Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  Alan looked at me then. His tongue was hanging out as though he was panting. His eyes had yellowed, and his features morphed from confused to dull. Then he moaned.

  “Oh, shit.” I unlatched my seatbelt. The trucker was watching me, and he caught on fast.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said, taking his foot off the gas and reaching for his shotgun.

  My intent was to grab Alan and toss him out of the truck before he went crazy. It seemed like there was a short window when Melanie had been out of it before going into raging attack mode. But I didn’t get the chance.

  I was halfway to Alan when the shotgun went off.

  The next split-second was a blur. The shot blasted my eardrums. Alan’s face literally split in half. Brownish blood and brain matter sprayed the cabin and me, and Alan’s body slammed against the back wall. I may have yelled, but I couldn’t hear it if I had. The only sound in my world at that moment was a loud, throbbing, constant ringing.

  Even though I thought I’d just recovered from shock, it was amazing how quickly I was thrown right back into it. I stared at Alan’s crumpled body in a daze. Dark liquid spread out from his head. I felt the truck come to a stop.

  The trucker leveled the gun on me and said something.

  “What?” I asked, his words nowhere near as loud as the ringing in my ears.

  “I said…one good reason…blow your brains out.”

  It took a moment for his words to make sense in my head. Then I watched him, numbly, for a moment. “I can’t.”

  A flash of genuine surprise crossed his face, but the expression was lost all too quickly to anger. “I asked if you were bit, goddammit.”

  “I’m not bit,” I said, before shaking my head.

  He motioned to Alan. “And him?”

  “I thought Alan was just freaked out from everything.”

  The driver sat there and scrutinized me for what seemed like an eternity. “Are you cut? Did you get any blood in your mouth or eyes?”

  I looked down at my clothes damp with Alan’s blood. With my black clothes, the dark blood blended in but the flecks of skin and brain dotted my shirt. “I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “You better be more than ‘pretty sure,’ Cash. Because this thing spreads through contact. Blood-to-blood, saliva-to-blood. If you got it, you’re going to be like your boyfriend before long.”

  I didn’t answer.

  He motioned over my shoulder. “Get out.”

  I looked out the window. I was still at least three miles from home. I thought of my tiny bungalow in a neighborhood full of tiny houses. How many neighbors were already sick? With my car still back at the office, where could I go?

  Outside was already turning into a war zone…

  A man boarding up windows on his house just off the interstate.

  Two people running down a street.

  The occasional pops of gunfire becoming constant echoes of rat-tat-tat.

  A shape stumbling around a tree.

  How many zeds stood between me and home?

  The only thing I knew was that I would never even make it to my front door, let alone to my parents’ house on the other side of town. It was both a miracle and luck that I’d already made it this far. Out there, on foot, I didn’t stand a chance.

  Operating on autopilot, I opened the door but couldn’t make my legs obey. I lowered my head, and the tears came. It wasn’t an act. I didn’t want to cry, I never cried, but the tears just kept coming. My shoulders shook from exhaustion as much as from adrenaline and hopelessness.

  Silence filled the cab for what seemed like an eternity, before I heard a heavy sigh. “I know I’m going to regret this. If you start looking sick, I swear to God I won’t hesitate to fill your brain with buckshot. If you’re not sick, I’ll give you one day.” He held up a finger. “One day. Then you’re on your own. Got it?”

  Sniffling, I nodded vigorously. “You won’t regret it, I swear.”

  “I already do,” he grumbled.

  I went to pull the door shut; he nudged me with the barrel. “Nuh, uh,” he said. “Get rid of your boyfriend first. And be quick about it. He’s stinking up my cabin.”

  I looked back and winced. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said weakly before my gag reflex kicked in. I twisted and reached out the door just in time to throw up the pepperoni pizza I’d had for lunch. After several heaves, I was able to sit up again. Taking a deep breath, I glanced at the trucker. He was watching me carefully, but at least he didn’t mistake my retching for getting “sick” and shoot me.

  I wiped my chin and headed to the back of the cab. Fortunately, Alan was slouched over, his face hidden in his lap, which made it a bit easier to pretend that this wasn’t someone I’d worked alongside every weekday. Dark, brownish blood and brain bits were splattered everywhere. Dazedly, I noticed the blood around Alan seemed darker and more congealed than it should have been, but I was no expert. My parents would know that kind of detail. I nudged him with my toe to make sure he was really dead, as though a shotgun blast to the head hadn’t been convincing enough. No response. Some of the tension in my spine released.

  Once I could breathe without gagging, I glanced around. A stack of folded bedding sat neatly in the corner, and I grabbed the top sheet already speckled with dark spots. Breathing through my mouth, I knelt by Alan and none-too-gracefully rolled him into the sheet. Frowning, I noticed his pants had been ripped, and I nudged the material aside to see a jagged wound in the shape of a human mouth.

  “He was bit,” I said, taking a long breath to keep from throwing up. “In the calf.”

  “Figured something like that was the case,” the trucker replied.

  I continued wrapping Alan in the sheet, trying to distance myself by imagining this was anything but a human body, but my subconscious kept reminding me. Once he was fully wrapped, I tugged and dragged him to the door and had meant to lower him gently to the ground, but he was heavier than me and the position was awkward. The sheet-wrapped body slipped right out of my hands and landed on the concrete shoulder of the interstate with a solid thud.

  I stared at the body. While Alan deserved better than to be left at the side of the road to rot, I really, really didn’t want to leave the safety of the truck and risk being left behind. Biting my lip, I turned back to the trucker.

  He shifted the truck back into gear. “You’re cleaning up the rest of this mess when we get to my place.”

  I collapsed onto the seat and slammed the door shut just as the truck moved forward. I let out a breath and stared outside, focusing on nothing in particular as the trucker drove and weaved around cars. As we left the city behind, traffic shrunk to nil. Other than a couple small military convoys and state troopers, few vehicles were heading into town, and those vehicles were speeding down the interstate, as though they were in a hurry to get to Des Moines.

  No doubt they were trying to get to their families.

  While I’m abandoning mine.

  I sat in a numb trance, my head resting on the headrest. Stay safe, mom and dad. I’m coming back. I promise.

  The radio was on, but the CB radio was louder, with truckers constantly reporting in status of the interstates. All the talk was of zeds and blocked roads. Every couple minutes I found the trucker eying me.

  “I still feel okay,” I said each time I caught him looking at me.

  Seemingly assured that I wasn’t going to go zed on him, he put on a Bluetooth and reported in on the CB. “This is Clutch dead-heading at yard stick 153 on I-80 reporting in. Avoid I-80 eastbound near Des Moines. Just passed through a bad 10-50 with zeds rubber necking the area. Over.”

  “10-4, Clutch. This is Dog Man. Heading west from The Windy. How’s the big road westbound outside city limits? Over.”

  “Hammer lane for now, Dog Man. But I wouldn’t count on it staying that way. Two Rivers has been overrun. Zed city. Over.”

  Zed city. I thought of
my parents, and the rock in my gut grew into a boulder, and I hugged myself. They’d be so worried right now, unable to get a hold of me.

  They were okay, safe at home. They had to be okay.

  “Same with The Windy,” the other driver said. “Also heard The Circle and The Gateway are zed city, too. Whatever this thing is, it’s spreading hard and fast. I saw a guy get nearly decapitated and he was back on his feet in two minutes joining up with the other nut jobs. Have three beavers on board, and hoping to make the Big Miss by dark. Over.”

  “Picked up a seat cover myself. Watch your six, Dog Man. Clutch over and out.”

  Clutch removed his Bluetooth, clicked off the CB, and turned the radio back up.

  He shot me a look, then returned his focus to the road. I noticed he wasn’t as old as I’d first assumed—mid-forties, maybe. And he was big and tough and scary. He’d straightened his cap, hiding more of his brown crew cut. He wore nothing fancy, just old jeans and a T-shirt, with tattoos covering his arms. His clothes were clean, whereas I looked like I’d just escaped a war zone.

  Which was too damn near the truth.

  Clutch nodded toward the red cooler at my feet. “Grab me a beer, Cash.” Then he tacked on, “Grab something for yourself if you’re thirsty.”

  I didn’t care that his last sentence came out more like a gripe than an offer. I reached in and pulled out a beer and a bottle of water from the ice. “My name’s Mia. You go by Clutch?” I asked. “Or, at least that’s your CB handle, right?”

  He didn’t reply.

  I handed him the can and opened the plastic bottle. The water was cold and oh so good. After throwing up, my throat was raw and my mouth tasted awful. The water soothed and I swooshed it around my teeth. I drank the entire bottle before opening my eyes. “So,” I said, drawing out the word. “Where are we headed?”

  “My place.”

  Three long tones beeped on the radio.

  “About time,” he said as he cranked up the volume.

  “This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. Repeat, this is not a test.”

  Three more tones sounded before a man’s voice came on. “This is Doctor Jon Meriden, managing director of the Center for the Disease Control. A state of emergency has been declared for the continental United States. An epidemic is now affecting the Midwest and quickly spreading. Houston and Kansas City are considered the worst locations and should be avoided. Cases of the virus have been reported in all major cities in the United States, southern Canada, and all of South and Central America. Any borders that remained opened as of this morning have now been closed. Cases are also being reported at Hong Kong International Airport.

  The virus has been confirmed to be a member of the Marburgvirus family. Scientists are working hard to identify the new virus, and it is believed to have originated in South America. However, due to its symptoms and the mannerisms of the infected, we’ve assigned the layman term zombiism to the superbug.

  Symptoms include slow and awkward movement, jaundice, and severe violent propensities. We strongly urge you to distance yourself from anyone displaying these symptoms. If you come into contact with someone displaying any of these symptoms, the CDC recommends quarantining yourself. If you are infected, symptoms will begin to appear anywhere from minutes up to an hour, depending on severity of initial infection. The more severe the initial infection, the quicker you will succumb to the virus. Treatment is not available at this time.

  We have traced the entry of the virus into the United States to several dozen contaminated shipments of produce from Mexico. At this time, we recommend you do not eat any fresh produce imported within the past three days.

  The superbug is transmitted through contact with bodily fluid of an infected person. The slang term ‘zed’ is trending across the Internet and radio. Should you hear this term, it simply refers to an infected person or persons.

  Due to the ease of the virus’ transmission, all public transportation and air travel have been suspended until further notice. Travel is not advisable and is considered unsafe. If you must leave your current location, expect delays and likely increases in lawlessness. Emergency responders may be overwhelmed. Please be patient and remain where you are. Gather emergency supplies should you need to evacuate to a temporary location. Do not panic.

  All military units have been assigned to contain the spread. All inactive and retired military personnel have been reactivated and should immediately report to the nearest base for assignment. Martial law is now in effect. Stay inside, stay safe, and help will be on the way.

  We will report on all channels every thirty minutes. For more information, go to www.emergency.cdc.gov online.”

  Three tones sounded once more, and the radio resumed to what sounded like a national talk show sharing more information about the “zombie outbreak” and how to protect against zeds.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I glanced over at the man next to me. His hands were tight on the wheel as he watched me.

  “Fine.” I realized he was asking about symptoms rather than my emotional well-being. “Really, I’m still okay.” Terror had long since given way to hopelessness. “The world’s seriously fucked, isn’t it,” I stated quietly.

  “Yeah.” He spit into the soda can. “We’re all fucked.”

  3

  When we pulled into Clutch’s driveway, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a sign that read: Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here.

  Not that the farm wasn’t lovely. Fields and woodlands went on for miles and miles. Just above a valley, a long gravel lane led us through several acres of woods, with flowers blooming along both sides. The lane opened up to a classic farm setup: a two-story white farmhouse standing boldly alone with three sheds as backdrop. A tabby cat lounged under a tree, watching me.

  Clutch pulled up along the largest shed and cut the engine. The whole scene was idyllic…and very, very isolated. I was alone with a stranger who’d killed Alan and run down several zeds like they were nothing.

  Sure, I’d killed Melanie, so I guess I wasn’t any different. But, what if he changed his mind about letting me stay for the night and killed me? Almost as bad, what if he wanted “favors” in exchange for shelter? I’d been terrified of being alone in this mess, but I suddenly wondered if being alone wasn’t the safer option.

  “What’s up, Cash? You’re looking at me like I’m about to dismember you.”

  Startled, I realized Clutch had taken off his sunglasses and was now watching me. His piercing hazel eyes seemed to see too far into me.

  I blinked a few times. “Just feeling like a fish out of water. That’s all,” I replied in a rush, opening the door and jumping outside. In the fresh air, I stretched my tight muscles as I stood before the sun dipping low in the sky. The weather was beautiful, a spring evening with a gentle breeze.

  Clutch walked toward the house, and I followed. “I wouldn’t have guessed you for living on a farm,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “With you being a truck driver—”

  “I’m from a fourth-generation farming family on this land. I just drive truck in the off season for extra income.”

  He unlocked the porch door, but instead of opening it, he turned around and studied me for several long moments.

  Any confidence I’d built bled away under his scrutiny.

  “Stay here,” he ordered. He didn’t wait for an answer before disappearing inside, leaving me to wait. The peaceful chirping of crickets was the only sound besides the ringing in my ears, and I realized that the same isolation I feared about this place was the key quality that made it all the safer. The farm was in the middle of nowhere, far from any city. The yard was big enough to see zeds coming from the woods on any side, and the trees concealed us from the roads.

  Clutch returned with an armful of rags, some rubber gloves, a garbage bag, and a couple spray bottles. “There better not be a spot left in the cab when I check it out.”

  I
nodded dutifully, taking the supplies.

  “There’s a light in the cab. Just be sure to turn it off when you’re finished. I want to keep everything fully charged in this cluster fuck.”

  “Light off when I’m done,” I replied with a robot-like tone.

  He grunted before turning back into the house.

  With a sigh, I headed back to the truck and started scrubbing away every last drop and bit of Alan.

  Four hours later, I peeled off the yellow gloves covered in brown goo and chemicals. With a sigh, I dropped them into the garbage bag and tied it shut. Even with the industrial-strength stain remover, Alan’s blood had been a bitch to scrub away, and I wouldn’t know if I got everything until daylight. I’d been desperately motivated to do a good job. I only hoped it was good enough that Clutch wouldn’t make me leave before the National Guard got the whole zed thing under control and I could return home.

  I sprayed every surface in the cab with one more round of disinfectant before turning off the light and stepping outside and groaned. I was flat-out exhausted. My arms were numb. My lower back hurt. My thigh muscles ached. Every inch of my body throbbed.

  Despite the stench, I’d kept the truck doors closed while I cleaned in case any zeds showed up. After taking several deep breaths of fresh night air, I sprayed my grimy body with disinfectant, knowing it probably didn’t do any good, but figured it also couldn’t hurt.

  The half-moon was fully overhead now, sharing just enough of its light for me to hurry to the house without tripping over anything. I was half surprised to find the porch door unlocked. Looking down at my Doc Martens, I suspected the black leather was as grimy as I felt. But, there was no way in hell I could scrub them until tomorrow when—hopefully—I could feel my fingertips again. Stepping inside, I took off my boots and left them on the unlit porch.

  A savory, meaty smell wafted forth, and my stomach growled. It was late, and I’d lost whatever had been left of my lunch after Alan died. I hustled forward, only to be blocked at the mudroom by a towering Clutch. He was wearing different clothes, and his hair was still wet. Gray peppered his stubble. Lines marked skin that had seen a lot of the outdoors.