Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  “No,” I whisper, looking at the bunker door. “It’s just me.” All four of them gape. I don’t want to get into it. I flash a mirthless smile. “Try not to make a lot of noise.” I peer at all of them and go into my bunker.

  I leave the door open so they know they can follow. After flipping the generator switch and turning on a few lamps, I go about lighting a fire, reminding me the ventilation system might be leaking. The fire will help me seek the source. It’s before midday. Usually, I’d feel secure getting out. After this morning, I can’t say it is safe to fix it now. Zombies might be lurking. Opening the trapdoor used as a pantry underneath the plywood counter, I grab two cans of vegetables. I’m in the middle of opening cans, when a gasp sounds throughout the bunker.

  I find the four of them studying the bunker. Harley must be a little over six feet tall because he looks hunched as to not hit any plumbing pipes. He inspects my computer setup. The dinette table piled with books, my toothpick bridge, and assorted clutter holds their attention. There’s only space for one. I’m conscious of how lonely it looks. It’s pathetic, but I don’t care. It passes the time.

  “Wow, you live here?” The awe in his voice makes me want to run away. “Why don’t you live in the house?”

  My teeth clench. “Survival. Look, I need to wash my pot and tub.” I hand Harley some bandages from a drawer along with a basic first aid kit and instruction guide. I clear the table of books for more space for them.

  Taking the pot and tub outside, I clean them, the tub especially. After going through the tedious process, I take it inside.

  They’re relaxed, enjoying the safety and comfort I bring them. Slamming the pot on the grill with unnecessary aggression, I notice Bridget has found a book and is thumbing through it. Anger flashes through me that she went through my things.

  I swallow any derogatory comments and dump canned vegetables into the pot. It’s just a book, anyway. My mood lifts a little as the smell wafts around me. The distinct sodium and metal aroma makes my mouth salivate.

  “This is great, Kan. I can see how you’ve managed alone,” Harley comments. Some part of me acknowledges his compliment. The other part, the part I don’t like well, but also the part that has kept me alive, doesn’t like them invading my space.

  The fire starts strong, heating the bunker.

  “I was awakened by zombies last night. My ventilation system attracted them. It ends about three hundred yards away, and they were walking circles several yards from my fence.” I let my words sink in to see if they catch on.

  To my surprise, it’s Kale. “You have a leak?”

  “I believe so. Now that the fire is going good, I should be able to detect the smoke from the leak.”

  He nods. “Cool, I’ll go with you to cover your back.”

  I eye him. “As you can see, I can take care of myself.” His face falls, making me feel guilty. Maybe I should shoot them all.

  My indecision, settling as curiosity, wins over my irritation—I want to know what they know. Judging from the zombie fight, Kale is the weak link. “Okay, come on.”

  4

  Instead of heading through the gate, I take him inside the house. I can feel his curious gaze and his need to ask questions as we go in the door. He takes in all the dust and webs of disuse. The kitchen has cherry cabinets, creamy ivory granite counters, gleaming stainless steel appliances, and track lighting. The hinges protest when I open the cabinets, sending thick dust into my eyes. I wave it from my face before touching the cobwebs sticking to the tableware inside.

  I grab casual bowls and plates from the cupboard and cutlery from the drawer. “Here, will you wash these in the basin?” I hand him the armload. “You guys will need something to eat on.”

  Self-righteous outrage pours from his gaze as he jerks hair out of his eyes. “You’re doing this so you can go out there by yourself. You saw how that zombie came out of nowhere. I need to be there to help look out for them.”

  My lips tighten. “I need you to help clean those, so they can eat. I’m sure you’re hungry, too. Right? Please, do this for your friends. They need you more than I do. By the time you’re done, I’ll be back. I need you to keep an eye on Nadine,” I whisper, looking for anything else we might need. “I’m not sure of their relationship, but I know Harley isn’t willing to do what needs to be done.”

  His eyes seem to pierce me, making me uncomfortable, but I don’t flinch or back down.

  “You don’t know them,” he spits with narrowed eyes. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes, we’re coming to look for you.”

  Cute. I bite my lips to hide a smile and demean his minimal masculinity. It will also risk him returning the smile. Caring about these people is the last thing I want. I also don’t want them to care about me.

  “There is a closet in the big bedroom.” I swallow hard and clear my throat. “Clothes.” My parents won’t be using them anymore. They may as well go to someone who needs them. I leave before he can say anything, walking through the garage where I have tools stored. I grab the shovel to dig the trench and fix the leak.

  It’s still warm. The sun beats on me as I walk into the yard. I smile and let it warm my face. By the time I make it to the field, tools in hand, my smile falls from my face—I can smell the rotting zombie corpses. The stench is worse because of the hot sun. This time, I can’t hold back. Tasting bitter bile, I vomit in the thick brush. My stomach continues to contract with dry heaves, making me wish I had more in it.

  I run past the corpses to gulp fresh air. Smoke wafts from a hole, identifying the leak. The brush is broken and trampled from the zombies, making it easy to set about digging the trench. I fix it with duct tape, my go-to mending tool. My tank’s over my nose, to help with the smell as I drag the zombie remains downwind through a patch of trees and into an old cattle field where I set them ablaze.

  On my way to the bunker, I see Harley outside, scoping the hole I dug to fix the ventilation. “Great idea. I’m sure it works like a charm,” he tells me. I nod to acknowledge him. He scrutinizes me with renewed interest. “I turned on your radio and caught a broadcast near Birmingham. It seems they’re doing fine, so we’ll head there soon.” He sounds worn out.

  “Come on. Let’s eat and get some rest. There are beds in the house. Comfortable. I won’t sleep until long after dark, so I’ll keep an eye on things. Last night and today are the most zombies I’ve seen in a little over three years. Well, except for the occasional wanderer, but I don’t count them if they aren’t attracted to my home.”

  His mouth drops. “You’ve been alone for that long?”

  I squint at the sky. “Yeah.”

  After everyone eats the hearty vegetable soup in silence, my guests put on fresh clothes. It stings to see the guys in my dad’s clothing, but I say nothing. I’m surprised the girls put on some of my old things. I guess they don’t like my mom’s style. I’m curvier than Bridget, so they look a little loose on her. At least they aren’t tight. I lie on the bed and pretend to doodle in my notebook as I survey my guests.

  Harley skims the books. The Johnny Five t-shirt he wears was my dad’s favorite. Being a technology professor at the local university, he loved to read and learn about anything man-made. He went through books quickly, just like Johnny Five, the robot from the movie Short Circuit. It was an inside joke of our family. I fume, ready for my unexpected guests to leave.

  Nadine reclines on the couch next to Kale. She doesn’t look feverish. She chose a cotton sundress of pinks and purples. An odd choice that makes me wonder what in the hell is going through her mind. They’re laughing and telling jokes together. Their faces transmute into something I never expected to see again. Bridget sits cross-legged on the floor against Kale’s leg. She’s wearing my old t-shirt, a cartoon of Smokey the Bear. She gazes at Kale, smiling at whatever he says.

  I tune in to their conversation as Nadine bursts out laughing. “You’re so stupid, Kale.”

  Kale catches me watching them. His eyes bu
rn with curiosity. Yes, I could turn on my charm and get information out of him. I haven’t used that part of me in a while, but it would be easy. Bridget notices us watching each other. My face flames and I flip over on my bed. If I decide on a flirtatious course of action to get information from him, she’ll be a problem. She might as well piss on him to mark her territory.

  Tears sting my eyes, and I blink to keep any from falling. I hate myself at this moment for taking them in at the risk of exposure. They will destroy everything I’ve built, but I can’t bring myself to be hateful to them. Harley said they’d be leaving. I sigh, liking the thought and feeling lighter. Patience is key here. I’ll go about my business, not say much, and ignore them. They might catch on, know they’re not wanted, and leave, but not before I get what I want from them.

  I tend to my guests more to keep myself busy rather than the need for everything to be clean. The sooner they rest, the sooner they can leave. Hopefully, before Nadine turns. I don’t want to shoot her. She is sweet. Jim, my neighbor, I had no problem shooting. He had been a thorn in my side. He helped as much as he could, I guess, turned soft from comfortable living. Not to mention, whiny. None of these people are whiny. The difference is they want to help, and they do it without being told.

  After I’m done cleaning used dishes, I pump more water in the basin—it takes longer than usual. Probably from all the water we’ve used today.

  Inside the house, looking in my family’s linen closet, I find the sheets dusty, but I’ll shake them before putting them on the beds. My eyes water from the dust clouds, and soon I can’t keep from sneezing. Blowing my nose into an old rag, it’s all dirt and funk. This is the last straw. They can do it themselves.

  After showing them the sleeping arrangements, I head to the old living room. To preserve our home long ago, I covered the furniture in this room with sheets. It seems kind of dumb now. Passing through, I freeze. Kale studies old framed pictures and knickknacks on the large entertainment center where the flat screen TV still sits.

  The love seat was my mother’s spot. Looking at it now, I can picture my mom with a bottle of scotch sitting beside her. She wouldn’t even bother to use a glass. Sometimes she would pass out, sometimes not. Even though I hate remembering my mother that way, it’s hard not to remember her verbal attacks on my dad. Kale stares at me, breaking my memories. It looks like he wants to ask me something, so I hurry out.

  After boiling two pots of water to mix with the cold, I sit in the tub. I don’t do it often, but enjoy it. I should be on the lookout while they sleep, but everything is off. I flick my lighter to light my bowl, the weed crackles and the bong water bubbles as I inhale its smoke.

  Not knowing how to grow it, I normally don’t smoke it unless I’ve hurt myself. I could, I suppose. There is no one to arrest me, and I like it because it doesn’t impair me the way drinking does. It was a lucky day when I came across several big plants about a year ago. I wasn’t surprised to find the annual still growing as it doesn’t get too cold for long here in Tennessee. My mother was always happy to have annual flowers come back. I suspect there were more of the weed plants at one point, and they died over the years. I knew enough to dry the buds out. I cut the buds off and let the plant continue growing. They almost all died last winter, but one survived. I named it after myself, Kansas. I call it Kansas City Bud. I must be allergic to it because it makes me thirsty. I’m laughing at my weed induced joke when the bunker door opens. My body tenses, observing Kale’s silhouette in the candlelight.

  “Kan?”

  I throw a towel across the tub so I don’t flash him. My legs stick out, and my head rests on a rolled up towel.

  Buzz kill. “Um, yeah?” My tone’s full of disbelief that he’s interrupting my bath time. I eye him over my glass tumbler as I take a gulp of water. This might be a great opportunity to talk with him alone. He stares without speaking.

  “You’re taking a bath? Is that hot water?” Kale asks, amazed.

  “It won’t be when I’m done.”

  He strolls over and takes my bong. Flicking the lighter, he inhales and keeps inhaling as he lifts the bowl, sucking up smoke. He exhales and tries to sit while choking his lungs up. “Instant high,” I say, the buzz returning as I relax a little.

  “Yeah, it’s been a while.” He settles and leans against the tub. He passes the bong along with the lighter.

  “You know, if Bridget finds us like this, it won’t look good.” I think I have a grasp on their relationship and her overbearing attitude toward him.

  “What’s it to Bridget?” His voice hints at curiosity.

  “You’re blind.”

  “We’re like brother and sister.”

  Knowing she doesn’t look at him as a brother, I raise my brows. Maybe he’s playing the same angle for information. This whole conversation is weird. It’s the weed getting to my brain, making me over-think things.

  “Hey, Kan, Harley told us not to snoop into your business.” Oh, here we go. “But do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  I tried to will my heart to not pick up speed. Definite buzz kill city. “You can ask, but I probably won’t tell you,” I say, serious. I do not want to have this conversation with anyone.

  “Where did you get this weed? Did you grow it?”

  I laugh, surprised and relieved he asked nothing personal. I take another hit and hold it in my lungs. After I exhale, I say, “I came across some plants one day. Luckiest day ever.” We both laugh at my good fortune.

  “Agreed.”

  “Maybe I’ll show it to you before you leave.” I smile at the thought. His own smile falters, and he turns his back to the tub. I think my foot catches his eye. His head moves as if he’s ogling my leg sticking out of the tub. I move it out of his line of sight. The Adam’s apple on his throat bobs as he swallows, catching himself.

  A finger dips in my water as if to test it. He swirls his finger before flicking droplets at me. “That’s getting cold. You better get out. I’ll leave you alone,” he says, and rises. Why did his mood change?

  “Before you leave, will you hand me another towel? Please?” I ask, watching him move toward the door.

  “Sure.” He passes a towel directing his attention elsewhere.

  After he leaves, I shiver, so I towel off and get dressed. Someone walks through the living room above me, causing the floor to groan. I take a big gulp of tequila for warmth. Some of it runs out, down my chin, and up my nose. I sputter as my eyes water from the burn, and I pinch my nose to keep the harsh smell from making me gag.

  My stomach coats with warmth as I climb under the blankets and fall asleep.

  The next morning, I check my laptop connection. No change, but I expected none. My family’s connection was via satellite. I knew when the satellite provider went down after my loss of connection. That happened a few days after the first wave of outbreak. My dad was still alive and told me if no one was at the corporation to keep it going, it would stop. I’m hopeful in thinking if I get a connection someone must be out there tending to it.

  At the table, I eat plain oats when Bridget makes her appearance. “Morning,” I mumble.

  “Mind if I have some?” she asks, pointing to the pot of oats.

  “Sure thing. There’s enough for everyone. If you like it sweet, there is some canned fruit under the trapdoor.” I watch as she scoops oats and then opens the trapdoor. She produces a can of mandarin oranges.

  Once she tops her oats she says, “This is great, thanks.”

  I think she is okay, despite her earlier attitude toward me. I feel like I have to get something out of the way. “Bridget, you don’t have to be overprotective with Kale. I’m not interested.”

  She stares at nothing a while before returning to her oats. “That obvious, huh?” She makes light, but I can tell it bothers her.

  “I won't say anything. It’s not my place,” I lie, since I already said something.

  “Kale is a great guy. Anyone would want him.” She sends me a po
inted expression. “He’s saved my life more times than I can count. I’ve known him for two years. He has some kind of interest in you.” She’s being honest, but I don’t know what to say.

  Harley appears, saving me from having to interact anymore with Bridget.

  “Oats and oranges.” I point to the counter with my spoon.

  “Yum.” He smiles.

  “Where is Nadine?” I ask Harley, spooning the last bite of oats in my mouth. His clothes are rumpled, and Johnny Five has a big crease down the middle of the t-shirt.

  “Don’t worry. No fever,” he says, chewing a mouthful of food.

  “Good.” I pause, but I need to ask. “Are you two together?”

  He laughs. “No, she was married to my brother before the outbreak. She’s my sister-in-law.” This surprises me.

  “She’s your family?” I ask with obvious, pure envy. Wishing for my family seems to be a constant weight. I check myself and swallow hard.

  “Yeah. Listen, I have a favor to ask. Is it all right if we stay here? At least until she…” He lets the sentence trail off. “I mean, we will help with whatever you need to get done. I can hunt. Maybe take a day trip for extra supplies. I should try to look for some ammunition,” he rambles, looking hopeful.

  I don’t want this, but I also don’t want to turn them down. The first people I have seen in three years. I don’t have to be happy about it. Bridget seems indifferent with the idea.

  “Yeah, you can stay.” I pause before saying, “I’ll shoot her if you don’t.” Standing up, I grab my pack and walk out.

  I want to make my rounds, but first things first. I don’t know which bedroom she’s in, but I take a wild guess and go into the master. It shares the front hall off the foyer with the office space. The floor is nothing but plywood. Long ago, I took up the hardwood for flooring in the bunker. The plywood creaks under my weight, and amazingly, it still smells like a new house. When I enter the room, she’s still asleep. Crown molding traces the vaulted ceilings and the tops of the teal walls. My mother’s dark brown drapes are closed. The vanity stool is pulled out, and the mirror is free from dust. My mother’s floor-model jewelry box stands ajar. Nosy pricks. Fat chance jewelry will do them any good.