The Creeping Dead: Book 2

by Edward P. Cardillo

  Dr. Potts didn’t respond.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” added Lenny, excusing himself.

  Lenny closed the door for privacy, locking it.

  He turned sideways, passed the sink, put down the toilet seat, stood with his back to the toilet, dropped trou, and sat.

  Lenny heard the doorbell ring. Then he heard Chief Holbrook’s voice. It sounded like the kids woke up. “Daddy!”

  He listened to the sounds of the reunion out in the living room as he tinkled. Lenny wanted to join them, but nature was calling. Everyone sounded happy.

  Was the zombie attack over?

  When Lenny had emptied his bladder, he stood up, pulled up his underwear and pants, and flushed. He washed his hands with soap. After drying his hands, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

  He closed the door behind him and was startled when he turned around and saw Dr. Potts standing right in front of him.

  Dr. Potts stood there, swaying back and forth, shoulders slumped, and wheezing. His eyes had dark shadows around them. His face looked ashen and angry.

  “Hi,” squeaked Lenny, unsure of what to say.

  Dr. Potts sneered, flashing his teeth. Lenny thought he looked like a wild animal. A chill shot down Lenny’s spine as he realized that he had forgotten about the bite on Dr. Potts’s upper arm.

  “D-D-Dr. Potts?”

  Dr. Potts reached out for Lenny, seizing him by the throat. Lenny tried to cry out, but Dr. Potts’s grip strangled his airway. Lenny clawed at Dr. Pott’s arms, but the old man’s grip didn’t relent.

  Billy Blake drifted into the hallway. Lenny reached out a hand to try and get his attention.

  When Billy saw what was happening, he practically did a double take. He began to wave his arms around. “Hey, you dead bastard! Over here!”

  Dr. Potts’s grip loosened as he turned his head to look at Billy.

  Billy walked right up to the old man. “You leave my friend alone, you crusty old fuckbag!”

  Dr. Potts released Lenny. He shrieked at Billy, lunged, passed right through him, and fell down the stairs as Lenny rubbed his hurting throat.

  There were screams downstairs.

  Lenny heard Chief Holbrook shout, “Everybody get back!”

  There was a horrible, animalistic shriek. Then there were two gunshots and a heavy thump.

  Chapter 15

  Over the next several days, Holbrook rounded up whatever police were left and organized and armed any and all survivors. They swept the town, block by block, dispatching the last of the dead wandering the streets. They stabbed the temples of any of the recently deceased so that they wouldn’t reanimate, and the bonfire was reignited on the beach to burn the remains.

  More weapons were scavenged, supplies were gathered, and food stores were inventoried. Holbrook put lookouts on the bay and along the beach, but no more dead were washing up on shore to cause trouble. There were armed checkpoints at the town limits on either side.

  The mayor was missing and presumed dead, so Holbrook took charge for the time being. He communicated with the neighboring towns, lending support as well as receiving support. Stonewall and several towns inland were lost to the dead. Smuggler’s Bay was effectively cut off.

  Holbrook walked the boardwalk, surveying the operations. The boardwalk had become the nerve center for survival operations. Many businesses, particularly eating establishments, remained open. People still needed to eat, and while some remained cloistered in their houses with doors locked, others sought company and found strength in numbers.

  The Smuggler’s Bay boardwalk cam perched atop the Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade had gone viral, piping out live images of pedestrians milling about, as they always had, as if nothing had happened. Then again, when cut off from the rest of the world on a barrier island, what else was there to do? It was human nature to seek out normalcy in times of crisis.

  Pacelli was strolling down the boardwalk, stopping at storefronts, jotting down notes on a clipboard. When he saw Chief Holbrook, he smiled and made his way over, clipboard tucked under his right arm.

  “Afternoon, Pacelli.”

  “I have the latest inventory, Chief.”

  Holbrook nodded. “Give me a snapshot.”

  Pacelli consulted his clipboard. “The A&P is still open. We have supplies from six pizzerias, a dozen restaurants, and three pubs that are still in operation.”

  “That’s good in the short term,” said Holbrook. “I’m worried about when we lose power.”

  “Right,” said Pacelli. “Without power, there’s no refrigeration. Food is going to spoil, and we don’t want people getting sick.”

  “What about non-perishables?” asked Holbrook.

  “The A&P, pharmacies, and convenience stores have candy bars, beef jerky, canned nuts, dried fruit, soda, and bottled water. Without the tourists in town, it should last a while.”

  Holbrook nodded. “Good. That’ll do for now. I have calls in to the OEM. The governor has already requested federal disaster assistance.”

  “How long will that be?”

  “Don’t know. I assume they’re assessing the situation as we speak.”

  The Bay sanitation workers continued their usual duties, cleaning up the garbage and detritus from the prior night’s attack. The beach was closed, but the lifeguards served as medics and auxiliary police. Some worked out of the pharmacies and urgent care facilities, doling out medications. Others gathered and inventoried the weaponry left behind by the National Guard on the boardwalk. Captain Mac Cochran oversaw their operations and communicating with the Coast Guard.

  Nancy saw Holbrook and Pacelli and walked over to them. “Chief. Officer Pacelli.”

  Pacelli acknowledged her with a nod.

  “How is everyone doing?” asked Holbrook.

  Nancy put her hands on her hips. “People are scared.”

  Holbrook flashed a weary grin. “I don’t blame them.”

  “They want to know when it’s all going to be over. This isn’t like two years ago. It’s different this time.”

  Holbrook nodded. “Yes, it is, but it’s amazing how people are carrying on.”

  Nancy nodded. “I have the arcade open, but Chief, I’ve got to be honest. I’m wondering if it’s even worth charging money anymore. What if this is it? What if this is the end?”

  “Don’t talk like that, Nancy.”

  “With all due respect, Chief, I’ll talk any damned way I see fit.”

  He smiled at this. Outsiders or the few residents who didn’t know her well often didn’t know how to take Nancy. Holbrook knew her personality well and appreciated her often blunt candor, particularly under the current circumstances.

  “Don’t let others hear you talk like this,” he insisted.

  “I’m not the only one,” said Nancy. “We’re holding out, but no one knows how much longer. Any word from the State or Feds?”

  Holbrook shook his head. “I was just telling Pacelli. Not much yet.”

  Nancy chortled, but it was a bitter sound. “Damned government. Our tax dollars at work.”

  “No one expected this, Nancy.”

  “Christ, I remember when our biggest worry was a terrorist attack. Hey, Chief, I’m thinking of calling together a meeting of the Bay’s Business Association.”

  “For what?” asked Pacelli.

  Nancy’s eyes grew fierce. “For what? People are scared, you dolt. It’ll help. We can talk it out. Support each other.”

  Pacelli groaned. “C’mon, guys. What’s the point of any of this?”

  “She’s right,” said Chief. “If people have nothing to do, panic will set in. We can’t have that. Any way people can feel productive is a good thing right now.”

  “Well, I’m off,” said Nancy, looking impatient. “I have phone calls to make. Too much to do.”

  Nancy acted as his “Deputy Mayor” of sorts. It made sense. She was organized, task-oriented, and she knew damn near everyone. She was a natural leader.


  She placed Dharma in charge of entertainment, to occupy the children. The Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade was open, along with a handful of rides for the younger children. However, Nancy kept the carousel dark. Holbrook figured it was out of respect for Mike Brunello.

  “Do you really think any of that’s going to help?” asked Pacelli.

  “You forget, I was NYPD during 9/11. New York City didn’t entirely shut down after the attack. Remember that massive blackout along the East Coast?”

  Pacelli nodded. “Yeah, people thought that was terrorism.”

  “I was stranded out on Long Island,” said Holbrook. “The highways were at a standstill. I got off and parked myself at a diner. After calling Lena to see if she was okay and tell her where I was, I went inside. The owner was selling ice cream, all you could eat for a few bucks.”

  Pacelli chuckled.

  “Hell, it was going to waste anyway,” said Holbrook. “So, I sat at the counter, ate more ice cream than was decent in one sitting, and made conversation with the man sitting next to me. It’s what people do when things like this happen.”

  “If you say so, Chief.”

  “I do.” This gave Holbrook an idea. People had questions. When was help coming? Were they safe? How long would supplies last? What about Stonewall? Would there be an evacuation to inland, away from the zombie threat?

  He knew what he had to do. He hated doing it, but there was no mayor. He supposed he could get Nancy to do it, but she wasn’t right for the task. The town needed reassurance, inspiration. He had to call a town meeting.

  He picked up his cell and dialed Nancy. Cell service was still up, as the dead had no interest in machinery, like cell towers.

  She answered. “Miss me already, Chief?”

  “Nancy, I want you to put the word out. We’re having a town meeting at St. Barnabas church. Five o’clock.”

  “Why the church? Shouldn’t it be city hall?”

  Holbrook thought about it for a moment. “City hall’s too small. Besides, the church is a sanctuary. It’s a place where people go for assurance. It just seems right for what I need to do.”

  “Consider it done.” She hung up.

  *

  Tara was recovering at her home under the careful watch of her son, Tyrell, and a lifeguard named Joel. She was still weak, and she was experiencing wicked phantom pain, but she was stable and recovering slowly.

  She spent her days watching television, monitoring the news stations and reporting back to Holbrook. She needed to feel busy, like she was contributing.

  Tyrell wandered into her bedroom. “Mom, what are you doing?”

  “Watching the news, honey.” She was on her laptop, searching the internet for any breaking news. Joel sat next to her bed in a chair, his eyes glued to the television.

  “Can I watch with you? I’m bored.”

  Tara smiled. She normally would have said no, but he knew what was going on. He was a part of it. Keeping him from the news wouldn’t have preserved any innocence. Besides, she’d rather him sit beside her, inside, rather than going outside unsupervised.

  “Sure, honey.”

  Tyrell hopped up onto the bed and scooted next to her, placing his back against the headboard. “Whatcha lookin’ at, Mom?”

  “It’s getting tougher and tougher to find any news,” said Tara.

  “Why?”

  “They’re no longer broadcasting. They had to evacuate to be safe.” At least that was what she hoped happened. Either that, or they were killed by the dead. “I’m looking at sites on the internet, where news is being reported from safe zones.”

  Many of the major stations in the tri-state area had gone dark in the past twenty-four hours, as they were located in population-dense cities infested with the dead. Fox News and MSNBC went dark when New York City overrun. CNN went dark when Atlanta fell. The BBC was still broadcasting, which was what Joel was watching on the television.

  The zombies had spread rapidly, and it had soon become clear that Smuggler’s Bay was not the only area under siege. The attacks, however, seemed to be limited to the United States.

  The news had been throwing out all kinds of theories. One “expert” posited that a Russian spy vessel had been spotted just off shore from New Jersey two years ago, and it might have had something to do with it. It was presumed, at the time, that they were just there for surveillance purposes, but now people were speculating that they were introducing biological agents into the water. Another so-called expert accused the United States Government of experimenting on the elderly with some mind control technology, as many of the outbreaks had originated in nursing homes and assisted living facilities.

  One thing was for certain, the tin foil hats were on, and every paranoid asshole with access to the media was offering up their half-baked conspiracy theory as to why the zombie attacks were happening.

  The advance of the dead was stopped at Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama. The more heavily populated areas, like New York City and Philadelphia were becoming impenetrable bastions of the dead. There were mass evacuations. However, just as in Smuggler’s Bay, the authorities had been quickly and easily overrun. The virus spread faster than it could be contained, and the death toll was in the millions.

  The CDC now reported rapid transmission of the Z Virus, with infection occurring within an hour of exposure. In fact, victims had begun to reanimate as they were being eaten alive. This was no longer a pandemic. It had become a war of attrition, where the dead were almost instantaneously recruiting the living to their ranks.

  *

  At five o’clock, the town had begun to filter into St. Barnabas, taking their seats in the pews. Holbrook was up front at the podium, microphone on. Monsignor O’Donnell stood in the aisles, greeting guests with a handshake and some kind words.

  When the influx of people appeared to slow to a standstill, except for a few stragglers, and the pews were filled (some people even stood along the wall) with people looking at Holbrook with eager anticipation, he cleared his throat.

  The din died down and was replaced with silence as all eyes were forward and undivided attention was given to their beloved police chief.

  Holbrook glanced at Lena and Robbie, who sat next to Nancy in the front row. Lena smiled, her eyes met his, and it was enough to bolster Holbrook.

  He adjusted the microphone. “Thank you, all, for coming.” His voice echoed around the church. He looked down at the empty podium. He hadn’t brought any notes, but he had given much thought about what he was going to say, and he believed it best to speak unrehearsed.

  “Let me begin by saying that I’m proud of all of you. In less than twenty-four hours, you’ve all pitched in and kept this town going.”

  Someone shouted, “It’s because of you, Chief!”

  There were murmurs and heads nodding in agreement.

  Holbrook put up his hands, in humble denial of the claim. “No, no. It’s because of all of you. I couldn’t do it without all of you.”

  The church quieted down again.

  Holbrook cleared his throat awkwardly and continued. “Throughout the day, I’ve been approached with many questions…How long is this going to last? Are we still safe? Is anyone coming to help us?”

  There were whispers of agreement. People were nodding and buzzing with outrage and fear.

  “The truth is, right now, I don’t know. I don’t have the answer to those questions. We’ve lost our mayor and town council. I’m doing my best to help you keep this town alive. To keep each other alive.”

  There were cheers and shouts of enthusiasm for Holbrook’s sentiment.

  “The fact is, we were attacked by the dead for a second time, and this second wave was much worse than the first. The dead have returned in numbers that defy logic. They mutate and turn faster. Some are even communicating with each other.

  “Right now, I have more questions than answers. But, one thing is clear…we need to keep this town running. We need to take care of ourselves and each
other. There has been contact with state and federal government agencies, but no one is relaying a plan or course of action.”

  More murmurs from the crowd, but instead of enthusiasm, it was agitation. He had touched a nerve.

  “Some would say, at least for the moment, that we are cut-off. Alone. But not me.”

  More buzzing and mumbling. People shifted in their seats. There were coughs, and somewhere in the back a baby cried.

  “We’re not alone because we have each other. We’ve survived catastrophe before, and yet we still stand, picking up the pieces, honoring our dead, and soldiering on.

  “I believe in this town. We are a strong community that time after time has defied the odds. Pulling together, we look out for one another. I believe that we can weather this storm until help arrives. We are not weak, we are not helpless, we are strong.”

  There were cheers again from the pews, nods of agreement, even whistles and fist pumps.

  “All I ask is for your continued cooperation. We are in this together, and together we’ll see our way out of this.”

  Applause erupted inside the church, and people stood in ovation. Holbrook blushed at the response. However, it wasn’t just embarrassment he was feeling.

  There was also guilt. Guilt for promising them safety and success when there was no guarantee of it. He assumed the authorities would, at some point, step in. They had to. He remembered how long it took for FEMA and various other government agencies to respond to the attack and superstorm two years ago. They had been unprepared for it, and this second wave was even worse.

  He looked over at Lena, who mouthed the words ‘I love you.’

  *

  Chief Holbrook stood next to Monsignor O’Donnell, shaking hands, giving as well as receiving words of encouragement from people as they exited the church. Lena stood next to him, delivering greetings of her own as Robbie hid behind her, overwhelmed by the attention.

  Holbrook leaned over and muttered to Lena, “So this is what being a politician feels like.”