The Day After: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller

by Bartholomew, K.

  The Day After

  A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller

  K. Bartholomew

  The Day After: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller

  By K. Bartholomew

  Copyright © 2020 K. Bartholomew. All rights reserved worldwide.

  No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance the characters may have to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This book contains graphic language and violence.

  Contents

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  August, 2029

  One Hour Earlier

  Three Hours Earlier

  One Day Earlier

  One Week Earlier

  Seven Years Earlier

  Now

  Afterword

  Also by K. Bartholomew

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  Most people feared the prospect of a horde of dead overrunning the country. Most normal people, at least. But for me, it was an opportunity for vengeance, to finally get even on all those who’d done me wrong.

  And boy, had they done me wrong.

  August, 2029

  Redding, California

  From the seat of his battered to shit Toyota, Jeff gazed across the street to the house he’d once lived, the only sound the quiet purring of the engine. While he sat, working up his nerve, the occasional street light would flicker back to life, last a few minutes and die. Bears had left the forest to scavenge for food and now three particularly big fuckers were pulverizing the trash cans that had not been collected.

  All along the street, the story was the same, just as it was throughout other streets in town, as it was similar in other towns and cities up and down the length of California. With only sporadic power, people had learned once again about the old ways and now candles danced silhouettes across the curtains of nearly every visible window.

  Further up, as well as behind, zombies stood idle and silent, perhaps in wait for the next fool to step out into the open, though who could say? Who could second guess what nobody could understand? Many hundreds of the dead had somehow slipped past the large convoys heading south. Now, finally, they’d reached Redding, hence this beautiful opportunity.

  Provided he could go through with it.

  Jeff’s nails dug into the wheel. “Come on, you can do this.”

  Somebody, somehow, had fucked up real bad, but it was a godsend for Jeff, who’d dreamed of this day for so long. He’d just never imagined it would come like this and whether the dead were friend or foe, they were here, they were a part of this fate, which meant they had to be treated with at least some level of appreciation, because without them, Providence would not have gifted Jeff with what he’d dreamed for so long.

  An end to law and order.

  Or, at least, a temporary suspension of it.

  Just long enough to do what needed to be done.

  There was little doubt the regime would regain control, eventually, though they were taking their sweet ass time, and doubtless now were regretting the great gun grab of 21, a reversal of which could end this thing in a day. There had been talk they were thinking about returning the guns, and even a few images had circulated of civilians in the southern part of the country showing them off to the cameras.

  But if that was the truth then why send all the men south?

  Regardless of the mistakes this dumb fucking republic had made since its recent inception, it could only be a matter of time before even here the dead were squashed and order restored.

  Then they’d come looking for him.

  What happened at that moment, Jeff didn’t really much give a fuck, because by then his vengeance would be complete, and there was nothing else they could do to punish him anyway. Especially not after his most recent catastrophic fuckups.

  Time, Jeff knew, was running out. One way or another.

  The pain wasn’t that bad, mercifully, and after emptying the contents of his belly, even the nausea was improving. His wrists, though, and forearms felt like they were undergoing treatment with a blowtorch, despite losing all feeling in his left hand. He dared not remove the glove to look at that. He was starting to itch now, which was new, and he scratched his neck, head, his one remaining ear, and felt what was almost certainly his temporal bone. Jeff had once considered himself a vain man, which was why he could not bring himself to check his image in the rearview mirror.

  He butted the wheel with his forehead and when he came away a flap of twisted skin remained stuck to the rubber. “Come on, man, hold it together.”

  Why was he stalling?

  Especially after what he’d already done. For sure, there was no going back now.

  Maybe because this was the final piece. His old house. Home. And who was waiting inside.

  A bear padded to within a few yards of a zombie and came up onto its hind legs. For a while, it appeared like there was a standoff until the animal came back to all-fours and scurried away, all interest gone. Throughout, the zombie didn’t move, and Jeff could only question whether the creature was waiting patiently for him.

  The car gently swayed and a muffled wail came from the trunk.

  “You remember me yet?” Jeff called, not bothering to twist around. Fucking bitch.

  That was the hardest part to understand, even now, that she could do what she did and not remember his face, the way he’d pleaded, begged, wept, offered himself in any way she chose, anything for her not to do what she was about to do. She’d seen his face and not remembered.

  How many more had there been? How many lives had she ruined?

  The wailing persisted.

  This time he twisted and a pain stabbed through his spine. “Shut the fuck up.”

  It felt good, her being with him, now, here, in this place, at his mercy, though admittedly, not as good as he’d dreamed for so long. Jeff didn’t know why that was. Why it wasn’t as good as he’d hoped. Maybe on the inside, he was just as dead as the zombies who’d enabled all this to be.

  “Maybe that’s the truth.”

  Zombies.

  He would not hurt them, not Jeff, for they were not his enemy.

  Mankind had thrown up enough of those.

  The vehicle jerked suddenly, which preceded another distressed moan.

  Jeff laughed quietly to himself. “How’s the company back there?”

  All he’d wanted was a normal life. Quiet job that paid. Family. A dog. Nice house.

  But it had come to him.

  One Hour Earlier

  The glass shattered into a trillion particles as the car smashed through the doors, its steel frame twisting around the makeshift battering ram, an uprooted fire hydrant he’d welded onto the front, and for several seconds debris continued raining down upon the roof.

  Gritting his teeth to endure the whiplash, Jeff fumbled at the belt and was quick to free himself before shoving open the door and vomiting over the carnage. Screams and shouts echoed from the floor above but nobody came down. Jeff’s boots crunched over the glass as he moved for the stairs but he quickly realized his hands were empty. “Fuck.” He returned to the car, leaned over the seat and snatched for the bat and crowbar that were waiting on the dash. Turning around, he skidded on his vomit and came close to sticking his neck on a shard of glass that projected f
rom the twisted doorframe.

  “Get it together, man.”

  He took a second to breathe, gather his composure, to enjoy the fucking moment. He’d literally just smashed through the building’s doors. His dreams. They were being realized. This minute. Finally.

  Directly ahead the reception desk remained unscathed. Jeff remedied that with his bat, swinging again and again, crashing the steel against the terminals, hard drives, monitors, phones, shelves, coffee machine, even a photo of the receptionist with her husband at what looked like Disneyland. Anything else worth smashing? He scanned the lobby and saw that through the shattered remnants of the entrance, a loose rabble of zombies were having a hard time attempting to scramble over the Toyota. If anyone somehow managed to sneak past Jeff as he went to work, they’d only find themselves facing a crowd of dead men.

  It was all going so perfect.

  From where the stairs twisted around, a figure, not well enough concealed in the shadows was watching, and when they knew they’d been spotted by the raider, there was a panicked gasp, betraying a male, and he twisted around, crashing his head against another silhouette. There was a squeal followed by the heavy, panicked stamping of multiple pairs of feet fleeing back up the stairs.

  Jeff waved, “don’t worry, I’m coming,” he allowed the exhilaration of causing such terror to flood his veins, “a few more minutes and we’ll be having a conversation,” he laughed to himself, “a very pleasant conversation.” At that moment someone triggered the fire alarm. Jeff didn’t mind. There was something terrible about the sound of a fire alarm, the empty foreboding dread of that awful, repetitive noise, and it wouldn’t deter him. Nothing would deter him. He called out, “I’m not sure anyone’s coming to save you.”

  He took a deep, beautiful inhalation and began tramping up the stairs toward the next level, the stamping of his boots on the marble floor very deliberate and menacing like in some horror movie he’d once seen, getting ever closer.

  “Please…” someone yelled and several voices told him to quiet the fuck down, “no, please, don’t hurt us.”

  Jeff released a slow and calculated cackle, continued stomping his way up, and found himself gazing down the long gray corridor that had been so burned into his memory. Everything was the same. Long. Narrow. Four doors either side. Another at the far end. But the lights were out, which was new, and it was not as claustrophobic as he remembered. Back then he’d barely been able to breathe and his eyes fixed on the spot he’d once collapsed, begged, been seen by his…

  He ran a hand down the cold steel within his grasp and again allowed the surge of imminent vengeance to electrify his every cell. Some of the doors had code-access locks, a small additional hindrance but nothing that would make much difference to the crowbar. Right now, those fuckers would be squatting behind whichever door they’d presumed would guarantee the most safety but they were soon to learn that on this day, there was no escaping justice.

  The first room contained a stack of files, a photocopier, window revealing the dead milling around a campervan, a water cooler. He filled a plastic cup and slowly began to drain the fluid. It was warm, which was hardly a surprise. For years now, he’d lived without power. Turns out that all along, most others were having to make do with an intermittent supply. How long had it been now, seven years since California seceded? Sounded about right. He finished, crunched the empty container, threw it to the floor, lowered his zipper and pissed over the machine, a long, hot stream he’d been saving. He then took his bat to the copier.

  The next door, being locked with a keypad, required the crowbar. The wood splintered easily and then the door succumbed with a single shoulder. He knew at once there’d be nobody inside but was surprised there wasn’t at least some level of additional security. As it was, though, it was an important place, with whitewashed walls and several rows of metallic shelving from floor to roof. The shelves contained small boxes, bottles, packets, even some loose blister packs. Jeff had to force his eyes from glazing over. What these drugs were intended…

  He filled his knapsack, half-and-half with two specific drugs and left.

  Behind the third door was the bathroom, unisex, of course. A row of four stalls with dividing walls so short you could see the knees of the person taking a shit beside you. Jeff had spewed so much down those toilets it had been a major contributor to his weight loss. Using the heel of his boot, the first bowl broke off on the third stamp and with an abrupt and brutal force, water gushed from the pipe and crashed against the opposing wall. In less than a minute, three more jets were added to the tally so that the room, the building in fact, began to flood. Now for the basins. He stuffed the overflows with paper towels, turned on the taps and left without even bothering to appraise his handiwork.

  The fourth room was a large open plan office with desks, a fortune in computer equipment, terminals, vending machine, expensive leather chairs, a sofa. Pinned to the wall was the famous Uncle Sam poster from the Great War but the face had been changed to a woman’s, and the words now read WE WANT YOU, NO MATTER WHO YOU ARE.

  Jeff spent a few minutes smashing the place, knowing the crashes would carry over, letting them know their time was nearing. He kept an eye on the open door, in case anyone had the idea of running, but nobody dared make the attempt. No, they were hunkering down, digging in, and once or twice Jeff thought he could indeed hear, even feel, the desperate shifting of furniture. By the time he was done, the office was beyond wasted.

  When he emerged back in the corridor, he half expected to be up to his pull straps in water but instead, from where it surged out the bathroom, it was merely drenching the first two rooms before cascading down the steps to flood the level below. “Nice work.” He allowed a laugh to escape him, because despite the money that had been lavished on the place, the building had been constructed on a slant.

  The fifth door contained only a sofa and therapy chair that faced a beach sunset painted on the wall, the message being that if you went ahead with ‘things’, the future was bright and sunny. Indeed, the entirety of the room was ornately decorated, with hand-crafted oak panelling, a large ceiling fan and table on which rested a box of tissues. There was that distinct smell of what can only come from expensive wood regularly treated and polished. Jeff had spent many hours agonizing over this room, trying to conceive in his mind of how it looked from the inside, as he was only ever acquainted with the door, intimately so, having spent many hours leaning against the wall opposite, staring into it whilst they were inside, talking with the therapist. To be here now, it possessed an energy, at least to Jeff’s mind, though he recognized this was likely because of the turbulent history it shared with him.

  Nonetheless, he pulled the knife from his belt, stuck it through the therapy chair’s soft leather and commenced tearing, ripping out the sponge and casting it to the floor.

  “Please…” the voice cried, muffled through walls and distance, “please stop this senseless destruction. I hear water…”

  That checked Jeff. The word senseless. Surely, they couldn’t truly believe there’d be no legitimate grudges held against them. What they did here. Surely, they couldn’t believe he was merely some random wacko off the street, occupying the monotony of waiting out the temporary loss of order by destroying the interior of the first nondescript building he encountered, for no reason other than he could get away with it, at least for the moment.

  “Please … take the drugs and go.” Someone scolded the man for speaking but he was not discouraged. “We have children in here … women … take what you want but please, don’t hurt us.”

  “Don’t hurt you?” Jeff growled to himself, astonished. The hurt they’d caused… His grip around the hilt tightened and he continued tearing until there was nothing left of the seat.

  The next room was the most familiar. It was the place he’d spent so many hours, sobbing, head hanging between his knees so that the carpet pattern was forever burned into his memory. It was designed to make the parents comfort
able, to relieve their concerns, because all was well, all was proper, all was legit, and that if you had any concerns, it was because the problem was with you, your own mind, your own bigotry. The walls were adorned with portraits of the elaborate new building, the mayor, state governor, celebrities, athletes who’d visited, donated. Prominence was given to one particular Hollywood movie star, the one who’d adopted two children and brought one of them here to the center for treatment. The message was clear. Look who endorsed what they did. All was regular.

  Jeff smashed the lot.

  The final room on the left of the long corridor was taken up almost entirely by the large, round mediation table, though all that had been ultimately decided, Jeff remembered, was that they were right and that Jeff was wrong, and probably had something wrong with him into the bargain, although they’d never come right out and said that, it had certainly been implied. That maybe he’d see things differently if he didn’t have a penis, if he could overcome his prejudices, his bigotry. Once or twice race had even been implied, he could recall like it was yesterday, although they’d been very careful with the wording, the gist was clear. He was an evil white male scared of the future, of progress, that if he could just open up his mind then he’d see the beauty of what his family was about to experience. It was a wonderful thing. If only he could see it.

  The table was too strong to break with the bat, black walnut probably, but it went over the top of the balcony easy enough. The chairs followed and the horrendous crashes alerted more than just those sub-humans awaiting Jeff’s imminent arrival two doors away. The dead heard too and from the direction of the market, they began swarming towards the noise. Jeff took a moment to ponder whether he was the only man in the republic who welcomed them, and that he’d even asked such a question was enough to know the damage these people had done to his mind. Not that anybody cared. Now or ever.