DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  “Long blades?” Thad asked as he cinched the belt he’d been handed.

  “Keith has ‘em downstairs.” JoJo cocked his head towards the doorway. “He’s already at the exit hall waiting for us.”

  “Dinah down there, too?” Thad asked.

  JoJo smiled. “She’ll be there to lock the door when we leave, and watch Doc check us head-to-toe when we get back. She’ll be the one to pop a round in our skull if we have so much as a scratch.”

  “Yeah, well this is the last trip,” Thad scoffed.

  “You think we’ll have it ready?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “You slipped out again last night, didn’t you?” JoJo scowled. This was the third time—that he knew of—where Thad left the hotel on his own to tend to their “project.”

  “Yep.” Thad smiled slyly. “Slipped two of those pills you gave me in Bridgette’s drink. Fucked her to sleep, and was in and out before she came to.”

  They reached the landing of the ground floor. Thad put a hand on JoJo’s shoulder. “We finish on this run and leave tonight. And I’m not taking Bridgette.”

  “Still don’t trust her?”

  “Never did, never will. Ever since I found that cigarette butt on my balcony…I’m positive this is some sort of arrangement for Dinah to keep tabs on me.”

  “It’s your piece of pussy, man. You wanna ditch it, that’s on you,” JoJo sighed. “Prob’ly ain’t much to spare out there. Mother fucker just wants to cast his off like it ain’t no big deal!”

  “I’ll always have you.” Thad patted the man on his broad shoulders.

  “Sick bastard,” JoJo snorted and pushed open the door.

  Keith was leaning against a metal door that would lead outside. As expected, Dinah was also there with two guys Thad recognized, but didn’t know by name. Both held shotguns on their hips like they were posing for some demented NRA poster.

  “You’re late,” Dinah snapped.

  “Got stuck in traffic,” Thad dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Besides, it ain’t like those crates are gonna go anywhere.”

  “Unless somebody else finds them,” Dinah growled.

  “Yeah, ‘cause we’ve seen lots of live folks just wandering around lately,” JoJo whispered not quite under his breath.

  Keith snorted and quickly tried to pretend he was inspecting one of the three swords he had under his arm. Thad laughed out loud making no effort to hide his contempt.

  Dinah glared at Thad for a moment. Then, as if realizing that she was clearly showing that he’d gotten to her, she gained her composure and resumed her normal outward expression of cold authority.

  “Be at this door by sunset,” she said as she unlocked the big padlock that kept the additional precaution of a heavy chain secured tightly.

  “Or?” JoJo spoke up as he buckled his shoulder scabbard and slid the long blade in its place.

  “Or you figure out how to survive until sunrise the next day,” Dinah snapped. “I will not have lights down on the ground floor after dark. Those things seem to be able to home in on even the briefest hint of light, and if they start clustering around this door, well…”

  “Then you’d all be trapped inside and die slowly of hunger and dehydration.” Keith handed Thad his sword now that he’d strapped on all his belts and the shoulder scabbard.

  Dinah’s expression flickered on the edge of anger again. She hated letting these two-bit, petty criminals get to her. As a police officer, she’d gotten accustomed to the last word…her tenure as leader of this band of survivors was in jeopardy as of late. Three of her ten section leaders—the individuals that she placed in charge of each of the floors they currently lived on— had challenged her right to be the person of authority at the last community meeting.

  Dinah knew that order and discipline was the key to survival now. For the first several weeks, nobody questioned a single decision she’d made. Now it seemed as if the shock was wearing off. People were beginning to call for votes on some of her rules or plans. And these three men were probably the worst agitators. She’d thought often of how ironic it was that three of her most frequent collars were now cohabitants.

  All three were homeless vagrants with multiple arrests. Now that the world had fallen apart, they were all living much more luxuriously than they had before this unimaginable catastrophe. She’d decided early on that these three were her most expend-able asset.

  However, she knew that she would need to dangle a carrot. So, one by one, she’d struck a bargain with the miscreant trio. A choice of living quarters and permission to claim certain “luxuries” they would acquire on their foraging runs. It was no surprise that booze was the luxury of choice, along with—and she marveled at their uncanny ability to locate—an impressive quantity of marijuana. Still, if that was all it took to keep those three subjugated, it was a small price.

  Lately, they’d stopped hiding their antagonistic attitude towards her. Worse, they were beginning to affect the other residents. She’d considered kicking them out. Only, now that the dead had converged in such great numbers on their location, nobody but those three would venture out.

  When they began losing at least one person per foraging mission, the volunteer pool dried up. And just like any puddle, all that was left was the scum at the bottom. As much as she hated to admit it, and she never would out loud, she needed these three.

  “Ahem.” Keith shouldered past, snapping her reverie.

  “Just be at the door by sunset.” Dinah spun on her heel and walked away clinging to the empty satisfaction of having the final word.

  “Bitch!” JoJo called as the door slammed shut and the rattling sounds of the chains being replaced turned a few heads in their direction.

  ***

  A lone figure sat on the roof of a visibly well-looted 7-11. Below him, swarms of the undead milled about, heedless of his presence. He popped the cap on the last Mountain Dew and took a long drink. The lukewarm fluid seemed almost tasteless after the entire package of cookies he’d just eaten.

  The pressure in his gut built fast and he had to press his lips together tightly and cover his mouth so as not to belch loudly and attract attention. Sitting where he was, he could see his next destination: Jim’s Outdoor Supply.

  Surveying the building from this distance of only three blocks, the place looked remarkably untouched. This was his greatest stroke of luck in days. Glancing at his hand, he frowned. Well, he mused, if I don’t count this. He flexed his hand for emphasis. The indents and bruising where he’d been bitten still hurt a bit. He was certain that every time he dozed off would be his last time as a member of the living; but day after day for the past week…nothing.

  Cary stood up, careful to ensure he was out of sight of the mob. He dug a golf ball from his pocket and sought his target. Across the street and two buildings over would do perfectly: Ann’s Doll Emporium.

  Seriously?

  “Sorry, Ann.” Cary took aim and threw hard. The huge picture window, painted with big Ragged Ann and Andy dolls in each lower corner, shattered. The noise was incredible compared to the recent relative silence.

  Bodies turned and moved towards this new distraction. The backside of the store’s parking lot was mostly clear. It wasn’t likely to get much better. Three blocks would seem like three miles, but he had to try. Cary lowered himself and dropped to the ground. Two zombies were already shambling his way.

  12

  Geeks, Girls, and Guns

  Kevin walked up to the dilapidated Ford Escort that sat alone in what seemed to be an endless parking lot that stretched off into the horizon in every direction. He peered in the driver’s side window.

  Empty.

  Turning, he leaned against the door and took a deep breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Never having been a smoker, Kevin suddenly wished he could fish a cigarette from his shirt pocket and light up. It always looked as if folks who did such things in movies and on television found some sort of peace.


  A dull thud made him jump. Kevin spun and staggered back a few steps at what he saw. Cary stared back at him through the driver’s side window. But that was impossible. He’d just looked in and seen the car was empty. Seriously, there was really no place to hide a body in such a small space.

  A hand came up to the window and pawed in futility. Kevin stared into the milky, black-bloodshot eyes of the undead caricature of the man who had once been his friend.

  “I’m sorry, Cary,” he whispered.

  Pulling his nine-millimeter from its holster, he lined up the shot. It wouldn’t be right to leave Cary like that; trapped in a beat up Ford Escort as a zombie. He wrapped his finger around the trigger. As he started to squeeze, his arm began to tremble. The slight tremor quickly changed to violent shaking. He dropped his arm with a cry of sorrow and frustration. Zombie or not, Kevin couldn’t reconcile the thought of putting a bullet through Cary’s head.

  “I’m sorry,” Kevin cried. “I’m sorry.”

  Cary’s face pulled back from the glass. His hand pressed firmly like he was trying to pop the window out. Then, with a speed unlike anything Kevin had seen from any zombie, Cary’s head shot forward exploding through the glass.

  “Kill me!” Cary’s zombie screamed.

  Kevin sat bolt upright. Searching frantically, it took him a few seconds to remember where he was. They had pulled into a rest area about five miles east of a town called Zanesville. After a thorough walk-through, it was decided that this was not a bad place to stop for the night. It was remote, and they hadn’t seen a zombie or any sign of movement—living or dead—in almost a half hour.

  The surrounding countryside was relatively flat, and the biggest obstruction was the concrete building that housed men’s and women’s bathrooms. This allowed everybody the luxury of an actual toilet…minus the running water. Still, it was better than a bush.

  After they parked and everyone climbed out to stretch their legs, Mike and Darrin did a search to make sure the bathrooms—as well as the handful of abandoned cars—were empty of surprises. Once the “all clear” was given, the senator and her daughters quickly vanished into the bathroom.

  Senator Angela Bergman. While she was certainly a big deal, it was actually the daughter, Shari, who he had recognized but couldn’t recall where from. That was because he wasn’t into bubblegum-pop music. Shari Bergman was the flavor-of-the-week in the Top-40 music scene. Only, in the past month, the big scandal involved Erin, her fourteen-year-old sister. Little Erin Bergman was pregnant by Shari’s manager. The tabloid shows and magazines shifted into sleaze-journalism overdrive. Additionally, the big cable news networks—not much better than the tabloids in Kevin’s opinion—had been in an absolute tizzy.

  Now, Senator Bergman was simply Angela, and her daughters were three frightened girls thankful to be alive. The four currently slept atop the roof of the bathrooms. Kevin, Mike, and Darrin took turns on watch. Kevin exiled himself to the U-Haul’s cab when it was his turn to catch some zees.

  Taking a few deep, steadying breaths, he scooped up his gun and holster along with a sturdy hand-axe that he kept in a loop on his belt. Climbing out of the truck, he waved to Mike who sat on the rear bumper of Darrin’s recently acquired firetruck. Mike raised a hand in acknowledgement.

  Walking across the moonlit parking area, Kevin marvelled at the quiet. It was simply amazing. Also a bit unsettling as each footstep seemed amplified and even the sound of his own breathing carried on the cool evening breeze. As he reached the rear of the firetruck, a tremor of anxiety rippled through him and settled in the pit of his stomach. While Mike had at least been cordial, Darrin still spoke to him only when it was necessary.

  “Drink?” Mike offered a brown bag containing a bottle.

  Kevin accepted, then stopped suddenly as a familiar smell invaded his nostrils. “Is this…?”

  “Schnaps.” Mike nodded and smiled wide enough for it to show even in the shadows.

  “Where on earth did you find it?” Kevin asked. “I mean, all the booze was in the back of the El Camino.”

  “Not all. I had a pint under my seat. I pulled it out when I thought the windshield was gonna burst. When things began to look like I might actually live,” Mike shrugged, “I tucked it in my pocket.”

  “Literally facing death, and you worry about a pint of Schnaps. Some folks might consider that to be an alcohol problem,” Kevin chuckled and took a sip.

  “Yeah, well,” Mike accepted the bottle and took a much bigger drink, “those folks are most likely dead.”

  “Harsh.”

  A sudden cry caused both men to jump. Each had gone for his gun out of reflex, but both stopped short of drawing their weapon.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s Erin,” Mike answered Kevin’s raised eyebrows. “All that obnoxious attitude she throws out when she’s awake is probably how she’s coping with being so damned scared.”

  “Well, she is just a kid,” Kevin offered, his gaze focused on the squat concrete building.

  “And knocked up.”

  “That can’t help.”

  The two drifted back to silence, passing the bottle back and forth until it was empty. Eventually, Mike excused himself, wandered into the bathroom, returned, and climbed up into the back of the firetruck. Moments later, his snoring drifted on the night air.

  Kevin walked around the rest area, scanning for any sign of movement. He heard Erin cry out a few more times. Once, he thought he heard quiet voices, most likely Angela, providing some comfort. So far, the four females basically kept to themselves. They ate apart, slept apart, and usually did not venture outside of the vehicles until the caravan stopped for the day.

  That first evening they had been giddy and talkative, even Angela. But by the next day it seemed as if the rescue was long forgotten. The Bergman women—well, one girl and three women—closed ranks. What was worse, Angela seemed to believe she still held some form of authority. It wasn’t that she acted snobbish, it was simply that even though she did nothing to contribute to their overall situation, she would delegate tasks and insist that she have a say in the many on-the-fly choices that were made daily.

  Yesterday, Mike finally lost his cool after a refuel stop. They spotted a Shell station all by itself just off the interstate. Just as they had on several previous occasions, Mike, Darrin, and Kevin arranged fueling order by radio. It would be Darrin’s firetruck, then the U-Haul.

  Kevin could hear arguing in the background as he and Mike sorted the details. It was Darrin and Angela. She, Erin, and Shari opted to ride in the firetruck. That left him driving in awkward silence with Ruth. Finally, Mike came back on the radio, “Tell Ruth to be ready to meet up with her mom and sisters.”

  “We won’t be sparing any of the three of us!” Darrin’s voice yelled in the background.

  Kevin glanced over at Ruth who returned his look with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. He knew she had been some sort of lawyer prior to all this. He briefly wondered how many people on the witness stand withered under that look and babbled. Well, he wasn’t about to say a single word. He turned his gaze back to the road and focused an inordinate amount of attention on the upcoming off-ramp. He could feel Ruth’s brown eyes boring into the side of his head and considered asking her what the hell she wanted, but knew that would be playing right into her hand.

  “If I’m getting out, I’ll need a weapon.” Her voice wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, all of the Bergman’s had very pleasant voices, with almost an underlying purr.

  “Take the machete under the seat,” Kevin said.

  “And what would you expect me to do with that?” Ruth asked.

  “The instructions are fairly simple,” Kevin smirked. “Grip the handle and swing the cutting end at the head of any zombie that gets close.”

  “I’d prefer a gun.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Kevin said, trying not to sound exasperated. “But the first gunshot will be a dinner-bell to every zombie within miles. We face less likelihoo
d of being over-whelmed if we make as little noise as possible.”

  “Okay.”

  Kevin couldn’t help but cast a glance Ruth’s direction. Surely she was setting him up for a bigger argument. She was holding the blade in her left hand—hmmm, southpaw—and turning it side to side, hefting it to get an idea of its weight.

  “Remember, when that blade cleaves into a skull, this ain’t the movies. The blade will often times get a bit stuck.” Kevin let off the gas as they reached the off-ramp.

  “If I chop off the head, will that work?” Ruth asked.

  “Only in that the body will fall.” His estimation of her raised just a bit.

  “Like a rattlesnake then,” Ruth stated matter-of-factly.

  “Huh?” Now Kevin was perplexed.

  “You can cut the head off a rattlesnake, but it will still bite you for a while out of reflex.”

  “Yeah,” Kevin had been very impressed in that moment by Ruth, “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

  They pulled into the truckstop and quickly found the cap for the gasoline storage tanks. Nobody was really talking much, and there was a lot of tension above the norm—mostly between Darrin and Angela. Still, the Bergmans clustered together and held some sort of meeting. Then, as a group, they made for the main building which was obviously some sort of store. At least it had been. It also contained a diner. That was probably the source of the fire that had brought down half the place.

  While Darrin methodically dispatched the few roaming zombies drawn by the group’s arrival, Mike and Kevin filled the vehicles as well as a fifty-gallon drum that they discovered the day before. Once it was topped off, Kevin called for the Bergman women to load up.

  “We’re drawing a lot of attention!” Darrin called as he began backing towards the big red firetruck.

  “Ladies!” Mike bellowed. “We really gotta go now!”

  There was no response or movement from the charred remnants of the building. Kevin drew the longsword from its shoulder harness and began jogging to where he had seen the gals duck inside. Along the way he simply steered wide of the slow moving undead that chose him as a hopeful meal-du-jour. He’d have to fight his way back, and would save his energy for that possibility.