by Edward Crae
Copyright © 2015 Edward Crae
Cover Art by Necropolis Digital Art (shawnecrapo.com)
Twitter: @edwardcrae
Facebook.com/edwardcrae
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
DISCLAIMER:
All brand names mentioned within are the registered trademarks of their respective copyright holders. No infringement, endorsement, or detraction is intended.
This is a work of fiction, and any resemblances to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Place names are used respectfully and solely for the purposes of reference points for the story.
Animals were harmed in the making of this story. A guy’s gotta eat, right?
“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”
-Nietzsche
Chapter One
The black Hummer slowed down to a crawl as it approached the scene of the crash. In between the two walls of bedrock on either side of the highway, at least half a dozen cars were piled up and in pieces. The highway’s north lane had split off several miles back, and this way was the only southern route.
The vehicle stopped with a screech, its engine rumbling as its occupants sat for a moment to assess the situation. Then, the doors opened, and four men in black stepped out. They were dressed in body armor, black khaki BDUs, and were armed with M4A1 rifles. The truncated triangle design of Gephardt’s logo was emblazoned on their chests.
“Shit,” the driver cursed as he looked around at the destruction. “How the fuck are we gonna get through this mess?”
Another man slung his rifle over his shoulder, sighing in frustration as he scanned the bodies that were sprawled on the pavement. “Why don’t we just plow right through,” he said. “We’re in a fucking Hummer for fuck’s sake.”
“Hey, look,” another said, pointing at the spray-painted Hummer that was near the stone wall. “That looks like one of ours.”
The driver went over to him, glaring at the vehicle with a cold expression. “No shit,” he said. “You can see the decal underneath this shit paint work.”
The other man bent down and scratched at the spray paint with the barrel of his rifle. It came off easily, revealing the matte black of the original paint. “Fucking civilians,” he said, shaking his head.
The other two men wandered between the mess of cars, kicking at the corpses. They turned them over one by one, scowling as they looked down at their rotted faces. The driver went back to their vehicle, reaching in to grab the radio.
“Echo Niner to Mecca,” he said into the receiver. “How ‘bout ya?”
After a second of silence, a garbled reply came back, followed by static. The driver smacked the receiver with his other hand. “Do you read?”
There was more static, and then silence. Frustrated, the driver tossed the receiver back in the driver’s seat. “Fucking piece of shit,” he cursed.
“Something wrong with the radio?” the second man asked.
“Yeah. It’s fucking junk.”
“Hey, Sarge,” one of the other men called out. “We could probably roll through this. These cars are all compacts.”
The driver nodded. “Right,” he said. “But I wanted to call in the stolen Hummer.”
“Fuck it,” the second man said. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”
The sergeant nodded, opening the driver’s side door. The other men wandered back in his direction, ready to mount up and roll through. “Hold on,” he said. “Banes, go through the mess and guide me through. I don’t wanna roll over any mines or anything.”
Banes chuckled, strapping his rifle to his shoulder and going back to the pileup. The three men got back in the Hummer and waited for Banes to reappear on the other side. Strangely enough, he didn’t.
“Banes!” the sergeant called out. No answer.
“Where’d he go?” the second man asked.
“Goddamnit,” the sergeant said. “Banes!”
He looked over to his corporal, who shrugged.
“What the fuck,” he said, opening the door and stepping out.
A shot rang out, followed by a cloud of blood and brains as the sergeant’s head exploded. The other two men cried out, scrambling to exit. Then, a blur passed by, and a grenade was tossed into the open door. The man in the back seat threw his own door open just as the pop of the grenade burst in his ears. He fell to the pavement, writhing in pain. He groaned as he realized his eardrums had burst, and blood ran from his ears in gushes. He rolled over, glaring up at the sky.
“Hi there,” Drew said, staring down at him with a grin. At least, that’s what it looked like he said.
Dan stood with his .308 freshly fired and slung over his shoulder. He began to make his way down as Drew finished off the last merc with a shot to the forehead. The bedrock wall was difficult to climb, but he managed it with a smile.
“That was fucking badass,” Drew said, stuffing his Glock in his belt. “Those guys probably shit their pants.”
“Good,” Dan said. “Fuck ‘em.”
“Let’s see what these cocksuckers were packin’.”
They went to the back of the Hummer and opened up the cargo door. Inside were the typical supplies. Drew shuffled around the ammo cans, reading the stenciled labels and sliding them out and onto the ground.
“Four cans of 5.56,” he said. “Looks like a Barret .50 here.”
“Sweet,” Dan said, reaching in to pull the sniper rifle off its rack.
“Ooh,” Drew said. “Check this out.”
He moved some supply boxes out of the way, revealing a four-propped helicopter-like object. “A fucking drone,” he said with a huge grin. “Let’s take this fucker.”
Dan carried the .50 back to their own Hummer, tossing it in the back seat. Drew carried two of the ammo cans back, and Dan grabbed the other two. The drone was rather light, and Dan slid it out and carried it back, setting it on the ground and opening the cargo door as Drew brought back the other two ammo cans.
“There’s got to be a remote in there somewhere,” Drew said, going back and searching around.
Dan found a can of .50 rounds, and a box of what looked like MREs. “Gourmet meals,” he said.
“Here it is,” Drew announced happily, dragging out a small remote control with a flip up LCD screen. “Man, this will come in handy.”
They carried their score back to their Hummer, loading everything up and piling in. Drew started it up, and backed up next to the Gephardt vehicle. “Anything else we need?” he asked.
Dan shuffled around the front seat, moving various papers and other junk around. There was nothing else of interest in there. The radio crackled and sputtered, as if someone were trying to reach the mercs. Dan ignored it, shaking his head as he gave up his search.
“Nothing,” he said. “Let’s roll.”
“Why do I always have to drive?” Drew asked as they plowed down the highway.
“Well,” Dan said. “I figure it’s a good way to make up for the fact that you had to ride that cute little scooter all the way from Martinsville.”
“Ha!” Drew laughed. “Yeah, that was pretty lame.”
Dan cracked open one of the last three beers, handing one to Drew. It was warm, obviously, but still good. They were almost out though, and that was a bad thing.
“There’s a truck stop down here, if I remember right,” Dan said. “Should be on the left a few miles down the road.”
“I bet everything’s been hit,” Drew said. “Especially a truck stop.”
“I
doubt it. The population’s a little thinner down this way until you get to Bedford.”
“What’s in Bedford?”
“Never been there?” Dan asked. Drew shook his head. “It’s an average town. Nothing huge. It’s probably the only major town in the area. We can chill there for a bit then head to French Lick or something. I bet the casino’s nice this time of year.”
Drew chuckled. “Sure,” he said. “I bet the slot machines are rockin’.”
“It’s a hotel and resort,” Dan said. “Nice place. Could be a good spot to settle in for the winter.”
Drew nodded, staring at the sky. “If winter ever comes.”
Good point, Dan thought. Though it was approaching wintertime, it was still not as winter-like as usual. It was getting colder, no doubt, but something told Dan that winter would be a bit different from now on. Something about the comet had to have affected the climate. Not that Dan was a weatherman or anything…
It just had to.
“Is that it up there?” Drew said, pointing ahead.
Dan looked down the highway, seeing the familiar banners and buildings that marked the small outpost. “Yep,” he said. “It’s small, but there’s usually a little farmer’s market and plenty of space to park your rig and chill for the night. Not anymore, though.”
There were a large number of cars around the building and clogging the intersection. Something had definitely happened here, and it didn’t look good. Near the right side of the highway, a large red trailer had been overturned and ripped open—from the inside it seemed. Dan glared at the jagged opening as they slowly passed it, craning his neck to keep it in view when Drew turned left into the parking lot.
“What the fuck happened there?” he wondered out loud.
“This place is still intact,” Drew said. “Maybe they’re fully stocked.”
Dan turned back to the front, eyeing the truck stop. The parking lot had a few cars in it, along with the market banner and several empty tables. The building itself was in good repair; no broken windows or doors, gas pumps intact, and very few dead bodies.
“Pull up next to that VW,” Dan said. “I bet it’s diesel. We should probably fill up.”
“Right,” Drew said.
Drew pulled in, shutting off the Hummer and reaching into the console for the siphon pump. Dan got out, looking around for any dangers. The area seemed abandoned, as if everyone who was here had simply got out of their cars and walked away. The few bodies that were lying around were just the dead; normal people who probably died in the initial infection. They were rotted, and most of them had been scavenged by animals. Only a few of them were fully intact. Perhaps they had died recently.
Drew began the task of siphoning fuel from the VW. Dan walked around the parking lot, keeping his eyes on the immediate vicinity. He kept thinking of the nearby trailer, though, wondering what it was that had ripped its way out of it.
“It’s too fucking quiet,” Drew said. “Makes me nervous.”
Dan went back to the Hummer, fetching a shotgun from the back seat. “I’m peeking in the windows before we go in,” he said. “Keep your eyes peeled.”
Drew went back to watching the pump as Dan approached the station. He held one hand up to the glass and peered inside. Though dark and shadowy, he could see that the station was intact. No one had ransacked or looted here, it seemed. Even the cigarette display at the front counter was full, which was a good sign. He suddenly craved a cigarette.
“Empty,” Drew said behind him, packing up the pump.
“Looks good inside,” Dan said, waiting to Drew to join him.
Drew pulled out his Glock, and the two stood in front of the door. “Ready?” Dan asked.
He pushed open the door, surprised to see that it wasn’t locked. A woosh of stale air blew out, followed by the smell of rotting milk and gas station burritos. They exchanged disgusted looks and carefully stepped inside. After a quick visual sweep, Drew raced toward the counter, pulling a pack of smokes from the display and ripping it open like a starving hobo. He lit a smoke, sighing in pleasure, and tossed one to Dan.
“Man,” Dan said. “That’s some serious funk. I can’t believe milk smells that bad.”
“It comes from cow titties,” Drew joked. “What do you expect?”
Dan went to the coolers in the back while Drew perused and emptied the tobacco rack. None of Dan’s favorite brews were available; only the second rate brands. Who cares? Good enough. He grabbed a case from the bottom shelf, holding it up for Drew to see.
“Woohoo!” Drew shouted. “The good stuff, baby!”
Dan slid the case across the floor, reaching in for another. As he moved the case aside, he saw the curled fingers of a rotting hand behind the racks. He peered through, squinting into the dark room beyond. There was a single body on the floor; male, dead, and mostly mummified.
“Got a stinker,” Dan shouted.
“One over here by the soda machine, too,” Drew replied.
Dan took the case of beer and closed the cooler door. Drew was bent down near the soda fountain, looking at the body of a young girl. Dan set the case of beer down on the floor next to the other one and joined him.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Drew shook his head. “Don’t know man,” he said. “This girl looks familiar.”
Dan looked over Drew’s shoulder. The girl was lying face up. Her skin was darkened and stretched tightly over her bones, and her lips had curled back, exposing her broken teeth. Her red hair was matted and twisted, partially stuck to the floor with dried bodily fluids.
“Didn’t you date her?” Dan suggested.
Drew looked at him, shaking his head in apparent disgust. “Come on, man,” he said. “You know I don’t like redheads.”
Dan shrugged and turned down the canned food aisle. There were plenty of items left on the shelves. Spam, sardines, pork and beans, various types of canned pasta, and packs of ramen noodles. Everything your average college student or drunk could ever need. Dan opened his backpack, sweeping the shelf clean. He moved on to the first aid section, and then the OTC medicine section.
Drew went into the back through the swinging door.
…and backed right out again.
“Dude,” he whispered.
Dan turned to look in his direction. Drew’s face was frozen in terror. Dan’s heart skipped a beat when he saw him.
“What is it?” he whispered back.
Drew shook his head, backing away. Dan slung his pack over his shoulder, pulling his shotgun from the other. He went to the door and peeked through the round window. His jaw dropped. There, in the storeroom, was a huge bat hanging from the ceiling… or least it was a bat at one time.
It was pale white, at least six feet long, and its sickly white wings were wrapped around its body as it slept. Its face was horrid, like a cross between a vampire bat and the psycho mutant. Its mouth was stretched into a fanged grin, giving it the look of some foul ice demon.
Dan backed away, turning to Drew.
“Jesus man,” he whispered. “It’s like a vampire or something.”
“Should we kill it?” Drew wondered.
“Maybe Jake’s flame thrower would do it.”
Drew nodded, and the two of them crept toward the door. Dan grabbed one of the cases of beer, and Drew grabbed the other. They quietly put the beer in the Hummer, and Dan opened up the cargo area to fetch the flame thrower.
“I hope it still works,” he said, turning the valve on the propane tank.
He struck his lighter at the nozzle, bringing the pilot light to life. He slung the diesel tanks over his shoulders, making sure they were full, and motioned for Drew to follow him.
“Keep me covered with the shotgun,” he said. “Blast that fucker if it starts charging me.”
They returned to the back of the store, each of them scared shitless and having that creepy-crawly feeling. Drew moved into position beside the door, holding his shotgun up and placing his hand on the door
. Dan readied himself, checking the pilot again, and pulling up his pants. He took a few quick, nervous breaths and nodded to Drew.
Drew pushed open the door. The bat-thing still hung there, slumbering away in its gruesome, devilish fashion. Dan stepped forward, wedging his foot against the open door. He aimed the flame thrower at the bat, gritted his teeth, and squeezed the valve.
The bat-thing let out a hellish screech as it was engulfed. It thrashed and roared, its fangs gnashing like a steel trap. Dan moved the flamethrower up and down, spreading the flames along its body. The bat dropped from the ceiling in a flaming heap, rolling over to scramble onto its four limbs.
Dan kept at it, spraying the screaming thing with flames. The bat’s giant wings burned away as its clawed arms propelled the thing forward. Though frying to a crisp, it still came at him.
“Shoot it!” Dan shouted. “Shoot it!”
Drew ducked down, blasting the bat-thing with several rounds as Dan backed away. Between the flames and the shotgun blasts, the thing was doomed—but still pissed.
“Fuck,” Drew said. “Run.”
Dan let go of the trigger, and the two turned and bolted toward the front door. Behind them, the bat-thing burst through the swinging door, letting out a deathly screech of pain and pissed-offery. They bolted out the door, turning to watch as the creature crawled on its wings like some fiery dragon from the depths of Gary Gygax’s imagination.
Drew blasted it through the door, shattering the useless glass. Dan let out another stream of flame. But still it came.
“Time to go,” Drew said, flinging open the driver’s side door.
Dan piled in the passenger side, crawling in the back to poke up through the sunroof. Drew fired up the engine and stomped the gas, just as the bat-thing burst through the door. The Hummer lurched forward, jolting Dan. They sped away about twenty yards, until Drew slammed on the breaks.
“What are you doing?” Dan said.
Drew spun around in his seat, slammed the Hummer in reverse, and gunned the engine.
“Shit!” Dan shouted as they barreled right toward the flaming creature. He dropped back down into the Hummer, closing the valve on the propane tank.
