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

by Wimer, Kevin

  “Tex!” Cubbie shouted, “What the hell is going on?”

  Tex looked at the kid as he started to pull the trigger. It was Cubbie’s voice that stopped him from doing so.

  “Where is Brandy?”

  “We haven’t seen her. Not since last night when we found the kid,” Cubbie said, looking at Sam who wore a devilish sly smirk on his face.

  Tex nodded as his heart raced and worry began to consume him and his thoughts. Sam looked at the two new commers and gave them a wave and then a wink before looking back at Tex. The urge to kill the bastard now burned through Tex—hotter than the summer sun that would soon be hanging over the state of Texas. He could feel himself once again starting to take the slack out of the trigger when the doors behind him opened and then quickly slammed shut.

  “Tex, the camp is being overrun . . . We have a shit ton of walkers inside the fence,” heavy footsteps echoed as the man stepped deeper into the meeting house, “Graceland is lost. We need too—” stopping when he noticed what was going on.

  Tex knew the voice without having to look over his shoulder to see who it was. It was Ron. Chris looked at Ron who had stopped just a few feet short of the table that both Tex and Sam now sat at. Chris blinked his eyes as his heart raced with anticipation. The thought of what would happen next burned through his mind like a speeding bullet. Tex would kill Sam. He could see the murderous look of rage in Tex eyes. Chris knew that if Tex pulled the trigger and killed Sam no one would blame him. Sam had not only brought death to Graceland, but he had destroyed what the community had worked hard to build together.

  “Tex, I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but we need to do something about the shit storm that we have going on outside . . . and we need to do it right now,” the tone in Ron’s voice was not only commanding but laced with authority and edged with anger as he looked at the man who sat there with his back turned to him, “Tex!” he shouted as his voice echoed off the walls and through the meeting house, “Get your head out of your ass and do something.”

  Tex nodded his head in response to Ron. He had to do something. He could feel the anger within him boiling hotter than the fire flames that awaited him at the gates of Hell. It consumed him. It wasn’t just the white-hot rage of anger that consumed—it was hate. The kind of hate that was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Tex felt the murderous rage that now flowed through his veins. Killing the kid would be as easy as taking a breath. Maybe easier. Sam was only sixteen. He wasn’t a man yet—still a child in a lot of ways. Tex had never killed someone so young—at least he thought he hadn’t. He knew in the fog of war and in the heat of battle age played no part in taking someone’s life. It was kill or be killed and war was a game of survival of the fittest. Kill the bastard! The voice inside his head raged. Kill him and be done with it.

  Tex could feel the room around him growing smaller with each second that ticked away. It was just him and Sam—no one else around them mattered. The sound of gunfire and the screams of those dying outside the meeting house began to fade. It was now just a distant sound—like a thunderstorm that was just starting to roll in. Nothing else mattered in this moment. Nothing else but the kid sitting across from him. Tex could feel the take up in the guns trigger. He had hit that wall of resistance—the wall that was there to alert the shooter that the gun was about to go boom. Tex knew the tack up in the trigger as well as the trigger’s reset—it was all muscle memory. His heart began to beat faster as Sam looked at him and began yelling—commanding him to do it. Tex could feel his pulse quicken as he took a breath and let it out. He could feel the war within himself—the moral struggle of killing a kid. He looked at Sam who showed no remorse and knew the kid was too far gone to try and save. The moral code of right and wrong no longer existed in this new world. It was something Tex hadn’t been able to admit to himself but deep down he had known it since the night of the outbreak.

  Sam laughed as he stared down the barrel of the pistol and to the man who was holding it. His eyes slowly wondered from the man who was holding him at gunpoint and to the others in the room with him. He looked at them with their mouths agape—unable to utter a word. Sam felt powerful—invincible. He chuckled a laugh as he turned back to Tex and began telling him how Brandy would be raped for days on end—maybe for months if she survived the first few weeks. Tex felt the moral battle within himself fade—a switch had been flipped. He could see the joy within Sam’s eyes. It was a joy at the expense of someone else’s pain. The rage of Hellfire burned hotter as thoughts of Brandy being abused filled his mind. His mind began to sink deeper into that dark place when the sound of a door at the back of the meeting house opening caught his attention. He could hear footsteps echoing across the floor as someone ran towards them. It felt as if the world around him was moving in slow motion. Time no longer existed. He looked at Sam who had started to say something when he pulled the trigger on his pistol. It bucked in his hand as the bullet left the barrel. Sam’s head jerked back and to the side as his body slumped and slowly fell out of the chair and to the floor. His lifeless body hit the floor with a sickly hollow thud of a sound.

  Tex was still looking at where Sam had been sitting when the man who had just entered the building came into view. It was Hector. Hector was covered from head to toe in thick crimson red.

  “What the hell?” Hector said, holding up his hands as if he was pleading for Tex not to shoot him.

  Tex looked at Hector who had stopped just a few feet away. The man was covered in a thick crimson red mess. He could see chunks of what looked like brain matter clinging to parts of Hector’s blood-soaked clothing. He watched as Hector looked around the room at the others and then at Sam who was lying on the floor. He wanted to tell him that it needed to be done. He wanted to plead his case. Sam couldn’t be saved. He had brought this onto himself. Tex knew there were no words to express why he had pulled the trigger and killed the kid. It was something that needed to be done and it wasn’t a topic open for discussion—not now and not ever. Tex stood from his chair and holstered his pistol. He looked at the floor where Sam’s lifeless body now laid. The gaping wound in the back of the Sam’s head was leaking blood and bits and pieces of brain matter. He paused for a second while looking at Sam’s lifeless body. It should have caused him to feel stick to his stomach but Tex felt nothing. Not even the rage that he had felt moments before pulling the trigger. He was numb.

  Tex turned and looked at Ron.

  ‘Get everyone over to the armory . . . We need to make one final stand,” looking around the room, “That is our Alamo.”

  Ron nodded his head as he told Cubbie and Lailah to follow him. The three of them would head out into the courtyard and find those that were still alive and direct them towards the armory. The three of them would fight off what infected they could while running for the building that would be their last source of protection. Chris started to go with them but Tex stopped him. The two locked eyes and for a moment Chris felt that Sam’s death was his fault. He felt that Tex eyes were accusing him. The fall of Graceland and the deaths of those that lived behind its walls were his fault. He stood there looking at the man as the sound of gunfire increasingly grew louder. Tex turned and looked at Hector and told him to get going. Hector nodded his head and asked no questions as he turned and ran out the back and towards the armory.

  “Chris,” Tex said, his voice flat and emotionless, “I had to kill that kid . . . I didn’t want to . . .” narrowing his eyes, “I had to.”

  Chris nodded his head. He understood and didn’t blame Tex for doing it. He could see the unsureness in the man’s eyes. It was a bit unsettling to see. He needed Tex and he needed for him to get his head back into the game. It had been almost two weeks of knowing the man and this was the first time he had seen Tex waver on any decision he had mad thus far. It was the kind of decision that would make one question so much about themselves—about who they truly were deep down. Chris knew Tex was a good man—an honorable man. He was nothing l
ike the monster of a man that they were going to kill once Graceland and its people were safe.

  “Sam was a lost cause . . . Deacon made damn sure of that,” Chris said as thoughts of being a part of that group filled his mind. He had seen the power Deacon held over others. He had seen the evil acts the bastard could make people do for him and his name sake, “When this is done . . . and Graceland is safe. We go and save Brandy and then we kill that bastard for taking her.”

  Tex nodded his head and narrowed his eyes as he spoke.

  “We don’t stop until we kill them all.”

  The two men turned without saying another word and ran to the back of the meeting house and out into the frenzy of the dead and the dying. Chris could see Ron and the others fighting as they made their way across the courtyard and towards a rather large building that sat in the back of Graceland. It was a two-story building that had large bay doors and a loading dock. It was a building that Chris had yet to venture into and it was one that was heavily guarded. Chris put his rifle into his shoulder and began squeezing the trigger as walkers turned and began making their way towards him. Graceland was now a target rich environment. His pulse quickened as he began moving across open ground. He could see Tex out of the corner of his eye—firing and moving between shots. The two men moved as quickly as they could while killing the infected—some of those infected had once been a part of Graceland. Chris squeezed the trigger and pushed the thought of who he was killing out of his mind—they were no longer who he had known. These were blood and brain thirsty creatures that were no longer human and would stop at nothing to kill him.

  CHAPTER 17

  Chris ran as hard as he could. It felt like as if his lungs would explode. The screams of the dying and the hiss of the dead filled the air—mixing with the gunfire. Chris looked over his shoulder at Tex. The man was running and shooting as he moved. His rifle was now slung down across his chest and his six shooters were in both hands—firing like an outlaw from the old west. Tex had ran out of ammo. Chris wasn’t sure how much he had left and hoped he would have enough to get him into the armory that lay less than fifty yards away. It was a long run and one filled with a sea of walkers. His mind filed with thoughts of not making it. The horror of being eaten alive began to creep in. It was that though that pushed him to run harder. Chris heard a plea of help from behind him. He stopped and fired off a few quick shots—taking out the walkers in front of him—and then quickly turned to find had been the one pleading for help. His six shooters had run dry and he was now down to using his hunting knife.

  Chris took a breath as he watched Tex. The man was graceful with each thrust of his knife. His guess of Tex having of had some form of military training could be confirmed with what he was now witnessing. Tex had yet to tell him what he had done before the outbreak. Chris watched for a second more before bringing his rifle back up and into his shoulder. He squeezed the trigger and fired off a few short burst—killing three infected that were behind Tex. Chris started to squeeze the trigger of his rifle again when he heard a loud metallic click. His rifle was empty. He pushed the magazine release and dropped the empty magazine free from his rifle. He slammed another one in and was just about to fire when he was hit from behind and drove into the ground. The last image Chris had before hitting the ground was of Tex thrusting the blade of his knife into the skull of a man who had once been a part of Graceland’s team of scavengers.

  Chris gasped for air as he quickly rolled onto his back. The walker that had hit him now stood over him—looking down at him with eyes of hunger. Chris felt his heart thudding in the center of his chest. It skipped a beat and fluttered as if it was about to stop. He stared at the creature above him—waiting for the bastard to make his move. It was as if Chris was frozen in place and unable to move. Chris started to reach for his gun when the walker lunged at him. Chris threw his hands up and felt the full weight of the man’s body landing on top of him. The two began rolling around on the ground—neither of them able to gain control of the other. Chris caught a glimpse of his rifle. It was lying a few feet away. His handgun was on his hip and in its holster, but he was unable to reach for it. He knew to let go of the walker and reach for the gun on his hip would allow the bastard to have the upper hand. The walker was far to strong for Chris to hold him off with just one hand. He wasn’t like the other walkers—slow and clumsy. This walker was powerful and full of rage—a rage he had not see one have since the outbreak. Chris could feel his body wearing out. He was picked up and tossed back to the ground. He looked into the eyes of the walker and felt his will to live fading when his face was covered in a hot sticky mess of both blood and brain matter. He was just about to give up when his face was coated in a hot sticky mess of both blood and brain mater.

  “Get your ass up!” Tex yelled, “This isn’t the time to be taking a nap.”

  Chris blinked his eyes as he looked up at Tex who was now standing over him with an outstretched hand reaching down for him. The walker now lay beside him—dead. Chris could see the handle of a knife sticking out of the back of its head. Tex had saved his life. Chris took Tex hand as he helped him to his feet. He quickly wiped the thick crimson muck from his eyes and then ran for his rifle while Tex retrieved his knife from the back of the walker’s head. He felt a bit unsteady on his feet as he ran. The walker had blindsided him. The bastard must have been a linebacker at some point in his life. Chris dropped to a knee as he retrieved his rifle. He pulled the charging handle back and made sure it was loaded. Once he was satisfied that the rifle was good to go, he started to stand. It was then that angry hiss of the undead caught his attention. It was as if the world around him had finally come back into focus.

  Chris’s eyes opened wide as he slowly turned and began looking around. The two men were cut off. Chris could feel his heart pounding even harder. It felt as if it was going to fly out of his chest and onto the ground in front of him. The dead had encircled them. Chris and Tex were not only cut off from the others but they were surrounded on all four sides.

  “I guess today is as good of a day to die as any other day,” Tex said as he took his place beside Chris, “I was sure hoping to get a chance to kill Deacon.”

  The two men looked at each other and then back at the undead.

  “I’m not going down without a fight,” Chris said as the roaring hiss of the walkers grew louder.

  Tex reached around his back and pulled another knife from his belt. He now held two hunting knives—one in each hand. He began shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he prepared himself for the fight ahead of him. Chris took a deep breath and slowly let it out as he held his rifle firmly into his shoulder. He could see Tex out of the corner of his eye as he started to take aim at the first of what he could only guess to be a few hundred walkers in front of them.

  “It was good knowing you Tex,” Chris said.

  “You too, Hoss.”

  The walkers started to take a step forward when the sound of a machinegun opening fire echoed over the angry moans of the undead. The two men stumbled backwards as bullets began ripping through the bodies of the undead in front of them. Chris turned around and began firing into the walkers behind them. Tex began killing the ones that made it through the hail of bullets and tried to reach them. Chris wasn’t sure who was firing the machinegun but with each pull of the trigger he was thanking God they were there.

  “We have a hole!” Tex shouted over his shoulder.

  Chris fired off a few more rounds before turning to see what Tex had shouted about. He could see an opening in the sea of undead. It was as if God had parted the sea for Moses—only this wasn’t water it was a sea of undead. Chris felt his heart flutter. He knew he couldn’t allow this brief moment of relief to consume him. The parted sea of undead would soon close. The two men needed to act quickly if they wanted to stay alive. Chris took a couple of steps while looking towards the armory. He could see a group of men atop of the roof—one of those men was Ron. Ron had been manning one of the se
ven machineguns that lined the top of the building. He was now waving his arms and shouting for them to haul ass. Chris could feel his legs moving faster than his brain could process what was going on. The two men were in a mad dash to get through the horde before the hole that had been created for them closed. The machineguns had fallen silent. The angry moans of walkers once again filled the air. Chris could feel his heart beating against his chest. He looked over his shoulder as ran, Tex was behind him. He watched as Tex thrust the blade of his knife into the head of those infected that dare step in front of him. The man was slicing and dicing as he ran. Chris admired Tex ability to fight. He admired the way the man could adapt and overcome a situation that most would have given up and let whatever was about to happen, happen.

  Chris made it through the opening of walkers and could see the steps leading up to the loading dock of the armory. It was just feet away but those few feet felt like miles. He side stepped a walker that had broken away from the pack—hitting it with the butt of his rifle and knocking it to the ground as he ran. He yelled over his shoulder for Tex to keep moving. The man shouted a reply, but the angry moans of the walkers was far too loud for Chris to make out what had been said. It was like being inside an arena at rock concert with a thousand cheering fans—only these fans were not cheering, they were hissing and moaning while trying to get their next meal. Chris reached the steps and franticly ran up them. He made it onto the loading dock and turned to see where Tex was. The man was still in the mix of undead and running for his life. Chris’s eyes opened wide at the view he now had. The walkers were everywhere. The sea of undead looked to have no end to it. Chris blinked his eyes and took a breath as he put his rifle into his shoulder and began firing into the horde of walkers that dared try and stop Tex from making it to safety. It was in that moment the men atop the armory began firing. The rat-a-tat-tat of the machineguns above him were far louder than that of the walker’s angry hisses. It was like a thousand sewing machines—only louder and deadlier.