Rise of the Dead (Book 2): Return of the Dead Read online

  None of the cheap motel rooms even have a minibar so this was just total waste of time. One of the toilets in another room still has a tank full of water, so I fill a couple bottles. Inside the last room I check, I find a disturbing scene. A wooden chair sits in the middle of the room. Handcuffs dangle from the backrest. Behind it I see the badly mutilated body of a man in the corner. He looks to be a soldier by the pile of army green clothing soaking in a puddle of blood beside him. I have no idea what might have happened in here, and I don’t want to either. All I know for certain is the corpses had nothing to do with that. I quickly close the door and retreat back downstairs.

  “Find anything?” Steven asks.

  I toss him one of the water bottles and it slips through his fingers and hits him in the chest before it falls to the floor. Steven reaches down, twists off the cap, and fills his canteen.

  “Try not to gulp it all down right away this time,” I tell him.

  Steven studies my expression closely for a moment as he pours the water.

  I’m afraid he’ll try to engage me in another heart-to-heart, so I wander towards the back door. I step outside onto a wide deck that overlooks an empty wooden dock. The water trickling downstream and the breeze moving through the trees calms my nerves. I pull the bandana down around my neck and breathe the country air. The moment almost makes me feel alive again.

  “You ready to get moving?” Steven calls.

  “Sure,” I call back. “Just give me a minute.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes, but when I listen I hear the sound of a vehicle approaching from town. I spin around and hustle back inside.

  “Someone’s coming,” I hiss at Steven.

  The chair topples over as he scrambles to his feet. Steven hurries to the front entrance and presses his body against the wall. He peers out at the road and watches and waits. I crouch down behind a couch near the back door and stare at Steven as I listen to the vehicle slowing down. Through the open front door, I watch as a blue pickup comes to a stop in the middle of the road. A yellow flag waves from pole mounted in the truck bed. I count two people in the cab and four more in the back. They carry a couple of heavy guns, too. We just lost our ride.

  Damn.

  Steven looks back at me and shakes his head. He scurries across the room and follows me out the back door. As we run toward the dock, I hear the truck tires crunch over the gravel as the vehicle pulls into the parking lot. I sprint to the end of the dock and leap into the water. Steven splashes into the stream beside me and we wade across the river to the opposite shore. When we reach the tree line, we stop to look back at the lodge. Several figures enter the lodge and begin searching inside. I can hear the sound of their voices but can’t make out the words.

  “Please tell me you have the keys,” I say.

  “They’re in the truck,” Steven admits. “Old habit.”

  “Jesus,” I sigh.

  “Think they saw us?” Steven whispers.

  “No,” I say. “I’m sure they can smell your cigarette, though. They will know we’re close.”

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here then.” Steven slinks away into the woods, snapping every little twig on the ground along the way.

  I don’t want to give up the truck. It’s getting harder and harder to find a working vehicle. We might have some luck finding a vehicle in town. However, there is a good chance we might run into even more trouble there instead.

  “Damn it,” I curse and follow Steven through the dense curtain of trees. “Wait up.”

  Steven pauses and leans and scans the surrounding woods.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” I tell him.

  “No, I’m not,” Steven insists.

  “The town is that way.” I jab a finger in the opposite direction for emphasis.

  “You can’t be serious,” Steven snorts. He folds his arms across his chest. “We need to go back and warn the others.”

  “It’s over four miles. We need to keep going and hope we find another car in town.” I turn and walk away before he can argue with me.

  For several minutes, I ignore the sound of his clumsy footsteps behind me. I usually don’t mind being around Steven, but it’s turning out to be a bad day. The way things are going, it might get a lot worse. If those guys were with Bishop, then we’re going to be in for some trouble. I was too far away to get a good look at their faces, but it probably was them. Just my luck.

  We follow along the river until we come to a road. A red, wood-covered bridge that leads to town spans the rocky riverbed. I crouch behind a boulder and look for any signs of movement in the street. The only sound comes from the nearby water trickling over the rocks. I nod to Steven and he follows me out to the bridge. The old boards creek beneath our boots as we cross. We pause again before exiting the cover of the bridge.

  The street we are on is the main road that bisects the town. Several shamblers lurk in the distance. No signs of life, though. A few vultures feed on a rotting corpse in the middle of the road. Their beaks tear the putrid flesh from the bones. I reach into my pack and locate my binoculars. I scan the abandoned cars on the street. One bullet-riddled truck has a flat tire. Two sedans have crashed into each other. A minivan holds half a dozen shamblers that smack their heads against the windows. There are more cars further down the road, but I can’t tell if they are in any better shape from this distance. I notice a restaurant called Horstmann’s on the corner of the nearest intersection. The greasy spoon seems like the only place to eat in town. The tinted windows don’t allow me to see inside, but at least the glass is intact. Maybe we can check inside for more food or water since this trip is taking longer than expected.

  “Looks clear,” I inform Steven. “Let’s check out that diner.”

  “Nah.” Steven brushes the idea away with a wave of his hand.

  I stop and turn to look at him. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” he muses. “Seems like an unnecessary risk.”

  “You were the one that was all concerned about how low on water we are,” I remind him.

  “And you told me we had enough,” he smiles. Bastard just loves to give me a hard time.

  “Shut up.” I ball my fingers into a fist and slug his shoulder. Steven winces and grabs at his shoulder in mock pain.

  “You’re such an idiot,” I remind him.

  He starts to say something but the sound of a vehicle approaching town intervenes. I glance around the road as we race toward the diner. Steven whips open the door and we duck inside. I glance around the dimly lit dining area briefly. Nothing moves. Through the windows, I see a pickup truck emerge from the covered bridge. It has to be the same group from the lodge. Just behind it, our truck exits the covered bride. The caravan glides down Main Street.

  Metal clangs against the tile floor behind me. The corpse of a waitress behind the counter flails her arms at us. She knocks napkin dispensers and salt shakers across the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot another waitress crawling out from beneath a booth in the corner. The doors to the kitchen swings open and the wiry body of the busboy lurches into the room. Something starts pounding on a door from a hallway in the back of the cafe. The staff shambles towards us. Their bodies knock into tables and chairs.

  I glance over my shoulder and see the truck inching down the road. The racket caused by the corpses did not give away our presence. We can’t shoot the things while the trucks are so close. The corpses close in on us. I can even read the name tags on their uniforms. Steven slides the machete from the sheath. I slip out a hatchet from a loop on my pack.

  “You get Marci,” I tell Steve. “I’ll get Valaen.”

  He nods as he brings back the machete and slashes the waitress across the face. I raise the hatchet and drop the blade on Valaen’s head with all my strength. My first strike glances off her skull and knocks her to the ground. I bring the weapon down again and it fractures the back of her skull. After the third blow, the body goes still.

  I look up to see the bu
sboy. Alfredo is stitched into his grimy black polo shirt. The corpse lunges at me and knocks me back. The hatchet falls from my fingers. I stumble over a chair and topple to the floor.

  “Steven!” I yell, probably louder than I should have. Me and my big mouth. I kick at Alfredo with my boot. The move knocks the busboy to the side as he falls on me. I struggle to get to my feet, but grease and the slimy blood from the waitress covers the floor. Alfredo gets to his knees and moans and opens his mouth. I reach for the hatchet. Then Steven puts a bullet through his skull. The head of the corpse tilts to the side and his brains splatter onto the window pane.

  “Damn it,” I grunt.

  Steven shrugs his shoulders and lowers the gun. He had no choice but to shoot the thing. There wasn’t time to do anything else. I grab the edge of a table and pull myself to my feet. Through the window, I see the truck down the street. I stare at the illuminated brake lights and wait for the truck to move.

  The passengers on the bed of the truck ready their rifles and scan the street. One of the men gestures back toward the cafe, then white lights on the rear of the truck light up.

  “They’re backing up,” I say.

  The corpse in the back of the restaurant continues to pound on the door. I run down the hallway to check for a back door but it just leads to the bathrooms.

  “The kitchen,” Steven pleads. He grabs my pack and turns me around. I follow him through the swinging gray door into a kitchen that reeks of grease and decay. Abandoned plates of food rot on the countertop. A large refrigerator barricades the rear entrance. Each of us grabs an end and we slide the large unit over the tiles. The legs grind over the surface. We clear the exit and push through the door into the bright midday sun. I squint my eyes to try and see but before my eyes adjust a man’s voice urges me to get down.

  “Show me your hands,” another deep voice chimes.

  I raise my hands and shield my eyes. As my vision returns, I make out three figures with assault rifles leveled on us.

  “Whoa, there,” says Steven. “We’re not looking for any trouble, guys.”

  “Get on the ground,” orders one of the men. His mouth bulges on one side from a wad of snuff tucked in his gums.

  I hesitate while I blink my eyes and the faces of the men emerge from the glare. Steven falls to his knees beside me and raises his hands.

  “On your knees, princess,” the man repeats.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I sigh. “Just shoot me and get it over with already.”

  The tobacco guy lowers the rifle. He cocks his head to the side and chuckles.

  “Sorry,” he tells me. “Guess this ain’t your lucky day.”

  He whirls the weapon around. I watch as the stock of the rifle advances towards my face and everything goes black.

  Three

  I hear distant murmuring as I open my eyes to see the grimy tile floor of the diner. When I try to move I discover my hands are cuffed to the back of a chair I am sitting on. I can’t recall where I am or how I got here. Several blurry figures move around the room, having some conversation that I can’t understand for some reason.

  “Wake up!”

  A hand slaps me across the face and startles me. Everything snaps into focus. My eyes dart around the room. A blonde woman by the bar lights a cigarette. A trio of men holding rifles and shotguns stand guard at the front entrance. In a booth along the wall, a man with a grey crewcut seated between an anxious pair of dark-haired women smirks at me. Steven struggles in a chair beside me. He cranes his neck around to look at me and wrestles with the cuffs around his own wrists.

  “Morning, princess.” Rough fingers grasp my jaw and lift my chin up until I’m looking at a middle-aged man wearing a faded jean jacket. His bearded face smiles down at me. I shake my head away from his grip and bite at his fingers as he tries to grab me again. Even though I am not quick enough to sink my teeth into him, he pulls his hand back. His deep-set brown eyes stare down at me as he laughs softly.

  “I heard you were feisty,” the man grins.

  He turns and paces slowly across the room. His gaze shifts between me and Steven.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man asks me.

  I catch myself thinking up smart-ass responses but decide I better keep my mouth shut and stare at the floor. I’ll let things play out and see where this goes.

  The man takes a seat on a tabletop a few feet away and rests his leather boots on the chair below. He picks up a knife off the table, which looks an awful lot like my knife. The guy stares at me as he runs the tip of his finger along the blade.

  “I’m waiting,” he reminds me.

  “I’ve never seen you before in my life,” I finally tell him.

  “You’ve never seen me before. That is true,” the man agrees. He waves a man with a mullet over from the counter. “But I believe you have seen my pal Owen before. Didn’t you, Scout?”

  I recognize the man from our encounter at the grocery store a couple weeks earlier, but I just lower my gaze and stare at the floor.

  “Owen tells me that you’re the one who used this big ass knife to stab him and then left him for dead,” the man informs me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble. My mind feels foggy and the words are difficult to form. The room spins and I struggle to keep my eyes open. “You must have us confused with someone else,” I insist.

  “Isn’t this her, Owen?” the man asks. He drapes an arm over Owen’s shoulder and raises the knife with the tip pointed at my face. “Take a good look at her.”

  “Sure is, Bishop,” Owen grins. “That’s her all right.” It’s easy to see he has been waiting for this moment.

  “Damn,” Bishop grins at me. “I got to admit I am a little impressed. That is some cold-blooded shit, princess.”

  “Maybe Owen should learn to keep his goddamn hands to himself,” I growl.

  “I’ll kill you, bitch,” Owen seethes as he takes a step in my direction.

  “Easy,” Bishop laughs. He clasps Owen by the shoulder to keep him from attacking me. “Everybody just relax.”

  Owen steps back and crosses his arms over his chest and resumes scowling at me.

  “Now, you seem like a bright gal, Scout. You can probably understand that there is another reason that I’ve had my guys out looking for you for the last couple weeks,” Bishop says. He reaches up and scratches his temple with his index finger. “It’s getting harder and harder to find the right kind of people.”

  I glance around at the diner full of questionable characters. I wouldn’t trust any of them either.

  “Take Owen for example,” Bishop says. “He’s a tough guy. Never asks for too much. Never gets out of line. And he’s about as loyal as they come.”

  Owen straightens up his stance and smiles at Bishop. He doesn’t seem to notice when Bishop stops smiling and fixes a cold stare on him.

  “The thing is you just can’t count on Owen for shit,” says Bishop. He turns and plunges my knife into Owen’s abdomen.

  Owen gazes down at the knife in his stomach with his mouth gaping. Bishop pulls the blade out and stabs the man in the sternum over and over again. I turn my head to avoid seeing what happens next, but can’t help hearing the sound of Bishop grunting every time he drives the knife into the groaning man. Finally, Bishop lets the limp body fall. He lets out a deep breath as he stares down at Owen. Fresh blood drips off the blade of my knife onto the diner floor.

  Bishop turns around and stares at me while he wipes the blood splatter off his jaw with the forearm of his jacket sleeve.

  “You should see the look on your face, princess,” Bishop grins.

  “You’re insane,” I say. The words come out before I think about what I’m saying.

  “Insane?” Bishop says. He lifts the knife and stabs the tabletop with the blade and leaves the knife sticking up there. With a tired sigh he collapses into the chair right next to the body on the floor.

  “Maybe the whole damn world is insane, and I’m
just doing my best to fit in,” he smiles at the thought for several seconds. Then he lifts his hand up and smacks the table. “I need a smoke, Dom,” he says.

  The blonde woman at the bar fishes in her purse and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

  “It better not be one of those skinny pussy straws that you like to smoke,” Bishop warns her.

  The woman steps across the room and hands him a red pack of cigarettes and he looks up and studies her expression as she steps over the body beside him. She pauses and narrows her eyes at me.

  Bishop grins as he lights the cigarette and gestures for Dom to keep walking. He takes a long drag and blows the smoke into the air. Then he just stares at the space above my head for a long minute and he lets his head sway slightly from side to side as though a song is playing that only he can hear. Finally, he blinks and his gaze locks on me again. Then he glances down at the cigarette between his fingers and flicks the dangling ash onto the corpse on the floor.

  “Really is a shame about Owen,” Bishop sighs. “You see, I didn’t want to kill him. Hell, I even kind of liked the dumb bastard. But he let you and your merry band of fairy assholes steal our shit, and that kind of incompetence does not help the cause.”

  “Cause?” I scoff. “What cause?”

  “Saving the damn human race,” Bishop says. “Can’t you see that?”

  “Seems like you’re just helping destroy it,” I say. “You’re a psychopath.”

  “Bullshit,” Bishop says. “Hell, didn’t we offer to take you people in? We told you we would protect you. But instead you killed two of my guys, stole one of my trucks, not to mention a shitload of my guns.”

  “We never killed anyone,” I tell him. “They started shooting. The dead did the rest. Those assholes had it coming.”

  “Maybe they did,” Bishop concedes. “But that doesn’t change a damn thing. Someone still has to pay. My people need to see that only I can protect them. They need to understand what happens when someone gets out of line. There has to be justice.”