Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

He hadn't gone a hundred feet when he heard, and then saw, an orange sports car—a Barracuda he guessed—roaring down the narrow two-lane street from behind him as if it were on the open highway. The vehicle thundered by with enough force he was buffeted by the strong turbulence.

  What the hell?

  It was going the same direction he was walking, so he jumped into the street to see where it went. Several blocks down it hit its breaks hard, squealing maniacally, then banked left down a side street out of sight.

  As he stood there, he felt the hair begin standing up on the back of his neck. He had a strange feeling the car was running from something evil, and the “something” was close behind him that very second...

  He turned around expecting to see something horrific but was pleasantly surprised to see nothing out of the ordinary, not even other moving cars—as long as he ignored the tornado sirens. And the drunk man in the front seat of the car at ten-something in the morning. His momentary feeling of panic faded, but he quickened his step as he made for home. He downed one of his drinks almost without taking a breath and considered going back to the shop and getting one to replace it, but he had a sudden desire to get back to Grandma’s. Something was different this morning.

  3

  The Long Way

  During his twenty-minute walk to the block where Grandma lived several other cars passed him, though none were going as fast as that orange one. A few times, he saw people running out of their houses to jump in cars or load junk into vehicles parked on the street. Clearly, something big was going on, but was it a tornado—thus the sirens—or what. He'd get it all sorted at Grandma's. Sure, she didn't have the internet or even a cell phone, but she seemed pretty well-informed most of the time. He imagined her sitting in her sewing chair listening to a radio right now, probably with Angie close by.

  In fact, he had this image so firmly in his mind's eye it took him several moments to digest what was going on when he finally saw his grandma's house. There on the front porch was Grandma Marty. She didn't have her cane or anything—just looked like she was dragging herself along the wall near the front doors.

  First, she fiddled around with her door and then slowly moved to Angie's.

  He stood on the sidewalk a couple of houses away, on the opposite side of the tree-lined avenue. Several cars were parked along the curb, making it difficult to get an unobstructed view. He began moving with haste—not quite a run yet as he wasn't sure what was happening—but, he was going to help if she needed it.

  Grandma stood at Angie's door, leaning her head against the wood. Was she trying to get into the wrong residence? He had never known her to have even an ounce of dementia, but this certainly seemed like a start.

  He almost tried shouting over the sirens to get her attention but then Angie groped her way out from between the two houses. She had a rope or something trailing behind her, and the nurse screamed demonically when she saw Grandma.

  Then things happened so fast it forced him to stop in his tracks. Grandma looked over, saw her pursuit, and then threw herself hard against that door. Somehow it opened for her, and she seemed to tumble out of view. Angie lunged for his grandma, but inertia took her wide of the target. The door slammed just in time.

  He stopped and pulled up behind one of the large trees.

  OK. This is Twilight Zone material.

  He leaned out to look at Angie, making a positive identification that the crazed person was the same gentle woman he knew as Grandma’s nurse. She was slamming her fists on the heavy wooden door, making no attempt to use her keys to get in or use the door's handle. What the hell was she doing in her bathrobe? He'd never seen her come down from her apartment less than fully dressed, with makeup to boot.

  The tornado sirens made it difficult to hear distinct sounds, but he knew Angie was not throwing out words. She wasn't cussing or yelling insults; she was merely pumping out a guttural scream, something horrible and inhuman.

  In a flash, she seemed to tone it down. Instead of beating the door, she appeared to sniff the air and move sideways along the front of the house—heading back the way she'd come. It looked like she was trying to peer inside, but the drapes were drawn over the windows. In a few minutes, she went back around the side of the house out of his view.

  He was armed with one empty and one full beverage can, a laptop, and a cell phone. He tried to call Grandma to find out what just happened, but the number he dialed rang and rang, then the tone changed to a raw squeak. Either the network was down again, or she couldn't get to her phone. Or both. He'd have to go in to find out.

  He wasn't a weakling, despite being just fifteen years old, but he knew he could never subdue such an angry person as the odd nurse who almost snagged his grandma. Up and down the street he could see people running, walking, or scrambling into cars to speed away, and the truth hit him: the president had been describing this disaster, not one far away. For once in his life, he wished he'd paid attention to the news.

  The librarian—she mentioned Ebola. Did Ebola make people go crazy?

  He took stock in his surroundings, trying to put things together. Gunshots had been a curious anomaly twenty minutes ago but were now constant as they mixed with the blare of the sirens. The specific threat wasn't clear, but he knew he needed to hunker down. Like Grandma minutes before, he had to figure out how to get into her house.

  * * *

  2

  He was fairly confident he could outrun the nurse in a foot race, but he ruled out going right to the front door. Angie could be on the side of the house waiting to pounce, and he suspected both doors were now firmly locked. He wasn't sure why, but he felt an almost primal fear of Angie, based on her erratic behavior. She was ill, that much was clear, and he wasn't going to get anywhere near her and risk getting infected. He needed to find another way in that didn't involve Grandma opening those heavy doors again. He didn't want her infected by Angie either.

  On the backside of her house, there was a small cellar door that led to the lower level, his living area. If he could reach the backyard, evade Angie, and have enough time to use his cellar key, he could get in and help Grandma do...whatever it is she's doing.

  He had just stepped into the street when another car approached at high speed. He didn't know the make or model, but it was a modern-looking and sleek reddish sports car going much too fast for the small street. The driver spotted him but made no effort to slow down. He veered dangerously close as Liam lunged between two parked cars. Without thinking, he raised his middle finger, an act of defiance he knew the driver witnessed.

  That's for trying to kill me!

  The car sped down the street, broke hard, and turned crisply to the left at the first cross street.

  He spent several long seconds checking both directions to ensure no more moving cars were heading his way. It was becoming deadly to spend any time at all out on the roads. He moved across and down the street, using the parked cars as cover to shield him from Angie. It was only a minute or so before he heard squealing tires once more. Another car was coming from behind him.

  No, the same car. It was the same red sports car making another pass.

  He panicked. He knew why the driver had come back.

  He threw himself between two parked cars, though he figured he'd already been spotted. He had about ten seconds to think up a plan. Hiding was the best he could do; he moved off the pavement, so he was shielded from the street side. He wanted some steel between himself and the road-raging driver.

  The rumbling vehicle approached and decelerated with the telltale sound of disc brakes grinding and tire rubber grabbing the asphalt.

  “Where you at, boy? I've got something to show you.” The man’s deep voice was clear even with the siren noise.

  The tone was obviously malicious. He had to know how near the car had stopped in case anyone got out and he needed to run.

  He popped up slowly and tried to look through the lightly-tinted window of a four-door foreign car. He knew right away
he'd made another mistake. It would have made more sense to look underneath the car. Too late. He was spotted. The car was directly on the other side. And the passenger-side door was opening.

  He went instantly from squatting fright to explosive flight. He ran on the grass up the row of cars, behind the stalking red menace.

  The passenger door slammed shut, and the car squealed as it backed up the street. There were at least two men inside, both cackling like hyenas.

  “You can't run, boy!”

  Gunshots followed. The passenger shot a handgun in his direction, sometimes hitting and breaking glass on nearby cars. Laughter followed each shot.

  He ran as fast as he could but couldn't outrun a car. He was unwilling to run toward any houses, or he'd become an easy target out in the open front yards. Instead, he let the car reverse on by, and then crossed the street in front of it.

  The maneuver had the intended effect of surprising the driver and shooter. The car had to stop before it could move forward again. The angry driver popped the transmission into drive, the wheels spinning forward even as the car continued moving backward. It gave him enough time to cross the street and run in the other direction. This put the shooter on the wrong side … as long as he didn't move to the back seat.

  The car readjusted, moved forward again, and caught up to him in seconds. However, the driver merely yelled obscenities at him and then accelerated down the street. The passenger continued to fire his gun randomly out his window. They'd evidently gotten bored of the game. A relief, too, as he had sprinted himself to exhaustion.

  I could have been killed. On my own street!

  He crouched between two cars for a few moments, recovering his wits and breath. He peeked out from behind a small truck to see if more vehicles were coming, or if the two lunatics were trying to trick him by returning on foot. But all looked safe. He moved fast to the far side of the street, watching for Angie, but she must have gone into the back again. She was not in the narrow corridor between the two buildings. He ran farther down the street, his brain in overdrive, processing the broken pieces of his day.

  Internet shutting down was unfortunate, but probably not unheard of. Library shutting down in the early morning was definitely abnormal, though. President giving a speech wasn't weird, or even interesting, but taken together with everything else his speech was clearly a piece of it. Finally, his boring old street had gone bonkers with speeding cars, dangerous gunmen, and a nurse in a nightgown trying to claw at Grandma. And what was the deal with those sirens?

  The tornado sirens were on a tall pole at the end of his block. He would have to walk practically underneath them to go around the corner and then back up the alleyway to the rear of Grandma's flat. He could cut between one of the many houses and save himself the longer trip around them all, but he wasn't sure if they each held hidden hazards. Now was not the time to anger a neighbor. He was freaking himself out just thinking about the possibilities. He paused by one of the large trees and took a look around.

  He saw people moving as he peered through the windows of several homes on the other side of the street. They didn't appear to be sick or crazy like Angie, but he really couldn't say with certainty.

  One of the big brick flats did have someone that wasn't right. The front screen door was closed, but the inner door was open. A small woman, with a pale face, cropped hair, and a light blue t-shirt was standing in the doorway behind the thin screen. From his vantage point, he couldn't hear her over the sirens, but she appeared to be howling or yelling or something of that nature.

  He had to take his chance in the open and keep moving.

  As soon as he stepped from behind the tree, the woman animated and began clawing and banging at the screen door. He stopped again, his mind screaming, “Go! Go!” but he couldn't look away. The woman viciously tore away the screen and pummeled her way through the wooden frame as the door’s tiny latch tore off. In moments, she cleared the debris and was walking quickly, directly at him. A small grassy yard and twenty-four feet of roadway separated them. His brain was still screaming for him to run, but he felt like he had detached himself from his body and could only watch.

  The woman, barefoot and with black stretch pants—had she just come from a yoga class?—entered the street. No cars blew through to run her over.

  That would have been nice.

  Her shirt was sweat-drenched and stained with large blotches of red. Blood had exploded all over one side of her head and shoulders from an ugly wound on her neck. And yet she was up and moving.

  She was well across the street when he finally had enough control of his body to take a step sideways, preparing to begin running for real—

  A gunshot rang out with a thunderous clap, and the woman's chest exploded outward. It didn't even slow her down.

  I can see right through her! He froze again, staring. A second shot ravaged the uninjured side of her head, but she was dangerously close. Reaching for him. Another couple of steps . . .

  Yoga lady tripped on the curb and slammed into the large maple tree beside him. She collapsed into a bloody pile of flesh and bones at its base.

  He could only stand there, staring, completely locked up.

  Another shot. Bits of wood and bark sprayed from the tree several feet above his head. That finally woke him up.

  The shooter was in a house across the street. Rather than aiming at him again, the man waved out of an open window, motioning Liam to keep moving.

  Are these things in every house?

  He waved his thanks to the good Samaritan, then—pretending he wasn't already exhausted—ran as fast as he could.

  * * *

  3

  He finally reached the corner of the street. He crossed to the other side and paused to look back in the direction he had come, half expecting to see a wave of crazies pouring out of the houses. Even the people fleeing to their cars had diminished for the moment. As before, if he didn't know anything was wrong, the block would look pretty much normal.

  His ears throbbed from the shrill screaming of the emergency sirens above. He walked down the street with his hands over his ears, until he realized he could pop his ear buds back in. That brought it down to a constant—though still overwhelming—hum in his head.

  He arrived at the alleyway. Like most streets in this part of town, the flats lined the main streets, and each block was cut lengthwise down the middle with a small, paved alley where each house had a detached garage and homeowners parked one of their vehicles. He would go up the alley to a point behind Grandma's house, see what he could see of Angie, and plan from there.

  But before he could even step into the alleyway, he noticed Angie's car parked at an odd angle in the middle of the street, fifty or so feet beyond the alley. The car might be necessary for any kind of escape. It would also simplify the Angie problem. It would be nice just to run her over and be done with it.

  Wow. Seriously, dude? Murder?

  As he walked toward the car, he wondered if it was murder? Did the gunman who saved his life murder that crazed woman? Was she a person? He had read so many zombie books he thought he knew the difference between a living, breathing person, and the walking, infected zombies—but had he just seen one? Was that woman already dead when she attacked? Or just really sick? Either way, she meant to harm him. The gunman killing her had saved him. But what of Angie? Was she sick or dead? It wasn't so simple in real life.

  The car looked abandoned, parked as it was in the middle of the street with both front doors open wide. The passenger side was closest. He approached carefully and was shocked to see the seat on that side was covered with more blood than he’d ever seen in his life. Lots of blood. Something nasty was in the space in front of the seat, but he couldn't get himself to look at it directly.

  That is not a foot.

  He looked over to the driver's side; it was mercifully clear of most of the blood. However, there were no keys in the ignition. He scanned around the outside of the car but saw no clues as t
o what went down there. He backed away, turned around, and slowly jogged back toward the alley.

  Not a foot. Not a foot. Not a ...

  * * *

  4

  He imagined the discussion he'd have when he finally saw Grandma. Rather than their usual rehash of the weather, he'd be able to tell her about being shot at, being assaulted by a yoga student, almost getting run over by a speeding car, seeing something disgusting in Angie's disturbingly abandoned car, and he could even toss in the bit about the librarian's freakout. Oh yeah, and he could share how he saw his 104-year-old grandma escaping the clutches of an insane nurse on the front porch of his house. “And how was your day Grandma?” he'd say with a cheery grin.

  It only took the collapse of civilization to give us something interesting to discuss.

  Soon he'd have that conversation. Right now, he needed to focus on how to get past Angie. He didn't have any weapons, but he would need something creative. She didn't seem to be in the mood for talking.

  If it came to it, he wondered if he could kill her, or anyone. As much as he detested the idea of being forcibly assigned to Grandma for the summer, he had to admit he liked the friendly nurse from upstairs. She had a knack for talking to him—she said she had a granddaughter about his age, so that gave them a shared frame of teen reference. While they never sat down over coffee and chit-chatted, he didn't mind running into her at the house. That made it all the harder to contemplate harming her.

  Glad I don't have to put Grandma down.

  That thought heaved his stomach and made him light-headed for a few seconds. He had to stop walking and lean against a nearby fence pole. He forced those feelings aside; there were more pressing matters at hand. He was coming up to the correct house. The sirens made it impossible for him to hear if Angie was rooting around out back, but for once, he thanked the sirens for covering his approach as he tried to get a look into the backyard of Grandma's house. He couldn't see Angie, so he passed Grandma's garage and went to the next house, hoping to catch a glimpse of her from that angle.