Dead and Back (The Zombie Crisis--Book 2)

by George Magnum

  Armstrong, being the next highest in command, instantly tried to take leadership after the accident. Peterson seemed on the verge of death, unresponsive and not moving, and Armstrong ordered that Peterson be left behind, that his injuries were too severe and carrying him would slow down and threaten the group. No sooner had Armstrong spoken those words than he lost the respect of the remaining team. Johnny-Boy, Sharon, Dr. Washington, and Cash were loyal to Peterson. They weren’t willing to give up on him. They disobeyed Armstrong, and from that point forward, despite Armstrong’s insistence that he was the leader, he was only so by virtue of his rank. Nobody was in charge any longer. There was only a single hierarchy left: if you weren’t a soldier, you were a civilian—and the civilians followed and obeyed.

  Leaving the hospital, the truck crashing, fighting a week straight into the woods and, now, almost empty on water, food, and ammunition, the situation had gone from terrible to worse. The boat docks seemed farther away now than ever.

  Derek saw Cash squatting at the tree line, peering through binoculars. Dried blood patched his face. Next to him was Armstrong, looking in the same direction. As usual, they were trying to figure out the next move.

  Derek thought of Jack, the trucker, his pockmarked face and receding hair. He could have brought them all the way to the docks, but he fucked things up. His dead body had gone first through his windshield, which took the skin right off his torso and left him a gob of guts and blood twisted on the highway—zombie bait.

  Derek looked at the other civilians, who sat around a small campfire in a circle.

  Mr. Bronson, Barbara’s father, had a bad reputation. Before the outbreak, rumors in town had it that he spent time in the slammer for selling cocaine. He was a burly man with a beard. Hoity, he acted like he wasn’t afraid of anything. Also, he treated his daughter, Barbara, like a little child. He better accept reality soon. She was a woman, and every man who looked at her could testify to that. Mr. Bronson was out of touch and, if Derek had to take his bets, would be the next to die.

  “What are you thinking about?” Barbara asked Derek. Her voice was almost sultry.

  “Oh, nothing. Just thinking…” Derek was surprised by Barbara’s sudden appearance. What was he going to say? I think your father is a loser who is going to die next?

  In high school he and Barbara were the exact opposites. Now he was finding out he had a lot in common with her, more than he could have imagined. She was tough, self-sufficient, and didn’t take crap from anybody. Almost more than Derek could say for himself. Unless his mind was fooling him, he was starting to fall for her.

  “He’s thinking about death.” Johann’s voice was low and dark. “And he’s thinking about life. Just like all of us are.” Johann wasn’t condescending, just confident. Matter of fact.

  “It has come down to life or death,” Todd Junior finally spoke up. Derek observed him. He was a skinny kid in his late twenties who worked as the hospital maintenance man. He had helped them find their way out of the hospital basement. The kid looked like a pothead. Long hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt.

  Derek took note of the civilians who were still alive—Johann, Mr. Bronson, Barbara, and Todd Junior.

  “It’s more than just survival,” said Derek. “We all agreed to come to help out Commander Peterson and the military folks carry out this mission. This mission is more than just about our own survival.”

  “Is it?” Johann raised his eye brow.

  “It has to be,” responded Derek.

  “Why?” Johann asked, prodding Derek.

  “Or else we’re nothing more than animals. We have morals, consciences. We can decide what to live for and what to die for. Those zombies out there—those things are just survival. Walk, kill, eat.”

  “Oh yeah, bright guy?” Todd Junior raised his voice. “We’re ready to kill, and we’re starving, looking to eat. Maybe we’re no better than they are.”

  “Then why don’t you go on your own way? Nobody asked you to come along,” Barbara said. “Last thing I need to hear is some pothead whining.”

  Todd Junior was about to respond, but Mr. Bronson spoke first, protective of his daughter. “Say a thing to my little girl and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

  Todd Junior stood up. He gripped his shotgun and held it in a menacing way. “I don’t need to take shit from an ex-con.”

  Mr. Bronson stood up. His gun was slung on his hip. The tension shot up like a rocket.

  “Why don’t we end the problem right now?” Mr. Bronson lowered his hand slightly toward his pistol.

  Derek, Johann, and Barbara all stood up at once.

  “Easy,” a voice boomed. It was Dr. Washington, his hands raised, palms facing outward, a submissive gesture. “Is it Todd Junior who’s right? Are we all just animals now? Or is Derek correct? We can think, choose, and decide our actions? Think about this, people. Think…”

  Todd Junior started to look afraid. He realized he was suddenly in a life-or-death standoff with Mr. Bronson.

  Barbara could not control her protective instinct. She jerked, and placed her hands on the grip of her pistol.

  Todd Junior raised his rifle and swung toward Barbara. “Don’t move,” he shouted.

  Mr. Bronson drew his pistol in a smooth, wispy motion.

  Todd Junior barked, “No!” and he swung his rifle at Mr. Bronson.

  They both fired at once.

  The BOOM of Todd Junior’s shotgun sent Mr. Bronson’s body backward, as if he were hit with an incredible gust of wind. A flock of bird skirted into the sky. The sound echoed throughout the forest. And then there was a moment of terrible silence as Mr. Bronson’s body lay motionless on the ground, his head gone.

  The expression on Barbara’s face, as she watched her father die, was more than Derek could bear. Such horror, pain, shock, and rage, all at once.

  “Dad?” Barbara whispered. Her hand was still on the grip of her pistol.

  Todd Junior’s mouth was open. He dropped his rifle and gripped the left side of his body.

  He keeled over in pain. Mr. Bronson’s bullet found its mark. In disbelief, Todd Junior was frozen with a dumbfounded expression. He raised his hands and looked at them. They were soaked with blood.

  Barbara drew her handgun, leveled it at Todd Junior

  “No, Barbara,” Todd Junior pleaded. “It was an accident.”

  “You killed my father,” Barbara said. She fired, pumping three rounds into Todd’s face.

  *

  Peterson’s world was black, yet he was aware of the blackness. Like being buried alive. He was imprisoned in his own mind, and it was not a kind place to be.

  The feeling of meaninglessness was overwhelming. Everything he had ever known was now gone. Civilization, society, government, law—gone. And, in a terrible moment, he realized that people do not create the meaning of their own lives in a vacuum, but in a larger context.

  Who are we without law? Without money, society, neighbors, schools, without wealth, poverty, fame?

  Who we are in this world, Peterson was struck, is the sum of so many parts. And when they are taken away, what is left? Small, fluttering, fractured, and confused remnants of what a person once was.

  “Peterson, what is left?” It was the same voice as before—overpowering—all present.

  “What is left?” Peterson was desperate.

  “Don’t you know?” The voice began to fade into the distance. “Don’t you know yet?”

  Peterson called out, “Don’t go. Wait!”

  Peterson hit the surface of his mind.

  Finally, he awoke.

  His surroundings were so vivid they stung his eyes. Sharon was leaning over him. He wanted to reach out, to grab her, to scream. He couldn’t.

  “Jacob, can you hear me?” Sharon whispered. “I think he’s coming around,” she said to somebody.

  Peterson’s eyes opened. Reality was hitting him. If only he could speak.

  “He seems to be waking up,” a voice said. It was
Cash. He was standing next to Sharon.

  “Peterson, we are so close now,” Sharon continued. “Five miles to the shore. Your plan is working.” With her kind voice she was urging him to awaken, to come out of his coma.

  Peterson slowly recognized that he was inside a house, a bedroom. He was lying in a bed. He focused harder. Cash was there, standing over Sharon’s shoulders. Next to Cash was Johnny-Boy. They were all leaning over him with deep concerned etched in their faces.

  “He’s coming out of it,” Johnny-Boy said.

  Peterson desperately wanted to speak. To say something. But his words felt trapped in his throat. His lips moved.

  Sharon leaned in closer. “What?”

  A gasp of air came out of his mouth. His lips moved again.

  “I can’t hear you.” Sharon was desperate.

  Raspy and broken, Peterson formed words. “What is left?”

  Johnny-Boy and Cash looked at each other, confused.

  Tears of relief rolled down Sharon’s cheek. She placed her hand on Peterson’s forehead.

  “We are left,” she said, and stroked his face. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

  Her kiss was healing, and so was the presence of his men, like a warm lantern casting a glow of friendship and loyalty.

  Peterson felt himself fully reach the surface of his mind. His senses returned. It was a scary feeling. The fact that just moments before, he was stuck in a world that was real, but not of this earth—not a dream; not a nightmare—it was something that nobody would ever understand.

  The experienced emanated in Peterson’s eyes, like wisdom—or insanity. He was weak, and it took some effort, but speaking was now easier.

  Peterson said simply, “I am waking up now.”

  Still, deep inside Peterson, the question burned. Sharon didn’t answer correctly, and Peterson knew this in his gut. What is left?

  *

  Derek was standing guard outside the shabby, back-woods house. It was surrounded by woods, tall age-old oak trees. Their tremendous branches casted an ever-present shadow over the house The woods were lethally silent. Not even the presence of birds or the occasional squirrel was present. He couldn’t see much in the woods, either. Visibility was low. The trees were too close, too thick. All Derek could see was darkness, with an occasional streak of sunset breaking through the branches. His sense of hearing was hypervigilant; he was relying upon it. Looking into the blackness of the forest, he was on edge.

  Derek was standing close to the side of the house, by a window, and he heard raised voices coming from within. Something of note was happening, but Derek didn’t pay much mind. A lot of time had gone by, and he had grown exhausted. The senseless death of Mr. Bronson and Todd Junior had taken an emotional toll on everybody. And crawling through the woods, moving just inches at a time toward the boat docks, required too much energy. This mission started to seem lost, and, all combined, everybody’s spirits had dropped to an all-time low. The house was a welcome relief, an oasis.

  There was a sound like something was moving in the forest. Maybe an animal? Maybe his imagination? Maybe worse. The sound suddenly grew louder, more intense, and a shadow crept over the side of the house. Derek spun on his heels, and what he saw startled him. It was Barbara, with blood speckled on her hands and face. Derek ran to her, his heart pounding, forgetting his fear, thinking only of her well-being.

  “Barbara, what happened?” Derek demanded.

  Barbara’s pupils were wide. She was in shock. In that moment, Derek realized the foolishness of his fear. Love was something bigger than he ever realized. Love was caring for the other.

  “Barbara, I am here for you,” Derek said.

  Barbara began to breathe more peacefully and deeply now. She reached out her blood-covered arms for him. Derek took her into his arms and said, “Whatever happened, it will be all right.”

  Barbara put her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and began to sob. The intimacy of the moment was breathtaking. In the midst of the blood and pain, Derek was ecstatic.

  “The zombies, the zombies,” she began to gasp.

  Within that moment, he felt as though he wanted to kill them all. Nothing stood between him and total invincibility. Throwing all his fears away, he said to her, “Are there more?”

  “They’re coming,” she whispered, her body shaking.

  At that very moment Peterson stood up from his bed. He extended his hands toward the sky and said, “I am alive.”

  *

  “How many?” Sharon asked Barbara.

  Peterson was leaning on Sharon, arm around her neck. He was still weak and needed her as a crutch. Everybody was outside the house now, looking into the woods. Barbara was holding Derek’s arm, still shaken.

  “They’re coming this way,” Barbra responded, not answering Sharon directly.

  Cash pulled back the bolt on his assault rifle. “How many does not matter. They have our scent. We have to fight now.”

  Johnny-Boy disagreed. “We’re too low on ammo. We can’t stand and fight. It’s time to leave.”

  “Maybe fifty, maybe more,” Barbara finally said. “They’re moving together, like a pack of dogs. We’re not safe here anymore.”

  “Fifty?” Dr. Washington’s eyes went wide. “Moving like a pack?”

  “We’re low on ammo?” Cash said, pissed off. He slung his assault rifle over his shoulder and pulled out his combat knife. “Then we fight the old-fashioned way.”

  Peterson’s voice was raspy as he fought for the energy to speak. “Cash, we can’t let ourselves get trapped here in this house. I can make it with a little help. I don’t have my land legs yet, but they’re getting stronger every moment.”

  Dr. Washington stepped forward. “We’re in spitting distance of the shore line. We can make it, even in the dark. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? I say let’s go for it.”

  Armstrong didn’t waste a moment. “Commander, you’re in no condition to move, nor are you in condition to make decisions. I have led this group this far, and I am still in command.” Armstrong turned to the others. “We are staying, and we’re fighting.”

  “Fair enough,” said Peterson. “We’ll let the others decide. I know I’m in beaten up condition, but I’m back. Thanks to most of you. If you have doubts about my ability to lead, now is the time to speak up. Majority rules. I will follow your vote. Anybody who thinks I can’t lead, now is the time to say so.”

  Cash was the first to step forward, “I’m with you, boss. Always have been.”

  “We all have been,” Johnny-Boy said.

  Sharon barked, “This is stupid.”

  “Very stupid,” said Dr. Washington. “We don’t need you, Armstrong, and we never did.”

  Johnny-Boy agreed. “Damn right about that, Dr. Washington.”

  Johann, Derek, and Barbara stood together, looking at Peterson. “What are your orders?”

  “My orders are to move forward now and reach the shoreline. We can’t afford to get trapped.” Peterson turned to Derek. “How far?”

  “Can’t be sure,” he quickly responded. “We were waiting for you, hoping you would get back on your feet before scouting forward.”

  The final light of day was almost gone. The woods were an ominous creature of its own. Peterson’s expression was suddenly like the woods, menacing. His voice became dark, dangerous. “Now is the time to address an issue, before we go any further.” Peterson let go of Sharon and addressed Dr. Washington. “When this mission started we were told that you once were at the laboratory and worked with Dr. Winthrop. Therefore, we were ordered to take you along. Correct me if I am making a mistake.”

  “You know this is true. What is your point?” Dr. Washington stated, confused.

  “We were told that Dr. Winthrop has a solution, a cure to this epidemic, or whatever you want to call it. However, we were not told more than that. Were we?”

  Johnny-Boy stepped forward. “No, boss, we weren’t.”

  “Not a thing
,” Cash responded.

  Sharon shook her head, understanding what Peterson was getting at. “Actually, Commander, we were not provided with any details at all.”

  Dr. Washington became defensive. “The operation was put together at the last minute. There was no time, and no need, for you to know any more.”

  “You’re going to tell us what else you know about this mission.”

  “We have no time to waste.” Dr. Washington’s eyes shifted. “Didn’t you hear Barbara? The zombies are coming.”

  Peterson was persistent. “What type of laboratory is it exactly?”

  “A research laboratory,” Washington responded. “I’ve already told you everything I know.” His voice sounded sincere, but his eyes were now looking at the ground.

  Peterson didn’t skip a breath. “You were assigned to this mission because you were inside the laboratory, and you worked with Dr. Winthrop, right?”

  “Correct.” Dr. Washington was hesitant. “Isn’t there a better time to have this conversation?” Dr. Washington looked into the woods. He was spooked.

  Johann’s voice, as always, carried a tone of wisdom. “This is a good time for me. Yes, I am the town bum. However, twenty years in the CIA also taught me a few things. Let us hear your story, Dr. Washington.”

  “Talk.” Peterson looked at Washington. “We’re losing the last seconds of daylight, and we are not moving until you do.”

  Cash, Johnny-Boy, and Derek were on edge. They raised their rifles and panned the forest. Shadows and darkness. Soldiers and non-soldiers, they were all terrified of what was coming toward them.

  Peterson continued, “I’ve been putting this conversation off for way too long. The world is almost dead and you’re still keeping secrets.” Peterson limped over to Dr. Washington.