Grave New World (Book 3): Dead Men Don't Skip

by S. P. Blackmore

  Except rescues don’t entirely work like that. Even if we could find our firearms, I knew damn well I didn’t have enough ammunition to take on all of Keller’s men. Not to mention if I didn’t keep up my daily practice I turned into a pretty poor shot. We might do okay against the civilians out in the city—civilians who, let’s face it, had so far displayed next to zero proficiency in anything remotely resembling post-apocalyptic stress—but a squad of trained soldiers would turn us all into ground beef.

  That, or we’d wind up in the zombie arena.

  No, we needed a better sort of rescue. We needed big guns, or at least some soldiers willing to not blast our heads off when they realized what we were doing. How loyal was Keller’s inner circle? Could we sway some of them?

  You’re a writer, not an action star. I couldn’t think of any situation that didn’t end with me being devoured alive by a roomful of angry undead or going down in a hail of bullets.

  I kept thinking about it all the way through my morning shift, where I administered painkillers, antibiotics, and sedatives. The specific cocktail I gave out made me raise an eyebrow—there was no way this shit wasn’t toxic to a system—but I kept my mouth shut as I worked, too busy fantasizing about carting around an RPG to really make any small talk with my patients.

  Maybe we could find an RPG and blast our way through! That was the ticket.

  You don’t know how to use an RPG, Vibby. Nice try, though.

  Maybe Tony did. I was sure that was a skill he’d have mastered at some point in his life. It was just something Tony McKnight would do.

  Alyssa did improve substantially once the painkillers were sweeping through her system. Or rather, she felt that she improved substantially. People tend to act a lot perkier when they aren’t in crippling pain.

  “I think it’s working,” she said.

  Her pallor suggested otherwise, but I went along with it.

  “I went to the park last night,” I said, sitting down next to her to take her vitals.

  Her wince told me exactly how she felt about that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I told you not to go.”

  “People just…they’re okay with it?”

  “No. Not really. But what else can they do?”

  I held my hand around her wrist, timing her heartbeat. Way too rapid. How was she not shaking in place, or at least drenched in sweat?

  “Keller said people needed entertainment,” she said. “No television. No radio. So…fight.”

  Radio.

  The beginning of an idea took root in my overworked little brain.

  There probably wasn’t a damn thing Tony, Dax, and I could do in Hastings.

  But if we could get ahold of Hammond…

  Don’t be stupid.

  I pulled out my stethoscope and listened to her lungs while trying to think around it. There was no saying whether Hammond was still alive, for starters, or whether he had enough of a force left to put fear of God into Keller.

  But if he did…

  Vibby, this might be the dumbest idea you’ve ever had. Even dumber than trying to sneak into that movie theater when you were twelve. Remember how that ended? You got grounded for a month. This won’t go any better for you.

  “Alyssa…” I began.

  “Hey, Orvik?”

  I turned around. A different medic stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at me like my tenth-grade algebra teacher after I failed yet another test. “Get back to work,” he said. “No fucking chit-chat.”

  I put down my stethoscope. “I was taking her vitals.”

  “You were chatting her up. Back to work.”

  He stomped away.

  I glanced at Alyssa. So far, only Renati hadn’t been a complete dickbag to me at one point or another. “Are they all such assholes?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Why do you think everyone’s been requesting you?”

  “People are requesting me?”

  She grinned.

  I packed up my gear and moved toward the end of the tent, ready to start my rounds all over again.

  Everything went splendidly for a good hour or so.

  The crunching sounds became evident as I ambled down the row of beds.

  Someone was gnawing on something—one medic had warned me about patients sneaking in crackers, though at this point I couldn’t see the harm. I decided to give the offending patient a stern look, then make a point of avoiding the area so they could finish up whatever snack they’d brought in. If we weren’t going to help these folks, we could at least let them eat.

  The woman hunched over her bed, stuffing her face. “Miss,” I called, mindful of the people dozing around me. “Miss, we’re not really supposed to have food in here…”

  Her head shot up. I froze.

  Reddened, rheumy eyes stared across at me, and blood dribbled down her chin as her jaws moved up and down. I had seen that sunken-eyed look before far too often—in the newly dead and the recently returned.

  Oh, fuck.

  She lowered the limb she’d been snacking on—holy shit whose arm is that and where did she get it?—then stuck one leg off the side of the bed. Her back creaked as she straightened up, swinging her body around to stare at me.

  No one seemed to have noticed. I kept waiting for the horrified gasps, for the shrieks and wackiness that inevitably followed the undead. Instead, I heard snores.

  Because we fucking sedated them. I backed up a step.

  The dead woman drew her lips back, her head canting to the side to snarl at me.

  There were soldiers outside. I could summon them, and they could shoot her, and we could all forget this bullshit had ever happened.

  But if I screamed for them, the lightly dozing patients might wake up and see a fucking zombie right next to them.

  Then I’d really be in deep shit.

  The revenant snarled and took a rattling step toward me, the arm still clenched firmly in her left hand. I lifted my hand as if to ward her off—who was I kidding? I didn’t have a gun, or a scalpel, or anything heavy…

  I know. I’ll punch her! That’ll do it.

  I had to get her away from my patients.

  “Come on,” I whispered, edging backward a few steps. “Come get me, sweetcheeks.”

  She staggered forward, her free right hand reaching for me. She nearly tripped over her own two feet, but caught herself and shambled forward. She couldn’t seem to straighten up, and hunched forward and to the side, pitching to the right with each step.

  Where the hell had she even come from? I did a quick scan of the beds, but everyone seemed to be tucked in…

  Oh. There, at the far corner, was an empty bed with the blanket puddled at the bottom. My vision in the murky conditions wasn’t all that great, but I thought I could make out a telltale stain in the center of the bed.

  The death splotch.

  Well, shit. How had I missed that on my last round?

  She lurched after me. I kept backing up, glancing over my shoulder. All I had to do was get her out the tent flaps, and we’d be set—the soldiers in the courtyard could use her for target practice and that would be the end of this.

  I kept the dead woman moving. We were almost there. “Come on, kitty,” I muttered. We had reached Alyssa’s bed. “Come on.”

  Alyssa opened her eyes.

  For a second there was only confusion across her face, as if she’d stumbled into or out of a strange dream. Then her eyes fixed on the dead woman pursuing me, and she tried to push herself up on her elbows. I shook my head slightly, lifting a finger to my lips. Don’t do anything, for God’s sake, don’t do anything.

  Alyssa seemed to understand me, but she curled slowly into a ball, her gaze following the stilted steps of the revenant.

  I glanced askance. There was nothing I could grab, aside from a handful of patients who looked frail enough to to toss.

  Another patient stirred in his bed. All it would take was one scream and that would be it.

  I quickened my pace. �
�Come on, honeybuns,” I said. “Move along.”

  She hobbled forward, the awkward gait increasing minutely. “So you’re a quick one,” I whispered. “A little too quick.”

  She crouched, swinging her hands back. The arm she’d been eating when I so rudely disturbed her flew across the tent and landed directly on the face of a dozing patient.

  Well, fuck me.

  The patient’s eyes snapped open upon this obviously very offensive slap in the face. The first thing he saw was the half-eaten arm draped across his mouth, and he predictably let out a shriek loud enough to wake the dead, if you’ll excuse the pun.

  There goes the neighborhood.

  Others woke up. At first they looked in the direction of the scream, but soon they turned their heads, saw her coming at me, and oh, yes, there were the horrified screams of the living. How delightful.

  “Dammit,” I growled. If anyone ever started an Apocalypse Survival Workshop, I hoped the first thing they taught was how not to fall apart the instant you saw a walking dead man. Or woman. Or whatever.

  The zombie twisted around to hear the screams, which only prompted more screaming. I snapped my fingers in front of her eyes, drawing her attention back to me. “Get back here,” I said. “Come on, you crazy bitch, come get me!”

  And then I did the thing you should never do when there is a dead person nearby.

  I turned and bolted for the back of the tent, glancing over my shoulder as I went.

  She took the bait and lurched after me, her fingers curved into claws and mouth hanging open. I dashed down the row of beds, waving people aside as they looked up. “Stay down, all of you stay down and stay still, she won’t see you if you don’t move!”

  That was sort of a lie. The dead went after everything, but noise and motion in particular seemed to attract them. If my terrified patients stayed still while I caused a ruckus, then Little Miss Deadie would keep her eyes on me, The Most Mobile and Noisy Thing Around.

  I had almost reached the back entrance of the tent when I turned around.

  She was flying through the air, claws outstretched. She slammed into me and the two of us toppled to the tarp that covered the asphalt of the old parking lot the medical complex resided on. I landed hard on my back, all of my insides jolting with the impact.

  Her mouth came right for me.

  I thrust my hands up, catching her face before she could snap down on my face or my neck. Her tight, mottled skin nearly tore away when I pushed her aside, and I tried to get a leg up between us.

  She shoved one of her hands up against my neck, and those dry, wizened fingers clamped around my throat.

  Holy fucking shit. She had some strength in her grip, and she seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

  So much for calmness—eople were screaming all around me. “Guards!” I shrieked. “Guards, someone get the fucking guards!”

  “Sergeant Andrews!” a man called. “Sergeant Andrews, we need you!”

  I kept waiting for the gunshots, for the sound of soldiers.

  They did not come.

  She snapped her gaping maw of a mouth at me. At least she hadn’t really started to stink yet; I guess I could have counted that as a point in my favor.

  I pushed her face away, my left hand scrabbling around for something.

  “Here,” someone whispered.

  I didn’t question how Alyssa had gotten all the way over to this side of the tent. I just saw her push something large and white toward me.

  A bedpan.

  Well, it was heavy and I could swing it. Sometimes you can’t ask for more.

  “Hide,” I said to Alyssa. She scrambled under the nearest bed.

  I seized the bedpan and slammed it against the revenant’s head. Her fingers loosened slightly around my neck, but she did not entirely let go. I hefted the bedpan higher and brought it crashing against her temple, and her head snapped to the side with a sickening crunch.

  It gave me the opening I needed. I shoved her off me and sprang to my knees, clutching the bedpan in both hands. The ghoul stretched for me again, and I brought the bedpan down atop her head with my full weight behind it.

  Crunch. She spasmed.

  Crunch. Her skull gave a little bit. Not enough.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Logan had finally made an appearance, but he just stood there staring at me, the bedpan, and the dead woman I was trying to brain with it.

  I stood up.

  The bitch reached after me. The bitch fucking reached after me.

  Why won’t you fucking stay dead?

  I strode toward Logan, who still just gaped. “What the fuck is going on?” he asked.

  I yanked his pistol out of its holster, switched off the safety, and swung it around. “Everyone, back off!” I barked.

  Several patients in the immediate vicinity scrambled off their beds, sedatives and sickness be damned. I guess a woman waving a gun at a zombie is sufficient motivation to get the hell out of the way.

  The ghoul came right for me with bared teeth, her eyes full of nearly incendiary rage.

  I squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet popped her in the head, sending her entire body flying backward. She landed on her back in the middle of the aisle, her fingers still twisted into gnarled claws.

  For a few seconds, everyone just stared. I kept the gun aimed at her in case she got back up.

  She didn’t.

  Alyssa lifted her hands and offered me weak applause from her hiding spot. A moment later, several other patients joined her.

  I swung around, staring at Logan, who had lost his cigarette somewhere between chilling out back and completely screwing up the zombie situation.

  “That,” I said, “is why you let your people carry guns.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “This is unacceptable,” Keller snapped. He strode into the Plague Tent with several officers marching behind him, joining me the guards, Lattimore, a number of confused patients, and the befuddled medical personnel who were supposed to be caring for them.

  I wasn’t sure whether unacceptable was referring to Logan hesitating on the draw or the fact that we missed a zombie in the tent.

  Keller stopped in front of me. I think he was trying to stare down his nose at me, but he wasn’t quite tall enough; I could almost look him in the eye, which kind of wrecked the whole imposing authoritative stance he was clearly trying to cultivate. “You are not authorized to use a firearm.”

  Oh. He was getting after me for saving the day.

  “What should I have done?” I asked. “Let her chow down on your plague victims? That’d go over well.”

  “You are not authorized to use a firearm!”

  “Well, the bedpan wasn’t working.”

  He raised his right hand. I ducked out of reflex, but he never lifted it any higher than to point a finger at my face. “You are not authorized to use a firearm.”

  Broken record, anyone?

  I opened my mouth, but the otherwise silent Logan shook his head at me ever so slightly.

  Fine. I wouldn’t antagonize wee Doogie Howser. “I am sorry, sir,” I said, in what I hoped was my most sincere voice. “She was a threat to the patients. I reacted…you see a ghoul, you try to shoot it. It’s what I’ve been trained to do.”

  It seemed to pacify him for the time being. He turned away from me, moving deeper into the tent and staring down at the sick.

  Another soldier joined our group. “We can’t find anyone missing an arm, sir,” he said. “We don’t know where she got it.”

  Keller sighed and waved the man away.

  We all stood there in silence for a moment.

  “Who taught you to shoot?” he finally asked.

  I figured bringing Tony into this would only get him into more trouble. “General Hammond.”

  Keller’s immediate silence suggested this might have been the wrong thing to say. “He was a lieutenant when I knew him,” he said, pausing next to one of my patie
nts.

  “Field promotion,” I said.

  He sent me a withering stare, or at least his best effort at one. “Yes, I could deduce that as well, Miss Orvik, thank you.”

  Doctor Lattimore cleared her throat. “Shall we deal with the obvious? Why was a patient allowed to turn while Orvik was…what exactly were you doing, Orvik?”

  “Dispensing antibiotics, as instructed.” Antibiotics that had about as much effectiveness as a drop of chlorine in the ocean, but even so.

  “No, she wasn’t.” The medic who had scolded me when I was talking to Alyssa pushed his way into the crowd. “She was sitting there talking to Andrews. I saw her.”

  “I was taking her vitals,” I snapped, leveling a glare at him—a glare he ignored. You dipshit.

  “And while you were chit-chatting with Andrews, a woman reanimated,” Lattimore said.

  I had to fight to keep my tone level. “Your other medics had checked her. I checked on her an hour before when I first came in. She was fine then.”

  “Well, clearly she wasn’t. She must have died quite a while before…perhaps during Cornish’s shift.”

  Cornish must have been the medic supervising them before me. “She wasn’t,” I said. “She was alive. I took her vitals. They’re on the chart.”

  “You must have been mistaken.”

  I’m pretty sure my eyes bugged out of my head. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s an easy enough mistake to make. You’ve got a hundred people in there and you’re moving quickly.”

  The grip I had on my temper began to slip and fray away, and the volume of my voice increased with each word. “I wouldn’t mistake a live woman for a dead one!”

  Any side chatter immediately stopped. Everyone in the Plague Tent was staring at me, patients and medical staff. I clamped down on my emotions. Goddammit Vibby, stop losing your shit.

  Lattimore stared me down. “Then how do you explain her turning?”

  Nevermind. Fuck this whole pleasant attitude stuff. I took a step toward her, only to be yanked back by one of the soldiers next to me. “I don’t know how the fucking thing works. Some people turn faster than others.” Why is this familiar? Wasn’t I just talking about this? My brain seized that last bit: “I talked to Renati earlier, and…”