DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  “Everybody stay back!” Jake yelled.

  Jon was moving away fast and had actually turned his back on the car and started to run. He was waving his arms and telling us all to fall back. I wasn’t exactly sure where he wanted us to fall back to, but I started up the hill that looked down on the train and the empty town.

  As Jake reached the three of us, I tried to ask him what was going on, but he just told me to shut up and move. I figure anything that spooked him and Jon like this deserved my fear. I picked up my pace and was not surprised to see Carol actually pass me as she made her way up the hill.

  Finally, we reached the crest. I looked to the left and saw Jon urging his group to head our way. I wanted to ask what the heck was going on, but I figured that Jake would just tell me to wait for Jon and the others.

  I tried to get a look with my binoculars, but it was simply just too dark inside the car to see anything but black shapes with no real definition. I gave up and waited for the others to join us.

  “So, what’s the deal?” I asked as soon as Jon reached where Carol, Jake, and I stood waiting.

  “Weapons,” Jon said with a look in his eyes that I would swear might be fear.

  “What about them?” Shelly asked.

  “Not conventional ones,” Jon said.

  That answer hung in the air for a few seconds before it dawned on any of us what he was saying. I looked around and realized that only Carol seemed to be reaching the same conclusion that I was making.

  “Are you saying that there are nuclear weapons on that train?” Carol asked.

  5

  Vignettes XXXVIII

  The trio stood on the balcony. Below them, the undead were sprawled in puddles of dark, viscous fluid. The fight had been long and tiring. Vix estimated her kill tally at well over a hundred. Her arms hurt, her shoulders were on fire, and she could smell her own stink wafting up within her armor.

  Twice she had gone down under a cluster of zombies. Both times, her bladder had failed her. Each time, she had struggled free, but it had not been an easy matter. She could still hear the echo of teeth shattering on her metal encasement. The armor had been enough to keep the zombies from her flesh. However, the second time she went down, she almost did not make it back up. One of the nasty biters had managed to work her visor open despite the wiring that Harold had used on it to keep it shut.

  It had been Gemma coming to her rescue; that mace crushing skulls with a sickening crunch. Vix knew that some of what she smelled coming up from within the armor was the vile fluids that had leaked inside her suit from various cracks and crevices. Still, they had secured a long wing of the museum and could look down into the fenced loading area.

  Sure enough, there were actually five large paneled lorries parked in the lot. Fortune was smiling on them as the tall fencing was still intact. There was even a hand-operated forklift that would make their transfer of the crates and Plexiglas cases that much easier.

  “So, Vix, I will go down and see if I can get the engine to start. Perhaps you and Gemma can get the forklift and start bringing the stuff up to the dock,” Harold said. His voice still sounded like he was on the verge of collapse.

  Vix looked Harold over as he walked past. She noticed a very definite limp. Also, he seemed to be tilted to the left. A strong breeze might be enough to send him over, she thought.

  “He looks sickly,” Gemma whispered once Harold was gone.

  “He is trying too hard,” Vix said with a curt nod. “Also, I am worried about the amount of blood that he has lost. Those wounds have not had a chance to rest and if we are seeing blood leaking from his armor like that, then I wonder how much we aren’t seeing.”

  “Can you do anything?”

  “Once we get to the boat, I will tend to him.”

  Together, Vix and Gemma set about hauling all the cases up to the loading docks from storage. Each time, Vix made certain to check on Harold as he worked on the lorry. Once the final case was up, she pulled off the bulky helmet and went to Harold. He was standing at the front of the lorry with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

  “So?” Vix asked, patting the vehicle on the fender as she took in the mass of hoses and other odd shapes that made up an engine.

  “We’re done,” Harold sighed.

  Vix waited for further explanation. Harold did not seemed inclined to give it and so she prompted him.

  “You will have to be a bit more specific.”

  “The petrol has turned. Probably as much water as anything by now.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  “It means we are not driving anywhere, and it probably means that we will not be taking a boat either. Not one with an engine in any case.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Gemma asked with a note of alarm in her voice.

  “It leaves us here. We have no choice.”

  “What about the palace?” Vix asked. “We could still—”

  “Are you daft, woman?” Harold snapped. He spun on the two with his fists clenched at his sides. “You know, for somebody who seems to be so bloody brilliant, you can be a supreme idiot! That palace is in the heart of London. And while many of the rotters have wandered off, there are still thousands…hundreds of thousands roaming this city. Do you remember that pack that was on your heels when you climbed the wall into my little hideout?”

  “Yes, but—” Vix started, but Harold was suddenly on a roll and brushed her attempted response aside.

  “The world is done for and we are living on borrowed time. Sure, we can run for a bit, but they will always be there on our heels. No place is safe. I was online in the early days and this is everywhere. Asia, the States…China and India for bloody sakes! That is over two billion people! And since these things show no signs of just falling over and dying…”

  Tears flowed down Harold’s cheeks. He shot a look at Gemma, and then turned and fled. Of course, he could not go very fast with all that armor, and about twenty paces away, he stumbled and fell with a loud clang.

  Suddenly, she felt foolish. She had fixated on this one task without really seeing it clearly. Perhaps it was because she had so desperately wanted to keep the hope that her one dear friend would still be alive. She had been a fool.

  “All those books…and this is what you come up with?” she berated herself. Vix sat down and began to cry.

  She cried for all the things she had lost in the past year, she cried for all the things she had never had the courage to pursue in her life…and she cried for her husband. She had lost the one thing that had managed to bring her joy in her life. Now…well, now it all seemed like a waste.

  She let the tears flow freely as she mourned everything that had been snatched away. She cried so hard that she did not even realize that Gemma and Harold had come to her and sat on either side, clutching her to them and joining her in her sobs.

  She did not know how long they sat there, but eventually, the tears subsided. They sat huddled together for quite some time after; each lost in thought.

  Vix methodically went through each and every single one of the books she had read back when zombies were all still fantasy. She tried to latch on to just one story where the heroes triumphed. None really came to mind. They all seemed to be an exercise in futility. Perhaps that was truth being revealed in fiction. However, she was not ready to give in and let death claim her just yet.

  “We need to get out of London,” Vix whispered.

  “Agreed,” Harold and Gemma chimed.

  “But we can’t drive.” This was met by silent nods. Vix climbed to her feet and looked down at her two companions. “I don’t want to lose these suits, but they will slow us down.”

  “And they do create quite a racket,” Harold offered.

  Her first plan had proved to be a bust. She was not prepared to abandon all of the gear, there would be some parts that they could keep, but she conceded that wandering around the countryside in suits of armor was a bit far-fetched.

  “I ha
ve an idea,” Gemma whispered. She seemed uncertain as to whether or not she should speak. Vix nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder as a sign of support and comfort.

  Gemma began to talk. Slowly at first, but as Vix and Harold began to nod, she gained confidence and enthusiasm. Vix had to admit, it was surprisingly simple, but it seemed a solid plan. Perhaps that had been her problem: over-thinking.

  “Well,” Vix said with a smile, “what are we waiting for?”

  ***

  Juan cut the motor. The day was promising to be warm and the sun was already dancing on the water. This would be the final trip if he had his way. He did not really want to make this one, but he had no choice.

  The boat glided into the beach and scraped along the mud and rock of the shore. Climbing out, Juan was already seeing activity headed his way. These runs had drawn deaders from all over. Once those things got interested, they just did not leave.

  He started towards the warehouse. The doors were still shut, that was a good sign. The truck was still parked in the same place he’d left it when he brought down the rest of the supplies from Donna’s house as well as all the others in the walled community.

  Taking the time to drop the few deaders that came close, Juan finally reached the long aluminum-sided building. He fished a key out of his pocket. The lock had been one that he’d plucked from Donna’s house; it had still been in the package. As he slid the key in, he paused.

  How long had it been since he had not used a set of bolt-cutters to enter a place? Of course, he could lock the doors at the house, but he didn’t think anybody on the island locked their door. Perhaps if they knew some of their neighbors better…they might.

  Giving the door a yank, Juan opened it and stood in the shaft of sunlight. He could hear the sounds of somebody struggling and making a fuss. Walking in, he looked up at the first storage platform. April was still tied securely to the post where he’d left her. The long tube that came down from the large plastic container was still in place.

  He’d made sure to leave her with water. After all, he was not an animal. The choice on how quiet she chose to be was her own. If she wanted to yell and scream and bring the deaders, that was solely her decision.

  “Juan, you don’t want to do this,” April said with a hitch in her voice as he climbed the ladder.

  “You’re right,” Juan agreed. “But did you leave me any choice?”

  “Listen,” April pleaded as Juan stood before her now with as little expression on his face as possible, “I may have acted a bit hasty. And that is your leverage…right?”

  Juan remained silent. He would listen to her, but he felt that his choices were already made. He did not enjoy it, but she had actually brought this on herself. She could have kept her mouth shut…she could have actually tried to blow his cover with the group, but perhaps she was right when she said that folks saw him as a leader. Maybe…just maybe they could look beyond his past.

  April had been a paramedic in the Old World. As fate would have it, one of her calls brought her to a seedy hotel in Portland’s Southeast district. A ‘working girl’ had been beaten badly by a john. When she arrived, a man met her on the scene and told her what room to check. He also passed on the information that the police were already en route. Surprisingly, the man turned out to be the girl’s pimp. He had not tried to interfere, and had actually been helpful in providing some of the girl’s personal information before slipping out as the police cars pulled in.

  The reason April had remembered this particular call was the fact that, as she was finishing with putting the girl into the back of the ambulance, the pimp had approached and waved her over to speak in the street just beyond the yellow tape barricade. Since the police were on the scene and close by, she was not too concerned that the man would try anything rash.

  “You might want to send somebody back to the Dumpster,” the man said, and that was it. He turned and walked away before she could ask any questions.

  She had gone around back herself with an officer in tow. In the Dumpster they discovered a man who had been beaten almost to death. From the looks of it, a bat or baton had been taken to the man. It would seem that they had discovered the disgruntled john.

  The police had shown about as much interest in locating his attacker as they had the prostitute’s. The fact that somebody had beaten the man almost to death was filed, but April already knew how much effort would go into finding the assailant even if she were to give them a detailed description of the man. In her mind, while he had been helpful, he had still done something terrible to another human and that did not make him much better in her eyes. In fact, once she read the laundry list of damage inflicted on the john, she built a strong sense of dislike for the supposedly helpful pimp.

  In all her time, she had never had a call quite like it. She often wondered if the pimp had done what he did to the john because of the potential damage to his income…which was built on the debasement of women, or was it an actual act of trying to avenge the assault on the girl? She had puzzled over it for months…and then the zombies came.

  She knew who Juan was the moment that she laid eyes on him. She was actually about to rally the others in her group to have the man evicted from the island…until she learned that he was the one in charge. She sat back and watched, trying to figure the man out. A part of her mind screamed that what was past was past and that there were greater worries. Yet, for some reason, she could not see past the man who had almost killed another human being with his bare hands…and perhaps a bat.

  As time passed, she saw things that caused her to evaluate her opinion more closely. This man seemed gentle and kind. He was also a very charismatic figure. She decided that it was perhaps in her best interest to get closer and see if she could put her fears to rest.

  Then there was the unfortunate miscarriage. Mackenzie lost her baby and she saw yet another side of Juan. She was ready to just put the past behind her…and then they had made that ill-fated run to a shopping center. She had seen Juan turn his back on one of their own in a flash. She’d seen him let Al be torn apart. The fact that he’d been bitten was something that she chose to ignore. The fact was, that he’d had no apparent problem ending that man’s life and then justifying it as a mercy killing.

  And then there were the kids. Juan had been at odds with them seemingly since the beginning. And now several had found their lives cut short…and Juan was the common theme through it all.

  Try as she might, April could not divorce herself of the animosity she felt for the man. And when she started hearing all the talk about establishing Juan as the de facto leader by consensus, she had to find out for herself once and for all.

  The revelation of the deaths of Donna and Frank had been a tough one, but she could also see the bigger picture. The fly in the ointment had been the appearance of Kip and Vin. They had started to figure out that something was not right about how their friends had died. She had taken the first step crushing Kip’s skull. In that single act, something had changed in her. There was so much power in that single act.

  Juan had finished off Vin and then turned on her in a fury. She told him all about what she remembered about that night. At first, the big man had seemed confused. As she continued, she saw a change in the man. The face she was now seeing was more like that hard-edged pimp and less the soft, kind-hearted leader that all the rest of the people saw.

  He had asked what she wanted and she told him it was simple. When the community named his as their leader, he would refuse. He could stay, but he would not be the mayor or governor or president…or whatever the people were clamoring for. She never saw his fist coming.

  She’d come to in the warehouse tied to a wooden pillar. Juan was sitting there watching her. She had tried to talk her way out of the situation. Juan explained that he would never be able to trust her. He said that he simply was not sure what he was going to do. This had surprised her.

  “You haven’t just killed me…why?” April asked.


  “I don’t know what you think you know about me…but you have your wires crossed,” Juan said as he looked into her eyes. “I really don’t know what to do about you.”

  “I don’t know what came over me,” April sniffed. “I just got so hung up—”

  “On the past,” Juan cut her off. “Do you really think that people can’t come around? You met a kid five years ago who was living on the streets and doing the only thing he knew to survive.”

  “You were making a living off of other girls selling their bodies!” April snarled. “People like you are animals. You are abusers who make excuses for your actions!”

  Juan sat quietly and regarded the angry woman. He did not and could not dispute what she was saying. And the fact that he had flipped over on Frank and Donna so quick only seemed to back up her appraisal of his character. Was he simply fooling himself?

  He got up and walked over to April, staring down at her. She glared back defiantly. He had to admit, she was a pretty tough little woman. Here she was, tied up and helpless with a man she considered to be a horrible criminal. Yet she was defiant and unafraid.

  As much as it hurt him…as tough as it was to do, he knew what his choice would be. He had known the day he tied her up and left her. He had known the whole way over.

  Juan drew the blade at his hip with a sigh.

  ***

  The questions came in a jumble and Cynthia Frey held her hands up to silence them. She glanced down at the gathering pack of zombies that had ignored her gesture and continued to moan and cry. They still made her shudder and feel just a bit sick every time she looked at them.

  “No, I did not get a look at who…or how many. I was running down Easy Street when it happened.”

  This received nods from everybody. It had been something that each of them had seen as ironic and humorous when they had first ventured out to get an idea of the surroundings. From the looks of things, it had been anything but easy for the residents of this area. Most of the houses were burned to some extent; many were little more than black skeletal husks hinting at their former grandeur.