by Brown, TW
DEAD: Snapshot
Box Set 1
TW Brown
DEAD: Snapshot—Box Set 1
©2020 May December Publications LLC
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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, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
DEAD: Snapshot – Liberty, South Carolina
DEAD: Snapshot – Portland, Oregon
DEAD: Snapshot – Leeds, England
DEAD: Snapshot – Las Vegas, Nevada
A moment with the author…
Welcome to the third installment of the DEAD: Snapshot—{insert town here} series. This is one of those stories that I am very excited about. Now, no spoilers, but this is another time I got to put a different spin on the normal zombie tale. So often, the destruction is total and complete. But what if a small town banded together to stand against the walking dead? That is part of the idea behind this tale. Also, I get to drop a bit of a morality story on you. I hope it plays out as well on paper as it did in my head.
I will say that, as a fan of the original Dawn of the Dead, I am of the belief that endings in a zombie story can often be a bit open and ambiguous. While there is certainly a lot to be said about a hard or solid conclusion, the zombie genre is not always best served by that approach.
I am a fan of how Fran and Peter are lifting off from that mall in the WGON chopper as the zombies pour out onto the roof. (Forget how they managed to suddenly learn to climb ladders.) I walked out of the theater and spent hours wondering what happened next. Did they find someplace safe? Did Fran crash when they ran out of fuel?
To that end, I want to give my readers a conclusion, but I also like them to be able to ponder the fate of the characters they have come to love or hate in the pages of this book. When reach the last page of this particular tale, I hope the story remains with you for a while. No, this is not the start of another series. This is a stand-alone title; just like all my other Snapshot books. However, I think we all know that “life goes on” so to speak after the story ends. Just like real life. Just something to ponder.
I do want to extend my thanks to the good men and women of Liberty, South Carolina. As this book came together, I was blessed to have a few of her fine citizens offer me some helpful tips. For instance…Liberty has a chief of police. Not a sheriff. That was an error that might seem small, but I bet to the people of Liberty, it would make a big difference.
I must say here that I have fictionalized the town to make it fit my story. All errors are my own doing. I had to create a few creeps, and that in no way reflects on the actual people of this little town in Palmetto State. So, if you from Liberty, please don’t be offended. This is, after all, a work of fiction.
I want to thank the real Stephen Deese for offering his town up to the apocalypse. I also want to thank Jamie Burns for her time early in the creation of this project. I would be remiss if I did not thank Sarah Gilstrap for her help getting a few of the facts straight and Jonathan Patterson for throwing his name in the ring to be used at my discretion.
To my Beta readers: Sarah, Jonathan, Miranda, Debra, Sophie, Heather, Tammy, Hope, Donna, Lynne, Todd and Amy, this book would not be nearly as good without you. I started with forty, and you were the hardy crew that lasted to the end. I thank you sincerely for your help, hard work, and constant input.
To those of you who are not aware, this is a spinoff of my 12 book DEAD series. Each of these is a self-contained story and yes, I do realize that each could become its own series, but that is the idea of a “snapshot” as the title suggests. It is one look into one location during the zombie apocalypse that lives in depth in my proper series. I sometimes drop teasers or Easter eggs that fans of the series will understand, but you don’t need to have read the series to enjoy these individual stories. (And I do hope that you enjoy them.)
As always, I do hope that you will leave a review (good or bad, don’t worry, I can take constructive criticism) after you read this book. Believe it or not, they do matter. Some people dismiss it, but I have seen a difference in the exposure of my titles with 50 or more reviews. So please, just take a moment when you’re done. You have my eternal gratitude.
Where neighbors become friends.
TW Brown
February 2016
For Stephen, Jamie, and the wonderful REAL people of Liberty, South Carolina
Contents
Welcome to Liberty, South Carolina
Impossible Things
The Dead Come
Worse than Expected
The Meeting
From Bad to Worse
Cliff
Securing the Town
“Where neighbors become friends.”
Regrets and Death
Casualties
“Thank you.”
As Time Goes By
Deliver Us From Evil
Supplies and Fortifications
Going Tribal
The Vote and a Slice of Normal
Tough Choices and Dark Clouds
1
Welcome to Liberty, South Carolina
Bruce Gibbs started to bring his big rig to a stop. The car just ahead was only partway off the highway and had its hazard lights flashing. Sure, he could have just drifted over to the left lane and shot past, but that simply was no longer in his nature.
Two months ago, Bruce had come to the Lord. After over a decade of drug and alcohol abuse, his sister had staged an intervention. It was then that she revealed she had been diagnosed with breast cancer and needed her big brother’s shoulder to lean on in the trying times that lie ahead. He’d started attending church with her every time he was in town, and was starting to feel better about himself than he had in years.
The big rig shuddered as it came to a complete stop and Bruce engaged the brakes before opening his door. The cool night air made his skin erupt in goose bumps, and he got a funny feeling that sent him to his favorite verse of scripture. It was the first bit he had ever memorized and it always calmed him when Satan tried to unsettle him, to lure him back to the bottle or the women.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures…” he whispered as he approached the beat up old Buick. There was something peculiar about the rear window. As a car zoomed by, coming from behind him on the Calhoun Memorial Highway, better known to passing truckers simply as Highway 123, the rear window looked like it was melting.
“…You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil…” Bruce continued as he reached the rear bumper.
Almost immediately, there was a horrific smell that was foul and gagging. It was like feces mixed with spoiled chicken. This had to be serious. He finished his recital of Psalms Twenty-three and switched over to simply praying for the poor souls in that vehicle. He fished his cell phone from his pocket and hit the emergency button as he reached for the recessed handle of the front, driver’s side door.
“Nine-one-one…police, fire, or medical,” a bored sounding voice answered.
“I think all of them,” Bruce gasped as he gave the door handle a tug. “Oh, my God.”
In the front bench seat, a male was sprawled over and lying on his side. Crouched in the floor well on the passenger’s side was a child. He couldn’t have been older than seven. His face was a dark mask. But Bruce knew that the moment that face came into the light, the black stain would morph to red.
The man’s throat had been torn open and blood had sprayed all over the interior of the car. A good jet of it must have hit the back window; explaining why it had looked like it was melting. Bruce staggered back and dropped his phone. The tinny voice on the other end was now unintelligible.
Losing his footing, Bruce fell backwards—directly into the path of one of his fellow truck drivers. This particular eighteen-wheeler was hauling a full bed of thirty-foot poles and moving at just over sixty-eight miles per hour when it slammed into Bruce, killing him instantly. The impact was so great that there was very little of the poor man other than what dripped from the front grill of the semi.
The newly arriving big rig began to squeal as the brakes were applied much too hastily to be safe. The trailer heaved around and the rear end began to catch up with the cab. It drifted into the median and began to destroy the high-tension cable line that so many people in the area had complained was completely useless and needed to be replaced with an actual concrete divider that separated the east and westbound lanes.
An oncoming SUV with a family returning from a trip to Greenville after checking out the upstate campus of the University of South Carolina was coming east at that unfortunate moment. The oldest daughter was planning on attending USC next year if everything went well.
The family was cruising along at just over seventy when a dark shadow filled the entire lane directly ahead in the blink of an eye. All plans ended abruptly when the rear trailer full of poles smashed into the front of the SUV and sent the engine block all the way through the rear of the car, killing the mother, father, and oldest daughter, as well as seriously injuring the fourteen-year-old sister who was thrown out the rear of the SUV.
Nobody would know that her body lay broken and bleeding in the tall roadside grass. The living were so occupied with the terrible scene of the accident that nobody saw the three figures coming out of the trees as they paused and suddenly changed direction. Almost as one, they dropped to their knees and began clawing, biting, and tearing at the helpless girl who was fortunate to never actually regain consciousness.
Cars from both directions began to stop and people emerged from their vehicles; some to see if they might be able to help, others just to be able to get a better look. One boy ignored his mother’s reprimands and emerged from his parent’s car with his cell phone in hand. He felt his heart race as he neared the carnage. This was the first time he’d even used the new cell phone and he had to fumble a few seconds to get the camera function to start recording.
He approached a body that lay sprawled on the ground. There was a dark pool on the asphalt that he knew had to be blood. Another person was crouched over the body and twelve-year-old Ben Jones zoomed in on his screen so that he could see a little better. He expected to hear crying or maybe the crouched person trying to communicate with the individual lying flat on his back, but what he heard was a strange sound that reminded him of how his cousin Jenny ate spaghetti. There was a loud slurping noise and then what he thought to be open-mouthed chewing.
The long hair that hung down from the head of the crouched person prevented him from really seeing what was going on and so he took a few more steps closer. This is going to blow everybody away at school on Monday, he thought. A smell hit his nose as he took those final steps that put him in arm’s reach of the scene. It was possibly the nastiest thing he had ever smelt in his life. It was worse than going into the bathroom after his dad in the mornings.
“Is he dead?” Ben breathed as he got to within a few steps of the man who stared straight up with eyes that looked sort of strange. Ben noticed that they looked clouded over like the blind man who sat in the front row every Sunday at church; only…different.
The person who was crouched over the body paused whatever it was doing. For a moment, there was no movement, then the head began to crank around in slow, jerky, bird-like fits.
Young Ben Jones did not even realize that his phone slipped from his fingers. He was in shock as his brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. The man’s face was a dark mask around the mouth and something long and stringy dangled from one corner. The man’s long hair was dripping from where it had been dragged through the horrible and bloody open gash in the belly of the man on the ground.
The crouching figure began to move towards Ben, hands reaching and mouth opening in a low moan. That sound was the last straw for Ben’s bladder although he no more registered that fact than he had dropping his phone. He stood frozen in terror as the long-haired man stumble-crawled towards him. A hand grabbed his ankle and he simply watched the bloody face come to his leg. The stained mouth opened and then clamped down on the outside of his right calf. Now his bowels joined his bladder, but Ben registered nothing. He had already gone into shock and continued to stand unmoving as a piece of his leg was torn free.
At last, pain registered in his brain, but Ben did not scream, he simply let out a feeble whimper. His eyes had now fixed on the second man who had been sprawled on the ground; this person was sitting up with his insides spilling out onto the highway; and now he was coming for Ben as well.
Ben’s mother had jerked away from his father and stood outside the passenger’s side door. Much like her son, she could not believe what she was seeing. However, she did not freeze in shock, instead, her motherly instincts took control and she charged the two terrible men who looked to be attacking her son.
“Shondra!” Clarence Jones shouted as he now emerged from the car as well.
He heard a sound behind him and turned to see a child standing just a few feet away. The boy couldn’t be any older than seven or eight, and he was covered in blood and gore. The stink rolling off the child was enough to make Clarence take an involuntary step back. What began as a reaction to the smell changed to fear as a man came stumbling up behind the child with pieces of his face looking like they’d been chewed off.
His first thought was dog attack, but then his eyes returned to the child who had stopped advancing and was cocking its head first to one side then the other. The man behind the child made no attempt to slow and stumbled past the little boy, sending him sort of careening off the side of Clarence Jones’ car.
“You just stop right there,” Clarence warned.
At that same instant, his wife screamed their son’s name. Clarence turned his head to see Shondra lit up by the headlights of his car. She was on her knees trying to pull Ben free from two men. She didn’t even see the woman stumbling up behind her due to the blue-white glare of all the headlights. This creature was limping horribly from what looked like the left foot having been turned completely backwards and dragging along with a scratching sound as exposed bone scraped asphalt.
Clarence’s head whipped around when a strangely cold hand swiped down his face and landed on his shoulder where it grabbed hold with a peculiar firmness. He tried to jerk away but his feet tangled in those of his attacker and the two fell down with Clarence landing flat on his back and the strange, foul smelling man on top. The impact knocked the wind from him. In the end, he was only able to emit a feeble squeak as teeth tore into the flesh of his throat.
Pain slammed into him and he was almost certain that he saw a dark jet that had to be his own blood spray across his vision. He blinked once and opened his eyes to see the darkly stained face of the child leaning down over him. Its tiny mouth was open wide and came down to fasten on the bridge of his nose.
Clarence’s screams were just one of many as the unsuspecting living emerged from their cars and made for easy prey. Not one person in the midst of the carnage could fathom what was taking place. Nobody could force themselves to believe that the dead were getting up and attacking the living.
It w
as simply too ridiculous, a thing of pop fiction.
***
Mayor Jamie Burns sat at her desk and allowed her eyes to shut as she rolled her head in circles to try and ease the tension in her neck. She looked out the window of the tiny room where she had set up her office in the old Rosewood Center. The headlights of a car passing by on Main Street flashed in her window and then were gone. She pulled her headphones off and set them on her desk, the tinny sound of her iPod continued to play a song by The Judds until she hit the stop button and flicked off the power.
“Glad to see I’m not the only person awake at this hour,” she mumbled as she glanced up at the clock on the wall. It read just past three in the morning.
She hit the save button on her open spreadsheet file and started closing down her computer. She paused on her email and was about to close that as well when something caught her attention on the muted television sitting on the shelf to the right of the coffee pot. Opening her top drawer, she grabbed the remote and increased the volume.
There was a man holding a microphone with a large military truck as his background. The man looked nervous and kept glancing to his right, wincing from time to time as he spoke words she could not yet hear. That alone had not been enough to grab her attention. It was the banner at the bottom of the screen that had done the job. The banner read: Multiple fatalities at the junction of Highway 178 and 123 closes major route to all traffic. That was just a mile or so south of town.
“…have set up a perimeter just south of what I am told is 5 Forks Road near the town of Liberty. We are on the western side of the overpass, but military vehicles have just rolled in and an Army National Guard unit has joined with elements of the State Police to ensure that nobody gets past and enters what we have been told is a scene of unimaginable carnage.” There was a distant popping sound that Jamie heard on the television and then from somewhere outside just a split second later.