Extinction Level Event (Book 1): Extinction Level Event

by Jones, K. J.

  The going otherwise had been clear. As long as that helicopter spouting out martial law was flying nearby.

  When it flew off, the trouble resumed. The monsters appeared. Phebe moved down a clearing between two houses. Syanna bounced on her shoulders. She spotted a shed in a backyard.

  If there were monsters lurking in the backyard, then they would both die. Phebe’s body had had it. She couldn’t stop to check the yard. Her legs trembled. The surge of survival instinct adrenaline gave her the last push to make.

  The gods shined on them. Backyard clear.

  She dropped Syanna at the side of the shed and rested herself against the aluminum wall. Pulling the rusted handle, she tugged open the door. She dragged Syanna into the darkness and dropped her on a pact-down dirt floor among tools and a bag of potting soil. Closing the door, she used a hoe to wedge the handle locked. As locked as an aluminum shed could be. She collapsed on the floor, resting her arm on the bag of soil and her damp head on top of her arm.

  She must have dozed off. Movement near her jerked her awake and into immediate survival mode, raising the gun to fire.

  Syanna moved. She moaned and rolled over. Her eyelids fluttered open. Yellowish-brown eyes looked around.

  “Welcome back,” said Phebe, sliding towards her.

  Syanna’s disoriented gaze followed the voice. Her hands moved to her thigh. She shrieked.

  “No no no.” Phebe covered Syanna’s mouth with her hand.

  Syanna’s eyes grew wider with alarm.

  “You have to be quiet,” Phebe whispered, now holding both hands on her friend’s mouth. Dried blood on Phebe’s tired face didn’t help Syanna’s state of mind.

  Tears filled Syanna’s eyes. She continued to scream. Her back arched.

  “Please, Sye, be quiet,” Phebe pleaded.

  Syanna writhed in pain.

  Panic rose in Phebe. “Bite on this stick.”

  Syanna shoved it away. “Hurts!”

  “I know, but you have to be quiet. We’re in danger.”

  Phebe stared at the door. She didn’t know what to do. She looked at a shovel and thought about hitting Syanna in the head to knock her out. But with the concussion already there, the hit could kill her.

  “Please please please, shut up.” She tried her hands on the screaming mouth again.

  Syanna writhed on the dirt floor. “Help me,” she groaned through gritted teeth.

  Phebe began to cry. She pulled out the gun and pointed it at her friend. Her hand shook uncontrollably. She put it away.

  Her gaze moved back to the door, then at Syanna. “I don’t know what to do. You must be silent. You’ll make them come.”

  “Help me.”

  “I don’t know how. But if you’re not quiet, we’re both going to die.”

  Syanna’s wailing continued.

  “Please!” Phebe sobbed as she stood. “Please stop.” She was so exhausted. Her fight done. “Please.” She shuffled her feet towards the door.

  “Help me.” Syanna reached her hand out to her.

  “I’m sorry.” Phebe moved the hoe aside. “I’m sorry.” She turned the handle. “I’m sorry.” Blinding sunlight as she opened the shed door. She looked out to check it was clear. The sounds of chaos came from all directions. Looking back at her friend on the floor of the shed, in pain and unable to walk. “I’m sorry.” Phebe stepped out and closed the door.

  “Don’t leave me.” Syanna’s high-pitched scream followed her.

  She ran, crying. The house had a wooden deck. She dropped on her belly and crawled underneath. Like a terrified cat, she pushed as far back as she could go. Among the scent of fresh dirt, she huddled, still able to hear Syanna’s screams from the shed.

  8.

  Chris Higgins had been moving steadily through the streets since he got off the radio. Explosive hollow tips in his .45 caliber handguns.

  As crazy infected ran up to him, he shot off their heads. Nobody survived a head blown off, no matter what their problem was.

  He passed a black preacher with a cross and a Bible, preaching about the end of days.

  “Amen,” Chris said as he walked past him.

  “Amen, brother.”

  “You seen two girls come past here on foot? White girl and high-yeller girl.”

  “Repent, brother, to avoid the eternal damnation fires of Hell.”

  “Nice talking to you.” He moved on. “Fucking zombie apocalypse.”

  Chris griped as he jogged. “Who the fuck knew that was going to come true. Jesus, you got some fucked up sense of humor.” Up to the sky, “Excuse my language.”

  He continued to jog down 12th Street. He saw a lot of things, many of which he hoped to forget, but not a white girl carrying a light brown girl.

  Frustrated, he checked the radio for a location status update, but the girls did not reply. He stood in front of a house, looking up and down, wondering what to do now.

  A sound kept reaching him. At first, it mixed with the other sounds. As he stood there, he realized it was a female screaming, and it was coming from nearby.

  He followed it. The girl sounded in distress. Into a backyard, it grew louder.

  Shoved all the way under the deck, Phebe saw big brown work boots walk past. They were heading towards the shed. This was it. Someone was coming to kill Syanna. Already guilt ridden for leaving her friend, she couldn’t let Syanna be murdered. On her stomach, she crawled out. Even if the person killed her while she defended her friend, she’d prefer to die than to survive with what she had done.

  As soon as she cleared the deck, she stood up and pulled out the gun. “Freeze!

  A large man in digital gray fatigues turned around and raised his brows.

  “You’re a soldier?” she asked.

  His broad shoulders turned and faced her. He cocked his head to the side looking her over. On his shirt, his name label read Higgins.

  “Chris?” she asked, her voice hopeful. “Chris Higgins?”

  “Would you be Phebe?”

  She lowered the gun. Her face broke into a quivering smile. “Yes, I would be.” She rushed him.

  To his surprise, she hugged him. He could feel her shaking.

  “Get a hold of yourself,” he reprimanded, and pushed her away. “What’s that screaming?”

  “Syanna.” She grabbed his big hand and pulled him towards the shed. “She needs help. She’s hurt. In pain. Hurry. Before they’re here.”

  He let the frantic girl pull him to the shed door. She quickly undid the door and opened it.

  “Sye, it’s help. Help is here.”

  Chris looked at the tall, brunette girl, wondering if she had gone around the bend from the way she was acting. It happened. He had seen it in green Rangers their first time in combat.

  He bent and peered into the dark shed where the scream was a lot louder. He stood up. “Look, you stay out there. That Barbie gun shoot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you stand guard here?”

  “Yes.” She nodded repeatedly. Her eyes darted around.

  “Don’t shoot me when I come out.”

  “I won’t.” She looked offended. He reckoned that was good, she still had that female sensitivity thing going on.

  “I’ll be back.”

  He ducked through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him. “Syanna Lynn Claiborne.”

  The girl twisted on the floor. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the thigh bone sticking out of her jeans. He winced. That had to be painful.

  He knelt beside her. A small hand grasped his shirt. She groaned. Her face wet with sweat and eyes wild with suffering. She panted like a dying dog. “Hel-help.”

  “I will, honey.”

  He slid one hand under her head and lifted it up. Her eyes looked up at his face. He placed his other hand over her mouth and nose. She struggled, trying to pull the hand away. Her eyes grew wider with panic. Her body bucked, good leg kicking out, as she suffocated.

  He held on until her eyes roll
ed back and lids fluttered closed. Her body stopped jerking. He released his hand.

  The door opened. Chris ducked down and stepped out, carrying Syanna.

  Phebe gasped. “Did you kill her?”

  “Follow, woman.”

  He moved out, leaving her alone. She hurried to catch up.

  With a fluidic move, he threw Syanna over his shoulder in a Tarzan carry. Syanna’s hair and head bobbed with his steps. He pulled out his radio. “Sul, Higgins, I got ‘em. We’re moving north on Twelfth, heading back to my house. Higgins, over and out.” Putting that away, he then pulled out his big handguns and quickened his pace.

  Phebe jogged behind him. For a big guy with too much weight on him, he moved fast.

  He said nothing and still hadn’t answered her question. She didn’t know if she was following a man carrying the dead body of her friend or not.

  Whenever they stopped, he made a hand gesture of a fist up in the air and he squatted down. She figured she’d replicate what he did. He made another gesture to move out.

  They kept close to houses and traveled through backyards, keeping off the street whenever possible. They moved a lot faster, covering more ground, than she had done carrying Syanna.

  She spotted the old preacher with the cross and Bible. When monsters attacked him, she moved to help. Chris shot out an arm to stop her.

  “Not our business,” he said.

  The monsters paid them no attention as they crept across the front lawns of adjacent houses. They were too busy taking down the preacher. His screams mixed with broken up Bible verse.

  A few blocks more. A big group of monsters passed.

  “Is she dead?” Phebe whispered, as they leaned against a house.

  Chris tisked his tongue. “Really?”

  “Well, I don’t know.”

  “Knocked her out the only safe way with her head like it is.”

  On the move again. They came to a big intersection. He motioned for stop, then to wait there. He stepped out and checked if it was clear both ways. Returning to her, he squatted down.

  “We gotta go diagonally across this street and start heading east to my house. So we cut that way.” His hands illustrated his directions. “Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay close. Move fast and quiet.”

  “Okay.”

  They emerged from cover. They stepped off the curb and moved at a silent jog.

  Behind them, a mob of monsters emerged from a side street. Spotted the prey. They broke into a sprint.

  “Run!” Chris yelled.

  Adrenaline anew, her long legs kept up with him. She ran on the balls of her feet, chin up, chest out, arms pumping.

  Gaining on the target street, a dog came out from it. It stopped, head low. A Gollum-bark jerked its body. Seeing them, its four feet burst into speed.

  “This way.” Chris veered away from the target street, and the dog, to its opposite side.

  He ducked behind a van. She followed, ducking next to him. He leaned against its side, .45 aimed. The dog ran past. A loud clap as the .45 went off. Chris shot out its hindlegs. It spun around. No yelp.

  Once its motion stopped, it pursued them with its front legs. Chris fired, blowing off its head.

  “Move, woman.”

  He cut through yards and in between houses. She realized he was circling back to 12th Street.

  Once back to where they had started, he hunkered down to watch.

  “They ain’t too smart,” he said. “They follow motion and sound. That shot will lead ‘em down that other street. Then we break for the diagonal.”

  “Got it.”

  A few more moments. He signaled for her to follow.

  They jogged diagonally across the crossroads again. And nearly made it.

  One of the infected group spotted them. It hadn’t followed the rest down the street. Giving a screech that could wake the dead, the monster ran.

  “Run!”

  They raced towards the target street. The monster closed in on the intersection. The rest of the group heard its screech.

  On to the entrance of target street. The infected group closed in from the opposite side.

  “Fuck,” Chris yelled.

  Another group now came down the target street. And they saw the pair.

  “Retreat.”

  They ran back down the street. Monsters ran through yards and between houses, cutting them off.

  Chris opened fire. The .45’s loud shots reverberating.

  Infected surrounded them. Dogs and people came out of everywhere.

  “Save. Bullets,” he said through huffing and puffing. He lowered Syanna to the ground. She was fortunate to be unconscious. “Wait ‘til they’re close enough to make every bullet count. Save one for yourself.”

  “Huh?” Phebe looked up at him in disbelief.

  “We done run out of luck, baby girl. Get that Barbie gone ready. Not one for praying but won’t mind if that’s how you wanna go out.”

  “No, we gotta keep running!”

  He pulled up his guns and began firing.

  “Take my back,” he yelled over the loud .45 and the chorus of infected monsters screeching.

  They pressed their sweaty backs together. Both breathing in fast, shallow breaths. She opened fire, with no idea if she was hitting anything. The smell of gunpowder mixed with the scent of their own sweat, and the stench of blood, vomit, piss and feces from the infected.

  To her surprise, her bullets hit their targets. She fired until the gun click emptied. Then dropped the mag and slapped in the last one.

  She stopped. The mag with only two bullets.

  This was it. The end. Her face wanted to cry. Death closed in from all sides. Less than thirty seconds left to live. A solemnness seeped into her heart. She accepted the end, but not by them.

  She aimed the gun down at Syanna’s head. Two bullets. Two people. She heard a nearby scream. An incoherent visceral yell erupting from the depths of a person’s soul. It came from her mouth. Her rapid heartbeat moved into her throat. The pad of her index finger pressed against the hard trigger.

  Chapter Three

  The Group

  1.

  Through all the anarchy, she grew aware of a new sound.

  “Down!”

  Chris's hand shoved her to the blacktop. The bullet her gun launched at Syanna’s head hit the road.

  Screeching brakes and tires. A new explosion of bullets erupted. Rat-ta-tat-tat. A spray right over them at the monsters.

  She looked up and through her disheveled hair. A huge tan SUV stood sideways, doors open. A tall, dark haired man stood in the driver’s side. He shot a scary gun that rapidly fired.

  She felt herself lifted by the back of her clothes. A sensation of flying through an opening in the vehicle. She hit leather seats.

  Chris shoved in on her. Syanna landed on top of her.

  “Get in, Sullivan,” a young guy's frantic voice yelled from the front seat.

  “Go go go,” Chris yelled.

  Doors slammed. Monsters beat on the windows. Tires screeched as the vehicle took off.

  The SUV outran the infected. Things grew quiet.

  “Are you all right? Phebe, are you all right?”

  Chris shook her.

  “Huh? Yeah.”

  “Help me with this here girl. Git her in the back there.”

  Phebe climbed into the back, shoving a very heavy duffel bag out of the way. She took Syanna under the arms as Chris lifted her. She slid Syanna onto the tan carpeted floor and used another duffel bag under her head. Chris slid the heavy duffel under Syanna’s feet.

  “I got a blanket,” said the young voice from the front.

  Chris passed it back to her and she covered Syanna.

  “How far is it now?” asked the young guy.

  “Like, thirty seconds,” said the driver who had a Boston accent. “Hi, back there.”

  Chris said, “Sully, meet Phebe. Phebe, Sullivan. I don’t know who the fuck thi
s other guy is.”

  “This is Mullen,” said Peter. “The Boy Wonder and my trustee side-kick.”

  Mullen looked between the bucket seats and waved at them.

  “That would make you Bat Man,” Mullen said to Peter.

  “That’s right.”

  “Bat Man didn’t live on a boat.”

  “He would’ve, if Gotham was near the water.”

  The Suburban slowed. Ahead, two banged-up police cars parked at the curb. A black Ram Charger and a burgundy GMC Jimmy sat in the short driveway of a bungalow house with a small porch on the front.

  “Good,” said Peter. “They left me the best parking spot.”

  The Suburban rolled up on the lawn in front of the house. He cut off the engine.

  “Close enough for you people?”

  “You nearly hit my azaleas,” said Chris.

  “As if you garden.”

  “You don’t know everything about me.”

  “Okay, Man of Mystery. I’ll come around and cover you while you carry the mouth of the south. Robin, you and Phebe just run for the door. Bozos inside maybe have woken from their beauty naps to notice a big honking truck in front and they’ll open the door for you.”

  “How come she’s the only one with a real name?” asked Mullen.

  “Just do as your told, half-pint. You ready?”

  “No.”

  “The porch is like four fucking feet away from you. I promise there are no invisible zoms between here and there.”

  The front door opened. Uniformed cops with shotguns stepped out. One signaled to come on.

  “Here we go, boys and girls.”

  2.

  As soon as Phebe entered the house, she saw Matt and ran into his arms. He held her, rubbing her back.

  “Thank God,” he whispered. “Thank you, God.”

  Chris carried in Syanna. Matt went to them. His demeanor changing into medical duty.

  “In the bedroom,” Matt said. “I gotta get my jump bag.”

  Medical supplies laid out on the coffee table, showing he had been treating the injured. He now gathered them into a big, rectangular paramedic bag. He followed Chris down a hallway.