Dead Inside (Rise Book 3)

By Gareth Wood

“Dead Inside is a chilling crime thriller set in a post-apocalyptic community – I loved the combination of suspense, carnage and the undead!” ~ Ursula K. Raphael, Zombiephiles.com

"Dead Inside is a post-apocalyptic murder mystery done right. Wood's vision stands out from the typical zombie fare. Welcome to the future." ~ Thom Brannan

“Dead Inside is a fast paced tale dealing with the psychological repercussions of the zombie apocalypse. Communities are created, heroes step up, and people are changed - and not always for the better.”~Suzanne Robb

"Gareth Wood has built one of the most harrowingly realistic z-poc worlds I've ever explored, and then delivers an epic tale of survival and loss."~Craig DiLouie, author of SUFFER THE CHILDREN

The people of the Mission Safe Zone have a problem. Nine years have passed since the dead rose and civilisation crumbled. The Mission Safe Zone, established in the first year of the outbreak, has managed to keep thousands of living humans safe from the undead hordes.
But now people are going missing, vanishing without trace, and Sheriff Jim Reilly suspects a new threat exists inside the Wall that surrounds the Safe Zone. Reilly believes that a serial killer lives among the survivors.

For salvagers Robyn Cartwright and Amanda Martin, a serial killer is the least they have to worry about. Something is going on with the undead outside the Wall, something that could have deadly repercussions for the Safe Zone, and every living thing within it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Mar 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781618682338

Book preview

PROLOGUE

MacInnes Field

University of British Colombia

May 29, 2004

Robyn Cartwright stood in the rain with the others and waited to die. In her shaking hands she held a machete, its long blade dripping water onto the grass and weeds at her feet. Around her the survivors of the university faculty and student body stood on the lawn in front of the Aquatic Center and the Student Union building, waiting for the fifty or so scattered undead to cross the overgrown MacInnes Field. Robyn, like the thirty-three living people spread out around her, was soaked to the skin and exhausted. Days of fighting the undead and scrambling to build barricades, blocking off roads and alleys, locking doors and putting up fences, had led to this moment. These were the last of the undead inside the boundary that the survivors had established. If they could kill them all, they would be safe. If not, they would all die horribly in the next few minutes.

There's so many of them, Robyn said, shivering as she stared at the lurching crowd of rotting, animated corpses. She wasn't speaking to anyone in particular, but a young woman to her left turned her way and answered in a voice just as tired as Robyn's.

Not as many as last night, said the woman.

Robyn thought her name was Zoey, but what her last name might have been she didn't know. And Zoey was right; last night they had fought half again as many, and lost fifteen people in the melee. Robyn just nodded and turned back to watch the dead approaching. She rested while she could. Her arms and legs ached with fatigue, her heart was sick with fear, and despite that she thought if she closed her eyes she might fall asleep on her feet. The rain intensified, sending icy trickles down her spine, along her limbs.

Someone was yelling over the downpour. Get in line! Close up together, come on! Shields to the front!

Robyn thought it was Todd Larson doing the yelling. He was a jock, a big blond guy with a square jaw. Todd had emerged as a leader in this mixed group of athletes, academics, and science students. He'd cobbled together something he called tower shields, big rectangles of heavy plastic or sheet metal, with handles bolted to one face. Robyn knew what she was supposed to do, and moved over to stand behind one of the men who took up a shield. Robyn was the killer here, the one who swung her machete into the skulls of the dead things that had come to devour the living. The man held the tower shield in place, pressed to the shields on either side of him. A solid wall formed this way, though not as neat as a Roman army would have done it. This was the way they hoped to stop the undead.

Hi, Jaimie from Economics, she said to the man.

Hello, Robyn, from Astrophysics, he replied tiredly. He had a smear of grease across one cheek, and his thin beard had grey in it. He might have been a professor rather than a student, but the distinction had lost meaning weeks ago. All that mattered was that he was alive. He was also the same height as Robyn, so she wouldn't have to reach up to swing over his shield at the undead.

Here they come! Todd shouted, holding onto a shield himself. Where he got the energy to shout, Robyn couldn't imagine. Todd and his killing partner were at the far end of the line, anchoring it to the side of the Aquatic Centre so none of the undead could get around them. On Robyn's end of the line there was a Honda Accord that they had tipped on its side minutes ago. The building and the car acted as a natural funnel.

Everyone got into place just as the undead came into killing distance. They were spread out, a stinking crowd of putrescent flesh that staggered and groaned and never ceased to pursue. Five shields over to Robyn's right the killer of that team started swinging with his hammer, salvaged from a janitor’s closet in the Aquatic Centre. She could hear him grunt over the rain as his hammer impacted rotting flesh. Robyn pushed her sodden hair back out of her eyes, took a deep breath and raised her machete. All along the line the killing members of the teams were swinging pipes, mallets or baseball bats, or bladed weapons like her machete or a single fire axe. No one had any guns.

Head's up, Robyn! Jaimie called.

A man's corpse staggered against Jaimie's shield, trying to reach over to grasp him with its pallid hands. It pushed on the shield as Jaimie braced himself. All along the short shield wall the same thing was happening as the undead collided with the living. Robyn swung overhead with both arms, driving the heavy end of the blade down into the top of the dead man's skull. It struck with a sickening wet smack, penetrating the skull enough to stagger the dead creature, but not enough to destroy the brain beneath. With a twist, she pulled the blade free from skull, hair and flesh and raised it to strike again. The trick was to hit it in the same place and do more damage to the brain inside the protective bone.

Robyn swung again, the blade impacting in exactly the place it needed to. She'd gotten a bit stronger in the weeks since the dead rose, despite being hungry all the time, exhausted from lack of sleep and fighting, and having lost more weight than she ever thought possible. Her machete crushed already broken bone, sending shards into the brain beneath, while the blade itself cut deep. The dead man simply dropped, nearly wrenching the weapon from her hands. She pulled it free and held it out to let the rain wash it clean.

Good job, Jaimie said to her. Here comes another one. You ready?

The next one was a small dead woman, young and innocent looking. Her expression was a blank stare, and she reached with lacerated hands, clawing at the shield to get past it. She bit down on the top edge of the shield. It was high density plastic a centimeter thick, not living flesh, so the animated corpse let it go and opened her mouth to bite again. Robyn struck, pushing the tip of the blade into the dead woman's mouth. It severed her spine and tongue at the same time and the dead woman slid backward off the blade and dropped into the mud. Robyn gagged when she saw the severed tongue had stayed on the blade, and she flicked it away in disgust.

Along the line of defenders the sounds of fighting competed with the rain. The diminishing undead swarm pressed in, but the living had practise now in killing them, and the shields helped. All did not go well for everyone; one of the shields was pulled out of place by dead hands, and the shield bearer was taken by surprise. Three of the undead sank their teeth into him. He was pulled into the mass of the dead, who fell on him with clawing hands and biting mouths. His screams and the panic that followed drew the attention of more of the dead, who began to pour into the breach until Todd, the big blond athlete, crashed his shield into the mass of them and pushed. He shoved them back enough to restore some kind of order, and the line formed again.

The frantic melee continued for what felt like ages. Robyn swung and stabbed, sometimes killing and sometimes only damaging the dead men and women who sought to kill and eat her in turn. Finally, though, she swung one last time, crushing a dead man's temple and driving the blade deep into the grey matter beneath, and then there were no more of the dead still standing. She stopped, cold and tired beyond belief, and all around her the living looked at each other, shocked that they were still alive.

Who did we lose? Zoey asked.

Tony. We lost Tony, said a woman, pointing with her crowbar to where the shield had been dropped.

And Janet, said Todd.

Robyn only dimly remembered who Janet was. She was an artist from the prairies.

That's all? We only lost two? Robyn felt relief course through her, and also some guilt that she felt the relief.

There was no cheering, no celebration. Only utter exhaustion hung over the survivors as they stood staring at the bodies. She realised that the mud she stood ankle deep in was saturated with the blood of both the undead and that of Janet and Tony. Severed body parts littered the area, and one of the undead was still twitching where it lay, its skull half crushed. Todd noticed and stomped on the thing with his booted foot, finishing the job. The survivors couldn't rest, however. They began pulling the bodies to the fence, to toss them over. Dead bodies brought disease, and couldn't be left to rot where the survivors hoped to farm the Field. Robyn, her muscles protesting in the aftermath of adrenaline and fear, took hold of the ankles of one body while the rain continued to fall from the grey skies.

CHAPTER ONE

In the ruins of Coquitlam BC, September 5, 2013

Robyn Cartwright and Nicholas Bulman ran down the hallway of the ruined hospital, rifles held high in their hands. Her long black hair streaming behind her, Robyn leaped over a rusting gurney that had been tipped on its side and ducked beneath a long extinguished light fixture that was hanging from the ceiling. Nick sprang over the gurney a split second later, shouldering the fixture aside with a grunt. Ahead was the door that led to the rooftop patio, a rectangle of shining glass and grey-painted steel. To either side long-term patient rooms were abandoned and quiet, and light spilled onto the floor from the southern windows, illuminating all manner of debris and garbage. Behind them the dead came in a slow wave. There were eight of them, rotten, mostly naked and unaccountably still moving many years after they had died.

The undead had been wandering the hallways when Robyn and Nick had started salvaging the building. The lower floors of the hospital had been cleared two years ago, but more of the undead always seemed to find a way inside. The salvagers had filled their packs with medical supplies from a storeroom, gone outside to drop them off at the bicycles, and then come back in and climbed to the fourth floor to search for more. A storeroom there had yielded more useful things, but when they stepped back out the dead were there. So Robyn and Nick had run, dropping the bags so they wouldn't be slowed down.

At the end of the hallway was the door to the outside, a patio on the roof of the wing. It was a choke point Robyn thought they could use, and she pushed the glass door open and burst outside into blinding sunlight and warm, humid air. Parts of a picnic table lay rotting in the daylight nearby, and she grabbed the largest part in her gloved hands and pulled it over to partly block the doorway. Nick dragged another piece forward, and together they lifted it up and tossed it against the doorway.

This won't hold them for long, he said, his heart racing. They could hear the undead now as the stench of decay preceded them along the hallway. Quiet moans and shuffling feet, sounding oddly wet on the dusty tiles of the hospital corridor.

Doesn't have to, Robyn replied, sounding much calmer than Nick. Just has to force them to slow down. Remember your training.

Nick nodded and made sure his rifle was ready to fire. He looked shaken, but Robyn thought he'd be alright. It was his first time out, he was young, and they had run into more of the undead than was usual.

Moss grew thickly on the roof patio, having been unchecked for over eight years. It made the roof feel springy as Robyn backed away from the door and took a breath, made sure there was a round in the rifle's chamber, and waited. After a moment she slipped a set of cotton earplugs into her ears, motioning for Nick to do the same. As the walking corpses arrived she lifted her rifle to aim.

The undead stopped at the impromptu barrier and began to clamber over the picnic table parts. A few of them worked their jaws, making snapping and biting motions as they watched the living with glazed eyes. Robyn shuddered and backed farther away, not shifting the aim of her rifle. When the first one staggered clumsily over the table and fell to its knees she released the safety, and when it stood up she took a slow breath and settled her aim between the dead thing’s eyes. On the bottom of the exhalation she slowly caressed the trigger.

The extremely loud sound of the rifle shot echoed back to her from the walls of the hospital and the nearby buildings, while the bullet pierced the dead brain. The naked and decomposing thing fell backward into the other seven who were struggling to climb over the table parts, impeding them momentarily. Robyn worked the bolt to eject the spent brass casing and load another round, and then took a moment to look around. The roof patio was perhaps ten by twenty-five meters, had been surrounded at the edges by planters for flowers and aromatic plants, and was high enough above ground level to have remained unpopulated. It was on the fourth floor roof, overgrown with creepers and moss, and home now only to birds and small wildlife. Almost nine years’ worth of plant growth had eaten into the floor, and the footing was slippery and soft.

Nick lined up a shot, and with ease born of long hours on the target range, shot the next zombie to appear right between the eyes. His bullet splattered blood and long rotten brain matter over those behind, and the creature fell limply to the floor.

The undead had regained their footing, and two had managed to climb across the old picnic table. Robyn lifted the rifle again, her shooting mantra filling her brain with calm.

Aim for the head. Breath deep. Release and shoot. Aim for the head. Over and over, paced properly with her breathing, the lessons of her teachers kept her calm and steady.

Another shot, and the third zombie fell. Work the action. Aim for the head. She moved her aim by swiveling her hips, and took another breath. Another shot, and another dead thing was put down. Work the action. Aim for the head. The remaining four were still struggling to cross the barrier, so she waited for Nick to take the next shot.

He carefully aimed and waited for the opportune moment. It came when the next one tripped and fell, sprawling face down onto the moss covered paving stones. He fired, and the top of the creature’s head was shattered. Together they traded shots, patiently waiting for the undead to climb clumsily across the obstacles, and then putting them down with single precise fire. Neither missed even one shot.

When the last one fell Robyn stopped to reload the rifle's magazine, and then waited to see if any more of the undead showed up. Her rifle was a .308 Remington 700P LTR, salvaged from an RCMP station a few years ago. It was accurate and easy to use, and the Armory back in the Mission Safe Zone had built her a custom 10-round magazine. It was a bolt action weapon, and Robyn couldn't help but appreciate it. It forced you to take careful aim and shoot one round at a time. Wasting ammunition on 'spray and pray' shooting was not an option. Once it was reloaded she checked her sidearm, a Colt automatic pistol. Firearms discipline kept her alive, and she respected her tools.

She watched Nick move forward, careful to keep out of arms’ reach of the corpses, just in case one of them wasn't totally deceased. He also kept an eye on the hallway door.

We should go now. The shots will bring more of them, he said, aware that the decision was hers, not his to make.

Yeah, I think you're right. We got a lot of stuff, so let's call it a day.

No more of the dead came looking for them, so after a few minutes she took out her earplugs and collected her spent brass casings, then cautiously approached the door and looked over the bodies. Three women and five men, all were naked or near to it, and filthy. Most of the undead were naked now, nearly nine years after they had first risen from death. Clothing just was not meant to last so long, and most clothes the undead were wearing had fallen apart within a few years.

Nick and Robyn stepped over the bodies and went to retrieve the packs they had dropped at the far end of the hospital hallway. It was dark inside the Riverview Hospital, but enough light filtered in from windows in patient rooms and from the occasional hole in the wall that they could see fairly well. Both had a flashlight for especially dark places, but batteries were worth more than ammunition these days, so they used them sparingly.

They found the packs where they had dropped them, on the floor beside a nursing station. Robyn quickly opened hers, but none of the supplies inside had been damaged. The dead had no interest in the bag or the medical supplies inside it, only in consuming any living flesh they could catch. She stood and listened for a few more moments, but heard nothing but her own breathing.

Nine years ago Robyn had been an astrophysics student at the University of British Columbia, learning about the Big Bang, the particles that made up the cosmos, and the underlying theories that tied the universe together. Then in mid-May of 2004 the world ended. From May thirteenth of that year the grave no longer held the dead, and the things that had once been living people spread rapidly around the world, their sole aim to devour living flesh. Robyn found herself among strangers, part of a small group struggling to survive on the University Endowment Lands at the western end of the city of Vancouver. She learned to grow food in greenhouses, how to purify water from tainted sources, and also how to kill. The group survived behind the walls and fences for almost a year before the undead found a way in. In the aftermath of the carnage that followed, only Robyn and two others survived to flee into the interior. Thirty living people had died in a single night of slaughter and horrific feeding.

Robyn hauled the heavy pack onto her back and moved to the stairwell she and Nick had climbed to get here. They descended quickly and quietly in the darkness, listening often for any sounds of shuffling feet or hungry moaning, but there was nothing. At the ground floor she edged the door open a hair and peeked outside. Nothing stirred, so Robyn slipped out. Nick followed and let the door swing shut. They stood in the parking lot between two wings of the hospital, a small area jammed with the rusting hulks of abandoned cars and trucks. Beside the emergency entrance, off to the right, was an ambulance resting on its rims, all of its doors wide open. She could see a wheeled stretcher lying on its side there, thankfully empty. She walked out between the cars until she came to the edge of the lot, and looked down a small hillside to the highway at the bottom. Nick followed like a puppy afraid of being left behind.

The Lougheed Highway was a north to south connector road that linked the cities of Coquitlam and Port Coquitlam to the Trans-Canada Highway just a few kilometers to the south. It was four lanes of high speed traffic corridor, all of it at a standstill now. Cracks in the road were home to young trees, new saplings and weeds, and the grass on the lawns had been overgrown for years now, a thick green mat that stood hip-high. Beyond the road was a line of mature trees, mostly maple and ash, but some rainforest conifers were mixed in. Behind that, out of sight, was the small Coquitlam River, a tributary that fed the much larger Fraser River that flowed into the Pacific.

They kept low as they approached the road. Robyn crouched beside a rusting Hyundai and pulled out a small set of binoculars to survey the highway. To the south the road was clogged with a wide assortment of commuter cars, delivery trucks and vans, and the occasional motorcycle. There was movement several hundred meters away, and Robyn trained the binoculars there with one hand while pushing hair away from her face with the other.

A single figure walked between the vehicles, not looking into them as a scavenger would have done, but merely walking slowly in her direction. It was alone, as far as she could see, and far enough away to avoid easily. She focused and could make out the damage to the dead man's torso. It looked like the man had been run over by a lawn mower; strips of pallid grey flesh hung from his ribs and flapped as he walked. Robyn grimaced and looked away.

Just to the north an eighteen wheeler had crashed and burned, completely blocking the northbound lanes. There were no vehicles on the road beyond it for nearly a kilometer. The road was also empty of the undead for as far as she could see. She sighed in relief, since she had been half expecting a swarm to be waiting for them after having to kill the eight upstairs. Noise and motion attracted the undead.

Looks like we got lucky, she said to Nick. Let's get going.

Fine with me, he said.

Nick was a tall and skinny young man of nineteen, just old enough to have adult height, but not old enough to have filled out as much as he eventually would. With his light hair and long limbs he reminded Robyn of musicians she had known or admired in her youth. He was nervous, though. He obviously didn't like being outside the Safe Zone. His choice of career was puzzling, then. Being a scavenger meant you were outside a lot. She hoped it was just nerves, since that could be dealt with and would fade over time as he got used to things outside the walls. If he was phobic, that was another matter.

Robyn had lost whatever fear of the undead she had years ago. She regarded them with pity, they were a dangerous hazard to avoid, could be deadly in numbers, and were a severe health risk, but she didn't fear them. Many of the scavengers she knew and the work crews who ventured outside of the Safe Zone felt the same way. They respected the danger that the zombies presented, and were very careful whenever they ventured outside the walls, but the fear had long been pushed down by familiarity. Eight years of dealing with them had been a very long time to adapt to the conditions of life and death in this new world.

Robyn stood and lifted the pack to her shoulders, stowed the binoculars, and picked up her rifle. The two of them slid down the slope toward the highway and passed a reasonably clean car window. Robyn caught a reflection of herself as she passed. She was a taller than the average woman, with long black hair, the heritage of a Cree grandmother. Not as tall as Nick, but still a decent height. She had brown eyes and a sharp nose, and features that might be called pretty, but she had never thought of herself as beautiful. She was dressed, as Nick was, in a combination of civilian and military gear. She wore a sweat stained blue shirt with long sleeves, a colour people told her looked good on her, with a military mesh vest that had hooks and straps in useful places. She wore a black baseball cap with a Nike logo on it, and thin leather gloves. Camouflage pants with many pockets and sturdy brown boots she had retrieved from a ruined Work Warehouse a few months ago completed her attire.

They had left a pair of bicycles just north of the wrecked eighteen-wheeler, and it would be several hours ride to get back to the Safe Zone, nearly forty-five kilometers away. She glanced at her watch, a precious winding model from the time before the end of the world, and saw that they probably had enough time to get home if they left right away. If they didn't run into trouble, that was. Otherwise they might have to stay out overnight, in one of the safe houses established within a few kilometers of the walls for just that purpose. It was far better to be in shelter after dark, rather than wandering blindly where any dead thing might stumble into you. Certainly, using lights after dark was suicide if you were outside the walls. Light and noise drew the dead like moths to a flame.

Maybe we should head to the river, she thought, but there was no guarantee that any river traffic would be by today for them to catch a ride. Riverboats moved up and down the Fraser River between the Mission Safe Zone and the ruins of the big coastal cities, Vancouver on the north bank and Richmond on the south, ferrying salvagers and explorers, and maintaining contact with the surviving communities on the islands of the Georgia Straight, the ocean channel between Vancouver Island and the mainland. The boats didn't keep anything resembling a regular schedule.

The bicycles were weathered mountain bikes with still-decent tires and good brakes. A small trailer was attached behind Robyn's, filled with some valuable medical devices they had scavenged earlier in the day. There were a few pressure cuffs, three unopened boxes of latex gloves, as well as a small autoclave, and she strapped the pack into the trailer beside it. In the pack were scalpels and suture kits, bottles of alcohol, bandages of many sizes, and nearly fifty bottles of medicines. Robyn didn't know