The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (39 page)

“So you gonna join us?”

“What did your friend say? This is the happening club. I need to stay alive.”

“Good choice, Dave.”

“Travis won’t like it.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Ulie said. “Ormand put ’im on a short leash. You just start to get better.”

“Thanks, Ulie.”

So, without even realizing it, I’d decided. It made sense. I needed to survive for Holly and Griffin. Now I needed a weapon.

The frantic banging on
the door and hungry death shrieks awakened me. As I prepared to die, automatic gunfire echoed in deadly bursts. Men shouted and women screamed—but this time it was terrified screaming. Rapid footsteps pattered as people fled in one direction, then another. I couldn’t focus. What was happening?

A single gunshot resounded outside the door.

“Let’s try in here.” It was Holly’s voice.

“Holly!”

“Dave!”

I tried to stand, but my leg wouldn’t support me, so I waited as the door handle jiggled. Soon gunfire exploded and the door flew open, revealing Holly and Griffin. I couldn’t believe it—it was like a mirage. They were both armed, sweat glistening off their lean, muscled arms. From where I sat, they appeared unharmed.

Greta bounded in, barking and whining. She jumped on top of me, knocking me back and covering my face with dog slobber. Holly knelt down and checked my bruises.

“You look like shit, Dave.”

“I didn’t think you guys would come for me.”

“We had to make sure you didn’t give in to temptation. I mean, honestly. A brewery, Dave?”

“Hey, you can smell my breath.”

She leaned over and took a sniff. “Hmm.”

Then she kissed me.

Holly and Griffin grabbed my arms and got me to my feet. As we made our way to the door, my bad leg dragged behind me uselessly.

Outside, pandemonium reigned, with nailheads and soldiers shooting it out as draggers poured in from God knows where. As we reached the door, I saw Ulie impaled on a forklift, still alive, the draggers devouring him as Travis’s pit bull tore at their legs.

“Move your ass,” Holly said.

“How did you find me?”

“Tell you later.”

We were joined by Warnick and two other soldiers, Vincent and Fyffe. Outside, the firefight had escalated. Watching for crossfire, we exited the room. Soldiers, nailheads and draggers fought everywhere. I was too weak to help. A couple of half-drunk nailheads aimed their weapons at us, and Holly shot them dead where they stood.

Halfway across the floor, a horde confronted us. Warnick yelled to Vincent and Fyffe. “Hold them off while I get these three out of here.”

Griffin took the lead as Holly and Warnick guided me to an exit. I could see the glowing green sign past a line of equipment. As we reached it, though, Travis stepped out of the shadows and shot Warnick in the shoulder. The bullet ripped through his uniform and came out the other side. Holly let go of me, and I slid to the floor.

Travis looked bad. His eyes were glassy, and his face was red from fever. The smell coming off his arm was nauseating.

“You look pretty damn good for a dead girl,” he said to Griffin. “Get yer ass over here.
Now!
” He pointed the rifle at Griffin’s head, then sneered at Holly as she took aim. “Even if you do shoot me, I’ll kill her.”

Holly and Griffin dropped their weapons as two nailheads joined Travis. Warnick could barely stand. One of the nailheads hit him across the forehead with his handgun, forcing him back on the floor. I couldn’t do anything.

Griffin’s body shook. Despite all her newfound strength, I saw that she still feared Travis. He smiled and stroked her face with his good hand.

Gunfire erupted behind us. A bullet hit one of the nailheads in the throat and took him out. Travis grabbed Griffin by the hair and, as she screamed, headed out the door. Holly tried to follow, but the other nailhead fired at her, just missing her small torso. I tried to stand, but it was no use. Neither of us could stop what was happening.

More soldiers arrived, and Holly pointed to the exit. “They took Griffin!”

As the soldiers went after Travis, Holly knelt down next to Warnick. She pulled open his shirt to check the bullet wound. Then she said, “We have to get him to a hospital.”

Two soldiers took charge of Warnick, who was losing consciousness. We made it outside into the night. All the shooting had attracted more undead, because now a new horde advanced.

“I’ll stand by you,” Holly said to me. Then she aimed and took down a line of draggers.

“How bad’s your leg?” one of the soldiers said, taking out more of the horde as we made our way through the parking lot.

“I think it’s broken.”

We made it to a Humvee, where we found Vincent and Fyffe.

“Where’s Griffin?” Holly said.

“We didn’t see them,” Vincent said.

“God, no,” Holly said. “Griffin!”

Her voice echoed as she drifted through the parking lot. Vincent grabbed her and guided her back to our vehicle.

“Let me go! We can’t leave her!”

“She’s gone,” Vincent said. “We have to get out of here.”

Holly looked at Warnick, semiconscious and bleeding, and at me, bruised and unable to stand. Then she nodded, tears streaming, and got into the Humvee.

As Vincent drove us to the hospital, with two other Humvees trailing, Warnick tried to stay in charge.

“How’d it go back there?”

“Most of the nailheads are dead,” Vincent said. “The other guys are cleaning out draggers.”

“Are you sure they’ll be okay?” I said.

Warnick gave me a look. “Did you forget these are trained soldiers?”

“Sorry you got shot, Warnick.”

“Sorry you got your ass kicked in a brewery.”

I must have closed my eyes. When I opened them, we were parked across the street from the hospital’s emergency-room entrance. The parking lot was filled with draggers. Most wandered aimlessly in the glow of the orange lights among abandoned cars and ambulances.

Vincent grabbed a pair of field glasses. “The lights are on in the lobby, but I don’t see anyone.”

“Are the doors secure?” Warnick said, barely conscious and in pain.

“Yeah, looks like it.”

“So what’s the plan?” I said. “Warnick and I are a mess.”

“Speak for yourself,” Warnick said.

“Stay here a minute, okay?” Vincent said.

Holly, Vincent and Fyffe got out to join the others, leaving Greta with Warnick and me.

“Can you leave us a weapon?” I said.

Fyffe gave me his handgun. Then Vincent signaled for everyone to follow him. In the rearview mirror I saw a dozen people gathered in the darkness. The dog whined, then lowered her head and lay on the seat next to Warnick and me.

“How are you holding up?” I said.

“Been better,” Warnick said, and groaned as he shifted positions. When he moved, I saw blood smeared on the seat back.

I don’t know when Warnick lost consciousness, but soon I was alone. As I stroked Greta’s neck, I heard what sounded like the shriek of a mountain lion—or was it a dragger? Greta’s ears stood, but she didn’t move.

The stars were out, and it was a beautiful, dangerous night. For a second I forgot the pain that racked my body and enjoyed being alive one more day.

“Thank you, God.”

Something in me had changed after I spoke with Ormand. It had to do with the inevitability of it all. Not to get all philosophical, but for the first time in my life I saw things with clarity. We are born. We die. Somewhere in between we live. And
how
we live is up to us. That’s it. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s an earthquake or a flood or people coming back from the dead. It is still up to us.

The others returned. Vincent opened the vehicle doors and helped us out.

“We get one shot at this,” he said.

Holly shook her head. “I still don’t like it.”

“Warnick and I will be fine,” I said.

My leg throbbed, but I was determined to get inside with the others. The plan was for a group of soldiers to create a distraction. Once the draggers were out of the way, Warnick, Holly and I would make our way to the entrance and get inside with the help of Vincent and Fyffe.

“You ready?” Fyffe said to me.

Vincent signaled, and the rest of the soldiers ran towards the parking lot whooping and hollering. Predictably, the horde went after them as they capered down the street away from the hospital.

We waited a couple of minutes, then Vincent signaled for us to move out. He and Fyffe helped Warnick across the street. Holly helped me, with Greta following. My leg had stiffened from being in the Humvee, and Warnick was still unconscious. It took us a while to get across.

At the entrance, Vincent tried the doors. Locked. We heard shooting in the distance and knew that the other soldiers had engaged the draggers.

“I don’t want to break the glass,” Vincent said. “Maybe there’s another door.”

As he went off to the side, we saw an orderly in blue scrubs crossing the lobby towards us. He was armed with a handgun.

“Hey!” Holly said. “Let us in.”

“Who are you?” he said through the door.

“We’re with Black Dragon,” Fyffe said. “Open the door.”

He hesitated. From out of the darkness, more draggers appeared. When they saw us, they started towards the entrance.

“Let us in,” Holly said.

The draggers closed on us. Vincent returned, and he, Fyffe and Holly started shooting. But as some of the undead went down, more came out of the darkness. The orderly activated the automatic doors and let us in.

“I’m sorry,” the orderly said, “but we were told not to unlock the doors for anyone.”

“Forget it,” Holly said. “We need a doctor.”

“Okay, come with me.”

As we made our way to the elevators, more draggers gathered at the doors, lowing and scraping at the glass.

The orderly let us out on the second floor, then disappeared. The floor was clear, but from far off, we heard music. Had someone left a radio on?

The music came from a nurses’ station. There we found a young Asian man in a white doctor’s coat at a computer. When he saw us, he startled and reached for something. He pointed a handgun at us.

“Easy,” Vincent said, lowering his weapon.

“Who are you?”

“Black Dragon Security.”

“Are you a doctor?” Holly said. The man nodded. “This man was shot—he’s lost a lot of blood. And I think my husband’s leg might be broken.”

The man glanced around, as if assessing whether this was a setup. Then he rose, put the gun down and came around.

“Okay, I’ll treat the gunshot wound first. We still have a surgeon on staff.”

He made a call. Another orderly showed up, and he and the doctor put Warnick on a gurney and took him to an operating room. The other soldiers went with them, leaving Holly and me alone with Greta.

The floor was ghostly. Holly leaned against the nurses’ station and slumped to the floor. Tears streaming from her eyes, she clutched my hand.

“We should have never let her come with us,” she said. “He’ll kill Griffin.”

“Holly, she’s a good soldier. It’s not your fault.”

“But she’s with that monster. We have to get her back.”

“We will. But we have to take care of Warnick.”

She nodded sadly. “And you.”

The doctor returned. “I’ll examine you,” he said to me. “We need to get some X-rays. My name’s Vinh Tran.”

We introduced ourselves, then followed the doctor to a hospital room.

“Are there others here?” Holly said.

“Yes. We’re scattered throughout the hospital.”

“Any patients?”

“Only a few left. We tried saving the critical ones, but it was no use. When all this started, your guys managed to secure the building, but we haven’t seen you since.”

“So you have no protection?”

“The Red Militia. For a long time they checked on us and sometimes brought us food and water. In exchange, we agreed to treat their injured.”

“What about the infected ones?” I said.

“They never brought us those. What’s going on out there?”

Holly shook her head. “It’s a war zone.”

Against searing pain, I stripped to my underwear as Holly waited outside with Greta. Vinh made a thorough examination, commenting on the severity of my injuries.