by Chuck Wendig
Gil’s heart fluttered. They still had a shot. He laughed. Kissed Kayla. “You hear that, baby? They got another lab! This isn’t even the main one. On a boat! Genius. Just genius.”
“Dad. I’m not gonna make it.”
“What? Baby, no, shhh, don’t say that.” He looked to the woman, said, “Doc, tell my daughter that she’ll be okay.” But it was too late. The woman’s chin was to her chest, and she wasn’t moving. “You’ll be okay. Shhh.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“You believe me, little girl?”
“I believe you, Daddy.” She tried to stand. “I want to say goodbye to them, if it’s okay.” He didn’t understand at first, but she was looking in the direction of the vampire and Danny. He petted her hair, told her it was okay.
He watched as she crouched by Danny. Pressed her forehead to his. Kissed him on the cheek. The very act damn near broke his heart. Danny was a good kid. Saved their lives more than once. All for nothing. Or maybe it was for something: maybe it was for her, his baby girl.
Then she crawled over to the vampire. Gil decided he wasn’t going to watch—he’d seen goodbyes enough for a lifetime. Instead, he stood up, figured he’d go looking around for some kind of medication, anything. Antibiotics for him. Ibuprofen for her, to bring her fever down. Any pills he’d had prior were left with the caravan. She needed something now.
Gil went over to a desk, started rooting through drawers. Lucky day, he thought with more than a single serving of irony, because there in the drawer he found both a bottle of Tylenol and a bottle of Advil. Both good for dropping fevers.
He turned to his daughter, started to say, “Kayla, I found—”
But his words devolved into a breathless cry.
Kayla knelt over Coburn’s body, over his ruined head.
A letter opener stuck awkwardly out of the side of her neck.
And her blood poured into his unmoving mouth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Metempsychosis, Transubstantiation, and Other Big Words
It felt like being pulled backwards through the Devil’s asshole. Up through the hot coals that lined his colon. Into the sulfur pit of his stomach. Up an esophagus lined with razor wire and broken glass. And then back out the Devil’s own mouth, over his rough tongue, past the blackened teeth.
The bones in his face reknitted.
His tongue popped free from his swollen throat.
His brain reformed, one screaming synapse at a time.
And before he knew what was happening, Coburn was lurching to his feet, staggering drunkenly about. His blood felt hot. His mind felt white, clean, an open expanse like a snow-covered hill or a winter sky. Holy fuck, he felt good.
He laughed. Until he saw Kayla. Laying still.
The blood on his lips tasted like her. Like the way her hair smelled. Like cotton candy. Like lambs-wool.
And then, before he could say anything or do anything, there stood Gil. Brickert’s gun—the Colt Python that ended Coburn the first time out—was in his hand.
“Why?” was all Gil could muster.
Before Coburn could answer, Gil shot the window behind him, then shoved the vampire through the open window.
As he tumbled out, Coburn said words he never expected to say:
“Daddy, wait.”
Then he fell thirty-seven floors.
He hit a BMW. His body folded the car in enough so that both ends lifted up on each side a little bit. The windshields popped with a sound of a cannon going off and rain coming down after.
The car alarm started to go off.
All the bones in his body felt like they’d just been shattered. They felt about as put-together as a bucket of loose LEGO pieces.
A voice inside him said, Don’t worry. We’ll get you fixed up right.
Except, it wasn’t the monster’s voice. Wasn’t his own voice, either.
It was hers.
“Kayla?” he asked, but no voice—internal or external—answered.
Inside, he felt his bones start to knit. He didn’t even have to do anything about it. No effort at all. That was new.
Then he felt something wet on his cheek. First he thought, I think I’m crying, but then he smelled the gamy gust of dog’s breath and found himself face-to-muzzle with Creampuff, who seemed awfully happy to see him.
And then he felt it: a warmth on his arm.
The street around him started to brighten.
Morning rose, the sky a kind of nuclear pink, with fingers of orange shot through it. The sun wasn’t up, not yet, but it would be soon.
And Coburn decided to meet the sun head-on. He didn’t deserve to live. Didn’t matter how good he felt. He wasn’t going to hang around this endless life anymore with Kayla’s death on his hands.
He stood atop the ruined BMW and waited for the sun.
It rose. His skin grew warmer and warmer.
And now the fire comes.
But it never came.
What did come was Kayla’s voice again, and this time it spoke at length inside the echo chamber of his skull:
You can’t leave this world yet, silly. You’ve still got work to do. Got bad things to make up for. You have my blood.
It’s yours now, forever and ever. Carry it with you. Give it to others. Now you’re the cure, Coburn.
Now, Coburn did weep, his cheeks slick with blood.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I Left My Heart in San Fransico
The zombie’s head snapped back, the crossbow bolt going in through the eye and sticking out the back. It coughed up a little black mist when it did so.
“Nice shot,” Coburn said.
“Mm,” Gil said. He went back over, planted his shoe on the rotter’s head, withdrew the bolt. He wore a pair of diving gloves that looked almost like chainmail. Were good in case you got bit by a moray eel or something, but were also good to make sure you didn’t get bit by some wayward rotter.
The rotters were still around, after all. Coburn’s death—his first death, or shit, maybe it was his second—ended the hunters who had been born on his blood. But though the entire zombie epidemic came from his own DNA, even still, it was never a blood-to-blood thing. At least, that was how he figured it.
“Speaking of a nice shot,” Coburn said, “that one there would be a pretty nice shot if I had a camera. That’s some picturesque shit, pops.”
“Don’t call me Pops,” Gil said. But he agreed just the same. “It is awfully pretty.”
Down there, San Francisco lay quiet, shrouded in fog. The spires of the Golden Gate Bridge peaked out of the mist, too. South of the city lay another army of cannibals and a whole lot of zombies; so they’d taken the long way and come at the city from the north.
It started to spit rain. Even still, Coburn could see a little sun up there through the pendulous cloud cover.
The sun didn’t bother him much anymore. It itched a little. Maybe that was normal. At this point, normal was meaningless. He was still dead. No heartbeat. Could still do all the things a vampire could do. But he felt stronger. And while his body still sustained itself on the blood of the living, he didn’t need to drink as much and the hunger had lost some of its teeth, so to speak.
Convincing Gil of what had happened wasn’t easy. Kayla had given herself up because she knew she couldn’t make it on her own. Enter Coburn, a vampire whose body was an undead water jug that could carry her blood or her essence or whatever-it-was with him. Gil didn’t like that. Shot Coburn a few more times. Hit him, too—the old man knew how to throw a punch.
But then it occurred to him that the vampire was taking punches in the middle of day-time. Stranger still was how sometimes Coburn spoke in the little girl’s voice—not a man speaking like a little girl, but actually with Kayla’s voice.
Gil came around.
Mostly. He still wasn’t real excited about it. Didn’t help that he was emotionally torn up over the events of that day and physically torn up from the gunshot wound. The resulta
nt infection had run him ragged. They never got around to finding antibiotics. Instead, Coburn gave the old man a little bit of his blood and, overnight, the infection cleared like a storm sliding out to sea.
“Ready to go?” Coburn asked.
“I suppose,” Gil said, tucking the crossbow bolt back into the homemade quiver he had hanging at his side. He’d taken to using the crossbow he found in a sporting goods store because, he said, the ammo didn’t disappear on you. “Recycling,” he’d said. “Good for the planet.”
“Let’s do it, then.” Coburn snapped his fingers. “That means you too, you little sonofabitch.”
Creampuff barked, having found himself a squirrel to chew on. He came bounding up, squirrel fur still stuck in his mouth.
Together, the three descended toward the Golden Gate Bridge, heading for the City by the Bay. It was time to fulfill Kayla’s mission.
END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chuck Wendig is a novelist, screenwriter and self-described ‘penmonkey.’ He sold his first story when he was 18. After working in the computer and role-playing game industries he began scripting TV and film projects, including a horror film script which won him a place at the prestigious Sundance Screenwriter Lab 2010.
He’s written too much. He should probably stop. Give him a wide berth, as he might be drunk and untrustworthy. He currently lives in the wilds of Pennsyltucky with wife, dog, and newborn progeny.
Double Dead is Chuck’s first novel. His second novel, Blackbirds, is due out with Angry Robot Books in May 2012.
www.terribleminds.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To Michelle, who lets me be who I need to be and isn’t afraid of me being a writer, crazy as we are.
To Tracy, who first put a Robert McCammon book in my hand.
To McCammon, who made me want to be a writer and a storyteller.
To Stacia, who gave me a shot and got me out there.
To Coburn, who got in my head and in my blood and put this book before you.
Title
Indicia
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part Two
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Part Three
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Part Four
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Nine
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Table of Contents
Indicia
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part Two
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Part Three
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Part Four
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Nine
About the Author
Acknowledgements