Dead Hearts (Book 1): Morbid Hearts

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Morbid Hearts

  Dead Hearts Book One

  By

  Susanne L. Lambdin

  PUBLISHED BY: Theogony Books

  Copyright © 2017 Susanne L. Lambdin

  All Rights Reserved

  Join the mailing list and discover other titles

  by Susanne L. Lambdin at:

  http://www.susannelambdin.com/

  * * * * *

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  * * * * *

  In memory of my brother, Sterling.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Also by Susanne L. Lambdin

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  Thin white clouds trailed across the sky, blending with the smoke of a failing jet engine. Cadence and her Fighting Tigers sat on a rocky outcrop in the Garden of the Gods, tracing the plane’s path from the east over the ruins of Colorado Springs. Trembling with violence and descending fast, it was a spinning top of flames and smoke, spiraling out of control. An angry beast before its death, the jet roared its final cry.

  The explosion was deafening, echoing through the red rocks with a sonic boom. Wings and chunks of the fuselage split, showering fragments of metal in every direction. Through the smoke, Cadence spotted a lone survivor falling to the ground under the twisted lines of a folding parachute. The pilot plummeted toward the earth.

  Cadence and her team stood up. Dodger, the leather coat and dirty jean clad scout for the Fighting Tigers, gave a loud whistle. Standing next to the fifteen-year-old was his best friend, Smack, a twelve-year-old freckled tomboy, sporting reddish-blonde braids and a different color for every one of her cracked nails. The two jumped about like it was Christmas morning.

  Cadence couldn’t blame them. Six months of patrolling this area hadn’t witnessed a single incident.

  “Damn fool. If he keeps that up, he’s not going to be able to straighten the lines in time,” said Highbrow, in a voice too old for seventeen.

  Tall and lean, with wavy brown hair and a light tan, Highbrow was an average-looking teenager, except for his combat boots and faded, green Army coat. He wore the team’s signature orange beret, with the Fighting Tiger’s team patch stitched on the side. As her second-in- command, Cadence valued Highbrow’s opinion above all others.

  “I give him thirty seconds or less to get those lines untwisted and get that canopy under control or he’s a goner,” said Highbrow. “Why doesn’t he break away and deploy his reserve?”

  “Maybe he’s injured,” Cadence replied. Paying more attention to the imperiled pilot than her own feet, she stumbled on a rock.

  Highbrow caught her, locking eyes with Cadence for a moment. His dark brown eyes sparkled with flecks of gold, emanating concern. She felt her heart quicken a beat before yanking her elbow free.

  “I’m fine,” she huffed. She smoothed back a tendril of her brown hair and returned attention to the pilot. “Has he got a chance or not?”

  “He’ll hit the ground and splat like an egg.” Highbrow tightened the strap of Cadence’s AK-47. “Pay attention. You don’t want to drop your weapon.” He glanced at the rifle and flipped the safety lever. He lifted her chin until their eyes met. “Remember, I just put your safety on.”

  “I will, I will. Stop distracting me.” Cadence pulled away from Highbrow. “The pilot might make it and land on our side of the fence.”

  Green eyes bright with anticipation, she glanced toward a twenty-foot electric fence that cut Manitou Springs off from Colorado Springs. The fence was put up in sections around the Garden, blocking all roads facing the city. The largest sections housed generators, supplying electricity from Manitou Springs to Pike’s Peak. Patrol teams checked the fence and generators daily, making necessary repairs.

  Highbrow caught his breath and looked upward. Cadence felt her stomach lurch as one of the parachutist’s cords snapped, and then another, causing the chute to collapse on one side. Sunlight glinted off of the pilot’s closed helmet as he pulled at the cords in desperation, trying to control his fall. There wasn’t much hope.

  “Deploy, deploy,” said Highbrow with a grim hush. “What if he drops beyond the perimeter? We can’t cross the fence for any reason. You know the rules, Cadence.”

  “Get ready!” shouted Cadence. “We can’t let him get away from us. No matter where he lands, we’re going after him. He might be carrying something important.”

  “This could be our lucky day,” said Blaze, dripping with sarcasm. “I hope he has cigarettes.”

  Blaze always dressed in black and was never without thick eyeliner, further accentuating her bleached-white and purple-tipped, cropped hair. Knee-high boots completed her look, as fierce as her sarcasm.

  “Luck has nothing to do with it,” interjected Freeborn. “This is an act of God.”

  Cadence always counted on Freeborn to be the realist, which meant she was often perceived as a downer. She was the patrol’s guard—tall, reliable, and tough. Freeborn was a sixteen-year-old full-blooded Cherokee, and the only Native American at Pike’s Peak. It was rumored that survivors from the Cherokee Nation had moved north into Canada, but Freeborn remained. Cadence picked her to join the Tigers due to her resilience and bravery. Freeborn carried her father’s old shotgun instead of a high-powered rifle.

  “Zombie,” said Smack, chewing a wad of bubble gum and popping a sticky, pink bubble. “You don’t know if he’s infected,” said Dodger, tugging at his beret to scratch the top of his head. Smack stuck out her tongue at him, and he frowned. “What’s that for? Everyone in the world isn’t infected.”

  The girl laughed. “You are. With lice. Ha!”

  Cadence ignored the pair and watched the pilot as a sudden gust of wind changed the direction of his fall. Like a miracle unfolding before them, the remaining lines of the parachute untwisted. The canopy spread wide except for one side, leading the survivor toward the tall rocks. Cadence started forward at a trot, with Dodger and the three girls following close. Highbrow remained on her right. Whisper, the sixteen-year-old dreadlocked teen, known for his silence and deadly accuracy as a sniper, supported Cadence on her left.

  “He’s in the wind now,” said Highbrow. “Hurry!” He moved ahead of the group, never slowing his pace. “I think he’s going to hit the fence!”

  “This is horrible!” Smack cried out. She and Dodger ran, bickering about whether or not th
e pilot would drop on their side of the fence or smash into it.

  Cadence and her team ran under a rock archway, following a road leading into the Garden. She caught up with Highbrow, jumping over large cracks in the pavement. The pilot was drifting a hundred feet above when the canopy collapsed again. He must have known his fate, as he managed to unfasten his backpack and drop it on the Tigers’ side of the fence.

  Blaze and Smack darted toward the backpack. Dodger walked behind them, dragging a long stick he found. The thin form of Whisper stepped in front of Cadence, lifting his M24 rifle, watching the falling man through the scope. Cadence, Highbrow, and Freeborn watched the pilot’s death spiral, ending with an abrupt slam into the fence.

  The impact produced a loud explosion followed by a series of zaps and sizzles as thousands of volts of electricity surged through the pilot’s body. A shower of orange and red sparks flew from his frying flesh. The pilot jerked and thrashed with unyielding violence and horrific screams.

  No one flinched. They had seen worse.

  The report of Whisper’s rifle put an end to the pilot’s suffering. The bullet pierced the man’s forehead. The body transformed into a black lump, baked through. Wisps of smoke trailed upward from the charred remains while the fence continued to hum and sputter like a happily fed monster. After a while, it also grew quiet.

  “Nice shot,” said Highbrow. Whisper nodded.

  “Let’s get him off the fence,” Cadence urged. “Without a doubt city crawlers heard that explosion. I want him down before zombies get here.”

  Cadence scrambled down an embankment, sending rocks and pebbles rolling. Freeborn kept pace with Cadence. It was her job to keep the team leader safe, and she didn’t slack in her role. By the time they reached the fence, both girls were sweating and breathing hard.

  “Like I said, it was fate,” said Freeborn. “There is no shame in his death.”

  Cadence said nothing. When the Scourge had broken out almost a year ago, everyone questioned their faith. Cadence couldn’t bring herself to blame God for the virus or for the millions who died. The virus killed many people. It wasn’t God’s fault. Neither was the pilot’s death.

  Clotted to the fence, the pilot looked like overcooked bacon. The shredded canopy of his parachute lay on the other side of the fence. The only recognizable piece was an Air Force patch stitched onto the sleeve of his smoldering jacket. Cadence thought it odd that the patch remained in pristine condition. She wanted to rip it off; however, getting electrocuted was not high on her list of stupid things to do, so she left it alone.

  Highbrow stood beside Cadence. “Think he came from the Air Force Academy?” He picked up a stick and nudged the crispy corpse. “Damn shame. I would have killed for some news from the outside world.”

  “No one is left alive in the city, Highbrow,” said Cadence, “and the Academy fell months ago.” With morbid fascination, she studied the unrecognizable features of the pilot. The helmet had melted into his head. She looked away with effort. “If survivors in the city tried to contact us, Garble would have picked it up on the radio. But we haven’t heard anything in months, from anyone.”

  Colorado Springs was a dead city, or rather a city for the living dead. Cadence figured it to be the same way everywhere. Noise and odor of burning flesh guaranteed to arouse the interest of the zombies. The fence would hold as it always had, but if thousands ever rushed it at the same time, she believed it would spell disaster.

  “You’re assuming anyone left alive is transmitting over the radio. Maybe they have no way to communicate with the outside world,” Highbrow said as he wiped a hand across his face. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get him off the fence. The way he was struggling . . . I’m not sure we should get that close. Those are the rules, right?”

  “Smack was right,” said Freeborn. She tugged off her orange cap. “The guy was infected. That’s why he didn’t deploy his reserve. Whisper wasted a bullet trying to be merciful.”

  “Zombies can’t fly planes, Freeborn,” Highbrow said, not buying her explanation. “Stop acting like God planned all of this ahead of time. It was an accident, plain and simple.”

  “I saw what I saw,” said Freeborn. “He didn’t eject from the plane on his own. He was thrown out. His chute opened automatically. The plane was probably on autopilot until he pushed something wiggling about up there and blew the damn thing up.”

  “It was obviously engine failure,” said Highbrow, angry.

  “Yeah, well, he’s dead now, so we can’t ask what happened.” Freeborn acted as though she won the argument since Highbrow said nothing further. “I’ll get him down, Cadence.”

  Freeborn used the butt of her shotgun to knock the charred corpse off the fence. When it impacted with the ground, an arm broke off the torso. No one made a sound. Cadence looked over to Blaze and Smack as they carried the pilot’s dropped pack between them. Dodger followed behind them, still dragging his stick. They came over and stared at the remains.

  “Check it out,” said Cadence. “Maybe there’s some form of identification. A wallet, or an ID card. I want to know where he came from and who sent him.”

  “I want his watch,” Smack said. She glared at Dodger as he approached. “I called it first, so don’t get any wise ideas.”

  Dodger let out a soft whistle. “Touchy, touchy.”

  “The Captain gets the watch,” Cadence said, before an argument broke out. Even from where she stood, Cadence could tell the watch was in bad shape. “If there are cigarettes in the pack, you can have those instead. Use them to trade.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Smack, excited. She and Blaze dropped the backpack at their patrol leader’s feet. “It’s heavy. Must be good stuff inside. Can I open it?”

  “No. That’s Highbrow’s job.”

  In a few months, Cadence would turn eighteen and be inducted into the Freedom Army as a soldier, leaving Highbrow to take command of the Fighting Tigers.

  Understanding the success of the team was a direct result of time spent together in the field, Cadence had appealed to the Captain to add a seventh member of the Fighting Tigers. By rule, there were to be six members per patrol team. He agreed to let her train Smack as a replacement member. Though Highbrow was skilled enough to choose his own recruit and could fully train someone new, Cadence liked Smack and wanted her to be a Tiger. It was the first time a seventh member was allowed to join a patrol team.

  “Don’t be so disappointed, guys,” Cadence said, grinning. “The pilot fell on our side of the fence, so we get to claim whatever he has on him. I’ll make sure Highbrow gives you something good. Okay?”

  “Rules suck,” said Smack, spitting out her bubble gum.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  The Fighting Tigers arrived at Base Camp located at the foot of Pike’s Peak. They parked their ATVs in the former tourist lot and headed toward a large stone building, the pilot’s backpack in hand.

  Two smaller buildings serving as garage space and a storage shed stood nearby. Parked outside the garage were an Army-green Harley Fat Boy and a Hummer with a flat tire. A limping mechanic walked out of the garage. Eighteen, blonde, and muscular, Wrench was cute by most standards. He could fix anything mechanical, awarding him his nickname. His blue eyes twinkled as he spotted Cadence, and he didn’t bother hiding the fact that he liked her. Cadence was fond of Wrench, but she was committed to her Freedom Army boyfriend.

  Other teens wearing grease-covered overalls joined Wrench. Their apparel was the trademark for anyone in the pit crew, and their main task was to keep machinery and vehicles running smooth. Fixing flats on military Hummers was easy compared to the broken axles, busted gaskets, blown transmissions, and shredded serpentine belts that Wrench normally dealt with.

  Cadence waved at him. Wrench and the boys waved back.

  “And they call me a flirt,” said Blaze, trudging behind her leader. “He’s not that good a kisser, in case you were wondering.”

  “Doesn�
��t hurt to be nice,” Smack said, butting in. She waved back at Wrench with a grin on her freckled face. One of the boys perked up, beaming, until Wrench pushed him forward.

  Cadence entered the larger building and found Sarge seated behind a desk, his attention directed on a large map spread out in front of him. He was a former Marine, in his forties, with a square jaw and a head the size of a watermelon.

  Two Freedom Army soldiers in light blue berets stood at attention beside the table. Corporal Garble sat behind Sarge at another desk, fiddling with the shortwave radio, turning switches, and grimacing when static filled the room. Next to the radio was a radar unit that had been taken from the city airport and worked on rare occasion. This was not a good day for the radar to go down. Cadence glanced at Highbrow in alarm, and he turned toward the doorway where Smack and Blaze stood holding the backpack between them. The rest of the team waited outside.

  “We brought the Captain something we picked up at the Garden,” Cadence announced. She pointed at the backpack when Sarge decided looked up at her. “This comes straight from the Air Force. Garble, did you by chance pick up a jet on your radar?” The corporal shook his head. “Well, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. We did see a jet and this is the pilot’s backpack. I want the sighting listed as confirmed. We have proof.”

  Sarge scowled. “What proof? Did you bring the plane or the pilot?”

  “The jet blew up,” Highbrow said. “Unfortunately, the pilot’s chute tangled and his reserve failed to deploy. He dropped the bag before hitting the fence.”

  “Yeah?” Sarge was unimpressed. “You claim the jet blew up over the Garden? Where, precisely?” Cadence leaned in and pointed at the map. “And it was American? You’re sure?” He glared at the corporal. “Why didn’t you pick this up on radar?”