by Scott Shoyer
The wall of energy that surrounded the town of Spicewood, Texas dissolved like an ice sculpture underneath a blowtorch.
Once the aliens across the planet were eliminated, the light concentrated itself on the five motherships that had been altering the atmosphere. The lights now bathed the large ships in its intense glow and stopped the beams that came from the bottoms of the ships.
The mothership over Central Mexico fired its weapons at the man and watched as the man absorbed the blast and shot it back at the ship. The mothership was vaporized in the air, and in an instant was gone from the sky. The glow from the man was so intense that there was no debris from the ship to crash to earth.
The other four motherships stopped what they were doing and closed the large bay door under their respective ships. They knew they couldn’t risk losing another craft. The motherships contained what remained of their species. The millions of aliens around the world they’d created to keep their species alive were all dead. The seemingly infallible plan to infect human beings with an alien virus that would ultimately transform them into more of their species was over.
The aliens knew they were defeated, and they were defeated by their own technology.
They were defeated by one of their own.
One by one, the motherships left Earth’s atmosphere and headed back out into the universe. Their numbers had dwindled significantly, but there was always another planet to conquer.
As the last mothership left Earth, the ball of light around the man became brighter still until there was a silent explosion. The center of the ball burst, creating a billion little points of light that shot out in every direction.
*
Once the intensity of the light died down, Wilder, Cheryl, and Steele looked up, but couldn’t find the man.
He was gone.
Wilder held up his hand and noticed that the bleeding had stopped and the pain had disappeared.
“What the fuck just happened?” Steele asked.
“I have no idea,” said Cheryl. “I’m not even sure what I just saw,”
“What you just saw,” Wilder said, “was the weapon we needed to defeat those fuckers. Nothing on Earth could’ve defeated them. Only the technology of the aliens could bring them down.”
“Your hand,” Cheryl said as she grabbed Wilder’s forearm. “What happened?” Wilder’s stump had stopped bleeding and looked as though it was already healing over.
“I’m guessing the serum you injected in me from the vial has something to do with this,” Wilder said as he held up his arm.
“So,” Steele said as he stood. “Now what do we do?”
“I don’t know about you two,” Wilder said, “but I’m in no mood to start cleaning this garbage up.”
All around them, and they guessed all around the planet, were hundreds of millions of dead aliens. “I say we find someplace comfortable and sleep for the next two weeks,” Wilder said.
Steele and Cheryl helped Wilder stand and they walked over and around the dead aliens. Somewhere on the property was the Schoepke Estate. They were going to find it, grab a bed, and sleep.
Sleep in peace for the first time in over two years.
THE END
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Afterword
The world would never be the same again.
In the days following the end of the war with the aliens, Wilder, Steele, and Cheryl searched for survivors in the Wisent 8x8 armored vehicles. The three of them didn’t talk much about what had happened on that final day. They still didn’t understand what they’d witnessed and didn’t even know the name of the man who’d saved the world.
Survivors slowly emerged from hiding places and wandered the streets. Confusion and fear was on everyone’s faces as they realized how close they were to complete annihilation.
As the months passed, animals reemerged, but the animal kingdom suffered severe losses. Many animals that used to be household names and commonplace in zoos across America were now extinct. It would be several generations before people trusted animals and allowed them back into their homes.
Wilder, Steele, and Cheryl were the only witnesses to what happened on that day. To those interested, they told the story of an aggressive, dying alien race and the secret deal they’d made with a group of thirty-six men.
Wilder’s severed wrist healed over as the weeks passed. He attributed the fact that he’d never gotten an infection to the alien serum that still flowed through his veins. Wilder often thought about the aliens and how advanced they were technologically. He also thought of all the good the aliens could have done with their technology.
Wilder often wondered what else the alien serum could cure or prevent. Did he contain the cure for cancer in his blood?
AIDs?
The cure to every earthly disease?
Unfortunately, the advanced field of medical technology was decimated. People now only thought about surviving. But one day, society would get back on track, and people would look to the future once again.
When that happened, Wilder would be ready.
Until that time, though, he would keep the one remaining vial hidden in his possession and help rebuild.
What else could he do?
A New Master of Horror
Scott Shoyer has had a love affair with the horror genre since childhood and has a creative imagination that knows no bounds. Scott has exhibited his creativity in several different arenas.
Earning his Ph.D. in German philosophy, he enjoyed writing and teaching in academia. He has also exhibited his creativity as an Executive Chef dazzling foodies at some of the most upscale dining rooms in Austin, Texas.
Presently, while writing his novels, he runs the very popular website, www.anythinghorror.com where he writes about various facets of the world of horror.
Outbreak: Endplay is the third book in the Outbreak trilogy that continues to bring something new to zombie fiction (the first two being Outbreak: The Hunger and Outbreak: The Mutation). Next, Scott plans on taking on some Lovecraftian terrors as well as further explore the zombie world he created in his Outbreak trilogy in a series of novellas.
Look for several new horror projects coming from him along with his four short stories published in four different horror anthologies.
Scott lives in Austin, Texas with his two children, who still refuse to go back to the Austin Zoo.
One | Summer 2048: The Field
Nightfall would bring the dead, and Death. But the sun was still pinned to the bright blue of Heaven’s firmament, pitched only slightly westward, away from the mountain wall against which Potter’s Field was buttressed. The warmth of midday was offset by a pleasant breeze, and it was in all-too-brief moments like these that Claire thought she must be feeling what it was to be alive, really alive.
She stood in a wide field at the foot of the mountain, separated from its steep, mossy slope by a high stone security wall. The field itself was fenced off to prevent livestock from wandering into the nearby “suburb,” the encampment’s tent city where residents made their homes. This was the calm part of Potter’s Field, an area graced now and then by gentle laughter, even silence. The suburb had intentionally been set apart from the community’s business end, where the soldiers trained and where, beyond the forward security wall, there was no mountain but a flat expanse of infertile earth which stretched to the horizon like a scab. The unspoiled land of the Field was the mar on this world where nature was rot.
Claire focused on the green grass beneath her feet and the smells on the air. Her horses had just been released from the stable and were fanning out in her direction. A couple trotted directly to her, and she looked up to receive a wet nose in the crook of her neck. Claire jumped with a laugh and patted Boy Blue’s head. Smoothing the black hair matted atop his crown, she thought he needed more than a brushing; all twelve of them, in fact, were probably due for a trip with Claire to the edge of the reservoir. “You can lead a horse to water, but you ca
n’t make him wash his ass.” One of Andre’s many bon mots. Andre hadn’t been by today. Claire cast a glance toward the gravel road which ran beside the fence as she fished through a burlap bag fastened about her waist. She offered Boy Blue a palmful of feed. His younger brother, Rocket, nosed into the exchange, and Claire fetched another handful for him. It was meager in both amount and nutrients, but it was the best she could do for her kids most days. The little bit of farmland the Fielders had managed to cultivate and maintain was used to grow food for the people. Claire had been granted a little corner and a pittance of grains. Despite the importance of the horses – motor vehicles were an indistinct memory, almost like something out of a campfire tale – she received little aid in tending her crop. Andre, when he was on KP (which was more often than most, thanks to his bon mots), would sometimes sneak some carrot shavings into his pockets and bring them to the stable. “Rules are for those who need them,” he’d say. “It’s an equalizer, Clarissa.” Clarissa wasn’t her real name, and he knew that, but she allowed it. “Rules,” he’d go on, “keep the sharks and snakes in check around the mice. For the rest of us, those who just know better than to eat their own, rules are meant to be bent.”
Claire wasn’t sure if she agreed with that. But half the time, even after all these years, she couldn’t tell if Andre was completely serious or not. Fifteen years she’d known the man, most of her life. She’d been seven when he pulled her out of the MCM. Everything before that was a blurred tapestry whose designs only took shape in her worst nightmares. Andre, who was in his twenties then, hadn’t known her before the MCM, and he’d had no luck tracking down anyone who did. But that was the way of things. Sometime around 2028, a big cleaver had fallen from the sky and severed history’s vein.
The other horses had gathered around Claire, and she gave each equal attention. They ranged in age from five to fifteen. Blue was the oldest, and though he may have had many years ahead of him in the world before, Claire was seeing the signs of age. It was her job, had been for half a lifetime. Blue had been her first charge, and she knew he would be the first she lost. She took the brush from her belt and began combing it through his mane. “You’re an old boy,” she said, and smiled a little. Blue stood still, his eye fixed on her, as she worked her way down his coat.
“These guys get better treatment than a general,” came a voice from behind her. She recognized it and chose not to acknowledge it. She heard the man rapping his knuckles on the wooden fence. “Hey, Claire! You in there?”
“Just enjoying the silence,” she called over her shoulder. The man let out a thin laugh. She heard the fence creaking under his weight and bristled. The horses stamped their hooves; it was gentle, but a warning.
“Best stay back, John,” Claire said.
“Why don’t these guys like anyone but you?”
“They like plenty of people,” Claire said, putting the brush away. This wasn’t going to end anytime soon. If there was one thing Johnny Idaho could do, it was talk. Didn’t mean he was any good at it.
She finally turned. Idaho was dressed in his weathered fatigues, though his shirt was open. He cocked his blond head and offered a leery grin. “They like the people you like,” he said.
“They’re good at reading people,” Claire said, brushing a few bits of feed from her palms. “And like I said, you best stay back. Can’t just come walking into their house.”
“I’m one of the reasons they have a home,” Idaho said. His grin was still half-there but, as usual, it didn’t take much to wind him up. “Nice big field to shit in. Some of the families would like the schoolhouse relocated up here by the suburb. Potter says no way.” Idaho hitched up his pants. “I agreed with him.”
“That must have helped.”
“Young lady, a lot of people don’t think about anyone but themselves. I’m a soldier. My job’s about everyone but me.”
Claire nodded, slowly, then said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you ever going to leave me alone?”
Idaho snorted, shifting his weight from one boot to the other. At Claire’s shoulder, Blue offered a snort in reply.
“You know what else?” Idaho said, steamrolling right over what she’d asked. “Some people think your animals are a health risk.”
“I don’t need to hear it,” Claire said. “There’s never been a case of a horse being infected. Or a dog, or a bird, or anything else. The bugs don’t work inside animals.”
“Lots of stories, though.”
“If I believed everything I heard, I wouldn’t allow you within fifty yards of me or this field,” Claire said. She hadn’t intended to flare up like that, but she wasn’t about to hear any baseless rumors about her horses.
Idaho looked taken aback. His countenance darkened and he said, “Lots of stories, kid. And people who aren’t so willing to gamble with their lives on these dumb things.”
Claire steeled her expression and said nothing. If it weren’t for the terrible consequence, she would have already sicced Rocket on him. He didn’t know just how loyal her kids were.
Idaho shrugged. “Just wanted to let you know. I think you do good work. Thought you ought to know some of us still appreciate you.”
As if she were some pariah in the community. Claire wasn’t about to let any of this jerkoff’s implications take root in her mind. She turned her back to him and began checking Rocket’s eyes and teeth.
She had the feeling that Idaho was retreating when she heard him call, “Hey, Dozens!” Shit. Hell of a time for Andre to show up.
“What’re you doing in there, Johnny?” Andre called back. Claire heard him clamber over the fence. The horses didn’t react to Andre’s approach. “Hasn’t Claire told you these beasts will bite your dick off?”
Andre stepped into Claire’s view, patting Rocket’s head. “KP?” Claire asked.
“K is for carrot,” Andre said with a smile. He emptied the pockets of his fatigues. Luckily, he knew how to hold out offerings for the horses to take, otherwise Rocket’s lunging bite would have snapped off a few fingers.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” Idaho asked. He didn’t step any closer, though.
“Relax, Idaho, this is what they threw out from the mess tent. Unfit for human consumption.” Andre winked at Claire.
“Probably tastes better than what I had for breakfast,” Idaho retorted.
“Don’t let Potter hear you say that,” Andre replied. “You know they’re going to name the mulch-wich after him.”
Claire watched as Andre fed the other horses. As unkempt as their manes looked today, none held a candle to Andre’s afro. General Potter was strict as they came, but he’d taken a liking to Andre, as most did, and had let him keep his hair. Idaho had a regulation cut and razor burn all over his chin and neck. Kept you from being snatched by the hair, they said. Kept your sights clear. Less chance of picking up lice. But Andre was an unapologetic individual, something he’d passed that on to Claire.
Natural that someone like Johnny Idaho would resent that, and Claire knew he did, but Idaho was always tagging along after Andre like some lost puppy. Maybe he was hoping some of that goodwill would rub off on him. In truth, Claire pitied Johnny. She wished he could see that. Maybe then he’d leave her alone. Then again…he had a short fuse. Perhaps it was better just to hold him at arm’s length where she could keep an eye on him.
General Potter, for his part, figured anyone assigned to an isolated encampment like this one was capable of handling their own problems. Andre had approached him once about guys giving Claire a hard time – not that she’d asked – but Potter wasn’t hearing any of it. For a general to be running the show out here, there had to be much bigger fish to fry. It was about the old power station on the mountainside. That was why the Field had been established here.
As Claire turned these thoughts over in her head, she and Andre made small talk. She knew Idaho was still loitering somewhere behind them. He’d get the mes
sage. Probably.
#
Once he had, Claire relaxed and Andre told her about the goings-on around the Field. “Couple of guys from the Church with a capital C came by the gate this morning,” he said. “A botar and a feder. Wanted to set up a tent show inside the wall.”
“Missionaries must be going out of their way to witness here,” Claire said. She batted at a fly that was doing aerial stunts around Rocket’s face. Rather than flee, it set about bothering her. She tossed her shoulder-length hair from side to side until the insect was gone.
“You look more and more like your kids every day,” Andre said. “No offense.”
“None taken, shrub.”
Andre let out a hearty laugh that startled the horses grazing at the other end of the field. “You talking about my hair? This fro is a historical landmark.”
“It’s starting to look its age,” Claire said with a wry smile. “You can really see the gray when the sun’s just overhead.”
“Well, now I’m depressed.” Andre shoved his hands into his pockets in mock reproach. “You cut deep, Clarissa.”
He scratched at the stubble beneath his nose and said, “Yeah, we’re well off the beaten path for feders. But I’ll bet they prefer it that way. People tend to be more on edge out in the middle of nowhere. More open to…‘answers.’”
“So what happened? Were they turned away?”
“Eventually. Potter talked to them for a bit, but you know he wasn’t about to let them in.”
Claire shrugged. “Would it have been so bad?”
“I hear that once the Church gets a foot in,” Andre said, “they start wanting to be involved in strategy and then economy. It’s less about guiding specific people than ‘the people’ altogether.” He made finger quotes as he spoke, and Claire nodded.
