DEAD: Onset: Book One of the New DEAD series

by TW Brown

  “Additionally, the president is expected to speak at seven Pacific Time, approximately eighteen minutes from now. Martial law is expected to be declared on a national level, and Portland is already in the process of recalling all members of the National Guard.

  “I ask you now to please follow the instructions you will see on the screen and do your part to keep the peace here in our beautiful city. If you are listening on the radio, this message will be repeated on a loop until the president speaks. After his address, your local stations will be broadcasting continuous updates of what to do. We will get through this, but only if we stick together as a community.”

  The man smiled and tapped the pages on the desk as if to signal that he was finished. There was a flash, and then the EBS pattern returned. The crawler began scrolling the high points of the national and local addresses as well as the locations to bring those who were infected.

  “Wow,” I breathed. “I guess it’s official.”

  Honestly, to have it all said like that suddenly made it real. I’d been doing my best to come to grips with the idea of zombies like the ones in the movies, but now a person behind a desk wearing a suit—no matter how rumpled—had just given this a solidity that it had lacked.

  As much as I’d dismissed the media and its overblown hype machine…there was power in seeing this announcement on the television.

  “We need to get moving, Chewie,” I said.

  As if she understood exactly what I was saying, the big Newfoundland lumbered to the front door and sat down beside where her leash and collar hung from a peg. I made a whirlwind tour of the house and grabbed the things I felt most essential. I was in the process of grabbing a stack of blankets when I heard a tremendous crash from out front.

  I hurried to our living room window and peered outside to see Grady’s house in flames. A tree in his backyard had fallen across the roof and caved in the far end of the house where the bedrooms were located. The heat was now something I could feel. Like it or not…ready or not…it was time to go.

  I told Chewie to stay while I hauled the pitifully few boxes and stacks of things I thought I might need into the back of the pickup. The two things I’d been certain to take on the first trip were the picture from the kitchen and the box in our bedroom closet that held the case containing my Ruger .357. The three boxes holding a hundred rounds each suddenly did not seem like much. Still, it was better than nothing.

  I ran to the bathroom with a pillow case. I figured that I would just grab everything in the medicine cabinet and our toothbrush drawer and be ready. I was scooping things into the open cloth case when my eyes registered something sitting on the counter. I might have stared at it for several seconds, still just grabbing everything and dropping whatever my hands clutched into the opening, my actions slowing incrementally until at last I stopped.

  The realization of what I was looking at gave me a sick feeling. I set the partially full pillow case down and then just stood there with my hands on my hips. Suddenly, I felt like Brad Pitt at the end of Seven when he kept pleading with Morgan Freeman.

  “What’s in the box?”

  I reached down and picked up the object. Turning it over in my hands, I felt my throat tighten once more. Tears were already welling in my eyes. But they were not so bad as to keep me from seeing the little “positive” in the window of the pregnancy test.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Steph had uttered those words in her delirium. This had to be what she’d been referring to when she’d said them. I staggered back against the wall and slid down to the floor.

  “Noooo,” I wailed and threw the little plastic wand.

  It hadn’t been bad enough that I lose the woman I love? I looked up at the ceiling, my eyes boring a hole straight to the heavens. I couldn’t be considered a religious man, but if there was a God, then it was to that entity that my scream of rage was directed. I heard something and felt the nudge of my faithful dog as she came to see what could possibly be causing her master this much distress.

  I felt more tears trickle down my cheeks and closed my eyes as Chewie’s tongue wiped them away as fast as they could appear. I threw my arms around her neck and I bawled. At one point, I briefly wondered if I would be able to stop. It truly felt as if something inside of me had shattered into a million unrepairable bits.

  I don’t remember her disengaging, but at some point she had done so and was now in the living room, barking and whining. I could smell smoke now and knew that my time here had come to an end unless I wanted to just give up and die.

  Now it was Grady’s prophetic words that came to mind. “That pretty little gal of yours is gone, and you don’t see what else there might be worth fightin’ for. And I can tell you this…a fight is a comin’ and it ain’t one nobody is ready to take on.”

  The thing is, fighting was never my thing. Not that I allowed myself to be pushed around, but I simply was not the kind of guy to go looking for a fight. Being punched sucked. I’d been in a scrap shortly after Steph and I had started dating. One of the guys on the construction crew I was with had made a lewd comment about her. I’d politely explained that I did not appreciate what he’d said and asked that he not do so again. He had not accepted those terms.

  The actual fight had been brief. Supposedly, I’d been considered the victor due to him ending up out cold. I’d managed to land a lucky shot right on the point of his chin. Still, my hands had been swollen and sore for a week. Also, my busted lip and black eye hadn’t felt much like what I imagined winning should feel like.

  By the time I’d finished loading and brought Chewie out to the truck, one of the bushes in my front yard was smoldering and threatening to go up at any moment. I gave one last look back at the house where so many of my hopes and dreams would go unrealized.

  “I am going to fight my hardest,” I vowed. Whether it was to myself or something that I put out in the cosmos in the hopes that Steph would know, I have no idea.

  I climbed into the cab and looked up to the end of the street where the exit of the cul-de-sac emptied onto the main road. The fire had already jumped across the street, so both sides were sporting twin pillars of smoke and flame. It was gonna be warm on the way out, that was for certain. Add in the dozen or so figures that were limping and shambling with apparent aimlessness and this was going to be an exit worthy of any action hero.

  “Hang on, Chewie,” I whispered, giving the dog a scratch behind one ear.

  The engine turned over and I noticed all of the closest walking dead turn as if they heard me. I would file that away as the first item to get confirmation of when I had the time and opportunity: Zombies react to sound.

  I shifted the truck into drive and eased out onto the street. I hadn’t really been paying attention when I got home, but the whole block was strewn with debris. There were loose articles of clothing tumbling in the breeze that was driving the fire this direction. I also noticed that two of my neighbors’ houses looked abandoned, but their front doors were wide open.

  The second house on the left is what made me apply the brake and pause despite the urgency that churned in my belly. All the lights appeared to be on and the curtains open wide. At the front room window, a figure stood, pawing at the glass.

  “Missus Browner,” I said to the night air.

  Mrs. Browner was in her early fifties. Her husband had died from a heart attack about five months ago and there was a lot of speculation that her constant screaming and nagging that could be heard all up and down the street was likely the greatest culprit.

  The woman, at least on the surface, was absolutely beautiful. Sadly, her core was toxic. She was always complaining that somebody’s garbage had been knocked over and blown into her yard, or scolding people for not keeping their yards and flowerbeds in the same immaculate shape that hers were in—at least until her husband died. If not for the kindness of others, it would’ve been hard to tell where her lawn ended and the rose garden along the front of the house began before lo
ng.

  Ever since her husband passed, she had rarely been seen or heard. The only reason her yard had been mowed was because of Grady. He’d done it one Sunday while she’d been at church. That was the only day of the week you might catch a glimpse of her, and then only as she walked to and from her car.

  Her left arm came up to slap at the window and I could see the fouled bandage that was now only still in place because of the dried blood that had it cemented to her skin. I could not recall the number of times I made snide and nasty remarks about that woman. Now…I felt pity. She had died alone, probably scared, and in a lot of pain most likely.

  I eased past the flames and looked around at the destruction caused and likely to worsen with the fire raging out of control. Houses and small businesses were adding copious amounts of fuel. This neighborhood was packed in nice and tight. Add in the fact that we loved our trees, and it was all too easy for the unchecked blaze to hop from one building or residence to the other.

  Once I managed to get away from the worst of it, I decided that it might be best for me to head over to Franklin High School. It had been listed as an emergency shelter location.

  As I drove, I was seeing a lot of empty police and assorted other emergency vehicles parked askew here and there. None of them showed signs that their occupants were anywhere nearby.

  I pulled up to a pair of squad cars and put the truck in park. My throat tightened reflexively and my stomach turned at what I saw. Sprawled beside the open passenger door was what remained of a policeman. I could not begin to imagine the pain he must’ve endured.

  His left arm was a few feet away from what remained of the upper half of his body. Just across the street, I spied a pair of the undead hunched over what had to be one of his legs. His insides were in a gory heap around the mangled and broken remains of his torso. What added to this macabre scene was the fact that the policeman had turned and his head was aimed at me. His dead eyes were locked onto my pickup and his remaining arm was reaching impotently for me despite the fact that the truck was a good ten feet away.

  My eyes drifted to the pistol sitting just a few feet from him, basically in the middle of the road. Just past that was a section of his belt with a small oblong case that I was guessing held a few spare magazines.

  Scattered not too far from all that were four zombies that had obviously met their end here when this poor guy made his last stand. I considered my chances and took a look around to ensure that, other than the leg-munchers just across the street, there were no other zombies wandering around.

  “You stay put, Chewie,” I said to the big dog that seemed just as interested in what was going on outside the relatively safe confines of the truck’s cab as I.

  As quietly as possible, I pressed the lever and eased my door open. The rush of sound was surprising and made me realize how insulated I was against the world while in the cab of my pickup.

  Now that I could hear more clearly, I almost wished that I’d stayed in the truck. Screams carried on the night. They were all terrible in their own way, but some stood out. When the source of one scream or another managed to include a few words of obviously unheeded begging and pleading, it made me want to be sick. I heard cries for mothers, fathers, God. As far as that last one, I just don’t think He is listening anymore.

  Scattered amidst the cries, I could hear the short, staccato bursts of small-arms being fired as well as the resonant crack of rifles and the thunderous booms of shotguns. It was all there.

  The Pacific Northwest is often called an outdoorsman’s paradise. Hunting is such a big deal that some schools actually plan for it and anticipate the absentee rate increase. There is no shortage of guns. That is something that I would be keeping in mind as this scenario unfolds. If things look like they are going the way of the pulp fiction and midnight movie renditions, then at least I know I shouldn’t have any problem finding weapons once the worst of the chaos has subsided.

  Somewhere close, I heard the sounds of screeching tires followed by a terrific crash. There was an explosion that I recognized as a transformer blowing. Sure enough, a split second later, the lights all up and down this section of road flickered and went out. The area was plunged into an eerie quasi-darkness that was only pushed back in pockets where fires burned unchecked.

  I did not want to be out here any longer than necessary. I was thankful that I’d had the presence of mind to point the headlights of my truck in the general direction of the pistol. I suddenly felt a bit foolish coveting it so much as I hurried over and grabbed it.

  I hustled to the belt and my fingers clutched it. I stood to turn and run…and froze like a deer in the headlights.

  The belt had been just a few paces from the rear bumper of the squad car. It never occurred to me that there may be a zombie lurking behind it. After all, I would have been able to see anybody standing there…right?

  True…unless the thing waiting on the other side of the police car was in a condition similar to the poor officer that had been ripped in half (and then some). Sprawled on the ground, lying on its belly, was a woman who looked old enough to be my grandmother. Like the poor officer, she had also suffered the terrible fate of being ripped in half. Unlike him, however, she still had both arms and was now using them to drag herself towards me.

  Her mouth opened and closed as she gurgled and hissed. The ambient spillover from my headlights provided a little bit of illumination to see the horror all too clearly. I was having a difficult time tearing my eyes away from the wet strands of her insides that were dragging behind her ruined lower abdomen. I just wish that was the worst of what I was seeing.

  There was a little boy who couldn’t have been any older than four. The dark stain down his right side from where his little arm had been brutally wrenched off made my heart hurt in sympathy. He was sitting on the curb, his one good hand holding a fistful of something I was grateful I could not see clearly. It was bad enough to see it being shoved into his mouth. More darkness dribbled down his chin and added to his filthy tee shirt.

  As soon as he saw me, he paused in his feasting. Very slowly, his one hand lowered and he cocked his head to regard me with what seemed like a peculiar degree of interest. Unlike zombie granny, the boy made no move towards me. He simply continued to stare with eyes that, even in the shadows, I could see were laced with the dark tracers.

  I took a step back. That seemed to almost frustrate zombie granny as she made very slow progress in her pursuit of me. She began to mewl and moan even more intensely. Her hands slapped the pavement impotently and nails broke as she clawed at it to try and close the distance between us.

  My eyes flicked from her to the child. He still showed no signs of moving, but there was no doubt that he was watching me. His head would tilt first one way, then the other. I continued to back away slowly until he vanished from my line of sight; then I broke into a run. I had no idea why that zombie kid hadn’t made even the slightest move for me, but I was in no mood to push my luck.

  I reached my truck just as another horrific shriek of pain came from nearby. I was almost in the driver’s seat when the next scream came. This one was not in the register of those I was now associating with individuals who were being ripped apart and eaten alive. This was…well…it was just a regular scream. Fear, horror, futility. It could be any, or a combination of each. What I was certain of was that this person was close and, as of this second, not bitten. At least I was pretty sure.

  “Stay,” I commanded Chewie. I doubted she needed any coaxing to stay put, but I’d felt the need to at least say something to her before I shut the door and went in search of the source of that scream.

  It had sounded like it came from just across the street…and in the direction of the leg munchers. Crap.

  I felt my grip tighten on the hand axe that I actually kept forgetting was in my hand. I took a deep breath and then started towards the darker shadows. The building looked to be housing some sort of small bakery. I suddenly craved donuts and had to concentrat
e to keep my mouth from filling with saliva as my stomach reminded me that it was long past when I should’ve eaten something.

  As I dipped into the darkness, I paused to let my eyes adjust. To my right, the leg munchers had apparently grown weary of gnawing on that mangled limb now that something more substantial was presenting itself. Before the closest one could stand, I moved over and brought the axe down hard on the crown of its head.

  “Dammit!” I hissed. I jerked my hand away leaving my weapon jutting from the top of the zombie’s head. I shook the hand that had wielded the weapon as if that would make the terrible stinging sensation just magically go away.

  Now I had no axe with one zombie still getting up to come for me and began to fumble for the pouch on what was left of the belt I’d recovered. I could’ve tried for the axe, but that meant going towards the still animate ghoul.

  My hunch proved correct and I pulled out a magazine for the officer’s M9 Beretta nine millimeter. Slamming it into place, I let the slide do its job and brought the weapon up just in time to jam it into the forehead of the zombie and pull the trigger. The skull acted as a pretty decent sound suppressor, although the noise still echoed up and down the street.

  The body dropped like somebody had just pulled the plug. Without seeing if I’d drawn the attention of any other zombies in the area, I snatched my hand axe free and ran to the shop where I heard a crash that sounded like a bunch of metal pans being thrown to the floor.

  Another scream came and I plunged forward…like an idiot. I reached the glass-paned entry and saw a young man standing up top of a counter. He had what I first mistook to be a massive club like you would imagine the cartoon cavemen carrying. When a shaft of light caught it, I realized it was just a very large wire mixing whisk. That explained why it was doing little more than knocking the large female zombie backwards a few steps each time he swung and connected.