by Nikki Landis
An After-Zombie Tale of Love & Survival
Last of Us
Copyright © 2019 Nikki Landis
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Kathy Denver, iPublishGlobal
Cover by MoorBooks Design
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Playlist:
Zombie Chart
The Marines
The Civilians
About the Author
Dedication
For fans of The Walking Dead, the post-apocalyptic genre, and all things zombie . . .
This is for you!
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
This story began as the brain child of author Dee Garcia and was intended to become part of an anthology called Black Hearts. While the anthology couldn’t continue, many of the authors decided to release their books alone. I wanted to say thank you to Dee and the other authors who inspired, shared, uplifted, and supported one another through the writing process and beyond. Our hope is that readers will enjoy our stories and read them all even if they aren’t in the anthology.
Prologue
In the year 2052, man became invincible.
The key to immortality had been created, linking human DNA to a newly discovered strand that enabled the once frail human body to adapt and change while it enhanced physical attributes like strength, speed, and agility. An important distinction in this alteration was the profound effect on the aging process. The strand attached to individual cells and created a buffer which slowed the process down to near nonexistence.
Hundreds of years of extra life added in a single moment.
The proverbial fountain of youth.
One solitary scientist in America created this new DNA strand while looking for a cure for cancer. He found it amid much controversy and skepticism. The cure came in the form of this new enhancement known as ST541. The scientist, Mark Schroeder, made exactly 540 attempts before this one in his research. Apparently, 541 was his lucky number. Schroeder succeeded . . .
And he shared his find with the world.
The process became coveted by every country and government entity as a massive outcry for the knowledge spread into every hidden crevice of the earth. A new world order was established to contain the chaos that exploded in civil wars and a power hungry struggle to own the technology that made everyday man immortal. The U. S. maintained its precarious hold over ST541, but barely. Dr. Schroeder lived under constant fear for his life and family. Those who wanted the drug for themselves threatened to kidnap him for his knowledge. Or worse, if he didn’t comply.
In defiance, Dr. Schroeder began another round of experiments in order to create a super soldier or bodyguard who could protect him from the threats, as well as his beloved country. He needed to run more tests on human subjects. The man was obsessed. More blood. More tissue to dissect.
More degrading and inhuman trials.
Only those highest in clearance knew. All knowledge was kept from the public.
Every citizen was required to submit DNA for the new system the government created (known as Schroeder’s Base). Mandatory samples were taken, both with and without permission. The government ran secret testing and trials in select military bases across the nation. Humans became specimens in the rigorous search for the right formula.
Enhanced human DNA to fight the enemy was the only objective. A drug created that would not only extend life but give the human body special attributes. Strength, speed, and agility weren’t enough. The government wanted more.
Dr. Schroeder began work on the new drug.
Weeks turned into months.
The U. S. government wasn’t satisfied with his progress. If we could extend life, could we create it? If we could create the perfect soldier, what else could we discover? The next step in evolution? And so the experiments continued . . .
The sick and severely malformed, the disabled and the freaks, were all forced to subject themselves to testing. Threats were made against those who resisted. In the end, no one could. Dr. Schroeder reluctantly shared his knowledge and research with a new scientist, Dr. Tina Malfoy. Together, they found a solution.
MS69.
Two strands were developed.
The first was designed as a population control. With the new upgrade in longevity, some citizens were deemed ‘unfit’ by the government and a waste of resources – particularly those on welfare, low-class individuals that bred more of the same undesirable populace. This strand was a slow acting poison distributed in certain demographics within the one thing Americans drink and can’t go without – BOTTLED WATER. These zip codes were considered a loss and therefore perfectly acceptable to distribute the virus.
Originally tested on prison inmates and those on death row, this deadly strand morphed from a slow-acting poison into a mutating virus that was uncontrollable. Never fully tested against medications or narcotics, its ability to fight against these foreign invasions of chemicals was never realized. Instead of killing the virus, the chemicals acted as a conduit and changed the virus, mutating it yet again.
No one could foresee the disastrous consequences, nor the deadly impact.
People fell ill almost immediately; flooding the local hospitals, urgent care facilities, and primary care buildings across the nation with a variety of flu-like symptoms. Antibiotics had no impact. The virus fed and mutated, adapted and consumed every attempt to overcome its natural inclination to persevere. In essence – it was a super killer.
The second strand was altogether different.
This new drug was tested on volunteer soldiers in the military. At first, the drug was successful. Man became powerful and resistant to attacks, the DNA rearranging and repairing itself when injured. These new soldiers were faster, smarter, and more resilient . . .
And then something changed.
This virus mutated.
Perhaps it was the combination of the first strand – immortality – and the second – enhancement – that caused the deadly virus to become such a horror.
Now, we live in a world where the monsters are neither living nor entirely dead. Destruction and chaos have become the norm. The living dead have succumbed to the corrupting virus, the infection spreading until all were consumed, and now these undead roam the streets.
One-year A.Z. – After Zombie – and here we are.
There’s no choice. We kill or we die. Or we die and we kill.
A life that’s nothing but horror.
Survival?
Well, t
hat’s one day at a time . . .
Chapter 1
Day 365, A.Z. –
A heavy thud fell against the barred door as the sound of wood splintering filled the nearly empty room and echoed inside my frantic brain.
Slam.
This was the second body thrown against the frame in the last thirty seconds. Moments ago I pushed a metal desk in front of the thick wooden door to prevent the undead from coming in after me. The halls were thick with the bodies that bumped into one another in a sort of shuffling daze. I prayed the barrier would hold until I could figure out my next move. Luck seemed to have abandoned me lately as if it was as afraid of the Infected and undead as I was.
The office building I was in sat on the corner of Broad and Front St. Part of the abandoned Arena District downtown, the cloistered buildings, high rise offices, and ritzy apartments were surrounded on two sides by the scenic Scioto River. A destination for major concerts and Columbus Blue Jackets ice hockey games at the Nationwide Arena, it’s also home to Huntington Park, the Columbus Clippers baseball team, and the popular North Market known for its global food stalls. In the evening, office workers packed casual pubs and sports bars.
One of the biggest attractions was Red, White, and Boom. Ohio’s largest fireworks display was every July 3rd. Most of the roads closed down for the day and blocked traffic while hundreds of bodies crowded food truck alley, the craft beers stand, and packed like sardines in a can as they watched the annual parade and waited for the show to begin.
Just like last year when all hell broke loose.
One year later, I couldn’t help but miss the sound of fireworks as they boomed into the sky, cascading colors lighting up the dark night in a dazzling display. If you looked around you couldn’t miss the red, white, and blue decorations that still cluttered many of the storefronts and streetlamps. Businesses with broken and boarded windows and smashed doors were a stark contrast to the patriotic streamers, bows, and American flags. A testament to how drastically and quickly the world had gone to shit.
This year would have been the fiftieth anniversary of Red, White, and Boom. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Nostalgic? Sad? Pissed off?
Maybe a combination of all three.
It’s really disconcerting if you think about it. Undead roaming the city and decked out in patriotic t-shirts and wearing light-up necklaces with flashing red, white, and blue lights. Thankfully, those batteries died within the first couple of days. I can’t tell you how frighteningly weird it was to bump into a glowing zombie, teeth clicking, reaching out to tear your flesh from your bones. Maybe that’s why so many freaked out in the beginning and the chaos couldn’t be contained.
Zombies in patriotic gear and lit up like a Christmas tree chasing you down the street while fireworks whizzed through the air and exploded above.
Talk about macabre.
My gaze slowly surveyed the room as I crouched on the floor. The contents were scattered about – desks, office chairs, filing cabinets, phones, etc. People had left in a hurry as evidenced by overturned chairs and spilled coffee mugs.
I should have known it was too quiet today. Usually I heard the undead long before I saw them. The gnashing of teeth and shuffling of feet along with their hungry squalls, so like a starving infant in their intensity, provided the warning I needed. Undead were not in the habit of being quiet.
I smirked. They were sort of stupid. At least lately.
Perhaps the virus was taking its toll. I could only wish and pray this was the case since my survival depended entirely on the hope they would eventually die out, be destroyed, or starve to death. I was alright with that option, too.
Across the room was another door, the glowing red letters of the EXIT sign flickered with the sporadic electricity that still lingered in the building. That’s why I chose this office complex today. The power was working which meant I didn’t have to scramble around in the dark.
At least until the lights pulsed and everything went black five minutes ago.
Shit.
I grumbled under my breath and switched on my flashlight. To the right and left were long rectangular windows, both leading outside and to the sharp second story drop below, straight down to a gray slab concrete sidewalk. Jumping wasn’t an option and unless I suddenly developed the ability to fly the windows weren’t much help this high up. If I injured myself, I would never survive or return home.
Home. What a fantasy that concept was now.
Crack.
The door was weakening. I didn’t have long now before the undead would push their way inside. Taking a deep breath, I inhaled and exhaled slowly, relaxing the thunderous beating of my heart. Fear wasn’t a new concept in this post-apocalyptic world of kill or be killed.
Rule #1 – Survive.
I sprinted across the office and headed straight for the exit, reaching for the handle as quietly as possible. At an agonizing pace, I slowly turned the knob and listened for the sounds of moaning, shuffling feet, or the gnashing of teeth.
Silence.
Opening the door further, I shined the flashlight into the hall but pointed it low at the floor, looking for feet.
Mistake #1 of the day – I failed to notice the undead male on the other side of the door who lunged in my direction the moment the light shined into the hall.
Mistake #2 – The edge of the door caught on a piece of frayed office carpet and refused to close. The wood held on as it gripped the material and bunched up the fibers the harder I tugged. Frantically, I began yanking on the door in a desperate attempt to flee the clutching claws and rotting fingers of the undead.
Rule #2 – When all else fails . . . Run!
Clicking off the flashlight, I darted back into the office and managed a pretty awesome baseball slide behind a large row of metal filing cabinets. I’m not sure how, but I managed not to hit anything or draw more attention to myself. Shocked, I drew in a shaky breath and stuffed the flashlight into my backpack, thankful the zipper was quiet. My heart pounded in my ears as I tried to slow the anxious beats. Stopping to listen, I waited on the usual warning sounds.
Close enough to send chills down my spine, the noises of the undead were filling the room with every second that past. I pulled my knives from their sheaths strapped to each of my upper thighs. Ever since MS69, the drug that mutated and started the virus that infected the populace, I became my own version of Lara Croft. You know – Tomb Raider?
How freaking cool was that?
If only I wasn’t surrounded by walking dead people . . .
This exact moment was when I noticed the main door I’d entered – and had previously shut – was now open. Shuffling feet could be heard along with the constant gnashing and clicking of teeth. The grinding jaws of the undead – or H.I.M.S. – searched in their attempt to find food. I should clarify that food means me.
No matter what I did, I could never disguise my scent enough.
Damn fucking zombies.
H.I.M.S. (Humans Infected with drug MS, named after the two scientists who created it – Malfoy and Schroeder) were the result of the mutated virus that infected all humans who were exposed to MS69. When the drug corrupted the human DNA of those who were enhanced with MS69, they began to show symptoms of rejection and all hell broke loose.
Their bodies changed. Their skin paled. Their minds began to deteriorate.
Most disconcerting – their hunger grew.
Once the blood tests were performed, a virus was detected. Dubbed “the flesh eater” because of its horrible and painful side effects, fear spread among the populace. Those injected with MS69 noticed their bodies declined further as open sores oozed along their frames. Their skin became necrotic and their fascia erupted like some screwed up version of the bubonic plague. A craving for raw meat and fresh blood drove them to openly attack. They became murderous, singularly focused on one objective: feed.
And so the Infected were unleashed.
The undead released the zombie fucking apocalypse.<
br />
Those who were sworn to protect became those who sought to maim and kill. Such was the way of the world now.
Survival of the fittest. Natural selection had a really bad sense of humor. Darwin was probably laughing from beyond the grave.
If it wasn’t bad enough, news of the contaminated bottled water and the devious plot by the government to exterminate low class citizens across the country was exposed. When the infected people began to overwhelm the hospitals the news media leaked the story. Only days later the outbreak proved the story was true. Anyone who came in contact and drank bottled water in the affected zip codes became ill. Now they were zombies.
Soldier and civilian zombies.
Fuck my life.
I’m not sure which ones were worse.
The Infected soldiers were extremely enhanced and scary as hell but the vast amount and high number of citizens who were undead were impossible to avoid. I haven’t even discovered all the different variations of these particularly nasty flesh eaters.
Grasping my knives firmly in each hand, I quietly crept along the carpet and toward the first open door. Moonlight shone in sparse beams through the window, hidden by thick dense clouds that mostly obscured its full round shape as the pale moon hung low in the dark sky. Nightfall. Stupidly, I’d lost track of time.
Mistake #3 – I lingered too long inside and missed the sunset.
The soldier H.I.M.S. were the most dangerous at night where their enhancements allowed for night vision. Not to mention the other Infected . . .
I was in big trouble.
Fuck.
I couldn’t make a run for it, there were too many of them. My only option was a loud distraction. The kind that would ensure most of the undead were drawn away from my only escape route. Crouching low, I sheathed my knives and let my fingers grasp the revolver on my hip with my right hand. This was risky, maybe even suicidal, but how the hell else was I supposed to get out of here alive?
Raising the gun so it leveled with one of the wide office windows across the room, I exhaled and let my finger pull back on the trigger. The gunshot echoed within the four walls, followed by a loud crash as it exited from the building, glass breaking upon impact. The next moment, my ears ringing, I witnessed the throng of undead moving toward the window. As the bodies crowded the frame and pushed against the glass it began to splinter, little cracks that formed from the gunshot exit, traveling all the way to the metal sill in all directions like a delicate spider web.