Rapture (Apocalypse Gates Author's Cut Book 1)

by Daniel Schinhofen

Upgradable: 2/4

  Denim Jeans (Common)

  Armor: 4

  Durability: 25/25

  Upgradeable: 1/2

  “Upgraded Armor for all of them, doubled on the hat. Then increased durability for the hat and boots. That works for now,” Alvin said.

  “Increasing your stats is a very important idea,” Jarvis replied.

  “Well, I’m tapped out for now. I have a whole 260 XP left,” Alvin replied, getting up to use the toilet. “Think I’ll catch a nap, eat something, and then decide what I want to do.” Once he finished his business he laid on the bunk and curled up on the hard slab. “Need to buy pillow, mattress and blanket soon.”

  “Only if you care for comfort, sir.” The lights dimmed as Alvin closed his eyes.

  Alvin woke with a grimace. Not only were his wrists aching, also his neck was stiff and his back complained about the lack of cushion. Grumbling, he swung himself into a sitting position so he could stretch out his back and try to work the kinks out of his neck.

  “Did you sleep well?” Jarvis asked in a neutral professional tone.

  “About as well as anyone could in my situation,” Alvin grumbled as he reached for the ibuprofen. He swallowed a few of the pills with water from the sink, hoping they would dull his aches and pains. “Going to hit World Mode today.” He tossed the pills into his backpack.

  “This is where it really starts,” Jarvis reminded him.

  “I want the great big world open to me,” Alvin answered as he ordered a bowl of sustenance from the store. “First though, some sludge. I’m still upset I didn’t grab a can of pork and beans or something at the Val-Mart.”

  “You prioritized gear,” Jarvis replied.

  “Yeah,” Alvin sat on his bunk to eat his sludge. Once he was done, he used the restroom and stretched one more time, feeling his muscles easing up from the stiffness from earlier. “Well Jarvis, I’m off. Watch the house and don’t buy any encyclopedias from random strangers.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jarvis said after a brief pause.

  “I didn’t think you would get the reference. It’s an old joke from a British comedy troupe known as Monty Python.” Alvin pulled open the job board, his finger hovering over the button for World Mode. “If I don’t make it back, Jarvis, make sure to eat my personality.” Before Jarvis could reply Alvin jammed his finger on the button and the light enveloped him.

  When the light cleared, Alvin found himself in a small public restroom. He briefly examined the graffiti and random scrawls on the stalls next to him. He turned off the water from the faucet before him, which was running as if he had been using the sink. He could hear people outside the door, but no sounds of panic and the lights were all working as well which meant it wasn’t zombie time at the moment. He did a brief check of his gear to find he had everything. Fanny pack and backpack were both accounted for, his 1911 was on his hip in the holster. His pockets were full of the looted items from the hospital. He glanced down at the gold Rolex on his wrist for the time, 10:20.

  Alvin took a breath to steady his nerves before he went through the door. He turned out to be in a truck stop diner. There was a haggard middle-aged woman behind the counter looking like she would rather die than be at work, her name tag read Flo. The cook behind her visible through the service window was the prototypical bald, overweight fry cook, albeit of African instead of European descent. The only other visible person was a man of Hispanic descent sitting at the counter holding a cup of coffee between his hands.

  Not seeing anything to cause alarm, Alvin gave the waitress who glared at him a nod. The TV was blaring something about the Pope about to give an emergency address to the masses. Alvin started to walk through the diner aiming for the front door when the man at the counter turned slightly, his eyes meeting Alvin’s, “You should sit, we need to talk.”

  Pausing Alvin shook his head, “Sorry, but I need to go.”

  “Go where though? You need to hear what I have to tell you before the end comes,” the man turned his head more, the priest collar on his neck becoming visible.

  “Sorry, Father, but I’m not a religious man,” Alvin stated simply, taking another step.

  “God still has need of you, even if you don’t have need of him, son. Please sit, there is little time left,” the priest urged.

  Alvin would normally have blown the guy off and kept going, but knowing this was a game he also knew he should stop. Frowning, Alvin sat down, keeping a seat between him and the priest, “I’ll give you a few minutes, Father.”

  “Not a Father, not any more, my job is all but done. His Holiness is about to warn the world but they won’t listen. We know this, but still we try. The end is upon the world, the Rapture is about to come.” The priest took a sip from his coffee and the waitress came over to fill it up for him.

  “You having anything, or you just using the bathroom and running?” the waitress asked in a snide tone to Alvin.

  “Wish I could, but I don’t have cash on me,” Alvin replied.

  The priest dropped a thick wad of bills on the counter, “Give him whatever he wants.”

  The waitress picked up the wad with a broad grin, as she looked from the priest to Alvin, “So what do you want?”

  “Cheesy bacon fries and a coke,” Alvin replied looking at the priest, not the waitress. “You mean the literal Rapture?”

  “Yes, the spirits of the pure are going to be taken in a few minutes. You have one task set before you from the Almighty. You, Alvin Leon Lambert, are tasked with helping those who wish to survive. You must set up places of refuge and help them learn to survive the world that is to come. You will have access to things almost magical in nature to aid you in this task. But beware, all of the old evils will be freed to walk upon the Earth, along with myths long gone.”

  “Your coke,” the waitress said, putting a drink in front of Alvin as she turned to the priest. “So, you’re saying we are all damned, then? Typical priest.”

  The priest just smiled and turned his eyes to the TV, where the Pope, John Paul II, stood with microphone before him, as he addressed St. Peter’s Square. “The Lord came to me in a dream. He came to all of those who serve Him directly, be they Christian, Mormon, Jew. He came to warn us that today the Rapture would be upon us. The time is now! We did not want to believe, but we must accept His will. In just three minutes those who truly believe and those free of sin will be taken up into His arms. To those who are left behind, do not despair! You will face many dangers and trials in the days ahead, but still you may return to God’s grace.” The Pope paused as he looked at the crowd with sad eyes before he continued.

  The waitress put a plate of fries in front of Alvin with a bottle of ketchup, distracting Alvin from the news, “Huh? You believe this shit?”

  Alvin poured ketchup all over the fries and dug into them with gusto. Finally, he had something tasty to eat again. He jingled the empty glass at the waitress for a refill.

  The priest sighed as he laid his head down on the bar top, “It is almost time. Your struggle shall be hard and fraught with grief, Alvin. If you turn from your duty, though, this world will surely perish, and all of those left in it.”

  The waitress brought back Alvin’s glass, freshly filled, “Look, mister priest guy, you saying that the Pope is telling the truth? That’s just crazy.”

  Lifting his head, the priest met her eyes, sadness etched deeply into his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to try to save you, child.” With that the priest toppled backwards off the stool.

  The waitress screamed and stepped back, her eyes going wide, “Is he okay?”

  The power cut off right at that moment, prompting curses from the kitchen. Alvin took another bite of fries before wiping his hands clean with a napkin. He pulled his gun with his right hand as he took up his soda with his left hand. “He is, but we aren’t,” Alvin replied, taking a drink. He glanced at the Rolex watch, 10:27. The TV had had a scrolling bar during the news event showing the date as Septembe
r 22, 2000. The morning light streamed through the diner’s windows, providing enough light to see by. Alvin stood up and backed away from the priest.

  “Why do you have a gun?” the waitress screamed as she looked at him with big eyes.

  “To deal with those that won’t stay dead,” Alvin replied as the priest groaned and began to sit up.

  “He’s alive?” the waitress went around the counter to help the priest.

  “Don’t do that,” Alvin told her.

  “Look buddy, why don’t you just leave,” the cook said as he came out of the back, holding his chef knife at the ready.

  “I really should,” Alvin said as he backed slowly away.

  “Are you okay?” the waitress asked as she got closer to the priest, who was slowly getting to his feet in a jerky manner. She suddenly screamed again as she finally got a good look at the priest’s face and went to back away.

  Lunging forward, the former priest grabbed the waitress and bit her neck, ripping away a chunk of flesh right over the artery. The blood fountained, spraying a window and the zombie with her blood. The light inside the diner took on a reddish cast. The cook gasped and jumped the counter clumsily, to ‘save’ the waitress. All he managed to do was land badly in front of the zombie, who dropped the waitress before reaching down for him.

  Alvin watched the last few seconds with apathy, knowing that it had been all but destined to go that way. He racked a bullet into the chamber and brought the gun to bear on the zombie priest. The cook had stabbed it in the face, managing to stab it in the eye and into the brain by sheer luck.

  “I killed him?” the cook asked as the body slumped to the floor with the knife buried in its head.

  “One of them, yes,” Alvin replied as he watched the waitress lurch to her feet and grab the cook before he could pull the trigger.

  “Oh gods, help me please,” the cook screamed.

  Alvin took aim, but his first shot was low catching the zombie in the shoulder, which slid it an inch sideways. The zombie didn’t pause. It pulled the cook up, trying to bite the man in the neck. The cook squirmed as he yelled for help, making the zombie miss his neck. The zombie bit a chunk out of his shoulder, going right through the man’s shirt with no difficulty. Alvin took two steps forward to get into a better position, he hadn’t had to shoot a zombie with a live person close by before.

  Still screaming, the cook slammed his fists into the zombie’s head repeatedly even as it took another chunk for the same shoulder, “Fuck! I don’t want to die!”

  Alvin’s next shot blew through the zombie’s head, killing it instantly. He stepped back from the cook, who had collapsed to the ground clutching his shoulder and sobbing. The cook wasn’t likely to live long with his wounds, but he felt he should try to assist the man at least a little. Holstering the gun, Alvin stepped forward slightly, “Hey, you still want help?”

  The cook just sobbed as he curled into a ball in response.

  Alvin shook his head before he turned to leave. He paused to finish his drink before he walked out of the diner. An old, grey-haired guy with a nasty scar on his cheek was walking toward the diner. “You don’t want to go in there,” Alvin told the guy.

  “Did you hurt Flo and Bob?” the man asked, hefting the two-foot iron bar in his hand.

  “The priest killed Flo, the cook killed the priest, I killed the second zombie and then the cook refused my help,” Alvin replied as he sidestepped away from the door.

  “Flo is dead?” the trucker asked with a shocked expression.

  “Did you not hear what I just said?” Alvin asked taking a few more steps. “Didn’t you listen to the news a minute ago?”

  “You mean the Pope’s radio message? Why should I listen to him? I’m not Catholic.”

  Grimacing Alvin shook his head, “You’re on your own.” He walked away at an angle that let him keep the man in sight.

  “Scum,” the trucker spat before he went into the diner.

  Alvin watched him go, then took a moment to look around at his surroundings. All he could see was a long empty stretch of road running north and south. The only plant life in sight was scrub, which reminded him of the western US. He turned back to look at the diner and saw the attached fueling area for trucks, as well as a convenience store and pumps for cars set just a short way from the restaurant. There was only the one rig, which didn’t have a trailer in the parking area for trucks, and a Nissan sat in one of the parking spots near the convenience store and gas station area.

  Alvin went towards the c-store, hoping he could get some supplies before he began to walk. As he got to the door of the store though, he paused as he could see the clerk moving jerkily inside. He didn’t want to be accused of murder by the trucker, so he went back towards the diner. As he neared the doors he heard muffled shouts followed by a loud thump. Alvin jerked the doors open to see the trucker standing over the body of the cook, whose head was now caved in.

  “He turned into a zombie?” Alvin asked from the doorway.

  Looking up with wide panicky eyes, the trucker jerked his head in a nod, “He clutched his chest and stopped breathing then a few seconds later tried to bite my hand.”

  “Welcome to the end of the world,” Alvin replied. “You going to be able to hold it together?”

  “I killed him…”

  “It, you killed it,” Alvin said sternly. “That was a zombie, not a human being.”

  “Bob was a good man, though. Why’d he have to die?” the trucker asked, his voice going as numb as his face, the metal rod in his hands clattering to the bloody floor.

  “Okay, so you’re a broken one then,” Alvin sighed. “Fucking shit, why couldn’t David and Gothy have been here? At least they kept it together. Hell, even the secretary being strangled and raped by her boss did better than you.” He stepped back, letting the door close behind him as he went for the store, since he no longer had any reason not to shoot the clerk. “Ugh, this has not been a good start.” He stomped back around to the store just as the zombie shattered the glass door and staggered through the frame.

  The zombie regained its feet and walked towards him. Its jerking walk was noticeably faster than the zombies he’d encountered so far. It was moving at a normal walking speed, which made Alvin blink as he brought the gun up. “Well, fuck, they got faster,” he said as he pulled the trigger with the zombie ten feet away. The back of its skull blew out as the bullet ripped through its brain and exited at high speed. The spray of blood and brain painted the asphalt with gore, which the zombie toppled backward into.

  “Well, that clears the last hurdle here,” Alvin said as he went to the broken door and entered the c-store. He grabbed two bottles of water, tossing them into his backpack. He paused as he noticed a small interface window appear next to the bag. It showed the ibuprofen bottle as well as a single bottle of water, with a small number two overlaid on it. Chuckling, he grabbed more bottles of water and put them into the bag. Number six slotted into a different slot, so Alvin pulled that one back out. “Stackable up to a certain amount, good to know.” He set that bottle aside, and started dropping bags of jerky into his backpack. He stacked four of the same jerky before he tried to add a different flavor, only to have the second flavor take an empty spot. He nodded, and swapped out the odd flavor for a fifth package of the same sort he already had. He added another stack of waters into it, which left two open spots.

  “Water and food, check,” Alvin said as he grabbed a Twinkie and ate it, in a silent homage to a movie from his youth. “What else do I need?” He grabbed a flashlight, putting batteries in it before storing it in the fanny pack next to the bat, hammer and screwdriver he still had. He gave the store a quick search, not finding anything else of worth. When he stepped out of the store, the trucker looked up from the dead body of the clerk. “It attacked, so I put it down.”

  “You will just kill anyone, won’t you?” the trucker spat, the bloody bar from before in his hand.

  Alvin rested his hand on his gun as
he watched the trucker. “I don’t like where this is going. Why don’t you just go on back to your truck and this doesn’t end badly for you. At least, not yet.”

  “You monster, this is all your fault,” the trucker raged, spittle flying from his lips. “Everything was fine until you came. If I kill you, maybe…”

  Alvin didn’t wait for more. He pulled the gun and fired a single shot center mass on the trucker. The trucker went tumbling back, the blood that came pumping out of his body making it clear he wouldn’t last long if that shot hadn’t killed him outright. Alvin took quick steps over to the body, to find the trucker staring up at him, gasping his face scrunched in pain.

  “You did this…” blood came pouring out of the trucker’s mouth, choking off anything further.

  “You did this to yourself,” Alvin replied to the body, as he fired his next shot into the head of the dead trucker.

  He waited a few minutes, but the body didn’t reanimate, “Good, a shot to the head stops them from coming back.” He dug through the trucker’s pockets, coming up with the keys to the truck. “I wonder how hard it is to remember how to drive one of those things?” Alvin mused as he started for the big rig that didn’t have a trailer.