The Apocalypse Chronicles (Book 1): Outbreak [Undead]

by DeLeon, Jon

  The road was painfully quiet. This time, fueled by a desire to finish their mission, they were moving at a faster pace than before.

  A scuffling noise as they passed an alley caused them to stop in their tracks, hunching over, instinctively trying to make themselves smaller.

  “What was that?” Aaron half whispered.

  They waited for almost a minute. Not another sound.

  “Nothing,” Joe answered, standing tall. “Let’s get the hell out here.”

  The full duffel bag was making way too much noise. It had seemed prudent to grab all they could. Now Joe was regretting it. They had bitten off more than they could chew. Every step caused the bag of pill bottles to jiggle, sending out a rattling like a child’s toy. They picked up their pace, feeling suddenly unsafe, but that only made them louder.

  “Joe, maybe we should move slower,” Aaron suggested.

  “That might . . .” Joe was going to say it would be a good idea, but the sound of a mob of footsteps coming down an alley next to him interrupted his train of thought. Joe whipped his head around and saw what he had been fearing all morning: the milky-white eyes of zombies shining in the early morning sun.

  “Run!” Joe shouted, pulling the bag high on his shoulder.

  Joe and Aaron took off at a dead sprint. At a full run, the medicine rattled even louder. Now the morning air began to fill with the bellows of undead. There was new prey to chase. It was only four blocks to Joe’s apartment, a route he had run many times, but today every step felt like lead and every inch stretched for miles. The feeling of being chased crept up Joe’s neck, the impulse to look back as if the thing pursuing him was only inches behind. He resisted the urge and just continued to run.

  They reached his building, a smaller five-story condo development on the water, and piled in the stairwell, slamming the self-locking door behind them. Within seconds, the door shook as a wave of creatures crashed against it. It was metal, but Aaron and Joe looked at each other, both knowing it wouldn’t stand long. The two men ran up the stairs, ignoring their sore feet, swollen throats and burning lungs. Time was running out, and Kira would certainly be waiting soon. They had been gone nearly an hour.

  Joe and Aaron could still hear the banging echo ring through the air as they entered Joe’s one-bedroom apartment. Not wanting to waste time, Joe grabbed his old Army ruck, which was filled with OD-green tarps and tent materials, his KA-BAR combat knife, a satellite phone and a semi-auto .45. Joe then packed in some water bottles he had in his fridge, and Aaron and he prepared to leave. Joe reached for the door handle; Aaron stopped him.

  “Wait, do you hear that?” Aaron had his hand out to his sides, looking like a sumo wrestler or a contestant in a game of freeze tag.

  “What? I don’t hear anything.” Joe was puzzled.

  “What does that mean?”

  Joe understood what Aaron was getting at. Either the zombies had given up or they were through the door. Joe pulled back the slide on his handgun slightly to make sure there was a round chambered. He opened the door slowly, staying silent. The outside hallway was empty. He and Aaron stepped outside. There was nothing, no sound and no zombies. It didn’t make sense.

  Aaron slowly pushed open the door to the stairwell and peered inside. Joe knew from the look on his face as he slowly let the door close: The zombies were still there. Aaron pointed back to the apartment door. They both stepped inside and closed it.

  “What is it?” Joe asked.

  “They are just . . . standing there.”

  “What?”

  “They are just standing there, not moving.”

  “Are they through the door?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Weird.”

  “What does that mean? Why aren’t they chasing us? Do they have to see us?”

  “No way, a lot of those things came out of the woodwork when we were running. That’s gotta be it!”

  “What?”

  “They’re zombies. They react to sound. Or at least that’s what all the movies say. That’s why they came out of everywhere. It was the medicine rattling and our screaming that brought them out. Right now they can’t hear us or see us, so they just stopped, simply waiting for stimuli.”

  “The medicine?”

  “Yeah, we’re stupid. We got greedy. We should have only taken what we needed. Instead we packed the whole damn store up.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Find a way to distract them.”

  La Vida Dulce: Outbreak Day +1

  Kira had been sitting, floating in the bay. Aaron and Joe should have come back by now. The three children had joined her up top now, looking out at the city, scanning for any sign of their dad. Hours went by with nothing. Soon the sun was setting and still no kayak, no signal, only silence. Christine started hyperventilating again. This time was worse than the first. Kira held her as she shook, fighting for air.

  Where are you guys? Don’t you dare leave me like this.

  The sun went down and black returned.

  Then it happened.

  Screams.

  Joe’s Apartment: Outbreak Day +1

  Every hour passed painfully slowly. Joe had come up with an idea to distract the horde at the bottom of the stairs, but he and Aaron had decided to wait until nightfall to give them the best chance of not being seen. Now it was time, time for their mad dash.

  Joe reached into his pocket and found what he was looking for. He pushed the panic button on the key fob for his car parked out front. The car horn honked and flashed emergency lights into the night sky. The jeep parked next to it and a van down the street joined in a chorus of noise. An eruption of bloody screams echoed from the bottom of his apartment building, then the next building over, then the next and the next and the next. The entire island seemed to wake up and scream in unison, a choir of terrible proportions. To anyone listening offshore, like Kira, this sound would have been the thing of nightmares; to Joe and Aaron, it was a warning. You better run fast, because all of South Beach is coming. They left Joe’s apartment, never to come back.

  The distraction had worked; the stairwell was empty. Joe had coached Aaron on the run from the stairwell, out the broken back gate and then onto the floating boat dock where the kayaks were sitting. It should only take a few seconds to make the mad dash, but the broken rusty gate to the back area was sure to attract attention.

  Aaron and Joe ran full speed. They were just feet away from the gate when bad luck struck. In the exact same instant the zombies destroyed the car’s alarm, Aaron slipped. When he fell, the bag of medical supplies fell forward and rattled across the floor past Joe, who had taken the lead, and hit the metal gate. A moment of silence, then a rattle and rusty creak, and the horde screamed and began running straight for them. Joe picked up the medical supplies with his left hand, his ruck already on his back, and piled through the gate. Joe drew his gun with his right hand, turned and fired a center mass shot at the closest undead behind Aaron. The zombie didn’t even flinch. Aaron came through the gate and swung it shut behind him. He sat down, pinning his foot against a stone, using his body as a door stop.

  “What are you doing?” Joe screamed at Aaron as he fired another shot into the horde on the other side of the gate.

  “Get the kayak in the water! I’ll hold them off and then run for it and dive in.”

  Joe hesitated, not wanting to abandon Aaron, but he knew they couldn’t make it just running at this point. He grimaced, turned and ran down to the floating boat dock. He got the kayak into the water, stowing the bag in the front storage area and strapping his ruck on top. He pushed off and yelled back for Aaron.

  Aaron could hear Joe yelling for him, but it didn’t matter. One of the zombies had bitten him. Aaron had made the mistake of sticking his fingers through the gate. His hand was now a bloody nub. He asked God to watch out for his kids and let the zombies take him. He would rather be eaten than turn into one of those things.

  There was no response, only the continu
al yelling of the horde. Joe fired off a shot into the air and waited, hoping to guide Aaron to his boat by the sound of the gun. The screams died out and went silent again. Joe stared at the bank in front of him. The concrete pouring blocked his view of the back gate. After twenty minutes of silence, Joe knew he had to leave. He let a tear fall down his face.

  “I promise I’ll keep them safe.”

  La Vida Dulce: Outbreak Day +1

  Kira stood at the back of the yacht, watching South Beach. A few minutes ago, the quiet night had erupted. Car horns and alarms blasted, and bloodcurdling screams rang into the night.

  The screams seemed like the only thing she could hear. The distance somewhat muffled them, in the background somehow, yet they echoed incessantly. Then a sound cut through the din. A gunshot rang in the night. Her heart skipped a beat at the sound.

  The screams began to quiet until, a few minutes later, there was nothing. Only silence reached Kira’s ears.

  Kira sat praying for the first time in years. Paddling drew her attention to the right side of the boat. An orange kayak appeared in the moonlight. She began to cry in happiness and joyous release. Then she noticed only one passenger and the look on Joe’s face, and she began to cry harder, knowing what that meant.

  Joe climbed on board, pulling the kayak onto the landing platform Kira had lowered into the water at the back of the boat. She raised it up. Joe dumped his pack and the duffel bag of medicine on the floor of the yacht. He rummaged around, pulling out an inhaler. “Kira, I need you to come with me.”

  Joe and Kira headed right downstairs, not wanting to wait to talk to the children. He had steeled his mind on the row out and needed to take action now.

  Joe faced three sad and scared little children. He handed one of the CVS inhalers to Christine. She took it and instantly huffed in a giant puff of medicine. I could use some of that, Joe thought to himself. Pulling his strength out of his heart, he spoke.

  “Hey, kids. My name is Joe. Do you remember me from yesterday?”

  All three kids huddled together and bobbed their heads.

  “Great. I know all your names. Your dad told me. Jack. Christine. Elizabeth,” Joe said, pointing at them one by one.

  Jack whimpered out, “Where’s Daddy?”

  Joe swallowed hard. He knew these kids had suffered enough. He couldn’t tell them the truth. “Your daddy has to stay.”

  The children’s faces were pure confusion and terror.

  “Don’t worry though, kids. This nice girl is named Kira.” Joe motioned to Kira, and she waved to them. “She and I promised your dad we would take care of you, and we’re going to.”

  Kira’s heart skipped a beat for a second. She didn’t sign on for this, but in an instant, the faces of the three stranded kids changed her attitude.

  Joe continued. “We’re all going to head south and get away from all the monsters.”

  “We are leaving Daddy?” This time it was Elizabeth’s turn to speak up, fear tinting her tone.

  “Just for a little while. Then we’re going to come back for him.” Joe hated himself for giving the kids hope, but it seemed kinder than the truth. “But before that, we are going to get you all tucked in and take a nap. I think we could all use some sleep.”

  Kira stepped up. “Come on, kids, let’s wash our faces and get to bed.”

  They followed her lead to the bathroom, all the time asking her, “When is Daddy coming back,” and, “Where is Daddy?”

  Joe climbed up the stairs to the back deck and started unloading the gear they had gotten. He took a minute to check his phone. No calls from Kurt. Please, God, let him be okay.

  Kira came up the stairs. Joe heard her approach. “Are they sleeping?”

  “They’re lying down. Who knows when they’ll sleep.”

  “They’ll sleep. This has been a long couple of days,” Joe said, staring at a flickering light on the penthouse level of a building on Miami Beach. His mind was processing just how he could have kept Aaron alive. He was descending into a dark pit of guilt and self-hatred.

  “They won’t sleep well.” Kira thought back to how she relived the crash that killed her mom for months after that night. Kira looked at the military OD-green pack Joe had between his feet. “Are you military?”

  “Yeah, Army,” Joe said dryly.

  Kira giggled.

  Joe looked at her with a look of confusion.

  “Sorry,” Kira said, a smile starting to split her face until she couldn’t hold a giggle in anymore.

  “Why are you laughing?” Joe asked.

  Kira’s face sported a wide smile. “I just never thought that I would be saved from a real-life zombie apocalypse by G.I. Joe. I must have missed that episode.” Kira giggled louder.

  Joe was so taken by surprise by the sudden turn of tone of the moment. He felt a smile spread to his face. Soon he and Kira were sharing a full-blown laugh. After a few minutes, they sat in silence.

  “So what’s the plan, G.I. Joe?” Kira asked.

  “Well I figure we should put away everything we grabbed in a secure place and then get out of here and head south.”

  “The survivors’ base at Key West.” Kira said. “They are still broadcasting on several marine frequencies.”

  “Key West it is then.” Joe felt good to have a direction to head toward.

  Joe and Kira set to work putting away the supplies and tying the kayak onto the back of La Vida Dulce. After what felt like an unnecessary eternity, they were ready to go. Time had flown with the combination of talking and prep work, and the sun was rising on the horizon as they started to leave.

  La Vida Dulce: Outbreak Day +2

  As Joe piloted the boat into the light of sunrise shining down Government Cut, he made a promise to the city he had loved for so long: I will be back.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Russia: Outbreak Day

  Pine needles infiltrated nearly every fold and gap of Kurt’s clothing. Traveling through the backwoods, without a trail, was slow and painful work. Each step consisted of pushing aside tree branches and plodding through ankle-deep mud. The physical toll sapped every last drop of his energy.

  It had been almost eight hours since he had started his trek in the woods. The supply of adrenaline that had pushed him all day was running low. The sun was setting fast. Kurt needed to make camp before the fast-approaching freeze set in.

  He found a small clearing, near the creek he had been following, large enough to set up his lean-to. Kurt hurried to set up his tent and find some small branches for kindling. He had just started the fire as the last rays of the day’s light disappeared from the sky, replaced by a cloudless, starry night.

  Kurt’s father had taught him and his brother how to camp safely in the wild. They would go on weekend family camping trips with the bare minimum of supplies. It was those trips, taken as a bonding adventure, that were now saving Kurt’s life.

  As the fire grew larger, Kurt looked at his small pile of wood drying near the flames. It would be just enough to last through the night as long as the fire stayed small. It would have to. In this dark forest, the canopy and dense tree growth would help shield the light from unwanted witnesses, but only just. Out there, the world wanted to kill him. In those trees were most likely bears, wolves and zombies.

  Staring into the flames, munching on a protein bar, Kurt’s mind began to wander. A stream of images came to his mind. There were zombies running down streets, chasing screaming women. Men were having their necks bitten, blood spouting out. Kurt was standing there listening to Jay Z with an AR-15 in his hands, smiling. He walked down the road, blasting the undead with round after round. His brother stood beside him, firing as well.

  Kurt had always been a self-proclaimed apocalyptophile. The end-of-the-world scenarios fascinated him. The idea of complete anarchy, complete freedom from social pressures, appealed to the lonely boy trapped in a Russian hell. He had imagined every possibility. He had escape routes planned and dreams of vast armories stored
elsewhere. Many nights, he would watch The Walking Dead for hours at a time or play Left 4 Dead until his fingers ached.

  It was fun.

  It was romanticized.

  It was . . . wrong.

  Kurt felt like he was the biggest idiot of all time. The zombie apocalypse had come, and where was he? Sitting, weaponless, in the mud in the middle of some stupid forest, freezing his balls off. There was no freedom of life. There was no “shoot ‘em up,” western-style, zombie fish-in-a-barrel action. There was no relief. There was only the constant threat of death.

  A weight of worries hung over Kurt. Every snapped twig or whoosh of breeze through the pines made Kurt’s eyes dart in that direction. In this world, the zombie planet, he would have to be on high alert at all times. One slipup and he could be dead. How the hell was he going to sleep tonight? He couldn’t close his eyes for half a second without his mind conjuring up some threat coming at him from the woods. If only Joe were here, that would make it all better. Then they could take shifts, take care of each other. Even when Kurt had dreamt of fighting the zombie horde, this was the one restriction he had placed on his imagination: Joe was there.

  Alone in the woods, too scared to sleep, Kurt stared into the threatening woods. He watched branches sway in the light wind. Night critters occasionally darted between the pines. The eyes of an owl reflected back the blaze of the fire. It was an unwelcome brightness in this sea of black. In this world, Kurt would have to be reborn, change himself or die. There was no room left on this new planet for a lazy kid who couldn’t get himself up early and spent most days on a computer. Here he would have to either get good at fighting or get great at fleeing. It was survival of the fittest in the realest sense.