by Lynn E. Main
Dead Boy Down
Les falls right out of Faith’s arms and his whole body goes rigid. He lies perfectly still for a moment on the road as she stands, arms outstretched, teeth clenching and eyes wide. “Les…come on get up…” She crouches beside him and shakes his shoulder trying to keep herself from shaking. “Les…are you okay…come on…get up…” She says louder, lightly slapping his scarred cheek. She is trying to remain calm but feels it slipping away.” “LES!” Faith screams.
As if in reaction, his whole body begins shaking violently. She grabs his head and tries to keep it from hitting the street.
The seizure is over quickly but his face has gone pale as milk. Even his pink scarred flesh looks dryand lifeless. His lips areturningblue. The doctor knows he is not getting enough oxygen to his brain. Faith lays him back. He is not breathing. She feels her heart beginning to thump faster and faster. Her best guess is that he has a severe concussion and the swelling in his brain caused the seizure. Panic rises, but she suppresses it. “Dead Boy. You can’t give up on me yet.” She says smiling down at him. All the others gathered around are silent.
The man standing directly in front of them with an ashen sullen face and jet black hair rubs his eyes. He lowers his minigun and takes a step forward. He looks down at Les, lyingunder Faith. She sitson her legs and leans over him. She doesn’t even notice the walkie talkie the man holds up to his mouth. He clicks the button on the side and quietly says “у нас его.” Chris notices and silently cringes. He has heard words like those in the funeral home.
She parts Les’ lips and presses hers to them, breathing a steady stream of air into his mouth. She leans back, lacing her fingers together instinctively. Placing them over his chest, she starts to press rhythmically and then moves her cheek just over his mouth, holding there. She raises a single finger at the group of onlookers to keep them silent. He hitches and sputters up blood. Faith turns him on his side and a stream of mucus and blood oozes onto the street.
He is breathing now; though it is very shallow. Chris, Kim and Jason move closer,standingin unison with the menin the greysuits. Chris knows it was these men who shot the bikers and saved them all, his only question is why? He looks at the leader. He had been driving the van. He is the oldest but all of them have a similarlook that Chris canalmost place. The big one standingnext to the eldest is scarydespite his gun. It is almost laughable in his massive hands. None smile, and none of the others talk. The four standing about five paces back still hold up their guns, though not trained on anyone.
There is no time and nowhere to go but Faith must do something. “We need to get him in the car.” Faith says to the group then looks up at them, her eyes pleading. Chris bends down and puts one of Les’ arms around his neck and Nick grabs ahold beneath each knee, lifting his legs to straddle around his waist; both react without pause or reply. Faith gets under his other arm and they lift and easily carry him.
“Wait…doctor. It would be better for him to lie on a bench in our van. You can ride with us and your friends follow.” The man smiles.
Faith looks dead in his eye and from beneath Les’ pit she asks herself, is it worth the risk to get Les out of here and to safety? She doesn’t know these men, but she doesn’t have time to debate it. She says, “Okay.”
“Get back in the car.” Faith orders the others. Starting with Jason and Kim, they comply without response. The eldest machine gunner walks right up to Les. “Is he…going to die?” He asks, considering the car and Les. Faith looks up at him and realizes his eyes are not even fleeting towards her. His face is intentlytrained on Les. He looks trulyconcerned.
Faith holds tightly to him. She can feel his heartbeat. It is slow. “No…” He can’t. The man takes Les’ legs from Nick. The big man hands his gun to one of the others and walks over taking Les’ torso easily but gently from Faith and Chris. The two men carry Les towards the van. The big man gingerly supports his head. Faith follows closely and all get in quickly, the first bench reserved for Les. Faith crouches in front of him between the two front seats.
The van travels north through Bradenton. The Cadillac follows with the others quietly huddled inside. The same thing on all their minds. Les. Faith clutches his arm, paralyzed with fear.
They slow and creep to a stop just before the northern city limits. There is a military blockade on the highway at the foot of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge with a large wooden gate. Spikes and barbed wire run all over it. The place that looks like it had been a medical and refugee center at one time is deserted. “We must move the barricade. The driver tells Faith as he puts the van in park and opens his door. Another man very similar in appearance to the driver but much younger jumps out of the front passenger seat and they rush up to the barricade. The two men move it out of the road and Faith leans up between the front seats to look around.
There are no bodies but bullet holes, blast marks, blood, and shell casings scattered all over the place. Two small gun towers sit on each side of the gate. The one on the left has a gaping hole in the front wall, which is made of bags of drymortar and long 2x4’s nailed together. The gun that was nested in it had been pulled out of the front. Blood and black char paint the remainder of the walls and interior. The tower on the right is unmolested, but empty. Faith looks in the rearview and sees all the men behind her on the back two rows of benches. None of them seem to notice the carnage nor worry about the others.
The men push the barricade out of the way and hurry back to the van, hopping in quickly but taking the time to fasten their seat belts as the elder takes off slowly. Faith sits up and watches as they travel through the ruined camp. It was a slaughterhouse within. Many more zombies must have arrived than the National Guard could hold back. It looks as if they just pushed right over the top of the barricade walls. The tents and canvas covered support trucks within are shredded. Everything is covered in blood and guts. Through the camp, on the other side, Faith can see the Skyway.
The sign to the right of the rapidly inclining bridge proudly proclaimed it to be the Sunshine Skyway connecting the St. Petersburg isthmus to the main land across beautiful Tampa Bay…or something like that. The sign now is blackened Swiss cheese-looking twisted metal on a burnt stick. The bridge itself is not as scenic as it once mayhave been. It’s a tall twin spanned arch bridge that sail boats can travel under. At the top, for a few moments anyway, there is a view of the entire south bay and even some of the distant Tampa sky line.
The northbound lane up to the top of the bridge is mostly clear on the eastern span.There are wrecked and burnt up cars everywhere. Miraculouslythough, there seems to be a path. On the westernspanwhere the traffic flows south, there is something like 150 car pile-up. Dozens of holes are punched through the guard rails of the bridge and many cars hang out with either their front-end, back-end or side dangling and teetering over the water. Some of the holes have nothing in them…the cars that made those holes are in the bottom of Tampa Bay; the dead trapped inside watery Subaru tombs forever, whether moving or still. Summit
Faith had rarely traveled to St. Pete but on one occasion visited the Dali museum. The Skyway had been her favorite part of the drive up. The view of the bay and the cities nestled against it was breathtaking. She had even brought Rose. The thought of her still stings. Why did she have to leave the little girl alone in the car? If she had been more responsible with her then, maybe she would be here now.
If she were a better doctor then so would Kevin, maybe even Casey, Gary, Levi and probably more than she can remember now. They areall dead because she was not good enough. But thatwon’thappenwith Les; she is not going to let it happen. She is going to save him...and if she doesn’t…
She sits back downon the edge of the bench and looks overat him. His skin is too pale and his lips have a bluish tint. Faith watches out the window for a moment as they pass over the summit of the skyway. She looks across the bayto the distant Tampa skyline. A single tear rolls down her cheek. Tampa is burning in what looks like a sing
le huge pillar of smoke. She looks back at Les and wiping her cheek, lays her head over his chest counting heartbeats. She pushes open each eyelid and looks in. The dilation is slow and weak. His skin temperature is low too. His hands are ice cold. She knows what she must do and plays the steps out in her mind.
These men will help get Les to an operating table and she will lay out what she needs: pads of gauze, sterile tubing, medical tape, medical drill, assisted breather tube, and an IV with fluids. She needs to shave his head. She should have at least 3 people hold him still while she operates, and she will also need a lot of luck. There is no room for error and timing will be critical. She goes through her procedure over and over, zoning out and gazing at Tampa Bay. She doesn’t realize that her teeth are clenched or that she is squeezing very hard on Les’ hand until she reaches the summit. The van slows and tears start to roll down her cheeks as they descend the other side of the ruined span. She lies her head over Les, sobbing.
The driver looks back at her and reaches over and shakes her shoulder. Faith springs up readyto attack at anymoment. Her face is tight and she scowls at the man who only smiles back. “Relax, doctor. We are comingverysoon to a safe place for you and all your friends. We can help him. Get him better in no time.”
“He can’t die.” Faith blurts out, sobbing.
“No, he won’t. He won’t. Just relax.” The man reassuringlychides. He turns his full attention back to the road as the van and then Cadillac enter St. Petersburg.
She looks from face to face in the van. These men are all shaven and clean though they wear in some cases dirty or stained uniforms. The grey uniforms are themselves a sight. They are not marked with any flag or any other signs of rank or militaryaffiliation. She wonders if theywore these uniforms together before the madness began. If this is some sort of secret military operation and if they will be taken to a secret underground bunker filled with medicine and food and all the supplies they will need to survive all of this.
Faith shakes her head and despite herself laughs for a moment. Some of the men turn their heads but none speak.
The bus speeds north through a very ruined St. Petersburg and soon they stop in front of what looks at first like a dead end. Cars stacked as high as buildings smashed together and into a wall in either direction as far as Faith can see. She gulps and looks around at the dead pan guises of the men’s faces. Then the cars as if by some miracle, begin to separate. The Fat Ass Rides Again
Rodney should have fallen as the Cadillac rolled away from his back, but he held himself up and slouched forward some instead. He takes shallow breath after shallow breath. The whole time his mind is blank. A few zombies stumble past. They don’t bother with or even seem to notice him. Many step on and one fat woman falls on Rodney. Had he moved at all or reacted in any way, she might have bitten as they lied face to face. Rodney looks dead. The skin that is not burnt black is pale and pasty. The disgusting thing crawls right over him before it eventually regains its feet.
Miles down the road in his mind, Rodney barely registers what should be a familiar enough cacophony. Rodneydoes not move morethan to take tiny shallow breaths. Long after a normal man would have been dead, Rodney still sits with his legs out on the road, slumped over.
Shaun Titus rides up the highway. Rodney looks over at him out of his good eye, his breath catching from the motion. He coughs and falls forward on his face. Shaun kills his bike, leans it over and then walks up to Rodney. “You look like shit.” He says and continues straight past him.
“My bike…” Rodney croaks. “Get the bottle out of my saddlebags.”
Shaun trots down into the ditch and goes down on his knees next to RJ’s body. “Fuck. They fucking killed him.” He soon stands, turns and climbs back out of the ditch and walks back directly in front of Rodney. “Your son is dead.”
“That blonde bitch killed him.” Rodney growls. “Right before she shot me with my own gun.”
Shaun looks down the road, bends over and picks up Rodney’s gun. “She left it here for you?” Shaun looks at it. Holding it up in the sunlight to inspect it closely. “She would have been smart to finish the job.” Shaun says, turning the gun on Rodney.
Rodneychokeson laughter. “You’regonna shoot me?That’s great.
And then what? The Fat Ass ridesagain, off into the sunset.” Shaun points the gun right at Rodney’s face and pulls the trigger.
“She left it because it’s empty.” Shaun says and tosses the gun on the highway by Rodney.
“Help me up.”Rodneycommands. Shaun takes afew steps toward him, leans over and reaches out both arms. Rodney grabs ahold and with all the might he has left, he pulls. Shaun easily lifts Rodney to his feet. There, the man leans over and coughs until he pukes up some black blood. “Whiskey. Get it.” Rodney commands again.
Shaun walks over to where Rodney’s bike lies exactly as he had left it. He lifts the saddlebag open and looks inside. There are gold chains and wads of cash. Shaun grabs some of the cash and looks at it. “They didn’t even touch anyof your stuff.” He says, puzzled. He throws the cash back in and pulls out the bottle of single malt.
He takes it over to Rodney, pulling the lid off before he hands it to him. Rodneystands up straight as he can, once he clutches the whiskey. He tips it back. He can feel mighty pains in his belly. His face is on fire with pain. He guzzles and guzzles and without spilling a drop, Shaun watches him drain the whole bottle. “We are going to need to find more of that stuff.” He chucks the empty onto the road hard enough to shatter it.
“What do we do now?” Shaun asks.
Rodney looks north up the highway. He turns and slowly saunters to his bike and with more than a little effort, kicks his leg over. He sits. Already wishing he had more whiskey, he jumps and falls heavy on the kick-start. The motorcycle fires instantly. Smoke barrels black for a moment out of the twin tailpipes. He revs the engine and leans back. “We are going after them.”
“Everyone’s gone. We don’t have any guns. We don’t even have any bullets. We haven’t in a while. What are we supposed to do when we catch them?”
“Fat Ass…err Shaun, we are bikers. We don’t need guns to kill them.”
Acknowledgements
The first thing I learned since printing my first book was that I knew very little about publishing, PR, or advertising…especially advertising. That’s okay. I am slowly learning. I have learned one other thing for sure: Not everyone reads, but some people do. To those people who do read, I write with the most earnest love and truest allegiance. I have faith that no matter how manydevices are swept in front of our eyes, reading will never die.
I especially want to thank everyone who took a chance on me and bought a copy of my first book. A no publisher no name nobody doesn’t deserve so much support. I may never become rich selling my books but if there are people willing to buy them and read them, I will create them.
Huge thanks to my fantastic cover artist, Demifaux. Their artwork that graces this and my first book’s cover is more than I could have hoped for and much more than I deserved. I find it quite breathtaking and brilliant. If you also find it to be amazing, find out moreabout Demifaux’s art at https://drawcrowd.com/demifaux
I need to thank Will Johnson (again) who continues to provide sage medical advice.
I would like to extend my endless gratitude to the Kearny County Library and Richard Brookman for all their support. I would also like to thank the Comic Pop Library Pod-Cast Crew, including (but not limited to) Logan Brookman, April Brookman, Jonathon Rodriguez, Jacob Kessler, Michelle Brookman and of course, Richard.
I would also like to thank the Finney County Public Library and Garden City Community College Library for shelving a copy of my first book.
Iwant tothank mygood friend Vance Major for his endless energy and involvement in the independent market. I also want to thank Susanne Lambden, author of the Dead Hearts series, for all her support and encouragement of not only myself, but all of the ind
ependent artists she comes into contact with. Independents supporting each other is one of the greatest forces in the universe.
I want to thank my three growing boys Evan, Camden and Aiden for playing outside or otherwise quietly so that I can write at least part of the time. I love you guys and all that I do is for you.
Lastly, and most of all, Iwant to thank mytireless editor, mysuper supportive therapist, my dietician, the children’s referee, my unshakeable business partner and partner in all things, otherwise known as my wife. Bronwyn, you are my Moon Queen.
I know now more than ever that there is a long road ahead of me. The adventure is not yet over for Dead Boy, Faith and the gang…so, it is back to work I must go. I can’t promise when, only that I will finish this trilogy for you, my beloved readers. You complete me.
About the Author
Lynn Edward Main is a dependable, hardworking manwho spends a great deal of time as a manager at Papa John’s, while devoting his time off to the family he provides for. He currently lives in Lakin, KS with his wife and three boys. Lynn enjoys reading, having ‘FamilyMovie Nights’ and especially loves making his characters come to life on paper.
Although this book has taken longer than expected to be released, it is not for lack of work. He has spent this time distributing copies of the first book at work, conventions, the county fair and libraries, as well as writing this book during spare time at home. After the first edit, he made the choice to do some rewrites. Although he knew it would mean more work and a longer wait for the release of the book, Lynn wanted his work of art to be perfect. He thought about it day and night…literally. He actually called his wife Faith once while half asleep (luckily, she had read the book). Lynn appreciates everyone who took the time to read the first of the series, as well as their patience while waiting for the second.