The Dead Road: Vol. 2 - Maybridge: The Dead Road, #2

By Robert Paine

Volume 2 of The Dead Road series!

It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation. It turned out to be the complete opposite...

Having made their way down the mountain, Alex, Roger and Eli hear a faint voice on the radio. Now, following the mysterious recorded message, they have an ever-so slight hope of finding other survivors or maybe even a way out of this apocalyptic mess.

Leading them to the small town of Maybridge, the three have to find the strange voice and the radio station, and hopefully discover they are not alone in this new world.

But will they find what they are looking for? Or something altogether more…sinister?

Praise for The Dead Road:
"Really liked all the books in this collection, they kept me on the edge of my seat. I would definitely recommend this to anyone that enjoys this type of book."

"Starts out fast and furious with backseat mayhem reminiscent of Pulp Fiction and ends with a road trip to destiny...or the next town over, called Maybridge. Four city slickers go camping/hunting for a week in the woods and discover that the world around them has become zombified. This is the story of their escape from the woods. Nicely done."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Our Pack Press
• Release date: Jan 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781497756007

Book preview

~Volume Two: Maybridge ~

The sun was coming up, and we were secure in the fact that we were not the last men on Earth. The radio signal we heard from Maybridge, Vermont was still faintly audible through the haze of white noise. Avoid Stockton it said, all dead. Roger drove. Eli sat in the front sit, cradling my hunting rifle like a kid with his favorite stuffed animal. I lay in the back, my foot elevated, hanging in a makeshift sling suspended from the laundry hook above the door. It hurt, but at least it had stopped bleeding. It was probably infected.

Roger leaned back a bit to make sure I heard what he was saying. Maybridge is coming up. Ten more minutes I'd say.

I leaned up on my elbows. Try to find a pharmacy or something. I need to clean out this cut and get it bandaged.

Eli snickered, And a shoe store.

Roger chuckled. Sure the joke was at my expense, but right now I wasn't going to begrudge a little bit of a laugh. I smirked and lay back down. Yeah, one running a sale on hiking boots.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. For that glorious moment I could almost forget that the world was being overrun by monsters. I could almost forget that we were following a barely audible radio signal in hopes of finding someone else alive.

I pulled my foot out of the sling, careful not to knock it against Roger's seat, and sat up. The sign on the side of the road read Maybridge, Founded 1802, Population 1309. I said Not exactly New York.

Roger nodded. You thought Stockton was a sleepy little town, and this place is half the size. I remember coming out here because my mother wanted to go to some antique store one summer.

Eli fidgeted with the rifle, eyes glued on the road ahead.

Crossing the town line didn't affect the scenery. The road was still narrow, the forest still encroached on both sides, and there was still no sign of any sort of life.

Roger turned off the radio. The hiss of white noise vanished, as did the tiny voice whispering the same message over and over. Up ahead was a gas station, the faded sign displayed Earl's Fuel, the red painted letters chipped and flaking. He slowed down, letting the engine quiet, drifting down the road towards the entrance to the station.

Eli looked at him, We need gas or something?

Roger shook his head. Half a tank still, but there's probably a first aid kit for Alex, and if there's a way to fill up, we probably should.

Earl's looked abandoned. The small office was dark, the garage door was closed, and the only cars in the lot looked like they had been sitting there for months. Roger guided the car up to the garage then put it in park. Alright Alex, you stay here, we'll go check the place out.

I scoffed. Fuck that.

Roger rolled his eyes, Dude, you can barely walk.

I don't care. I'm not sitting in the car, defenseless, with no ability to run away. If one of those things comes over and I'm trapped in here, what do you want me to do? Lock the doors and hope you guys didn't get eaten inside?

Eli nodded. Alex has got a point, man. We should stick together. We can't leave him.

Roger sighed and shook his head, Fine, but I think it's a bad idea. Just going on the record saying that now.

I shifted along the seat to the door and popped it open, rotating myself to step out of the car with care. I put my left foot down first, then stood, keeping just the toes of my right foot on the ground. It would be slow going, but walking across pavement was a hell of a lot easier than limping through the woods.

Eli got out and pulled the bolt on the rifle. Roger grabbed the hatchet from under his seat and turned to look at us both. Alright, I'm going to make my way up to the office door. Let's try to stay quiet, and keep calm. Eli and I nodded together, and watched Roger pad his way slowly up to the door.

The building looked right out of a Norman Mailer painting. There was a small corner office, with two large windows overlooking the pumps on one side and the large lot on the other. The blinds were drawn, preventing us from seeing inside. The top half of the door held another window, but it was frosted glass, like it was taken from a bathroom somewhere. Earl's was painted on the glass in stenciled letters, the edges chipping and discolored.

Roger tried the door. Locked. He went around the side of the building, then came back with a shrug. Looks like this is the only way in, he whispered, unless the garage is open. Eli jogged to the garage door and grabbed the large handle, pulling upward. It shimmied in its tracks, but didn't budge. The pair came back to the car while I moved to sit on the hood.

Roger wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and leaned in to whisper, Alright, we got two options the way I see it. We can either move on and try our luck going in to town, or we break in, risking that Earl is inside waiting for a snack.

Eli cleared his throat, steadying his quavering voice. Alex's foot is pretty bad, and the closer to town we get the more people there were, which means more of those things in our way. I think this is our best shot guys.

I nodded in agreement. While the idea of finding a pharmacy or a doctor's office was more appealing than foraging for bandages and antiseptic in a garage, Eli was right. If we went in to town there was a good chance we'd run across more zombies, and the only way we had to effectively get rid of them was likely to attract more. Just kick the door in, Roger.

Roger lifted one booted foot and slammed it into the door, just to the left of the handle. Wood splintered, paint chips fell from the frame, but the door held. He kicked again. We could hear the wood cracking under the strain, but it still remained shut. Roger paused, taking a few breaths before rising up to kick again. That's when we heard it.

It was faint, but distinct: a low groan. Eli immediately brought the rifle up to his shoulder. Where the fuck was that from, man? His eyes were wide. I could see his hands shaking.

Roger held out his hand to us, waving us silent. Eli's panicked breathing sounded like a dog panting in July heat. I swallowed the lump in my throat, listening carefully, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. We heard it again.

Roger looked back at me and whispered I think it is inside.

I closed my eyes and nodded, sighing in defeat. Let's go then.

No fucking way, man! Eli was shaking. We're killing that fucking thing and getting your foot bandaged up! I could see in his face that Eli was on the verge of breaking. He was taking short breaths, his cheeks were pale, but there was something in his eyes that told a story of raw determination, an animalistic need to be the hunter instead of the hunted. We're killing that fucking thing.

I looked at Roger. He seemed as shocked as I was. I looked back at Eli. Okay. Okay, Eli. Just calm down a little. I don't want you shooting when you're twitchy like that.

The thing groaned again. We saw a blurred hand come up to rest against the frosted glass, the skin gray, dragging a smear of bloody goo across the inside of the window. I was reminded of a dozen horror movies I had seen as a teenager, and a shudder of primal revulsion passed through me. Eli took aim. Roger gasped and held up both hands towards him, Whoa whoa! Hold on!

Eli pulled the trigger. He was nervous. He was edgy. I’m not even sure he saw Roger standing between him and the thing behind the door. Eli’s world had become a single moment, and he wasn’t going to be at the mercy of monsters any longer. Roger flinched as the shot echoed out. The glass shattered. For a moment we could see the thing inside, a man wearing a green collared shirt with Big Earl embroidered over the breast pocket. His right cheek was torn and ragged, the flesh black and festering. That was where he was bitten. That’s how he caught it – whatever it is.

Black, greasy blood ran down Big Earl’s forehead. The bullet entered above his right eye. The splatter of gore on the wall behind him showed where it exited. He let out one last groan and collapsed like a marionette that had its strings cut.

Roger looked at us both with a dazed expression. That bullet probably passed so close to him he could hear it whizz through the air.

Eli turned to me, lowering