by M. D. Massey
He narrowed his eyes. “Think about it. We have limited food, limited supplies. Yet, too many people to do anything efficiently. Thinning our numbers for the strongest to survive has been the way of every species throughout history.”
“But that’s so…heartless,” I said, finding it hard to breathe.
He chuckled. “There’s no room for that sort of thing in this world.”
“You’re wrong,” I said coldly. “There’s no room for you in this world.”
He and I looked at one another for a split second. A wide grin crossed his face. “Your rifle’s empty.”
I dropped my weapon and pulled out my machete. The rifle had served its purpose as a prop. It had gotten me in front of Doyle.
He lunged, and I was too slow. We crashed to the floor, and the machete slid across the floor. He was strong for his age, stronger and bigger than me. I wasn’t able to buck him off, so I rolled, squeezing out from under him. He caught me from behind and put a chokehold on me.
I couldn’t breathe and knew I only had seconds before the lack of blood to my brain would render me unconscious. I threw my head back in an attempt to break his nose, but I hit his collarbone instead.
He grunted and then chuckled. “I’m going to have fun killing you. Clutch took Missy from me. I wonder how he’ll like it when I kill his whore.”
I pulled out my knife and stabbed him in the fleshy softness on his side.
He cursed and his grip weakened.
I shoved back onto him and rolled myself off, jumping to my feet. The room was spinning but my tunnel vision was slowly widening.
Doyle pulled himself up, holding his side. It looked like a shallow wound, just enough to piss him off.
“I’m going to keep you alive even longer for that,” he snarled out.
Someone knocked, and Doyle turned toward the door, “Get in here now!”
Whoever was on the other side yelled something and started kicking at the door.
I pulled out the last grenade from my pocket and pulled the pin. Doyle’s eyes widened.
I smiled. “You had it backwards. I’m going to have fun killing you.”
I tossed the grenade.
He rolled behind his desk. The grenade bounced off the wall behind him. He raised his rifle at me and sprayed bullets across the room.
I dove onto the table, knocking it on its side as I tumbled to the floor.
The room exploded.
I swam in a sea of vertigo and a high-pitched ringing. My body was numb and yet hurt everywhere at the same time. A faint pounding echoed somewhere in the distance. I dragged myself toward the overturned desk and clawed at the body lying there. I saw six glassy eyes staring back at me with my triple-vision, and I collapsed on my back. The floor felt less solid here. I rolled over and felt around the wood. I pried at a floorboard, and it lifted easily, revealing darkness below.
I pushed myself in and crashed onto the rough-hewn floor. Rifles tumbled down, nearly suffocating me. The floorboard snapped shut, leaving scanty light filtering through the cracks above.
I clawed out from under the rifles to an open space. My fingers wrapped around an ammo clip. There were more weapons down here than Doyle had ever received from Camp Fox. Clearly, Doyle either had other connections or had been preparing for war for a long time.
A door slammed open and boot steps pounded the floor above me.
“Doyle! No!” A man’s voice yelled, and the shuffling of boot steps increased.
They’d find me. Within a few seconds, I’d be dead. I no longer cared. I’d done what I had to do. Doyle would never hurt Clutch or Jase or anyone else ever again. I closed my eyes and the noise above me faded into oblivion.
I woke up.
It was pure dark in the hole. Not even a splinter of sunlight fought through the cracks.
I sat up, and every cell in my body hated me for it. Pushing through the pain, I felt around the wall until I found a light switch. With a click, fluorescent lights lit up a basement that went the length of the building above it. It was filled with racks and racks of rifles, surplus gear, food, and wooden crates. Not far from where I sat was a desk with what I guessed to be radio equipment.
All the time Tyler had searched for Doyle, he’d been quite literally under our noses.
Shaking my head, I pulled myself to my feet. My leg hurt worse.
I stood there for a moment.
I was still alive.
I wasn’t a zed.
I’m alive!
Hope infused my muscles and I climbed the ladder behind me. I listened for long minutes for voices or movement of any kind. When silence greeted me, I pushed the floorboard up and pulled myself onto the floor.
The clear night sky blanketed the room with enough glow that I could see Doyle’s mangled body still lying prone near the desk. I was surprised the Dogs hadn’t moved him unless…
I crawled to the blown-out window and peered outside. Across the campground, zeds shambled, several with shaved heads. I ducked and glanced at the door standing wide open. It was only a matter of time before a zed discovered me.
The gates were too far away. I’d never reach them with a bum leg. I’d seen no vehicles. The silos were halfway across the camp.
A dark shape hovered near the door, and I pushed myself to my feet and pulled out my knife. As soon as the zed crossed the threshold, I shoved the blade through its temple. It collapsed, and I saw two more zeds turn toward me.
I stepped over the zed and outside into plain sight. Something moaned to my right, and I swung, hitting a zed’s shaved head just as its arms reached for me. I twisted to my left, leapt onto the broken window ledge, and grabbed the edge of the roof. The knife tumbled from my grip and clinked as it bounced off the ground. With every ounce of strength, I pulled myself up. One of the fresher Dog zeds had nearly reached me by the time I pulled my feet up.
Panting, exhausted, I dragged myself onto the roof and rolled onto my back, staring into the night sky, the one place incorruptible by zeds.
I saw Clutch, wearing one of his rare smiles, reaching out to me for a dance. Standing not far from us were my parents, holding each other’s hands and watching us with warm love in their eyes. Jase and Mutt were playing fetch. He looked up and laughed.
It was a good dream.
A soothing peace came over me, even while the zeds moaned and shuffled below.
I’d survived hell. Maybe there was such a thing as hope after all.
Taking a deep breath of fresh air, my body relaxed, and I smiled up at the night sky full of stars.
The saga continues in
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DEADLAND’S HARVEST
The seven deadly sins, with a shambling twist
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Afterword
100 Days in Deadland is set in near-future Midwest America decimated by a zombie plague. In this truly unique story, our heroine, Cash, and her guide, Clutch, are forced on a journey through hell that echoes the one Dante and Virgil took in the “Inferno,” the world-renowned first poem in Dante Alighieri’s epic medieval tale, The Divine Comedy. In both tales, there are nine circles of hell that must be survived, and the thirty-four cantos of the “Inferno” are reflected in the thirty-four chapters of 100 Days in Deadland...reimagined zombie apocalypse style.
100 Days in Deadland follows the pair of survivors, caught up in the sudden rush of the zombie plague, which begins on Thursday, the day before Good Friday. Once thrown into Dante’s “Inferno”, Cash and Clutch come across the three types of sinful beasts: the self-indulgent (zombies), the violent (survivors), and the malicious (Doyle, who represents Satan).
In each circle of hell, Cash and Clutch witness the same sins that Dante and Virgil had many centuries ago. However, where Dante often stood on the sidelines, Cash is thrown deep into the action. As Cash progresses through each circle of hell, she is changed by her environment. And, like Dante, Cash
survives each circle by holding onto hope, having faith in her guide (Clutch, who represents the poet Virgil), and demonstrating unrelenting perseverance.
Like Dante’s “Inferno,” 100 Days in Deadland is a story of the human condition, showing how our experiences change us. You will find violence, heartbreak, and tragedy. However, you will also find perseverance, compassion, and hope. Dante’s “Inferno” also lays out four key components of every apocalyptical (and even every zombie) story: the end of the world as we know it, cause and effect of the human condition, perseverance, and—as shown in the poem’s last line—enduring hope:
“It was from there that we emerged, to see—once more—the stars.”
Symbolism to the “Inferno” is lush on nearly every page of 100 Days in Deadland, from the obvious call-out, “Abandon all hope all ye who enter here” in chapter three to the subtlest hints, such as Cash shooting awake to the sound of a “thunderous” blast at the beginning of chapter four. The weather, such as the violent winds and storms starting in Lust (when Cash and Clutch come across the victim with pale lips at the corn bin, i.e. the “carnal tower”), echoes both the atmosphere of the “Inferno.”
In chapter six, Cash ends up in a cafeteria full of hungry zeds, not much different from the sixth canto, which held tortured souls cursed with “insatiable hunger.” In chapter seven, when Cash and Clutch arrive at the Pierson farm, they find money left on the table, a modest reminder of the Dante’s message that money can’t buy peace.
Doyle’s camp represents Dis, the evil city in the Inferno that holds the darkest secrets and the most violent and treacherous sinners. Its true name is implied in chapter eight by the sign reading Doyle’s Iowa Surplus, where only the capital letters are easily recognizable in the faded paint, foreshadowing that the camp will play a pivotal role in the final circle of Hell, where Cash must defeat Doyle.
In addition to Cash taking a journey parallel to that which Dante took, hundreds more echoes of Dante’s “Inferno” can be found in 100 Days in Deadland. But, the story you just read is not and never was meant to be a replacement for Dante’s “Inferno.” It is not designed to help you get an “A” in English if you read this novel instead of Dante Alighieri’s epic poem. This story was meant to be an enjoyable read, which I hope is exactly how you found it.
CDC Case Definition: Zombiism
Zombiism (Marburgvirus Zonbistis)
2013 Case Definition
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CSTE Position Statement
19-ID-52
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Clinical Description
Zonbistis is transmitted to humans by direct exposure to infected tissues. The disease is characterized by clinical death, congealed blood, jaundice, stiff gait, insatiable hunger, and severe violent propensities. Infected hosts display minimal brain functioning. To promote transmission, Zonbistis enhances activity in the hypothalamus, thus increasing the host’s appetite and likelihood of biting, although the infected have shown less interest in eating, and the underlying reason has yet to be determined. The virus has proven extremely resilient and virulent, continually replenishing itself within its host. Only severe trauma to the host’s brain stem or destruction of the virus through fire is believed to eradicate the virus in the host.
* * *
If exposed to the virus, infection rate is 99.998%. There is no known cure. Upon initial infection, Zonbistis will take over its host anywhere from seven minutes to three hours, depending on severity of initial infection, level of injuries, and the host’s physical condition. At the point of the host’s clinical death, the virus is considered to have taken over.
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When first contracted, initial symptoms include acute or insidious onset of fever and one or more of the following: headache, sweating, diplopia, blurred vision, bulbar weakness, hypoxia and/or dyspnea, nausea, vomiting, and shock.
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Laboratory Criteria for Diagnosis
Detection of Zonbistis spp. in clinical specimen or isolation of Zonbistis spp. from wound or ingestion.
* * *
Case Classification
Suspected: Symptoms suggestive of Zonbistis.
Probable: A clinically compatible case with presumptive laboratory results.
Confirmed: A clinically compatible case with confirmatory laboratory results.
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Comments
The virus is believed to have originated in a genetically modified pesticide undergoing testing in Brazil. When the pesticide was combined with an organic cleaning agent, the silica-coated cells of the pesticide were shown to have mutated into Zonbistis.
About the Author
Rachel Aukes is the award-winning author of over a dozen books and has been featured by USA Today and the Huffington Post. When not writing, she can be found flying old airplanes and trying (not so successfully) to prepare for the zombie apocalypse.
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* * *
www.RachelAukes.com
Highway Z
Genesis
Ana Nix
Copyright © 2018 by Ana Nix
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Introduction
In a world forever changed, the normal rules don’t apply ...
After a mysterious virus wipes out most of the world’s population, the dead begin to rise again, ravenous for the flesh of those they once knew and loved.
Freelance coder and single mom Jada Williams escapes from the Bay Area with her daughter, heading for the temporary safety of her grandparents’ Tahoe cabin.
Tucker Cross, a military vet who loves no one and nothing more than his next drink, is ready for the world to end. But that doesn’t stop him from killing to stay alive.
A young rancher with only his cat for company … an RVing grandmother searching for her daughter … a streetwise bike thief and a troubled biochemistry student … in the bleak light of a devastating new day, some will do their best to help what’s left of humanity.
Others, like the real estate appraiser whose real passion is murder, thrive on the chaos and allow their most vicious instincts out to play.
And you? You better be locked and loaded, because the zombies are coming … and you’re what’s for dinner.
1
A high-pitched squeal woke Tucker Cross from his alcohol induced slumber. Groaning, he rolled over and slapped at the clock radio. He missed and fell out of bed, hitting his knees on the cold linoleum floor.
“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling himself to his feet and trying to comprehend the fevered words spilling from the radio.
“This is a message from the emergency broadcast system. Viral infection has spread out of control. Stay indoors and avoid contact with infected.”
Tucker pressed the heel of his palm to his eye, pulled it away and then blinked hard, trying to come back to his senses. News of a deadly viral infection had been sprinkled throughout the news for the last week.
All along, Tucker had thought it was just another tactic to frighten the masses into buying whatever would be advertised for their protection. But in the last few days, the news of infection had increased until even he could no longer ignore it.
Amy murmured sleepily from the bed, something about turning off the damned radio. Tucker couldn’t agree more. As he finally steadied his hand well enough to hit the off button, the announcer updated the body count. Ten thousand, one hundred fifteen dead across the western states.
When he’d passed out the night before with a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and Amy Brice’s tit in the other, the body count in Nevada had been fifteen.
His brain didn’t quite register the next part of the announcement — something ab
out the dead not staying dead. Amy pulled the covers up over her slim, pale form and snored softly as Tucker stumbled through the trailer, looking for whiskey, or coffee, or both.
He stumbled into the kitchen and pulled the instant coffee out of the cabinet. He filled his dirty mug with piss-colored tap water and threw the mug in the microwave. When the microwave dinged, he pulled out his hot cup and spooned in a helping of grounds.
As he stirred, he walked across his single wide and opened the blinds on the front window. The yellow glare of late morning blasted his eyes as he squinted out at the world. Still naked, hung over, and sporting a half-mast morning wood, he thought at first that he might be seeing things.
It could have been a trick of the light that made the man stumbling over his garbage cans look gray and deformed, but after rubbing his blurry eyes again, Tucker was convinced he wasn’t hallucinating.
“Amy,” he shouted across the trailer. “You’ve got to see this.”
Amy was a girl he slept with on and off. She wasn’t what anyone would consider a potential girlfriend. Not even Amy herself. He was pretty sure she had plenty of other “nighttime fun” partners; some who offered her financial compensation and some who didn’t. Tucker never paid for her company, though she was cute enough. He wasn’t the type of man who paid for things he could get for free. Still, Amy was a friend in most respects and he knew a walking corpse was something she’d want to witness.