“Get down,” Henry said as the zeds’ directionless stumbles brought them too close for comfort.
The group scrambled behind some trees, and for the first time, each of them was completely alone. While they knew the others were close by, the realization that they were not physically there, was a sobering one.
Henry pressed his back against the tree, holding his hunting knife, a simple Cold Steel Leatherneck six-inch blade. His hand was pressed against his chest, ready for a quick strike if needed. He felt exposed and alone. Even though his friends were only a tree trunk away, he could have been the last man on Earth in that moment and not felt any lonelier.
Henry’s heart hammered in his chest as he heard them shuffling closer and closer, their growls a continual static-like noise that would surely drive anybody mad should they be caught among it long enough.
He heard a twig snap as the shuffling reached the trees. He held his breath, resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to close his eyes. He had to move. Once they reached the other side of his tree, one look back, for whatever reason, and they would see him.
Henry looked up. The sky grew darker and darker. Before long, they would be traveling blind. He swallowed that portion of his fear away. One problem at a time.
Moving slowly, he circled around the trunk of his tree, taking small steps, careful not to lift his foot too far off the floor for fear of snapping a twig or creating some other sound that would alert them to his presence.
He felt a wave of relief wash over him when he realized not only had they walked by his location but also the trees that hid Hector and Taron.
They were not safe yet, however.
As the day robbed them of their sight, their other senses became keener. The rumble of the post-human masses grew around them. The woods were full, teeming with the undead.
“We need to get back to the shelter. We don’t have the gear with us to camp, and I don’t fancy our chances of just strolling around all night,” Taron said as the three men stood together once more.
“Which way?” Hector asked, his voice showing the strains of the day.
While they had been working on the shelter for years, having found each other via online survivalist forums, they had not spent enough time mapping out the forest. They knew the trails and knew which way would lead them to what the fastest, but that was a different skill than finding your way through the trees under the cover of darkness.
“Well, we followed the trail to the river that’s now to the southwest of us. The camp should be to the east or thereabouts. I guess about thirty or forty minutes if we keep a good pace and don’t come across any more posties,” Taron answered, almost without pausing for thought.
“Why am I not surprised you know all that,” Hector said, his gruff exterior cracking in the prolonged company of his two friends.
“I just have a natural sense of direction,” Taron answered. “You know, the same way you have a natural sense of justice and … oh, wait, you don’t.”
The joke helped to relieve their stress levels a little, but silence soon fell among the group again as they set off through the trees.
When they first decided to set up a shelter, in the event of a world-ending crisis, they chose the spot in the forest for several reasons. One was the way the trees kept everything neatly secluded. Going off the trails would easily get someone lost unless they knew the area well enough.
The patch they had found was a natural clearing, which over the years they had thinned a little bit more. The shelter’s primary entrance was on higher ground. They had the river within reach, which could be filtered and used for water, meaning their stores could be stretched even longer.
It took them several years to get it to the point where they first tried it out, spending a few days there, trapped with each other for company. The first couple of runs were awkward experiences, but they soon got into a rhythm and bonded with each other in ways regular friends in the world at that time rarely did.
Vanessa did not always join them, for James was a sickly child, and it was agreed by all that for the sake of the trials, it was not worth the risk of furthering whatever illness he had at the time.
While the main bulk of the initial post-human herd had moved through, there were enough hanging around to make their journey home a longer one than any had anticipated.
Hector all but walked into the arms of an overly affectionate older woman, her lipless face intent on kissing the inside of Hector’s throat. She appeared from behind a tree, nearly jumping out like a child looking to scare her friends.
Henry reacted the quickest, not risking a strike with the knife, for fear of injuring his friend, but rather he shoved the amorous woman backward hard enough to create the distance needed for Taron to end her second attempt at life.
The blade silenced her growls with a slick wet sound, and while the darkness consumed her the moment she fell silent, they all heard the liquefied contents of her skull spill through the wound; dripping on the leaves like a leaking faucet.
The trio reached and crossed their perimeter defenses and felt a surge of relief at making it home in one piece. This was quashed the instant they saw the zeds milling around what equated to their front yard.
The remains of the doe had been spread around, the carcass stripped bare of the meat, while thick congealed lumps of its innards lay scattered in various stages of consumption.
The group did not hear the men approach, but the scent of fresh meat alerted them before any attack could happen.
“Today just isn’t our day, is it?” Hector said as he pulled out two knives from his weapons belt.
“I’m fucking tired of this. I want some food and a good night of sleep,” Henry snapped in a rare burst of temper.
Grabbing his rifle, he fired four times. The soft plop of the gun and the muted bursting of the heads he targeted provided little in the way of stress relief, but he could not deny feeling better. Taron disposed of the other two zeds, his crossbow an even quieter weapon than Henry’s suppressed rifle.
“Hey, no fair.” Hector jabbed Taron with his elbow.
“Quit it, man, not tonight. Jesus Christ,” Henry said, storming off toward the shelter.
“What got him so wound up?” Hector asked, kicking the closest downed zed in the head with his boot.
“Well, I can think of a few things, but why don’t we save that for the morning,” Taron answered, slapping his buddy on the shoulder.
Hector held back for a while, watching as the others reached the shelter and hammered on the door. Looking around, he stared at the bodies on the floor. Crouching down, he pulled the two arrows out of the skulls of Taron’s victims. “They still don’t get it,” he said to the corpse, whose lifeless eyes stared at him, the mouth pulled back into a snarl as if even in true death, the hunger still lingered.
With the arrows clutched in one hand, Hector rose and followed after the others. The woods were still alive with the growl of post-humans. In the distance, the fire still raged, and the city that lay beyond it was plunged into darkness.
Vanessa opened the door on her husband’s signal, wiping her eyes dry on her shirt. She knew it would not help. Terror consumed her the moment the zeds swept into the camp. She understood why they had not gotten in contact; it was not safe. That did not stop her from being afraid. She spent the day weeping through fear of what would happen if Henry died. She imagined James growing up without a father, her without a husband. The grief had been paralyzing.
Taking a deep breath, gathering herself, she opened the door. The moment her eyes met her husband’s, her resolve broke and the tears came back with a vengeance.
“I thought you were dead,” she wept, embracing her husband, melting into his embrace.
“It was close at times,” he answered, kissing his wife on the cheek. “Where’s James, is he safe? Are you?”
“He’s asleep. He was worried about you,” Vanessa answered, looking down toward the bedroom area.
“I
’ll go wake up him and let him know I’m safe,” Henry answered, giving his wife a final kiss before he walked away into the shelter.
Vanessa, watching him go, turned just as Taron appeared in the doorway. They smiled at each other. “Come here, you,” Vanessa said, pulling the doctor into a deep hug. “Where’s Hector?”
“Oh, he’s alive, but just dragging behind. He enjoyed himself a little too much out there,” Taron said, detecting a slight trace of disappointment on Vanessa’s face.
It was no secret that Vanessa was not overly fond of Hector, but she understood the need to have him around. His callous approach to life completed their group. From the homesteader, the brains, and the surgeon, they had everything covered to live. Having the cold-hearted way of the lawyer meant they had what it took to survive.
Chapter Two
The music thumped, the resonating bass turned up to full volume. The walls of the building shook, as too did the insides of everybody in attendance. They didn’t care. There was nobody left to come and tell them to close it down.
With death waiting for them in the streets, the decision was made to party until the beer was gone, and then face the hard reality of the world.
The frat house was a teeming mass of bodies. Teenagers and twenty-somethings were pressed together, lost to the pull of the music, the drink, and the drugs.
People pushed their way through the rooms, and up the stairs. Combatting the airless, sweat-invoking temperatures by removing their clothes and losing their inhibitions. They had no reason to keep any of them.
While they partied and celebrated as if they had passed their finals and were ready to be let loose on the big wide world, there was a constant undertone of submission, which only served to heighten each individuals’ desperation to cling to the good things in life. Or what passed for them, at that age.
The word had spread quickly. Not as quick as the virus, but nothing did. That was why it had won.
Students came from around the campus. What started as a party to celebrate the flu-like epidemic that had seen all lectures canceled and all deadlines indefinitely extended, soon changed into something much more.
The only rule was bring your own beer. It was fun, and as the dead started to rise, it was a distraction.
News of the party spread across campus, and people braved the new world in order to reach what was hotly contested as being either the last party of the old world or the first party of the new one.
Those who arrived armed with alcohol, music, food or any combination thereof were granted instant and permanent access to the celebrations. Those who came empty handed found the door closed.
It was fun at first but soon turned a shade darker when a young couple arrived as part of a group, who got entrance as part of a technicality, the majority of whom held a can of beer from a six pack.
After being refused entry, the two young girls stood in the street, their mood changing from stunned to angry. Their indignation at being rejected, for what was probably one of the first times in their good-looking lives was the ultimate downfall because the wandering dead had no qualms about welcoming the pair to their eternal party.
Their screams echoed above the thunder of the music, drawing cries and screams from those inside. The majority had never seen anything more graphic than a football injury or the sight of their girlfriend projectile vomiting, their lives traditionally sheltered up until that point. The sight of two young women being torn apart in a shower of dark blood and intestinal strands was too much for many of them. They shut the blinds and averted their eyes. They all knew the young screams would fall silent soon, and that there was no helping them.
For a while, the mood in the house changed after that event. What could only be described as an attempted coup rose up. However, given that the party was now under the control of the jocks, and nobody really wanted to risk being thrown out, it turned out to be a rather wimpy affair that petered out not long after it started. Three shots later, and the majority of people had forgotten all about it and were so shit-faced by the time the two young girls tried to gain entry again, that they did not recognize them anyway.
On the third day of partying, the drink was swapped out in favor of pot, a particularly unique brand of which was delivered by an overweight, bespectacled, and acne-fighting male, who within minutes became the hero of the hour and had his pick of any of the loose-legged ladies of the house. A card he quickly put to good use, if the sounds that emanated from one of the upper bedrooms was anything to go by.
The pot was fun, and everybody made sure to roll themselves at least one good smoke, but it did not come without peril. Three people tried to climb out of the bathroom window, making an escape with the promise of returning with food, mountains of food.
One man slipped as he was partway out of the small window; his trapped leg snapped before he fell. He landed in a heap, and the resultant screams drew all the attention that was needed to bring a good sized group of post-humans to the party. His two friends, who were stoned out of their minds at the time, thought they were imagining things. They still did, even after hungry mouths took the first bite. Several onlookers went as far as to laugh at the way the other man’s blood spurted through the air.
As the days wore on, the scene in the house worsened. The weed disappeared, and the drink ran out. As sobriety hit, the full spectrum fear and terror ran through them all.
Panic set in, and people talked about the world outside the frat house in one of two ways. An evil dream that needed to be ignored until it went away, or a scenario that needed to be waited out. The unwavering faith in the military to resolve the situation would have been laughable had it not been such a life or death situation.
There were some, however, who knew that staying put would mean death. They knew it long before the pot burned out and the kegs dripped dry. They sequestered themselves upstairs, in one of the central bedrooms. The four friends, who had been relative strangers before things changed, sat back and resisted the temptation that came their way. They wanted no part in the power struggle playing out below them.
They did not know where they would be safe but knew that it was not the frat house.
***
“How long have they been going at it?” Julie asked, looking over her shoulder at the bare whitewashed wall.
“I don’t know, but I’m getting jealous,” Dwayne answered with a tired laugh.
In the next room over, the groans of passion had escalated to unbridled screams of pure delight, loud enough to drown out the squeak of the bedsprings and render the rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall to nothing more than a subtle bassline.
“It’s got to be another couple. No way it’s still the same guy,” Jared said, sitting up on the bed.
“Speak for yourself,” Samantha answered, giving them all a wink and a smile that instantly turned her angelic face into a picture of naughtiness.
“Oh, come on, nobody can fuck for that long,” Dwayne said, subconsciously shifting his legs on the floor.
“Hell no, I can go for a good half hour, maybe forty-five minutes if he is good and makes me cum twice,” Julie said, stating it so matter-of-fact that it shocked everybody to hear. Her petite frame, delicate china complexion, and deep auburn hair painted as being a quiet, studious type.
“With foreplay you mean, right?” Jared asked, the concern in his voice amusing for the women.
“No, I mean straight fucking. Not every time, but when I’m really feeling it,” Julie answered, making herself blush as if only just realizing what she had admitted.
“Forty-five is good. My record is an hour and a half, but that was a real session, and I was kind of wasted at the time,” Samantha said, once again her face a naughty delight to witness. Cute as a button, she was the giggly, flirty girl everybody loved, and who loved everybody in return. Hearing her talk of such acts made the two young men blush.
“Oh, well, that’s impressive for sure,” Dwayne said, unsure where to take the
conversation from there.
“Hey, don’t be like that. You’re cute, and I’m sure you would be a wild ride,” Samantha said, rubbing Dwayne on the arm.
His blush deepened, but he turned around on the bed to face the young woman. He smiled, as did she.
“Easy, tiger, that ain’t happening. Not here, not in this house. While I enjoy sex as much as the next girl, I am not too fond of an audience,” Samantha said, pointing at the other two. “So keep it zipped, and maybe we can talk about it later.”
Her forwardness and the brazen manner with which she spoke about things had been a shock to them all, but in just a few days, they had formed a bond deeper than any they had known before. They sat and joked like old childhood friends. They swore and cursed, and at one point, somewhere on the second day, one of them even farted.
“I think they are done,” Jared said, as the moans of pleasure subsided, a haunting weeping sound replacing them. The sort of noise that could only be conjured by a deep-seated regret.
“We should go check on her,” Dwayne said, as they sat in silence, the tears making them feel more than a little bad about their mockery.
“You’re right,” Jared agreed, standing up from the bed.
The girls looked at them and stood without saying a word. The room they were in was a good size and had previously housed three frat brothers, none of whom had returned to it since the party began. It was untidy and smelled bad, but they had already come to think of it as their place. It was strange, but the idea of bringing someone else into their group seemed odd.
“Let me do the talking. I can understand what she’s going through,” Samantha said, looking at the two guys.
Both stood over six feet, and while Dwayne was ripped from years playing football, the main reason behind him being at the college in the first place, it was Jared who looked the tougher of the two. There was a strange manliness about him.
ZPOC: The Beginning Page 3
