When the Dead Rise (Book 1): The Beginning (12 page)

Anita's eyes flicked from Zach to Vickie before finally meeting Marcus' gaze. She gave him a worried look, her eyes suddenly brimming with unshed tears. "She's badly injured and needs immediate medical attention." She inched closer and lowered her voice. "The wound is deep and there's been damage to the subclavian artery. It's likely she'll bleed out." Anita waved to her meager pile of supplies sitting in a carrier. "With my limited resources, I'm afraid a lot of the injured students will simply die from blood-loss. Some of the students are so badly injured that I don't think even a hospital with a fully prepped medical team could help them now."

Marcus lowered his eyes to the young girl, lying pale and still on the gym mat. Her breathing was shallow and blood leaked from beneath the saturated gauze covering her wound. How many others were not going to make it? What were they going to do with the bodies? Were the students who died from being bitten going to come back like the others had? What about the students who hadn't been fatally bitten - what would happen to them? Unable to take his eyes off the cheerleader, Marcus' mind spun with questions.

Anita's light touch on his arm startled him from his thoughts. "I really must tend to the others. There are thirty or so students with grievous wounds and another twenty-five that need patching up," she said, her voice sounding weary.

Marcus looked into her tired face for a moment before glancing into the crowd. Relief filled him when he saw Mr. Hansfield hurrying back across the room with a clipboard in hand. "It's okay." Marcus patted the hand on his arm without looking back to the nurse. "I have things I must attend to as well. Come get me if anyone's condition worsens," he said before hurrying towards the principal.

"The remaining teachers are in your office Mr. Tanners," Mr. Hansfield said, handing Marcus the clipboard with lined paper and a pen.

"Good, tell them I'll be in momentarily," Marcus replied, turning away and walking to the front of the gym where several chairs lined the wall. Stepping up on a chair, Marcus faced the students and blew his whistle in one long shrill blow. The room quieted and everyone turned to face him. "I know you're all scared and want to know what's going on... but unfortunately we don't know."

"Zombies attacked the school," a male voice said, but Marcus couldn't determine who'd spoken in the sea of pallid faces. Whispers buzzed through the crowd and several students broke into sobs.

"We don't know that," Marcus shouted to be heard over the chatter. "For now we're safe in here. I'm going to meet with the teachers and figure out what we're going to do next. What I need is for everyone to write your name on this," he held up the clipboard, "so we have a list of all the students present and accounted for. If you have an injured friend, please write their name down on the second list along with the injury they've sustained. Once I've spoken to the teachers, we'll announce our next plan of action."

"Can we call home? Most of us don't have our cell phones because there wasn't time to stop at our lockers," someone shouted.

"I'll bring my phone out of my office and put it there." Marcus pointed to the small table outside his office. "You may line up and call home in an orderly fashion after your name's been added to the list. Because I know not all of you follow the rules..." snickers rippled through the crowd, "those of you with cells, please share it with those around you once you've made your own calls. Tell your parents that there's been an emergency, but stress to them that you're safe and under no circumstances should they come to the school to get you."

"You can't keep us here," a student shouted from the back of the crowd.

"Do you want to go outside and not only risk your lives but the lives of those in here as well? It's not safe out there since we don't know if this thing has spread throughout the town. This thing, whatever it is, wasn't brought onto school property by a student."

"You don't know that!" another voice shouted.

"I say you should let those of us who want to leave, go," a different student said and the gym erupted with mingled shouts of agreement and argument.

Marcus blew his whistle again, this time blowing until the room was once again quiet. "While you are here, you are our responsibility. We can discuss letting those who want to leave do so after I've spoken to the remaining teachers and we decide our next course of action. For now, sign the list and call your parents." The crowd began to break up and cluster into small groups. A sudden thought crossed Marcus' mind and he shouted over the growing din, "I'd also like to speak with those on the football and basketball teams for a minute by the side doors." Marcus jumped down from the chair, walking past the students who still stood along the length of the room. He ignored their questions.

Mr. Weber, who taught English, stood by the small table outside his office, holding the phone from Marcus' desk. "I overheard and brought this out for you."

"Thanks Pete," he tried to smile, but was afraid it looked more like a grimace. "Can you please tell the other's I'll only be another minute?" Pete nodded, taking the clipboard from Marcus. He patted Pete on the back in thanks, and turned to where the team players congregated by the outside doors. He saw Zach, Cameron and Noah standing with three other football players and Tyler with two other basketball players. Was this all that was left of his two teams - nine players?

"What's up Mr. T?" Noah asked as Marcus approached.

"Is this everyone?" he responded with a question of his own, glancing through the crowd of students.

"No," Tyler replied. "There are three other b-ball players but one of them has his cell and they were more concerned with calling home."

"There are two injured from the football team," Zach said solemnly. "I didn't think they should get up so I told them to stay put."

Nodding, Marcus brought his attention back to the players before him. "That's fine. I think the nine of you will be able to handle what I'm about to ask."

"Anything for you," Noah gave Marcus a ghost of a smile.

"Thanks!" Marcus tried to smile in return. "I need you guys to watch the doors. I don't want any of the students trying to get out while we're in my office."

"I don't think anyone is going to try to get out," Tyler said.

"I don't necessarily agree with you. If they can't get a hold of their parents, then they might try. Those things are out in the yard and I don't want more casualties than we already have." Marcus met the eyes of each of his players "Think you can keep these doors sealed?" They all nodded. "Good! I'll be back shortly."

The teachers crowded around Marcus, asking questions the moment he'd closed his door.

"Give the man space and let him explain," Mr. Hansfield boomed from Marcus' desk chair.

As soon as he had breathing room, Marcus told the story of the afternoon's grisly discovery without interruption; the teachers only stared in wrapt horror. With his tale complete, Marcus let out a long breath.

"There are also students who didn't make it to the gym. Some of them stayed in classrooms and we'll need to get to them somehow. We also need to call the police and hope they can come help us deal with this."

Ms. Sanchez, the economics teacher, was the first to speak. "I was already in here when Mr. Hansfield brought the others in. I was trying to contact the police but all of their lines were busy. I tried the county sheriff's department and it was busy there as well. When I tried calling the Poth police department, the phone just clicked and gave me that annoying off-the-hook fast-busy signal; it was the same when I tried the San Antonio highway patrol." Ms. Sanchez combed her fingers through her hair; Marcus read the gesture as frustration. "I called the elementary school and spoke to the principal there. I tried, as best as I could, to explain the situation here and warn them to gather all the students, lock the doors and to keep away from the windows. She sounded sceptical so I don't know if they actually took the necessary measures."

"Smart." Mr. Hansfield sat in Marcus' chair and nodded.

"I tried calling 911 from my cell just after Mr. Tanners made the announcement but all of their circuits were busy as well," Suzanne Nettles, the computer sciences teacher said, holding up her personal cell phone. "Now I have no service."

Marcus frowned. "You have no service?" He hurried over to his desk, unlocking the filing cabinet beside it and pulled out his own phone. He stared at the depleted signal bars on the screen. "Shit, I don't have service either." He turned to Mr. Hansfield, motioning towards his computer, "May I?" he asked.

Mr. Hansfield, still in the chair, rolled away from Marcus' desk. Irritated by the principal's lack of courtesy, Marcus bent over his keyboard clicking furiously. Once the computer accepted his password, displaying his desktop, Marcus double clicked on the Firefox icon. The browser hung for several seconds before a 'Page cannot be displayed' error came up. "Oh please God," he murmured under his breath, as he clicked the connections icon. A small window popped up and read: Not connected - no connections available. Wide-eyed, Marcus turned to face the teachers. "We've been cut off."

Everyone turned to Suzanne. "Impossible!" she snorted. "Here let me take a look. I'll need that chair Bart," she said, glaring down at the principal who stood, waving at the chair with a sheepish grin.

The door burst open and Anita, the school nurse, stood framed in the doorway; her eyes wide and terrified. "We've just lost a student."

The horrifying answer...

By the time Marcus pushed out of his office and made his way to the bleachers, a small crowd was already gathered around one of the mats. Some students whispered behind their hands while some cried softly on one another's shoulders.

"Get back; all of you need to step away." The cluster of students looked up and slowly cleared a path as Marcus jogged towards them. With all of their eyes on Marcus, none of them saw the dead girl's hand twitch.
She's coming back!
His mind screamed but he couldn't say that aloud - it would cause too much panic.

He didn't know what he was going to do if all the students who died came back as zombies. Would the ones who'd been non-lethally bitten succumb to some sort of infection and come back to bite others? What would he do with them in the mean time? Marcus supposed he could dump the zombies in the storage area for the bleachers. With the bleachers extended, there was a large, secure space both beside and beneath them. He dismissed the idea. Not only would they end up with fifty of those things trapped behind the bleachers but they also ran the risk of the smaller students worming their way between the risers.
And they'd moan...
It would draw unwanted attention from outside while driving everyone trapped inside crazy.

A male student in the group yelled, "What the fuck?"

Marcus was pulled from his thoughts in time to watch the dead girl sit up. She leaned over the wounded student beside her and buried her face into his stomach. Blood splattered as skin tore; the boy, lying on the mat, screamed in agony as the zombie pulled a chunk of flesh away from his body. The cluster of students gathered around, tripping over one another in an attempt to distance themselves from the newly risen zombie. Marcus stood, paralyzed by fear, uncertainty and indecision.

The zombie's hand stabbed down into the boy's gut and he screamed again. The bloody hand was withdrawn, clutching a glistening rope of intestines; the zombie bent over and began to chew on the boy's innards. Gagging, followed by the sounds of the students retching, mingled with the boy's screams of agony.

"Marcus? Marcus!" Someone shook his arm violently. He turned and saw Anita standing by his side. "What are we going to do?" she asked, obviously panicked.

The students gave a collective gasp and Marcus and Anita turned in unison. The zombie lay sprawled across the boy unmoving - a javelin protruding from its head. They all turned and gaped at the boy, whose hair fell into his eyes concealing most of the thick black eye-liner he wore. Marcus recognized the kid but couldn't remember his name; he'd only taken Phys Ed for part of one semester before being excused for medical reasons.

"W-wh-wha..." Marcus stuttered, unable to speak.

The boy shrugged. "Everyone knows how to take care of a zombie. The movies are quite specific about destroying the brain." He motioned to the boy groaning beneath the dead-again zombie. "We'd better do him before he comes back too.

Volume 6: Apocalypse Storage

Bugging out...

Hefting his backpack and rifle further up on his shoulder, Cory slunk along the deserted streets. When the zombies first appeared in San Antonio, he'd shut himself up in his home to wait for the army, but after seven days, he realized help wasn't coming.

On the first day, his cell phone and home phone stopped working and then the internet went down. After boarding up the first-story windows of his home, Cory spent the remainder of the day watching the news, waiting for someone to break the story. None of the major news networks, however, seemed to know anything was amiss in San Antonio; for them it was politics, sports and the recovering economy. The second day, the news was more of the same with the exception of Houston's and Austin's news networks. They claimed there'd been a massive oil spill in San Antonio and troops had already begun evacuating the city. That no one was allowed to enter the city limits until the crisis had been resolved. For the first few days, Cory was content to stay in his home; he had food, electricity and running water. Two days ago, rolling brownouts began in his neighbourhood and his food stores ran dangerously low. He'd thought about sneaking over to his neighbours and looting their homes for more supplies, but after weighing his options, Cory decided he'd have a better chance of survival if he could find and join up with others. He packed his meager food rations, two changes of clothes, a canteen of water, and several other miscellaneous items, which included his two handguns along with their ammo. After waiting until dusk, Cory finally braved the outside world.

Four shots rang out from a nearby house, and Cory ducked into the bushes; a long string of curses preceded an agonized scream. Darting towards the house, Cory peeked through the cracks of the boards on the window, horrified when he realized what he was witnessing. Soft light filled the room of the home and he could see the shifting forms of several zombies, feasting on a prone figure. Smoke began to fill the room as the light brightened; the zombies, intent on their feast didn't notice the flames licking up the side of a couch.

A window above his head opened and Cory looked up just in time to see a shotgun appear through the opening.

"Down here," he called as quietly as possible.

A woman with chin-length hair poked her head out. "Who are you?" she snapped, pointing the barrel of the gun towards him.

Cory slowly raised his arms. "I heard the gunshots and came to see if I could help. I'm not one those things." He motioned towards the growing light of the window.

There was a bang and the woman's head disappeared back inside. "Watch out," she called, before tossing a backpack out the window. It landed with a thump and a clatter beside Cory, making him glad she hadn't been aiming for him - it sounded heavy.

Looking back up, Cory watched in amazement as the woman, now perched on the window ledge, reached for a drainpipe attached to the side of the house.
She's going to kill herself.

With the rifle slung on her back, she shimmied down the pipe and was soon kneeling beside Cory, checking the contents of her pack.

"I'm Cory," he introduced himself.

The woman didn't look up from her backpack. "I'm Veronica. Ah! Here it is." She pulled out a large Maglite, setting it on the ground beside her rifle. Pulling on her backpack, she picked up the weapon and flashlight before finally standing to her feet, turning to look at Cory. "The fire will attract more. We have to get moving."

Cory didn't argue.

New friends...

"I was on my way into work when I first noticed them." Cory talked as he and Veronica walked along the bike trail. They'd decided it would be best to stay off the roads as much as possible. "The on ramp for the I-35 was backed up, so I went a little ways up the access road but traffic came to a dead stop there too. That's when I noticed the people, wandering between the cars - some banging on windows, while others crawled through openings. I didn't understand what was happening, until I saw a woman being pulled out of her car by the zombies. Of course, I didn't know what they were then, but when they started eating her, I knew something was very wrong. I knew with all that chaos that I wasn't going to make it to work, so I returned home." Cory shrugged, knowing Veronica couldn't see him in the darkness. "I feel like a coward for running and hiding."

"So why are you out now?" Veronica asked. "If Travis hadn't been such an idiot, I'd still be safe, hiding in his parent's home."

"I was low on food with limited ammo," he shrugged again, "but I guess I wanted to find others more than anything else. I have a stash of ammo, a few camping supplies, and several years' worth of MRE's at another location; if I can help some people survive along the way then maybe it would make up for my lack of action in the beginning."

Veronica snorted, "Lack of action? Even if you'd gone out the first day and tried to kill as many zombies as you could, you still couldn't have stopped the city from being overrun. You would have quickly died trying." There was a long pause before Veronica spoke again. "Travis was my boyfriend. When the shit hit the fan, we went to his parent's house since mine live in Florida; we figured safety in numbers... right? Well, it turned out that one of them bit Travis' dad before we got there. He told us that some maniac had tried to break into the house, and he'd gotten it while fending him off. It was only once on his forearm, but we soon realized once was enough."

Cory knew what she meant; he'd seen it a hundred times in the past week. The first time he fully realized what was happening was the afternoon of the second day. On the first day, he'd been standing in his upstairs window, picking off any zombies who wandered into his neighbourhood. His neighbour came home from work, cradling the bloody shoulder of his left arm and hurried into the house. Not thinking much of it at the time, Cory went back to his target practice until nightfall. He woke the next morning to someone banging rhythmically on his boarded up front door. Poking his head out the window, Cory looked down and into the face of his neighbour, standing with his arms raised and staring up at him with milky eyes.
That was the first one I knew.

"When Travis' dad began to get sick, we knew it was because of the bite." Veronica went on, saving Cory from reliving the moment that his neighbour's head exploded from the buckshot. "We put his father in the basement, because neither of us could put a bullet in his head; I started moving everything up to the second floor while Travis boarded up the windows. He had this bright idea that we could break a few of the stairs so if some of them got into the house, they couldn't get to us on the second floor. When his dad died, Travis couldn't deal with killing him a second time, so we went up to the attic, hoping the two levels between us would block out his father's moans.

"Looking back, I wish I'd just gone downstairs and put a bullet in his head. His moaning brought a whole group of zombies to the house and for three days, they beat on the doors trying to get in. We knew we were safe upstairs, but when the back door finally gave way, Travis just had to go check out the zombies. Like an idiot, he wanted to see if he recognized any of his dad's neighbours. When they noticed Travis on the stairs, the zombies tried to get to him. They fell through the hole only to shuffle back to the stairs and try again." Even though they were walking in the dark, Cory could tell Veronica was getting choked up sharing her story; she cleared her throat. "I told him to stop taunting the zombies and to come back upstairs. I hoped that without us there to excite them, they'd wander off, looking for food elsewhere. I don't know how long we were in the attic for - a few days for sure.

"Then tonight, Travis decided to see if there were any zombies left in the house, saying he wanted to go secure the back door so looters didn't ransack the place." She shook her head. "Against my better judgement, I agreed, waiting at the top of the stairs, ready to shoot any zombies that appeared at the bottom, while Travis slid down the banister. It seemed clear at first; we didn't hear any moans from the other rooms, so off he went. I don't know exactly what happened after that. I heard the back door close; Travis hammered a few nails, and then started cursing and shooting. When he screamed I knew I needed to get the hell out, but I didn't realize the urgency until I smelled the smoke - the stupid idiot must have lit a candle to see what he was doing when he secured the door."

"And that's when you met me," Cory finished, deciding Veronica didn't need to know what he'd seen.

"And that's when I met you," she replied. It was too dark to see clearly, but he knew he heard the smile in her voice; it gave him hope that together they'd be able to survive.

A boy in a tree...

Dawn was rapidly approaching when Cory and Veronica turned off the bike path and back onto the city streets. Ahead, they saw a man standing on the cab of a truck, taking shots at a group of zombies clustered around the bottom of a tree.

"Over here," he whispered, pulling Veronica behind an abandoned FedEx delivery truck. He unslung his backpack, taking only his rifle. "I'm going to climb up to the roof and figure out what he's doing."

Veronica's eyes were wide with fear, but she nodded. "I'm going to poke through the boxes to see if there's anything useful," she said, pulling the back door open and peeking inside the dark interior.

Moving quickly, Cory stepped up on the back tire and pulled himself to the truck's roof. Crawling to the front of the vehicle, Cory readied his rifle and sighted down the scope. The man on the truck seemed so focused on the group of fifteen or so zombies beneath the tree that he hadn't noticed the growing crowd, wandering up behind him. He could help the man, but what if the man turned around and demanded their gear? Could he risk Veronica's survival to help one man he didn't even know? Did the man even need help or was he just driving around killing any zombies he came across?
He could be a total crazy.
Cory knew he had to make a choice - and quickly; the lead zombie was already trying to get into the man's truck bed.

He pulled the trigger and the zombie's head exploded. The man's gun whipped around, pointing in Cory's direction. Cory took another shot at the next closest zombie, and then lifted his hand in greeting. The man tipped his hat, before turning back to focus on the other group. Cory watched as he carefully and expertly sighted along his rifle before making another clean kill.

Finding another zombie in his sights, Cory pulled the trigger, but a shot from within the truck made his own shot go wide.
What the hell?

He shuffled back to the door, hanging his head over the side trying to peer through the dark. "Are you okay Veronica?" He heard the panic in his voice. How could he have left her alone?

There was a grunt before Veronica called, "I'm okay. Just found the driver. Don't worry about me."

Cory wanted to get off the roof and check on his new companion, but another shot reminded him that the man needed help as well. Veronica said she was fine. He sighted along the barrel and pulled the trigger.

Once they'd put down the zombies, Cory climbed down from the roof to check on Veronica. "Find anything useful?" he asked, stepping over the top half of the unidentifiable FedEx man.

"No," Veronica replied, stomping through the packages. "But I did find this." She smiled brightly as she held up a glittery bracelet.

Cory glared at her. "Where's..." he pointed to the dead-again zombie beside the truck. Its' stomach was an eviscerated mess of torn intestines; he wasn't sure where the bottom half of his body was and wasn't sure he wanted to know.

She shrugged, dropping the bracelet into her shirt pocket. "I only found that half."

"I appreciate the help," a gravelly voice spoke from behind Cory; he spun around, rifle aimed. The man from the truck stood there with his hands held up - he had to be in his sixties. "I mean no harm; I just wanted to thank you for keeping my ass from being eaten." He held out his hand, "My names Bill. Nice to meet you both."

"No problem." Cory shook Bill's hand. "I'm Cory and this is Veronica."

"Why were you determined to kill all those zombies around that tree?" Veronica cocked her head, placed her hand on her hip, and scrutinized Bill intently.

Walking back to his truck, Bill motioned for them to follow. "Well why don't you come with me and I'll show you."

"I don't want to go along with some crazy old man who likes killing for the fun of it," Veronica whispered to Cory.

He shushed her, lowering his own voice. "I don't get the crazy vibe from him, do you?"

Handing him his pack, Veronica shook her head. "No, but it's weird right? Him standing on his truck shooting at a pack of zombies?"

"I suppose we'll just have to go find out why," Cory said, slinging his pack back over his shoulder.

"You two ride in the bed till we get to the tree," Bill said as they approached. "I'd rather not have to walk around in that mess," nodding to the bottom of the tree where the dead zombies lay in a heap. Turning, Bill opened his door and hoisted himself into the cab.

The engine started up with a rumble as Cory helped Veronica into the back of the truck, before climbing in himself. It was a short drive and the crunch of bones beneath the tires sickened him, but once beneath the low hanging branches, Cory knew he'd made the right choice in helping Bill. They stared up into the branches, and Veronica gasped when her flashlight beam illuminated the pale face of a scared little boy. He couldn't have been any older than five.