause.
“You're what?” he asked.
“I'm just lonely. I miss you,” she said.
“I miss you too. I thought you liked your alone time when I was gone.”
“Well, normally I do, it’s just that...,” And she paused again, “it’s just that I wish you weren’t out of town, this week.”
“Look, I should be home no later than 5:30 tomorrow ok,” he said. “We’ll go out for dinner. Thai maybe. Then I’ll be at home all day Wednesday doing paperwork. Maybe you can take the day off.”
“Perfect. Don’t make any stops ok. Come straight home,” she said.
“I will, promise.”
“And be careful too. Now go to sleep... I love you John.”
“I love you too. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
John hung up and finished the warm beer sitting on the nightstand. It made him feel good that she missed him so much. They had a good marriage for the most part, but Susan always talked about how much she enjoyed those few nights every now and then when she had the house to herself and could curl up with a good book and a glass of red wine.
He went to the bathroom, then turned out the lights and went to sleep. It was 11:30 p.m.
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