New DEAD series (Book 4): DEAD [Don Evans Must Die] Read online

  I wished I could say there was some sort of peace and acceptance that settled over me. The only thing that settled anywhere was the deep fear and dread in my gut. Still, I would not go down without a fight and was about to bring up my pistol and get off as many shots as possible.

  Just before I was about to fire, one of the newly arrived trio pointed…but to my left. A second later, a gunshot rang out and one of the three staggered back, a dark stain blooming in the center of their chest.

  The two remaining returned fire as I hit the ground and covered my head with my hands out of a sense of self-preservation. Suddenly, the relative quiet was a cacophony of weapons being fired. There was the ‘pop-pop’ of handguns, the ‘boom’ of shotguns, and the chatter of automatic weapons spraying their sheets of leaden death.

  I could hear all kinds of shouting and a few screams as the firefight blazed around me for a few minutes. I took the opportunity to crawl to the back gate. I popped my head up to look around and saw that only one of the trio was still standing. That individual was pressed tight up against a tree. The people who’d started shooting were now caught in a sort of crossfire as the group that had been out front were now involved.

  I was able to wedge the gate open enough to be able to squirm through. As soon as I could, I scurried to the back door and ducked back into the house. The battle outside continued. I rushed upstairs and peeked out front. Two of the original nine were still there and they were scanning the area for trouble.

  If I was going to get out of here, I would have to either wait this out and hope they simply moved on, or else take a chance with this pair still in front. I hated doing nothing, but I was not feeling good about trying to go up against these two. They were not simply standing there. Nope, this pair were actively scanning and, while I could not make out the words, they were communicating back and forth. Even if I caught them by surprise, something told me that the other one would take me down before I finished the job.

  I sat down on the floor with my back pressed against the wall as I listened to the gunfight happening just feet away. I don’t know when, but eventually—and mercifully—the shooting stopped. I let out a long, slow breath and waited.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  At first I thought it might just be one or more of the injured perhaps being carried to the front of the house. But the moans changed to yelps and cries. Something was happening and from the sounds, it was bad.

  Very bad.

  I got to my knees and risked a peek out front. What I saw made the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. I was hit by a queasy feeling in my gut. And even worse, an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

  “We gots ourselves a couple of real live ones,” a woman snarled. I had to really look to figure out which one she might be, but when she yanked on the clothesline or piece of cord she had wrapped around the neck of a Hispanic woman and let loose with a braying laugh that was punctuated by several expletives and racial slurs, I knew which one was her.

  “This ‘uns an honest to goodness Mexican jumping bean,” she crowed when the woman at the end of the makeshift noose lunged.

  The woman holding the line easily side-stepped and lashed out with one gloved fist to punch the tiny Hispanic woman in the side of the head. There was a chorus of cheers from the group standing around. There was also one more prisoner. And while I was already horrified by what I was seeing in that cluster of five. It was so bad I couldn’t even let myself feel good about how they’d obviously taken a significant hit in the battle.

  Standing in the midst of this group that was now cheering wildly as the Hispanic woman was being dragged over to a nearby streetlight pole was a young boy no more than in his early teens. His tan skin revealed his heritage, and when he started screaming, “No, mami!” I had to figure he was the woman’s son.

  “Your mommy is getting’ what she deserves, boy.” One of the men punched the boy in his stomach, knocking the wind from him and ending his cries for the moment. “But don’t you worry…you’ll get your time soon enough.”

  By now, the Hispanic woman had been dragged to the pole and the woman had tossed the cord up and over the extended arm that held the useless streetlight. I noticed that the end of the line had a ball-shaped knot that I’d heard called a monkey’s fist more than once. That knot served to male the rope heavy enough to allow the person to toss it. To me, that said this was a normal event for these people.

  I’d encountered some of their handiwork and now was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that these people all needed to die. Of course, right this moment, I was basically powerless. Sure, I might take down two or three, but the result would be that I would be killed, and they would continue on doing what they’d been doing for who knows how long.

  As much as it sickened me, I slid back down to the floor and listened as the young boy got his breath back and began screaming and crying for his mother. Unfortunately, I could also hear her choked struggles as she was hoisted off the ground and hung.

  I was still sitting there waiting for what I had to figure was the boy’s turn when I heard a terrible shriek. I popped up, doing my best to remain out of the window to avoid being seen, but I knew from that scream that somebody was meeting a terrible end.

  It was the boy.

  They’d taken him to the same pole that his mother hung from and tied him to it. Apparently, his cries had brought the undead and they were now gathered around his tiny bound form, ripping away chunks of him. I was embarrassed again by my sense of relief when one of the ghouls ripped out his throat, effectively ending his screams and reducing them to gurgles.

  The entire time, the remaining members of that group stood just far enough away and laughed. If a zombie stumbled their direction, they simply ended it and continued watching the horrific scene playing out a short distance away.

  My emotions warred with each other. I wanted desperately to put these animals down. But in the back of my head, I could hear Marshawn warning me to “Get out of those feelings!”

  I sunk back down and waited for the horrible noises to end. Once they did, I peeked back. I’d pulled my hunting rifle off my shoulder but didn’t risk bringing it up…yet. I wanted it handy if an opportunity presented itself, but that was all.

  A few of the group had wandered off at some point. Now there were only three of the pieces of filth loitering around the area. I also noticed more than a dozen undead had been dispatched and were on the ground.

  Movement over by the light pole drew my gaze and I looked just as what was left of the boy struggled to roll onto its belly. He’d been ripped free of the pole during the attack. I could hear its hissing and moaning from my location. I couldn’t help but watch as the pathetic creature began to start dragging itself toward where the trio were conversing without seemingly a care in the world.

  I was holding my breath as the boy drew closer and closer. One of the trio was the woman I’d watched hang the boy’s mother. I was seriously hoping their degree of obliviousness continued at least until that boy maybe took a chunk out of her calf.

  It was now just a few feet away and slowly crawling nearer as its hands reached out and dug into the ground to bring it ever closer. When he was at last just on the edge of being able to reach out and grab the woman’s leg, the woman did an impressive quickdraw of one of the pistols hanging on her hip and shot the zombie boy in the top of his head.

  They never even paused in their conversation!

  I’d had it. I brought the rifle to my shoulder and sighted in on the woman that was now laughing about something one of the men had said with absolutely no regard for the corpse at her feet. I had my aim pretty much dialed in on the center of her chest. Just as I was about to squeeze the trigger, I adjusted my aim down a bit.

  The rifle bucked against my shoulder and I was already adjusting to the man who had his back to me. I briefly registered the woman stagger back and thought that I caught a glimpse of a dark stain radiating from her gut. I could enjoy th
at victory later. Now, I squeezed the trigger and saw the man with his back to me stagger forward. He was dropping to his knees as I sighted in on the third individual.

  It was the one I’d seen punching the now dead boy in his stomach. He was running away. In a few seconds, he would be in the brush and I’d not be able to see him. He was darting left and right, but apparently he wasn’t creative enough to mix it up.

  Left.

  Right.

  Left.

  I pulled the trigger. I saw him stagger a little, but he kept running and vanished into the tall grass and brush at the edge of the cleared lot that would never see a house built on it.

  I took off out of the room and bounded down the stairs. As soon as I burst out through the front door, I was slinging my rifle over my shoulder and pulling a pistol from its holster at my hip.

  The man I’d shot in the back was lying sprawled on the street. A dark stain was growing around him as the blood left his body through the hole I put through him. He was still trying to move, much like the zombified boy just moments earlier. I slowed enough to aim at the back of his head and pull the trigger. The pistol fired, sending the small projectile smashing through the back of the man’s skull.

  I passed the woman and slowed just enough to see that her eyes were staring blankly at the sky above. The feelings of self-disgust did not seem to be leaking through as I viewed my handiwork.

  I sprinted across the empty lot and plunged into the woods beyond in pursuit of the man I could hear crashing along just ahead of me. I noticed a few red smears on some of the flatter leaves that were just starting to open and stretch out to soak in the sun.

  I kept pausing just long enough to get a bearing on this guy’s direction. It was clear to me that I was gaining on him. The noises were getting louder, and now I could hear muffled curses after what sounded like somebody losing their footing.

  I paused when I spied more blood. This time, it wasn’t just a smear. There was a fat droplet of crimson liquid hanging from the tip of this particular leaf. As I watched, gravity won the battle and the droplet plummeted to the ground. I took off at a sprint, certain now that not only was this guy seriously injured, but I was also very close.

  And then I spotted him. He had paused and was bent over at the waist. Even though the foliage, I could see he was laboring to get his breath. His body was heaving with each strenuous attempt.

  As I drew closer, I could hear him panting. His breathing sounded strange. It took a few seconds to realize that it was a wet sound. I had to guess that I’d caught him in a lung. Once I pushed through the last barrier of branches, the man merely turned his head. He wasn’t making any attempt to run.

  I brought the pistol up and circled around him until I was not at his side any longer, but directly in front of him. I had no idea how long I would have until backup or the undead arrived, but this was an opportunity I would not allow to go to waste.

  7

  The Death of Remorse

  “You’re with Don Evans,” I snarled.

  “Never heard of the guy,” the man slurred around the blood trickling from his lips.

  “You know, I always think it’s funny how you fucking sheep do that.”

  “Do what?” The man lowered himself to his knees and braced his hands on them to keep himself from faceplanting.

  “Act like you are obeying some code of honor when it comes to protecting assholes like Donnie Boy.” I squatted down on my haunches so I could look into the man’s eyes.

  “What would some punk like you know about honor?” the man shot back and then broke into a fit of wet coughs.

  “Yeah, this is a waste of time.” I stood and brought the gun up, lining my barrel with the top of the man’s head.

  “Fuck you.”

  “That really what you want your last words to be?” I asked.

  “Last words?” The man looked up at me and his eyes widened when he saw the pistol aimed at him. His smug expression faltered, and now he just looked like a pathetic piece of human garbage.

  “You aren’t walking away from this…you gotta know that,” I said.

  “You just gonna murder me in cold blood like this?” the man asked with a slight tremor in his voice.

  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. It was as if I’d just heard the funniest joke ever. There was no way this guy was making that sort of a statement.

  “Sorry.” I wiped at my eyes when I finally got myself under enough control to speak. There was still a bit of that humor in my voice, but I needed to move this along. “But did you just say that after what you did to that woman and her child?”

  “What?” The confusion in his tone almost sounded genuine, then his eyes widened, and he looked at me with what almost appeared to be confusion. “That beaner and her little brat?”

  “This is a waste of my time.” I raised the pistol just a bit and closed my left eye to intensify my focus as I curled my finger tighter around the trigger.

  “Wait a minute!” the man coughed, his voice breaking just a bit as his sense of self-preservation kicked up a few notches. “This is America dammit! You can’t just do this…I got my rights!”

  I almost laughed again. But my anger was in full control by now and I was seeing red. “No. You don’t. This ain’t America anymore…America is dead.”

  “Fuck you!” the man repeated.

  I pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into his forehead and an eruption of blood, bone fragments, and brain exploded out the back. He fell backwards, his dead eyes staring up at nothing.

  “Fitting final words.”

  I let the arm holding the pistol drop to my side. I waited for the rush of adrenaline to leave and be replaced by the gut twisting sensation of remorse. Nothing came. Even once fatigue began to seep into my system, there was no guilt or shame. I’d looked a man in the eyes and ended his life, but I hadn’t felt a thing. And I wasn’t numb. I just didn’t feel bad.

  I walked away from the dead man and headed back around the home I’d been hiding in. To the best of my knowledge, that would take me away from the high school where Don Evans was based if my information was accurate; and at this point, I had every reason to believe that to be true.

  I did a quick check on the dead bodies and was not surprised to find nothing useful. Either they hadn’t been carrying much, or the people who’d already left had stripped the bodies before slinking off to their encampment.

  I have no idea how long I’d walked before I realized that my throat was parched. I leaned up against the base of a giant pine tree, slid down onto my butt, and pulled my canteen around and twisted off the top. After a long drink, I let my eyes close.

  I let my hearing take over for a few minutes. The sounds of the woods drifted in. Slowly washing everything else away. The birds, the hum of insects, the rustle of branches as gentle breezes blew. While I sat against the tree, I searched inside myself for any feelings at all about what I’d just done.

  When it dawned on me that I was actually okay with it, I allowed myself to simply relax and take in a moment of peace. That also let me consider what my options were regarding Don Evans.

  When I heard the first snap of a twig just seconds after I’d gotten a whiff of the undead on what would have otherwise been just a pleasant spring breeze, I knew that I had to at least scout his encampment. It would be foolish to believe that I could single-handedly mount an attack.

  As I considered the situation, I realized that Marshawn and I had been nothing short of idiots. We’d convinced ourselves that we could charge in and somehow pull off some sort of ninja-like stealth attack.

  The reality was that, unless he had withheld some sort of Special Forces background, our chances were slim and none. This had been a testosterone-driven fool’s errand.

  Once it was dark, I would make my way to the high school. I would find someplace where I could hole up and make some detailed observations. That was as good as it was going to get.

  After I scouted his location, I would
have to make the tough decision of either giving up and making a run for someplace far away, or, if the numbers weren’t too lopsided, I would try to rally the community to launch an attack.

  I had the feeling that the latter choice was going to be the most likely. Still, if there was a chance that a well-planned surprise attack had any possibility, and I could convince everybody else that this was worth the risk, that was what I would shoot for.

  I opened my eyes and spied the zombie that was drawing close. It hadn’t taken notice of me as of yet and was simply staggering through the woods for whatever reason.

  I watched it. Even in the shadows I could make out plenty of detail. This one was a woman that had perhaps been in her thirties or forties. She had dirty blond hair that was now a tangled mess. Between the blood and filth, I was actually surprised I’d been able to discern a color at all.

  She had a lot of what I was starting to view as “typical” injuries. A ripped out throat, bites on her arms, and a rip in her belly where a knot of her insides had balled up and perhaps dried into a visceral scab preventing anything else from spilling out of her body.

  She had been shot perhaps a dozen or more times judging by the visible wounds I could see—including what I was certain had to be a shotgun blast to one shoulder that left her arm a dangling and useless appendage.

  When she turned so that she was at about a three-quarters profile to me, I noticed the handle of a knife jutting from the center of her chest. Yet, she continued on despite the obvious attempts to bring her down.

  As soon as I climbed to my feet, I apparently made enough noise to draw her attention. She stopped her current course and in those herky-jerky fits and stops turned to face me. I pulled the bludgeon that the Rag-and-Bone Man had given me and took a few practice swings like I was in the batter’s box.