The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (30 page)

Darkness hung low as
we reached the outskirts of town. Wrecked Humvees and LMTVs lined the wet dawn-lit streets, painted in tan camo colors and bearing the Black Dragon logo. Though it was pouring rain, fires continued to burn in the distance, making the air tart and acidic-tasting.

Packs of dogs, still wearing their collars, fought over what looked like garbage. As we got closer, we saw one of the filthy animals gnawing on a human hand. The streetlights shone and the traffic signals changed as if it were just another day in Tres Marias. Not a single body was visible—human or dragger.

“We’re a gigantic target in this motor home,” Warnick said as he squinted at street signs. “We need to ditch this thing and hoof it.”

“We have to make sure we can get back to it fast, though, if we need to,” Landry said.

“What happened to all the soldiers?” I said.

“Looks like the good guys bugged out,” Warnick said.

“They might’ve left weapons behind.”

“Let’s check it out.”

Warnick found an abandoned warehouse and pulled around behind it. “Everyone ready?”

We got our weapons and extra ammo and climbed out into the stillness of the morning.

“Stay close to me,” Holly said to Griffin.

“What about the dog?” I said. “Won’t she bark?”

Ram helped Greta out of the motor home. Kneeling, he spoke to her in German. When he finished, he looked up at us. “She won’t bark.”

We kept to the side streets, making our way towards the center of town. Warnick advised us not to speak but to use hand signals instead, in case there were hostiles nearby.

I knew these streets, had spent my whole life on them. Tres Marias was not a memorable town, but it was vibrant. We had to make our way past bullet-scarred buildings through broken glass, debris, graffiti and sidewalks stained with blood. At one intersection we passed a park my mother had taken me to as a child. Now it was disfigured by a series of pits filled with black, smoldering bodies. Dogs—hundreds of them—surrounded the pits, competing with the crows for burned flesh and bones. I was sick.

We’d walked for some time when Warnick signaled for us to stop. We pressed ourselves against the wall. I heard a group of men talking and laughing. It sounded like one of them was taking a piss on the street. I looked down at the dog, whose ears were up and forward. Though she was alert, she didn’t make a sound.

I caught bits of the conversation. It sounded to me like they might be Red Militia. My suspicion was confirmed when one of them mentioned Ormand Ferry.

Warnick signaled for us to fall back. Then he moved past us and took up the lead again. We followed him into an alley, where he spoke to us in a whisper.

“It’s too dangerous,” he said. “We need to get back to the motor home and get out of here.”

“Where?” Holly said.

“Back to the forest. It’s the only safe place.”

“What about the helicopters?” Ram said. “What if they are hunting people out there?”

“Still better than being here,” Landry said.

It took several minutes to get back to the motor home. On the way we passed an LMTV that looked untouched.

“How about switching vehicles?” I said. “More protection.”

“Good idea,” Landry said.

Warnick signaled for everyone to get behind him. “Dave, you and Ram go check it out.”

Ram and I opened the driver’s-side door. Nothing. He jogged around to the rear and opened the door. Empty.

“No weapons,” he said.

“At least we can take the vehicle.”

I went back to the driver’s side and checked around. The keys were above the visor. I tried starting it, but it wouldn’t catch. Then I saw that the fuel tank was on empty.

Disappointed, Ram and I returned to the motor home. We piled in as Warnick started the engine. Somewhere in the distance, we heard a rumbling noise. It sounded like trucks.

“Black Dragon,” Holly said.

The first vehicle, a Humvee, turned the corner ahead of us, and the bright headlights shone in our eyes.

“Should we wait here for them?” I said.

Warnick didn’t turn off the engine. We watched as six vehicles, Humvees and LMTVs, came into view, heading directly for us. Then I saw it—a small Confederate flag fluttering out of the lead vehicle’s driver’s window.

Warnick hit the gas and tried to turn the motor home around.

“What’s wrong?” Holly said.

Warnick didn’t answer. Other abandoned vehicles were in the way, and he had to make several moves, plowing into them front and rear. He got us going in the opposite direction and floored it. Gunshots followed us as we tried to get away.

“Get down!” Warnick said.

“Why are they shooting?” Holly said, covering Griffin’s body with her own.

We must’ve been doing sixty as Warnick tried to lose the pursuers.

“I don’t understand,” Ram said as one of the side mirrors exploded.

“Those aren’t our guys,” Warnick said.

We raced to the next block and turned the corner sharply, nearly tipping the motor home over. My axe slid off the small table and struck Landry on the head.

“You okay?” I said, straining to look back.

“Yeah, I guess.” The handle had hit him.

I knew it was a matter of time before those bastards caught up to us. Warnick did his best to get us out of there. He made a sharp turn into another street and hit a dead end. I would’ve told him not to make that turn, but I was on the floor and couldn’t see. He threw the vehicle in reverse, then stopped and looked to his right. I saw it too—an alley door that led into an office building.

“Holly, take Griffin and get into that building,” I said, and opened the door for them.

“Dave, I’m not leaving you.”

“No time to argue. Get going.”

She must’ve seen the conviction in my eyes, because she pulled Griffin up and they headed out, taking Greta with them. They each grabbed a weapon and a backpack full of ammo. The door to the building was locked. I watched in awe as Holly shot the handle and kicked the door open. Then she and Griffin entered, along with the dog, and closed the door behind them.

Warnick floored it in reverse towards the street, getting as far away from the building’s side door as possible. As Warnick reached the entrance to the alley, the vehicles chasing us blocked our escape.

They had us.

In the remaining side mirror, I saw a group of what looked like Black Dragon soldiers approaching the rear of the vehicle.

“We’d better surrender,” Warnick said.

Ram, Landry and I got out and raised our hands. We were confronted by soldiers partially in uniform and pointing AR-15s at us. Some wore bandannas around their heads. Others had what looked like fresh cuts down each of their cheeks, the blood dark and crusty. For a moment they stared at us. Then one of them waved us into the street with his rifle.

The leader stepped forward, a woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. Short and chunky, with smooth, dark skin and brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail.

“I’m Estrada,” she said. Then to Landry, whose head was still bleeding, “You okay, old-timer?”

“I’m fine,” Landry said, irritated.

As we stood in the rain, two of the soldiers went inside and searched the motor home. A third went around the front of the motor home and walked back to the end of the alley.

While the two soldiers were inside, one of the others guarding us looked at Ram sideways and grinned. “S’up, Sandeep,” he said. “Draggers take over the 7-Eleven?”

“Shut up, Neidermeyer,” Estrada said, as the two soldiers came out of the motor home carrying weapons and ammo—and my axe. “Anyone else in there?”

“No,” one of them said.

“So just you four, huh?” she said to Warnick, who stared straight ahead. “Hey, Warnick? Is that you, man? What are you doing with these COBs?”

“Helping them stay alive.”

“Shit, yeah,” she said. “That’s what we’re all doing.” She turned to the others, and they laughed.

I watched as the last soldier approached the alley door Holly and Griffin had gone through, the blood pounding in my head. Please, God, don’t let him try the handle. Then he reached for it.

“All right, let’s move out,” Estrada said.

I almost laughed out loud at the sight of the soldier in the alley running towards us.

They shepherded us to the Humvees and motioned for us to get inside. We had to split up. Warnick and Landry rode with Estrada, and Ram and I rode together. As we cruised the wet streets in the cool morning, I prayed that Holly and Griffin had gotten away. I had never prayed for anything so fervently in my life.

I looked out the windows as we drove and saw burned-out, bullet-scarred buildings and hundreds of abandoned cars along the roads. A flatbed truck with wood side rails pulled past us. Our driver looked over, blasted his horn and laughed at the other driver, who did the same. When it passed, I saw that it carried a dozen or more draggers in chains, standing in the rain, their skin and clothes as wet and grey as the sky.

We drove to an office park I recognized. I remembered that there was an ice-skating rink located behind it. The complex was guarded by at most twenty men dressed in helmets and ponchos, patrolling the grounds silently in the rain. This was all that was left of Black Dragon? We got out, and they led us into one of the buildings. Inside, there were cubicles in the center surrounded by offices around the perimeter.

They led us to a conference room and ordered us to halt. Then they frisked us and confiscated our cell phones. It didn’t much matter. Most of them had died some time ago, and we didn’t have chargers. They motioned for us to take seats. All but one of them left. The one stood guard with his modified AR-15.

The walls were covered with framed motivational posters, with slogans like “The sky’s the limit” and “Never settle for second best.” A whiteboard with some kind of technical drawing on it hung on a wall. Written in red dry-erase marker was a note that read
SAVE
.

“What’s the plan?” I said to Warnick.

“We keep our mouths shut,” he said, his eyes on the soldier.

“I figured I’d run into you numbnuts again,” a familiar voice said. We turned to find Chavez looking fit in his crisp, clean uniform. “Warnick! You’re not dead.” He came forward to shake the soldier’s hand. “Still doing the religion thing?”

“How are you, Chavez?” Warnick said. He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

“Doing well,” Chavez said. “You guys look like shit, though.”

“Rough night.”

“Where’s Quigs?”

“Dead.”

“Shit, that’s too bad.”

Chavez took a seat at the table and signaled to the soldier guarding us. “Go get these men some chow,” he said. The soldier took off. “What about everyone else?”

“Dead,” Warnick said, as two soldiers returned with MREs and bottled water.

“Some crazy bastards blew up the compound,” Ram said.

“Sounds like that son of a bitch Ormand Ferry,” Chavez said. “I told him it wouldn’t work.”

“You met him?” I said.

“We had a meeting with him when we first arrived. He tried to get us to go along with his dumbass plan. Can you believe it? Is he dead?” When we didn’t answer, he said, “Well, I hope he is. And that shit-for-brains sidekick of his. What’s his name? Travis? I heard he had a couple kids try to make it up to the compound.”

“Yeah,” I said, “they did.”

“Where are they?”

“Draggers,” I said.

He looked at me, trying to see something in my eyes, I guessed. I looked right back, not blinking.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “Casualties of war, huh?”

Chavez was quiet while we ate. He seemed to be studying us, and it felt creepy.

Warnick wiped his mouth. “So what’s all this?” he said. “Doesn’t look by the book.”

“Those days are over,” Chavez said. “Desperate times, desperate measures. You know what I’m saying.”

“Meaning?” Landry said.

“Meaning it’s like I said before, we’ve been left out here on our own to deal with this thing. And deal with it we shall.”

“Maybe the government will—”

“The government!” Chavez said, banging his fist on the table. We must’ve looked startled, because he brought it down. “The government is not going to do shit. We’ve been cut off. Quarantined.”

“Is that what they told you?” Landry said.

I was getting nervous. Landry didn’t seem to appreciate that Chavez was losing it. He was like a crazy man trying to convince everyone he was making straight the path using the severed heads of his enemies as paving stones. And here Landry was, heckling him from the peanut gallery. I stared at him, willing him to shut his mouth. Chavez tucked in his shirt and went to the door.

“You’re all under arrest,” he said, “for your own protection.” As he left, he nodded to the guard, who raised his weapon and signaled for us to leave the conference room.

We were escorted to what looked like a training room with computers on long tables. For a second I thought I might be able to get onto the Internet to find out what was going on. But each of the computer monitors was shattered. When I saw the shell casings on the floor, my heart sank.

There was no way out other than the double doors we came in through and the narrow windows that led to the parking lot. Soldiers stood outside the doors, and more patrolled outside.

“Do you think Holly—” I said, but Warnick put a finger to his lips.

“Sorry about your wife, Dave,” he said in an above-normal voice, looking at me.

I got it and redirected. “It was my fault,” I said. “I should never have let her go outside.”

“It’s all our faults,” Landry said. “I hope we don’t make another mistake like that.”

“I wish I had my axe,” I said.

“Next guy calls me Sandeep, I’m going to kick his ass,” Ram said in the direction of the locked doors.