900 Miles: A Zombie Novel

by S. Johnathan Davis

  All I owned at that moment was the silly white jump suit.

  One of the walls contained a mirror; another had what looked like expensive wall art that featured various trees, oceans and lakes.

  We looked around in uncertainty, wondering what our next move would be.

  I walked over and hit the power button to the TV. It flickered for a moment, and then the flat screen turned on. The scene was broadcast to look like a window, facing out towards a lake with birds flying by from time to time. It was some sort of continuous loop made to make you feel like you could see out into the wild. So much for the television.

  Kyle walked over to the couch opposite the TV and flopped heavily onto it. Lifting his feet up on a mahogany coffee table, he exclaimed,

  “This is livin’.” A big smile lit up his face as he pulled his arms up and placed his hands on the back of his head. Michael and I chuckled.

  “What is that?” Kyle asked, pointing past his raised feet. Sitting on the table was a basket. It was filled with canned fruits and meats and had what looked like a letter sitting next to it.

  Michael reached down and grabbed it. Picking off a wax seal, which had the letter “A” pressed into it, he pulled a piece of paper from the envelope. It read:

  Hey, Bud, hope you like the new digs. I know how much you like the outdoors. We didn’t spare any expense in furnishing the place to help ease the assimilation. The TV is the biggest in the place! Our most loyal friends get the best of everything. Don’t forget to look in the dresser. Welcome to Avalon. Let’s catch up at dinner. - Gordon

  Kyle stood up and went to the dresser. Sitting in the first drawer were our once blood covered, filthy clothes. They had been completely cleaned and pressed. Michael’s shirt, with the hole in it from the helicopter accident, had been thrown away and replaced by one that looked similar, only more expensive.

  “The Troopers outside are assholes, but once you get in here, this place is quite nice,” Michael said as if apologizing for the intrusion.

  “So, how do you know Gordon?” I asked, eyeing the television again.

  “I’ve never actually met him.” Michael’s voice was quiet.

  “How the hell does he know so much about you?” Kyle perked up.

  “I have no idea.” Michael frowned worriedly. “I think he is the owner of the place. I know that it’s his name on all the paperwork I had to fill out. I just don’t know how he would know me. I have never seen the guy.”

  “What is the Arena?” I demanded more strongly.

  “I actually have no clue about that, either. At the moment, you know as much as I do. I’ve just been paying into a “save my ass in case of emergency” fund for years. This is what I get out of it. We’ll have to find out at dinner.”

  “The Arena sounds like some medieval shit,” Kyle said. His voice, though guarded, held a touch of excitement. I couldn’t quite share the same feeling.

  “Agreed, and what’s with the rules? I like to pretend that I’m one of the “Elite” and all, but let’s face it, without your ticket, I’m might as well be out there working on the wall.”

  “I’m learning as you are,” Michael soothed. It wasn’t helping.

  “How long is the ticket good for?” Kyle added.

  “I think it’s good forever,” Michael replied.

  “Think? Think? Think seems like you don’t know,” Kyle challenged.

  “Listen, I’ll talk to Gordon, and figure everything out.” Michael played a little defense. “Remember: trust me. I’ve gotten us this far. Could be a hell of a lot worse.” He pointed around the room. “I’m going to bring up getting some resources to help you find your family and friends. Hang in there.”

  We did. We hung in there for a few hours. There wasn’t much else to do. We changed out of the silly white outfits, and into our own clean clothes.

  Sitting on the dresser were a number of books. Not a library by any means, but around ten to fifteen different novels. There were a few suspense stories, a love story or two, but the most ironic of all was a novel called, “Return of the Living Dead.” It was a novel based on the classic zombie movie from the 1980’s.

  I was starting to get sick of the same little, brown bird flying across the TV screen when we heard a knock at the door.

  Michael laid down the love story he was reading, got up from his bed, and walked to the door. He looked back at the two of us with an unmistakable look of concern, which at the time I didn’t understand, and then turned to open the door, greeting Jarvis.

  “Hello, gentlemen.”

  We all nodded towards him.

  “It’s time for dinner. Follow me, please. Gordon is eager to meet the three of you.” We followed him into the long hallway. The lights had a green tint, leaving everybody looking a shade sicker than they actually were. In any other circumstance, I might have found that funny.

  We continued around the corner, past the Communications room, and up to a large metal door. It had a large circle doorknob. You had to turn it with both hands to open, and Jarvis actually asked for assistance from Kyle. I would have laughed at that, too, but I was too on edge.

  As the door cracked forward, we started to hear laughter and chatter. When it was fully open, we could see roughly seventy people sitting at a table in a large open room.

  The circular table was gigantic, catching my attention. There were servants bringing food to the people whom were already seated.

  With all the food in the room, I expected to be overwhelmed by the smells. However, canned foods don’t have the same kinds of smells as home cooked foods. This whole place ran on canned or dried foods. I was already getting tired of it.

  As soon as we were noticed, the room went quiet. Jarvis led us to three open spots on the far side of the table at the opposite side of the room.

  I was reminded of a time when I was in college, before I met Jenn. I left a girl’s dorm room after a one night stand early one morning and had to pass about twenty girls eating breakfast. They all stopped and looked at me the same way. Accusing eyes.

  Michael was playing it cool. He nodded his head, acted like he belonged. Little did we know what was about to unfold.

  Jarvis motioned for us to step towards the chairs. I couldn’t place it at the time, but I noticed that he didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of this group. They didn’t make eye contact with him, or even acknowledge that he was there.

  Each of us got to our chairs, pulled them out and stood there, feeling like idiots. A taller guy sitting next to where Michael was standing, who to my surprise was dressed in a turtleneck, jeans and a blazer, spoke.

  “Have a seat, gentlemen.”

  As one, we sat down.

  The man with the turtleneck, who appeared to be in his forties with prematurely grey hair and two to three day stubble, motioned with his hand.

  “Welcome to Avalon. This is the Round Table.”

  Michael made eye contact, and replied, “Thank you. I’m assuming you’re, Gordon?”

  “Why yes, of course, I’m Gordon.” He paused. “You must be, Michael.”

  “Yes. It’s great to finally meet you,” Michael replied. He looked as if he should shake hands but was uncertain if that was proper. Gordon smiled, looking Michael up and down.

  Kyle and I sat there watching. There was something uncomfortable about the conversation.

  “You’re late, one of the last to arrive. We started to think the worst,” Gordon said.

  “Yes, well, my helicopter went down. These two pulled me from the wreckage and saved my life.” He nodded towards Kyle and me. Gordon leaned forward, looking around Michael at us, and then sat back.

  “Looks like you’re a lucky man, Michael,” he said. “Not too many heroes out there these days. Tough to find a man who will pull you out of trouble.”

  “You’re telling me! I had a hole the size of a quarter in my stomach. These guys patched me up and helped me start to heal,” Michael said in a sharp exhale.

  The rest of the
people in the room were silent, listening intently to the conversation. For the first time, I noticed that the room was made up of all men. There was a guy a few people to my left with a smile on his face, like he was in on a joke that nobody else got.

  “So glad you could get here. Has anybody explained the Arena to you?” Gordon asked.

  “Nope,” Michael said. Kyle and I shook our heads as if on the same puppeteer strings.

  “Oh, I see. Well good. You’re in for a treat. We really have pulled something special together here at Avalon.” Gordon exclaimed, looking out at his friends around the table, as they all shared a small laugh.

  “You see,” Gordon went on in a lively, yet almost sinister tone, “we’ve created a unique world. In just days, we’ve built a society that is being run as it always should have been. A world focused on the Elite, with commoners who work for the privilege of life. Gone are the days where poverty destroys this world. Gone are the days of handouts and free rides. The poor were the first to go in this reckoning. The people who want to work to survive are the ones we will allow to co-exist here with us.”

  I cast a discreet glance at Kyle. He was looking at an exit door.

  “The Arena is our little way of keeping the peace. Anybody who doesn’t follow the rules, will fight in the Arena.”

  More people were smiling around the table now. They were all in on it. My hands were under the table. I was spinning my wedding ring to the point of making my finger sting.

  “Fight who? You might ask. I think a better question is fighting what.” His tone was definitely morbid. “The people who don’t follow the rules, fight the infected... with one chance and one chance only.”

  Gordon paused, and looked around the room towards all his friends. He’d gotten them worked up, and he was going to draw this out for the big conclusion.

  “Simply put, survive. Survive the bouts, and the commoner becomes an Elite citizen.”

  “Seems like you’re just toying with them,” Michael said, in his best snooty tone.

  “Ahh, but that’s the best part,” Gordon replied passionately. “While we have people who are breaking the rules and have to fight, we have also had volunteers. People who are willing to put on a show for the chance to live the privileged life... a life with us at this very table.”

  “Has anybody won?” Michael inquired. The table let out a combined chuckle.

  Gordon took a sip from a metal gauntlet of wine, wiped his face, and looked back at Michael.

  “The truth is, nobody has made it past round one. Let’s face it though, we’ve really only had a handful of battles thus far.” Gordon dabbed daintily at his lips again. “I’m sure someone will prevail. It could even be you.” I saw Michael startle noticeably. My heart was now bouncing between being stuck in my throat and plunging into my feet.

  “Me! What do you mean?” Michael asked slightly panicked.

  Gordon pushed his chair back, stood up, and started to walk around the table.

  “There are rules at Avalon, and all lead to you winding up in the Arena.”

  “Yes, we’ve heard them,” Michael replied sourly. “What does it have to do with us?”

  “Michael, Michael, Michael.” Our host exhaled, shaking his head. “The first rule is, no commoner will ever strike, hurt, maim or kill an Elite customer.”

  Gordon stepped up to Michael, and looked him directly in the eyes. His face turned serious, with his brows arched and eyes wide open.

  “I’ve known Michael Hoskins for fifteen years. We’ve traveled to exotic locations, fucked exotic women in said exotic locations, and most importantly, he’s one of my best friends.”

  Michael looked down at the table, sweating freely, his face turned ghostly white. Kyle looked as if he were ready to drag our friend out of his chair and beat him to a pulp. I didn’t know what to think. Part of me wanted to believe that what this psycho man said was just a lie, but Michael’s reaction reaffirmed that it wasn’t.

  “So my question for you, sir, is where is my friend Michael? Because you and I both know, you’re not Michael Hoskins.”

  Chapter 21

  Twenty God damn years.

  “Michael Hoskins was a rotten son of a –bitch,” our friend Michael, or whatever his name was, said from behind the bars.

  We had been escorted by the black troopers to a cozy jail cell, complete with metal beds, metal toilets, and no privacy. There was only a back wall. The other three walls were nothing but bars.

  “People were pawns to him. He treated everybody like shit. His family hated him. His friends were scared of him. He was a womanizer, and his wife knew it.

  His tickets for this place didn’t even include his wife and three kids. They were for him, and whoever he needed to get him to this place. Can you believe that? He left his family to die!” Michael was pacing the cell rapidly in anger.

  “I was an accountant in his building. We were all told that if we left early, then we’d be fired. You know, during that first day when the news reports first started to hit. I had a wife and kid; they needed me to be employed. Things were bad enough in this economy without being unemployed as well. That bastard actually had one of the interns from the third floor standing by the elevator, writing down people’s names as they left early that day. They knew they’d be fired, but they left anyway. They were smarter than I was. Many of us stayed, and most of us probably died!”

  He stopped for several moments, panting for air. He curled up on the metal bed that protruded from the concrete wall.

  I was in a separate cell across from him. Kyle was in the cell next to me. There was another man next to Kyle. He was lying on the bed, and had not said anything since we arrived.

  Staring off into space, Michael continued in a distant voice.

  “The Internet had basically jammed up in the building. I really couldn’t see what was going on. I would have left. Seriously, I would have tried to get home. I really didn’t understand how bad it was. I was in the middle of a cube farm, and nowhere near a window.”

  I knew the cube farm well. They were the norm for the modern businessman in the twenty-first century. The mention of them made my stomach queasy. Michael continued endlessly, rambling on. I was glaring at him from my cell, livid with the shit that he’d pulled over on us. He was up pacing around, my eyes following him accusingly.

  “I knew he had some sort of backup. He trusted me with his personal accounts. Every month I would see a bill come through for a company called Avalon. The name Gordon Green was all over it. Evacuation Emergency Contingency Fund. That was the name of the fund where the dollars came from to pay for it. We were a public company. It took some fancy accounting to make sure nobody could trace that personal expenditure back to him. I was good at it. I was always good at erasing financial problems. That’s why he liked me.”

  Again, he paused, sticking his arms through the cell bars, never making eye contact with us. I guess he felt like he owed us an explanation.

  “I got a call late in the day.” His voice was low, almost pitiful. “My wife had told me that Toby had been bitten by one of those things and burning up with a fever. She begged me to get home. I told her I’d be off of work in an hour. I was on the phone with her when Toby turned and went after her. She dropped the phone.” Tears began streaming down his cheeks like little rivers.

  I managed a look at Kyle. If what he was now saying was the truth, this was some intense shit. We both knew that much. Everybody has someone they want to get back to.

  “I remember screaming for her over the phone,” Michael blurted emotionally. “I was in the middle of the cube farm, screaming for her. I felt stupid, screaming like that. What would everybody think? She never picked the phone back up. That’s when I stood up, and saw that I was the last person there. I was so caught up on my work, so intent on making Michael happy, I let my family die! All for him. All in the name of Michael Hoskins.” The name was spat with such vehemence that it gave me the chills.

  “He deser
ved what he got,” Michael grumbled wiping impatiently to dry his cheeks.

  I could see him clenching his fists. There was a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

  “When I started towards his office, I had not intended to do what I did. There was no malice, no preconceived notions. I just wanted to tell him what he had done. Tell him that I could not get home to my family now. I wanted him to understand.” Michael’s voice was low, slightly hoarse from regret and sorrow. He was taking in deep breaths, his chest heaving slowly as he tried to steady himself.

  “His door was open. I stepped in, not knocking. I had worked there for twenty years. Every time I entered his office, I had knocked on that door. Unaware that I was there, he continued to fill up a metal brief case with some sort of documents and cash that he was pulling from a wall safe. I got his attention. He was surprised to see me, and asked what the hell I was still in the office for.” Michael threw up his arms in furious exasperation. He asked the question again, and then let out a short roar.

  “What was I still in the office for? I guess I didn’t get the fucking memo to leave. I restrained myself, and told him that I was just finishing up the day. But I was shaking so hard. I was so pissed that I couldn’t see straight. Maybe it was something in my voice, or maybe the look in my face. Either way, that’s when he knew he was in trouble. He knew it before I did. The real Hoskins stopped what he was doing and looked at me. His puffy, red rimmed eyes had a way of making you believe him.

  “You’ve been a good worker. A loyal servant to this company. Hoskins told me. Don’t ruin a ten year career over one bad day.”

  “Twenty, I had reminded him.”

  “What?”

  “Twenty God damn years, I said. I’ve been here for twenty God damn years.”

  I had often wondered what I would be like after twenty years on the work force. I had done it for maybe ten after college and was already going a bit nuts. Double it...and you turn into this guy. I watched Michael shake his head deliberately.

  “When I charged him, he crouched down in a low center of gravity sort of position. He had apparently been trained in some sort of martial art. Using my own momentum, he flung me up into the air. I landed stomach first onto his oversized desk, knocking paper, pens and the metal briefcase on the floor. He stood over me, saying, that I was weak and pathetic. He started in on me about how I was always doing what I was told, not standing up for myself. That was the real reason why I would never amount to anything, because I was afraid to take chances. That bastard said that I had a sad existence. Can you believe that son of a bitch?”