The Dead and The Living (Book1): The Dead and The Living

by Wimer, Kevin

  “Roger that,” Cubbie said as he turned and walked away.

  Tex watched as Cubbie gave the orders to get loaded up. He told the group that they needed to haul ass to make it back to Graceland before dark. Cubbie knew they would barely make it. He was sure darkness would be upon them before they reached the front gates of the place, they had called home for nearly six months. Tex watched as the men and woman got to their feet and walked towards the trucks. He caught Chris out of the corner of his eye flinching as the truck moved up and down and rocked back and forth as everyone piled into the back. Chris was still a bit freaked out and Tex was sure the movement of the truck reminded him of how the van had rocked back and forth.

  “Everyone is loaded up and accounted for,” Cubbie said.

  Tex nodded.

  “Chris and I will take this truck,” looking at Cubbie who nodded, “You and Lailah can take the other one,” starting the truck up as he put it into gear, “I will lead us home,” looking at his friend whose eye showed some concern, “You make sure everyone behind you stays with us . . . No one gets left out here alone.”

  Cubbie nodded before turning and walking away. Tex watched as he walked to the other truck and got in. He waited for Cubbie to get the truck fired up and in gear before looking over at Chris. Chris was still staring straight ahead. Tex took a breath and let it out as he began backing up. He went about ten feet until he found a spot that allowed him to turn the truck around so that they were heading in the right direction. He took one last look in his rearview mirror at the convoy behind him before pulling through the intersection and making a left turn. The road that they were on now was a long straightaway. It wouldn’t be but a few short miles until this straight stretch of road became twisty with turns. It was a dreadful road and one Tex hoped he wouldn’t have to race down to escape the dead or the living. He controlled his speed while watching the convoy behind him—making sure everyone kept up and stayed in line. The interior of the truck was quiet. The only sound to be heard was the engine as it roared down the road. Chris had yet to say anything and Tex knew he needed to say something—anything that would get Chris’s head back into the game. The next few miles to Graceland were dangerous. No one knew what lay ahead of them. Tex needed Chris. The group needed him too. If the shit hits the fan you need him in the fight. If he doesn’t fight, he’s on his own. Remember that. The group is your responsibility, not Chris. It will be his own damn fault if he dies, not yours. The voice inside his head raged on with words that were so cold it caused him to shiver.

  “Chris,” Tex said as he looked over at the man who sat there as if he was lost in a foggy haze, “What happened back there. What we did. No one needs to know about it. No one.”

  Chris turned and looked at Tex. His eyes were blank, and his face emotionless. Tex could tell the man had had broken—everyone has a breaking point, and this had been Chris’s. Tex had seen men break over far less things. He wanted to tell Chris that there was no shame in feeling the way that he was now feeling but there was no time.

  “We did what we had to do. We did the right thing, Chris.”

  “Did we?” Chris asked.

  “Yes . . . We set them free,” looking at Chris and then back at the road in front of him, “That family is in a far better place now,” pausing as images of the kids flashed through his mind, “Those kids and their mother are together. They are happy and whole,” gripping the wheel as he fought through the anger that now gripped him, “The virus no longer has them. It no longer controls them . . . We set them free from that. It was the right thing to do.”

  Chris nodded. He wasn’t sure that he beloved what Tex was saying. Chris’s faith had been tested and today his faith had faltered and for that he not only felt guilty but angry. The two men said nothing else as they drove on in silence. Chris leaned back into the passenger seat of the truck. He crossed his arms and thought about the things he had seen since the outbreak. He thought about the people who had turned into brain hungry creatures. His mind slowly shifted from that of the infected to that of the living. He thought about Deacon and his group and his anger surged. Its Deacon’s fault. The bastard had to go and be one of the bad guys. He’s the reason I had to kill those kids . . . He’s the reason why I had to kill that family. Chris gritted his teeth and worked his jaw muscles. He was drunk with anger and placed the blame solely at Deacon’s feet. It wasn’t but a few minutes later that Chris began to blame himself. You should have let them eat you a long time ago. It’s your fault for letting Deacon do the things he did to other survivors. Biting the inside of his lip until he tasted blood. You were a cop. You had taken an oath to serve and protect and to uphold the law. The voice inside his head raged on. The people . . . The family that Deacon killed . . . Their blood is on your hands!

  Tex looked at Chris. He could see the look of anger on Chris’s face and in his eyes. It was because he had killed the kids and their mother. Tex wondered if Chris was going to be able to cope with his anger. Could he channel that anger and use it for good? It was a question that Tex didn’t know the answer to—at least not where Chris was concerned. He had seen good men die from not being able to control that fiery hot rage that burned within them. He had seen men do stupid things because they could not control their emotions. Guilt was the mother fucker of all emotions. Tex started to say something when they entered the town of Broadway but didn’t. Now was not the time for talking. He nervously began moving around in the driver’s seat. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he told Chris to keep his eyes open. He told Chris about a group of bandits that had moved into the area over the last few weeks—the group was from Timberville. He told him about the walkers that still roamed the streets while looking at the buildings that lined both side of the road. He looked at the rooftops as his heart began to tick a beat faster. The group was approaching an area that they referred to as Ambush Alley. It was a T intersection with three rather large two-story buildings. It was the perfect place to set up an ambush—textbook perfect.

  Chris’s eyes roamed from one side of the street to the other and then to the rooftops of each building that surrounded them. Tex gripped the steering wheel of the truck with one hand while his other hand firmly held one of his six shooters. The town was eerily quiet. It was unusual not to see at least a handful of walkers roaming the streets, looking for their next meal. The last few months they had seen an increase in the population of undead. Tex and his group had tried to keep the walkers at bay but with what little manpower they had, it had been next to impossible to do so. The hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. It was a feeling he knew well—the shit was about to hit the fan. Tex blinked his eyes and it was then that he realized that he had been holding his breath. He took a quick breath and let it out while looking at the others in the bed of the truck—their rifles in hand and at the ready. You trained them well. The voice in his head echoed. Tex narrowed his eyes as he looked at his surroundings. He goosed the gas pedal and began moving down the main street of Broadway at a greater clip of speed. His eyes darted from one side of the road to the next as they approached Ambush Alley.

  Chris was looking around as if his head was on a swivel. He looked at Tex and then the others in the back of the truck—they were doing the same. His heart began to beat a tick faster as they approached the T intersection. He could see why it concerned Tex and the others. The buildings that made up the intersection were two stories. He knew that if anyone was on top of those buildings, they would control everything around them. Having the high ground was key in a gunfight. Chris held his breath and began to let it out when he caught a glimpse of someone running from one building to the next. He was just about to say something when everything around them went to hell. The sound of gunfire filled the air and the windshield of the truck shattered. Chris moved from side to side as bullets began bouncing around the interior of the truck’s cab. He could feel the heat of those bullets as they passed by him—nearly missing his flesh. Chris was trapped. He
could do nothing to stop the group of men firing at them. He gritted his teeth and waited for the impact of the bullet that would end this nightmare.

  Tex yelled for everyone to hold on. Chris braced himself for whatever the wild-eyed man was about to do. He felt the truck surge forward as Tex smashed the gas pedal to the floor. The group in the back of the truck began firing their weapons at the men atop of the buildings who were shooting at them. The sound of gunfire echoed through the cab of the truck—mixing with the screams of those who had been hit by the hail of bullets being fired at them. Tex gritted his teeth in anger as he swiftly moved the truck from one side of the road to the other—hoping to dodge the hailstorm of hot molten lead that was raining down on them. The voice inside his head screamed for him to get off the street and out of this gunfire but he had nowhere to go. The bandits on the rooftops had them dead to rights. Tex and his group had been caught in what is known as a fatal funnel—one way in and way out. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Tex flinched and cursed as the hail of bullets that were hitting the truck increased. The multicolor old truck had quickly turned into a bullet magnet. It reminded him of the movie Black Hawk Down—a movie about the battle of Mogadishu back in 1993. The enemy had been firing from atop of the buildings that lined the streets and into the Humvee’s below—killing American soldiers without remorse. The mission that day had been a shit show and the one that Tex and his group were trying to return home from now had somewhat turned into a shit show of its own.

  Chris looked at Tex who was fighting to keep control of the truck as he swerved from one side of the street to the next. He flinched and held his breath each time a bullet hit the body of the truck—hoping that one of them didn’t hit him. The back and forth movement of the truck caused Chris to feel like a human pinball.

  “We need to get out of this shit!” Chris yelled.

  Tex narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he worked the steering wheel. He could barely see through the shattered glass of the windshield but knew they were not far from being out of this mess and out of town.

  “I’m working on it!” Tex yelled back.

  Chris looked over his shoulder and into the back of the truck. He looked at the men and women as they fired their weapons—a few of them were lying in the bed of the truck holding their hands over their wounds while the others kept fighting. Chris could feel his fear quickly fading. His fear was turning to rage.

  “We need to kill these bastards!”

  Tex nodded his head as he jerked the steering wheel of the truck a bit harder to the one side while trying to dodge a car that sat in their path. He nearly missed it and knew that it had been a close call. He knew that if he had hit the car it would have caused the truck to come to a stop and the convoy behind him to stack up—allowing the bandits above them to slaughter them all.

  “That’s my plan!” Tex yelled over the gunfire, “But right now, I want to get us out of this shit and back to Graceland.”

  Chris started to say something when the engine to the truck groaned and began clanking. His heart leaped into his throat. The engine was dying. His mouth had gone cotton dry and he found himself holding his breath as Tex drove on. He looked over at the man who gripped the steering wheel in a death grip. The look in his eyes told Chris that shit had just gotten bad. We are going to die. The voice inside Chris’s head echoed. He forced himself to keep breathing. His eyes widened as white smoke began to pour out from beneath the hood of the truck.

  “We are not going to make it!” Chris yelled as he flinched from the bullets hitting the bench seat of the truck—raining fabric and foam all around him, “We need to find another way out of this!”

  Tex said nothing as he worked the steering wheel back and forth—moving his body with the movement of the truck. Chris watched him. His heart was beating like a drum as thoughts of dying entered his mind and consumed him. He didn’t feel fear. He felt anger. The men atop of the roof fueled his anger. Chris told himself if the truck stopped, he would leap out and find cover and then find a way to kill each one of the bandits shooting at them. It was a thought he knew wouldn’t happen—they would end up killing him before he had the chance to kill more than one of them. Chris looked through the windshield. The glass was riddled with bullet holes and what didn’t have a hole had what looked to be spiderweb’s leading from all the other holes. It was a mess. He could barely see through it and wondered how Tex could.

  “Look!” Tex shouted.

  Chris narrowed his eyes as he peered through the broken glass of the windshield. He could see the last of the buildings that lined the streets coming up and beyond that it looked to be nothing but open road. His heart beat in the center of his chest.

  “Are we—”

  “We are going to make it out of this godforsaken town!” Tex shouted as they passed the last of the buildings and out onto open road.

  Tex took a deep breath and let it out as he looked into his side mirror at the convoy of trucks behind him. He watched as the last of the trucks made it through town and raced towards them. He wanted to pull over and check on everyone but knew they had to keep moving. The smoke from beneath the hood was getting thicker. Tex felt the weight of the world resting on his shoulders as the engine began to groan. It groaned until that groan turned into a loud clanking sound—bits and pieces of the engine’s internals were breaking apart. Chris looked over at Tex as the sound of the engine grew louder. Tex looked at the dash and at the gages that were lit up and blinking. The truck was dying, and he wasn’t sure how much further it would make it. Chris turned his attention from Tex to those in the back of the truck. He looked at them and then at the town they had just passed through—it was growing smaller and smaller with each second that passed.

  “How far are we from Graceland?” Chris asked as he turned back around in his seat and looked at Tex.

  “Hoss, we are so close, we could spit and hit it,” Tex said with a smile as he pointed, “She don’t look like much, but she’s home,” looking at Chris, “At least for now.”

  Chris noticed that Tex hand was shaking as he pointed at Graceland. He wondered if it was from him being scared shitless or the adrenalin that had pumped through his body. Maybe it was from both. Maybe he was just worn out from having a death grip on the steering wheel while trying to dodge a hailstorm of bullets. He pushed those thoughts from his mind as he looked through the shattered windshield and at the place that they all called Graceland. He could see the warehouse complex coming up on their right. He looked at it and for the first time in a long time he breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself to relax. The complex was surrounded by a chain-link fence that had razor sharp concertina wire around the top of it. It reminded him of the fences that surrounded the outer perimeter of a prison. Graceland looked secure enough to keep walkers out and he hoped the living too. His mind wanted to drift off into thought about Deacon and his group and how they would want blood for Hawkeye’s death and for the death of both Pete and Tiny.

  Chris started to say something when the truck’s engine sputtered and clanked and then groaned. It wasn’t but a few seconds later that the motor had completely shut off and they were now coasting down the road and towards Graceland. Tex shook his head and chuckled a laugh as the truck coasted towards the entrance of the warehouse complex. Chris looked over at him and said nothing. He wasn’t sure what was so funny or why Tex was laughing. He was laughing to the point that Chris thought the man would miss the entrance and they would have to get out and walk. He wasn’t sure how many in the bed of the truck were able to walk. Chris breathed a sigh of relief when Tex controlled his laughing long enough to make the turn. The driveway had a small downward incline that allowed the truck to coast the rest of the way forward.

  “Shit, I can’t believe we made it,” Tex said with a hearty chuckle, “Damn if we didn’t kill two trucks in one day,” letting out a heavy sigh as he looked at Chris, “I was hoping to keep this truck and use it too . . . I guess I will have to find another
one.”

  Chris nodded his head and said not a word as the truck came to a stop at the front gate. He looked at the men manning the gate’s entrance and how they held their weapons in hand and at the ready. The men stood there with their eyes narrowed as they looked at the convoy that had just pulled up to the gate. Chris noticed the unwelcoming look the men wore on their faces. It wasn’t the warm welcoming reception he had anticipated and hoped for. Chris’s heart ticked a beat faster as his mind filled with images of horror—one wrong move and these men would blow them away.

  “Are they going to shoot us or let us in?” Chris asked.

  Tex looked at the men and then back at Chris. The men manning the gate were good men—men Tex had trained and trusted to keep Graceland and those within its walls safe. The look on Chris’s face was priceless. He was still a bit rattled from the gunfight they had just survived and the men manning the gate with their rifles at the ready were not helping matters either.

  “The verdict is still out,” looking at Chris whose brow raised and a look of dreed quickly spread across his face, “If I was you Hoss, I wouldn’t go making any sudden movement . . . These guys here,” pointing at the men, “are a few sandwiches short of a picnic if you know what I mean.”

  Chris nodded his head. He knew what Tex meant—at least he thought he did. Tex chuckled and then slapped Chris on the shoulder and told him that he was only kidding. He pointed at the group of men and told Chris that they were good men—well trained men that could be trusted. Chris seemed to relax a bit but the thought of these men being a bit jumpy with their fingers on the trigger still scared the hell out of him. He would feel a tad better if they put their weapons down and opened the gate.