The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (8 page)

His head had been pushed back together and secured with surgical staples. I turned to the policeman, reminding myself I was never there. “What happened to his head?”

“We think Ms. Soldado split it with the axe we found. It’s how he was killed.”

I still couldn’t believe she was capable of that kind of violence. The same could be said about my own cowardice.

They’d gotten rid of the maggots and the kidney worms. There was a surprising lack of blood. Other than the reddish seam running down the middle of his face and neck, he looked the same.

“For the record, can you identify the body?” Detective Van Gundy said.

“Yes. It’s Jim Stanley.”

For what seemed like a long time I stood there, trying in my mind to picture Jim alive again. Then I turned away and threw up in my mouth. When I recovered, I heard a loud banging coming from another room. Another attendant ran in and said to the first, “One of them’s alive!”

They both hurried out of the room, leaving the detective and me alone with Jim’s body.

“I wonder how often that happens,” I said. No one laughed.

Sitting in the hospital lobby with Detective Van Gundy, I thought about how long it would be before they connected me to Jim’s death. I knew Missy hadn’t contacted the police—otherwise, why hadn’t the cops arrested me already? And other than the one text, I hadn’t heard from her again. What was she waiting for?

Revenge.

“Do you know if Mr. Stanley knew his attacker?” the policeman said.

“What?”

“Ms. Soldado. Did Mr. Stanley know her?”

“I don’t know.”

“So this was random?”

“I guess—I wasn’t there. I’m sorry, I don’t feel well.” I headed for the exit. Detective Van Gundy followed me.

“I understand,” he said. “I’ve got more questions, but they can wait.”

“What about the woman?”

“We’re obtaining her cell records. That should tell us something.”

“Right,” I said, trying to mask the dread that chewed at my guts. “See you.”

As I walked off, the detective called to me.

“Yeah?”

“Seeing as Mr. Stanley had no next of kin, were you planning on handling the burial arrangements? The hospital said to ask you.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. It was true, Jim had no one. “Yeah, I’ll take care of it.” I didn’t know where the money would come from, but it was the least I could do for my friend.

I left the cop and found my truck. I couldn’t shake the feeling he was watching me the whole way. Like he knew what had happened and was waiting for me to slip up. Even if this was all in my head, it was a matter of time anyway. Once they went through Missy’s cell phone records and saw all the calls and texts to me, it was over. Now would be a brilliant time to get my affairs in order.

As I left the parking lot, a naked woman with greyish skin and red eyes staggered in front of me. She looked like a mean drunk. Her abdomen was cut open, and I saw a piece of white plastic tubing protruding from the incision. I think it was a Lap-Band. Her hands sliced the air as she bared pin-like teeth. I thought she was a patient—till I saw the toe tag.

I slammed on the brakes as the two morgue attendants and an orderly came out and grabbed her. Shrieking, she pivoted and sunk her teeth into the orderly’s face. He screamed as she ripped away his ear and part of his cheek. The attendants backed off, looking confused and terrified.

I couldn’t move. There was a crowd of people behind my truck, and in front of me, the woman. She waved her arms like windmills, gibbering and drooling. Then she stared at me through the windshield, her metallic eyes cold and dead. I recognized that look.

Detective Van Gundy appeared, his gun drawn. He pushed the wounded orderly away and waved the others back. I saw the fear on his face as he took aim.

“Lie down on the ground! Now!” the policeman said.

She ignored him. He shot her twice in the chest. I saw two holes in her the size of quarters but no blood. She kept coming. The detective wiped his face with his coat sleeve, took careful aim and fired point-blank at her head.

The bullet tore through her forehead and exited out the back of her head, leaving a huge hole and shattering the windshield of a nearby car. As the car alarm went off, the woman dropped to her knees, her tongue lolling in her bloody mouth like a writhing red eel, and she fell face first onto the pavement, motionless.

I shut off my engine and got out as the cop closed in, his gun still drawn. People all around stared. The two attendants helped the wailing orderly, his face covered in gore, back into the hospital.

Still shaking, Detective Van Gundy holstered his gun and turned to me with haunted eyes. “Eighth one this week,” he said.

I didn’t think I
could drive, so I sat in my truck and stared at nothing. My cell phone rang. Holly. Her heaving voice came loud and close through the truck’s speakers. I tried to get out of her what had happened.

“She was here! She—”

“What? Who?”

“That girl!
Missy!
”

I looked to see if Detective Van Gundy was anywhere nearby. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know—I guess. She tried breaking into the house.”

“Okay, hang on.”

Steeling myself, I started the engine and maneuvered out of the parking lot, past the police who had cordoned off the area where the crazy woman had been shot. “I’m coming home. Are you somewhere safe?”

“I’m in the basement. I don’t know if she found a way in. Dave, I’m scared.” Her breath came out in short, choppy bursts. There was a tremolo in her voice—she was hysterical.

I tried to concentrate. The cops in Tres Marias were notorious. I had to make sure they didn’t catch me speeding. I wanted so much to be with Holly. My chest was tight and it was hard to breathe.

“I called 911, but they kept me on hold forever. On the news they said there’s trouble all over town. What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, babe.”

I was happy no cops were available. How do you explain a woman you’ve never met attacking your wife? I drove the rest of the way, comforting Holly and telling her how much I loved her. Though they were heartfelt words, to my own ears they sounded thin and tinny.

Sirens blared from every direction. It was like the whole town had erupted. I thought of Jim and that crazed Lap-Band woman at the hospital, and I wondered if more of these undead—what else could you call them?—were attacking innocent people.

“I’m in front of the house,” I said. “Hanging up.”

“Okay.” Holly’s voice sounded weak and far away.

I found a tire iron in the back of my truck, and when I got to the front door, I saw scratches on the casing and the door itself. It looked like someone had tried to claw their way in. I grabbed the door handle. Locked.

Raising the tire iron, I inched past the front windows—they weren’t broken—all the way to the back gate. It was partway open. I pushed the gate and entered the backyard. The glass door leading to the kitchen wasn’t broken. I tried it. Also locked. I checked everywhere else outside the house, and then using my key, I let myself in the front door.

Trotting down to the basement, I called Holly’s name. I heard scraping noises and the sound of the door unlocking. When I entered, I found my wife clutching a baseball bat. The room was cold, damp and still. Only the sound of her anxious breathing broke the silence.

Bare incandescent lights hanging from the ceiling illuminated the basement. They cast harsh shadows, making the atmosphere more unnerving. The only things down there were the washer and dryer, the water heater, an old sofa and boxes of books and other stuff. It looked like Holly had dragged stacks of boxes to the door and covered the narrow windows with newspaper.

I pushed past the boxes and went to her. She dropped the bat and fell into my arms.

“Oh, Dave, I was so scared.”

I kissed her head and held her tight. “I’m here. Let’s get upstairs.”

Scratching noises from the windows chiseled away the silence. Holly almost screamed, then covered her mouth.

“Get upstairs,” I said. “It’s okay, everything’s locked.”

As I handed her the bat, I saw a strange look in her eyes. I heard her footsteps trotting up the stairs, and holding the tire iron close, I slid towards the window and listened. Nothing. Reaching up, I pulled back part of the newspaper.

Missy glared at me, her unblinking eyes grey and dead. Her mouth was raw and bloody from a recent kill. An ear-piercing shriek assaulted my eardrums, and I fell backwards onto the floor. When I got to my feet, she was gone.

Holly sat at the kitchen table clutching the bat while I made tea. I didn’t tell her what I’d seen in the basement.

“There was something weird about her,” she said. “I saw her through the front windows—not close. I dunno, it was like she couldn’t control her muscles. Like the jimmies, only worse.”

It was all clear to me. The virus had mutated and people were changing faster. Soon everyone in Tres Marias would be infected.

I handed Holly a cup of tea. “Did she say anything?”

“That’s just it. She tried to. But she couldn’t form any words. And that made her even madder.”

I thought of Jim and how he’d tried to communicate with me when I found him that first time. What was happening to these people who were turning into monsters?

“Was she injured?”

“I … I don’t—yes. Her arm. There was this huge gash like it had been ripped open.”

I sat next to Holly. “You were right. We need to get out of here.”

“I’m sorry I called 911. I didn’t think. Now they’re going to find out about you and that devil woman.”

“My God, Holly, don’t apologize. This is all my fault. The important thing is for us to get away from here.” She became cool and didn’t say anything. “Did you ask your mom if we can stay with her? Holly?”

She pursed her lips, and I knew something bad was coming.

“I’ve decided to drive to Mt. Shasta by myself. I’ll call Fred to let him know I quit once I’m up there.”

Her face told me everything. She hated me for what happened. Cheating on her was one thing, but Missy tried to kill her. I brought this evil down on both of us. And what I feared most came true. My wife was leaving me.

“Okay,” I said.

We sat there for a long time, galaxies apart. I listened to the ticking of the singing-bird clock I’d bought her for our first anniversary. Any minute birdsong would startle us rather than comfort.

“I’ll follow you to your mom’s to make sure you get there safe,” I said. “Then I guess I’ll come back here.”

“You should find some other place to stay. For your own safety.”

I touched her warm hand, but she withdrew it.

I wondered if I’d ever see her again. I wanted Holly more than anything in life. She was all I cared about. I’d do anything to protect her from Missy—or anyone else who tried to harm her. But it was what
I’d
done that put her in danger in the first place. I lost her that first time I climbed into Missy’s bed, the day I condemned myself to Hell.

What’s that saying—
bad things happen to good people
? But it’s not true. It’s bad people doing bad things to themselves and others. Or people who are more stupid than bad doing bad things. Me, I was somewhere in the middle. I didn’t think I was bad, just stupid. What scared me was the belief that bad people can become good if they want to, but stupid people can’t become smart. They continue living out their pathetic lives, hurting more people along the way till they either are killed or die off.

“I’ll gas up your car,” I said, and left the room.