Return Of The Dead
Jeremy Dyson
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Epilogue
RETURN OF THE DEAD
Book Two of the ROTD Series
Copyright © 2017 Jeremy Dyson
Dartmoor Books
Edited by Sarah Dyson
Cover Design by The Cover Collection
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-9903984-2-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-9903984-2-4
For my wife and my mother…
The two women that have always had my back.
One
When the vultures are circling, something bad is about to happen. I heard that was only a myth. Supposedly, vultures don’t actually circle. Maybe it was just something we imagined before, but it’s real now. I see them circling the sky all the time. I never used to see so many vultures before. That’s how I can always tell when we got trouble nearby. I lower the binoculars and wipe the sweat from my eyelids.
“Scout,” Steven whispers. “What do you see?”
There isn’t anyone around for miles, but he is accustomed to whispering now. We all are.
“Nothing good,” I tell him. I lift the binoculars again and peer at the brittle brush on the hilltop and wonder what lies on the other side. The vultures continue to circle and wait.
Steven keeps pacing behind me, hovering like he is one of the damn vultures. He can be a pain in the ass, but he is good with a machete. He also doesn’t try to get me to sleep with him. Thank God for that.
“We need to get closer,” I say. I lower the binoculars and stand up.
“Come on,” sighs Steven. “Why?”
“You know why,” I grumble. I grab my pack off the ground and shoulder it.
Steven hesitates. He gazes at the birds over the horizon with his languid, blue eyes. With a sigh, he lifts the filthy royal blue baseball cap off his head and slicks back his sweaty ginger hair with his fingertips. He removes a canteen from his backpack, unscrews the top and chugs down half of his water. This is the part where he tries to say something that will change my mind.
“Well?” I prod. I wish he’d just get on with it.
“We’re pretty low on water,” Steven shakes his canteen so I can hear the small amount of liquid slosh inside.
“I got two bottles in my pack. We’re fine.”
Steven looks down at his boot, nudges a rock with it and sighs.
“Okay then,” he resigns. “Let’s go.”
We struggle down the rocky slope beneath an awning of leafy trees. The creek between the hills is emerald green and glistens beneath the morning sun. A cacophony of bird calls and the crisp scent of sappy pine trees fills the air. A scene like this is almost enough to make you forget how bad everything is if you let it.
We stopped last night at a clothing store just west of what used to be Eminence, Missouri. Another day or two on the road and we will finally reach Fort Leonard Wood. A couple of weeks ago, we overheard a radio transmission. The broadcaster claimed the military base was operational and free of the undead. It still sounds too good to be true. We have been on the road since this whole thing started nearly two months ago and it was the only good news we had heard so far.
About halfway down the slope, I lose my footing on the craggy soil. A rock shifts beneath my boot and sends me sprawling on the ground.
“Damn it,” I curse. If there is anyone nearby, I just gave away our position. I can’t afford to let my mind wander like that. Not anymore.
“You okay?” Steven asks. He rushes to my side and offers me his hand. I grab onto his wrist and he pulls me up.
“Fine,” I groan. “Fucking Ozarks.” I wipe my dirty palms off on my jeans and readjust the straps of my pack as we continue toward the shore.
“Ain’t so bad,” Steven says. “Kind of quiet and peaceful out here.”
“If you like that sort of thing.”
My husband, Kevin, used to drag me along when he would go hunting and fishing all the time, so I know how to deal with the outdoors. That doesn’t mean I enjoy it.
I step into the creek. The cool water seeps into my boots and sends a chill through my body. I wade deeper into the water before I pause and look back over my shoulder. Steven still lingers on the shore.
“Come on, you big baby,” I urge him.
Steven looks up and down the creek as if I hadn’t already checked for the easiest spot to cross. He sighs and follows me into the water.
“This sucks,” Steven complains. “Did I mention that already?”
“Don’t make me tell little Stevie that his dad was being a big pussy again.”
The water reaches my waist and I lift my pack over my head to keep it from getting wet. My eyes scan the trees along the shore for any signs of the dead. The leaves are still and quiet. The morning calls of songbirds are the only sound. We reach the shore and I shoulder my pack again. I look up the steep incline and the dark shade beneath the trees. Water sloshes around in the bottom of my boot.
“You sure about this, Scout?” Steven asks.
“What kind of question is that?”
“Just a question,” he shrugs.
“No, it’s a stupid question,” I snap. I can be a little harsh sometimes. Sue me.
“You think it’s them?” Steven wonders. He means Bishop and his thugs. The first time we saw them they had a yellow flag with a black rattlesnake coiled in the middle of it. Maybe it’s just my fear of snakes, but it made me nervous about them right from the get-go. We had several run-ins with some of his guys since then. None ended well.
“Might be,” I whisper. “But if it is them, we need to find out what they’re up to out here.”
“No,” Steven disagrees. “We don’t, Scout.”
I turn and start to climb the hill. The incline is steep and I have to grab on to tree trunks to pull myself up to the crest of the hill. The vultures circle in the air. I take out my binoculars and scan the area. Nothing moves.
I lower the binoculars and retrieve the Glock from the holster strapped to my thigh. I raise a finger to my lips and look at Steven. We creep forward through the woods. Steven starts his mouth-breathing behind me, and I resist the urge to turn around and tell him to shut the hell up. You’d think he’d know better by now.
Sticks crackle beneath Steven’s boot and I freeze. I turn to throw an irritated glance his way, but my eyes widen when I hear a guttu
ral moan off to the left. I crouch down and scurry for cover behind a nearby bush. Steven leans against the bole of a tree. He peers around one side and then the other.
I peek through the leaves of the bush, but I don’t see the son of a bitch. The distant moan reverberates through the woods again. My eyes scan the trees until I spot a long, thin piece of black metal sticking up out of a ravine to the right. There is no telling what lies at the bottom of the ditch.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” whispers Steven.
I shake my head.
“You got a death wish or something?”
“Quit being such a chickenshit,” I snap.
We crouch as we make our way along the ridge toward the ravine. As we get closer, I realize what I spotted was the blade of a helicopter. The battered chassis comes into view as we approach the edge of the ditch. The bird sits belly up in the dirt. The windows are shattered, and sunlight glints off the bits of glass on the ground.
I spot the corpse of a soldier on the ground next to the crash. The thing is pinned to the ground by a blade from the tail rotor. The long piece of alloy impaled his sternum then sunk deep in the dirt. It pushes itself up when it catches sight of us. The rotor blade stirs his intestines as they spill out onto the ground.
I look around to see if there are any more of the dead in sight, but the woods are still and quiet. I take out the Glock and point it at the face of the soldier and pull the trigger. The shot echoes through the trees.
“Search the helicopter,” I tell Steven. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
Steven drops his backpack and approaches the bay door of the chopper. After several seconds at the door, he pokes his head inside. He steps in and disappears in the darkened cabin. A moment later, I hear him howl, followed by several thwacks of the machete.
“You all right in there?” I call out to him.
“Yeah,” he says. “Just dandy.”
I circle around the helicopter and scan the debris on the ground for anything useful. When I come across a two-way radio, I pick it up and try to turn it on. No luck. Maybe it is broken, or the battery could be dead. I unzip my pack and shove the radio inside anyway. Perhaps James will be able to get it working again.
I resume my search of the wreckage and stop when I come across a book on the ground. It’s a copy of The Stand. After I glance around to make sure we are still alone, I bend down and retrieve the paperback. The paper is damp from the morning dew. From the faded cover, I can tell it has been sitting out here awhile.
“Ready,” Steven informs me.
“Find anything?” I ask.
“The pilot,” he says. “Nothing else. Had a feeling this was a waste of time.”
He puts his hands on his waist and glares at me. I can’t help but smirk. He lowers his eyes and shakes his head. It’s not like Steven could ever stay mad at me. That’s just not who he is. I tilt my head back and watch the vultures circle.
“Let’s get going,” I say.
The noise from the round I fired off would have carried for miles. If there is anyone around, alive or dead, they will probably come looking for us. We climb back down the hill to the creek bed. We cross the lazy water and stop to wring out our clothes on the shore.
I squeeze the water from my filthy green army jacket. It still had some blood on it from the dead soldier anyway. I turn away from Steven and pull off my tank top and twist the fabric until the water stops dripping. Then I slip it back over my head. I turn back around and catch Steven staring. I can’t blame the guy. The world is a lonely place for everyone.
“Quit looking at me like that,” I bark at him.
“I wasn’t,” he insists. He looks down at his boot that is pushing a rock around on the ground. His reaction makes me smile for a second. I don’t understand how someone can shy away from their feelings after everything that has happened. I slip my arms through the sleeves of my jacket and grab my pack.
We struggle up the steep hillside and make our way back through the forest until we reach the truck in the clearing. I look back at the sky and notice the vultures are gone. The birds are probably feasting on that rotten corpse by now. Since there isn’t much in the way of roadkill anymore, the vultures mostly feed on dead humans now. They either had to adapt or die.
I slip off my pack and climb into the passenger seat of the truck. Sunlight glints off the windshield and irritates my eyes. I flip down the mirror on the visor. One look at the dark circles around my eyes is enough to make me regret looking. Not that being pretty even matters anymore. I used to care about how I looked. Now, looking good would only bring more trouble. That’s the last thing I need. From my pack, I retrieve a pair of cheap aviator sunglasses and a hair tie. I collect the split ends of my damp brown hair in a ponytail and cover my eyes with the shades.
Steven opens the door and slides in behind the steering wheel. He cranks the key and the ignition sparks the truck to life. His head turns slightly and he stares at me for a moment.
“You sure you’re okay?” Steven asks.
“Can we not do this?” I sigh.
He shifts the engine into gear and pulls the truck around to the face the narrow road. Then he presses the brake. He puts the truck in park and swivels in the seat to face me.
“I can’t just pretend I didn’t see it,” he huffs.
“I wasn’t going to do it,” I relent. “It was just a moment of weakness.”
“Scout,” he sighs. He drops his gaze and shakes his head.
“Don’t lecture me, Steven. Please, just forget it ever happened.”
“You had a gun in your mouth, and I’m just supposed to ignore that?” Steven grips the wheel with one hand tightly and leans toward me. Anger flushes his face.
I notice a corpse wandering out of the trees across the road. The clothes it has been wearing for weeks hang in filthy tatters. Watching the miserable thing makes me realize how a sane person would decide to call it quits. The fact is, I don’t know why I keep going except that I’m still afraid to die.
“Steven.” I gesture at the corpse in the road. “We need to get moving.”
“I’m not letting this go,” he whispers.
He grabs the stick and shifts the truck into drive and accelerates toward the road. We drive past the corpse and the smell of death drifts in through the window of the truck.
Two
Steven pulls off the road into the empty parking lot of a rundown lodge about a mile or so outside of town.
“We can walk the rest of the way,” he suggests.
I nod and open my door and shoulder my backpack. It’s always a good idea to keep a low profile when we reach a new area. I’m pretty good at hiding myself, so I usually recon everything first to make sure it is safe for the others. They don’t call me Scout for nothing. Well, they also don’t know me by anything else. I generally prefer to do this sort of thing alone, but Steven was itching to talk to me about last night.
A pair of bodies shrouded in a layer of chert rest in the dusty gravel. Shattered ground floor windows underscore the dark and weathered exterior of the lodge. A gentle breeze blows the open front door and squeaks the hinges.
“Let’s have a look inside,” I tell Steven.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” he sulks.
“Baby,” I scoff.
Glass fragments snap beneath my boots as I step onto the wood floor of the lobby. The room is dim and quiet and destroyed. Overturned tables and chairs are piled near the front and rear doors. Several reeking corpses house swarming flies and maggots. I reach into my pocket and pull out a bandana. I keep it tucked in there along with a sheet of fabric softener for times like this when I can’t handle the smell. It’s something you never get used to. I tie the fabric around my face like a surgical mask.
“This place is trashed,” whispers Steven.
“Thought maybe there would be a kitchen or something like that,” I say.
“No room service in a dump like this,” Steven says. He glances around t
he lobby and reaches into the chest pocket of his flannel shirt to fish out a pack of cigarettes. His rough hands remove one from the pack and he lights it. He draws in a long drag and then exhales and watches the smoke drifting around the stagnant air. I hate the smell of cigarettes, but even that is better than smell of the corpses.
The silence in the room is broken by the sound of floorboards creaking on the second floor. I look up at the ceiling and wait to hear the sound again.
“Sounds like somebody is home after all,” Steven says.
Steven parks his smoke between his lips, and rights a toppled chair. He sits and smokes and watches me.
“Just one of them by sound of it,” I whisper.
“Don’t look at me,” Steven says as he exhales a cloud of smoke. “I got the last one.”
I guess he is right. Sure, we could just leave without dealing with the thing upstairs. We could leave it for someone else to find, but there’s always the chance that it will find the next person that comes along first. I already have enough on my conscience without thinking about that.
I slip the knife out of my pocket and ascend the staircase. The steps groan beneath my feet no matter where I put them. At the top of the stairs I find a dark hallway with half a dozen doors marked by silver numbers. Instead of checking all of them, I wait and listen. Everything seems quiet behind the first pair of doors. As I approach the next rooms, I hear feet dragging across the floor inside of room number three.
I clutch the handle in my hand and ready the knife. The handle turns quietly and I ease the door open to see the corpse of an old woman in a nightgown. She faces the window where the rising sun pours into the room. For a moment, I wonder if she might be alive, but the thing lets out a hoarse moan. She is dead all right.
With a few quick steps I cross the room before the corpse has time to turn around. I grab a handful of the long grey hair and plunge the knife upwards at the base of the skull. The body goes limp and I lower it to the floor, and then I pull my knife free. I grab the sheet off the bed and clean the congealed blood off the blade. After I take a look around the room for anything of use, I start to walk out in the door. In the doorway, I pause and look back at the body on the floor. I take a second to go back to the bed and use the sheet to cover it up.
Rise of the Dead (Book 2): Return of the Dead Page 1