The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Greene, Daniel

  He racked his brain as he trudged, trying to pull some sort of explanation of his present situation from the depths of his memory. They left Nelson untouched, but I was stripped? Steele’s feet would have been chewed up into a bloody mess without the boots—cut, torn, and bruised by the underbrush, twigs and rocks from the terrain. He would never have been able to run quickly through the uneven land without them. Maybe someone was watching out for him. He took a cautious glance upward at a dusky sky through the leaves.

  The trees were in the beginning stages of changing colors here, and when they did, they would turn beautiful shades of red, yellow, orange, and brown over the next month. As a young man, he always loved seeing the forest turn in the fall.

  The season had always been special to him. His birthday was in the fall, football season was in the fall, and his family would always build fires in their family cabin, the warm smoky scent filling the air. The thought of fire did nothing to warm him. It only left him with a deep sadness. All those things were gone now. No birthdays. No football. No family. You are alone. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Why have I lived when so many others have perished? Do I even deserve to live? Better not question why you are here. There is a plan, but you may not know it yet. Hopefully.

  “Best not tempt the gods, huh, Jarl?” he said to the ghost of his sacrificial friend. He drove the ghosts from his mind with a farewell. One day we will meet again, brother.

  Uncountable chilled hours faded away beneath the sun until it began its gradual downward arc, and the temperature tumbled swiftly behind it. I must find shelter. His blood-soaked tank-top along with his boxer briefs were no match against the plummeting temperatures.

  He rubbed his arms as he walked, trying to gain warmth in his limbs through friction. Prospects were grim. With every passing minute, his survivability went down with the temperature. Any survival guru would say the same thing: Shelter was a necessity. Not only did he need shelter against the cold, but he needed shelter against the dead.

  Grimacing, he looked down at himself, and let out a bitter laugh.

  “I am the dead.” Stripped down to his underwear, his head bloody, wandering the forest. Even if he found someone friendly, they would probably try and put a bullet in his head, thinking they were doing him a favor.

  As he plodded onward, all he could think was how he wished it was summer. A hot steamy summer, but the summer also meant mosquitos. Damn it all, but maybe I should be grateful there are no mosquitos. What if the virus was spread by mosquitos like Malaria? Six one way, a half-dozen the other.

  He continued his mental anguish as he lumbered forward. He tried to recall what had happened. They had been riding in the McCone mobile lounge. They had stopped for some reason, but everything after that was a blur. Everyone was there. Gwen, Mauser, Joseph, Eddie, and Lucia with her baby, and the now-deceased Nelson. Someone put a bullet in Nelson’s head. But why?

  His brain throbbed as he remembered: Joseph had been there. The skinny doctor with glasses had glanced nervously around, but no memory followed that.

  Steele’s ears picked up the sound of the forest floor rustling. His heart rate spiked up and his head spun. Buddying up behind a tree, he steadied himself. The world leveled out around him. It sounded like he had walked into a nest of squirrels.

  From around the tree he peered out and looked hard. He let his vision focus on movement in an attempt to locate the thing that clearly did not care if it was found. Near the edge of the road, inside the forest, over twenty infected crouched around something on the ground. On their knees, the infected humans ripped and tore at their food like a pack of ravenous wolves. Could it be one of my friends? Could it be Gwen? He wanted to be sick again.

  Steele watched them for a minute, studying their feeding behavior. As one, they crowded around the corpse. They ripped and pulled whatever they could reach. There was no hierarchy to their feeding like other pack animals such as wolves, or lions, who had an alpha that ate first. No tact. Only the singular need to consume. Best to keep moving before they start looking for more.

  He gingerly ran a hand across the top of his head. An indentation ran along his scalp like God himself had taken a divine pencil to his skull in an attempt to redraw him. It reminded him that someone knew what had happened to him. This was no mistake.

  As silently as he could, he moved away from them, heading farther up the forest road. After another hour of hiking, the sun crested the nearest mountain peak. Nighttime is coming. Do or die time.

  Steele’s teeth chattered. His hands were a pale shade of blue. This is bad. He contemplated climbing a tree to sleep for the night. Fuck, it’s cold out here. I’m going to freeze to death. I survived the outbreak of the deadliest virus known to man only to freeze to death in the fucking woods. If his luck got any better, he would probably wake up looking down at a pack of infected waiting patiently for him to climb down, starving and weak. A grisly end indeed. He flicked open his spring-loaded knife. His frozen hand curled around the handle involuntarily. No easy meals.

  Shadows grew into dusk and darkness rapidly overtook him. He found himself willing his feet one over the other. One-two. One-two. One. Two.

  “Gwen? Where are you?” he called out. Coughing, he could hardly pick up his feet. His feet weren’t even there. They were numb and cold like he walked on a bed of ice nails.

  A woman in white appeared ahead through the trees. He stopped, staring at her. He rubbed his eyes. Her hair shone gold. The curve of her body was hazy in the night. She almost glowed in the dark.

  “Gwen,” he coughed. “Wait.” He reached a hand for her. She turned and smiled. An angel. She looked through him though. He was of minor concern in her divine eyes. Gliding away, she floated into the night. He ran after her, but she was faster, and he fell behind. Moments later, she stopped, bringing a finger to her ghostly lips. Her white dress flickered and disappeared, leaving him alone again.

  “Wait,” he mumbled, voice croaking in dehydration. He stopped, half standing, half bending over. His muscles teetered on the edge of collapse. This is as good a spot as any. Quit. You’ve gone far enough.

  He wobbled and fell to the ground. Exhaustion had won. He couldn’t go on. Get up, you fool. He crawled up onto his hands and knees. The ground felt funny beneath his fingertips. Packed tight earth. Odd. Trees had been cleared away. A dirt road stretched below him.

  The path ran perpendicular to the two-lane road he was following. Grass sprouted up in the middle of two tracks. The path was used with some regularity.

  Something deep within him pulled him upright. Too cold to care, he followed the dirt driveway. If it led him to a horde of infected, at least a fight would warm him up. Brazenly, he walked down the middle.

  A quarter-mile down the path he stopped, a smile creeping over his cracked lips. A small house sat in the dark. No lights illuminated the night. No infected wandered nearby. The place looked abandoned, and Steele had never seen a finer sight.

  GWEN

  Moonshiner Camp, WV

  The unwashed women stank. The shed itself smelled worse. A combination of bodily fluids mixed together with mud created the overall odor of a swamp. Gwen had grown used to putrid smells, finding it impossible to get away from.

  She nestled in closer to Lindsay, folding her shoulder over her’s. They were all wedged against the wall, away from the middle of the shed, where it was less muddy. Lindsay stirred, adjusting her arms. The woman would shake herself awake crying, and Gwen would soothe her until she fell back asleep.

  Gwen lay there exhausted, but her mind stood in the way. Not that she wanted to sleep. When she slept, she dreamt only of horrid things. Blood. The shrill sound of bullets screaming past. People shrieking. The dead. When she was awake she couldn’t escape the nightmares either, as her mind replayed the traumatic events over and over.

  They had shot Mark from the bushes. It happened in a blink of an eye. One second, he was standing, the next he had collapsed on the ground. A second l
ater, the mobile lounge’s front windows exploded, a million shards of sparkling glass covering them. Her breath was forced from her body as Mauser’s shoulder drove into her. She hit the ground with a whumph, as he landed on top of her. His weight protected her body, elbows shielding their faces as glass continued to rain down on them. She rolled onto her elbows and crawled down the blood-stained aisle to the rear.

  The mobile lounge had a driver’s compartment on either end like a tiller fire truck, except it faced the other direction, allowing the driver to navigate from either the front or back. If Mauser could reach the other driving compartment, maybe they had a chance to escape.

  Glass dug into her arms and knees like tiny knives. They sliced open her clothes and cut her skin. Bullets tinged and ricocheted off the metal sides, making it sound like they hid in a tin can. Mauser bulled her forward and shoved her bottom with his free arm.

  “We gotta move. We gotta move,” he kept yelling over the din. She stopped halfway and grabbed one of her packs.

  “No time,” Mauser shouted at her.

  “What about Mark?” she cried out. She turned back to get a better look at Mauser.

  “He’s fine. Keep moving.” He pushed her further ahead, self-preservation driving them. Gwen knew Mauser had just lied through his teeth, but took him at his word anyway.

  When they reached the back of the mobile lounge, the others had already congregated. Ahmed knelt down, ducking his head as rounds whizzed over him. Lindsay had her arms around Lucia. Both women were terrified. Gwen leaned back on a seat, hands covering her ears. Mauser sat low in the mobile lounge’s swivel driver’s seat, messing with the steering wheel. Cars that were stalled now roared to life and blocked their only escape. They were penned in.

  “We gotta fight our way out,” Mauser yelled, bringing his carbine to his shoulder. He pushed open the folding backdoors and fired a few rounds into a man in camouflage running for them. The man collapsed and didn’t get up.

  “Make for the woods. It’s our only shot,” Mauser said. A man emerged from the timber and Mauser tracked him with his carbine. Pop. Pop. He went down, holding his leg. Mauser flinched as a bullet thudded into the door frame next to him, bending the metal.

  “NOW,” he screamed. Gwen crawled to the edge of the vehicle and, using the ledge, hung for a moment before she jumped down. She landed in a crouch. Gunfire boomed from the woods. She shouldered her pack and looked up, seeing Lucia stare at her with Maria in her arms.

  “Give me the baby,” Gwen shouted. She waved at Lucia to drop the child. Fear etched Lucia’s face, indecision consuming her.

  “Drop her. I’ll catch her,” Gwen screamed. Lucia bent down, tentatively releasing the vulnerable small human into Gwen’s waiting arms. Catching the child like the most fragile punt return, Gwen sprinted for the trees. More men pointed guns at the mover, using cars and trees as cover.

  She ducked behind a big maple, shushing the baby. Pudgy tan cheeks shook as the baby wailed in fright, her dark eyes squinting while she cried. Gwen watched, in suspense, as Ahmed helped the others down.

  “Run,” Ahmed yelled. Each survivor took their turn at making a break for the forest.

  “Shhh,” Gwen said to the squalling babe. She bounced the child in her arms and searched for somewhere safer to hide.

  She poked her head out from behind the tree. Her vision tunneled with fear. “Be quiet, Maria,” she whispered. The baby stopped crying for a moment and gazed up at Gwen. The babe mesmerized by Gwen’s voice.

  “That’s a good girl,” Gwen said. A brief smile crossed her shaking lips.

  A skinny arm wrapped around Gwen’s neck, and the cold steel of a handgun pressed against the side of her head.

  “Hello, precious,” a woman said behind her.

  Rough men encircled them, shotguns, carbines, and hunting rifles all pointed in their direction. The survivors were driven into a small group in the center. Ahmed and Nelson’s hands were up. Mauser was the only one in a standoff with the ambushers.

  Gwen was driven forward with a gun to her head.

  “Drop the gun, city boy, and she won’t die,” the voice behind her shouted.

  Mauser squinted at them and took turns aiming his gun from person to person. A standoff with no way out.

  “Don’t be dumb, boy,” shouted one of the ambushers. Mauser finished his rotation of targets and lowered his carbine. He let the weapon point upright and rose a free hand. It was either that or be turned into minced meat. He made eye contact with Gwen.

  “Alright, alright, you got us,” he said, tossing down his M4.

  The woman laughed. “Of course we do, sweetie pie.” She shoved Gwen in the back and reunited her with her friends. “Round ’em up, fellas.”

  The mountain folk stripped everyone of their weapons and tied and bound the survivors. Gwen rocked on the ground and screamed at them in agony as they stripped Mark of all his possessions—weapons, ammo, vest, clothes, even his boots—pushing and pulling at him like a pack of dogs while he laid there, limp as a rag doll. His eyes rolled lifelessly into the back of his head, only the whites showing.

  A fat man in a t-shirt that was too small for him ripped Mark’s badge from his neck. Mark’s head tumbled to the side and lay still.

  “Look what I got, boys! Looks like we bagged ourselves a C-Counter,” the man stammered, trying to read the badge. A thinner man with a light beer ball cap and a filthy mustache snatched the badge from him.

  “Gimme that. It says here, retard, that he is a Count… Er… Counterterrorism Division,” the thin man said.

  “What’s a Division?” the fat man asked. He scratched his head with dirty fingers.

  “I dunno, the opposite of multiplication, you idiot. It’s a badge. He’s a fucking cop, Chuck.” He turned to another ambusher. “The only good pig is a dead pig, right, Henry?” the thin man said, kicking Mark with a tan boot. He sneered at his fat friend.

  “Stupid cops. Give it back, Casey. I found it. It’s mine,” Fat Chuck said, grasping for the badge. Casey held it out of his reach and threw the badge back to him.

  “Never heard of ’em anyway.”

  Two gunshots rang out in the forest.

  “A bunch of Devil spawn comin’ dis way,” called out another man in hunter’s camouflage.

  “Get our new friends into the cars. Bobby, hop up in the mover. Puck is gonna be real pleased with this take.” They were herded into the back of a smelly minivan. Bloodstains soiled the off-blue seats.

  Casey pushed Nelson in the back, Steele’s .40 Sig P226 pointed at the soldier’s spine.

  “Hey, Ash. We got one too many prisoners for the van. Whattaya wanna do?”

  Ash shrugged her shoulders. “Eh, shoot that Army guy. You know they’re always trouble.”

  Nineteen-year-old Private Nelson Bonds grimly eyed Casey. Casey pointed Steele’s handgun at Nelson. Tears formed in the corners of Nelson’s eyes. One fell down his smooth cheek, but he looked defiantly ahead.

  “Turn away, soldier boy,” Casey said. Nelson held his gaze. “I said turn away.”

  Nelson refused his command.

  “Are you some kinda stupid?” Casey put the gun to Nelson’s forehead.

  “Hehe, look at how dumb he is,” Fat Chuck giggled, jowls trembling.

  Nelson looked at him. “I am Private First Class Nelson Bonds. I am a soldier of the United States Army. I am sworn to protect this nation from enemies both foreign and domestic.”

  With a disgusted look, Casey moved around behind Nelson, leveling the gun with the back of his skull. His thumb drew back the hammer on his gun.

  “That’s cute. Sounds like somebody who really loves their country. But do you love your country, boy?” Casey mocked.

  Nelson was quiet. Casey punched Nelson’s back with the gun. Nelson flinched, more fear than force scaring him.

  “I said, who loves their country?” Casey screeched, spittle flying.

  “I love my country,” Nelson croaked, his voice breaking
at the end. His eyes darted back and forth, pleading for someone, anyone to do something. The forest was quiet in its complacency.

  “How many times do we have to go over this? Which country do you love?”

  Nelson’s mouth shook.

  “Stop,” Gwen screamed from the back of the van.

  Nelson’s eyes skipped her way. Fear oozed with every blink.

  “You would shut your mouth if you knew what was good for you,” Ashley said. She slapped Gwen in the mouth.

  “Which country do you love, Private?” Casey asked.

  “I love America.”

  “You love America, what? Is that the proper way to speak to your superiors? I’ll tell you something, the military just ain’t what it used to be.”

  “I love America, sir,” Nelson said. His voice was soft.

  Casey looked impatient. “I didn’t hear you. Again.”

  “I love America, sir,” Nelson said louder.

  “I still can’t hear you,” Casey said. He swept a hand back and cupped his ear.

  “I love America, SIR,” Nelson screamed.

  “Thank you. Now, why is it so hard to get people to say they love their country nowadays?” Casey laughed. He looked back at the van and shook his head in disbelief. A fraction of a second passed and with a quick move of his arm the gun was back at Nelson’s head. Boom. Nelson’s brains burst through his nose into the ditch. Another casualty of the end time.

  ***

  Gwen relived the same scene every night, where Mark’s head kicked backward and he fell lifelessly onto the pavement. Her mind played it on repeat like a scratched CD. Every night she awoke in terror. She rested her head on Lindsay’s shoulder. They hadn’t done anything to deserve this. All they had done was try to help someone. The sun rises on good and evil alike.

  She lifted her head a touch as the shed door creaked open a bit. A gnarled old hand wrapped around the wood and pushed it open. It creaked. A slightly warped figure crept inside. Gwen could smell him as he got close, the thick body odor of someone who hadn’t bathed in weeks; it was almost pleasant compared to the filth surrounding her. As he inched nearer Gwen, she feared he was infected, but she had a brief moment of relief when she smelled the alcohol on his breath.