Welcome to Necropolis Read online

  WELCOME TO

  NECROPOLIS

  Bryan Killian

  DEADITE PRESS

  P.O. BOX 10065

  PORTLAND, OR 97296

  www.DEADITEPRESS.com

  AN ERASERHEAD PRESS COMPANY

  www.ERASERHEADPRESS.com

  ISBN: 978-1-62105-177-0

  Welcome to Necropolis copyright © 2015 by Bryan Killian

  Cover art copyright © 2015 Matthew Revert

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Printed in the USA.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my Mother for introducing me to this wonderful genre at such an early age and for supporting this project even when it just sat on a shelf collecting dust. A big thank you to Susan for allowing me to fictionalize her home in this story (I will be using it again). Michael, Jill, Nathan, Cheryl, Andrew and Vince for their enthusiasm and encouragement throughout this process. To my friends and former colleagues Rosser and Lou for providing guidance regarding military jargon. To all the fine folks living in Redding, some I know and some I don’t, without you or the city I wouldn’t have had the perfect backdrop for this story. Alan and Mark for encouragement and sound advice when seeking a way to get my foot in the door. Brian Keene for taking the time to read my manuscript, red pen the hell out of it without tossing it in the trash and making me feel welcome to the family. And finally Jeff Burk and the crew at Deadite Press for taking a chance on this book. Cheers!

  Author’s Note

  For those of you who live in and around Redding or know the city well I have taken certain fictional liberties with street names and locations. You may recognize some areas while others will be reminiscent of times past. Ask yourself; do the dead really care if street names are correct?

  For

  My beautiful wife, my Spark!

  The Undying Dead: An Introduction by Brian Keene

  Every so often, various genre pundits or critics will opine that zombie fiction is no longer trending—that it has become passé or waning in popularity. When this happens, I am often asked for my opinion on the subject (because, along with Danny Boyle and Robert Kirkman, I am often cited as being responsible for the current zombie pop culture trend).

  Well, my opinion is that those various pundits and critics are full of shit.

  And so am I, because a few years ago, I agreed with them.

  To understand why I agreed with them then, and why I vehemently disagree now, and what any of this has to do with the novel you are about to read, allow me to offer a brief explanation.

  Danny Boyle’s film, 28 Days Later, Robert Kirkman’s comic book, The Walking Dead, and my own novel, The Rising, were all released within a few months of each other (the film in late 2002 and the other two in early 2003). Before that, it had been nearly a decade since there had been any zombie-related work of note. Yes, there were a few sporadic releases here and there, but nothing that seemed to transcend genre and really capture the general public’s attention. I can’t speak to Boyle or Kirkman’s motivations for their creations, but mine was simple—“It’s been a while since anybody wrote a zombie novel. Maybe I’ll try my hand at that. I bet people would like to read it.”

  And I was right. People did want to read it, and over a decade later, they’re still reading it. And they’re still reading (and now watching) The Walking Dead. And they’re still watching 28 Days Later (which, like my own novel, spawned a sequel). We tapped into something in the zeitgeist, I guess (it’s interesting to note that all three works shared certain similarities—relationships between a parent and child, a black, female protagonist, etc.). Or maybe all three of us just got lucky, and had incredible timing. Whatever the case, people read and watched in droves.

  And continued to do so.

  Fast-forward half a decade later, and I was among those predicting that the zombie craze would soon be over. My reasoning was the fact that much of the films, comics, and novels being produced to slake the public’s hunger for more zombies were simply derivative copies of what had already been done. But that soon changed, with novels like Carlton Mellick’s Zombies and Shit and films like Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead. These works, and others like them, took the undead in new directions, and thought of new things to do with them. Soon, we had zombie comedies, zombie romances, zombie historical fiction, and more.

  It is now my contention that, as a result of that second wave, zombies have become their own genre, much like vampires before them. Vampires used to be a staple of the horror genre, starting with Dracula, Varney the Vampire, and Nosferatu right up through the works of Stephen King, F. Paul Wilson, and Les Daniels. But it was Anne Rice (and those who followed her, such as Laurell K. Hamilton and Charlaine Harris) who delivered works that transcended the walls of genre and made vampires accessible to the general public, rather than just horror fans. Soon enough, there were legions of dedicated readers who, rather than self-identifying as a fan of any one particular genre, instead preferred to be identified by their love and appreciation of vampire novels. The same thing has happened with zombie fiction. There is a legion of readers whom, rather than labeling themselves as horror fans or survival fans or post-apocalyptic dystopian fans, instead prefer to be known as fans of zombie fiction.

  Zombies have become their own genre. The dead won’t be dying again anytime soon. And their fans are just as ravenous as the zombies they love.

  Which brings me to Bryan Killian and the book you are about to read.

  I get asked to read a LOT of zombie fiction. Sometimes, that’s wonderful, and other times, it’s a chore. To be honest, when I sit down to begin reading a new zombie novel, especially by a newer author, I always do so with some trepidation. So much of it is derivative, as I mentioned before. Of course, in horror, there aren’t really any original ideas left. Rather, it’s how an author or filmmaker puts their unique spin, stamp, or brand on an idea that makes it work. The problem with so much of what’s being published in the zombie genre right now is that there is no unique voice or imprint. And even if an author does try to color outside the lines, there is an element of the readership who don’t want anything different. Instead, they want another variation of the story they’ve already read a dozen times before.

  With Welcome to Necropolis, Bryan Killian does a masterful job of straddling these lines, and satisfying both camps. His setting is at once recognizable, but there are new elements at play, different ways of looking at the situation therein. He has a strong, unique voice, and it is with that strong, unique voice that he deftly treads familiar ground while managing to dig up new, unseen and unfamiliar marvels. He also knows that a zombie story is only as good as its characters, and it is his characterization that really makes this novel shine. I know these people in my everyday life. I recognize them, know their thoughts and feelings, and I bet you will, too. This is a novel with a lot of heart, and an equal amount of head shots, and I’m confident it will satisfy all readers. I know it did for me.

  And so, with that, I’ll get out of the way and allow Bryan to take over. Hang on tight. You’re in for one hell of a ride.

  Brian Keene

  Somewhere in the backwoods of Pennsylvania

  2014

  Part One

  One

  Late October

  Ty sat up in bed for the umpteenth time, listening to the constant sirens throughout the city. The clock radio on the side table read 11:37PM. With a deep breath, he stepped out of bed and walked to the sliding glass door. From his third floor
apartment he could see the lights of a fire engine a couple blocks away. It sat stationary, its siren set on an intermittent wail. Ty thought it a little odd and soon became annoyed.

  “Turn it off.” Ty groaned, turning away from the door. The television only showed “Emergency Broadcast” messages. Ty rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and rather than reading the flashing message, checked the refrigerator, instead. He pulled the door opened, flooding the small kitchen with light. He looked from shelf to shelf knowing he shouldn’t eat this late at night. Sugar, his Golden Lab, strode up and nuzzled him in the crotch.

  “Damn, Sugar, your nose is cold.”

  The refrigerator contained nothing enticing. Ty closed the door and walked over to the pantry. Sugar followed close behind. The television continued scrolling the emergency broadcast.

  As Ty looked over the pantry a voice became audible on the broadcast. “All residents are advised to stay inside with your doors and windows locked. Do not attempt to travel at this time. Do not call 911 for assistance. All lines are reported down. Emergency crews will restore the lines as soon as possible. Local hospitals are…” The voice stopped but the written messages continued crawling across the screen. Ty turned to look at the television but the message ended before he could read it. He waited a moment for the message to repeat. It never did.

  The fire engine’s siren ceased, leaving only the clamor of chaos. Startled by screams, Ty raced to the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the patio. He saw several fires across the city. Gunshots rang out. Ty’s mind raced.

  What the hell is going on?

  On the street below a figure ran, chased by several more who were crying out with primal screams. Squinting, Ty leaned over the railing to see what was happening. The figures rounded the corner and disappeared from his line of sight. He stood up straight and began studying the several small fires burning in different parts of the city.

  The scream was intense. Instantly his attention was drawn back to where he had lost sight of the running figures. The screams continued for a short moment before falling silent. He swore he could hear moaning emanating from the same area.

  ***

  Katie stood in front of the cash register looking down at the most recent Lotto numbers. She daydreamed about what it would be like to win and not have to work at the Mini-Mart anymore. She was tempted by the Lotto scratchers under the glass counter but thought better of it. She was a lot of things but a thief wasn’t one of them. The evening had been normal for the most part and Katie knew it would be a slow night. A police car sped by the Mini-Mart with lights and sirens blaring. She barely noticed. It was a normal sight for this neighborhood. She had worked at the same location for over a year and knew all the nuances of the surrounding area. Lights and sirens were normal.

  Soon after the police car passed, a line of fire engines and ambulances all sped by. Another bad accident Katie thought. Several weeks prior, a teenage girl crashed her mustang into a minivan carrying a family of four only three blocks from the Mini-Mart. There were no survivors. Katie looked back down at the numbers, never noticing the homeless man with foggy eyes, staring in at her from across the street. Behind the homeless man three more figures walked slowly through the darkness.

  ***

  “11-2 Paul, your 10-20?” dispatch requested while James attempted to read the newspaper he picked up from his driveway earlier in the day.

  “Sector 4, near Cypress and Hilltop.” James answered, knowing damn well the dispatcher could pull up his vehicle’s location on the automatic vehicle locator or AVL for short.

  “11-2 Paul there is a reported 415 in progress at the Morning View Retirement Facility, 1336 Morning Way. Please contact Ruth Davies at the south entrance. File number 101615-21.” The dispatcher cleared the air. James stared down at the laptop and hesitated a moment before finally clicking on the recent calls list.

  Damn, I didn’t even get to read Get Fuzzy. He tossed the paper on the passenger seat.

  Officer James Dillion pulled his unit up to the sidewalk just outside the south entrance to the facility. Morning View was a large facility providing several different levels of care for retired folks willing to spend a small fortune. Three buildings made up the facility all attached by enclosed walkways. The buildings surrounded a large landscaped courtyard.

  “Home, 11-2 Paul.” James said over his mobile radio.

  “11-2 Paul.” The radio crackled loudly in his ear. Once again James had turned his earpiece up too loud. He swore he’d retire with a deaf left ear some day. He quickly reached for the volume button and turned the radio down.

  “Home, I’m 10-87.”

  “11-2 Paul the calls are beginning to stack up, please expedite if possible.”

  “10-4 home.” James shook his head and walked slowly up to the facility door. A faint light flickered above the “Employee’s Only” entrance sign. James stared at the sign and shook his head. Nothing positive about this entrance, no indication you are about to enter a wonderful place to die. The double doors were steel and locked tight. James reached over to the call box and pressed the button. No answer. James pushed the button again. Finally a female voice answered.

  “Nurses Station, is this the police?”

  “Yes ma’am this is Officer Dillion, you called regarding a possible disturbance.”

  “Yes, yes we did. I’ll buzz you in. Just pull the door open when you hear the click. Walk down the hall to the Nurse’s Station. I’ll be right there.”

  James waited for the click thinking the nurse’s voice sounded stressed. He pulled the door open and was surprised by its weight. The hall was well lit and he could see the nurse’s station approximately sixty feet ahead. Several nurses buzzed about the station. James wondered what could possibly be going on in this type of facility? Maybe their Ensure got spiked. James snickered under his breath.

  ***

  Ruth Davies stood in the Nurse’s Station attempting to make sense of what was happening in her facility. Three young nurses stood nearby, as well as a newly hired caregiver.

  “I have never seen anything like this before. I mean…he bit her.” Ruth shook her head looking down at the patient charts as she spoke.

  “I could have sworn he expired.” A younger nurse said with tears in her eyes. “All his vitals…he was expired, I swear!” The young nurse began to cry.

  “He was expired.” Ruth said not looking up from the charts.

  “I can’t believe we had to call the police. Do you think Mr. Ramstein will be arrested for biting Joan?” One of the young nurses asked.

  Ruth looked up from the chart. “I have no idea. On top of all this Mr. McAllister will probably expire tonight as well. The weekend can’t get here fast enough.”

  “Can one of you go check on Joan while I discuss tonight’s events with the police officer?” Ruth asked as she gathered up the remaining charts.

  ***

  James walked down the hall and snickered to himself until his attention was diverted away from the nurse’s station. He noticed the door to room 402 sat ajar with the light on. The remaining rooms lining the hall were either dark or closed. James peered into room 402 and noticed a frail man, Hal McAllister, sitting up in his bed. There were several medical devices on either side of the bed with tubes leading in and out of the man’s arms and abdomen. The man’s eyes were glazed over, almost foggy. James stepped close to the doorway.

  “Evening sir. They tell me there’s some kind of party happening here tonight.” James received no answer from the man. He noticed a solid line scrolling across the screen of one of the devices. The alarm on the device had been muted. James stepped in closer.

  The man sat perfectly still, foggy eyes staring straight ahead.

  ***

  “Joan, Joan…are you O.K.?” The young nurse asked. She stared down at Joan for awhile not wanting to disturb her if she was sleeping. The gauze on top of her left shoulder was bleeding through. The young nurse knelt down looking closer at the gauze. Joan wa
s sitting in a chair with her feet up on a make shift ottoman. Her head lay back and was cocked to the right side. She was perfectly still. The young nurse reached over to pull the gauze back. She stared down at the several small punctures producing thin streams of blood. The punctures formed the shape of an upper jaw line. Joan moved her head slightly.

  “I’m sorry, Joan, I didn’t mean to wake you. I really should change this dressing.” The young nurse said as she stood back up.

  Joan didn’t open her eyes. She let out a small groan and cocked her head to the left. It appeared she was fast asleep again. The young nurse looked back down at the wound and knew she should cover it with a fresh dressing. She removed fresh gauze from its packaging and knelt back down. She finished removing the soiled dressing and prepped the area around the wound. Joan’s head moved slightly again. The young nurse remained focused on the wound and didn’t notice when Joan opened her foggy grey eyes.

  Joan’s breathing had ceased several minutes before unbeknownst to the young nurse. For all intents and purposes, she looked like she was dead in the chair but her body didn’t remain lifeless. Especially when prey walked in awakening a hunger deep down in the bowels of her soulless body. She sensed movement and remained still, only moving her head once to gain a better position for the initial attack. Now the prey was close enough to strike. Her eyes opened wide taking in the light and shapes of the room. At first, the lights were too bright forcing her to squint for a brief moment. This soon passed. The prey was kneeling next to her, incredibly close. She remained still for a short moment studying the movements of the prey. With one fluid movement she reached out, grabbed the prey by the head, and sank her teeth into the jugular.

  The blood flowed fast and warm. The meat slipped down her throat with ease as she continued to shred long pieces of the young nurse’s neck. Joan’s head thrashed about like that of a great white shark eating its prey. Blood sprayed and flesh flew. The young nurse’s body slumped to the floor and Joan dropped on top of her with her feet firmly planted under her and her hands holding the head tightly as she took her next bite. Her prey began to struggle one last time. The young nurse let out a short cry that was stifled by the gaping hole in the side of her neck. The next bite ended the young nurses struggle and allowed the feast to begin.