The Decaying World Saga Box Set [Prequel #1-#2 & Books #1-#2]

by Garza, Michael W.

  ♦

  It had been a week since John had brought Stacy to the house. Angela was particularly happy with him, but he wasn’t fooled. He knew the feeding was a temporary fix. He was lying underneath the Ford F-150 and found it difficult to focus on the task at hand. He’d returned to work that following Monday. Something told him Angela was expecting him to go out over the weekend and bring someone home, and he wasn’t sure he could do it again.

  “You fall asleep under there?”

  John heard Mike Anderson call after him and then felt the kick on one of his boots. He tried to put a smile in place as he rolled himself out from under the truck and found Mike standing over him.

  “Just thinking about the weekend, I guess,” John said.

  “I heard that,” Mike said. “I need a bath and a beer, not necessarily in that order.”

  John sat up and slid the cart out from under him. He got to his feet and wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve.

  “You want to go get a beer before you head home?” Mike asked.

  John checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly five, and he did a quick calculation on what time he could get home if he headed over to Charlie’s for a drink. He had much more sinister things to consider but decided the distraction might be good for him. Angela’s new attitude came with a lot more freedom for him, something he’d never had before.

  “Hell yeah, that sounds good,” John said.

  He and Mike didn’t spend much time together outside the shop, but he was the closest thing John had to a friend. They’d shared beers after work a few times before, and Angela made it known that it wasn’t going to happen again. John was relying on his new power in the house, hoping it would get her to cut him some slack. Mike helped him finish the F-150, and they were headed for the door by five.

  Charlie’s was a popular place on weekday evenings, mainly for those who spent more time talking about their wives than spending time with them. Every patron had dirty hands as if it was a requirement for entry. John and Mike gave a couple of high-fives on the way in followed by a few head nods. John felt himself relax, not thinking about anything other than cold suds and a small bowl of peanuts. They found a spot at the bar and took a seat, the noise level already requiring something close to a yell in order to communicate.

  “What’s eating you?”

  John heard Mike’s question but found himself laughing. The phrase was particularly fitting, he thought.

  “I mean, hell,” Mike said, “you’re not your normal rosy self.”

  Mike laughed and took a long drink of his beer. John shook his head and gave a measured response.

  “There’s a lot going on at home,” he said. Boy is that a freaking understatement, he thought.

  “You and Angela doing all right?” Mike asked in a hesitant tone as if he wasn’t sure he should have.

  John couldn’t remember how much Mike knew about Angela’s past with the hospital and her treatments. “We’re working on it,” he said. His response didn’t really answer the question, but between men, it was good enough.

  “How’s your boy?” Mike asked.

  John’s head snapped around at the sound of the question like it was an insult. He gave Mike an awkward stare. “He’s sick.”

  “Hell, both little Jenny and my boy, Will, are sick every other week,” Mike said. He took another drink of his beer. “I swear they plan that stuff or something. Just when one of them is getting better, the other one starts coughing or throwing up.”

  John nodded, but he wasn’t really listening.

  “You wait until you have another,” Mike said. “You’ll see.” He waved at the bartender and asked for two more beers. He gave John a quick glance to see if he’d protest and then asked for a shot for himself. “Come on, let’s get to it,” he said when the drinks arrived. He pulled a crumpled twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket and laid it on the bar. “This one is on me.” He pushed the shot glass toward John. “Come on, man, you look like you could use it.”

  John didn’t hesitate. He finished the rest of his first beer and then took the shot as soon as the empty glass hit the bar. “Wow, that’s got a kick to it,” he said.

  “That’s what you need,” Mike said.

  The number of patrons in the bar doubled within a thirty-minute span as the after-work crowd filled in. People milled about waiting for someone to give up a chair and someone turned on the jukebox. John finished his second beer and then paid for another round. He was focused on his drink when he noticed the sudden change in expression on Mike’s face. He was looking past John with vigorous interest. John turned and scanned the room. He found the crowd swollen beyond the number of seats and it was difficult to make out any one thing.

  “Look at that,” Mike said.

  He pointed his finger over John’s shoulder and guided him toward the entrance. John saw a man in the doorway, and frantic hand movements highlighted his excited expression. He was hollering and pointing back outside. Several people followed him out after an animated exchange of words.

  John slid off the barstool. “Let’s go check it out,” he said. He did his best to get down the rest of the beer before heading through the sea of people.

  They reached the door and found a crowd gathered outside. John looked back once to make sure Mike was with him and then plunged into the gathering. All around them people were talking and the wave of conversations revolved around the police and an attack. The crowd moved farther down the road toward red and blue flashing police lights. John pushed through the crowd and made it out front. The first vision to hit him was a police car pulled up on the sidewalk. An officer stood near the trunk of the car and another out in front of the vehicle. The officer near the trunk yelled into his radio.

  “You need to get someone down here; nothing’s working on this guy.”

  The officer’s arm was soaked with blood and there was a tear in the blue material below the elbow. The other officer had his gun drawn and pointed at someone on the sidewalk. He was shouting, but John couldn’t make out what he was saying. John got ahead of the other onlookers, stopping a few feet from the police car before the first gun shot went off.

  He heard the shot and instinctually ducked down. There were frenzied screams behind him, as people ran back in the direction of the bar. John focused on the cops as a taller figure lunged at the officer in front of the car. Two more shots to the chest pushed the assailant back but didn’t take him down.

  The mass of people scattered from one side of the street to the other. Screams and yells called out as everyone tried to get as far back as possible and still keep an eye on what was going on. John couldn’t help himself, caught in the moment. He crouched low to the ground and moved toward the police car until he felt the heat of the exhaust against his leg. The bleeding officer near the rear of the car was still yelling into his radio.

  “I need medical assistance at the corner of Bradford and Main.”

  The wound on the cop’s arm looked bad. The skin was torn open and lay exposed to the elements. John moved around the side of the car and peered over the hood. The cop with the gun was within arm’s reach. The cop’s eyes were filled with terror as the man on the sidewalk took both shots and then continued toward him. John turned his attention to the attacker and his stomach turned. The blank expression and mindless walk sent a shiver of recognition down his spine.

  “Get down on the ground,” the cop said.

  He fired another round, this one hitting the attacker in the center of the chest. Blood exploded out the attacker’s back as the bullet drove through him. The cop backed away as he realized the shots were having little effect. He crossed the street in a hurry and looked for his partner, as he kept the attacker in the corner of his eye. The attacker lumbered out into the street, but John’s eyes focused in on the headlights behind the figure.

  The echo of screeching tires filled the street as a vehicle tried to come to a sudden stop. The front grill of the work truck plowed into the atta
cker before it rolled over his body. The vehicle came to a stop and the street fell deathly quiet. The shock of the moment held everyone still before anyone gathered the courage to peek out from whatever they were hiding behind. John stepped out from behind the police car and found the remains of the attacker. The body was folded over on itself and the impact left a foot long streak of blood on the pavement. The head was crushed, chunks of brain mashed into unrecognizable paste.

  “Are you all right?”

  The sound of the cop’s voice pulled John from the mess. The cop had his weapon drawn, but he was calling back to his partner.

  “Where the hell is our backup?”

  John was going to investigate further while he still had the time, but a sudden firm grip around his wrist held him still.

  “What the hell?” Mike asked, pulling at John to follow him back around the police car. “I don’t want to see that.”

  John hesitated. Part of him wanted to see if the crumpled body would get up. He finally decided against it when the sound of sirens from approaching police cars echoed around the turn at the end of the road. “You’re right,” he said. “I need to get home.”

  ♦

  It was dark when the truck pulled into the driveway. John filled with dread. He’d seen something on the attacker’s face that instantly resonated with him. He knew what a zombie was; he’d seen enough movies growing up and read enough comics to know. However, it was the realization that Alex could somehow spread his disease that brought the whole thing crashing down on him.

  He saw Angela look out the living room window and then disappear back inside. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but it was obvious the future of their happy little family would have to be reevaluated. He turned off the engine, hopped out of the truck, and reached the driveway door before he heard the television. It wasn’t until he stepped through the doorway and saw Angela’s wide-eyed expression that he noticed what the newscaster was reporting.

  “…the attacker has been identified as Greg Hunter. Police have begun a full investigation. Officers on scene reported that Mr. Hunter appeared to be suffering from some delusional state. Witness accounts of the shooting paint a chilling scene.”

  John sat down on the couch beside Angela as a man appeared on the screen.

  “That guy was wacked out on something. I saw him take a bite out of one of the cops when they tried to put the cuffs on him.”

  The scene pulled away and the camera focused on a local news reporter standing near a group of police officers. The older blonde was unsure if the camera was still on her.

  “Tracy, the scene here is packed with onlookers as the police try and keep the area clear. I talked to several people who claim to know Mr. Hunter, and they say he’s been missing for a few weeks.”

  John shifted uncomfortably as the picture of Mr. Hunter appeared in the corner of the screen. He knew at once that Mr. Hunter was the man Angela had brought home for Alex’s feeding.

  “Police were willing to confirm that Mr. Hunter was wanted for questioning in a domestic disturbance report filed four days ago. They will not elaborate on the specifics of that incident however…”

  John looked at Angela and shook his head. She pulled her eyes off the news long enough to read his expression.

  “Alex bit that guy,” he said.

  She didn’t respond, turning back to the television.

  “I saw him, Angela,” he said. “I was right there when that truck hit him. He had that same damn look in his eyes.”

  Angela picked up the television remote from the couch and turned it off. She got up without looking at John and headed toward the hallway. Frustrated, he nearly growled before he called after her.

  “Do you know what this means?” he asked.

  Calmly, she stopped at the hallway entrance and glanced back at him. “Yes,” she said. “From now on, we can’t let anyone get away.” She disappeared down the hall.

  12

  John pulled into work behind the shop and parked his truck. His mind was flooded with Angela’s lack of concern. He had a nervous twitch in his hands and couldn’t keep himself focused on anything. The realization of who the attacker in the street had been opened up a terrible realm of possibilities. What if Greg had got to someone else before yesterday, he thought. How could they control the spread of this thing?

  John sat frozen in his truck, staring out the windshield but was unable to really see anything. It was another half hour before he could get his head right and several more minutes before he opened the door and got out. By the time he reached the shop floor, the bay was alive with movement. There was a calming effect within the shop, and John tried to absorb it. The sound of tools working and the smells of engine oil and grease were familiar to him. He glanced at the clock on the wall and realized he couldn’t waste any more time. He punched in his time card and went to work. He heard the sound of Mike’s voice long before he could see him. Mike was going on about what they’d seen the day before and was looking for John to back up his story.

  “There he is, hey, John.”

  John looked out from underneath the hood of a car and saw Mike fast approaching with David Hill close behind.

  “Watch, you’ll see,” Mike said. “Ask him.” Mike urged David ahead of him.

  John knew where this was going and wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. “Yes, we watched a guy get shot right out in the street, then he was hit by a truck.”

  David didn’t get a chance to ask his question, but it was obvious from the look on his face that John had hit the nail on the head.

  “I freaking told you,” Mike said over David’s shoulder. “It was on the news. Who could make that up?”

  John tried to get back to work. Mike and David continued to argue over small details about the incident, but it ended with Mike vindicated. John saw him standing beside the car and figured he wouldn’t go away until he came out from under the hood and gave him a chance to vent. “So I take it he didn’t believe you?”

  Mike shook his head. “Nope, I swear man, what is it with people these days? It’s like you have to prove everything you say.”

  John didn’t respond. He waited through an uncomfortable few minutes of silence before he leaned back in under the hood. Mike didn’t budge, but he figured he’d give up eventually.

  “Did you catch the news?”

  John sighed, then put his wrench down and stood back up.

  “I saw it as soon as I got home.”

  “What did Angela say?” Mike asked. “Did you tell her you were right there when it happened?”

  John nodded.

  “Did she freak out?” Mike asked, now more excited. “I tell you, Sandra nearly lost her mind. She’s all into those crime solver shows on TV.”

  John continued to nod.

  “Did you see the picture of that guy? I think I’ve seen him before.” Mike thought about it for a second as if the idea just came to him. “Did you recognize him?”

  John felt uncomfortable. He knew Mike was harmless, but the questioning was beginning to dig a little too far.

  “No, never saw him.”

  “Yeah, well, it figures. They said he’s from out of town. They say the cops were looking for him. I hope they keep the story going. I want to find out what happened.”

  John responded as little as possible until Mike finally gave up. They got back to work, and John ran over the possibilities of what the cops could find out about Greg. He tried to work through it in his head like one of those crime scene shows Mike was talking about. He knew from the news report that there were charges of domestic abuse surrounding Greg, which meant two things: first, he was married or at least living with someone, and second, that person had to have suffered some type of abuse.

  He tried to think of how the infection would have spread. It wasn’t a far leap to guess that Greg took time to die and then come back as Alex had done. John realized his hands were shaking again and now there was little he could do to stop
them. He had to set his wrench down to keep from dropping it. His mind swarmed with visions of the streets filled with hideous undead creatures, and he’d played a part in it.

  He scanned the bay area and looked from one car to the next. Each had someone working on it, all of them concentrating with deep focus, trying to solve whatever issue the car was brought in for. John felt sweat running down his back, and as he swept his sleeve across his forehead, he felt the dampness thick on the material. He nearly felt his heart stop as one of the three massive roll up doors came to life; the sound vibrated throughout the shop as sunlight crept into the bay.

  John had to settle his nerves. He forced his legs to move, crossed the bay, and stood at the new opening taking in the fresh air. The sunlight felt good on his face. He closed his eyes and felt the wind blow across the front of the shop. He held himself upright, leaning against the roll up door’s frame with one hand.

  A sound from out in the street caught his attention. It was low at first but growing quickly as it approached. He looked up one side of the street and down the other as far as he could see. Traffic was not particularly heavy, but he could tell by the passersby that they heard something as well. He took a few steps out into the customer parking lot and cocked his head to one side. The sound was loud enough to make out, and he was sure it was a siren. He was out near the sidewalk after several long strides where he saw cars pulling over to the side of the road.

  Several of the other guys in the shop gathered near the opened bay door. John’s attention was drawn toward Main Street when a police car pulled around the corner, several blocks away. The sound of the siren intensified by the second as one police car after another turned down the street. By the time the first car drove past John, there was four more right behind it. They were moving so fast that the other cars on the road barely had time to get out of the way. Most of the guys in the shop had moved out closer to the street, and John discovered Mike standing next to him, the exhilaration glowing on his face.