Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  “Do you think you could navigate it and get us through?” Deacon asks, a slight glimpse of hope rising on his face.

  I stay silent for a moment, somehow memorizing the most direct path that would lead me through the maze of death and past all of the much needed drop points. Weapons, communications, etc. . . .

  I’m grateful for all of Deacon’s help, but just don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t want to play guide to a bunch of people I don’t know. I’d think he’d understand, but that glimmer of hope shining bright in his eyes says otherwise.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any food lying around in here, would ya? A vending machine or something like that? Hell, I don’t even care if the crap is in date,” I ask, changing the subject.

  “There’s a vending machine right around the corner on the other side of this office. There’s not much in it and it’s all stale. Glad you’re not picky,” Deacon replies jokingly.

  I’m all too happy to leave the rotting smell of the office and the even more awkward conversation we were having. I’m not sure which was worse.

  The smell seems more defined now wherever I go and travels with me like a dog at his master’s side. I round the tiny office corner and come upon the only source of food I have seen in I don’t know how long. My stomach really isn’t churning at all, but it sure did the trick of getting me out of there. Plus, a little fuel for the body probably wouldn’t be a bad thing. No telling when I might get another shot at something edible.

  I step towards the busted up and aged vending machine, my feet crunching on what sounds like hundreds of tiny bugs being squished beneath my boots in the barely lit corner. One lone little light illuminates the inside, making it a little easier to see what stale piece of food are left.

  The front of the machine is broken out, leaving jagged pieces of thick glass rimming the outside like a hideous monster’s mouth. That must be what I’m stepping on.

  Not much to choose from though, looks like it’s been picked clean for the most part. A thick layer of dust covers the black metal spirals and the food, making a meal out of here a little less than to be desired. A bag of wavy sour cream chips, some peanut butter crackers, a few varieties of candy bars, and some glazed donuts that look like the glaze has met its maker waiting to be eaten. Oh well, better than nothing.

  I reach into the gaping hole and pull out a Snicker, dust falling from the bar. I don’t second guess the thought of eating whatever is contained inside, I just rip the package open and dive right in, sinking my teeth into the hardened outside. I break off a small piece and chew the chocolate and caramel mixture, which actually doesn’t taste all that bad.

  I reach back in and snag a few more of the expired bars, placing them in my pocket for a later time. It’s not much, but something is better than nothing.

  I turn away from the fattening food graveyard and that damn smell still haunts my nose. It doesn’t matter where I go now, it follows my nostrils, stalking them. I’m trying to enjoy my stale Snickers bar, but the smell pees in my cheerios.

  I choke down the last little bit of chocolate and walk by Alice, who sits next to the other ladies in front of the office. Her face is long and the horrific experience we are in shows grimly all over her face. I’m not much on comforting people, except for my Becky, but I figure a small gesture could go a long way.

  “Here, you need to eat something.”

  I pull a Milky Way out of my pocket, which incidentally is faded and probably just as stale as my meal, and present it to her.

  “Thank you,” Alice replies somberly, grabbing the bar from my hand.

  This would be the time to say something reassuring and comforting, telling her that everything is going to work out. But my words for such delicate matters are all twisted together, leaving me momentarily speechless.

  “A.J., go check that door again and make sure it’s still secure,” Pete bellows, pointing to a set of dull gray doors nestled between some crates.

  I turn my head to the side and watch A.J., the young buck from earlier, clutch his rifle tight and cautiously walk over to the darkened corner. He fades in and out of the blackness and moves with uneasiness, his head rotating every which way within the shadows.

  A.J. stops in front of the doors and checks the semi rusted chain that is spun around the double handles on the door like a spider web. A single pad lock completes the attempt at comfort, bringing the chain together in the middle. He grabs the pad lock and jerks down a couple of times, making a god awful racket that sends everyone in the room looking his way.

  “What the hell, A.J.,” Pete hollers, spinning around from chatting with Tony. “Christ boy, I told you to check the damn door, not to announce that we’re here!”

  “Pete . . . settle down, it’s ok,” Deacon says, walking out of the office. “He didn’t mean to make so much noise.”

  “Whatever, old man.” Pete rolls his eyes at Deacon. “A.J., make sure that door is shut all the way, get your ass back over here, and try to be a little quieter.”

  “All right, Pete. Dang, I’m sorry.” A.J. makes sure the door is shut, too.

  Finding that everything was is fine and secure, A.J. turns back around and walks towards the group, his eyes connecting with me. He has a look of being beat down and run over. I’m not sure if it is from the flesh-eaters outside or Pete. My guess would be the latter.

  Drifting back through the blackness among the massive wooden crates, A.J. suddenly stops. Both hands grip his rifle tightly and his head tilts upwards to the gray duct work that snakes around the ceiling.

  Pete takes notice and decides to once again badger the young man. “A.J., what are you doing now?”

  “I thought I heard something moving in the ducts, scratching even.” A.J. circles one of the access hatches above him. He there for a moment, frozen in place, and his weapon trained on the metal grate.

  “It’s probably nothing, just some damn mice or noise from the infected being carried around from wherever they are,” Pete says.

  The subtle but bone chilling sound dies off as fast as it started, sending A.J.’s weapon slowly back down by his side. “I guess you’re ri . . .”

  5

  A.J. doesn’t even have a chance to finish his sentence as the grate crashes down on top of him with two of those things emerging from the ductwork. Screeching loudly and bearing razor-sharp teeth like a wild, uncontrolled animal, the grotesque fiends drop down from the duct and land on the ground next to A.J. Screams and panic engulf the room, sending most everyone into a frantic frenzy of kill or be killed.

  On the ground and trying to get his gun trained on either of the vile monsters, A.J. pops off a few rounds before both monsters turn their ravenous appetites on him. He manages to hit the one on the left twice in the chest, the slugs tearing through its sagging flesh and ripping out through its back. It screeches loudly and its spiked arms flail in every direction as it falls backwards onto the ground.

  It was a doomed scenario from the get go. The poor kid is just delaying the inevitable. The untouched beast lunges from the concrete floor and lands on top of him, driving its single spiked arm through A.J.’s chest.

  Screaming and whimpering like a wounded dog, A.J. squirms on the floor for a brief second, only to find himself watching as the thing opens its mouth wide and drives its teeth into his stomach. With its human like arm, the thing holds down A.J.’s now lifeless body as it devours his flesh.

  The sight is brutal, blood squirting up and out of A.J., and his organs being eaten from his body. The women next to me scream and back towards the office in a panic, unsure what to do.

  The noise made by the injured demon must have sent the others in a feeding frenzy outside of the locked door; their loud screams and violent thrashing bulge the gray doors towards us. The chain around the handles stretches to its limits. I’m not sure how much longer they are going to hold. I don’t want to hang around to find out.

  “We need to get the hell out of here before that door b
usts wide open and those things come pouring in!” I yell to Deacon, hearing a succession of gun fire from across the room.

  Tony and Pete act as I thought they would and start to shoot up the place, firing their machine guns recklessly. Tony manages to finish off the injured spawn of Satan while Pete’s trigger finger must have been stuck on full spray mode, wasting way more ammo then they needed.

  Fortunately, that damn hillbilly actually hits something of use, striking the monster through the back of its oddly shaped head and sending its brains splattering to the ground in front of it.

  “You might want to make sure the kid is actually dead as well,” I yell as I glance back and notice Deacon trying to fold the blueprint the best he can.

  Pete gives me that stare that makes me know exactly what he’s thinking. But he knows I’m right and walks towards A.J., his weapon pointed down and acting like it’s all over. Pete nudges A.J.’s mangled body a few times with no reaction or movement of any kind.

  “Damn, that thing sure tore into his body good,” Tony says, standing next to Pete like there is nothing wrong.

  “Hey, asshole, he looks pretty dead to me,” Pete sarcastically says, their backs turned away from the body. “Looks like we saved all of your sorry asses yet again.”

  I don’t know why, especially with the undead clawing at the doors to get at us, but I want nothing more than to walk over there and rip Pete’s head off myself and kick it across the room. The man sure has a complex about him.

  My inner rage peaks and I am nearly in motion when I see A.J. pop up, his face already showing signs of the unknown pathogen and his eyes as black as night. I don’t even have time to say anything before he grabs Tony from behind and wraps his arms around his torso.

  Teeth bared, and looking like an untamed beast, A.J. digs into Tony’s neck and pulls away, tearing a massive chunk of flesh out. A severed artery sprays blood like a punctured soda can. Tony raises his arms in an attempt to shake A.J. off his back, firing his machine gun uncontrollably and sending a spray of bullets towards us.

  I manage to hit the ground in time as the ordnance comes in hot, striking the grimy covered window behind me. Jagged pieces of glass fly in every direction and hit the ground all around us. Man, I want out of here now!

  “Deacon, hurry your ass up!” I yell, getting off the ground and shaking the debris free from my back. Alice is on the ground next to me, her hands still covering the top of her head. I help her to her feet as Deacon stumbles out of the office in a panic. He has the blueprint folded in no particular way, looking like he finally gave up and just smashed it together.

  The now undead A.J. has stripped Tony of his life and feasted upon his blood-soaked flesh. He looks in our general direction with those black eyes. Tony’s body is limp and his gun lays on the ground among the pooled blood that rests beneath his feet.

  “You son of a bitch, I didn’t like your sorry ass anyways.” Pete slams the butt of his machine gun into A.J.’s face, knocking him backwards and sending his arms free from his victim. Tony falls to the floor like a lump of coal, allowing Pete to take aim and fire.

  The barrage of slugs cut through A.J. like butter, but do little to slow him down. Most of his chest and stomach region have been dug into and clawed open, exposing portions of his rib cage and organs that are on the verge of falling out.

  Cindy lets out a bloodcurdling yell that sends my head searching for the cause of the commotion. I didn’t realize what had happened with all the chaos, but Deacon’s saddened expression causes me to take pause and look in his direction.

  “Oh God, Cindy,” Deacon mutters. She caught one of the stray bullets from Tony’s machine gun in the middle of her head, staining her light blonde hair dark red. At least it was quick and painless and much better than being feasted upon by the infected and turning into a soulless demon.

  “Come on, Casey,” Deacon says in a soft and gentle tone. “You have to let her go.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for her now. She’s hopefully in a much better place,” I say plainly. “We have to move now though.”

  Casey keeps kneeling next to Cindy, her wavy brunette hair spread all over her chest, crying uncontrollably. She holds onto the body and doesn’t let go.

  I swivel my head back towards Pete, watching as A.J. marches forward, driven only by the instinct and hunger for human flesh.

  “Damn boy, why won’t you die already?” Pete yells, placing two rounds into A.J.’s decaying forehead.

  A.J. stiffens, then falls lifeless to the ground. Pete walks over to Tony and places the muzzle of his rifle just above his head, popping off two rounds which crack his head open like a coconut.

  “There, loose ends tied up,” Pete says flatly.

  The undead keep pressing against the double gray doors, peeking through the many bullet holes that have Swiss-cheesed the metal barriers. The lock has been shot to shit and the handles are on their last leg. I can sense the things’ hunger by their screeches, and they eye me as if their next meal lays beyond the doors. It is an uneasy feeling that I don’t want to become a reality. No more messing around. It’s time to leave.

  “Listen, Casey, I am sorry about your friend, but if we don’t get moving now, you’ll be joining her.” I hear the metal handles give way even more. “So get your ass up now or I will leave you here!”

  She must have taken me seriously or something, as she lifts her head off the dead body and gets to her feet. She doesn’t even look my way. Alice grabs her and holds her close. Deacon takes point and the ladies follow close behind, heading to the only other exit out of there.

  I grab Tony’s gun from the ground, which unfortunately he doesn’t require anymore. I don’t have a pot to piss in at the moment and am banking that there may be a few shots left in the weapon. Something is better than nothing.

  Pete flies by me and keeps running as the handles to the door pop loose and the sound of metal being torn apart reverberates in my ears. I turn tail, running away from the swarms of undead that are nearly through the doors. I hear the handles and chain hit the ground and the dead flooding into the room, moaning and screeching loudly as they round the corner.

  I glance over my shoulder and see a mixture of slow and fast paced dead, each disgusting and disfigured in their own unique way. Their mutilated arms, covered in blood and other nasty fluids, reach out for me. The slow ones amble along as best they can while the Olympic sprinters break from the pack, a vile concoction foaming from their dried out and torn lips.

  I can feel them gaining on me with every step I take, their limbs nearly caressing my tasty flesh. Up ahead, the others rush out of this tomb and into a hopefully better place, Alice screaming at me to move faster and pointing worriedly. Yeah, I know what’s behind me.

  I dig deeper and turn on the after burners—my legs feeling like they’re on fire. Pete pushes Alice out of the way and raises his gun, training it on what looks like my head.

  That mother . . .

  I figure I’m as good as dead, him shooting me in the head and giving the hungry masses something to deter their raging appetite. If I’m going down, then that worthless pile of horse excrement is going with me.

  Pete looks me dead in the eye and squeezes the trigger, rattling off a single round before I can even get my gun up. It’s like time stands still and I am caught in the middle of a time loop, watching the bullet create ripples in the air as it locks onto my skull.

  I’ll see you in hell, you bastard!

  Bracing for the impact that will hopefully kill me on contact and not let me feel anything afterwards, the bullet grazes the left side of my head, digging out a fraction of the skin as it moves past me.

  “Hurry up, damn it!” Pete yells as the ordnance strikes a flesh-eater right in the middle of its bloody, mangled skull. It bellows as the bullet blows out the back of its head then fell falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  I dive into the room and hit the concrete hard, sliding on my side as Deacon and Alice p
ush the thick metal door closed and lock it.

  “I bet you thought I was going to blow your brains out and leave you out there for those bastards, huh?” Pete asks, shouldering his rifle and sticking out his hand. “I thought about it, but figured it would be better to keep your annoying ass around a little longer since my other two boys are now dead.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” I grab his hand and get off the ground. The mass of undead begin their endless bashing at the metal barrier, moaning and screeching loudly with a crazed tone. I hope this door is able to hold up better than the last.

  “So, what do we do now?” Alice asks over the insistent thrashing at the door.

  6

  “I’ve got the blueprints to the facility. We are going to try to work our way through it and out the exit,” Deacon replies. “Mike is going to lead the way.”

  “Out the exit . . . Whose brilliant idea is that?” Pete asks snidely. “I want out of here as much as you do, but does anyone here have the foggiest idea if those dead walkers are roaming around out there?”

  “No, we don’t, but we can’t stay in here much longer either,” Deacon snaps back. “Eventually, our luck is going to run out, and I would rather try to get the hell out of here than wait for one of those things to gnaw on me.”

  The tension in the room is getting heated to a point where tempers and the size of a man’s manhood is going to come into question, bringing an already intense situation to an explosive powder keg level.

  “You’re both right. We can’t just walk through the exit and hope for the best, but we sure as hell can’t stay here anymore playing tag with those things.”

  “So, what the hell do you suggest we do, fearless leader?” Pete asks, his right hand gripping the strap to his rifle and a look of frustration smearing his face.

  “Running through the halls, I noticed some cameras placed here and there. So there should be some sort of video or surveillance room showing a landscape of the facility and hopefully the outside perimeter as well,” I reply, hearing the crumpled up blueprint rustle under Deacon’s shirt.