by Matt Hart
All For Show
Apocalypse Makers Book 3
by
Matt Hart
Copyright © 2015 by Matt Hart
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
Forward
It took me quite a bit longer to write book 3 than I expected, and I thank all of my readers who waited for it. For those of you who just got started in the series, I hope you enjoy it and I’ll try to get the next book out much quicker.
Thanks goes to my wife and first reader, Kelly. Her feedback helps me to work out the big kinks before it goes to my editor, Jim Dodds. And of course, a big Thank You to my cover illustrator, Elizabeth Mackey. Isn’t she the greatest?
plan·nel
ˈplanl/
noun
A planet in the Boreling Empire that is dedicated to the production of entertainment.
Prologue
Interlude : Boreling Empire : Plannel 6
A dozen Borelings sat around a long conference table. The view outside the spacious window showed a cityscape filled with tall, rectangular buildings, not unlike an Earth metropolis, although there wasn't much variety in the shape or color of the buildings. Each Boreling had a stim-stick hanging from its hard lips, and a screen sat on the table in front of each of them.
One of the group stood at the head of the table and pointed to a large monitor behind him. “Projections are as expected with regards to viewership,” he said, pointing at a graph on the screen. “Trillions are tuning in and sales from Megammercials are breaking last season's record-setting first day by almost double, so, great work everyone!”
The speaker paused and broke open another stim-stick from a bowl on the table as the other Borelings applauded him. “Yes, yes, thank you,” he said around the stick in his mouth. He sucked it one last time and tossed it at a corner recycle chute, missing it. “Everyone on Plannel 6 deserves a hand, it was a great kickoff. But really the buildup helped, what with two disasters in one for this 'Dirt' as the natives call it. And the ridiculous 'zombie' bio-creatures! Hilarious!”
He paused again for a brief spattering of laughter and applause. “But we do have a troubling trend,” he continued. “The bio-creatures have turned out to be too effective, and we seem to have transformed too many of the aliens on the first day. Along with the disabling of their sophisticated electronics, communications and most forms of transportation, the bio-creatures are able to kill or infect the larger population centers quickly. These cities are becoming devoid of normal natives, or 'humans' as they call themselves.” His face took on a tone of disgust as he attempted to say the foreign word.
The speaker tapped his monitor and the big screen changed to a different graph with a rapidly rising logarithmic scale.
“As you can see, just under 30% of the population has already turned into bio-creatures, far more than our original projections. We expected the electronics problems to create a great deal of alien-on-alien violence, a wonderful new effect that we had anticipated based on our study of the planet, what with all the others so peaceful—except for that disastrous nuclear war planet.”
The speaker tapped his monitor and the scene changed to the 38th parallel, Korea, where North and South battled in the DMZ with rifles, handguns, knives and hands. He tapped it again and the scene changed to show the same location, now overrun with zombies.
“Even when we get them fighting each other, those blasted bio-creatures ruin it! We need ideas on stopping these creatures or at least getting an even mix!”
One Boreling at the table spoke up. “We could re-enable their electronics.”
“Unlikely to work in this case. We used both real electromagnetic pulses and solderbots. Anything damaged by a pulse or bot must be replaced.”
“What about creating some kind of antidote or immunity to the bio-infestor?” asked another Boreling.
“I can answer that,” said a fat Boreling. He could barely click his thumbs, and no less than five empty drink-chews and six stim-sticks lay in front of him. “The bio-infestor can be countered, and we have large stocks near the target planet, but it will take some time to make it so that we can precisely target it. We estimate another six months before it is viable—at which time we plan to administer it to the remaining population to prolong the program. Currently it will affect only a small portion of the population.”
“Why can’t we use it now?” asked someone.
“It affects humans in ways similar to the bio-infestor itself, making them stronger, harder to kill, etc… It was deemed necessary to reduce these affects before it is pronounced viable. We should have that done in six months.”
“There won’t be any humans left in six months,” mumbled one of the Borelings.
The speaker glared at the interruption. “Thank you Dr. Grorbath the Wise,” he said, then looked around the table. “Does anyone have any other ideas?”
“We could start bringing more of them back here for some fun,” said a somewhat less-fat Boreling who was sipping a drink-chew.
“Good idea, Raekilotwa,” said the speaker. “Let's find some tough survivors and bring them here. And here's one of my own: someone tell Pactain the Virulent to get to work on culling some of those bio-creatures or otherwise reduce their numbers.”
A couple of Borelings at the table rapidly tapped their screens. The speaker picked up a drink-chew and bit off a taste.
“Disgusting!” He threw the drink at the recycler and missed again. “Get some spicy drinks in here, I hate those cherry chews, and we have a long morning ahead of us!”
Characters and Events in Book 2, “Surviving the Day”
The Earth is the focus of this season's popular apocalypse reality show in the Boreling Empire. The Borelings have simulated an EMP event, an electromagnetic pulse, that has disabled all sophisticated microelectronics, including cars, aircraft, power and communication systems. In addition to the EMP, the Borelings engineered a bio-infester designed to transform a portion of the population into zombie-like bio-creatures.
Humans
- Erin and Joe
- Mark and Jen
- Richard and Jeffrey
- The Professor
Borelings
- Grodge the Merciful, Sr. Production Assistant
- Team Zeke
Human Events
- Erin and Joe fight their way through a house full of zombies and grab their gear. They head for the ocean, followed by a zombie mob that they lure into a backyard while they escape over the fence. Joe and Erin are fired upon by a small band of preppers, so Joe draws their attention while Erin sneaks into their house and dispatches the three unsuspecting shooters. They plan to spend the night in the preppers’ house before heading to the boat in a truck that Joe was able to start.
- Mark rescues Jen from some zombies who attack as he’s trying to get to the working truck. The pair regroup and head for the convenience store, but find that the truck was left running and is now out of gas. With other zombies around, and Richard’s whereabouts unknown, they decide to shelter for the night in a fenced-in section of the nearby rental facility.
- Richard has escaped from the convenience store attack and has made his way to a sporting goods store. Inside, he discovers his nephew, Jeffrey, who will help him get revenge on Mark. After killing the unhelpful and traumatized store clerk, he and Jeffrey load up on camping gear an
d weapons. They plan to spend the night in the store and head for the area where they believe they’ll find Mark.
- The Professor repels a push by the zombies in the stairwell that are attempting to break through his barricade. He sets up a computer and a radio receiver and starts recording the strange sounds he hears, intent upon solving the puzzle that the irregularities of the EMP and the emergence of zombies has created.
Boreling Events
- Grodge the Merciful has highlighted the efforts of Team Zeke and has received the credit for adding a channel to the big four main stations. If his Megammercial proposal is successful, then he will get noticed by upper management and will certainly advance in his career.
Chapter 1
Erin : San Diego, California
When I opened my eyes I could barely remember where I was. The darkness was complete, but I could hear someone breathing deeply beside me. My memories caught up quickly as I recalled the events of the past day—the zombies and the kidnappers—and....
The people I’d killed. Would my actions in this house be considered self-defense?
It was too much to think about. I closed my eyes and counted from twenty to zero, then opened them again, staring into the dark room. I took a quick inventory. My right hand felt for my belt with the baton and machete. My left hand brushed across a flashlight. I sat up and felt past the flashlight for my pack; the guns underneath it. I felt their barrels and the bandolier, then lay back down.
Everything's here.
Plus Camo Joe. I wasn't sure how to feel about him. I knew I wanted to be with him, both to protect him and because he would protect me. I guess times of stress draw people together, but in the quiet darkness I realized being with him had begun to restore the only trust I'd ever had in anyone since the Incident, as mom would call it.
My thoughts became jumbled as I remembered. Flashes of faces. Schoolmates, police, the school board. My defenses started to kick in, but, no—I wanted to remember.
I forced myself to continue playing back the story, drowning out the numbers in my head that screamed for attention.
—————
“Come on, Erin,” called Yuriel. “It's about to start!”
“Alright, I'm coming,” said Erin, picking up her backpack and running to her friend, laughing. They held hands like best friends do and walked together into the crowded gym. The rest of the freshman class was already there, so Erin and Yuriel took seats on the front row. They turned and waved to their schoolmates, friends they hadn't seen since the end of eighth grade. Any boys in the vicinity predictably turned and looked at the two. Yuriel had hair so blonde it was almost white. The feathered look was back in style, and her hair fell gracefully around her perfect features. She smiled and boys practically fell off their benches. She tossed her head back and giggled.
Erin was in many ways a perfect contrast to Yuriel, beautiful in a different way. She was athletic where Yuriel had a movie star’s body. Her dark hair was silken, not a strand out of place. Her skin was clean and smooth. Yuriel sported sunburnt cheeks and cute freckles. They compared their fingernails for the tenth time that morning. They'd started a tradition the first time they painted them: trying to outdo each other the first day of school. Yuriel had bright yellow nails with a rainbow on each hand. It came together in an arc when she pressed her fingers together. Erin opted for a dark peach color with a feather on her right thumb. Her mom had taken her to a professional, and it was a hard coating that would last for weeks.
The two friends waved at people they knew, and flirted with cute boys they didn't know. Yuriel’s smile was gifted freely to anyone, while Erin’s was reserved until she laughed. Both were petite and had been fast friends since the fourth grade, but their popularity circle was practically unlimited. Yuriel was dating an older boy, and Erin had missed her friend during the summer. But then maybe she was the one who wasn't around, spending much of her time sailing with her father. Erin’s mother was a lawyer in some big firm, while her father was retired from the Air Force and was an occasional motivational speaker.
“Ahem!” came a voice out of the gym speakers. A slightly disheveled man stood at a small podium. “Welcome to Lincoln High School, freshmen!” he said, a little too happily and a little too loudly. The noise dwindled, but there was still a remnant chattering amongst them, including Erin and Yuriel. “Listen up please, listen up everyone.” The two girls turned their attention to the podium. A row of teachers stood behind the man.
“Behind me are your teachers, and I'm certain you'll all get along well. The teaching knowledge behind me represents over two hundred years of experience.”
Erin nudged Yuirel and giggled.
Neither of them noticed one of the teachers staring at them.
—————
It wasn't Yuriel’s fault, and it wasn't my fault, but Yuriel blamed herself. The only person to blame was Rilky. My face felt like it was on fire as I remembered his name.
—————
A whistle blew, loud in the enclosed gym. “Alright everyone, bring the basketballs over here and hit the showers.” Erin and Yuriel laughed and bounced their balls as they headed toward the gym teacher, surrounded by a gaggle of boys, strutting and tripping over themselves to get the girls’ attention. As they neared the rollable shelves for the balls, Yuriel missed her dribble; the ball tripping Erin and slamming her to the floor. The gym teacher rushed over as Erin lay facedown on the hardwood of the basketball court. He started to gently roll her over, but his eyes went wide as he saw her ripped shirt. She moaned softly as he turned her back facedown and looked around at the students behind him. It didn't seem like any of them saw it.
“Everyone except you, young lady, hit the showers.” The students muttered among themselves as they walked off. “What was your name again?” asked the teacher.
“Yuriel, Mr. Rilky.”
“Okay, I want you to help me get this young lady to my office. She's had a bad fall, possibly a concussion.” The teacher slid his hand beneath Erin, running his hand across her body and pulling up the torn shirt, and then turned her over, his thick, squat frame hiding his actions from Yuriel. He picked up her small body and held her close to his chest. Yuriel followed behind him, trying not to cry.
“Why did you throw that ball at her, Yuriel?” he asked casually as they brought Erin to the office.
“I… What? No, I, I just missed…”
“I understand it might have been just for fun, but you've seriously injured this young girl,” he said. They went through a door and the teacher paused for a moment to press a button on the door lock.
“It was an accident, Mr. Rilky, honest!” cried Yuriel. “I didn't mean to trip her!”
“Oh I'm sure you didn't mean it,” said the teacher in a calm, cold voice. “But I'm going to have to call an ambulance, and they'll have to involve the police.” The two reached the office, and the teacher pulled out a key ring and unlocked the door.
“But, but I…” stammered Yuriel.
“Look,” said the teacher, “It'll be alright. I don't know what the other kids will say to the police, but I'll be sure to tell them you didn't mean to trip her, okay?” He cupped Yuriel’s chin and lifted her tear-streaked face. “It’ll be okay,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
“Thank you, Mr. Rilky,” said Yuriel, choking back sobs. The teacher walked over to his desk and picked up the phone, then dialed some numbers. He looked back at Yuriel.
“Go ahead and take your shower, I'll call the nurse first and see what she says. Maybe we don't need an ambulance after all.” Yuriel nodded her head and walked out of the office, terrified and crying, her thoughts jumbled. She was afraid she'd hurt her best friend, afraid she'd get in trouble, afraid that the other kids thought she'd done it on purpose. She pushed open the door to the gym and turned and went to the lockers.
Behind her, the door to the office closed, and the lock clicked shut.
Yuriel walked quickly to the girl’s locker room.
“What happened, is she alright?” asked a tall redhead. Yuriel looked up and the girls around her gasped as they saw her tear-streaked face,
“Mr. Rilky called the nurse, he thinks she'll be alright,” said Yuriel in a detached voice. She walked to her locker and opened it, took out her clothes bag and carried it to the showers, still crying.
—————
I lay with my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling, then turned and stared at the covered windows, remembering. I had woken up in his office, my eyes covered; a hot, foul breath in my face. My mind was foggy, and I don't remember too much except that. I’d felt hands on me, and I reached up and scratched and clawed and heard a voice cry out in pain. I’d kicked and screamed and tore at the blindfold, lifting it enough to see the gym teacher, clutching himself in pain. I stood up and tried to run, but tripped before I could reach the door. I’d looked down in horror as I realized I was dressed only in my underwear, my pants tripping me. A hand grabbed me from behind and I grasped at it, clawing and screaming. The voice cried out in pain again and released me. I’d pulled up my pants and ran from the office, screaming, my shirt left behind.
I took a deep breath and sighed, then turned onto my back and stared at the ceiling again. The prosecutor said I was “lucky” that the police were contacted so quickly. “Lucky” that I hadn't washed my hands. “Lucky” that my fingernails were so strong from the recent nail job. “Lucky” that Willibrette J. Rilky was damaged in, “shall we say, compromised places on his body?”