This is the End 2: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (9 Book Collection)

by J. Thorn

  “I need you to be the man I believe you to be,” Barry continued after a few slow tears rolled down his cheeks that seemed to be graying before my eyes. “I need to know my Randi will be okay. I need you to promise—” He began to choke, eyes widening. I leaned down, but he brought his hands up, warding me off.

  “Barry,” I said, trying not to cry. “I can’t—”

  “Promise to watch my…” his eyes went wide for a second, then, he went slack. His whole body slumped down as a final exhale escaped his lips.

  “Dammit!” I cursed, drawing my blade. Stepping forward, I plunged the blade into his temple. His hand twitched, but I think it was just one of those post-death contractions.

  Liar.

  I sat down, my back against a tree, facing Barry Jenkins. The handle of my knife jutted obscenely from his head. Another promise. How many had I given since all this began? I’d lost track.

  I just needed to rest for a bit. I needed to clear my head. Only, there wasn’t time. Fiona was missing and needed to be found. Plus, with Lee and Jason out there in who knows what sort of condition, the group was in danger. And it was my fault. Dr. Zahn had protested, told me it was a bad idea. I hadn’t listened. Maybe secretly I hoped that Jason would kill Lee. Perhaps I wanted Lee to go out there and not make it back. I lacked the guts to do anything, so I’d put him in a situation where it could happen while I kept my hands clean. Only, this time, it’d cost more than I bargained for. I would have to face Randi Jenkins every day for the rest of my life. I—

  Something rustled in the woods off to my left. I scrambled forward and retrieved my knife. There it was again. Closer. I watched a tall cluster of ferns shake, then, out stepped Lee Jones.

  He was a mess.

  His dead eyes locked onto me and he began to stumble my way, his one remaining arm reaching out, fingers seeming to point accusatorily at me. Two more stepped out on Lee’s heels. Barry’s fears had been justified; Lee Jones was one of the walking dead and he’d led his brethren to us. Three more came through the ferns. I stood…and saw my worst nightmare coming true.

  They were coming, and there were lots of them. I clapped my hands together after wiping the blade of my knife clean on my pants leg. Heads turned my direction. Lots and lots of them.

  “Come to papi you fucks!” I snarled and began moving in a slow arc away from the direction of the campground.

  Like rats to the Pied Piper, they followed. My responsibility to keep the others safe felt like a ten-ton weight on each shoulder. I simply could not make any more promises. However, I would do my best one more time to keep the others safe.

  Through the woods, I stomped. Making as much noise as possible. Occasionally I would taunt my undead parade of stinking, moaning zombies. There was no way I was going to fail all those who counted on me. Every so often I climbed up on a stump or fallen tree. Yes, I thought, follow your leader. It looked like the herd had taken the bait. Several hours later, as the sun began to set, they continued to follow.

  ***

  It’s been three days. I thought I could shake ‘em when I got to town. Unfortunately, walking for over forty-eight hours—almost non-stop—must’ve messed with my perception a bit too much. I made it into town and was certain I’d given that mob the slip. Maybe I did and maybe Lee knew right where I was heading.

  I can hear them pounding on the walls and doors. I can hear them in the hallway. I did manage to make it into the same storage room where Ian and Billy camped. I’m pretty sure the last of my luck has been used up…there was an unopened box in one corner. A case of bottled water. No food, but I got water.

  I’ve kept my promises for as long as I can. I’ve tried to take care of everybody for as long as I can. Hearing them outside my door is almost therapeutic. If they’re out there…that means they didn’t swarm the camp. Now it is simply a question of what lasts longer: the water, the door, or my sanity.

  13

  Home Sweet Home

  I keep having the same dream.

  I’m back in my apartment in Seattle. I’m sitting on the couch with my Basset Hound, Pluck, and I am watching television. My buddy Bill Wright is sitting in my recliner drinking a beer. He’s yelling at the ineptness of our team’s quarterback. Then, out of nowhere, he looks at me and shakes his head.

  “How you just gonna leave Thalia and Emily, man?”

  “I didn’t just leave them,” I snap back. “I led that herd away from the camp. I saved them like I was supposed to.”

  “Is that right?” Bill was starting to change before my eyes. He always did this. That would mean—

  “Just like you left old Pluck there to get his guts torn out baaa…” Bill’s transformation was complete. He was a putrid mess, and a dark, mucousy liquid dripped from his open mouth. His eyes were filmed over and bloodshot in black. For some reason, he was wearing a field utility jacket. I couldn’t recall if he’d been wearing it the entire time. The name on the breast stitched in white read “Ed.”

  Looking down—God, do I always have to look down in this dream?—I see my loveable foot warmer of a dog. He’s on his side, his belly torn open, its contents spilled out on the couch in a stinking wet pile. His tongue hangs out one side of his mouth, all black and hideous looking. That’s when, almost on cue, the banging and pounding begin on all the doors and walls.

  “They’re gonna get in.”

  I look up and see Jack standing in front of the television, one side of his head has a neat bullet hole; the other is a gaping mess. Only, that seems normal, I’m more concerned that the game isn’t on anymore and what looks like a bunch of home videos are playing. It is scene after scene of me telling Thalia that I would always watch out for her.

  “Is it my fault that you died, Jack?” I ask.

  “Absolutely.” Jack comes and sits on the couch with me and Pluck. He starts scratching the undead hound behind those big floppy ears. “Barry is your fault, too. But if we are gonna make a list, do you want me to go alphabetical or chronological?”

  “Are you gonna recite them?

  “No,” Jack says with a conspiratorial grin. “But I will go over the highlights. It started with Mary Kinnet, the girl at the gas station. You shot her and left her to be torn apart.”

  “She was bitten,” I protest.

  “Are you gonna make me skip ahead to Stephen Johnson, the guy you took out into the woods and shot in the head?”

  “That’s not fair, he asked me to.”

  “How many others, Steve?” Jack picked through Pluck’s bloody entrails.

  “Why don’t you just say it?”

  “You mean this?” Jack plunged a finger into the hole that allowed me to see all the way through his head. A hole I’d put there. “Actually, you did the right thing, I was gonna turn.”

  “Really,” I gulped.

  “No,” Jack said without emotion. “That was just a tiny kernel of your conscience dying so you could feel better. I would’ve been okay actually.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t know, Steve.” Jack got up and walked to the door. “All of this is going on in your head. However, if I were Jack, I’d tell you that you did the best you could for everybody. You’re the leader of the group, like it or not. But most of all…Thalia needs you. NOW!” Jack left my apartment, slamming the door.

  I opened my eyes. Light flooded the hallway. I was in the supply closet again. Alone. Hmm, I thought, that last part was new. I climbed to my feet, every muscle and joint in my body protested…some audibly. My stomach began its immediate symphony of gurgles and groans in a twisted harmony with those creatures outside.

  I stepped out into the hall. I couldn’t believe it, but the smell was actually worse. It was like every foul odor in the world had been poured into one bottle, shaken vigorously, and dumped on my head. The problem being…I think I’m getting used to it.

  “So…what’s for breakfast?” I rubbed my hands together. “Jack? When you get out of the bathroom, would you make us some bacon and egg
s?” I called. The moans outside rose in volume.

  I sauntered up the hall and knocked at the bathroom door. “Yo, Jack…you gonna be outta there anytime soon? A bunch of your friends are outside and want to see you. Plus,” I leaned my back against the door, “you’ve been in there like, forever.”

  I chuckled at my own sick sense of humor and walked out to what had once served as a game room. There was a ping pong table, a pool table, and a dart board. There was also a wall of stand-up video games, but those weren’t gonna help me pass my day.

  First things first, I reminded myself. Walking through the room, I checked where everything had been boarded and nailed up. Everything was still holding. My saving grace was that whoever had first stayed here, even before Billy and Ian, had cut off the stairs leading up to the deck in back. There would’ve been no way to secure that expanse of glass and sliding doors. Habitually I stopped in front of the vending machine. The glass had been busted out long ago, leaving empty racks. Not even a pack of gum.

  I looked out back, a sea of dead bodies were packed in between the lake, and probably all the way up against the cinderblock exterior of the building. Once again I was thankful that the storage room downstairs had no windows. Of course I’d spent hours feeling my way around down there to no avail. Well, that’s not true…I sliced three of my fingers on my left hand on something large and metal and sharp. The only thing I was absolutely certain of was that there was no food down there.

  Sipping from a bottle of water, I pulled open the sliding glass door. The stench equalized, it made me think of a diving bell, only it was the reek of dead bodies outside balancing with the permeated stench already inside.

  “Ahh,” I cooed in a mock falsetto, “my public.” A chorus of zombies made various sounds to indicate just how desirable I was to them. It was not unlike those film snippets of young girls going into hysterics over Elvis or The Beatles. Except, instead of tears, they wept pus, and the cacophonous roar was several octaves lower. To their credit, it was almost deafening; punctuated with a nursery’s worth of baby-cries.

  “You like me,” I clasped my hands under my chin after wiping away an imaginary tear. “You really like me.”

  I walked to the railing of the deck and stared down into the sea of faces. None of them looked familiar. In other words, I couldn’t spot Lee, Fiona or Jason in the crowd. Of course, while I was certain Lee had joined the ranks of the undead. I could not be certain when it came to Fiona or Jason. Hey, maybe I could add them to the names my dream version of Jack hurled at me when pointing out all the people I was responsible for killing.

  Walking back inside, I sat down in one of the hard, folding metal chairs. Wow, I marveled, that wore me out. Walking that little bit, opening the heavy sliding glass door, and then closing it again. Of course, I preferred this total sensation of exhaustion over the stomach cramps of the first few days. I’d already vetoed the idea of taking a stage-dive into the masses waiting hungrily below. Starving to death, while unpleasant, easily won my vote over being torn apart and eaten alive. Once the water runs out, this whole miserable experience might come to a reckless ending.

  ***

  I woke to what started out as a dull buzz, muffled and distant, but slowly grew to a whine, then almost a roar. It was coming from out back.

  Climbing slowly to my feet, I could see that it had morphed into early evening. All the shadows were pointing the other direction. It’s amazing how observant you become when you have nothing but tedious boredom to occupy each grueling hour of the day or night.

  Walking to the window, I stared out and noticed immediately that the zombies had all turned their backs on me. Literally. What the hell? I don’t know if I said that…or if I just thought it really loud.

  Something low on the waterline flashed by, kicking up a rooster tail that glittered in the late afternoon sun. I only had an arm’s breadth view of the lake as trees on both sides screened off most of the vista. Once more the form shot past, this time going from left to right.

  If it comes by again, I will concede the probability of this being an illusion brought on by starvation-induced dementia. I walked to the sliding glass door, struggling just a bit to pull it open. It seemed heavier than last time. Of course the smell came in a rush, along with the obviously agitated sounds of the undead. The buzz grew, magnified by the now open glass door. And there it was…a small hydroplane flashed past again. Stepping out onto the deck I could see somewhat through the dense pines as the craft slowed, its rooster tail vanishing, a moment later, there was a massive sheet of water as it turned back for yet another pass. Then I noticed something interesting; the zombies were pouring down to the shore.

  I had absolutely no idea who this was, but they were giving me a chance. Maybe. I went inside, not bothering to close the sliding glass door behind me, and staggered through the building. I made my way to the room that I’d crawled through the window of when I first arrived. Did I dare to hope?

  Peeking out from the side, I could see the long, litter-strewn two-lane avenue through the heart of this little town. Stragglers were still visible, but all of them were heading past this building! I saw two figures poke out from behind a big truck a couple of blocks away; both were bristling with weapons. There was no doubt in my mind that they were heading straight for me.

  I considered my options—which took less than ten seconds—weak and hungry, I would be no problem for at least two people packing serious weaponry. I pulled aside the bottom slat that I hammered into place, not that there was any chance of a zombie getting up and through a window as high above ground as this one. I’d done it mostly for peace of mind; even if I knew it was a placebo.

  “Steve!” a familiar voice called as the two men closed in on me at a sprint.

  “Aaron?” I stepped up on the box and tried to pull myself through the window. I heard the distinctive sound of a skull being cleaved, but was too occupied with my struggle now that I’d managed to work myself halfway out of the window. Kicking my feet and wriggling, my progress was anything but quick. I felt a tug which frightened me. I only realized in the split-second before I hit the ground that my pants were caught on a piece of aluminum window frame. That’s how I ended up face down in the dirt wearing my pit-stained tee shirt and two-week-old underpants when Jamie Blossington rolled me over and extended a hand to help me up.

  “Come with me if you want to live,” Jamie said in what had to be the worst ‘Ah-nold’ impersonation I’d ever heard.

  Reaching up, I did my best to help get to my feet, although I don’t think I was being very helpful if the strained look on his face as he pulled me up was any indication. Looking past him, I could see the growing pack of zombies reaching and making their assorted zombie noises at the hydroplane.

  “Let’s move your ass, old man,” Jamie chuckled as he led me away. “If we don’t get you back to the house soon, Thalia and Emily are gonna take up Teresa’s offer on shooting lessons, and I’m not sure that zombies will be their first target.”

  “What gives with the boat?” I asked, noticing that I was slurring my words just a bit.

  “That’s Jason,” Aaron said, flipping up a plastic face-shield he wore attached to a sturdy looking helmet.

  “He’s okay?” I asked, more than a little surprised.

  “Dude,” Jamie chuckled, “he tried to catch up to you when you led that herd away. He found an irrigation or drainage runoff ditch and a huge concrete pipe with a grate. He hid out as the zombies made their way past. He only caught a glimpse of you a couple of times, but he said you were a freakin’ animal…no rest, no breaks, stayin’ just out of reach.”

  “But the hydroplane?”

  “Yeah, he found it when he was trying to find a way to get to you,” Aaron replied. “Problem was, he needed help getting it running and down into the water. He ran back to the house, filled everybody in, then the three of us took off. It took longer than we expected.”

  “How’s he gonna get back?” I asked, gratefully
accepting a stale protein bar from Jamie.

  “There’s a landing about a half mile down,” Aaron said. “He’ll beach it and catch up.”

  “What about Fiona?”

  “Came back that night,” Jamie reported. “A little dehydrated, but otherwise fine.”

  We were at the on- or off-ramp to the highway—I wasn’t sure which in my dazed condition—and began hiking up. I glanced over once to take a look.

  “Jesus,” I breathed. “I’ve never seen so many.”

  The edge of the lake was a hundred bodies deep in some places. The zombies disappeared from view due to the woods, but I saw that one house Melissa and I had searched in the last supply run. It was completely engulfed by the walking dead.

  “Yep,” Jamie said without looking, “that’s a lifetime supply of fucked down there.”

  Before long, we were in the trees and angling uphill. I knew we wouldn’t be home in one day, but it didn’t matter. I was alive, safe—as much as could be expected these days—and fed for the first time in a while. They had a plastic jar of peanuts, powdered Gatorade drink mix to shake up in a bottle of water, fresh jerky, and two cans of mandarin orange slices. It was the best meal I could remember eating in a long time.

  Just before sunset, Jason caught up with us. I didn’t ask him about Lee and he didn’t offer. Personally, I’m relieved the guy is gone. I don’t wish zombie-induced death on anyone, but that man had worn out his welcome as far as I was concerned.

  “Good thinking with that hydroplane,” I said, offering him my newly acquired canteen.

  “Actually,” Jason said after a long drink, “you sorta clued me in on how stupid those things are. They’re mindless robots. The way they locked onto you as you ran through the woods was incredible. I had no idea just how simple it would be to fool them. Watching you lead that big-ass herd, I knew I could get you out if they didn’t eat you first.”