The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead by Steven Ramirez Page B

tremolo in her voice—she was hysterical.
    I tried to concentrate. The cops in Tres Marias were notorious. I had to make sure they didn’t catch me speeding. I wanted so much to be with Holly. My chest was tight and it was hard to breathe.
    “I called 911, but they kept me on hold forever. On the news they said there’s trouble all over town. What’s happening?”
    “I don’t know, babe.”
    I was happy no cops were available. How do you explain a woman you’ve never met attacking your wife? I drove the rest of the way, comforting Holly and telling her how much I loved her. Though they were heartfelt words, to my own ears they sounded thin and tinny.
    Sirens blared from every direction. It was like the whole town had erupted. I thought of Jim and that crazed Lap-Band woman at the hospital, and I wondered if more of these undead—what else could you call them?—were attacking innocent people.
    “I’m in front of the house,” I said. “Hanging up.”
    “Okay.” Holly’s voice sounded weak and far away.
    I found a tire iron in the back of my truck, and when I got to the front door, I saw scratches on the casing and the door itself. It looked like someone had tried to claw their way in. I grabbed the door handle. Locked.
    Raising the tire iron, I inched past the front windows—they weren’t broken—all the way to the back gate. It was partway open. I pushed the gate and entered the backyard. The glass door leading to the kitchen wasn’t broken. I tried it. Also locked. I checked everywhere else outside the house, and then using my key, I let myself in the front door.
    Trotting down to the basement, I called Holly’s name. I heard scraping noises and the sound of the door unlocking. When I entered, I found my wife clutching a baseball bat. The room was cold, damp and still. Only the sound of her anxious breathing broke the silence.
    Bare incandescent lights hanging from the ceiling illuminated the basement. They cast harsh shadows, making the atmosphere more unnerving. The only things down there were the washer and dryer, the water heater, an old sofa and boxes of books and other stuff. It looked like Holly had dragged stacks of boxes to the door and covered the narrow windows with newspaper.
    I pushed past the boxes and went to her. She dropped the bat and fell into my arms.
    “Oh, Dave, I was so scared.”
    I kissed her head and held her tight. “I’m here. Let’s get upstairs.”
    Scratching noises from the windows chiseled away the silence. Holly almost screamed, then covered her mouth.
    “Get upstairs,” I said. “It’s okay, everything’s locked.”
    As I handed her the bat, I saw a strange look in her eyes. I heard her footsteps trotting up the stairs, and holding the tire iron close, I slid towards the window and listened. Nothing. Reaching up, I pulled back part of the newspaper.
    Missy glared at me, her unblinking eyes grey and dead. Her mouth was raw and bloody from a recent kill. An ear-piercing shriek assaulted my eardrums, and I fell backwards onto the floor. When I got to my feet, she was gone.

    Holly sat at the kitchen table clutching the bat while I made tea. I didn’t tell her what I’d seen in the basement.
    “There was something weird about her,” she said. “I saw her through the front windows—not close. I dunno, it was like she couldn’t control her muscles. Like the jimmies, only worse.”
    It was all clear to me. The virus had mutated and people were changing faster. Soon everyone in Tres Marias would be infected.
    I handed Holly a cup of tea. “Did she say anything?”
    “That’s just it. She tried to. But she couldn’t form any words. And that made her even madder.”
    I thought of Jim and how he’d tried to communicate with me when I found him that first time. What was happening to these people who were turning into monsters?
    “Was she injured?”
    “I … I don’t—yes. Her arm. There was this huge gash like it had been ripped open.”
    I sat next to