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

by Radke, K. E.

  Wyatt convinced Phoebe to step aside and let him help. Taking a deep breath he gently lifted the frail, unconscious woman.

  Slowly picking herself up off the ground, Janice searched for the nearest body. Unfazed by her caved in face, she took to her feet easily as if nothing happened. Noah’s jaw dropped and he shook his head staring at Janice with her head askew, peering directly over her right shoulder instead of straight ahead.

  A clear, outline of the bat could be seen across her face smeared in blood. The hit caused her eyes to look inward. Several teeth fell out of her mouth when she snapped her jaws, but it didn’t completely shut—one side unable to function correctly. Somehow without being able to see them, Janice was walking directly to Wyatt and Phoebe, both oblivious that the woman was on her feet and moving again.

  “What the serious fuck is going on?!” shouted Noah, his hands were fumbling over his holster as he tried to pull out his gun. “There’s some serious voodoo shit going on in this neighborhood. I’m seeing dead rock stars and people are coming back to life.” Janice made a beeline for the two people on the lawn, even though she wasn’t looking at them. Clearly she didn’t need her eyes and something internal was guiding her to the nearest person, Noah thought. She shuffled along with her arm stretched out in front leading the way.

  Wyatt moved as quickly as he could and tried not to jostle the old woman. Phoebe kept her distance to stay out of his way. Neither of them wanted her to wake up until they set her down.

  Janice’s fingertips reached for anything within grabbing distance—a breath away from pulling Phoebe’s hair.

  The shot made Wyatt and Phoebe flinch, the flash lighting up Lincoln’s face as the bullet casing fell to the ground next to the fallen towels pooled at his feet. Janice’s arm split in two, the bullet severing part of her forearm. Blood spurted from Janice’s arm in an arc splashing Wyatt and Phoebe as they tried to take cover. Karen was dropped like a sack of potatoes so Wyatt could pull his wife out of danger.

  Not a hint of pain crossed Janice’s face. Nor did she make a sound of agony or distress. She didn’t bother to examine the wound or try to stop the flow of blood. Instead she reached out again, seeking the warm bodies ahead of her.

  Wyatt switched places with Phoebe, trying to protect her from Janice. Reaching for his golf club his fingers found nothing to wrap around. He spotted the weapon on the lawn behind Janice and cursed himself for throwing it aside.

  He batted at Janice’s clutching fingers, keeping her attention away from Phoebe as she struggled to pull Karen to safety. He walked backward careful not to step on Karen, bracing himself for Janice’s attack.

  Lincoln had his finger on the trigger but quickly removed it when someone else fired hitting the target. The impact pushing Janice off balance, making her stumble away from Wyatt. The explosion of every bullet forced Janice backward, but none of them stopped her entirely. Lincoln lost count as Noah hit vital organs and watched the woman take them with ease. Her body swallowed the lead that should have rendered her lifeless on the ground.

  Focused on his task, Noah didn’t hesitate, his thoughts layered with fear at the scene in front of him. A woman that should be dead was somehow still upright and walking. She should be in too much pain to budge, and concerned about going to the hospital. Noah continued to shoot, counting seventeen rounds, refusing to stop until Janice lay riddled with bullets on the ground immobile.

  Thirteen

  O ut of bullets, Noah panicked at the sound of the empty click when he pulled the trigger again. Noah’s ears rung as he placed the Glock in its holster. He took a few steps grabbing the golf club lying on the lawn before he approached the still dead body searching for the tiniest twitch. The golf club poked her once before he raised it above his head just in case she stirred. Sweat poured down his face as the woman lay inert on the grassy lawn.

  Gasping for air, he hunched over leaning on his knees as his arms shook, not taking his eyes off the body realizing the woman’s death was on his hands. He’d taken her life, wiped her off the planet and sent her soul to the unknown.

  He always knew he was capable of pulling the trigger in an emergency, but he didn’t feel like a hero or someone who just saved a person’s life. Nausea roiled through him causing the bile to rise in his throat. Slowly inhaling, Noah tried to breathe through the queasiness. Then his thoughts started to spiral out of control. How would he explain this to anyone? Why he shot the woman? He could barely believe his own eyes. How are the cops going understand that the woman was eating another human being? Hunching over, everything in his stomach surged upward cutting off his airflow, the vomit splashing against grass.

  Lincoln watched Noah until the man started puking his guts out. He gave Wyatt a wide berth to cross the threshold with Karen in tow. Phoebe picked up the towels left on the ground following her husband into the house on autopilot, and left the door wide open for anyone to tag along. All three of them were soaked in blood. Lost for words, Lincoln stood quietly analyzing everything he just witnessed.

  Covering his mouth with his shirt Lincoln turned on the flashlight on his phone. Slowly, carefully, Lincoln moved from his spot keeping Noah in his peripheral vision for the first few steps making sure he didn’t startle the man into whacking him with the golf club. Directing the light to Janice’s eyes he stopped when he could see the cloudy film glinting back at him. Her skin color was gray, like ash in a fire. He noticed something new—not that he’d been this close to a body with the virus—dark veins popping out from her shirt collar and running up her neck. After confirming the main symptoms he hurried away afraid of being infected.

  Lincoln opened the memo app on his phone where he stored all the things he’d seen and done in the past few days, and started typing in the new details he witnessed.

  Smashed in the face with a bat, caving in her face and a crooked neck.

  Shot once in the arm.

  Shot seventeen times.

  Places shot–chest at least eight times, stomach at least five, head shot twice, not sure where the other two bullets landed.

  Milky eyes, gray skin, dark veins going up her neck and below clothes.

  Wyatt called for Lincoln from inside Karen’s house. He lifted his gaze toward the bright illumination pouring out of Karen’s doorway lighting up the lawn. If he went inside it would be a confined space, odds of catching anything transmitted would be much higher than if he stayed out in the open air.

  Several seconds later Wyatt popped out of the house, “We could use your help,” he said grimly.

  “I think I’d rather stay where I am. I suggest you get out of that house as soon as possible,” Lincoln didn’t budge from his spot.

  Wyatt swiveled backtracking back to the kitchen. He shook his head when he saw Phoebe wringing her hands in the yellow plastic gloves.

  Karen had passed out from all the movement, her pulse extremely faint. Towels covering the old woman’s body was Phoebe’s nimble attempt to staunch the bleeding. Wyatt kicked something on the floor, shifting his eyes downward he found salt and pepper shakers, placemats and miscellaneous papers strewn on the tile from clearing the table earlier. A growing puddle of blood dripped off the table as they watched Karen’s chest flutter before it stopped altogether.

  Phoebe’s eyes couldn’t stop roving over the mutilation of Karen’s body. Her arms were mostly bone from her elbow to her hand, several chunks of skin were gone from her shoulder. Every time she attempted to grab Karen’s hand to let her know she wasn’t alone Phoebe’s stomach threatened to revolt. Skin torn like paper, the parts hanging off clearly gnashed between teeth, the thick smell of iron permeating the room and Karen’s skin color turning gray. She ran for the sink puking nonstop until her stomach was empty. Wyatt followed retching in the double sink beside her.

  The woman watched their children on date nights and lent a helping hand where she could. She didn’t deserve to die this way. Not as gruesomely as being eaten to death.

  Wiping his mouth with th
e back of his hand, Wyatt muttered, “We need to get out of here. If it is a virus we don’t want the kids getting it.”

  Phoebe nodded, “She wouldn’t have survived even if we called an ambulance. Right?” Her gaze wavered over Karen. Wyatt nodded assuring his wife they did everything they could. The haunted look Wyatt had been carrying around for days was etched into Phoebe’s face. Defeat was weighing heavily over her. She’d put herself in danger to save a friend and now she might bring the consequences home with her and infect her children.

  Taking one last glimpse of Karen, Phoebe followed Wyatt out of Karen’s house leaving a silent goodbye in her wake. She shut the door behind her and inquired, “Should I lock it?” The question sounded stupid as she said it aloud.

  Her voice caught Lincoln off guard, making him look up from the notes he’d been reading on his phone. Scanning the area Lincoln realized she was either talking to him or Wyatt, but he was distracted by his house. He made sure it wasn’t his imagination before answering her absentmindedly, “Leave it unlocked for the cops so they don’t have to waste time trying to find a key.”

  The door was wide open. Someone has been inside—or is still inside—his house, while he was helping with Karen. Not giving it a second thought, he jogged in the direction of his house trying to get there quickly, and at the same time trying to pretend nothing was wrong.

  Inside Lincoln stopped to catch his breath, controlling it so no one could hear him coming. Glock in hand, he peered into the living room angled behind the wall separating the door from the rest of the house. He found Noah sitting on his couch drinking whiskey.

  Lincoln aimed his gun at Noah grinding his teeth. Burning with anger he spit furiously, “You trespassed into my house. Took my whiskey. And sat on my couch.” So there wasn’t easy access to an exit, Lincoln slammed the door shut making the whole house quake. He threw three deadbolts back into place locking the door, “You’re a dead man.”

  Noah glanced up at the man, everything in sight doubling and blurring. He didn’t know how many shots he’d taken but he didn’t plan to stop until the trembling in his hand went away, “I’ll give you the chicken coop for free.” Noah hoped the offer would be enough to curb Lincoln’s anger. Not thinking about it he threw another shot of whiskey down his throat and closed his eyes. At least if Lincoln decides to kill me, I’m drunk enough not to notice until it’s too late, Noah thought.

  It took four steps for Lincoln to get close enough to snatch the whiskey away from Noah. The rage returning because it was the expensive bottle. His favorite.

  “I want another bottle of whiskey and you’re going to get it for me. Now. In your truck. Get up,” Lincoln growled darkly kicking at Noah’s leg rustling him from the couch. The only thing keeping Lincoln’s anger in check was the fact that he was promised the coop for free. Because after what Noah witnessed, he may not want his payment in the form of bills. Considering the circumstances, Lincoln wasn’t in the mood to trade off supplies he’d need in the near future.

  Noah swayed as Lincoln followed him to his truck.

  “Give me your keys, you can’t drive,” Lincoln shoved him to the passenger’s side door feeling his pockets for keys.

  “They’re still in the truck,” Noah answered stumbling over his own foot. When he opened the truck door he leaned his head against the seat instead of getting inside.

  “Get in the truck Noah.”

  “I can’t. Too short.”

  “If you make me lift you into that truck I’m going to need more than a chicken coop.”

  Noah lifted a leg trying to get it on the railing. His foot only came up two feet off the ground before he lowered it and tried again. After his fifth failed attempt, Lincoln took a hold of the back of Noah’s pants and pulled making sure his foot caught the railing.

  “I got it!” Noah yelled. Lincoln let go and as soon as he did Noah started tilting backward as he hollered slurring the words, “Almost there!”

  Pushing him back the other way, Lincoln made sure Noah’s limbs were all inside the truck before he shut the door. Around the back of the truck he stopped at the sight of the chicken coop that never made it to his backyard. The last thing he needed was for someone to steal it while he was gone. He used the dolly and placed it inside the backyard.

  On his way back to the truck he caught Wyatt and Phoebe staring at Janice’s dead body on Karen’s front lawn for everyone to see. Phoebe was holding the stained bat in front of her like a cane. When they made eye contact, Lincoln tried his best to look occupied with the dolly storing it in the garage.

  The only liquor store was thirty minutes away but they made it in twenty with Lincoln in the driver’s seat—and the fact that they were out after curfew and no one was on the road. Lincoln pulled into the shopping center’s empty, dark parking lot. It was a set of three stores side by side, the liquor store, a laundry mat and an Asian restaurant. Everything was pitch black, all the lights were off. A closed sign hung on the front door of the liquor store. Curse words exploded from Lincoln’s mouth. He’d never known Joseph, the owner, to play by the rules, and was sure he’d still be open—with or without the government curfew.

  “The ground’s so sparkly,” Noah muttered chuckling with his eyes halfway closed.

  Lincoln scanned the ground using the headlights finding broken glass scattered on the ground to the right. Following the trail it led to a broken window hidden in the dark just out of the headlight’s path. The liquor store’s last window was smashed, the entire glass pane was shattered and the hole was big enough for someone to enter and exit as they please.

  Noah clumsily felt around his dash flicking on the high beam lights along with the spotlights. Together they illuminated the store as if it was open. Taking the keys, Lincoln slid out of the truck slowly making his way to the broken window. Awkwardly, Noah somehow managed to get out of his truck without hurting himself and sauntered over to an intact window cupping his hands around his eyes to look inside the store.

  Lincoln stood outside the broken window whistling inside the store a few times as he peered around for movement. It was a small shop that had three aisles to choose from, usually filled with alcohol in glass bottles, to the point you don’t want to make any abrupt movements. That was before it’d been ransacked. Broken glass littered the floor in all shapes and sizes, surrounded by puddles of different colored liquids. Entire shelves were emptied, the stench of alcohol stinging Lincoln’s nose as he examined the massive damage.

  Gun in hand, he stepped over the broken glass listening to it crunch beneath his boots. Pounding against a window Noah scared the crap out of Lincoln as he asked, “How’d you get in there?”

  Lincoln’s heart battered against his chest as he ignored Noah’s question and drifted toward the shopping baskets taking several. Moving through an aisle he finally neared the front counter aiming the gun cautiously and peering around it to make sure there weren’t any hidden surprises. The register had been emptied but he wasn’t searching for money. Holding the basket up almost level with the shelf he swiped his arm behind the cigarettes, shoving them into a basket. Once he filled a basket he moved onto the next one, removing all the leftover cigarettes and dip.

  He took each full basket out to the truck and dumped it in the back, returning to the store to fill them up with whiskey. Every bottle he could get his hands on was going with him. Vodka happened to be one of the previous looter’s favorites, he could only find four bottles. Slithering around, he decided to check behind the counter for the rifle he knew Joseph kept near the register for any troublemakers. Perspiration poured down his face as he reached the register moving behind the counter. Stooping low, he fiddled around making sure it was gone.

  Glass suddenly shattered and Lincoln’s head popped up from behind the counter to find Noah standing haphazardly. He was swaying, trying to stay upright long enough to guzzle down the bottle of tequila in his hand. Besides the gulping noise coming from Noah, Lincoln picked up a strange repetitive thump. Hi
s eyes fled to the glass windows scanning for the cannibals since Noah was being so loud. He wondered if Noah would have an adverse effect on them considering how drunk he was if they ate him.

  But the windows were clear, no shadows appeared cutting the trucks’ spotlights off from illuminating the store. The thumping persisted, and he glanced around slowly pulling himself out of his crouch and made his way around the store. Following the sound he came across the door that said employees only. Something locked inside kept hitting it periodically.

  Fourteen

  L incoln pressed his ear to the door and heard grumbling, “Someone is definitely trapped in there. Noah—,” turning to catch Noah’s attention Lincoln found him dancing with a box of wine suckling at the tap. “That’s not something you see every day.”

  Since Noah was useless and very drunk, Lincoln thought the easiest thing to do would be to leave him behind and take the truck out of spite. Let him deal with whatever was trying to get loose.

  Doubt crept in slowly from the recesses of Lincoln’s mind. It could be someone trapped. Someone left behind. He shuddered at the memory of the last time he tried to force his way through locked doors. Putting everyone at the grocery store in danger, the beasts were almost free to run around rampant, eating everyone in their way.

  His hand landed on the door knob and it easily turned as he kept pressure on the door with his foot so it wouldn’t fly open if whoever’s stuck in there noticed it moving. Releasing the door knob and pulling the door open at the same time, Lincoln stepped back quickly aiming at the dark opening. Light filtered through the entrance only spilling a few feet in to reveal some cleaning supplies knocked over and a pair of shoes.

  Directing the gun to the floor, Lincoln made sure he had several feet between him and whatever was lying on the ground. It thrashed harder with the door open. The smell of piss and excrement washed over Lincoln causing his nostrils to burn and made his eyes water. Automatically his feet took several more steps backward.