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

by Radke, K. E.

  Inching his way out of the closet, Joseph rolled into view sweaty and tied up. He had tears and snot smeared all over his face. His voice was hoarse from trying to yell for help with a piece of duck tape over his mouth. Thrashing around, he’d rolled into the mess his bladder and rectum couldn’t hold in any longer from being locked away. Joseph screamed for help once he caught sight of Lincoln.

  Untying Joseph didn’t take long. The skin around his wrists were split and rubbed raw from the zip ties. Lincoln tried to ignore all the stains on Joseph’s pants, holding his breath as he cut the man free. The smell from the tiny closet was permeating the store and Lincoln wanted to cover his nose and mouth but was afraid of the germs he contracted after touching Joseph. Noah’s back was turned to him and he took the opportunity to wipe the palm of his hand on Noah’s leather jacket.

  Joseph pulled down his shirt to cover his beer belly and stood with his jaw dropped showing crooked teeth as he gazed around at the destruction in his store. Slick, dirty blonde hair was mashed against his forehead above blue eyes too far apart. The man wasn’t a good looking fellow and while Lincoln wanted to help him out, he also wanted to get his pilfered goods back to his house, and wash his hands.

  “What happened?” Lincoln asked shooting a look at Noah as he smashed the tequila bottle on the floor.

  “What the fuck man!” Joseph yelled at Noah.

  Noah turned around swaying too far to the left and caught himself on a shelf, “Don’t worry it was empty.”

  “Because you drank it all!” Joseph growled. “You’ll pay for that!”

  “What the fuck is that smell?” Noah wrinkled his nose, placing a hand over the lower part of his face.

  “It’s not my fault I fucking pissed myself. They came in as farm animals only making animal noises. Pretending they couldn’t speak English! Stuck me in the closet! Screaming it was the end of the world! Said they shot the deputy,” Joseph ranted, embarrassment from the memory slowly turning his face bright red. Shock was taking the place of his temper when he admitted, “I probably would have died in there if it wasn’t for all the noise y’all made. Did you call the Sheriff?”

  “I had my hands full with that one,” Lincoln nodded to Noah lying through his teeth. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t dying somewhere in the store first. I’ll give them a call now.”

  No one in the Sheriff’s department picked up. Not even an answering machine to take a message. It said it was full. Lincoln didn’t even have to use Noah as an excuse to leave. Noah tried to open more bottles, only to smash them once he was frustrated he couldn’t get them open. He could no longer read the labels and was taste testing each one to find the right alcohol he was after. Joseph practically shoved them out of the store before he was left with nothing.

  Snoring, Noah passed out in the passenger seat as Lincoln slowly pulled away from the liquor store listening to the stolen glass bottles chime with each turn.

  ☢

  Lincoln parked at the curb and watched the police cruiser pull up to Karen’s house. He scoffed checking the time, wondering what took them so long to get there. He wanted to go inside and listen to the police scanner, but decided to wait for the Sheriff to finish his business at Karen’s house so he could send him to Joseph.

  Passed out beside him Noah was snoring, loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood, but considering how much he spent on the truck it’s probably sound proof. Across the street three houses away, the Sheriff exited his vehicle with his gun drawn calling out to the body on the front lawn.

  The Sheriff had been told about the dead body on the lawn, but he was always cautious and never assumed he was safe. Lying in a stagnant puddle of blood, the woman laid out on the grass was obviously dead. Her head turned at an angle that it shouldn’t be and there was obvious blunt force trauma to the face. He put on gloves squatting next to her as the large puddle of blood pooled around his boots in the crimson stained grass.

  The smell of rotting flesh was not an odor anyone got used to, and it’s a very distinct smell. Almost like riding a bike. It only takes one dead body to be familiar with the stench, and from then on, you know if there’s a dead body in the vicinity.

  This woman had a gray pallor, but you could barely tell by scanning her face because it was so swollen. A shiver ran down the Sheriff’s spine, he could only make out where her mouth was. Encrusted with dried blood, her clothes were stained right down her middle, like she was vomiting it. He searched for visible wounds to figure out if it was her blood or someone else’s. Using his com he tried for the coroner but got static in return. Where the hell is everyone, he thought. Without the coroner he couldn’t remove the body, but he also didn’t want it out in the open in a suburban neighborhood any longer than it had to be.

  He really wanted to call for back up, but none of his deputies had checked in all day. Strange calls were coming in from all over the county, and he dispatched all of his deputies to handle the disturbances while he managed Deputy Roger’s death. The hectic day was worse than usual because his secretary never showed up for work.

  All day he’d been answering the phone and writing down addresses to send his deputies to when they finally decided to check in. His dispatches went unanswered and not one deputy returned to the office. Lists of addresses were written down from the voicemail that he’d have to pursue himself until someone bothered to help.

  Several cruisers were abandoned as he raced around town trying to calm down the rattled residents with horrendous claims of cannibalism. Most of the victims were gone, already at the hospital to tend to the wounds. People he’d have to follow up with as soon as he found the time.

  The perpetrators were nowhere to be found because they disappeared or had supposedly been killed, but there weren’t any bodies to prove it. Everywhere he went, the stories got wilder and wilder. Almost like Dessarillo was playing a giant joke on him.

  He took his time ambling up to the house with the dead woman on the lawn, and tried the coroner again, but he only got static. Blood was everywhere, but there was an obvious trail leading up to the door. Impatiently waiting outside, he rang the doorbell and knocked several times. Just his luck, no one was answering.

  The list in his car called to him, tempting him to give up and move on to the next address. Looming from the yard, the bent and rigid dead body stared back at him. He exhaled slowly, instead of assuming no one was home because it wasn’t in him to quit, he tried the doorknob. It twisted freely in his hand, and with a little force the door swung open.

  One light was filtering out in the hallway that connected the living room to the rest of the house. It was eerily quiet, until a sudden thud caught his attention and his gut told him to take his gun out of its holster. Relief washed over him as his fingers tightened around the grip. With his weapon in hand, the first thing he did was call to anyone inside. Thirty seconds of silence carried out to him with an occasional thud breaking it. Someone was inside the house, and refused to answer him.

  Crossing the threshold automatically entering the living area, he announced, “This is Sheriff Howard, I’m here about the dead person on your lawn. No one is in trouble. I just want to make that clear.”

  Inside he crept forward past the crammed foyer toward the dark corridor with his weapon aimed in front of him. The small hallway went straight to the back of the house where the Sheriff could clearly see the back door. The trail of blood didn’t stop outside. It continued through the house and stood out against the clean floors. Following it with his eyes, it curved into the only room with a light on. Angled the way he was, he couldn’t see what awaited him from his spot.

  A sudden knock from behind made the Sheriff swivel around. The blood pulsed in his ears as he assessed the young couple on the doorstep standing outside. Counting four hands in the air he lowered his weapon, “Keep to the concrete and please go back inside your home. You could be destroying evidence by walking around a current crime scene.”

  “Yes sir. We just thought you�
��d want to know her body is on the kitchen table. It’s down the hallway, first right,” Wyatt offered. “She stopped breathing so we didn’t bother calling the ambulance. Even if they could have gotten here in time,” he hesitated unsure how to explain it. “It’s hard to describe. Well not hard, just unbelievable. It’s better if you see for yourself.”

  Those words had been haunting him all day. Everywhere he went people were saying they couldn’t believe their eyes. The same confusion set on their face as they tried to understand the reality of what they’d witnessed. Just like the rest of them, the man in front of him was clearly shaken and trying to be helpful, which is more aid than he’s had from his deputies all day.

  After being on the job for over twenty-five years, he was usually never surprised. But the Sheriff nodded to the man acknowledging his advice and took a step forward following the blood trail which happened to go right into the kitchen.

  Bloody footprints were scattered around on the floor, he followed each tread mark only finding one that trailed off into a different direction than the rest. It traveled deeper into the house past the kitchen. One glance at the empty table proved the man at the door was wrong. Only a giant puddle of blood remained on the floor near the table. Someone had trampled through it, which made the adrenaline spike in his body. If the couple at the door left the person for dead on the table, someone was seriously hurt in the house, and could still be alive.

  Scanning over the kitchen he decided to follow the set of footprints that went deeper inside the house. His gut churned, indicating something was seriously wrong. Prepared to shoot, he walked further into the shadows of the house following the bloody footprints shouting, “Ma’am? Are you hurt?”

  “Sir, she’s dead,” Wyatt sounded confused calling from outside the house. “She’s on the table.”

  “No one is on the table,” the Sheriff replied loudly. “Please go back inside your house.”

  “But that’s where we left her,” Phoebe’s baffled tone was quiet. “No one moved her that we know of. I guess the door was open so someone could have come inside and—.”

  She never finished her sentence. There was someone moving around in the back of the house. Furniture would skid little by little across the floor and the thumps preceding the noise grew louder as the Sheriff approached the back room.

  “Ma’am you need to let me know if you’re okay. Is anyone else in the house with us? Do you need medical attention?” the Sheriff asked not getting a reply.

  Without the night bugs droning in the background he could hear a low groaning as he moved closer. Cautiously clearing every room he came across, he kept vigilant with his finger near the trigger. He peered around the corner of the last entryway and saw the silent person’s silhouette. It was clumsily walking into the furniture in a frenzy trying to bulldoze straight through it. Rounding the corner with his gun raised he said, “Please keep your hands where I can see them. Is there anyone else in the house with us?”

  The only response given was the sound of lips smacking together.

  Fifteen

  N ot listening to a word he said the person never bothered putting their hands up or answering his question. The way they kept running in to the furniture he wondered if they were blind.

  Calling back to the couple at the door he asked, “Is the person who lives here blind?” The second he tore his eyes away from her, she broke through the furniture.

  Hands were on him faster than he thought possible, teeth burrowing into his arm as he growled in pain and punched the woman in the head. Wrapping his hand in her hair he pulled the woman’s head back, her jaw locked him. He screamed as the skin and muscle tore away from his arm. Tripping over his own feet attempting to put distance between them, he landed hard on his side causing immense pain as he lost his grip on the gun. It scuttled across the floor out of reach as she came crashing down on top of him.

  Ripping a bald spot on her head he yanked his hand free from her tangled hair and used both legs to kick her as hard as he could. She flew across the floor skidding backward chewing on the chunk missing from his arm. Warm liquid soaked into his uniform as he pushed back toward the entrance scurrying down the hallway on his hands and legs searching for his gun.

  People were yelling, the sounds merged with his curses and shouts. In the shadows he watched as the woman who attacked him rose to her feet and hissed, quickly covering the distance between them. Passing the only light on from the kitchen, it illuminated the woman attacking him. Her milky white eyes were surrounded by her gray pallor as her head collided with his. Snapping at him like a rabid dog, he tried to fend her off by placing his bloody arm under her neck. Closer and closer her teeth snapped. Blood and spit sprayed over his face, the old woman’s strength overpowering his own.

  It felt like barbs when her teeth finally smashed down on his jaw line. Skin stretched until it was pulled clear off the bone, the flap hanging out of her crimson stained mouth as she gobbled it down. The moment gave him a chance to swing at her as hard as he could. She toppled over and suddenly someone’s hands were on him, sliding him backward across the floor as the old woman recovered from his blow and followed. Scouring the ground, he reached for his gun when he passed it. The Sheriff never bothered to look at the person behind him who saved his life. If they were trying to speak to him the words weren’t registering.

  Listening to his own gasping breaths he aimed at his attacker. Blood trickled from his face and arm as he lined up his shot, ignoring the ache in his torn arm. His eyes never wavered as he pulled the trigger. The loud pop silencing the shouts behind him as the bullet hit her square in the chest.

  On impact the bullet made her stagger back a few steps. She didn’t glance at her chest where the bullet embedded. Nor did any pain register on her face, or in her cloudy eyes. Blood trickled but it didn’t ooze out drenching her chest like it was supposed to. The gun was still aimed at her as the old woman moved forward, and the Sheriff realized that she was not going down. She was still scrambling toward him.

  Pulling the trigger again, the deafening noise echoed outside as he watched the second bullet hit the target but did nothing to slow her down. Crawling backward on one arm, he started to panic crashing into a pair of legs. The old woman was getting closer and he braced himself since he couldn’t move and had already riddled her with bullets. Watching one after another hit her to no avail.

  Red liquid sprayed from her torso, oozing from the holes as he watched her regain her balance from the force of the bullets. Something flashed in his peripheral vision. Peering up, he found a man with a gun in his hand shooting at the old woman too.

  The top of her head exploded. The Sheriff tried to cover himself with his one good arm as the bone, blood, and gore rained down over him. Her body fell in a heap on top of his. All of her dead weight crashing down on him, causing his head to smack against the pavement.

  In his dazed state, the Sheriff automatically registered the gun in the man’s hands above him as dangerous and words tumbled from his mouth, “Put the gun down on the ground and back away.”

  Lincoln stared down at the Sheriff, the man could barely keep his eyes opened and he was mumbling something. Phoebe had her hands over her mouth in shock at what she just witnessed. Wyatt had his arms around her turning pale.

  The Sheriff lay still under Karen, not bothering to push her off. Kneeling down, Lincoln scanned the man’s face not wanting to get too close, “Sheriff?” he asked. No answer. Blood drenched the concrete, seeping into the grass. Lincoln didn’t know if it was coming from Karen or the Sheriff without moving them.

  “Do you still have those rubber gloves?” Lincoln peered over at Wyatt and Phoebe.

  “Mommy?” the tiny bell-like voice scared all three of them. Making them whip around to face the person it belonged to. Melanie stood at the curb in front of her house, across the street watching her parent’s a little ways down the road. In her nightgown, she waited for permission to cross the street.

  Everyone’
s eyes fled beyond Melanie. Lincoln held in a panicked gasp, afraid to make a sound but asked in a low whisper, “Do you see her?” He didn’t wait for them to answer him. Moving to the pounding heart in his chest, slowly, and quietly, he backed up letting the shadows swallow him whole.

  Phoebe and Wyatt stood frozen in place. Of course they could see her. Isabel. She stood only several yards away, just staring at their daughter. Even in the dark they could see the crimson stains indicating what she’d been up to while she was missing. Isabel took one step forward.

  Phoebe muffled a terrified cry into the palm of her hand. Her foot automatically moved forward as Isabel took another step toward Melanie.

  It took a minute for Melanie to recognize Isabel’s dirty face and clothes. She pinched her nose catching a whiff of something that smelled like the bathroom after her dad left it. Turning away from Isabel, Melanie focused on her parents across the street refusing to greet her. All her memories of Isabel’s mean words started replaying in her head. She smiled to herself waiting for Isabel to open her big mouth so she could use the clever nickname she made up, Pigabel.

  Nothing mean came out of Isabel’s mouth. Of course not, Melanie thought, she’s only mean when she can get away with it. And her parents were right across the street. Just in case they decided to invite Isabel inside, she tried to think of more mean things to say to her. Isabel snapped her teeth, grinding them together and broke Melanie’s train of thought.

  “You really are a pig,” Melanie muttered under her breath so no one could hear her, realizing the girl actually resembled the animal in her state. Isabel took another step toward Melanie making her instinctively take a step back and call out again, “Mommy!” Melanie shouted a little more desperately to get her mother’s attention.

  The words were caught in her throat. ‘Don’t move.’ ‘Run!’ ‘I’ll come to you.’ She didn’t know which one to yell out—or if she should just keep quiet. Helplessly she watched Isabel inch her way closer to her daughter, only leaving a few feet between them. Galloping in her chest, her heart raced making the blood pound in her ears.