The Death Doll
Authors: Brian P. White
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“The Death Doll” copyright © 2014 by Brian P. White
eBook edition released 2016
Cover image painted and licensed for use by Angelique Rosenblock Shelley
Visit http://www.angeliqueshelley.com for more concept art and illustration
Author image photographed and licensed for use by Brian Michael Schade: http://imageworks.brianschade.com
All rights reserved.
First Digital Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (or other), events, or locals is entirely coincidental. All brand names mentioned in this book are trademark property of their respective companies.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the digital edition of this work as follows:
Brian P. White
The Death Doll
PREFACE
I have been trying to write a story about a zombie hero since high school. Many tales inspired parts of this one like pieces of a puzzle, and I love them all, but it always bothered me that none of their characters ever heard of zombies. The sheer multitude of tomes and flicks about this subject makes such a thing virtually impossible, as far as I am concerned. You will not find that problem in this story.
I have come to find that many people fear how the end of the world would look. I am no different. My faith has led me to believe the warnings in the Book of Revelation, so I am inclined to think the nightmare scenarios we spin of our demise—even the most plausible—will leave a remnant of humanity to start again.
Sadly, that vestige will likely do to itself all of the things we have done to each other, like the deplorable forms of prejudice you will see in this book. Reflecting these mindsets in my story forced me to give voice to worldviews I find appalling, so I hope anyone reading this story will find the payoff worth the discomfort. Fortunately, such people will never eradicate all hope. Hope can shape a better tomorrow for everyone no matter how difficult the prospect.
One of the biggest stigmas my protagonist, Didi, faces is the way people treat a woman with a past. People make mistakes, man and woman alike. I do not believe one should be held to a different standard than another because of the way he or she is born, nor do I believe our mistakes should forever keep us from grace—or making something of ourselves, however you wish to look at it. We are all capable of whatever we work toward regardless of what we have done in the past.
So, as you read on, please bear in mind that hope is no easier for these characters as it is for those who read about them. Even in the face of ignorance and hate, hope is always there. We just have to fight for it.
— Brian P. White, 2016
Contents
Jesus said unto him, “Let the dead bury their dead, but go thou and preach the kingdom of God.”
SALVATION
Paula Herrin collapsed amid the corn stalks. Her legs ached from two years without running. Her throat burned as if she had just swallowed shards of glass. She shivered all over from both the biting October air and the horde of mutilated corpses closing in on her. Nothing seemed to stop them from coming straight at her; not the high wall she helped build, the wild-grown cornfields in which she lay, or the early morning twilight. Her son was long dead, her husband's pickup truck had broken down months ago, those things had just torn through her house thanks to that miserable Isaac, and now she couldn’t run anymore. She had nothing left.
Her husband, Sean, yanked her to her feet. “Come on, Paula. We can’t stop now.”
Ever the optimist, God bless him
, she thought, but she didn’t have the strength to fight him—let alone those monsters. She could only plod along with him behind Isaac and young Pepe.
The dead mob all but ran after them as they growled at her through dark, broken teeth. The frosty wind seemed to have no effect on them beyond fanning their tattered clothes, which in some cases exposed rotten genitalia. Their remaining flesh dangled from their bones—some like sun-dried fruit, others like fat on a grill—yet they tore down her fence and her home. If minced meat on two feet had the power to take everything from her, what was the point in going on?
A sudden stop made her spill forward just outside the cornfields. Her husband caught her in time, but it didn’t matter. More of those things stood in their way.
“We’re surrounded,” Pepe yelled. “They're all over the place!”
“No shit, college boy,” Isaac said. She never had a problem with black people, but this asshole had no right to speak after what he had cost her.
“Shut up and let me think,” Sean snapped, but she failed to see what he could come up with now. Pepe was right: they were surrounded.
Oddly, she smiled. Even as the wretched creatures reached for her, a strange sort of peace washed over her. No more running. No more hiding.
I’ll see my Adam again.
Suddenly, the ground rumbled, the huddled mob in the clearing flew apart in a ball of flames, and a powerful force knocked her to the ground. Pain erupted through her head as soon as it hit the near-frozen soil. Her head swam, and her ears rang. She called out for her husband, but her voice came out faint and congested. She yelled louder.
Another blast ripped through the other mob, engulfing the stalks in smoke and fire, showering her with chunks of earth and human remains. The ringing in her ears slowly gave way to sharp, guttural growls and the twisting sound of flame on the stalks. The sweet fragrance of burning corn assaulted her nostrils, and the smoke burned her eyes. While fighting to see—and breathe—she found her husband dazed among the blazing crops with their guests, invited and otherwise. She crawled toward him to pull him away, coughing the entire time.
A legless corpse crawled straight for her. She fought all her aches to help her husband stand until a sharp whoosh startled her, like something hacking meat and bone. She froze.
A shadow pierced the haze, chopping down the dead in its path with a curved blade. The Grim Reaper came at last, but stopped attacking and stood before Paula in knee-high boots. Black leather hugged a pair of shapely legs. Four holstered pistols graced its—or, rather,
her
—curvy waist. A black device with a lens rested in one gloved hand and the blood-drenched sword in the other. A white boat neck shirt peeked through an open leather jacket, as clean and carefree as the smile on the young woman’s face.
“You can stay here, or you can come with me,” the strange woman said, then she walked away. “Your choice.”
Not one to pass up a rescue, Paula followed the stranger past all the charred and skewered bodies, helping her husband walk while covering her nose and mouth with her sleeve.
“Thanks for the save,” Sean said through a coughing fit.
The woman beheaded a few loose corpses and sheathed her sword, holding her device against her left eye. “Someone’s got to. In the back.” She pointed at the bed of a black Ford truck and entered the cabin.
Paula didn’t want to freeze even more, but she didn’t want to get eaten, either. She hopped into the truck bed with her husband and sat against the cabin window next to a large bag of grain. Pepe and the jerk joined them. She turned her head to see the driver, but a sudden burst of acceleration threw her onto her face.
Sean pulled her up and leaned with her against the grain bag, giving her a small measure of warmth from the merciless wind chill. From there, she watched her property fade into the darkness. Her home of thirteen years. Gone. For no reason at all.
Then she noticed the loosely closed boxes around the truck. “What’s in those?”
Pepe dug through the box closest to him, pulling up various computer parts and mechanical devices. He dropped it all, sat back, and crossed his arms. “Computer stuff.”
Paula flinched. “What can you even do with that anymore?”
Pepe shrugged, then ducked behind the box and hugged himself for warmth.
Isaac stared at the dim horizon like the cold had no effect on him. He could’ve frozen, for all she cared. She would’ve been happy to strangle the vulgar brute if she had the energy.
Careful not to leave the warmth of her husband, she pulled a duffel bag toward her with her foot. All she found inside were toys. Sean tilted a carton near him and revealed leather straps and bike chains.
Paula shuddered. “What kind of people are these?”
Sean shoved the box aside and continued hugging Paula. “Hopefully not slave drivers.”
“Or sex maniacs,” Pepe added, shivering behind the box of electronic components.
Isaac scoffed. “Let ‘em try dat shit wit’ me,” he said in that lazy way he talked. That man cut or replaced more consonants than the French language.
Paula didn’t bother to correct him; her mind was too busy spinning one nightmare scenario after another of her mysterious saviors’ intentions. She peeked into the cabin window for a hint and saw their rescuer laughing with the driver. His hand blocked his face, holding what looked like a cellular phone. She had not seen one of those things work in a long time. She wondered what else these people were capable of doing, or wanted, with them.
She pulled a coiled bike chain from the box of belts and hid it under her arm. Sean caught on and did the same.
The horizon behind them began to glow with the first shades of morning blue. Down the road, their sister town, Sibley, came into view, looking as tame and peaceful as it had before the horrible plague spread through Lyon County. Several blocks of cluttered yards and bloodstained homes told a different story. Brittle weeds stretched through cracks in the deteriorating streets, which were otherwise empty. Sibley was as dead as their home in Ocheyedan.
The truck stopped in front of the old Max Theater. The words PLAZA DE VIDA adorned its marquee in big black letters. Wooden walls blocked off the alley between the Max and the old pharmacy, both roofs topped with spade-tipped metal fencing. In fact, so were all the roofs on the block, and all their windows had been neatly boarded up.
A rooster crowed nearby, but something even closer snarled. She froze at the sight of a few approaching corpses. She uncoiled her chain. Three faint pops startled her, and the monsters fell with holes in their heads. Through the back window, she saw the driver drop a silenced pistol onto the seat next to him. He was marginally handsome with almond-shaped, sepia-colored eyes and a few days’ worth of facial growth. He didn’t look like a maniac. So far.
“You could've left me one,” the woman said as she got out of the truck, wearing a pouty look that failed to suppress a smile.
“You got plenty in that field,” the driver said through his side window, his wry tone bordering on flirty. Married, perhaps.
The woman crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him while rounding the front of the truck, then approached and pounded on the theater door. It quickly opened for her. She grinned and waved everyone inside. “Coming or going?”
Paula’s heart beat a little faster.
The woman glanced at one of her pistols as her hand fell upon its grip, then she grinned up at Paula as if about to laugh. “If you wouldn’t mind putting those back in the box, please.”
Paula glanced down at the chain draping from her hand, then at Sean holding his behind his back. “How do we know it’s safe?” she asked.
The woman smirked again. “I won’t eat you if that’s what you’re worried about. You don’t
have
to come in, you know,” she added as she went inside, leaving the door open.
Paula wanted to believe what lay inside was safe. She steadied her breathing, dropped the chain into the box, and slid over the side of the truck bed. Sean did the same and joined her on the street, followed by Pepe and the jerk. The Ford drove off and rounded the nearest corner, leaving her and her companions with nothing left but a chance to take.
She headed in.
A blast of warm air burned her face. She gasped with surprise, then sighed with relief as her shivering abated. The small theater lobby was clean and the lights still worked, a huge surprise to her since the power plant had exploded two years prior. The air even smelled of fresh popcorn. A blond man and woman watched them from behind the concession stands, which were full of sharpened gardening tools and sports equipment. A Native American man held open the right set of double doors, a shotgun peeking out from behind his leg. All three looked clean and healthy, but the tension in their eyes betrayed their supposed comforts.
“Welcome to Plaza de Vida,” the stranger said as she led them through the lobby, “where we give those being taken to death a new chance at life. I'm your hostess, Didi.”
A sword-wielding, grenade-throwing zombie killer named Didi? Strange
, Paula thought. “Is that short for something?”
“It is. That’s Craig, Jerri, and Bob,” Didi pointed out her three residents. “You’ll meet everyone else in three days. Until then, you'll stay in here.”
“Three days?” Isaac whined while stopping in his tracks. “What’s up with that?”
The three locals glanced between each other as if something was about to happen. That miserable intruder was about to ruin things for Paula again. She
really
wanted to throttle him.
“We have to assume at least one in every new group is infected,” Didi said over her shoulder.
“We’re not,” Paula said automatically.
“We’ll find out in three days, won’t we?” Didi replied without breaking her steady stride. “I think you'll appreciate the digs.”
Paula looked for reassurance from her husband, but she caught him eyeing Didi’s shapely derriere. She elbowed his ribs and entered the theater.
She was amazed that the auditorium looked as it always had. The red velvet curtains were well maintained, the screen was intact, and even the running lights on the floors and sconces along the walls glowed as brightly as ever. However, all the seats had been converted into blanketed beds, bars blocked a now tinted projection room window, and a Port-a-Potty blocked the street-side emergency exit.
Didi watched them like a statue, only her eyes moving from one person to the next. Her smile didn’t falter. Her thick make-up caked on the edges of her black choker in a way that should’ve been itchy, but she didn’t quiver a bit. She didn’t even blink. She looked like a lioness ready to pounce.
Sean whistled as he looked around. “You sure kept this place in good shape. How long have you been here?”
Didi aimed her head at Sean like a robot. “We’ll answer your questions in three days. Meantime,” she turned and headed for the main doors, “breakfast will be ready in two hours. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Wait.” Paula started to follow. “What do we do now?”
“Rest,” Didi replied without breaking her measured stride. The doors closed behind her.
The heavy clanking of locks made Paula jump.
“Oh, they did not just lock me in,” Isaac grumbled as he marched up to the doors and yanked on them. He banged on them and yelled, but no one responded. “Oh, I get it. Gotta lock a brother down, huh? Is that it?”
“We’re in here, too, you know,” Pepe said. “Besides, you heard her. They’re waiting us out to see who gets sick. That way, they don't get attached.”
“Couldn't they just look us over?” Paula said as she approached Sean.
“What, you an exhibitionist now?” Isaac joked while examining the blocked emergency exit.
Sean glared, but that was all he would do. He couldn’t even use his rifle to stop the bastard from barging in the other day. The lovable sap was always too hopeful for his own good, and hers. He shrugged and sat on one of the makeshift beds. “She said we’ll be here for three days. We should make the most of it.”
Paula threw her arms out in frustration. “Doing what?”
Isaac waved off the Port-A-Potty, marched up to one of the improvised beds, and climbed in. “I’m-a pass out. My breakfast better be there when I get up.” He rolled over, and that was that.
