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

by Flint Maxwell

  “What’s in the bag then? Explain that technical stuff as best as you can.” I say. My voice is calm. I’m trying not to pry, but I want to know.

  Klein clutches it tighter to his chest. “I — ”

  The door creaks as Father Michael and Norm walk in. They are smiling, but there’s no humor in their eyes. The smell of smoke comes in after them. Outside, the storm is raging.

  “Saying your prayers?” Norm quips. “Hate to break it to you, little bro, but you’re going to hell.”

  Klein seems to relax a bit.

  “Am I going to h-e-double hockey sticks, Norm?” Herb asks.

  Norm grins wide. “No way, Herb. Not a chance. You’re too kind of a soul. You’ll be just fine. Besides, that’s not something you have to worry about for a long time. Not something any of us have to worry about.”

  Herb shuts the Bible, brings it up to his face, and starts kissing it. “Good, good, good!”

  I turn back to Klein. Norm must sense the intensity because he squeezes in between us. “How’s everything going?” Norm asks.

  “Norm, I was — ” I begin to say, but he cuts me off.

  “Father Michael showed me his storage. You wouldn’t believe what he’s got down there. Enough food to last a lifetime, weapons, bottled water. A little bit, my ass. It’s a goldmine, Jack!”

  “Aw, you said the A-word!”

  “It’s in the Bible,” Norm says, rolling his eyes.

  “Really?” Herb asks.

  “Yeah, it’s an animal,” Norm says.

  Herb chuckles. “Ass, hehe,” under his breath, then covers his mouth. I’m really trying not to laugh, but it’s hard.

  “That’s nice about Father Michael’s storage,” I say. “But it’s not ours. It’s his. I’m sure he doesn’t want total strangers eating his Ramen noodles and drinking his bottled water.” I turn back to Klein, the question about the plan on my lips.

  “He said we could help ourselves. He likes the company,” Norm continues.

  Klein smiles, clears his throat, and pushes himself up, the bag now slung over his shoulder. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I must use the restroom. This evening seems to have upset my stomach.”

  I get up, too. I’m about a head taller than Klein, looking down at him. “I think that can wait,” I say.

  “Nature calls,” Klein says, his voice higher than usual.

  “Jack,” Norm says. He gives me a harsh look.

  I sit back down. Klein walks up the aisle and as he’s walking, Darlene passes him, coming back from the bathroom herself. “You all right?” she asks him, but he just brushes by her, mumbling something I can’t understand. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

  Father Michael is on the altar, flipping through his Bible, but I see his eyes flicking up from the pages every so often.

  “What the hell are you doing, man?” Norm asks in a low voice.

  Darlene slides into the pew behind us, sits next to Abby. “Guess he’s not feeling well,” she says as she looks back over her shoulder at the empty aisle.

  “He knows something,” I say. My hands grip my thighs hard. My knuckles crack. “He knows something he doesn’t want us to know,” I say.

  “You’re just being paranoid,” Norm says. “You need a good night’s sleep and you’ll be fine in the morning.”

  I don’t know how I could sleep with the storm raging outside.

  “C’mon, Jack,” Norm says, getting up. “I’ll show you the Father’s bunker.” He raises his voice now and says, “If that’s okay with you, Mike.”

  Mike gives him a thumbs up. “What’s mine is yours,” he says, smiling.

  Maybe I am just being paranoid. Herb takes to Doc Klein easily enough and we all know Herb is a good judge of character.

  Norm throws his arm around me. We get up and head to the storage. Norm’s about as genial and comforting as a snake when he wants you to do something. That arm around the shoulder is the reason Sheriff Doaks arrested me for stealing Reese’s Cups when I was a kid.

  C’mon, bro, be cool like us. Fit in. Quit being a weirdo.

  I’m old enough now to realize I should follow my own gut, but truth be told, I don’t want to follow my gut. I don’t want to truly know if Klein has something up his sleeve because Klein is who got me through the terror in D.C. He is my savior. My own personal Jesus. Imagine finding out the man or woman you worship and look up to is really the bad guy. It would suck, wouldn’t it?

  “C’mon, bro,” Norm says, sounding almost exactly like his teenage self. “It’s important.”

  “Fine,” I say, sighing. I lean over the pew and look at Darlene. “When Klein comes back, watch him for me.”

  She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

  “Just keep an eye on him, make sure he’s not doing anything — ” I’m saying, but Norm punches me kind of hard in the arm. I grab the wound. He hits me with his left hand, the one with all the fingers, and it stings. “Ouch!” I say.

  “Quit being paranoid,” Norm says.

  I shake my head. “You’re right,” I say.

  “No shit,” Norm says.

  “AW!” Herb says, bringing an accusing finger up. “That’s not in the Bible!”

  “Can it, Herb,” Norm says.

  Herb does, but he’s still smiling.

  We walk by the altar and Father Micheal starts coming down the steps, pulling keys out of his pocket. Then we go through a set of doors where the smell of the storm and dust hangs in the air.

  Nineteen

  Father Michael walks ahead of us as we move through the long, dank hallway.

  “It’s just he won’t show me what’s in the bag,” I’m saying.

  Norm still has his arm around me. His skin is hot beneath his shirt, damp with rainwater and sweat. “Maybe it’s none of your business.”

  “I think it is, especially if we’re his escort. I mean he won’t even bother lying to us,” I say.

  “Trust me, Jack, these military types — and I know this firsthand — are all a bunch of secretive assholes. Who ya think was the cause of this virus?”

  I shrug. “Leering.”

  “Yeah, but who was in charge of Leering? The government, the military, yada, yada. Big wigs, and big wigs have their heads so far up their asses, they can’t smell the real world,” Norm says. “They’re secretive when they’re ending civilization, and I’m damn sure they’re secretive when they’re saving it, ya dig?”

  I nod.

  The hallway curves left toward a stairwell leading down into darkness. The smell of mold and damp is more prominent here. It causes my nose to wrinkle.

  “If Klein has secrets, let him! He just met us after all. He might spill the beans in due time. Just give him space, man. We’ll find out,” Norm says, “because he won’t get to where he’s going without us.” He pats me twice on the back then gets in front of me.

  “Secrets are the devil’s work,” Father Michael says. “There are no secrets in the House of the Lord. He will talk.” The certainty in which Father Michael speaks unnerves me slightly. There are torches on the walls. He pulls a long-nosed lighter out from his pocket and lights one, then he turns the dial, causing the flames to rise.

  What I see causes my jaw to drop and all thoughts of saving the world and Doc Klein go out of the window.

  Twenty

  The back wall is stacked with crates of nonperishable foods. Canned meats, canned corn, peaches, cherries, apples, Ramen noodles. There’s peanut butter, almonds, cashews, protein bars, dry cereals with oats and honey. A box of Twinkies, Ho-Ho’s, Nutter Butters. On the other side are two gallon jugs of Deer Park water, plastic wrapped sixteen ounce bottles. There’s blankets, pillows, spare clothes. There’s soaps, towels, scrubbers and washcloths. Shoes, boots, rubber galoshes, raincoats, ropes. There’s a box just full of gleaming pistols and another box full of ammunition. There’s grenades and blades. And there’s a first aid crate full of bandages, antiseptics, ointments. It’s apocalypse heaven.r />
  At first glance, you might think Father Michael is a pack rat, but once you’ve scanned through the items, you’d realize Father Michael is a fucking genius.

  Norm smiles. “Yeah, he’s the real deal,” he says, reading my face and my mind.

  Father Michael’s face reddens. I can’t really talk. My lips are moving and there’s a dry clicking sound coming from the back of my throat (death rattle), so all I can do is walk over to the priest and hug him tight.

  He grunts and pats me on the back. “Have as much or as little as you want,” he says, his words choked.

  “How?” I say as we part and I’m able to find my voice. “How the heck did you get all of this?”

  “Well, I have a bit of a guardian angel,” he says, looking up to the cobwebby ceiling. His face suddenly sags. He frowns and a gleam of tears fill his eyes. “But it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen him…or it could be more. I don’t know. Time is different now that it’s not needed.”

  A true statement. I’ve never been a firm believer in the alarm clock, but now that no one needs one — hell, there’s barely any electricity around to power them — it’s just weird thinking about time. No appointments need to be kept. No one’s late for work. You just get up with the sun and try to stay off the roads when the sun goes down. The zombies don’t care about time. They won’t wait until it’s supper to pounce on you and devour you.

  “Last I saw of old Georgie, he was making a trip up to Albany. He’d gone there before, but he always came back. I’d hear him in the air. You know it’s so quiet,” Father Michael says, “that you hear everything.”

  “Well, that’s a long ride,” Norm says, trying to comfort the priest. “If he’s visiting family — ”

  “No, he didn’t drive,” Father Michael says. He looks at Norm and smiles at Norm’s puzzlement.

  “You mean he walked?” Norm asks, face twisted up.

  “He heard him in the air, Norm,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “No, no. He flew,” Father Michael says.

  Norm gives me a look now that says this guy is crazy, like the priest honestly believes his friend has sprouted wings and flew to New York.

  “It’s just a small thing, nothing like the commercial airliners that used to rattle the windowpanes,” Father Michael says. “He has a few planes. He worked at the Butain County Airport. It’s not anything wondrous and was mostly used for private flights and flying lessons before…” he trails off and crosses the room, grabs a Butterfinger from an open crate, unwraps it, and takes a bite. “Alas, I fear something has happened to him.” He looks up at us. Norm stands next to me now, the flames causing shadows to dance on his face.

  “It’s dangerous out there, damn right, but I’m sure he’s okay,” Norm says. He stands on tiptoe to peer into the crate the priest now leans on. “You got any more of those candy bars?”

  I elbow Norm.

  “What?” he says, eyes wide, “I’m starving.”

  “Help yourself,” Father Michael says.

  I hear footsteps coming down the corridor. I turn, my hand going for my gun — that’s the way it is now. Every out of place noise. Every step. Every creak. We can’t afford any surprises.

  Father Michael must see me because he puts his hand up and shakes his head. “None of those come here,” he says. “They have moved on.”

  Sure they have. The zombies are gone until they’re beating the door down and killing us all.

  The footsteps belong to — much to my surprise — Doc Klein. He has a somber look on his face. The messenger bag hangs down by this pointy hip, slung across his body. He rubs the back of his neck and won’t look up to meet my eyes.

  “Hey, Doc!” Norm says. “Look at all this loot!”

  The Doc nods, but largely ignores my older brother. He finally looks up at me. I see his eyes flinch, just a moment’s worth of hesitation. “Jack, I wanted to apologize,” he says, sticking out his hand.

  I just look at it.

  “Apologize for what?” I ask.

  “For the way I acted — the way I’ve been acting,” he says.

  Father Michael shifts uncomfortably, but I see his eyes are distant as if he’s thinking about his friend George.

  “No need to apologize,” I say. “A man’s entitled to his own thoughts and opinions…and, I guess, secrets.”

  I walk past him, leaving him standing there with his hand out. No, I didn’t shake it, and no, I still don’t think he’s being totally honest with me.

  But as I’m leaving, I hear him ask if they were talking about airplanes and how Klein’s father flew fighter planes in World War II and how he always dreamt of flying planes himself. Michael says something about his friend George and the Butain Airport and the aircraft there.

  I couldn’t give two shits.

  Twenty-One

  As I walk back to the church’s main part, I hear a voice that wipes the frown from my face. In fact, it causes me to smile, smile wide. It’s Abby’s voice, and she’s saying, “I feel fine, Darlene, seriously. You can get your hand off my forehead. It smells like beef jerky.”

  My pace picks up.

  Firelight spills out from around the corner. Darlene has since lit a few candles to combat the growing darkness outside.

  When I get there, I see Abby is sitting up. She still has blankets wrapped around her body and she looks considerably thinner, but she’s sitting up. By God, she’s alive! Her stump is hidden beneath the blankets and she holds the bundle with her right hand.

  “Hey!” she calls when she sees me.

  I’m beaming, my face more teeth than flesh.

  “Abby!” I shout.

  Herb sits next to her, his large arm draped over her shoulder. On the other side is Darlene, her face uneasy.

  “‘Bout time you woke up, kid,” I say.

  “Don’t call me a kid. You’re only about nine years older than me,” she says. She gets up now, shedding the blankets. Beneath her clothes, her body looks frail. Her back slightly hunches, and her bandaged stump is a queer pink color. When she walks, she has a slight limp. I really try not to notice because it’s heartbreaking to see her like this. But I keep reminding myself it could be worse. She could be out in the cemetery next to Mother or she could be in the rotten bowels of some undead nightmare.

  We hug and Darlene says, “Careful, Jack!”

  I ignore her and so does Abby.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask as we part.

  Abby smiles wanly. “I’ve been better, that’s for damn sure.” She brings the stump up and examines it with all the scrutiny of a scientist studying some new specimen. “And this is pretty freaking weird.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I say. But it won’t. It’ll take getting used to. I couldn’t imagine being without my hand. Poor Abby.

  She shrugs. “Yeah, it will. Could be worse.”

  “Abby, you really shouldn’t be up. Come back over here and rest,” Darlene says.

  With her good hand, Abby waves Darlene off.

  The storm outside seems to be subsiding. Sheets of rain which were rocking the roof and drenching the stained-glass windows have slowed to a dribble. But it’s dark out and I know I said time doesn’t matter and all, but I’m getting tired.

  As if on cue, Darlene yawns and yawning is about as contagious as whatever this zombie disease is. Herb yawns and then I yawn. The exhaustion hits me full force.

  Not long after Abby’s and I’s reunion, Norm and Doc Klein come back from Father Michael’s storage below the church’s structure. Norm is happy to see Abby, but he won’t admit it. He says something along the lines of I knew you’d make it, Abby and you’re a tough son of a b — gun.

  We laugh for awhile. We talk for awhile. Father Michael tells us the sad tale of what happened to the town of Butain and we all put on sad faces. Truth is, what happened to Butain isn’t any different than what happened to a million small towns all over the world. Someone got sick and died and came back, that someone bit someone else and t
hat person got sick and on and on until everyone was eating everyone and the world seemed to be ending. He also tells us of his friend George and how he’d been wanting to go down to the airstrip and check on him but has been too afraid. He knows there’s dead in the town — just not as many as there once was — and he thinks once he’s off the church’s grounds, whatever holy charm has kept him safe this long will be broken.

  Norm tells him because he let us stay here and he let us bury our dead, that we would go down to the airstrip with him when the sun rises tomorrow and check on his friend…just as long as Father Michael was willing to share the rest of his Butterfingers, to which Father Michael replies, “What’s mine is yours,” a sentiment he’s been expressing since we’ve arrived. It bothers me. I’m all for helping people, but sometimes, I think you can do too much of a good thing. Besides, Norm didn’t even ask for my thoughts on the matter.

  I have to say I’m not happy with either Norm right now or Doc Klein who is listening to our conversation near the altar with that stupid bag at his feet.

  Father Michael nods and smiles and asks Norm if he means it, will we really go on down to the airstrip to check on his friend? Norm doesn’t even look at me for approval. He just says sure thing.

  Twenty-Two

  We are supposed to be sleeping, now. Father Michael said he would take the first watch, seeing how we are his guests and all. I can see him at the front of the church. A single candle glares near the pulpit where he sits and reads his Good Book, or some book — but I’m guessing it’s the Bible.

  Darlene is above me. She sleeps on a pew. Abby is across the aisle on that pew. She took awhile to get back to sleep and she talked a mile a minute after she asked us to catch her up. So many questions. I did my best to give her the scoop. She said she remembered fighting the zombies at the top of the hill and how there were so many — there always are. She remembered getting bitten, likened it to having your skin dipped in kerosene then lit on fire only to be cooled off with dry ice. She said she remembered seeing an older man above her with a blade who cut her hand off — that would be Jacob, I told her, rest in peace. She remembered reading one of those crappy girl magazines (her words) like Cosmo or People because she woke up in the middle of the night with pain and Phyllis was asleep and Brittany was somewhere else and not out in the front with a paperback. That was when she heard the gunshots. A barrage of them, and it sounded like they were right outside her window, they were that loud. Then she heard something louder than the gunshots and that was cars hitting the fence from all sides. Some of them got through; some of them didn’t. But in the end, I knew what happened. I came upon the aftermath when I got back from D.C.