The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (12 page)

“We had to lock him in a utility closet.”

“Eileen, listen. And this is important. Did he bite anyone?”

“A couple of nurses. And an orderly.”

“You need to find them and isolate them as well.”

“They’ve already gone home.”

“All right, give the police their addresses and ask them to pick them up.”

“But they haven’t done anything.”

Isaac looked at me, then at Dr. Vale. “Let’s hope they don’t.”

I stayed with Dr. Vale at the end of the hallway that led to the ORs as Isaac and two police officers approached the supply closet. One of the cops waved Patty over and gave her an instruction.

“Sal?” she said through the door. “It’s me, honey. Patty.”

An ungodly moan escaped the supply closet, followed by a screech that sounded like something from Hell. Then tearing noises and more wailing. The sounds weren’t human—they turned my blood cold.

Isaac waved Patty away and positioned the cops on either side of him. Then he signaled for them to draw their weapons. His hand shaking bad, he slipped a key into the lock, took a breath and flung the door open.

Sal, the neighbor who’d been attacked in his backyard, glared at us hot and angry. His face was livid, and his grey, motionless eyes were hard and dry. His mouth was pulled back into a hideous grimace. One of his arms was chewed to the bone.

Patty screamed as her husband lunged at the men. Everyone scattered. One of the cops tried to aim his weapon, but Sal was too quick. Before anyone could stop him, he was on one of the cops, biting off his fingers and goring his face and neck. The cop’s screams died in a gurgle of choking blood.

“Sal!” Patty tried to go to her husband, but Isaac and I held her back.

“Shoot him!” Isaac said to the other cop.

“No!” Patty said.

The cop aimed and let off a couple of rounds, both hitting Sal in the back. Sal turned, an eye stalk hanging from his teeth.

“Try for the head!”

“Please, no!” Patty said.

The cop fired three times, huge chunks of bloody brain matter splattering against the white wall. Sal shuddered and collapsed on the floor.

Seeing her dead husband, Patty crumpled in a sobbing heap and tried crawling towards him. “Sal! Dear God, what’s happening?”

“No, stay back,” Isaac said.

He and the other cop examined the fallen police officer. He was bleeding out and mumbled like a frightened child.

“We need to isolate him,” Isaac said, looking at Dr. Vale, who stood motionless. “Eileen, now!”

It was late when we left the hospital—too late to take Isaac to Enterprise to pick up his car, so I drove him home. He’d have to wait till morning to sort out the wrecked car and get a new one. Grabbing his bag and medical kit from the backseat, he came around to the driver’s side.

“I appreciate the ride,” he said.

“Sure.”

“Dave, I don’t know how bad this thing is going to get. Go find your wife and get the hell away from here before they lock it all down.”

“She’s done with me. Besides, Detective Van Gundy said not to leave the area.”

“The cops are going to have their hands full.”

“I can’t see her anymore,” I said. “I need to stay and figure something out.”

“They might arrest you. You could tell them the truth and hope for the best.”

“It was stupid.”

“Stupid doesn’t begin to describe it. If you’d saved the girl, you’d be a hero. Next time. Take care, Dave.”

I watched as Isaac went into his house. He was a good friend. I got the sense he wouldn’t tell Van Gundy what he knew. Nevertheless, if I was arrested and the case went to trial, they would call him in to testify. Isaac had never lied to a jury in his life, I’d bet.

I wondered if Holly told the detective the truth. If she had, I was screwed. Unless, as Isaac had pointed out, all hell broke loose. It’s not something I wished for, but an outbreak was just the thing to get me out of my troubles.

I hated Holly.
First she left me, then ratted me out. I didn’t deserve that. All I was trying to do was help. I wanted for things to go back to the way they were. Hard to do when you’re a cheating, cowardly piece of crap. Hard when dead people are feasting on the living. How was that my fault?

I wasn’t conflicted or anything.

Though it was late, the streets were filled with people moving numbly along the sidewalks. They appeared drugged. I thought they might be infected. There were lights flashing as cops stopped some of these moody drifters, beamed flashlights in their faces and made them answer a lot of questions. That’s when I realized they weren’t infected. They must have witnessed something gruesome—perhaps a family member being mauled—and were in shock. There were hundreds of them out.

I knew something wasn’t right when I parked in my driveway and walked up to the front door—it was ajar. I was sure I locked up before driving up to Mt. Shasta. My heart racing, I ran back to my truck. All I could find was a four-way lug wrench. Outstanding.

Pushing the door open, I flicked on the lights and peered inside. There was blood everywhere. The walls were smeared with it. And the smell. It was the stench of meat rot and excrement. I wanted to hurl, but I sucked the bile back down. Cold-sweating, I scanned the room for movement. Glancing outside, I saw that the neighborhood was deserted.

As I passed through the living room towards the kitchen, turning on lights as I went, I stepped over the carcasses of dogs, cats and raccoons. Most had been gored. Others were headless. A heart-stopping banshee scream ripped through me.

Swinging around, I found Missy standing inches from me. Her complexion was grey, her dark hair matted with twigs and live insects. Her fingers were long and pointy, and I saw bone coming through the torn fingertips. She smelled like a charnel house. Her black tongue flicked as she focused on me.

For a time she just stood there, grinning hideously.

I didn’t know what to do—I tried hitting her with the lug wrench. She grabbed it and, with the strength of a wrestler, tore it from my hands and threw it aside. I turned to run, but I tripped on a dead dog that had been ripped in half. She grabbed for me. I scrambled away, got to my feet and tried to make it through the kitchen to the back door.

Then she did something extraordinary.

She leapt towards me like some kind of demoniacal broad jumper. She was on my back now, and I didn’t know how to get her off. I was afraid she’d bite me. Her body generated no heat whatsoever. I spun around in the kitchen, trying to shake her off. I was sure she would sink her fangs into my neck.

I bolted backwards towards the sink. Then I heard something crack as her grip loosened, allowing me to get free. She tried straightening up, but something was wrong. She gave herself a hard twist and fell into a sitting position, staring at me with those maggot-filled doll’s eyes. She opened her mouth wide and let out a death shriek that tore at my eardrums. I wanted to scream with her.

I ran out the front door, got into my truck and hit the gas. A police cruiser screeched to a stop in front of me, and I slammed on the brakes. Detective Van Gundy’s beige sedan pulled up behind it. What was he doing there? The detective and patrolman ran to the driver’s door and, guns raised, yanked it open.

I couldn’t speak. My teeth were chattering, and I was breathing so hard I thought my lungs would explode.

“What happened?” Van Gundy said.

“Inside! Missy!”

He and the patrolman entered the house. I expected to hear the death shriek again, but all was quiet. I sat in the truck, trying to calm myself. I thought of a Donovan song, “Catch the Wind,” my mother used to sing to me when I was little and got scared.

Time passed to the pounding of my heart. After long minutes, Detective Van Gundy and the patrolman came out the front door. Still shaky, I got out and moved towards them, my legs like clay.

“She’s not in the house,” the patrolman said. “Must’ve gone out the back.”

“Good thing you guys showed.”

“One of your neighbors called 911,” Van Gundy said. “I was on my way home, and when I heard it was your house, I came right over. Did she attack you?”

“She was waiting for me.” I was still breathless.

“Did a nice job on your house.”

“I think she’s one of
them
,” I said.

“‘Them’?” the patrolman said.

“The undead—whatever you want to call them.” They exchanged a glance. “There were maggots crawling around in her eyes. I’m telling you, she’s
dead
.”

The patrolman drove off, and the detective waited inside as I packed some clothes. Obviously I couldn’t stay there. I thought of Holly. What if she was planning to drive back? Mad as I was at her, I still cared. Before leaving the house, I texted her.

As I climbed into my truck, Detective Van Gundy touched my arm. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll find her.”

“Sure,” I said, confident that he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

“Why did she come after you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Still with the lies? Suit yourself.”

“She hates me,” I said. He waited for more. “Because I broke it off with her. She’s a jealous bitch.”

“After seeing the house, I don’t think hate is a strong enough word.”

I watched him drive off. I might have to invent a new word, I thought. Nothing in my experience could describe what Missy felt about me.

As I pulled away, I looked back at the house. I knew I wouldn’t be coming back. It occurred to me that we didn’t even have a pet fish. Better to burn the place to the ground, along with my past.

It was early morning. I hadn’t slept in more than a day. I was able to find a cheap room at the Pine Nut Motel, which was located in a crappy part of town near the railroad tracks. With everything that had happened, it was amazing I wasn’t guzzling beer by the barrel. So I had to laugh when I saw that the motel stood next to a 7-Eleven, which I knew stocked plenty of beer.

All I wanted was to sleep. After taking a shower and changing clothes, I fell asleep on top of the covers. When I woke, it was late afternoon. I called Fred at Staples. He wasn’t too pleased that I hadn’t come in yet. I promised to get over there right away and work till closing.

“This isn’t like you, Dave,” he said. I heard the concern in his voice. “Everything okay? How’s Holly? Really hated to lose her.”

“We can talk about that when I get there.”

Fred was the kind of guy who took things personally. Everything that didn’t come out right in his or anyone else’s life he considered a personal failure. For example, Fred had been trying to convince one of the new guys to quit smoking. He even got him to cut back to a pack a day through sheer nagging. But when it came time to drop the habit altogether, the ungrateful little shit told Fred to go screw himself, and quit his job instead.

Fred was devastated. Over and over he dissected that last confrontation, pleading with the rest of us to tell him what he’d done wrong. Had he gone too far? Was he being insensitive to the guy’s needs? I think, deep down, Fred wanted to be liked.

Stacey, a pretty cashier with two years of junior college under her belt, told Fred not to worry. In her learned twenty-year-old’s opinion, that guy was an asshat who didn’t know what was good for him. Though Fred appeared to accept this explanation, I doubt it made him feel any better.