Darmageddon (The Living Dead Series Book 3)

By Joseph Souza

Dar and her band of survivors must flee for their lives after a terrorist blows up the fence protecting their Boston camp. Departing in two eighteen wheelers, the group heads to Washington State to find Dar’s family.

A caravan of army troops, led by egomaniacal General Townsend, arrive in Boston to take control of the camp only to find it in ruins. His goal: to capture the President of the United States and Annabelle, one of the few ‘ghosts’ in the world who can walk freely among the dead without fear of attack.

Hungry and in need of rest after being pursued by Townsend, the survivors take refuge in a walled-in Amish compound. But all is not what it seems there. The compound, which has its own ‘ghost’, is bitterly divided and separated into two camps by a zombie-filled ditch. Dar realizes that if the Amish don’t soon change their traditional ways, they will die at the hands of the dead. Little does anyone know that a militant group of Amish youth has been secretly planning to overthrow their elders and take control.

Desperate to capture the survivors, General Townsend has plans on becoming the next President of the U.S. But first he must capture Annabelle and President Roberts so that the transfer of power is constitutional. The only obstacle in his path is the Chinese tank battalion pursuing him and his troops.

The Amish feud comes to a head. After an outbreak occurs on the other side of the ditch, Dar and her survivors quickly put up a fence to keep the zombies from entering. They must then set up an ambush and surprise Townsend and his troops.

After suffering a humiliating defeat at the hands of the survivors, Townsend manages to escape in his Hummer. He is captured and taken prisoner by the Chinese army. Rather than treating him as a POW, the Chinese view him as their new conquering leader. With winter looming, and no food to sustain his army, he and his Chinese troops return to the Amish camp and settle in for winter until they can resume their search for the survivors.

On the advice of Virgil Snow, an MIT professor, the group travels to Gentel Labs in Minnesota where Snow once worked. Run by a brilliant, charismatic biologist named Calloway, the walled-in compound appears impenetrable.

But the facility hides a house of horrors. Having lost his humanity during the apocalypse, Calloway has spent years trying to develop a cure for the plague. Chained zombies line every wall of the facility; guinea pigs for his nefarious research. Hybrid zombie children run freely through the facility. After unleashing an experimental virus onto the horde, the severity of the plague goes from bad to worse, and the slow zombies morph into Olympic sprinters.

Dar and her group must flee yet again. A Lakota Indian named Tony advises them to head to the Black Hills of South Dakota where a vast series of wind caves might serve to protect them. A mysterious undertone given off by the wind tunnels somehow keeps the horde at bay. Dar experiences a sense of community with the Lakota. It is a return to the days when they lived freely off the land, and Dar settles down to raise her son only to make a startling discovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Feb 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781618682215

Book preview

Dedication

To Marleigh, Allie and Danny for their continual love and support.

BOOK I

Chapter 1

General Willard Townsend stood on the deck of the naval cargo ship and watched as the caravan of military vehicles drove out the hull and onto the terminal parking lot. A recon security detail consisting of six armed soldiers roamed the perimeter of the port in case any of the horde slipped through the gate. From what he could tell, the galvanized steel fence protecting the terminal remained intact and the gates secure. But since the cargo ship had pulled into port, waves of the dead had arrived and stood pressing against the gates, putting undue pressure on the oversized padlock. Their guttural moans filled the air, above the grumbling engines of the cargo ship and military vehicles now emerging out of the dark hull.

After getting picked up off Nag's Head Island, he'd convinced the captain of the USNS cargo ship to provide him with enough vehicles to venture forth through the countryside, exterminating as many of the horde as possible. The captain had gladly assented and let him have the vehicles he needed. After settling on a number, Townsend sent his best mechanic down into the cargo area and ordered him to disable the computer systems and make sure that the vehicles operated solely on manual function. The Strykers' computerized systems would be shut down, including the gas gauge, oil pressure and all the sophisticated tracking devices. He knew from experience that the powerful signals given off by the horde would inevitably shut down their computer systems and render the engines and weapon systems useless, and for this reason he decided to travel as low tech as possible.

Over one hundred soldiers stood below, waiting in formation as the last of the military vehicles drove out the ramp and parked along the weed-filled lot. The faded yellow lines on the pavement were a reminder of order and inventory, in a once civilized society. Townsend counted his fleet: seven Strykers, five medium tactical cargo trucks, two fuel trucks, ten Humvees, and one flatbed carrying the Bell UH-1 Iroquois chopper. The captain of the cargo ship, a civilian, had given him enough vehicles to transport all of his troops and supplies. Deep inside the hull of the ship were more transport vehicles, and Townsend presumed the captain would one day utilize them when the time came to abandon ship. He only hoped the captain and crew knew how to operate the vehicles.

The ship, named the USNS Keating, was a civilian cargo vessel with over two hundred thousand square feet of space designed to transport heavy equipment and Army combat vehicles overseas, mostly to the Middle East. But since the Navy had ceased to exist in this post-plague world, the ship had been set adrift to fend for itself, though it still flew the American flag at full mast. The seas the world over had filled up with international vessels and nuclear submarines, most of which had gone rogue in order to fight for their own survival.

Townsend understood how lucky he’d been to get picked up by this cargo ship. The USNS Keating had been cruising just off the coast when he'd somehow managed to broadcast a weak radio signal to the captain and explain the severity of their situation. Stranded on Nags Head Island, with every bridge out of commission, he and his troops had been destined to die had that cargo ship not picked them up.

Once all the vehicles had been offloaded, he spoke to his men through the loudspeaker system, ordering them to make their way to their designated vehicles. Assignments had been handed out while en route to Boston so that there'd be no confusion once they'd disembarked. Each Stryker would carry two soldiers. Ten to fifteen soldiers had been assigned to sit in the back of each cargo truck. The remainder would occupy the Humvees and the two fuel tankers.

Suppose it’s time for us to head out.

May God be with you, General, Captain Mykos said.

Thanks for all you've done for me and my men by picking us up when you did, Townsend said, extending his hand.

You’re quite welcome. I wish you all the best trying to rid this country of those dead scum. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.

Trust me, Captain, you’ve been a huge help. The rest is up to God now. And me and my men of course.

The Captain stroked his chin, hesitating for a second.

Something you want to tell me before I leave, Captain?

I’ve got a Chinaman on board who works in the engine room. He’s not a U.S. citizen, but he’s legal, not that legality matters anymore. He stared out at the choppy harbor, where a stiff breeze blew in. We intercepted some weak radio reports just before we picked you up. As you might suspect, the goddamn seas are filled with enemy combatants. Being a transport ship, we’re a sitting duck out there, not equipped with any big guns.

What did you hear?

Radio transmissions on the seas are weak and practically nonexistent, which is why you don't see many fleets. It's every ship for itself. The first radio transmission was in Mandarin. We had no idea what those chinks were saying, so we called this Chinaman up from the engine room. About fifteen minutes later the transmission comes over the radio again. We ask the kid what they’re saying and he translates for us. Said the goddamn Chinese Navy has a fleet out there and is planning to drop off troops on these very shores. Where and when I don’t really know, General, but I figured they must be landing somewhere along the Eastern seaboard.

Why the Eastern seaboard?

Who knows? But to pick up a signal like that means they must have been cruising very close to us. At least within a ten mile radius. We intercepted the transmission fifty miles from the Boston Harbor.

What’s the purpose? Those Commies trying to take over America?

That's what the Chinese kid thought. Maybe they see this whole crisis as a way to dominate the world once things settle down, and turn us all into Commies. Maybe the plague is much worse in China. Who knows, General? You gotta figure if they got hit by this virus they must have a billion zombie gooks walking around.

So aside from fighting off the dead, we're also going to have to watch for Chinese troops patrolling the area?

Maybe they didn’t make it ashore, General. I just thought I should tell you what we heard.

Okay, Captain, thanks. Really appreciate it, Townsend said.

Hey, we're all in this mess together.

Townsend thanked the captain before making his way down to his Humvee. Despite his calm demeanor, a fire burned in the pit of his stomach on recalling the humiliation of being outfoxed by President Roberts and that cocky pilot back on Nag’s Head Island. The plague had been the greatest opportunity ever presented to him and he’d let it slip out of his hands. That Cajun pilot had convinced him that his loyalties were with him, and then he and Roberts had the balls to escape during the diversion they created using stolen Army ordnances. They’d killed two soldiers assigned to guard the airstrip, jumped into the chopper, and somehow managed to escape before the others caught up to them.

He walked down the length of the terminal, examining each and every vehicle. The two fuel trucks had been filled to capacity and would sustain them for a short while. The cargo trucks were stacked with containers of food, water and blankets. Townsend waved his arm to the first Stryker, the signal to move out.

He climbed into his Humvee, located behind the last Stryker in line, and stood over the roof and behind the M2 machine gun. Soon they'd be venturing into the horde's territory. He glanced back one last time and saw the turbines of the Navy cargo ship begin to roil the polluted harbor. The murky ocean bubbled up as its massive propellers churned through the stagnant water. Fortunately the tide was high, which would make it easier for the captain to guide it back out into the Atlantic. Townsend didn’t give the unarmed Keating much of a chance in the open seas. Without any guns to protect themselves, it wouldn’t be long before some foreign enemy took command of the ship and killed every seaman onboard.

The first Stryker crashed through the metal fence, busting the padlock and causing the gates to fly open. Townsend felt an intense pain shoot through his temple as soon as the Humvee made its way into the horde. He clutched his temple, trying to ease the excruciating pain pulsing through his skull. His eyes watered as he lifted his head and struggled to maintain his composure. Townsend glanced back and saw the horde rushing inside the terminal and past their caravan. Never before had he seen anything so horrific.

Millions of them populated the city. Everywhere he looked he saw the dead crowding the streets and staggering aimlessly for food. The ones in their path got steamrolled by the massive weight of the eight-wheeled Strykers, making it easier for the vehicles behind them to drive over their flattened, crushed corpses. Fresh ponds of stagnant blood flowed over the city streets, reflecting the sun's rays.

Townsend immediately understood the cause of his blinding headache. The powerful signals given off by the horde triggered it, and he had no doubt that every other soldier was suffering from the same debilitating effects. Pain was not foreign to him. There was a saying about pain that he took comfort in. In fact he liked it so much he had it tattooed across his chest:

Pain is weakness leaving the body.

Townsend recalled his past as they motored through the city. A star linebacker at West Point, he'd played many a game in pain, never telling his coaches about the extent of his injuries. He’d once broken his hand against Navy and played the entire second half in agony. Dings, the euphemism for a concussion, were the worst. Those dings were now coming back to haunt him and he had no doubt that his old football injuries only exacerbated his pounding migraine.

Sergeant Gallagher, situated in the first Stryker, had been given orders to head directly to the Boston Common. It had been well documented that a survivor camp had popped up and prospered in that spot. Gallagher grew up in Dorchester and knew the city well, which was why Townsend had placed him at the front of the line. Townsend smiled through blurred eyes, coming to terms with his pain, accepting it as the sacrifice they'd all have to make in order to save this country.

He couldn’t wait to see the survivors’ faces when they pulled up to the gate. It had been roughly a month since President Roberts’ daring escape, and he’d been waiting anxiously to get his hands on that sneaky bitch. The first thing he'd do when he entered that camp would be to place Roberts under arrest and make sure that she never escaped again. With the president by his side, he could fulfill his ambition to legally succeed her and become the next President of the United States. It was important that it be done constitutionally and by the book. Assuming she'd died, it would make the transition that much more difficult. Any survivors traveling with her he would terminate with extreme prejudice.

The caravan rolled through the city. Townsend stared out at the ruins, the dilapidated buildings, corpses and rusting traffic pile-ups. It resembled one of those war torn cities from WWII. Everywhere he looked the horde prowled for flesh, filling every doorway and alley. The dead stared up at them as they passed, their soulless eyes glazed over and their arms lifted in desperate yearning. He had no sympathy for these sick fucks. As far as he was concerned they were now the enemy, the scourge of the earth.

He’d never been to Boston and now wondered what the big deal was. The city looked like a dump. Growing up in San Diego, he was a Californian kid through and through. Sunshine, surfing, cold beer and blonde-haired bimbos spiking volleyballs on the beach.

Massaging his temples, he felt the Humvee jerk to a halt. He looked around at his surroundings, wondering why the caravan had stopped. Without benefit of radio contact, he had no way of knowing what had happened up front. The horde gathered below, clumsily trying to climb onto the hood. A soldier popped out of the lid of the LAV in front of him and began to communicate down the line. After a few seconds, the soldier turned toward his Humvee and began to shout something to him. Townsend popped his head over the M2 machine gun.

What’s up, soldier? Why aren’t we heading toward the Boston Common?

Sir, you’re not going to believe this, but Gallagher says we’re sitting right in the middle of what used to be the Boston Common.

Say what?

"This is the Boston Common. The camp is gone, sir. It's in ruins."

Townsend felt his heart sink. It wasn’t the end of the world—okay, maybe it really was the end of the world—but he sensed a lost opportunity. Now it would make his goal of becoming president that much more difficult. He gazed around at the rundown buildings encircling what used to be the city's most celebrated park. The horde had infiltrated every square inch of it and he realized that there was no way anyone could have survived such an onslaught. He was about to slip back inside the vehicle when he heard the sound of human voices calling out. He looked up at the buildings and saw people leaning out the windows and waving bed sheets and pillow cases. So there were some survivors. He pulled out his bullhorn and directed his driver to pull up closer to them.

Where's President Roberts? he shouted.

She's gone. A small group of them left about a month ago, including the president. I saw them from my window after those crazies broke through the fence, one woman said. ‘We’re starving to death. Could you please take us with you?"

Of course we'll take you with us. But first explain how they could have made their way past the horde?

They had a ghost with them and were able to form into a human chain. All those people connected to the chain were protected from the dead and were able to walk out of here unharmed.

Where did they go?

They headed south. The leader of our camp, a girl named Dar, talked about heading west and finding some outpost she believed existed in Washington State. Now could you please help us get out of here, General? I have three hungry children up here.

May God be with you, Townsend said, directing his driver back to the caravan.

Wait! Where are you going?

The people trapped in the buildings began to cry out, their voices echoing off the bricks.

You can’t just leave us here. You’re sentencing us to death! a man pleaded. We have little food and water left.

We have young children starving to death! a young woman shouted.

I’m sorry, people, but there’s nothing I can do. We have only enough food and water for ourselves. Townsend turned to the soldier standing on the Stryker in front of him. Tell the boys up front to head out. Due west until we can find some empty space out in the country.

Chapter 2

Virgil sat in the back end of the pitch-black eighteen-wheeler along with twenty-odd fellow survivors. It had been a month since they'd walked out of that zombie-ravaged camp with their lives intact. At first he'd thought himself one of the lucky ones, but now he wasn't so sure.

The oppressive heat and humidity made it difficult to breathe. Sweat poured down his portly face as the wheels jostled underneath him, causing everyone's bodies to rise and fall along the hard bed. He rubbed his eyes and stared into the dark depths of the cargo container, knowing full well that he should feel blessed for having escaped the Boston Common with his life intact. But hearing the moans and cries of the people sitting around him, he couldn’t envision a worse scenario. He almost wished he hadn't made it out alive.

The truck moved slowly, jostling back and forth as it traversed over the corpses along the road. This was the second of the two rigs hijacked from the abandoned truck terminal Annabelle had discovered in South Boston. Annabelle commandeered the first eighteen-wheeler and Jamaal, the burly black guy from the South, drove the truck Virgil now rode in. He had no idea where they were going or if they had enough fuel to get there. He'd heard vague mention about heading out west, possibly to Washington State, but in truth he didn’t really care where they ended up as long as they could get out of this sweatbox and breathe some fresh air.

The truck downshifted and began climbing a steep hill. The trailer rocked from side to side and for a second he feared it might topple over the cliff. He took a deep breath and coughed. It had to be well over a hundred degrees inside. He could hear the cries and gasps of the others sitting along the urine pooled floor. He'd no doubt that some passengers had passed out from the heat and he feared that many of the older ones might not make it out alive. But there was nothing he or anyone else could do. There was no way to communicate to Jamaal in the cab and inform him of the severity of the situation. The doors of the container had been locked tight and were impossible to open from the inside.

Virgil, are you there? the elderly woman next to him called out.

I’m right here, Mrs. Sweeney. What’s wrong?

"I'm so hot and tired. May I hold your hand?’

Yes, of course.

Virgil clasped her hand in his own, cringing at the idea of human contact in this overbearing heat. Lilith Sweeney was in her mid-sixties and had taught high school English at Boston Latin in her previous life. She'd lived in the apartment across from him and had been his closest friend in the Common camp.

Hold on, Mrs. Sweeney. Lie down and put your head on my lap.

Okay. She lay back and he could feel her damp hair resting on his thigh.

You feeling any better?

A bit, thank you. But please keep holding my hand just in case.

You know I won't let go.

I know, Virgil. Sometimes I think it might be better if I leave this world so that the rest of you can focus on the healthy ones.

Don’t talk nonsense. Everyone here is a valued member of our group. And trust me, you’ll feel a lot better once this truck stops and we get some fresh air.

What makes you think it will stop? There’s probably thousands of those infected things out there just waiting to get at us.

Don’t you worry. Dar will figure something out. She always has, hasn't she?

True, but Dar's only a human girl. She's no match for the plague and pestilence that has rained down upon us, she said, her voice becoming shallower. Our only hope is to put our lives in God's hands and pray that He will have mercy on our souls. Would you mind praying with me?

I’m not much of a religious person, Mrs. Sweeney.

Oh nonsense, Virgil. We all believe in something. Whether we know it or not is a different matter. Even the nonbelievers believe. It’s just a matter of opening your heart and listening to the spirit that lives all around us. And I’m not talking about religion. No, I’m talking about the gift that our creator has endowed us with. No matter what you believe in, God or no God, all you need to do is open your heart and listen. Are you listening, Virgil?

Yes.

Good. Then that means you're praying.

Virgil clutched the elderly woman’s frail hand as she closed her eyes and prayed. Despite all that had happened in the last year, he still wasn’t fully convinced that God existed. And yet he did not rule out the possibility, either. The scientist in him kept open the notion that a greater being existed even though he'd long ago stopped praying. He’d considered both options and decided that neither of them could be proved or disproved by scientific evidence, and because of that he kept an open mind. And he wanted to believe in God in the worst possible way. His father had been a Methodist minister and he’d grown up relying on his faith. As a young boy, his faith had been something he’d clung to in times of crisis. But when his older brother got diagnosed with terminal cancer at the age of fourteen, he cursed God and cast Him out of his life. As he grew older it became harder to justify the church dogma and all the rules he'd learned as a child, and he easily slipped out of that skin and began to think for himself.

He wiped his hand over the elderly woman’s damp hair as the truck veered wildly to his right. It felt as if they'd been traveling up a winding, steep hill. Screams went up as people sensed the distinct possibility of plunging down the gulley. The heat felt so stifling now that Virgil thought at one point he might pass out. He leaned back against a carton of canned goods and closed his eyes in order to reserve what little energy he had left. An infant began to scream and the sound of its pierce shrill nearly caused him to cry. He no longer cared if he died. Was life worth living in such misery, constantly on the run?

Without warning, the truck leveled out and began to slow down. Virgil opened his eyes as the sound of belching brakes signaled that they were coming to a stop. He waited patiently to see what would happen. The double doors swung open and sunlight poured in. Air! The passengers stood warily and began to head toward the exit. Momentarily blinded, he shook Mrs. Sweeney's shoulder but got no response. He scooped her frail body in his arms and struggled to carry her toward the open end of the trailer. Though blurred with sweat, and slipping on the metal floor, he could see the massive figure of Jamaal standing on the ground below and helping people down. To his relief, he looked around and saw not a zombie in sight.

Pass her down, man, Jamaal said, beefy arms outstretched.

She's fading. Hurry up and get her some water.

Jamaal took the elderly woman in his arms and carried her basket-style away from the truck. Virgil wiped his eyes and gazed out over the horizon. What he saw surprised him. The cloud-studded blue sky went on for as far as the eye could see. The air at this elevation felt much cooler than below. He could have stared at this rustic landscape all day if it wasn’t for the collection of dots moving en masse along the country roads like a colony of ants. Then it all came back to him. The horde was still out there, roaming the earth and on the prowl for human flesh. He saw them turning and snaking up the mountain road leading to this peak.

He climbed down off the truck bed and made his way onto the dirt road. The passengers lay sprawled out along the grass, gulping in cool air and fanning themselves with their hands. He located Jamaal standing over Mrs. Sweeney and jogged over to the woman's side. One of the doctors knelt next to her and poured water over her hot forehead and face.

Is she going to be okay? Virgil asked.

I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for her. Her temperature is extremely high and we have no way of cooling her down other than with water. She’s on in years and that makes matters worse.

There must be something we can do.

Sure, Virgil, say a prayer for the lady.

The woman’s breathing became labored and shallow and her skin translucent. All around him he saw people suffering from the effects of heat exhaustion, trauma and stress. But they were much younger than the old lady and in better physical shape. The woman gasped sharply, sucked in a quick breath, and then struggled to breathe. Virgil leaned over and held her hand.

I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more, he whispered.

It’s not your fault, Virgil. You did the best you could, she whispered back. Just take good care of yourself and be considerate of others. The spirit will always burn bright inside a person like you.

Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stopped breathing.

She didn’t deserve to die like this, he said, burying his head in his hands.

None of us do, Virgil. The doctor placed his arm around his shoulder and tried to comfort him. You do realize what’s going to happen next?

Of course.

I’ll take her away then and ensure she doesn’t turn into one of them, the doctor said, reaching under her body.

Wait, Virgil said, grabbing his arm. Let me be the one to do it.

You sure?

Yes, I was close to her.

Your call, but you better make it quick. I have a feeling that we're not going to be staying here too long.

Virgil reached under Mrs. Sweeney’s frail body and lifted the dead woman, then carried her up the hill toward the first eighteen-wheeler. People stood as he passed, paying their respects. Once he approached the peak, Dar walked over and stood in his way. He could see the countryside off in the distance as she stared at him with a fierce expression. Over her shoulder rested the ax and below her stood Styx clinging to her leg and swinging his toy ax in the air. She reached down into her boot and pulled out a hunter's knife and passed it over to him.

I'll do it.

She was a friend of mine Dar. I think I should be the one.

Better make it quick then. We’re not here to picnic.

He stared at her, trying to control his anger. I understand what's at stake, Dar.

Don’t let her start talking or else you’ll get sucked in by all that spiritual bullshit. You need to waste her right away. Understand? Don't matter how close you were to her.

I just want to see her off with a modicum of dignity and respect.

Like I said, make it quick.

He took the knife and watched Dar step back. Nodding, he moved past. Annabelle and the large soldier also stepped aside to let him pass. Virgil trudged up the hill and toward the peak. Sweat poured down his face as he reached the massive granite outcropping at the top. He climbed the large boulder, the sun warming his scalp, shoulders and arms, and gently placed her body along the rounded contour of the granite boulder. The cool breeze up here felt refreshing and novel. He stared out at the panoramic view of the countryside, feeling the sun's warm rays on his face and neck. Calm now, he felt like he could sit up here forever. Seconds later he heard Mrs. Sweeney calling out to him and he knew he should have already plunged that knife into her head. The woman had come back quicker than expected. He grabbed her hand and waited for her to say something.

I’m sorry I couldn’t take better care of you.

The spirit is out there even when you don’t realize it. Promise me you will listen for it. They will tell you who the chosen ones are.

Okay. He lifted the knife over his head.

I'm at peace now and have no desire to return to my old life, especially after seeing the kingdom up close and personal. Those that survive will be left to clean up the terrible mess left by past generations. Only a few will determine the future of your planet.

Please don’t leave me, he said, knowing such words were futile.

The elderly woman looked up and smiled, her hand caressing his wet cheek. The sweat had dried over her face and even her hair appeared fresh and healthy. She looked at peace but he knew that it was only a matter of seconds before she made the terrible transition to the living dead. He gripped the knife in his hands and held it over her infected head. She’d already closed her eyes in preparation of the next phase. He turned her body over until she lay on her stomach. Straddling her back and pinching her arms in with his knees, Virgil continued holding the knife. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he worked up the courage to plunge the steel into her diseased brain.

But then he felt himself getting heaved backward and tumbling off the granite boulder. He let go of the knife. His legs flew up over his head and he landed hard on the dirt below. It felt like a punch in the diaphragm. He saw the old woman jumping on top of him, but it wasn't the same Lilith Sweeney. Her lifeless eyes looked savage and her skin had the unwholesome appearance of someone who'd passed away many months ago. He crab-walked backwards in order to escape her wrath, feeling for the knife he'd dropped during the fall. She landed on top of him, and he cried out at the top of his lungs, trying to get out from under the weight of her corpse, which was now perfumed by death. Expecting at any moment for her teeth to sink into him, he fought her with all his might. The stench repulsed him as he pummeled his fists over his head in attempt to beat her back. A stream of warm, gelatinous fluid splashed against his face.

What the fu—...?

He swiped at his eyes and pushed her off him. The now headless corpse lay sprawled out over the dirt, spread-eagled and inert. Horrified, he sat back against the boulder, the warm blood pooling down in his forehead and into his eyes.

I should have let that old broad have at you, Dar said, standing over him.

I'm sorry... I just couldn’t do it.

I told you to do it quick, she said. You’re a weakling, Snow. I won't allow cowards to travel with us.

I know how it looks, Dar, but I’m really not a weak person. Sentimental, yes. But not weak.

Same difference. There’s no room for indecision anymore because one slight hesitation might cause the death of everyone else in this group. Dar leaned on the handle of the ax.

Please forgive me.

Screw forgiveness. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just leave you here?

Because I’m loyal and can help you and the others survive. I give you my word, Dar, it’ll never happen again.

I'm not buying it.

My word is all I have.

Christ, just look at you. You're a tub of lard with a heart of gold. A goddamn short order cook. And any asshole with a fry pan can master those skills. What else do you have to offer me besides your word?

My promise that it will never happen again.

Annabelle moved and stood between them.

I can vouch for him, Dar. Virgil’s one of our best people. In fact we're lucky to even have him.

"Lucky to have Snow?" She stared at Annabelle as if she were crazy. "Why are you standing up for this loser?"

He’s not a loser, Dar. Besides, we all have shit we had to deal with back at the camp. Just because he behaved like a fool in this instance doesn’t mean Virgil's useless. If that’s the case you might as well leave everyone here on this mountain, because there’s not one of us here that hasn't screwed up at least once.

Dar glared at her.

Okay, Belle, I'll take you at your word. But from now on you’re responsible for this piece of shit. If he screws up again it’ll be your ass on the line.

You won't have to worry about Virgil Snow from now on, Dar. I'll keep a close eye on him.

Dar turned and stalked off. Annabelle reached down and helped Virgil to his feet. His legs felt shaky and his entire body trembled from the near-death encounter. He glanced down and saw the old woman's severed head lying on its ear.

Don't worry about her, Virge. She's just in a surly mood today. Come on, let's head back down and join up with the others.

Thanks so much, Annabelle.

Forget it.

Dar said I'm useless. I'm not really a useless person, you know.

Hell if I know you’re not useless. I just want more of your famous home fries again. That's the only reason I saved your ass in the first place. Annabelle laughed. Lilith Sweeney was a nice lady. I'm sorry for your loss.

He nodded at her thoughtfulness.

I’m not sure what it is about you, Virge, but the one thing I do know is that you’re definitely not useless.

At least not in my other life.

Not in this one, either. She smiled. Remember when you asked me that day to go out into the horde and bring back all your books? You begged me to keep that a secret between us and I agreed. I may not have been born yesterday, pal, but I know for a fact that a so-called ‘university janitor’ doesn’t have his own office at MIT overlooking the Charles River.

Virgil looked away, not wanting to think about his previous life. It seemed as if it had taken place a thousand years ago.

Look, Virge, I’ve never mentioned that favor to anybody and I’m not about to tell anyone now. But I do know that you must have been pretty special to have been Director of the Genetics Research Lab, whatever the hell that is.

You read my files? He chuckled.

Figured you wouldn't mind for the price of getting all your books back. She poked long her finger in his chest. "Just don’t piss Dar off again. Okay?’

Virgil nodded.

I also think you should tell the others who you are and what you did for a living before this plague screwed everything up. There should be no secrets between us anymore.

You're right. I have nothing to hide.

My life used to be an open book before all this happened. I couldn't even use the bathroom without some paparazzi asshole wiping my ass to snap a picture of me snorting a line. She started walking down the hill. Come on, bro, let’s head back down and join up with the others.

Chapter 3

Corporal Eddie Brown popped his head out of the Stryker's hatch and looked around at the city square, startled by what he saw. Goddamn! he said, letting out a low whistle. The entire city crawled with the dead. They appeared everywhere, arms raised and their diseased mouths open, bloody saliva dripping from their rancid lips. Thousands of infected, maybe more. The entire country must have been filled with them. Driving with the aid of the periscope had limited his perception of the outside world, but to witness this ugly spectacle with his own eyes was something completely different.

Sweat poured down his face and underneath his khaki uniform, dripping down his arms. The temperature below had become unbearable, forcing him and Capozza to take occasional breaks. Disabling the automated computer system had knocked out the next-generation networking and software technology and in particular, the air conditioning. He pulled himself up until he was standing atop the vehicle. The angry roar of the horde filled his ears, reminding him of the Snoop Dogg concert he once attended when the rapper failed to show up at the Tacoma Dome and the crowd booed for minutes on end. Shaking his head, he looked out over the frenzied mob and saw their numbers go on as far as the eye could see. A wistful smile spread across his face as he removed his Kevlar helmet and sat on top of it. The rumble of the Stryker's powerful engine vibrated up through his legs and crotch and into his spine.

Look, the filthy rat popped outta his friggin’ hole! the soldier in the LAV in front of him shouted. Wazzup, Brownie? Trying to get yourself a nice tan?

"Shut your mouth, mothafucka. Can't you see