Dead Air (Book One of The Dead Series) (29 page)

From the front yard of where the two people had run into the road came the first real dead person Steve had seen. Running in a slightly loping fashion that he remembered from watching film clips of the dead on the Internet, he stared with fascination as the thing moved into the street, chasing after the people trying to escape it.

The first thought that flashed through Steve's mind was to run the thing down. Even as he turned the steering wheel to put the Jeep on a collision course, his rational mind warned him that he could total his vehicle by hitting someone head on. Images of wrecked cars that had struck pedestrians came to
him, causing his foot to slide over to the brake.

Steve stopped
just past the two people fleeing the abomination and was out of the Jeep with his pistol leveled in a two handed grip before he was even aware he had opened the door.

The thing in front of him slowed to a
stumbling walk as it spotted him, causing Steve to suddenly doubt himself. A zombie would keep coming at a run wouldn’t it? What if this was some guy chasing looters?

The figure was still a little distance away
, and now that he thought about it, the man could be limping, not staggering like the undead. Maybe the two runners had beaten and robbed him. For a second, he wavered.

T
he thing let loose a high keening shriek then suddenly charged straight at him, erasing all doubts from Steve's mind.

Tightening his grip on the Glock,
he found his sight picture and squeezed the last half-ounce of pressure on the trigger.

The pistol barked, the .45 caliber bullet causing a chunk of bone, hair
and dark matter to explode off the side of the dead thing’s skull, the force of the impact spinning its body ninety degrees and dropping it onto all fours. With hardly a pause, it let out another shriek that chilled Steve’s blood and tried to lever itself into a standing position.

Without hesitation,
he squeezed the trigger again, this time putting the large slug of lead through the bridge of its nose.

Keeping the pistol trained on the mush that had been the things head in case it moved again, Steve backed away. After watching it for a second, he was finally satisfied that it was
– what? His mind asked. Dead? Again?

Steve let
the Glock drop to his side as he turned and looked back the way he had come. No sign of the two people who had been running away. They probably wouldn't stop until they hit Georgia. Ungrateful bastards. The least they could have done was say thanks.

"You're welcome,"
he yelled in the direction they had gone before getting back in the Jeep and putting it in gear. Steering around the crumpled form in the street, he found his thoughts were clear. He felt no sorrow at pulling the trigger, no remorse. Only the driving need to get to Ginny before something like that did.

Suddenly remembering the radio station,
he leaned over and turned on his stereo, catching Jonny G in mid sentence. The intern spoke gravely as he said "- are coming back to life and eating the living. Anyone bitten by one of the dead is infected and could turn into one of them at any time. Those infected show no symptoms, but a seizure usually precedes death and re-animation. You can't hesitate. You have to destroy the brain. If you don’t have a firearm, you can use a baseball bat or even a large rock."

Jonny paused and then said, "Additionally, an electric charge seems to put them down. A taser works just fine if you have one, but if not, you can always revert to the
ever-popular blunt object. I know some of these people are your loved ones, but you have to protect yourself. And if you've seen any of the video clips on the web, you don't want someone you care about to end up like that. Coming up in just a few minutes I'll have a complete updated list of safe areas and evacuation points for you, but while I get that together, I've got Warren Zevon singing about lawyers, guns and money."

Out of habit, Steve spun the tuner to check what the other stations in the area were broadcasting. As he played with the dial, he saw
that he was approaching the turn off to the bridge. He lowered the volume on the radio as he prepared to face the National Guard.

Moving slowly as he drove on to the ramp
so as not to alarm the soldiers posted at the roadblock, he waited to be challenged. As he reached the crown of the bridge, he was surprised to see that no one, military nor civilian, was around. The road was littered with empty shell casings that crunched under the Jeep’s tires. This was the only evidence that the National Guard had been there.

They're chasing looters or putting down the dead, Steve guessed.
So much the better for me.

Stopping just past the crown of the bridge,
he took a moment to survey the rise of land ahead of him. He could see a few fires giving off thick black smoke that stood out in stark relief from the lights of the city beyond. He counted eight buildings in flames before he realized the fire department was nowhere to be seen.

Silhouetted against the flames
, he could see figures staggering about but no fire fighters. A blue flashing light caught his eye and to his right on a street near the water he finally saw a fire truck.

After watching the area for a full minute and seeing no one around, he surmised it had been abandoned.
Its occupants now dead or undead.

Taking his foot off the brake,
he let gravity slowly pull him down the slight rise as he tried calling Ginny’s number again. His vehicle started losing its forward momentum on a flat stretch at the bottom as he continued to push redial, each time being sent to voicemail. The Jeep was slowly rolling forward now, only being pulled along by its idling engine as he grew angrier with each unanswered call.
Where the fuck was she?

The street he was on cut through a small nature preserv
e before ascending the bluff that gave the area its name, so Steve's first hint of danger was numerous crashing noises coming from the foliage that lined the side of the thoroughfare.

A dozen figures materialized on his right and slightly ahead
, so he swerved into the oncoming lane and floored the accelerator. One zombie crashed off the end of his bumper with a thumping noise as Steve fought to keep control of the Jeep.

Slowing only when he was safely away, he looked into his rearview mirror
and saw a dozen dark figures coming up the road after him.

"This place is thick with those things," he said out loud.
Looking at the clear stretch of road in front of him, he called out, "Catch this, mother fuckers," as he pressed down on the gas and shot forward.

Steve picked
up the Glock and held it in his lap as he steered one handed and tried to formulate a plan of action now that he knew the dead were roaming the area in high numbers. He couldn't find anything in his life's experience to relate this to, so as he reached the top of the bluff, he decided he'd make it up as he went along.

One thing's
for sure, he told himself as he looked down at the Glock, if any of those things come at me, it's history.

H
e prepared to turn left onto the side street where Ginny lived but stopped as an ambulance came roaring up behind him. There was no traffic, so he found it odd that, instead of passing to the right, the emergency vehicle swerved into the oncoming lane.

The ambulance slowed as it came up even with the Jeep and Steve caught a glimpse of the driver struggling with someone inside. A sudden jet of
blood obscured the passenger window, blocking the view. The ambulance leapt forward in a burst of speed and continued on for a block before running head-on into an oak tree at the side of the road. As Steve watched in shock, the vehicle burst into flames that quickly spread back from the cab.

No one got out.

Focusing on his own mission, he made his turn only to find himself almost instantly lost. Thick smoke from the numerous fires burning in the area flowed in waves across the street. Feeling exposed because he had to creep slowly along due to the limited visibility, he held the Glock across his chest, ready for instant use. His eyes watering from the smoke, he suddenly stopped. Everything looked so different in this hazy environment that he had almost passed the turn into the parking lot of Ginny's apartment building. Cranking the wheel hard to the right, he pulled in.

With relief he spotted Ginny's car and pulled in behind
it. Leaving the engine of the Jeep running, he stepped out and was instantly on guard as he looked at the next obstacle facing him.

The apartment building before him was two stories with three units each on the top and bottom floor
s that ran in a straight line perpendicular to the parking lot. Ginny's unit was the last one on the first floor, all the way in back. A narrow sidewalk ran along the building's front with the unit’s doors leading directly onto it. Just beyond the end of the building, the walkway dead-ended at a fountain with two benches flanking it.

Steve remembered all this from his countless visits here
. On the trip over he’d imagined himself rushing in, collecting Ginny and then leaving as fast as his feet would carry him. What he had forgotten to include in his master plan was the hedge.

A
wildly overgrown series of individually planted bushes had grown together and formed an almost impenetrable barrier that ran parallel to the sidewalk. On an average day, it formed an attractive border but on this night, it looked like a death trap.

The only light in the area came from three fixtures set underneath the walkway of the second
floor that ran directly above the sidewalk of the first. These produced a weak glow that did little to push back the deep shadows on the hedge. Although each apartment also had an exterior light, no one had turned theirs on.

Knowing that anything could be hiding in that hedge waiting to jump out and attack but also
knowing that he couldn't stop now, Steve advanced on the gauntlet while keeping his pistol held at the ready. He reached the sidewalk and its ominous border and turned his back so it was against the building then started sidestepping down its length, his eyes darting back and forth across the hedge only feet away.

He made it past the door of the first apartment when he heard the sound of leaves rustling a little further along the hedge. Spinning in the direction of the sound, he crouched with the pistol held in front of him in a two handed grip. After a full minute in which the noise wasn't repeated, he let his body relax slightly. After another minute he continued his sideways trek, keeping a close eye on the area where he thought the disturbance had come from.

As he eased along, twice he found himself holding his breath and had to stop and gulp air before continuing. Both times he became aware of the warning siren’s wail and once heard a string of gunshots in the distance. Between these stops, he was so focused on being prepared for something jumping out of the bushes at him, that he blocked out everything else around.

His concentration was so great that by the time he passed the door of the second apartment
, he found he had to stop again. He was starting to imagine noises and see shapes lurking in the shadowy shrubs in front of him. Taking one hand at a time from his death grip on the pistol, he wiped them clean of the sweat that had built up. Blinking rapidly, he shook his head to clear it before moving on again. More confident now that he was near his goal, he quickly side-stepped until his back was pressed against the door to Ginny's apartment.

With only the short section of hedge in front of him being of immediate concern now, Steve's sense of hearing came back in a rush. In the distance he heard what he thought were screams and a loud banging noise that sounded like someone hitting a metal garbage can lid with a jack handle. Behind this he heard the air raid siren still sending out its droning call to duck, cover
and kiss your ass goodbye.

Steve freed
one hand from the pistol then reached behind him and knocked on Ginny’s door. In the silence by the side of the building, his knuckles rapping against the metal door sounded to him like a ball bat hitting a bass drum.

Flinching at the sudden noise,
he looked around wildly to see if his knock had attracted the wrong kind of attention. He was relieved when nothing stirred near him, and the sounds of violence and destruction remained distant.

Noticing
, with no small bit of growing irritation, that nothing stirred inside the apartment either, Steve knocked again, this time louder and longer.

Damn it Ginny, answer the door, he thought furiously.

After a short time with no reply from inside, Steve dug in his pocket for his key chain on which he carried a spare to Ginny's apartment. Finding nothing but lint, he said, "Shit", as he looked back the way he had come. In the distance he could see his Jeep idling in the parking lot right where he'd left it. With the keys in the ignition of course. On top of his dismay at not having a key with him, another realization hit him. He still hadn't put gas in the Jeep. He hadn’t had time to ask Captain Sobloski for his fuel ration.

The fear that had been growing in
him turned to anger in a flash. Anger at his own stupidity, anger at the trek through hell to get there, anger at Ginny's failure to answer the door and most of all, anger at the dead for rising and fucking up his life. Forgetting the danger, he turned his back on the hedge and pounded on the door with his fist as he yelled, "Ginny, get your ass up. We don't have time for this shit."