State of Decay
Peggy Martinez
Table of Contents
Prelude: Oh How the Mighty Fall!
Part One:
Twelve Hours “Before”
The First Day
Take the Fucking Head Shot
Undiluted Zombie B.O.
Part Two:
Six Months After the World Went to Shit
Just Me and Bobby McGee
Life Sucks and then You Die . . . If you’re Lucky
You’re THAT Girl
Ain’t That Some Shit
Part Three:
Risks and Rewards
A Foraging We Will Go
High School Still Sucks
M-M-M-Madness
We All Live in a Yellow Submarine
Deafening Silence
Part Four:
We All Float Down Here
Road to Charlotte
Welcome to Belmont
We Ain’t in Kansas Anymore
It’s a NOPE from Me
Germain! Germain! Germain!
If You Don’t Know Me By Now
No Paddles Available
Plan? What Plan?
It’s All So Fucking Hysterical
Diversion Delivered
Zombies vs. Tanks
Zombie Bait Ooh Ha Ha
Hope. It’s What’s for Dinner.
About the Author
State of Decay
A “State Of” Novel
by Peggy Martinez
ONE DARK HORSE PRESS
An imprint of One Odd Bird Press
www.onedarkhorsepress.com
STATE OF DECAY
A “State Of” book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © Peggy Martinez 2014
Cover design by Dean Samed
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictionally. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
To live without hope is to cease to live.
~Fyodor Dostoevsky
PRELUDE
Oh, How the Mighty Fall!
Despite what you’ve been told, the Apocalypse doesn’t begin with fire raining down from the heavens, nor does it begin with the human race falling on their faces in supplication before a triumphant god. No, the sounds of the Apocalypse are much more terrifying than that. I should know, I’ve heard them, and hearing the world tumble into chaos around me is not something I’ll ever forget.
The first sounds were just a buzzing really, buzzing of the television newscast in the background of our house, like so many other homes in America. Just the news playing in another room while we all went on about our day-to-day lives.
The reports were of something happening far off—not to us—so it didn’t worry anyone all that much. The sound of reporters and mainstream media feeding us all a bunch of hoopla to keep the masses entertained and calm when they should have been telling everyone what was really going on and how to protect themselves and their families.
And my family, like most others in the world, fed into their lies and sat idly by while an epidemic swept through the world when we were all sleeping in our beds, assured of one thing: we were too advanced a people, too evolved a species, to ever tumble into a dark age of death, destruction, and chaos.
Oh, how the mighty and powerful fall.
Have you ever heard the sounds of mass hysteria or the sounds of a Boeing 767 plummeting from the sky to crash land in your neighborhood?
It isn’t a pleasant sound.
There is a deafening roar as the plane falls from the sky and lands on top of houses you walked past only the afternoon before, an explosion so loud, you swear you’d never hear again.
And then the screaming.
Dear God, sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still hear the screaming. Even to this day, when my adrenaline’s pumping, when I find myself in a tight spot, or I know I’m this close to dying, there’s a flashback of that sound, a sadistic mix of tearing, screeching metal, and gut-wrenching screams that echo inside my skull, making me dizzy.
And then there are the sounds that don’t make sense to you, the ones you can’t place . . . the ones that your brain can’t comprehend, even if everything is playing out right before your eyes in all its Technicolor glory.
PART ONE
Twelve Hours “Before”
“Mel, you going to be on that phone all night?” My dad asked from the kitchen. I could smell the buttery popcorn coming from where he was preparing a big bowl for us. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, my cellphone clasped between my shoulder and ear, while I searched for our favorite Bugs Bunny and Pepé Le Pew DVD from beneath the TV stand.
“I’m getting off!” I shouted back with a roll of my eyes.
“Let me guess,” Jess, my best friend, said on the other end of the phone. “IT, Bugs Bunny, or Jerry Springer reruns?” I should have been affronted, but she was right. Dad and I kind of had a weekend ritual. Some of our favorite movies and shows, tons of snacks, and a lot of sarcastic commentary. I shrugged.
“I’ll have you know we threw in some Pepé Le Pew for good measure,” I answered with a smirk. Jess’s snort told me she was unimpressed.
“This is why you need me there,” Jess said.
“At the very least, I’d drag your gorgeous behind out once in a while to shop and meet hot guys.” I laughed at that. Hot guys indeed. I was sure of myself in a lot of areas, but in the romance department, not so much.
“I wish you were here too,” I said. “But you know me.” She giggled.
“Yes, I do. Remember that time I convinced you to go with me to the old movie theater because of Miguel?” She snorted and I smiled.
I did remember. It had been just before my mom died.
It had been a good day.
“Come on, Mel, you know you want to.” I threw a fry at Jess and smirked when she ducked to dodge the greasy bomb sailing her way. I did want to go, but that was beside the point. She didn’t let up.
“You know what they’re playing, don’t you?” she asked in a sing-song voice. The old movie theater in town was playing Benny & Joon, one of my all-time favorite movies, for their Thursday Throwback feature show. All that awesomeness for a throwback ticket price of one dollar.
“You probably also know Miguel will be there too, right?” My eyes widened and Jessica giggled. I hadn’t known that. All that sexiness and he’d be going to watch a chick flick?
Swoon.
“I’d love to, Jess, but I probably shouldn’t tonight,” I said with a sigh. “I have tons of homework to catch up on and I’m supposed to spend some quality time with my dad making fun of Jerry Springer reruns.”
I laughed when Jess choked and ranted because I’d used the terms “quality time” and “Jerry Springer” in the same sentence.
When it came down to it, though, Jess didn’t push. She never did. She knew my real reason for not going out, but she understood that I didn’t want to talk about it, and that made her the best friend in the world. My mom’s surgery had failed, her brain tumor was more aggressive than ever, and I spent all of my free time with her.
“Well, don’t blame me if Miguel has a hard time keeping his hands to himself. I am pretty fabulous, you know.” She flipped her long, blonde hair and winked
at me.
“You still there?” Jess asked. I snapped out of my memories.
“Yeah. Listen, are we still on for a girls’ weekend?” I asked, suddenly needing to spend some quality time with her. Even though we’d been living in Light Oak for a year now, I really didn’t have any friends to speak of. Jess was pretty much it and she was hours away in Charlotte.
“Of course!” She answered in a squeal. I pulled the phone away from my ear with a grimace, but still smiling.
“Great. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can make plans. I’m sure my dad will be glad to get rid of me.” My dad had just walked into the room with the popcorn and two huge root beer floats.
Yum.
“Who’s getting rid of whom?” he asked.
Dad sat the bowl down on the scuffed-up coffee table that housed board games beneath. “You want to ditch your old man, that’s fine. But don’t lay the blame on me.” he said with a raised brow. His eyes were bright and smiling.
I loved his blue eyes. I’d inherited my mom’s hazel eyes and I was glad I saw her in myself when I looked into the mirror, but I had to admit, having dad’s eyes would have rocked with my long, black wavy hair.
I sat the DVDs on the table and heaved myself off of the floor.
“Jess, I’m going to let you go. I have a root beer float calling my name.”
“Sounds good,” Jess said with a laugh. “I know how you are about your root beer floats.”
We both giggled at that and dad sighed, rubbing a hand over the sprinkling of salt and pepper stubble along his jaw. I narrowed my eyes.
He looked tired tonight.
“Night, Jess!” I said brightly before hanging up the phone. I popped a DVD into the machine before plopping down on the sofa next to dad. He handed me a root beer float and sat the popcorn in between us on the dark brown leather couch, picking up his own float.
“Is everything okay?” I asked dad as the movie began playing in the background. Dad sighed.
“I think so,” he said just a bit hesitantly. I frowned. This was like my dad.
“What’s going on?” I asked before taking a big bite of vanilla ice cream.
Oof. Brain freeze.
“You know those news reports I’ve been watching?” Dad asked. I nodded.
We’d seen some reports on the news the past few days about some kind of disease or something killing a hundred or more people in Chicago. A few other major cities were now saying it had spread there as well.
Everything that was being reported had been pretty vague though.
Just the normal everything’s under control and try not to go out if you’re feeling sick type of warnings.
We didn’t exactly live in a big city so I hadn’t given it much thought.
“Is it something we need to worry about?” I asked my dad, a bit of apprehension beginning to seep into my voice. Dad’s shaggy brows scrunched up in thought before relaxing again after glancing at my face.
He shook his head as if to shake away a bad feeling.
“Nah,” he said after a moment. “Nothing to worry about, hun.”
I sat for a minute longer wondering if he was just saying that so I wouldn’t worry or if he meant it, but a moment later, he’d relaxed and laughed at the shenanigans of Pepé on our television. I relaxed a fraction next to him, completely confident my dad could take care of anything that could come our way.
We spent the next hour laughing and watching our show together and my heart completely forgot about everything else.
It was a wonderfully normal night.
The First Day
The entire house shook with a boom and the sudden sound of shrieking metal was so loud it tore us from our beds. Several windows in our home shattered at once, signaling for me to hit the ground even in my half-asleep state. I was my father’s daughter after all.
Several moments passed where I listened to the sound of ripping, metal landing outside, and things crashing all around the neighborhood before things quieted down, leaving only the sounds of screams in the early morning semidarkness.
I wondered vaguely if perhaps two semis had collided nearby.
My dad had always said that the intersection near our home was entirely too dangerous.
An accident waiting to happen.
I feared he may have been proven right. But even that I didn’t think could make quite as much noise as I’d just heard. Rising slowly from the dark green shag carpet on my bedroom floor a few minutes later, I made my way cautiously into the living room to find my dad.
I glanced out of a broken window and blinked several times, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Destruction was the first thing I noticed. So much devastation.
Maybe a tornado had touched down. That would make sense to me.
My neighbors were making their way out of their homes, the ones that weren’t demolished or on fire, that is. All the rest of the homes on the street were dark, no electricity at all. Instead, not too far off in the distance, a huge fire was burning. Everyone was staring in that direction.
I saw my dad talking to our elderly neighbor, Mr. Howe. He glanced over at our house, his eyes catching on me where I stood in front of the window before jogging back over.
“It looks like a plane crash landed,” my dad said as he came back through the front door.
“Oh my god,” I muttered. My hand was still clutching my chest. I couldn’t believe it. What were the odds a plane would crash so close to our house?
“Go and prepare a bag,” my dad said tightly, his bright blues eyes crackling with energy and fear. The fear in his eyes made me pause. I’d never seen that look in my dad’s eyes before.
“And the handgun,” he added quickly. My eyes widened. He walked quickly to his room without another word. I stood rooted to where I was in the living room, wondering if he was testing me, which had been his habit over the years.
Just in case the shit ever hit the fan, my dad had explained.
I was playing his words over and over again inside my head, like a scratched up CD that couldn’t get past the deep gouge in its surface, but I still hadn’t jumped into action. I could tell something was off this time and I froze up as a result.
My dad was rushing through the house, hollering for me to get a bag together and to be ready to leave if he gave the word. Then he ran out the front door toward the plane wreckage to search for survivors.
That’s who my dad was, a hero.
I could hear my own labored breathing—harsh to my ears—as I hurried to my room and grabbed my beat up, army green backpack and shoved random stuff inside of it, not really seeing what I was doing, not really paying attention to whatever crap I was packing. I threw a black tank top over the blue one I was already wearing, discarded my Cookie Monster pajama bottoms in favor of black cargo pants, and made sure to yank on my most worn-in black combat boots, lacing them up quickly.
I’ll be right back, don’t worry. Everything will be fine, Mel. Go get the handgun and bullets and put them in your bag.
I ran to my dad’s room and unlocked the gun case stowed in his closet and made sure to do exactly what he told me. My dad had been an officer in the Army for over twenty-five years and I knew he wouldn’t have told me to get the gun if he didn’t honestly believe there was some kind of threat looming.
I found a camouflage rucksack, what my dad referred to as his “bug-out bag”, in the bottom of his closet. After making sure the safety was on and the gun was loaded, I stuffed it, and all the ammo I could find, in the bag and then headed to the kitchen.
I grabbed everything I thought that my dad would have told me to. Bottles of water, beef jerky, granola bars, cracker packs, a bag of apples, and a pack we always had ready in a closet for when we went camping, which was often. The screams from outside were getting louder, which only intensified the ache pounding through my head.
A few moments later, I stood in the middle of our living room with no idea what to do next. I wanted to drop everything and run
to help my dad, but I knew that wasn’t the smart thing to do. So, I stayed where I was, barely breathing as I listened to screams and the wail of sirens in the distance.
I’m not sure how long I stood in the living room, wondering if I should go in search of my dad or hang tight like he’d told me to but light began filtering in through the broken windows as the morning progressed. Uneasiness wormed its way into the pit of my stomach, a prickly sensation at the back of my neck, and a sense of dread settling around me like a thick fog.
When my mother was alive, she used to tell me that I had a sixth sense about me, that all the women in her family did, but I never really put any real stock into what she was saying. After all, what good is it to have any extra “senses” if they didn’t help you out in any way?
Regardless, something was shimmering right out of focus, something niggling in the back of my mind that things were never going to be the same, that after that day my world would forever be changed.
When my dad swung open the front door later in the morning, I had dozed off on the couch with my backpack still on and the rucksack sitting on the coffee table in front of me. My dad glanced around the house, his eyes slightly out of focus, as if he wasn’t really seeing anything around him.
Covered in dirt and grime, his normally army-approved hair sticking up in different directions like he’d run his hand through it too many times to count, he turned in my direction without looking at me.
“Dad?” I whispered gently.
His head swung around and his eyes met mine, and I knew right then that he’d seen some horrific things through the night. I just didn’t know how horrific. I walked over to stand in front of him. His face was more haggard, and his laugh lines had deepened into worry lines. There was a shadow behind his blue eyes that wasn’t there just last night when we were laughing and eating popcorn while watching our favorite Pepé Le Pew episodes on DVD.
State of (Book 1): State of Decay Page 1