New DEAD series (Book 4): DEAD [Don Evans Must Die] Page 7

  “Evan?” Marshawn called out after a moment where the only sound I heard was that of my heart pounding in my ears.

  “I’m here. You okay?” I called back.

  “Grazed my shoulder, but other than that…” came the answer.

  As if in reply, the sound of shattering glass came, followed by a ‘whoosh’ noise. I peeked up to see a pool of fire on the road close to the ditch that ran on the other side. Whomever had thrown that Molotov was scarily accurate as I saw Marshawn pop up into a crouch right on the other side of the flames and rush forward a few steps and then dive out of sight again.

  My eyes tracked back over in the direction I was pretty sure he’d indicated just in time to see a figure dressed in camo gear emerge close enough to hurl a second bottle with its flaming cloth. This time it was coming for me.

  I had just enough time to utter an expletive as I scrambled forward. Just as I dove forward with a final lunge, there was another crash and explosion of flames. I felt the heat wash over my back and looked over my shoulder to see that it had landed almost exactly where I’d been only a moment ago.

  I stayed on my hands and knees and moved forward as fast as I could, hoping that this person would not make the right adjustments. The thought of being burned alive was almost more terrifying than that of being eaten by the undead.

  To my left, the sound of Marshawn opening fire with his pistol gave me a boost of confidence. The person would likely have their attention away from me.

  Once I’d gone far enough that I guessed myself to be very near the brush this person had used for cover, I risked a peek over the lip of the ditch. I squinted like that would help me see better, but I wasn’t seeing any signs that a person was, or ever had been, hiding in those trees and bushes.

  Marshawn had stopped firing and another eerie silence fell over the world. I blinked a bead of sweat from my eyes but didn’t dare move enough to wipe it away with my hand. Something about this person made me think that I was dealing with somebody who knew what the hell they were doing. I was almost willing to guess military.

  “You can hide in that ditch for only so long,” a raspy voice growled from behind the burned-out husk of a minivan. Somehow this person had managed to change location and not only be in the road, but he was also behind us!

  I didn’t dare move now. My fear was that he wouldn’t need much of my head to appear in order to put a bullet in it.

  “Evan?” Marshawn called out after another long pause.

  I already knew what he was going to say. “Yeah…I see them.”

  Coming from all over, basically every direction, were dozens of the undead. There was no way we could stay in the ditches. Shifting onto my side confirmed that notion as I saw a few lumbering along in my ditch, their heads cocked, and their gazes obviously fixed on me.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” I shouted.

  I know it was cliché. After all, what self-respecting villain of the apocalypse would admit to being up to no good? Still, I really didn’t have any other ideas.

  “Shoulda thought about that before you murdered my Celia,” the voice barked in response.

  “She was holding a knife to my throat,” I shot back. After all, the only person I’d recently killed had been that lady at the coffee shack. “I’m sorry, but—”

  “LIAR!” the voice roared. “She was playing on her swing, not hurting anybody. She wouldn’t hurt a soul, much less be so bold as to come out and attack somebody.”

  Okay, now I was officially confused. My mouth must’ve opened and shut three or four times with nothing to show for it.

  “You got the wrong people, fella,” Marshawn said.

  “Don’t try to plead for your miserable life now,” the man shouted.

  “We really don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” I called out.

  “You killed my little girl!” the man insisted.

  “No, we really didn’t,” Marshawn countered. “Did you get a look at the guy?”

  There was a long silence. Then, with much less bluster in his tone, the man replied, “All I saw was the bus as it took off up the road.”

  Jesus, I thought. Was Don Evans out there just picking off random survivors?

  I looked up and around at the tightening circle of undead. We’d managed to avoid them for so much of the journey thus far. But that situation had changed drastically in the past few hours. At the moment, we still had enough room to make a run for it without having to engage too many. That window was quickly slamming shut.

  After a few more heartbeats of silence, I raised my hands. “We’re looking for the same guy.”

  After a moment, and when no bullets tore through my exposed hands, I got up to my knees. I looked over at the mini-van and waited another breath before climbing to my feet.

  “We know how you feel,” I commiserated. “He’s taken loved ones from us as well.”

  Okay, so maybe not any of our children. At least he hasn’t killed any that we know of. Michael had told us that much. Of course, that had been a while ago, and there are worse things than death in the apocalypse. But finding common ground was my best tactic to try and diffuse this situation.

  When the man stepped out from behind the blackened husk of a vehicle, it clicked into place. The man was in full camo gear, including a hat with a veil, but his dark skin was easy to see despite the cover.

  “Marshawn?” I called.

  My friend rose up from his spot and I was not surprised to see that he’d done the same thing as me and made his way towards where we’d believed the man to be hiding. Had he stayed put, we could’ve actually had this guy in a crossfire if things went south.

  “Let’s see your hands, too,” the man snarled.

  This guy was not showing any signs of fear. He was obviously angry, and maybe just a little bit crazy from grief. But afraid was off the table. He had found a crease in the mangled minivan that allowed him to keep his back covered while being able to shift back and forth between me and Marshawn.

  “Cool, man,” Marshawn said easily as he raised his hands. “Like my friend said, we aren’t here looking for trouble. And it sounds like we’re hunting the same guy.”

  “When did he come through here and…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t really want to say the words, but there wasn’t a way around it.

  “Kill my little girl?” the man finished for me.

  For the first time, his voice lacked anger. All I heard in those four simple words was a bone-deep sorrow.

  “Yeah.” Marshawn took one step up onto the lip of the ditch. When the man didn’t react, he hauled himself up onto the road, making sure to keep his hands up.

  When the guy didn’t open fire, I followed suit. I checked the approaching zombies. It was clear that we had to move soon if we were going to have the best chance of escaping unharmed.

  “Maybe we talk this over someplace with less…foot traffic?” I suggested.

  The man looked around and, for the first time, seemed to really notice the undead. He brought his rifle down and his shoulders slumped.

  “You guys can go,” he muttered. Now there was absolutely nothing in his voice. No emotion at all as his head dropped. I could see his shoulders shudder a bit, indicating that he might be crying now.

  I glanced over at Marshawn with an arched eyebrow. Was he going to insist that we leave this guy behind? Was this just another case of how we couldn’t help everybody? If this was how we were going to be, I didn’t see the point of fighting so hard to rebuild a society.

  “Why don’t you come with us?” Marshawn surprised me when he took a few steps toward the man while still keeping his hands up. “We have the same target. I bet we stand a much better chance. And to be honest, we could absolutely use the help.”

  The man seemed to consider the offer. The only problem was that the time he had for that sort of thing was frighteningly short. We had to run now.

  Without waiting for an answer, Marshawn started jogging up the highway t
owards the thinnest concentration. I followed and was only a little surprised when the man appeared at my side. Fighting through the handful zombies were no problem and we were in the clear after only a few minutes. We cut down a dirt and gravel road that led into some woods and eventually pulled up to catch our breath and get a drink of water from our canteens. I turned to offer a sip from mine and saw the man leaning against a tree with his own taking a long drink.

  Once we’d all caught our breath, I approached the stranger. “Name’s Evan Berry.”

  I noticed the man stiffen for just a moment. “Any way you know a fella named Don Evans?” the man asked.

  “That’s exactly who we are hunting.” Marshawn stepped up beside me.

  “Seems that fella gets around and leaves a lot of damage in his wake,” the man said with a deep and weary sigh.

  “That the person went and killed your girl?” Marshawn pressed.

  “Surely was.” The stranger wiped his face with one hand and closed his eyes for a moment.

  When he opened them again, I saw the same faraway look slide over the man’s expression as I’d seen Marshawn get when he’d told his story. I had to wonder if maybe there was something worse about losing a child than there was about losing a spouse.

  “Where are my manners,” the man said, with a forced laugh that did nothing to lighten the mood. “My name is Vance Johnson.”

  Marshawn clapped the man on the shoulder and introduced himself and then gave a recap of our situation and what our ultimate plan was regarding one Don Evans. Vance chuckled softly and gave a shake of his head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “How does one person cause so much trouble and not end up dead? You figure he’d mess with something that might pack a bigger bite,” Vance explained.

  “Bullies don’t usually go after targets bigger or stronger than they are,” Marshawn offered.

  “So, you have an idea where he might be hiding out?” I asked.

  “Oh…I know exactly where he’s been keeping himself lately. There’s a strip mall in Happy Valley. Got a grocery store, a clinic, and a few other restaurants and shops that hadn’t been looted too bad when all this went down. He also has a few school buses, UPS trucks, and regular eighteen-wheelers he is using to clean out everything in the area.”

  “Happy Valley,” I sighed. “Damn, I thought he might be closer…somewhere around here.”

  “Nah, he just finished cleaning the best stuff out around these parts. Not much in Boring, but he sure did take an interest in a few places that had equipment…forklifts, backhoes, small tractors. He is probably setting himself up with the equivalent of a damn fortress. Not sure how much farther he’s gotten, but he already hit the National Guard depot on 224 and rolled out with a handful of Hummers.”

  “Then why the school buses?” I asked what I felt to be an obvious question.

  “They’ve hit a few jails, rolled out with more…likeminded folks,” Vance managed to choke out.

  “He’s building an army,” I gasped. “Jesus. If we don’t stop him now…I don’t even want to try and guess how things turn out around here.”

  “Maybe we should reconsider,” Marshawn whispered.

  At first, I thought perhaps I’d imagined it. Surely he couldn’t mean that. How could he even consider walking away…letting somebody like that continue to exist and exert his will on people based on something as insignificant as skin color.

  “Maybe getting out while we still can is the way to go,” Marshawn said, this time with more conviction…and volume.

  “You boys can do what you will, but I think I have to see this through. Ain’t got nothing to keep me tethered to this world no more,” Vance said with a shake of his head.

  “We can’t just let this guy keep doing what he’s doing,” I insisted.

  “You aren’t worried that you end up dead and that bastard is still alive when this is over?” Marshawn spun on me, but there wasn’t anger in his voice. It was something else that I couldn’t pin down.

  “Hell yeah,” I shot back. “But I’m worried more about how things shake down if I do nothing. If we die doing this, we at least tried.”

  “Do you realize how stupid that sounds?” Marshawn scoffed. “You still think this is some kind of adventure? This is not a game, man. There ain’t a reset button.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Marshawn,” I snapped back. “I get it. But I refuse to sit back and do nothing. I won’t be the reason more people are strung up…murdered,”

  “You aren’t the reason,” Vance said softly. “It’s that piece of human trash. Your friend is right. It is okay in these times to think of yourself. You can’t save everybody. All you can do is hope to save yourself…not become one of those things.”

  “And if I can bring Don Evans down, then it is worth it, and if I die in the process, I go down knowing that I did my best to make this world a better place.” I had allowed myself to get swept up and my voice had grown louder.

  A moan from somewhere in the distance was my reply as Marshawn and Vance both stared at me. Finally, Marshawn shook his head.

  “I’m with you, Evan. But just know that we can walk away from this at any point.” He capped his canteen and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Look, I know I sound like I am a bit crazy, but I promise, if we get there and we see something that is obviously too much to consider handling, I will back off. Hell, I’ll even consider making a run for it out of town.”

  What they didn’t understand was that for the past several days, I’d heard my Stephanie’s voice like a faint echo in my head reminding me to make the world a better place than I found it.

  We started walking again, letting Vance take the lead since he knew where we were headed. Considering the fact that we had to go all the way to Happy Valley, I knew we had at least one day of hiking if not two. I also knew that we would be venturing into more populated areas which meant more of the undead.

  There wasn’t much to say the rest of the day. We took down any zombie that got too close or too curious. We came out of the woods and did our best to stay out of the main neighborhoods, but it was growing more and more difficult. If we saw a chance to poke around and search for anything useful, we utilized it.

  It was on one of those checks that we came across a man pushing a shopping cart. He had a variety of spiked weapons jutting up from the cart as he emerged from what had once looked to have been a decent middle-class neighborhood.

  When we got closer, we could see that many of the weapons were made of bone. Even closer, things became a bit more disturbing.

  As soon as the man spied us, he changed course to intercept us. He waved his arm in greeting and shouted out, “Rag and bone!”

  A handful of the undead shambled along behind the old guy, but he didn’t even seem to notice their existence. He just kept heading our way, the cart rattling and making all kinds of nose.

  I glanced at Marshawn who simply shrugged. I did notice he had his hand on the grip of one of the pistols at his waist. It was only then that I discovered I was doing the same thing without even having realized it.

  “Rag and bone, gents!” the grizzled old man hooted again.

  “You okay, man?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Got me the finest weapons in the Rose City,” the man crowed. “Ain’t nothing like ‘em in the world and I can make you a deal.”

  As the cart came to a stop, I couldn’t help but eye the zombies about forty or so yards behind. They were making their way closer which meant that we would have to deal with them very soon.

  I glanced into the cart and now saw the weapons fully for what they were. Sections of long bone had been wrapped in what I had mistaken for simple leather. Closer inspection revealed it to be human skin. That was a proven fact when I was able to make out what was left of a rose tattoo. The long bones were all topped with a human skull that had been dipped in something that might be a type of resin. Many had metal spikes embedded in them as
well.

  I glanced at Marshawn and Vance who both seemed equal parts fascinated and repulsed. I turned back as the wiry old man that made me think of Rip Van Winkle with his ratty beard and sleepy eyes that still somehow managed to burn with an intensity that screamed crazy but strangely intelligent.

  “Just observe,” the man cackled.

  I watched as he drew one of the handmade weapons from the cart and spun around to face the pack of undead approaching him with a slow certainty like a tidal change. His long coat flapped with a flourish and I was now reminded of some sort of low-rent wizard.

  He homed in on a short, pudgy teenager with relatively fresh blood dripping from his chin. His wounds were old and dried indicating that he’d been undead for quite a while. His filmed over eyes appeared to lock on the old man and he adjusted his shambling course slightly to approach its target.

  The man pretended to yawn in an exaggerated manner as he waited for the zombie to come within range of his weapon. Once it was almost close enough, he set up like a baseball player digging into the batter’s box.

  It drew closer and the man swung. He couldn’t have that much strength behind his swing, but that did not seem to matter. The bulbous head of the weapon struck the undead teen around the temple and pulverized the head in a chunky explosion of black and gray chunks, bone, and dark fluid.

  “Woo-hooo!” the man crowed. “Outta the park, baby!”

  “Jesus,” Marshawn breathed.

  “See for yourselves, boyos!” The Rag-and-Bone Man ushered us to his cart and then jutted his chin toward the remaining undead shambling our way.

  I was closest and grabbed one of the weapons. It was surprisingly heavy but even more surprisingly well-balanced. I picked out a young man in board shorts with most of his throat missing. I swung, not really putting everything into the swing, but still with what I considered a decent amount of power.

  The head damn near evaporated as it exploded into a gory mist. If I saw the remains of this thing without witnessing its demise personally, I would guess it had been hit at close range by a shotgun blast.