Apocalyptic Beginnings Box Set

by M. D. Massey

  He rolled down the window and began to shoot. The bodies fell to the concrete, spilling blood on the ground. He had to reload after half a dozen, and then the death toll was at least twenty by the time he was done. He threw the rifle back on the seat next to him and continued through town to the feed store. He'd need seed for barley, corn, beets, any other garden vegetable. He’d decided on barley and soy for the fields. They'd been fertilized for years by the droppings of the cattle. His backhoe didn't have a plow, but he could jerry rig something with his equipment to tear up the soil and plant seeds.

  He’d decided to start with ten acres and see how that went. He had no experience with large-scale farming, but his mother grew a vegetable garden every year, and the starts were already growing in the quarter acre she had fenced off for it. He knew he would need a heck of a lot more food to carry on. And who knows, maybe some other survivors would find their way to his door.

  When they did, he would be able to protect them and feed them. What else was he living for if not to carry on the human race? He picked up his rifle as he parked in front of the feed store. He walked up the stairs on the opposite side of the ramp and entered the building, looking from side to side for any zombies, rifle in hand.

  There were a few farmers stumbling down the aisles, who he disposed of quickly. When Hank Obermeyer, the portly owner of the feed store, lunged at him from behind the counter, he shot the man right between the eyes. He fell on his face with a soggy thud. Cody shook his head as he lowered his weapon and walked behind the counter into the storeroom. He grabbed a flat cart and began stacking it with sacks of seeds. Fifty pounds of barley seed and fifty pounds of soy. He could always come back for more — they’d go bad after a year or so. Best to plant them now before the mold got to them.

  He'd never imagined turning the ranch into a farm, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he’d decided he knew enough about farming to make a good run for it. He wheeled his seed back to the truck and began putting it in the truck bed while his rifle rested on the tailgate. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and heard groaning.

  Mark Tate, a kid Cody used to play football with in high school, came lunging at him, his pace still fast and his body still strong. The creature knocked Cody onto his back on the pavement. His head cracked against the concrete as the monster snapped at him. He could barely keep him off his face. Mark bit at him like a snapping turtle. Cody growled and pushed with all his strength, but the boy was too strong.

  "Get the hell off me, Mark," Cody screamed, knowing his old friend could no longer hear him.

  Mark's teeth were only inches from Cody's face, and he could smell the rancid breath blowing up his nose. Saliva dripped on his cheek and Cody cringed. He wouldn't let himself go down like this. He pushed with all his waning strength and rolled over, pushing Mark away like he had in football practice since freshman year.

  He jumped to his feet and grabbed the rifle. Mark was too close to shoot, so he smashed him with the butt of his gun. It hit him in the cheek, but it wasn't enough to take him out. Mark went stumbling backwards from the blow and Cody aimed his weapon. He pulled the trigger and hit Mark in the neck. Blood gushed from the wound, but it still didn't stop the creature. Cody shot again at almost point-blank range, hitting Mark right in the temple. The explosion of blood, brain and skull sprayed in all directions. Cody winced and turned away, protecting himself from the spray.

  "Today will be a good day for a hot shower," he said, going back to work on unloading the cart. Once he had everything in the truck, he put his gun in the cart and rolled it back into the feed store for another load. Once he had half his truck bed full of seeds and farm supplies, he filled the rest of the space with stakes and electric fencing cable.

  He climbed behind the wheel and rolled down the street. He glanced into the back yard of the feed store and saw a tiller he knew he could attach to his backhoe. It was just what he needed to plow up the field, but he didn't know how he would get it back to the farm. It would have to wait for another day.

  He pulled onto Main Street, aiming and shooting at the zombies as he passed. He took out another five of his neighbors and old friends on the way out of town, his gut wrenching with each shot. It couldn't be helped. In some ways he felt it was more merciful to send them to the grave than to let them linger like that.

  He couldn't imagine his parents walking around like these creatures. He hoped that somebody, somewhere, had put them out of their misery. He drove down the road toward his ranch, strategizing how he would build up the electric fences, add more solar panels, and wire the whole damn ranch like a fortress to protect it against the zombies. He even considered building a chain-link fencing around the house, but decided to start with the electric line around the whole property. Instead of using the customary four-foot fencing, he would go for six.

  As he drove down the highway headed home, he glanced out the side window and noticed a jersey milk cow in the front pasture of his neighbor’s farm. He slowed, squinting into the afternoon glare. Was the cow still alive?

  He picked up his binoculars and peered at the creature. He could see she was as healthy as ever. And protected in a pasture by herself by electric fencing. He pulled off the road and started down his neighbor's driveway.

  He parked in front of the metal fence and grabbed a rope from the back seat. Cody gasped when he found a little calf on the other side of her, still drinking from her teat. He couldn't believe his luck. The plague had taken his entire herd. He whistled at the cow and she looked up from her grazing, slowly walking toward him. He shook a can of oats from the back seat and she picked up the pace. She wasn't wearing a halter, but she was clearly tame. He made a makeshift halter out of the rope to lead her back to the farm.

  The cow trotted up to him and he offered her a handful of oats in his palm. He dumped the rest of the oats on the ground, and the cow happily chomped them up as he looped the rope around her neck and muzzle. After she finished eating the oats, he took the can and tested the lead to see if she’d follow. She trotted along beside him, encouraged by the sweet feed. Her calf hurried behind her. The pair followed him out of the pasture to his truck. He tied her up to the back hitch and looped the line around the bumper. He didn't want to leave the calf out on the road on the way home. He walked over to the skittish creature and she almost ran away, but he caught her by the nape of the neck and scooped her up in his arms. She was less than a month old and still light enough to carry. The mama cow was anxious as Cody placed her baby in the backseat of the crew cab, but he offered her another handful of grain and that settled her down well enough to trot along behind the truck. He opened the back window of the cab and let the baby bleat out to its mother. Cody started the car and drove slowly down the highway, his new milk cow following easily behind him with the baby mooing in the backseat. He hoped the thing wouldn't poo all over the upholstery, but it would be worth it to bring home two healthy milk cows.

  As he pulled into the driveway of his home, and Felix sprinted out from below the porch. The wind gusted from the north, howling through the trees. The sound of the baby bleating made the mother cow moo discontentedly. He pulled the little one out and set it on the ground. It ran back to its mother as Cody checked the back seat for manure. The calf had done him the favor of not messing in his truck.

  When Cody stood back from the door, his reclusive neighbor Dan Jorgen tumbled toward the calf. Cody yanked his .22 from the front seat. As Dan charged at his little jersey calf, the mother started and turned to the side, blocking his shots. Cody charged around the cow and aimed. The calf ran in the opposite direction. Dan gave chase and Cody stopped to aim.

  He shot and hit Dan in the shoulder. The zombie swung around and faced him. His mouth bloodied. His jaw hung open, as if it had been dislocated at some point after death. Dan walked forward, pigeon toed and growling. He swatted at the air like a demented lunatic. Cody took a deep breath and let it out before shooting the creature right between the eyes.


  It fell face forward on the ground beside the mother cow. She was panicked and enraged, pulling against the back bumper of his truck. He put down his rifle and grabbed the can of oats from the backseat. He shushed her and said soothing words as he offered her more grain. After a few minutes, she calmed down enough to untie the lead from the bumper.

  The calf reluctantly walked back to its mother as Cody led her to the barn. Inside, he put them both in a clean stall. He filled her water trough, gave her several big flakes of hay, and another can of oats. She flicked flies with her tail and seemed content as she shuffled from foot to foot. The calf went back to nursing, and Cody rested his arms against the gate, proud of his new acquisition.

  24

  "We need to find a way to siphon gas from these vehicles," Rich said as they approached the gas station. "We should split up.”

  Babs tucked her gun into her holster as she looked around at the graveyard of vehicles and the zombies slamming around inside them.

  She wasn't sure about splitting up, but Rich slipped through the door of the gas station before she could protest. She was running low on bullets. Once she was out, she would have no protection. Instead of following him back into the gas station, she walked back to the RV and loaded her gun with another clip.

  As she walked out of the RV, Rich slipped around the back of the gas station with a gas can and a long rubber tube. She grabbed her rolling cart from the RV and decided to loot the gas station for food. Inside the minimart, the smell of rotten hotdogs and refrigerator food assaulted her nose. There was a dead zombie sprawled on the floor near the entrance. Blood spattered across the ATM and the electronic poker machines. She pursed her lips and stepped over the body, pulling her cart down the aisles. She filled it with the healthiest most calorie-dense items she could find. Beef jerky, nuts, and dried fruit, pancake mix, oil, and cake mix. When she had taken the healthiest items from the shelves, she grabbed candy bars, chips, and a couple of bottles of wine.

  Outside, Rich was already filling the tank with gas from the can. She pulled the cart into the RV and unloaded her haul. She sat behind the wheel of the RV and the keys were gone. Anger rose in her chest and heated her cheeks as she burst out of the RV, ready to confront Rich. But he wasn’t there. The gas can was discarded on the ground, the tube lying beside it. She pulled her gun out of the holster and looked around, gripping it with both hands as she walked slowly down the steps. The door swung closed behind her, slamming against the RV. She found Rich on the other side of the door, a tire iron gripped in his hands. The look on his face was cold and distant, and he grinned at her like a madman.

  Babs stumbled back, getting out of range of the tire iron as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to believe her traveling companion had turned on her, but she wasn't going to take any chances.

  "Where are the keys?” she asked, holding her gun in both hands. Her arms began to shake and her heart pounded uncomfortably in her chest.

  "I've got them in my pocket for safekeeping," he said, taking a step forward.

  She raised her gun a few inches and took another step back.

  "You can give them back now.”

  "I don't think so.”

  "Why do you want my rig, Rich?" she asked. “There's another RV right over there. Just take that.”

  "That one's ten years old," he said. "Yours is brand new. And it’s stocked with enough food for a month.”

  "Why are you doing this?" she asked as he took another step forward.

  "I learned a long time ago, I'm better off on my own," he said, taking a swing at her with the tire iron.

  Barbara’s self-defense training snapped into play and she jumped back, landing on her tired feet and jarring the joints in her knees and hips. She raised the gun and pointed it at him.

  "Give me my goddamn keys," she bit out.

  "You have guts, lady," he said. “I’ll give you that.”

  "Try me," she said, her fingers twitching on the trigger.

  "Just stay out of the way, and I'll leave you here. I'm sure you can find some other transportation."

  "This RV has all of my belongings in it. This is the last thing my husband and I purchased together. You're not taking it from me," she said, pointing the gun at his chest.

  "If that's the way you want to play it," he said, swinging the tire iron at her again.

  She jumped to the side and swung around like her self-defense instructor had taught her. She used his body motion and overconfidence against him and kicked him in the back of the knee, on the side he'd swung with. He fell forward and she raised her gun at him again.

  "This is the last time I'm going to ask for my keys back," she said.

  "You're not going to kill me, Barbara," he said. "Let's be honest here. You’re a nice little housewife from the burbs. You’ll never pull that trigger.”

  Barbara pulled the trigger, aiming at his knee. The bullet sliced through the flesh of his lower thigh and he screamed angrily with surprise.

  "You old bitch," he yelled, charging at her and swinging wildly with a tire iron.

  "I didn't want to do that, you asshole. Give me my goddamn keys, right now.”

  He was angry and frothing at the mouth but would not be deterred. The last thing she wanted to do was kill a living person, but Rich obviously had some social problems.

  "I thought you were a decent person," she grunted. "This is the last time I trust anybody."

  He didn't respond. He just growled and charged her, limping as he ran on his wounded leg. Blood seeped down his jeans and soaked into his sneakers. Babs shot again, this time grazing his shoulder. He howled with pain and dropped the tire iron as he gripped the new wound with his hand.

  "God dammit," he said, growling at her as he fell to the ground.

  "Give me the keys," she said, aiming at his head. "I don't want to have to kill you."

  "Fine," he said, shoving his hand into his pocket.

  He threw the keys at her. They skidded across the ground. She bent at the knees, not taking her eyes off him, the gun pointed at his head. She grabbed the keys and shoved them in her pocket. She backed up and grabbed the gas can and tube on her way to the door. She didn't take her eyes off Rich for a second as she climbed into the RV, locking the door behind her. She slid behind the steering wheel muttering "asshole” as she thrust the keys into the ignition.

  Barbara peeled out of the parking lot, leaving Rich in her dust as she drove away. The CD of her favorite old songs played on the stereo as she pulled back out onto the freeway. She'd known something was wrong with him all along. As much as she didn't want to be alone in this world gone mad, Barbara knew right then and there that she was better off on her own.

  25

  "Do you want one of my weapons?" Sasha asked Carlos as they walked toward her stolen SUV.

  "I've never used a weapon," he said, shrugging as he helped her unload the food into the backseat.

  "Well you better learn now," she said.

  She listed off the items she'd taken from the gun store up the street. Carlos considered it for several moments and decided that he would take a rifle. He didn't like the idea of getting too close to the zombies or having to rely on his reflexes or strength. He used to be physically fit, but the time he'd spent in the institution had left his muscles weak. She handed him the rifle and the instruction manual along with a backpack full of ammunition.

  "That's for you, then," she said. "I've got a couple more in the back.”

  "Thanks,” he said, closing the door to the passenger seat as she turned the key in the ignition.

  She pulled out of the parking lot of the grocery store, rolled down her window, and aimed her handgun at a zombie she passed on the street. She shot several times, missing the zombie completely until the fourth shot. The bullet fired and hit it in the shoulder. She swore and aimed again, this time hitting it in the head. She whooped excitedly as they passed. The zombie fell to the ground in a spray of blood and debris.

  Carlos
glanced over at the girl gleefully chuckling about her latest zombie kill. He hefted the rifle in both hands, drawing his eyebrows together. He wondered if he’d just gotten in the car with some kind of maniac. He might see things, but he didn't take any joy in killing things. All he wanted was to survive and figure out what was going on. Finding Sasha in the grocery store had help cement his reality was not a dream. He wanted to ask her about it. The question lingered on his lips. He was unable to verbalize it but he didn't want her to think he was crazy.

  She pulled back onto the highway, weaving around the stalled cars on the road.

  "Where are you headed?" he asked.

  "I don't really know," she admitted. “But I got a full tank of gas from the last time I filled up, so we might as well burn it.”

  "We should go to the least populated states to the north. There will be less zombies there," Carlos reasoned.

  "That's a good idea. We can head north through Washington and then head east through Idaho into Montana.”

  "Why don't we head east now and avoid Washington altogether?" he said.

  He had lived in Seattle for years, and had just escaped from a mental institution. He wasn't in a hurry to go back through his home state.

  "Yeah, we can take the highway east in about thirty miles," she said.

  The road was mostly clear as they drove along the river and through the deep basin cut through the mountains. He looked at the sky and watched the clouds float by overhead.

  "So where are you from?" Sasha asked.

  "Seattle mostly. I went to school there until recently."