We Are The Plague: Dext of the Dead, Book 1

by Steve Kuhn

  Cholo stood there, arrogantly loosening up and staring at Rebecca.

  “Now! Cholo, do you agree to fight this man until one of you is dead right here and now?” Tyler asked.

  Cholo nodded and never took his eyes off of Rebecca.

  “And, Cutty? Will you fight to the death for Rebecca’s freedom?”

  Rebecca was whispering, “Uncle Curtis, don’t do this. Cholo never loses. Please. Don’t do this.”

  Cutty spat a wad of blood in the dirt and stepped forward. He looked back at all of us… our whole group. He stood up straight and answered, “No!”

  Everyone was pretty much stunned at the answer, save for Cholo. He smiled and raised his hands.

  But Cutty continued, “I will not fight jus’ fo’ Rebecca. I’ll fight fo’ my entire group. If I win, Wyatt, Dext, and Rebecca are off da lottery for good. No games. No nothin’. You good wit’ dat, Mista Tyla?”

  The Council chatted amongst themselves briefly before Tyler answered, “That’s acceptable. Choose your weapons, gentleman. No firearms.”

  Cholo whistled to one of the guys, and he sprinted off in the direction of the manor.

  Cutty exited the gates and headed over to the fire pit to pull out a hunk of wood. He hefted it a few times and made his way back to us.

  It was about this point that we realized Wyatt had run off somewhere. Kylee said, “There,” and pointed over to the Council. Wyatt was chatting with Trey and then ran off towards the manor as well.

  We gathered around Cutty. Kylee wiped his face and asked him, “Are you sure about this?”

  Cutty nodded.

  I was speechless. This man was about to face death, and he put my name in the mix. I don’t want that shit on my conscience—not after Alex, not after Gary, Kate, Hope. Fuck, man. And I told him just that, too. You know what he said to me?

  He said, “Dext, you tol’ dat boy we family. We all gon’ die one o’ these days, man. You tol’ dat boy that family would die fo’ family if it eve’ came down to it. Today is dat day, Dext. If I fall… you run, boy. You hearin’ me? You take Kylee, an’ Rebecca, an’ Wyatt, an’ you keep runnin’.” He shot a glance at Junior and added, “I guess you can take Junia, too.” Cutty smirked.

  Cholo’s boy came back and tossed him the baseball bat studded with nails that we saw him using on the road. He made his way to the center of the Arena and taunted Cutty, shouting, “Say your good-byes. Don’t worry. I’ll keep Rebecca warm at night.”

  We tried to ignore it. Wyatt finally approached us carrying a rolled-up towel tucked under his arm. He asked Cutty, “You’re gonna fight him with that?” gesturing at Cutty’s makeshift club.

  Cutty nodded.

  Wyatt handed Cutty the towel, and that was when I heard it—the unmistakable clink of metal on metal. Wyatt smirked like a snarky, little prick and told him, “Hope’s rootin’ for ya, man. We all are.”

  Cutty unraveled the towel, and his machetes clattered together like music to our ears. Wyatt added, “What? You think I went back to the house for a picture or somethin’?”

  We patted Cutty on the back as he hefted his machetes, one in each hand. He made his way in to face Cholo, but not before Kylee whispered, “He’s a lefty, and he swings wide. I saw it when we were on the road. When this thing starts, you get in close to him, and he’ll swing right past you.”

  Tyler addressed the two of them as the crowd looked on. “You may begin!”

  Cholo’s first move was exactly as Kylee described. He raised his mace up and to the left as Cutty stepped into him. Cutty unleashed the beast. His right hand swept his blade up and lopped off Cholo’s entire left forearm at the elbow. The mace fell to the ground, but before it even hit the dirt, Cutty brought his left blade across, sinking it heavily into Cholo’s thigh. Cholo shrieked in pain as he dropped to one knee. Cutty yanked his machete free from Cholo’s leg. In the same motion, he brought both down on either side of Cholo’s head, crushing his collarbones and nearly severing both of his arms at the shoulders.

  The crowd went apeshit as Cholo screamed. Cutty put his boot into Cholo’s chest and slid his blades out. Cholo was on both knees, hunched over as both of his arms dangled uselessly at his sides. Cutty finished him. He crossed his machetes at Cholo’s throat, spreading his arms so the edges slit his jugular, and then he struck the final blow into the middle of Cholo’s forehead with a solid thunk that was audible even to us in the crowd.

  I can’t lie. I was shaking the fence and cheering as Cutty made his way over to us once again, lumbering slowly and relieved. Wyatt and Kylee hugged each other, and Junior cheered, “That’s ma nigger!”

  Rebecca shot him a look and corrected him with, “It’s nig-ga, Junior, not nigg-er. And Uncle Curtis is right… It’s sounds fucked up when you say it.”

  Cutty hugged Rebecca and whispered something to her, but I couldn’t make it out.

  Tyler announced that there were to be no games today. Shockingly, he went on to further say, “With Cholo’s departure, the Council is short one seat. Seeing as Cutty has handily defeated Cholo, the Council would like to offer that seat to Cutty and transfer all property formerly under Cholo’s domain to him. In favor?”

  The Council all raised their hands, and the matter was settled.

  Nicko stepped forward and asked Cutty directly, “Whatta ya say?”

  Cutty answered, “Let me sleep on it.”

  We made our way back to camp. Cutty and Rebecca decided to walk off and talk a bit, and I could see Wyatt over there chatting with Bizzy. They seemed to be getting awfully friendly. Junior was back up on the catwalk, walking his new post, and Kylee decided to tend to the injured man from earlier.

  So, that leaves me. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure out what Cutty’s gonna do about this newest development. If he takes a seat on the Council, we’re no better than these people. Or, maybe we’ll be allowed to leave now with our stuff. We’ll have to ask about that. On the other hand, we are safe from the geeks here. And we are fed. Stockholm Synrome?

  Letter to SSG Chalmers

  To: SSG Chalmers

  Fr: Col. Lang

  Re: Documents

  Date: Jun 28th, 1 AO

  SSG Chalmers,

  Having reviewed the transcripts thus far, I must say I’m disturbed by the state of things. It was obvious when many units were overrun that the epidemic was going to be one of the worst in the history of mankind. As you know, what remains of the armed forces of the United States of America and its allies will continue to persevere and redouble efforts to understand, contain, and ultimately eliminate the threat. We have all suffered great losses, but the men and women who continue to fight and risk their lives for the greater good will no doubt be remembered for generations when we emerge victorious.

  What I find most disturbing, however, are these new pockets of survivors and their destructive attempts at government and civil unity. It’s no surprise that these bands are forming, but the sheer brutality and savage nature of their organizations are an outrage. It is imperative that we gather as much intelligence as possible on these groups if we are to re-establish order. If this single example is any indication of a wider dilemma, I fear we will be fighting a war on more than one front, and your initial assessment of a greater threat is indeed spot-on.

  I need you to step it up. I realize communications have been a challenge, but it is crucial that your team picks up the pace when transcribing this journal. The odds are very much against us, but I don’t have to tell you that we never leave a fellow soldier behind if we can help it. I’ve pulled some strings and managed to get my hands on SSG Peel’s records. The details are above your pay grade, but you have your orders. I need information, and I need it now.

  - Col. Lang

  Entry 38

  Wyatt is a clever kid. I mean, I knew he was smart, and I knew he was mature beyond his years, but sometimes he just floors me. I could see that he was up to something with Bizzy just by the looks
of those two together, but I figured he was just being a hormonal teenager—you know, butt sniffin’ and all that. And maybe that was part of it, but I never expected him to pull a rabbit out of his hat, so to speak.

  I spent the remainder of yesterday evening up on the catwalk with the guard detail. Junior did his bit on patrol, but I found myself just watching the small packs of geeks and the singles shuffle around on the other side of the fence. It’s a constant reminder that shit is far worse out there than in here. That incessant moaning and gurgling burned itself into my brain.

  The guards played it cool, though. They’re smart enough to know that shooting every deadhead they see is just going to bring the flood here, so they only pop off if one becomes aware of our presence. When they do shoot, they generally lay out every geek in sight at once, and then there’s a call for quiet around the entire Haven. So, if there are any new ones drawn in by the gunfire, they wander right past.

  I was noticing that each pack seemed to follow loosely and slightly behind one lamebrain in particular. Odd. I also noticed that the one they stuck to was normally a neo or, at the very least, less decayed and fucked up than the rest in the group. It didn’t seem to matter whether it was a male or a female, but it was always one that even my eyes seemed to gravitate towards.

  I also took a stroll over to the pen to have a look down at the state of the geeks inside. That shit was gross, straight up. There were bits and pieces of old, rotting flesh at their feet, and their bellies were all distended from grubbin’ on the ones the Council executed before we arrived. Now, these were a totally different situation. They were in ‘sleep mode’ for lack of a better term, typical sleepers just lying down or sitting… looking like regular, old dead folks.

  I chucked a loose nail I found down at one of them, and she immediately came to. Here’s the interesting part. She looked right up at me as if she was able tell where the strike came from. Isn’t that bizarre? I can’t seem to figure out how someone dead, reanimated or otherwise, still retains the ability to ‘feel’ and judge direction, especially if they have no nerve impulses. They should just be numb. Hell, they probably chew their own lips off while they feed. Anyway, I’m rambling… Point is, as soon as she started to get to her feet, the others followed suit, and they started reaching up at me and making a fuss. No lie, I ran off fast so the guards didn’t give me any shit, but I’m sure there’s more to these things than we realize…

  We all met up at our camp before lights-out, and as Cutty approached, you’d think he was a damn rock star. People were patting him on his back as he passed, and guys were giving him props on fuckin’ Cholo up. It looked to me like the people here were just pleased to see a Council member have a bad day, hehe.

  I took a look around at the crew: Rebecca, Kylee, Junior, Cutty, and Wyatt… and Bizzy? Yep, little Miss Social Butterfly was sitting in.

  Junior started in on me, for a change telling Cutty, “Shoulda seen yer boy up thar on tha catwalk. Sum bitch looked like tha Croceedile Hunner, jes’ admirin’ tha wildlife.”

  Bizzy jumped in as well, using her best Australian accent to joke, “Haha I sawr it, too… He was gonna jump down an’ stick his finger in its cloaca!”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. That shit was funny!

  Cutty exchanged a glance with Becca and shook his head, saying, “White people…”

  Wyatt was like, “What? What about ‘white people’?”

  Cutty answered, “You ain’t neve’ seen no black person runnin’ towards a muh-fuckin’ poisonous-ass snake, talkin’ ‘bout, ‘Let’s go poke it with a stick…’ Sheeeit… we be out like a bitch.”

  We all fell out laughing. It was nice to smile. It had been too long.

  When the giggling subsided, it was Kylee who spoke first. She asked Cutty flatly, “What’s your plan?”

  The whole mood kinda went south for everybody at once. She pressed him, saying, “If you take this, you’re going to have to do some things you might not be able to do.”

  Cutty stared at the fire with his hands covering his mouth, deep in thought. That was when Wyatt took over. He looked at Bizzy, then at Cutty, and told him, “You’re taking it. You have to. And here’s why…”

  I didn’t have a clue what to do about it, so I said, “Do tell, oh wise and sagely Wyatt.”

  He started by telling us, “Gary… I’ve seen Gary do this before on his video games. If there was a guy in a guild or whatever that he couldn’t beat or our boys were outmatched, he’d play it cool. He’d take a low-level position in their guild and work his way up the ranks, but only far enough to where he was allowed to in-guild new people. He played it up, man. He would be the perfect friend to them, and he’d slowly build the guild up by bringing in his friends until he had enough of us in to where he was comfortable with his numbers. Then, he’d challenge for guild mastery, win the election, and dissolve the guild. Cutty, you’re our Gary here.”

  Cutty scoffed, but I could see Kylee’s wheels turning.

  I could smell what he was cooking, but my initial thought escaped my lips, and I was like, “Fuck. That.”

  Kylee shushed me and said, “He’s right.”

  Junior, Cutty, and I stared at her blankly. She reiterated, “He’s right. This is obviously not a game, but in some ways we’re even better off than Gary was. Half the work is already done.”

  We all listened to her explanation.

  “Look… I can make this work tactically. Cutty will be in the manor, and he’ll have access to our gear and all the weapons. Junior knows the guard schedule and all the routes. I’m on the road crew, so they’ll give me some play when it comes to the supplies. Rebecca and Bizzy know this place inside and out, and they know people here. That leaves you and Wyatt…”

  Naturally, I asked her, “What do we do?”

  Wyatt chimed in, “We’ll need communication. We need to be able to get information to and from Junior, Kylee, and Cutty, to the people in the camp and vice versa. We need to quietly build a rebellion, and we need to do it damned fast. We’ll have to do it like in the old days before radios and computers and shit.”

  Kylee looked at me and simply said, “You run, Dext.”

  Entry 39

  I was just reading back over some old entries, and I realized something. This has been the worst fucking month ever! I used to bitch about bills and work and all the usual crap everyone else moaned about, but having actually read what we’ve been through to get here, I’m convinced that the worst days of my life before the dead came were all better than the best day since this all began.

  Another thing I noticed is that, as I read it, it’s pretty fuckin’ unreal. I know each and every detail of the events… even the ones I didn’t bother to write down, yet it still sounds like some ridiculous movie. That being said, let me remind you… whoever you are… as you sit there reading this shit, we lived it.

  These things outnumber us probably five hundred to one. There is nowhere else to go that we know of. I want you to really think about that. Everywhere we go, we constantly have to watch our backs, both from the dead and the living. I’ve watched a few people get eaten… watched even more get bit.

  It’s not something that you can put out of your mind. When someone is screaming because they are dying, it’s a lot different than just a regular scream. There’s a fear and a desperation that can’t be put into words. I wonder what they think about sometimes as it’s happening. Are they still fighting? Are they in utter disbelief that it’s actually happening to them at that very moment? Do they think about their loved ones? I know that’s what Gary thought about as he lay dying in my arms. He was worried about Alex.

  I blame myself for Alex’s death. I could make excuses and reason my way out of it if I had to, but my gut tells me otherwise. That boy was in my hands… and I fucked it up. Because of me, he had to feel the pain and fear that comes along with a pack of biters tearing your insides out while you watch it happen. An eight-year-old boy died. He died a pai
nful and horrific death because of me… just a kid.

  Hope. Cutty had to pick that precious little girl up out of her crib after what Kate did. He told me that he couldn’t even recognize her—said her face was smashed in so bad that she didn’t even look human anymore. What I didn’t write about was that Cutty told me she had turned. He brought her down in his arms and wrapped in a sheet because he had to destroy her. That’s why he prayed the whole way down the road. That was a secret he kept to himself until I asked him why he was acting so angry at the world.

  Wyatt, a boy no older than fourteen, had to smash in his best friend’s skull so he didn’t turn. He’d seen the worst of humanity before he’d had a chance to see the best of it.

  We’re all changing.

  I’ll write our story and the things that happen here until I am dead. I will recount the events as accurately as possible so you know what we went through just to see another day on this shitty planet. I just don’t know if I keep trying to survive because I have hope for the future… or if I’m just too chickenshit to die.

  But you need to know this: These things are real, these bullets are real, and I’m scared from the moment I wake up to the moment I attempt to actually sleep. You think I don’t know that if it weren’t for Cutty, Junior, Wyatt, and Kylee, I would already be dead?

  Tomorrow, when we wake up, we will begin an attempt to bring about a revolution. We’re going to attempt to make a home out of this Haven. Cutty has killed two men—two living beings. Alex died on my watch. Gary died on my watch. Hope died on my watch. I refuse to see another one of my friends killed. I’m sick of running in the opposite direction. So, this time, I’m running in headfirst for my crew. I owe it to them.

  Entry 40

  It’s been three days since I’ve had any time to write. Cutty has taken up residence in the manor, and it’s been relatively serene around here. Wyatt, Bizzy, Rebecca, and I have been making the rounds, chatting people up and trying to gather as much information as possible.