Dead Air (Book One of The Dead Series) (19 page)

Indian Rocks Beach, Florida:

The Intracoastal Waterway is under the authority of many agencies
, but the suspected drowning near Indian Rocks Beach was investigated by the Pinellas County Sheriff’s Office.

Deputy Hamilton Fitz looked at the dock forty feet from where the patrol boat had anchored
. Turning to his dive partner, he said, "I’m gonna start where they think this guy fell in and do a grid search from the seawall out. We've only had one tide and it was a weak one, so I don't think he moved much if he's there at all."

"No one reported a floater so he's probably nearby," Terri Carter, the other diver agreed. "He shouldn't be too ripe either. I hate bringing up the ones who've been soaking for a few days."

Fitz slipped into his BC and secured it. Checking his gauges one last time, he stood and duck-walked across the deck to sit on the gunwale. Carter joined him a moment later. After exchanging 'okay' signs with each other and the boat’s driver, they donned their facemasks and first one then the other rolled backward into the murky water.

Carter was right in one a
spect, the zombie that had fallen off the dock the previous night was far from ripe. Although dead, it hadn’t decomposed and in fact was quite animated. After losing the joggers, it had wandered between two houses and out onto a dock. Some slight echo of a memory had told it that food could be found in this location. When it saw the silvery shapes swirling through the water, it reached for them. Its primitive nervous system was not up to the task though, so instead of bringing up something to eat, it had gone in headfirst.

With no air in its lungs or decomposing organs to emit gases that would keep it afloat, the thing sank twelve feet down
. Straight to the bottom.

Thrashing about at first, it finally managed to right itself
, so it was standing knee deep in the mud and decomposing material that covered the floor of the Intracoastal Waterway. With no need to take in oxygen, it wasn’t panicked from being completely submerged. Instead, it spun around in a circle until it located the dim glow from the dock light filtering through the settling silt.

Waving its arms and
tread milling its feet, the dead thing walked along the bottom until it ran into one of the pilings that supported the dock above. Turning, it made its way toward the seawall, which it could follow along until it found somewhere to crawl out.

As if enough bad fortune had not already befallen it
(yesterday it had come into contact with infected blood at the hospital where it worked and was now a re-animated corpse), It soon found itself enmeshed in a discarded cast net wrapped around one of the cross beams of the dock.

It thrashed around trying to get loose
but this only caused it to become more entangled. Helplessly, it twisted and pawed at the net but to no avail. It was still trying to work itself free hours later when a thumping noise approached and then stopped nearby. Shortly after that, two large splashes indicated that it was no longer alone.

It still had one arm free
, which it slowly waved back and forth to stay upright in the slight current. Other than that, it remained motionless, waiting to see what came its way.

Fitz found the end of the dock easily. From experience, he knew that things naturally washed towards the seawall in this part of the Intracoastal
, so after checking to make sure Carter was with him, he kicked his fins to propel him in that direction.

He spotted the body immediately, his first though
t being, the poor bastard might have made it if he hadn't got all tangled up. Hell of a way to go, kicking and screaming as your lungs burst for air.

Grunting to get Carter
’s attention, Fitz pointed to the dead man. Drawing his knife, he indicated he would cut him free and motioned for Terri to hang back.

Fitz approached the body from the side facing away from the dock so as to minimize his chances of getting tangled in the net. He reached out to steady the corpse with one hand so he could slip his knife under the mesh and cut upward. Fitz had just grasped the dead man's
shoulder when suddenly its head turned his way, locking eyes with him and then blinking rapidly.

The shoulder in Fitz's hand jerked loose as the dead thing
’s head lunged toward him. Reacting quickly, the diver twisted in a ball and spun to get away. As he extended his legs to kick, he felt something jerk him backwards. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the moving dead man had grabbed his fin and was dragging him back. With a burst of strength brought on by panic, Fitz jackknifed his body and tore his foot loose from the swim fin.

All thoughts of training left him as he bolted upward. Luckily he had not been down long enough to get anything but a minor case of decompression sickness
. After reaching the surface, he tore off his mask and thrashed wildly toward the boat, shedding his equipment on the way.

The driver saw the commotion caused by Fitz and noticed the bug eyed look of fear on the man's face. Thinking
he had run into a bull shark, he extracted a rifle from where it was secured under the steering station and prepared to protect the diver.

Fitz reached the boat, and after dragging himself onto the deck, started spitting out saltwater and dry heaving as
he tried to grasp what he had just seen. Attempting to put it into words, he managed to say, "Dead."

The pilot asked, "Terri? Is Terri dead?"

Still on all fours, Fitz gagged again as he shook his head no. "The victim is dead," he managed to say.

"Of course he's dead," the diver replied in confusion.

Worrying about his sanity at what he was about to relate, Fitz said, "He's alive. It's one of those things, but he's dead."

The pilot moved to the radio to call into base for help. He had just picked up the handset when from behind he heard Fitz say in a defeated voice,
“It got Terri.”

Looking toward the dock, the boat's driver saw immediately where Fitz was staring. Near the seawall, a huge swell of dark red blood flowed on the surface before drifting outward and fading to the same
dirty color as the water. He frantically yelled to Fitz, "Go in! Help him!"

"I'm not going back in there
!" Fitz screamed back in a hysterical voice. "Nothing will get me in there. There might be more of those things in there."

Looking at Fitz with disgust, the pilot started to take off his shoes, preparing to dive in. He glanced at where Fitz crouched in terror with his back hunched against the gunwale and suddenly though better of his rescue attempt. He had seen Fitz face countless dangers in the water without flinching, and now here he was, cringing like a beat puppy.

Going back to the radio, the pilot called in the situation and asked for assistance. He had been briefed that morning to immediately report anything out of the ordinary that might be connected to the spreading HWNW virus. He felt this qualified.

Below the surface, it discarded pieces of wet suit as it ripped flesh from bone with its teeth.

It thought it had missed out on feeding when the first food got away, but seconds later another food source came to him. The second food had grabbed at the net wrapped around it and started cutting frantically with a knife. The diver thinking he was saving a drowning man. Instead of waiting to be freed though, it couldn't restrain its urge to eat. Giving in to its instincts, it gripped the food's arm, pulling the appendage to its mouth before biting though the spongy rubber covering it and into a bicep.

The food had struggled, slashing uselessly at the dead
man’s torso with the knife as it continued to bite chunks of neoprene and flesh from the food. Soon the food had slowed its movements and stopped. The food was dead but it didn't discard the carcass as it would when food was plentiful. In the dim recluses of its feeble brain, it knew that a long time might pass before it had a chance to feed again down here.

CHAPTER TEN

Clearwater, Florida:

Steve was about to step out the stairwell door onto the roof of the Garnett Building when his cell phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, he checked the caller ID and saw it was Heather.

With a feeling of pleasure mixed with guilty apprehension, he
answered by saying, "KLAM Music Radio, we play all the greatest hits. Our request lines are open, so what do you want to hear?"

"The Governor is announcing martial law at nine tomorrow morning," Heather said in a flat
voice.

Steve paused
for a second as he considered this before replying, "Wouldn't you rather hear ‘Freebird’ by Lynyrd Skynyrd?"

Heather gave a short barking laugh, "I think I want to hear
‘We Gotta Get Out of This Place’ by the Animals."

"And go where?" Steve asked.

"That's the problem," Heather said with a sigh. "From the sound of it, there’s nowhere else to go. The television is saying that the sickness has spread worldwide."

"That's not the first I've heard of that, it's been all over the
Internet," Steve replied. Stepping onto the roof, he heard the faint noise of traffic from the street below. The sound carried through the mouthpiece of his phone loud enough for Heather to notice and ask where he was.

"Times Square,"
he replied as he tried to remember where the valve he was looking for was located. "I've got a craving for a Nathan’s hotdog."

"Bring me two with chili and onions."

"Won't be sleeping in my bed," Steve quipped. Then, realizing what he said, moved on quickly. "Actually I'm on the roof of the Bank Building trying to deal with my water problem."

"Part of the master plan you told me about this morning?" Heather asked.

Locating the valve he was seeking on the far side of a huge metal tank, Steve replied, "A small but vital part." Trying to twist the wheel open with the phone pinched between his ear and shoulder proved difficult, so he asked Heather to hold on and set it on the roof.

Grasping both hands on the wheel
, Steve reminded himself righty tightie - lefty loosie, then tried to spin the wheel clockwise. But no matter how hard he twisted, grunted and groaned, he got nowhere.

Picking the phone back up, grasping for breath he said, "Can I call you back?"

With a chuckle Heather replied, "You're all done having phone sex and now you want to hang up. Why don't we ever talk anymore?" She finished wistfully.

Realizing how he must have sounded trying to open the valve
, he burst out laughing.

"I needed a good laugh, thank you," he said. "
I’ve got to find a pry bar or something to get this thing to open."

"Maybe I can help," Heather offered. "I grew up on a farm in Illinois
, and my dad taught me all about machinery. What are you trying to do?"

Instead of making a comment about the farmer's daughter,
he explained about the valve he needed to open to fill the water tank on the roof. When he finished, Heather said, "Look at where the wheel attaches to the stem. There's probably a piece of metal that flips over and locks it in place."

Steve saw what she was talking
about immediately. Flipping the lock back, he found the wheel turned easily in his hands. In seconds, he was rewarded with the sound of water rushing through the pipes leading to the top of the tank.

"Got it," he exclaimed into the phone.

"My invoice is in the mail," Heather said.

"
So’s the check," Steve shot back.

"That reminds me," Heather said, "
they’re talking about suspending postal delivery starting Monday if they can't get a handle on this thing. There's a rumor that this is a terrorist attack being spread through the mail like anthrax or something. They're worried for the carriers’ safety."

"Where do you
really think it came from?" Steve asked, curious as to any theories she might have.

"I don't know
but I don’t think it’s terrorists," Heather answered. "I was surfing the web reading stories and there's a lot of theories: UFO's, sunspots, government testing, yada, yada, yada. From what I've read though, I think it mutated from some existing virus. A professor out of Little Rock -."

"Doctor Hawkins?" Steve broke in.

"Yeah, that's his name. He's part of the government team working on finding a cure for HWNW. He believes it's a normal virus that was altered by accidental exposure to radiation and what he calls other outside influences. Wonder what he means by that?"

"Global warming?" Steve suggested, as he headed back to the stairs.

Ignoring him, Heather continued, "They don't say anything about how close they are to a cure, but I hope they find one soon. They're saying that there's a lull in reported infections, but that doesn't mean anything. San Francisco thought they had the problem in check, and now there's talk of abandoning the city."

Steve was about to enter
the door to the stairs when a loud explosion made him spin in its direction and duck. "What the hell was that?" He yelled in surprise.