Deadheads: Evolution

By Franklin E. Wales

It’s been two and a half years since the Deadhead Virus was let loose, raising the dead to walk the earth in search of human flesh. Now, as the remnants of humanity try to rebuild in the land of the living dead, legends are whispered of a warrior, part human, part Deadhead, who walks the line between both worlds.

Gage Owens longs for the day when humans are once again at the top of the food chain. Lately he has noticed a disturbing trend: the Deadhead race is evolving...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Franklin E. Wales
• Release date: Jan 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466017818

Franklin E. Wales

The author of five novels and numerous shorter works of fiction and nonfiction, Frank prefers the title of Storyteller to Novelist or Journalist. "It's a time honored tradition passed down through our parents and our grandparents," he says. "No matter what I am writing, it is my goal to entertain you with the story I'm telling." Born and raised in Conway, NH, Frank now lives with his beautiful photographer wife, Jacki, in the South Florida home they share with their two dogs and a cat named Oz (as in Wizard of). www.FranklinEWales.com

Book preview

Raw, fast-paced, and violent, with engaging characters you can identify with. If you're looking for more than that, then go buy The Horse Whisperer--this one's for people with guts —Author/Director, Joe Monks

DEADHEADS: EVOLUTION

By

Franklin E. Wales

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

EFW Publishing on Smashwords

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

Deadheads: Evolution

Copyright © 2012 by Franklin E. Wales

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return toSmashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

What the critics are saying about Deadheads: Evolution

Gallons of blood and gore, and a cast of characters you just can't look away from. I could not praise Wales enough for having the gumption to not pull any punches, and write what he knows will entertain us horror fans. -Bill Cassinelli, Bangor Horror Examiner

Deadheads: Evolution by Franklin E. Wales kicks ass. That pretty much sums it up. This is pure Saturday afternoon, sit on the patio, and turn off the phone entertainment. - John Paul Allen, author of Marquee, Monkey Love and Gifted Trust

Wales paints a visceral portrait of a world in shambles and a transforming threat. Lots of action and surprises. -David Dunwoody, author of EMPIRE

A brutal masterpiece of horror fiction- Eric S Brown, Author of Bigfoot War and War of the Worlds Plus Blood Guts and Zombies.

It stared right into my soul; like it was going to reach out and take a bite. Some very good stuff here. This could very well turn into a great series.-Eve Blaack, Hacker’s Source.

Without a doubt Deadheads: Evolution blew my mind, and was beyond what I expected. Franklin E. Wales has crafted together a cult classic which could stand the test of time. This has all the elements you want as a fan, and my hats off to him. Great work

-Angel JackaL Espino Radio Host, Movie, & Music Producer.

FRANKLIN E. WALES

DEADHEADS: EVOLUTION

Illustrations by

JOSEPH JODY ADAMS

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or person living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2012 by Franklin E. Wales. Author photograph copyright © 2012 by Jacki Wales. Artist photograph © 2012 Betty K. Williams. Cover and interior art copyright © 2012 Joesph Adams. Author caricature copyright © 2011 D. Rano

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

EFW

Publishing

Table of Contents

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Credits

Also Available

For Joseph Jody Adams

His art has enriched this book

But more importantly,

His friendship has enriched my life

Thank you, Bro

PROLOGUE

From the journal of Gage Owen, BOOK TWO:

It’s been twenty-eight months since the bombs dropped... Almost two and a half years...

Nobody really knew who started it, some say the Russians, or the Chinese, some even say it was us, some say it was the hand of God, letting us know we had gotten too big for our britches. That was the day the earth was on fire. The day that every country that had a nuke fired it on somebody else. Even a few turd-world countries surprised their neighbors by lobbing previously unknown nukes at them. Whoever started it didn’t matter, we all ended it. Cities all over the world were destroyed in a nanosecond, people there one moment were gone the next.

With infrastructure down world-wide, only the Ham radio operators kept each other up to date.

The lucky ones were vaporized in the big cities before they knew what hit them. The unlucky ones got the biological payloads that fell on the smaller cities hours later. Who sent those little bastards is unknown, though most odds were on that little bastard from the Middle East with the name that sounded like an old aftershave. The reason for that was simple: they were the only country not hit with those biological weapons. Not that it mattered much, the virus contained in those payloads spread quick enough that the entire world was infected within six weeks.

It was a nasty little airborne virus that took out your nervous system in seconds and, for all intensive purposes, killed your brain, before reanimating your body, almost instantly...with an intense hunger for human flesh and blood. Once inside a host, the virus turned blood borne, and infected anyone bit. Second generation infections took a little longer, maybe fifteen minutes before reanimating the bodies, but they still had the same desire for live human flesh. Suddenly the world became a George Romero nightmare with the living competing for the earth against the dead.

The real unlucky ones, from the small towns, were untouched, and left to try and live in this new world. That’s where I came in. Back then I had a wife, and a daughter, now I travel alone, somewhere between the living and the dead.

How I got here is all well documented in the previous volume.

Scatter like the wind

Run and scamper, hide and whimper

The dead and dawn have risen

The Dead and Dawn from The Book of Fallen Angels

1

The seemingly abandoned house faced east, and that was a good thing. Gage Owen stood in the street watching the rising sun cast its light onto the paint peeled structure through his darkened sunglasses. Beside stood him a small old man with a nervous twitch and wearing filthy clothing, looked ready to bolt at any second.

You sure this is it? Gage asked. He could hardly stand being so close to the man, his body reeked of shit and decay.

They in t-there, the man answered. They there. Me knows that. The man looked nervously at the front of the house, and then back at Gage. He wasn’t sure which scared him more, the creatures inside house, or this man wearing camouflage pants with knives strapped to the legs, blue tee shirt with the words THE TUBES printed in yellow across the front and a blue-jean vest embroidered with an American flag across the back. He took another look at the man’s chiseled face, flattop hair cut, and several day’s growth of chin stubble, and decided it was a toss up.

How do you know? Gage asked.

This my home, the man replied with a sweeping motion to the surrounding area. I see all. I see them come out at night, and return before morning.

Why don’t you leave? Gage asked.

My home, he insisted again. They not know I’m here. Can’t smell me.

That much was true, Gage thought. There was no way anything could find a human smell under the filth the old man was covered in. Gage reached into the saddlebag of his Harley Davidson Electra Glide and took out a can of peaches. He passed the can to the old man who quickly snatched it up and pulled the lid off. Well, it’ll be clean of them soon.

The old man scurried off to the side to devour his new treasure. With grubby fingers he snatched each fruit piece out and dropped them hungrily into his mouth. When the fruit was gone he tipped the can up to suck down the nectar. He hadn’t had such a treat in a long time.

Gage reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a white tipped cigar, stuck it between his teeth, and lit it. So, he said drawing the smoke deep, before the world went to hell, what were you?

The old man looked sad and confused, as if the question was alien to him. After a moment of confusion his eyes shone with some recognition. Teacher, he said, third grade.

Exhaling a cloud of blue smoke Gage nodded and turned to face the house. He had seen such people over the last two years. Good people, once, now crazy shells of human beings reduced to scavengers on the outskirts of life. Forced there by what was inside the house. He always asked. It gave him even more reason to go inside and do what he came to do.

The sunlight shown brightly across the face of the house now. That was what he had been waiting for. Gage knew what awaited him inside… the results of the biological bombs over two years ago. Not human, but not dead either. Undead, Re-annis, deaders, Deadheads, zombies, he’d heard them called a hundred different names. Gage preferred to think of them as Deadheads. They were dead from the neck up with no thought process at all. At first they had been simple killing and eating machines, but lately things had been changing, and he didn’t like the way they were heading.

It was a different game back when he had first decided his mission was to remove as many Deadheads as he could before they could remove him. Back then they roamed aimlessly about unless the smell of live humans was present, then driven mad with bloodlust they would converge on the helpless soul. Once the kill was over however, they would return back to their aimless wanderings. Back then it was like shooting fish in a barrel. Humans quickly learned that the Deadheads could smell them, which is why the teacher and others like him covered themselves in filth. Deadheads couldn’t sniff them out as easy. The last year or so, Gage had started to notice a disturbing trend though. The Deadheads were grouping, more taking shelter as a flock and nesting during the daylight when their eyes could not stand the UV rays. The fact that they seemed to be evolving into a pack mentality did not sit well with him.

Many of the surviving humans were banding together in small towns, trying to rebuild, but that life held no interest to Gage. He kept moving town to town, driving extremely slowly through any area that might have human life, letting the Harley’s big engine make enough noise to bring at least one human out to investigate. If he learned of a nest in the area, he would go in, clean it up, and move on. Gage harbored no grand idea that he was actually making a difference in the world, but it gave him sort of a purpose in the upside-down world he found himself in. He knew odds were he would eventually bite off more than he could chew and die, that’s why he kept his journal and included any and all new information he learned regarding the killing of Deadheads. Hopefully, after he was gone, someone would find the journals and spread the word. One day the earth might just belong to humans again.

As the breaking sunlight fell over the house before him, Gage tried to imagine the layout of the rooms inside. To his left was the living room, that much seemed certain from the large bay styled windows with the drapes drawn. When things got real bad, surviving people retreated to their homes and pulled the curtains, so the things walking about outside would not see them. The windows were only a space of ten feet or so to the left of the door. Most likely there was an entry hall with a stairway there in that space. That meant the kitchen and dining room, if there was one, would lie deeper in the house.

Gage checked the two Beretta semi automatic pistols holstered on his hips. The clips were loaded and the safeties were off. He removed his vest, reveling two more Berettas in gun belts crossed over his chest gunslinger style, and repeated the procedure. Satisfied he was prepared; Gage reached into the boot holster fastened to his Harley and took the Nighthawk tactical assault rifle out. The twelve round pump was full of death waiting to happen.

Best you stand away, he told the one time teacher. Don’t want to catch a stray bullet flying outside. Walking toward the house Gage drew a lung full of cigar smoke and held it, forcing himself to center his being. With any luck at all there would be a sliver of sunlight showing around the edge of the living room drapes.

Humming the Battle Hymn of the Republic, Gage walked slowly to the front door. He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but he wasn’t a nonbeliever, even in this world. It just always seemed like a good Ass Kicking song.

The door was unlocked, as they always were…What did Deadheads have to fear? He turned the knob slowly until he felt it stop, then threw the door open. As expected, the stairway was straight ahead, the living room with its doublewide entrance to the left. There was the sound of gurgling coming from the room. Deadheads didn’t talk, but rather made noises like someone about to hack up the world’s biggest wad of snot.

Gage stepped inside and aimed the shotgun into the room, indeed a slice of light shown above the drapery rod. "Mine eyes have seen the glory..." Gage belted the opening of the song out, the rest of the lyrics were drowned out in the explosion as a round from the Nighthawk caught the wooden drapery rod, exploding the room with light as the bay windows shattered and the draperies fell. The sound in the room went from low gurgling to a high-pitched screeching as the light flooded in, burning the retinas of the creatures.

Still singing Gage pumped a round each into the two Deadheads that were nearest the doorway, and stepped inside. A quick look showed at least ten of them grabbing their eyes. The shotgun exploded again