Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory (9 page)

“Why are we hiding?” Jessie asks.

“Precaution.” Marko’s voice is a paranoid
whisper.

Hands and faces slap against the windows, and
the people shove one another aside for a turn at the glass.

“Turn the radio on, Biff.”

The man in the middle jabs a fat finger at
the radio between his knees, instigating a blare of music.

“Not the Skynard!” Marko yelps. “Turn the
news on!”

The radio is switched out of CD mode and
automatically tunes itself to the clearest station. A droning voice
fills the cab, “…advised to remain indoors and avoid any contact
with the recently deceased and any who may have been bitten by the
walking dead. If confronted, and you are left with no alternative,
the zombies, as they are official being called, can be dispatched
by severe trauma to the brain using a firearm or a blunt
instrument. This is not a hoax. The dead are reanimating, and you
are still advised to remain indoors.”

The recorded warning repeats over and over.
Marko listens to it several times as it confirms his suspicion. The
impossible is happening. He thinks of all the films he has seen in
the past and how he had often wondered what he’d do if this ever
occurred, and how awesome it would be.

Marko fights against Biff’s girth to reach
behind the seat for a weapon. He forgoes the rifles resting on the
rack. They are just for show, should a game warden come nosing
around their site, since technically it is muzzleloader season. The
‘real’ guns are hidden. Now he wields a Russian style AK-47,
already loaded and ready to go. Using the controls on his door, he
lowers the passenger window.

“Hey!” Jessie says, pushing away from the
breach as far as he can, which isn’t very far at all.

“Shut up,” Marko says. His truck is so high
the dead have a hard time grabbing at them.

Marko fires into the faces of the dead as he
allows his truck to crawl backwards. Every round thrills him by
creating a quick flash of red a split second before the heads of
the zombies snap back. Biff flinches with each shot and covers his
ears. Hot casings eject and Marko knows they must burn the large
man’s skin.

“Hold my AK,” Marko orders, then raises the
passenger window and shifts into drive.

The black truck pushes the dead to the
ground, and the men inside bounce as the tires run over bodies.
They make it through the crowd only to turn around and plow through
the zombies again. Marko is delighted over the maniacal
possibilities of this situation.

Jessie and Biff cringe as bones crush under
the tires. Ignoring their squeamishness, Marko makes pass after
pass, wanting to eliminate the horde in order to commence with all
of the wonderful ideas he has. The zombies in the lot are reduced
to quivering mounds of flesh within sacks of cloth in no time.
Marko turns off his engine and addresses his shocked companions,
“Grab your guns, boys.”

The cousins hesitate for a second, but do as
they are told once Marko steps out of the truck. He doesn’t wait,
but quickly grabs more ammo from a red tool box behind his seat and
heads for the lady in the window. He puts a round into her head
then smashes the rest of the glass away with the butt of his
gun.

Jessie and Biff are about to follow suit,
taking aim on the stragglers that still head their way from deeper
parts of the town, but both are too afraid to pull the trigger,
which allows the dead to draw even closer.

“Just do it!” Marko says.

The corpses are now within yards his
partners, who tremble so much they can barely aim their shotguns.
The cousins fearfully back away, leaving Marko to take the zombies
out.

“See?” he says. “They’re already dead, coming
to eat us.”

“But…” Jessie stammers. He and Biff don’t
look convinced.

“See the cop?” Marko points to the man in the
squad car that thrashes in his seat, wanting to get out. The AK-47
releases one round into his head. “Now you don’t.”

The window explodes as the living dead lawman
falls toward the passenger side. His safety belt leaves him
suspended above the seat.

“The world is overrun with zombies,” Marko
explains. “We have the power to stop them. We know how to shoot,
how to survive. This is just like Red Dawn!”

“Is that the one that happens in a mall?”
Biff asks.

“No, not Dawn of the Dead,” Marko snaps. “But
that’s not a bad example.”

His needs to get his friends into the spirit,
convince them that they can be heroes and do the world a great
service. But his true motivation is greed.
Why
be
a
hero
when
I
can
be
a
god
? Marko thinks to himself.
Go
anywhere
.
Do
anything
.
No
laws
.
No
rules
.
Nothing
to
stop
me
.

“Vida, it’s time to wake up,” a voice gently
says from miles away. A hand shakes her shoulder slightly, and then
moves down to her bicep for a second attempt at rousing her. The
unfamiliar hand moves once more, becoming too familiar with her
chest.

“What the fuck?” She wakes with a start and
gives Brad a shocked, accusatory look.

He withdraws his hand, blushing with
embarrassment as he quickly explains himself, “I’m so sorry! I was
looking around the area while trying to wake you. I wasn’t paying
attention to my hand.”

She straightens in her seat, wrapping her
thin sweatshirt around herself tightly like a robe. Their jeep is
parked within a town under a darkening sky. Broken and smeared
bodies lie in the streets.

“Holy shit,” she says softly with a hand to
her mouth. The sight makes her nauseated, even as the waning light
robs it of its full gory effect.

“Looks like whoever did this is long gone,”
Brad says, scanning the area once more for possible threats.

“Are we close?” Vida asks.

“Almost. We’re in Worchester. I just fueled
up and wanted to know if you were hungry.” A hitch of his thumb
indicates a small market. The glass in the front door is
broken.

Vida notices Brad gassed up and moved the
jeep closer to the store while she slept through it all. “Yeah, I
can eat,” she tells him.

“You’ll have to cover me.”

“Cover you with what?”

“This.” He pats the large machine gun bolted
to the back of the jeep. Her eyes go wide at the sight of the
menacing weapon. “Don’t worry. It’s easy. She’s ready to rock. Just
point and click.”

“Ok,” she says, not sounding too sure of
herself, but she takes her place behind the imposing firearm.

“You look good up there,” he says, attempting
to instill some confidence in her. He takes a second to admire the
contrast.

Vida familiarizes herself with the pivoting
machine gun, looking down the length of it to line up its sights.
Her hand trembles as it closes around the grip and trigger. She’s
never held anything like this before. The paintball guns at the
Zombie House were harmless, but this is deadly. She nervously scans
the area, moving the weapon from side to side in a sweeping motion.
She never even fired her father’s gun, and the thought of actually
pulling the trigger frightens her more than the things she would be
shooting at.

The time it takes Brad to explore the shop
feels like an eternity to her. The dead moan in the distance as she
waits. Not a creature stirs in her field of view until Brad
returns, and his sudden appearance almost causes her to discharge
the weapon out of reflex and jumpy nerves.

“See? I told you it’d be easy,” he says,
placing a brown paper bag into the back of the jeep. “I’d rather
not travel at night. We’d better find a spot to hunker down.”

“I thought we were close?” she asks,
returning to the passenger seat.

“We are, but I’m wiped out. We’ll just get
some rest and hit it first thing in the morning.”

“All right,” she agrees. Catching some decent
sleep actually sounds really good to her now.

Brad hits a button near the steering column
that turns the engine over. He guides them through the ruined
corpses, trying to avoid the large pieces of carnage.

After they park behind one of the town’s few
motels, Vida once again mans the .50 caliber machine gun while Brad
heads to the office to grab a room key. Her chest tightens, and
that abysmal vulnerability she felt when walking to the bridge
returns. She chalks it up to being alone while Brad secures a room
for them.

Another lifetime passes in the ten minutes
Brad is gone. Ten minutes of listening to the muffled moans of the
far off dead and jumping at shadows. Every tensed muscle instantly
relaxes when he returns, twirling a wide plastic key ring on his
finger.

“We’re in Room 202. I figured the high ground
would be best.” He takes the shopping bag he’d filled inside the
abandoned shop. “The room is all clear.”

Vida follows Brad around the building. Though
no danger is suspected, they move as quietly as possible. Brad
keeps his assault rifle out and ready, just in case. They run up a
set of concrete steps to their floor.

Vida waits at the room’s threshold until Brad
locates a lamp. He had checked out the room very quickly, he tells
her, and neglected to switch on any lights, but after a series of
clicks the room is illuminated in a dingy yellow glow. The motel
may look seedy, but at the moment it’s heaven.

Brad sits on the bed and unties his tall
leather boots then pulls the cuffs of his fatigue pants out of
them. “That’s much better.” He sighs.

Vida relaxes now that a locked door keeps the
crazy world outside at bay. She drops herself into a plush
recliner.

“The store was picked pretty clean. Probably
by whoever made that mess on the streets.” Brad dumps the bag out
onto a small end table. “I got all the major food groups: jerky,
gummy, sugary, and salty.”

From the assortment of junk food, Vida
selects a chocolate bar. She’s feeling quite hungry now that she’s
had a moment to stop and let her body tell her what it needs. From
the pockets in his cargo pants, Brad removes bottles Vida hadn’t
even noticed before. Two twenty-ounce sodas and two glass flasks of
liquor.

“Do you like bourbon or tequila?” he asks.
“Everything else was taken or smashed. I found these survivors on
the floor.”

“Just a soda, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not much of a drinker,” she admits. “I
don’t like the loss of control.”

“Suit yourself.” He tosses her one of the
colas. “Control is overrated. My personal opinion. You really
aren’t from around here. Everyone in these parts calls it pop.”

“I’ve noticed that.” She smiles.

“I’m from Massachusetts originally. We got
folks out there that call it tonic. I’ve met many folks from the
south that call it all Coke no matter the brand.”

The inconsequential small talk is a good
distraction. It makes the world outside seem farther away.

Brad switches on the television but is unable
to find anything except test patterns and dead air. “No news is
good news, I suppose.”

“This place we’re going to, Eagle Rock, it’s
safe, right?” Vida says. “I promised someone I’d find a safe
place.”

“It’s as safe as a place can be. There are
fences, walls, barbed wire, around the clock armed sentries,” he
says while mixing himself a drink. He takes a few sips of his cola
while it’s still virgin to make room, and then adds enough
alcoholic experience to make it a veritable harlot. “I’ll be one of
the guys on a permanent rotating watch bill. No rest for the
weary.”

“I’m sure everyone will appreciate your hard
work.”

“I hope so.” He shrugs and sips deeply from
his concoction. “We should rest up for tomorrow. There’s only one
bed.”

“We can flip a coin for it,” Vida says.

“Or, we can share it…” Brad says, the alcohol
already loosening his tongue. “You can properly thank me for
picking you up. Show me your appreciation.”

Vida isn’t certain if he’s joking or not, so
she gives his proposition a perfunctory smile before letting him
down gently, “I’m fine on the recliner.”

“Are you sure? Army cots aren’t exactly known
for their comfort. This could be the last real bed you see for some
time.”

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine. Honestly, I can
sleep anywhere.”

“Suit yourself.” Brad props himself against
the headboard, adding more bourbon to his soda. “I guess there are
worse things to wake up to than a sore neck.”

Jessie surprised Marko by suggesting the
highway patrol station as their headquarters when Marko drew a
blank as to where to go after ransacking the store in Worchester.
It
must
be
his
turn
with
the
brain
, he thought. The place would be perfect
since it’s practically invisible from the road due to heavy
overgrowth, and it should yield guns and ammo. The only drawback is
how far north it is, halfway to Fallen.

The men had taken all they could from the
little market: booze, smokes, snacks, even porno magazines. They
knew they could always come back, but were overwhelmed by the
temptation to take more. With the booty stowed in the beds of their
trucks, they have made their way to their safe house. Marko is
compelled to settle in before nightfall and plans to return to
Worchester first thing in the morning to get whatever they’ve left
behind.

Now they sit in the lot of the patrol
station, watching for movement. Marko’s partners are getting
anxious as they wait while crammed into the smaller red truck, but
he knows they need to proceed with caution. The last thing he wants
is to get bitten or killed and lose this once in a lifetime
opportunity.