Humanity's Death [Books 1-3]

by Black, D. S.

  Mike barely heard her. He saw what was coming towards them; he saw them coming from every direction like an enclosing circle; the dead marched against them.

  Mike wasn’t going to let her die. Not a chance. He was scared, but he was also defiant. The leader, the quarter back came out of him then. He didn’t think twice. He raised the gun and fired. His shots missed every time and the gun was soon spent. He grabbed Carla by the wrist and pulled her with him. He charged into a section of zombies and knocked them over like bowling pins, opening a hole of escape. Carla ran through the hole and then turned around. They were on him. He fought them the best he could, but no football toughness could stand up against an army of dead men.

  Downtown Marlboro was normally a quiet little area. A few shop fronts, a little traffic, but mostly just quiet days and even quieter nights. There were no bars, no tattoo shops, only good Christian folks doing their best to get along in a heathen world. Now all those wonderful Christian souls were dead or dying.

  Somewhere, it felt faraway in her mind, she heard the squeal of tires and the sounds of rapid gun fire. She was in a state of shock. Mike was on the ground looking up at her, locking his gaze on her as they ate him alive. He was screaming and crying. His tears streamed like bitter rain.

  As her knees gave out, someone grabbed her. She briefly saw the man’s face, and recognized Pinky Satterfield.

  5

  “Carla! Carla! Jesus, snap out of it!” Doctor Brown did what he didn’t want to do. He slapped her in the face, open palm and hard enough to snap her head sideways. She looked back at him with a glazed expression, then her eyes cleared.

  She reached down and grabbed the whiskey bottle. She took a pull, then sat it back down. “I’m OK. I’m OK now.”

  “How many do you see out there?” Doctor Brown asked.

  She looked out and was glad she’d taken the shot of whiskey. “Hun! I see hundreds.”

  He looked at her with fire blinking in his eyes. “I was hoping it was all a bad dream.” The gun shots outside, and coming from the other rooms, told the good doctor that this was indeed real. Death was upon them.

  Carla picked up her rifle, shouldered it, and aimed it out the window. “For Mike! For Pinky! For what’s left of this world.”

  She opened fire.

  6

  Carla popped off round after round. Outside she saw fire, rain, and lightning. She heard the blast of thunder in the sky. A bolt of lightning struck the barn.

  She looked at Doctor Brown. The fire from the barn shaded his face orange and red.

  She heard screams. The men stationed on the barn were dying. Either burning alive or eaten alive.

  She swung the rifle against her shoulder and aimed out the open window. A strong wind blew rain against her face, and she felt the heat coming off the burning barn. The scream of the dying men filled her ears. She focused down on the invading dead army. She opened fire.

  Beside her, Doctor Brown reloaded his rifle and fired again and again. There were so many everywhere. She heard them banging on the doors on the bottom floor. How long would the wood planks keep them out? Maybe they should have just ran for it? Maybe she should run now? Just her, she could make it right? No! She wouldn’t do that, but was this the end? The end of everything?

  Downstairs, the children screamed. They’d broken in. The dead were in the house.

  She fell to her knees, dropping the rifle. Her mind was spinning, her vision blurring. She felt the hands of Doctor Brown shaking her, but she was blacking out, shutting down. Better to die like this, than to die feeling anything. Just shut down. Let it all fade to black.

  Honey child, her momma used to say, sometimes you just have to let the world take you for a ride. Oh boy, was she right? And the New World had taken her for quite the ride. A real showstopper, the best damn haunted house she’d ever been to.

  She opened her eyes. Doctor Brown was at the bedroom door. He was holding it shut. Something was trying to get in. The dead had arrived, come to eat.

  Sometimes the world just takes you for a ride, honey child.

  Doctor Brown screamed. He screamed for her to help him. Help him hold the door.

  She watched as the door pushed open, knocking Doctor Brown over. He screamed as zombies tore him open.

  Carla huddled in the corner. They saw her.

  Their hungry, growling faces; their burning white-hot eyes.

  7

  Jack heard it all. Their screams, their agony, their dying. On the floor where he’d dropped it, he saw Seneca’s book of philosophy. The open door.

  But, was Candy alive? Would she come back? What if she did come back? To find what? Him ripped and torn? At least this way she would know he didn’t die screaming while being gutted by dead hands.

  What got him in this spot? How did all this happen? What idiotic philosophy brought him to this point?

  He had wanted to be some kind of hero, but instead assisted in the demise of his entire blood line.

  But now he understood; to be one with nature is to die; to conquer pain is to die. To rise above want, poverty, starvation, hate, and all the useless emotions of the human mind, one must die.

  Jack placed his pistol in his mouth, pushing the barrel down his throat.

  He pulled the trigger.

  This time Jack didn’t wake up. His brains painted the wall with his final thoughts.

  Pinky and Johnny Rainmaker

  “Stay with Johnny! I’m going to get a closer look,” Pinky said. His heart trip hammered in his chest. His worst fears were happening; his farm was on fire. The smoke billowed high into the night sky, the smell of death and burning wood scorched the air he breathed. The remaining men and the women they’d saved from Columbia hunkered down with Johnny behind a wall of trees.

  Pinky ran for the farm. His feet beat against the earth in panicked thuds. When he was close enough to see the farm clearly, his heart dropped, and he fell to his knees. Tears ran down his face. Thousands of zombies were moving around the farm. The house and barn were both infernos; nothing could have survived. They wouldn’t have run, he knew that; they would have shuttered the windows and stayed and fought. Now they were dead, the odds of them surviving in that hell was next to impossible.

  He stared at the destruction, letting the tears fall. Carla, Doctor Brown. The kids, the good men and women, all dead, eaten or burned. Everything they had worked for was going up in smoke. An entire year of fighting to maintain hope in the face of never ending despair. His farm had been an island surrounded by a sea of blood; now it had been submerged, swallowed by the New World, taken from him in the blink of an eye.

  He saw that one building was still standing. It was the small store house. It was where the extra medicine and ammo and food was stored. He stood up, wiped the tears from his eyes, and forced himself to think. Johnny would die without antibiotics, without food. They need the ammo, the food, and the medicine.

  He returned to the others and explained the situation. The pain on their faces nearly brought him to his knees again, but he had to lead them. Had to do what was necessary for those few that were left.

  He took two men with him and returned to the farm. They moved stealthily and entered the farm. They made it to the store room, gathered as much as they could carry, and started back. They each carried a bag filled with medicine, food, ammo, or both.

  The dead saw them and were moving towards them. They ran for their lives and made it back without much trouble. The fire was keeping most of the horde busy; fire for whatever reason, drew the dead like bugs to a warm light. The zombies walked directly into the inferno, their dead skin melting off their faces.

  When Pinky arrived back to Johnny, he immediately administered more morphine, then helped him swallow the antibiotics.

  Johnny looked bad, but still the man forced a smile while looking up at Pinky. It was a grotesque smile and made Pinky shudder.

  Now what? Where would he lead them now? What refuge existed for them to travel to?

/>   But he knew exactly what they were going to do. He knew that there was simply no other choice. They would hold up somewhere, a house that wasn’t in an area crawling with the dead, and wait for Johnny to heal, then they would go to the Upstate. They would go and finish what they started.

  They moved through the trees as slowly as possible. It took almost a mile before they came to a small house that once belonged to a planter by the name of Don Sullivan. It wasn’t a place they could stay for long, but it would do for one night. Pinky and a couple of men checked the house, and then brought Johnny inside. Johnny was sleeping, the morphine was working. Hopefully the antibiotics would stop infection.

  Him and one other man then went back to the farm, made it by the zombies unseen. Gathered up more ammo, food and medicine, then returned to the house. They ate a light dinner and Pinky took the first watch.

  He had taken Candy’s revolver and loaded it. It was now tucked into his belt. His own revolver was in his holster, loaded and ready.

  He sat on the porch and remembered Carla. Remembered their time in the barn, the barn that was now nothing but glowing embers, the love making they’d enjoyed now just a memory scorched in his mind.

  He wouldn’t cry, not again. No more tears, only pain. Feel the pain and accept the pain. Let the hate push you onward straight to the Mountain King’s strong hold, find him and kill him; kill them all. Pinky had a few ideas on where they could hold up while Johnny healed.

  There was an old paper mill a few miles north of their position. It had a chain like fence around it with barbwire, and he was pretty sure they could secure it. They could lay low, only leaving the building when absolutely necessary. Tomorrow, after he had a couple hours of sleep, he would go and get one of the trucks they had camouflaged near the farm. It would have gas in it. They could load the rest of the medicine, food and ammo as well.

  They may not have much longer to live in the world, but he meant to make use of what little time they had left. He meant to put a hurting on the Mountain King. It may be the last thing Pinky Satterfield did, but he meant to do it.

  Then he recalled the strange dark entity he’d encountered while unconscious. He knew it was somehow authoring much of the misery they were suffering. The Fever, and whatever the hell it did to reality, allowed that dark creature to run loose, no checks, no filters, just doing whatever it wanted; breaking minds, eating souls, darkening the hearts of men and women. Was there anything he could do to combat it? Hell if he knew, but he knew he could kill the Mountain King. The king was nothing but flesh. Corrupted, nasty, evil flesh.

  He thought about Carla and stifled a cry of rage. He bit into his clenched knuckles. The smoke still rose dark against the night sky, blotting out the moon and stars. Some of that smoke consisted of Carla. Some of it were the kids, the old gardener, the wonderful and plump Miss Thelma who always had him a hot breakfast and a big smile every morning. Doctor Brown floated somewhere in that smoke. Such a good man, a noble and intelligent man who didn’t deserve to die at the hands of zombies.

  Pinky went inside and curled up on the floor with a blanket. He was exhausted, and sleep came quickly. The dark entity didn’t come to him, but his sleep was not easy. He dreamed of Carla screaming while being eaten alive. Dreamed of Doctor Brown’s guts as they were ripped from his body. He dreamed of the screams of horror as the children hid in the cellar. Miss Thelma as she tried to protect them only to be overcome by the hoard and ripped apart in front of the kids; then the kids being ripped opened while they cried for a mercy that didn’t exist, or did they cry for their mothers and fathers, people that had already been dead for over a year? He dreamed of the cowboys as they made a final stand on the barn. Saw their screaming faces and their dying eyes. Pinky turned and twisted on the floor as these images showcased in his mind’s eye.

  Zarina

  Zarina snapped awake, hot sweat dripping down her body. She threw her sleeping bag off, and stood up; her hand removing her pistol (still snug against her hip) with wicked speed. She looked around, the kids slept. The fire had died, only red embers remained. She heard their peaceful snores. They were all in their tents; tucked in for the night, dreaming.

  She holstered her pistol, walked to the pond bank, scooped a palm full of water, and splashed her face.

  She’d felt something in her sleep.

  She had a good idea of what had nearly invaded her dreams, and the word invasion was apt because she had felt It searching, trying to find her.

  Despite her magick, she feared the spirit living in Dead Zone Black, and for good reason. She didn’t know what It was, not exactly; and she was confident her protection spells kept her and her comrades safe from detection.

  That didn’t mean; however, that she was immune to fear.

  Places like the Dead Zones, which few humans if any, could survive at least not for more than a few minutes, was not a place she ever wanted to go. Zarina wouldn’t even give herself that much time in one of those dark holes, black places where souls cried in everlasting misery. She had powers, abilities, knowledge of both the Dark Arts and the White Arts; talents and skills which empowered her current existence, and safe guarded her friends and allies, but the Dead Zones were a different place, set apart from this world while at the same time existing in the same time and space.

  She forced her fear of Dead Zone Black to the back of her mind. She had no reason to believe she’d ever need to enter that black supernatural forest of hellish pain and abandonment.

  She stayed awake a while longer, listening to the snores of children; the rumble of the ceaseless waterfall, and the breaking of twigs as animals scampered in the dark shadows around the camp. The full moon hung in the sky like a beautiful pale eye, ever watchful. The temperature was comfortable like a spring evening when the breeze is just right. She breathed in the fragrance of Mother Earth, letting the clean air clear her troubled mind.

  Insurance

  Nick Spade stared into the dark swirling eyes of General Bright. His office light was out, and the room was lit only by a small lamp, casting dark shadows against the walls and danced over blood red carpet.

  Spade’s mind was humming with thoughts. Mary Jane’s mind was easy to read. She would help him, but only to a point. She wanted to undermine him, wanted a way to fight him.

  Spade needed her. He had to find a way to make her do his bidding without causing her physical harm. He could take Tasha; threaten to torture the girl, but he worried that might backfire. He sensed Mary Jane’s efforts needed Tasha at her side. She’d developed deep, motherly and sisterly feeling for the girl. Having her tortured would not help, only cause Mary Jane to snap.

  Her thoughts gave him another avenue though. A path. A way to force her to do as he commands, willingly.

  “There are two men out there, somewhere.” He then sent a mental image he had taken from Mary Jane’s mind and sent it telepathically to Bright. “I need you to find them,” he said. He sat in his large, overstuffed high back chair. He laced his cold fingers behind his head.

  “Anything for you. Duras and Okona?” General Bright asked. He sat, his legs splayed out comfortably, staring at the mental image he’d received.

  “Silly names, wouldn’t you say?” Spade chuckled a cold sound. A cheap imitation of a human laugh.

  “Silly, indeed. Did they have something to do with Columbia?” Bright uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees; a scowl on his gray, death like face.

  “I don’t know for sure, but it’s possible. What I do know is the professor and her little friend have a strong emotional bond with them. The professor is having naughty thoughts…I need a little insurance.” Spade looked at General Bright with trusting eyes. He’d been working with him for years long before the Fever. Spade trusted him with his life.

  “A fine plan, King. I’ll make plans to leave at once.” Bright made to stand up, but then settled back into his chair, crossing his legs again.

  “I want them alive,” Spade sai
d.

  Bright nodded slowly, his swirling black eyes thoughtful. “I assumed as much. I will deliver them unspoiled.”

  “And if they have companions, bring them to the Voice. It’s going to be hungry soon,” Spade said then smiled a crooked, arrogant smile.

  “You’ve spoken with It recently?” Bright leaned forward, his interest peaked.

  As much as Spade hated the Voice, he enjoyed reminding his Guard he was the only person It chose to communicate with directly. He was the source of all their magnificent power. He was their future, past, and present. Spade said with surety: “I did. I sensed It was going on a long journey, scouring the land for our enemies. It’s going to want food when It returns.”

  Another thoughtful nod from Bright. “I’ll see that It has a feast.”

  “You do that.” He said, clapping his hands together, rubbing them together as though the dirty business had been discussed and finished. “And how are the men doing? I worry Columbia may dampen their spirits. I’d hate to lose any allegiance at such a crucial time. I really believe, once properly motivated the professor may be our answer to both the Voice and possibly the Fever as well.”

  Bright’s eyes flashed crimson for a moment, and he half stood up. “A cure? Are you serious?”

  Spade wagged his finger in warning. “I’m not making any bets. No promises. No guarantees. I’m also not counting out the chance, either. Her mind is sharp with a powerful intellect.”

  Bright sat back in his chair, resolute. “I see. Well, the men are fine. The Mist controls the regulars with ease.”

  “And what about the new officers?” Spade looked like boredom loomed over his mental horizon. He wanted this done. He wanted Mary Jane under his complete control.

  Patience. Patience.