Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  Jada scrambled back to her feet, grabbing a granite cutting board from the counter. Her undead ex jumped up, knife still lodged soundly in his abdomen. He lunged at her once again, his teeth chattering. As he charged, she swung the heavy cutting board, hitting him hard in the temple.

  His head jerked to the side with the impact. He fell to his knees and toppled forward onto the knife. His weight pushed the knife through the bone and the tip sliced through the back of his shirt. He gave one last jerk and stopped moving, his head bashed in from the impact. Jada stepped backward, her shoes coated in blood as she slid down the wall, wailing in disbelief. What had she just done?

  She slid to the ground and buried her face between her arms and knees for a brief moment, sucking back the sobs. The shock threatened to overtake her, but her parental instincts jolted her back to awareness. Niah. She scrambled to her feet and slid across the bloody kitchen floor.

  “Niah!” Jada screamed, rounding the kitchen counter into the living room.

  Tiffany’s mutilated body lay across the white carpet, blood soaking into the fibers. Jada cringed at the mess for a split second, distracted enough to miss the subtle twitching of the disemboweled corpse.

  The babysitter sprang upright like a hinge, her eyes vacant and her half-eaten jaw hanging from her once cherubic face. Jada had little time to think or react before the girl launched herself to her feet.

  Jada stepped backward slowly as the zombie approached, her head tilting from side to side as if examining her prey. The knife Jada had used to stab Rick was still stuck deep in his gut, and the granite cutting board had slid across the kitchen floor to disappear under the refrigerator.

  Jada scanned the room, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. She grabbed the large brass candle stick she and Rick had received as a wedding present and brandished it like a mace.

  The zombie sprinted toward her. Jada sidestepped the monster and swung, smacking the back of the girl’s head. Tiffany’s corpse shuddered and fell face first in the hallway. With one more jerk, she went still and didn’t move again, the back of her head completely caved in.

  Jada let out a small cry of horror and dropped the candlestick.

  “Baby? Mommy’s here. Where are you, sweetheart?”

  Jada padded through the house, searching each room of the two-bedroom condo. She first stopped at the master. There was no one in the bedroom, but the bathroom door hung open at the other side of the room.

  She tiptoed into the bedroom and peered through the bathroom door. It was empty. She turned and hurried through the room to check the hall bathroom. Filthy, but unoccupied.

  She finally came to the end of the hall where her daughter’s room had been located all of her eight years of life. A bloody handprint smeared across the door. Jada had left this room for last out of the sheer horror of what she might find. If her baby had been turned, she didn’t know if she even wanted to go on.

  She gripped the handle and tried to turn. It didn’t move. Locked. Hope rose in her chest, and she knocked on the wood.

  “Niah, it’s Mommy. It’s okay. You can come out now,” she said, gulping down the fear surging inside her.

  Slowly the doorknob turned, and the door cracked open. Niah shook like a leaf in a tornado, her eyes wide and glazed from shock.

  “Daddy…” was all she said.

  Jada dropped to the floor and hugged her daughter to her chest.

  “You don’t have to worry about him anymore, baby. I took care of it.”

  Niah sucked a ragged breath and hugged her mother tight. Silent sobs racked her tiny body.

  “Mommy’s going to take care of everything, baby. It’s all going to be okay,” Jada said, trying to make herself believe it.

  3

  Cody Hawkins hadn’t heard from his parents in three days. When they hadn’t answered their cellphones on the first day, he’d figured they were both just busy at the cattle auction in Cheyenne. After another two days with no contact, he was beginning to imagine the worst.

  Since then, the satellite TV news had filled his head with images of the most gruesome horrors. With the electricity out the ranch had shifted onto generator power.

  He only let himself run the generator at night, when he needed light to study for his online classes. With the internet out, he wasn’t sure why he kept up with his studies. It just seemed the responsible thing to do. Eventually, this whole zombie apocalypse thing would be sorted out, and he’d want to be on top of his school work.

  Only, it wasn’t getting sorted out. When he’d checked the news this morning, all but one channel from Japan was nothing but static. He didn’t understand Japanese, but he didn’t need to speak the language to hear the panic in the unkempt reporter’s voice; to see the images of zombies roaming the streets of Tokyo filling the screen before he turned it off and shut down the generator.

  With his parents gone, it was left to him to run the ranch. He took the old Chevy pickup and filled the back with bales of hay from the barn. The spring grass was still too full of water to nurture his herd. The smell of mud filled his nostrils as he closed the gate behind him and his tires squished through the wet field. Then he stopped short in the middle of the pasture, the sight before him burned into his brain.

  A group of five cows stood over the body of a young heifer, her bloody insides hanging out of a gaping hole in her side. The other cows had their faces buried in the hole. He had to blink and rub his eyes several times before his mind was willing to believe what he saw. Holy hell.

  He stopped the truck and let it idle for several long minutes as he pulled his rifle off the rack across the back window. His stomach revolted, and he nearly threw up. When he swung the door open, the cattle feasting on the downed heifer lifted their heads in the direction of the movement.

  Taking a deep breath, he lifted his .22 and aimed at the closest cow. With the squeeze of the trigger, the bullet whizzed through the air, hitting it right between the eyes.

  Its knees buckled under it, and it fell face first into the green grass. The other four cows bolted toward him, their eyes glazed and vacant. The movement alerted the rest of the herd further off in the field. They turned their heads in unison and started a stampede toward him.

  Cody didn’t wait to think. He threw the rifle into the truck and turned fast, charging at full speed toward the gate. The electric fences were powered by solar panels, but the gate was shut.

  The cattle were charging fast, reaching full speed. His truck shuddered and creaked as he pushed it to forty miles an hour over the bumpy dirt and mud of the pasture. He made it to the gate and jumped from the truck, swinging the gate open.

  The cattle were gaining on him faster than they should have been able to run. He jumped into his truck and sped through the gate, nearly falling out as he screeched to a stop on the other side. He swung the gate closed and bolted it with only a moment to spare before his entire herd bashed against the metal rails.

  The fence would not last long. He backed the truck against it, hoping to hold them off long enough to do something, anything, to save himself and his home. As he sat in the cab of his pickup, he briefly considered abandoning the ranch and the monstrosity that was his family’s herd. They’d break through the gate soon enough, even with the back of the pickup pushed against it.

  He opened the glove compartment and found three boxes of bullets and an extra magazine for his .22. It wasn’t nearly enough ammo for an entire herd of undead cattle, even if he shot each and every one right between the eyes.

  He sighed and shook his head. The ranch had been in his family for five generations. His parents had saved the place from foreclosure and the tax collectors more times than he could count. Would he let something like a herd of zombie cows rob him of his legacy? Not on his watch.

  There were plenty more bullets in the workshop, but what would he do when those ran out? He knew how to make more ammo. His father’s hobby was gun collection, and Cody had learned from a young age how to fill she
lls with gunpowder. Two kegs of powder sat in his dad’s workshop right now.

  That gave Cody an idea. Shooting every cow would take forever. But what if there was a faster way?

  He slid from the driver’s seat, gun in hand, and shielded his eyes from the early morning sunlight as he gave the herd one last look. It was them or the ranch, and Cody chose the ranch. That gate wouldn’t last much longer, and neither would the electric fence. Cattle bumped against the electrified barbed wire and bounced off it like jolting bunnies. It seemed to keep them back for now. But it wouldn’t last long.

  He turned and headed to the shop where he filled a red wheelbarrow with a half full keg of powder. If this didn’t work, there would be no Plan B He passed his truck on the way toward a stump near the fence. His rifle rested in the wheelbarrow next to the keg. Loaded .22 magazines filled the pockets of his denim jacket.

  He wasn’t sure how far he could chuck a keg of gunpowder, but it was going to have to be far enough. He only had one shot at this.

  He lifted the keg onto the stump and climbed on top. Bending his knees, he hefted the keg over his head, warming up his throw. It was heavy as hell above his head, but he was ranch kid strong. If there was ever a time to use his strength, it was now.

  Cody swung the keg over his head back and forth a few times, gaining momentum. He counted, one, two, three, and then chucked it into the pasture as far as he could. It landed about two yards inside the fence, and he yipped with excitement.

  The cattle saw the movement and began to slowly amble toward it. It seemed like they’d lost their strength, and their movements were noticeably slower than during the stampede.

  He grabbed his .22 and backed away, waiting until the cattle gathered around the keg. He stood still, hoping not to draw their attention. His finger twitched on the trigger as he lined up the keg in his sights. Just a little bit longer. Just a bit closer.

  He waited, sweat trickling down his temple. Soon the entire herd was within blasting range. He couldn’t let them block his shot or this would all be a useless waste of time and gunpowder.

  He gulped, waiting just another second before he pulled the trigger, his bullet slicing through the air. It cracked through the metal wall of the keg. In one glorious blast of light, the keg ignited and blew at the center of a ring of cattle.

  Cody shielded his eyes with his jacket and turned his back to the blast just in time to avoid the flying debris of cattle skin, bone, muscle, dirt and sand.

  When he looked up at the burning mess of scorched bodies, the smell of cooking, rotten flesh assaulted his nose. On top of the grotesque sight and the disgusting smell, he’d broken the fence line.

  At least a few dozen zombie cows had survived the blast, having been far enough from the keg to avoid the explosion.

  Cody slowly backed up and the cows noticed him through the open fence. He aimed at the first cow. Her side was blown in, but her head was still intact. He knew enough about these creatures from the news to know you had to kill the brain.

  He let out a deep breath and lined up his sights on a black Angus heifer, a yearling with her first calf still in her belly. He pulled the trigger and the bullet pierced her skull, sinking into her brain. She fell in her spot and didn’t get up. But that only brought the attention of the two dozen remaining zombie cows.

  They’d slowed even more since the blast had torn holes of one kind or another into most of them. A few of the faster ones charged toward him, but they were slower than normal cows now.

  He disposed of three more cows and when he pulled his trigger again, he found his magazine was empty. Cody fumbled in his pocket and quickly loaded another mag.

  A zombie cow had managed to get disturbingly close, and Cody backed up instinctively. He didn’t see the root under his foot until he was flat on his ass. Scrambling to his feet, he took aim at the charging cow, but missed, slicing off a hunk of ear.

  He turned tail and ran toward the house, hoping to gain ground on the monsters that had once been his family’s prize possessions. He turned and found they’d gained some renewed vigor, running across the barnyard toward him.

  He aimed again, steadying his hands with a slow breath in and out. Cody pulled the trigger and the bullet shot the oncoming cow in the temple. She shook her head, giving off a haunting groan of a moo and fell on her side.

  He breathed a sigh of relief as he lifted the rifle again and took out another six cows, one after another. He removed the empty magazine and once again loaded a fresh one. There were still another dozen cows to take down. They came at him slowly, but now he was getting the hang of it. One by one, he took them down, reloading as needed until the last was down. He lowered his rifle, assuming it was over.

  It wasn’t.

  He heard a grunting moo behind him and the sound of a scratching hoof. He turned to find the family’s prize bull, Dillinger, between him and the house.

  He’d been in the cows’ pasture to breed the late season calves, and Cody shook his head at this misfortune. Dillinger, who was tame enough for your average thousand-pound Angus bull when living, didn’t seem very happy to see Cody. The bull huffed through his nostrils and started the charge.

  Cody aimed his gun and pulled the trigger to the most agonizing click he’d ever heard in his young life. Dillinger closed the distance between them so quickly, Cody barely had time to think. He pivoted to the left and charged toward the shop.

  Running as fast as his booted feet could carry him, he made it to the sliding door of the shop just in time to throw the sliding door shut behind him. The bull hit the door with the full force of his weight and undead strength.

  Cody reached into his pocket, looking for the last loaded magazine. Nothing. He ran to the supplies of ammo as Dillinger continued his assault on the metal door.

  “Fuuuuck,” Cody swore, knowing his momma would not have approved of his language.

  He grabbed an empty magazine and started loading bullets. He shoved it into the stock just as Dillinger busted the hinges on the sliding door. The bull pushed into the shop as Cody raised his rifle.

  He shot once, missing the bull’s skull by a few inches, which only made him madder. He charged at Cody, his energy drained from the sprint across the yard.

  Cody aimed and fired, shooting the beast between the eyes only a few feet away. The animal skidded across the concrete, sliding to Cody’s feet in a bloody heap. His heart slammed in his chest as sweat trickled down his brow. He felt sick to his stomach.

  Cody sank to his knees, a tear sliding down his cheeks. It was done. He’d killed each and every last one of his family’s cattle. He didn’t think things could ever get any worse.

  He was wrong.

  4

  Babs Hollister filled her wheeled cart with cans of refried beans and corn from the pantry, happily humming to herself. She and her husband Henry were finally taking the leap.

  They’d been planning this trip north for almost a year. With the RV purchased and sitting in the driveway of their suburban Phoenix home, she was living a dream come true. She’d been so consumed with preparing for the trip that she'd barely thought of anything else for days. As she wheeled her cart outside into the front walk, she noticed her neighbors next door scurrying into a car and peeling out of the driveway.

  The elderly man was usually slow and methodical in his everyday life, so the sight of him behaving like a teenager threw her off. She shrugged and continued pulling her cart down the driveway where she opened the door to her RV and lifted the cart inside.

  At sixty-five years old, Babs was still strong and healthy for her age. She knew they still had plenty of good years left and wanted to spend her golden years seeking out new adventures with her husband Henry.

  Henry had worked as an engineer for the city of San Francisco for decades. When he’d retired last year, they moved to Arizona. Since settling into retirement, Babs had noticed Henry was taking a turn for the worse. She expected it had something to do with his time at the golf club. Rathe
r than playing golf with his pals, they sat around the clubhouse drinking and smoking cigars. Babs was determined to get him away from those bad influences.

  She’d started bugging him about buying an RV with their nest egg at Christmas time so they could travel north for the hot summer months. Their daughter lived in a small town outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming, and had invited them to stay there as long as they wanted.

  Temperatures in Phoenix could reach a hundred and twenty degrees at the height of the summer. After living in the cool and temperate climate of San Francisco her entire life, the heat from their first summer in Arizona had kept her inside for months. Something Babs was not fond of. Henry had finally given in a month ago, and to her utter delight, they'd put a down payment on the RV.

  As Babs stocked the shelves in the RV with the rest of the cans from her pantry, she thought of her husband. He’d been the love of her life for over thirty years. With a wistful sigh, she imagined the new adventures and exciting experiences they would have together in this stage of their lives.

  Babs had spent most of her life as a housewife, but she was still the more energetic of the two of them. When her children had graduated from high school and left home on their own, Babs filled her time with walking with her gal pals, weightlifting, and aerobics. She’d even considered taking up kung fu, but when she’d discussed it with Henry, he’d told her not to be ridiculous.

  Henry was a good husband and usually supportive of her zany ideas — something she couldn't say about many of her friends’ husbands — but he couldn't wrap his head around her wanting to punch and kick things at her age. She had finally talked him into letting her buy a gun for her new hobby of shooting at the gun range.

  Her Lady Glock, as she liked to call it, was her prized possession. She stopped for a minute to open the locked drawer in the RV where she kept the weapon. She gazed down at the black matte metal, caressing it with her fingertips as if she were tickling the chubby cheeks of a baby. She grinned and closed the drawer, locking it behind her.