by Thomas Baker
Contents
DEDICATION
Other 6K Press Titles
THE OUTBREAK
REVEILLE
RA RA SIS BOOM BAH
THE OLD MAN ON A DUSTY ROAD
ON THE ROAD AGAIN
#ZOMBIE
THE WHEELS ON THE BUS
HIGHWAY TO HELL
DECISIONS
MEETINGS
CHANCE ENCOUNTERS
UNLIKELY OASIS
WAKE UP CALL
WATCHER IN THE WOODS
HIGHWAY HORRORS
GOODBYE YELLOW BRICK ROAD
DUSTY OVER AND OUT
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
WE WILL LEAVE THE LIGHT ON FOR YOU
WHEN HAROLD MET THOMAS
GREENSVILLE
THE BRIDGE
RACE IN THE DARK
THE CABIN
SETTLING IN
MEMORY LANE
CAMPFIRE TALES ONE
GUS GOES NATIVE
CAMPFIRE TALES TWO
TYRONE'S TALE
ARE YOU READY FOR SOME ZOMBIES?
THOMAS TELLS A TALE
CAMPFIRE TALES THREE
CAMPRFIRE TALE - ADDENDUM
CABIN FEVER
MIKE'S STORY
TENT CITY
THE HERD
THE TRIP
RUDE AWAKENINGS
A LITTLE HOBBY
A NOT SO SAFE HAVEN
THE LAST STAND
ASHES TO ASHES
PURGATORY TITLE PAGE
PURGATORY COPYRIGHT
PURGATORY DEDICATION
IN THE BEGINNING
STRONG PLACE
SANCTUARY
SEAL OF GOD
COVENANT
DARK TIMES
EMBRACE
AFFLICTED
RUSTY CAGE
KNEEL BEFORE THE LORD
PREACHER MAN
CELL BLOCK SIX
LOW MAN
HEAL YOUR WOUNDS
SNAKE IN THE GARDEN
CHARLIE'S LAW
TESTIFY
FAITHLESS
GATEWAY
STRICKEN
CONFESSION
TRUTH
FORBDDEN FRUIT
THE MESSAGE
AND THE LORD SAID
SCALES FROM MY EYES
EIGHTEEN AND LIFE TO GO
FALSEHOOD
ESCAPING SIN
THE WAY
RUNAWAY TRAIN
IN THE GARDEN
REAP
EXODUS
REVERENT
THE GOOD BOOK
PURGATORY
MINISTRY
FORSAKEN
SAVIOR
REMNANTS
HEAVEN LIGHT A WAY
LOST SOUL
THE GOOD NEWS
WITNESS
VICTORIOUS
SCHISM
THE GOD THAT FAILED
GOD'S MERCY
ALPHA AND OMEGA
DEAD OF WINTER TITLE PAGE
DEAD OF WINTER COPYRIGHT
TILTING AT WINDMILLS
SHELL
ANGER DONE
BATTERY
HAMMERED TIME
WORRY WORRY WORRY
ICE CAPADES
RUMMAGE
HOLIDAY ROAD
CARSON
CHATEAU
SMALL COMFORT
THE MORNING AFTER
IN A BIG COUNTRY
DEEP FREEZE
THIN ICE
THE GRAND TOUR
IN THE AIR
BROKEN
LIQUID ANGER
SHATTERED
ALMOST BATTY
PORT IN A STORM
COMING DOWN A MOUNTAIN
A STAB IN THE DARK
WHO CAN IT BE NOW
TAKEN
PARADISE LOST
ENEMY OF MY ENEMY
DANGER ZONE
RUMBLE
MAN UNKIND
BREAK THE CHAIN
WRECKAGE
RECONCILIATION
BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO
ENDLESS NIGHTS
AVALANCHE
THE WORLD I KNOW
THE WORLD I KNEW
JOIN TEAM 6K
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Copyright © 2017 by 6K Press
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any mannerwhatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
www.6kpress.com
DEDICATION
To my wife Kristine for being there and believing in me. To Aaron for the taking the time for our first copy edit. Your input helped shape this book. To Thomas for helping push me along. He is a big reason you are reading this book.
Robert
I would like to thank my writing partner Robert, without you this wouldn't be happening. To Mr. Gravy for wading through our veryrough, very large first draft and helping us stay on course. To Buenger for your incredible editing feedback and going through our final draft with a keen eye. To my wife JoAnna I thank you for sticking by me through everything life has thrown our way. Lastly Jeff Enslinger, my work in this book is dedicated to you, rest easy buddy. Team 6K is no longer a dream, it's now a reality.
Thomas
Other 6K Press Titles
ASSAULT AGAINST THE HEAVENS
DAUNTLESS: EXPLORATION CLASS
WELCOME TO COTTONWOOD CREEK: A COLLECTION OF HORRORS
The morning sun lit up the room, waking Harold. He lumbered out of bed, stretching. His mental checklist started running right away on what he wanted to accomplish today. He still didn't realize that days ago, the world he knew had died.
Harold went through his morning routine. Breakfast, working in his garden, feeding his small flock of chickens. When that was done, he cleaned out the septic tank, and then decided to take a late afternoon break. He stood in the gravel driveway in his dirty, sweat stained overalls. He looked longingly out in the distance. From here, he could barely make out his boathouse. He wished he could go out and spend the rest of the day on the water, letting the rocking waves relax him as he caught his supper.
Instead, he placed his hands at the small of his back and stretched. He turned shoulders slumped, heading back inside the log cabin to shower. He knew he would have to go into town today; he was getting too low on supplies. He had his list made days ago, he couldn't put it off any longer.
Harold really disliked going into town. It was noisy, with too many people. Worst of all, the government had cameras everywhere. They would track him, photograph him, video record him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Every time he got back from town, he felt strange, edgy. Sometimes the other voice would come back and talk to him. Maybe it was something the town released into the air. A gas the government used to try tocontrol everyone. If he could survive without stepping foot into town again, he would be extremelyhappy. He couldn't run a whole farm by himself or live without those extra supplies he knew. He couldn't trust anyone either, so hired help was out of the question. Who knew if they might be spies, or worse. They might start doing secret experiments on him right on his land! No, keeping the world at arm's length and dealing with them only on his terms was the best solution he could think of.
After showering and getting dressed, he went into his sparse bedroom and into the closet. Next to his piles of books on the floor was a beat up black safe. He pulled three hundred dollars out of it, stuffed it into the worn out pocket of his work pants along with his driv
er's license. He grabbed his ball cap, his keys, and climbed into his Ford Explorer.
Harold spent forty minutes driving down the two-lane highway which cut through thickly forested land before arriving at the outskirts of town. As he neared, Harold noticed a car had crashed into the welcome sign, breaking it clean in two. Odd. It was a little white Honda, which was still sitting in the ditch beside the road, abandoned. No one seemed to be at the scene of the accident, which was odder still. Harold pulled up beside the car and put his Explorer in park. Wooden debris lay scattered all over the hood and the ground around it. Standing out in stark contrast on the white paint were faint red splotches over the driver side door. The back driver's side door was open, and Harold could see the hint of a child's car seat from where he sat. Harold got out, took his hunting rifle from out of the back and sat it in the passenger seat.Harold drove on, feeling more uneasy the deeper he got into town. He saw more abandoned cars on both sides of the road, but still no sign of people. When he arrived at the main intersection of town, where the Wal-Mart sat, it was impossible to drive on. Vehicles, in various states of damage, choked the road in all four directions. The traffic lights were out of order. There was a gas station next to him, diagonal from the Wal-Mart. Harold saw a tanker truck in the station's lot, its hose attached to the ground storage tanks, but no one was there operating it. Cars were in all six of the pump stations, but no one was getting gas. No one was going in andout of the gas station. In fact it appeared thatall the gas station's windows were broken.
Harold rolled down his window, sticking his neck out to get a better look. The front door of the Gas N Go looked like it had just about been ripped off its hinges. Then he noticed a person lying down half in, half out of the front door. Harold grabbed his rifle, got out of his SUV, and did a quick scan around him. He approached the entrance slowly. As he got closer, he could see it was a woman, she was wearing a yellow spring dress. She laid on her side; her face turned away from him. As if she was looking into the building. Even as Harold reached for her shoulder, he could tell something was wrong. He slightly shook her. She fell over on her back. Her face looked as if some wild animal had been at it. Her nose was completely chewed off, ripped holes and visible teeth marks were all over her cheeks and an empty eye sockets stared up at the blue sky. Harold backed up abruptly, off balance until he bumped into a car. The thud echoed through the empty streets.
He saw flickers of movement across the way, in the Wal-Mart parking lot. It was full of vehicles facing every which way, like some giant child threw all of his toy cars down in a fit of rage. As whatever was moving got closer, Harold could see it was a fairly large group of people, but they weaved and bounced off the cars like every single one of them were drunk.
Harold raised his rifle up, looking through the scope to take a closer look. He let it drop, his face slack-jawed. He couldn't believe what he had just seen. He raised his rifle up again. Men, women, young, old, even children who looked like preschoolers, made up the group. They were in various states of decay, some looking almost normal except for what was obviously dried blood around their mouths and on their clothes. Others were missing eyes, limbs, had huge chunks of flesh ripped from their bodies, yet they didn't bleed. They were a dull gray color, like he had seen his father become five days after he had died, before he was cremated. They reminded him of cattle being herded through chutes. The way they bounced off of each other and the cars as they shuffled forward.
Were they zombies? He thought. Could that even be real? Zombies were just inventions of myths and movies, right? The kind ofmovies that if Harold's dad had caught him watching them as a kid, he would have been beaten black and blue. Maybe....had one of the government's horrible experiments gotten loose? Those military pricks and their pet scientists. Always cooking up some chemicals to try and control us. He had always speculated this day was going to come sooner or later. While the leaders were probably hiding in some sealed bunker somewhere, they were happy to let the world burn.
As Harold looked through the rifle's scope across the crowd, he picked out a man whose yellow polo shirt was now mostly red and hung in tatters over his shoulders. He had to test his theory. He had to be sure. He fired, hitting the man in the chest. The man jerked back from the impact, then kept right on walking. No blood oozed from the bullet hole in his body. Polo man didn't scream. In fact he made no sound at all. That's not a normal reaction. Harold fired again at his chest, and the same thing happened. It was like the man didn't even register the damage. The only change Harold could see was that the man seemed to turn his body more in Harold's direction. Harold put the man's head in his sights and pulled the trigger. The man collapsed instantly. The others behind him kept coming, trampling over his now still, now dead, body.
The zombie horde, however unbelievable that was to think, was coming his way now. Harold was sure they were coming for him. Somehow alerted to his presence. Even in the cool spring breeze sweat sprung onto his forehead. Four zombies broke out of the crowd and made a bee line straight towards him at a full run, causing him to take a few steps back. He wasn't expecting that result. Harold calmed his nerves and took aim at each one. Seven shots cracked through the silence. Three shots missed. The other four took the zombies down. Harold trotted back to his SUV, put it in reverse and peeled out, heading back to the sanctuary of his cabin. He needed a plan.
Most of the day had passed before Harold decided he was ready to return to the abhorrent scene. What he had witnessed was an affront to both God and nature. It had to be the fault of the government. Harold concluded as he drove back.
He had returned in his old silver pick up truck. He had brought back with him a case of bullets for his rifle, his shotgun, a case of shells for it and his toolbox. He also had a milk crate full of empty glass bottles. He stopped a block away from the Wal-Mart. Getting out and going to the back of his truck, he transferred out some empty bottles to fit his toolbox into the milk crate. He only took the crate, his shotgun and his binoculars with him. Harold went ahead cautiously, scanning in every direction every few steps, keeping his movements as quiet as possible. He had a theory that sound is whathad attracted the horde. He arrived back at the Gas N Go without incident. He trained his binoculars on the Wal-Mart parking lot, finding that the horde had gone back to milling around in front of the store. They looked like people who had mass amnesia and had forgotten where they had parked their cars.
There was a spring chill in the air as the sun began toset. He was thankful for the cooling breeze that ruffled through his hair. Now was the time for Harold to put his plan into action before it became fully dark. He went over to the fuel tanker, checked the tank and saw on the gauge it was full. The driver must have gotten taken out right after pulling in and hooking up the hoses. Harold undid the hoses, closed everything up and got into the cab. The keys were still in the ignition. His luck was holding up. He had been thinking while at the cabin about what had attracted the four fast zombies. If he was right, the noise of starting the truck up would bring every zombie nearby down on him. He needed a diversion. He noticed power was still on in certain locations. For instance the gas station lights had automatically come on in the gathering twilight. Possibly he thought it was a generator, the street lights were still dark. The Gas N Go lights were dim, but the important thing was they were running. That meant everything in the gas station should have poweras well.
Harold took his crate of empty bottles to the pumps. He filled each one with gas about halfway and then stuffed a rag down inside of them. Once that was done he ran inside the station and grabbed a lighter. Keeping the clanking of the bottles to a minimum, he took the crate with him out into the tangle of cars in the middle of the intersection. He looked in each one as he walked closer to the Wal-Mart parking lot, until he found one with keys still in the ignition.
He set two glass bottles now full of gasoline on the driver seat, hit the panic button and lit the rags. He tore out of the place like the hounds of hell were on his heels. The
blaring horn drew the attention of the zombie horde milling around like bears to honey. Harold was just about to the tanker truck when the car went up with a flat booming sound. Several more booms echoed down the empty streets in a chain reaction. He threw the crate with the remaining bottles into the back of his truck.
Harold climbed in the tanker and started it up. Body parts came raining down, bouncing off his hood and windshield. Something wet and red splattered in his field of vision. He turned on the wipers, trying to wash it away. It left smears the color of a whore's lipstick across his windshield. It took Harold several attempts, but he got the tanker truck turned around and headed back to the cabin.
Dusty's last day started like any other on the base. First call at 0600 hours, breakfast at the mess and now running PT with his squad. They ran the dirt track along the perimeter fence that surrounded the base. On the other side of the fence, across an open field, you could see the interstate. Glancing as he ran, Dusty thought it looked surprisinglybusy this morning. He went back to thinking about combat training later that afternoon when he noticed the formation starting to fall apart. The soldiers had stopped. They were looking and pointing at the fence, talking in hushed and confused tones.
"Sarge, what's going on?" Private Eckerson asked.
Cars, trucks, and SUVs were pulling off the highway, flying through the open field, and approaching the perimeter fence at high speed. Dirt sprayed up behind them, obscuring just how many vehicles were coming their way.
"Fall back!" Dusty commanded.
The squad fell back behind a nearby troop carrier. Dusty turned and could see MPs driving as fast as they could to his position, but he could tell they were going to get to reach him too late to be of much help.
With an ear piercing squeal of metal on metal, the lead cars crashed through the fences and into each other. When those cars came to a stop, the following cars began crashing into them. It didn't matter, the vehicles just kept coming. None of the civilians were acting as if they had any regard for their own safety.
Dusty held his hands up, palms facing out, as if he could will it all to stop with his mind. In the car closest to him a family of three, the woman holding a baby, emerged and ran towards him. They were screaming frantically at him. All of them had a look of panic Dusty had only seen before on the battlefield.
