The Rotting Souls Series (Book 1): Charon's Blight [Day One]

by Ray, Timothy A.

  "Come out to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs," he said in his best Bruce Willis voice as he grabbed a bag of pot from the cookie jar and put it in his pack. He grabbed the empty jar of peanut butter and took his money roll. He didn’t know what the hell he’d need, and it was better to have it than and not need it than—

  His internal clock was vibrating through his bones, warning him that time was slipping away. He took a bottle of Jack and took a quick swig, then poured it all over the couch. Making sure that he had his bong and the rest of his drugs, he lit himself a cigarette and took a long deep drag.

  “Well Ben, if you’re wrong, I’m totally fucked.” He took a moment to reflect on the wisdom of what he was about to do; he was putting a lot of trust that Ben was right and not fucking with him. But he was going to be leaving the state, he had no idea for how long, and most of his shit would probably be gone when he got back—fucking looters.

  “Aw fuck it,” he muttered as he tossed his burning cigarette into the pool of alcohol. His couch went up in flames as darted out the front door. When he got to his car, he turned to look at the golden glow of his living room. His trailer had plenty of fuel to keep it going til the whole thing burnt down.

  “I’ll kick your ass if this is a drill boy,” he muttered, looking at the authentication code that flashed on his screen. He remembered an episode of the Walking Dead that he’d seen a long time ago and flipped the inferno off just as Daryl had, a smile stretching across his face.

  Then he threw the door open on his hatchback and turned the engine over. Click. “Fuck!” he swore. He pounded on the steering wheel, then tried it again. It refused to turn over. “What the hell?” he asked in fury. Then he saw that it was in gear. “Goddammit,” he swore and put it back in park. He turned the key again and the engine roared to life. Hitting the gas, he left the burning house behind and fled down the dirt road towards the highway.

  The kid was sending him updates as he drove but he only took sparing glances at it; he got the gist.

  Get the fuck out? I’m was trying!

  The car was flying towards the main road as fast as he could manage. He silently congratulated himself on living on the outskirts of the city. According to the image on his phone, Dallas was heavily infected and he needed to put as much distance as he could between it and him. He stamped on the accelerator, the hatchback bouncing with the increased speed. He had been high and full of shit when he had suggested they prepare for this; there was no way he could have been right—no way.

  This had to be a prank.

  Even so, his heart was pumping and his hand was trembling. He tried to brush his long brown hair out of his face and failed miserably. Full of shit or not; he was getting the fuck out of Dodge. He was nervous as hell and needed something to calm his nerves, but there was no way he was going to pull over now; it would have to wait.

  He thought of his ex-girlfriend, but it was only a passing thought. She had bailed on him to move to the city and there was no hope of getting in there to get her out. Her loss. They hadn’t parted on good terms and Nikki wanted bigger and better things.

  Well, she got her wish.

  He hit the brakes as he came to the main road, dust kicking up behind him as the hatchback skidded and lifted off its left wheels. It plopped back down on the asphalt with a jolt and he hit the gas once more.

  He turned quickly and headed west. According to Ben the I-30 was clear and so far the 20 was as well. If things went well, he’d be the hell out of here before it got this far. Abilene was said to be clear, but traffic from Albuquerque worried him. He had a long drive ahead and there was no way he’d avoid it all. The rubber suit he wore chafed at his balls and he adjusted it as he drove. His right hand slid to the passenger seat and he stroked his bong absent-mindedly.

  Maybe he could make time?

  “Fuck, I forgot the Fun Yuns!” he cursed.

  A car flung itself into his lane and he barely got his hand back on the wheel in time to swerve out of the way. He heard a scrape along the side of his car and it jostled from the impact. The fucker had nearly run him off the road! He pressed the brakes out of habit and looked in his rear-view mirror. The fucker wasn’t even stopping. Then it hit him, he wasn’t going to stop either.

  “Asshole!” he yelled, extending his arm out the window and flipping the guy off. His heart was in his throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swore, pounding his hand on the steering wheel. His phone was going off but he was too shook up to pick it up.

  He took a deep breath but nothing was helping. His nerves were lit up and the increased blood flow was making him light-headed. His damn phone went off again; pissing him off even further. He nearly picked it up and threw it out the window. Man, he needed to take a hit off his bong before he drove his car off the road. Still shaken up from his close call; he finally picked the fucking thing up.

  Ben: pull off

  Ben: goddammit Casey! Pull off!

  Ben: HEY STONER CHECK YOUR PHONE AND PULL THE FUCK OFF!

  He had just gotten on the I-30 and he saw a sign for Linkcrest ahead. Swearing, he pulled into the breakdown lane, his car idling. He looked in his rear-view mirror and didn’t see shit. A glint of light caught his eye and he saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. They were approaching at high speed on both sides of the highway and his hands began to shake.

  He gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to control himself. He wanted more than ever to take a hit; but those lights instantly made him wary of that. He looked at the off ramp ahead and threw the car into drive. The approaching vehicles were going way too fast for him to trust them not to hit him too. There was sporadic traffic on the highway, all looking to get over as far as they could, the guard rails impeding their efforts.

  He was the only one thinking to get off.

  He flew down the off ramp, drove through the red light, rolled to a stop at the top of the onramp, and threw it into park. His eyes widened as the emergency vehicles swarmed past, some of them scraping the cars parked on the sides of the highway behind him. One squad car hit at a bad angle, twisted, and flipped into the air. Flying forty feet, it came to a rest, the roof crumpled. The other vehicles didn’t stop, they just kept going.

  If he had stayed up there, he would have been nailed by that squad car. Holy shit! Ben had just saved his life.

  Ben: bout fuckin time you listen asshole

  Ben: You’re clear for the moment, get going

  “Yeah, fuck you too buddy,” he said with a chuckle, hands shaking. If he ever made it to Arizona, he’d have to give that boy a huge wet kiss and a slap on the ass.

  Inching forward, he floored the accelerator before the other cars could pull in front of him. It was going to be a long trip and he needed to make up some time. Albuquerque still hung over his mind; but after the shit he had just seen, it was far removed as his immediate concern. Fuck, why didn’t he move closer? Not like his podcast couldn’t have been made in New Mexico—or hell, even the compound. Surely Rodger and his family wouldn’t have minded a little extra company.

  It all had to do with how much he had believed his own bullshit. Even though he had spoken of it with a strong conviction, he had never really thought it’d happen. Who the hell would believe something out of a Romero film would actually walk the Earth?

  That shit was so fake. Zombies could never exist.

  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Had something actually escaped from a lab like he had said, or would it all turn out to be a hoax? Then he’d really feel like an ass; not to mention his shit was going up in flames. He’d have no home to go back too. “Fuck me.”

  Traffic was starting to increase and he fought the urge to drive faster. That would only increase the chances of getting in an accident and he’d had enough of that already. The vehicles around him moved erratically, as other drivers frantically tried to get some distance on Dallas.

  The word must have started to spread.

  S
hit, how hadn’t he got out ahead of this? He turned on the radio and was stunned at the music that came blaring over his speakers. He had expected a warning from the authorities, news reports from the DJ’s, something other than Alice in Chains. He sighed and turned it down; he’d wait to see if anything aired. Man in the Box was thundering softly from his speakers and he could relate. Traffic had him boxed in pretty tight at the moment.

  His phone beeped at him and a map had begun to download on his screen. Dallas had spread to Ft. Worth and he shook his head in shock. Damn, this shit was moving fast.

  It didn’t mesh with what he was seeing.

  People were acting fucking crazy but he hadn’t seen any sign of an outbreak. It could have easily been a fire or other emergency, right? There were no other signs that the world was ending and no broadcast indicating an outbreak of any kind. Where were the frantic newscasters, the break in scheduled programming? He was flipping stations as he drove and he wasn’t even hearing advertisements; just music. It was almost like the radio stations were on autopilot.

  Someone had to know something!

  His cell went off again but he didn’t need to look at it this time. Having kept his eyes peeled for more emergency vehicles, he had quickly noticed the National Guard caravan heading straight for him. He didn’t have an off ramp to race down this time so he got as close to the guard rail as he could and braced himself against the steering wheel.

  The wind from the passing trucks caused the car to rock and he almost threw up from motion sickness. He was lucky they hadn’t hit him. Still, it had been close, way too close. One of the soldiers gave him a passing glance and the fear in the man’s eyes was enough to bring it home—this was happening.

  “Fuck!” he cursed as he pulled back onto the interstate and continued on. It was the only thing he could do to keep from going insane. What the fuck is going on?

  “School’s out for summer!” Alice Cooper sang.

  “No shit,” he muttered, gunning the hatchback and heading west as fast as his piece of shit car could take him.

  Chapter 4

  the Girl on Fire

  Mark

  Columbus, OH

  Mark didn’t have his cell on him.

  There was a fire blazing and he ran to the rig to grab his gear. They had responded to the call in record time and the hoses were already being run. Suiting up, his hands ran through the vest as he turned to face the blaze; not knowing that the world around him was starting to burn faster than the building before him. He took a long breath and strode forward to help the other firefighters in their attempt to control the fire.

  The rest of his team was working quickly; the hose beginning to spray down the house. The flames had begun to lick the buildings around it and the man on the hose alternated from one building to the other, trying to soak it down and prevent it from spreading. They only had the one hose and it was border line from getting out of their control.

  He waited, axe in hand. He knew from experience that if anyone was in that house they were already dead, but stranger things had happened. There could be an isolated pocket that had not yet been caught up in the blaze and someone could be hiding in it; needing his assistance. By the violence of the flames, he hoped that wasn’t the case, because there wouldn’t be anything that he could do about it.

  There would be no heroic rescue.

  The houses around them had been evacuated in case the fire spread and there was really nothing he could do but watch and wait.

  A door burst outward and hung off its hinges at an askew angle. He didn’t even flinch with the suddenness of the violent act. The training and experience he had gained instilled in him a calm that the rookies among them had not yet mastered. Then a sickening sight emerged from the flames. A flurry of fire burst from the interior of the house and began to march across the front lawn. He realized with horror that it was a human being trying to escape the inferno.

  He kept his fear in check as it made its way towards him. He hesitated. His hand tensed on his axe and he wondered if he should step forward to put the poor bastard out of their misery. It was the humane thing to do; no one would blame him for it. There was no way they’d survive the violence being inflicted upon them.

  Ten feet from him the figure dropped to its knees, hovered there, and then fell forward; scorching the grass around it. The hose turned onto the body; but it was too late. The blackened corpse smoldered beneath the spray and fought for its life against the force of the water.

  Trying his best not to puke from the smell of burnt flesh, he turned his head away and looked at his team. One of the rookies wasn’t so lucky. He was puking his guts out near the back of the truck. The others mirrored his look, all but his Captain. He was standing there, eyes on the scene, calculating their next move. Nothing fazed their leader. The Captain ordered the hose back on the house as the corner of the neighboring building began to catch fire.

  A scream ripped the air from his right and he turned in its direction, gripping his axe tighter. He watched as a woman ran from the backyard of the flaming house, her clothes rippling with bright orange and yellow flames. Her hair was on fire and it rippled like Carrie at the prom. She was running straight for the paramedics who had pushed forward with blankets to help her.

  The look on her face paralyzed him. He had expected to see pain and anguish there, not cold naked fury. This bitch was rabid!

  He moved to intercept her before the paramedics got there but he wasn’t fast enough. She leapt with inhuman strength and tore into them; jaws wide. Her fingers were ripping at them even before her barred teeth sank into the first paramedic’s throat. Blood gushed into the air as if it was some horrid scene out of the Evil Dead; the man’s throat had been torn apart.

  Stunned, the other paramedic backed up, fleeing the claws still trying to get at him. Then the paramedic did the only thing he could; he brought his gear around and bashed the woman in the back of the head. There was a sickening crunch from the impact, but all it did was draw a nasty snarl from the rabid woman. The dent in her flaming head rippled in some sick slow motion effect. He could see the spit fly, the blood gush upward, and the flesh rend.

  The paramedic stumbled back a step and brought it down again. She crumbled beneath the strength of the blow, falling on top of man she had been tearing apart. She jerked with violent spasms as her body finally got the message that it was dead. The paramedic she had attacked was fumbling at his gushing throat and looking at them with pure terror in his eyes. His partner seemed too stunned by what he’d just done to help him.

  Responding on instinct, he rushed forward to help the dying man.

  “Get that bitch off him!” his Captain yelled from his rear, but no one seemed to be moving other than him. “Move Goddammit!” their leader roared, shoving one of the paralyzed firefighters forward.

  He was surprised to find his axe flipping the dead woman off the fallen man; he hadn’t realized he had crossed the lawn that quickly. He bent down at the paramedic’s side and clamped a hand on that neck wound. He yelled for the stunned paramedic to help him, feeling the pulsing blood starting to slow. The man’s jugular had been ripped apart and he knew there was little chance to save the man’s life. He looked into those fearful eyes and watched as the life left them. Shaking his head in despair, appalled at what had just happened; he barely noticed their chaplain rushing forward to read the last rites.

  He let go of the man’s neck, his hands covered in torn flesh. He stood up and beheld the smoldering ruin of the woman that had attacked them. She had been on fire, but it hadn’t come from being in that house. Her back was a charred mess but her front had barely been touched. She had most likely been blown free when she had tried to go out the back. The heat of the fire was intense and the sweat was flowing, but he saw no signs of trauma other than the blows to the head she had received from the paramedic’s gear.

  In all his years, he had never seen anything that gruesome. Backing off, his mind began to work in overtime, m
emories flooding him. His comrades had everything under control and he quickly strode towards the rig. He reached in and retrieved his phone from his black leather jacket on the seat. He flipped it open; oblivious to the world around him, and saw that he had five missed messages from Ben.

  “No fucking way. This shit isn’t happening.”

  Ben: Columbus is ground zero, get the fuck out!

  Someone else screamed and he glanced over his shoulder, the flight response in him triggering. He stuffed the phone in his jacket pocket, no longer worrying about protocol, and turned to the scene he’d just left.

  Joey, one of the most reserved fun loving men on their crew, was now swinging an axe in a crowd of black and yellow. Another scream rent the air but he couldn’t find its source. The men backed up; not one of them paying attention to the fire blazing beyond. The flames had begun to spread to the neighboring houses, but the hose lay on the lawn forgotten.

  Stunned onlookers were on the street with their jaws hanging; frozen into inaction. The human mind refused to let go even though every instinct told you to flee.

  “Back the fuck up!” his Captain hollered, stepping forward.

  Joey was standing slumped, the axe still in hand, held limply at his side, blood dripping off the recently used blade. The paramedic that had just died, lay there with his head split open. The other paramedic was sitting on the grass, his hand hastily trying to clean a bite wound on his arm. It was too massive to staunch.

  Then it hit him in the gut, this was real. This was not bullshit.

  His Captain must have been thinking the same thing because he had pulled his pistol and before anyone could react, shot the young paramedic in the head. The man’s head blew apart, spraying brains everywhere. The rest of his team could only stand there and stare, some giving the man a wide-eyed look. For the first time in Mark’s memory, his longtime friend and Captain showed something other than his usual calm exterior. Tears were running down the man’s face as he looked at the gun in his hand. The silence was only broken up by the burning house beyond.