The Ark (Life of the Dead Book 3)

by Tony Urban

  “Hello there, young friend.”

  “Hi.” The boy winced as he spoke, as the pain coursed through his face. He reached up and his fingertips traced the sutures that lined his cheeks. “Where am I? Who are you?”

  “You’re on the Ark. A compound of sorts which I founded and which is safe. And I am Douglas Younkin, but you can call me Doc.”

  “Like the rabbit?”

  “Pardon?” Doc thought the boy must be delirious from his pain medication.

  “You know. Yabada, yabada, yabada. What’s up Doc?”

  “Oh!” Doc chuckled. “Well, yes. Like that. But the rabbit wasn’t Doc. The rabbit was asking Doc what was up.”

  “Close enough.”

  Doc patted the boy’s hand. “I suppose.”

  The teen pushed himself up in the hospital bed so he was sitting somewhat upright. “Can I have a drink or something?”

  Doc nodded. He poured water from a plastic pitcher into a cup then dropped in a straw and handed it over. The boy sucked it down greedily. When he finished, Doc refilled it.

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  The boy finished off another cup of water. “I’m Wayne Supanek. I’m 17 and I was living in Harper’s Ferry when the zombies happened. Everyone died. My mom. My dad. Even my gram. They all turned.”

  “Did you have to kill them?”

  Wayne shook his head. “I just ran. Took my dad’s Honda and drove away as fast as I could go. Made it a hundred miles or so before I hit a pileup on the interstate that I couldn’t get around so I started walking.”

  Doc was already bored. The boy’s story was the same as everyone else. Sickness. Death. Fear. Running. So sad. Blah blah blah.

  “Yes, I understand. It must have been quite traumatic.” Doc leaned forward, resting is hand on top of Wayne’s. The boy wriggled his own away and Doc pretended not to notice. “One of our men found you. Your injuries were… severe.”

  Wayne averted his eyes and gave a curt nod.

  “What happened? Who cut you?”

  “The Devil did this to me.”

  “The devil? Red skin, pointy tail, pitchfork? That kind of devil?”

  Doc thought he saw Wayne’s pupils constrict, the muscles in his face tighten. The boy wasn’t amused.

  “No. He was a man. But he’s a killer. He asked me to help but I wouldn’t so he cut me. And left me to die. Told me the blood would attract the zombies like sharks to blood in the water. And they almost got me a couple times. I barely got away—”

  Doc wasn’t interested in how the boy survived. He wanted to know more about the person who cut him.

  “Yes, I understand. But the man you mentioned. Who did he want to kill?”

  Wayne lifted his face to look Doc in the eyes.

  “Everyone who got in his way.”

  The boy’s stare was so intense that Doc broke eye contact. “Well, you’re safe here, Wayne. We’ll take good care of you.”

  Doc stood up and walked, almost scurried out of the room. He turned back when he reached the doorway.

  “And, Wayne?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’d consider it a personal favor if you don’t mention this devil of yours to anyone else. At least for the time being. The people here are… on the excitable side.”

  “No problem.”

  Doc didn’t like this, not at all.

  Thud, thud, thud, thud.

  Thud, thud, thud, thud.

  Thud, thud, thud, thud.

  Doc drummed his fingers against the desk repeatedly. It was one of his nervous tics. Flaws he usually hid well, but which reared their heads under times of duress. Like now.

  He checked his watch again. 6:38. The men were late. He despised tardiness in the best of times and this was far from that. It was still dark outside but that would be changing soon.

  Thud, thud, thud, thud.

  Thud, thud, thud, thud.

  There came a knock at the cabin door. “Come in!” Doc said.

  The door creaked, then opened. Phillip was the first through.

  “What took so long?” Doc said as he climbed to his feet and stalked toward him.

  Philip gave a sheepish shrug of his shoulders and tilted his head backward, toward the next man in line. That was Buck Prentiss, a former soldier who had yet to abandon his crew cut.

  “I’m ssss - sorry, Doc. I ssss- slept in.”

  The stuttering was worse when Buck was nervous and it would have normally annoyed Doc, but right now it defused his temper, at least to some degree. He enjoyed seeing these younger men cow to him.

  “I wwww - won’t dddd- do it again.”

  Doc nodded. “I’d hope not.”

  Darry Skiver was next into the room. His thick, black framed glasses made him look like a nerd from the 1950s, but his body was fit and muscular. He was quiet and followed orders well. Last came Santino Espina, the oldest of the bunch at forty-eight. He was tall but quite lean and the combination made him look inconsequential, like a gangly teenager who’d never grown out of his awkward phase. However, Doc had seen him beat a man to death with his bare hands earlier that year.

  The four of them watched Doc expectant, silent.

  “It’s been brought to my attention that there may be survivors in the vicinity. I need you men to go on a scouting mission and see if you can find any evidence of that.”

  The men cast furtive glances at one another, wary. Doc knew they had not been expecting anything along these lines. They hadn’t been off the Ark in months. The last time they were, a fifth man, Kelvin, had been killed by zombies.

  “What brought this on?” Phillip asked.

  “The boy Wim brought in, Wayne. He said the man who cut him is some sort of killer. Now the boy could be mad with fever or simply an outright liar, but I want you to make sure the area is clear.”

  “And what if we do find someone?” Phillip’s hand fell to the pistol on his waistband as if he knew the answer to come.

  “If you find someone alive, anyone, kill them. I don’t care if it’s a man, woman, or child.”

  Santino was the first to nod in agreement. Phillip followed, then the others.

  “Be back by dusk. I’ll tell everyone you’re out for supplies since William is incapacitated.” He shooed them away with his hands and they retreated toward the doorway. Before they could exit, Buck looked back.

  “Dddd-Doc?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shouldn’t we bring something back? I mean, in case anyone sees us. They’d wonder why we’re empty-handed.”

  Doc considered this, nodded. “Yes, very true. I’ll make a small list. But Buck?”

  “Yyyy - yes?”

  “If you want to bring me something, make it a zombie. Female. Late teens or early twenties if possible.”

  Buck’s eyes grew so wide the eyeballs looked as if they might tumble free of the sockets. “A zzzz - zombie?”

  “Yes, Bbbb - Buck,” Doc said with a sneer. “A zombie. And I want her unharmed and with no prior injuries to her torso. Do you think you can handle that?”

  Doc’s gaze was harsh, unforgiving. Buck looked away. “Yes, ssss- Sir.” Buck fled the room.

  Phillip was the last out and Doc flashed a ghoulish smile at him. “Make her a pretty one, Phillip.” He added a wink. Phillip didn’t say anything as he left the cabin.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  No one realized Hal hadn’t returned to his quarters the night before. No one missed him at breakfast that morning. No one saw him laying a hundred yards from camp, his body curled into a ball as the pain arced through him like electricity cooking him from the inside out. No one saw him die. And no one saw him come back.

  He rose from the gulley in which he died, first climbing to his knees, then pushing his way onto his feet. Clods of snow fell as he swayed, took a step, then tumbled back to the ground. His second attempt was more successful and soon enough he was staggering toward the common ground.

  Hal, or the thing that used to be Hal, came
upon little Tommy Spielman first. The boy was about eight years old, skinny as a fencepost, and in the middle of building a snowman when Hal reached him.

  The boy saw the shadow fall over top of him, turning the white snow a dirty gray. He looked up, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright, gun metal colored sky, but saw nothing. Tommy kept tilting his head back, leaning his whole upper body backward in the process. When he reached a 120-degree angle, he found Hal looming behind him.

  It was hard to see Hal’s face against the bright sky and, even if he had got a good look, little Tommy wouldn’t have realized Hal was a dead man anyway. He only had two or three seconds to wonder why this man was staring down at him with his mouth open when Hal lurched forward and grabbed him by his ears. Hal used them like handles as he lifted the boy upward, raising him toward his gaping mouth. Tommy didn’t even have time to scream before the zombie bit down on his face. The feeling of teeth shredding his tender flesh was unlike anything the boy had ever felt before. Soon, their teeth clattered together as Hal’s mouth chomped through Tommy’s lips and tore them free from his face.

  “Tommy?”

  As shock overwhelmed him Tommy managed to turn his head to see Pete Decker, one of his very best friends, staring at this strange, horrific scene.

  Tommy tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet gasp as blood flooded his throat. “Hegrrahhhh.”

  Hal also had also turned to see Pete. The boy was almost as round as he was tall and he’d always reminded Hal of the fat kid in the Little Rascals movies. That thought didn’t pass through his mind now though. All he saw in Pete was a fresh meal.

  The zombie dropped Tommy who fell into the snow which gave a brief puff. Crimson blood quickly stained the snow red and, to Pete, it looked a little like a cherry snow cone.

  Pete couldn’t understand what had happened to his friend’s lips and he couldn’t understand what Hal, the nice old guy who sometimes gave him his leftover pudding at dinner, was chewing on. The way his jaw smacked up and down, up and down, Pete thought he might have a mouthful of bubble gum. Or maybe taffy. Pete remembered getting saltwater taffy at Ocean City a few years ago on summer vacation and he loved it even if it did take a long time to eat.

  But taffy, or bubble gum for that matter, didn’t leak red stuff and there was a lot of red stuff running out of Hals mouth as he chewed away.

  “Mr. Hal? What are you eatin’?”

  Hal didn’t answer but he did swallow down little Tommy’s lips. He was beyond thinking now, but the plump morsel that was Pete Decker was impossible to ignore. He stumbled toward the boy and Pete took a step backward. Hal matched that move and Pete again backed away. But that time Pete’s foot hit a divot in the snow and he collapsed backward.

  I could make a snow angel, he thought.

  Hal dove on top of him. Unlike Tommy, Pete did manage a scream. Several of them. His high-pitched wails as Hal ate him alive assaulted the otherwise peaceful morning.

  As Hal devoured Pete, little Tommy emerged from the snow, hungry, fast, and ready to eat. He sprinted toward camp.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I’m not the one who makes the rules.”

  Ramey stared at her father, so shocked her mouth would have fallen open if she’d let it. How could he look her in the eyes and lie to her like this?

  “What are you talking about? The people here don’t take a shit without your permission. Nothing happens without your approval.”

  Doc’s eyes narrowed. Was he angry at her? She almost hoped he was. She was tired of the benevolent dictator act he’d been playing since her arrival.

  She’d found him in his quarters, clutching a cup of coffee like it was lifeblood. She thought he looked small like this. So mortal and average and lacking in the swagger he carried when out amongst his followers. He seemed less like Doc and more like her father. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

  “The committee votes on every major decision. That’s the way it must be, Ramey. You’ll come to understand that in time.”

  “Fuck your committee. You know damn well that you can get him out of that box with one word.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but Ramey cut him off before he could get started.

  “He’ll never last two more days. “

  Ramey expected to see something in his eyes. Remorse. Regret. Maybe compassion. Instead, she saw nothing but detached calculation.

  He’s looking at me like a lab rat. Not like his daughter.

  She’d traveled hundreds of miles to find her father. She’d risked her life in the process. Others had lost theirs because they had tried to help her find him and his supposed safe haven. Was all of that in vain? It sure felt like it.

  Ramey crossed the four feet gap between them and took her father’s hand. She was surprised how cool it felt. What could she say to get through to him? To bring back the man he used to be?

  “Please, dad. I’m begging you to do this. He saved my life out there, more than once. He’s a good, honest man. He was only doing what he felt was right.”

  He didn’t respond right away. She thought she was making headway.

  “I can’t lose him, dad. I love him.”

  As soon as the words spilled from her mouth she felt the muscles in his hand spasm and he slipped free of her grasp. His eyes shifted from being simply detached and became angry. Cruel.

  “I thought I raised you to be smarter than that.”

  Ramey knew the words were meant to hurt her, but instead they only made her angry. “You didn’t raise me. You abandoned me.”

  She spun on her heels and headed to the door. Pulling it open, she was ready to storm off when she saw the zombie. She knew immediately what he was. He had that fast but awkward gallop she’d seen so often outside these walls. But how was this possible? How did a zombie get onto the island?

  Ramey didn’t realize Doc was behind her until he grabbed hold of her shoulder and pulled her back into the confines of the cabin.

  “What— “she couldn’t get the words out before he slammed the door closed and locked it.

  Ramey turned to her father but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring out the window.

  “There’s a zombie out there,” she said.

  “No. Not one. Many.”

  Ramey followed his gaze and realized he was correct. Ten or more of the creatures ran through camp, attacking and eating anyone they could catch. Their wounded, pained screams brought back a rush of horrible memories.

  “Oh God no.”

  Ramey turned away from the carnage and saw her father flip a small, metal switch. Outside, an air raid siren, the kind she only knew from movies, began to wail. The sound was almost deafening and drowned out the screams.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Wim? You alive?”

  The morning sun spilled through the cracks in the box, painting pinstripes on his face, which had grown noticeably thinner. He hadn’t fallen asleep since Ramey left but he was barely conscious. So, when he heard the siren blaring, he assumed it to be another hallucination. Nonetheless, he held his hands over his ears.

  The noise ricocheted off the metal walls of the box, so loud he thought they were shaking. He closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out, but then he heard a voice yelling.

  “I asked if you alive in there?”

  The voice was familiar. Female, but husky and with a heavy Appalachian accent and sandpaper grit. But he couldn’t pinpoint it. It wasn’t Phillip though, so he dared to answer. “I am.”

  A gunshot rang out and immediately afterward light flooded the box, assaulting Wim’s eyes which had grown strangely accustomed to the dark. He couldn’t see anything but a black shape against the sea of white.

  “Dere’s trouble out here. We need you.”

  The shape pushed something toward him and as Wim’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, he realized it was a rifle. He looked past the gun, to the hand holding it, and saw Delphine.

  “What’s going on? Why are you letting
me out?”

  She again shoved the rifle at him, and this time he accepted it. Then she handed him something much more important, a gallon jug of water.

  “I reckon you’re parched, so drink up while you listen.”

  He did. He chugged the water so fast that his stomach spasmed and he regurgitated the first several swallows. It spilled into the snow, melting it.

  “Dere’s zombies in the Ark. Don’t know how it started but people’s getting bit and infected. I counted sixteen, mayhap seventeen.”

  Wim stopped gulping the water as he did the math in his head. That was about one fourth of the entire population of the Ark.

  Ramey. God, don’t let them have got Ramey.

  Delphine must have seen the terror in his eyes. Either that or the old woman could read his mind.

  “Ramey’s all right. She’s holed up with Doc in his cabin. But I haven’t seen the other two you came in with. “

  Wim tried to stand but his legs gave out. He didn’t think he’d ever been so weak, so helpless, and it annoyed him to no end. Especially now when lives were at stake.

  “Easy now,” Delphine said. “You ain’t no good to no one if you pass out.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Wim sucked down a few more swallows of water. The jug was half empty already and he wanted more but his stomach felt on the verge of bursting and he forced himself to stop. He set the butt end of the rifle on the ground and used it to steady himself as he worked his way to his knees, then his feet.

  The world around him started to spin and he shut his eyes against it. In his head he counted to five, then opened his eyes again. That time all remained steady.

  Keep it together.

  “You okay with that rifle or you want a handgun?” Delphine asked and pulled aside her shawl to reveal two pistols in her waistband.

  “I’ve always favored long guns.”

  “Good man.”

  Wim checked the rifle and saw a round was already chambered. “Where’s Phillip?”

  Phillip and his security crew were the only people that Wim knew of who were allowed to carry firearms on the Ark, which made Delphine’s weaponry even more of a mystery.