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

by Flint Maxwell

  But a shot goes off. Not good.

  I’m trying to right myself as the lead zombie’s head explodes simultaneously with the gun’s blast. I’m relieved and pissed at the same time.

  I grab the rope, get my balance, and start to climb back up. It’s almost impossible, but I’m making leeway.

  Two more shots. Not from below…from above.

  Double shit.

  Ahead, no zombies drop. They are not misses, though, because two dead men wearing tattered business suits go over the bridge and land with a wet plop. One hits the road. The other —

  Triple shit.

  An alarm wails through the air. The other hits a minivan parked crookedly off the shoulder. How the hell the car battery still has enough juice in it to sound the alarm, I don’t know, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that in the quiet, dead city we have basically just let everyone know — dead or otherwise — where we’re at. Not to mention all the dead at the end of the overpass.

  And this mission was supposed to be easy. So much for that.

  Sean aims his pistol as he swings back and forth on the rope.

  “Kill the alarm! Kill the alarm!” I shout down to Grady, not even worried about the fact I’m still dangling like a worm on a hook.

  Now, a sea of dead sweep up the roadway. Again, it comes from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It’s an actual solid wave, a mass so disgusting and bland and gray and bloody, I think to myself how it can’t be real.

  Sean squeezes the trigger, drops a few, but it makes no difference. We’ll need a fucking rocket launcher to even make a dent. “Grab my bag, Bill!” he shouts. “The bag! The bag! I’ve got — ”

  But Billy ignores him, or doesn’t hear him. It’s too late. “More on the bridge! Help, Jake!” he says. His pistol pops off three more shots. I can’t see up there very well with the sun beaming down on us, illuminating every gross and dead thing with fire, but I hear the grunts, the sounds of meat mashing against a blunt object.

  “Overrun,” Jacob says, struggling. “Gott — gotta go over. C’mon!”

  Suddenly, the rope lurches and twangs. Jacob, who is not a small man by any means, slides down it until he crashes into me. No harness. Up on the bridge, zombie heads pop over the edge, their yellow eyes searching for lost meals, mouths open and dripping with gunk and blood. They snarl and growl. Rabid.

  Billy has done the same thing. He now shares the rope with his twin brother. He aims the gun up and shoots at the zombies looking down at us.

  At the same time the shot goes off, so does the alarm. Way to go, Grady.

  “We gotta go,” I say. “We gotta get the fuck off this rope before they surround us.”

  Grady pumps lead into the oncoming crowd. The shadows beneath the bridge are lit up with bursts of lightning. Two rows of shambling dead drop, are trampled under foot, tripping others. But most keep going. The allure of fresh meat, bright lights, and explosive sounds are too much.

  They don’t know any better.

  No one is on the bridge to feed us the rest of the rope, so with my gunless hand, I grab my knife off my belt, and I saw at the harness. I figure it’ll break easier than the rope, which looks to be entwined with some sort of metal.

  “Let go, Jake!” I say.

  The old man shakes his head, blubbers something. His face is beat red.

  The dead are getting closer. I can smell them right under us.

  “Drop now or drop when they’re below with their mouths open!” I shout.

  This convinces Jacob. He screams as he drops. The hood of a car pops and then Jacob groans. I see him scrambling up, aiming his weapon.

  Now the harness is more exposed. I saw at it with the speed of a jackhammer. It’s not easy, but I get through it. It’s my turn to scream.

  Then, as has been the case since I stepped into the harness, all sense of gravity leaves me, and I’m falling.

  It’s about a ten foot drop.

  I hit the same car Jacob hit and I hit it hard. No time to feel pain. Time to run, time to get the hell out of here.

  And the dead shambling toward me — toward us — look a lot more scarier this close.

  Thirty-Three

  I don’t have time to catch my breath. I’m up in a flash, already searching for my pistol and unslinging the M16 off of my back at the same time. I could just leave the SIG and take off, but any and all bullets go a long way, especially when you’re trapped.

  Especially when zombies are coming after you.

  I find it.

  Jacob takes longer to get up. He’s wobbly. Not okay. As I’m bent down and picking up the handgun, I grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull with all my might. Veins pulse and coil beneath the skin of my forehead. My face gets hot.

  “Let’s go!” Grady shouts. He pulls the trigger of the AR15, cutting up another row of dead. But they are legion. They keep coming and coming.

  We’re about twenty seconds away from being swallowed up whole by these motherfuckers, and that’s not counting whether or not more are coming from behind us.

  “Stuck,” Sean wheezes.

  I look up at the twins dangling, kicking their feet. Fuck.

  Billy drops down, screaming as he falls, but he mostly lands on two legs, his eyes wide, the cockiness scrubbed from his features, replaced with fear.

  A zombie breaks away from the pack, arms outstretched. It walks as normally as any of us, and that unnerves me. With the M16 set to three round burst, I aim him down and pull the trigger. A fountain of brains explode out from the holes I put in the bastard’s head and he collapses.

  Sean cries.

  Fucking rappelling off a bridge, what a terrible idea. Might be quicker, but now look at us. We either run and lose one of our own or we stay here and die together.

  Fuck this.

  I let the M16 drop from my grip so it hangs around my shoulders and I aim the SIG at the zombies coming for us on the highway. I drop three with practiced ease.

  “Don’t move,” I say up to Sean.

  Grady and Jacob have broken rank, the bastards. They’re gone. It’s just me and Billy looking up at this piece of meat who happens to be a part of our group and Billy’s twin brother.

  “I’m gonna catch you, bro!” Billy shouts.

  The dead on the bridge are getting braver. Greasy hair hangs down as they lean over the edge. One long-haired, former man — the hippie type — hangs the farthest. And before I can even pull the trigger of the SIG, the zombie’s smeared John Lennon glasses fall from his face and clatter off of the same smashed car in front of me.

  “Hold on!” Billy shouts.

  He shoots once and misses. A puff of dust explodes from the concrete. Pebbles rain down on Billy and the cars.

  Sean is sobbing, rocking back and forth violently, kicking his legs. His hands scrabble at the harness.

  I shoot now, but not at the rope. I shoot at the zombies hanging over the edge. I blow the scalp off a wrinkled, ragged woman. Blood rains down on us, repainting a gray VW.

  Third time’s the charm, I think as Billy aims at the rope again. But it’s swinging. It’s a tough target.

  The moaning zombies’ breath engulfs us. They’re are mere feet away.

  “Steady!” Billy shouts. His gun goes off the same time mine does.

  Except now, I’m shooting under the bridge, pushing them back. Zombies drop in the shadows, making the blood look black. I’m reminded of the old horror movies. Night of the Living Dead is the first one that comes to mind. The stench is — oh, God. Horrid. Putrid. Worst than hot roadkill.

  “Hurry — ” I start to say, knowing I’ll have to change magazines soon.

  But it’s too late. Another zombie falls from the bridge, three more after it.

  One hits Sean, then two, three, four.

  The rope snaps, unable to handle all of that dead weight.

  He screams.

  The fall didn’t kill any of them, and it didn’t kill Sean, either. The mass of rotten flesh that
is the accumulation of four zombies writhes and moves like a slimy bug.

  Sean screams. Flesh tears.

  I plunge into the pile, braining two dead women with the butt of the M16, not killing them, but clearing space.

  “Sean!” Billy shouts.

  It’s terrible. My God, it’s horrendous. Sean’s arm is twisted into a corkscrew. White bone gleams beneath a sea of scarlet. He coughs and hacks until a spurt of blood escapes his mouth, dousing a zombie’s dingy, pearl colored dress like red paint.

  They almost don’t even notice us anymore as they break through the shadowy threshold of the bridge. Billy digs in with his hands. He kicks and flails sending zombies back, their faces and limbs squishing beneath his boots.

  “Sean! Sean! SEAN!” he yells at the top of his lungs. I think he yells because he thinks he can drown out the sounds of the teeth gnashing and gnawing on his brother’s flesh, of their tongues lapping at his blood like thirsty mutts.

  I can’t bear to look, but I can’t turn away. I am almost frozen in place. I’ve seen it before, seen the dead tear apart the living, and it never gets easier. There is no desensitization in this world. There is only pain and horror and hopelessness.

  “NO! NOOOO! Nooo…” Sean says, his arms working like the blades of a dying fan. I pop a couple more rounds into the closest zombies, dropping them and clearing more space for me to plunge myself.

  There is no saving Sean, as much as it pains me to admit it, he’s gone. Gone. Not like my brother was gone in Eden, but gone for good.

  As I plunge, I see the blood drenching his midsection, grubby and grimy hands pulling out entrails, bringing them up to rotten teeth and pallid faces.

  No, I can’t save Sean, but I can save Billy.

  And that’s exactly what I do. I put him in a headlock and pull with all of my might. He resists at first, but as we get farther and farther away from the gruesome picture and the reality of the situation settles in, he goes slack.

  Billy sobs, crying out for a brother that is no longer his. A brother who belongs to the zombies now.

  Thirty-Four

  A few stragglers spot us and lumber through the maze of cars. We are far enough for me to not feel an immediate urge to turn tail and run. The meal that was once Sean, a red-haired man with a sly smile, will keep them occupied long enough for us to get clear of the mess.

  With Billy still in my grip, his legs barely working on their own, we round the corner of an exit. The sign above has fallen and lays facedown across the road. A few cars under it like unfortunate bugs beneath a boot.

  I have my SIG raised, ready to blast whatever awaits for us on this road. But it is empty.

  Empty.

  That’s not good. I’ve lost Jacob and Grady.

  I take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay, I think to myself — A-OKAY.

  They might be dead, but I’m not, and right now, that’s all that matters.

  “I-I need to go back,” Billy says. His voice is small, barely a whisper.

  “No,” I say, my own voice strong and with a sudden finality. “You go back and the same thing is going to happen to you.” I grip his arm and pull him forward, up the steady slope of the freeway exit. He resists me.

  “I have to go back. That’s my brother,” he says again. The docility on his face transforms into harsh lines of anarchy. He looks mad. Blood dots his forehead and the skin beneath his eyes. His red hair is pushed up in tufts like a clown.

  I don’t know what it’s like to lose a brother, but I’ve been close, and I remember feeling the way Billy probably feels right now. I remember that sense of hopelessness and despair — feelings all too prevalent in this day and age. I remembered thinking of an honorable form of suicide, of storming the gates of Eden by myself. At the time, it seemed like a great idea. Looking back, I know I would’ve failed. I would’ve been cut down before I got within fifty feet of the place.

  Billy doesn’t realize that going back is suicide, but if I can keep him alive long enough like Ben Richards did for me then Billy will.

  “I’m going,” he says, and he rips his arm out of my grip. “And don’t fucking touch me again.”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help, Jupiter. Maybe you’re the savior from Mother’s dreams, maybe you’re not, but it doesn’t fucking matter. I saw what your help does. I should’ve — ” his voice breaks. He closes his eyes and turns his head down to the fractured concrete. “I should’ve jumped in there and…” he trails off, the fire inside of him going out. He no longer looks like a cocky, Irish asshole. Now, he looks human.

  Defeated.

  The sobs come like a rolling wave of thunder — slowly at first, but then the cloud bursts. Tears stream down his face. His chest heaves, breath hitches. It breaks my heart to see it. And there’s nothing I can do. Nothing I can really do to make it better.

  I walk up to him and he doesn’t turn away from me or back up or anything. I put my arm around his shoulders and say, “C’mon, Billy. C’mon, let’s go!”

  “Okay,” he says, stuttering, barely a mumble.

  “Let’s get as far away as possible.”

  “But Sean — ”

  “It’s too late,” I say.

  He turns his face up to me, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, ready to chase the tears that have already fallen and he says, “I know…I know.”

  Thirty-Five

  It takes about two minutes for the tears to stop and for Billy to wipe his face, clearing wetness and his brother’s blood.

  “Tell anyone about this, Jupiter, and I’ll kill you,” he says.

  He has nothing to worry about. Any sane person would understand. I mean, Billy just lost his twin, his family.

  We walk down a street that was once probably busy and bustling. I can almost sense the ghosts of business women, their heels clattering the sidewalks, saying no to the man who offers them a breakfast hot dog from his vendor cart. I can almost sense the three-piece suits passing by, their eyes glued to smartphones that are now as dead as the world, briefcases swinging.

  The air up here smells clean, but I think anywhere would smell clean compared to where we just came from.

  We walk in silence, our eyes peeled wide open.

  A paper blows across the street and thwaps against a bus stop overhang just ahead. I bend down, pick it up, and read the headline. It almost makes me sick.

  WHO’S TO BLAME AS FLU RAGES ACROSS THE EAST COAST?

  The Washington Post, dated September 19th, 2016. Just the east coast? This wasn’t before the disease reached other countries and parts of the States. Only a fool would believe that. This was just before the papers and media shut down completely.

  “Where are we heading?” Billy asks. “How the hell do we even know if Jake and Grady went this way?”

  “I’m going to the hospital,” I say.

  “The hospital, seriously? Forget the hospital. My brother died, Jack. My brother.”

  I nod. I don’t know what else to say.

  Billy stops. I am ahead of him, leading the way through the empty street, but I know he’s stopped because his boot heels no longer click against the sidewalk. It’s that quiet in this city. Our nation’s capital — not left to die, but left to the dead.

  I turn around and look him square in the face. “I’m no longer messing around,” I say. I don’t care about saving the world. I don’t care about Doc Klein. My world is my family and Abby is a part of that family. She lies in a hospital bed in a village I hardly know anything about. If she dies because her wound is infected and there’s no longer any medicine to fight that infection, then I fail.

  I hate failing.

  “We need to round the bridge again and get to the cars,” Billy says.

  He knows as well as I know that it won’t matter if we get to the cars. We don’t have the keys. He just wants an excuse to go see his brother, and I’m not about to tell him there’s probably nothing left of his brother to see besides
a red stain on the blacktop.

  I shake my head. “I’m going to the hospital and if I were Jake or Grady, I would do the same thing. We have our weapons and our brains. We can do what we were sent here to do.”

  Billy looks at me with contempt. He crosses his arms and shakes his head.

  “People die everyday,” I say. “That’s the way it is now.”

  I’m not budging. If I budge, I fail, and he wins. He knows he’s dead without me. He can’t shoot worth dick, and I can. There’s too many zombies for two people, let alone one.

  “If you want to go then go. You can go back that way, but you won’t find anything you like. You’ll probably find more zombies. And they’re always hungry. You know that as much as I do. One is never satisfied. Think of how millions will be — ravenous, stir-crazy,” I say.

  I hate to do this, I hate to scare the poor bastard, but I’m saving his life. His skin goes an ashy shade of gray, eyes slowly widening.

  “That way is lost. We might be able to get back to the cars once the horde clears, but it was a big horde and I reckon we got awhile. There’s strength in numbers. It’s best we find the others before worse happens,” I say.

  The wind blows, ruffling my hair, cooling my skin, but with the breeze comes the stench of rot.

  “Okay, Jupiter, I’ll play it your way,” Billy says. He grips his gun. “But if you try to boss me around again, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  I give him a nod and turn back, ready to walk, thinking, Yeah, right, Bill. Shoot me if you want, but I’d bet a million bucks you’d miss.

  Thirty-Six

  We can no longer see the hospital. It is blocked by a large parking deck. We’ve left one desolate street behind only to arrive at another. Each time we turn a corner or cross an intersection, the cold, icy fingers of fear grip my heart, my breath catches, and I think I’ll be face to face with another horde. Frozen. Not enough bullets to get out alive.

  That’s not the case.