The Shores Of The Dead: Omnibus Edition

by Josh Hilden

  He opened the closet and saw his clothing had been laundered and smelled of fabric softener. His mother had been a stickler for using fabric softener and not dryer sheets when doing the laundry. It wasn’t even the brand that she bought, but the smell brought back a wave of nostalgia that made him burst into sudden tears. He dropped to the floor of the small room, wracked with silent sobs. The cat twisted all around him trying to give comfort.

  “I miss you, Mommy.” He whispered to no one but the cat.

  After he finished crying, he stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit, three days of stubble, hair matted with a large bare and bloody patch on his scalp.

  He was shocked by how much older he looked.

  He stepped into the small shower alcove and cranked the water to hot. He shivered in anticipation of a HOT shower. He scrubbed and soaked, and when he exited the shower he began the process of shaving. He scraped his neck and face clean and then looked at his head. His hair had always been his pride, and the one thing he’d not let his mother batter him into changing, but it had almost got him killed two days ago. And besides, the boy that loved that hair was dead.

  He began with a pair of surgical shears he found in a drawer and then a razor. It was a long and methodical process, but when he was done he was as hairless as a cue ball. Oscar then jumped onto his bare shoulder, sticking him with his claws, and sniffed the bald scalp.

  “What do you think buddy?” Kyle asked him.

  Oscar jumped down and curled up on the bed to take a nap.

  “Good enough,” Kyle said and dressed to meet the day.

  11

  9:00am EST

  The conversation going on between the leaders of the Rangers and the leadership of Belleville came to a halt as Kyle walked down the street to them. He had his quasi-military uniform on and his pike was strapped to his back. The pistol he usually kept on a belt holster was now adhered to his thigh gunslinger fashion. He walked and carried himself in a very different way.

  “The conquering hero returns.” Liam said as Kyle joined them. They were standing around the city war memorial chronicling the names of the all the young souls they’d sent off to war who never come home. Below them, the water of the lake lapped against the shore.

  “Most of the Dead are down there,” Kyle said staring at the water.

  “We know,” the Mayor said, “You gave us a rundown of what happened when you got back.”

  “I did?” He asked looking at his sister who nodded back to confirm. “I must have been really out of it.”

  “We are trying to decide how to proceed.” Kelly said, she looked at Jennifer and Liam but they didn’t say anything.

  “What’s wrong?” Kyle asked. “I assumed we’d load these people up and continue north.” He said.

  “There may be a problem,” Liam said and then addressed the Mayor. “Tell him what you told us.”

  The man looked uncomfortable and tugged at the bottom of his shirt before he began. “We have taken in a few refugees but we have let a lot more pass through Belleville heading North and South. There are a lot of stories floating about an Army of the Dead marching North. People say that they are being led by a mad priest that can control them.” He didn’t look Kyle in the eyes.

  “Do you believe this?” He asked Liam and his sister.

  “I’ve talked to a couple of people that say they escaped this army.” Jennifer said, and then she looked him right in the eyes. “Yes Kyle, I believe this.”

  “Ok” he said, “What do we do about this?”

  “I have a few thoughts.” Kelly said.

  12

  1:35pm EST

  It had taken hours, but the decision had been made. They would gather everything of value from the town, pack up the people who wanted to leave and head north. The Mayor headed off to talk with the remaining residents of Belleville, and Liam went with Kelly to prepare the Rangers for movement. Jennifer and Ben decided to take advantage of the safety of the town and went to have some privacy, and Kyle left to find Scarlet.

  There was a single old motel near the edge of the town, and that was where Scarlet had gone to rest. When he entered the room she was sharing with Andi, he saw that Scarlet was passed out on the bed and Andi was wide awake and playing in a playpen someone had scavenged for her.

  Kyle tip toed in and Oscar trailed behind him, the cat approached the playpen and stood with his paws on the top of it to allow the little girl to pull herself up and pet him on the head. Kyle was shocked that the temperamental cat not only submitted to the rough affection but purred with contentment.

  “They became fast friends waiting for you to get better,” Scarlet said, stirring in the bed behind him. She reached out and took his hand, and then she pulled him down to the bed with her and kissed him deeply. When she released him, she looked him right in the eyes. Fire seemed to jump around her irises. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” She held his gaze for 30 seconds and then hugged him tight.

  Kyle lay down on the bed next to her, and held her in his arms. “I don’t know what I would have done if they had caught you.” She said to him, her face nestled against his chest.

  “I’m all right,” he said.

  “I know, and I am glad you saved Andi. She’s an adorable girl, but if I’d lost you I don’t know if I could have gone on.” She wasn’t crying, in the world they lived in tears were becoming a luxury, but she was adamant.

  “I’m sorry that I scared you.” He said.

  She laughed a little, and then rubbed the top of his head, “I like the new doo, makes you look dangerous.” Now they were both giggling.

  “UP!” A small squeaky voice demanded, and they both turned to see Andi with her arms raised. “UP!” She said again. Scarlet walked over to the playpen and scooped the little girl up into her arms and hugged her.

  Kyle watched them as Scarlet rocked the girl back and forth and softly sang to her, and he was overcome with love. Before he knew what he was saying, he uttered the words that changed his life forever. “Marry me, Scarlet.”

  She stopped and the room got deathly silent. “What?” She asked.

  “Marry me, be my wife.” He slid off the bed and got on his knees in front of her.

  She looked at him and her lips were trembling. “Don’t joke, please, I don’t think that I could handle it if you were joking.”

  “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my entire life. I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life, however long that may be.” He took her free hand into his and kissed it.

  “Yes,” she said in a barely audible whisper, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  He sprang up and embraced her tightly. They both laughed as Andi cheered, tears were streaming down their faces. There was a long journey ahead of them still, and now there might be a new enemy in their way. But for this moment, they could be happy and know that for them everything was alright. Apparently some things in this brave new world were still worth crying over.

  They wouldn’t have long to celebrate, there was much to be done and the Rangers needed to get back on the road North. But for the moment in this warm dry room, in this town that was for the moment free of the Dead, they could take their first steps forward as a family.

  Second Interlude

  “What Happened during the Collapse”

  “Deep Water”

  Somewhere in the Indian Ocean

  Aboard the Ballistic Missile Submarine USS Hawaii

  October 00, 2012 AD

  6:20pm EST

  The screams had finally stopped and Lt. Commander Scott Jones would have been happier if they had not been replaced with a continual moaning and banging. None of this would have happened if the mother fucker Henderson had had the decency to shoot himself in the head and not to take a shitload of sleeping pills. At least that was the general consensus among the group of seventeen survivors that were hold up on the missile deck of one of the most deadly war machines on the face of
the entire planet. Of course now all it was, was a floating tomb.

  When they had gone to the First Officers cabin to find out way he had not reported for duty they had been met by the sight of him sprawled on the floor covered in his own vomit. The laptop computer of his small desk had been keyed up to an email from his wife telling him that she was leaving for a man that she had met in San Diego and that she was taking their daughter with her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

  They had followed the official policy in regards to deaths aboard a submarine and had stowed his body in the galley freezer. That was another reason to hate the son of a bitch, they had had to waste all of the ice cream to make room for him. Master Chief Gillespie had suggested that they blow him out one of the escape hatches. They had all laughed at that but now he wished that they had done just that, it would have prevented everything else that happened.

  Five hours later a report had come to the bridge one of the cooks had heard banging noises coming from the galley freezer and had opened the door to investigate. He had been confronted by the sight of Commander Henderson’s body bag flopping around on the floor of the freezer. When the cook had opened the bag Henderson’s eyes had been open and his extremities had been frozen but had still had enough range of movement to bite the cook on the hand. The Captain had ordered the body taken to the infirmary along with the injured cook and for the doctor to take a look at both of them. Everyone assumed that maybe the Commander had not been dead but had just been in a deep coma and was now half frozen and having convulsions.

  When there had been no report from the infirmary the Captain had gone down to investigate. He had opened Pandora’s box when he arrived. Henderson, the cook, the doctor, and his two nurses had all attacked him. He had died and then got back up to join them as they attacked the crew of the Hawaii. For two days the crew had fought a running battle with the dead as they tried to maintain control of their vessel. Now, four days after this madness had begun to engulf the world, there were only seventeen of the one hundred and twelve crew of the Boat still alive.

  Scott had been on the Hawaii for three years and had been the second officer for the last four months. He looked around the room and then took stock of his people. They scavenged everything of value that they could lay their hands on and they had created as many improvised weapons as they could. They only had three pistols with a total of sixteen rounds, not even enough for all of them to kill themselves. But that was not the plan.

  “Gentlemen” he began as he looked at these people. They were survivors, they had fought and come through when it looked like they were doomed. “There are maybe forty of those things left on our Boat. We are going to go out there and we are going to destroy every last one of them. Then we are going to sanitize this boat from bow to stern. And then people, we are going to get back in contact with whatever is left of our government and we are going to take back our nation!” He said the last with a yell.

  “SIR, YES SIR!” They responded in unison. Behind the big water tight doors the banging and moaning increased. Two men began working the wheel to unseal the door. They had spent the last two days resting and preparing. They were ready.

  “Alright you smelly motherfuckers, this is our home and the time has come for you to get the fuck off her!” Lt. Commander Scott Jones, now Captain of the USS Hawaii and a man with a hundred nuclear warheads at his fingertips, said as the door swung open and the first of the dead crew began to shamble inside.

  Twelve hours later, and without the loss of a single man, the USS Hawaii was sailing for its namesake. Vicious hand to hand combat had been the order of the day even after the armory had been liberated and there had been plenty of firearms for everyone. Captain Jones had not wanted to risk damaging any of the equipment aboard the Hawaii. It had been dirty and it had been hard but when they were finished only the living, and not the dead, were left aboard.

  “Brothers”

  Skinner’s Tavern

  Tall Look, Alaska

  October 00, 2012 AD

  11:35pm EST

  Jameson Trebnick knocked back a shot of high test whiskey and whistled out as the fire burned its way all the way down his throat and into his gut. It had been a hard afternoon and all he wanted to do was get very drunk and forget the look in Malcolm’s eyes.

  The radio was spewing all kinds of confused shit and most of it made Jameson want to laugh. He toyed with the idea of calling the authorities in Anchorage and telling them everything that he had confirmed about the current situation, everything that he knew about the dead in other words.

  “There has been no word from the government in Juneau for the last six hours and the assumption that is being made is that the capitol has fallen to the dead.” A young kid that used to do the late night sports report said from the tinny radio that Bruce kept on the shelf over the bar.

  “I could have fucking told you that.” Jameson laughed as he thrust a handful of cashews, he dimly wondered if these would be the last cashews that he would ever eat in his life, into his maw and washed it down with the rich malty homebrew that Bruce cooked up out back. No "moose piss" from Canada or "yellow water" from the lower forty eight for the real men that drank at the Tall Look.

  “Why’s that Digger?” Bruce asked as he wiped down the bar. Most people would get a punch in the chops for using Jameson’s childhood nick name but Bruce was a special case, he was Jameson’s little brother after all.

  “Driving down from the cabin I could see the fire from Juneau all the way here.” The vintage Jeep that Jameson had was the only thing that could consistently make it up and down the mountain, except for when the snow as really falling and then he resorted to the Arctic Cat a self contained half track that he kept stored behind the cabin. But he wouldn’t be seeing the Cat anymore unless Bruce went and retrieved it, which he might be willing to do, not with Malcolm still lying across their living room floor.

  “No shit Digger?” Bruce asked. At thirty six Bruce was twelve years younger than the big brother he idolized, and right now Jameson could hear every year in his voice.

  “No shit Skinner.” He said, using Bruce’s nick name right back at him and then drained the rest of his beer. “I think that I am going to head into town and see what I can see.” He said to Bruce as he headed toward the front door, outside the snow was gently falling.

  “Maybe you should just stay here with and Marcy and the girls Digger.” Bruce said, and he sounded worried. He knew what had happened but he wasn’t going to ask his brother any questions. The blood splotches on his thick down jacket had been enough explanation for Bruce Trebnick.

  “Maybe, but I need to get out and about. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a few days.” He said heading out. In his mind he saw the same thing over and over. Malcolm stumbling out of their bedroom, that had been impossible because the fall had killed him and Jameson had laid him out washed him and dressed him. He had cried over his lover of nine years the entire time. But Malcolm had come out of the bedroom and tried to kill him, Jameson had done the only thing that he could think of. He had bashed his head in with a chuck of firewood and then run down the mountain as fast as he could, at Skinners he had learned what was going on.

  Bruce “Skinner” Trebnick watched his older brother walk out of his bar and into the increasingly violent snow storm. He never saw him again outside of his dreams.

  “Scouts Honor”

  The Appalachian Trail, Virginia

  October 00, 2012 AD

  2:15am EST

  Brandon’s heart was pounding a mile a minute and he was sure that they could hear it over the sounds of the night. His legs and his chest hurt from the constant pursuit. Brandon blew into his cupped hands and he wished again in vain that he had grabbed his jacket along with his pack when he had split the horror movie scene that had been their tidy little camp. An owl hooted loudly as it was disturbed by their tromping through the underbrush hunting him in their catatonic way. Steam pillowed from his open
mouth and he again looked at the trees and wondered if it might not be safer to climb and hope that they would pass right by him. But his head was filled with visions of his scouting troop and the hunters that had attacked and killed them surrounding the base of the tree and keeping him up there until he starved to death and then fell to the ground only to rise back up and join them.