The Sixth Extinction America Omnibus [Books 1-12]

by Johnson, Glen

  Juan was low on the pecking scale, but they knew not to mess with each other’s families; she would be safer there than at home.

  He missed the gang, but he knew he couldn’t stick around. Before the outbreak, they had skirted the law. Six of the thirty members were serving time for a collection of offences, from armed robbery to grand theft auto. However, there was always a certain line, even though it was crossed, and they knew there could be consequences. But when the outbreak started and police became scarce, then the rules changed. It became too dangerous to stick around with Bonnie.

  After everything started to become serious, and the true nature of the outbreak became obvious, it started to become too dangerous to leave the house. They were stranded with their father. Along with his binge drinking, and the heightened situation the world over, he became impossible to live with. He also watched Bonnie too closely. He always tried to sit as close as possible. Then when Bonnie took the laundry down to the basement to do the weekly washing, after a couple of minutes their father snuck out to follow.

  Juan was glad; he knew that the pressure would become too much for their father and that he would crack. The outbreak gave him the perfect opportunity.

  Juan ran to his father’s room and retrieved the gun he kept under his mattress. He then followed him to the basement.

  Luckily for Juan, his father was drunk, and rarely went to the section where the laundry machines were kept. His father became lost and headed down into the boiler section.

  It turned out Juan didn’t need to use the gun; he brained his father with a metal pipe. After the first slam, he found he couldn’t stop hitting him. Years of emotions filled him with rage as he stood over his father’s prone body and kept battering his head until it turned to a pulp. He then dragged the body to a dark corner. He spat on him before covering him in old, dirty blankets. He didn’t even look back when he strode away leaving bloody footprints.

  Bonnie normally stayed in the basement reading a book while she did the laundry, due to some of her clothes getting pinched out of the machine one time. Therefore, by the time she got back upstairs he had changed out of the blood-splattered clothes and showered.

  He stated their father had stormed out, saying he was going to get more beer. After a few days, Bonnie stopped asking if he was going to come back, she realized they were better off without him. The little amount of food they had would last longer, and they didn’t have to put up with his mood swings.

  Juan looked around at the others sharing the shipping container with them. He was only with them until they reached somewhere safe, somewhere he could look after his sister. Once they reached that place, he was going to use his weapon on the King brothers, and Troy.

  He passively followed the brothers around; he wanted them to think he wasn’t a threat. He was learning everything about them, so when the right moment arrived, he would know the best way to get rid of them, and they wouldn’t be expecting it.

  He would then take all the weapons and all the food. If anyone else tried to stop him, he would take care of them as well. All that mattered was the two of them. They would survive this, no matter how many bodies he had to drop to achieve it.

  31

  Naomi Ford, and the others.

  Inside a shipping container, on a truck

  Interstate 80 Express

  New York City, Metropolitan Area

  Naomi sat chewing on a cereal bar she pinched from the food container the day before. She had three others in her pockets. This one though had an added component.

  She hated the situation. Hated everyone around her. She knew they were all judging her. Who were they to sit in judgment? Bastards, all of them. Judgmental bastards!

  She sat leaning against the uneven metal wall. Her body ached from having to sit on the cold wooden floor, and having to sleep without a thick mattress. Her cigarettes were the only thing keeping her sane – them and the large bag of cocaine in her backpack. She was reliant on them both, but more so the white powder.

  She was never addicted before the outbreak. She would dabble in an assortment of chemicals. Mostly to keep her awake during her long hours in a hot kitchen. However, when the outbreak started she found the drugs helped her cope as the world around her collapsed into anarchy.

  Before the situation became too dangerous to walk the streets, she would visit her dealer, a scruffy, ratty little middle-aged man called Sticky Sid. She soon used up what money she could get out of the bank before they started refusing withdraws. With no money and nothing of value Sticky Sid wanted, after he had taken most of her belongings, she offered all she had left – her body. Luckily for her Sticky Sid preferred females with a little more meat on them, and he was turned on by the fact that she was a lesbian. He joked; he would heal her of her affliction.

  As she slowly undressed in his dirty apartment, and could feel the sticky carpet under her large naked feet, she started to feel something, something she couldn’t explain. It started to boil up, brimming to the surface as Sticky Sid lay on his dirty bed watching her as he masturbated, readying himself for her body.

  The bedroom was tatty and at the state of ruin. It looked more like a slum than an apartment. Dirt and grit covered the sticky carpets along with trash.

  The sticky carpets could be where his name comes from?

  There was a pile of stained cardboard boxes in one corner, leaning precariously towards a wardrobe with a missing door. The clothes inside wasn’t hung up, they were tossed into a pile. There was a dressing table covered in used spoons and needles, along with a half-empty bottle of cheap whisky and coffee rings. A dirty sheet hung over the window instead of curtains. Behind the king-sized bed, covered in stained, dirty sheets, and a chipped wooden headboard was a large poster of a naked woman posed as an Amazon warrior, with a ridiculously elaborate haircut, thick makeup and hefty fake breasts.

  Naomi could see the bag of cocaine on the bedside table, through the hazy smoke that hung in the stagnant air. There was so much. How this ratty little low-level dealer had so much; she had no idea. All she knew is she wanted it. With the amount there, she would need to be on her back for years to pay it off, with this lowlife rutting over her. She decided there was an easier way. It was a new world – everyone for themselves. Adapt or die. Kill or be killed.

  Once naked she asked if they were going to be disturbed? He stated they had the place to themselves for a few hours. She decided it was more than enough time for what she had planned; she just wanted to be sure she wouldn’t be interrupted.

  The little, skinny, grime covered man lay on his back, playing with himself. He had just used a long, dirty fingernail, on his right hand, to scoop some cocaine up his nose. He still had white powder around his nostril. He then spat some yellowy-brown smoker’s phlegm on his hand and rubbed it over his erection, and then sprinkled some cocaine over it.

  “All yours for free baby if you suck it off.” He put his hands behind his head of greasy shoulder-length hair.

  Naomi knelt at the end of the bed and leaned forward. Her fat dropped down from gravity. Her ample bosom swung like large pale sacks of suet. Stretch marks covered her body.

  She wasn’t looking forward to putting his rancid cock in her mouth – she could smell its unwashed musty, rancidness from where she was. However, there was a lot on it, and she didn’t want it to go to waste. So instead, she crawled up the bed and lowered herself down onto him, guiding his small dick inside her flabby folds.

  He groaned loudly while clenching his rotten teeth shut. Spittle flecked from his mouth, with a patch of white saliva in each corner. His thin hands clawed at her large swinging breasts, pinching at her puffy nipples.

  She wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He was making her feel sick. She was afraid she was going to vomit all over his spotty, pigeon chest.

  His hands moved to her thick thighs. He was squeezing them hard, more like a person testing an animal’s flank for firmness. She pressed her weight down on his hands, pinn
ing them in place.

  His brow creased.

  Before he had chance to say anything, she leaned forward and gripped one hand behind his greasy head, pulling it forward, while using her other hand to force her right ample breast in his face.

  He groaned with pleasure. He was enjoying her dominant roll. Then he started bucking as he tried to grasp for breath. He couldn’t because her heavy breast covered his nose and mouth, as one hand forced her flesh into his face, while the other pulled his head harder into it.

  He tried to struggle, but he was pinned by her weight. He couldn’t free his hands, or pull his head away. He was quarter of her size, and she had him held down. He didn’t stand a chance as he wiggled beneath her weight, with his skinny legs kicking about. She could feel him trying to bite her tit, to get her to rear back, but his teeth just slipped with the saliva on her smooth flesh.

  Naomi watched the ratty mans eyes, as they widened first in anger, then fear as realization started to dawn. Then his struggling started to weaken as his body was starved of oxygen. Then he started to go limp. Then his eyes started to go bloodshot, then glaze over. Finally as the capillaries in his eyes popped they rolled back into his head.

  He was dead.

  She left his naked body on the bed and quickly dressed. Semen dribbled down her thighs.

  The little bastard still ejaculated!

  She grabbed a dirty tee shirt off the side and wiped between her legs, then tossed it over his face, so she didn’t have to look into his vacant eyes.

  She then grabbed the bag of cocaine, and some cash that was next to it. She left in a hurry as his body started to relax and his bladder emptied over the sheets and pooled on the floor, and the smell of shit started to fill the room.

  Naomi finished off the cereal bar that she had sprinkled in cocaine in the toilet before she got in the truck. She relaxed back against the wall and slowly slid down into a more comfortable position as all her cares and worries slowly slid away in a chemically induced haze.

  32

  Tierra Ouellette, and the others.

  Inside a shipping container, on a truck

  Interstate 80 Express

  New York City, Metropolitan Area

  Tierra was exhausted. Dante has always been a little needy, and whiny, but for the last week, it has turned ridiculous. If he wasn’t asleep, he was crying and thrashing around. She tried to explain it away to everyone by saying he had a fever, but that wasn’t the case.

  Deep down, she knew what the problem was, she just didn’t want to admit it. Her son wasn’t used to her being around. He was missing Kim.

  Kim was the middle-aged neighbor who babysat him all day while she slept after a long shift dancing. Then looked after him at night while she was gyrating on a shiny pole trying to get old horny men to tuck damp bills into her tight thong. Kim was there to see his first steps. His first word was her name, not mom. She fed him, washed him, clothed him, and cared for him if he bumped his head. She was there in place of her.

  While Tierra tried to earn a living to support her son, she had handed him over to someone else to raise him. She may be paying for everything, but a child doesn’t understand that, all they understand is who is there and who is not.

  She used to see Dante for possibly half an hour a day. She was the woman who kissed him good night, and who ignored him when she was grumpy when she returned from work needing a bath and alone time.

  Tierra was aware Dante was upset because as far as he was concerned, she was a stranger.

  Kim vanished only a week ago. She had no idea where. There was no good-bye or note. No warning.

  Tierra had stopped going to work when the streets became too dangerous to navigate. She was trying to calm Dante down. She left him sat screaming and thrashing about in the middle of the kitchen while she ran next door to ask Kim if she could have him for an hour or so, just so she could lie down – he had given her a pounding headache.

  Kim was gone. Her door was ajar, and a few of her things were missing. However, what was most worrying was a bloodstain on the carpet? It wasn’t a lot, but it suggested someone was hurt.

  After two days, and no sign of Kim, Tierra ransacked her apartment before anyone else did. She took all the food and blankets. She reasoned that she would give it back if Kim reappeared. She knew she was lying to herself.

  A week later and Dante still wasn’t used to her. He would mumble Kim’s name over and over while crying, and shouting, “NO! NO!” every time she tried to pick him up to comfort him.

  While Dante lay on a blanket, Tierra sat with her face in her hands. She was so tired. She had no choice but to try to grab some sleep whenever Dante nodded off. How her son slept so little she had no idea.

  She slowly lifted her head. She gazed at her nails. Chipped and dirty. Only three weeks ago her body was her best asset. Men and woman paid to stare at her. Envied her. Wanted her. Now her hair was a tangled mess and greasy; her skin was dry, and she realized she stank. She can’t remember the last time she relaxed in a bath, had some alone time. She tried to make time last night to get to the bathroom to have a wash, but every time she tried to leave him; he screamed out.

  She looked down at her sleeping son. He looked so peaceful. So angelic.

  How can something so small cause so many problems? she wondered.

  She just couldn’t comprehend living this way. It was so hard. So tiring.

  She stared at her sons rising chest, and wondered what life would be like without him?

  33

  Terrance King, and the others.

  On top a shipping container, on a truck

  Interstate 78 Express

  New York City, Metropolitan Area

  The mid morning breeze was chilling but not unpleasant. Terrance was wrapped up against the cold as he knelt on the back corner of the container. In his hand was a rope.

  Tied across the roof was ropes that ran the length of the container, so those on the roof had something to hold onto if the ride became bumpy, or they picked up speed.

  His baldhead was covered with a beanie hat. His body with a thick jacket and a long scarf. The shotgun rested by his feet.

  At least it wasn’t raining; he reasoned.

  The I80 turned into the I95, with small towns passing by to either side on the highway. There were quite a few abandoned vehicles along the route, but so far they were lucky; the road was open and easily maneuverable. The few cars that did block the road were effortlessly pushed aside by the powerful engine.

  Every now and then, they would come upon someone, or a small-group walking along the highway. As they approached, the people would scurry off into the woods or down the embankment. They never stopped to check on them. He presumed they were others just like them, trying to find somewhere safe. Somewhere to survive.

  Once they passed over the long New Jersey Turnpike, Troy crossed over onto the I78. The road was long and flat with open fields to both sides.

  They could smell it long before they could see it. The odor of smoke and burning flesh.

  In several fields, on the right-hand side of the highway, there was a crashed large commercial airplane. It had churned-up large mounds of earth as the plane snapped in half. Debris was scattered everywhere. Small fires burned. There were the remains of a farmhouse next to a large engine. Trees were felled and pushed to the sides, stripped of branches and pine needles. The grass fields had become muddy, and all ripped up. Belongings were strewn everywhere – covering the fields, hanging from trees and bushes, and burning in piles. There were also bodies littering the fields as randomly as the clothing and suitcases. Some still strapped to their seats. Some appendages here and there, some hanging from the trees like demonic decorations.

  Terrance and his brother and Alex stood staring at the devastation. They watched as Eaters devoured the flesh. There were about twenty in view, with possibly more behind the wreckage. They ignored the truck; they had all the meat they could wish for.

  Terrance wondered what
brought the plane down. Mechanical, or pilot error, or maybe when all the power finally went out? He had no idea. The cause mattered little; it happened, regardless of why.

  It has to be weeks old. Surely the fires wouldn’t still be burning?

  The smell of aviation fuel and burning human flesh was pungent.

  He hadn’t seen anything apart from military planes and helicopters since the outbreak, and all commercial fights were grounded.

  Maybe some fool pilot promised people an escape, and this is the result.

  The trees eventually masked the destruction as the truck continued on.

  Terrance studied the plumes of smoke and drifting ash in the distance. Tall and straight black and gray columns reaching to the cloud line. There wasn’t a breath of wind to bend them. Some were from the plane crash; others were further in the background. Then again, he read once that a plane crash could be scattered over as much as twenty miles.

  There was a bang on the underside of the roof that woke him from his daydreaming.

  It was Terrance’s turn to watch over the toilet. He moved with creaking joints and stood over the corner the toilet was situated under. He slammed his boot down hard, announcing he was in place. He could hear the metal creak of the hatch opening. He had no idea who was sticking their ass out the hatch, and he didn’t want to lean over the side to check.

  Black or white? Old or young? Firm or flabby?

  It could be the sweet, firm ass of Bonnie, or the fat, spotty ass of Naomi that probably didn’t fit through the gap, or the wrinkled pale ass of the Priest. Jesus, I’m losing it. Who cares who’s crack is hanging out; I just have to make sure nothing sinks its teeth into it.