Pandora: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by McCrohan, Richard

  He stopped. Mike and Jack stopped also. Sean started to open the door but hesitated. He stared more closely at the injured woman’s face. Above her forehead, where the impact wound was, he clearly saw the shattered bone and gray matter of her brains protruding out. She was dead. And…not dead.

  Shuttering, Sean drove forward again. This was indeed a different world. Remembering Linda’s question, Sean looked at her, then back to the ravaged road strewn with crumpled cars and crumpled bodies.

  “What then?” he said softly. “I don’t know. I…I really don’t know.”

  PART TWO

  17

  In the United States, the East and West Coasts were hit the hardest. The East Coast from Boston to Virginia had the largest concentration of people in the country. This Mid-Atlantic area was awash with the undead. The large cities were connected by crowded suburbs. When the virus came, there was nowhere to go. Street gangs took over the inner cities. They all figured they were bad enough to kill the zombies and control the city. But they had too little ammunition, too few resources, and way too many zombies to kill. And, they found, the dead weren’t at all intimidated by posturing and bravado.

  The Midwest fared better, as the population was more scattered and better armed. With a lot of farms already fenced in, they had their defenses in place. Ranchers and farmers went out each morning and dispatched all the zombies they found tangled in barbed wire or stopped by fencing. Other spreads with infected owners were raided, their undead owners eliminated, and their vast resources plundered.

  The Northwest areas of eastern Washington, Idaho, Montana, and Oregon became a haven for separatists, survivalists, skinheads, various Aryan Brotherhood racist paramilitaries, and other right-wing extremists. Several took this opportunity to declare the collection of states a separate nation. Heavily armed bands roamed the countryside, shooting any zombies they found. This body count also tended to include any nonwhite residents, unpopular people branded liberals or commies, and Jews.

  When the so-called White Christian Army reasoned that, as a new nation, they needed their own nuclear weapons and tried to take over a couple of missile silos from the US Strategic Air Command, the military decided enough is enough. When the government sent in officials that were taken and executed, they diverted a US Air Force unit from zombie liquidation to bomb and strafe any paramilitary compounds their observation drones found.

  The Western states, with the exception of California, which pretty much suffered the East Coast’s fate, were less populated. Their huge problem was heavy incursions over the Mexican border by both zombies and fleeing refugees. With much too many coming over to be separated and quarantined for bites, they just killed anything walking across. When the frightened refugees realized it was more dangerous to go than to stay, the only beings that came across were zombies.

  The South, being more gun friendly, had a certain population base ready and willing to defend themselves. When the Pandora 2 Mutation first started overseas, gun stores quickly sold out their entire stocks of weapons. Online sales went through the roof until the websites and servers crashed from the sheer amount of hits. People were afraid, both of zombies and of criminally opportunistic individuals. As the crisis lengthened, people’s fears were realized. Stories of zombie hordes and criminal bands raping and killing increased. Soon just showing up at someone’s front door was tantamount to a death sentence.

  18

  As Michael Quinn stirred the fire, sparks flew up from the burning embers. Everyone was standing around, watching the dying fire.

  “Feels good,” said Naomi, grinning. “It was a little chilly last night.”

  They were somewhere outside of Fredericksburg, Virginia, camped in a storage unit for the night. They’d been telling war stories over their morning cowboy coffee. During a brief lull in conversation, Sue turned to Sean. “Hey, Sean. What was with that house you guys went into?” There was an uncomfortable silence. Sean, head down, looked out the corner of his eye at Mike.

  “It’s nothing, Sue,” he mumbled.

  “Nothing? I’m talking about the one in Jersey, right before we crossed into Delaware. You know, the one that had you guys all freaked out.”

  By now Sean, Malik, and Mike were fidgeting uncomfortably. Sean raised his head and looked at them. They both looked down and gave him noncommittal shrugs. Sean looked at Sue then at the rest of the group, who now were very curious.

  “Okay,” he started with a resigned sigh, “you know we stopped at that farmhouse because of all the dead zombies around it? At least two dozen of them were lying around. Especially at the front door. I figured somebody who had done such an exemplary job of killing off the dead may want some help. There were only three or four left wandering around, so it wasn’t a problem to kill them. When no one answered our shouts, Mike, Malik, and I entered.” Sean paused, as if gathering his strength. “I figured if they’d left, maybe there was food. There was none, just empty cans that looked like they were licked clean. There were some empty water bottles on the floor too. I don’t know why, but I opened the refrigerator and looked in. The power was long out, but inside were four water bottles filled with urine. Upstairs in the bedroom were two young children lying peacefully on top of the bedspread. Both had been shot once in the temple. There was a hunting rifle on the floor. The bedroom closet door was open, and the mother was hanging from it. I guess they were surrounded by zombies and had no more food and water. They’d been reduced to drinking their own pee. Their mother probably miscounted her shots and only had two left instead of three. She must have felt it was either that or be eaten by zombies. I wish we’d never gone in.”

  The women were crying, and the three guys who had gone inside the house looked devastated.

  Mike said softly, “Why don’t we get ready and get back on the road? I think it’s time to go.”

  Everyone was quiet as they gathered their belongings, kicked out the fire, and got into the cars. The sun had just come up, and they got an early start. They reentered Route 95 and continued south. The morning was beginning to warm. Having had good luck siphoning gas from abandoned cars along the way, they felt confident.

  As Sean drove, he thought about their harrowing trip south. Various events played out in his mind as fragmented vignettes. He remembered that right after they’d entered Maryland, they had found a tractor-trailer pulled off the road at a rest stop. Two other cars were sitting empty in the lot. When they got out, they found the men’s toilet stall awash in blood. Lying on his back was a zombie, his head caved in.

  The side of the parked trailer had a big picture of food on it. While they were using the crowbar to pry open the rear doors, three zombies came out of the adjacent woods. As they shuffled toward the group, Sean and Carol shot all three. Standing over the bodies, Sean pointed down at the biggest one. He was covered with bite marks.

  “I guess that one is the driver,” he said.

  The trailer wound up containing mostly fresh foods that were rotten by now. There were a few cases of canned food but not many. They took what they needed and left.

  The group had had to detour around Washington, DC. The area was overrun with zombies, but after a few close calls, they were able to pass through. They did see that the White House and the Capitol building were ringed with fences and razor wire, and around that, tangles of barbed wire, tanks, and machine-gun posts. Naomi had said it probably would be unseemly to have zombies traipsing through the Rose Garden.

  Around noon they pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a partially destroyed McDonald’s. Everyone took turns relieving themselves in the untouched bathrooms while Sean stood guard.

  Jack was checking the oil in his SUV. He had called Tommy before they’d left North Jersey and after realizing he’d left his car charger back at the house, told him that to save battery life, he would turn his phone on only once a day at three o’clock in the afternoon for fifteen minutes. If Tommy was efficacious at securing the compound there, he was to call Jac
k within that time frame.

  Carol came over and looked under the hood with him.

  Jack glanced up. “Hey, Wonder Woman. How are you doing?”

  Carol looked over and gave him a small smile. After reinserting the dipstick and closing the hood, Jack paused then leaned on the grille and looked at Carol.

  “I know it’s probably none of my business,” he started, “but well, you know, you sure didn’t seem to be the kind of action-movie warrior that you’ve turned out to be.” Carol stared at him, silent. “And, uh, well…uh, I mean…” he stammered.

  Carol lowered her head and sighed. For a few more moments, she was silent, and Jack thought he had made her mad. Finally she glanced at Jack then looked off into the distance.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said. “It’s done on purpose.”

  “W-what do you mean?” asked Jack, confused by the vague answer.

  “I used to live in San Francisco,” she started. “I was a nurse there too. Had a nice life.” She looked back at Jack then down. “When I was younger, I liked to go out a lot. Met what I thought was a great guy. We seemed to have a lot in common, and impetuously I moved in with him. Then he changed.”

  Carol was looking down, rolling a small stone back and forth under her shoe.

  “Maybe he not so much changed as he stopped hiding who he really was. He started to hit me. He constantly belittled me and screamed insults in my face. I was…stunned. I don’t know why I stayed. I was just…I don’t know…so intimidated. He threatened to kill me.

  “Finally, one night, he came home really drunk. He was an executive at this firm and was passed over for a promotion. He was furious. I’d never seen him so mad.

  “First he started hitting me. Then…he raped me. I was crying and trying to get away. As he grabbed my hair and pulled me back, I hit him. I was so scared. The minute I punched him, he just stopped. No yelling, no cursing. He looked at me, and his face lost all expression. It was as if his eyes had turned into black marble stones. I tried running again, but he grabbed me and dragged me into the bedroom. After two hours of beatings and torture, he passed out.

  “I got out and called the police. He was arrested and sent to prison. I left California, came here, and said I’d never be in that position again. I made sure I dressed as unattractively as possible so no man would come up to me again. Took some martial-arts classes and bought a gun. Two, as a matter of fact.” She looked up at Jack, smiling slyly, and said, “Got pretty fucking good with them too.”

  “You know,” said Jack tenderly, “not all guys are pieces of shit like he was.”

  “It was just easier not having to deal with anyone else.”

  “I’m very sorry you had to go through something as horrific as that,” Jack stated. “But”—he looked at her—“you are pretty fucking good with guns.”

  She laughed. Sean came up, smiled, and said, “I guess it’s time to take this circus back on the road.”

  They all climbed into the vehicles. Before closing the car door, Jack called out, “We’ll stay on this road for a couple of miles and see what we find before heading back on the highway.”

  They’d been taking Interstate 95 before detouring at Washington, DC. The freeway ran straight through, all the way to their destination in Boca Raton.

  As they hadn’t been seeing many zombies lately, Sean wanted to see if there were any stores they could raid. They’d been using any opportunities when the crowds of zombies had dissipated to a small handful. This usually occurred in more rural areas of the states. When this happened they’d leave the freeway, raid any stores or strip malls that were right off the highway, then jump back on and continue to travel south.

  The three-car caravan continued on this road. After passing several gutted convenience stores and a burnt-out general store, they came to the freeway on-ramp. Sean, still in the lead, was about to pull onto the entrance when a sign in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He hit the brakes. As he turned the wheel, he opened the sunroof, stuck his arm out, and pointed down the road.

  Sean pulled to the side of the road right before a strip mall. The corner store nearest them had a big sign that read, gary’s guns. After getting out of the car, Sean reached back in and grabbed the M15. The rest of the group got out and went up to Sean’s Nissan Murano.

  “Good eyes,” said Jack, smiling.

  “Let me take a look around the corner and see what the zombie situation is,” Sean said.

  He ran up to the side of the building and peered around the corner. The small strip mall was in an L shape. There were five stores going up the side of the parking lot and four stores across, facing the road. Sean spotted a zombie with a big, shaggy, red mustache standing in front of Gary’s and three more in the empty lot toward the far side. He leaned the rifle against the side of the building and reached for the hammer attached to his belt loop.

  Standing at the side of the building, he scratched the claw of the hammer against the stucco. He ducked his head as the nearest zombie slowly turned around and shuffled to the corner of the building. Stepping off the mall sidewalk, it turned its head toward Sean. As soon as he saw the milky-eyed head face him, he swung the hammer down hard.

  The peen of the tool embedded itself in the creature’s skull. Sean yanked the hammer out and swung again. This time the zombie collapsed. Stepping up and looking around the corner again, Sean saw that the three other zombies were unaware. He turned and waved at Mike and Carol.

  The three of them rounded the corner and silently went up to the entrance of Gary’s Guns. The window was broken, and the door was hanging open. They quickly went in, looking around. The store was empty. Sean looked out to make sure the undead were still undisturbed. Mike walked over to the largest display counter. The glass was smashed and the contents emptied.

  “This place had been cleaned out,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing left. Everything’s been taken.”

  The three of them searched the store from top to bottom, opening all the cabinets and drawers. They found some boxes of 9mm ammo in the back of a cabinet and some loose rounds on the floor for the rifles. Mike also found a .22 squirrel gun that none of the previous looters seemed to have wanted.

  Carol walked into the office in the back. She stood at the doorway and looked in. The room had been ransacked. There was a pool of blood on the floor, and the safe was open and empty. Sean walked over and looked in, immediately noting the framed photo on the wall of two hunters standing over their kill; the shorter man on the left sported a prodigious red handlebar mustache.

  “Looks like whoever looted this place took more than guns. My guess is the zombie I just wasted was Gary.”

  Carol nodded and walked in, staring at the safe.

  “C’mon Carol,” said Sean. “There’s nothing left here.”

  As Sean turned to walk back into the store, Carol put her arm up. “Wait,” she said in a clipped voice. “Something looks funny with that wall.”

  She walked over and looked behind the safe. Turning to Sean, she said, “Help me move this.”

  With both of them pulling and tugging, they gradually moved the safe away from the wall. Carol slid behind it and, after removing her knife from its sheath, slid the blade into a faint seam in the wall. She pried it open, and then she and Sean removed the concealed panel and put it aside.

  “Oh, yeah,” she exclaimed, a big smile plastered on her face. “This is what I’m talking about.” She reached inside, saying, “Finders keepers.”

  To Sean’s amazement, Carol pulled a fully automatic Yugoslavian M70BA2 with a curved thirty-round magazine out of the hidey-hole.

  “Holy shit!” he exclaimed.

  “Yeah,” said Carol, “and there are five more full AK thirty-round mags here too. Along with several boxes of ammo.”

  Carrying her find out into the store with Sean, she said, “Hey, Mike.”

  “Whoa, looks like you hit the mother lode,” Mike said, turning.

  The three stood there, admir
ing the assault rifle.

  “There’s a camping store at the end of this strip mall,” Mike said. “We should check it out.”

  They sidled along the row of stores, still undetected by the three zombies at the far end. Reaching the camp shop, they found that door had been forced open also. Sean put his hand up and slipped inside. A minute later he waved them in.

  “All clear,” he confirmed.

  Entering, Mike said, “This hasn’t been as picked clean as the gun shop. The cash register is open here too. I guess they were just looking for money.”

  Carol pointed at a display. “Just look at those sleeping bags. I’m so sick of sleeping on a bare floor or in the car.”

  “We’ll take one for everyone,” said Sean. “There are also lanterns and canteens, and I see water-purifying tablets. Salt tablets too.”

  Mike peered through the intact store window. “If we’re taking this much stuff, we need to take out those three,” he said, pointing to the zombies in the lot.

  “Okay,” said Sean. “We’ll do it like we did Gary. Get something to bash them with, and then hide close to the door while I make a little racket.”

  “Why not just shoot them?” asked Mike. “There are only three, and it would be a lot safer.”

  “I would,” responded Sean, “but I don’t know how many more are lurking nearby. I wouldn’t want us to walk out of here, arms full of sleeping bags, and find the parking lot chock-full of zombies.”

  They all took their places, and seeing them ready, Sean tipped over a display. The ensuing crash immediately got the ghouls’ attention, and they headed toward the open door. As the three zombies entered the store, Sean stood up and slipped behind the last one.

  “Hey, Zippy,” he hissed.

  As the creature turned his head, Sean hit him with three rapid strikes to the skull. Pulling out his bloody hammer, Sean retreated as the body dropped.

  The other two turned toward Sean, growling. One was a woman in a ragged housedress. A big chunk of her matted salt-and-pepper hair had been pulled out, leaving a red bald spot. The other, a man who looked to be in his thirties, was hard to look at. Most of his left cheek was ripped away, with tattered ribbons of flesh hanging down. His teeth—all the way to his back molars, top and bottom—were exposed, giving him a grim half smile that went to his ear. Blood soaked his red-and-white plaid shirt.