New DEAD series (Book 2): DEAD (Alone)

  Other Titles by TW Brown

  The DEAD Series:

  DEAD: The Ugly Beginning

  DEAD: Revelations

  DEAD: Fortunes & Failures

  DEAD: Winter

  DEAD: Siege & Survival

  DEAD: Confrontation

  DEAD: Reborn

  DEAD: Darkness Before Dawn

  DEAD: Spring

  DEAD: Reclamation

  DEAD: Blood & Betrayal

  DEAD: End

  Zomblog

  Zomblog

  Zomblog II

  Zomblog: The Final Entry

  Zomblog: Snoe

  Zomblog: Snoe’s War

  Zomblog: Snoe’s Journey

  That Ghoul Ava

  That Ghoul Ava: Her First Adventures

  That Ghoul Ava & The Queen of the Zombies

  That Ghoul Ava Kicks Some Faerie A**

  That Ghoul Ava On a Roll

  That Ghoul Ava Sacks a Quarterback

  Dead:

  Alone

  (Book 2 of the New DEAD series)

  TW Brown

  Estacada, Oregon, USA

  DEAD: Alone

  Book 2 of the New DEAD series

  ©2017 May December Publications LLC

  The split-tree logo is a registered trademark of May December Publications LLC.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author or May December Publications LLC.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Things you should know before reading…

  Starting a new series can be difficult. Starting a new series set in the world another series has already established can be even trickier. Fans of the original are going to hold them up side-by-side and look for something wrong or perhaps repetitious. Therefore, there is a balance that I must find to bring in new fans, bring back old ones, and maybe even convert a few people who walked away from the other series for whatever reason.

  With this reboot of the DEAD series, I have decided to give the story of one person and his group. Many of the zombie series out in the market give you a clear-cut hero that is good and wears a very white hat. Or…they go the exact opposite and you get to follow in the shoes of evil. I believe that humans have a much broader spectrum that they exist in. We live in varying shades of gray. Nobody is absolutely good, nor are they usually completely evil. But this is not a debate about such things, I am speaking in generalities before you start flooding me with emails about Manson, Hitler, Jesus or Mother Teresa.

  Evan Berry is the guy next door. He is you, me, and all the regular folks. He has certain things that he excels at, and others…not so much. He makes mistakes that he, and sometimes others, pay for—sometimes with their lives. He is not Steve, nor is he Kevin, and I know that some people might not be sure how to feel about him. All I can say to that is perhaps go into this with new eyes. Yes, it is has the DEAD logo, and there might even be a bit of crossover. You’ve already had appearances by Steve, Thalia, Teresa, Barry and Randi. Could there be more? Anything is possible.

  So, what lies ahead? For one, I want to really bring the zombie children into the forefront. Yes, they are different. But how much so remains to be seen. And then there are some other aspects that I also want to explore. I don’t want to be rushed. Evan’s story allows me to do that.

  A few more things before you venture forth. Sometimes, writers push the envelope of reality. One of the things I will say is that this book covers a span of about ten days. As you read, ask yourself, if you were in Evan’s shoes, how hard would you push your body? We see athletes play with injuries that we take a week of from work for. Is Evan on par physically with a pro athlete? No. But he has few options and must ignore things that we might tend to look at from eyes that are not facing life or death. But, the bottom line is this…my book is just a story. You are already suspending belief to accept zombies. Open it just a fraction more.

  The last thing I will say before I get to the thank you portion of this little introduction is to say that I look forward to where this story will take us together. Here is where I do that little bit of begging. Your reviews are priceless. Good or bad, your reviews are the commercial for others to see and perhaps join you on this journey. You might think, “Well, I’m sure there will be plenty of other people who review this book.” Yet, of the almost one thousand copies of the previous book in this series that was purchased, to date, it has thirty reviews. I suck at math, but even I know that is a pretty low percentage. Believe it or not, Amazon increases visibility of a book or product if it surpasses a certain number of reviews with a decent average rating. And no, this is not a plea for just a glut of 5-star reviews. It’s okay if my book doesn’t hit all your buttons. Be honest. I read them all, and sometimes a well-crafted critical review can be helpful. And sometimes, those glowing reviews arrive on the day when I need a boost. You are the ones who write my job performance review. The difference between the one you write me and the one you might get from work is that mine are public, for the entire world to read.

  And now…the thanks. I will make these quick because I know that, unless your name appears here, these are just random names that mean little to nothing: First and most important, I must thank my wife Denise for all the support, I could not do this without her; Debra, Sophie, Todd & Amy, Cassie, Malik, Andrea, Caron, Hope, Justin, Kathy, Abby and Terri, each of you has my deepest thanks; to Evan for lending me a name for the new main character for this series; to another really cool guy, Don Evans, trust me, the REAL Don Evans is nothing like the man you will meet in these pages; while I’m at it, I want to thank many of the local Portland, Oregon Tribute Band performers who have pulled me aside at a show and asked if I might need another name for a future volume. Before this series ends, I might end up exhausting every band roster under the J-Fell banner. So, I guess I should also thank Jason Fellman. Hmm…that might be a name you will see in the next book. Stay tuned.

  Hello.

  TW Brown

  January 2017

  To Don Evans

  You Said You Wanted to be Bad

  Wish Granted

  Contents

  Slipping Away

  The World is a Graveyard

  Who Can I Trust?

  Sunday Driver

  Stranger Danger

  Monsters

  One of Us

  The Guilt of an Executioner

  A Ray of Hope

  Proof

  Survivor

  Delaying the Inevitable

  Stepping Off the Ledge

  Overload

  New Friends and Enemies

  Small World

  ZOMBIE

  The Little Girl in the Garage

  1

  Slipping Away

  I stuffed the socks into my knapsack and then checked my inventory. I would not take more than I thought was absolutely necessary to keep myself from being eaten alive. I only had the one Glock and three spare magazines. If I was going to die in the next few days, it would be on my terms. I had a few sturdy blades and my trusty hand axe as well.

  Slipping out of my room, I was once again struck by the absolute silence that falls over a dead world. Heading downstairs, I stopped and grabbed a jug of water. I would probably find some, but I wanted a little insurance. I still
wasn’t even sure that I had what it took to shove the end of my Glock into my mouth and pull the trigger. Did I want to become a zombie? Hell no. But I was still not very excited about killing myself. Would one less zombie make a difference in the bigger scheme of things? No. If they were driven by some sort of base inner drive, I did not want to be like Stephen “Fly Boy” Andrews at the end of Dawn of the Dead and bring a horde of zombies to the gates of the people who had been my fellow survivors. I just did not like the idea of an undead version of myself roaming the streets.

  I pinned my note on my door explaining about how I’d discovered the scratch on the inside of my arm and how I would not make them watch over me as I turned. I made sure to include a small plea that my Newfoundland, Chewie, be taken care of and not tossed out or simply killed. There was some sort of bond between her and that autistic boy, Michael. Perhaps that would be reason enough to continue to care for her in my absence.

  I didn’t think Carl would do anything to my dog or the children despite his earlier statements of how they were useless drains on our resources. He has a softer heart than he would admit. Also, I did not believe that Betty would allow it. I didn’t care much for the woman and her people skills were severely lacking…when it came to adults. She was actually very good with the kids, and I had no doubts that she was aware of the bond that was developing between Chewie and Michael.

  The only one in the original group that I did not have a real read on was Selina. The girl was almost twelve, but she seemed much more observant than I was at her age. She also seemed to be a good shot based on the one time I’d witnessed her in action. She’d shot a zombie that was coming for me from about a block away. That was how we’d first met.

  I made my way down the stairs and paused when I reached the front door. Once I walked through it, I was pretty much committing myself to the fate that this scratch held for me. By morning, my note would be found and I would be long gone.

  I was terrified. I did not want to be alone but I could not stay knowing that I would become one of those things. According to the reports I’d heard, turning happened within the first seventy-two hours. I was just glad that I hadn’t turned in my sleep. Michael had slipped in with Chewie at some point and fallen asleep on my bedroom floor.

  While I am pretty certain that, as a zombie, I would not feel remorse, I was bothered deep down about the fact that I could’ve turned, gotten up, and attacked that boy. Even worse…I could’ve attacked my Chewie.

  Opening the door, I stepped outside and pulled it shut behind me. The night air was verging on cold as spring had just started when all this madness began. I zipped up my jacket and headed for the brick wall that surrounded this place.

  Up until this very moment, I had not decided where I would go, but now I knew where I would start this last adventure. Across the way was a gated community. We’d sealed it up from the outside, and now all we needed to do was kill the zombies inside and we could use the place for supplies.

  My last act on this earth would be to take down as many of the walking dead as I possibly could. That would make it easier on Carl. I was pretty sure that he would have to make these trips alone now that I would be gone. The kids sure as hell wouldn’t be able to help, and Betty would not leave them all alone while she and Carl left the relative safety of our…their…little compound. As for that new girl, Amanda, she was a mystery to me. I had no idea how she might fit in with things or if she would even stay. I could not count on her in any of my assessments of how things might unfold in my absence.

  I climbed up on the wall and looked around. From this vantage point, I looked down onto Johnson Creek Boulevard. That main road wound its way up this little hill. On the other side and up a grassy slope was the gated community where I would go to die.

  The clouds above made it darker than normal which meant I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I pulled out the small battery-operated lantern from my bag and switched it on. I didn’t like the fact that I would be a visible target for miles around, but I liked the idea of walking into or stepping on a zombie unawares even less.

  I was just swinging my other leg over when a small voice froze me in my place. “Are you going out to do more murder?”

  Michael Killian. At nine years old, he was the youngest survivor in our group. He was also autistic. I can’t say that I know much about such things, but what I have noticed is that he almost never makes eye contact with any of us. He seems much more comfortable talking to my female Newfoundland. Speaking of my beloved dog, she was standing right beside the boy on the pathway that I’d followed to the wall. Her tail swished when she and I made eye contact.

  “Umm…” I honestly didn’t know what to say to the boy.

  “Chewie needs more of her special treats.”

  I was about to ask what treats those might be when the boy pulled out a package of beef jerky. I wasn’t sure where he’d found it, but the boy pulled a piece out of the plastic pouch and held up one finger on his left hand. She sat down on her haunches obediently.

  “That’s new,” I breathed.

  “There is more of it at the dinner place.” With that, Michael turned and started back for the house.

  Chewie stayed put for a moment, her head tilted and her tail wagging. I could see her dark eyes glitter and reflect the light from my lantern.

  “Take good care of them, girl,” I whispered.

  As if she understood me, she gave me a huff and then turned around and plodded after the boy. I watched her vanish into the blackness of the night and felt my eyes begin to sting with tears that desperately wanted to come. I forced them back and swallowed the grief that made my heart ache and my stomach twist into a knot.

  Turning back to the task at hand, I dropped to the ground and started down the hill. I would need to stay alert. If I was forced into hand-to-hand combat with a zombie, I would do it because there was no other choice. But with my busted arm wrapped in Ace bandages, I doubted my efficiency.

  Betty had said that my healing could take as long as ten weeks or as short as four or five. I would not live that long no matter where I fell in the healing spectrum, so I guess it didn’t matter if I ruined my arm to the point of not being able to use it any more.

  By the time I reached the road, I knew that I would not make it up the other side without having to take down at least one zombie. It was probably due to the darkness reducing my vision, but I now found myself sort of trapped between a group of three to my right and two to the left. They were coming down at me from the direction of the gated community.

  Sure, I could change my mind and just head someplace else; but no, my mind was made up. Besides, the worst that could happen to me would be to get bitten. Since I was already scratched up, that would only suck in that it would really hurt. It wasn’t like I could be infected twice. And if it looked like I was about to go down, then I would shove the Glock in my mouth and pull the trigger.

  I doubted my ability to do it unless it was the final option. I just hoped that I would be able to eventually do it once I reached the point where I was really sick. I remembered Morey and how he became listless and unresponsive. I told myself that he wasn’t quite aware of what was happening to him, and that I knew my eventual fate if I did not go through with it.

  I closed on the zombies to my left, effectively putting distance between me and the ones on my right. This would be tricky and I pulled up just about ten feet from the closest of the two. As it stumbled towards me, arms out and hands grasping at the air, I tried to time my move. Just as he was taking another unsteady step towards me, I lunged forward, gripped the thing by the wrist and jerked it towards and then past me. I heaved with all I could and the zombie stumbled and then fell. The second one I simply shoved away and then I broke into a jog for the wall at the top of the hill.

  I climbed up and over where I’d entered the place just yesterday when I’d sort of saved Carl. Already, the moans of the undead drifted on the night air. Just as I slid to the ground, I f
elt the first drops of rain on my face. Since I had no idea what the insides of these houses might have in store for me, and one was pretty much like any other, I took the one right across from me.

  Crossing the street, my lantern’s dull glow gave me a good ten or so feet of illumination. The shadows all around had me jumping every few steps as the wind made things shift and move. The rain and breeze did nothing to eliminate the stench of the undead, so even though I couldn’t see them, I knew they were near.

  When the first one came into view, I stopped in my tracks. She couldn’t be any older than sixteen. Her death had been violent and gruesome. Not that anybody being eaten alive doesn’t suffer such a fate, but this had me wincing in sympathetic pain. I suddenly wished for my lamp to go out. Looking at this girl hurt my soul.

  From what I could see, one of the undead had latched onto her face just to the side of her right eye. The flesh was peeled away, enlarging the eye socket to gross proportions. The eyeball was only still in place due to the optic nerve and actually jiggled in an unsettling manner with each labored step. Her belly was torn open wide and a wad of unspooling intestines were bunched up at that hole, just waiting to be knocked loose and spill to the ground. Her nose was nothing more than a gaping wound that appeared pitch black. Her left hand was missing all its fingers and the right hand only had the thumb and index. All of these terrible details were surprisingly visible. Perhaps it was because my eyes could not tear themselves away and allow me to detach myself from any feeling as I prepared to kill this pitiful creature.

  I desperately wanted to end this zombie girl. I could not explain why, at first, as I allowed her to approach close enough so that I could sweep her legs out from under her. She landed hard and that proved to be enough to dislodge the wad of entrails that were clogging the rip in her belly. I heard the wet squelch as I stepped in to finish her off with a blow to the head with my axe. Maybe it was the dangling eyeball, or maybe it was my awkwardness with using my left hand, but the blow came in off-center and buried the head of my hand axe in her face right around the center of that empty eye socket. The results were still the same as I ended her pitiful existence for good.