Surviving the Zombie Nightmare (Book 1): The Zombie Outbreak

by Daniel White

  Then he heard a dog wine and with a panic he understood why the pile got lighter. Bart must have gotten free of the office and come to help. Now some of the pile had gone after him. With a newfound zeal Eric pounded Zombies with the bloody tool. The one in front of him was knocked out cold by the hardest head strike he could manage. When the pile was down to three he was able to pull his feet up and shove them off as a whole. He rolled backwards quickly and searched for Bart. He was about three yards to the right with two zombies all over him. Yelps were melding with growls and barks, as the large dog fought with every bit as much fight as Eric did. They were both fighting for their lives now as the three he had kicked away now rushed him again. This time he was ready for them. He ducked low and charged towards them. The tactic was more than their crippled minds could manage to counter. He plowed right into the one in the middle and drove him into the ground before the mindless human could even move the steel that had been driven through his face and exited his skull. Bart was yelping slightly more than growling now, and Eric doubled his effort to save the dog that had saved his life. The remaining two gunning for him had worked back around towards him and now were only feet away. Eric pulled the rod out of the latest victim and spun quickly. A hard heel kick sent the attacker into a heap. Eric continued the spin and finished with the pole driven through the third zombie. Circling back around, he caught the second before he could regain his attacking speed and ended his miserable existence.

  Then there were two. Bart was on all fours and backing away so Eric tried to run towards him. Instead of a few quick steps in that direction, he looked down and saw that his leg was badly hurt. It was nothing that couldn’t be wrapped and allowed to heal, but for immediate purposes it was crippling. In desperation he launched the pole towards the back of one of Bart’s attackers. The pole struck him dead in the head and knocked him off balance. Eric limped over quickly, getting there just as the zombie turned towards him. He ducked and picked up the pole in the same move. Rising up again he drove the steel pole through the zombie’s heart and watched the blackened blood gurgle from his body. Quickly he spun around to try and help Bart, but he shouldn’t have worried. Bart was standing on the chest of the last of the group. It appeared the dog had actually clawed and bit into the zombie’s mutilated face. The sight reminded Eric of his dad’s injuries. He walked over and pulled Bart off of the dead zombie attacker. Looking down, he spit on the carcass, “How’s it feel you piece o’ shit?”

  Limping quite a bit now, with zero adrenaline flowing through his body, Eric leaned on Bart as much as Bart could be leaned on. He didn’t even bother going back into the office area but instead crumpled to the floor outside. His pants and shirt were in tatters. He ripped an appropriate sized piece and tied off the blood flow on his left leg. Bart came over and started licking the wound and whining. It should have been a touching feeling, and in some ways it was. But all that came outwardly from Eric was ice, “Don’t get too close Bart. I’m sure you’ve seen what this apocalyptic crap does to those closest to you. I know I have. I figure the best thing to do is just not let anyone too close at all. It’ll make it easier if you have to use them as zombie fodder later.” He grew angry at himself and winced in pain, “Certainly will make it easier if you wind up having to kill them.”

  CHAPTER 4

  (22 Hours Earlier)

  There was no response from Tony, and Eric knew exactly why. The dead expression and emotionless eyes were exactly like the attackers at the government office building earlier. There could be only one explanation considering what had been done to their parents. Tony could snap and completely lose his mind and still not do something like this. Still Eric wasn't about to just tear into his own flesh and blood without giving him some kind of time to explain.

  He held his ground beside his dad trying not to look, "Tony? Tony it's me Eric! Tony!" by the time he stopped talking Tony had worked his way inside the room and was slowly walking towards him. The look in his eyes was as soulless as a corpse. He began to walk faster – no not walk, more of a stalking – towards Eric. Forced to step back a little, Eric saw his dad’s mangled face out of the corner of his eye and winced. Tony was around the couch now and stalking faster towards him, “Tony, it’s your little bro man come on! You can snap out of this! Where is Janie and . . .” Eric couldn’t allow himself to finish that question. Deep inside he already knew where the rest of his older brother’s family was. They were in the same condition that Tony had left their parents in: slaughtered.

  It would be impossible to know for sure but it almost seemed like the mention of his wife actually flipped a switch inside the Tony husk that set him on full throttle. Like a bullet he zoomed around the couch and before Eric knew it he was backed against the wall with a zombie-like version of his older brother attacking him and apparently trying to scratch and claw him to pieces. Growing up Eric had fought Tony plenty of times and this certainly wasn’t like fighting Tony. It was at the same time better and worse. Tony was much more skilled at close hand to hand combat than this sorry excuse for him. Eric easily was able to parry and dodge blow after blow. At the same time though Tony would never have been this primal in his attack. The clawing and gnawing of any part of Eric that presented itself was more than anybody would expect, much less Eric of his own brother. It was enough of a distraction to separate Eric from the emotion of the situation though. This wasn’t Tony at all. Whatever had happened inside of his head, it destroyed any remnant of Tony Bayne and left only this creature behind.

  Using this newfound separation, Eric began to systematically figure out how to fight this thing. It was vicious and extremely quick but it lacked the quick reaction that came from years of fighting. The brainy part of a great fighter was the most important in one on one situations, and this thing had no brain at all. At least it was extremely lacking in the area. A few ducked punches later and Eric was able to use Tony’s odd aggression against him and plunge him into the wall. He made no secret about what his plan was then, and ran out the den doorway back to the hall. Try as best he could there was just no way to not see his precious mother lying there in pooled blood. It gave him pause, but it also gave him a spirited rage that was threatening to take him over completely. Whether this thing was Tony or a Tony husk or zombie, whatever the hell you called the damn thing; it was going to pay for what it had done to their parents, to Janie and to Tony himself. Unfortunately, the pause was too much to allow for Eric to capitalize on his advantage. He had underestimated the sheer speed that the zombie-like Tony had now and barely had the large kitchen knife in his hand when he was bowled over from behind. They crashed into the door that led into the kitchen and the knife went sliding across the floor. Tony released a guttural scream with blood foaming at the edges of his mouth, lunged for Eric’s face. He was greeted with a hard right hand punch to the nose. Eric then pulled his fist across in a back fist before shoving upwards on Tony’s shoulders. The zombie version of his big brother was pushed upward just long enough for Eric to bring his knee up and into position. When Tony came back down, Eric’s knee pierced his brother’s eye socket in marksman like precision. There was only a brief scream of pain and possibly anger, and then Tony came for him again. He snatched Eric’s fist out of the air this time when it came towards his face, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what to do with it before Eric’s lighting fast reactions went into gear. Switching the grip around to where he also held Tony’s wrist, Eric then pulled him forward quickly and powerfully. Falling back to the floor as he pulled gave him that much more added momentum and Tony’s body sailed into, and then flipped over, the center kitchen island.

  Eric hated what he knew he had to do next, but he reminded himself that this wasn’t Tony anymore. He wasn’t killing Tony, just the thing that had already taken Tony away. Scrambling, he snatched the large kitchen knife off of the floor and stood over the fallen husk of his brother. He hesitated only for a moment, but as he brought the knife down towards Tony’s back he found out that it w
as one moment too long.

  Quicker than he would have thought possible, Tony spun around in a primal rage and half clawed, half punched Eric across the jaw. It hurt badly enough, without getting thrown into the cabinet nearby, with the zombie moving quickly in for the kill. Tony growled and fell atop Eric with all of the murderous intention that had killed the rest of the family. This time it was different, though. Tony’s bodies went stiff immediately, and then limp, after a second or two. The gross, slimy excuse for his older brother now lay dead across his own chest. Eric could have gotten up if he wanted to, but that wasn’t what he wanted to do. Instead of tossing the body off like he felt like he should do, Eric allowed a few tears to fall and just held Tony. He wasn’t holding the dead zombie, murderous replacement for Tony, but rather Tony himself. He wept mightily for his fallen brother, mother, and father. Everything was over now. Nothing would ever be the same. The place in his heart where they all had spent the last thirty years was replaced by a black void. That void had a job to do. It would suck dry the tear ducts that helped stain Eric’s cheeks even now. When he stopped crying, he vowed he never would again. In the void instead would grow a steely resolve to make no mistake of finding out exactly what had gone wrong with the majority of the human population. When he found out what or who was responsible there would be hell to pay.

  He rose up from the floor a new man; a harder man. From now on his life had one singular purpose. Eric Bayne was now the vindicator of everyone who had suffered loss due to this. He would find out what was going on with this crap. And when he did, whoever did wind up taking the blame would have Eric Bayne to deal with. That was going to be something whomever it was, would not want.

  CHAPTER 5

  (Present Day)

  At one time there was nothing that would gross Eric out. From the days way back at the grade school cafeterias, all the way through to unspeakable horrors in college dorm rooms, he was cool with it. Consequently there was very little he would not take a dare to do. It led him to take a fearless approach to most of his upper teen and early adult life. Though he had tempered a little over the past decade of adulthood, he still considered himself pretty gutsy. That made it even more difficult to take that he was sickened by what he had chosen to do. Here he sat in an old warehouse wondering what had happened to the human race. There in front of him were about a dozen dead former humans – zombies.

  It was fairly simple. He had to study them and figure out if anything looked different or strangely out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that they were zombies. He really didn’t think he had the stomach for it. There were other excuses to get him out of going to investigate, though. After all he had a throbbing leg injury that was healing slowly, now that he had been able to treat it. He scavenged all of the old first-aid kits around the deserted warehouse’s office to do it. But still he knew the wound was beginning to take the turn from deadly bleeding wound to slowly healing wound. It wasn’t wonderful but all things considered, he would take it.

  Excuses or not, suddenly weak-stomached or not, he had to figure something out about what was going on. The human population doesn’t just randomly turn into brainless zombies overnight. Though it seemed that way, clearly something else had to be going on behind the scenes, or had gone wrong somewhere in a big way to let loose such a terror. The memory of having to kill his own brother brought back a sense of duty.

  When he had gotten up off of the kitchen floor just about a day ago, he had vowed to bring justice the real cause of the death of his family. Even though it was only hours later, it seemed so much larger than he originally thought. It wasn’t just about his family. Tony’s family had been destroyed. Ugly old Bart’s family had been destroyed as well. Countless thousands were dealing with this, not just him. That assumed it hadn’t gone worldwide. If it had, then there may be very little hope left. Thinking that way didn’t accomplish anything though, so he stood up and inhaled fresh air.

  Eric felt like an old cripple as he limped over to the old abandoned warehouse’s bathroom. Inside he turned the faucet handles, and was surprised to actually find some water trickling out. It wasn’t crystal clear by anyone’s measure, but still it was water. Hell, if the zombies didn’t kill him what chance did the nasty water have? He scooped some up and drank it then splashed it over his face and looked in the mirror. His chiseled features had made him quite the power player on the dating scene in pre-zombie times. Now all they were was a reminder that a few humans were left alive and standing in this horror. The fact that he was one of those few meant he had no choice but to fight for all of them. He hoped and prayed that there were a few others like him that chose to battle through this. What ending could there be was anyone’s guess. Maybe it was unstoppable, and once all of the normal humans were gone, there would be nothing but human shells left. The human spirit had proven time and again how resilient it could be. It was entirely possible that this thing could be beaten in months, years, perhaps it would take decades. But in all likelihood there was some way to overcome it. In the even faintest hope that something could be done to emerge victorious in this apocalyptic war, Eric would be a volunteer on the front lines. He had nothing to lose and nothing to gain. He was just a man that chose to fight.

  After cleaning himself and working up his courage, Eric walked back out to the warehouse as emotionless as the zombies themselves. Walking to each in turn he made observations and searched for clues of what made them different. Their eyes were all uniformly unfocused and blank. The strange thing was that the dead zombie’s eyes didn’t look any different than when they were walking around. Perhaps they were rolled up farther into the head or they were even less focused. Another thing he noticed was that they were bloodshot. Maybe something had caused some kind of brain damage? It was impossible to be sure, so he kept looking and making mental notes of what could have happened.

  Once he was finished there really was only one thing left to do; sit in the office figure out what to do next. After sitting for several minutes and coming up with nothing, he decided to get up and take another look around. This time it would have nothing to do with zombies, though. Too much of that was swimming around in his head to come up with any kind of rational plan. When dealing with zombies, is there even such a thing as a rational plan? Eric quietly laughed to himself.

  Eventually he found himself in what must have been the office of the supervisor or plant manager or someone important. Regardless of who exactly used to spend their days here, it all belonged to Eric today. As he wiped cob webs from the doorway he thought of how great it was. The mouse that ran by his foot might have startled him if he hadn’t just fought a dozen zombies to the death. It was a real prize-winner of an office. With one metal desk and a brown couch that obviously wasn’t comfortable at any stage. Only someone in desperate need for a place to sit would set foot in here.

  Lucky for the office, desperation defined Eric Bayne today. The desk might make a nice place to prop his injured leg to help with healing, and the couch wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Or at least Eric was desperate enough that it was okay. Either way, he instantly felt better and the thoughts began flowing. It was hard to remember now exactly which direction his apartment was, but considering the situation this old rusty metal warehouse would work perfectly fine as a replacement. Besides, the fact that he lived in a large apartment complex didn’t exactly bode well for the chances of surviving a trip to grab a few mixed martial arts trophies, much less staying there.

  The whole point of walking back to the old rat infested office was to find a somewhat relaxing place to rest and think. It was difficult to trust anyone at the moment, but something told him Bart would have no problem letting him know if some unwanted, undead intruders were to arrive. With that in mind he was actually able to allow himself to collapse for a brief sleep.

  “It’s happened! Don’t you see? They’re here! Zombies are in this very building! I know you think I’m crazy, but I just saw some while walking back from the bathroom!” The old man w
ho had talked to himself the entire time Eric had known him and finally broke his silence for this? He felt strangely like he knew the fellow however, so he didn’t tell him to get lost just yet. Then he looked at Eric with a strange gleam in his eye. “Lukas Eric Bayne, you have to listen. You are one that must fight. So very few will be left standing. You have to fight! You must fight them!”

  Eric woke with a start expecting to see zombies coming after him from every direction. But there were none. Only Bart was there lying on the floor in a deep slumber. Eric knew why, though. It was the strange dream. In real life that old man had only gotten to the word “zombies” before getting hauled away. Where the rest of the dream had come from wasn’t anything that Eric was smart enough to figure out, but he knew two things. Only his closest family knew his full name and more importantly, he now knew where to look for answers. Why hadn’t he thought to look for clues at the office building where he first saw zombies? It must have been the exhaustion and the throbbing pain he had been in. As he rose up into a sitting position he noticed that his leg was already better. He always had been a fast healer, but right now he was more thankful for that than his vacuous lungs. Still he was slow getting to his feet. After limping slowly out of the office he felt the throbbing of blood flow returning in full force through the wound. It was painful, but he was confident now that it would be just fine.

  The biggest step in getting from here to the office building was finding clothes. Not that he wanted to impress anyone, but he thought he would need a layer or two of clothing for any potential fights he got in on the way. It would be useful in case any attacker needed something to grab, that hopefully wouldn’t be his throat, and might provide a nice tourniquet in the event of another serious wound. The problem obviously was finding anything. What he had on currently was only tatters at best. No good in a fight or in any other circumstance. A search of the offices turned up only an old black hat that wouldn’t do much good. When finished he still had nothing and was about to just walk outside in what he was wearing. Luckily enough, perhaps lucky wasn’t the right word, he had one other idea.