DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  Drawing my blade, I started towards the zombie that had most of his insides scooped out. I had so many questions. In the end, the answers to most of them had died with this man. I heard the people in the tower shouting at me to get inside, but I felt compelled to end Jake’s existence once and for all.

  In the end, it was very anti-climactic and completely unrewarding. After cleaving his skull, I returned and walked in to the chute. As it closed behind me, I felt the exhaustion of the last year radiate through my body.

  I heard somebody move above me just like before. Then…the stick of the needle.

  Darkness came, and my last thought was that if I never opened my eyes again…that would be okay.

  13

  Vignettes XLVII

  “No problems at all,” Harold said.

  He had been sitting on the ground with his back up against the tower when Vix and Gemma arrived. He had a stick in one hand and a knife in the other, obviously keeping himself engaged by whittling as he waited.

  “We seemed to keep attracting more groups from all around,” Vix said with a scowl. “Every single time we altered our course just a bit, another bunch would come stumbling out.”

  “Huh,” Harold grunted with a shrug, “I didn’t see anything like that.”

  “Lucky you,” Gemma scoffed.

  “So…” Vix clapped her hands together after several seconds of uncomfortable silence.

  “Right.” Harold climbed to his feet and stuffed the piece of wood he’d been carving on into one of his belt pouches. With a gesture of his hands that indicated “ladies first”, he fell in behind the pair.

  Vix felt like she was in one of those sappy Tom Hanks movies that Gemma had mentioned…or at least watching one in overly vivid 3-D. Her two traveling companions continued to sneak looks at each other, and if they ever actually made eye contact—Heaven forbid!—they would look away so suddenly that she was waiting for them to get a case of whiplash.

  They reached the top of the hill and could once again look down into the secure compound surrounding the cottage. Suddenly it looked nothing like her memories. Vix felt a strange and unpleasant tingle in the pit of her belly. It took her a moment to realize that it was loss.

  This cottage was the last thing she had from before…and it was gone. Like everything else, this part of her life was spoiled by the walking dead. Deep down she had known that nothing could survive the apocalypse, and she felt foolish for holding out hope that this place might be some sort of magic safe zone where no zombies dared to tread.

  With a sigh, Vix headed down the hill. Along the way, she and the others plunged their blades into the occasional creeper that was pulling itself across the putrid ground where a thousand zombies had stood just hours ago.

  At last, they reached the barricade. A group of women were clustered together and staring down from some sort of catwalk on the other side.

  “Vickie Meade!” a voice called from above.

  “Amanda Brighton!” Vix called back up. “And it’s just Vix these days…and Kirkpatrick instead of Meade.”

  “Robbing the cradle! You dirty girl!” Amanda said with a laugh as she gave Harold a nod. “Nice to meet you, Mister Kirkpatrick.”

  “What? Oh goodness no!” Vix held up her hands. “This is Harold Wentz.”

  “Oh…oh, Vickie…err…Vix,” Amanda was stammering in obvious discomfort. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, well we have all suffered terrible losses I’m sure,” Vix gave a dismissive wave.

  “I’m Gemma Baker,” the younger girl blurted as she stepped forward.

  “Can we do this later?” one of the women standing beside Amanda asked. “Like after we get them up and in?”

  This was greeted by a chorus of agreement from all concerned. A rope ladder was unrolled and the trio was up and over where they were all greeted with warm smiles and friendly hugs. Vix noticed the daggers being hurled from Gemma’s eyes as all the women eventually made their way to Harold. She started turning a deep crimson when the women took notice of Harold’s sudden onset of shyness and began fawning over him. Of course, to Vix, she saw it as a group of older women having a good laugh at the expense of a much younger man’s discomfort.

  There was a great deal of excited talk mixed in with the introductions. Vix felt her head would explode as she realized that she had become very accustomed to the relative quiet of the past several weeks. Not to mention the fact that there was not much socializing in her last group as everybody sort of kept to themselves.

  Through it all, Vix noticed, Gemma practically adhered to Harold’s hip. Something would need to be done about that very soon before it became an ugly problem.

  “So…how have you been?” Amanda seemed to suddenly appear right in front of Vix. “I mean, take the whole thing about zombies wiping out the world, of course. And I’m sorry about that husband mix up.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I take it you lost him to this madness?”

  “On a run for supplies,” Vix said with a sigh.

  “I am so sorry.” Amanda put an arm around Vix’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I never made it that far…to the altar that is. Got close once, but I came home early from work one day…you know the story.”

  Vix suddenly began to wish that she had chosen someplace else to strike out for. All around her, there was laughter and talking. It was just too…normal.

  “You okay?” Amanda asked after Vix stood quiet for several seconds.

  “Huh?” She shook her head in an effort to dispel the gloom that was trying its best to entrench itself. “Sorry, just a bit tired.”

  “And hungry too, I bet,” Amanda added.

  Vix thought about it for a moment before she realized that she was actually quite famished. It was as if her body had become so accustomed to that feeling that she had learned to simply ignore it.

  “I could certainly use a bite to eat,” Vix nodded.

  Amanda and the rest of her group escorted the ragged trio inside the cottage. Vix was hit with a wave of nostalgia, but she forgot it as the smells of something savory hit her nostrils and erased all other thoughts and sensations. She hoped with what little self-consciousness that remained, that she was not openly drooling.

  They were seated around the long dining table that had been the scene of many Christmas Dinners. None of them could compare to the bounty set before them all. There were platters of roasted meats and vegetables. Even some flat bread arrived fresh and hot from the oven.

  Vix did not even realize that she was crying as she ate her fill for the first time in as long as she could recall.

  ***

  Keith pointed at a series of windows that sat almost at ground level. They were all painted over, recently by the looks of it since there was absolutely no chipping or peeling like you would expect over any length of time.

  Mackenzie knew that there was a basement to this home. She had been over to more than a few of Missy London’s slumber parties while growing up. In fact, Keith would know the layout fairly well himself. He had gone steady with Missy for a while. If the rumors were believed, that basement was where Missy lost her virginity.

  Once again Mackenzie scolded herself for allowing her mind to wander along such pointless paths. She chalked it up to nerves and fear.

  “The only way in to that basement is through the kitchen,” Keith whispered. “One of us needs to go around front and distract her…or at least get her attention. The other can slip in and go downstairs to rescue the big man.”

  “What do we do about April?” Mackenzie asked. Keith gave her an odd look, and it took her a moment to realize what he had in mind. “No, no, no! We can’t just kill her!”

  “You mind telling me why not?” Keith was incredulous. “This lunatic sneaks into your house after basically going all stalker on you two for a few days. She kidnaps Juan, and who knows what she has actually done to him.”

  “We can’t just kill her,” Mackenzie insisted.

  Keith scowled.
“Okay…if it is possible, I will take her down alive…but I ain’t making no promises. You people need to start understanding that the old world is dead and gone. Electing presidents and all that crap…waste of time in my opinion.”

  “We can discuss this later,” Mackenzie whispered. “You go to the front door and get her attention. Knock her out or whatever. I will sneak in the back and go down to the basement. Meet me there.”

  Keith nodded. “But just be warned, if she does anything…tries anything…I won’t put my life at risk to keep her alive. One false move and I drop her where she stands.”

  Mackenzie watched him go. She wondered how any living person could take such a cold and calloused stance when it came to the life of another living person. She had no problem dropping zombies, they were not living.

  She moved over by the back entrance, staying off to the side and in some bushes that gave her a perfect view of the window mounted in the top half of that door. She heard somebody talking from inside and felt a new fear. If there was more than just April inside, this might become very complicated.

  She heard the door to the basement open and shut. A second or two later, she heard a loud banging on the front door. Waiting a second to allow April and whoever else might be in there with her to make their way through the house, Mackenzie took a deep breath and held it. She saw the distinctively wild, red hair of April’s as the woman passed by, presumably to answer the front door.

  After waiting a few more seconds, Mackenzie moved for the back entrance. She was actually very surprised to discover that it was unlocked. When she slipped inside, she could hear voices from the front of the house. Keith was saying something that she could not make out. She honestly did not care what he said as long as he kept the woman occupied.

  She was about to open the door to the basement when something caught her eye. On the counter were dozens of prescription bottles. All of them had their lids off and were apparently empty. Her hand let go of the doorknob and she moved to pick up one of the brownish containers. She did not recognize the name that the prescription was made out to, but she did recognize the name of the medication: Clozaril.

  Her mother had been taking that exact same medication for a while. Having been diagnosed as bipolar as well as schizophrenic, her mother had taken a variety of medications. Glancing at some of the other labels, she saw even more familiar names: Haldol, Prolixin, Abilify, Invega, and Seroquel were the most common.

  April was sick, and without her meds…

  Her eyes fixed on a small black case that was open. Inside it were several packaged hypodermics and a few bottles. The one that was half empty was labeled Diprivan. She had no idea what it was, but she knew she had wasted enough time. Opening the door to the basement, Mackenzie hurried down the stairs.

  In the middle of the room was a sight that made her heart flutter again. Juan lay strapped to a large table. A big Coleman LED lantern was just above his head, but was currently turned off. There was another lantern on a shelf nearby that was on low, but it was what was scattered on the top of the now-defunct washing machine that had her struggling to move closer. A series of wicked looking blades and long needles were in a pile. Thankfully, none of them looked as if they had seen any use.

  She hurried to Juan’s side and was relieved to see that he was still breathing. She removed the gag, more than a little disgusted to discover that it was soiled women’s panties. She went to work on the bindings on his wrists and ankles and then cut loose the piece of burlap that had been fastened securely over Juan’s torso.

  She tried to imagine what it must have felt like to wake up and discover yourself so completely immobilized. Looking around, she discovered a blanket that she could use to cover Juan up with. It was dreadfully cold in the basement and she noticed that his lips were starting to turn a purplish hue. His skin was cold and almost clammy, but she had already insured that he was breathing and that his heart was beating.

  She patted him on the cheek. “Juan!” she hissed. “It’s me…Mackenzie. You need to wake up, honey.”

  He did not respond. Just then, there was a loud crash from upstairs followed by a scream that was cut off abruptly. She was pretty sure it had been a female scream, but she was afraid to trust her senses.

  It was obvious that Juan was out cold. She could not pick him up and carry him upstairs. After a few seconds of hesitation, she drew her machete and moved cautiously up the stairs. She was almost to the door when it flung open causing her to scream. All she could see was a dark outline of a human form in the doorframe. The sun had chosen that exact moment to break free and come pouring through the kitchen window, effectively blinding her.

  Taking a step back, Mackenzie shielded her eyes and drew back her arm in preparation of defending herself and Juan to the death.

  ***

  Glenn pedaled through the empty streets. Occasionally a zombie would turn his way, but he was moving so fast that he was out of sight before they were barely aware that a presence had passed by.

  He was struggling with the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, as well as the fact that his eyes continued to force tears out despite his best attempts at keeping them at bay. The entire way back he dreaded the reaction that he would receive from Cynthia. He knew in his heart that his reasons for not going on what he believed to be a suicide mission were out of his love and responsibility to his wife; but that did not stop the voice in his head that was screaming “Coward!” at the top of its lungs. He hoped to God that his wife would not see him as such.

  He pulled up the driveway of the house that had the massive treehouse castle (for lack of a better description of the colossal structure) and came to a stop. His head snapped around. A gunshot…and then another…and then…silence. He felt his heart sink. Worse than the sadness he was trying his best to stave off was the sense of relief. He knew that such a feeling was not okay. He should not take comfort in being spared the fate that he had been certain would befall Mel and Kyle.

  Parking the bike beside the tree, Glenn started up when Cynthia called down. “Glenn, where are the others? Where is Mel…my brother?”

  He looked up at her and his mouth opened, but he could not force himself to say the words. He wanted every second that he could have where his wife did not think of him as a failure…a coward. He made his way up in silence and pulled the rope ladder with him once he was on the balcony.

  “Glenn?” he heard a tremor already starting in his wife’s voice. He knew that she would break as soon as he gave her the news. And it did not help at all that he had just heard those gunshots.

  “Get inside, Cynthia,” Glenn said, although he could barely hear himself over the voice in his head that continued to berate him for his decision.

  “Where is my brother? Where is Mel,” she insisted.

  “Please just get inside.” Glenn placed his hands on her shoulders and tried to look into her eyes, but he quickly discovered that he could not hold her gaze.

  “No,” Cynthia sobbed. Although it was more of a denial at what Glenn was implying as opposed to her stance on remaining outside. She let him turn her and then she began to hobble inside.

  As soon as they were within the circular room painted to look as if the walls were made of stone blocks, Cynthia turned back to face her husband. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now just as they were his.

  Taking a deep breath, Glenn did his best to explain in full detail the events of the day all the way up to his getting on his bicycle and returning alone. When he finished, he braced himself for the onslaught of anger that he was certain would come his way. He had run from conflict. Not only had he abandoned the baby who, to be honest, they could not even be sure was still alive; but he had also left her brother and his wife to face death alone. He had taken the easy way…the coward’s way out.

  After a moment of silence where Cynthia continued to stare at the floor as opposed to making eye contact with him, Glenn continued. “I could not leave you alone in this world. I c
ould not go willingly to what I know was certain death. I realize that you probably hate me now…but—”

  “Hate you?” Cynthia’s head snapped up and she scrubbed the tears from her face. “You idiot! I love you more than anything in the world. I know what you did could not have been easy…I don’t hate you. I just wish that my brother and Mel had the sense not to get themselves killed like that. How could they have been so stupid!”

  Glenn’s face scrunched up in confusion. Cynthia was not acting at all like he had expected. Of course, he should have known better. She was always the pragmatic one; even more so than him. In fact, it dawned on him that it was Kyle who was the emotional one…matched only by Mel in that department. However, none of that did anything to ease his mind at the guilt he felt over having deserted them at the last moment.

  “We have to get out of here,” Cynthia said, snapping him out of the guilt that was threatening to overwhelm him once again.

  “How?” Glenn pointed to her leg.

  “Huh?” Cynthia looked down as if just noticing the injury. “Oh…you think I meant that we had to hit the road and get out of this town? No…that is not at all what I meant.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t think that I am just going to leave here…leave my brother behind—”

  “He’s dead!” Glenn reiterated a bit more forcefully than he would have liked. He was suddenly rethinking his appraisal of his wife’s pragmatism. “There is nothing to stay for.”

  “That is where you are wrong,” Cynthia corrected. “We do have to leave this place…although I hate to do so considering how safe it is against the walking dead. We need to find someplace else to stay. And that will have to serve us well for a while, so find someplace close to running water.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Cynthia leaned in close and took her husband’s face in her hands. He had a flash of a memory where those same hands felt so soft and silky. Now…they were rough and calloused with all of the hard work each of them had done over the past year to stay alive.