Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  She passed orchard after orchard and row after row of barren trees lost in a deep winter’s slumber. The thought of all these trees bearing fruit in the summer made her mouth water. Occasionally, she stopped to scout the area for any movements off in the horizon, but all she spied were birds, seemingly unaware the world had gone mad. Nothing had changed for them.

  When Scarlett reached River Valley Road, she rested in a dry irrigation ditch and drank her second Dr. Pepper. Halfway there. The wind picked up. The temperature quickly dropped about ten degrees, and the sky darkened in the west. A winter storm. She put on the ridiculous-looking camouflage poncho, not wanting to catch pneumonia when the rain started. Uh, does it snow here? The elevation couldn’t be more than two thousand feet or so. Hungry, tired, and deflating fast from the sugar-high, she thanked the adrenaline rush that kicked in at the thought of being stranded in the middle of a flipping snowstorm.

  She approached a long, windy driveway entrance leading to a neglected farmhouse. The entrance was blocked. And a strange odor lingered in the air. Several mangled KEEP OUT signs were nailed into the crusty, creosote-soaked railway ties barricading the entrance, warning passersby. Does anyone live there? A part of her wanted to run up to the front door and ask for help. It could be a fatal mistake. Someone might shoot her in the head, thinking she was a creeper, or shoot her in fear she was a looter. Or heck, shoot her dead just because—just because they could in a world-gone-mad and a government gone AWOL. All humanity and compassion seemed a luxury no one dared to risk these days.

  By 3:45 p.m. her heart pounded as erratically as the sky churned. The heavy, midnight-blue clouds engulfed the earth. Desperation shrouded her as if she were lost inside the lonely lyrics of a Lana Del Rey song; the singer’s forlorn voice haunted her heart. Scarlett was alone.

  Finally, she reached the area where the bug out should be according to the directions. Nothing was there. Absolutely nothing. She backtracked several times, searching the area for a side road. Nothing. Her heart sank.

  She restudied the map. This has to be it. While retracing her steps, her foot kicked a hard object. “Ah—” On the ground, entangled in layers of ivy vines was a faded-blue street sign, halfway buried in the dirt as if intentionally disguised, she speculated.

  Scarlett parted the ivy and was instantly thankful to read the rusted street sign: PAYTON’S PLACE. Jeez Louise, where’s the road? After wandering around the area, she noticed what might be an overgrown path between two aisles of winter-barren fruit trees. She followed what she hoped was an actual path and not a figment of her imagination. She came upon an old barn, which looked like it might collapse if a single bird landed on it. She passed an old, weathered-grey shack that had collapsed and then came to a rusted-out water tower and found rusty pieces of dismantled farm equipment scattered about.

  The orchard ended abruptly into an overgrown forest of ancient oaks, leafless for the winter and plagued with a bad case of ivy and mistletoe. Several trees were completely overrun with the invasive ivy. The sight was quite breathtaking, giving her the sensation she’d somehow been transported into a long-lost fairyland dimension.

  The wind wrestled with the ivy strands, warning of the approaching storm. She feverishly searched for the bug out. Vertigo befell: The forest spun around her, playing havoc with her sense of direction. The four cardinal directions no longer existed. She was lost in a between state of dimensions. And then the sky let go.

  Cold, harsh droplets lashed at her face. Haphazardly, she darted from one tree to another, seeking refuge under the limbs, but the pelting rain followed her. The wild winds fought her back, and she struggled to grasp her billowing hair with one hand while the other gripped the tire iron even more tightly.

  The forest blurred around her, spinning wildly until one tree came into view. It was completely overgrown with ivy and was encircled by evergreen bushes. A thought flashed: Think like a deer! She made a run for it, practically diving through the bushes surrounding the tree. To her surprise, she was in a circular clearing between the trunk and the bushes. The ivy vines drifted down from its limbs creating an enchanting tent. Instinctively, she draped the hanging vines over her shivering body and then fumbled around under the vines until she managed to cover her head with the poncho.

  She nestled her back against the warmth of the tree. The poncho, tree, vines, and bushes shielded her from the storm. Finally, her teeth stopped chattering, and her body stopped shivering, and her heart stopped pounding as a soothing warmth enveloped her body. Scarlett felt safe for the first time since the night of the fire.

  The whoosh of wings and the coos of mourning doves awakened the forest. Confusion set in. She was no longer held prisoner by Paxton but by a—monster-tree. She thrashed under the clingy vines. Then upon remembering the warmth and shelter they had provided from the storm, she untangled the vines carefully.

  After leaving the narrow clearing protected by the ring of evergreen bushes, Scarlett scanned the forest. Wispy-whimsical clouds adorned the bright blue sky, but the rain still dripped under the forest’s myriad of limbs. Sunlight flitted through the trees, illuminating the dewy-like rain lingering on the vines. She listened to the forest’s silence and realized it wasn’t silent at all. A gazillion drip-drip-drips, each with its own unique tone, along with the chattering of birds, and a creek off in the distance added to the forest’s melody. So peaceful, she never wanted to leave its sanctuary. In the dead of winter, the forest sang with the vigor of life unlike the city—the city of the dead.

  Scarlett cautioned herself, perhaps this euphoric feeling was simply due to the lack of food, or maybe she was delirious or hallucinating. Or had she finally gone crazy?

  What was that? She swiftly turned around, startled by a different sound. She froze. There it was again, a sort of clangy sound—the sound of water droplets splashing onto something metal. She stood still, waiting for it, hoping to track it down. Scarlett gazed up at the enormous tree, peering between the vines as the sun flickered through. A chilly breeze caught the vines, and they drifted in the wind. She swore she saw a glint, something shiny—something metal up in the tree.

  Scarlett paced around the tree, peering up its huge trunk. A metal spike protruded from the tree, blending perfectly with the tree bark. Upon closer inspection, she noticed several more metal spike-like objects making a ladder up the tree.

  “There must be something up there,” she whispered in amazement. “A treehouse?” Anxious to climb the tree, she drank the last Dr. Pepper for the sugar-rush. She gripped the trunk and tried climbing the spikes. Slipping several times, she finally got the hang of it and climbed higher and higher until immersed in a shadowy-umbrella of ivy vines, draping over her like a huge weeping willow tree.

  Scarlett took another step up and bumped her head. She tapped on the object. It was definitely manmade. Intrigued, she searched for an opening. Is this a door handle? She slowly turned it. A sound, like the opening of a hatch, and a gasp of air rushed out. Her heart pulsated as she dared to shove her body through the narrow opening.

  She quickly grabbed the flashlight from her back pocket. She was in a small, round room. Jeez Louise, this is it—the bug out! The room was piled with neatly stacked plastic tubs. How did they get these tubs up here? She opened several plastic shutters, revealing screen-enclosed windows. The light flooded in, illuminating the round room. Food? She desperately scoured through the tubs. There were oodles and oodles of freeze-dried foods, which would be great later. I need something now. That’s when she found an entire tub loaded with cans of Spam.

  “Holy crap!” She loathed the stuff—but not today. No cooking required. Her stomach churned when she pulled off the metal tab. Shaky hands tore open a box of plastic spoons. Aw, the first bite . . . She savored each salty bite, afraid her stomach might cramp if she ate too quickly.

  After she had eaten half of the small can, she began sorting through the supplies. She found a tub full of Trader Joe’s snacks, a fantastic find of chocolates an
d cookies and crackers. The items were still in the Trader Joe’s reusable shopping bags. The receipt was dated last August, which meant the bug out owner had been there in the early days of the pandemic. Uh, is anyone here? She panicked.

  Caught up in the excitement of finding the bug out and food, she hadn’t thought to check things out further. She studied the round room. She spotted a built-in ladder on the wall. Her eyes followed it up to a hatch-like opening in the ceiling. Another level? She climbed the ladder and then fiddled with the hatch-like door until it swung open. She pointed the flashlight around the dark room. There was no sign of anyone, and she stepped into the bug out’s second level.

  She opened the small windows, letting the light fill the room. It really was a bug out, complete with a tiny kitchenette on one side, compact bathroom on the other side, a small, plastic dinette table in the center, and a small sitting area with a television mounted on the wall. The door next to the kitchen sink opened to a tiny covered balcony with a small barbecue and what looked like a meat smoker along with a plastic supply cabinet filled with fishing equipment. Must be a lake or river nearby. Maybe she could learn to fish? She recalled hearing a creek earlier.

  Stunned, she went inside. Well, there must be a bedroom. She eyed the ceiling, relieved to see the hatch above the built-in ladder. She climbed up the next opening. The third level of the modular consisted of six narrow bunkbed compartments, each with a retractable curtain for privacy. A hobbit-sized door opened to a tiny balcony with two plastic chairs and a table. A ladder was fastened to the side of the wall, and she climbed it to find a series of solar panels. Wow, solar power! This must have cost megabucks. The only problem, she didn’t have the slightest idea how to operate solar equipment.

  She began sorting through the supplies on the kitchen table and caught a glimpse of a notebook. “A note!” she gasped.

  Karl & Paula,

  I couldn’t get through to you on my cell. Had to go back to the city to get Mom. She’s afraid to leave the house with all the soldiers and tanks parading the streets. It’s getting bad there. See you tomorrow. The kids will have to share a bunk bed. Hope that’s all right.

  See ya soon, Brad

  Apparently, two or three families had planned on returning but had never made it. Scarlett sat down at the plastic-like dinette table cluttered with bags of supplies and found herself thinking about the people in the Escalade. How ironic that after months or perhaps years of preparations, they had never made it to their bug out. How cruel life was to have planned everything so perfectly. Only to die at a mini-mart in the middle of flippin’ nowhere. And yet there she was—without any planning whatsoever.

  Her unexpected good fortune made her think of Dean. Where were Dean and Luther? She thought wistfully of Justin and Ella, hoping they had escaped the wrath of the Stockton Boys. She had a funny feeling Justin would be fine. He had a way of being lucky—like all the time. She smiled; she had just used one of Justin’s favorite overused words. It used to drive her nuts. She prayed Justin could protect Ella until the crisis ended. Surely by spring, the government would have things back under control. If they could hold out until then . . .

  27

  “No, like this.” Justin frowned and re-demonstrated his stealthy Duck-and-Roll Slasher move for the umpteenth time.

  “For real? You actually want me to do a somersault with a knife in my hand? That’s soooo cuh-ray-zee, even for you.” Ella’s brows knitted at the arches in the comical raised-brow look she was so good at.

  “At least try.” He responded with a scowl.

  “I’m so not doing somersaults on the roof. Period!”

  “It’s easy-peasy. Look, I’ll show you in slow-mo.” He overly-exaggerated his Fab-Five move but couldn’t stop the momentum of the well-intended slow-motion somersault. He collided into the Coleman camping stove with a clanking crash.

  “Uh, yeah,” Ella mocked. “That maneuver’s uber-cool.”

  They quickly peeked over the rooftop to see if they’d alerted any Zs rambling by. A horde at the end of the block scrambled around looking for the source of the noise and finally shambled off in the opposite direction. They crawled back to the middle of the roof, out of view.

  “Ella, I’m serious. We’re not leaving here until you de-activate a zombie all by yourself.”

  She gave him one of her I-don’t-think-so looks, the kind his mom used to flash when he had said something ultra-sarcastic. But, he wasn’t being sarcastic—he was super serious. He couldn’t protect her every single second of the day. She needed to learn how to protect herself—ASAP.

  “Okay, okay, practice swinging the bat. You know,” he said, trying to encourage her, “the bat is Scarlett’s weapon of choice ’cause it’s more gut-splash resistant.” He really didn’t think it was gut-splash resistant; it just sounded convincing.

  Ella picked up the bat and then practiced some swinging moves. “I kinda like the bat. It’s not as gruesome as the knife or those machetes Paxton and Nate use.” She took another swing and then a much harder and swifter swing. “Yeah, I kinda like it.”

  “Finally,” he mumbled.

  “What did you say?” She gave him an icy-cold stare followed by a disdainful fluttering of the eyelashes.

  “Oh, nothing dear.” Justin rolled his eyes emphatically, which she answered with another rolling of the eyes. They plopped down on the roof and laughed the whispering laugh they’d grown accustomed to these past few weeks on the cold rooftop.

  Justin had been super relieved when Ella had finally agreed to watch his Fab-Five demonstration, giving in to his charming persistence—he’d like to think. However, he found it super annoying that she refused to participate. He’d just have to take it one step at a time since de-activating a zombie in real-time was way more intense and gory than his semi-silly and semi-serious simulations. So, he joked about it, entertaining her with his de-activating moves, which he had quickly learned was way better than freaking-her-out. Besides, they had all winter.

  The two of them had talked it over and had decided to wait until spring to search for Dean and Luther. It might be impossible to cross the summit into Reno during the winter. They could freeze to death in a blizzard or something. He guesstimated that Paxton, Nate, and LuLu would be in Vegas by spring. This was the perfect opportunity to train Ella on his awesome zombie moves if she would stop being so obstinate and girlie and just do it.

  Lately, Justin had been working overtime, scavenging food, supplies, and camping gear like the tents, sleeping bags, and the small Coleman camping stove. He had also acquired several cans of Raid bug spray, which he had sprayed around the yard to throw off their scent from the Zs. He had taken every precaution he could think of to ensure their safety.

  “You think she’s okay?” Ella looked up at him with her beautiful, brown eyes. “Scarlett?” she said, her forehead frowned in concern.

  He worried about Scarlett too. He hadn’t forgotten the gunshot he had heard the day they’d escaped. But, he didn’t want to scare Ella. “Scarlett’s amazing—a born zombie de-activator.” He smiled, and they hugged.

  Justin had other concerns. It was getting harder and harder to find unexpired food. And, for some reason, he couldn’t stop obsessing over his major worry: Paxton and Nate. What if those two psychos were still in Sacramento? Meanwhile, it was going to be a long, cold, winter stuck on this rooftop with Ella. But, Justin couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather be with. As long as they were on the roof—they were safe.

  28

  Scarlett had spent the previous two weeks inventorying and organizing the well-stocked bug out’s supplies. She had studied the solar power manual and had managed to get the power unit up and running. Unfortunately, it didn’t provide much power, which made her wonder how six or more had planned to live off its meager power supply. She had started conserving the running water when she saw how small the water tank was. Meanwhile, she collected the rainwater on the upper balcony. She was pleased with how great the LED li
ghts worked, but not so pleased to find that the small cooking stove was the only heat source. She had expected to find guns, but all she’d found was a small handgun and a box of ammo. Still, all and all, the modular, plastic-like bug out had been a fabulous find.

  She was relieved to be safe, away from Paxton and Nate. She enjoyed the peacefulness of the bedroom’s balcony, cozied-up in two blankets to keep warm. It had drizzled on and off the past two weeks, giving her plenty of time to contemplate plans for the future. Much to her relief, she hadn’t seen a single creeper since her arrival. But, she hadn’t left the security of the bug out yet.

  She needed to scout out the surrounding area—she knew that. She blamed her hermit lifestyle on the dreary weather, yet deep down inside, she knew it was fear holding her hostage. She was safely nestled in the secluded treehouse high above the reaches of the ravenous creatures roving the lands.

  Scarlett sat on the balcony off the kitchen, sipping a cup of powdered hot chocolate with itty-bitty dehydrated marshmallows. At last, the sun made an appearance, peeking through the spider-web of leafless tree limbs, infusing life to all it touched. She hoped with more sunlight, the solar unit would provide enough energy to watch a movie or listen to music. The bug out came fully-loaded with a plastic tub of CDs and a CD player, provided she had the power to spare.

  She took in a deep breath of the fresh air and listened to the menagerie of birds. They always seemed to have something to say. The babbling creek also seemed extra chatty as if calling to her. “I can’t put it off any longer,” she touted with eager anticipation.