Die Dead Enough

by Kenney, William

  DIE DEAD ENOUGH

  by

  William Kenney

  Copyright 2014

  William Kenney

  Books by William Kenney

  The In The Shadow of the Black Sun Trilogy

  A Dream of Storms

  Shards of S'Darin

  Mournenhile

  The Tales of Embremere series

  Embremere

  Return to Embremere

  Others

  Undergrowth (a horror novella)

  Ingheist (horror)

  Shadewraiths over Pandaria (an In the Shadow of the Black Sun short story)

  CHAPTER ONE

  It became a quiet Earth. You didn't want them to hear you, the Undead. Something in the reanimation process increased the sensitivity of the auditory nerves. They could literally hear you from miles away. Even the animals grew hauntingly silent, no birds called, no dogs barked.

  Silence became survival.

  We've all seen the classic zombie movie; slow-moving reanimated corpses that could be killed with a shot to the head. Destroy the brain and the zombie goes bye-bye.

  This wasn't it.

  Because these things could not be killed. Ever. Shots to the brain didn't work. Even if you dismembered them, their parts would continue to move indefinitely. Burning them beyond recognition seemed the only way to put them to a final end.

  So how did it start, this rising of the dead?

  Most believe this condition stemmed from the use of chemical weapons. In 2017, the US attacked North Korea after it was proven that nuclear missiles were being developed and near to completion. Weeks of discussion between the two countries amounted to nothing, with North Korea's leaders still blinded by their ancient beliefs. They would be controlled by no one.

  The United States, assuming their role as the World Police and with the support of many of their allies, laid the place to waste. Officially they only used conventional bombs. Most believed this to be bullshit.

  Pyongyang, its capital and largest city was hit first and within thirty minutes every living thing for hundreds of miles lie dead. Nearly twenty-eight million people.

  North Korea's government practiced Songun, believing that their military was the supreme repository of power within their country. The military's importance far outweighed all other facets of their society. Thus there would be no surrender.

  According to conspiracy theorists, other cities were bombed with the chemical agent, a crimson powder converted to aerosol called DDR, now known as Drop-dead Red. Its exact chemical structure was classified, but it appeared to be a more advanced version of mustard gas. Previously untested.

  Death from above didn't last long.

  Sixty-three days later and the first reanimated corpse crossed the border into South Korea. It was assumed that the thing had killed the guards that stood watch at every entry point and turned them as well. When first sighted, the creature was several miles into South Korea and had a following of dozens more undead.

  Days later and the same event happened on the boundary of China.

  The Western world knew nothing of these things until someone in Asia uploaded a video to Youtube. At first believed to be an elaborate hoax, more and more footage appeared, proving that this was real.

  International flight was halted, but it was too late.

  The band was kicking ass that night, well mostly. The drummer, Gibby, was fucking up the harmonies to an Alice in Chains song as he often did with one too many brews in his system. Kennedy's had a full house, alcohol was being served at a rapid pace, all was good in the world.

  Then, in the middle of their last set, the power went out, Conor's voice cracking as the amps went dark. It was dark as hell as the batteries in the exit signs kicked on and patrons began to light up their cell phones. The echo of the drums faded as people milled about in confusion, mumbling to one another as they continued to sip on their drinks.

  "Jason! What happened?" Conor yelled from the stage, removing his guitar and placing it on a nearby stand. His younger brother, Aiden, the other guitar player in the band, followed suit and hopped off the stage into the crowd. His head was shaved and reflected the dim glow of the emergency lights just like Conor's. The only obvious difference in their faces was Ian's dark goatee.

  "I don't know dude!" came a distant and deep voice. "I'm trying the electric company right now, but there's no answer. Katie, you're gonna have to get all of these people out of here. It's not safe. Hello? Dammit, it's a recording. Quiet everybody!"

  Waitresses, clad in short shorts and bikini tops, started to herd the disgruntled customers toward the exits with the help of several large bouncers. Drunk bastards hurled profanity as they were forced to leave their favorite watering hole and a beer bottle sailed through the air and shattered against the far wall.

  Jason, the owner, made his way toward the band, phone against his hear and one hand in the air as he shrugged.

  "The recording says power is out for about thirty thousand customers right now and they estimate three hours to restore it," he shouted over the sound of the hundreds squeezing through the front door. "So that does it for tonight. You guys sounded real good, too."

  "Shit," Aiden said as he jumped back on stage and began to pack up his gear. "We still get paid, don't we?"

  "Hey, you know me..." Jason said. "Of course, you get paid, ya greedy piece of shit."

  Aiden kept his back to him while stowing his guitar in its case.

  "Well, alright, then," he said over his shoulder with a grin. "Just making sure. I gots child-support to pay."

  "Yeah, we know. So does your brother. We've heard," said Tom, his bass guitar already packed away, case in his hand. His long, blonde hair was soaked with sweat and hung in his eyes.

  "Hey, where're you goin'?" Aiden asked, standing up to face Tom. "Oh no, you're not scootin' without helping us load all this shit. You did that last time."

  "Dude, I gotta get home. Diane's wai-"

  Conor cut him off as Jason walked off toward the back office to get their cash.

  "Diane's waiting. No shit. We've all got someone waiting, Tom. Grab a fucking amp and load it in the van," he said, his mouth a serious line as he stared at the man.

  "Or what?" Tom asked, setting his guitar case on the stage.

  "You really wanna test me right now?" Conor asked, stepping forward. "Or I'll break your fucking jaw, that's what. You got any doubts, don't help us load. See what happens."

  Tom stood for a moment, obviously contemplating his chances in a fist-fight with Conor and then spun with a huff and grabbed some equipment.

  "Tired of this bullshit..." he muttered, but it did not go unheard.

  "What bullshit, Tom?" Aiden asked from the other side of the stage. "Not pulling your weight like the rest of us? Yeah, that is bullshit."

  "Will you guys knock it off?" came Gibby's voice from behind the drums. He was far too skinny, smoked too much and played like a stroke victim. Couldn't sing worth shit either.

  "Shut the fuck up, Gibby," the others replied in unison.

  "Tom, just help load up. It'll take ten minutes, tops and then you're on your way home to Diane," Conor said, jumping onstage and disconnecting cables from his amplifier. Outside the faint sound of sirens began, but went mostly unnoticed.

  "Man, I just got my bass. It's not my fault you guys got all this other shit," Tom said, helping Gibby disassemble his drum kit. "I plug straight into the soundboard-"

  "We'll remember that when we're handing out shares," said Aiden, shaking his head. "You do less than your share, you get less than your share."

  Tom just scowled.

  Jason walked up, handing Conor an envelope with a frown. Conor flipped the flap open and peered inside.

 
"Jay, come on, what's this?" he asked, holding it out to him.

  "Sorry, man. We didn't make it to last call. We make a shitload of money at last call. That's really all I can spare tonight. I'll try to make it up to you next time," Jason explained.

  Conor sighed and nodded. He knew that Jason was a good guy and trustworthy. He believed him.

  "Fine," he said and clapped Jason on the shoulder. "Next time."

  Jason walked off as Tom and Gibby headed toward the back door with various drum equipment in their arms.

  "How bad did we get screwed, brother?" Aiden asked as he rolled a cable around his arm.

  "Just over half of what we usually make here," Conor said, pulling out the cash and handing Aiden his share. "Here you go. Fifty-five bucks for the young axe-slinger."

  "Shit," Aiden replied.

  Together they lowered the amplifiers off of the stage, stowing the cables in a case along with their other gear.

  "You wanna record some stuff tomorrow? You still need to lay down solos on three of those tracks. We could do it in the afternoon after my little buddy wakes up from his nap," Conor said as they rolled the amps toward the back, doing their best to avoid the spilled alcohol, scattered bottles and napkins on the floor.

  "Hmmm. I don't know. I'll call ya," Aiden answered. "Haven't really been in the mood lately."

  "More crap from the ex?"

  "Fuck yes," said Aiden. "When isn't there?"

  "I haven't had to talk to mine in months, thank God," Conor said. "Looking forward to when I no longer have to pay child-support. Might have a few years left, but then - Woohoo!"

  "Heh, heh," laughed his brother. "Few decades for me..."

  They reached the back door, struggling to get the wheels of the amps over the threshold.

  "Throw me the keys, Conor," Gibby called out standing at the back of the van with Tom, stacks of drums in their black cases next to them. The keychain arced through the air and Gibby caught them, quickly opening the back doors and tossing the keys back. Conor and Aiden went to the side door and began loading in their gear.

  "Damn. What the hell is going on?" Aiden asked as the sirens began to grow louder. "Must be fifteen cop cars and they're close."

  Gunfire suddenly rang out a few blocks over and they each stared at each other in surprise for a moment.

  "Enough chit-chat, let's get out of here," Gibby said, tossing the last of his equipment in back and slamming the doors. "Probably the crazies from Youtube coming to get us."

  "Oh, come on. That shit's fake..." Tom said as they quickly made for the front.

  In seconds, they were all sitting in their seats and Conor started the van.

  "Whatever it is, it better not fuck up traffic. I'm tired as hell," Conor remarked as he drove off down the alleyway, doing his best to avoid potholes and stumbling barflies.

  "Hold up, hold up!" Tom said, hands going through the pockets of his jacket. "I left my phone in my case."

  "Hurry up," Conor said, putting the van in park as Tom hopped out and went around back. "Really starting to hate that bastard..."

  "You and me, both," Aiden replied from the passenger seat.

  They could hear Tom talking to himself from where they sat and glanced at each other in annoyance.

  "No, thanks, dude," Tom said. "I got this. What are-"

  Then Tom screamed. Not just a shout, a horrified scream of terror, of one who fears for their life.

  "Help! Ahhh, help me!"

  The brothers shot glances at one another and jumped out of the van. Before either could reach the rear of the vehicle, Tom was thrown into view, blood spraying into the air as his limbs flailed about. He fell to the ground at Conor's feet, still screaming, holding his hands against the gaping wound where his shoulder met his neck.

  Conor was stunned, nearly frozen in place by what he saw. He began to kneel, but something else caught his eye as it came around the van, gurglings and moans escaping its throat. It was like something straight out of a horror movie.

  At some point it had been a man, but now its nearly fleshless skull sat at an odd angle to its shoulders, the whites of its bulging eyes now filled with crimson. Tom's blood ran from its mouth, dripping from its chin to soak into the white of its torn t-shirt. A chunk of its left leg was missing, the bones standing out starkly in the near-darkness. Its head shifted suddenly, the eyes darting sideways as it locked onto Conor and snarled.

  Tom had grown much quieter now, his eyes drooping as he lost consciousness and slumped to his back there in the dirty alleyway. There was simply no way he could survive, the pool of blood around his head now alarmingly large.

  "Shit. Get in the van, brother," Aiden said, slapping Conor in the arm.

  "Tom..." Conor began.

  "He's dead. Get back in the van," Aiden said.

  The walking corpse began to shuffle forward, awkward limbs dragging across the gravel and cinders, broken teeth gnashing crazily as it came. Its arms reached out, yellowed fingers flexing as it sensed its next meal.

  "Conor!" Aiden shouted and kicked him hard in the shin. "Get in the fucking van!"

  Conor winced in pain and shook his head violently, turning to jump back into the driver's seat as Aiden ran to the other side. Conor managed to slam the door just as the monster reached its hand inside. Three twisted fingers fell to the floorboard in a puddle of gel-like liquid.

  "Thanks for the help, Gibby. You piece of-" Aiden started as he slammed the passenger door.

  "Hey, it's not my fault you guys were stupid enough to go out there."

  "We were trying to save Tom!'

  "Well, that was your first mistake right there - trying to save that useless prick."

  "I'd be careful throwing that word useless around, Gib," Conor said with a glare over his shoulder.

  They had had their issues in the past and Gibby knew that there were several other drummers who wanted his position. He bit his tongue and sunk back into his seat.

  "Get out of here, Conor," Aiden warned, pointing ahead of them to the end of the alleyway. Car alarms suddenly blared and hundreds of people ran towards them at full speed, terror in their eyes. "Go, man!"

  Men and women careened off of the van, running like crazed animals, trying to escape what followed. Conor inched the van forward, doing his best to avoid injuring any of them. The thuds of their bodies striking the vehicle were disturbing and they knew some had broken their bones in their attempt to flee. Blood spattered the windshield as a man seemed to dive face-first into the driver's side headlight, knocking several teeth out in the process.

  The man scrambled to his feet and stumbled into the night, searching blindly for safety.

  Then came the horde, hundreds and hundreds of reanimated corpses, some barely more than skeletons, their rotten flesh hanging in loose strips like the sails of a ghost ship. Conor stopped the van for a moment in absolute shock as he saw the dead things fall on the slowest of the stragglers, teeth sinking into flesh, nails tearing them apart, throwing organs into the air.

  "Jesus Christ, Conor. You've got to go! Now! Floor it!" Aiden screamed, backhanding his shoulder. This jolted Conor out of his daze. He shook his head violently and jammed the accelerator to the floor, throwing gravel and cinders into the air as the van lurched forward, knocking innocents to the side and heading straight for the group of zombies.

  Many turned their eyes to the coming headlights just as the van smashed into them crushing a dozen beneath its tires. Even at this speed, a trio of the things latched on to the van, gripping the door handles as Conor turned out of the alley, tires shrieking as he pulled onto Second Street. He could see their slobbering faces in his side mirrors, their fingers digging into the van's side as they tried to climb forward.

  "Oh, fuck..." Gibby said as he moved toward the center of the back seat. "Knock 'em off, Conor! They're comin'!"

  Two cop cars flew past in front of them, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The sharp retort of gunfire echoed from several locations at once. All Hell
was breaking loose. These things were everywhere.

  A woman threw herself on the hood as Conor slowed to maneuver between two stalled SUVs, there were tears in her eyes as she screamed for help.

  "Please!" she cried out, gripping the wipers in both hands, her knees thudding against the hood as she scrambled to get clear of the ground. "My baby! My husband! Let me in! Let me in!"

  Conor moved as if to open the door, but Aiden grabbed his shoulder in warning. Conor nodded at him sadly, realizing the foolishness of such an action. If he opened the door, they were all dead.

  The woman's eyes grew larger as several of the horde gripped her by the legs and pulled. She vanished in a heartbeat, leaving scratches in the paint from her fingernails and they heard her bloodcurdling screams as they devoured her alive.

  At either side, dozens of the undead appeared, hands against the windows, smearing them with blood, pulling on the doors, the van rocking with the weight of their bodies. Conor rolled the van slowly forward as zombies came from everywhere, converging on them, bashing themselves against the front and sides.

  "Where is she?" he said to himself, sitting up in his seat, trying to look over the front of the hood.

  "Just go! Don't worry about her. She's dead," Aiden said, his arm locked in the door handle, pulling it shut.

  The van slid sideways as Conor smashed the gas pedal to the floor. The mass of the creatures was almost too much for the vehicle to overcome, but after a few seconds it began to creep forward, crushing bodies beneath the tires. They heard automatic gunfire from all around them and several of the zombies dropped, their heads exploding on their shoulders. The muzzle flash drew their attention to the top of one of the nearby buildings. As the roof lit up again, they could make out the silhouettes of several gunmen, sweeping the undead crowd with a hail of bullets.

  One shot passed through the back of the van, dangerously close to Gibby's head.

  "Whose side are you guys on?" he screamed, rolling into a ball.

  There was a lull in the automatic weapons fire and they could hear the shooters shouting over the sound of the nearby sirens and screams of terror.