The Ark (Life of the Dead Book 3)

by Tony Urban

  Ramey took a few steps back until she hit the bed and ran out of room.

  “Trying to run off on me, Ramey? That’s no way to treat a guest. Pretty rude, don’t you think?”

  Phillip was less than an arm’s length away. She was out of room. Out of time.

  Time.

  Ramey stole a glance toward the end table and spotted the wind up, metal alarm clock. Wim used it to wake up at some ungodly early hour so he could care for the animals.

  “How about you lay down and spread ‘em so I can show you how a real man fucks?” Phillip leaned in closer, pursing his lips.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Sure.”

  Ramey reached back, grabbed the alarm clock and immediately spun and swung. It connected with Phillip’s eyebrow, opening a three-inch gash. The blood spilled from the cut into his eye, turning it red. She didn’t stick around to see the aftermath, jumping onto the bed, taking two steps then leaping off the other side. She made it to the door when she heard the distinctive sound of a round being chambered into a pistol.

  “Bad idea, girly.”

  She took another step. One foot in the hallway.

  “I’ll blow your pretty head off.”

  Ramey half turned back to him. “Then you’d have to answer to my father. What do you think he’d say about that?”

  “Probably ‘job well done.’”

  She saw something in his eyes, even through the blood, that made her think he was right. Or that he believed he was right. Either way, she decided running was a bad decision as long as the pistol was aimed at her.

  “Okay. Then what happens now?”

  “First you put on some shoes. Then you come with me.”

  Ramey knew this was bad news. She wanted no part of whatever Phillip had planned but for the time being, she had to placate him.

  Emory had often told Wim about the field of black-eyed Susan’s toward the east side of the Ark but Wim had never seen it in person. The way he described it, it was one of the most beautiful sights around. But the flowers were gone now, just barely tan, lifeless husks. Yellow tufts of fountain grass poked up from the snow and their feathery ends caught the wind, swaying back and forth peacefully. Wim wasn’t a hundred percent sure he had the right spot, but he believed he was in the right neighborhood.

  He eased Emory’s body into the snow. Carrying it all the way out here, even through the deeper drifts, hadn’t been as much of a physical challenge as he’d expected as the old man barely weighed anything. The emotions, however, were harder to handle. As Wim had carried his friend, he was unable to wipe away his tears and they’d frozen against his cheek in salty rivulets. Now he sat down beside Emory’s body and picked the ice away with his fingernails.

  “Why’d you have to go in there by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning to do?”

  Wim knew Emory could offer no answers to his questions. And he knew crying about the situation wasn’t going to change anything. He wished he could get Ramey and Mina. They deserved a chance to say their own goodbyes, and he could also use their support, but he didn’t want to risk one of Doc’s people seeing this scene and Doc claiming the body.

  Wim took Emory’s glasses off his face and carefully placed them in his pocket. Before he’d left camp, he’d taken a can of lighter fluid. Now he popped the top and aimed the can at Emory, spraying it over his body.

  “I’m sorry about this. I wish I could give you the Christian burial you deserve, but I don’t think anything short of a backhoe is getting through the ground right now.”

  Wim wished he could think of something profound to say. Some heartfelt words that could honor Emory and give him a proper send off. He hated himself for not being smart enough to come up with anything. Emory was a man who deserved to be honored. Wim could only hope the man knew how much he loved him when he was alive.

  He then took out a book of matches and tore one off. He used his hands to shield it from the wind as he struck it, then used the lone match to set the whole pack ablaze. When he was confident it wouldn’t go out, Wim held it against Emory’s jacket which caught fire. The flames spread out in every direction and within seconds Emory’s entire body was engulfed.

  Wim backed away, then sprayed more lighter fluid into the fiery inferno. The orange flames reached up, like fingers grasping at the air. Wim tossed the can into the blaze and turned his back on it. He wiped fresh tears from his face and heard a pop as the can blew. The heat of the fire was so intense he felt sweat break out on his back.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Phillip had secured Ramey’s hands behind her back with zip ties. He’d allowed her to slip on a pair of boots but no coat and the near half mile walk to the clinic left her almost. By the time he pushed her into the building, she thought she might need medical treatment.

  She hadn’t seen anyone during the trek and that worried her. Where was Wim? She wondered if, somehow, Phillip had gotten to him. That couldn’t be true though. She wouldn’t allow herself to go there.

  It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the florescent lights. Why were they on anyway? She was sure they were always shut off at night.

  Phillip closed the door behind them and locked it. He moved to a bin filled with medical supplies and grabbed a long bandage.

  “Put it on,” he said.

  She considered protesting, but decided that would be unwise.

  The cut on his brow had stopped bleeding. It appeared almost frozen. As she removed it from the paper packaging, she realized he was staring at her chest - at her cold nipples which poked against the thin fabric of her shirt.

  Ramey slapped on the bandage and gave it an extra hard push to stick it down, hoping to cause him as much discomfort as possible. Much to her dismay, Phillip barely flinched.

  What was up with him? Why was he so calm? The last few weeks he’d been nervous almost to the point of twitchy. It was like the real Phillip was tucked away in a pod somewhere and this man before her was an impostor.

  “Will you at least tell me why you brought me here? If you wanted to rape me you could’ve done that at the trailer.”

  Phillip opened his mouth to answer, but then his eyes drifted past her.

  “Rape?” It was her father’s voice and it came from the edge of the room. Ramey turned to see him standing at the opening to a long corridor.

  “No need to disparage the young man’s character. He was simply doing as told.”

  Phillip backed away from her as Doc neared them.

  Doc noticed the wound and raised an eyebrow. “Fist?”

  “Alarm clock,” Ramey said with pride.

  Doc nodded. “Ah.” He pointed to a metal cabinet with a red cross on it. “Get some ibuprofen and give us some time alone.”

  Phillip did as told, locking the door as he left. Ramey wasn’t as relieved to see him go as she’d expected. After almost dying multiple times trying to find her father, she suddenly had no desire to be alone with him. And deep down, even though she was reluctant to admit it to herself, she was afraid of him.

  Doc stared at her for a long while. It only added to her discomfort and Ramey found herself again tugging at the shirt. Doc noticed and finally spoke up.

  “Oh Heavens, Ramey. I was there when you were born. I changed your diapers. Don’t be so bashful.”

  That sounded a little more like her father and some of the apprehension she’d built up faded. “I asked Phillip and he wouldn’t answer. So, will you tell me why I’m here?”

  Doc’s face turned sober. “I’m afraid I have some bad news to share. There’s been another death.”

  He sat down on a metal stool with casters on the bottom and used his toes to sway back and forth.

  Oh God. Not Wim. Not after everything we’ve been through.

  She didn’t want to say it aloud though. That would be giving into her father who was enjoying this self-created suspense all too much. She bit the inside of her lip and refused
to allow herself to say anything,

  Doc looked disappointed that she wouldn’t take his bait. “Your friend. The Afro-American fellow.”

  “Emory?” Ramey could barely get the word out. Her mind was a roller coaster of emotion. She was thanking God repeatedly that it wasn’t Wim but poor Emory. So gentle and caring and sweet. If her own father had a tenth of Emory’s compassion the Ark would be an entirely different place.

  “Yes, that’s him. Apparently, the old fellow’s ticker finally gave out. Sad.”

  Ramey felt her eyes sting like they’d just been doused in gasoline and tears quickly followed. She looked down at the floor, not wanting her father to see her pain.

  Doc pulled himself to her, still not rising from his seat. He set his hand on her knee. “It’s okay to cry. I know you were fond of him. That you admired him. So much so that you chose him to marry you and William.”

  Ramey’s head snapped up. Doc looked like a hazy mirage through her tears. Was he smiling?

  “Yes, I know all about that. I’m hurt that I wasn’t invited. I’d have brought a nice gift, I assure you”

  “How?”

  Doc pushed himself away. The stool carried him a few yards from her and he held his arms out to the side like he was flying. “Please, now. Do you think so little of me to believe that anything happens here without my knowledge? For Christ’s sake, Ramey, I created this world!” Anger colored his voice. “I am all-knowing and all seeing.”

  He stood up so quick the stool skittered away, rolling until it clattered to a stop against a wall.

  “So, what, you think you’re God now?”

  “If the title fits. Although I think that’s a bit of an understatement myself. God, at least for the last two thousand years, has been a supervisor. He lets his underlings drive the action. I prefer to be more hands on.” He grinned, nostrils flaring.

  Doc strolled toward the corridor. “Come. I have such sights to show you.”

  It was barely dusk when Saw stopped his dump truck at the edge of the ice. It looked solid enough, but he wanted to be certain so he grabbed a sledgehammer from the empty passenger seat and brought it with as he jumped down from the cab. The frigid wind caressed his cheeks and he realized he couldn’t stop smiling.

  Three tractor trailers approached from behind him. He held up his hand for them to wait. Casper was in the first rig and he nodded, the brakes screeching as he came to a full stop.

  Saw stepped onto the ice which had taken on the pinkish red cast thrown by the morning sunrise. The whole sky was lit up with it. Saw thought it was beautifully fitting for the blood which was to come. He raised the sledge over his head and brought it down with all the strength he possessed. It slammed into the ice, the force of the blow pulsing up his arms. But the hammer had made little more than a divot in the thick ice. Saw grinned and licked his blackened teeth.

  He returned to land and motioned for the men to roll down their windows. They did.

  “Ice is hard, mates. Plenty strong enough for us here but further out, who knows. Once you start driving, I expect you not to stop until we hit the island. You push those pedals to the floor and don’t even think about slowing down. Because today’s the day we’re taking what’s theirs and making it ours.”

  That bought a cheer from Denny and Lonnie. Caspar only watched with blank, emotionless eyes.

  “Are you ready?”

  Lonnie hit his air horn as an answer. The others followed.

  Saw returned to his dump truck, shifted it into gear and drove onto the ice. It held.

  In his rear-view mirror, he saw the others follow. Casper first, then Lonnie, with Denny bringing up the rear. They fanned out so the four vehicles were in a mostly straight row.

  Saw shifted again, picking up speed. He could feel the wheels slipping under him but that only made him drive faster.

  The other trucks followed suit, barreling across the ice and rapidly closing in on the island. White clouds of displaced snow rose around them like a fog that chased them as they drove, obscuring the bottom halves of the trucks and making the rigs look as if they were floating across the frozen lake.

  Saw could feel his pulse pounding, could hear it in his ears. He’d been wanting this fight for months. Ever since he saw the island for the first time. Whether they had twenty cans of soup or enough food and supplies to last a decade didn’t matter to him. His men might want their provisions, but all Saw cared about was battling men who could fight back. He’d grown bored with the zombies who were too stupid to even care when you killed them. He wanted - needed - to cause pain. It had been too long.

  About three fourths of the way to the island, Saw caught Lonnie’s rig swaying to his left. That quickly escalated as the truck jackknifed and the trailer spun around. When he took a closer look, he realized what was happening. The ice under Lonnie’s truck was giving way. The tires shrieked against the ice, spewing wet clouds as it ripped through the surface.

  “It’s breaking, Saw! I’m gonna fall through!” Lonnie’s voice squawked through the CB radio.

  Jimmy’s voice, full of panic, crackled through the speaker. “Saw, we’ve got to help him!”

  Saw looked sideways and saw Jimmy’s rig slowing down and veering toward Lonnie. He grabbed his CB and pulled it to his mouth, his lips pressed against the cold plastic. It tasted like stale cigarettes.

  “Don’t slow down, no matter what happens!” He pushed his own gas pedal until it wouldn’t go any further, the diesel engine roaring and the pipes belching jet black smoke into the air.

  The cab of Lonnie’s 18-wheeler dropped and, even over the screaming of his own truck and Lonnie on the radio, Saw could hear the ice break. The next second, Lonnie’s rig was gone and a puddle of dirty water erupted from the ragged hole like a wet belch.

  Lonnie’s squalling continued over the radio and Saw heard Jimmy’s voice consoling him and crying as Lonnie went down. He shut off the radio, not interested in the conversation.

  To his right, Casper sped along beside him undeterred.

  Within minutes the island was in sight and the gate was wide open.

  Good boy, Mitchy. I knew I could count on you.

  “I’ll lead the way, boys,” Saw said into the CB. The remaining two trucks fell back and Saw drove through the gate. He spotted a lump of a human form sprawled in the snow and grinned. Yep, very good boy.

  The tractor trailers entered behind him. The snow was two feet deep but the convoy plowed through it, speeding straight ahead until it reached the center of camp. The spectacle of their arrival had drawn the attention of a dozen or so men and women. Two of them ran but the others stared ahead, shocked and curious and too stupid to move.

  Saw jumped out of the dump truck, landing in a puff of snow. He looked at them. “Ladies. Gentlemen. My name is Solomon Baldwin but all me friends call me Saw. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Another person, a middle-aged man, ran, dashing toward one of the several buildings which were laid out to form something like loose concentric circles.

  Saw looked behind him and saw Casper and Denny waiting. “He must of heard of me.”

  Denny laughed. Casper stared blankly ahead.

  “Aw right, boys. Let’s get this party started.”

  Saw pulled out his pistol and shot the running man in the back. He fell into a snow drift, then tried to crawl away on his hands and knees.

  Caspar and Denny threw open the doors at the rear of their trailers. Then they slammed their hands into the outer walls, banging the aluminum like they were playing the bongos. Saw could hear movement inside. The more his men beat the walls, the louder and more agitated the creatures inside grew.

  The first zombie that dropped free was a woman with spiked, red hair. She got up from the snow and looked around like a tourist in some exotic land. Then she saw one of the islanders and headed toward him.

  More zombies followed. They poured out of the trucks in a way that reminded Saw of how cartoons depicted lemmings going over cl
iffs. There were around eighty in all and they hadn’t eaten for weeks, Saw had made sure of that. He wanted them good and hungry.

  “Now while my zombie friends ‘ere get their feet under them, let me explain how this works. You folks can either stay here and do whatever I can tell you to do, or you can run, in which case then you’ll get eaten. The choice is yours.”

  A woman sprinted away. Two others followed. The best part, Saw thought, was that there was nowhere to go. They thought they were safe on this island. Only now did they realize they were trapped.

  Casper poked a few zombies in the back with a makeshift spear and sent them in the direction of the runners.

  The other islanders stayed.

  Saw smiled at them. “Wise decision.” He turned to Denny and motioned to a wood sided building. “Put them in there.”

  Denny shuffled them toward it.

  Saw turned to Casper. “Break down the door to every other building on the island. We want our horde to have free reign.”

  Casper kicked open the door to an Airstream camper. A man inside screamed as two zombies charged through the opening.

  Overhead, a siren started to wail. Saw grinned. “They put some music on for us, mates. How considerate.”

  The man who’d been in the Airstream fell out the open doorway. His right arm was spurting blood from several large bite wounds. The zombies followed him back into the snow and descended upon them. Saw took in the chaos surrounding him, proud as could be of what he’d started.

  When she stepped into the laboratory, Ramey couldn’t understand what she was seeing. The men and women who roamed through the white room were zombies, but unlike any she’d seen before. They were mutated and mangled, their bodies cut apart and sewn together like someone had snipped photos from a magazine, torn them to pieces, then taped them back together haphazardly.