Rise & Walk (Book 2): Pathogen Read online

  Rise and Walk: Pathogen

  By Gregory Solis

  WWW.HADRIANPUBLISHING.COM

  Rise and Walk: Pathogen

  Copyright © 2013 Gregory Solis

  Kindle Edition

  All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. The characters and situations in this story are imaginary. No resemblance is intended between these characters and any real persons, either living, dead, or undead.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

  Released by Hadrian Publishing.

  Published by Gregory Solis

  For information E-mail

  [email protected]

  Cover Design by Danielle Tunstall

  Cover Model Crimson Raine

  Continuity by Cassie Goodwin

  Edited by Jon Finch

  Formatted by Kody Boye

  Beverages and Cognitive Support by Neurosonic

  If you downloaded this work from a file-sharing site, please consider supporting independent horror by making a pay-pal donation to [email protected].

  We know times are hard and appreciate your support.

  Written in the United States of America

  For Joan Catherine Solis.

  We all miss you very much.

  Acknowledgements

  I wish to thank all in the Horror community who supported Rise and Walk. I couldn’t have asked for a better group of friends than the kids at HorrorYearbook.com, Permuted Press, FearZone.com, and the menagerie of other kind and generous websites that embraced the first book when it broke out in 2007.

  I have to thank David Moody, Fermin Munoz, John Osteen, Simon Wood, Sean Cain, Jordan Sanchez, Steven and Rachel at RenegadeMotion Pictures, Remy Porter, Ed Wolf and Rod Glenn at Wild Wolf Publishing, Suzanna Trubin, Molly Celaschi, Cassie Goodwin, Sarah Jahier, Celina Andrade, Matt McElroy, Gregory Lamberson, Wayne Simmons, Nicholas Grabowsky, Miranda Jonte, Jon Finch, Patrick Tulipano, Danielle Tunstall, Kody Boye, Bruce Babcock, Robin Pierce, Shawn Lewis, Jon Lewis, Mitchell and Martin Boone, Danny Northside, Tony Williams, Jordan Eggers, Erin Riley and of course, Christina Grill for their encouragement and prodding to help me get this sequel done.

  My most sincere thanks go to the fans. Man, you guys have been patient. Thank you for the reviews and for the questions and for the interest when this book would finally hit the shelves. As many of you may know, life got a little horrible for me not long after Rise débuted and I couldn’t have finished without your support. Sorry for the huge delay, I promise to get the next one out as fast and as gory and exciting as possible.

  There are so many others to thank and mention, my friends and family, the digital deviants on the internet, my new friends at Cal-State East-Bay, and the denizens of Twitter and Facebook, but this would take a book of its own, and you poor bastards have waited long enough to learn what fate has in store for Tony, Mason, Nikki, and Veronica.

  You have my gratitude.

  Gregory Solis

  May 30, 2013

  Rise and Walk:

  Pathogen

  Prelude

  The walls of the mining shack flexed and buckled under the relentless assault of the surrounding undead. Decaying flesh of pummeling hands split, broke open, and left smears of honey-hued puss on the plywood exterior. The rickety old structure, formally used to store tools and serve as a short-term shelter, was built to withstand the elements, not the attack of a bestial mob. The creatures clawed at the rough weathered wood, finding spaces between the slats, tearing, tugging, and stripping them away. Greater and greater sections splintered off exposing the desperate survivors within.

  Nikki Howe stood trembling inside as Lance Richardson sprung from the floor; now inexplicably free of his bonds. He threw himself on her friend, Veronica Emmons. Nikki’s eyes blazed hatred for the man who just a day before had held them at gunpoint, willing to sacrifice the girls to save his own skin. Her hands shook as she attempted to aim her pistol. Lance and Veronica struggled, their violent dance of jerks and shoves prevented Nikki from finding a shot. Veronica’s shotgun was open; a spent shell in the breach, but the gun was caught in the mash up between their bodies. Lance scooped his left hand underneath the weapon and brought his right fist hard across her chin. The tall woman contorted and went down fast from his punch. He stood above her with a triumph that only a spoiled child could appreciate; the personification of the opposite of gallantry.

  Nikki saw Lance produce a shot-shell from his pocket. Confusion rang in her head. They had searched him before tying him up. Where the hell did he get that? Nikki flicked the pistol’s safety off. The selfish pig spoke.

  “Put down that gun little girl, or I’m gonna put a big hole in this bitch’s chest.” He said closing the shotgun and pulling the hammer back. His ice blue eyes glowered at Nikki and his voice rang with that tone of entitlement that she was used to. She knew his privileged existence was accustomed to others following his orders. How she had hated the Richardson dynasty for the oppressive manner which they ran her town. They treated people like toys, disposable; something to be dismissed when their use or novelty had passed. Son of a bitch is not gonna get away with this, she thought, I’ve got the upper hand.

  “You have one bullet, I have seven!” She said pulling her hammer back, ready to fire.

  “Yeah,” he laughed, “but you’re not gonna shoot me. I will shoot her.” He said pointing with the shotgun. His laugh grated on Nikki. A small plank crackled as it broke loose revealing a rectangular opening in the wall to her left, just behind Lance. A ghoulish face filled the space, its mouth frothing drool as it growled at Nikki.

  “Shoot him Nik!” Veronica mumbled as she began to get up from the floor. Lance pushed her back down with the barrel of his weapon. Nikki’s heartbeat raced faster than she thought possible.

  “Give me the shells in your pocket.” He demanded towards Veronica.

  “Shoot him!” Veronica said rising to her knees. Lance’s face suddenly changed as if he were transforming into another person. Nikki could see the anger in his eyes at Veronica’s defiance. He lifted the gun and scowled at the unarmed woman. Nikki knew that she had to act. No one else was going to save them; no one would even hold him responsible if they got out of this mess. People like Lance never had to pay for their crimes. His father had the police chief in his back pocket. Nikki Howe’s entire body tensed, she exhaled and squeezed the trigger.

  A loud blast echoed over the hungry moans of the ghouls outside but the blast wasn’t from her gun. No, this unexpected shot followed just after hers. Nikki saw Veronica spin around and fold over from a shotgun round. She landed on the hard planked floor with a low grunt.

  Lance Richardson gasped a sound that started out like a cough, but ended with an odd squeak as a small red spot blossomed in the fabric of his shirt just below his sternum. He fell to the floor, an incredulous expression taking hold as all color retreated from his face. He landed next to a couple of broken boards in the wall. Undead hands tore the opening just above the floor even wider. Lance’s spot wept red soaking his shirt which now clung heavily to his skin. Arms mottled with dirt, insect bites, and slippery gore, reached into the shack and found Lance. He made flaccid slapping motions against their clawing but to no effect. Horrid hands gripped hard and pulled Lance outside, his skin scraping and tearing against sharp edges of broken wood, towards their hungry mouths.

  Nikki watched without remorse. One corner of her mouth turned upwards underneath scowling eyes. The pounding outside lessened as the creatures paus
ed their siege to partake in the fresh, warm meat of Lance Richardson’s body. His scream was high pitched, then throaty, and finally took on a wet quality as if becoming submerged in something thick, bubbly, and inhuman.

  Then the weight of her actions crashed upon her. She had just killed a man; an awful man who held her at gunpoint but still, he was dead by her hand. She was certain he deserved it but those feelings faded quickly with the execution of the act. She felt sick; like she was going to vomit, disgusted by the realization that she would never be the same. Sure she had killed a couple of those things outside, but they were already dead come back from some nightmarish reason. Besides, they wanted to eat her, so it was self-defense. Shooting Lance Richardson wasn’t self-defense, was it? Yes. She was sure it was. There was no telling what he might have done to her to save his own ass. If she hadn’t fired; it could’ve been her and Veronica outside being devoured while Lance used the distraction to make his escape.

  Looking down at Veronica’s lifeless body, Nikki began to feel the emptiness of isolation. She was on her own now. She had better learn how to take care of herself.

  Quiet fell within the foul, dry air. She heard a man’s voice and suddenly became aware of another person in the shack.

  “What have you done Nicole?” her father said in his accusational tone.

  “Father!” She threw her arms around his neck and held tight. He didn’t react but stood firm and without warmth as he often did when disappointed in her.

  “You killed the Richardson boy. Don’t you know what they’ll do to you?” He didn’t even lift his arms up around her. She tried to find some humanity in the embrace but he was iron.

  “He shot my friend… I had to…” she answered, unconsciously adjusting the truth as she sometimes did when speaking to him. He was unmoved. Finally she let go of the cold statue.

  “God help you when the father finds out,” he sighed. Then the walls of the shack began to rumble and shatter. Planks fell away with a thunderous clamor revealing the ragged horde surrounding her. Hungry blood covered faces looked to her with horrid jaws agape, familiar faces of peers and neighbors, too many now to count. The throng converged through the skeletal wooded studs that remained. She swung up her pistol and began to take aim but her arms moved as if she were submerged in syrup. Her body wouldn’t respond to her commands. Every action was in slow motion, save those of the undead who moved easily to her. Her father made no effort to help, instead looking down in shame. She screamed but what escaped her mouth was only silence.

  *****

  Nikki inhaled sharply, startled awake as she was thrown forward by the truck’s abrupt breaking. Her heartbeat hammered on the inside of her chest. As the fog of her nightmare faded, her tired eyes fixed upon the view of her hometown in the valley below; on the smoke billowing from the roof of the hospital. Oh my God, she thought, not here. From the driver’s seat, Jack reached over and turned on the radio. A harried voice stammered out accounts of growing violence. The narration was bleak, made more so by the view through the windshield of Whisper, California. Next to her, Tony slid open his twelve gauge shotgun and checked the chamber. Nikki felt the empty .380 pistol in her pocket.

  “We’re gonna need more bullets.” She said.

  Jack let his foot off the brake and resumed a slow coast down the mountain road while the four survivors listened to the news.

  The chick is right, Jack Mason thought, lots of ‘em. Bullets were part of the reason that he and Tony had come this far north. Richardson Ammunition Manufacturing, the main industry in Whisper, had sponsored a paintball competition that Mason, Tony, and three other friends had attended. Simulated warfare as weekend entertainment soon turned into a bloodbath as for some unexplained reason, an infection raged though the campground. Those infected quickly died, and then rose back up seeking to eat the living. They had fought to escape the infected undead for the past two days, struggling to reach the safety of town. Now, to their horror, there was no safety to be found.

  Mason clenched the steering wheel as he realized the depth of the situation. Judging from the smoldering building and the lack of emergency services; there would be no law enforcement to turn to. If what they had been dealing with at the lake was happening everywhere, then there would be no cavalry coming. They were on their own for the moment. They had a few guns, though not as many as he would like, his Samurai sword, and their wits, but practically no ammunition.

  “Where’s this ammo plant you were talking about?” Jack asked. Nikki pointed off in the distance. As they completed a turn past a cluster of trees, they saw a fenced in area as large as a private airfield on the far end of town. Mason eyed the facility and all the ammunition it must hold. The radio then mentioned San Francisco, catching Jack’s attention.

  The evacuation that began less than twenty-four hours ago was called off late Sunday night. Neighboring cities have now initiated steps to quarantine San Francisco by blocking off both the Bay and Golden Gate bridges. Communication with City Hall has been lost but countless isolated pockets of survivors remain. Our newsroom has been in touch with some of these remaining survivors through Citizens Band and other consumer radios. One independent television station within the city remains on the air with a skeleton crew. We have reports that some elements of Law Enforcement are still aiding evacuations to the south of the city but areas such as North-Beach, Chinatown, and South of Market are overrun with infection.

  “Shit.” Tony gasped while looking to Jack, “They would have been working.”

  “Damn it!” Jack Mason cursed as he stomped on the brake pedal bringing his truck to a stop. He threw the shifter to PARK then reached down into the side pocket on the driver’s door and found his cell phone.

  “Who?” Veronica asked concerned. Tony answered for his friend.

  “His parents. Well, mom and step-dad.” He corrected. “They have a restaurant in North-Beach.”

  “You guys have cell service in town, right?” Mason said to no one in particular as he opened a well used, very old cell phone.

  “Yeah, if you can see the towers in the plant, you should have a connection.” Nikki said with her attention suddenly directed at his phone. Jack pressed the power button so hard he had to remind himself to take it easy. An agonizing twenty seconds passed while the phone initialized. Mason was eventually greeted with confirmation of a signal.

  “Got three bars.” He said squinting and Veronica to his right.

  Veronica observed his growing frustration as Mason tried over and over again to get a call through. The response was always a cycling tone and a readout that said: NETWORK BUSY.

  “Damn, won’t even connect.” Jack said closing the cover after the fifth attempt. “Guess that would’ve been too much to ask.” In the corner of his eye, he noticed Nikki’s posture deflate as he put away the phone. He gripped the wheel and tried to calm down.

  He felt Veronica lean her head on his shoulder. They had been through a lot in the past couple of days and things were only looking worse. His parents could be in trouble back at home and he was too far away to do anything about it. Calculating the situation made his while body tense. Veronica was injured. She was lucky that she was only shot with Salt-rock. But her injury left her in no condition to fight. Jack looked at her and frowned. She seemed like one hell of a chick and he wondered if she would stick with them for a while; maybe even join them back to Berkeley. Veronica tried to lift her head from his shoulder but only managed to let out a pained grunt.

  “Pretty sore?” He asked.

  She moaned an almost defeated sound.

  “When we‘re in a good spot we’ll pull over and have a look at your bandages.

  Veronica lifted her head from Jack’s shoulder and looked at him. Her sharp features and chestnut hair looked too beautiful for the seriousness in her gaze. The dead are everywhere; her brown eyes seemed to say.

  Everywhere… Even in San Francisco, he thought.

  “What the hell happened down there?” Nikki’
s voice trembled.

  YESTERDAY

  Andy Oakes clung to a safety handle as the ambulance negotiated a high-speed turn on a tight mountain pass. He strained to regain his balance until the vehicle evened out.

  “Don’t take such a wide turn, Ass!” The EMT in the back shouted while securing a young girl to the gurney. Andy watched the technician’s flurry of movement over the patient. As the EMT reached down to grab a manual- respirator bag, Andy saw how bad the teenage girl had changed in the half- hour since they had escaped the violence at the campground. A madman had bitten off the top of her ear just outside the door to Andy’s store and since then a deathly pallor had crept over her features. The veins under her skin had darkened, showing through her sweaty complexion and seemed to reach out from her injured ear across the hemisphere of her face. Andy’s worry increased as her eyes fluttered while she shook her head wildly from side to side. He leaned into the cab area to speak to the driver.

  “Can you use the radio yet?”

  The driver, without looking away from the road, snatched the microphone from the dashboard, reached back and offered it to Andy.

  “When you see the tower, you’ll have power.” The driver said, using a phrase that was popular with the local cell phone users. “Our call-sign is Rescue-One.”

  Andy took the handset and watched as the down slope of the mountain road leveled out. The dense trees thinned until the edge of town was in view. The tip of a tall steel radio tower was visible in the distance. Andy sat down, stretching the coiled microphone cable. He pressed the SEND switch.