The Shores Of The Dead: Omnibus Edition

by Josh Hilden

  The President was back on the television and radio just after midnight. They had taken time out of planning to listen to him. He’d delivered the news that they were losing the war with the Dead. He urged everyone to help one another and to attempt to get to a safe zone but he had no real information. David had never liked the big eared son of a bitch anyway.

  David jumped at the knock on his door and almost dropped the razor into the basin. “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Chief, Ms. Waters is here to see you, and she says that it is really important.” The messenger was Peter King. The 16 year old former Hockey Goalie for the White Harbor Ice Bandits was now his official aide de camp, and he took the job very seriously.

  “Tell her that I will be out in two minutes Peter, and have some coffee ready.” He called back.

  “I’ll tell her chief, and the coffee is already brewing.” David thought that he detected a little smug satisfaction in that voice and smiled a little. The kid was pretty good at the job it seemed.

  Two minutes later, he walked out into the police station’s little reception area, Amy stood there talking to a man that he did not recognize. “Amy,” he said walking up to them.

  “Chief Hall, this is John Chen,” she indicated the short middle aged Asian man. “Mr. Chen is a freighter Captain. His launch just arrived at the docks about 30 minutes ago.”

  David raised his eyebrows and turned his head to really study the man. His skin looked weathered, like somebody who spent a lot of time outdoors in the elements. It was a common trait in the village, and it spoke of a man that earned his living on the water.

  The man spoke with a Boston accent that surprised David even more. “Chief Hall, please allow me to be blunt with you. My crew and I are seeking sanctuary here in your town.”

  That surprised David even more, “Sanctuary, Captain?” He asked.

  “We headed out from Duluth with a full load three days ago. We were almost to the locks when this madness started. When we actually got to the locks nobody responded to our radio hails. I sent a party on shore to check things out and it was a slaughter house, blood and gore everywhere along with a couple dozen of those things. They got two of my men.” David could tell the little man was still shaken up by this, but he continued with the story, “We headed back out to deep water and started listening to the communications traffic. Everywhere is madness Chief Hall, Duluth and Marquette have fallen, and so has every other coast town of any real size, as far as a safe port on Lake Superior, White Harbor is it.”

  He’d known from the stories of the refugees that were trickling into town and from the shortwave traffic that this was true, but to hear it verbalized by this man was like a kick in the chest. David forced himself to remain calm and said, “How many of you are there Captain? Because I have to be up front, we are only taking in people that are willing to work hard, and have skills that would be useful to us. This isn’t the Midwest, farming here is hard scrabble at best, so feeding people is going to become difficult if this situation is not resolved soon.” The situation really wasn’t that dire, they were taking in everyone that arrived as long as they were willing to obey the laws and work hard, and they probably had enough food to make it to spring, but it was going to be really tight come March.

  Captain Chen smiled at him before he spoke, “My ship is the Lake Frog and we are loaded with a thousand tons of feed corn that was destined for the East coast. I am willing to pledge it all to the community for the guaranteed acceptance of me and my 37 surviving crew members, Chief Hall.”

  David did not even hesitate. He stuck his hand out to the man. “You and your people are very welcome here Captain Chen.” The man in the heavy sailor’s clothes took the police chief’s hand and shook it firmly.

  2

  10:05am EST

  The gymnasium of the White Harbor High School had been turned into a temporary dormitory for the Township residents and the refugees that had been allowed to stay in White Harbor. David was surprised how orderly everything was. Food lines were setup to take care of the influx. The coach’s office was being used as an interview room to determine how the new arrivals could best help with the defensive efforts. The Gym’s showers were in constant use, and the people who’d come to the town smelling of fear and sweat were quickly well scrubbed and fed. It was one of the few good bits that had come with all of these people.

  Reports from the people that were pouring into the protective enclave of the village spoke of more than just the threat of the Risen Dead. One group of more than 20 men, women, and children that came in just before dawn spoke of a group of bikers that were attacking refugees, and stealing anything of value. They were also demanding, and if refused taking, sexual favors from any females they encountered regardless of age. The group had rescued an 11 year old girl who’d been raped nearly to death, then left alone to be eaten by the Dead. The leader of the refugees, a former construction foreman from Marquette named Craig Miller, said that the core of this group of road gangers was the motorcycle gang named “Hell Razors”.

  David had heard of this gang off and on over the years, the Sherriff’s department and City Police in Marquette had been keeping the outlying communities apprised on the activities of these criminals. They were suspected in more than a dozen murders, an unknown number of rapes, and they were the number one producers and distributors of Crystal Meth in the Upper Peninsula, having successfully run the “Hayseed Mafia” out years ago.

  David scanned the room and located Mr. Miller on the third pass. Craig Miller was the only person to get a good look at the gang and get away unharmed. David really needed to talk to the man.

  “Mr. Miller, could I talk to you for a minute.” David called across the room. The man looked up and met eyes with David. Then he nodded before he started weaving his way through the crowd toward the Police Chief.

  “Chief Hall,” he said once he was within conversational speaking distance, “What can I do for you?”

  “Would you step outside with me, Mr. Miller?” He asked gesturing toward the side door of the gym.

  “Sure, and its Craig,” he said, offering David his hand.

  “David,” he said taking his hand and shaking it hard three times before letting go and heading out into the cold gray.

  When they emerged onto the blacktop of the High School parking lot, their senses were assaulted by the sounds of heavy equipment and gunfire, along with the smell of smoke from the dozens of disposal fires. David’s eyes began to water upon contact with the acrid soup that made up the atmosphere in White Harbor.

  “Craig, I need to know what happened to you and your people while you made your way here. We all need to know what is coming our way.” David was using his cop voice, but behind that he knew that this conversation was very important.

  Craig ran his callused hand through his thinning black hair and gathered his thoughts before he began. David approved of this. There was no need for blowhards that would speak without thinking in the current situation.

  “Chief,” he began, obviously forgetting that the Chief had asked him to call him David. “About 80 of us were heading out of Marquette yesterday. The city was already rife with chaos, and there was a rumor spreading that all of the leadership was dead. Then someone set fire to the City and County buildings. We didn’t know then that it was the Razors that did it, but we figured that something bad was about to go down. So we loaded up everything that we could and headed south. If we’d chosen a different direction, more of us may have made it out of the city alive.”

  David shook his head at the younger man, “There was no way you could predict what was going to happen. Considering what I have been hearing over the airwaves, I think it’s a damn miracle that you got as many of your people here as you did.” David was saddened to see that his words had little or no effect on the man.

  “We’d cleared out of the city proper,” he continued as if the Chief had never spoken a word. “And we were near Ishpeming when we encountered the road
block. The guys manning it looked like Police Officers and National Guardsmen, but it was really the Razors in disguise.” Tears shimmered in his eyes, giving the illusion of glassy pools on the man’s weathered face.

  “What happened next?” David asked.

  “If one of my guys hadn’t seen the rest of them concealed along the sides of the road, they might have taken us without a fight. They’d have killed the men, raped the women and kids, and stolen our stuff. But he screamed a warning and opened up on them. They had some military hardware and they knew how to use it.”

  David shivered at that. A National Guardsman that staggered into town with his family six hours earlier had informed them that the Armory in Marquette was in the hands of outlaws. David had not wanted to believe this information, but what Craig Miller told him next cinched it.

  “We were fighting our way through, we had them outnumbered and we would have all punched through their barrier but after six vehicles had gotten through there was this whooshing sound and one of the school buses we’d procured went up in flames.” Now he was weeping, “There were 17 kids on that bus, and those fuckers blew them away with a goddamn rocket!”

  He was yelling now and David didn’t try to stop him, the man needed to get it out of his system.

  “I did two hitches in the Corp and I know weapons, they used an anti-tank rocket on a bus full of kids! This is America damnit and that shit does not happen here!?” The last was almost a pleading with David, begging the Chief to confirm his statement.

  “I think it does now Craig.” David said.

  Craig didn’t say anything he just shook his head and looked in the direction of the fires on the perimeter of the township.

  “You were a Marine and you were a construction worker, what did you do in both jobs?” David asked, he knew he was being calloused but there was no time right now to hold hands.

  But the questions seemed to steady Craig and he became business like. “In the Corp I was Force Recon, and I wasn’t just a construction worker. I was a Project Manager. If you give me enough supplies and manpower, I can build you almost anything.” There was little if any pride in the statement, he was a professional man and he was simply stating his qualifications.

  David whistled softly and thanked God that he had put this man in his town. “We are taking in everyone that we can, but everyone that we take in has to work.” David said.

  “That’s fair,” was Craig’s only response.

  “I’m glad you see it that way because I have a job for you.” David said.

  Craig listened to what the Chief had in mind, and a tight little smile grew on his face. To Chief David Hall it was the scariest smile he had seen in a good long time. But he didn’t have time to ponder it. There was too much work to do.

  3

  White Harbor Mayoral Offices

  11:15 am EST

  Arn Jacobson slept soundly following the conversation with James Cooper. James was going to make it all better. There wasn’t going to be any need to be afraid of the Risen Dead, because when James and the Razors arrived they would destroy all of his enemies inside the town and outside as well. Oh sure, a lot of the people that he’d known all of his life were going to have to either be killed, or made so afraid of the Razors that they would never think of fighting back. But after they all sold him out at the meeting last night he didn’t give a flying fuck about what happened to the rest of them.

  Not even Amy.

  Arn knew that he crossed a line a few years before he met James. It had been when he’d been dating Amy Waters, and it looked as if the two of them were destined to be the elite couple in White Harbor. One night they had been having sex and things had gotten out of hand. One minute it’d been the standard missionary with him on top thrusting into her and her on the bottom with her eyes half closed and her legs wrapped around him. Then he started to lose his erection.

  This had been happening more and more frequently, and he had been getting worried about it. That the worry might have been making it worse never occurred to him. He was convinced that it had something to do with Amy. Because when he made one of his monthly visits to the whore houses in Marquette, it was at one of these whorehouses that he’d met James Cooper and struck up an acquaintance, he never had trouble keeping hard.

  His hands seemed to act of their own volition and they were suddenly griping Amy’s throat and squeezing for all they were worth. Amy made a gurgling sound, and her delicate hands wrapped around Arn’s meaty wrists in a futile effort to extricate herself from his deadly embrace. Even after Arn realized just what he was doing he couldn’t stop. His cock was rock hard and he began slamming into her for all that he was worth. The next day his stomach muscles ached from the unusual amount of strain he’d put on them. Just as Amy’s face turned a light shade of icy blue and she lost consciousness, he exploded with an orgasm that was the sexual equivalent of a thermonuclear device. He saw stars and collapsed on top of her, releasing her throat in the process.

  They never said a word after that. When Amy regained full consciousness, she dressed and left his house never to return. In the years since they’d developed a cool professional relationship, but when she spoke to him at the meeting, it had been the first time she had talked to him like a human being and not a politician.

  He hated her more than anyone else. She’d left him and never even deigned to give him a decent explanation. At the time he’d been horrified at what happened, and if she’d given him even the smallest of chances he would have found a way to make it up to her. But that had not been the case, and he’d been relegated to Amy’s emotional dust bin.

  When James and the Razors were running White Harbor, with Arn firmly ensconced at his right hand, he would make the bitch pay. They’d see just how much she could take before giving out. The thought make his normally mediocre penis spring to full length and strain the front of his slacks.

  They’d all pay in the end.

  Until it was time for his real family to arrive, he needed to do his best to maintain the façade he spent so many years carefully assembling. There were positions to inspect, reports to take, and council meetings to attend. Arn selected his most modest blue tie and carefully knotted it around his neck.

  He longed to put on the black leather jacket. But he dared not … not yet.

  Chapter Eleven

  1

  University of Michigan Medical Center

  Ann Arbor Michigan

  October 20, 2012 AD (Day 3)

  3:15pm EST

  Smoke was pouring out the main building of the University of Michigan Medical Center. The defenders put up a hell of a fight when they realized that they were being attacked by living people as opposed to the swarm of the Risen Dead. General Baker, Rudy informed Adam that God had promoted him, lead the tight group of warriors that they cobbled together along with several thousand of the Dead into the Hospital. They used fire and explosives to breach the barricades and swarmed the upper floors. Anyone who appeared to be of some use was protected from the hoard and brought to Rudy, 72 in all. The rest were meat for the Dead, and then rose themselves to replenish the grotesque soldiers destroyed in the attack.

  Rudy smiled down at the prisoners as they knelt before him. Some of them were crying and begging for mercy. Some were defiant. Most of them just looked defeated. When Rudy smiled, a heavenly radiance spilled from every exposed pour on his body and the prisoners became calm and sedate.

  Sutton was not among those in the Hospital. He’d known that his chances of catching that diseased whore here had been slim. He needed to gather the core of the Lord’s Army before he attacked the bitch.

  Of course, making that detour North to Royal Oak had been a bit of hubris, but he could not resist extracting his vengeance on that home of liars. His only regret was that Sally Martinez had not been there when he’d burned the Victorian Era church to the ground.

  “If that little whore had kept her mouth shut every thing would have been so much better.” He muttered
.

  He pointed lazily to a young man in a Doctor’s Lab Coat that may have been white before all of this had started. It was now brown and grimy with the soot and gore it had been exposed to. One of the Dead shambled over to the formerly defiant doctor, and walked him over to his master. There was an odd gentleness in the actions of corpse.