Something was seriously wrong here, and it wasn’t making sense. I was almost to Bryan whenever Jamison Finney bared his teeth, screamed and leapt from the top of his desk in my direction. His eyes were black and lifeless like those of a shark, his hands curled into claws, mouth open to reveal the gaps where his adult teeth hadn’t grown in yet. He flew towards me like a hawk diving for a mouse. I side stepped his flight. He landed cat like on all fours and seemed to forget about me when he spied easier prey. He pounced on Samantha Rooks and tore a long strip of flesh and muscle from her neck before leaping toward the door to give chase to the students and faculty now screaming in the hallway. I heard the shrill sound of the fire alarm going off and the sounds of people screaming in terror and agony in the halls. My desk phone started ringing, barely audible amidst the keening of the infected and the blare of the fire alarm. I let it ring, I couldn’t spare the time to answer it. I already knew what was happening, I was smack dab in the middle of it.
I watched as pandemonium unfurled in my classroom and the hallway beyond. Screams of pain and rage echoed through the corridors. Students were tearing into each other without mercy. I watched as the principal, Mr. Shelton dragged down the librarian and ripped into her with his nails and teeth, bloody giblets of flesh dropping from his gore stained jaws, before he leapt a dozen feet in pursuit of another victim. I watched as children who were obviously dead, missing huge chunks of flesh torn out by their classmates, staggered to their feet to attack the faculty members who were trying to herd the uninfected to safety. Poor Hannah still stood by the chalkboard, the piece of red chalk in a white knuckled grip, mouth agape and rooted to the spot with fear. Bryan lurched to his feet and focused his attention on her. He growled and tensed to leap. I shook off the fear and helplessness I was feeling and hurled a desk at him. I heard the crunch of bone as he was borne backward to crash against the wall. He shoved the desk aside with strength that was far beyond what an eight-year-old possessed and staggered to his feet, mindless of the broken arm that now hung limply by his side. He let out a keening wail and tensed to leap again, this time at me.
“The closet!” I screamed. “Get in the closet now!” I hurled another desk at him, knocked him to the floor. He didn’t stay down. He should be unconscious or sobbing on the floor calling for his mama and cradling his broken arm. He shouldn’t have been able to shake off a blow like that, but he did.
The sharp tone of my voice galvanized Hannah into action and she headed to the supply closet where the lab supplies and safety gear were stored. She was followed by the few students who weren’t in the final throes of whatever was happening. They were all sweaty and pale, but at least they weren’t trying to rip my face off. Maybe there was something I could do to help them. I dashed in behind them and locked the door. It was solid wood with a heavy-duty lock. It would hold until help arrived.
“Is everyone alright?” I asked stupidly. Of course, they weren’t. They’d just watched their classmates turn into flesh eating monsters. Most of them had older or younger siblings in the melee outside the classroom. Some had parents and other relatives that were faculty.
Shit, I thought, the classroom door was still standing wide open. The room would be over run before long, filled with vicious infected children. They would pound and claw at the door, hungry and eager to get in. We were trapped. My perfect day had gone to hell in less than an hour. I thought about Bex, she was on the other side of the building. I had to find a way to get to her, protect her and get us the hell out of here. She was smart and resourceful, probably already barricaded behind a locked door with all the students she had gotten to safety. They would be her first priority. She’ll be fine, I lied to myself. I couldn’t help her until I helped myself.
Catrina Higgins whined, “My head hurts so bad, Mr. Rye.” Her veins were already starting to show black through her skin, her breath heavy, ragged, and her limbs twitching involuntarily. Both of her pupils were fully dilated and turning black. My mind raced looking for an answer, something, anything, to help these kids. They were sick, infected like the rest of the school, only they weren’t violent. Not yet anyway, but if what I’d seen was any indication of what was to come then it was only a matter of time.
I had seen firsthand that it was a fast acting virus, but how was it transmitted? Airborne didn’t make sense, or we’d all have it. Something in the water or the food? The biscuits, I latched onto the thought out of desperation. Me and Hannah were the only ones who hadn’t eaten the biscuits. Some kind of contagion or pathogen in the flour, the eggs, maybe the meat? I’d overheard something about a meat shortage from some of the other teachers in the lounge. I hadn’t given it much thought, most of my meat was from wild game or fish. I rarely bought meat from the grocery store. Whatever this sickness was, it caused extreme rage in the carriers and reanimated their victims after death. It wasn’t much of a theory, but it was all I had to go on at the moment. I didn’t understand why some of them had turned so suddenly, while others seemed to take longer. There wasn’t time to dwell on it. I was going to save those I could, then get Bex and get the hell out of there. We’d grab some gear from the cabin and head into the mountains until the police or military had a handle on things. If this was the same thing happening in the big cities, then the CDC and every other alphabet soup agency were already all over it by now, developing protocols and setting up quarantine zones.
“Hannah, come here.” She was the only one of the kids in the closet not showing any symptoms. I mentally checked myself, I felt fine. The two of us seemed to be unaffected, either we were naturally immune, or we weren’t infected. My mind circled back to the sausage biscuits, convinced the answer was there, but the how and why someone would do this eluded me. There wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it though.
I scooped the girl up and raised her over my head. “Push the ceiling tile out of the way and sit on top of the wall. I’ll be with you in a minute. If something happens to me, keep quiet and don’t come down unless someone who isn’t sick comes to get you. Help has to be on the way by now.”
I shoved her through the hole. Once I was able to get up there with her, we could traverse the school by walking the tops of the walls, safe from the carnage below. Once I got her to safety, I would go get Bex and haul ass.
There were roof access ladders behind locked doors in the hallways, easily accessible by walking the tops of the walls above the false ceiling. I knew their locations from the active shooter drills the staff had practiced. Hannah mumbled an okay and peered down at me, tears in her eyes and snot streaming from both nostrils. All things considered, the girl was holding it together pretty well, but the kid was gonna need a lot of therapy when this was over, hell so was I. I turned my attention back to the remaining four students, but it was too late for me to do anything to help them. Catrina was almost through the metamorphosis, twitching on the floor as the slow motion seizures coursed through her small frame. Arnell Inman, Ryker Slade, Aaron Daniels and Shoshana Blackman were also changing, the only thing keeping them upright was their close proximity in the tiny closet. I had seconds at the most before they changed, not enough time to get in the ceiling before they dragged me back down. After witnessing the strength Bryan had displayed, I wasn’t sure I could subdue four of them without getting bitten. I slipped on a pair of heavy black leather gloves that reached my elbows and grabbed a heavy microscope from the shelf as Catrina came at me.
I’m not going to go into details about what happened in that closet. It’s the fuel of nightmares. Trust me, I’ve lived with them ever since that day. All of their names and faces are seared into my memory. Their ghosts haunt me when the night is too still and quiet. Everything they could have been, all the dreams they had, died in a bloody mess of gore and black blood on that floor. It was my job to protect them, and I’d failed miserably. I wondered how I would ever face their parents when the dust settled. How would I face myself?
Hannah and I made our way to the roof and descended the emergenc
y ladder into chaos. Parents ignored me when I screamed at them not to go in the school, hell bent on getting their children, only to go down under a wave of undead. As I drove away from the school, into town, I watched in horror as the police and EMS personnel were swarmed by the infected that ran down the streets displaying inhuman speed and agility. The brave would be rescuers never stood a chance. The number of infected grew exponentially by the minute and poured down the streets and businesses of downtown Kalispell. Victims fell beneath the teeth and nails of their families, friends and neighbors, only to surge back to their feet and join the hunt. Buildings burned, traffic jammed at the intersections as people disregarded the traffic lights in their urgent but futile attempts to get away. The streets were packed so I drove down sidewalks, tore through front yard fences and flower beds, rammed a blue Mustang out of my way while its infected driver keened at me, trapped in place by the seat belt. I ran down people I knew from town, their eyes lifeless and dead, the blood of their victims staining their faces and clothes. Men, women, children, the young and the old, all crazed and homicidal, they all chased after me. I crushed the ones who swarmed the Jeep without mercy beneath the oversized tires of the Jeep, felt their bones snap and their bodies burst as the wheels rolled over them. I shattered the skull of my mailman with a fallen tree limb when he came for me in my driveway, his brains staining the concrete heart with mine and Bex’s initials in the center I’d painted the day I moved in. I stabbed my closest neighbor, Mrs. Giddens, through the eye with the spike on the lawn sprinkler when she tackled me from out of nowhere and tried to bite my face off. I killed every undead bastard between me and the cabin where I’d pinned all of my hopes and dreams for the future. I was dead inside, gutted and hollow. I couldn’t wrap my mind around what was happening. I was a peaceful guy by nature, not a mass murderer, but I had enough blood on my hands to earn me multiple death sentences. In the span of a few hours’ time, I’d gone from having the world by the balls to the uncertainty of whether I would turn into one of those things or not.
I did manage to get Hannah out of the building and back to her family. I don’t know what happened to them after that. Maybe I should have done more to help them, but I was too distraught to even help myself. Bex was lost to me, turned into a creature that craved the flesh of others. The last image I’d ever have of the love of my life was her torn, bloodied face pressed against the gore stained window of the cafeteria, slamming her head and fists against the glass, screeching and keening, trying to smash her way through and drag me into the hell she was in. There had been no escape for her, she was dead, only she wasn’t. She was something else, something from a nightmare. I couldn’t save her. My girl, my moon and stars was a fucking zombie. The thought was ridiculous, padded rubber room and straight jacket insane. I held two Master’s degrees in biology. I was a practical man. Zombies didn’t exist. I didn’t believe in aliens, the Loch Ness monster and the boogeyman. This was something else, a plague, some sort of disease. Right now, someone, somewhere was working on a cure. It was just a matter of time. Bex would get the shot that would make her better. She’d be fine. We’d be fine. She’d be proud of me for saving Hannah, not mad that I hadn’t come for her first. We’d get married and live happily ever after in our dream house. Raise fat babies, one boy and one girl, and grow old together. I’d win enough poker money to pay for a little plastic surgery to fix her scars. They would bother her, but I wouldn’t care about them, even if she did. She’d always be beautiful to me. This day would just be a bad memory that would fade in time. A spooky story to tell the grandkids around a campfire with S’mores and hot dogs roasting on a stick.
I lied to myself in a desperate bid to hold onto my sanity. Tried to make sense of it all. I knew what I’d witnessed. I knew what it took to get out of that closet and back home. I couldn’t stay here, even if I’d wanted to. If the guilt didn’t kill me, the undead would. Kalispell was overrun and it most certainly wasn’t the only place.
I was on autopilot when I took what I needed to survive from the cabin. Guns, ammo, nonperishable food, camping gear, and most importantly, a picture of me and Bex hiking at Yellowstone. I smashed the glass frame, pulled the picture free, ignored the shards of glass that sliced into my fingers and slid it into my pocket. I could barely think, barely see through the flood of tears and grief that threatened to overwhelm me and drive me to my knees with a gun in my mouth. I grabbed up the growling fur ball that was all that was left of the family Bex and I had planned. I placed the engagement ring on her pillow that smelled of lilac and jasmine. It was still dented from the last time her head had lain there. I inhaled her scent one last time and then set the whole damned place on fire.
I didn’t look back as I drove away, that life was over. Everything I’d ever wanted was gone in a matter of hours. I turned on the radio, couldn’t stand the silence. It filled in the details I was missing. This was happening everywhere, from the biggest cities to the smallest towns in every corner of the country, maybe even the world. The military couldn’t contain it. The White House had gone silent. Nowhere was safe. The world was dying. I tried my phone in desperation, needing to know one person I cared about was ok. Friends, family, no one picked up when I could actually get a call to go through. So, I ran.
1
Busted
Foothills of the Carrizozo Mountains, NM
10 Months Later
I eased myself from the rocking chair and stepped off the shaded porch of my cabin into the morning sun. I was stiff and sore from sleeping all night in the wooden chair. It was gonna be a hot one, just like yesterday and tomorrow. Another day in paradise. I finger combed my hair and settled the off-white Stetson cowboy hat on my throbbing head and slipped my shades on, wincing from the brightness as the morning sun punished my hung over brain via my optic nerves. I really needed to lay off the Mescal, I thought as I washed a handful of aspirin down my parched gullet with the spring water in my canteen. Sweet with a slightly metallic aftertaste, the cool water brought instant relief to my dry, scratchy throat. I scanned the horizon looking for any signs of the undead, my hand on the butt of the Ruger Bisley Super Blackhawk. Passed out drunk on the porch was stupid on my part. Talk about easy prey.
My Jeep sat parked with one tire on the bottom step, the right side porch support post cracked from where the corner of the bumper had impacted it. Oops. The cabin was in rough enough shape already without my drunken efforts to convert the living room into a garage. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was home. It had one big common room with a small bedroom and a bathroom separated out, not much square footage, but it suited me and Bo just fine.
Bo lay sprawled on the porch. I relied on him to alert me if his sensitive nose detected any scent of the undead carried on the light breeze. His senses were a lot sharper than mine, especially this morning. I felt like shit. Bo growled his displeasure at his empty food and water bowls, so I filled them up. He was unbearable when he was hungry, which seemed to be always.
I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t see any zombies racing towards me for breakfast. It was pretty desolate out here, even before the apocalypse. Santa Fe and Albuquerque were filled with the undead, but they were miles away through harsh territory. The dry, arid environment of the desert was hard on the biters. The scorching hot asphalt and the sand wore their feet down to nubs and sucked the moisture right out of them. Mostly, I encountered crawlers, withered husks worn down to almost nothing, still dragging their shriveled remains along on the stubs of their fingers in slow pursuit of the last thing that had caught their attention. All of them were relentless, it didn’t matter if you passed by them at a hundred miles an hour. If they sensed you, they followed until they caught you or something else drew their attention.
The most dangerous zombies out here were the ones that were so far gone they’d lost their mobility. Muscles and tendons desiccated until they no longer functioned enough to propel them, the nasty fuckers lay buried in the sand like a sidewinder ready to strike at anyth
ing that came within reach. Even though most of them resembled a cheap dollar store Halloween decoration, a nip from a shriveled husk of a zombie was still a death sentence. There was no cure, once the virus hit your bloodstream, it was over. Any traveler looking to take a roadside pit stop was well advised to check the ground before he or she dropped their pants to answer the call of Mother Nature. The desert undead were a far cry from the fast, super humanly strong, freshly turned zombies of the early days but they were still dangerous and warranted caution. I didn’t miss the fresh ones not one teeny tiny little bit, but I’d be neck deep in them soon enough, if I took the job I’d been offered.
In case you’re wondering, my name is Rye, pleased to meet you and all that. I’m the chief cook and bottle washer of World’s End Acquisitions. Me and others like me are the ones you hire to go after those things you think you can’t live without but don’t want to risk your own neck for, we call ourselves retrievers. Missing something from your old life that you are willing to pay to have back? Craving a one of a kind of museum piece? I’m your guy. Retrieving was a way to maintain your independence from the walled settlements, but still be welcome in the safety of the walls to enjoy the benefits of civilization. I’ll admit, it made me feel good to reunite someone with their family photo album or their great grandmothers China set. It made me feel even better to collect the fee, payable in gold or other valuables. There were also the well-known, but little discussed perks that went along with the job that made it lucrative. Say for instance, you wanted me to retrieve that Belgian made Sweet Sixteen shotgun from your old home in the suburbs, I’d sneak or fight my way in and get your items for you, as agreed. However, I’m already there so I might as well check out the neighbors place too, maybe that jewelry store I passed on the way into town. The stuff is just lying there unclaimed, the undead have no use for it. Lakota gold was fast becoming the preferred currency between the settlements that were popping up, but gold was gold. A fistful of rings and necklaces was easy to transport and exchange to the minters for coin or useful in its original form for getting yourself out of a jam out in the badlands.
Road to Riches: Deadline: Book 1 (Zombie Road) Page 2
