Life of the Dead Box Set [Books 1-5]

by Urban, Tony

  "When everything is handed to you on a gold plate, you don't need to believe in anything. But some of us, we experienced life. We know it isn't all Bentley's and Rolex's. We need to know there's someone above us to get us through the hard times. But you wouldn't know that."

  "You're just trying to make yourself feel better. At least I cop to my actions. I don't blame all this shit on some made up man in the sky to avoid responsibility."

  "You know, Mitch, when I first met you I thought you might be able to replace my son. Not really, of course, but in a way. Give me a second chance at being a mother. Boy, was I mistaken. You were an entitled asshole then and you're a mean-spirited son of a bitch now. Nothing at all like my son. " She smiled a little. "See, I can admit when I'm wrong."

  "Can I ask you something?" Mitch twirled his fingers around the handle of the war club.

  "You don't need my permission."

  Mitch slammed the metal end of the club into her mouth. Her bottom lip was torn in half, two ragged flaps of skin that sagged almost down to her chin. Most of her nicotine-stained teeth shattered and went flying through the air, accompanied by a spray of red saliva. Blood seeped from her gums and drained onto the ground.

  She turned her face up to him. He loved the pained look in her eyes, the destruction that marred the bottom half of her face. He knew she deserved that and so much more. He'd make this last days if he had the time, but he'd caught sight of a half dozen zombies coming up behind him. His gun was out of bullets and his only option was to run.

  The younger Mitch, the spoiled son of Senator SOB (Juli wasn't far off the mark on that) would have ran. He would have done anything to save his own ass. But time had changed him. He didn't care about getting away any more. All he cared about was teaching this bitch a lesson.

  "Do you still believe in God?" Mitch asked.

  Juli spit out a mouthful of blood and a few more chunks of teeth came with it. "Yes," she said.

  Mitch reared back with the club. "I don't."

  He swung again. Her skull went to pieces as the zombies grabbed him from behind and dragged him down. He could feel their teeth ripping into him, chunks of flesh being excised from his body.

  One got a hold of his ear and took it off in a single chomp. Another bit into his neck and Mitch could feel his hot blood coursing down his body. As far as ends went, he thought that was about as good as it got.

  Chapter 56

  Mead didn't like the numbers, but he was clad from head to toe in denim and armor and thought he'd be able to make it through all but the worst of attacks. The key, he believed, was not letting the motherfuckers surround him.

  Using his conduit spear, he was able to kill the zombies from a distance. Over and over again he jabbed the ends into their eyes and mouths and ears, destroying their brains with relative ease.

  He'd put down all the ones in his immediate vicinity and looked around to see who else, if anyone, was still standing. He first saw Juli dead on the ground, Mitch beside her as zombies gnawed away at him. Then, he found Saw in the river, fighting with his blades and destroying anything in his path.

  Further down, Wim used a machete to chop off the head of one zombie, then the upraised arm of another. He finished the maimed one off a moment later.

  There have to be more of us, Mead thought, but as he surveyed the area again he couldn't find any survivors on their feet. Only him, Wim, and Saw. The only good thing about that was that there were less than twenty zombies up and moving. The majority of them had grouped together in the center of the river, with only a couple stragglers in Wim's and Saw's vicinities.

  Mead thought, with more than a little surprise, they were going to win this after all. When Wim killed the two zombies remaining near him, and Saw dropped the four closest his position, all that remained was that huddled mass. And Mead had the perfect idea how to finish them.

  He splashed through the water until he reached the last bucket, picking it up, holding it above him to keep it dry.

  "Wim!" He called out. "You still have any bullets?"

  Wim looked to him. "Two."

  "Well, that's one more than we need."

  The men came together in the river and Mead held up the bucket. It was heavy, and his arms were getting tired. "These buckets are waterproof, right?"

  Wim shrugged his shoulders. "I reckon it'll stay dry for as long as we need."

  "Good. Then I'll chuck it over and you plunk it?"

  Wim nodded, but Saw reached out with his hand. "Give it to me, lads."

  "You want to throw it?" Mead asked. He was looking forward to that part, but he also realized Saw was stronger and probably had better aim.

  The excitement and jubilation he felt faded when Saw turned sideways and lifted his shirt.

  "I'm fooked," he said. "One of the little ones got me too. Never did much like kids. Maybe that was me penance."

  Mead handed him the bucket. "You don't have to..."

  "I know it. I want to." Saw looked at Wim. "Always did want to go out with a bang. Figure you can take care of that part, big boy."

  "If that's what you want."

  "Want's a little strong, but it'll do." Saw took a few steps away from them. A few steps closer to the zombies. "Let me ask you though, if you head back to Shard End, do me a favor and tell Mina I really did love her."

  "Tell that to her head, you mean?" Mead asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "Sure. That'll do. Daft old cow, she was. Don't think she ever realized how much I cared."

  Mead doubted a man who could put his lover's head on a spike was capable of genuine love, but then again, the world had gone hard and traditional niceties had changed. "Okay then, we will."

  "Thanks, for that." Saw moved another two yards closer to the zombies, but slower now. Like he wasn't quite ready for it all to end. "That was some hella good fighting today. One of you oughta write it down case there's a future after this. Hells bells, this was better than the Alamo. All of those fookers died, didn't they?"

  "I believe so," Mead said.

  "Aw, good then. We bested 'em in triplicate. Just be sure and get it right though. My name's Solomon Baldwin, but all me friends called me Saw."

  Saw was just a few feet from the zombies and they now moved toward him, closing the distance quickly.

  "It was good knowing you, boys!" He called out, then clutched the bucket against his chest, embracing it.

  Mead and Wim rushed to the side of the river, getting as far as possible from the blast radius, but as soon as the zombies were on Saw, they stopped.

  Wim raised the rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  Saw went boom, and so did the last of Grady's zombie army.

  Chapter 57

  Wim was so exhausted he barely made it back up the embankment. They'd checked all the bodies making sure no one who should have been alive wasn't somehow still clinging to life and ensuring that everything that should have been dead was. That took over an hour, slopping back and forth through the river, and it had sapped him of all his energy.

  The day's events replayed over and over again through his mind, like a TV station stuck on the same program. In many ways it was worse than his most dire predictions, but in others, he still couldn't believe they'd emerged victorious, even if it was just the two of them. Stopping Grady's mad march was worth all the death. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

  They were heading to the camp where their supplies and animals had been left before the fighting, still a hundred feet away when Wim saw movement.

  He stopped in his tracks so abruptly that Mead almost plowed him over from behind.

  "What the hell?"

  "Someone's there."

  Mead moved to his side and followed his gaze. He saw it too. Someone sat on the ground, rocking back and forth in a way that made Wim think of the way of monks doing chants.

  He raised his rifle and peered through the scope to get a better look, but Mead had already taken out binoculars and beat him to it. "Fuck me si
deways!" Mead said.

  Grady O'Baker sat at their camp, swaying like tall grass in the breeze. He was unarmed and appeared uninjured.

  "Just shoot the fucker," Mead said.

  Wim thought the idea wasn't half bad, but first he wanted to talk to the man whose actions had brought them to this point.

  They continued and when they were close enough, Wim could hear Grady saying something. Repeating it over and over again. A little further and he realized the man wasn't speaking, he was singing.

  "I see a Crimson stream of blood. It flows from Calvary. Its waves reach the throne of God, are sweeping over me. Today no condemnation, abides to turn away. My soul from His Salvation. He's in my heart to--"

  Their coming footsteps interrupted the hymn and Grady looked their way.

  "Is everyone dead?"

  Wim nodded. "All except us."

  Grady rose to his feet, his face peaceful or blank, Wim couldn't tell which. "As it was prophesized and shown to me."

  "You fucknugget!" Mead shouted. "You're happy about this? About everyone dying?"

  Wim held up his hand for silence and Mead reluctantly relented.

  "I need a minute. Do you got this?"

  Wim nodded again, and Mead grabbed the reigns for the donkey and led it away, leaving just the two of them.

  "You're Wim, aren't you?"

  "I am."

  "A farmer. A good man. Throughout these trials, you've saved many people."

  "Not nearly enough."

  "There's never enough, are there?"

  Wim wasn't sure what the little man expected, but his very presence unnerved him. "You ran while your people died?"

  Grady took a step toward him. "They didn't die. Their bodies may have, but today their sins were washed away and their spirits, their souls, have been called home."

  The man moved closer to him and Wim took an instinctive step back. He dwarfed the short, slight supposed preacher, but he didn't trust anything about this situation.

  "And now it's your turn," Grady said.

  Wim's hand tightened around the stock of his rifle. "You want to kill me now? Kill me to save me?"

  Grady tilted his head. Something close to a smile crossed his mouth. "Oh no. No, Wim. Not that at all."

  "Then what are you going on about my 'turn'?

  "It's your turn to send me home." Grady held his arms out at his side as if he were strung up on an imaginary cross. "Now, you must kill me, Wim."

  Wim let go of the rifle. All of this was crazy but this was the cherry on the sundae. "I'm not gonna kill you."

  "You are. Just as God showed me."

  Wim turned away from him, leaving him and instead going to Gypsy who grazed on the dry grass, uninterested in the goings on.

  He heard Grady's footsteps behind him. He was running. "Stop, Wim! Stop right now!"

  Wim didn't stop. A moment later Grady was on his heels. The little man grabbed his shirt, trying to pull him away from the horse, with no success.

  "It was in the vision!"

  Wim spun around, raising his elbow and catching Grady in the face. The man fell to the ground, a small trickle of blood seeping from his left nostril. "Keep away from me," Wim said.

  Grady climbed to his knees and started to his feet when Wim raised his hand which was balled into a fist.

  "I mean it now. Keep away or I'll knock you silly."

  Grady sagged back, his face full of panic, fear. "You have to kill me!"

  "I don't got to do anything for you."

  "Not for me, Wim. For God! This is his plan. It was all his plan. I was doing what he commanded of me. Now you have to do the same." Grady clasped his hands together, pleading.

  Wim had never been so disgusted in another human being. "If God wants you dead, then let him do it himself."

  Without another word, Wim hopped on Gypsy and gave her reigns a curt shake. He didn't care about taking any of the other provisions. He wanted away from Grady. Away from it all.

  As he rode off, he could hear the man screaming, wailing. And Wim didn't feel the slightest bit guilty.

  Chapter 58

  Wim rode back to Shard End with Mead. He told the man about Aben's dog and, when they reached town, Mead raced to Saw's house and thrust open the door and Wim thought he looked about as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. The dog ran straight past him, looking for his owner, and seemed disappointed when he was nowhere to be found. It took a couple days, but Prince eventually seemed to realize that his old buddy wasn't coming back, and he accepted Mead as a suitable replacement. Wim enjoyed seeing how much the man cared about the dog. He thought they both deserved someone to love them.

  It seemed like the smart thing would have been to stay in Shard End with Mead, at least for the winter, but Wim couldn't bear to spend another week in the West, let alone a season. Mead helped him fill a wagon with food and assorted tools, and a couple days later they said their goodbyes. Wim knew he'd miss the man who had initially seemed to be such an odd duck but turned out to be one of the best men he'd ever known. And maybe the best friend he'd ever had. But home - his real home - in Pennsylvania, was calling. It wasn't God's voice, it was the sounds of his past. And even if nothing but memories remained, Wim needed to be with them.

  Chapter 59

  The journey from West Texas back to Pennsylvania was arduous, at times torturous, and constantly a pain in his rear end. He hit winter weather around the time he got to Oklahoma and a blizzard in Missouri forced him to hole up in a stable for almost ten days.

  He avoided the cities and the few times he came close enough to them to get a good look, he saw they were overrun with zombies. The small towns weren't as bad. Most of the time he was able to slip by them unnoticed. If they did catch on, a little extra prod made Gypsy trot faster and he moved on with little ado.

  On the entire trip, he was only forced to kill a few dozen zombies, and that was spread out over five months. That was still more than enough though. He'd lost his desire to end them. Now, he just wanted to avoid them.

  There were no adventures to be had, it was just mile after mile after mile of riding. One day bled into the next into the next. On many a day, he thought he'd lose his mind from the boredom. And, truth be told, he thought maybe he'd lost it already. Why else would he subject himself, and this old horse, to such pointlessness?

  But, once winter passed and he began to see some of his beloved color green back in the world, his attitude and his optimism took a decidedly good turn for the better. When he crossed the Ohio/Pennsylvania border, the spring rains couldn't dampen his spirit. He thought that even Gypsy seemed more at home here, then realized that was only his mind playing tricks on him because he'd found the horse in North Carolina and the odds that she'd ever been in Pennsylvania were about as likely as it was that he'd wake up and discover this had all been a wild dream.

  He was two days out from his old farm and they felt like the longest days of the entire journey. He tried to steel himself for something bad, like maybe a wildfire had gone through and razed his simple abode. Or that zombies had overrun the whole place and he'd be forced to go elsewhere. He told himself he could accept either, so long as he could have an hour or two to sit by his Mama's grave and tell her everything that had happened. Tell her everything her boy, who had never before been more than fifty miles away from home in all his life, had been through. Even though she wouldn't be able to respond, he wanted her to know.

  Wim was so excited that he cut loose the wagon ten miles from home, abandoning the paved roads which were winding and roundabout, to instead ride Gypsy across the fields and pastures of his neighbors. That ‘as the crow flies’ tactic shaved an hour off the trip and soon he crested the little hill where his entire family was buried.

  He climbed down from Gypsy, who appreciated the break, and walked the rest of the way to the family plot. He was relieved to see nothing had happened to their tombstones, although what exactly he'd been worried about, he did not know. They looked the same as when h
e left, unmarred in any way.

  "I'm home, Mama." He dropped to his knees in front of her headstone, laying his arms on top of it and kissing the cold granite. I'm finally home."

  He saw purple and yellow crocus flowers blooming in front of the stone and was so happy he almost lost his composure and broke down in tears. These were new, and he supposed a chipmunk or squirrel must have dragged some bulbs in from somewhere and left them lay there long enough to take root. They were a welcome addition.

  The entire afternoon passed, and Wim didn't move from that spot. He told Mama just about everything that had happened but sugar-coated a few of the more disturbing parts. He told her about the friends he'd loved and lost. About the places he'd been too and seen. By the time he was finished, he was so hoarse he couldn't get out any more words and that was when he decided to see what condition the house and barn were in, if they were still standing at all.

  He took his time walking to them, his stomach in knots over worry about what he might find. He told himself that, if they were fallen in or gone, he'd find a way to rebuild. He was never much of a handy man, but he didn't need anything fancy. Just a couple rooms and a shed or barn big enough to keep a few animals. He was a simple man with simple needs.

  To his relief, the farmhouse and barn both stood tall. Some of the siding had blown off the house and the barn was missing some shingles, but those would be easy fixes. He didn't realize how much he'd missed all of this until he saw it.

  As he passed by the barn, he heard the all too familiar sound of chickens and he broke into a trot as he circled around to the source of the sound. He found over a dozen of them roaming around the back side of the building, pecking away at the ground for bugs and worms. The birds seemed unconcerned with his presence, but he was almost ecstatic over theirs. One wandered right up to his feet and didn't so much as flinch when he reached down and ruffled the feathers on its back. She just gave a contented cluck, cluck and went back to sourcing something to eat.