The Dead Series (Book 2): Dead Is All You Get (42 page)

It was still raining. After that cold, harsh day when I’d been rescued, Warnick, Griffin and Fabian had taken turns watching over me at the hospital, where I must have slept for twenty-four hours. When I woke, as if from the dead, they saw to it that I washed, dressed and ate. They told me Operation Guncotton hadn’t completely succeeded, and so a special unit of the National Guard had gone to Tres Marias to clear it of any remaining draggers. The operation would take weeks but, using the drones and Guardsmen on ATVs, they were confident the town would be secured. There was even talk of some of the civilians we rescued returning to the town to start again. The idea seemed insane, and it only became real when Warnick happened to mention the banks and insurance companies who were already sniffing around, anxious to assess the damage.

I was a mess, so Warnick saw to it that Holly’s body was delivered to a morgue in Redding. As I slept, he enlisted Isaac’s help in overseeing the burial arrangements. Because they’d murdered her, an autopsy was required. Isaac performed it himself, and took care to preserve the body as much as it was possible to. He did well. Lying in the coffin, she looked beautiful. I asked that she be buried in her wedding dress and wearing her gold First Communion crucifix. Like me, Holly didn’t have any other family. And I didn’t want her buried in Tres Marias. Too many nightmares associated with that place. Besides, the town didn’t have a Catholic cemetery.

Because my wife had died while employed with Black Dragon, the company paid for everything. The funeral Mass was held at St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church, and was attended mostly by people from Black Dragon. Isaac, the Zimmers and a few other civilians whom Holly had helped also attended. At the graveside, a priest said the final prayers. Warnick brought a CD player and blasted “Just Like Heaven” by the Cure. I don’t know how he found out—he wouldn’t tell me—but it was Holly’s all-time favorite song. After the burial, a few of us met at Starbucks. I didn’t want to, but Griffin insisted. She seemed to be taking on the responsibility of preserving the family.

Starbucks was crowded. The last time I’d been there, it had been to meet Missy and convince her to leave me alone—a lifetime ago. The coffee line stretched across the store, and most of the tables were filled. Waiting to order, I felt like a ghost among the living.

We ended up sitting outside, sipping our coffees. Greta lay at my feet protectively. None of us was in uniform. Griffin looked young, fresh and confident in her new blue jeans and yellow Under Armour tank top. Fabian, dressed more like a cowboy than a soldier, seemed to me like a man coming into his own. And Warnick, in jeans and a black t-shirt. The only word to describe my friend—the one who’d gotten me through the horror—was
brother
.

“We have to report to the regional office for a debrief,” Warnick said. “We’ll be given temporary housing in the city, and eventually we’ll have our new assignments.”

“Awesome, I’ve never been to San Francisco!” Griffin said. “Where do you think they’ll send us?”

“Could be anywhere. I heard there might be a gig in Atlanta.”

“Another outbreak?” Fabian said, half-smiling.

Warnick took a long swallow. “Let’s hope not.”

“And what about Walt Freeman?” I said.

“There will definitely be an investigation. But this team won’t have anything to do with it, although we might be called in to give depositions.”

“When do we leave for San Francisco?”

“Tomorrow.”

I thought about Griffin and Fabian. She was stroking Greta’s ear, Fabian holding her other hand. A warm feeling came over me, and I smiled. “You two look good together.”

Griffin blushed and withdrew her hand. “I …”

“You’re fine,” I said. Then to Fabian, “Holly always liked you, dude.”

“And you?” Warnick said.

“He might be growing on me.” Everyone laughed but me.

It was a beautiful day. The air was cold, the sky clear. Cars cruised by on the street and parents pushed babies in strollers. People milled around us, going about their business as if everything was normal. And it was—for them. I wanted so much to feel that. To be caught up in the everyday, not haunted by the horror that I had witnessed for so long. How did a person even do that? Climb their way out of Hell and return to a life in which no one was trying to kill you. I didn’t think I could—knew I never would.

“We should get going,” I said. “Not much to pack, but I’d like to rest so we can get an early start.”

“Sounds good,” Warnick said.

As we got up, Griffin touched my hand. “Dave, it’s going to be okay.”

At that moment she sounded so much like Holly. I wanted to close my eyes and see my wife standing there, unhurt and beautiful, but I knew that would tear me apart. So I kept them open and tried to smile. “I know,” I said.

I was never any good at endings. Laying Warnick’s bible gently on the nightstand where he would find it, I headed out before dawn and made my way silently out of the hotel. After we’d returned from Starbucks the previous afternoon, I’d gone out again, presumably to buy clothes for the trip. Griffin and Fabian had wanted to come with me, but I’d told them I needed time alone. I’d taken the black Escalade and, upon returning, parked it away from the hotel. Now in the darkness, I walked silently towards it, got in and started it. The sound of the powerful engine revving wouldn’t be heard by anyone at the hotel.

My only weapon was my axe, which lay on the floor on the passenger side. I would need a lot more. Guns and ammo. I thought about Griffin—the young girl I cared for so much—and I knew she’d be okay. She had Warnick and Fabian. Together they would protect her with their lives.

It didn’t take long to get to Mt. Shasta. Instead of driving towards the lake, I found one of the fire roads that led into the forest and followed it for several miles. Eventually, I turned onto an obscure road and headed towards a clearing. When I saw the fountain and the statue of Diana, I knew I was where I needed to be.

A warning shot screamed past the vehicle. Gingerly, I opened the car door and slid out. Exposing myself to the wrath of Guthrie, I stood erect with my hands raised. The old man stepped out of the shadows, his bullpup pointed at my head. When he saw me, he took a deep breath. “Next time, call first.”

“If only,” I said.

“You alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, come on inside. I’ll have Caramel put on some tea. Hungry?”

I followed the old man inside. He laid down his weapon and headed straight for the kitchen. “Caramel! We have company!” He turned and gave me the greasy eye. “It’s Dave Pulaski!”

The old woman stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a dishrag. When she saw me, she hurried over and gave me a hug. “You’re alive!”

“Matter of opinion.”

Caramel took my hand and led me into the kitchen. Guthrie and I took seats as she put on water for tea. “What’s going on?”

“Holly’s dead,” I said. Hearing my own voice say that out loud shook me to my core. I didn’t want to cry in front of these people, so I pretended to admire the condiments on a nearby shelf.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Caramel said as she set down three cups and saucers.

“I’m on my way to get the people responsible.”

“That’s a dangerous game,” Guthrie said.

“I have to.”

“Yeah. But you need to know that more than likely they’ll kill you. People who can do what they did are way more powerful than the average punk robbing a liquor store.”

“Which is why I came to you. I need weapons.”

Guthrie and Caramel exchanged a concerned look. “Of course, you can have whatever you want,” he said.

“Thanks. I owe you guys so much.”

“Any idea where you’ll find them?”

“I’m going to try LA. After that, I don’t know.”

“Got any money?”

“A little.”

“Most of our cash is tied up in ganja and guns,” Guthrie said. “But I can let you have some. Stay the night, though. You look like you could use the rest.”

I left the next morning. Guthrie let me take one of his trucks—the one his sons used to drive. There would be much less of a chance of me being spotted heading out of Mt. Shasta. He loaded me up with weapons, ammo and advice—the most valuable of which was
Don’t trust anyone.

I’d always had a hard time confiding in people, so I figured it wouldn’t be difficult to keep my guard up. But to live a life without letting anyone in—that was a lonely life. I had one abiding purpose, though, and I clung to it. I would hunt down Walt Freeman and, before I killed him, I would make him explain why they did this to us. And I would make him tell me how many other towns they planned to ruin. How many more lives they planned to sacrifice in the name of money. I would make him tell me.

Then I would make him pay.

Outside the camouflaged house in the early morning of a fall day, I said my last goodbyes and drove away to a future with no name. Soon, everything was behind me. I wanted only to move forward, with no ties and no past. It would be as if I had just come into the world, packing revenge. I decided to go by way of Tres Marias and stayed on the fire road going south. Eventually, I came to a small bridge that spanned over a dry riverbed. It had been a million years ago when I’d crossed that bridge and seen a man being chased by what I would later learn were draggers. I’d tried to save him but couldn’t. And I’d fled as they devoured him.

Now, there was only silence. No birds, no wildlife. Up ahead, I saw something in the road. Probably a raccoon. As I got closer, I recognized Jim’s dog, Perro. I stopped the truck and got out. The decaying form lay in the dirt, finally free of the curse. Only its morbid flesh remained. A few feet away in the shadows, my friend Jim stared at me. It didn’t surprise me that he was there. I’d always felt he was watching me as I struggled to survive the plague. I knew how much he’d loved his dog—probably the only thing in his life he ever did love. In a dream, he’d said it wasn’t fair what happened to Perro. It wasn’t fair what happened to him, either. Or Holly. Or anyone else who’d fallen victim to this terrifying man-made curse.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” I said. He nodded sadly, finally accepting that I’d done everything I could.

I climbed into the truck and fired up the engine. When I looked up, Jim was gone. I noticed a CD lying on the passenger seat and picked it up. Must have been left there by one of Guthrie’s boys. It was a band I’d never heard of—The Chambers Brothers. I slipped it in the player and cranked it up. Lost myself in the pounding, liberating rhythm of “Time Is Here Today.” As I picked up speed I checked the rear view mirror and, for the last time, saw Perro’s bloated body in the road, newly arrived crows fighting as they picked at the rotting remains. Eventually he would return to the earth. Might even nourish it. Circle of life, I guess.

I didn’t know where I was going exactly. Towards a future filled with uncertainty and danger. It was the kind I was used to, but this time there were no limits. I had to find the people who did this—needed to deal with them, even if it meant dying alone without anyone to pray for me. It was all that mattered now. I had to.

For Holly.

Copyright © 2014 by Steven Ramirez.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher at
stevenramirez.com/permission

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Dead Is All You Get / Steven Ramirez.—1st ed.

ISBN 978-0-9898718-3-9

A Simple Ask

Thank you for reading my novel. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now that you’ve finished it, I have an ask.