The Dead Series (Book 2): Dead Is All You Get (27 page)

Morning came, and my eyes burned with exhaustion. Caramel—God bless her—made us breakfast, which included plenty of coffee. Walking into the kitchen, I was surprised to find Isaac sitting there, pale but alive.

“How are you feeling?” I said.

“Not bad, thanks to this woman.”

Caramel set a steaming bowl of soup in front of him. “It was nothing. You’re strong as an ox.”

“We’re taking you directly to the hospital,” Pederman said.

Isaac tasted the soup. “This is good. What about Bud and Nancy? Did they make it out?”

“Afraid not.”

“That was cold-blooded murder. Looks like we’re back to square one.”

“Pretty much.”

“Learn anything from those recordings?” Guthrie said as we feasted on fresh cinnamon rolls and eggs with sausage.

Warnick sighed. “Evie mentioned that there might be another secret facility. Every time we try to get to the bottom of this thing—”

“There is no bottom,” I said. “That’s what Chavez said. At least he was right about that.”

Pederman refilled his coffee cup. “I can’t believe our company is related to Robbin-Sear.”

“We should take Guthrie’s advice and follow the money,” I said.

Guthrie smiled like an evil elf. “How’re you boys fixed for weapons?”

“We’re good,” Warnick said.

“Well, if you ever need any, you know where to find us.”

Outside, we stood in the blue shafts of early morning light and said our goodbyes. Springer helped Isaac into the backseat and made sure he was comfortable.

“Keep an eye out for government agents,” Pederman said to Guthrie.

“Don’t worry. Those idiots stick out like a rabbi at a Klan meeting.”

I hugged Caramel deeply. “I’m so sorry about Frank and Jerry.”

“Thank you, Dave. I appreciate it. You take care of yourself. And Holly too. And that baby of yours.”

“I will.”

I started to shake Guthrie’s hand, gave it up and hugged him too. “Thank you so much.”

“Friends in need,” he said. “Can’t ask for more than that in life.”

Soon we were on our way. I wondered if we’d be followed again, but no one appeared as we made our way down the muddy road towards the hospital. Though I still cared about stopping the plague, all I could think about was being with Holly and Griffin. I wanted to protect them more than anything. And I had the strange feeling it would be harder to do now. I knew Holly would be mad and hoped that her seeing me alive would short-circuit any fireworks.

As we got closer to Tres Marias, Pederman’s radio crackled.

“Pederman here.”

“Where have you guys been?” the voice at the other end said. I recognized it as Erzen. “It’s crazy over here!”

“What’s going on?”

“They’re shutting us down. I repeat, they are shutting us down!
Over!
”

Pederman turned to us, his eyes haunted. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. Pederman out.”

Holly knew everything.
When we returned she and the others were already waiting. I held my wife close, the unspoken words between us declaring that we’d nearly lost each other again. As I studied her face and her eyes I didn’t see the anger I was expecting, but a kind of acceptance of the horrific—a new knowledge that life was never guaranteed for anyone.

“I thought you were dead,” she said.

“Not yet.”

“How’s Isaac?”

“He’s going to make it.”

“Thank God.”

Erzen and Fabian greeted us. I hugged Griffin, who stood close by with Greta. Right away I noticed the weapon she was carrying and smiled.

“And you,” I said. “Looks like you passed.”

“I did! And so did Fabian!”

The nineteen-year-old was also armed. Griffin touched his hand and I chose to ignore it. We had other problems to deal with.

Warnick and Springer congratulated Griffin and Fabian. Joining in, Pederman shook their hands. He seemed distracted. I could see something changing in him. It wasn’t rage I saw in his eyes but sadness and disillusionment.

“Meet me in the conference room in one hour,” he said, and headed towards the administration building.

“So what’s going on?” Warnick said to Erzen. “Did the other guys make it back?”

“Yes, fortunately. It’s not good, Warnick. We ended up losing three of our guys. And there are about twenty dead cops. What we’ve got here is a power struggle.”

“And it’s hard to figure out who the players are.”

“And you guys?”

“Oh, we had a real nice time,” Springer said. “The cops gunned down the Vollmer twins and almost killed Doctor Fallow.”

Holly took my hand. “You mean they just started shooting?”

“And they would’ve gotten Warnick and Dave if Pederman hadn’t—”

“Springer, shut up,” I said. Then to Holly, “We dropped Isaac at the hospital. He’s going to make it.”

“What were you guys thinking?” Holly said, the anger seeping into her voice.

Warnick touched Holly’s arm. “We’re fine.” Then to Erzen, “What’s happening with the mayor?”

“They’re moving up the timeline to end our mission here.”

“The only way they can do that is if there’s a breach of contract.”

“Besides that, this town is in no shape to turn over,” I said.

Erzen lowered her voice. “Tell that to Hizzoner.”

Rapid gunfire erupted near the fence surrounding the command center. We turned to find a horde of draggers attempting to climb over. I’d never witnessed that. Usually, a fence confounded them. Before Warnick could say anything, we ran over to assist the other soldiers, who seemed surprised and overwhelmed. The creatures moved quickly, spreading out at the direction of a stark female dragger in a dirty, torn tracksuit. It was lean, muscular and bald, except for a few strands of bright orange hair crusted with blood. For a second I thought of Missy. Through a series of short, piercing seal barks, the female exhorted the others to scale the fence. Warnick gestured for us to fan out. Each of us—including Griffin and Fabian—took aim at the intruders.

“Wait,” Holly said. “Are we sure they’re not human?”

The female let out a blood-chilling death shriek and the others answered. We opened fire. I concentrated on the female, but it cleverly eluded me by using the others as a shield. Griffin was the first to take one out—a teenage boy wearing an In-N-Out uniform. Though it was pretty far-gone, its arms and legs eaten away, the dragger made it easily to the top of the fence with the skill of a free solo climber. But Griffin’s bullet sent it dropping back down on the other side. Lowering her weapon, she shuddered.

“Stay focused,” I said. “This isn’t over.”

We moved in as a unit, continuing to fire. Incredibly, more draggers made it up the fence. One of them flopped forward over the top. Holly’s bullet found its cranium and it stopped there mid-climb, its arms and legs twitching into stillness. We continued firing till we’d stopped them all. Some hung lifelessly from the fence, their bony fingers clutching the chain link. A flock of crows went at them, voraciously picking at the eyes and what was left of their lips and tongues.

The female we’d thought was dead shook itself like a wet dog and sprung to its feet. Fabian had it in his sights and could easily have taken it out, but he didn’t fire. The thing let out an angry groan like a wounded sow and tore out the throat of another frightened soldier standing nearby—a young woman. I shoved Fabian aside, deliberately walked up to the livid creature, jammed my weapon into its ear and, glaring at Fabian, pulled the trigger. The blood spray covered his shirt as the dragger sank lifelessly at my feet.

Then it was quiet, except for the sounds of the soldiers on ATVs as they raced up and down the length of the fence, searching for more intruders.

“Sorry, I …” Fabian said, sucking in the horror.

“You kill them, or they kill you.
¿Comprendes?
”

The injured woman writhed on the ground, clutching her neck, the blood spurting brightly through her trembling fingers. She looked at me, terrified. I glanced at Warnick—he lowered his eyes. We both knew what needed to be done. It was something all of us knew, though it wasn’t written in any manual or taught in self-defense classes. It was the reality of the world we lived in now. Except in extremely rare cases, when you were bitten you turned. That was it. And the virus didn’t care whether you were a sinner or a saint. You would die and come back as a monster without a conscience.

You were better off dead.

“Be still,” I said, kneeling and holding the shivering soldier down by the shoulder. She gurgled and whimpered. “Shh.” I sent a bullet through her brain. Fabian looked away in shame as I rose and holstered my weapon. I turned to find Holly and Griffin glaring at me.

“Way it is,” I said, and walked off towards our trailer.

“You didn’t have to be such a bastard about it,” Holly said.

I sat on the sofa, swilling a Dew to get rid of the taste of vomit—at least I’d made it to the toilet. Holly had followed me into the trailer alone. I started to ask where Griffin was and realized she’d probably gone off to comfort Fabian.

“One of ours died because of him,” I said. “It didn’t have to happen. Look at Griffin. She took care of business out there. And she’s fifteen.”

“He was scared, Dave. People don’t always do the right thing when they’re afraid. You should know that better than anybody.”

When our eyes met I knew what she meant. Months before, when I was another person, I’d left a woman to die because of a paralyzing fear. But this was different, wasn’t it? Long ago, Landry had made a speech to a bunch of scared rookies, when we’d decided to band together and fight the scourge.

Though I recalled those words every time I picked up a weapon, I realized Fabian never had the benefit of that wisdom.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you’re right,” I said, wiping my mouth. “I’ll talk to him later.”

“I think you should leave him alone.”

She undid her holster belt, laid it on the floor and sat on the sofa next to me, her legs tucked under her. Then she touched my hand. “Why do you hate Fabian so much?”

My stomach ached and I could still feel the gun in my hand. “I don’t hate him.”

“You sure?”

“Look, I’m angry about a lot of things. But I don’t hate him.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe. He
is
a good kid, Dave. He’s just trying to help. I don’t think he’s a fighter, though. Not like you. He’s—”

“Sensitive.”

“Something like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

She touched my knee. “You’re a good man—the best. I know you want to protect us and do what’s right. I do, too. But I feel like we’re losing ourselves. All this violence. I’m trying to hang on, I really am. We weren’t meant to live this way.”

“There was a time when everyone lived this way.”

“I don’t want to. And what about the baby? I don’t even want to think about what kind of world she will live in.”

“She?”

“I’m having a girl and that’s all there is to it.”

“I see. No test required.”

“Nope.”

“Just what I need. More women around here to tell me what to do.”

“You love it—admit it.”

I felt so tired. Tired to my soul. Filled up to
here
with the stinking rot of killing and betrayal. It seemed that no matter how hard we tried to make things better, everything conspired to keep it the same—or make it worse. There was no cure for the plague that was destroying our town. Everyone, it seemed, was corrupt. We were fighting people with no faces—powers much greater than ourselves—who drove black Escalades.

I thought of Guthrie and Caramel. Somehow they’d found a way to survive deep in the forest, with no help from anyone. And although they’d suffered two great losses, they were alive, with their guns, dope, crazy furniture and calaveras. But I couldn’t see myself doing the same. The picture was not forming in my head. Instead, I saw a long, empty fire road in the middle of nowhere, strewn with bodies, leading straight to Hell. And I could walk slow or run fast. But sooner or later I knew where I would end up. It was where we would all end up eventually.