Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive (18 page)

A Zombie Novel

Chapter
One

Connor

T
he flash lit up
Reed’s dead body, making his skin look even paler than it already was. Connor
brought the phone to his face and studied the shot with an eerie glow washing
over his crooked grin. Even though Reed Walters had lost everything, the man
looked at peace, satisfied with the short life he lived in Minot. Clipping the
phone back onto his belt, Connor straightened his burgundy necktie and took one
last look around the darkened lake. Other than the distant call of a loon and
the water lapping at the pontoon, it was quiet at this time of night and that
was a good thing. A sudden burst of lightning fractured the sky behind him,
reflecting off Reed’s wide-awake eyes.

“The fuck!” Heart
jumping, Connor stumbled back into a railing, nearly falling overboard. When
the darkness returned, the corpse’s eyes were just as closed as they were in
the picture on the cellphone. Exhaling a calming breath, Connor laughed a
little and swept a lock of oily hair over a festering bald spot getting worse
with each winter that passed. Steadying his lanky frame against the railing, he
raised a black wingtip into the air. “Nice knowin ya, Reed,” he whispered,
giving the body a gentle nudge. Rolling listlessly over the side, Reed hit the
black water below with a gentle splash.

Through vacant eyes,
Connor watched the lake unhurriedly claim the young dentist who slipped into
cardiac arrest last weekend after feeding his secret cocaine habit a little too
much for dinner. The rumor spreading around town like a bad cold was that Reed
died right in the middle of fucking Vicky Miller’s brains out in the backseat
of his Audi S5. Connor didn’t know if that was true or not but Reed’s wife,
Amy, certainly didn’t seem too broken up at the funeral.

Thunder rumbled
off in the distance, bringing Connor’s eyes back into focus. He watched the
ripples disrupt the glassy surface as Reed quietly sank to the bottom. The
old-timers claimed Lake Darling reached depths of up to seventy-five feet and
had catfish the size of bull sharks lurking along the muddy floor. Connor
didn’t believe a word of it, but the embalming fluid coursing through Reed’s
veins would ensure the young dentist soon found out. Wiping sweat from his
upper lip, Connor considered stopping off at Doc’s Bar & Grill on the way
home. A cold one and a bag of beer nuts sounded good right about now. Real
good.

He pulled a silver
Rolex from his black slacks, the blue moonlight jumping off the timepiece as
his hand rose up and down, inspecting its impressive weight. Another cold grin
slithered across his face. It might even be worth more than Mrs. Johansen’s
diamond ring. He’d have to make another trip to the pawn shop in Bismarck and
soon.

The cellphone
vibrated on his hip, stirring him from his thoughts. Slipping the watch back
into his pocket, he unclipped the cell from his belt, sallow cheeks sinking in
like an under baked cake in the screen’s gray glow. Hesitating for a moment, he
swiped at the screen. “Hey, Frank,” he said, watching bubbles rise where Reed
went to sleep with the fishes.

An irritable sigh
hissed from the line and snaked down Connor’s ear canal, piercing the drum at
its end.
“Care to talk about the dent I
just found in Mr. Walters’ coffin?”

Connor tipped his
head back and cringed, catching a shooting star scratch the night. He made a
quick wish before replying. “Dent?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Connor,”
Frank shouted,
crushing the wish.
“Ricardo already
informed me it was YOU who knocked it against a tombstone after removing it
with the crane.”

“Sonofabitch.”
Connor pinched the bridge of his long-hooked nose, silently cursing Ricardo
under a canopy of stars. “I had no idea.”

“And it will be YOU who will have it shiny as new in
time for Ms. Dixon’s funeral tomorrow afternoon. Do we understand one another?”

Connor’s gaze fell
to his glistening shoes and a fish jumped off in the distance. Wiping sweat
from his brow, he refused to clear his throat. Frank would like that too much.
He liked it when Connor showed vulnerability. “I understand.” His skin crawled
in the lengthy pause that followed. He shifted in his stance, careful not to
fall overboard.

Frank exhaled a
tired breath and papers started ruffling in the background.
“Is everything all set with Mr. Walters?”

Connor glanced at
the bubbles breaking the water’s surface. “Yes, sir, he’s fish food now.”
Another bloated pause made his heartbeat quicken.

“Connor, I realize the gravity of what we’re doing
here, but that doesn’t mean you can’t display a certain degree of…decorum.”

Hand slipping into
his pocket, it wrapped around the thick Rolex inside. “Everything went just
fine, Mr. Allan.”

“Ahhh, excellent! And when might we expect your most
eagerly awaited return, Mr. Faherty?”

Nestled between
the lake and a lonely stretch of US Highway Ten, Doc’s flashed through Connor’s
mind. “Bout an hour or so.”

“Marvelous! I look forward to seeing Ms. Dixon - and
her new coffin – looking right as rain in the morning then.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

“Oh, and Connor?”

Connor pulled a
pack of cigarettes from his dress shirt pocket and cleared his throat, hating
himself for doing it. “Yeah, boss?”

“Don’t fuck it up.”

He lit up, bathing
his face in an orange glow and accentuating his hollow cheeks. “Don’t worry,
I’ve fixed bigger dents than that on my car. It’ll look brand new when I’m done
with it.” He exhaled a tumbling stream of smoke. “In fact… Hello?” Checking the
screen, his shoulders slumped. “Asshole,” he grumbled, shoving the phone back
into its holster and firing up the engine. “Keep talkin to me like that and see
what happens,
Frank
. I’ll blow the
lid off this whole damn thing.”

Flipping on the
boat lights, he throttled up Frank’s weekend getaway as lightning spider-webbed
across the dark backdrop swallowing the stars behind him. The boat sliced
through the calm water and thunder clapped, making him flinch. Looking over his
shoulder, he gave it more gas and the engine whined. “People find out what he’s
up to and they’ll string his cheap ass up,” he murmured, taking another deep
drag off the long Marlboro clutched between two bony fingers.

“Bust my balls
when I’m doing all the heavy lifting? I don’t think so.” Angrily, he flicked
the smoke into the lake and stared out over the placid waters ahead. It would
be a few more minutes before the marina’s sparse lighting appeared around the
bend, giving his mind too much rope to run. “I don’t need your shit,
Frank
!” His echo bounced off the rolling
hillsides and a crack of thunder punctuated the statement.

But deep down, no
matter how frustrated he became, Connor knew he’d never leave Allan’s Funeral
Home and that’s what pissed him off the most. Frank had him by the balls. That
place was more than just a job, it was his life and his boss knew it. But what
Franklin Allan didn’t know was that the people lying on those cold basement
slabs weren’t just clients; they were Connor’s family. And just like a real
family, he had pictures of every single one of them. Of course, none in a
lavish gold frame like the one of his late mother hanging above the fireplace
in his living room. Even so, he couldn’t wait to add Reed’s picture to the box
hiding beneath his king-sized bed. His family was growing bigger with each and
every addition. Stronger. His subsequent smile glowed in the dashboard lights.

Tonight, however,
his family would have to wait. He’d be lucky to get two hours of sleep, if
that, but the good news was that Annie Dixon was waiting for him in one of the
coolers back at work. Annie always greeted him with a warm smile whenever he
grabbed a burger at the Longhorn in town. Flowing red hair set off her radiant
green eyes that always made him hard beneath their sparkle, no matter how much
he focused on the menu.

Last week, she
finally dumped her grease monkey boyfriend, Luke Donovan, and Connor nearly
asked her out. Unfortunately, by the time Annie brought the check, he’d lost
his nerve and, boy, had he felt the barbs when he returned home later that
night. Even sweet old Mrs. Johansen called him a chicken-shit pussy, saying he
couldn’t get laid in Hawaii. Before Connor could prove her wrong, a blood clot
caused Annie’s brain to hemorrhage and she never opened those beautiful greens
again.

He shed another
grin as the marina came into view. Connor always wondered what Annie looked
like naked and tonight he would find out and that called for a celebration.
Lightning clawed at the sky and, for a split second, Connor could see all of
the houses anchored in the tall pines dotting the lakeside. The thunder that
followed came swift and heavy, vibrating the steering wheel in his hands. Storm
or not, he would make time for a pit stop at Doc’s.

Normally, he
didn’t like being around people who could talk back, especially drunk ones, but
he was dying for a cold brew and would just have to suck it up. It hadn’t
always been like this. There was a time when he actually enjoyed the company of
the living. In fact, there was even a time when he almost tied the knot. But
two and a half weeks before the
big day
,
Kathy left him for someone else. Someone named Michelle. Said it wasn’t him, it
was her. So he ended up getting a kitten instead. Balmer was nine years-old now
and the only breathing female in his quiet farmhouse on the outskirts of town.

Sometimes he felt
lonely living in the big house his deceased parents left him and sometimes he
felt like others were getting too close. Connor spent a lot of time on his front
porch, sipping coffee or beer, rocking back and forth, and watching the town of
Minot creep closer. Cigarette after cigarette, the new outlet malls,
snap-together houses, and Chipotles inched closer with an unsettling
determination.

Snorting, Connor
eased up on the throttle as the two dock lights gradually turned his face an
insipid shade of white. Just like Reed’s face. After docking Frank’s pontoon in
its assigned slip, Connor tied up and clicked his dress shoes down the wooden
dock. The wide planks creaked beneath his weight and he could see the gold van
with
Allan’s Funeral Home
scrolled
across the side from here. It looked like a toy from this distance. Lit by a
single lamp, the elevated parking lot was buried in the trees and shrouded in
shadows, deserted as the rest of the lake. He got closer and his heart did a
quick flip when he saw Annie Dixon standing naked outside the back of the van.
Red hair blew in the soft breeze, exposing her creamy breasts. Tipping her chin
down, she narrowed her eyes and watched him climb the steep lot. His shoes
reluctantly scraped against the pavement, blood turning cold in his veins. It
was hard to tell if her skin was pale from the moonlight or from being dead for
three days. She raised a heavy looking arm and pointed at him with a bent
finger. He stepped in an ice cream cone some punk kid dropped earlier in the
day and looked down. When he dared look up again Annie was gone. Hastening his
pace, Connor swept a loose lock over his head and loosened his tie. “Yep, I need
a beer.”

Lightning flashed
behind him, sending a jagged bolt into the water with a bloodcurdling sizzle.
Connor stumbled forward with a burst of warm air ruffling his hair from behind.
Brushing oily strands from his face, he turned back to the lake, grimacing when
the smell of burnt hair hit him. “What the hell?” he murmured, watching wispy
trails of smoke rise from a patch of water that reminded him of a witch’s pot.
He scratched his head, wondering how close he just came to getting fried to
death. At last year’s National Funeral Directors Association convention, Connor
learned that lightning kills six thousand people around the world each year,
second only to flooding for deadly weather. He blew out a long breath. “Okay,
that was weird,” he said, watching the circle of water settle much quicker than
his racing pulse. A few seconds later, the lake glassed over again like nothing
ever happened.

Shrugging it off,
Connor turned for the van and hurried up the hill, not seeing Reed Walters open
his blue eyes beneath the murky water. Nor did he see the lids pop back on
Connie Oberman - the town’s head librarian for the past fifty years. Or Tim
Elgin, the high school football coach who suffered a heat stroke last summer
when temperatures crossed the one-hundred-degree mark and he insisted upon
practicing anyway.

Connor didn’t
notice any of the people he and Frank dumped in the lake over the past several
years open their eyes underwater because he was already in the van, trying to
decide if he should order a bottle of Bud or a Jack and Coke when he got to
Doc’s.

Chapter
Two

Nomophobia

P
ouring Cocoa
Pebbles into a big red bowl, Rory glanced at the microwave clock again just to
make sure he had really slept until almost noon. He groaned. The funny thing
was all he wanted to do was go back to bed because that was easier than waking
up to find out that moving back into his parents’ house wasn’t some bad dream
after all.

“You’re just now
eating breakfast, Rory?” His mom waltzed into the kitchen with a spring in her
step, drenched in sweat after a late morning run.

“This is lunch,
Laura,” he said, pouring milk into the bowl too fast and spilling cereal onto
the granite countertop.

“Don’t call me
that,” she replied, grabbing the coffee pot and emptying the last of the thick
brew into a coffee-stained mug.

“How can you drink
that after a run?”

Returning the pot
to the burner where it sizzled, she snatched a paper towel. “Keeps me regular,”
she replied, wiping her brow. “Why pay a hundred bucks for a colonic when you
can just drink Starbucks?”

Rory frowned and
took a seat at the round table in front of the open French doors, catching a
glimpse of a German Shepherd darting after a squirrel by the sun splashed pool.
“Okay, that’s way too much info. I’m getting ready to eat here.”

Leaning back
against the counter, she stared at him over the steaming mug, bird calls
floating in through the doors. “Any new ideas for the book?”

“Lot of ideas,” he
said, shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “No good ones.”

“I’m sure something
will come to you. You’ve always loved Sci-Fi.” Tucking a loose strand of blond
hair behind an ear, she blew on the coffee. “Any new job prospects?”

“Not unless I want
to work at Walmart or Target in the next town over,” he said, his bed head
suddenly making him feel vulnerable to attack. “And even then, how many people
are really looking to hire a movie critic?”

“Too bad
Blockbuster went under; they had staff picks.”

“And I would’ve
worked there too! Sit around all day watching movies and helping out hot soccer
moms. Talk about living the American dream.”

Laura took a
careful sip and swallowed, dabbing at her glistening neck with the paper towel.
“Well, keep your chin up, sweetie. You just got back and, who knows, maybe the
Daily News
will call. Weirder things
have happened.” Her eyes thinned. “Much weirder.”

Rory stopped the
spoon in front of his mouth. “Like what?”

She hit him with a
limp shrug.

Pushing the cereal
into his mouth, he crunched down and shook his head. “I doubt Minot’s paper has
the budget for a new coffee maker.” He paused to swallow. “Even if they did
hire me, I’d probably end up laid off all over again.”

“You should take a
break from the whole thing and call Rachel. When was the last time you two
talked anyway?”

Wiping milk from
his chin with the sleeve of his
Night of
the Comet
t-shirt, his mind drifted back to that sunlit day three years
ago. It seemed like just yesterday he was sitting in his parents’ driveway,
ready to blow out of this one-horse town forever.
“Last chance,”
he had said hopingly into his cellphone.

Rachel’s faint
sobs interrupted the thick silence that followed.
“I just don’t get why we can’t do a long distance thing for a while,”
she said with a sniffle.
“Maybe after
I’ve been to visit a few times, I’ll change my mind.”

Anger had heated
his core at her ridiculous suggestion because he knew her better than that. He
knew she’d never leave this town. Minot wasn’t just her home, it was her world
and she never expressed much interest in anything outside of it. No, long distance
relationships were for people too afraid to cut the cord, people who enjoyed
throwing good money after bad. Rory didn’t want to become
that guy
, constantly calling and texting and Skyping. Always
checking up on someone he was getting to know less and less with each passing
day.

“Rory?”

His eyes dialed
back into focus, watching Scout chase something in the backyard. “She’s dating
someone else now.”

“Who?”

“Clutch Thompson.”

“Thompson? The
country club Thompsons?”

“One and only,” he
replied, forcing more cereal into his mouth and wondering what she saw in that
guy. Clutch moved here during Rory’s sophomore year at Minot State University
and he didn’t get the chance to know him very well but he knew enough. The guy
was a show-off/jag-off with a capital JAG. The kind who didn’t need college
because Daddy already carved out a path paved in gold.

In the end, Rory
lost the girl and the job and was right back where he started. He shook his
head, imagining the sordid small talk he would face tonight out at the lake.
All of his old friends would be dying to know how in the world he ended up back
here with his tail between his legs and a bank account running on empty.

Laura cleared her
throat. “You should just take the job your father offered you. You don’t have to
start right away.”

He ran a hand down
his greasy face and bit his tongue.

“You’d only be in
the used lot long enough to learn the ropes,” she said before he could protest.
“Then he’d move you into the showroom.”

“Mom, I’m not
becoming a used car salesman. I used to write a column, not car loans.”

“I know you did,
honey, and we’re very proud of you. We really are, but it would only be until
something else came along.”

Rory shifted in
the high-backed chair and began flipping through his iPhone, seeing ten years
from now play out against the screen. “I can’t take the chance of ten years
slipping by and I’m still selling cars. No offense to Dad, but that’s not me.”

Laura set her mug
on the island and crossed the room, stopping behind his chair to massage his shoulders.
“I know it’s not, sweetie.” She worked at unraveling the twisted knots running
up his spine. “I think the movie blog is a great idea for now.”

“It’ll help keep
the rust off anyway.”

“You know what?
You should just take the whole summer off and be a kid again,” she said just as
the doorbell rang.

He grunted. “I
doubt Dad will go for that.”

“Don’t worry about
it; I’ll talk to him when he gets home from work. If he can afford a new
Corvette, you can afford to take a break.” The doorbell rang again and she
stopped the massage. “Maybe we can catch a matinee this afternoon,” she said,
squeezing his shoulders and turning for the front door. “I’m so excited you’re
home!”

He waited for her
running shoes to squeak into the spacious living room before checking to see if
Danielle had called or texted or messenger pidgeoned. Fucking something. But
she hadn’t, so he set the phone down and rubbed his puffy eyes with both hands.
He didn’t know why he wanted her back but he did. After losing his job, it
didn’t take long for her true colors to shine through and he didn’t blame her.
It’s not like she would’ve wanted to come here.

“Yo, what is up,
big baller?”

Rory turned to see
Woody stroll into the kitchen. His shaggy blond hair, white coral necklace and
long board shorts made Rory smile. The guy was still going for the surfer look
even though he’d only been boogie-boarding two times on vacation in high
school. The long skinny limbs pouring from a tight tank top made him stand out
that much more against the thirty-six thousand down-to-earth, no-nonsense
residents of Minot and Rory appreciated his dedication.

“Woodrow, my man!”

Woody fist-bumped
him and pulled out a chair, smacking his head on the small chandelier hanging
over the kitchen table as he sat down. “Dammit,” he groaned, rubbing his
forehead. “Am I bleeding?”

“You’re not
bleeding.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“If that leaves a
mark, I’m going to be pissed. I can’t have any facial injuries impeding my
chances of a summer fling.”

Rory laughed and
pointed to the ceiling. “My money says the only thing you’re banging this
summer is that light.”

“Rory,” Laura
groaned, her running shoes squeaking back into the sunlit kitchen. “How’s work,
Woody?”

He smiled, showing
off perfect rows of teeth that were as white as his necklace. “Can’t beat free
beer and hot wings.”

“Well, thank you
again for the drinks the other night,” she said, opening the fridge. “You
didn’t have to do that.”

Woody leaned on
the table and gazed longingly at the tight running pants clinging to Laura’s backend
as she poked around in the refrigerator. “You know you and Mr. C always get the
cool-guy discount,” he replied, licking his lips. She came back out with some
water and yogurt and Woody snapped his attention back to Rory, who greeted him
with a harsh frown.

“In that case,
we’ll just have to hit B-Dubs more often.” Pulling the lid back on the yogurt,
she licked the top and threw it away. “You hungry, Woodrow?”

“Oh, I’m good,
thanks. I’m going to grab something on our way out to the lake.”

Rory grimaced and
kicked him under the table.

Laura puckered her
brow, eyes shifting to Rory. “You’re going to the lake today? Oh.” She glanced
at the moving boxes clogging the hallway and her shoulders sank a little. “I
thought we were going to a movie,” she said, stirring the yogurt.

Rory shot him a
look. “Nice one,
Spicoli
.”

Crossing his leg,
Woody began wagging a checkered Vans across his knee like a nervous dog.
“Rachel’s going to be there.”

Laura stopped the
spoon in front of her mouth. “I think the lake sounds like a great idea. Go get
some fresh air and shake everything off.”

Grinning, Woody
flashed him a quick wink. “Party Cove, baby.”

“I’m out.”

The grin dropped
from his face. “Oh come on, Rory! It’s just one night and this is your chance
to win her back.”

“I don’t want to
win her back,
Woody
.”

“Yes, you do,”
Laura said.

Woody scooted his
chair closer to the table and lowered his voice. “Listen, the stars are
literally lining up for this to happen. Danielle is ancient history and that’s
the way that whole thing was supposed to go down. Tonight is your chance to
right a wrong and put the future back on track.”

Rory vehemently
shook his head. “
Ancient history
? We
just broke up like a week ago or something.” Grabbing a salt shaker from the
middle of the table, he studied it through distant eyes. “Everything I see
reminds me of Danielle.”

Woody frowned.
“Even a salt shaker?”

“She loved salt.
Put it on her pizza and everything.” Rory blew out a wistful sigh. “We had so
much in common.”

“Oh for God’s
sake.” Laura rolled her eyes. “She was a Psychology major, Rory. It never
would’ve worked out. She would’ve been psychoanalyzing you up and down.”

Rory pressed his
lips together. “She did always say my germaphobia was a sign of depression.”
Grimly, he shook his head. “Made me sad.”

“Dude, trust me,
you will forget all about Danielle as soon as you see Rachel. She cut her hair
off and that baby girl is looking hot!”

Rory’s face
folded. “She cut her hair?”

“And not many
girls can pull that off either.”

The spoon
clattered into the bowl and he sat back in the chair. “She cut her hair? This
is a moral travesty!”

“I’m sure she
looks adorable with short hair, Rory. Get a grip.”

Woody smiled and
locked his fingers behind his head. “Come on, man. We’ll get a bonfire going,
pound some brewskis, play some strip-badminton. It’ll be like a Kid Rock
video.”

Laura giggled. “In
that case, you better wear your good underwear. And make sure you’re back by
tomorrow afternoon. We’ve got some more storms rolling in.” She paused for a
long sigh. “Just got the pool cleaned up after the last one.”

Rory’s face
soured. “Did you shave your armpit hair?”

Woody dropped his
arms to his sides. “No.”

Rory’s eyes fell
to the phone sitting on the table when he thought he saw a green flashing light
indicating a text message from Danielle saying she’d changed her mind and can’t
live without him. But it was as dark as the feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“What about
Clutch
?” he asked,
spooning some cereal from the side of the bowl into the milk. “Won’t he be there
telling everyone about his latest trip to Venice or Amsterdam or Build-A-Bear?”

Woody threw his
head back and laughed. “He totally does that bragging shit too. Super
obnoxious. But don’t worry, bro, I’ll distract him long enough for you to lay
some ground work with Rachel.”