DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  “Randi and I will be there.” Barry reached over and patted Teresa’s knee.

  “I’m in,” Dave said.

  “Then it’s settled,” I looked around the room, “we leave tomorrow morning.”

  “I take it you will be bringing Thalia,” Barry stated more than asked.

  “She’s one of us,” I said, half-expecting a challenge. “Besides, this place is an illusion of safety. After that situation with the airbase, I don’t imagine anywhere actually being safe.”

  Ten minutes after everybody said their goodbyes and left, there was a knock at my door. It was Melissa. Her arms were folded across her chest tight, and the look in her eyes told me I’d done something wrong.

  Oh God, don’t let her be pregnant, I thought.

  “So you’re all gonna just leave?” She pushed past me into the living room.

  “Umm…” I didn’t really have a good answer, and saying I just forgot would probably not go over well.

  “I may’ve been a mess when you found me, but I am fine. Not crazy. And while I may not be G.I. Jane like Teresa, I can do my part. I didn’t really get much of a chance before. What, with the whole being in shock thing.”

  “Melissa….” Nope. I still didn’t have anything to say, so I stood there with my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

  “And if you’re wondering about the whole sex thing…well I can’t give you a good answer on that. I woke up and had no idea what I’d say to you…or Thalia. I mean you two are like a family. And believe it or not, I don’t make it a habit of just jumping into somebody’s bed on a whim. Counting you, I’ve had sex with three people. The last of which I saw being eaten alive before my very eyes and…” she paused and I thought the tears would start again. They didn’t. “I just needed to process things.”

  “Then I’m guessing you want to come with us?” I finally had something to say.

  “Absolutely, those are my people, too.”

  It was settled. We said our goodnights and she left. I was already packed and ready to go, so all that remained was to enjoy one final night of relative peace and quiet. I checked in on Thalia who was fast asleep with her giant teddybear.

  Settling in on the couch, I picked up the book I’d been trying to read for the past two weeks: The Mayor of Caster-bridge by Thomas Hardy. I had thirty pages left and figured this would be the last chance at such a casual event in a long while.

  As I cracked open the dog-eared paperback, another knock came at my door. With a sigh I gave the book a look of resignation and set it back on the coffee table. I had no idea who to expect. Pretty much everybody I knew had been here and left. I certainly didn’t expect—

  “Doctor Zahn, what a…” Surprise? Inconvenience?

  “I’m coming with you.”.

  Nope. I’m never gonna finish that book.

  14

  Vignettes V

  Kirsten Malloy opened what was officially her last can of pears. Her mouth already began watering the moment that the round cutting-wheel of the can opener sliced into the tin. She couldn’t ever remember smelling canned pears in a light syrup before. But now…well it was probably the best smell ever in her thirteen years of life.

  As she pushed the round piece of tin down with her thumb, then popped the lid up, Kirsten considered whether to eat sparingly or…with a slight twist, she pulled the circle of metal free, tossed it aside, and dug in ravenously. She would have to venture out for food today no matter what.

  She thought back to the last time she’d gone out. Over the past few weeks, she had worked her way down the street. House by house she had broken in and taken all the food she could find. At least all the stuff that wasn’t totally gross.

  Old Miss Perkins’ house had been the latest. That stupid old lady was probably still trapped in her bathroom. The monster-people weren’t good at opening doors. That old lady sure loved canned pears! Kirsten took another big plastic sporkful in her mouth, not letting a single drop of the juice escape. Of course there was a lot of stuff in the cupboards that she left behind. Seriously, she thought, who eats sardines!

  The next house would be Amber’s. Of course Amber and her parents weren’t in it. They were still standing at the gate of her house.

  Her house.

  Kirsten guessed it really was her house now. Mom and Dad had both been gone since all this crazy stuff started almost five weeks ago. She still couldn’t think about that day without crying.

  Philipé, one of the groundskeepers, had attacked her daddy at the main entry gate. He had bitten Pete Malloy on the hand and face. Arturo, another groundskeeper had beaten Philipé with a shovel to get him off her dad. Mom rushed her dad to the hospital that night. They never came back.

  All of the servants took off the next day, leaving Kirsten and Arturo behind. Together they watched on the television what looked like scary movies. Only, it wasn’t movies…it was the news. Eventually, the electricity went out.

  There were screams and shooting and sirens for a few days. Then…it was quiet. That was the scariest night of all. The first night of complete silence. Eventually, those things began crowding around the wrought-iron double-gates that used to open electronically and allow cars to enter Malloy Estate. What had once been an enormous plantation before the Civil War was now a walled-in private residence complete with two Olympic-sized pools, tennis court, and a driving range.

  Three times, Arturo went over the wall in search of supplies. He only came back over the wall twice. Now, he was out there with Amber Cosgrove and her parents.

  Sometimes Kirsten would get lonely and walk down the long driveway to the main gate. She would sit and try to talk to Amber…Mister and Missus Cosgrove…Arturo.

  Amber looked bad. She was wearing a long pink nightgown torn open on the left side where she had been attacked. Her left arm was totally gone, and some of her insides hung out from a rip across her stomach.

  Arturo was a nightmare. Both of his arms were gone. His throat was a big hole with something gross poking out. But his body was the worst. He’d been ripped open and most everything that should’ve been inside was missing…or more upsetting …dangling from the huge hole. Something had torn away a piece of his scalp, and the skin of his face looked like it might slip off in places.

  Two times now, Kirsten ventured out for supplies on her own. She had watched Arturo each time he left the estate, and knew to go to the gate first and make a lot of noise. Then, she would duck through the hedges that lined the driveway and run a ways along the nine-foot high brick wall that separated her home from the world. She would tie the knotted piece of rope she’d made to look like Arturo’s to a tree and, after climbing up to make sure the coast was clear, she would drop it over the fence and climb down.

  From there, she would sneak behind cars or slip into bushes as she made her way to whichever house she’d be grabbing food from. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out how slow and stupid those things were. Twice she’d gone into a house that was ‘occupied’. Both times she’d tricked the monster-people—or person with Old Miss Perkins—into a room, and then ducked past and out to close them in. It was creepy to be in the house with those things slapping the door. Plus, the noise always brought more monster-people.

  Shoveling the last bit of pear into her mouth, then drinking the syrup, Kirsten scooped up the backpack—once used to carry her school books—and her coil of knotted rope. It was time to go down and see Amber, Mister and Missus Cosgrove, and poor Arturo.

  ***

  Garrett brought his booted foot down hard on the head of the hissing, squirming zombie-child that had lurched at him from the thick hedgerow that appeared to run the distance of the street he was considering. There was an initial resistance, then a pop, and finally the eventual crunch as the skull gave under the pressure. He’d tried crushing skulls this way before, but it only seemed to work on children or the elderly.

  If he intended to explore this street, he’d need to be cautious. He knew this had
been a wealthy neighborhood before. One thing about the rich, they liked the illusion of privacy with their fences and tall shrubbery. The houses would mostly be back from the street, some behind walls.

  Something in Garrett’s mind sent tingles. This, he thought, would be a good place to search for a new toy to replace the one he’d left at the baseball park. He’d been alone the past few weeks, and he was starting to have those dreams again. Ennis’ face leering at him, a floating head surrounded by blackness.

  “Git over onta yer belly!”

  Garrett always woke before the worst of it happened, but still, he only knew one way to make those nightmares disappear. Become the nightmare. A voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Ennis whispered.

  “Shut up!” Garrett growled as his eyes scanned the length of the street for both opportunity and danger. He was about to head towards an open gate that led to a three-story, red brick home when a sound froze him in place.

  It was the slightest hint of a grunt. His eyes were the only part of his body to move as Garrett sought out the source. There! In a tree on the other side of a wall that travelled the length of the right hand side of the street was a girl! He watched her tie a rope to the branch she currently straddled. Then, she lowered the knotted rope down the wall where it vanished between hedge and wall. She lowered herself down, vanishing from sight for a moment.

  When she vanished, Garrett took the opportunity to squat down behind a nearby car. A moment later, the girl emerged tentatively from the bushes. She’s done this before, a voice—not Ennis’—mused in Garrett’s head. Coltish legs emerged, and Garrett now had his first real look. She was tall. Almost six-feet, he guessed. Skinny. Probably from not eating well. Her near waist-length, sandy hair was a bit matted, but overall she looked clean.

  She turned his way, and for a moment Garrett thought she looked directly at him. Then, she moved slowly out to the street and her gaze drifted away. With long strides she took off down the street, a small backpack in hand.

  Standing to watch her go, he absently stuffed his hand down the front of his pants to shift things around. Just watching her brought him to almost complete arousal. His hand lingered, and it took considerable willpower to not sate the rising desires coursing through him right there in the street.

  No, he scolded himself, release and pleasure would come soon enough. The question was, did he chase after her, or climb that rope and see if there might be others? If there were people who might search for the missing girl, it would be best to kill them now so he wouldn’t be interrupted later.

  Garrett slipped from behind the abandoned vehicle, to the tree, and finally to the thick hedge. With one final longing glance in the direction the girl had dashed off, he plunged into the bushes. He emerged in a space much too narrow for him to fully be free of the dried and dying branches full of leaves that, without the daily watering from the timed sprinklers, would be completely dead within another month.

  Grasping the rope, he easily hauled his massive frame up and over the wall. Before him, the once immaculate grounds of a house that looked like it belonged in Gone With the Wind appeared empty of any persons…living or dead. Still, he would be cautious. Garrett dropped to the ground and did his best to move in the shade and shadows of various buildings, statues, and trees. He made a mental note to come back outside and enjoy the inviting coolness of one of the two huge swimming pools that were only a little tinged with green.

  Finally, he reached the enormous house. The back door was wide open. With a glance around just to be sure he wasn’t being watched, Garrett habitually ducked his head and entered. He wandered through a kitchen large enough to service a hotel.

  From room to room Garrett roamed. He was convinced he would find nobody here…for now. A check out the front door revealed a huge porch that ran the length of the front of the home with a roof supported by marble pillars. A white gravel path led to a driveway that went on for what must be the length of a football field. It ended at a huge double-gated security entrance. He could see a sizeable cluster of those filthy creatures reaching futilely through the spaces between the black, wrought iron bars.

  He shut the back door and made his way up a magnificent staircase. He went from room to room, ensuring that there was in fact nobody here. Eventually, he discovered the room he knew had to be where the girl stayed. A large box sat in a corner. Wow, Garrett thought, she sure likes canned pears.

  Finding a place where he could sit, he leaned against the wall and slid down on his butt. A pile of dirty clothes were mounded beside him. He picked through, eventually discovering the prize he sought: a pair of panties. Bringing them to his face, he breathed deep.

  ***

  Juan allowed the bow of the boat to drift towards shore. It was almost sunrise, and just ahead was one of those riverside gas stations. While he knew the pumps would be useless, he’d gotten quite skilled at siphoning gas from tanks. Also, for some reason, lots of boats had spare gas cans already filled and ready for the taking.

  A few lone, straggling zombies lurched about. Nothing too complicated. The solitary dock that jutted out was entirely empty of the things. He’d be able to tie off without any immediate problems. A flaking, white-washed building sat atop some stairs overlooking the dock as well as the boat launch. A large, paved parking lot was mostly empty, but there were at least eight deaders scattered about. A couple had already noticed his approach, and with arms outstretched, began heading his way.

  Juan counted nine boats. Two grounded near the large, open, grassy park to his left. One tied to the dock he was now edging up against, one up on blocks in front of some sort of boat garage, and five on trailers in the parking lot.

  It seemed fairly obvious that a few people had made a run for the river. Unfortunately for them, they’d come up just a bit short of their goal. That would hopefully translate to good news for him.

  Picking up the crossbow he’d discovered in a van at the last place he’d hit for supplies, Juan brought it up to his shoulder like a gun and aimed for the closest zombie. He pulled the trigger. The click and thrum whispered just above the sounds of the river. His target, a middle-aged man in khaki shorts, staggered slightly and then toppled over sideways.

  “Tight,” Juan whispered. He was getting the hang of his new weapon. So far he’d only lost one of the ten bolts that had been in the case.

  Hopping onto the floating pier, Juan tied off the fore and aft lines and picked up his crossbow. Three of the deaders were trying with mixed results to make their way down the stairs that led to the docks. After considering the possibilities and deciding against risking the loss of another bolt if one of his targets stumbled over the rail and into the water, Juan hefted his bat and advanced. With relative ease he eliminated the closest threats, then, using the crossbow, took down the rest. Before turning his attention on possible supplies, he retrieved the bolts, wiped them off, and ensured his weapon was loaded and ready.

  Since he was still looking good as far as food was concerned, he searched for fuel first, checking each boat. Finding seven more five-gallon cans, he unloaded those along with a half-dozen flare guns and nearly a hundred flares.

  After almost an hour, he’d taken out another dozen deaders, found one decent set of running shoes that fit, and discovered that the gas station had been completely looted of anything useful. Taking one final look around, Juan untied and pushed off from the dock. Turning over the engine, he did a quick inspection of every gauge on the panel. He wasn’t entirely sure what each thing was except the fuel and temp readouts, but so far nothing had red flashing lights or was pegged one way or the other.

  He backed out into the river, scanning both directions for anybody that might be out there with him. So far, he’d encountered a handful of other boaters. Not one tried to approach him. Juan couldn’t say that he blamed them, he wasn’t too anxious to meet strangers either. So far, his encounters hadn’t gone that well.

  Ever since he’d left behind those lunatics holed up in t
he county jail, everyone he’d met that still had a pulse and wasn’t set on trying to eat his face either out-and-out ran from him, or threatened to shoot him. Considering the last group of people he’d been with, and some of the things they’d done before taking over the jail…he didn’t really blame ‘em one bit.

  The rest of the day he chugged peacefully up the Willamette River, scanning the shore for signs of life. He’d been making this trip for the last couple of weeks. Making a circuit all the way around Sauvie’s Island, taking the Columbia River back up until he could turn south and rejoin the Willamette which he would follow down almost to Oregon City where the falls would force him to turn around and backtrack. He didn’t want to move too far away from the Metro area. At least he was familiar with the surroundings.

  As the sun began to set, Juan began looking for someplace to stop for the night. He never chose the same place twice in a row. That was a habit from his days on the streets sleeping in his beat-up old car. The dead were worse than the cops. At least the cops didn’t try and eat you.

  Finding a little inlet out of the main current, Juan killed the motor and let the boat drift. He grabbed the aft anchor and dropped it over the side, watching the line uncurl and draw taut. Once he’d come to a stop, he went to the front and released the two forward anchors.

  Grabbing the cooler from beside the captain’s chair, he took his customary evening perch on the hammock he’d hung in a big open space in the back of the boat. He pulled out a can of beer, popped it and took a long drink. He’d heard that some countries liked warm beer. They were crazy.