Possession of the Dead: A Zombie Thriller (Undead World Trilogy, Book Two)

by A. P. Fuchs

  Joe took off down the street as fast he could, weaved around abandoned vehicles, and hopped over curbs when needed, all the while ignoring the pain in his legs and the tingling stiffness of his ankles and feet.

  CRROOWHOOOOOM!

  The building came down behind him, sending up a cloud of dust and debris so thick that, even the few hundred feet away that he was, sent Joe into an urban desert storm of brown, gray and black.

  The tiny shards flying through the air pelted against the back of his stubble-covered head, the warmth of blood soon running across the back of his scalp and down his neck.

  He brought up his hands to shield his head as he ran, only to soon feel them stinging as bits of debris cut into his fingers.

  A gust of wind whooshed behind him and sent an even thicker dust cloud against him. Immediately, his sight was blocked. He pulled the collar of his coat up so as to protect the back of his head, squeezed his eyes shut and pressed through the dark, sticking his hands out in front of him in the hopes he’d feel something before he smashed into it. An image of his probing hands finding solace inside an awaiting mouth made him uneasy.

  His right foot struck something hard and Joe went flying forward, thick dust and tiny chunks of cement covering him.

  * * * *

  August peered out the window. Below, dark black and gray trees dotted the landscape. Though he had only been back in the city a short time, seeing those skeletal trees again made it feel like longer. The world had only one season now: fall, all the vegetation and foliage having died soon after the gray rain fell.

  Nowadays, it didn’t rain, not with the brown and gray clouds constantly looming overhead. Those clouds didn’t produce clear rain like they used to. They didn’t produce anything. They just hung there in the sky, as if their only mission was to threaten rain but not actually deliver it.

  The woods below were sparse; at least, August knew they would be at ground level. Up here, moving over them so quickly, the decaying branches and dark tree trunks blended together into a crazy mosaic of black, brown and gray. Down there, you could still hide from any plane or chopper overhead. It was both good and bad: one, if you were on the run from someone. The other, because that meant the dead could hide in those dead trees, too, and you wouldn’t know they were there until you actually touched down yourself.

  Here and there throughout the forest, a few spots were open, some seeming to be the permanent resting place of the giant walking dead.

  August wondered how much longer until they reached their destination. He hoped it was under an hour. Being too far from the city was both safe and dangerous. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted to be around less zombies or stuck around people he didn’t know, with who knew how many supplies.

  * * * *

  Joe coughed into the dirt as the rush of dust began to settle around him. He opened his eyes and immediately dirt pinched and scratched against his eyeballs. He squeezed them shut and let the instant rush of tears begin to clean them out.

  He didn’t have to look around to know he was covered with a couple inches of dirt and dust. The sheer thickness of the stuff covering him made him feel its weight through his clothing. He put his hands on either side of his head and pressed against the ground, and slowly got up.

  Dirt poured off him and he gave himself a quick shake to get most of it off.

  He brushed his hands together then brought them close to his eyes like a pair of opened-bottomed binoculars. Slowly, he opened his eyes and tried to get a look around. Having his hands cupped around his eyes helped and he was able to see . . . nothing, just an endless fog of toffee-and-gray. The dirt caked against the inside of his nostrils; its powdery taste rested upon his tongue even with his mouth closed.

  He had to get out of there otherwise there was no way he’d be able to breathe here, at least, not for long.

  Joe made his way forward, careful with his steps. He pulled his shirt up and covered his mouth, breathed in a lungful, coughed, breathed in again then held his breath, keeping the collar of his black shirt over his nose like some kind of bandit.

  Stepping over and around the debris, climbing some in parts, following the craggily and winding pathways down in others, he made his way through, each step forward taking him one step closer to freedom and cleaner air.

  Every minute or so the pressure in his lungs would build up so strong he had to stop and catch another breath. He was thankful that every time he did, the air grew noticeably thinner. He just hoped that that was indeed what was happening and it wasn’t his imagination, some kind of delirium beginning to set in because of his odd breathing.

  Joe pressed through the fog. It wasn’t until he saw the shadow of something moving across his path that he stopped dead in his tracks.

  Shoot, he thought. With all the excitement he nearly forgot about the zombies milling about, a major slip on his part. He padded his coat. The X-09 was still locked in its holster. Joe pulled it out, made sure it was loaded, then cautiously proceeded forward, his finger on the trigger.

  The shadow was gone. Joe climbed over a chunk of cement with a twisted piece of girder jutting out from it. When he was on the other side, the shadow reappeared. It was too small to be a giant zombie, but it still could be a regular-sized one.

  Regular-sized.

  He never thought he’d see the day—even in this undead world—where there’d be more than “regular-sized” zombies.

  He drew the X-09 up, one hand on the gun, the other still helping shield his eyes from the dust.

  A low groan in the distance.

  The shadow grew as it came toward him.

  Joe immediately fired off a shot. The shadow stopped in its tracks then dropped to the ground.

  Just hope you were already dead, he thought.

  He kept moving, careful when stepping on the dust-and-gravel-ladened ground, his every footfall crunching against the fine debris. He didn’t want to alert any more zombies to his presence than he had to.

  His eyes hurt. He used the hand shielding them to give them a quick wipe, but not before shaking off the thick coating of dust that had settled on his hand prior to doing so.

  Another shadow formed in the distance, some fifteen or twenty meters away. Another wasn’t far beside it.

  They must have heard the building come down and now want to see what it’s all about. Vague, tall shadows stood on either side of him: other buildings. Got to find shelter until this settles.

  Joe headed toward the right, all the while keeping his eyes on the zombies as best he could. Their groans were like call-songs from one animal to another, their raspy tones random pitches yet carrying an undertone of some kind as if, yes, they did have a message to convey to one another, or, at least, to just let the other know it was dead like them.

  Joe stepped over a curb and hugged the side of a wall, dragging his shoulder against it as a point of bearing.

  Shadows appeared up ahead.

  Seven of them.

  5

  Strange New World

  A small structure came into view on the ground below, cube in shape. The first thing he wondered was who—if these folks weren’t Government—had the time or resources to build such a thing in the year since the dead invaded the living. But he also realized this world was not the one he left behind and any number of things could be different, not just giant zombies and shape-shifting undead like Des had been.

  “I think we’re here, Billie,” he said, solely for her benefit.

  She peered out the window. “Looks like a Chinese takeout carton,” she said, “only gray.”

  The small bi-plane circled the structure a couple of times, getting itself in the right position to come in for a landing.

  August sat up straight in his seat as the plane descended. He advised Billie to do the same. The plane touched down with a bit of a bounce before rolling on a gravel runway headed straight for the building. Soon, the plane was going slow enough it was able to taxi up to the cube-shaped structure like a limo
up to a hotel.

  When it came to a stop, August again thanked the Lord for the rescue, then said to Billie, “As much as I believe in ladies first, you better let me get out before you. Just in case.”

  She crossed her arms. “I can handle myself, you know.”

  “I know. If you really want to go ahead, then, please, be my guest.”

  She seemed to consider the offer for a moment before simply staying put.

  “Okay, then,” August said, unbuckled and opened the side door of the plane. He set his feet down, glanced at the tall cube-shaped structure, then held out his hand to help Billie down.

  She didn’t take it but instead jumped to the ground, planting both feet firmly beside one another. She put her hands on her hips, her eyes reading, “I’m fine, thank you.”

  May got out of the far side of the plane, stepped down to the ground, then went straight up to August and Billie. The makeup around her eyes seemed darker out here in the gray light as opposed to inside the plane. “We need to go inside,” she said above the plane’s engine. “These woods are not safe. Not like before.”

  August nodded. To Billie, he quietly said, “Stay close.”

  “I’ll be close enough,” she said.

  The plane’s engine cut and began quieting behind them.

  The two followed May to what was presumably the front door. Del, the pilot, brought up the rear just as May stopped and rapped on the metal door with the side of her fist. A small slot eye level on the door opened. August couldn’t make out the words that were exchanged. There was a loud ka-chunk of metal, then the door opened.

  The four proceeded in. A guard dressed in old army fatigues that August recognized were from Vietnam closed the door behind them. August took note the man didn’t have a gun, at least none that he could see. A pistol might be holstered on his person somewhere, though.

  The foyer they stood in was plain and cloaked in mostly shadow. Two large doors stood on the left and right walls, both identical and olive green, the paint well worn. Ahead and up was a metal catwalk that disappeared into shadows on either side with no apparent way to get up there, at least not from this room. Straight ahead was shadow. August assumed that if anything it was a sparsely-furnished room for whoever called this place home.

  “Where are we going?” August said.

  “Yeah,” Billie added, “where are we going?”

  May turned around. Del stepped forward and stood beside her. He removed his glasses and toque. He had brown hair, with eyes so dark the irises were almost black. He seemed to be into the makeup like May and August wasn’t sure which team he batted for.

  Del produced a handgun from a holster on his hip. “Simple: wherever we say.”

  * * * *

  Joe cocked his head to the side and listened carefully just in case the shadows in front of him weren’t zombies but something else. Maybe human. Ever so faintly his ear picked up the sound of feet scraping on cement. Living breathing people usually didn’t drag their feet, not unless they were hurt. He listened some more. Though he doubted he could have heard it anyway, he thought he’d hear some breathing or, at the very least due to all the dust in the air, coughing. Not a sound came from the shadows ahead.

  He fired off a shot.

  A low groan followed by a garble and the shadow fell to the ground.

  Joe brought up the X-09, and readied himself for the shadows ahead that seemed to focus in on his direction and were coming for him.

  Slowly the shadows got bigger until one by one the faces and bodies of the dead emerged from the dust. Two male, one female, all fat and bloated with barely a shred of clothing covering their sagging, decaying skin. Joe blasted the heads off all three of them.

  Four down.

  Three more shadows—which seemed to have stopped just prior when the others had made themselves known—progressed forward, as if a backup line of defense. These zombies were skinny, tall, as if having been famished without hope of a meal prior to being changed into one of the dead. All male.

  “Come on, guys, you’re making this too easy,” Joe said and began picking them off one by one. They all fell to the ground in turn, their skulls now nothing more than smashed melons, the gray matter within having burst up in a rain of flesh and blood that now covered the sidewalk at Joe’s feet.

  Just then, a strong gray and rotting arm grabbed him from behind, the forearm wrapping good and snug across his neck. The immediate pressure upon his Adam’s Apple caused him to gag, but he was unable to regain his breath.

  Gripping the X-09 tight, Joe tried bringing it up and pointing it behind him to blast the head off the thing that held him. Instead, his arm was pushed down. In reflex, Joe snapped his elbow back, slugging the dead man behind him in the gut. The most it did was cause the fella to stumble back a couple of steps.

  The pressure on Joe’s neck increased. He pointed the X-09 at the creature’s foot and blew off everything from the ankle down. The creature stumbled then fell back, taking Joe with him. Joe’s knuckles and fingers hit the pavement with a stunning shockwave of pain and the X-09 fell out of his hand. He went to reach for it but stopped and had to wrestle with the creature so he found himself on his stomach, face to face with the pavement. The weight of the creature on top of him was enough to squeeze the final bit of air from his lungs. Any second now he expected the sharp teeth of the dead to bite him good and hard and rob his life.

  Any second now . . .

  Any . . .

  A loud crack of gunfire rattled Joe’s senses and the zombie fell limp on top of him, its weight pinning Joe’s neck permanently against its forearm.

  Head dizzy, Joe tried to push himself out from under the creature’s weight. Instead, a pair of hands grabbed him by the arm and slowly tugged him out. When his neck was free enough of the dead man’s arm, he took in a lungful of air and unsteadily got to his feet.

  “Easy, guy,” came a female voice.

  Joe rubbed his eyes so he could get a better look at the woman standing next to him. She was about his height, brown hair, blue eyes and lips that looked unusually soft against such a toned jaw line. Her black leather suit hugged her body almost like Spandex. Black gloves covered her hands; a black belt containing two pistols, ammo, a couple of grenades, rope and binoculars adorned her waist. She wore thick-soled military boots, no doubt steel-toed, that came up to just under her knee.

  “Eyes up here, junior,” she said to him, her voice firm.

  “Sorry. Just surprised to see another person here.”

  “Really. Who’d you think saved you from that ledge?”

  “That was you?”

  “No. I watched someone else do it and thought I’d bring it up now so I could take the credit. Not very bright, are you?”

  “Hey, watch it.”

  “Here, you dropped something.” She handed him the X-09.

  “How—”

  “Girl’s secret.”

  She stepped past him and headed away from the mound of bodies. There was something familiar about the way she walked that made Joe—

  She called back over her shoulder, “You coming?” She was already becoming difficult to see because of all the dust.

  “Where?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Guess not.”

  “Then let’s move it.”

  Joe holstered the X-09 and trotted up next to her. “Thanks for your help.”

  “I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”

  “And your name?”

  “Tracy.”

  “Tracy—?”

  “Just Tracy. You?”

  “Um, just Joe.”

  “Right.”

  Joe smirked. “I’m serious, though. Where are we headed? Go that way and we won’t be able to see a thing with the dust.”

  “I’m not going that way,” she said and turned left at the corner. “But I’m also not going where a group of zombies just came from either.”

  “So where to?”

  �
�Stop asking the same question over and over.”

  They walked a few more steps then Tracy stopped abruptly.

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “Hear that?”

  Joe listened. Loud, low footfalls rumbled in the distance.

  * * * *

  Del and May had taken August and Billie through the door on the right, which led to a corridor that went on for what August estimated to be around fifty paces. Their two “rescuers” —for he really didn’t know what to call them now; rescuers didn’t pull guns on those they saved—seemed to know their way around well enough in the extremely dim lighting because they didn’t once pull out a flashlight while they were in the shadowy corridor. At the end of the corridor was another door, which May promptly pulled open upon reaching it while Del brushed August and Billie in with the wave of his gun.

  The four of them emerged into a concrete-bricked room, something that August could tell even in the bad lighting was an addition or renovation to whatever originally was here. In the middle of the room was a plain metal table with a dark green top. One simple metal foldout chair was on one side; two were on the other, furthest from the door.

  August noticed Billie’s eyes scan the room.

  “All this place needs is a two-way mirror,” she said.

  “Or a couple of cameras,” August said and nodded toward the top corners of the wall in front of them. Must run on batteries.