Apoc Series (Vol. 2): Silence of the Apoc [Tales From The Zombie Apocalypse]

by Wilsey, Martin (Editor)

  “These are very good Mr. Wak,” Sarah said between mouthfuls of pancake. “Thank you for a yummy breakfast.”

  “You are welcome, Teacup,” Shintaro said. Having eaten his fill, he left the remainder of the batch for Sarah.

  “Mr. Wak,” Sarah said, before shoveling in the last bite of pancakes, “are we staying here much longer?”

  “No, little one,” Shintaro said. “We must be on our way soon if we are to get to our destination.”

  At that moment he heard something. It was faint, but he caught it, nonetheless. It was the sound of something being dragged across the grass. He stood up slowly, grabbing the sword as his feet came under him. He put his finger up to his lips to tell Sarah to stay quiet. He turned and walked to the small window over the kitchen window. He saw nothing.

  “Stay here, Teacup. If I am not back in ten minutes, get the keys to the blue car in the driveway and leave. Understood?”

  “Yes, Mr. Wak,” Sarah said, without question.

  Shintaro had taught the girl how to drive on the trip up here. He had taught her the basics but never let her take the wheel by herself. Their flight from the city had been too important to jeopardize on lessons she was too young to learn but had to.

  He crept through the door bridging the dining room and kitchen. The boards made no sound under his worn dress loafers. He held the sword in his left grip firmly. He made his way to the front window and spied through the boards. It was then he saw it. One of “them.”

  Its leg was broken at the ankle. The bone protruded, and it walked on the side of its foot which was encased in a brown work boot. It wore a flannel shirt and worn blue jeans. Shintaro concluded it must have been a local farmer. He spied the large chunk of flesh that was missing from his lower jaw. Its eyes were a milky blue color riddled with red veins and its flesh was variegated like marble. Blue veins ran throughout its face, and a kitchen knife stuck out from its chest. The wound would have killed it if it were human. The creature moaned sorrowfully as if it were lost.

  Shintaro moved into the living room and then into the laundry room which connected the study to the living room. The door to his right led to the garage. He pushed the door open and stepped into the garage. Tools and boxes lined the far wall. To the left was a door that led out into the yard. He had to keep the creature from the front door. He could not risk any more of its kind following its lead. He moved like a calm breeze, his shoes making not one sound on the concrete floor.

  He reached the door and unlocked it, making sure to keep the clicks muffled. He flowed out of the door and pulled it closed behind him. He took his first step on the blacktop driveway and headed right, holding the sword in his left hand and thumbing the tsuba (hand guard), releasing the blade just a fraction to make for an easier draw. With his right hand, he gripped the sword high on its tsuka (handle) and continued towards the corner of the house, but widened his arc to bring him out and away from the structure. He wanted the room to fight.

  Shintaro came out from the cover of the house and spotted the creature still coming in his direction. It sniffed and turned its head jerkily, as if it sensed something. It brought its face forward and looked directly at him. It snarled and doubled its pace There were sixty feet between the creature and its prey, and it was impatient. Shintaro, however, was not.

  He waited for the creature to hobble to him. At the last moment, he sidestepped the monstrosity and brought the blade from its scabbard in a fluid motion. A thump sounded on the ground, and the shambler walked past him, leaving its head behind it. A second later the body dropped lifelessly to the blacktop a few feet from its severed head. Its mouth was frozen open, and its face stopped in a moment of hatred. Shintaro swung the blade to remove the dripping ichor. The creature smelled rancid. He thanked the powers above that this was one of the slower of its kind. It also meant this one had died its real death a few days ago.

  Shintaro heard a scuff behind him and turned just in time as another shambler lunged at him. She was a black woman dressed in blood-drenched hospital scrubs. Her flesh was a grey color, and a large part of her neck had been torn out. Shintaro’s left arm shot up, planting the scabbard into the creature’s neck. With his attacker at bay, he brought his sword sweeping out and took the top of the thing’s head off. Diseased blood squirted out of the wound, and he could see the gray matter of its brain exposed.

  Shintaro swung the blade to his side once more to remove the fluids from its razor sheen. The body dropped backwards to the ground. In the back of his mind, he could hear the words of his master, Mifune. “Do you expect the wind to guard your rear?”

  Shintaro scanned the grounds, making sure no more of the creatures were lurking about. Satisfied, he went back inside. He found Sarah still sitting at the table where he had left her. “Everything is fine, Teacup,” he said to her, trying to smile comfortingly.

  He went to the sink and grabbed the dish rag from behind the faucet. He lovingly wiped down the blade, making sure not to leave a single drop of the blood on its surface. He put the rag in the garbage, not wanting any other passersby to mistakenly use it with the diseased fluids on it. He resheathed the blade. A good swordsmen knew when a weapon was needed.

  “Come, child,” Shintaro said, grabbing the keys for the Ford Escape off of the key rack on the wall next to the fridge. “We have overstayed our welcome here.”

  Sarah stood up and pushed her chair in. Even in a grave situation like this, the little girl still had manners. She picked up a bag that had been sitting next to her. Shintaro knew it had not been there when he left. Sarah came over and grabbed Shintaro’s hand. He had hooked the key ring to his middle finger where it draped off the back of his hand. This allowed him to hold the girl’s hand simultaneously. He looked at Sarah, who nodded her readiness. “Did you pack snacks for the road?” Shintaro asked, smiling. Sarah nodded again as her cheeks flushed with proud timidity.

  “When we get out there,” he said, “I want your eyes to the sky. You don’t want to see what occurred out there.” Sarah nodded once more, knowing Mr. Wak was trying to protect her.

  Shintaro opened the door from the garage to the driveway. He closed it behind them. Far be it from him to allow those things inside and deny anyone else a viable shelter. He made sure Sarah was looking up, and away from the two bodies that littered the blacktop. He hit the button on the car remote, and he heard the door locks click open. He placed Sarah in the passenger seat and closed the door as she was buckling her seat belt.

  Shintaro went around them to the driver’s side and entered the vehicle. He placed his sword in the back seat with the handle of the weapon facing into the front seat for easy access. He started the car and backed up. He swung the vehicle out onto the lawn of the home and shifted the car into drive. He accelerated slightly and made a left once he came to the end of the driveway. He looked reassuringly at Sarah, who smiled back.

  “Mr. Wak,” she said, “how long until we get home?”

  Shintaro almost laughed. He was glad, even in a calamity such as this, that a child could still be a child. “Let’s turn on the GPS and find out, child.” Shintaro activated the dashboard GPS and asked Sarah her home address. He typed it in slowly, keeping his eyes on the road. They passed an abandoned car halfway into the road. The passenger side doors were open, and blood was smeared onto all of the windows.

  Shintaro did not drive fast. There were too many obstacles on the roads. He drove no more than thirty miles an hour. They were traveling on the road called Route 17M through a town called Wawayanda. The route they were on seemed like a minor thoroughfare, but, as Shintaro could tell from the GPS, it was leading them to a major state route and a small city called Middletown. Shintaro wanted to avoid any center mass of the population. Those areas seemed to have been hit the hardest. People clustered together seemed to make whatever this was spread faster.

  ***

  Shintaro had been in New York City when the event started. He was to be a guest of honor at the World Martial Arts
Expo. The event this year was held in the Jacob Javits Center in the heart of Manhattan. Shintaro was a throwback in the martial arts world. He lived his life by the Code of the Samurai. His job was his shogunate, and his boss the shogun. He was not a complete samurai, as he valued his family above all else. His wife Kaori and his ten-year-old daughter Yuki were the center of his world. They were expecting a fourth member of their family. His son, Toshiro, was due in two months’ time. It was the only reason he agreed to travel so far for this event.

  He brought along his assistant, Emiko, and promised her a working vacation. Emiko was a beautiful 25-year-old woman. She was the talk of the company. Shintaro’s colleagues would joke that he should work late with her some nights. Shintaro laughed at their childish chiding, knowing there was only one woman he spent late nights with. Emiko wore a black skirt with a cream-colored tight jacket. Her blue silk blouse and black high heels completed her look. Shintaro had worked with her for over two years now. She would make any man very happy, and he would be lucky to have her.

  His job paid him to travel for martial arts conventions. It was only good business, and Shintaro plugged his company any chance he got. The company had become both his employer and sponsor. Everyone, after all, needed to drive a car. He had become known as the Samurai Salesman. In the areas where he appeared, automobile sales for his company rose five to seven percent. What they spent to ferry him around the world was a drop in the pond compared to the money he made for them.

  He strode through the event center like a king, Emiko in tow. He was the undisputed Kendo champion and master of the katana. There were few who could come close to matching his skill with the sword, and even fewer who had the potential to surpass him. Some joked he was Musashi Miyamoto reborn. Others joked he was born five hundred years too late. None of the praise ever went to Shintaro’s head. For him, the sword was a pastime. His life was his work which provided for his family.

  He and Emiko rushed along to his next demonstration. He was growing tired of cutting watermelons or apples that were thrown in the air. The sword he carried in his left hand was not the sword he simply cut fruit with. That would insult the weapon. This was his battle sword. It was the finest blade he had in his collection. He never let anyone else hold the sword, as he believed a katana was a part of a warrior’s soul. It even had its own special place in his home, placed where no one else could or would touch it, in a locked display case above the mantle of the fireplace in his study.

  The main gallery of the event center served as the arena. Martial arts tournaments and demonstrations rotated as the attraction of the hour. Various panels and speakers occupied the smaller conference rooms. Shintaro ascended the stairs to a full crowd. They cheered as he entered. To receive such an ovation for an outdated skill warmed his heart. He smiled and raised his hand in a wave to the crowd.

  Fruits of all sizes lined the outer ring of the mats that were set up. In the center, on a small folding table, was the sword he would use to slice the fruits. It was a far inferior sword than the one he carried, fit only to cut objects that could never fight back. A man in a tuxedo stood next to the table with a wireless microphone. “Ladies and gentleman, Master Shintaro Wakayama!” the announcer loudly proclaimed, and the crowd grew more raucous. It almost hurt Shintaro’s ears. In a way, he did love their adulation.

  He stopped at the edge of the mat to remove his shoes and his jacket. He left them with Emiko and strode out to the center of the mat. Three helpers came out, each one stationed at a different point on the mats. He placed his good sword on the table and took up the demonstration sword. It was lighter and off balanced. All the weight was on the blade as the handle was of cheaper quality than his other katana.

  One of the helpers brought out a watermelon and placed it into a display that was two U-shaped holders on top of a wishbone-shaped base. Shintaro drew a breath. He centered himself as he did whenever he was about to draw live steel. He glared at the watermelon as if it were an enemy combatant. Shintaro drew the sword in Iaido style and sliced the melon in half with a quick stroke. He swung the sword, removing any juice that might remain and sheathed the blade once more. The crowd cheered. Flashes from cameras and phones created a thunderstorm effect in the room. A hint of a smile crossed Shintaro’s features.

  Before he could rest, two apples came toward him from either side of the mat. He drew his blade quickly and sliced both apples as they passed each other in the air. The fruit fell in four even pieces. He swung the sword again, removing the juices, and replaced the katana in its sheath. The crowd cheered louder. His demonstration lasted another ten minutes with Shintaro cutting various fruits in different positions and angles. When he was done, the crowd roared as he placed his temporary blade on the table and took up his finer sword once more. He slipped his shoes back on at the edge of the mats, and Emiko handed him his jacket. He put it on, switching his sword from one hand to the other to slip his arms through the sleeves.

  “Excellent, Wakayama san,” Emiko said in Japanese.

  “Thank you, Emiko,” Shintaro said, straightening his jacket. “I knew I paid you for something.”

  Sharing a smile, the two were off once more. He was now on a panel discussion in one of the smaller conference rooms. Behind him, the mats were being cleaned and wiped down for a tournament that was about to begin. In his mind, he wished the participants luck and would have loved to stay and watch the combat. He himself had retired from the tournament scene years ago when he had nothing left to prove and thought of his family’s well-being if he had ever been seriously hurt. These factors allowed him to retire unbeaten as a master of aikido and judo. He had even fought a few matches in the Mixed Martial Arts of America and had won his bouts.

  On his way to the panel, an old acquaintance stopped him. “Still swing a mean blade, I see, Wakayama san,” the bearded man said.

  “Ah, Norris san!” Shintaro said, clasping the bearded man’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “I had not heard you would be here.”

  “It was on again, off again,” Mr. Norris said patting Shintaro on the side of his arm. “My schedule cleared at the last minute. Glad it did, too. I was getting tired of hopping on a plane to come see your skills.”

  “You honor me with your words,” Shintaro said. “And it is nice to see you with the words matching your mouth movements.”

  The two laughed and exchanged a further brief conversation before going their separate ways to different conference rooms. It had been years since Shintaro had seen the rugged American. Perhaps he would invite him for a drink later if time permitted. He would love to pick the man’s brain about what the American’s master had been like. Shintaro was due at his conference, and he was already going to be a minute late. Shintaro prided himself on punctuality and abhorred being late.

  As Shintaro reached the doors, he heard a commotion on the other side. Screaming and crashing sounded from behind the doors. Before he could open them, the doors burst open. A man in his late thirties slammed into Shintaro and almost took both of them to the ground. Shintaro recovered quickly and put his feet firmly back under him as the other man crawled and frantically got back to his feet. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt with a pair of stylish jeans. His glasses had a crack in the left lens. He stared at Shintaro in abject horror and ran away as fast as he could. Shintaro noticed he had dropped an ID badge. He could not make it out, but it had the seal of some sort of armed forces branch. Turning his attention back to the door, Shintaro saw pure horror inside.

  In the center of the room were two individuals going wild. They were covered in blood, as was the floor around them. Bodies lay about them in the sea of blood. Each had suffered a fatal wound to the neck. As Shintaro watched the scene unfold, one of the people he took for dead shot up and attacked the nearest person. The woman he attacked attempted to fend him off by putting her hands around its neck. The attacker was not to be stopped and sank his teeth into the woman’s jugular. He ripped the flesh off as a lion would from a zeb
ra or antelope.

  “Get behind me!” Shintaro shouted in Japanese at Emiko.

  Emiko put Shintaro between herself and the carnage of the room. Another person Shintaro thought dead opened his eyes and quickly got to his feet. His blue t-shirt was soaked in blood which ran down to his jeans. His bloodshot milky eyes locked on Shintaro, and he charged through the room at him. Shintaro planted his feet. He had not been in a fight since his school days. He knew he could take this man down with one well-placed blow. However, something inside him wanted him to draw his blade and cut the man down. He fought that urge, knowing that was a door that could never be closed.

  When the man was within reach Shintaro’s left arm snapped out, and the sheathed blade caught the man perfectly in the temple. The man stumbled and turned but spun back around and came right back at Shintaro. The two went to the ground. The man tried biting Shintaro, but Shintaro got the scabbard under the man’s chin and pushed up. His jaws were snapping like a crazed animal. His hands clawed at Shintaro incessantly. Blood and saliva splashed all over as they struggled. As he looked, he could see the wound now clearly. The jugular was severed. Veins under the skin turned black. The most frightening thing was that the man did not seem to tire.

  In desperation, Shintaro lowered himself to knee the man in the genitals. His knee rose and fell three times in rapid succession. The man did not seem to notice it. Shintaro was shocked. There was no conceivable reason this man could not feel that pain. Every man knew the pain of that brutal blow. Three such blows would put any man, any size, down on the ground writhing in agony. Something was very wrong.