Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation

by Scott, Joshua Jared

  SALVATION

  SURVIVING THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

  Joshua Jared Scott

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  SALVATION: SURVIVING THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

  Copyright © 2014 by Joshua Jared Scott

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions therein in any form.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-502-38059-3

  Prologue

  It’s been quite some time since I completed my second narrative, the gripping tale of how I have thus far survived the stupendously wretched zombie apocalypse. You might think this is because the intervening months have been rather dull and boring or perhaps that I have been somewhat lazy. If so, you are mistaken. In truth, we underwent an extended period of preparation. Understand, we were going to take back our world, both from the sadistic breathers who were running rampant and the shambling horrors that wanted to feast on our flesh.

  For those unfamiliar with what came before or who had forgotten in the interim, I am going to provide a brief explanation of what happened. To start with, the apocalypse began on August 22, 3:15 AM Central Time. A quarter of the Earth’s population simultaneously, and without warning, perished. Without exception, the afflicted suffered terrible, agonizing convulsions before death took them. Seven minutes later the corpses reanimated and promptly began to attack the living. The cause was, and remains, unknown. There was no pattern regarding age, gender, race, location, or health. It appeared to be completely random.

  In those regions where the sun was shining, people tried to help the fallen. Millions were receiving CPR or otherwise had someone crouched over them attempting to render aid. With such a short period between death and return, there was no shortage of unsuspecting prey within easy reach. Things were no better in North and South America. Large households generally had at least one family member change, and those fortunate enough to get through the night unmolested woke to find the world in chaos. They were isolated and trapped inside their homes, the streets rapidly filling with monsters. At zero hour, well over one billion zombies walked the Earth. A day later, more than half the world’s population had turned.

  To be absolutely clear, those bitten will turn. Yes, there are rumors of immunity floating about, but these are just that. No one we encountered had ever seen such a thing, only heard from somebody who heard from someone else and so forth. Personally, I suspect such talk is simply wishful thinking. Sadly, a bite is fatal. The infection takes hold immediately, and sickness rages throughout the body, resulting in a high fever along with intense aches and pain. The wound itself festers, and following roughly three days of ever increasing agony, death comes. Seven minutes after that, there’s another zombie to contend with.

  Regarding those who die of other causes, whether it be violence, suicide, disease, or even old age, reanimation will occur in approximately twenty six hours. I have no idea why there is such a large discrepancy, but I am very, very grateful such a thing exists. It’s easy enough to identify those who have been bitten, even if they try to conceal the fact. Their symptoms are both consistent and blatantly obvious. These unfortunates can be quarantined and eventually dealt with, after they pass. Imagine sleeping next to your wife who has a stroke and dies in the night. Think you would last long? No, you would be shambling about yourself in short order. While still dreadful, the twenty six hour period is generally sufficient to discover the newly dead and take appropriate measures.

  As to zombies, here is a brief rundown of their primary characteristics. First of all, they are slow, awkward, and uncoordinated, hence the nickname, shamblers. What a normal adult would consider a brisk walk is pretty much the best they can manage. Additionally, they are stupid. To be fair, I know the things are capable of opening doors and unlocking seat belts, but that’s it. The brain is too damaged to solve complex problems. Likewise, they do not possess any memory of their past or of those once loved.

  As to their senses, they can’t see for shit. A gray film, similar to mucus, appears within seconds of reanimation. It is unclear if this is the cause, but there’s no doubt that their vision is limited to a few hundred yards. Nothing wrong with their hearing though, and the monsters will target any sound that could conceivably be of human origin, voices first and foremost but also cars, machinery, the banging of metal.

  The accursed things do not rot, and there is nothing to indicate they will ever vanish on their own. Yes, zombies decay for a day or two at the outset, but that’s all. It is just enough to ensure they appear dead with creepy, pallid, cracked flesh. And they are unnaturally durable. If you slash one with a machete, that wound will still be there months or years later. However, little things seem to have no effect. A zombie can walk over a glass strewn highway barefoot, and the feet will show no appreciable damage. Wear and tear simply does not apply. So unfair.

  * * *

  I was living alone when it began – thank God many times over – on the far northwest tip of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Turning on the television when I woke, as was my habit, I quickly acknowledged and accepted all that was happening. My home was neither defensible nor safe, and after a few days of planning I fled, accompanied by one of my neighbors, Briana Mills. Together, we traveled north sticking to back roads and diligently avoiding all but the smallest towns. It was difficult, but we gathered up other survivors which helped, the most important of whom were Lizzy and Mary.

  On the twelfth of September, we reached the Nebraska National Forest, having chosen this location based on its relative isolation, along with easy access to water, lumber, farm animals to take, wild animals to hunt, and thousands of acres of cropland that would be ready to harvest in a few weeks. Additionally, it was easy to hide. There were others already in residence, campers and a church group who had been on a religious retreat prior to the zombie uprising, but the people proved pleasant enough and no conflicts arose. In the end, we joined forces and built a small, but thriving, community.

  That came to a crashing end on November 20. What can be best described as a vicious motorcycle gang, whom we had taken to calling the raiders, launched an assault on the castle. This was our home, so named by the children. A walled compound composed of cinderblock and concrete, it held housing units, store rooms, latrines, and a large common hall. Anyway, the raiders attacked without warning. Their motivations were unknown at the time, but their goal was the total destruction of everything we’d built and the death of every man, woman, and child in the forest.

  It was a brutal fight, and the noise and chaos brought forth a large number of zombies. This herd was the biggest we had ever seen, several thousand strong. They came out of the trees and quickly encircled the raiders. To the best of my knowledge, every last one of the sadistic bastards fell. Then they broke into the castle itself. I survived, along with Briana, Lizzy, and Mary. We had been positioned in the trees on the edge of the meadow acting as snipers, striking the raiders from the side. Inside, only Steph and a four year old, Johnny, managed to pull through, and that was because they got up in the rafters, hiding in a tiny alcove. The others were torn apart or, as often as not, committed suicide.

  Despite losing near everything, we chose to remain in the national forest. The winter proved typical for the region – it was cold with plenty of snow – and we spent most of our time impatiently waiting for spring to roll around. I will also point out that Briana turned eighteen in December, which, while not really an issue, was somewhat comforting seeing how she was pregnant with our first child.

/>   With the weather improving, Lizzy, Mary, and I journeyed to South Dakota. We had knowledge of a settlement there which had been destroyed by the raiders a few days prior to the attack we suffered. However, there were indications a few people had managed to avoid the slaughter, and we wanted to find them. In this, we were successful. Hurray! Our tiny group doubled in size. The key newbies were Marcus, an experienced long haul trucker, and the twins, Tara and Dale. The twins are a bit of an enigma. When it comes to expressing feelings or emotions, the pair is almost catatonic. They rarely speak and never participate in group activities. The two are also the best shots I have ever seen and are capable of killing without hesitation. It is important to note that neither Tara nor Dale will harm others without cause, but on those occasions when they have killed a breather, neither showed the slightest hint of remorse.

  We also cut south to Oklahoma and rescued a group down in Anadarko whom Briana and I had met on our way north the previous summer. With this addition, we finally had enough people to properly guard our home, maintain regular watches, patrol the forest, and defend the castle in case there was a second attack.

  Such an attack came of course, but it was fortunately directed elsewhere. It turned out the raiders consisted of more than the single gang we faced back in November. They had thousands under their banner, and directed by their shadowy leader, a man referred to as the prophet, this group invaded Salt Lake City. At the time, Utah hosted the single largest band of survivors in the continental United States. Roughly fifty thousand had established themselves in the mountains around the city.

  The fighting was fierce, and the defenders were hampered by the outbreak of an unknown illness. This killed close to five thousand with another twenty falling ill. Roughly another five thousand died as a result of the raiders’ assaults and ambushes. Demoralized and hurting, the survivors broke. At first it was just a few who packed up and left, but more quickly followed. Soon it turned into a flood, and virtually everyone fled. Some headed to Wyoming, but most disappeared into the countryside.

  We were in contact with the Wyoming Ranching Collective when this occurred. By the way, that’s the name Mary gave their system of interconnected ranches and refugee camps. At any rate, the people in Wyoming knew the prophet was coming for them – he had issued a statement to that effect via radio – and these brave folk were determined to stand and defend their homes. We helped out in two ways. First, we took in large numbers of their non-combatants, such as children, pregnant women, and the infirm. Second, following the birth of my son, Asher, I joined in the fight directly.

  In the end, we lost. I hate to say it, but there is no way to sugar coat the truth. Practically the entire state had to be abandoned. The worst losses were attributed to a pair of large battles where the raiders, being the creative, insane monsters they are, proved victorious. A few ranchers managed to escape the massacres, but the number was small. Some skirmishing followed, and finally, in the town of Casper, a group under my command returned the favor. We wired a stretch of highway with explosives and lured them in. Several hundred died within seconds of one another, and we even managed to injure the prophet. Unfortunately, it was not fatal. Still, they pulled back in disarray, and we used the opportunity to make good our escape.

  Of those still alive, a little under half ended up in Yellowstone National Park. Deep within the rugged terrain, they constructed a new community. Our allies are all but impossible to find and even harder to reach. Briana and I, along with about a thousand others, chose an isolated valley in the middle of the Black Hills for our new home. This, we fortified. Our location was kept secret, as everything indicated the raiders were as determined as ever to exterminate their enemies, and they defined enemy as pretty much everyone on the planet. These bastards would never give up. They were going to come for us eventually.

  * * *

  Everything I just related was covered in my first or second narrative. From here on out it will be new material, so I advise you to pay close attention.

  That first winter in the Black Hills proved difficult. It was bitterly cold with heavy snowfalls that made travel all but impossible. Worse, we had an outbreak of influenza. As a society we had been spoiled, but now the vaccines we depended on were gone, not to mention proper insulation and heating. As a result, we were woefully unprepared. The illness spread quickly, and the sick were confined to their cabins with fires constantly kept burning, this being the only source of heat we possessed. The deaths were fewer than expected – thank God – and the mini epidemic eventually passed.

  As the weather began to improve and the possibility of attack increased, we initiated a program of overhead flights. Our pilots scoured Wyoming and northern Utah, both places where we knew raiders to have recently been, along with everything else within a couple hundred miles of our little valley. Fortunately, the raiders appeared to be staying put in Salt Lake City where they had constructed their own fortified compound. Following a series of discussions with our allies in Yellowstone, it was decided we would utilize the lull in hostilities and prepare for their attack, the majority favoring defense over going out and hunting them down.

  Ellsworth Air Force Base and Rapid City were raided. And how that sucked. The city had an original population of seventy thousand, and I’m guessing at least fifty thousand of that, fully zombified, were still in residence. We managed to clear them out. It was the standard “pull a small group toward you, kill them, and repeat” stratagem. It’s not worth relating in more detail. Besides, this is the prologue which is meant to supply a quick and concise summary of events before the book proper begins.

  It took six weeks before the dead stopped coming. There were more in the city of course, but we had gotten as many as we were going to. The looting then began. We stocked up on literally tons of canned goods. Plenty of guns were found, along with more than enough ammunition to replace what we burned through in the fighting. The Air Force base was even better. We had military arms, aircraft, and ground vehicles. Granted, we had no one knowledgeable enough to pilot a fighter jet, but it’s still pretty awesome to say they’re ours. The helicopters, on the other hand, are within our level of expertise.

  While I was off clearing vermin and taking things that did not belong to me, Briana was just as busy. We have several farms in our hidden valley, and most of the inhabitants planted tiny gardens next to their cabins for personal use. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to ensure our bellies remained full. More was necessary, so Briana selected several nearby valleys, all of which were easily accessible. Large vegetable gardens were established and fields plowed in order to grow corn or wheat. We couldn’t leave these untended, so several small outposts were likewise built. These have the secondary purpose of keeping watch for any potential threats.

  Work also began on the citadel. This dual purpose structure is situated in the rear of our valley on a gently sloping hill, and the walled compound provides a secure location to take shelter within, in the unlikely event the outer wall is ever breached.

  Of greater interest is the fact that we were once more in communication with the American government. Early on, remnants of the military evacuated to islands along both the east and west coasts, as well as to Hawaii. The Ranching Collective in Wyoming had been in regular contact with them from the start, until the relay tower we depended on suddenly collapsed. Afterwards, the raiders’ invasion altered our priorities and absorbed all our attention. With that unpleasantness concluded for the time being, our friends in Yellowstone sent a couple of planes west. These managed to link up with the authorities, and after some logistical problems were sorted out, both Yellowstone and the Black Hills received new equipment via airdrop. All was good in the radio world.

  By the way, the islands in question are no longer under the direct control of the Army and Navy. Elections have been held, and civilian representatives selected, making everyone happy. It also allowed military personnel to work on other projects, namely getting rid of the zombie menace. There were some
inquiries about us relocating to the islands, but the government balked. They would take people if need be – that was promised – but it would be better if we stayed where we were in order to ensure a secure foothold was maintained on the mainland. After a lot of debate, we agreed. Some left, but surprisingly few wanted to go after we received a second promise regarding assistance against the raiders.

  Whether or not we would actually need any help was unclear. You see, the raiders had unexpectedly abandoned their compound in Salt Lake City. One day they were there. The next flyover showed it empty. They had a scattering of farms which were still manned by skeleton crews, but the bulk of their population had vanished without a trace. The only thing we knew for certain was that they were not on the roads heading toward either of our settlements. The threat posed by the prophet was now completely unclear.

  Countering the fog of war, or the uncertain peace as the case might be, was the deployment of several officers and enlisted from the islands. These were to train us in the use of all the nifty weapons we recovered from Ellsworth Air Force Base. Sadly, we were not allowed to keep the fighter jets. Air Force pilots and mechanics were parachuted in. They got them working and took the things away. But, we did get to keep some of the attack choppers, so it wasn’t all bad.

  * * *

  The third year of the zombie apocalypse began. That’s right, two years had passed. The first was horrible. Our world collapsed. Friends and family died. Then, after so much hardship, there was the brief sensation of security. We had found safety in the Nebraska National Forest. The raiders crushed that notion, and all out war soon erupted. In contrast, the second year was rather low key. We cleared out Rapid City and raided an Air Force base, but that was just a flicker of excitement. As stated earlier, most of our time was utilized preparing, building, and farming. The raiders did not attack, and while I wanted so very much to find and butcher every last one of the bastards, my energies were better spent making sure that when we did act, it would be decisively in our favor.