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

by Garza, Michael W.

  “Thanks for the help,” he said between breaths.

  “What did you want me to do?”

  “Anything would have been nice. What if that thing would of bit me?”

  Angela looked down at the trampled mess of Stacy’s face and then back at John. “Then I guess I would have had to get food for two instead of one.”

  She calmly strolled back into the house, and John didn’t know what to say. He looked around and caught sight of Mr. Howard lying on the ground on the side of the house. It didn’t take him long to decide what needed to be done. He pulled the knife free from what was left of Stacy’s face and headed for Mr. Howard.

  ♦

  John couldn’t sleep. He’d removed Mr. Howard’s head, pulled both bodies back down under the house, and then came in to find Angela in bed. He hid Mr. Howard’s car in the woods behind the house, took a shower, and ate. Now he was finding it impossible to sleep next to his wife. There was something about the way she ignored his safety that truly terrified him.

  The pain in his arm was unbearable. He rubbed his fingers along the bandage and felt it soaked through. Part of him wondered if Stacy could have infected him with her nails. He slipped out from under the covers, and his mind went over all of the zombie movies he’d ever seen. If his memory served him well, someone could only be infected by a bite.

  He closed the bathroom door, flicked on the light, and held his eyes shut for a few seconds to allow them to adjust. A look in the mirror revealed the bloody bandage, its top a deep wine color. He pulled back the material and felt the sticky substance tug at his skin and hair. He wasn’t sure why a bite would be the only way to catch whatever the hell infected Stacy since he was sure no one had bitten Alex. Paranoid that he’d come in such close contact with her, John stared into the mirror, convinced he might change at any moment. He examined his eyes for a while and then held his hand over his heart. The simple feeling of his heartbeat calmed him down.

  A few hours later, he made his way through the pitch-black house into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He tried not to think about Mr. Howard or Stacy, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw her open mouth lunging toward him. He checked his bandage again and then poured himself a cup o' Joe before the machine was finished. He sat in the living room and sipped on his coffee, staring blankly at the television screen, feeling content to finish off the pot if need be.

  John kept up the drinking until the numbers on the clock above the television read 4:22. Satisfied he had enough caffeine in him to get through the morning, he didn’t bother waking Angela before stepping out the front door. He hopped in his truck, threw on the dirty shirt lying on the seat of the cab, and pulled out of the driveway. He left the driver’s side window down and felt a cool rush of the wind against his face. He turned the music up loud on the truck’s old radio and sped along the small road as fast as he could. He reached the highway, and going off the clock on his dashboard, he figured he would reach work with time to spare. Once he crossed into Evansville, a long line of orange and violet glowed along the horizon.

  He turned down the radio as the first row of buildings came into view. He couldn’t remember being in town so early and had to check the ring of keys in his pocket to make sure he could get into the shop if no one else was in. Silence overtook the interior of the cab as he was drawn to a sudden feeling of being alone. The sidewalks were empty and showed no sign of early morning traffic. He made the first few turns into the center of town and the scene didn’t change. His paranoia was heightened as he tried to convince himself that the lack of people was normal.

  “You’ve never been in this early,” he said to himself, and the sound of his voice startled him. “Get a grip, man.”

  John pulled onto Main Street and found the blackened shell of the police car still sitting in front of the gas station across from the shop. He pulled closer and took in the remains of the event. Yellow and black police tape wrapped around the entire building, but there were few signs that anything else had been done to the area. He turned into the front of the shop’s lot and pulled around to the rear parking area. He parked in his usual spot, grabbed his keys, and stepped out with his mind still searching through the hazy memory of yesterday’s events.

  He made it to the employee entrance door with his mind still wandering. A quick check of the keys produced the shop key and a few pushes and turns later, the door opened. He closed the door behind him and fumbled along the wall until he found the lights. The shop floor was eerily quiet as he made his way over to the old Ford truck whose brakes he was supposed to replace. An hour went by before he realized he was still alone. There was usually a radio playing somewhere on the floor, and the morning’s silence was hard to ignore. John pushed himself out from under the truck and wiped his hands on his jeans. He got to his feet and peered over at the manager’s office.

  The office door was closed and the lights were off. He felt a disturbing concern creep into the back of his mind. He looked at the clock and was sure there should be a few of the early guys in by now. Shadows across the shop floor played havoc on his mind. The main lights were off, and he had managed to turn on only a few of the lights above his and the adjacent vehicle.

  He walked toward the office, keeping one eye on the back door. He was hopeful someone would pop in at any moment, but the closer he got to the office, the more concerned he grew. Only a few feet away, he looked out into the main storefront and found the lights off. There was little doubt in his mind that Carrie Ann should have had the store open by now.

  He pulled on the office door and found it gave way easily. Uncomfortably, he stepped inside the office and flicked on the lights. Everything was in its proper place, which calmed him, but there were few clues as to why he was still alone. He switched on the radio and adjusted the volume out on the shop floor. He stepped back onto the floor, closed the door behind him, and decided to get back to work.

  The music flooded the bay area and provided a comfortable cover from the silence. John was able to push aside his fear and focus on the brake job he’d yet to finish. He slid under the truck and hummed along to the old rock classic echoing around the shop. By the time the song was over, he was lost in his task. The morning DJ’s voice cut in as the song faded out.

  “This is Mark in the morning and that was ‘Sweet Emotions’ by Aerosmith. I’m sure most of you are getting out of bed right now, so I want to remind you of the emergency alert we’ve been passing along all morning.”

  John’s hand froze in place as a sudden sensation of horror rushed over him. He focused his attention on the radio, sure he was about to get the answer to why he was still alone.

  “Captain Travis Vickers of the Kansas State Police released a public announcement at four o’clock this morning for radio and television stations within the area. There is an apparent outbreak of what they are calling an Ebola type virus within the area of Evansville in Norwich County. The state police have been working on setting up a cordon of the affected area and local residents are warned to stay in their homes and wait for further instructions. Now, I know what you’re thinking…”

  John slid out from under the truck, wrench still in hand. He got to his feet and looked around the shop as if it were his first time seeing it. The DJ continued to give his opinion about the outbreak, but John had heard all he needed to hear. He ran through his options, trying to understand how he’d made it past the cordon in the first place. He knew he had to get home. He guessed he hadn’t been stopped because his house was already inside the affected area.

  “Oh crap.”

  The words slid out of his mouth in a whisper. He was scared and viewed the shadows in the shop with renewed concern. He headed for the back door with determined steps, deciding to leave the radio on and get to his truck as fast as he could. He laid the rest of his tools on the hood of a car near the rear of the shop and stumbled as he looked over his shoulder. He eyed the glass window between the shop and front store. The light from outside dimly illum
inated the storefront, but there was enough light for his mind to see movements within the long shadows. Once he was close enough to the back door to reach out and grab the handle, he saw something moving out front. He tried to watch the way behind him and the way ahead at the same time. He fumbled with the door handle before getting a good hold. He turned the knob, but something held him still. His muscles tensed as he slid his face forward and put his ear to the door. The sounds of the DJ’s voice echoed in his head as he tried to focus on something else.

  The radio broke into another song as John held still. The beat of the music washed across the walls of the shop and nearly blocked out everything else. He started to move, but a new sound reached his ears. It was so slight at first that he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. His senses fiercely aware, John heard something scratch across the outside of the door.

  He jerked back as his heart leapt into his throat. His shaking hand reached out and locked the door handle as he back away. His eyes focused on the slit beneath the door. He got down on his hands and knees and then edged forward, focusing on the light shining through underneath.

  John held his breath and leaned down, placing his eye as close to the floor as his head would allow. The dim light of a cloud-covered day provided a grey view beyond. The black asphalt was first in sight followed by a few unrecognizable pieces of trash strewn about the parking lot. John struggled to see the wheels of his truck but could not.

  He laid flat on the floor for a better view but could see little more from his new position. He stared out at the parking lot for several minutes, counting his thumping heart with every beat. His mind raced through the information the DJ relayed but failed to come any closer to understanding what he could do. He felt the hair on his neck rise as he decided he would have to make a run for it. He placed his hands on the ground to get up as a shadow moved across the door slit, and something bumped slightly against the door as it did. John held his breath and slid his face toward the edge. It moved again and stopped directly in front of the door.

  John knew what he saw was a shoe, and the spots of dried blood across the side were obvious. He heard a sound slither under the door like a whisper. It was unmistakable for him, and the pounding drums on the radio did little to subdue the knot forming in his gut. He had heard that guttural moan before in his son’s bedroom and in the dark space beneath his house. That same moan now awaited him on the other side of the door.

  14

  John lay in silence on the cold shop floor. He was holding his breath, listening intently to the sounds outside the door. The shuffling feet moved, and he lost sight of the blood-stained shoes. He didn’t move or breathe for several minutes until finally his lungs could take it no longer.

  He gasped for breath and felt his heart thump wildly. He knew at once that the lack of people in town had nothing to do with the time. Everything that happened to Alex was now spreading across the city. The creature he saw in the cop car was a terrible reminder of what was probably lurking outside.

  A quick check of the shop left John with two choices. He could risk trying to get back to his truck to go home or stay where he was and hope someone would come and find him. He wasn’t much for waiting. He figured the government’s response would drag on, leaving him stranded for much longer than he could stand, not to mention Angela.

  He found a crow bar and held it firm in one hand, and then he slid a hammer through his front belt loop and considered himself as ready as he was going to be. He fished the keys to his truck out of his pocket and held them in his free hand, and then he found himself trying to gather the courage to open the door. I know what to expect, he thought. The memory of his fight with Stacy wasn’t helping his nerves. He shook his head with determination and grabbed the door handle, hoping his U.S. Army training would come back to him if he needed it. He opened the door and stepped out without thinking it through.

  His defensive stance kept him balanced as he scanned the parking lot. He half expected to come face to face with some lumbering corpse but found the lot empty and quiet. John took a step but thought quickly enough to catch the door before it closed. He slid a brick with his foot and propped the door open, and then he eyed his truck for another minute before moving toward it. The coast was clear, but he heard the all-too-familiar moaning coming from around the other side of the building. He picked up speed and was halfway across the lot before a sudden shout froze him in place.

  “Hey, man!”

  John spun around and found a lone figure on the roof of the shop yelling down at him. “What are you doing up there?”

  “Trying to get down.”

  John took another quick scan of the parking lot. “Then get down and hurry up.” He started back toward the truck but only got another few steps.

  “Have you seen these…things?”

  John knew time was limited and didn’t feel having a conversation was an appropriate use of it. He spun around with a set of directions in mind. “Jump down onto the lower roof and I’ll help you the rest of the way.” He motioned toward the top of the store connected to the shop. “And hurry.”

  John kept his keyring around his middle finger and made a fist. The moaning grew louder and his stomach knotted as he deliberately walked back toward the shop’s side door. By the time he reached the door, the man on the roof was on top of the store waiting.

  “You have to jump,” John said. “We don’t have time for anything else.”

  The volume of the moaning was powerful and drawing closer. John knew they had a minute or two at best. He got a good look at the man for the first time and saw a familiar fear in his wide-eyed glare. He was measuring the eight foot leap down onto the parking lot but obviously aware of the nearing sounds.

  “Just do it,” John said.

  The man yelled and jumped. John realized at the last second that he was jumping down toward him. Unable to dodge out of the way, John took the weight of the man and fell flat on his back. The clang of the crowbar rolling across the parking lot was the only sound capable of piercing the moans. The man rolled over, and John saw the first of them moving around the side of the store. The death in their eyes was overwhelming, striking an instant terror that John found all too familiar. He struggled to get to his feet, searching the ground for his crowbar.

  “Oh my God.”

  The man cried out and then screamed as he grabbed at John. John pushed him away in time to pick up his crowbar. He saw another group of figures moving around the other side of the shop, some at a much faster pace than the others.

  “You have to get me out of here.”

  John tried to ignore the man and considered leaving him behind. He took a few steps back and saw the true size of the situation. Figures littered the street beside the shop, more than he could count. Blood-stained hospital gowns covered most of the walking dead, some in more decay than the others. The random nakedness was disturbing. There was no end to the amount of missing flesh, dangling eyes, and half-eaten faces. The horror of it was more than the man could take, but John tried to keep his wits about him. The man grabbed his arm and pulled at him as he glared at the other group of dead coming around the far side of the shop.

  “Where the hell did they all come from so fast?” John asked.

  The man pulled John back toward the shop’s side door. “We have to get inside.”

  “That’s a death trap,” John said. “We have to get out of here.”

  The man pulled at John’s arm as hard as he could. Fed up, John raised the crowbar up above his head. The man cowed away, clawing at John’s free hand. He fell to the ground, pulling at John’s keys, and they slipped off his finger.

  “Give them to me or I’ll bash your head in,” John said.

  The dead were all around them. Those in front reached out toward the men as they struggled with one another. John knew there was no time to waste. He swung the crowbar and hit the man on the shoulder. The dead closed in, but John knew without the keys, he was done for sure. He stood at the man’s f
eet offering one last chance.

  “Give me my keys now.”

  The man screamed like a woman, his eyes on the stumbling naked corpse only a few feet away.

  “Enough.”

  John swung the crowbar and hit the man on the side of the head. His head split open as he slumped back onto the parking lot pavement. Blood spurted from the wound and covered his face and neck as his eyes rolled back in his head. John reached for the keys and struggled to pull them free. He could sense the dead nearly on top of him but knew he had to have the keys. He pried at the man’s fingers, bending them back until they nearly snapped.

  The smell of rotted meat filled John’s senses, and he expected to feel their hands clawing at him. His attention was on the keys, and he didn’t see the man’s eyes regain focus. One hard push sent the exposed crowbar back into John’s face. His sight went blank and a moment later, he realized he was lying on his back without the keys to his truck or the crowbar. He sat up in time to see the man, his head and chest now covered in blood, rushing into the side door of the shop and closing it behind him. The pain in John’s head was nothing compared to the sudden fear in his heart. The dead were all around him, the sounds of their nefarious need for flesh bearing down on him. He jumped to his feet and felt the world spin around him. He staggered as he backed away from the first attacker. The filthy hands of the dead man reeked of decay. Blood stained his chest from numerous bites in his skin.

  A quick look revealed at least ten more dead moving toward him. John had few options. He would have to make a run for it without his keys. There was only one direction he could go. He spun around, took three long strides, and leapt up into the bed of his truck. The extent of the dead struck him. An uncountable number of the recently deceased lurched across the parking lot, the road to the north of the shop, and the main street beyond. John jumped up on top of the truck’s cab as a dozen of them gathered around the vehicle.