Stay Dead 2: The Dead and The Dying

by Steve Wands

  After awhile everyone dispersed, leaving Walter and Davis sitting at the table drinking coffee.

  “I know I didn’t want to get into it till I had some rest, but you got me thinking Walter.”

  “Thinking about what?”

  “The wall…or walling off a smaller section at least. When we took down those deaders at the station I could see it right there. A small version of what I had in mind, something more practical I guess. We wouldn’t even need much to do it because the buildings over there are so close together. We can probably get enough school busses to block off both ends of the street. Say from where the post office is, till the stop sign on the far end.”

  “And what about in between the buildings?”

  “Well, some of them are so narrow we could literally wall ‘em off if we can find enough materials. Or maybe just stick a car in there and fence it off, barricade it somehow. Some of the larger spaces I don’t really know. Fencing, some trenches, regular patrols maybe?”

  “Sure, any of that could work. I’m thinking though, that’s a lot of work for just the few of us. Maybe tomorrow we’ll go around and see if we can’t round up some more people in town.”

  “Sounds fine to me. We’ll just take it one step at a time.”

  “Amen to that. I just want to get the kids out for a bit tomorrow. They need to run around outside. Maybe you and the girl can help us keep an eye out. We’ve been trying to shelter them from the dead; it’s starting to wear on us. We wanted to start working on fencing off the house and reinforce it anyway we could. We’ve been going around and scavenging supplies from the neighbors too.”

  “That’s good man, thinking ahead. I should’ve started thinking ahead from day one. Maybe I could’ve made some better choices, kept more people alive…”

  “Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty. You reacted the way you should have. It’s not like we were getting a lot of real information at first.”

  “No we weren’t.”

  “You think this will pass?”

  “I sure as shit hope so. Why wouldn’t it? Maybe it’ll go away as abruptly as it came. But I think that’s just hopeful thinking. I think we’ll be dealing with this for a long time to come.”

  “I was talking to Jeff the other day. About making it through the winter…it’ll be tough on us, but maybe it’ll be even tougher on the dead. Maybe if we can get some snow, some real bad weather, it’ll help us out. They don’t seem to take shelter, so if we get a bad winter…”

  “More wishful thinking, Walt. I don’t think we saw snow till January last year.”

  “Then maybe we’ll get it early this year.”

  “You got enough food to last that long?”

  “No, not by a long shot, but we’re getting there. There’s a lot of homes in town and it’s not like we have anything else to do.”

  “I guess not.”

  Jeff sat on the floor playing with the kids and Maria. Barbara stood by the door, looking outside. Laura sat with Danni, trying to engage her in conversation but she seemed to be drifting off into her own thoughts.

  Barbara stepped outside, listening to the sounds of night settling in over the land. There was still enough light as the blue sky grew darker and darker to see her surroundings. She could see a few deaders bleeding into the darkness, getting lost into what would soon be night. It would be a clear night, she knew, as she looked up to the sky and saw a brilliant display of stars.

  God, if you’re listening…if you’re even fucking out there, why? Why are you doing this? What the hell did we do?

  56 VENGEANCE ON THE WIND

  (back to top)

  Sarah joined the dead horde that followed Ben through the house and down into the garage. He put the truck into reverse and drove it back off the ruined door. The dead now shambled over the door following after him. He pulled the truck over to a stop, got out and turned the latch on the back of the truck, with ease he pushed the door all the way up and pulled out the loading ramp.

  “Get in you dead mother fuckers I ain’t got all day!”

  The dead did not argue. Though they did have a hell of a time trying to walk up the ramp. Some fell off, while others bumped into each other, some just didn’t understand what it was they were supposed to be doing.

  “Fucking idiots. Brain dead maggot sucking idiots.”

  Ben waited though; he wanted Sarah in the truck. Jim made it in, just barely, and Sarah wasn’t far behind. Her movements were smoother than the others, more fluid, and less jerkily. She was a fresh one, and if Ben could figure out a way of getting hard, he wanted to fuck her—dead or not.

  Eventually she got into the back of the box truck and Ben pulled down the door and locked the latch. He slammed the ramp back in and waived a middle finger to the deaders that were unable to load themself in.

  Driving away, Creedence Clearwater Revival was still blasting from the speakers.

  ***

  Ben drove on some sort of dark autopilot from hell. Driving casually through the mostly empty streets. Leaves littered the grounds and streets, clogged the storm drains, and kicked up into the air as Ben drove through them. He could tell which homes had people in them and which didn’t. He knew the dead could as well, but they tended to get distracted and wander off.

  Distraction was something Ben didn’t care for too much. He liked to stay focused--to keep his eyes on the prize, as his father would say. So as much as he wanted to knock on the door and surprise a couple of survivors he drove on. Through the streets that would take him to New Haven and beyond. He would drive close to Titan City so he could see the beautiful destruction with his own decaying eyes.

  Then he would get onto 287 and follow it as far north as he could because he knew that was the way to go.

  How do I know?

  Why do I know?

  Are there others like me?

  The darkness inside him answered without ever saying a word. Feeling elated Ben drove on. The dead moved out of his way when he approached, in the few spots where they moved like sheep across the highway. It made him feel like some kind of zombie royalty, a dead knight in putrefying armor.

  He was part of something now. Something far bigger than he ever thought possible—The Unwinding.

  He loved killing, and had aspired to be listed among the greats. He always hoped he’d get a movie made of his dark art once it was all said and done, but now? The greats were small fish. He was swimming in a sea of blood that would drown the world, and in it he was a shark.

  Just like those he followed he had to abandon his vehicle. He let the dead out of the back of the truck and walked away. Dead Sarah and the others followed behind, shuffling noisily through a pile of cans on the side of the road.

  Ben walked quickly, with a determination in his stride unhindered like the others behind him whose dead bones and flesh weakened and withered into a slow almost unending decay.

  If he had breath, it would probably be visible with the chill in the air, but nothing came out of his lungs. His chest didn’t move, his thickening blood only pumped as a result of his movements and he could feel it. It felt like thick oil barely able to move through his veins, being pushed up from his toes like sludge only to slide back down.

  He made it to the bridge. His dead friends far behind, but other deaders in his vicinity had come to be near him, drawn to him like some sort of death magnet.

  By the time he made it to the top of the bridge he knew he was too late. He could hear the boat approaching. He rushed to the side to watch as the living vermin escaped his wrath once again. Like rats on the water they scurried away.

  Fucking pussies. Run. I’ll get ya. I’ll find ya and I’ll tear yer God damned hearts out.

  Then he felt it. He could feel the death in their group. One or more of them were dying. The darkness inside them was growing.

  Or maybe I won’t have to…

  …maybe you’ll all be dead before I can get to ya.

  EPILOGUE

  (back to top)


  West Virginia.

  Mount Weather Special Facility.

  As commanded, Rachel and Tran reported to The Deputy Secretary of Defense’s makeshift office. The room was dusty and smelled like an old library. He sat behind a dark, large desk that took up half the room. It made him look small, but no less fierce. His face was stuck in a perpetually angry grimace. Even his hands looked angry. They were dry with large knuckles that undoubtedly had met many faces in his younger years.

  “Sit,” he paused for a moment, then continued, “let’s get right to it. I’ve already dispatched a unit of my men to a nearby prison.”

  “West Virginia Penitentiary?”

  “Yes, now don’t interrupt me till I finish.”

  “Sorry sir--”

  “What did I just say? If the prison is operational, with real live prisoners, my men will be securing the facilities. If not, then it’s back to the drawing board. Since I’m an optimist we’ll assume the facilities can be secured in a matter of days. They will then establish a mode of transportation to make regular trips so that you have a supply of fresh bodies. In the event that should prove difficult we’ll move the two of you and whatever supplies and equipment you need over there.”

  “What? You can’t be serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. Now sit. The fuck. Down. If that happens, you’ll have a small unit with you at all times. I don’t want the two of you getting killed, but I think what the two of you are doing is important. Now I’m not sold on what you’re selling me, but we’ve got to follow it through. We all want to be somewhere else. We all want this shit to be over with, but it isn’t going to happen unless we make it happen. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “You two can go rest up or do whatever it is you white-coats do around here. I expect to hear from the team within the hour and I’ll update you both as soon as possible.”

  Tran stood up first and made his way out of the room as quickly as possible. He wasn’t a fan of the Secretary, or of men like him, and saw no reason to stay in his company any longer.

  “Slow down,” Rachel called.

  “Sorry, I just want to get away from the jerk.”

  “He wasn’t so bad. I get the feeling he’s just putting up a tough front.”

  “I doubt it. I don’t think there’s much more to that man other than what we see.”

  “Don’t rush to judgment.”

  “Never, but sometimes a brick wall is a brick wall.”

  “Okay. Well, see you in a bit. I’m going to catch a catnap.”

  “If you can’t sleep, I’ll be having tea, and you’re welcome to join me.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tran nodded and turned down the corridor toward his quarters. Rachel continued forward, en route to her own room.

  Once there she kicked off her shoes and threw herself back into her unmade bed. She pulled the covers around herself and wrapped them tightly around her shoulders and she nuzzled her face into a pillow.

  She wanted to think of nothing. To just close her eyes and sleep a dreamless sleep. But when she closed her eyes all she could think about was how the hell she ended up in this nightmare life inside a mountain.

  Why her and not someone else? She remembered how the Federal Agent and two fatigued men came to her door. If she’d said “No,” instead of “Yes,” they would have grabbed her and taken her away all the same. She knew that for a fact as some of her colleagues had said “No,” yet they were here all the same.

  The day they arrived here the Secretary addressed them all in a large group in the dining area. She remembered how he made it sound like it was their duty to figure out what was happening and why, and most importantly, how to stop it.

  She could hear Pymn’s voice still echoing in the large room, “You are all that stands in the way of our demise. Some of you may be wondering why you’re even here. What could you possibly have to offer? Well, you are all we could find on short notice and in relative vicinity. There are several other outposts such as ours with similar teams assembled. Unfortunately we have lost contact with all of them. We simply do not know if they were successful in getting their teams together and sequestered away. There is much we do not know. It is your job to find out more.”

  Then her mind jumped forward to yesterday and all she could think about was death. When she was a young teen, the Grim Reaper was cool. Death was a skeleton with bloodshot eyes, a tattered purple hood, and a gleaming scythe. Rock bands and Heavy Metal bands sang songs about him.

  She remembered how her lungs felt like ice, how her hands were almost frozen, even waning in pallor. The entire room seemed to drop in temperature as the dead soldier spoke. And then she thought of him. The dead soldier, the man who looked like a scared boy. She thought of how easily they exchanged his life for a few words. They had no right to do that. She had no right.

  Maybe that’s why Death has come…because we don’t have any respect for life…

  END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Steve Wands lives in New Jersey with his wife and son. He’s a freelance artist by day and writer by night. He drinks too much coffee, and sleeps very little. He is the author of the Stay Dead series of short stories, collections, and novels as well as Horror Stories: A Macabre Collection, Words Like Daggers, Modern Nightmares, and plenty of short stories. He also co-edited and contributed to Dark: A Horror Anthology.

  You can visit his blog here: http://www.stevewands.blogspot.com

  or play with his twitter: http://twitter.com/swands

  If Google Groups are your thing, then why not join Steve’s:

  http://groups.google.com/group/apparatus-revolution