Dead Air (Book One of The Dead Series) (16 page)

Damn, Pat thought
with disgust, it's over.

Knowing that someone would be coming in as soon as they saw the air conditioning unit lying broken on the ground,
he frantically grabbed the bottle of Chivas, upending it into his mouth and drinking the last few swallows. Breaking the seal on another bottle, he managed to down two large gulps before starting to gag.

The voices outside became clear as they yelled to one another to be careful. Knowing that it would only be a matter of seconds until he was discovered, Pat stood and faced the
boxes that covered the hole in the wall. Holding out his hands to show he was unarmed, he swayed drunkenly as he waited to be spotted.

And rescued, he thought with bitter regret.

The cartons blocking the opening to the outside were suddenly pushed in with a crash and two flashlight beams stabbed through the darkness before settling on him. He took a couple of stumbling steps forward then opened his mouth to let them know he was harmless and he was only in here because he needed a place to hide. All that came out of his dry throat though was a rasping, croaking noise.

A voice called out, "It's one of them. Get his ass."

Two M-16's opened fire and obliterated the booze soaked brain of Pat the wino.

The flashlights searched the room for more targets before coming back to rest on Pat's body.

"Shit," one of the shooters said after seeing the den that had been created, "I think we just killed a drunk."

"He was staggering and making that weird ass noise they make, how the fuck did we know?
” The other said defensively. “We shot that other one right out here and he was definitely a Z."

"Drunks stagger and make weird noises
," the first one said.

There was silence as the two National Guard troopers decided how to handle the situation. A voice suddenly called out, "What you got over there
, troops?"

Without hesitation
, they answered, "Two dead Z’s, Sergeant," and "We blew their heads clean off."

"Damn good job
," the Sergeant called out enthusiastically. "That's ten. Keep up the good work."

"Yes, sir,"
they answered in unison before heading off into the night.

San Francisco, California:

The candle light procession moved slowly down the street toward
City Hall as its members sang “We Shall Overcome”.  A few police officers looked on with bored indifference as the group of about eighty aging hippies, professional protesters, and wanna-be anarchists voiced their opinion about the Governor’s decision to impose martial law and institute a dusk-to-dawn curfew.

Ignoring the occasional taunt
of “Pig” shouted at them from the few instigators in the group, the officers maintained their positions. They knew that in only a few minutes the marchers would reach the City Hall where they would chant a few chants, sing a few songs and then disperse. Although the marchers were breaking the curfew, it had been decided by the powers that be that this would be overlooked.

The reason for the relaxation of the rules was because of the good news the Mayor had received earlier that day from the Chief of the Police and the Sheriff. It appeared that the precautions and rules they had put into effect days earlier were success
ful.

Even t
hough San Francisco had been one of the first cities to have an outbreak of the HWNW virus, they had contingency plans in place to deal with disasters that were similar to the rampaging disease. The local news media had immediately blanketed the radio and television airwaves with realistic, up to date information about the disease, how it was transmitted and how the citizens could protect themselves. Quarantine centers were set up, and with the public still remembering how quickly AIDS had spread, people who even suspected that they had been exposed to the disease turned themselves in.

Days before the State's Governor even considered the idea, the Mayor, along with other elected officials in the cities surrounding the bay, instituted a curfew for everyone who was not essential to the operation of their respective cities. The curfew was strictly enforced by giving first time offenders a warning, with a second violation causing the transgressor to be arrested and detained in one of the temporary holding facilities that were quickly set up in the Bay
Area.

Cries of 'Fascism' and 'Police
State' were silenced when bloody, uncut videos showing a zombie attack at Fisherman's Wharf and another on one of the city’s famous cable cars were shown repeatedly on the local news. After that, the people living in the city made famous for its protests shut up and complied.

With emergency measures in place, reported cases of infection dwindled. When the Mayor was informed earlier in
the day that there had been no new cases of the HWNW admitted to any of the local hospitals or quarantine centers in the previous twenty-four hours, he called a press conference to let his constituents know the good news.

Hizzoner finished the broadcast by reminding everyone that
, while San Francisco had averted disaster, the crisis in the rest of California was far from over. While he would be relaxing his emergency regulations, those imposed by the State were still in effect.

This
announcement caused both joy and dissention in the general populace of the area. Relieved and grateful that they were safe, the people of San Francisco wanted to get on with their lives. With the State mandated martial law and curfew in effect though, how could they? Why should they have to obey rules set up by someone in the Capitol, hundreds of miles away, who had no idea what the situation was locally?

After the Mayor
’s telecast, sit-ins and protest speeches cropped up sporadically across the city and a large candlelight protest was planned for that evening. Thousands were expected to attend.

Sergeant Canton Phillips was present at the assembly point for the demonstration
, along with forty-nine other officers all dressed in riot gear and ready for anything. Canton noticed that when it was time for the march to begin, its organizers appeared almost embarrassed that the Police outnumbered the protestors by an easy dozen bodies. It seemed that many who vowed to attend were too frightened of the HWNW virus, and those infected by it, to show up. This changed as the group picked up people along the way but not by much.

Canton followed along behind the procession
, and when they were only a few blocks from the City Hall, heard the order over his radio that thirty of the officers on crowd control duty were to be sent back to their regular duties. The protest was so ill attended that it wasn't worth wasting this much manpower on it.

Hoping he would be one of those reassigned, Canton was disappointed when his name wasn't called. Crowd control was one of the worst duties a cop could draw
, as often times the Police were the only visible target for the protesters’ hatred. Besides the hot, heavy extra equipment they had to wear and carry, they were also spit on and cursed at by the same people who screamed for protection when they were threatened. These were also the first people who voted down any raises or increases in the police department budget.

Canton consoled himself that at least this group was smaller than most, fairly well behaved
, and that they didn't have to call in traffic control. With the curfew still in effect, there was nothing but city vehicles on the streets and very few of those.

Reaching their stopping point in front of
City Hall, the marchers spread out and started chanting, "We are the people and we are free, drop the curfew and let us be."

Leaning against a mailbox, Sergeant Canton let his eyes wander over the crowd. He didn't expect trouble from this group
but he had seen how fast a person could turn into one of those flesh eaters and vowed to be ready if that happened.

Four days earlier he
had been coming out of an apartment building after answering a call that it was infested with zombies, turned out it was a group of heroin addicts on a roll, when a woman pushing a baby in a stroller passed him on the sidewalk. Suddenly, she had a seizure and dropped to the ground. As he rushed over to give assistance, the woman got up, snatched the baby from its seat and placed the child's hand in her mouth before biting it off and chewing.

Canton would never forget the sound of the kid's screams, or the wet popping noise its wrist made when
the woman’s teeth severed it. Without hesitation he drew his weapon and put a bullet in the dead things head. After a quick look at the baby lying on the ground next to her, Canton had shot it too.

If anyone in this crowd even starts to shiver from the cold, I'm putting two in their head
, Canton vowed. If I find out later that they had epilepsy or some other shit, oh well. Sorry.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to find its source. Zeroing in on the center of the street, Canton saw a manhole cover slowly slide along the pavement as it was removed from its hole. Once the shaft was cleared, he saw a figure emerge. City sewer workers were essential personnel and on duty so
he thought little of it. This was until he saw a second and third figure climb out of the hole. Then another and another struggled to emerge. Further down the street, a storm sewer grate was pushed up and over from the shaft it covered to land with a bang. More shadows emerged from its gaping maw.

The sound of Canton
’s voice calling into his radio for backup was lost in the noise of the chanting protesters. Drawing his pistol, he drew a bead on the head of the first creature shuffling toward him and pulled the trigger.

The living dead had no rational thought after they were created. They had no speech that was recognized by others of their kind
so they had no way to communicate ideas. Nothing like ESP caused them to behave as they did and no group conscious drove them. They moved on instinct alone.

A herd mentality had evolved in the dead
, and while it had not developed enough to allow them to hunt in packs, they knew their existence was threatened and that there was strength in numbers. To follow their overpowering urge to eat, they must first survive.

Days ago, when the dead found that they were no longer the hunters but the hunted, they started to take to the sewers and drainage system of San Francisco. While feeding on rodents, the homeless
and the occasional unlucky city worker who strayed across their path, they waited for some sign that it was safe to emerge. Their numbers slowly increased as the freshly turned dead were drawn to the pack.

It was not an audible signal that caused the living dead to hide
, nor was there any reason for them to be drawn to and congregate in the area in which the protest march ended. It was a nameless undercurrent that drew them. If a comparison needed to be made, the closest someone might come would be the draw of an animal that was caught in a drought and its urge to travel to a distant watering hole to survive. It was part sense of smell, part instinct and part a nameless force which dictates the behavior of lower species.

With the appearance of an abundance of food above them, thousands of the dead worked their way to the surface through the tunnels and shafts that crossed under the city
. Here they clustered before emerging as one. Although they moved in a group, these were selfish beings, only intent on satisfying their own hunger. Their senses told them that even while they outnumbered those above them, and could quickly overpower their food, it would be each one for itself upon emerging from the underworld.

Sergeant Canton Phillips put down five of the dead before he was overwhelmed and to
rn open. His dying eyes starred in disbelief at the thing crouched over him, yanking out his intestines and shoving them in its mouth. He faded into the oblivion of death, the cries of others around him echoing in his ears.

Indian Rocks Beach, Florida:

From a block away
, it saw the food get out of what it no longer recognized as a Jeep. Staggering down the street in that direction, it found it was not fast enough and the food was gone when it got there.

Stopping, it took in the odors and scents of the night air before heading off in search of
other food. A faint, steady, thumping noise coming from the end of the street drew its attention and it spun around to see two more food sources coming toward it at a fast pace. It stood still when it saw that its prey was coming directly at it and readied itself to lunge at them as they passed by.

When the food came into range, it sprang toward the nearest one, its hands grasping
only empty air as the food sidestepped and sped up to avoid its reaching hands. It turned and followed in the food's wake as it struggled to catch up.

The woman jogger said to her companion, "Damn drunks, it's getting so it's not even safe to go out at night."

Her friend replied, "Damn pervert is what he is. I'll call the police and report him as soon as we get home. They need to keep his kind off the beach."

Unable to keep up with the joggers, it staggered down the street. The urge to chew and swallow meat was so overpowering in its intensity that it involuntarily salivated as it looked for something to stuff in its mouth.

Off to its left a car door slammed, attracting its attention momentarily. Not seeing any food, it was nonetheless drawn in the direction of the sound. Cutting across a lawn it wandered between two houses.

A salty, tangy smell ca
me to it, and even though the scent was different from the meaty aroma that its normal food gave off, it let itself be drawn to it. An echo from the recesses of its brain told it that food could be found in this area. Not its normal fare of human flesh but something that it could eat to relieve the hunger pangs that wracked its body. Although it craved the living tissue of its prey, at this point it would eat any being that came across its path.