The Living Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Coast (9 page)

Trying to make it to Florence’s brother’s place up in Ohio in the old Northwest Territory. Maybe they’ll take us in or maybe they won’t but we know we have to get out of here
.

*Reelfoot Lake was formed when the Mississippi ran backwards for a period of several hours. The eerie, swamp-like lake is located in western Tennessee.

Bea powered off the laptop and put it back in David’s pack.  “Skeletally thin, flesh-eaters and hard to kill? That sounds like our problem now. And
wehn-te-goh
?  Canadian tribes had a tradition of an evil spirit or creature that used to be human but turned into a monster after consuming human flesh. Traditions like those are always dismissed as superstition. No one takes them seriously.”

It was fully dark now and the rain was falling harder than ever. David switched the bright lights on but only illuminated more mist. It could be worse, he thought, this could be snow and ice.

“I know but there was no need, was there? Evil legends from ancient days were fun stories to scare ourselves with but had no relevance to-”

David flinched and Bea cried out as something thudded against the windshield and roof of the car. They had barely gone a few more feet when they were hit again and then yet again. David hit the brakes hard sending the car into a spin. He fought to get it under control, coming to a halt in the oncoming lane.

O
bjects hung from the trees over-arching the road. David found his gun and flashlight. He got out in the lashing rain and hovering mist. Something touched the side of his face and he turned to see a foot, a woman’s foot, still in a white Keds tennis shoe, dangling beside him. A few feet farther a man’s bare feet twisted slowly.

He trained his flashlight up. Bodies hung all around him, some upside down, dangling from the trees. Some were really dead. Others, twisted in the wind, arms and legs flailing, uttering a chorus of dead groans. In some cases their throats were slit, others were disemboweled, their organs spilling down around them. There were children among them. One of them managed to grasp another, drawing in close as if for an embrace before biting into the dead flesh. The half-chewed lump of flesh fell through the open abdomen and hit David’s shoulder in a sodden
splat
. He flicked it off in disgust.

The car door opened and Bea’s flashlight wavered in the darkness. He almost called out then thought better of it. Whoever had done this might still be close by. Walking quickly back he took Bea’s arm and they got in the car and locked the doors.

“Why would anyone do something like this?  This is insane.”

David replied, “This is about intimidation. Someone wanted to send a very definite message. As far as I’m concerned the message has been received. We’re not-”

A loud peal of thunder crashed, drowning out whatever else he was going to say. The driver side window cracked, lines radiating out from a central hole and David slumped to one side. It took Bea a few seconds to recognize a bullet hole and that David was wounded. Another shot and the glass disintegrated, showering little slivers of glass across both of them.

She tugged and finally rolled him awkwardly across the gear shift and into the passenger seat, climbing over him to reach the steering wheel. Another shot hit the side-view mirror splintering the glass and leaving it dangling, attached only by wires. Putting the car in gear she pulled out, spinning on the rain-slick asphalt before gaining traction and leaping forward.

Even with the wipers on high it was tough driving. She had no idea where she was going, only wanting to get away from their attackers. She kept glancing behind but nothing was following them as far as she could see. David wasn’t moving and she couldn’t see where he had been hit. Placing her hand on his chest she felt his heart beating and relief washed over her. He was alive.

Who killed all those people and then strung them up like that? What message had David been talking about?

Straining to see through the fogged-up windshield she looked for any sort of structure that might offer a chance to pull over and get David inside so she could at least assess his injury.

Suddenly he groaned and tried to sit up.

“Don’t. Just lie still.” He lay back. She put a hand on his shoulder and felt something warm and sticky.

Blood poured from the side of his head. A lot of blood. His breathing was shallow and rapid.

She drove on, through woods and more woods, bare tree branches swaying in the storm. Rain blew in through the broken window and stung the cuts on her face. When she finally came upon a split she turned right, with no clear plan other than to get off the main road. Almost immediately they began to go up. Just ahead she saw a split-rail fence and a faded, no trespassing sign.

“If they don’t want us there then there must be something worth seeing at least.” She turned sharply left.

The car bounced along the rutted and washed road. David’s head hit the side window. In less than a minute the headlights shone on a barnlike structure surrounded by a railed paddock. Rain drummed on the car roof like an angry percussionist. Hunching her shoulders against the chill droplets, she opened the gate then drove through the muddy yard, straight into the barn.

The sudden cessation of noise was unnerving. She killed the engine and headlights and then sat for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. The barn was a pretty basic structure with six stalls around a wide center pass through. The air smelled like a mixture of hay and dirt and perhaps a hint of manure but there weren’t any animals in residence. Her hands stung with dozens of small cuts from the window glass.

Beside her, David was out again. She turned on one of the map lights and tilted his head gently toward her, looking for the source of the blood. There were no wounds in his head or neck, except- she ran her fingers along the side of his head and he groaned. His ear felt ragged as if part of it was missing.

The blood in his hair and on his neck was drying. She found one of their last bottles of water and cleaned the wound. Taking off her shirt she tied it around his head for a makeshift bandage, letting his head lean back against the seat to hold it in place. It was the best she could do for now. Glass still lay in slivers everywhere. Shrugging into her coat she opened the car door.

A ladder led up to a loft of scattered straw. Up here she found what she assumed were horse blankets. Climbing back down she covered David, reclining the seat back as far as it would go. She pushed her own seat back and settled in, hoping to get at least a little sleep.

She didn’t. Just as she drifted off David began to snore noisily and heartily. Finally she got out and climbed the loft ladder, finding more blankets and, making a nest in the straw, she fell asleep.

~

A shaft of morning sunlight slanted in through a crack in the wall boards, illuminating dust motes rising and falling in the air. Somewhere in the woods a rooster crowed. She lay still, hearing the slow shuffle of feet in the dirt; that low moaning that raised the hair on her arms. The air was chokingly foul with the thick scent of rotten flesh. The dead had found them, they always found them. Where had they come from?

The floor boards up here gapped wide and all she had to do to look down was roll over and clear some straw away. Seven dead clustered the car but they weren’t trying to reach in through the broken window. She could only assume David was still in there but there wasn’t any movement visible inside.

The dead bodies below were some of the most grotesque she had seen to date. One, torn belly gaping wide, must have fed recently. Chewed, red lumps of flesh fell to the ground as he lurched forward. Maggots swarmed over the shredded, gray flesh of his rib cage and empty eye sockets. Another had arms that were nothing but sinew attached to bone.

She crept over to the loft access window, pushed the shudders apart a crack and looked outside. More dead were converging on the barn and she kicked herself mentally for not closing the paddock gate back last night. That was just sloppy and stupid.

Below, she heard something fall with a loud metallic
clang
. Peering through the floor, she saw David, not in the car as she supposed but backed into a corner and holding a rusty pitchfork in front of him. He looked dazed and still very pale and she saw him fumble for his weapon but he must have left it in the car. His neck and jacket were stained red.

More dead shambled in. David didn’t stand a chance. She had her Glock with her but no extra magazines and she couldn’t get them all. She looked around but only found a bottle of something dark that smelled like turpentine, sharp-looking shears, and some old issues of a magazine called
Garden and Gun.
She threw those down but the dead never looked up.

She shouted, “Hey, hey! I’m up here, here!” and stomped hard on the floor. A few stopped and turned her way but most ignored her. She grabbed the shears and, pushing up her coat sleeve, sliced her forearm, gasping at the pain. Leaning out as far as she dared she flung droplets of blood at their faces. Now they started moaning excitedly. A dead woman, torn blouse stained dark red, opened her mouth and gnashed her teeth in expectation.

More of them slowly turned her way. She pulled the ladder up into the loft, dragged it over to the outside access window and opened the shutters, lowering the ladder to the ground. Climbing down she shouted again, “Hey, this way!” and backed away toward the paddock gate.

The dead followed. Even out here their smell was overwhelming and she gagged. Banging hard on the metal gate with the shears she watched more and more leave the barn. It was working.

A familiar sound began to override the hoarse moans. An engine, faint but growing louder, labored to climb the hill. She listened, torn between hiding somewhere and staying and seeing if they could help her. As she stood in indecision, an ATV, quickly followed by another, crested the hill and rolled to a stop outside the paddock. Two men sat and looked at her, sizing her up.

They killed the engines and dismounted. Dirt was visible in the folds of their necks and she could smell them even above the stench of the dead. One had dark, greasy hair and the other, short and heavy-set, sported a swastika tattooed on his skull. The greasy one carried a very large hunting knife but Little Hitler (the name seemed to fit) held a rifle cradled loosely under one arm. The taller one smiled but it wasn’t the kind of smile any woman ever enjoyed seeing.

“Hello there. What brings you to our little community?” He positively leered at her and put his knife away in a sheath hanging from his belt as if he didn’t consider her much of a threat.

“Just passing through. I’m actually getting ready to leave right now.” She tried to make sure her voice didn’t waver but it betrayed her anyway and squeaked slightly. She swallowed hard.

The dead were almost out of the paddock gate. Greasy darted in front of her and slammed the gate shut. Little Hitler walked over until he was behind her and then he whistled appreciatively. She shuddered, repulsed and frightened. Her gun nestled against her hip in the waist of her jeans but she knew she had to get this right. It would have to be a kill shot. Missing would be bad but just wounding them might be worse; it would only make them angry. And she knew she wasn’t a great shot.

The dead, thwarted at the gate, assembled along the rails, almost like spectators at a sporting event. The two men barely seemed to notice them.

Little Hitler spoke for the first time, “Did you try to drive through our welcoming committee in the trees down on the road last night? That was you, wasn’t it? What’d you think? We spent a lot of time on the display. All of us.”

Just keep them talking, she thought. “It was very effective. All of you? How many are in your group?”

“She doesn’t like us; she wants to meet someone else. That’s rude. We’re not good-looking enough for you maybe? I’m crushed.” Greasy ambled closer and she automatically backed away, only to find Little Hitler closer behind her than she thought. He grabbed her arm where she had cut it and she cried out.

“Ah, crap.” He pushed her sleeve up and saw the blood. “She’s bit. I was hoping we had a breeder. Someone to help us re-start civilization. Just bash her head in; I don’t want to waste a bullet. I got the baseball bat in the net on the four-wheeler.”

Greasy went for the bat and Little Hitler threw her to the ground. Her gun fell out of her jeans and when she scrambled for it, he kicked it away. She turned to him.

“I’m not bitten but I’m still not your breeder, you Neanderthal!” She grabbed his foot and managed to bring him down with her. The rifle fell into the mud. She hooked her fingers and went for his eyes but could only scratch bloody furrows in his cheeks and he screamed, a sound she found oddly satisfying but not for long. He soon had her pinned and slapped her so hard she tasted blood and everything went dark for a moment. When her vision cleared she saw Greasy holding a baseball bat and walking her way. Little Hitler jerked her up by pulling on her jacket and she took the opportunity to slip her arms out of the sleeves and roll away, the ground cold and wet against her shoulders. He kicked her viciously.

“You’re dead, you little-”

Whatever else he was going to say was abruptly cut off when a car crashed through the paddock gate and stopped, spinning mud and gravel over all of them. David, the makeshift shirt bandage slipped down around his neck, got out, grabbed Little Hitler and blew skull and brain matter out through the back of his head. The bright red blood was shockingly warm across her bare belly. Greasy stalked over with his knife but David dropped him with a shot between the eyes then kicked him until blood covered his boots.

Bea got to her feet, wiping mud and blood from her arms and breasts and retrieved her gun and the rifle as well. The dead reached them, some walking, others dragging mangled bodies across the mud, mouths open wide in ravenous anticipation. A little girl, soft pink nightgown stained and torn, dropped to her knees and began gnawing on the warm chunks from Little Hitler’s shattered skull. A dead man grabbed Bea’s calf and she shot him, his gray-white face collapsing into black, liquid goo.

“David,” She took his arm and shook him but he ignored her and kept kicking Greasy. “David! Let’s go.”

David stopped, took her hand and almost threw her into the car. He spun out in the mud, spraying the oncoming dead with more dirt and gravel before leaving them behind.

He drove fast down the curving road. Too fast.

“David, slow down ! They can’t catch us.”

He ignored her but did finally slow down. A little. She continued to swipe at the mud but it was useless. She was filthy and cold and she had left her coat behind on the ground. She crossed her arms across her chest and thought longingly of all the clothes she pinched from the outlet mall. The horse blanket was still in the back and she wrapped it around her shoulders.