Alive Again
A Zombie Apocalypse in a Dystopian World · BOOK 1
T.W. Piperbrook
©2021 Post Script Publishing
Contents
1. The Wakeup
2. The Harsh Truth
3. Surrounded
4. Don’t Move
5. A Shocking Discovery
6. Sudden Peril
7. Drive
8. Impasse
9. Beachland
10. The Stranger
11. Tainted
12. The Discussion
13. The Eye Opener
14. Past and Present
15. Second Chances
16. Worst Fears
17. A Necessary Detour
18. Intruders
19. Surprise
20. Run
21. Stowaways
22. Dead Giveaway
23. The Proposal
24. Weight of the World
25. The Collapse
26. The Dark
27. Shadows
28. Until Dawn
29. Parting Gift
Afterword
Preview of Alive Again Book 2
Chapter 1: Wrong Turn
Email & Facebook
Other Things To Read
About the Author
Credits
1
The Wakeup
I awake to the prick of a needle. The sky comes into focus, blue and swirling with clouds, brimming with birds. The air is warm, but I feel a cool breeze against my skin, strong enough that it lifts my long, dark hair.
“Don’t move.”
I try to sit up, but hands pin me down. I move only my eyes to either side to find two faces. Neither is familiar. One is an attractive man in a leather jacket. The other is a woman with blonde hair. They stare at me intently, judging my reactions. When I blink, they startle.
“Can you speak?” the man asks.
His brow furrows. It’s clear he doesn’t expect me to answer. I open my mouth to reply, but I gag. My mouth tastes foul, bitter, as if I’ve been asleep for weeks. Did these people drug me? Who are they, and what do they want? I start to panic; I try kicking and squirming, but the woman pins my ankles.
“Stay still!” she warns.
“Does she need another dose?” the man asks.
“I’m not sure. Give her a minute.”
Worry crosses their faces, and that makes me afraid. I strain my neck, searching for my family. Where’s Jared? Where’s Mom? More importantly, where am I? I roll my head to one side, but I see nothing but a wide stretch of green grass and, finally, a chain-link fence. It looks like I’m in a baseball field. My eyes wander past the fence to a brick building in the distance. It looks like a school, but I’ve never been here. At least, I don’t think I have.
I try speaking again. To my surprise, I croak out some words.
“Where am I?”
My voice is gravelly and cracked; it barely sounds like me. The man and woman look at each other. It’s then that I notice the syringe poking out of the pocket of the man’s leather jacket. It looks like he’s reaching for it—probably to give me another dose of whatever the hell he poked me with the first time.
“You’re at Webster Hill School,” he says, “in West Hartford.”
He retracts his hand. I stare at him with a blank look. I recognize the name of the town, but I’ve never been here. Home is across the state, maybe an hour away?
“What’s your name?” he asks me.
“Hannah.” I glance around the field. “How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
The man and woman exchange another look.
“That’s a long story, Hannah,” the woman says. “I’m Sarah, and this is Ian. We’re here to help.”
They slowly relax their grip. I repeat their names in my head, trying to jog a memory, but nothing shakes loose.
“Why don’t we see if you can sit up?” Ian asks.
“Okay.” I lift my head. My skull throbs, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I steady myself on the grass. The world is an endless rocking sea of sun and clouds, the grass is too bright, and I wonder if I’m in the midst of a migraine. I’ve never had one, but the symptoms fit.
“Easy, there.”
Sarah and Ian help me to my feet, and I slowly stand. Ugh. My legs feel like Jell-o and barely support my weight. I catch a glimpse of myself on the way up. I’m wearing my favorite jeans and tank top, but they’re dirt-stained, caked with grime, barely recognizable. My arms are filthy.
What the…?
Sarah and Ian lead me across the field, one on each side, ushering me to a set of bleachers in the distance. I stumble forward, gaining my bearings as I go. The sun shines so hot it almost hurts, and I squint to repel the glare.
Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare?
I’ll wake up in my bedroom in a few minutes, scrambling to stop the alarm clock from ringing, right? If I concentrate, I can almost smell the aroma of eggs and hash browns from the kitchen. Maybe Mom and Jared are waiting for me, ready to see me off to school.
“Almost there, Hannah.”
The woman’s voice snaps me back to reality—if this is even reality I’ve woken into—and I make it to the bleachers. Sarah helps me onto the lowest bench and takes a seat next to me. I get a better glimpse of the two people helping me. They’re wearing backpacks, and their clothes are disheveled, though not as bad as mine.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sarah asks. She’s swiveled towards me and our knees are touching.
Ian stands in front of us, smiles, and studies my face.
“Shopping?” I say, realizing that barely makes sense. “I went shopping with my friend Peyton last night. I came home late. After that, I fell asleep in my bed, thinking about school the next day.”
Sarah stares at me intently, as if she’d expected a different answer. She glances at Ian. “You don’t remember anything else?”
“No,” I say, agitated. My body hurts, I have no idea how I got here, and these people aren’t providing any answers. “What’s going on? Where’s my mom, and why am I here? Who are you? What did you inject me with?”
I rub my arm, looking for a mark, but I can’t find anything through the grass stains and grime. I notice my rescuers gazing past me. I follow their stare to something behind the bleachers—a large mass I can’t quite make out.
I turn and lean down for a better look.
What I see makes me gag.
A pile of bodies swarms with flies. They’re worse than dead; they barely look human—their features are distorted, their flesh is loose and gray, and their eyes are wide open and deep black. The wind shifts and suddenly the smell of death savages my nose. I choke on the stench; Sarah covers her mouth.
Whoever or whatever these things are, they’ve been dead for a while.
I attempt to stand, tripping over my own feet, stumbling into Sarah. She and Ian hold me steady, but neither reacts to what we all clearly see.
“Wh-who are those people? What happened to them?” I cry.
“They were infected,” Ian says calmly. He gestures to the pile, and I notice the bodies are riddled with bullet holes. “But don’t worry. It looks like the military took care of them.”
“I don’t understand…”
“The world has…changed, Hannah. Nothing is the same as it was.” Sarah pauses. “About a year ago, the majority of the earth’s population was infected by a virus that turned people from what they were. It changed them into…those things over there. It made people vicious and violent…no longer human.”
“Does that mean my mom and my brother are…?” I swallow the sick feeling in my throat.
Sarah averts her eyes. “I’m not sure. It’s possible they escaped, but even if they did, those things are everywhere. Even if they survived the virus…well, quite frankly, there aren’t many of us left.”
“If those things are everywhere, why am I still alive?”
Ian’s hand wanders to the syringe in his pocket. He takes it out and holds it up, as if the sight of it will make me understand. “Because you were one of them.”
2
The Harsh Truth
“You…cured me?” I look from Sarah to Ian, incredulous. For all I know, these people aren’t what they seem.
“I know this is a lot to take in,” Sarah says gently, “but we’re going to explain. Right now, you should take it easy.”
Take it easy? They want me to calm down? I look down at my body, studying my hands and my long, chipped nails. Blood cakes my fingers and palms. My eyes wander over my tank top and jeans, down to my ripped sneakers. My big toe pokes out from a large hole on the side; the Adidas logo has long since worn off…these were new! The laces are gone, save a few frayed remains. It looks like I’ve been through a war.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Hannah?” Ian suggests. “You’re still weak. It’ll take a while to get your strength.”
I look for some ulterior motive behind his expression, but he seems sincere. I’m not ready to trust these people, but so far, they haven’t hurt me. Hopefully a good sign.
“You’re going to feel tired and groggy for a while,” Sarah explains, easing me back to the bleachers. “The effects of the shot should wane over the coming hours and days. The injection affects everyone differently.”
I blink through my mental fog, remembering a visit at the dentist’s where they gave me nitrous oxide. At the time, I felt in control, until Jared showed me a video of my nonsensical rambling. Both he and Mom laughed for days. Jared called it Internet gold.
“What was in the injection?” I ask, struggling to put thoughts into words.
“A team of scientists came up with a treatment for the virus about six months ago,” Ian cuts in, looking at the empty syringe. “It’s not really a cure in the sense that you might understand. It suppresses the symptoms of the virus and brings people back. You’ll always have the virus, but it should stay dormant. We don’t understand all of it; we mostly just administer it.”
Sarah takes over. “From what we’ve learned, the injection only works on qualified people.”
“What do you mean?”
“We look out for certain clues, attributes. Like the way an infected person walks, or sometimes the look in their eyes, indicating that the virus hasn’t spread too far.” Sarah trades a glance with Ian, who nods. “Some of the hints are subtle, but we’re becoming attuned to them. And of course, it works better if we can get one by themselves; it’s less dangerous that way.”
“The scientific term for the virus is FRZ-2,” Ian says. “But most people refer to it as The Frenzy.”
The Frenzy?
“From what we’ve come to understand, it’s a mutation of rabies,” Ian continues. “It spreads through a bite. No one knows where it came from, but our scientists have theories.”
“You’re going to have lots of questions, and lots of gaps in your memory,” Sarah says patiently. “Amnesia is a side effect of what you’ve been through. But we’re going to help you fill in the blanks. We’ll take you someplace safe, where you can get reacclimated. You’ll also need a second shot—a vaccine stored at a stable temperature, back where we’re going, and ongoing booster shots.”
“More shots?” I look between them, worried.
“We’ll talk it out later. Right now, try to relax until you’re fit to travel.”
The field falls silent, save the wind, which is cool and gentle now. I steady my breathing and look out over the swaying, overgrown blades. Black crows land in the outfield, plucking worms. Parallel to the baseball field, a school building stretches left and right; a hundred feet of pavement sits between it and the edge of the field. Most of the building’s windows are shattered; graffiti defaces the brick. Two dumpsters sit side by side, blocking a double metal door.
To the left, a large parking lot occupies my view. Basketball hoops rise from the weed-choked asphalt; far back in a corner sits a rusted, abandoned car. A tall privacy fence looms where the pavement ends, separating the parking lot from the surrounding residential neighborhoods. Towering trees and rooftops rise from the other side. On one end, the fence heads past the parking lot and circles the school; on the other, it stretches around a playground, extending all the way around the perimeter of the field. This could be a school in any state, in any town. It doesn’t have any particular meaning to me.
I try conjuring a memory, but all I feel is a strange nostalgia. Obviously, I got here somehow, but I have no recollection of the trip.
The wind swirls the stench of death back into my nose, drawing my gaze to the bodies behind the bleachers. Without warning, everything spins. I face forward, grab my knees, and vomit. Reds, whites, and pinks splatter the grass. I hurl until I have nothing left, wiping my mouth across my arm, staring at the mess between my ruined shoes. Embarrassment mixes with fear.
“It’s okay, Hannah,” Sarah says, placing a comforting hand on my arm. “The sickness will pass. We’ll wait here until it does.”
A sudden thirst hits me, and I cough.
“Do you want some water?” Ian asks, unslinging his backpack and rooting around inside.
I notice a fresh, jagged gash on his wrist, beneath the cuff of his leather jacket. Seeing my attention to it, he holds out his arm, inspecting the wound as if for the first time.
“Don’t worry; I’ll be fine.” Ian grins good-naturedly. “You got me good.”
“I did that?”
“Yep, while we were trying to pin you down. Before that, you were chasing us.”
I furrow my brow, processing too many things at once.
“Don’t worry; Ian can’t be infected again,” Sarah reassures me. “We’ve already had the vaccine and we keep up with our boosters. That’s one of the reasons we take these trips. We’re safe. Soon, you’ll be safe, as well.”
“Wait, you were infected, too?” I say, stunned. “But you don’t look like…”
It is then I notice a slight discoloration in her eyes, a faint tint of yellow behind her irises. I look at Ian; his are the same. I instinctively touch my cheeks.
“Do my eyes look like yours?”
Sarah nods, and fright overcomes me again. She squeezes my hand to reassure me.
“Have you ever heard of the disease Ebola?”
“A few times,” I say, recalling my high school classes.
“It originated in Africa. It’s very contagious and very deadly; it kills many of the people it infects. Among the lucky people who survive, some have permanent eye color changes. The Frenzy mimics rabies, but it also has a similar, rare aftereffect of Ebola, a remnant of our old lives. It’s a small price for those of us fortunate enough to return from the virus.”
Us.
Sarah keeps hold of my hand, smiling. All at once, a comforting warmth settles through me, as if I’m sitting with an old friend, idly chatting. Ian smiles, bringing me another wave of contentment. The world around me suddenly seems less horrifying. No sooner does it start than the soothing feeling passes.
“Your water?” Ian says, handing me a bottle from his bag.
I take the water from him, open the top, and gulp it down. The lukewarm liquid soothes my burning throat. I’m thirsty. Parched. I feel like I could empty the whole container.
“Don’t go too fast,” Ian warns. “You’ll get sick again.”
Lowering the bottle, I wipe my face.
“It will take a while for your system to get back to normal,” Sarah reinforces. “We’ll check you out more thoroughly when we get back to the Outpost. That’s where you’ll get your vaccine and booster shots.”
“The Outpost? Where’s that?”
A
noise echoes across the field and interrupts her answer. The crows squawk and hop around. All three of us look toward the school building, where the rear door shakes.
Bang. Bang.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Ian warns.
“What is that?” I ask.
“The stricken,” he says gravely.
Sarah shoots up from the bench. “We should probably get going.”
Ian lifts his leather jacket, reveals a holstered handgun, and draws it. “Our bus is around the front of the building,” he tells me. “We had to track you for a while. Things took longer than we thought.”
Another crash rattles the door.
“Come with me,” Sarah says, taking my arm. For the first time, I hear fear in her voice. “Can you walk?”
Her words are more of a statement than a question. I don’t have a choice. I might be confused, but I know we’ve got to move, now. Something is coming. Coming for us. Sarah grabs my arm and helps me up. I stagger unsteadily.
“Come on, Hannah. We have to hurry, before—”
The door crashes open. A mob of gray, shrieking people pour from inside, tripping over one another. A few fall to the pavement, where they’re immediately trampled. The group of crazed people crosses the pavement, heading for the baseball field, their filthy, skinny arms swinging wildly. Their mouths open and close, biting at the air in anticipation of flesh. Their arms reach, fingers clench and grab. I don’t need Sarah to explain that the stricken are the living infected.
Alive Again | Book 1 Page 1