by DeLeon, Jon
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Welcome
Title Page
Enerjax Labs
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
About The Author
Copyright © 2018 Jonathan DeLeon
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781980629955
To those who have encouraged, inspired, and understood.
Thank you.
Are you ready?
Take a seat and open your mind.
This is the story of zombies, two brothers and a knocking on a door.
This is your future and your “never will be,” the impossible and the certain. You may believe that the world around you, and what you see, is the only truth. You are wrong. Every eventuality and possibility is circling, just waiting for a chance to become real. Without warning, at any moment, this life may no longer exist, instead replaced by any of an infinite number of realities.
This is the tale of one of those alternatives, the chronicle of the undead. It’s the story of two brothers trying to survive in a strange and dangerous world.
Outbreak
Undead Book 1
The Apocalypse Chronicles
by Jon DeLeon
One Day Before Outbreak Day
His shoes squeaked as Ryan sprinted down the hallway, fueled by intense fear. His heart was threatening to pound out of his chest. Every pump felt like a drum resounding. Doctor Ryan Callin could barely hear his pursuers over the thumping of his heartbeat and the sound of his lungs gasping for air. It had been years since he ran this fast. He used to be in better shape, but the last year spent watching his sister slowly waste away had taken its toll on his fitness.
The sound of boots stomping into the tile floor behind him echoed loudly, piercing the rhythmic solo of his body. Security was catching up. Ryan rounded a corner at full speed, sending his lab coat into a twirl. He slammed into the wall, barely keeping upright. He pushed forward with all the energy his adrenaline boost could muster, but he was waning. After only six steps, security came around the corner.
Damn, they’re fast, Ryan thought.
Ryan saw his goal. Security saw where he was headed and took action. The blast rang deafeningly loudly in the narrow hallway. Ryan was flung to the ground as the bullet tore through his shoulder. He slid forward, leaving a red trail of blood. He forced his body up, slid his key card in the door lock and pushed inside. He barely closed the door before security slammed into it.
I made it, Ryan thought to himself, sinking to the floor. The handle on the door shuddered. Keep trying. It won’t work. Ryan had made sure to disable all the security codes to the door, other than his own. His lungs wheezing, he coughed as he caught his breath. He had made it to the central server hub.
Through the door, he heard Rasmund, the head of security, yelling at the other guards. This may be a secure room in a secure facility, but they would get in soon. Ryan had to hurry. He had one last thing to do. Using his good arm, he shoved himself up and made his way to the computer terminal at the other end of the room. It was the only thing in the room other than hundreds of feet of servers and cables. This was the memory of the building, and he intended to give it amnesia. Ryan typed as fast as he could with one hand. The blood loss from his shoulder blurred his vision, but he needed to hold on a little longer.
Rasmund came over the loudspeaker. “Doctor Callin, there is no escape. There is only one way in or out of that room. Surrender yourself. We know what you did. We know that you murdered Doctor Fastor.”
We know what you did. You have no idea what I did. Doctor Fastor walked in on me, but really he is the lucky one. It’s you who will have to see the result of my actions.
A few keystrokes and a screen popped up asking for confirmation:
DELETE ALL BACKUP FILES? Y/N
Y
The computer whizzed as the files disappeared into the ether. No evidence of his sabotage remained. Ryan sat down and pulled the knife from his pocket. He closed his eyes as he placed the knife to his throat.
“For you, Sarah,” he whispered. A smile crept to his face. The world would soon find justice. The Enerjax miracle had claimed his sister. It had been meant to help her. Instead it had turned her into a monster. The world that had made her feel like she needed that stupid drug would soon pay. They would all become the monsters they had driven his company to turn her into.
With that thought, Ryan pulled the blade across his windpipe. As he heard the blood squirt and gush from his jugular, he thought of a quote his father, a strict Methodist, had repeated to him for years.
The sins of men will rise up,
Bringing with them, damnation.
CHAPTER ONE
Miami Beach: Outbreak Day
The morning sun glared through the clear glass that made up the entire wall of the bedroom, turning everything a peachy, burnt orange. Gina rolled over in the silk sheets of her king-sized bed and felt the memory-foam mattress form around her body. The bedding was a welcome comfort caressing her naked figure. She had always loved to sleep nude, and her lover liked that about her. Today, however, she woke up alone.
Gina had married up in the world, both in age and in wealth. She was a twenty-three-year-old beauty. Her husband was a sixty-five-year-old, portly, stout man. He worked in imports and exports from the Middle East, meaning he was often out of the country and gone for months at a time. Gina didn’t care. She may have become fond of the plump man and his cuddliness, but her real love was for the large size of his wallet.
Gina had never been the smartest or best in school, but she had perfected the art of seduction. She could make almost any man do what she wanted. In fact, that’s how she graduated high school without ever taking a test in her chemistry class. Now she had used that skill to marry a millionaire. All hers was an unlimited spending allowance and life in a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion overlooking the skyline of Miami. She was proud of what she had done.
Sitting up in bed, looking over the bay, watching yachts sail by in the distance, Gina felt work was beneath her.
Why would I ever work? I’m obviously too beautiful for that. Only ugly people work. Stretching her body out, she looked at the empty tangle of sheets next to her. I love when he’s gone, but I wouldn’t mind having someone else sleep over. That’s what I’ll do today, find me a man to have some fun with.
Gina rose with excitement in her step and walked across the marble floor to her vast expanse of a closet. She walked past rows of fine jewelry and dresses, past a shoe collection that rivaled any, and reached the area dedicated to her designer swimsuits. Gina grabbed a one-piece, pink-and-black zebra-print suit that had been handmade in Italy and fit her like a wet glove. She admired herself in the mirror and smiled, thinking how fun this was going to be, seducing yet another man.
Gina had her driver drop her off at the public beach. She walked around an under-construction hotel, hoping to find a young man tanning in the morning sun. Instead she found a deserted landscape.
Maybe it’s still too early. I’ll catch some rays while I wait for the hot boys to come.
Gina spread her towel on the sand, rubbed lotion on her body and lay down, a tigress awaiting her prey.
Russia: Outbreak Day -1
Kurt rolled over and looked at the clock on the nightstand to the right of his bed. The clock read 15:00. Kurt wasn’t used to a twenty-four-hour time scale, but he knew well enough it was too late for him to still be sleeping. With great effort, he pulled the light sheet from his body and threw his feet out of the bed. He sat up hu
nched over, still held in bed by the happy dream he had just left. The floor felt cold and uninviting, a hard contrast to the warm nest of blankets he was sitting on.
15:00? Why did Russians need to be so dedicated to military time?
Kurt was not in a great mood this morning. He wasn’t that upset about having to do the little math problem to figure out the current time. However, he was feeling quite angry with himself.
Kurt Feller was living in a midsized Russian town a hundred kilometers from the Black Sea. As an exchange student, he had been assigned a family to live with. His hosts were a pair of rich gentlemen who had made their fortunes in the trade of antiquities. Kurt never knew whether their business was actually legal or not and had never found the courage to ask. About three weeks ago, both gentlemen took a sudden, unannounced trip to some godforsaken village in the East Indies, leaving Kurt to his own devices.
Soon Kurt began to skip class. It started as missing a day or two and soon became a complete lack of attendance. His Russian professors were Soviet Bloc-era relics and cared little for the young American. If he didn’t show up and did poorly on his exams, it would just be easier for them to rid the college of Kurt. This lack of care was not reserved only for professors. Nearly every student would berate, tease and make Kurt’s life hell on every possible occasion.
Kurt had come to Russia with hopeful glee. The foreign exchange program was supposed to be full of travel, light classwork and new friends. A snake-tongued counselor had sold Kurt a bill of goods. The college that Kurt joined was only just starting their program. The school president had forced it through, against popular opinion and amongst controversy. No light classwork here. As for travel, the day Kurt arrived, he realized that he wouldn’t be going anywhere. To reach this town, he had to take a bus up a treacherous mountain road. In the spring and summer, this road was a busy highway for tour buses chauffeuring tourists up and down the scenic valley. Kurt had come in the fall. Two weeks after his arrival, the buses stopped their service. Unless Kurt could make friends with a local with a four-wheel-drive vehicle, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Despite his best attempts, Kurt had made no friends. The locals looked at him with a hatred sown from years of propaganda from the Kremlin. To them, he was not some young, eager man. He was the bane of their existence. Kurt was the Western influence that threatened to poison the minds of their children and ruin their way of life. To make things worse, Kurt was not just the first exchange student but also the only one in this town. The counselor had told him he would meet up with other students from all over the US. Apparently he was the only sucker dumb enough to fall for that line. Instead Kurt was destined for a semester of isolation devoid of travel, fun and happiness, and now school.
This isolation was especially terrible for Kurt. His whole life, he had always had a built-in best friend. Since Kurt’s earliest memory, his brother, Joe, had been there. They hung out every day growing up. As children, every Thursday was even brothers-only day. Their parents had dedicated that day to cultivating the closest friendship possible between the two. It had worked, maybe too well.
Neither Kurt nor Joe had ever kept a long-term girlfriend. Every time, it came down to one sticking point: “You’re too close to your brother.” That was a death sentence to the relationship. Time after time, when a girl tried to split them apart, Kurt and Joe reverted back to their mantra, “Brother first.” Now this mantra was causing issues in Kurt’s life. Over the years, Joe and Kurt hadn’t been as close as in the past because of Joe’s choice of a military career. As their connection waned, Kurt retreated from being connected to the world. Joe was still first, and he would stay that way even if it meant disconnecting from everyone. This disconnection combined with isolation in a real physical sense led Kurt to feeling as if life was passing him by. He became an outside observer of the world. He just longed for the days of the past and dreamed of the days of the future when he and Joe would be reunited. So Kurt dreamed of his return home and wanted the days and months of his lonesome study abroad to pass by.
Kurt began to sleep more and more. When he was awake, he would devour movies, listen to music and read news from back home.
Home for Kurt was South Florida, the land of warmth and fun. This was part of the reason Kurt had chosen Russia; he wanted to experience snow and the changing of the leaves.
Back home, Kurt had left behind his family and all his friends, hoping for a grand adventure. Now he wished he was with his family and wanted nothing more than to hang out with his brother.
Joe had graduated college two years earlier and become an officer in the Army. After his commissioning, he went to tactical training and served in combat overseas. He was an extremely hardworking man and a clear, shining example of all that Kurt should be. Yet despite Kurt’s desire to become a better, harder-working man, he couldn’t. He found comfort and love in sitting at home, ditching class and reading the news online. He’d watch amazing people living well, traveling and discovering all the mysteries the world had to offer. Kurt would reminisce about the days he used to spend with Joe, running around with a football or, as they got older, drinking beers and playing video games. What Kurt wouldn’t do for one of those days. What Kurt wouldn’t do to transport himself back in time. If only Kurt could close his eyes and travel to the past.
He would be seven years old, unwrapping a ping-pong table with Joe. Kurt and Joe would be gleefully trying to hit the little plastic ball back and forth to each other, laughing about every great shot the other hit. Kurt would blink and zoom ahead to the time in middle school when they got to play basketball together. It was a rare moment since they weren’t the same age, but they would make it count. Kurt would be dribbling down the court with the ball, with only three seconds left, down by two. Kurt would pass the ball to the corner, no one there, but Kurt and Joe knew each other. Joe would come out of nowhere, catch the ball and shoot. Swish! They would be jumping up and down together. Next thing you know, Kurt and Joe would be in high school, blasting music through the car window and yelling obscene rap lyrics. Hell, Kurt would even be okay closing his mind and being back at the time he and Joe got in a weird fight on New Year’s that led to a drunk and tearful “I love you” conversation between them. It wouldn’t matter. They would be together, the way it used to be. The years of blessed time that had flown by.
Some dreams are too good to be true.
Now Kurt was on his own, alone. Worst of all, he was beginning to wonder if it would always be that way. Those memories of shared love only served as nostalgic moments that turned the knife deeper in Kurt’s soul. He had left. Now Joe was back home and Kurt wasn’t. Kurt had traded the chance to make more memories with Joe on a foolish chance of adventure. With Joe’s career, Kurt’s greatest fear was that he had thrown away his last chance. It was this thought that bothered Kurt most of all.
Kurt was haunted by a dream that seemed to be repeating more and more in recent days.
There was Joe in some desert somewhere. He was lying behind a rock in a ditch. Clouds of dust rose all around him, bullets seeking to kill him. All around Joe were other soldiers being mowed down by automatic fire. Joe’s face was scared and frozen. Then a grenade rolled into the ditch next to him. Recognition sent waves of shock across Joe’s face. Then Joe whispered one word: “Kurt.”
Kurt was thrown from the dream as the grenade exploded.
Kurt would sit up in bed, staring at the covers. What if Joe dies? What if I never get to see him again? I can’t do anything to help him. He is alone. The thoughts crippled Kurt’s psyche. So he did the only thing he could: He medicated with entertainment distraction.
It was Tuesday, and Kurt was supposed to be in class, learning about the ancient history of the Baltic Sea. Instead he found himself squinting at the light of his laptop computer, sitting in bed, wearing a shirt he hadn’t washed in weeks. On his screen was the countdown to the release of the world’s new wonder drug, Enerjax.
Enerjax was the invention of the wor
ld’s largest pharmaceutical company, Health Engineered. The world press touted the medication as the first cure for the most widespread epidemic. It was the disease responsible for nearly all the world’s major issues, including but not limited to obesity, economic turmoil and depression. Enerjax was the cure for laziness.
Health Engineered had put together a brilliant social media advertising campaign that had taken over the globe. Today was the release of the first batch of pills, which were being simultaneously distributed around the globe.
“Be alert! Stay alert! Work!”
The slogan alone was like a slap in the face, a reminder of the person Kurt wasn’t and the person he was supposed to be. He had thought about signing up for the Enerjax release but couldn’t make a decision. He knew he was smart and felt like he shouldn’t need medicinal help to be motivated. So instead he shut his laptop and turned his attention to the video games that were waiting. There were quests to complete, and only he, the chosen one, was able to save the realms.
Another day wasted, Kurt rolled into bed around 4:00 a.m. Maybe tomorrow would be better; maybe it would at least get above freezing outside for the first time in weeks. He fell asleep wondering what his brother was doing.
Miami Beach: Outbreak Day
Joe Feller had been working so hard for the past two weeks that this day was exactly what he needed. He was laid out on South Beach, Miami, soaking up the warm Florida sun, watching wave after wave of turquoise water slosh against white sand. Joe played with a handful of that sand, admiring its softness. The last sand he had spent a lot of time in was in Afghanistan. Joe had spent two years fighting against insurgents and trudging through the hills of the Middle East. That terrain had its own sand, and it was hard and dirty, a nuisance. Not here, here it was like a pillow.
