Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  “We lure them away.”

  “With what?” Curtis watched the corpses watching them back, shaking his head. “We’re all out of Beggin’ Strips, your eminence.”

  Billy slowly turned to Paul with his mouth agape. “Oh, hell no! Don’t even look at me, man.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Paul stared at the dead and they stared back without budging from the SUV. Twenty-five against one. Good versus evil. He could smell them from this close. Even the chilly mountain temps couldn’t squash the rot wafting from their splintered skin. The stench was getting worse and he couldn’t imagine what they would smell like this August. Or this time next year. Their shredded clothing tugged at his heartstrings. For beneath the blood and grime, he recognized some of the name brands. Could imagine the stores they bought them in. Could see the beaming smiles their faces once wore as they hit the slopes or went to dinner with family and friends. Now, their expressions were hand-me-downs, passed down from something sinister. No, they didn’t want to go shopping anymore. They didn’t want pizza and Cokes in the food court. They wanted him dead and there were no two ways about it. Movement off to his right pulled at his attention but he stared straight ahead, silently cursing Calvin for shifting behind a nearby pine. Paul held his hands out and let the M4 hang from his neck.

  “Well? Come and get some.”

  The corpses snarled but didn’t move from the passenger side of the black Suburban. Paul gritted his teeth, anger blooming in his gut. “Motherfucker,” he grumbled under his breath, stepping a little closer. “Don’t start getting shy on me now!”

  The mob maintained their assiduous post, standing between him and the supplies he couldn’t survive without. His heartbeat quickened in his chest. He hoped the smell of his warm flesh would trigger their primal instinct to overpower whatever was keeping them at bay. They should be all over him by now – at least one of them – but they stuck to their dastardly plan and it got under his skin.

  Stepping even closer, he reduced the amount of space between him and the dead, simultaneously decreasing the margin of error when the others started shooting from the sideline. Not only would they have to miss the truck, but they’d have to miss him as well and the safety zone was getting sandwich thin. “I know you can smell me,” he said, holding their dead eyes. “I know you can’t control yourselves because you’re less than human. Less than animal.”

  They didn’t bite and Calvin screamed. Paul whipped his gaze into the trees just in time to see someone dragging him off into the woods. Calvin’s weapon sprayed the treetops and the sound quickly faded with his screams over a steep hill as he vanished from sight. Gunfire erupted as the others tried saving their comrade, temporarily leaving Paul on his own. He snapped his head back around, fully expecting the undead to be swaying on their feet right in front of him, their rancid breath cold on his face. But they were still standing next to the truck like good little bitches.

  Hitting the electric start on the keychain in his pocket, he brought the Suburban’s V-8 to life. The headlights came on as well and it was just enough to distract the gathering corpses for a shining moment. They turned to the Suburban, as if life was waiting for them inside, and Paul wasted zero time making his next move. Unlocking the doors, he darted toward the front of the vehicle and started shooting as soon as the truck was just outside his line of fire. He held the trigger down and screamed at the top of his lungs, spraying the throng with bullets and splattering the truck with bloody guts and strongminded vengeance.

  The dead went down easily enough but the shooting going on behind him was a different story. The others continued their assault on something he couldn’t see and it sent a tremor rolling through him. Time was of the essence. Hopping into the driver’s seat, Paul slammed the door shut and shifted into gear, the M4 hanging from his neck interfering with his ability to steer. He gunned it up the driveway and slammed on the brakes, throwing it in park and popping the door open. Shadows flickered in the trees, peppered with muzzle blasts and screams. He was about to jump out and join in the fight when his gaze hooked on the rearview mirror. Paul’s stomach tightened at the sight of Dan sitting in the backseat. His best friend’s face had continued to decay since that fateful night at Brock’s house and the only way Paul knew it was him was by the torn clothing on his back and the bloody blond hair sticking out in all directions. Dan was barely recognizable, his jaw hanging by a sinewy thread, and it was all Paul’s fault. Like so many others, he had failed Dan and it pressed against his lungs like an iron corset.

  “Stay in the truck,” Dan said in a calm voice that sounded as much like Dan as his face looked like him.

  Gunfire jolted Paul from his daze. He turned to see Stephanie backing toward the SUV with an assault rifle hammering her shoulder and a ponytail swinging back and forth across her jacket. He saw the things coming closer and stuck a leg out of the vehicle. A heavy hand plopped down on his shoulder, driving him back into the seat. “Trust me, Paul.”

  He stared at Dan in the mirror, afraid to turn and look upon him with his own two eyes. Afraid he would turn to stone if he did. “Why?” he breathed, his response coming out in a shaky plume.

  Dan looked out the window on his left and opened the backdoor. Paul turned and the color fled his cheeks. He pulled his leg back inside and slammed the door shut just before a plump man in a parka slammed into the door, rocking the vehicle. Curtis grabbed the man’s fur lined hood and yanked him back far enough to blow his head off without scratching the truck. Turning to face the throng behind him, Curtis spread his legs and opened fire, jerking with each ear splitting round and laying down cover for the rest of the team. “Get in,” he shouted, picking off corpses as his teammates weaved through the trees.

  Billy dove through the open backdoor first, sliding across the leather seat where Dan was no longer sitting. “Calvin!” he cried, crawling into the tailgate as Wendy jumped in next. Stephanie reached the open backdoor and her head yanked back just before she got in. She screamed to the high heavens as a man in a neon green vest pulled on her ponytail. Paul pushed his window button down and raised the Beretta, watching the glass slowly lower between them. The utility worker pulled her closer to his bared teeth, the window taking its sweet fucking time getting out of the way. Reaching behind her, she grabbed a fistful of her own hair, engaging in a deadly game of tug and war while Curtis and Brian mowed down the dead stumbling closer. The window finally cleared, letting in Stephanie’s horrified shrieks and the cool mountain air. Paul stuck the handgun out the window but it was too late. The dead thing won the battle and his teeth found Stephanie’s shoulder. She cried out and Paul squeezed the trigger. The man spun to the ground, taking Stephanie with him. Paul jumped out and was about to shoot him again when he saw the dark goo oozing from a hole in his left ear.

  “He won’t let go!” Stephanie cried, wrestling with the dead man’s rigor mortis-like grip on her ponytail.

  Paul pushed her hands away and pulled on the man’s wet fingers until they snapped off in his hand. Throwing them to the ground, he helped her to her feet and checked her shoulder.

  “How bad is it?” she cried, craning her neck for a view she couldn’t get.

  Paul couldn’t breathe, staring at the bite-mark in her coat. Pushing a finger through the circular imprint of the man’s teeth, air finally slipped into his lungs. “It didn’t break the leather.”

  “Are you sure?” Pulling her coat and shirt over her shoulder, she twisted her head around like an owl, desperate to see the wound.

  “It’s just a bruise.”

  “Are you sure?” Her eyes rose to meet his. “Behind you!”

  Spinning, Paul shot a woman in the teeth and pushed Stephanie into the backseat before sliding in behind the steering wheel. “Curtis!” he yelled through the open window, watching Curtis back his way to the passenger seat with his weapon jerking and smoking against him.

  Brian fired off three final rounds, efficiently dropping three more stiffs, and squeezed
in next to Stephanie while Curtis climbed in up front. They shut the doors at the same time and Paul hit the locks button. Hands shot through his open window and grabbed the collar of his coat. He pushed them back with hollow points that rattled his vision and stung his ears. A few fingers held fast, hanging by the bony knuckles digging into his coat. Lifting the window switch until it engaged the auto-up feature, he let go and knocked the hands away. Chest heaving, he leaned into Curtis to avoid any sudden swipes at his face, gun aimed directly at the things still reaching for him. Decomposing hands grabbed the rising window, slowing its roll and making the small motor inside the door whine as if it were pulling a thousand horses. Fists and faces began slamming down around them, rocking the SUV and blotting out the sunlight. With the window nearly to the top, Paul got into the gas pedal and shook two female corpses from the hood. A tall man got his fingers caught between the window and the door. He stumbled along with the SUV, snarling and snapping, eyes pleading for Paul to stop and give him a ride. Then his fingers ripped off and stuck in the window as he tumbled to the ground and disappeared from view. The vehicle bounced as it ran him over, the wheel jerking in Paul’s hands.

  “Fucking-A, man,” Curtis yelled, twisting around in the front seat to see a few corpses still plodding up the driveway after them. “Those sonsabitches don’t give up!”

  “Reload!” Paul yelled, tearing up the driveway.

  “Are you okay?”

  Stephanie nodded at Curtis. “He didn’t break the leather.”

  Curtis blew out a relieved breath and sank into the seat. “Jesus Christ, that was too close.”

  Paul’s eyes darted between the asphalt ahead and the rearview mirror. Blood dripped from the fingers lodged in the window, running down the glass like oil. “What happened to Calvin?” he shouted, driving way too fast even though the horde of undead were quickly falling behind.

  “They got him!” Stephanie blew a loose strand from her face and switched out magazines with trembling fingers. “They came out of the snow.”

  Paul did a double-take at her in the mirror. “They what?” He yanked the wheel to the left, narrowly missing a tall birch with peeling white bark off to the side of the driveway.

  “They must’ve had some friends bury a couple of them because the snow isn’t even that deep,” Billy added, slapping a mag in with his open palm. “Never saw em coming.”

  Paul pounded the wheel. “Fuck!”

  “This shit gets more screwed up every day.” Curtis exhaled a breath that ballooned his cheeks. “Maybe we should start wearing camo.”

  “Or Kevlar,” Stephanie added, massaging the back of her head.

  Paul pulled around the circle drive and parked so they could zip straight down it if they had to abandon ship in a hurry. Jamming it in park, he turned off the engine and popped outside. With gun barrels pointing in all directions, they huddled together in a tight circle, readying themselves for the next attack they knew was coming. The spooky quiet sat in direct contrast to the natural beauty around them. It was a perfect March morning that held bird calls, the smell of jasmine and blatant lies in the air – cosmetic makeup for the festering sore lying just beneath. With no sign of the living dead, Brian’s younger brother Gary stepped out from the front porch, covering them with a 12-gauge and jumpy eyes. Hesitantly, he came closer, lips silently moving as he took them in.

  “Four, five, six,” he murmured, eyebrows melting together into a frown. “Where’s the seventh? There were seven of you when you left.”

  That’s when the screaming started. Everyone snapped their heads down the driveway and followed it into the trees. Even though the shrieking was so high-pitched, Paul knew it was coming from a man. Knew it was coming from Calvin. Hanging his head, he prayed it would stop. Just stop and be over with. But Calvin continued wailing off in the distance as those things went to work on him.

  Gary stared down the driveway with the shotgun slowly lowering along with his jaw. “What is that?”

  Wendy turned from the tortured cries of pain splattering the mountainside, cringing with the incessant echoes that followed. “Calvin,” she replied dully, trading a look with Dot, who stood on the balcony above them with a rifle wrapped in her hands. “He didn’t make it.”

  Gary looked at Paul as if he needed reminding of which one of them was Calvin. As if he had no idea who Wendy was talking about. Paul let his gaze weave into the woods as Calvin shrieked like the dead were slowly picking him apart, each painful cry piercing his heart like a rail spike, and was he was powerless to stop it. Curtis jammed the butt of the M4 into his shoulder and stomped down the driveway. Paul grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Curtis turned to him with pleading eyes and Paul slowly shook his head. Turning away, Curtis stared down the driveway with Calvin’s unanswered pleas increasing the lines in his face.

  The screaming went on forever, each ghastly bellow making the group recoil in revulsion, every drawn-out echo pushing their pulse to the limits yet again. Then it stopped. Their eyes met in the quiet that smelled of gunpowder and pine needles. Paul could picture the scene in his mind, wrenching his insides. He could see Calvin lying on his back with his empty eyes staring up into the trees, glasses lying broken in the snow while a mass of decomposing flesh throbbed over his lifeless body, unraveling his intestines one handful at a time.

  “Holy shit,” Billy whispered, ready for the fattest straggler that ever existed to spring from the woods at any moment. Ready to do anything to not end up like Calvin. “That was the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “He was a good man and he’s with his wife now.” Paul hit a button on the key fob that electronically popped the tailgate. “Let’s get this stuff inside and regroup. We leave tomorrow at dawn.”

  “Dawn?” Wendy wrinkled her brow. “And go where?”

  His eyes shifted to Brian and hovered on him for a moment before words slipped past his lips. “To start a brushfire.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Coming out of a Jack and Jill bathroom down the hallway, Stephanie stopped in the doorway of a spare bedroom and smiled at Paul while the others devoured the food from the Suburban out in the kitchen. He looked up, body heavy and sinking into a loveseat set into a nook with a bay window behind it. Her black tank top fit almost as snugly as her jeans, stirring a dormant swarm of butterflies inside his stomach. Catching himself on the verge of staring, his eyes drifted over her shoulder to Dot, who walked by with a pair of scissors and black hair all over her Atlanta Braves t-shirt. Stephanie’s combat boots strolled through the stripes of sunlight cutting across the floor and stopped in front of him. His eyes traveled up her long legs until finding the sheepish grin gracing her face.

  Running a hand through her wet hair, her eyebrows went up as the others laughed at something down the hall. “Well?”

  He sat up a little straighter and cleared a lump from his throat. “You look like a totally different person.”

  She flashed him a faint smile. “I am,” she replied, sitting next to him and massaging the back of her head. “That guy almost pulled the hair right out of my scalp.”

  “Looks like that won’t happen again,” he said, admiring the way the sun shone against her oily locks. Shorter in the back and sides, her bangs fell a bit longer than the rest and she was almost as unrecognizable as Dan. Almost.

  Warmed by the sun, the smell of shampoo floated from her hair, mixing with the wood burning in the guestroom’s small fireplace. “I haven’t had a pixie cut since fourth grade,” she said, toying with her new ‘do.

  “I’d say Dot’s got some skills with the scissors.” Paul fell headfirst into her dark pools, melting into the sparkles residing within. “You look…amazing.”

  A smile bloomed on her lips, creeping back into her flushed cheeks. She set a hand on his leg and squeezed, sending an electric charge shooting through him. “Thank you.”

  “Most girls can’t pull off short hair but you…”

  “No, I meant thank you for s
aving my life back there.” She wet her lips. “Again.”

  Words dangled from the tip of tongue as the heat from her hand passed through his jeans and seeped into his leg. “You’re welcome.”

  Her hand lingered past the point of proper, filling him with a calmness he hadn’t felt for a long time. “I feel heartless getting a haircut after something like that happened to Calvin,” she said, taking her hand back.

  “As long as you didn’t get your nails done too, I think you’re okay.”

  She stared into his eyes for a split second before bursting into laughter and shifting to face him on the loveseat. “That appointment isn’t until next week.”

  “Right after the bikini-wax?”

  Her brow folded. “What?”

  “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.” Sitting up, Paul examined her bare shoulder with his eyebrows dipping. “Jesus,” he whispered, tracing a round bruise with his fingertip. The contusion was already turning purple and reminded him of the imprint the pharmacist’s teeth left in Sophia’s shoulder. Blowing out a drained breath, he leaned back into the cushions. “That was way too close.”

  Her face sobered in the light coming through the window behind them. “I know.”

  “Maybe Kevlar really isn’t a bad idea.”

  “Are you sure you want to leave here tomorrow morning? It’s so nice.” Her eyes drifted to the fireplace popping against the bedroom wall. It wasn’t even eleven in the morning yet and, with the sun penetrating the house’s many windows, it was already getting hot. Since they would be leaving here in the morning, most likely forever, Brian decided to splurge on the kindling stacked outside the patio door downstairs. Three fireplaces were going in the house and the laughter erupting in the kitchen got on Paul’s nerves. Calvin was just torn to pieces and, though no one knew him, the death of another shouldn’t be so easy to forget. “And safe.” Stephanie’s lips squished into the side of her face. “Well, it’s getting there anyway.”