The Dead Collection Box Set #1: Jack Zombie Books 1-4

by Flint Maxwell

  I highly doubt that. Like I said, there’s always something to worry about.

  Darlene smiles, a false smile to cover the sadness. I want to grab her and tell her it’s going to be okay, but I know she won’t listen to me. So she changes the subject. “Can we visit Abby?” she asks.

  Brittney tilts her head back and forth. “It’s probably best to let her rest, but if you’re quiet and you don’t wake her up, I don’t see the problem. Just don’t tell Phyl. She’ll chew me out again.”

  “Thank you,” Darlene says.

  “Yes, thank you!” Herb says. He starts around the desk to give Brittney a hug, and Brittney backs her chair up into the wall.

  Norm grabs Herb by the back of the shirt, stopping him. “Nuh-uh, buddy. You gotta buy her a drink first.”

  Herb scrunches his face up. “Huh? I don’t got no money. You know that, Norm!”

  “Me, neither, pal,” he says, pulling his empty pockets inside out. It’s actually quite comical. Norm just saved Brittany a few fractured ribs from one of Herb’s big bear hugs.

  We head to the door where Abby is.

  Darlene is the first one into the operating room that was once a garage. All the blood has been cleaned up. The smell is something like bleach and disinfectant and possibly singed meat. The bunched up curtains are now drawn, separating another hospital bed. There is the steady beeping of machinery, the whooshing of labored breathing. Darlene draws Abby’s curtain. A hunk of gauze is wrapped around her arm. On the arm is no longer a hand. It’s gone from about three inches above the wrist. Abby’s hair is dry, no longer clinging to her forehead and face. It’s brushed and lying in waves, covering the pillow. Her chest rises and falls serenely.

  “She looks peaceful,” I say.

  Darlene sniffles. “Thank God you were there, Jack. Thank God you carried her.”

  I smile. “I would never leave her. I would never leave any of you.” I turn to look at Norm, but he turns his face away from me and brings his hand up to his eyes. “Norm…are you crying?” I ask in a shocked whisper.

  “N-No,” he says. “Just a lot of dust in here.”

  “It’s okay, buddy,” Herb says, patting Norm on the back.

  “I’m not!” Norm says.

  He is. He definitely is. God, I never thought I’d see my tough older brother cry. This is a day that should go down in the history books.

  Then Abby stirs, and we all hold our breath, but she doesn’t open her eyes. She will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.

  Twenty-Five

  After we leave the med center we head to Jacob’s cabin. The blood has also been cleaned up here. Where Abby’s hand is I have no clue, nor do I want to know. Jake greets us holding a candle. He wears blue and white striped pajamas. His wife snores in a room down the hall.

  “You two can stay in the living room and crash on the floor,” Jacob says, pointing to Herb and Norm. “Unfortunately, I don’t got a bed big enough for Herb here.”

  “Not many people do,” Norm says.

  We all share a laugh.

  “That okay?” Jacob asks.

  “Do you have pillows and blankets?” Norm asks.

  “Yes, sir,” Jacob says.

  “You could stick me in a kennel and I’d be fine if you gave me a pillow and a blanket. Anything beats the cramped backseats of a Jeep or a crappy van,” Norm says.

  “Amen,” I say.

  “And you two lovers can take the spare bedroom. It was originally meant for my coin collection, but I couldn’t save them all when we had to move camps a few months back. So don’t mind the big ledgers. You can look if you want, just don’t take any out or anything like that.” Jacob offers us a wink. “Got a bed and a spare bathroom.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Don’t mention it. Just make sure you have my back tomorrow,” he says.

  “You’re going?” I ask as we walk down the hallway. There’s large paintings on the walls. Mountains. Sunsets. Serene beaches swallowed up by deep, blue oceans.

  “I never miss a supply run. It’s a way for me to…unwind,” Jacob says.

  Darlene looks at me and rolls her eyes. I can almost hear her saying Men in her best feminist’s voice.

  Jacob opens the door to the spare bedroom. It’s small, but pleasant. The bed is barely large enough for us to share, but we’ll make do. There is a window on the opposite wall where we can see the stars settled into the night sky almost perfectly. On the walls is a painting of a huge tree, like the kind I helped bury the Richards family beneath. Vibrant greens. Rich browns. It almost feels like home.

  I step in, the carpet feeling wonderful on my bare feet, and what I see almost brings me to my knees.

  Tucked away in the far corner on a small table is a typewriter. It’s pale blue. The metal shines. The keys sit tall and proud.

  “Yeah,” Jacob is saying, “there’s spare blankets in the closet. The toilet doesn’t always flush on the first go-around. You might have to jimmy the handle…”

  His voice fades away. Faintly, I hear Darlene saying, “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

  I am too enamored by this simple piece of technology. It’s not a computer or a laptop or a tablet; it’s just a fine piece of writing machinery. Something my grandfather might’ve written many years ago when he was trying to publish sci-fi and horror shorts in magazines like Weird Tales and Ghastly. My heart swells to the point of me having to look away. It’s been so long since I’ve written. I didn’t know how much I missed it until now.

  I am under its spell. Worlds are building themselves in my head, knocking at the roof of my cranium, begging to come out and be shared.

  “Jack?” Jacob says.

  I shake my head and blink stupidly. “Uh, yeah, sorry.”

  “Down, boy,” Darlene says, hands squeezing an imaginary spray bottle.

  “You okay?” Jacob asks.

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s just I haven’t seen one of those in a long time.”

  “That old thing?” Jacob says, following my pointed finger. “I found it in a small town antique store about ten miles south of here. Grady wanted someone to type up meeting agendas, and I said I’d do it.”

  “Jack was a writer before…” Darlene says.

  “No bull? A writer like an author?” Jacob asks. His bushy eyebrows are almost stretched up to his hairline.

  “Yeah, I had a few books in print,” I say.

  “Anything I would’ve read?” he asks.

  “Probably not. I wasn’t too popular, but it paid the bills.” In hindsight with the zombies and all I think I should’ve spent more time learning weapons and defense. It’s 20/20, right?

  “All you need to do,” he says.

  “Jack even wrote a zombie novel,” Darlene says, saying zombie like it’s a bad word, and I guess it kind of is nowadays.

  Jacob shudders. “No, I wasn’t a fan of those horror books. Mainly, I liked war stories and the occasional romance.”

  “No way!” Darlene says. “I loved the romance books.”

  Jacob shrugs. “What can I say? My wife got me into them and I have a soft heart.” He smiles.

  Let’s hope that’s not the case tomorrow when we’re in D.C.

  Darlene looks at me with one of those why-can’t-you-be-more-like-him looks, then says, “You ever read Kane’s Sweet Sorrow?” Darlene asks.

  “All sixteen of them!” Jacob says. He’s beaming now. Next thing you know he’s going to start jumping up and down and squeeing like a girl. “I got the last five in my closet.”

  “Where they should stay…” I mumble.

  “Pardon?” Jacob asks.

  “Oh, nothing,” I say, smiling.

  Darlene gives me a new look, this one called the stare of death. I will not be getting lucky tonight.

  “Right,” Jacob says, “don’t knock it until you try it. What’s zombie literature to romance? A step above, maybe? But I digress. If you want to use the typewriter, knock yourself out. But on one condition, if you use all the ink or
paper, your ass is making a supply run and getting more.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  “Good, good,” Jacob says. “Well, I suggest you guys get some shut-eye. It’s been a long day and we got a longer one ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “Thank you again,” Darlene says.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say, half-heartedly, my mind on the typewriter.

  Jacob leaves, and Darlene shakes her head. “You’re not gonna get any sleep tonight, are you?”

  I’m grinning. “Maybe.” I sit at the desk and run my fingers over the keyboard.

  Darlene sighs. “Johnny Deadslayer says otherwise.”

  Twenty-Six

  I got a few hours. I wrote a lot, mostly crap, but that was expected. It takes awhile to get back into the flow of things, and eventually my exhaustion won out.

  Now, the dark sky glittering with stars is gone, replaced with a bright sun. Darlene is up and in the bathroom. The shower runs, the sound enough to jolt me to total awareness. A shower? Hot water? The only thing better than that would be bacon and eggs.

  I jump out of bed and into the shower with Darlene. The warm water sends chills down my spine. Then Darlene rubs my chest. We smile and kiss each other over and over again.

  Luckily, the sounds of the running water drown out her moans.

  I hope.

  We get dressed and head out into the living room where Norm and Herb are still sleeping. Margie boils coffee over the low flames of the stovetop. She smiles at us and says, “Good morning. Jake’s out in the back, if you’re looking for him.”

  I’m too busy looking at Norm and Herb to answer back.

  Darlene does for me. “Thank you,” she says.

  “Would you like coffee?” Margie asks.

  “Yes, that would be lovely,” Darlene answers.

  Norm looks like a stuffed toy next to Herb. Herb holds him in one arm while his other arm rests on his own chest, his thumb in his mouth. I burst out in laughter.

  Darlene laughs with me.

  Norm opens his eyes wide and he looks around like he has no idea where the heck he’s at, then he looks down at Herb’s massive hand and brushes it away as if it were a giant spider. “Get off me, you big dummy!”

  Herb stirs and rolls over on Norm whose scream of surprise is cut short by the steamroller that is Herb’s shoulder.

  I’m beside myself, almost on my knees.

  Herb wakes up, starts, and says, “Oh, Norm! So sorry! So sorry!”

  Norm coughs and crawls up off the floor. “I told you to sleep with your head by my feet.”

  “I-I got scared,” Herb says. “So sorry.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you buffoon. I forgive you,” Norm says.

  I’m wiping tears from my eyes because seeing the two like that is too much.

  Margie brings a steaming cup of coffee to my face from the kitchen. It smells delicious, like something brewed in the finest coffeehouses, and all thoughts of Abby’s injury, the mission ahead, or of Norm and Herb spooning together are gone.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  We sit in the living room, silent, drinking our coffee. I’m mentally preparing for the day ahead.

  After I’m done, I go outside and find Jacob.

  “Sleep well?” he asks.

  “Like a baby,” I say.

  “Good.” He is in a equipment shed, unloading shovels and tarps. “A sad, sad day,” he says.

  I reach for a shovel and say, “Here, let me help.”

  It’s the least I can do to pay my respects.

  He draws it back, away from me. “No, sir. Thank you kindly. But you go right on over and check on your gal. I heard she woke up last night.”

  “Really,” I say, reaching for the shovel again, “I don’t mind.”

  “I know. It’s great that you want to help, but you’re new here. No one really knows you. They’ve heard of you, don’t get me wrong. We’ve all heard of you, but the wounds are still fresh.”

  I nod solemnly. “I understand,” I say.

  “You seem like a good man, Jack Jupiter.”

  “Thank you. Give them my condolences.”

  “I will, Jack. Now get on to the med center. Spend time with the ones you love.”

  His voice is uneasy, and that bad feeling I felt last night creeps back and it makes it hard for me to speak, but I do. “I will, Jake. I will.”

  Darlene is out on the front porch of the cabin wearing a light jacket, her mug of coffee in hand. It is not cold here somewhere south of Washington D.C. Not like Ohio. Winter is on its way out the door and Spring is standing at the threshold, waiting. Darlene sips from her mug with a smile on her face, and as she sees me walking up to the porch, she smiles wider.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hey, lover,” she says. “This morning was nice.”

  I give her a wink and say, “As it always is. You’re getting better.”

  She elbows me playfully. “Oh, stop it, Jack Jupiter before I lock you in the shower again.”

  “With that logic, why the heck would I stop?” I say.

  I lean in to kiss her just as the door opens, interrupting us. It’s Norm. Go figure.

  “Man, I’m just bad luck for you two, huh?” he says, draining the last of his coffee. He fakes a shiver and says, “It’s getting chilly. Glad I get to stay inside where it’s warm.”

  “Yeah, lucky you,” I say.

  “I need the rest anyway. I’m not mad, not mad at all that you’re leaving me behind. There comes a time when the pupil becomes the master…” he stifles a fake sob, “and I guess that time has come for us, little brother.” He walks by and gives me a punch on the arm that I think is meant to be playful but winds up hurting pretty bad.

  I rub the wound. “Yeah, yeah, I guess it is. Go get Herb and we can all go down and see Abby.”

  Norm snorts.

  Behind him, I see Darlene grinning. I wonder why, but then it hits me, almost harder than Norm’s playful punches, and I start to feel like a royal asshole.

  “Look at that!” Norm howls. “Jack Jupiter, bossing us around. I love it!” He cups one hand around his mouth and yells, “Oh, Herbie! Time to go!”

  Yeah, right. Me, a boss.

  Herb’s rumbling steps dart across the living room and he bangs the door open, causing Darlene to move out of the way. Still, she’s smiling.

  “Really? What, are we playin?” Herb asks.

  “No, big fella, just needed to pry you away from Margie’s cookie jar,” Norm says.

  “Oh, not nice, Norm!” Herb says, then he swipes away smeared chocolate at the corner of his mouth with the back of one mammoth hand. “Not nice at all.”

  We move from the porch to the beaten dirt and rock path and head out to see Abby, our hearts and smiles lifted. I drop back away from the three of them, taking a mental image of the people who are closest to me, thinking, Man, I really hope nothing goes wrong in D.C.

  Twenty-Seven

  Abby is up when we walk into the med center. Brittney sits at the desk, looking the same as she did the other times we saw her in here, happy, bright-faced, reading a fantasy paperback.

  Phyllis’s shadow can be seen through the veil surrounding the patient next to Abby’s bed, one of the men or women who suffered injuries during last evening’s attack. I hear the person cough and Phyllis say, “It’s going to be okay, just rest,” in a soothing voice.

  The curtains part, rattling along the metal bar dividing the room, and out steps Phyllis. She is wearing the part of doctor much better today. The white lab coat, the glasses on a chain, the slicked-back ponytail, and in her hands is a clipboard. She is looking down at it as she almost crashes into Herb’s broad chest.

  “Oh,” she says. “Hello, all. Unfortunately, visiting hours are only from — ”

  “Oh, stop it!” Brittney shouts from the front room. “Let them see their friend!”

  Phyllis puts on a fake smile. “Well, I guess you can as long as you make it quick. The funeral is about to start and
I can’t leave you in here with all my equipment and medicine — ” She chuckles. “Actually, there’s not much of either anymore.”

  Norm pats her on the shoulder. “No need to worry, the Great Jack Jupiter is going to fix that for you.”

  “I heard,” Phyllis says, still smiling, still fake. “Mighty brave of you.” Then with all the feigned enthusiasm of an old housewife shaking a veteran’s hand, she says, “Thank you for your service.”

  I roll my eyes. “Cut the crap. How’s Abby doing?”

  Now Phyllis is smiling for real. “See for yourself,” she says.

  We do. Darlene is the first one to walk over to Abby’s ‘room’ and part the curtains.

  My chest swells with excitement as I see Abby lying there, her head propped on a pillow, a somber smile on her face. “Took you long enough,” she says. “You guys are too polite. If it were one of you in here and me out there, I would’ve kicked the door down and ripped the curtains off their rod.”

  “Abby!” Herb says. He rushes over to her and hugs the right side of her body, the side with a full arm.

  “How ya doing, kid?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I’ve been better. I’ve been a helluva lot better.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” Norm says. He walks over to where Herb is kneeling. “I’m glad you’re still alive.”

  “Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Abby says. She looks at me. “Thank you, Jack. Seriously. I remember it all like a hazy dream. The bastard came down on me, I thought I got him, but I slipped in the mud. Of all things that got me in the end, it was the damn earth.”

  “I thought we lost you. It wasn’t just me. There was a man from here who helped, too. He was the one who — ” I point at her wrapped stump and seeing it is almost physically painful for me. “He was the one who did that.”

  “He had to,” Abby says, bringing the arm up and examining it. “I understand that. I’m lucky to be alive, lucky not to be a zombie.”