Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  He was handsome in a hard way. Maybe it was his eyes. There was an intensity in his gaze. Even without his tattoos, he would’ve had an aura of power.

  Or, maybe it was because he had a pistol leveled on me.

  My eyes widened as I met his gaze.

  He grimaced. “Relax. If I was going to kill you, I would’ve done it outside where you wouldn’t make a mess.”

  I chortled. Like that made me feel any better.

  It was then I noticed that he was also holding a rag and a small bottle of gun oil. “You were cleaning your gun.”

  He looked me up and down before narrowing his eyes. “Take off your clothes.”

  I pulled together the collar of my utterly destroyed shirt. “What?”

  “I don’t mean it that way. Jesus.” He ran the back of his hand over his face. He laid his weapon on the washer, reached behind him, and pulled out a garbage bag. “You’re covered in zed sludge, and I don’t know how contagious that shit is. Everything’s got to go. I’ll burn it tomorrow.”

  He held open the garbage bag. I shot him a hard glare while I unbuttoned what was left of my shirt.

  He sighed. “Don’t worry. I won’t look. You’re not my type, anyway. Too scrawny.”

  “Scrawny?” I asked but received no response.

  Clutch kept his word, looking over my head while I stripped out of my disgusting clothes. I stopped at my bra and underwear. “Nothing soaked through.”

  He glanced down and grimaced, like he wasn’t enjoying himself. I scowled. I wasn’t that hard on the eyes, and I was petite, most certainly not scrawny.

  “Turn around,” he ordered. “I have to check.”

  I gingerly spun and felt his eyes on my back. I shivered, more self-conscious than I’d ever been in my life. If I’d known how this day was going to turn out, I wouldn’t have worn a thong. Then again, I would’ve done many things differently.

  “I think they’re savable,” Clutch drawled out in a rough voice. “Throw both in the wash when you’re done with your shower.”

  Turning back to face him, I covered my chest as best I could with my arms, though thankfully Clutch was busy looking anywhere but at me.

  “The shower’s upstairs. Second door on your left. I set out something you can wear for tonight. Dinner will be ready by the time you’re done.”

  “Got it,” I said and hustled past him.

  “Oh, and Cash…”

  I paused.

  “Be sure to scrub good and hard,” he called out behind me. “You’ve got bits of your boyfriend’s brain in your hair.”

  Bile rose in my throat, and I bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Once in the bathroom, I took deep breaths, refusing to look in the mirror. When I had control of myself again, I pulled off my remaining clothes in a rush, cranked on the shower, and hopped in before it was warm.

  The cold water that ran down the drain was brown at first, with little flecks of things I didn’t want to think about. I set the water as hot as I could stand, grabbed the washcloth, and started scrubbing. Clutch clearly wasn’t married, because the shower/tub combo only had a bar of soap and a bottle of generic shampoo.

  I washed my hair three times before I felt relatively confident that it was clean. And, I scrubbed at my skin until it was red, standing under the spray until it was lukewarm.

  Stepping out, I grabbed the towel left out on top of a thin stack of clothes, and dried myself off. I caught my breath when I looked into the mirror. Dark circles underlined my bloodshot eyes. Fresh bruises marred my chest courtesy of Melanie. I looked like shit, plain and simple.

  Picking up the clothes he’d left, I found a pair of white long john bottoms and a gray T-shirt with ARMY across the front. Both were huge on me. The shirt nearly went to my knees, and the bottoms slid down every time I moved. Sifting through the well-stocked medicine cabinet, I found a couple large safety pins and tightened the long johns around my waist.

  I couldn’t find a brush, so it took ten painful minutes to finger-comb through my snarled, unconditioned mess. Finally, my strands began to resemble hair again, with its bold red streaks interlaced with the black. Reaching for the dental floss, I pulled out a long strand and used it to tie my hair back before it snarled all over again.

  Glancing down at the discarded pile of underwear, I grimaced. I really didn’t want to touch anything that I’d worn today. I probably should’ve tossed it, but I went ahead and wrapped the towel around the tiny pile of undergarments and carried everything down to the washer in the mudroom.

  I walked past the kitchen on my way to the mudroom, and saw Clutch pulling plates from a cabinet. His back was to me, though I had no doubt he knew I was there. His back was broad, like he worked out every day. He was well over twice my size. Part of me felt safer, part of me worried how easily he could overpower me.

  My stomach growled loudly, and I hustled to the mudroom. After stuffing my dirty clothes in the washer along with Clutch’s clothes that were already in the tub, I went double-duty with the detergent, and started it up.

  When I returned to the kitchen, he handed me a cold beer, silverware, and a plate covered with a huge steak, a baked potato, and steak sauce poured over the entire thing. He motioned to the living room. “I eat in there.” He grabbed his own beer and dinner, and I followed him, taking the couch when he claimed the recliner.

  I dug in before opening the beer. I was thirsty, but I was even hungrier. With the plate on my lap, I sawed at the T-bone, cutting off the next piece while chewing on a piece twice the size I should’ve cut. “This is really good.”

  My words were muffled as I chewed loudly, but Clutch seemed to make them out. “It sucks wasting a good T-bone on the stove, but I don’t know how long the grid will stay up. Figured I may as well clean out the freezer now.”

  I swallowed, the steak going down painfully hard in my suddenly constricted throat. I cracked opened the beer and took a long swig. I hadn’t even thought about losing electricity. What else would give out? Water? Phone lines?

  Stores would be closed, which meant no fresh food. My sudden reality made me set my fork down. “How long do you think it will be until the military makes it safe again?”

  His left brow rose. “I think it’s already too late. The outbreak spread too fast and too hard. If we didn’t get out when we did today, I doubt we’d be talking tonight. You better start getting used to this way of life.”

  “But the military—”

  “Doesn’t stand a chance against millions of zeds,” he interrupted. “It’s a numbers game. The zeds are spreading too fast. There’s no way our guys can keep them in check. Not without nuking every populated area. And that would also take out any survivors.”

  The next bite tasted like cardboard. And the one after that. If nearly everyone turned into a zed, there wouldn’t be anyone left to fight them. Even soldiers weren’t impervious to a zed’s bite if they were caught unaware or without ammo.

  If I hadn’t hitched a ride with Clutch, I’d still be in Des Moines, surrounded by zeds right now. Out here, miles from any town, I was relatively safe. More important, I wasn’t in this alone. I looked up. “I have skills.” Not really. “I can help.” I have no idea how. “Give me one more day, and I’ll prove it.”

  He shook his head and held up a finger. “The deal’s for one day.”

  “An extra pair of eyes and an extra pair of hands can’t hurt. I can help,” I added.

  “Do you know how to fire a gun? String a snare?”

  “I can learn.”

  “It would take you months to become proficient, even if you had the aptitude for it.” He leaned back. “You’ll only slow me down and eat my food.”

  “Then I’ll go out and get us more food.”

  “First time I take you with me, you’ll get bit, and then I’ll have to put you down.”

  “I’ll be careful.” I jutted out my chin. “Besides, I killed a zed today.”

  “Really?” The corners of his mouth curled
upward. “And exactly how did you manage that?”

  I thought for a moment. With sheer luck and a miracle. “With a ‘wet floor’ sign.”

  He looked confused at first, then smirked, but shook it off. “You’ll be a drain. You’ll use up more resources than you could possibly bring in.”

  “I’ll go get us whatever we need. If something happens to me, then you’ll be on your own again. It’s a no-lose situation for you.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Not good enough. I’m not set up here to take in strays.” He looked up, his gaze hard with resolve. “The deal was for one day. Come tomorrow, you’re on your own. I’ll get you to a car, but then we’re done.”

  I wanted to argue. God, I wanted to beg him to change his mind. Instead, I looked down at my plate and gave a tight nod.

  Clutch turned on the TV, and flipped through channels. It looked like nearly all the channels were offline. Only one news channel remained, and the reporter was giving updates on the major cities. With the TV as a backdrop, we finished the meal in silence.

  When Clutch stood, I came to my feet. “Here,” I said, reaching for his plate. “I’ll clean up.”

  He probably thought I was trying to show him how I could help, and he’d be right. He eyed me for a moment before holding out his plate. “I’ll secure outside. When you’re done, there are a couple plastic jugs I set out. Fill them with water.”

  “But you’re out in the country,” I said. “Don’t you have well water?”

  “I do,” he said. “But the pumps still need electricity. I have a manual pump outside that will still work if the power goes out, but that’s no reason to not be prepared in case it’s too dangerous to leave the house.”

  “Oh.” I headed toward the kitchen and paused. I debated for a moment before asking, “Do you have a phone? I’d like to call my parents. They’re still in Des Moines.”

  A flash of sympathy flashed on his face, and he pulled out a cell phone and set it on the side table. “I tried to make a call earlier but couldn’t get through. Phone lines are probably still choked.” The look on my face must’ve bothered him, because he added on, “But go ahead and give it a shot.”

  “Thanks.”

  He left without another word, and I went about cleaning up. After filling the five-gallon jugs, I sat on the couch and watched the cell phone still resting on the side table. I’d been putting off the call, afraid of having my worst fears confirmed. After cracking my knuckles, I grabbed the phone and punched in my parents’ number.

  Call Failed.

  Next, I tried to send a text message.

  Message failed.

  “Damn it,” I muttered, tossing the phone on the cushion next to me and leaning back, covering my eyes.

  “No luck?”

  I jumped at Clutch’s voice. “Service is still swamped. I’ll try again in the morning.”

  He turned away.

  “Need help with anything else?” I scanned the room, and my eyes fell on the windows. “I could help you board up the windows.”

  He followed my gaze. “I’ll get to those tomorrow. I’m far enough out of town that as long as we keep dark and quiet, we should be okay for tonight. From what I’ve seen, zeds operate with minimal physical acuity. It won’t take much to defend this place against a few who find their way near the house.”

  “I can help in the morning,” I offered hopefully. “Many hands make light work, you know.”

  He watched me. “Get some sleep, Cash. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

  He turned and headed up the stairs. He didn’t say I was staying. But he also didn’t say I was leaving, and I clung onto that tiny splinter of hope.

  “Why do you call me Cash?” I asked as I followed him upstairs.

  “You were dressed like Johnny Cash when you jumped onto my truck.”

  “Oh.” I thought for a moment “I guess I do wear black a lot.” I glanced down at the oversized T-shirt and long johns. “But not always.”

  Clutch showed me to the guest bedroom containing only an old dresser and a full-sized bed. No pictures hung on the wall. The bedding was flannel and, though dated, looked enticingly comfortable.

  I pulled back the comforter and found myself shoved onto my stomach. Clutch’s weight bore down on me from behind. My face pressed against the mattress. I tried to fend him off, but he managed to pull my arms behind my back, and I heard the zip of a plastic cord as it tightened around my wrists.

  “Fucking asshole!” I yelled out, kicking, while he all too easily did the same to my ankles.

  “You keep going on like that, Cash,” he murmured from behind me. “We’re going to have zeds from a twenty-mile radius upon us.”

  I quieted, kicking at him as he backed away. No matter what he had planned, I refused to go down without a fight. “Asshole,” I muttered.

  Clutch pulled the comforter out from under me. I tried to roll off the bed, but he pulled me back and then, surprisingly, covered me with the blankets. He positioned the pillow under my head.

  Frowning I looked up at him. “What are you doing?” My voice cracked.

  “I don’t want to wake up to find a zed loose in my house,” he said before walking to the door, where he paused. “If you don’t turn, I won’t have to kill you in the morning.”

  Then he turned out the light and left me alone in the dark.

  4

  I bolted awake at the sound of a thunderous gunshot. My wrists and ankles were free, the plastic ties lying in broken pieces beside me. I jumped to my feet, and every muscle in my body protested. With a wince, I made my way to the window. The sun had not yet peeked above the trees bordering the backyard, but in the glimmer of morning light I caught sight of Clutch dragging a body and disappearing around the side of a smaller shed.

  A zed? Someone else?

  I scanned for more signs but found nothing. The yard stood empty except for a large vegetable garden that had been tilled for spring planting and three, twenty-foot cylinders of propane sitting side-by-side. Beyond the yard stood acres and acres of woodland, making it impossible to see if there were more intruders out there.

  The birds had started singing their morning songs again, which meant my hearing hadn’t been permanently damaged by the shotgun blast yesterday. The birds chirped like the world was peaceful, but they lied. The world was deadly and vicious. And, instead of getting ready for work, I was about to head out and fight for my life.

  I rubbed the pink scrapes that marred my wrists where I’d wriggled to pull free last night, but the plastic hadn’t stretched. I wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend that it was Wednesday—not Friday—the day before the world I knew ended. But, I needed an early start if I was going to find a safe place before dark. After a quick stop at the bathroom, I headed downstairs to find Clutch sitting in his recliner, decked out in camos, eating eggs, and watching the news.

  “Breakfast is in the kitchen,” he said without taking his eyes off the TV.

  I wanted to strangle him for what he’d done to me last night. But while I’d lain in bed, working at my restraints, I’d realized he was protecting himself. To be honest, I would have done the same if I’d been in his place had I thought of it. This whole time I’d been thinking of how bad I had it, never once thinking of how bad he had it. Clutch had allowed two strangers—one infected—into his truck and brought one of those strangers into his home. Before I’d fallen asleep, I’d made the vow to myself to let go any remaining anger.

  I’d enough to deal with the way it was.

  I stepped into the kitchen to find fried eggs, bacon, and toast already on a plate. After having a huge steak dinner, I was surprised that my stomach was already growling. Then again, running for your life burns a lot more calories than punching keys on a computer.

  I took my seat on the couch and dug in while watching some national news channel. The reporter looked ragged, like he hadn’t slept or been home since yesterday. A map of the United States was behind him with red Xs over e
very major city. The map then expanded to the world, showing parts of Europe and much of Asia in red.

  “The infected are considered dead by all medical definitions, but yet they continue to move…and feed,” the reporter said. “For lack of a better term, they are undead. Their bodily functions, such as heart rate and blood pressure are nonexistent. Their blood has congealed and they will not bleed out, which the CDC believes accounts for their stiff gaits.

  If you must come into contact with the infected, use extreme caution. Destroying the brain stem is the only known method of killing an infected. Due to lack of blood flow, the brain seems to be their only critical organ. A bullet directly through any other normally vital organ, such as the heart, has proven ineffective. However, they can be incapacitated by decapitation or removal of limbs, but they will continue to pose some risk even incapacitated.

  The high fever that sets in before the virus takes over seems to destroy most brain activity, which means they can be outsmarted if you do not panic. The infected are violent and hungry and do not seem to require rest. The CDC believes that their insatiable hunger is caused by the superbug altering the hypothalamus in a way to promote transmission of the virus. While a bite is the fastest way to transmit the virus, any direct contact with infected saliva or blood may lead to infection. Even a small open wound, such as a scratch or blister, carries risk of infection. The CDC does not believe the infection can be transmitted by mosquitoes or through contact with animals bitten by the infected, but that doesn’t rule out the possibility of infection through those means.

  We have reason to believe the virus originated from a new biologically engineered pesticide where the cells were coated with silica. When the pesticide was combined with a specific cleaning agent, the cells were shown to mutate.

  There is no cure. Infection rate is believed to be at or near one hundred percent. Once infected, the virus will take control of your body, and you will either die or turn violent. This was all the information we received before we lost contact with the CDC.”