The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead

by Steven Ramirez

“Holly, it’s Dave!”

  “Dave, where are you?”

  “Near the high school. Where are you?”

  “St. Monica’s.”

  “Don’t move—I’m coming.”

  I made an unsafe U-turn and tore down a side street. Seeing my truck in his rearview mirror, Landry course-corrected and followed.

  St. Monica’s was the Catholic church I went to as a child. I also attended school there for eight years. Holly still went to Mass there and, on many occasions, expressed the hope that I would too. One more disappointment I could add to the pile.

  The street was deserted. As I pulled over with the motor home behind me, a Humvee whizzed past. Several men—parishioners—stood guard outside with handguns and shotguns. It was like a scene from The Godfather. Checking both directions, I went inside while Aaron waited for his dad and Landry.

  The church had been built around 1900, had survived several earthquakes and had been renovated in the last ten years. It was built with granite stones. Inside, it was filled with cherrywood and beautiful stained-glass windows. The altar was marble. A huge crucifix imported from Italy hung behind the altar.

  There were people scattered in the pews throughout, holding their children close and praying the Rosary aloud as an elderly priest providing solace made his way among the crowd. As I took in this scene, it became clear that not all my memories of this place were bad. I had attended two funerals here—first for my father, then my mother. Our wedding had been here. I felt a deep sense of comfort.

  As I approached the altar, Ben, Aaron and Landry waited in the narthex. Then I saw Holly kneeling and praying aloud with the others. When she saw me, she stopped and left the pew. We held each other.

  “Thank God,” she said.

  “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

  “My mom …”

  “I know.”

  “You saw her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We didn’t know what was happening. We went for a walk down to the lake when one of those things attacked us. I tried to protect her, but it happened too fast. Then it pulled her down and started biting her. She screamed and told me to run. I ran all the way back to the house. All I could think to do was get out. Then I drove here.”

  “It’s not your fault. She wanted you to be safe.”

  “I had to leave her there, Dave.”

  The priest came over to us, concerned. “Can I help?”

  “She lost her mother,” I said.

  “I’m so sorry. We must continue to pray and ask for God’s mercy.” He stayed with us for a time, then went to help someone else in crisis.

  “I kept trying to contact you, but the cell service is bad,” I said to Holly.

  “That explains it. I must’ve texted you fifty times. I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t answer. What are we going to do?”

  “We can’t stay here. We have to get out.”

  “And go where?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m with a couple of other people. We’re going to get some supplies, see what happens.”

  “What about the soldiers?”

  “They won’t be able to stop this. The high school is already overrun. Come on.”

  I helped Holly with the things she was carrying, and we headed for the back of the church. Near the narthex I spotted Detective Van Gundy. He sat in a pew alone, his hands like dead birds in his lap.

  “Detective?” I said.

  He didn’t even look up. It was as if he was in a daydream. We kept going towards the church entrance.

  “Holly, you remember Irwin from the high school?”

  “Sure.”

  “And this is Ben Marino and his son, Aaron.”

  “We’re so glad we found you,” Ben said. “Dave was worried sick.”

  On the way out, I took holy water and made the Sign of the Cross. Did I do that for Holly or myself? Whatever the reason, it made me feel better.

  The men guarding the church were still in place. We ran to our vehicles. Holly got into the truck with me. The others went with Ben.

  “What about my car?” she said.

  “Leave it,” I said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  She stared out the window at the church as I started the engine. As I put the truck in drive, Detective Van Gundy jogged towards me. I turned off the engine and got out.

  “Sorry about back there,” he said.

  “No worries.”

  “One of those things got my wife and son. I, I came home and …”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “I found them in the backyard. They were barely breathing.”

  I glanced at Holly, and she got out of the truck, came over and touched the policeman’s arm.

  “I called 911. While I waited, they must have died. Then they …” He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for an answer. “I didn’t want to believe what was happening. I remembered your friend at the store. I didn’t know what to do. They wanted to hurt me!”

  He leaned against my open door and wept. Instinctively Holly patted his back.

  “I had to do it,” he said. “There was no other choice.”

  He wandered off in a stupor. I wish I could’ve done something for him. Instead, I climbed into the truck and waited for Holly to get in. We just sat there, sullen and silent.

  “Dave, I saw his hand. I think he got bit.”

  The world no longer made any sense. We were making choices that no sane person should ever have to make. Seeing things that no human should ever see. It all came down to survival. And the odds were worse than bad.

  “I love you,” I said.

  Holly looked at me and said nothing. I knew then that it was over between us. But I was still determined to protect her. It might be the one good thing I would ever do in my life. I wondered if God would even notice.

  As we left, more people made their way into the church. I said a prayer that they would do better than those poor bastards at the gym, who were by now already dead and very, very hungry.

  WE DIDN’T SEE ANY BODIES when we arrived at the Royal Ranch Market, but we found the place in a shambles. The parking lot was littered with overturned baskets, trash and cars whose tires had been slashed. The building itself was covered in fresh graffiti.

  Looters had busted out the windows and were walking off with whatever they could carry. I heard police sirens in the distance and figured things were even worse somewhere else.

  Holly watched as I grabbed my shotgun from the backseat. “You know how to use that?” she said.

  Landry, Ben and Aaron were already positioned next to the motor home, their hands on their weapons. They watched with grim stoicism as looters passed them, at first checking out the motor home, then thinking better of it.

  I saw the dawning terror in Holly’s eyes. “I don’t understand why we have all these guns,” she said.

  “We have to protect ourselves,” Landry said.

  I scanned the area, hoping Black Dragon soldiers were somewhere close. But there was no sign of them—just out-of-control civilians.

  “I figured this was next,” Landry said.

  “What do we do?” Holly said.

  I took her hand. “We don’t make trouble. We go in, get what we need and get out.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Landry said.

  “Shouldn’t I have a gun too?” Holly said.

  “Not unless you know how to use it. Too dangerous otherwise.”

  Holly glared at Landry, then turned to me with hurt eyes. He was right, though.

  “Stay close, okay?” I said.

  Ben and Aaron stayed behind to protect our vehicles. As we entered the market, a group of laughing men pushed past us, going the other way, their arms loaded with small electronics and bargain-bin DVDs.

  The scene made me sick to my stomach. I knew the family who owned this store, and I imagined what they were going through, seeing everything they’d worked so hard for being destroyed by these joyrid
ing losers.

  Near the small manager’s office, I noticed several checkers and cart pushers watching, abject fear in their eyes. I couldn’t help it—a man carrying a toaster oven ran past me, and I tripped him with my foot. He went flying, did a face plant on the linoleum floor and slid into an end cap filled with gift cards.

  “What the—” he said, getting up in a rage and confronting me. “You crazy?”

  “Dave,” Holly said.

  I pushed the barrel of my shotgun into his nose, and his eyes became huge. “Get out.” I kept my voice even and never broke eye contact.

  Pissing himself, he left the toaster oven and ran out of the store.

  Lowering my weapon, I looked at the others. “Sorry.”

  “I was about ready to do that myself,” Landry said. “Let’s get our supplies.”

  Each of us grabbed two shopping carts and collected piles of food, water and medical supplies. A small pharmacy was located at the rear of the store. Landry went back there and returned with the medicine he thought we might need—antibiotics, bandages and painkillers. We also picked up flashlights, batteries and matches.

  By the time we were done, our carts were piled high. Most of the stuff would get loaded into the motor home, and the rest would go into the truck in case we got separated. I walked over to where the frightened store employees were standing and smiled.

  “Can someone ring us up?” I said.

  They looked at one another. Then one of the checkers—a Latina in her early thirties—followed me to the checkout stand. The others stood watch as I pulled out my credit card. Several cart pushers ran over and began bagging the stuff at Holly’s direction.

  Once everything was put away, Aaron, Holly and I went back to help the store employees board up the broken windows, while Ben and Landry guarded our vehicles. By the time we finished, it was twilight. As the lights came on, I swept my eyes across the parking lot, looking for any sign of the undead.

  “I think it’s time to leave Tres Marias,” I said.

  Landry nodded. “I hate to admit it, but I agree.”

  “How do we do it?” Ben said. “Aren’t the roads blocked?”

  “We make a run for it,” I said.

  Our plan was to head straight for the freeway and get on the on-ramp going north. Ben would lead in the motor home, since it was larger and could break through any barrier.

  On the way, several other cars filled with families got ahead of us. Rather than getting into a pissing contest, we decided to follow. Near the freeway, I saw the lights and military vehicles. Instead of slowing down, the lead car sped up and headed for the on-ramp. Using megaphones, soldiers ordered them to stop. Dozens of soldiers took aim.

  Ben slowed to a stop, and I pulled up next to him. Holly and I watched, dumbstruck, as the soldiers fired on the car.

  “They’re trying to kill them!” she said.

  But they were shooting at the tires. The car spun out and crashed. Armed soldiers surrounded the vehicle as the stunned driver crawled out. They ordered everyone else out—including small, crying children—and made them lie on the ground face down.

  The car ahead of us made a U-turn and shot past us. We decided to get out of there too. Down the road, we pulled over.

  “So much for leaving,” Aaron said.

  “We need to hunker down and rest,” Landry said. “Looks like it’s going to be a long fight.”

  “What about that grocery store?” Ben said.

  “Too hard to secure,” Landry said. “We need a place that has cooking facilities and a minimum of exits.”

  “The motel,” I said. “The rooms have a hot plate and a small refrigerator.”

  “The motel sounds good,” Holly said.

  A death shriek tore through the darkness.

  “Let’s get moving,” Landry said.

  One thing I learned in dealing with Ram Chakravarthy was that if he did anything extra for you, it always came at a price. And there was no negotiation. The price was the price—take it or leave it. But he ran a clean operation, and I was good with that.

  “Hi, Ram. I’m back,” I said. “We need three rooms next to each other.”

  “I charge you ten dollars extra per night,” he said without looking up from his laptop. Then he tapped the screen. “Bloody Internet is down again.”

  “Wait a second,” Ben said. I gave him a look.

  “That’s fine,” I said.

  “Do you take credit cards?” Ben said. I heard the irritation in his voice.

  Ram smiled pleasantly. “If I take, there will be a bank charge which I must pass on to you.”

  “Right,” Ben said as he handed over his card.

  Our three rooms were on the second floor. Once we were settled in, we stood on the balcony and looked out at the town. The streets seemed quiet, though I couldn’t see much because of the tree line. In the distance I saw flames. I imagined looters and weirdos turning the town into a perverted block party and cursed them.

  We agreed not to make any decisions till we’d gotten some sleep. Each of us had food that we prepared in our rooms. The plan was to rise early, get some coffee and reconvene.

  Holly and I had canned goods, but we had also gotten cheese, lunch meat and bread, figuring we could eat that up before it went bad. As she fixed sandwiches, I flicked on the TV and clicked around until I found the local news.

  Evie Champagne was on the ground reporting that Black Dragon was burning bodies in huge pits, trying to keep the disease from spreading further.

  “Felix, I’m standing just yards away from a vacant lot,” she said. Her mouth and nose were wrapped in a silk scarf. “As you can see, a makeshift pit has been dug into the ground. And it’s filled with burning bodies. The smell is indescribable—overwhelming. I’ve asked Black Dragon officials to confirm numbers, but either they won’t say or they don’t know. From where I’m standing, it looks to be in the hundreds so far.”

  “Evie, are these mostly civilians?” Felix said from the newsroom.

  “Unknown.”

  “Has Black Dragon given any indication whether things are under control?”

  “No. I’ve asked a number of people, and the answer is always the same. ‘We’re still securing the area, and we’ll have an official update later.’”

  As names and faces of some of the dead and missing scrolled past on a news ticker, I looked for a place for us to eat, settling on the bed. Holly set down plastic plates and water bottles.

  “I’m sorry about your mom,” I said. Her eyes stayed focused on the TV.

  I wasn’t sure about the sleeping arrangements since Holly wanted nothing to do with me in that department. I kept eyeing an overstuffed chair and wondered if there were any extra blankets. Then I remembered Ram would charge for those.

  “… reporters were not allowed into the area. The cell-phone video you’re seeing was taken earlier this evening. Additional unconfirmed reports are coming in saying that looters are being shot on sight. We will update you as we learn more.”

  What we saw made us sick. The news anchor reported that the epidemic was spreading. In faraway communities there were isolated reports of attacks. Some attributed them to mass hysteria, others to the end of days.

  “There are also reports of so-called survivalists clashing with Black Dragon security forces,” he said. “We’re being told that a group calling itself the Red Militia has been attacking soldiers and stealing their weapons. Their motive is unclear so far.”

  After a few minutes, Holly switched off the TV and looked at me. There was a deep hurt in her eyes that I’d never seen before. I tried touching her hand, but she pulled it away. Her expression reminded me that what I had done to her was far worse than any mass army of the undead.

  I wasn’t a bad person, I kept telling myself. I made a mistake. I wanted to be better. I was not a bad person.

  “I know you’re not,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I know you’re not a bad person.” Shit, h
ad I said that out loud? “Look, you can sleep with me in the bed, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I mean it.” I took off my shoes and lay on top of the covers to show my good intentions. “See? No funny business.”

  I might have imagined it, but I thought she cracked a smile.

  I don’t remember falling asleep. When I opened my eyes, it was night and I was on that lonely forest road where I’d crashed my car. I was walking alone. I couldn’t hear anything, but up ahead in the distance, I saw Jim’s dog.

  It stared at me with hot, red eyes, its head low and menacing. It looked huge. Behind the dog, in the middle of the road, was Bob Creasy, the man who’d given me a ride that night. He stood in front of his van waving, silhouetted by the glaring headlights.

  I turned to run, but as often happens in dreams, I couldn’t move very fast. I was unable to look back, but I knew the dog was gaining on me. I felt a tremendous force on my back that knocked me down onto the pavement, which was like liquid tar. I felt the animal tearing at my back through my clothes. It didn’t hurt.

  I stood and looked at my surroundings. It was day, and I was in the middle of the street in downtown Tres Marias, staring at the Beehive. Cars went around me, honking their horns, the drivers swearing unintelligibly.

  I saw Jim and Missy through the plate-glass window. They sat in a booth drinking huge schooners of beer. They looked dead. Dry, bloody grey flesh slid off their faces and neck into the beer, like they were molting. Though their eyes betrayed no emotion, they acted as if they were filled with life, telling each other jokes and laughing.

  As I moved towards them, I noticed everyone around me was dead—even the passing drivers. I continued towards the bar. Jim and Missy leaned into each other and tongue-kissed. A black sludge squirted from the edges of their gory mouths as kidney worms lay writhing on the table. They stopped kissing and looked at me. In the window, I took in my own reflection.

  I was one of them.

  As I looked closer, someone touched my shoulder. When I turned, I saw Detective Van Gundy smiling, the flesh on his face oozing downwards like warm cake frosting. His eyes were dark crystals.

  “This was your fault,” he said in a small, faraway voice. “All of it. I know about Jim and Missy and the dead woman in the forest. I know about Fred and Stacey and Holly’s mother. All your fault, Dave.”