The Living Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Coast (6 page)

Building up the fire and lighting the remains of our torches we inspected him closely whilst staying clear of his raking fingers which were only blackened bone but sharp. What remained of his eyes resembled withered, mold-covered polyps but as stated before his straight, hawk like nose and thin lips were overtly European engendering thoughts of Vikings sailing their dragon-bowed ships through the ice floes. If only we could devise some means of communicating with him! To actually converse with an adventurer of the remote past would be an opportunity unheard of in history!

His struggles and the warmth released one twisted leg and he pulled himself forward, to our disbelief slowly tearing off the leg still trapped and leaving it behind.

My only other language is German and in hope that a Norseman such as he might recognize some of the words I shouted at him to halt and stay where he was. To no avail.  His struggles caused more and more of the rock pile to tumble and more blackened, wizened figures began to crawl from the rubble behind him.

We all had our cutlasses out but only I and Morgan carried flintlocks. Too close range for these anyway and our task seemed straightforward. We all moved forward as one and impaled our attackers with less trouble than anticipated. These creatures made no attempt to defend themselves or slow their approach.

They did not die! They did not flinch or even seem aware of their impalement! Desiccated, rotten hands continued to flail and grapple for us. The man on my cutlass slid forward to the hilt, clawing and scratching at my face with those dagger-sharp finger bones. In disgust I placed my boot against his chest to push him back and only managed to sink my foot up past my ankle into a stinking mass of black ichor. My heel connected with the bones of his spine and I eventually pushed him back enough to extract my blade.

The cave was full of shouts and the creatures’ harsh, eldritch moans. Peabody pushed at the creature attacking him and the man bit down on his arm, hanging on like a mad dog despite Peabody’s screams and attempts to shake him off.

More and more of the loathsome things advanced, some dragging themselves forward along the cave floor like hideously overgrown creeping lizards. We were greatly outnumbered. Our only advantage over them was our speed and we retreated and regrouped at the mouth of the cave where Peabody began hacking frantically at the roof with a small axe he habitually carried at his belt. Discerning his intent we all attacked the low ceiling with our swords until we managed to set off a small rock fall. Continued efforts produced a large cave-in and our pursuers were once again trapped inside their icy tomb. With one exception.

Our fair-haired Norseman had beaten the rocks and still struggled after us. The sounds he made were only vaguely human, a sort of rasping, drawn-out moan of pain. Whatever else he was feeling he was clearly in agony. Pulling himself forward with mouth stretched wide he made as if to devour my crew.

We drove our swords through his body, pinning him to the ground, and watching his continued struggles. Were these creatures some collection of possessed ghouls? Finally we ended him with a crushing blow to the head using a stone.

We carried the body back to the Leander for a closer examination, hoping to find some clue as to the creature’s origins and cause of its incredible revival from frozen death.

I concluded, based on his visage and the style of weapons found in the cave that he was most probably a Norseman. Age was difficult to determine but surely no older than thirty or so. The body was emaciated and damaged, with extensive wounds to the abdomen and shoulders missing large areas of flesh. The neck was torn with a deep, ragged, leathery wound revealing the spinal column. Even if not killed by the rock fall, this man should have been dead from blood loss long ago. Did the ice somehow preserve his life?

Our savage little Esquimaux followers returned and seeing the body, drew back and refused to come any closer. Through much gesturing and pantomime they indicated the creature was dangerous and must be burned. Somehow they managed to gather enough driftwood to build a large fire and the dried, brittle corpse caught fire quickly and was soon a charred bundle of bones. Even then they insisted on scattering the ashes containing these. When they became aware that Seaman Peabody was wounded they avoided him with a fright that was almost comical.

With a stealthiness and savagery we did not suspect them capable of until now two of their number stole onto the Leander where Seaman Peabody lay, suffering from an ague as well as the bite he received in the cave, and beheaded him as he slept. I made an example of both men, hanging them by the necks until dead and leaving the bodies aloft and dangling for a time from the mizzen-mast as a warning to their fellows.

*Narwhals

“Wow,” David said quietly to himself. He hadn’t read this one back in the shelter. He downloaded the entire drive to the computer then pulled out his own memory stick and loaded the new file on it. He hadn’t confided information about his own “Z file” to many people. Despite collecting the information over the last few years he had no way of verifying it and never had any plans for using it. He still didn’t but who knew when it might come in handy. After a moment’s thought he emailed the entire file to his user account. Then he placed the small laptop in his backpack and looked out the window.

Dawn had crept unnoticed into the sky revealing mostly clear streets. Homer’s black truck gleamed as the sun hit it reminding David he had forgotten to search Homer’s body for the keys. Reluctantly he pushed the sofa away from the wall and rolled the headless body onto its back. In a jeans pocket was a set of keys that hung from a plastic picture fob containing the images of two smiling boys, one with a cowlick and the other beaming with a gap-toothed grin. David crouched by the body, holding the keys in the palm of his hand, looking at the small pictures. Boys any father would be proud of. Boys who would never grow up.

The dead man’s hand twitched, startling David into falling back against the wall, hitting his head and momentarily stunning him. The hand groped at the floor, only for a few seconds, then went flaccid.

David shoved the body against the wall and pushed the sofa back in place. They couldn’t get out of here soon enough. He checked his weapon and looked out the window again. A small group stood at the bottom of the driveway, shuffling and jostling one another randomly.

He found Bea sleeping in one of the twin beds upstairs. The morning light coming through a crack in the curtains just touched her hair, turning it to warm gold. Her cheek was smudged and he tried to wipe it away then saw her eyes open. She watched him with a look of intense concentration while he gently dabbed at her cheek before moving on to trace the outline of her lips. She closed her eyes again for a moment then sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed onto the floor. David’s hand dropped to his side.

“What does it look like outside?” she asked.

“Better. Fewer dead and the sun is out. It’s a lot warmer. And I have a surprise.” He jingled the keys in his hand.

Bea looked relieved. “Do you know what vehicle they go with?”

“Yeah, pretty sure I do.”

“Let’s do this then.”

The dead came for them as soon as the door opened. David was ready and knocked an emaciated woman to the ground. Bea split her skull wide with a sharp blow from her rail. There was little left of her brain other than viscous black fluid.

Homer’s truck was unlocked and started on the first try. The gas hand was on “F” and the heater warmed up the cab in minutes. Attempts to find something on the radio produced nothing but static.

Winding through the unfamiliar streets, it took them a while to find a way to I-71. Every time they found signs directing them to the interstate they would have to detour around pile-ups or the dead and find themselves lost again. Looted stores, glass fronts broken, were ever present reminders they were now in a post-apocalyptic world and that resources like food and water were finite and viciously fought for. When they did find an on-ramp they encountered blockages they were fortunately able to weave through. Many, many cars still contained their dead occupants, entombed within glass and steel, struggling to get out.

Bea checked her phone but found no new messages. She sent Brian a short text telling him their approximate location and that they were going to continue to head west.

“That might be the equivalent of a message in a bottle but I have to keep trying,” she said, putting her phone in her pocket.

“You are nothing if not persistent. Does the thought of throwing in the towel never cross your mind?”

“What would be the point of that? Would you give up if it were your brother?”

“No, probably not. So where does the stubbornness come from? Your mother or your father? I’m betting it was your mom.”

She was silent for several moments, face turned away and looking out at the fields flashing by in the sunlight. It was only when the light glinted on her cheeks that he realized she was crying.

“Sorry, I didn’t even think before I said that. Your parents- they left you, right? I just thought it was a long time ago maybe and-”

“It
was
a long time ago but it still hurts. Sometimes I’m afraid they’re dead. A lot of people are but I can’t picture my parents dead. Sometimes I have trouble picturing them at all. You asked if my parents are stubborn. I equate stubbornness with strength and if I use that equation the answer is no. They were never strong, probably still aren’t. They left us, first my dad, then my mom. Our social worker usually referred to them as a substance abuse case. Alcohol mainly with some prescription drug abuse. Even before they left, Brian and I were mostly on our own. ” She pressed her palms against her face then wiped her cheeks. The tears were gone.

“You probably hated them for that.”

Her eyes widened and she looked at him in surprise. “Why would you say that? I love them, I couldn’t hate them. They were just weak, not bad. They tried to be real parents but they were never strong enough. For years after they left Brian and I looked for them everywhere we went. I wish I could find them now.”

“If I ever had kids I know I would never desert them,” David persisted.

“We all wear different chains, David. What about you? I suppose you had a
Boy Meets World/
Cory Matthews childhood.”

“Sort of. Except my dad was in the military and we moved every few years. I think that was hard on my mom. To my brother, sister,and me it was just normal, you know, status quo. Almost everyone we knew was in the same boat. My brother and I went into the service because it seemed like a logical next step after high school. Except that my brother stayed in. He was deployed to Cali when all this started. My mom hadn’t heard from him the last time we talked and she’s worried.”

“Is he younger or older?”

“He’s the baby of the family. Mom’s blue-eyed baby boy. She’s protective- we all are really. He was born with a heart defect and there were several years when we thought he wouldn’t make it but he grew out of it. He ran track and played basketball and did everything the doctors said he couldn’t.”

“Blue eyes with dark hair like yours?  I bet he had lots of girlfriends, then.”

“Oh yeah,” David laughed. “More than I did. But mostly, he was always just a genuinely good person. He joined the military because he wanted to do good things in the world. I hope that’s what he’s doing now.”

“He’s probably okay, right? The military were better prepared for this than civilians.”

“No one was really prepared for this, Bea. Similar scenarios but not the living dead.”

They continued on in silence, David thinking about the persistent and stubborn love she still bore for her obviously deadbeat parents. He wasn’t sure he would have reacted the same. Then he wondered what it would be like to have someone love him like that.

They drove for hours. His stomach felt hollow and he hadn’t slept and was starting to feel the drain. The MRE’s were still in his backpack but they were a last resort only. Billboards along the way advertised restaurants, whetting his appetite even more.

“I’m starving. Do you think it’s too risky to pull off and see what we can find?” Bea asked, unconsciously echoing his thoughts.

“I’m hungry too but let’s wait until we’re ready to stop for the night.”

“What about gas?”

“We should be fine for a while. I’m trying to avoid Louisville. It’s a good-sized city.”

But they were cut off by vehicle pile-ups and had to double back. They were lost and the daylight was passing. The shadows grew longer and the sun soon dipped behind a copse of trees to the west. A river, running sluggishly below muddy exposed banks, ran alongside the two-lane road that gradually became steep and twisting, guard rails poor protection against a miscalculation that might end in a plunge into the river gorge below.

Bea observed, “The river is so low. Odd with all the rain and snow we’ve seen.”

“I don’t know for sure about this one but most large rivers have at least one hydroelectric dam. It’s possible there hasn’t been an upstream water release since the outbreak. If that’s the case then heaven help anyone in the way when the gates finally burst.”

David pulled into a graveled area designated as an overlook. They were up so high now they might be able to look out over the terrain and get their bearings.  Bea reached the low stone border wall on the edge of the bluff first.