The Living Dead Series (Book 2): World Without End

by L. I. Albemont

  “Are you sure you don’t want to shop their fine selection of jewelry and watches? Perhaps something for that special man in your life?” David asked.

  Suddenly reminded of Evan she caught her breath. She hadn’t tried to call him in the final hours before the disastrous evacuation attempt and it dawned on her that she already thought of him as dead.

  David saw her face. “I’m sorry, Bea. It was a joke, I didn’t know that-”

  She cut him off. “The only special man in my life is eleven years old and not interested in watches or jewelry.” Fear for Brian overtook her abruptly and she only wanted to get back on the road. “Let’s go.”

  Bea drove this time and David surprised her by falling asleep. She didn’t mind except that she was unsure where they were supposed to leave I-81 but supposed there would be signs. She tried the radio again and set it to scan the AM dial so that if they happened upon a signal, it would lock in.

  The night was so dark out here. Living in D.C. for the last three years and born and raised in Baltimore before that she didn’t think she had ever experienced dark like this. The car’s headlights were powerful and highlighted every bump and curve on the road but once she was past, the darkness swallowed the road behind her.

  She braked for a particularly sharp curve and the sleeping David slumped over against her. She pushed him back over and his head thudded against the passenger window. He mumbled something but didn’t wake up. In the dim light from the dash he looked younger and more vulnerable and she almost reached out to touch his sleeping face but stopped. Whatever had happened or almost happened between the two of them back in the shelter, she didn’t want it to happen again. He was attractive and had been very kind to her and Brian but flings were not something she had ever indulged in and she didn’t intend to start now.

  Signs for Staunton appeared in the headlights. They must be close to halfway there. If she remembered correctly they didn’t leave I-81 until I-77 which would take them directly to Bluefield. After that she assumed David would know the way to the airfield.

  The radio suddenly came to life, startling her and waking David. She turned the volume down a little. Someone was broadcasting and they were simply reading, with a pleasant southern drawl, from Jonathan Edward’s famous sermon, Sinners in the hands of an Angry God. She was familiar with the sermon from studying the “Great Awakening” period in the colonies but had never heard it read aloud. Having always thought of it as a “fire and brimstone” type of lesson, she was surprised how chilling it was when read in a reasonable, almost conversational style.

  “God is not only able to cast men into hell, but he can most easily do it… devils stand ready to fall upon them and if God should withdraw his hand, by which they are they are restrained, they would in one moment fly upon their poor souls.

  That God holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider or some other loathsome-”

  David reached over and turned the volume down. “Not exactly a cheerful guy.”

  “But incredibly popular at the time. The Salem trials had happened not too long before and the devil and his minions were still on everyone’s mind.”

  They drove on. Just past the last Roanoke exit, incredibly, they saw approaching headlights on the northbound side of the interstate. Bea began to slow down. The other car seemed to slow, too.

  “Think before you stop. You have no idea who or what is in that car.” David instinctively reached for his gun.

  “It has to be another survivor! They might have information we need or maybe we could join forces. You said there’s strength in numbers and-”

  “I said that to you but I had already summed you up and you were no threat. You know nothing about these people.”

  She continued to slow down and finally came to a stop. The approaching car did the same. Indecision gripped her and she was frozen. What if they were infected? Or a homicidal maniac? Or just a regular person, terrified and jittery, who decided they didn’t like the look of them and shot them as they approached?

  Both cars stayed there, twenty-five feet apart, engines running and headlights on, for several minutes. Finally the other car rolled forward and away, picking up speed and was soon swallowed up by darkness. Bea was disappointed and relieved at the same time.

  “That’s how it is now, Bea. It’s hard to trust people in times like this when your associates can determine whether you live or die. Welcome to post-zombie America.”

  David took over driving once they reached I-77. “We should be there in about thirty minutes if we don’t hit any snags.”

  Bea sensed something was wrong before they reached the airfield. There was a strong smell of smoke in the air much like in D.C. and an orangey glow in the sky that frightened her. They slowed down to turn onto a graveled road that terminated in front of chain-link gates surrounding a small airfield.

  Fires still burned in two of the outbuildings and a wooded area behind the packed dirt runway was also ablaze. Bea was out of the car before it stopped rolling, running and calling for Brian. David joined her and they searched the pitifully few spots someone might hide but found nothing but burned bodies, none of them small enough to be her brother.

  She sank to the ground, heedless of the cinders that burned through the knees of her jeans and scorched her skin, and cried, angry with herself that she had ever agreed to be separated from him. There were so many things that could go wrong and something had, in spades. She had no idea where to even begin looking now.

  Warm arms wrapped around her and she pulled away.

  “David, what happens now? I have to protect him; I have to take care of him. He doesn’t have anyone else, he never has. It’s always been me and I failed.” She was crying so hard now she couldn’t talk. She pressed her hands to her eyes and dropped her head.

  David said nothing. After a few minutes, she felt a little more in control and resumed searching even though she knew it was pointless. She stood still and listened, hoping to hear his voice somewhere, calling for help. David, flashlight in hand, had moved closer to the runway in front of the wooded area still on fire but had to retreat as the flames spread, the wood popping and crackling.

  “We have to leave. The fire is spreading and we can’t let it reach the car. Also, look over there.” He pointed to the south. Dark figures moved slowly and clumsily through the trees, not deterred by the flames that licked all around them.

  “Where do you suggest we go? What’s out there for either of us?”

  “I think he’s okay, Bea. I took a look at the runway and didn’t see any helicopter skid tracks in the dirt. I have a feeling the pilot took a look at the situation and never landed. This area was attacked before they ever got here but I don’t know by what or whom. Or maybe they weren’t attacked and it was a propane tank malfunction on the ground. The bodies are too burned to be sure and it’s too dark to find shell casings.”

  “But they had to refuel here. Won’t they run out of gas and crash?”

  “I doubt it. Pilots almost always have a trick or two up their sleeves and Ian knows the southeast region like the back of his hand. They’ll find a place. And we’ll find them.”

  The dark stumbling shapes drew closer and Bea heard them moaning even above the now roaring flames. She gestured in their direction. “What if this is it? What if the world is theirs now?”

  “We’ll take it back.”

  “How?”

  He actually smiled. “We’ll make it up as we go. Isn’t that how the country was built the first time? It’s the American way.”

  Bea looked back as they pulled out of the gravel and onto the road. All the approaching dead were adult size, no children among them. Ahead of them the road beckoned.

  “Which way?”

  David answered. “West. Atlanta is gone and we know they’re getting ready to nuke D.C. Weather patterns move west to east so we should be able to avoid some of the D.C. fallout. That’s the way the pilot would have gone.”

  “We shoul
d keep moving then. I’m fine to drive if you want to sleep.”

  “No, I had my nap. It’s your turn.”

  Lulled by the warmth of the car, she was asleep in minutes and didn’t feel David’s hand gently smooth the hair back from her face.

  Hundreds of miles behind them, hundreds of pulsing LRADs counted down the last hours of the doomed city.

  End of Book Two

  Hi. I hope you’re enjoying the series and thanks for making it this far. If you enjoyed World Without End you can leave a review here at Amazon.com.

  My facebook page is up and running (I think) if you want to contact me or you can email me at lialbemont@gmail.com and find more of my work at https://w1927.wordpress.com/

  Please enjoy this excerpt from DEAD COAST, A NOVEL OF THE LIVING DEAD, NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM !

  The origins of the outbreak were never in dispute although at first almost no one believed the dead were actually rising. When the island nation of Haiti was struck by wave after wave of violent earthquakes killing thousands, the Z-virus lurched spectacularly to life. Early reports of cannibalism from inside the country were disregarded until shocking live video splashed across the world’s television and computer screens. Suddenly everyone was a believer.

  Nevertheless, in many ways it still didn’t seem real. Anything could happen out there, in the barbarous realm of the third world, beyond the pale of civilization. There were myriad reasons that it could never happen here. Health and security protocols, a literate, well-informed public, etc., were all on our side.

  In truth, the virus was already here and spreading like the viral videos sent out from Haiti during the first days after the quake. News anchors and subject-matter experts (yes, there were subject-matter experts on the living dead) speculated and conjectured until theory gave way to the infected, pus-filled reality breaking down doors and smashing through windows with flailing, rotten hands.

  Prologue: Dead Coast

  The manners of the Androphagi are more savage than those of any other race. They neither observe justice nor are governed by any laws. They are nomads and their dress is Scythian but the language they speak is peculiar to themselves. Unlike any other nation in these parts, they are cannibals.

  -Herodotus

  5th Century B.C.

  What shall I say of other nations- how when I was in Gaul as a youth I saw the Scots, a British race, eating human flesh, and how, when these men came upon the herds of swine and sheep, they ravaged the buttocks of shepherds and paps of the women and consume these for their horrid repasts.

  -Saint Jerome

  Anno Domini 400

  And the god, tiring of the sacrifices of his children, gave a new command. Henceforth, the slaves slaughtered in the tombs of the mighty and left to serve the master in the after-life, should not die but, submitting themselves to the bite of Apophis, should arise in the darkness and live forever.

  -Strabo

  1st Century B.C.

  “Aaron, you coming?”

  Aaron looked up from his computer and grimaced. “Nope. Someone has to be here to keep the west coast from logistical meltdown. Besides, you know I’m trying to quit. I can’t afford that nasty old habit anymore. ”

  Catherine laughed, “You and me both. I just can’t give it up yet. Back in fifteen, sooner if it’s still raining hard.”

  She walked away, taking a pack of cigarettes from her purse and pulling an umbrella from her coat pocket. She stopped at Jill’s desk halfway down the aisle and said something Aaron couldn’t hear. Laughter drifted his way, Jill’s laughter, which sounded like heavenly silver bells to him. She had transferred to this office a week ago and so far he hadn’t had the courage to do more than say “Hi” in passing.

  The blue glow of computer screens shone from only three other desks. Because of the time difference between here and the west coast a skeleton staff was required to stay late in order to deal with logistic issues that arose out west. It averaged out to four evening shifts per month and Aaron didn’t really mind it. Sometimes they all got together and ordered Chinese or pizza. He didn’t know exactly all of whom were here tonight but was really hoping the consensus vote would be for pizza. The moo-goo gai pan last week had been gristly and flavorless.

  The building, consisting of one floor honey-combed with cubicles and the whole enclosed with plate-glass walls, continued to empty out. It hadn’t been that full to start with. An unprecedented fifty percent of staff called in sick or just hadn’t shown up this morning.

  The whole town (it was a small town) was still talking about what happened Monday night. Aaron knew more about it than some because his aunt was there when it happened. During a guest lecture series at the satellite campus of Ford-Emory, the assistant of the visiting lecturer from Haiti attacked a classroom of anthropology students, sending four to the hospital with bite wounds. The assistant was taken into police custody and was supposedly in the hospital, under guard.

  Catherine finished her conversation with Jill and went outside, the briefly open door admitting the harsh shriek of an ambulance before it closed again. He caught a glimpse of flashing red lights near the parking lot before turning back to his computer.

  His phone rang and he spent forty minutes trying to calm down an irate distributer in Portland who was still missing a shipment of shower doors that should have arrived yesterday. By the time he called around and found a shipment he could divert to Portland (taking them from a builder in Texas who wasn’t quite ready for them anyway) it was after seven o’clock and he was hungry. No one messaged him or stopped by for his order.

  Aaron stood up and looked across the cubicle sea all around him. He missed cigarette breaks more than he cared to admit and looked longingly at the side door that led to a small concrete patio, the one spot on which the company allowed smoking. He glanced away then turned back and looked again. Red lights still flashed outside and the siren- he listened- was still there, muted but wailing. Whatever was going on out there was taking a hell of a long time to sort out.

  Time for a break and a little stroll around the office. The stroll just might take him by Jill’s desk and he could ask her what happened to the supper plan. He looked at his reflection in the now night-black window. Half of his shirt collar had disappeared under his sweater. Sighing he fished it out. He always looked slightly rumpled no matter how much time he spent getting ready. This slight dishevelment aroused a desire in women to reach out and smooth his hair and straighten his collar just to have an excuse to get closer to him but he was unaware of this. He nervously made sure his collar tag wasn’t sticking up again, took off his ID badge and hung it over his computer. Stupid thing looked like a necklace. Ok, good enough.

  She wasn’t there. Her computer was on and her jacket hung on the back of her chair but she was gone. A silver framed photograph of her with a group of friends on a white, sandy beach somewhere stood next to her phone. He studied it. Was one a boyfriend? It wasn’t obvious if so.

  Thinking she was in the break room, he headed that way but found her in the hallway, standing indecisively outside the ladies’ room. The janitor had wedged the door partially open with a trashcan and from the sounds echoing off the hard tile surfaces someone was really losing their lunch in there. Jill saw him and raised her eyebrows a little comically. She wore a red, sweater dress and black, leather boots that stopped just below her knees. When she smiled, dimples appeared near the corners of her mouth. It’s official, he thought, I am smitten.

  “It’s Trina. She felt sick at lunch but didn’t want to go home. Some crazy guy attacked her last night outside her apartment. She got away and called the police but the guy bit her,” Jill said.

  “What? You’re kidding!”

  Jill shook her head. “No, she had to get antibiotics and whatnot. I would have taken the day off but she hasn’t missed a day in something like four years and doesn’t want to ruin her perfect record. You’re Aaron, right? I’m Jill. I just transferred from Cleveland a week ago.”

/>   “Yeah, um, nice to meet you. Shouldn’t one of us go in there and make sure she’s ok?”

  “I’m going. I have a really weak stomach so I’m trying to wait until she’s finished, um…”

  “Praying to the porcelain god?”

  “Yes.”

  The vomiting ceased but a foul odor drifted into the hallway. Jill covered her mouth and nose preparing to go in but hadn’t taken two steps before something slammed into the glass double-doors at the main entrance. They turned. A man pressed against the glass and pounded the doors until they shook, shouting something. Abandoning Trina for the moment they ran down the hallway.

  Aaron recognized Hugh, the evening security guard. Screaming and banging on the glass he kept looking back over his shoulder. Aaron wondered why he didn’t just run his ID through and come in. Then he noticed his face. One ear was gone and the flesh from his scalp and part of his cheek was torn away and hanging. Blood poured from his torn throat and covered the front of his shirt. Smears of blood soon streaked the glass.

  Horrified, Aaron moved to open the door then stopped. Three figures, a woman, and two men emerged from the swirling mist and darkness. Even in the scanty illumination from the parking lot lights they were something out of a nightmare. The woman lurched forward on legs that were little more than bloody bones. Her mouth worked as if she were chewing on something and she clutched a pack of cigarettes in one bloody hand. It’s Catherine, he thought with a shock of recognition.

  One of the men was in better shape and he reached Hugh first, falling against him mouth wide and biting deeply into his shoulder. Hugh screamed, a shrill note of desperate agony that faded as he was knocked to the ground and pulled apart. Catherine hooked her fingers into his flesh and peeled the skin and tissue away in thick strips, pushing them eagerly into her mouth. Blood pooled then ran down the concrete steps, spilling over them in a trickling red cascade. The mist crept in and darkness swallowed the gruesome sight.