Undead Series (Book 1): Blight of the Dead

by Breckenridge, Erin E.

  “What’s connected?” Raven asked, sitting again at the table. The percolator was making noise, pervading the kitchen with the ambrosial smell of coffee. She was truly waking up now and the reality of their situation resonated. Raven started ticking off things they might need, weapons, water, food, and medical supplies.

  “All the nurses and doctors and shit who called in sick,” Henry answered, looking irked. He thought she wasn’t listening.

  It was funny how childhood habits resurfaced at the oddest times. When they were kids, Henry chattered to Raven constantly, going on about his day at school and everything in between. Back then she rarely listened, but she was listening now.

  “Sorry,” she spoke as way of apology, gesturing for her brother to continue.

  Henry’s mouth quirked in a half smile. “Anyways,” he said, drawing out the word. “I heard screaming and went to look, grabbing my knife on the way.” He pulled a large buck knife in a leather sheath out of his jacket and laid it on the table. “I didn’t go out right away, just peeked through the blinds.” He closed his eyes briefly. “It was Sarah who was screaming. I don’t know why she was still there. She lay on the ground, in the middle of the sidewalk. Blood was pooling all around her, spurting out of her stomach and splattering the kids.”

  Rising to pour the coffee, she grabbed two mugs from the cupboard, emerald green with painted flowers around the rims.

  “Kids!” Raven exclaimed, rising to pour the coffee. “What kids?” She added cream and sugar to her coffee and raised her brows.

  “Cream no sugar,” Henry answered her unasked question.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, taking the proffered cup. “The kids belonged to the couple across the street. I think their names were Mindy and Laurie. They were on their hands and knees, leaning over Sarah.” He cupped his coffee in his hands but did not drink. “They were eating her, Raven. They had their fucking cute little faces buried inside her abdomen. I must’ve made some noise because the older one — Mindy maybe, I can never remember — looked up at me. Her chin was covered in red and there was a chunk of intestine hanging out of her fucking mouth. She chewed on it as I watched, sis, slurped it in and swallowed the fucking thing.”

  “Shit,” Raven responded, unsure what to say. Henry’s expression was haunted and his face was pale. “Drink your coffee, bro,” she said, patting the bottom of the mug.

  His mouth held the hint of a smile and he took a sip. “It’s good,” Henry said, drinking again.

  “How did you get here?” Raven inquired, sipping her own coffee. It was her favorite brew from the local Coffee Stop and Buzz, hazelnut caramel.

  “I waited for the girls to eat their fill. They left after like ten minutes, stumbling unsteadily down the road. I heard a shriek off in the distance. The girls’ heads perked up like a dog on the scent and they took off running; fast little bastards.” He sipped his coffee again. “I hate fucking running zombies.”

  “Running zombies?” Raven questioned. The fear was starting to creep back in and she resumed her mental checklist, boots, dog food, and leather coat. Was it harder for zombies to bite through leather? For the first time she wished that she’d been more of a horror buff, maybe then she’d know what the fuck to expect.

  “You know,” Henry answered. “You’ve got your shambling dead from the old flicks, Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead, the version from the seventies.”

  “Okay,” Raven spoke, drinking the last of her coffee and rising to fill another cup. She had a feeling she would need as much caffeine as she could get today.

  “Then,” Henry continued, warming to the subject. The kid had always loved scary movies. “The new Dawn of the Dead from 2004 that was one of my favorites.” He pointed his finger at her and she held back a laugh. “And the British one, 28 Days Later. Those movies had running zombies. Those fuckers can move like track stars and, from what I’ve seen, that’s what we have here.”

  “Great,” Raven said sighing. Then she had a thought. Glancing at her axe on the kitchen counter where she had set it to make coffee, she rose and picked it up, feeling the weight of it in her hand. “How do we kill them?” she asked, turning to her brother. If she focused on the pertinent, maybe she wouldn’t run screaming.

  He smiled a smile that was both amused and a little maniacal. “Stab them in the head or sever their spinal cord.” Henry gesticulated with the knife, grinning and making Raven laugh.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, moving her hands into a push away gesture.

  A faint scream sounded outside, drying her laughter on her lips. The noise sounded like a man yelling, loud and ragged. Rocky raised his head and let out a low growl.

  Raven regarded her brother, patting Rocky on the head to calm him, murmuring soothing words. She felt another wave of sadness for Moon Pie, but pushed it away. Time for that later, she thought, shoving the feelings into a metal box and locking it. Raven was good at compartmentalizing and was always tough, even as a young kid, never crying when she was little and she skinned her knee or got into a fight with other kids at school. She’d spent a lot of time with her grandfather, Jasper. He’d been through the Second World War as an infantryman and had seen many good men fall in battle. He taught Raven and Henry, to a lesser extent as Jasper was well into his eighties when her brother came along, how to defend themselves with blades and hand-to-hand. Raven had endured many bruises and cuts as a child but had never wanted to be seen as weak by her stalwart grandfather. Those skills could only help them now.

  “What do we do?” she asked Henry, still stroking Rocky soothingly.

  Her brother pursed his lips. “Well, I’ve been thinking,” he said. “How much food do you have here?”

  Raven grinned, happy that she’d just been shopping. “Tons,” she replied. “I broke the bank at Safeway yesterday.” She had just about spent all of her money. Her girlfriends Kathleen, Sally, and she had planned a camping trip for the beginning of November. They’d wanted to spend some time at a rented cabin in Yosemite. She was thankful for that now. She told her brother this and he grinned.

  “That’s fucking awesome,” he said. “That’ll save us a trip to the store. We can go over what you have in a little while. What I’ve been racking my brain about was where to hole up until the brunt of this blows over.”

  Raven glanced out of the window at the sky. It was still dark, hours from the dawn. She could make out the branches of her white alder swaying in a gentle breeze. Suddenly feeling exposed, Raven rose and pulled the curtains tightly shut, feeling the rough fabric beneath her fingertips.

  “Good idea,” Henry spoke, stifling a jaw-breaking yawn. He got up and refilled his coffee mug, opening the fridge and adding half and half.

  “Why can’t we just stay here?” Raven asked, thinking of all the dried goods and simple first aid supplies she’d bought. Sally had teased her about being overly paranoid, saying that there was no need for splints, endless boxes of Band-Aids and peroxide. Who’s laughing now, Raven thought ruefully. She wondered briefly if her friends were all right.

  Henry frowned and shook his head. “Not secure enough.” He gestured around the room. “There are too many windows and you don’t even have a security screen.”

  Raven sighed. “Mom never wanted one.” She smiled in a sad way. “She always insisted that if we couldn’t feel safe in the neighborhood she’d lived in all of her life then we may as well give up on society.”

  Henry scoffed. “Nice sentiment,” he spoke. “Doesn’t do fuck all for us now though.”

  Raven saw his point. “What about your house?” she asked. “You’ve got a security door and bars on the windows.”

  The area of Park Oaks where Henry lived in was none so good though he’d never had a problem. Raven used to visit him there until one day she’d been chased around his car by a crazy bum with a broken beer bottle. She knew how to take care of herself and hadn’t been scared to return but her brother had always found excuses to meet her elsewhere. She thou
ght maybe he’d been embarrassed.

  “That’s no good,” Henry responded. His face darkened.

  Raven raised her eyebrows but he refused to expound, just shaking his head.

  “Well?” Raven asked after a moment of silence, “where then?”

  “The girl I told you about earlier,” Henry said, draining his coffee.

  “Yeah, Sarah, right?” Raven spoke, thinking it important to remember her name. Something about the look her brother got when he talked about Sarah made Raven think the girl had been on the way to claiming his heart.

  “Yup,” Henry nodded. “She has, had,” he corrected, skin around his eyes tightening, “a cabin up in the mountains. I took the key from her purse after . . . well just after.” He gulped audibly. “I think it’s our best chance.”

  “Oh,” Raven responded, not quite sure how to react. She touched Rocky’s head absently. Questions skittered through her mind like fall leaves on the ground. How are we going to get there? Will it be safe? Will we have to kill anyone along the way? How long can we survive there? “Have you been there before?” was what she asked.

  “Twice,” Henry responded, frowning.

  “Okay then,” Raven responded, deciding to ignore her brother’s obvious discomfort for the moment. “You drove here, I assume.”

  “I did,” Henry said, straightening his Carhartt jacket. He dug into a pocket and brought out his keys, jingling them.

  Henry had inherited their mother’s truck after her death. Raven had never learned to drive. She always meant to get around to it, but so far had gotten by just fine without it. So, Henry got the truck and that was fine with her.

  “How’s the old Chevy running?” she asked. It was a 1958 pickup. Henry had it repainted black with red accents along the hood and fenders. The truck looked better than ever.

  “Just fine,” Henry grinned. “I just replaced some sparkplugs a couple of weeks ago so she should be good to go.”

  “Cool,” Raven said. Rising, she rinsed her cup in the sink and turned to rest her butt against it. “Want some breakfast?”

  Henry smiled crookedly. “Hell yeah, if you’re cookin’!”

  “You know it!” Raven exclaimed, grinning. She started to rummage in the fridge. “How about eggs, bacon and toast?”

  “Sounds awesome,” Henry answered, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing his hands across his face.

  Rocky sighed and lay on the floor, closing his eyes.

  “After we eat we’ll make a list of supplies. Every time I travel I forget something,” Raven said without turning around. She was struck by the banality of her statement, like they were going on a fucking vacation. Not all that different, she thought, at least when it came to packing.

  “Yeah, all right,” Henry responded, voice muffled by his hands.

  Raven stirred eggs, heating up the pan and putting the bacon in, planning to make a large meal. She would be damned if she had to fight the fucking undead on an empty stomach.

  The sun rose a little after seven on the town of Hallows Point and things were much changed. Men and woman ran in the streets in various stages of undress. An early morning cyclist was taken down by a group of zombies that had just the day before been upstanding citizens. Tearing into his flesh was a woman in a doctor’s coat and scrubs, and two high school aged children in straight leg jeans and hoodies. The man lay on the ground screaming and prying futilely at the preternaturally strong hands of the undead. The doctor tore out his throat in a spray of blood that covered her white coat in a wash of red. The cyclist’s struggling ceased. He fell back limp on the ground, brightly colored spandex quickly becoming soaked in red. The zombies fell in to feed, gulping down mouthfuls of blood and intestines. His body twitched and jumped under their violent ministrations. The front wheel of his bike spun round, spokes shining in the bright morning sun.

  A woman wailed and ran down the street, carrying the body of a small child in her arms. Her hair blew in the breeze and she wore only her nightshirt, oblivious to the morning chill. The boy was dead, throat torn out and the skin on his face was missing. The woman tripped over the cyclist’s bike and fell to her knees on the concrete. She keened, bowed her head and kissed the skinless brow of her boy, gripping him to her breast. His hair was caked in drying blood, blond completely obscured with red. The boy’s arm fell away, hanging limp and pale. The woman rocked back and forth in complete anguish, murmuring sweet things to her dead son.

  The fingers on his hand contracted, twitching into a fist and uncurling. His arm jerked, hitting the woman in the shoulder. She stilled and pulled back from her son. Joy and blind hope momentarily lit her features. The child opened his eyes, bright blue in his blood washed face. A groaning hiss escaped his throat, turning into a growl. Her expression fell and all hope drained away. The mother screamed and pushed at him. He reached for her, slowly at first then wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face in her breasts, tearing through the thin material of her nightshirt and ripping her skin away. She shrieked in pain and terror.

  The noise drew the attention of the doctor and high school students. They rushed to join the feeding, tearing at her flesh and freeing the blood beneath.

  The cyclist, abdominal cavity completely emptied showing the glistening bones of his spine, twitched, hands and feet coming off the ground. A breathy groan came out of his throat and he opened his eyes, blood red from hemorrhaging. He rose disjointedly, like a mishandled marionette. Stumbling at first then gaining coordination, he saw the fallen body of the woman and joined the fray.

  A man crept by on the opposite side of the street, glancing furtively at the writhing group of zombies. He was dressed all in black and held a .45 in a two-handed grip, pointed at the ground. The dark gun barrel was nearly invisible against his clothes. He reached an old station wagon and found it unlocked. The car sat on the lawn, crushing a bed of flowers beneath its tires. The man got in and started the engine with a roar. He sped away in a spray of dirt and displaced petals.

  The blaring siren of a police cruiser shattered the morning. A black and white Crown Victorian rounded the corner, speeding past quaint little houses with well-manicured lawns and beds of begonias and daises. The driver’s side window was broken; squares of glass were stuck on the rubber seal. The woman behind the wheel glanced at the masticating zombies then back to the road, blond hair blowing back in the wind. Her badge sat on the seat beside her, forgotten.

  The street quieted. Only the sick sounds of chomping meat and tearing viscera could be heard on this still and otherwise peaceful morning in the sleepy town of Hollows Point. A flock of sparrows took flight from a nearby oak tree, soaring away from the rising sun. The zombies, tiring of their meal as there was nothing left but bones licked clean, stumbled to their feet. Their heads canted in unison, hearing something interesting far off in the distance. A scream sounded high and pitiful, carried in on the breeze. The undead ran, going from complete stillness to a blur of motion with frightening ease. They rounded the bend and disappeared, snarling and snapping. Their vocalizations could be heard for a long time.

  Chapter Two

  Raven and Henry Seek Safety

  Raven

  “I think that’s everything,” Raven said, checking off the last item on her list.

  They’d eaten breakfast and she had showered quickly, afraid that something terrible would happen while she was indisposed. Raven had however taken the time to shave her legs and underarms, not knowing when the next opportunity would arise. The temperature had dropped overnight, plummeting into the low fifties. She’d dressed in dark jeans, boots, t-shirt, thermal top and bottoms, donning her long leather coat. Raven had packed many layers. If they were going up into the hills it would only get colder. She hoped the cabin had firewood or a good supple of pellets for a stove. Cold weather was not her favorite.

  “Does Rocky have a coat?” Henry asked.

  The dog trotted around the living room merrily; totally clueless to the trouble they were in.
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  “Oh, yeah,” Raven answered. “It’s in the closet. I’ll get it.”

  Her booted feet made little noise on the carpet. She’d just shampooed it last week and it was bright blue again, just like Mom had kept it. The grandfather clock bonged out the hour, striking six times. It was tall and made of well-polished mahogany; little brass numbers and two hands decorated its face. Raven touched the wood, running her hand across her smooth arch. It was not lost to her that she was saying goodbye to the home she’d grown up in. She sighed heavily.

  Raven opened the closet and a landslide of clothes and books flowed out.

  Henry let out a harsh bray. “Some things don’t change,” he said, laughter riding his voice.

  Raven smiled and reached into the pile, tossing aside a bunch of pillowcases and ancient magazines. After a moment of searching, she unearthed Rocky’s winter coat. She sat back on her heals, holding it up triumphantly. It was black and lined with sheepskin; made of waterproof material. It fit him like a horse blanket.

  “That’s a nice one,” Henry said. “I had one like that for Nutmeg.”

  Nutmeg a female chow that he’d had until her death a couple of years ago. She had been a temperamental thing but he’d loved her, taking her everywhere. Why she needed a coat at all, Raven wasn’t sure.

  All that fur, she thought, glad that Rocky had short hair. “Come here, Rocky,” she said, patting her thigh. “It’s nearly time to go.” She felt trepidation with those words and her heart fluttered briefly in her throat.

  Rocky padded to her and she buckled his jacket around him. He wagged his tail and shifted his shoulders beneath the coat. “Good dog,” she said, patting his head and giving him a biscuit.

  “Ready?” Henry asked, rising from the lounger he’d been sitting in.

  Her brother was dressed in dark jeans and boots. She thought he’d be warm enough with his work jacket but being his sister she had to ask.