Dead Rising

by Carl Hose

  “Let’s see what I can do,” Dalton said, coming around the front of his truck to look under the hood of Abby’s car. He fiddled with a few wires. “Have to admit, I’m not much good with mechanical things,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “I can give you a lift somewhere, though.”

  “I was on my way home,” she said.

  “I’ll take you home, then I’ll call Frank’s Motors. How’s that sound?”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she said.

  * * *

  Edgewater sat at the counter in Edna’s diner, eating a thick burger and wiping grease from his chin with the back of his hand. He washed every couple of bites down with a gulp of iced tea. His movements were mechanical. Eating to him wasn’t something to be enjoyed. Food was fuel, pure and simple, and taking time to eat it for pleasure was out of the question.

  Edna came around behind the counter to grab two more plates from under the heat lamp. She was exhausted. “Surprised Henry and Ed haven’t been back in,” she said to Joe, making conversation she didn’t really have time to make.

  Edgewater took note of the comment.

  Edna delivered the two orders. There were three more waiting when she came back. Before she could pick anything up, Edgewater pushed his empty tea glass across the counter. “I need a refill on the tea,” he said.

  Edna grabbed a tea pitcher without missing a beat. She began filling his glass.

  “Your friends are dead,” he told her with a certain amount of cruel pleasure.

  “Excuse me?” Edna asked.

  “The two yokels you mentioned earlier . . . dead. Got themselves in the way of a military operation.”

  “You talkin’ about Henry and Ed?”

  “If that was their names, that’s who I’m talking about. They got a little crazy out at the site. My men had to shoot them.”

  His tone was as relaxed and matter of fact as if he were discussing a story on the news. Edna’s face had gone white.

  “You’re sure about this?” she asked, setting the tea pitcher aside.

  “I’m always sure about what I say,” Edgewater told her. “That’s a guarantee.”

  Edna turned away from the counter, no longer concerned with Edgewater or his crass behavior.

  “I could use an order of fries to go with my tea,” Edgewater said.

  Edna didn’t hear him. She forgot about the orders waiting to be delivered. All she could think about was the way things in the world had suddenly turned upside down.

  “Joe,” she called out, heading to the kitchen. “I think I’m going to need a break.”

  * * *

  Abigail’s trailer was small and plain. She and Dalton sat at a little table in the kitchen, enjoying some iced tea. Had Abigail been able to step outside her body and look at the two of them from an outsider’s perspective, she would have seen the wide-eyed look of complete adoration in the way she watched Dalton as he talked. She couldn’t see the look on her face, but she knew it was there nonetheless. She knew how she felt about Dalton Connorshad known for quite some timeshe was simply waiting for him to figure out how he felt about her.

  She’d asked Dalton what he thought might be going on in town, with the military moving in the way they had. In truth, she was tired of talking about the military and whatever it was that had landed, but if she could keep Dalton around, so much the better.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I know the military doesn’t throw a party like this unless there’s a good reason.”

  “I wish they would leave,” Abby said. “They make me uncomfortable.” She blushed then. “Does that make me a bad person?”

  “Why would you ask a thing like that?”

  “I mean, they’re our military. They protect our country.”

  “Doesn’t make all of them good,” Dalton said. “They’re people, Abby, just like you and me. Some are good, some are bad.”

  “They seem mostly bad to me, and that colonel, he thinks he’s God.”

  “I don’t much like him myself,” Dalton told her, “but I guess he’s just doing his job.”

  “I wouldn’t want his job,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t want it either,” he agreed.

  * * *

  Sheriff Colbrook and two of his deputies, Ken Hagerman and Billy Swanson, were engaged in serious conversation. Sarah was at her desk, listening to what was being said.

  “I don’t give a damn what Edgewater has to say about it, I want to know everything that goes on,” Colbrook said.

  “I understand,” Hagerman agreed. “They come stompin’ through our town, barkin’ orders. . . . The whole damn town’s on edge.”

  “And it should be,” Swanson said. “We got a dead kid that wouldn’t stay dead. What about that wouldn’t put a town on edge?”

  The phone rang and Sarah answered it. “Sheriff, it’s for you,” she said. “It’s Edna. She sounds real upset.”

  Colbrook took the phone. “What is it, Edna?”

  Hagerman, Swanson, and Sarah saw the color drain from his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked when he hung up.

  “Henry and Ed,” he said. “Seems our All-American boys killed ‘em.”

  * * *

  Colbrook got out of his car and headed for the perimeter of the crash site, dead set on answers. He didn’t care if Edgewater and the entire United States Military stood in his way. Hagerman and Swanson’s car was parked at an angle behind Colbrook’s car. They followed on his heels, pushing to keep up with him as he approached two armed soldiers standing guard. One of the soldiers stepped in front of Colbrook.

  “That’s as far as you go, sir,” he said.

  “We’re here to investigate the deaths of two men,” Colbrook said. “I’m going to need access to this area.”

  “I’m sorry, but this is as far as I can let you go,” the soldier said.

  “You listen to me . . .”

  A jeep inside the perimeter approached at high speed, its horn blaring as it came to a sliding halt beside the sheriff. Edgewater was in the passenger seat, looking as if someone had just disturbed a healthy visit to the shitter.

  “What in the hell is going on here?” he asked.

  One soldier started to speak, but Colbrook cut him off. “I’m here to find out what happened to the two men who were killed here.”

  “It’s a simple matter,” Edgewater said. “They were told to leave the premises. They didn’t comply, so my men shot them.”

  “Your men murdered two people because they wouldn’t leave when you asked them to?”

  Edgewater’s temple throbbed. “Let’s get something straight here, Barney Fife. This is a military operation set in motion by the President of the United States of America. I do not owe you any explanation or justification for anything I, or anyone under my command do, nor will I attempt to give you any.”

  Edgewater took a cigar and a camouflage Zippo from his pocket. He lit the cigar and considered the situation a moment, then he said, “What I will do, since I’m an all-around nice guy, is educate you.” He motioned his soldiers to stand down. “Leave your tag-alongs here and come with me.”

  Inside the compound, Edgewater led the sheriff to a large tent surrounded by armed soldiers. With one hand on the tent flap, Edgewater said, “What you’re about to see is going to put the smack dab on your small-town ass, Fife. You hear me?”

  Edgewater entered the tent and stood aside for Colbrook to follow. The tent was set up for medical operations, with steel tables and an array of surgical tools lying everywhere. A kid in military uniform was huddled in one corner of the tent, chained to a stake hammered deep in the ground. Part of his face was gone, leaving bloody bone exposed. There was a hole in his stomach, and some of what he had on the inside was now on the outside.

  “That used to be Private Willie Sparks. He’s dead now,” Edgewater said. He paused for effect, then said, “What the hell am I talkin’ about,” he added, sounding like a real corn-stalk hick. “Have I lost my ever-
lovin’ mind?” The country accent was his personal dig at the sheriff and his small community. He paused again, hoping his private joke hit home. When it didn’t, he continued, this time dropping the Hoosier accent. “Dumb shit got some of the black goo on him. You don’t want the black goo on you. Understand what I’m saying?”

  “No, I don’t understand,” Colbrook said, trying to take it all in. “Lay it on the line without being an asshole about it.”

  Edgewater grinned around his fat cigar. “This is your lucky day, son,” he said. “I’m feeling generous. Matter of fact, I’m feeling real un-asshole like, so I’m going to let you in on a little secret. How would that be?”

  Nine

  Johnny and Wanda were asleep in a tangle of motel sheets. Three gun shots rang out, ripping through the silence of the night. Johnny bolted up and gathered his clothes from the floor, throwing his clothes on as he covered the distance to the window.

  The sound of squealing tires added to the chaos outside. Something was happening, and it didn’t sound like something Johnny wanted to be any part of.

  Wanda was slower to respond. She sat up, still groggy, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. “What is it, Johnny?” she asked.

  Johnny pushed the curtain aside and peeked out the window in time to see a car speeding out of the motel parking lot. “Get dressed,” he told her. “Something bad just went down out there.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know yet. Put your clothes on. We’re gettin’ the hell out of Dodge.”

  Wanda, wearing only panties, swung her feet to the floor and reached down to gather her clothes. Johnny opened the door and stepped outside. There were three cars in the parking lot besides the one he and Wanda had come in. The office door was standing open.

  Wanda came up behind Johnny, still wearing nothing but her panties.

  “Looks like somebody robbed the office,” Johnny told her.

  “Better take a look,” Wanda said.

  “Why should I go look? It ain’t my business, and besides, there’s nothin’ I can do about it if somebody hit the joint.”

  “You could at least make sure nobody’s hurt,” she said, again with that whiny voice that usually bothered him, but now didn’t seem quite so bad.

  He hesitated, took another look at the open office, and said, “All right, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll look, then we get the fuck outta here. You get your clothes on and be ready.”

  He made his way to the office, stopping several times to look around. The night seemed preternaturally silent. The kind of silence that made a man worry.

  There was nobody behind the front desk. The cash register was open. Johnny leaned over the counter to get a better look . . .

  The fat clerk rose up from behind the counter. Three bullet holes dotted the front of her shirt, which was soaked through with blood and clinging to her massive boobs. Pink bubbles of spit foamed out of her mouth and ran down her chin in thick strands, hanging like snot from a runny nose.

  Johnny backpedaled in time to avoid the fat clerk’s arms as she groped for him. He stumbled and almost fell before he managed to turn himself away from the slobbering behemoth. He hit the door at a full-out run, making it back to the room in half the time it took him to get to the office.

  Wanda was standing outside the room, smoking a cigarette, when Johnny jerked the car door open.

  “Get in,” he yelled.

  Johnny was already fumbling with the ignition wires when Wanda slid into the passenger seat. She was about to ask him why he was in such a hurry when she caught sight of the fat clerk lumbering toward the car.

  “What’s her problem?” she said, oblivious to the clerk’s present unfortunate condition.

  Johnny glanced up and saw the clerk coming. “She’s got three bullet holes in her chest for starters,” he said, then went back to work on the car.

  The fat clerk was only a few feet away by the time the car’s engine fired up. Johnny slammed the car in reverse as the fat clerk lunged. No way he would have imagined she could throw that weight around, but she cleared the distance to the vehicle like it was nothing. Her bulk clipped the front of the car as Johnny backed out of the parking space. She hit the ground and rose up again, redirecting her lumbering bulk to chase after Johnny and Wanda as their car squealed away.

  Johnny thought they were home free as they screamed out of the parking lot. A truck appeared from nowhere, narrowly missing them. Wanda gripped the dashboard and screamed so loud Johnny cringed.

  He glanced in the rearview and saw the fat clerk still coming. Not fast, but she was giving it all she had.

  “This is the fuckin’ Twilight Zone,” he said.

  Johnny swung a left at the first intersection, leaned on the steering wheel to swing the ass end of the car back into place, and was about to take a deep breath when he saw an accident at the end of the street. Johnny recognized one of the cars as the one he’d seen speeding from the motel parking lot. There was already one police cruiser on the scene, with sirens wailing in the distance.

  “Fuck me,” he said.

  He slammed into reverse and mashed his foot down hard on the gas. The sound of metal against metal was deafening. Johnny took one look in the rearview mirror and groaned.

  “This shit can’t get any worse,” he said.

  Then he found out how wrong he was.

  The windshield of the police cruiser was shattered. The cop was sprawled against the seat. His head was twisted at an angle Johnny knew it shouldn’t have been twisted in, and what was left of the cop’s face was a conglomeration of bloody skin and bits of the windshield.

  “This ain’t good,” he mumbled.

  To make matters worse, the front of the police cruiser was attached to the back side of Johnny’s car, making it impossible for Johnny to drive away.

  “Johnny . . .” Wanda called out.

  She was leaning out of the car, pointing in the direction of the accident. Johnny looked to see what had her panties in such a bunch. More police cruisers were arriving on the scene, along with an ambulance.

  Two men were fighting; another man climbed out of the wreckage to join in the scuffle.

  Somebody screamed.

  Johnny hurried to pull Wanda out of the car. “The cop’s dead and we’re stuck to his fuckin’ car. We’re gonna have to beat feet . . . your head’s bleeding. You okay?”

  “I think so.”

  He took her hand and they started across the street, while gunshots began to erupt in the vicinity of the accident.

  They were well away from the chaos by the time the dead cop in the cruiser decided to walk again.

  Ten

  Dalton heard the crunch of gravel as a car pulled into the driveway. He’d been sitting on the front porch, thinking to himself how things had gone to hell so fast. The car approaching was Sheriff Colbrook’s. Dalton stood and leaned on the railing as he watched Colbrook get out of the car.

  “You got a minute, Dalton” the sheriff asked.

  “I do,” Dalton said. “You want a beer?”

  “I’d normally say no while I’m on duty, but I’m not inclined to turn down the offer at this time.”

  Colbrook followed Dalton into the house. Dalton took two beers from the refrigerator and joined the sheriff at the table. He could see the man had aged a great deal since the arrival of the military. The lines on his face were somehow deeper, and there were dark spots under his eyes.

  “This about Ed and Henry?” Dalton asked.

  “It’s a damn shame what happened there, and it pissed me off to no end. I confronted Edgewater about it, but it gets much worse than Ed and Henry dying, if you can believe that. Edgewater showed me something disturbing.”

  “Disturbing?”

  “Dead things coming back . . .”

  “You want to repeat that.”

  “Dead things, Dalton. It’s the goddamned rock. There’s some kind of black substance, I don’t know. It kills you and then brings you bac
k.”

  Dalton didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to respond. What the sheriff was talking about was something out of a horror movie, made up by some Hollywood writer with an imagination. Dead things didn’t come back.

  “You think I’ve lost my mind, I know” Colbrook said. “I saw it two times today. The Parker kid was hit by a car and deader than a nail. He got up and came after me. Out at the site, a soldier chained up, drooling at the mouth, just as dead as the kid. It’s happening all over the world, Dalton. This ain’t just a local thing. What’s happening here is happening everywhere, and while I’m no fan of Edgewater, he’s the least of our problems.”

  Dalton shook his head slowly, took a long pull from his beer, and said, “What the hell is the military doing about it? And how did the kid you’re talking about get affected by the rock? Was he even near the crash site?”

  “Don’t think he was,” Colbrook said. “Edgewater says it can affect you if it touches you, but you can breathe it too. Problem is, the black stuff is alive. It travels. They’re trying to contain it, but it goes in the ground, gets into the water, travels through the air. . . . They don’t know how far it’s gotten, Dalton. Any of us could get hit with this thing, and since it’s everywhere, there’s nowhere to run.”

  Dalton thought about this a moment longer, then said, “There anything we can do besides wait to get infected?”

  Colbrook had no answer for him.

  * * *

  Deputies Heck Johnson and Brady Walker were standing in a well kept cemetery just outside of the Faith city limits proper. The headstones were mostly old in the section the deputies were in, with some dating back as far as the early 1800s. Despite the fact that neither Johnson or Walker really believed what the sheriff had discussed with them, being surrounded by so many grave stones was still disconcerting.

  “I think Colbrook’s lost his mind if you want my opinion,” Walker said.

  “I don’t want your opinion,” Johnson shot back. “What I want is for us to get this job done so we can get out of here.”