A Broken World (Book 2): Shattered Paradise

by Lauck, Andrew

  I rolled onto my side and coughed, clearing out my lungs. There was no immediate echo, which told me I was in a larger room. While I wasn’t anxious enough to figure out what I was laying on to risk moving around in the dark, I was curious enough to find out where the hell I was and whether or not I was alone.

  I felt along a tube from my arm and found the IV stand, moving to stand by slowly sliding my legs off the table and bracing my weight on the stand. I felt malnourished, which meant the IV itself had long ago run out of fluids, so I had been here a while. My feet made contact with the floor, but putting my body weight on them caused me to lose purchase and almost immediately fall on my ass.

  Ignoring the embarrassing image that probably came to your mind, I was frustrated. Between the fact that winter had officially arrived in full swing and my muscles being atrophied, I had clearly been out of commission for a while. The last thing I wanted was to be bed-ridden over six months into the zombie apocalypse, especially with how anxious I was to regroup with Katherine and Mills.

  Of course, at the moment, I wasn’t going anywhere until I whipped my ass back into shape. And the most frustrating thing was that none of that was going to happen until morning.

  Still, cue the ‘80’s workout montage…

  **********

  My breath fogged up the glass as I stared through the second-story window at the cold emptiness below, a mirror of what I felt inside. A layer of frost covered the nearby rooftops, with a thin sheet of ice over the street. At least a dozen zombies were visible, meandering between yards as they slid and fell due to lack of balance or coordination. It would have been amusing if I hadn’t seen them tear men apart limb from limb, unaffected by the screams. In fact, they were faint but I could make out discolored patches of snow where a lost survivor must have strayed and paid the price for being lost with their life. There were only a few that I could spot, with many more probably buried underneath the depth of white, but it served to remind me of how few actual humans were left. Take away from that the number that had resorted to baser actions of cannibalism or murder, trading their humanity for food or other supplies, and that result was truly haunting.

  It was a slow process of exploration and exercise during the day, but I had gathered all of the usable supplies in this warehouse on the workbench behind me. Mills had left me my pack, so even after a week indoors I still had food and water for about two days, and my Sig, which I happily strapped to my hip. My rifle was nowhere to be found, but it looked like she had thrown in a few extra 9mm for me, which I would certainly need. My old shirt was soaked in my blood, so I had searched for clothing to replace it. Scavenging through the work lockers at the back, I found a flannel long-sleeve shirt and a heavy brown coat. With the current weather outside, that would come in handy.

  As for new supplies, I managed to find a crowbar, a few protein bars in the main office, and a pair of gloves. One of the gloves had holes in it, and I didn’t find any boots that I was hoping for, but it would have to work.

  By my count, I had spent an additional week getting my muscles to work and forging my body back into survival status. It was a costly amount of time if any of the group needed my help, but I’d rather be able to do something when I did come to that bridge than get myself killed because I rushed the healing process. As it was, my side was still pretty tender but I could grit my teeth through that one. A week was enough.

  I pulled out a pair of socks and rolled them over my tennis shoes, a temporary solution for the weather until I found a pair of boots that fit. Pulling on the coat and gloves, I strapped on my backpack and took one last look around the warehouse.

  I was alone again, with a new lease on life, and it would probably be that way for a while, but I had a goal this time. I would find Mills and Katherine and I would get them to an actual civilization this time, one that couldn’t fall to a horde of zombies or be threatened by a small group of military guys that had lost their grip on sanity a long time ago. One that wasn’t secretly housing cannibals, or run by them.

  There was a safe zone out there somewhere, with a military blockade and shooting platforms at the perimeter, and I aimed to find it one way or another. As I nodded to myself, one thing was certain.

  The end to this story would be permanent.

  Chapter 52

  Unknown Date +7

  Unknown Location

  The front door was a bad idea, as what waited on the other side for me was a street full of zombies and I wasn’t exactly anxious to test my combat abilities quite yet. Just because I could manage a few push-ups didn’t mean I was ready to do my best impression of Rambo. The best option, however, was an emergency escape from the roof, which is why I now stood twenty feet off the ground, staring at a ladder that looked about as sturdy as a glass floor with cracks in it.

  My luck was definitely looking up.

  I tightened the straps on my pack before gripping the handles of the ladder and lowering myself onto the top rungs. My feet felt secure, despite the rusted metal, so I started climbing down. As I passed the fifth rung, I noticed the screws were loose, extending out of the wall about an inch. Halfway down, the metal shook and banged against the brick wall, the screws jerking wildly.

  I stopped moving and set my hand gently on the rung, listening for any sign of trouble.

  “Dammit,” I muttered to myself as I heard a faint moan from the opening of the alley below. Looking down, I saw three zombies begin to converge near the foot of the ladder. I could either take them out when I reached the bottom, try to kill them from my precarious position on the ladder, or climb back up and figure something else out.

  Making up my mind, I reached for the next rung up and felt something shift. Carefully, I lifted my foot and set it two rungs up to try and get to the roof quickly. Big mistake. When I lifted my body to reach toward the next rung, the weight of my body must have caused the screws to finally loosen from the brick, dislodging the rusted plates from the wall, and the top section of ladder ripped free of the wall with a wave of dust that went straight into my eyes.

  The ladder fell and I clamped my hands down on the rungs to try and keep from falling, my eyes pinned shut. The top of the handles banged against the roof of the building next door and my body swung, dangling above the crazed zombies below. Fear spiked in my brain, but I tried to push it aside and focus on survival. Climbing down was still not an option, but now I couldn’t make it back up to the warehouse roof. That left only one realistic option and I knew it was going to suck, especially since my wound was still sore.

  Like a kid on the monkey bars, once my watery eyes weren’t full of dust, I swung my body and climbed the angled ladder one rung at a time. With each movement, I could feel the pull on my side where the gunshot had been, but I had to take the time to make sure my grip was steady. Reaching the third rung from the top, I investigated the large windows in front of me.

  They were tinted, so I couldn’t make out much inside, but I could see an open room below with several tables and filing cabinets. I could try to climb higher, make it to the roof, but there was no guarantee I could go anywhere from there, so I made the only choice I had. Making sure I was holding on with the hand opposite my wound, I pulled out my Sig and fired three shots into the glass. After putting the handgun away and holding on with both hands, I swung my legs and tried to kick in as much of the window as possible before preparing myself for pain.

  I took one last look down at the ground before propelling my body through the window, feeling the ladder buckle under my weight just as I let go. Glass shattered and fell with me, but I had a second to glance at my landing site before I crashed into a table below. The wood splintered and smashed under my weight and it felt like my whole back was on fire, even though the table and my pack took a lot of the force. I wanted to roll over, but I took a moment to collect myself first despite hearing the moans erupt outside.

  Rubbing my neck, I looked around through the cloud of dust that now filled the room. Broken glass was eve
rywhere around me, including small pieces embedded in my skin. Double doors marked the entrance while a door in the back either led to an exit or an office. Before I could force myself to roll over, knowing the zombies wouldn’t patiently wait for me to be ready before joining the party, I heard a sound coming from the back room.

  I must have injured my head more than I thought in the fall, because what I saw couldn’t be real. Barefoot, wearing an emerald green dress, my eyes traveled up smooth legs, a thin waist, brown hair that draped neatly over shoulders, until I was staring into the eyes of my dead wife.

  “Where were you, Eric?” she asked tenderly, continuing to walk toward me.

  “Samantha?” My throat felt ragged pushing out her name, caught somewhere between disbelief and the impossible. Trying to clear my head of whatever trick it was playing on me, I rubbed my eyes and looked back up. Samantha was gone, replaced with a zombie dressed in a torn suit covered in blood, and because of my momentary insanity, he had already closed the distance between us.

  My hand immediately shot to my hip, but the Sig wasn’t there. I scanned the floor rapidly, searching desperately for the handgun through the dusty haze. It must have come loose in the fall, because it had slid several feet away. The manager zombie practically fell on top of me, pinning itself against the sheath of my Ka-bar. I shoved my forearm under its neck, trying to hold the zombie’s face back while I stretched out my other hand for the Sig. Pulling myself toward the handgun, pushing my legs against the floor to get momentum, I struggled for every inch as the zombie pulled itself against me to try and grab a snack.

  Its teeth snapped and it clawed at my arms and chest, drawing itself closer until it was inches from my face. My fingertips flicked the corner of the Sig’s grip and I swung the weapon into my palm, quickly lifting the handgun to the zombie’s throat and turning my head sideways before squeezing the trigger three times. The sound echoed in the office building and my hearing momentarily erupted into a high-pitched ringing as warm blood splashed across my face. I felt the zombie’s severed head dangling loosely by a matter of tendons laying across my arm like a layer of wax paper. The manager’s body slumped against me and I let myself relax against the floor, its head rolling in a half circle on my chest as blood gushed out of the bullet holes. After taking a moment to catch my breath, I pushed the zombie, and its head, off of me and rolled over.

  I stood, wiping blood off my chest with a table leg, and made my way to the back room, keeping my hand resting on my re-holstered Sig as I surveyed the rest of the building. After deciding I was alone for the time being, I entered the room. It was a back office, with a desk and another filing cabinet in the center. Dried blood stained the floor all over, letting me know where the manager had been turned, but the exit I was hoping for didn’t exist. That only left the front doors to leave this place, which meant facing down several zombies on the run unless I could come up with a better plan.

  And here I was hoping for a nice and easy break.

  Chapter 53

  Unknown Date +7

  Unknown Location

  “A Better Plan”

  Okay, so maybe I’ll admit that my plans aren’t the best ever and have a tendency to go sideways, but if every plan in a story went off without a hitch, would you be nearly as entertained? No one is Hannibal Smith, so deep down we all love when a plan doesn’t come together, because that’s when true character shows. Anyone can be calm under pressure, but what happens when you destroy their plan, force them to adapt, and improvise? Those moments reveal the true heroes, and villains.

  Admit it, we’re all sadistic to some degree.

  Anyway, I topped off the magazine in my Sig and holstered it, looking around to get some ideas. Moving to the broken table, I picked up one of the legs and rotated it in my hand while I glanced at the window I had propelled myself through. Setting down my backpack, I threw the leg like a javelin through the opening, hearing it smack against the opposite building and echo between the walls of the alley. This elicited several moans and I could hear the zombies shifting in that direction. I knew if I could lead enough of them into the alley, I might be able to sneak out without making a scene, or at least get a decent head start.

  Hefting another leg off the floor, I angled myself so that I could throw it deeper into the alley and further from the front doors before chucking it through the glass. I played some football in high school, even made varsity senior year, and it was finally paying off. I guess all it took was an apocalypse.

  Maybe I was getting tired, or maybe my head was still a little off, because the third throw reminded me why I didn’t pursue college football, as I had to dodge it when it bounced off of the metal window frame. Despite my aim being called into question, it wasn’t long before I had lured the majority of the zombies down the alley with my clever distraction, hearing their moans shift direction. Strapping on my pack in a hurry, I readied my Sig in one hand with the Ka-bar in the other and kept the excitement to a minimum as I cracked open the right-side door.

  I saw a few of them still scattered around the street, but most of the noise was coming from the space between the buildings. Silly zombies, sticks are for…well, escape and evasion. Taking care not to make too much noise or draw attention to myself, I crouch-walked to the left, down three steps, and stepped softly into the snow. The snow was deep enough to overlap my ankles and my shoes went into the snow with a crunch that sounded like a damn cannon in the quiet the street had become.

  I cursed low and glanced to my right, only to meet the blackened gaze of a zombie, the floral pattern on its worn top a direct contrast to the lifeless, gaunt features on its face. It takes a village, but in this case it only takes one fucking zombie to undo an otherwise solid plan.

  Needless to say, it was frustrating, but the flower zombie still hadn’t given away my position yet. Acting as fast as I could without making too much noise, I shifted and tackled it to the ground. The snow collapsed under our combined weight and I managed to push my forearm under its chin, bringing up the Ka-bar and driving it into its softened forehead.

  Pulling out the knife, I decided I wouldn’t need my Sig if I maintained stealth, so I holstered it to prevent a reflexive shot. I glanced around and noted that the snow would conceal me if I stayed prone, but, seeing a clear path down the street, I stood into a crouch and continued forward once more.

  Jumping over a short garden fence, I made it to an intersection and checked the crossroads. The road seemed to go on forever to my left, but there wasn’t much else in that direction. Turning around, the right looked more appealing as I saw a gas station sign peeking out over the top of another building at the end of the block.

  Of course, between me and that gas station was another handful of zombies but that was just par for the course at this point. I figure that, with over two-hundred million people in the United States, the chances of going anywhere without encountering a zombie were garbage, no matter how incredibly exhausted I was of the damn things.

  Am I desensitized or coping with my situation by thinking of the once-people as “things?” I’ll worry about that later, as, unlike you, I have more pressing concerns like survival.

  With that philosophical debate pushed to the back of my mind, I focused on making it to the end of the block. I spotted another alley further down the street and decided to go for it. Darting across the open intersection, I hugged the storefronts and moved left along the walls. I cleared the first building without incident, but as I neared the alleyway, I heard footsteps crunch in the snow and stopped in place. A Ford truck was parked outside the building, so I looked underneath and caught movement directly on the other side.

  Crossing quickly to the near side of the truck, I toyed with several ideas. The zombie was close enough to the rest of the group that one moan, or one misstep on my part, could alert them all and ruin any chance of keeping things quiet. Of course, getting to the zombie without exposing my position proved difficult as the first thing that came to mind was crawlin
g under the truck. Not the best option.

  Turning my thoughts to the bank, and my previous game of fetch, I pulled out a spare magazine and tossed it lightly into the alley. It was a long shot, but hopefully the zombie would take the…I’ll be damned. Hearing the metal land in the snow a few feet away, the zombie, one in a nice suit and possibly the most uncomfortable-looking shoes ever, stepped into the alley.

  Once it was a few steps past the wall, I closed the distance rapidly, standing and jamming my Ka-bar into the side of its temple. The smell was nauseating as I withdrew the knife, causing my stomach to lurch, but I picked up my clip from the snow and proceeded down the alley. By way of habit, every instinct screamed to drag the body further to conceal it better, but zombies don’t care as much about that sort of thing as terrorists do.

  Hooking a right at the end of the alley, I came to a clearing facing the gas station. Between me and the station were three zombies that I could see from my small angle, which probably meant there were more out of sight.

  I was thinking of a plan when I heard an unusual sound in the distance, a humming that grew louder with each passing second. Keeping my eyes in that direction, I ducked back into the alley and waited.

  Two trucks came barreling down the road, looking like something straight out of a Mad Max film. The first truck had three logs strapped to the hood, split in half with the front ends sawed into large spears. The second had spiked metal sheeting placed over the grill, for ramming, while both trucks had rims with rotating spikes attached. Crimson streaks along the sides of both told their tale of carnage, as did the cleaved blades jutting out from the doors. What had once been fancy wheels for your ride were now weapons of bloody destruction.