Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  Okay, okay, Natomas—what’s in Natomas? She racked her brain for ideas. She used to have a boyfriend who lived there. He had taken her to the Kings’ games. Jeff. Whatever happened to him? As she recalled, he didn’t live far from the arena. Irrationally, she convinced herself Jeff was home—this very second—and she drove to Innovator Drive in a frantic fervor of fear.

  First of all, it was ludicrous to think Jeff was home or still lived there. Yeah, right, he’s lounging in his favorite chair, drinking a Corona. Secondly, he probably wouldn’t answer the door when he saw her through the peephole. That relationship hadn’t ended well. And thirdly, the world had gone mad. Natomas was deserted, too. But she needed a plan, anything to hold onto. She drove around, searching for his townhouse, remembering his unit was near a park. Jeez, all these townhouses look the same.

  “There it is,” she exclaimed, recognizing the rattan patio furniture on the front porch. Ignoring the red-painted curb, she parked the car, unconcerned about a parking ticket.

  Scarlett frowned at the setting sun; it was 8:30. She grabbed her purse, bat, and the rifle she’d acquired from the hermit neighbor, turned creeper. Out of habit, she rang the doorbell, even risked turning the knob of the front door. It was locked, and no one answered. What did you expect?

  Shuffling noises from around the corner of the building turned her legs to lumps of lifeless logs. She couldn’t breathe as fear filled her lungs. She had a feeling the pack of creepers she’d passed a minute ago was probably hot on her trail. How do they find me? She needed sanctuary, pronto. The back of her neck tingled. Her intuition warned. She heeded it.

  Without thinking of the possible consequences, she slammed the bat into the golden-glass entryway window next to the front door. The deafening sound echoed off the walls and into her heart. With no time to waste, she quickly knocked away the protruding glass shards with the bat. Daring a glance over her shoulder, she ducked through the window, just as a pack of creepers approached the sidewalk. They saw her! And juddered for her like anxious, mangy puppy dogs from hell.

  Swallowing her panic in the dark entryway of the townhouse, she opened the first door she came to. She leaned against the door heavily and delved into her purse for the flashlight. She gleamed the flashlight around the room. “What?” She was in the garage. Sounds of crunching glass made her stomach churn. She was safe in the garage. Or was she? There was no way to lock the door from the inside of the garage. Can creepers open doors? She couldn’t take the chance. They knew she was in the townhouse, and she knew how relentless they were. She pulled the garage door’s manual release cord and went back into the darkening night . . .

  With only the light of the moon and a flashlight as her guide, Scarlett reeled down three rows of townhouses, breathlessly trying each door, praying someone had left in a hurry without locking it. A scuffling sound too close for comfort gave her the shivers. She ducked behind a bush and waited several terrifying minutes until the scampering faded off into the darkness.

  Regaining her composure, she forced herself into taking long, slow, deep breaths. Scarlett went from panic to stealth mode, quietly slipping from door to door. Finally, a doorknob turned. She didn’t bother to knock; she just let herself inside and locked the door.

  “Hello, anybody home?” she announced. What if they shoot me? She stood in the downstairs entryway struggling with her nerves. If the residents were home, surely, they’d have confronted her already. With a trembling hand, she beamed the flashlight to get a layout of the downstairs. The townhome was similar to Jeff’s: the garage, laundry room, and front entrance were downstairs. “Hello?” she called out a little louder, climbing the stairs. Her clammy grip tightened on the bat. She crept about in sneak-mode from the living room to the kitchen to the dining room, and then to the bedrooms. After her breath-holding search, she realized the home was empty. No people. No creepers. Scarlett flopped on the sofa in relief and wondered if the residents had made it to one of the shelters.

  Her curiosity would not stop nagging. Besides, she needed a distraction. She was far too tense to even think about sleeping. So instead of sleeping, she snooped around the home with the flashlight. A paper on the keyboard fluttered to the carpet when she walked by the computer desk. Hmm. It was a list of the Major Shelter Centers. From the best of her knowledge, it listed every auditorium, arena, and stadium in California. Circled in red marker was Levi’s Stadium, home to the San Francisco 49ers. According to the printout, the flu vaccine was free to everyone: NO PERSON WILL BE TURNED AWAY. ONLY ONE SUITCASE PER PERSON. ABSOLUTELY NO PETS.

  Stunned, Scarlett studied the paper, trying hard not to believe it. And yet, believing it. It hadn’t been a local disaster. It’s all of California! She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to cry. But she was out of tears. Apparently, the entire state of California had evacuated without her—because of something as simple as the flu? How’s that even possible? Hmm. People like herself and Miss Purlie and her hermit neighbor had stayed behind. Either by choice or not. So, logically, there must be others who stayed, for whatever reason.

  Scarlett grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and strategically placed herself on the sofa. From her position, she guarded the stairway with the help of the flashlight. She rested on the sofa imagining the hellish event that must have occurred during those few days she’d been recovering more from self-pity than the surgery only to awaken to an empty world.

  The next morning, Scarlett inventoried the possible useful items in the house: food, first-aid supplies, and toiletries. She had enough food for two weeks if she rationed. She munched on a bowl of milkless maple granola and planned the day’s agenda. Her car was packed with food, but she wasn’t ready to go back out there—where the creepers waited for her around every flipping corner. No, she didn’t have the nerve to go outside.

  The attached garage was next on her agenda. She was surprised to find a cute blue and white Mini Cooper sitting in the garage, which looked more like a Hot Wheels toy. She mentally noted everything. A mountain bike was mounted on the wall and what looked like various parts of another mountain bike were scattered on the workbench and the garage’s cement floor. The shelves were lined with all sorts of sporting and camping equipment. The Coleman camping stove caught her attention. It will definitely come in handy.

  “Oops.” They had left a suitcase by the Mini Cooper’s trunk. “Must have been in a hurry,” she muttered, retrieving the large camping stove box.

  “Glrrrrrrr . . .”

  Scarlett spun around. She dropped the box. There, only a few feet in front of her stood the most bizarre creature she’d ever seen. It stood there swaying to and fro. Unsure. She froze, afraid to move. Afraid to do anything. It wore a yellow and black, polka dot dress with flashy rhinestone sandals. It—had been a woman. As the creature tottered toward her, Scarlett couldn’t help but notice the Betsey Johnson sunflower earrings dangling daintily from its ears. Didn’t her sister have a pair like that? What a ghastly paradox to see a monster in such fashionable attire. It was all she could do to keep from laughing hysterically.

  It pounced. “Aaaah!” Scarlett screamed, dodging it. Oh, shit, the bat’s upstairs! It lunged again. Scarlett jumped to the side, barely avoiding impact. It seemed mad. Mad and hungry. It glared and snarled with bloody saliva dripping down its jowls. Its bulging red-rimmed, obsidian-black eyes rolled to the back of its head. Its whole body shuddered as it howled.

  Scarlett made a run for the door. It grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her back. Scarlett landed on her back. It dove on top of her with coveting eyes. Eyes of hunger. Eyes of lust. It was all Scarlett could do to hold its corpse-like, flesh-rotting head away from her face. Its putrid saliva dripped onto her cheek. Deadly teeth bit at the air in anticipation. Snap—Snap—Snap!

  They struggled on the floor. With a newfound burst of energy Scarlett rolled over, dragging the creature with her. She pinned it against the cement floor. Gnarled hands clawed for her neck just out of reach. Scar
lett couldn’t hold it back much longer. She eyed the floor for a weapon, something within her grasp. Anything. The mountain bike wheel next to the workbench! She grabbed it. And rammed the wheel against the thing’s head, knocking the creeper aside. With unexpected speed, it bellyflopped—on Scarlett’s stomach, knocking her back down. She dropped the wheel in the fall. Once again, she was inches away from snapping teeth. She winced at each snap, holding it back with trembling arms.

  The wheel’s right there! She punched its spongy cheek. It bought her the second she needed to snatch the wheel. She shoved the wheel between their faces all the while it flopped on top of her, convulsing and growling. Scarlett had the eerie feeling it couldn’t wait to rip out her throat. Struggling to keep the wheel between them, she realized it was the perfect shield. It gave her a renewed sense of power. She took a deep breath, gathered her strength, and with a sudden thrust, shoved the creature off. Scarlett lunged onto it before it had a chance to attack.

  Straddling it, she shoved the wheel down on its nauseating face. The metal spokes sliced into its decaying flesh like a perfectly sliced cheesecake, leaving a gruesome imprint of the wheel’s spokes on its once human face. Scarlett pulled herself up using the workbench for support, then vigorously stomped on the wheel. She put all her weight into each skull-squashing stomp. And she did not stop until she had crushed the horrid thing’s skull—crushed it into a mush of grisly-splintered bone.

  8

  September had come and gone. October had thankfully arrived with the offering of cool delta breezes. Initially, Scarlett had only intended to stay a day or two at the Natomas townhouse to re-energize and devise a plan. But she’d been too petrified to leave the security of the home after the dreadful incident with the creeper. Meanwhile, she constantly prayed Cyndi, Rex, and the boys were safe. Alive!

  She refrained from venturing outside, where the creepers lurked. Instead, she paced the narrow hallway deep in contemplation. For some reason, she could not stop thinking about Miss Purlie, the hermit neighbor, and the woman in the garage. Those cryptic words Miss Purlie had declared minutes before her death, “Only the dead don’t die,” tormented Scarlett’s thoughts. She understood what Purlie had meant. Well, not so much . . .

  According to the stack of mail, the home belonged to Katrina and Nicoli Katovich. Scarlett often thumbed through their family scrapbook. It must have been Katrina in the garage that day; although, it was difficult to tell, for its flesh had molted into a spongy rot, devouring Katrina’s once beautiful complexion. It made her queasy whenever she thought about it. Scarlett had killed a person, a human being. No, she was already dead—right? Scarlett tried convincing herself she’d done the right thing.

  She wondered what had happened to Mr. Nicoli Katovich. Had Nicoli come home one day to find that his beautiful wife had mutated into a deadly, repulsive creature? At least she wasn’t thinking about Kevin every flipping five minutes of the day. Time had a way of numbing her broken heart, which had soured to something close to hatred, leaving only a fleeting phantom pain in her heart. Each day the phantom pain lessened, replaced by something else. Fear.

  She shuffled through the stack of paperwork on the computer desk until she found the newspaper article she’d read umpteen times. A disturbing photo of hideous creatures roaming the Golden Gate Bridge plastered the front page like one of those ridiculously absurd tabloid rags tempting customers in grocery store check-out lines. Only, it wasn’t a tabloid paper; it was the front page of The San Francisco Chronicle.

  The article explained that the deadly Super Summer flu was highly contagious and turned its victims into man-eating creatures: cannibals. The CDC and FEMA had distributed free vaccines to the designated shelters, mandating every person to be vaccinated. A mandatory curfew had been enforced by the National Guard due to massive rioting and looting. And to make things worse, the gas stations and grocery stores had run out of supplies due to a massive breakdown in the transportation system, because too many people were sick or afraid or dead or one of them.

  Scarlett shivered when she noticed the newspaper’s date: August 6, her Wedding Day. According to the newspaper, there wouldn’t have been a wedding anyway. The newsprint blurred before her very eyes after a solitary tear splashed onto the newspaper, but it was all she could spare, one tear. Times had changed. She had changed.

  She had only left the townhouse two times: once to dispose of the dead body, which she had wrapped in a plastic tarp, and once to drive her car (loaded with food and supplies) into the garage. Fortunately, the day she’d left Roseville, she had packed her car with a good supply of food. But, her food supply had dwindled down to a few cans of soup. When the food ran out, maybe she’d seek refuge at the nearest shelter or go to her sister’s home in Pinole.

  How could the shelters possibly be safe? If she checked-in to one of the designated shelters and breathed the same air as everyone, wouldn’t it increase her chances of coming down with the flu? In all actuality, the shelters were merely huge holding tanks of sick people. Doesn’t that sound like a swell recovery plan? Put everyone together in a giant bowl and whoever does not die—wins, like the movie Gladiator. Besides, she hadn’t been sick; perhaps she was immune to the virus. Or not?

  After thinking about it, a shelter didn’t sound so good. The whole Hurricane Katrina and Superdome thing had been an utter fiasco. I’m safe as long as I stay here—isolated from the infected. Safe, as long as I don’t go outside. Still, she had to leave soon in search of food and water. Surely, the government would have everything under control any day.

  After the incident with the creeper in the garage, Scarlett definitely needed to work on her stamina and strength. Luckily, the homeowners had turned one of the spare bedrooms into a workout room, and she spent a couple of hours exercising every day. She did push-ups, sit-ups, Pilates, weights, and even used the elliptical machine, since it worked manually. The exercising kept her occupied, and she was happy with her weight loss; she was in the best shape she’d ever been in her entire life. Nothing like a pandemic to lose weight. Kevin would be so pleased. The thought was fleeting.

  She spent the cool October mornings and afternoons on the balcony, hidden behind the stucco wall-like railing. The balcony overlooked an overgrown field of golden, sun-dried weeds, and from that vantage point, she monitored two main roads off in the distance. She often daydreamed of looking across the field to see everyone returning to their homes . . . the pandemic was over, and everything was back to normal. But, she never saw a single living soul. Eventually, she hoped to flag down a policeman, a National Guard patrol, or another lost person like herself. How could she be the only person left? It wasn’t logical.

  Hidden on the balcony, Scarlett often studied the enemy, observing their consistent behavior. Whenever they sniffed and gawked in her direction, she knew the delta breezes had made her presence known. But, they had never spotted her. She’d been careful of that. The creepers wandered listlessly; however, the slightest sound or movement instantly aroused them. They seemed to communicate with each other on a primal level. The possibility of food motivated them out of their sluggish state and was the only time they articulated with their limited vocabulary of guttural groans and growls. When someone’s lost pet was in the area, they herded like a pack of starving wolves, encircling their prey.

  The fateful day Scarlett dreaded finally arrived; she was out of food. She’d been diligently devising a plan. From here on out she needed to be extremely careful. No more stupidity—so far, I’ve survived on plain dumb luck. Sooner or later luck always ran out. She needed skill and good planning in order to survive. But, did she have the courage to leave the safety of these walls?

  She sat on the balcony hidden in the predawn shadows as the sun greeted the horizon. Two dozen or so creepers dotted the field below. It was time. They were in their restless sleep-like state.

  Snatching her backpack of tools (a hammer, a roll of duct tape, a thick towel, a blanket, brown-paper grocery bags, and a flashli
ght), she opened the front door. She stood in the doorway for a moment and scouted the area. Hesitating. Did she have what it took to survive out there? She pushed herself out the door.

  Scarlett really didn’t have a clue how to go about breaking into a home, and she prayed her plan would work. She’d start with the adjacent townhouse. That way if she chickened out, she could drop everything and run back to the Katovich home. She crept next door, bat in hand. She tapped on the door lightly, but after her weeks of window watching, she was reasonably sure the entire complex was uninhabited. All was silent. Quickly, she crisscrossed the entryway’s golden-glass window with duct tape. She placed the blanket on the ground below the window. Now for the hard part. She held the towel over the taped window and swung the hammer into the double-folded towel. Nothing happened. She banged on the towel-covered window harder—still nothing.

  Scarlett swung the hammer with much more force. To her relief, the window gave and billowed inwards with the fragmented glass clinging to the tape. Slowly, carefully, she pulled the tape until the glass-covered tape fell onto the blanket below. The blanket somewhat muffled the sound of the broken glass. Yes, it worked! All she had to do was reach inside and unlock the front door. And that’s exactly what she did.

  Paranoia flooded over when she stepped inside; what if creepers were inside? She started with a search, methodically checking every corner of every room with the flashlight, including the showers, the closets, and under the beds. “Creeper free.” A deep breath escaped her lips. Scarlett decided not to check the garage. She had acquired an official “fear of garages.”

  Food and water first—anything to drink, she thought, focusing. The kitchen pantry did not disappoint. Scarlett’s stomach grumbled from hunger as she loaded the brown-paper grocery bags with an assortment of canned fruits and vegetables, pasta, rice, pasta sauce, and several boxes of cereal. “Woo hoo,” she whispered, waving a bag of Starbucks Morning Joe ground coffee in her hand; she’d been out of coffee for weeks.