The Dead Rise (Book 1): Zombies and Chainsaws

by Evans, Mike

  The leader of the group tried pulling his pistol as his last man was gutted like a pig. Gabriel brought his arm up over his head with practiced perfection and threw his knife, embedding it into the man’s throat. He gripped it with both hands and watched as Gabriel made his path through the room, coming out of the smoke towards him, placed a silenced handgun next to his head, and fired a single shot. Alejandro fell to the ground hard where his blood pooled on the white tiled floor.

  Raul was screaming at the top of his lungs, “Nenhum fantasma! Shoot nenhum fantasma… shoot!”

  Gabriel made a calming motion with his hands and whispered, “I’m not going to shoot you and I am not a ghost.”

  The man asked, “Você é o diabo?”

  Gabriel cut the man loose, shrugging at that question. He said, “Para aqueles que o pecado.” Only to those that have sinned. The man nodded, making the sign of the cross with the fingers that he had left.

  Gabriel helped him up out of the seat, looked at the man's appearance, and figured he could walk. He assessed the amount of blood spread on the floor, knowing the majority of it was from his new acquaintance. He took a picture of the leader and sent it to his ex-handler in the CIA with a message saying, “I’m out. Here is the last hit that I’ll ever do for you.”

  He looked at Raul’s hands and ripped one of the dead men’s shirts into strips and made a makeshift bandage out of it, wrapping his hands with enough clean material to protect them from bacteria as they made their way through the jungle. He let Raul put his weight on his shoulder and knew that he would never make it out of the jungle with this man in his current condition.

  Gabriel took him back out towards the front and hid him in the corner. He ran across the courtyard to a soft-top jeep and turned it over, checking that it had gas. He moved to the other vehicles and crawled underneath them. They were giant transport trucks, and Gabriel used his knife to puncture the gas tanks. As the gas made its way down the driveway, he climbed into the jeep, pulled it around, and half-carried Raul into the backseat where he passed out almost instantly. The thought of relief and sanctuary was more than he could handle.

  Gabriel sped past the cars, pulling a flare from his vest and tossing it beneath the vehicles lined up in the yard. The men running and screaming after them never saw it coming. The cars erupted across the yard one after another in a succession of fireballs, lighting the dark night, some of them flipping in the air. Gabriel shifted it into top gear, putting as much space as he could between himself and the compound. He didn’t know if there would be anyone left to tell the story of what happened but hoped that everyone that had deserved it, lay dead.

  The two men drove hard through the night, stopping outside of Manuas where Gabriel called one of the company doctors, certain that he wouldn’t know about his parting of ways with the CIA. He spoke quickly and explained the injuries. He had gone over the man, giving him a field check to see what if anything else seemed wrong with him. After seconds, he was sure that the man would need to have his ribs taped tightly and his hands disinfected and wrapped to protect what fingers were still left on each hand.

  Two hours later, he had filled the jeep back up and thanked the doctor. The two men headed to the rendezvous point where they would abandon it and fly to safety and freedom. He promised Raul once they got to North America, it was going to be very difficult for them to get rid of him once he went up knocking on the front doors of Langley. He had information that no one else did, and that would be enough to give them good reason to keep him around.

  Gabriel parked a few miles away from the landing strip. He pulled into a patch of trees, circling through the jungle until the jeep was lost in the brush. Raul asked, “How long until we are able to get out of here? They will find us eventually; there are eyes everywhere. You and I will die if they find us.”

  Gabriel pulled his satellite phone, hoping that it was the last call he would need to make on it. He looked over at Raul, shaking his head no, “I’m not that easy to kill. They paid a lot of money for me to learn what I can do and I do it very well.”

  Raul, having seen a short example of this, nodded thinking that maybe he was diabo branco, the white devil. The two men sat in silence as Gabriel contemplated the future, and Raul was praying that, by some chance, the two of them would make it out of there and live yet another day.

  Just as he was readying himself to call, the light above them went dark. The two looked up and saw the Widow Maker flying high above them, shading everything for a moment with the cargo plane’s wingspan. The plane circled around, coming in low in a field, and then coming to a stop. The rear of the plane opened and Gabriel floored the jeep back out of the jungle's edge and towards the plane.

  Forsyth came out of the back of the plane, holding a machine gun to his shoulder already raised, aiming sharp at the two men. He lowered it when he saw Gabriel holding up one hand. He lowered the rifle for a moment, and then, to Gabriel’s surprise, brought it back up quickly. Gabriel reached for his own gun, pulling it out to aim at Forsyth, hoping that he had not been double-crossed. He knew the CIA and wouldn’t put it past them to try and take him out quickly. He peered into the rearview mirror of the jeep for a second and saw a small army of men coming out of the tree line.

  Gabriel floored the jeep, yelling to Raul and pointing at the gas pedal. “Keep it down, and keep us on the path towards the plane. Gabriel climbed up out of his seat, standing with his machine gun, and took aim at the men closing in on the jeep.

  Gabriel squeezed the trigger, taking the men out one after another. They rolled up next to the plane where Raul practically fell out of the jeep and hobbled into the rear of the plane. Gabriel pulled the jeep around so that it was pointing at the men, who were still in pursuit. He jammed the gas pedal down hard as the engine screamed in protest. He reached under the backside of the jeep, securing the last trick he had in his bag. Gabriel put the jeep in drive and got clear of the vehicle. It raced wildly across the field, bouncing and jumping. When it got within thirty yards of the pursuing men, Gabriel hit the switch, setting the blast from beneath the jeep. It flew over backwards, making the men veer their vehicles. Gabriel motioned to Forsyth to run inside and the two sprinted up the back entrance, punching the button to raise and close the back cargo door.

  Once inside, Forsyth moved with purpose to the front of the long plane. He pushed the throttle levers up slowly at first and then quickly, making the men almost lose their balance. He was thankful as hell that he had left the plane running.

  Raul hobbled to a seat and collapsed into it. With a bandaged hand, he made a sign of the cross, thanking God that someone out there was looking out for him. Gabriel walked to the front of the plane where Forsyth looked over, smiling. “Great to see you again, Gabriel; it’s always a pleasure to see you. We always have such pleasant times, don't we? My only complaint is you’re such a boring guy.”

  Gabriel nodded his head. “Yes, we have the best of times.”

  Forsyth dropped his smile as they accelerated down the makeshift runway for takeoff. “I was being sarcastic, Gabriel. You fucking owe me like you will probably never be able to imagine. But you know I’d do anything for you CIA boys, right?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth I retired today. I will no longer be sent into places of death to kill those that are worse. Someone else can go in and take care of people like that. The reason they don’t want to just drop a fucking bomb is that they are too damn scared of pissing off politicians or letting people know that America doesn’t agree with how they are treating their citizens. No, they’d rather try and keep things looking civilized and be able to blame the killings on the people revolting against those that have done wrong.”

  “So, you looking for a job then?”

  Gabriel sat back, closing his eyes for the first time in days. “No, I think that I’m going to take a little vacation first and then after that, yes, I might need to get a job or two lined up. I can assume that my credentials will be plenty enough to g
et me set up, right?”

  Forsyth pulled a cigar and handed one to Gabriel. He lit a wood match and rolled the cigar until the end glowed. “You know you're going to need someone in the beginning to help you get going.”

  Gabriel nodded his head. “Yeah, I can see that being necessary. You have time to do your flight duties and be a handler?”

  Forsyth took a pull off of the cigar and said, “Well, I can assure you safe passage from one country to another because of my own particular skill set, which may enough for you to consider me. I know that I can sell the shit out of a highly trained ex-spook who has got more kills under his belt than the bird flu. I got to ask you one question, though.”

  Gabriel, who was near sleep, said, “What’s that?”

  “How the hell did you ever get into this line of work?”

  Gabriel looked over and said, “I don’t like those who hurt others.”

  He took off his weapons, setting them on the ground and pulled off his sweat-soaked fatigue jacket. He reclined his seat, thinking of his past and not wanting to thank Forsyth for the unpleasant dreams he was about to have.

  Buried

  Chapter 1

  09/22/17 4:00 AM

  I did not want to look at the family huddled in the corner any longer, so instead I looked around the room, whistling the theme song to “The Wizard of OZ”. I walked nonchalantly around the darkened room, lit only by the small Tiffany lamp sitting on the edge of a hand crafted oak table. I saw everything that meant something to this family, and it was all quite expensive. I knew that if it were mine I’d send it to a high-end auction house or possibly start my own EBay store. There was a touch of moonlight shining through the space left by the open plantation shutters. It reflected off the little crystal bunnies arranged on a wall shelf. I was beginning to feel at home here. It had been the better part of the night since supper, and we were working our way toward the wee morning hours just before sunrise. Time was a commodity I did not intend to waste. I touched my gloved finger to a few ornate crystal bunnies, then picked one up. I gazed at it and then held it up for the woman to see. I nodded approvingly and set back it down as delicately as I had picked it up. “Exquisite!”

  The room was straight out of Architectural Digest. It was very stereotypical. It was exactly how people with little money envision the lives of the rich. If anything in here was even remotely sentimental to them I would be amazed. There weren’t a lot of heirlooms from Grandmother sitting around in this area of the house. The majority of what was in here had been chosen by a decorator during the last few years. I imagined the fury of the mother when one of the two small children came running into this place like possessed heathen.

  Even in the sparsely lit room you could sense the amount of money that was spent. There were a variety of modern paintings on the wall, ornately carved glass showcases to display little birds, and crystal vases that would never be used for anything other than to elicit compliments and the adoration of friends and colleagues. A case filled with watches by makers I could not, nor wanted to learn how to pronounce, but most it seemed were Italian and French. Apparently he missed the memo on the Swiss and their aptitude for watch making. All of the items in the room were prominently displayed.

  The wealthy very rarely surprised me. It always goes back to upbringing. I believe if you were born with money and never had a reason to be hungry, it would be a difficult task to sympathize. What does amaze me, however, is instead of saving their money they simply find new trinkets to spend it on, and it’s a pity really. If I had that kind of wealth I would live modestly, find worthy charities, and donate my time and extra money to them.

  I turned back to the family tied up in the corners of the room. A sting of guilt hit me that was unfamiliar and totally unlike me. I shook it off, remembering one must do what one must in order to survive. I stared at the dad tied to the chair. I felt worse about him because wounding a man’s pride and will in front of his family seemed to me to be one of the worse things I could do. I was basically breaking his spirit. It was just unfortunate for this family that they had to be a part of it tonight. But if not them, then who? Did some other family deserve this? , I think not. As bad as it might sound, this was in no way the worse thing I could do to someone; far from it really. I walked over and sat next to the dad and put my arm around him. “Are we going to make it through this calm, cool, and collected Mr. President?”

  He looked at me with bloodshot eyes full of fear and hatred. He started screaming at me, but it was impossible to make out any words because of the tape over his mouth. “Did you want to a have word with me, Mr. President?”

  He started bucking back and forth; I ripped the tape off of his mouth quickly, like a Band-Aid. “So what’s on your mind; are you ready to change your ethics for a few hours if it will save your family from having to deal with the repercussions of you being so hard headed?”

  He started bucking and thrashing wildly at me again. He was so pissed I could barely comprehend what he was saying, “If I ever find out who you are I am going to hunt you to the ends of the earth, do you understand me?”

  I patted the chunky part of his belly. “I am terrified Mr. President, but there is no end of the earth remember? It’s round. I guess it’s time to start talking to la familia.”

  Very lightly and very controlled he whispered. “If you touch one hair on my children’s head you will regret it for the rest of your life; you don’t know what I am capable of.”

  “Now that’s the spirit sir, but what we need is a little bit more of a cooperative attitude. You know maybe we could say glass half full as opposed to half empty, how’s that sound?”

  I held up my arm and pulled back my sleeve. “Do you see this right here, under the ink, aka tattoos, those are goose bumps; I am absolutely sure of it. I just got excited I think, you sounded so in charge Mr. President. Really listen to yourself, “’if you touch one hair on my children’s head’...” But I think for you what would happen is you would stay tied to this chair, if you started yelling, I would duct tape your mouth again. So I don’t really see a point in touching their hair, but if I did you could not do anything about it. If you’d like me to, I can leave your family out of it. Maybe you would rather I just talk to you, but will it do any good? So far you are not playing nice. Do you concur?”

  The bank president, a man who was used to people being very interested in what he thought and what he wanted, refused to answer. I shrugged and walked over to his wife. I stood up, feeling the effects of the day in my spine, and stretched my back out. I twisted to each side and rolled my head in circles so I could get the blood going again. I walked around the room. I had been going round and round with the same questions for six hours. I had to get through this next day, if it didn’t happen my life would never be the same. This guy wasn’t budging so I thought maybe it was time to talk to the rest of the family. I sat down next to the wife, stretched my legs out, and crossed my feet. In a ‘we’re all just buddies here’ kind of a way I rested my head on her shoulder. “Mrs. President, I am out of patience, I am tired; I think you’re tired, I know the kids are, and by the sound of your lesser half’s stomach, I think she’s just hungry. I’m going to have to up the ante just a little bit to get things moving, I think. So I am going to cover the kid’s eyes so we can get the ball rolling.”

  The wife, who had seemed oblivious up until now, looked at me, and like a perfect playback of her husband and began, “I will hunt you...”

  I cut her off. I simply didn’t have the patience for this, so I finished her thought; “Yes, yes you will hunt me to the ends of the earth which I assume you think is flat as well. You could hunt me to the end of America, it does end;, I mean unless maybe I head south or north but that is a geographical conversation with too many maybes to deal with.”

  “Could you possibly be anymore rude, really? Just take what you want and leave. I don’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish anyway.”

  I was in shock and a littl
e discouraged to discover she was actually as ditzy as she pretended not to be. “Regina, now really, if you still think I am here to rob the place you might need to re-examine the situation. If I was going to steal something don’t you think in the last eight hours I’d have, I don’t know, taken something out to a car or van? Or gone off looking for your super-secret safe that holds all your precious items?

  She responded as smugly as she could. “Well, if you aren’t here to rob us and my husband won’t agree to do what you want, then how do you expect to get anything from him or me?”

  I patted her thigh, which made her visibly flinch; I hopped up and slid eye and ear covers over the children. “Well, funny thing about bank presidents Regina… it is ok that I call you Regina isn’t it; we're all friends here right? So, anyway, the thing about presidents of banks is they usually follow the model set by government presidents. Usually, where you find a president you can find, would you like to guess Regina? Yes! That’s right, you find a vice president, so if I kill you-know-who.” I used my left hand to block my right as I pointed to the president and then put my finger over my mouth in a “hush” gesture. “If I killed you-know-who then I could drive ten miles to his vice president’s house and do this same thing. I am pretty sure if I cut off your husband’s hand and took it with me to present to the vice president, that would be the all-time great motivator, don’t you think?

  She looked at me, then looked at her husband, then looked back at me; apparently she was deciding something and was coming to the strong realization that maybe I wasn’t completely full of shit. I hopped up and Regina calmly asked her husband, “Honey, maybe we should you know…do what he wants. He might go easier on you dear.”