She hugged me, burying her face in my shirt.
“I don’t understand!” Her voice was muffled, but I could understand her from experience. “Everyone has done things they regret, things they think they can’t come back from.”
“I made a choice, Kat. It was mine to make, but it takes a toll. You’ve already started healing, and Matthew will help you on that road, but my path leads elsewhere, at least for the near future.” I set my chin on the top of her head. “Would it help if I promise to make it back someday, when I’m ready to find myself again?”
She nodded against my shirt and said something even I couldn’t make out.
“What?” I leaned down.
“You’d better keep that one, Eric, because I’ll hold you to it.” She wiped tears away from her cheeks and sat up.
“I always do.” I glanced to Matt, who was watching us intently. Standing, I waved him to the corner by the door and put my arm over his shoulder. “If you don’t take care of her, and I mean good care,” I whispered, “I will track you down and make what happened in Austin look like an episode of fucking Sesame Street. Are we clear?” He swallowed hard, nodding vigorously. I clapped him on the back and grinned. “Good.”
“How do you feel about all this?” Kat looked to Jessica, who had remained pretty quiet.
“Someone has to keep him out of trouble, so you don’t have to worry, Kat.” She smirked at my dumbfounded expression. “You’re not the only one that’s lost, Eric, and, if I remember right, you needed saving a couple of times.” The determination on her face told me not to argue, so I simply nodded and accepted the help. Hell, who am I kidding? Having her around would be welcome company.
“That does make me feel a little better,” Kat added, which shifted my look to her. “Come on, Eric, sometimes your plans do need a woman’s touch. Besides,” she shrugged, “maybe this will be good for both of you. Finally work out those feelings you clearly have for each other.” She shared a laugh with Matt and I looked over to find Jessica blushing slightly.
“We’ll see, but for now, we’ll take things one day at a time.” I sat on the bed one last time and looked Kat in the eyes. “Are you seriously okay with this? I won’t leave if—” She cut me off.
“Go, Eric. I know you need this, and I know there are people out there that need you. I can’t be selfish.” I smiled and hugged her, reminded of how proud I was. She really was my daughter, and I loved the hell out of her.
To keep it short and retain some masculinity, we talked for a while after that before Jessica and I departed the hospital after a tearful goodbye. I’ll admit that some of those tears were my own, but I am only human. Jessica shared some parting wisdom that I wasn’t privy to before we left, and we spent the walk to the gate discussing our plans for the future.
We talked about where we would go, tossing around the idea of joining Captain Murray, or even scouting out some rumors that came in about California. Harper and Murphy were waiting at the gate, trying one last time to talk us into staying, but settling on a firm handshake and wishing us luck in our travels. Once more, they came through with transportation and equipment, giving us a Range Rover and several supplies, from weapons to more MREs stashed in the back.
Gabriel was the last to say his goodbye, that cocky grin on his face as he strolled up.
“You know, it’s still not too late to leave him for me, love.” Jessica pinned him with a stare and he held up his hands, laughing. “Message received. Damn, you two are quite the angry pair.” He held out his hand and I took it. “Eric, you truly are one hell of a soldier. If you ever need someone to watch your back again, I’d be honored. For what it’s worth, I hope your afterlife exists and you find peace somewhere out there, but don’t be in any hurry to find out.”
“I’ve got a family here, too, so I’m not.” I glanced at Jessica, who smiled. Gabriel made a gagging sound.
“Get a room, you two!” he joked, saying goodbye again before walking away and leaving us to get in the vehicle. I checked my mirrors, adjusting the rearview lower, before starting the engine.
“You can still change your mind, you know.” I glanced over to find Jessica glaring at me. Nodding, I put on my seat belt. “Got it. Shutting up and driving.” She coughed out a laugh.
“And they say you’re not trainable.”
I gripped the wheel and looked over, admiring her strength. Beauty and badass really were a deadly combination that I couldn’t help but love. As the gates parted, she frowned.
“How far do you think we’ll have to go?” Mills whispered in a thoughtful tone. I couldn’t help but smile, thinking of my favorite film.
“The question is not how far,” I said in my best Irish accent, “but do you possess the constitution to go as far as needed?” I could feel a heat on the side of my face and knew she was glaring again.
“Did you just quote a movie when I’m trying to be serious?” I grinned and she sighed, sarcastically adding, “If you ever want to kiss me again, you’d better work on that.” I turned to wink at her and she rolled her eyes. “Well, let’s just hope it’s a short trip, because the zombies might not have to kill you at this rate.”
Driving through the gate and leaving San Antonio behind us, I thought about what she said. We belonged out in the broken world, where we had lost so much, until we found our humanity. I knew someday we would, could feel it in my gut, but it wouldn’t be easy, as I wouldn’t expect it to. Samantha had forgiven me, but I needed to forgive myself for so much. We would visit Kat and I’d keep my promise, until the day we would return to San Antonio for the last time.
No, our story was just getting started. At least, I hoped so.
Epilogue
Katherine read the ending for the hundredth time and folded the book closed, smiling to herself as she wiped away tears and placed the book next to the first one, with the dedication that still got to her, on the bookshelf. She didn’t push it all the way in, making sure it stuck out a little to catch someone’s glance as they walked by. It was hard to believe Eric and Jessica had left almost four years ago in search of their humanity, but he had kept his promise.
They had only been able to visit a few times, but it was enough for now. After editing and transcribing his journal into a book, she had Colonel Harper push the novel across the outposts as a survival guide. Eric hadn’t been a big fan of the idea, specifically wanting to remove the emotional moments because, in his words, “they make me sound like a bitch.” Shaking her head, she stared at the two books and laughed at how defensive he was.
Rumors had started circulating in the first few months, incoming survivors from outposts bringing stories of Eric’s adventures with them. Some sounded too outrageous to be true, but if anyone could accomplish the insane and ridiculous, she knew it was him. His plans had never been simple, or at least ended that way.
“There you are!” Matthew exclaimed from behind, startling her out of her reverie, and stepped up to wrap his arms around her. She glanced down at the ring on his finger and smiled, remembering the wedding. Eric had been able to make it with Jessica, and they seemed like they were doing better together. Of course, his speech was amusing, complete with the not-to-subtle threat that only Eric could give, but Jessica wrapped it all up with a beautiful film quote. Clearly, she was hanging around Eric too much, but neither was complaining. Kat shook her head, realizing that had been two years ago.
“I feel like you read those every time we come here.” Matt laughed. “I don’t think the ending’s going to change.” Kat reached behind her and grabbed his arms.
“I wouldn’t want them to,” she whispered softly, happy at the bittersweet nature of things.
“Me neither, baby.” He kissed her neck. “Do you think they’ll be back in time?” Matthew reached down and rubbed her stomach, which was becoming too big for most of her current wardrobe.
“I know they will, because he promised. I just hope they’re okay.” He hugged her chest to him.
“Don�
��t worry, Kat, those two together are unstoppable. If I know them, they’re out there kicking ass, writing down their thoughts, complete with random movie quotes that normal people don’t know, and doing good work.” She chuckled, knowing how familiar that sounded, but he nodded toward the bookshelf. “Do you think he’ll write another one, so you finally have something new to read?”
“I honestly don’t know.” With all the stories she’d heard, he could write another journal and then some, but she wasn’t sure if he would. Personally, though, she hoped there would be a third book on the shelf to join the set someday, when Eric finally found what he was looking for and could come home from the broken world to this shattered paradise.
Read on for a free sample of Destiny Nowhere: A Zombie Novel
About the Author
Andrew Lauck has studied theatre, film, and writing for years. His passion for writing stems from communicating with fans and fellow authors. He loves films, videogames, and books, especially those in the horror and zombie genres. Andrew lives in Texas with his wife, to whom he attributes much of his inspiration and never misses an opportunity to score points with. He invites his readers to find his author page on Facebook and start a conversation.
Chapter 1: Now
The Zombie Apocalypse started two months ago, and it started exactly where you’d expect it to--on television. Or, more to the point, on Facebook.
It went viral on the internet only slightly faster than it did in real life, and lucky for me, it happened on a Friday night so being a socially phobic shut-in saved my life.
While everyone is blabbing about undead bullshit on their social media feed, I’m lubed up and kneeling in front of my computer, whacking off to Sativa Rose and Lorena Sanchez having steamy, raunchy sex with some guy who looks like he stepped out of Duck Dynasty.
Before mankind ended, the AC Nielson Company reported that the “average” American watched 5.2 hours of television per day. That’s 36.4 hours per week, one and a half days straight, staring at the idiot box! So if they lived to the ripe age of 80, that means 16 years of their life were spent living vicariously through celebrities, being told what to buy and who to be. A nation of consumer cyborgs whose brains were equal parts Kardashian-ized, Monsanto addled, and pharmaceutically stunted in a 24/7 online shopping, social media, virtual reality orgy porgy. America runs on High Fructose Corn Whiz and McMeat, and humans were retarded by Candy Crush long before the zombie plague actually devoured their brains.
But none of that really matters now: TV doesn’t exist anymore; neither do the mentally handicapped, the government, or the status quo. And when civilization died, I was 38, chronically single, and jacking off to Lewd Contact #29, so who am I to really talk shit about everyone else? I’ll tell you who--I’m the smug asshole who’s alive to record history.
Four things they don’t tell you about zombies in the movies:
1) They shit themselves when they change, so you can smell them a mile away.
2) They aren’t actually dead; they’re just diseased, brain-dead cannibals, and you can kill a zombie all the same ways you can kill a regular person (burning, stabbing, Columbian Neck Tie, dropping in a pit of crocodiles, etc.), and not just by killing the brain.
3) They eat almost anything, including vegetables and rotting garbage, they just prefer the taste of flesh. And they maliciously hate humans on sight. Like, if you see a zombie eating a deer, and you think it’s probably stuffed and won’t bother coming after you, you’re wrong: even if it’s not hungry, it still wants to bite you, almost like it’s jealous that you’re still a person.
4) Humanity probably won’t survive this.
If we get our shit together enough to destroy all the zombies, then maybe we can rebuild a newer and better civilization that isn’t brought to you by Nabisco. Most likely, you’ll find this notebook stashed with a bunch of mildewed porno mags in some discarded, blood-soaked backpack in the northeastern United States. Its owner will hopefully be nowhere in sight, having shambled off to look for warm fleshy people like yourself to chomp on.
The Lazarus Virus, as the media so generically dubbed it before they were all devoured, supposedly began with a terrorist attack on New York City.
There’s a lot of debate in the aftermath as to whether or not a bunch of goat-herding Islamic Fundamentalists actually had the capabilities to create such a virus. 15% of survivors believe that the US military created this biological weapon, and polls are split pretty evenly between those who believe it was released by the government as a form of population control, and those who believe it was released by some rogue faction.
Just joking--survivors are so rare that we don’t really take polls of anything anymore, and those stats are just based on my conversations with the stragglers left alive. Do you remember all those ridiculous statistics that quantified every facet of our daily existence before everyone got eaten? 34% of Americans believe Candidate X didn’t grope Woman Z, while 56% of consumers preferred Coke to Pepsi, and 14% of American males have received a blowjob while driving a car (present company excluded).
Those statistics hummed constantly in the background of our lives like a soundtrack, and nobody ever noticed it happening. Did you know that 67% of statistics were made up on the spot?
OMG, WTF, LOL. Speaking of retardation, after ten thousand years of civilization, our very ability to communicate had diminished to ‘textspeak.’ Like I said--we were zombies before there were zombies. How does anyone even explain something like Facebook to people born after the plague?
What’s worse is how that idiotic silliness fills me with nostalgia now. Humans had reached an elevation of such playful, carefree wonder that they spent days on end reporting and categorizing what was popular, what was normal, what was new. Survival was our basic assumption, and death was so unexpected and shocking that it was reported on constantly. My mother would call me in a panic from 3,000 miles away to tell me whenever someone was murdered in my city.
WTF Mom, you morbid weirdo! WTF means What The Fuck, for those of you born after the plague, or in Nebraska. I wonder how any kids today are even going to learn to read while they’re busy trying to escape from seven billion undead. Maybe this will be the last book ever written?
I want you to know how good you have it now that civilization is dead. We were so bored as a species before this shit went down that people sat alone in their rooms, staring at a screen all day long and sharing pictures of our goddamn breakfast, our cats, and the cutesy lipstick keychain someone bought at the mall. Before the plague, we spent every single day of our lives trapped in a job somewhere, doing things we hated, so that they would give us money to buy this useless junk you see littering the wasteland. That was pretty much our entire lives.
Those days are long dead and, unlike your grandma, probably won’t rise again. And I’m secretly glad of that, because I was dead then, shambling through my life, just like all the others. And now, whoever you are reading these words, you are truly alive, aren’t you, awake in every moment, aware how precious and fragile your life is? Nature found a way to kibosh humanity’s appetite for destruction. We’re like mice in the forest, seeing and listening intently in fear of the death that lurks around every corner.
To the survivors I say, don’t despair--you will never again have to stand there with your unimaginative, glassy-eyed neighbor who is overly jazzed to discuss the weather with you. You’re done being that captive audience, trapped by your own social graces at the water cooler while some noxious co-worker drones on about their opinions of Dancing with the Stars or gay marriage. And nobody will ever ring your doorbell, rousting you from a relaxing afternoon nap, to ask if you’ve ever heard of Jesus. Maybe the best perk of all--jobs don’t exist anymore!
Am I the only one who’s glad that civilization is dead?
Chapter 2: Then
I owned a television, but it was only connected to a DVD player. I had no cable, didn’t even own rabbit ears. I didn’t listen to the radio, ever, because I
loathe commercials, station jingles, and radio “personalities.”
I’m also a night owl: my bedroom window was covered with a duvetyn curtain to keep the sun out. In the original Star Trek, all the space scenes were shot with glitter glued onto duvetyn—this stuff is the black hole of the textile industry: no light gets through it. Even my daytimes felt like night because of it. And I liked life that way, living in my private cave and hiding from the world. I didn’t like people before the apocalypse, and I liked them even less once they started trying to eat me.
I’m pretty much the last guy in any city who would even notice a zombie apocalypse happening, and I’m probably the most useless guy you could ever have on your team during a crisis: not a team player at all, possessing zero knowledge of how to operate machinery or build explosives or even put together a particle-board TV stand. And I didn’t own a gun or chainsaw or a baseball bat. I did have a shirt that said ‘You can take my gun when you pry it from my cold dead fingers,’ but only for the amusement of my students. My life was like a joke at my own expense back then.
Facebook was the first indication I saw of the zombie apocalypse, and I ignored it. My news feed was exploding with zombie crap, but I assumed The Walking Dead must’ve just had some grandiose season finale, because people never shut up about that show. It should’ve tipped me off that there were people sharing zombie articles and videos who should not have been. Dr. Yakuhima, a brain surgeon at Northwestern Medical Center, had a YouTube share titled ‘Preliminary Pathology of the Undead,’ which should’ve really glitched my circuits, but my eyes rolled right past it as if it were Doug Donahue class of ‘98 sharing a poop pic from ratemydoodie.com.
A Broken World (Book 2): Shattered Paradise Page 26