The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (11 page)

“Cease fire!” the captain said.

Then all was quiet. Every bit of the horde was dead—including the infected cops. The helicopter was gone. The employees who were still on the roof stared down at the carnage. The pungent smell of gunpowder hung in the air. One of the cops picked up the head of one of his comrades and puked on his shoes.

As we drove in silence, I lay on the backseat, numb from cold and shock. The police dispatcher had called it right—mayhem.

Norm and his partner brought me into a small office where Detective Van Gundy was already waiting. A dark green file folder lay on the desk. He closed the door, went behind the desk and motioned for me to have a seat.

“Want something to drink?”

I couldn’t answer. My head felt feverish, my legs detached. I vomited on the floor.

“Sorry.”

The detective stepped over the sick and flung the door open. “Can I get a mop and a bucket in here?” He touched my shoulder and helped me up. “Come on, we’ll use another office.”

I sat in a metal-and-vinyl chair, a cup of room-temperature water in my hand, as Detective Van Gundy flipped through a pile of papers inside the folder.

“Sorry about what happened,” he said. “Those cops should have never put you in danger like that. The way things have been going, not everyone is thinking right. What happened anyway?”

I was about to say something when Isaac walked in.

“Can I help you?” Detective Van Gundy said. “Oh, Dr. Fallow. What can I do for you?”

“I came to see if I could be of help.”

“Sure.” The detective looked resigned as Isaac took a seat next to me and patted my knee.

“I was about to tell Mr. Pulaski that we found Ms. Soldado’s cell phone and—”

“I knew her, okay?” I said.

Isaac frowned. “You should get yourself a lawyer, son.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Her last text was to your cell number,” the detective said. “Want to explain why you didn’t tell me the truth before?”

“Dave, I strongly advise—”

“Because I was cheating on my wife with Melyssa Soldado, okay? I didn’t want anybody to know.”

“I see.” Detective Van Gundy made a note in the file. “And your friend? How does he fit into all this?”

I gave him as much of the truth as I was going to. “I don’t know, he might’ve been jealous.”

“Jealous,” the detective said. “Her last text to you was …” He referred to a handwritten page. “‘You shouldn’t have done that, Dave.’ Shouldn’t have done what?”

“I have no idea.”

“Right.”

“Have you located her yet?”

“No. Someone reported seeing a woman fitting her description wandering in the forest near where Ms. Soldado lives. The description also says that she was covered in blood. We don’t have any other leads.”

I looked at Isaac, then at Detective Van Gundy. “So are we done?”

The detective considered the question, looked at the file again and then back at me. I knew he didn’t have shit to go on. If he was hoping for a confession, he could forget it. I was saving that for the priest.

“Yeah,” he said, “for now. Don’t leave town. I know that sounds cheesy, but seriously. I’ll have more questions later.”

I looked at him and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere. I have to work.”

As we left the office, Detective Van Gundy said, “Mr. Pulaski? I understand your wife is not currently living at home.”

“That’s right. When Jim died I told my wife what I’d done. She doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’d still like to interview her.” I tried not to let the shock show on my face as he slid over a pen and paper. “Please write down her address and phone number.”

“Sure,” I said. When I’d finished, I slid the paper back over to him.

“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” he said as he read what I’d written. “In time.”

“Sure.”

All I wanted was to get home and shower, but Isaac insisted we talk. So we went to the Tip Top for coffee and pie.

“Dave,” he said, olallieberry juice dripping down his chin, “you need an attorney. I’m happy to recommend one.”

“Why?”

“Son, in addition to bringing babies like you into the world, I’ve been investigating homicides for thirty-five years. Looking at the medical evidence. Trying to guess what was going through the killer’s mind. I’m not saying you killed anyone, but what I see is a man with a big secret.”

I stirred my coffee and avoided eye contact. “I’m not a bad person.”

“Course not. But sometimes we make mistakes—bad ones. And people wind up dead.”

“Like Jim.”

“Yeah.”

“Missy’s not dead.”

“You sure?”

“Jim was way dead before he ever showed up in the forest.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was there, trying to talk sense into Missy. Jim showed up out of nowhere, and he wasn’t right.”

“Was he like those people who chased us in the woods?”

“Yeah. But I’d seen him days earlier and he wasn’t violent. He was kind of, I don’t know, in a trance. I touched him one time and he was ice-cold. Smelled like something rotten. When he attacked Missy, I ran like hell.”

“So that’s your secret? You ran away?”

“I didn’t even try to help her.”

“Why didn’t you tell the detective?”

“Because I didn’t want it getting out that I’m a coward.”

“The truth has a way of getting out.”

The last time we were here, it was Isaac who lost it. Now it was my turn. I tried choking back the tears, but it was no use. Desperate to gain control, I dug a fork into my palm under the table. The pain cleared my head.

“You okay?” Isaac said, and I nodded. “Look, I don’t know what’s happening in Tres Marias. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s a virus, right?”

“I don’t know. Viruses don’t turn ordinary people into cannibals.”

My cell phone rang. It was Holly. “Hey.”

“I got a call from Detective Van Gundy.” She sounded pissed off.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” I said to Isaac, and went outside. Then to Holly, “I was going to call you. He works fast. Did you talk to him?”

“I didn’t know who it was, so I let it go to voice mail. He’s going to ask about what happened with Missy, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“What do I say?”

“What I said. That I was having an affair with her and that’s all you know.”

“But he could make me tell the truth in court.”

“No. You don’t have to testify against your husband. Look, he’s fishing.”

“I hate you for making me lie.”

“Then tell him the truth,” I said, and disconnected.

When I looked up, Isaac was outside with me, picking the seeds out of his teeth with a flat toothpick. “Everything okay?”

“Couldn’t be better,” I said. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride back to your house.”

I half expected to see police cars and dead people, but Isaac’s street was quiet. I followed him into his home office and found the walls covered with maps and sticky notes. His bag and medical kit lay on the floor next to piles of medical books.

“What’s all this?” I said.

“I’ve been trying to put it all together, how this thing started,” he said, going over to one of the maps. “The best I can figure, it started in the forest here.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m basing it on all the deaths in the area—both animal and human. Take a look at this spot.”

I moved closer. The spot Isaac had circled looked familiar. It was near where Jim and I had crashed.

“Here is where that hunter said he found that woman, Sarah Champion. What I can’t figure out is, some of the victims were nowhere near the forest when they got sick.”

“Maybe they were infected by someone who was.”

“Right. There is one clue. Some of them had been bitten recently.”

“By an animal?” I thought of the dog coming after me that night, Jim’s dog. But this wasn’t rabies.

“No, in every case, they were human bites.”

“Was Jim bit?”

“I don’t recall seeing any bites in the autopsy. Hang on.”

He opened a file cabinet and pulled out a thick manila folder. Then he grabbed a dozen or so autopsy photos and spread them out on the floor. It hurt me to look at Jim’s cold, naked body.

Isaac examined the photos with a magnifying glass. Then it hit me. When I drove Jim home, I noticed what looked like a bite mark on his left hand. It must’ve happened days before, because it was partially healed.

“Do you have a photo of his left hand?” I said.

“Here.” Isaac studied the photo, clucking his tongue. “I’ll be damned. How did I miss this? Time for some new glasses.”

He showed me the photo with the magnifying glass. There it was—a bite mark. “This isn’t a human bite.”

I told Isaac about having seen Jim’s dog that night and about how rabid he looked.

“What doesn’t make sense is, this isn’t rabies. It’s something else. We might have an outbreak on our hands.”

He indicated the arrows pointing outward from Tres Marias. Who knew how far the disease—if that’s what you wanted to call it—had spread?

“What about the CDC?” I said.

“I tried them again, but they’ve gone dark on me. Won’t even take my calls.”

“Weird. So I have a question. What happens when the police can no longer contain the situation?”

“You may have seen the highway patrol in full force,” he said. “If it becomes a state emergency, I suppose they’ll send in the National Guard. There’s a rumor going around that’s about to happen.”

“I need to be with Holly,” I said, getting up and going to the door.

“That’s what I recommend,” he said, studying one of the maps.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m driving to San Francisco tonight to meet with an immunologist friend of mine.”

Isaac’s cell phone rang. “Isaac Fallow,” he said. “What? When? I’ll be right there.” Then to me, “Dave, can you drive me over to the hospital?”

“Isaac, I’d like to but—”

“Please, it’s important.”

The police were already at the hospital when we arrived. Isaac and I went to the office of the hospital administrator, Dr. Vale, who looked to be in her sixties. Next to her stood Isaac’s neighbor Patty, frightened and confused.

“Isaac, thank God,” Dr. Vale said. “Who’s he?”

“Dave Pulaski. He’s with me. Where’s the patient?”