Race the Dead (Book 1): The Last Flag

by Cavanagh, Wren

  The two women raced down the side street to meet up with Cho, who was running from her own devout followers.

  “Quick, the garage!” Kate pointed to the open car bay of a local details and fix it shop. They rushed for it, the crowd behind them getting louder and faster. Logan and Xhiu got in first, while Kate and Cho waited to make sure they had the full attention of the herd before slamming the bay door down.

  “Back door, people!” Cho yelled and run for where she hoped it would be, in seconds her guess proved correct. “Yeah, over here!”

  As they exited, they heard the impact of the bodies hitting and pushing against the garage door, window glass shattered behind them. They kept running until Cho called a halt a block away.

  “Great work, everyone! Safe spot…nobody here.” She caught her breath and smiled. “Quick, get the map so we can go for the next flag.”

  What’s your emergency?

  “911, what is your emergency?”

  “I need help.”

  “Can you speak louder, please? I can’t hear you.”

  “Help.”

  “Okay, I can barely hear you. Where are you, please? What is your address?”

  Anjali grabbed a business card from the counter and filled her lungs. Slowly and carefully she enunciated the address to the operator. A very uncomfortable silence was followed by cold response.

  “There are fines for calling in pranks to the emergency line. Do you have an emergency?”

  “I. Need. Help.” More silence. Surely they could verify the address.

  “You're in the town of Prideful?”

  “Yes.” Keep it simple, she thought. “Sick, abandoned. Help?”

  Silence followed and she feared the operator would hang up. Finally the woman at the other end of the line replied and Anjali could hear bewilderment in her voice.

  “Are you in a safe place? Can you stay there?”

  “Yes.” She replied agreeably as she chicken pecked ‘Prideful’ into a web browser and saw the search results. Prideful: ‘The Last Flag’, ‘Evacuated’, ‘Quarantined’, ‘Mortality rates’, was what came up at the top of the first page. Crap, she wondered. How the hell did I wind up here?

  ‘The Last Flag’ had the most recent results for the search, she clicked on the link at the top of the page, and read through the story. Well, holy smoke. Slowly, her jaw fell in disbelief. She understood the reason for the drone that flew over her that morning. There were living, breathing people here; and not just that. Contestants: people that chose to be in this blighted town, this colony of the dead.

  She forgot the phone, the operator’s kind, insistent voice went unheard. Her mind relegated both to the far periphery of her attention as she entered her name in the Google search bar. The results were disturbing: ‘Family holds funeral’ type of disturbing. How long would it take for a rescue party to come to her? Would they even want to risk it? And why wait if she could catch up to the people that had come here — here, of all places —to play a game.

  She Googled for more information on the game, and saw that the contestants’ final stop was at the tallest building in town. The hospital. They were heading for the hospital at the center of town. She picked up the phone and focused, her verbal ability was crap.

  “Last Flag. Will…catch up…to them.”

  “No! Hold on! Wai...”

  Her attention now elsewhere Anjali cut off the call. She had a goal, a way out, and the brief break in the store had helped her rediscover some of who she was. She rummaged through the store and found a small break room with a fridge containing a few left behind sodas and a couple of bottles of water. She grabbed a bottle with orange liquid inside, Fanta, and popped the tab. After the first tentative sip she realized how parched she was and one by one, downed all of the drinks in the small fridge regardless of color or size. Dizzy with surprise and satisfaction she fell back against the table and onto the ancient, well used cushy couch. Eventually she set about the business of her rescue, grabbed a couple of disposable phones from a display and threw them into a plastic bag, added batteries, a flashlight and a trinket of a survival tool.

  She left the store crawling back out the broken door, and as she walked toward the center of town she did not see the small drops of blood that trailed from her bare feet.

  You don’t have six months

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m holding up, don’t worry about me.”

  They whispered in each others ears as they walked on hand in hand, taking pleasure in the touch of skin against skin. The warm breath, the soft lips. His hand was strong and warm as it always was, even in the cold days.

  “We have to lose Joe.” Emma said, “He is holding us back, we’ll never win if he stays.”

  Lew nodded, they’d have to force the issue, what had his doctor said? You don’t have six months, yeah that was what he had said. He had been sick for a while and finally after enough badgering from Emma he had gone to see a doctor. Surprise, surprise, it wasn’t a leftover from the flu, all that coughing and achiness.

  It was lung cancer, well, son of bitch! And he had never smoked a day in his life.

  Transplant list. Sure. If only he had the time for it, and the money? He couldn’t afford the care without going bankrupt. He had some insurance, but nothing that would keep him alive or comfortable for long this time around.

  He might not buy himself the time, but with enough money he could buy the lungs. A friend of Emma who worked in L.A. mentioned the competition to her.

  “We have a shot, we can do this.” She had said as she straddled him on the bed one messy weekend morning. “My friend can get us in, you are still well enough that together we can pull this off.”

  “I’ll go, no way I want you in there.”

  “Live with it, I am going, with you or without you.”

  And so it had been, her friend Daisy knew people who knew other people, they got in with a fake positive health test. He didn’t care for others to know of his weaknesses. When the day came for them to leave their friends at the hospital they threw them a party, hugs, kisses and encouraging words were exchanged.

  The morning after they left cash on the kitchen table for the pet-sitter who would be minding dog and cats, closed the door behind them and left without looking back. Their hopes were pinned on what awaited for them.

  “Hey I mean it, you are looking a bit white around the gills.” She nudged his arm, “Lew? Planet Lew?”

  He snapped out of his reverie, his attention back to Emma and the forlorn town, smiled at her.

  Emma slid her arm around Lew’s waist and held him for a kiss before letting him go and pulling out her map.

  Joe had been watching and but the map got him talking.

  “Hey love birds, where is the flag?”

  “We should be here.”

  But they were alone, far off they could see a few of the turned. But on the spot where they should have found the flag.

  Nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  we got played

  “What the hell? Are you sure you got the right co-ordinates?” Joe asked her as he looked around.

  “Yeah...Yeah absolutely!” Emma felt anger boil in her chest. The network had played them for fools.

  They looked at each other and at their surroundings. Their flag’s location turned out to be an empty, desolate indentation in the ground filled with wild bushes, weeds, rocks and a few bricks, outlined by the foundations of a long gone home. Much like the bones of a long decomposed animal, the decaying underpinning was the only evidence a home had been here. Now at its the center stood a flag less metal pole. Only a small backpack waited for them.

  Tom came in on the headsets. “Team Striker, it looks like you have a problem.”

  Em
ma the team leader spoke up “Yeah, we do. Where is our prize? Where is the flag?”

  “Emma, in the spirit of competition, you were the team randomly chosen to challenge another team for one of their flags and prizes. You can choose which team to challenge.”

  Ross recorded the shocked and disgusted expressions of the team members, they were plain to see.

  “Let’s get on with this. Which team is closest?” Lew demanded.

  “Team Righteous,” replied Tom, “You'll have to hurry.”

  The stream of invectives and angry retorts from Joe went on for a full three minutes. When done venting, he slumped on the ground and leaned back against a light pole. “Well,” He grimaced. “Guess, ‘fair’ was not in the contract.”

  “You need to get out, Joe,” Emma said. “We can’t win this with you holding us back.”

  “What if I don’t want to? What you gonna do then? Huh, you gonna make me?” He snapped back at her but Emma didn’t back down or look away from him. Her reply was flat and emotionless, and her words final.

  “We’ll leave you behind.”

  Joe nodded, looked to Lew and saw embarrassment and pity in his eyes. For him, Joe looked away, his face flushed with shame he stared at the ground.

  “That what you want?” Joe asked him.

  “We could try to split up. I can run ahead and you guys follow behind?” Lew replied, sounding doubtful.

  Joe closed his eyes, cringed at the idea and let out a frustrated groan. As minutes passed and no one spoke, he faced the truth and shook his head. “No, Emma is right. I’d be at least a day behind. I'm holding you up.”

  Emma nodded. “I am sorry Joe. It’s just...It’s just what it is.”

  “Maybe I can find a bike?” Lew offered.

  Emma shook her head in exasperation. “Lew...”

  Joe interrupted her, laughing out loud, “A bike!? Yeah a nice twelve speed, Jesus wept. Why not a wheelchair? Thanks, but no. I'm getting out. I'm not just holding you back — I'm putting you in danger if I come along. Everyone will be less safe and you’ll lose for sure.” He pushed on the emergency button they were given at the start of the contest. Once you hit that button, you were quits; in minutes, they were promised. Tom checked in over the headsets.

  “Tom, I need to be extracted.”

  “Alright Joe, stay put and we’ll get you out. Emma, Lew — it’ll be just the two of you, do you want to get out?”

  They booth shook their heads. Emma spoke, “No, we're staying.”

  “All right, you better move on then. If you are fast enough you can retrieve the next flag before Righteous, and you can challenge them for their first flag.”

  “Joe? We can’t stay until they pick you up, we are way behind.” Emma said, hoping he’d say it was okay to leave him. To her relief, he obliged.

  “Go on. There's nobody here. They’ll pick me up in half an hour or less. And the drone will be watching me.” He paused. “Right, Tom?”

  “That’s right. We'll be keeping an eye on you.”

  Emma nodded. She liked Joe and felt bad that he had to drop out, but his injury had turned him into a ball and chain. And if the crap hit the fan he’d have to depend on them for his rescue. With him gone they’d be finally able to compete, make up for lost time and lost ground.

  It was more than money, it was Lew’s life she was fighting for.

  She went to Joe and hugged him, then Lew did the manly handshake with the half a chest hug before they both ran off, their silent, ever-watching cameraman in tow.

  Joe watched as disappeared in the distance, it was now ten thirty in the morning and the bitter northeasterly wind had picked up something fierce. No longer keeping warm with the exertion of a hurried if painful walk, his body heat vanished like his hopes and expectations and he began to shiver. Since they had started in the morning the temperature had dropped like a lead sinker.

  --------------

  Nearly opposite from where Joe sat embarrassed and dejected, heading for the center of town, Anjali walked on. Two blocks in, she noticed that while she had to rest often, her breathing was again automatic.

  Along the way, she came across a dead woman who leaned head-first against a streetlight — a thin and bleak presence in an old oversized gray wool coat, she pushed against the light pole as though her last thoughts had led her to believe that it was blocking her path out of spite and going around it would be an intolerable display weakness.

  Anjali stopped and looked at her. So long and so hard this woman had been pushing against the streetlight that her forehead had dented inward. She looked back at Anjali with sepia hued eyes, without recognition or interest. Nice shoes, thought Anjali. They looked to be just the right size. She walked closer to the dead woman, put a hand on her shoulder and pushed, turned woman tipped over like an eponymous cow and Anjali bent down and took her shoes.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, feeling somewhat embarrassed. The dead woman seemed confused but not resentful and Anjali took a deep inhale. “Thanks, then.”

  She walked a few feet until she found a comfortable bench, sat, and put on the shoes. Afterward, she pulled a phone from her bag and turned it on.

  Cobras’ second flag

  The Fat Cobras reached sight of their second flag. It was in front Hillman’s Coin Store, where the helicopter had dropped the flag, flagpole, and its cement base right through the roof of an abandoned new Mustang. The beacon was loud and shrill like the screams of torture victim.

  “Damn,” was Alvin’s only comment.

  “Ooh, that was a nice car,” moaned Theo in agreement, “I always liked that one.”

  “They set us up! They really set us up. Fuckers!” Ty yelled, angry and offended.

  “Well, if it was going to be easy, there’d be no money in it for them,” muttered Theo. His matter of fact tone didn’t match the expression on his face. He wasn’t happy.

  “Still...” Tyshon turned to the camerawoman “This for real? Cause we get eaten, you get eaten!”

  “Anything happens to you guys I'm running for it like a cheetah on speed until they pick me up and get me out. Other than that,” Eliza shrugged, “I signed a contract and am drawing a paycheck.”

  “There are hundreds of those things there. Easy.”

  “Yeah, okay, this is what we gonna do,” Alvin said, pointing out at a taller building across from the coin store. “Theo, you and me, we're going in that building — that door is open. Anything in would have gotten out and headed for the beacon, so we’ll close the door behind us, head to the second floor, break a window, and make enough noise to have them pay attention to us.”

  “We get out the back door?”

  “Yeah. Back door, roof, or a fucking window. Whatever.”

  “Ok but give me two minutes. I want to see what’s behind the building. Hold up.”

  Theo took off like track star and disappeared from view.

  Alvin turned to the other member of his team. “Ty, when you see a break in the crowd you gotta run for the flag. Meet us back behind the building. Then we’ll look for a place to stop, eat and go over the prizes.”

  “How’s your arm?”

  “Fine. Don’t hurt.” Alvin replied stone cold without making eye contact. “Sooner we outta here, better will be.”

  His friend reached out and grasped his shoulder. “We’ll make it, man.”

  They waited less than ten minutes before Theo came back running as fast as when he left and not even breathing hard, he slapped his hands together and rubbed the palms gleefully.