Life Among The Dead (Book 2): A Castle Made of Sand (30 page)

“This is real!”

Eve begins to walk, feeling like an
extraterrestrial on an alien planet. She hasn’t known true freedom
from her protective captivity since the day of her birth. As a
little girl she was able to venture out using a special lightweight
suit that was bestowed to her by the head of the Rosie Parson’s
project. Like many that have had to live in isolation, Eve suffered
from depression at the onset of puberty, when she realized she
would never lead a normal life. Never date or get married, never
have kids of her own. So she refused a new suit once she outgrew
the first, saying it was an unfair tease. Now she wishes to touch
everything, taste the very breeze that makes her hair fly, stop and
smell the flowers, but such actions could kill her and she hasn’t
the time.

She only stops long enough to pull two latex
gloves onto her right hand so she can pick up one of Dustin’s guns
from the road--a large silver revolver with a bulbous, dangerous
end she knows from television to be a silencer. Should she
encounter one of the ‘unclean,’ as her father called them, she will
surely need it.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Oz asks his
passenger, who hasn’t stopped smirking since he picked her up.

“Sorry.” Becka blushes. “It’s just that
you’re one-half of the latest power couple in our world.”

“We’ve met before!” he insists with
irritation. “I’m the same guy.”

“So I’ve been thinking of a nickname to call
you two on the air, like Brangelina. How do you like Coz?”

“Jesus.”

“If you don’t care for that one,
there’s…”

“Not you.” He points while slowing his
wrecker. “That.”

Becka was too distracted to notice the
overturned semi, or the trailer that hangs over the embankment.
“That wasn’t there this morning.”

“It wasn’t there thirty minutes ago.” Oz
takes his shotgun from the gun rack behind them. “Stay here.”

The engine is left running so the large man
can examine the fresh scene. He isn’t only compelled due to the
recentness of the occurrence, but also because this trailer is like
nothing he’s ever seen. It’s no simple RV; it’s a house on wheels.
Mobile homes only earn their names because they can be moved,
typically one time, then they are left to sit. This is a thing of
beauty.

Custom
built
and
donated
by
the
Rosie
Parson’s
Project
, he reads from a small brass plaque that’s affixed
near the door. The peculiar opening beckons him; it leads into a
tight breezeway. Oz pushes a button on the interior door, and after
a slight delay the outer one shuts behind him. He is trapped in the
claustrophobic space between portals while a small screen counts
backwards from 10. The numbers stop at 3 with a loud buzzer and
flashing red lights. The screen alternates messages telling him
there has been an error, and that it has detected extremely high
bacteria levels. Two options are given to him on the touch
sensitive screen: sterilization and emergency override.

If this enclosure is what Oz thinks it is, he
may be putting the inhabitant in danger, however the alternative
isn’t much better. He chooses to consider the situation an
emergency. The inner door opens. He calls into the darkness but
gets no response.

His eyes adjust to the dim light entering
through the windows, and he is starting to creep deeper into the
home when Becka’s voice startles him. He had grabbed a
walkie-talkie before departing Mater. “Oz, what’s going on?”

“Have you ever heard of a bubble boy?”

“Yeah, find one?”

“Just the home of one. Actually, it’s the
home of a bubble girl judging by the clothes and color scheme.”

“Where’d she go?”

“Outer door was open. I think she went for a
walk.”

“Won’t that kill her?”

“If she has to live in a setup like this, she
must have it pretty bad. She should be all right if she has a suit
or takes precautions.”

“How do you know so much about this?” Becka
is forced to ask.

“I have a son. Doctors thought he would have
to live in isolation…”

“One of your kids?”

“No, he was my own…”

“What happened?”

“His immune system kicked in.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He leaves the subject closed.
“Anyways, I did a lot of research on it.”

“Oz…”

“Becka, I’m not going to tell you…”

“The dead are coming!” she reports in a
panicked whisper.

Eve didn’t get too far before she saw one of
the unclean. A woman, from the looks of her tattered clothing.
Beyond her apparel, there isn’t too much to go on in determining
gender. The emaciated ghoul and the girl locked eyes for a split
second before each started running. Unaccustomed to exercise, Eve
is getting winded fast, sucking deeper and faster of the dry
bottled air.

The frightened girl has made some ground in
her race with the zombie. Her fear of the weapon she carries is too
great to allow her to use it. Now about to stop from exhaustion,
she sees something that forces a second wind upon her and adds
vigor to her strides, a mob of the unclean more than fifty
strong.

As far as she can tell they haven’t spotted
her from where they travel in a pack along an intersecting road.
She diverts swiftly and cautiously through the woods. She can’t
allow herself to fall, for the slightest break in her skin will let
her microscopic enemies in. Further, she can’t allow the undead
lady on her heels to catch up to her.

One can’t have Eve’s condition without
learning many facts about bacteria, germs, and viruses. She knows
that the dirtiest mouths in the animal kingdom belong to the
alligator and the human--a dog’s bite is far cleaner.
There’s
no
telling
how
filthy
a
zombie’s
mouth
is
.

Eve must push on in blind hope of stumbling
into the town of New Castle. She has to believe that if these
people have been able to survive in this world they have to be able
to help her. A glance back shows she still has a healthy lead on
the undead woman that follows her, but this also causes her to
misstep. The girl sets all her weight down on the trunk of a fallen
tree; a slight bend in the wood has caused an arch. The log rolls
forward, swinging out from under her.

Caught off guard, Eve finds herself on the
ground. She instinctively catches her fall with her hands and
knees, bringing her a new sensation. Her protected existence has
made her a stranger to pain. Tears blur her eyes while she inspects
her body for breaks and abrasions, relieved to find none. Her
relief is robbed form her once she hears her pursuer, though. The
dead woman wails fervently as she rushes to where her quarry has
stumbled. Eve’s misfortune is the zombie’s chance to eat at
last.

But the corpse steps on the same log Eve had
and suffers the same fate. Unlike the girl, she cannot feel pain,
nor does she fear the gun pointed at her. All she knows is
hunger.

Before the trigger can be squeezed the zombie
is on her, and her mask is knocked away by cold and zealous hands.
The girl’s weapon is pushed aside by the ghoul trying to satiate
its gnawing appetite. Eve’s heels dig into the earth, trying to
gain distance from the unclean woman. She attempts aiming her
silent revolver, but the zombie lurches forward, sinking her teeth
into her shoulder.

“Fucking coward!” Dustin screams at himself,
punching the steering wheel. He has just left the person he loves
to die on the side of the road, all alone. “How the hell can you do
this to her?”

His actions are motivated by his
characteristic ‘cut bait’ solution to any situation that is too
scary, too tough, or too real for him to deal with. But he corrects
himself, “No! I’m going to get her help at New Castle. They have to
have trucks.”

He tries to breathe slower, sniffing back his
tears.
Stop
worrying
.
Nothing
can
get
to
her
.
It’s
not
like
she’s
going
anywhere
,
right
?

“What if she saw me run away?” he ponders out
loud, instantly feeling horrible again. Dustin attempts to relax.
He can’t think of any recourse Eve might have taken even if she did
witness him turning tail.
Other
than
hating
me
.

While debating if he should turn around to
tell Eve of his new plan, or lie to her about his old one, he sees
a sign indicating he is close to his desired location. Dustin
refuses to waste the time it would take to double back and floors
the accelerator instead. This new sense of urgency leads to a
disregard for the off-ramp’s advised speed limit of 25 miles per
hour. The Camaro hugs the downward curve all the way to the
overpass, plowing deep into a gathering of walking figures. Bodies
crash and splatter across the car that comes to a halt among the
throng.

The structure overhead obscures the sun,
darkening Dustin’s waking nightmare. Slack, ghoulish faces surround
him. They stare in through the windows, sneering with grins forged
from decomposition. Just thin, fragile panes of glass stand between
him and the dead that batter them, driven mad from starvation. They
leave behind greasy smears and slabs of skin as they assault the
vehicle.

Stepping on the gas has no effect; the car
remains motionless, aside from a slight side to side rocking. The
frightened boy has no idea his tires rest upon the torsos of the
fallen and are spinning fruitlessly in their slick innards, like
mud. He throws his machine into reverse, hoping it will work better
for him.

The passenger window cracks under the
assault, just as the racing engine finally prevails and the tires
once again have purchase on the asphalt. Dustin lurches forward as
the car blindly retreats through the crowd of corpses. He takes his
ride backwards until he is on open road. He sees now that he had
run into the tail end of a massive migration that seems to extend
forever along the road he had wished to travel. As far as the eye
can see there is nothing but walking dead.

The zombies under the overpass still have
their sights on the purple car. Dustin has it in drive as they
begin to build speed in their pursuit. He floors it back up the
onramp and hangs a left, ultimately heading back the way he had
come as fast as he can.

The breeze entering through the broken window
feels nice, soothing. He concentrates on the line of asphalt he had
already traveled, while he thinks of Eve and how to explain his
disappearance. His focus is too narrowed to observe the hand that
still grips the missing quadrant of the window. Jagged glass slices
bone-deep into an unfeeling palm. The feet of a living dead
hitchhiker scrape along the blacktop, while inch by inch it makes
progress towards the absent portion of glass.

The refreshing air rushing in becomes
pungent.
It
smells
like
shit
and
boiled
cabbage
! A moan rides on this very foul wind,
and it draws the kid to the grisly sight of a face in the window.
The dead man has gotten his right hand onto the side mirror; it
would be salivating had it the ability, being this close to
food.

As the small opening is breached by the
traveling cadaver, Dustin attempts to shake him loose by swerving.
The thing isn’t letting go, and its face scrapes against the
shards, shearing off the left side. A quivering ear remains outside
as its owner squeezes in. Dustin goes for his pistol, only to find
it isn’t on him.

As a young boy, Dustin used to step on the
tails of caterpillars to watch their insides purge out through
their heads. He was too young to realize he was killing the
creatures, the phenomenon just fascinated him. A human version of
the act is playing out before his eyes; the dead man is shedding
his clothing and skin in his efforts to get closer to lunch. Dustin
is petrified by the sight.

The gravity of the situation hits him, and
Dustin slams on his brakes. The peeled face nearing him sails
forward to the top of the dash.

He hurries to retrieve his M-16 from the
floor of the car where the rough driving had displaced it. The
muzzle is facing him in its current position. Yanking on the strap
proves useless because the ammo magazine is caught against the
cushion. The lost seconds cost him dearly, for the dead man
slithers in deeper still, writhing like a serpent. Teeth locate his
hand.

Anger, fear, and disappointment send Dustin
into a frenzy. He pulls his infected hand from the ghoul’s mouth
and starts punching it. Dustin has the beast against the dashboard
so he can wail relentlessly on the thing that has tarnished his
plans. He cries as his knuckles split against the skull that
refuses to still, the bones that just won’t break.

The boy’s arm falls limply to the center
console, though his foe still reaches for him. Cold fingers brush
his crestfallen face. He’s failed himself, failed Eve, and now he
will turn into one of the very things that lie before him. He
morosely stares into the eyes of the ghoul, those vacant eyes.
Porch
lights
on
with
no
one
home
.

“I’m not dead yet,” he tells the twitching
corpse that cares not for words. “I can still help her. She still
has a chance. Even if I ain’t it, she needs a hero.”

The gunshot was a mere whisper of what she
had expected, though the recoil had sent her frail hand flying in
the opposite direction. The gun became lost in the underbrush.
Released from the dead woman’s hold, Eve just laid on the forest
floor, looking up through the foliage. The sun shined down between
the leaves, but the girl was unable to appreciate the grandeur.
Terrible nausea wracked her midsection like a twisting dagger as
minute particles in the air sent her into a coughing fit. Eve’s
insides spasmed and cramped unbearably, giving her the worst pain
she had ever felt.