Dead World (Book 1): Dead Come Home

by Nathan Brown

  “Mike, about half the slack-jaws back there were in uniform,” Joseph said, turning back around in his seat.

  “I imagine so. One of the ones you helped me lug out of the living room was an orderly,” Mike said without taking his eyes off the road. “When we get back to the house, grab the tools out of your car and put ‘em in the back seat. Grab a helmet. I’ll grab a couple of our new tools and meet you at the door.”

  Joseph obviously didn’t like the plan but nodded anyway.

  Well, the kid might have a fighting chance after all.

  Mike drove past the car wreck at the first intersection in Lakeside City. He slowed down so the Blazer would make less noise on the way to the house. For the first time he noticed the person beating aimlessly on the windshield of one of the crippled vehicles. He wondered for a moment why the person didn’t open the door and get out of the vehicle.

  “Did you see the person in that Jeep?” Mike asked.

  “No. Of course I doubt he was normal if he was still sitting in one of those heaps.”

  “You think maybe the infection makes them dumb?”

  “Won’t even hazard a guess. Hell, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know as much as I do,” Joseph said, looking to the sides of the road for signs of potential trouble. “But the guy from work I had to kill, it looked like he had just kept reaching into his cabinet and dropping stuff on the floor, until I walked in the room.”

  Mike nodded. What Joseph said fit with what he had already seen first hand—if the infected people didn’t have something to attack, they would just stand stupidly or begin a repetitive behavior until a target presented itself.

  He let the Blazer coast to the stop sign and rolled through it. Mike eased the truck up the street to the house. Nothing moved. He was sure that if he had the windows down, it would be dead silent too. He hated it. The quiet before the storm may be cliché, but it was generally true, especially before a battle.

  The body of the one they ran over on their way into town was still in the middle of the street where it had landed. Joseph’s car was still sitting where he had left it.

  “Looks clear,” Joseph said.

  “I don’t care a whole lot about how things look,” Mike said as he scanned the house across the street again. The out-of-place shadow was still peeking out from behind the fence. Mike pulled into the driveway and turned into the yard. He put the truck in reverse and backed up to the door.

  “Wait,” Mike said, pulling the truck halfway between the end of the twenty-foot driveway and the front of the house. “Okay, now you can go.”

  Mike killed the engine and reached into the back to grab the Winchester. Joseph had already climbed out and was creeping towards his car. Mike checked his left side and climbed out of the Blazer. He shut his door and went to the back of the truck. He opened the glass window and pulled out two hatchets, two claw hammers and an ax.

  He sidestepped to the front door. With his back to the door, he watched as Joseph quietly opened the trunk of his car. Joseph set the bat against the bumper and used both hands to lift out a large, heavy-duty plastic tool chest. He left the trunk open and walked back to the Blazer. The tools clanked softly as Joseph approached shut his door with his elbow. Carefully he took one hand off the handle and opened the rear passenger door. He shoved the toolbox onto the back seat and shut the door.

  Mike signaled Joseph to come to him so he could open the front door. Instead, Joseph stalked back to his car and retrieved the Louisville Slugger. Almost without a sound Joseph quickly made it to the front door.

  “Turn around so I can get the keys off your belt,” he said, tucking the bat under his arm.

  “It’s the rounded silver one,” Mike said.

  Joseph fumbled the keys, making them jingle before he closed his hand around them. He unlocked the door, clipped the keys to his own belt loop and readied the bat.

  Mike nodded and Joseph pushed the door open.

  “Clear,” Joseph said before stepping through the door and to the side. Mike shuffled in and past Joseph. Joseph pushed the door shut and locked it.

  Mike led the way to the master bedroom. He deposited his load in the middle of the floor. Joseph grabbed a hatchet and slipped the handle into the back of his belt. Mike watched Joseph start to sit down with his back to a wall.

  “Where are the helmets?”

  Joseph slapped his forehead. He stood back up and moved toward the door.

  “Wait. You need to change into something more practical,” Mike said. He went into the closet and quickly found what he was looking for, a spare set of BDU trousers and a pair of steel-toed work boots. “Put these on.”

  Joseph looked at the pants and boots with mute confusion. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was wondering what was wrong with what he was wearing.

  “You’ll be grateful for the extra pockets later, and the boots are better than those flimsy sneakers you’ve got.”

  Joseph shrugged and picked up the pants. He walked to the bathroom and changed pants. He left his shoes and pants lying in the middle of the floor. Mike waited until Joseph had finished putting on the boots.

  “At least throw your old stuff in the bathtub or something. We really don’t want to be tripping over stuff later.”

  Mike walked to the front door while Joseph was picking up his clothes. He looked through the peephole and thought he saw a shadow move.

  This is like trying to track ghosts.

  He went into the kitchen, squatting as he crossed the window. Careful not to move the light curtains more than necessary, he peeked toward the truck. He saw one for sure and thought two more were coming from the other side of the truck.

  Joseph was waiting in the hall. Mike ducked his way past the window again.

  “We need to do some work before we open that door,” Mike said.

  “How many?” Joseph asked flatly.

  “Three, maybe more.”

  Mike walked through the living room to the kitchen table. There were some paper stacks and boxes on the table. It was good solid wood, Mike knew because he tried hitting it once and nearly broke his hand. He started clearing stuff off the table. Joseph followed suit.

  “We’re gonna stand it up between the wall and the island.”

  Joseph grabbed his end of the table and they carried it the 15 or so feet to the gap. They stood the table on end and shoved it into place.

  “Hold it,” Mike said and started removing the legs at the top. He shoved them under the bottom legs so the table wouldn’t fall over on its own.

  They put a small bookcase, still loaded, in between the table legs to help brace it. The living room furniture, a recliner, a sofa, and the remains of the coffee table became a heavy, waist-high, half-circle barricade in the middle of the living room. They pushed two full-sized bookcases in front of the broken windows, and they pulled the small desk out of the office and used it to brace the bookcases.

  Joseph wiped the sweat from his brow. Mike looked at the results of their hour of labor. It was far from a long-term defense, but for what he had in mind, it would be more than enough.

  “Hey Mike, I know you have probably already thought of this, but we should hang blankets or something over some of the other windows.”

  “Actually, I hadn’t really thought about that.”

  Joseph straightened up some, as though he was a little proud of himself. Mike went to the hall closet and pulled out an old blanket. He threw it at Joseph and jerked his thumb towards the kitchen window. Joseph didn’t argue.

  Mike grabbed some of the better blankets and the sleeping bag and carried them to the master bedroom. Joseph waited for him in the living room.

  “While we’re at it, let’s round up a few more things from around the house,” Mike said. “In the near bedroom closet there are some backpacks and overnight duffle bags.”

  Joseph stalked down the hall. Mike went into the bathroom and emptied the medicine cabinet. There wasn’t much, but he did find a bottle of aspi
rin, some chewable Pepto-Bismol, a half-bottle of antibiotics, and some heavy-duty painkillers. He stopped at the hall closet again. He bent down to the bottom shelf where he knew there should be a first-aid kit and a couple Mag-Lite flashlights.

  They met back in the master bedroom. Mike thought for a moment. He went into the closet again. He came back out with two leather jackets. Both the jackets were in good condition and about the same size.

  “You like the black or brown?” Mike asked.

  “Brown. But ain’t it a bit warm for a heavy jacket?”

  Mike tossed the jacket at Joseph.

  “The jacket ain’t to keep warm; it’s to give you a second chance if one of them gets on you.”

  Joseph slung the jacket on and zipped it half way up. Mike did the same then picked up the Winchester. Joseph reached down and grabbed the bat.

  “We go out the front door, take care of the three around the truck, get the helmets and come back.”

  Joseph nodded.

  Mike walked out of the room and stopped a few paces in front of the door. Joseph slipped past him and unlocked the door. He turned and looked at Mike. Mike brought the rifle to his shoulder and nodded.

  Joseph pulled the door open and followed Mike outside.

  Mike stepped through the door and away from the Blazer. Joseph barreled through the door and swung at the one looking at its reflection in the truck window. Its head sandwiched between the bat and the window, which, luckily, did not break. The middle-aged man stood there for nearly a second. Joseph reared back to swing again. The man slid down the window and landed in a heap.

  Mike watched as Joseph opened the passenger door, climbed halfway in and grabbed the helmets. He could see Joseph panic as a woman with part of her face chewed off and missing most of the fingers on her right hand started to come around the front end of the Blazer. Mike took a breath, sighted and calmly blew off the woman’s mangled head. He shifted his aim to the back of the truck where another one was running straight at him. Mike rushed to pull the trigger. The adolescent spun around from the shoulder impact.

  In what seemed like slow motion, he cocked the rifle and pulled back the hammer. His target had already recovered and was coming at him again. He waited until the boy was almost on top of him. The round went in his open mouth and exploded the back of its neck, severing the spinal cord. The boy dropped like a sack of potatoes. Mike stepped up and used the rifle butt to shove the boy’s nose into his brain.

  Joseph shut the door and handed Mike one of the helmets. They hurried back inside and shut the door.

  “Don’t lock it. We’ll be going back out that door soon,” Mike said, walking to the sliding glass door in the master bedroom. “Give me a hand.”

  Joseph put down the bat and the helmet. They flipped the mattress back onto the bed and out of the way.

  “Put on the helmet and leave the bat,” Mike said, opening the back door.

  Joseph slipped the helmet over his head and followed Mike into the back yard. The shed was less than twenty feet from the main house. Mike reached to his belt for his keys. He couldn’t find them where they were supposed to be. He wondered where he could have left them, especially since the Blazer’s keys were on the same D-ring as his house keys.

  Joseph stepped up behind him and pulled the D-ring off his belt loop. It was heavily muffled, but Mike thought he said “Sorry.”

  Mike took the keys and unlocked the door to the shed. He stepped to the side so Joseph could go in. With his back to the door, he took his left hand off the rifle and pointed at two boxes on the floor.

  Joseph stepped in and grabbed one of the boxes. He carried it wordlessly into the master bedroom. Mike waited for Joseph to come back and get the second box. Given what they had just picked up at the store, the MREs weren’t essential, but Mike figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

  Joseph came back a moment later and picked up the second box. Mike backed through the door behind Joseph. Mike set the rifle against the wall and closed the sliding glass door. He reached over and set the lock bar into place.

  Joseph returned by the time he was ready to move the barricade back into place. Mike picked up the rifle and signaled Joseph to follow him to the bedroom.

  Mike opened one of the backpacks and one of the boxes. He shoved a half-dozen MREs into the bottom of the pack. He grabbed another backpack and put a half-dozen MREs in it.

  “Joe, in the closet on the shelf are a couple boxes of rounds for the Winchester.”

  Joseph walked to the closet before Mike could actually ask him to get the boxes. He came out of the closet and dropped one box of rounds into the two backpacks and the third into one of the empty duffle bags.

  Mike partially unfolded and then rolled two of the blankets. He put one blanket in each backpack, making sure to keep the ammo on the top. He scooped the handful of medications into the backpack he planned to keep. He put the first-aid kit in Joseph’s backpack. He then secured one flashlight in the side slot of each pack.

  Joseph opened the second box of MREs and started loading them into the other duffle bags. He packed the remaining blankets.

  “What else?”

  Mike turned and went into the closet again. He returned with a couple pairs of boots and some long-sleeved shirts. He made a second trip and came back with an armload of jeans and cargo pants. Joseph grabbed his jeans and shoes out of the bathtub. They shoved it all in one duffle bag.

  Suddenly, something beat on the front door. Joseph jumped. Mike listened. The pounding was rhythmic, as if someone or a group of people were trying to beat the door in.

  “It was only a matter of time after all the noise we made earlier,” Mike said standing up. “Put your helmet back on. And take the axe, too.”

  Joseph put on his helmet, picked up an axe, and followed Mike into the living room. Mike set the rifle on the floor behind the barricade, went into the kitchen, and started walking the refrigerator out of its spot on the wall. He had it far enough out for him to unplug it by the time that Joseph had propped his weapons against the inside of the barricade they made earlier.

  Mike spun the fridge so he was pulling and Joseph was pushing. They maneuvered it to extend the wall between kitchen and the entryway. Mike realized that if the things really wanted through, the fridge wouldn’t slow them down much, but he was counting on them to follow the funnel, now the path of least resistance.

  “Joe, I’m going to open the door. When they come in, I’ll be in the living room with the rifle. You be ready to help me if there are too many.”

  “Are you craz …” Joseph didn’t get to finish before the door opened. Mike ran for the living room and jumped over the barricade.

  Mike slipped as he landed. He rolled over, grabbed the rifle, and stood ready to shoot.

  Two of the “things,” Mike refused to think of them as “people” anymore since they displayed none of the characteristics of humanity, charged through the door. Had he been any slower getting back to the barricade, they would have been right on top of him. For the first time, Mike realized it had become rather dark in the house. Aiming wasn’t impossible, just harder than he would have liked. Light was coming in from the front door, but it only backlit his targets, making it that much harder to aim.

  He shot once. His target dropped and stayed down. Mike lined up for the second shot. The thing was close enough for Mike to smell coagulated blood. He lined up the shot and fired.

  “Joe, light switch behind you, hit it.”

  He looked at the floor for a second as harsh fluorescent light flooded the room. He brought his gaze back up and realized four more were coming at him. Mike shot the one furthest from the kitchen first.

  He heard a wet thud sound followed by choked gurgling. Joseph had cut one’s head almost in half with the axe. A second one turned toward Joseph while the third kept coming at Mike.

  Mike took a step back and shot the one approaching him in the throat. It fell backwards. From the corner of his eye, Mike saw Joseph di
slodge the axe, and in the same motion, use the hammer side to crush the skull of another that had turned toward him. Mike came around the barricade and shot one that was trying to get up.

  Two more came through the door, both at a run. Joseph was already halfway around the island counter when they collided with Mike. One fell to the ground with Mike. Mike shoved the body of the rifle into the thing’s mouth.

  The other one lunged towards Joseph. He sidestepped and buried a hatchet into its head.

  “Clam up,” Joseph yelled through the muffling helmet.

  Mike closed his eyes and mouth and turned his head away. Joseph swung the axe, blunt end first, like a golf club. He swung a little higher than he would have liked so he wouldn’t damage the rifle that was clamped between the zombie’s teeth.

  The axe caught the middle-aged man just behind the temple and lifted him partially off of Mike. As soon as Mike felt the pressure on the rifle change, he pushed up hard, giving Joseph a second, clearer shot.

  Joseph didn’t hesitate, but circled the axe back around and caught the man square in the forehead. Mike rolled the body off of him. Joseph extended his hand to help Mike up.

  “Thanks.”

  Joseph nodded. He turned around and retrieved his hatchet, wiping the blood off on a clean part of the corpse’s shirt.

  “I’m assuming now would be a good time to load the truck,” Joseph said, turning to face Mike again.

  Mike held out his arms as if to say “after you.” Joseph went to the master bedroom and retrieved two of the duffle bags.

  “Is that all of them?” Mike asked.

  “No, there’s one more. Plus the backpacks.”

  “We’ll keep the backpacks with us, just in case.”

  Mike led the way out the door with the Desert Eagle in hand. There weren’t any more of the things in immediate sight. He signaled Joseph to come out. Joseph stuck his head out first and looked around, then followed Mike to the rear of the SUV.

  Mike opened the glass. He checked to the outside of the truck as Joseph slung the duffels into the trunk. Joseph disappeared, leaving Mike to guard the truck. Mike wondered at the change that had come over Joseph in the last two or three hours. When he first met Joseph, it was amazing the young man got out of wherever he’d come from in one piece. Now, Joseph had taken out almost as many of these things as he had, and he’d done it without a gun. He hadn’t done one with his bare hands yet, but it was clear that Joseph was a survivor, the kind of person Hanse would have said should be kept breathing.