Dead Summit (Book 1): Dead Summit

by Loubier, Daniel

  “But what about the bodies?” Grace asked. “What about the people who are killed by the undead? Once the outbreak is over and people come back, won’t they find bodies?”

  Roy’s eyes narrowed, almost sinister. “Assuming you’re talking about the ones that don’t turn?” Grace nodded. “Well, that’s easy,” Roy continued. “The dead don’t leave crumbs.”

  Grace felt her gag reflex kick in at the mere words. Visions of the undead feeding on humans—on their flesh, tissue, cartilage, bone, tendons, muscle—were enough to turn anyone’s stomach. At that moment, she wondered if any had stayed behind to finish Charlie after she’d left him. It hadn’t crossed her mind until now.

  She quickly chased the thought away with another question. “What about the undead? What happens to their bodies?”

  Roy was slow to answer. He simply stared at Grace quietly.

  “You don’t...know?” Grace asked.

  “That’s the million dollar question,” Roy said. “Nobody knows. Some think they go back into the ground. Some say they eat each other. Of course, that wouldn’t explain how they’re able to come back time after time.”

  Grace looked deep into Roy’s eyes. He was holding something back.

  “You believe something else,” she said. “What is it?”

  Roy slowly turned his head and looked out the window. “Doesn’t matter what I believe.”

  “It matters to me.”

  He turned his head back toward her, but his eyes fell to the floor.

  “Tell me,” Grace said.

  He let out a sigh. “Dead bodies are still bodies, right?”

  Grace nodded.

  “Well, they’re out to consume us for some reason. So, maybe when there’s nothing left to consume, they just...perish.”

  “But they’re already dead,” Grace said.

  “Really?” Roy said sarcastically, but he quickly changed his tone. “Sorry. I mean, when the soul leaves the body, the body dies. Right? Well, whatever energy is here is only strong enough to reanimate the body, not the soul.”

  Grace nodded as she listened.

  “But,” Roy continued, “that energy is only strong enough to resurrect the body. It can’t sustain it. So, they must sustain themselves by eating the flesh of the living. And when there’s no more life around, they simply die off. Disappear. Who knows.”

  Grace took it all in. She didn’t know when the idea of the dead rising up from the ground and walking around had gone from pure fiction to stark reality. But this was something that was going to live with her until the end of her days. The dead can come back to life. Fact.

  But there was still something missing. Roy still hadn’t explained what happened to the bodies.

  “You still didn’t answer my question,” Grace said.

  Roy turned his head to the side.

  “What about the bodies?” she asked. “What about the bones?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” he said.

  “Why not? You’ve told me everything else.”

  Roy sat forward quickly on the sofa. “Because there are some things that need to remain secret!” he yelled. His hand clutched the arm of the sofa so tightly that Grace thought his fingers might rip through the upholstery. His eyes were red. Grace thought she might have seen a tear forming, but Roy turned away before she could tell for sure.

  But she understood. As much as she could, she understood him. Roy had a secret to keep. A secret buried for centuries, known only by the locals who handed it down from firstborn to firstborn. And she’d broken through to him. She wasn’t sure how, but she had gotten Roy to tell her things he never should have. However, there was something Roy wouldn’t tell her; something he couldn’t tell her. That part, he would take to his grave.

  “So, what?” Grace began. “You’re, like, a ‘protector’ to this place or something?”

  The words spilled out of Roy’s mouth coldly: “This place is special.”

  Grace was immediately disgusted by that assessment. “This place is evil,” she said. “Not special.”

  “Call it what you want,” he said, “but there’s something here. The only difference is, the rest of the world will never know about it.”

  His conviction was unwavering. Grace had no response this time. At this moment, she knew there were only two people on the mountain who knew what was going on. She would eventually have to decide whether or not she would ever tell anyone this story. Just as Roy had made the same choice.

  Grace stood from the coffee table. She walked over to the giant bay window. She still couldn’t believe how many zombies there were. Surely there couldn’t have been this many back in the fifties. Could there have been? She considered Roy’s story again and mentally prepared for the lengthy stay. It would be a test of will, of whether or not she could outlast the undead.

  She would have to.

  She turned back to Roy. He was still sitting quietly on the sofa. His shoulders stooped forward and his eyes looked weary; he had the appearance of someone who’d just been defeated by his worst enemy. Grace wondered if he would once again find the resolve to make it through. He’d gone through it years ago, as a child. And with the help of his father, and others, he’d survived. But the ordeal had clearly taken its toll on him. Even as an adult, it must have been an impossible burden to bear, this secret. Grace could only imagine what it had done to him mentally and emotionally over the years.

  But she would need him. She could no longer be his enemy in this. She needed an ally and there was only one person available. And just as his father had helped him survive the previous incident, Grace was going to need him to help her if it became unbearable.

  “So we wait,” she said. It was an agreement. It was also a statement in which Grace had tried to infer, “I’m on your side.”

  “We wait,” Roy said.

  Chapter 14

  They had pulled two mattresses out of the rooms and set up beds in the common room. The last place either of them wanted to be was alone in one of the rooms just in case any of the undead found a way to break in. They had locked the doors to all the rooms and the kitchen. They were prepared for the long haul, however long that might be. Grace’s assumption was, it was probably going to be longer than she’d hoped.

  When Grace woke up the following morning, she was surprised to find that she’d slept straight through the night. Then again, with everything that was on her mind, the physical and emotional exhaustion had likely been enough to keep her from waking.

  The common room filled with weak, overcast light from outside. She still didn’t want to believe what was happening. It was all surreal, a dream from which she had seemingly just woken. Except it was not a dream—the situation couldn’t have been more real.

  Roy was already awake. He stood by the big windows, as if keeping a vigil. He was the image of a statue: arms folded, legs firmly planted, eyes staring straight ahead. Grace pulled the sheets away and stood up. The movement caught Roy’s eye.

  “How do you feel?” Roy asked. Grace stared at him incredulously. “I know, bad question.”

  Grace raised a hand and waved it off. She walked over to the window and stood next to Roy. It appeared that the sea of the dead had grown exponentially. She was sure there were more of them. Last night, it was as though there were hundreds. Now, there were thousands.

  “I thought they’re supposed to start dying or something?” Grace said.

  “Only looks like there’s more because it’s daytime,” Roy replied.

  “I just can’t believe how many there are,” she said, rubbing her eyes, half because she was still waking up and half because she simply couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  “I made eggs in a basket,” Roy said changing subject. “There are some leftovers in the kitchen.”

  Grace was still reluctant to go into the kitchen, but she couldn’t continue to rely on Roy to fetch her meals for her. After all, neither of them knew how long they’d have to stay there, and she didn’t fi
gure him to be some kind of manservant. There were no zombies in the hut, of that she was sure. There were plenty to fear outside, but nothing to be afraid of inside their sanctuary.

  She walked across the large room, through the cafeteria, and into the kitchen. She pushed the heavy steel doors open and stepped inside. The air was just as cold and as still as the last time she’d been in there. She rested a hand on a metal counter, ran her fingers along the spotless surface. The chill from the steel triggered a horrible memory of Cheryl coming after her in the freezer. She stepped over to the range. A frying pan containing the fried eggs on toast sat on a cold burner. She served herself breakfast on a clean plate left on the stove and walked back out into the common area.

  Roy still stared out the window.

  “Thank you,” she called across the room. Roy turned and nodded. Grace walked as she ate, across the room, back toward the big window where Roy stood. She brought a piece of toast to her mouth and gazed out the window.

  They were hideous. She’d seen plenty of them over the last twenty-four hours—fighting, killing, surviving, trying to stay alive. Now that her focus had shifted, she was able to get a good look at them. They all had the same grayish skin, loose and swollen. Some looked like they’d been dead a very long time, most likely members of the last outbreak. They wore torn, outdated clothing. Their eye sockets had sunk in so deeply that a golf ball could probably sit inside without falling out. Their skin was beyond deteriorated, decay having eaten away much of the top layer, revealing dark red and blackened muscle. Much of the muscle fiber itself, maggot-ridden and moldy, had also torn and hung loosely from their bodies.

  Then there were the others. The “new batch,” Grace thought. Their skin was equally gray and swollen, but it was easy to tell that they were “newer” than some of the other zombies. Modern clothing, hair that looked like hair and not straw, teeth that still retained a lighter shade of yellow versus the brown of the older ones. Their wounds still looked somewhat fresh, too.

  Grace looked down at her half-eaten breakfast and realized that her appetite had been spoiled. She set the plate down on an end table and looked around for something to occupy her time.

  “Hey,” Roy said. “I found a book when I was checking the bathrooms. I’m not much of a reader, but it might help to pass the time.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “I left it over by the fireplace.”

  Grace walked over to the fireplace. The book sat up on the mantel. The word “Diary” was written in pink letters on the front.

  “It’s not a book,” Grace said. “It’s someone’s diary.”

  “Hmm. Well, I’m sure they won’t mind if you read it.”

  Grace quickly flipped through the first few pages. There wasn’t much written; maybe ten pages had been filled with text. She flipped open to the middle of the book and dog-eared one of the pages, and then she walked over to an end table and pulled open the drawer. There were coasters, a few magazines, and a rolled-up newspaper. Inside the newspaper she found a small pencil. A crossword puzzle addict she thought. She sat comfortably in a chair and flipped the book back open to the page she’d marked. Grace thought for a few minutes about what she might say. Then, she began to write.

  Chapter 15

  Day One Lockdown

  Roy found a diary this morning. I didn’t read any of it. It’s probably bad karma to invade someone’s personal thoughts. However, it’s barely been written in, so from this page on it’s my journal. I’m not really sure what to say.

  It’s me and Roy, the camp store owner. He’s a good guy. He’s a little old, definitely twice my age, but I’d still want him on my side in a fight. We’re hiding out in the hut until it’s safe to leave. The old hut. Back where it all began.

  Roy was here in this very hut the last time there was an “outbreak.” He says they stayed a couple weeks before it was safe to go, but that’s only because they’d rather have been eaten than starve to death. That’s a really shitty decision to have to make. I hope it doesn’t come down to that. I trust him, though. I just hope he trusts me. I’m not quite sure I’d trust me. I’ll just take it one day at a time for as long as I have to. That’s about all for today. I’m not sure what else to write right now.

  In the evening of “Day One,” Grace prepared dinner for herself and Roy: sandwiches and chips.

  “How domesticated of you,” Roy joked. Grace laughed slightly. It was the first time she’d done so since she first came to the hut with Charlie.

  “You know, there are some meats and stuff in the freezer,” he continued. “I don’t mind going in and taking something out.”

  Grace curled her lip, her thoughts immediately drifting toward the evil that might still be lurking behind the freezer door.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” she said. “I’d rather check it out in the daytime.”

  “Okay. That’ll work.”

  They ate slowly in silence. To Grace, every bite was better than the last; after all, each meal had the potential to be her last. Sure, they were sealed in from the zombies. She knew that the same plan had been worked many years ago, but she didn’t take anything for granted. If these things wanted them badly enough, they could probably find a way inside.

  After dinner, they turned out the lights in the common room. They took one last look out into the night. The sea of undead continued to churn as they paced back and forth like a crowd at a music festival. The numbers certainly hadn’t thinned since the night before. Grace hoped for a different view in the morning.

  Chapter 16

  Day Two Lockdown

  My first thoughts today were of Charlie. I half expected him to be lying next to me when I woke up. I cried when he wasn’t there. Roy saw me and let me be. He understands. I don’t know if his father survived the last outbreak. He didn’t say one way or the other, but I never asked. I have a feeling he’s hiding more than he lets on. If I had lived through what he did at such a young age, I’d probably keep some things hidden, too...

  Day two was a bright, sunny day. A beautiful day under any other circumstances. The walking dead continued to saunter around in droves, a gross juxtaposition against an otherwise glorious wooded setting.

  While Grace was writing in her journal, Roy walked up next to her and held out a deck of cards.

  “You play?” he asked.

  Grace set down her pencil and looked up at him, incredulously. “Seriously? You wanna play a game?”

  Roy quickly appeared taken aback. “We’ve got nothing but time on our hands in here. Time to pray for our survival… time to hope those creatures don’t find a way in… time to think about who we’ve lost because of all this… or, we could spend it by trying to take our minds off of it.”

  Grace immediately felt ashamed for throwing Roy’s idea in his face. She set down her journal and got up from the chair, and followed Roy to a table.

  Grace and Roy passed the time by talking about their lives outside of the hut. They talked about home, the things they had done before the outbreak. Roy talked about how he’d inherited ownership of the camp store. He also talked about how his father had told him about the undead some time after the last outbreak.

  “He said to me, ‘Roy, you can’t tell anyone about what happened.’”

  “Did he say why?” Grace asked.

  “He said, ‘It’s a secret.’ He said, ‘Nobody knows about this other than us locals, and if outsiders find out, they’d never come back.’ It’s a story that was passed down to me, passed down to him, and so on and so on, going back centuries.”

  Grace studied his hands after he spoke. He didn’t fidget a bit. He’d accepted this explanation a long time ago and never looked back, never questioned it.

  “Don’t you find that a bit strange, though?” Grace asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “All these years, this energy, or whatever you want to call it, has been here. Yet nobody but the locals has ever known about it?”

  “Is that so hard to
believe?” he asked.

  “Well, yes, it is,” she said. “You’d think that, at some point, the secret would get out.”

  Roy finally shifted positions in his chair. She’d struck a nerve.

  “Something happened,” she insisted. “What was it?”

  Roy laid his cards down. He rubbed his hand through his reddish-gray hair, scratched his beard under his chin. There was something.

  “Please tell me,” Grace said.

  Roy looked her in the eye.

  “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you,” he said. “But remember, once you know, you can’t unknow it.”

  Grace was confused, but she didn’t show it. She simply stared back into his lifeless eyes.

  “I want to know,” she said.

  “All right then.” Roy sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “People are smart these days. Some yahoo goes around telling you that he saw the dead come back to life, you gonna believe him? No, of course you’re not. So, these days it isn’t such a big deal.”

  “What isn’t such a big deal?” she asked.

  Roy’s eyes went to the floor. His face was full of shame.

  “Letting them go,” he said softly.

  “Letting who go?” Grace asked. “I don’t understand.”

  Roy turned his head up again, looked her in the eyes.

  “Letting you go, letting them go, back in the fifties,” he said. “Someone claims to be Jesus Christ and sets up camp in the midwest, he might get a hundred people to follow him, but to the rest of the world, he’s a crazy person.”

  “Right. So?” she said.

  “So,” Roy continued, “two, three hundred years ago, people weren’t that smart. In seventeenth-century Salem, Mass, if some girl ran home and told her family, ‘I saw Anne place a curse on Margaret!’ Anne was a goner. Similarly, if someone ran back home and told his family, ‘Hey, there’s a bunch of dead people eating the living up in the mountains!’ people would have believed him. As much as people don’t believe these days, they believed even more back then, so...we kept ’em quiet.”