DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  Heather smiled as they neared the large aluminum gate that would open to a chute leading to the milking house. This ain’t the movies, she heard Cary’s voice in her head. There was no love story here, only two people fighting to survive.

  “Smell that?” Kevin’s voice intruded on her thoughts.

  Heather sniffed. “Ewww! What in the—” she clamped her mouth shut, aware of how loud her outburst had just been. She continued in a whisper, “What in the world is that? It doesn’t smell like zombie.”

  “No,” Kevin agreed. “And do you hear that noise?”

  Heather strained to hear. It was coming from the milking house. It was a low-pitched buzz. Just like—

  “Flies,” Kevin said with a shudder.

  “That loud?”

  “I think so,” Kevin added as he unlatched the big gate. He escorted Heather through and then shut it behind them. Taking a look to ensure the coast was clear, he shoved the pipe wrench and sledge through the space between the slats of the chutes and began climbing over.

  “Where are you going?” Heather asked, looking down the length of the chute to the closed door that would lead to the oblong milking house.

  “I think it would be best to look through the windows.”

  “Oh.” Heather nodded, and began to climb over to join Kevin. She stopped with one leg over the top, straddling the fence. “Ummm, Kevin?”

  “Yeah?” he answered absently, gathering up his weapons.

  “We got company.”

  “Where?” Kevin’s head popped up, his entire demeanor changing as he looked around for the source of possible danger.

  “Up at the house.” She pointed.

  Kevin looked over at the rather extravagant three-story house. It certainly had a lot of windows. Now that he got a better look, he could see that most, if not all of the windows on the ground level were busted. Coming out of the open backdoor to the place were three badly mauled child-zombies. He guessed the two boys were no more than four. The girl looked close to Heather’s age.

  “Gretchen Stanley,” Heather sighed.

  “Stay put,” Kevin held up a hand, “I’ll take care of this.”

  “No,” Heather said as she swung her leg over and jumped to the ground. Tugging the sledgehammer from Kevin’s hand, she looked him in the eyes. “We’re a team. Those aren’t people.”

  “Fine,” Kevin shrugged, seeing the resolve in her eyes, “which one do you want?”

  “I’ll take Gretchen,” Heather said as she turned, grim-faced to confront the approaching undead. “Besides…she borrowed my favorite sweater a few months ago and never returned it.”

  “Whatever works.” Kevin smiled.

  Together, they converged on, and made short work of the zombies. Kevin only managed the one smallest boy while Heather put down Gretchen with amazing efficiency, then the other small boy.

  “How you doin’?” Heather asked needlessly. It was obvious that Kevin was in pain. They needed to get inside and actually get some rest.

  “That took a bit out of me,” Kevin admitted.

  “Let’s check out the milking house later,” Heather insisted. “Whatever is in there…it’s bad. But nothing is making any noise, banging on doors and such. Let’s not risk it. It’d be better if we check that house out and find if we can get a little rest.”

  “Okay.”

  Heather waited, but apparently there wasn’t going to be an argument. That was a testimony to just how bad off Kevin was. Of course there was still a matter of ensuring that the house was clear.

  They reached the open door and peered inside. The stench of undeath was thick, and the two both took an involuntary step backwards.

  “Been awhile,” Kevin gasped.

  “Yeah,” Heather agreed. She hadn’t realized until just then how free of that smell they’d been. Gads, she thought. What must it’ve smelled like in that tiny room in the basement of Heath High School?

  “Can we be lucky enough that those three were all that were still inside?”

  An eerie moan from the depths of the house answered the question. An old man in coveralls with most of his right arm gnawed down to the bone below the elbow stumbled around the edge of a tipped over chair. Directly behind him was an elderly lady wearing jeans that looked stiff from all the dried blood. There was no sign of a shirt, but the remnants of a bra were gore-welded to her loose, sagging, bluish-grey skin. A softball-sized hole in her right side allowed something rope-like to dangle, swaying against the hip like a meaty wallet-chain. Additionally, the right side of her throat was eaten away and a piece of her loose jowls hung freely, shivering with the awkward steps taken by the rickety zombie.

  “Mister and Missus Stanley…the grandparents.” Heather backed up. “Should we bring them outside, too?”

  “Absolutely,” Kevin agreed. “Good thinking.”

  Together, they led the elderly pair outside before they brought them down. Heather noticed that Kevin wasn’t looking at all well. A sheen of sweat on his face made the paleness look almost gray, and his skin had a waxy appearance. She needed to get him laying down. He didn’t look like he could go on for much longer.

  “So,” Kevin panted, leaning forward with his hands on his knees; the pipe-wrench had been tossed aside, clumps of hair, flesh, and brain-matter clinging to it, “you think that we’re done?”

  “Not really,” Heather walked to the stairs that led up to the backdoor, “but you need to wait here. I’ll go in and take a look.”

  “No!” Kevin straightened up.

  “This isn’t a debate,” Heather insisted. “I’ll go in and look around. If the parents are there, I will lead them out.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you going in there alone,” Kevin said with a wince. He closed his eyes and brought his hands up to his head, massaging his temples.

  “And I don’t like that you’re almost ready to pass out on your feet. You go down in there and then I’ll have two problems.”

  “But going in alone…that never ends well in the movies.”

  “Like Cary always says,” Heather climbed the stairs and stopped at the doorway, “this ain’t the movies.”

  “Fine,” Kevin conceded. “But I’m counting to three hundred. That should give you almost five minutes. If you aren’t out by then…I’m coming in after you.”

  “Deal,” Heather agreed, and spun on her heel.

  She moved slowly through the kitchen, and paused once she reached the archway that would take her to the dining room. Having been in the house before, Heather had a good idea where everything was. Only, now with it so dim, and things overturned and scattered about…it seemed slightly disorienting.

  She peered into the dining room and her hand came to her mouth. There was dried blood everywhere. Beside the broken ruins of the ornate dinner table where Heather remembered enjoying a few meals over the years lay what was left of Patty Stanley.

  In life, she’d been a short, stout, but happy woman. After surviving a bout with breast cancer, she’d begun a foundation so that the women of the lower income families of Heath could receive annual breast exams. She was never lacking a kind word when you passed her on the street.

  The pile of meat and entrails in a heap on the floor was an insult to the woman’s memory. Heather was too disgusted to cry. She stepped wide, moving to the head of the mess. Both legs were gone, one just above the knee, the other seemingly torn from the hip socket. Likewise, the arms were missing, one lay—mostly eaten down to the bone—a few feet away. The body was a mess.

  Heather was pretty certain what the source of the strong smell could be attributed to. A thick swarm of flies buzzed about, angry at this disturbance. Heather couldn’t tear her eyes away from the hollowed-out body cavity. She saw movement inside and it took a moment to realize what she was seeing. Maggots. By the thousands. And not just on the inside, but also infesting the pile of what remained of Patty Stanley’s entrails in a heap beside the helpless body. The worst though was her face. Slack, de
void of that customary happiness, it looked nothing like the woman Heather remembered. The dead eyes stared up at her and the mouth opened and closed, teeth clicking in an un-syncopated rhythm.

  With a cry of anger and frustration, Heather brought the sledge down. Again, and again she swung until the skull shattered and oozed out the blackened jelly of brain mixed with shards of pulverized bone.

  She felt more than heard the presence behind her. Looking over her shoulder, Conrad Stanley, Patty’s husband, stood in the doorway that led to the enormous living room. He seemed mostly uninjured except for the jagged stumps where the index and middle finger of his left hand used to be. Strands of blackened gauze still hung from his wrist, firmly secured by several wraps of tape. However, his face was a horrifying mask of dried viscera that clumped in thick globs in his beard.

  His baby-cry moan brought Heather’s mind back to focus. As he reached down for her, she rolled off to the side and came up on one knee. With an arcing swing, she shattered the left knee. The zombie of Conrad Stanley buckled, and collapsed. Rising, Heather brought the sledge down hard on the crown of Mister Stanley’s head. Two more swings finished the job.

  With a sob, she tossed the weapon aside and staggered to the living room. She saw smears of darkness on the walls. Most of the framed pictures had been knocked off or hung askew, but no zombies. She went to the stairs and listened…silence.

  It wasn’t a certainty, but Heather felt fairly confident that if there’d been any zombies left in the house, she would’ve heard them. She went back, scooping up her sledge along the way, and emerged into the relative sweetness of the air outside. She stopped for a moment, her gaze drawn to the large black cloud of smoke rising in the distance off to the right and across an expanse of open, mostly flat fields. Heath was burning.

  “Kevin?” Heather called. He’d moved under a tree and sat propped against the trunk, pipe wrench across his lap. A surge of anxiety flooded her when he didn’t respond.

  Slowly she crossed the yard to the man who remained motionless and unresponsive. The way his chin was tucked down, she couldn’t really see his face, but he looked ghostly pale in the shade of the big tree. No, she thought, not after everything else today.

  “Kevin?” Heather stopped a few feet away and crouched down. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest. Moving beside him, she brought his arm up around her shoulders. He stirred, mumbling something again. Taking his pipe-wrench in her free hand, she coaxed him to his feet.

  His head swung over to her and his glazed, unfocused eyes scanned her face. “I’m really sorry,” he slurred. His mouth hung open for just a moment, and a puzzled look came over him. Then, his head drooped and he began staggering towards the house.

  Heather stayed with him, certain that he would fall over at any moment. Each step seemed more labored than the last. There was a moment when they first stepped inside that he stopped. His face scrunched up in disgust at the terrible smell, but eventually she had him moving again.

  They made it past the carnage in the dining room and through the living room. She considered just letting him lie down on one of the dirty sofas, but it was so filthy and the smell…there was no getting used to it.

  One at a time, she got Kevin to climb the stairs. It turned out not being as difficult as she’d anticipated. At last, they reached the second floor. To the left, an open door revealed a large linen closet; directly in front of her, a closed door. That would be the grandparents’ bedroom. To the right was a large, open area with windows on two walls, floor-to-ceiling bookcases on the third, and a short hallway that led to another bedroom and an enormous bathroom.

  Figuring that the odds were good that the huge grandparents’ room would be empty, Heather brought Kevin to it. Still, no sense being foolish. She leaned him against the wall…slowly letting go and waiting to see that he wouldn’t fall over. He stayed put, and she leaned the heavy pipe-wrench against the wall as well. She preferred the sledge if the need arose.

  Opening the door, all she smelled was a mustiness mixed with what she could best describe as old-people smell. The room was clear of any danger, and she got under Kevin’s arm once more.

  “Almost there, Kevin,” she said softly.

  She got him to the four-poster bed and eased him back. There’d been a standing rule that you slept with your boots on in case the need arose for a hasty departure. Kevin wouldn’t be doing anything hasty for a while. She unlaced and removed his boots.

  “Yuck,” she turned her head. His feet gave the zombies a run for their money in the stinky department. Next she peeled off both socks.

  “You’re gonna have to get over this,” she sighed. Kevin was filthy.

  Leaving him on top of the thick, goose-down comforter, she went downstairs. In the back yard was a hand-pumped water spigot. Hopefully, it still worked. Stopping in the kitchen, she grabbed a big pan that looked like it could hold a huge Thanksgiving turkey. Jogging outside, keeping an eye out for any signs of movement, she went to the pump. A few minutes later she was back upstairs with a pan of water.

  She stripped Kevin, deciding to leave his underpants until the very end. It took over a dozen trips and she used half a bottle of body wash and six wash rags, but finally, Kevin was clean. She had to manhandle him in the end to get him to the floor so she could strip the bed. She’d dug out a pair of Grandpa Stanley’s boxers for him and tucked him in; his head bandaged, his body clean. As an afterthought, she tucked a rolled-up blanket under his feet.

  Face is red, raise the head. Face is pale, raise the tail. She’d remembered the mantra from her sophomore health class. She wasn’t exactly certain what it was supposed to be good for, but it probably couldn’t hurt.

  Next, she tended to herself. Using the bathtub, she washed herself from head to toe. The first few trips to the pump, she’d wrapped a towel around herself. Eventually, she decided it was fairly pointless. Rummaging through the bathroom, she found what had probably been Gretchen’s razor. She changed the blades on each leg, and under each arm. Afterwards, she went up to the third floor to Gretchen’s room.

  Hanging up in the closet was her sweater. Too bad it was so cursed hot. Sifting around, she found a pair of plaid shorts and a white, short-sleeved blouse. Those will do for now, she smiled. In the top drawer of an enormous dresser she procured a bra and clean panties.

  Feeling better than she had in a while, she went to the windows and made a slow circuit. There wasn’t anything moving. The worst of the heat of the summer day made everything ripple. From the top floor, she had a better view of the fire. It was massive. She’d need to keep a watch in case the outpouring of Heath-zombies came their way, but it looked as if they could rest…at least for now.

  15

  Revelation

  “What the fuck!” Lee’s head popped up.

  “He was bitten.” I turned, the gun feeling very heavy in my hand.

  “But—” Lee’s eyes were wide with…fear?

  “There are no buts,” I cut him off. “I’ve watched somebody be allowed to turn before. It almost cost me dearly.” The sounds of that night, Thalia’s screams…Dave’s pleading…all of it echoed in my mind.

  “You killed him in cold blood!” Lee’s voice rose in pitch and volume.

  “And if you don’t shut up or quiet down,” I brought the gun up level with his chest, “I’ll kill you, too.”

  “Steve!” Melissa, Ian, and Billy shouted almost in unison.

  “This isn’t a game, people,” I said, not taking my eyes off—or pointing the gun away from—Lee.

  “Hey, man,” Ian stepped closer to me, “I hear what you’re sayin’, but this ain’t the way.”

  “You’ve missed a few meetings, Ian.” I tried to keep my voice calm. “Serenity is gone…wiped out. And now, besides Thalia, I’ve got Emily Smith to watch over.”

  “Wait…who?” Billy scratched his head.

  “Randall’s daughter,” I said.

  “That gover
nment guy?” Ian asked.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “I promised to take care of her. And that’s exactly what I intend to do. We’ve picked up a few and lost a few, some of it because I didn’t act. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “What gives you the right to just execute people?” Lee challenged, only I noticed he did it a lot quieter.

  “Survival,” I said flatly. “My right to survive, along with Thalia, Emily, Teresa…and anybody else in my care.” I glanced over at Melissa.

  “But you don’t get to just shoot people,” Lee argued.

  “Umm…yes…I do. That’s the whole deal. What you aren’t getting is that things aren’t like they were a few months ago. A bite is a death sentence. You get bit…you don’t get to endanger the group. There ain’t any ACLU no more,” I laughed. “No more appeals, no more nothing. So you can leave and start your own group…make your own rules. But if you stay with me and mine, then it’s my way.”

  “You’re crazy.” Lee edged towards the door.

  “And you ain’t goin’ anywhere right now.” I waved the gun a little for emphasis. “We came for supplies, but you decided to bring the whole zombie population down on us. So, you’ll sit down, shut up, and wait until I have what I’ve come for. Then, I’m heading back to camp. If you come, fine. If not, that’s fine, too. But you’ll not be doing a damn thing unless I say.”

  “And if I do?”

  “I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  “Y’all just gonna sit back and let this happen?” Lee turned to Ian, Billy, and Melissa.

  “Aaron and Jamie with you?” Billy ignored the question, asking me one of his own.

  “Yeah,” I nodded, “and Dr. Zahn, along with Teresa, Barry, and Randi.”

  “Plus a couple of folks we picked up along the way,” Melissa added.

  “They like him?” Billy hiked a thumb at Lee.