Dead Pulse

by A. M. Esmonde

  His voice sullen, “Louis, its Sarah...”

  “Is it serious?” crackled Louis’s voice.”

  “She’s dead,” replied Frank, “so yeah, it’s pretty serious. Get over to the Southside and dispose of her body.” He put the radio in his jacket pocket, “what a waste,” he sighed as he wiped the bloody axe blade in Sarah’s clothes.

  Quaid and Frank sat in the canteen, some of the fluorescent lights flickered over their heads their starters struggling feebly. Quaid added a fifth sugar to his coffee, he looked at Frank tapping his spoon against the edge of his cup, “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t give orders anymore and I can’t trust anyone else to watch my back Quaid. There’s a farmhouse close by. There may be food there or animals we could use. I’m old but not in the business of dying. We have to do it, we’ve little food left.” Frank explained.

  “Well then I guess I don’t have much choice?” Quaid said leaning back in his chair as Frank gave a shrug. “I can’t have your death on my conscience. I’m in, but only if you speak to the men, they need to stay well away from Jayne.”

  “She can handle herself,” Frank grinned widely.

  “She’s been through a lot. And the last connection I have to my sister. I’m not saying she can’t hold her own, but I’ve heard them talking and I’m not getting into another fight.”

  “You’ve got a soft spot for her, and I respect that. Okay it’s a deal. I’ll see Kev and we’ll leave at first light.”

  So will you come with us to this farmhouse?” Frank asked.

  Kevin stared with his jaundiced, bloodshot eyes then threw another body onto the convey belt, “Okay old man. I’m going to die in any case,” Kevin replied, “if the grave-less don’t kill me the cancer will. What have I got to lose?”

  “That’s the spirit! You’re in.” Frank smiled patting Kevin on his shoulder. “We leave before dawn, when the dead are colder, more sluggish.”

  Kevin puffy with his last supply of drugs stopped stacking bodies. “I’ve just one question, how the hell are we going to get out of here, get past them?”

  Frank looked at him knowingly and smiled. “Kev, bring a peg and a plunger,” grinned Don.

  Quaid stood at the top of the building watching through the night vision scope. He could see the dead in highlighted in night vision glory. Although the dead were quieter, slower in the dark, he could still hear their moans carrying on the wind. The dead were like water, flowing and moving, waiting to exploit cracks, weaknesses to get in and devour them. They had to be watched constantly and the compound had to be maintained to keep them out. Their mass and constant movement put pressure on the perimeter. Quaid knew they could never relax or drop their guard.

  He moved around and could see Jayne looking down her scope. Behind her, two tall chimneys spewed smoke from the bodies of the incinerated dead floating now into the air. He pointed the scope down and further to the right, he watched five men loading bodies onto a partly sheltered conveyor belt that lead into the crematorium. Watching the bodies being loaded he thought about demise of the beautiful Vice President, her rescue mission had apparently gone terribly wrong. The reports had said that she had put up a fight but her, her bodyguards and soldiers had all been met with a grizzly death. On a more positive note there had been better news of another group of soldiers that had carried out a successful search and destroy mission. They were the team that were supposed to be saving them – as if, thought Quaid.

  Quaid jumped as a hand touched his shoulder; Jayne had brought him a hot cup of coffee.

  “I heard Smith confirming our food supply is stretched. I guess we’re not going last the winter with what we’ve got?” She shook her head. “This is getting worse than the bunker.”

  “It doesn’t look good.” Quaid confirmed her fears. “We’re leaving at first light.”

  She could see Quaid was distracted his mind deep in thought. “Listen I’ve already lost someone through heroics, but he died for a cause. Not for some food scraps.”

  “We’re not going to starve here Jayne. I just wanna live long enough to see her again.”

  “Frank has lost it a little, he resents being here just for my protection, you need to be careful. And try not to worry about your sister I’m sure she’s fine Quaid,” she said placing her hand on his shoulder. She looked at the smoky haze around them, lit by the compound floodlights.

  “I don’t doubt it; she’s got bigger balls than me. She lost fingers in a car door once, not a tear. Who would have thought she’d go from photographer to some kind of Joan of Arc,” he smiled.

  “More Isabella of Castile, she has given the world hope. She saved my life.”

  “As sisters go she was,” pausing he corrected himself, “she is the best.” He looked at the shadows of the shuffling dead moving against the metal fence, looking on blankly as if to watch their dead friends being loaded onto the conveyer belt. Quaid and Jayne caught a glimpse of Sarah’s body being thrown in with the corpses. The bodies that surrounded her, those that had been rounded up and killed earlier that day seemed to embrace her headless body. “Karen wouldn’t end up like that.” he muttered. Turning to Jayne she had already started to make her way across the roof towards the other scope.

  After a darkened stooped trudge through the compounds underground sewage pipe, the three men stepped out onto the partly oval corrugated sewage opening. Frank replaced the padlock of the metal gates pushing them lightly. The metal bars and the gate moved. With a groan they broke away from the concrete supporting posts. Quaid stopped it with his hand and put his finger to his lips, “shh.”

  The nut and bolts had rusted and the screws now loose were coming away from the tunnel.

  Chewing gum Frank tilted his head examining the gate, “It’s not going to hold, if enough of them push, they’ll get in.”

  “We’ll blow it on the way back.” Quaid whispered decisively through gritted teeth. “Stay close” Quaid murmured to Kevin pointing out a pack of the dead eating a thawing dead bull, “and stay low.”

  Kevin began to whisper, “Why don’t animals...”

  Quaid cut him short, “Jayne has ideas, but no one knows, it’s just a human phenomenon.”

  “Maybe because animal’s don’t have souls.” proposed Frank.

  “They don’t?” Kevin asked with reservation.

  They made their way down to the stream, their snow boots ankle deep in clear, ice-cold water. They left the stream through a snow-covered field and into the woodland. As the trio trudged over a ridge, the rundown 1920's farmhouse came into view, its roof and porch heavy with snow.

  It stood on a small bank surround by melting snow and sparse trees; a small dirt road led to a fire damaged diesel pump and burnt out pickup. A few walking corpses moved through the slushy snow. They were far enough away not to cause the men any concern. Most of the windows were boarded up; the remaining ones lay open letting in the elements. The front door swung on its hinges in the light wind.

  Apart from a cold breeze rustling around them, the only other sound was of melting snow dripping from the roof. Scattered on the ground lay some dead, permanently dead, frozen by the harsh winter, killed by the previous occupants.

  “Whatever happened here, we've missed it boys.”

  “Okay, let’s make this quick. Kevin keep watch, Frank and I will check out the house,” Quaid instructed.

  Holding onto the banister Quaid and Frank made their way up the icy steps to the porch and entering through the front door.

  The living and dining rooms were cluttered with over-turned furniture, broken plates and a smashed TV. Even with the windows open, there was a putrid smell of decaying bodies in the air. Snow and ice covered some of the floor and clung to the curtains. Three bodies lay on the floor; one decapitated its head nowhere to be seen. Another body sat in an armchair, covered ice and a light dusting of frost, it shimmered in the emerging morning light.

  “Take the cellar,” Frank instructed.

  “I
don't think so pal, you've dragged my ass out here. You take the cellar.”

  Frank gave a grin. “It was worth a try. Okay take kitchen Q, I’ll look for the cellar. Let's hope it's stocked in preparation for World War three.”

  Quaid entered the kitchen. Pots and pans lay on the blood stained chequered tile floor, most of the cupboard doors were hanging by their hinges. Empty, the place looked as if it had already been ransacked. Bloodied towels lay discarded in one of the corners of the room. Quaid opened the fridge, to his horror the shelves were crawling with maggots, some of which were feasting on a decapitated head. “What the hell?” he slammed the door shut in disgust. “What a waste of time,” he muttered. Jayne was right he thought. “Frank its empty,” he called.

  “Okay!” Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Frank thought, cursing to himself. Spitting out his gum he opened the door that he guessed would lead to the cellar. From the darkness within, two dead people lunged forwards. Frank stumbled backwards onto the damp wooden floor, as he made a stand he slipped in some frozen water and blood, regaining his composure he turned onto his knees and got up. One of the frozen bodies moved forwards its bones cracking as it moved, its vice like hands gripped Frank’s arm.

  Quaid, hearing the commotion drew his gun. Kevin, still on watch outside, gave out a yell. Looking through the window he saw Kevin grappling with a gaunt red uniformed Virgin airhostess. Quaid rushed out of the back door, slipping on the icy floor as he came around the corner of the house, losing his footing he hit the floor hard, his gun slipped out of his hand and spun across the porch. His mind racing he began to kick at the beam that held up the tile roof of the porch. His snow boot smashed into the wood sending a sheet of snow and ice onto Kevin and his attacker.

  Frank gripped the doorframe and kicked out at his dead assailant forcing them back through the door. Could Hardy do that?

  Quaid struggled to get to his feet as the ice beneath them made it difficult to get any purchase. Holding onto the wooden banister, he slid across the sheet of ice that covered the wooden porch sideboards diving to the floor he scooped up the gun gripping it tightly as he let off two shots that whizzed past Frank's head. The top of one of the corpse’s head blew off, fractions of its brain falling to the ground.

  “Come on!” Frank panted helping Quaid up. Moving quickly Quaid pulled Kevin up out of the snow and they made a dash for the tree line.

  The three men stood panting, wheezing and gasping for breath. They look up at each other, Quaid and Frank gave out a relieved laugh. Kevin looked blankly at the two men failing to see what was so funny.

  “No!” yelled Quaid, his arms outstretched, but it was too late. Kevin had grabbed his gun placing it deep under his chin. Without hesitating he pulled the trigger.

  “Holy shit, holy shit, was he bitten?” Frank asked.

  “Does it matter?” replied Quaid, sorrowfully, his hand on his brow. In the cold breeze, he noticed that his boots had let in water. Annoyed and angry he looked up that the surrounding trees and into the grey sky beyond.

  “Don’t beat yourself up Q, at least he won’t come back, come on let’s move it.” Frank said setting him in motion with a shove.

  As two men disappeared deep into the foliage, the dead began to tear at Kevin’s exposed face, opening it wider showing his shattered skull.

  Jayne pointed out of the window. “This is dangerous. We have no need to do this any longer,” she said watching the men below at turn-style entrance metal doors. Jayne continued. “The entrance doors were used for the workers to enter the compound with a swipe of an electronic card. A now they are used to...”

  “I inherited this place, and not by choice. So what, now the doors are used to allow the dead in one at a time and dispose of them.” Interrupted Frank.

  “Dispose? Those men shoot them with a single round cattle gun. Pick the meat up from the sludgy snow and load it to be fried.” She clasped her hands tightly. “It’s a hazardous task and unnecessary.”

  “Listen Jayne, ‘saviour of the human race’,” Frank said sarcastically. “I understand where you’re coming from but it gives these boys something to do while we wait for our miracle bomb to wipe the dead out. Besides, it stops their minds straying onto other things.”

  “Other things, right, other things like me and Jackie you mean?”

  “For once I agree with Frank, its best they’re playing with dead bodies than chasing you with a...” Quaid looked at the ground, embarrassed to finish his sentence.

  “Okay I’ve said my piece; I’ve highlighted it as a risk.” said Jayne. “It’s a real bullshit risk, inputting the number of the bodies in a computer for no one to read. We’re running out of food and we will have starved before the winters end.”

  Frank put his face in Jayne’s space and whispered, “I know your over-educated head has been worth my protection, and that dead Crafton and the Presidents little project will come through for us. But from where I’m standing it’s clear it is way over due. I never wanted to be suck here with the workers,” He looked at his watch, “It’s months late,” he added sitting back in his seat.

  Icicles hung from the perimeter compound fence. Quaid looked down to both north and south entrances. He watched one of three high security solid steel entrances. A man activated the turnstile with a swiped across a security card reader. A green arrow above the entrance illuminated, and one of the dead walked in. A single cattle bullet was fired through its head. The dead continued to push against the metal turnstiles as it fell to its knees, falling forward, landing facedown into the snow. The man gripped the body by its arms and rolled it onto the back of the trailer. Quaid watched the same procedure another three times always thinking of their lives before death, before their return. He then stood watching as the vehicle full bodies were driven a short distance before being loaded onto the conveyor belt that took them through to the incinerator.

  “Don’t you get fed up of watching?” Jayne asked quietly.

  “Nope, I’m always thinking about life and whether or not it’s worth living these days”

  Jayne frowned, “Quaid, we have to get out of here. We have limited firepower because of Frank’s early shooting sprees. We can’t wait any longer. It’s simple, our choices are few, starve here; freeze or be eaten out there.”

  “I’ve been thinking hard about this too,” said Quaid.

  “We’re not going to eat the dead, Quaid. It’s immoral and sick; we would be no different to them. Also they could be contagious.” exasperated she sat down.

  “I have plan,” said Quaid.

  Frank slammed his hands down on the table causing his brandy glass to wobble precariously. “You’re not going anywhere, there’s only fuel in one vehicle! Our fuel supplies were cut off a long time ago in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “What are YOU going to do with it?” spat Jayne.

  “I may need it when this place falls down,” snapped Frank.

  “Quaid and I are taking a chance to get some help. I know where all the other shelters are.”

  “If the trip to the farm has taught me anything, it’s that we should wait. We blew up the sewerage system to ensure they couldn't get in. My army... Major fucking Hardy will come.”

  “How can you be so sure?” asked Jayne.

  “Because, they’re not going to leave their greatest asset here, to freeze, or to become lunch for one of them,” he said jabbing his finger towards the fence.

  “No one cares about an old veteran. They replaced me Jayne with an ass-hole. So as long as you are here, I’ve got a chance.”

  Jayne stomped out of the room, slamming the flimsy office door behind her.

  Waiting in the office, Quaid leaned up against the grey wall, his arms folded. He moved forward as she came in, “How’d it go?” Her face said it all.

  “And I thought Hardy was an ass-hole. He’s an idiot, he’s always been an idiot, a vicious and solitary old soldier who has fallen from grace, and without orders he’s lost it, he’s nothing!�
� Jayne said, trying to control her rage.

  Frank finished a large glass of brandy, and took a deep hard look at his aged face in the reflection of the office window thinking of his dead sons, not sure if he now wanted revenge or to be reunited.

  The dead left their exhausted feeding ground of Ravenswood, implused with hunger. They gathered around the suburbs in their hunt for more food; they were the eradicators of human kind, unaware that the more they would consume and infect the closer they were causing a contradictive genocide of their own. They had destroyed cities, continents and countries; foodstuff emboldened them to continue like small armies.

  To oversee the deployment of seventy-seven, what was left of Army command had dispatched three platoons, headed by Major Thomas Hardy. He was reluctant to return to Farmore with out of date air intelligence. Before setting out he snorted some cocaine, and looked at his aging face in the reflection of the vehicle’s window. He couldn’t help but think of Marshal and for the first time appreciated the pressure he must have been under.

  The jeep stopped in the mud-covered road, melting snow had caused a slide. Spotting the large group of dead about 5 miles away along the North Garrow River, Hardy also knew that there was nearby some totalling about forty dead, the things were coming from the valley. Ignoring orders to wait for the deployment of seventy-seven, dividing his forces further, Hardy sent troops to meet them in the valley and he decided to attack before the dead could group. He did not realize that the number of undead in Farmore outnumbered his men many times over. These were not just the town folk of Farmore but the dead from the west and north valleys that had come through Farmore bottle necked by the rough and hilly terrain looking for large cities in search of blood.

  Another herd of the reanimated corpses appeared from the mist and attacked from the lower southern end of the valley. The two platoons quickly found themselves in a desperate battle with no hope of relief. Some withdrew into the woodland and the cemetery.