The Undead Survivor Series (Book 2): Undead and the City

by Radke, K. E.

  Keeping her steps light, she crouched and skulked toward the occupied SUV. As far as she could tell, the silhouette in the window wasn’t moving.

  Out of sight near the front wheel, she tiptoed right under the back window and took a deep breath. Revealing the top of her head, she leveled her gaze with the tinted window and peered inside.

  A semi-melted, black hand flopped against the window followed by a set of teeth. She leaped back and put her hand over her heart trying to keep it from jumping out of her chest.

  Resuming her spot, she tried to see beyond the ghoul’s open mouth. The window fogged up from her breath as she placed her finger against the glass and whisked it in different directions. The ghoul did not follow it. Hands joined the head obscuring her view and she stood there and watched it thump its head against the glass, licking the window to make sure she had its attention.

  Ducking out of sight below the window, the parasite continued to hurl itself against the glass. In a crouch, she rounded the car to the other side and peeked through the other back window and got another enthusiastic greeting of a gnarly tongue and snapping teeth.

  Inspecting the ugly mouth, she couldn’t tell if it was the same one trying to eat her from the other side or a new one. The tinted windows made her eyes strain to glimpse anything inside the SUV from the front passenger window. She couldn’t tell if the key was in the ignition, and there was only one way to find out.

  Inhaling slowly, she placed her hand on the door handle and wrapped her fingers around it. On the exhale she pulled the car door open and made sure she kept the door between her and the parasite. The rotting flesh aroma punched Gloria in the face making her bend at the waist and dry heave.

  Everything in her stomach threatened to revolt as she twisted her head to keep an eye on her foe. Taking a few breaths through her mouth, she finally righted herself as the goopy pile of flesh fell flat on its face on the concrete.

  She peeked under the car door. Its legs were still inside the car as its arms flailed around trying to lift its torso. Slowly its hands cooperated, and the face peeled off the ground leaving a pile of teeth in its wake.

  Gloria coaxed it away from the SUV to make sure she had enough distance not to nick the vehicle in case she missed. Her fingers wrapped around the Glock like it was an old friend.

  It wiggled onto its feet, the head still searched for its prey while its legs stepped from behind the car door in her direction. Three steps later it fell flat on its face again. Gloria chuckled as the gray, melted butt jiggled from impact.

  Pants were a tangled mess around his ankles, the main reason he couldn’t chase her down. With his legs tied up, he rocked back on his knees and ended up on all fours. She tilted her head to the right wondering if he landed on his woody. Shaking the curiosity away a second later, Gloria lined up her shot and hit him in the cheek blowing its jaw off.

  Another body stumbled out the car barefoot with panties tangled around her ankle. Gloria had the shot ready as soon as the ghoul cleared the door. Cursing under her breath, she rolled her eyes instead of shooting.

  The completely nude woman gave her a full-frontal view of leftover melted flesh from being cooked inside the SUV. Her mini skirt was flipped backward, scrunched in the middle of her stomach, and she was missing her top revealing every crevice before she tripped over the man trying to get to his feet. Her huge, floppy breasts bounced off his back cushioning her fall and Gloria almost expected her to bounce back to her feet.

  Like two dogs humping, Gloria watched them both struggle to regain their footing and come after her. “This is just getting embarrassing . . . unless she ate your penis. If that’s the case I have someone else for her to meet,” Gloria mumbled bitterly under her breath. Exhaling calmly, she admitted, “Y’all died happier than most.”

  Gloria shot the girl in the shoulder missing her head. Another two missed shots had chunks of flesh and blood splattered over the ground like she was painting a canvas. Growing frustrated she blew off the woman’s head releasing more bullets than necessary and planned to head to the range to practice soon.

  Both bodies were headless and splayed on the ground before she approached them a full minute later. Nothing made a grab for her and she sighed at the next task. She quickly scanned the area before she knelt beside the motionless bodies. Something would show up soon after all the noise she made—whether it’s dead or alive.

  Obscenities echoed throughout the parking garage when she found nothing in the pants around the ankles. The girl was obviously not hiding anything, but Gloria tugged on the material around her waist just in case. Emptyhanded, Gloria checked the backseat and stuck her hand in the black hole between the seats and pulled out a condom. She quickly threw it out the door gagging, and held her hand out as far as she could, flicking it back and forth with disgust.

  Unable to decontaminate her hand, she gave the ghouls a few kicks for compensation.

  She lingered and inspected the backseat for another minute, ready to move to the other side when she saw a glint of metal. Hidden under a dark, leather keychain that blended with the dark carpet, the key was concealed.

  In the driver’s seat she said a little prayer before turning the key. The engine rolled over and she whooped with excitement. Before putting it in drive, she rolled down all the windows to give her nose some manageable air to breathe.

  

  Heath watched the old woman disappear in the hazy smoke and wondered if she’d just abandoned them. She didn’t seem very fond of anyone in her group—not worried that they were all still knocked out except for Wyatt.

  He’d swerved at the last moment following Gloria into an abandoned store right before the gas lines ignited. Wyatt, his pack and the wheelchair toppled over when he tripped over a broken shelf on the ground and the blast caused debris to fall from the ceiling. Gloria was conked on the head and Wyatt blacked out from the pain radiating from his broken foot.

  It took about ten minutes to stanch the wound on Gloria’s head before they headed out to search for Noah and Lincoln. He’d carried Wyatt and they split the guns between the two of them—he made sure to carry the heavier ones. The old woman wouldn’t admit it, but she could barely walk in a straight line.

  The color in her face returned when they stumbled across the man she called Peter and he was still breathing—even if she did call him a cunt—Heath saw the relief on her face.

  He didn’t know what to do after she left, he was never left in charge. Everyone always used him for his brawn, never his brain. Wyatt whistled to get his attention, “I’d say go after her, but then I’d be the only one left to protect those two.” He gestured to Lincoln and Noah and pointed to his foot, “That’s like wishing for death. At least she only took two guns.”

  “You think she’s running?”

  “I honestly hope not,” Wyatt said grimly and unconvinced. “I have to warn you, she really does have Alzheimer’s. She could lose her memory at any moment and completely disappear without actually abandoning us on purpose. Lincoln is actually her son but in her mind he’s her husband. And she hates her husband.”

  Heath nodded and tried to follow. “Which one’s Lincoln?”

  “The big one.”

  “And Peter?”

  “That would be the dead husband,” Wyatt explained.

  “That’s good to know. Should I go after her?” Heath asked, worried about the old woman on her own.

  “No, I need you to help me with Lincoln and Noah. After they wake up, we can go after her. We should probably get everyone inside this sandwich shop so we’re all in one place—and by we, I mean you,” Wyatt said wincing in pain.

  “Aren’t we supposed to leave them alone just in case they have spine injuries?” Heath replied unsure.

  “Do you plan on waiting for the ambulance too?” Wyatt asked nicely with a sarcastic ring to it. Heath glowered at him and Wyatt apologized, “I’m in a lot of pain. I swear I’m much nicer than this. We just need to get out of view, and I’d h
elp but I’m pretty useless in this situation.”

  Heath wanted to kick Wyatt’s foot to make sure the man wasn’t faking the injury. His eyes flickered from Wyatt’s face to his foot.

  “We don’t know each other very well,” Wyatt spoke up with suspicious tone, “so I have no problem shooting you if I need to.”

  The threat stopped Heath’s foot from twitching forward.

  Instead he sighed and crossed the lot to where Lincoln had passed out again. Gauging the distance, he picked a path with the least amount of glass and rubble.

  The moment he tried to pick up Lincoln, the man tried to fight him off. Unintelligible threats were made as Lincoln tried to lift his arms to keep Heath away. Moving Lincoln little by little, Heath finally dragged him inside the building through the giant hole in the wall.

  Inside the sandwich shop, the scuffed black and white tile was layered with chips and soot. Walls were branded with flame marks, the graffiti of the new world. Pieces of tables and chairs were scattered around dusted with stuffing from cushions. Any food items left behind succumbed to mold or were burnt to a crisp.

  Outside the building against the wall, Wyatt scrutinized the fog of dust for any threats with his finger near the trigger on his H&K.

  Down the street, the Mexican restaurant collapsed in on itself and gave the blazing fire more flammable materials to devour. The flames licked at the brick walls of the buildings around it trying to find an entrance.

  Heath counted the buildings between the fire and them. Without any restraints the whole city could burn down. It’s also the best distraction for their escape. Everyone should be trying to get the fire under control.

  Noah was easily carried and placed next to Lincoln. The pile of guns and packs were moved next, and then he helped Wyatt inside. By the time he sat down with an AK settled beside him, the dust particles began to thin out and Heath wondered how long they’d have before someone came wandering down the street to investigate.

  Wyatt strategically placed himself against a wall where he could keep an eye on the entrance and partially hide behind a broken table. “Do you think anyone is coming after us?” Wyatt inquired breathing through his pain.

  “If they feel like dying today. The fire from the explosion should keep them away from this side if they even remember we’re over here. We should probably start moving as far as we can from it,” Heath answered with a suggestive tone.

  Wyatt sighed growing irritated with his foot. “If the living don’t come for us—the dead will,” he concluded tightening his grip on the H&K.

  “Even if someone shows up, the only people alive to tell the story are sitting in this room,” Heath stated raising his eyebrows at Wyatt with a smart expression. “Plus, no one will risk wandering up the street until the dust clears. And they’d have to do it on their own because I’m pretty sure everyone who gave orders around here just blew up.”

  Gravel dragged across the concrete in the few seconds of silence between them. The slow gait became a rhythm and Heath immediately got to his feet with the AK to take a position near the giant hole in the building. He squinted in the cloud of dust listening for the noise to aim in the right direction, but the only sound he could hear was his own breath.

  Wiping the sweat from his brow, he hears a shot and feels a slight gush of air brush the side of his head. The wall behind him catches a bullet and he immediately ducks behind the barrier below him. On his knee he peers through the hole in the wall for the shooter. The slow dragging gait returns and out of the smoke a man limps forward aiming his gun with a purpose.

  “Murray?” Heath hollered while lining up his shot. Even without his hat, the cowboy was still recognizable by his snakeskin boots and giant belt buckle.

  Attempting to answer, Murray’s mouth twitched, and the agonizing pain made his eyesight blur. Drool slipped from the side of his mouth. The cold saliva against the angry, welted, crimson skin soothed it for a second before it started to blaze again.

  The mottled flesh dipped on the right side of his mouth forming a permanent frown. Fresh air sunk like daggers into his disfigured face and the slightest motion tore at the open wound. Small particles from the blast nestled inside the liquified flesh grinding against the burned skin like microscopic parasites.

  The boiling oil hit him diagonally across his face, sizzling the flesh below his right cheek, and over his mouth down the left side of his chin. Streaks burned down his neck, the dripping oil losing momentum on his chest because it soaked into his shirt. Scorching his fingers, he tried to remove the substance, helpless as every singed nerve raged against the mutilation.

  Luckily, he’d been standing because no one offered him a seat at the table. The two men in charge took the brunt of the blistering oil. She tossed it on them like a team drenching their coach after a good game.

  Wretched, animalistic screams pierced Murray’s ears. He could also hear their skin slowly cooking. The sizzled flesh permeated the room with the smell of freshly cooked meat. Both men bucked against their chairs and the table toppled over in their futile effort to escape from the intense pain. Hands flailed over the sweltering burned tissue. Raw, blistering skin flared in pain with every small touch. They shriveled blindly on the floor in agonizing pain and tried to endure the throbbing mess of their faces.

  Rage powered Murray’s swift thinking and he had enough wits to pull his gun from the holster. He watched the two cooks disappear into the kitchen with blurred vision. Distorted growls rippled from his throat, and out of his deformed mouth. A single thought of revenge pulled him out of his pain-induced stupor as he tunneled into a deep furious wrath.

  Swinging one foot in front of the other, Murray’s pulse raced as he burst into the kitchen ready to shoot both chefs’ in their kill spot. Gas enveloped him immediately in the small, empty kitchen, filling his nostrils with the toxic scent. Unable to cover his nose and mouth without causing immense pain, he shallowed a breath and held it until he exited out the backdoor.

  The ruling duo were taken out by two cooks with oil—or at least, that’s the story he’s sticking to. Everyone in the little surviving town would need a new leader and the opportunity was just handed to him on a silver platter. A crafty smile fell over his marred mouth and pain ricocheted through his entire face and down his neck. Tears fell from the corner of his eye as he refocused his energy on distancing himself as far as he could from the exit without losing sight of the doorway.

  One shot rang out in the back alley.

  Murray ran as far as the adrenaline would take him in the opposite direction he fired his bullet in. Seconds ticked by before someone pulled the trigger inside the restaurant and knocked on death’s door without even realizing it. A catastrophic blast followed the gunshot, bursting through the back door trying to find an escape route. The ground vibrated before his feet were in the air and he was flying.

  He didn’t remember landing. Just the insufferable sting of his melted flesh being ripped from the concrete. Stumbling around in a dizzy haze after he managed to stand, he followed the voices hoping to kill everyone he picked up at the electronics shop. There was no doubt in his mind they were the ones responsible for his newly disfigured face.

  Finding Heath alive and well was a surprise. He narrowed his eyes at the man in suspicion. Murray thought Heath would be the first guard killed considering his massive size. Anyone would agree he was the biggest threat. If Heath survived, maybe his crew was still alive—but his gut instinct told him to be cautious.

  A slight breeze made him wince, the skin crackling under the small pressure. Heath’s words were muddled, running together—even under normal circumstances the massive man was hard to understand with his lisp. All Murray wanted was revenge for his scarred face. His grip wavered on the gun as soon as he tightened his fingers around it. The taut muscles in his neck stretched the inflamed skin every time he flexed his hand.

  Wyatt whispered across the room to Heath, repeating threats he’d deliver. His voice was a low murmur f
or only Heath to hear, “I swear to God if you sell us out, I will shoot you where you stand.”

  Heath squinted at a shadow behind Murray in the light film of dust still plaguing the area. He stood up and tightened his grip on the AK.

  Murray tensed at the movement and automatically aimed at Heath ignoring the pain it caused.

  “Murray, who’s with you?” Heath called out in a demanding voice.

  A hand appeared behind Murray and swiped along his shoulder and neck.

  TEN

  T he slightest brush along the charred flesh sent waves of torture through Murray’s nerves. Angling away from the grotesque hand, he stumbled away, and watched the ugly specimen struggle to determine which direction to head in.

  Twisting its neck with a flare of its nostrils, the ghoul finally turned toward Murray and snapped its teeth in his direction. Black melted flesh drooped away from its skull. One scorched, sunken, onyx eye was still in its socket with a nail file protruding out of it.

  Clumsy charred fingertips whipped out in front of the parasite and found flesh. It clawed down Murray’s cheek causing him to howl in agony at the stolen skin beneath its fingers. Black dots invaded Murray’s vision and the ringing in his ears clamored to the point he could hear nothing else. Before the muncher’s ashen tongue licked the goo off its fingers, Murray aimed the gun and blew its brains out.

  Another hand dug into his shoulder from behind. He cried out trying to stifle the whimpers by clenching his teeth together. Unable to rotate out of the cannibal’s grasp, Murray slammed the butt of his gun against the hand several times. The rotting flesh ripped and crunched under every blow, leaving streaks of blood and tissue behind as two fingers fell off.

  Screams echoed off the buildings as he dealt with another hand pulling on his shirt. Yelling in frustration at the material chafing against his raw, burnt skin, he ignored the insurmountable pain it caused and stretched the seared flesh by aiming at his foe.