Birth
(Book 1 of 3)
J.C. Nichols
THE CHANGE : Birth (Book 1 of 3)
Copyright © 2016 by J.C. Nichols
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Book and Cover design by Corrine Asbell
ASIN: B015XPFTES
Fifth Edition: May 2016
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First and foremost, I want to thank Jessica Hale for being my Muse – my inspiration to take my writing from a casual hobby to a serious (as much as I can be, at least) endeavor. Without her constant affection and encouragement, I would never have taken the first step into the crazy and chaotic world of writing.
And then there is Corrine Asbell – girl, you are more than just my editor and a grammer-nazi with the best washer and dryer this side of Texas : you are also one of my oldest and bestestest friends, and I honestly couldn’t have done this without you. You make me look smart. And your knowledge of shotguns is…disturbing.
And “last but not least”, Tamara Jackson : you have always been my number one fan, and religiously read my stories when I was just handwriting them down for fun. And you were decent enough to pretend to like them. You rock for that. You’re the reason my writers-ego is as big as it is now. So thank you !
And to my readers, the most important people of all: I’m just starting my journey in the world of writing, but I promise you this…it’s going to be one hell of a ride, so just hang in there… ;-)
I awoke to the unpleasant but expected sensation of my mother stripping off my clothes.
I didn’t bother to open my eyes.
There wasn’t a point. I simply sighed quietly and waited for it all to be over with. I remembered fondly a time when things like this weren’t necessary…when I could simply wake up and get dressed and check my numerous social media networks like any other girl my age. I longed for those times again. But there was nothing I could do to change my new life. This needed to be done.
Her hands were offensively cold this morning, so it took a lot more effort than normal to put myself in my happy place.
My happy place. It was getting harder and harder to find. Days like this, it was hard to stay there – to place my mind outside my body enough to ignore what was happening to me.
So I just gave up and waited.
It was a ritual. When my mother finally finished, I would carefully and meticulously strip off her clothes, like she did mine, then inspect her body just as thoroughly and mechanically as she did mine. This was something that we did every single morning. A ritual. Which meant Every. Single. Day.
It was a necessary evil.
Her hands stopped abruptly on my lower belly.
Her hands never stopped.
I was keenly aware of every motion of her cold, calloused hands as they inspected the bottom half of my stomach. My smooth, freckled, possibly diseased stomach. I fought hard to keep my eyes closed. There wasn't much of a point to opening them. Either something was there…or not.
She was looking for signs of The Change. Something we’ve so far managed to avoid - that has almost entirely devastated our world, our species, to the point of near extinction. Or maybe extinction, I wasn’t sure. None of us were. The us being me and my mother and my dog, Maxx; the only humans I know of that haven't succumbed to it. No one knows why or how The Change came to be; it was a sudden out-of-the-blue type of thing.
It took over the world so quickly, like an unstoppable, fast moving tide. An invisible juggernaut of death. Why my mother and I (and Maxx) were able to avoid The Change so far is...well...beyond my understanding. Or hers, even though she won't admit it. She calls it “God,” but...that's a concept I have absolutely no belief in.
Her hands lightly patted my belly and withdrew.
“All done. Now do me,” my mom finally said.
Once my heart started beating again I opened my eyes and gave her a look that could possibly kill if I put any more intensity behind it. She smiled wearily. It looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
I reluctantly shuffled out of my nice, warm bed and stood up, automatically going through same impersonal inspection that she went through with me.
It didn’t take long. I found none.
Maxx, seemingly on cue, trotted in and jumped on my bed, raising himself up until his front paws rested on my chest while he went about power-licking my face and neck. I sat down to pet him, then took him in my arms and initiated a semi-playful wrestling match. Not that it was much of a match - he outweighed me by more than 30 pounds, and most of that was pure muscle. He could pretty much man-handle (dog-handle?) me if he wanted. He was definitely a beast of a dog. And I loved him.
He settled down by roughly climbing on my lap and gently gnawing my hand. His nails hurt my naked skin, but it was a good hurt, and I didn't really mind. While I cuddled and scratched him, I searched his body for signs of The Change as best as I could. I found nothing.
So another day of life then.
After several minutes of semi-hostile affection, I shooed him off my lap and started getting dressed for the day. I had a long way to go, and a short time to do it in.
*
It was a long drive. I passed the time by sideswiping as many of The Changed as I could with my old ‘97 F-350 truck. It was originally my father’s truck before he... succumbed. And my father was my absolute best friend. No. Not was. Is.
Which means that this truck, his truck, is my number one treasure.
Which is why I only sideswiped The Changed, instead of hitting them head on like I really wanted to.
They were everywhere. And I mean everywhere. They were like cockroaches – some slow, some fast, some big, some small...all deadly. I knew through trial and error that they couldn't transfer their malady to me by touching or biting me like one of those fictional “zombie” stories that I used to love to read…but they could (and would) kill me without a second thought. I’ve learned that the hard way. Something about The Change robbed them of their rationality, their memories, their...basic humanity…
I stopped next to an abandoned farmhouse roughly 30 miles away from where my mother and I lived. I kept the truck idling while I searched the grounds for any of The Changed. I couldn't see any. I knew they – or at least one of them – was there.
I shut the truck off, pocketed the keys, and slid out, grabbing my shotgun as I did so, and went straight to the arms of the enemy.
So to speak.
*
I pushed the heavy barn door open just enough for me, my shotgun, and my picnic basket to slip through.
It was dark inside, though the numerous holes in the roof and walls of the barn provided enough light to see the insides adequately enough. Enough for me to see what I came to see: my father. Hogtied. In the center of the barn.
I
slowly approached him, laying my gun down as I did so. He was awake, staring lazily at me through half-open eyelids. I smiled at him weakly as I approached. He smiled back...though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
“Hey...spud...” He said in a coarse, raw-sounding voice.
“Hey dad. I brought food,” I whispered, not quite sure why I was whispering. It was just something I always did when I was in this barn. It wasn’t like there were any OTHER Changed around this place. I hoped.
I stopped roughly five feet away from his prone body and started setting up the food that I brought. Taking out my flashlight and flicking it on, I ran its light over my father’s body, carefully examining him.
The last time I’d seen him was about a week ago, and The Change had… worsened since then.
We both knew that he wasn't supposed to be alive. When my father discovered that he was going through The Change, he had demanded to be taken far away from the house and killed. So I, being the loving obedient daughter that I am, took him to this barn and hogtied him instead.
What can I say?
I’ve always had a hard time following directions.
It tore my heart to tie him up the way I did, but I did it for his own safety. I knew that if I didn’t, he would eventually take his own life. And... I just couldn’t allow that…
So I’ve been visiting and feeding him here without my mom’s knowledge ever since.
My father long ago quit demanding his death, at least vocally. Maybe he finally got it through his head that I wasn't going to kill him. So now it just boiled down to a sick waiting game.
I watched as my father slowly ate the food I had brought: a brick of cheese, some meat, and the few vegetables that I could find that I knew he liked. He seemed consumed by his meal, intently focused on the simple tasks of putting the food into his mouth and chewing.
And then he wasn't. He was looking at me.
Or past me.
“Spud... the door... ” My father gasped.
I spun around.
The barn door.
I forgot to close it.
I watched in horror as three dog-like Changed creatures pushed through the crack that I left in the door, their eyes glazed, breathing out of sync. And they were looking intently at me.
And my gun was in between us.
*
I hesitated for only a few heartbeats.
I broke out into a dead sprint toward my gun at about the same time the Changed canines did. It was nowhere near like the slow-motion type scene that you would expect. In fact, everything seemed to go a lot faster than normal.
They reached me first.
One slammed into me from the side, trying to bite me with its huge rotted teeth, but I scrambled to deflect its attacks with my hands and arms. The second was on me the moment I hit the ground, and it was everything I could do to repel its attacks.
The third came from nowhere and bit deeply into my right arm, its teeth easily penetrating my shirt and skin.
The pain was excruciating.
My dad made an odd, loud strangled sound that temporarily caught the dog’s attention - enough for me to kick them off of me and make another run for my gun. One lightly nipped my leg, but I was fast - by the time they finally took me to the ground again, I was only inches away from my shotgun.
Picking it up, I twisted my body just in time to sloppily put it in-between me and one of the dog’s bites, then using the butt of the gun, I hit it hard across the head, knocking it off me and to the side. I scrambled to my feet and started blasting the dogs to bits.
My right arm, the bit arm, was throbbing painfully the entire time.
*
“You've been bitten,” my dad said in a deep, scratchy voice as I finished hogtieing him.
I shrugged as I proceeded to pack up the remnants of the meal I brought. I didn't really feel like talking about it. The pain was already horrible…I didn’t see the point in discussing it.
“You've been -”
“- I know I've been bitten, dad, ” I snapped, interrupting him. I closed my eyes and quickly regained my composure. “Dad, I know. I'll get mom to stitch it up when I get home. I promise.”
He looked at me with more lucidity in his eyes than I've seen in weeks.
“You might...Change...” he said quietly.
I shook my head. “It doesn't work like that, Dad. Trust me. I’ve got a lot of wounds and stitches to prove it.” I immediately regretted saying that as I saw him wince. Pain suddenly manifested all across his face. I tried a different tactic. “Hey, I'll be OK. Really. You raised a tough daughter.”
He smiled weakly.
“I… know. But you shouldn’t have to be tough… Spud...”
I sighed. Yeah. I had to agree with him. But such is the way of the new world. What could a girl do? He started to say something else, but I cut him off with a look. “Dad, I love you, but I have to leave. I scouted this new place out for supplies the other day, and I want to get there before it gets too dark. I'll close the door behind me. And I'll be back in a few days to check up on you. Just try and stay quiet, okay? I don't want to have to fight my way through a horde of Changed just to see you next time.”
He frowned but nodded. He then grunted and rested his head on the ground.
Unblinkingly.
“You know... even the bugs... avoid me now. At first... they would crawl up to me... on me... but now... they just avoid me. Like... I'm some kind of abomination...”
A tear unexpectedly slid down my cheek.
I wanted to say so much right then. I struggled to find the words to express how I felt, to tell him that he was the farthest thing from an abomination ever, but…
...I couldn't. Talking has never been one of my strong suits. Especially during emotional moments like this.
“I love you, Dad. I really do. I'll see you soon.” Was all I could manage to choke out.
Before he could say anything else, I left.
Making sure to close the barn door tightly behind me.
*
I arrived. Finally.
Before I could fully appreciate this fact, however, an icy sensation jolted up my back.
I reflexively crouched and spun around, a movement that sent my bitten right arm screaming in indignant pain. My shotgun was aimed and ready in about the time it took most people to blink.
Not that it did me any good. No one was there.
This time.
Strange…
I sighed and stood up, my knees popping and my back crackling as I did so. I probably looked something like an old, battered cat trying to stand up on its hind legs. I felt, more precisely, like an old woman in the advanced stages of arthritis. I was too old for this. Too tired. Too...
Young.
I was only 16 years old. Barely. I felt at least three times that. On a good day.
I exhaled a much larger breath than I remembered inhaling and lowered my gun, absentmindedly moving my oily hair out of my eyes at the same time, feeling an immediate jolt of pain that reminded me that my arm was recently tenderized by a Changed canine. Nothing I could do about it now. Not here, at least.
I went back to studying my surroundings. I was in a mall. One that had taken me months to find. From what I could tell, it looked largely undamaged. And strangely well-stocked.
I swung my backpack off and briskly walked into a nearby store, noting with a mild amusement a practically stripped video-game outlet that stood in direct contrast to the well-stocked clothing and food stores. I began rapidly shoving various objects into my backpack as I passed, mainly various objects of hygiene. That was, after all, the entire reason that I was here.
I could handle the “apocalypse” – The Changed that constantly roamed the buildings and streets of what used to be a great, bustling city. I could handle the insane, Changed animals that viciously attacked anything that dared to have a heartbeat. I could deal with all of that. What I couldn'
t deal with, however, was a complete lack of hygiene products.
Apocalypse or not, sometimes a girl just had to draw lines.
A movement in my peripheral.
I dropped my backpack and began to raise my gun again, but a sudden strong hand on my wrist stopped me. I looked up to the hand’s owner. It was then that I think I wet myself.
*
The hand’s owner was not that different from me. She looked maybe four or five years older. Her hair was long, greasy, and black – like mine. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and intelligent. Like mine. But her skin...well, her skin was a strange liquidy green, and it seemed to move...
I observed all of this in a fraction of a second.
She tightened her grip on my wrist and lifted me up by my neck with her free hand. She let loose a deep, low growl as she did this, something akin to an extended bass-laden snarl. A sound a throat wasn't ever designed to make. I kicked my feet wildly, but it didn't seem to do any good – my kicks, when they actually managed to connect, seemed to hurt my feet way more than they hurt her.
The hand holding my wrist suddenly twisted, and in one fluid movement my gun was ripped away from my hand and I was sent flying at the cosmetics shelves I was looting just moments before. My momentum was such that I knocked over several sets of shelves, turning this way and that mid-air, then hit my head hard on the floor and slid on my stomach.
When I finally stopped skidding, I found myself completely stunned. I laid there sprawled out, dazed, and completely confused. I heard my gun go off several feet away – she was shooting at me! - but my body refused to move. I was a sitting duck.
My death was guaranteed.
Several more shots went off. I heard crashing and breaking sounds all around me. How was she missing me?! I couldn't even move!
And then...
...silence.
The Change: Birth Page 1