Die Dead Enough

DIE DEAD ENOUGH

by

William Kenney

Copyright 2014

William Kenney

Books by William Kenney

The In The Shadow of the Black Sun Trilogy

• A Dream of Storms
  
• Shards of S'Darin
  
• Mournenhile
  

The Tales of Embremere series

• Embremere
  
• Return to Embremere
  

Others

• Undergrowth
  (a horror novella)
  
• Ingheist
  (horror)
  
• Shadewraiths over Pandaria
  (an In the Shadow of the Black Sun short story)
  

CHAPTER ONE

It became a quiet Earth. You didn't want them to hear you, the Undead. Something in the reanimation process increased the sensitivity of the auditory nerves. They could literally hear you from miles away. Even the animals grew hauntingly silent, no birds called, no dogs barked.

Silence became survival.

We've all seen the classic zombie movie; slow-moving reanimated corpses that could be killed with a shot to the head. Destroy the brain and the zombie goes bye-bye.

This wasn't it.

Because these things could not be killed. Ever. Shots to the brain didn't work. Even if you dismembered them, their parts would continue to move indefinitely. Burning them beyond recognition seemed the only way to put them to a final end.

So how did it start, this rising of the dead?

Most believe this condition stemmed from the use of chemical weapons. In 2017, the US attacked North Korea after it was proven that nuclear missiles were being developed and near to completion. Weeks of discussion between the two countries amounted to nothing, with North Korea's leaders still blinded by their ancient beliefs. They would be controlled by no one.

The United States, assuming their role as the World Police and with the support of many of their allies, laid the place to waste. Officially they only used conventional bombs. Most believed this to be bullshit.

Pyongyang, its capital and largest city was hit first and within thirty minutes every living thing for hundreds of miles lie dead. Nearly twenty-eight million people.

North Korea's government practiced
Songun
, believing that their military was the supreme repository of power within their country. The military's importance far outweighed all other facets of their society. Thus there would be no surrender.

According to conspiracy theorists, other cities were bombed with the chemical agent, a crimson powder converted to aerosol called DDR, now known as Drop-dead Red. Its exact chemical structure was classified, but it appeared to be a more advanced version of mustard gas. Previously untested.

Death from above didn't last long.

Sixty-three days later and the first reanimated corpse crossed the border into South Korea. It was assumed that the thing had killed the guards that stood watch at every entry point and
turned
them as well. When first sighted, the creature was several miles into South Korea and had a following of dozens more undead.

Days later and the same event happened on the boundary of China.

The Western world knew nothing of these things until someone in Asia uploaded a video to Youtube. At first believed to be an elaborate hoax, more and more footage appeared, proving that this was real.

International flight was halted, but it was too late.

The band was kicking ass that night, well mostly. The drummer, Gibby, was fucking up the harmonies to an Alice in Chains song as he often did with one too many brews in his system. Kennedy's had a full house, alcohol was being served at a rapid pace, all was good in the world.

Then, in the middle of their last set, the power went out, Conor's voice cracking as the amps went dark. It was dark as hell as the batteries in the exit signs kicked on and patrons began to light up their cell phones. The echo of the drums faded as people milled about in confusion, mumbling to one another as they continued to sip on their drinks.

"Jason! What happened?" Conor yelled from the stage, removing his guitar and placing it on a nearby stand. His younger brother, Aiden, the other guitar player in the band, followed suit and hopped off the stage into the crowd. His head was shaved and reflected the dim glow of the emergency lights just like Conor's. The only obvious difference in their faces was Ian's dark goatee.

"I don't know dude!" came a distant and deep voice. "I'm trying the electric company right now, but there's no answer. Katie, you're gonna have to get all of these people out of here. It's not safe. Hello? Dammit, it's a recording. Quiet everybody!"

Waitresses, clad in short shorts and bikini tops, started to herd the disgruntled customers toward the exits with the help of several large bouncers. Drunk bastards hurled profanity as they were forced to leave their favorite watering hole and a beer bottle sailed through the air and shattered against the far wall.

Jason, the owner, made his way toward the band, phone against his hear and one hand in the air as he shrugged.

"The recording says power is out for about thirty thousand customers right now and they estimate three hours to restore it," he shouted over the sound of the hundreds squeezing through the front door. "So that does it for tonight. You guys sounded real good, too."

"Shit," Aiden said as he jumped back on stage and began to pack up his gear. "We still get paid, don't we?"

"Hey, you know me..." Jason said. "Of course, you get paid, ya greedy piece of shit."

Aiden kept his back to him while stowing his guitar in its case.

"Well, alright, then," he said over his shoulder with a grin. "Just making sure. I gots child-support to pay."

"Yeah, we know. So does your brother. We've heard," said Tom, his bass guitar already packed away, case in his hand. His long, blonde hair was soaked with sweat and hung in his eyes.

"Hey, where're you goin'?" Aiden asked, standing up to face Tom. "Oh no, you're not scootin' without helping us load all this shit. You did that last time."

"Dude, I gotta get home. Diane's wai-"

Conor cut him off as Jason walked off toward the back office to get their cash.

"Diane's waiting. No shit. We've all got someone waiting, Tom. Grab a fucking amp and load it in the van," he said, his mouth a serious line as he stared at the man.

"Or what?" Tom asked, setting his guitar case on the stage.

"You really wanna test me right now?" Conor asked, stepping forward. "Or I'll break your fucking jaw, that's what. You got any doubts, don't help us load. See what happens."

Tom stood for a moment, obviously contemplating his chances in a fist-fight with Conor and then spun with a huff and grabbed some equipment.

"Tired of this bullshit..." he muttered, but it did not go unheard.

"What bullshit, Tom?" Aiden asked from the other side of the stage. "Not pulling your weight like the rest of us? Yeah, that
is
bullshit."

"Will you guys knock it off?" came Gibby's voice from behind the drums. He was far too skinny, smoked too much and played like a stroke victim. Couldn't sing worth shit either.

"Shut the fuck up, Gibby," the others replied in unison.

"Tom, just help load up. It'll take ten minutes, tops and then you're on your way home to
Diane
," Conor said, jumping onstage and disconnecting cables from his amplifier. Outside the faint sound of sirens began, but went mostly unnoticed.

"Man, I just got my bass. It's not my fault you guys got all this other shit," Tom said, helping Gibby disassemble his drum kit. "I plug straight into the soundboard-"

"We'll remember that when we're handing out shares," said Aiden, shaking his head. "You
do
less than your share, you
get
less than your share."

Tom just scowled.

Jason walked up, handing Conor an envelope with a frown. Conor flipped the flap open and peered inside.

"Jay, come on, what's this?" he asked, holding it out to him.

"Sorry, man. We didn't make it to last call. We make a shitload of money at last call. That's really all I can spare tonight. I'll try to make it up to you next time," Jason explained.

Conor sighed and nodded. He knew that Jason was a good guy and trustworthy. He believed him.

"Fine," he said and clapped Jason on the shoulder. "Next time."

Jason walked off as Tom and Gibby headed toward the back door with various drum equipment in their arms.

"How bad did we get screwed, brother?" Aiden asked as he rolled a cable around his arm.

"Just over half of what we usually make here," Conor said, pulling out the cash and handing Aiden his share. "Here you go. Fifty-five bucks for the young axe-slinger."

"Shit," Aiden replied.

Together they lowered the amplifiers off of the stage, stowing the cables in a case along with their other gear.

"You wanna record some stuff tomorrow? You still need to lay down solos on three of those tracks. We could do it in the afternoon after my little buddy wakes up from his nap," Conor said as they rolled the amps toward the back, doing their best to avoid the spilled alcohol, scattered bottles and napkins on the floor.

"Hmmm. I don't know. I'll call ya," Aiden answered. "Haven't really been in the mood lately."

"More crap from the ex?"

"Fuck yes," said Aiden. "When isn't there?"

"I haven't had to talk to mine in months, thank God," Conor said. "Looking forward to when I no longer have to pay child-support. Might have a few years left, but then - Woohoo!"

"Heh, heh," laughed his brother. "Few decades for me..."

They reached the back door, struggling to get the wheels of the amps over the threshold.

"Throw me the keys, Conor," Gibby called out standing at the back of the van with Tom, stacks of drums in their black cases next to them. The keychain arced through the air and Gibby caught them, quickly opening the back doors and tossing the keys back. Conor and Aiden went to the side door and began loading in their gear.

"Damn. What the hell is going on?" Aiden asked as the sirens began to grow louder. "Must be fifteen cop cars and they're close."

Gunfire suddenly rang out a few blocks over and they each stared at each other in surprise for a moment.

"Enough chit-chat, let's get out of here," Gibby said, tossing the last of his equipment in back and slamming the doors. "Probably the crazies from Youtube coming to get us."

"Oh, come on. That shit's fake..." Tom said as they quickly made for the front.

In seconds, they were all sitting in their seats and Conor started the van.

"Whatever it is, it better not fuck up traffic. I'm tired as hell," Conor remarked as he drove off down the alleyway, doing his best to avoid potholes and stumbling barflies.

"Hold up, hold up!" Tom said, hands going through the pockets of his jacket. "I left my phone in my case."

"Hurry up," Conor said, putting the van in park as Tom hopped out and went around back. "Really starting to hate that bastard..."

"You and me, both," Aiden replied from the passenger seat.

They could hear Tom talking to himself from where they sat and glanced at each other in annoyance.

"No, thanks, dude," Tom said. "I got this. What are-"

Then Tom screamed. Not just a shout, a horrified scream of terror, of one who fears for their life.

"Help! Ahhh, help me!"

The brothers shot glances at one another and jumped out of the van. Before either could reach the rear of the vehicle, Tom was thrown into view, blood spraying into the air as his limbs flailed about. He fell to the ground at Conor's feet, still screaming, holding his hands against the gaping wound where his shoulder met his neck.

Conor was stunned, nearly frozen in place by what he saw. He began to kneel, but something else caught his eye as it came around the van, gurglings and moans escaping its throat. It was like something straight out of a horror movie.

At some point it had been a man, but now its nearly fleshless skull sat at an odd angle to its shoulders, the whites of its bulging eyes now filled with crimson. Tom's blood ran from its mouth, dripping from its chin to soak into the white of its torn t-shirt. A chunk of its left leg was missing, the bones standing out starkly in the near-darkness. Its head shifted suddenly, the eyes darting sideways as it locked onto Conor and snarled.

Tom had grown much quieter now, his eyes drooping as he lost consciousness and slumped to his back there in the dirty alleyway. There was simply no way he could survive, the pool of blood around his head now alarmingly large.

"Shit. Get in the van, brother," Aiden said, slapping Conor in the arm.

"Tom..." Conor began.

"He's dead. Get back in the van," Aiden said.

The walking corpse began to shuffle forward, awkward limbs dragging across the gravel and cinders, broken teeth gnashing crazily as it came. Its arms reached out, yellowed fingers flexing as it sensed its next meal.

"Conor!" Aiden shouted and kicked him hard in the shin. "Get in the fucking van!"

Conor winced in pain and shook his head violently, turning to jump back into the driver's seat as Aiden ran to the other side. Conor managed to slam the door just as the monster reached its hand inside. Three twisted fingers fell to the floorboard in a puddle of gel-like liquid.

"Thanks for the help, Gibby. You piece of-" Aiden started as he slammed the passenger door.