Human Extinction Level Loss (Book 1): Nicole's Odyssey

by McClimon, Philip A.

  ☣

  The road was straight as an arrow and Nicole held out for another sixty miles. When she came to the end of it, the road branched North and South. A third option was the motel across the road directly in front of her, Friendly’s Motor Inn. The buzzing green and pink neon Vacancy sign beckoned, and the battle was over. She pulled into the parking lot and stared at the squat structure. Branching off from the center office at shallow angles on either side were the rooms.

  “No second story,” she said as she slowly drove around the motel.

  There was no sign of anybody or anything. All was quiet. Nicole backed the car up to the office and opened the passenger side door. She got out the driver side and left the motor running and that door open as well. Nicole approached the office door and looked through the glass. Inside it was dark. She pushed the door and it opened, a tinkling bell at the top ruining any element of surprise she might have had. Nicole froze in panic and waited several tense seconds for something now alert to her presence to come stumbling out of the shadows.

  When nothing did, she poked her head in and sniffed the air.

  “No smell, that’s good,” she said and went inside.

  Not being able to see, she ran her hands along the wall until she found the switch. As her eyes adjusted to the light, the scene before her made her think the motel had perhaps not been abandoned, that maybe the proprietor just closed for the night or stepped out. The office was neat and clean. A check-in desk spanned half the room. Behind it, a short hallway turned left into a back office. To the right of the desk was the complimentary coffee, regular and decaffeinated. On a serving tray was an assortment of Danishes. By all appearances, it looked like the night clerk should pop out from around the corner and with a big homespun smile welcome her to Friendly's. Nicole was almost ready to believe it, when she went over to the coffee makers. The pots were caked with burnt coffee. She looked down at the pastries and saw they were covered in mold. The growth extended beyond the serving tray and looked more like a small shag carpet than the sugary hospitality they once were. Nicole stared at the pastries. The sight of them filled her with a sense of sadness. They were symbols of neglect to her. Their condition only served to emphasize that there had not been anybody there to eat them. There had not been anybody around to replace them when they went stale, and certainly nobody had been around to clean up the mess they had become. The people here had left in a hurry; they took whatever they felt was important to them and abandoned the rest, abandoned the pastries and left the coffee maker on. In her fatigue, she let her mind wander and she was reminded that the world had become much like those pastries, overrun with something that only viewed them as a food source and would keep growing long after they had been consumed. Nicole awakened from her reverie, shaking off what she knew were useless thoughts. She refocused on the task at hand.

  Although there had not been anyone to clean the coffee pots that did not guarantee there was no one around. Before her head could meet her pillow, she had to be sure. It did not matter to her if the rooms were locked from the outside, they did not lock from the inside. She didn’t think the Dead could turn a knob if some of them were in one of the rooms. She also did not want to die being wrong about that either. She went around the desk and looked for room keys. Shuffling through papers on the desk, she ignored what was written on them. They were just more evidence that the world had changed and lamenting that fact was not going to get her to sleep tonight or miles down the road tomorrow. She continued her search and in the top right drawer of the check-in desk found a key labeled MASTER. Nicole grabbed the key and headed outside.

  Nicole looked at her car to make sure it was still running then started opening doors. Working down the left side, she started checking rooms for signs of the Dead, locking the doors back behind her. When she got to the third door on the right side, she paused.

  “What are you gonna do if you find one, Nicole?”

  She looked back at her idling Cavalier. “Run like hell, I guess,” she said, answering her own question.

  She took a deep breath and unlocked the door. Nothing. When she finished checking the rest of the rooms, she went to her car and turned off the ignition. Snatching her bag from the back seat, she closed both of the car doors but did not lock them. Nicole was about to turn when she paused and looked down at the driver side door. Grabbing the handle and opening it as fast as she could, she dived inside, pulling the door closed behind her. She gripped the wheel and stared out through the windshield and the dark.

  “This has been a test of the Nicole Bennett zombie emergency evac system. Had this been an actual attack...I probably would be munched.”

  Fatigue washed over her, as she rested her head on the steering wheel. She sighed then opened her door and climbed out. Shutting the door behind her, Nicole confirmed its unlocked status then stumbled into the room closest to the office on the left. This door she did lock.

  The room was standard “mom and pop” fare. Two single beds were on either side of a nondescript nightstand. Across from the beds, a television sat atop a scratched up dresser. She saw the remote lying on top of the television, an old style box set, and grabbed it. She did not know what she hoped to see, but she turned on the aging set just the same. As the television warmed up, a color test pattern appeared. She flipped through a half dozen channels and got the same thing. The last one she tried had a scrolling public service announcement. It was urging people to stay in their homes until order could be restored. Nicole laughed. As a kid, she remembered learning that at the height of the cold war, children were taught to hide under their desks and cover their heads in the event of a nuclear attack. She knew then, even as a kid herself, the advice was meaningless. It was given only so that people would feel like they were doing something constructive and life preserving. The last thing the government wanted when humanity was about to go dark was for people to panic. Hide under your desk, stay in your homes. It was the same, all the government could really do was tell you to duck your head and die quietly. Disgusted with the useless advice and her own cynical thought about it, Nicole switched off the television and tossed the remote on the bed.

  She looked over at the sink against the wall. To the left of that was a door leading to the toilet and shower. Though she felt bone weary, she thought a shower would wash away the miles. She set her bag down and went in and turned on the light. The shower was clean, so she tried the water, cranking the HOT knob to wide open. The water poured from the faucet behind a strong pressure. She put her hand out and tested the temperature; it was still cold. Waiting for it to warm up, Nicole went to the sink, over which was a large mirror. She tied her auburn hair up in a loose not and turned on the faucet, splashing the cool water over her face. The feeling rejuvenated her and made her long for the shower, anticipation of muscles relaxing under the hot spray. Grabbing a hand towel, she rubbed her face dry. The towel was plush and it felt good, like an itch finally being scratched. Long after her face was dry, she continued to rub, feeling the massage ease the stress of hours on the road. Finishing, she tossed the towel away and looked in the mirror. Her father’s green eyes stared back at her.

  The eyes are the window of the soul, she thought to herself.

  She doubted her father believed in such things as a soul. Her mind wandered.

  What if he’s right? Is the only difference between the living and the dead the stench and lack of speech? She continued to study her features. I may have dad’s eyes, but everything else is mom’s.

  Sandra Bennett was a beautiful woman. She was known and loved by her friends for her gracious generosity and quiet dignity. Nicole was her mother’s daughter. The qualities of beauty and generosity that she inherited made it easy for Nicole to find friends and meet guys. Her college years called into doubt whether quiet dignity was a trait passed on. Nicole was also known for being a partier around campus. She had many boyfriends but no lovers. Guys who only wanted one thing, called her a tease sometimes but it did not bother h
er. Most of them were probably shufflers now and that would be an improvement. She smiled at the thought. That smile was her mother’s too and Nicole recognized it immediately.

  Her thoughts returned again to her mother and a tightness formed in her chest. She bit down hard, fighting back her emotions.

  She stood straight and breathed a heavy sigh, “Shower definitely needed,” she said.

  Going into the bathroom, she tested the water again. It was getting warmer, but not yet hot. She stepped out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Nicole kicked off her cross-trainers and lay on her back.

  Just a minute while the water gets hot she told herself as she drifted off to sleep, the steam from the running water wafting out of the bathroom and fogging up the mirror.

  ☣

  Nicole was in her clinic. She wrapped a golden retriever's front paw in a bandage while a woman smiled and lovingly stroked the dog's head.

  BAM!

  The sound reverberated around Nicole and made her jump. She looked down at the retriever and then to the woman. Neither one seemed to have heard the noise. Nicole finished bandaging the retriever’s paw and the woman scooped up her dog, smiling at the prospect of injuries healed and years of companionship ahead. A little boy holding a cat came into the office next. The cat sneezed and the little boy looked concerned.

  “Just a cold,” she said as she stroked the cat's chin and administered a shot.

  BAM!

  Nicole jumped, but the cat remained still and the little boy did not act like he noticed. She smiled and the little boy scooped up his cat and left. Nicole slowly turned and the clinic dissolved into a courtroom. She looked up at the judge’s bench looming over her and saw her father sitting there in his dress uniform. Holding a gavel in his right hand, he brought it down hard.

  BAM!

  Nicole flinched. “Why is my father here?” she thought as she approached the bench. He glared at her and brought the gavel down.

  BAM!

  She was about to speak, but was cut short by three more strikes from the gavel.

  BAM!

  BAM!

  BAM!

  On the third strike, Nicole's eyes flew open. She stared at the ceiling of her room in the Friendly’s Motor Inn. Her eyes focused on a water stain long dried. Her mind worked the pattern of the stain into an image.

  “Huh, looks like Jesus… or Willie Nelson…” Her words trailed off as she drifted back to sleep. Just a few more minutes and then she would go, she thought.

  BAM!

  Nicole's eyes flew open a second time and she sat bolt upright. She looked over at the large window to her right. Thick curtains blocked the light, keeping the room in shadowy darkness. She kept her eyes fixed on the curtains as she eased herself off the bed. With trepidation, she reached out and slowly slid them open. Something was still blocking the light. She shoved the curtains wide then froze. Pressed against the glass were seven wet, oozing Dead. Their faces smeared blood and gore across the glass. Nicole began to shake, her lower jaw quivered uncontrollably. She screamed and the Dead, who seemed to be searching for her, locked their eyes on her. They moaned and pounded the glass. Nicole could not look away but was forced to as something beyond the Dead caught her attention. It grew larger. She screamed again as the runner came at her. It slammed into the only remaining spot at the window.

  BAM!

  It hit with such force that the decaying flesh on its face burst. Blood and gore spattered the glass. A new sound emerged under the groans of the Dead; a crack began to spread across the window. Nicole backpedaled and her legs hit the bed. She tumbled head over heels, collapsing in a heap between the bed and the wall. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she held them tight as she rocked.

  THWACK!

  Nicole jumped at the sound, which sounded wetter to her. She felt wetness; it seeped into her jeans as she sat on the floor. She screamed and tried to brush away the viscera she knew now covered her. Kicking and screaming, she fell to the floor by the bathroom door. Only then did she notice that the shower was still running. It had filled the tub and flooded the floor. Now lying on her back, cold water seeped into her shirt. “Water,” she said. Nicole’s relief was short lived as she looked at the window and saw that another of the runners had slammed into it. With no space left, the runner crashed into the bodies of the others. Nicole scurried back and huddled between the bed and the wall. Panic seized her and she clutched at the blanket on the bed and began to cry. The Dead clawed and pressed the glass, sensing their meal just feet away. Sanity all but left Nicole as she buried her face in the bed, her screams muffled by the blankets and pillows. As she felt the blankets against her face, Nicole’s tears began to ebb and she raised her head.

  Outside her room, the Dead continued their clamoring vigil. Those pressed against the glass slammed it with their heads and clawed at it with their hands. The more recent arrivals pressed against them. Occasionally they would stumble backwards, only to slam their bodies back into the group. This resulted in the ones against the glass being slowly crushed. Bodily fluids, blood and gore coated the window, yet still they clamored. The glass, already weakened by cracks from the continual pressure, began to give way. The motel room door flew open and a form darted out. Nicole, covered in the blankets, ran to her car. The Dead caught her scent in an instant and were on her. Hands reached out and tugged at her. Teeth clamped down on the blankets. Nicole fell under their weight and disappeared. The Dead tore and ripped at the blankets in an effort to consume. Nicole struggled under their relentless onslaught as she crawled along the ground and out of the blankets. The Dead tore the blankets to pieces then went to work on the thick pillows that she had put on her back. Nicole jumped up and ran to her car. She grabbed at the door handle but her hands would not work. Her fingers floundered as the Dead discovered their meal was still feet away. Casting aside the shredded blankets, they turned and advanced on her. Nicole turned and watched them. Her hands dropped to her side in blind fear and resignation to what was about to occur. As they reached out for her, suddenly a single harsh and commanding voice screamed in Nicole’s mind.

  “Focus or die!”

  She spun around and her hand grabbed the door handle and pulled. The door swung open and she dived inside. Scrambling, she pulled the door closed as the wave of the Dead crashed into the driver side window. Nicole slammed the lock down on the driver side door then did the same on the passenger side, just as a second group piled against it. She shoved her keys into the ignition as one of the Dead on the passenger side bashed its head against the window. Shattered glass filled the seat and three pairs of hands reached for her as the engine sprang to life. Dropping it into drive, Nicole mashed the gas. The little Cavalier sped away as those in the window were dragged along. She made a hard left turn out of the parking lot and onto the road, scattering her hungry passengers in a wet mess behind her.

  Four

  In the town of Wheeling, West Virginia, Nicole Bennett’s Chevy Cavalier had given out. She figured it was a buyer’s market and set out to find a suitable replacement. Her quest brought her to the doors of Pinnelli’s. Alfonse Pinelli had prided himself on having the finest array of foreign sports cars in the Southeast. His unsold inventory sat in his immaculate showroom just waiting for those with the taste for the finer things and the means to acquire them to come along.

  Had he ever met Nicole, Alfonse would not have pegged her as a person with the taste for the finer things, or someone with the means to acquire them. He would have been right on both counts. For her part, had she ever met Alfonse Pinelli, Nicole would not have pegged Alfonse as anything but a pompous ass and a douche bag. She too would have been right on both counts. Regardless, in the showroom of Pinnelli’s she stood. In one hand, she held the keys to a 2013 Ferrari F12 Berlinetta. In the other hand, she held a brochure. The brochure stated that it was a 730 horsepower V-12, and to date was the fastest Ferrari ever built. Under different circumstances, Nicole would not be caught dead in a car like t
his. This was a car for douche bags like Alfonse Pinelli. Nicole figured she may be many things, but a douche bag was not one of them. Nevertheless, she wanted fast. She had somewhere to be and faster was definitely better.

  She tossed the brochure over her shoulder and pulled open the door on the Berlinetta. She was about to climb in when, looking up she saw another dealership across the street. Over there, the cars were not sheltered in a climate-controlled showroom. They sat in a lot in the open air for anybody and everybody to see. What Nicole saw made her doubt almost immediately that her first choice in transportation was the correct one. She dropped the keys to the Berlinetta where she stood, and exited Pinelli’s.

  Pete “Petey” Maxwell sold heavy metal. He prided himself on dealing in American steal that could propel you down the road at a furious pace, in a cloud of smoke and a strong scent of burning rubber. At six feet, three inches, Pete Maxwell was an imposing man, until he smiled. He had spent his early years as a semi-professional boxer. He never got his shot, but came darn close on more than one occasion. He retired and sank his savings into his second love, vintage muscle cars. Though he had been out of the ring for a long time, he was still more hardened muscle than fat. Had Nicole ever met Petey, she would have found his open good nature immediately likable. For his part, Petey would have thought Nicole, “Nickel” to her friends and she would have told him that, was pretty cool too.