The Undead Chronicles | Vol. 3 | Dead of Winter, page 1
part #3 of The Undead Chronicles Series
THE UNDEAD CHRONICLES VOLUME 3
Dead of Winter
PATRICK J. O’BRIAN
FIDELI PUBLISHING, INC.
Copyright 2021, Patrick J. O’Brian
All rights reserved.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher.
Special thanks to Ron Meikle, Brad Wiemer, Korby Sommers,
Jobina Wiemer, Kevin Sommers, Jeff Groves, Dave Blackford,
Kendrick Shadoan, and John Herrick.
This book is dedicated to the memory of Jeff Harting,
educator, father, son, and brother,
who was taken from this world too soon.
Other novels by Patrick J. O’Brian include:
The Fallen
Reaper
(Book 1 of the West Baden Murders Series)
The Brotherhood
Retribution
(Book 2 of the West Baden Murders Series)
Stolen Time
Sins of the Father
(Book 3 of the West Baden Murders Series)
Six Days
Dysfunction
(Book 1 of the Terry Levine Detective Series)
The Sleeping Phoenix
Snowbound
(Book 4 of the West Baden Murders Series)
Sawmill Road
(Book 2 of the Terry Levine Detective Series)
Ghosts of West Baden
(Book 5 of the West Baden Murders Series)
Red Rain
(Book 3 of the Terry Levine Detective Series)
Sin Killer
(Book 4 of the Terry Levine Detective Series)
The Doomsday Clock
(Book 6 of the West Baden Murders Series)
Hallowed Grounds
The Undead Chronicles Volume 1: Home and Back Again
Uncertain Terms
The Undead Chronicles Volume 2: Darker Days
Non-fiction works by Patrick J. O’Brian include:
Risen from the Ashes: The History of the West Baden Springs Hotel
Pluto in the Valley: The History of the French Lick Springs Hotel
Learn more about Patrick and his projects at:
www.pjobooks.com
One
Nearly Two Weeks Ago
Never in his life had Bryce Metzger felt more abandoned than the moment the military cargo plane began to taxi down the runway, leaving him behind.
Instead of traveling back to the safety of a Virginia military installation with his brother, he stood near the end of the runway surrounded by the undead, a civilian he barely knew, and a wound that surely meant his life was measured in hours or days. Fortunately, most of the undead were lying on the ground, shot or stabbed through their skulls, meaning they couldn’t return to life again.
Bryce winced as he clutched his right trapezius muscle, the fresh bite still burning despite him quickly shooting the zombie that inflicted the wound. Knowing such a bite proved fatal to any living person, he understood his time on Earth was limited, but he still had a few objectives to accomplish. Dangerously low on ammunition, with more undead staggering in his direction, Bryce looked to his sole ally as the cargo plane left the ground farther down the runway.
“I’m not sure this can get much worse,” he commented to Molly, his brother’s friend who stepped from the plane to assist him, only to get stranded with him at the small New York airport.
“It’s about to if we don’t find a way out of here,” she replied. “Do we go after him?”
She looked to her left where a man ran away from them as fast as humanly possible. Their last remaining tie to the man who created the apocalypse they now lived in, Xavier Fournier, escaped the cargo plane at the last second. Bryce wanted to pursue the man after spending so much time tracking him down and capturing him, but he possessed a contingency plan for locating the lackey.
“We need to move,” Molly said, ushering Bryce along as he ignored the pain, watching Fournier from the corner of his eye while spying the zombies drawing closer.
“See any vehicles?” he asked.
“A few cars near the hangars,” Molly answered, beginning to move in that direction. “We’re going to lose Fournier if we don’t catch up to him soon.”
“No, we won’t,” Bryce assured her, keeping up with her pace.
“You got some sort of satellite or drone you didn’t tell me about?”
“Not exactly,” Bryce answered as they neared a gray Prius.
He tried the driver’s side front door, finding it locked.
“Who locks a Prius?” he lamented. “This would’ve been perfect.”
Molly unzipped her pack, handing him a bottle of water.
“What’s this for?” he questioned, since danger continued to surround them.
“Clean your wound,” she said. “Maybe you can buy yourself some time, or maybe it isn’t as bad as it looks.”
Bryce couldn’t see the wound very well because the bite occurred close to his neck. He saw blood, and felt the pain from teeth sinking into his flesh. He poured some of the water on his shoulder, rubbing it against the wound and feeling the bumps where teeth had pierced his flesh. Whatever virus the undead carried could be transferred from their bites, and presumably any mucus or blood that spewed from them, mingling with open wounds. Already accepting his fate, Bryce simply needed to escape the immediate danger and educate his companion about how to track Fournier.
“Over here,” Molly said, finding the door of a tan Chevy pickup truck unlocked.
She tried the glove compartment, a middle storage console, and finally the sun visors before finding a set of keys hidden beneath the driver’s side floor mat.
“Let’s hope she has gas,” Molly said as she inserted the key and started the truck.
Bryce heard a groan behind him and whirled, finding a zombie dressed in blue coveralls with a stubble beard stumbling towards him. In no mood to receive a second bite, he raised his firearm and fired one shot into its skull, downing it permanently. He climbed into the passenger’s seat, his mind already contemplating the best course of action.
“If we don’t go after him now, we may lose him,” Molly said as she glanced in the direction Fournier darted, still not clear of the small airport.
Bryce reached into his back pocket, pulling out a device slightly larger than a smartphone, pressed a button and watched the screen power up, illuminating a simple, green GPS map.
“Are you listening?” Molly pressed.
“I am,” Bryce answered, waiting for a red dot to appear somewhere on the map, and when it finally did, moving slowly across the screen, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He turned to Molly, holding up the device.
“When I rendered Fournier unconscious in the city, I slipped a small tracking device into one of his pockets, because my orders were to let him slip away if possible so we could track him.”
“That’s all well and good until he changes clothes, or it slips out.”
“It’s not perfect, but if we question him, it’s doubtful he’ll give up Nadeau’s whereabouts. Strangely enough, my superiors thought this was the best plan of action if Fournier tried to escape.”
Several zombies smacked against the truck’s windows, attempting to get to the pair, succeeding only in distracting them momentarily.
“He may not even know Nadeau’s location,” Bryce added. “If there are more hoops to jump through before they rendezvous, we’d be blowing our one and only chance.”
“Your people left with the paperwork and any information from that safe house,” Molly stated. “There’s an excellent chance they can decipher the next location from that.”
“You’re saying you’d prefer to leave this to chance?”
More zombies made their way over, joining their kind at the truck, pawing at the windows, looking for movement inside.
“I’m asking if this is really what you want to do with what little time-”
Molly let the sentiment linger.
“You can say it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“This is who I am, and what I do,” Bryce assured her. “The problem is I won’t be able to finish the job. Someone would have to carry the baton.”
“I see,” Molly said ambiguously, openly concerned about completing the task at hand.
“If you aren’t willing to track Fournier, we might as well use this device to film a farewell speech to my family. I’m not sure finding Nadeau will help solve anything, but I wouldn’t mind personally putting a bullet in his forehead after torturing him a few hours for some answers. Surely you’ve lost loved ones as well.”
Molly flushed a bit with anger.
“I’ve lost everyone in my life, some of whom were in my care, but that doesn’t give you the right to use the guilt trip card.”
“Our other option is to clip him with this truck and torture him, or flat out run him over,” Bryce countered. “I know this man killed a lot of people you knew, including my own parents, but I’m willing to see this through the right way
“You’re as stubborn as your brother,” Molly said, shaking her head. “If we do this, promise me this son-of-a-bitch will see justice.”
“I’m guessing that’ll be up to you,” Bryce said, forcing a smirk.
Awkward silence filled the truck momentarily.
“How do you propose we handle this?” Molly finally asked.
“Let him escape the airport before we move,” Bryce suggested. “He’ll think this truck is disabled and escape cleanly. We want him to feel comfortable so he leads us to the next step.”
Both turned to look, seeing Fournier nearly clear of the busted fence at the opposite end of the property. A few zombies attempted to pursue him, but proved far too slow to catch their quarry. Bryce held his sidearm sideways, ejected the magazine, and saw three rounds left inside. Molly followed suit, finding only four rounds left in her pistol
“Not much if we make a last stand somewhere,” she muttered.
“Once I’m certain this thing works, we need to find shelter and more firepower.”
“What kind of range does that have?”
“It’s guided by satellites, so in theory it should cover the globe,” Bryce answered. “As long as I keep it charged, we should be able to track him.”
Bryce hadn’t taken much time to consider his own mortality, and his impending doom caused by a simple bite of all things. Over the years, he considered the horrific ways of dying at sea, like going down with his ship, being devoured by sharks, or his body being torn to shreds by any number of enemy projectiles.
He contemplated how to leave a message for his family, assuming Molly or some other stranger somehow delivered it later on. Even that scenario sounded farfetched to him, but he couldn’t imagine Isabella raising their son alone, though she’d practiced doing so for years while he was away on tours. Life aboard a ship wasn’t easy, though it remained regimented. The apocalypse ensured he wouldn’t get to retire, driving around with a military license plate on his truck, or attending VFW events in his later years.
Now he wouldn’t even see his family one last time, which weighed on him. Knowing the remains of his government might bring Nadeau to justice fueled his passion to continue until he couldn’t function any longer. He hadn’t seen the stages of illness and decay that followed a bite from the undead personally, but he understood his time was extremely limited.
“Where are we going?” Molly asked once Fournier distanced himself from the airport.
“We need to stick to a suburb,” Bryce answered. “Going into Buffalo would be suicide if we got surrounded by a horde.”
“There are plenty of buildings in Lancaster,” Molly suggested. “They’re just down the road.”
“That’ll work. Let’s try for something residential to see if we can find food and guns.”
Weaving around stalled vehicles, the undead, and other random debris throughout the business district, Molly made her way to several streets containing houses. Bryce noticed several neighborhoods he considered favorable because the undead population appeared diminished, and some of the houses looked undisturbed. Molly continued to drive until they reached a street that appeared to have limited access routes, and the houses looked upscale, like the kinds of residences producers might have their characters living in within a television sitcom.
“How do you even know about this place?” he questioned.
“Between family in the area, and jobs that required me to travel, I know some of the suburbs rather well.”
Molly chose a brick house with two stories, an unopened front door, and black shutters on each of the numerous windows. A car remained in the driveway, the front door was closed, and no evident signs of life, or undead, were visible in the area.
“Familiar place?” Bryce asked.
“My great-aunt lived here when I was a kid,” Molly answered. “Always wanted to see how it looked after she passed away.”
“Let’s hope your aunt’s successors had a penchant for firearms.”
“If they didn’t, someone in this neighborhood surely has a gun collection.”
Bryce hoped any abundance of firearms weren’t used against them when they set out to explore the neighborhood. Once Molly parked in the driveway, he stepped out of the truck, listening for nearby danger. A few undead staggered in circles down the street, not yet aware that the living dared invade their feeding grounds. Holding his firearm in a ready position, Bryce walked to the front door while Molly walked to the back side of the house.
After opening the storm door, Bryce turned the doorknob, finding it secured.
“Shit,” he muttered, ready to head to the rear entrance when he heard Molly call his name in a subdued yell.
He went around the house in a hurried walk, finding Molly at the rear door, ready to enter. She used her left hand to turn the knob back and forth without pushing the door, indicating they had means to enter without forcing a door or window. Bryce nodded, and she opened the door, quickly looking from floor to ceiling for traps or signs of the undead.
Suddenly thankful the house was built with numerous windows that flooded the house with natural light, Bryce stayed by Molly’s side as they navigated the mudroom into a narrow hallway before entering the kitchen. Hearing no indications of anything else inside the house, Bryce stepped into the family room while Molly opened a door leading into the attached garage. His eyes scanned the room, finding two chairs and a large couch as though the family left after the start of the apocalypse and never made it home.
Built-in bookshelves remained along one wall, fully stocked with novels, encyclopedias, and coffee table books. Bryce saw the living room beyond this family space, and a hallway that led to several other rooms in another direction. He started toward the living room, quickly clearing it before finding Molly in the family room. They started down the hallway together, checking a bathroom and a master bedroom, along with the closets.
“Just the upstairs left,” he commented quietly as they started toward the stairs off the living room and near the front door.
Making their way to the top level, they cleared two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a home office space rather quickly. Breathing a sigh of relief, the pair went downstairs, gathered what few belongings they possessed from the truck, and secured the house once they settled inside. A search through the pantry revealed some canned goods, and a Jeep Grand Cherokee inside the garage provided a second transportation option. Before they explored the house more thoroughly for any firearms or ammunition, they plopped in different seats in the family room for a breather.
“You need to eat,” Molly insisted as Bryce rubbed his sore shoulder.
“I need to show you how to use this device,” he insisted. “Once the sickness sets in, I’m not going to be any use to you.”
“I’ve used a smartphone,” Molly said, somewhat insulted. “How hard can it be? Don’t they dumb things down for you military types?”
“Ouch,” Bryce said, finding the statement accurate in his line of work much of the time. “While that may be true, there are a few tricks to calibrating this thing.”
Military personnel specialized in fields to keep things simple because they were cogs in a larger wheel, but that didn’t mean all of their jobs were simplistic. Running the day-to-day operations on a ship as a lieutenant commander kept him busy, and proved stressful occasionally, but he supposed it seemed easier than other jobs he carried out as a young officer in the Navy.
“You not a fan of us military types?” Bryce asked, putting an emphasis on the last two words.
“I’m indifferent,” Molly replied. “None of you were around in my recent time of need.”
“Things are stretched a little thin with ninety-nine percent of the population walking around without heartbeats.”
“How did things get so bad so quickly?” Molly asked, though the question wasn’t directed at Bryce in particular.
“An act of terrorism can do that.”
“How did no one figure out Nadeau sooner? There had to be signs.”
“For years he made his company reliable, indispensable almost. In a world where things became more expensive and less timely, he met deadlines and provided excellent customer service. No one suspected a thing, and his products probably went through checkpoints without a second thought after so many flawless deliveries and inspections.”
