Middletown Apocalypse

by Brett Abell

  The moment it took her mind to receive and process his question seemed too long. “Yes, yes there is! And there’s also an old storm shelter downtown. It’s a lot smaller, but it’s still available.”

  “If people start showing up, direct them to the shelters. Just tell them to be careful. I don’t know what’s causing this, but apparently, bullets aren’t stopping the crazy folks. Not unless you shoot them in the head.”

  The radio was silent for far too long before Rosa’s voice crackled across the speaker again. “Travis, how do you know this?”

  “I told you I had a bit of a situation. Just leave it at that.”

  Her voice cracked when she responded, “Copy that.”

  *****

  Mark Curtis had been cruising the outskirts of the city, sipping coffee and watching traffic. He hated patrolling “the borderlands” but somebody had to do it, and that meant it was up to him. Low man on the totem pole, he got stuck with the crap-duty. The only time he got to patrol downtown and at least pretend that he was a real cop was when one of the reserves came out and got stuck with the crap work.

  He sighed heavily and bit into the granola bar. Other cops may munch doughnuts and get fat, but he was determined to stay in top physical condition during his time with the department. He didn’t want to get soft in the middle like so many other veteran cops did.

  In his boredom, he turned the radio up and monitored the radio traffic. Sometimes he thought that the other cops used their cell phones just to keep him in the dark. He tried to push those negative thoughts away and concentrate on doing the best job possible, but it was difficult when he always felt like the odd man out.

  Suddenly his radio came to life and the traffic was riveting. He slowed the F150 pickup he used as a police cruiser and pulled to the shoulder of the road. He turned the radio up and listened intently as the traffic increased. Brown had called for EMS and the fire department. No call for backup. Curtis tried to mentally plan a route from his current location to the bank. There was no way he could make it in less than fifteen minutes, and that was if the traffic lightened.

  He debated with himself on whether he should just “happen by” the scene and see if Jack needed help, but he knew if the sheriff got wind that he strayed from his pre-planned patrol area, he’d never hear the end of it. Depending on his mood, it could get him fired.

  Mark leaned back in his seat and adjusted the cowboy hat he often wore while on duty. It wasn’t police issue, but the sheriff never said anything about it. Even when Mark bought an extra badge and pinned it to the front. Yeah, it made the hat front-heavy, but he loved the look.

  It seemed like forever until the sheriff broke radio silence. Phones were out? Mark picked up his iPhone and tried to dial out. He got a recorded message saying the lines were busy. What the hell?

  He turned the radio up again and listened. A short time later, Sheriff Walton came across the radio and Mark hung on every word. Call every unit back to the station, call in the reserves? He didn’t wait for the order from Central, he pulled the lever into drive and pulled out into traffic. He continued to monitor the radio and nearly ran off the road when the sheriff reported that the only way to stop the attacker is to shoot them in the head.

  “What the hell is this? A zombie movie?” Mark Curtis ran through the very limited scenarios that he could think of where bullets to center mass wouldn’t stop an attacker. Drugs? That’s what it had to be. Somebody poisoned the city’s water supply. Terrorists?

  He heard the radio screech to life once more and Rosa’s static-filled voice was ordering all active units not engaged to return to … a loud squeal interrupted her broadcast and Mark nearly ran off the road in an attempt to turn down the radio. The squeal turned into loud beeps. Three loud beeps followed by another squeal, then another set of loud beeps.

  “By order of the United States ARMY and the Centers for Disease Control, all communications on these channels have been blocked. Unauthorized usage of communication devices will not be allowed without the express written permission of the officer in charge. Defense protocol Beta-Zulu is now in effect.” Another series of beeps and a screech followed then the message repeated.

  “Son of a bitch! It is terrorists!” Mark mashed the accelerator to the floor and began weaving in and out of traffic. There had to be something he could do, some way to reach the station without actually going there. He wracked his mind trying to think of a way, but other than smoke signals, he was coming up empty. He sighed and let off the gas, allowing the truck to slow to a more manageable speed. He was being ordered back to the station, that’s where he’d go.

  As he drove deeper into the city proper, he began seeing the telltale signs of the carnage. Bodies splayed out in yards, blood and viscera scattered about. People running into their homes and pulling their blinds. Some people appeared to be hurt but were simply staggering around aimlessly. Probably in shock from the violence of the attack, if he had to guess.

  Mark Curtis saw a man standing beside the street, his shirt torn to shreds, covered in blood. He slowed the truck and pulled alongside the man. “Sir, are you hurt? Do you need medical assistance?”

  The man turned to Deputy Curtis and opened his mouth. A mournful wail escaped his lips and he began shuffling toward the truck. Mark paused, the shock of the scene soaking into his rattled mind when he finally saw the eyes of the man quickly approaching him. They were totally black … as if somebody had scooped them out with a spoon. Two dark orbs atop his face. Surely, he couldn’t see anything. And yet, here he came, arms outstretched, a scream unlike any that Mark had ever heard before announcing his intentions.

  Mark quickly rolled the window up on his truck and sped away. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the man stumbling after him. “What the hell is going on?” He turned his attention back to the road and accelerated hard. He felt the truck shudder over the rough paved streets, but he didn’t back off. He careened through town, the truck bouncing through intersections, siren blaring as he went.

  Mark’s mind spun as he tried to compartmentalize what he’d seen. The man’s pallor was grey. Like he had been locked in a basement his entire life. Or had been drained of blood. He was a wreck, his arms and chest shredded. His eyes were coal black. And yet he had advanced on him like he intended to do harm.

  What causes someone to attack when they’re injured? What could cause their eyes to change colors? Why did the sheriff say the only way to stop them was to shoot them in the head? Was this a zombie movie come to life? He shuddered as the thought rolled around in his mind. “Surely not.”

  Mark chuckled to himself and slowed the truck, trying to force himself to be more “rational.” What would the sheriff do if he knew what he was thinking? He chuckled again and took a deep breath. It was only then that he noticed more and more people stepping out of the shadows of the residential area, the sound of the siren calling them like a dinner bell. He slowed the truck and stared as the people shambled out and began assembling in the street, essentially blocking his path.

  Mark quickly glanced to the rearview mirror again and saw just as many forming up behind him. “Holy crap,” he moaned.

  Deputy Curtis turned the knob on the dashboard of the truck and locked it into four-wheel drive high. He gunned the engine and accelerated toward the assembling mass of black-eyed screaming people. At the last moment, he jerked the wheel to the side and mounted the curb, bouncing haphazardly over the sidewalk and across somebody’s well-manicured lawn. The off-road tires tore violently into the grass, leaving deep ruts as the aggressive tread chewed through the soft turf.

  Mark pushed the accelerator harder and met the short semi-private fence with the grill guard of his truck. Wood splintered and sprayed over the windshield as he bounced across a row of hedges and took out the corner leg of a child’s swing set. He bounced the truck back across the next driveway then turned the wheel back toward the road, essentially bypassing the herd of people assembled in the middle of the street.


  He quickly turned the corner and accelerated hard through the short block and blew through the stop sign before turning back onto the main road, cutting through the residential area. It took him a short while to realize that the siren was attracting the stumbling screamers. It wasn’t a hard decision to turn off the noise and rely on prayer so that any oncoming traffic would notice his lights flashing.

  Mark slowed for a main intersection then pulled the truck out and crossed the road. There were far fewer vehicles out than he would have expected for this time of day and he quickly noted the knot of cars ahead. Apparently, there was either an accident or somebody stopped for one of these stumbling, black-eyed screamers. He shuddered as he thought about what would most likely happen if that were the case.

  He turned to a side road and began zigzagging his way across town toward the station. For shits and giggles, he turned the radio back up only to hear the same message playing. The station was less than a mile away now. He pointed the truck in the right direction and pushed the accelerator harder.

  *****

  Travis pushed open the back door to the Sheriff’s Office to find Rosa loading a shotgun. “What are you doing? You’re not authorized to …”

  She held up a finger to stop him, her eyes wild. “You haven’t been here to hear all the crap that’s going on out there. If any of those crazy, black-eyed sons of bitches show up here and get past Darren? I’m blowing their goddam heads off!”

  Travis took a half step back and stared at her. “Okay. I won’t stop you.” He pulled another shotgun from the rack and began sliding shells into it. “But I think you need to worry about family right about now. I’m going to look for Diane and Hunter.”

  Rosa paused and gave him a worried look. “You didn’t call her when all of this started?”

  Travis felt his shoulders slump and he shook his head slowly. “I was too wrapped up in what was going on around me and …” He laid the shotgun on the counter and turned reddened eyes to Rosa. “By the time I thought of them, it was too late. I have to find them.”

  Rosa nodded and handed him a bandolier with shells preloaded. “You live outside the city limits. Surely nobody has gotten that far.”

  He scooped up the ammo belt and slung it over his shoulder. “I pray not.” He jacked a round into the shotgun and glanced outside. “I know Darren doesn’t have any family, but … he may have a sweetheart or something. If he needs to go too, I understand.”

  Rosa gave him a sad smile. “She’s in Cincinnati this week. Her sister is having a baby.” She racked a round into her own shotgun.

  “Very well.” Travis stepped toward the door then paused. “If anybody comes this way, send them to one of the shelters. That’s all I know to do right now.”

  “Be careful, Travis.”

  He shot her a crooked smile. “No other way to be.”

  He pushed through the door and past Darren again. “If anybody comes looking for help, send them to the downtown storm shelter or the bomb shelter at the football field.”

  “Roger that, Sheriff.”

  Travis slipped back behind the wheel of the cruiser and backed out of his parking space. As he pulled forward, he saw Mark Curtis approaching at a high rate of speed, lights flashing. Travis pulled to the side and waited for the young officer to slide to a stop next to him. “Sweet Jesus, Sheriff. I almost didn’t make it. There’s so many people who … I mean, they’re …”

  Travis held his hand up to stop him. “I know. For now, I want you to go to the football field and get the doors open on the old bomb shelter. People may start showing up there. Make sure nobody gets in that shouldn’t.”

  Mark’s eyes widened. “How the hell am I supposed to know who can and can’t?”

  Travis stopped and his jaw clenched. “Curtis, if they have black eyes or are trying to eat people, don’t let them in. If they’re just scared and looking for a safe place, let them in.”

  “Copy that, Sheriff.” Travis started to turn away when Mark interrupted. “Um, Sheriff? Where exactly is the bomb shelter at the football field?”

  Travis felt the air leave his body and he slowly closed his eyes. “Fine. Do you know where the storm shelter is downtown?”

  “Yeah. There’s a sign still that says …”

  “Then go there and do what I told you.” Travis watched as the young officer nodded then sped off. He waved Darren over. “You know where the football field is, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Darren lowered his shotgun and nodded.

  “How about the bomb shelter?”

  “Under the stands, yeah.”

  “Tell Rosa I sent you out there to open it up. Only let in people who have normal eyes. Somebody shows up with black eyes, shoot them in the head. Not the body, the head. Got it?”

  Darren nodded slowly. “Are you sure we’re authorized to just shoot people if …”

  “You’re following my orders and I’m telling you that if you want to stay alive, you’ll do it. I don’t know what’s wrong with the folks who have the black eyes, but they’re eating people. The only way to stop them is a shot to the head.”

  Darren leaned back and gave him a confused look. “You mean like a zombie?”

  Travis shrugged his shoulders. “Call them whatever you want. Just neutralize the threat.”

  “Yes, sir.” Darren stepped back as Travis pulled away. He scratched his head as he watched the Crown Vic disappear. He turned and entered the Sheriff’s Office. Rosa was loading shells into another bandolier, preparing to defend the office if she had to. “Boss just told me to head to the football field and open up the old bomb shelter. You gonna be okay here by yourself?”

  Rosa blanched then stared at the shotgun. “Yeah. Go do what you have to. I’ll lock the doors behind you.”

  Darren gave her a curt nod. “Be careful.”

  “You too.” She walked around the counter and pulled the door shut behind him. She watched him walk to his truck then she turned the lock on the deadbolt. “Time to saddle up.”

  *****

  Diane Walton threw a quick change of clothes into her backpack and turned toward the open door of her bedroom. “Hunter, are you almost ready?”

  Her son’s voice called from the hallway, “Almost, Mom.”

  She reached into her dresser and pulled the small .380 pistol that Travis had given her for her birthday. She had teased him about wanting a pink pistol. She didn’t realize that they actually made them until she opened the box and saw the pink-and-black semi-auto nestled inside the foam liner. She slipped it into the small waistband holster then took one more look around the room. “I hope your father gets home soon.”

  “What was that, Mom? I couldn’t hear you.”

  She turned to see her twelve-year-old standing in the doorway, his green backpack bulging at the seams by his feet. “Uh, nothing sweetheart. I was just thinking out loud.” She reached down and hefted his bag. “Good heavens. Did you pack the kitchen sink?”

  “Dad always says you carry a spare one in your purse.” He shot her a knowing smirk.

  “Yeah, right. Ha ha ha. You and your dad. Peas in a pod.” She pushed him toward the door. “Move, mister.”

  “Aren’t we gonna wait for Dad?”

  She took the stairs two at a time and dropped both bags on the couch before heading for the kitchen.

  “Mom? Are we gonna wait for Dad or not?” Hunter was on her heels, his eyes filled with worry.

  “We’ll wait as long as we can. Until Daddy shows up, we need to make sure we’re ready to go.”

  Hunter dragged his foot across the tile floor. “I don’t get what the rush is.”

  Diane stopped for a moment and let her breath out slowly. How much should she tell her only child? She turned and met his eyes. “Sweetie, things got really bad in town. I saw a news report just before the TV went off. They were saying that … well, it’s bad enough that we may have to leave for a while until things calm down.”

  Hunter’s face grew worried. “B
ut Mom, Dad’s a cop. If there’s trouble won’t he have to …”

  “Just keep positive thoughts, Hunter. Your dad is as good as they come. He won’t take any unnecessary risks. He promised me that years ago.” She gave him a soft smile and ruffled his shaggy hair. “Now how about you help me pack some of these groceries into a box so we can take them with us?”

  “No broccoli. I hate that stuff.” He began pulling canned goods from the lower cabinets and stacking them on the counter.

  “No, sweetie, no broccoli.” She froze as she heard the crunch of gravel under tire. She stood and leaned across the open box to peer out the window. She let out a whimper as she noted the police cruiser pulling up the gravel driveway. “I think Dad is home.”

  Hunter jumped to his feet and hit the door at a dead run. “Dad!”

  “Hey, buddy.” Travis stepped out of the cruiser and was nearly tackled by his son. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, Dad, I’m fine. Mom’s worried though. You might wanna go in there and calm her down.”

  “Well, let’s go fix it.” He swatted the boy on the bottom and did his best to pretend that everything was fine.

  The pair took the steps to the porch and Diane pushed open the screen door. “I was worried.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.

  “So I heard.” He pulled back and noted her eyes beginning to well up with tears. “Hey, it’s okay now. I’m home.”

  “Is it over?” she whispered, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t as bad as the news had reported.

  “Oh, no. It’s just getting started.” He stepped inside and stretched the tension out of his neck. “I just had to make sure that you two were taken care of first.”

  “Wait. You mean you aren’t coming with us?” The color had drained from her face as she stared after him.

  Travis opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of water. “I can’t. I’m still the sheriff. I have responsibilities.”