Dead Heat: A Hollow Dead Novel

by Young, D. M.

  Matt’s eyes fell on Officer Graham, who was staring at the dead officer, his lips pressed together tightly. Graham looked around at the people standing around him. The others were busy, paying no attention to Graham or the dead man in the backseat of the car. As Matt watched, Officer Graham quickly pulled his weapon, opened the door, and shot the mangled officer in the head. Everyone went silent for a few seconds as they registered what had just happened. Then they began yelling. Graham held his hand up to silence them as he holstered his weapon. He turned to face them, “He was already dead.”

  Bill yelled Matt’s name from the door of the hospital and motioned him over. As he approached the entrance, an officer called the sheriff inside. Matt followed. The floor of the lobby was streaked with blood. There was a pool of it near the front desk where someone had fallen and bled out. Bloody handprints stained the white walls.

  They tried to avoid the trails of blood and gore as they navigated the hallways. They rounded a corner, and Bill gagged. Matt looked toward the blood-smeared mess that had caught Bill’s attention and saw a lump of flesh lying on the floor. An ear? Bill gagged again and turned his head away as they passed.

  Ahead of them, they saw an officer standing guard outside a hospital room and stopped to see what was going on. He shook his head, “Not here. The guys who yelled for you are around the corner there. I’m just waiting with this elderly patient until someone can get in here and help move him.”

  Three cops were standing, weapons drawn, in front of a door around another corner. Someone was in the room pounding on the door. A short, chubby cop with dirty blonde hair glanced toward them, “It’s Brody Martin. I’m not sure how he ended up being stuck in this room, but the door’s not locked. We were clearing the rooms one by one when we came across him. He tried to attack us, but we got the door closed before he could. I guess he’s out of his head because he hasn’t tried to open it. We didn’t know what to do with him.”

  “Hold on,” Matt said as he pulled Bill away from the group. He spoke in a low voice now, “Bill, I’m going to guess you’ve figured out by now that something unusual is going on. These things are eating people. They don’t seem to feel pain, and it takes a bullet to the head to stop them.”

  Bill eyed him suspiciously, “These ‘things?’ What are you trying to say?”

  Matt looked Bill in the eyes and sighed. What a conversation to be having. If he was wrong, he would end up in a padded room at the nearest mental hospital. “I watched you shoot some of those things out there. Do you think any living human could survive that?” Bill dropped his head as Matt continued, “When I left the hospital earlier, Brody was in bad shape. He could barely sit up. Now he’s standing there beating on that door trying to attack people? You saw the woman in the parking lot. She was attacked by two of those things, and then she stood up with her stomach ripped open and came after us. Do you think anyone could do that?”

  Bill crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, “Maybe they’re sick. It could be some type of fever that’s affecting their brains. Maybe it’s drugs. I’ve seen people lose their minds on some of that stuff. Gunshots don’t take them down. I saw one man fight off three deputies. Tasers did nothing. He even took a shot to the stomach and kept coming. I saw a woman jump out of a second story window, break her arm. She tried to stroll casually away afterwards. It happens.”

  Matt tried to hold his frustration in, “So the woman in the parking lot was high? The people you shot through the chest just ignored the fact that a bullet had just pierced their hearts? You know that makes no sense in this case, and I’ll tell you something else. This all started with Betty Winford. She bit Nathan Roberts. He must have bitten his wife, and she attacked their son and daughter. The son later bit Amber Gardner. Ray Melton saw her with her throat torn out, and, yet, she was gone before the deputies got there. She, apparently, just walked away. Then the Roberts girl bit Brody, and here we are. It’s the bites. Whatever this is, that’s how it’s spreading. You get bitten; you’re infected. Now Brody is locked in that room. You can’t just arrest him. When you open that door, he’s going to attack. If he bites someone, they’re going to be infected, too.”

  “So, what, you’re saying they’re dead? Jesus Christ, listen to yourself. What do you want me to do with him?”

  Matt met his eyes again, “Shoot him. Open the door and shoot him in the head.”

  The sheriff’s face was red now as he glared at Matt, “Not happening.”

  Bill turned back toward the others. “We’ll take him down and cuff him. Just give us a minute.” He turned back to Matt. “Once he’s restrained, we’ll get someone in here to check him out, blood pressure, temperature, all that. You’ll see how ridiculous this all is.”

  Bill called one of his deputies and told him to grab a K9 training suit and get up to the hospital. While they waited, Bill explained his plan to the others. Fifteen minutes later, two city officers stood to one side of the door. Bill and a deputy wearing the police dog bite suit stood on the other side. Matt stood further down the hallway, ready to fire if their plan didn’t work. The building was silent except for the sound of Brody ramming his shoulder into the door.

  The deputy reached for the handle and shoved the door back. Brody stumbled but didn’t fall. The deputy in the dog bite suit backed away as Brody grabbed his left arm and leaned toward him. He growled. The deputy stumbled backwards, and they fell against the wall. Brody leaned toward his face, but the deputy raised his arm, allowing Brody to bite down on the padding.

  Bill and another officer grabbed Brody from behind, careful to avoid his teeth and cuffed both his hands and feet. Bill grabbed a piece of fabric from his back pocket and used it as a gag to prevent him from biting. Once he was secured, they pulled him over to the chair in the room and secured him to it. Bill called out, and a paramedic appeared at the door, ready to check Brody’s vitals.

  Bill and Matt stood by waiting for the results. An officer held Brody’s head as still as possible as the paramedic checked his temperature. The paramedic looked at Bill, “Hard to get a good reading with him moving like that, but his temp’s a little high, as far as I can tell.”

  Bill glanced at Matt raising an eyebrow but not quite smirking. “Looks like your dead man’s got a fever,” he whispered.

  When Matt left the hospital earlier, Brody had, in fact, had a high fever, and it had barely been an hour since he attacked the nurses who were working on him. Matt was no doctor, but he pretty sure that the temperature didn’t prove anything. The paramedic checked for a pulse and looked confused. He pulled out his stethoscope and checked again. A few seconds later, he moved away from Brody, looking completely baffled, and muttered, “What the hell?”

  Bill looked nervous now, “Don’t you need to look him over a little better than that? You haven’t even checked his blood pressure.”

  The paramedic looked at Bill. The confusion on his face had been replaced with a mixture of awe and horror. “You don’t understand. He’s got no pulse. That’s not even possible,”

  Brody was still shifting in his chair, trying to get free. The paramedic watched him for another moment. Then he looked Bill in the eyes. “What the hell?” he asked again.

  Matt excused the paramedic. Bill’s face had gone white. He looked sick. The other officers looked no better. Matt motioned for them to move away from Brody as he pulled his gun. He paused, waiting for Bill to object. When Bill did not, Matt raised his weapon, and fired once.

  CHAPTER 15

  Like most little mountain towns, the small population of Hollow Springs was spread over a relatively large geographical area. Roads had been cut through the rocky terrain, but the steep hills made a large part of the land useless for building. Here in the oldest parts of town, houses had been built by the first settlers more than a hundred years before. Without the advantages of modern building techniques, they were left to find areas big enough and flat enough to build on. As a result, houses perched on the flatter surfaces as the
land fell steeply around them.

  The roads that ran among those houses were narrow and twisted, often switching back completely several times as they wound up and down the hills. In many places, trees and parked vehicles crowded the edges of the road forcing drivers to slow to a crawl or risk life and limb. Traveling on these little backroads was always a chore, but, since the main roads near the front of the hospital were blocked by police cars, Edward was left with no other choice.

  To make matters worse, a dense fog had begun to set in, making the driving even more difficult. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned onto Main Street and headed north as Kim instructed. Downtown was empty at this hour, but, glancing up the hill to his right, Edward could see lights in a few of the windows. It was clear that at least some of the town’s residents were aware that something was going on. Of course, by now, phones had probably begun ringing all over town with the news of the violence at the hospital. He wondered what people were saying. Did they realize what they were up against?

  Ahead and to his right, he saw a man appear from between two buildings. A dark red liquid stained the front of his white shirt. One leg of his khaki pants was torn, and he was limping quickly toward the car. Was he one of them? Maybe. Edward sped up. He passed the man before he could block the road. In his rearview mirror, he saw the man continue limping after them before the fog obscured Edward’s view.

  Without warning, an old, battered pickup truck appeared from a side street. The headlights flooded the car, blinding Edward. In the fog, the diffused light seemed to come from all around them. The truck was coming too fast. Gracie screamed.

  Edward swerved to the right, hoping to avoid a collision, but the truck clipped his back bumper. There was a loud crunch and then a squealing sound as the truck ripped the bumper from the car. The smaller vehicle was spun around, jostling the buckled passengers in the backseat. Sammy fell into Kim’s lap. His body slammed into the door, and he yelped. Rose’s head smacked against the passenger side window. When it stopped, they were facing the opposite direction.

  The driver of the truck lost control after the collision. He sped across the street, and crashed into a van that was parked beside the pharmacy on the other side of Main. His passenger flew through the windshield and hit the side of the pharmacy with a sickening thud. The driver was slumped behind the steering wheel, unmoving.

  With the car now facing the way they had come, Edward peered into the fog, trying to see if the zombie was still hobbling toward them. He glanced at Rose. She was rubbing her head but, otherwise, she seemed fine. He looked in the rearview mirror. Everyone seemed to be shaken but intact. Kim was crying and holding her arm. Gracie frantically pulled Sammy toward her and checked him over.

  The doctor seemed to be observing the others, looking for signs of injury. “Everyone OK?” he asked.

  “My arm hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken,” Kim said.

  Adam leaned around Sammy and Gracie to look it over. Edward peered nervously in the direction of the zombie that he feared was still closing in on them. He unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out to check the damage. The back of the car was mangled. The tire was flat and bent inward at the top. They wouldn’t be driving anywhere else in this car tonight.

  From the direction of the crashed truck, Edward heard a moan. He looked up to see the ejected passenger trying to stand. Once again, he looked in the direction of the ambling figure that had been following behind them. He could now faintly make out its form in the distance. It was getting closer.

  Behind the steering wheel of the truck, the driver began to move also. He looked at the wrecked truck. The hood was crushed. The back of the van it had crashed into was caved in. They were lucky to be alive.

  He leaned back into the car, “Everybody out right now! We have to move!”

  Everyone but Kim scrambled from the car.

  “No!” Kim protested, “We’re not going anywhere on foot.”

  “The car is dead, and one of those things is headed this way. You want to stay? Fine. We’re leaving,” he straightened up and turned to the others. Pointing to a house beyond the crashed truck, he said, “There’s a light on in the house up the road there. Let’s head that way. The people in that truck are still alive. We can check them as we go by.”

  Adam looked worriedly toward the truck, “After that accident, we probably won’t be able to do much for them. I can check, but they’re going to need an ambulance.”

  They walked quickly across the street, careful to stay close to one another. Sammy walked beside Gracie, limping slightly. Behind them, they heard Kim getting out of the car. As they approached the truck, the driver leaned out. His face was bloody from striking the steering wheel. Adam moved closer to examine him.

  The driver made a deep guttural, rattling sound. Blood bubbled up onto his lips and ran down his chin. He reached for him through the shattered window. During the wreck, a metal tube had slid from the rack on top of the van and pierced the windshield. Now, it protruded from his chest. He was pinned to the seat.

  Adam stumbled backwards and bumped into Edward. From beyond the truck, there was another growl. Edward looked over to see the passenger dragging herself slowly toward him. Her neck was bent at an odd angle. One arm dragged on the ground, but she didn’t seem to register the pain as she pulled herself forward with the other arm.

  Edward grabbed Rose’s hand. Gracie ducked behind them as Sammy let out a low warning growl. Kim caught up with them and froze, taking in the scene. The zombie that had been following the car down Main Street moaned from behind them, much closer now.

  From somewhere in the distance, they heard a scream followed by gunshots. The zombie was nearing their wrecked car. Kim began to shake. She screamed. Adam tried to calm her, reaching for her arm, but she pulled away. “No, I’m almost home. I’m going home!”

  With that, she began running. Adam started to follow, but Edward stopped him. “Let her go. She’ll make or she won’t, but we need to keep moving.”

  Kim turned back onto Main and crossed behind the car, the opposite side from the zombie. It was still close enough to draw his attention. The zombie seemed to lose interest in the group and began limping behind her, following her into the fog.

  As the group hiked quickly up the hill toward the brightly lit house, Adam called 911 and informed them of the collision and told them about the people in the truck. Edward noticed that he was careful not to use the word zombie, but he did mention that they tried to attack him when he stopped to check on them. He gave his information but said he absolutely could not stay on the line.

  At last, they arrived at the tiny, white house and made their way along a worn concrete walkway toward the door. The wooden steps creaked beneath their feet as they climbed up to the porch. Despite the late hour, they could hear a voice from inside. Edward knocked on the door. They heard footsteps approach the door from inside the house, and a voice asked suspiciously, “Who is it?”

  Edward started to speak, but Rose held up her hand to stop him. She whispered, “Let me. A woman might have a better chance getting him to open the door.” Then she spoke louder to the man on the other side of the door. “My name is Rose Dennis. My friends and I need help. Someone hit our car, and we’re stranded.”

  The door opened just enough to allow them to see a man standing on the other side. He was tall and slim. Deep wrinkles cut through his face, and tufts of white hair curled wildly around his ears. In his hands, he held a shotgun. He peered silently through the crack in the door, scanning the night beyond the porch before meeting Edward’s eyes.

  Edward explained, “We just left the hospital, and we were headed home when a truck plowed into us – ”

  Before he could say more, the man flung the door open and ushered them inside, locking the door behind them. He sat the shotgun by the door and eyed them curiously. “Name’s Clyde James, but my friends call me Booger,” the man said motioning for them to take a seat in the tiny living room. �
�And who might you folks be?”

  They introduced themselves. Booger’s face registered surprise upon hearing Gracie’s name, but he didn’t comment. Once they were comfortable, he offered them drinks. When they declined, Booger lowered himself into his recliner.

  “I just got a call telling me something was going on over there at the hospital. So, what was all the commotion about?” he asked.

  They exchanged nervous glances, trying to figure out where to begin. Finally, Adam spoke, “Well, I uh, I don’t know how to even tell you what happened without sounding crazy. The whole thing is just so unbelievable. I mean, I don’t think I’d believe it if I hadn’t been there.”

  Booger smiled wryly, “You ever hear anyone tell how I got my nickname?”

  Adam looked confused, “Uh, no sir. I don’t think I have.”

  Booger shrugged, still smiling, “I’m sure some of the older folks around town can tell you the story later. Let’s just say my definition of ‘believable’ might be a little different from most folks. So, try me.”

  With that, Adam began telling the story of what had happened at the hospital. Booger had many questions, and Adam answered them honestly. When he was finished Booger pondered the situation for a moment. Finally, he looked at Gracie and asked, “So, Miss Gracie, what do you know about all this?”

  She looked at Rose, who patted her hand in encouragement. Gracie told Booger her story. Finally, Edward told him about the zombie who had followed them down Main Street and the passengers in the truck. Booger seemed to be satisfied with the information they had given him, but he looked worried.

  He ran his hands through his messy white hair, “So, there’s more of ‘em out there right now. Well, we could try to hunker down here, but, as y’all can see, there ain’t much room, and it’s smackdab in the middle of town. I think we should try to get out of town.”