Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  “So, you escaped?”

  “Finally, and I would’ve been long gone—” Zac stopped and looked at the little girl playing with the M&M’s. “Let’s say, my plans changed when I found—” He glanced at the child.

  “Was Twila all by herself when you found her?” Scarlett whispered.

  He mouthed, “Yes.” It didn’t look like he wanted to talk about it in front of her.

  Scarlett thought about it for a moment; all of this must be terrifying for the girl, like being lost in a nightmare. How could Twila tell the difference between reality and non-reality? Most of the time, Scarlett found it difficult to distinguish between the two. How could a child? Ella had been so traumatized, she hadn’t spoken in months. I can only imagine how traumatized this little girl must be.

  Zac interrupted her troubled thoughts. “I need to warn my family and the other farmers in this valley. Your people should probably leave in the next day or two because once they take over an area, they guard it well.”

  “Why didn’t they kill you?” she prodded.

  “I have my ways.” He gave her a charmingly-wicked smile. “The gift of gab—a great bullshitter. I learned a thing or two about how to deal with people in New York. Besides, I’ve got connections. I’m good at finding things, hooking-up people with the supplies they need. I’m quite a commodity myself,” he bragged.

  And perhaps a bit conceited as well. Scarlett didn’t respond. She contemplated on telling him she lived alone. She sternly reminded herself not to risk it—not after the Stockton Boys and not after that seemingly innocent, young couple had robbed her and left her for the creepers. No, trust him, she would not. Still, he must be a good man to save a little girl at the risk of his own life. However, never underestimate anyone. If there was one thing she had learned, people did whatever they had to do in order to survive.

  “So, you still have family?” Scarlett was jealous and sad at the same time. And she wondered if he was married.

  “Two brothers left, with wives—last I checked.” She heard the pain in his faltering voice.

  “Are—were you in the military?” she asked.

  He shook his head, which surprised her.

  “One of those survivalist types? I mean before . . .”

  “No. Yes, actually, come to think of it. I was a stockbroker. Extremely successful. Then the market crashed. Lost everything.”

  “I thought you were a farmer?” Jeez, looks can be deceiving.

  He took another swig from the bottle. “I was the black sheep of the family. I grew up to be an unscrupulous stockbroker in New York.” His tone was sarcastic, remorseful, almost shameful.

  “Really?” She would never have guessed it.

  “The whole nine yards—decadent lifestyle, high-rise penthouse, fancy yacht parties, beautiful and expensive wife . . .” he said with obvious regret.

  “Go on.” Scarlett was curious.

  “Not much to say. After the bottom fell-out, I was up to my ass in debt, upside-down mortgage . . .” He flicked his hand in the air as if in disgust. “You know, the same story for so many Americans, living beyond our means. Then I woke up one morning, and the economy had tanked. I lost everything, including my wife.” He grimaced. “I pulled a Jack Kerouac for about two years, hiked and camped on this side of the Sierras, avoiding society. In actuality, I was just avoiding myself and all those illicit stock trades and subprime mortgage loans I was a part of. It didn’t seem like such a bad thing at the time . . . who knew?” Zac stopped as if deep in thought. “Payback’s a bitch.”

  “Well, that was years ago. Did you ever go back to the stockbroker life?”

  “Hell no, I couldn’t stomach it. I’ve spent the last few years helping my brothers with their farms in exchange for room and board. Had four brothers—in those days. The ironic thing was, back when I was in New York, I was ashamed of my farming heritage. I was so full of myself for pulling myself out of the gutter and making it to the bigtime. I was such an ass.” He paused for a moment. “Since then, I’ve learned so much about life, what’s really important, and how to appreciate it. Then, then this shit happens.” Zac shook his head.

  “This whole Super Summer flu disaster taught me a lot about myself as well. There are so many things I’d do differently,” Scarlett said with a heavy sigh. Silence seemed to paralyze the moment. She thought it extremely strange that he had confided such personal details to her until she noticed the bottle of vodka was nearly half-gone.

  Twila stacked the M&M’s by color, something she thought rather odd. How does she keep them from falling over?

  “So, what do you think really happened? How can a simple flu virus wipe out humanity?” It was the million-dollar question, and she really didn’t expect him to know the answer, but she had to ask it.

  Zac didn’t say anything. Instead, he grabbed the bottle and took a long drink as if contemplating something. He handed the bottle to her. “Might as well.” And she took a long drink herself.

  “Chemwebs . . .” he said in a low, eerie tone.

  “What?” Sounds like he’s drunk. She didn’t know what he was talking about.

  He reached for the bottle again. “The metropolitan areas were like human incubators and swe,” he slurred. “We were the guinea pigs. Planes dispersed this spidery-web substance over the big cities. Chemwebs,” he said again, looking at Twila.

  “You mean contrails from airplanes?” Justin had mentioned something about contrails. She had considered it a farfetched theory, something always good for a laugh on YouTube.

  Was Zac avoiding eye contact? He seemed distant. Finally, he looked at her. Fear shrouded his eyes. She hadn’t noticed it before: not when she had shot him, not when she had removed the bullet, and not even with the Ravers practically on the doorstep. But at that moment she recognized the fear eating away at him—heard it in his voice.

  “Chemwebs . . .” he said again, the word fading like the early evening sunlight.

  “And, what are chemwebs?”

  “They look like ordinary spider webs floating in the sky, drifting in the wind. But it’s a façade. Oh yeah, we thought the Bankstas were corrupt. Hell, that was nothing, compared to . . . Have you ever heard about the New World Order conspiracies?” he asked, taking another drink.

  “Sure,” she said, not liking where he was going with this. Jeez Louise, not another paranoid conspiracy theory.

  “More, like New World Disorder!” Zac let out a demented laugh.

  Great, he’s drunk. She didn’t want to listen to him anymore.

  “See, they embedded optic-like fibers with protein molecules to mess with our DNA and RNA. Why, you may ask? I see your disbelief.”

  Scarlett waved him off, hoping he’d just hush-up.

  “The proverbial “they” intentionally infected us.”

  “Never mind.” Scarlett had heard enough.

  “Obviously, they didn’t know what the hell they were doing. They infected us,” he said rather emphatically, waving his unbandaged arm. He knocked over the Grey Goose bottle sitting on the plastic tub. He stared at the bottle and didn’t bother to pick it up, letting the vodka spill all over the place.

  “I think you’ve had enough,” she chastised. She grabbed a T-shirt from a bag of clothing and cleaned the mess.

  “They designed the perfect DDS,” he ranted.

  “DDS?”

  “Unofficially known as a Disease Delivery System.”

  “Are you saying our government intentionally created the Super Summer flu?” Scarlett asked.

  “No, no, no, no . . . The gl-global corporate elites,” he slurred.

  “Like the Illuminati,” she replied, playing along with him since he obviously wasn’t shutting up.

  “Far scarier than the Illuminati.”

  “And why would they do such a thing?” She frowned.

  “A biotech-pharmaceutical company. A ‘get-rich-quick’ scheme that backfired. Bigtime. They infected us with their designer-flu virus. And only they h
ad the vaccine. A vaccine everyone needed. Which, they so conveniently provided to everyone for a price. Only, somewhere along the line, the virus mutated, and the vaccine no longer worked.”

  “Wow,” the word slipped out in a mere whisper. Scarlett didn’t believe in conspiracy theories. And yet, after he had said it, it seemed plausible. Not only plausible, it seemed like the only logical explanation for such a thing—for the human race to turn into cannibals.

  He rubbed his forehead. “Sorry for my outburst. I don’t do so well with alcohol. I don’t mean to sound so pessimistic,” he said as if aware of how irrational he had sounded.

  “Do you have proof?” she said and handed him a bottle of water.

  “A colleague of mine knows a bio-scientist, who knows another scientist . . . and so on.” He shrugged. “Anyway, that’s how I heard about it back in the early days of the pandemic.” He held his injured arm. “Mind if I bum a Tylenol?”

  She handed him the bottle from the medical kit.

  “Do you mind if I close my eyes for a few minutes?” He suddenly seemed withdrawn and distant.

  “Be my guest. After all, I did shoot you.” She offered a smile.

  Scarlett couldn’t stop thinking about what Zac had said. Her secluded, peaceful environment had turned upside down, and she was scared for the first time since she had called this place her new (temporary) home.

  Shouting started outside again. She wished Zac would wake up. But he was out, cold. She made a makeshift bed on the opposite side and decided to take a quick nap.

  Scarlett woke up screaming with Zac’s hand covering her mouth while Twila stared at her wide-eyed. A cold-and-hot sweat had Scarlett shivering like she had pneumonia. I better not be coming down with the flu. The thought startled her. And she jumped up.

  “It’s all right.” Zac caressed her back. “Just a bad dream. Take some deep breaths before you hyperventilate,” he said in a calm, soothing voice.

  Finally, she caught her breath after taking several slow, deep breaths.

  “Do you remember the dream?” he asked with a worried look.

  “No,” she lied.

  “Too bad, these days dreams seem to answer questions. Or, maybe it’s just wishful thinking,” he said with a wistful look in his eyes.

  Scarlett wiped the sweat from her brow. “So, we never did finish our conversation.” After her dream, she was ready to know more, ready to accept whatever he had to say—after that dream.

  “Ask away. I’ll tell you what I’ve heard,” he said.

  “Any signs of recovery?” she asked, hopeful.

  “Nada.”

  “What about Texas? I heard it’s safe.”

  “That’s my next venture—Texas. The stories I’ve heard about Texas are not so promising. When word got out it was a safe zone, people herded there like deranged cattle and bombarded the Texan borders. I’ve heard horror stories.”

  “What?” Scarlett was shocked.

  “Mass killings of uninfected people—Mass graves,” he whispered in her ear, causing a new wave of goosebumps to tingle her skin.

  “Impossible,” she said. She wasn’t sure if it was the mass killings or the arousing sensation of his breath caressing her neck that caused the new outbreak of goosebumps.

  “Only so many supplies. From what I’ve heard, they only let you in if you’re healthy and have a valuable skill or an offering like—” He nodded toward Twila. “And that’s only if you don’t get robbed or murdered at the immigration camps patrolled by the Enforcers.”

  Queasiness flooded over her. “Enforcers?”

  “Basically, Enforcers are the henchmen patrolling the Texan border. They were supposedly hired to maintain law and order of the immigration camps. But, you have to pay-off the Enforcers to get to the actual border. And rumor has it—it’s more efficient and convenient for the Enforcers to just kill-off the immigrants and steal their supplies.”

  “That can’t be.” Scarlett was totally disgusted. “They actually have immigration camps?” Scarlett wanted to know more about it.

  “Think Syria, only a thousand times worse. Remember all those refugees? People migrating to Texas get stuck at the immigration camps. And the Enforcers do whatever they deem necessary to keep the situation under control.”

  “I can’t believe it’s that bad,” Scarlett scoffed.

  “Human nature at its worse. I’m not sure how much is fact and how much is an urban legend. I plan to find out soon.” He seemed rather sure of himself. “Any children in your group?” he asked, changing the subject.

  She shook her head no. The shouting started outside again. “You think they’ll find us?” Scarlett felt the need for reassurance.

  He looked at Twila. “No way, Jose,” he said emphatically and gave the girl a smile. But Twila didn’t respond. She seemed distant, lost in a faraway blank stare.

  “She does that sometimes,” Zac said, responding to Scarlett’s frown. “Just blanks-out. Other than that, she’s no problem.”

  “Do you think she has seizures?” Scarlett whispered, leaning into him so Twila couldn’t hear.

  “I don’t think so. It’s more like she’s deep in thought at times.”

  Scarlett was relieved when the girl snapped out of it. Still, something did seem odd about the child. She probably needs a lifetime of therapy after what she’s been through, poor thing. Scarlett’s heart poured out to the girl.

  Twila began playing a Pac-Man-like game. She slid a yellow M&M along the paisley-printed paper plate, eventually colliding it into the other randomly placed M&M’s. She even mimicked the game’s silly sound effects. Funny thing, Twila played with the candy instead of eating it.

  Zac leaned into Scarlett, his breath tickling her ear. Her goosebumps were about to burst. “I’ve only seen a few children since the outbreak. Most didn’t survive,” he whispered.

  Scarlett turned, agonizingly inches away from him. She studied his soul-searching eyes while he seemed to search hers—for an answer to an unasked question. For a moment she thought he might kiss her.

  “More juice, please.” Twila interrupted their almost-intimate moment.

  Scarlett jerked back to reality and the tightening-tingling pulsation in her groin vanished. What would I have done if he had kissed me?

  “Sure, sweetie.” Scarlett poured the girl another glass.

  “You smell funny.” The girl giggled and plugged her nose with her fingers.

  Scarlett’s hands rushed to her face at the heat sweeping across her cheeks. Dammit! She had added a new item to her arsenal. Garlic. Before leaving the bug out, she had made it a part of her regimen to rub a fresh clove of garlic on her arms to disguise her scent from the creepers. It worked great, although it was still in the testing stages.

  “Uh, that would be the garlic,” Scarlett’s voice cracked.

  “I didn’t want to say anything. You being the host and all,” Zac teased. “By the way, it’s a brilliant idea. I’ll have to try it.”

  The garlic reminded her of the fish. “Oh, shit!” Scarlett exclaimed a bit too loudly. “I left today’s catch in the forest. When I accidentally—shot you.”

  “Explains why they’re still searching this area. There’s nothing we can do about it now. We’ll just have to wait it out. Don’t worry, it’ll be dark soon. They’ll never find us here.” He winked at Twila.

  “No way, Jose,” Twila said, gliding a yellow M&M across the paper plate.

  “What a great safehouse. I might have to make me one of these. Was this yours before the pandemic?” he asked, studying the framework.

  “No. I, we happened to come across a set of MapQuest directions and found the place empty. I think it’s made of a lightweight plastic-like material, but it’s really sturdy,” she explained.

  “What a stroke of good luck,” he said, surveying the room.

  “How’s your arm?” she asked, still embarrassed that she reeked of garlic.

  “What do you think? Hurts like a mother—” He stopped
and smiled at Twila.

  The girl had yawned three times in the last minute. The poor thing must be exhausted. Scarlett rummaged through the tubs looking for the extra sleeping bags. “Sweetie, do you like slumber parties?”

  “We get to sleep here tonight?” Twila giggled.

  “Sure do.” Scarlett deliberately arranged her sleeping bag, so it was the farthest distance from Zac’s.

  “It’s been quiet for a while. I’ll do a quick recon outside. Back in a few.” Zac left the bug out.

  While he was out, Scarlett took the opportunity to pop upstairs to relieve her bladder. Jeez, I look like death warmed-over. She rinsed her face, did a quick comb-through of her unmanageable hair, attempted to scrub off the garlic, and put on a fresh shirt. Oh, stop it. It’s not like you need to impress him. Suddenly, she felt extremely self-conscious. It had been ages since she had bothered with her appearance; lipstick and mascara were like vintage treasures from another era.

  After giving up on her appearance, she grabbed more food. No telling when he had last eaten. When she returned to the storage level, Twila was already sleeping in Scarlett’s sleeping bag. Great! That left her the sleeping bag closest to Zac.

  Scarlett put together a dinner plate for Zac: smoked fish, canned corn, canned pears, and the rest of yesterday’s homemade biscuits along with a special treat, a jar of raspberry jelly. There, that’s a nice peace offering. I feel horrible for shooting the guy.

  Zac knocked on the hatch, and she quickly unlocked it.

  “Expecting company?” Zac winked as if noticing her feeble primping attempts. “I’m famished.” He eyed the food.

  They sat around the blue plastic tub, which they used as their dinner table. After a long awkward moment of what-to-say-next, he picked up a slab of smoked fish.

  “Ah, this is the best smoked fish I’ve ever had. Good thing you weren’t smoking fish today. They would have tracked us.”

  Scarlett had been thinking that herself. After her last inventory, she had smoked a two-month supply, enough for her trip. And, of course, there was enough Spam and dehydrated foodstuff to last until the next Ice Age. She, however, preferred the smoked fish.