Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  “Son, you’re certainly welcome to stay with us,” Dean offered. LuLu and Ella nodded enthusiastically.

  “Thought you’d never ask!” Justin was obviously relieved.

  “LuLu, you gotta room ready for our new resident?” Dean asked, hoping to cheer up the poor kid.

  “You bet.” She offered a broad smile.

  “So, you were able to access the Internet. What did the news report about this, this crisis?” Dean continued, anxious for news.

  “When are they rescuing us?” LuLu asked excitedly.

  “Uh, doesn’t look so good.” Justin cleared his throat. “According to the CDC, about twenty percent of the human population became infected with the deadly flu strain. Apparently, one hundred percent of those people died. Only the dead don’t die—they turn into—them. Which, I’m sure you all know by now. In the beginning, CNN and Fox News basically downplayed it, promising everything was under control.”

  “I remember that.” LuLu sounded pissed.

  “They started advertising a new-improved vaccine on the TV stations. Dude, they were like shoving this ‘new vaccine’ propaganda-crap all over social media. So, like, I thought everything was gonna be okay. The next thing I know, the entire U.S. is under mandatory curfew. I think the government censored the mainstream news. Because—” Justin paused and looked around the table, “when I checked out the progressive websites, you know like AlterNet, Truthout, and Mother Jones, it was an entirely different story. It was like total chaos. Evidently, the military and FEMA were not working with each other—at all.”

  “Saw plenty of abandoned National Guard vehicles on the outskirts of Vacaville. It was probably more like Martial Law, not a curfew,” Dean said somberly, wondering why the government hadn’t contained things at the get-go.

  Justin nodded. “Ye-ah and get this. FEMA demanded everyone to get the vaccine at the shelters they’d set up over the country. But, the military ordered everyone to shelter in place. And even threatened military action. Meanwhile, millions of people were already on the road, hoping to get the new miracle vaccine. They ran out of gas on the gridlocked highways. Stranded. Like dude, even the gas stations were out of gas. Freakin’ amazing, the gas stations—out of gas?” Justin said in wide-eyed disbelief.

  It reminded Dean of the 70s. “That happened in the seventies. The gas stations running out of gas. You could only buy gas on the even or odd days determined by the last number of your license plate. They called it ‘odd-even rationing.’ Back then, the scuttlebutt was that the oil companies were in cahoots with the government, testing the manipulation of the oil market,” Dean offered, remembering back.

  “Really, that’s cray-cray.” Justin continued, “Even the grocery stores ran out of food and water. And, then there were the looters. The news media hashtagged it ‘The Biggest Day After Thanksgiving Sale—Ever.’ I watched tons of YouTube clips of people running out of stores like Walmart and Best Buy with overloaded shopping carts. Ye-ah, people just took what they wanted.”

  “I don’t understand. Why didn’t our government stop this shit before it got out of hand?” LuLu ranted.

  “I guess they didn’t realize what the heck was going on until it was too late. Think of it this way.” Justin explained, “Say you’re sick with the flu. Your family takes you to the nearest shelter, but you die before you get the vaccine. Then you turn all zombie-like and kill your family, and if you don’t end up eating them, they’re zombies too. I saw this absolutely insane aerial video. Miles and miles of stalled traffic surrounded with thousands of infected people roving the highways. Pretty soon the freakin’ freeways were all-you-can-eat buffets . . .”

  LuLu gasped. “That’s messed up! How hard is it to quarantine a small area, say like Northern California, Southern California, or the Central Valley? They must have things under control by now.”

  Justin looked around the table and whispered, “It’s not just California. It’s the entire freakin’ U.S. It could even be . . . global?”

  Dean was dumbfounded. Everyone stared at Justin, and then at each other, and then down at their empty plates. It wasn’t the news Dean had hoped for. Perhaps the kid’s opinions were somewhat distorted; after all, Justin had been using the Internet as his source of information. Everyone knew the Internet couldn’t be trusted. Hell, anybody could put any bullcrap on the Internet and call it legit.

  “Anything else we need to know?” Dean was afraid to ask.

  “There were all kinds of conspiracy theories floating around cyberspace. Some debated that there had never been a vaccine in the first place because it would’ve been impossible to mass produce it so quickly. The GMO theory was a pretty big thing too. Something to do with the fact that eighty to ninety percent of produce grown in the U.S. is genetically modified. Which, if you think about it, really means the food has been altered. Maybe it whacked-out our DNA. Or created a super-bug.”

  “Now son, you know that’s just crazy talk,” Dean retorted. Then again, this whole Super Summer flu is pretty dern near unbelievable, Dean thought.

  “There were other conspiracy theories like HAARP, CERN, Chemtrails . . . and, and Crop Circles—” Justin stopped at Dean’s disapproving nod.

  “You gotta be shittin’ me?” LuLu let out a nervous laugh.

  “Some said, uh,” Justin gulped and then looked at them intensely and whispered, “I found this uber-cool whistleblower site. This one blog said the flu outbreak purposely coincided with the most massive Jade Helm exercise ever. It was like the military knew the flu outbreak was coming and knew they couldn’t contain it. The blog said the military considered the situation—totally FUBAR, and the shelters were—incinerated—to contain the worldwide pandemic.”

  Both LuLu and Ella gasped.

  Justin continued, “Ancient astronaut theorists blamed it on this new race of aliens—”

  “All righty then,” Dean interrupted when he saw the fear in Ella’s eyes.

  “Uh, then the Internet went dark. Ye-ah, they probably flipped the kill-switch and shut it down. The power went out a few days later.” Justin looked down at his plate as if afraid to say anything more.

  “I think that’s about enough excitement for one day. LuLu, how’s about you show our new resident to his room.” From the looks of everyone, Justin had them feeling a little spooked.

  Dean retreated to his luxury suite on the third floor and poured himself a generous highball of his favorite, Crown Royal. Yes, he had his vices as well. Some of Justin’s explanations seemed to ring true, although most of his outlandish talk sounded like something right out of the X-Files. How in the hell could the whole United States fall into ruins over a simple flu bug?

  He sat on the edge of his bed deep in thought. Justin’s talk brought him back to the harsh reality of it all. His little side trip to Vacaville to stock up on supplies and find out the news had taken him on a much longer journey than he had bargained for. All he wanted to do was get back to his cabin in Winters and weather out the storm; instead, he was responsible for Ella, LuLu, and the Asian kid, to boot.

  That night LuLu joined him as she sometimes did. He knew it was because she didn’t want to be alone, not after Justin’s news. Who was he to judge her; he was lonely and scared shitless as well. After a bout of passionate (loveless) sex, he worried the rest of the night away contemplating the future.

  A banging on the door jolted Justin Chen from the king-size bed. Thinking it must have been one of his bad dreams, he nestled back under the covers. Another bang at the door interrupted him. What time is it! Justin glanced at his watch. Dude, it’s only 4:45 a.m. Since the world had gone cray-cray, he usually slept until noon-ish, boarded up in someone’s master bedroom, along with a supply of junk food.

  “Justin, downstairs in ten. We’ve got work to do,” Dean ordered from the other side of the door to his suite.

  “What the—?” Justin rolled onto his stomach. He smashed a pillow over his head, refusing to get up.

  “Son, you alive i
n there?”

  Shit, Dean sounded pissed. “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Justin said with a vocal yawn.

  “Ella made breakfast . . . hot pancakes,” Dean coaxed.

  On that note, Justin sprang into action. The thought of seeing Ella made him sort of jittery and excited. I actually have a crush. Mom had always told him it would happen someday; some guys were just late bloomers, she had explained. I miss you—Mom and Dad. Justin made his way to the dining room half-pissed at Dean’s rude awakening and half-excited to see Ella.

  “Justin, need you for a mission. We need to loot the rest of the Costco truck,” Dean said while checking the chambers of his gun.

  “What about Paxton and Nate?” Justin asked.

  “Chances are they’ll be sleeping-it-off most the day.”

  “Ye-ah, okay, sure,” Justin said with a mouth full of syrupy-drenched pancakes. “When?”

  “Like as soon as you’re finished stuffing that pie hole of yours,” Dean mocked.

  “What, you mean now? Dude, it’s like five in the freakin’ morning,” Justin exclaimed.

  “My point exactly,” Dean said. “It’s been my experience—dead-heads are the least dangerous around dawn.”

  “Ye-ah, like me, too.” Both Ella and Justin laughed. “And another thing,” Justin spouted off in frustration. “Stop calling them dead-heads. Like, everyone knows they’re zombies!”

  “Zom-bies?” Dean slowly enunciated as if it were the first time he’d ever said the word.

  “Ye-ah, I mean, I think you’re way cool for an old guy and all. But for the record: Dead people who eat living people are called zombies.”

  “Who’s a zombie?” LuLu asked as she strolled into the dining room.

  “Well, folks, it’s official. From here on out we’re calling ’em Zombies . . .” Dean eerily whispered and dramatically fluttered his hands in the air.

  They all laughed.

  11

  Dean grabbed the blue Igloo cooler (something of his before the pandemic) and temporarily checked-out of the Sweet Suites hotel with his rifle slung over his shoulder, a 9mm holstered on his hip, and a backpack supplied with ammo, water, energy bars, and a first-aid kit. He liked to arrive at his secret lookout post by dawn, the safe time.

  He started up the Fiat 500 he’d recently acquired courtesy of the nearby Chevron. It was time for stealth mode. Although, he had discovered that “no time” was ever completely safe. The Fiat was the better vehicle for his secret morning trips, nearly silent when traveling at low speeds and compact enough to maneuver around the car-riddled roads.

  When Dean turned onto the Nut Tree Road overpass, a flood of memories revisited him. How Mary had enjoyed their Sunday brunches at the Nut Tree Restaurant. She had always ordered the pineapple appetizer served with a delicious marshmallow sauce. Brunch had usually been followed with an afternoon of browsing the fancy specialty shops. A smile tempted the corners of his mouth. Kyle had loved riding the kiddy train; he’d always tried to hug the engine. And, Kyle had always been so dead set on getting one of those blooming lollipops. Dean let out a chuckle. Those lollipops were almost as big as Kyle.

  Alas, his Mary was gone, Kyle was God-knows-where, and the Nut Tree had been renovated into another mess of chain stores. He tried pushing his beloved memories to the back of his mind while he searched the roads for dead-heads. Still, his thoughts kept going back to Mary. The pre-cancer days.

  He couldn’t complain. They’d had a blessed twenty-two-year marriage until she had succumbed to the Big C. Carefully, he chose to focus on the good times. “Thank God she didn’t live to see this—this hell on earth.” He sighed and backed the Fiat, so it faced toward Orange Drive. He parked two car-lengths from his lookout post, always ready for a fast getaway, which had been needed on several occasions. He turned the motor off, leaving the key in the ignition (one of his rules).

  His lookout post was the green cab of a jackknifed big rig perched over Interstate 80. It provided the perfect observation point, allowing him to scout the east and westbound lanes for passersby. The cab was also equipped with a deluxe sleeper, something he’d found quite comfortable and convenient as well.

  Today’s a new day full of possibilities, he promised himself. He relaxed in the cab’s bucket seat, ready to watch the sun poke-up over the horizon, but it was a gloomy-grey morning. No breathtaking sunrise would be greeting him. Dean needed a daily routine, some type of normalcy to maintain an orderly life in this new world of chaos, so every dawn he drove to his lookout post (his sanctuary) and searched the horizon.

  Last month he’d been forced to stay the entire night in the sleeper when a mob of dead-heads (I’ve got to call them zombies.) had found their way onto the overpass. The damn things had dawdled around the truck all day as if they’d known he was inside. It had been an unnerving situation, one of his frequent nightmares that had manifested into reality. Still, he had remained fairly calm with the help of his loyal pal, Mr. Crown Royal. Luckily for him, he had previously stashed a bottle in the sleeper. The next day he had snuck out at dawn while those disgusting things wallowed in their own squalor.

  Dean grabbed the binoculars and scouted the apocalyptic-interstate of deserted, wrecked, and burnt-out vehicles. Winter was coming all too soon. He frowned, disappointed he hadn’t left on his expedition yet. He was planning a trip to the nearest military bases in search of the rest of society. There had to be other survivors. He just had to find them.

  However, before Dean left the hotel with the likes of the Stockton Boys, he needed another recruit— a strong man with backbone to travel with, someone to watch his back. The way he figured it, a man attempting a journey on his own would be certain suicide. He considered Justin. Naw. Justin was the perfect equalizer. The kid had the unique ability of keeping everyone calm with his quirky sense of humor, and that combined with the kid’s intelligence ought to keep the volatile Stockton Boys stabilized while Dean searched for people, help, and answers. But he still fretted over leaving Ella. The fact was, if it wasn’t for Ella, hell, he’d be back in Winters fishing on the Twinkle Me Mary, waiting for this ugly mess to sort itself out, without his help.

  Soon after dawn, Justin Chen enjoyed a homemade breakfast, like he had done every morning the past few weeks. Ella sat across from him, and they both ate in silence. He had never been a morning person, but Dean had been super right. Zombies entered a sort of sleeping-state in the early mornings. Heck, I would have known that if I wasn’t always sleeping in. Every morning Justin watched from his suite’s window, waiting for Dean to leave, for he was pretty sure Dean would expect him to tag along to wherever Dean went every morning.

  Justin cherished his precious mornings with Ella, which greatly helped with the waking up before God part. She never actually spoke to him; he so wished she would. Soon, when she’s ready. And when Ella was ready to talk, he had a whole bunch of things ready to ask her. He didn’t dare say what he really wanted to say. No, not just yet. He was afraid she might avoid him if he came on too strong about his feelings for her, besides she made him too freaking nervous. He’d never really talked to girls unless it was about geek stuff. So, he was sort of okay that they hadn’t talked—just yet.

  After his early morning breakfast with Ella, Justin took off on his own secret mission. He hopped onto the cool Schwinn bike he had liberated, leaving the safe-zone of the hotel. For the past week, he’d been scouring the nearby streets and parking lots for—of all things—cell phones. He had this awesome idea that just might work, but he didn’t want to tell anyone about it yet. He knew everyone (except for Ella) would probably think he was hella insane.

  His daily searches only lasted an hour or two, depending on the traffic: zombie traffic. He returned to the hotel before LuLu, Nate, and Paxton woke up since they usually partied until the early morning. Only Ella knew he left the hotel, alone. Dean had forbidden him from leaving the hotel on his own. But he let Paxton and Nate do whatever the heck they wanted as long as they scavenged enough fue
l to keep the generators going. Meh. Dean always nagged him about something. Justin, I need you to do this and that . . .

  So, Justin scavenged the streets every morning around dawn. He wasn’t too worried about being alone. After all, he was the “Zombie Expert,” with all his State of Decay gaming hours. Just don’t do anything stupid . . .

  At first, he had been super surprised to find so many phones left in cars, forgotten in purses, and littering the streets, casually discarded like cigarette butts. Then again, once a person was zombified, it didn’t have any use for a phone. The iconic cell phone, the status symbol of the 21st century, once considered a person’s most valuable and guarded asset, left on the road like a piece of junk. How quickly things had changed. He decided once he had a thousand cell phones, he’d start his sort of random project. If he was lucky, he’d be able to start his project next week. He couldn’t wait.

  This morning, Justin decided to cruise the Home Depot parking lot. It wouldn’t take him long to get there on the bike. He had the most luck in parking lots. The big open spaces allowed him to see what was coming if he only searched the outer rows. And he was always ready to scram if things got dicey.

  Once, he had scrounged for phones on an Interstate 80 exit ramp. What a bad idea that had been. Lines of vehicles were backed up all the way to Orange Drive. The half-asleep zombies had been hard to spot amongst the vehicles, like they’d been waiting to ambush him, giving him no reaction time and no place to go—except to get hella-fast out of there. Sure, he had found tons of phones, but way too many zombies. No freakin’ way. Since then, he stuck to big open spaces.

  He coasted down Orange Drive and noticed the change in the weather. Fall had finally arrived, and that meant rain. And, rain reminded him of Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving reminded him of Mom. He so missed her. Sure, she had babied him at times, but wasn’t that what moms did? Dad had always been so super serious, always pushing him, insisting Justin followed in his footsteps, making him the third generation of attorneys in the family.