Stay Dead: A Novel (27 page)

Maybe…

“Next stop--Disney Land!” Jon-Jon kidded.

Dawn looked at him in that
what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you kind of way, which immediately
obliterated the goofy smirk he had on his face. He looked
embarrassed and decided to keep his eyes on the road and his mind
on driving.

Chung-Hee closed his eyes and hoped to find
sleep. But all he saw was the red face of Yama, the god of the
dead. Chung-Hee grew up listening to his family speak of the God
Generals, ancient deities, and the all the different hells he could
go to if he ever misbehaved. His youthful arrogance and dismissal
of his family’s beliefs now had him questioning his own and
wondering if this was his punishment for his ignoble actions in
life. And he wondered if this was in fact one of the hells his
parents cautioned him of.

He couldn’t think of anything he had ever
done that could bring about such wrath but maybe his place in a
world that held commerce and science above faith and devotion was
enough. Maybe Yama saw fit to purge the Earth with a plague of the
dead and transform it into Naraka. He had no reason to believe that
was a possibility, but in light of recent times anything had become
possible.

Eventually he found sleep.

Eddie and Joseph looked at each other. They
didn’t need words anymore to communicate, it was like they could
read each other’s minds now.

“You want to do this?” Eddie asked
anyway.

“I don’t know what I want to do, it all seems
hopeless, man.”

Dawn turned toward the back and listened. She
didn’t want everyone to start getting down, knowing all too well
what that would do to their momentum.

“Sometimes, yeah, but all the hope I need is
you and ma and everyone else in this van. All we have to do is
outlast those things and we’ll be fine. They’re dead and decaying,
and all we have to do is stay alive long enough for them to fall
apart, right?”

“I guess…if we don’t get killed before
then.”

“We won’t. Not if we stick together like
we’ve been doing.”

“He’s right, dude,” Chuck chimed in. “When I
was at the airport it was chaos. Everyone was out for themselves
and I barely got out of there because of it. If we all stick
together we can make it up north and just ride it out.”

“I hope so, I really do,” Joseph said.

Eddie was pained by his brother’s continually
declining shift in mood. They had been through a lot and he didn’t
know what to say anymore. He was never much for brotherly advice,
and rarely had any to give. But he had to say something.

“We just have to keep going. No matter what,
we can’t give up. If we give up now it’s like everyone we loved
died for nothing. We have to honor their memories by staying
alive.”

Janice sat quietly, tears running down her
face. She was proud of her boys--proud of her men. As much as she
wanted to give up and go out with the tide they kept her anchored
at shore.

“How much gas do we have?” Frankie asked.

“Not enough,” Jon-Jon replied. “About half a
tank.”

“Great. Wake me up when we have to start
walking,” Frankie said and closed his eyes.

Scott turned on the radio, more out of habit
than anything else, and couldn’t believe it when he heard voices
through the speakers.

…
continue repeating this Emergency Alert
System broadcast until we have new information.

The message was then followed by a two-toned
sound similar to the Emergency Broadcast sounds used in television.
Scott and Judy listened impatiently for the message to repeat.
Scott sped up alongside the van. He rolled down his window and
yelled for them to turn on the radio, then he dropped back and did
the same for Abdul. The two-toned sound started again, lasting
about twenty-seconds and then the broadcast started.

This is an Emergency Alert System broadcast
originating from the Mount Weather Special Facility in West
Virginia.

There is a worldwide phenomenon occurring
where clinically dead humans are reanimating and attacking living
humans in an attempt to eat living flesh. Early attempts at
dispatching the reanimated hostiles, destroying the brain, seemed
effective. However, new evidence suggests we now warn that this is
insufficient. Specimens assumed dead continue to reanimate. There
is no consistent timeframe for which a hostile will reanimate. The
only permanent way of dispatching the hostiles is by incineration,
or the use of a chemical agent to dissolve the remains.

It is also safest to stay off the roads and
out of heavily populated areas. If you have found a safe haven it
is recommended you remain there. Specially equipped units of the
military are in the process of reclaiming key strategic areas
around the nation. Once we are able to reclaim those areas we will
reinstate the Emergency Transportation System to aid survivors in
getting to those locations.

We will
continue repeating this
Emergency Alert System broadcast until we have new
information.

***

Pulled over once more along the empty roads
out of New Haven Jon-Jon, Abdul, Eddie, Judy and most of the others
stood outside of their vehicles to discuss the broadcast. They
heard it as it continued to play in a never-ending loop in the
background.

“It doesn’t change a thing,” Scott
insisted.

“I think he’s right,” Joseph added.

“But doesn’t it make more sense for us to
head down to Virginia?” Dawn disputed. “That’s where the broadcast
is coming from.”

“It makes sense, but why haven’t we heard
anything from the government till now, weeks later?” Eddie asked.
“I don’t trust that they can help us, we’ve stayed alive this far
without them…”

Alexis jumped in. “Yeah, but they must be
doing something right if they’re taking over certain areas. Areas
that we can try to get to!”

“Its been weeks! WEEKS! And, now we’re
supposed to go to Virginia in the hopes that our lousy government
can finally do something for us?” Scott grew angered.

“Not to say anything bad about our great
nation, but it took them over a month to stop an oil spill. I think
we are better off taking care of ourselves,” Abdul added
sheepishly.

“Yeah, he’s right man!” Chuck said. “My
cousin was volunteering to clean off sea turtles and ducks and shit
while the politicians were busy pointing fingers as the shit got
worse. And this ain’t an oil spill we’re dealing with--”

A gunshot broke through the night and a
bullet entered a deader’s head, erupted out of the back of it and
pulled with it chunks of brain, bone, skin, and hair. Carrie walked
in front of the truck and fired another shot. She missed the other
dead thing but fired again and the creature dropped. “There’s more.
We need to make a decision.”

“Shall we take a vote?” Jon-Jon asked.

“Fuck it, why not?” Frankie asked.

North it was.

C
HAPTER 30: Curiosity

West Virginia.

Mount Weather Special Facility.

Rachel Lucas and Doctor Gregory Tran put in a
request to work together. They had to justify the request with
their superiors and upon furnishing their findings they had gotten
what they wanted. With a catch of course.

A young soldier sat restrained on the
examination table usually reserved for the dead. He was a blond
haired kid from Texas not even old enough to drink. He was sedated
but his eyes were penetrating and gut-wrenching regardless. After
hearing what the catch was Rachel tried everything she could to
stop it from happening, but failed. When she was given the choice
to take the soldier’s place she decided to keep her own. As a
result she couldn’t look the kid in the eyes.

The kid soldier was hooked up to a mechanical
respirator in the hopes that once given a lethal injection his
brain would still be getting oxygen. In theory it would present
Rachel and Tran with the best possible specimen in which to
continue their research. They also had a medical infusion pump and
a dialysis machine in the corner of the room should they decide to
use them.

Several guards stood outside of the room
accompanied by the Deputy Secretary of Defense, William T. Pymn II,
who nodded for Tran to carry out the lethal injection. Tran grimly
nodded back. He too didn’t want to sacrifice a soldier of all
people, but figured it was better than the alternative.

He administered the injection and the young
man tried to squirm but was too heavily restrained to move. Tran
and Rachel watched the monitors as the young man died before them.
His heart stopped first and then all brain activity ceased. The
mechanical respirator kept him breathing as planned.

His eyes opened even though clinically he was
dead. He had no pulse, no heartbeat, and no brain activity. Yet he
could speak.

“Brains,” the thing muttered. “Flesh,” as his
jaw moved and his eyes flitted around the room.

“What is your name?” Tran asked.

“Death.”

END

Please enjoy these two additional tales of
terror from:

HORROR
STORIES

Available at
http://www.smashwords.com

* * * * *

* * * * *

The walls oozed moisture. It dripped like
sweat down the bowing walls, down to the well-worn and warped
hardwood floors that creaked with every uneasy step. The
windowsills screamed as the soft rotting wood gave way under
pressure. Rats scurried through the walls, their thick ropey tails
thumping along the sheetrock as wads of insulation stuck to their
hairy hides.

The whole house swayed in sync with the
whipping winds of the escalating storm. Gutters overflowed with
rain, dead tree limbs, and fallen leaves. The downspouts swelled
like clogged veins in an old woman’s leg. The window shutters
slapped against the siding, echoing the lightning.

In the backyard, a tire swing spiraled by a
rope tied around a large tree branch. The soft sounds of playful
ghosts were kept secret by the roar of thunder overhead.

I know this house. I’ve been here before…
but this place doesn’t belong here. This is the house in my dreams…
my nightmares… It doesn’t make any sense.

The paint is peeling, cracked, and sagging
like skin in some spots. The front door is open, hanging by a
single screw in a rusty hinge. Mold has taken over the front porch
and the cement steps have weathered into jagged chunks of rock.

Something wants me here. Is it the house?
How did it get here? Why me? Why now?

A light on the porch flickered on. The door
began to bang against the wall, calling her to come inside. She
went.

She stood in the doorway, half in, and half
out. She stared at the fluttering insects that danced around the
light. She stepped further inside. There was something familiar
about the place to her but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Hello,” she said. “Anyone home?”

There was no answer, only the sound of the
storm, and the rats. There was a sketchbook lying in the middle of
the hall with a pencil next to it.

I remember now. I know why I remember this
place. I drew this… I made this… but, I was only a kid. This isn’t
possible.

She sat down and opened the sketchbook. It
was empty. The pages were crisp white, screaming for lines to be
drawn on them, crying for a purpose. She picked up the pencil,
examining the tip. When led struck paper the house creaked. She
began to sketch furiously. The walls straightened but somehow
appeared more menacing. Footsteps could be heard upstairs as she
created the inhabitants. The rats squealed in terror as she drew
them and then erased them.

She would sketch well into the morning,
filling the pages with the things that haunted her mind: the
mutants and monsters, the nightmarish architecture, the killer cars
and the creepy kids. The house moaned in delight.

I have to do this. I have to get them out of
my head. The world can deal with these horrors, I can’t. They can
figure them out. They can stop them. Someone has to…

* * * * *

* * * * *

He gagged and heaved, choking on the fetid
remains of the dead piss-drenched rat that filled his mouth. The
rat’s stiff hairs prickled at his gums and irritated the roof of
his mouth. Every time he began to throw-up, his vomit either
erupted out of his nose or was chewed back down so that he could
breathe. The same duct tape that wrapped around his mouth, head,
and ankles, rendering him useless, bound his hands. He could hear
feet shuffling on the ground, walking around him. He heaved again,
the stiff rat-tail felt like a tendril of sandpaper on his
tongue.

He knew there were at least two people doing
this to him and why he didn’t know. Mistaken identity he hoped, but
knew deep down in his queasy-sick stomach that it was most likely
for fun. People did the damnedest things just to make the ten
o’clock news nowadays. All he wanted to know was why, and to know
if he’d ever live to never tell anyone about the things they did to
him. Now he waited, listening to the footsteps around him, waiting
for what horrible act they would perform next. Were they recording
this? Was that what this person was doing walking around him? Then
he heard a door open and a man’s voice yelling.

“Get up here! Leave the little piggy alone
till later,” the man’s voice roared.

He heard the set of feet skitter away. Too
light to be another man--a woman, he decided, lovers from hell, he
guessed. All he could do was gag, tasting the filth in his mouth,
and wait till later.