Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  Rudy examines a bomb before glancing at me. “Well, I can’t think of anything better.”

  I announce, “I think it’s time for our mission.”

  “How do we know those will work?” This comes from Felix Fuller. I’m sure he didn’t mean for his words to sound grudging. The guy needs to take it easy.

  Reece grins. “I don’t know. You volunteering to test them? I’ll give you one and light the fuse.” If it were possible for Felix to getter any fatter, he did right then, taking in a breath and puffing up like a blowfish.

  Rudy speaks up, “This is great. Try to be optimistic.”

  “We didn’t know he was doing this! I don’t trust it when I’m going to be handling thousands of the famished!” Felix squeaks in full-effect flair, waving his hand in the air. Momentarily forgetting, he tries to tone it down. Everyone knows, but no one tells him they don’t give a rat’s ass how he spends his time in the bedroom. I’ve tried talking to him, but he’s stubborn and acts like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it.

  Rudy stays calm, but the look in his eye is one he gets in the betting ring. “Then stay here, Felix Fuller.” He stares into the man’s beady eyes. Sam and Ty crack up about something. I crack a smile their way. “I trust Kan to know what she’s doing. Obviously Reece does, too. He’s the one that’s been blowing things up with them.” I cringe. Shit.

  “Kan built these?” Thomas complains in outrage. I didn’t want anyone to know I planted the seed and helped Reece. “We are all going to die. Suicide mission. For what? Your lady love, Rudy?” Thomas glares.

  Rudy glances at me then looks away, neck blazing along with his face. Before anyone knows it, he has Thomas by the throat. He speaks through clenched teeth. “You know this will be bad. Now you’re slamming Kan for giving us better odds? Watch your mouth. I’m sick of hearing it.”

  Thomas wheezes. I think it was a laugh. “Kan,” he says it like I’m something nasty on the bottom of his shoe. “Almost got killed by a putrid that couldn’t even move,” he sneers. Rudy’s grip tightens. Thomas gargles, turning a pleasing shade of red.

  I stuff down my momentary pleasure. “Stop! Rudy, stop!” I hurry over and smack his arm, hoping he removes himself from Thomas. It’s like hitting a hard wall, and finally, he lets go.

  Thomas gags but stands straight. “Does she know about –” Thomas starts, but Mac’s arm flashes and punches Thomas in the face, preventing him from saying what he was going to say. Thomas slumps to the ground unconscious. Damn, Mac can pack a punch. Rudy stares at Mac for a long second.

  Mac glares at Rudy. “I didn’t do it for you.” I’m bewildered, tired, and ignore them both for the time being. I’ll ask Mac about it later.

  Clearing my throat, I get back to the business at hand. “Reece and I have one more looting trip tomorrow morning. The party’s tomorrow night, and that gives us all the next day to get our things in order. We leave the day after that,” I say, glancing at Rudy.

  He thinks about it before nodding. “Sounds good.”

  I smile wide at him, watching as he returns it. “You’ll get to see Julie soon.” His smile flinches, but he holds it in place, not thrilled. What’s wrong with him? Maybe he’s afraid of what he’ll find there. I’d be, too. “It’s better to know than not to.”

  He swallows, remembering one of our first conversations. “You’re right.”

  Mac scoffs. “Right.”

  I go to Mac’s room before heading to the vault. He said I could ask him anything, so I will. “Why’d you hit Thomas? I mean, well, he deserved it. I want to know what he was about to say.”

  Mac sits down beside me on the bed and meets my gaze. “No, sunshine, you don’t want to know. Rudy should be the one to tell you, not anyone else. Including me.” He kisses my forehead, and his curls graze my cheek as I shake my head.

  “Why does it matter?” I clip through my teeth. He smiles at that, sitting straight.

  “I think it would matter to you. Trust me.” He runs his tongue on the inside of his bottom lip, worrying. I don’t know what to say. He’s not going to give, so I let it go.

  26

  Mac talks me into letting him go with us to loot. We meet Reece in the parking lot of the community before the sun rises, taking a minivan for the space. Mac coming is a good idea because he can help carry stuff. The wind brings a chill, turning our noses red. I get to wear the tan leather jacket that matches my boots, feeling guilty about having them. I got a little carried away, but who wouldn’t?

  About forty-five minutes into the drive, the sun lights the sky, and I realize we’re rolling into my hometown and gasp.

  Reece glances my way. “What’s wrong?”

  “This is my hometown, where I grew up. I spent the last four years here.”

  “Really?” Mac perks with renewed interest.

  Reece says, “Good. Where are the ‘all you can get’ department stores?”

  I laugh. “There’s a Wal-Mart and a Target right off the interstate.”

  The sun shines brightly, which means there are no signs of famished as the van pulls in the Wal-Mart Supercenter parking lot, empty of cars. Not a single one. Old scorch marks adorn the lot from body disposal. Litter blows all over like leaves in the fall. Reece, Mac, and I glance at each other. Usually, places like this show more signs of outbreak panic. I’ve always avoided where there could be many zombies in one place so I’m surprised. Reece drives by the entrances. Both doors are wide open with no visible movement inside the store. He reverses the van into an entrance as far as he can go.

  Being parked inside of a Wal-Mart has potential for comic relief.

  My mouth opens to crack a joke until Reece says, “Mac, you take medical supplies. Kan, grab any camping gear you can find. I’ll take household items and hardware.” His voice is all business and commanding.

  Sunlight gleams from Reece's tattooed bald head and causes a double glare in his sunglasses. His leather vest squeaks as he opens his door. “Keep alert.”

  Mac and I agree.

  Since the air is warmer inside than outside, Mac pulls his red hoodie off, throwing it in the back of our vehicle. I almost leave my jacket in the van, but slide on my battered army pack taking stock of myself. My machete hangs from its normal spot on the right side of the pack, the Bersas and a hunting knife adorn my belt.

  I take a deep breath through my nostrils, detecting a faint trace of decay from the living dead with a strange, bitter stench. We stand in a row listening for any sounds of lurking zombies.

  “Smell it?” I whisper, glancing to Mac. His brows draw together, and his bottom lip sticks out as his tongue runs across the inside of it rapidly. I can see him in the light of the open glass doors, sandy blond curls are puffed on one side as if he had run a hand through it. His white t-shirt seems extra bright.

  Blue eyes sweep our surroundings before stopping on me, burning bright as he flashes a smile and tugs one of my long dreads. “Nothing to worry about. It’s not strong and it’s warm in here. Not an ideal place for the undead,” he reassures me.

  I return the smile before letting my gaze seek movement. Light beaming through the doors illuminates the openings of aisles. The darkened shadows give the illusion of drifting outward, playing games with my mind.

  Reece walks a few feet, searching down the closer aisles. A croaked moan cuts through my awareness, seeming to bounce from the walls to the rafters. I freeze at the sound as the hair on my arms stands on end. A thick slithering arises from between the cash registers. Clearly in no immediate danger, I stalk toward the sound without another thought. I can’t see what it is from the darkened area.

  “Sunshine,” Mac whispers close to my ear as he moves to stand in front of me, before clicking on a small flashlight. I grab my gun as I catch sight of what lays in the flashlight beam. I slide the rail with ease, chambering a bullet.

  “Don’t waste your ammo,” he says as the light flashes the length of the zombie o
n the smooth, tiled floor.

  It looks at us with eyes filmed over a milky color, but darkened black with settled blood. It’s well on its way to becoming a putrid. With all of its hair still intact, skin sags around his eyes and jaw. One arm reaches toward us, clawing the air. A few of his cracked fingernails have fallen off. The bottom half is gnawed bones and hanging nerves. Thickened blood smears the floor beneath him, leaving a trail from where he’d been dragging himself. With the other arm missing, the flailing one has a huge bag strapped around the shoulder with a few ripped strips of a faded black shirt sleeve.

  “Holy shit!” Reece breathes, approaching from behind. “Damned thing is ugly. Might be the source of the smell.”

  I doubt it. It’s not old enough for the decayed smell in the air. Judging from how he can move his arm, if he had legs he’d be able to run.

  Mac hands me the flashlight. “He was hanging onto that bag for dear life,” he observes, bending over with a knife. The famished’s hand grabs at him. Mac steps on it as if it’s a pesky cockroach. Securing the arm with his combat boot, Mac slits the bag open. I shine the light on its contents. Liters of rubbing alcohol and dozens of boxes of cold medicine spill out.

  Mac scoffs in unison with Reece. I say, “Someone must have been sick.” Reece holds back a snort of amusement. I glance at him. “What the hell is so funny?” He only raises his bushy eyebrows. I must miss the obvious.

  “No one was sick, sunshine. This dude was going to cook meth. Explains the weird smell. Might be why he is so hyped for an older zombie,” Mac explains as he straightens, stomping his boot to the famished’s head. “Fucking redneck.” Disgust oozes from his tone as the zombie wiggles. He stomps again, this time a crunch sounds, splattering fresh gore. Specks of it hit my jeans.

  I cock an eyebrow at Mac, crossing my arms. “And you aren’t?” I joke.

  He smirks. “Okay, backwoods redneck.”

  I nod as though I approve.

  Reece sighs, not trusting this location. “Let’s finish in here.”

  Sticking the gun in the front of my jeans, I make my way to the sporting goods section. The place has been looted. People looted for anything they could carry. I doubt I’ll find ammunition here. Getting closer to the back, the rank smell thickens. It’s also gotten darker, but I still have Mac’s small flashlight in my back pocket.

  My eyes widen as I realize the aisle racks are arranged to make the appearance of separate rooms. Judging by all the garbage and sleeping bags, someone lived here, and by the way it stinks, for some time. I notice more empty bottles and cold medicine packaging. Mac was right. The pre-zombie had been cooking meth. Everything I came for has been used at some point. I decide against taking anything, believing we have enough of this stuff, anyway. The only question that remains is where are the other occupants? I assume they escaped an attack.

  A shuffle sounds in the next aisle. I freeze as a groan floats down my aisle, sending goosebumps up the back of my neck. I turn to see a putrid turning on my aisle at the end. Excitement surges, and I start walking closer to it when several more turn into the aisle.

  I stop to watch as they walk slow. The first one’s head cocks to one side as if curious about me. It reminds me of a dog waiting on a treat. This one had been a woman, the hair a mess of missing chunks. Her skin, still bluish in color, would soon turn green and textured. These putrids aren’t that old, but older than the meth-addled zombie. This might be a good time to try a Molotov. I produce a jar from my pack, stabbing a slit in the top with the hunting knife before re-sheathing it in my belt, and then dip the cloth to thread it through the slit. A few twists of the cap, and I light the rag with a lighter.

  Tossing it to the floor in front of the putrid, the glass busts, making the moonshine splatter and catch fire. The flame spreads on the floor and up the putrid’s body in a licking wave as it follows fumes, spills, and splatters.

  I figure out why this is not a good idea. It only makes the zombies come at you while on fire. Blinking at my stupidity, I note it slows them considerably. Time to get out of here before the burning smell hits me.

  A snarl erupts behind me before I’m slammed in the back, falling forward to the floor. A frustrated grunt escapes me when I catch myself on my knee as pain splinters through it. My huge pack smacks me in the head, but keeps the famished from getting a lock on me.

  Holding myself up with my arm, I kick out, scrambling away from the zombie. When I get myself turned around, the famished is on top of me again. We fall, with me on my back, awkwardly because of my pack. I hold the famished away by its neck. The machete clangs on the floor. The zombie’s hand entangles in my dreadlocks. My scalp feels like it’s ripping from my skull. I yelp, feeling its clammy skin almost to the point of slimy. Trying not to cringe from it as thick drool drips down my neck from its mouth, I use all my strength to keep its mouth away from me.

  There’s another inhuman snarl, and I know at least one more comes for me. The fire from the flaming putrid gives me enough light as the second zombie tumbles into me from the side. Throwing my elbow at it, I knock it away from me.

  The first zombie’s mouth snaps way too close to my face as I grapple with my Bersa in my left hand. Pulling the trigger, I get a clean shot to the head, turning my own before the gore shower sprays me. The shot still resonates in my ear as the stench of burning putrid becomes thick in my throat, tasting of foul death.

  Gunshots echo from the other direction. Reece and Mac. The zombie wastes no time jumping on top of me, but not before I put my feet in the air bending at my knees. Aches spring in my joints with the weight of it. It’s breath smells like rotten meat and soured blood, which turns my stomach as I swallow the extra saliva, threatening to help release its contents. Stained black teeth bite the air in front of me as I push both legs with all my strength. Having the desired effect, the zombie disappears sideways when I kick it – able to aim my gun at it, squeezing the trigger.

  The putrid torch reaches me, a keening sound coming from its throat. I kick myself away from the dead famished, easily surfing backward from the slick zombie blood. One shot to the putrid’s head, and it slumps on top of the dead zombie, still on fire. Standing up, smoke fills my lungs, and I put my hands on my knees, trying not to hack.

  When I’m able to gulp air, relief washes through me in a strong tide, bringing exhaustion with it, but I still have an aisle of slow zombies coming at me. Their scuffling sounds ten times louder now that my famished brawl is over.

  An explosion drowns out the putrid parade, then another right after. The double sounds boom inside my ears, causing instant pain, and shake the building violently. They’re going to bring the Wal-Mart tumbling on top of us, all the while making us deaf.

  I cover my head and ears as debris strikes me. Some of the putrids have fallen over from the explosions, making it smell like burnt cheese mixed in a used restroom toilet. I don’t have time to worry about Mac and Reece. I have to get to them.

  I turn to run in the other direction, slipping on blood, and my boot squeaks on the slick floor. I catch myself on a rack, my right arm windmilling. The rack tilts, causing items on it to cartwheel onto me and crash to the floor. Luckily, nothing hurts. It’s either that or my adrenaline keeps me from feeling it. Regaining my balance, I let go of the rack in order to keep running. The rack smashes down behind me.

  Coming around a corner, I smack into a body, and strong hands grab my arms. “Kan!” It’s Mac. His stark white shirt glows from the fire, and it reflects in his wide eyes.

  “Shit! Famished and putrids all over. We need to leave!” I shout the obvious, my hearing still filled with static.

  He pushes me out of the way. “Yeah, I know,” he shouts back, pulling his gun to fire rounds into the aisle I emerged from. His shots make my ears ring all the more. I think he wants to shoot something.

  “You’re wasting bullets! Will you give my ears a rest? They’re going to bleed!” I shout some more.

  “Whhuuut?” he yells, mocking
me by cupping a hand around his ear. Smiling at his joke, he grabs my arm. “Let’s go,” he says urgently. We look around every aisle while hurrying to the van.

  Mac shoots more putrids on the way. I ignore them as long as they aren’t in our way. Reece has started the van and waits on us. We jump in, and before we can even get the door closed, he peels out of Wal-Mart.

  “Kan, are you all right?” Mac asks first thing, looking me over. Neither one of them look as appalling as I do covered in zombie crud and guts. It’s drying on my skin. “There were a hundred putrids. They came out of nowhere. Must have been hiding out of the sun. Reece lit the bombs, so we could get to you.” He’s breathing. Hell, all three of us are strung out on zombie battle adrenaline.

  Reece chimes in. “Those bombs work perfect!”

  I’m trying to calm myself, just glad he didn’t blow us up from the old meth lab. My ears are still muted, but I can hear faintly. “Yeah, I heard them. I thought the building was going to collapse, or worse, explode with us in it,” I say, and Mac flinches back from my loud talk. I can tell he wants to make another joke, but I go on with a lower voice. “People had been living there. I found used sleeping bags and empty cold medicine packaging." Mac looks at me. "I’m guessing they were the famished I ran into. We should’ve pulled a Tallahassee and played a banjo,” I joke as my hearing returns, thankfully.

  “Maybe we can go to Bill Murray’s house,” Mac sniggers.

  “Yeah, and smoke out of his hookah,” Reece says as if it’s the greatest idea ever. We all laugh, trying to shake away the close call. I don’t want to think about how close. We’re all too familiar with the consequences of such trips like these. There are always risks.

  Checking my jacket, zombie muck congeals on it. I sigh. That’s karma for you. I strip it off with my t-shirt. Reece hands me a towel, and I wipe my face and scrub at the gore. Mac takes off his white t-shirt and gives it to me before pulling on the red hoodie from the back of the van.