The Dead Series (Book 2): Dead Is All You Get (23 page)

Outside the granite structure, more soldiers stood guard. I recognized many of them and acknowledged them as we walked up the steps. Though Holly had gotten me into the habit of praying, I was uncomfortable being here. It wasn’t that I wanted to avoid God, but I felt dirty—especially after the violence at the checkpoint the night before. How do you ask forgiveness for killing the person who is trying to kill you? And what about the undead? Is killing them really killing at all? Questions with no answers. Despite my feelings I put on a smile for Griffin, who seemed drawn to the sacred celebration.

The church was packed—a surprising number of families filled the cherry wood pews. Light streamed through the beautiful, undamaged stained-glass windows. During the outbreak it had seemed like everyone was dead. But here was proof of the living—mothers and fathers, boys and girls and the elderly. As I stepped into the pew I noticed a number of Black Dragon soldiers, Fabian among them. He faced the altar as he made the Sign of the Cross.

I recognized the elderly priest—Fr. Ullman—as the one who had comforted Holly and me at the start of the outbreak, that day when I found my wife safe after we’d been separated. I was grateful he’d survived. I wondered how he continued to keep the church safe—a place of refuge. In here there was no blood, no sign of violence. But there was sadness. People wept softly all around me. Was that what being saved sounded like? I turned to see how Griffin was taking it. Her eyes glistened with tears. Mine stayed dry.

Before Mass, Holly asked the priest if she could make her confession. What would she tell him? I wondered.
Father, I killed.
When it came time for Communion, she stood to go up with all the others and pulled us along. I didn’t want to walk up there—I felt as if I didn’t belong. Griffin didn’t know what was happening, but she seemed caught up in the ritual. How was it that a person raised without any religion could be so drawn to this while someone like me, raised in the faith, was nearly immune to it?

“No,” I said.

“I want you to get a blessing.” From Holly’s expression I knew she meant business. So I went.

As Griffin stepped out of the pew, Holly gently crossed the girl’s arms over her chest and waited for me to cross mine. We joined the long procession to the altar. There were so many. People who had seen—and possibly done—unspeakable things. But at the end, there was forgiveness. Or so I assumed. What was there for me?

A group of elderly men and women sang, “Softly and Tenderly Jesus is Calling” without accompaniment. As I approached the marble altar and gazed at the huge Italian crucifix hanging on the wall behind it, I thought about how the weeks and months of fighting had deadened me, almost like the virus. I hardly knew myself. My temper—legendary to begin with—had gotten worse, especially when we weren’t in combat. I felt constantly wary and slept little. I kept my weapon in sight at all times. I had a heightened fear of losing everyone I loved in a flash of violence. Unexpectedly, at any time of the day or night, I experienced what could best be described as panic attacks. Sometimes, I became deeply depressed. It was as if Death were grooming me. But for what?

I didn’t know whether soldiers serving around the world suffered from these things, but I did know I was happiest with a gun in my hand. Was that a sin? And it wasn’t even about killing people. It was about keeping my family safe. If I had to choose between a gun and a crucifix, I would take the gun every time.

Holly bowed reverently, then put her hands out to receive the Host. A part of me wanted that too—a distant part I hadn’t known was still alive. Imitating the others, Griffin bowed slightly and stood in front of Fr. Ullman.

“May the power of Jesus Christ keep you safe always,” he said and made the Sign of the Cross on her forehead. That simple gesture seemed to give her comfort.

When it was my turn I lowered my head and, only half-listening, waited for my blessing.

“May the Holy Spirit descend upon you and help you to find what you seek,” he said.

I raised my head and stared at him—I felt as if he’d slapped me awake. Disoriented, I returned to my pew. Holly stood there, eyes closed, praying silently. Griffin stood beside her, head lowered, stealing glances at those around her.

After the priest gave the final blessing, we left the church. There wasn’t any music. Music would have been wrong, I thought. The best music was silence.

“So what did you think?” Holly said to Griffin.

“I liked it. I really did.”

“It kind of grows on you.”

“Feel better?” I said to Holly.

“Yeah, I do. Thanks for coming.”

Fabian trotted down the steps after us, said a quick hello and kept going.

“What was that about?” Holly said.

I watched as he climbed into a Humvee with a group of soldiers. “What? He’s busy.”

“I think he’s scared of you,” Holly said.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Holly rode with me in the front of the Humvee. We’d brought Greta with us and left her in the vehicle with the windows rolled down, confident that no one would have the cojones to try anything.

“Can we take a detour?” Holly said.

“Sure, where to?”

“Turn right here.”

I did as she asked and, after a couple of miles, I figured out what she was up to.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“What’s up?” Griffin said from the backseat.

“You’ll see,” I said.

I drove us down the familiar street and parked across from our old house. I’d never intended to come here again. Technically, we still owned it. Once things got back to normal—if ever—we’d have to begin making payments again or let the property slip into foreclosure.

I wondered when the bean-counters from the banks and insurance companies would arrive to assess the damages to our town. Many people had died and left behind property—cars and houses. I supposed that at some point everything would be fixed up and auctioned off. I didn’t know much about real estate, but I imagined there was a helluva glut coming.

“This is where we used to live,” Holly said to Griffin.

For a time, we sat there, staring at the dilapidated mess. When I had last seen it, the inside had been stained with the blood and entrails of animals that Missy had killed. Now, all of the windows were broken and the stucco walls spray-painted with foul slogans. The front door was missing, the fence in ruins. I could tell our guys hadn’t inspected this street yet because there were no Black Dragon stickers anywhere.

Holly grabbed the door handle, and I touched her arm.

“I don’t think we should go in,” I said. “It probably smells like all hell.”

“I want to see it,” she said. She climbed out and stared at me through the open door. “Coming?”

I turned to Griffin, who smiled. “You heard the lady.”

Groaning like an old man in a truss, I got out. Griffin let the dog out and we walked up the short driveway to the front door. The smell coming from inside was overpowering—like rotting meat and wet leaves.

Decaying animal matter was strewn across on the carpet, along with dead leaves and branches. Holly closed her eyes and, taking a breath, went inside. Greta whined once and followed her. I had a strong urge to wait outside but I didn’t want Griffin or my wife being surprised by a dragger.

“It’s, like, really horrible,” Griffin said.

I wanted to make a joke about my housekeeping skills but kept it to myself. Greta nosed her way through the debris as we moved through the living room into the kitchen. Our beloved teapot sat on the counter, the spout on the floor in pieces. Why would someone do that? Rotting food covered the floor, along with raccoon droppings. Undaunted, Holly continued her inspection.

Upstairs wasn’t much better. Though there was no blood, the carpet was filthy and it looked as if all of the rooms had been ransacked. The master bedroom furniture was missing—including our bed. On the floor lay a wooden picture frame. Griffin picked it up and handed it to Holly.

“Thanks.”

It was a wedding photo, taken outside St. Monica’s. I turned to see if Holly was crying, but she just held it and stared—like it was something precious but foreign.

“Aw,” Griffin said. “That’s such a pretty dress.”

Holly smiled sadly at her and approached our closet. Both floor-length mirrors were smashed, and glass crunched under our feet. I helped her force the door open. All of the clothes were gone—even the shoes. Boxes were scattered everywhere—most of them empty, except for a few CDs. But one box remained on the high top shelf. I recognized it right away and took it down for Holly. Through the clear plastic window we saw her untouched wedding dress.

Taking the photo and the dress, Holly left the room and headed for the stairs. She didn’t go downstairs, though. Instead, she went into the spare bedroom that she’d planned to turn into a baby’s room—long before she was ever pregnant. It was the only room in the house that appeared untouched. I recalled finding her there one morning, daydreaming, as I headed out to convince Missy to leave me alone. Another time, another me.

As we stepped outside the house, Griffin pointed. Two slow draggers dressed as Sheriff’s deputies approached us. Greta, ears pointed forward, stood silent and alert. I unholstered my weapon, but instead of taking aim I handed it to Griffin. Surprised, she stared at me.

“But I’m not supposed to …”

“We trust you.” I checked with Holly, who nodded her approval.

Licking her lips, Griffin checked to see that the safety was off, took aim and fired once at each of the draggers, hitting both cleanly in the head. They dropped in the street in two heaps. Holly released Greta with a command, and she trotted over and sniffed the bodies.

“Easy peasy,” I said. “If anybody asks, it was me who took them down.”

“Where’ve you guys been?” Springer said as we got out of our Humvee.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“Dr. Fallow came by here insisting that someone get him permission to visit that freak show in the forest.”

“What does Pederman say?”

“He’s not in charge, remember?”

“Has anyone approached Captain O’Brien about it?”

“I think Warnick tried to.”

“Where is he?”

“In the administration building.”

We found Warnick sitting in one of the offices, reading through some reports.

“Hey,” I said. “So, I heard you spoke to O’Brien. I’m guessing he said no.”

“That’s right.”

“Did he give a reason for denying Doctor Fallow’s request?”

“He said that until the investigation is concluded, we are not to get involved with Robbin-Sear.”

“I don’t see what one has to do with the other,” Holly said.

“Exactly,” I said. “What does Pederman say? ‘Unofficially’?”

“His advice is for us to wait.”

“But time is running out. We need a vaccine!”

Warnick avoided my eyes. He knew I was right. “We have to hope that the Vollmer twins can come up with something.”

“Not good enough,” I said.

“Here we go.”

“Warnick, this whole thing stinks and you know it.”

“I know, but—”

“We can’t sit here and hope everything works itself out. Isaac and the Vollmer twins are flying blind.”

Warnick shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m asking this. So what exactly do you have in mind, Dave?”

“Ever heard of a stakeout?”