The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (42 page)

“Don’t do this,” Warnick said as Griffin took aim at Travis’s head.

“Griffin,” Travis said. Though there was terror in his eyes, he tried to smile. “You can’t shoot your daddy.”

“Shut up, Travis. You’re not my family.” Then, with perfect calm, she squeezed the trigger.

His face opened up like a blood flower, and he fell onto his side. Dropping the gun, she kicked the lifeless body hard till I came up and touched her shoulder.

“It’s okay, he’s dead.”

She wept in my arms.

Unable to locate Ormand, we proceeded to the football field, where the soldiers held all the prisoners. We counted eighty men, a dozen women and the boy. This couldn’t be all that was left of the Red Militia.

Warnick, his AR-15 slung over his shoulder, paced back and forth in front of the prisoners. “Where’s Ormand Ferry?” They averted their eyes. “It’s over,” he said. “We want to help you. You need to tell us where he is.”

Estrada walked up to the woman holding the boy. “Do you know where he is?”

She shook her head. Another man stood. As our soldiers trained their weapons on him, he addressed Warnick in a voice devoid of emotion.

“He left us here to die,” he said. “Only Travis knew where he was headed.”

“Are we supposed to believe that?” Estrada said to Warnick. She walked to the man and pointed her handgun at his temple. He didn’t flinch. “Tell me where he is.”

“He doesn’t know,” the woman said. “Nobody here knows.”

“Estrada, stand down,” Warnick said.

Frustrated, she put down her gun and stepped back.

“We’re evacuating you from this place,” Warnick said. “You’ll have access to food and medicine. But you will remain under arrest.” Then to Estrada, “Prepare to move out.”

The soldiers got the prisoners to their feet. Some were in bad shape and needed assistance. Griffin and I took charge of the woman and her boy, who looked past me and screamed.

I wheeled around and found draggers—hundreds of them—heading towards us. Someone had opened the gym doors. Among them were the recently dead soldiers who had come with us.

Warnick ordered our troops to spread out and kill as many as possible. We shot many of them, but others made it onto the field and attacked the prisoners, who were too weak to fight them off. I ordered Griffin and the other woman to hide behind us, but it was no use. We had to move fast or risk getting bit.

In a few minutes, we were overrun and had to get out. I lifted the boy in my arms and told Griffin and the woman to follow me to the exits. I didn’t see where Warnick and Springer were. As we made it to the gate, I turned to find Estrada being pulled down by several of the hungry creatures as she tried to protect the other women. She screamed and fired uselessly into the sky. Then they tore out her throat and fed on her.

I found our Humvee and got the woman and boy inside. I wanted to go back to help Warnick, but the woman pleaded with me not to leave. I heard shooting in the distance and screams as more prisoners and soldiers were eviscerated. I looked at the woman and boy and saw terror in their eyes.

I was back where I’d started—a twentysomething coward who didn’t help as others were dying. And I didn’t like it.

“What’s your name?” I said.

“Nanette. This is Jonathan.”

“Listen to me, Nanette. I need to get back.”

“No!”

“You’ll be fine here.”

“No, please.”

I turned to Griffin. “Stay here. Take this gun and lock all the doors after I leave.”

“No, I want to go with you.”

“Griffin, you need to protect them. That’s your job now.”

I went around to the back of the Humvee and got my axe. Then I stood next to the door and signaled for Griffin to lock the doors. Reluctantly she did so and stared at me, gripping the AR-15 tightly in her hands. I knew she’d be okay, and I left.

I didn’t know at that moment whether I would live or die. But, like Warnick, I had faith. Faith in myself and faith in God that somehow I would get out of this thing and return to Holly. Her face was all I saw as I tore into the shrieking pit of vipers attacking our men.

Ignoring the pain in my leg, I focused on swinging the axe. With each swing, I took off a head or an arm. As I did so, other soldiers followed behind me and finished off the injured draggers with kill shots to the head. I no longer thought about being bit. I went where I was needed, separating arms from torsos and splitting skulls.

I don’t know how long we were at it—it seemed like hours. My back and arms ached, and I felt I didn’t have the strength to lift the axe again. As the soldiers and I cleared a path to escape, I found Warnick and Springer, out of ammo and skewering draggers in the head with their bayonets.

“Going old school?” I said.

“Let’s get out of here,” Warnick said.

We had enough time to make it to the gate before the draggers recovered and chased us. All the prisoners were dead, including the other women. From what I could tell, we had lost over half our men. The rest of us made it back to the Humvees.

When Warnick, Springer and I reached ours, we found a heavily armed soldier dragging Griffin, Nanette and Jonathan—all screaming—from the vehicle. As Griffin emerged, he tore the weapon from her hands.

“Hey,” Warnick said as we approached.

The soldier turned and fired on us, sending us scattering among the vehicles, while Griffin, Nanette and Jonathan lay cringing on the ground. I glanced at my shoulder and saw I was bleeding. As an intense wave of pain and nausea overcame me, I heard the sound of the Humvee starting.

I scanned the area. Warnick and Springer were both crouched behind the vehicle across from me. Warnick held up three fingers. Then two. Then one.

The three of us stood in unison, opening fire on the Humvee as it lurched forward. Windshield glass exploded as the vehicle sped past. It lost control and crashed into a maintenance shed. As we moved towards the Humvee, the soldier emerged, his face and upper body bloody.

It was Ormand Ferry.

He staggered towards the gymnasium, firing at us randomly. Using the other buildings as cover, we followed as he emptied his AR-15, then switched to a handgun.

At the entrance to the gym, he stood erect and faced us, his shirt drenched in blood.

“No way out, Ormand,” Warnick said.

“There’s always a way out.” Then, his eyes never leaving ours, he raised the handgun and jammed the barrel under his chin.

Before he could pull the trigger, draggers emerged from the gym and took him down. We watched as they grabbed his arms and legs and, finally, head. Shrieks of ululating panic echoed as they carried him back into the darkness of the gym.

Though I’d lost a lot of blood that day, my wound wasn’t life threatening, and I recovered. Over the next few weeks, we continued to rid the town of draggers. Though we knew there were many still left in the forests, we felt good that at least part of Tres Marias was secure.

Holly, Griffin and I were inseparable. We were a family. We even had a family dog. Never mind that she was trained to kill.

We—Warnick, Springer, Holly, Griffin and I—stood on the roof looking down at the empty streets that surrounded our building. Though things were better, we knew in our hearts that the nightmare was far from over.

Warnick was a rock. He told us we’d have to continue fighting for who knew how long. Sorties to find food, water and medicine would have to be made. We would surely lose more soldiers along the way. But—and this was what Warnick believed—we would make it. His courage gave us hope.

Someone in the building had found a way to play music. I heard “I’ll Stand by You” by the Pretenders echoing up the stairwell. It sounded right.

In the distance, I saw what I thought was Jim’s dog, Perro. Huge and bloody, he stared at me, challenging me to continue on and discover the truth about what had gone wrong in Tres Marias. Holly saw him too and took my hand.

I didn’t know what was in store for us as I looked at the distant flames of burning buildings and heard the death shrieks of draggers newly turned. But I felt I had my family beside me.

The faces of those we lost along the way paraded before me like prisoners in a death camp. I missed them terribly. But we had to keep moving forward. None of us knew when the end would come—or how. And though we knew what it was like to see Death coming, we didn’t know what it would be like to be dead yet not dead. However, we were strong and of a single mind. We lived and died for one another, no matter what.

We were one.

“Guys, you have got
to see this.”

Springer explained as we rode the elevator to the top floor, where there was an executive conference room. We’d never used this room, assuming it was identical to the one downstairs. Then Springer discovered that it was equipped with a video-conferencing system and went in search of someone who knew how to get it working.

“Are you ready?” he said, posing dramatically outside the walnut double doors.

“Springer, enough,” Warnick said.

Undeterred, Springer flung the doors open. When we walked in, we saw her face looking down at us from the giant flat-screen monitor.

Evie Champagne.

She stood before the camera, shaken. Next to her was her cameraman, Jeff. Both looked thin and sickly, but they were alive.

At the conference table, an IT guy who worked for Arkon fiddled with the tablet computer that controlled the system. Typical IT—he didn’t look happy.

“How were you able to reach them?” I said.

“They’re over in our satellite office across town,” the IT guy said. “I tried everything in the address book and this one lit up. They must’ve been working on it from their side.”

“Where’s the sound?” Griffin said.

“We can’t get it to work,” Springer said. The IT guy appeared to chafe at the word
we
.

After several more frustrating minutes, Holly found some blank copier paper and a dry-erase marker, which she handed to Warnick. In large letters he wrote
WHERE ARE YOU?
and held the paper up to the camera.

Jeff moved out of frame and returned with a pad of flip-chart paper. On it he had scribbled the address of the satellite office.

We told them where we were. Then we asked
IS ANYONE ELSE WITH YOU?

NO. EVERYONE IS DEAD.

Warnick looked at us, then wrote
ARE YOU SAFE?

NO. NOT SAFE. DON’T HAVE MUCH MORE TIME. NEED TO GET OUT.

“We have to help them,” Holly said.

Warnick nodded and continued.
CAN YOU WAIT TILL WE CAN GET TO YOU?

DON’T KNOW. THEY’RE EVERYWHERE.

Warnick wrote
WE HAVE WEAPONS AND FOOD. TELL US WHERE TO MEET YOU.

Evie said something to Jeff and started to write. Then she and the cameraman stared off camera like they heard something. When Evie looked at us again, there was pure terror in her eyes.

We watched helplessly as she and the cameraman moved in and out of frame gathering up supplies. Before abandoning the room, Evie scribbled something on the back of the flip chart paper and held it up.

I recognized the words.
ROBBIN-SEAR INDUSTRIES, OLD ORCHARD ROAD.

These were the same words written on the side of the van Bob Creasy was driving when he picked me up after my car accident. Was this where they were headed?

Her hand shaking, Evie wrote something else. The words chilled me to my soul.

WE KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.

Then they were gone.

Copyright © 2013 by Steven Ramirez.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher at
stevenramirez.com/permission.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.