Machines of the Dead 2 (4 page)

Jack and Maria exited the passenger side. Zaun was already outside. Jack looked back and saw that the school bus was blocking the driveway again. For the first time in a while, Jack felt safe.

He and the others were shown to their room for the night. It was small, but had three beds. The house was heated by two fireplaces, one at either end of the abode, but if the nights grew too cold, they were welcome to use a kerosene heater or sleep in the living room. They left their M4s and backpacks in the room, carrying their sidearms and knives with them.

Jack and the others were introduced to various residents as they made their way through the house. They finally ended up back in the living room, a fire blazing in the hearth. The heat was a blessing if there ever was one, Jack thought.

“This is my wife, Marcy,” Don said. The woman smiled warmly and said hello.

Everyone introduced himself or herself before taking seats. Don sat next to his wife.  

There were three others sitting around the fireplace. First, there was Paul whom they met earlier by the bridge. Jack and the others learned that Paul was a former construction worker and avid hunter. Sitting next to Paul was Duane, a forty-nine-year old trucker from New Jersey. Duane had made his way across the bridge and got stuck in traffic on the other side. He remained in his truck for two days until a group of people found him. “I saw Don and some others and figured it was my only chance
, so I made a run for it. They saved my bacon.” Then there was Tony, a forty-year-old with three kids. His wife, Heather, died three weeks ago from the contagion. 

Jack, Maria and Zaun told their harrowing tale of how they were at the heart of the outbreak and fought their way out of the bunker and the city. Jack made sure to tell them about the bots and how the dead were being controlled by them, then adding how bites were curable. 

“Damn, that’s some story,” Duane said.

“Curable?” Tony asked, stunned. “Fucking curable? I could’ve saved my wife?  And the fucking military knew?”

“Tony,” Don said, “these are guests.”

“It’s okay,” Jack said. “I lost my wife the same way. The people responsible for the contagion reached me too late. My wife was already dead. She was one of the first to become infected.”

“You,” Tony said, standing and pointing a finger at Maria. “You were part of this shit?”

Paul grabbed onto Tony. “Calm down.”

“No,” he hollered. “Fuck that.” He stared at Maria, his face in a snarl. “Why didn’t you people warn us? Warn everyone?” Tears were streaming down the man’s face.

“Maria had no part in it,” Jack said. “She had no idea what was going on in that hell hole. None of us did
, and by the time we found out Manhattan was overrun, shut down, we were stuck five stories below ground and in the hands of a madman.”

Silence followed Jack’s statement. Looks of disbelief and sorrow spread across everyone’s faces. 

“So what now?” Don asked. “We don’t have tasers to cure whoever might become infected.”

“Best guess
is to use a car battery. Rig it up so the voltage is 50,000. Maybe a little more. And make sure you shock the person twice, just to be certain you’ve killed all the little shits. Last info we received, the things were able to adapt, getting more resistant to electricity. Maybe it’ll stay easy to kill them, maybe it won’t.”

Tony had his head in his hands, bent over. “So many people could’ve been saved if only the government didn’t have their heads in their asses. My wife . . .” He rose to his feet and stormed out of the room.

“Tony’s had it hard,” Duane said. “We all have, but he’s got little kids who no longer have a mother.”

“It’s been tough on us all,” Don said. “I don’t know a single person who hasn’t lost someone.”

“So,” Marcy said, “where are you all heading?”

“To my sister’s house,” Jack said. “I don’t know why, but I believe she’s alive.”

Marcy gave a nod, smiling.

“Once Jack gets to Cornwall,” Maria said, “I’ll be heading to North Carolina. My little girl’s there with her uncle and grandmother.”

“Well, we’re glad to have you,” Marcy said, “even if it’s just for the night. You rest up, eat, and you’ll be that much stronger for your journey.”

“Thanks,” Maria said.

“Yeah,” Zaun echoed, “your hospitality and saving our butts is much appreciated.”

Later that evening, just before dark, they ate dinner. The meal was
incredible; freshly cooked Striped bass caught from the Hudson River, rice, baked beans, canned carrots, a variety of sodas, and wine. People seemed in good spirits, but tired and haggard. Jack understood and thought he and his friends fit in well. Looking around, his gut grew warm with a sense of hope. It was small, like an ember, but it was there and it gave him a boost of strength that he would find Sara. Even through terrible events like this undead phenomenon, people found a way to not only survive, but also come together.

Fuel had been gathered from surrounding gas stations and vehicles, including things like lawnmowers. The generators were used
sparingly to run the house’s lights when needed, the pumps for the well, and the tools for fixing things or fortifying them.
During the warmer months, should the undead situation last that long, they would need the generators to run the refrigerators and freezers, but for now, the winter and snow kept the fish and deer meat from spoiling.

When it was time for bed, Jack and the others thought it was best to be vigilant and slept in shifts like they had back in the city. As much as Don and his people seemed like nice, caring people, they couldn’t take a chance that there was a bad seed or two among them. It was better to be prepared. 

The night went without a hitch, everyone slept well. They ate a hearty breakfast and were given some deer meat to take with them.

“Well,” Don said, “I wish you all could stay, but I understand
that family comes first. I hope you find your sister, Jack, and you your daughter, Maria.”

“Thank you, Don,” Maria said, shaking his hand. “You have something good here. Keep protecting it.”

“Stick to the roads I showed you on the map. Then, when you get to the Thruway, follow it all the way to Harriman, then take route 32 to Cornwall. You’ll have about a quarter mile of clear highway before the cars start clogging up the road again. Not sure what you’ll find up there, but if I had to bet on anyone knowing how to take care of themselves, it’d be you all.”

Jack and the others thanked Don again, waved to the people standing on the deck, and headed down the driveway.

Chapter 6

Jack and the others headed along the mountain road. He hoped the trip would go smoothly, but then thought about it and realized he was only deluding himself. Every step brought with it the fear of seeing a zombie. He and the others needed to be on their toes, but not so much that their anxiety wore them out. And after meeting the people of Cliff House
, he now had to worry about the human element, the survivors who thrived in a lawless land. The true scum of the Earth. He hoped to run into more people like Don and Paul.

It started to snow. Large, puffy flakes like feathers from a burst pillow
, were falling dreamily to the ground. The scene was beautiful, serene. Jack shivered as a flake landed on the back of his neck, sneaking through his upturned collar, but he welcomed it. This was a great distraction. Something only nature could provide. An illusion to what was really going on. Jack felt himself let go a little. He looked around, wondering if maybe things were going to get better. Be easier. This sudden scene of beauty was almost overwhelming.

He watched the others for a moment and how they walked with determination. They were on guard, ready for action. Jack needed this reprieve, if only for a few minutes. He forgot about the killing and the undead. This was his time. Time to heal a little. Let nature have its way with him. Show him that the world still had beauty, and that there was something stunning in the wake of so much horribleness. In the long run, the snow could mean more problems for them, but for
now, he was living in the moment. Tomorrow might not be here. Things in life were never guaranteed, but they were even less so currently.

Jack looked around, trying hard to absorb what he saw. He would hold onto the images and use them as reminders of how wonderful the world was. Add enough of them together and he could have a happy place to return to when the going got really tough, when the heaviness in his heart felt like it was too much to bear.

“Sure is quiet,” Zaun said.

Jack felt as if he’d been smacked back to reality. His small vacation had been great, but he suddenly realized how dangerous that was to do. He’d just been telling himself how he and the others needed to remain on guard. He’d practically allowed himself to sleepwalk.

“That’s what happens when you spend your whole life in the city,” Jack said. “Nature becomes an oddity when it should really be the other way around.”

“I like it,” Zaun said, “but I could use a car horn or siren once in awhile.”

“Reminds me of home,” Maria said. “The woods, that is. I’ll take peace and quiet and even the cold over what we went through.”

The temperature was bitter, but they were dressed for the weather and had each other. Nothing was discussed as to where they would spend the night. Jack supposed it would be some abandoned house along the way. There had to be a lot of them. Maybe they’d even find a vehicle and a stretch of highway that wasn’t congested and make Cornwall tonight. There he went again, thinking things would be easy. Realistically, the best scenario would have them arriving in two or three days depending on the weather, and if the roadway was clogged all the way to Harriman, then they’d be walking the entire way.

Jack hadn’t spent much time imagining his sister not being home. But what if she wasn’t there? If he was being honest with himself—there was a good chance she wouldn’t be. She’d have most likely gone to a place where people were able to hole up. A place like Cliff House. How would he ever find her if that was the case?

Then there was the really awful scenario. The one he didn’t want to acknowledge. Couldn’t imagine. What if his sister was . . . dead?

Jack’s legs grew heavy.

He looked to Maria and Zaun as they walked a little ahead of him. He had let his mind wander, and that was a bad idea. His sister was alive. There was no need to think otherwise—at least not now. He needed a reason to carry on. He was still grieving his wife and wasn’t about to add his sister to the list. As far as he was concerned, she was alive.

Sara was a smart woman. She had always been level-headed, did well in school, and had a strong heart. Growing up together, she was always supportive of Jack. She looked out for him, covered for him and loved spending time with him. She was the most loving, caring person he knew. Along with that, she was also tough. She never let others influence her. In eleventh grade, her boyfriend had wanted her to come trick or treating. He and most of her friends were going to spray-paint the outside of the high school. She refused to be a part of it. They were never caught and it was a night they all said they’d never forget, but Sara was okay with that. She was happy with her decision. He was so proud of her when he found out.

Jack shook his head, frustrated; because as grounded as his sister was, as book-smart and street-smart as she proved to be, how the hell did she wind up with her asshole husband?

Jack had been to a number of parties where the guy got plastered and became a jerk. Sara said it was only when he drank too much, which wasn’t often. Then, after they were married, the real monster came out—drunk or not. How could she stay with him? Marriage was a serious matter, but when you were with a man who drank too much, refused counseling, and hit his wife, it was time to leave. And they didn’t have kids, so using them as the reason for staying wasn’t applicable.

During his last visit to her house, the asshole had gotten drunk and threatened Sara. Jack had enough and beat the shit out of him. Sara called the cops and Jack spent the night in jail. After that, he was done with her. He cut himself off. A year had gone by with no communication between them. He couldn’t figure out how he and Sara had become so distant. Life was so damn complicated at times. It was impossible for him to wrap his head around how a woman like Sara could become a victim of abuse, a stranger to all that knew her. But as time went on
, he realized why she had acted so. She was a victim of abuse. Worn down by a monster. She’d lost who she was, or was on her way to doing so. Jack had abandoned her when she needed him most. He ground his teeth, wishing he’d been there for her.

Dwelling on it now wasn’t going to do anything except fuel his anger. Yeah, the guy had Jack thrown in jail, and yeah, Sara backed her lying husband, but still it was obvious she needed help and was scared to be alone with him.

Jack swore to himself that when he found her, he’d never let her down again.

Chapter 7

Cable stood just off the road, his large frame hidden between two trees sharing a base. He peered through the scope on his Browning 300, waiting for the targets to enter his field of view. He was a crack shot. His years in the military had honed his natural
ability; shoot to kill. Whether quietly from long range or up close and personal, he was proficient at both.

He saw the three companions, then focused on each of their faces, stopping on the woman’s. He did a double take, thinking he saw a ghost. But it wasn’t a ghost, because there were no such things. Then again, there were no such things as zombies either, yet they were everywhere.

Damn, the woman was a spitting image of his ex-wife, his beautiful ex-wife. As he watched the female draw nearer to his position, his mind wandered to the past.

During his youth, he ran with a local gang, got into trouble and almost ruined his life. His father, a mean drunk, but caring when he was sober, got him to join the military after he graduated high school.

The army had straightened him out and had shown him a different side of life. And as much as he hated his father, he loved the man the same. If it hadn’t been for him, he wasn’t sure he’d be alive today.

Cable’s first tour of duty was in Afghanistan. It was only supposed to be one and done, but like so many others, he did three. The shit he’d done and seen while over there was impossible to forget. It built up within him, like an over-inflated inner tube. He was ready to burst at the end of the third go round, but was sent home for good just in time. The constant stress of combat, of not knowing who to trust, was overwhelming. But he didn’t complain. He performed his duties, keeping the pain down deep.

His dreams were filled with the images that had been seared into his brain; dead men, women and children, their bodies dismembered and shredded from bullets or explosives. One of the most reoccurring dreams was when he slipped and fell face first onto a bloody, semi-charred corpse. His mouth had been open, the guts sloshing into it. No matter how much he cleansed his palate, he still tasted the cadaver’s flesh. He’d seen a young boy carrying a basket of fruit get his head blown off by a gunman, the fruit cascading to the ground like trash. People ran for cover, but when the gunman was killed, they came from their houses and gathered the fruit, and then ran off.

When it was time to go home
, he was beyond relieved. His life would never be normal. He knew what he had done and the things he had seen had changed him forever. But that was true for any soldier, and he had a wonderful wife and daughter to go home to. To love.

To his dismay, life stateside wasn’t great. His wife was distant. Maybe it was her having to work overtime most days. His military pension was decent, but sitting around all day wasn’t something he enjoyed. He needed to work.

Trying to find a job proved difficult. He’d thought his former military status would give him a leg up, and it did, but only in places where he was qualified. Fast food, gas stations, and department stores. He’d put his life on the line, fought for his country, and this was what his country had to offer him?

His wife’s hours were cut back
only a few days after she found out that she was pregnant. They’d only had sex a few times since he had been home. He was glad his swimmers were still in top form. But now the bills were coming in and not getting paid in full like they had been. And once the new child came, things were only going to get tighter.

“You need to get a job,” Leela demanded. “You can’t sit around and mope. Something is better than nothing.” She threw a stained kitchen towel at him. “Soon, that’ll be a baby’s diaper. Remember? We have a kid on the way. You want your kid to starve?”

As usual, he held in his need to scream at her, to scream in general. Absorb the tension, let the body dissipate it.

He hooked up with some childhood friends a few days later. It surprised him to see
that some of them were still alive, and didn’t surprise him to see that others had died. They were making money, living large. Nice cars, jewelry and no worries about paying the bills.

“Come on,” Jay said
, “we could use a man with your expertise. No one gets hurt. Easy money.”

He kept seeing his wife’s angry face, his daughter going to school without new clothes, the new baby crying because it was hungry. He was probably making a bigger deal out of his thoughts than need be, but some quick cash until he got on his feet wouldn’t hurt. He’d do this one job, then be done.

They knocked off a local meth lab, stealing $50,000 worth of the drug. His cut was two grand. No one had gotten hurt. The place had only one guard and he was taken out non-lethally, just as Jay had promised. Cable decided to stick around. The job situation wasn’t going to improve anytime soon and the money was too good to pass up. “What and when is the next gig?” he asked Jay.

“We do it all, brother. Whatever someone wants, we get it done. We also do a little for ourselves.”

Cable went on to steal cars for chop shops, broke into people’s homes for their cash and valuables, and even slung a few bags of crack here and there.

It was during a cold November night that Cable’s luck started to run out.

He’d been doing a home robbery—the family supposed to be out for the night— when he was surprised by one of the house’s occupants. Cable threw the silhouetted figure to the ground. It was a young kid, maybe a teenager. The kid stared at him, then started screaming. “Help, help.” Cable told him to shut up, that he’d be out of there fast. But the kid kept screaming. Cable saw red, envisioned the cops coming, the neighbors calling the police. His life would be over. If only the kid would shut up so he could do what he had to do. Before he realized it, he was on top of the kid, squeezing the life out of him. He heard a snapping sound, and the kid’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “No, no, no,” he shouted. “Wake up, wake up.” He tried CPR but the kid was dead. He’d crushed his windpipe.

He started using drugs, taking from the shit he sold. The jobs became sloppier and Jay told him to get control of himself, then come back to him for work. 

“I need the money, man,” he pleaded. “Please, Jay.”

“You killed a kid!” Jay said. “I get it. Shit happens. But damn, you’re all fucked up. I know you’re using. I can see it in your eyes. You’re jittery and shit. You’re a liability. Get yourself cleaned up and then come back to me.”

Cable got on his hands and knees. “Please, man. I need work. I need cash. I’ll kick this shit. Straighten myself out.”

“You look pathetic, dog.” Jay spat. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I put a bullet in your ass.”

Cable felt something inside of him shut off. He went numb, the tears on his cheeks felt like ice water. He grabbed the knife from his belt and plunged it into Jay’s gut. The man’s eyes widened in disbelief. Cable got to his feet and cranked the knife, twisting it in deeper, grinding his teeth. He stared his old friend in the eyes. “You’re just like the rest of them. Use me up, then toss me away.”

Jay let out a squeak and collapsed to the floor. Cable brought the knife to his mouth and licked the blade clean. He’d done this before, in Afghanistan. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel like a demon. Invincible. He cleaned out all the cash and drugs from Jay’s stash.

He went out and got high, then decided it was a good idea to show his wife the bag of money he acquired, totaling just under $30,000. She’d be proud of him, he thought. Of course he’d leave out the killing, saying he earned the money playing cards—a one time thing.

She didn’t believe him.

“Tell me where you got this money, Mathew,” Leela demanded, staring at the bag of cash. “I’m not having stolen money in my home.”

“It ain’t like that—” he tried telling her.

“Bullshit it ain’t like that,” she shot back. “Someone, and not someone friendly, is going to come looking for that cash. Put that shit back and pray no one knows you took it.” 

“I earned this. It’s ours.”

She stepped up to him; glared into his eyes. “Are you fucking high?”

“What? No, baby.” He went to touch her, but she batted his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she told him, a look of utter disgust on her face. “You’re on drugs . . . and show up with all this cash . . .” She shook her head. 

“It’s all good,” he pleaded.
“No one’s going to come looking. I took care of it.”

She shot him a cold look. “What do you mean, ‘you took care of it’?
”

“I mean nobody’s going to come looking for this. It’s ours.”

She eyed the bag carefully. “Is that blood?”

“I cut myself, that’s all.”

“You repulse me,” she spat. “Get the hell out of my house!” She picked up the bag and threw it at him. “And take your drug, blood money with you.”

Rage burned inside his head. He’d done whatever he had to do to take care of his family, to provide, and now his wife was throwing him out? Making him feel small, useless. Pathetic.

“I should’ve divorced your ass years ago,” she said, viciously. “You were a no good loser then and you’re a no good loser now.”

“Come on, baby,” he said, holding back the need to scream. “You and Kyla are my world. And we got another on the way. Take the money. We can use this.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t warmly. “You sad sack of shit. Kyla isn’t even yours. And neither is this one coming.” She patted her stomach. “Had an affair when you were away. Would’ve left your ass too if he hadn’t died. A fucking car accident of all things. So I just kept my mouth shut.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Really? You think that one time you were home you got me pregnant? That one, short, less than a minute romp you gave me? Got me a new man on the side who wants to marry me once I leave your ass. He can’t have kids and loves mine.”

Cable didn’t understand where any of this was coming from. Yes, he knew things were tense between him and his wife, but not this. Not cheating. And wait, did she say his kids weren’t his?

“Kyla isn’t mine?”

“You stupid ass. You really are an idiot. That’s what I said. So there’s no need for you to be here or be in our lives. I want a divorce and I want your sorry, pathetic excuse for a life out of ours!”

The room went red. He’d experienced this before. It had happened overseas and when he was with that kid during the break-in. He lost control, became the demon. Before he knew it, he was on top of his wife, stabbing her in the gut, killing her and some other guy’s baby. He stared into her eyes, knowing now what he truly was. He was a monster. A killer. “Fuck you, bitch.”

She didn’t die right away. He let her bleed out, but not before his daughter came home.

Cable welcomed the girl, opening his arms wide, bloody knife in his hand. She tried to run back out the door, but he caught her by her ponytail and yanked her back inside. She screamed for help, and he wrapped her up in a bear hug.

“Please . . .” his wife said, raising an arm toward him.

“You can have her,” Cable said, and ran the blade across the girl’s neck, then tossed her on top of her mother.

The police arrived ten minutes later, the neighbors hearing the screams. Cable was sitting in the kitchen eating cereal, the milk having reddened from the blood dripping off his hands.

When all was said and done, he was sentenced to life in prison. Knowing how to fight, being former military, and weighing over two-forty, all muscle, his time inside went without much of a problem. It was the boredom he hated. He needed to be commanded. To kill on the battlefield. He mostly sat alone in his cell, going back to the desert, back with his squad where he felt his best.

Then the world changed. The dead came back to life, and to make matters worse—they were hungry for human flesh.

Reminiscing on life, Cable could’ve imagined a lot of things, but a world-ending apocalypse wasn’t one of them. The prison went into full lockdown. Guards weren’t permitted to leave. That lasted about a day, and then the underpaid patrol officers scrammed, leaving the prison unguarded. A group of inmates freed themselves, opened the prison, and it was adios from there.

Now, in this new world, this world of death and mayhem, Cable was reborn. He was back in his soldier frame-of-mind, but times a hundred. There was no one enemy; everyone was an enemy. He was a killer, and needed to be. The demon inside was let loose, liberated to enjoy itself. But seeing so many people slaughtered, eaten alive, walking around mindless, had even pierced the demon’s hide somewhat.

Cable was at his best when he was a soldier and working under the command of another. He enjoyed being part of a team. For now, that team was with Cannibal—a truly sick man—and his crew of former inmates. It felt good to be a soldier again, taking orders and doing what he did best—killing.

He slowed his breathing, feeling the excitement of battle closing in. The falling snow practically sizzled against his skin. His orders were to take the newcomers alive, but if he had
to, he’d kill them all.