Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory (8 page)

Through the bloody banquet, the nimble
military vehicle passes other survivors still on the run. The
soldier doesn’t so much as slow down to pick up more, but just
keeps on speeding north. Many of the folks from the bridge have
veered off of the main road and onto intersecting routes. Others
have simply taken for the woods.

Vida waits until after the world is quiet
once more before trying to speak.

“What was that?” the soldier asks, slowing
their rate of speed to reduce the howl of the air.

“I said, thank you,” she repeats.

“No need,” he says with a smile. Vida
recognizes him as the one that had to chastise the truck driver for
cutting the line. “I’m heading this way anyhow. The bridge has been
lost so now I need to fall back to Eagle Rock.”

“Is the entire city gone?” Vida thinks about
her mom and dad.

“I’m afraid so…” he says. “Those things broke
containment, made it through our men in the city. They got my guys
on the bridge.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her words also going
out to everyone she has recently lost. Outliving everyone she’s met
in Waterloo and not being there for her parents makes her feel
guilty. She also thinks about all the folks the soldier has just
left behind. Like her they had nowhere to go, but now she’s on her
way to an army base. She had promised Brandon she’d make it to
safety and that’s exactly what she intends to do. A smile forms on
her face, though she didn’t think she’d ever smile again. “I really
can’t thank you enough.”

The solider diverts his attention from the
road just long enough to look her in the eyes and smile back, his
hand finding her knee. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Many miles north of Waterloo, deep in the
woods, a man awakens. He stretches the sore muscles in his back,
feeling abused from his slumber on the unforgiving ground. From his
tent he can hear his companions already chattering about something
that he assumes to be their usual asinine prattle. Before emerging
from his shelter, he looks at himself in a small mirror to make
sure his thick black hair is perfect.

The morning is surprisingly warm compared to
last night. Though it looks to be a beautiful day, he grumbles like
a bear emerging prematurely from hibernation.

“Coffee’s almost ready, Marko,” one of his
two cohorts says from the freshly stoked campfire.

“Hurry it up!” he snaps from the collapsible
chair he has dropped himself into.

Marko’s head is throbbing from a severe
hangover. He lights a cigarette and coughs several times. Each one
worsens his headache with stabbing pain. He finally hacks a thick
gob of mucus from his lungs that he spits off to the side while
waiting for the heavy set camper to bring him his caffeine fix. As
per his usual routine, he cracks open a tall can of beer, needing
‘the hair of the dog’ to get through what he has brought on
himself. The first cold sip is glorious as it moistens his dry,
sticky palate.

Marko and his friends, a pair of dimwitted
cousins that he often suspects have a much closer blood tie, have
been camping and hunting in these woods just off of the highway for
almost a week. Technically, according to the gaming laws, they are
poaching. Though it is deer season and they do have a couple of
tags for their quarry, they only intend on using said tags if a
game warden wanders too close. Whenever possible, they slaughter
their kills in the field with a chainsaw lubricated with vegetable
oil rather than the standard inedible variety. The trio simply
slices off what meat they want, and the heads, leaving the rest of
the carcasses to rot in the woods.

They haven’t had much luck this time out. Not
a single deer. They’ve seen several, but with Biff and Jessie
always carrying on the way they do the Whitetail prance off before
they can take their shots. Marko doesn’t mind, which is unusual for
him. Any other excursion they’ve been on he’s berated the pair for
scaring off the deer. This time he’s just happy to get away because
a recent break up with his on-again, off-again girlfriend has him
depressed.

He’s always considered it a blessing to be
rid of girls in the past. It gave him a chance to find something
better. But not Carla. She’s special. He wouldn’t call it love
because he isn’t even sure if he’s capable of the emotion. A girl
like Carla is more of a trophy. The most gorgeous girl he’s ever
set eyes on let alone been with. He’d choose her over any starlet
from television or movies, including pornographic. He’d choose her
over any of the other girls at the Flagpole. That’s no longer an
option due to the restraining order that makes it abundantly clear
he mustn’t go anywhere near her.

The twenty-four ounce can of beer is drained
by the time Biff brings him a steel mug of coffee. He’s feeling
better already, partly due to the quiet. That leads him to notice
the missing third of their party. “Where’s the other moron?”

“Out taking a shit,” Biff says. His orange
hunting vest seems less blinding to Marko now that he has his
coffee and his beer and first smoke of the day.

“Well, he needs to hurry up!” Marko says loud
enough for the man squatting somewhere in the woods to hear and
pinch it off quick. “We gotta hit a town and get more brews. We’re
fresh out.”

Biff doesn’t say a word. He knows better. He
just begins to break camp as Marko hinted at. An approving nod from
Marko makes him beam with pride.

He’s
learning
, Marko thinks as
he sips his coffee. After going to town to fill their cooler with
beer and ice, they’ll settle in a new spot. One not sullied by
their human stench. He’s starting to get his bloodlust back. A sign
he’s moving on. He desperately wants to kill something
beautiful.

Jessie emerges from the woods, followed by
the pungent smell of his business, just as Biff is packing up. The
tents have been taken down and folded up and the fire has been
doused.

He asks, “We leaving?”

Marko can only shake his head with dismay at
the dullard who scratches his head, seemingly confused.

Jessie risks asking, “Then, why are we
breaking camp?”

“I wasn’t shaking my head ‘no’, I was…” Marko
gives up. Explaining things to these two can be exasperating.
It’s
like
they
fucking
share
a
brain
. Marko groans.
Just
when
one
shows
promise
,
the
other
gets
stupider
.

Jessie follows Biff’s example and loads the
backs of their pickup trucks. “We heading home?”

“No.” Marko doesn’t want to go back to their
depressing small town just yet. “You guys are going to follow me to
Worchester. We’re gonna grab some shit then set up camp around
there.”

“Where’s that?” Biff asks. “I ain’t never
been there.”

“That’s why you’re gonna follow me,” Marko
says. “It’s a big town near Poland Creek.”

The cousins dutifully follow Marko’s large
black truck in their much smaller red pickup. They should know
better than to question their leader about the region. He knows
every road and town in these parts like the back of his hand.

The soldier’s tells Vida he is Private First
Class Larsen, but she can call him Brad. She has been trying to
gain an understanding of the phenomenon, but he seems bent on
keeping the conversation away from the current events, the tragedy
on the bridge, and what’s in store for them once they get to Eagle
Rock. When she asked how it’s possible for the dead to rise, he
told her the truth: he hasn’t a clue.

Her persistent questions caused him to snap
at her, but he apologized, blaming it on the stress of the day. He
seems nice, and Vida feels a lot safer being escorted by an armed
soldier. Now silence fills the open space of the jeep and is swept
out by the rushing air. He slows the vehicle whenever they do talk,
so hearing one another isn’t so much of a chore.

“So tell me the story of your life,” he says,
wearing a serene smile, “minus the recent chapters.”

“My name is Vida Calavera--”

“That’s pretty. What is that?”

“Mexican. My great grandparents came from
there. I’m a senior at Waterloo High… until last night. My parents
moved us from San Diego last spring.”

“I’ve never been to California. I hear it’s
nice.”

“Yeah, I love it there.” She sighs. “I don’t
think I like the cold much.”

“It actually gets worse.” He laughs. “Wait
until the snow starts falling. They say we’re in for one hell of a
winter.”

Vida begrudgingly moved from the southwest
and has never seen snow before aside from movies and on television.
She’s certain that she’ll grow tired of it before winter is over.
She looks out at the fields they pass, quiet once more. Thoughts of
her old life and her family have dug up fresh sorrow. She is
thankfully too exhausted to cry, having been awake for more than
twenty-four hours.

“Do you have any hobbies?” he asks.

“Music. I play guitar. My grandmother taught
me. I was in a band.”

“What kind of music?”

“Rock. My band was supposed to play some
place up north called the Flagpole…”

“The strip club in Fallen?”

“Yup. It would have been the Dogs of War’s
first paying gig. My first gig ever with the band actually. The guy
that owns the club said something about wanting to ‘class it up’
with some live music.”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Larsen says. “The place
is a real pit. The girls are cute for the most part--or so I’ve
been told.”

She gives a small chuckle at his joke before
closing her eyes. Vida is lulled to sleep by the quick breeze
overhead that caresses her scalp as it blows through her
honey-brown hair. The gentle drone of the engine and the secure
feeling she gets from her savior also urge her into slumber.

“What is it? Some sort of holiday?” Marko
says as he and his friends exit their respective rides.

The town of Worchester is a large community
with a typically slow pace, but today it is positively dead. They
hadn’t seen any traffic on the way in either. The stillness reminds
Marko of a movie. One where the entire population of the planet is
wiped out save for a handful of people.

From the parking lot of one of the few gas
stations, they can see no movement inside. A sign indicates the
place is still closed despite the hours of operation posted on the
window. Jessie knocks on the glass and cups his hands to take a
peek. “Someone’s in there.”

“Knock louder,” Marko says as he approaches a
police car across the street.
If
anyone
knows
what’s
going
on
,
it’ll
be
this
guy
.

The squad car is stopped at an intersection,
though the light is green.

“Excuse me, officer,” he politely greets with
a wave.

The car’s engine isn’t running, and Marko
can’t see clearly inside the window due to the glare of the sun. He
can only make out the officer’s blue uniform as the cop turns
within his seat belt. Marko wonders if the cop somehow got locked
in after the engine died.

“Oh, are you trapped in there, little
piggy?”

The policeman lunges at the glass. His hands
grope and claw as he presses his face against the pane. The cop’s
face is twisted and distorted and his movements make his skin swirl
and his nose turn up like a pig’s.

The sight takes Marko by surprise, having
never seen a policeman act so immature. Saliva smears over the
window from the cop’s protruding tongue.

“Very nice.” Marko turns away from the
childish antics only to see his friends doing the very same thing
at the shop window. Shaking his head, he joins them at the door.
“What are you assholes doing?”

“She started it.” Biff points at a woman on
the other side of the glass while Jessie keeps up his retaliatory
face making. The woman inside the store is right up against the
pane. Her and Jessie’s actions gives the illusion they’re kissing
through the thin sheet of glass..

“I think she likes me,” Jessie says. Before
he can return to his new girlfriend, Marko yanks him away.

“Get offa there!” Marko scolds, not knowing
if whatever is going on is contagious. “This town is sick with the
stupids and yer dumb enough already.”

“They look all right.” Jessie points his
meaty finger to draw Marko’s attention down the block. From the
streets, handfuls of people are slowly making their way towards
them.

Marko can’t help but be unnerved by the
sudden appearance of life in the sleepy town, and finds it odd that
all these citizens are converging on their location at the same
time.

He looks into the dark store at the woman
near the glass. She is in her mid-thirties, wearing a simple
sleeveless dress, and under one of her thin shoulder straps is a
thick bandage. It is tinged red and held to her skin by a liberal
application of silk tape. Marko glances back across the street at
the cop that is still playing his childish game against his window.
Processing the information, and adding in the amassing horde of
townies, leads him to only one impossible solution. “Get in the
truck!”

“Which one?” Jessie asks as he and Biff
follow faithfully on Marko’s heels.

“Mine. It’s bigger.”

Biff and Jessie run to the passenger side,
but they have trouble lifting their heavy legs high enough to step
into Marko’s full ton pickup. However they manage to squeeze into
the cab. The two slower witted men just sit and watch as the
townsfolk enter the parking lot.

Dozens of blank faced people surround the
black truck, with more on the way.
Most
of
them
are
injured
, Marko notes. All of them
share the same interest in him and his partners.