Infected
By: Jessica Gomez
Infected Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Gomez.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact; address www.website.com
First Edition: March 2015
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Dedications
First and foremost, I would like to thank my Husband and kids for all of their support in following my dream. I love you! To Dana Hook for having some BA editing skills. Margreet Asselbergs for another amazing cover. You two ladies are rock stars! I’d also like to thank Colin Ginn for taking time to help promote, make teasers, banners, set up Takeovers, and anything else you do. Thank you! And to the rest of My Street Team of Awesomeness. A BIG THANK YOU. You are all a part of this journey and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Other books by Jessica Gomez
After Trilogy
After the Before, book 1
Slipped Away, book 2- coming soon
Chapter 1
I stumbled down the sidewalks crumbled remains, watching the grey and white clouds swirl a daring dance around each other; waiting for rain to descend from their bellies. I couldn’t remember when the last time was that a drop of water touched these lips. Most of the rivers and streams have either dried up, been poisoned, or are guarded by renegade survivors―People you would be smart to stay clear of.
I scanned my surroundings, surveying the dilapidated, deserted city. The same broken cars, buildings, and roads that were once normal pieces of society flooded my vision. Roads and buildings overgrown by trees, weeds, and any other vegetation that wanted to reclaim their land. I always thought it would take longer than a year to erase anything and everything the human race was once proud of.
Buildings had been brought down by the rough year after the Flash, some still stitched together by steel beams, missing their skin. Others still stood, dressing up in vegetation. Either way, they all appeared as if they belonged in a graveyard, left abandoned by all the people who used to go about their daily lives in them.
The worst parts were the bones and tattered clothing left behind by those who perished, laying bleached in the sun. Some of them still held remnants of hair and skin.
I paused to gaze at myself in a broken window. How long had it been since I’d last seen my reflection? I pulled the hood off my head and studied my features. My hair was brushing past my shoulder blades now. The last time I’d attempted to cut it, I’d used a piece of broken glass from a window. I almost severed one of my fingers in the process, so I decided to let it grow out.
My long, blonde hair reflected off the few streams of sun radiating through the clouds, the color resembling shimmering wheat fields. Standing at about five foot two, I was a slight thing–not too short–yet not tall by anyone’s standards. I was always slender, but since the foods scarce, my clothes hang off me like rags. My green eyes sparkled back at me like emeralds, the one and only thing I loved about my appearance, and the one thing that could never be robbed from me in these rough months.
Seemingly, out of nowhere, my eyes locked onto seven men and two women who were standing behind me, smiling vindictively in the reflection on the glass. It was like they appeared out of thin air. I turned to run, but they were already surrounding me in a semi-circle. My breathing slammed in and out of my lungs as I began panting, as if I’d just ran a marathon. My vision was beginning to narrow and I knew that I needed to control myself.
“Go on, Ryan, you know what your choices are. Are you going to save her?” The man that spoke tilted his head back and laughed as if he’d said the funniest thing in the world. Ryan, the man he spoke to, wasn’t much older than me–maybe nineteen to my sixteen–and possibly one of the best-looking guys I had ever seen. His brown hair flopped into his bright blue eyes, his skin tanned and toned.
The man’s words began to register and I knew that I had to get away, but before I could move, I watched as Ryan’s face changed from concerned, scared, and pitiful, to fierce and determined. He began his advance and I watched in horror as his eyes devoured me where I stood…
I bolted upright, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs at a burning rate. I glanced over to check the tiny sleeping bundle next to me. I waited for her blankets to move up and down, making sure she was still breathing before I wiped the cold sweat off my forehead. The dream always had a way of igniting my adrenalin, even after years of repetition. Taking a shaky breath in, I settled my nerves and placed a hand on my little angel, reassuring myself again. Life is completely fucked up. Not only did life as we know it end, but some of the worst events in people’s lives can bring about the best.
I pulled out the cracked mirror I’d found a short time ago from my pack and studied my features, the rising sun giving me enough light to see my reflection. I looked like a vagrant, someone who struggled to survive. I used to imagine being something–someone–a veterinarian, maybe? I always loved animals. Animals never judged you by the way you looked or where you came from. They loved without prejudice.
Growing up in foster care made me want to prove myself and show the world that I wasn’t “foster scum,” as some of the kids called me, but none of it mattered now. I was nobody, just like anyone else who remained in the world.
After the Flash lit the sky, the majority of the six and a half billion people on planet Earth dropped dead, or they mutated and died. When the Flash filled the sky with blindness, nobody expected it. People were going about their daily lives―shopping, working, playing with their children. Most people–the lucky ones–dropped where they stood, as if someone had flipped the off switch on millions of lives.
The ones who didn’t die became the Infected. They were the ones who lived, but were affected by the Flash. They didn’t die immediately, but most died within months. Their deaths were rather unpleasant; they were normal one day, and the next their heads would start to blister. Those blisters became larger, looking more and more like tumors that leaked out bodily fluids resembling thick curdled milk from every part of their bodies.
To make matters worse, these effects began driving them mad. The Infected would brutalize people, terrorize towns, and set buildings on fire, even if they knew people were inside―especially if they knew people were inside. The Infected ran riotously through the streets, harassing, killing, and beating any civilians they encountered. It was their sole purpose to kill and create chaos.
Now, years later, they no longer existed. Anyone who survived was relieved it was over. We were the Immune. We may have survived the Flash and the Infected, but we had the privilege of watching everyone we loved around us perish to various degrees. I went on living and breathing today as I did before the light in the sky ended everything. However, my surroundings were quite different. I never thought I would have to plan my future when no future existed to plan.
Some of the Immune, which were becoming few and far between, turned to killing, robbing, raping, and even cannibalism. It was everyone for themselves. Most of this type died off. There were only so many people available to kill now that most of humanity was already dead, but there were people who had found ways of hiding or so one would believe. The Immune had to find a new way of life, doing whatever they had to do to survive. The new future consisted of only one motive, and that was staying alive.
The ne
ws stayed on long enough for the survivors to learn that the Flash was some sort of chemical weapon. Officials never released an official story as to whether it was ours, or if it was from another country, but at that point, it didn’t matter. The damage had been done, and had already Infected the entire world.
Information was never really accurate when it came to the Infected and the Immune. During that time, I wasn’t aware that I was Immune. I kept expecting to wake up with blisters all over me, eventually growing into baseball-sized tumors.
I watched as the news anchor became Infected with growths everywhere. When it was apparent that he was not Immune, he went on air and made a statement that even though he was not Immune, it was still his job to report to all the remaining people who were Immune, as much information as possible. He promised to do this until this infection took over and he could not continue any longer. He bowed his head after that day’s speech and never returned to the air. I’d assumed he died that night, but there would never be any way of knowing. He was a nice man, it seemed, and I had hoped that he had simply died, and that he never had to suffer from the madness that took over so many.
The information he was able to share did help. We knew what had taken place, what the outcome was, an estimation of people who had died, as well as the amount of people who may have survived. Only a small percentage of the human population remaining were assumed to be Immune from the Flash, but that estimation was made before they realized that just because you lived through the initial Flash, didn’t mean you were Immune. The real number of Immune, the people who suffered no side effects, was much lower.
I was one of them.
I’ve always been a drifter, never having any ties to one place for too long. With no family to speak of, I was just a child passed around from foster home to foster home. When I reached thirteen, I ran away and lied about my age to get a job.
When the Flash hit, I was doing pretty well for myself. I worked at a drive-in movie theater and lived in a one-bedroom apartment in Milton-Freewater, Oregon. The place was nothing special, but it was mine. Now, making a living doesn’t mean anything. Keeping yourself alive becomes your main priority, every second of every day.
Occasionally, you run across items that aren’t very useful, but helpful in making life feel somewhat normal. Earlier that morning, I found a calendar from the year 2049, the year the world changed forever. I was fifteen. It also had in the back, a calendar for the next three years, up to 2052. Today was June 19, 2054, meaning that my birthday was tomorrow, June, 20th. Happy Birthday to me. I’ll be twenty years old.
Comparing my handmade calendar to the new pocket calendar, I was satisfied to notice that my calculations of today’s date were correct. When I made my own calendar, I remembered to add a leap year every four years until a century year, which would not be a leap year. Useless information, really, but it’s something that I had learned and I hold on to those little bits of information like my life depends on it.
I woke my little angel and had her eat breakfast before we continued to walk down the broken path toward anything and nothing. I needed water and if the weather was going to cooperate, I would have my canteens filled by nightfall.
Our days consisted of avoiding people, not that that was hard. There weren’t too many of them to avoid. Searching for food and water, making sure our stockpile was full enough to get us through at least three days, but there was never much luck finding anything new to eat.
Food was harder to find in recent months. After so many years had gone by, most of the stored food was now going bad, or already taken. The Flash killed quite a bit of the livestock, leaving only a few stray cats and dogs running around. Soon, the food would become scarcer, and the only way to continue living would be to hunt wild game.
Lucky for me, even though I was a girl, one of my foster parents had taught me a thing or two about hunting. We would do fine enough on our own. For tonight though, finding shelter to sleep in, out of the rain, was my main priority.
Chapter 2
Evening finally arrived. My finger-to-the-wind weather report predicted another warm summery night ahead. I smiled, continuing my prep work for the night, delighting over the fact that I was finally on my own. I still couldn’t believe I pulled off running away and rebuilding a life with a false age. I lied to my employer, the manager of a drive-in movie theater, telling him that I was sixteen instead of almost fifteen. He didn’t even check into it, and I was hired that day. Now I had a job, money for a place, and even a little extra for spending. Of course, my apartment was nothing to brag about, but it was plenty enough for me.
Now, two months later, my life was finally beginning, and it was without new foster parents.
I was standing at the counter, watching the parking lot while the cars drove slowly by, perusing for the best spot to park and watch the show. My co-workers clocked in and shuffled to their places behind me and a feeling of déjà vu ascended upon me.
I turned my head from left to right, looking around slowly. The movements of people and objects were humming at a fluid pace; slow and sluggish, as if they were fighting against a current, stuck in molasses.
That was when I realized I was in my fourteen-year-old body, not my adult one. Something wasn’t right. I was dreaming again.
People say… well, they used to say, that it was extremely hard to realize when you were dreaming, and even harder to control your dream. I, unfortunately, was what people would call a lucid dreamer. I could only understand that I was dreaming, but I could never control or change how I wanted the dream to go, even make it just go away. There was never going to be a happy ending to this particular dream.
I let the breath that I was holding out and closed my eyes, just as a glaring light Flashed across my vision. The light was so intense that it blinded me through my closed eyelids, but I refused to raise my hand to shield them. It was my own form of punishment for surviving when so many that deserved it more, died.
The luminosity snapped off as quickly as it came, leaving everything eerily dark. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t adjust my vision, but the longer I stared straight ahead at the wall, my eyes slowly began to regain their focus. Slowly, I began to look around. Cars outside were crashed together in some areas, while others were rolling to slow stops. People were lying everywhere, like garbage blown sporadically on the ground. My co-workers had fallen where they stood just moments before, spread out around to me.
The shock made everything seem eerie and silent, and it felt as if an eternity had passed while I stood there, gaping at everyone. I began praying for someone, anyone, to begin moving, or even breathe until a sudden thought struck me. Zombies.
That theory had me sprinting for my apartment. Now I began to hope for those who were lying on the ground to remain there and not breathe, or move, because if they did, that would mean the zombie apocalypse had just begun.
I tried not to acknowledge anything or anyone as I made my way through the parking lot and out into the street, and even though those on the ground didn’t move, I did find other survivors. Some survivors yelled for loved ones, while others screamed to the heavens, looking for some kind of answer. The rest just screamed for the sake of screaming.
By the time I reached my apartment, I had seen enough dead people to last me a hundred lifetimes. Air was pumping in and out of my lungs; my heartbeat was pounding hard in my ears when I slammed my apartment door closed behind me. I quickly locked the door and leaned against the wood, as if the action performed as another barrier. I closed my eyes and tried to regain a normal breathing rhythm.
Finally, my breathing slowed, but my heart was still beating as fast as a butterflies wings. The screaming was quieting down and I could only imagine why… others were dying. People were still dropping dead as I made my way home.
My heartbeat finally began to slow, almost back to normal. I tried to block out the remaining sounds beyond my living room door. The imaginary world I created around me began to seem so pleasant a
nd my body relaxed as my brain began to slow to a functioning speed. I convinced myself that everything would be ok; that I would be ok.
BAM!
Something hit the outside of the door so hard that it bounced me forward about an inch. The noise startled me so much I yelped, notifying whoever was out there that yes, there was definitely someone inside. There was a moment where everything seemed too quiet, and then a rapid beating of double fists thundered against the door. The entire door rattled and vibrated as if it would fall off its hinges at any moment.
I turned to back away from the door while at the same time, holding my hands out in front of me, as if I could hold the door from five feet away using an invisible force- field. The assault continued until there was a loud crack. A fraction of a second passed in silence before the banging continued twice as loud, twice as hard, until the door split down the middle, cutting out a large V.
A half-burnt face peered through the ruined door. His skin was black and red, burned from a fire and oozing blood and puss. He was also missing an eye from the side of his face that was burned, but he used his one good eye to search the room until he found me. Even after what had happened to him, he looked murderous, as if I had done that to him and he wanted to settle the score.
I darted toward the kitchen as the sound of wood splintering chased after me. The disfigured man followed, clearing everything out of his way, cutting a path straight toward me. I reached the kitchen a few seconds before him and grabbed a knife from the counter. A blow from behind slammed my momentum forward, throwing the knife from my hand. Instead, I had to settle for the toaster, a glass, a vase of flowers; anything I could get my hands on.
The shower of items I threw slowed his progress, but only enough for him to dodge or slap them out of his way. He was relentless and only a few feet away now. I had nowhere to run. The kitchen only had one door and we’d just come through it. The only other way out was through a cutout in the wall―a serving counter between the kitchen and the dining room.
Infected Page 1
