by Thonas Rand
THE FALL of SOCIETY
By
Thonas Rand
Copyright © 2012 by the author.
First Edition.
Cover image from istockphoto.com, image altered by the author.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
This eBook is licensed for you personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, are product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, locations, or events is coincidental or fictionalized.
A Note From The Author
THE FALL OF SOCIETY is my second novel and the first of my undead series. The film “Night of The Living Dead” influenced me so much, along with the sequels, that the undead genre is still one of my favorite movies to watch. And now it is one of my favorite genres to write about. With The Fall of Society, I wanted to create a world that would scare and thrill you; I hope that I have accomplished that. I am very proud of this story and the books in the series to follow.
I thank you for taking the time to read my novel and I would appreciate it very much if you would leave a review, whatever the content, I welcome it. Since I am not the type of author that manufactures his own reviews. I rely on the judgment of good people.
I hope you enjoy THE FALL OF SOCIETY.
—Thonas Rand
Facebook.com/Thonas Rand
Thank Heaven! The crisis—the danger, is past, and the lingering illness,
is over at last—and the fever called “Living” is conquered at last.
—Edgar Allan Poe
Death is the wish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all.
—Lucius Annaeus Seneca
The dead only know one thing: it is better to be alive.
—Private Joker
The hour of departure has arrived and we go our ways; I to die, and you to live.
Which is better? God only knows.
—Socrates
You gotta shot’em in the head, that’s the sweet spot.
—Thonas Rand
THE FALL of SOCIETY
DAY 1:
THE FIRST MORNING
The lazy Arizona sun hung low in the morning on the distant American horizon; the night was still holding on with long, dark shadows from the nearby hills. The town of Piedmont couldn’t really be called a “town,” as it wasn’t much more than a few small buildings nestled between some foothills. There were no paved roads, just a lot of dirt. The place seemed to be the remnants of an old mining town that died long ago, but some people decided to stay and call it home. This dwelling was on its own because there were no other towns or cities for over a hundred miles in every direction. At this time of morning, the town was quiet, maybe too quiet, because not even a dog or any other animal stirred.
The thirty or so bodies lying in the dirt were still as well—too still, for they were dead. Some of the bodies appeared to be torn apart, slicked in blood and pieces that dappled the area as if debris from an explosion.
Movement.
A couple ran out of an old house that was more like a shack and rocketed to an antique Chevy truck. A dog was under the porch that the fleeing people ran across, too scared to come out as it watched them run, sunlight split in between the dusty boards and illuminated the fear in the canine’s eyes. The woman had a child in her arms, and the man had a double-barrel shotgun in his. They looked in all directions, trying to see any danger before it crept upon them.
They got in the truck and closed the doors as quietly as possible. The man started the pickup’s engine, and when it roared to life, they came. From everywhere, four people charged the truck; they threw long, inhuman howls at them as they ran, sprinted, for the vehicle. The man shot one with both barrels, but that only slowed it down a little. Three more appeared, and they converged on the slow pickup and jumped all over it, they broke the windows with their faces to get at the couple and their child. The man was killed; they ripped part of his face off as the woman and child screamed madly. Then, the crazies pulled the man from the moving truck and went insane on his body; one of them tore an arm off the man and began to beat the corpse with it. The truck came to a stop in a ditch and more of them flocked to it in a frenzy of death, the screams from the woman and child drowned out by the growls and shrieks of the mad people that they once called friends.
Another woman crawled out from under the porch of the general store and ran for the hills, but three mad people tackled her to the ground. Their behavior was that of wild animals: wide-eyed, and pus spewed from their mouths, as if they were rabid. The woman being attacked screamed, then they ripped out her throat and tore into her.
The town was in chaos as these mad people were everywhere and attacked anyone that weren’t like them—and when all the normal people were killed, the crazies turned on each other. Like pit bulls, they fought until the opponent was dead and the victor moved on. They ganged up on random individuals in their own groups that they were hunting with as a pack a moment ago. The devastation had no order and it was total.
A few of the crazies were running away from the town as they chased another one down and suddenly, the one they were chasing fell dead as its head exploded. The others didn’t hesitate as they began to chase the one that was leading their group, but one by one, they were all killed. Silenced rifle shots whispered out with a THWAP sound that emulated a nail gun. The shots came from several different locations in the hills that surrounded the town and they were killing anything that moved.
Military snipers dressed in desert camouflage were wearing biohazard masks that covered their mouths and noses, were hidden in foxholes shrouded in camouflage netting, they were accompanied by cameramen that had high-tech equipment with long-range lenses to record everything from a distance. They were playing God. “This is Arrow One, my sector is clear, no movement. Over,” a voice crackled over their radio frequency.
“This is Arrow Six, my sector is clear. Arrow Four, you have movement in your sector, behind the barn. Do you want me to clear it? Over.” another voice said.
A reply came through. “This is Arrow Four, negative. I see her. Over.”
A mad woman was breaking out of the back wall of a barn by using her bare hands; they were mangled and bloody from clawing at the old wood. She got out, that’s when a silent bullet hit her chest, and she dropped like a rock.
“This is Arrow Four, target down and my sector is clear. Out.”
They killed everyone, the town went quiet, the dust settled, and only the morning breeze moved down there, as it covered the bodies like the blanket of a deathbed.
“Arrow One, this is Watcher, what is your status? Over.” another voice asked.
“Watcher, this is Arrow One. All targets have been immobilized. You’re clear for entry. Over.” the lead sniper said.
“Arrow One, this is Watcher, we are making our approach. Keep your positions to sweep. Over.”
“Copy that, Watcher, we are holding to cover. Out.”
A few minutes passed, and then a convoy approached as it cut through the dirt road and left spiraling dust in its wake. Four military Humvees zigzagged through the bodies and stopped in the center of town.
“Watcher
, this is Arrow One, site is secured. There is no movement; you’re free to exit vehicles. Over.”
“Copy that, Arrow One. Out.”
The Humvees in the front and rear of the convoy had topside mounted .50 caliber machine guns, and the soldiers that manned them were clad in biohazard suits, complete with masks that covered their entire heads and shielded their faces in a dome Plexiglas. They rotated in the gun turrets and searched for anything that could pose a danger. After a moment, the doors in the third Humvee opened, and six soldiers in bio-suits armed with M-4 assault rifles emerged, fanned out and formed a defensive perimeter. The doors in the second vehicle opened, and four men exited, bio-suits, but no weapons, these were the men in charge. Two of them appeared to be scientists as they began to take notes with computer devices that were attached to their forearms. They typed information into the keyboards and took pictures of the bodies with the same device as they typed.
The other two seemed to be the real men in charge, one was a black man in his fifties, his face was that of a kind man, but the other, a white man in his sixties, looked rigid with hard eyes. “Make sure to get pictures and video of all the bodies,” the black man said to the scientists.
“Yes, sir, General,” a scientist answered.
“I want six different blood samples, equal genders,” the white general instructed.
“Yes, sir, General, we’ll make sure it’s done,” the other scientist said.
The scientists began their work, as the two generals stood and watched.
“This is total,” the white general said.
“It is,” the black general agreed.
A man appeared from a house across the street, he looked Native American, about seventy years old, in his underwear and a worn out robe. He walked toward the generals and had a rusted machete in his hand.
“Watcher, this is Arrow One, you have a target approaching you sixty meters from the east. Do you want me to clear it? Over.”
The generals turned and saw the old man coming at them, but he was weak and his steps were misplaced. “Arrow One, this is Watcher, negative. We’ll handle target, keep eyes on perimeter. Over,” the white general said into his mask microphone.
“Copy that, Arrow One out.”
The old man walked toward them slowly, almost tripped a couple of times, and was shouting at them, but he was actually talking as loud as he could since he was so weak. The generals couldn’t hear him clearly, but he grew louder as he drew near. The soldiers wasted no time and converged on the old man in a defensive posture.
“Hold your fire,” the white general ordered.
“You government people did this!” the old chief said.
“What’s that, old timer?” the black general asked.
“You did this!” he barked.
“Sir, we’re here to help, we need you to be calm and put down the weapon,” the white general said.
The old man didn’t do what was asked of him and kept walking for them with his jagged machete. “You did this! You killed my town and all my friends!”
“Sir, please, we’re here to help you, put down the machete,” the black general asked sincerely.
He limped closer to them, within fifteen feet, and started to swing the machete at them, but he was so weak that he wasn’t even cutting the air.
“Drop the weapon!” a soldier shouted.
“You bastards killed my town!” he said as he swung and hit nothing.
“Sir, try to calm yourself,” the black general said.
Suddenly, the old man cried out in pain, let go of the machete, and grabbed his face in agony. He dropped to his knees, and his body began to convulse in a seizure.
“Everybody step back,” the white general ordered.
They all withdrew as the old man writhed in pain, his mouth was salivating so much that it was a constant ooze of liquid. The seizure stopped, and the old man removed his hands from his face to reveal bloodshot eyes that were wider than humanly possible and filled with rage. The frail old man got to his feet in one hop, howled in a twisted screech, and immediately ran to attack the generals.
“Stop!” one soldier shouted, but he didn’t and they fired.
The gunfire struck his chest; killing him instantly, and he dropped to the ground face first and slid a couple feet in the dirt from momentum.
“Jesus!” the black general said in disbelief.
The soldiers checked his body to make sure that he was dead.
Because of the distraction, none of them saw the other person that came out of a building behind the generals. It was a crazed man, he was big, 300 pounds worth, and he charged straight at them silently, forty feet away and closing fast.
“What do you think happened in this town?” the black general asked.
Before the white general could answer—
“Watcher, behind you!” Arrow One shouted over the radio.
Arrow One fired a silent shot that hit the big man in the back, but it didn’t kill him, and he kept on going. The generals turned just as the crazed man clothesline tackled the white general, he was thrown back and he crashed, face first, into the grill of a Humvee—it cracked his face shield—but luckily, didn’t break it. He fell hard to the ground, and the mad man jumped on top of him, grabbed hold of the general’s helmet, and tried to bite through his splintered face shield. The general watched in shock as the mad beast tried to gnaw through the thick plastic inches from his face with rotten teeth and a discolored tongue that smeared bacteria-filled saliva everywhere. The man growled like a rabid dog and was about to rip the general’s helmet off, until one of the soldiers fired his weapon at the big madman, hitting him on the side of his ribs, killing him, and saving the general.
The soldiers got the dead corpse off the general and helped him up.
“Are you okay?” the black general asked.
The white general looked at his suit, checking its integrity. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Your suit looks intact,” the black general said.
And they stood there, in a completely forgotten dead town…
DAY 18:
FIRST CASE of UNCHECKED INFECTION
Current population of the United States of America: 316,000,000.
Current population of the State of California: 39,000,000.
The city of San Bernardino, California, basked in twilight as the sun went to slumber. This neighborhood was upper class and homes larger than the rest of town. There were no children playing because most families were preparing for dinner or already in the middle of it, so the streets were empty.
A car came fast down the street, a 1969 Dodge Charger muscle car, painted cherry black, and everything else chrome. It pulled into the long driveway of a very nice house and just as the car stopped—a woman, in her fifties, ran out the front door—she blew right past the muscle car and across the street. The driver got a good look at what ran by his window: The woman’s skin was grayish in color and her veins were pronounced purple scars that tracked her skin, her lips were without lipstick but yet, they were dark in color, abnormally dark, and covered in saliva that dripped down her chin. It was her eyes that the driver noticed the most, though. He couldn’t believe what he saw in those three seconds.
The crazed woman got across the street and into a neighbor’s front yard. The man got out of his car; he was in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He was in his thirties, short black hair, muscular, and looked of Nordic descent. His dark blue eyes were confused. “Mom?” he called out to her, but she was already over a high fence that she scaled as fast as an Olympian, too fast.
“Mom!” he yelled, but she was gone.
He was about to run after her, when he heard a commotion from the house that she ran out of, including breaking glass, maybe an upstairs window. The man was torn on what to do, but made a decision as he pulled a .45 automatic pistol from his car, loaded it, and headed to the house.
Walking, he recalled what he saw about his mother that bothered him—her eyes.
>
Lightning struck in the distance, illuminating his dark path for just a moment.
He looked back to see if he saw any trace of his mother, there was nothing.
Lightning struck again and he saw the quick memory of her eyes as if they were right in his face—they were bloodshot, but that wasn’t what burned his memory, it was their color. They were milky and the veins had expanded in starburst ruptures of a greenish, yellow substance. Her pupils were a dark red, that they were almost black.
Unnatural…
Lightning struck once more…
Inhuman…
He proceeded toward the house with his gun…
DAY 22:
THE OUTBREAK
Los Angeles International Airport was busier than usual at this time of the afternoon, but then again; it was always busy regardless of the time. The Tom Bradley International Terminal was more so as passengers waited at the British Airways terminal for a London departure. People were on the move at all the gates and some were sitting as they waited for their particular flights.
One man sat alone, he wore a dark suit with his tie loosened, and he looked like an aspiring executive, cocky and young. He was in the middle of a cell phone conversation. “Yeah, things are kinda weird in town right now, so I’m actually looking forward to this business trip,” the executive said into his phone.
“It’s not really a business trip, Nick, we only have two meetings to attend, and we’re gonna be there for a week,” his friend on the other end of the line said.
