“Thanks,” I said.
I got into the back of the police car and looked down at my feet. Though I wasn’t cuffed, I couldn’t bear to look at the people on the sidewalk staring at me.
I had never been arrested, not even in my darkest drinking days. Let me tell you, it’s not pleasant. There’s a sense of unreality to it, like it’s a dream and it’s happening to someone else.
As I waited to be driven off, the first cop—Norm—went over to look at my truck with the other cop. He stared at the front bumper, said “Holy shit!” and looked over at me. I watched as Isaac joined them. I could imagine what they were saying about the blood. When it was over, Isaac walked past the police vehicle and gave me an almost-imperceptible thumbs-up.
A coward and a murderer, I thought, as the two cops climbed into the car. Holly already hated me. Now she’d for sure be scared of me too.
“That was some raccoon,” the cop named Norm said to me over his shoulder.
“What?”
“The one you ran over. He must’ve been huge.”
“He was,” I said, realizing the story Isaac had told them.
“You may want to hose that off later so no other police officers pull you over.”
“Right,” I said.
As we got onto the main road, a voice on the police radio announced that a violent mob had overrun a convenience store. Two employees were dead. The dispatcher said, “All units respond.”
The cops looked at each other, and Norm said, “Shit, what do we do?”
“We have to get this guy to the station.”
“The store’s on the way. Let’s at least check it out.”
We rode in silence, the dispatcher’s voice droning in the background. Whatever was going on over there, it sounded hellish. I heard the dispatcher use the word mayhem.
“You thought about quitting?” the other cop said to Norm.
“Every damn day.”
THE CONVENIENCE STORE WAS in chaos. Twenty or more police and sheriffs’ vehicles, their lights flashing, surrounded the small wooden building with the peeling green paint and cartoon advertisements for slushies and hot dogs. Behind them, dozens of cops trained their weapons on something. Overhead, the blades of a blue-and-white highway-patrol helicopter beat angrily. On the roof, store employees waved their arms, pleading to be rescued. But from what?
Then I heard it—that awful screeching that I came to know as a death shriek.
In the distance I saw an Eyewitness News truck and Evie Champagne pushing through the police barricade with her microphone, trying to cover the scene up close as her pudgy, bearded cameraman shot over-the-shoulder video. One of the cops—I think he was a police captain—blocked their path. It was hard to hear.
“You need to get out of here.”
“We have a right to be here.”
Without another word, he grabbed the camera and threw it on the ground.
“Hey!” the sidekick said.
Another cop popped the cameraman in the head with his riot stick as Evie let go a string of obscenities. The man dropped to his knees, cursing and cradling his bleeding head. More cops dragged Evie and the cameraman back to their truck, flung the side door open and forced them inside.
I thought the cops were trying to protect citizens, but I couldn’t help wondering whether they didn’t want any images broadcast. One of the cops stood guard next to the truck to make sure the two news people didn’t come out again. After the captain and the other cops left, though, I saw Evie through the window of the truck shooting video on her cell phone. I had to give it to her, she had cojones.
All the other cops stood behind their vehicle doors, their weapons pointed at … I don’t know what they were. They resembled people, but they didn’t act normal. They were like those crazies in the forest, climbing over one another, trying to get to something on the ground behind a parked car. I strained to see what it was.
A human arm.
As the cops looked on in disgust, these animals ripped a human body to shreds and ate it with a hellish hunger. Eyes, ears, fingers, belly—anything they could grab and devour.
No one seemed to know what to do. One of the other cops waved at us. Officer Norm switched off the engine and said to me, “You stay here in the back.”
“Don’t leave me here!”
Drawing their weapons, he and his partner got out and joined the others as the horde, still not sated, turned their attention to the cops.
“Halt!” someone said. But the horde pushed forward, their eyes lifeless, their mouths twitchy and bloody.
I wanted to run, but I had no way to get out of the vehicle. What if one of them broke in?
A gunshot pierced the thick, stifling air. One of the horde turned sideways, a gaping, bloody hole in his chest. He shook it off and kept coming. A volley of gunshots riddled him, hardly slowing him down.
Bullets rained down on the horde. One of the rounds hit a woman in the head. Covered in blood, she went down hard and didn’t get up again.
“Aim for the head!” someone said.
I don’t know how many shots were fired, but one by one the creatures hit the ground, half their faces blown off by shotguns and .44 Magnums. What was happening was unreal. The horde seemed to be growing. Some of the cops were bit as they tried to reload. No one could stop to help them as they lay on the ground, screaming.
A crash.
What used to be a man, teeth dripping with gore, was reaching for me through the shattered side window. I screamed and moved as far away as I could—still it almost touched me.
“Help!”
Because I was inside the car, no one could hear me over the gunfire. Pushing against the door, I tried kicking the dark thing’s arms away. But it grabbed one of my feet and, with incredible strength, pulled me towards it.
“Help! For God’s sake!”
As my leg went through the window, the creature’s head exploded. Officer Norm peered through the shattered window, still holding his .44.
I got my leg back inside, and he leaned in. “You okay?”
The ordeal lasted only a few minutes. The cops who were bit turned on their brethren and had to be put down. I thought about what Isaac said about the virus mutating. Victims were turning faster.
“Cease fire!” the captain said.
Then all was quiet. Every bit of the horde was dead—including the infected cops. The helicopter was gone. The employees who were still on the roof stared down at the carnage. The pungent smell of gunpowder hung in the air. One of the cops picked up the head of one of his comrades and puked on his shoes.
As we drove in silence, I lay on the backseat, numb from cold and shock. The police dispatcher had called it right—mayhem.
Norm and his partner brought me into a small office where Detective Van Gundy was already waiting. A dark green file folder lay on the desk. He closed the door, went behind the desk and motioned for me to have a seat.
“Want something to drink?”
I couldn’t answer. My head felt feverish, my legs detached. I vomited on the floor.
“Sorry.”
The detective stepped over the sick and flung the door open. “Can I get a mop and a bucket in here?” He touched my shoulder and helped me up. “Come on, we’ll use another office.”
I sat in a metal-and-vinyl chair, a cup of room-temperature water in my hand, as Detective Van Gundy flipped through a pile of papers inside the folder.
“Sorry about what happened,” he said. “Those cops should have never put you in danger like that. The way things have been going, not everyone is thinking right. What happened anyway?”
I was about to say something when Isaac walked in.
“Can I help you?” Detective Van Gundy said. “Oh, Dr. Fallow. What can I do for you?”
“I came to see if I could be of help.”
“Sure.” The detective looked resigned as Isaac took a seat next to me and patted my knee.
“I was about to tell Mr. Pulaski that w
e found Ms. Soldado’s cell phone and—”
“I knew her, okay?” I said.
Isaac frowned. “You should get yourself a lawyer, son.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Her last text was to your cell number,” the detective said. “Want to explain why you didn’t tell me the truth before?”
“Dave, I strongly advise—”
“Because I was cheating on my wife with Melyssa Soldado, okay? I didn’t want anybody to know.”
“I see.” Detective Van Gundy made a note in the file. “And your friend? How does he fit into all this?”
I gave him as much of the truth as I was going to. “I don’t know, he might’ve been jealous.”
“Jealous,” the detective said. “Her last text to you was …” He referred to a handwritten page. “‘You shouldn’t have done that, Dave.’ Shouldn’t have done what?”
“I have no idea.”
“Right.”
“Have you located her yet?”
“No. Someone reported seeing a woman fitting her description wandering in the forest near where Ms. Soldado lives. The description also says that she was covered in blood. We don’t have any other leads.”
I looked at Isaac, then at Detective Van Gundy. “So are we done?”
The detective considered the question, looked at the file again and then back at me. I knew he didn’t have shit to go on. If he was hoping for a confession, he could forget it. I was saving that for the priest.
“Yeah,” he said, “for now. Don’t leave town. I know that sounds cheesy, but seriously. I’ll have more questions later.”
I looked at him and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere. I have to work.”
As we left the office, Detective Van Gundy said, “Mr. Pulaski? I understand your wife is not currently living at home.”
“That’s right. When Jim died I told my wife what I’d done. She doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
“Sorry to hear that. I’d still like to interview her.” I tried not to let the shock show on my face as he slid over a pen and paper. “Please write down her address and phone number.”
“Sure,” I said. When I’d finished, I slid the paper back over to him.
“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” he said as he read what I’d written. “In time.”
“Sure.”
All I wanted was to get home and shower, but Isaac insisted we talk. So we went to the Tip Top for coffee and pie.
“Dave,” he said, olallieberry juice dripping down his chin, “you need an attorney. I’m happy to recommend one.”
“Why?”
“Son, in addition to bringing babies like you into the world, I’ve been investigating homicides for thirty-five years. Looking at the medical evidence. Trying to guess what was going through the killer’s mind. I’m not saying you killed anyone, but what I see is a man with a big secret.”
I stirred my coffee and avoided eye contact. “I’m not a bad person.”
“Course not. But sometimes we make mistakes—bad ones. And people wind up dead.”
“Like Jim.”
“Yeah.”
“Missy’s not dead.”
“You sure?”
“Jim was way dead before he ever showed up in the forest.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was there, trying to talk sense into Missy. Jim showed up out of nowhere, and he wasn’t right.”
“Was he like those people who chased us in the woods?”
“Yeah. But I’d seen him days earlier and he wasn’t violent. He was kind of, I don’t know, in a trance. I touched him one time and he was ice-cold. Smelled like something rotten. When he attacked Missy, I ran like hell.”
“So that’s your secret? You ran away?”
“I didn’t even try to help her.”
“Why didn’t you tell the detective?”
“Because I didn’t want it getting out that I’m a coward.”
“The truth has a way of getting out.”
The last time we were here, it was Isaac who lost it. Now it was my turn. I tried choking back the tears, but it was no use. Desperate to gain control, I dug a fork into my palm under the table. The pain cleared my head.
“You okay?” Isaac said, and I nodded. “Look, I don’t know what’s happening in Tres Marias. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s a virus, right?”
“I don’t know. Viruses don’t turn ordinary people into cannibals.”
My cell phone rang. It was Holly. “Hey.”
“I got a call from Detective Van Gundy.” She sounded pissed off.
“Sorry, I need to take this,” I said to Isaac, and went outside. Then to Holly, “I was going to call you. He works fast. Did you talk to him?”
“I didn’t know who it was, so I let it go to voice mail. He’s going to ask about what happened with Missy, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“What do I say?”
“What I said. That I was having an affair with her and that’s all you know.”
“But he could make me tell the truth in court.”
“No. You don’t have to testify against your husband. Look, he’s fishing.”
“I hate you for making me lie.”
“Then tell him the truth,” I said, and disconnected.
When I looked up, Isaac was outside with me, picking the seeds out of his teeth with a flat toothpick. “Everything okay?”
“Couldn’t be better,” I said. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride back to your house.”
I half expected to see police cars and dead people, but Isaac’s street was quiet. I followed him into his home office and found the walls covered with maps and sticky notes. His bag and medical kit lay on the floor next to piles of medical books.
“What’s all this?” I said.
“I’ve been trying to put it all together, how this thing started,” he said, going over to one of the maps. “The best I can figure, it started in the forest here.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m basing it on all the deaths in the area—both animal and human. Take a look at this spot.”
I moved closer. The spot Isaac had circled looked familiar. It was near where Jim and I had crashed.
“Here is where that hunter said he found that woman, Sarah Champion. What I can’t figure out is, some of the victims were nowhere near the forest when they got sick.”
“Maybe they were infected by someone who was.”
“Right. There is one clue. Some of them had been bitten recently.”
“By an animal?” I thought of the dog coming after me that night, Jim’s dog. But this wasn’t rabies.
“No, in every case, they were human bites.”
“Was Jim bit?”
“I don’t recall seeing any bites in the autopsy. Hang on.”
He opened a file cabinet and pulled out a thick manila folder. Then he grabbed a dozen or so autopsy photos and spread them out on the floor. It hurt me to look at Jim’s cold, naked body.
Isaac examined the photos with a magnifying glass. Then it hit me. When I drove Jim home, I noticed what looked like a bite mark on his left hand. It must’ve happened days before, because it was partially healed.
“Do you have a photo of his left hand?” I said.
“Here.” Isaac studied the photo, clucking his tongue. “I’ll be damned. How did I miss this? Time for some new glasses.”
He showed me the photo with the magnifying glass. There it was—a bite mark. “This isn’t a human bite.”
I told Isaac about having seen Jim’s dog that night and about how rabid he looked.
“What doesn’t make sense is, this isn’t rabies. It’s something else. We might have an outbreak on our hands.”
He indicated the arrows pointing outward from Tres Marias. Who knew how far the disease—if that’s what you wanted to call it—had spread?
“What about the CDC?” I said.
“I tried them again
, but they’ve gone dark on me. Won’t even take my calls.”
“Weird. So I have a question. What happens when the police can no longer contain the situation?”
“You may have seen the highway patrol in full force,” he said. “If it becomes a state emergency, I suppose they’ll send in the National Guard. There’s a rumor going around that’s about to happen.”
“I need to be with Holly,” I said, getting up and going to the door.
“That’s what I recommend,” he said, studying one of the maps.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m driving to San Francisco tonight to meet with an immunologist friend of mine.”
Isaac’s cell phone rang. “Isaac Fallow,” he said. “What? When? I’ll be right there.” Then to me, “Dave, can you drive me over to the hospital?”
“Isaac, I’d like to but—”
“Please, it’s important.”
The police were already at the hospital when we arrived. Isaac and I went to the office of the hospital administrator, Dr. Vale, who looked to be in her sixties. Next to her stood Isaac’s neighbor Patty, frightened and confused.
“Isaac, thank God,” Dr. Vale said. “Who’s he?”
“Dave Pulaski. He’s with me. Where’s the patient?”
“We had to lock him in a utility closet.”
“Eileen, listen. And this is important. Did he bite anyone?”
“A couple of nurses. And an orderly.”
“You need to find them and isolate them as well.”
“They’ve already gone home.”
“All right, give the police their addresses and ask them to pick them up.”
“But they haven’t done anything.”
Isaac looked at me, then at Dr. Vale. “Let’s hope they don’t.”
I stayed with Dr. Vale at the end of the hallway that led to the ORs as Isaac and two police officers approached the supply closet. One of the cops waved Patty over and gave her an instruction.
“Sal?” she said through the door. “It’s me, honey. Patty.”
An ungodly moan escaped the supply closet, followed by a screech that sounded like something from Hell. Then tearing noises and more wailing. The sounds weren’t human—they turned my blood cold.
The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead Page 7