Last Man Standing (Book 1): Zombie Armageddon

by Max Lockwood

  The other tours of duty were a little easier, but not much. Goodbyes were always uncomfortable, no matter the relationship with the others in the equation. But if there was any small thing in this world that could console him, it was the fact that he wasn’t close enough to anyone to feel the horrible ache of separation.

  Pip lay on the couch as the others ate breakfast, resting her head on Sergio’s thigh. She had been pouting since the moment she woke up, and Matthew reasoned that she would still be pouting long after they were gone.

  “Take me with you,” she whined. “If you have to go, then I want to come along.”

  Sergio gave her a stern look. “You said you felt nauseated. That’s a sign of concussion. There’s no way any of us would let you come on a potentially dangerous trip after suffering a brain injury. It would be stupid. Besides, the others need you here. No one can swing an axe like you do.”

  “Pip, I’m not going to tell you again,” Carl said wearily. His voice was meant to be stern, but there was no harshness behind it. He didn’t want to be apart from his sister either. Though their relationship had been strained over the years, they had a special bond that made it impossible not to worry about the other.

  “I know, I know,” she whined, clutching Sergio.

  After the accident, Pip and Sergio made no efforts to hide their affection for each other. Her injury was one of those moments where two people with hidden feelings had no choice but to get it all out into the open. While Sergio preferred long courtships and prolonged flirting, Pip liked to cut to the chase. They compromised, snuggling up together whenever they could but also keeping things PG enough for Carl’s sake.

  While he wanted to feel happy for the young lovers, he simply couldn’t. He patted Sergio on the back and congratulated him on his new relationship, but he couldn’t summon the genuine feelings that came with the words. He knew that it would only end terribly for the two, and he didn’t wish such heartbreak on his worst enemy. If Sergio felt bad in the five minutes when Pip’s mortality was in question, then it would only be exponentially worse if she died. Though Matthew frequently thought about preserving healthy people for their return to society, deep down, he knew that it wasn’t likely.

  The morning seemed to drag on forever. Matthew watched as the others took their time, sipping their coffee and nibbling on a mismatch of packaged goods. There was no urgency in the room—not like the urgency Matthew felt. The sooner they left, the better he would feel about their mission.

  “Well, should we get going?” Matthew asked. If he didn’t bring it up, he didn’t think that the other two would leave the couch. They had more to keep them in their seats than he did.

  “Yeah,” Carl said reluctantly. “The number of zombies will only increase the longer we sit here. Do we know where we’re headed?”

  “I looked for maps,” Sergio said. “I didn’t find anything. I guess paper maps are officially obsolete. It’s too bad we don’t have a GPS device. I think we’re going to have to drive around and see what’s around. Does anyone know the city?”

  Everyone was silent. They were all transplants from one place or another. Matthew had been to the city a handful of times, but not enough to know where the laboratories were. He figured there had to be warehouses full of the stuff somewhere, but there was no way to figure out where.

  “That’s disappointing,” Sergio said softly. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m an excellent driver. I’ll just tear through the street, and you guys will tell me when you see something.”

  Matthew wondered if anyone had grabbed motion sickness drugs at the pharmacy. He didn’t know how Sergio was as a driver, but his grin wasn’t promising.

  Seeing as the others were still rooted to the couch, Matthew took the initiative and stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Slowly, Carl stood, grabbing his rucksack full of food rations. Finally, Sergio managed to pry Pip off his side and got to his feet.

  Much to Matthew’s surprise, the others got to their feet and followed the soldiers down the stairs. Even Genevieve, who was supported by Lucas, hopped down the steps. They gathered around the three at the side exit to see them off. Matthew was perplexed but touched by the gesture.

  Even when he had gone off to war, Matthew didn’t have such a sendoff. His parents took him out for dinner the night before each deployment, and Rebecca always drove him to the airport. Besides that, maybe he’d get a few text messages from old friends wishing him well. It didn’t bother him—he felt awkward with all the pomp and circumstance. He’d watch the big families with gigantic posters and t-shirts with the soldier’s faces on them and cringe.

  But there was something sweet about their little mismatched family in the atrium of the office. Matthew had grown fond of their group and proud of how well they’d handled adversity.

  By now, Pip was in tears. She clutched Sergio’s arm like so many mothers he’d seen before. He clenched his jaw, trying not to show emotion. It was all too familiar.

  “I didn’t want to ever have to do this again,” Pip moaned. “Do you know how hard it was to send you off to war, not knowing if you’d come back? This time, I also have to say goodbye to the only guy who’s ever been worth a damn to me. I just can’t do this again.”

  Carl exhaled. “We’re not going to be gone for long. We’re just heading out to grab a few things, then we’ll be back.”

  “That’s easy for you to say when you’re out there and we’re stuck in here.”

  Carl placed his hand on his sister’s shoulder. “We have no incentive to mess around out there. We’re trying to get what we need so Genevieve and Ellie can study this disease. Obviously, we want to be back as soon as possible. We’re not out scouting locations anymore. This is our new home.”

  She took a long, shuddering sigh and let go of Sergio. “Fine,” she breathed.

  Jennifer hesitantly approached Carl and gave him a brief hug. They broke apart and moved a few inches away from each other, their arms hanging awkwardly at their sides. Carl’s cheeks turned pink and he pursed his lips, overcompensating for the smile he was trying to hide.

  Ellie walked up to Matthew, and without warning, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Be careful out there,” she warned. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  “Uh, thanks, Ellie,” he mumbled.

  The others approached him, giving him handshakes and pats on the back. It made him feel like he was part of a team. Sally even got Marigold to wave goodbye to him. He tickled the baby, making her giggle.

  “Well, shall we?” Matthew asked as he rested his hand on the doorknob. It took the other two a few seconds, but in time, they were loading their bags into the Jeep. Sergio climbed into the driver’s seat and Carl took the passenger’s side. Matthew hopped in the back and fastened his seatbelt. Their last defensive move had afforded them a small buffer between the office and the zombies, but they still lurked nearby.

  When Sergio fired up the engine, they came to life, suddenly interested in the noise coming from the alley. Sergio stomped on the gas, taking satisfaction in the sickening squelch of a particularly eager zombie under the massive tires.

  “Plenty more where that came from, boys.” Sergio grinned. “Call me crazy, but I think I’m a little excited about going out on our own.”

  “You just want to be the hero when we come back with the goods,” Carl replied.

  “It feels like the job used to feel, before we got all jaded,” Sergio said. “I’m just in the mood to kick ass and fight for our turf.”

  “I know what you mean,” Matthew replied from the backseat. “But somehow, it seems so much more important now.”

  “Pip’s going to be so happy to see me when I get back,” Sergio said dreamily.

  Carl punched him in the shoulder. “How about a moratorium on the sister talk until we get back?” Carl said. “Sure would be a shame if something happened to you out there.”

  The three laughed as they cruised the streets, plo
wing through anything that stood in their way. Matthew was a bit nervous, but he felt freer than he had in a long time. After spending weeks cooped up inside, the wind felt so good on his skin. Tiny drops of rain pelted him in the face, so he leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the mist cover him.

  One more time, Matthew said to himself, imagining his wife in his presence. Matthew had known his wife for so long that he knew what she would say in any conversation. He had promised her he’d never return to war, but now he was going back on his vow. But this time, he thought she’d be especially proud of him. He wasn’t running off to fight a faceless front. He was defending siblings, community members, college kids, and a mother and child.

  Just come home safe, Rebecca’s voice sang into his ear.

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  About Max Lockwood

  Max Lockwood writes suspenseful, post-apocalyptic thriller and dystopian fiction while living in New York.

  Growing up with parents who were preppers and always planning for the worst, but hoping for the best, got him interested in writing in the first place. “What would happen if the world were to change?” is something he asked himself his whole life. Until one day he decided to put it down on paper.

  His stories will have you reading on the edge of your seats…you have been warned!

  Sign up for Max’s VIP Reader Club for an exclusive FREE book and find out about his latest releases, giveaways, and more. Click here!

  For more information, be sure to check out the links below!

  max@maxlockwood.com

  Also by Max Lockwood

  Last Man Standing Series

  Zombie Apocalypse (Book 0—Prequel)

  Zombie Armageddon (Book 1)

  The Morgan Strain Series

  Point Of Transmission (Book 1)

  Point Of Proximity (Book 2)

  Point Of Destruction (Book 3)

  Zero Power Series

  It Began (Book 1)

  Trying To Survive (Book 2)

  They Invaded (Book 3)

  Fending Them Off (Book 4)

  Excerpt From Point Of Transmission

  1

  The cold mist fell in tiny specks on the diner’s windows, forming tiny rivers as they fell down the glass. Elaina breathed hot air on the pane and traced doodles in the condensation. To the average eye, it looked like geometric nonsense—just hexagons with straight lines shooting off into other shapes. Only Elaina understood the intricacies of the chemical formulas she designed.

  When it comes to art, most people appreciate paintings, literature, or music. Though culture frequently shifts, people tend to find beauty in works created by others. No one catches a cold and marvels at the nasty little virus that causes their suffering. No one except, perhaps, for Elaina Morgan.

  After a particularly bad stomach virus at the age of three, a precocious Elaina asked her mom why she was sick. At that age, all children are full of questions, but they never think too much about the answers. When her mom explained that tiny creatures had entered her body and made her sick, this small nugget of knowledge didn’t disappear like other childhood musings. Instead, she begged her parents to buy her books about viruses.

  Already used to her strange requests at this age, her parents read her short sections of completely age-inappropriate books every night. As a middle school English teacher and a mechanical engineer, her father and mother knew little of the subject matter as they read to their daughter. Within a few years, their services were no longer needed, and a bike ride to the library took Elaina to a new world of discoveries.

  It was no surprise, then, that by the age of fifteen, Elaina had completed her high school courses while she took college prerequisites at the local community college at night. When most students wrote their college application essay on why they wanted to attend their school of choice, Elaina attached a copy of her study on the Ebola virus to her Princeton application. She was awarded a full scholarship the very next day.

  Elaina nervously tapped her fingertips on the slightly sticky table as she waited for her coffee refill to arrive. She picked at a cheese Danish, knowing that she should eat but not really tasting anything. Sleep hadn’t come easily for Elaina in the past few days. She had never been a particularly good sleeper. There was always too much work to be done, too many ideas floating around her head. But, recent events had made it impossible to quiet her mind for long enough to make it through a few REM cycles.

  “Thank you,” Elaina muttered as the waitress came around with the steaming hot carafe of coffee for the second time. During her high school years, Elaina had frequented that diner, becoming a bit of a regular. Now, with her very own office, she didn’t have to leave the privacy of her laboratory to get her fix. When she arrived, she was mildly concerned that an old waitress or cook would remember one of their most loyal patrons, but in a college town, she was just one face out of many.

  She greedily gulped down her coffee after stirring a splash of milk and an artificial sweetener into the cup of dark liquid. In a few minutes, she would have to pack up her things and go, but she knew to savor the moment in the warm café.

  Drops of rainwater dripped from her baseball cap onto the counter, leaving small puddles that she wiped away with the sleeve of her baggy sweatshirt. Never much of a sports fan, she still loved to wear her old Mariners hat that her dad bought her years ago. She wore it like camouflage, blending in with the other caffeine addicts in the diner.

  Elaina made tight fists, trying to stop her hands from shaking. Too little food and too many stimulants made her heart race and her extremities quiver. A grandfatherly man two seats away offered her a small smile.

  “When you’re old like me,” he said in his pack-a-day voice, “just half a cup will do that to you. You’re too young to be so tired,” he said, noticing the dark circles around the eyes she tried to hide from the public. “I’m sure whatever you’re staying awake for isn’t as important as you think it is. I remember when my son was in college. He’d stay up all night studying for tests, only to fall asleep halfway through.”

  She nodded, covering her face with her cup. Appearing unfriendly was never really a concern of hers. Making friends with old men was very low on her list of current priorities. In fact, making friends was never on any list of priorities.

  “Can you believe it?” he muttered, nodding at the old television mounted on the wall.

  She turned to look and gritted her teeth at what she saw.

  Elaina had watched more news broadcasts in the past week than she had in all twenty-three years of her life. The information it presented never really had much to do with her life or her own concerns. Therefore, any time consuming that kind of information would be a waste, in the scheme of things. Time was best spent working on new discoveries in her field.

  “We’ve now received reports from the CDC that the virus is beginning to mutate as more people become infected,” an anchorwoman spoke in an unnatural rhythm that Elaina found grating.

  “It’s scary, that,” the man said, pointing at the screen, speaking to no one in particular. “I’m just lucky I live alone and don’t go out much. I heard they had to close down every school in the county to keep this thing from spreading.”

  “Hmm,” Elaina hummed, hoping he’d change the subject.

  “New guidelines for avoiding the spread of this infection have been put into place and are being strongly enforced at all government agencies. The Morgan Virus is spread through the contact of bodily fluids, which can even include sneezes and coughs if the microscopic droplets enter the body.”

  “I heard there were a few cases being treated in the hospital on Maple Street,” a cook said from the other side of the counter. “It’s scary to think of how close it is to us. You just never know, one of these customers might be a few hours away from losing their minds
and infecting someone. It’s like people are turning into zombies out there.”

  Elaina sighed, louder than she intended. This was how misinformation was spread. The fear of the unknown always opened up opportunities for rumors to fly. If any of these people had just a working knowledge of how viruses worked, this wouldn’t even be news.

  This strain, the Morgan Strain, was an impressive little virus. In its purest state, it had the power to cure the most troubling diseases in the world. But, released on the world in an uncontrolled manner, it caused great destruction.

  The zombie comparison was a bit of an exaggeration, but still not too far from reality. The sickness caused the patient to become agitated and more likely to act out in anger against others, but only in later stages. Most patients didn’t survive that long.

  “If you or someone you know is experiencing headaches, high fever, chills, and oozing sores that are slow to heal, call the emergency hotline on the bottom of the screen. Do not enter a hospital if you suspect you have been infected without being directed to your nearest Morgan virus center first. It is important for the doctors and nurses treating you to be properly prepared.”

  Elaina rolled her eyes. It didn’t help that the media was spreading the panic about the virus. It was a sad fact that average humans didn’t know how to keep their germs to themselves. However, Elaina knew that viruses like this were nature’s way of keeping the population in check. Unfortunately, when human sentiment becomes involved, people forget that sickness and death are perils of life.

  Of course, she understood the mind’s own attempts at self-preservation. She herself took measures every day in the lab to make sure she didn’t accidentally infect herself. She was not afraid of death in the same way most people were. She knew firsthand that it took the best people without any reason or discrimination. She knew the suffering it caused others. In her career, she strived to make new discoveries out of her own personal curiosity, but if it made it so others didn’t have to feel the pain she knew too well, that was just one of the perks of the job.