Dead World (Book 1): Dead Come Home

by Nathan Brown

  His mind flashed inexplicably out of the fog it had been in, like the slide of a pistol snapping forward. He turned off the water and toweled off. Out of habit, he wrapped the towel around his waist and reached for where the comb would have been in his apartment. His hand hit cold countertop and nothing else.

  Joseph fingered combed his hair and put his clothes back on. He walked into the main room as he pulled his T-shirt over his head.

  “Shower’s free.”

  Mike let the slide snap forward on the 9mm. He shoved the gun back in the shoulder holster and handed it to Joseph on his way to the bathroom.

  Joseph dropped onto the bed and turned on the news, as much out of habit as for a genuine need for information. By now, the national news networks were overriding most of the local affiliates. He wondered how long it would be before the Emergency Broadcast System took everything over. Joseph turned through the stations, looking for something local. He stopped surfing when he noticed one of the newscasts had put up a map on the screen. Everything surrounding the major population centers was slathered in red.

  —Reports of mass, unprovoked acts of violence are now pouring in from every major city. Eyewitness accounts claim that the attackers are actually eating the flesh of those they have killed. All National Guard and Reserve personnel have been activated and are ordered to report to their assigned duty stations for immediate deployment. As of 1 p.m. today, the Secretary of Defense has declared the nation under martial law. More information will be released at a noon presidential press conference. As we understand it, the media will be allowed to continue broadcasting as normal for the time being. However, many speculate that the president will soon order all media broadcasts to turn over to the emergency broadcast system.

  The Red Cross and National Guard have established rescue stations in several cities and are expected to establish more in the next few hours. Your local affiliates should have those locations scrolling across your screens.

  Mike showered considerably more quickly than Joseph. He came out fully dressed and took one look at the TV.

  “Have they said anything we didn’t already know?”

  “Yeah,” Joseph answered, “Martial law at 1 p.m. today, and the shit has hit the fan everywhere. The government isn’t saying much, but they’ve mobilized everything they got. They’re calling in all reservists … is that gonna change things for you?”

  Mike’s eyes went hard. He looked back at the TV, walked over, and turned it off.

  “You check the gas gauge before we came in for the night?” Mike asked.

  “We got three-quarters of a tank from that last fill up.”

  Mike nodded and finished getting dressed. Joseph’s stomach rumbled loudly.

  “If this town is still safe enough, let’s find a place to have a hot meal,” Mike said.

  Joseph checked out the peephole while Mike checked out the window. There weren’t any zombies to be seen. The parking lot was just as empty as it had been the night before.

  Mike wasn’t really surprised. He’d figured the town would be the kind of place that was far enough off the beaten path to avoid the infection for a while. The town was also still close enough to its agriculture roots that most everyone who lived in the area owned more than one firearm and knew how to use them, whether through hunting or just shooting at cans. This, Mike was glad to say, was a “gun town.”

  Joseph paid for the room with his credit card, figuring he better use his plastic while he still could. The world was likely crashing towards its end, and that meant credit and debit cards wouldn’t be worth squat soon enough. Even cold hard cash might not be worth much in a very short time. Joseph didn’t need Mike to tell him that the military and police were out of their league, and every living body the old world put into trying to restore order was just another corpse … if they were lucky.

  Joseph climbed into the driver’s seat and drove the Blazer to the gas station they had passed on their way into town the previous day. Mike kept his eyes moving and didn’t say anything about where Joseph had driven.

  The inside of the store was neat but not clean. It was dingy in the way that small town gas station/quick marts usually are. Joseph grabbed a couple bottles of lighter fluid that caught his eye and looked around for floss and a comb. He asked the attendant, who was eyeing him suspiciously, where he could find them. Joseph could feel the man watching him as he picked up the black plastic comb and box of dental floss.

  It’s starting — the “outsiders are dangerous” mentality is starting to take over.

  Joseph neatly laid out his purchases on the counter. As the man rang up the items, Joseph casually asked if there was a restaurant nearby that served breakfast. The man spit out a quick set of landmark directions, his left cheek full with a plug of chewing tobacco, along with Joseph’s total. Once again, Joseph paid with the credit card. For once in his life, he was happy he had always followed the advice of his late parents about not spending too much with his credit cards unless he absolutely needed to.

  The diner the gas station attendant directed them to looked run down on the outside. Joseph considered this a good sign. It meant the place was a “mom and pop” establishment … the kind where the townspeople actually went to eat. That meant the food would be hot, fresh, clean, plentiful, and, most importantly, good.

  They were either early or late for the breakfast rush. Mike assumed the latter, since this was a farm town. Only one middle-aged couple sat at a table near the middle of the restaurant. Joseph and Mike slid into a booth, a few tables away from them but still close to the door. The man stood up and came over to their table. Mike assumed he must have been the owner.

  “You two are from outta town, right?” the man asked. His wife turned in her seat to look at Joseph and Mike.

  “Yes, sir,” Joseph answered.

  “Can you tell us anything the TV hasn’t?”

  This time it was Mike who answered.

  “Aim for the head,” he said cryptically.

  “You guys looking to stay or just passing through?” the man asked without hesitation.

  “We’re heading to my friend’s place in the Arizona desert,” Mike said. “Y’all might want to set up a watch of some sort and keep your eye on people that look sick when they come in.”

  “We’ll keep it in mind, stranger,” the man said, raising his coffee cup as if in thanks. “Hey Helen, I think these boys would like some breakfast. Why don’t you give them your specialty, on me.”

  Joseph turned in his chair again and started to decline, but the well-built owner held up his massive arms insistently. “Don’t worry about it son. I got a daughter up in Washington, and I hope someone is just as nice to her on her way back here.”

  Something struck a cord with Mike. He leaned forward and met the man’s eyes.

  “Where is your daughter?”

  “Lily’s in the mountains in the Washington state area,” the man answered.

  “She’s on her way home, though,” the wife chimed in.

  “Make sure she knows to be careful. Those things don’t show mercy, and they ain’t human.”

  A round old lady brought out the breakfast plates the man had ordered for them. They ate their fill of cooked ham, hash browns, fried eggs, and biscuits and gravy.

  Before they left, Mike walked over to the couple’s table and gave them his cell phone number. The man scribbled a phone number on a napkin and handed it to Mike.

  “We’ll call you if we learn anything else,” Mike said. “And we’d appreciate any info you could send our way.” Mike leaned in close and said something else, but it was too low for Joseph to hear.

  Joseph pointed the Blazer west along US 380 and accelerated out of town. He watched Mike twist around in his seat and look back at the town over his right shoulder.

  “What’s the matter? You forget something?” Joseph asked, preparing to flip a “U” in the street.

  “No, just feel really bad for that couple in the diner. Their daughter
is half the country away and trying to get here through the biggest, deadliest shit-storm this side of Hell.”

  Joseph kept his eyes on the road, but he understood a little bit of what Mike was feeling. Joseph thought about Mike’s reaction to his mention of family when they’d first met. Their first meeting now felt like a lifetime ago for both men.

  “I’m assuming you gave them your cell phone number?”

  “Yeah. And I told ‘em to call us if they learned anything about this whole mess … or about their daughter.”

  Joseph nodded in agreement. There was nothing else to say.

  About five minutes later, Joseph noticed a town-limits sign for Rule, Texas. He eased off the accelerator and planned to just roll through town. The town was small and looked a little run down. The chain link fences were strangled with vines, and weeds sprouted up heavily through the bottoms. Most of the houses were dingy and showed signs of general neglect.

  Joseph drove a few hundred yards into town before he stopped and pulled a u-turn. Ahead of them, chaos rampaged in the street. Two or three cars sat smashed into a single mound of bent metal. A dozen zombies swarmed around the mess, trying to get to someone trapped inside. Joseph and Mike could see more zombies chasing people and trying to break into houses.

  Joseph eased the car away and stopped about a thousand yards out of town. Mike pulled the rifles out of the trunk and chambered a round in each of them. He pulled out his Desert Eagle and chambered a round.

  “Where’d you put the Molotov’s?” Mike asked. They’d made a few Mason jar and lighter fluid Molotov cocktails just before leaving Haskell.

  “There’s one on the floorboard just behind your seat.”

  Mike grabbed two of the Molotov’s and his lighter and settled back into the passenger’s seat. He set one of the rifles upright next to Joseph’s right leg. He propped the other up on the dash next to his left leg. He thumbed the button to open the sunroof.

  “Drive through town. Keep it under forty-five, but don’t stop–not for anything.”

  Joseph nodded and dropped the Blazer into gear. He pushed the accelerator down and eased the truck up to forty-five miles per hour. Mike stuck his head and shoulders out of the sunroof. Mike’s plan was simple; shoot anything that came too close to the vehicle.

  Joseph whipped the around the three car crush. The zombies feeding at the wreck turned toward the Blazer and started running. At their speed, the vehicle outdistanced the zombies immediately. The zombies now turned their attention to something else. Joseph happened to look to see what had caught the zombies’ eyes.

  One of the zombies was hit with a bullet. It dropped and stayed down. Another pitched forward, but dragged its way back to its feet.

  Joseph slowed down and looked for the shooter. He soon noticed the shots had come from a middle-aged man, wearing camouflage BDU pants, dark T-shirt, what at first appeared to be a backpack, and a graying ponytail.

  “What the hell are you doin’?” Mike yelled.

  “That guy’s in trouble.”

  “We’ll be in trouble if you don’t get this crate outta here.” Mike shot a zombie that came running at the truck. “Joseph, get us out of here now.”

  “Mike, he’s got a kid on his back.”

  Mike shifted his aim and looked at the guy being attacked. He saw the kid hanging onto the man’s back.

  “Shit. Joe, see if you can get us a little closer and unlock the doors.”

  Joseph slowed down and circled back to help the guy. Mike fired four shots; two zombies went down. Mike put the Winchester down and grabbed the one next to Joseph’s leg.

  “Come on! Get over here!” Mike yelled, taking aim at another zombie.

  The guy ran towards the truck, pistol-whipping a zombie on the way. He sprinted straight at the Blazer.

  Mike reached back and opened the back door. The man swung the child to his chest. He flung the small body inside before getting in.

  “Go, Joseph!”

  Joseph gunned the engine. The tires squealed as the truck swung to face west on US 380. He wove around stalled cars and one that was upside down and burning. Mike shot at three zombies who were in front of the truck. One stayed down, one spun and fell to the street, and the third bounced off of the fender.

  Joseph pinned the accelerator to the floor as he reached the other end of the town.

  “Christ, Joseph,” Mike started. He leaned closer so the man in the backseat wouldn’t be able to hear as easily. “I thought I told you about doing shit like that.”

  “Come on, Mike. What did you want me to do, huh? Leave them?”

  Mike sat back in his seat and reloaded the rifles, fuming. Joseph moved the mirror so he could see the passengers in the back seat. The girl had her eyes closed and was crying silently. The man had his head back, and was taking several big breaths.

  “You two okay?” Joseph asked.

  “I think we’ll be okay now,” the man said between breaths. “Thanks for picking us up. If you want to drop us in the first safe place, that’ll be fine with me.”

  Mike glared over his shoulder at the pair in the back seat. The girl was about twelve and pretty, despite the state of things. Her brown hair was tangled and hung in her eyes. She shivered visibly.

  “What made you leave your house?” Mike asked leaning around in his seat.

  “Her mother attacked us,” the man said.

  Joseph stiffened. Mike kept his cool and didn’t act concerned.

  “There’s a first-aid kit behind your seat if you need it.’

  “Thanks. Stacy needs bandaging,” the man said, turning to grab the kit.

  “Cut on a window on the way out? Or…”

  “My whacked out bitch of an ex-wife bit her.”

  Joseph sighed and put his hand to his mouth. He figured Mike was about to suggest abandoning the girl on the side of the road … or worse. Mike’s actual suggestion and tone kind of surprised Joseph.

  “I hate that I have to tell you this, but your daughter is going to die in the next few hours. After she does, she is going to attack us just like your ex-wife attacked you,” Mike said gently as he reasonably could. “When she stops breathing, I’m going to have to do something that will seem absolutely barbaric, but it’s necessary. I’m sorry. I truly am.”

  The road became oddly quiet, with no sign of the chaos they’d seen thus far. Joseph took special care to keep his speed at forty-five. He could have gone faster, but wanted as much time as possible to see any roadblocks, obstacles, or other hazards. For the most part, theirs was the only vehicle on the road. Periodically, they passed an overturned or abandoned vehicle on the side of the road … but nothing else.

  The four hadn’t said much to one another since their initial conversation. Stacy’s father, Walter, had finally managed to stop the bleeding from the bite on his daughter’s arm. Mike took the opportunity to reload his weapons. Joseph scanned through the radio channels, partly out of habit and partly out of a need to have some form of noise to break up the disconcerting silence.

  The uninterrupted static bothered Joseph almost as much as the quiet. He’d never turned on a radio and heard nothing but static and dead air. He could not remember a time when every radio station had stopped broadcasting, without so much as the Emergency Broadcast System.

  I guess people have started abandoning jobs to save their families…

  A faint whisper of a human voice broke through the constant crackling. Joseph left the station there and lowered the volume, hoping the signal would get stronger as they went on. After about an hour, everyone had stopped listening.

  It took almost two more hours for them to reach the next town. US 380 into Post, Texas, was almost entirely blocked by an overturned tractor-trailer and several smashed cars.

  “Walter,” Mike said without turning around, “How’s Stacy?”

  “She’s still okay. Just weak.”

  “Do you know your way around a shotgun?”

  “Backwards and forwards.”
r />   Mike pumped a shell into the chamber and handed him a 12-gauge shotgun. He then chambered a round in each of his own weapons.

  “Walter, aim for the head and nowhere else. Joe, I need you to stop the vehicle and look at me.”

  Joseph stopped the car and turned to Mike.

  “If that pile-up is any indication of what’s going on in the center of town, then we can’t afford to stop. Not for anything or anyone. If we get surrounded, it’s over.”

  Joseph hated it, but understood the truth of it. If they stopped, for any reason, for more than a few seconds, their vehicle would likely be rolled over, and their fates would be sealed.

  “No stopping this time,” Joseph agreed.

  The first part of Post would have resembled an Old West town. All the older buildings shared a wall with the building on either side. Especially on the left side of the road, the buildings were various colors of brick—white, red, black, and others. The structures were of varying heights, with waist-high walls around the rooftops. The road itself was cobblestone, until it was replaced by tarmac as it neared a McDonald’s on the right side where 380 T’d with another main road.

  Though the town would normally be peaceful and nice, utter chaos reigned in the streets. Abandoned and wrecked cars, trucks, and vans littered the road and some had even become stuck on the median. Blood smeared across glass panes and mason walls. Fires flickered behind broken windows. They heard the sharp bark of automatic weapons fire, punctuated by the duller “wump” of shotgun blasts through the rolled up windows of the Blazer.

  Joseph pushed his luck by weaving through the minefield of vehicles without slowing down. He jumped the curb and crossed the median. A second later, he re-crossed the median, tossing his passengers around.