The Zombie Awakening (Complete 6 Volume Series, plus prologue)

by Melton, Cynthia

  THE ZOMBIE AWAKENING

  The Complete Set

  By Cynthia Melton

  Copyright 2015

  Written and Published by: Cynthia Melton

  Cover Art: Cynthia Hickey

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ZOMBIE AWAKENING

  (A Zombie Short Story of what happened before and during The Darkening)

  A Prequel

  By Cynthia Melton

  1

  “Lock it down!” Rachel Moore raced down the halls of the government facility building. “Meteors are striking all around us. If that thing gets out, we’re all dead.”

  She pulled a card key from her lab jacket. If she could destroy the lock on the cage so the, she couldn’t bring herself to say person, escaped, then maybe, just maybe, she could save the world from an unimaginable horror. A horror she had a hand in creating. Sometimes scientific experiments of germ warfare went horribly wrong.

  The door opened with a whoosh just as the building shook with an explosion. Rachel screamed and fell to the floor, covering her head with her hands. Another hit and the building shook as if rattled by a giant child’s hand. She smelled smoke and glanced up.

  The door to the thing’s cage buckled. It snarled and reached blood-stained hands through the bars. Rachel had known for a while now that the live chickens they tossed it would not be enough to sustain its hunger. Even now, feathers stuck to its lips.

  She got to her knees and scrambled out of the room. She needed a gun—fast! One more hit and the building would come tumbling down, unleashing the monster.

  Plaster and ceiling tiles rained on her head. Screams filled the halls.

  Rachel glanced over her shoulder. It was loose. The zombie, the closest thing she knew to call the man who’d once been a prisoner on death row, grabbed a fellow scientist and bit off the man’s nose. The building’s janitor hit the zombie over the head with a metal trashcan, transferring its attention to him.

  While the zombie bit into his forearm, the scientist on the floor twitched, died, and climbed to his feet. The nightmare had begun. Rachel ducked into a corner and vomited. She’d had a hand in unleashing hell.

  She thought of giving herself over to it. After all, she deserved nothing else, but the human’s will to survive was stronger than her guilt. She shoved away from the wall and ran as the building continued to be battered by falling fireballs from heaven and screams rose as one after the other her co-workers fell. A few escaped into the horrors outside, as she did, and not one of them armed.

  Taking refuge in a cement culvert, she covered her ears and cowered, praying for it to end. What had she done? God, forgive her.

  By the time the firestorm ended, a semblance of night had fallen. Thick clouds obscured the sun, casting the afternoon into dusk. The meteorologist had warned it would take months for the ash and dust to clear after the meteor shower.

  The hands on Rachel’s watch were frozen at two p.m under the cracked lens. The groans from inside the fallen building rose and fell like the swell of waves. There were many of them now. Like cockroaches they’d spread across the continent, even possibly, the world once they dug themselves free.

  She couldn’t stay where she was. Crawling from the culvert, she merged with a group of escaping living.

  “They can’t get out,” one woman said. “Their brains are dead.”

  “They’ll push free from their sheer need for food. Their forward momentum will carry them across the debris,” a man answered. “Some will have been crushed, others too maimed to continue, but some will get out and create more of the walking dead. I should know. I created the virus that made the first one.”

  Rachel recognized her boss under the blood-covered face. The man with the genius to recreate something that only previously existed in books and movies. Genius or fool? And she’d known all along and said nothing. It had been her job to record the thing’s actions and how much it ate. It never wanted to stop eating. Well, she wouldn’t keep the secret any longer. If she ran across someone who could spread the word of the danger, she’d tell them everything she knew.

  She paused to glance back at the building that housed a basement designed to protect them from the meteor shower. What had happened to the man responsible for alerting them once the shower started? Had he fled to protect himself and left the rest of them in a building with no buildings? Left them blind? “They’re coming!” She turned and raced down the road, hoping, praying for an undamaged vehicle she could take.

  The facility was in a deserted section of the desert. Although the parking lot behind her was full of cars, she couldn’t go back to search for one that would start. Not with at least twenty zombies shuffling in their direction. As long as she continued forward, she could stay ahead of them. Until someone fell and they descended upon them.

  Her steps faltered. “Bill? Did you destroy the virus that made the first zombie?”

  He shook his head and covered his face with his battered hands. “No. I know I was ordered to. But, damn it! I worked for years on that assignment. I couldn’t just toss it away.”

  “You’ve condemned us all.” Tears ran down her face. “If we aren’t overcome by them, we have a good chance of succumbing to the virus. Some of us here are already infected, if not all of us.” Her stomach rolled.

  How long would it take the virus to spread across the country? It had taken the first zombie less than three hours to change over. She looked at the group of survivors around her. She needed to hide out. Find somewhere she could be alone. Either she would change or be unaffected. If she survived until morning, she’d find a way to get from Nevada, where she was, to Colorado where another underground bunker waited, designed ‘just in case’.

  They’d experimented on four death row inmates. All but one had turned. She had a slim chance.

  “Go.” A large man she didn’t know pointed behind them then gave Bill a shove. “You’ve killed us all. Go meet your subjects, Zombie King!”

  “No.” Bill held up his hands. “You can’t do this.”

  The man hefted a tire iron from next to a crushed car and swung it, effectively breaking Bill’s leg at the knee cap. “If nothing else, you’ll slow them down for the rest of us.”

  Bill screamed and crumbled to the ground.

  Rachel raced down the highway ahead of the others.

  2

  As the sun disappeared over the mountain, Rachel snuck into a roadside motel and holed up in one of the rooms. By morning, she’d either be one of … them, or unaffected and in a battle for survival. It was a definite toss up as to which she preferred.

  She dropped her lab coat on the floor of the bathroom. She’d never wear it again.

  Disrobing the rest of the way, she stepped into a frigid shower, not caring that she hadn’t waited for the water to heat. She needed cleansing, of more than dirt and sweat. She needed to wash away the crushing weight of guilt.

  Maybe she hadn’t created the monster virus, but she’d kept the discovery a secret. She’d kept records on the experiment. Inmates or not, they’d subjected humans to an experimental virus. In her book, that was a close second to actually being responsible.

  Something banged against the window. Rachel froze, straining to hear over the sound of the shower. Another thump, louder than the first, then a scream. She jerked the handle to off and thrust aside the shower curtain.

  From the alley behind
the motel, a scream bust forth, then the frenzied sound of ravenous eating. Rachel clamped a hand over her mouth and plastered her back against the wall. The cool tile caused goose bumps to rise on her wet skin.

  Could they smell her? Hear her heart beating? There was so much left undiscovered about the furious eating machines. The certainties were … a bite left you infected, and the only way to kill the things was to scramble the brain.

  She gathered her clothes in her arm and moved out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The thing she’d studied had never learned simple motor skills such as opening doors. She doubted it had enough brain waves left to squeeze through the small bathroom window, but Rachel wasn’t taking any chances.

  Once dressed, she moved every available piece of furniture in front of the large front window and the door. Then, she found the few sheets of paper left in a drawer and the cheap ink pen to make a list of things she would need.

  Food and water were her first priority. Then…a weapon. Loud noises attracted the beasts so she’d prefer to stay away from guns if she could. Then, warm clothing and a permanent place to hide. Possibly, a vehicle of some kind. Something large enough to carry other survivors, if she had the courage to pick them up. By morning, the immediate area would either be infected or showing those immune to the virus.

  There was a large chance she wouldn’t need her list come morning. It was also possible that she’d barricaded herself into a room where she’d spend eternity as one of the undead unless some poor unfortunate soul broke through the door. If so, she wanted to stay a non-dead prisoner in the room. She didn’t want to prey upon the living, even if the human side of her no longer existed.

  When she’d finished her list, she wrapped one of the blankets around her and scooted into the corner. Sleep would be a long time coming.

  *

  She woke lying on the floor wrapped in the blanket like a cocoon. No groans reached her ears from the other side of the door. She crawled to the window and peered out. The street swarmed with shuffling undead. Some whole, others missing limbs. One woman, missing the lower half of her body, pulled herself along the sidewalk on her elbows. A child, missing half of its face and dragging a dirty doll, glanced toward the motel.

  Rachel let the curtain fall and sat back. She was alive. Immune, at least to the airborne part of the virus. Sobs burst from her, and she covered her face with her hands. Why had she been spared when so many others, innocents and children, were not?

  Peering out the window, she searched for a way out. Several cars sat mere feet away from her room. She doubted any of them had keys left in them. Could she hot wire one if it were an old enough model? She tried to remember how. It’d been so long since she’d gone for a joy ride with her brother as a teenager. There. A 1962 Chevy pickup. That shouldn’t crumble under the onslaught of zombies.

  God, what if it weren’t unlocked? A broken window would do her no good. She needed to move before anymore zombies wandered into the parking lot. One small child should be easy enough to dispose of.

  Rachel went to the bathroom and shattered the mirror with the shower rod. The longest piece of glass should suffice to stab something through the eye. She shuddered at the thought and tied a wash cloth around her hand to keep from cutting herself.

  After moving the furniture, she opened the front door and stood still. When nothing paid her overdue attention, she stepped out and crouched behind a concrete pole. Potential safety was only feet away. She took a deep breath and gagged. The air was filled with the sick, sweet smell of death.

  Now breathing through her mouth, she ran, doubled over, for the truck. Thank you, God! It opened. She leaped inside and slammed the door, instantly realizing her mistake. The dead little girl lurched in her direction, its nose sniffing the air like a hound dog. Two other undead glanced toward her and came closer.

  Stupid. She locked the doors and lay on the bench seat to see under the steering wheel. She cut the wires with the piece of mirror, then set her makeshift weapon on the dashboard.

  Several touches of bare wires together and the engine turned over. Yes! It might only be a ride to the next stop, but she wouldn’t be stuck at The Motel of the Dead.

  She sat up and screamed. Zombies surrounded the truck, their hands swiping along the windows, covering the glass with blood and slime. Her scream whipped them into a frenzy. The truck rocked under the onslaught of their bodies.

  A sound like a shot from a gun echoed.

  A crack appeared in the front windshield.

  3

  Rachel slammed the gear shift into reverse and stomped on the gas. The truck roared backward with so much force one of the undead flipped over the tailgate and into the bed. Others were not so lucky. Instead, they became nothing more than speed bumps.

  Gulping back sobs, Rachel whipped the steering wheel straight, pushed into drive and sped away. She couldn’t care about the bodies being crushed under her wheels. They were no longer human. If she said it enough times, she might actually believe it.

  The zombie in the back banged on the rear window. Rachel shrieked and almost drove into a ditch. She took a corner fast, watching in her rearview mirror as the undead man flipped out of the bed and to the asphalt.

  She laughed the laugh of the insane. The sound of it hurt her ears. She’d done it. Survived the night and successfully outmaneuvered a small throng of shuffling, ravenous undead. Her laughter turned to tears, and she coasted to the shoulder of the road.

  By the time her tears stopped, her eyes felt heavy and she had the hiccups. What Bill and the other scientists had intended to use as a weapon against their enemies, once the virus was perfected of course, instead became their demise. It turned people’s brains into mush all right, and made them hungry for living flesh. Instead of a simple-minded people, easily controlled by a powerful government, they now had a horde of undead that couldn’t be controlled by anyone.

  She steered back to the highway. Not another living person was anywhere in sight. Cars were crooked on the side on the road, some crashed into trees, other with blood smears on the windows. The signs of undead feasting were everywhere. Was she the last living person on the planet? Wouldn’t that be ironic?

  By mid-day, the gas needle showed less than a quarter of a tank. Rachel had no money with her, not that it would matter, and sweat poured down her face and back. Since no zombies were in sight, she chanced opening the passenger side window and lowering the driver’s side an inch.

  A gas station loomed on her right, and she steered toward it. Since electricity still worked, she’d fill the truck with gas, and if the coast were clear, see what food and water she could find in the truck stop convenience store. If there were other survivors, they wouldn’t have had time to clear the place of anything useful. The same might not be said in a few weeks.

  She idled at the pump for a few minutes. When nothing appeared from inside or from around the building, she scooted out, leaving the door open and the keys in the ignition. To hell with the warnings of shutting off a vehicle before getting gas. Blowing up was the least of her worries.

  Tank full and no unwelcome visitors coming around, Rachel headed into the convenience store. A rack of backpacks with gasoline logos on them stood by the front door. She grabbed a hot pink one and a matching baseball cap. Then, she headed for a back room. She’d need boxes to carry as many things as possible. The backpack would be in case a quick getaway was ever needed.

  She filled the truck bed with as many boxes of food and beverages as possible. Then, moved back to the counter where a display of knives was displayed behind glass. She went to the back of the counter, and…Hallelujah, a shotgun! She rummaged, found a few shells and broke the glass. She grabbed a wicked looking machete type thing with a sheath that could hang on her belt.

  The truck stop even had knock-off Harley jackets. She grabbed one to match her hat, a few tee-shirts and toiletries and headed outside with lighter spirits than she’d had an hour ago. The sound of groaning halted the g
ood feelings fast enough. She sprinted for the truck. She’d no sooner slid behind the wheel and slammed the door before a man erupted from the nearby tree line.

  “Wait for me!” He looked to be about her age, although it was hard to tell under the dirt covering his face. He dove through the passenger window as three undead emerged from the same spot he’d come running. “What are you waiting for? Get us out of here.”

  Well, damn. She couldn’t leave him, but having another person around would cut her food supplies in half. She sped back to the highway and wondered where all the truckers had gone.

  “Thanks.” The man straightened his six foot body into the proper position. “I’m Eric King.”

  “Rachel Moore. Did you work at the stop?”

  He laughed. “One of the truckers actually.” He brushed at the dirt on his jeans. “Thought I could cover my scent with grease and dirt. Didn’t work too well.” He motioned his head to the stuff in the truck bed. “Mind if I grab one of them waters? It’s been a while.”

  “Grab me one, too.”

  As he knelt on the seat, she caught a glimpse of a 44-magnum in a belt holster. “Do truckers always carry guns?”

  “The ones who want to get a good night’s sleep do.” He settled back on his seat. “You’re the first live person I’ve seen since the shit hit the fan yesterday. I’m glad to see you’re one of the good guys.”

  She tossed him a glance. “What do you mean?”

  He chugged the water. “In times like this, a person’s true colors come out. You being a woman, well, you need to take care while picking up strangers.”

  “I can take care of myself. If you try to take what’s mine, I’ll cut your throat.”

  4

  Rachel and Eric hunkered down in an abandoned garage. With grey clouds still blanketing the sky, she depended on her watch and her body’s tiredness to alert her when it was night. They chanced a small fire, and she stirred a can of beef stew.