The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  Sauntering up to the door as though on a stroll after Sunday service, Velvet tried the doors, finding them secured despite the lack of power keeping the magnetic locks active. She noticed manual locks on each door, figuring it wouldn’t be as simple as opening a door and walking inside, even in the apocalypse.

  “Use the chains, boys,” she said, referring to the chains on the back of the tow truck.

  With practiced precision, her workers set to securing the chains and their hooks on the door handles. As one of them walked back to the truck, however, one of the doors produced a noise that sounded like a key turning, and a man dressed in a uniform slowly stepped outside with his hands halfway up to ensure he wasn’t attacked immediately.

  “Just who are you?” Velvet asked the man, who appeared to be in his middle twenties, wearing the standard uniform jailors wore in Mecklenburg County.

  “My name is Randy,” he said, standing so the door wouldn’t close, either for fear of his life, or the lack of a way inside if it locked behind him. The chains awkwardly blocked his path anyway. “I stayed behind to feed the inmates when everyone else bugged out.”

  “That’s very noble of you, Randy,” Velvet replied, seeing his surname Morrison printed on the uniform he still wore. “I’m not interested in hurting you, or freeing everyone inside. I just came to retrieve one person who’s like a son to me.”

  Now the young man appeared confused, as though wondering which particular inmate she had in mind.

  “I need Audie Frost remanded to my custody,” she said plainly.

  Morrison took a few seconds to think before putting the name and face together.

  “Oh, Audie. He’s never given me an ounce of grief, unlike everyone else in there.”

  “May I come and get him?”

  “Yeah,” the guard said hesitantly. “But just you.”

  He held the door open for Velvet as she approached the entrance, motioning for her former employees to wait for her. She knew if freeing Frost took too long, they would make their way inside by carrying out the original plan.

  Following the man, she made her way past the front desk, now devoid of employees who once fielded calls and acted as a barrier between the public and the prisoners. A large square hub, the interior held several chairs, phones, and paperwork, but the once tidy area now appeared unkempt.

  “You run this entire place by yourself?” she inquired, knowing the shape and size of the building mimicked some high schools.

  “I do,” the man confessed. “Everyone else had families, or escape plans, but my job was kind of my life.”

  She heard the jingle of several keys along the man’s belt, realizing he, and he alone, stood between seventy-nine hardened criminals and freedom. To her, Frost wasn’t a criminal at all, and the people who accused him of wrongdoing simply hated people who made an honest living on the road.

  “Why not just let them go?” she asked.

  “Ma’am, a lot of them are thieves and killers. Wouldn’t do nobody no good if I let them loose on society.”

  Both of them passed through a door held open by a brick at its base to prevent it from shutting. Velvet suspected keeping doors open allowed the man to freely pass through the various areas with ease, not requiring keys whenever he needed a door opened.

  “I would’ve let Audie go free,” Morrison said, “but he never asked. I doubt he liked it in here, but he never showed any interest in leaving.”

  “He knew we’d come,” Velvet said conversationally, trying to keep her emotions in check. “And he knew if we didn’t, we were dead, and that’s what he’d want to be.”

  Morrison cleared his throat but said nothing as they passed through another door into the general population where the sealed doors kept the prisoners at bay. The moment they saw someone new enter the room, they shouted any number of requests at Velvet, asking her to free them, kill Morrison, or fuck them all night long. She ignored them all, focused on finding Frost and leaving without delay.

  She’d never seen so many bars, and so much concrete in her life, and the prisoners lived up to the picture Morrison painted, not one of them remaining quiet, or acting like a decent human being. In a way she envied them, still shielded from the horrors outside, being fed three square meals a day, but she didn’t envy the guard and the inevitable decision he needed to make. Letting them starve once the food ran out wasn’t humane, but neither was setting them loose on society. Velvet didn’t want hardened criminals sharing potential camps with her, and once free, these men could disguise their true nature with a cold shower followed by a change of clothes.

  When they came to Frost’s cell, Morrison didn’t hesitate to place the key in the lock and manually turn it, opening the door for Velvet, who stepped inside, not worried the guard would dare close the door behind her. Sufficient backup awaited her outside, and gut instinct told her Morrison wasn’t the kind of man to go back on his word.

  “You okay, baby?” she asked as she knelt beside the large man, placing her arms gently around his neck.

  He didn’t react immediately, as though the gravity of the situation overwhelmed him. After a few seconds Frost returned her embrace by gently wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her a bit closer. When she finally looked into his steely blue eyes, Velvet saw a tear forming in one of them, and she knew she’d done the right thing coming to free him from a hell within a hell.

  “You need to come with me, baby,” she said, taking his hand. “Everyone’s waiting outside for you, and we’ll keep you safe.”

  Frost required being kept safe from himself more than anything. Although he didn’t mean to, he sometimes gawked at people too long and made them uncomfortable, or wanted to touch objects that didn’t belong to him. People mistook him for some kind of weirdo or pervert, but Velvet saw nothing except an innocent child trapped in a man’s body. She blamed some of his social awkwardness on his self-conscious nature regarding his appearance, but her group helped him come out of his shell, at least within their clan.

  Holding his hand, she led him out of the cell, past Morrison, and neither man said a word, or made a move toward the other. Some understanding had been reached between them, and Frost wasn’t naturally violent in the first place. He hung on Velvet’s every word, willing to carry out any task she asked of him, which would certainly include harming someone, even to the point of murder if necessary.

  Velvet allowed Morrison to take the lead because she didn’t want to spend one unnecessary extra minute inside the facility as the inmates yelled obscenities and unsavory offers in her direction. Some of them took to booing her, some of them throwing objects or spitting through the small openings in their cell doors.

  Any sympathy she might have initially felt for them dissipated during her visit, and she felt even more horrified that Frost spent one second around such degenerates who likely showed no sympathy or respect for him. Only his size kept him from being picked on in the outside world, and she hoped the same held true within the concrete confines.

  Behind her, the thick walls eventually drowned out the yelling, and their voices completely diminished by the time she reached the lobby where no one remained to greet them. She saw her companions waiting outside, ready to be reunited with Frost. Before exiting, however, she turned to Morrison, prepared to ask one last question.

  “What are you going to do with them?” she inquired, nodding behind him where the rowdy prisoners remained safely tucked behind bars.

  “I’m not sure,” he answered slowly. “I’ve thought about letting them out one at a time at gunpoint so they can’t gang up and do anything terrible. Maybe one or two of them each day, or something like that. It would solve my rations problem, and give them a chance at survival.”

  “Do any of them deserve a second chance?”

  “A few,” he answered honestly. “I was going to let them go first.”

 
“And what about you?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “What are you going to do when everything runs out and you don’t have anyone to tend to?”

  “I guess I’ll make my way out there and see what happens. There’s no way I’ll let those things be the end of me, so I’ll keep a gun around in case I have to take matters into my own hands.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Velvet said as sweetly as she could, contemplating her own struggle with putting the dead down.

  She opened the door, letting Frost outside first, finding the chains remained secured to the door handles. Removing them, she let them drop to the ground, freeing herself from the building though the voices of inmates continued to run through her mind. Everyone embraced their comrade as he jogged jovially their way, happy to be with friends again, rather than unruly strangers.

  About to give an order for everyone to load into the trucks, so they could return to their makeshift camp and plan their next move, Velvet heard a vehicle approaching before the words emerged. Of all things, she saw a patrol car racing toward the front lot, and one glance back at Morrison indicated he felt as surprised as anyone to see a cop car speeding onto the property. Having seen no indication of radios, or communication, she doubted the guard could have called for help, even if he wanted to.

  Morrison stood at the doors, one of them partly ajar, witnessing the events about to unfold, but able to withdraw inside, like a turtle into its shell, if necessary.

  When the car finally came to a stop, a reasonably safe distance from the group, the driver’s side door opened, and a man dressed in a dingy uniform stepped out, placing his right hand atop his firearm. After a week on his own, the man sported an infant beard just beyond the stubble phase. His eyes examined everyone in Velvet’s group, and she knew he was a lawman of some sort, and not just someone playing the part who came across an abandoned squad car.

  “What is this?” he asked, not removing his hand from his sidearm, despite seeing none of them brandishing firearms.

  Velvet looked back to Morrison, who wanted no part of the discussion, remaining safely behind thick glass doors. She wondered if the deputy before them deserted his post, returning at last because he’d run out of supplies, or needed something from the jail or the nearby sheriff’s office.

  “What’s your business here?” Velvet asked, prepared to leave because she possessed what she came to retrieve.

  “I could ask you the same, lady.”

  “We were just leaving.”

  “Not with that freak, you’re not,” the man said, locking his eyes directly on Frost. “That piece of shit touched a little girl, and that’s why he’s supposed to be locked away.”

  “He did no such thing,” Velvet replied. “We don’t want no trouble. Just step aside, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “I don’t see any of you carrying weapons,” the man replied. “Maybe I should put the whole lot of you in there.”

  “We clearly outnumber you,” Velvet said, adding more firmness to her voice. “Step aside, and we’ll all pretend this little encounter never happened.”

  Now the deputy, or former deputy, drew his weapon, and Velvet heard the door shut and lock behind her as Morrison severed any connection he had with the argument and its participants. Taking aim directly at Frost, the deputy appeared extremely concerned with law and order after obviously putting himself first during the initial week of the apocalypse.

  “Why are you even here?” Velvet asked, trying to diffuse the situation before it escalated.

  “I figured those dirtbag prisoners don’t need food and supplies as much as me and my family, so it seemed they were ripe for the taking.”

  Stepping away from his patrol car, the man kept his gun trained on Frost, which concerned Velvet gravely. She didn’t like that the former lawman put his own needs ahead of prisoners, but she supposed he had his own family to support in the unforgiving world.

  “If you want your supplies so badly, step on past us and go get them,” Velvet offered, still trying to resolve the situation peacefully as her companions grew restless, prepared to pounce on the man, despite being unarmed.

  “I’m not letting that freak back on the streets,” the deputy responded sourly. “I’ve seen people who still have their kids with them. He’ll find them and do God knows what to them. I’m sorry, lady, but he needs to go.”

  “Down!” Velvet shouted to Frost, who moved just enough that the shot didn’t strike his head, but clipped him somewhere as blood droplets flew through the air when the deputy fired.

  Without waiting for her order, everyone else charged the man, and though he went to fire again, his gun jammed and he was pancaked to the ground by at least four of her companions. Velvet remained perfectly still, taking deep, furious breaths, looking to Frost, who cupped his injured shoulder with one hand. He finally looked in the other direction at what could only be described as a gridiron sort of tackle.

  Although the situation ended without a casualty, the deputy clearly intended to kill Frost in cold blood before opening fire on the remainder of the group until they died or fled. She couldn’t stand for anyone else in her family being placed in jeopardy, or lost to her like Harriet. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, ushering her first command.

  “Stand him up,” she said to the four men holding down the deputy, who continued to struggle.

  Forced to his feet, the man continued to fight and kick, even spitting on Velvet as she neared him.

  “You’re no better than the men inside those walls,” she told him in a hostile growl.

  “And you’re assisting and abiding a child molester, bitch,” the deputy replied, as though sensing he wouldn’t come out of their interaction unscathed.

  She looked to his nameplate, seeing his surname Barton across the silver tab.

  “You should’ve spent more time cleaning your gun,” Velvet said, and as the deputy looked to his firearm lying just feet away from him, he didn’t see her draw the knife from her side and stick it into his abdomen, just below the sternum.

  His face registered utter shock and he groaned from the pain, and the deputy immediately knew his life was measured in seconds, or minutes at best.

  “And you can call me Dark Lady, Deputy Barton,” she said staring into the man’s eyes, even as the life faded from them.

  Withdrawing the blade, Velvet turned away as her colleagues dropped the man like a sack of potatoes to the ground. She walked away, knowing she wouldn’t let anyone threaten her clan again. Feeling responsible for losing her sister, Velvet vowed to keep everyone around her safe, even if it meant their group took on the entire apocalyptic world.

  Dropping to one knee beside Frost, she began tending to his wound. One glance at the front doors of the facility showed Morrison cautiously looking outside, knowing what just transpired.

  Good, she thought. Let the word spread that we aren’t taking shit from anyone.

  Twenty

  Luke Johnson never imagined his life changing once he found the love of his life and bought a house with the man. They occupied themselves with updating the old house, creating a colorful garden, and gaining acceptance from the people living on their block. Fortunately, they weren’t the only gay couple living in the area, and modern beliefs had caught up with their Buffalo suburb.

  When the apocalypse began, they treated their house like a fortress of sorts, letting no one come inside while living off their packed and canned goods. Albert McConnell, his lover, knew firsthand what the sickness meant after narrowly escaping the hospital where he worked as a nurse, abandoning his duties when he saw the dead returning to life. The two decided to stay inside and observe the neighborhood from their second story level where they were safe from being spotted.

  Over the course of a few days the neighborhood thinned out, either from people catching the mysterious illness, bei
ng ravaged by the undead, or simply leaving to find loved ones elsewhere in the country. Luke became a quick study in how the undead functioned, and how to kill them, but Albert did all of the dirty work, often stepping outside to put them down, or searching vacant nearby houses for food and supplies. Even simple items like toilet paper and deodorant became luxury items when they couldn’t be grabbed from a store shelf and paid for with a credit card.

  Saying he was comfortable during this time would’ve been a gross exaggeration, but Luke felt as though he and Albert were capable of toughing out anything together. He personally wanted to contribute more, but Albert insisted on dealing with the issues outdoors. In the back of his mind, Luke knew he needed to learn how to use blades and guns out of necessity. The couple didn’t exactly have support, because their families didn’t approve of their relationship, and their neighbors were literally dropping like flies.

  Not long into the apocalypse, a knock came at their front door that changed everything. Cautiously examining what stranger dared interrupt their usual peace and quiet in their Victorian home oasis, they discovered the person wasn’t a stranger at all. Covered in blood that wasn’t her own, little Samantha Robinson stood there with a blank stare, in shock, for what felt like an eternity. The two men brought her inside, carefully checked her for bites or other injuries, and let her lie down in one of their spare beds until she put the trauma behind her enough to speak.

  Albert insisted on checking her house, not far down the street, suspecting something terrible happened to both of her parents, who opted to remain in the neighborhood like a handful of families. Leaving the area without a destination in mind proved a recipe for disaster for dozens of families, and the Robinsons understood this truth.