The Death Watch

By Chris Philpott and Bree Philpott

In this fast-paced adventure, a teen on the run years after the zombie apocalypse finds herself in grave danger when she discovers a stunning truth that might be the key to humanitys survival.

Twelve years after the dead rose and civilization ended, Vera White and her family remain hidden deep within the woodsand not just from the dead. Seemingly destined to a life of solitude, sixteen-year-old Vera and her family rarely venture outside their safe zone. But when their food supply runs short, Vera decides to take her younger brother on his first hunt, where she makes a shocking discovery: Josh seems to have power over the dead.

Veras discovery sets a wild chain of events in motion that throws their family into turmoil and provides Vera with her first glimpse of the bizarre new world that has evolved outside the woods. After she meets Hayden James, a young soldier who is her guide in discovering this world, new questions arise. Can she can trust Hayden? Are the dead changing? Why is the military so interested in her family? What is the Crones Prophecy? And why is everyone she loves keeping secrets?

https://magica.box.com/s/c3bj84e3zxzsjpzrhq3n

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Nov 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781480802766

Chris Philpott

Chris Philpott is an award-winning screenwriter, director, and magician. Bree Philpott is a former lawyer turned musician and copywriter. Chris and Bree live in Los Angeles, California, with their teenage daughters, dog, and parrot. This is their first novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: THE END OF THE WORLD

Vera had heard the story many times when she was younger, in bits and pieces mostly, and she could no longer always distinguish between her childish memories and her parents’ retellings. This is how it seemed to her now…

V ERA WAS SITTING on the couch next to her brother Gavin. They’d been told to sit as still and quiet as possible, but Gavin kept fidgeting. He was constantly swinging his bare legs back and forth, his eyes darting around the room. It seemed like he couldn’t wait to get up.

Though Vera was almost a full year younger than her brother (she had just turned four), she sat perfectly still, staring fixedly at her father, Arman. Arman was standing by the big window in their eighth-floor apartment, peering out through the half-closed blinds at the street below. The windows were closed and it was stuffy. Dust hung in the thin shafts of sun that streamed in between the blinds, which were almost closed against the light. Bookshelves lined the walls. The spines of the books were crisscrossed by stripes of sunlight.

All Vera could see of the city outside were plumes of smoke rising here and there in the distance. But even through the closed windows she could hear the sounds: screams, shouts, glass smashing, alarms sounding and a strange muffled howling that didn’t sound human or like any kind of animal either.

There was a cry of pain from beside her on the couch. Vera looked at her mother, Sheila who was sitting in the dim striped light next to Gavin. She was pressing one hand into her swollen belly, panting, as trickles of perspiration ran down her face, dampening the wisps of hair escaping from her long brown braid.

Sheila and Arman looked at each other. He was obviously worried, but Vera could see he felt bad too. You were right, he said heavily. About leaving yesterday.

When Sheila’s contraction eased, she answered, We didn’t know it would be like this.

The children looked up at their father expectantly. He gave them a little nod and a tight-lipped smile, trying to reassure them that everything would be okay. Then he turned back to the window.

The tall building across the wide street was on fire. As he watched, someone leaped from a top floor window, landing out of sight behind a smashed car. An overturned hot-dog cart was covered with dresses and lingerie from a shattered shop window. The streets were littered with debris, abandoned cars and bodies. The few cars still driving had to swerve this way and that to get through. Most didn’t get far.

People were running and things that looked like people were chasing them. A man in a suit ran down the street screaming for help. His cries attracted the attention of some disheveled people with blank and bloody faces who stumbled out from an alleyway in front of the man. They let loose a weird howling as they closed in on him. The man in the suit tried to evade them, but there were too many. They pulled him to the ground and he disappeared under them. Arman listened to the man’s screams echo in the wide city streets. Then there was silence. The unearthly wailing of the blank-faced people stopped.

Arman saw something in the distance. Six military Humvees, each with a large machine gun mounted at the back, and a pale green Medevac bus roared up the street, heading their way. Several people ran after them, shouting and pleading for help but the vehicles did not stop.

Then there was that awful unearthly wailing again, but this time, much louder and closer. The family, who had been listening to the horrible sounds from the street for hours, all felt a shudder at that howl. Arman ran to the apartment door. Sheila held the children tightly against her and very softly made a shushing noise. Arman looked through the peephole, barely daring to breathe.

Something was looking back. It had a decaying face with milky eyes staring blankly. It was a dead thing.

Arman had first heard the unbelievable reports of how the dead were rising up, attacking and eating the living, nearly a year ago, and for most of that time it had all seemed to happen only in isolated cases in distant countries. But everyone knew it was coming and public officials had tried to ward off a panic by avoiding terms that might frighten people like zombie or undead. Scientists used a variety of biomedical names, but there was no time to reach an agreement and in the end the name that stuck was simply dead things.

Very softly and hesitantly, Gavin said Dad? Arman could see the dead thing in the hallway cock its head at the sound of the child’s voice. Arman held his breath, turned and put a finger to his lips to silence his son. Gavin nodded.

Arman could see the door move very slightly in front of him. The dead thing was pushing against it. Arman’s eyes darted around, searching for his weapon – a hockey stick leaning up against the window across the room. He hesitated, wondering if he should risk the noise of going to get it.

Sheila, not daring to whisper, gently stroked the back of Gavin’s head to calm him. She looked at Vera, who was now staring off into space as if in her own world. Sheila thought that was probably for the best.

A crash sounded in the hallway. Arman looked through the peephole. He saw the dead thing turn its head to look down the hall. A scream reverberated in the hallway. The dead thing disappeared from Arman’s view. Another abrupt cry – a crashing sound – a moan – and then the hallway was silent once more.

Arman dashed across the room and grabbed his hockey stick. He heard rumbling outside. Peering out through the blinds, he noticed that the Humvees and Medevac bus were now pulling up right in front of their building.

The military’s stopping here, he whispered.

Thank God… Sheila breathed. Gavin was so excited by this that he jumped up, wanting to see for himself. His mother gently pulled him back to the couch.

Arman watched as the Medevac bus doors opened. Two paramedics hauled out a gurney and set it down. They wheeled it toward the front door of the building. As a soldier was closing the Medevac doors, a young mother clutching a tiny baby shoved past him and ran out into the street. The soldier yelled Stop! but she kept going. The soldier unholstered his gun and without another word, he shot her. The woman dropped to her knees. Another soldier ran up to her and grabbed the baby from her arms before the woman fell face forward onto the pavement. The soldier walked back to the bus with the baby, leaving the mother’s body in the street.

Arman suddenly felt numb. He looked at his pregnant wife. They aren’t here to save us.

Sheila saw the look on her husband’s face. She understood what he meant.

The phone rang. The display read LOBBY.

Arman and Sheila froze. Arman whispered, "We’ve got to go now." He grabbed scarves from the coffee table and gave them to Sheila, who tied them over the children’s eyes while making soothing sounds of encouragement.

Sheila took a small backpack and put it on. She picked up an old beat-up guitar and slung it over her shoulder. Their eyes met briefly and Arman couldn’t help but smile faintly at her. He placed the hockey stick in her hands and then put on his much bigger backpack and took a blindfolded child in each arm.

You have to be absolutely quiet, he cautioned the children. You’ll be just fine, Daddy’s got you.

Arman slowly opened the apartment door and peeked into the hallway. A copy of The Tempest and a package of trail mix jutted out of a side pocket of his backpack. The door of the apartment across the hall had been smashed in and inside a table had been knocked over. Broken china figurines covered the floor and a large blood smear trailed into the apartment.

They heard screams elsewhere in the building. Sheila tapped Arman on the shoulder and he reluctantly let her go first. She clutched the hockey stick tightly. They crept down the hall towards the fire escape door. Straight ahead of them, the window at the end of the hall was broken, and the terrible sounds from outside were much louder than they had been back in the apartment.

When they reached the closed steel door, Sheila put her ear to it. She could hear dripping. She pressed the door gently and it let out a grating squeal.

Immediately, two dead things emerged from an apartment behind them. When the things saw the family, they came towards them with an awkward lumbering run, letting out their unearthly wail.

Sheila ran into the fire escape, but before she reached the first step, she felt her feet fly out from under her as if she’d stepped on a patch of ice. Instinctively her arms cradled her pregnant belly as she slammed down hard hip-first on the floor.

Arman, who’d been looking at the dead things running toward them, heard the sound of his wife falling. He turned to see her sprawled out at the top of the stairs, wincing in pain.

Honey?!

Careful! she said, struggling to push herself up from the floor, which was slick with blood. Arman carried his children through the doorway and put them down at the top of the stairs. He placed their hands carefully on the stair railing.

You’ll have to go down the stairs with the blindfolds on.

Gavin pulled his hand back. I can’t!

Yes you can, Arman said reassuringly. Just hang on tight. Careful – it’s slippery.

Gavin did as he was told, and Vera followed right behind him. Sheila handed Arman the hockey stick. He helped her to her feet and she followed the kids down the stairs.

Arman turned just as the two dead things burst through the door. He hit them with his hockey stick as hard as he could, over and over, savagely, then yelled to Sheila and the kids.

Go, go, GO!!!

The dead things kept coming at Arman. A hard blow on the head seemed to stun them for a moment, but apart from that they showed no human reactions. They seemed to feel no pain and never once raised their arms to protect themselves. They just kept reaching, grabbing, clawing at Arman. He raised his hockey stick higher to get a better blow, but the stick caught on the low ceiling. One of the dead things lunged at Arman but he elbowed it in the head, knocking it down.

Sheila and the kids were slowly making their way down the slippery stairs as Arman fought the dead things behind them. Gavin found he could peek down his blindfold beside his nose to see the steps. But Vera had shut her eyes and was concentrating on the sound of the fight behind her, the wails and grunting and the smack of stick on flesh. She noticed the awful wailing sound was getting weaker.

When the sounds of the fight stopped altogether and everything was quiet for a moment, Sheila stopped, turned and looked up in apprehension. She heard running footsteps on the stairs behind her.

Is that Dad? asked Gavin.

Course it is, answered Vera.

Arman bounded down the steps, handed his relieved wife the hockey stick, scooped up the kids and ran past her through a door into a hallway on another floor. Sheila followed right behind.

Every door on this hallway was open; most appeared to have been smashed open. Sheila and Arman moved stealthily down the hall. They peered into an open doorway, where they saw stacked cases of bottled water, splattered with red. Arman thought about going in to grab one, but then he heard a gurgling sound within the apartment. They continued on.

They reached the elevator and pushed the button smeared with gore. They could hear the rumble of it approaching. Sheila raised the hockey stick.

The elevator door opened. Inside, a dead thing was hunched over the body of a young woman. It looked up at them and as it stood, Sheila whacked it in the face, hard. It didn’t seem to even notice.

Harder! Arman shouted.

Sheila hit it again; it stumbled but kept on coming.

Harder!!! Arman said frantically.

She wound up and smashed it on the side of its head – there was a sharp crack and it fell limply to the elevator floor. It didn’t move.

Then three dead things jostled out of an open apartment doorway, attracted by the noise. The family jumped into the elevator as the dead things staggered toward them. Sheila hit the button for the basement, then stabbed at the Door Close button over and over. The closing door seemed to creep at a snail’s pace as the dead things ran toward them, but it shut just in time.

The family could hear the things howling and clawing at the door as the elevator began moving, jerkily. Arman and Sheila watched as the light flashed for each floor – 6, 5, 4, 3. The elevator shuddered and Sheila held her breath, really hoping they would not be stopping anywhere but their basement destination. As they neared the first floor, they could hear the dead things’ howling grow louder, and Arman shuddered to think what would happen if the elevator stopped there. But it didn’t – it continued down to the basement without stopping.

When the elevator door opened, the hall appeared to be empty. They bolted out and ran through a hallway and to the door to the underground garage. Sheila opened the door and peeked out. Most of the cars were gone and she could see no movement of any kind, so she nodded to her husband and entered.

Vera could smell the stale oil and exhaust and hear the familiar low hum of the basement pipes and buzz of fluorescent lights. But she also heard another sound: the faint beeping of a car door, slowly getting louder as her father carried them through the garage. Gavin, keep your blindfold on, she heard her father whisper.

The family cautiously headed toward their car, which was a few parking spaces past the car with the open door. That car had been loaded with luggage and then just left there, keys in the ignition. Arman and Sheila stared at it warily and as they passed they saw a dead thing with its back to them, crouching over a body lying next to the car. The dead thing was so focused on its meal that it didn’t even notice them.

Arman and Sheila traded a look, then crept forward to their car. Sheila reached in her pocket, gripping the car keys tightly so they wouldn’t jingle, then slipped the key into the lock and turned. The lock buttons popped up in unison.

The dead thing stood up, turned toward them and let out a piercing wail. As the thing made an awkward lurching run toward them, Sheila stepped forward and raised the hockey stick and Arman tossed the kids in the back seat, shoved his backpack in after them, and slammed the door.

Get in the car! he shouted. Sheila stood her ground for a moment longer, then with all her might, swung the stick at the dead thing, knocking it on its back. She leapt into the passenger door as the dead thing scrambled awkwardly to its feet then lunged at the car.

Arman started the car. The dead thing pounded on the windshield with its fist and the glass cracked. Arman threw it in reverse and pulled away from the dead thing. He swung the car around and stopped to put it in drive, as the dead thing leapt onto the hood of the car. Arman drove as fast as he could toward the exit. He rounded a corner, tires screeching, and gunned it up the ramp leading to the street.

At the top of the ramp, guarding the exit, was a soldier. He raised his machine gun and aimed at the car speeding toward him. Arman slammed his foot on the brake. The dead thing flew off the hood and hit the soldier full force, knocking him over. Within seconds, it was clawing and biting at him and the soldier was screaming. Arman watched in horror – he almost felt as though he should help him. Almost. This was one of the soldiers that had been coming for his wife and unborn child – they only cared about the child – the rest of the family was expendable to them. And even his unborn child, his second son, would never be safe in their hands. There was no choice anymore but to run.

Arman looked over at Sheila, who nodded urgently at him to keep going. He steered around the soldier grappling with the dead thing and drove out of the garage and into the chaotic streets of downtown Portland.

Arman and Sheila squinted in the bright sunlight. The car wove wildly among smashed cars, dead things, people screaming for help, and people under attack. They passed stores with windows smashed. Those stores that had sold food or anything that could be used as a weapon were all looted and empty, while stores that sold fine clothes and jewelry looked incongruously normal and undisturbed.

They passed a familiar square with a little fountain, merrily splashing away as it always had – although now the water was tinged with pink. Sheila saw a dead thing walk out of a smashed shop as Arman was driving and was startled to realize that it was – or had been – the director at Vera’s and Gavin’s daycare. With all the horrific things they were seeing, that was the moment she was gladdest the kids were blindfolded.

For a few blocks, there were fewer smashed cars in their way and Arman was able to pull away from some dead things that had been chasing after their car. Sheila took advantage of the less erratic ride to reach around and put the guitar into the backseat between the kids. As she did, she spoke soothingly to them, telling them how brave they were and how good to keep their blindfolds on. She turned on the radio and flipped through the stations, but there was no news, or music – only static.

The street ahead of them was blocked by smashed cars. Arman tried to find a way through, but he only managed to attract the attention of some dead things feeding in the wreckage. They let out their howl and Arman backed up the car and turned onto a narrow side street. The dead things lumbered after them.

Vera, who’d been listening to the awful sounds of the street growing fainter had begun to think that the danger was behind them now, and this new round of howling upset her. She felt like this would never end. She knew her parents wanted her to be strong but now she just couldn’t help but cry. She thought, at least the blindfold will hide the tears.

Arman and Sheila heard Vera’s muffled sobs. They looked back at their children. Poor things. What they must be imagining – they would have to be completely terrified – still, better they weren’t seeing what was happening, as it was worse than anything they could be imagining at their ages.

It’s ok, Vera. It’s ok, baby, Arman said. You kids keep your blindfolds on for a bit more. This will be over soon. He and Sheila traded a look and she hit play on the CD player and turned up the volume. The sounds from outside were now only very faintly audible above the music.

"Don’t make plans for the weekend, darling,

Take a break from all your crazy friends.

Don’t make plans for the weekend, darling,

‘Cuz you know I’m coming to you then.

I’m coming to you then…"

Vera listened to the song and started feeling a little bit better. This will be over soon. It was good not to hear the terrible noises coming from outside anymore. She could pretend that this was just any other car ride – she could even pretend they were going to the park, maybe the one with the big fort you could run through. She imagined having a picnic in the grass by the woods and then feeding peanuts to the chipmunks.

Arman was heading toward another intersection that was clogged with smashed cars. He looked for some way around them but it was completely blocked. He threw the car in reverse but even as he did so, he could see more dead things running toward them from behind. He felt panic rising in his throat. They were trapped. He put the car in drive again and tried to bulldoze through the car in front of them. He managed to shove it forward a few feet, but then its fender caught on another wrecked car. He gunned it. The wheels of their car spun until smoke rose from them, but he just couldn’t manage to clear a path. Sheila looked back and watched helplessly as the dead things ran closer to them…

Then Arman heard a rumble. He looked to one side and saw a tractor-trailer speeding toward the intersection. It had been fitted with what looked like a snow plow and it was on a collision course right through the thickest clump of cars right in front of them.

Put your heads down! Arman shouted. He and Sheila looked to make sure the kids obeyed, then lowered their heads just as the tractor-trailer hit the cars.

The crash and grind of metal on metal was deafening. Their own car lurched violently to one side and their airbags exploded in their faces, then instantly deflated. Dazed, Arman glanced up and could see a car soaring overhead. When he heard it smash behind them, he raised his head…

The tractor-trailer roared past, followed closely by five more tractor-trailers and two Humvees with mounted machine guns. They were driving so fast it took only seconds for all the vehicles to pass through the intersection.

The smash had cleared Arman’s path. He gunned the engine and turned his car to follow the convoy. What a piece of luck. He followed it, staying a short distance back, trying to stay close enough to keep its protection and take advantage of the path it blazed, but far enough behind that they wouldn’t draw attention from the soldiers.

As they moved away from the downtown and through the suburbs, there were fewer people moving, living or dead. There were isolated pockets where the streets were so clogged with smashed and abandoned cars that even the tractor-trailer had to find another way through. A few times, Arman dropped quite far back, afraid they’d be discovered, and had trouble catching up to the convoy again. Once they almost lost it.

After they caught up the last time, Arman noticed soldiers in the last Humvee staring at the small car following them. One soldier stood up behind the large rear-mounted machine gun. Fearful, Arman dropped way back and the soldier sat down again. When the convoy turned a minute later, heading toward a gated community, Arman turned in the opposite direction and sped away.

CHAPTER 2: JOSHUA’S BIRTH

The second half of the story of the family’s escape was the part that Vera’s mom liked to tell. Sometimes Vera’s dad would jump in with comments like, Well, I’m not sure it happened quite like that, but the kids usually shouted him down – they disliked interruptions and never minded their mom’s embellishments.

S HEILA’S CONTRACTIONS WERE about ten minutes apart when their car began to sputter and cough – the gas light was on. Arman said nothing, but Sheila could see a muscle jumping in his jaw. The last few gas stations had been drained dry. Arman had used a knife from his backpack to cut some hose from the gas station air pump, then used the hose to siphon gas from smashed cars they’d passed along the way. And while it felt good to be out of the city, the farther they got from it, the fewer car crashes they saw. Now that they were on country roads, the only abandoned cars were also out of gas.

When their car finally stalled, Sheila watched as he carefully steered the car over to the side of the road where it coasted to a stop. After a moment of silence, Arman smiled. That puzzled Sheila.

What?

I guess I could have just left it in the road. They looked back at the children. They were fast asleep.

Sheila and Arman woke the kids and took their blindfolds off. Then they all got out of the car and grabbed their packs and the guitar. In front of the car everything was aglow in the light of the setting sun. Sheila looked back. In the far distance was a golden smolder of the city on fire and in the middle distance, what looked a bit like a mirage, a horde of approaching dead things, perhaps following them, shimmering in the sunset’s light.

The family walked along the road. Arman took an energy bar out of his pack and broke it into three. The kids devoured their pieces, but Sheila couldn’t eat, so Arman put the third piece away for later. There were no other cars on the road or signs of anyone.

After a few minutes they saw a gabled house, set back from the road. A tire swing hung from a branch of a massive oak tree in the front yard. They went up the walk together but as they reached the porch, Arman said, Wait here.

Sheila and the kids watched as he ran up to the door and knocked. Hello, anybody there?

There was no answer. Arman pushed against the door, first gently, then aggressively. The door flew open and a man stood there, aiming a shotgun at Arman’s head. Sheila, filled with dread, blurted out, Please help us!

The man with the shotgun looked out at the