Tara leaned forward to look out as they flew over Brazzaville and was shocked to see what was left of the capital. Columns of smoke tinted the sky in hues of black and charcoal. A smothering blanket of ash filled the air they breathed, and she pulled her collar over her nose for relief.
The streets teemed with life. People were abandoning their homes on foot, dragging carts, wheelbarrows, and children behind them. The roads were clogged with traffic. Impassable. Dangerous. Already mobs of the undead roamed in search of prey, their harsh screams an insult to the ear. Blockades had been set up at key points, manned by the army, and bursts of gunfire peppered the morning air as they sought to gain control.
The chopper banked hard to the left, heading toward the outskirts of the city. Tara clung to her seat and breathed through her nose, trying not to vomit. She couldn’t believe the situation had progressed this fast.
The air cleared as they left the city confines, and Tara was able to gulp some much needed fresh air into her lungs. She closed her eyes and prayed as they descended, hoping they wouldn’t crash. Finally, they were down on the ground, and she stumbled out of the chopper on legs that felt like jelly.
“Dear God, it’s good to be back on real dirt. I hate flying,” she mumbled through a trembling hand.
Nobody paid her any heed, not even Saul. He was too busy shouting orders to his men. The soldiers fanned out and set up a perimeter. Three jeeps waited in the clearing, and Tara was hustled into the backseat of the nearest. The chopper took off again, heading toward who knew where, and she wondered what was next.
Her question was answered when Saul joined her in the jeep and shouted at the driver. “To the river.”
The jeeps took off at speed, navigating the rough road with relative ease. Not that there was much of a road left. Tiny strips of tar still clung to it in places, but the rest consisted of rocks the size her fists and holes deep enough to go all the way to China.
Tara clung to her seat with gritted teeth. While the jeeps might be able to withstand the terrain, she was more delicate. Each bump, rock, and pothole jarred the worn suspension until it felt like hot pokers were being jammed up her spine. After an hour, she was reduced to a whimpering puddle of self-pity. “Please, let it end.”
At last, they reached the river, and the convoy drew to an abrupt halt. Faster than she could blink, the soldiers bailed out along with their gear, ready to go. She followed Saul, wincing when her stiff legs hit the ground. Every muscle in her body ached, but she was not allowed any rest.
“We need to hurry. The boat is only a few hundred yards away,” Saul said, pointing at the river. “We’ll have to swim the last bit.”
“What? Why?” she cried out in sheer terror at the thought. The Congo was one of the world’s great rivers. The deepest, in fact. Not only that, but it teemed with dangerous wildlife, not least among them crocodiles and tigerfish.
“We can’t risk the boat too close to the embankment,” Saul explained. “There’s a village nearby. Infected.”
Tara shook her head, frantic. “I can’t do it!”
He ignored her protests and grabbed her notebook and research, zipping it up into a waterproof bag. “You’ve got no choice.”
“Please, Saul. I’m not a good swimmer,” she added.
A shout from one of the soldiers interrupted her pleas. “They’re coming.”
“Damn it,” Saul cursed. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her into a sprint. “Run!”
The thought of zombies was enough to get Tara moving, and she moved as fast as she could. Behind her, gunshots popped as the soldiers fired at the oncoming infected. Their harsh screams rose above them like a swarm of angry hornets.
She didn’t dare look behind her. If she did, the sight might sap her courage and cause her to collapse. Instead, she focused on the river’s embankment and allowed Saul to pull her toward its edge. He leaped over without pause, and she had no choice but to follow.
Suspended in mid-air, she had time to suck in a quick breath before she hit the water. Its cold embrace closed around her, dragging her into its unforgiving depths. All sound was abruptly cut off, replaced by an eerie silence. Tara floated, her eyes staring into green murk as her fear faded away. Her lungs began to burn, and spots danced in front of her eyes. For a moment, she thought about giving up. Drowning. It’d be the end of everything, wouldn’t it? All the horror, pain, and suffering. It’d be over.
Then Saul tugged at her wrist, and she spotted his form floating above her. She kicked, slowly at first, then faster. Her head broke the surface, and Tara gulped in huge lungfuls of oxygen. Her mind cleared, and she realized one crucial fact. She didn’t want to die.
“Come on,” Saul cried. “It’s not that far.”
He set off, and she followed as fast as she could. Splashes sounded as the other soldiers joined them, each swimming toward their salvation. The boat grew nearer, and before she knew it, a set of hands was helping her up its side. She collapsed onto the deck, never more grateful for life than at that moment. After a few seconds, she crawled to her feet and gazed back the way she’d come.
The infected, mindless in their hunger, had followed the soldiers into the water. But they couldn’t swim. Their brains simply weren’t able to handle such sophisticated movement. They weren’t coordinated enough.
Instead, they floated for a time before slowly sinking into the depths of the river. Tara shuddered at the thought of them beneath her feet, maybe crawling onto the ship while they were sleeping. She said as much to Saul.
“You forget about the current. It’ll eventually take them back to land,” Saul said.
“I hope you’re right,” Tara said, then gasped when huge reptilian body broke the surface not far from the boat. It cut through the water, heading straight for the hapless zombies splashing about like kids in the river.
“A Nile crocodile,” Saul muttered.
The reptile erupted from the water and snapped up an infected between its powerful jaws. The zombie struggled against its hold, gnashing its teeth, but to no avail. With a powerful whip of its tail, both the croc and its undead victim disappeared beneath the surface.
More crocodiles arrived, drawn to the feast by the scent of blood. Within minutes, it became a feeding frenzy, the surface water churned into a crimson froth. Tails, snouts, teeth, and torn limbs flailed about. Other creatures joined in the party, picking up scraps from the outskirts: dwarf crocodiles and carnivorous tigerfish among them.
Tara stared at the spectacle with wide eyes; horror clawed its way into her breast. It was a scene of complete and utter carnage. One hand fluttered over her stomach, trying to contain the nausea.
She turned away with relief when the boat began to chug downstream, heading for Point-Noire. “Thank God. I can’t watch it anymore.”
Saul nodded. “Nature at its most savage. At least, we know one thing for sure.”
“What’s that?”
“Even if the virus kills us all, it won’t be the end. Not for the animals. Not for the world,” Saul said.
“You’re right. Nature will find a way,” Tara agreed.
“That doesn’t mean we’ll give up without a fight, am I right?” Saul asked, leaning closer.
“No, we won’t,” Tara agreed. “But we have far to go.”
“Yes, and it’ll be dangerous, but we’ll make it. I’ll get you get where you need to be, Doctor. That’s a promise,” Saul said.
“It’s Tara,” she reminded him with a nudge. “And I’ll find a cure. I swear it. Or I’ll die trying.”
The End.
If you’d like to find out what happens next, then read further for a sneak preview of the first book in the series.
Do you want more?
So we’ve reached the end of Apocalypse Z, the prequel, and I really hope you enjoyed reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Plus, there’s plenty more where this came from. Apocalypse Z, Book 1 in the series is now available on Amazon. Check it out!
Ap
ocalypse Z, Book 1 - Now Available here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07XKVD6NH
Chapter 1 - Dylan
The people of Springfield thronged the entrance of the shopping center, jostling for space as they fought their way inside. Angry shouts were overlaid by shrill screams and the cries of frightened children. The blare of car alarms filled the parking lot, and columns of black smoke rose against the skyline. A single ambulance pushed its way through the dense traffic, the first one she’d seen all day despite the bloodshed.
Dylan grabbed a free shopping cart and added her struggles to the rest of the crowd, trying to get inside the supermarket. Coming here was a huge risk, but she needed food and water, or she’d never survive the coming days.
Gritting her teeth, she shoved her way through a gap between two middle-aged women. They screeched at her like banshees, their hostility palpable in the chaotic atmosphere, but she ignored them like the clucking chickens they were.
With her eyes set straight ahead, Dylan continued to forge a path through the mass of bodies blocking her way. She couldn’t afford to care about anyone else or back down from a fight. It was every man for himself now, and people were desperate to survive. Desperate enough to kill, maim, or steal if need be. And I don’t plan on becoming a victim.
She avoided the fridges and headed straight for the water, cramming a case of plastic-wrapped bottles into the bottom of her cart. The canned aisle was next, and she focused her attention on protein and vegetables such as tuna, salmon, corn, peas, soups, and tomatoes. Among the dried goods, she found a few protein bars and packets of dried fruits and nuts.
It was a struggle. Every step of the way was a battle, and Dylan grew increasingly aware of the gun nestled against her hip and the crowbar clenched in her right hand. She hoped she wouldn’t need either weapon, but that was becoming more unlikely with each passing second.
A toddler stared at her as she passed, its face swollen with tears while its young mother fought to get her hands on diapers and formula. Two men wrestled over a television, and she shook her head in wonder. What did any of that matter now? Three more were kicking another that lay prone on the floor, his head covered with his arms. Blood spattered their clothes, and they looked like savages.
Averting her gaze, Dylan ran through the last few aisles, grabbing anything useful she could get her hands on. Coffee, sugar, powdered milk, dried beans, rice, batteries, toilet paper, and vitamins.
Suddenly, a strange woman blocked her way, wielding a steak knife. Her eyes gleamed above nicotine-stained teeth, and her breath smelled of alcohol. “Give me your stuff. Now.”
Dylan bared her teeth and growled. “Fuck off.”
The woman waved the knife in front of her face. “I’m not telling you again, bitch. Give me your stuff.”
“If you want it, take it,” Dylan taunted.
The woman grabbed the cart with one hand and pulled, still waving her knife in the air. Gripping the crowbar with both hands, Dylan swung it at the woman’s wrist. It connected with a loud crack, and the woman screamed as she dropped the knife from nerveless fingers. Letting go of the cart, she scrambled backward while holding her injured limb. “You bitch! You broke my arm!”
“You asked for it. Now scram!” Dylan said with a threatening wave of her weapon. The woman ducked away and disappeared into the press of bodies to look for easier prey, though Dylan doubted she’d be able to do much damage with her broken wrist. With a satisfied grin, she resumed her search for supplies.
As she reached the end of the aisle, the sounds inside the store changed in tone and pitch. Terrified screams rose all around her, a chant taken up by all as it passed around from mouth to mouth. Dylan froze to the spot as she fought to make out the words. When she did, all the blood drained from her face, leaving her cold and numb.
“The dead!”
“They’re coming!”
“Get inside!”
“Block the entrance!”
People stampeded away from the doors. They pushed their way deeper into the store to get away from the horror that approached from the outside. Dylan knew only too well what it was, and fear spurted through her veins at the thought.
Desperation fueled her actions, and she pulled back from the surging mass of bodies before she could be crushed or trampled underfoot. Using her shopping cart as a battering ram, Dylan forged a path to the back of the store where a familiar door awaited.
Staff Only.
It led toward the storage room and loading bay at the back of the store, as well as the manager’s office, staff quarters, and bathrooms. She’d spent a few months during the last year working at the supermarket as a bagger. It was the reason she chose this place above all the others that were closer to home. The reason she carried her old keycard in her pocket, praying she wouldn’t need it, but hoping it would still work if she did.
Dylan reached her destination and pulled up to the heavy iron door, usually locked to prevent easy access. With fumbling fingers, she pulled out her card and ran it through the slot. A negative beep sounded, and the red light shined. “No!”
Behind her, the screams were growing louder, and she frantically tried again, but to no avail. The store had become a deathtrap. The crush of panicking people grew worse, and she was pushed up against the door with her loaded cart pressed painfully into her midriff.
Gasping for breath, Dylan scanned the walls and ceiling for an escape. Any escape. Abandoning her supplies was better than dying for them. A few windows set high in the walls beckoned, as did the fire escape on the far side. Could she make it to any of them?
A shoulder rammed into her side, and Dylan hissed as her ribs exploded in red-hot agony. She almost lost her grip on the cart, but managed to hold on as she fell to the floor.
She looked up in time to see the nearest rack topple over with a ponderous groan. It crashed on top of her, and only the shopping cart prevented her from being crushed. Bottles of bleach and disinfectant burst on impact, and harsh fumes burned her nostrils.
Through tear-filled eyes, she gazed around in horror. Many had not been as lucky as her, and several people were trapped or injured. The rest of the store continued its rampage of terror, the crowd killing itself as it tried to escape the dead.
Even as she stared, jerky figures entered the store and sprinted toward the nearest victims. With guttural growls, they pounced on their prey, digging their teeth and nails into any open flesh they could reach. The coppery scent of blood filled the air, and the masses were whipped into a frenzy as death approached.
Pinned between the wall and her cart, Dylan was trapped. No amount of wriggling or pushing could get the rack to shift even an inch. Sitting in a puddle of bleach, she closed her eyes and tried to regain a semblance of calm. “There has to be a way out. There has to.”
A low snarl caused her eyes to pop open, and she found herself looking at one of the infected. He was perched on top of the debris like a hungry wolf, his teeth bared in a threatening grimace. Black veins crisscrossed his pale skin. There was something primal about him, something so wild she knew there could be no reasoning with such a creature. He was no longer human.
With her heart pounding in her chest, she watched him sniff at the crushed bottles of cleaning supplies, wrinkling his nose at the sharp smell. An injured woman groaned, and he honed in on her with deadly intensity. Pouncing like a tiger, he tore into the helpless woman’s throat, and her screams were lost in a gurgling fountain of blood.
Dylan pressed her hands to her lips to contain her screams, but the horror was too overwhelming. Not caring who or what heard her, she twisted around and slammed her fists against the door behind her. “Somebody help me! Please!”
Undiluted fear coursed through her veins like acid, and she kept yelling and banging until her throat grew raw. A snarl caused her to look back. The infected man prowled toward her on all fours, blood dripping from his chin.
Dylan twisted to the side, reaching for her gun. Her hand closed on the pistol grip,
and she pulled it free from its holster. Breathing hard, she sought to still her trembling hands. Remember your training. You didn’t spend all those afternoons at the range for nothing.
The infected paused, and his thigh muscles bunched, ready to leap. She took careful aim. He was so close. Too close. It has to be the head. That’s what the CDC said in their last broadcast.
As she pulled the trigger, a silly thought occurred to her. Why was it always the damn head?
The bullet drilled a hole between the man’s eyes, and he collapsed with half of his skull missing. The next moment, Dylan fell backward as the door behind her opened without warning. A set of familiar blue eyes gazed down into hers, and she gasped with surprise. “Ben? Ben Randall?”
“Dylan? Is that you?” he asked.
She nodded, pathetically grateful to see her old manager. He’d always been good to her, and she prayed he still liked her enough to help her. “It’s me.”
He grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to her feet. “Hurry. They’re coming!”
Dylan glanced at the inside of the supermarket and blanched. Every infected inside the space was running toward them, drawn by the gunshot. Her eyes fell on her cart, and her lips compressed. “I’m not leaving my stuff.”
Jamming the gun back into its holster, she grabbed the cart’s handles and yanked it toward her. It rolled inside, and she slammed the door shut with a yell of defiance. An avalanche of crap had followed the cart, however, and the door caught on a bottle of laundry detergent. “Oh, shit.”
Kicking at the bottle with her foot, Dylan tried to clear the way, but it was hooked on something and refused to budge. An infected woman reached the entrance and threw herself at it with a screech. Her hand thrust through the opening and reached for Dylan’s face. She ripped out a clump of hair, and tears filled Dylan’s eyes. More infected followed, howling like wolves.
Desperate to shut the door, Dylan grabbed the woman by the wrist and pushed. “Get out!”
Rise of the Undead (Book 0): Apocalypse Z [Prequel] Page 3
