Rise of the Dead (Book 2): Return of the Dead

by Dyson, Jeremy

  “Turn here,” I tell Fletcher. “Left.”

  He turns down the next street and brings the van to a stop in the middle of the road. We sit there for a few moments in the idling vehicle just staring at the sight before us. A couple blocks down the road there is a massive crowd of the dead blocking the street. At first I can’t figure out why, then I notice they all seem to be gathered around one of the ranch homes along the street. I raise my rifle and peer through the scope and spot a figure on the rooftop. It appears to be a man. He is shirtless, his khakis covered in dried blood. There is a body lying on the black shingles beside him in a pool of blood. At first, I think he must be dead, but then he notices the van in the road and waves his arms to flag us down.

  Fletcher throws the van in reverse.

  “Wait,” I yell.

  “Forget it,” Fletcher says. “There’s too many of those fucking things.”

  “There is someone on the roof,” I tell him. “He’s alive.”

  Fletcher squints his eyes at the person on the roof.

  I look at the corpses again. The dead don’t seem to have noticed our vehicle sitting in the road. They push against each other trying to get closer to the man on the roof.

  “I can draw them away,” I tell Fletcher. “Once it’s clear pull up alongside the house so he can jump off onto the van.”

  “Whoa, whoa, hang on,” Fletcher says. He shifts the car in park and stares at the crowd of corpses in the road. “I’ll do it.”

  “Not a chance,” I say. I open up the back door of the van and sling my rifle over my shoulder. “We came all the way up here to get you because you can fly and no one else can. No way I’m going to risk you going out there.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Natalie offers.

  “You sure?” I ask.

  Natalie nods and gives me a little smile.

  “I’ll swing around and come up the other side of road,” I tell Fletcher and Kyle. “Once you guys pick him up we’ll meet you back around by the gas station.” I hop out onto the ground and wait for Natalie.

  “Don’t get any closer to those things than you have to,” Fletcher says.

  “We can handle it,” I say. “Just be ready.”

  “I was born ready, doll,” Fletcher grins. “Stay safe.”

  Thirty-one

  Natalie leads us passed the houses on the next block over. I do my best to keep up with her, but the younger girl runs much faster than me. Halfway down the first block she checks behind her and slows down to let me catch up.

  I gasp for breath.

  “Am I going too fast?” she asks.

  “No,” I shake my head. “I’m just getting old I guess.”

  She jogs alongside me through the yards in front of the small homes. As the sound of the dead grows louder, we slow our pace. At the edge of each house we pause and check around the corner before dashing to the next house. Beyond the grassy lawns between each house I see the crowd of them on the next block. I spot the man on the roof, but he still seems too focused on the truck to notice us. He calls out for help and keeps the attention of the dead on him. They moan and reach for the man, crawling over each other to get to the house.

  We keep moving to the end of the block and then we turn left. At the next corner we pause behind the house and check our rifles.

  “You ready?” I ask Natalie.

  She nods her head, and then I step out and cross the lawn toward the street. I raise the rifle and fire from hip into the massive crowd. Natalie sidesteps beside me, firing as well. Several of the corpses along the edge of the group fall to the pavement. It doesn’t take long to get their full attention. The crowd of the dead begins to surge toward us. The sight of hundreds of them headed our way with their eyes fixed on us is enough to instantly fill me with regret. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Pull yourself together, Scout.

  My magazine runs out and I reach into my jacket pocket to retrieve another as I move across the road. I reload and resume firing, pulling the rifle up to my shoulder to aim more accurately as the dead move in. It’s hard to resist the urge to run, but the massive horde still surrounds the house. We backpedal around the corner of the intersection and move down street. Every few steps we pause to fire a few rounds and take out any corpse that gets ahead of the pack.

  “I think we got their attention,” I yell to Natalie.

  She nods and fires off a couple more shots before turning to run up the road. We race up the block to put some distance between ourselves and the dead. Natalie pauses at the street and slips her pack off.

  “Cover me,” she says.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as I bring the rifle up to my shoulder.

  She ignores the question and thrusts a hand in her pack. I pull the trigger and manage to clip the head of a corpse in a softball jersey and watch it fall to the ground. Natalie grunts as she tosses a metal object in the road. Smoke begins to spew out of the canister and quickly fills the street. We resume firing a few rounds until the smoke makes it too difficult to locate targets, then we cut down a side street and make our way back to the main road.

  After we round the corner, I collapse against the brick wall of the building and take a look back down the street. A moment later, the first of the dead shuffles out of the smoke and into the intersection a block away. I hold my breath and hope that they continue moving forward. The man in a business suit that is in front of the pack glances down the street causing me to pull my face further behind the wall. Then he looks straight ahead again and continues up the next block. The rest of the crowd follows mindlessly behind him, filling the air with their moans.

  “We lose them?” Natalie asks.

  “I think so,” I huff as I push myself away from the wall.

  Even though we slipped away from the horde, the move will likely only buy us a few more precious minutes to reach the van and get out of town. Now that they are on the move it is just a matter of time before the group begins to break up and wander off in different directions in search of a victim. I try to keep up with Natalie as she runs down the road, though I am still gasping for breath. After a couple blocks, I begin to fall further and further behind. Finally she notices and slows to a jog to let me catch up.

  In the distance, I spot the van parked in the road near the gas station. For some reason, Kyle and Fletcher are both outside of the vehicle. The man from the roof is hunched over on the ground. Maybe the man is hurt, I think. I squint my eyes to try and see what is going on, but the unsteady motion of running and the bright sunlight glinting off the windows of the van makes it difficult at first.

  “What are they doing?” I ask Natalie.

  “I can’t tell,” she says.

  “Something must be wrong,” I gasp as I pick up the pace and hustle down the street.

  My heart begins to pound as we approach the scene. I am sure the running has something to do with it, but mostly it was a sudden sense of fear. From a couple blocks away, I can make out Fletcher standing behind the man from the roof. The man is hunched over on his knees staring at the street and rocking back and forth. His long, brown hair hangs down and conceals his face. Fletcher holds the rifle at his shoulder, the barrel pointing at the back of the man’s head. I resist the urge to call out and tell him to stop. The sound of my voice would only attract the dead.

  Kyle turns his head toward us and holds up a hand to block the sun. He spots us hauling ass down the road and says something to Fletcher as he gestures in our direction. I raise my arms and wave them wildly and shake my head. I hope the gesture will delay whatever was about to happen. Fletcher lifts his head and looks in our direction before returning his attention to the man on the ground. With every step, I anticipate Fletcher pulling the trigger, but he just holds his position.

  Finally, we reach the intersection near the gas station and I slow to a walk as I approach the van. Fletcher peers up at me again and notices the pained and confused expression on my face as I pant and wipe the sweat from my face with m
y sleeve. The fabric rubs against the stitches in my cheek and causes me to cringe from the sting.

  “What the hell is going on?” I hiss.

  “This guy is fucking nuts,” Fletcher growls back.

  The man continues to stare at the ground and rock back and forth. Then I notice something disturbing. He is laughing hysterically. The faint sound suddenly grows louder and the man begins shake his head, spittle trickling from his lips.

  “Put that thing down,” I tell Fletcher.

  “No fucking way,” Fletcher shakes his head. “He’s dangerous. Just look at him. He’s out of his mind.”

  “So what?” I say as I step over and put myself between Fletcher and the man. “You’re just going to shoot him.”

  “Move, Scout,” Fletcher says as he shifts the rifle a few inches to the side. “Kyle, tell her what you saw.”

  “There was another body up there on the roof,” Kyle says. “It was all torn apart. It looked like he’d been eating it.”

  The sound of crazed laughter from the man on the ground behind me sends a shiver through my spine. Fletcher cocks an eyebrow at me and jerks the gun to the side again a couple times to urge me to move.

  “What did he say?” I ask Kyle and Fletcher. Neither of them answer. “Did you even ask him?”

  “Nothing,” Fletcher says. “Just a bunch of gibberish.”

  “We really don’t have time for this,” Natalie reminds us.

  “He is too far gone,” Fletcher whispers.

  “So we just shoot him?” I laugh at the craziness of the words coming out of my mouth. The sound gets caught in my throat.

  “You know I’m right, Scout,” Fletcher says. “It’s the right thing to do here.”

  “No,” I shake my head.

  “Then we leave him here,” Fletcher says.

  “No,” I repeat. “Not a chance.”

  I turn around and put a hand on the man’s shoulder and he jumps at the touch. His hand whips up and snatches me by the wrist. His eyes lock on me, his teeth bared like a feral dog. He hesitates for a moment as he studies my face. He slowly loosens his grip on me.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him.

  “We need to move,” Natalie urges. I hear the sound of the dead moaning.

  “Help me get him in the van,” I ask Kyle. The kid comes over to help grab the man by the arms and lift him to his feet.

  “This is a big mistake,” Fletcher warns me. “That son of a bitch is going to try to kill somebody. You’ll see.”

  “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” I tell him.

  “Sure,” Fletcher laughs. He slings the rifle back over his shoulder casually and picks up his pack off the ground. “Whatever you say, Scout.”

  Kyle and I help the man into the truck. He can barely stand on his own and his legs buckle as he moves. The sudden strength that he showed when he grabbed my hand a moment before seems completely gone. He collapses against the wall in the back of the van, seemingly indifferent to the gore all around him on the floor of the rear compartment. Natalie scoots herself up toward the front seats and keeps her eyes fixed on him.

  I wait until Fletcher starts the truck, then climb into the back and close the door as I spot the first of the dead coming up the road behind us. The truck begins to accelerate and I watch out the back window as the dead recede into the distance as we make our way out of town.

  Thirty-two

  “What’s your name?” I ask the man.

  I shift my gaze toward the rearview mirror where I can see Fletcher’s eyes fixed on me instead of looking through the windshield. Instead of making a smart ass comment, I stare back until he returns his gaze to the road.

  “Do you have a name?” I repeat my question to the man, but he just stares at his bloody hands for a long moment. After I let out a sigh, the man slowly lifts his gaze to meet my eyes.

  “Thom,” he says in a raspy voice.

  “Tom?” I say. “That’s your name?”

  “No,” he shakes his head. “With an H.”

  “Thom?” I ask.

  The man nods.

  I wonder what the hell difference it makes. Whatever.

  “This guy is freaking me out,” Natalie says.

  I turn to look at Natalie and notice Fletcher watching me in the rearview mirror again. He doesn’t seem to notice that he is driving on the wrong side of the road. Not that it really matters anymore.

  “Can you tell me what happened on the roof?” I ask Thom. “How long were you trapped up there?”

  The man stares at the dried blood coating his hands as though he doesn’t hear a word I’m saying to him. Finally, he lifts his gaze and locks his eyes on me. The chill runs through my spine again when I see the empty expression on his face.

  “I had to do it,” he growls through clenched teeth.

  “Do what?” I ask. I’m afraid I already know the answer, but I ask him anyway.

  “I had to survive,” he laments. His hands come up suddenly and I flinch and slide my hand down toward the trigger of my rifle. The main clenches a fistful of his hair with each hand and pulls it as he howls in agony.

  The van begins to slow and I look toward the mirror to see Fletcher watching me closely. Maybe Fletcher was right and this man is completely out of his mind. He might even be as dangerous as Fletcher believes.

  I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of horrors this guy might have gone through, but we’ve all seen our fair share of carnage. Everyone one of us has a breaking point. I wonder if one day I’ll snap and end up in the same state as Thom. After I brush away the thought, I reach out to place my hand on his shoulder. He flinches at my touch and his eyes dart around the van frantically like he has forgotten how he ended up here.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re safe now.”

  He looks at my extended hand as though it was a snake about to bite him. I retreat back to the other side of the van and he begins to calm down. Instead of pressing him to talk any more, I decide to give him some more time. Maybe his nerves will settle and he will be more coherent later on.

  We ride in silence until we reach the church and pull to a stop near the delivery truck in the lot outside. Lorento leans against the doorframe and watches as me and Natalie begin hauling gas cans out of the van.

  “Get everyone ready to go,” Fletcher directs Kyle as he makes his way toward the rear of the truck to help us with the gas.

  The kid jogs across the lot and up the stairs toward the entrance. Lorento blocks his way so he has to pause and talk with her on the way inside.

  “Lorento’s going to have a fit when she sees him,” Fletcher mutters as he twists a nozzle cap onto the gas can.

  “That’s her problem,” I say.

  “I’m not taking the heat,” Fletcher informs me. He twists off the fuel cap and begins to pour gas into the truck.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll deal with her.”

  When I look back to the door she is already hobbling toward the us. She shakes her head as she mutters something to herself.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she asks me. She brushes passed me to walk to the back door of the van and has a look at the man inside. Her expression sours at the sight. She keeps her eyes on the man as she takes a couple of unsteady steps backwards.

  “He was going to die if we didn’t help him,” I tell her.

  “Are you out of your mind?” she seethes.

  “That’s what I said,” Fletcher agrees. “She wouldn’t listen to me.”

  I shoot him an accusing look. Thanks for having my back. Asshole.

  “Look, Scout,” Lorento sighs. “We don’t need to be looking after some lunatic when we have plenty to worry about already.”

  “You don’t know he’s a lunatic,” I say. “You didn’t even try to talk with him.”

  “I don’t have to talk to him,” Lorento says. “It’s a bloodbath in there.”

  “That’s not from him,” I say. “Well, not all of it.”

&
nbsp; Lorento waves a hand to silence me.

  “Forget it,” she says. She reaches her hand to her waist and grabs the handle of her gun. “I’ll get rid of him.”

  “No,” I growl. I bring up the rifle and point it at her.

  “Whoa,” Fletcher says. “Easy everybody.”

  “She’s not going to shoot me,” Lorento smirks.

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” I tell her.

  Lorento studies my face for a long moment, then slowly puts the gun back in the holster.

  “Fine,” she says. “You want to look after him, then that’s on you. But if he gets out of hand, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in him.”

  I keep the gun steady and follow her as she limps passed me and heads for the front of the delivery truck. Once she climbs in the passenger door, I lower the barrel and slide the strap over my shoulder again.

  “You’re lucky she didn’t shoot you,” Fletcher says. He removes the gas can from the tank and twists the nozzle off.

  “She won’t shoot me,” I tell him. “She still needs me.”

  “Guess that’s something else we have in common,” Fletcher smirks. He tightens the nozzle on a full gas can and hoists it up to fill the tank some more. “Once that changes you might want to watch your back.”

  I shrug indifferently. Lorento talks a lot, but after a while it’s hard to believe she’s as tough as she thinks. Especially when she can barely walk. I’m not worried about her.

  “I mean it,” Fletcher warns. “Don’t trust her.”

  The rest of the group begins to file out of the church. As soon as Stevie spots me he sprints for the truck with a big smile on his face. The dog runs along beside him, tongue dangling out of the side of its mouth. I bend down to scoop Stevie up as he jumps into my arms.

  “Were you good while I was gone?” I ask him.

  “I played ball with Stitch,” he says.

  “That sounds like fun,” I say. It makes me so happy to see him finally smile again. Something about getting a dog seems to have made coping with this dismal world a lot easier for the kid.