America the Dead (6 page)

“Listen carefully.” Ken spoke softly. “If you ever speak like that to me again, I will take your pretty pistol and shove it up your ass before I pull the fucking trigger.” He stuck his large face into Tamikara’s. “Clear?”

Tamikara stared back a full minute before answering. “Crystal. Is that all, sir?”

“That’s enough. Go find a weakling to intimidate, Captain.”

Tamikara spun on his heel, seething with impotent fury. He knew he couldn’t take Thorton in a fight, and if he had tried to pull his weapon, Ken would have easily killed him. This insult was going to be answered, but it would be on Tamikara’s terms, not Thorton’s.

Later that evening, the raiders returned. They had various foodstuffs and supplies, but picking were getting slimmer and slimmer. It was noticeable that three men who had gone out had not come back. After the supplies had been stored, the big event was the departure of Ken Thorton and his band of renegades. The people watched from their homes, hopeful their ordeal might be coming to an end after all.

In the middle of the night, Private Levi Denton, a nineteen year old from Vegas died in his sleep. He had been feeling a little ill since he had gotten back from the raid, but he had dismissed it as just a case of indigestion. The truth was he had managed to get infected. The raiders had been surprised by a number of zombies in the store they were looting. The fight had been vicious, short, and in close quarters. Zombie fluids had flown nearly everywhere.

Private Denton had been hit with some zombie gunk on his gloves, but he hadn’t known it at the time. A chronic nail biter, his fingertips were usually raw from being worked all the time by gnawing teeth. When he took his gloves off, some of the zombie fluid had gotten on his fingers and worked into the raw sores around his nub-like nails.

The virus had taken a while to reach the vital areas and it was well past midnight when Private Zombie, formally Denton, opened his eyes to his new world. It was dark, but that was unimportant. There were sounds from all directions, causing a brief moment of confusion. Private Zombie jerked his head in the direction of a loud snore which suddenly erupted from the right side of the room. Private Zombie was aware of a hunger in his gut and in his mind.
Feed. Eat. Now, now now
! It was a call that would not, could not be denied. Wonderful smells of food permeated the air and the strength of the smells told him that prey was tantalizingly close. Private Zombie pushed himself erect, only to smack his head on the underside of the bunk above him. He fell back and tumbled out of the bed, causing a few of the lighter sleepers to mutter.

Private Zombie pushed to his feet, the motions familiar but only vaguely, like a memory that stayed just out of reach. He turned his head slowly, locating a source of smell and sound. His eyes fell on his neighbor, Private Samwell.

Private Samwell was snoring softly. He had no idea anything was amiss until he felt teeth ripping through his larynx. Arterial blood sprayed the ceiling, and Private Samwell struggled briefly, but rapidly weakened due to blood loss and was unable to push his attacker off. Private Zombie tore great chunks of flesh out of Samwell’s throat, then started tearing at the sweet meat around the chest and shoulders, working to get through the clothing to the succulent organs within.

After twenty minutes, Private Zombie stood up, no longer interested in the former Private Samwell. Private Samwell had become infected with the virus and tasted different to Private Zombie, causing him to stop and look for more prey. Private Samwell sat up in his bunk, blood pouring out from numerous wounds. He stood up slowly, opening his mouth and flaring his nostrils as he took in the smells and sounds around him.

Private Zombie moved over to the next bunk and, opening his bloody mouth as wide as it could go, fell on the throat of his next victim. Private Samwell, learning to walk again, fell against the top bunk of his bed and looked at the man sleeping there.

Private Thames hated to be awakened from his sleep. The last time he had been awakened, he gave the unfortunate a severe beating for his trouble. This time, he was awakened rather rudely, as Private Samwell bit off his nose. Pain woke up Private Thames, and he gasped as his hands flew up to his bleeding face to find his nose was gone. He looked at his bloody hands, then shrieked as his bunkmate came in again and bit a huge chunk of his cheek away, exposing the teeth to the molars.

The scream awakened several others and as they struggled to wake up fully, the zombies in their midst were upon them, biting and tearing. One by one, they fell to the disease. One by one, they rose again, seeking out their former comrades, overcome by their hunger for blood and flesh. Uniforms were red-covered as bits of flesh were torn away. The zombies moved quickly from victim to victim, the spreading virus keeping them away from those who would turn.

Three men managed to make it into a closet, their raw fear palpable in the night. Outside the door it was feeding time for several zombies, two of the victims did not turn and they fed the hunger of the rest. Twenty men crossed the dividing line between human and zombie and not a single shot was fired.

The men in the closet huddled down, fearful to make any noise whatsoever. They were all veterans of the Upheaval and knew they were only a short time away from being discovered.

“Jesus, what the hell happened? Where did
they
come from?” one of the men whispered to the other.

“Keep your damn voice down, they’ll hear us!” came the reply. “They didn’t come from anywhere, it was
us
that turned. Didn’t you see your friends eating each other?”

“Get bent. I was trying to get away, same as you. Situation’s the same. What the fuck we gonna do?” The question hung in the air like a fart in church.

“Maybe we can get out through the floorboards, hold on.” There were sounds of scraping and scrabbling. “No luck, the boards are nailed down good.”

“Shit.”

Outside the closet, the re-animated corpses of the remainder of Major Thorton’s men slowly rose to their feet. The meal was finished, unrecognizable as anything human. Blood was everywhere, drenching the clothing of the ruined men. Private Zombie, the first to turn, heard a sound at the end of the room and slowly, painfully made his way to the other side. He was followed by his brethren, attracted to his movements. He passed a small closet, but didn’t smell his prey in there, due to the overwhelming coppery scent of blood in the room. He was focused on the main door to the room, because light was coming from under the door and shadows moved back and forth, drawing his attention. He stepped to the door, turning his head slightly as one of his brothers fell over a small table. Private Zombie did not know what a door was, he just knew there was prey on the other side of this wall. He pounded on the wall in an effort to make it go away, leaving a bloody streak and was rewarded by the voice of what he wanted to eat.

“Who’s pounding, what do you need? The women are done for the night, put it back in your pants.” The night guard was irritated at the disturbance.

Private Zombie moaned, a deep gurgling sound because of the drying blood in his throat. He raised his hand to hit the barrier again and the voice came back.

“Whoever is on the other side off this door better get back to sleep before they get their ass kicked!” The voice was very angry, agitating the rest of the zombies and causing them to shuffle forward and group near the door.

Private Zombie raised his hand to strike once more and the door flew open right in front of him. The night guard walked three steps into the room, right into the arms of the hungry zombies, who promptly tore him to shreds. He didn’t even have a chance to scream.

In the closet, the trio heard the commotion and accurately guessed the fate of the guard, one Corporal Conche.

“Jesus, we are so screwed.”

“Stop crying, we’re not dead yet.”

“No, but we will be. It’s only a matter of time.”

“God, will you shut up. Can’t you be more like Turner here? He hasn’t said a word since we got in here. Probably figured out a way out of this mess. Right Turner?

“Turner’s scared like I am. I don’t want to die and I don’t want to be a zombie!”

“I swear if you don’t shut up I will shove your sorry ass out there for dessert for those fuckers! Shut up!”

The whispers were getting louder and some of the zombies turned their heads towards the sounds, but were unable to figure out where it was coming from.

“We have to do something, now!”

“We’re safe here, can’t you see that? They can’t get in and we can wait until they leave. With all the blood they can’t smell us, so if you shut up, they won’t know we’re here. Shh…”

Several minutes passed while the men in the closet listened to the sound of rending meat, the epitaph of Conche. One of the zombies thumped closer to the closet, curious about some sounds it may have heard. The men in the closet listened as the footsteps slowly, slowly moved closer.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.”

“I’m finished with you. Turner, what you want to do? Turner? Dude, you okay? What’s with your eyes?
Oh God
!” the man screamed the last, causing several zombies to turn their heads to the closet.

Turner sank his teeth into the arm of his former friend and the first man in the closet shrieked as he realized Turner was one of them. He fumbled for the doorknob, spilling out into the room, right at the feet of ten of his former mates. The dead hands reached for him and in a very short time, he knew no more. The other man in the closet broke away from Turner, clutching his arm. He barreled through the grasping arms and made it as far as the front door. He threw open the door, but the hesitation allowed the zombies to reach him and he was pulled back screaming by half a dozen hands that drew him to waiting mouths.

In the small town of Bodie, families heard the screams and knew them for what they were. They quietly blocked their doors, blew out their candles, and hid in the dark, waiting for the demons to pass them by.

6

There is snow on the ground, but even though I am sitting in it, I don’t feel it. I don’t feel the cold, I don’t feel the tingling numbness from exposure to the freezing winds. Snow is falling, but I don’t even notice the flakes that tumble down in perfect silence. I don’t notice anything except what I am holding.

Around me are the signs of battle. Destroyed lives splattered across the pristine landscape, crimson stains slowly turning to brown in the cold. Bodies twisted in pain and death, each one more violent than the last. Weapons are scattered about, useless now to those who had held them, had trusted their lives to them. Friends and enemies, they are all dead now.

I am wounded myself, but it doesn’t matter. My blood drips slowly onto the frozen ground, but I don’t see it. I don’t notice the pain that centers around the wound. It cannot match the pain in my heart. All of my focus, all I can see, is my baby son’s lifeless body as I hold him in my arms.

Snowflakes drift around his pale face, but they do not touch him, respecting this young life taken so brutally. I cannot contain myself. I try to hold back, but choking sobs rack my body as I cling desperately to my son, trying through sheer will power to give him my life, to make the tiny heart beat once again, to make the beautiful eyes open one more time.

Unable to save him, I throw my head back to the sky and scream my rage, my pain, my sorrow.

“Aaarrrgh!” I sit bolt upright in bed, unaware of my surroundings as I release the rage of my dream. As I slowly realize where I am, I tumble out of bed and stagger towards the door, ignoring the sleepy stirrings of Sarah. I entered the hallway and barely glanced at Charlie, who was stepping into the hallway with a gun in his hand, a quizzical look on his face at the sight of my sweat-drenched features. I went to the suite next to mine and moved quickly to the bed. I fell to me knees and looked closely at my sleeping son. The steady rise and fall of his little chest showed me he was just fine and the realization washed over me like a shower and I could feel the relief cleansing the horrific feelings my nightmare had created.

I heard movement behind me and turned to see Sarah coming into the room.

“Everything okay?” she whispered, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I said, standing and turning to face her. “We’re fine. Just had a bad dream, that’s all.” I could see Charlie poking his head in the door.

“All good?” he asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” I replied.

“Same dream?” Charlie pressed.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Same one as before. No changes.”

Sarah looked at me sympathetically. “Come on, let’s get back to bed.” She took my hand and the three of us went back to our respective bedrooms. I caught a glance of Rebecca in the doorway of her and Charlie’s suite. I heard her say, “Dream again?” to Charlie before he shut the door.

Sarah and I dropped onto the bed and I turned the pillow over to lie on the dry side.

“I don’t understand where this is coming from,” I said to Sarah. “I would have thought that the nightmares would have been earlier, when our survival was in doubt and I was doing everything just to stay alive. Nothing then. But now, when things are relatively secure, I’m dreaming about everyone I care about dying all around me. And Jake, he’s dead in my arms. What the hell?” I put my arm over my eyes and tried to get the images out of my head. Lately this dream had been happening more frequently. I wish I knew what it meant.