Stay Dead 2: The Dead and The Dying (31 page)

Ben walked quickly, with a
determination in his stride unhindered like the others behind him
whose dead bones and flesh weakened and withered into a slow almost
unending decay.

If he had breath, it would probably be
visible with the chill in the air, but nothing came out of his
lungs. His chest didn’t move, his thickening blood only pumped as a
result of his movements and he could feel it. It felt like thick
oil barely able to move through his veins, being pushed up from his
toes like sludge only to slide back down.

He made it to the bridge. His dead
friends far behind, but other deaders in his vicinity had come to
be near him, drawn to him like some sort of death
magnet.

By the time he made it to the top of
the bridge he knew he was too late. He could hear the boat
approaching. He rushed to the side to watch as the living vermin
escaped his wrath once again. Like rats on the water they scurried
away.

Fucking pussies. Run. I’ll get ya.
I’ll find ya and I’ll tear yer God damned hearts out.

Then he felt it. He could feel the
death in their group. One or more of them were dying. The darkness
inside them was growing.

Or maybe I won’t have to…

…
maybe you’ll all be dead
before I can get to ya.

EPILOGUE

(back to
top)

West Virginia.

Mount Weather Special
Facility.

As commanded, Rachel and Tran reported
to The Deputy Secretary of Defense’s makeshift office. The room was
dusty and smelled like an old library. He sat behind a dark, large
desk that took up half the room. It made him look small, but no
less fierce. His face was stuck in a perpetually angry grimace.
Even his hands looked angry. They were dry with large knuckles that
undoubtedly had met many faces in his younger years.

“
Sit,” he paused for a
moment, then continued, “let’s get right to it. I’ve already
dispatched a unit of my men to a nearby prison.”

“
West Virginia
Penitentiary?”

“
Yes, now don’t interrupt
me till I finish.”

“
Sorry sir--”

“
What did I just say? If
the prison is operational, with real live prisoners, my men will be
securing the facilities. If not, then it’s back to the drawing
board. Since I’m an optimist we’ll assume the facilities can be
secured in a matter of days. They will then establish a mode of
transportation to make regular trips so that you have a supply of
fresh bodies. In the event that should prove difficult we’ll move
the two of you and whatever supplies and equipment you need over
there.”

“
What? You can’t be
serious.”

“
Of course I’m serious. Now
sit. The fuck. Down. If that happens, you’ll have a small unit with
you at all times. I don’t want the two of you getting killed, but I
think what the two of you are doing is important. Now I’m not sold
on what you’re selling me, but we’ve got to follow it through. We
all want to be somewhere else. We all want this shit to be over
with, but it isn’t going to happen unless we make it happen.
Understood?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Understood,
sir.”

“
You two can go rest up or
do whatever it is you white-coats do around here. I expect to hear
from the team within the hour and I’ll update you both as soon as
possible.”

Tran stood up first and made his way
out of the room as quickly as possible. He wasn’t a fan of the
Secretary, or of men like him, and saw no reason to stay in his
company any longer.

“
Slow down,” Rachel
called.

“
Sorry, I just want to get
away from the jerk.”

“
He wasn’t so bad. I get
the feeling he’s just putting up a tough front.”

“
I doubt it. I don’t think
there’s much more to that man other than what we see.”

“
Don’t rush to
judgment.”

“
Never, but sometimes a
brick wall is a brick wall.”

“
Okay. Well, see you in a
bit. I’m going to catch a catnap.”

“
If you can’t sleep, I’ll
be having tea, and you’re welcome to join me.”

“
Thank you.”

Tran nodded and turned down the
corridor toward his quarters. Rachel continued forward, en route to
her own room.

Once there she kicked off her shoes
and threw herself back into her unmade bed. She pulled the covers
around herself and wrapped them tightly around her shoulders and
she nuzzled her face into a pillow.

She wanted to think of nothing. To
just close her eyes and sleep a dreamless sleep. But when she
closed her eyes all she could think about was how the hell she
ended up in this nightmare life inside a mountain.

Why her and not someone else? She
remembered how the Federal Agent and two fatigued men came to her
door. If she’d said “No,” instead of “Yes,” they would have grabbed
her and taken her away all the same. She knew that for a fact as
some of her colleagues had said “No,” yet they were here all the
same.

The day they arrived here the
Secretary addressed them all in a large group in the dining area.
She remembered how he made it sound like it was their duty to
figure out what was happening and why, and most importantly, how to
stop it.

She could hear Pymn’s voice still
echoing in the large room, “You are all that stands in the way of
our demise. Some of you may be wondering why you’re even here. What
could you possibly have to offer? Well, you are all we could find
on short notice and in relative vicinity. There are several other
outposts such as ours with similar teams assembled. Unfortunately
we have lost contact with all of them. We simply do not know if
they were successful in getting their teams together and
sequestered away. There is much we do not know. It is your job to
find out more.”

Then her mind jumped forward to
yesterday and all she could think about was death. When she was a
young teen, the Grim Reaper was cool. Death was a skeleton with
bloodshot eyes, a tattered purple hood, and a gleaming scythe. Rock
bands and Heavy Metal bands sang songs about him.

She remembered how her lungs felt like
ice, how her hands were almost frozen, even waning in pallor. The
entire room seemed to drop in temperature as the dead soldier
spoke. And then she thought of him. The dead soldier, the man who
looked like a scared boy. She thought of how easily they exchanged
his life for a few words. They had no right to do that. She had no
right.

Maybe that’s why Death has
come…because we don’t have any respect for life…

END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Steve Wands lives in New Jersey with
his wife and son. He’s a freelance artist by day and writer by
night. He drinks too much coffee, and sleeps very little. He is the
author of the Stay Dead series of short stories, collections, and
novels as well as Horror Stories: A Macabre Collection, Words Like
Daggers, Modern Nightmares, and plenty of short stories. He also
co-edited and contributed to Dark: A Horror Anthology.

You can visit his blog
here:
http://www.stevewands.blogspot.com

or play with his
twitter:
http://twitter.com/swands

If Google Groups are your thing, then
why not join Steve’s:

http://groups.google.
com/group/apparatus-revolution