Apokalypsis Book One

by Kate Morris

  “Be careful, Jane,” she called out the door as they left. Jane turned back and waved.

  Roman turned to Peaches and said, “Lock this door, Miss Barnes. Don’t let anyone in. We’ll know more today what this is going to be like, but until we do, be careful.”

  “I’ve got the shotgun anyone comes calling,” she said in her strange manner of speaking.

  He tipped his invisible hat and smiled before following Jane and his father to Miss Barnes’s truck.

  “My grandmother gave me cash,” Jane said once they were on the road. “I need to get her prescription when we’re done at the warehouse. Plus, she wants me to pay for half of whatever you get there, Mr. Lockwood.”

  “We’re using your vehicle to transport the goods, Jane,” he said. “I think it’s fair if I buy and you supply the truck to get it all.”

  “I’m not…”

  “I insist, young lady. I don’t own a truck. We couldn’t get all this without one.”

  She nodded with a scowl of uncertainty.

  His father drove them back down into the dodgy end of the city, and Roman took note of how twenty-fours had changed everything. Mass looting must’ve taken place last night despite the warnings from the general of charges being brought. Storefronts had their windows broken and doors kicked in. Paper trash blew in the streets in front of the truck. There was a car overturned and on fire right in the middle of the road that he had to drive around. A building in the distance somewhere was also on fire, and Roman could hear the wailing of firetruck sirens. The homeless man wasn’t even on the corner. Two young men ran across the street right in front of them, and his father had to slam on his brakes. They were carrying canvas bags that looked like they came from a bank. The sun had risen, but the city had a fog of dark gray smoke hanging in the air blocking most of its rays.

  His father kept going and said, “When we get there, you kids stay in the car.”

  “Maybe we should head back,” Roman suggested nervously as he looked around at the breaking down of society. Perhaps other areas weren’t so bad as this.

  “No, we’re fine. We gotta get more food. If we have to hole up for a month, we need a lot of food to get us through. I talked to your sisters last night on the phone. They’re both staying together with Patrick’s parents in Idaho. They took flights yesterday morning.”

  “Patrick’s my half-sister’s husband, the one in the Air Force,” he told Jane who nodded. “Good. I’m glad they got to safety.”

  “Patrick’s parents own that big ranch. They’ll be fine up there. Probably better than us actually. That’s why we need to keep going and not turn back. We need this pallet of food.”

  Roman held his tongue but worried this was a bad idea as they dodged a shopping cart in the street and drove toward the wholesale restaurant supplier.

  “Don from down the street from us said that the big stores are already emptied out,” his father told them.

  “Crazy,” Roman said.

  They pulled into the parking lot and were met by an armed guard. The man was clearly not a member of the armed forces or the local police department. Roman’s father showed him a ticket stub, which he hadn’t known he was carrying, and they were permitted entry.

  His father parked them near the far edge of the lot right up against the tall fence.

  “Don’t let anyone in. Stay in the truck,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Roman nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”

  He twisted in his seat to watch his father jog to the door, which was right beside a loading dock. He was glad his dad kept fit. The double garage doors were open to the inside of the warehouse. There were only about twenty vehicles, all trucks or large SUV’s in the lot with them today.

  “I hope he hurries,” Jane said. “This is making me nervous.”

  “Yeah,” he said in agreement. Frequently, he did what he could to reassure her that everything was fine, but Roman was a little skeptical on this one, too.

  Jane reached over and took his hand, then smiled at him. He tried to return it.

  “Here he comes,” he said, and she turned to see through the back window.

  Roman jumped out to help his dad, who was pushing a pallet jack full of boxes that were all shrink-wrapped together.

  “I gave him three thousand dollars, and he said we could have another full pallet. We just need to hurry.”

  “I thought it was less than that yesterday,” Roman noted as they quickly unloaded the pallet full of bulk groceries. Jane got out and helped, too.

  “That was yesterday, Roman,” his father informed him with a dip of his chin. “This is today. Everyone knows what could be coming.”

  He nodded and tossed things as quickly as he could to Jane, who was in the bed of the truck stacking everything toward the front.

  “I’ll go get the next load,” Roman volunteered.

  “No, wait with Jane,” he said and sped away with the jack again, going up the ramp and disappearing into the double doors.

  Roman sat and waited on the tailgate for his father’s return. Jane joined him and held his hand again.

  “My grandmother said to give you guys another crate of apples for all the help,” she said.

  “She doesn’t need to do that,” he said. “I know where to go if we run out.” He winked for good measure and enjoyed the gentle blush that bloomed on her cheeks.

  “I’m worried about Dez,” she said next. “I haven’t heard from her since yesterday morning.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine. Probably just hanging out at Brian’s house since he’s better.”

  “Playing nursemaid,” Jane joked.

  “Yeah, I’m sure he’s hating that,” he teased. “We…”

  His sentence was cut off by the sound of gunfire. Then three more rounds were let off. It sounded like it was coming from the warehouse. The shouting of men was next as if there were a shootout going on inside there.

  “Get in the truck,” he said and hopped to the ground, pulling her down by the waist.

  “What are you doing?” Jane questioned anxiously as he practically shoved her into the cab.

  “Lock it. If we’re not back in five minutes, leave,” he ordered.

  “What?” she screeched.

  “I mean it, Jane. Get the hell outta here. Leave. Lock the doors!” he demanded and slammed her door shut before she could argue further.

  Roman sprinted to the man door of the building and went inside. He could still hear men shouting. A woman was wailing loudly as if in pain or grief. He pulled the pocket knife from his jeans and opened the blade. Then he moved forward. More shots sounded off toward the back of the long building. It was about the same size as his high school cafeteria.

  Off to his left, he heard a shuffling sound. A man ran toward him.

  “Get out! There’s two of ‘em in here! Get outta’ here, kid!” he screamed in terror and took off out the door.

  Roman wasn’t going anywhere without his father. And something else also propelled him forward. Curiosity. He had to see one in their worst state, loose on the public, and in hunting mode.

  He moved forward stealthily and quickly. Men were screaming at one another in the back of the building again. Roman went that way. He rounded the corner of a tall shelving unit where pallets full of restaurant-grade cooking supplies like pans and pressure cookers were housed. Another man ran straight at him and knocked Roman to the ground. Only it wasn’t a man. It was…something else.

  In polite society, he would expect, at the very least, for someone to apologize for doing this, but this wasn’t polite society anymore. It wasn’t even civil society. This was one of the infected, and he was inches from him, hovering above him. His eyes were so bloodshot Roman could not discern their color anymore. He was much shorter than Roman, but not weaker. He brought both arms above him, and Roman saw a busted piece of two-by-four in his hands. He was about to get his brains beat in by this thing that used to be a man. He lurched backward until he was strad
dling Roman and raised his hands above his head to deliver a death blow.

  He swung downward, and Roman blocked and shoved at him. He was extremely strong, like fighting the human equivalent of a pit bull. Roman pushed at him and punched. Then he used his pocket knife and stabbed the man in the side. It was like he’d done nothing at all to him. He just kept on lunging for Roman, who managed to slide out from underneath him and throw a few hefty kicks at the man’s face as he crab-crawled backward. The thing scurried forward on all fours as if he was suddenly a quadrupedal animal. Roman tried to back up but ran into something behind him. Then a shot was fired, splitting his eardrums, and the quadrupedal psychopath in front of him was on the ground bleeding from a bullet wound in his skull.

  Roman’s father yanked him up.

  “Let’s go,” he said harshly and pushed Roman toward the exit again.

  In his father’s hand was the pistol he was carrying in his waistband.

  “Are you okay? What happened back there?” Roman asked as they rushed to the man door again.

  “Got messed up,” his father said, winded. “People broke in through the back doors. We gotta get to Jane.”

  They hastened from the building and jogged toward the truck. Jane spotted them and got out just as his father stumbled and fell to the ground. His pistol went skidding across the parking lot ten feet.

  “Dad!” Roman said and tried to help his father back up.

  That’s when he noticed the blood splatter on the front of his father’s jacket. It was too dark to notice it in the warehouse.

  “Dad!” Roman shouted, his voice cracking.

  “Help me get to the truck, Roman,” he said.

  “What happened? Are you shot?” he questioned.

  His father nodded and took Roman’s help in standing. Roman wrapped his father’s arm around his shoulder and helped him hobble to the truck where he rested against the open tailgate.

  “Oh my God!” Jane screamed, which seemed to draw more attention from the people in the warehouse. Men were pointing toward them.

  “Roman,” his father said with urgency. “Get us the hell outta here!”

  He paused and jumped into motion.

  “Jane, get in!”

  He turned, and she was gone. He saw her bending down on all fours reaching under a car. She came up with his father’s pistol.

  “Come on!” Roman called to her as she sprinted. Behind her, thirty or so yards were the men. They were headed straight toward them. One had a metal pipe. Another was carrying a bat.

  “Help me into the bed with Jane,” his father urged.

  Roman did as he was told, and his father used his booted heels to scoot toward the front of the truck’s bed against their loot. Jane scrambled onto the tailgate, and Roman slammed it shut. Then he got in and fired it up.

  “Jane, keep your head down!” he heard his father shout.

  Roman put it in drive and sped around the lot to get away from those men. From the bed of the truck, his father fired off a round at them. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a new threat. Another one of those infected people was sprinting from the left toward the men running at their truck. He slammed with force into someone, taking them to the concrete hard enough to split a skull.

  His father’s two more gunshots did little to keep them back as Roman pulled onto the street and floored it. He drove them out of the downtown area of the city heading north toward the hospital.

  He kept trying to look over his shoulder through the rear window but couldn’t see much other than Jane kneeling beside his father. Lights and sirens in his rearview mirror warned him that he should pull over, but Roman just sped up. The cop car turned down the next street anyway. When he arrived at the hospital, the same one he’d taken Jane to, he pulled up to the curb near the ER and hopped out.

  There were hundreds of people waiting around, loitering in the street, and hanging out near the entry doors. He didn’t care. He’d shove his way through them if he needed to. Roman rushed to the back and climbed in the bed. He tried not to think about the amount of blood pooling in the cracks of the bed liner. He simply slipped his hands under his father’s armpits and pulled him toward the tailgate and right out.

  “I’ll find somewhere to park the truck,” she said and handed him the pistol, which he immediately tucked into the front of his jeans and pulled his jacket down over.

  “No need,” Roman replied. “Just lock it.”

  She ran to the driver’s door and hit the power locks. Then she helped him get his father into the emergency room. It was packed. There were people everywhere.

  “Help!” Jane called out. “Help, he’s been shot!”

  Nobody came to aid them. Not like in the movies where a team of doctors and nurses hurried over and started blurting medical gibberish and herding the family away as they took the gunshot victim into their custody. There were nurses and doctors, but they were already busy helping others.

  Roman told her, “Wait here with him.”

  Then he marched over to the triage station where there was a line of people a mile deep waiting to be helped. Roman reached under the empty desk on the end and pressed the button that he knew would open the swinging doors to the back. Then he ran back and collected his father, who Jane must’ve placed in a wheelchair she found. He told her to stay close and rushed through the doors to the shouting of many nurses and security officers yelling after them.

  “Help!” he cried out loudly as he went into the treatment area. Nurses and doctors and paramedics were flying around, everyone wearing masks or hazmat gear. “My father’s been shot. Help us!”

  He approached the desk there, as well, and was ignored. It didn’t stop him. He kept going until he found a young doctor trying to get somewhere else in a hurry.

  “Stop!” he forcefully grabbed the man’s lab coat. “Please, stop. My father, he’s been shot. He was trying to get us food. Someone shot him.”

  The doctor, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-six or seven, looked indecisive as if he wanted to keep going. He mumbled something in another language. He was Asian like Roman’s grandmother on his mother’s side, but if he wasn’t Korean, Roman wouldn’t be able to understand him. He only spoke a little Korean anyway.

  “Please,” Jane implored.

  “Yes, come,” he said and showed them to a room a few doors down. “In here. Get him on the table.”

  Roman could barely understand his broken English, but he did what the doctor ordered and helped his father onto a hospital bed that didn’t look particularly clean.

  The doctor used scissors and cut his father’s shirt as Roman pulled off his jacket. It was a bloody mess, but the doctor didn’t flinch. A few seconds later, a nurse came in and helped.

  The doctor looked at her and said, “Bullet’s still inside.”

  “I’ll prep him for surgery,” she said.

  “He’s hemorrhaging,” the doctor said.

  That didn’t sound good to Roman. He wasn’t sure, but that seemed like his father would need a blood donation or something. He knew nothing about medicine or procedures or how to help.

  “He won’t make it to surgery,” the doctor told her. “There’s not a single room open. They have a line waiting in the halls outside the surgical suites. We need to remove the bullet here.”

  “Yes, doctor,” the nurse said and started swabbing his father’s stomach with a solution and laying towels around the wound that Roman could now see better. It looked so small and perfectly round as if something so small could not do so much damage to a big man like his father. He wasn’t quite as tall as Roman, but his father was a formidable man.

  Outside of the room, someone screamed, and the shouting of men and women came next. It seemed like some sort of fight was going on. Roman didn’t care. All he wanted was for his dad to be okay.

  “I’ll get anesthesia,” the nurse said and ran from the room.

  “Roman,” his father said weakly and reached for him as the young doctor
worked on him, jamming a thick needle into his arm to start an intravenous line.

  Roman took his dad’s hand firmly and felt the lack of strength in his grip. It unnerved him.

  “I’m so proud of you, Roman,” he whispered. “I always knew you’d be something, do something big with your life. You make me so proud.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Roman said and lowered his face mask. To hell with germs. “Just relax. Try to…”

  “Listen to me,” his father said with more steel. “I know you’ll do the right thing when you need to. You’re all they have. Take care of Connor, son,” he said between gasps for breath.

  “What?” he asked incredulously and scowled. “No, you’ll be fine. You’ll take care of Connor.”

  He took a chance and peeked at the doctor, who was regarding him as he worked. He didn’t look confident.

  His father coughed, the sound wet and gurgling. “Take care of your mother.”

  Roman decided it was time to stop denying. He nodded, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t wait too long,” his father whispered. “Find somewhere…safe. Somewhere…far away…”

  His father’s eyes shut. The doctor shoved Roman away and began chest compressions while shouting “Nurse!”

  “Help!” someone in the hall screamed in terror.

  “Roman!” Jane cried out with fear and backed away from the door as it shoved inward with brute force. She was thrown into a cabinet, hitting her head and falling to the ground.

  “Jane,” he said and rushed over to guard her with his body. “Stay down. Stay behind me.”

  A madman in a rageful fit of psychotic behavior stumbled in and went straight for the doctor. He took him down. Men in military uniforms dragged him off of the doctor and threw him into the opposite wall. Then they tackled him to the ground and zip-tied his wrists behind his back. One of them helped the doctor to his feet again, who immediately got back to working on Roman’s father. The security guards hauled the man out of their room, his screams and guttural mutterings incomprehensible. The nurse ran in with a plastic bag of solution and a vial of something. Roman helped Jane to her feet and held onto her this time. He inched closer to the hospital table where his father was lying.