DEAD (Book 12): End, Page 2

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  Contents

  Vignettes LXVII

  The Geek’s Wife Has a Plan

  Running and Running

  Vignettes LXVIII

  The Geek’s Wife Draws Blood

  Bad News

  Vignettes LXIX

  The Geek’s Wife Declares War

  The Children of the Dead

  Vignettes LXX

  The Geek’s Wife Gets Revenge

  Hard Lessons

  Vignettes LXXI

  The Geek’s Wife Settles In

  Field Observations

  Vignettes LXXII

  The Geek’s Wife Finds Peace

  All Grown Up

  Epilogue

  Preview of That Ghoul Ava

  Preview of DEAD: Snapshot—Portland, Oregon

  1

  Vignettes LXVII

  “I found their trail.” Gerald emerged through the brush, swatting at the cloud of mosquitoes that swirled around his head.

  “Their trail?” Juan felt his stomach twist in an even tighter knot.

  “They went towards the river.” Gerald flung open the doors to one of his sheds and began rummaging about.

  “Towards the river!” Juan exclaimed. “I told them to stay away from the damn river.”

  “Yeah…imagine that. Kids doing what they were told not to do,” Gerald hollered over his shoulder as the sounds of gear being tossed around could be heard from inside the shed.

  The big man emerged from the dark confines of the sturdy wooden structure with a coil of rope hanging around his neck and a variety of weapons dangling from his belt and vest. Juan saw the wince as the man pulled the door shut behind him.

  “You are in no condition to be out stomping around in the woods.”

  Juan gestured to the man who was showing the outward and very visible after-effects of just having fought a grizzly bear. He had blood dripping from his beard and one eye looked as if it might be swollen shut before too long.

  “As bad off as I might be, you are nowhere near in as good a shape,” Gerald quipped as he gave himself a pat down to ensure he had everything that he might need.

  Juan forced himself to his feet. The pain he felt was incredible, but he made himself take one slow and agonizing step after another as he approached Gerald.

  “Those are my little girls out there,” Juan managed through clenched teeth.

  “And you will not be doing them any favors if you go out and get yourself killed.”

  Gerald stepped up to Juan and put a massive hand in the middle of Juan’s chest. He gave the slightest bit of a push. Juan’s arms pin-wheeled as he struggled to keep his footing. Gerald grabbed him by his shirt with the same hand and kept him from falling gracelessly to the ground.

  “Like I said…” Gerald left the statement open, but the meaning was clear.

  Juan was still standing there in impotent frustration when his crutch was thrust back in his hands. He felt the threat of tears in his eyes and forced them away.

  “What you can do is build a massive bonfire here.” Gerald pointed to the clearing in the center of what served as his front yard for all intents and purposes. “I have no idea where they have gone or how far I might have to range to seek them out. And while they have certainly learned a great deal, they are still just little girls. If it gets dark, that may be the very thing that helps lead them home.”

  Juan sighed and nodded. He knew that Gerald was right in pointing out the fact that he would be much more of a liability than a help out in the woods. He watched as the man waded out and vanished into the thick growth of the forest.

  Forcing away any feelings of self-pity, Juan set about stacking up a pile of wood. He was still toting wood when he heard a low moan. Turning, Juan saw a pair of zombies come stumbling from the trail just to the left of the cabin.

  They both looked relatively fresh!

  Feeling his anger build to the breaking point, Juan yanked free an axe from where it was kept to split firewood. He considered his crutch and just as quickly dismissed it; the time had come to walk without any help. He thought he remembered something from one of his cousins who had been in a car wreck and been put through physical therapy. She had mentioned something about the doctor insisting she “walk through the pain” or some such nonsense.

  Raising his weapon, Juan allowed the closest zombie to approach. This one had been a man. While nowhere near the size of Gerald, he was still fairly hefty. He also had a thick, bushy beard that was now stiff with dark blood. The man’s throat had been ravaged, as had his left leg.

  Juan felt almost a bit of relief as he was able to identify the wounds as most likely coming from zombie wolves. He probably would have lost what remained of his will to live if he’d seen the small bite-marks of a child.

  He swung down and split the man’s skull, letting go of his weapon and sort of hopping aside as the body crashed to the ground in a heap. It was the next zombie that was a little more difficult to deal with. Juan knew that a deader was a deader, but he still had a rough time with taking down the women or children.

  This woman was a tall, skinny sort who looked very much out of place in the rough environment of the Alaskan Wilderness. Most of the women he had encountered were strong, thick, and on the edge of (if not beyond) husky. Being skinny was a detriment in this harsh, cold environment.

  The woman had lost an arm in the attack that had taken her life. Like the man, most of her throat was torn out. And then there was the curiousness of her being stark naked. Perhaps she had been bathing, Juan thought for the briefest of seconds as he yanked his ax free and awaited the woman’s approach.

  He took her down with ease and then hauled her body to where he had been building his bonfire. The two bodies would add a good source of fuel to the fire and reduce the amount of wood needed by a small fraction. These days, waste was simply not something that was afforded. Also, dead bodies left lying about might bring unwanted attention.

  Juan glanced over at the lump that was the carcass of the grizzly. He would skin and dress that after his fire was going. Bear was some of his favorite meat.

  “Never would have even thought of something like that,” Juan said out loud as he limped over to the canister of oil that Gerald kept on the front porch.

  Once he sprinkled some of the precious fluid on the wood, he eased himself down and produced his flint and steel. With a few deft moves, he had the dry curls of kindling lit and eased the small pile into the edge of his awaiting pyre.

  He worked his way back up to his feet when he heard the scream. It was one that a person could never forget. He could still recall that first time he’d heard it; the scream of a person being eaten alive…torn apart and feasted upon by the undead.

  He did not need to look to know that his arms were pebbled with goose bumps. Even though he could not be totally certain, he forced himself to believe that it was not either of his daughters. But if not them, then who could it be that had just fallen victim?

  There was a rustle in the brush and then Denita stumbled through, her sister Della followed. Both looked hot and sweaty, their breathing coming in gasps and pants.

  “Papi!” Denita managed. “Hurry inside. Get below before they get here!”

  Juan opened his arms to his daughters. They were almost on him when he noticed each was carrying the carcass of an already skinned rabbit. Actually, Denita had three.

  “What’s going on?” Juan asked once his daughters reached him.

  “Lots of them!” Della gulped. She looked over her shoulder, and in that instant, Juan saw the scared little girl.

  Both had put on such a show of bravery. They had seemed fearless to the point of reckless. Now they were visibly terrified.

  “Lots of what?” Juan asked.

  In answer, a chorus of moans
could be heard coming from the woods in the direction that his daughters had just emerged. Then there was another sound—the cacophony of the smaller saplings and undergrowth being snapped.

  “Deaders, Papi!” Denita said as she pushed Juan towards the cabin. “More than I ever seen!”

  Juan allowed himself to be nudged toward the cabin. He opened the door and entered into the cool darkness; the single lantern seeming almost non-existent in comparison to the bright sunlight he was leaving behind.

  “But Gerald,” Juan suddenly remembered. “He is still out there.”

  “The Grizzly Man was trying to lead them away,” Della said with a sniff.

  “Was?” Juan pressed as he shut the door to the cabin and limped to the trapdoor in the corner.

  “He got stuck trying to climb some rocks. They pulled him down…” Denita sobbed. Her voice became strangled and she began to cry.

  Her sister was in no better condition as each tried unsuccessfully to explain what had befallen the big man. Juan did not need a detailed account; he could figure it out for himself based on their reactions.

  Juan helped both girls to start down the ladder built into the wall. Just as Denita, who had gone second, vanished into the pitch black of the makeshift basement, Juan heard the first of the deaders bump into the wall of the cabin.

  Seconds later, it was almost like a hellish hail storm as more bodies collided with the exterior. Juan was just down to floor level and pulling the hatch shut when a series of slaps and thumps came at the wooden door. It would not hold long, of that he was certain.

  Juan pulled the hatch shut with a solid thud as the sounds of breaking wood could be heard from above. He climbed down until he felt the solid dirt floor under his feet. In the pitch black, he felt around until his hands discovered a wall.

  Making his way along it, he angled himself towards the sounds of sniffing and muffled crying. At last, he found the cot where his girls sat huddled together. They both shook and shivered.

  Juan pulled them close and held them as the sounds of crashing could be heard from above. Dust drifted down and he could taste it in the back of his throat. His eyelids fluttered involuntarily as the grit found his blind eyes. Closing them, Juan pulled a fur blanket from the cot and slung it up and over their heads.

  They sat in the blackness for what seemed like an eternity as the sounds of feet trudging around could be more felt than heard. At some point, there was a tremendous crash and Juan feared that the roof would collapse and seal them in a horrible grave where they would finally draw their last breaths before joining Mackenzie.

  He had no idea how long they had been sitting on that cot. At some point, the girls had actually fallen asleep and their soft snores were the only sound.

  The only sound! His brain was finally able to get that message to register. Still, Juan sat in the darkness and did not dare move. He might have stayed that way for hours or minutes; he had no way of knowing in the void.

  Eventually, he eased the girls from his side and laid them down beside one another on the cot. It took him a while to grope about until he discovered the rungs built into the wall. Climbing slowly, Juan made his way up until he found the handle of the trap door. Turning the knob, he pushed and was given another fright as it did not budge!

  He pushed to no avail. After many failed attempts, Juan stopped. He was drenched in sweat and felt dizzy.

  Had this become their grave after all? he wondered.

  “No,” Juan growled. “Not like this. Not after everything.”

  Taking another step up the ladder, Juan braced his shoulder against the hatch. He pushed, straining to the point where he began to feel the pain in his injured leg. Blocking it out, he renewed his push and felt the slightest give. Calling on everything that remained, Juan pushed up and felt the door give with agonizing slowness.

  Then it flung open so abruptly that he had to fight not to fall. The cool air rushed in and the sky above seemed so bright that it hurt his eyes.

  ***

  “My God,” Vix breathed.

  She relaxed enough so that her body would slide back down the embankment. She, Paddy, and the others had been on the move since before sunrise. For over two weeks they had done nothing but observe. Dolph and his wanna-be Nazis numbered over a thousand. Yet it was clear that only one person gave orders. It was history repeating itself.

  It did not seem possible that one person could be responsible for so much destruction. Yet, down below was a testament. Of course, this man Dolph had found a way to utilize the zombies as his own private army.

  He did so by grabbing a few of the undead (over a hundred if what Vix had heard or seen was any indication) and then fitting them with backpack-sized devices that made an incredible racket. From what they could tell, he obviously had quite a few in reserve. If he needed to re-direct the horde, he would simply move to a location and release one. Once he activated the pack, he used prisoners to lure the zombies wherever he wanted them to go.

  “Looks like your little island did not fare well,” Paddy whispered.

  When Vix had seen for herself that New England had fallen, she went numb. It had simply been a matter of the bodies building up to the point where the fallen made a ramp for those who still moved. The zombies had washed over the walls like a tidal wave of undeath.

  Using binoculars, she had scanned for any signs of life and come up empty. She heard Chaaya weeping and glanced over at the woman. Losing her lover had hardly elicited a response; yet, here she was now, crying and near hysterics.

  “Shut her up,” Gable hissed.

  Seamus moved over next to the woman and his low rumbling whisper came almost like the buzz of a bumblebee. Chaaya’s sobs receded to hiccupping gasps, but at least she had quieted down. Vix looked down the line at the others. She saw the same look on their faces that she felt: defeat.

  It had seemed so grand as they all sat around the campfire and tossed out the different ways they would stop this maniac. Yet, every day was more of the same. They would look upon the destruction created by the army as they would happen upon some encampment or another…and do nothing.

  Now they were where the River Medway met the Channel. The Isle of Sheppy was lost. New England was gone. A decade of rebuilding wiped out in days. Hundreds of the living torn apart or joining the ranks of the undead.

  “Bugger this!” Vix spat.

  She started to get up and felt a hand yank her back down. “Stay put,” Paddy whispered.

  “What was the point of all this?” Vix argued.

  “Point?” Paddy almost laughed, but the look on the woman’s face made him pull it back. He knew well enough how her temper could flare and did not wish to add any fuel to it at the moment. “There stopped being a point to things when the first dead body sat up and took a bite out of the closest living person it could find. It is not about points, lassie. It is about staying alive.”

  “What happened to stopping this army?”

  “It is not as easy as just wishing it to be so. We are only able to act within our own limitations. That madman has gathered followers in numbers that we can’t hope to stand against.”

  “How many of them are doing so willingly?” Vix insisted.

  They had gotten close two days ago when Dolph’s mob rolled into a small, walled village. They hit fast and were scaling the walls before the alarm had even been sounded. By the time the people of that little hamlet managed to mobilize, it was past too late.

  Vix and the others had watched as several of the citizens were either hung or exposed to the bite of a zombie and tossed into a cage on wheels that reminded Vix of the old circus train cars from the black and white films she watched with her husband back in what seemed like another lifetime. That cage held the supply of zombies fitted with the noise packs. After everything of value was stripped, people were apparently given the choice of joining or death. Not surprisingly, many joined.

  “I would guess that at least half that army is there by choice,” Seamus
muttered as he scooted close.

  “That means that half of them are not,” Vix pointed out.

  “So what do you suggest?” Gable did not hide the dubious tone in his voice. “We just slip in and organize a revolt?”

  “We either do something or we abandon this madness,” Vix finally snapped. “What is the point in simply following this army around the countryside and watching him conquer England?”

  “There is no more England,” Algernon broke his silence. “There hasn’t been for years. No Spain, no Germany, no France.”

  “Thank God,” Vix muttered, earning a chuckle from Paddy.

  “I think I have an idea.”

  Everybody turned. It was not often that Randi spoke out loud. She could manage a whisper, but to speak out loud appeared to cause her pain due to all her facial damage.

  “Well?” Paddy finally urged.

  Gable moved close to Randi and listened as she whispered in his ear. He nodded and then faced the group.

  “Instead of following and trying to seek out a weakness to exploit, perhaps we take a page out of the playbook of our Vix.” Gable leaned in again. “We return to London and take the palace.”

  “Why would we want to do something like that?” Paddy asked.

  “That wanker couldn’t have possibly rooted out every single survivor in the kingdom. I say we beat him at his own game. We move back to the heart of the country and gather anybody we can along the way. We build our own bloody army and prepare for the grand assault. It is a story that has been repeated through history, and if I am judging this Dolph person correctly, he may be even more delusional than Adolph.”

  The group had retreated from the hill and was making their way into some nearby woods as Gable recited this last bit. Vix was nodding, Paddy and Seamus were strangely stone-faced, and Algernon was pinching his lower lip like he always did when in deep thought.

  “I say we either do that or it is time to cross the Channel and abandon hope.” Vix came to a stop just after they had all ducked under the branches and entered the copse of trees. “Perhaps we put it to a vote?”