Respect for the Dead (Surviving the Dead Book 1) (9 page)

Steve slammed through the gate separating the lot from the loading area.  “What the???” The building across the street was completely engulfed in flame.  Steve watched three flaming bodies fall from the second floor.  His attention shifted immediately to the front door as it was flung open.  Three people ran from the flames.  One ran toward him, it was a young guy Steve had seen a few times in passing.  The young man fell, Steve stepped forward to help him.  He heard the man scream, one of the burning bodies had grabbed the guy’s ankle.  The other two burning bodies got slowly to their feet, advancing on the downed man. 

The top windows exploded sending glass raining down on other escaping workers.  Steve looked back at the Distribution center.  His co-workers were also all running from the buildings.  He also saw several friends on the ground being attacked.  The attackers were, to Steve’s horror, also his friends and co-workers.   “This can’t be happening this can’t be!”  They were killing and eating each other.  “This is like some messed up horror movie!”  Steve shouted as if this would make it all go away. 

Smashing through the gate he turned back toward the parking lot and ran for his car.  He dodged several cars that sped past.  Jumping over the hood of his boss’ car Steve barley avoided being hit.   The BMW he slid over was not so lucky.  Shakily regaining his feet he jumped aside again when a pickup truck skidded to a halt in front of him. 

“Steve!  For fuck sake boy! Get the hell out of here!”  It was Brad.  “Oh shit boy run!”  The truck’s tires screamed and in roar of an engine the taillights were all that was left.

Sparing a glance over his shoulder Steve saw several bloody creatures stumbling toward him.  “Fuck this!”  He ran for his Mustang while digging in his pocket for his keys.

He had parked further out in the lot thinking it would be easy to leave later, it now felt miles away.  He regretted the decision with every step he ran.  “Seriously!  I swear I didn’t park this far away.”  He gasped as another car squealed out of the lot. 

Finding the keys, he hit the fob unlocking the door.  Slamming into the door a second later he wrenched it open and flung himself in.   “What the hell is going on?”  He breathed, his hands were shaking so bad it took several seconds before he was finally able to get the key into the ignition. The engine roared into life. 

Taking a moment to clear his head, he tried to rid the vision of Rachel and the burning corpses getting up and walking.  He rubbed his eyes.  He could still see them, he could see them every time he closed his eyes, “This can’t be happening, this can’t be, can’t be.” He repeated still trying to will it to be true.  He shut his eyes tight, pressing them so all was black except the geometric shapes.  He tried to block out the sound.  Opening his eyes, it was all still there, the running, the screaming, the burning were all still there. 

“Beth, Dad!” he reached into his jacket for his phone, “Holy SHIT!”  Steve slammed against his door and kicked away at the passenger seat.  The office manager crashed against his passenger window and slid down it, beating it with torn hands leaving bloody streaks.

Steve screamed again and threw himself in the other direction as a face slammed against the window next to his.  The owner held up a bloody hand that was missing several fingers against the driver’s window.  The dead eyes locked on Steve’s and its mouth opened into a long howl.

  “FUCK YOU!”  Steve screamed throwing the car into gear and slamming his foot down on the gas.  The car lurched forward sending Steve back into his seat.   Suddenly he was thrown forward as the front hit a large bump.  The rear tires squealed in protest as they tried to gain traction.  The business manager clawed at the asphalt, the rear tire of the high powered performance car grabbed and ripped at his side until, with a mighty lurch it crushed his spine and sped off. 

The gate to the lot was already off its hinges, the guard shack was empty.  The building across the road was sending  flames fifty feet high into the air.  Several flaming people were stumbling out of the burning building as Steve sped past.  A couple made a feeble attempt to grab at the car. 

“What the hell?  What the FUCK!  They should have been dead!”  Steve screamed and pounded the wheel.  “You should all be dead!”  He yelled to a flaming man missing his lower jaw. 

Steve returned to searching his jacket for his phone.  The engine revved high and he fumbled with the phone dialing his house.  Pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder he shifted gears.  “All circuits are currently busy.  Please try your call again later” Was the phones reply. 

Fear bubbled up in his stomach.  He tried his father’s cell.  It was the same taunting response.  Panic was rising, he tried his sister. Still the computer voice mocked his growing terror.  “LET ME TALK TO SOMEONE, BITCH!”  He screamed, the phone flew onto the passenger seat. 

WABAM!  A dark color flew over the hood of the beautifully maintained sports car and out of Steve’s view.  He had been so distracted with his phone that he had stopped paying attention the road.  

Smoke billowed from the wheels as he slammed on the breaks and jerked the wheel.  The gleaming car skidded to a halt in the middle of the empty road. Heart beating in his throat he looked out of the window.  The sight that met his eyes was the mangled remains of what only moments before had been a man.

Steve was glued to the vision of the broken body lying in the street.  One leg was twisted backward and up, the foot lying next to the head.  The left arm was pinned under the body, the other flung out to the side.  As Steve tried to slow his panicked breathing the body on the road raised its head and moaned at him.  Steve looked past the crumpled body down the street.  The road was filling with shambling dead.  They were shuffling to the car as if answering the moan. 

Steve swore, pushed in the clutch, slammed the car in gear and sped down the road toward his home.  He prayed that the man he just hit had been dead before he had shattered him.  That thought nagged at him and pushed his foot harder on the gas pedal.

Wes stood with his hand on the knob listening to the silence in the house interrupted by the noises coming from outside.  Through the closed window seeped sirens and yelling.  Whatever was happening was close.  This didn’t bother him, the lack of coughing did.  “Reg must have fallen asleep.”  He tried to convince himself, but another little voice said, “so suddenly?”  Shaking the thought, he opened the door. 

“Reg? Reg?  Reggie!”  Wes could feel the panic in his mother’s voice. 

Hurrying out of his room, Wes flung himself down the short stairway then down the hall.  His mother began screaming urging him faster into the living room.  Wes skidded to a halt on the beige carpet of the living room.  His mother was screaming but he couldn’t make a sound.  The scene that met his eyes stole his breath and froze his limbs. 

Reggie was on his feet, blood covered his face and his hands clung to Wes’s mother by the upper arms.  Even from where he stood Wes could see the fingers starting to break the skin, blood starting to run down her arms.  She was struggling to free herself from his steel grasp.  The wound on her neck was gushing blood, soaking the skin of her neck and shirt.

Wes could see she was fighting for her life, something she had done many times with his father, but never with Reg.  She was hitting her husband with everything she had.  She kicked him in the shins, stomped his feet, kneed him in the groin and clawed his eyes, nothing even phased him.  Wes stared, frozen in terror and shaking with anger as he watched the scene.

“This couldn’t be happening.”  His brain screamed, “Not again!”  He ran at his stepfather screaming, “You promised!  You promised never to hurt her!  You promised! You bastard!”   Wes flung himself onto the man and hit every part of him he could reach.  Reg either didn’t notice or didn’t care.  Wes, seeing his efforts had no effect changed tactics.  He began trying free his mother.  Wes tried to break his Reg’s grip, but his stepfather’s fingers only dug in further.  Wes pulled with all his might.  His mother kept her hands on Reg’s chest to keep him away.  She pushed the man she had loved as far from her as she could, his teeth chomped the air between them. 

Helpless to free his mother Wes backed off scanning the room for anything he could use as a weapon.  She cried out again, Wes abandoned his search and ran, hurtling himself with all his might smashing into Reg.  He smashed into him just below the arm.  Wes heard a crack but couldn’t tell if it was Reg or himself.  Stumbling back, pain shooting through his shoulder Wes jumped on his stepfather and pulled his head back.  Reg did not seem to even notice he was being attack.  He just kept trying to bite the woman he had in his grasp.

Reg’s face was cold and covered in sweat, Wes’ hands slipped.  He fell to the floor and watched wide eyed as Reg lurched forward and bit Wes’ mother on the arm.  Her scream pierced Wes’ heart.  Reg began to crew on the lump of flesh he had just torn from the limb. 

“MOM!”  Hold on hold ON!”  Panicking Wes ran from the room.  In the hall he turned left then right then left again.  “SHIT!”  Flying up the stairs he slammed through the door to his room.  Crashing into the wall his hand gripped the hilt of a sword he and Beth had bought one year at a Renaissance Festival.  Bits of plaster fell to the floor and the metal hangers clanged across the room as he ripped it free of the wall.  Spinning on the spot he hurtled from the room and down the stairs three at a time.  Bouncing off the walls he sprinted back down the hall.  Skidding back into the living room he held the sword high over his head, screaming,   “Leave her alone!”   

The blade swooshed through the air.  The weight of the steel pulled Wes off balance as the blade crashed into the man’s back.  Wes fell forward as Reg staggered releasing Wes’s mother. 

Relief washed over Wes as he watched his mother leave Reg’s grip.  A moment later terror replaced that feeling.  Reg was slowly turning to face Wes.   Scooting away from the thing that loomed over him, Wes looked up into a face he did not recognize.  It wasn’t the face of the man Wes had come to know, the man he had come to love as a father.  It was distorted, hungry, angry and covered in blood.  

Wes knew in an instant, this wasn’t his stepfather; this was evil staring at him.  It lunged at Wes with arms outstretched.  Wes grabbed at the sword laying inches away.  He raised the blade and closed his eyes.  He waited for the pain to come but it didn’t.  Opening one eye slightly he saw the bloody fingers mere inches from his face, clawing at the air. 

The sword was buried deep in Reg’s chest kept him from his prey.  The hilt dug into Wes’ stomach.  Reg swung his arms and let out a moan of confusion and anger.  Wes mustered all his strength pushing Reg over.  The man lay on his side looking down at the sword buried in his rib cage.  It would have been comical had it been something other than real.  Reg tried to roll one way then the other only to have the sword stop him in each direction. 

  Wes thought for a second that it was all over.  He waited for the man to close his eyes like in the movies and die.  That did not happen. As Wes watched the look of confusion left the face as he looked back at Wes, the hunger back in its eyes.  Reg gave up on rolling, instead pushed himself up to his knees then to his feet.  He swayed, off balance by the heavy weapon still sticking out of his body.  What had been his stepfather lunged forward again. 

Wes stumbled backward falling over an armchair.  His arms swung wildly while he fell.  His hand found the hilt of the sword again.  He instinctively grabbed it as he backed away pulling the sword free but pulling Reg closer with it.  Blood oozed freely from the gaping wound.  Reg didn’t notice the damage and continued after Wes.

  Looking from the sword to the open wound in the man’s chest, Wes dropped the weapon, scrambled to his feet, and ran for his Mother’s bedroom.   He knew where she kept the gun.  The gun she bought to protect them from his real father.  He slid into the nightstand on his mother’s side of the bed.  He threw open the drawer pulling out the black semi automatic.  Wes cursed the fact that his mother never kept it loaded.  Thankfully there was a full clip right next to it. 

Wes fumbled with the clip, “COME ON!”  He shouted as it bounced between the sides of the opening.  Finally he slammed  home, chambered a round and clicked off the safety.  It was just in time, the room suddenly darkened as Reg filled the door frame. “Stay away Reg, I mean it!  Don’t you come any closer!  I will kill you!  Don’t make me shoot you!”  Wes pleaded as he raised the gun with shaking arms.

What had once been a caring, kind man came at him. Bloody hands reached out for him.  The creature’s teeth were bared and it groaned as it entered the room.  Wes pulled the trigger, the bullet smashed into the man’s chest, he staggered back a step, but just like the sword it had no effect. 

“Stop!  Damn you, why won’t you stop?”  Wes demanded.  A second round slammed into the advancing thing’s torso.  Again Reg stumbled back from the impact but didn’t stop.  Wes adjusted his sights and squeezed the trigger. His Stepfather dropped to the floor, a small hole appeared between his eyes.  Blood seeped onto the light blue carpet of his mother’s bedroom.  

The gun still clutched in his hand, Wes blindly walked back to the living room.  His mother lay slumped against the couch.  Blood covered her shirt and pooled on the carpet next to her body.  Wes stood over his mother staring.  He knew she was dead.

“This can’t be happening.”  He thought again.  “Dad was the one that was going to kill her, never Reggie, never.”    Tears began to prickle in his eyes; he looked down at his mother and thought bitterly, “at least she didn’t have to know I was the one who killed Reg.”

Wes’ heart leapt when he saw his mother twitch.  He swiped the tears from his eyes and stared, “Mom? “  He took a step toward her, her eyes snapped open.  Slowly she turned her head toward him and stared.

  “No.  No way No! Mom! Not you!” He wept as she began to slowly attempt to push herself off the floor.  “NO NO NO.  Come on Mom not you!”  Wes screamed backing away while keeping the gun aimed at her. “Stay away!”  He cried. 

The same look of hunger and anger contorted her face.  Shaking, still pleading, he pulled the trigger; her shoulder exploded.  Awkwardly she continued to push herself up.  Gaining her feet finally she stumbled toward her son.  Wes watched the muzzle flash.  The wall behind his mother changed instantly from white to red and brain matter grey.

Tears streamed freely down Wes’ face.  He watched his mother crumpled in front of the couch.  Closing his eyes he sunk to the floor in the living room and cried until he was completely drained.

The light was fading when it hit him like a slap to the face. “I have to get out of here, get to somewhere safe….. I have to find Beth.  We have to get out of town.”   He got up off the floor hurrying back to his mother’s bedroom. Stepping over Reg’s body he went to the bed.  Throwing open the night stand, he pulled out the extra clip and a box of bullets.  “God please don’t let Beth leave before I can get  there.” 

He stood with his back to the doorway.  “They were zombies,” He told the gun.  “Unfuckingbeleivable, zombies.” He turned and looked at the body of the man who had taken care of him and his mother.  The man that had loved him like a son and always been there for him was now dead at his hand.  Greif crashed over him again bringing back tears he thought could not fall, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed to keep from collapsing. Finally regaining his composure he pulled the sheets from the bed and covered Reginald Smith, the kindest man he had ever known. 

He made his way back into the living room.  He knelt down next to his mother.  He couldn’t look at her face, he covered her with the comforter he had pulled from the couch.  “You were always cold, Mom, this should keep you warm.” He muttered then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Picking up the sword, he grabbed a towel from the kitchen and cleaned the blade.  He mounted the stairs slowly returning to his bedroom.  He grabbed the scabbard for the sword from the back of the closet.  He fashioned a way to attach it to his back with an old belt. “Real Conan like.”  He told his reflection in the mirror.  Looking closely he grabbed an old shirt and scrubbed at the blood on his face.  He rubbed until he was raw.  Checking the reflection again he breathed a sigh noting his features were clean. 

Next he found his backpack.  Throwing out the school books he looked around his room for “important things”.  Grabbing a couple of books and some pictures he threw them into the pack.  Something caught his attention out the window.  A neighbor’s house down the block was on fire.  People were running in the streets and cars raced by.  Thundering down the stairs he jogged into the kitchen looking around for a second, he thought what he would need.  He filled the backpack with as much canned food and bottled water as he could.  Now with the heavy laden pack, sword on his back, the extra clip in his pocket and gun in hand he headed to the front door.

He never once looked back into the living room, but as he turned the door knob he spoke.  “I and love you Mom.  I love you Reggie. You were the best, I’m sorry.  So sorry”, he paused to let one sob shake him.  Wes opened the door and stepped out into utter chaos.