The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (19 page)

While Aaron watched for intruders, I unlocked the front door and let myself in. Mrs. Hough’s house smelled old. There was old furniture and lots of family photos. She was a widow with one grown son, who, last I heard, lived and worked in LA and was not, as the old woman had recollected, going to school.

I found the master bedroom and the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, I saw nothing but toothpaste, mouthwash and various lotions. Next, I went to the kitchen, where a group of medications were lined up along one of the beige tile counters, next to a yellow notepad with a grocery list written on it, a ballpoint pen and a stack of coupons.

Unable to carry all the medication, I searched for a plastic grocery bag. It took me a few minutes to gather everything up. On the way to the foyer, I heard a noise.

My heart thudded. I heard the sound again. It was a growl—definitely an animal. Scanning the room, I backed up to the front door, which was partially open.

“Aaron, there’s something in here.”

He came in, his weapon raised. I slung the plastic bag on my arm and aimed my weapon as well. We waited for another sound. A scratching noise came from the hall closet.

“Let’s leave,” Aaron said.

“Good idea.”

Then the door swung open, and something leapt out at us. It was a small dog, a white-and-grey Shih Tzu, baring his teeth. He was cute, with his bugged-out eyes and massive underbite. Relieved, I lowered my weapon. He stopped growling and stared at me. Then he wagged his tail. I didn’t recall Mrs. Hough ever having a dog. He must have been a recent addition.

“Come here, boy,” Aaron said, and moved closer. “You scared?” The dog sat.

“Hang on,” I said. “What if he’s rabid?”

Ignoring me, Aaron patted his head. The dog rolled onto his back, waiting for a belly scratch.

“Do you think she forgot about him?” Aaron said.

I opened the plastic bag and searched through the medications. One of them was Aricept. The poor woman had Alzheimer’s. She must have forgotten about the dog. While I waited by the door, Aaron ran into the kitchen and found dog food and a bowl.

“What’re you doing?” I said.

“We can’t leave him here—he’ll starve.”

“Come on, Aaron. Don’t we have enough to—” When I saw the look on his face, I relented. “Sure, why not?” I said.

As Aaron headed for the door carrying the dog, I heard a shriek. One of the undead—a mailman in blue shorts and shirt, with no pith helmet—had found us. Its ear had been torn off, the head still bleeding. Before Aaron could raise his weapon, it grabbed him by the head and dragged him outside. The dog leapt out of Aaron’s arms and, barking frantically, ran around in circles.

I dropped everything except my gun and went outside. There was only the one, and it was trying to bite Aaron in the face, but the kid kept blocking it with his rifle.

“Dave, help me!”

I ran up to the thing, put the barrel of my gun in its exposed ear canal and fired, hoping the bullet would miss Aaron.

The blood spray left a star pattern on the asphalt. The creature went limp as Aaron skittered away, waving his arms like he was in a bee swarm. The sound of the gunshot sent the dog running and yiping. We watched him disappear down the street.

“Are you bit?” I said, checking myself for wounds.

“I don’t think so.” He was breathing hard and patting all around his head. “What about the dog?”

Something caught my eye, and I looked up. A horde of undead was headed towards us, attracted by the gunshot.

“We need to get out of here,” I said, handing Aaron his gun.

“Shit!”

At first they didn’t see us. Then one of them shrieked and started towards us. The others followed in a frenzy.

“Take out as many as you can,” I said. “We need to get to the truck.”

“I don’t know if I can …”

“Dude, don’t die out here.”

I took aim and kneecapped one of them. It kept coming, dragging its bad leg. Taking a breath, I aimed for the head. It went down. Aaron watched me, then did the same with the others.

“Come on,” I said.

We ran towards the truck. Thankfully I’d left it unlocked. Aaron jumped into the passenger seat. As I opened my door, a raw, grey hand grabbed me. Several of these creatures were on me, and I tried swinging my shotgun.

I knew then I was going to die in the street without ever seeing Holly again. All because I tried to help an old woman, proving for all eternity that no good deed goes unpunished.

As the creatures snapped and clawed at me, I managed to fire a few rounds. Across the street, I saw a man who looked to be in his fifties, wearing sweatpants and a bloodstained undershirt, his face splattered in blood. He stood there, dazed, staring at me.

“Help me!”

I felt someone grab my shoulder. It was Aaron. He pulled me out of the way and shot each one of the marauding creatures in the head. The kid was boss.

When it was over, we stood in the middle of the street looking at the carnage. The man who had been watching me raised a handgun to his chin and, his eyes never leaving me, pulled the trigger.

The gunfire got louder as we neared the high school. We heard screaming and shouting voices. Turning onto the street in front of the high school, we found that the front gate had been overrun. Hundreds of the undead surrounded the gym. I stopped in the middle of the street and watched as the horde pulled at the doors, shrieking and climbing over one another to get inside.

Soldiers on the roof shot them one after another, but we knew it was a matter of time. Soldiers and civilians on the ground would soon join the ranks of the undead. We already saw recently dead soldiers pulling themselves up off the ground and jerkily making their way towards the entrance. Landry was right. The people inside the gym didn’t stand a dead drunk’s chance.

As I turned the truck around, I saw the motor home barreling towards us. Landry had had the good sense to park it out on the street, away from the gym. He pulled up next to me, opened the door and called across.

“Ben and I barely made it out,” he said. “We need to get away from here.”

“Where to?”

“Got to get some supplies.”

As we drove away, we passed ten or twelve Humvees and LMTVs heading for the high school. We knew it was too late. The Black Dragon soldiers had conveniently gathered enough victims to feed a thousand of the undead.

My cell phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw it light up as text messages and voice mails flooded in. The last text read
Where r u?
My heart leapt—it was from Holly. I pulled over to call her.

“Holly, it’s Dave!”

“Dave, where are you?”

“Near the high school. Where are you?”

“St. Monica’s.”

“Don’t move—I’m coming.”

I made an unsafe U-turn and tore down a side street. Seeing my truck in his rearview mirror, Landry course-corrected and followed.

St. Monica’s was the Catholic church I went to as a child. I also attended school there for eight years. Holly still went to Mass there and, on many occasions, expressed the hope that I would too. One more disappointment I could add to the pile.

The street was deserted. As I pulled over with the motor home behind me, a Humvee whizzed past. Several men—parishioners—stood guard outside with handguns and shotguns. It was like a scene from
The Godfather
. Checking both directions, I went inside while Aaron waited for his dad and Landry.

The church had been built around 1900, had survived several earthquakes and had been renovated in the last ten years. It was built with granite stones. Inside, it was filled with cherrywood and beautiful stained-glass windows. The altar was marble. A huge crucifix imported from Italy hung behind the altar.

There were people scattered in the pews throughout, holding their children close and praying the Rosary aloud as an elderly priest providing solace made his way among the crowd. As I took in this scene, it became clear that not all my memories of this place were bad. I had attended two funerals here—first for my father, then my mother. Our wedding had been here. I felt a deep sense of comfort.

As I approached the altar, Ben, Aaron and Landry waited in the narthex. Then I saw Holly kneeling and praying aloud with the others. When she saw me, she stopped and left the pew. We held each other.

“Thank God,” she said.

“I’m so sorry. For everything.”

“My mom …”

“I know.”

“You saw her?”

“Yeah.”

“We didn’t know what was happening. We went for a walk down to the lake when one of those things attacked us. I tried to protect her, but it happened too fast. Then it pulled her down and started biting her. She screamed and told me to run. I ran all the way back to the house. All I could think to do was get out. Then I drove here.”

“It’s not your fault. She wanted you to be safe.”

“I had to leave her there, Dave.”

The priest came over to us, concerned. “Can I help?”

“She lost her mother,” I said.

“I’m so sorry. We must continue to pray and ask for God’s mercy.” He stayed with us for a time, then went to help someone else in crisis.

“I kept trying to contact you, but the cell service is bad,” I said to Holly.

“That explains it. I must’ve texted you fifty times. I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t answer. What are we going to do?”

“We can’t stay here. We have to get out.”

“And go where?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m with a couple of other people. We’re going to get some supplies, see what happens.”

“What about the soldiers?”

“They won’t be able to stop this. The high school is already overrun. Come on.”

I helped Holly with the things she was carrying, and we headed for the back of the church. Near the narthex I spotted Detective Van Gundy. He sat in a pew alone, his hands like dead birds in his lap.

“Detective?” I said.

He didn’t even look up. It was as if he was in a daydream. We kept going towards the church entrance.

“Holly, you remember Irwin from the high school?”

“Sure.”

“And this is Ben Marino and his son, Aaron.”

“We’re so glad we found you,” Ben said. “Dave was worried sick.”

On the way out, I took holy water and made the Sign of the Cross. Did I do that for Holly or myself? Whatever the reason, it made me feel better.

The men guarding the church were still in place. We ran to our vehicles. Holly got into the truck with me. The others went with Ben.

“What about my car?” she said.

“Leave it,” I said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She stared out the window at the church as I started the engine. As I put the truck in drive, Detective Van Gundy jogged towards me. I turned off the engine and got out.

“Sorry about back there,” he said.

“No worries.”

“One of those things got my wife and son. I, I came home and …”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“I found them in the backyard. They were barely breathing.”

I glanced at Holly, and she got out of the truck, came over and touched the policeman’s arm.

“I called 911. While I waited, they must have died. Then they …” He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for an answer. “I didn’t want to believe what was happening. I remembered your friend at the store. I didn’t know what to do. They wanted to hurt me!”

He leaned against my open door and wept. Instinctively Holly patted his back.

“I had to do it,” he said. “There was no other choice.”

He wandered off in a stupor. I wish I could’ve done something for him. Instead, I climbed into the truck and waited for Holly to get in. We just sat there, sullen and silent.

“Dave, I saw his hand. I think he got bit.”

The world no longer made any sense. We were making choices that no sane person should ever have to make. Seeing things that no human should ever see. It all came down to survival. And the odds were worse than bad.

“I love you,” I said.

Holly looked at me and said nothing. I knew then that it was over between us. But I was still determined to protect her. It might be the one good thing I would ever do in my life. I wondered if God would even notice.

As we left, more people made their way into the church. I said a prayer that they would do better than those poor bastards at the gym, who were by now already dead and very, very hungry.