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

by Radke, K. E.

  Fear stricken she wanted to turn to Wyatt for help, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off Melanie. She desperately wanted to be told what to do. Have a divine voice speak out and tell her everything would be okay. She prayed for a miracle. Started bargaining and making promises to every Holy Spirit she could think of. She wanted to run. Run for Melanie hoping to God she would be fast enough. Her foot inched forward.

  But what if she wasn’t fast enough? What if the movement made Isabel attack Melanie? Her foot inched backward. Tears fell down her face as she stood frozen, too scared to move. Too scared to make a decision that could end her daughter’s life. With no one to blame but herself.

  No one had thought to look for Isabel after Janice died. Phoebe had been consumed with grief over Karen’s death. She never gave the little girl screaming down the street a second thought. Of course Isabel had been infected like her mother. And now the threat stood a few feet from her daughter. Melanie, who should have been safely tucked away inside their home. If only she had stayed inside and let Wyatt deal with the Sheriff like he’d asked. If only she was closer to Melanie.

  But she wasn’t, and neither was Wyatt.

  From the shadows in her peripheral vision she caught Lincoln approaching Melanie from behind. Silently, with one finger to his lips indicating everyone should be quiet, and the other hand aimed at Isabel, his gun glinting in the street lights. Melanie was still gazing at her parents when Lincoln’s hand clasped over her mouth and it muffled the terrified scream she let out.

  Isabel tilted her head to the left at the noise, staring at the new person in front of her. Lincoln moved with precision and had Melanie on his back with her arms and legs wrapped around him. He patted her hand telling her to hold on tight. All the talking and movement had Isabel hissing and grumbling. She took several steps in their direction as Lincoln started to tread backward away from her with his gun in hand.

  Ethan wailed from inside the house, his cries only getting louder as they went unanswered. And something thumped on the ground, scraping against the pavement causing Wyatt to quickly peer over his shoulder. The last time he thought someone died, she undoubtedly took a bite out of the Sheriff.

  He caught a glimpse of nothing because Phoebe’s nails were shredding his skin. They both watched as Isabel’s head snapped to the front door Melanie left wide open. Following the wailing, Isabel scurried toward the sound that caught her attention. Lincoln fired hitting Isabel in the shoulder. He hurried after her but Phoebe screamed frantically at him as she ran full speed toward her house, “Keep Mel safe! Keep her safe!”

  The second Phoebe took off running, a strong hand clasped over Wyatt’s shoulder from behind, the fingers digging in deeply. Yelping in pain, the force caused him to cower enough to fall on his knee. It put distance between him and the mouth that snapped above his head instead of onto flesh. He twisted out of the grasp landing on his side and rolled swiftly onto his back. Throwing his legs into the air, he caught a glimpse of the Sheriff’s uniform as he kicked as hard as he could and forced the ghoul backward.

  Phoebe peered behind her, hearing the scuffling noises and yelps as she ran. Hovering over Wyatt on the ground, the Sheriff stood snapping his jaw right above Wyatt’s head. Phoebe started to slow down knowing she had to make a choice. A choice she’d have to live with for the rest of her life, knowing it was already made. The cold sensation of reality cracked inside her chest making tears pour down her face as the realization hit her like a train.

  Someone she loved was going to die today.

  “Go to your son,” Lincoln yelled passing her with Melanie on his back. The girl tightened her grip around Lincoln’s neck as he ran as fast as he could toward Wyatt. “Do not let go,” Lincoln told the girl tapping her hands around his neck. She kept her tiny legs around his waist in a vise.

  Barely holding the Sheriff off, Wyatt strained against the weight on top of him. Teeth snapped, saliva dripped off his chin swinging to and fro as Wyatt turned his head from side to side so it wouldn’t touch him. A boot shot forward kicking the Sheriff off Wyatt, allowing him to roll until he was on his hands and knees.

  Lincoln stabilized Melanie on his back with his arm. “Close your eyes, put your hands over your ears and sing a happy song,” he told the little girl on his back not checking to see if she actually followed his instructions, but she started singing a lullaby. It was his cue and Lincoln aimed and fired. The Sheriff’s head jolted backwards and his body crumbled to the ground.

  Wyatt staggered to his feet and tried to catch his breath. Between gasps he peered at Melanie, “Stay with Lincoln Mel, daddy’s going to help mommy. Don’t leave Lincoln until I come get you.” On his feet he ran crossing the street as fast as he could, the sounds coming from his house shattering through his thoughts. Agonizing, piercing screams and shrieks of anger constantly splintered the silent neighborhood. All coming from inside his house. His lungs constricted for air, but he never slowed down.

  The front door was still wide open and he flew through the foyer, only stopping in the kitchen to grab a knife. Through the kitchen and the dining room down the hallway, it seemed to be take forever to travel the distance he’d done thousands of times. The torturous wailing continued, echoing in his ears, vibrating the bones in his body.

  He’d never heard anything like it.

  The noise carved its way down to his soul, scarring him for the rest of his life. Barging into every room, he could not find them. So he doubled back flipping on the lights searching, hollowly trying to find the cries of agony he didn’t want to confront.

  Passing the living room, he caught something reflecting in the light. Two distinct forms took shape in the pitch black room as he stood motionless in the illuminated corridor letting his eyes adjust to the dark.

  One was motionless, pushed to the side with a glinting knife sticking out from the side of her head. The other was larger, his wife, holding Ethan in her arms. The torturous noise coming from her slowly made his heart to stop.

  Not another soul was outside. After all the commotion and gunshots, Lincoln thought someone would try to help. Lincoln’s eyes were scanning the neighborhood, trying to stay vigilant, but his gaze kept wandering back to Wyatt’s house. Not even he could ignore the wailing and murderous screams puncturing the silent night as he held tight to the little girl while she screamed in his ear for her mommy and daddy.

  After Wyatt disappeared inside his home, Lincoln had to wrestle with her, to keep her from running inside after him. Holding her tight in his arms like a prisoner, he strolled back to his house not sure how to calm her. While he didn’t want to take her home because he didn’t know what to do with her, staying outside to wait was too dangerous. Crossing the street, almost reaching his driveway, Lincoln held his breath for a split second. For a moment the screams stopped, giving the illusion of a peaceful, ordinary night.

  Suffering cries of pure anguish rose again, silencing the night bugs. Not a sound that comes from a child.

  One of an adult.

  Sixteen

  N oah’s eyes snapped open to someone screaming. Moving too fast, dizzy and confused, he soon realized he was safely locked up in his truck. He peered out the windows wiping away the condensation with his hand trying to remember where he was when Lincoln passed by. Noah rubbed his eyes as Lincoln split into three and then merged into one again. An extra appendage seemed to be growing out of his chest.

  Between the shrill, piercing screams, and Noah’s shaking hands, he decided to risk his safety in order to get inside Lincoln’s house. He opened the door and tripped on the step bar hitting the concrete hard. Groaning, Noah lifted himself up on all fours. Lincoln chuckled at the sight, not bothering to give him a helping hand. It distracted Melanie long enough to keep her quiet.

  “And that’s why you don’t drink alcohol Mel,” Lincoln chuckled softly pulling his keys from his belt loop to unlock the door.

  “Don’t leave me out here,” Noah rasped crawling because he couldn’t figure ou
t how to stand.

  Lincoln stood in his doorway aware he already had one guest he couldn’t get rid of. He wasn’t in the mood for two. Shutting and locking the door, he plugged in the electric gadget finally releasing Melanie. He warned her not to touch the door and then they stood silently staring at each other. She twisted back and forth in her nightgown as he stretched his back and rubbed his throat from her grip around it earlier.

  “I want my mommy and daddy,” her voice broke as the glistening tears fell down her chubby cheeks.

  Yea I want your mom and dad to come get you too, he thought grumpily staring down at her at a loss. She was a scrawny little thing, probably four years old he surmised as she stared at him quietly waiting for an explanation why her parents won’t let her return home. He could have dropped her off on their doorstep, but if the little boy turned…

  Jesus fucking Christ, what if the little boy turned...and Wyatt and Phoebe get bit...Lincoln swayed on his feet, making his way to the couch so he could sit down. The little girl followed him and stood in front of him silently. Her eyes were deer-like, and she seemed old enough to be potty trained. Maybe one of the neighbors will take her, he thought. Someone will surely take her in and feed and water her. His thoughts spun wildly out of control and he shook his head trying to organize them.

  He took out his phone and imagined a timeline: Janice eats Karen. Karen dies. Sheriff shows up to take a look at the bodies. Karen’s alive and eats the Sheriff. Then the Sheriff is unconscious or dead, and tries to eat Wyatt.

  It was obvious to Lincoln that the virus was spreading through the bites. Phoebe would not have left Karen alive on the kitchen table. So when they left, Karen must have been dead. Mel sniffled, bringing Lincoln’s attention back to her.

  Then he remembered the whiskey in Noah’s truck. His shoulders slumped and he leaned forward on his knees with his head in his hands. Sighing, he realized if he wanted the whiskey Noah was going to insist he stay. He also knew there was a chance if he opened the door Mel would run away. Tying her up was an option, but he was sure that would make matters worse.

  So he opted for a scare tactic.

  “Here’s the thing, your mom and dad are—eh—cleaning up because they don’t want you to get sick like Isabel,” Lincoln explained in what he thought was a soothing voice for a child. “So you get to stay here and—and, what do you do at home?”

  “I like to watch TV and play games on mommy’s tablet. Sometimes I pull out all my dolls and we all have tea,” she wiped away her tears.

  “Ok, well I have TV, and a tablet,” Lincoln searched for his tablet, found it on the side table, and he offered it to her. “No dolls though.”

  “You’re an old man! You can’t have dolls!” she said loudly. “So we’re having a sleep over?”

  “No,” Lincoln said quickly. “It’s a wait for your parent’s to come get you.”

  “Where do I sleep?” she asked ignoring his answer.

  All of his spare rooms were full of food, supplies, tactical gear, guns and ammo. He did have a container of survivor blankets, and a tent he had to try out to see if it was better than the one in his bug out bag. Pulling the set of keys from his belt loop again, he went in the hallway and unlocked the first room. The door swung open and Mel squeezed her way in, in between his legs before he entered the room. Twirling slowly, she took in the supplies and whispered in awe, “You have a grocery store in your house?”

  Lincoln felt his lip twitch. Very few people have seen his prep rooms and he didn’t know if he should shoo her out or let her stay. Plastic shelves ran the perimeter of the room filled with food. One area was dedicated to cans, another area to buckets with rice, beans, pasta, and cooking essentials like sugar and flour. Another section was strictly for water containment and toilet paper. The closet space had been gutted, and drawers were installed. Every drawer was labeled according to the tactical gear stored there. Only one thing was out of place. The tent he bought on a whim because it was a few ounces lighter than the one in his bug out bag.

  “Can I go grocery shopping?” Mel broke his train of thought.

  The idea stood before him like a blessing. If she’s busy in here she can’t run away. He placed a finger on his twitching lip and said, “You can stay in here as long as you don’t touch the drawers and take anything out. In four strides he was reading the labels and found the emergency bag drawer. Opening it, he peered over his shoulder and found Mel completely engrossed in his movements. He pulled out a bag and handed it to her. “Here’s your shopping bag,” he said gruffly, feeling stupid.

  “You don’t have a basket like the grocery store?” she asked opening it.

  “No, I prefer to ride around in carts but it wouldn’t fit in the room,” he said sarcastically.

  “Can I come over and play when you get your cart?”

  Lincoln frowned at the question but she didn’t wait for him to answer. She was already absorbed in filling up her bag.

  “I have to bring in grown-up groceries from the truck. That man we saw out there isn’t allowed in here. So you guard the door and lock him out if you have to. If anything happens, you scream to your heart’s content and I’ll come get you. Got it?” Lincoln showed her the locks on the door. He made sure she could lock and unlock them, not that it mattered, he had all the keys.

  He felt weird about leaving her in the room alone but knew she was safer in there than she would be outside while he unloaded the whiskey. Unplugging the electric gadget, he waited a few seconds before opening the door. Peeking outside with his Glock in hand he saw Noah passed out on the sidewalk snoring. He’d left the keys in the ignition and noticed Noah never closed the car door when he fell out.

  Glancing in the direction of Wyatt’s house to see if anyone was moping around, Lincoln only found darkness. If they don’t come by morning, I’ll have to go see for myself, he thought. For a few seconds his eyes settled on the only illuminated window in his house, then he quickly started to unload the stolen alcohol and tobacco.

  ☢

  Brought back to consciousness, the small amount of sunlight peeking through the curtain told him he’d made it through the night. Something pounded on his house and he sat up ram-rod straight wondering, is someone knocking on the door? Tangled in the mess of a half-way put up tent, and canned goods, he got to his feet when the pounding continued.

  Under a silver emergency blanket Mel slept soundly in the part of the tent still standing. A tiny bug out bag she made settled next to her. Lincoln rounded the corner to his front door and peeked out the window. Wyatt stood on his tiny porch, so he unplugged the electric gadget, waiting a few seconds before he opened the door and allowed Wyatt to pass through. Without Wyatt to obscure his view, he saw Noah still passed out on the concrete snoring away unharmed.

  Rubber gloves were the first thing Lincoln noticed on Wyatt’s hands. Slumped over with red rimmed eyes in dirt stained clothes, Wyatt appeared defeated.

  “Thank—,” Wyatt began but stopped when Lincoln put a hand on his shoulder patting it reassuringly. Wyatt teared up, wiping them away before they could fall.

  Uncomfortable with all the emotions, Lincoln waved his hand gesturing to the hallway, “She’s over here.”

  Wyatt couldn’t believe his eyes. The room was packed with food and supplies. His daughter was asleep under a lopsided tent—under aluminum? It didn’t matter. She was safe. Lincoln had kept her safe. He owed the man everything.

  Wyatt crept up next to Melanie watching her chest move with each breath. Bundling her in his arms and pushing away the aluminum blanket, he held her tightly not caring if he woke her. A sob caught in his throat. Her tiny arms wrapped around him as she woke up yawning. He cherished the hug, burying his face in her hair and sobbed like a child, holding her tightly rocking back and forth.

  “Daddy?” she questioned. “What’s wrong?”

  Lincoln shut the door giving Wyatt privacy. It was the first time he left someone alone in his prep room.

  Sevent
een

  I t was late morning when Lincoln’s attention was pulled from his research by Noah’s voice cursing his name for leaving him out in the open. He peeled out of the neighborhood making as much noise as possible before he left. The racket caught Wyatt’s attention because he made an appearance not long after the incident holding Melanie’s hand. She kept her eyes glued to the floor obviously heartbroken.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Wyatt apologized, his eyes still teary and red rimmed. “I can um—help you clean it up. I’m not sure if there’s a particular set up, but just come on by and I’ll be right over.”

  Lincoln grunted in response and took a sip from his beer. His eyes moving from Wyatt to Melanie, “Where’s your bug out bag?” he asked her.

  “My dad said it’s not mine and I have to leave it here,” her sad tone ended with a pout, tear streaks were dried down her face and Lincoln waved his hand gesturing for her to turn around.

  “Nonsense, go get your bug out bag,” Lincoln told her caving into her sad expression. She gazed up at him wiping the fresh tears away and looked at her dad for permission. He hesitated before he nodded and she disappeared down the hall. They made eye contact and Lincoln said in a gruff voice, “Not. A. Word.”

  Wyatt looked at him gratefully and shut his mouth. Melanie dragged the heavy bag along with the aluminum blanket across the floor, pulling it with every ounce of strength she had. Wyatt picked it up, hefting it onto his shoulder. She thanked Lincoln for her groceries and reminded him to invite her over when he got a cart. Wyatt gave him a puzzled glance. Lincoln just shrugged his shoulders and pretended he had no idea what she was talking about.

  Hand in hand, Lincoln watched them walk down the sidewalk. Melanie turned around to wave before they were out of sight. The tension released in his shoulders and he grumbled to himself, “Thank God I don’t have a daughter.”