Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End (36 page)

4

“I’m dead. I arrive at the Pearly Gates and walk on through. I see the faces of everyone I’ve let down. Bill is there. Becka. Oz just started showing up recently. They all look disappointed in me. My mom and dad are there too.

“I just pass through the crowd, I know I failed them and can’t change that. I’m there to see one person. I gotta see Bruce.”

“Your uncle?” the psychiatrist asks. Dan Williamson has been seeing Doctor Flemming for the past month.

“Yeah, I have to find him so I can ask him something.”

“Ask him what?” the doctor inquires what Dan was expecting him to inquire.

“A while back, I found a photo of him among his papers,” Dan explains. “It was taken at some charity event, by how folks are dressed I think it may have been the mid-nineties, it’s of him and Freeman Wilkes. In my dream I feel I have to ask him how much he knew.”

“Because of the rumor of Wilkes Pharmaceuticals being responsible for the plague?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he ever give you an answer?”

“I haven’t been able to get close enough to him to ask. He’s in a roped off VIP section that’s full of dead celebrities, different people every night. Last night he had one arm around Marilyn Monroe and the other around Bettie Page, he was talking to Gandhi. Everyone was laughing and having a blast, no one noticed me. I tried to shout to get his attention but bouncers with white wings pulled me away.”

“Do you really think your uncle was involved?” the doctor asks.

“No. But, I’d like to hear it from him,” Dan answers.

Doctor Flemming laughs slightly. “But, it wouldn’t really be him answering would it? This is your dream that is occurring in your mind.”

Dan shrugs. He sees the doctor’s point, however he also spoke to Bruce after his death on a few occasions. Granted, he had an extremely high fever at the time.

“Tell me about the trouble you’re having with the blood donations,” the doctor leads Dan into a change of subject.

“I was fine at first,” Dan says. “Then about a month in I started to feel weird. You’re going to ask ‘weird how?’ By weird I mean: I started to feel as if I had this pent up energy inside me, a ball of it in my chest. And, it grows and grows. I start to feel as if I’m crawling out of my skin, about to explode. Nothing I’ve tried calms me down.

“I white knuckled through it for another week, they really needed my blood—or my plasma to exact—but the feeling just got worse and worse. At one point I tried to get off the comfy table, pull the needle. Now they strap me down.”

“Is it the process?” the doctor probes deeper.

“No. I was fine with that,” Dan says honestly. “I just can’t relax unless I’m in my room with my family. I’ve been feeling this way elsewhere too, situations where I can’t get up and move freely are problematic now. I can’t sit through meetings anymore. The Major has these weekly sit downs to talk about the state of things here in the park, I can’t do it. This here, with you, is getting to me.”

“Hmm,” the doctor makes a pondering sound as he contemplates this.

Dan sits up from the creaky leather couch needing something to do. The building tension inside of him abates slightly with the new vantage. The doctor is looking at the ceiling, deep in thought. Dan can’t help but notice the man is sitting with his legs crossed oddly, not ankle on the knee, but impossibly high, and his body is twisted in his chair so only one hip is actually on the cushion.
Does he know he’s doing this?
Dan contemplates, happy to have something to focus on other than his impending explosion.

“I guess you haven’t been able to let yourself be at peace for very long,” the doctor says finally, still oblivious to the fact he has become his patient’s focal point. “You went from factory worker, to soldier, to hero, to king. Now, you’re retired. There’s nothing left for you to do except enjoy all you have accomplished.”

“It’s not over,” Dan tells the doctor.

“I have to ask,” Doctor Flemming untwists his body into a more normal posture. “With all of your family’s success and connections and wealth, why were you working in a factory? Your parents had the quarry in New Hampshire. This Uncle of yours owned most of New Castle, why work at all?”

“First off, Bruce didn’t own most of New Castle. He sold a lot of it off over the years. Don’t let the old timers like McCleary tell you different, they were not born there. But, to answer your question: I wanted to make it on my own,” Dan responds with the usual answer when anyone asks him this question. “Live a normal, unprivileged life. I had a wife and a child on the way, I didn’t want my kid to grow up spoiled. It was important for me to be able to show by example that a person should work hard for what they want. Not to expect things to be handed to them. So, I put all my family money away.”

“So, you did have a safety net?” the doctor clarifies.

“Sure, actually we often forgot all about the nest egg and budgeted my paychecks,” Dan admits. “Heather and I never needed to touch it since the factory paid all right, we just figured we’d be able to put the kids through college and retire early so we could enjoy it. Retire and actually deserve it. As far as why a factory, I was fortunate after high school to be able to explore different jobs, I found I liked machining. I like the regularity of it. I liked hitting that rhythm every day to reach my quota. It’s hard work, but it’s honest, you know?”

“I see. Where would you have liked to retire? Florida is where a lot of people come,” the doctor smiles as if he’s shedding light on a fact that had escaped his patient. It hasn’t.

“We explored different options,” Dan says. “We’d hear about cool places to visit, places in the world where a person can live like a king for very little, or places that we’ve always wanted to see. We made a list once. My wildest fantasy was to take that money and buy a small island somewhere, a place where no one would be able to bother us unless we wanted to be bothered.”

Dan has eased back against the couch having gotten his mind off of the imaginary bomb in his chest, he pictures the red digital numbers and regular beeping suddenly halting just as the countdown reaches one second.

“Well, that’s our time for today,” the doctor straightens in his chair. “I’d like you to come back next week. As far as your donations, I think you know it is for the greater good that you continue.”

That wasn’t in question, despite the reaction he has been having, Dan went into every draw ready to be strapped down. He doesn’t share his resentment of the implication that he was trying to get out of doing it, he simply nods in agreement.

“Good!” the doctor exclaims as if he has scored a victory.

“They actually told me my last one should be it for a while, they have enough for now.”

“I would like you to swing by the pharmacy and pick up some Klonopin for agitation, and perhaps Ambien to help you sleep. Here.” The doctor hands Dan a hand written prescription.

“I don’t really like taking anything stronger than Tylenol,” Dan admits, staring at the scribbled words.

“Give them a try, if you don’t want to take a narcotic try using Benadryl,” the doctor reiterates. “Come and see me same time next week.”

“There is just one more thing,” Dan adds before rising from the couch. There’s something that has been bothering him that he hasn’t told anyone except Carla. He has probed the healthcare workers he knows about it but they didn’t offer him much in the way of hope in finding an answer. He needs advice but does not wish this leaking out. “Nothing leaves this room, right?”

“Right,” the doctor says. “Unless what you say leads me think you are a danger to yourself or others.”

Dan considers what the doctor has just said and decides to risk it. “You know how my foot was partially removed by a gator?” he begins while untying his shoe.

“Yes,” the doctor says, too busy writing notes in a little pad to notice his patient removing his sock and shoe.

“Well, it’s sorta growing back,” Dan says, holding the foot up to be seen.

Expecting a jagged stump, Doctor Flemming is surprised to see the skin is smooth. Even more shocking is the presence of five little buds, the beginning of new toes.

“Oh…Um…” the doctor stammers, baffled. “I’m not really this kind of doctor.”

“I know, but all the medical staff I trust aren’t either. I was hoping you had some thoughts on it.”

“I…I’m not sure,” the doctor takes a closer look. “Similar occurrences have been noted in amputees that had prayed.”

“I’m not really the praying sort, doc,” Dan says, sounding disappointed. He puts his sock and shoe back on.

“I think you should consider it a blessing,” the doctor adds, relieved the foot has been put away. “Keep an eye on it…”

“In case the condition gets better?” Dan quips sarcastically. “Thanks anyway, doc.”

Dan is ready to get out of this room. He holds a hand out for the doctor to shake as he says goodbye, however the man hurriedly shifts his attention to his notes and just bids his patient farewell with a wave.

5

When the Rubies first began to setup the perimeter outside the walls of the park, the New Breed rushed them. The dead were met with unyielding fire from the humans that refused to run and stood their ground. The attacks slowed and then stopped all together. The living soon noticed that this new adversary was actually taking cover when the fight was brought to them. The zombies were avoiding them having seen so many of their ilk fall, they have learned self-preservation.

The same impulse that mysteriously had them gravitating towards the radiation when they were classic zombies in an unconscious effort to prolong their existence is now an active act. The New Breed have fallen back seeing that their frontal assaults yield no bounty and may destroy them, they opt to exist with the gnawing hunger over termination.

The massive population of New Breed has separated into small bands that lurk in the surrounding area. They are seen from time to time, just one or two, keeping an eye on the living, waiting for an opportunity.

“Don’t give them a reason,” Abby commands. “Stay alert. Stay together.”

Monitoring the scouts that monitor them, the Rubies still plan to expand out into the city. They have targeted buildings that should give them a better vantage over their enemy. An outer wall has been constructed around the parking lot, cars piled three high, stacked liked bricks as they push outward to gain more ground.

Aided by people that have grown up not far from the region and know how to handle the wildlife, alligators are wrangled and relocated. The creatures are put to use outside the barrier since the absence of human activity has encouraged the reptiles to become even bolder than before.

Once the new wall stretched around the park, each end touching the ocean, the people inside felt they could breathe a little easier. They still aren’t allowed to leave the main wall, but now they have hope that someday they will. The ultimate goal is to reach the Gulf of Mexico, and then to work their way down the state until the entire Florida Peninsula is theirs. That line in the sand could then be pushed north up the coast, and west until humanity reclaims North America, taking it all back.

The plan will take time and preparation, they need to use strategy and they need as many soldiers as they can get if they wish to succeed. The military has pledged to join the Rubicon movement, as well as those that hail from New Castle, to support them wherever they are needed.

6

“Weed isn’t a drug!” Gar defends his beloved Mary Jane’s good name. “Not a real one.”

“Yes, Gar, it is!” Eli counters, sick of the same old argument with the man. They are unloading boxes of lobsters and fish that they’ve caught from the sea.

“I have to agree with Eli on this, sweetie, sorry to say. It’s a drug,” Kelly Peel apologetically voices her opinion.

The stoner groans. “I’ve never done a drug in my life,” he says, actually believing his statement.

“We aren’t saying it’s a bad one,” Kelly tries to ease his mind. “Just that it is one. A nice one.”

His mood brightens suddenly. Gar recalls something from his childhood that makes him chuckle. “When I was a kid, I’d see people do coke on TV and I remember thinking, ‘That stuff must smell terrific’. You know, they just couldn’t stop sniffing it. Like those markers that smelled like fruit.”

The three pause to share the joke, it’s time for a rest anyway. A timid voice finds its way into the laughter. “Ms. Peel?”

“Please, call me Kelly,” the pop star says even before turning to see who wishes to speak with her, knowing the tentative tone of a fan. She has strived to be just another survivor, a normal person like everyone else, but many can’t get past her once A-list status. She smiles at the pretty blonde woman that had arrived shortly after the Rubicon folks, she’s about Kelly’s age only quite a bit taller thanks to the skates she’s wearing.

“My name is Killer B. Actually, it’s Kaitlyn,” the girl says with a nervous laugh. “Killer B is…was my derby name.”

“Roller derby? I love roller derby!” the star smiles brightly.

The shared interest makes Killer B gasp with excitement. Forgetting what she had come to say she rapidly begins to talk more about her derby days. “I was a jammer for Man’s Ruin. We were a part of a short lived national circuit…until.”

“Oh the ‘until’,” Kelly says sympathetically. “Seldom does one of those sentences end in a good way.”

Suddenly remembering why she had summed up the courage to finally speak to her idol. “I have something for you. My friend Rocky would kill me if she knew I had brought these all this way.”

“My Heelys!” Kelly says unable to contain her excitement and surprise as she takes the offered footwear. “I knew someone was in my house, I had a feeling. I told you guys! They thought I was nuts.”

“I’m sorry!” Killer B apologizes, mortified. “We needed a place to crash through the winter, I hope you don’t mind. I’m such a huge fan…Rocky wasn’t, but I love you. We didn’t break…much.”

“It’s fine,” Kelly assures her, already getting her shoes off to put on her skates. “I’m glad I could help you out. Besides, the way I hear it the flood probably did way more damage than you ever could.”

“The flood?”

“Parson’s Dam broke. All that water came down the Charles, wiping everything out.”

“Whoa,” Killer B had no idea. She changes the subject. “Want to skate with me?” she asks hopeful.

“You bet!”

“Yeah, don’t mind us,” Gar says sourly. “We’ll get this to the kitchen.”

The two ladies roll away. “Thanks guys!” Kelly calls to her friends.

“Daddy!” a little girl with lopsided pigtails comes running toward the men as they work. “Play with me!”

Eli waves to an adult that is chasing after his daughter from where she had broken off from her daycare group. “Sure, baby. Gar, you mind?”

“Whatever,” he huffs. Their cart is loaded. He begins to muscle it into motion and then pushes it down the pier. He mumbles and grumbles to himself once he has been left alone to finish the job, “They say stoners are lazy.”

From the pier and down the boardwalk, all the way to the Story Book Land hotel and resort, Gar shoves the heavy cart of seafood, around to the back of the hotel where a loading dock once accepted shipments and through the halls all the way to the kitchen. He hears voices as he approaches and is hopeful that he may have some help in the unloading.

“Your fill-its are shit!” a man yells in the kitchen. Gar knows him from television where he used to yell at people in the kitchen.

“I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you question my butchery, especially if yer gonna butcher the English language. It’s pronounced fill-a!”

“It’s a French word, not English!.”

“If you know shit like that, you should know how to say it!” the Ruby that goes by the name Rough Rider shouts back.

“Fuck whatever you’re saying,” Chef Pog dismisses the relative newcomer. “These need to be evenly cut so they can cook evenly,” the chef holds up one fillet from a tray of them to show what he means. “Look at this one! Were you drunk?”

“Just cook the fuckin’ food! I’m not one of your whimpering chef wannabes. I don’t give a fuck who you are!”

Gar watches the men square off. Chef Pog pulls a wooden box from his white coat. He opens the hinged trove and pulls out a gleaming knife. Rough Rider is already holding a meat slick blade. The two men just stare at one another.

“Um…guys?” Gar says worriedly.

“It’s all right, little stoner,” Rough Rider says in an easy tone. “Nothing to see here but two men about to have a good ole fashioned knife fight.”

“This is a Heidenreich,” Chef Pog turns the blade before his adversary so he can get a good look. “Ever hear of them?”

“Best knives ever forged by man,” Rough Rider says knowing too well the craftsmanship behind the cutlery.

“It’s leagues better than the butter knife you’ve clearly been using,” Chef Pog takes a step closer. “This belonged to my grandfather. I want you to have it.”

Rough Rider is taken aback as he is handed the legendary knife. He places his hand on the handle that is offered to him and feels a tingle of excitement, his other hand covers his shocked gasp. “For me?” he asks, gushing. “A genuine Nazi knife?”

“It’s not a Nazi knife, it’s a peace offering,” the chef explains. “I imagine you’re still sore over your man, Abby, giving two calves to me.”

To make the transition smoother, Major Barnwell decided to throw a dinner party to celebrate. Chef Pog was nearby and immediately announced his menu for the event, a menu that included veal. Abby offered to make his famous ribs. Out of support for Rough Rider, not a single Ruby ate the young cows, most surprisingly not even Soul Train.

“My actions were cheap and beneath me,” the chef admits. “That party was stupid. It put a tremendous strain on our reserves. I saw what you mean about ‘letting the critters grow up to be big critters’,” Pog imitates Rough Riders country way of speaking. They are able to relax and share a laugh.

Rough Rider runs his thumb over the blade and then tries in on a pork chop. It cuts like a laser. “Beautiful,” he whispers close to tears.

Soul Train walks in on the men having their moment, he witnesses them from behind standing together, Chef Pog’s arm around Rough Rider’s shoulder. “Uh, you boys need a minute?”

The moment evaporates quickly, Rough Rider shrugs off the arm. “Hey, Soul, what’s up?” he asks wiping his eyes.

“Just grabbing some bag lunches for today. We’re taking some buildings downtown and stretching the corridor.”

“Oh, hell yeah! I’m in!” Rough Rider says excitedly. He wraps up his work and washes his hands in a hurry.

Soul Train already has the box of brown paper bags from the walk-in refrigerator. They head out of the kitchen together.

“You can’t leave this knife like this!” Chef Pog calls after Rough Rider, pointing to the meat slick blade, a sight that makes the restaurateur cringe. “You have to clean it you troglodyte!”

“Take care of ‘er for me!” Rough Rider calls back. “Thanks!”

####

“Abby, where do you want me?” Rough Rider says as he arrives with Soul Train at the main gates.

“Jump on the Gunship after you gear up,” the leader says impatiently adding the word, “Hurry!” as his soldier runs to grab his armor.

Vida is standing nearby the assembling army, she gives Abby a bewildered look at his acceptance of Rough Rider to the roster then storms away in a huff.

“Did I miss something?” Soul Train asks Lady Luck.

“Abby won’t let Vida come out to play with us,” she answers the question while zipping up her skin-tight armor. “He told her that he wanted to have people here holding down the fort.”

“Damn, I miss one sleep over and I’m out of the loop,” Soul Train quips. He notices the unusual sight of Lady Luck in armor. She hasn’t squeezed into it since boot camp. “Since when do you wear your play clothes?”

“Since fucking Abby said he wants fucking everybody in fucking armor,” she responds curtly, through clenched teeth.

“What are you more mad about?”

“Both,” she says in a calmer tone. “We need people out there and my girl’s a good soldier.”

“He’s worried about her,” Soul Train explains after making sure their leader is out of earshot.

“He can’t shelter her from the world,” Lady Luck returns. “I think she’s freezing him out.”

“Ooh the love embargo,” Soul Train says with a smile, “Most powerful, devastating weapon in any lady’s arsenal.”

####

Vida slams her armor down by the lockers the former employees of the park once used when coming into work and before going home. The locker room echoes with her curses about ‘bullshit’ and how unfair things are, along with stretches of angrily spoken Spanish. The noise she is making has attracted the attention of Rough Rider who ventures from the men’s locker room into the women’s. He hesitates before entering to make sure the girl is dressed. His knock at the door frame cuts her Spanish cursing short.

“Hey, don’t roll your ‘R’s at me,” he jokes to lighten the mood as he enters fastening his protective armor. “What’s the matter, kitten?”

“He’s taking out New Castle people, army guys, and everyone else that wants to go, but I have to stay here and ‘mind the store’.” She drops herself onto a bench, her ‘I zurvived’ shirt feeling strange and loose after shedding the heavy armor.

“He’s protecting you. It’s kinda sweet.”

“It’s not sweet, it’s fucking stupid! You and Peace Maker both go out.”

“Yeah, but we always have each other’s back…I mean, we’re a good team…Fuck, that still sounds wrong. We worry about each other, of course we do, but since we are such a good team we both trust that neither of us will let anything happen to the other.”

Vida listens but nothing is easing how useless she feels.

“Brass left some surprisingly large shoes for Abby to fill,” Rough Rider sits next to Vida and tries to explain how he sees the situation. “There’s a lot riding on him. He’s under tons of stress. The last thing he wants is for the girl he loves to be out there in the thick of it. He can’t have you in harm’s way, as leader he has the greater good to consider.”

“What greater good?” Vida inquires.

“If forced to choose between saving 10 people or only 1, he has to save the 10. What if you’re that odd man out? I can afford to do the selfish thing and save Peace over those 10, Abby doesn’t have that option.”

“Rough, move your ass!” Abby’s voice reaches them all the way from where the man bellows at the gates. They can hear the vehicles rumbling to life, ready to roll out.

“Gotta go,” Rough Rider says quickly. “Hang in there, kid.”

Vida is left to consider what was said to her, it makes sense but she still doesn’t like it. She lingers listening to the vehicles’ engine sounds grow fainter as they head out. She sits by herself in her lucky tee-shirt, but she isn’t alone. The flushing of a toilet startles the girl. From out of one of the bathroom stalls Carla emerges.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help overhear,” Carla says sympathetically. “Sucks that you’re benched.”

“It does,” Vida agrees. “Why aren’t you going?”

“My place is here now. I’ve realized I have too many people that I want to protect, so I’m sticking close to home.”

Vida composes herself and rises to her feet. The ladies leave together.

“Have you tried talking to him?” Carla asks. “Really talking, about how you feel not what you want?”

“I’m going to, when I’m done
not
talking to him.”

Carla leads them around the building to where a boy waits for her, Killian. They have plans to do some shooting today.

“I hear you’re a musician,” Carla says. “Were you in a band?”

“Yeah, the Dogs of War. We had a few gigs.”

“You should get with Kelly Peel, jam a little,” Carla suggests.

“That’s not really my music,” Vida laughs.

“As it turns out, it wasn’t hers either. She’s working on a new sound now. I personally loved her pop stuff before, now I think what she’s doing is amazing.”

“I might do that,” Vida says nodding her head.

Dan Williamson sidles up to Killian where he waits patiently for his new step mom. Carla comes over to introduce the girl she is speaking with. “Guys meet Vida from Rubicon.”

Greetings are exchanged, Dan notices her shirt. “Holy shit! You zurvived?”