The Rotting Souls Series (Book 1): Charon's Blight [Day One]

by Ray, Timothy A.

  Well, when he said it out loud like that—he could see why she was not so hot on it.

  That didn’t change the fact that after two decades she should have been more understanding and less judgmental. She used the term Doomsday Prepper; and although there was no other term to accurately describe what he had been doing, he hated it. It carried a lot of negative imagery and made what he was doing seem insane. He had watched that TV show and some of those people were just off their rockers.

  Out of the corner of his eye he watched his wife send a text from his phone. He knew that Naima would probably ignore those too. She wouldn’t take them seriously. Not for the first time in his life; he wished that she would just listen to him for once. He was a Scorpio, she was a Libra; they were born to always disagree.

  He gunned his way through traffic, the slow pace eating at his nerves. He wanted to get around all the slow asses and be on his way, but he refrained from doing anything too drastic. The cops loved to patrol this part of the road. Getting pulled over, wearing what they were, their weapons visible at their sides, would cause a tremendous headache that he didn’t want.

  His left hand tentatively felt for his rifle, which was leaning between the seat and the door behind him. The corners of his lips tried to edge into a smile. At least he finally had something other than a dull butcher knife; which hadn’t even been unpackaged yet and was probably lying buried in the back somewhere.

  He eased his foot off the gas as the light turned red at Mission; forcing his way into the left lane. There would only be a few lights left before he got to the onramp to the interstate and he wasn’t about to get caught in the middle; or worse, forced to go over to the other side. Making a U-turn in this traffic would suck.

  His text notification went off again and he spared a glance at his wife; wondering if his best friend had actually answered for once. That would be a surprise.

  He couldn’t make out what the screen said but he heard a quick gasp of breath in response to what she was reading. Her hand had begun to tremble and he reached out and grabbed her left hand, squeezing it for support. They were still stopped at the red light. He wanted to tear his phone from her and find out what had shaken her up so badly.

  “What?” he managed; physically resisting the urge to act. Slowly she held the phone up so he could see the screen; unable to put to words what she had read.

  Ben: GRIMES

  Then his message screen closed and an app began to load. It was something that Ben had designed for all their phones; an interactive map that could be manipulated and updated as they drove. It was to help them with their routes on their way to the compounds; keeping them informed of obstacles in their path.

  A map of the United States was loading, the pixels starting to fill-in with constant waves. He hit the brakes as he almost rear-ended a guy. He hadn’t realized he had taken his foot off the pedal and the van had edged forward. His eyes jerked back to the phone and he felt despair start to flower within his heart. Arizona looked clear for the moment but there were red dots forming across the eastern and western seaboards. The mid-west had sporadic dots as well.

  Crap, this was for real.

  “He said Grimes,” Monica whispered softly; not believing it even as she spoke. The fear in her eyes stirred the terror within. A chill ran up his spine and gooseflesh rose upon the length of his arms. She turned the phone around and looked down at the map through her glasses, eyes studying it feverishly.

  “I know,” he replied, turning his gaze back to the road. The cars were beginning to pull forward as the light turned green. He inched the van along; eager to get moving. They had to get the hell out of Tucson before that shit got here as well. The thought of being trapped motivated him to chance a few close quick passes as he weaved his way through traffic.

  “Grimes?” Nicholas asked from the backseat. “Really?” He almost sounded excited and Todd had to fight the momentary urge to reach around and slap his son.

  This was not a fucking game and was not to be taken lightly.

  They had code-words that they had all memorized as part of their preparations and each one denoted a different type of crisis. If it said Tower, then they knew there had been a terrorist attack. If it said Mushrooms; the threat was nuclear. Algae denoted something biological. It was a long list, as Man had come up with plenty of ways to kill himself.

  Grimes had been his own contribution to the codes and had seemed the least likely to actually happen. There were twenty codes in all and each had been chosen because they weren’t really used in every day conversations; to keep the members of his group from acting without cause.

  The inappropriate excitement his oldest son had shown must have spread to the younger one ,and he had to work hard to control his temper as Caleb blurted, “zombies? Cool!”

  Gripping the steering wheel firmly, the knuckles turning white, he had to bite the inner side of his cheek to keep from losing it. He drove through the intersection, making the long left-turn onto the onramp for I-19. “Cool?” he bit off, still trying to keep himself from pulling over and whipping his kid. He had never really been a violent man and he could count on one hand how many times he had spanked Caleb, but that didn’t matter at the moment because he was about to get his ass beat.

  Monica put a hand on his arm and he shrugged it off. The last hour had been one of the longest in his life. He was dealing with so much stress that it was threatening to shut him down altogether. He didn’t have the patience to explain to them that this was not something to cheer at.

  “This is not one of your video games, Caleb,” his wife told their son, scolding him before her husband could. “It’s not cool. If this is really happening then a lot of people are going to die. We could die.”

  “Yeah, you moron,” Michelle sneered, slapping Caleb on the back of the head.

  “Knock it off,” he growled at them. “We had this discussion, didn’t we? This is real life we’re talking about here. I thought I had raised you better than this.”

  He couldn’t have done more if he had pulled over and slapped them. He had always encouraged his children to speak their minds; but to also be mindful of how they spoke. He had tried to instill compassion and a strong sense of right and wrong. But just as any other parent must feel at some stage, he wondered if it had been enough. He was rarely harsh with them, but when he was, it was like an emotional hammer blow. Each of them lowered their eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze.

  Well, almost all of them.

  Skye was looking to him, her eyes full of fear. A was tear falling from one eye; begging him to say that everything was going to be okay. It mirrored his soul and broke his heart. Michelle reached over and gathered Skye to her, hushing her younger sister. He wished that he could pull over and comfort her as well, he needed it as much as she did. As he glanced at his wife he saw his own thoughts staring back at him.

  “You just wish you looked as good as Alice,” Nicholas said over his shoulder at his older sister; egging her on.

  She responded by slugging him in the shoulder, grinning wildly as Nicholas yelped, grabbing at the spot where she’d hit him. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed.

  “Language,” Monica scolded; no one was listening.

  “This isn’t a joke!” Michelle said, her maturity showing, her authority as the oldest instilling itself upon the others. “You need to grow up.”

  “Mom, she hit me,” Nicholas whined.

  Without looking back, his wife replied “Keep it up and I’ll hit you too.”

  He was already tuning it out, the familiar bickering somehow soothing in the face of everything that was going on. He was trying to convince himself that this was actually happening, but couldn’t wrap his mind around the impossibility of it. Even though they had planned for this; did any of them truly believe it would ever happen?

  A bio attack?

  Maybe.

  A terrorist attack?

  More likely.

  An invasion of the US by Chinese forc
es coming up from Mexico?

  Sure, that too.

  But zombies?

  ZOMBIES?

  Something out of a Kirkman TV Show?

  No fucking way.

  “Keep it up and I’ll turn this van around—,” he began automatically and had to stop himself. The rest of it had died in his throat as the realization hit that there was no going back. Their home was no longer behind them, but in the destination they were trying to reach. And unless a miracle happened, it would be that way for a very long time. He had to start getting used to the idea, no matter how much his mind rebelled.

  He brought the van up to seventy and flew down the interstate; their journey just beginning and his mind questioning whether he had the strength to bring them through. He didn’t know the answer.

  His thoughts turned to his friends and family who were oblivious to what had begun and wondered if any of them would live to see tomorrow. His heart ached to reach them, to somehow get them on the road and follow him out of town. Had the others in his group responded? Were they already on their way? Did any of them feel as helpless and divided as he did? Most of them had a very long drive ahead and he sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening that they’d all make it in one piece.

  “Double check to make sure Sam is on the move. We’re going to be there in thirty-minutes and I want to pull off, make sure she’s with us, and then get right back on the interstate,” he told Monica, who nodded as she picked his phone back up.

  “Think Ros and Matt are on the road yet?” his wife asked. They were a part of his extended family and they were closer to them than the others in their group.

  More than a few had judged their lifestyle over the years, for religious or moral reasons. They just didn’t agree with how they chose to live their life. Polyamory was definitely non-traditional, and even his parents still had a hard time adapting too it.

  Well, none of that mattered anymore.

  “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” he returned. He’d check in with Ben when they got to the compound. He chose the word when rather than if. Nothing was going to stop him from getting his family to safety. He’d do whatever he had too no matter what the cost.

  “I get to be Chris,” Caleb told his older brother, but Nicholas refused to reply; he was still massaging his sore shoulder. Their shared interest in everything Resident Evil was only spurring the boys’ excitement.

  “Caleb,” his mother warned, stopping the young boy from commenting further.

  “Fuck that shit,” his older daughter chimed in, being drawn into the conversation despite her earlier reservations. “Dad’s Rick, Mom’s Lori, and I’m Carol. You’re just a wimpy version of Carl.”

  “Hey!” Caleb responded in disbelief. “If I’m anybody, I’m Daryl.”

  That got all the kids laughing, including Skye, who was still wiping tears off her cheeks.

  “Kids. Seriously, knock it off,” his wife growled. Her hands were opening and closing on her laps and he was sure she was close to acting on his inner rage.

  Zombies, his mind whispered again. This just can’t be happening.

  His foot lowered and the van surged forward. He passed a trucker and a blast of a horn rang out, as he cut in front of the semi to get around a convertible cruising along the fast lane.

  He had to get his family to safety quickly; nothing else mattered.

  As they approached the turn off to his mother’s house, his wife gave him an expectant look, but he let it pass without slowing. A question formed on her mouth but he shook his head.

  “There’s no time. Try calling them again,” he said softly, his heart tearing from his chest as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. Los Niños park was passing to his right and he took one last glance at his childhood playground; feeling that he would never see it again.

  I’ve got to get them to safety, he told himself again, grilling it through him and pushing all doubts away; no matter what.

  Chapter 7

  Origins

  Four years earlier

  “Anyone for an achievement run through Naxx?” Linda asked over vent.

  Ventrilo was a computer program that allowed the gamers to talk online while gaming. They were all sitting in a chat room designated for raids and even though he had heard her; he pretended not too. She was never really involved with their conversations and after a raid she’d try to get them to help her clear out her achievement logs. When that didn’t work, she’d log right out and be gone for the night.

  Even now, she was ignoring their current conversation entirely.

  “Zombies? Really? You’re going there?” his wife asked, also ignoring Linda’s question. She had keyed up her microphone as she leaned forward to inspect something on her screen. She had gotten a new piece of gear tonight and appeared to be checking out the stat changes. She had spoken into the mic attached to her large headphones so that his own didn’t provide feedback from the conversations. He had tried a pair of headphones for a while, but hated how claustrophobic they made him feel. Now his son had them to use with his Xbox. She glanced his way, smiled, then rolled her eyes.

  Casey was having another one of his nights.

  No one had answered Linda, so she promptly logged off and went offline. He could almost hear the slam of the door as she left the chat room. Her wife was still on though, but she was quiet, probably arguing on the other side of the connection. He was suddenly glad that she had her push to talk enabled; an open mic would give him an earful that he really wanted to avoid tonight.

  “I think Casey has had too much to drink for the night,” he said over his mic, joining in. He knew that his friend from Texas loved to play drunk. Casey insisted it made him play better. The argument made no sense but he knew there was no point in starting something. If he fought it, he’d lose a raider, and he had spent too much time on their current raid team to just piss away a good DPS now.

  You could almost hear the bubbles of whatever he was inhaling as he queued up his mic from the living room of that small trailer he lived in. “No shit zombies.” As he said it, you could hear him holding his breath, causing his voice to heighten in tone. He let it out forcefully as he talked once more. “Like that shit will never happen. The government loves to play with bugs. Tell me they don’t have someone already looking into that shit.”

  “Hey guys, I have to go,” Jackie said over his speakers. He had been expecting it; it was one of the cardinal rules, keep the wife happy, keep your life happy.

  “They don’t have someone looking into that shit,” piped up Rodger, one of his older friends from Ohio. “Good night Jackie.”

  “Okay, good luck Jackie,” he responded on the heels of Rodger and saw a LOL in chat before she logged off as well. He did wish her luck, he was glad that he wasn’t married to Linda; they never would have lasted very long. She had impatience with anything male just seeping off every word she uttered.

  You could hear the choked-up laughter Casey was trying to suppress as he queued back up, “fucking smartass.”

  Mark was laughing in officer chat. He had always refused to purchase a mic, or at least, that’s what he had told them. He seldom did much typing other than short sentences or replies. Todd wasn’t sure if it was because he was shy or that he wasn’t paying attention half the time.

  The problem with online conversations stemmed from issues like that.

  What was the person really doing or saying on the other end? He said his name was Mark, but did he prefer not to get on vent because they’d learn he was really a Martha? Did that even matter? People distrusted the internet with good reason. He knew that and quite a few valued their privacy. Mark was one of those and he hadn’t pushed. He had learned from past experiences that sometimes the fog of unknowing was a blessing rather than a curse.

  “You realize that you’re smoking that shit with a cop hearing you right?” came Joseph’s voice and his wife chuckled. Their cop friend was from Arkansas loved to give Casey shit about his drug habit ev
ery chance he got.

  They knew it was an empty threat, but the bubbles suddenly stopped and you could hear Casey’s reply get choked off in a burst of static. “I’m pouring myself a beer, officer,” Casey finally replied; his voice sounding like he had been coughing too hard.

  “Bullshit,” he coughed into his mic and his wife broke into laughter. One of the kids looked at them from the couch, but quickly turned back to their Xbox game.

  Nothing could distract them from that thing for long.

  Vent broke out into laughter, gaining him another glare from his kids, but Casey would not be deterred. He had a line of thought and he was going to get it out no matter what they said to distract him. “You know they are looking into it. Along with every other possible thing ever created by Hollywood. If it can be turned into a weapon; they’ve researched it,” he told them confidently.

  He sighed as the laughter calmed down. If they let Casey go on too much longer, they’d be here all night, and he wanted to get some dungeons run before bed.

  “Log your healer,” he told his wife and got a frown in return. She hated being a healer when he was tanking a dungeon. He tended to yell at her when his health got low and got really pissed if he died. She grumbled something but he couldn’t make it out. Yet the log screen flashed on her screen and he couldn’t help laughing.

  “You give me any shit and you’re on the couch tonight buddy,” she told him sternly, and he didn’t doubt for a moment that she would do it.

  “Paranoid much?” Paul asked, one of their other friends from Utah. “If you want to talk about something realistic, Christine is having one of her friends over tonight and we’re going to have a little fun.”

  Monica groaned. “Paul, I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

  “Your own lacking there honey? Come over, I’ll fix that,” the older man said, then laughed.