The Day After: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller

by Bartholomew, K.

  “Then?” Jeff suspected where this was going.

  Drake placed his hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “What fuckin’ choice do I have?”

  “What?”

  “If word gets out… I mean, examples have to be set and… you can count on those bitches snitching to higher authority if I don’t…” he shook his head, sighing.

  Jeff threw his friend’s hand off him. “If you don’t what?”

  Drake looked down to the ground and trudged back to the office where Tyrol and Rosa were busy rummaging through the drawers. Derek, by the sound of it, was halfway through lecturing the billionaire on economics.

  “We’re seizing the means of production, is what we’re doing, why should there be billionaires like you when I have to live in my parents’ converted pigeon coop.”

  “Get the fuck away from that.” Jeff grabbed Tyrol by the Armani collar and flung him away from a small box of gold watches, pens and cufflinks, corporate gift items probably collected over time. There’d be no stopping him later, Jeff conceded to himself. He approached Stoddard, who was standing, all dignity, in front of his former desk. “Sir, please, I would implore you to train these people.”

  Stoddard straightened and patted Jeff on the elbow. “I’m grateful for your efforts, son, but you’ll not be surprised to learn, it’s not something I’m willing to do.”

  “He won’t do it, Jeff.” When Drake used his real name, it was usually serious. He beckoned to the six men waiting outside.

  “Drake!” Jeff said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The men marched in and Rosa perked, “yeah, kill the evil Republican.” Tyrol was trying to hide the grin while Derek allowed the smug look of satisfaction to spread over his face. “Who can’t sit at a big desk all day and bark out orders to the proletariat? I’m sure we’ll really struggle. Who needs him.”

  Drake glanced at Jeff but he looked away when giving the order, almost croaking, “take Mister Stoddard outside.”

  Stoddard was grabbed at both sides and dragged out the door, but he walked willingly enough after finding his balance, perhaps suspecting his fate and accepting it. There was a feminine holler, the kind that comes from pure joy. There was no keeping her from witnessing whatever was about to happen.

  Jeff ran out after Drake. “Listen, Drake, at least put him in a car and send him back to his family. He might be a stubborn son-of-a-bitch but he’s not so stupid that he won’t attempt to flee after a warning like this.”

  Drake continued stamping out, said nothing. People were standing up in their cubicles, trying to see what was happening, one or two made moves to find out but Llewellyn barked at them to get back to work, they were on the government’s time now. It was a long walk down the steps. Stoddard said nothing, though once or twice his legs almost buckled beneath him. He was terrified, that was obvious now, but the man was determined to remain decent and dignified to the last.

  The foyer doors opened to the outside and a blast of fresh air washed across the porch. Drake scanned left and right. Where was best to do something like this? He beckoned around the side of the building and led the way, away from as many prying eyes as possible but by now people were staring down from the windows and they had a pretty good view of things. Around the back was a loading bay, concrete on five sides, which looked out across at the substantial garbage disposal area. A grim fucking place for your legacy to end. The paintwork was flaking from the pillars. Stoddard was pushed against the far wall.

  “Drake!” Jeff tried one last time. “There has to be another fucking way of doing this.”

  “It’s alright, son,” astonishingly, it was Stoddard who spoke, “someone has to make way for this new age, might as well be an old fuddy like me.” Couldn’t the man at least try to be a cunt? It would make this a whole lot easier.

  Jeff swallowed and approached Stoddard at the wall, leaning in close. “Is there a message you’d like me to get to your family?”

  Stoddard’s eyes were watering but he was doing his best to stand straight, head up. His eyes flicked sideways to Jeff. “Only that I was thinking of them to the end, oh, and that I died well. If you could let them know that, I’d be grateful. Um,” his eyes were flicking about as he tried urgently to think, “tell them not to stay in the state, um, California, to leave for Georgia, if possible,” his eyes were darting around now, visible sweat coming through his pores. “Louise, my daughter, I was secretly proud of her piano performance, the one at the gala, and I regret now that I never said it,” rapid blinking, “my son … oh, I can’t think, my mind, um, I love him, of course, my other son too. Oh gosh, their names…”

  “Where can I find them?”

  “Presidio Heights. People will know where they are.”

  Jeff felt the overwhelming urge to clamp his eyes shut but he fought it, just. He nodded. Grit his teeth. Decided not to tell him the truth about what had already taken place there. “I will. You can count on it.” Jeff’s vision blurred as he turned around and walked away, blanking Drake in his periphery. Was he even the man he always thought he knew? Perhaps.

  Drake ordered the soldiers into a line, twenty paces from Stoddard. “Present your rifles,” he called and there was the rustling of six M16s rising to shoulders. They aimed, waited. A feeble breeze cut across. “Fire!”

  Six bursts pulverized Stoddard, flecking the white of his shirt with dots of red, splitting open his throat and throwing him back.

  It was later, when Jeff was burying the man that Drake finally came to him.

  “I hope you understand why I had to do it.” He peered down into the hole as Jeff shoveled earth over the body. How many others would even get a decent burial? “We’ll head for Redding tomorrow, straight after the ceremony.”

  Jeff acknowledged him with a nod.

  “Oh, and if Graft asks, it went well.”

  The ninety-mile drive to Sacramento was easy enough. It seemed the normal folk were staying in their homes, freeing up the highway, though the streets were still owned by roaming gangs looting whatever they could get a hold of. What still existed of the regular army, or whatever they were calling themselves now, for the most part chased the gangs away, which was at least one thing they were doing right but it seemed that there weren’t many of them designated to the task. That was the truth, Jeff knew, because he’d lost count of how many he’d witnessed dragging citizens out of their businesses, everything from convenience stores and bakeries to trucking companies and at least one avocado farm he passed a little out of Fairfield. It turned out that like Stoddard, most other people were also unwilling to just give up everything they’d built. They’d lose it anyway, and a lot more besides.

  Jeff was making the trip alone, not wanting to spend a couple hours sharing a ride with Drake. He needed a rest from him, from it. He had, however, asked for a lift to the Walmart, where his beaten to shit Toyota was waiting, covered in bird crap, wing mirror smashed off, tires deflated, several notices from the store fixed to the windshield. It had been a stupid place to ditch it.

  “Fucking idiot, why won’t you just take one of the Lamborghinis from the community?” Drake had asked, genuinely pissed. “Here, let me help you with that fucking jack.”

  “I’ve got this. Why don’t you just go. I’ll meet you in Sactown.”

  “Fucking suit yourself.” He screeched away in a Bugatti Veyron and Jeff had punched at the tire until his knuckles were bloody.

  Even before he could get near the capital, it soon became apparent just where the army was. Highway 80 approaching Sactown was marked by multiple convoys of troop carriers, tanks, Humvees and just about every other kind of military land vehicle imaginable, which had to be arriving from military bases all over California. By the time Jeff was five miles out, both right-hand lanes were given over entirely to the army.

  A show of strength. It had to be. This was the People’s Republic of California’s birthday and the leadership would want to project their might by gathering the whole lot in one place, a m
ilitary parade where thousands of armored vehicles would roll past a stern Weiner on his podium, even as California descended into chaos. The most important thing for the new regime was to send a message to the world, that they were strong, powerful and would defy the United States. They’d begin cracking down on rioters and looters tomorrow.

  A cordon had been established a mile out from City Hall. Most people had already ditched their vehicles and were passing through the police line on foot. Bags, pockets, wallets, crotches, big hairstyles were all being searched. Jeff was permitted to drive straight through after showing the pass sent to him by Graft. Five more times he had to show the pass, as well as make a hundred extra stops for the crowds that cheered and sang as they descended on City Hall, which almost certainly would soon be undergoing a name change itself. It was no longer merely the center of government for a state, but a country. Arriving at the building, Jeff had to brandish the pass one final time before being allowed to roll down into the underground parking lot. He found Drake’s red Bugatti Veyron immediately, parked over two spots, and positioned his shitty Toyota beside it.

  “You manage to surprise your nephew?” Jeff asked his old friend after finding him standing at the VIP buffet table. The food looked beyond incredible.

  Drake bit into a pizza parcel and squinted, “huh?”

  “You were planning on…” Jeff shook his head, “never mind.” He grabbed a slice of cheesecake and bit into it but it turned out to be quiche. Fucking disgusting. He took a flute of Champagne to remove the taste. “So, what’s going down?”

  Drake shrugged. “So far, nothing much. It takes time to organize all that hardware for a parade, infantry, fighter jets. It’s a fucking media frenzy out there. You see it? Reporters from all over the world have come for this.” He laughed and spat dough out of his mouth. “There’s talk they’re gonna be parading our old friends Brock Baker and John Durrant for the adoring crowds, apparently they’re still inside the cages we last saw them.” His head tipped back as he cackled. “I guess now we should all be grateful.” He touched the side of his face. “Maybe I’ll pay them a visit and repay the favor, I’m telling you, Suds, the way the new regime’s kissing our asses, I bet we can do whatever we want, you and I,” he clapped Jeff on the arm. “Believe me, man, the future’s gonna be good to us. You thought we had fun in Afghanistan? This is just the beginning.”

  Jeff’s eyebrows raised. “Horse, that’s great news, and remember your promise. Soon as Weiner’s sworn in, we’re heading north. Redding.” Jeff didn’t need Drake involved in that part, necessarily, though there was no denying that the six men assigned to his friend would be helpful. It might not turn out to be so easy, kidnapping two people before chaining them up in the basement of a third. He wouldn’t refuse the help if it was there, just to make sure nobody got away and besides, the judge was likely to have armed men around her and it would hardly be a surprise if that slippery bitch of a lawyer still possessed a firearm of her own, even after the recent changes in the law she was supposedly charged with enforcing. As for Lara, she’d be all alone in the old family home, probably hiding in the attic beneath a dozen blankets until she was absolutely sure life on the outside had stabilized. Jeff couldn’t wait to see the look on her face, after all this time, when he breezed in with the lawyer and judge, their heads locked in each of his arms. He still had time to come up with an awesome, incredible, momentous line for that moment, something that would amuse himself and put the fear of God into her.

  “Redding! You bet your ass. We’re on it! That’s a promise.” And fuck, but Drake meant it. Today, tonight maybe, it would be done. The Horseman glanced over Jeff’s shoulder to whoever was approaching, and then Graft arrived along with another man who had to be his son.

  “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Larry Graft Junior,” the old bastard grinned with pride, even though the fruit of his loins wasn’t much to look at.

  “Please, call me Larry,” he held out a hand to both Jeff and Drake, a man who very nearly looked as old as Graft himself, with silver hair and wrinkles, and like his father he had shrewd eyes that also possessed a hint of psychosis. Those eyes were now regarding Drake with something akin to a child meeting his baseball hero for the first time. Obviously, Larry would know all about Drake’s recent deeds, as well as sacrifice.

  “My son will be taking over from me, after…” Graft flapped a hand and beamed at Larry, “but until then, you may deal with him as you would myself.” These old commies were also nepotistic. The two men hugged and then Graft Senior stumped away.

  Larry watched after him and when his father disappeared through an archway, he turned toward Jeff and Drake. “He’s not long for this world, days perhaps, which is why we’re all so grateful to the two of you for all you’ve helped bring to fruition.”

  Everyone, it appeared, but for the so-called Supreme Leader, who was yet to show any interest at all. Well, since today’s special occasion had brought everybody together in the same building, this was the man’s chance, to call for them at some point, grant an audience, look them in the eye, shake both their hands, hear their stories, and bestow upon them any favors requested. Right now, in a private room somewhere in this very building, Supreme Leader Jacob Weiner would be rehearsing his speech, a speech that would go down in history, or infamy. It had to go perfect, to send a message, to show the world that California was actually capable of going it alone and that they weren’t a bunch of entitled brats throwing the baby out with the bathwater, that they weren’t a rabble of fantasists who were only a matter of years, if not months, from collapse, from total ruin. California’s enemies would be sure to make capital from even the slightest stammer or slip of the tongue. They’d make fun, satirize, mock and ridicule, that the comically named Supreme Leader could not even deliver a simple speech, so what chance did the man have of running a new country. The truth was that there were many millions of people who wanted it to go badly, for the man to slip up. No pressure.

  After rehearsing the speech, most likely Weiner would meditate for an hour, that’s if the rumors about the man were anything to go by. Though the truth was, incredibly, that there were very few people who knew much about the man at all, other than that he dressed like a Bengali merchant and took his personal hygiene to the level of stupidity. After escaping to the United States, his former cleaner had revealed he used to request all walls and surfaces bleached every single day, that he only drank double-distilled water and that he even insisted all his staff, if they were to be in his vicinity, were rotated every two hours so they could bathe and change clothes. Even that stupid tunic he was always seen wearing was supposedly one of forty he owned. Suds, true to his ironic name, had not showered since leaving the prison, which might turn out to be a problem if he was called to see Weiner. The very thought made him suddenly quite nervous. The best tonic for nerves, he knew, was an empty sack and a full belly. The latter, he could at least do something about, and so, even though he knew he’d probably regret it, he grabbed his discarded quiche and deigned to finish the thing, even whilst Larry looked on with a bemused expression.

  “What do you think, Jeff?” Larry was staring now.

  The quiche was already tormenting Jeff’s intestines. “What?”

  A flicker of anger crossed Drake’s face but he hid it by tipping back half a glass of Champagne. Larry was more patient and remained good-natured at having to repeat himself. “We’re turning the paramilitary into an extraordinary commission, modeled on the Soviet Cheka.”

  Jeff shrugged, “the what?”

  “The Cheka … Soviet Union,” Drake helped in a voice that just barely betrayed his thinning patience.

  Larry was kind enough to jump in with an explanation before he could shrug again, though the sideward glance he gave the Horseman did not escape Jeff’s attention. “There will be, unfortunately, many thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands of Californians still loyal to the United States. They need finding. They need finding, along with their entire
extended families, anyone who does not fully support the new regime needs finding, anybody under suspicion, any bearers of wealth not turned over to the state, any hoarders, any priests, deserters, dissidents. They all need finding.” He bobbed on his toes. “I’ve been incredibly impressed by the pair of you,” he said whilst looking at Drake, “and have taken a keen interest in your progress and dedication,” spoken again to Drake, “and I intend to recommend to the Supreme Leader that the leadership of this new extraordinary commission is given to you,” Drake again, “with you, Jeff, as his deputy.”

  Jeff’s eyes widened. “Wow, that’s quite unexpected…” he could think of nothing further to say.

  Drake was quick to intervene, Jeff knew, to prevent him saying something that might jeopardize this new prospect. “Finally, Suds, you can ditch that piece of shit Toyota,” he clapped his friend on the back and laughed, lightening the tension some. “It’s such a high honor, Larry, even to be asked.”

  Larry shook Drake’s hand. “It will be a massive undertaking, though absolutely essential, and you’ll be one of the highest placed men in the new government. Certainly, one of the most important. Find me after the swearing-in, if you plan to accept, and we’ll discuss it further.” He grinned, checked his watch. “Oh, we are getting close now. Enjoy this most miraculous of days.” He hurried away, back under the arch his father had gone earlier.

  “Fuck! Yeah! Suds, can you believe that?” He stepped back, grabbing the sides of his face, shaking his head. “Fuck, yeah!” He said loud whilst punching the air. He embraced the passing waiter and grabbed two more glasses of Champagne, thrusting one at Jeff. “We made it, we fucking made it,” he shouted, causing nearly everyone in the vicinity to glance across and politely smile. “Suds, we’re in the big leagues now.”