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

by Steven Ramirez

  The music had stopped. Everyone was silent as I made my way to the exit. Sweat poured down my face, blinding me. At first I didn’t see Chavez pointing his weapon at me. When I saw him, I stopped on the ice and stared.

  “It was like I said, wasn’t it? I wasn’t supposed to make it.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Chavez said, taking aim at my head.

  I didn’t close my eyes. I wanted to see the bullet coming, wanted to know the exact moment of my death.

  Estrada appeared suddenly and swung the pipe wrench hard, connecting with the back of Chavez’s head and sending him forward in a spray of blood. Estrada stared down at the psychopath as he struggled to understand what had happened.

  “Dude,” Chavez said in a thick voice, blood gushing from his nostrils, unaware of the severity of his injury.

  As I left the rink, others swarmed from all sides, surrounding Estrada and Chavez. I couldn’t see. I forced my way in next to Warnick, where I found Chavez convulsing on the ground and gurgling helplessly. Though the entire back of his head was crushed, exposing pink, pulsating brain, amazingly he still tried to get to his feet. No one did anything to help. They watched as the life bled out of him.

  Estrada still held the bloody pipe wrench. As Warnick moved closer, she let the weapon slip from her bloody fingers.

  Lying still and scared, Chavez looked younger than I thought he was. He reminded me of a frightened child.

  Something had gone horribly wrong in the time that Black Dragon had been here. A madness had taken over some. It manifested itself in Chavez, the bloodthirsty leader of a band of violence-prone acolytes. But without him, the rest of them no longer had any conviction. I looked around at the faces of these young soldiers. Not a single one of them had the stomach for it anymore.

  Chavez’s eyes fluttered a few times, then he closed them for good. Blood pooled around him like oil from a shallow well. It set him apart from the other soldiers. It made him different and unwanted. Estrada unholstered her weapon, aimed it and sent a bullet into the soldier’s broken head, silencing those evil internal voices forever.

  Warnick looked at me, then at the rest of the soldiers. “Listen up,” he said. “We’re putting this house in order.” Then to Estrada, “You okay?”

  Estrada nodded, stunned by what she’d done.

  I felt old, like I’d lived through a hundred years of war in a few weeks. Somewhere out there Holly and Griffin were fighting for their lives. And I needed them alive—especially Holly.

  I needed her to forgive me.

  NO ONE KNEW HOW many soldiers had survived in Tres Marias, but our group consisted of fewer than a hundred. We spent the next two days cleaning up their mess. I didn’t want to be here. I needed to search for Holly and Griffin. Warnick reminded me that, without the Black Dragon’s protection, I wouldn’t succeed. More to the point, I’d be dead at the hands of either the nailheads or the draggers.

  Warnick assigned crews to assess each of the buildings in the office park. He and I stuck together, taking a few men with us. Estrada took charge of the rest. Though she’d saved me, I didn’t trust her. She’d gone along with everything that maniac Chavez had cooked up, and now she felt remorse. Warnick looked at it differently. He saw in Estrada a woman who’d made wrong choices in order to stay alive. On second thought, I could relate to that.

  Many of the buildings housed the soldiers, but a few had been designated as storage units for the bodies of the victims who’d fought draggers in the ice rink. There were close to a hundred of them.

  We learned that Keller—the cocky kid from the ice rink—was an intern working for Black Dragon. In reality, no civilian except me had survived the games. The rest had been meat for the draggers.

  The rotting bodies stank. In the first building we entered, some vomited from the smell. We retreated, slathered our noses in Vicks VapoRub, put on particle masks and returned to ensure nothing was living. We thought about carrying the bodies out to be burned in the parking lot, but there were too many. So we brought in fuel cans and rigged them with explosives.

  After I don’t know how many hours, we had one building left to check—way in the back near the ice rink. Though other soldiers had warned us, we were exhausted and walked in.

  We almost died.

  Draggers wandered from one end of the open floor to the other. This was where the soldiers had housed them for the tournaments.

  As soon as we saw them, we slipped out. It was too risky to try to shoot them all—there were too many places inside for them to hide. We decided to rid ourselves of them all at once. But how? Then it came to us.

  We brought in huge drums filled with gasoline, placed them around the building and rigged them to explode. We knew once one of the buildings caught fire it would spread to the others, which were already booby-trapped. We intended to burn the entire office park to the ground—and the draggers with it.

  Warnick directed other crews to assemble all working vehicles and to make sure they had enough fuel. Each was stocked with weapons and whatever food and water we could find.

  At twilight we met in the conference room one last time. I looked around the table at the battle-weary soldiers. Warnick and Estrada sat across from me.

  “Where will we go?” I said.

  “We need to find a new building we can secure,” Warnick said.

  In his zeal to bring about conformity, Chavez had ordered all computers destroyed. But we still had satellite maps of the town, which were spread out across the table.

  “What about the high school?” I said, pointing at the map.

  “Estrada, you been back there?” Warnick said.

  “Yeah, it’s no good,” she said. “Chavez sent us over there a few weeks ago. The place was overrun. We decided not to waste any more resources on it.”

  “But there might still be survivors,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Warnick said, “but I think we should avoid it. We can’t afford to lose any more men.”

  “That would be my vote,” Estrada said, avoiding my glare.

  We studied the maps further and, after a lot of discussion, settled on another location off the main highway. It seemed large enough. With luck, the doors would be locked and the structure free of the undead. I recognized it as the old Arkon Insurance building.

  Before evacuating, we ignited the explosives around one of the buildings. I’d never seen anything so spectacular. A huge fireball blew out the front doors and windows. Another explosion rocked the adjacent buildings. Soon the fire spread from unit to unit, including the ice rink, like bright orange fingers.

  We blew the last building, the one teeming with draggers. We used grenade launchers to shoot out the windows. Then we set off the gasoline drums. A series of massive explosions around the building created a blazing, brilliant ring of fire. Flames shot inward, consuming everything inside.

  It was dark, and we waited to see what would come out. The front doors of the building had been blown away, leaving a gaping hole hot and angry with flames. Then we saw them. Draggers. First a few, then the entire horde.

  They were on fire.

  As they pitched forward, unaware of their condition, they burned like torches. Some made it to within a hundred feet of our trucks. One by one they fell, blazing on the ground like piles of toxic trash. The smell was unbearable—hot, sweet and greasy. Others followed, making their way relentlessly forward till the flames consumed them and they collapsed into burning heaps.

  As the last of the undead fell, we piled into the vehicles and left.

  My plan was to settle in quickly, then go in search of Holly and Griffin. Though I had my phone again, thanks to Warnick, it was dead. Even if I could charge it, who knew if any cell towers were still working.

  Two soldiers, named Springer and Popp, rode with Warnick and me. They looked like kids fresh out of high school. Both were blonde and buff, and they were from opposite ends of the state—Santa Rosa and San Diego. I wasn’t sure how much use they would be in a f
irefight. On our way to the Arkon building, we passed a Walmart.

  “Stop here,” I said.

  Warnick pulled into the parking lot, and the other vehicles followed. The outdoor lights were on, buzzing like angry wasps and bathing everything in an otherworldly orange glow. So far nothing moved. We got out, our weapons ready.

  Shopping carts lay scattered everywhere, along with dead shoppers, their bodies eaten away. But it was the sight of the children that was the most heartrending. Mothers’ bodies lay over them protectively, but they were nevertheless dead.

  At the front entrance we saw the shattered glass. Looters who had long since fled.

  Inside, the fluorescent lights shone bright. I needed a charger for my cell phone. Warnick stayed close, scanning the aisles as we made our way to the electronics department. We noticed something moving in the distance.

  “Hang on,” Warnick said.

  It was a lone dragger. He was big, like a bear. As he came closer, I recognized him—Detective Van Gundy. His left arm was gnawed off up to the elbow. He still wore the cheap grey suit and mustard-stained striped tie. Everything was covered in dried blood. His face was pasty, fresh blood on his ragged lips.

  Warnick noticed the look on my face and seemed to understand. He raised his AR-15 and fired several shots, which tore half the cop’s face off, causing him to fall backwards into a circular rack of clearance summer wear. After everything that happened, I wondered if he ever figured out the truth about Missy, Jim and me. What did it even matter now?

  We made it to the electronics department without further incident. I tore through the racks and glass cases, looking for what I needed, as other soldiers searched for survivors and gathered supplies.

  “See if there’s a charger for my phone,” Warnick said.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said after locating both chargers.

  All was quiet outside, which unnerved me. The other soldiers brought out nonperishable food, water, clothing, batteries and first-aid supplies. In the distance, I noticed draggers who used to be shoppers wandering between cars like they’d forgotten where they parked. Because they were far away, they hadn’t spotted us.

  Rather than mess with the undead, we decided to leave. Never fight if you don’t have to, I remember Warnick saying. But as we drove away, we heard a car horn. Warnick stopped the vehicle.

  “What?” I said, but I already knew what he was thinking.

  “It could be someone trapped in their car.”

  “Then again it could be a swarm of draggers.” I saw the look on his face and stood down. “Hey, I know,” I said. “Let’s go check it out.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  The others waited in their vehicles as Warnick and I made our way through the parking lot. We didn’t hesitate to shoot any draggers we encountered. Our objective was to find the car.

  Then we saw it. Way off in a corner of the lot, under a tree, sat a silver Volvo Cross Country, its emergency lights flashing. Half a dozen draggers milled around it, interested in its contents. We waited. The horn went off again.

  “Someone’s in there,” Warnick said.

  I scanned the parking lot, looking for other draggers. Springer and Popp ran over to assist. Warnick signaled for them to surround the car.

  Inside, a terrified woman looked at us with pleading eyes, and behind her was what looked like a rear-facing car seat with a baby in it.

  “I hate it when you’re right,” I said.

  Each of us targeted a dragger, careful not to shoot at the ones closest to the vehicle. As we picked off those on the outside, others took their places.

  “Aim away from the car,” Warnick said.

  We saw that the draggers had been teenagers who dressed in ripped jeans, shorts, T-shirts and flip-flops. It made me sick to shoot them. I had to remind myself they were already dead.

  Popp’s AR-15 jammed as a dragger descended on him. I ran to him and used the butt of my axe to cave in the dragger’s head. I pulled Popp away and finished off the thing with the blade.

  “Thanks, bud,” he said.

  When I looked up, I saw thirty or forty draggers heading our way, attracted by the noise.

  “Unlock the doors,” Warnick said to the woman inside.

  “Hey, guys? Any time,” I said as Springer, Popp and I faced off with the approaching horde.

  When I looked back, Warnick was helping the woman out of the car. Once she was free, he flung the back passenger door open and tried to unbuckle the car seat. I heard the baby bawling. The draggers were close now.

  “How’s this thing work?” Warnick said.

  The woman pushed him away, unfastened the harness and removed the car seat with the baby still in it.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Warnick said.

  The draggers decided we were sitting ducks and rushed us. Springer, Popp and I created a line of suppressive fire as Warnick took the woman back to our vehicle.

  “Wait, my bag,” the woman said as Warnick placed her inside.

  “Forget it.”

  “There’s formula in there.”

  “Dave, get the bag from the car,” Warnick said.

  By now the remaining draggers were on us, but the rest of the soldiers had heard the gunfire and came to assist.

  My eyes on the draggers, I ran to the car and grabbed the diaper bag. Most of the mewling creatures were down, but more came out of the darkness. One grabbed Warnick’s arm, and he knifed it in the eye with his bayonet.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Warnick ordered one squad back into the store for formula and diapers. The rest of us piled into our vehicles and got out of there. Springer and Popp sat in back with the woman. I looked at the woman and her baby. The infant was quiet as she cooed to him and kissed his head.

  “How long were you out there?” I said.

  “Since this morning. My car wouldn’t start. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You’re safe,” Warnick said.

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  I thought the baby smiled at me. “What’s his name?”

  “It’s a she. Her name is Evan. I’m Nina Zimmer.”

  “Dave Pulaski,” I said, then introduced the others.

  Nina looked to be around thirty. Attractive, with chestnut hair and violet eyes.

  “I prayed that someone would find us. Do you believe in God?” she said.

  “Funny you should ask,” I said.

  It was late when we arrived at the Arkon building.

  Warnick touched Nina’s arm to wake her. “Stay here while we check this out.” Then to me, “You want to stay here?”

  “I’ll go with you,” I said.

  “Popp, stay here with Nina.”

  “Copy that.”

  The front doors looked secure in the streetlights. Two teams of soldiers ran around the building to make sure no draggers were lurking anywhere and no entrances had been left open.

  I followed Warnick to the rear, where we found the loading dock. A bobtail truck was parked next to the dock. The driver was still in the cab, his chest carved out like a Halloween pumpkin, his skeletal hands still clinging to the steering wheel, his entrails draped over the gearshift knob.

  “I remember this building,” Estrada said. “We secured it weeks ago.”

  We jogged back to the front. Warnick signaled a soldier to get something from one of the vehicles. The soldier returned with a small kit and proceeded to pick the lock.

  “Why not shoot it open?” I said.

  “That’s the movies,” the soldier said. “If we did that, we wouldn’t be able to lock it again.”

  Once inside, teams of soldiers checked every floor for signs of draggers or nailheads. Warnick and I joined a team checking out the first floor. We found that the electricity still worked, which meant the elevators were operational. I wanted desperately to charge my phone, but we needed to make sure the building was secure. Checking the restrooms, we found that the plumbing worked as well.<
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  We took the elevator down to the basement, our weapons ready. When the doors opened, I almost fired on a group of people who looked like draggers.

  “Is it over?” one of them said.

  There were at least thirty civilians staring at us, holding in their scrawny hands anything they could find to use as weapons.

  The hallway was filled with trash. Rats and cockroaches feasted on the mess. The smell was sickening.

  We brought the people up to the first floor in small groups and gave them food and water. Some had to be carried. For a moment I thought Holly and Griffin might be among them. But these people had been down there a long time, most of them starving. A few had died. None of the dead had turned, though, having never been exposed to the virus.

  Nina sat among them, feeding Evan.

  “Why did you stay down there?” Warnick said to one of the men as he gulped down bottled water.

  “We were ordered to by your guys.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Hard to remember. Two weeks?”

  They’d stayed alive by drinking water. The food from the vending machines had long since run out. Most ate very little, their appetites nonexistent. As I watched them, I saw their bleeding gums and dry skin. They were ragged and weak, like survivors of a concentration camp. I recalled in high school seeing black-and-white photos of prisoners liberated from World War II camps like Auschwitz and Treblinka. That’s what these people looked like, hollow-eyed and skeletal, with swollen bellies.

  They were saddened to hear that the undead still infested the town. We gave them medical care and set them up in conference rooms and cubicles to sleep, promising to guard them.

  Why had they stayed down there so long? Was their fear that paralyzing?

  Once the building was secure, I got out the phone chargers and took Warnick’s phone. I found an outlet and plugged in both phones. As mine turned on, I found I had one bar. Then voice mails and texts poured in.

  I played each voice mail. They were all from the past, most of them from Holly. One was from Ram and another from Aaron. Strange hearing those voices again. It was the same with the texts. Nothing recent. Nothing telling me that Holly and Griffin were safe.