Read Online The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead by Steven Ramirez - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steven Ramirez
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
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breakfast dishes. She looked at me in the strangest way, like she knew. I wasn’t surprised. Everything anyone needed to know was on my face.
On the way back, shrill sirens forced me to pull over. Police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck sped past towards the lake. I assumed it was a boating accident.
I decided to get off the 5 and take a scenic route through the forest. I knew I was delaying my arrival in Tres Marias, but I didn’t have to be at work till ten. There was still enough time to shower and change clothes.
Up ahead, an old bridge road spanned across a dry creek bed. The day was already warm, and I had my window rolled down. Partway across, I noticed some guy running on the dry, dusty rocks. Scared, he wore hiking shorts and a straw hat and had a camera slung across his chest. Tourist. I pulled over and climbed out to get a better look. It was hard to tell his age, but he wasn’t in any kind of shape. At one point he tripped and did a face plant, screaming and swearing.
Then I saw them.
A group of around eight men and women charged after the man, arms outstretched like he’d stolen their wallets. They moved fast, but their bodies didn’t look right. They screeched like some kind of deranged birds. It was the most awful sound I’d ever heard—the same sound Missy had made. They were getting closer.
“Hey, get up!” I said. “Come on!”
He looked at me, then back at the mob. Adrenaline must’ve helped him, because like a torsion spring he shot to his feet and took off running towards the bridge, blood and sweat streaming down his face.
I got into my truck, drove to the end of the bridge, jumped out and waited with the engine running.
He was at the bottom of the bank. He tried scrambling up the side but kept slipping on the thin, dry grass and loose gravel. The mob was gaining on him.
“Try over there!” I said, pointing to a beaten path through the weeds.
He went down a ways and climbed. One of those crazies was on him now—a woman who looked to be in her fifties, with short grey hair, swollen ankles and JCPenney summer clothes. Talking gibberish, she grabbed his foot and tried dragging him down the side. He screamed. I slid down halfway and reached out to take his wrist. Others came and pulled him like lions bringing down a wildebeest.
They wanted to eat him.
Horrified, I watched as they tore at his eyes, tongue and any other soft, juicy parts. It was incredible how they moved as one. Their fingers were like razors ripping through his clothes to get to his swollen, hairy abdomen. I stood frozen on that dirt path, unable to comprehend what was happening. When his intestines spilled out, I scrambled up the path, got into my truck and shot down the road, narrowly avoiding a boulder.
“God, God!”
Crazy with adrenaline, I made a U-turn and headed back over the bridge towards the freeway. There was little left of the man, and the mob was already dispersing. As I came out of the forest, I heard someone blast their horn. Another car swerved towards me from the driver’s side. Thinking fast, I floored it. The car missed me by inches and hit a tree. I slammed on the brakes.
Shaken but unhurt, I looked to see what had happened. A man lay semiconscious behind the wheel of a black Lexus SUV. The air bag had deployed, reminding me of my own car accident. I got out and went to see if I could help.
Through the window I saw blood streaming from the man’s forehead. He appeared to be in his sixties. It was Isaac Fallow.
“Hey, can you move?” He nodded.
After several tries, I was able to get his door open. I undid his seat belt and helped him into the passenger side of my truck, then got behind the wheel.
“Dave, my medical kit. It’s in the trunk.”
I ran back to the car, popped the trunk and found a large black plastic tub among old newspapers, file folders and crushed soda cans. As I placed it in the back of my truck, I heard the terrifying shrieking again.
“Hurry!” Isaac said
On the way back, shrill sirens forced me to pull over. Police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck sped past towards the lake. I assumed it was a boating accident.
I decided to get off the 5 and take a scenic route through the forest. I knew I was delaying my arrival in Tres Marias, but I didn’t have to be at work till ten. There was still enough time to shower and change clothes.
Up ahead, an old bridge road spanned across a dry creek bed. The day was already warm, and I had my window rolled down. Partway across, I noticed some guy running on the dry, dusty rocks. Scared, he wore hiking shorts and a straw hat and had a camera slung across his chest. Tourist. I pulled over and climbed out to get a better look. It was hard to tell his age, but he wasn’t in any kind of shape. At one point he tripped and did a face plant, screaming and swearing.
Then I saw them.
A group of around eight men and women charged after the man, arms outstretched like he’d stolen their wallets. They moved fast, but their bodies didn’t look right. They screeched like some kind of deranged birds. It was the most awful sound I’d ever heard—the same sound Missy had made. They were getting closer.
“Hey, get up!” I said. “Come on!”
He looked at me, then back at the mob. Adrenaline must’ve helped him, because like a torsion spring he shot to his feet and took off running towards the bridge, blood and sweat streaming down his face.
I got into my truck, drove to the end of the bridge, jumped out and waited with the engine running.
He was at the bottom of the bank. He tried scrambling up the side but kept slipping on the thin, dry grass and loose gravel. The mob was gaining on him.
“Try over there!” I said, pointing to a beaten path through the weeds.
He went down a ways and climbed. One of those crazies was on him now—a woman who looked to be in her fifties, with short grey hair, swollen ankles and JCPenney summer clothes. Talking gibberish, she grabbed his foot and tried dragging him down the side. He screamed. I slid down halfway and reached out to take his wrist. Others came and pulled him like lions bringing down a wildebeest.
They wanted to eat him.
Horrified, I watched as they tore at his eyes, tongue and any other soft, juicy parts. It was incredible how they moved as one. Their fingers were like razors ripping through his clothes to get to his swollen, hairy abdomen. I stood frozen on that dirt path, unable to comprehend what was happening. When his intestines spilled out, I scrambled up the path, got into my truck and shot down the road, narrowly avoiding a boulder.
“God, God!”
Crazy with adrenaline, I made a U-turn and headed back over the bridge towards the freeway. There was little left of the man, and the mob was already dispersing. As I came out of the forest, I heard someone blast their horn. Another car swerved towards me from the driver’s side. Thinking fast, I floored it. The car missed me by inches and hit a tree. I slammed on the brakes.
Shaken but unhurt, I looked to see what had happened. A man lay semiconscious behind the wheel of a black Lexus SUV. The air bag had deployed, reminding me of my own car accident. I got out and went to see if I could help.
Through the window I saw blood streaming from the man’s forehead. He appeared to be in his sixties. It was Isaac Fallow.
“Hey, can you move?” He nodded.
After several tries, I was able to get his door open. I undid his seat belt and helped him into the passenger side of my truck, then got behind the wheel.
“Dave, my medical kit. It’s in the trunk.”
I ran back to the car, popped the trunk and found a large black plastic tub among old newspapers, file folders and crushed soda cans. As I placed it in the back of my truck, I heard the terrifying shrieking again.
“Hurry!” Isaac said
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