Among the Dead Book 2 (Among the Living)

by Long, Timothy W.

  Smoke rose into the dawn sky from buildings both short and tall. Fires raged untended in some quarters. The city burned, and there was no one to care except the dead. Mindless things with one calling: the need to feed on us.

  The parking lot stretched away into the distance. The west side offered a set of stairs leading to the train station. I heard helicopters in the distance, then spotted them. They swooped low while others descended on the south side of the field. No one was allowed over there. I wondered how long that would last. With the stream of refugees coming in from the east side, the stadium would be a full house in a day or two.

  There was another stadium next to this one—Safeco Field, home of the Seattle Mariners. It was probably a refugee camp as well. It had to be cooler over there, since the massive roof could be closed.

  The choppers came in like huge birds and disgorged warriors geared up to their necks. They hit the ground and stopped and stared at the city with mouths gaping wide open. It was a full-blown riot out there.

  I wandered past Humvees with giant machine guns mounted on top. I had heard those up close, and the sound made my head ring. I didn’t want to see the bloody effect the guns had on people, not ever again.

  I moved past a group of men in fatigues planning out forays into the city. They stood in groups, checking each other’s gear. Most had assault rifles, though some had smaller handguns. The things moved fast, and it wasn’t always practical to shoot them from a distance. Up close and personal, as one of the soldiers had said a few days ago. He meant to pop it off like a line from a movie, but it came out forced and sad.

  I wandered past a tank that had its large gun pointed at the gate some way in the distance. There was a guy hanging out of it, and he had a big goofy grin on his face. I wondered how loud the weapon would be. It would probably make the Humvee machine gun sound like a firecracker.

  “Wish you could take some target practice?” he called in a Southern drawl. He wore a pair of sunglasses, even though it was barely dawn. They somehow fit his features.

  “Just going to take a look.”

  “Taking a look is all fine and well. Just don’t get too close. I dated a woman once, liked to bite. At least she knew when to stop. Those things don’t have a clue. ‘Swhy we need to kill ‘em all, let God sort ‘em out. Say, you figure they even got a soul?”

  “They’re still people, so why not?” I said.

  I knew the words were dumb as soon as I said them. Was Erin a person, or was she dead, her soul long departed from the earth? Was she wandering among the dead outside the gates, her only interest the pursuit of a running meal? She deserved better, and I wished I could have given it to her.

  “Think they would see things the same way if it were backwards? Would your loved ones want you to live if you were one of them? I sure as hell hope mine would do the right thing and just put one in my head.”

  I shuddered at the thought.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. If they do get in, how do I get a gun?”

  “If they get in, I suggest kissing your ass goodbye.”

  I shook my head and walked toward the fence, which was at least eight feet tall and meant to keep out people who didn’t pay to park at the lot. Now it had cars and trucks jammed against it. Where a weakness had been found, someone had moved a semi in and blocked that part. Guards patrolled the area with guns held low.

  The ground was covered with refuse of all sorts. Everything from empty beer cans to cigarette packs. Cups everywhere, empty green packages from MREs, and wadded-up wet wipe napkins. With no showers and barely any running water, the little hand wipes had become a luxury.

  Pallets of MREs were lowered from helicopters at three- or four-hour intervals. When they first arrived, there had been a mad rush, as it seemed like every person at the stadium was hungry. That had turned into a riot. Now they policed food and issued it from a walled-off fort. There was enough food to go around, but how long would it last? Did the Department of Homeland Security have a warehouse stashed away somewhere?

  There wasn’t enough water the first day, but they had flown in barrels and dropped water from helicopters as well. A truck filled with giant blue bottles arrived the second night. A patrol must have found it in the city and figured out a way to escort it in. Men laid down cover fire while others drifted into the street and dropped any deaders that showed interest in the open doorway as the truck hauled ass inside.

  I wandered, taking in the controlled chaos. For a while, I simply sat and stared, because there wasn’t much else to do. I didn’t have a book, didn’t have a notepad to write on. All I had was a phone with a partial charge. If I was lucky, I might be able to get one or two more survivor stories before it died completely.

  I was fifty or sixty feet from the gate when a group of soldiers marched past with a bunch of people dressed in decontamination suits close behind. Deaders ran toward the front of the gate as if sensing that they were going to be offered a sacrifice.

  I watched everything with interest, because it was the only show in town. As I gawked, along with other suddenly interested onlookers, a form slipped up beside me.

  “Any sign of them?” Nelson asked.

  I spun about and met the inquiring eyes of a new friend.

  “Not yet, but they’ll be here soon enough, and I imagine they’ll have an army of those bastards at their backs. I thought I’d head to the east entrance in another half-hour. Should be plenty of time for them to get back. If they make it back.” I said the last and regretted it. They would be all right. After all, they had Kate.

  “Damn straight. Gave that ninja girl a gun, and she took to it like it was a long-lost friend. I don’t envy anyone who gets in her way.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  “Accident. I was coming down to watch the action and saw your mopey mug.”

  I’d met Nelson just a few days ago in the ferry terminal along the waterfront. He had taught me how to handle a rifle, but it was a crash course, shouted as we defended the entrance.

  “She’s something else.” Kate was an anachronism. The first time I saw her, she was killing deaders with a pair of swords that would make a samurai proud. She wielded them in a flurry, like a dervish. She had been covered in blood, but that didn’t even faze her. In fact, the first time I saw her, I thought she was one of them.

  She and three Guardsmen had left to help liberate some people stuck in a building a few blocks away. About a dozen survivors were holed up and unable to get free. They went out armed to the teeth and ready for war. I wasn’t sure how Kate managed to tag along, but no one seemed to care when she tugged an oversized camouflage jacket over her upper body. Nelson said a few words to one of the men under his command. A few minutes later, the guy returned with a pristine assault rifle and a belt loaded with magazines.

  Nelson patted his face with a ragged cloth that might have been white at one time. He tucked it away and tipped his hat down to cover his forehead.

  “Mike. There’s a lot of confusion. People don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m going to clue you in on something. They want to keep everyone guessing, but it’s not fair. You feel free to share this with whomever you like.”

  Nelson had my complete attention. Information has been at a premium since we arrived. Even my attempts to talk to other soldiers met with confusion or stonewalling. Now I might actually get some answers.

  “I’m all ears, man,” I said and leaned in close so we could speak in conspiring tones.

  “The trains’re going to start rolling soon, probably in a few hours. They want to get as many people on them as they’ll hold.”

  “How are they going to get so many people out? The trains don’t hold that many, do they?”

  “They have a set of commuter trains that can haul quite a few. I heard it’s about twenty-five hundred a load. It won’t be comfortable, that’s for goddamn sure.”

  I stared in the direction of the train station. There were two entrances, and bo
th were locked up with huge metal gates.

  I needed to get to Auburn as soon as possible. I was sure that if I just got out of the city, things would be fine. I would get in my car at the park-and-ride and drive home. Then I would pick up Rita, and we would escape as far away as possible. I’d thought of Canada, but maybe it was time to think farther, like Miami.

  I was running from my memories. A vision of Erin rose in my head, and I screwed my eyes up tight. Fists clenched until my nails cut into my palms. I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to think of her again. My resolve lasted for less than ten seconds.

  Kate

  They wrestled the ladder for a few minutes, then Mark jumped up and tried to knock it loose. Flecks of rust and old paint fell and coated him like a weird art project. Kate scooted out of the way, but the balcony was tiny, and she ended up getting peppered as well.

  “Jesus Christ. Let me try.” She was exasperated but was also having fun watching Mark’s efforts.

  “Be my guest … potty mouth,” he said with a mock bow and backed out of the way.

  “Don’t pout.” She extended her hand, palm open, and he handed over his giant Swiss-army knife.

  “Want a boost?” He offered his hands.

  “Want to keep your arms?” She smiled sweetly.

  “Suit yourself, but don’t blame me when you fall seventy feet. I’ll try to shoot any deaders that come your way while you lie down there in a heap of hurt.”

  “A heap of hurt?” She deepened her voice.

  “Yeah, you know, bones broken and head cracked open. I hope you can still smile. You know, through the blood and all.”

  “Aren’t you a sweetheart?”

  “That’s me.”

  She smirked and studied the ladder. There was a tiny space where the edge of the metal rungs met the hole from which the end of the ladder should have been hanging. She took a breath and launched herself up.

  She hit the railing with one foot and propelled herself at the wall. Her left foot struck it, and she was able to bounce up and catch the edge of the hole. Metal bit at her hands, but she didn’t think it broke the skin.

  She pulled herself up and weaseled through the little space. Her pants caught and ripped along the back of her thigh, but there wasn’t any pain. She hoped the cut was confined to her pants and not her leg.

  “Shit,” she swore as she tugged her body all the way up. She scurried up the ladder to the top and wedged herself against the side of the building and the entryway above.

  “Pull the bolts,” she called down.

  “Your funeral.”

  Mark went to work on the bolts and had them loose in a few minutes. She studied the street while he worked, looking for any infestation of deaders. It would be nice to know if they’d have to fight their way back.

  Anders poked his head out and gawked at her

  “How the hell did you get up there?”

  “Fucking Jackie Chan shit. She moves like a cat.” Mark stared up at her with respect. He had a wrench in hand and was working at the rusted bolts. They squealed in protest.

  Anders shook his head and ducked back inside.

  “Okay, farm boy. I’ll cut it loose. You guide it across.”

  “Right. Bolts are almost loose. As soon as it’s free, I’ll hold it here. We’ll have to lower it all the way, then wrestle it back up and across.”

  Across the space between the buildings, she finished in her mind. It might work, but they would have to walk across a long drop. She was nimble, but she wasn’t stupid; anything could happen—from a stiff breeze to a sudden case of vertigo if she looked down.

  Kate held the ladder, even though the wire would probably do the job. As soon as the bolts that held it in place were gone, the wire would be the only thing preventing the ladder from crashing to the balcony and possibly tossing Mark Jones onto his ass far below. Then old corn-fed and blue-eyed would have to explain to his mother how he fell off a building and ended up in traction. Unless he ended up in a mass grave, alongside half of the city.

  The first bolt clattered to the grating, and Mark made a dive for it, but the metal shim fell between grates. He made a grab and ended up bracing the considerable weight of the ladder with one hand.

  “Cut it,” he said, his body straining to keep the heavy metal ladder in place.

  Kate took out the tool and found the wire cutters. She extended them and got to work on the first ragged piece, letting a little leverage do the work. With a groan, the big hunk of metal slid down. She reached for it, but it slipped away and smashed to the balcony below.

  Kate’s eyes grew huge as she waited for the balcony to crash to the ground, taking Mark with it.

  The noise sounded like a massive gong. Mark dove for the window when he lost his grip. He caught hold as the entire structure rattled and groaned. Kate held on for dear life, fully expecting the bottom section to shear away at any second. Mark swept his blue eyes up to meet her dark ones. She saw fear, but also a hint of excitement that grew as his lips split in a grin.

  Goddamn thrill seeker! She, for the fucking record, was not having fun. She wanted to get back to slicing deaders in two, not hang out here and make goo-goo eyes at tall, blond, and dumb.

  For a split second, she saw herself attempting to jump across the way, to the other roof. The chance of making it even halfway would be slim, even for a parkour master.

  It was a miracle that the ladders held. The falling lattice of metal shifted the entire fire escape. Kate looked up to see if the rest was still in place and had to shade her eyes from the river of rust and debris that fell.

  “That’s one way to get it done,” Anders yelled. “One way to let every deader in the immediate vicinity know we’re here as well.”

  “It was a lot heavier than it looked,” Mark said.

  “At least no one got hurt, right?” Kate called down.

  Mark held up his hand, which had a huge gash along the palm. It dripped blood onto his boots. He looked like he was going to swoon. For one silly moment, Kate saw herself below, catching him and lowering his head into her lap.

  “War wound,” she said.

  “Shit. Anyone got a binder?” Mark looked at Anders.

  “Damn.” Kate grinned at Mark. “We got a bleeder!”

  Shayne

  Shayne stared at his bed. His refuge, his sanctuary, the place where he preferred to spend the majority of his time. Several containers of bottled water stood on his nightstand, glistening with condensate. There was the necessary canister of hemorrhoid pads, because opiates gave him terrible constipation.

  The pride and joy was a plastic tray covered in painkillers. Cool plastic bottles bore the names of all his favorites.

  There was even a vial of morphine and a shiny needle. He planned to jab that right into his nearest vein, then lie back and float away.

  Then the pain started again, blinding waves that started in his muscles and bled out to his joints. Shayne’s stomach knotted up as the waves built. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. It took a moment to realize that the keening noise he heard was his own voice, and it sounded downright pathetic.

  Shayne should have been used to it by now. After all, he had lived with this debilitating illness for most of his life. But this was the worst he had ever felt. If there were a mountain that represented how bad he felt, then he was surely past the base camp of Mount Everest and marching straight to the top. If it got much worse, he was going to find a place to curl up and just die.

  He opened his eyes and stared up at Kara. She seemed concerned and even leaned over to touch his forehead with her palm. A mothering instinct from her was about the last thing he would have expected, and yet here she was, doing her best. Shayne couldn’t help but look down her shirt. His mind howled in laughter. All he wanted to do was die, and instead he was transfixed by creamy cleavage.

  “Perv!” She shook her head and looked him up and down. “God. You’re burning up.”

  He felt a moment of helples
sness as she leaned over, and he gave in. For once, his wall cracked.

  “It’s the sickness. This thing I have. I’ve been out of pills for a couple of days, and it hurts. It hurts so bad I want to die, Kara.” He felt like weeping.

  “You’ll feel worse if Pete gets you. Just get up.” She ignored his pleas and nudged him to move. “Go hide somewhere for a while. Pete is pissed, and he wants to take it out on you.”

  “Everything hurts.” He shook his head, but that made his brain throb. It didn’t help that the right side of his head was pressed right up against Kara’s tits. He had the insane urge to purse his lips and blow. Giving her a motorboat might be insult enough to make her leave him alone for good.

  “Where should I go?”

  “Just get up and hide! But don’t go in the hallway; they think one of the things is out there, and Pete is too chicken-shit to do anything about it. But he’ll deal with you, if you know what I mean.”

  “Are you going to hide with me?” He leered again.

  Kara stood up and stepped away. She looked down at him with a hint of pity, or anger. Probably both. Then her eyes clouded over, and she was gone with a swish of her skirt. He didn’t even bother to follow her legs with his eyes.

  A thumping across the room got his attention. He struggled to his feet, feeling like he was going to pass out at any second. He leaned over his desk and retched up bile, because there was nothing else in his stomach. He wanted to wipe it off his lips, but the effort wasn’t worth it.

  Shayne should have followed Kara’s advice, but fuck it. Life couldn’t get much worse than it already was. He moved on stiff legs that ended in aching feet. Each step felt like someone had jabbed a pair of knitting needles through his ankles. He gasped with each shuffling move until he made it around the corner.