DEAD: Snapshot (Book 3): Liberty, South Carolina

by TW Brown

  Something clamped down on his shoulder and once more he heard the sound of cloth being ripped.

  This lunatic was trying to bite him!

  Ricky opened his mouth to scream and felt fingers force themselves into his mouth. He gagged, and then a new pain came. It felt as if his cheek was being ripped away. Blood filled his mouth and Ricky choked on it. The warm, salty, coppery fluid filled his throat and went down the wrong pipe. Ricky started to choke and shudder as he began to drown on his own blood.

  The next sensation he felt was that of teeth digging into the meaty part of his already injured left shoulder. He’d thought breaking his collar bone was painful; that didn’t hold a candle to the feeling of his flesh being ripped away from his body by hungry teeth as those hands that had torn at his clothing now began to rip open his belly.

  As he faded out of consciousness, he felt a second and third set of hands begin to claw at his middle. His last thought was an impossible realization.

  Zombies?

  ***

  Stephen Deese put his truck in park, turned the key, and let the peace and quiet wash over him. The porch light still needed to be replaced. He kept meaning to get around to that, but he’d been working his butt off lately. With the seasons changing and spring right around the corner, folks were starting to put in orders for new windows and doors.

  His gaze flicked to the patch of ground that ran alongside the house. The nice neat rows with stakes at each end were all Terri’s doing. His wife had an amazingly green thumb. He thought she could probably get flowers to grow in the middle of the desert.

  He opened the driver’s side door and cocked his head to one side. He knew the sounds of gunshots when he heard them. An occasional pop or burst was one thing, but this was different. There was a barrage and then it dwindled to just a shot here and there. It lasted a long time and that had Stephen very concerned. There was simply no reason for that sort of thing to be happening; especially at this hour. Then the boom came.

  He glanced at his watch and saw that it read just past three in the morning. He debated just brushing it away and going inside, but with the stuff that had been in the news the past few days, he could not dismiss the possibility that something serious might be happening just a few miles from his front door.

  The sound of a car approaching fast was the last straw; he watched as Sherriff Gilstrap’s car rocketed down the road. He also thought that he saw somebody in the passenger’s seat.

  Stephen hopped back in his truck, turned the key, and took off in pursuit of Sherriff Gilstrap. He switched on the radio and punched the button that ejected the CD he’d been listening to on his drive home.

  “…expected to activate local National Guard units this morning,” a woman’s voice reported. There was a brief pause and what sounded like the microphone being bumped. “Are you sure?” the woman finally spoke as Stephen sped up to close the distance between himself and the taillights of the chief’s vehicle.

  “We have just received this bulletin and I need to inform you that the emergency broadcasting network is set to assume control of the airwaves for more information and an important announcement within the hour. As for the bulletin, it has been reported that as of 3:27 AM Eastern Standard Time or 1:27 PM yesterday which would be the time difference between the East Coast and Tokyo, the entire island of Japan has gone silent. No communications have come from or been answered by Japan or any of its citizens.

  “The same holds true for most population centers of Indonesia, both North and South Korea and China. The White House has not commented and we here at WTGR are trying to confirm the accuracy of these reports. Keep your radio here for further updates as well as the previously mentioned upcoming announcement from the Emergency Broadcasting System…”

  Stephen turned the radio down as he came up on the chief’s car that had stopped short of where Hardee’s and the Spinx station cast their bright lights to guide passing motorists in from the Calhoun Memorial Highway for some fast food or gasoline. However, he was no longer paying attention to the chief’s car; his eyes had been drawn to the huge spotlights mounted on the back of what looked like a pair of drab tan military trucks.

  The overpass showed signs of what looked like people moving about, but there was something odd about them besides the fact that they were apparently wandering around on a major highway. As he watched, a figure approached the guard rail and then simply toppled over it, landing hard in the middle of Moorefield Memorial Highway—the road he was on behind Sherriff Gilstrap and what he was now able to identify as Mayor Burns.

  Both had emerged from the car just ahead of him and were apparently just as horrified at seeing the person do a belly flop on the asphalt. Stephen got out of his truck as well and rubbed at his eyes as the figure on the ground looked to be getting to his or her feet. That is impossible, he thought.

  His gaze drifted to the grassy slope that came down from Calhoun Highway in the open space where the long on- and off-ramps ran. There were a handful of dark figures moving down those hills and heading his way.

  He was having a tough time making sense of just what he was seeing. Taking a deep breath to clear his head, Stephen took a better look around at his surroundings. It was then that he realized that none of the establishments were occupied. There was no sign of movement coming from within or without any of them. Then his eyes stopped on something else: a body.

  He wasn’t sure why, but he now felt that he needed to reach in and pull the shotgun down from the rack mounted on the window at the rear of the cab of his pickup. He absently hit the button that released the safety. He already knew that the weapon was loaded and gave it a pump to slam a round into the chamber.

  “That you, Deese?” Sherriff Gilstrap’s voice called.

  “Yep,” Stephen replied as he started towards the figure sprawled on the ground by the outermost island of pumps beside a white compact car. The hose and nozzle was on the ground as well. There was a dark stain around the body, but it was not gasoline; that he was certain of just by observing.

  “This is Sherriff Gilstrap. I need you to stop where you are,” Stephen heard the chief call.

  Stephen glanced over to see that Sherriff Gilstrap had come around to the front of his car. The mayor had wisely stayed behind the passenger door and was looking back and forth between him and the scene unfolding in front of her with the approaching group of people that all looked like they might be just a bit drunk. Their pace was slow and unsteady and they kept pausing, their heads twitching as they seemed to need to re-orient and consider where to take the next step. A couple had fallen as they came down the hill and were having a hell of a time trying to get back to their feet.

  Stephen was now just a few feet away from the body sprawled on the ground. The harsh lights from the awning over the gas pumps cast everything in a brilliant light. His guess as to the stain around that body was now confirmed. A bloody handprint ran down the front of the closest pump and was obviously made by the outstretched arm of the inert figure lying face down.

  He only turned his head for a moment to once again check on the situation between the chief and the figures stumbling down the hill in his direction. They did not seem to be inclined to heed the warnings being given. He turned back just in time to see the figure that he’d assumed to be dead start to move and struggle as if wanting to roll over.

  Slinging the shotgun over his shoulder and trusting that Sherriff Gilstrap would soon have the situation under control, he knelt beside the body on the ground.

  A nasty smell rolled off the man who was making a weak mewling and gurgling noise that sounded like he might be having trouble breathing. Recalling his first aid training from his days in the USMC, Stephen inspected the body and did not yet see the source of the bleeding.

  “I’m going to help you onto your back, fella,” he said in a rush. “I know I probably shouldn’t move you at all with all the blood loss, but maybe if I get you on your back I can see what the problem might be.”

>   Gripping one shoulder and placing his other hand behind the man’s neck for support, Stephen took a deep breath through his mouth and hauled the man onto his back. He was at least five feet away and scooting on his butt before he even realized how instinct had caused him to react at what he’d seen.

  The man’s throat was torn out, but he was still managing to move his mouth like he was trying to speak. If that was not bad enough, the man was now trying to sit up when, by all rights, he should be dead.

  “There is no way that you are getting any breath,” Stephen gasped as the man turned his head in Stephen’s direction and regarded him with eyes that were unlike anything that he had ever seen, and during his time overseas, he’d actually seen more than a few dead bodies.

  The man’s eyes were glazed over with a putrid, pus-colored film and they were shot full of black tracers. The man opened his mouth and a weak moan came, but it was what followed that made the hair on Stephen’s arms and the back of his neck stand straight up.

  It was almost like a baby cry. In fact, if he were not staring directly at this man and hearing that sound come out of his mouth, he would be searching for the actual baby that had to be the source of that plaintive wail.

  Pulling his shotgun back around in front of him, Stephen stood up and backed away from the man who was slowly gaining his feet. He was still trying to decide what to do when he heard a commotion from behind him.

  “This is your last warning!” Sherriff Gilstrap barked with all the authority he could muster around what sounded like the man gagging. There was a pause and then a single shot.

  Stephen looked and noticed the chief’s gun hand pointing skyward. The man had almost retreated the entire distance back to his car. The several figures stumbling towards the chief and the mayor made no sign that they heard and just kept shambling closer, arms outstretched and hands opening and closing as they drew nearer by the second.

  Stephen returned his attention to his own problem and saw that the improbable man was advancing in bird-like fits and starts. It cried once more and Stephen brought his Browning 12-guage up to his shoulder and aimed for the center mass of his target. As soon as he heard the chief fire again—he knew Sherriff Gilstrap well enough to know that the man only gave one warning—he squeezed the trigger.

  There was a flash from the muzzle and the round of buckshot slammed into the man’s chest causing him to stagger backwards and almost topple. Stephen could not believe his eyes. He knew his weapon well enough to know that there would be a hole at least the size of his fist at the exit wound on the man’s back. His insides would be jelly, and there was simply no way to survive a nearly pointblank round to the chest from a shotgun. Yet, the man took another step forward and reached for Stephen as that awful cry spewed from its mouth again.

  Taking two steps backwards, Stephen brought his weapon back to his shoulder as he jacked another round into the chamber. He adjusted up slightly and gritted his teeth.

  “Let’s see you survive this,” he whispered as he pulled the trigger.

  The man’s head practically disintegrated. The body still managed to take one more step before realizing that it was now dead. It fell with a meaty slap, but Stephen was already turning to help the chief and the mayor.

  The mayor had retreated inside the vehicle; for that, Stephen was grateful. The chief was just now finishing up firing the last round of his Beretta M9A1’s fifteen round magazine into the chest of the closest of the oncoming mob.

  “The head,” Stephen called as he jacked another round and stepped up beside the man who had been the best man at his father’s wedding. The man who had met him at the airport the day he returned home from his tour.

  Two minutes later, silence once again fell over the area. Bodies littered the ground and Stephen was sitting on the hood of the chief’s car passing him his lighter so that the man could light the cigarette dangling from his lips.

  “Nasty little gash on your left hand,” Stephen said to Sherriff Gilstrap.

  “Yeah, one of them damned things bit me while I was reloading.”

  2

  Impossible Things

  Jamie sat in the front seat of the chief’s patrol car and could not believe what she was witnessing. One part of her mind screamed that this was all so terribly wrong. However, there was another part of her that tried to see things as they truly were.

  The people that were converging on Chief Gilstrap and Mr. Deese all had a variety of terrible injuries. A few had bits of their insides hanging out. That was too much for her to understand and reconcile. Those people should not be alive, much less up and walking.

  A still smaller voice in the back of her mind was doing everything in its power to be heard. That could not be possible, Jamie thought as she dismissed the nagging idea that was really trying to get her to listen.

  “Zombies?” she whispered as she watched a bullet slam into the chest of one of the approaching figures. That person made no outward registration that he’d just been shot. When the second round caught him in the forehead, the man dropped in an instant. “No,” Jamie shook her head, “that is fiction…the kind of crap you see in bad movies.”

  She’d seen a few zombie films over the years. She hadn’t ever actually sought one out; her having seen them was more of an accident. She thought she’d seen a couple at a Halloween party or with some friends during a Netflix movie binge after finals week. That was often when everybody took turns picking the next flick while a good deal of alcohol was being shared.

  She knew a few of her friends who had really been into watching horror movies. Personally, she would much rather watch Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.

  She saw Mr. Deese step up beside Chief Gilstrap as a pair of those things closed in with their slow, awkward steps. The chief was reloading and basically defenseless. She looked down in surprise at her hand. It had actually started to open the passenger side door of the patrol car.

  “And what exactly would you do?” she mocked herself. “Give them a stern talking to?”

  The loud report of the shotgun brought her attention back to the men. Mr. Deese had apparently shot one of the attackers and was bringing the butt of his shotgun up and slamming it into the face of the second one. The woman had stumbled back a few steps, but that was all. She did not react like a person was supposed to when a large man crushed your nose.

  At last, the final members of the mob had been dealt with and the two men sort of backed up and sat down on the hood of the car. She scowled as they each apparently felt that this was the perfect time to have a smoke.

  She reached over and turned the radio back up. It had gone silent just before they had arrived, but she thought that she’d just heard something. As the seconds ticked by with a terminal slowness, she began to lean forward as if being closer might inspire the radio to come back to life.

  There was a hiss and a crackle, and then a weak voice spoke. “Anybody?”

  Jamie threw the door open causing both men to jump, bringing up their weapons and spinning in her direction. She flinched, throwing up her hands.

  “Sorry…somebody is on the radio. They sound like they need help.”

  Chief Gilstrap holstered his pistol and came to the car, opening the driver’s side door. He snatched the mic from the holder and spoke, “This is Chief Adam Gilstrap of the Liberty Police Department. Is there somebody on this frequency?”

  After a hiss, some more static, and then a loud pop, a voice came back sounding like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “This is Private Dan Cronin…umm…I can’t remember our unit designator. I’ve only been with this group since this morning. I am up on the highway near an overpass. There was a lot of shooting a moment ago and it made a bunch of those things go away, but there are still five of them outside my truck…and my weapon is on the ground with them.” He revealed that last bit after a brief pause and with obvious embarrassment.

  “Stay put, young man,” the chief said, suddenly sounding very different from his normal gruff tone.
“We are coming up. It will be me and another man. I want you to just be still until we get there.”

  “I’m scared, sir,” the soldier blurted, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. “One of those things got a good piece of me. I think I got whatever it is that is wrong with them.”

  “Last I checked, none of them was speaking,” Chief Gilstrap soothed. “You’re still talking. I am gonna take that as a good sign.”

  “Yeah, but I looked in the rearview mirror and my eyes are already looking different.”

  Jamie saw the chief glance at his hand. That was when she noticed that the man had been hurt. The light wasn’t the best, but it was enough for her to make out the clear outline of a mouth print. Had one of those people bitten him?

  “I need you to just hang on, you hear me?” Chief Gilstrap dropped the mic onto his seat and glanced over at Jamie. “You keep talking to him, you hear? I will let you know when we have him and are heading back.” He leaned down and unlocked the pistol-grip shotgun that was secured between the driver and passenger seats. “You take this. Anybody comes, you give them one warning to stop and get on their knees. If they don’t comply, I want you to drop them.”

  “But—” she started to protest.

  “No time for this, Jamie…err, I mean…” the chief seemed to get a bit flustered.

  “I know what you meant,” Jamie said with a nod. “Go on, y’all, see if you can help that poor man.”

  She watched Mr. Deese and the chief take off at a jog. They crested the embankment at the edge of the highway and came to a sudden stop for a few seconds. They were nothing more than black outlines due to the lights up on the highway, but she could tell they were discussing something.

  “Hello?” the voice came back on the radio; the query ended in a series of wracking coughs. “Are you still there?”