BloodoftheDead[UndeadWorldTrilogyBookOne]

by A. P. Fuchs

  August leaned forward slightly and caught his breath. His rifle suddenly doubled in weight. He set it down and did a few stretches before picking it up again. It was a little lighter.

  His stomach growled and the inside of his skull felt hollow. He'd have to get some food soon.

  "Now You're making me fast, too, huh?” he said. A sharp ache pierced his heart. Before, he wouldn't dare take a shot at God; he knew far better than to aim an arrow at the Throne. This was the one thing that, throughout his entire Christian life, he still had a hard time dealing with: trusting Someone he didn't see. He wasn't stupid. A Christian's life was one where your faith would be constantly tested. He knew the prize. But he also knew the cost: “Take up your cross and follow Me,” Jesus had said nearly two thousand years ago. He just wished Jesus would have emphasized how heavy that cross would be sometimes.

  Checking his rifle over, ensuring a bullet was in the chamber, he opened the door.

  The wide hallway beyond was empty; stepping out into it was like planting yourself into the middle of a field with nothing for miles. The walls and doors lining the hallway held no meaning.

  "Let's go,” he said, “one at a time."

  And August began his hunt for anything or anyone alive.

  Or dead.

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  16: Along the River

  More than once Billie stopped and put a hand to her eyes, trying to conceal the tears.

  Des was gone.

  "Yo, Billie!” Joe shouted from several paces ahead.

  "In a minute,” she said quietly.

  Brown and dry leaves crunched beneath his feet as he neared her. He pulled her hand away from her face. “Look, I know it's hard, but we can't sit and mope right now. You don't want to be caught out here with the dead walking around."

  "Think I don't know that?” she snapped, sniffled, and stormed past him. A moment later: “Why are we taking this route, again?"

  "The river's our best bet. So far as we know, they don't like water. The nearest zombie is probably two hundred meters that way.” He nodded to their left, beyond the trees and bush, to what was left of Henderson Highway and the houses and neighborhood alongside it.

  "Yeah, but we got no boat. If one of those things comes for us, there's nowhere to go. Can't just jump in the river, man. The undertow'll suck us down to the bottom."

  She glanced at the river rushing by at a good clip beside them.

  "At least we haven't seen any of them. That's a good thing, ain't it?"

  "I suppose."

  They walked in silence, stepping over and around trees that had fallen over or been bent at obscure angles thanks to the river's seasonal rise and fall from melting snow. The funk of stale water hung on the air and more than once Billie longed to go up to street level and get a lungful of fresh air. Not that that was any better, though. Having the dead walking around for a year had polluted the air so badly that it was a wonder she and the other survivors hadn't come down with any diseases. It still had yet to be discovered why they hadn't been affected the day the rain came and why, a year later, the disease—if it was a disease—still hadn't harmed them.

  The duo walked on. It was slow going, the uneven debris-covered ground making the trek toward downtown difficult. When she asked Joe multiple times why they had to go into the city, his best answer out of all he offered was, “You saw them before we hit the river. They're coming down toward the Haven. Can only presume they're emptying downtown. The safe zone's being switched. Besides, we can get off the ground when we get there, clear a floor or two in either the Richardson or CanWest Global. Maybe even one of the hotels."

  Joe seemed to be lost in thought because he didn't say anything for a long time. Not that he really said much at all, but despite living alone and being so secluded for so long, Billie still wasn't used to silence. At least when Des was alive, she had him to talk to once in awhile.

  Oh, how she missed him. Despite how annoying he could be, he was the most down-to-earth person she'd ever met, a guy who didn't care what people thought of him. He wasn't a looker, by any means, but on the inside? Yeah, she could really go for that.

  She could really go for that right now.

  "You never told me where you got your gun?” she asked Joe just as they ducked under a low-hanging tree branch.

  "The X-09. Didn't ‘get it’ anywhere. I built it."

  "X-09? Mean anything?"

  He pursed his lips. “'X’ for ‘extreme.’ Wrong spelling, I know. The nine..."

  It appeared he was going to say more, but he didn't.

  She didn't want to pry any further so asked, “Where'd you learn to do that?"

  Joe paused before answering. “The Net, before I got rid of my connection."

  "You still never said why you did that."

  "And I'm not going to."

  "Oookay. So, what, you looked up a gun-building site and got lucky?"

  He glanced back at her and offered a cool stare. “No.” Then, “Well, kinda. You'd be surprised what you'd find on the Web. Just about anything."

  "Oh, believe me, I know. Trust me. I spent most of my life on there. It's how I survived, actually. You know, getting plugged into other people and all that. You hungry?"

  "Not really. Used to going without food."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  Something caught her foot and the ground rushed up to meet her. Palms out, she stopped her fall, but something small and pointy jammed into her palm.

  "Billie?” Joe said, coming over. He knelt down beside her.

  "Aaarrrghhh,” she growled and shoved away from the ground, accidentally pushing whatever was in her hand in further. She sat back on her knees.

  "You okay?” he asked.

  Her palm was smeared with blood. At its center was a shard of broken beer bottle.

  "Of course,” she said and not in answer to his question. Why would she expect this little jaunt downtown to go smoothly? Carefully, she pulled out the shard. Blood bubbled to the surface of the wound, leaked out, and dripped onto the ground.

  "Oh man, that stings.” She looked around for something to wipe her hand on. There wasn't anything out here and the river was too filthy to rinse it in. And as far as she knew, it could be loaded with dead bodies, their germs circulating through the water like salt.

  "Here.” Joe tore off a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt. He offered it to her.

  "Thanks,” she said and, taking a deep breath and holding it, wrapped the fabric around her hand.

  She was able to wrap it around her hand three times before Joe reached over and helped her tie it.

  "The second we find clean water, we'll wash it up, okay?” he said.

  "Yeah...” she breathed and stood, cradling her hand.

  They walked even slower, the vibration from each thump of her footfalls aggravating the wound.

  She nearly bumped into Joe when he stopped suddenly in front of her, his hand up. “Wait,” he said.

  "What?"

  "Something's out there."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  17: Empty Square

  The bulk of Winnipeg Square had been covered and by the time August sat down on the steps leading up to the catwalk, which were near the food court, he was ready to pass out from fatigue.

  The shops were empty, the only dead a few dismembered limbs. Where the rest of the people had gone, he could only guess into the creatures’ stomachs.

  With each pass into the shops, the side rooms, the bathrooms and beneath stairwells, he kept a sharp ear out for whatever it was that had been making noise last night.

  But Winnipeg Square had proved empty.

  He had made sure the doors leading outside were secure every time he encountered some and all were boarded up save for a pair that opened up onto Fort Street via the Royal Bank building. Those he secured by simply locking the door and stacking desks and paper-filled boxes from the bank offices in front of them.

 
The next order of business would be to block the stairway where he now sat with whatever he could find and maybe line the top of the barricade with pots and pans from the food court so that, should something try and get through, the kitchenware'd tumble to the floor and raise a sound he could hear all the way down by the vault door.

  He just needed to catch his breath first.

  Boy, was he starving. He had put off scouring the food court for any canned goods on purpose until he verified he was alone down here. Now that he was fairly sure there was nobody around but him, his heart leapt in delight at the prospect of finally getting some grub. Maybe, just maybe, there'd be power in one of the kitchens and some coffee and he could boil himself a cup.

  August got to work. It took awhile, but eventually a makeshift barricade was set up along the bottom of the non-running escalator and the flight of stairs that ran up alongside it. He dragged heavy tables from the restaurant next to the barricade and piled chairs on top of it. Then, as planned, put the pots and pans in place, some acting as a base, others half-on-half-off, so that any jostling of the chairs and tables would force them to fall.

  "Not bad,” he said, hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. “Ain't Fort Knox but it ain't out in the open anymore either."

  Stomach growling, he went to the food court and worked his way through the various eateries, seeing what he could find. All the perishable stuff was rotten, stinking and covered with so much thick green fuzz that he couldn't even look at it.

  "How's that? Can look the dead in the eye but rotten tomatoes make you gag.” What a time to live.

  Some of the places had freezers, many of which still had a few slabs of meat, stuff which had been left behind by previous ransackers for some unexplained reason. Didn't matter though. There was no power circulating down here and the meat was all grayed-out and, even though still wrapped, stunk so incredibly bad it made the zombies smell like roses.

  One of the last eateries had a series of cupboards in the back, lining the grills. A few cans of mushrooms, one of tomato paste, three tuna and four canned wieners remained.

  "Mmmm, lovely,” August said. “So what's it gonna be? Fungus grown in crap? Ketchup paste, dead fish or meat scraps?"

  He opted for the meat scraps and dined alone in the dark at a corner table, putting away two cans of wieners. Even though he was still hungry, he put the other cans in his pockets for later, already choosing a one-meal-a-day plan unless other food options presented themselves.

  There was still no telling how long he'd be here.

  As he slowly chewed his food, one question hung over him: what was on the roof?

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  18: Good Doggies

  If this were a normal day, it would already be getting dark. But these weren't normal days anymore.

  The city skyline loomed not too far away.

  Joe waited a moment for Billie to catch up from behind.

  "Doesn't seem this long a hike by car,” she said.

  She came up beside him.

  "We're almost there. Big thing is we gotta get over the overpass. Not sure if you've ever walked those humps, but they take awhile."

  "Know where we are?"

  "Sort of. Should be a street or two's worth to go. Can't really tell from down here. We have two choices: we either follow the river and head up by the bridge or we go up now and take a chance with the streets."

  "Well, you said the river was safer so let's do that."

  "Agreed."

  They walked on for about ten more minutes. Then Joe's heart sank in his chest.

  "Oh, that's nice,” Billie said.

  A wall of cars and trucks that had gone off the roads and barreled through the trees and bushes stood before them. There had to be at least thirty or forty cars, all stacked and smooshed together like a Hot Wheels race gone bad.

  She stood with one hand on her hip, the other gesturing toward the heap of smashed windows, tires and twisted metal. “How's that even possible?"

  "Panic. They probably freaked out the day of the rain and tried to outrun the dead."

  "Yeah, but they would have had to blast through how many trees and yards to get down here?"

  "Don't underestimate folks under pressure. I've seen too much to discount it. These trees aren't densely packed and some are small. They probably bulldozed a whole bunch before hitting one or two their car couldn't handle. Look, doesn't matter. We got a problem. One side is blocked by the river, the other might be open. If not, we go uphill. No choice."

  "Fine,” she said and huffed.

  What's her problem?

  Billie stepped around him and got closer to the cars. “Can't climb them?” She pushed against a Volkswagen sitting partly atop a Caravan (how that happened, Joe hadn't a clue). It rocked. Metal groaned. For a second Joe thought it might lose whatever slight hold it had on the van and come crashing down.

  "Doesn't look like it,” he said.

  She threw her hands up in the air. “Okay, then. We go around."

  Joe stared after her as she made her way along the wall of cars, stepping over tree stumps and large, fallen branches. He realized her problem. It was so simple: she was scared.

  He pulled out the X-09. Billie must have heard him draw it from its holster inside his coat because she looked back at him.

  "Just in case,” he said, with a smile.

  She didn't return it.

  Now right behind her, Joe offered to take the lead.

  "No, I'll be fine,” she said as she walked with hands partly spread out to either side to maintain her balance on the uneven terrain.

  A second later she slipped and fell backward into Joe's arms. He held her from behind, arms tightly around her waist. The way her small body fit into his reminded him of April.

  Something didn't feel right.

  Billie struggled to get back onto her feet. “Okay, you can let go now."

  Joe held on. “Wait a second."

  She froze. “What?"

  The air was still. Leaves crunched somewhere not too far away.

  Billie squirmed. “Would you let go?"

  "Quiet."

  "Don't you dare talk to me like that. I'm not some damsel in distress that needs your help. I'm—"

  That was it. He pulled her up, set her on her feet and gave her a shove forward. “Happy now?"

  Her hot glare burned right through him. No matter. She was a pain anyway.

  Crnch. Crnch. Very faint, but near enough that Joe knew they had to get moving.

  "Walk. Now,” he said and motioned with the gun for her to get going.

  She just stood there. “Jerk."

  Joe shook his head and walked past her. “Something's coming."

  Billie got in line.

  Their own footfalls on the twigs, branches and leaves masked the crunching sounds from earlier. Joe scanned the trees for any sign of movement. Nothing but browny-gray skeletons, dead bushes and a few dry brown leaves swirling on the air from a breeze that had just picked up.

  The cars hadn't smashed into each other in a perfect line, but instead weaved their way around the trees like a snake. Already the river was pretty far behind. The city was over to the right. They had to get over that way lest they take a detour that could get them ki—

  Fierce growling followed by a low guttural bark shot through the air, sending a jolt through every bone in his body.

  A big black wolf of a dog bounded out from behind a tree, its heavily-haired body slicked with greasy blood, its eyes dead and white, its fangs caked with rotten flesh.

  Billie shrieked as five more appeared from behind the bushes, all six racing toward them.

  "Billie!” he shouted.

  She was already moving, dodging to the left, one of the undead dogs missing her, skidding to a halt, then twisting its body to come at her again. She was in mid sprint when Joe blasted a hole through the back of the dog's head.

  It didn't even yelp.

  The other five bowled over them lik
e a tornado to a house; Joe hit the ground hard and fast, one of the beasts on top of him, its foul breath cool and smelling of rotten hamburger.

  It's breathing? No sooner did the thought enter his mind than he put the barrel of the gun under the dog's snapping jaws and pulled the trigger. A spray of black blood shot up through the back of the dog's head then showered down, putrid and sticky.

  Beside him, Billie had her forearm pressed against another dog's throat. It was all she could do keep the animal's snapping mouth away from her.

  Joe cocked the hammer, two more shots falling into the chamber. Before he could aim, one of the beasts grabbed him by the foot, its yellow, meat-caked teeth digging into the leather and steel of his boot.

  Thank goodness it didn't get me. It would have bit my head clean off.

  The dog dragged him through the leaves to one of its kin that was not far off, who bowed with hindquarters straight, front legs pressed to the ground, snapping. Its bark was loud, carrying the tone of more than one voice.

  It missed my toes but its teeth are lodged in my boot. It bit through steel?

  Joe aimed and took the dog out. It flopped over, forcing his ankle to the side, a numbing jolt rushing up his shin.

  Screaming, Billie scrambled against the ground, trying to get away. She had somehow managed to flip over onto her stomach—a stupid mistake—and now the beast was standing on her back, about to take a bite out of the back of her head.

  "AAAAHHHH!” The scream came out of nowhere.

  It wasn't hers.

  Joe only caught it in his peripheral, the blur of an iron pipe, someone wielding it. Who it was, he couldn't see.

  He shot the dog at his feet. It dropped, its face still stuck on his boot. Immediately the dog on Billie's back straightened then pounced on him, its lower teeth just missing his scalp and grazing his head. Thick gobs of funky saliva slapped onto his shaved head like a bad bath. He twisted his arms underneath it and used both forearms to push the dog off to the side. The moment the dog hit the leaves, he sat up and put a bullet in the dog's ear, straight through to its brain.