The Undead Survivor Series | Book 1 | Guns, Rations, Rigs & The Undead

by Radke, K. E.

  “Something’s not right. We shouldn’t be here,” Wyatt said panicked, blurting the words out and looking in the rear view mirror. Nothing but land was behind him. He could easily reverse and getaway—unless the farmer starts shooting. And once he’s on the road they could easily catch up to him, as far as Wyatt could tell its only one road in and out with nowhere to hide. All the yelling probably alarmed anyone else on the farm of their presence. The man obviously doesn’t want us here, Wyatt thought, Lincoln somehow convinced him to let us through.

  Too terrified to move, all of his thoughts paralyzing him, Wyatt froze with his hands on the steering wheel thinking of his family and how they’d think he abandoned them.

  Agitation stretched along Lincoln’s face when he realized Wyatt wasn’t going to pull forward because they were still parked. In a swift movement Lincoln had the car turned off and the keys in his hand. The joke had worked too well and Lincoln didn’t want Wyatt doing anything rash like running Alfredo over or leaving him stranded here with Alfredo’s grandmother. He shifted his weight pocketing the keys and said, “You stay here, and I’ll go get my chickens.”

  “You’re leaving me by myself?!” Wyatt’s voice went up an octave snapping his gaze to Lincoln because getting the hell out of there was no longer an option. His hands left the steering wheel and the pepper spray dropped on the floor rolling under the seat. He’d forgotten it was wedged between his hand and steering wheel. Dread spread across his face causing his eyes to widen as they flickered around unhinged at the thought of being alone and a target without Lincoln—without the gun.

  “No,” Lincoln promised and then nodded toward Alfredo trying to keep a straight face, “He’ll stay with you and keep you company.”

  Lincoln pushed the car door open and maneuvered himself out of the tiny vehicle only to bump into Wyatt causing him to fall back into his seat. Alfredo laughed at Wyatt’s enthusiasm making Lincoln frown wondering how Wyatt managed to get around the car faster than he could get out of it. Standing in front of him, Wyatt whispered quietly with his eyes closed, “Please don’t shoot me.” His back faced Alfredo with his hands in the air for everyone to see.

  Lincoln grunted wiping the smirk off his face when Wyatt finally opened his eyes one by one to make sure Lincoln hadn’t moved without him. Wedging out of the car and on his feet, Lincoln started down the dirt path toward the yellow house not waiting for anyone to join him.

  Tucking the gun back in its holster, he could hear the rooster calls and clucking, plus two sets of footsteps behind him. One set faster than the other and suddenly without actually, physically clinging to him, but getting as close as possible, Wyatt followed Lincoln down the dirt road with Alfredo treading lazily behind them.

  Wyatt didn’t know whether or not it was safe to put his hands down, he did it slowly making sure they were well away from his pockets. Gravel crunched under their shoes causing the dirt cloud in the air below their knees. A few feet from the yellow house Alfredo sped up, walking alongside Wyatt. Wyatt refused to glance in Alfredo’s direction, afraid he might offend him, and cause him to point the giant gun in his face.

  Lincoln took them past the house stopping only because he wasn’t sure where to go from there. Wyatt stood beside him and Alfredo stood in front of the two making sure he could see everything behind them.

  “Are you going to buy chickens also?” Alfredo asked Wyatt speaking in English for the first time, nodding at him to get his attention. Wyatt’s jaw wanted to drop at the revelation. The man spoke English. Wyatt’s mind was churning over the conversations he had with Lincoln in the car, scouring his brain for anything he said earlier that might be offensive. Holding in a scream to plea for his life, Wyatt tried to find a way to respond, wondering which answer would be the correct one. Wondering which answer would get him back to his car alive.

  Five

  A rooster crowed only to set off a series of crows while Lincoln enjoyed Wyatt’s shock. They were standing right in the middle of the farm, everything equal distance from their spot. The barn lurched behind them where Lincoln knew they stored hay and equipment along with two horses. The pen area, built with wood and chicken wire held in goats, one giant pig, and chickens. The chicken coop was another structure hidden by the house from the road, and looked like a playhouse for birds. It had a concealed door for easy access and compartments to collect eggs outside of the coop.

  Alfredo scratched his head unsure why Wyatt wasn’t answering him. Spanish mutterings mixed with the clucking chickens, bells and goat noises. Lincoln saw her first covering himself from the blow, but her intended target was Wyatt. She hit him square in the back causing him to flinch. Alfredo shouted in Spanish as Wyatt turned, he saw a little old lady in a bright colored dress with gray hair taking off her other sandal. She narrowed her eyes at him still muttering in Spanish pulling back her arm to throw the other one when Alfredo snatched it out of her hand and ushered her back through the screen door of the yellow house where she yelled ‘white devil’ with a thick Spanish accent several times.

  The farm house was two stories with wood siding, paint peeled in some areas giving it authenticity. Instead of stairs going up to the covered front porch, a long angled ramp was in place. Two windows flanked the bright teal door and the porch had several potted plants and a few chairs scattered around to rest in. Alfredo’s grandmother hadn’t moved from her spot behind the screen door. Wyatt’s eyes left her as Alfredo approached them.

  “Sorry about that,” Alfredo apologized. “She must have seen us coming and hid outside. I was keeping an eye on the door. So,” he paused looking at Lincoln and Wyatt, “How many chickens?”

  “How much is a chicken?” Wyatt asked automatically surprised the question came out of his mouth. He peered around as chickens scrambled to and fro pecking at each other, the goats huddled together making noises and the pig lay on its side completely ignoring them.

  “Twelve for one, two for twenty-two,” Alfredo answered pulling feed from his pocket and signaled them to follow as he opened the gate and kneeled to feed some chickens brave enough to eat from his palm.

  “I can get four whole chickens for that price at the—oof!” Wyatt bent at the waist from Lincoln jabbing him in the stomach with his elbow. Lincoln closed the gate after he was inside making sure none of the animals escaped.

  “You can get a steroid, chemically packed chicken at the store and feed it to your family,” Alfredo answered nonchalantly, “Or fresh, natural grown chicken from me.”

  Alfredo clucked his tongue at them before wiping his hands clean on his pants. Wyatt realized that it really was just a simple farm, and the only odd thing about it was the giant gun strapped over Alfredo’s shoulder—and the old woman calling him the white devil. Clearly the man only wanted to sell his chickens, and protect them at the same time. Wyatt finally relaxed a bit watching the chickens chase each other.

  “Like organic?” Wyatt inquired.

  “You say organic, I say normal,” Alfredo shrugged his shoulders lifting himself up from his knees. “It’s just a fancy word for grocery stores to charge you more money, and you still have no idea what you’re buying.” He spread his arms wide and twisted his head around to make a point. “My farm, you can see everything we do here. Those chickens would not eat from my hand if I didn’t take care of them, and you are welcome to go buy your chicken from the store.”

  “Where are mine?” Lincoln interjected gruffly, obviously ready to get his chickens and leave. He twitched his fingers and shuffled his feet from side to side acting as if he had an appointment to get to.

  “Dead or alive?” Alfredo cocked his head to the side shading his eyes from the sun.

  “Dead,” Lincoln answered.

  “I want a dead one to,” Wyatt chipped in.

  Alfredo grinned, “Coming right up.” He briskly walked in the direction of the blood-red barn leaving Lincoln alone with Wyatt. Alfredo called over his shoulder, “If you stay out in the open, she’ll get you again. My gra
ndma’s aim is accurate.”

  Lincoln and Wyatt both peered out of the corner of their eyes toward the door where the woman was already silently pushing the screen door open. They quickly fell in step behind Alfredo following him into the barn. It lit up as soon as they stepped inside, the back was still swathed in darkness. Alfredo stopped in front a large refrigerator that appeared to the right as soon as they entered. Horses nickered lazily nearby and the smell of hay mixed with manure stung their noses. Alfredo cooed lovingly to the horses asking if they enjoyed their nap.

  The refrigerator swallowed him whole and he reappeared with four frozen chickens, wrapped and ready to be cooked. He placed them in a cooler eyeing Lincoln before he gave it to him.

  “I’ll bring it back,” Lincoln grumbled as Alfredo handed the cooler over satisfied with his word.

  “Your live birds will be ready soon,” Alfredo said striding back into the sunlight holding the barn door open to let them pass. “Is your coop ready?”

  “It’ll be ready,” Lincoln answered.

  “How much is a coop?” Wyatt asked. “If I want live chickens do you have any to sell?”

  “Do you want chicks or adults?” Alfredo inquired.

  “Probably adults would be easiest,” Wyatt admitted. “My kids might kill the chicks.”

  A flash of brown with bright colors whipped across the barn opening, all three men leaned outward past the huge barn doors to follow the colorful blur. Alfredo sighed realizing his grandmother was running after someone at the far edge of the farm. Whoever it was they were stuck up against the fence. Alfredo couldn’t tell what they were doing but he followed after his grandmother shouting to get her attention.

  Lincoln had never seen the old woman so active. Shading his eyes with his hand he watched Alfredo scramble after her. The other person she was after didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong, just moseying along the fence. He could hear the old woman yelling and as she got closer to the person by the railing, their behavior changed. They reached out with both arms trying to push through the barrier keeping it on the other side.

  “You see it too right?” Wyatt whispered with dread.

  Ignoring Wyatt, Lincoln took off after Alfredo. He wanted to shout out a warning but he had no idea what to say. Nothing came to mind that would make them stop. Anything he shouted would only make them doubt his sanity. He watched the old woman stop within feet of the person at the fence and Alfredo wasn’t too far behind sidling up next to her.

  Even in an open field Lincoln’s nostrils burned from the putrid smell that radiated from it. He scanned the area, the field was open but there was a wooded area to their right. He finally caught up to them breathing raggedly and heard Alfredo say, “It really is the fucking white devil.”

  Gray and sickly, the thing pushed against the fence snapping its jaw at them, half of its face gone. The encrusted blood around its mouth wasn’t fresh, areas were wiped clean, the red stain flaking off. Jagged edges of skin sagged revealing rotten muscles and bones. Its’ dirty clothes hung off the skeletal body like it’d been starving to death. Sunken in its head, the eyes were the first thing Lincoln scrutinized, confirming the cloudy film he’d seen in the videos. Covering his face with his shirt, Lincoln tried not to breathe deeply but couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

  “We have to kill it,” Lincoln mumbled.

  “Then I’ll have the law swarming over the entire farm,” Alfredo replied not able to tear his eyes off the thing. He cocked his head to the left, “Is it human?”

  “El Diablo,” the old woman whispered frightened. She lunged for Alfredo’s AK-47, aimed in the direction of the white devil and pulled the trigger showering the fence with bullets. Stray bullets hit the target as the old lady fell on her ass from the recoil.

  The corpse was pushed back several feet from the fence riddled with bullets wounds across its abdomen and chest. Alfredo wrangled the AK-47 gently from his grandmother and was about to scold her when all the color drained from her face. He followed her line of sight to the thing by the fence.

  Everyone stilled as it caught its balance and took a step forward until it thumped erratically against the fence again. Pus and dark liquid spilled from holes the bullets made, releasing a new smell wafting in their direction. Alfredo gagged hunching over while his grandmother stared, shocked the thing wasn’t dead. Lincoln felt the bile rise in his throat.

  “It still lives,” the old woman said in perfect English, still on the ground.

  “What does it want?” Alfredo asked no one in particular helping his grandmother to her feet.

  “If it’s anything like my neighbor. It wants to eat. Anything and everything. Even us,” Lincoln answered, his hand firmly on his Glock 17.

  “What do you mean?” Alfredo questioned in disbelief not taking his eyes off the walking rotten corpse. “It eats people? Like if I followed it home it’d slice me up and put me on a platter?”

  “You really think that thing has enough intelligence to bring you over to its house and cook you?” Lincoln asked incredulously.

  “It just eats you like—raw?” Alfredo asked lost in his own thoughts.

  “I think you’re missing the point,” Lincoln answered shaking his head in disbelief.

  “How do I kill it?” the old woman asked in a determined tone pushing Alfredo aside so she could make eye contact with Lincoln.

  “I’ve never seen one die,” Lincoln admitted. “Should we try a head shot?”

  Nodding, the old woman gave him permission and Lincoln unholstered his gun but Alfredo beat him to it. Shooting the thing in the forehead, it finally stilled and slumped over the fence.

  “Did I just witness a murder?” Wyatt’s hushed voice floated to the group from behind them and everyone turned to face him.

  “You really don’t know when to shut up do you?” Lincoln said curtly. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, with a stranger that just shot that thing. We already have to dig a hole. It can be made big enough for two.”

  “No hole,” the old woman shook her head vigorously. “We must burn the body, send it back to hell.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Wyatt asked.

  “Where did you get confused? The part about being in the middle of nowhere, or the hole can be big enough for two?” Lincoln asked seriously.

  “Call the law and I’ll make sure this thing ends up on your doorstep,” Alfredo threatened. “It’s not even human. Otherwise it would have died with the first round of bullets.”

  “Is it like Burt?” Wyatt inquired.

  “I never got close enough to see Burt,” Lincoln replied.

  “Who the hell is Burt?” Alfredo questioned confused.

  “Burt’s our neighbor, who ate our other neighbor, and disappeared with the body,” Lincoln explained.

  Alfredo’s grandmother made the sign of the cross.

  “There’s more than one? Where are they coming from?” Alfredo asked the question everyone was thinking.

  “I’ll go get the matches,” Alfredo’s grandmother was off before anyone could object, not that she would have listened.

  “We have to move it away from the fence,” Alfredo told them. They stood around staring at the dead thing leaking and oozing all over the wooden fence.

  “I ain’t touching that thing,” Lincoln refused.

  “I have suits and masks, if you help me I won’t charge you for the chickens you want today,” Alfredo pleaded.

  “If I’m dead I won’t need the free chickens,” Lincoln countered.

  “Why would you be dead? Is it contagious? Do you know what’s wrong with it?” Wyatt questioned quickly not giving Lincoln time to answer any of them.

  Before Alfredo had a chance to get the suits and masks, they heard a whoosh of something catching fire. Arcing through the air from behind them, the old woman threw the moltov cocktail hitting the thing right on its head. The glass broke engulfing it in flames.

  A spur of Spanish obscenities were shouted and Alfredo’s grandmot
her hit him with her shoe for cursing. “That’s it your grounded! The entire fence is going to go up in flames! What if there are more? How are we going to keep them out!” Alfredo shouted at his grandmother pointing at the growing fire. He ran off to get the fire extinguisher while Lincoln and Wyatt watched the fire spread.

  They spied it at the same time. Three people sprinting across the open field in the distance that shot out of the tree line of the wooded area. Lincoln shaded his eyes so he could get a clear view and moved downwind of the fire with his Glock in hand. Wyatt followed, “Do you think they’re running to help?”

  “Or from something,” Lincoln mumbled apprehensively. The charred wood fell in a heap on the ground with flames rising several feet into the air. Thick smoke caused his eyes to water and burn making him move around to see through it. Lincoln watched the distance between the three people running and Alfredo’s burning fence shrink.

  Rubbing his eyes, Lincoln couldn’t tell if any of them were slowing down. He called out to warn them not to get too close. Wyatt was suddenly pulling him away from the fence with strength Lincoln didn’t know he had, “Oh shit! Lincoln run! RUN!”

  Six

  W yatt didn’t run off in fear leaving Lincoln to fend for himself barely able to see. Pulling on anything he could grasp, Wyatt stayed at Lincoln’s side trying to keep him safe. Lincoln’s vision cleared enough for him to witness someone run straight through the flames at full speed, they’re clothes catching on fire. A high, battle-like screech ripped from its lungs and burning flesh instantly permeated the area. The second person not too far behind ran straight into the fence flipping over it and breaking a feeble chunk off sending embers and ash through the air. Flames engulfed the body as it rolled to get back up.