Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  “That is a big hope you’re going on, buddy,” Pete says. “This place looks like it’s been abandoned for God knows how long, and even if there is some sort of video surveillance room, how do you know the cameras are even working?”

  “I don’t, but considering all our other options seem to be lacking, I think this is going to be the best idea,” I say to the group and more so to Pete. “But hey, if you don’t care for it, you can take your chances on your own. I’ll show you the way out of here and you can be on your way.”

  To be honest, I have no idea how I became the so called “leader” of this rag tag bunch. I was just trying to find a safe haven for a little bit before finding my own way out of here. The last thing I wanted was to have a bunch of strangers and dead weight slowing me down. I’ve got the layout of this facility mapped out inside my head and I can still work my way to the security room on my own. But, as always, I hear the overpowering voice of my Becky telling me to do the right thing. I love her more than anything, but sometimes I wish she would just shut the hell up.

  “I’ll stick with you for now, you’ll probably need me after you screw up and nearly get us killed,” Pete says.

  “Whatever . . . suit yourself,” I say while having visions of Pete being ripped limb from limb by one of those things. Horrible of me? Very much so, but I really can’t stand the bastard.

  “How are we doing on ammo?” I ask, popping the clip from the machine gun I scooped up earlier.

  “I got about half a mag left and one full cartridge ready to rock ‘n’ roll. That is if we don’t run into a gang of them along the way,” Pete replies, placing the half used mag back into his rifle.

  “I’m sitting low on the Beretta,” Deacon adds.

  “And I’m nearly up a creek without a paddle.” I slap the last little bit of salvation back into the equalizer in my hands. “Deacon will take point, Pete can hang in the middle, and I’ll bring up the rear. Is everyone okay with that?”

  Everyone nods their heads in agreement; even the pain in my ass, Pete, thinks it’s a good idea. If he didn’t agree, he sure didn’t let on. Thank God.

  Standing there while the others get into a tight single line formation, I instantly feel my world rocked and my vision blurs a bit. My equilibrium is thrown hard to the left, and a precise sharp shooting pain spreads through my temples. Worst possible time to get a freaking migraine! I use to get them many years back, but had been free from their painful grasp for some time now. Christ, when it rains it pours.

  I try to shake it off and keep the rest of the group oblivious to my discomfort, figuring Pete might get a little trigger happy and want to put me down like Old Yeller.

  Alice turns around, giving me a worrisome stare, even though she doesn’t say anything. She must have picked up on my inner turmoil.

  I cough a couple times and nod my head, sending her attention back to the dangerous task at hand. I’m not feeling worth a damn at this point, and would give anything to plop my ass down to regain my thoughts. I don’t know what is going on, but the odd sensation coursing through my body now is so foreign that I’m unsure what to think.

  The tattered blueprint is wadded back up and placed in Deacon’s back pant pocket. His Beretta is clutched tightly in his right hand as he moves towards the door that leads into the corridor. Casey keeps tight to Deacon’s side and Pete shoulders his rifle, keeping his finger over the trigger as we all move together. The lights in the small room flicker on and off, creating a low buzzing noise that meshed with the dead beating at the door.

  As I blink and open my eyes widely, my left eye becomes blurry and itches uncontrollably, like a bug is festering deep inside the cornea. It makes it hard to see clearly what is happening ahead or even around me. I don’t mind going out fighting, but I don’t want to die because I can’t see it coming. Some might not mind that, but I do.

  Looking through the thick haze that is now my left eye, I watch the half faded outline and half solid shape of Deacon placing the side of his head to the door that leads out of the room. Still as a corpse, he stands for a few seconds, hopefully hearing the sweet silence of nothing. Although, that has backfired before.

  “What do you hear, old man?” Pete asks, getting a sharp wave of Deacon’s hand indicating he should shut up. “Maybe someone who isn’t a trillion years old should take a listen before we go strolling out there.”

  Deacon removes his head from the door and steps off to the right, his Beretta clutched tightly. It’s go time, I can’t see for shit, and my body is falling apart. Awesome! I’m ready, even if my body isn’t up to par.

  7

  Glancing back at us with his back against the wall, Deacon grabs the loose knob and slowly turns it to the right. It squeaks and pops loudly, creating a boisterous noise amidst the silence. Rotating the knob all the way down, Deacon cracks the door and lets his Beretta take point.

  The hinges must be thirsty for some WD-40, creaking as Deacon peers out into the partly lit corridor that is filled with crates and other miscellaneous crap engulfed by the darkness. It’s hard for him to make anything out from his vantage point, opening the door a little wider and cautiously stepping out into the unfamiliar space.

  I glance at the door holding back the tidal wave of claws and teeth, checking to make sure it’s still holding. It gave some, but held firm, for the moment anyways.

  Deacon disappears from our sight briefly, leaving a loom of doubt in the air of what discoveries he’s making. Is the hall deserted of anything with teeth and a raging appetite or is he being devoured by the infected? Crazy shit like that runs rampant through my mind in the course of a few seconds, but stops suddenly when a jarring noise sends everyone on their toes.

  “What the hell was that?” Pete asks alarmed, training his weapon at the partially lit door. I follow suit. Better to be safe than sorry. “I hope that old bastard didn’t bite it. He has the damn blueprint.”

  “Shut up, you insensitive asshole!” Casey snaps, looking back at Pete with the evil eye. She doesn’t want to lose anyone else. That is going to be a stretch.

  “What, all I’m saying is it would suck if he was being torn apart right now and the blueprint got destroyed, that’s all.”

  Another jarring noise sounds, like something is falling or being tossed around out in the corridor. No moans of any kind are heard and Deacon doesn’t yell out in a panic or as if he is being eaten alive.

  “Deacon, everything all right out there?” My voice cracks a little and gives wind that I’m not one hundred percent, but no one seems to care at the moment. Hell, to a certain degree I don’t either. I just don’t want a raging, decayed body to come busting through the door.

  “Deacon, you all right—”

  The door flies open suddenly, and Deacon looks panicked, his face flushed and his Beretta shaking in his hand.

  “Christ man, what the hell is wrong with you . . . coming in here like that. We could have blown your freaking head off!” Pete bellows, looking as if he has shit himself.

  I thought I smelt something foul.

  “You okay?” I ask, my heart beating like a damn snare drum.

  “Yeah, some damn rats came shooting out from underneath some empty crates I was looking around and scared the holy hell out of me,” Deacon says, trying to reel in some much needed air. “I hate those damn things.”

  “Well, I hope all the racket you were causing didn’t alarm those creatures.” Pete lowers his weapon. “Might as well get a bullhorn and tell them to come and get it!”

  “Well, at least he had the balls to go out there and look, so why don’t you back off, all right?” Alice says sharply said, sending Pete’s head swiveling around. If looks could kill then Pete would have fallen over dead where he stood.

  “Everyone calm down,” I say in a commanding tone. If the infected don’t do Pete in, then someone with a damn heartbeat will. “So, what’s it looking like out there?”

  “Looks clear as far as I can tell. It’s pretty dark and c
luttered in both directions, but I didn’t notice any sort of movement.”

  “What if they’re out there just waiting for something to come along,” Pete chimes in. “There could be dozens of them we can’t see.”

  “If you want to stay here and do whatever, then that is your bit. We are getting the hell out of here,” I say matter-of-factly. “So, either man up or shut up!”

  I am tired of the incessant whining by the grown man with the attitude of a little kid. We face an insurmountable task ahead and don’t need to complicate things any more with trivial and counterproductive jargon. “Deacon, lead the way.”

  Deacon gives a quick nod and faces the blackness of the corridor with his Beretta trained straight ahead. Casey follows close and steps in sync with Deacon, shadowing his every move as the two of them enter the corridor. I guess Pete, or at least I hope he did, got the hint and shut up. He moves forward and catches up with Casey.

  As he enters the silent and eerie hall, his weapon cuts from side to side, looking for anything that poses a possible threat.

  The noise from the room I just barely escaped from with my life still bustles with those things continually beating at the door. It might be my OCD or just a case of the “better safe than sorries” that pulls me back over that way.

  I check and double check the locks that hold the wave of dead flesh back, feeling their angry and unadulterated rage seep through the microscopic slivers within the door’s body. For some reason, which I am unclear of like everything else, I seemed entranced by the hypnotic rhythm of the moans and relentless pounding. Leaning my head against the door, I close my eyes.

  “Hey, you coming?” Alice asks, placing her warm, gentle hand on my left shoulder.

  “Yeah, just making sure the door is holding up is all.”

  She gives me that same smile my Becky would give me when she knew something was wrong and I wasn’t up for telling her what it was just yet. It brings a brief and sudden jolt of joy that floods my body. Memories rush back like a tidal wave of emotions. I have always been a good bs’er and manage to mask most things from certain individuals, but this is different, more apparent. Hiding whatever it is that is playing around inside me is becoming more difficult. Sooner or later, the cat is going to be out of the bag.

  8

  Leaving the dead clawing at the door, I ready my gun and take point, Alice following close behind. For some reason, it doesn’t seem to matter where I am in this complex or whatever the hell it is, the musty smell clings to my nose for dear life and won’t let go. The sad thing is that I am starting to get used to it.

  My vision is still shot to hell and my stomach churns and growls, cramping like I ate something bad. My headache remains and amplifies ten times over, sending points of intense pressure behind my challenged eyes.

  Cresting the doorway that leads out into the darkened corridor, I can feel Alice push up on my back even more, her anxiety escalating as I carefully step out.

  My weapon trains from side to side and everything is calm and quiet. I turn to the right and spot the others up ahead, waiting behind some crates. I can overhear Deacon and Pete exchange words, most of which are combative at best.

  “Stay close and don’t leave my side for anything, all right?” I say to Alice as we make our way up to the others.

  “What the hell were you doing back there, daydreaming?” Pete asks in a low, angered tone. “You’ve got us waiting out here in the open like sitting ducks.”

  “You good?” Deacon asks with probing eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m good . . . I was just checking to make sure the door was still holding up is all,” I reply while still trying to act like I feel great. “Remember, be quiet and move swiftly. We’re looking for door D7 Video Surveillance.”

  Deacon nods and turns his focus to the darkness that plagues our way through the maze. No flashlights or anything remotely close can be used that would put off light and potentially alert any wandering predators. It’s a gamble, one I’m leery of, but overall seems to make the most sense.

  Deacon carefully moves out into the open, stepping slowly at first and training his weapon over the darkness. It’s obvious he was no military man as he stumbles around as if he is trying to fit the part. To be honest, I don’t think any of us know what the rules are, if any. Kill or be killed is all it seems to be.

  Everyone gets to their feet and falls into a rhythmic sync, flowing through the congested corridor with a quick but cautious pace. Bringing up the rear and feeling like death warmed over—bad pun to be using at this time—I keep hearing bumps and what sounds like something crawling around. Since I don’t have any kind of light to investigate, I have to rely on the shoddy overhead lights that go in and out at regular intervals. Even when the dim lighted lamps try to reveal the things that are going bump in the night, or so I’m guessing, I just chalk it up to some nasty ass rat or bug army of some kind moving through, but the sound seems to be closing in on us.

  I peer up and notice a long stretch of pipes snaking along above us, old and rusted in many spots. Metal braces that have lost their tension and are pulling away from the concrete ceiling, hold the pipes in a loose fashion. It could just be the building aging and going through its bout of arthritis, cracking and popping as every little second of time creeps by. It sounds like a pile of crap, and probably is, but it’s one that I am willing to buy at this moment. I refrain from saying anything to the others in fear that they may panic and cause more harm than need be.

  I keep the repeating noise close to my ears and turn my focus back in front of me, feeling more lightheaded now. My body sways. My legs are heavy and acting as if they are encased in concrete blocks, struggling to take just one step. At this point, I’m not too confident that I can defend myself from a common cold.

  “Did you hear that?” Deacon asks, pausing and tilting his head to the side, trying to get a bead on the strange noise.

  Everyone stops and listens to the same creepy ass crawling and scratching sound that I heard just a few seconds ago. It is faint and yet loud at the same time, playing like an ominous part from a horror movie.

  “What the hell is that?” Pete asks with his weapon trained over the mounds of crates and barrels that clutter up both sides of the hall. There are so many places for something dead to lie in that it is nearly impossible to know for sure.

  Off to our right and engulfed in blackness, something moves around between the crates, sending every gun targeting that area. I’m getting anxious—palms sweating and even shaking a bit.

  What is going on with me?

  Pete steps forward, slowly and cautiously, his weapon against his shoulder and his finger tickling the trigger. He inches his way to a set of crates that are stacked like Lego blocks—two on the bottom spaced apart and one resting on top—leaving a gaping hole of blackness that looks endless and deadly. I’ve seen this scenario too many times before and it never ends well. Something springs out of the unknown darkness and tears its victim limb from limb. I guess I’m a tad bit glad it’s Pete checking it out.

  “You don’t think it’s one of those things, do you?” Casey asks, her voice trembling with fear. She steps to the side and huddles up next to Deacon, who looks uneasy as well.

  “I can’t see anything,” Pete says in a low tone, reaching deep into one of his pockets that line both sides of his dingy khaki cargo pants. “Where the hell is my lighter?”

  I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out the Zippo with the dragon on it. I still have no clue where this came from. I don’t even smoke.

  “Here!”

  I hand the lighter to Pete, hoping the flame is still good and that it doesn’t uncover something that is grossly disfigured and ready for an afternoon delight. And I’m not referring to the good kind either.

  Holding the lighter in his right hand and his gun trained ahead in his left, Pete flicks the top open and strikes the wheel, producing a spark that catches and illuminates the darkened corner. I stay as focused and ready as I can con
sidering I feel like shit. Seeing nothing so far, Pete moves in a little closer, the flame swaying from side to side. Not sure why.

  I hear that scratching and squirming noise behind me now. No . . . wait, it is to my left, and the right. I’m not sure if anyone else hears this as they all seem too focused on what’s lurking within the crates.

  Kneeling and getting as close as I guess he wants to, Pete probes the nooks and spaces around the crate, his head bobbing from side to side. He holds still for a second, not moving, making me wonder if he sees what it is. He moves the lighter in closer, the narrow flame bringing to life a giant rat that jets out of the darkness and darts between Pete’s feet, sending the women into a hysterical scream that could wake the dead. Or worse yet, alert them.

  Snickering hard, and trying to keep from busting out laughing, Pete turns around and looks at Alice and Casey, extinguishing the flame. “You’ve got to be kidding. After everything we’ve seen, you’re afraid of a damn rat?”

  “Shut up, asshole, it scared us and it was huge,” Casey says, her brow slanted down and a scowl plastered on her face.

  “Here, you might want to take my gun to fend off those man-eating . . .” Pete says laughingly.

  Something bursts from the stacked crates sitting directly behind Casey, jetting forward with voracity, and ramming its spear like arm through Casey’s back. Blood sprays Pete in the face like a water hose gone mad as it erupts out of her chest, sending a wave of panic through the now dwindling group.

  Training his weapon on the thing devouring Casey’s neck and shoulder, Pete readies a round. Something crawls out from between the darkened crates behind him, grabbing his feet. Pete tumbles to the floor, his head slamming against the concrete and his gun dislodging from his hands. Blood pools under the side of his face. His body remains limp as he’s dragged into the black abyss.