Stay Dead: A Novel

by Steve Wands

  "Women burn brighter, I heard. Something about a higher fat ratio."

  Back at Jeff's house, the kids were falling asleep upstairs as Maria stayed with them to make sure they did so quickly. Then the adults could talk freely without fear of terrifying their children further, though Jeff and his family did a good job at keeping them sheltered from what was really happening. The kids just thought that people were sick with a new kind of flu, and that they had to stay home and away from other people. They didn't mind it much, and loved not having to go to school, but occasionally they'd get stir crazy and bored. The soft sound of rain on the roof helped to muffle the noise from downstairs; the yawning, the tapping of hands, and the beginnings of conversations that would abruptly end as they waited for Maria. The radio hadn't come back on, and stations had been going on and off before (usually with notice). But this time it was without warning--just white noise and jittered scrambles. Walter suggested that they would take to the road and start broadcasting from a mobile unit.

  Walter was known for his hope however, even in the worst of situations. But his son was another story altogether. Maria quietly crept down the stairs and into the family room.

  "What did I miss?" Maria asked.

  "Nothing really, just talking about the radio stations," Walter replied.

  Maria snuggled up next to Jeff. She held him close and he reciprocated. The light rain was consistent, with no lightning or thunder at the moment.

  "So do we sit here and wait?" Jeff asked.

  "What else can we do?" Barbara asked.

  "We're not going to any safe zones, and we're not going near the city. We're staying put unless we have no other choice but to leave, we've got everything we need right here," Walter grumped.

  "No, definitely not, that's not an option," his son agreed.

  "We have no communication with anyone outside of town. We have no idea what's really going on out there. There's no reason we should leave" Laura said.

  "Agreed," said Maria.

  "That's all well and good, but how long till we run out of food?" Walter asked.

  "I'm more worried about the next few days. We can last at least two weeks till we need food. I want to know what the hell is going on out there that would make a dead man get up and walk," Jeff spewed. "What if these things show up here? We don't have many weapons. And what if it is a disease like some people are saying? I don't want to mess with that, I certainly don't want the kids exposed to it."

  "We can go see Davis tomorrow. He's dealt with these things already. Maybe get a walkie-talkie, see what him and the boys are doing to keep everybody safe. Maybe they heard something. Maybe we can see what the deal is with the power," said Walter.

  "We can't depend on them. They have to look out for themselves and their families. We should definitely talk to them...I just wish the news or the radio would come on and give us some the answers," Maria began to cry.

  Jeff held her tightly "I know babe, I know."

  "There's so much we don't know," Barbara said.

  "We're in the dark on this one, literally. You should all get some sleep. I'll take first watch and when the sun comes up, Jeff and I will go see what Davis has to say," Walter stood up and walked toward the window nearest the front door. He was done with the conversation, and had said what he needed to say and that was that. They weren't leaving, so the only thing he needed to do now was keep them safe, and that meant keeping an eye on what was walking around outside. From what he could see there was nothing right now, but he knew it wouldn't stay that way, not for long anyway.

  Nobody argued. Jeff walked Maria up the stairs to the kids' room. Laura and Barbara both went to Walter's side. Laura held him and Barbara peeked out the windows with her arms crossed and a chill sitting firmly on her spine. Maria nudged her way onto one of the beds. The beds were both pushed together so the kids could be closer to each other. Jeff kissed her and looked at his kids. He looked around the room, looked at the boarded up window and then back to his kids. Maria and he locked eyes for a moment and then Jeff walked out of the room and back down the stairs.

  Laura started toward the stairs as Jeff was halfway down them. She put her hand on the dark wood rail that would guide her to her room, only a few feet from Maria and the kids. Jeff said goodnight to his mother and made his way to his fathers' side, putting his arm around his sister.

  Barbara was scared and felt alone. She had her family but lacked the intimacy that Jeff and Maria had with each other, or her parents for that matter. She had recently removed herself from a long-term relationship with her high school sweetheart that was going nowhere. She was finishing up her last year of college and looking forward to an engagement that never happened. She wondered if her ex was thinking as much about her as she was of him. At least she felt safe, that much she was sure of, if nothing else.

  The three of them paced around for a bit and when Barbara grew tired she left them for the comforts of the guest room, which oddly enough had some of her old furniture from her old bedroom at her parents' place. Jeff used most of his and his sister's furniture to furnish the home when they first bought. No matter what room it was in, just seeing her old dresser took her back to simpler times.

  CHAPTER 7: Blood and ash

  Morning came quickly for the Caulfields, and before Jeff could fully wake up, Walter stood over him. Jeff's eyes were partially sealed shut with crust and lack of sleep but after seeing his father hanging over him he forced them to open. It reminded him of when he still lived with his parents and his father would wake him up early to go fishing on occasion down at Johnson's Lake. How he wished his father had a fishing pole in his hand. He did not, only the look of determination. He had something to do, and he planned on doing it.

  He sat up and said, "I'll be down in a minute."

  Fifteen minutes later Jeff groggily came down the stairs. Barbara and Laura were sitting with Walter at the kitchen table and smiled at the sorry site that was Jeff upon his arrival at the foot of the stairs. He smiled back, "you ready or what," he called to his father.

  "Wise-ass, let's go," Walter said.

  Next to the family van, which was loaded up in case they needed to leave, was Walter's pick up truck. It was old and dirty but more reliable than anything he had ever owned before or since. They climbed in and drove off. Jeff searched the radio dial for a station but found nothing but the sound of static. He kept it on in case something broke through the noise. Walter found it irritating but couldn't find a better reason to shut it off. They drove south on Mokar Street and headed into town.

  The town was empty. A few cars remained parked in their usual spots and every storefront worth its window was boarded up and marked as 'closed till further notice'. Walter found this hilarious, as if the boarded up windows didn't sufficiently state that the store was not open. They made a left down Roosevelt Street and pulled up in front of the police station. There were rows of trucks and cars haphazardly parked all over the street. The vehicles smelled of burnt rubber and overcooked bacon and looked as if they mistakenly drove through a slaughterhouse instead of a carwash. There wasn't a spot on any of the vehicles that wasn't covered in blood and ash.

  They entered the station and walked into a whirlwind of harried conversations and manic rantings. Upon the door opening, every wild-eyed man in the room swung their head to look in their direction. After they recognized Walter and his son, and realized they were of the living, breathing variety, they nodded and turned back to their ramblings. Walter searched the crowd for Sheriff Davis and found him heading directly toward them but looked like he might plow right through them. He was carrying his jacket in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

  "Really fucking busy right now," Davis said as he brushed past them.

  "You heard anything, Bruce," Walter asked.

  "You don't want to know what I've been hearing Walt. Crazy shit. End of the human race kind of shit," Davis said.

  "Well," Jeff piped up.

  "Well, besides the hell
that was last night, I hear on the ham this morning that L.A. was bombed, probably terrorists but who the fuck knows. Don't know if it was one bomb, car bombs, dirty bombs---as usual we're in the dark. But it's getting even darker, if someone's dropping nukes, shit---I don't even want to think about it!" Davis walked toward his truck.

  "Shit," Walter said.

  "Yeah, shit is right," Davis replied.

  Davis started his beast of a truck and rode off as he left the two men dumbfounded on the side of the road. Their thoughts were heavier than wet sandbags on a baby's back. The city of angels was wing-clipped. As if dealing with dead folk who refused to die wasn't enough, now they had to think of the additional tragedies that were befalling the West coast and what if it was happening elsewhere. They were close enough to Titan City and New York City was only a stone's throw from there. If something were to happen it could have an effect on New Haven. Being a small town had its advantages but escaping big disasters wasn't necessarily one of them. They had family and friends in those cities.

  Walter and Jeff solemnly walked back to the truck. The static didn't bother Walter at all this time---he was relieved to be hearing anything. They drove toward the North roadblock, slowly following behind Davis (Walter didn't exactly want to go back home just yet and felt if he lingered around Davis and his men he'd be able to get some more info out of them) and from a mile away they could smell nothing but acrid smoke. The smoke dug into their nostrils and planted roots. By the time they got to the actual roadblock they could see what made the smell. Hundreds of bodies lie strewn about in horrific poses. Their flesh and bone were charred black as tar. It looked as if the black top itself was giving birth to the most macabre of Halloween mannequins. Adjacent to the road were lines of cars. Most of the cars looked to have sale signs from George's Lot stuck to the windshields. Davis and his men set up a barricade of used but guaranteed to run steel.

  They saw many familiar faces behind the vehicles, many of them taking aim on things that looked like people in the distance. They weren't people however, not anymore at least---they were dead, all messed up and moving forward.

  A whistling noise was heard in the air, faint but fast. Those that heard it looked to the northern sky. They couldn't see anything at first, but then a noise was heard and a gigantic plume of smoke and debris rose into the air. The smoke rose as high as the distant skyline and then further still. The city of angels would not be the only city to fall today. Titan City now lay wasted as well. A titan turned to ash, and the ash only a fading memory.

  As they stood and stared, in something worse than disbelief, another noise was heard in the distance. A moment later, in proximity to the first tower of debris, rose another. It was twice as devastating. The world never seemed so bleak---so punished, so doomed. It could've been New York City, Jersey City, or Liberty City---any other city close by for that matter. Alan, a good friend of many of the men there, had turned his gun to himself without drawing any attention till it was too late. They all stared at the magnificent destruction in the distance. He opened his mouth, letting his teeth scrape against the cold metal. Alan was but one breath away from oblivion.

  They stared at the massive clouds of burning debris that disintegrated into ash as the mushroom shaped cloud continued to form. Alan didn't look at any of his friends. He closed his eyes. The plumes of smoke rising higher. Not a single tear rolled down his cheek. He leaned up against a car, his back to the fallen Titan, bit down on the barrel, cracking and chipping his teeth as he awkwardly pulled the trigger. The skyline was erased. A single shot rang out in the immediate area and those that weren't too stunned to look immediately regretted having done so. The noise barely registered. His head slumped forward with the barrel of his rifle lodged in his mouth. The back of his head was blown out across a white Toyota Camry. Some of his friends noticed it then. Disgusted, heartbroken, Davis stared at his friend.

  Less than a minute after the gunshot, Alan twitched. His body spasmed and he lifted up his head. His dead eyes gazed upon his friends. Davis stared into those dead eyes with eyes as equally empty. Alan reached up and murmured some sort of noise, "sssshhhlsssseeeellllf." He sounded like a snake but Davis shot him dead a second time before he could bite. Jeff vomited. No one was able to well up enough tears to cry---it seemed they were dried up of emotion at the moment. All they could do was stare into the billowing clouds of smoke, and at what remained of their friend. Davis shed a tear for those who couldn't and quickly wiped it away---it may have been the last one he had left.

  The ham radios crackled with frantic voices but no one listened to what they were saying. The only hope they had was that the bombs weren't atomic. The nuclear fallout resulting from three bombs would be a global concern. Radiated debris could travel great lengths by way of the wind, possibly contaminating food and water supplies. Fallout shelters are rarely maintained, a few might still be functional due to the increase of terror threats in recent years, but on the whole fallout shelters have just become additional storage space for the buildings that house them. They are hardly more than a relic leftover from the cold war, one that New Haven certainly didn't maintain. They had one at the church, and one at the school.

  Laura greeted Walter and her son at the door upon their return home. She could tell immediately that something serious was weighing down on their shoulders. Walter kissed her and held her close. He walked her outside and pointed to the North. She began to cry. Maria and Barbara were playing with the children. Once the kids saw their father walk through the door Wally, Sandra, and Tommy ran to him. His solemn expression broke and a smile emerged as he knelt to the ground and opened his arms wide. His smile was sincere but it only served to hide what he was thinking on the inside.

  "Daddy," the kids screamed, as he wrapped his arms around them.

  Maria too, could tell something was off. Once Jeff knelt down she could see beyond him through the picturesque silhouette of the door frame and saw her in-laws wrapped in each others quivering arms. She walked over to Jeff, and Barbara followed behind her. Maria looked to Jeff for an explanation but he refused to give one in front of the children. Barbara pulled Maria by the arm and the two of them joined Walter and Laura outside. They too looked to the North, but neither of them was prepared to see the giant mushroom clouds dissipating into the grey sky.

  Jeff refused to move away from his kids. He sat and watched them play. He buried his feelings deep inside and hoped they'd be obedient enough to stay there. He began to tremble. If only he could put time on hold and live in a moment. All he wanted was to keep his family safe, but how could he protect them now? He chewed on the thought, but all he ended up with was a mouthful of blood and chewed up lip.

  CHAPTER 8: Siege

  From the shadows emerged a veritable swarm of the undead. In all the varying degrees of rot, they moved forth. Moving in an almost tidal fashion, swaying side to side, back and forth, they staggered closer. They verbalized their hunger for warm living flesh with guttural sounds and slurring hisses that could almost be words. In the hoarde of creatures were all walks of former life; death did not spare the young, the elderly, the rich, the beautiful, the crippled, or the undecided. They all marched forward in need. Their pride or shame died when they came back, leaving only hunger.

  Inside the school, Jon-Jon, weak from blood loss and general exhaustion, refused to rest. As far as he was concerned he'd sleep when he was dead, so long as someone was kind enough to destroy his undead brain. He, as well as many others, was doing a fair job of barricading the building. The building itself was as strong as they came; it was the windows that worried them. Luckily, they sat high in relation to a person's height and, as in most schools, they were shatterproof. Though shatterproof was a relative term and a barrage of blunt force would prove it so; tenacious, unending blunt force at that. These things didn't stop unless they were stopped, and barricading themselves in was the first in a long list of things to do to stop them, at least enough of them, in order to survive another day, anoth
er hour, or just for another minute.

  Gerty sat on a toilet seat in the woman's rest room. She took deep, painfully sharp breaths as she clutched her chest. She had a metal shard sticking out of her skin, and by the way it felt she knew it had pierced her lung. She wasn't sure how bad it was, she'd been running on adrenaline for the last few hours and only began feeling the pain sometime during the drive down route 519. Her shirt was soaked with blood, but she was able to remedy that, at least.

  She pulled a tube of crazy glue from her bag, a nearly exhausted roll of duct tape, and a winged sanitary pad. She always kept Krazy Glue on hand to fix her key chains. Gerty had an impressive amount of key chains, and they always seemed to break.

  They were usually keepsakes from vacations or gifts from friends, who went on vacation and brought them back for her. She tended to crack them and break them often given that they usually were not of the greatest quality. But regardless of quality they held tremendous value to her. She'd rather glue them than discard them. They were her memories and it was better to have broken memories than none at all.

  Once she saw the wound, she immediately thought of a story she heard about Krazy Glue; that it had been invented as a suture-less solution for field surgery in the Vietnam War. She wasn't entirely certain on the validity of the story but knew that it could be used as a skin-glue. She didn't have many options and feared going to the group for help. If they thought she could become one of those things, someone might just kill her on the spot. Or they may leave her behind as well. Either way there wasn't much any of them could do for her anyway. She didn't think it was worth the risk. If the glue didn't work she'd always have the option to ask for help anyway.