A Bittersweet Victory

By Daniel Cotton

You can’t outrun the dead and you can’t trust the living as the zombie apocalypse rages on in the third book in the series.

Life is a winding road full of twists and turns, one can never be truly prepared for all the unexpected bumps and bends that loom ahead, or the pitfalls that derail us from our path.

Vida Calavera is about to learn this first hand when an evening out with her friends turns into a waking nightmare. All of her plans and aspirations for the future will be dashed in an instant, her world will crumble down around her as the dead rise up. Unable to get home she is lost, vulnerable to whatever may lurk around the next turn. Vida is heading straight into danger with death on her heels, but who she trusts with her life just might be the one who takes it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jun 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781618682956

Book preview

1

So, what are we in for?

I told you: house full of zombies, strictly Romero rules, stupid and slow. Why? Are you nervous?

A bit. Lloyd leans forward between the front seats of the van. No one’s ever made it out of there alive.

Then we’ll be the first, the driver says. As long as we all keep a level head and work as a team, at least one of us will survive.

I still don’t get why we’re doing this, the newest member says from the passenger seat. Halloween was last month. Can’t we just go to a club?

No, Vida, we can’t, Brandon says in frustration while trying to keep his tone in check. I fought like hell to get these passes. We’re damn lucky the guy that runs the Zombie House decided to extend its season. He’s making a killing with this whole zombie craze. I know I was getting sick of the same old haunted house. Brandon tries to enjoy the anticipation, the thrill of knowing soon they will be there, but this is a difficult task since the person behind him is bumping his seat, turning his eagerness into aggravation. Vicky, stop hitting my seat!

Sorry, the drummer for the Dogs of War apologizes for her irritating percussion, which isn’t a product of nerves but stems from her addiction to diet pills. I wish we could have invited…

Don’t you dare! Brandon glares at her in the rearview, like a parent warning an obstinate child. Don’t you dare say his name in my van! We’ve talked about this. Dustin Barnes is a douchebag and the band is better off without him. I can’t wait for Ray to get back from vacation so I can have him officially banned from the store.

Vicky’s legs are bouncing now, picking up the rhythm her hands aren’t allowed to make. Can’t we wait until after the Fallen gig to tell him?

No!

But it’ll break his little heart.

I don’t give two shits about his little heart, Brandon says. He’s poison for the band! The only reason he’s been around this long is because we needed a guitarist and a car. Now we have Vida and my new van. You guys weren’t even supposed to tell him about Fallen! It’s not my fault he dropped outta school when he heard about the gig, the dumbass.

Vida is replacing this guy she’s never met and she feels really bad about it. Her band mates have described him several times, and told her that she must have passed him in the halls at school before he dropped out. She just doesn’t recall seeing anyone that matches the description: sculpted, black ‘pretty-boy’ hair, trying-too-hard knock-off rocker clothing.

The four fall into silence as they cross the Washington Bridge heading north. Vicky ceases her constant drumming to lay her palm against the window for the entire journey over the expansion. A superstitious habit she and the other girls adopted when riding the bus. It’s supposed to bring good luck for the rest of the day. Girls from Vida’s hometown had a similar ritual for making wishes, and she notices this is the only time Vicky is perfectly still until they reach the end of the bridge.

The young group has just turned left onto the road that will take them to the Zombie House when blue and red lights bathe the interior of the van.

This is the third cop car tonight! Brandon indicates his intent to pull over as he slows. Vicky, are you holding?

Not anymore, she assures him. I swear.

Brandon moves to kill the engine and crank down his window, but the police cruiser just blows past them. The false alarm has the band breathing a sigh of relief. They follow the diminishing strobe until it pulls off the road.

Brandon inches past the driveway the squad car has pulled into, to the dismay of those with him. It has joined two others at a large white house that serves as the county’s funeral home. It’s an odd scene. All the lights in the place are on from the basement to the attic.

God, Brandon, what’re you doing? Vicky says. This place gives me the creeps!

Really, man. Lloyd shivers and rubs his arms. Speed up.

Hold on. Brandon is in awe of the sight. Officers get out of their cars and proceed to the entrance.

What’s so creepy about this place? Vida asks, thinking there has to be more to their reaction than just the nature of the business conducted within. The three story Victorian looks rather nice and inviting.

"This is his place," Vicky whispers, as if she’s afraid to incur the wrath of whoever he is.

Who? Vida is relatively new to the area, so she is unaware.

Waterloo’s own living urban legend, Brandon brings Vida up to speed, along with the van. Mortie the mortician. Rumor has it he has sex with his clients.

Gross, Vida says, before Lloyd startles her by springing up from the backseat.

It’s not a rumor. It’s true! the bassist says. My lab partner, Jake’s best friend, had an aunt who was treated by him. He told me that she smelled weird at the funeral. You know, like she was full of Mortie’s…

Your lab partner is a fucking moron! Brandon says. Of course she smelled weird. She was fucking dead. It’s just a rumor that got out of hand, like the one about the Baily brothers and their sheep.

Actually…

If you’re about to tell me that you know someone who knows someone else that can confirm it, I’m dropping you off at Mortie’s.

Never mind. Lloyd hangs his head.

Being so close to the Zombie House excites Brandon, so he picks up the beat Vicky is putting down on her legs, tapping his fingers on the wheel. He’s been a zombie fan for as long as he can remember. This opportunity is what he has been dreaming about for years. The moment he learned they were changing the old haunt into a survival horror scenario he knew he had to get tickets.

It pains the vocalist to slow down, but there are cars parked along both side of the road, giving him no choice. He doesn’t want to risk hitting one of the vehicles or a person stepping into the street, thus delaying his adventure. It’s all spill over from the parking lot. People who decided to pay a higher price at the door, rather than pay for passes like Brandon had. The forethought includes parking privileges.

A man waves them into the lot with a glowing green baton after seeing the laminated badge Brandon proudly holds out. The panel van is parked in an available spot. Farther away from the house than Brandon likes, but it’ll have to do.

He takes in the old haunt. It looks the same as it does every year, with the exception of new stockade fencing that was strategically erected to block the view of the dwelling. Brandon suspects it is meant to shroud the points of entry used by the dead from the public.

Even this late in the year, so far from Halloween, there is a line of folks waiting to get in while watching the complimentary horror flick projected on a sheet hanging from an oak tree. The horror classic flutters in the breeze. The image of a man’s face splattering with gore as he lops off his own hand with a chainsaw is distorted by the waves in the fabric.

The Dogs of War exit their ride and are stunned by the chilly air and the sounds of the roaring chainsaw.

Lloyd blows into his hands. They say we’re in for a cold snap.

Who says that? Brandon speaks up. Your lab partner’s best friend?

Um, yeah, actually…

Just think, guys, in fifteen minutes we’ll be able to jump in front of all these chowderheads and enter. Brandon can barely contain himself. Purchasing a pass in advance allowed them to choose their start time, and grants them head of the line privileges. The line in question is composed of the usual horror aficionados, but this year a lot of them are dressed up. Some wear rags and grotesque makeup, others decided to come as their favorite zombie-fighting heroes, and there are some that chose a more simplified costume, the bloody bandages of zombies yet to be.

The house rivals the funeral home they had driven past in size, though the sprawling graveyard that starts at Mortie’s extends to the backyard of the Zombie House. All the conventional clichés have been removed from the rear of the property and replaced with tombstones that seem to blend in with the real ones in the cemetery. Only a short stone wall breaks the illusion. Brandon hopes the layout inside hasn’t been altered too much. He’s done the old haunt enough times he can find his way around blindfolded.

Shivering from the cold, Vida asks, So we go in and get attacked by zombies, then what?

We try to survive, Brandon tells her. See that old truck? The keys are somewhere in the house. Whoever finds them and gets into the truck wins!

$500 dollars, Lloyd says. That’s each. Right, Brandon?

Yup, anyone in the truck when the ignition turns over wins. If one of us dies in there, we’ll still split the winnings out equally. But that’s the real prize. Brandon points above the concession area.

At the center of the lot behind a counter made of folding tables, above all the over-priced snacks and drinks, is a piece of plywood that wobbles in the breeze. Upon this shabbily constructed wall are t-shirts. One proudly hangs at the top, announcing: I ZURVIVED THE ZOMBIE HOUSE.

The shirt’s intentionally misspelled proclamation has been silkscreened above a black and white image of the house, minus the wooden barrier. From a graveyard beyond, zombies stand in awkward poses. Below it is a shirt those who fail to win must settle for. Pre-stained with bloody handprints, it reports the person donning it got ‘Beefed’ at the Zombie House.

What’s ‘beefed?’ Vida asks.

Killed. Eaten. Mauled. Mutilated--

Thanks, Lloyd! Her stomach turns from apprehension.

Don’t worry, Vida. With his thin blue hoodie, Brandon envelopes his girlfriend from behind to warm her up and ease her nerves. Stick with me and you’ll make it out alive.

Promise? She snuggles her back against his body. She isn’t dressed to be out in the cold, but she had expected to be alone with her boyfriend on a date. Not that she doesn’t love her band mates. It just would have been nice to have her man to herself.

Cross my heart, he swears. Even if it means sacrificing these two.

Hey! Vicky says.

Just kidding, Brandon says, but the manic drummer still shoots him a scornful look.

Upon meeting Vicky for the first time, Vida noticed a peculiarity to her face that she couldn’t put her finger on. The girl has a unique look, an ‘endearing oddness’ that she hasn’t been able to discern until this very moment. It’s her eyes, Vida thinks to herself as she regards her friend’s dark eyes that are cute and small like a mouse. She’s the only member of the quartet that doesn’t seem affected by the cold. Even Lloyd is rubbing his well-developed arms against the chill. Vicky practically vibrates, but it’s more as if standing still is painful for her.

With plenty of time to spare, they casually stroll to the head of the line. Those who have been waiting for hours scowl at them since their move to the front can only mean an even longer wait.

We’re here for the 1 AM, Brandon tells the greeter.

You’re on deck, the ticket taker says without passion. She allows them to pass by, parting a weathered cable end from a post. The haunt’s equivalent to a velvet rope. There’s a group finishing up, but they may go into overtime.

This can go into overtime? Vida asks, not really looking forward to the allotted time let alone the idea of being in there longer.

The woman groans. Tickets are good for half hour increments. If anyone survives beyond that they have another half hour to find the keys and get out. It’s rare, but it… She looks away, distracted by a voice in her earpiece. Beefed? All right.

She performs a quick count of the people in the on-deck area, the four new arrivals and three others that must have also purchased passes in advance, then addresses the fans in the pay-at-the-door line, All right, screwheads, listen up! I can take three more!

A man and wife in their late thirties, and way out of their element, step forward with their teenaged son. Mom and Dad are nervous, but junior is grinning from ear to ear as they pay for their admittance and are allowed past the rope.

Ten wait in the wings: the Dogs of War, the newly admitted family, a pair of nearly identical blonde ladies, and one serious looking young man standing off to the side alone.

Brandon plans to talk to everyone he can about their upcoming experience inside, and his attention is first drawn to the loner who is wearing one of the ‘Beefed’ shirts. He’s been here before, he thinks as he removes his arms from around Vida to approach his peer, muttering that he’ll be right back.

Hey. He extends a hand to his fellow competitor. I’m Brandon.

The young man eyes him suspiciously but accepts the greeting. Josh.

You’ve been through the house before, I see. Brandon points to the young man’s shirt, hoping to keep him off-guard with the unexpected pleasantry.

Yeah. Josh takes back his hand.

Any pointers?

Don’t die.

C’mon, man. We’re in this together. My band and I are about to enter the valley of the blind here, Cyclops. Let’s be friends.

Josh looks away. A slight shake of his head tells Brandon he won’t be easily cracked. He needs to try a new tactic. We have a deal in my group. Split all winnings even if some don’t make it out--

I want the shirt, Josh says.

You stand more of a chance getting it with us, right? I’ve talked to dozens of people who have left here with the one you have on.

I’m listening.

Vida watches her boyfriend talk secretly in the corner with another guy. He had left her and taken his warmth with him, leaving her colder than before. She finds it baffling that he can be so sweet to her one moment and completely oblivious and insensitive the next. It was his sensitive side that first attracted her to him, when they had met at Ray’s Records after she had first moved to Waterloo in the spring. She still remembers the soulful, powerful lyrics he sang when he should have been working. Now she wonders if he wants that t-shirt more than her.

The greeter that let them in enters the cordoned area. All eyes here! I’m going to introduce you to your weapons."

She holds a paintball gun over her head. Some of you may have used one of these before. Others probably not. It’s fairly simple…

Should we get Brandon for this? Vida asks Lloyd while the woman recites her practiced tutorial without emotion.

Naw, he’s used one before.

Everyone starts off with twenty shots. Hopefully you can find one of the ammo bonuses hidden throughout the house. Head on through the front door. There are clipboards with waivers that you need to sign or you can’t play. Your time begins when the hero arrives and starts the story. Good luck. You’re gonna need it.

2

More lambs for the slaughter, Trent. You’re on in five.

The owner and self-appointed hero drops himself into a swivel chair beside his technical producer, Dwayne, hoping to catch a breath before the next set. He appraises the newest batch that enters on one of the many monitors that oversee the action. Good looking group. Very photogenic. Record on all cameras with this bunch. We’ll use their footage for next year’s commercials.

Trent Tilden bought the impressive property as a foreclosure when he was just a nineteen year old horror fan with a dream. His goal was to open the greatest haunt around. The place was once a hotel until a wealthy man bought it for his home. The gentleman’s abhorrence for parting with his money robbed him of his riches, and the place just sat in disrepair for the better part of a decade until Trent came along and invested a modest inheritance in it.

The place has come a long way since, though it has rarely been cleaned. A lot of the original dust and cobwebs still remain. The home’s uneven, creaky floors and stairs have never been repaired, and their hardwood remains scuffed and worn. The walls are still marred from abusive repo men who were called in to remove anything of value. What started with just Trent and his buddies dressed in costumes, jumping out at visitors from closets and around corners, evolved. The basement became an unholy slaughterhouse with rattling meat hooks hanging from the rafters. People once had to avoid these while trying not to step in the carnage strewn on the floor. The rotting remnants of a massacre were but scraps salvaged from the dumpsters of butcher shops.

Floor by terrifying floor offered frights aplenty for years to any who dared enter in search of a good scare. Every horror mainstay was employed, every staple character and cliché, and a few new creeps. All the way up to the attic, where Trent himself would often play the obligatory mad scientist in his laboratory. While Jacob’s Ladders and strobe lights dazzled the eye, he would cackle in maniacal glee as his sheet draped creation rose from his steel table. Year after year people would come, knowing just what to expect. They would try to spot the new additions, but not this year. This year he’d transformed the haunt into a Zombie House survival horror scenario.

So, we’re doing this again next fall? Dwayne asks with disappointment evident in his voice.

Of course! Actually, I want to start it up again mid-spring, Trent says. I have a pair of independent filmmakers already interested in the old props--

You’re selling our props? Dwayne sounds shocked. What if this whole zombie thing is just a fad?

I’m fairly certain it isn’t. You’ve seen the people outside. They come dressed as zombies and heroes like the hardcore sci-fi fans. People are willing to pay big time for the fantasy. It’s like what inspired me to do this in the first place.

The zombie run, Dwayne says with disinterest, having heard about it many times.

People paying to run away from zombies. It’s brilliant! There’s no reason not to continue with it. Next year will be mostly profit after hiring on more staff and buying tons of paintballs. We’ll raise the ticket price and run the attraction longer. We can even add other money makers.

Such as?

First aid spray. We get a case of cheap aerosols, slap some fake labels on ‘em, and then charge ten bucks to rent a can at the door so people can heal themselves, one time only, if they get bitten. Then all we have to do is have our boys target those schmucks.

Dwayne listens to the man he’s known for many years and it’s like hearing the words of a stranger. He once respected Trent. Revered him as a visionary. Now all his friend cares about is money. When they started the haunt it was all about the thrill of the scare, but that Trent is gone.

You’re on in one minute, if this meathead ever finishes his waiver. Dwayne taps the monitor displaying the new group and the one person who hasn’t finished his required paperwork. We’re recording in all rooms.

Good. Trent stands and takes another look at his new audience. A girl among the ten catches his eye. She has naturally tan skin and a Latin allure, yet also possesses the downhome charm of the girl next door. An attainable beauty. She’s the one.

Who?

She’s gonna make it through this. Trent points her out to Dwayne. His voice is a whisper.

Fat chance. Dwayne scoffs after a mere glance at the pretty girl’s exotic curves. The boys are gonna take one look at her and grope her like prom night.

So tell them to keep their greasy hands off.

Dwayne’s smile fades. His chuckle dies at the prospect of rigging the game. Why?

Because she has to win. She has to make it out alive, Trent says. Don’t you think she’ll fill out the ‘Zurvived’ tee beautifully? She’ll look great in the ads, draw people here in droves, thinking ‘if she can do it…’ Tell the boys they can have the bimbos. Trent indicates a pair of blondes as he peruses the contestants. Then he singles out two men huddled in the corner, which make him uneasy. I want those two taken out early. Keep my girl on the run, but make sure she lives through the night.

3

In the foyer of the house, ten hopeful survivalists wait. Ten hooks along the wall have been provided for them to ‘drop their dead weight’ as a sign puts it. Brandon hung up his hoodie upon entering and left his keys in one of its pockets, with assurance from a placard that all effects will be kept safe, but anything left more than 48 hours won’t be so lucky. A trashcan marked ‘lost and found’ contains one such unclaimed garment.

Chairs are aligned down the middle of the hardwood floor, and on the seats are their weapons, safety goggles, and full clipboards. With the tethered pens, everyone has made short work of the waiver and has had time to review the manual that lays out the ground rules for them. They are allowed to quit the game at any time using the ‘suicide out’ policy. All they have to do is announce to the dead that they have shot themselves and they can proceed immediately to the nearest exit.

Only one of the hopefuls is still filling out his paperwork, but he is easily sidetracked. I don’t think they’re giving us enough time, Lloyd confides in Vida and Vicky, who sit beside him. I lost my keys the other day and it took me three hours to find them.

Things are always in the last place you look, Vida says.

Whoa, they were in the last place I looked!

She gives the bassist a sympathetic pat on the arm. She hopes for his sake that their band’s aspirations of success in music come true. Lloyd’s a sweetheart, but good looks and playing the bass are all he has going for him. Having already read through the manual, Vida excuses herself and walks to the coat rack to see what’s going on with Brandon.

Brandon and the guy he chose over her are still in their clandestine powwow in the corner. Neither has reviewed the rules that she has seen. They only scrawled their information on to the form before taking to the sidelines to whisper like schoolgirls. Vida leans in the opposing corner to stare daggers at them. She tries to will Brandon to look her way, but he’s too engrossed in strategizing to succumb.

Frustrated beyond belief, Vida kicks a trashcan at her feet. The metal receptacle produces an unexpectedly loud clang that draws all eyes to her. Her face flushes brightly with embarrassment as she drops to the floor to pick up the can and return a denim jacket that has fallen out.

Lloyd is still wrestling with the form, but Vicky is there to help him. How would I know if I have a heart condition? he asks his waif-like friend.

We’ll put a ‘no’ and hope for the best, she tells him, uncharacteristically calm. She leans on his beefy arm while assisting him. And, we can put a ‘no’ on this one too, right? You aren’t pregnant, are you?

No, I haven’t been with a chick in… He laughs as her joke dawns on him. I’m a guy.

Vida returns to where her friends are seated, and Vicky notes her mood has changed. Before she was rather tense, but now she wears a goofy grin. Embarrassed? Don’t feel bad, Vicky says. We all have our clumsy moments.

I guess. Vida shrugs.

Brandon really pissed you off, huh?

You noticed that?

Are you gonna get even, or make him grovel?

Probably both.

Just sign at the bottom and you’re done, Lloyd! Vicky cheers.

The bassist scribbles his name and sets his clipboard under his seat as everyone else has.

The green light is given to Trent Tilden, who emerges from one of the halls, four minutes late. Who are you people?

We’re your next group, Lloyd tells the armed man that has startled them.

Shh, sweetie. It’s starting, Vicky explains softly.

I asked you a question, Trent continues after being derailed. He trains his paintball gun on each set of eyes watching him. Who are you?

The contestants are silent. They shift in their seats, not knowing how to respond. Vida, Trent’s special pick, offers an answer, Survivors?

Same here. Trent nods. He relaxes his weapon and tosses the future face of his ad campaign a tube of paintballs as a reward.

Aw, Brandon groans from the corner like an envious child.

Those things are everywhere, Trent goes on, checking the opposing hall to make certain it’s clear.

Cue exterior zombies. Dwayne’s disembodied voice appears in Trent’s earpiece, and it will echo out across the property from his command center--the pantry in the kitchen.

In his search of the foyer, Trent pauses by the windows facing the front of the house. Slow moving silhouettes evoke a collective gasp from the assembly. The air they breathe instantly becomes thick with tension as the shadows grow larger.

We need to move! Trent draws them to the hall opposite the one he emerged from. Everyone grabs their guns and dons their protective eye wear. In the dim light, a few of the survivors catch a glimpse of a wound on Trent’s neck. A blood soaked cloth bandage is held against the moulage with duct tape.

You’re bit! Lloyd says.

I ain’t dying here, Trent bravely announces with a groan. He takes his position near the next room, a sitting area full of old, dusty looking furniture. Follow me if you want to live. I saw a truck outside. Whose is it?

When nobody lays claim to the pick-up, Trent continues, The keys must be somewhere in this house. We need to split up and find them!

Screams alarm everybody, especially the Dogs of War, since they know the voice calling out in terror. While the host had everyone looking where he wanted them to, five ghouls sneaked

Reviews for A Bittersweet Victory

[lorihopkins · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Wow...this is by far one of the best survival stories I have read, not to mention the zombies. It has humor, as well as sadness in it that really makes you feel for the characters. I would recommend this book to anyone! Fabulous!

[jpodlaski_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Amazon did me a great favor when allowing Kindle authors to offer "free" downloads of their work. This gave me an opportunity to sample books in other genres that I don't usually read...with nothing to lose. During the last year, I've become fascinated with "Zombie" stories, finishing quite a few books with more on my TBR list. I found "Life Among the Dead" to be one of the more unique books in this genre. It has a host of likeable characters and many side stories within the main story line, keeping the reader interested and anxious. Dan, an AWOL Army soldier, is the main character in this story - readers join him in a quest to find his wife and newborn child. En-route, he encounters survivors - both good and bad - some join up with him and others must be killed, soldiers from his former unit, killer zombies and a litany of obstacles that stand in his way. The author also introduces a couple of new "facts" as related to zombies: first, they are exceptionally slow in freezing weather and their bodies can be shattered with a well placed hit from a baseball bat or a rock, and second, readers learn that human brains continue to function for the first few moments after becoming an animated zombie. There is no control, but the sense of smell, taste and vision remain until the brain eventually dies from the lack of oxygen.I truly enjoyed this book and look forward to purchasing book 2 in the series. I would have given "Life Among the Dead" five stars if not for the many editing errors encountered during the read...spell check will not catch these and it would be wise to make the corrections and republish. Great job otherwise and recommended!John Podlaski, authorCherries - A Vietnam War Novel

[readaholic12_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Pretty good zombie read, good characters, fast pacing, wide scope. A few cliche plot points, but otherwise an entertaining read.