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

  I could tell he was uncomfortable. As if on cue, Griffin took the dog for a walk. Holly and I sat on the sofa as Warnick paced, worrying two manila envelopes in his sweaty palms. I’d never seen him so edgy.

  “Warnick, calm down,” I said. “You’re starting to scare me.”

  “Look, I know you want to find out what’s really going on. But I think you should forget about it and accept whatever assignment they give you.”

  “We’re happy to be the good corporate citizens and all, but someone needs to look into this thing and—”

  “No, they don’t!” As long as I’d known Warnick, I couldn’t recall a single time when he’d raised his voice.

  Holly rose and got a soda from the refrigerator. “Want anything?” she said to me.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Warnick?”

  He ignored her. “Dave, you need to understand. Black Dragon has a mission.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  Groaning, I leaned back and rubbed my eyes. “To make the town safe so the regular authorities can take over.”

  “Right. And it’s important that we focus on that.”

  “Warnick, can I ask you a question? Did something happen?”

  He walked over to the refrigerator and turned to Holly. “May I?”

  “Sure.”

  He popped open an orange soda and drank deeply. “This is way beyond what I thought it was when we first deployed.”

  “You never told us how you ended up working for Black Dragon,” Holly said. “Did they recruit you?”

  He took a seat across from us. I could tell he was tired.

  “Me and my brother were serving in Afghanistan.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother,” I said. “Younger or older?”

  “Older.”

  “Is he a Weezer fan, too?”

  “No, but he’s the person who taught me my faith. Someday I’ll tell you what my life was like before that. But not today.”

  “Sounds like an amazing person,” Holly said. “Where is he now?”

  Warnick fiddled with his soda can and spoke softly. “He was stationed at a COP—combat outpost—and went on patrol in a village, searching for Taliban. He was killed by an IED.”

  “Dude, I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “Anyway, I finished my tour.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Training ANA forces—Afghan National Army. I was getting ready to come home when the Black Dragon recruiters showed up. They were signing up people like crazy. Guys like Chavez, Estrada, Springer and me. A job right out of the military? Why wouldn’t I do it? They offered us a great package, so we took it.”

  Warnick told us that their first mission had been to remain in Afghanistan, providing private security for various Afghan leaders. Warlords mostly, who were friendly with the US. Chavez was their supervisor, and unlike his command in Tres Marias, he’d handled it fine. They didn’t see much combat—till the Taliban sent a suicide bomber—a kid on a scooter—to one of the leaders’ homes. Warnick, Springer and Estrada were almost killed in the blast. And Chavez almost died when more Taliban followed and started shooting up the place. After they recuperated in the hospital, they were sent home to Black Dragon’s regional office in San Francisco.

  “We weren’t even there three months when the outbreak happened,” he said, “and we got deployed here. As you know, they put Chavez in charge.”

  It all fit—why Chavez went over the edge and why Estrada and the others followed him in his insane quest to create a new hell on earth. Somewhere along the way he must have lost it over there, along with the others. Maybe it was because he’d almost died. Or maybe he had already been on his way to madness—a madness that was irresistible to others. But not to Warnick and Springer. Somehow, they had remained sane. Why?

  “Then it all fell apart,” Warnick said. “Chavez and his men. Other soldiers going rogue and palling around with the Red Militia. A lot of our people died at the hands of those nailheads.”

  During those insane days, Warnick had been a rock. He’d kept me going even when things were at their worst. But he seemed different now. Had the events of the last few months finally gotten to him?

  “It didn’t have to be this way,” he said, staring at nothing.

  Holly went up to him. “What do you mean?”

  Another knock. It was one of Pederman’s aides. “Is Warnick in here?”

  “Yeah,” Warnick said, getting to his feet. “I’m finalizing things for the meeting with HR tomorrow.”

  “Well, Pederman wants to see you.”

  “Be right there.”

  He remained at the door. When the aide was gone, Warnick handed us each an envelope.

  “Report to the administration building tomorrow at oh-nine hundred sharp,” he said. “You have a meeting with HR. And don’t forget, they’re going to ask you to give depositions. Your assignments are in those envelopes, assuming everything goes well. It’s light duty for the next few days. Mostly target practice and physical training.”

  “Warnick, what are you not telling us?” I said.

  “Stick to the mission,” he said and left the trailer.

  I went out to find Evie, but she wasn’t anywhere around. I asked a number of Black Dragon soldiers—no one knew anything. When I returned to the trailer, Holly was already fixing dinner. Griffin lay on the couch reading a book she must’ve gotten from the school library.

  “What are you reading?” I said.

  “The Catcher in the Rye.”

  “Ah, the classics.”

  “I don’t get it. Why is Holden, like, so depressed all the time?”

  “I don’t know. Too much money and all.”

  “Did you find Evie?” Holly said.

  “No. And no one has any idea where she is.”

  “Do you think they released her?”

  “I keep wondering about Warnick. I’ve never seen him like that. You have this ‘little woman’ who tells you stuff, right? So what’s she telling you now?”

  “I don’t know. Only that’s he’s acting strange.”

  Springer passed by the window. I bolted out the front door after him. He must’ve seen me coming—he walked faster.

  “Springer, wait up!”

  He stopped and pretended to act casual. “Oh, hey, Dave. S’up?”

  “What’s going on around here?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come on, cut the crap, Calvin. Warnick is acting all weird. I can’t find Evie. There’s a lot of strangeness somebody needs to explain.”

  “I think you’re imagining things,” Springer said, faking a smile.

  “I need some answers. Can we go somewhere to talk?”

  “I’m not supposed to.” His voice was barely audible.

  “Springer, we’ve been through too much. Come on, man. Throw me a bone.”

  He quickly checked his surroundings and whispered. “By the maintenance shed. Midnight.”

  I watched him go, his gait stiff. People were watching, I noticed. They were definitely watching.

  I waited near the entrance to the shed. It was dark, and there were no other soldiers around. I heard a crunching noise as someone made their way across the gravel. I backed into the shadows and waited. A lone figure approached and stepped into the light of a naked bulb hanging off the side of the shed.

  It was Warnick.

  “Warnick—”

  “Shh!”

  “What’s going on?” My voice was a whisper.

  “Inside.”

  He eased the metal door open and we slipped in. We didn’t turn on any lights, instead making our way carefully along the wall. Moonlight shone through one of the windows in a luminous pool in the center of the oil-stained floor. We stood close to one another so we wouldn’t have to raise our voices.

  “So are you going to tell me the truth?” I said.

  “You shouldn’t be asking all t
hese questions. I thought I told you.”

  “Look, we agreed to sign on like you and Pederman wanted. We’ll do our jobs. But I need to know what happened to my friend Jim. We won’t feel safe till we know.” I looked directly into Warnick’s eyes. “There’s something else. Holly’s pregnant.”

  “All the more reason to keep a low profile. Congrats, by the way.”

  “Warnick, I know you came here to convince me to stand down. But, dude, you know me. And you know I’m not going to do that. So you might as well come clean.”

  Warnick began pacing again, then stopped and stared at something across the room. Our eyes adjusted to the darkness, and we saw a couple of metal folding chairs lying next to a wall. We set them up and sat across from each other.

  “I don’t know if I have any answers for you,” he said.

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “This is strictly confidential. If you breathe any of it—”

  “Warnick, I get it.”

  “I was in one of the offices in the administration building this morning, doing some paperwork. The walls are kind of thin. In the office next to me, I could hear them interrogating Evie.”

  “Interrogating? You mean, taking a deposition?”

  “Not exactly. They were asking her all kinds of questions about her investigation during the outbreak. What she’d seen. Places she’d gone. People she’d interviewed. They wanted to know how she survived all this time by herself. And they wanted to know what she and her cameraman filmed.”

  “And what did she tell them?”

  “From what I could hear, she kept her answers very general. She talked about the pits of burning bodies and the close calls they had with draggers and the Red Militia. She never gave them any specifics. When they asked again about the news footage, she told them that other than what was broadcast before the quarantine, it was all lost when the draggers attacked their van and killed Jeff.”

  “What about Robbin-Sear?”

  “They didn’t ask her about it directly. They talked around it. Asked her if she had any thoughts on how this thing might have started, or how far she thought it might have spread. She told them she assumed that it was some kind of virus and that it had made it as far as Mt. Shasta. All stuff that’s generally known.”

  I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “When you say ‘they’ you mean Pederman, right?”

  “No. Someone else.”

  “Huh. Then what?”

  “They let her go. Said they’d ask her to come in again if they had any more questions.”

  “And you saw her leave?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What does Pederman say?”

  “He’s still in San Francisco.”

  “Weird. Are you planning to tell him?”

  “Of course.”

  “Who do you think it was?”

  “Someone whose voice I didn’t recognize.”

  “But they work for Black Dragon, right?”

  Warnick stood and checked behind him, as if someone might be listening. “No, I don’t think so. After it was over, I heard him leave the room. When he walked past my door, I saw him briefly. He was a stocky guy. With red hair. Wearing a really nice suit. Any idea who that is?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I said, getting to my feet. “He’s the mayor.”

  “WHAT’S FOR LUNCH? Well, I’m gonna tell you.”

  The small TV in the kitchenette blasted The Lazy Man’s Lunch throughout the trailer. I was already dressed and buttoning my shirt. Holly stood in the tiny bathroom putting her hair up as Greta sat in the doorway watching her. Every couple of minutes Holly called over her shoulder.

  “Griffin, come on, get up,” she said. “It’s almost nine.”

  Connie McBride was the hottest thing going on the Food Network. The show, hosted by the burly, Red Sox-loving ex-maintenance worker from Boston with the permanent five o’clock shadow, appealed to every talentless hungry male who was not only desperate for a meal but bone cheap.

  “So whadda we got here?” he said, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets on the show’s set. “Triscuits … Tabasco … McCormick Paprika … Ooh! Kraft Grated Parmesan!” He set these on the counter and stuck his head comically inside the refrigerator. “Oscar Mayer hot dogs!”

  Quickly he laid out a dozen crackers on a plate, cut up the dogs and delicately placed a slice on each cracker. Then he sprinkled the whole business with cheese, shook on some Tabasco and microwaved the plate for twenty seconds. When it was done he dropped a sprig of parsley on the plate, turned to the camera for his close-up and delivered his trademark line.

  “And there’s your lunch.”

  “Holly, do you have any bars?” I said.

  She came towards me, checking her cell phone. “Nope.”

  “No Internet and no cell service. So how are we getting television?”

  “I don’t think they can block the airwaves.”

  “No, but they can censor them.”

  “Griffin, for cryin’ out loud.”

  Holly whispered something to Greta. The dog bounded over to Griffin’s bed and threw her paws on top of her, licking her face.

  “Ew! Greta!”

  “Mission accomplished,” Holly said. “Dave, do these pants make me look fat?”

  I totally dodged the question. “How did you get the dog to do that?”

  “She’s a girl. So naturally we’re on the same page. That, and the fact that Ram taught me all the right German commands.”

  “Yeah? Which command was that?”

  “Voraus!”

  “I hope you’re not planning on using those on me.”

  “Just one. Braver Hund!”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Good dog,” she said, and beat it out the door before I could grab her.

  The guard at the administration building said nothing as we passed through the front entrance, wearing our new uniforms. Once inside, we went directly to the principal’s office, where we found Pederman with another man I didn’t recognize. The stranger was in his fifties, with thinning grey hair, corn-fed jowls that were too red and a bulbous nose dotted with burst blood vessels. Judging by his waistband size, I guessed he liked his beer.

  The man stepped forward and shook our hands. “Walt Freeman,” he said.

  “In case you didn’t know, Walt is deputy mayor.”

  “The mayor wasn’t available?” I said.

  Walt shook his head. “He’s far too busy with the reconstruction. I’m handling all of the depositions.”

  After the pleasantries, Pederman said, “Let’s get started.”

  Inside the conference room, an attractive young woman with reddish-brown hair, huge brown eyes and red lips sat at the table in front of a laptop. She was on the pudgy side but in a way that made men hungry.

  “That’s Becky,” Walt said. “She’s here to take notes.” He held up a hand. “Fat fingers.”

  As we took seats, Walt hefted a clear plastic file storage box from the floor and set it on the table. He reached in and, flipping through the files, grabbed one, opened it and spread out a number of typed pages on the table. “I think you know that Mr. Warnick and Mr. Springer have already given depositions,” he said to Holly and me. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. We’re really just fact finding. With so many … uh … dead from the … the unpleasantness, we’re trying to collect as much information as we can.”

  Unpleasantness, I repeated in my head. I thought of my former boss, Fred Lumpkin, and how I’d blasted his head to bits with a cop’s .44. Yeah, that was pretty unpleasant.

  Walt continued. “Since you’re married, we’re combining your depositions into one file, if that’s okay. When did you first encounter what we’re now calling ‘the sickness’? Dave?”

  “You mean, when did I first notice it?”

  “No. When did you personally come in contact with a person or persons who exhibited symptoms?”

  “The jimmies, you mean. The night of July fift
h.”

  “That’s pretty specific.”

  “I’ll never forget that date. It was the night my friend Jim Stanley came to see me. I’m pretty sure he was already infected.”

  It took better than two hours for Walt to depose Holly and me. We told him everything—how we’d left the area for Mt. Shasta. How Holly and her mother had vanished, and I’d met up with Ben and Aaron Marino and Irwin Landry. How we’d returned to Tres Marias and moved to Ram Chakravarthy’s compound, eventually to be joined by Warnick, Chavez and the other soldiers. And how we’d left that place with Greta, the only guard dog left alive.

  In a way, it was freeing to get it all out. To talk about how the Red Militia had tried to use Griffin and her brother Kyle against us. And how they’d destroyed our compound. How Holly and Griffin had escaped an ambush and I’d been taken prisoner with Warnick and the others, forced by Chavez and his men to compete in a death match with draggers in a dilapidated ice rink.

  We told them about the civilians we’d saved and how I was later taken prisoner by the Red Militia when I’d gone out searching for Holly and Griffin, who eventually made it to safety. And how we’d defeated the nailheads and together made our way back to our new compound—the Arkon Building.

  Finally, we told them how we’d attacked the Red Militia at the high school and rescued Griffin. How Ormand Ferry had died at the hands of draggers.

  “How many would you say you killed?” Walt said to me. “Like-uh-said, we’re simply fact finding.”

  “No idea. But most were no longer human.”

  “Holly?”

  “Same. They attack in hordes, you know.”

  “Yeah. Well, I think we pretty much have everything we need. Appreciate your cooperation.”

  Walt began putting the papers back into the storage box as Becky slipped her laptop into a black leather case. Everyone got up. I stood directly in front of him. He was slightly shorter than me, and I could smell a mixture of cologne and sweaty shoe leather. “Where is this information going?” I said.

  “Good question. It will be placed in an archive, along with everything else we’re collecting—papers, audio recordings, video, so on and so forth. If any government agency needs access, we can provide it. Nice meeting you both.”