Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  “Saw that back in the No-Zone.” Luther joined in the conversation.

  All eyes turned to Luther.

  “In the beginning, the people who died from the Super Summer flu instantaneously reanimated into the zombie-state. Zombies, as you know, are feeble and dimwitted. Guess I didn’t mention about the new strain of zombies—” Luther paused, as if afraid to continue.

  “What?” Justin, Dean, and Ella all said at about the same time.

  “My bad. Back when this shitstorm hit the Bay Area, I was trapped in the No-Zone for a few months with a group of people—people not infected with the virus. The military had enforced a lockdown. Nobody could get out or in the quarantined area: the No-Zone,” Luther said.

  “Ye-ah, but you escaped the No-Zone,” Justin said, wondering what the big deal was.

  “In a matter of speaking,” Luther said.

  “Go on,” Dean said, his tone tense.

  “You ever hear of contrails?” Luther’s voice wavered.

  “That conspiracy theory bullcrap is just a bunch of malarkey invented by those New Age stoner-hippies,” Dean remarked flippantly, waving his hands in the air.

  “Yup, that’s what I used to think too. But, after the lockdown, the sky was full of planes spraying the skies with some lethal shit—God knows what? Contrails were everywhere,” Luther stated.

  “There’s a scientific explanation for contrails,” Dean said impatiently.

  “These here weren’t normal contrails. Nah, these glowed a fluorescent green, like the color of antifreeze. Man, it lit up the sky with glowing shades of green. Looked like the aurora-fucking-borealis in broad daylight. Pardon my language, Ella,” Luther apologized.

  “Sounds creepy. What did you do?” Ella whispered, squeezing both of Justin’s hands tightly.

  “Dude, I remember seeing that on YouTube—tons of video footage of glowing disco-green skies. I thought it was fake news.”

  “Ol’ Luther here is a God-fearing man. When I saw that shit falling out of the sky, hauled my black ass underground and hid out in a janitorial room in the BART station,” Luther explained.

  “What was it?” Justin asked, but he really didn’t see the point of scaring them. Not after everything they had been through the past few months.

  Luther cleared his throat and continued, “We had a scientist with us. He said the contrails were the easiest and fastest way to fumigate large areas. He went so far as to say the government had been dousing the skies for decades with all kinds of shit. Can you believe it? They used entire cities as lab rats and doused the people with chemicals, pesticides, immunity builders, and nanotechnology shit.” Luther sounded upset.

  “Luther, my friend, what exactly are you saying here? ’Cause if you’re trying to make a point, I’m afraid I’m not getting it?” Dean said, glancing back at Justin and Ella.

  “What I’m sayin’—is this. The military or the powers that be attempted to control the zombie virus, otherwise known as the Super Summer flu, by fumigating the entire Bay Area with toxic chemicals. As usual, those lamebrains got it all wrong.”

  “What do you mean?” Dean asked slowly.

  “The aerial fumigation did manage to kill off some, the weak ones.” Luther’s voice took on a super-serious tone. “But, the ones it didn’t kill—those muthas mutated from the emaciated zombie into what you call a super-zombie.” Luther’s eyes locked onto Justin’s in the rearview mirror. “These ones are fast, tough, and can even think a little. It’s like you can see them working out things in their head. And, did I mention damn near impossible to kill? It usually takes a few bullets to the brain. Or, blowing them up works pretty damn good too.” Luther let out a tense laugh.

  “So, it’s sort of like the overuse of antibiotics,” Justin theorized to everyone. “The virus strain mutates just enough to become immune to the antibiotic. And suddenly it’s a super-strain.”

  “You got it,” Luther said.

  “Come to think of it, I do recollect Paxton mentioning they had only made it as far west as Vallejo before he and Nate had to turn back,” Dean said.

  “Yup, if Paxton made it to Vallejo, that’s damn near close to the No-Zone barricades. And with the wind factor, there’s a good chance he and Nate were exposed to the fumigation. And that would explain Paxton’s super-zombie behavior,” Luther said plain as day.

  “Say, whatever became of Nate?” Dean asked.

  “Ye-ah, he didn’t make it either according to Paxton,” Justin said. “So, what happened to the people and the Zs in the No-Zone?” Justin asked, getting an uneasy feeling.

  “Imagine being trapped in the No-Zone with super-zombies. Let’s just say at a certain point we became extremely motivated to find a way out. We got a hold of some explosives and blew up a section of the barricade. And escaped. Not so surprisingly, the military had already deserted the area. So we all escaped, the healthy and the infected . . . And then one day Ol’ Luther was driving east and got this goofy message on my cell from some looney toon named Justin.”

  They enjoyed a tense laugh.

  “And the Zs?” Justin reminded.

  “God only knows—coming soon to a theater near you,” Luther said in an eerie tone.

  “Oh, My God!” Ella was starting to freak again.

  Justin put his arm around her and whispered, “It’s okay.”

  “Still, you managed to escape?” Dean questioned.

  “Somewhat, but there’s more to this story. Ever wonder why I seem to attract them so much? That stuff they sprayed infected everyone even though we waited damn near a week before we went outside. Now I’m like zombie bait. It must have messed with my DNA. The scientist guy tried to explain it.”

  “Say what?” Dean asked.

  “The way I understood it: The fumigation caused instant DNA mutation, which causes our bodies to exude a chemical. A pheromone, I believe, which attracts the zombies. Nah, you all don’t want to hear this—”

  “Dude, you mean there’s more?” Luther’s story was like a wonky dystopian documentary.

  Luther stopped the Jeep in the middle of the highway and turned off the engine. “When we, meaning all us who were exposed to the contrail fumigation—when we get bit by a zombie, we’re called second generation zombies because we’re stronger, faster, smarter: deadlier. Damn near impossible to kill. I should know—had to kill enough of those stinkin’ nimrods before I escaped. There, I said it. It might not seem like a big deal to you all—but it scares the livin’ shit out of ol’ Luther here.”

  “But, you’re okay now, aren’t you Luther?” Ella whispered.

  “You bet, sweet pea,” Luther offered.

  “I’m just sayin’ if I get bit, don’t mess around. And don’t wait for me to turn, neither. Shoot me in the head A-S-A-P.” Luther’s hands trembled when he started the Jeep.

  “Luther, my friend, you just scared the bejesus out of every one of us.” Dean sighed. “If you want to know my opinion, it all sounds like a bunch of malarkey to me. No disrespect, but what evidence do you have?” Dean questioned.

  Luther turned to Dean. “I get where you’re comin’ from. I thought it was conspiracy X-Files crap too . . . Until they sent in a Navy Seals team in hazmat suits to extract that scientist,” Luther said. “They must have killed dozens of civilians in order to get their hands on him. And they got him all right. Damn straight,” Luther said, shaking his head emphatically. “They took him and left the rest of us for the zombies—”

  “How about those Niners?” Dean butted in, obviously changing the subject. “Think they have a chance at the Super Bowl this season?” Dean laughed, but no one else did.

  They rode in silence for a few miles as if afraid of what to say or what not to say. Justin felt the need to comfort Ella, and comforting her comforted him as well. He had never been so happy and so scared. Sure, he had his Ella, but it didn’t look like the government would be getting things under control soon.

  “Dean,” Justin finally said. “I’m so glad you
’re back. I really missed you!”

  “Me too!” Ella exclaimed, blowing kisses to him from across the seat. “Everything’s gonna be awesome. We’ll find another hotel—without the Stockton Boys. Things are going to be way better this time,” Ella said and nestled against Justin’s shoulder ready for a nap.

  A road sign blurred past, ten miles to Roseville. It made Justin think of Scarlett. It wasn’t fair; Scarlett had been the best woman Z de-activator ever. She should be here with us.

  “Where to?” Luther asked. But, no one answered. “Reno—here we come!” Luther announced loud and clear.

  No one argued.

  They headed eastbound in silence . . .

  36

  It was an exceptionally quiet April morning. Scarlett sat hidden in a little alcove surrounded by overgrown, evergreen bushes along the river’s edge with fishing pole in hand, waiting for a tug at the end of the line. She tried recalling last night’s dream. The lucid dream had seemed so real at the time. Only random fragments remained. She gazed at the river, mesmerized by its rippling waves, like her subconscious flowing in an endless stream of thoughts. She shrugged, disappointed. Every time she caught a glimpse of the dream, it vanished. The dream had seemed of significance at the time. At least it had been a peaceful dream. This morning she felt more vitality and more inspiration than she had since the day the world had gone apocalyptic, or rather, since that day “what’s his name” had dumped her. Jeez, I can’t even remember his name. Or so, she’d like to think.

  The fishing pole casually cradled in her lap jerked, bringing her wandering mind back. She checked the tautness of the line, and the gleam of her engagement ring caught her eye. Tucking the pole under her arm, she slipped the ring off and gazed into it as if it were an exquisite crystal from another world. Momentarily awestruck, she ignored the fish floundering on the line.

  The ring was the only thing she had left of her old life. Had Scarlett been happy with her seemingly picture-perfect life? She had been engaged two times, and each engagement had not ended well. She held the ring up like an offering to the sky gods, admiring its brilliance. Perhaps, it was Scarlett’s destiny to be alone—forever. She did find it quite peaceful; still, an emptiness consumed her. Her soul was an empty vessel—stripped of everything. Impulsively, she flung the exorbitantly priced diamond ring into the middle of the river.

  “There, that’s over with.” She rubbed her hands as if wiping off an annoying powdery residue. A surge of refreshing energy swept through her body from head to toe. I should’ve done that months ago. LuLu had made it abundantly clear that Scarlett had thought she was “holier-than-thou” with her college degree, her teaching career, and her gaudy engagement ring.

  Why didn’t I tell LuLu my fiancé jilted me for the boss’s daughter so he could be a partner in the firm? Scarlett huffed. I was too busy trying not to feel worthless about myself, I came across as an arrogant jerk. I hope you’re all right LuLu—wherever you are. And dear, sweet Ella and Justin and Dean and Luther . . . Please let them be safe.

  The pole jerked again, reminding her of more pressing matters. Scarlett reeled in the small fish easily enough, finally getting the knack of the whole fishing thing. It had been somewhat of a disaster in the beginning. The Fishing for Dummies book conveniently included in the bug out’s minuscule library had been a lifesaver.

  She had quickly given up on the live bait method and had resorted to the jar of bubblegum-pink eggs (fortunately for her) included in the tackle box. After all, if she were a fish, she’d obviously go for “something pink” and not a squiggly worm. She had also given up on the fly fishing technique because she couldn’t stay hidden in the alcove. After the trials and errors of the learning curve, she found she rather enjoyed fishing; it gave her time to reflect.

  Spring had arrived, and she had smoked plenty of fish the past few months. She was ready for the journey. But to where? Every week she had made it a habit of hiking to the two main roads for signs of civilization. She had spied the roads for hours but hadn’t seen any signs of humanity. Oh, she had seen an occasional creeper—creepers still existed.

  From what Luther had said, Pinole was dangerously close to the No-Zone. Scarlett had finally accepted the fact that finding her sister, brother-in-law, and two nephews were impossible. She thought about heading to Los Angeles and if no luck there, attempt a trip to Texas. But it would be an impossible trip to make alone.

  She unhooked the fish. Its silvery-rainbow scales shimmered as it flopped in the net with the others. That makes three. Time to get back. She had made a deal with herself to always stop by ten-thirty or three fish, whichever came first. She didn’t want to be greedy, besides the little smoker couldn’t handle more than three fish anyway.

  She hiked back to the bug out through the green-budded forest, thinking about where she should go. Surely, society had reclaimed itself somewhere in California. There must be other survivors . . . A rustling in the bushes startled her. Without hesitating, she drew the small gun tucked in her jacket pocket, feeling like an old-western schoolmarm turned gunslinger. She laughed when the spooked jackrabbit darted by. “Well, you ain’t no daisy,” she drawled to the rabbit, letting the gunslinger thought linger in her head. “You need to stop talking to yourself.” She didn’t bother stifling the giggle tempting her lips.

  Uh, did that bush just move? Was her peripheral vision playing tricks on her? From out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn a small, evergreen bush about four feet tall had changed its physical location. She faltered, gun still in hand, aware her hands had the shakes and noticed the tiny, thin hairs on her arms stand straight up as a gentle spark of electricity ran down the back of her spine.

  “Excuse me,” a man’s voice jolted her from her paranoid thoughts.

  Scarlett’s head spun, searching for the direction of the voice. She reeled around upon realizing the voice had come from the opposite direction of the peculiar bush. Maybe she had finally gone crazy? Bit by bit her reality continued to unravel with the whispering voices in her dreams and the voices floating by on the river. And now, voices in the forest . . .

  “Can I have a moment of your time?” the voice asked a bit too politely.

  It wasn’t the faint whisperings she usually heard. And, and that bush is definitely scurrying about. A man stepped out from behind a tree. He blended into the scenery, decked-out in complete camouflage attire, including a small tree branch attached to his green helmet, like a soldier with a camo-painted face. She aimed the gun at him. Warning.

  “Lady, I can assure you—I mean you no harm.”

  She heard his words but doubted her senses were functioning logically. It wasn’t possible for a soldier to be standing a mere six feet in front of her.

  “I’d like to have a word with you if I may,” the imaginary man said.

  Jeez, so polite. This has got to be my imagination. She struggled with the illusion. “Okay, I’ll close my eyes, and the vision will go away,” she chanted.

  “Lady, I can assure you. I’m no hologram,” an amused voice said.

  “Go away vision, or I’ll shoot you,” Scarlett announced to herself and cocked the gun.

  Without warning, the mobile bush sprang to life! It crashed into her. “Mommy!” the bush cried. The thrashing bush clung to her, knocking her to the ground. The bang of her gun startled her even more.

  The animated bush seemed to be hugging and kissing her, screeching, “Mommy,” repeatedly.

  “Damn, lady, you shot me! It’s the third time I got shot at today! Twila, that’s enough. Leave the crazy lady alone,” the soldier scolded and scooped up the amorous bush with one arm.

  A series of rapid-fire gunshots ripped through the air, followed by the roaring of engines and urgent shouts. Her quiet forest had turned into a combat zone.

  “Lady, we need to get the hell out of here, ASAP. Ravers are approaching the river. After your gunshot, they’ll be all over this side of the forest.”

  Scarlett stood t
here in utter disbelief as the bush shed its leaves. What? A child? The engines revved closer.

  “You hear that? We need to hightail it out of here. You happen to have a safehouse nearby?” His tone had gone from politeness to amusement to bemusement to disbelief to urgency all within the first few moments of their encounter.

  Scarlett shook her head no in response to the craziness of it all.

  “Fine, take the girl. Twila. She’s a sweetheart. I’ve got to haul ass.” He started to leave.

  “Wait,” Scarlett yelled. Her voice nearly drowned out by the approaching vehicles. “You can’t leave me with a child,” Scarlett responded in complete shock.

  “They’ll be here in seconds. I can’t keep her—she slows me down. She’ll be much safer with your people.”

  The man ducked back into the woods.

  “I know a place—” Something from deep inside her heart compelled her to call out to him, and before she realized it, the words had come out. Was she making a huge mistake by breaking her own rule? Trust No One.

  The roar of an approaching off-road vehicle plowed along the deadwood-covered riverbank. She led the way; the three of them ran until they reached the bug out. The soldier in camo-paint gave her a quizzical look when she glanced at the tree.

  He looked up at the tree and parted the vines. “Clever,” he said, searching for a way up. They made it to the first level of the bug out when a series of shouts echoed closer. The man turned off the LED light she had left on and only responded by whispering, “Shhh.”

  They huddled in the room, waiting for the engines, shouts, and sporadic gunfire to fade into the forest. The little girl was surprisingly quiet and calm, unlike Scarlett. Scarlett’s heart pounded with the ferocity of a violent thunderstorm. The girl wasn’t even crying; instead, the little thing cuddled in Scarlett’s lap and actually fell asleep.

  “Sounds like they’ve moved on. But they’ll be back when they don’t find what they’re looking for,” the man warned.