C. A. Earl

  PREY

  FOR THE

  DEAD

  THE COLLECTION

  Copyright © 2015/2016/2017/2019 by Craig Earl

  Cover image courtesy of Renphoto

  All rights reserved

  No part of this document may be reproduced in any

  form without prior permission of the copyright holder

  For George

  Introduction

  BOOK ONE

  Prologue

  ~ 1 ~

  ~ 2 ~

  ~ 3 ~

  ~ 4 ~

  ~ 5 ~

  ~ 6 ~

  ~ 7 ~

  ~ 8 ~

  ~ 9 ~

  ~ 10 ~

  ~ 11 ~

  ~ 12 ~

  ~ 13 ~

  ~ 14 ~

  ~ 15 ~

  ~ 16 ~

  BOOK TWO

  Prologue

  ~ 1 ~

  ~ 2 ~

  ~ 3 ~

  ~ 4 ~

  ~ 5 ~

  ~ 6 ~

  ~ 7 ~

  ~ 8 ~

  ~ 9 ~

  ~ 10 ~

  ~ 11 ~

  ~ 12 ~

  ~ 13 ~

  ~ 14 ~

  BOOK THREE

  Prologue

  ~ 1 ~

  ~ 2 ~

  ~ 3 ~

  ~ 4 ~

  ~ 5 ~

  ~ 6 ~

  ~ 7 ~

  ~ 8 ~

  ~ 9 ~

  ~ 10 ~

  ~ 11 ~

  ~ 12 ~

  ~ 13 ~

  ~ 14 ~

  ~ 15 ~

  ~ 16 ~

  ~ 17 ~

  ~ 18 ~

  ~ 19 ~

  ~ 20 ~

  ~ 21 ~

  EPILOGUE

  Thoughts from the Author

  ‘REVELATIONS’

  Introduction

  Zombies.

  The very word conjures up images of endless hordes of shambling monsters, hungry for flesh. They are the unrelenting foes too numerous to defeat, mindless cannibals devoid of thought or feeling. And now, after invading the worlds of TV, comics, books and video games, they are among us as horror icons. But what is it about the zombie mythos that continues to hold the interest of millions worldwide?

  For me, the answer lays hand in rotten hand with another question; in the event of such an attack - what would I do?

  So, dear reader, what would you do?

  Setting aside the undead threat itself, how would you cope with a lack of food and water? What if there was no warmth, no electricity and no communication? Putting it more bluntly - would you be a victim or a survivor?

  Think for a moment...

  We live in an age where the latest news is available at the touch of a button, with mobile phones and computers seemingly never more than three feet away. Without these (and other) luxuries and stripped of our most basic essentials, would we be able to find what is required to survive? Would we put the needs of others before our own - or our friends before our family..?

  These moral dilemmas inspired me to write ‘Prey for the Dead’, paying homage to a genre that I love. Hopefully you will be entertained but will also take to time to consider the same questions…

  Trapped in the world of the dead, how far would you go to survive?

  C A Earl (June 2015)

  PREY

  FOR THE

  DEAD

  BOOK ONE

  Prologue

  Three Years Ago

  He had been dead for days, yet no one mourned his passing. No one knew the miserable details of his miserable life, his tortured childhood or his petty crimes, or anything about the downtrodden wife that had finally left him for another man.

  No one even knew his name.

  Fellow vagrants could only guess that he had met his end on the cold and dirty streets as indeed he had; a victim of starvation, disease and hypothermia. They knew only that one day he was curled up in a vermin-infested corner of the alley and the next his body was gone; taken away in the night.

  For him, death would serve a higher purpose.

  ---

  There in the dark he lay, cold and naked, shaved of all body hair and as lifeless as the solid metal slab upon which he had been displayed.

  Through the gloom came the thrum of electronic circuitry, followed moments later by the opening of automatic shutters as yellow light flooded into the room. Four white-coated individuals also came into view, their faces hidden in shadow as they flipped charts and looked out from behind two huge panels of toughened glass. A silent nod led to one of them pressing a button on a concealed panel and the perforated ceiling in the steel-panelled ‘test room’ pulsed into life. They were transfixed, motionless as the first wisps of red smoke appeared through every one of a thousand apertures.

  And then down came the ‘rain’.

  Falling at first as irregular droplets it dripped into the room below, covering corpse and metal slab and floor with spatters of red. Almost immediately the pressure increased, becoming a torrent of teeming scarlet so intense that body and slab were lost from view. From the safety of the gallery the quartet peered closer still, frosting the glass with their expectant breath.

  Thirty seconds later a loud buzzer sounded and the downpour eased before ceasing completely. The red haze cleared and the room fell into silence, save for the sound of excess liquid dripping onto the angled floor. The audience looked on in anticipation as the last of it trickled away, flowing into a drainage grate like blood on the floor of an abattoir

  Then it happened.

  Barely noticeable at first, the body on the metal slab began to move. Fingers twitched and eyelids sticky with gunge drew slowly back, revealing lifeless, milky-white orbs. A misshapen mouth opened and a pallid tongue lolled over teeth blackened by decay. A low groan escaped from the depths of a putrefied core and then, incredibly, the corpse began to rise.

  Sitting up, the thing immediately lost its balance and pitched over to one side, falling onto the hard floor. The ‘whitecoats’ continued to stare as it convulsed, limbs waving wildly like a poorly controlled marionette. Pale, cold hands slapped down onto the floor and then, in a series of jerked movements, the ‘thing that was once human’ staggered to its feet and lurched toward them. Swaying unsteadily, it managed only three steps before again falling forward to crunch against the glass with a liquid squelch.

  Three of the watching group jumped back. The fourth, his face almost entirely in shadow, made no movement except for a sinister smile that twitched at one corner of his mouth. After a moment he turned aside and nodded to one of his colleagues who pressed a button on yet another hidden panel.

  This time the whirr of electronics was accompanied by the opening of a small metal hatch in a corner of the room. A twitching white snout appeared and then seconds later a large albino rat scuttled free, the hatch snapping shut behind it and driving it further into the centre of the room. At this point the dead man became aware of its presence.

  The scientists watched as the rat, attracted by the smell of decay, scampered toward the corpse. Sensing no danger, the rodent began to nibble at the thing’s rotten toes, tearing away small pieces of rotten flesh. The corpse paused for a moment, seemingly intrigued, but then leaned over and grabbed the animal in its cold hands. Startled, the rat let loose a high-pitched screech, frantically snapping its incisors while whipping its pink tail from side to side.

  Holding the rodent up, the corpse suddenly thrust its head forward and buried its gnashing teeth into the furry flesh. An explosion of warm blood showered over its face as it tore away strips of stringy innards, crunching through the tiny ribcage in a frenzied search for the soft organs within.

  Despite the thick toughened glass three of the scientists took another step back, leaving the most senior among them alone to admire the ruthless efficiency of the subject up close. With the rodent entirely consumed the corpse turned its attention to the remaining silhouette, stumbling again toward the gallery. Cold, bloody fingers reached out, clawing at the smooth surface as the thing’s pus-filled lips drew back in a snarl.

  And on the other side of the glass the sinister smile became a grin.

  ~ 1 ~

  Ben Reilly savoured his last mouthful of espresso and leaned back in the cushioned chair with a sigh of satisfaction.

  ‘Thanks babe’ he said, smiling at the blonde-haired woman opposite him. ‘This weekend’s been great, really lovely.’ Then he gave a slightly judgemental look as his eyes narrowed and one corner of his mouth curled suspiciously. ‘Bet it cost a fortune...’

  The woman dabbed her lips with a napkin and glanced around at the other diners in the half-full breakfast lounge. The various muttered conversations continued as she focused back on her husband. ‘No, not really’ she said, nonchalantly. ‘I just put some money aside every now and again. Anyway, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I just wanted to make this one a bit more special. It’s not every day you hit a milestone, y’know.’

  ‘Oh, right’ said Ben, dramatically covering his face with his hand. ‘Yeah, thanks for reminding me...’

  The woman gave a throaty chuckle and sipped the last of her own coffee. ‘Come on then, how does it really feel to be waving bye-bye to your thirties..?’

  Ben drew his hand away and paused, puffing out his cheeks. ‘It feels weird, to be honest. It seems like only yesterday we started going out. Christ, when I was a kid forty-year olds seemed so ancient...’

  ‘There’s a reason for

that’ the woman grinned, flashing her big blue eyes. ‘That’s because they are!’

  With all the immaturity of an eight-year-old Ben stuck out his tongue, making her giggle. The gesture was returned in equally juvenile fashion and they both sniggered. An old man on the adjacent table huffed and fired them a condescending glance before returning to his morning broadsheet with his nose in the air. The woman chuckled again.

  ‘Behave yourself’ said Ben, faking a frown and putting on his best sergeant major style voice. ‘This is a respectable establishment, you know.’ Then he leaned forward to whisper. ‘Anyway, you’re not that far behind me…’

  ‘Ah,’ she smiled. ‘But I’m not there yet..!’

  Winning the battle of jibes, Katie Reilly folded over the cuffs of her white blouse and reclined back in her chair with an expression of triumph. But in truth Ben was onto something. Despite her apparent lack of concern thoughts of reaching the dreaded fourth decade milestone had been on her mind.

  Though still in fairly good shape, she would be first to admit (if pressed) that her youthful suppleness and eye-catching beauty had faded a little in recent years. She had of course tried to slow the aging process; firstly with a short-lived gym membership (where she was surrounded by overly chatty wannabe supermodels) and then by initiating her own home exercise regime along with a healthier diet. The latter had certainly shown promise and as a result her self-esteem had also improved (helped in no small part by being a doctor’s receptionist). After all - as she had told Ben - there was no incentive as motivational as seeing all the world’s self-induced ills on a daily basis!

  Katie’s one vice was that her weekend love affair with the Chardonnay grape showed no signs of cooling anytime soon. If I have to give up the vino, she once famously said, you may as well just shoot me! Approaching forty, childless by choice and with a good man beside her, Katie Reilly thought for a moment and came to a conclusion. She was fairly happy with her lot in life.

  ‘Hello? Earth to Katie – anyone there?’ Ben asked quizzically, waving his hand in front of her face. ‘Wow, you were miles away...’

  ‘Sorry’ she smiled mysteriously, lowering her eyes. ‘I was just thinking...’

  ‘Now what have I told you about doing that..!’

  ‘Oh, har-de-har...’

  The two smiled at each other again, enjoying a moment before Ben began tapping his fingers on the table.

  ‘Hey, I really don’t want to bring this up because the weekend’s been so great. But maybe we should look at making a move soon..?’

  Katie gave a knowing nod, recognising the all too familiar tone in her husband’s voice. Getting him away from his laptop and mobile phone for a few days had been an achievement in itself; she wasn’t naïve enough to think that he would allow himself to relax for much longer beyond the weekend. A waiter, hovering in the background and primed to pounce, noticed signs of movement and quickly swept in to remove their coffee cups.

  ‘Anything else for you, sir?’

  ‘No. No thanks’ replied Ben, wiping his mouth with a napkin and scrunching the tissue into a ball. As the laden waiter left them Katie flashed her husband another smile and gathered her handbag.

  ‘I’ll go and check us out if you want to grab the bags from the room.’

  ‘Okay, sure.’

  ‘Can you have a second look around too, just to make sure we haven’t left anything?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  Ben glanced at his watch. The elegant retro-style face told him that it had just turned 9.30am. Katie’s smiled lingered. The watch had been a birthday present too, one that he particularly seemed to like. Another home run, she thought, giving herself an imaginary pat on the back. ‘See you in the reception in five..?’ she said softly.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Ben Reilly stepped into the empty lift and pressed number ‘4’ on the keypad. The button illuminated and the doors closed with oiled efficiency, leaving him surrounded by polished chrome and one mirrored surface.

  ‘Should’ve shaved, scruffy sod’ he said out loud, staring at the slightly unkempt reflection that smirked back at him. His messy short brown hair and two-day old stubble were in contrast to his crisp navy-blue shirt and smart dark jeans.

  Been a nice break though, he thought, enjoying the memories of a long weekend away from their Tunbridge Wells home. It had been an escape that Katie had planned meticulously over a number of months. A rock concert (including backstage passes), a couple of meals in five-star restaurants and noisy drunken hotel sex had contributed to a birthday to remember.

  Unfortunately, despite the enjoyment of playing ‘weekend millionaires’, it was now time to get back to the real world. And as hard as he tried, Ben’s thoughts were never far from the stresses of his working life.

  A commercial artist by trade, the last four years had been particularly tough. Highly competitive, his business had also faced long periods without any work at all, and when it did eventually come the deadlines were often downright unrealistic or the margins far too slim. Throw in the added complication of a job where the customer kept changing their mind and there was a recipe to pile stress on even the most laid-back individual. And even on his best day, Ben Reilly was never laid-back.

  -ping!-

  The lift stopped at level four, interrupting his daydream. Ben quickly exited the doors and turned left, making his way along the claret-carpeted hallway to their room. The hotel seemed quiet, he thought, especially for one in such a prime location, and then he remembered why. The economy had been struggling for quite some time, probably for a good eighteen months. High street stores were under pressure and the cost of living was higher than ever. Overseas trading had become increasingly fractious and it seemed that not a week passed by without news of an Asian flu epidemic or conflict breaking out somewhere or other.

  Happy to be judged a ‘glass half-empty’ kind of guy, Ben began to consider that actually things could be much worse for the Reillys. After all, the whole country – no – the whole bloody world - was on its knees.

  Standing outside the door to their room, he reached into his pocket for the keycard. Further along the hall a maid with a wheeled laundry trolley looked up at him, smiling as she folded up a crisp white towel to place on top of a pile of others. Ben gave her friendly nod before flashing the keycard at his door, entering as it buzzed green.

  Once inside the suite he took a final look out at the London skyline. It was an impressive view even if the city wasn’t really his thing; far too many people and too much pushing and shoving for his liking. London - great to visit, he concluded, would hate to live there...

  Remembering Katie’s request, Ben quickly double-checked the room and the en-suite. He’d once left his wallet behind on a trip to Cornwall and recalled all too well the lengthy lecture when they had to turn around halfway along the motorway. That incident had made him extra careful and as a result nothing had been forgotten since!

  Leaving a £10 tip for the maid he took his jacket from the back of the door and slipped it on before grabbing a suitcase and holdall from the foot of the bed. Might be a while before we do this again, he thought, backing out of the room just as his mobile phone beeped to indicate a text message. Once out in the hallway he placed the luggage down and drew the phone from his trouser pocket. The message was from ‘Matt’.

  ‘Sorry Bro. Happy Birthday for yesterday.’

  Ben sighed and responded with a hastily typed ‘thanks’. Then he put the phone back into his pocket and grabbed a newspaper from a passing bellboy, slipping it under his arm before picking up the bags and heading back along the corridor. Once again the lift was empty. As the doors closed and it began to descend Ben’s mind wandered again, this time to thoughts of his brother.

  The Reilly boys, only offspring of deceased parents, were not ‘big’ into birthdays. They considered themselves close enough, seeing each other once or twice a year, but ever since their parents’ passing it was fair to say that they had drifted further apart. And in truth, Ben knew the reason why.

  Matt, a builder by trade, had managed to grow a successful business with the support of his wife Sandra and ten year old son, Jack. For him, property development had proved to be a very well-timed and rewarding venture. With a four bedroom house in rural Kent, a steady book of work and a stable home life, things looked to be as secure for him as they possibly could. But Ben knew the truth behind that particular facade, for in reality Matt was a serial cheater.

 

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