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

by Wimer, Kevin

  Brandy listened to the sounds of gunfire on the other side of the wall—flinching with each violent echo. She could faintly hear the fighting that was taking place outside. She turned and looked at Chris who was lying on the ground. She looked at him lying there lifeless. She was sure he was dead. Brandy’s mind was in a bit of fog. It took her a minute or two to sort things out. She needed to do something. She needed to help Chris. Brandy slowly crawled to where Chris was laying. She placed a hand on his chest and began feeling for wounds. She could feel nothing but where the bullets had entered is vest. She narrowed her eyes as she quickly felt for blood. She knew with how many times Chris had been shot he should have been covered in blood. He should have been lying in a pool of his own blood by now. It was far too dark for her to see if there was a pool of blood surrounding him. She slowly moved her hands from his chest to that of his neck and felt for a pulse. Brandy began to sob when she found it. His heart was beating, and it was beating strongly.

  “Chris?” Brandy whispered and then shouted, “Chris!” shaking him.

  Tex could hear Brandy shouting. He could hear her shouting Chris’s name over and over. He finished checking the men lying on the landing of the steps and then rushed back down and into the hallway and to where Brandy was holding Chris. Tex looked at the two of them. He looked at Brandy who was sobbing uncontrollably. It was the first time he had seen her shed a tear. Tex took a breath as he placed a hand onto Brandy’s shoulder. He was sure Chris was dead. He had seen the man riddled with bullets and was sure one of them had either gone through the plate of his vest or had struck him above the plate—killing him.

  “Brandy, we need to—”

  Chris coughed and then gasped for air. Tex flinched and stumbled backwards. He thought the man was dead. He took a breath to calm himself and then quickly took a knee and began checking Chris over. He found no wounds. The plates inside his vest had stopped the bullets from killing him. Tex breathed a sigh of relief. Chris was alive.

  “Am I alive?” Chris asked as he looked up at both Brandy and Tex.

  Brandy sobbed as she leaned down and wrapped her arms around him. Chris could feel Brandy shaking as she sobbed and mumbled something he couldn’t make out. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay now. Chris knew he couldn’t tell her that. He wasn’t sure if any of them were going to make out of this compound alive. The sounds of war still raged. Chris took a deep breath and instantly regretted doing so. It hurt like hell—worse than hell. It felt like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer.

  “Hoss, I just might put a bullet in you myself,” Tex said as he chuckled a laugh, thankful that this friend was still alive, “Now if you don’t mind . . . I would like to get the hell out of her . . . while we still can.”

  Chris nodded as he held out his hand, hopping to get some assistance. Brandy let go and allowed Tex to help Chris to his feet. The three of them started to walk through the doorway when Chris stopped. He looked at Brandy and then at Tex.

  “What about the Butcher,” looking over his shoulder and down the hall and then back at Brandy, “Is he back there?”

  Brandy shrugged. She wasn’t sure what the Butcher looked like. She told him that she had killed two men. One that was rather heavy-set and another one that was skinny. She told Chris that the heavy-set man had rotted teeth and looked to have been a heavy drug user. The skinny man looked the same as that of the heavier man.

  “Get her out of her and somewhere safe,” Chris said as he turned, “I need to make sure for myself. I need to make sure the bastard is dead.”

  Tex and Brandy started to protest but Chris was already halfway down the hall. The two of them watched for a second longer and then headed up the steps and towards the raging battle above them. The sound of gunfire was still heavy but not nearly as heavy as it had been. Tex and Brandy reached the entrance to the outside world.

  “Wait here.”

  Tex didn’t wait for Brandy to answer him as he stepped out and into the battle. He quickly began moving across open ground—dodging the bodies that littered the ground around him. He looked at the bodies as he passed them. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach at the ones he knew. He had no time to mourn the dead. The bodies of Deacon’s group were intermingled with those from Graceland. He rushed to where Ron and his group were still fighting. The sound of bullets zipping past his head caused him to flinch and duck each time one was far too close to hitting him.

  “We need to move,” Tex said as he made his way over to Ron and his raiders, “We need to get to Cubbie and his group and get the hell out of here.”

  Ron shook his head.

  “Where is Brandy?” looking around for the young woman.

  “She is safe. I need to go back and get her.”

  “Chris?”

  “He took a few rounds to the chest. The plate stopped them . . . He’s checking the building out to make sure the Butcher is dead.”

  Ron looked past Tex and to the building he had just came from. He could see Brandy poking her head out. He looked around the courtyard and could see the bodies of the dead. The number of men and woman that were dead from Deacon’s group far outweighed the number of dead from Graceland. It was still a heavy loss. One dead member of their group was far too many.

  “Get Brandy and my group will provide cover,” Ron said, “We need to get out of here before a shit ton of walkers show up.”

  Tex nodded his head and leaped to his feet and began running back to the building. He could hear Ron shouting orders as the sound of gunfire began to shift. He knew Ron’s raiders were now moving across open ground and to where Cubbie and his group had made a hole for them in the fence. It was not only their final rally point but their only point of escape. Tex ran back into the building as bullets peppered the outside wall. He looked at Brandy and then down the steps and towards the basement. Chris had yet to return. Tex wanted to run down the steps and get Chris but knew he had to get Brandy out of here. Chris knew the risk and he was on his own.

  “We need to go!” Tex shouted over the sound of gunfire, “Cubbie and his group are waiting for us.”

  Brandy pushed Tex away. She shook her head and started for the steps leading to the basement. Tex grabbed her and told her there wasn’t time. Chris would be okay. He would make it. The two of them were about to get into a heated argument when the sound of footsteps below them stopped them from saying another word. The two turned to find Chris heading back up the steps.

  “Is the son of a bitch dead?”

  Chris shook his head.

  “It wasn’t him . . . Not sure who those two were.”

  Tex nodded. He told them it was time to get the hell out of here. Tex pulled Brandy behind him as he started to step out of the building.

  “What about Deacon? I’m not leaving until that son of a bitch is dead.”

  The sound of gunfire was starting to slow. Tex turned and grabbed Chris by the vest and pushed him against the wall. Chris felt the strength of the man as his backside hit the wall behind him. The two men locked eyes—both fiercely ready to duke it out if it came to it.

  “We have Brandy . . . She is alive. She is the mission,” gritting his teeth as he spoke. He wanted Deacon as well. He wanted to kill every one of them but knew it was more important to get Brandy back to Graceland alive. “We’ll find that bastard later. His group . . . His group has been decimated . . . If the bastard is still alive, he won’t be for long . . . The walkers will get him.”

  Chris started to protest. He looked at Brandy and could see the state she was in. Tex was right. Brandy was the mission. The mission was to get her back to Graceland safe and sound. The secondary mission was to kill Deacon and everyone in his group. It would have to wait.

  “I saw Cubbie and his group fighting with some men. One of those men looked like Deacon . . . Where is Cubbie?”

  Tex let go of Chris and stepped back.

  “Waiting for us at the rally
point.”

  The two men stood there looking at each other. Chris no longer felt fear. He no longer had the fear of dying. He had been shot and lived through it—luckily, he had been wearing a vest with bullet proof plates. Tex narrowed his eyes as the two men looked at each other. He could tell within Chris’s body language that the man had changed.

  “Let’s move out.”

  Tex turned and stepped out and into the early morning light that had started to crest mountains in the distance. He pulled his night vision goggles up and looked at the world in its natural state. Chris did the same. He could see the bodies of the dead and the price that Deacon’s group had paid. He could also see the price that Graceland had paid. He felt a lump in his throat mixing with the rage that boiled within him. Chris looked past Tex and could see Ron waving his arms for them to hurry. It was then he noticed that the front gate of the warehouse complex was starting to fill with walkers. It wouldn’t be long until the walkers consumed the compound. The group of rescuers needed to be long gone before that happened. Chris wondered if the road leading from the complex was still clear. He thought about the intestate and the horde that filled it. The abandon cars. The passengers of those cars. He was sure the hundreds of cars he had seen earlier were more like a thousand of cars. His heart beat a tick faster as he followed closely behind Tex and Brandy.

  Tex looked over his shoulder at both Chris and Brandy. He could see the look on Chris’s face. It was one of worry and one of a man who had tasted war. The look in Chris’s eyes were that of a thousand-yard stare. The worry that filled his eyes were for the walkers that now flowed through the open gate at the front of the warehouse. Tex stepped out of line and motioned for Chris and Brandy to keep moving. He looked at Brandy as she passed him. Her one eye was swollen shut and her jaw was swollen to the size of an egg. Her battered and bruised face told a story. The blood that covered what remained of her clothing told another. It looked as if Brandy had taken a beating from the bastards that held her in the basement. It also looked as if Brandy had gotten the better of them with the amount of blood that covered her and what remained of her clothes.

  Chris passed Tex and said not a word. Ron and his group were now moving towards Cubbie and his group that was waiting on the other side of the fence for them. He looked at the bodies as they passed them—hoping that one of them was Deacon. He was sure Cubbie and his group had been fighting with Deacon and a handful of his personal guards. Chris was in mid stride when he started to slow down—nearly to a walk. One of the bodies was lying face down and from behind it looked like Deacon. Chris could feel a bit of joy filling him as he broke from Brandy and rushed to the body that was lying face down. He took his foot and placed it under the body and held his breath as he rolled it over. It wasn’t Deacon. The man was the same height and weight as that of Deacon. Chris gritted his teeth and let out a slew of curse words. Deacon was still alive.

  Chris stood there looking at the dead man. The rage within him boiled hotter than that of the fiery flames that awaited him at the Gates of Hell. He looked up from the body and began scanning the courtyard—looking for another body that looked like Deacon. It was then he saw one familiar face. It was Jake. The man was lying on his back and looking up at the sky—mumbling while blinking his eyes. Chris gripped his handgun tightly in his hand. It wasn’t Deacon but the bastard lying on the ground would do. Killing Jake would hold him over until he found Deacon. Chris stepped over the unknown body and ran to the man that was holding his stomach. He could see that Jake was trying to hold his guts in while blood pooled around his hands and leaked through the cracks of his fingers. The man was lying in a pool of his own blood and a foul mess of shit. Jake had shit himself after being wounded. Chris knew the wound that Jake had suffered was not a livable one—at least not in this new world. It was amazing the man was still alive. He wouldn’t be for much longer.

  “Chris . . . please . . . help . . . me,” the man stuttered between gasp of breaths while pleading for help, “Please . . . Please Chris . . . Help—”

  Chris narrowed his eyes as he pointed the barrel of his handgun at Jake’s head. The man stopped pleading for help in mid-sentence. Chris cocked his head to one side and then to the other as he looked at the man. Jake wasn’t a living person. He wasn’t a person at all. Chris looked at him for what he was—a worthless piece of shit that deserved to die. Jake hadn’t taken part in a lot of the evil acts that the men and woman of this camp had committed. He hadn’t done anything to stop them either. Jake had been an electrician before the outbreak and a HAM radio operator on the weekends. It was a hobby in the old world that allowed him to thrive in this new one. Deacon made sure to keep Jake around. He made sure the man had all the tools he needed to keep their radio’s and various other electrical needs in working order. It was the radio system that Jake had built that had allowed the group long range patrols. The group could radio back for miles that a family was heading their way. It wasn’t Jake who had pulled the trigger, killing those innocent people that had had the misfortune of crossing paths with Deacon and his group. He had made damn sure the radios worked. It was the radios that had allowed the group to stay in constant contact. It was the radios that allowed them to radio back to be ready to ambush those misfortunate souls that were heading their way. Jake was just as guilty as those that had pulled the trigger—in some way’s Chris was too.

  “Where is Deacon? Where is the Butcher?” Chris asked.

  Jake shook his head and then doubled over in pain. His guts slid out of the holes in his belly as he quickly tried to shove them back in. Chris looked down at the sack of shit lying at his feet. He could hear Tex and the others screaming for him to get his ass in gear. It was time to go. The sounds of their voices mixed with the sound of the walkers that were now only feet away.

  “Tell me where they are, and I will give you mercy.”

  Jake leaned back and looked at Chris. He looked at him and then past him and towards the heavens above. He began to say a prayer, but Chris stopped him. Chris placed his foot on Jake’s gut and applied pressure. The man screamed in pain as Chris asked him the question again.

  “I was . . . I was with them,” Jake said as he coughed up a glob of blood, “We were running out of the building when I got hit,” gritting his teeth as the pain of his wounds hit him harder, “Deacon and the Butcher got away . . . They ran towards the front gate . . . The bastards left me here to die.”

  Chris gripped the gun in his hand tighter. He had confirmation that Deacon and the Butcher had escaped. He looked over his shoulder at the bodies on the ground. He looked at the men and women of Graceland that had given their lives to save Brandy and to kill Deacon and his men. Deacon and the Butcher had escaped. The mission to save Brandy had been successful. The mission to kill everyone in this camp had failed.

  “Take me with you Chris . . . You can save me . . . I’ll help your new friends set up a radio station . . . I can—”

  Chris holstered his gun and turned away from the pleading man. He turned and began walking across the courtyard knowing that he couldn’t save the bastard, not even if had wanted to. Chris heard the man screaming as walkers fell beside him and began eating him. He could hear Jake’s body being torn to pieces as the walkers ripped him to shreds and feasted on him—at least what remained of him. The sounds of Jake’s flesh being pulled from bone echoed over the hissing moans of the walkers. Chris walked through the opening in the gate and hopped into the back of one of the trucks nearest to him. He looked at the men and women that filled the bed of the truck. He stared at them until he was staring through them. The expression on his face was lifeless. Some would argue that Chris had died that day at the warehouse complex. He had died the moment he had taken the life of the man who had been guarding the front gate. It wasn’t true. He had died three months prior to that day. He had died the day Deacon and his evil group had found him.

  CHAPTER 22

  Chris awoke to the sound of birds chirping. It was not only an odd pea
ceful sound to hear but one that he had almost forgotten. The last two weeks had been nothing peaceful—at least not for Chris and sure as hell not for Brandy and the other members of Graceland. Chris rolled over onto his side and blinked his eyes as he sat up and hung his legs out over the edge of the bed. He took a breath and then rubbed his eyes in hopes that it would help him to wake up. Chris had only had three hours of sleep—if that. He had volunteered for the night patrols. It was his job to help guard Graceland and the people that were in bed asleep. It was up to him and seven others to patrol the grounds at night. Chris’s shift had ended around 4:00 am. It was now 7:00 am. His restless three hours of sleep had been filled with visions of those that had died—both here at Graceland and at the hands of Deacon and his men. Deacon and the Butcher were still out there. Still alive. Chris was sure the bastard was plotting his revenge. He would again one day strike but until then, he would keep hunting him. He wouldn’t stop until the bastard was dead. He wanted Deacon to pay with his life—to pay for those vile acts that he and his men had committed against humanity. Chris gripped the side of his bed and gritted his teeth while looking at the mountains in the distance in hopes that the view would give him some sort of peace. It was a view that had given him peace just two weeks earlier but now it did nothing to ease his troubled soul. I have to find him. I have to kill him and the Butcher. The voice echoed through his angry mind. I can’t let him hurt anyone else.

  Chris stood from his bed and walked to the window. He looked out over the compound of Graceland. He looked at the people that had already started to fill the courtyard. The same people that he had eaten breakfast with each morning before Graceland had fallen. It had been two weeks since Chris had sat down and eaten with them. He had spent the last two weeks grabbing his food and heading out on patrol without saying a word to anyone. It wasn’t Chris being unfriendly, it was him doing what he thought needed to be done to protect each and every one of them. Chris had taken it upon himself to drive the roads leading to and from Graceland—looking for signs of trouble. Maybe Chris was just looking for trouble. Maybe he was looking for anyone that wanted a fight, not just Deacon and what little support and manpower he might have. He wasn’t sure. He was sure about giving anyone that came looking for trouble one hell of a fight.