Dead Ascent (The Zombie Apocalypse Book 1)

by Jason McPherson

  Brayden knew the place. It wasn’t hard, for that was the only cabin and the only piece of land on Glassy Mountain not owned by the state. The woman was crying again, holding the squalling, naked, bloody infant close to her chest. He felt a pang of guilt for yelling at her. She’s been through hell, he knew. But if she’s going to make it out of this thing, she’s got to focus.

  In a calmer voice, he said to her, “Look, there’s no way off the mountain now. That van is blocking the only road down. We might be able to flee on foot through the forest, sticking to the logging trails and whatnot, but I have a gut feeling it’ll be worse down that way anyhow.” He glanced at the rearview mirror. “That, and something is burning down there, likely the Pavilion. We can only hope the fire doesn’t spread.”

  He nodded towards the road and said, “We’re going up the mountain. We’ll make our stand there. It’s the only plan I can think of that might give us a chance in hell of getting out of this alive. You need to quit with the screaming, got me?”

  She nodded, on the verge of squalling again. Although he was helping her, there was something about the game warden that frightened her, something she couldn’t quite place. Something dark.

  “We’re going to stop by the Fish and Game office. It’s about three miles from here. I’ve been trying to call headquarters and find out what the hell is going on, but I haven’t gotten a response. I don’t even know if they’re still alive at this point, but if I can get in there I can get more guns and ammunition, and some medical supplies.”

  “What’s happening to everyone? Why are they attacking people? What were they?” Wanda asked, crying again. “They’re like…zombies!”

  Brayden thought about it. Though the idea sent a chill down his spine, he had to agree. “That’s exactly what they’re like.”

  As they turned another corner, Brayden knew he would have to pass her dead husband. He knew she had been through a lot, a hell of a lot, but he hoped she could keep it together. “You might want to look away. We’re about to pass your truck around this next curve.” He saw her tense up, clutching the towel and the infant.

  “Look, he’s gone,” he went on, “but you have that baby to take care of now. Just think of that when we pass by, and try not to look.”

  Wanda’s chin wobbled and she fought back tears. “This can’t be happening.”

  “I’m telling you, I will survive this, and you and that baby are coming along with me. We’ll make it out of this.”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “Okay.”

  He knew she wasn’t ready, but they had to pass the wrecked truck and her dead husband either way. As the Fish and Game truck labored around the bend and through another patch of thick, hovering fog, Brayden could only hope that the poor man was still dead, but he thought it very unlikely.

  As they approached the wrecked truck, Brayden saw the dull, yellow light from its one remaining headlight, but as he had feared, he didn’t see Harvey. The man’s ravaged corpse had been sprawled out near the truck, but now Brayden saw no sign of him other than a clump of intestines in a wide puddle of blood. Brayden hoped the thing had wandered off, looking for whatever the hell those things looked for. Flesh, apparently.

  Quietly, he told Wanda, “Don’t look.”

  Wanda stared at the infant in her arms, trying to keep from looking up, but of course, as they approached the wreck site, she looked. She had to.

  “Where…where is Harvey?”

  “He’s gone, Wanda. Just leave it at that.”

  “Gone?” She didn’t understand.

  “Yes. Gone. Risen. Just try not to…”

  Brayden’s words trailed off as the truck rounded the curve, and his fears were answered. Harvey stood in the middle of the gravel road, half-naked, stomach ripped open, snarling at them like some wild, mad beast. Brayden slammed the gas pedal to the floor just as Harvey screeched a wretched, raspy howl and lurched toward the truck.

  “Brace yourself!” Brayden yelled, preparing for the impact.

  Wanda screamed as the truck slammed into Harvey, but the thing that had once been her husband miraculously held on to the brush grill with one hand as his other hand clawed relentlessly at the hood. He was squealing an earsplitting wail and trying to climb atop the truck.

  “Make it stop! Please, God, just make it stop!” Wanda screamed, trying to hold the baby and cover her ears.

  Harvey lurched and made it halfway onto the hood, his bloody teeth showing in an enraged, desperate snarl.

  “Hold on!” Brayden yelled, and slammed the brakes.

  Harvey flew from the hood, skidded across the road, and finally came to rest in the bright lights of the truck. Brayden punched the gas again as Harvey began to stir. Most of Harvey’s face was missing. Loose skin hung from what was left of his lower jaw, sheered away by the gravel road, but he continued to rise again.

  The truck careened over Harvey and the vehicle pitched with the wet thud of each tire passing over the thing’s body. Brayden snatched the steering wheel and gained control of the big truck, slinging a long rooster tail behind as the truck traversed the steep incline.

  Wanda screamed as a man slammed headlong into her door and bounced off the truck. Brayden saw what looked to be twenty of them clambering from the dark woods and out onto the gravel road. Without hesitation, Brayden stomped down on the gas pedal; the truck lurched forward, gaining speed, and slammed into the moaning, wailing horde. The truck pitched and bucked. Fists pounded at the truck, teeth clacked against the windows, and for one awful, gut-wrenching moment, they were going nowhere. The chassis had bogged down in the mass of tangled bodies, and the tires spun in a spray of gore and gravel as they caught traction and made it up the rise with the howls of the dead fading behind the truck in a cloud of gray, moonlit dust.

  They sped along the narrow graveled road as pines, hemlocks and cedars all spun by like flipped pages. They topped ridges and swooped into fog-patched bottoms and then were arrowing through a small valley area which bordered the river. The road there was straight and they steadily gained speed until they neared the end of the valley and rambled up another treacherous stretch of rising hills. The trees began to close around them now, a twisting tunnel of them, headlights washing over them, disturbing a primeval sleep. The road ascended steadily and the truck strained and whined with the grade. This tight stretch of road worried Brayden immensely; he knew if they got into trouble here, there was no way to maneuver.

  This doesn’t look good…

  The radio crackled to life, and they both flinched at the unexpected blare of grainy sound. Through the static came Frank Garman’s frantic voice. “Brayden… Brayden, are you out there? Copy. Over.”

  Brayden snatched the CB receiver, ecstatic that his beloved foreman was still alive as he answered the call. “Yeah, Frank, I copy!”

  “Brayden, thank God you’re alive. All those people who were sick at Camp Ole Indian died…but damn if they didn’t come back. Brayden…they came back from the dead! They’ve changed, horribly, and they’re attacking everyone they encounter. The CDC and some military personnel are at the foot of the mountain. They’ve formed up a blockade. We’re trapped, Brayden, trapped with these living dead sons of bitches everywhere!”

  “You’re telling me this thing is contained solely on the mountain and it’s not a widespread event?” Brayden responded. “What caused this…outbreak? Do they know?”

  “They don’t really know. Something went horribly wrong at the Rexnord Convention. Hell, who knows. The whole damn mountain is under quarantine now. They’ve got defensive lines all the way around the base of the mountain, hoping to contain the outbreak. Once the fire started at Camp Ole Indian, the military trucks began circling the mountain and starting more fires. I saw it, Brayden. They’re going to let the whole thing burn in hopes of isolating the virus. I’m sure of it.”

  Brayden remembered the rising smoke coming from Camp Ole Indian and now felt like a rat in a cage…a burning cage. “I’m heading your wa
y, Frank. I have a lady with me. She needs medical attention, as well as her baby. Is it safe there?”

  “Negative. These things are all over the place. I hear them at the door now, scratching and screaming that awful alarm of theirs. Those howls…it’s like…like a call to arms for them. They hear one scream and they all come toward the sound.”

  “I found Cobb, and two other men, but they’d turned. Hell, I barely got out of there alive. Then I ran into this poor woman and her infant. We’re heading your way, Frank. I’ll clear the infected and make it to you. I swear.”

  “Yeah, about that. Cobb’s brothers are taking full advantage of the situation, looting, shooting up vehicles and causing all kinds of hell farther up the mountain. They’ve lost their damn fool minds.”

  “Son of a bitch, with all this going on, they’re looting?” Brayden responded in disbelief. They’ll get theirs, he swore to himself. One way or the other. “We’ll be there soon, Frank. Just hold tight.”

  “There’s no need for that, son,” Frank responded grimly. “I’m… I’m bit, Brayden. Everyone is dead or dying. I’m down to one round left in my revolver and this door won’t hold them much longer. I’ve got to do it.”

  “No! I’ll be there in a few more minutes. You know there are more guns in the safe, shotguns and ammunition. Maybe they’ll find a cure!”

  “There won’t be any cure, Brayden. I can feel it burning through my veins. I’ve got to do it, son. I will not turn into one of them.”

  “The helicopter. What about the chopper? Can Gary still fly it?”

  Frank sighed, “The last I saw of Gary, he was fighting one of the infected and it had bit into his forearm. He tossed me his pistol as they converged on him, and that’s the only way I made it into this building. He’s a warrior, that one. He took two of those bastards over the side of the mountain with him. Jumped right off the overview behind the building.” Frank sighed, a tired, beaten sound. “He’s dead. I’m sure of it. They all are.”

  Brayden punched the steering wheel and cursed. He had worked with those men for years and loved them like family. Now they were dead.

  The old man had been like a father to him, and he was now infected. Things were happening so fast, it was all Brayden could do to wrap his mind around it. They’re all dead, Frank is dying, the mountain is burning, and the dead have risen…

  The radio crackled to life one last time as Frank said goodbye, his grainy voice fading in and out. “Make it out of this thing, Brayden. Tell Mabel I love her… Tell her I did my best.”

  “You know I will.”

  And with that, the radio fell silent. Brayden knew the old man would do the right thing. He always had. The world has lost a good one, he thought numbly as he hung the receiver back on the dusty dashboard.

  Tears streamed down Wanda’s face, but she made no sound.

  “God help us all,” Brayden muttered.

  November 8, 9:00 p.m.

  It burned and stung like thousands of hot pinpricks spreading throughout his body, traversing through his veins and arteries with a prickling sensation that strangely reminded him of picking okra in his vegetable garden. His left hand had swollen around the bite mark and had begun to fester.

  Frank Garman stared through blurred eyes at the pistol in his right hand and knew he had to do it before he became delirious with the fever that was now raging inside him.

  It was a hell of a thing…dying.

  He glanced at the picture frame on his desk. His wife of forty-three years, Mabel, was smiling in his arms, the sun setting behind them in a dazzling array of purple and orange, reflecting off the ocean waves. The picture had been taken while they were vacationing at Myrtle Beach, and the fond and comforting memories of it passed through his mind as he bit down on the cold steel pistol barrel.

  Closing his eyes and fighting back a cry, he slowly, deliberately, began to squeeze the trigger.

  Howls erupted from the porch, and the front door thumped and rattled on its hinges. He heard the distinct sound of splintering wood, the last sound he would ever hear, as he squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet passed through his head at an odd angle, erupting just below his right ear. He flopped out of his chair and landed on the floor beside his desk, not fully out, yet strangely, he found he wasn’t in pain as he watched the light fade to black. A pool of dark blood bloomed and spread around him…then everything was gone.

  Chapter 6

  November 8, 10:00 p.m.

  As the Fish and Game truck careened around another curve, they came upon a popular pullover area which provided a spectacular view of Lake Glassy and Camp Ole Indian at the foot of the mountain. Brayden pulled over onto the paved parking area and stared across the way at the raging forest fire reflecting in the waters of Lake Glassy. Leaving the truck running, he took the shotgun and walked out onto the overview. Those bastards are going to let us burn!

  Looking at the massive blaze down the mountain, he thought of what Frank had said to him. The government had abandoned them, throwing up defensive lines around the foot of the mountain, trying to contain the virus. There must have been close to four thousand people at Camp Ole Indian and hundreds of hunters spread out across the primitive campsites along the mountainside. He couldn’t imagine the United States government sentencing so many of its citizens to death. That wasn’t what this country stood for. You didn’t just write off a whole group to save the rest, but as he watched the fire growing below, he knew they had. We’re on our own out here, and that’s just the way of it, Brayden thought as he went back to the truck to try to find his binoculars for a better view.

  As he rummaged through the cab, Wanda, who was holding the sleeping infant, asked, “What is it?” Her eyes darted along the dark forest and the road as she spoke. “I don’t think we should stop here. I don’t like it!”

  “I’m going to take a look,” Brayden responded as he dug around for his binoculars behind his seat. “Just sit tight and keep a lookout for me, okay?”

  “Please hurry!” she pleaded, holding little Harvey and thinking of changing his name. Now that the vision of her dead husband crawling across the hood of the truck would be her last memory of him, the name Harvey had begun to lose its appeal. She watched Brayden walking toward the overlook, wondering why in the hell he wanted to stop here. Her gaze settled on the keys in the ignition, moved back to Brayden, then to little Harvey, and back to the keys. She really didn’t want to stop here while those things were wandering the mountainside. It would be so easy… she thought, until she realized the truck had a stick shift. She couldn’t drive a stick.

  At the railing of the overlook, Brayden began studying the land below. The fire was spreading quickly, devouring the dry pine trees and cedars and growing like a living, breathing entity. A sickened feeling passed over him, knowing they were now isolated, cut off from civilization on this lone and now burning mountain, which was infested with those abominations of nature.

  His mind drifted to the Fish and Game office. He desperately needed the guns and ammunition there. The Pittmon cabin Wanda and her deceased, resurrected, and dead again husband had been staying at was on high ground and better suited to defend. It sat atop Glassy Mountain, nestled on the enormous granite cliff. Several springs and runoff from rain kept the huge granite cliff wet, giving it a glossy sheen that often shone glass-like in the bright morning sun. It was that vast granite that he felt could save them from the fire…maybe.

  Looking down into the valley at the smoldering ruins of the camp, he wondered how long he would have to better fortify the cabin. Hell, he wondered if he could even make it to the damn thing. Brayden flinched as he heard five consecutive gunshots fired somewhere far over the mountain and remembered Frank’s warning about the looting and chaos. The weight of it all began to manifest and burn within him, and soon an old, familiar feeling began to rear its head deep inside of him…the cold stillness, the numbness of war. He realized he was clenching his fists and opened his hands to see white half-mo
ons embedded in his palms from his fingernails.

  Movement caught his attention. Turning as he heard Wanda scream, he raised the shotgun and took aim as a hunter dressed in blood-soaked camouflage with an enormous wound across his chest stumbled hungrily toward the truck, eager for flesh. The abomination had just begun to howl when Brayden pulled the trigger. The recoil jolted his shoulder as half of the hunter’s head erupted and scattered across the road.

  From the dark forest came two more dead hunters, howls erupting. Brayden lowered the shotgun, enraged, and rushed them. Raising the stock of the shotgun as he closed the distance between them, he crushed the forehead of the closest dead thing with the stock of the gun and turned on the second one in a whirlwind of rage.

  Wanda’s frantic screams cut through the night as she watched Brayden continue to stomp and bash the thing’s severely misshapen head into an unrecognizable mess. He finally slumped down against the side of the truck, exhausted and speckled with blood. She could hear his heavy, ragged breathing and feared for her own safety, as she felt this man was losing it. But what other choice do I have? she thought. Besides, he did save me. He’s a good man… I think.

  Brayden rose and stared out into the dark forest before climbing back into the truck. For a long time, he spoke not a word, and Wanda could only stare ahead, holding the baby as the headlights washed over the gravel and the huge pines lining the road. Finally, she broke the tense silence and asked, “Do you feel better now?”

  To her surprise, Brayden smiled. “You know, I kind of do.”

  “You had me worried for a minute.”

  “Sorry. I’m fine now…just...”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I think I understand.”

  The truck crested another hill and was plowing through a layer of fog when they both saw a group of the infected take form ahead of them on the road like rotting ghosts.