DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  “I am honored, Aaheru.”

  “I do not wish for you to be honored, I wish for you to be trusted and able,” Aaheru whispered with a grim expression clouding his face. “We have many things ahead that will be very …unpleasant. It is dark days before us, and I need to know that you will be the man I can count on as my eyes and ears…as a second mind to help with the tasks at hand.”

  “I shall strive to serve you with honor, my brother.”

  “I mean to bring back the Egypt of old…the people who were great…and feared.”

  Ahi considered what he was hearing. If there was any man who could do this, it would be Aaheru. While there may be certain aspects that would be unsavory, it was a far better alternative than to simply be one of the masses. What Aaheru proposed had promise if it were done correctly and he, Ahi, would be in a position to help mold the rebirth of an Egyptian people that were the products of the best that the ancient culture and the Western had to offer.

  “I will serve with my very life if you require it, Aaheru. And so, let me be the one to name you Pharaoh Aaheru, first of his name and first in his line. May you reign forever and sire a thousand sons who carry your name and your strength forward,” Ahi pledged, dropping to his knees. If I do this right, he thought, then it is I who will shape the future of Egypt.

  Aaheru gazed down at the top of the head of the man who knelt before him. He had chosen well from all the men who had found refuge in the City of the Dead. He had pegged Ahi as one who would not care to dirty his own hands, but would do what it took to survive. Right now, that was the most important trait he could find. This man would do exactly as he was asked, and as long as he was given the feeling that his own desires were being fulfilled as well, he would continue to serve faithfully.

  “Rise then and take your place at my side as we return Egypt to its glory!”

  Ahi stood. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a few onlookers openly staring. A couple he knew would be perfect candidates for his vision of a new Egypt; and a few that he would now need to watch.

  “Your first order is to find me a way to the water, and a ship that we can take to sea as we begin our quest for a new home,” Aaheru said. “I will expect you to return to me before the sun sets tomorrow with an answer. If you cannot, then I will begin to seek somebody who can.”

  Aaheru watched the man’s expression closely to see how it might change at the delivery of an ultimatum. If he were to indeed become the pharaoh of the people, then it was important that he be obeyed. If he gave a word or decree, then it must be followed. And if it were not, then it was equally important that he administer a consequence to ensure that others would see reason to submit.

  “I shall do as you command,” Ahi said with a deep nod that was almost a bow. “And when I return, give me the privilege of presenting you to the people as Pharaoh Aaheru.”

  ***

  “Set up on this corner,” Juan called, pointing to a section of the ruined bridge that jutted out. “We need somebody to cover the rest of us.”

  “Maybe I should go over with you,” Thad offered. “Not for nothing, but I don’t know these folks and having you and JoJo on the other side of the river with all these strangers…”

  “I understand,” Juan whispered. He was watching a couple of the guys grab-assing by the ruins of the market. One was standing all by himself, not talking to anybody and the others looked bored and put out to have been asked to come. “The thing is, I need somebody I really trust to watch my back and make sure we are covered if we have to beat feet.”

  Thad considered the words for a moment and conceded that it made sense. He also was struck once again by how much Juan had on the ball. He might’ve been a street thug before, and he might not have much formal education, but damned if he didn’t always seem to have his head screwed on tight.

  Across the river, a large knot of deaders were packed up against the edge of the walkway that ran parallel to the water. Every few seconds another fell in and vanished under the surface of the murky slough. Juan put the numbers he could see at about three hundred.

  “You absolutely sure that we need to clean these guys out?” Thad asked.

  “How many you figure have fallen in since we’ve been standing here jawing at each other?”

  “Dozen or so.”

  “They gotta come up somewhere,” Juan said. “I think it is best we deal with this now instead of waiting for them to break through our fence and end up catching somebody by surprise. Folks ain’t paying attention. It’s like they got here and think this is some sort of magical place where the deaders can’t get to them.”

  “I noticed that, too,” Thad agreed. “I just thought that it was me.”

  “Everybody get on the boat,” Juan called. The group began to drift, albeit very slowly, to the boat they would be taking across the narrow channel.

  “Well,” Thad gave Juan a squeeze on the shoulder, “if you and JoJo stay close, you should both be fine.”

  “That and having you on that scoped rifle,” Juan called over his shoulder as he started down to the boat where JoJo already had the engine going.

  A few minutes later they were puttering down the river. JoJo kept them about ten yards out and parallel to the shore as they cruised along. Several zombies had taken to following them, and Juan was hoping that they would continue to get strung out. It would sure make killing them a lot easier. They reached a section with a rocky beach that would give them plenty of space to fan out and take these things down.

  “Bring us in right there, JoJo,” Juan said.

  The boat arced as JoJo shut off the motor and let them drift in until it skidded along the sandy bottom and came to a halt. Everybody began to disembark and spread out across the beach as the leading edge of the zombies arrived.

  Juan wasted no time, striding in and taking down the closest deader. His machete was heavily weighted and crashed through skull after skull. Each zombie that fell was one less threat to Mackenzie…to his new life. It was the scream that sounded just behind him that broke the trance-like state that he had slipped into during this killing frenzy.

  When Juan turned, it was just in time to see JoJo go down to his knees under two children. One was on his back and had its face buried in the side of his neck. Blood gushed from the wound as the child, a little girl, pulled her head back. Juan was transfixed by the way a strand of skin stretched before snapping. His mind tried to compartmentalize things in a way to minimize the shock. Yes, he’d seen people die at the hands of a deader, but until this moment, he hadn’t been that close.

  Back in the jail, he was able to look anywhere else while the sex offender trials took place. That first night, when the “racial purge” took place, Juan had slipped away and avoided most of that evening’s events. This time, it was happening right in front of him to somebody he knew personally.

  JoJo’s mouth opened as he tried to say something, but all that came out was a gargling noise and blood. Lots of blood. The second child-zombie, another little girl, had him by the arm and was trying without success to chew through the leather sleeve of the jacket.

  Juan stepped forward, but as he did, the sound of a gunshot made him wince. The child gripping the arm toppled backwards, a neat, dark hole where the left eye used to be. Turning, Juan could barely make out the dark figure of Thad on the bridge. He saw a flash and then heard another shot. Spinning around, he saw the child on JoJo’s back tumble.

  Hurrying to the man’s side, he knelt. JoJo stared up at him, his eyes showing all the pain that his mouth could not. There was so much blood. Juan had never realized that there could be so much. JoJo’s hands were at his throat, but the blood poured through the fingers. It took a few seconds, but Juan realized that it was coming in rhythmic bursts. And it was slowing.

  JoJo shuddered once and was still. Two more shots came in rapid succession, snapping him back to reality. Looking over his shoulder, another deader was face down about five feet away. It had been coming for him! Juan cl
imbed to his feet and surveyed the scene. They had thinned the numbers dramatically.

  “Finish them quick and head for the boat,” Juan called. “Make sure—”

  The sound of a baby cry cut him off.

  Juan looked down to see JoJo sitting up. His eyes were glazed in what looked like snot and the black tracers almost seemed to slither across the surface. Juan stepped forward and raised his arm.

  “Sorry, man. I really am.” With all his strength, he brought the blade down on the crown of the deader’s head. He no longer saw JoJo.

  He was suddenly very tired. As everybody climbed into the boat, he looked around at the faces of people he didn’t even know the names of. Not one of them appeared to notice that one of theirs was not coming home.

  A thought struck him hard and twisted his insides. Would he have cared if it had been one of these people that he didn’t know anything about, not even their names? He would be the only one to mourn JoJo until he returned to the island. Then Thad, Keith, and Mackenzie would share his pain, but to many of these individuals, he was just another face lost in a sea of anonymity.

  That will have to change, Juan decided. He was probably more guilty than most. His life before had not prepared him for being social.

  Thad was waiting for them as he pulled alongside the tiny dock. A handful of deaders were already scattered about the fence as the first ones that had been forced into the water began to find their way ashore. Juan directed the team in the boat to deal with them and then went to Thad.

  “I didn’t see it until it was too late,” Thad whispered. “I was scanning the whole area watching for anybody who might need my help. I saw the two on JoJo, but when I looked, it was like they were just standing there…waiting for him to take them down. I didn’t think anything of it. JoJo doesn’t flinch when it comes to taking the little ones down. He sees it as doing them a favor.”

  “Wait,” Juan said. “What do you mean they were just standing there?”

  “I can’t explain it any better than that. The zombies were just standing there. They weren’t even reaching for him or nothing.”

  “Well I don’t know what happened,” Juan finally said. “We were working back-to-back. He didn’t say anything. I just heard him scream and that was it.”

  The two men stood in silence. Neither of them able to understand what had happened. Twenty minutes later, everybody was walking the long road back home. Juan tried his hardest not to be annoyed by the casual attitude the others showed. He couldn’t blame them. They didn’t know the man. Plus, how many of them had already experienced the first hand loss of somebody they knew…loved? How many had lost children, husbands, wives, and friends.

  Christ, Juan thought, I didn’t lose anything when this all started. The emptiness of the life he had lived up to that night when a hand had slapped the window of his car and woke him came crashing down. He’d never given a thought to relationships. A runaway at age thirteen, Juan had grown up alone. In and out of jail all his life, he hadn’t made one single real friend. He’d had sex with his fair share of ladies, but it had simply been a place to stick himself for a few minutes…feel good…and move on.

  As the group reached the area everyone called home, they began to peel off. Eventually, it was just Juan walking alone. By the time he arrived at the front porch to the house where he had first encountered Margaret and Mackenzie, the tears were stinging his eyes and making it hard to see.

  ***

  Chad stood over the body of the man. A rivulet of blood ran down one cheek, but it wasn’t Chad’s. Another body lay sprawled in a heap just up the road a ways, his blood still steaming in the snow.

  This third man—Jonas had been his name—was the easiest to kill only in the fact that he had stopped running when he heard the screams of his dying friend. As for the actual taking of another man’s life…

  Chad fell to his knees and wretched. The steam from his sick rose with that wafting off of the blood of the two dead men who shared this stretch of road with him now. He looked over at the man beside him in the snow, and his eyes were drawn to the dark gash that opened the man’s throat. Chad was fixated on the tiny-by-comparison cut that he’d given the man only moments earlier when he’d first suspected something was going on involving his daughter.

  In the distance he heard the shouts of alarm starting to spread. Getting to his feet, Chad didn’t care for the weakness in his knees one little bit. He took his first few steps, each one feeling a bit stronger than the last, and began the trek back to the village.

  The walk seemed a lot further than he remembered going when he’d been in pursuit of these sorry excuses for human beings. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the tracks in the snow that had been made during the pursuit of two of the men who had stood watch in the stairwell while the third had waited outside the room—presumably waiting his turn—and the fourth prepared to rape his daughter.

  The one thing he was thankful for was the fact that the man had not managed to actually force himself into his daughter. He was only privy to that fact because Andrea Stillwell, the woman he’d left Ronni with before leaving in pursuit of the men who had assaulted his daughter had taken her into the bathroom after he’d carried her inside.

  “Unless he’s got the smallest dick in history, he didn’t manage to get that far,” Andrea said with a shake of her head.

  Chad had stared at the woman with what he imagined to be a clueless, if not stupid, look on his face. After a few seconds where she stared at him as if she expected him to ask more questions, she finally clued him in.

  “Your daughter is on her period.”

  Chad still didn’t see how that had anything to do with her ability to discern whether or not he man had raped his daughter.

  “Your daughter’s tampon is still in place.”

  Chad felt a shudder even as he recounted that revelation. A daughter’s feminine hygiene is simply not something a dad wants to hear too many details about…ever.

  The fact that the men had not accomplished their goal did not do anything to soothe Chad’s anger. Certain that his daughter was safe, he’d left in search of those responsible. He’d been surprised to find the two men he’d encountered on the stairs still in the lobby of the resort hotel that had become their home.

  Frank, the one he’d nicked with his blade was dabbing the cut with a towel and talking loud about how the person responsible “was lucky he’d been caught by surprise or else there’d be a lot more blood to clean up, and by God it would not be his.”

  “Is that right?” Chad said from the stairs.

  Jonas had recognized the look on Chad’s face right away and ran. Frank had obviously counted on the skinny man’s support to extract all that blood. There was a handful of seconds where the two men simply stared at one another…then Chad drew his blade. That was all it took to dispel Frank’s claims of bravado.

  The chase through the snow was almost anti-climactic. Frank ran, pleading for his life the entire time and claiming that he had “no idea what Grant and Mitch had planned.” Running in the snow is treacherous business, and twice, Chad thought he was going to slip and fall. Unfortunately, it was Frank who made the first misstep. He landed unceremoniously on his face, and Chad was able to close the distance in a few bounds. He dove on the man, plunging his knife into his back. Frank barely made a sound when his throat was cut.

  When he looked up, Chad saw Jonas standing in the middle of where there used to be a road, but now there was only knee deep snow. He had stopped running and obviously witnessed the murder of his friend or whatever Frank had been to him.

  “Please, man,” Jonas had begged, “we weren’t gonna hurt your little girl. We didn’t know Mitch was gonna pull some freak shit with your daughter. Swear to God!”

  That last line had been spoken through tears in a voice that was more shriek than anything else. The skinny man stared up at Chad with his hands literally folded under his chin like he was in prayer. There had been no hesitation. Chad gra
bbed a handful of greasy hair and cut deeply into the man’s throat. With one jerk, he brought the blade across. It wasn’t actually as easy as it seemed on television or at the movies. The larynx proved quite difficult to saw through in one clean stroke; he had to put a little effort into it. Then there was the blood. A severed jugular can shoot an impressive quantity of blood in those first dozen or so heartbeats.

  “Step away from him, man!” a voice ordered from behind him.

  Chad looked around and realized that a half a dozen individuals had fanned out around him. None of them had drawn any weapons, but most had their hands on the handle of a blade or bat. Looking down, he realized that a lot of blood had splashed his clothing. The knife he still clutched was dripping and had left a trail all the way back to Frank and Jonas.

  Then he saw him. He didn’t remember if his name was Mitch or Grant, but he knew that it was the man who had been in the hallway.

  “You!” Chad hissed and lunged forward.

  He went to the ground under several bodies. An arm wrapped around his neck. Chad kicked and struggled. He knew he only had seconds. He felt his world tilt on its side. His gut twisted with fear; fear for his daughter. Who were these people? Why were they being allowed to…?

  Chad’s body twitched twice and was still. His lungs emptied in a rush that sounded like a sad moan.

  ***

  Unable to move, Samantha wished that she’d strapped herself to a gurney; at least that way, she would be more comfortable. Death was coming. She could taste it in the back of her throat. It was foul like spoiled milk and rotten eggs. She could feel the sweat run down the back of her neck, between her shoulder blades. Her body felt as if it was on fire, yet she was freezing.

  Her head swam and she thought that she heard a hiss of air far away. A low buzz intruded on her mind as she struggled to remain conscious. Her fear was twofold: first, that her findings had been incorrect; second, that she would become one of…them.