The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (16 page)

Now in his sixties, Irwin Landry looked healthy, with a lean body, a white shock of hair, squirrel-like teeth, a hawk nose and steely blue eyes—the way I remembered him from high school. He retired from teaching at the end of the last school year. He described how he had bought a small cabin in Mt. Shasta and proceeded to go insane from boredom. When the outbreak hit, he had a purpose in life once again.

We parked our vehicles outside his cabin and gathered in the rear, looking through a chain-link-fenced enclosure. Eight undead—including Irene—milled in circles, groaning and swatting at imaginary flies. Some looked fresher than others. Landry had removed the duct tape and plastic ties, and they wandered freely inside the enclosure.

I spotted a ninth creature towards the back, lying on the ground and barely moving. It looked pretty far gone—almost mummified—and I assumed it had decayed to the point of being almost harmless.

“Everything dies,” Landry said. “Even these monstrosities.” He sounded like a kid at Comic-Con as he spoke to us. “Ever since this business started, I’ve been studying these creatures. I call them creatures, of course, because they’re no longer human.”

His cat, Hawking, which had a sizeable rip in the skin of her back crusted over with dried blood, sidled up to Landry. He eased her away with his boot.

“What happened to the cat?” I said.

“One of those things bit her. She was lucky to get away.”

Collectively we backed off. “Aren’t you worried about infection?” I said.

“That’s the interesting part,” Landry said. “This happened a couple of weeks ago. She hasn’t exhibited any signs of the disease. For her, it’s a wound. No worse than any animal bite. And it’s healing. This virus—or whatever it is—doesn’t appear to jump species.”

“Then it’s not a form of rabies?”

“Doesn’t appear to be.”

“You remember Jim Stanley?”

“Sure I do.”

“I think he was bit by his rabid dog before he turned.”

“I don’t think there’s a link, Dave. You know rabies is common in these parts.”

“Then what in hell is causing this?”

The cat sidled up to me, purring. I bent down to pet her.

“Careful,” Landry said. “She could still be a carrier, which is why I don’t let her get too close.”

“Why do you study them?” Ben said.

“Because I have a curious mind, Ben. I want to see if I can learn something that might help to stop this.”

“And for that you had to remove their restraints?” I said. “You always were a little off, Irwin.”

“I like to think of myself as open to possibilities.”

“I did enjoy your class the best, though.”

“Interesting. I always thought Ms. Ireland’s class was your favorite,” he said, winking. Then to Ben and Aaron, “She was pretty formidable in the chest department.”

“Uh-huh,” Aaron said, grinning at me.

“So how’ve you been, Dave?” Landry said, punching me in the arm. That was one thing I did not miss.

“Not too good. My wife and I …”

“Oh, sorry.”

When the dead things rushed the fence, we jumped back—all except Landry—even though it was impossible for them to grab us. The cat bared her teeth and hissed. Then one of them shrieked in frustration.

“We’d better get inside,” Landry said. “Once they start going at it, the sound will attract others.”

Over a dinner of ham-and-cheese sandwiches and root beer, Landry explained what he was doing. I noticed he didn’t have a television set, which irritated me because I wanted to check in with Evie Champagne on the latest. But he did have a generator and a cell phone that he used to provide Internet access to his laptop.

“We don’t know what’s causing the dead to return to life, of course,” he said. “But we do know a few things. One, there was some kind of event. Maybe an animal virus did jump species—though I still don’t think it was rabies.”

“Why not?”

“Because rabies has been around since the Egyptians and it’s never been known to do what we’re seeing now. But it is highly contagious. Decomposition doesn’t cease, as you observed outside. Eventually these things will rot away.”

“But not before doing a lot of damage,” Ben said.

“Right. And to Dave’s point, very similar to rabies in that regard.”

“Why do they want to eat us?” Aaron said.

“Oh, yes.” Landry’s eyes twinkled the way they used to in science class. “Clearly they’re getting no nutrition from the flesh. They could be doing it because it’s one of the most basic instincts—to stay alive. You see, all life forms have fundamental needs. Maslow talked about a hierarchy. You remember this, right, Dave?”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Who could forget Maslow?”

“You can disregard the rest of the hierarchy. For these things, all that’s important is the physiological needs. Air, food, water, sex, sleep, homeostasis and excretion. From what I’ve observed, they don’t need water, sex or even sleep.”

“And they don’t appear to need air,” I said.

“Really?”

“Trust me.” I looked at Ben and Aaron.

“Okay,” Landry said. “And they don’t excrete, as far as I can tell. They eat and eat and nothing comes out.”

“Where does it go?” I said.

“Well, there doesn’t appear to be any kind of digestion. Though I haven’t observed it myself, my guess is they fill up and can no longer eat.”

“Like Thanksgiving,” I said.

“Maybe they explode,” Ben said.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” I said.

“What’s homeo …” Aaron said.

“Homeostasis. It’s the ability of an organism to regulate or stabilize itself. You know, like temperature and so on. Well, these things are always cold, so I don’t think they’re doing that very well either.”

“So all that’s left …” Ben said.

“Is hunger,” I said.

“Right,” Landry said. “And they are laser-focused on it.”

“What else have you found out?” Ben said.

“Well, because most of the higher brain functions appear to be nonexistent, they can’t speak. And I’m assuming they can’t reason either.”

“No,” I said. “But they can communicate with each other. I’ve seen it.”

“What about their other senses?” Ben said. “Sight, hearing?”

“We know they can see. Not well, but they get around just fine. I think they can hear too, because the sound of humans in distress seems to attract them. In order to confirm, I’d have to conduct all kinds of experiments that I don’t have the equipment for.”

“I still don’t understand,” Aaron said. “Are they, in fact, clinically dead?”

“That’s the interesting part. They don’t appear to have any of the normal life signs. No beating heart, no breath. Yet somehow they live. I guess they really are the undead.”

“But how?” Aaron said.

“We don’t know. There are documented cases of yogis who can put themselves into a state of samadhi, consciously lower their respiration and heart rate to almost-undetectable levels. My guess is, somehow a brain in this state is leveraging some unique ability of the body that we are currently unaware of. Something that allows it to operate in this minimalist fashion.”

“But why?” I said.

Landry looked at each of us, took a swallow of root beer and set the can down. “Survival,” he said.

We decided to stay with Landry for the night. In the morning we could figure out whether it made sense to stick together. Landry was a famous scrounger. For whatever reason, he’d collected sleeping bags and stored them in case of an emergency. Ben, Aaron and I lay in them around the cold fireplace, exhausted, waiting for an uncertain morning.

As I lay there, I thought about Holly. Was she dead—or undead like Irene? There was no sign of her in that field, and it was my prayer that somehow she’d escaped that fate and gotten to safety. Landry claimed he hadn’t seen anyone in the area fitting her description.

That’s another need that Maslow should have listed, something the undead were not burdened with. Hope.

In the morning, over hard-boiled eggs and coffee, we discussed our thoughts.

“I need to find Holly,” I said. “If that means going back to Tres Marias alone, I’ll do it. I don’t expect any of you to follow.”

“Let’s look at the facts,” Landry said. “We’re fairly surrounded by the undead. I’ve spotted more and more of them over the last few days. We’re not sure if these Black Dragon Security people have things under control. If we’re lucky, they’ve established a perimeter and are keeping it secure.”

“No one gets in or out,” Ben said.

“Right. Dave, you could take your chances out there alone, but I would advise against it.”

“I have to agree,” Ben said. “It’s too dangerous for one man.”

“Okay,” I said. “So what are you guys saying?”

“Well, my dance card is pretty open,” Landry said, and drained his coffee cup.

“Ben?” I said.

“Aaron and I don’t have anywhere to be,” he said.

“So all of us go in search of Holly?” I looked at each of them. They nodded. “Okay. I can’t say I don’t feel a huge sense of relief. And gratitude.”

Landry rose and cleared the table. “We’d better get some supplies together.”

“Why Tres Marias?” Ben said, helping to clean up.

“Because I haven’t been able to reach Holly,” I said, “and I don’t think she knew I was coming up here. I’m guessing she thinks I’m still down there somewhere. It’s a long shot, but I don’t have anything else to go on.”

“Can’t reach her?”

“No. That’s what disturbs me. I keep calling and texting.”

“Cell service has become worse than usual since this thing started,” Landry said. “Not sure what that means.”

“We do have one problem,” Aaron said. “I don’t think there’s nearly enough weapons.”

“We won’t last five minutes out there without some real firepower,” I said.

“I think I can help you there,” Landry said.

Landry didn’t say anything as I drove my truck over a narrow, bumpy dirt road deep in the forest, towards I didn’t know what. Ben and Aaron followed in the motor home.

“I still don’t see what all the secrecy is about,” I said.

“Just a precaution.”

We arrived at a clearing that had been defined by hundreds of rocks arranged in a circle. The ground looked as if it had been swept. An enormous concrete birdbath stood in the center. In it stood Diana, holding her bow and arrow, with a dead stag at her feet.

“Are we communing with nature now?”

“Look hard,” Landry said.

The surrounding trees were dense, and it took me a few seconds to realize a house stood before us, camouflaged in paint. If you looked at it the right way, you’d swear you were looking at nothing more than shadows in the trees.

“No way.”

As I squinted through my windshield, the front door opened and a rail-thin man with a white ponytail halfway down his back and a long Rip van Winkle beard came towards us. He was dressed in khaki cargo pants, a bright Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. But for the AR-15 slung over his shoulder, I would’ve taken him for an ancient surfer named Moon Doggie.

Landry hugged the man like they were long-lost brothers. “Boys, this is Guthrie Manson.”

We shook hands and exchanged greetings.

“Why don’t we all go inside. Caramel put the tea on already,” Guthrie said, and led us into the secret house.

The place resembled something inspired by Tim Burton on a Thomas Kincaid bender. The furniture, though handcrafted, sat askew. Not a single piece was level. There were tables and chairs with five legs. The angular sofas were covered in colorful cushions made from bits of paisley, velvet, satin and an American flag.

The rugs looked expensive. In addition to lace curtains, there were heavy blackout curtains pinned back with metal chains.

From the ceiling hung hundreds of potted plants intermingled with little
calaveras
dressed as mariachis, circus performers and politicians with top hats. But what struck me was the light coming from what I assumed were hidden skylights. The room absolutely glowed.

As we headed towards the kitchen, a woman appeared in the doorway. She looked to be around the same age as Guthrie. She also had long, white hair that reached her tailbone. She wore a loose-fitting blue muslin skirt that lingered above the floor and a filmy blouse with no brassiere.