The Dead and The Living (Book1): The Dead and The Living

by Wimer, Kevin

  “I see your friends have finally returned. That’s good,” Hawkeye said as a shit eating grip spread across his face causing Tex to feel a bit more nervous about the situation that he and his group were now in, “Tex, it’s time to hand Chris over. No one needs to die here today. No one.”

  Tex was about to say something when the man inside the SUV reached for his weapon. It was within a blink of an eye that Tex turned his rifle towards the SUV and pulled the trigger. The men inside of it danced like rag dolls as the bullets punched through the windshield and impacted their bodies. The bolt on his rifle locked back. Tex instinctively dropped the empty magazine from his rifle and quickly reloaded it before turning his attention to Hawkeye. The man was running towards the back of the bullet riddled SUV. It was during the brief pause of a magazine change that the tree line erupted in gunfire. Tex started to fire at Hawkeye when bullets began whizzing past his head—causing a buzzing sound that reminded him of a swarm of bees. He didn’t have time to flinch as he dove for cover behind the Jeep. The wreckage of the Jeep was a bullet magnet. He looked at the two men with him. He could see their eyes wide and somewhat filled with fear. It was the first time that either of them had tasted battle—battle that involved the living and not the dead. Tex knew he had to gain control of the situation. He had to get the two men into the fight before they completely froze up.

  “Cover me!” Tex yelled.

  Tex quickly got back to his feet and began moving towards the rear of the Jeep. The men with him began firing at the tree line. It was then that Tex noticed the top of the hill had erupted in gunfire. His group of survivors was now returning fire and giving their attackers hell. Tex made it to the rear of the Jeep as bullets bounced off the mangled metal body. He wondered when one of the bullets would pass through the sheet metal and strike him dead. He took a deep breath and pushed that thought out of his mind as he peered out from cover. He caught a glimpse of Hawkeye. The man was now aiming his rifle right at him. Tex jerked his body back behind cover as a hailstorm of bullets began hitting the rear of the Jeep. Hawkeye nearly had him dead to rights. Tex pressed his body against the Jeep and then hung his rifle around the corner—holding it with both hands while making sure not to expose his body. He pulled the trigger and returned fire—knowing that he was shooting blindly and wasting ammo. He would be lucky to hit anything let alone a man who had taken cover and was now firing at him.

  Hawkeye jerked his body back behind cover as bullets bounced off the SUV. He wasn’t taking any chances. The man was firing wildly at him and he knew that all it took was one stray bullet to kill him. He gritted his teeth with each bullet that smacked the body of the SUV. His blood boiled hotter with each new thud. The SUV was starting to look like swiss cheese.

  “Give it up Tex!” Hawkeye shouted as glass rained down onto him, “You are outgunned and outnumbered.”

  Tex looked towards the top of the hill. He could see Chris not only returning fire but directing the others to fire into the woods—screaming to keep pouring it on. The battered man was in the fight and moving those around him into positions that would allow them to regain the upper hand. Chris moved himself to one knee as the ground him was being chewed up with bullets. Tex admired how Chris held his own as the earth around him was filled with bullets. Chris was holding his ground and he was holding without fear of losing his own life. Tex not only admired the man for what he was doing but knew his gut feeling about Chris was right. Chris was one of the good guys. He turned his attention from the group atop of the hill back to Hawkeye. Tex was going to kill the son of a bitch and then kill the bastards that were hiding the tree line.

  “Call your men off Hawkeye and I will let you live.”

  Hawkeye’s laugh echoed over the sound of gunfire. The laugh infuriated Tex.

  “Let me live . . . Look around you Tex . . . You still got time . . . Give us Chris and we will let you and your group live to fight another day.”

  Tex leaped from cover and fired a handful of shots towards the SUV that Hawkeye was hiding behind. He ran towards it with his rifle at his hip—firing as he ran. He held his breath but once he made it to cover, he gulped in air. His lungs burned. Tex had little time to think and even less time to fill his lungs full of air. Hawkeye started to come out from cover when a hail of bullets drove him back behind the rear of the SUV. It wasn’t Tex who had sent the man reeling for cover. The shots had come from atop of the hill. He wanted to look over his shoulder to see who had fired those shots but didn’t. He was sure it was Chris who had fired at Hawkeye. The gunfire within the tree line had slowed. It had slowed so much so that it had nearly died down. Tex wondered if lull in gunfire was to draw his group out and then slaughter them. It was a thought that he couldn’t allow himself to worry over. He took a deep breath and let it out as he popped his head up to have a quick look. He could see through the shattered glass of the windshield that Hawkeye was still at the back of the SUV. Tex knew that there was only one to end this. He had to rush Hawkeye. He had to use speed and brutal force to end it.

  “This is your last chance!” Tex yelled.

  Hawkeye was in the middle of saying something when Tex leaped out from the front of the SUV and began running down the side of it. The gunfire and the world around him had gone silent. Tex had blocked everything out—everything but the sound of his heart beating like a drum. It felt like he was moving in slow motion. He was just about to the rear of the SUV when Hawkeye stepped out—his eyes were wide and filled with not only surprise but the realization that death had finally come for him. Hawkeye’s rifle belched a ball of fire. Tex felt the heat of the bullets passing by his head as he too fired a quick burst. The surprised look in Hawkeye’s eyes quickly vanished. It had been replaced with something that might have resembled sorrow. Tex knew it was a look of acknowledgment—acknowledgment that today Hawkeye couldn’t cheat death. Hawkeye stumbled backwards as he fell to the ground and began gasping for air. Tex looked at the man as he stared towards the sky—his chest heaved up and down as he franticly gasped for air to fill his lungs that had been riddled with bullets. The sound Hawkeye made with each gasp of air was sickening. Tex had heard the sound before. Hawkeye had a sucking chest wound. Tex held his rifle firmly in hand as he slowly made his way towards the dying man. The gunfire that had filled the air had stopped. The world was almost peaceful.

  Tex stood over Hawkeye with the barrel of his rifle pointed at the man’s face. Hawkeye looked up at him—his eyes were nearly glassed over. He tried to chuckle a laugh but the blood that had filled his lungs caused him to cough instead. Tex looked at him and knew he should fire one last shot to end it—to end the man’s suffering. It was a split-second thought that he couldn’t bring himself to do. He wondered how many innocent people Hawkeye and his men had killed in the last six months. How many had he let suffer? Tex narrowed his eyes as he looked down at the man. Save your ammo. The bastard isn’t worth it. The voice inside his head echoed as he pulled his finger from the trigger of his rifle. Tex watched as Hawkeye’s breathing became more labored. He stood there watching him—waiting for the life to finally drain from him. It was then that Tex noticed Hawkeye was trying to say something. He thought that maybe the man was asking God to have mercy on him—to forgive him for all the bad he had done. Tex took a knee and leaned closer to the dying man.

  “Deacon . . . is going . . . to kill . . . all of you.”

  The air faded from Hawkeye’s lungs as he spoke his last words.

  CHAPTER 9

  Chris sat in the bed of the truck as the group drove down the road and toward the place that they all called home. It was an old warehouse complex that sat on the outskirts of a small town called Broadway. The complex had once been Miller’s Lumber Yard. The group now called it Graceland. Chris remembered the lumber yard. He remembered that it was a rather large complex with buildings built out of cinder block. He thought the place had been built in the late forties—maybe right after World War Two. Miller’s lumber had gone out of business
a few years before the outbreak. The buildings had sat dormant until the group had taken them over. It was now home to what he could gather a hundred or so survivors. It was a smaller group than that of Deacon’s. Chris had given the town of Broadway little thought. He had guessed it to be just as overrun with walkers as the city had been. He had been wrong. Broadway had its share of problems but nothing like the city of Harrisonburg. Chris let his eyes wonder around the bed of the truck, looking at the other survivors. The look in their eyes told him what he needed to know. The group didn’t trust him, and Chris didn’t blame them. He would have to earn their trust, just as they would have to earn his.

  Chris leaned his body against the bedside of the truck. He thought about Carl Yassa and then about the letter. His mind drifted from the letter to that of Brandy. He had yet to ask Tex about her. Chris feared asking to many questions. He feared that someone might get the wrong impression. He’s a spy. We should kill him. The words echoed through his mind as he placed a hand to his chest and touched the letter that rested inside his breast pocket. It was odd but that letter somehow gave him comfort. He had read the letter enough that he knew it by heart. Chris closed his eyes as his mind drifted. He wondered why he hadn’t told Tex and the others about Carl. He wondered why he hadn’t mentioned the letter that Carl had written for his daughter. The only answer that Chris could come up with was his issues with trust. He opened his eyes and looked around the bed of the truck. The men and woman were still looking at him. His gut told him that he could trust them. The group had not only saved him from a pack of walkers but from Hawkeye and his men. The voice that now echoed through his mind told him that this group was nothing like Deacon’s. He could trust them with his life.

  Chris turned his attention from those in the bed of the truck with him to that of Cubbie and Lailah who sat inside the cabin of the truck’s interior. He noticed Cubbie was looking at him in the rearview mirror. He thought about the young man. Cubbie not only seemed friendly but cautious. It was a good trait to have in this new world. It was something Chris hadn’t had at the beginning of the outbreak. He knew the dangers of the old world and had been cautious of those dangers, but the walkers had presented a new and unknown danger. It was that unknown factor that had pushed him to let his guard down. He felt the burning feeling of regret knowing that he had allowed himself to be taken in by a group of survivors that were far worse than that of the walkers. It was a regretful mistake and one he wouldn’t allow himself to make again. The consequences of mistakes were far greater in this world. He was not only dealing with maters of life and death but life as a walker. There are much worse things than death. The voice echoed. It was true. Chris wasn’t sure what it was like to be walker—to be trapped in a body fueled by a hunger that only blood and brains could tame. He knew it wasn’t Heaven and was sure that it was somewhere closer to Hell.

  Chris watched as Cubbie and Lailah talked and admired how the two of them interacted with each other. It was as if the old world still existed with them. He watched as Lailah laughed at something Cubbie had said. She laughed and then playfully slapped him on the shoulder before scooting closer to him. It was a strange sight to see and one Chris hadn’t seen in six months. He watched the two of them and wondered when the last time it was that he himself had had a good laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed the company of someone else—some close and dear to him. He remembered the last conversation he had had. It was just hours before the outbreak, and it had been with a co-worker. The two had been bitching about work and how the American people hated the men and woman who wore the blue uniform. The nightly news showed groups protesting those that were here to serve and protect. Chris narrowed his eyes as his mind drifted back to that moment and the conversation he had been having with is co-worker. He could picture his co-worker as sounds of frantic calls began coming in—pleas for help. The outbreak had started. The conversation the two had had was now a distance memory. It was clouded in the foggy haze of a time that he no longer cared to remember. The past was far too painful to think about.

  Chris turned from Cubbie and Lailah and looked at the truck behind them. Tex was driving an old beat up Ford. He was guessing the truck to be a late seventies Ford F150. It somehow fit him and who Chris thought the man was. He looked at the man behind the wheel and nodded his head. Tex returned the nod. It seemed that all eyes were on him. He was the new kid in school. Chris looked past Tex and at the trucks behind him. The bed of each of the trucks were full of both men and woman who were armed to the teeth. The convoy of well-armed survivors did nothing to ease Chris’s troubled mind. Chris knew how Deacon worked. Deacon didn’t give two shits about this group and their numbers. He would do whatever it took to kill each one of them—some more slowly than others. Deacon was a madman—a man who wanted power no matter the cost. I need to tell Tex about Deacon and his group. I need to tell them about the man they had just killed. The voice echoed through his mind. Deacon is going to want payback for Hawkeye’s death. The bastard will stop at nothing to get it. Chris could feel the overwhelming feeling of guilt burning within him. It was his fault. He had brought this upon the group that had just saved his life. He knew he couldn’t allow anything to happen to them.

  Once you get to Graceland you need to tell them. The voice echoed through his mind. Tell them about Deacon and about his group of killers. Chris shivered as the wind whipped around the inside of the trucks bed. It was a sharp cold wind that chilled him to the bone. Maybe some of that chill was the thought of Deacon and what he would do them. It was a thought that Chris didn’t need much imagination to have. He had seen what the man and his group of killers were capable of firsthand. Chris looked around the bed of the truck as the voice inside his head echoed louder. Their blood will be on your hands. You can’t let it get that far. You have to do something. The guilt of knowing what was to come ate at him as he tried to move his body into a more comfortable position. The metal surface of the truck’s bed was hard and cold. The more he tried to find a comfortable position the more his body screamed with pain. The adrenaline that had flowed through him during the firefight had worn off. Adrenaline was one hell of a painkiller. His ankle throbbed like a tooth ache and his boot felt tight around his ankle. He needed to take his boot off and prop his foot up to allow the swelling to go down. His teeth chattered together as the cold air ran across his body. He pulled his coat tightly around him and closed his eyes. Think warm thoughts. He thought.

  Chris shivered until he thought he would shake himself to death. His warm thoughts were not working. He couldn’t wait to get to Graceland and out of the cold. He was thankful it hadn’t been raining like it had been the day before. Chris opened his eyes and looked at the landscape that dotted the side of the road. It was mostly farmland. He made a mental note to ask Tex if anyone had checked the farms and the buildings on the land. He was sure the old houses had a basement cellar if not an underground one somewhere on the property. Chris was sure the shelves of those cellars would be lined with canned goods. He had known a handful of farmers and they were always canning something. He hoped it was a resource they could use—unless it had already been picked over. Chris moved his body and this time he had found a comfortable position. He was still cold and shivered as he yawned. His eyes were growing heavy. He could feel himself starting to nod off when the truck came to a screeching halt—tossing him to the side and into one of the men sitting next to him.

  Chris felt the fiery hot pain shooting through him as he franticly opened his eyes and leaped to one knee with his rifle in hand. He looked towards the front of the truck as his eyes grew wide. The sound of car doors opening echoed behind him. Chris looked over his shoulder as Tex and the others made their way down the side of the truck and to the driver’s door. The road in front of them was filled with walkers. The men and women inside the bed of the truck with Chris quickly hopped out. He watched as the group fanned out and took up defensive positions. Tex gave the order not to fire. He told them to hold
off and to conserve their ammo. Chris looked at Tex. It was the first time since meeting him he had seen worry in his eyes.

  “How are you feeling Hoss?” Tex asked

  The moans of the walkers in the distance filled the air. Chris could feel his flesh prickling at the sound. He looked at Tex and wondered what the man was going to do. He wasn’t sure why he was looking for Tex to have all the answers.

  “I could be worse,” Chris said with a brow raised as he turned his head towards the walkers, “I guess.”

  Tex took a breath and let it out. He looked down the road and towards the walkers that were hundred yards away. He knew there were far too many of them to try and drive through them. The fields were far too wet to drive into them and try and work their way around the gathering herd. The group would get stuck and in getting stuck they would become food for the walkers.

  “I’m betting the gunfire brought them out,” Tex said, “Those bastards can hear a fart in the wind from miles away,” chuckling a laugh as he spoke, “I once had a hound dog like that.”

  Chris nodded and started to reply when Cubbie opened the driver’s side door and stepped out. He was holding what looked to be a map in his hand. Cubbie walked to the front of the truck and laid the map on the hood and spread it out. Tex nodded and told Chris to come have a look. Chris gingerly hopped down from the bed of the truck and limped towards the front. Cubbie was tracing and outline with his index finger on the map as Tex followed along.

  “If we take this road here,” Cubbie said as he pointed to a spot on the map, “we should be okay. It has been a month or more since we’ve been down that road.”

  Tex nodded as he looked down the road and towards the walkers who were advancing. The bastards were now less than a hundred yards away. Chris could feel his heart begin to tick a beat faster. His body ached and all he wanted to do was lie next to an open fire—allowing the warmth of the open flame to heat his body and ease the aching pain he felt. He wanted a couple hours of sleep. It looked like it would be a few hours if not longer until he was able to do just that.