Dead World (Book 1): Dead Come Home

by Nathan Brown

  There wasn’t a soul on the road to see Lily turn down a gravel road, nearly invisible under a heavy layer of overgrowth. The path had never been paved and, even in its heyday, had never been much more than a truck path. It was rocky, rutted, and would have been nearly impassible for a smaller vehicle. The winding road snaked along, a strong stream on the left side and a steady upward slope to the right. She reached the abandoned logging mill about twenty minutes later.

  The dirt path wound around a final curve to the right, where the old saw mill sat quietly in a man-made clearing. The roof had collapsed in more than a few places. The window frames sagged and bowed without glass panes to help them retain their rectangular shape. Inside, it was partly open space, half-cluttered with the fallen fragments of the building and the collapsed remains of the lost logging industry. The stumps of forgotten trees poked up from the earth to form a kind of sitting room around the perimeter of the grandfatherly mill with saplings scattered around like grandchildren.

  Lily parked her truck near the center of the sitting room, like a lost granddaughter come home to visit. She broke open the shrink-wrap and got herself a water bottle. She then rummaged through her knapsack, removed her notebooks along with a fistful of pens, and got out. Arms occupied, she cleverly closed the door with a Dock Martin-boot-covered foot.

  Her favorite place to work was a pair of stumps that stood close together, one slightly higher than the other, forming a sort of natural desk. She liked the idea that the earth had made this desk just for her. The desk stump was so level that it made Lily wonder how such a thing could have been done by chance. Both stumps had resisted the wear of time … still good, strong wood.

  She set her books on the taller of the stumps, dropped the water bottle at her feet, and swung herself onto her seat. She thumbed through a mostly full notebook until she reached a clean page. A single, smooth, black river rock waited patiently for her to use it for a paperweight. She scooted the rock onto the paper with her left hand, already penning words with her right.

  When it was too dark and her eyes could no longer see the lines on the page, Lily walked back to the truck and pulled out the flashlight, changing out the old batteries for new ones. She set down the chromed shaft of light in a narrow depression that she had carved into the stump face during a previous visit. The flashlight cast just enough light over the “desk” to allow her to see what she was writing.

  She filled the last ten pages of the notebook with newborn lyrics before finally stopping.

  Directly overhead was a gap in the tree limbs, which framed out the night sky. Lily put away her notebook and flashlight. She laid back on the shorter of the stumps and put her feet up on the other. She temporarily let her mind lose itself in the peace of the woods, nearly nodding off. Exhausted by the efforts of inspiration, she dragged the shiny thermal sleeping bag from the truck and nestled in with all the other grandchildren. The gentle starlight played out fantastic music for her eyes as she drifted to sleep amongst the quiet symphony of the woods.

  * * *

  Four hooded Ku Klux Klan members burst into Andrew Michael’s home, wielding shotguns like armed ghosts of ignorance. Two of the clansmen opened fire. One slug hit Andrew’s new plasma T.V. The other hit the ceiling fan in the living room.

  “Where’s ever-body else?” one of the Klan members demanded. “Tell us, or you are gonna be all kindza unhappy.”

  “Run!” Andrew yelled to his family, knowing he was about to die no matter what he did.

  “Wrong an-sah,” the Klan member who’d shot the T.V. said. He dropped his shotgun to waist level, pointed it at Andrew’s torso, and pulled the trigger. The slug blew most of Andrew’s gut away and the force threw him over the back of the couch.

  Andrew’s oldest son of about 17, Jeremiah, lunged silently from the kitchen with a butcher’s knife raised threateningly. He slashed the nearest Klansman across the face, and red blood stained his white hood. The man shrieked and dropped his shotgun to the carpet. As Jeremiah turned to attack another, the leader caught him across the jaw with the butt of his gun.

  The knife flung from Jeremiah’s hand. He shook off the blow, pushed the shotgun away from his head and threw his fist into an uppercut, putting his whole body behind the punch. He felt a prick between his shoulder blades as the butcher’s knife he’d been carrying was buried into his back. Shock set in as blood flooded his lungs, pouring from his mouth and back.

  “Cut me you fuckin’ nigger,” the one who stabbed Jeremiah said, watching the boy collapse in a pool of his own blood.

  The four Klan members searched the house, eventually finding the remaining members of the terrified family. They dragged Andrew’s wife and other two children, all of them screaming, out of the house. They took their victims to the old oak tree in the front yard. A fifth member began throwing hangman’s nooses, tied to the truck’s tailgate, over a thick tree branch.

  They took their time, and spent awhile to beat them first.

  “Maybe this’ll hewp keep all y’all’s nigger friends ‘n lawn.”

  “All dem folks in those other cities went and stirred up a buncha trouble … trouble we don’t need.”

  “String ‘em up!”

  The mother screamed and cursed the men, cursed them for bastards and cowards. The children screamed and cried. The Klansmen smiled and laughed.

  “Clarence, what the fuck? Thought ya said y’all killed da men folk?”

  “Billy, we did you boob, so quit yer babblin’ and pull the truck forward.”

  Billy didn’t protest or tell the others what he saw. He got into the truck. The truck lurched forward five feet.

  Clarence and the others heard the pop of Andrew’s wife’s windpipe being crushed, and the choking death gasps of her two young children. Their fates were far worse than their mother’s, both slowly choking to death.

  “Don’t think you had those tied quite right,” Clarence said, turning to face his companions.

  His face turned white. He pushed the other two Klansmen out of his way and aimed his shotgun. He squeezed the trigger.

  The round blasted through Jeremiah’s left shoulder. He spun with the impact, which tossed him to the ground. Clarence smiled, satisfied with himself.

  “Ya got guts, coon. Almost a shame I’m gonna kill ya.”

  Jeremiah stood up and came forward at a staggered run. Clarence’s smile vanished. He shot again, blasting away a large, bloody chunk of Jeremiah’s belly.

  But Jeremiah kept coming.

  Clarence stepped back, bumping into one of the children’s swinging bodies, aimed his weapon again, and cleanly blew off Jeremiah’s head by putting a slug through his throat. Everyone relaxed a bit.

  Then Billy started screaming.

  Clarence and his crew looked toward the truck just in time to see a splash of blood spurt up, coating the interior of the back window. Clarence reloaded his shotgun, this time with buckshot, and stepped around to the driver’s side of the truck. Andrew, other than Jeremiah he was the only person in the area who had had his gut blasted out, had gotten into the truck. They found him chewing on the tough flesh of Billy’s torn out neck.

  Clarence stepped back, slipped on a loose rock, and tumbled to the ground, accidentally discharging his shotgun at the rear bumper of the truck, shredding the anchors to the ropes. The hanging bodies landed in a jumbled heap. Clarence used the side of the truck to pull himself up and leveled his shotgun at Andrew.

  Clarence’s three remaining Klan buddies were now screaming as well. He turned and gasped. One of the kids was gnawing on Dale Enid’s calf muscle … which was still attached to Dale. Nate-Bob Granger and Abe Talley were trying to grab the maniacal child and pull him off of their shrieking friend’s leg.

  Clarence watched as the mother, Andrew’s wife, crawled up and took a bite out of Abe Talley’s Achilles’ tendon. The man fell onto his back, screaming out in pain and panic. He still had enough sense to hold onto his shotgun. He leveled both barrels at her back, co
cked both hammers, and nearly blew her in half.

  Clarence turned back to Andrew, who was still devouring Billy. He pulled the cannibal away from Billy’s body and flung him to the ground. Clarence put the barrel against Andrew’s bluish, blood-covered face. Andrew grabbed the barrel with both hands and tried to pull himself up with it. Clarence turned his head to the side and pulled the trigger. Andrew’s skull exploded, coating Clarence in coagulating blood.

  Clarence used his shirtsleeve to wipe most of the blood, brain, and skull fragments from the side of his head. He pushed Billy’s body into the passenger seat, climbed into the truck, and sped off.

  Nate Bob looked up and started running after the truck, the demonic child still chasing after him. Clarence looked back in his rearview mirror for a brief moment … and moved it down.

  * * *

  Lily awoke just as the sun began breaking through the treetops, gently warming her face. She climbed out of the sleeping bag and retrieved her notebook before heading back to the truck. She reached into her knapsack and pulled out one clean notebook, along with a breakfast of granola bars and an apple. She sat back down on her stump and wrapped the sleeping bag around her.

  She turned lazily through the full notebook, reading what she’d written the night before.

  This is pretty damned good, even if I do say so myself. But I don’t. Do I, Grandpa Mill?

  A few quick strokes of a pen tightened up the words to make them fit better when accompanied by music.

  The air was crisp and a breeze played through the leaves, letting the morning light dance around Lily as she watched idly. Time escaped her grasp, and she barely noticed its passing until her stomach growled, breaking the spell of the swirling spots. She rubbed the apple against her shirt and went back to staring at the light, another song scratching at the back of her imagination.

  She finished the apple, threw away the core, and started writing.

  It must have been noon before she finally stopped writing. She could tell by the way the light ceased to dance. Lily wished she could stay another night in this place, with Grandfather Mill and all the other grandchildren. She took a long, reflective breath, savoring the smell of the trees and the still quiet that she knew could not be found in the city. But she also knew that, like all good things, her solitude had to end for it to be worth anything later.

  She climbed into her truck, turning the engine on and allowing it to warm up as she removed all evidence of herself from this special place. Only a few minutes later, she was back on the road to the city. There was no need to hurry back, so she took her time driving back to the main road. Yesterday she hadn’t noticed the radio because her mind was overfull and in over drive. She quickly noticed that, no matter what station she tuned to, she couldn’t find a bit of music on the radio. Nothing but talk. She turned up the volume so she could hear what all the babble was about.

  —Remain inside. Lock all doors and latch or secure all windows. Do not, I repeat, do not open your doors for anyone other than law enforcement, military, or emergency personnel. Officials are not offering explanations as to why, but those involved in the riots seem to become spontaneously violent after a short illness, attacking anyone in their path. Seattle is the tenth city where riots like this have broken out. Reports indicate the first of these riots broke out in major metropolitan areas such as Dallas, Chicago, New York, Oklahoma City, Montgomery, New Orleans, and Las Vegas. Such areas have been experiencing similar riots since sometime yesterday. The FAA has grounded all civilian air traffic until further notice as a result of similar occurrences in the cities of Tokyo, London, Paris, and Moscow. The president has ordered a mobilization of all National Guard units not currently deployed. Critics of the president’s current military actions abroad argue that his past actions have now endangered American citizens by thinning out the domestic defense forces, leaving behind a skeleton crew that is now attempting to restore order in cities throughout the country. Again, police are advising people to take shelter in a secure building and remain there until receiving further instructions. …

  Lily had been driving back toward town on the main road less than five minutes when she came up on an overturned Cadillac. No one seemed to even be around the accident much less hurt by it.

  The Secretary of Defense is expected to hold a press conference on the formation of search and rescue teams that are rumored to have been recruited from civilian militias.

  A few more miles down the road, she came upon yet another car crash. She could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles before ever seeing the wreckage. At least four cars (it was hard to tell how many as she passed) had been flipped on their sides or roofs. A fifth car had wrapped around a telephone pole a hundred or so feet away. Two ambulances and three police cars were parked in the middle of the road. Lily slowed a bit before the wreck itself and tried to see if there was an officer she could flag down to ask where she should go. There wasn’t a police officer or EMT anywhere in sight. The drivers of the overturned cars weren’t anywhere around either, for that matter.

  Odd … I’ve heard of people leaving the scene of an accident. But since when do cops abandon their squad cars and medics walk away from a wreck?

  Lily despised the feeling in the pit of her gut. She hated it … but had long ago learned to respect it, mainly because it was usually right on the money. Add a little cheesy/creepy background music being played too loudly and it could have come straight out of a horror movie. She looked around one last time for anyone working the wreck before deciding to drive on.

  She couldn’t get over how strange it was that there were no people or tarp-covered bodies around the accident and not a cop in sight to direct traffic.

  The rest of the way into town was uneventful. The radio continued to babble about how the entire DFW metropolitan area was locked down, as were most other metropolitan areas. As of that morning, the metroplex was under martial law and National Guard units had been deployed.

  For a Friday afternoon, the road was entirely too quiet for Lily’s liking. Granted, the news was telling people to stay inside, but it was as if the entire area looked as though it was abandoned. Cars sat idle, some with the doors open and others with engines still running and nobody to be seen. She passed a white, well lived-in wooden house on her left. The front screen door hung haphazardly from a lower hinge. Streaked smears of what was, quite obviously, blood stained the center of the porch and the lower portion of the doorframe. Lily squinted and saw that the smears appeared to have been made by a pair of bloodstained hands, as though someone had been dragged back inside. She eased past the house, not wanting to attract the attention of whoever was inside. Almost unconsciously, her foot pressed further down on the accelerator.

  Three more accidents clogged the road ahead of her. No one was around those accident scenes either. She gently weaved through the last labyrinth of disabled vehicles. As she straightened up the truck once through, she thought she saw movement in the rearview mirror. She looked over her right shoulder and saw a person in a blood soaked T-shirt squatting by the driver-side door of one of the cars. For a fleeting moment, she felt relieved to see another human being.

  Something pounded hard against her window.

  Her insides rammed their way into her throat as Lily whipped her head around to see a middle-aged man, almost entirely coated in blood, pounding on her window with his palms. With every blow, streaks of blood smeared across the glass. His hands and chest gleamed with a sanguinary shininess. She couldn’t tell if any of it belonged to him. Shreds of raw meat hung from his teeth, flapping back and forth as he kept beating on the window. His eyes scared Lily more than anything else—bloodshot, yellowing … and absolutely empty.

  The muffled sound of a gunshot shattered the air, causing her attacker to stop.

  He must have heard it too. Maybe the police are coming.

  He walked toward the front of Lily’s car, his steps awkward and seemingly forced. Lily looked out the passenger window, in the d
irection of the gunshot.

  A brick house with green vinyl siding … another busted door.

  She could faintly hear yelling through her car windows, and Lily could only imagine what kind of argument had to be going on inside. Without warning, a kitchen chair erupted through the bay window to the left of the door.

  Gun in hand, wearing a backpack tight across his shoulders, a young man jumped through the empty window frame as though Lucifer himself were at his heels. Three empty-eyed figures tumbled out of the window behind him, falling out in their enthusiastic pursuit. The blood-soaked man in front of Lily’s car seemed to forget about her and with dragging strides started running toward the young man. The backpack-wearing stranger raised a handgun and fired twice. The first round struck the bloody man in the shoulder, barely slowing him down. The second round struck him at eye level, flinging blood, bone fragments, and bits of grey matter across the passenger side and hood of Lily’s car. His body spun to the concrete.

  To Lily’s astonishment, one of the men she’d seen take a face plant out of the window onto the glass-covered porch was now back on his feet and about to tackle the gun-wielding stranger.

  “Behind you,” Lily yelled, pointing.

  The young man spun, catlike, as a cold hand clamped down on his shoulder. He brought up his left elbow, catching his adversary across the temple. In the same motion, he brought up the gun with his other hand and pulled the trigger, ending the encounter with a clean shot to the head. Before he could react, a second one was on top of him. The pair fell to the ground together as their bodies collided. The attacker grabbed the young man’s arm and sank his teeth deep into the flesh, tearing off a chunk. The young man slung the butt of the gun in a wild arc, making contact with his assailant’s face and shattering the cartilage of his nose, sending sharp fragments of cartilage and bone into the brain.