Dext of the Dead (Book 2): We Are The Infected: Read online

  I just listened. Sometimes you don’t have to speak.

  “If it was something in the shots, there’s more to it. Something is wrong. Sure, it prevented us from turning if we were to die, but some troops started turning in their sleep… Out of nowhere… guys were waking up to their best friends tearing them apart. Just like the rescue station, we were eaten from the inside, but some of us didn’t turn at all. I think the vaccine, if that’s what it was, actually worked for a lot of us. We were already infected weeks before the second wave.”

  It was about this time that I felt that uncomfortable pressure of someone else’s secrets on my conscience. A vaccine? They must’ve rushed its development. That’s the only reason I can think of that would explain why it failed so miserably, but if it actually worked in some instances, then it can be perfected as long as there is an active campaign to study it properly. I asked her, “You survived a bite, and that’s all fine and well… but what if you turn out of nowhere like the others?”

  She looked at me square in the face and replied, “I don’t know, Dext. I really don’t.”

  I stared at the ground as my mind made a feeble effort to process all of that. I said, “Well, it hasn’t happened by now, so I doubt it will at all. But you realize that the others aren’t going to be pleased to hear this, right?”

  She huffed and said, “No shit, Sherlock.” She smacked me on the back of the head, and my teeth clicked, as usual.

  I nodded and suggested, “I’ll watch you, and we can tell the others when the timing is better. And look, Wyatt was just mad. He didn’t mean what he said back there. No one thinks you’re at fault for Junior, and shooting Tom in the face in front of his daughter was simply not an option. The results weren’t what we expected, obviously, but that’s the risk when you’re left to decide between two things and they both suck. Wyatt’s just a kid… We can’t forget that.”

  She waved it off and said, “I’ll take it on for him any day… He’s been through enough.” She smirked and added, “Besides, I have plenty of demons, and they love company.”

  I kissed her on her forehead and left her alone. And before you get all bent out of shape, it wasn’t a romantic kiss or anything. Kylee’s like my sister for Christ’s sake… except badass… and hot… but not in like an incest kinda way… Know what? Forget it.

  Entry 54

  The sign on the side of the road said, ‘COLUMBUS DEAD. GO AROUND: 270/SW to 70W!!!’ We stopped atop a hill to stretch and looked down at Columbus. It seemed so quiet. All the typical noises were no longer there to be heard, and the streets were filled with the dead. Sleepers, neos, biters… all types, and they were everywhere. Anyone dumb enough to drive into that city was never going to be seen again. There were clear signs of looting and fires as we each took turns on the scope, surveying the situation down below.

  Rebecca said, “Yeah, it’s dead all right. There’s nothing left.” She leaned idly on Trey, who seemed quite comfortable with her contact.

  Wyatt stood with Kylee, and it was good to see that there was very little tension between them. The last thing we needed was tension within the group. Cutty suggested, “Paint on dis sign look fresh. Dey can’t be too far up ahead. Might could catch ’em today if we haul ass.”

  Trey was like, “Probably could, yeah. Cutty did good at the store, so we got food. What’s the fuel situation look like?”

  Kylee said we were all right to get around the city, but we’d have to scavenge on the other side.

  Wyatt looked at his watch… one of those nerdy, calculator shits. “Helluva way to spend a birthday,” he said, hinting.

  I was like, “Birthday? Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Kylee joked, “Aww, our little man is fifteen!”

  I looked at the sign and then at the boy and then at the sign again. Screw it. Gotta appreciate the little things.

  The hill was a nice vantage point against any incoming threats, so we set up shop for a little bit. We set about unpacking some food, and I grabbed some tinder and wood for a fire. I was trying to light the shit, but the Goddamn lighter was out of fluid. Couldn’t find a match anywhere, either.

  Rebecca came over and chuckled at my predicament before asking Kylee if we had any batteries. Kylee nodded to the rear of the jeep, and Rebecca returned shortly with a nine-volt.

  She called out to Trey, “Hey, Trey! Where’s that Brillo pad we grabbed at the pharmacy?”

  Trey was about to answer when Wyatt piped in to tell her it was in his pocket. He tossed it over to her. Rebecca laid the tinder on top of the Brillo and touched the two terminals of the nine-volt battery to the steel wool. It smoldered a bright orange before the tinder bundle started to smoke. She blew lightly on it as she pushed the brillo away, and the tinder burst into flame. She stacked some other twigs on top and backed away, exclaiming, “Voila!”

  Cutty asked her, “Where you learn ta do dat?”

  She chuckled girlishly and answered, “Trey. Duh!”

  We gathered around the fire and ate some of the stuff that Cutty had scavenged, and when we were through, I sat back and had a smoke. Cutty went to the jeep and returned with this little pack of cupcakes. There was only two, and they were stale as hell.

  Kylee teased, “Holding out on us, were ya?”

  To which Cutty grinned guiltily, saying, “Dis ma private stash.”

  Trey took a small stick and lit it in the fire before stabbing one the cupcakes with it. We sang “Happy Birthday” for Wyatt and shot the shit with each other while he merrily grubbed his stale-ass cupcake.

  As we loaded up and put out the fire, everyone froze as a low rumble growled throughout the campsite. We all armed ourselves and took up positions as we waited for the inevitable trouble headed our way. The rumble grew louder and louder until, finally, we all realized at the same time what it was.

  Sooof!

  Two F-16s shot across the sky so fast that I almost pinched a nerve in my neck trying to keep them in site. They disappeared so fast, it was like they were never there in the first place.

  Kylee exclaimed, “They’re heading west, too!”

  We were out like a boner in sweat pants. (Copyright, Junior—Date: 1AO)

  Letter II to SSG Chalmers

  To: SSG Chalmers

  Fr: Col. Lang

  Re: Donald Peel

  Date: Jul 7th, 1 AO

  SSG Chalmers,

  As you know, in the early ’50s, we began experiments to prolong the life expectancy of modern man. The genetic material that was initially used was from a source that is, to this day, a highly sensitive matter, and perhaps I’ll speak to you about it if it becomes necessary to the mission. Contrary to rumors, the Necro-Animetric properties were a well-known side effect of the Lifespan Extension for two decades, and it’s a miracle we dodged an outbreak for as long as we did. When it mutated and began to prolong life after physical death was when we lost our grip.

  The relationship of Subject 17 to Kylee Peel is no coincidence. In fact, I handpicked Donald Peel because I knew he was the right man for the project. Donald Peel was a man with no biological family whatsoever. He was of a strong genetic makeup and in exquisite health.

  Subject 17 was also the first human subject to show the types of results we had sought for nearly sixty years! Cells in his body were the first to show not only a stability of structure, which was highly resistant to the Necro-Animetrics, but they also showed a marked stall in the aging process.

  Subject 17 did, in fact, have contact with Kylee Peel, but it was only after he became stable. I introduced them, and their relationship began during the developmental phase of the vaccine for the Necro-Animetrics, though it saddens me that a cure may never be achieved. I was monitoring both of them throughout their relationship, and I can assure you that he never compromised the project. You may be wondering how I can be so sure. Kylee Peel’s maiden name is Lang. She is my daughter. It was my hope that they would eventually produce a child that had the same qualities as Subject 17 to prove
a number of outstanding theories.

  If she is still alive, I want her found. Bear in mind that while you are gathering all sorts of valuable intelligence from these writings, the information contained therein is still unreliable until we can confirm its validity with an eyewitness account. This Mr. Baxter, or Dext, as he calls himself, could have embellished the details or, worse, lied outright.

  Figure it out.

  - Col. Lang

  Entry 55

  Going around Columbus was surprisingly easy. The traffic was at one point snarled up badly, but there was a path cut straight through, which I can only assume was cut by the military. It was weird. It was like a mirage in the desert sometimes where I would almost swear that we could see them in the distance up ahead, but we could never quite prove it.

  Trey’s been making me nervous as hell because he’s constantly tinkering with shit that goes ‘boom’ in the back of the jeep. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard him say, “Oh shit, whoops!” Look, when someone is toying with explosive shit, the last thing you wanna hear is anything remotely resembling ‘whoops.’ He justifies it well, though. He just says, “If you had to go out, would you rather go quick and painless or screamin’ like a bitch?” I don’t even bother giving him shit anymore.

  As Kylee predicted, we were on about a quarter of a tank when we hit the other side of the city. Everyone knew by that point that you never ever ran a fuel tank down to ‘E.’ We always filled up, when possible, at about a quarter of a tank. The real problem was that we hadn’t really had to scavenge hard for fuel in a long while because the Haven was tightened up that way. Siphoning was always an option, but I’ve seen enough highway herds to know that it’s a last resort. We all would rather hit a quiet side street or housing complex for shit like that. When you’re in close quarters with some places to break up your stride, running and dodging is so much easier. Geeks can’t process obstacles like we can, so gettin’ your ninja on is the way to go… at least for me anyway.

  Kylee pulled off the main drag and onto a rural road. The area we were in was devoid of any major housing, but the plan was to maybe find a house that was abandoned in a hurry. We were losing light as well, which is always disconcerting. A place to shack up would be ideal since catching up with the military seemed to be, once again, an exercise in futility for today. I was really hoping Trey was right when he said we could probably catch them today. Dammit.

  A few miles in, Rebecca spotted a driveway, so we pulled the jeep off and followed it for about another mile. When it opened up, we saw this old, two-story house that looked empty, but the two trucks parked next to it were looking like a real good opportunity, as was the shed. Sheds mean lawnmowers and shit. Lawnmowers and shit mean fuel.

  Wyatt pointed to the house and said, “That looks weird. Why are all the trees cut down?”

  It was pretty strange, I’ll admit. The surrounding woods were cut back for twenty yards. They made this cool-looking sea of stumps and brush.

  Cutty was the only one that answered Wyatt, but it was a worthless, “Dunno. It do look weird tho’.”

  Thanks for nothin’, Cutty.

  We stopped the jeep at the stump line and hopped out. Once again, complacency will get you fucked up, and we were about to learn that lesson for the fortieth time.

  We were walking together in a huddled group (stupid), and just as we were within fifteen yards of the house, I blacked out.

  I regained consciousness completely stuck underneath Cutty’s stinky, fat ass. Remember, we hadn’t showered in nearly a week, so the funk of Cutty-balls was megastrong. I struggled initially to push him off of me, but stopped when I realized (A.) it was a waste of time trying to move him and (B.) we were in a Goddamn pit about eight feet deep… a deadfall.

  Everyone seemed to be okay for the most part, save for Wyatt bitching about his ankle and Rebecca holding her head like she was fighting a migraine. Once Cutty moved over, I felt a nasty twinge in my own shoulder. I was all right, though. Naturally, a simple boost would get us up and out, so I told Cutty, “Yo, lemme get a boost so I can see what’s up.”

  What the hell? I was talking like a black guy again.

  Anyway, I stepped into Cutty’s ham-sized hands and peeked over the edge. It was some scary shit! I was face to face with the biggest fuckin’ dog I had ever seen in my life. It looked like that nasty Zuul thing from Ghostbusters way back in the day. I swear on all things holy that it had teeth the size of steak knives. Okay… I’m lying like a motherfucker, but they were pretty big. It growled at me, like dogs tend to do, but in my mind it sounded like a Harley going 60 mph. I fell back into the pit and crab walked to the opposite side. All I wanted was some distance between me and that scary-ass mutt.

  I was stammering like an idiot and pointing up while everyone looked at me quizzically.

  We heard a man’s voice shout, “Fart! Git ’em, girl!”

  Umm… yeah, you read that right.

  The barrel of a shotgun peeked over the side of the pit followed by the visage of an older man in his early to mid-sixties. He had the most epic ZZ-Top beard ever. Dude looked like a wizard, except he wasn’t dressed in some fresh-ass robes. He looked like a welfare Gandalf, all decked out in a stained tank top and jeans. He peeked into the pit and said, “Well, looky what we have here… Whatcha think, Fart?”

  The dog gave a slight huff, and Gandalf replied with, “Yep… I ’pose your right. They don’t look that tough to me either… ’cept that big one.”

  He addressed us directly for the first time with, “What y’all doin’ here, anyway?”

  Rebecca held out her hands submissively and said, “We’re just scavenging, mister. We don’t want trouble. We’ll be on our way if you let us outta here.”

  He lowered his shotty and answered Rebecca, saying, “Oh, I’ll let you out, all right. But if any one of y’all act a fool, I’ma let Fart here loose on you.”

  I had to interject here for a second because, regardless of the gravity of the situation, I was laughing my ass off on the inside. I was like, “Um, your dog’s name is Fart?”

  He replied, “Yup, she’s silent but deadly. So don’t fuck around here. You’ve been warned.” He held out his hand and pulled Rebecca up. We all followed suit, but it took four of us to drag Cutty out.

  We dusted ourselves off and surveyed the situation. Gandalf cradled his shotgun in his arm, and Fart sat there content at a signal of the old man’s hand. “Murphy’s the name… and you’ve already met Fart. Let’s go inside. Don’t want no dumbshits gettin’ wise to us. Bad enough one of my traps is sprung. Before nightfall, y’all are gonna fix it, by the way.”

  And that was how we wound up meeting Murphy and Fart, who are currently entertaining the others while I sit here being antisocial, jotting down this ridiculous turn of events. I suppose we’re gonna have to clue him in on our westward situation over dinner.

  Entry 56

  So, my initial judgment of Murphy was way off. I kinda figured he was just another country yokel with a fifth-grade reading level, but the dude is way smart. In fact, he’s a retired civil engineer with multiple PhDs. He just enjoys the simple life, and his southern accent belies his intelligence.

  He told me that he’s been entirely self-sufficient since the ’80s after his wife passed away. His setup is so efficient, we’re just in awe. We’ve spent the evening chatting quietly by candlelight, and it’s been quite pleasant.

  While everyone was sitting around and listening to him, he said, “They made a piss-poor attempt to evacuate the city during the second wave, but it crashed and burned. I never had any intention of leavin’ anyhow. I tell ya, though, I been thinking about it more often lately… leavin’. Dumbshits seem to be migrating out of the city, an’ I’m gettin’ more an’ more of ’em on the property. Had to cut back all the trees just so I could see ’em comin’. The traps used to do nicely. If it wasn’t a dumbshit I caught, it was dinner… so it was a win-win. But now, I’m mostly just catchin’ the dead, and
on the rare occasion I do get some dinner trapped, the dumbshits are already on it and feeding by the time me an’ Fart get to ’em. Ruins the meat, ya see. Dunno about you, but I ain’t eatin’ after one of them things. You oughtta see Fart get at them dumbshits, too. She tears ’em to pieces.”

  Rebecca asked, “She’s all scarred up. Is that from the dead?”

  Murphy nodded in the affirmative.

  Cutty also inquired, “An’ dat don’t kill her? She don’t get sick or nuffin’?”

  Murphy told us, “Nope. It doesn’t affect animals like it does humans. Fart here’s been bit and scratched more times than I can count, and she’s as fit as a fiddle. I just patch her up and keep an eye on the wound until it’s healed up.”

  Fart rolled over lazily, and Murphy patted her on her belly. “If she’s relaxed, I’m relaxed. Fart always lets me know when trouble’s around.”

  Trey told him, “We saw some jets fly overhead earlier today. Did you hear that?”

  Murphy chuckled slightly and replied, “Yup. They been doin’ that on and off for a week or two now—always west. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen them goin’ in a different direction.”

  Kylee offered, “We know there’s a military detachment slightly west of here, and they’ve been just ahead of us for a few days now. We’re going to try to catch up to them. They’ve been evacuating people as they move. You should come with us.”

  Murphy snorted derisively. “Then y’all can keep on going in the morning. I’m stayin’ put. I got no interest in that.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what the hell he meant by that, but he certainly sounded like he knew something we didn’t. I pressed him a little bit and asked him to clarify.

  He told us, “I seen the evacuation signs… Kilo Company and all that. I seen how they’re leadin’ everyone for ‘safety.’ Lemme ask y’all somethin’… Y’all ever actually see them yet?”