Zombie Fallout 10

by Mark Tufo

  Zombie Fallout 10

  Those Left Behind

  Mark Tufo

  Contents

  Prologue 1

  Prologue 2

  Prologue 3

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Epilogue 3

  About the Author

  Also by Mark Tufo

  Also By DevilDog Press

  Thank You!

  Copyright © 2016 by Mark Tufo

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To the missus, it means as much to put you at the front of the book now as it did that first time!

  To my beta readers who helped immeasurably, Kimberly Sansone, Vix Kirkpatrick, Misti, and Jeff Shoemaker. Thank you!

  To my editor Sheila Shedd, who works tirelessly to make these books as polished as possible.

  To first responders and the men and women of the armed forces you always have and always will have the respect and gratitude of the Tufo clan for all you do.

  And lastly you - yeah I’m talking to you. The person that bought this book and is as much a part of the process as I am. I love you guys and I mean that wholeheartedly, thank you for your continued support!

  Prologue 1

  Deneaux was halfway through Indiana when whatever hell’s angel was tasked with looking out for her took the morning off. She’d stopped at a rest stop just outside Indianapolis. Apparently, even demons hell-bent on misguided revenge and retribution need sleep. Her head was thrown back against the seat rest, a burned-down cigarette with an incredibly long ash firmly planted in her mouth. When the heavy rapping came on her window, she started awake and the residue fell onto her lap. She lifted her revolver, expecting to find a zombie at the window, but what she got was worse.

  “Put it down,” the man said with a gap-toothed smile. A thick, brown beard covered his face and the old acne scars he’d developed in his youth. An orange hunter’s cap adorned his head. Deneaux could recognize evil in another, and his grim smile was unnerving.

  “I won’t say it again.” He pointed to the front of the truck, where a man with a wicked looking assault rifle was aimed straight at her. “And in case you have a Jesse James complex...” He pointed to the passenger side, where another man had a large caliber handgun directed at her.

  Deneaux did her best to remain calm. She placed the gun on the seat beside her.“There, all better now. I mean you no harm,” she said evenly.

  “Unlock the door.” The man’s grin faded almost immediately.

  “We’re all in this together. I’m just trying to get back to my family.”

  “We’re in it together,” he said, pointing to the men with guns. “You’re just a resource. Unlock the door. I won’t say it again so kindly.”

  Deneaux looked around the cab. The truck wasn’t even started. There wasn’t a chance in hell of her warming up the glow plugs and getting the truck out of there before she was riddled with bullets. She popped up the door lock.

  Once it clicked, the man flung it opened and wrenched her out. She smacked onto the pavement hard, wincing in pain. The man leaned down.

  “The next time I tell you to do something, I suggest you hurry up.” The man roughly patted her down. “Get up.”

  “I’m…I’m hurt.” She held her hands out to show the road rash she’d suffered.

  “Not yet, but you will be.”

  “Please. Please—it doesn’t need to be like this.”

  “Fuck, Wember. What is she, like, a hundr’d and twelve?” The man with the assault rifle had come over. He’d shouldered his gun and was moving to look inside the cab of the truck.

  “Quit your bitching, Veeral. At least she’s got a pussy.”

  “Are you sure?” Veeral laughed. “Thing prob’ly fell out from disuse.”

  “Naw, when they’re this old, the things fill with dust and scab over,” the third said.

  “Fuck, Jolly. You’re gross. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Just this piece and a shitload of cigarettes,” Veeral said while he put Deneaux’s gun in his waistband.

  “Can…can I have a cigarette?”

  Wember took one step over to her and punched the side of her head hard enough that she blacked out. She heard laughter as her head bounced off the ground, then nothing. When she awoke, it was hours later. Night had settled. Her head throbbed, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She was propped up and tied against a decent sized oak, her arms pinned behind her. Her breath hitched when she realized her boots and pants had been removed. Her panties were torn and pulled to the side. Blood coated the inside of her thighs. She saw Veeral’s back as he approached the fire. He was fumbling with his zipper.

  “Bitch is as dry as a funeral drum,” he complained.

  “Like that’s ever stopped you,” Wember said, handing him a piece of cooked rabbit.

  “Please,” Deneaux croaked. Her shoulders threatened to pull out of their sockets. Her head swam from a concussion. Her genitals ached from the abuse. But it was the siren call of the nicotine that she begged for.

  “Haven’t you learned bitch?” Wember said, arising from his log around the fire. He grabbed a burning switch and smacked it along the side of her face. She screamed out in pain as the switch left a charred strip across her cheek. “You talk when I tell you to.” He turned back and tossed the stick back into the fire. Deneaux whimpered, the pain momentarily making her forget about her addiction, but only momentarily.

  “She smells better than she looks. Maybe we should just eat her,” Jolly said.

  “Nuh uh. I ain’t doing that again. That boy tasted horrible, and I was sick as shit for like a week.”

  “I told you before, Veeral. It wasn’t the boy that made you sick. It was the damned crushed can of beans that did you in. Botulism or some shit. How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t eat the damaged cans. Bacteria gets in them.”

  “I was hungry.”

  “His calf wasn’t enough?” Jolly smacked Veeral’s arm good-naturedly.

  “I’d rather have cow,” Veeral said sadly.

  “We all would. The chewers aren’t leaving much behind, though,” Wember said, turning the spit. “At least now we can play with our food and not get in trouble!” They all laughed. Deneaux shivered.

  She didn’t believe in karma. This wasn’t about things coming full circle for all she’d done. This was a current bad situation from which she needed to extradite herself. She slept in fitful spurts; every time her head hung low, it would pull against her shoulders, jerking her back awake. More times than not, she would awake to have Veeral standing over her. Her mouth was parched, her cheek stung, she would have just about quit smoking for a glass of water right then. She thought her pleas had been heard when she felt water raining down on her. That quickly changed to disgust when some of the broccoli smelling saltiness of urine entered into her mouth. Her spitting and retching noises were met with Veeral’s laughter.

  “You like that?” he asked as he shook the last few drops free. “Don’t want to get any in my pants,” he said as he kept at it, making sure the
clingers departed as well. “Gotta admit, you’re not much to look at, but you fuck nice enough.” He leaned down and stroked the side of her face. She did not flinch; a smoldering coal burned red and hot in her eyes. Veeral slapped her. “Don’t you look at me like that. Don’t you ever!” He smacked her again, hoping that would stop the shiver that had niggled into the base of his spine.

  “Be nice to her. Don’t you know who she is?” Wember asked as he untied her.

  She again cried out as her shoulders slid back into place. She hated herself for being so weak.

  “What do I give a fuck who this dried up hag is?”

  “You’re just about giving it to royalty.”

  “She’s the Queen of England? Are you fucking kidding me?” Veeral got down to get a closer look at her. “She don’t look like the Queen. What was that bitch’s name? Eliza or something?”

  “Elizabeth, you idiot, and I said like royalty. Naw. This here? This is Vivian Deneaux, if her license is right.”

  “Do know what?”

  “No—Den-oh. Damn, you really are an idiot. If you weren’t my brother’s best friend, I would have shot you by now.”

  “Fine, Deneaux. So what?”

  “Her husband was a senator or something. She comes from money. Or has money. Or more likely, knowing those rich fucks, stole money. Why ain’t you riding this out in some super-secret government bunker?”

  Too lost in her own pain and misery, Deneaux didn’t answer immediately. Wember shook her back to reality quickly when he smacked a switch across the bottom of her bare foot. Pain rocketed up her legs and spine and flared at the base of her neck, where it radiated around her entire skull.

  “So is you is or is you ain’t?” Jolly asked coming up. The three men were standing over her.

  Her tongue burned with a verbal acidity that she wished to spew, but it would do no good in this situation. They’d already proved they would hurt her, and the killing would come soon enough at this pace.

  “I am Vivian Deneaux.” She tried to hold her head high, but it pulled on her shoulders.

  “So what?” Veeral asked. “She was a rich bitch once. What’s that mean?”

  “Isn’t this about the time you tell us you can get us money?” Wember laughed.

  “I could, but we both know money is no good. What about gold?”

  “Where am I going to use gold?”

  “Smart man like you has to have this figured out by now. Don’t you?”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and let me know what my plans are.”

  “This has to end sometime. And you’re right, regular paper money will be useless. But gold has always been valuable, ever since the first man dug it up. Thousands of cultures and civilizations have perished and fallen, yet gold has always remained a valuable commodity. The people that have it will always rule over the people that don’t.”

  “And you’d just hand this gold over, that right?”

  “I’d be willing to trade some of it in exchange for my life.”

  “What if I just take it all?” Wember asked.

  “Yeah, what if we just take it all?” Veeral asked, not realizing the minor discrepancy between his and Wember’s words.

  “Where’s this gold? I’m going to need to see it.” Wember pushed Veeral out of the way.

  “Do you really think I carry my gold around with me? Could I have some water, please.”

  “Where’s the gold, bitch?”

  “I need some water.”

  Wember raised his hand.

  “I’m no good to you dead or rendered unconscious. I need some water. And a cigarette.”

  Wember’s hand wavered in the air. He turned and smacked his brother on the arm. “Get the hag some water.”

  “And a cigarette,” Deneaux added.

  “And a cigarette.”

  Wember lit the cigarette. Deneaux took two long drags from the stick before she even spun the lid off the water bottle.

  They watched her every movement as if she had just become fascinating; once you know who they are, somehow the rich and elite do the mundane things differently.

  “Why ain’t you in your bunker with all your gold and the other douchebag government types?” Wember asked.

  She took another long drag. “We were on a mission of mercy. Bringing supplies to those in the greatest need, when we were attacked by a horde the size of which we’d never encountered before. Five of us escaped; two were bitten. We cared for them as best we could.”

  “The only care you could have given them was a .45 caliber aspirin.”

  “There’s a vaccination.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “There’s a cure?” Jolly asked.

  “Not a cure, dumbass. It prevents you from ever becoming a chewer,” Wember told his brother but looked over to Deneaux for confirmation.

  “There’s something like that out there?” Veeral asked.

  “Well, if we’re to believe Hagatha here.”

  “Civilization is closer to being restored than you know. That’s why we were out there helping those people. The more that survive now, the more there will be to rebuild.”

  “Yeah and you rich fucks need the little worker bees to do it. Don’t you?” Wember sneered.

  “I’m offering you a chance to be part of the ruling class. You won’t be a drone anymore. We can have the planet back in a year, maybe less.”

  “I like the way the world is now,” Jolly said. “We can do what we want to whoever we want whenever we want.”

  “You can do that when you’re rich and powerful, too,” Deneaux said, smiling. “But you can do it while you’re living in the lap of luxury. People will actually bring the things you desire right to you.”

  Deneaux could almost see the thought bubble form over Jolly’s head as he dreamed about sitting on a couch, being fed grapes by nude women.

  “Where’s this bunker?”

  Deneaux did not hesitate. “Maine.”

  Prologue 2

  “Cronos, there has been a fracture. The woman yet lives,” Beleden the Messenger said, his head bowed in reverence as he spoke to the god.

  “That is impossible. Who has assisted her?” Cronos demanded.

  “That, I do not know,” Beleden answered.

  “What is her destination?” Cronos stood up from the bench he had been sitting on to walk around the vast white chamber.

  “She travels toward the Ones.”

  “THIS CANNOT BE!” Cronos thundered.

  “There have already been deviations in the line of time laid out before them,” Beleden informed.

  “I have carefully been maneuvering my pieces for two thousand years. I will not tolerate a usurper changing everything now! What is the projected outcome if she cannot be stopped?”

  “There is nothing written; all will be forged in the present.”

  “Preposterous! No fate? No destiny? I will allow no such thing on my watch! You will stop the woman and you will find the one who has attempted to thwart my plans. If she makes it to the Talbot household there is no telling the irreparable harm she will cause to my campaign.”

  Beleden bowed as he left the great chamber. He would not be able to stop her; in fact, he would not even try. He was playing a dangerous game, one which could have him thrown out of the great hall. But if it succeeded...if it succeeded, he would himself be considered a god. And that was all that mattered.

  Prologue 3

  It was all a dream. Every last aching, shitty, skull crushing second of it. Tommy, Eliza, zombies, Tracy, the kids, even my beloved Henry, all fucking dreams. Mad Jack, Gambo, Trip—all just extensions of my fucked up psyche. Just dreams, illusions, mirages, mental break downs or lapses. I was in a room, and it did indeed have padded walls. My arms were locked tight to my side and behind me in a heavy cloak of white, respite with belts and buckles.

  “How fucking cliché,” I said as I looked down at my toes. A red crayon was gripped tightly in between m
y big toe and the this little piggy stayed home toe. I wonder what the fuck was his problem that he couldn’t leave the house. Probably had a severe case of agoraphobia; or maybe he knew exactly what “to market” meant. And the stupid crayon! It wasn’t even a Crayola; it was a knock off brand. Is there really a profit margin for that? I mean how much less could a Friend-O crayon be worth?

  “Time for your medication, Talbot.” The largest man I had ever seen in my life said as he stepped into the room. He was black, which honestly made no difference to me, but he just made such a stark contrast to his completely white outfit. White shoes, white socks, white pants held up by a white belt, and a fresh white shirt.

  “It must be a blast going clothes shopping with you.”

  “Oh, we’re friends now? The straight jacket making you feel a little more compliant today? I bet your shoulders feel like they’re going to pop right out of their fucking sockets. I’ve never seen anyone wear one of those for more than seventy-two hours; looks like you’re going for a record. Does it hurt?”

  “Well, it didn’t until you said something. What the hell man, why are you being so hostile?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re lucky you’re not dead. Not three damn days ago you flung your shit at me like you were a fucking zoo monkey.”

  “No way man. There’s no way I flung shit at you.”

  “Just shut up man. I don’t like being around you anymore than I have to. Open your mouth. I’ll give you your meds, and if you’re a good little psychopath, I’ll see if I can get your restraints off in the next day or two. Maybe you’ll learn something. Odds are you won’t, but I guarantee you won’t feel like throwing feces for a good long while.”

  “What’s the medication?”

  “What the fuck do you care? Just open your damned mouth.”

  “I don’t like this reality. I don’t like it at all.”

  “Yeah, I don’t like that your momma kept dropping you on your fucking head then tried to call it s.i.d.s. but it’s what we’ve got. Now let me give you these meds. I got other, less crazy people to deal with.”