Nation Undead (Book 1): Neighbors

by Ford, Paul Z.

  “What things? Do you mean the people who are infected? The infection is here? In San Antonio? Did you see anyone else?” Kahn stopped, not knowing what else to ask or even if he’d get an answer.

  “Yeah, they’re here. They’re everywhere. I drove from Arkansas all across North Texas and down through Waco and Austin. Those things are everywhere. I ran out of food driving down here. I’ve been on the road for weeks…” The man took another rattling breath. Kahn could hear the wetness in his lungs. Neither man spoke for what seemed like several minutes. Finally, Kahn could hear the man’s button depressed and his struggled breathing.

  “I’m bit.”

  There was another pause. Kimble’s information, gleaned from this same radio, rattled in Kahn’s mind. He’s bit. He’s bit. The things are here. They’re dead. He’s dead.

  “It bit me in the arm. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. I made it back to my truck but I know I’m already dead. Mister, I don’t know where to send you for help. Nobody is going to help. This is the end of… all of it…” The man stopped, but Kahn could still hear that he had the button pressed down. He heard a metallic click, and then a deep inhalation. The man whispered Iloveyou very softly, enough so that Kahn had to lean forward to hear.

  Then a sharp report fired through the speakers. Kahn jumped back, his heart in his throat, his ears ringing from the gunshot. His connection with the man had ended abruptly. He stood and ran his hands through his hair as he paced back and forth. Then he raced to the desk and pressed the talk button again.

  “Hello? Hello? Is anybody out there? Hello? What is going on?” He spat into the mic, half to himself. As he plopped back into the chair he noticed the red light of the LED readout was dimming. The green glow of the military radios faded and went out. Then the LED went out. He walked around to look behind the batteries and found the orange light on the backup unit fading until it too went dark.

  Chapter 15

  Backtrack

  Ashur Zaka rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted. He had spent the last few weeks in his apartment, paranoid and sleepless. Last night he spent it like the past dozen, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in his bedroom, listening for voices or other noises outside. He stretched and stood, picking up a small semi-automatic carbine and slinging it over his right shoulder.

  He stepped forward and peeked out of the small slit he had cut in the boards across his bedroom window. He was on the second story of a three-story apartment complex. Building two, near the entry gates. It was still dark, but he could see a glow of morning light to the east in the direction his bedroom faced. What he didn’t see was any movement. There were no cars on the road that led into his complex. No people outside walking dogs or heading to work. It had been like this most mornings. Nighttime is when he heard noises, gunshots, and yelling. The flicker of firelight sometimes danced up the walls at night. There was a strip center about a half mile to the south that he was pretty sure burned to the ground a week ago. It glowed intensely down the hill from Ash’s place, and he kept watching it until dawn hid the orange brightness of the flames. Last night, he heard nothing. This morning, he heard nothing. He watched and waited until the sun rose above the hills and buildings to the east before he left his observation point.

  Two weeks ago, Ash had been watching in the middle of the day when he saw a man trying to run up the hill toward the complex. He couldn’t see much detail because of the distance, but he could tell the man was haggard and desperate. The exhausted man struggled to keep even a jogging pace, and kept having to stop to walk or catch his breath. He stepped onto the small driveway that led to the apartment complex’s office and gate. The man tripped drunkenly down the decline toward the entry gate. When he reached the bottom, he caught himself on the auburn railing and panted heavily. Ash watched for several minutes while the man attempted to recover his composure. The man cried out a few times, but the noise was distant and indistinct. He searched the gate for a gap large enough to fit through. Then, shambling across to try the pedestrian gate, he found it locked.

  Then, Ash saw the man notice something from the top of the small hill leading into the gated complex. There was another man, haggard as well, walking steadily toward the stranger. Now the runner became visibly panicked, pulling and banging on the gate while yelling out to whoever would listen. He tried to run back up the hill, past the marauder, but several more came into view. Ash hadn’t noticed the group of them, about twenty, apparently walking up the hill behind the man. When the panicked stranger noticed the extra attention, he skidded awkwardly onto the ground and ran back toward the gate at the bottom of the hill. He grabbed the metal again and pulled and shook and screamed. He tried to squeeze through the thin gap in the rails, but his body betrayed him and he was not able to fit. The first of the chasers reached him, and he impotently slapped and hit at its arms. As Ash watched, the creature grabbed the strange man roughly and brought them face to face. A spurt of bright red blood shocked Ash as it sprayed from the man’s neck. Now, his shrill scream echoed around the buildings as the group caught up. They descended upon him like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Ash watched them bite and tear into the now silent form, and they all turned crimson with flesh and blood. After the creatures seemingly ate their fill they stood and mulled around the entry for several hours, tracking red wetness around the asphalt. Ash was fixated and horrified by the gore so close to home. Eventually, the corpse of the original runner twitched and moved on damaged muscle. He rose, missing vital flesh and organs, leaving entrails behind him, and joined the vulgar parade of his murderers. They stood or walked randomly until a noise or something else attracted them and they walked away as a pack.

  That’s when Ash realized this was much more than just an infection that caused violent tendencies. This made men and women into monsters. Something horrible and vile. This was a disease that fed on human flesh. Every victim added another to the rank of the flesh-eating beings, no longer human. That was when he made his plan to leave this unsecure apartment and escape to a safer and less populated area. First, he would go to his sister’s house and convince them to join him. If they were still alive.

  He walked to the small kitchen in his apartment and started preparing his breakfast. His apartment had a large bay window that faced to the east so the morning light was shining brightly across the narrow expanse of his living room and into his kitchen. He lazily threw a saucepan on the stovetop and turned it on, then grabbed the can opener and his last can of beef stew. This was his last can of anything. He saved it for his last morning here, even eating the condiments in his fridge as small, inadequate meals. He rationed, and was starving, but he knew he needed the energy to escape this place.

  He set the jangling carbine down so it leaned on the counter in front of the sink. Ash turned and dumped the can of stew into the pan on the oven. He frowned as he realized that the pan didn’t sizzle with heat. He checked the controls and turned on the other burners. Nothing. So he walked over to the light switch for the entryway of his place and toggled it on and off. Nothing. He opened the door to the dark bathroom and checked that switch as well.

  He shrugged to himself. He had been expecting the power to go out any day, might as well be the day he was leaving. It was lucky that he had it on this long. He had taken hot showers and cooked food, so he counted himself lucky. He only missed the utility when he ate the cold stew out of the saucepan. The stew washed down with a glass of water from the tap, and then a second forced, full glass.

  Ash returned to the bedroom, leaving the rifle behind for now. He looked at the gear he had already prepared the night before. Everything was packed and ready on the unused bed. He threw on his vest and clipped it in the front. The lightweight mesh fit snug on his back as he shifted it into a comfortable position. He then began to pick up pistol magazines and place them in the pockets on the right chest of the vest. Ash checked each one as he loaded it into the custom-sized fabric. When that was finished, he moved onto the slightly curved magazines for the carbine
rifle he planned to carry. Each of these fit into pockets on the left. Then he retrieved the pistol from the bed, inserted the last magazine, and snapped the slide forward. He placed the weapon into a canvas holster at his side. Lastly, he pulled the small pack toward him and checked the pockets to make sure they were secure. A full CamelBak fit in the top flap of the backpack and he felt it ripple like a waterbed. He slung the pack over each shoulder and then secured the plastic clips at his waist and chest. He made sure he could still reach the pistol before returning to the kitchen and grabbing the carbine.

  He hefted the load back and forth, not too heavy, and faced the door. A small adjustment to the shoulder straps made them loose enough for him to raise the rifle into a shooting stance. He stretched and danced a few steps closer to the door so he could reach the deadbolt. With a snap, he unlocked the door and quickly swung it open, raising his rifle and scanning the stoop. His brother-in-law’s car was just downstairs. Ash stepped out of the apartment, prepared for whatever came next.

  PART 3

  Chapter 16

  Conjunction

  Kahn drove. He drove to avoid his wife, the horror of his venture to Kimble’s house, and his failure to secure his family against the terrible mess knocking at his door. He drove to get away from the echo of the single gunshot crackling over the radio speakers. He drove into the rain, letting the drops cover his windshield, washing away his dark thoughts. They did little to distract him from his fear of this new world.

  Despite this, Kahn’s drive to Wal-Mart was relatively quiet. To get there, he had to drive for about fifteen minutes along the minor highway perpendicular to his street. It was a mindless drive for the most part, some scattered businesses and homes, but never much activity. After a few minutes, he started to notice details through the rain that he didn’t expect. There were several cars parked at the steakhouse along the highway, as many as usual he supposed. Once he started looking he saw people walking inside fencing at a lumber yard, and a pickup truck zipped by him going the opposite direction. He actually saw several people with their vehicles attached to the gas pumps at the station along a highway junction, which seriously shocked him back into reality and away from his dark fears of the unknown. It seems even a major incident, and potential danger, didn’t keep people cowering inside. Kahn checked the gas tank in the company’s vehicle and found it to be full, so he drove onward.

  Since he’d been at home with his family the thought hadn’t crossed his mind that people must be commuting. Maybe shopping, working, and acting normal despite the budding menace. Today’s trip was a necessity for his family, and the longer he drove the more his confidence grew he might find some order in the world and accomplish his goal. He felt increasingly guilty for driving away without telling Aisha he was leaving, or possibly bringing her with him. So they could both be reassured by their observation of today’s state of affairs, on the outskirts of the city at least.

  Farther along, the speed limit slowed as the road approached the highway that made the inner loop of San Antonio. On the far east side of town things were not very densely populated, so the lack of cars on the road and absence of people was not unusual. Kahn slowed as he began to hit a series of stop lights that were blinking red instead of operating in sequence. But the lights had run like this here before, powered by the attached solar panels. The lack of cars on the road meant nothing slowed his quick commute. At the last light before the turn into the store he lingered for a moment and peered around. He could see the loop up ahead, and the businesses lining the highway at this point. The gas station here was abandoned and dark. So were the fast food restaurants. He couldn’t spy any cars on the elevated road. He accelerated cautiously forward. He carefully approached the Wal-Mart and turned carefully to the right into the lot.

  This Wal-Mart wasn’t a large store compared to some of the new ones in more populous areas, but it was located in a small strip center with a thrift store, a restaurant, a liquor store, and several stand-alone stores and restaurants bordering the massive parking lot. It was the typical hub of consumerism Wal-Mart brought to the edge of counties in innumerable cities around the country. This store, however small, didn’t have the raucous and disorganized activity he witnessed several weeks ago. Now, he saw several dozen people calmly walking to and from the store and their vehicles. Kahn stopped at the first stop sign and waited politely as several people crossed his path, peering into his car as they did so. He slowly drove forward into the scattered group of vehicles parked around the lot. He parked and took a breath, realizing he had been holding it because of the number of people that seemed to be going about their normal business. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, willing himself to go inside. For Aisha, for Daniel, he thought, as he prepared to join the strangers outside his doors.

  With a quick beep-beep the doors of the small SUV locked and he was walking briskly toward the store. He nodded at an older lady loading a full cart of groceries into the back of her van and gave her a neighborly smile. She watched him with a scowl on her face as he walked by. He felt a strange sense of anxiety around her reaction and about walking willingly into the world he had avoided for so long.

  As he came to the handicapped parking spaces, he noticed some activity further down the area closer to the next store in the row. There were about a dozen people gathered around one shouting man, responding to his words and actions with sharp tones. It was happening a little too far away for Kahn to see or hear clearly, but it accelerated his anxiety as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and goosebumps rose on his arms. Rude old ladies were suddenly off his radar.

  He paused before entering the store and surveyed the strip center. The lights were on above the entrance of the Wal-Mart, and the automatic doors opened for pedestrians, so he knew the power was on at least here. The crowd gathered down the way was attracting the attention of many of the people exiting the store. There was a little car traffic moving near the crowd, but Kahn noticed several people on foot approaching from the farthest edges of the parking lot. Farther away, on the outskirts behind the gas station and pancake place, there seemed to be a couple of slow-moving walkers coming toward the man and the crowd. Whatever he was saying was generating attention and Kahn had no interest in finding out what was going on firsthand.

  Walking into the Wal-Mart felt surreal. The power was on, but only about half of the lights were working. Kahn was illuminated by an active emergency light in the vestibule as he grabbed one of the few shopping carts and pushed it into the store.

  There was an otherworldly stench in the dim store that he wrinkled his nose at but couldn’t place with any familiarity. The air was musty and warm. Humidity made his clothes feel wet and heavy almost immediately, a stark contrast to the environmental control he expected from the retailer. As he traversed past the produce section the earthy aroma of rotting vegetables and fruit assaulted his senses. He continued onward, looking down each aisle of the grocery section of the store. The frozen aisles were dark and the freezers were opaque with droplets of humid moisture. The store was hotter as he walked further in, and he started to pant uncomfortably. He turned down an aisle of dry goods and started grabbing items he recognized. The shelves were disheveled and empty in many places, but he found many useful things. Noodles, dehydrated beans, sauces, crackers and canned cheeses, he grabbed each valuable object excitedly. He stacked each item neatly, trying to maximize the space he had. The amount of food stacked on the bare shelves was incredibly reassuring for Kahn that he would be able to sustain and protect his family through this crisis.

  He filled the cart to overflowing as he traveled around the aisles, grabbing a multitude of food for his starving family and avoiding the rear of the store that seemed to produce the swampy, rotten aroma. He briefly considered walking to the far side of the store to look for propane and a camp stove, but that area was dark and he felt that would be a trip for another day. He practically skipped down the center aisle near the rear of the dry grocery section. As he tu
rned he paused, listening to a low noise. He stepped quietly and recognized the sound of a motor running. The rumbling racket was coming from the rear of the store; he looked toward the large swinging doors of the backroom. Generator maybe? That would explain the unusual levels of electricity in the store. He decided someone else must be running this store. He hurried to finish, nervous as to who it might be.

  He ended his spree by grabbing two cases of bottled water and loading them into the bottom of the basket. Winded from his haste, he wheeled around and headed toward the checkout.

  The lights were dim here, and the cashier stations were backlit by the sunlight starting to creep in from the front entryways on either side of the store. He half-jogged back up the aisle and looked for anybody in authority that could assist him in purchasing the items, although he knew the meager cash in his wallet would not cover the cost of everything he got. He held his hand up against the sudden bright sunshine, and it limited what he could see across the front area as he approached.

  “Neighbor,” the word rasped from the darkness in front of the store. Kahn jumped and skidded his cart to a stop. He stood, breathing heavily, and squinted into the dusky area in front of the cash registers, trying to find the source of the speech.

  “Hello?” he ventured. In response, a woman took a drag on a cigarette. The soft red glow disappeared as she staggered forward. Her skin was sagging and jaundiced, wrinkled by age. She wore jeans and a tasseled, faded blue blouse. Her platinum-blonde hair was thin, and she wore blue makeup on her sunken eyes, which did little to hide the lines and age in her face. She blew the lungful of smoke toward Kahn and spoke again in her raspy, almost silent voice.

  “That’s for Neighbors,” she waved her bony hand in the general direction of Kahn’s cart, and then stumbled back as she took another long drag on the long cigarette. “Are you a Neighbor?” She croaked out the words in her monstrous rasp. Kahn could see her yellow, crooked teeth as she talked.