The Undead Survivor Series | Book 1 | Guns, Rations, Rigs & The Undead

by Radke, K. E.

  The wrecked arm made Lincoln’s own throb, he couldn’t fathom the amount of pain Burt must be in—not that he was complaining or pleading for help. Spying Burt’s every move with revulsion, Lincoln waited for him to scream in agony from being hit by a car and discovering his broken arm—and probably bones only an x-ray can reveal.

  No sounds of pain erupted from his throat. Nor a whimper. Tears didn’t pour down his face in silent agony. The only sounds heard from Burt were his teeth grinding the bones in his mouth. He didn’t even appear to be remotely uncomfortable. In fact, Burt eyed the red liquid leading straight to the treat he just snapped off two fingers from.

  Craig was backpedaling away from Burt staring at the two bloody nubs on his hand, flinging fat red droplets at anyone near him. Shock and adrenaline kept him numb to the pain. The horror and craziness of losing two fingers had him moving as far as he could to get away from Burt. Craig’s back landed against someone’s legs and he erupted with a terrified shriek when he was hauled up by his armpits, losing the little color he had left in his face. It took a few minutes for his friend, Trevor, to calm him down. Finally feeling safe, Craig couldn’t rip his eyes from Burt, letting them fall to his stomach. He leaned heavily against Trevor knowing he wouldn’t be able to salvage the fingers he lost as they moved toward a vehicle to get to the hospital.

  Burt took his sweet time getting onto his feet. First lifting his butt into the air, and then moving his legs forward before peeling himself up into a standing position.

  Swallowing the remnants of the fingers, he burped before slowly assessing the crowd and snapping his teeth at everyone. His eyes locked on new prey, and shuffled in her direction reaching out to the closet person to him. Patty. Who’d left the safety of her car to give him a piece of her mind. Squeezing herself against the trunk didn’t make her invisible but she couldn’t find the will to move. Someone will save me, she thought, someone has to save me.

  Her jaw dropped slowly, the color in her face fading and turning a light shade of green as Burt approached her. Finally reaching her, his fingers groped around her mouth for purchase. Hooking them downward, he gripped the lower part of her jaw as tightly as he could with his gnarled fingers and yanked her forward.

  Screaming at the top of her lungs she tried to snap her head away but she pinned herself against the car and refused to move while Burt gravitated to her. Before anyone could offer her help, Burt pulled on her tongue and kissed her. Mouth to mouth. He turned his head from side to side like a ravenous horny dog that couldn’t get enough of her mouth.

  Patty’s eyes bulged and her arms flailed at her sides as Burt landed a big wet one on her. Only when he came up for air, Patty’s tongue was being ripped from her mouth. His teeth yanking on the pink muscle as if his life depended on it. It slowly tore away, the blood gushing between them dribbling down their chins and showering their faces with the red liquid. Burt finally cleaved it from her and slurped it through his lips like a noodle.

  Gargled, wet sounds pitched from Patty as her legs buckled beneath her. She clawed at her throat, spitting blood in order to clear her air hole. Burt never let the woman out of his sight as he dipped down with her taking his next bite from the side of her face. Ripping the piece of flesh from her temple down to the edge of her jaw, tearing it off midway through with his teeth. Patty’s high-pitched shriek suddenly ended because the woman had passed out from shock and agonizing pain.

  Bedlam erupted. Everyone staggered in different directions trying to flee from the gory scene disappearing down the street, inside houses, or backyards. Burt continued to gorge on Patty. Hunched over and tearing chunks of skin out with his teeth. Being one of the last few out in the open Lincoln’s eyes widened, his line of sight clear and not clogged with bodies. Without noticing he had slowly moved forward and instantly froze, the sharp rotting smell enveloping him. Without a doubt Lincoln knew he’d seen this behavior before. Not in person, but online.

  Hesitating, his feet shifted back and forth. He wanted to get a glimpse of Burt’s eyes, but he didn’t want to get any closer than he already was to the man. Between the odiferous smell and the skin hanging from Burt’s mouth Lincoln turned away feeling his gut threatening to revolt. Only one person attempted to try and help Patty. Whatever Doug was trying to do, Lincoln didn’t think he’d be successful. Doug’s mouth was moving but the words were drowned out by Burt chewing loudly with his mouth wide open, never bothering to speak or acknowledge Doug’s existence. Lincoln wanted to tell the man to check Burt’s eyes, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself, or give anyone the idea that he knew what was happening.

  The only thing that interested Burt was the next piece of flesh he could shove into his mouth. It was obvious to Lincoln if they wanted to save the woman, Burt would need to be incapacitated. Lincoln’s hand swiftly fell on top of an empty holster. Taking a second to peer down, he panicked until he remembered he’d left his gun inside—so he wouldn’t be tempted to shoot the gathering on his lawn.

  Rushing back into his house moving backwards—to keep an eye on Burt—he stumbled into someone as he pushed to get through his doorway.

  “What the hell—,” he peered over his shoulder and found at least fifteen people staring back at him. “Who the hell invited y’all inside my damn house!” Lincoln growled furiously.

  “The door was open,” someone spoke up but Lincoln didn’t know who the hidden voice belonged to.

  Entering Lincoln’s house, there’s only two options: right or left. The right took you to the living room and kitchen, while the left takes you straight back to three different bedrooms. Lincoln grumbled and forced his way to the right sidestepping through the throng of bystanders invading his space that spilled into his living room. Two of his neighbors were sitting on his couch, one look from Lincoln and they stood up like he’d lit a fire beneath them.

  Lincoln stared harshly at them until they squished themselves against the crowd by his door. Sliding over to his side table his hand wrapped around the Glock 17 lying on top of it. The people invading his space made an audible breathy noise when he lifted the gun off the table. His neck snapped in their direction but everyone had their backs to him too afraid to make eye contact.

  Realizing he’d have to squeeze himself down the hall and it’d take precious time to get to the door, he decided to exit through the back. He trudged out of his house and through the backyard. Peering in between the cracks of his fence he saw nothing but the small path that lay amid his house and his neighbor’s.

  The gate would creak when he opened it so he did it quickly while holding the gun out in front of him in case Burt decided to follow the noise around the corner. Grass swished beneath his boots, crunching with each footfall. He came around the corner of his house and scanned the front carefully aiming in every direction.

  Burt had disappeared. Patty was also missing. A trail of blood traveled the length of the street before it took a different path onto Daniel’s lawn, the neighbor to the left. Lincoln followed the trail with his eyes, contemplating whether to pursue it. He was in no rush to shoot anyone, even if they are obviously deranged and cannibalistic. In this day and age someone would find a way to sue him. Good Samaritans always get screwed in the end.

  Sighing heavily he glanced back at his house with the door cracked open and several people peering out at him.

  “He’s gone. Better make a break for it before he comes back,” Lincoln’s voice rumbled loud enough to reach the stowaways in his house. No one budged. Lincoln lost his patience, fearing he might actually get locked out of his house.

  “I have an itchy trigger finger for the last person who exits my house,” Lincoln surmised in a husky tone, glancing at the people shadowed in his doorway. Bursting out one by one they ran for it, some stopping on his lawn breathing heavily and some getting as far away from Lincoln as possible. The last person, Thomas, who lived down the street, ran for all he was worth not glancing back to see if Lincoln was aiming at him.

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sp; Holstering his gun, Lincoln slowly treaded to his empty home with the corner of his mouth tilted up. His hand was on the doorknob when Wyatt spoke up, “Are you going to help look for Burt? He could hurt someone else.”

  “That’s why we have police officers Wyatt,” Lincoln answered annoyed.

  “But he took Patty with him. The police won’t get here in time... ,” Wyatt’s voice trailed off before he finished the sentence.

  “I was getting my gun while Burt took off with Patty. What was everyone else doing?” Lincoln questioned turning to face the few people brave enough to be outside. No one answered him. Everyone shifted their gaze in a different direction. “I find it funny y’all are putting all your faith in a man you considered fanatical not too long ago. I’ll make it real easy for y’all,” Lincoln said calmly putting his hand on the doorknob behind him. Opening and slamming the front door shut, he bolted it, and pushed a plug into the wall causing the device to hum. He watched in between the blinds waiting for someone brave enough to knock.

  Desperation and fear swayed through the throng of people outside.

  “What if Burt comes back and attacks us?”

  “He’s just going to leave us out here defenseless?”

  “He’s going to help right?”

  “What do we do?”

  Their questions and pleas for help fell on deaf ears. Lincoln was savoring the moment. He literally watched one by one, as the uncertainty of his help turned into crushed hope. Because they all knew, deep down, that Lincoln was right. Everyone easily made him the joke of the neighborhood. So, if they could survive without him all this time, surely they can see why he’s unaccustomed to their existence.

  Wyatt stepped up, and tried to keep the peace by telling everyone to calm down. Lincoln almost lost hope someone would try to tempt him back outside. Then Wyatt faced his house and walked up warily, his head held high for the people behind him, but the facial expression hesitant. Lincoln’s lips spread slowly into a grin across his face as Wyatt lifted his fist to knock on the door. As soon as Wyatt’s knuckles grazed the door he jolted. Shaking and squirming everywhere until he landed on the ground face first, nothing to break his fall.

  The collective gasp was on cue as everyone’s eyes darted from Lincoln’s door to Wyatt flat on the ground. Wyatt mumbled into the dirt pushing himself up on all fours before slowly sitting up on his knees. After checking to make sure nothing was broken, he rubbed his shoulder slowly making his way to his feet.

  “That bastard just electrocuted me,” Wyatt growled angrily stomping back to Lincoln’s front door ready to pound his fist against it. To Lincoln’s surprise Wyatt was smart enough to think it through, realizing he’d get electrocuted again.

  “Lincoln!” Wyatt shouted annoyed, “We’re your neighbors! We need your help.”

  “I find it funny I’ve been here for over ten years and you thought today would be a good day to be neighborly,” Lincoln replied loudly so everyone could hear him. “Maybe you should have tried it when you first moved in six years ago Wyatt. I might have been friendly back then. Better get back to your houses soon. The King of Rock and Roll has made his debut. Who knew it’d be in the small town of Dessarillo.”

  Three

  U nderestimating Lincoln’s cruelty was a mistake they were bound to make again. He just hoped it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Wyatt gathered the group asking for volunteers to search for Patty just as the ambulance and police finally showed up. Lincoln wished he could hear the conversation. Several people quickly dispersed before the cop could question them, keeping an eye out while they rushed back to their shotgun or ranch style houses.

  Most of them were renovated, not that Lincoln had been invited to see the before and after, he just knew by observation. Tile cutters, delivery trucks, painters, all things you notice on a street only the resident’s used.

  Lincoln strategically bought a house on the last street because he could easily place every car on the block with the house it belonged to. So if someone new showed up, it would be obvious they were visiting. His street was only useful to the lost looking for a house in the neighborhood and Halloween trick or treaters.

  The couch groaned beneath him as he tried to get comfortable again. The images of Burt and his smacking lips replayed in Lincoln’s mind making it hard to focus and his stomach roil. Getting to his feet again he crossed from the living room into the kitchen curving around the breakfast bar—the only thing dividing the kitchen from the living room—to get to the cabinets. He shoved the contents around until he found an old bottle of Pepto and took a swig.

  Just in case, he took the bottle with him and settled back on the couch unable to wait to share the fiasco he’d just witnessed online. His finger hovered over the send button and then slid over to the delete key. He held it down watching the words he just wrote disappear. He had no proof. In fact, he didn’t see anyone recording the incident because they were all so absorbed in the gruesome scene. Good luck to whoever had to explain it to the police. Burt stole the only evidence they had, and he’s probably digesting it by now. The only other evidence is Craig, and he’s probably in the psych ward under seventy-two hour surveillance.

  Going back to the task at hand, Lincoln started scrolling through his files. He’d been online every waking moment since the government announced its nationwide curfew. Several of his prepper groups were putting the members to work. Everyone picked one topic to research and posted relevant information on the forum for everyone to observe.

  Lincoln chose to research diseases. He’d been doing it since his college years, before he became a prepper, so it was the easiest topic for him. An epidemic was his biggest fear. People he could fight, attacks he could survive, governments can be overthrown, but germs can’t even be seen without a microscope.

  He followed every debilitating fiasco there was in the United States. Every new disease on the radar, he researched the symptoms for hours, keeping an eye on which areas it spread to. In a file cabinet, in one of his storage rooms he had information on the most recent outbreaks of the Zika virus and H1N1 influenza. Others were filed away, like the bird flu, Ebola, and SARs. The research fascinating him.

  Only one sickness had interested him recently, several of the symptoms matching Burt’s behavior. The media wasn’t recognizing the strange occurrences as an illness. In fact, that’s why it caught his eye, because as soon as it had media attention—it disappeared—nowhere to be found.

  Except on social media. One of the main reasons why Lincoln is so fond of the newfound way to communicate. Social media is the people’s news. Where the truth is streamed for likes and comments. Even gruesome videos are up for hours before the admins in charge of the sites take it down. Other antics might be taking place, but the live stream videos are hard to deny if you’re seeing it firsthand.

  In this day and age, the younger generation will show you what’s really happening in the world in their specific city. Mainstream media can hide it, refuse to report it, but they can’t keep anything from the public eye anymore. Everyone has a smart phone with a record button, all they have to do is press it.

  The recorded incident that caught Lincoln’s attention was filmed by the man who was brutally murdered in the video. He caught everything on a live stream video before his demise.

  In California, both men were high on marijuana, filming their inventory of special snacks and weed. Squabbling over the order in which it should be eaten or smoked. It was a series of clipped live stream videos that Lincoln examined to see what led up to the aftermath.

  As far as Lincoln could tell, the man who attacked just kept eating, until there was nothing left but his friend. The attacker ate everything, bread, sugar, spices, uncooked pasta, and raw meat straight from the package. It was a hilarious video until the attacker scarfed down the raw meat.

  Lincoln immediately thought the scene had been set up before they started filming, he almost turned it off. The victim never bothered to stop the attacker from gobbling everythi
ng in sight, chuckling at the enormous newfound appetite, although, he did seem a little concerned once the raw meat was devoured in a matter of seconds.

  Lincoln kept watching because of the attacker’s eyes. The last video in the series of the gruesome murder was the first video he saw, but when he started at the beginning and watched all of them consecutively, he realized the attacker’s skin had changed color and his eyes went from dark brown to milky white. It could easily be done with contacts and make-up, but the death was nationwide news. Conservative mainstream media thought they had gold, the headlines announcing: MARIJUANA INTOXICATION ENDS WITH A BRUTAL MURDER.

  Before the admins and government took every single one of the videos down, Lincoln saved them to his computer with Dustin’s—his hacking, genius friend’s—help. The symptoms Lincoln observed had never been a side effect from smoking weed. Something was missing. The story didn’t add up and there was a huge backlash from the marijuana industry.

  It was obvious people weren’t accepting the story and not long after the backlash, new evidence came to light. A new drug was found in the attacker’s system. Bath salts. The individual had an unnatural reaction to the bath salts mixed with weed in his system causing him to hallucinate and eat everything in sight, including his friend.

  Cannibalism was a known repulsive side effect from the bath salt drug. A true toxin, turning Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde. And while the news stations ran that dribble, more videos showed up online. Every few weeks another person was gnawing on human bones. More incidents were flagged by Lincoln’s algorithms that Dustin set up on his computer. The videos were always after the sickness had taken over. A random person being attacked, recording the weirdo following them down a street. Not just in California but in several different states, north, south, east and west.