by Brown, TW
Known as “Arry” by everybody, Arris was blond with blue eyes and a square chin that looked like it might be carved from granite. He was a hard worker and his body was a testament to his physical endeavors both before, and now during the apocalypse. When he fell ill, Star kept him in her quarters and made excuses that managed to keep possible intruders at bay.
Unfortunately, when Arry breathed his last, Star had finally nodded off and woke to discover him standing over her with his eyes filmed over and riddled with the same tracers that she had tried to ignore. After his quick second death, the details came out and a long debate was held. The final verdict was that Star was to be exiled.
Her exile was not due to Arris Blom’s death, but rather her subsequent cover up when he began to show signs of the infection. She was never seen again, and most believed it was unlikely that she survived beyond a day or two out there on her own. Those that knew her best within the compound said that she was famous for doing a half-assed job and then sweet talking others into covering her poor performance. Arris was just the first unfortunate victim to have ended up sharing her bed. That was when it was decided that this infection could be spread by the immune to others just as any communicable disease might be transmitted.
After that, a committee was created and the slow process of building a government as well as establishing laws, rules, and penalties began. Like a cartoon snowball, it started small, but quickly began to balloon out of control.
By spring, things were ironed out as much as possible. It was a demonstrated truth that it was impossible to please everybody, and a few of the compound’s residents even left under protest when they disagreed with the “unfavorable and tyrannical direction” things were going by their accord during one of the many town hall meetings. More interesting was the fact that all but three of the seventeen dissenters who left returned within five days, saying first that perhaps they had been hasty in their decision, then finally admitting that The Wastelands were now full of unspeakable nightmares and that they would be thankful if allowed to stay.
During that first spring, a set of small apartment-like units were constructed under Jason’s watchful eye. But it was the sign that got the most attention. Above the entry gate was a carved wooden plaque. It read: Rose City.
18
“And so it goes…”
A crowd had gathered in the clearing. If somebody took the time to count, it is unlikely that anybody would be surprised to discover that six hundred and sixty-four people were present of the most recent census count of eight hundred and five. Of those not in attendance, some were on perimeter patrol, a job that had become more important as the zombies began to coalesce into herds—some rumored to number in the hundreds of thousands, if not the millions—and others were part of bare bones staffing in many of the jobs that could not simply be shut down for the day. Of course, there were always a few who simply wanted no part in such things.
As the morning fog lifted and a single shaft of sunlight broke through, there was a small murmur, and even a smattering of applause from a few more sentimental types. The rain of the past several days had done wonders for the crops that had been planted over the past couple of weeks. However, if asked, it is likely that most would agree that a bit of sun was preferable for today’s proceedings.
A young man in his late teens stepped up onto the small platform that had been hastily assembled once it had been agreed that this would likely be an event that most residents of Rose City would wish to attend. The young man brushed back a lock of brown hair from his eyes and shuffled through a few pages of notes hastily written on the hemp paper that nobody seemed to be able to get enough of these days. It had actually reached a point where limits were placed on how much a person could “buy” at a time to ensure that as many residents as possible were allowed some of the precious material.
To say that the young man looked uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. He was much more comfortable when he was out on a hunting party to bring back meat for the community. In those times, he could range out alone where he lived with his thoughts. To him, that was simply the environment of choice. He loved the woods of the Pacific Northwest; heck, he even enjoyed wandering The Wastelands from time to time.
Here, at this moment, he was as out of his element as an individual might ever be, yet, he had insisted on doing this. When suggestions were made to the contrary, he simply shook his head and maintained, “This is mine.”
A sea of expectant faces looked up at the young man and a hush fell over the crowd. These were never easy, and this one was especially difficult for some of the old timers. They all remembered the days when something like this, something so tragic, could easily be avoided.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the young man began. Those words silenced the last remnants of whispered conversations that might still be taking place in the crowd. “We are gathered here to say our farewells to a man you all knew, and that many of you loved. Jason Edwards is dead at the age of forty-six. He died, as many of you know, from complications due to an infection he received from a cut suffered while on a run in The Wastelands.
“And so it goes…once more we are reminded of our own fragility in a world that lacks conveniences that many once took for granted. In the eleven years since the establishment of Rose City, we have lost too many brothers and sisters of this community to things that were not even given the briefest of considerations.
“Let Jason’s death be mourned, but let it also be a reminder that we must always be alert for dangers where we least expect them. As he has said so often, we are not—”
“Out of the woods yet,” a chorus of voices spoke in unison, almost drowning out the voice of the speaker.
This spontaneous outburst sent a ripple of laughter through the otherwise somber crowd. It also seemed to allow the young man the chance to loosen up a bit and complete his eulogy. When he finished, a few others came forward with words for the crowd.
At last, the time came and a ceremonial torch was passed forward. The pyre was lit, and a thin tendril of smoke rose skyward. Over the next half hour, some individuals came forward and tossed a branch or twisted braid of dried vine onto the fire as had become the custom over the years.
At last, there remained only the young man and a woman who was just starting to show streaks of silver in her jet black hair. They stood huddled close with an arm around each other as the fire continued to burn.
“That was a very good speech, Gabriel,” Juanita said, giving the young man a squeeze.
“He would have hated it,” Gabriel chuckled. “Too many words.”
Again they let silence wash over them. They were standing that way then the alarm bells began to sound. From the pattern, it was the south wall, past the small shops that stood where a barn had once been. The entire community became a hive of activity as people rushed to their posts. An excursion team was already massing in the village square. Gabriel’s team was up today. He would have to hurry to the quartermaster’s shop and grab his gear.
Zombies were approaching.
“We ain’t out of the woods yet…indeed,” Gabriel sighed.
A moment with the author…
Welcome to the second of my DEAD: Snapshot—{insert town here} books. Of course, for those of you who just saw the cover and/or the title and thought it would be a neat way to pass your time and missed out on DEAD: Snapshot—Portland, Oregon, you will be fine. Each of these books are meant to be a stand-alone title. These books are set in the world that I created with my twelve book series titled DEAD. Book one is DEAD: The Ugly Beginning in case you have absolutely no clue who I am or what I am talking about.
So, the purpose behind the DEAD: Snapshot collection is to bring the zombie apocalypse to YOUR home. If you are a zombie fan, you have likely read plenty of the pop fiction out there. The thing is, I imagine you have wondered what would happen in your own neck of the woods should the zombie thing ever actually happen. I am lucky, since I write the DEAD (and Zomblog) se
ries, I was able to use the Pacific Northwest as the setting for some of my work.
So, how do you bring the zombies to your front door? Simple. Just shoot me an email at [email protected] with “I WANT THE DEAD TO TAKE MY TOWN” in the subject. Tell me about your town and why it makes for an interesting setting. I can’t promise, but if your town jumps out at me…it will experience the zombie apocalypse via my written word. If you can get a public figure interested…very cool. I will send the entire city council and the mayor or whatever you have their very own copy if they want to have a DEAD day or whatever. Remember, I pride myself on being accessible. I will Skype, Google Hangout, or whatever. That is part of being an Indi Author. Unlike some of the big names, we can actually interact directly with our fan base, and we will do just about anything to get our books into people’s hands.
Here is the fun part for me (and I recommend you perhaps give this a try while you read), I go to Google Earth when I write these stories. I zoom all the way to street level for some parts just to get a better line of sight and see what the characters are seeing. Of course, my brain has to add in the mayhem and destruction…as well as all the zombies.
As you read this book (and future editions of the DEAD: Snapshot {insert town here} series), I invite you to bring up Google Earth and locate some of these places. Get a feel for where I am taking you. Also, that may inspire you to check out your own location via Google Earth and see what I would see; you might even want to direct me to something specific in the event I pick your home to be the setting for an upcoming book.
For those of you who have never taken the ride that is my DEAD series, I do invite you to give it a shot. I can admit that I learned a great deal while writing those first three offerings (DEAD: The Ugly Beginning, DEAD: Revelations, and DEAD: Fortunes & Failures). I think my biggest improvements came in the “Vignettes” section. That was a case of a writer knowing what he meant to do, but not really having it succeed in the eyes of the readers. My idea was to offer these “snapshots” of the apocalypse all around the world. Sort of a palate cleanser in between the “Steve” story and the “Geek” story. What I ended up doing was putting in too many characters for people to really follow since most of the vignettes were one-timers or two at best. Of course, that being said, I have one story from the Vignettes that lasted through all twelve books.
You won’t find any of that here. In the Snapshot series, you get a main story in a central location. Sure, you may have a few characters to follow, but the story stays focused. I hope that you enjoy these tales, and I look forward to “travelling” to various places as I bring my vision of the zombie apocalypse to the rest of the world.
And now for a few words of thanks: this book would not be what it is without my Beta Readers. This crew helped me make it better by catching my many errors. Even better, I had a couple that were from the region where this book takes place. You might think that, since we all speak English, we are pretty much the same. Nope. And I owe a ton of thanks and gratitude to my friends across the pond that helped me with slang and even corrected me on what you might find in a pantry over in Merry Old England. So, to Vix Kirkpatrick, Melena Duff, Caron Hirst, Kary Lawrence, Niamh Clancy, Heather Burns, Dawn Spengler, Jeff Shoemaker, and Nelson Wilbanks, my most heartfelt thanks. Seriously, you made this a better book and there is always a space on my grill for an extra steak if you are in the area. To the men and women who keep us safe in the Armed Forces as well as our local police, fire, and medical personnel, not only do you have my thanks, but I am sure almost everybody else that you serve each and every day. To my wife, thank you for everything you do every single day to support me as a writer…even when I am ready to throw in the towel. My last thanks is for you. Without you buying this book, this world does not exist. By you reading this book, you give the characters in it their life and soul. You also allow me to do what I love for a living. If somebody would have told me that I would be an actual author for a living…I would have told them to quit blowing sunshine up my nethers. Yet…here I am. So thank you. You made a person’s dreams come true just by reading this book. How often do you hear that?
For King and the law!
TW Brown
September 2015
For Simon
Contents
The Dead Walk
Human Filth
Join or Die
Terrible Things
A New Leaf
Running
Choosing
Through Jaded Eyes
Verdicts
Settling In
Staring Over The Edge
Meeting
Point of No Return
Bait
Face Off
Sound Travels
Closure
Epilogue
1
The Dead Walk!
Shadiyah Kasim looked from the window of her flat on the ninth floor of the Clyde Court Towers. Everywhere she looked, it was the same nightmare. Fires still burned and there would be no services to put them out. Groups of the undead could be seen stumbling around the streets. On occasion, she could see a living person on the move.
It was always easy to tell the difference. The dead moved along with little to no deviation from their course until whatever it was that caught their attention would send them off on a new tangent. The living moved in fits and starts.
And the living ran.
Thank God that the dead did not run. While she was not terribly out of shape and had tried her best to hit the treadmill at the gym at least a couple of times a week, the dead did not tire, and if they had the ability to run, humanity would have fallen in the first week.
Not that the human race had fared all that well, Shadiyah thought.
“Anything, Shaddi?” a voice called in a hushed whisper causing her to pull away from the window.
Shadiyah’s sister Assi, sat on the floor clutching her doll to her chest. A few months ago, that would have looked ridiculous. Assi had the thick, black hair of their Lebanese mother. It hung down to the middle of her back and usually had an amazing luster and shine. Now, it looked dull, flat, and tangled. Her large eyes were rimmed in red from the endless crying. She looked like she would not likely share in the ample breasts that their mother had passed on to Shadiyah. Assi was slender and had the perfect figure of a tomboy. Right now though, Assi was acting in an uncharacteristically girlish manner as she clutched that worn out ragdoll to her chest.
Assi was fifteen and past the age of dolls. However, Shadiyah could forgive the girl considering all that had happened. On reflex, her eyes flicked to the dark stain that was dried and now a part of the living room wall like some hideous sort of New Age artwork.
Her father had brought the sickness into their home. Of course, when it had happened, nobody had any idea what would occur within those next horrific hours. She shoved the memories from her head and returned to the situation at hand.
They needed food. As of yet, the water had not been shut off, but she knew that was just a matter of time. Already, when she looked up at night, she saw large sections of the city appearing as black stains on the landscape. It was like watching the tide roll in and knowing that her sandcastle was going to be washed away no matter how hard she might try to prevent it.
“Assi,” Shadiyah knelt in front of her sister, “I need to go out and get—”
“NO!” the girl shrieked, causing Shadiyah’s eyes to flick to the front door. Not more than twenty minutes ago, something had been scratching at it from the other side.
“Shh!” She covered her little sister’s mouth with a hand. “You need to stay silent, and you need to understand that we have to stock up on as much water as possible while we wait for somebody to come rescue us.”
Assi looked up with tears brimming over the cusps of her eyes. She clutched the doll even tighter to her chest and snot bubbled from her nose, causing Shadiyah to flinch. As soon as she did, she could not fight back the bitter laugh that burst forth.
&nbs
p; Here she was, unsettled by a little snot after everything that had happened in the past few days. She glanced at her hands; the blood that had dried under her nails and left them stained black was only a small piece of the whole puzzle.
“Can you keep quiet?” Shadiyah asked as she rose to her feet. Her sister nodded. “I will be as fast as I can, but we need to get as much bottled water as possible. While I am gone, I need you to fill the filtered pitchers. Can you do that?” Again, Assi nodded. “And don’t open the door, no matter what you hear out there. I have the key and will let myself in. If I knock and tell you to let me in…” She let that statement hang as an invitation for her sister to respond and confirm that she understood.
“Then that means somebody bad has you and is forcing you to bring them here,” Assi said with a sniff.
There were more than a few unsavory types living in the towers. Shadiyah had added this last precaution after hearing something terrible happen down the hall a couple of days ago. From the sounds of it, she thought that it might be that nice family from India that had recently moved in. Whoever it was, the screaming, begging, and crying had gone on for hours.
She had scoured the house for anything that could be used as a weapon and happened upon something under her father’s bed that she’d never seen before. It was a black leather case, but inside was a magnificent curved sword. Its handle looked to be of carved ivory and had a lion’s head at the end of the hilt.
There was also a letter with a fancy gold seal that spoke of her father as being some sort of hero in the Lebanese Army. She hadn’t even known that he had served.
She had pulled out the weapon, half expecting it to be nothing more than a decorative piece, but when she cut her finger on the blade, she discovered otherwise. Besides being tremendously sharp, the weapon was also surprisingly sturdy.
