Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  Before he could get his bearings, he noticed a couple of men at the far end of the alleyway come out of a garage carrying some yellow power tools. A third man riding an ATV pulled out of the same garage. It was piled with stuff. None of them looked like they lived in the area. None of them appeared happy to see him. They dropped what they were carrying and swung rifles, so he could see them. They weren't pointing them at him, but their message was clear—beat it!

  He rushed into the neighbor's yard, forgetting for a second they might not appreciate his intrusion. The men might come searching for him, but he doubted it. They appeared to be cleaning out garages, not looking for young boys to murder. The thought—and its normalcy in this situation—blew him away.

  This isn't at all how I thought the world would end.

  * * *

  5

  He spotted movement ahead. Angie was randomly walking around in Grandma's backyard, not thirty feet away. She was hidden from the alley because she was almost directly in front of the garage. Fortunately, Grandma had fences lined with many flowers and bushes, making it nearly impossible for anyone to see through without effort. It was unlikely Angie would notice him sneaking around the yard next to her. But he didn't know what to do next.

  There were probably many kinds of weapons in the garages behind any number of the houses, but the thieves in the alleyway put the fear of God in him. He'd rather face Angie bare-handed than face three men with guns and an angry look in their eyes.

  His only real option was to get her attention somehow, then get her to follow him out of her yard, giving him time to swoop in, unlock the cellar door, and then seal the door to keep her out. He formed a plan quickly, not wanting to delay to the point new elements wander in—such as the men in the alley, the zombies in the houses, or just trigger-happy neighbors who might think he was infected. A common scenario in the stories ...

  Each corridor between the flats met the backyards at a gate. He opened the neighbors’ gate on the far side of the house, intending to guide Angie around the home, down the corridor, and lock her in the wrong back yard.

  But Angie had her own plans. She’d gotten over the fence somehow and was now in the yard with him. She must have noticed him after all. The noise of the sirens covered her approach as he was looking around the far side of the house, waiting to begin his great plan.

  His heart bungeed into his stomach as fear gripped him. She was ten feet away before his brain kicked in—much faster than the yoga girl incident—and he began to run up the corridor toward the front of the neighbor's house. Angie was fast, not running, but sauntering at a good clip on long legs.

  How did Grandma outrun her?

  He rounded the corner of the front of the house, not bothering to look behind him. He knew she was coming.

  Liam dashed across the neighboring front yard. If he slipped and twisted an ankle now, he would likely die twenty seconds later. Even a minor mistake would be unforgiving. He didn’t want to turn down the first corridor toward the open gate of Grandma’s back yard, so he ran across her front yard toward the corridor on the far side of her house. When he was safely at the corner, he finally chanced a look back to see Angie plowing across the yards with that rope around her neck.

  He plunged into the final corridor, pushing his hand into his front pocket to retrieve the key he would need to open the back door. He made good time to the back fence blocking this side of the house and took a leap, hoping to clear it in one bound like a stunt man. He grazed the top and fell into the yard, dropping the key in the process—it squirted backward onto the walkway. It was now on the wrong side.

  Unbelievable, he thought. He was that guy from every horror movie ever made. The idiot who gets killed because he couldn't handle himself well enough to make good on his easy escape.

  He stood up just as Angie was rounding the front corner. She paused ever so slightly as if she had to reacquire him now that he'd been out of sight for a few seconds. Then she came for him.

  His brain was finally, thankfully, firing on all cylinders. He jumped the fence in one clean bound, stooped down to pick up the key, dropped it in his pocket, and turned around to repeat the process. His feet felt like they were one-hundred-pound weights, but he managed to get off the ground. As he leaped, a hand on his back shoved him hard into the fence's top bar. His strength and momentum carried the day, and he made it across, though he had some serious scrapes on his thighs and bruised his shoulder on his second landing.

  He was on his feet, not trusting Angie couldn't climb, and ran for his back door. He noticed Grandma's porch swing lying against the gate on the other side of the yard. It provided a ladder-like way to get over the neighbor's fence.

  Was Angie a sly zombie?

  The key opened the basement door. Without a second glance, he shut it behind him and locked it quickly. For the first time since he moved in, he was glad to be greeted by the aroma of mold mixed with mothballs. He unplugged the clothes dryer, yanked off the venting, and pushed the whole appliance, walking it across the floor until it was directly in front of the small door.

  He collapsed in front of the dryer to collect his thoughts. He was scared to death outside, but now, strangely, he felt nothing. No fear. No sadness. Nothing. It was just a series of episodes culminating in him sitting here on this basement floor, alive. For now, that was all that mattered. He assumed his feelings would catch up eventually.

  It wasn't long before the sirens spun down. He estimated they'd been going for an hour.

  About the time it takes a dumb teenager to figure out his world is broken.

  As the shock morphed into quiet exhaustion, he drifted off into thoughts of what he'd just survived. He played the morning over and over in his head as if to confirm it actually happened. In time he returned to the present and stood on his shaky legs. He had to get upstairs to check on Grandma. He angled his forearm to see his watch; it had already been twenty minutes since the sirens stopped ...

  4

  Quantum Decisions

  Marty found herself in her backyard, barefoot.

  It was summer. It was sunrise. It was breathtaking.

  A bluebird had landed in the birdbath not five feet in front of her and was busy primping as if it didn't have a care in the world. Certainly, an old lady presented no threat. Soon other birds joined the pool party, and she just stood there like a giddy schoolgirl watching the magic of Mother Nature within those tiny creatures.

  “Welcome aboard, Marty.”

  A man's voice. Standing right there beside her was Al—short for Aloysius, a name he hated. Her deceased husband was with her once again—or she was with him. It didn't matter which it was. It felt as if he had always been there, just like the old days. In a sense, that never changed, even after he was gone. To be with him again was wonderful, she thought.

  And Al was young again! She drank in his blond hair, the deep blue eyes, and the smile that charmed her from the moment they met. He looked no older than the young man she met seventy-five years ago. He was dressed smartly in his Army uniform—just like the day he packed off to war. He knew how much she loved a man in uniform. And he was standing right next to her again.

  “Pinch me, Al. I think I'm in Heaven.”

  “Hiya, Marty. How ya doin'?” The Jersey drawl was exaggerated as he did when he was trying to impress her. And he called her by her nickname too. She really hated her full name just as much as Al hated his.

  “You aren't in Heaven, but I know how you feel. It's great to see you again.”

  She looked around. Everything was so perfect; it had to be Heaven. But if it wasn't—she had a sudden fear that if this wasn't Heaven, it might be ... somewhere else.

  “You aren't anywhere bad. We're merely taking a stroll in your mind. Your recent trauma has...opened new doorways. This is a way to reunite and look ahead. Are you ready for what comes next?”

  “What in Heaven's name are you going on about?”

  “The plague. The infected dead. The chaos. A
re you ready to help your family survive this thing or not?”

  “Al, my love, you might not have noticed, but I'm 104. My days of doing much of anything important are well behind me.”

  “Said the lady who single-handedly fought off a horrifically infected woman who was once her nurse. Not many people would have been able to survive that. You're a fighter. Have been since the day we met. That was amazing how you remembered that old rope.”

  “I felt your presence helping me figure it out.”

  “My dear, you figured that out all by yourself.”

  Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. Her religious beliefs were very strong, and she didn't believe in ghosts or spirits or anything supernatural walking the earth. But she desperately wanted to believe this was real. That he was real.

  “What of poor Angie? Is she still alive?”

  “I don't think so. I think her soul has moved on. Her, and many like her, are succumbing to this sickness.”

  They prayed together. She and Al. Just like the old days. Somehow, she was on her knees, and they both prayed to the Creator for guidance. When they were finished, Al took her hand and helped her back up, and they walked over to the patio to sit together as if it were just an average day. It could have been any day from among the 70-plus years they shared together. If it wasn't Heaven, it sure felt like it to her. But it also made her sad to sit there with him, knowing he couldn't be real.

  “But I'm real enough, my dear. I'm here to help you face this challenge. People out there are going to need you. Liam is out there right now. He's young and reckless, but you know, deep in his heart, he would stop at nothing to protect you. He's probably riding a fire truck on his way here right now.”

  They laughed together.

  “But why would anyone risk their life for an old woman? It doesn't make any sense.”

  Al had a twinkle in his eye when he looked at her but said nothing else on the matter.

  They sat there for a long time, chair next to chair, hand in hand. She didn't want it ever to end but knew it would.

  “I have to go, and so do you, my sweet Marty. I wish I could tell you everything is going to be all right and that everyone you love is going to survive this catastrophe. But you've seen outside your window. Things will get worse. Then they will get much worse. The sick will get sicker, and the survivors will become more and more desperate as their reality crashes. You have to look deep in your heart to help your family get through this. You're very special—that I'm here talking to you tells me that. You can help them. You can help everyone.”

  “I'm an unlikely hero. I can barely stand up on my own anymore. Someone is going to be saddled with taking care of me ... ”

  “You don't give yourself enough credit. In another universe, you passed away peacefully in your sleep today. The opportunities for you in this one are still endless. You could live to be 120!”

  She was full of questions, but at that moment, a wounded raven dropped out of the sky and landed hard right in the birdbath, chasing the songbirds away. Its head was covered in blood as if it had been digging inside something … fresh. The dripping blood turned the pristine water red.

  “That's curious. I'm so sorry you must endure this filth.”

  “What caused this disease?” She asked him, as he got up and pulled her out of her chair.

  “My love, you were always whip-smart. That was one of the things I adored about you, and still do. That's the right question but the wrong time. The really important question right now is how can you survive the disease?”

  “OK, how do we—”

  * * *

  2

  “Grandma!” Liam was not quite shouting, but loudly whispering, if such a thing was possible.

  He ran up next to her bed and was comforted to see she was alive. She had been mumbling in her sleep as he approached. He tried not to think again of the possibility she might have been dead. Being alone scared him more than the plague right now.

  “I'm so glad you're safe, Grandma. Things aren't right outside.”

  He briefly considered mentioning he saw her out front struggling to get away from Angie, but something made him avoid the subject and instead focus on his tense encounter with the impaired nurse.

  “I ran into Angie, and she chased me around the house, but I managed to jump the fence and get inside the cellar door before she could touch me. She has some kind of sickness.”

  She gave him a clear-eyed look but continued to lay on her bed in silence. She was still fully clothed, shoes and all. She was holding her prized rosary, which wasn't unusual, but both her hands were on her chest grasping the string of beads and its crucifix as if she had lain down and never expected to wake up. It was very disconcerting.

  He watched her for a moment, expecting some sort of reaction, but she remained silent.

  He didn't push the issue.

  “Well, I walked back from the library, and it's just as crazy everywhere else as it is in your yard. There are speeding cars, people shooting guns”—he left out the bit where they were shooting at him—“and sick people running through the neighborhood. Oh, and there are thieves rifling through garages in the alleyway.”

  No response.

  “Grandma, do you know what's going on?”

  She had dozed off again.

  He removed her shoes, considered trying to get her under the covers, but instead found a comforter and threw it over her. She must be really bushed to nap when so much was going on outside, he thought, but understood her advanced age gave her the right to sleep whenever she dang well pleased.

  I'll just wait until she wakes up, and then we'll figure this out together.

  The hours ticked away.

  He listened at the windows. The city outside was in full-on collapse the whole time.

  * * *

  3

  He spent much of the afternoon resting from his ordeal getting home. If he wasn't checking in on Grandma, he was fidgeting with the radio, trying to get news about what was happening. Other than the emergency alert message—playing on all stations—there was no useful information forthcoming anywhere on the dial, other than “Find safety.”

  As the sun set over the city, he checked the rechargeable flashlight he found in Grandma's cupboard. His father was a bit of a type-A and had insisted she had a fully stocked larder at all times, as well as a stash of survival gear such as flashlights, sewing kits, fishing kits, and all manner of camping supplies. He also made sure she had a high-quality toolbox with an appropriate quantity of quality hand tools. He told Liam he knew Grandma would never use any of them, but anyone who was watching over her or helping her out would have everything necessary. Dad often dug into the tools while fixing things up in the house.

  As he was looking things over with his bright flashlight, he wondered if he himself was a piece of equipment in Dad's toolbox for Grandma? Did he send him here to protect her? Was he that smart, or just lucky? He always seemed to have a way about him that said he was looking ahead to what may come. Like buying insane amounts of ammo when it went on sale. Mom always said he was crazy but never made a serious effort to dissuade him from purchasing his “life insurance,” as he called it. It felt unnatural to ascribe any positive qualities to his father, given their recent falling out, but he knew Dad did right by Grandma at least, giving her these supplies. Now he had a fighting chance to help her.

  So, what was he going to do? Hunker down with Grandma inside her house? It seemed the most obvious solution, given her advanced age, and the hostility he’d found on a simple neighborhood walk. He heard the gunfire outside, and the men ransacking garages didn't inspire much hope in things staying friendly on the block. No wonder that man who shot yoga lady was perched in his window with a hunting rifle. Staying home and riding things out was a plan, but probably not a good one.

  The other option was getting Grandma out of the city or at least somewhere safer than this house. Where could they go? He was just a kid during Hurricane Katrina, bu
t he had a vivid recollection of the people stuck in the New Orleans Superdome. Were St. Louisans lining up downtown at their football stadium this very minute? It didn't seem like a good idea to have so many people in one place with a disease going around.

  Unless the radio broadcasts started passing along useful instructions, the window for timely help was closing quickly.

  He glared at the radio. “Enough with the 'waiting for instructions.' Just tell us what to do,” he muttered.

  He considered getting her out to Mom and Dad's house. Would they be pissed he took Grandma on an underage car ride? She hadn't driven since the 1980s, and probably couldn't even reach the pedals anymore. If they did drive out of the city, it would have to be him behind the wheel. On the other hand, maybe Dad would drive into the city. That would solve his problems by handing the responsibility to his father, but something about that notion didn't sit well.

  Was there somewhere better to drive her? Maybe over to Illinois? It was a shorter distance in terms of time spent in the crowded city compared to driving south toward home. Once over the Mississippi River, it was open country. At least they could avoid the plague victims over there. The big problem was Grandma couldn't just live in a car or tent somewhere eating baked beans until things got back to normal. Of course, he could—

  He hesitated to finish his thought but knew he had to look at all options.

  I could just leave her.

  It sounded harsh as he thought it. Could he leave Grandma on her own? What if he told himself he was going to get help and then come back to rescue her? Even as the thought entered his mind, he knew he would probably never come back once he was out, especially if things were worse out in the wider world. Maybe if the military settled things down ...

  Leaving Grandma would free him to travel light and fast, but the idea of ditching her simply for expediency was disgusting.