Stay Dead: A Novel (5 page)

Davis and his men drove up in a fury with
guns blazing. He was driving his own pickup and the back was full
of locals and their peacemakers. The creatures spread out,
clustering towards the closest prey. The dead things seemed to be
moving quicker now that a meal ticket was in reach. Davis was doing
donuts around them, taking a few out with his fender every
time.

One got wrapped up in the wheel well causing
the truck to jerk unexpectedly. Jones watched the tail end of the
truck in horror as one of the guys went flying out of the back. Two
of the other guys tried to grab him but their attempt almost sent
them out as well. Before he even hit the ground, vicious undead
marauders were on him, pulling at him.

The poor son of a bitch was Roger, one of
Davis’s fishing buddies!

Roger fired at blurry hands as he fell but
was bitten at the waist. He screamed. The gang in the back of the
truck fired as best they could. Then one of the men shot Roger in
the head. Whether it was on purpose, or an accident, it put Roger
out of his misery. He wouldn’t be able to feel the teeth and
fingers digging out his guts and plucking out his eyes to feast
upon. Once his warm flesh began to cool, however, the dead things
let his corpse lie, unable to sleep. Moments later, Roger, a pile
of unrecognizable shredded flesh, complete with a hole in his head,
got up and joined the ranks of the dead.

Dane’s expression grew grim. His only desire
was to get home to Susan, pop on the television and watch nothing
remotely interesting as the aroma of fresh coffee filtered in from
the kitchen. Those daydreams came to a quick end when the gristle
and gray matter started spattering on his cruiser. A scream came
from the right of where Dane was standing. It was punctuated by the
sounds of gunfire and the grunting of the dead, but it was a scream
nonetheless. Dane couldn’t see who it was. His vision was blurred
and he was close to passing out. So much madness in such a short
time, it was hell and hell was getting really hot.

Most of the men never had to fire their
weapons at anything other than targets and bottles, yet they were
now putting holes into heads. Some found they enjoyed it, the
violence was so addictive and enthralling. For most, though, death
stayed a taboo, one big question mark at the end of a life. Killing
was now a right of passage for the men of the new world if they
planned to survive.

More screams broke the monotony of the
gunfire. Someone else had fallen, another guy Davis had coerced
into bearing arms against the living dead. There were few dead
things left and with a few well-placed shots the numbers finally
dwindled to zero.

Alan began torching the remains of the
creatures and the few who fell victim to them. Thick black smoke
rose from the ground. The smell was awful. Dane wiped his sweaty
forehead, pulling chunks of flesh, and dried blood off himself. He
wanted to go home and shower, wrap his arms around Susan and feel
like a human being again. Instead he felt like a hollowed out husk,
a rusty robot in dire need of oil and lubrication.

Davis grabbed his talkie, his leathered face
covered in sweat. “South Roadblock come in.” He paused, waiting for
a reply.

“Sheriff, this is south. What’s up?”

“How you guys holding up? We just had
ourselves a helluva firefight.”

“What? Is everyone okay?” the voice from the
other end asked.

“No, we lost a few guys…we’re going to need
something more than a roadblock if more of these fuckers come to
town. Get your guys and meet me at George’s lot,” said Davis.

“See ya there. Over.”

All the men at the North roadblock were
either huddled together or else in their vehicles as Davis pulled
up. He opened his door, standing a head above his truck while using
the door for leverage, “Listen up,” he yelled, “Finish torching
these dead fucks and everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, meet me at
George’s lot! This shit’s only begun.”

***

Jeff had just finished his sandwich, dipping
his last bit of roll into some hummus. His father had a room
temperature bottle of Budweiser lingering off his lip. The kids
were eating peanut butter and jelly. Apart from everyone chewing,
the only sound you could hear was the wind crashing against the
boarded-up windows. Barbara and Maria were eating some pasta left
over from the night before and Laura was having a bit of
everything. Barbara was tense and wanted to say something, she
actually wanted to breakdown and cry, but she kept herself in
check. The adults had agreed to keep cool in front of the kids
(there was no need to scare them more than they already were). And
they’d be in bed soon enough, leaving the adults to talk and curse
and cry all they wanted. Lunch was a late one and should have been
called dinner.

Walter and Jeff went out to the porch, beers
in hand, and looked up at the sky. It was almost dark.

Walter looked at his son. “Let’s take a
stroll around the house. Give it one last look.” He put the beer up
to his lip and kicked it back.

Jeff followed suit and they both took a
casual walk around the house. All the boards looked good, and there
was nothing in the distance besides the faint scent of smoke. A
drop of rain fell, then another. A line of cars passed the road in
the distance, Davis’s pickup leading the way. A rumble was heard in
the sky, lightning struck and thunder rolled.

Jeff and his father finished up their walk
around and ended right back on the porch. Walter looked up at the
sky and Jeff looked at his father. Jeff’s son, Tommy, came out to
the porch as well. Jeff put his arm around him and pulled him
closer. He had no idea what was going on, but he sure loved a
thunderstorm.

Everyone one was back in the family room with
their stomachs full. The rain started to come down heavier, it
wasn’t pouring, but it was more than a trickle on the roof. The
kids were getting antsy, so Maria decided to bring them upstairs.
She took a big flashlight and led the way. She lit a few candles on
the way to the room as well, and another inside the room so the
kids wouldn’t get too scared. Just for peace-of-mind she left the
flashlight with them. Tommy grabbed it and gave it to Sandra, and
then Sandra gave it to little Wally.

They weren’t quite ready for bed so they
started building a fort and playing with their toys. Maria sat in
the room and just watched. She loved them so much, and couldn’t
bear to think about what may lay ahead for them.

They started building a fort around her as
Sandra sat on her lap making goofy faces with the flashlight under
her chin. Maria started laughing and crying at the same time. Maria
wrapped her arms around Sandra and tackled the rest of them into
the halfway-built fort and brought the sheets down with her. You
could hear the laughter from the family room. The others smiled.
The rain continued to fall.

CHAPTER 4: The r
oad to
Hell

The two groups sat together in the warehouse
on pallets and crates, exchanging ideas and information. Ben’s
group was small; there were only two others, a guy that worked at
Mal-Mart, Chung-Hee, and a fellow truck driver, Shorty, whom he
picked up along the way. Shorty was an older man with a big goatee
and tattoos over most of his visible skin, Chung-Hee was in his
late teens, Korean, and he wore glasses and looked fairly athletic.
Ben and Shorty, who clearly was not short, had been on the road
since day one. Shorty was on his short band radio calling for help
after his truck ran out of gas when Ben got the call and made the
trip to get him. By the time Ben got there Shorty was on top of the
truck with his bag, wearing his unloading gloves and swinging a
crowbar at every dead hand that reached for him. Ben pulled up
alongside the truck, mowing down some of the creatures in the
process. Shorty nearly fell as he jumped onto the hood of the cab
and Ben told him to hold on as they went down the road a bit,
before could get inside the truck safely.

The next day they docked at the seemingly
vacant store and came across Chung-Hee, who had been surviving up
on the roof and in some isolated parts of the store. After getting
together, the trio had been working together to gather up whatever
supplies they could.

“I’m telling’ you, the safe zones are bullshit
deathtraps,” Ben yelled.

“It’s the best thing to do, there’s a group
of us, and with a lot of kids--” Gerty defended, before getting cut
off.

“To get to the closest military guarded safe
zone from here would mean going into Titan City, or Haddonfield.
Both of which would be suicide,” Ben said.

“Let’s not forget, that any bridge at this
point would be totally fucked, not to mention the tunnel,” Shorty
added.

“No matter where we go we’ll have to use a
bridge eventually,” Eddie chimed in.

“Either way you cut it, it’s a raw deal. But
the way I see it, I can only count on
ME
to look out for me”
Ben said, his eyes pleading. “Do you really think the government
can take care of us? We gotta take care of ourselves.”

“Look, we’re at the campgrounds,” Gerty said.
“You’re more than welcome to come and join us before you split, and
we can all talk some more. We should get out of here.” Then as she
turned and headed back and the further she moved away from him the
better she felt.

“Hey, wait a minute! Are there any weapons in
the store?” Frankie asked.

“Yeah. Not much. By layaway… but be careful:
there are more of those deaders around,” Chung-Hee said.

“I’ll go with you, I can’t believe I didn’t
think of that earlier,” Shorty said, feeling stupid.

“I’m going to keep loading the truck,” Ben
said. “I think we’ll follow you guys to your camp, so swing around
when you’re ready, if you don’t mind. Hopefully I can talk you out
of a death sentence.”

“Not a problem,” Eddie replied.

Shorty and Frankie had made it to the
sporting goods section near the layaway department, Jon-Jon and
Dawn following along. The glass showcases were smashed. Jon-Jon
walked around looking at the area; he saw no signs of lurkers, or
deaders as Chung-Hee called them. Frankie rummaged through the
cases and only found three small knives. Behind the counter was a
row of locked storage compartments. Shorty broke the locks with his
crowbar, revealing a treasure trove of hunting knives. Jon-Jon came
across some hunting and archery gear. He picked up a Crossbow and
whatever arrows he could find. He also grabbed a few Compound Bows
and whatever other bows were lying around. He wasn’t sure what went
with what, but figured someone at the campgrounds would know what
to do with them. Dawn was looking through the hunting gear. She put
on a camouflage cap and continued looking. Gerty came from around
the corner of an aisle with Eddie, Frankie, and Joseph. They had
bags upon bags around their shoulders.

Eddie looked at Jon-Jon’s haul and smiled,
“crossbow?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Nice.”

Eddie headed toward the layaway area, which
was just beyond the showcases. He slowly crept up to the dim area,
passing a return rack. He peeked into the area, locating the doors:
two were clearly bathrooms, and the other for an employee lounge.
He sniffed the air and whatever crawled up his nose told him to
quickly back up and leave. He did just that, if he learned anything
lately, it was to trust his instincts.

“We need to get out of here,” Eddie said,
almost whispering, but was clearly serious.

“What’s up?” Asked his brother, Joseph.

“I can smell them, who knows how many are
back there? Let’s just fuckin’ go! We got plenty of shit,” Eddie
insisted.

They followed behind him, no arguments,
jogging as quietly as possible. Eddie popped through the doors,
startling Ben who was quick to pull his gun, which in turn stopped
Eddie in his tracks. Chung-Hee looked whiter than a ghost, but
ready to bolt if need be.

“Sorry didn’t mean to scare you guys, just
wanted to let you know we’re getting the hell outta here,” Eddie
said. “We’ll meet you out back in a few.”

“All right, thanks. We’ll be waiting,” Ben
said, as he put his gun down.

Shorty came through the door with a gun
tucked into his pants, his crowbar in hand and a hunter’s bag slung
over his shoulder. Ben and Chung-Hee were done and pulling the door
down. Eddie took off out the door and headed toward the entrance
where Big Cups was waiting the whole time. The gang followed
behind, Gerty at the rear. When they reached the door Big Cups was
standing against the wall, his breath smelled of peanut butter and
chocolate but his expression was not of satisfaction but of total
fear. He dropped the walkie-talkie and everybody could clearly see
why. In the distance was a sea of grey–a virtual army of the dead,
ranks upon ranks of them. Groans and grunts filled the air. Joseph
grabbed the walkie-talkie and headed toward the vehicles, as did
the rest of them.

As they reached the rear of store where they
were to meet Ben, Shorty, and Chung-Hee, they heard the moans grow
louder and now could smell the lurking bastards. Ben heard it too,
and Chung-Hee grew whiter still, though any whiter he’d be a sheet
of paper. Shorty just looked tired, the hard lines of his face sat
like gouges.

“Lead the way!” Shorty yelled to them.

Frankie was halfway out of the parking lot.
Gerty followed behind in the new SUV, and Ben was right on her ass.
Ben looked in the oversized rear view mirror that barely hung to
the driver’s side of the truck. His jaw hit the floor and came back
up in time to help his lower lip quiver. He was seeing the sea of
grey behind him washing over the parking lot where they had just
been. The dead were in the street as well, probably in the woods
too, but it was too hard to tell. They were everywhere.