Stay Dead: A Novel (15 page)

Another long dead creature managed to push the
cement slab off of its tomb to the ground, shattering it. The dead
thing pulled itself out, falling to the ground, and the cracking of
its bones filled the dark chamber. He was dressed in a fine black
suit with a white shirt and a black tie. And all but the tie had
been cut down the back. Though the two of them were family, this
was the first time they were ever in the same room at the same
time. One died before the other was ever born—more than a century
apart, yet there they stood, meeting in death for the first
time.

Dane watched the hodgepodge of a convoy slowly
approach the roadblock at the southern side of New Haven. One
vehicle took the lead, leaving the other vehicles a few car lengths
behind. He radioed Sheriff Bruce Davis the moment he saw them
approach—he was on his way.

Eddie pulled his vehicle to a stop. He was about
four car lengths away from the roadblock. He opened the door and
was about to step out—

“
Do not move!” Dane ordered
through his patrol car’s PA system. “Stay where you are, and turn
off your vehicle or you will be fired upon.” Even he was surprised
at how authoritative he sounded.

Eddie listened. He stayed where he
was and turned off the vehicle, but kept his hand on his gun—just
in case.?

The sheriff arrived with his truck and a few other
officers and friends at his side. They stood at the roadblock,
making there numbers visible to the convoy. Dane reached into his
cruiser and turned on the roof and search lights. He turned the
search light to face the convoy. Dane then grabbed a handful of
road flares and threm toward the convoy, one on each side and one
to the rear. He and the sheriff walked toward the lead vehicle with
their weapons drawn: Dane held his service weapon, and Bruce held a
shotgun with the dangerous end pointed at the lead vehicle.

“
Driver, please step out of the
vehicle with your hands up,” Bruce ordered, as he approached the
driver’s side.

Eddie slid his gun over to his brother Joseph.
Eddie’s mother, Janice, put her hand on his shoulder as he slowly
got out of the car. Eddie stood near the open door with his hands
up. He was lit by the red glow of the road flares. He looked at the
approaching men, trying to decide if they were good men or bad, and
hoped they were at least reasonable despite which side of the moral
coin they landed on.

Eddie couldn’t help but remember the first time he
was pulled over by a police officer. He was seventeen and had his
license for barely a month. He was only going out to pick up a few
things at the grocery store for his mother, and was on his way back
when he was pulled over for not coming to a complete stop at a stop
sign a few streets away from his home.

The police officer made him step out of the vehicle,
insisting he had drugs on him. The police officer was sure of it,
said he looked either drunk and stoned, and drove like it too.
Ignorant of his rights, Eddie let the man search his mother’s car.
After an hour of searching and berating the young Eddie with the
worst language and threats of violence, going so far as to jab his
gun into Eddie’s temple. The officer eventually let him go, and
Eddie nervously drove home only to be followed the rest of the
way.

Ever since then Eddie held a skeptical, yet somehow
still respectful, eye to the authorities. It was a story he only
told to his brother Joseph, who swore to never tell anyone—he
didn’t, of course. The two of them had always been tight like
that.

“
What is your intent,” Davis
asked, now mere feet away from Eddie.

“
Just looking for someplace safe,
sir,” Eddie responded.

“
Should’ve stayed
home.”

“
Wish we could’ve.”

“
All these folks with you?” Davis
asked, pointing to the convoy.

“
Yes. We’ve been on the road for
days. We were trying to get to Titan City…looking for our
families.”

“
Well, lucky for all of you that
you didn’t make it there,” Davis said. “Titan City is
gone.”

“
What? What are you talking
about?”

“
Gone. The skyline is ash, kid.
Bombs been dropping. LA is gone too.”

“
Fuck,” Eddie said, his hands
falling to his side, “you’re serious?” he asked.

“
Serious,” Davis said. “So, I’ll
ask you this: what are your intentions now?”

“
We just want someplace safe, sir.
We won’t last much longer on the road. It’s been hell the last few
days…we keep dying.”

“
We don’t exactly have a Holiday
Inn,” Davis let down his guard, hanging his gun on his
shoulder.

“
We don’t need much: a truck yard,
a church, shit—a fence would be great. We got guns. We can be of
help, there’re thousands of those things out there--”

“
Okay. Relax, I’ll let you all in.
But, you abide by my laws or you get the fuck out. We’ll find you a
place to stay, and those of you who can be of help will be put to
use, understood?”

“
Yes, sir,” Eddie
replied.

Sheriff Davis led the convoy into town. Eddie
followed close behind him and Sal tagged along to make sure no one
in the group veered off course. Davis pulled up to VFW hall, parked
and got out. The hall was on a large plot of land and was fenced
off. Davis instructed Eddie to lead the convoy into the fenced off
area and gather everyone inside the hall.

The hall was a small brick building with a main
entrance and a single back door. There were no windows on the
building except the enclosure to the main entrance. There was a
flag pole out front and on it hung a very clean and vibrant red,
white, and blue flag. Just below that was a smaller Prisoners of
War flag.

Inside the building were more flags, and plenty of
framed pictures of the men and women who served their country
valiantly. Though one wondered where they were now, when the world
needed them.

A small bar area led the way to a larger open area
for banquets, and behind that a kitchen. Davis sat on a metal
folding chair, one of hundreds folded neatly against the wall. The
building had power, one of the few that did, and as the room filled
up people couldn’t help but notice. Sal followed the last few
people inside and ushered them into the rear of the hall.

“
Welcome to New Haven,” Davis
said. Many in the crowd thanked him, some nodding in appreciation.
“You are all welcome to stay here so long as you do what I ask of
you. Don’t worry, it won’t be much. The first thing I need to know
is if any of you have been bit or feel sick. If so, please step
forward.” No one did.

“
All right, the second thing I
need is for all of you to get some rest. You’re no good to me, or
anyone else, if you’re exhausted. You’ll be just another liability
and if that’s the case then get the fuck out.” Davis paused, “I’ll
be back early tomorrow to see what it is that you guys can do to
earn your keep while you stay in our lovely little community. If
anyone has medical experience or can help in restoring power to the
rest of the town I’ll want to talk to you first. Till then sleep.
If there’s any food here help yourself. Good night.” Davis stood up
from the chair and walked through the crowd towards the door. He
was thanked several times as he left.

Sheriff Davis and Sal left the building. Davis
grabbed Sal by the arm gently.

“
Keep an eye on them. Either you
or someone else drive by every hour, make sure no one leaves the
area,” Davis told him.

Davis drove off in his truck, heading in the
direction from which he came. He hoped he was doing the right
thing. He hoped these people meant well, and were not looking to
take advantage of others at such a horrible time for the human
race. Sal sat in his cruiser for a few moments then, seeing that no
one left the building, drove off too.

Everyone grouped off into different sections of the
hall, looking for a place to rest and stretch out or just to talk.
Scott headed toward the bar area and Judy followed behind along
with Dawn. The two women found stools to sit on and Scott went
behind the bar with the closest thing to a smile he’d had on his
face in days. He rummaged around, tilting the bottles of various
liquors, and wines towards the dim light to read the labels, though
most he knew by the shape of the bottle alone. He found a bottle of
Burgundy wine, popped the cork, and found three glasses and filled
them up higher than any bartender he’d ever come across.

Scott was known by a few to drink wine as if it were
fruit juice, often to his dismay. Scott was not a rich man, but
business was always good. He wasn’t much for bragging or
showboating of any kind, if anything he was modest. He was born
with a tongue made for drinking, and who was he to tell his tongue
no.

Some of his friends grew snooty over the years,
insisting on what wine should be drunk with what meal, and in what
glass. Even to how it should be sipped. And it didn’t stop with
wine—it included bourbon, cars, clothing, and even home décor as
well.

So, he would quietly rebel by pouring his wine in
whatever glass he damn well pleased and gulping it instead of
sipping it. He winced with every swallow. Judy and Dawn tried to
follow by his example but after a gulp they returned to small sips.
Regardless of whether sipping or gulping they were all in search of
a little place called oblivion. How quickly etiquette had died.

Jon-Jon strolled over sometime after Scott had
poured a second glass for himself and his bar-side companions. He
was in search of a man named Walker and didn’t care what color he
was dressed him. He found him and began to empty his innards into a
highball glass. Jon-Jon took a few hard swallows, then replenished
the liquid and sipped.

Eddie sat with what remained of his family in the
corner of the hall. His mother fell asleep almost as soon as she
sat down. Joseph turned to Eddie, whose head rested on the brick
wall behind him as his eyes stared up at the ceiling.

“
What are we doing, Ed?” he asked
his brother.

“
I don’t know…what do you want to
do? If the city’s really gone, then what’s the point of going
anywhere.”

“
I’m fine staying here. I don’t
want to die out there, and I don’t want to lose you or ma.” Joseph
had a tremble rising in his voice.

Eddie didn’t need to say, “I don’t want to lose
either of you too.” But he did anyway.

“
I wonder if anyone we knew made
it out of the city. Maybe Uncle Bob? He was always a cool
guy.”

“
Yeah, he was,” Eddie
agreed.

Joseph looked over to Alexis who was trying to put
the children—Yussef, Stacey, Chris, Leela, and Nick—at ease so they
would go to sleep. She looked back at him but then quickly turned
her attention back to the kids.

Alexis had gotten used to Gerty taking charge of the
kids. She had a gentle force about her that the kids responded to.
Alexis didn’t have that. She wouldn’t be able to take care of these
kids on her own. She knew others would help but not like Gerty did:
Gerty made it her duty.

Alexis felt the pangs of guilt as she realized that
she herself did not want it as a duty. To have the responsibility
of another person’s life in your hands was scary in its own right.
Add to that a world where the dead were trying to eat you, and make
it five lives as opposed to one. She was overwhelmed and Joseph
could tell, but he didn’t have the heart to help. His heart lay
broken at home.

Old man Rickerbocker sat by himself biting his
nails. He wanted to go out for a smoke but he didn’t want to move,
nor did he have any smokes left anyway. He also wanted to get up
and join the others at the bar but he couldn’t work up the energy
to move, and he didn’t want to wake up with a hangover, either. He
wasn’t even sure if he wanted to wake up. Each day seemed to be
worse than the one before it, and he feared what tomorrow would
bring. He just sat there, unmoving, hoping time would be so kind as
to return the favor.

Frankie stood with a hand on Chung-Hee’s shoulder
and did his best to console him over the guilt he felt for Shorty’s
death. Chung-Hee had a feeling when he first met Ben that something
evil was behind his somber eyes. He felt the exact opposite about
Shorty. Shorty was a kind soul, an intimidating looking man but as
gentle as the Jolly Green Giant. Chung-Hee couldn’t help but feel
responsible for his death—it was his plan after all. He hoped, in
the back of his mind, that somehow he wasn’t dead. That maybe he
freed Ben and, unable to face the others, left on foot in an unseen
direction. But despite what his mind hoped, his heart knew
otherwise. And that was partly, if not entirely, Chung-Hee’s cross
to bear.

A group of four sat away from everyone else. They
were all that was left of the group from the truck stop eatery.
Among them were an older man with speckled and spotted skin named
Angus, a chubby woman in her late thirties named Carrie, who only
seemed capable of crying, and an Arabian man named Abdul-Ba'ith,
who’d been accused multiple times of having something to do with
the current situation—he’s been fighting for his life from the
living and the dead since the news broke, and a party loving,
flip-flop wearing Floridian named Chuck who came to visit
relatives—he barely survived the airport, and his tan was beginning
to fade.

Chuck kept looking toward the bar area and after
very little mental debate headed towards it. He too drank wine as
if it were juice, in swallows not sips. After his belly warmed up
from the wine he switched to whiskey. Chuck did love to party.