DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  A group of heavily armed people rushed past. I noticed that the person guarding me was over by the fire pit talking with a few other people and did not seem to be paying attention.

  It had been five days since I’d met Suzi, seen Jim and Jackson, and then been escorted back to my tent. In that time, I’d been fed, allowed to shower every other day with warm water, and even been allowed outside of my tent when it had been so hot that I was starting to get dizzy from the heat.

  The thought came so fast that I was acting on it before I even realized what I was doing. My guard was intent on his conversation about whatever had this place in such a tizzy. He actually had his back to me.

  I slipped out and around the corner of my tent in a hurry. As soon as I was out of sight of my guard, I had to fight every urge in my body to run as fast as possible. Despite the increase in activity in the camp, it was likely that I would draw attention if I just took off.

  The first problem that I encountered was the fact that this camp was so massive. It was sprawled out across one of the huge open fields and sitting on a sloped hill.

  Eventually, I reached a bit of a clearing between all the tents and was able to get a better look around. The ruins of La Grande were to the north of my location. We were on a slope that was close to the eastern edge of the valley which put us just on the edge of the foothills.

  However, I now also saw what had the camp in such chaos. Coming up from almost directly south of our location was a massive herd of zombies. They were on the same side of the creek that ran sort of north-south through the heart of this valley. That put them on our side.

  They were coming right for us.

  17

  Vignettes LX

  “I don’t think we can cross here,” the guide said above the wind that threatened to almost blow the tiny man over.

  A storm had come in the middle of the night. Juan had not been surprised. They were less than a week away from Anchorage, and other than the painful loss of his wife, the trip had been uneventful. They had not seen a single deader; wolf or otherwise.

  The small wagon train was at the edge of just another nameless stream. The only problem here was that the water was roaring; whitewater rapids churned and threatened to smash anything that got swept up in the aquatic fury.

  “Keith and I will range north and south from this spot.” Juan had to yell to be heard over the chorus of wind and water. “No more than a mile or two,” Juan said as he turned his attention to Keith.

  “Agreed,” the man said with a nod. “If we can’t find a good crossing in that range, we might have to just camp and wait a few days for this to die down.”

  Juan nodded and wheeled his horse around. Both of his daughters were sitting on the bench seat of their wagon with Brianne Macintyre. She and her wife Stella had been the third family to join in this trip to Anchorage.

  Brianne was a petite woman, but Juan had seen her spend a day splitting wood right in the midst of the men back at the old community. She was into things like yoga and jogging. Juan had tried the yoga once and discovered that he was about as flexible as a rock. And as far as the running was concerned, he had done quite enough of that during those first days of the deaders to know that he hated the very idea of it.

  “You girls mind Brianne while I am gone. I won’t be long.” Juan held up a hand to halt the coming protests. “We have to see if there is a place that we can cross. The water is too rough here.”

  Brianne gave a nod, and Juan leaned over to accept the hugs and kisses from each of his daughters. Turning, he gave a wave to Keith and started off along the banks of the raging stream. Not more than ten minutes into his search, he spotted something up ahead that made him yank back suddenly on the reins. The horse shook its head in protest, but Juan did not notice; his eyes were glued on the scene a hundred or so yards ahead.

  A huge bear—he assumed it was a grizzly since that was the only type of bear he’d ever heard anybody talk about since he’d arrived in Alaska—was surrounded by at least a dozen wolves. It was raining too hard to be certain, but Juan had the feeling that these were deader wolves. Most wolves would not actively seek out and attack a grizzly unless they were starving. With the absence of humans, game had come back in abundance, so he doubted that was the case here.

  Staying back, he watched as two wolves moved in. Their slowness and absolute lack of fear when it came to the massive paws of the bear swiping at them was enough to confirm his suspicions. He knew that he should simply turn and leave, but he was inexplicably transfixed by the scene.

  The bear never had a chance. It could not keep all of the wolves at bay, and since they were as single-minded as any deader, they simply continued to come at the massive beast despite any injuries inflicted. However, Juan did make note of one thing; the bear refused to bite at any of the wolves.

  Even as it was dragged down and torn apart, the grizzly would not bite them. At last it was over, and he turned to head back before being noticed by the pack of deader wolves. They would not be heading this way even if there were a crossing point. Also, he would tell the others to increase their vigilance.

  He was riding up the hill to where the wagons were waiting when he heard something. Whipping his head around, Juan could see several figures slinking along in his wake. He had waited too long and the pack of deader wolves had obviously spotted him before he had gotten away cleanly.

  Giving his horse a nudge in the ribs, he increased to a fast trot. It was dangerous to do in good conditions considering the uneven terrain, but in this horrible weather, it was verging on reckless.

  When the horse took a tumble and the beast came crashing to the ground, Juan was not in the least bit surprised. He was upset. He was angry. But, considering things as they had transpired up to this point, he was not shocked. For some reason, he had apparently lost every vestige of common sense. This last time might be his undoing.

  The horse screamed, and Juan thought he heard a terrible snap. However, the pain that shot up his right leg made him wonder if that sound had originated from him or the horse. Not that it would matter. Neither of them were going to be able to get up and run away. And while they were deaders, and they were still much slower and less coordinated than their living counterparts, deader wolves were easily as fast as a slow running human.

  Juan closed his eyes and waited for death. The faces of his daughters came and he welcomed them. Unfortunately, so did the face of Mackenzie…and not the beautiful one that he knew and loved. This was her as a deader. Juan tried desperately to shove that image aside. If he was going to die, then at least he could do so with his final thoughts and mental images being pleasant ones.

  ***

  Vix stood at the edge of the water. It had been over a week since Gemma killed herself. In that time, she had replayed the events over in her head a thousand times. She tried to figure out what she could have done different.

  “It was not your fault,” a voice said.

  Turning, she saw Chaaya walking down the gentle slope. Her black hair was pulled back and she was wearing a sarong and blouse that looked all the more elegant because of the wearer. The woman had a delicate grace to her that made Vix wonder how the woman had survived the early days of the apocalypse.

  “You know that, right?” the woman asked as she came down and stood beside Vix, looking out over the water.

  “But maybe if I would have brought her in differently. If I had not had everybody on hand as a welcoming party. Perhaps she was just not ready…” Vix’s voice trailed away as she dove back into her thoughts.

  “She was broken.”

  The words made Vix snap her head around to regard the woman. Chaaya was still looking straight ahead, but a tear was rolling down her cheek.

  “I saw it when we were out there. When she killed those men, that was the only time I had ever seen her smile. And it was an honest smile like the kind you would get if you see a dear friend walk through the door.” Chaaya turned to face Vix. Twice she opened her mou
th, but both times she snapped it shut.

  “Go on,” Vix urged. “You obviously have something to say.”

  “When we were crossing in the boat, were you watching her face?”

  Vix thought about it and realized that she had been more focused on the far shore. She had been anxious to get Gemma home and have somebody to care for again. She had never allowed herself to develop a new relationship. The death of her husband had been it. And while she was in constant demand as a nurse in the community, she realized in that short span of time while they were crossing the channel back over to their community of New England, she was excited to have somebody to care for directly.

  “No,” Vix admitted.

  “Gemma was terrified. She was seeing ghosts…something that wasn’t there. For whatever reason, the closer we got to the other side, the more frightened she was becoming. I have no idea why, but she was petrified to her soul.”

  “So, what could I have done?”

  “That’s just it,” Chaaya said with a shrug. “I don’t think there was anything that you could have done. She was broken. She had become like some wild animal that can only survive in its natural habitat.”

  Vix considered that statement. It seemed so at odds with the young girl that she knew and had departed with from Basingstoke. But then it was as if the proverbial scales fell from her eyes. There had always been a certain degree of impetuousness about Gemma. And then there was all the madness from when they had at last reached the country home. Not to mention more than a few incidents when they had been on the road. Each time, she had dismissed it as the ignorance of youth and the hormones of teenagers.

  The bell rang from up in the village, announcing that the afternoon meal was about to be served. The two women turned and started back up the hill. As was the custom, the entire community came together for the evening meal in the great hall that had been erected on what had once been a massive paved lot.

  The meal was just coming to an end when Vix noticed a few of the children had wandered over to the fence that ran along the perimeter. This area looked out over where the River Medway broke away from the Thames. Across the river sat the ruins of an old industrial area that had been ravaged by fire a handful of years back.

  Vix remembered it well. The fire lit up the sky for over a week and the fumes that came from it had made a number of people ill. Two women had miscarried.

  Getting up, Vix wove through the tables towards the children. She could hear the excited tones in their voices. Climbing up onto the walkway that ran along the length of the perimeter fence, Vix felt a growing sense of unease.

  “What do we have?” Vix mussed the hair of a boy no older than six.

  “Lots of people.” The boy pointed and Vix followed his finger, although she really did not need to.

  It was clear what he saw and what had these children so excited. It dawned on her that none of these children had actually seen a zombie. They had all been born after, and since the island had been completely swept in the first two years after the start of this madness, the new generation only knew of zombies as the source of scary stories. Tales that were no more real to these children than they had been to her when she was younger and saw Night of the Living Dead at the late night cinema.

  They had talked about this for years. The possibility had always existed, but as time passed, that talk had faded. And now…here it was right before her eyes.

  Turning, Vix walked over to the hand-operated claxon. Grabbing the handle, she began to wind it. The shrill siren cut through the evening calm. Every head turned her direction. The looks of annoyance and confusion were slowly replaced by determination and a hint of fear.

  The zombies were here. In numbers too great to count, the undead had massed at the water’s edge. About a mile of water was all that separated what looked like millions of the undead from the community of New England

  ***

  “She showed up one night in the rain,” Butch said, his expression relaxing some as he let his mind drift back and dredge up the pertinent memories. “A dozen or so of the stiffs were on her heels. Nobody even thought about it. We just put them down and brought her into the gates.

  “We only gave her a cursory look. She wasn’t bleeding or anything, and that was our first mistake. When she showed up, she said something about some religious group offering her up as a sacrifice…”

  Chad, Ronni, and Caroline looked at each other. This made Butch pause. He began to look unsure until Chad spoke. “That is the same thing she told us.”

  I guess it is easier to keep your story straight that way,” Butch said with a nasty laugh and a shake of his head. “She was our poor little victim. We brought her in and everything was fine for a week or so. She was eager to help and do her part. At least that is what she was saying. I got my own suspicions about that.”

  When Chad gave a nod, Butch elaborated. “I think she was scouting us. And I imagine it is a hard sell now, but she was a hottie.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Caroline moved in and gave Butch a tap on the shoulder.

  “That little nip on the face? She’s lucky she got off that easy,” Butch snarled. “If it would have been up to me, I would have staked that whore to the ground and let the stinking zombies have a picnic.”

  “Whoa!” Chad barked, reaching forward and grabbing the man by his shirt. “Watch your mouth, pal. You are skating on thin ice.”

  Butch looked around as if suddenly remembering his predicament. He gulped once and let out a long breath.

  “Are you saying that injury was inflicted on her by your people?” Caroline asked.

  “At the trial,” Butch said like that explained everything. When Chad gave him a rolling motion with his hands for the man to elaborate, Butch nodded.

  “When all the guys at Jack’s bachelor party came up infected, it didn’t take a damn rocket scientist to figure it out. That gal showed up when the boys were good and drunk. From what we could put together before we had to end each one of those poor bastards, she just barged in and said that she wanted to do something special to show her gratitude. She did some sort of strip tease and had the boys lined up at the door in less time than it takes to shake a stick.

  “Damn shame when the groom came up infected two days later. As each case popped up, it was pretty easy to put one and one together.” Butch looked up at Chad, Caroline, and Ronni. The open-mouthed expressions gave him a touch of confidence. “Now you are getting it. That gal is one of them folks that don’t get turned until they die.”

  “Jesus,” Chad breathed. Caroline echoed the sentiment, but Ronni turned and darted from the room.

  “Keep an eye on him,” Chad told Caroline before turning to take off after his daughter. He had no idea what she might be up to, but he knew it could not be good.

  He was at the door when he heard the crash. There was a slap and then a scraping sound.

  Entering the cabin, Chad saw his daughter standing over Melody who was curled up in the fetal position on the floor. Ronni had a knife, but it looked clean, which indicated that he did not think that she had used it as a weapon…yet.

  “Get up!” Ronni shouted. Bringing her foot back, she let loose with a kick that connected solidly with Melody’s ribs. “C’mon, play that crap with me, you little—”

  “Ronni!” Chad cut his daughter off and stepped the rest of the way into the cabin.

  “She’s evil!” Ronni spun to face her dad, all the anger showing like raging bonfires in her eyes. “And she was coming at you. All she would have had to do was get some of her blood on you and that would be it.”

  “First,” Chad moved in carefully between his daughter and Melody, being careful to stay clear of the infected girl in the chair, “it does not happen quite that easily. You can’t get it just by somebody getting a bit of their blood on you.”

  “And you know this how?” Ronni challenged.

  “It just doesn’t work that way. I would have to be cut or something.”

  “Y
ou don’t know that, Dad.” Ronni was starting to cry. Chad was becoming confused. “You are only guessing.”

  “But I am pretty sure.” He reached over to pull his daughter into a hug, but she yanked away.

  “And I am pretty sure won’t give me my dad back if you are wrong!”

  And there it was. Chad looked at his daughter, speechless and unable to counter her statement. She was right; he could not be absolutely certain. He was just making a guess, but how much faith did he have in it. Suddenly, his conviction was slipping.

  “Sweetie—” he started, but she jerked away and cut him off.

  “You are all that I have. I lost everything in the world except for you. And when you were sick back at Dustin’s, I realized that I was very lucky. So many people have already lost everything. And here I was with my dad…and I didn’t care. I felt terrible. Terrible for how I acted, how I treated you. And now you can just risk dying and becoming a zombie because you think you know how this works?”

  Chad pulled his daughter to him again. This time she did not resist. She buried her face in his chest and cried. It struck Chad that he could not actually recall the last time his daughter had a good cry.

  As he held his daughter, a million thoughts tried to crowd his mind. He shoved them aside. They stood that way for a long while until Caroline actually came to make sure that they were both okay.

  Reluctant, but aware that they had some things to take care of ASAP, Chad eased away from his daughter and turned to face Caroline.

  “Go cut that guy loose.”

  ***

  “Says her name is Jan Seiber or some such thing.” George gave a jerk of his chin to indicate the woman crumpled on the floor with Margarita standing over her. He had his arms folded across his chest and did not seem to notice the droplets of blood that had splattered his face.