The Living Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Coast (7 page)

“Oh, no.”

The overlook afforded a panoramic view of the city, river, and surrounding countryside. On a normal day she could see how it would be breathtakingly lovely but not today. Fires burned and smoke drifted, partially obscuring the view but what
was
visible was disheartening. A dark mass of shuffling, staggering dead surged across the land, spilling into the river, jamming the bridges and roads. How many were down there? A hundred thousand?  More? 

“We have to turn around. I think that’s Louisville.”

Bea said quietly, almost as if she were afraid the teaming crowd below would hear her, “I thought,
hoped
really, that we would find towns that were still normal. Someplace safe with running water and electricity and food. It’s not going to happen, is it?”

“Probably not. It’s everywhere.”

Bea took a deep breath and released it. “Ok. We turn around. Then what? We got lost before, we’re still lost. Look at this-” she gestured “they’re all around us and it’s getting dark.”

“Do you want to spend the night in the truck?”

“We may not have a choice.”

Below them the seething mass of dead began to swarm the river. They soon saw why. A double-decked riverboat, the kind used for river tours, packed to overflowing with people and riding low in the water, drifted into view. They were having engine trouble, a loud chugging, grinding sound echoed against the rock bluff. The passengers saw the infected on the bank and as more and more dead plunged into the water, frightened screams added to the engine noise.

The current was still strong enough to take some of the floundering dead downstream with it but more were floating and struggling toward the ailing riverboat. Reaching it they were unable to scale the sides but the panicked passengers all pressed toward the far side of the boat anyway. The overloaded boat began to tilt dangerously to the left. A warning bell, clanging harshly, added to the confusion and noise. Someone, presumably the captain, took up a bullhorn and pleaded with the passengers to help right the vessel but they were past rational thought.

Slowly but inexorably the boat continued to tilt and take on water. With a splashing boom the vessel collapsed onto its side. Both decks hit the water hard and began to sink. Some passengers fought their way back to the surface only to meet with the dead. Some got away and were swept downstream. Others grappled with their attackers but they were overwhelmed. The water was a boiling mass of the dead and the soon-to-be-dead. A boy, small but obviously a skillful swimmer, made it to the small pebbled ledge against the cliffs. As he lay, gasping and winded, a group of water-bloated dead groped their way onto the shore and ripped him to bloody pieces.

That was when Bea turned away and went back to the truck. She leaned against a door, slid to the ground and hugged her knees. The boy reminded her of Brian and despite an empty stomach she leaned to one side and was quietly sick. She wiped her mouth and sat there, shuddering.

“Are you okay?” David came around the side of the truck.

“Yes, fine.” She stood up and opened the truck door. “I can drive for a while if you like. It’s my turn.”

“Are you sure your head doesn’t hurt? Okay then, let’s go.”

The winding road brought them back down and even closer to the river. They had to get out of the area before dark. Impulsively she turned left off the main road, away from the river, and continued taking left turns, going deeper and deeper into a heavily wooded glade. The road turned to gravel and grew narrower but she didn’t slow down and David reached for the grab-handle and held on, white-knuckled. She kept going, finally crossing a shallow running stream after which the road began to take them up again. The switchback curves barely slowed her down and David expected them to plunge to their deaths at any moment.

The view, when they finally crested the slope, showed they were farther from the city and the river. The last of the daylight faded from the ruddy sky and as the truck sputtered to a halt they realized they were out of gas.

Birds called in the surrounding woodland, one trilling with a particularly piercing sound before flying away, a dark blur in the evening air. An early moon hung low in the sky, giving a little light.  Just over the ridge was the barely discernible outline of a building. With no options other than remaining in the truck for the night they climbed out and shouldered their backpacks, proceeding up and over the top of the hill with weapons drawn. Bea switched on her flashlight and walked ahead. She was starving and hoped to find a place with water and food. A bed would be a nice bonus but she would take a night on the floor if she could just find a sturdy shelter with a strong, dead-bolt on the door.

Small rustlings sounded all around them as the animals in the woods found shelter for the night and settled in. There was nothing to indicate the possible presence of the dead except-

A smell like rotted meat floated randomly on the slight breeze. Bea stopped and turned around in a slow circle, trying to see if she could tell the direction the smell came from but it was elusive, coming and going randomly. They continued to slog forward across the mossy forest floor and entered a small, level clearing.

At first she thought she had stumbled over a rotted log, foot sinking into a soft pile and nearly tripping. She trained her flashlight on the ground. A deep groan drifted up and she dropped the flashlight.

She stood in the decomposing mush of one of the infected. Revolted, she tried to pull free but, off-balance, she fell backward and found her hands inside the stinking guts of another. This one tried to bite her and she rolled to her left, scrambling to her feet and ran, leaving her flashlight behind in a blind panic.

The ground itself seemed to be moving. Grunting moans filled the night air in a hellish chorus. She ran, sure they would pull her down and devour her with what was left of their mouths. Her foot sank into another moist pile of rotten flesh and pus, scraping her boot on a bone when she pulled out. Teeth clacked together somewhere behind her and she ran until an arm reached up and grasped her ankle in an iron grip. She fell, sprawling headlong on top of a writhing corpse.

Gasping for air and fighting to get free, she kicked the dead arm until it broke off from the body. She gained her feet and began to climb the next ridge. There didn’t seem to be any dead here and she sank down, prying off the arm still clutching her ankle and flinging it into the darkness.

A branch cracked behind her and she froze, listening. Footsteps approached steadily and she whispered, “David?”

“Yeah. Stay where you are. I don’t think anything followed us but I want to be sure.”

They sat in silence for a few moments but heard nothing other than faint groans in the distance. David turned on his flashlight and they carefully made their way back down the ridge and looked around.

A campground, tents torn, sleeping bags and coolers scattered about, took up most of the copse. Decomposing infected bodies, most still moving, lay at random intervals. Bea retrieved her flashlight and they slowly made their way back to the truck.

H
e woke the next morning to a squeaking sound. His head hurt where it lay against the window and he turned, opening his eyes to see a noseless face pressed against the glass, blackened tongue licking. He jerked away, elbow hitting the middle of the steering wheel and the horn blared. Squinting in the morning light he surveyed the area around the truck and felt his tension ease. Only the one.

Next to him Bea lay sprawled across the seat, face pressed into the crack between the seat and the door, still sound asleep. One booted foot pressed against his thigh and the other was tucked up underneath her. Her hands were folded together and pressed against her chest making her look as if she had fallen asleep while saying her prayers. If so, it was probably a good move.

They were stranded. The occupied but destroyed campground indicated there should be vehicles somewhere but he didn’t see any sign of them. Of course the rain probably would have obliterated any tire tracks.  Some of the campers must have survived long enough to get in their cars and escape.

The ground, soft and moist, steamed where the heat of the sun hit it directly. Spring was farther along here and some of the trees, especially the willows, were covered with swelling buds on the branches. Shading his eyes he saw slight movement on the ground over near the trampled and torn tents. Another squeak. The infected corpse was now biting the side view mirror, broken teeth gnawing uselessly but resolutely on the splintering glass and plastic.

He spied Bea’s fence rail poking out the top of her pack. Rolling the window down he plunged the rail deep into the dead man’s eye socket. There was a sucking, wet sound as he pulled it out. The wagging tongue went slack. The rotting man sagged to the ground.

He grabbed his backpack. Opening the door and stepping over the body he found his MRE’s and opened one of the foil packets. Chicken fajitas. One hundred sixty calories was not going to get him through the morning so he opened one more packet and, righting an overturned picnic table, sat down for breakfast.

The truck door opened and Bea joined him. He tossed her two of the foil packets.

She shook her head. “Thanks, but one is fine. I owe you a breakfast now.”

“I want the Grand Slam at Denny’s.”

“You’ve got it. I’d pay a hundred dollars for a mocha cappuccino right now. A hundred more if I could get blueberry pancakes with it.”

“Too sweet. Give me black coffee, bacon, eggs, and buckwheat pancakes. That’s a real breakfast.”

“You have no idea what you’re missing. My blueberry pancakes are world class. You can ask my brother when we…”

She trailed off and turning away, finished the fajitas, swallowing past a sudden lump in her throat. Fear she had held at bay for days slithered into her mind and coiled there, darkening the bright morning and making the food taste like ashes. She told herself she was just tired. Once they found a way out of here she would be okay.

“Did I dream it or did you just kill an infected through the window?”

“Yeah, I did. He’s on the other side of the truck. You ready?”

They skirted the campground as they headed up the ridge. Neither of them wanted to see the rotting infected again but despite their efforts to stay away, they ran into one more. A woman, belly bloated in decomposition, lay just off the trail. A rasping moan drifted from her mouth and she managed to drag what was left of her body into their path, ravening mouth open wide but she was no threat. Mushrooms sprouted from her nose and eyes and beetles crawled in the moist folds of her neck.

David crushed her head with his boot. “They’re decomposing faster in the warmth. It’s looking more and more like all we have to do is stay alive long enough to let them all rot.”

The day was warm, warm enough that they tied their jackets around their waists after they walked just a few minutes. The building they glimpsed the night before turned out to be a barn with two dead and ravaged horses inside. The infected had wreaked their havoc and moved on.

Even though there was no evidence any of
them
were still in the area, David and Bea walked with weapons ready, listening for footsteps and sniffing the air for traces of decay. They thought they saw occasional footprints but the ground was a carpet of springy moss and it was hard to be sure. The trail emerged from the woods into a graveled parking lot. They were in a park, Salt Lick State Park, according to a grayed, wooden sign. Another sign directed them to a trail for the Nature Center and The Cascades.

They descended back into more woods briefly and soon heard the roar of water. Lots of water from the sound of it. Passing by a log built building, the Nature Center, they found stone steps leading down. The water was really loud now and turning a bend in the path, they stopped.

Just below them a magnificent series of waterfalls cascaded down a rocky bluff, ending in a white pool of churning water far below. Bea almost exclaimed in delight at the sight then abruptly closed her mouth.

An assembly of the dead stood below them on the apron of huge flat rocks leading to the cascade’s first cataract. They shuffled agitatedly, almost in unison, clearly excited by the sound of the water. A white-eyed child in red-stained, footed pajamas, half his jaw gone and the other half dangling, stepped too close to the edge and went over, body splattering among the rocks below. His unheeding comrades continued their slow dance of the dead.

Bea and David backed away silently and climbed the rock steps, the sound of the water gradually fading. Bea kept glancing over her shoulder to see if they were followed but saw nothing.

Breaking into the Nature Center involved one hard kick to a decrepit metal door back near the tightly locked dumpster. The trash was more secure than the building. Probably to keep bears from coming around.

They entered through what was presumably a break room. There was a sink, microwave and mini-fridge that stank of spoiled food. David found an unopened box of crackers. A short hallway led into an atrium with various displays relating to the flora and fauna of the region. Skylights only dimly lit the room and the air smelled musty.

Bea went straight for the ladies’ room. Clear water gushed from the tap and she splashed her face and neck then drank thirstily. The soap dispenser was empty or she would have attempted a sink bath. Instead did what she could with wet paper towels.

She found David in the atrium scrolling through something on his phone while absentmindedly eating crackers. He offered her the box and she grabbed a handful.

“Any news?

“Nothing. Just updates on personnel and contact information. We must be losing a lot of people. They keep changing.”

Bea nodded and wandered off, looking at the glass display cases. There were several stuffed foxes and two chipmunks, all a little dusty. The glass eyes looked cloudy, reminding her uncomfortably of the dead. She shivered.

A faded series of illustrations on the wall caught her eye. They detailed the local effects of a swarm of earthquakes that struck the area in the winter of 1811-1812. According to the text the Cascades, formerly a single, sheer waterfall, were created over a period of three months and three or four separate earthquake events. There was an ink sketch of the original fall then several more illustrations of the Cascades.

In addition there were enlarged photographs of various sand blows created by the quakes. One was so large it was known as the Kentucky Sahara and was a popular spot for campers who liked riding the dunes with ATVs.

The display further detailed a bit of local lore:

“This area was in many ways still considered the western frontier, sparsely populated and with towns few and far between.

One town, Elm’s Corners, was cut off for months by rock slides and a river that changed course during the aftershocks. When outsiders finally reached the town, they found the entire population dead or missing. Mutilated bodies lay in the streets and teeth marks were found on the bones. Tales of cannibalism circulated in the region for decades.”

She jumped at the sound of David’s voice behind her. “I have something about that in my files. Not that exactly but something from around the same time frame. Remind me to show it to you when we have time. Are you ready to go?”

Outside,
a formation of three jets streaked across the sky, leaving triple contrail clouds, heading west.
Two hours later they reached State Highway 61 and another hour’s walk brought them to a partially burned-out Quality Inn
. Two cars were in the parking lot, both locked. A steady, pounding rhythm shook the door of a room close to where the fire had been and they left it alone.

Guns ready, they entered the lobby. Furniture and paper lay scattered about but while they encountered no one living or dead, a steady scratching came from a closed door behind the registration desk and the air was foul with a tell-tale odor.

Bea said, “I don’t want to go back there. Let’s just leave.”

“We need a car. Help me look for keys.”

“In movies someone always knows how to hotwire a car. Schools are really sleeping on the job these days. I can’t recall a car-stealing class even being offered at my high school or university.”

“Funny. Will you just help me look?”

Searching the drawers and cabinets behind the reception desk was a dead end except for a handful of toothbrushes in plastic packages. Bea pocketed those while keeping an eye on the door.

David said, “I’m going in. Be ready for whatever is in there to rush the door.” Bea nodded and held her gun in front of her. “Ready? One, two, three!”

He threw open the door and a furry figure darted out so fast it was almost a blur. A hound, emaciated and whimpering, skittered across the tile floor, into the lobby door and began to claw frantically on the glass, frightened eyes pleading. Bea opened the door and the dog was gone, dashing into the woods and out of sight.

“Oh no.” David pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth. Four figures, two adults and the others children, dangled from ropes thrown over exposed ceiling beams. Blackened tongues protruded between decomposing lips. The ropes cut into the decaying flesh of their necks. The parents (presumably) struggled and clawed at the air, legs trying to find something to stand on. The children, one little more than a toddler, were truly dead. Their legs were chewed to the bone, answering the question of what the dog had eaten while trapped.

Eyes watering and trying not to gag at the smell they searched the room, finding a set of keys in a purse. Bea opened the woman’s wallet. A picture of a smiling family gazed serenely at the camera. She snapped it closed and put it back down gently.

David stared at the writhing dead couple with a grimly resigned expression. “We have to end them. It would be irresponsible not to. Eventually those ropes will give way and they’ll be free. No one needs to walk in on that.”

Bea reluctantly agreed. After she cleaned the tip of her fence rail on the comforter she went outside and tried the keys in the car with a child seat in the back assuming this would be the woman’s car. The Nissan was in good shape and held a half tank of gas. She removed the child seat and loaded their back packs. The sky was now overcast and clouds were banking in the western sky. The air held a hint of rain.

David drove. Once again they encountered wrecks they couldn’t get around and soon found themselves shunted onto back roads. They passed through a town that was little more than a wide space in the road. Mutilated bodies shambled along the sidewalks and streets in front of burned out buildings.

The threatened rain came down in torrents, a heavy fog set in and they slowed to practically a crawl. Headlights only illuminated the gloom as far as five feet.

Bea asked, “What were you saying about the earthquake here? The one from the 1800’s?”

“Get the laptop from my backpack and plug this in.” He handed her his flash drive. “It should be fully charged. Look for the file labeled
Lewis and Clark
.”

Most school children in the United States are familiar with the expedition of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, two explorers dispatched by Thomas Jefferson, third President of the infant United States to reconnoiter the newly purchased Louisiana Territory. President Jefferson was harshly criticized by some for the $15,000,000 purchase as they felt it exceeded the prerogatives of a president. Jefferson was no doubt eager to prove the value of the land to his countrymen.

Lewis and Clark, with a select company of adventurers that included the now well-known Sacagawea, the sixteen-year-old Shoshone purchased bride of a French trapper, set out to map and report back on the terrain, flora and fauna*, peoples, and resources of the newly-purchased land.

It would be a daunting task. The purchase added some 828,000 square miles to the total area of the country, doubling it in size. The journals herein encompass the time frame from March 3
rd
1804 thru 1806.

The Ohio River was exceptionally low that summer and autumn and Lewis and his party were forced to travel for some distance on land instead of the preferred method of floating down the river to Indiana Territory where he was to join Clark. This very brief excerpt deals with the partial excavation of an indigenous burial mound in western Ohio and, as far as this researcher knows, has never been published. The tale may well fill part of the gap in the journal timeline that has frustrated historians for over two-hundred years. (Journals have been corrected for spelling.)