Amongst the Dead

by David Bernstein

  “They found us,” he said.

  “The army men? Ben’s brother?”

  “Yeah. They must have been on their way back to base, having given up on us. Damn, if we’d only stayed off the road a little longer.”

  Riley spun around in her seat, looking out of the rear window. The SUV had turned around and was in pursuit of them. She turned to Jack. “What do you want me to do?” The back window exploded as bullets struck it. Riley screamed, ducking low.

  “Stay down,” Jack hollered.

  “No,” she told him, already reloading with a new clip.

  “All right, but don’t bother shooting back until we get around this bend. Put the Kevlar vest over the seat and use it as a shield.”

  She reached into the backseat and grabbed the vest, draping it over her seat before grabbing a bag of clips, and setting them on the floor at her feet. Now she was somewhat protected—the headrest the only piece poking through the neck slot. “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine. You’re the gunner, just stay alive and take them out.”

  The highway was windy for a bit, the men in the SUV firing wildly and missing. “I know this road,” Jack said. “There’s a straight stretch coming up. Get ready. Aim for the truck’s grille.”

  “I can’t believe they traveled so far to find us.”

  “That’s not an official vehicle. That’s Deak’s personal vehicle. He’s on his own with a few buddies. He wants the person dead for killing his brother and when he saw me driving I became a deserter. He wants me as dead as you.”

  As the car came around the last bend, a long stretch of highway lay ahead. “Get ready to fire before they do!”

  She aimed her rifle at the SUV and pulled the trigger. The .30-30’s report was three times as loud inside the small confines of the car. Riley emptied the clip,but the SUV still approached as if she’d fired plastic bullets.

  “I hit that thing square in the grille,” she reported.

  “Damn, must be armor-plated in the front.”

  The headrest exploded in front of her face. Jack began swerving the vehicle, no longer as easy a target. Riley, not ready for the maneuver, banged into the door. Dull thuds, like balls of hail, sounded from the car’s trunk as it was riddled with bullets. The radio in the dash exploded, sparks flying out like a sparkler on July Fourth. She steadied herself and popped in another clip.

  “You’re going to have to shoot their windshield and hope it’s not bullet proof.” Jack continued to swerve the car, the tires screeching angrily. Riley gripped her seat, fingers white, to keep from tumbling about like a rag doll. “When I straighten out, blow the hell out of that windshield.”

  Jack finally held the steering wheel still, the car straightening out. Riley, using the back of her seat, readied her aim and fired upon the approaching SUV. Four bullets harmlessly bounced off the windshield directly in front of the driver.

  “No good,” she told Jack.

  “Okay, there’s another bend up ahead. We just have to make it there and buy us a few moments.”

  Riley didn’t want to wait. A man popped up out of what she guessed was the SUV’s sunroof. He had what looked to be a dark olive-colored tube of some kind. It was on his shoulder. “Jack,” Riley screamed. He glanced up at the rearview mirror.

  “Riley, you’ve got to take him out. He’s got a rocket launcher. We won’t survive if he hits us.”

  She began firing, nerves taking hold, her shots missing. The wind seemed to be hampering the man holding the rocket launcher, but he finally managed to hold it straight. She exhaled, letting out her breath slowly. A rushed shot was a missed shot. She couldn’t worry about the man with the rocket launcher. If she took care at her end, all would be well. Steadying herself, she pulled the trigger, willing the bullet to its target.

  The man holding the rocket launcher was hit in the right shoulder, causing the weapon to point downward a second before it was fired. At the same time Riley saw a man’s arm holding a small machine gun from the passenger window. Yellow flashes of light burst from the weapon’s barrel. She felt the bullets whiz by her head, while others hammered into the Kevlar vest. A stream of gray smoke erupted from the rocket launcher, sending the missile into the road in front of the SUV. The road exploded into a plume of orange flame and smoke as debris flew into the air. The driver tried swerving around the small crater, but the left wheel caught, sending the vehicle flipping end over end at eighty miles per hour.

  She watched as the hunk of metal rolled, tumbling down the highway, pieces of SUV scattering about and flying in all directions, landing alongside the road. She cheered, pumped her fist and turned to sit back down when she noticed the grim look on Jack’s face. He was driving with one hand and grimacing. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he said, sounding out of breath. He started coughing, flecks of blood dotting the windshield and steering wheel.

  The car began to slow as Jack’s coughing grew worse. He pulled the car to the side of the road.

  “Sorry, kid,” he said, blood covering his lips and chin as it oozed from his mouth like an underground spring.

  “Were…” She took a deep breath “…were you…shot?” She already knew the answer, but the words came out anyway. Jack made it official.

  “Seems they got me good, but at least…you got…them.” He forced a smile revealing blood-stained teeth. “I’m going to get out now. It will be hard…for you to…drive if I’m in the seat.” He started laughing before the chuckle became a gargle of blood and phlegm.

  “No,” Riley said, grabbing his arm. “You’ll be fine.”

  Jack smiled after clearing his throat. “No kid. I won’t.” He opened the door, placed a foot on the pavement and went to get out, but tumbled to the ground.

  Her eyes widened as her mouth hung open at what she saw. Blood glistened on the back of the driver’s seat, pooling on the cushion like spilled strawberry syrup.

  She opened her door, jumped out and ran around the car to where Jack lay face down. She saw the bullet hole in his jacket—crimson fluid leaking from it. He’d been shot center mass between the shoulder blades.

  “Jack,” she whispered, tears forming, vision going blurry. She bent down, placing two fingers on his carotid. She felt nothing. No thump. He was dead.

  She stood up, the world seeming to spin out of control. She’d only known Jack a few days, but she’d grown to love him in that short time. The air around her was still save for the car’s gentle idle. Another person taken from her. She should’ve broken down, cried hysterically, but instead she felt a growing kernel of heat within her gut. She was beyond angry, her insides fuming with rage. This wasn’t circumstance; this was the doing of evil men. It was the army men’s fault Jack was dead—that she was left alone again. The small kernel of heat now spread throughout her body as if she was radioactive.

  Feeling numb, dead inside except for utter hatred, Riley pulled Jack’s sidearm from his holster, pointed it at his temple and fired. She’d managed to shut her eyes upon firing, not wanting the image of destroying her friend’s remains stuck in her mind. The act would be enough to bring nightmares. She didn’t need to see the gore and was confident the point blank shot to the temple was enough to ensure he didn’t come back.

  Riley turned away, opening her eyes. Leaning into the car, she turned the ignition off and withdrew the car key, stuffing it into her pocket. There was no point in wasting gas or leaving a vehicle with a car key that could be used to come after her. She’d never learned how to drive, the car useless to her.

  She would hike the rest of the way to Poughkeepsie, no matter how long it took. Going back to the cabin was too dangerous—if there still was a cabin to go back to.

  She was ripped from her thoughts by a scream. It came from behind her, beyond the bend in the road where the SUV flipped. Her eyes became slits, her teeth grinding together, jaw muscles defined.

  Walking around the car to the passenger’s side, she reached inside, grabbed her r
ifle and a couple of ammo clips, and began marching back up the road.

  Within a few minutes she came upon the wreck. The black SUV rested partially on its roof and front end, slanted against the pavement. Steam hissed from the crumpled hood as fluids leaked onto the ground. The windshield had multiple cracks, lightning-like throughout, and was splattered with shiny redness.

  Riley approached cautiously, tiptoeing around to the driver’s side. A man lay broken in the driver’s seat, appendages twisted at unnatural angles like a discarded marionette. His body was jerking as if something was tugging at it. His eyelids flung open. Riley jumped back, barely containing herself. She raised her weapon.

  “Please…” the man groaned. “Kill me.” His face was caked in blood and he spoke as if he’d just come from a visit to the dentist.

  “Are you Deak?” she asked coldly.

  “Please,” the man gurgled.

  “Is your name Deak?” Riley repeated, her tone demanding.

  “Yes. Please shoot me.”

  Riley was delighted to oblige, but saw movement from the passenger seat. Bending lower, she saw another man in the car. His left arm was missing, severed above the elbow, and half his face was gone—jaw bone and eye socket revealed. Now she understood why Deak’s body was jerking. His undead companion—fellow murderer—was grabbing and tearing pieces of his flesh, eating him. The man had turned undead quickly, having only died minutes ago. The undead passenger’s face disappeared into Deak’s side. Riley could hear moist chewing sounds as flesh was ripped away.

  “Please…” the driver begged again.

  It wasn’t proper to leave zombies alive, to be able to wander and infect others, but the man was getting his due. She could only hope he lived long enough to suffer greatly, hoping his friend was trapped somewhere in the undead thing’s body, horrified at eating his buddy.

  She walked toward the rear of the truck, opening the hatch. Another zombie, the man who had been wielding the rocket launcher, lay inside. The thing sprung at her, its body not in too bad a condition.

  Riley, caught off guard, stumbled backward, her gun going off. The zombie crawled out. She saw that it wasn’t in as great a condition as she’d first thought. Its head was partially caved in and a large buck knife was protruding from its neck. The man must’ve fallen onto it when the truck crashed. It appeared like the guy had just missed dying properly; if only the blade had gone into his head.

  With the zombie standing over her, looking down with vacant but horrifying eyes, she righted herself, pointing the rifle up and blowing the thing’s brains out of the back of its head. She rolled left and out of the way as the lifeless corpse tumbled to the ground.

  She checked the rest of the vehicle, finding no more surprises except for a small arsenal of weapons and ammo. She had her rifle and plenty of bullets, so she decided to leave the machine guns. She grabbed two identical handguns—Sig Sauers—four boxes of ammo, and a first aid kit. She also found four grenades, pocketing them as well.

  Heading past the man in the driver’s seat on her way back to the car, she saw that he was still very much alive. Not wanting to become a monster, needing to hold onto what little compassion she still had for humans, Riley pulled a book of matches from her pocket. Not wanting to waste a single match, but needing to, she ignited it and tossed it to the gasoline-flooded ground. The area around the SUV roared into flames, the truck catching fire quickly. The man inside the SUV began screaming as she hurried away. A few minutes later the truck exploded. Riley never looked back.

  Chapter Six

  A Fresh Start

  Riley finished rummaging through the car, gathering a flashlight, matches, a small bottle of lighter fluid, a knife and food. She of course took her rifle—the weapon like a trusted sibling—and equipped herself with plenty of ammo before beginning her long trek down the road.

  It began raining an hour into the trip. She’d forgotten the parka back at the car; it was too far to go back for it now.

  The walk seemed endless, but she kept on until nightfall, the rain lasting a few hours. Soaked and shivering, she camped in the woods about twenty feet from the road. She should have traveled farther in, but was too weak and worn out.

  Using some paper, lighter fluid and a couple of the driest logs she could find, Riley made a meek fire. The wood was somewhat damp, hissing like a small steam engine. She shed her clothes from her body, hanging them on a tree branch over the fire while staying close to keep warm. An hour into the night and the rain started up again, the downpour heavy at times. The fire was quickly extinguished and Riley’s clothes were drenched again. She managed to eat a little and nod off under a densely bristled pine tree.

  By morning the rain had stopped, the sun’s rays poking through the trees as if to say they’d found her, giving Riley a small sense of hope. She rung out her clothes as best she could, then pulled them on, grimacing as the cold, damp clothes chilled her to the bone. She’d actually felt warmer with them off, but wasn’t about to go walking around naked. Having hardly slept, fighting through the chill, she gathered her belongings and headed back onto the road, hoping the exercise, combined with the sun’s rays, would dry her out.

  It rained on and off for the next few days and by the fourth day Riley had become sick with the flu. She had a high fever and was coughing up gobs of dark green phlegm.

  Her feet throbbed as if she’d stood on scorching coals and her body was at its weakest state, barely able to keep going. She was soaked through, her skin prune-like and sensitive.

  By the fifth night she grew weary with delirium, often seeing and talking with her father or Jack. Her head was foggy and she began puking every so often before dry-heaving—her stomach all but empty. The road had been without houses for two days, leaving her to sleep under the cover of nature and by then her travels had slowed tremendously. She’d walk a quarter mile then have to rest for an hour or more. On the sixth morning she managed to find a house only a short distance off the highway.

  She broke in, not caring who or what was inside, only wanting to be out of the rain and have something manmade over her head.

  She had no idea how far she’d traveled or even if she was heading south anymore, toward Poughkeepsie. She’d only seen one vehicle traveling along the highway since Jack’s death and wanted no part of flagging it down, preferring to be alone.

  Tired with fever and soaked to the bone, she lay down on an old, torn mattress on the first floor and fell asleep.

  She dreamt of her father, seeing him at the bedside of her mother who’d died while giving birth to her. She was full-sized but had just come out of her mother’s womb, the doctor holding her. The sounds of alarms and beeping machines filled her ears. She was tossed over the doctor’s shoulder like a discarded piece of trash. Her father, standing behind the doctor, caught her, cradling her in his arms. His face was grim, eyes open and staring back and forth from Riley to where her mother lay dying in the hospital bed. There was no saving her mother. The doctor lowered his head.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester. We did all that we could,” the doctor said.

  “No!” her father screamed, hugging Riley to his chest so tightly that she felt as if she would burst. The doctors and nurses left the room, leaving her, her dad and dead mother alone.

  Riley heard a moaning sound from behind. Her father’s face lit up with joy. He lowered her to the floor. She stood, turning around. Her mother’s face was pale, bloodless and had lifeless eyes like a doll’s, yet she was reaching out for Riley’s father.

  “Jenny,” he said, his voice full of joy. “You’re alive. You’re okay.”

  Riley screamed, grabbing her father’s arm. “No Dad! She’s not alive. She’s a zombie!” Her father turned to her, his face becoming a twisted picture of rage. He raised his arm and backhanded her, sending her falling to the hard, cold tile floor.

  Riley’s father ran to his wife, embracing her. Riley watched as her undead mother sunk her fingers and teeth into his flesh, tearing h
im apart as he screamed. Riley began screaming and then woke up.

  Her body ached all over as if she’d broken every one of her bones. A throbbing, hammering pain filled her head. The room was out of focus, spinning. Reaching for her bag, she grabbed some pain killers, took four—chewing them, the taste like bitter chalk—and lay back down before passing out again.

  This time she dreamt of a happier time. A time before the undead rose up and ruined everything for everybody.

  Riley had had a dog once. A Jack Russell terrier named Smiley. She hadn’t named the canine; that was her mother’s idea because everyone who’d ever seen the dog said it was always smiling.

  Smiley was prancing through beautiful green fields of freshly cut grass. Daisies and lilac bushes dotted the hillside. Riley, her mother and father sat below a huge maple tree eating a picnic lunch.

  Her mother was laughing and her stomach was large and round, pregnant. She was carrying Riley’s baby brother. Riley’s father was sipping wine from a wineglass.

  Together they watched Smiley run around, chasing beetles and crickets as they bounced into the air. Everyone was jovial, laughing and having fun, feeling the warmth of family envelop them like a numinous spell. This was how life should’ve been, but as she looked up, dark ominous clouds rolled in like gigantic angry ghosts. The sun’s shiny rays were extinguished. The gentle afternoon breezes became fierce, hurricane-like gusts of wind.

  Riley saw her mother’s face turn grim—eyebrows raised, mouth agape. The woman cried out to her husband. Riley looked around. Where was her father? He was just here. She stood up, her heart beating faster. Off in the distance she saw a tornado approaching. Her mother’s face became a scowl, both hands on her stomach. She cried out, arms outstretched for her daughter. “Help me,” she pleaded as her eyes filled with tears. Riley tried to get up, but a pair of arms shot up from the ground. Powerful fingers, bony and rotten, wrapped around Riley’s ankles, keeping her in place.

  “Mommy!” she cried out.

  Her mother withered in agony. Something was wrong with the baby. Where was her father? Riley’s mother lifted her dress up, revealing the bulbous lump of white skin. Slits began to show themselves, blood spewing out of them like a dam bursting. Her mother continued to scream as the slits became tears. Tiny fingers emerged from the rips before the flesh was completely torn open, her undead brother crawling out.