Dead Rising

by Carl Hose

  With that, Johnson shined his flashlight over a row of headstones, casting shadows that looked like figures moving through the darkness.

  “This whole thing is creepy,” Walker said. “Dead things walking. That’s about the stupidest thing I’ve heard yet.”

  “It came straight from Colbrook, and he got it straight from the military,” Johnson said. “I don’t much believe it myself, but Sheriff Colbrook ain’t prone to overreacting. There’s gotta be something to it.”

  “I don’t believe a goddamned word the military says. I think they’ve fucked something up and don’t want us to know about it.” Walker stopped and took a hanky from his back pocket, dabbing at his forehead. “I’d rather be home with a cold one right now. That’s what I need. A nice cold one.”

  “Let’s just do the rounds and we can go,” Johnson said. “You keep flapping your jaws and we’ll be here all night.”

  A twig snapped somewhere nearby. The deputies spun in different directions, shining their flashlights around the cemetery in an attempt to pinpoint the source of the noise.

  “Probably just an animal,” Walker said.

  “Yeah, probably,” Johnson agreed, wanting badly to believe it.

  Walker took a deep breath and took another step. He was just about to add something to the conversation when he stepped into an open grave, screaming until he hit bottom and had the wind knocked out of him.

  Johnson leaned over and shined his light into the grave. Walker was flat on his back on top of a coffin. Walker’s own light had slithered away from him and he was groping for it, which meant he wasn’t seriously injured, or at least didn’t appear to be much worse for wear.

  “Gimme a goddamn hand,” he said.

  Johnson tucked his flashlight under one arm and grabbed hold of Walker’s hand, giving him a hard tug. Walker half-climbed as Johnson pulled him, finally making it over the lip of the grave. He straightened and began brushing dirt from his pants.

  “Jesus, I can’t believe they leave those things open like that,” he said.

  He looked up at Johnson, his eyes widening when he looked over Johnson’s shoulder. Johnson saw the look on Walker’s face and spun around, following Walker’s line of sight. The deputies brought their lights up at about the same time, illuminating a staggering corpse.

  “Holy shit . . .” Walker said.

  The thing was in the early stages of decay, with skin beginning to fall away from its face and hands. Its lips were almost gone; thick strands of black ooze hung from its chin.

  Johnson went for his gun. The corpse lunged. Johnson side stepped and spun to track the zombie, bringing his gun up in a two-handed grip. The corpse collided with Walker, who was still standing by the open grave, and both Walker and the corpse went tumbling in.

  Johnson leaned over the edge of the grave, trying to draw a bead on the corpse, but his flashlight was on the ground somewhere behind him, and without it, he could hardly see a damn thing.

  “Get him off me,” Walker called up. “Get the fucking thing off me!”

  “I don’t wanna shoot you,” Johnson said.

  The next time Walker opened his mouth, it was to release a scream that chilled Johnson’s blood. What Johnson didn’t see was that the corpse had taken a nasty chunk out of Walker’s neck. He didn’t see the corpse eating Walker’s face either, but he didn’t need to see anything to know his friend was gone.

  He fired three shots into the open grave, took a deep breath, then fired three more shots. He listened. Nothing moved. Not the dead thing, which was finally dead again, and not Walker, who had suffered a fate Johnson didn’t even want to imagine.

  “Aw, jeez, Brady . . . I’m sorry,” he muttered, standing up and holstering his weapon. “Damnit, I—”

  He never had a chance to finish his thoughts. A dead woman shambled from the darkness behind him and flung herself onto his back, wrapping her twig-thin arms around Johnson. Her bony fingers covered his face; he could smell the stench of her decay filling his nostrils.

  He tried to shake her off, but she hung on like some rodeo corpse. There were others too, rising from their graves and slipping from the shadows. The bony bitch sank her teeth into Johnson’s shoulder and jerked her head back, tearing away his uniform and bringing a chunk of bloody meat with it.

  Something without legs dragged itself up and started gnawing on Johnson’s ankle, and another corpse went to work on his left leg, biting down hard, pulling away tendon and muscle in strips.

  Johnson fumbled for his gun. There weren’t enough bullets to kill the rotting corpses, but he could make it better on himself. There was no way he was going down like this. He’d blow his fucking brains out, and wouldn’t that serve the motherfuckers right. He wasn’t coming back a corpse.

  Before he could get the gun to his head, one of the dead things swiped it from his grip. After that, everything went black.

  * * *

  “You heard from Heck and Brady,” Sheriff Colbrook asked Sarah, who was manning her post at the radio.

  “Not yet,” she said. “I’ll keep trying.”

  Colbrook lit a cigarette.

  “I thought you quit,” Sarah said.

  “We’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Smoke ’em if you got ’em.”

  Sarah smiled. She’d never smoked a cigarette a day in her life, but if there was ever reason to start, this was it.

  “Send Ken to the cemetery to round those two up,” Colbrook said.

  “Will do, Sheriff,” Sarah replied.

  Her hand was almost on the transmitter when an explosion rocked the building, startling her. The sheriff was already halfway to the door. Sarah forgot all about Ken and followed the sheriff outside.

  Thick smoke rose into the sky over the crash site as a second explosion came, sending a massive ball of flame skyward.

  At Edna’s, soldiers began pouring into the streets and rushing into their vehicles. Colbrook and Sarah could hear the frantic commands being issued as the military vehicles pulled away, heading for the crash site.

  “Looks like all hell’s breaking loose,” Sarah said.

  “You might be right about that,” Colbrook agreed.

  * * *

  The twisted, flaming remains of two Blackhawks lay on the ground inside the perimeter of the military compound. Several makeshift buildings were raging infernos, and the smoking remains of a Humvee sat in the center of the compound.

  Dead soldiers littered the ground and their living counterparts ran over their corpses. Sporadic gunfire erupted over screams and shouts. It was chaos at its best, and Edgewater stood in the middle of it all, his Desert Eagle in hand. If he didn’t take charge soon, this whole goddamned operation was going to Hell in a hand basket.

  “Contain this goddamned situation,” he yelled above the chaos, stalking across the open field toward the downed helicopters.

  A burning soldier stumbled from the wreckage of one of the Blackhawks, so far beyond pain he wasn’t even screaming. He stumbled to Edgewater, falling to the ground within a few feet of him.

  “For your own good,” Edgewater said. He aimed his Desert Eagle at the burning soldier’s head and squeezed the trigger, putting a hole in the soldier’s head that threw off bits of flaming tissue and bone fragment.

  Edgewater could see it was all over here. The compound was all but gone. There were corpses rising everywhere—good men gone dead. He began to put them down again, one by one, as calmly as he could. No honorable soldier should be walking around dead, and Edgewater considered it his goddamned duty to blow their heads off.

  He raised his voice and stated in as loud a voice as he could, as if anyone cared to listen, “Sleep tight, fellas, and don’t let the zombies bite.”

  He continued blowing corpses away as he worked toward the nearest jeep. There was no point hanging around now. The balance of power was shifting and the odds weren’t in favor of the living.

  * * *

  Sheriff Colbrook slowed his cruiser when he saw
the military vehicles approaching from the direction of the compound. He hit the lights on top of his unit and angled his car to block the approach of the convoy. The lead vehicle crawled to a stop, with the other vehicles following suit.

  Colbrook got out and approached the lead vehicle.

  “What happened up there?”

  “Lost control of the base, sir,” the driver said.

  “Where’s Edgewater?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir. Please move your vehicle so we can proceed.”

  Colbrook returned to his car and allowed the convoy to pass. Now that the compound was lost, he knew his town was about to become a madhouse, and the military was going to be the least of the problem.

  Eleven

  Johnny grinned as he put some weight on the gas of the Corvette. “Now this is what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, looking over at Wanda.

  “Keep your eyes on the road, would ya?” she said.

  “I got it covered, baby. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

  She lit a cigarette and rolled her window down. “I’m hungry.”

  “We gotta stop for gas. You can get somethin’ then.”

  He whipped over into the slow lane and backed off the pedal as he exited the highway. There was a tiny diner and trailer park on one side of the road and a Phillips 66 on the other. He pulled into the gas station.

  “Don’t go in without me,” he told Wanda.

  He stuck the gas nozzle into the tank and flipped the lever on the pump. Nothing happened. “Looks like I gotta go in to get the gas started. Let’s go.”

  Wanda got out of the car. They crossed the parking lot and entered the gas station, which looked like a tornado had blown through. The shelves were overturned. Food and soda cans were scattered all over the place.

  “Grab somethin’ to eat,” Johnny said. “I’ll get the pump—”

  A teenage kid with blank eyes and wearing a bloody Phillips 66 shirt rose from behind the counter.

  “That kid don’t look so hot,” Johnny said. “Grab somethin’ and let’s go.”

  Wanda didn’t grab anything. She ran for the door, with Johnny following right behind her. The zombie gas attendant climbed over the counter and went after them.

  Johnny and Wanda hightailed it back to the car. The zombie kid was moving faster than a dead kid should be moving. Johnny started the car and wheeled away from the gas pump. The gas nozzle came out of the tank and slammed into the zombie. Johnny did a U-turn and barreled down on the kid, hitting him head on and flipping him up and over the Corvette.

  Johnny turned the car around for another pass.

  “Come on, Johnny, let’s go,” Wanda said.

  “Fuck that.” Johnny replied. He drove over the kid, splitting his head like a ripe melon. “Now we can go.”

  * * *

  Not more than two miles from where Johnny and Wanda encountered the lumbering kid at the Phillips 66 station, Eddie was having an encounter of his own. He was supposed to have been working at the Phillips 66 with his buddy tonight, but he had the chance to screw Sue Ann, and he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.

  “What was that?” Sue Ann said.

  She was lying half naked beneath Eddie. He ignored her and tugged her panties down. Before she could make any more objections, he unhooked the clasp of her bra, pulling the satiny cups away to bare her tits.

  “Eddie,” she whined. “somebody’s out there. They could be watching.”

  He cocked his head and listened. “Just the wind,” he said, then he was inside her, pumping his way to a toe-curling climax.

  Sue Ann lay motionless as he fucked her. The sooner he got his rocks off, the sooner they could get out of this stinking barn. Whether Eddie believed her or not, she’d heard someone out there. Probably some sheep-fucking country boy . . .

  “Eddie . . .”

  “Yeah, baby, say my name,” he grunted.

  “Eddie . . .”

  “Louder . . .”

  She started screaming then, twisting and squirming beneath him as she pounded his back with her fists.

  “Oooo, a wildcat,” Eddie groaned.

  Sue Ann clawed at his back, leaving deep red trenches.

  “Behind you,” she screamed.

  Eddie wasn’t looking anywhere. His eyes were closed and he was on his way to Hollywood.

  “Here goes, baby,” he said, groaning as he spent himself inside her.

  Sue Ann brought her knee up, driving it into his balls. A flash of white-hot pain tore through Eddie, the likes of which he’d never felt before. He rolled away from Sue Ann, clutching his damaged nuts.

  Sue Ann grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Not now, Eddie, not now,” she pleaded. “Don’t pass out on me.”

  He tried to shake off the pain.

  “Get up!” she screamed. “They’re coming.”

  “What the fuck . . . ?” he muttered, still clutching his balls.

  He was halfway up when he saw what had Sue Ann so freaked out.

  “Those things are fuckin’ dead,” he said.

  He gagged at the stench of rotting flesh and moldy clothes as the dead things started crowding into the barn like a bunch of cattle. Two of them were ahead of the pack and nearly on top of Sue Ann and him. Eddie grabbed a nearby pitchfork and jabbed at the corpses.

  “They’re pretty fuckin’ slow,” he said. “If we make a run for it . . .”

  He was set to do just that when Sue Ann screamed. She grabbed at his arm, which made it hard for him to use the pitchfork. He swatted at Sue Ann and said, “You crazy fuckin’ bitch.”

  She grabbed at him again, this time dragging him to his knees. He tried to push her away, but she had a death grip on him and wasn’t letting go.

  The corpses moved in.

  Eddie shoved Sue Ann hard, finally getting her away from him. She fell back against the wall hard enough that her head bounced off the wood, and Eddie actually heard what sounded like her skull cracking. He felt bad, but he wasn’t going to die here because she was in a panic.

  He started jabbing the pitchfork at the nearest zombie—a rotting thing with bits of gray flesh dangling and eye sockets crawling with maggots.

  Eddie rammed the pitchfork through the zombie’s neck, severing its head. One down and too many to go. They were multiplying and spreading out. Some of them had made their way around Eddie and were all over Sue Ann. He wasn’t sure she was still alive, and even if she was, there was no way he’d be able to help her now.

  He saw an opening and ran like hell, swinging the pitchfork at anything that got in his path. He was almost out the door when he heard Sue Ann call for him, and she sounded so goddamned desperate.

  He almost went back for her, changed his mind and started for the exit again, then decided to go back for her after all.

  “Shit,” he said, disgusted he was even considering such a dumb move.

  He charged in, screaming like a wild man. His knuckles were white around the wooden handle of the pitchfork as he brought it down on top of the pile of dead meat covering Sue Ann. He speared them and tossed them aside, digging his way through the heap of rotten flesh until he reached Sue Ann. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her to her feet.

  It was too late by then to go out through the front of the barn. A lumbering horde of rotted flesh blocked the exit and was closing in on them. The only way out was up a rickety ladder and through the hay loft. From there, they could jump to the ground and run for the car.

  Eddie sent Sue Ann up the ladder first. When she was in the loft, Eddie stuck the pitchfork in the nearest corpse and left it there. He climbed the ladder, then kicked it away when he was in the loft, not sure if the dead things could climb, but too smart to leave it to chance.

  They were in luck. There was a conveyer belt in place for moving hay. Eddie crawled over to the opening and looked outside. There were only a couple of corpses outside the barn.

  “We can do this,” he told Sue Ann, who was h
uddled against the wall. “Don’t get freaky on me now, you hear me?”

  He helped her on the conveyor belt. She took one look outside and froze. Eddie hadn’t risked his neck for her so they could die now. He threw her over his right shoulder, then he climbed onto the conveyor belt and started down. His knees buckled under the stress about halfway down. He lost his balance and tumbled head over heels the rest of the way.

  The car was about a hundred yards away. The zombies in the barn had begun drifting back outside. Eddie pulled Sue Ann to her feet and ran toward the car, dragging her with him.

  Thank God he never locked his doors. He opened the driver’s side and pushed Sue Ann into the car ahead of him, then he slid in behind her, shoving her out of his way. The keys were still in the ignition. He grinned as he pumped the gas and cranked the engine. When Betsy fired up on the first try, Eddie broke into a fit of hysterical laughter.

  “We’re outta here,” he said.

  Sue Ann didn’t look well at all. She had cuts and scratches and bites all over her body. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

  “Jesus, Sue Ann, you look like shit,” Eddie said. “You’re gonna be all right, though.”

  “Thank you for coming back,” she whispered.

  Her breathing slowed, then it stopped altogether.

  Eddie touched her. She was cold.

  “Shit, don’t be dead now,” he said.

  The zombies were closing in. Eddie was reaching for the gear shift when Sue Ann sat up again, facing Eddie. Her lips peeled back into thin pale lines of flesh as she opened her mouth, expelling thick, foamy drool.

  Eddie threw himself against the door, trying to get away. Sue Ann lunged at him, her jaws snapping, and somewhere from the back of her throat came the agonized wail of the living dead. . . .

  Twelve

  Edna’s cafe was packed with civilians and military. The noise level was unbearable. Edgewater sat at the counter with a cup of coffee. Edna and Abigail were running food orders without stopping to breathe.

  Sheriff Colbrook came into the cafe and made a beeline for Edgewater. “We need to talk,” he said, taking the stool beside Edgewater.