The Dead Series (Book 2): Dead Is All You Get Read online

  “And if we go, what happens to Tres Marias?” I said. “What happens to all these people we’ve been protecting?”

  “Didn’t you hear the man?” Springer said.

  “We’ll find out tonight,” we said in unison and laughed bitterly.

  “I want out,” I said.

  Holly sat next to me in the cafeteria, holding my hand as I stared at Warnick. As usual, his expression was inscrutable. I waited for him to react. Eventually he cleared his throat. “So, Dave, what are you thinking?”

  “This thing is going south fast,” I said. “Pederman won’t have a choice except to do what he’s told, which means we have to do what the mayor says. I’m worried that if we remain with Black Dragon, we won’t be able to protect ourselves.”

  “As civilians, you’ll be in an even worse position.”

  “All we need are guns,” I said.

  “If you leave us, you can’t keep your weapons, Dave. You know that.”

  “I think I know where I can get some.”

  “Guthrie? How will you get there without a vehicle?”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  “You mean, like Evie did?” Warnick appealed to Holly. Though we’d talked about this before meeting with Warnick, I knew she was scared. “Are you on board with this?”

  “I think we need to take our chances. I’m afraid of the mayor.”

  Warnick drained his soda and brought his hands together. For a second I thought he was going to pray over us. “It’s a bad plan. You have all our resources at your disposal here. Weapons, medicine, everything. Out there you’ve got nothing. Okay, some skills. But you’ve seen how even skilled people can die. No, it’s a bad plan and I’m opposed to it.”

  “You can’t stop us, Warnick,” I said.

  “True. But I don’t want to see you die out there.”

  Holly smiled. “Warnick, are you going soft?” She reached over to pinch his cheek but he waved her hand away.

  “But what about the mayor?” I said. “Warnick, he murdered those researchers and tried to kill the rest of us.”

  “Dave, you’re always safer when you’re with the larger group. This is no different from Afghanistan. There, you have the ‘legitimate’ government, warlords and Taliban fighters. You can’t trust anybody. But what you don’t do is quit and go off on your own. That’s a ticket to a quick death.”

  Though I didn’t like what Warnick was saying, it made sense.

  “So we have to stay here and ride this thing out?” I said.

  “Stay with the group. It’s the only way to survive. We’ve got your back.”

  “Seriously, though,” Holly said. “What about the mayor?”

  Warnick sighed deeply. “That’s an open question. Let’s see what he says at the meeting tonight.”

  “I hate your logic,” I said.

  As we got up to leave I tried to think of a way Holly, Griffin and I could find our way to Guthrie’s house on our own. Just in case.

  DOWNTOWN TRES MARIAS might have been described as charming back in the day. Quaint stores and restaurants used to line both sides of the main drag. On any Saturday night, teens in their parents’ late-model cars cruised, windows rolled down, music blasting. Families went to the movies, then to the Tip Top Café for milk shakes and ice cream sundaes. In darkened alleys, cops roughed up surly stew bums and hookers out of sight of the general populace. All very orderly.

  That was the Tres Marias I remembered as we drove past the dilapidated Dunkin’ Donuts and approached City Hall. But what we saw was nothing like those memories. Shops were boarded up, most of their windows busted out. Trash lay strewn everywhere. Most of the buildings were bullet-scarred and bloodstained. It would take a crap-ton of money to make this place look habitable again.

  Warnick and Springer sat in the front seat of our Humvee, with Warnick driving. Holly, Griffin, Fabian and I sat in the backseat—tightly squeezed. Greta rode in the rear. We’d treated this as a sortie and had come armed.

  I tried to avoid looking as we cruised past Staples. I still had nightmares about my last day there—the day Missy attacked us in the store. The day I grabbed a policeman’s gun and shot down my manager and friend Fred Lumpkin as he staggered towards me, feverish and angry hot, determined to tear out my throat. But I looked anyway. The store was the same. The shattered windows, debris-filled parking lot. The outdoor lights illuminating the bloodstains on the concrete that even the rain couldn’t wash away.

  “It’s so sad,” Holly said.

  “You guys used to work there? At Staples?” Griffin said.

  “Seems so long ago.”

  Everything was wrecked, except for City Hall. It appeared to have been freshly cleaned and painted. The grass was cut, the hedges trimmed, and landscape lights shone on the building, making it appear almost as a white temple amid the rubble. My stomach twisted into a knot as we parked. The sky turned threatening and the air smelled like rain. The small parking lot behind the building already held a number of vehicles. I was glad I had my gun. We climbed out and did a sweep of the area, checking for draggers. Incredibly, the place was clear.

  Pederman and Erzen waited outside the rear doors as we approached. Griffin had insisted we keep Greta with us, and I’d agreed. She and that dog were inseparable.

  “Why don’t we meet over at the Beehive after for drinks?” I said. Holly glared at me. “Kidding. Nobody gets me.”

  In truth, I wasn’t kidding. The trauma of the last few days had brought on a nasty thirst that consumed me. Every time I downed another Dew, I wished it was a beer. Warm or cold—it didn’t matter. The urge was always there—to drink and forget. Drunks never kid when it comes to booze.

  “We still have a couple of minutes,” Pederman said. “Remember, stay cool. This situation is tense enough as it is. We don’t need any hotheads.” Though he didn’t look directly at me, I knew who he meant.

  “I’m as reasonable as the next man,” I said. At the time I was standing next to Springer, who was picking his nose with a paper clip.

  “That doesn’t give me a whole lot of comfort,” Pederman said. “I need you to keep it together.” He opened the door and held it for Erzen, Holly and Griffin to go through. A little civility in the middle of bedlam couldn’t hurt.

  We marched through a dark hallway that smelled of old wood and moldy carpeting. On the walls hung framed black-and-white photos of various events from years past. I stopped at one of a Christmas parade from twelve or thirteen years ago. The crowd was clearly visible. There in the front, a cocky-looking kid with a huge grin waved frantically next to his mom, who seemed to be gazing off somewhere. He wore faded blue jeans and a black sweatshirt with a rendering of Arnold Schwarzenegger as “The Terminator.” The big guy was holding a massive gun, and the words I’LL BE BACK were emblazoned across the top.

  That kid was me. Way before the drinking, when I used to play hockey like a skinny, crazed demon. Though my father had already passed away, I was a happy kid. Gave my mother hell, but she put up with it—I don’t know how. My eyes tearing up, I moved on, saying nothing to Holly. She probably would have stolen the photo. She was sentimental that way.

  As we got closer I heard voices in the distance. One of them I recognized as the mayor’s. He and Walt Freeman were going at it—not in an open brawl kind of way, but they were definitely having a disagreement. As we passed through another set of doors, the voices fell silent.

  The auditorium seemed large enough to accommodate five hundred people. Wrought iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light sockets filled with CFC bulbs that gave off a yellowish glow. Rows of old wooden seats faced a huge, curved, raised dais. This was where the mayor and city council had sat in big, black leather chairs with high backs. Behind that was a stage, the heavy gold curtains drawn shut. On the floor directly in front was a table and chairs where, I assume, various aides sat. Towards the front row of seats in the center was a podium where ordinary citizens could come forward and complain about thei
r water bill or the neighbor’s cat.

  The mayor sat in the middle of the dais, with Walt Freeman to his left. The two cops, O’Brien and Hannity, sat on his right. And below at the table sat Becky, the pretty assistant, her laptop open and ready.

  “Please make your way down toward the front,” Walt said, standing and gesturing, his voice echoing. “For some reason, the mikes aren’t working, and we don’t want to have to yell.”

  Pederman led us single file to the front, where we took seats on the right in front of the imposing wooden structure. Greta lay at Griffin’s feet. Glancing at the dog, the mayor rolled his eyes. Walt, on the other hand, smiled generously. I did my best to contain the loathing I felt for the mayor. When our eyes met, he chewed his lip and looked away.

  After a few moments the mayor struck his gavel and Becky began to type. “This special session will come to order. Let the record show that, in addition to the people representing the City of Tres Marias, the following people are in attendance.” He proceeded to read off our names from a printed list, and Becky typed them on her laptop.

  “You forgot the dog,” I said. Then to Becky, “Let the record show, her name is Greta.” She tried not to smile as she typed.

  Springer snorted and Pederman suppressed a grin. Ignoring us, the mayor flipped open a manila folder containing a sheaf of papers. “We planned to print the agenda, but we’re having problems with the printers. The first order of business is to talk about the security breach.”

  “Do you mean what happened at the checkpoint or Robbin-Sear?” I said, raising my hand unenthusiastically.

  “Please don’t interrupt,” the mayor said. “We’re talking about the checkpoint. We’ll get to that other matter in due course.” He and O’Brien exchanged a look.

  O’Brien stood, leaned forward with his hands on the desk and glowered at me. “Shut it, Pulaski, or—”

  “Or what?” I said, getting to my feet. “You’ll beat me up again?”

  “Let’s stick to the business at hand,” Walt said, trying to appear reasonable. “These folks were invited here.”

  Reluctantly, O’Brien sat. I gazed around the room. Men in police uniforms guarded the exits. There was something about them—they didn’t look like cops to me. I took my seat.

  The mayor cleared his throat and referred to a document. “We’ve done a thorough investigation and found that Black Dragon used excessive force in dealing with the intruders. This is in violation of your contract with the city. Mr. Pederman, care to comment for the record?”

  Pederman stood, his hands balled into fists.

  “Please use the podium,” Walt said.

  Pederman complied. By his posture, I could tell he was struggling with his own anger issues. “Mr. Mayor, our response was in direct proportion to the threat. We were being fired on. Several of my men are dead as a result of the attack.”

  “Attack? Are you sure it wasn’t a melée?”

  Pedersen didn’t take the bait. “In addition, we had to deal with a large number of undead, who threatened us from the rear. We were, in essence, fighting two enemies.”

  The mayor shook his head and turned towards Walt Freeman. Squinting, Walt referred to his own copy of the report. “We’ve done extensive interviews with the wounded civilians. Each of them—to a man—claims that your troops fired first. They were simply trying to defend themselves. So on and so forth.”

  “That’s a load of crap!” I said, standing.

  “Dave, sit down,” Pederman said. It was only because I didn’t want Pederman to get into more trouble than he was already in that I complied.

  “Like-uh-said, we have sworn testimony to that effect,” Walt said.

  The mayor glared at me, then focused his attention on Pederman. “Although we acknowledge that there were undead present—and, by the way, can we all agree not to use that term? It’s degrading. After conducting our investigation, we’ve concluded that your troops engaged in …” He quoted from the report. “Excessive violence, needlessly endangering civilians.” He looked at each of us, his eyes cold and lizard-like. “As a result, we conclude that you have violated the terms of your contract and are therefore in breach.”

  The mayor picked up the gavel. “The order temporarily assigning authority to the Tres Marias Police Department is now permanent. All in favor?”

  “Aye,” they said in unison, their voices monotone.

  “Black Dragon will continue to report directly to Captain O’Brien until such time that a transition plan can be effected.”

  I imagined drawing my weapon and putting a bullet into the head of each of those assclowns. I turned to Warnick, who seemed to be studying the men sitting at the table.

  “This is bullshit,” I said.

  “Be quiet, Dave.”

  The mayor continued. “Captain O’Brien will go over the details of your new mission.”

  The corrupt cop rolled his chair back and referred to his own set of documents. I didn’t know who I hated more—the mayor or him. For the next few minutes, he bored us with the mind-numbing minutiae of what we would be doing till we could be transitioned out. Our duties would consist of protecting the civilians in the command center and continuing our patrols, searching for survivors.

  If we encountered draggers, we were allowed to neutralize them and incinerate their bodies. If we found survivors, we were to test them for the virus and shelter them at the command center. If they required anything more than basic medical care, we would be instructed to take them to the hospital. If there were further breaches of the town’s perimeter, we were to radio the police department and wait for instructions. This, ladies and gentlemen, was the extent of our mission.

  “Any questions?” O’Brien’s expression said he hoped there weren’t.

  “Do our patrols extend to the forest?” Pederman said.

  “Yes, if you suspect that there are either survivors or infected persons.”

  “Regarding the perimeter, what if our people are fired upon?”

  “Radio us for instructions.”

  “Are you saying we’re not allowed to defend ourselves?” I said.

  O’Brien slammed his fist on the dais, which shook the entire structure. Taking a breath, he said, “You will radio for instructions. Is that understood?”

  As O’Brien sat, the mayor took over again. “Second item on the agenda,” he said. “The isolation facility will be closed effective immediately.”

  “What?” Pederman said. “But what about the patients?”

  “That is no longer your concern. All in favor?”

  “Hold on,” I said. “What if we encounter a civilian who’s infected but hasn’t turned yet? Where do we take them?”

  The mayor looked uncomfortable. O’Brien leaned over and whispered something. Finally, the mayor answered the question. “To the police station,” he said. “All in favor?”

  “Aye.”

  We scoffed at this, but from the look of the Inquisition that towered over us, there was nothing we could do. I knew we needed to tell Isaac right away. We’d been at this for more than an hour. Finally, the mayor addressed the topic I asked about at the beginning. As expected, the city’s conclusions didn’t even come close to the truth.

  “Now,” he said. “Regarding the incident at Robbin-Sear. After carefully looking into the matter, we conclude that the two police officers acted in self-defense.”

  “That, Mr. Mayor, is completely false,” Pederman said, still standing at the dais. “Those two researchers were killed in cold blood. And Doctor Fallow was gravely wounded.”

  “And your troops murdered twenty police officers,” O’Brien said. “That’s prison time, my friend.”

  “So, we’re going to jail when it was your men who fired on us?” Pederman said.

  “No one’s going to jail,” Walt said, his voice friendly.

  “Really?”

  The mayor kept his focus on his papers. “The incident is being treated as a case of friendly fire. All in favo
r?”

  “Aye.”

  The mayor brought his gavel down hard, the cracking sound echoing in the auditorium like a gunshot. The sound even startled Becky. “This meeting is adjourned,” he said.

  The mayor and his entourage left the building before we could ask further questions. The men guarding the entrances vanished. We stood alone in the middle of the auditorium, no wiser than when we arrived. They may as well have turned the lights out on us. I thought of that old joke about mushrooms—kept in the dark and fed shit.

  “Any thoughts?” I said.

  Pederman was quiet. Here was a man who’d served in the army—who knew about chain of command, following orders without question and ignoring the daily crap that tended to run downhill instead of up. Now, even he seemed confounded by the whole filthy business—unable to understand how he could have done things differently in order to effect a different outcome—one in which we came out heroes instead of borderline criminals.

  “We’d better get back,” he said, his voice even.

  As I exited the building with the others, rain came down in thin sheets that felt like shards of broken glass on my skin. I could see my breath in the chilled air. As we made our way to our vehicles, a dark figure approached. I saw Greta’s rigid outline, the ears pointed forward in anticipation. She pulled at the leash, but Griffin held her tight.

  The man stepped into a weak pool of light, pulling at his left arm. He was around thirty. Slim, with brown hair and eyes. Though his clothes weren’t shabby, they were dirty and bloodstained. He seemed weak and disoriented. I looked hard for signs of infection but didn’t see any.

  “Why?” he said.

  Great question, I thought. The eternal Why. Why had the plague come down on this sleepy town and ravaged it mercilessly till the few survivors were beaten and hollow? Why were we cut off, out of reach of the rest of the world? Why had evil decided to make Tres Marias its bitch?

  There was one answer—the mayor. But why?

  “Can I help you?” Pederman said.

  The man didn’t seem to hear the question. He rocked gently in the light, touching his arm at the elbow like a kid who’d fallen off his bike and scraped himself up. Something enraged him and he tore at it, as if trying to pull it out of the socket.