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

by Ray, Timothy A.

  Whistling he toured the fire station, confident that they were safe for the moment and preparing in his head exactly what he’d do to each of them. Todd would die a slow death—but Sabrina? He fancied keeping her alive and making her live the rest of her life satisfying every dark fantasy his mind could construct. The human body could take a lot, and he slowly went over each and every thing he could think of doing. His blood rushed south to his forgotten waist in response. Stiffening, his smile grew wider and those that saw it flinched. He laughed suddenly at the quickening blood singing through his veins; it felt like nothing he had ever experienced before and he liked it—he really liked it.

  He joined the others searching the building for supplies. He could afford to give her a little lead time. With his spy planted, he had all the time in the world to catch up to her. Let her feel safe and protected. Then he’d show up, strip it all away, kill her friends in front of her, and take exactly what she had always denied him.

  The joy he felt at the power growing inside made him laugh harder. The pounding on the doors intensified, but he didn’t care. He strode through the doorway and out of sight; the echoes of his laughter following him out of the garage, down the hall, and into the darkness beyond.

  Chapter 37

  Least likely scenario

  Todd

  Compound 2

  He needed fresh air.

  Ben was back at his post; the world ending hadn’t let him stay in bed too long. He still looked exhausted; it had been a long, trying day and Ben’s body seemed sapped of all its energy. How he was able to keep going was a mystery. Maybe it was the boy’s youth that helped him endure with only short periods of rest.

  He couldn’t do that anymore. As he had gotten older, he seemed to need more sleep than usual in order to recharge his batteries. Midnight was drawing near and he realized that only fourteen hours had passed since his phone had gone off at work. What he wouldn’t give to be back there complaining about his wife’s annoying texts. He had a feeling that moments like those were lost to him forever and as much as he hated it, he’d miss it.

  He had tried to imagine what was going on in the world. The President had said that this was not only happening in America, but across the globe. How did that happen so fast? His mind refused his attempts at calculating the rate of infection.

  His hand stroked his temple as his blood vessels throbbed and his head ached.

  There was a nasty part of himself that resisted to dwell on how many people were out there dying, but rather on how much his own world was going to change. He hated it; but he couldn’t seem to help it either. Would he ever find a Snickers bar again, drink a frosty from Wendy’s, or eat a roast beef sandwich from Arby’s? These were the things he had taken for granted when they were readily available and now his mind kept fixating on the fact he might never have those kinds of things again. When they ran out of Coke, he’d be stuck with water. Maybe he should try to lower his caffeine intake now so that his withdrawals wouldn’t be so bad later.

  If the military lost this war on the undead; how would they survive?

  Sure, they had planned and trained for it, yet it didn’t seem to be enough. His friends were out there dying and all of the work had been for nothing. Even if they somehow got through, how many others would live through this extinction level event? There wouldn’t be enough in the compounds to rebuild society. Would Mankind die out like the dinosaurs had? Would another species eventually take their place?

  He shook his head. A bunch of MMO nerds as the only hope for Mankind’s survival? Yeah, they were doomed.

  While he wasn’t naïve enough to think that his group was the only one that had prepared for this, how long would it take to establish contact with the others? How long until they felt safe enough to leave their new home and try to venture into the world and search them out? Mankind had become so dependent on their creature comforts that he wasn’t sure they’d survive in the wild when thrown back into the trees from whence they came.

  When the lantern ran out of fuel, what was he going to do? How did you get propane gas anyway? When the mantles were gone, who would make more? That was just one example of the life and comforts that the current age of Man had provided.

  Sure, he had gone camping, but was it really roughing it with all the gear and equipment that you could take with you? His mind insisted that those questions were just the tip of the iceberg on the list of holy shit we’re fucked. He had joked about Twinkies no longer being around for the apocalypse when Hostess went belly up; now their return looked like a harbinger for things to come.

  A pig’s grunt brought him back to reality and he realized that none of them had fed the livestock that day; at least as far as he knew. Maybe Rodger had taken care of that before they had gotten there. He’d have to make a mental note to do it in the morning; his older friend wasn’t in any shape to get up and do it himself.

  The farming had been hard for them at first, even with the right equipment. None of them knew shit about that kind of work and what seemed like an easy job turned into a headache that none of them had anticipated. His respect for the agricultural world had increased after the initial failures they had suffered. They hadn’t known about crop rotations, they were gamers. Studying had only gotten them so far and had cost them the second year of crops due to their inexperience.

  Rodger had volunteered to live at the compound and with his family, they tended to the fields and maintained the livestock. But it still required the others to come and assist every fall during harvest. The gardens were simple when compared to the corn and wheat fields. He was just glad no one had dared suggest they plant cotton. Who would’ve picked it? Beyond creature comforts, what good would it serve in their quest to survive?

  He walked towards the main building, letting the moonlight have its last look at him. He needed to try and sleep. His body was willing, but his mind wouldn’t shut off. He looked at his new home and the moonlit building made him think of Jurassic Park. It was a large structure composed of concrete and steel. All the windows had steel shutters and exterior bars. It looked more like a building for death row inmates than a refuge, yet it was meant to keep people out not in. There was a tower on the third story barely visible over the wall and security bars above. They would eventually have to station people in the towers, but for tonight everyone just needed to get some rest.

  There would be time enough for that tomorrow.

  As he entered the main building and walked to the stairway; he marveled at how much they had accomplished. He wondered if they had missed anything with their planning. There were redundancies everywhere. While there was a trauma room above, there was a better stocked and equipped one below. The training area was above ground; but he didn’t think any of them would chance firing an unsuppressed round as long as the threat of being noticed was upon them.

  There were multiple armories, both above and below the structure, and readily accessible to those defending their carefully designed fortress. He was now on the first basement floor. The exercise room was on his left, the stairs to the living quarters was at the other end of the hall on the right.

  He was on his way to the dormitory below when he heard the pulsing bass of music emerging from their entertainment room. That was hard to do with the soundproofing and it was odd that any of them would be in the mood for it. He thought it ironic that Rob Zombie was pounding the walls and knew of only one of their group with the stomach to listen to a song like that after the day they had—Sean.

  Approaching the door, he noticed that it was cracked open, explaining why he had heard the music through the soundproofed walls. He winced at how high it was cranked. He stepped through the doorway and was instantly buffeted by the bass of the large speakers on either side of the room.

  There was a large TV and comfortable furniture arranged in the center; well used by the kids. They had made sure to have all the current game systems and had most of the new games shipped automatically to a post office box in Mor
enci. Rodger made regular pickups there each week. Their movie collection was just as impressive and their benefactor had insisted on a jukebox setup for most of the Blu-ray discs, to keep them maintained and protected from regular wear and tear.

  Speaking of the devil; Sean was hovering at the bar on the right and was currently trying to drain a large bottle of scotch. Drunk did not cover the man’s state. He was quite sure that even with the volume as loud as it was, he was barely hearing it. What kept the man on his feet was beyond him.

  “Mind turning that down?” he roared, trying to get his friend’s attention.

  Sean looked up at him, his eyes bloodshot and barely comprehending what was going on. Yet, he reached over to a remote and the radio instantly dropped in volume. “What?” Sean yelled at him. Todd closed his eyes and jerked his head in response. Sean laughed. “Trouble sleeping?”

  “What do you think?” he asked, a hand rising to rub the puffiness out of his eyes.

  “Rum and Coke?” Sean asked, already reaching for the bottle before he had a chance to reply.

  It would be so easy for him to give in, to let the alcohol drown the day away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His father-in-law had been a drunk and he had decided early on that he wouldn’t do that to Monica. Still, after a day like this, how could he say no? Would his wife really be that cross with him for having a drink after all they had been through? He wouldn’t be surprised to find a bottle of Cuervo in their room when he turned in for the night; that was her particular brand of poison. Hell, even Sam was three sheets to the wind when he had left her earlier, a large bottle of vodka lying on the floor next to her bed.

  Giving in; he simply nodded and accepted the drink. “Bit loud in here.”

  Sean laughed again. “Oh I know we don’t like to make a ruckus, but I don’t see how anything really matters anymore. I mean really, who were we kidding?”

  His brows drew together. He was about to ask what Sean meant, but it was something that had been elusively crawling behind his consciousness throughout day. His words died in his throat when he tried to respond. He took a moment to collect himself and decided to go at it from a different angle. “Are you saying you want to just give up? We don’t know how this is going to turn out yet, do we? Isn’t it early to just throw in the towel?”

  The look he got chilled him to the bone. “Is it?”

  “You’re not serious,” he responded, not believing what he was hearing. This was darker than any other conversation they had ever had, and there had been plenty of those before today. Things were depressing enough without ending his day with something as ugly as this.

  Sean waved at the television. “Been shown for years what would happen when this shit goes down, they never have a happy ending.” He grunted, “Well, except for that World War Z crap and their disease immunity. One of the worst endings to a rather good movie I’ve ever seen. Those were some of the most realistic looking zombies and to have the rest of the film blown by a bad script writer was a damn shame.”

  “You don’t know that it’s going to play out that way. Most of them were crap, never really looking at it realistically. The Walking Dead’s about as good as they get and even that had its moments. I mean, if they were all already infected, then why did it matter if they got bit? What about the bite made the infection kill the already infected host?” This was a conversation they had all had more than once over the years and it felt like rehearsed lines at this point. “You think they’re going to be making phone calls asking 911 operators to send out more paramedics? That they’ll walk around crying for brains?”

  His old friend laughed again. “I’m a writer buddy; believe me when I say that I’ve thought of it all. I don’t see us coming back from this. Did you know that I had people research this scenario?” His eyebrows lifted in curiosity. He hadn’t, actually. Sean simply nodded and continued. “Did you think I went into this just because some WoW nerds thought it was a good idea?” Upon seeing the look he was getting, the man grunted. “Sorry about that, I think I’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

  You think? He cleared his throat, trying to hide a smile.

  Sean went on, waving off his retort. “I hired researchers to look into it, as well as every other doomsday scenario ever thought of. With all the crap in Korea, Al Qaida, Iran, Syria, and Russia, how could one not take a serious look; to prepare for any eventuality? The will to survive and all.”

  Sean drained his scotch and poured himself another.

  “So all this time you had other people involved? After all that talk about keeping this place secret?” he asked, completely stunned by the secrets his older friend had been hiding. How had he not realized that Sean wouldn’t have gone into this without some kind of research behind it? How had he been so naïve? If he had missed that, what else had he missed? He had this horrible feeling that there was more hidden and wondered if he could ever trust that he had been told the whole truth. Where there was one secret—

  His friend took another long drink and wiped his goatee. “I’ve kept my money by not indulging my every whim. Do you think I would finance this if there was even a chance it’d be a total waste of my money? I’m mad, but I’m not insane. And don’t worry, the researchers I employed thought it was all theoretical. They didn’t know I actually acted on their information. Though, you might be happy to know that most of the ideas you all came up with were in line with what they suggested as well.”

  He drained his glass and Sean reached out to refill it; reluctantly he agreed. “Our plans were screened before we went forward, weren’t they?”

  “Of course. Like I said, mad not insane. What man in his right mind would spend a fortune planning for a zombie apocalypse?” Sean laughed as he said those last words, as if daring the world not to make it real. “No one even thought it was possible,” he said in a lower voice, and stopped talking, holding his drink idly while staring off into space.

  He waited patiently for Sean to go on. The man just shook his head, raised the glass to his lips, and downed another round of scotch. Todd glanced at the TV, the uncomfortable silence weighing heavy upon him. Had that just been a glib remark or was there something else that his older friend was hiding? Turning his head, he began to wonder if the television stations had come back up yet.

  “All things considered,” he finally said, making his friend laugh again. Whatever dark moment the man was having seemed to pass as he poured himself another drink.

  “Obviously, now we look like we’re smart and not wasting our lives away. But all things being equal, you had to know inside that this had always been a fool’s errand. Did you seriously think any of this would ever actually happen?” Sean threw back his head and let the scotch drain down his throat. His hand was already reaching for the bottle but his shaking hands missed, pushing it off the bar instead. It clanked as it hit the ground and it was a miracle that it didn’t break.

  “Did you know that the chances of a zombie apocalypse happening were the lowest in probable outcomes for a doomsday scenario? The greatest was a biological attack, the second being a nuclear holocaust. Yet, we prepared for those too, didn’t we?” Sean’s voice was becoming heavily slurred and he looked like he’d pass out soon, yet the writer in him continued on. “No, the chance of this was like two percent. There was a greater chance of an Independence Day or Battlefield: Los Angeles scenario than fucking zombies. I mean, really? Night of the Living Dead? What kind of madman would let something like this loose upon the world?” he trailed off, that dark look returning once more.

  What was going on? He had never seen Sean go off the deep end like this. Suddenly his drink wasn’t going down so well. He put his glass down and concentrated on clearing his mind. None of what he was saying really mattered, yet he could see the irony in it. It didn’t matter what the chances were of something like this occurring; it was happening. Now they had to move beyond it, not reflect on how unrealistic it was.

  His friend stumbled as he tried to move towa
rds another bottle of scotch and he bolted around the bar and caught him before he fell. Grunting with the weight, he led him to a nearby couch. Sean was still trying to talk, but most of it was incoherent.

  He comforted him, telling him he understood. His older friend’s face cleared for a moment, like he had just confessed some dark secret and had been given absolution for it. He’d have to remind himself to talk to him again tomorrow. He hoped that Sean didn’t hit the bottle right away and sweep any chances at a level-headed conversation with it.

  He laid the man down on the couch and took a seat next to him. He wasn’t surprised to hear a snore drifting up from his side. Sighing, he stood on his exhausted legs and the weariness of the day swept across him. With an overloaded mind, he began his long trek to his room and the bed eagerly awaiting him.

  Monica was fast asleep when he entered their bedroom. He hadn’t drunk enough for the alcohol to have any real effect and he smiled at the Jose Cuervo bottle on his wife’s nightstand. There were a lot of questions raised by Sean tonight and though there were tons of things to be done the next day, a follow up conversation was one of the highest priorities on that list.

  He had a sinking feeling that there was more his older friend had been hiding. No matter how long it took, he swore to himself he’d get the rest of it in the morning. For now, he was content to let the matter lie; they weren’t going anywhere were they? They had plenty of opportunity to hash this all out.

  What else were they going to do?

  “Hey baby, come to bed,” his wife moaned sleepily, tapping the bed and motioning for him to join her. Slipping out of his clothes, he lowered himself onto his pillow. It wasn’t the same as the one he had at home and no matter how he moved his head, he could not get comfortable with it. He felt his wife’s arm slide over his shoulders and he smiled. No matter what else had happened; they were all together and amongst the living.