Zombie Revolution
The Beginning of the End
Emily Allison
Copyright © 2018 Emily Allison
Cover design by Emily Allison
Book design by Emily Allison
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For Shannon, it’s about time this crazy, cool lady got a dedication.
You’re an amazing friend.
*skinny fist bump*
prologue
Winter had come-winter had come one month, two weeks and four days ago to be exact, and with it enough snow to damn near fill the Bronco’s stadium in Denver. Freezing powder clung to the shaggy green branches of each fir tree and the slim Aspens, blanketing the earth, silencing nature. The oppressive weight of the quiet could make a man go insane really. Through the snowy silence footsteps whispered, one after another crunching softly in the white sparkles, heading in the direction of the mountain’s summit. After six months of neglect and heavy snow fall, the lone mountain road had become impenetrable for even the manliest of machines, a fact that Damon Marshall cursed with each freezing step, and after the first mile his boots were soggy through to the socks. The road was nearly impossible to find. If it hadn’t been for the crashed Volkswagen Beetle at the bottom, he never would have found it.
Damon may have remembered how many days winter had been upon them but couldn’t remember how many months had passed since the argument he had with his brother, Keith, which left Chloe, Riley, Harper and himself to fend for themselves in the zombie-infested ski resort town of Vail, Colorado. It wasn’t until after the zombies attacked the safe-zone he and his friends had established one year ago, that Damon pondered whether or not to check on Keith and Julene, but foolish pride kept him away, until now.
What mentally drove him to take wide, energy-draining steps up the mountain side? He didn’t know. It was like some invisible force pulling him toward his brother.
Jets of white smoke shot from Damon’s nostrils, passed cracked lips. His lungs filled with the chilly air, fresh from any contaminants that once polluted it. It had been nearly two years since the zombie infection swept across the States, killing nearly everyone, including his wife and son.
In a matter of hours his life had been thrown into a hurricane of pain and regret when his son and wife were infected. The following days were murder to Damon, and without the luck of having his own life snuffed out, he lingered on. That was the past though. It never did any good to dwell on the past. He never expected to find a new life in the Rockies—with Victoria and the others.
The man with mahogany eyes watched the trees sprouting to the heavens from the sparkling powder, miles of scaling trees to his right and left. Serene was the picture, but it was what lurked betwixt the trees, under the snow, off in the distance that kept anxiety nipping at his shoulders. His sharp eyes scanned and momentarily he halted-ears twitching-something catching on the wind. The sound was faint, but ever so distinct—a zombie, the undead, a creature with an unrelenting appetite for flesh. It was well off to the East, so Damon paid it little mind, his feet continued to trudge through the snow.
The snow made the winter season even more dangerous, acting as a natural silencer for the undead footsteps. Twigs and leaves lay buried, unable to snap or rustle a warning. The zombies were not always vocal, lacking the quintessential moans and growls either. Some merely imitated silent movie thespians, with animated limbs and mouths, stumbling in the direction of anything catching their attention.
Before he knew it, Damon was once again submerged in his own mind, thinking back to his new companions…and about how cold his feet were.
He stepped over the edge of the hilltop, thankful to be through with the ascent; his burning thighs were so tight he could have broken a two by four over them. He was still a short distance away from the secluded cabin, so he began to formulate the words he would say to Keith. Their last encounter had left his brother red-faced, chasing Riley dressed in nothing but a bath towel, after Damon robbed a great deal from Keith’s weapons and ammunition stash.
When the cabin came into view Damon’s heart hit his soaked boots, blood ran as cold as the snow under his feet.
“Oh no…” he whispered through the frigid breeze, his voice dying on the frozen air.
Soggy feet and aching thighs were forgotten when Damon’s body took off in a sprint. The once protective fence surrounding the property, that had kept them safe for months from the zombie plague, was torn down in large sections. Pieces were hanging precariously from the upright panels, while others were buried beneath mounds of snow. Damon could feel himself tripping over the frozen bodies of zombies that had fallen victim to the fence’s deadly electricity, but he continued to move. The generator had long died out, leaving the once lethal electric fence, merely a fence. Undead forces had steamrolled through it.
Damon prayed his brother made it out with Julene, his girlfriend, ignoring the fact that their Jeep was still parked in the same place Damon had left it so many months ago; now it too was buried. No smoke emanated from the small chimney, the windows were dark. He slowed his pace when he approached the cabin’s porch. The front door was sagging open on broken hinges, ready to snap off with the slightest gust of wind, and two bodies lay face down on the splintered wooden planks and from the look of it, they had been there a long while. He crouched on a knee to investigate and blew a sigh of relief when the bodies were that of zombies. Tears unintentionally welled up in Damon’s tear ducts as he cautiously passed under the door frame. There was still a slim chance someone survived, or a curious zombie could have wandered in. He hoped there was a sign that his brother was safe, and not one of the dead, or undead. Damon spied a double barreled shotgun lying on the floor, the chamber was open as if it were being reloaded; dust covered casings covered the floor.
“Christ…” Damon moaned when he saw a dark stain grotesquely painted on the wood floor. A trail of smeared blood ran into the master bedroom, or Keith’s room for that matter. There were bodies piled just inside the door frame, by the look of it, Keith hadn’t gone down without a fight. Damon knew his brother better than that. Tears ran unchecked down Damon’s bristled face as he tried to determine which body was Keith’s. He stepped over the pile of bodies as his eyes passed over the remains of a corpse. Most of the flesh was gone-eaten through to the yellowed bones-but there was a metallic chain around the vertebrae with a small key cemented in a dried up pool of blood. Damon recognized it. It was the same one he used to open the armory. He’d left it on the doorknob after he raided the weapons.
“This is my fault,” Damon muttered to the empty cabin, clutching the cold chain. “I brought this on you and Julene.” He gently slipped the dirty chain off his brother’s skeleton and held it in a hard fist. “My fault…” he whispered. Absently wiping the silver chain on his pants, he then draped it over his head and tucked it in his gray T-shirt, where it would stay. His eyes burned as more tears came. Out of nowhere, a new sensation washed over him. Pain struck him deep in his chest as blood rushed to his face; fury bubbled up from his core, and he rose to his feet.
“FUCK!!” he howled to the ceiling, and he kicked an overturned stool across the room; the small piece of furniture st
ruck the dresser, knocking cologne bottles and jewelry onto the floor in a loud clatter. A different pain surged through his foot, fueling the inner fire. Suddenly, he had a beef with God. “What did I ever do to you?!” he cried out, before throwing his fist into the wall. The old pine wood refused to give but seemed to suck the energy from his body, causing him to collapse to his knees. “It’s not fair,” he childishly whined.
Damon shot up like a battle ready prairie dog when a loud thud echoed through the hollow walls of the cabin. Knowing he wasn’t the cause of the mysterious noise, his thick hand instantly went to the machete dangling at his side and squeezed the hilt. The clang of metal echoed when he unsheathed it. Electricity buzzed over his pores, causing the hair on his arms and neck to stand on end. If Damon’s memory of the cabin served him correctly, the sound originated in the kitchen. He went to investigate, cautiously stepping over the pile of bones and rags. He didn’t bother asking out loud who was there; that kind of stuff got people killed in the world they lived in. The zombies were everywhere now, always watching, waiting to catch a tasty meal off guard.
The kitchen was in shambles, with the table and chairs flipped every which way, like a herd of cattle had trampled through. Softs thuds echoed around the ravaged kitchen as Damon stood by the table, waiting for the sound again. As seconds ticked by Damon grew impatient and swiped his hand across the messy counter, spilling pots and plates onto the floor. The resulting ruckus yielded exactly what Damon expected, yet this time his ears picked up more than a thud. He could make out a hacking moan emanating from the small pantry to his right. The cold air in the cabin reeked of death; the smell was always around in the presence of the undead. As he reached for the doorknob, he wondered how he hadn’t smelled it before. His skin still prickled, even after all this time. He was sure who he was going to find behind the splintered door but turned the knob anyway.
The undead form of Julene teetered from side to side staring blankly at Damon with her broken jaw hanging to her chest. The fabric of her handmade sundress was stained with thick blood; some patches fell off in crispy chunks as she lunged for him. With a swift, fluid motion of the machete, Damon split her skull in two; her body crumpled in a silent heap. He stood over her motionless form for a few minutes before his boots creaked across the lonely floorboards, taking him outside to the porch.
Damon sat hard against the edge of the porch, his boots buried in a foot of freezing slush. He hadn’t noticed the temperature had dropped another five degrees, nor did he notice the soaking rims of his pants resting against his calves. Damon fought back the familiar burning in his tear ducts until he could no longer. Silently he cried, mourning the loss of the brother that he’d briefly had in his life, and regretting not coming back sooner. If only Keith hadn’t made them leave, maybe there would have been something he could have done. If he had only pulled the trigger back in his Arkansas bedroom, then only he would be gone. Rationale of never meeting Victoria, or Chloe dying alone in a Kansas gas station bathroom hadn’t caught up to him. Keith’s violent death plagued him, and he knew it would until his dying day.
Winter’s silence pressed down over Damon as he sat hunched, head in numb fingers. A sharp wind picked up, sending chilling snowflakes in a flurry around him; their bite was ignored. It wouldn’t have taken much to catch the distraught man off guard, a wandering, voiceless zombie, muffled by the snow. Damon’s chest shuddered with crushing pain as he coughed hard between the haggard sobs, seemingly heard only by the decrepit cabin; but something else had heard the commotion inside, the sobbing outside, while hiding silently in the tool shed behind the cabin.
Careful footsteps led the stalker around the posterior side of the cabin, along the crumbling foundation to the corner of the rotting porch where dark eyes fell upon the source of all the noise. It had seen this person before, only it had been such a long time since their last encounter, it was unsure if the man remembered. One step closer and then another, it had made it onto the porch without the man even looking up from his palms.
A clatter of empty whiskey bottles shattered the solace, and Damon shot up in the snow brandishing the machete like a broadsword, his eyes stained red from salty tears. Damon eyed his target, then dropped his weapon and fell to his knees. He choked and sputtered before raising his arms, “Boomer—How-?” He wiped his eyes, motioning for the bloodhound to come closer. “Come ‘er you damn beautiful mutt.” He tried to make his throaty voice less threatening but failed.
The black and brown hound bounded across the porch and into the snow with his floppy ears waving back and forth. His canine face was exuberant, tongue hanging out ready to give a thousand slobbery kisses. Damon received them without resistance. He rubbed Boomer’s soft ears and head, then down his back. The dog’s fur was dingy but comforting as his fingers brushed along his spine. It was obvious he hadn’t been eating a well-balanced diet or much of a diet at all; his ribs were sticking through his rough winter coat, and Damon’s hand passed over his protruding hip bones.
“Oh Boomer…let’s go buddy. We’ll get you something to eat.” Damon stood up and plucked the machete from the splintered porch and turned away from the cabin, away from the nightmare that deep down he knew he would stumble into again. “I know someone who has been dying to see you again…” he said with a weak smile on his face.
chapter 1
The last of the remaining snow had melted, revealing a thick slop of mud and mushy vegetation on the lawns of the abandoned homes of a no name town burrowed in the northern Rockies of Wyoming. The hazy afternoon sun filtered through ashen clouds and did little to warm the mountain air. Chloe’s worn black boots splashed in a murky puddle, cold water hit her jeans, but she paid it no mind. The brown leather jacket she was wearing had splatters of mud and blood on the sleeves, and her dark blue skinny jeans were stained and torn. She adjusted the form fitting thermal shirt that kept riding up over the rim of her jeans as she hopped over the curb and jogged up the sidewalk outside the Somerville Library. Her blond hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail that bounced as she bounded up the dirty concrete steps. A camouflaged bow bounced against her shoulder and back as she ascended. Over the winter she had become quite the marksman with it. Even though her breath no longer froze on the air, her fingertips were still cold against the small black pistol in her hand. Only a few more steps and she would be at the top. Suddenly a form passed swiftly by her and stopped at the glass door.
“Hey,” she complained loudly then slammed a fist on her hip. Her thin eyebrows crumpled when she frowned.
The tall blond man stuck out his tongue. “It’s not my fault you’re too slow.” His curls had grown out some since the end of fall.
Chloe balled up her tiny fist and punched his bicep, which she was a little closer to now; she had grown at least two inches since Damon rescued her from a Kansas bathroom. “And you’re a sore winner, Riley,” she accused, just before turning around to the sound of extra sets of footsteps behind them. “What took you two so long?” She was staring at a big man with a chest the size of a tree trunk, matched with hulking arms and his rust colored hair shaved close to his scalp.
The stern expression on his face changed with the playful pander from the teen. “You know, Chloe, you need to hold back with the rest of us.” he started but caught himself. He had been through this before on many other supply runs. “But you won’t listen to me anyway-” His chest heaved with a sigh, but he still held his smile.
“So why do you waste your breath?” Damon finished when he joined Harper on the first step, bearing a black shotgun and machete dangling at his hip. Damon knew the danger, but Chloe made it clear to him that she couldn’t be tamed. Harper had a harder time accepting it than Damon.
Chloe shot the two of them an ear to ear grin. “I’m just so excited to be here at the library.”
“Nerd,” replied the smiling marine. His shaggy curls bounced when he tilted his head.
“Shut up, Riley.”
“Seriously tho
ugh, what’s with the whole library thing? I could think of more interesting places than a dusty old house of paper.” Riley looked from Chloe to the door, placing his only hand over his crystal blue eyes to shield the light; he pressed his face to the glass, making sure to smudge his nose and forehead against it.
“It’s not just paper,” Chloe yipped and punched the tall marine in the gut. “It’s not like we have TV anymore, but that’s not the only reason-”
“Well, we’re not getting in this way,” Riley interrupted. His breath fogged the glass, “It’s barricaded up like a fortress.”
Riley went back to talking, just as a cold breeze kicked up and tangled his blond curls into knots. “The place looks empty, but it’s a library so that explains that.”
Chloe’s face dropped. “No, we gotta get in.” She turned to Damon, “We gotta get in there,” she pleaded. Her bottom lip protruded.
“Don’t freak out, we’ll find another way.” He reassured her before they witnessed a meltdown.
She jumped down the steps, catching the railing with her hand to swing herself around the side of the building. “Well let’s find a window or something.”
“Slow down, Chloe,” Harper warned just as he snared her shoulder. “There more important things to worry about then books.”
“Yeah—yeah, zombies….I know,” she huffed. “I just really love them, yanno?”
“Don’t get overconfident, then you’ll underestimate the enemy.”
The four of them rounded to the back of the library and tried the employee entrance. Chloe attempted to turn the knob and frowned. Her brilliant eyes shot up at Harper and Damon.
Harper took his place at the door. “That little door isn’t going to stop us okay? We will still use the same procedures as always, only this time we have to break the door down. Keep our guard up.”
The Beginning of the End Page 1
