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

by Radke, K. E.

  These things didn’t move at the pace of a snail, or thump against the fence patiently trying to get on the other side. The third followed the first ones path going straight through the flames where the fence had already fallen apart leaving a hole for it to get through. Two of the three human torches barreled in Wyatt and Lincoln’s direction. The one that flipped over the fence had a new bone protruding from his thigh producing a limp.

  The sound emanating from their throats reminded Lincoln of carnivores fighting over the last piece of meat. He watched as the fire charred the top layer of skin, crisping it to a solid black causing the stench of roasting human flesh. It was like staring into the depths of hell.

  Not able to outrun them, Lincoln pushed Wyatt hastily out of the way to make sure he didn’t end up in the path of a bullet. He aimed and fired at the one sprinting straight for him.

  The blast blew off its jaw, the skin melted off its bones as its jaw swung side to side until it flung off singeing the patch of grass it landed on. Only hindering its speed by a few seconds, Lincoln knew it was going to pummel him before he could aim with his watery eyes and hit the kill spot. In his peripheral vision he could see someone—he couldn’t tell if it was Alfredo or his grandmother—coming to help. He stood completely still calculating the right moment.

  At the last second, before the running firebomb reached him, Lincoln moved to the side sticking out his leg tripping it. Swiveling around, Lincoln followed every unbalanced stumble it made as he took a deep breath and fired, hitting the kill spot. Immediately he turned keeping his guard up and found Wyatt running around like a maniac trying to avoid the other fireball chasing him. He was losing ground quickly. Lincoln aimed only to have his arm pushed out of the way as the old woman passed him darting to Wyatt’s rescue.

  Alfredo’s grandmother ran with a shovel after the traveling bonfire crossing Wyatt’s path, swinging her weapon with all her strength. The human torches’ head c aved in as she fell to the ground by the impact, melted flesh dripped from the shovel. Long strings of liquefied skin hung between the digging tool and face before the body collapsed on the ground. Bits of broken skull protruding from the blackened organ it protected.

  The third running firebomb with a limp was only a few feet away from the old woman. She scrambled to get to her feet to run away but couldn’t swing her legs into action fast enough. Wyatt and Lincoln dashed toward her knowing they wouldn’t get to her in time. A semi automatic echoed over the farmland hitting the third walking fireball. It fell backward on the ground burning the grass surrounding it.

  Wyatt reached the old woman first, helping her to her feet. Lincoln stood a few feet away grinning from ear to ear and teased, “The old lady kicked that thing’s ass and saved your life Wyatt.”

  “I didn’t have anything to defend myself with,” Wyatt justified.

  “They don’t make them like that anymore,” Lincoln huffed trying to catch his breath.

  “Are you hitting on my grandma?” Alfredo asked in passing with a disgusted expression as he hurried to the burning wood. White foam took out the rest of the flames, leaving a giant thirteen foot charred hole in the fence.

  A blackened skeleton lay in a heap next to scorched fence pieces. Alfredo let the other two burn, regulating the fires to make sure they didn’t spread. They all stood around watching the bodies burn for the same reason, to make sure they were dead. The fire extinguisher wasn’t used until there was nothing but bones left.

  “Did anyone else know they were capable of running?” Wyatt was the first to speak.

  “I didn’t even know the fuckers existed until fifteen minutes ago,” Alfredo answered his hand shaking until he placed it on top of his gun.

  “Imagine coming across those things at night,” Wyatt mumbled hunching over and vomiting off to the side.

  “Unless there isn’t anyone out at night to run into them... ,”Lincoln trailed off getting lost in his thoughts.

  “The curfew,” Alfredo whispered coming to the same conclusion Lincoln did. “That stupid announcement threw the whole nation into a panic. I went to the store yesterday and people were stealing supplies because they aren’t working anymore. Just gathered what they could and walked straight out the door, telling the managers to bill the government since they issued the nationwide curfew. Not that I blame them.”

  “I work at the school so I’ve been home. They say they’re going to pay us, but there’s always that chance... ,” Wyatt trailed off and then continued, “Phoebe’s still at the bank though, so we’re lucky to have that income. And her hours aren’t affected by the curfew, but she took a few days off to prepare for the worst.”

  “What about the sporting goods store?” Alfredo directed the question to Lincoln.

  Lincoln cleared his throat roughly, “They’re closed until further notice.”

  “What do you know friend?” Alfredo asked seriously eyeing Lincoln like his life depended on it. “What’s coming?”

  “Chaos,” Lincoln said gruffly.

  “He won’t say because I’m here,” Wyatt told Alfredo trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Lincoln’s mouth tightened into a straight line. He wasn’t looking at either man, he kept his eyes on the distant farm realizing its capability as a safe house. Tension built from the awkward silence, but pressure has never bothered Lincoln because he was often the cause.

  Alfredo raised his eyebrows, his gaze bouncing between the two men as he pulled the ball cap off his head and messed up his hair before placing it back over his head. “Is that so?” he attempted to ease the tension.

  “I have the same information y’all do. Rationally, if you think about it, it’ll give you some type of answer. Like the curfew, it was to keep us inside at night. I originally thought it was to keep people from escaping the big cities, quarantining the areas. School is postponed until further notice. What do all schools have in common that could be a threat to society?”

  “Sexual predators,” Alfredo said matter of factly. Wyatt and Lincoln both snapped their necks in his direction staring at him. “What? I see more and more stories about teachers and students. The kids too, they have crazy rage problems.”

  “But we’re talking about a threat to society, not just the kids,” Lincoln exclaimed.

  “There’s no danger from school’s being open unless someone can actually die of boredom. Students only endanger other students and teachers if they bring a weapon to school. It’s like a little society of its own,” Wyatt said thoughtfully.

  “Schools are a breeding ground,” Lincoln paused at their confused faces, “for germs.”

  Alfredo whistled and Wyatt’s face paled.

  “You think there’s some kind of disease—virus they’re trying to prevent from spreading?” Alfredo questioned.

  Lincoln pointed to the nearest pile of charred bones, “That thing laying right there is proof enough for me. I don’t know how it happened or why, but I know it only dies with a headshot wound and can be burned to death.”

  “This is the end,” Alfredo concluded. “I have to fix my fence, you’re welcome to stay and help, but I think you probably have more important things to do after all this shit,” Alfredo gazed at the blackened spots of grass.

  Wyatt appeared occupied with his own thoughts as they treaded back to the barn to get the cooler filled with chicken. On the walk back to the car Lincoln kept his eyes peeled for anyone running toward them and finally relaxed when he sat down in the passenger seat hauling the cooler inside with him. He returned the keys to Wyatt, satisfied that they could finally go home. Noah, a fellow prepper Lincoln’s known for years was coming by later to deliver his chicken coop.

  Lincoln could barely see over the cooler in his lap but he wasn’t willing to part with it in Wyatt’s shitty micro car. The only thing that distracted him on the way back to their neighborhood from the weight on his legs was Wyatt mumbling to himself. Surprisingly, Wyatt didn’t want to pry anymore information from him, but even if he was feeling generous
enough to share theories, he didn’t know if he could get a word in over Wyatt’s mutterings.

  Wyatt didn’t realize he was being vocal with the list he kept reciting. Get to the store. Buy food and water. Get batteries. Candles. Look up chicken supplies. With a smug expression Lincoln listened to Wyatt’s nonsense. The man was taking the news pretty well for a mindless tool of the government. Happy it was a short ride and that he conserved his diesel, Lincoln enjoyed the view from his window.

  It took several wrong turns for Lincoln to realize they weren’t headed home because the tiny town looped around and everyone always thought their route was the fastest. So Lincoln thought Wyatt was going to get to their neighborhood his specific way. Until he knew for certain they were going in the opposite direction of their neighborhood. Lincoln turned in his seat peering down the road he needed to be on. He was minutes from freedom and it was slipping away. Lincoln growled, “Where are you going?”

  Wyatt stopped muttering startled by Lincoln’s voice realizing someone else was in the car with him. In the corner of his eye he could see the crimson color leach into Lincoln’s neck following a path to his face.

  “You heard Alfredo, people are panicking and stealing everything! I need to get supplies,” Wyatt explained apprehensively. “If I take you home everything could be gone by then! The chickens are in a cooler, they should be fine for an hour and we can put ice in it if we have to.”

  “Take me home.”

  “No. You got into my car and I took you to a farm, now we’re going to the store.”

  Lincoln’s grip on the cooler tightened and he wanted to smash the cooler against Wyatt’s head, but it was made out of Styrofoam and Lincoln couldn’t risk damaging it. Instead he sat in his seat allowing the rage to swallow him until being a reasonable person became impossible. He was stuck. He should have taken his own car and let Wyatt follow him. He should have driven instead of giving Wyatt his keys back. Lincoln shuddered at the thought of being caught behind the wheel of Wyatt’s shitty car. If it weren’t for his ego, he’d be on his way home instead of stuck with Wyatt heading straight into chaos.

  Seven

  P assing only a few cars on the road, Wyatt wondered where everyone was. Lincoln brooded, ready to pulverize the person closest to him. Wyatt kept his shaking hands on the steering wheel afraid to let go. Driving was the only thing keeping his mind sane, that, and the list he kept repeating. He didn’t know how he was going to explain everything he just witnessed to his wife. She wouldn’t believe a word of the story. It was still too fresh for his brain to process. They were definitely not human, not anymore, he thought.

  Suddenly Lincoln sat up ramrod straight, his eyes glued to something outside his window. They were passing the sporting goods store that Lincoln helped manage, the building alarm blaring in the distance.

  The store was supposed to be closed. He’d told Samuel and his wife, Renee, to keep it closed, but he could clearly see people milling around the front waiting to get in.

  “Pull over,” Lincoln said lowly, squinting to see if people were inside the store.

  “We have to get to the grocery store.”

  “Wyatt so help me if you don’t pull the car over right now,” Lincoln threatened furiously.

  “I have a family to feed.”

  “Then let me out of the damn car!” Lincoln yelled ferociously opening the car door while Wyatt was still driving. Braking hard was Wyatt’s only choice causing Lincoln’s door to slam shut.

  Hearing the desperation and discerning Lincoln’s actions weren’t for show, Wyatt pulled into the sporting goods parking lot, slowly driving toward the front. The building was isolated, a few miles away from anything in the area with small copses of trees surrounding it. Lincoln caught a glimpse of his boss, Renee, for a few seconds in the front window before she disappeared again. Four people milled around the front, not concerned with the approaching hybrid because of the screeching alarm.

  No one appeared to be desperately trying to get in or waiting in line. It was midday; the store would already be open if Renee didn’t want to take his advice, and she wouldn’t let the alarm wail as long as it had.

  Wyatt parked scanning the empty lot but Lincoln spoke up before him, “There’s no other cars here.”

  “So how did they all get here?”

  Lincoln didn’t answer him, he was distracted by the loitering bunch near the front. Back and forth they moped, like teenagers dragged to the store with their parents. From their elbows down to their fingertips the entire area was red, as if they all stuck their arms in a can of crimson paint. It was everywhere, smeared on their faces, pants, and one of them had the red substance clumped in their blonde hair.

  Not only were they all in bad need of a shower, but they all appeared to be hurt. Nothing could be heard if they were crying for help because the alarm was deafening. But everyone seemed to be numb to the injuries that should have put them in the emergency room.

  One person’s arm swung loosely by their side with a mind of its own, the bone protruding from the skin. Another was clearly bleeding, the blood droplets giving away the path she’d been traveling. Without getting a closer look he couldn’t be sure but the third might be missing an eye.

  “Stay in the car,” Lincoln commanded calmly.

  “More.” Wyatt whispered the word barely audible. He placed his head in his hands not looking at Lincoln.

  “Renee’s inside. I want to make sure she’s okay. If you leave, take care of my chickens.”

  Lincoln opened the car door slowly and whistled loudly trying to get the strangers’ attention. Slipping the gun out of its holster, he was ready to use it if they started running after him. Only one moping teenager heard him over the alarms. It was a male, and as Lincoln approached he shouted, “Get out of here. The store is closed,” he waved his hands in an annoyed gesture to shoo them off—just in case—the last thing he wanted to do was shoot innocent people. Innocent, small people.

  Seeing the boy up close Lincoln recognized Tommy, a teenager that frequented the store for football gear. Sighing heavily Lincoln gripped the gun in his hand hard knowing what he’d have to do.

  Tommy moved faster when Lincoln caught his attention, snapping his teeth and rolling his head side to side like something was wrong with his neck. Some type of gray chain attached to Tommy trailed behind him, the rope getting trampled by his feet. Glimmering in the sunlight, blood dripped from the cord causing Lincoln to stop in his tracks.

  Stumbling over the curb, the kid was jostled around and a giant gray blob fell from underneath his shirt. It flopped on the ground in a tangled mess, the rotting organ had black vein-like lines filtering through it. Lincoln gagged listening to the squelching noise as the kid’s foot squished intestine juices and blood under his foot.

  The pile of intestines unraveled as Tommy moved forward. At the same time Lincoln’s ears picked up a new banging noise over the alarm wailing from the store. Swiftly scanning the area for threats, his adrenaline skyrocketed as he frantically made a 360 degree turn. Wyatt tapped on the window to get Lincoln’s attention pointing at the store.

  In the display window Samuel and Renee were screaming their heads off trying to get Lincoln’s attention. The shouting and vibrations from banging on the store’s windows stirred the loiters into a frenzy, all of their attention on the people safely behind the glass. Looking past Tommy, Lincoln couldn’t hear any of their pleas over the alarm.

  Tommy would have reached Lincoln if he didn’t trip over his own intestines, face planting on the concrete. For a good thirty seconds Tommy didn’t budge and Lincoln thought the kid had killed himself somehow. His attention shifted back to the store, and he caught Samuel acting out a person committing suicide by putting a finger gun to his head. Lincoln chuckled pointing to Tommy nodding in agreement.

  A sudden pressure pulled Lincoln’s foot out from under him. Opening his hand to catch his fall, his gun skittered across the pavement as he landed hard on his ass. Gnawing on the en
d of his boot, Tommy used it to pull his weight forward searching for flesh. A round of curses poured from Lincoln’s mouth as he reached for his gun. Tommy’s hand clasped over his ankle and out of pure fear without thinking Lincoln sat up and pushed against the kids forehead watching his teeth snap against each other trying to find something edible to chew on. The sticky blood gave Lincoln’s sweaty palms some purchase as he stared into the unfocused, milky film over the irises of a boy who no longer recognized him.

  Lincoln’s adrenaline surged the moment his grip slipped and Tommy’s head inched forward. His fingers were tangled in Tommy’s hair, the snapping jaws catching a clip of Lincoln’s jeans with its teeth. Rolling his leg away from Tommy, he grabbed a fistful of hair and one hit after another Lincoln smashed Tommy’s face against the concrete. Red liquid sprayed across the pavement and Lincoln’s legs as the bones crunched with each smack, Tommy’s facial features became unrecognizable.

  As soon as Tommy’s body stilled, Lincoln scrambled for his gun. In the corner of his eye he thought he saw Tommy twitch and in a matter of seconds Lincoln put a bullet in his brain, sprinkling blood, bone and brain matter into the air.

  He stood up feeling the blood pulse in his ears. Gazing over the parking lot, he found two more headed his way. The two loiterers at the front of the store left one behind, lurking by the windows watching Renee and Samuel behind the glass as they kept their eyes on Lincoln. As much as he hated being in the open lot, it was easier to spot someone sprinting across it. He tapped on the car window and grimly said, “Watch for anyone running through the parking lot.”

  Lincoln couldn’t tell if the person tottering to him was a man or a woman. Every time they took a step he saw the bone sticking out of their leg stretched against the jagged edge of flesh it ripped through. Gushing blood, it spilled over the wound taking its time to drip down their leg becoming congealed in the burly hair. Must be a guy, Lincoln thought.