Fountain of the Dead Read online

  It was stronger than he expected. Freeing his arm, he pressed the barrel against its temple and fired. Click. Frank dropped the empty and reached for his other gun as the head exploded over him, rotted teeth poised to chew on his cheek. A black-red mist drifted down. Frank kicked off the body and rolled over, empty gun poised ready to shoot.

  Micah stood in the aisle, shotgun in both hands, his entire body shook. The shotgun slipped from his hands and fired blowing away the remnants of a display of cotton balls. Frank got up wiping the muck from his face. He picked up the shotgun and the supplies and all but dragged Micah out of the store. Their shoes crunched on broken glass on the way out; Micah reached down and snagged a bag of cotton balls he hadn’t murdered.

  “Thanks kid, I owe you one.”

  “I owe you lots more than one.”

  “We’ll worry about numbers later. I sure am glad you decided to come in.”

  * * * * *

  Frank handed the supplies to Beverly; she opened the alcohol and poured it on the machete blade and poised it over the remains of Williams’ foot.

  “You may not want to see this, Micah.” Beverly said. Williams slumped over against the Jeep. “He just passed out. It’s much better this way.”

  “Kid come with me,” Frank said. “We need to get some take-out.” Frank grabbed Micah by the collar and practically lifted him off the ground. “When we’re done, we’re going back into that store and taking everything that’s left.” The others huddled in around Beverly and her grisly job.

  * * * * *

  Frank pushed the door to the Chinese take-out place open with the shotgun. The foyer had a fountain, no water and coy skeletons in it. Thrown change and broken glass speckled the bottom. The hostess station had a shotgun blast through the middle of it and a spray of dried blood on the wall behind. Menus littered the floor. Directly across from the station was the bar. There were no bottles left and most of the glasses were smashed on the floor behind. The small sinks were overflowing with broken glass. The few booths seemed thrown into the small room all covered in dirt and grime and blood.

  “Someone had a good ole time in here.”

  “Looks like a storm went through here,” Micah said.

  A swinging door, barely on hinges was the gateway to the kitchen. Frank took a second to listen, no groaning, no hissing, and no shuffling feet. Micah pointed to the booths; a pair of legs stuck out from beneath one of the tables. A closed emergency exit was in the corner past the bar.

  “It’s not moving,” Frank pushed at the door and went into the kitchen. The door squealed. The kitchen was as empty as the dining room. The gas stove had woks on the burners. The doors to the standing refrigerators were open. Plastic utensils and Styrofoam boxes lay scattered around the floor, like a mini tornado had swept through. The steel worktable in the middle was peppered with rust and gore. Frank tested the burners and they hissed gas. He smiled at Micah who, if he was any closer, would be another appendage.

  “Try the grill top,” Frank said. Micah stepped out and reached for the knobs and held his hand over the plate.

  “It’s getting hot,” he said.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “How can we do this?”

  “Williams is unconscious. We’re going to have to lift and hold him against the grill. Crank up all the burners, that grill has to be crazy hot.”

  “Mind if I stay outside for that?” Micah asked dry swallowing.

  “Makes me want noodles,” Frank said with a grin.

  * * * * *

  Micah sat on a ragged stool near the hostess podium trying to ignore the spray of blood next to him. A laminated floor plan of the place was attached to the top of it. He could hear the others talking in the kitchen. Frank and Sam had carried Williams inside. Pierce went inside too; he wasn’t offered a choice. Micah took out the photo of his grandparents and read the address on the back again. Micah turned on the stool and looked at the small eating area. The legs that had been under the table were gone.

  * * * * *

  “How will we know when it’s hot enough?” Beverly asked. Williams was on the work station, his foot completely removed; blood oozed from the ankle. “We need to do this quick, he can’t lose much more blood.”

  Frank spat on the grill and it sizzled.

  “Let’s do it.” Frank and Sam lifted Williams off the station. “Beverly you and the psycho are going to have to move his leg, make sure everything is cauterized.” They moved Williams’ unconscious form to the grill. Pierce grabbed his leg. “Gentle,” Frank hissed.

  “We have to lift him high, Sam.” Sam nodded and got a better grip under his arm. Blood trickled from wound, spattered on the floor. “Here we go.” They lowered Williams’ leg to the grill top; the second the stump hit the metal he woke up screaming. Beverly and Pierce maneuvered his leg while he screamed. The sounds of searing “meat” on the grill were secondary to Williams screaming and Sam and Frank grunting to keep Williams up. The scream faded as darkness claimed him again. Pierce turned up his nose at the stink of burning flesh. Frank gritted his teeth as sweat rolled down his face.

  * * * * *

  Micah felt the gun barrel against his face and dry swallowed. The barrel moved from his cheek to his nose and then to below his eye.

  “I could kill you right now, kid.” Crowe looked at the kitchen door at the scream. He smiled and slid the gun around to Micah’s temple. “Say thank you.” He peeked just over the top of the oval door window.

  “Thank you,” Micah’s voice trembled. Crowe straightened his jacket and slid his gun into his belt. He rustled Micah’s hair and took off through the emergency exit. Micah recognized his pants as being on the floor under the booth.

  * * * * *

  “Where do I turn, Pierce?” Frank spat.

  “Port St. Lucie.” He pointed at the sign. Frank looked through the mirror at Gerry’s tarp wrapped body in the back seat. Williams was unconscious in the back of the Explorer; his leg wrapped in a stained ace bandaged and as sterilized as they were going to get it. Micah now rode shotgun. Frank turned at the ramp and headed toward Port St. Lucie and Indiantown.

  They’d taken everything of use from the CVS, a crutch, some powdered milk, and a handful of boxes of aspirin that someone missed. Micah had grabbed some bags of cotton balls, the ones he didn’t shoot. It was all stuffed into plastic bags in the back of the Monte.

  The road ended at a hollowed out, tourist trap of a town. Pierce hopped out of the Jeep when Frank stopped; he looked out at the Cypress trees. Frank crept up behind him.

  “We bury Gerry and then we move,” Frank said.

  “There’s a small dock we used to rent, that the state paid for. We had a couple motor boats and the fan boat.” The others came out and gathered around.

  “We have to bury him here.”

  “The soil isn’t deep, Frank.” Pierce said.

  “So I guess we leave another friend on the side of the road.”

  “I’m afraid so, Frank,” Catherine said. Frank pulled out a knife and held the tip to Pierce’s throat. A drop of blood blossomed and ran down his stubble, past his Adam’s apple.

  “I’ve lost four friends and a dog I tolerated because of you.” He tightened his grip on the handle. Catherine moved his hand away.

  “We need you level headed, Frank.”

  “We can’t move Williams. He’s lost too much blood. He’ll go into shock and die.” Beverly said. Her voice trembled with fear.

  “Leave him here with the vehicles. Not like he can drive off,” Frank said.

  “Frank,” Beverly said her voice turned harsh. “We can’t leave him alone.”

  “Healer to the end, Beverly. Crowe will be here, if he’s not already here. They can have a reunion.”

  “I’ll stay with him,” Beverly said.

  “This piece of work led Crenshaw’s goon right to us. He’s why Gerry is gone,” Sam said. “We should end him now.” Catherine handed Beverly a radio and a gun.

>   “You see anything you call us on the radio we’ll be back here soon as we can.” Beverly nodded and went to the Explorer.

  “You should leave me the keys, just in case.” Sam tossed her the key ring. She caught them in mid-air.

  Micah sat on the bumper of the Jeep. Sharon walked over and looked at him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “When we were in the Chinese restaurant,” Micah started. “I saw some legs under a booth.” Frank turned to face him instantly aware of Micah’s words. He tucked the knife away and walked over. There was silence in the first time Frank could remember. Water rippled in the dark waters of the lake. Saw-grass swayed beyond the shoulder of the road. The ambient noise of the swamp became unbearable; birds screamed, insects sounded like jets. Micah dry swallowed and took a shallow breath.

  “Crowe was in there. I met him. He was going to shoot me, but he ran off.” Micah turned his eyes to the road, small lizards darted across from under fallen dead leaves.

  “You should have called out,” Sam said.

  “You all were busy with Williams and I had a gun pressed to my head.” Sharon pulled Micah in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, tears welled in his eyes. Frank looked up and down the road, guns drawn, searching for a sign of him. The shadows from the survivors seemed to stretch and reach out, mocking him, clouding his vision. Frank spun cursing under his breath and stuffed his guns in the holsters.

  * * * * *

  Frank threw off the ties to the small motor boat. The tank had some gas in it. He looked out at the massive wall of looming trees. Micah climbed into the boat. Catherine, Pierce, Sharon and Sam were on the fan boat. Micah held the shotgun tight in his hands and Frank pushed off from the dock and hopped into the boat and pull started the engine.

  “Ever seen a live alligator, kid?”

  “Nope, seen a couple at a park with my grandparents, but there were walls and we couldn’t get near them.”

  “I have a feeling we’re going to get up close and personal with them.”

  The fan boat engine roared to life. Pierce eased it from the dock out into the water. He signaled for Frank to follow them. Catherine held the radio tight to her chest. Sharon looked out through the trees ready to shoot the first thing she saw, gator or zombie, or whatever other surprises the swamp had.

  Chapter 9

  Meredith screamed as the firebomb crashed on the ground next to her. The liquid inside splashed and hit her leg. She patted the flames while the skin on her hands blistered. People ran scared through the village. Houses burned, tendrils of thick black smoke reached up into the sky, scarring it. Buckets of water were thrown at the flames with no progress or hope. The snipers fired out from the platforms. But Crenshaw’s men were dug in behind their vehicles and police riot shields.

  Another house collapsed on itself. Grace screamed and ran out from the wreckage, her back on fire. Flames spread across her arms getting stronger with each step. She screamed again and collapsed in the street as her hair caught. Attracted by the noise and the violence, the dead came. They shambled from the streets and from buildings. An engine revved from beyond the gates. One of Crenshaw’s men wearing a mask stomped on the accelerator of a pick-up truck. The truck shot forward, tires spun, and plumes of white smoke erupted. It crashed through the gate, mowed down one of the fire fighters, spun around and took off through the gates again. The snipers shot at it, shattering the rear windshield.

  “Get to the vehicles!” Someone shouted. “We have to get out of here.” A firebomb crashed through the window of Catherine’s house; flames danced from behind the broken panes. The propane tank inside exploded and the kitchen wall buckled in. Frantic villagers screamed as the undead chewed on their flesh. Another cocktail crashed against a sniper tower; it tilted and swayed with the impact and fell across the fences. The dead swarmed on the shooter; his screams ripped through the chaos.

  With nowhere to go, Meredith climbed up into the last sniper tower, the shooter splayed across the rail, bleeding from the hole in his face. She grabbed his legs and lifted him over the side. He landed in a heap below.

  “Sorry,” she said. Meredith kicked the ladder down and sat on the floor. She picked up the rifle, watched the train of vehicles drive back towards Boston, and started to cry.

  * * * * *

  Crenshaw sat on the plane’s stairs; Waters stood in the doorway smoking and keeping guard. Frost sat in the cockpit watching through the windows. Crenshaw stood and started to pace. Waters stared back at him for a moment.

  “See anything you like, moron?” Waters turned away and flicked the cigarette down the stairs and lit a fresh one. Crenshaw stood on the seat, dug through his bag in the overhead. He took out the emergency flask and drank deep. He stuffed it in his pocket when the secondary phone rang.

  “Speak,” He commanded.

  “One more villager dead. Williams is maimed.”

  “You’re getting back in my good graces, Crowe.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Crowe said and hung up. Crenshaw looked at the phone; his first instinct was to smash it against the wall and grind it beneath his boot. Then it rang again.

  “Is it Crowe again?” Frost asked. Crenshaw dismissed him with a wave when the phone rang again.

  “This is Boston, Mr. Crenshaw. Your order is carried out. The village is in flames, the gates are down, and the dead have moved in.”

  “Any survivors?”

  “If there are, they won’t be alive much longer.” Crenshaw hung up, closing the lid on the phone. He placed it in the seat and patted it nicely.

  * * * * *

  Pierce pushed the airboat to its limits, skirting the coast of the lake past Pelican Bay. He crossed the lake, keeping an eye out for gators and snakes. The water was strangely calm. And even though he knew it was no deeper than ten or eleven feet, he knew how fast the dark waters could swallow him up. At the approaching shore line, he cut the engine and beached the boat. The giant blades protected by the steel cage slowed. Frank followed him in then jumped out and pulled it to shore. Then Micah climbed out.

  “We have a small distance to cross through some brush and then walk across some walkways and that will lead us right to the lab.” Pierce headed up the beach; the forest loomed in front of him. Frank stopped and looked up into the trees. He swatted at some insects, hating the heat and humidity.

  “Why can’t I hear any animals?” Frank asked. “The birds are there, nothing else though. Nothing crashing through the brush; there should be something running around out there.”

  “Before the storm, the swamp was being overrun buy foreign animals. Burmese pythons, were the biggest threat, we had 250,000 estimated and the number was low. They were showing up in the cities, eating pets, hiding in drain pipes, etc.”

  “What about Zombies? Shouldn’t there be some?” Catherine asked.

  “The gators can’t eat zombies, but they can eat everything else. Zombies feed on humans, really no humans in the swamp, except for my team. So no zombies,” Pierce said. “Unless they were already in the swamps when the storm hit. Even when the lab was going we didn’t see many people.”

  “What about craters?” Micah asked.

  “If there are craters, they’re filled in with mud or water. So watch your step.”

  “Something’s not right,” Sam said. Micah sat in the sand and sketched while the others talked. He flicked the safety off his gun and stood near Micah, ready to fire on anything that moved, that he didn’t recognize.

  “Let’s get moving. Pierce and I will take the lead. Sam, Sharon take the rear, everyone else in the middle. Keep an eye out for Crenshaw’s man,” Catherine said.

  Pierce followed a trail of faded, colored plastic ribbons tied around trees. The blue streamers, the ones he followed were a safe path, red ones were danger. It was a simple system. The blue streamers became set far apart. Pierce searched the trees looking for them. He stepped forward when something hissed to his right, covered in leaves. He held up
a hand and took a step back, the leaves moved.

  Pierce searched for a stick and poked the pile. A triangular head poked free; a forked tongue darted out, testing the air. Frank slapped a fat mosquito on his neck; his fingers came back bloody. The others stepped back further.

  “What is it?” Catherine whispered.

  “Snake, Burmese Python, big one too, going to say eight feet.” Pierce let go of the stick. “Let’s walk around it. We’ll be fine.” They took a wide berth around the snake, the hissing fading into the other swamp noises. The humidity battered them down. Ahead through the brush, Pierce spotted the walkway. Micah looked around, taking notice of things to sketch and take notes on later. How some trees were rotting while others thrived. At the moss hanging from branches. At dark, murky waters that could swallow someone whole. And the python.

  “We spent years building those. We started them in 2004 and finished them two years later. They’re low and flood easy but got my team back and forth.”

  “How’d you get the buildings in?’ Frank asked wiping the sweat from his head.

  “Helicopter lifted them in once we found and cleared the site.”

  “I supposed the state paid for that too?”

  “You know it.” The first board creaked under Pierce’s weight.

  “Why didn’t you use that lightweight, plastic stuff they build decks out of?”

  “The pressurized wood holds up better. And does less damage to the eco system when the walkways get beaten up in storms.” Pierce sloshed through a bowing walk, with at least an inch of water covering it. Frank peered through the water, swore he saw something slithering beneath the surface. Aside from Pierce the water was still, no movements except for water bugs.