The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (33 page)

Landry skated forward, then lost his balance and hit the ice hard. Cursing, he tried getting up but couldn’t. A minute passed as we watched his pathetic attempts to get back on his feet.

“Somebody help him up,” Chavez said.

The soldiers opened the door, and I walked onto the ice. Looking down at Landry, I saw tears. I was sickened and wished with all my heart that I could stop this. But I couldn’t.

“This isn’t dignified,” he said.

I reached my hand out to him. “I know. But you have to try, or they’ll shoot you right here.”

“That would be preferable.”

The soldiers in the bleachers were restless. They booed and cursed at us. One of them hurled a soda can, striking Landry in the back.

“You’re tougher than this, Irwin. I know you are.”

He looked up at me, his jaw set. Then a familiar grin appeared. “You’re right,” he said. “Get me the hell up.”

Landry skated forward as I left the ice. Several times he looked like he was going to topple over, but he recovered, remembering what I’d told him—keep moving forward and you won’t fall.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Chavez said.

The music fired up. This time it was Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.” The emergency doors flew open to cheers and catcalls, and soldiers brought in fresh draggers. I closed my eyes and begged God to let Landry survive. When I opened them, I saw he was doing what Warnick had taught him. He skated in huge circles as the undead stumbled in and fell on the ice. He went after whatever he could, trying to stay out of reach of their deadly, grasping talons.

Ten minutes was an eternity in there, but Landry had stamina. Within the first four minutes, he crushed the heads of two draggers. I began to think he might have a shot.

“Keep it up, Irwin!” I said. “Don’t stop! Behind you!”

Six minutes had gone, and it looked like Landry was hitting his stride. Then, he took a bad swing at an approaching dragger and fell forward into the ravening thing. There was a collective gasp as Landry rolled over and used the end of the bat to keep the dead thing’s mouth away from his face. As he held it back, other frenzied draggers descended.

“Get out of there!” Warnick said.

Somehow, Landry was able to push the dragger into the others and rolled away fast. He scrambled to his feet and skated around to catch his breath. Three minutes remaining.

“Damn, this is close,” Warnick said.

Focused and alert, Landry skated in circles again, sizing up the three remaining draggers. One of them looked like a strung-out rocker and might be easy to take out. Another was a middle-aged woman with varicose veins. But the third resembled an angry linebacker.

Landry kneecapped the rocker, causing it to fall on the ice and dog-paddle towards him. Next he caught the woman in the head, knocking it sideways into the wall.

Twenty seconds left.

As he positioned himself for another blow, the linebacker rushed him and, driving Landry into the wall, bit off his ear.

Landry screamed as he pulled away and beat the dragger’s head to a black pudding. The buzzer went off, and soldiers came onto the ice, shooting the two remaining draggers in the head.

Landry skated towards us, his ear gushing blood. “I almost made it,” he said. Despite the injury, he sounded strong and proud.

I turned to Chavez. “Don’t let him suffer.” Chavez nodded and signaled to Estrada.

Landry knew what was coming and fell to his knees, closing his eyes. It was the greatest demonstration of strength I’d ever witnessed.

“Don’t give up, Dave,” he said, his voice steady and strong. “I know you can beat this thing.”

“Sorry, old man,” Estrada said, and let a single bullet rip through the back of Landry’s head. He fell forward, still on his knees.

“That was one salty old son of a bitch,” Chavez said, tipping Landry’s body over with his boot. Warnick, Ram and I glared at him. “Just sayin’,” he said, and walked off.

All I could think about was Landry as I skated hard around the rink, holding Ram’s hand, trying to keep him from falling again. It was night, and we were alone except for a few armed soldiers.

“You need to relax,” I said. “Keep moving forward.”

“I know, I know.”

Ram fell again, and I stopped to help him up. Looking towards the bleachers, I saw two bored soldiers, their AR-15s in their laps, watching with extreme disinterest as we drilled.

I thought of everything—trying to talk them into letting Ram go, escaping through the emergency exit doors. In the end, I knew we were stuck. Even if we did make it outside, we’d have the rest of Chavez’s men to deal with. We’d have to go through with this.

“I lied,” Ram said.

“About what?”

“Actually, I skated once. Badly. In New York. I traveled there at Christmas to visit a girl. She took me to Rockefeller Center. It was so beautiful. Everyone dressed in winter clothes, the shops, the Christmas lights. She did as you are doing. Held me up. It was a wonderful time.”

“Did you …” I said.

“Oh yes. I’ll never forget New York.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“She was attending Columbia. After graduation we lost touch. I think she’s married now.”

“Hey, Ram? Don’t look, but you’re skating, dude.”

Ram realized I was no longer holding his hand. He let out a whoop, which caused the soldiers to grab their weapons. When they saw him whizzing past and waving his arms like a madman, they laughed.

“Time for hot cocoa,” he said.

We didn’t sleep that night. We talked about everything that had happened, about the people we’d lost.

“The inmates are running the asylum,” Warnick said.

“And they have guns,” I said. Then to Ram, “You okay?”

“I’m excellent.”

“If we ever make it out of here,” Warnick said, “I’m going to find the other soldiers, the ones who are still trying to restore order.”

“What makes you think there are any left?” I said.

“They’re out there—I know they are. It’s like Landry said. Most of these guys are just following orders. I think we can turn this thing around.”

“What are saying, Warnick? Have faith?”

“How do you think I made it this far?”

Sometime around dawn I drifted off. The last thing I remember was Warnick reading his Bible as Ram lay next to him snoring.

Warnick and I were groggy when we entered the ice rink. Ram seemed alive and at peace. We stayed close as he put on his skates and wobbled over to the equipment bags for a weapon. After a few seconds, he picked up the pipe wrench. I thought it was kind of an awkward weapon, but when a man is about to stare down Death, you don’t argue about his choices.

“Want to warm up?” Chavez said to him.

“No, I’m ready.”

“Suit yourself.” Chavez signaled for the draggers to be brought in.

There were more this time. So far they hadn’t thrown any more than five or six at us. Now there were eight. I looked at Ram with concern. But he wasn’t frightened—he seemed pleased.

As they released the shrieking demons into the rink, Ram skated in big circles at one end, swinging the pipe wrench as the draggers slipped and fell. These past couple of sessions had taught us that in a few minutes they would figure out the ice and learn to walk on it. Ram was patient. And he didn’t try to take advantage of the situation. It was as if he wanted them to walk.

The soldiers in the bleachers booed and cursed. It was clear they wanted a show, and Ram wasn’t giving them one. One dragger after the next got to its feet, and they made their way clumsily towards Ram. He skated around one last time, did a perfect hockey stop, which I didn’t realize he knew how to do. As the draggers closed in, he threw the pipe wrench aside, shut his eyes and waited.

“No,” I said.

“Crazy Indian,” Warnick said.

It took no time at all for the horde to tear Ram to pieces. Everyone looked on in silence. The disappointed soldiers couldn’t even celebrate his agony. He never made a sound. Never opened his eyes. Never moved. It was as if he’d already left his body behind for the undead to feast on while he went to whatever destiny had been chosen for him.

When it was over, the soldiers took to the ice to kill the draggers and put a final bullet through Ram’s head. But they needn’t have bothered with him. There were only pieces and parts left.

It was just Warnick and me now. As we sat in that dank basement prison, I felt the hatred from the soldier guarding us, like it was our fault their fun had been spoiled.

“He might’ve chosen the better way out,” I said.

I pictured Ram smiling with those beautiful white teeth, skating with his girl in New York at Christmas. Having the time of his life.

“There’s always hope,” Warnick said, waving his little Bible in my face. “Always a chance for things to turn around.”

“I left religion behind a long time ago.”

As those words left my lips, I felt a sting in my heart because I knew how deeply Holly believed—enough for the both of us. But me, I was like a dragger with no thought of the future and nothing to hope for. I was already dead spiritually. Landry may have misjudged me. All I could see was blackness and ruin.

“I’m not talking about religion,” Warnick said. “I’m talking about
faith
, remember?”

“Warnick, is this how you survived so long?” I found that I was angry and wanted a fight.

“Dude, I’m not that old.”

I laughed, all the anger leaving me like an exhale of stale air. I knew it wasn’t him I was mad at. It was this place. What Warnick and I were in was madness. I don’t know how else to describe it.

“I don’t even know your first name,” I said.

“Nathan.”

“So do you they call you Nate?” His glare told me no. “Nathan it is then.”

“Just Warnick.”

I touched his shoulder, then went to my bed to be by myself. All I could think about were Holly and Griffin. Would they be among the undead brought into the ice rink to fight me in the morning? If that happened, I would choose Ram’s solution. A deep, longing agony racked my body, jarring it out of the numbness I’d felt these past few days. I didn’t know what it was.

“Hey, read me something,” I said.

Warnick opened his Bible and read aloud from the New Testament. I now know it was from Colossians.