The Dead Trilogy (Book 1): Fast Walkers (Outbreak)

by J. D. Bishop

  Jeff, on the other hand was one of the second-tier guys. Popular, sure, but he was the type that was popular as long as he was doing what people wanted him to do. He knew that if he bucked the system, he’d get shit on by people. And now he was about to buck the system in a big damn way.

  Becky looked at the building and then at Jeff, complaining. “I think this shit is stupid. None of these fuckers would warn us if we were in their shoes.”

  Jeff faced her. He liked Becky, but she was in Greg’s league of popularity. She could set the place on fire and probably get an award from the student body. But because of that, she was sometimes so self-centered it drove Jeff crazy. “That's exactly where you should put yourself—in their shoes. Wouldn't you want someone to warn you if you had no idea what was going on? There's clearly a cover-up going on. People will be caught completely by surprise. Besides, don't you have some girlfriends you would like to warn?”

  Becky grumbled, looking down at the grass. Even the Queen Bee had to have her court. “Even still, we might get infected like all these people seem to be.”

  Jeff placed a hand on the gun concealed at his side. It gave him a feeling of comfort. “I think we would have already gotten infected if we were going to. We were close to that man in the store and around all of those sick people in the hospital. We might have some sort of immunity.”

  Becky wasn’t so sure. She rubbed her arms, suddenly no longer the badass with pistols she’d been in her house but just a scared high school senior. “Or we could be infected and it hasn’t manifested yet.”

  Jeff didn't want to think about. If they were infected, chances were they could do nothing about it anyway. It was how he’d been able to get through high school, by just doing what he could and letting the rest go. It was best not to dwell on the negative. Now was the time to try to survive.

  “Do you have the time?” Jeff's watch had been missing when he awoke from the accident, which for some reason pissed him off more than anything else. To think that one of the people from the hospital, maybe the hard-eyed senior asshole who’d never given them his name, ganked his watch just irked him almost as much as the damn cover-up.

  Becky checked her small pink watch. “It's 10:15.”

  Third period would have just been starting. Jeff decided that they should start at their own classes where people were used to them. Maybe, just maybe, it’d gain them a bit of an advantage. “Let's go to third period then. I'll go to mine and you'll go to yours. Enough of them should listen to us where we can make a gang and go around the school, warning everyone to go home.”

  Becky laughed. “You're delusional, Jeff. What makes you think that they will listen to us at all? People are going to think we're bat-shit crazy. We will probably be sent to the principal's office. Or better yet, they'll just call the cops and have us arrested like we should have been back at the hospital.”

  “They'll have every reason to listen.” Jeff pulled out his gun, brandishing it.

  Becky's eyes widened. “Surely you're not going to threaten them with that thing? I guess being wanted for murder isn’t enough now. You wanna turn yourself into the next Columbine Kid.”

  Jeff’s face was grim as he put the gun away. “I'll do whatever it takes. If it gets one more person to listen to me, then I’ll pull it. Fuck the rep at that point.”

  Becky stared at his side, where the gun was concealed under his t-shirt. “What about me? I don't have anything to threaten them with.”

  Jeff smiled. “Beck, you're the prettiest girl in school. You've got tits and a smile that melts most guys like butter, and you know it. The guys will listen to you if nothing else.”

  Becky rolled her eyes, but she smiled slightly at Jeff’s compliment, shaking her head back and forth and making her ponytail shake. “Whatever. See you in jail.”

  Then they went their separate ways, walking right past the office which was curiously unattended. It raised Jeff’s level of concern. School policy was for the reception desk to always be staffed.

  Jeff's third period class was US History. They all were in the middle of an assignment, a picture of Abraham Lincoln and Stephen Douglas projected on the wall when Jeff walked in. The teacher, Mr. Daniels, looked up from his notes as Jeff walked through the door. Mr. Daniels was a thin, balding, older man with glasses.

  “Mr. Walker, how nice of you to join us. Please have a seat and open your book to page one hundred and fifty-two and try to catch up.”

  Jeff planted his feet firmly in front of the class, right next to the projector, and took a stance. “No.”

  Mr. Daniels, who had lowered his head back to his notes, jerked his head back up, thinking maybe Jeff had misspoken. “Pardon me?”

  Jeff felt heat in his face. He wasn’t used to bucking the system so publicly like this, but then he remembered the dead man and his worry was replaced with iron will. “I said I'm not sitting anywhere. I came to warn you and everybody in here about what's going on.”

  By this time, Jeff had the whole class's attention. If anything, it was a lot more interesting than reading about a trio of debates by two men who died a hundred and fifty years ago.

  “Ooh, Jeff’s balls are dropping,” some joker cracked, and a few laughed. “Damn, boy gettin’ had.”

  Mr. Daniels rolled his eyes in exasperation. He’d been a teacher a long time. He was beyond trying to out-alpha-male the testosterone-fueled, half-tamed cavemen who shuffled through his classes most days. “Well by all means, Mr. Walker, warn us,” he said, dramatically flourishing his arms about, “But after that, you're still going to sit your butt down.”

  The classroom laughed a bit at that. It was Daniels’s skill. He didn’t out-alpha the disrupters. He let them make asses of themselves until their gas was up and then dealt with them later. Laughter was always a better whip than anger, in his mind.

  Jeff took a deep breath to steady himself and looked around the room. “You guys are going to think I'm crazy, but last night, my friends and I encountered someone who was very sick. We didn’t know it at the time, but this man was carrying a very deadly virus. We saw the man die right in front of us. A few minutes later, that same man attacked us.”

  “What in the world are you saying, Mr. Walker?” Mr. Daniels asked, his voice barely holding back laughter. “Did he start moaning for brains while he was at it?”

  Jeff stared into the teacher's eyes, seeing nothing but disbelief. “I'm saying that this virus maybe some of you have heard about that’s going around . . . makes you come back to life after you die. You come back a zombie.”

  The classroom, which had been quiet up until then, burst out into laughter. Even Daniels couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore, and Jeff felt his face burn. He knew he’d be disregarded.

  “Good one, Walker,” someone shouted.

  Jeff looked around for who said that. It was one of his friends named Sean, which hurt more than if it’d been one of the other people in class. Sean had always been part of the fringe guys, guys who weren’t quite popular enough to hang with the likes of Greg without a sort of chaperone, and Jeff had been that voucher more than once for Sean. Now he was laughing at him.

  “All right, enough, class,” the teacher said loudly, trying to quiet the students. He wiped at his eyes and resettled his steel-rimmed glasses on his nose. “Jeff, I think I've entertained your nonsense long enough. Now go take a seat. We’ll talk about playing pranks later.”

  Jeff had hoped he wouldn’t have to go this far, but he had no choice. Becky had been right. He knew she’d been right, but he was hoping that maybe someone would believe him. He only hoped that she was having more success.

  Down to his last option, he kicked over the projector and pulled out the 1911 on the class. The stand tipped over, the lightbulb exploding in a loud pop that pulled Daniels’s laptop down with it. In the silence that followed, all eyes turned to him and then to the pistol in his hand. “As I said, I'm not sitting anywhere.” Half the classroom recoiled in their seats, suddenly fea
rful of Jeff. “Now listen to me very carefully.”

  Mr. Daniels backed up against his desk with his hands held up defensively. “Now, now, don't do anything stupid, son. It was good joke, that’s all.”

  Jeff leveled a commanding gaze on his teacher. Maybe he wasn’t a big man like Greg, but the severity of the situation drove him to do things he’d never thought of before. “Mr. Daniels, I need you to go to the principal's office and get on the intercom to tell everyone to go home and to stay away from people whether they’re sick or not.”

  Jeff noticed some commotion near the students. Several of the guys were looking at each other. They were going to try to take Jeff down. Jeff quickly pointed the gun at them. “Don't try it, guys. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  One of the guys stood up. It was Dante Betters, a built black kid from a tough neighborhood who was a brutal fighter. The football coaches drooled over the idea of getting Dante on the field, but he never quite kept the grades to maintain his eligibility.

  “I ain't going out like no bitch,” Dante growled. “You gone have to kill me if yo’ ass thinks you ‘bout to be threatening me with a gun.”

  Jeff sighed. This was getting complicated. Maybe Becky was right—he should have left his fellow students to their own devices. “I'm not trying to hurt anyone. I'm trying to warn you for your own safety. Goddammit, Dante, I saw him get up!”

  “Surely you know that with the current climate of gun violence in our schools, you are committing a very serious offense, Mr. Walker. If you're having problems at home, we can get you help. Please just put the gun down,” Mr. Daniels said in a calm voice, slowly walking toward Jeff, his arms raised. Jeff knew it was just a diversion so that other students could disarm him. If he turned his attention to Daniels, Dante and the others would tackle him from the side. If he paid attention to Dante, Daniels might try the same thing. He pointed the gun back and forth between the teacher and the students, who were all advancing on him slowly.

  Jeff wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't going to shoot anyone. He turned to run out of the classroom, but Dante beat him to the door, tackling him to the floor. Jeff was no weakling and was a pretty fit jock, but Dante wrested the gun from him easily. Dante gave him a well-measured punch in the head that made Jeff see stars. “That'll teach yo’ crazy ass. Ain't no one pulling no gun on me.”

  “Mr. Betters, would you please stop swearing?” Dante had just punched Jeff in the head, but Mr. Daniels had only found fault with his swearing. Go figure.

  “You guys don't know what's going on,” Jeff yelled, thrashing about while Dante and two others restrained him. “I risked my life coming here to warn you guys, and this is how I get treated? Goddammit, they’re going to turn!”

  “Jeff, dude, I don't know what's wrong, but please calm down. It's scaring the girls,” Sean soothed, coming up to help restrain Jeff. “Yo, man, you get some bad shit last night or something? This ain’t like you.”

  “You guys hold him down while I go to the principal's office to set the school on alert. I'm sorry, Jeff, but you left me no choice. I'll be calling the police on you.” The teacher held his hand out to Dante. “Mr. Betters, hand me that gun.”

  Vigorously shaking his head, Dante grunted, “Nigga, you crazy. I ain't giving up no gun. No one knows if this fool has an accomplice who might come up in here and shoot all our asses.”

  Mr. Daniels looked as if he wanted to argue, but he changed his mind. “You’d better not do anything rash with that thing.”

  Dante gave an arrogant roll of his shoulders. “Chill, Mr. D. I'm from the hood. I was born with a gun in my hand. Ain't nothing poppin' off unless I want it to.”

  “Class, refrain from using your cellphones until I make sure the principal wants to shut down the entire school for this matter. There's no reason to cause widespread panic when we have the situation under control.” Mr. Daniels went to the door, opened it, and jumped back at the sight of who was standing in the doorway. It was a girl named Kimberly Davis. She looked as sick as that store clerk had been. She walked into the room past the stunned Mr. Daniels, breathing in that same shallow manner the store clerk had the previous night. Jeff started squirming, not to get free but to get away from Kimberly, scared she was only seconds from attacking them all.

  “Kimberly, you look like you need a doctor. Come with me to the principal's office. I’ll get a nurse to look at you,” Mr. Daniels said when he had recovered from his shock. “Come along now.”

  Jeff felt the boys' hands restraining him relax somewhat as they stared at the sick girl in front of the classroom. Kimberly mumbled something in reply, but it was too low to hear. She took two more steps and then collapsed face-first to the floor, her teeth cracking audibly as her head bounced off the turned-over projector. Mr. Daniels rushed to her side and checked her pulse. His face turned white as a sheet.

  Panicked, Daniels shouted, “Someone call 911 now. We need an ambulance to the school!”

  He turned Kimberly over quickly and began to frantically perform CPR. Kimberley's face had no color, her lips blue, her eyes closed. She was dead. Several girls began crying.

  “Get away from her!” Jeff yelled at the top of his lungs. He managed to get away from the guys holding him for a fraction of a second, but they were quick. They grabbed onto him again, pinning him down into helplessness. “Leave!” Jeff begged, his arms aching from where powerful hands pinned them. “All of you, leave now! You're all in danger.”

  The classroom ignored him, entranced by the girl receiving CPR. Daniels worked heroically, compressing her chest and breathing into her mouth just like they’d shown everyone in the health class, but Jeff knew it was hopeless.

  “Mr. Daniels, please. Get away from her!” Jeff cried with tears in his eyes. “Get everyone out of here. She’s going to—”

  “Will someone shut him up?” Mr. Daniels ordered irritably as he madly pumped Kimberly's chest.

  “With pleasure,” Dante said, slugging Jeff in the stomach and knocking the wind from his lungs. “Fucking crazy ass white people. Y’all all sorts of fucked up.”

  Jeff shook his head as he balled up in pain. He was such a fool for trying to come and warn his fellow students. Whatever possessed him to believe that they would listen to him? It had been a lost cause from the start. At least he had tried. They would believe him soon enough, though, but at a terrible cost.

  Mr. Daniels went on for several long minutes, pumping Kimberly's chest. After one fierce pump, her arm moved. Mr. Daniels whooped for joy, thinking this was a sign that his CPR had worked.

  “Kimberly, can you hear my voice?” Mr. Daniels peered into Kimberly's eyes, which were now open wide. Kimberly stared up at the world, her eyes uncomprehending. Her mouth began opening and closing, but no sound would come out. Mr. Daniels checked her pulse again, curiously, and let out a shocked gasp. Looking over at Jeff, his voice finally filled with belief. “No heartbeat.”

  Those were his last words.

  Kimberly suddenly sat up and grabbed Mr. Daniels, taking a huge bite out of his neck and chewing noisily with moaning sounds. Jeff stared in shock. It all made perfect sense now. That man had been chasing them, not because he was a raving dead monster . . . it was because he wanted to eat them. The group of boys holding Jeff let go of him, backing against the wall in fear.

  A squirt of blood shot from Daniels's neck, landing in a crimson arc across the front row of desks. Several girls were hit in the face by the blood and now sat in stunned silence at the spectacle before them. Kimberly continued her savage meal as Daniels collapsed in front of her. She sounded like a Pitbull with a steak.

  Someone let out a scream, followed by another and then another, until the whole class was screaming. A scramble for the door ensued as people started shoving and pushing at each other to get out. Several students had made it out the door when Kimberly suddenly lost interest in her meal, seeing fresh prey in front of her. She grabbed a girl by the leg as she tried to run past, taking a large bite out of he
r thigh. The girl screamed in terrible pain and managed to keep running, holding her bleeding leg that looked like it had a large chunk cut out of it.

  Finally beginning to regain control of his senses, Jeff glanced over at Dante who still held Becky's gun. He was trembling in terror and staring at Kimberly, who was beginning to rise from the floor.

  “Shoot the bitch!” Jeff yelled urgently at Dante. “Goddammit, shoot her! In the head!”

  Dante gave no answer, frozen in his terror. Apparently, Dante wasn't such a badass when shit got real. Jeff let out a curse, running up to Dante and grabbing the gun from his shaking fingers and shoving him out of the way.

  Jeff pointed the gun at Kimberly, but the kids fleeing the room made it hard to get a clear shot. With a screech that sounded like some deranged animal, Kimberly lunged at the last of the fleeing students. Jeff fired at the zombie girl, hitting her in the shoulder. She jerked backward at the impact and turned, growling at him in anger. Jeff shot again, hitting her in the hip this time and making her stagger, but she kept coming. Jeff fired another round and then another, slowly advancing on the zombie. Remembering how the military had killed the man who attacked them, Jeff aimed at her head and fired. The bullet hit her right in the forehead, causing her head to jerk back violently. She took one faltering step and dropped to the floor, dead for a second time.

  Jeff turned on Dante and Sean, who were the only two kids left in the room. “Now do you believe me?”

  Sean's face was white as he pointed behind Jeff. “Uh, Jeff. Look behind you.”

  With his heart pounding, Jeff turned to see Mr. Daniels rising from the floor, moaning with dreadful hunger.

  “Shit.”

  CHAPTER 8

  I t was pandemonium back at Channel 9 studios. Journalists were rushing around the news room, shouting about an influx of reports coming in from all over the city. Patricia was accosted by her boss before she could get to her desk to see what the commotion was all about.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing with that move, Pat?” Her boss, Timothy Walters, a middle-aged, white-haired man, asked. He didn't look his usual self today. He looked very pale—sickly.