Neighbors

by Paul Z. Ford

  neighbors

  Book 1 of the Nation Undead series

  Paul Z. Ford

  NEIGHBORS is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  paperback ISBN: 978-1-981007-27-1

  Independently Published Exclusively on Amazon

  Email the author at pzford.author@gmail.com

  Neighbors

  Text Copyright © 2018 by Paul Z. Ford

  All Rights Reserved

  Contents

  Prologue

  PART 1

  Chapter 1 – Cleanliness

  Chapter 2 – Family History

  Chapter 3 – Vitality

  Chapter 4 – POTUS

  Chapter 5 - Armament

  Chapter 6 – Shaken

  PART 2

  Chapter 7 – Work Ethic

  Chapter 8 – Panic

  Chapter 9 – Sinking

  Chapter 10 – Homestead

  Chapter 11 – Alien

  Chapter 12 – Meeting

  Chapter 13 – Recruitment

  Chapter 14 – Threshold

  Chapter 15 – Backtrack

  PART 3

  Chapter 16 – Conjunction

  Chapter 17 – Roadblock

  Chapter 18 – Aggression

  Chapter 19 – Isolation

  Chapter 20 – Interlude

  Chapter 21 – Abyss

  Chapter 22 – Trapped

  Chapter 23 – Homeward

  Chapter 24 – Cleansed

  Chapter 25 – Neighbors

  Chapter 26 – Escape

  Prologue

  A figure approached the military checkpoint.

  It shambled, slowly at first, but then sensed or saw the soldiers watching it. It had gray-brown skin that helped to hide its features in the dark. The power was out, and the soldiers were on blackout orders. The one in charge saw the figure and barked for it to stop, but the loud voice seemed to attract more attention. The bare feet of the figure slopped against the pavement of the road.

  The radio crackled loudly. The muffled command clear to engage bellowed from the faraway officer. Three of the uniformed checkpoint agents pulled their triggers in sequence and three piercing cracks from the shots echoed around the tall buildings of the city.

  The figure continued to approach, more quickly now. They could hear erratic expulsions of growling breath. It was clicking and gnashing its teeth loudly and the wet slaps of its steps sped up to a quick shuffle. The soldiers seemed confused. They looked to their leader for guidance. Their warm breath puffed visibly into the cold air. The man in the Humvee charged the lever back and forth on the mounted machine gun with a reverberating sound.

  Three more figures exited a side alley and followed the same path as the first.

  Questions asked into the radio went unanswered. The young uniformed men and women began to fear the half-naked figure still approaching with its unsteady gait. Their discipline kept them from firing in panic. They each looked to their leaders for guidance as they fidgeted with uncertainty.

  Suddenly, three or four blocks farther along the road the checkpoint was occupying, more walking figures appeared. They looked like men and women but they all stumbled along randomly and mindlessly, attracted to the noise of the checkpoint. More and more merged into the horde from each side as they all walked slowly forward. Dozens.

  One of the soldiers discharged his rifle a second time at the lead figure. This time, they all saw the creature’s arm snap back from the impact. It didn’t slow, despite the injury. Blood ran down its torso and began to stain the gray-looking sweatpants black in the dark night. Its left arm swung uselessly from its side. Now they could see the gnashing jaws and teeth.

  No sound came from its mouth as it came within ten feet of the soldiers. No orders came. No sound came from the radio at all. The lieutenant dropped the radio handset and pulled out a sidearm. He fired wildly at the approaching creatures. The panicked shots did nothing to slow any of the shamblers. As his pistol emptied, the remaining soldiers followed his lead and started firing unrestrained into the approaching mass. Each rifle fired until it too was empty. Some of the closest figures dropped to the ground, but the servicemembers’ panic grew to fear as the rounds did little to slow their approach. Muscle memory from thousands of hours of training took over the fine motor skills of the soldiers as they each reloaded and continued to engage.

  One creature that was hit in the knee struggled to stand and kept falling into the growing puddle of slick blood around it. Several more rose and faltered back into step toward the humans. One of the rifle shots had exploded the forehead of a figure that did not rejoin the growing crowd. More and more continued to join the mass in the now crowded street. Hundreds.

  The lead figure was hit but seemingly steeled its resolve to continue stepping toward its target. The closest soldier to it was standing behind a concrete construction barricade, turned slightly to the left firing wildly into the crowd. The gray-skinned figure raised its uninjured right arm and grabbed at the soldier’s helmet strap. With uninhibited strength, it yanked the soldier’s head down and bent him across the barricade. The man’s scream devolved into a wet gurgle as the monster bit into the front of his neck.

  Screams and yelling preceded the rout of the unit. The mounted machine gun rattled and then went silent as the gunner was overtaken by three climbing attackers and their biting teeth. The echo of the gun’s final clatter bounced around the skyscrapers and into the frenzied horde.

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  Cleanliness

  Comforting, warm water began to rinse away the tension of that morning’s argument. The ordinary morning quickly evolved into tough territory, as did most Sundays lately. Five or ten minutes alone was the easiest way to mentally cleanse the realities of the world. The speakers blasted out distracting music that echoed around the tile of the room. The lyrics were barely audible when his head was in the stream of water.

  Ohhhh, a storm is threat’ning… myyyyy very life today. If I don’t… get some shelter… oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away…

  A little fist pounded loudly on the bathroom door. Insistent and sharp, the knocking was reminiscent of the conversation that had turned into resentment and anger prior to his retreat to the shower.

  “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” a little voice yelled. Knocking became pounding. Unyielding. The doorknob clicked back and forth rapidly, and then the knocking continued with new fury.

  Waaaaaaaar, children… it’s just a shot away, it’s just a shot away-hey…

  Kahn ran his hands through his hair a couple times to drive the soap and warm water away from his eyes and mouth. He knew if he didn’t answer now, the anger his wife projected toward him this morning would not subside with their son’s furious pounding on the bathroom door. Sighing, he reached down and stopped the water. He slid the curtain aside and started to dry himself with the towel. His son must have heard the water shut off because the pummeling seemed even more frantic. Kahn reached forward and clicked the lock.

  The door instantly flew open and banged the young father on the side as he flinched and dropped his towel. His eighteen-month-old son, Daniel, rushed into the small room.

  “Privacy please!” Kahn exclaimed as he bent over and tried to pick the towel back up. Daniel was innocently standing on it fiddling with the toilet paper roll. His naked father tried to push him gently away so he could free the towel and regain his modesty. “What do you need, son?” he asked.

  “Nu-sing, da,” the boy answered. Oblivious, he stayed on the towel, nudging back against his father’s gentle push. Aisha suddenly appeared in the door frame. Her eyebrows lowered as she spied the scene.

 
; “What in the world are you doing?” she asked her husband. He was bent halfway forward with a hand on the little boy’s head and the other on the trapped towel. His expression became cold and worried. He didn’t want to restart the argument they were having before his shower.

  Raaaaaaaape… Murder… it’s just a shot away, it’s just a shot away… Raaaaaaaape… Murder-yeah! It’s just a shot away, it’s just a shot away…

  “What are you listening to?” she added. Aisha was raised much more traditionally than her husband and did not recognize much rock music, much less classic rock from several decades ago. Kahn stopped pushing Daniel and reached over to stop the offending song.

  “Nothing, it was just on a random rock station. Can you get him off my towel?” Kahn snapped. If she decided to continue the argument now he would be disarmed, uncomfortable, and irrational. Aisha stared at him tight-lipped for a few moments and apparently decided against pushing him further at this vulnerable juncture. She picked Daniel up and left Kahn alone in the bathroom. He took a few moments to quickly brush teeth, comb hair and beard, finish drying, hang the towel up, walk out of the bathroom and into the small bedroom closet.

  Kahn and his family lived in a moderately small three-bedroom house on the outskirts of San Antonio, Texas. He bought the house while Aisha was pregnant with their only child. At the time, Kahn had a full-time position as a supply sergeant for the Headquarters company of the nearby Army National Guard unit. He wasn’t even a sergeant by rank when he took over the position; he was a corporal, and was selected for the job in a bit of luck to fill the open full-time role for the unit. It was a great position for him, paid well, and had a lot of benefits for his family. He could take a lot of personal time with his wife during her pregnancy and they used his active duty status to qualify for a mortgage for their home. Unfortunately, a few months after they moved into the house, a force reduction order had come down and Kahn’s position was combined with the administrative role in the unit. The same month Daniel was born, Kahn was honorably discharged from the military.

  Kahn was thinking about his former career while he got dressed in comfortable jeans and a short-sleeve work shirt. The front of the shirt had his first name, Hal. The back of the shirt had the name of the shop, Boomstick – Ash’s Guns and Ammo, owned by Aisha's brother Ashur. The name of the shop had been Kahn’s idea; he was born and raised in the U.S. and understood pop culture and how it could tie into business. Kahn had designed the logo, a cartoony Bruce Campbell-looking guy brandishing a shotgun. The younger customers usually laughed at the reference, most of the old timers didn’t know what it meant. He pointed out to Ash that they didn’t have a lot of repeat business from the really ancient folks that came around. Kahn assumed it was because both he and Ash had a distinctly Middle Eastern appearance. Ash typically shook off the insinuation, telling Kahn their tan skin and dark hair made them look Hispanic. A lazy and somewhat offensive observation to make, Kahn would chide, considering they lived in South Texas.

  Ashur and Aisha were Assyrians born in Iraq who moved to Texas as young children. Kahn’s family was also Assyrian, but he had never been to Iraq or experienced the issues that his wife and brother-in-law had growing up and escaping religious and ethnic persecution in their home country. Family history was something Kahn spent a lot of time thinking about. Although he and his wife came from the same culture and background, they had very different experiences growing up because of where they were born and raised. He tried to keep this in mind when they had arguments, and to consider the context of what they were arguing about from her perspective. At least, once his emotions wore off.

  On his way out of the master bedroom, he went and grabbed his phone off the speaker dock in the bathroom. He slipped it into his pocket and checked himself in the mirror. He saw his dark, mildly curly hair and beard, and everything looked like it was in place, ready for work. Kahn studied the lines in his face. He was in his late-20s, just like his wife, and was starting to get slight crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes when he squinted. He thought his appearance was clearly Middle Eastern, and he felt guilty that his own countenance made him nervous. The beard helped provide the stereotypical “terrorist look” that Ash liked to joke about. Kahn would shave it but Aisha liked his facial hair, and Ash told him shaving it wouldn’t eliminate the sideways glances and whispers that he sometimes got in public.

  He exited the bedroom and braced himself for a continuation of the earlier angry debate. Aisha was upset because Kahn stopped going to church about six months ago. It was becoming more difficult to reconcile his faith and his doubts. Politics had gotten dirtier than he ever remembered and the people in his church didn’t seem to sense the irony of their political views and their religious views. Kahn was sick of the hypocrisy he saw, so he started making excuses. He felt embarrassed and isolated, keeping his feelings to himself. He asked Ash if he could start opening the store on Sunday mornings so he would have an easier time dodging Aisha’s inquiries. They had lost one of the store’s keyholders then, so it was easy to give the schedule change as a reasonable excuse for his absence. But now it had been too long. Aisha knew he was avoiding the subject and actively ducking their weekly gathering, but he kept trying to avoid the argument.

  Most people who learned of their background assumed they were Muslim. Their outward appearance apparently gave them away to some. Curious people found out they were both from Iraq. Well, they would explain, Aisha and Ash were born in Iraq and Kahn’s parents had moved to the U.S. before he was born, but they were both from the war-torn country. They both clarified to people that they were Assyrian, and therefore they were in the minority as Christians in a predominantly Muslim country. Assyrians were persecuted by the same enemies of America, they’d explain. They had their script pretty well-rehearsed by this point.

  Yes, our parents came to this country legally. Yes, we are American citizens. Yes, we pay our taxes. Yes, we vote. Yes, thank you, we do speak English well. Yes, we do celebrate Christmas.

  Kahn, in particular, felt the need to almost over explain that they were just like everyone else here. Outwardly, this account usually got sympathetic nods and soothing agreements. But Kahn felt, and this was a big reason why he now avoided going, that others in their community secretly doubted the Kahns. Some were bolstered by recent media portrayal perhaps, or the proliferation of social media driven news and live coverage of radical attacks around the world. Kahn couldn’t say, but he also didn’t feel comfortable in that community anymore.

  When he approached Aisha and Daniel in the kitchen, he saw that she was spreading butter on a piece of toast. The impatient toddler was reaching his hands up toward his mom and whining.

  “I guess he forgot why he had to kick down the bathroom door to find me?” Kahn asked in jest. Usually after a fight he would overcompensate by telling jokes and generally being a pain toward his wife. She was annoyed by it, but understood his intentions were friendly. This was the first step to making up.

  “You won’t change your mind? You can call Ash and ask him to have Haylee come in and open instead,” she replied, ignoring his attempt to lighten the mood. “I could use a hand getting him ready and watching him in church. I told you earlier you haven’t gone in six months. Six months!”

  “Hey, I don’t want to fight about it. I can’t have Haylee come in now, she’ll get there too late to be open on time. Plus, I have the opening paperwork to do and…”

  “You could do it if you wanted to.” Her challenge and exasperated pause afterwards begged for a reply from Kahn. An explanation. Something besides a lame excuse.

  “I don’t want to go,” he finally said. This was the conversation he had been dreading for months. Aisha and her family had a devotion that he never had growing up in the States. She saw firsthand the strength their faith brought to Assyrians in Iraq. Now that she had built a family and found a community here, her husband rejecting her church would be like rejecting part of her, or all of her.

  Aisha�
��s frown was solid even as her eyes became glossy. She absentmindedly handed Daniel his toast and the boy left the room to eat in peace. Kahn couldn’t tell if she was angry, or sad, or worse: disappointed. He could tell she was trying to control herself emotionally, but he had no idea what to expect. She crossed her arms and Kahn prepared for the worst.

  But instead of yelling she spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. “I care about you. I wish you cared enough about me not to lie to me.”

  “I didn’t lie!” Kahn screeched defensively. “I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings or argue with you about this. I don’t know how to talk to you about this. I just can’t go and sit with those judgmental people. They don’t think we belong there! We aren’t accepted by them! They only tolerate us because they feel like they should, but they have got to be judging us behind our backs. Laughing at our family. If you think for one second that we belong there, you’re blind.”

  His harsh words seemed to hang in the air in contrast to his wife’s calm demeanor. She uncrossed her arms and gently brushed past her husband on her way out of the kitchen. He watched her, defensively tight-lipped and ready for her to push back or yell or try and force him to go with her.

  “I notice,” she said as she left the room, “that there is only one person judging others right now.” She paused, turned and locked eyes with her husband. They stood like that for a moment, both waiting for the other to say something. Aisha pointed gently at her husband. “You.”

  Kahn leaned against the counter and pulled out his phone to check the time since he was suddenly alone. He had to go or he’d be late and he wouldn’t have everything done in time to open the shop. As it was it would probably be difficult, since Saturdays usually generated more paperwork for the following morning than any other day of the week. He put the phone away and considered following Aisha to try and talk to her or apologize. She was right of course. He was being judgmental, just like he accused their neighbors of being. He decided against restarting the conversation and simply hollered through the door, “I love you, I have to go! I’m sorry! Love you guys! Bye!”