S. Johnathan Davis

900 MILES

For Hayden and Olivia

Find what you love, follow your heart and complete the journey… no matter what.

Chapter 1

Life used to be so hard. Thinking things were tough when we didn’t get the job we wanted, or pissed at the politicians for making rules that didn’t matter. We were upset when the Barista fucked up our Venti Coffee or our favorite TV show was canceled. Going through the motions. Mundane tasks for a mundane world. What the hell did we know? We were just begging for it to end.

I was sitting in another meeting, surrounded by ten of the most overpaid, worthless people on the planet. Glancing down, after staring at a very slow second hand tick around the clock above the door, I watched in disgust as my boss scarfed down another glazed pastry. That’s when the first text hit.

None of them would make it. That much was clear. With their overpriced Hummers and their thousand dollar suits, they never had a chance. I wasn’t always so cynical. I had the job, the money. I didn’t drive the Hummer, but I had a damn nice suit and was busy working my way right up the corporate ladder.

“You have great times ahead of you,” they would tell me. A rising star… None of it would matter.

When the text hit, I thought it was a joke. We all just eyed each other for a moment before breaking into laughter as Josh, across from me, read it out loud. Unbelievable, wasn’t it? The text had come in as a news alert from CNN on Josh’s two hundred dollar Smartphone.

It read: DEAD RISING: STAY INDOORS. TURN ON TV.

My boss stood up, crumbs from his pastry falling from his tie. He started to stumble across the room with his arms held up high, moaning about wanting to eat Josh’s brains.

“They’re coming to get you, Barbara,” Josh quipped in a crude reference to Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. The group was giggling, but it wasn’t that funny.

Following the herd would be the death of us.

Josh looked at me. “John, are you able to stream video from behind the corporate firewall?” I could, so I pulled up CNN.com, ignoring the fact that my boss was right there. Why were we even taking this seriously? I thought. The site took a while to come up. In fact, it took too long. Moving on, I entered yahoo.com into the web browser, which revealed the typical bloated mainstream media stories of celebrities, sports and finance. No mention of the dead rising.

CNN must have been hacked, we concluded. The group got a good laugh out of the whole thing.

I couldn’t enjoy it though. In the back of my mind, I was thinking about the fight I had that morning. “Just 900 miles away from your troubles,” she said. Truth be told, I hated these meetings, and I hated flying even more. I guess I wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. I hoped I’d have a chance to apologize.

We finally finished the meeting, the text long forgotten. As we walked out of the conference room, I felt an anxious energy in the air. I couldn’t place my finger on it. The normal white noise-induced coma, which was the norm for the office seemed, well… broken. There was movement all around, as people were packing up their laptops, jackets, and purses on their way to the elevators.

I leaned in to listen to a few of the mail clerks huddled around someone’s cubicle. They were watching a video stream that was uploaded to YouTube. Some jerkoff food critic was filming a streaming review at a diner in East Manhattan. It was one of those real ritzy places where the tables were made of mahogany and the waiters all wore tuxes with dazzling white shirts. The critic had uploaded a video where some lawyer-looking bastard, with a perfectly parted hundred dollar haircut, had swallowed too much of the cow he was eating and keeled over dead at his table.

The computer didn’t have speakers, but you could see it clearly enough. Technology really did reach a pinnacle of greatness before it all came crumbling down.

Just as a few of the wait staff circled around the guy, the glutton stood up. One of the waiters had just reached over to pat him on the back, when the lawyer whipped around and took a bite-sized chunk out of his neck.

Blood isn’t like it looks in the movies. It was a dark, almost black-red, and it rhythmically flowed in spurts across what was left of the steak sitting on the table.

The waiter instantly dropped to the floor, a red pool expanding all over the tile. His tux was splattered with the mess. His white shirt was white no more. In that instant, there was a tentative laugh amongst those standing around the cubicle, as if to question whether what we just watched was real.

The video ended, but not before we could see the lawyer running toward a group of women sitting in horror behind him. At the same time, in the lower right hand corner of the video, which was mostly spanning the floor, the waiter, covered in his own blood, sat up and looked savagely toward the guy operating the camera.

Now the texts really started to flow in.

It wasn’t like the movies when it first started. There weren’t any of the usual stumbling, rotting, corpses crawling out of grave sites. It wasn’t a bunch of people walking around in their Sunday best. It was the everyday deaths that kick-started this shit storm. I read somewhere that over one hundred and fifty people die per day in New York. Bike accident, car crash, old age, it really doesn’t matter.

On that day, they got right back up, and they were quick, at first, anyway. Rigor mortis didn’t even have time to settle in. So when this thing first hit, those bastards were flying around, tearing apart anybody they could get their hands on. Then, they would get up and tear apart more people. It was some sort of fast moving virus or something, infecting anything that the mouth touched.

It was the weak and the slow that got hit the hardest on that first day. Let’s just say that anybody rolling around on a scooter at the grocery store because they let themselves eat to the weight of two hundred pounds too much… well, they were screwed.

* * *

My phone buzzed in the suit pocket against my leg. Half battery, I thought, as I swiped the ‘unlock’ to answer.

“Are you still in New York?” My wife, Jenn, asked frantically.

“Yes. There seems to be something going on outside.” My voice sounded odd.

“Oh, God, no. It’s all over the news.”

“What?”

“The dead are alive, John. They don’t know how or why, but they are getting up and killing other people. It started in New York. You need to get to the airport right away. Get out of the city! John! John!”

Dazed by the news, I responded that I was by the window of the office overlooking the street. There was a car flipped over and people were running all over the place. I was trying like hell to wrap my head around what was happening.

“It doesn’t look good down there, Jenn. I don’t… I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the airport.”

“Then you need to find a car or some way to get out of there!” she shrieked, making me wince. I felt a sudden sense of urgency, as I gripped the phone tighter.

“I’m sorry, Jenn,” I blurted, “about this morning, about our fight.”

“None of that matters to me. Just get ho…”

The signal died. I tapped the phone until it was trying to dial her back. No luck. Not even a dial tone. Just dead air. Amazing. It was all already coming undone, and I didn’t even know it.

Refocusing on the office, I placed the phone back in my pocket. Looking around, I realized that there was no movement on the floor. No one was leaving their desk to head for the bathroom, to flirt with their secretaries, or to sneak outside to grab a smoke. The place was literally deserted.

That is, with one exception. A single person was still typing away on a computer in the front of the office. Each keystroke echoed off the absurdly quiet office walls.

Running up to the receptionist, I barked, “What are you doing? You’ve got to get out of here!”

“Finishing this memo. I don’t leave until I finish the memos.” Her last words drifted off as she continued to stare at the screen. She didn’t even look at me as I walked backwards toward the elevator door.

Dedication? Most likely shock.

It was amazing how so many people just went into shock in the beginning. Not reacting. Not acknowledging what was going on. It was as if a fuse burst in their feeble minds, rendering them even more useless. Mundane tasks for a mundane world.

A group of people was pressed against the lobby glass, looking out at the street when I stepped off the elevator. I could see Josh and my fat boss standing near the door. It looked like they were preparing to head outside. Even now, Josh was his lapdog, preparing to escort my obese boss out to his Hummer that was parked in the garage next door. Anything to climb that corporate ladder.

Remaining back, I was still able to get a vantage point to see outside. Right away, I could tell that all hell had broken loose. The car that was flipped over was now on fire. There were police horses, once noble and calm, running around without riders; the frothy sweat gathering along their necks, their gentle eyes now wild with fright.

I saw a firefighter who had tapped into a nearby fire hydrant. He was twisting the nozzle when two of the so-called dead, a girl with a blue summer dress, and a homeless guy with a shredded NY Mets tee shirt, jumped him. The bum was biting at his face, but the shield of his helmet was down. The girl got a chunk out of his upper arm where his open coat had slid down during the fight.

So much for doing the right thing.

At that moment, my overweight boss and his loyal lap dog decided to make a break for it while the dead were distracted.

The first person I watched being taken down was Josh. Just as they stepped outside, they ran into a giant of a man coming around the corner. At six foot seven, he towered over Josh, and the look in his eyes screamed infected! I could feel my body involuntarily shudder.

Josh hesitated; that was his mistake. My fat boss didn’t even look back. He just kept running down the sidewalk, almost falling over a tipped over garbage can.

The giant didn’t just bite Josh and move on as I’d seen with the others. He advanced toward him. Josh stumbled backwards and tripped, as one of his shoes fell off. I watched his cellphone flip across the pavement. The giant dead guy picked him up over his head. Josh’s scream went shrill until he was bounced off the pavement a couple of times.

That thing then spun Josh in the air, and with the effort of throwing out the trash, tossed him towards the building we were in. He smashed against the glass, not breaking through it. We all watched in stupefied horror as his mangled face slid down the “no shoes, no shirt, no entry,” sign on the outside of the building.

Shouldn’t have lost your shoe, Josh.

The goliath stomped over and stood above Josh. He brought his giant arms down on top of him, over and over again, beating him to a pulp. He started pulling pieces and parts off him to stuff into that grotesque mouth.

A sob from a woman in the crowd broke the silence in the room.

Those corporate bigwigs got something right when they built this place. The glass on the building was one-way; we could see him, but he couldn’t see us…

It’s probably the only reason I’m able to tell this story today.

Chapter 2

It’s been said that a plan is a list of things that don’t happen. We couldn’t have planned to screw up so badly if we tried.

With the realization that those things out there couldn’t see us, a few hesitant whispers started up. Within a matter of moments, the volume was back to normal. You name it; they threw it out there; fifteen or so of them, all of them trying to come up with what to do next.

I’m all for brainstorming, but when you have Patty, the HR clerk, sorting out how the chips fall, I can’t say that we’re really thinking through all the cards in the deck.

Making a run for it, heading to the subway, everybody had ideas. All designed to put us outside with the Dead. Were there really any good options?

Let’s just call our neighborhood Yellow cab, I thought, as I took another look at my phone. Still no signal.

One guy emerged from the crowd with a slightly raised voice. He was bald with the cul-de-sac cut. The kind where he kept the hair on the side of his head, instead of just shaving the whole thing, creating a perfect half circle of baldness on top. I’d seen him around the building. He was either a CEO or acting branch manager. Either way, he was in charge of his own little world before this. Real alpha-male type and he was sure he had all the right answers.

Mr. Cul-de-sac kept rattling on about heading for the waterfront. It was just four blocks away, according to him. We could get a boat and get past the crowds in the city. No problem.

Our attention was pulled toward the glass front as a few gunshots followed by screams echoed outside. We couldn’t see what had happened, but it was close enough for the building security guard to walk over and lock the front door of the building.

There was some debate about how to get to the water when another guy in the crowd suggested just waiting it out. It was the typical scene. We were in an office building. Help would come. We could hole up.

In the movies, the group always does this. They board up the doors, hide in the cellar and hope that help will be there soon. Those assholes are always eaten. The reality is that everybody had someone they needed to get to. Whether it was kids, wives, friends or other family, nobody was willing to just sit still.

900 miles away. Still no signal.

Mr. Cul-de-sac was starting to build momentum, getting some followers. There were a few guys standing next to him now. Two of them were wearing janitorial outfits. One was waving a mop handle around.

“This guy’s going to get these people killed. You know that, don’t you?”

I looked over to see the guy in the security guard uniform standing next to me.

I nodded saying, “Yeah, don’t bother to learn anybody’s name in here.”

He extended his hand and said, “I’m Kyle.”

I paused, smiled at the irony and grabbed his hand. “John.”

That is how I met one of the best men I have ever, or will ever know.

Kyle was working the front desk security in our office building. His job was basically to check badges and look intimidating. I’d later learn that he couldn’t find meaningful work when he returned from Iraq six months earlier.

He was a big guy, larger built than me, and a former helicopter pilot in the army. I don’t know jack shit about ranks or military status, but I got the sense that Kyle had seen his fair share of ground, as well as air combat. He was trained to handle himself–and right now, that counted.

“You have any weapons behind that desk of yours?” I asked.

“Just my mitts,” he replied holding up his two brick-sized fists.

“That’s good, but I was hoping for a few guns or a Billy club.”

“We’re keeping suits like you from entering the elevator, not hunting down America’s Most Wanted.”

“Good point.” I shrugged.

Mr. Cul-de-sac had another half dozen followers standing around him. They were flirting with the idea of jumping from building to building by way of the rooftops. I have to hand it to them; they were really exploring all options, no matter how suicidal.

He was really starting to get the crowd worked up. Patty, the HR Clerk, was moments away from being his number one cheerleader. It was just then that we heard an explosion from across the street. She gave a short scream as we all spun around to look outside.

The gas tank in the overturned, burning car, had just exploded. We all shifted our gaze to the building across from us as the glass from the doors shattered and fell. We saw six people run out into the street. They must have been sitting there just like us, our mirror image, trying to figure out their next steps, when everything came crashing in around them.

As soon as they stepped into the street, they were overrun with twenty or so of those… things. The first to attack was the firefighter, who was now among the ranks of the dead. The giant who smashed Josh was pushing the other dead aside to get to the victims. Apparently, even zombies will run over each other to get their prize.

The whole thing was over before it really even started.

Mr. Cul-de-sac jumped right on it. Voice raised, he had everyone’s attention.

“That could have been us. We have to make our move.”

I couldn’t disagree. We had to make a move.

My eyes drifted outside. The chaos in the street was only increasing. Through the partially eaten bodies and blood-covered pavement, one of the dead caught my attention. It was my former boss; looks like he didn’t make it to his Hummer. He was stumbling around, heading toward our building. His entire gut was carved out, and his tie lay loosely over the open cavity. I didn’t understand how he could even be walking upright. Someone in the front of the group by the glass let out a scream that was cut short when another person slapped a hand over her mouth.

Kyle saw him, too. We exchanged a quick look. Fat man gets his stomach eaten out. We didn’t say anything, but I knew he saw the irony.

A few others suddenly noticed him as well. He was heading toward the door.

“Does he remember that we’re in here?” The janitor holding the mop handle asked in a harsh whisper. The entire group watched as my boss slowly stepped up to the glass door that Kyle had locked just moments earlier.

As that formerly fat bastard rattled the door handle, we suddenly noticed that his lapdog, Josh, was moving. As mutilated as his body was with his missing leg and smashed torso, he was still lifting his head up to see what was going on.

It was then that I noticed my boss was still holding his Hummer keys. Even in death, he couldn’t let go of his possessions.

I took a quick look around the lobby. A security desk, a metal sign post with a sign that said, “Show ID” and a fake potted tree. That was it.

The rattling of the door handle started to get some unwanted attention. Two more of the creatures lumbered over to our building. Mr. Cul-de-sac was backing away from the glass, his eyes wide with fear. The janitors started to fight over the broom handle. They decided to break it in half. The dip shits screwed it up though, creating one side that was much smaller than the other was. As they fought over who got which piece, a few more creatures crowded around the glass door.

Most of the people just stood still, watching as the dead started to push on the glass. Kyle walked over to the “Show ID” sign and broke the rod off, creating a nice 4-foot metal weapon.

I took off my suit coat and threw it on the floor. They were coming and we fucking knew it.

Patty, the HR Clerk, let out a scream when the glass finally gave in. The Dead flooded through the shattered door and spread through the small lobby. I watched as the janitors charged the horde as if it was a fucking bar fight; punching, brawling, and hitting them over the heads with their makeshift weapons. Not terribly effective. A creature bit right through one of their uniformed arms. That janitor plopped to the floor, stunned, as he watched the zombie throw his arm, still holding half a mop handle, toward me. It left a smear of blood across the polished floor, stopping just at my feet.

Mr. Cul-de-sac used the diversion as an escape. He took off toward the elevator. I’ll never really know if he intentionally sent those two idiots off to die so he could save his own ass. I don’t know if it even really matters.

Most of the leaders in our world are in it for themselves. A sad truth those two idiots learned with their lives, and one that I would learn myself in the weeks ahead.

Our group was ripe for the picking. Weakness embedded into our very fabric. Any sort of primal survival instincts were bred out of most of our gene pool long ago. On the other hand, the survival instinct is a bitch of a thing. When everything was said and done, it was little Patty, the HR clerk, who put up the biggest fight.

As the others in the room all but stood there as the horde ripped them apart, I watched in amazement as she rolled towards the potted plant and tore the small plastic tree from its base. She was throwing and flinging that thing around, knocking the lifeless mass of creatures back.

Just before two of the bastards tripped her up and tore into the soft flesh on her neck, I remember thinking that if more of us had put up the fight that little Patty did, we might have made it out that front door.

In fact, we had all taken a very specific test that first day. That test was pass or fail.

My test was when two of the Dead knocked me down onto my back, and then pulled me through the lobby by my feet as I kicked, struggled and fought for life. With deadly precision, Kyle took one of them out with the metal rod he was wielding. The second one pinned me down when my test happened. Adrenaline shooting through my veins, I gripped the broomstick from the clutches of the dead janitor’s arm, and thrust it forward, driving it toward the creature’s face. The wood struck the eye socket bone, reverberating all throughout my body. My hand thudded against the zombie’s face and I involuntarily jerked back, withdrawing the broomstick. It pulled out, creating an audible pop as the eye was ripped from the socket. The creature dropped to the floor in its own dark pool of bloody mess. I shoved myself backwards to get out from underneath it and panted heavily. Feeling a cold sweat sliding down my back, I realized that I had destroyed that thing.

I had passed the test.

I was a killer.

Chapter 3

When it’s all on the line, we have to make the hard choices. Sometimes they work out, but sometimes they don’t.

I was still sitting on the floor, not trusting my legs to hold me up. I was trembling violently, gripping on to the broomstick for dear life. Kyle grabbed me by my shirt collar and started dragging me towards the elevator. He was covered in blood, not his.

I scrambled wildly for my footing when I heard commotion behind us. I twisted around as my shoe skid through a patch of blood, finding my boss standing above me. We both stopped as I finally got to my feet. We made eye contact. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw a glimpse of recognition in his eyes as he reached out to grab me.

A dark splatter of blood shot across the elevator door, as Kyle took a hard swing that literally sent the metal pole crashing right through his skull. The zombie’s body thudded completely lifeless to the floor. I nodded to Kyle as I reached down and unclenched my fat boss’s dead fingers from around the Hummer keys. I didn’t have a car, and he wouldn’t be needing his anymore.

“Thanks for three great years,” I let slip out.

The elevator dinged, and we jumped in, watching the door close just as the rest of the zombie horde charged toward it. We could hear the heavy thumps as they ran into it. An audible scream from the lobby let us know that they were still finishing off some of our group. Nothing could be done, I told myself. Nothing could be done.

We headed straight for the top of the building. Standing just seven stories tall, it was far from the tallest building in New York. The elevator only went to the sixth floor, and we had to take a set of steep, dark stairs to the rooftop. The sun was starting to set as we pushed open a metal door, which led to the fresh air atop the roof.

Mr. Cul-de-sac spun around, holding a makeshift club that he had created from a broken office chair. He was clearly surprised to see us, or anybody for that matter. He looked guilty, as if he’d done something wrong. We didn’t exchange any words, just glared in each other’s directions for a moment before going our separate ways.

I followed Kyle over to the edge of the building, peering over. There were dozens of those things roaming the streets. I was still trying to get my shit together, breathing a little easier to avoid passing out. A noise behind us made my heart leap into my throat and I spun around. Mr. Cul-de-sac was jamming another piece of the broken chair between the door handle and a metal pipe by the door, buying us some time in case those things figured out how to climb the stairs. This proved to be the smartest thing that I ever saw him do, but in the end, it didn’t work for shit.

Walking around the perimeter, we looked for some sort of fire escape. No such luck. However, we did learn that there was a parking garage right next to us. A narrow alley filled with garbage cans and trash bags stood between our building and a possible escape. With the right wind and a little luck, we might be able to make it, if it came down to that. Exploring all options, even the suicidal ones.

We stood silently on the roof for what seemed like an eternity, watching the mayhem below. Things would be quiet, and then all of a sudden, there would be an eruption of screams and crashes as the dead found their next victims.

Mr. Cul-de-sac was standing near the door when we heard what sounded like large artillery fire. It was in the distance, as if it was coming from the middle of the city. Flashes from the streets were lighting up buildings. It was surreal. The army boys were putting up a good fight. We could see four helicopters flying above the war zone. A couple of them looked like green military choppers; the other two looked more like news helicopters.

Kyle was commenting about the caliber of the bullets when we noticed that the streets were beginning to clear. Like mice following the scent of cheese, the mindless creatures began moving in the direction of the noise. While the fight raged on, Mr. Cul-de-sac mentioned something about waiting for help, a slightly different tactic than he was talking about in the lobby.

Kyle speculated about what the army was doing. Something about laying down a steady stream of munitions fire. Pausing for a bit, waiting for the streets to fill back up with zombies, then lighting them up again. Made sense, but it was all a guess.

It was getting darker out, the sun low behind the buildings. We decided to sit tight on ours. None of us wanted to go wandering around in the dark.

I don’t know if part of the power grid was down, or if people were too afraid to turn on their lights. Were there even any people left to turn them on? With the exception of the stoplights rhythmically changing colors, there were really no other electric lights running in the area. However, the army’s constant barrage of artillery and the fires blazing rampantly down below created plenty of visibility.

Slipping my hand into my pocket, I decided to turn off my phone. I needed to conserve as much battery power as possible. I turned and slid my back down the wall to the stairwell. I was still numb, not wanting to think about what might lie ahead. Kyle joined me, making a comment about needing a break. I glanced up as Mr. Cul-de-sac was wandering hesitantly over. Reluctantly moving, making room for him, I realized we might have safety in numbers.

As the three of us sat there, I learned that Mr. Cul-de-sac’s name was actually Ron Chauffer. He was a CEO of an insurance company that dealt in catastrophic events like hurricanes and earthquakes. He made some snide remarks about how his company wouldn’t be covering this event when the claims came flooding in.

Lucky us, I thought repulsively. Stuck on this roof with a real special son of a bitch.

Chauffer eventually fell asleep, curled up with his chair leg. Kyle and I stayed awake, watching the glow from the streets.

His thoughts were on his military service. He explained to me how he decided to enlist as soon as he was able. He didn’t have any family to speak of, except for an estranged father who lived somewhere in San Francisco. He seemed indifferent about whether he was alive or dead. I didn’t know whether the indifference was toward his father, or himself. And I didn’t press for a reason.

Jersey was his home because it was too expensive to live in the city. Not anymore, I thought to myself, as I glanced out towards the glow from the firefight.

Deciding not to share too much about myself at that point, I exchanged the basic story about how I was up in New York on business. Talked a little about my wife, Jenn, still in Atlanta, and that I needed to figure out how to get back to her.

When I mentioned Atlanta, Kyle turned toward me and said that he spent six months stationed at Fort Gordon in Augusta, a city on the Georgia and South Carolina border, about two hours east of Atlanta. They would fly out of the Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta from time to time, and some of his best buddies were still stationed down there.

He told me a story about how one year; three of them went to Atlanta to watch the peach drop during New Year’s Eve. Too much celebrating, and a shit ton of drinks later, landed one of the guys in bed with three prostitutes. According to Kyle, it was the best night of the guy’s life.

It gave us a good laugh, and helped break the tension and fear of the day. We both sat in silence for a while, watching and listening to the firefight raging several blocks away.

I just lay there, nervously playing with my wedding ring. My wife would always yell at me for fidgeting with the thing. I tended to play with it when things got tense. I’d say the last few days or so counted. Facing the sky in and out of consciousness for most of the night, I noticed a mask of dark smog covered the stars. From time to time, the cloud cover would pass by just right, revealing a nearly full moon. I finally fell into a deep sleep in the early morning hours, the dead were still roaming around in my dreams.

When the sun began to peek through the buildings, it became evident what we had to work with on the roof. Chauffer had stumbled across a red toolbox while taking a piss in the middle of the night, and pulled it over to where we were sleeping. We figured someone had abandoned it while fixing the nearby satellite tower, which stood roughly ten feet tall at the peak of the roof, when the carnage started below.

In the early morning, Kyle had worked out a plan to use the tools to unbolt the tower, and use it to bridge the gap between the office building we sat on and the parking garage next door. Between the three of us, we were confident that we’d be able to pull it down. While it would be close, it looked just long enough to reach all the way to the other side of the alley.

While Kyle and Chauffer started to work the screws, I took a survey of the streets. The sun was fully over the horizon, making it easy to see the destruction. We could still hear the gunshots in the distance, reminding us of the battle raging just blocks away.

There were still creatures in the streets. For the most part, they were unorganized, and seemed to be scavenging. I noticed that they didn’t appear to be moving terribly fast, certainly not running as we had seen yesterday afternoon. I figured that the majority of the undead were still drawn to the noise of the firefight.

To the south, I could see the waterfront of Battery Park, where tourists could catch the ferry to go see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Chauffer was right; we really were not that far away. Once past those couple of blocks of car-filled streets, it’s nothing but an open grassy park.

Kyle came up beside me, his gaze following mine. We could see boats moving up and down the river. One of them appeared to be docking and taking up passengers.

“There can’t possibly be a ferry service still running,” Kyle muttered in disbelief. My thoughts exactly.

We watched as the barely visible drivers jumped off the ferry and set up a small perimeter at the water’s edge. As people rushed for the boat, the drivers would provide coverage with short bursts of gunfire until they were on board safely.

So close, but so far away, I thought, looking down at the street as more zombies emerged. Chauffer caught my attention.

“If this thing is bigger than just New York, we gotta head for the country. Less populated, means less of these things.”

Nodding in agreement, I said, “Yeah. We just have to find a way to get there. Lots of populated ground to cover before we hit Sticksville, USA.”

Kyle lifted his chin a little, not committing either way. He asked me to give them a hand, and prodded me to stand below the small metal tower. He and Chauffer would lower it to me. Catching it at the top, I was surprised to feel how light it was. Probably some sort of titanium metal. It was a foot and a half wide at my end, a little wider on the opposite end, with a ladder running up the entire length.

Chauffer snorted sharply, “Is this thing going to be sturdy enough?”

His question was an echo of my own. I hoped we wouldn’t have to find out.

“Finally, a lucky break,” Kyle said as we slid the tower in place. It was just long enough to fit between the rooftop and the parking garage.

Admiring our work, I reached down for a hammer that was in the tool kit. It had a traditional wood handle, with an over-sized metal head. Clearly, it had seen its fair share of nails. It felt comfortable, as if specifically made for my hand. I hung it in my belt.

Little did I know that the hammer would save my ass more than once.

Chapter 4

The enemy of my enemy isn’t always my friend.

The gunfire had gotten louder, drawing our attention back to it. The army had pulled out the heavy artillery. Immediate booms followed sharp cracks. Dust and fire were visible in the air above the war zone. Kyle was staring in that direction. I scrutinized his expression, hoping to learn what plan he might be conjuring.

We all spun around at the racket in the building across the street from us. One of the windows on a floor a few stories up was cracked, spider-webbing like ice. Suddenly, a chair flew through it and crashed to the street below. My heart raced wildly as a woman rushed to the window ledge. Her screams were audible even as she turned back into the room.

Seconds later, she turned and leaped. Her black dress flapped in the air as she fell to a certain death. Two of those things followed her. Their arms waved frantically as they plummeted to the earth, landing with three consecutive thumps. No pause, no care for their own lives; these were the creatures that we faced in the streets below. I felt the vomit in the back of my throat as we watched a group of the undead crawl through the splattered remains.

My thoughts went back to watching the news on 9/11. People trapped in the towers were jumping from the windows and rooftops of the burning buildings. When faced with certain death, people will do anything to escape, while the whores of network television will show anything to get a bump in the ratings.

Chauffer began pacing around the rooftop, glancing over at our makeshift bridge. What was that bastard up to?

The artillery fire was closer, almost deafening. Kyle was muttering about the army boys finishing them off as they made their valiant last stand against the abominations. We watched in utter silence as one of the larger buildings several streets away begin to shift.

“Oh my God,” Chauffer squeaked, wringing his hands. I barely heard him. No doubt weakened by shellfire, the skyscraper swayed back and forth a few times before we saw dust and debris shoot up all around it. The rumbling shook our entire building, shook us to our very cores. The entire thing came crashing down in slow motion, reverberating and ricocheting off the surrounding buildings. The dust cloud was carried away from us but it still left the air thick.

Then silence. The firefight was over.

Reaching into my pocket, I clutched my phone with my cold, clammy hand. I could hear my heart thudding in my eardrums. Taking a deep exaggerated breath, I finally pulled out the cellphone and turned it on. Still zero bars. Was it over? Did we win? The thoughts plagued me.

We continued to stare in the direction of the ruins for what seemed like an eternity. Then we saw them. They were dressed in military gear, heading our way. Chauffer let out a whoop in relief.

“We won!” he yelled. I was a bit slower to share his enthusiasm, but let the grip on my phone ease ever so slightly.

Kyle was the first to notice it.

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute!” he snapped, still glaring down at them. Chauffer and I quieted and turned to see what he was going on about. The uniformed soldiers were moving erratically. There was no gunfire at the monsters still below us either. As they moved through the streets, nobody put up a fight. We watched in disbelief as the dead soldiers simply absorbed the rest of the creatures, adding them to their ranks of this literal army of the dead.

We would later learn that that good ol’ Uncle Sam had descended into Manhattan with a vengeance. Newspaper reporters, television crews, all followed along as the Army boys took out wave after wave of those things. Almost ten hours worth of filling them full of holes.

Funny thing about these dead, however, they didn’t drop down for good very easily. You had to have precise aim to take them out, hitting them in the head. Machine guns, grenades, mortar shots, all effective deterrents against man, but almost useless on the undead hordes. These creatures had no fear either. In modern warfare, the whole goal is to put enough of a hurt on your enemy so that they eventually give up. These things would never give up. The whole thing was a total clusterfuck.

With the persistence you would expect from a mindless horde of dead beings, they eventually overran our modern defenses, and all of it was caught on tape and broadcast across the globe.

Chauffer dropped to his knees and looked up at the sky, begging God for help.

Even those who haven’t spent a day in church their whole lives, suddenly let their inner choirboy out when they think their number is up. I went to school with a guy who was a real bad ass. You name it, he would smoke it or shoot it, yet the girls loved him. One night, he got too fucked up to drive, but he decided to jump in his pickup and take his girlfriend home all the same. I remember her saying that his last words were, “Dear God,” as his truck hit the tree and launched him fifty feet across a parking lot. She made it, but wound up in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

She was probably one of the first poor bastards to be eaten.

Chauffer was pleading to the Lord Almighty when we heard a thumping noise from the door to the stairwell. He scrambled to his feet, falling silent. What first started as a knock had turned into a loud pounding that was rattling the door. We started backing away, when the splinters from Chauffer’s makeshift door lock shot out toward us like missiles. From out of the darkness, charged the six-foot-seven goliath that had pounded Josh to death downstairs outside the lobby.

Chauffer let out a scream, and started running. The movement caught the creature’s attention and it started to chase him around the top of the building. The zombie was clearly moving slower than yesterday, but it was only a matter of time before it caught its prey.

The monster finally snagged Chauffer’s leg, tripping him up. Chauffer fell flat on his face and then rolled onto his back, swinging his chair leg wildly.

He missed completely.

Kyle and I advanced on the giant. Pulling the hammer from my belt, we leaped on top of it, distracting it long enough for Chauffer to scramble away. It immediately twisted beneath us, throwing me to one side and Kyle to the other. I hit the door to the staircase with a thud, the air in my lungs disappearing. A wave of black crept into my mind as I struggled to keep my eyes open. The pain blurred my vision. Everything went dark. I was only out for a moment before coming to. Kyle was triumphantly standing over the creature as he drove the finishing blow through its skull.

It was always easy for Kyle. He knew death well.

We could hear multiple footsteps from the stairwell. There were more of them on the way. Kyle and I made eye contact, and then our gaze shot over towards the alleyway facing the parking garage next door. Chauffer was in a hurry, crawling across the makeshift bridge. The bastard was leaving us behind.

Kyle gripped my wrists and pulled me to my feet. My knees were still knocking violently but we dashed towards the bridge just as three more of them burst through the doorway. They joined us on the suddenly, seemingly very small rooftop. It was three of our zombie friends from the lobby: the one armed janitor, and two other nameless people in blood-soaked suits that I recognized. They must have spent all night trying to find us and trying to figure out the stairs.

Kyle shot across the roof to the bridge; I was right behind him. The one armed janitor was frantically grabbing at my leg when I glanced at Chauffer for help. He was safely perched on the parking garage. In that split second, I could see it in his eyes. He was going to save his own ass.

He reached over and started to heave the bridge off of the parking garage. Kyle screamed at him, but he didn’t even pause, giving another heave. I felt a jerk on my leg again. I reached for my hammer, twisting around, and dug the claw deep into the janitor’s head. Kyle and I shoved him backward, clambered over the now absolutely dead body, and back on to the rooftop.

Just as Kyle scrambled off the bridge, our end skittered sideways and dropped off, and flipped Chauffer’s end upward. Part of it caught him right across the middle of his cul-de-sac forehead. He stumbled backwards, blood running down his face. Not a lethal blow, but it would leave a hell of a scar. Holding his head, he turned and ran into the depths of the parking garage.

Looking back on it, if we hadn’t helped him, if we had let Chauffer die that day, so much misery could have been prevented.

Kyle and I could hear more footsteps, and a lot of them in the staircase.

Looking over at Kyle, as if reading his thoughts, I gave a brief nod. We took two steps back and started to run towards the gap separating that parking garage and us.

Faced with certain death, people will do anything to escape, no matter how suicidal.

My right foot landed on the ledge of the rooftop, and I pushed every ounce of energy I had straight through my leg. Even in mid-air, I could hear them screaming right behind me. Close enough to brush across the hair on my neck, but falling short to land on the pavement seven stories below.

The pain shot through my knee as my foot connected with the parking garage roof. Just as my leg buckled, sending me into a bone-jarring tumble, I realized that I had made it. No time for pain right now. I crawled back onto my feet, trembling violently and scraped, but otherwise, unharmed.

As I caught my breath, I looked around for Kyle. Oh, shit! He wasn’t with me. Fearing the worst, I shot a glance toward the rooftop. A swarm of them was there now, and some of the creatures were trying to jump across. I watched one of the dead make a tremendous leap, only to come just shy of its mark. The skull smashed on the edge of the cement. Blood shot across the garage roof, spraying my shoes. I staggered back a couple of feet. That’s when I heard a strained voice call out, “Pull me up!”

I ran toward the ledge, peering over to see Kyle hanging on by his fingertips. I clasped his arms, and hefted him up. He was a heavy bastard. Evidently, one of the creatures had gotten close enough to trip him up just before he made the jump.

Looking over towards a door that led to the entrance to the garage, I rubbed my leg and discovered a small shard of glass that had lodged itself in my thigh. With a sharp wince, I yanked it out and heard it hit the ground with a clang. I then pulled the Hummer keys from my pocket. No time to waste. The army of the dead was closing in.

“If we don’t get out of here before they surround this area, we’re not going to make it!” I growled in between gasps. No argument from Kyle.

We took a couple of deep breaths, giving us a few moments to survey the garage for any more of the non-living. I told Kyle that my boss’ car would be on the ground floor in the VIP parking area. We cautiously rushed to the staircase on the far end of the garage and started down the stairs.

As I eased open the staircase door on the bottom floor, I whispered that there were only a few of them stumbling around. Kyle gave a slight nod, stepped into the garage, and quickly slid behind one of the cars. My hands were trembling in the darkness. From car to car, we maneuvered through the garage, dodging the few creatures that had found their way into the depths of the indoor parking lot.

The Hummer was within sight. It was an imposing, yellow beast, designed to grab everyone’s attention. Before gas prices shot through the roof, and it became unpopular to drive them, these things could have been found in all the dance club parking lots. They were considered a symbol of status. My boss had decked this one out with a raised cab and oversized wheels.

We crawled up next to the Hummer. Reaching for the door, I jerked my hand back, feeling the panic trying to take hold. I had to swallow several times because of the dust that had settled in my throat from when the building collapsed.

“If I unlock it with the key, it’s likely that the alarm will go off. If I use unlock from the keychain, it’s going to beep as well,” I whispered harshly.

Kyle weighed that carefully.

“Try the key, maybe it isn’t locked.” I gave him an uneasy look.

“Either way,” he added, “be prepared to move fast.”

With a trembling hand, I slid the key into the door, and cautiously turned it clockwise. A piercing sound echoed throughout the garage. Every zombie within a three block radius could hear it. I jumped up, and slid into the driver’s seat, punching the button to unlock the door as Kyle came barreling around to the passenger side. The piercing alarm finally stopped when I stuck the key in the ignition.

Before Kyle closed his door, we could hear a few of the creatures screaming in the garage. They were coming for us.

As I turned it over, all the equipment in the Hummer turned on. Navigation, the heater, the seats moved forward automatically. I watched as a seat warmer signal turned from off to on.

A real rugged ride…

The stereo started up as well, startling both of us. A few lines from America’s favorite pop princess shouted through the speakers before I switched it off, letting out a nervous laugh.

We later learned that many people had died in their pursuit to the radio stations. The broadcast gave them hope, a guiding light. It was as if the stations would provide them refuge. Most of the stations in New York were switched to recordings once bodies from the morgue started to sit up. Fucking executives, nobody wanted to miss out on advertising dollars. I wonder if they have any idea as to how many they have killed.

One of the zombies slammed into the side of the Hummer, then another. I automatically slapped my hand down to lock the doors.

“Reverse!” Kyle screamed as he twisted around to get a better view.

I put the Hummer in gear and stomped on the accelerator, throwing us forward. The rear wheels lifted up then crashed down again. I realized that we drove over one of them behind us. Another one was hanging onto the hood, just below the windshield wipers, pulling at the antenna to get better leverage.

Go! Go! Go! It was like a compact disc skipping rapidly in my head.

As I turned the first corner, the beast flew off into a parked Honda Civic. I sped around the final corner to exit the garage, feeling slightly dizzy. I remember hoping that the streets would not be as deadlocked with stalled traffic as it appeared from the rooftop.

Wishful thinking. The army of the Dead were visible, just a few blocks away.

As we pulled out on to the street with the engine grumbling, a number of heads lifted up through the open windows of the cars. There were clearly too many zombies to make it through on foot.

Looking over my shoulder, I could see a bunch of the faster ones catching up. Smashing my foot down on the gas pedal, I rammed through two smaller cars, and up onto the sidewalk. We drove right through a small group of the dead. They flipped up over the hood, one of their heads smashing on the front grill. Black ooze flowed up the windshield.

I fumbled with the buttons until Kyle reached over and hit the wipers. Through the black, stomach churning streaks, we saw the ferry still docked up ahead.

The approaching horde’s moans were audible over the engine, as well as the gunshots echoing from the boat. We could even hear it through the thick glass of the Hummer. Those creatures were on our ass, and we still had to make it through one block of this shit. I could see the green grass from the park in front of us, urging me to accelerate more.

Using the sheer size of the vehicle, we drove through a glass bus terminal, knocked over a fire hydrant and drove over a Lamborghini. Many of the cars still had their owners safely buckled in. Of course, they were now zombies, who had been bitten and turned while driving. They lacked the brain function to unbuckle their own seat belts.

If it had been any other vehicle, there was no way that we would have made it. I have to say the Hummer was what saved us. My boss’s Hummer saved us. I almost hate to admit it.

The tires bumped over the curb as we reached the park. I had a fleeting thought of never being so happy to see grass as right then. We could see a group of armed men dressed in black, stationed at the waterfront perimeter protecting the ferry. They were taking pot shots at any dead that came close. They had a few larger caliber machine guns with which they were simply mowing down the approaching horde.

We ran through a number of crippled zombies filled with bullet holes struggling on the ground, and knocked several more out of my way. One of shooters waved us over as the group split to let the Hummer through. We came to a screeching halt on the ferry.

With my foot still depressed on the brake, a distant voice next to me said, “Park.”

I didn’t move, clenching my body tight.

Kyle lifted his hand just enough to get my attention again.

“Put it in park.”

I all but slammed the gearshift to park, breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

Chapter 5

Friend or Foe? Does it even matter?

The ferryboat immediately pushed off of the dock. At first glance, I could tell that it was an older vessel. Rust sat in place of paint on most of the siding, and the engine was chugging along a little louder than one would expect. Looking around, I could see a younger man, clearly the captain of the ship, at the steering wheel through a large glass window on the second floor that overlooked the front where we sat in the Hummer.

My heart still painfully racing, I glanced back towards the shore. The guys running the boat had stopped firing, though the dead were literally running into the water. I watched in surprise as they went knee deep, waist deep, and then submerged completely, disappearing under the surface. I hoped they couldn’t swim.

“No telling how many of them are drifting around down there.” Kyle said, as if reading my thoughts. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, scrutinizing the people on the deck of the boat.

“Seems to be around twenty of them,” he said quietly.

“They don’t look to be military or police,” I commented equally as low.

“At this point, I don’t care who they are. They just saved our lives. Not a lot of that going around these days.” He motioned back towards the buildings from where we had escaped.

“Yeah,” I snorted sharply. “I’m hoping we run into that little bald son-of-a-bitch again.”

“Not too many people you can trust right about now,” he agreed.

Eyeing him carefully, I said, “You’re about the only person I trust at the moment.”

“My sentiment exactly. We should watch each other’s back. No telling what these guys want.” Kyle tipped his chin toward our rescuers.

I nodded my head in agreement.

Now that we had a chance to breathe, Kyle and I checked out the Hummer, digging around for any hidden gems that would help with this mess. Kyle peered into the glove compartment, and sighed with disappointment as we realized there were no weapons hiding behind its casing. Instead, he found a Twinkie and a Kit Kat. With a grin, he asked, “Pastry or Chocolate?”

My stomach contracted sharply, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.

“Pastry,” I said. He handed me the Twinkie, and I tore into the package, feeling famished.

As I dropped crumbs onto my own filthy, blood stained, white, button up shirt and black tie, I continued to survey the car. There was a coat in the back seat along with a bunch of old wrappers from various types of junk food. Candy, chips, pastries; there was even a half-eaten sandwich back there. It only confirmed to me that my now retired boss was a bit of a filthy pig while he was alive.

A few from the group on the deck of the boat were now watching us rooting through the Hummer. One of them pointed over in our direction and three of them started walking toward us. They were dressed in similar clothing. All black jump suits. Not any one outfit was quite the same as the next. Clearly, they had a dress code of some sort, but it wasn’t a uniform that they all “received.”

“You ready for this?” I asked nervously.

“I sure hope so,” Kyle said with a more than serious face.

We both opened our doors and stepped out of the Hummer to greet the men who saved our lives. Now, we just had to find out why.

With stone faces, all three of them stood there for a moment, sizing us up. We were doing the same back to them.

The largest in the group stepped forward. I remember thinking that I had never seen a real mustache like the one he wore. It was a monster of a ‘stache,’ stretching across his face and then back up into his sideburns. That coupled with a brown oversized cowboy hat and his black jump suit made me think some of the old toys I played with as a child. Give him a plastic machine gun, a backpack and a Kung Fu grip, and he’s the perfect GI Joe Action figure.

“You guys are nuts,” he proclaimed with a smile, as he extended his hand.

I reached over and shook it, replying, “We were thinking the same thing about you. We’ve been watching you all morning, fighting off those creatures, saving people fleeing from the city. Who are you?”

Mr. ’Stache spoke rather casually. “We’re the dudes who just saved your asses. Let’s just say that we’ve been expecting this sort of thing for a while, and we’ve been prepared for it just as long.”

He went on to explain that he was the leader of the New York chapter of a group of survivalists who, on any other day, would be considered a bit overzealous about the end of the world. Mostly prepared for a nuclear strike, an invasion from a foreign nation or simply World War III. These people were the kind who walked around quoting Einstein by saying things like, “I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”

I recalled seeing something on TV about these guys. Whatever show I was watching called them “Pakers,” a term coined because they packed all kinds of stuff in preparation for the End of Days. From canned food, to heavy artillery, these guys were known for having bunkers filled with Personal Accessory Kits (PAKs) to keep them alive while the world died around them.

Between conspiracy theories, and a general unfriendly disposition toward the government, most people would consider them totally insane. That is, except on the first day of the Apocalypse. Today, they were the smartest people on the planet.

We learned that Pakers could be found anywhere, and this particular group was more organized than most, which was saying a lot. They had a whole network that streamed through many major cities, including Cincinnati and Chicago.

Mr. Stache continued to explain that for the world to survive, Man had to survive as well. Many wannabe Pakers were probably held up in their bunkers to wait out the Apocalypse. This group knew the score. If man didn’t make it, these things would rule the Earth.

Kyle and I stole a glance at each other. Maybe Lady Luck was suddenly on our side.

Mr. Stache looked back at the city that was now in the distance. “Place went to shit fast. The government funded help, was out trying to pull it all back together. We immediately mobilized and saved people, not the burning buildings. Made seven runs so far since this thing started. Saved over 120 people, including women, kids, and even a few dogs.”

“Well, you’re right. You saved our asses, too. Thank you,” I said, while shaking his hand again.

I looked back at some of the other cars across the deck. There were only a handful of others on this voyage. I was surprised to see that there was anybody aside from us, based on how the streets looked back in the city.

“So, where are we heading?” Kyle asked.

One of the smaller guys, while pointing down the waterway, said, “We’ve been dropping people in Jersey, right near the I-95 express way. It doesn’t put you in the clear, but at least we’re getting people out of the city. As we expected, all the bridges are shot, so helicopter and boat are the only ways to get out of Manhattan. Lucky for you, that Hummer of yours made it to the ferry.”

Mr. ’Stache spoke up again, shrugging slightly. “Things aren’t great out there, but it’s a hell of a lot better than in the city.”

“How far has this thing spread?” I asked, still holding onto a glimmer of hope that it was just in the Northeast.

“We’ve got a HAM radio on this ship. We’re getting reports from our sister organizations in Cincinnati and Chicago that they’ve been hit as well. It started in New York, but now, it seems to be everywhere.”

“Even in the Southeast? Near Atlanta?” I asked, feeling my stomach suddenly reel.

“Nothing confirmed that far down. We’re not sure at the moment,” he said.

I thought of Jenn, down in a suburb of Atlanta. I picked a hell of a time to take a business trip. She was so pissed when I left the other morning. I should have listened.

“Does anybody have cellphone reception?” I asked, hearing my voice falter.

“Phones are in and out. Depends on if the cell tower you’re around still has power. Some of our guys have been able to use theirs from time to time depending on where we’re at.”

As we passed Ellis Island, I could see some of the dead running around on the shores of the former beacon of entry into America. Back then, everybody came to New York for new beginnings. Times have changed. Now, we all just wanted to get out.

I pulled my phone from my pocket to check, praying there were bars. Still no signal. This had gotten old. The battery was almost dead, but I left it on anyway, hoping we’d come across a working cell tower as we floated toward Jersey.

Kyle asked the Pakers what they knew about the zombies.

They told us that depending on the source, these things were created by anything from radiation, to bad drinking water, to biological weapons.

The fact of the matter was that nobody knew a damn thing at that point.

They went on to explain that, according to radio reports, and some chatter on the Internet, they were in fact the dead incarnate.

No shit, I thought to myself.

Stache told us a story about an autopsy that was aired the night before on a science video blog.

The scientists had one of the things tied down as they cut straight into its stomach and pulled out the guts, causing black ooze to flow out on the surrounding table. They punctured its heart, cut off appendages, and basically tore the thing apart, limb by limb. The whole time, the creature was lifting its head trying to bite the doctors doing the autopsy. It wasn’t until one of them pushed a surgical saw straight through its brain that it finally stopped moving.

As we had learned during the lobby fight, the only way to kill them was to destroy the brain. Talk about a stereotype. Who knew all those movies would be right?

There’s always some truth in fiction.

Mr. ’Stache informed us that being bit by one of the undead only accelerated death with some sort of toxin. Anybody who died, as far as the Internet was concerned, whether they were bit or not, would come back as a Zombie. Basically, this meant that each one of us was already infected with whatever it was.

He paused on that thought, looking Kyle and I up and down. Noticing my uneasiness, he said, “Calm down, just checking to make sure you ain’t got no bites. Can’t have you dying on us.”

He continued with a story about the second trip the Pakers made yesterday; there was a guy that had a small bite on his arm. He was feverish when he got on the ship, and mid-way on the voyage, he suddenly turned. He tore apart his wife before three of the Pakers threw him overboard.

I looked toward the shore, and then down into the water. Thinking back to what Kyle said earlier, I again wondered how many of those things were down there.

Something buzzed. Buzzed again. It was my phone!

Chapter 6

Communication. A blessing or a curse?

It buzzed seven times before I fumbled the phone from my pocket. I discovered that it was seven voicemail messages. We must have finally hit a working tower, giving my phone enough time to download the messages.

Hands shaking, I cleared the message indicator out of the way, navigated to speed dial, and hit Jenn’s name. I waited in silence as the phone paused for what seemed like an eternity. It tried as hard as possible to catch a signal. Then it beeped. No service. Closing my eyes, I silently screamed “FUUUCK!” under my breath.

Wait! I still had the messages. Swiping my finger across the phone, I feverishly navigated to the right screen. All seven from Jenn. My heart was thudding in my chest. I clicked on the first one, holding my breath.

“John, I don’t know what happened. One of our phones must have lost signal. When you get this, please call me back right away. I’m scared. Get to the airport, and come home to me!”

Next message.

“John, you need to call me back. Don’t go to the airport! I’m watching the news. There aren’t any planes flying in or out of New York right now. They had a news reporter at the airport, John. There were thousands of people trying to catch flights. One of those… things suddenly emerged out of the crowd. It was chaos; everybody started crawling all over each other trying to escape. It was a nightmare! You need to call me back, John. Please call me back and tell me you’re not there. Please call me back and tell me you’re alright.”

Message three.

“John, the outbreak is all over the place. What started in New York is here in Atlanta, too. There were sightings of these creatures downtown. I’m not sure what to do. Joe and Sue next door are talking about heading to their cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. They’ve invited me, John. I may go with them to get out of here until you get home. Please call me as soon as you get this message. I need to hear your voice.”

Next message.

“John, I can’t believe this is happening! We’re in the car heading up to Blue Ridge. The roads are jammed though, John. We’re stuck in complete deadlock traffic on Interstate 400. One of the people in the cars ahead of us ran into a few of the creatures back in the city. One of the kids was bitten on the arm. He’s burning up with fever. We’re trying to find a doctor for him. I’m not sure what is going to happen. We don’t know how sick this kid’s going to get. Please call me. Please call me back, John!”

Message five.

“John, oh my God! The kid just turned into one of them. He bit his mom, and she turned into one of them right away. People are panicking. The creatures are all over the place. I’m hiding in the car with Joe and Sue. I’m scared, John! I don’t want to be bitten. Oh no! Oh no, John, one of them is banging on the window. (SCREEECH) Drive! Drive! Drive! Push that car out of the way!”

The sixth message.

“John, we are on a dirt road, parked. Sue hit her head when we were driving away from the highway. A lot of blood, but I think she’s okay. Joe drove right over two of them before we drove straight into the woods. I don’t know how we made it out to this road. It’s a miracle. I don’t know why you can’t call me. I need to know you’re okay. This is too crazy. Please, John. Please call me. Please come home to me!”

Final message.

“John, you need to get here right away. Owwwww! The contractions have started. The baby is coming!”

Chapter 7

Nothing like “incentive” to push a man beyond his limits. A man with the right kind of motivation can do anything. Anything.

The phone felt cold in my sweaty hand. Stunned, I remained with it pressed against my ear long after the final message ended.

Gazing down over the railing, spinning my wedding ring on a shaking finger, my mind raced as I watched the waves spin off from the wake of the ferry. Nothing would stop me. Nothing could stop me. I needed to get down to Atlanta. Just 900 miles to go.

Kyle walked over. Hesitant to say much, he mentioned that we were about twenty minutes from the drop point at the I-95 in Jersey.

Not making eye contact, I started to speak. The words just came pouring out. I explained to Kyle that my motivation to get home went beyond my wife. I told him about my unborn or maybe now-born child, and then went on to dissect the series of voicemail messages I had just received.

Having made that drive to the Blue Ridge Mountains many times, I knew there was just a short period of time that Jenn would have been on I-400. If she only made it that far, then she’d have to make the decision to either turn around or head somewhere else. They would never make it to the cabin with all the traffic and those things already running wild in the streets.

I noticed some movement in my peripheral vision to my left. A man on the other side of the ship appeared to be very agitated, incessantly looking into his car. He was wearing a blue jump suit. It was the kind you’d see on someone working in an auto garage. Someone flipping out, I thought. He wouldn’t be the last.

Still staring out at the ocean, I muttered to Kyle that Jenn was eight months pregnant. She was pissed that I was leaving for this trip, and kept telling me that I’d really feel like shit if I missed the birth of our first child.

She was right. I did feel like shit.

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

Changing the subject, I sighed heavily and said, “We really haven’t talked about what we do next. We only have one car. Do you have someplace to go? I understand if you need to get to someone or someplace different from where I’m heading.”

Kyle paused for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about that actually. My buddies down in Augusta at Fort Gordon are the closest thing I’ve got to family. I’d like to go join up with them. If you’re good with it, I figured we could travel together as far as Georgia. We’ve gotten this far with each other, and besides, I don’t have any place to go. My apartment is under twelve feet of zombie shit by now.”

I always liked that about Kyle. He had a way of making you laugh even during the most tense situations.

I smiled, and said, “I was hoping you wouldn’t make me get down on my hands and knees begging to come with you. It’s a long trip to make by myself with all this madness.”

There was a shout from across the deck now. We both turned to look, as a few people were trying to hold the guy in the blue jump suit down. He tore loose, his jump suit sleeve tearing completely off, as he jerked his car door open.

In that instant, another guy in a blue jump suit jumped wildly out of the car. He approached a woman who was sitting in awe watching everything go down, and took a giant chunk out of her shoulder.

She dropped to the ground, with her blood soaking into the wooden deck of the ship. She twitched a few times, before she sat right back up, and ran over to the closest person to her. Before anybody knew it, there were seven of those things running loose on the ship.

I could see the shore where we were heading. We must have been less than five minutes from our destination.

Pulling my hammer from my belt, I glanced at Kyle, and then toward the crowd. He nodded, and then we both advanced on the zombies.

Kyle had left his metal weapon in the Hummer; a mistake he would not repeat. He searched around for a moment, and found a gaff, a metal pole that was clearly for pulling things out of the water. It looked about five feet long, and had a pointed hook on the end.

Today, it would serve a slightly different purpose than originally intended.

A newly turned Paker, dressed in his now blood-soaked black uniform, started right toward me. I could see the gouge on his neck where he’d been bitten, and knew I had to act fast. Drawing my arm back, I paused only slightly at the thought of killing one of the guys who had just earlier saved my life. My body contracted as I arched up and then down swinging the hammer through its skull, making a deafening crack as it broke through the bone with the ease of a spoon cracking through an egg. It was so deeply embedded, that I had to put my foot on its shoulder to pull the weapon out of his skull. I closed my eyes, and shuddered as it popped out with some brain-like flesh hanging from the metal end.

I could hear a few bone fragments clatter to the wooden floor, as I looked up to see two women and a man sitting in their car with the doors locked. Three of the creatures were beating the car with their bare, bloody hands before the first window shattered.

Fear gripped me. I thought of Jenn and our neighbors as they ripped one of the women right out of her seat. She let out an ear-piercing scream as all three of the creatures began to dig in. The other two passengers fought to escape the vehicle, only to step into their own deathly demise upon exiting the vehicle.

One heavier set guy not far from me was wearing a life preserver over a brown suit. The preserver was literally pulled so tight around his waist that you could see fat rolls folding over the straps. Two of the creatures saw him standing there, cowering in the corner. As they started to move towards him, he crawled up on the side of the boat, and simply rolled over the edge.

He bobbed up and down in the wake of the ship for a few seconds. I could see him doggy paddling toward the shore, when his whole body submerged below the water. He popped back up, arms waving frantically, screaming, “They are down there!”

He was pulled under again, and the water turned a dark red right where he was last seen. All I saw, before I turned back to the carnage on the deck of the ship, was the blood soaked orange life preserver bob up out of the water.

Despite our best efforts to fight them off, there were over a dozen of these things, and only a few of us left.

Mr. ’Stache had a handgun. He was screaming that he was almost out of bullets, as he followed a few of the creatures up the stairs to where the captain of the ship was driving the ferry. I heard a number of shots echo in the cabin, and then a few more screams.

Less than two minutes from land, I thought.

Looking over at Kyle, and then toward the stairs, I said, “Best to head up there.”

“Yep, we’ll be able to guard the stairs as a choke point if needed,” he agreed.

“We’ve got to make sure this ship gets to shore,” I snapped as we darted to the upper deck.

As we turned the corner at the top of the staircase, it was Mr. ’Stache we ran into first.  He was still holding his gun, his finger locked on the trigger, but it was clearly out of bullets and pointed at the ground. His eyes moved slowly up to meet mine. His mustache blew in the wind.

Kyle said, “They got him.”

There was a pause, as I realized what we had to do. He ran towards us with that wild look in his bloodshot eyes. Kyle apologized out loud before delivering that final blow to his head.

No time to think about it.

We both headed to the cabin of the ship and quickly discovered that Mr. ’Stache had taken out the two creatures before they took that chunk out of his leg.

The captain was curled up in a ball in the corner of the cabin. He kept repeating,

“Not the water! Not the water! Not the water!”

He was right; the water must have been filed with those creatures and there was no way in hell any of us wanted to wind up in it.

I grabbed the steering wheel, and aimed the ship at the nearest shore where there was a road. Kyle ran back out to the staircase. I could hear him grunting as he swung his metal pole at each creature that tried to make it up the stairs.

Thirty seconds to ground. Thirty seconds until we could escape.

I reached into my pocket pulling out the keys to the Hummer. There was no slowing down this boat. We were going to make land.

Kyle ran into the cabin empty handed. He explained that he had dug the hook, at the end of the pole, into one of the creature’s brain, and couldn’t get it back out before it tipped overboard taking his weapon with it.

Ten seconds to ground.

“Anybody still alive, you should grab on to something, and don’t let go!” I screamed out the cabin window.

Five seconds to ground.

There was a point just before we hit, where everything literally stopped. My arms were clasped tightly around the steering wheel of the ship. I could see Kyle bracing himself in the doorframe.

I didn’t feel us hit ground as much as I saw it. Anything not nailed down, or holding on for dear life, simultaneously flew into the air crashing towards the front of the boat. I watched a red fire extinguisher shoot above my head and through the glass window; the captain of the ship followed it.

I swear we made eye contact as he flew over. His eyes were wide with a look of surprise, mixed with horror, as he passed above. He was lucky; the extinguisher had shattered the glass, so he flew straight through the window frame unscathed.

He passed right beyond the front of the boat, over our Hummer, and rolled into a ball as he hit a patch of grass. It was a million dollar landing. I watched as he stood up, brushed his clothes off, and looked back up at the boat from which he came. He gave it a look as if to say, “I friggin’ made it?”

It was in that instant that all of the zombies that had flown off the boat with him started to stand back up as well. He reached for the closest object, a wooden paddle that had landed next to him, and began swinging around his head.

He was doing a decent job of warding the zombies off, when it became clear that the boat crash had caused enough noise to catch the attention of every other creature in the area as well.

He began to cry out for help as he slowly retreated towards the water’s edge. The dead relentlessly followed him. For every one he knocked down with that paddle, three replaced it.

Kyle and I were already moving toward the stairs when the captain decided to step into the water. We began screaming toward him to stay on land.

“Do not go in the water!” Kyle yelled.

With no choice, the captain waded in waist deep, still swinging that paddle for all he was worth. We saw multiple sets of waterlogged arms reach up out of the water behind him.

There was a loud scream, then silence as they pulled him under. There was a fury of thrashing before bubbles arose. The paddle was all that was left, floating in the now calm surface, as if it never happened.

Keys in one hand, and my hammer in the other, I began a cautious descent easing past the dead zombie slain on the steps. The deck looked like a war zone. We had to navigate across a sea of blood soaked, shattered wooden planks before we got to the Hummer.

Being the last vehicle to have boarded the ferry, it wasn’t blocked in like some of the other cars. However, it was still parked in the entry position, so it became rather obvious that we’d be making a reverse exit.

I stepped towards the gate, which was still locked in the upright position, and I noticed that just beyond the ship’s walls were at least fifty of the undead. They were reaching up towards the railings, trying to get on board.

I watched as they started to crawl over each other to get to the top, a trait beaten into mankind over time. A trait that these creatures now carried with them even after death.

Unfortunately, they were really making progress. One of them had its hands on the railing. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and was dressed in the kind of clothing one would wear camping. She had a small abrasion on her arm where another zombie had bitten her. Aside from that, she could have been confused with a living woman, except for her eyes.

They call it having a ‘tell’ in Poker. A tell is a change in a behavior or demeanor that gives a clue as to the hand the player is holding. In this case, some of these things could easily be confused with being “alive” if it wasn’t for their clear tell. Each zombie had blood-red eyes that were glazed over with a clear white film. A person always knows if they’re up against the living or the dead once they get close enough to see their eyes.

I walked over and cracked its skull open with my hammer. It fell limp, and dropped back into the crowd. I could feel it with each one. It was getting easier each time I had to kill. I was starting to feel distanced from the act, as if it wasn’t my arm swinging the hammer.

Kyle found the lever to drop down the gate. He pushed it forward, and the gate began to slowly lower. We both sprinted to the Hummer and jumped in. I slid the keys into the ignition, and looked out the rearview mirror. I could see the creature’s heads begin to emerge as the ramp moved further and further down. In the reflection of the mirror, they didn’t look that different from us.

There were a few moans, but mostly a large cracking and popping sound as the handful of creatures directly under the gate were flattened as it slowly descended.  When it was low enough for the dead to begin boarding the boat, I put the gears in reverse, and smashed the pedal to the floorboard.

As we drove straight through them and flew off the ramp, we must have dropped three or four feet, but it felt like we fell off a building. Temporarily losing control, I drove through a bush, and then straight through another one of the zombies.

As I pulled my shit together, I switched gears, and properly straightened out the wheel. I accelerated forward and rapidly passed the small mob of the undead surrounding the boat. They began following, but were far too slow to catch us.

Luckily, the road we were on was paved. It was an access road of some sort, with no real houses or buildings around us. We might have been in New Jersey, but no telling where exactly.

That was when Kyle started to mess around with the buttons on the dashboard. At first, I thought he was trying to turn on the radio, until he flipped a button that said “NAV” on it. The built-in navigation system came to life.

It sure beat the hell out of a map. It told us everything, including where there were stoplights and gas stations. A-shame it didn’t have a built in zombie detector.

Chapter 8

Time to live off the land, or die trying.

After learning that we were, in fact, in New Jersey, and fairly close to where I-95 met I-278, we decided that we needed to stay away from the highways. Aside from being totally overrun with the dead, there was really no getting through the parking lot of cars and trucks that now filled both of the metropolitan throughways.

Back roads were the only real option.

After packing their most valuable possessions, the whole world seemed to have jumped in their cars and hit the roads. Everybody had someplace else, or someplace they thought would be safer to go. As we exited the access road, we came across a filling station that had a hand painted sign on a white tarp that read:

“$20 per Gallon!”

This was crossed out with a big red X. Below it, someone had added:

“GAS GONE!”

We drove by slowly hoping to see if there were any supplies inside, but it was obviously completely cleaned out.

As of now, there was a lack of zombies. Perhaps most of them were attracted to the boat crash, clearing the way for us. Perhaps it was something else.

Either way, Kyle and I were taking the moment of calm to strategize.

We knew we needed the basics: food and water. I had seen someplace that the average man would die after approximately a week without water. According to Kyle, symptoms of dehydration included nausea, dry mouth and muscle cramps.

Those were also the symptoms of fighting off zombies, I thought sarcastically. In extreme circumstances, confusion and weakness set in before a coma or full organ failure. We were both coming up on almost two full days without anything to drink. My mouth was beyond dry.

Kyle explained that, based on the Urban Warfare training he took while in the army, the most effective tactic to resupply was basically to loot and steal. Otherwise known as living off of the urban landscape, he joked. We needed to find stores that still had supplies like food, water and most importantly, weapons.

We weren’t willing to stop just anywhere. The Hummer provided a certain level of protection, and while we were not exactly surrounded at the moment, we felt a hell of a lot more comfortable with the windows up, and the doors locked.

The streets were still relatively bare. No people, no zombies, and no movement other than a few tree limbs that were swaying in the wind. The few remaining vehicles were abandoned. The area looked more like the type of pit-stop town where travelers would fill up with gas, and then quickly move on. I lived in one of these towns growing up. They always had a few gas stations, some fast food joints and townfolk who were less than friendly when it came to strangers.

I noticed a car that had crashed into a tree down the road a bit. It appeared to be filled to the brim with stuff. As we eased up next to it, we came to a stop. In mutual agreement, we both stepped out of the Hummer; leaving the engine running.

It would be a hell of a lot easier to find supplies that someone has left behind than to go searching for them inside various stores. Maybe this was a lucky break.

I could hear some noise coming from inside the car. I motioned to Kyle to listen. With a small nod, he cocked his head a little, listening intently. We both approached from different sides. As I cautiously peered through the cracked window on the driver side door, I could see it.

A woman, now turned into the dead, was in the front seat. Not noticing us, she was content eating away at some poor bastard that had clearly been in the passenger seat. As best as I could tell, they had hit the tree, and she probably died immediately. After she turned, she must have set her sights on the unconscious person next to her. Husband, boyfriend, just plain old friend, it didn’t matter; now, he was nothing more than lunch.

Kyle came over to the driver side door where I was standing. He tapped the door with his metal rod. The creature quickly turned those horrible eyes on us, but it was strapped into the seat belt. She didn’t possess the IQ to figure out how to unbuckle it.

Kyle made short work of her, smashing his rod sideways across her face. I could see shards of broken teeth shoot across the dashboard.

I opened the back door as Kyle started to sift through the bags that were strapped to the top of the vehicle. I was actually amazed by all the crap this person packed up.

We found a DVD player, a dozen DVDs and a whole slew of personal hygiene products including shampoos, conditioners, gels and cosmetics bags galore. The rest of the bags were filled with clothing. This person had packed for vacation, not for fleeing from the zombie apocalypse.

Her vanity did lead to one good thing. We found a cooler full of healthy snack bars and bottled water. Kyle also came across one bag with guy’s clothing in it. He grabbed a change of clothes to replace his blood soaked security uniform, and dumped out the rest so he could keep the backpack.

I could see the relief on his face when he had finally changed. He didn’t have to say it, but I could tell that he really hated that uniform. It was one step higher than a mall-cop uniform, and it was a small step at that.

We walked back to the Hummer, and crawled up into the seats. We repeated the scavenging drill over the next few vehicles we came upon. Luckily, there were several that possessed various types of food and supplies that were actually useful.

We finished our search with having gathered 14 bottles of water and a backpack full of snack bars, chips, and cookies. We also grabbed one radio that was crank operated, a plus for us as it did not require batteries or electricity. The last car we had hit was the best. Some campers or survivalist had left backpacks, sleeping bags, and most importantly, a portable solar panel charger. It flipped open to expose three black panels, and was designed to charge small electronic devices including cellphones. I snatched it up with some relief, knowing that it would be useful considering my phone battery was completely dead.

The owners themselves, were nowhere in sight. I wondered if the woman with the ponytail back at the ferry owned this stuff. No way that I would ever know, but I silently thanked her anyway.

I had just plugged my phone into the solar panel charger, got it set up on the dashboard to collect those precious beams of sunlight when Kyle tapped my arm.

“What scares you?” he asked quietly.

“What?” I responded in bewilderment, my brow cocked.

“I mean, before all of this, what kept you up at night? What really gets under your skin?”

“I don’t know,” I replied with a shrug. “I guess, I just always thought about my job. Losing my job, getting promoted. I didn’t give anything else a chance.”

“So you’re afraid of losing your job?”  Kyle gave a wry chuckle. “Got news for you pal. We killed your boss. I think you’re fired.”

I smirked in amusement. Reflecting, I decided to turn it back around at him.

“Okay, so what keeps you up at night?”

He paused for a moment, and his face turned serious.

“I don’t know if it keeps me up at night as much as I think about it from time to time,” he said cautiously. “Back in Iraq, before I got my wings, there was a tactical strike on this old hotel. My squad was moving in to make sure the place was clear of hostiles. The building was torn to shit; the bodies of dead insurgents still riddled the halls. I came across this woman. She was blood soaked, and barely alive. She had taken a round to the gut, and certainly wasn’t going to make it. She was begging for the end. I remember drawing my pistol, and pointing it at her head. All that time… I just stood there staring at her, wondering if I was doing the right thing…”

Kyle drifted off for a moment, then blinked and exhaled slowly before continuing. “She nodded, as if to say “yes, end it,” just before I pulled the trigger. The look she gave me… I keep seeing it in these creatures’ eyes, almost like they don’t really want to keep going.”

I thought about that for a moment, and said, “It makes it a little easier doesn’t it? Believing that these people wouldn’t want to be one of these creatures. It’s that much simpler to put them down.”

With all the chaos, I had not taken the time to think about the fact that we were killing people who used to be human, not unlike ourselves. Even though my stomach roiled unpleasantly, I felt numb, disconnected. We both sat in silence for several minutes, caught up in our own thoughts.

Looking down at the gas gauge on the Hummer, I grimaced and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“You know right about now, what scares me the most is running out of gas.”

Kyle leaned over to look at the gauge, and then reached out, messing around with the navigation system again. He had it up and running in moments.

A few button hits later, three gas tank icons appeared on the screen. We decided to go for the one that was in the opposite direction of the highway. We would have to backtrack a few miles, but the hopeful idea was that it would be less likely to have been sold out.

On the way, we started to see the creatures lurking around again. For the most part, they were not following us, or at least we were moving too fast for them to catch us.

Thinking back, I really wish we had paid more attention.

One of them had been a postal worker when he was alive, and still had the blue mail sack around his shoulder to prove it. He was wearing the traditional blue and white striped shorts, although blood had run down his leg to paint his knee-high white socks a blackish red.

As we passed him, I noticed he was carrying a brown package in his left hand. It looked like he was still trying to deliver his mail.

Mundane tasks for a mundane world.

We approached the gas station with great disappointment, as we noticed that all the pumps had plastic bags over the pump handles. A quick check confirmed that they were dry.

Clearly, relying on gas stations wasn’t going to cut it.

That’s when we noticed another car parked in the lot. There was a pair of legs sticking out from behind the car as motionless as a mannequin’s. As I pulled the Hummer closer, we could see a red three-gallon gas can.

Kyle came to the conclusion that this guy was siphoning gas from the car. Odd that he didn’t move or stand up. The Hummer wasn’t exactly a stealth vehicle. We slid slowly from the Hummer, glancing around for any sign of the dead.

“Hey. Hey, Man. You alive?” Kyle called out. No answer.

I pulled my hammer from my belt, and left the Hummer running as we cautiously stepped down and toward the feet on the other side of the car. I approached from the back, and Kyle moved along the front of the vehicle. Still no movement.

Then we found out why. All that remained was the gas tank, a tube running into the tank, and a severed arm dangling from it; still clutching the tube. The legs were not attached to a body. They had been cleanly ripped off, while the torso, other arm and head were nowhere to be seen. Looking up, I closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds to get my bearings.

Neither of us spoke as I crept over and peeled the dead fingers off of the tube to slide it out of the gas tank. The cold, rigid arm fell to the pavement with a thump.

Two days ago, I would have shit myself at the sight of a severed arm. Today, I just touched it, and kicked its accompanying legs out of the way so I could steal some gas. It dawned on me that this was the new reality. There was no turning back.

As I moved towards the Hummer, Kyle opened the gas tank latch. I fed our escape vehicle its precious liquid.

“It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than three gallons to keep this thing full,” I said out loud.

Kyle agreed with an understanding nod. I fiddled with the siphon, taking a mouthful of gasoline, before I figured out how it worked. I choked and spat until my stomach heaved violently, but I couldn’t quite get the taste from my mouth.

We made it back and forth three times, though I had the feeling that the Hummer was nowhere near half a tank. We were so distracted that we didn’t see them creeping up on us until we were nearly surrounded.

The postman was the first one I noticed. A creature, bumping into him, knocked the brown package out of his hand, which alerted us to their presence.

Those tenacious fuckers, I thought. They had followed us for miles, slowly making their way down the roads. Looking for their next meal. There were ten of them; all the ones we had seen on the way to the gas station, plus a few extra that had lumbered in. It was a small swarm.

We both drew our weapons knowing that we were clearly outnumbered, but sometimes, the numbers don’t mean jack-shit when you have the right strategy and a little luck.

The first ones to attack were slower. Not like the ones from the day before.

Have to keep our cool, I thought as my clammy palms tightened around the wooden handle of my hammer.

Screaming out orders like a boot camp drill sergeant, Kyle had us working together building a fierce defense. As the creatures lumbered over one by one, he simply pushed them back by digging his pole into their chest, and I reached out and cracked them on top of the skull when they were off balance.  They were spread out enough for this to work for the first six that approached.

Kyle and I were slowly retreating backwards. The Hummer was much farther away than I had felt comfortable with, and the engine was still running. We had let ourselves be pushed against the glass door of the filling station.

The more recently dead, like the postman and his thee friends, were too fast, making our current tactics useless. When they came at us from both sides, I lost my balance and fell backward bouncing against the filling station wall, thrusting me toward the hard pavement with a crash that sent my hammer bouncing a few feet from my grasp.

Kyle stepped back, swinging his metal rod around over his head to create a diversion. For the most part, it worked; three of them went after him. However, the postman lunged on top of me. I reached up and grabbed his postal bag satchel; sliding the strap between his teeth as he came down at my face.

Rotting flesh reeked from his mouth as I was barely keeping him from chomping down. The stench alone was enough to make my fight falter. One of the other creatures, a large bastard dressed in overalls, left Kyle and jumped on top of the postman, climbing up over his shoulders.

With the breath knocked out of me, my eyes locked onto the hammer that was just out of my reach. Pinned to the ground, with these cold monsters clamoring to sink their teeth into my body, I needed to make my move. This wasn’t where I was going to die.

Letting go of the satchel strap, I let the postman drill his forehead into my shoulder. Rocking back and forth and with two big jerks, I was able to pivot my upper body just close enough to the wooden handle that would save my life.

I brought the hammer down on the postman first. He still had the strap stuck in his mouth, unable to get his teeth clenched on any part of my flesh. I felt a cold liquid soak into my shirt when the dark red ooze flowed freely from his skull, and down across my chest.

As I pulled back to hit the second one, I heard the glass from the gas station shatter. In the flurry of the moment, Kyle had lifted one of them over his head and thrown it through the door of the shop. As the glass rained down, something moved within the shadows. There were more of them, though how many, I wasn’t sure.

Trapped under the creatures, struggling to free myself from the bastard still chomping at my face, I almost shit myself as I watched what emerged from the depths of the shadows. What appeared to be just a partial zombie, and what I quickly realized was the leftovers from the guy siphoning gas outside, slowly crawled out through the shattered glass.

Its one arm, head and torso were all that remained, and I found myself horrified at the thought of the thing still being able to function. The horror was magnified when I realized it was pulling itself directly toward me.

This torso creature was using its one arm and face to pull itself closer. Every time it brought its head down to move forward, little pools of flesh were left behind like footprints. Its lips were completely scrapped off, revealing a mouth full of broken teeth. Only one eye remained, as the other had been scraped away by the ground.

With the awareness that this thing would be on me in just moments, I violently shook back and forth attempting to free myself. Beads of sweat and tears were running down my face, my muscles burned as I pushed with every ounce of energy I had left; to no avail.

Looking toward Kyle, he was screaming as he wildly fought back the creature he was dealing with. Turning my focus back towards the fat bastard crawling on top of me, I lifted the hammer, steading my shaking arm.

“Patience, John. You’ll get one chance at this,” I whispered to myself.

Letting the bastard on top of me loose, he dove in, mouth wide open. I could see his tonsils as I smashed the hammer sideways across his head. It fell limp, lying on top of the postal worker which still left me pinned down between the pavement, the wall, and the two creatures.

My eyes were drawn back toward the abomination dragging itself closer to me. With the rhythmic beat of a drum, it continued to bring its face down over and over again on the black ground, dragging itself within just feet of where I was pinned down.

The hammer was in the opposite arm of the direction the torso creature was coming from, rending it useless.

I thought of Jenn and my child. 900 miles away. I couldn’t stop. No giving up.

With the creature just inches from my shoulder, I let out a primal scream, and drove my arm down across its head with my elbow, driving its face into the pavement and knocking it back a few feet. Its one arm wailed around, frantically reaching towards me.

In that instant, a metal rod dove down through the creatures head. I could see the blood soaked metal come down through its teeth, knocking some of them out to the ground. Saved by Kyle once again. I knew he wouldn’t always be there. If I was a cat, I had just used another of my nine lives.

Pulling the weapon out of the skull, he placed it on the ground. He then casually walked over between the building and I, and put his feet up against the wall of the gas station to help shove the creatures off me.

They rolled off, spilling that familiar dark ooze across the pavement. As I stood up, I looked down at the Torso freak and said, “You know what? I now know what is going to keep me up at night.”

Chapter 9

There are moments in our lives when time is divided into two parts.

We slept in the Hummer that night, nestled behind a low hanging billboard that read: “Retirement is closer than you think!” I remember smirking when I saw it. I had pictured retirement a little differently.

With a blue sleeping bag over my legs, I pulled my phone down from the dashboard. The solar charger wasn’t in direct sunlight long enough, and was still not turning on. Already owning one of these things, I knew that they needed to sit in direct sunlight for four or five hours before I’d get even a few bars of charge. It was the proverbial blessing and a curse.

I looked up at the full moon, watching some dark clouds pass by. Kyle was asleep, or at least as asleep as one could pull off, given the circumstances. He had told me to sleep with one eye open.

I finally drifted off thinking about my wife, hoping that she had found refuge and was safe. Once my phone was charged, I would have to find an operating cell tower and call. At the very least, I hoped to get a message to her to let her know I was still alive.

Back in those first few days of this mess, I would fall asleep with my hammer sitting next to me. Now I can’t fall asleep unless it’s clutched firmly in my hand.

The night passed uneventfully, though morning came too soon. We received a rude awakening when three zombies stumbled past the billboard, moaning loudly. Neither Kyle nor I risked moving a muscle. I held my breath, listening to them until the sound died away.

I was standing outside taking my morning piss when I heard a sound in the distance. At first, I couldn’t tell quite what it was; it was just an echo really, carried on the gentle breeze.

I looked at Kyle, his face telling me that he heard it, too. We both sat in silence, an ear turned in the direction we thought it came from. It kept getting closer, and louder.

“Helicopter,” Kyle said, scanning the sky. He pointed suddenly toward the tree line.

I looked to the north, glimpsing it through the trees. The chopper was army green with two large rotating blades keeping it airborne. Kyle called it a Chinook, confirming that it was military.

“Sure would be nice to be in that thing right about now,” I said.

He nodded, studying the aircraft with a scowl. “Maybe not.”

Looking back at the chopper as it hovered closer; even I could tell something was off. It was rising and descending wildly in the air when the tail suddenly jerked from side-to-side, and the whole thing plunged a good fifty feet. I found myself feeling glad to be planted safely on the ground.

As it passed by Kyle and I, the door on the side of the Chopper swung open. Even in the distance, I could make out a man emerging from the side. He was dressed in green, matching the color of the aircraft. I took a step back in disbelief as the person leapt from the side door. My heart skipped a beat as he was almost immediately followed by what appeared to be a woman as she cast herself out of the cabin in tow.

The guy in green pulled a parachute, but it didn’t have time to fully deploy as the woman came crashing down on top of him, crippling any chance of a slowed decent. I don’t know if they were zombies or people, but one thing was for sure as we watched the two of them tangled up together, plummeting toward the earth; they were heading for a certain death.

The chopper continued moving erratically, and we watched as it dropped another fifty or so feet.

“That thing’s coming down!” yelled Kyle. “If it stays in one piece, I can fly it!”

We both raced to the Hummer. Kyle had his head hanging out the side window directing me on where to go.

In the distance, hovering at maybe one hundred feet above a small park, we watched as the chopper started to spin completely out of control. The tail hit first, flinging the rotor directly through a small yellow slide nearby. The nose came crashing down, crumpling under the force of its own weight. The two blades on top smashed into the grass at the same time, sending the entire thing hurtling into the rest of a nearby wooden playground.

I braked the Hummer just as a massive cloud of dust and debris rocketed into the air. The ground was consumed by thick black smoke. I wouldn’t think that anyone could have lived through that.

There are moments in our lives when time is divided into two parts. Before an incident, and after. These moments are usually life changing, and you can always look back on them, knowing that they existed. Very rarely do you know they are happening at the time.

My parents dying when I was in grade school, meeting Jenn, finding out we were pregnant – all significant moments, and each of them propelling me off into a different direction. Later, I would realize that this was one of those moments. This was one of those times where the pot would get stirred once again, and it all started with a scream.

The moment we opened our doors, we heard someone frantically calling from inside the downed chopper. Kyle and I made our way as close as we could, but the fumes from the leaking fuel filled the air. The twisted metal body was sitting on its side.

Kyle ran up a small wooden ladder that led him to the top of the broken playground. He was just high enough to look down through the open door that now faced the sky.

“He’s alive!” he said, shielding his eyes to see better.

I darted over to the front of the chopper, where the blood soaked windshield lay shattered. The copilot was missing his head, and his body was badly mangled. I could see movement in the midsection of the chopper, but could not make out exactly what was happening.

Kyle’s vantage point was better, and I could hear him yelling down to the person trapped inside

“We’ll get you out. Don’t panic!”

“Don’t panic my ass! I’m trapped in here with one of them!” came the frantic yet pain filled reply.

“Where?” Kyle demanded.

“It’s pinned between one of the seats and a wall, but it’s getting loose!” the guy yelled breathlessly.

I made my way up beside Kyle. The platform we stood on was actually part of a pretend pirate ship, complete with a skull and crossbones flag waving in the air. Quite fitting, if not a bit ironic.

Peering in, I could see the zombie pilot, still wearing his helmet, pinned at the front of the chopper. His arms were just inches from the guy, who appeared to have a gut wound. He had one bloody hand on his stomach, and the other on a metal case.

I looked nervously around the park. The crash had been loud, too loud. The sun was just peeking up over a large hill and I could see a bunch of the undead’s silhouettes moving towards us as they came charging over the hill along with it.

“Now or never,” I muttered. Kyle dropped in through the open side door. The pilot had his hands clutched around his would-be victim’s shoe when Kyle kicked the thing in the face, knocking the zombie’s helmet off.

After unlocking the guy’s shoulder strap, Kyle lifted him up to me. I reached down and hefted him through the side door. Trying to stand at the top of the play set, the man’s legs buckled causing him to collapse to the wood. Just as I started to pull Kyle up, the dead pilot ripped his own leg off in an effort to get at him. Kyle gave several hard kicks as his eyes urged me to hurry. I gave a final heave just as he hooked his foot on the edge. We slammed back against the play set, scrambling to get away. I didn’t know how long that thing would stay in there, but I certainly wasn’t going to find out.

With a grunt, Kyle slung the man, still clutching his metal briefcase over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Down the stairs, and around a tire swing, we made it to the Hummer just as the horde of creatures began to close in around the chopper.

I opened the back door, and Kyle threw him in. We both climbed into the front seats just as the first zombie reached us. It was dressed in a suit, not unlike the one I was wearing. We felt the front and back tires sequentially bump up into the air as I drove over Mr. Suit.

We traveled a number of miles, passing various groups of zombies; some of which had a couple dozen; others we passed only had a two or three. Knowing that we would not be able to stop for any real length of time, we tried to put as much distance between the last one we saw and ourselves before we pulled over to tend to our passengers wound. In the meantime, I had handed him my boss’s old coat, and Kyle applied as much pressure as possible to his stomach to slow the bleeding. I wondered how long it would take him to change from human to zombie. I couldn’t shake that thought.

A mile or so in, the guy stopped screaming. I glanced back, sure that he was dead. He was an older gentleman, still in great shape for his age, and had a full head of silver hair. He lay bleeding all over the back seat, clutching his briefcase as if his life depended on it. Kyle and I were discussing where to head when the man began to speak.

“Water. Do you have any water?” he croaked.

I looked back at him, and saw blood pooling on the floorboards, as Kyle reached into the small cooler and pulled out one of the bottles we scavenged the day before.

Twisting off the cap, he tried to hand it to him, but the old man couldn’t lift his hand to grab it. Instead, Kyle reached over and poured some into his mouth. He tried to swallow, immediately choking on the liquid, and shot blood splatter across the back of the front passenger seat.

Minutes later, he passed out from shock.

Kyle and I drove for twenty minutes or so in silence. We passed a number of wrecked cars, a downed power line and the remains of a small house that had burned to the ground.

When we were convinced that we had taken enough turns and detours to shake even the smartest zombie, we began looking for a place to pull over. We finally found a small bridge that had an access road, which twisted down to a sewer drainage system below. Agreeing that it would be a good place to hide, we parked under the bridge and positioned the Hummer so we could see one hundred yards or so in both east and west directions.

We pulled the old man out of the back of the vehicle, and laid him down on the concrete floor of the bridge. He was breathing, but just barely.

Kyle tore open his shirt, and we saw that there was something lodged in the right hand side of the old man’s stomach, keeping the wound open, allowing the precious red-black liquid to pour from his body.

Kyle pulled out the less than adequate emergency kit that we had scavenged, and rummaged through the Band-Aids and Neosporin before he found a small needle and thread.

Taking a nearby stick, and shoving it sideways into the old man’s mouth, he asked me to put my hands over the guy’s face to keep him from screaming too loud and alerting any nearby creatures.

The gentleman’s eyes went wide, as he woke up in that instant, and realized what we were about to do. Kyle reached down, and grabbed the end of the metal object in his gut and carefully pulled it out. The man’s eyes closed hard, and he tried to scream through the stick and my hands, his entire body tensing and arching into the air.

Kyle fell back before he regained his balance and began sewing up the wound with the needle and thread. Still trying to scream, the man’s face was bright red, and had a mix of tears and sweat running down to the pavement, when he finally passed out again.

Kyle was no expert, and this guy was going to have a nasty scar, but he was able to close up the hole. Only time would tell if we did it soon enough.

Chapter 10

Enjoying the finer things in life.

We used the water under the bridge to help clean out the Hummer. Washing away dried blood, old food wrappers and that half-eaten sandwich from my boss. I found myself wondering which was really more disgusting.

Not spending too much time in that particular spot, we used the rest of the day scavenging through more cars for food and siphoning more gasoline. We had a good system down, and were mindful to keep an eye out for any zombies moving around to avoid the situation we had at the gas station.

The old guy was unconscious in the back seat the entire time. Every once in a while, I could hear him grunt in pain, but his eyes never opened.

We were making okay progress given the circumstances. Using back roads and the navigation system to move south through Jersey, we were able to avoid most of the congested roads.

A few creatures popped up from time to time, but they were easy to take care of. We noticed on the third day that most of the zombies were quite slow. Kyle and I agreed that it was probably because the bodies were dead, like in the movies, and that they had gone through rigor mortis, causing all the limbs to tighten up and keeping them from being able to do much more than hobble around.

A fact that, I would learn later on, was correct.

In small numbers, this was a big help. However, we knew we needed to avoid swarms of these things. No matter how slow they were, they were still lethal.

With much of the morning eaten up, we were able to make approximately fifty miles south that day.

In the evening, Kyle and I found what looked like an old lumber warehouse. Upon first glance, it was clearly abandoned, but then I noticed a creature that had its brains bashed in, lying near one of the machines.

It was wearing blue jeans and a white button up shirt that was covered in dirt and blood. It was a few days ripe. After I parked the Hummer in the building, we immediately threw it outside before closing up the sliding doors.

The warehouse was relatively open, with a high ceiling that appeared to have a series of railed bridges running through it. We spent the next hour exploring the place to make certain that we were able to “secure our position,” as Kyle put it. In other words, we were double-checking to make sure that none of the roaming zombies outside would stumble across us by walking through an open door in the back of the building.

Luckily, in the guard shack, we did happen across a refrigerator, to which electricity no longer ran.

“Looks like the place had a night security watch,” Kyle said.

He walked up to the fridge holding both hands up in the air with his fingers crossed. He told me that he had heard stories from others that were part of the same security company he had worked for, about the guys who were lucky enough to get this type of gig, and how they usually sat around and drank beer all night.

He opened the refrigerator, and yelled, “Eureka!” as he pulled out a twelve pack.

“We’re drinking like kings tonight!” he exclaimed, as he held up a bottle of warm Miller High Life.

A smile came to my face, as I shared his excitement. Even warm beer was welcome. Besides, High Life instantly reminded me of the good times I’d had drinking with some of my old buddies in college.

Back at the Hummer, which I had parked squarely in the middle of the place, we checked on the wounded man, who was now tossing and turning a bit. His bandage was fresh, but already showing signs of blood soaking into it. His skin was a tone too pale, and I noticed that he felt a bit feverish. Reaching down to reassure myself that my hammer was still resting securely in my belt, I decided to keep a watchful eye on him. We had done what we could at that point, and I needed to make sure that we’d be ready for a sudden turn for the worse.

During the course of the day, my cellphone had charged up to two full power bars. However, we hadn’t had any luck finding a cellphone tower that worked.

I later learned that most of the power grids in the US wouldn’t last more than three to four days without someone operating them. In rare cases, there were wind and hydro-powered generators that could power small rural areas for longer, but after a few days, everything else went dark.

We were on day three.

As Kyle and I started to pull out some of the camping gear we had stowed in the trunk of the Hummer, our patient woke up.

He slowly opened his eyes, and in a daze, asked where he was. Sitting in the vehicle with him, Kyle and I walked the old man through the course of events that had taken place since his crash.

By the end of the story, he was regaining his wits, and he began to sit up. He clutched his stomach and asked, “What the hell hit me?”

Kyle reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the small metal shard. Handing it to him, he explained that it looked like it was part of the rotor blade from the back of the helicopter.

The gentleman held it up in front of his face, and then thanked us for pulling him out and stitching him up.

“That damn metal beast,” the old man murmured out loud. “I knew we should have never gotten in that thing. We were assured safe passage out of the city. My people paid off some pretty high level officials to get me that ride.”

“What happened? I mean, what happened in the helicopter?” I asked.

He took a deep breath, obviously thinking back to the event. He sat up, holding his side with a grimace.

“The chopper took off with five people in it. The pilot, a copilot, my assistant and I, and an army sergeant who thought he was lucky enough to catch a ride. The copilot took a liking to my assistant immediately, and invited her up to show off the control panel. None of us could have known that the pilot had been bit.”

I looked at Kyle. We knew where this story was heading.

“He turned mid-flight, and took a quarter-sized bite out of Judy, my assistant, as she leaned forward. She took two steps back and fell to the metal floor, holding her neck. Blood was squirting in short bursts across the window and wall to her right.”

He stopped for a moment, panting shallowly as he wiped his eyes. Blood from his own wound streaked across his cheek.

“As she sat there slowly dying, the pilot turned his sights on the copilot. I could hear so much screaming, and watched the infected man waving his hands while blood shot all over the front windshield. That’s when I looked over at the sergeant. He had strapped on a parachute and was pulling the door of the chopper open, which opened sideways just as Judy started to… reanimate.”

He stopped again, catching his breath. There was much sadness in his voice as he continued.

“Judy started to walk towards me. I was frozen with fear. In that instant, the sergeant jumped out the door. Having caught Judy’s attention, and without hesitation, she ran over to the opening and leaped after him. In some ways, I believe that sergeant saved my life, but I recognize he was just trying to save his own ass.”

Thinking back to the figures we watched plummet to the earth, I didn’t think it was necessary to tell him how it ended for the sergeant and his assistant, Judy.

“I watched the head of the copilot rolling around in the belly of the chopper as we started spinning in the air just before the crash. I had no idea what the hell hit me in the stomach, but I knew it was bad.”

He coughed, and I noticed some blood dribbled out of his mouth. He went on to tell us that his name was Michael Hoskins, a high-powered CEO of a technology company headquartered in New York. He held out a weak hand, which I grasped and shook.

The handshake is a funny thing. No matter how utterly screwed up things have gotten, it still seems cordial to shake someone’s hand when meeting. I read somewhere that the handshake actually started out in ancient Greece as a sign of peace, and a way for strangers to prove to each other that they were unarmed. Seemed like we may be reverting to those times quickly.

Kyle and I cracked open a few beers. We offered one to Michael to be polite, but we all knew it was best that he stuck to water for the time being.

The three of us exchanged stories about where we were heading and about the circumstances that brought us together. Kyle talked about his army buddies down at Fort Gordon. I mentioned my wife and that Kyle and I were both heading to Georgia.

At the mention of our destination, Michael perked up. That’s when he told us where he was heading. According to him, a group of people in West Virginia had reacted with amazing speed to this catastrophe. Evidently, some very deep pockets were involved.

They had created an end of the world facility that was designed to be a Utopia for anybody who could afford a ticket to enter, should there ever be any sort of global event. From a nuclear strike to a meteor impact, the designers of this place had thought of everything.

It reminded me of the group from the boat.

Dug into the mountains, parts of it were completely underground, and the whole thing was run on its own separate nuclear power grid. Between the walls that surrounded the place in a secluded mountainside of the West Virginia wilderness, and its own private army, this place was well positioned to be where anybody with status would be heading.

Kyle took the last sip of his third beer, and laughed out loud. “Sounds like the perfect place for me!” he spoke sarcastically.

I joined in his laughter, but Michael didn’t even hesitate before saying, “I can make sure I get us all in. Once we get there, we’ll have the resources to help find your family and get you to your buddies in Augusta, if that’s where you want to go. All you have to do is get me there.”

Kyle and I glanced at each other. He had sobered some from his humor.

“Sounds a little far fetched,” he replied mildly, warily eyeing Michael.

I didn’t say anything. The prospect of getting some help to find my wife was too appealing to dismiss immediately. On the other hand, I was quickly learning to trust Kyle’s instincts.

Michael accepted Kyle’s reservation graciously. “Call it what you will. The fact remains that Avalon exists.”

“Avalon?” I questioned with a scowl.

“Named after the island where King Arthur was taken after he died.”

“So, a place where the kings of our modern age head after the world dies, huh?” Kyle said with an odd smile.

“I guess that could be one way to interpret it.” Michael returned a faint grin, his eyelids heavy. He soon fell back to sleep.

Kyle and I stayed up finishing off the beers we had found, talking over what Michael had said. We agreed that Avalon sounded like a bit of a pipe dream. How could we really be assured that this guy could, or would, get us in when the time came, even if it was real?

“Didn’t sound like the tickets ran cheap,” Kyle pointed out with a huff.

I shifted my legs to get comfortable, and then shrugged my shoulders. “If it’s not real, the only motivation behind him telling us this tale could just be to ensure we don’t ditch him out here.”

“Yep. Not a lot of trust running around these days,” Kyle said, rolling his eyes.

Looking down at the metal case clutched in the old man’s arms, I asked, “What the hell do you think is in it? He wouldn’t let that damn thing go.”

Kyle lifted his beer, and took a swig, thinking about it. “Probably full of nothing, and the guy is probably full of shit, too.”

“Yeah, but what if he isn’t? What if it’s full of money and a golden ticket to Avalon?”

Rolling his eyes again, Kyle snarked, “He can wipe his ass with the money, and the only golden ticket I’ve ever seen, got Charlie chased by a bunch of crazed Umpa-Lumpas.”

Looking down, I grinned at the visual, and realized that Kyle had one thing right. I got the sense that money, and people who had it, didn’t mean jack to him in the old world. It sure as shit didn’t mean anything in this new one. Reaching my hands up to rub my eyes, I realized that I’d spent most of my life chasing those green pictures of dead people. So much wasted time.

Looking back up I asked, “So what do you think? About him riding along I mean. We can’t just leave him out here to die.” In the back of my mind, I was thinking that we weren’t savages yet… were we?

Glancing down at the guy, Kyle crossed his arms. His High Life was sitting crooked across his shoulder and he was really pondering the thought. “You’re right. We can’t leave him here. Besides, he’ll be one more person to help fend off the creatures roaming around outside once he gets better.”

“If he gets better…” I said, shifting my weight again, feeling a little uneasy at the idea of the guy suddenly waking up and having turned full zombie. “Besides, I can’t completely dismiss the hope that someplace like Avalon really exists out there, and we’ll be driving through West Virginia anyway.”

Kyle shrugged. I could tell he didn’t believe in the place or the guy’s story, but he appeared to be willing to go along with it… for now.

Looking towards me with a more grim face, Kyle said sharply, “We just gotta watch him. I don’t want him turning out to be another Chauffer!”

Trying to lighten the mood, I nodding my head in agreement, “I know. That bald son-of–a-bitch! I hope I come across the zombie version of him. I’d love to smash my hammer through that cul-de-sac forehead of his,” I snapped, actually relishing the thought.

I took a sip of beer and glanced over at Kyle, trying to look serious. There was a pause, and then we both chuckled out loud at the thought.

We were down to our last few beers, and without much food in my system, my face was flushed, and I was starting to feel a slight buzz building in the back of my head.

Taking the moment of silence to look out around the interior of the warehouse, I realized how exposed we actually were. I couldn’t see a thing, and there wasn’t a sound to be heard outside of our voices, which even as we whispered, seemed to echo throughout the building.

Seeing the look of concern on my face, Kyle changed the subject, “So tell me about your wife.”

“My wife. My wife. Let me tell you about my wife.” I said with a smirk growing across my face. “She’s a phenomenal woman. We actually met in business school. Well, I was in business school; she was an art major. I remember we flirted around for a year before I got the balls to ask her out. We got married soon after school, and we’ve been together ever since… obviously. She’s a feisty one though.” I chuckled at that. “Doesn’t take my shit, that’s for sure. She’s got to be the most stubborn person I know. If she wants it, she’s going to get it.”

“Wow, that’s what I need, someone to keep me in line,” Kyle said, nodding appreciatively.

“Yep. I can’t fight back. She’s quick to remind me that her dad is armed and dangerous. You see, he’s a diehard deer hunter. The guy’s got more firearms than I do years in my life. She’s his only baby girl. Good thing he tried to make her into his little hunting buddy as a kid. She’s not too squeamish, and doesn’t usually freak at the sight of blood. Hopefully that helps her now.”

We both paused at that thought. It was sobering. Thinking about my wife and possibly newborn child out there, trying to make it through all this chaos. I knew the odds were against her, but that wasn’t going to stop me from getting to them.

Tipping back my last beer, I looked at Kyle and asked, “What about you? Why aren’t you married?”

He laughed out loud at the notion, and I watched him shift his weight from one foot to the other, looking out beyond me into the darkness.

“There was one girl actually.” He said, still looking out beyond the Hummer.

“She was a real she-bitch when she wanted to be. Powerful, and proud. She had tan skin, and long dark hair, which she never wore down. Too afraid of looking like a woman. We were stationed together, and I spent months trying to crack that exterior.” He laughed a bit, as if thinking of a joke he’d told her a long time ago.

“I had one hell of a time getting her to believe that I wasn’t just another dumb GI trying to get into her panties… I don’t know, maybe I was at first.” He smirked at the thought.

“She finally broke down though, and let me in… through the exterior I mean,” he said with a sly smile.

“We spent a number of great nights together.” He said trailing off.

“So what happened to her?” I finally asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He laughed, and casually shrugged, “Well, she got shipped off to Iran shortly after. We tried to keep together, but in the end, it was all just an in the heat of the desert sort of thing. Wasn’t ever going to work… the long distance thing I mean.”

Kyle tipped back his bottle, holding it upright and waiting for the final drop, then turned around and launched it out into the darkness. We heard it hit the ground and roll until it finally broke against something that sounded metal.

We closed and locked the doors to the Hummer shortly after. I checked my phone one last time before reclining my seat in hopes of falling asleep. Still no signal.

Chapter 11

Silence is Golden.

Sleep eluded me. Lying there in the Hummer, my mind was racing. How I could possibly find a working cell tower, or some sort of way to communicate with Jenn?

First, I thought of Walkie-Talkies and CB radios, like you’d find in an eighteen wheeler. However, I came to the conclusion that their reception wouldn’t reach as far as Atlanta.

The Pakers on the ferry had a Ham radio. My brief understanding of the Ham radio system was that one could communicate around the world by using various methods, including bouncing signals off the moon or relaying from operator to operator until they got to the intended receiver.

There used to be thousands of Ham radio operators out there, I had once read. However, I had no idea how many of those would be connected to generators, to keep them up and running.

The more I thought about it; the real problem would be that Jenn would literally have to know to be listening for me on a certain signal for it to work anyway.

Unless… unless, I could get a message to her with where and when to meet me. If I could just get one call or even a text to her, I would be able to set a date, time and frequency for us to meet. This assumed of course, that we could both find a radio, and a way to connect them.

That left me with finding an operational cell tower. The only way to find one of those would be to find a working power station. It was a long shot, but the world was full of long shots at the moment.

With the bit of liquid courage that I still had coursing through my veins; I stepped out of the car, and started up a metal staircase on the inside of the wall of the warehouse. I tripped over a few steps, but with the moon still almost full, there was enough light coming through the widows on the opposite side of the building to enable me to see.

Once at the top, I had to navigate across a bridge that shared space with the rafters. The Hummer looked very small, and I was beginning to regret making the climb when I reached a hatch that looked like it would allow me access to the rooftop.

Great, another roof, I thought, as I flipped it open. Lowering it slowly, as to not make any sound, I crept outside.

The air was cool, and there was a slight breeze. The trees flowed back and fourth, dancing in the moonlight, playing tricks with my mind. I could see hundreds of the dead, and then there would be nothing.

I decided to pull my shit together. I had my fun drinking, but refused to be left vulnerable. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I moved to the side of the building and started to survey the surrounding area.

If I could just see one lamppost or stoplight. Just one bit of light sitting out there, I’d have a beacon of hope for us to travel to. A place where there just might be enough power for a cell tower to work.

That’s when I saw it. In the distance, a tiny flicker. Struggling to focus my eyes, I realized there was more than just the one light. I could see a house fully illuminated, and a whole series of streets with what looked like lampposts lit, set on a hillside.

That’s where we’d head tomorrow, I thought decisively. That’s where we’d have the best chance of connecting with Jenn.

I stood there for a moment, my senses coming back into full function. The breeze felt nice, but something felt wrong. Things were quiet.

Quiet is a funny thing. Before this whole thing happened, there was always noise. Most of us zoned it out. We were used to it. Whether it was a car driving by or the steady hum of an overhead power line, there always used to be something making noise around us. Hell, I remember backpacking with some buddies before I met Jenn, and being pissed when an airplane flew overhead, taking us out of the wilderness feel. Noise was everywhere. There was no escaping it.

After everything fell apart, it took me a while to be comfortable with no noise at all. On the flip side, it heightened the noises that were still around. You could hear things from miles away. Nothing would drown out a gunshot or a scream. At first, people had trouble telling how far away things were. The old rules were gone. If you heard someone screaming, they could be in the next building over or four blocks away.

Between the swaying trees, I noticed another light in the same direction. It was much smaller than the streetlights on the hill, and closer to the ground. It was pretty far off, but the glow told me that it was a bonfire of some sort, and appeared much bigger than I’d ever be comfortable making. I hoped we wouldn’t have to pass directly by it.

It had occurred to me earlier in the day, that the dead zombies weren’t the only things to be afraid of. When there was no law, there would be nobody to stop the crazy people from doing even crazier things. I thought of all the end of the world movies I’d seen. From biker gangs, to crazy rednecks, to cannibals, there was always some group of crazies out there ready to steal your possessions, rape the women, and kill the men.

Man always seemed to be as dangerous, if not more, than the creatures running around outside.

Captured by the glowing light of the bonfire, I listened intently for any hint of what was out there.

Nothing. Just silence.

Chapter 12

The most dangerous enemy against mankind is man himself.

Kyle was the first to wake up the next morning. Day four, I thought, as I pushed the sleeping bag down. Nobody had noticed that I took my midnight stroll. I felt like a moron when I mentioned it, knowing that I should not have gone off alone.

In the beginning, following the herd probably got you killed. Not now, though; now, you never stray from the herd. That’s how you get picked off. I should have known better. Kyle let me know it with an eat-shit-and-die look as I explained what I had seen that night.

Regardless, he acknowledged that it was a good idea to look for what was out there, even if I was fucking stupid enough to do it on my own; leaving me with that same adolescent feeling of guilt I’d get while playing hooky from work.

We packed up our camping gear, and loaded up the Hummer.

Michael was still laid up in the back seat, trying to keep his head up. We knew we’d be nursing him back to health for a while.

After opening the door to the warehouse, Kyle jumped back up in the passenger seat throwing his metal rod in the back. He mentioned that he’d feel way more comfortable with a real weapon as we pulled out of the door.

I agreed, but knew my hammer would be staying by my side for some time to come.

Heading west of the warehouse, we began making our way toward the hill with the streetlamps that were still lit. We didn’t have the luxury of taking wide detours, as there were only a few roads that the navigation system showed going up to the area.

With a little finesse, I was able to push cars out of the way with the Hummer, and continue on the road that led to the secluded hillside. We didn’t see any creatures in the area. It was strange to not see anything at all, but we didn’t question the good fortune. Still, I couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling.

We hit an intersection on the outskirts of the town, where a stoplight was blinking red. It was the first one we’d seen working in days.

The intersection created a crossroad surrounded by a series of small broken down storefronts on each corner. Aside from the rhythmic blinking of the light above, the shops were devoid of any movement or noise. There was a blue post office box on one corner of the intersection and a yellow “Pedestrian Crossing” sign on a black metal post.

My eyes were drawn beyond the yellow sign, and focused on a liquor store which simply said, ‘Bottle Shop,’ painted on the window above a still illuminated and brightly glowing OPEN sign. Next door was a small deli, which was missing the front door.

Kyle nudged my shoulder and pointed my attention over to my right and through his window, and said, “Looks like a pharmacy.”

“Or what’s left of one.” I nervously shrugged looking over and noticing the front window had been completely blown out.

“We should check it out anyway. Might be some medicine for our friend in the back seat,” Kyle suggested.

Agreeing, I put the Hummer into park right outside the Pharmacy. Kyle and I eased out, leaving Michael in the back seat. I had my hammer in my left hand, and opened the broken door to the pharmacy with my right. I kept glancing around, looking for any signs of life, or worse, signs of the dead.

We stepped in to find much of the stuff on the shelves gone. Even the condom rack was completely empty. There was still a stack of newspapers sitting nicely piled by the cash register, frozen in time. The front story featured some politicians debating over some legislation that nobody really cared about. There was no mention of the dead rising. The whole thing had happened so fast, the newspapers never had a chance to print.

Kyle and I moved to the rear of the store. We hopped the counter, and rummaged through a bunch of tipped over boxes and pill containers. Neither of us were educated enough to know what we were looking for, so we just grabbed everything that had a child safety lock on it and filled up a plastic bag that was sitting behind the register. There wasn’t much left that had -cillin or -biotic on the labels.

We were heading back toward the front door when we heard a gunshot, then another.

We both ducked and hid by a magazine rack at the front of the store. No telling which direction the shot came from or how close it was. I looked beyond the D-cup boobs in the Hustler sitting next to my head, and toward where the Hummer was parked. I had pulled the keys out of the ignition, not wanting Michael to drive off with it. There was no movement.

We sat there for several minutes; listening to the silence. Finally, I ventured to whisper, “Can you tell what kind of gun that is?”

He gave a slight shake of his head and then motioned toward the Hummer. Remaining in a crouch, we started to make our way toward it. Nothing was in sight. No movement. No sound. No nothing. It was a little unnerving to know that the vehicle was bright yellow. It was like a giant blinking sign giving away our position. We slipped back into it and closed the doors as quietly as possible. The sound still seemed to echo between the buildings in the dead silence.

Kyle threw the bag back into the rear seat; Michael grabbed it and was savvy enough to pull a bottle from our loot.

“This will work,” he muttered while downing a couple of pills and laying back down. His face and arms were pale. In his daze, he didn’t even hear the gunfire. Kyle shot me a look that said he hoped that the pills worked. This was probably his last chance.

I started the Hummer, wincing at the noise, and guided it up the hilltop.

I pulled my cellphone off the dashboard, and felt my stomach drop, noticing that there were still no bars as we topped the hill.

The neighborhood was filled with multi-million dollar mansions. I only caught part of what Kyle was saying, something about the top one percent of the one percent living here, when he stopped in mid-sentence.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Kyle said, shifting his body down and over to get a better view of the side view mirror.

I spun around to see a police car behind us. We were getting the full flashing lights treatment. I kept driving.

“Pull over!” came a voice over a loudspeaker.

“Is it possible that this community still has people?” I asked, feeling my heart thudding.

“I guess so if there is still power. I don’t know… maybe,” Kyle replied. Michael popped his head up, and looked back.

“There is no way these guys are on the level,” he panted.

“Pull over!” We heard it once again from the cop car. We didn’t know quite what to do.

“Cops or not, they’re probably calling every zombie in the area towards us,” I said, hearing my own voice raise noticeably. Kyle held up his hands; he wasn’t sure what the hell to do either.

I pulled into the driveway of one of the mansions on our right. It circled around, and I drove all the way through to face the cop car blocking the exit. With a clear line of sight on the car, we could still get by on the grass if we needed to.

Two men stepped out of the police car. They were both clean shaven, and dressed in blue officer uniforms. Handguns drawn, they approached the Hummer. Kyle and I had opened the doors but didn’t step down. No way were we going to just sit there waiting for them to walk up with guns blazing.

“Put your hands up where we can see them and throw any weapons down to the grass!” one of the cops screamed.

“Is there a problem officer?” Kyle asked, as nonchalant as possible.

“This town is in lockdown. No outside visitors. We’re here to escort you out,” the officer replied.

“Lockdown? What do you mean lockdown?” I questioned in bewilderment.

“It means you need to leave immediately, before we’re forced to take more drastic action,” the other officer said. He coughed, and spit on the ground.

Turning my head toward Kyle while keeping my eye on the uniform, I asked, “I’m not married to this place, are you?”

He shook his head no.

“Okay,” I said trying to sound calm, “we’ll leave. We don’t want any trouble. Besides, we were just passing through trying to catch a cell tower signal anyway.”

The cops eased up a bit, still not dropping their weapons.

“Listen, we don’t want to overstay our welcome, but I have to ask; does anybody have reception?”

“No sir. The cell towers are all dead.”

The two officers glanced at each other, as if deciding what to do next. One nodded and then they looked back at us.

“The landlines work though.” My heart suddenly lurched.

With all the technology our modern world had created, it was the one developed in the 1800’s that wound up being the only thing still working when everything else failed. As it turned out, landline telephones plugged directly into a phone outlet that required very little power. Most of the telephone companies had huge generators and battery backups that ran for weeks before going down.

I was pissed at myself for not thinking of it.

Cautiously stepping down into the grass with my arms raised, I dropped my hammer onto the grass. Pleading my case, I explained that we just needed to make a few phone calls, and that we’d get the hell out of there right away. Just a few phone calls, with one being to my pregnant wife.

The officers looked at each other, then back toward us once again. They let me squirm there on the grass for a moment, before one of them finally spoke up with a slight edge in his voice. “We’ll take you to a phone. Head back down the hill and stop just before the streetlight. We’ll be right behind you, so drive slowly and don’t veer from that destination.”

Before I could thank them, they stepped back into their cruiser. I reached down to retrieve my hammer and then jumped back up into the Hummer. Kyle and I closed our doors with sequential thuds, and waited as the cops backed up their car. They pulled forward and completed a three-point turn before motioning to us to drive out in front of them.

They escorted us down the winding road past all of the houses, and back towards the small town. I slowed the Hummer to a crawl at the stoplight until they drove up next to us, motioning for me to stop. The cop in the passenger side, signaled for to me to roll down my window.

Hitting the automatic down button on the interior of the door, the window slid down as I watched the cop casually stick a finger out in the direction of the pharmacy.

“Last I checked, pharmacies have telephones,” he said with a straight face, looking through his aviator sunglasses. He rolled up his window as the car pulled forward, blocking the Hummer from advancing.

Both cops stepped out of their car, weapons drawn once again, but at the ground. Kyle and I cautiously stepped out as well, and started to the pharmacy.

Just as we reached the entrance, we both stopped dead in our tracks as an ear piercing siren suddenly turned on from beyond the tree line. It was absolutely deafening, and coming from a large tower that we could see sticking up through the trees a couple of hundred yards away. Unable to move, like a deer caught in headlights, my first instinct was that we’d set it off somehow, and that moving would only make it worse.

The cops were momentarily frozen as well. Looks of horror and panic filled their faces, as they quickly started back to their car.

“They weren’t supposed to start for another hour!” one screamed.

“What the hell is going on?” Kyle’s voice could hardly be heard.

“You guys better get the hell out of here,” one bellowed as they slammed their car doors shut. We stood there speechless as they sped away, staring back and forth between the retreating police cruiser and the siren tower.

The noise ran for almost two full minutes and then stopped as suddenly as it had started.

“What the hell?” Michael said out loud as Kyle and I just stood there, expecting the worse.

Eyes wide open; my senses were at full alert. At first, it sounded like a distant squirrel rustling through the leaves on the forest ground. However, the single small movement began to multiply, getting louder as it headed in our direction. My hands were shaking with anticipation as we drew our weapons and started stepping back towards the Hummer. We all knew what was out there.

The first creatures came stumbling out from the darkness of the forest one or two at a time. They all seemed to be converging toward where the siren stood. Small packs and larger swarms followed from every direction, they were all over the place, being pulled in like moths to a light.

“Get in the Hummer!” Kyle screamed.

Slamming the doors shut, I gunned it backward and then headed in the same direction as the cop car. There was no going back down the road we came from.

At the top of the hill, I stopped the Hummer and swung open the door.

We heard a few screams and some gunshots coming back from behind the tree line.

“Do we check it out?” I asked.

“I’m thinking we go down to that house overlooking the trees, and see what we can see from there. Let’s just make sure nobody knows we’re still hanging around.”

I nodded in agreement and then we headed down to the house.

Smarter men would have taken off and not looked back. Our curiosity was what got the best of us.

We made sure that Michael was comfortable in the Hummer, which I had concealed around the side of the house. Kyle and I made our way around the rear of the home, passing through well trimmed bushes, a fountain that looked like it cost more than my car back home, and a swimming pool that still had the automatic cleaning unit attached to a large hose, which was buzzing around through the water.

We came to the overlook, and had a clear view all the way to the siren. To our amazement, there was a group of what looked like live people standing in a circle around the siren. They were all holding various farming tools, which included shovels, pitchforks, and axes. There was even one guy that was walking around wearing a black apron and a helmet with a clear plastic faceplate while wielding a chainsaw. The people had used the CAT backhoe parked nearby, to dig a deep ditch around the siren, giving them a sizable perimeter to which they were all standing in the middle of.

We watched in fascination as the dead slowly but surely dropped into the circular ditch, getting stuck. Those alive would simply walk over to each zombie as they fell, and swing their weapon of choice down, killing each trapped creature as it desperately tried to climb back out.

“That’s why this place is so devoid of creatures,” I spoke out loud. “This group is thinning them out. Pulling them in with the siren, and then killing them all.”

I caught Kyle’s attention, pointing beyond the group, as they were finishing off the last of the zombies. We saw the bonfire that I noticed the night before. It was clear now; these people were burning the bodies of the dead.

A brilliant plan, I thought to myself. Thin out the problem, keeping the area relatively safe.

In that moment, we watched as a car drove up to the outside perimeter of the circle. The creatures had all been taken care of in one massive onslaught. There was someone from inside the circle laying down a plank to create a bridge across the gap.

Two people got out of the car. They were holding their hands up in the air. The crowd in the circle seemed agitated, screaming and pointing at the people. I figured that they heard the siren too, and were drawn in like the creatures.

“Are those people like us? People trying to get help?” Kyle whispered, even though we were hundreds of yards away.

That’s when the guy holding the chainsaw swung a shotgun from around his back and opened fire.

The shots tore through the first person, puncturing his chest, dropping him to the ground on impact. The other person turned to run, and got the full barrel of buckshot blown right through his back. He flew into the car, creating a spider web of blood-covered cracks on the windshield.

I was standing at full alert with my hands stuck to the top of my head, watching in horror, when Kyle pulled me back down to a crouch. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen. People were killing people…

“Don’t let them see you,” Kyle said sternly.

A few of the others from inside the circle crossed the bridge and one by one took the bodies over to the fire-pit, tossing them in with the same level of remorse they had for the zombies they had just slain.

The cop car pulled up minutes later to help with the clean up.

Chapter 13

I’m going to ask you a simple set of questions.

The sky was turning pink with white waves of clouds as the sun started to set over the tree line. Kyle and I were discussing what to do next when we heard a rattle of the door handle behind us.

In a panic, we both ducked behind a nearby bush. Peering through the leaves, I watched as a slender woman with dark brunette hair and a revealing black swimsuit stepped out.

She lazily walked to the overlook where we were hiding, and stood at the railing of the deck just above us. I heard a click, then another. I smelled the familiar smoke from a freshly lit cigarette floating in the air.

Not moving a muscle, Kyle and I were both crouched down, attempting to stay concealed. I watched a bead of sweat start from Kyle’s brow, run down the side of his face and consequently, his neck, and into his shirt collar. He didn’t flinch.

My legs were starting to shake when I heard a car door echo shut from the town below. The people had finished their cleanup and were heading back into the neighborhood.

The finished cigarette was flicked over our heads. Ashes fell from the butt like a tiny rocket as it floated downward. We could hear the woman’s feet touch each board softly as she padded back to the pool.

We need to get the hell out of here, I thought to myself. The Hummer was on the side of the house, and not obvious to anyone who was just driving by. However, it could be seen if you moved close enough to the house. After all, its yellow exterior wasn’t exactly designed to blend in.

Kyle’s expression told me that he was thinking the same thing. We began creeping around the exterior of the deck, still crouched as low as we could get. It didn’t matter if this woman saw us. We’d be at the Hummer in just moments.

Her feet were splashing in the pool, and her back was to us. She was sitting down, leaning back on both arms. Soft, graceful, and methodical, her movements were not unlike those of a small house cat.

We could hear people talking in front of the house and cars driving by.

Hearing the rattle from the rear door once again, Kyle and I dove behind the fountain. Lifting my head up from the grass, I could still see the woman slowly moving her feet back and forth in the water. The noise was from someone else joining her.

The black plastic apron and chainsaw told me he was the zombie chopper. He stepped through the door, and walked to a garden hose by the side of the house, setting down his weapons against the wall.

The woman didn’t even look up at him; he didn’t say anything to her. The air was silent except for the pounding of my heart and the water hose.

He rinsed off his boots, black plastic apron and helmet. We were close enough to see a watered down crimson pool of blood flow into the flowerbed.

Once finished, he lumbered across the deck to stare down at the little town. He was heavier built, and each footstep came down on the boards with a loud echoing thump.

“You’ve been smoking again,” he growled.

The woman didn’t reply. Her feet were still playing in the water. He paused.

“The Zs are cleared out. We pulled them in from miles around. This system is working,” he said, almost looking for approval. He received none.

“More people showed up down there. I took care of them.” He sounded more macho now, but still received no response from the woman.

“Our very own security force, Officers Dumb and even Dumber, said that they found a few people driving around the neighborhood in a yellow Hummer. Those fucking idiots simply escorted them out of town.” After a moment, he went on.

“I’ll put a bullet in those rent-a-cops, if those people come back with any friends.”

He set a small handgun on the wooden railing, as he gazed across the now darkening sky. Turning around, he looked down at the woman, watching her kick in the water.

They remained there in silence as the minutes ticked by. Kyle and I looked at each other.

“What the fuck?” he mouthed. I could only shrug.

“What’s with the silent treatment?” We heard from the guy on the porch. I could hear his feet thudding across the deck once again.

“Are you still pissed because we’re not going to Avalon?”

Kyle and I glanced at each other in question; other people knew of this area?

“That place is for fucking pussies. Don’t you get it? They are going to wall themselves up into a cave, and hope that this shit passes.”

Feet still kicking in the water, no response.

“Oh, I get it. All your girlfriends got the season pass, so you need to be there, too, huh? It’s not good enough to stay here, safe, in our own new house.”

Her feet stopped kicking.

“Motherfucker!” she screamed. “Motherfucker! My family is at Avalon. All my friends are there. You want to stay here, surrounded by this group of freeloaders and poor people. This isn’t our house. This is our coffin!”

He was standing over her again. Just as he was about to respond, we heard a bang and screaming from the side of the house. Kyle and I knew what had happened instantly. They found the Hummer.

Moments later, the two cops emerged from the other side of the house, pushing Michael, who appeared to be in handcuffs in front of them.

“Who the fuck is that?” snapped the guy on the deck.

“This is one of the guys from the Hummer, which is currently parked on the side of your home,” one of the cops said sarcastically. “You didn’t see the large banana next to your house?”

“He wasn’t alone, so we can assume that there are two more adult males somewhere around here,” the other cop noted.

“You should have taken care of these fuckers when you had the chance. You should have never let them go!” the guy bellowed. Nobody bothered to respond. The woman’s feet were kicking in the water once again.

“Bring him over here and cuff him to the table,” the house owner said, as he motioned towards a black wrought iron table sitting near the pool.

As the cops hauled Michael over, it was obvious he couldn’t walk on his own and clearly was still very much in pain.

The man on the deck picked up the small handgun on the railing, and walked over to where his black apron sat. He slid it over his chest, and then stuck the handgun between his pants and his back as he walked back over to Michael.

“I’m going to ask you a simple set of questions. Either you can answer these questions, or you can decide not to. That is a choice you have to make. However, I want you to understand what your choice means.”

Michael’s right hand was cuffed to the table; his other was covering his stomach. There was a look of terror in his eyes.

Kyle and I were close to the side of the house. We could easily escape. I looked at him. It was an unspoken question; do we save our own asses, or do we rescue our passenger? Kyle motioned toward the deck. I nodded, and quietly slid my hammer from my belt. We wanted our wounded companion back.

The man on the deck continued.

“Life is full of choices. People make them every day. Today, you have ten choices.” As he spoke in a sinister voice, he reached into the front pocket of his black apron and his hand emerged with what looked like pruning shears. Flicking the spring release on them, he held them in front of Michael’s face. One cop grabbed Michael’s bound wrist and held it to the table, while the other officer pinned his body down.

“Where are your friends? But before you answer, I want it to be clear what your choice is. If you chose not to tell me what I want to hear, you lose your left index finger. You will have nine more choices if you answer this question wrong. Are we clear on your options?”

He gazed down at his prey. Utterly stunned, Michael did not respond. The man on the porch opened the sheers and placed them around his index finger.

I started to stand up, but Kyle yanked me back down. He made a hand signal that looked like a gun, and shook his head. He was waiting for a bigger distraction.

“I don’t; I don’t know where they are,” Michael stammered. “Come on. I’m rich. I can give you anything. Do you know what Avalon is? I can get you in,” he began to plead.

Pausing, his captor looked over at the girl in the pool, shook his head, and then pulled down on the sheers. A streak of blood spattered across the wooden deck. Michael let out a howl that I’ll never forget. He twisted maniacally under the cops’ weight as the bastard cut again to sever the finger completely.

In that instant, Kyle pulled me up, and we charged them from behind. Completely distracted by Michael’s screams, they never saw us coming. Kyle swung his metal weapon at the first cop, then the second. They were out in an instant.

I tackled the zombie chopper, driving him away from Michael. I could see his finger fall from the sheers as we both hit the deck. The guy had fifty pounds on me or better, and he easily threw me off to the side. Luckily, I kept my wits and cracked the hammer against his knee as he took his first step toward me.

I could still hear Michael screaming in the background as Kyle stood over us with a pistol aimed directly at the face of the man.

“Move and you’re dead,” Kyle snarled in a dangerously low voice. “I’ll put one in your chest so you come back as one of those fucking zombie things. Then I’ll put one in your head so I can kill you twice.”

The guy rocked back and forth, holding his knee but made no other move.

I scrambled to one of the unconscious cops, and pulled the keys to the cuffs from his belt. Unlocking Michael, I then heaved him onto his wobbly legs.

Holding his grossly amputated finger, Michael staggered to his tormentor and drove his foot into his face. The guy dropped unconscious to the wooden planks, blood draining from his now broken nose.

Kyle pulled the two holsters from the cops’ belts, and tossed one to me. Strapping the holster around my waist, I felt like a badass. I had shot a gun before, but only at a target range. Playing army as a kid didn’t really prepare me for this.

Kyle looked over at Michael, “You going to make it? You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. Some dick-face just cut my finger off.” He kicked the guy on the porch again, bringing his foot down hard on his chest.

“What was that shit about choices? I have a choice for you. Don’t cut my fucking finger off. How about that for fucking choices?”

I looked between the two of them, then up at the sky.

“We need to get out of here. I have no clue where to head.”

“Any place is better than here,” Kyle replied.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Maybe we could go someplace where they don’t cut your fingers off.”

In that instant, just beyond where Michael was standing, I saw the guy on the porch reach his right arm around to his back. I could see the small handgun emerge.

“Michael, look o-!” I heard a gunshot, but Michael didn’t fall.

The guy on the deck fell backwards, blood staining the wooden planks, mixing with the blood from Michael’s finger.

I looked wildly at Kyle. A handgun didn’t do that. He was staring behind me. I whirled around, my voice catching in my throat. The woman from the pool was standing by the door with a shotgun in hand. She looked up and met my eyes.

“I want to go to Avalon.”

Chapter 14

There is a point in time where one hopes that what is happening will just stop, before another killing occurs.

Her name was Sophia. Aside from killing her husband, who was almost twice her age,  she was actually very accommodating.

Leaving his bloody remains dripping all over the porch, she invited us inside the house. Knowing that it was too dark to venture from the relatively secure area, we cautiously decided to take her up on the offer.

After cuffing the two unconscious cops to the wrought iron table, making them look like they were sodomizing each other, courtesy of Kyle, we stepped through the rear door.

The house was enormous, and clearly the biggest that I’d ever been in. The back door led directly into a great room with a fireplace so large that I could literally walk into it. Kyle shot me a look as if to say, “This place creeps me out.” I just nodded in agreement, as we followed Sophia through the house.

“Won’t the gunshot alert your neighbors?” Kyle asked.

She looked back at him, smiled, and with a cool tone said, “Gunshots are a part of life now. You’ll hear them all night long. People stopped running toward them days ago.”

As we entered the kitchen, she offered us any food that we could find in the fridge, and then laid the shotgun against a nearby chair as she lit up a cigarette. Using a cup to flick ashes into, she told us that Richard, her husband, would never let her smoke in the house. She was eerily calm, almost monotone with her statement.

Warming up to Michael immediately, she gestured with a smile, and went into full nurse mode as he sat down. She opened a number of doors before she found an emergency kit that contained gauze and tape, with which she began bandaging him up.

Neither Kyle nor I turned down the offer of food, digging around in the fully stocked fridge.

“What is this place?” Kyle asked around a mouthful of deli meat.

Sophia slowed her bandaging and thought carefully.

“It’s our home,” she said.

“Yeah, I’ve got that, lady. How come this town has power when no place else does?”

She went on to explain that the neighborhood was one of the newest in “green” efficiency. It had become popular to be green in her social circles, and the town ran on a combination of hydroelectric and wind turbines on the other side of the hill. Each house also boasted a series of solar panels sitting atop their roofs.

“What about the sirens?” I asked.

“Richard was hell bent on staying here. He devised the system, and persuaded those who stayed here to help him with the cleanup. He even offered vacant homes in the neighborhood to people passing by, promising them shelter in exchange for their help with protection. That is, until the houses were full. Then he started turning people away. When they wouldn’t turn away… well, he applied more forceful methods.”

“Yeah, we saw the more forceful methods down at the siren,” Kyle said.

“I didn’t say he was a good man,” Sophia countered.

“He was a fucking dick!” Michael blurted while looking down at his bandaged hand.

Sophia ran her hand through his silver hair, comforting him with an arm around his waist. Kyle looked at me, shaking his head slowly as he scowled.

“I’m not so sure about this siren stuff. You remember how the zombies followed us for miles to the gas station. Who’s to say that the neighborhood watch didn’t just kill the closest creatures… that there are not hundreds more on the way?”

We all looked at each other in alarm, agreeing that we’d better get the hell out of there at daybreak.

Looking Michael in the eyes, Sophia asked, “So will you take me? Will you take me to Avalon with you?” Michael paused, and looked at us.

“We have another seat in the car,” he said quietly.

Kyle and I stepped to the side and mulled it over for a moment. Neither of us trusted her for shit. It was obvious that she had suckered up to Michael from the second we got into the place. However, she did save him out on the deck; even if it was her husband she killed. For a good reason, but still…

“I’ll tell you what, we’ll let you come if you let me use your phone,” I said to her.

“It’s over there.” She smiled and pointed back towards the great room.

I nodded, and took a deep breath as I walked toward the fireplace and spied the phone sitting on a nearby end table.

My fingers were shaking as I dialed her cell number. The call went straight to voicemail.

“Hello, this is Jenn. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Have a nice day.”

“Damn,” I said aloud. What did I really expect? I decided to leave a message.

“Jenn, I’m okay. We’re held up in a house in Jersey. Still a long way away I know, but I’m traveling with a few people who I trust, and we’ll be there soon. There is supposed to be a place in West Virginia that’s safe. One of the guys I’m with says he can get us all in. Don’t have time to explain here, but I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. I don’t know how long the phones will work. If you can get to a CB radio, turn it to channel 14 and make sure it’s on at noon every day. We’ll be able to talk when I’m in range. I love you so much. I will find you.” Beep.

I dropped my head and paused for a moment.

I dialed my home number. The phone rang, then again, and a third time. Voicemail.

“John. If this is you, I’m okay. I don’t have much time with this message, so listen carefully. Sue’s dead, John. She came back as one of those things. Joe was able to push her out of the car. We made it to a nearby cabin. It’s not Joe’s, but nobody has claimed it. The baby has not come yet, but I’m just weeks away. The address is 127 Brown Bear Rd., Blue Ridge, GA. It doesn’t have a phone, but I left this message from a working landline at a small gas station down the street. Get here as soon as possible. I’ll check this voicemail every day. Please let me know if you’re all right! I love you, John!”

Shaking and sweating like hell, I left the same message for her that I had on her cellphone, adding the phone number inscribed on the inside of the phone I was using, asking her to call me back, should she get this message before we left.

Hanging up the phone, I wiped the tears from my eyes. She was alive, and I had not missed the birth of my child.

There has not been many times where I felt true joy in my adult life. It seemed like we grow out of joy a little more with each year of age. However for that moment, it’s the only way I can possibly describe how I felt. The relief was so overwhelming, like a weight had lifted from my chest, my heart. To hear my Jenn’s voice…

I heard Kyle, Michael and Sophia laughing from the kitchen. We were in a wasteland, surrounded by the walking dead, and somehow they still found a way to laugh. It seemed like all was not lost.

Rubbing the final tears from my eyes, I looked up at a picture hanging on the wall.

It was a painting of a woman and a man. She was in a yellow dress with a white flowered hat, and he, in a gray suit with a watch chain hanging from his front pocket. Neither of them were Sophia or Richard.

I looked around at the other framed photos; there were two kids playing on the grass with a ball and a large cocker spaniel.

I noticed a bathroom door open down the hall. Realizing that I had not taken a piss in a real toilet in days, I stepped toward the bathroom. Unzipping my pants, I sighed with relief as I did my business. Once finished, I turned around to wash my blood and filth covered hands.

Taking a look at myself, for the first time in almost five days, I was almost as disgusting as the zombies I had killed. I looked like hell. My white shirt was covered in dried chunks of black and red blood. My pants were torn in multiple areas. My hair was a mess and thick with sweat, to the point of being gummy. I had clearly lost a number of pounds already, which I wasn’t actually complaining about. Although losing it from near starvation was clearly not a good weight loss option.

I was admiring how much I looked like shit when I noticed a tiny drop of blood streak down the mirror. My eyes followed it up to its origin, and there was a circular bloodstain in the ceiling above.

My heart was racing for the millionth time. Was there a zombie in the house? Had someone died upstairs?

I moved into the kitchen, and stepped casually towards the sink, and around the island. I stood looking at Michael’s bandages for a moment, acting as if I cared about how good of a job Sophia had done. Standing next to the shotgun at this point, I reached down and snatched it up. Without making any quick moves, I looked over at Sophia.

“What’s upstairs?” I asked, eyeing her carefully.

The room fell silent except for a grandfather clock ticking away in the front hall of the house.

“More specifically, what is bleeding all over the place upstairs?” I demanded.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She smiled sweetly, while slowly moving around the island in the middle of the room. I lifted the shotgun to point it in her direction.

“There’s blood dripping from the ceiling in the bathroom. None of the pictures in this place has you or your husband in them. Who is up there?”

“This is our home. This is my home. Get out!” She screamed, and then darted from the kitchen down a hallway. Kyle and Michael stared at the empty doorway, stunned.

“What the fuck was that?” Michael ventured.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s blood in the bathroom. We all just saw her reaction to it,” I replied.

I showed them the bathroom. The leak was even bigger now. Kyle pointed over toward a staircase leading upstairs just past the grandfather clock in the front hallway. No need for words, I knew what he was doing. In the brief time that I’d known him, I had learned how to read his subtle clues.

“We’re coming upstairs, and we’re armed. We don’t want to hurt anybody!” Kyle called out as we ascended.

No answer. Just the methodical ticking of the clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

When we got to the top step, Michael flipped on the light. I handed the shotgun to Kyle.

“You’re probably better with this thing than I am,” I said, while pulling out the pistol that he had given me earlier.

Glancing back down the stairs, I saw Sophia standing there, my stomach lurching as I spun around. She had a crazed look of hatred in her eyes.

“Don’t go in there. This is my house! You need to leave now!” she screamed.

“Shut up, you crazy bitch,” Michael said shaking his head in bewilderment.

Betrayal emerged in her expression, and she disappeared once again down the hallway. I heard a door slam shut, and then silence.

We looked at the door located above the bathroom that was downstairs, building the nerve to see what lay beyond. Finally, Kyle turned the knob quietly but shoved it open.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

The room was dark, but I could see some movement in the corner. I trained the pistol on it, then reached in and flicked on the light switch, revealing a horrific scene that I was not actually prepared for. Both people were badly beaten. The unconscious man was missing nine of his ten fingers, and the woman had horrible bruising across her face and arms. They were both alive, not zombies.

Despite the wounds, I recognized them from the pictures down stairs. The woman looked up at us, terror written all over her face. A weak and hoarse whisper for help was all that she could muster.

We were loosening the ropes that they were bound by when we heard a car alarm going off outside.

Michael stayed to finish untying the ropes, while Kyle and I raced downstairs. We checked the back door, scaring the shit out of the cops who were still trying to figure out how to stop looking as if they were butt fucking each other. The sound was coming from the front.

We darted through the house, pushing open the front door cautiously. We saw Sophia beating the shit out of what looked like a red Porsche. It wasn’t there when we had pulled up, so I figure she had pulled it out of the garage, leaving it in the middle of the street. Kyle and I watched as some of the neighbors walked toward her. Sofia had a kitchen knife in her hand and was wildly swinging it at anybody who approached her. They were all screaming at her to turn off the alarm. It was chaos, until we heard a single shot fired. Sophia dropped lifelessly to the ground.

The man holding the gun stepped over her, and reached into the car. We heard a “beep, beep,” as the alarm was turned off.

Kyle and I closed the front door, and watched through the glass as the group circled around. They kept looking down at Sophia and then back at the house.

“Richard. Richard. You in there?” the man with the gun called out.

A woman standing next to him suddenly screamed, “What was she thinking? She might have called the Zs in from all around. She lost it!”

“If you don’t shut your mouth, you’ll pull those damn Zs right to our doorstep!” the man snarled then added, “We didn’t want to shoot her, but we had to, Richard. Why don’t you come out so we can talk about this?”

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Kyle and I didn’t say a word. The group started to walk toward the house. We ducked down, leaning heavily against the door.

“What do we do?” I whispered.

Kyle shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

I cracked open the door a little. Kyle and I peered out cautiously, our eyes just above the window.

“Richard is dead! Sophia shot him!” The group stopped in their tracks.

“Who are you?” The guy with the gun questioned, glancing around the yard before turning his attention back to the front door.

“That doesn’t matter. We are just passing through. Richard and Sophia had the owners of this house tied up and bleeding to death upstairs. We don’t want any trouble. We all want to live, just like you.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all got the owners of our houses tied up, bleeding or dead,” the guy jeered, the rest of the group chuckling behind him.

Kyle and I looked at each other, brows raised. That wasn’t the reaction either of us were expecting.

“We may be fucked,” Kyle murmured looking out.

“We’re armed, like you,” I yelled. “To be clear, we don’t want any trouble. Let us go, and nobody else has to get hurt. We can all walk away from this.”

Glass rained down on our heads. Bullets were rocketing into the staircase behind us, and pictures were falling off the walls as the house was riddled with gunfire.

Then it was quiet, except for that damn clock that was miraculously missed by every bullet. Go figure.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

“Way too much noise from out there,” Kyle said to me, shaking his head.

“Yeah. Assuming we don’t get shot, this place is going to be surrounded by the dead, and really damn soon.”

Michael screamed down the stairs. “What the hell is going on down there?”

“Stay down!” Kyle warned.

“This guy up here has lost a ton of blood. I’m not sure he’s going to make it.” Michael’s voice wavered for a moment.

“See what you can do,” Kyle threw up his hands. Michael moved back into the room.

Kyle pushed the front door open a bit more to see the group. Nothing was in sight, until we saw a muzzle flash from the darkness of nearby bushes. A bullet tore through the door near the handle next to Kyle’s head. He fell back as the splinters burst into the hallway.

We moved back to the kitchen, keeping our heads down. Another bullet tore through a window and hit the refrigerator.

“They’ve surrounded the house,” Kyle whispered as he reached up to flick the light off. “They can see us if we keep the lights on. Turn them all off.”

Dodging more bullets, we managed to get all the lights out. Everything was dark, silent once again… aside from the clock.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

“Michael, get the people down here if you can,” Kyle loudly whispered up the stairs.

We waited as Michael and the woman carried the man down the stairs. He was totally out, and blood was still dripping from his fingerless nubs. Once they made it down to the last few steps, Kyle and I took the guy, laying him down on the floor.

We needed to make it to the Hummer.

Bullets started to fly in from all around the house. We picked a wall and made ourselves as small as possible, except for Mr. Nubs, who lay there in front of the stairs. Glass and wooden splinters were flying all around us.

The firing stopped again but we heard some commotion from outside. Gunshots started back up, but not aimed at the house.

Kyle raised his head guardedly to one of the windows. After a moment, I followed suit. The street was flooded with the dead.

“They are going to get killed by their own arrogance,” he said in a husky whisper.

“Guess the siren trick didn’t clear them all out,” I replied.

The creatures were moving toward the house as well. Instantly, I had my firearm in one hand and hammer in the other. Kyle bolted the front door.

We need to get to the Hummer, I thought again. I turned in Kyle’s direction to tell him so.

That’s when we heard screaming from the backyard. We ran to the great room, just in time to see four of the zombies come down on the two handcuffed cops.

Just beyond their screams, I heard a familiar sound. With everything happening, I couldn’t quite place it at first. It was rhythmic, almost like a chime. The phone was ringing!

One of the dead was pounding on the rear door and smashing its face against the glass. Over and over, almost in sync with the ringing of the phone.

Beep. The answering machine switched on.

“John. John. Are you there?” My heart almost stopped; her voice was somewhat calmer than the last time I’d heard it.

A tremendous crash echoed through the house as the glass door shattered.

“I got your message. I’m so happy to hear you’re alive!”

All four zombies entered the house. I had to get to the phone.

“We’re okay. Luckily, we haven’t seen any of those monsters up here in the mountains. I guess there are not a lot of people up here.”

Kyle and I rushed to take them out. We didn’t use the guns, wanting to save ammunition. I gouged my hammer deep into the first one’s skull.

“The baby is okay. I’m okay. Joe is really hanging in there.”

Kyle swung his metal weapon violently, hitting a vase off a nearby table before he split open the head of the second being.

“You’ve got to get here as soon as possible. The idea of heading someplace safe sounds wonderful. It was so great to hear your voice.” Her voice wavered with emotion. I could almost hear the tears sliding down her cheeks.

One of the undead lumbered to Mr. Nubs, and dropped down on him, tearing into his guts before either Kyle or I could get there.

“I can’t wait to see you. I love you so much. Get home to me.” Beep. The message time ended.

I pulled my hammer from the head of the zombie, and went after the one tearing open Mr. Nubs. I had to tackle him just to pull him off. I tore the hammer through its neck first, a slight miss but relatively effective. Its head fell back; hanging by a thick thread of flesh as the creature stumbled, almost falling over.

The woman crawled over toward her husband, who was bleeding out all over the floor. She didn’t seem to mind, putting her arms around him, crying into his chest.

I pulled the hammer back and brought it down hard on the zombie’s dangling head. With that one final blow, it dropped to the floor with a muffled thud.

Kyle finished off the fourth one, just as Mr. Nubs began to reanimate. Thinking her husband was okay, the woman wiped her eyes as a smile grew on her thin lips. In that instant, her husband reached up and tore into her cheek with his teeth. I watched the skin stretch and finally break open with a burst of blood, as she pulled back and screamed in horror. She then stood up, and took three steps before falling down.

I raced over and took out Mr. Nubs before he was able to sit up. At the same time, Kyle slowly walked over to the woman, watching as she slipped away. I looked at Kyle’s expression. It was clear that he was hoping she wouldn’t come back.

Even in such dire life and death situations, there is a point in time where one hopes that what is happening will just stop, before another killing occurs.

Just as she gurgled and moved an arm, he brought his weapon down across her face.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Chapter 15

One of the many games we played was aptly titled, “Midnight.”

We sat in silence for several minutes, catching our breath, trying to take in what all had happened. Beyond the walls of the house, we could hear gunshots followed by screams of pain, then silence again.

Kyle went to the front door to watch the street as I walked unsteadily to the phone. Even through the darkness, I could see him grimace as he looked out.

I studied the caller ID, before pushing the down arrow, hoping it was the last number to call the house. After hitting the dial button, I pulled the receiver up to the side of my head. It took a moment, but the phone began to ring.

Kyle swiftly crouched down below the window, catching my attention. I could see a silhouette from outside pass through the glare of a street lamp.

I felt the phone receiver trembling against my ear.

Five rings, six rings, seven… No voice mail, nobody answered.

With the precision of a surgeon, I quietly hung up the phone on the eleventh ring, the fist-sized lump in my throat nearly strangling me. Gripping the base of my hammer, a surge of frustration swallowed my fear. An impulse to slam the metal head against the wall with everything I had left kicked in, but my instincts kept me from making too much noise.

I felt my anger slip away as I continued to squeeze the hammers base. I kept telling myself that I had to keep going. I had to reach my Jenn. I needed to hold her in my arms once again.

After taking several moments to collect myself, I made a mental note of the number on the caller ID. Then, surveying the room, I moved past Michael, who was holding his stomach with his good hand, and joined Kyle by the door.

Peering out the window, I could see the diseased undead spreading out like a filthy piss puddle in the street. They were slowly hunting around, searching for their prey. The gunshots had stopped now. The screams were replaced by dull moans.

I realized that this was the closest we had been to these things without them attacking, since watching them from the office building back in New York.

With the missed call from Jenn still in the back of my mind, I was drawn to the movements of the creatures. They had what I can only describe as an erratic organization to hunt. They were spreading out, canvassing the area.

Every one of them would walk to a bush or a tree, stop to listen, and then move on.

When I was a child, the kids in my neighborhood would get together at night. One of the many games we played was aptly titled, “Midnight.” One kid would stand by a tall lamppost in the middle of the neighborhood, while the rest of us would go hide. The kid in the light would count.

One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock, and so on all the way to eleven o’clock, then scream out, “Midnight!”

He would then run off to find the kids that were hiding. As he found them, they, in turn, would be recruited to run off and find the rest of the kids. Before long, there would be a whole bunch of kids running around the neighborhood, canvassing the area, looking in every bush and behind every tree. Looking for that final, remaining kid who had the best hiding spot. The game was over when they found him.

I sat there in that eerie house, suddenly reminded of that same feeling of being the last kid hiding, and hoping that they would never find my hiding spot.

The problem was that the game always came to an end. Always.

I looked at Kyle just after a zombie passed by the front of the house.

“I don’t think it’s gonna be long before they discover us in here,” I whispered.

“I’ve been thinking about that. I think we need a distraction of sorts. Those things love noise, and we have that chainsaw in the back of the house.”

“That thing is pretty loud. We could hear it all the way from the siren,” I agreed.

“The only thing is, those two ass fucking cops are still chained up out back, and I’m sure they have been turned by now.” He motioned toward the back door with his head.

He was right; it was too risky. They would certainly alert the rest of the horde to our presence. The only way out was through the front.

Michael crept up behind us, holding his wounded hand to his shoulder, his good hand protecting his gut.

“I saw a key hook by the garage,” he said in a small voice.

“So?” Kyle scowled, his mind already working on possibilities.

“Well, if there is a spare set of keys for that Porsche out there, maybe we can set off the car alarm again, giving us enough time to make it to the Hummer.”

We didn’t have a chance to reply; a gunshot from across the street grabbed our attention. A man with blue jeans and a trench coat had climbed up into an oak tree. He was hanging over a branch. The gunshot attracted six or seven of the creatures, who were all climbing on top of each other trying to get to their quarry.

The guy had the right idea and was just out of arms reach, except for his coat which hung just a few feet lower than the branch. A zombie that looked like she was dressed in a black and white nun outfit caught hold of the jacket, and pulled him backward. He was able to squeeze off two more rounds before hitting the ground, the vile undead instantly tearing into his flesh.

We all stopped for a moment, exchanging glances.

“So… I think that key idea is worth a look,” Kyle finally said.

Nodding in agreement, the three of us, still crouching, moved quickly through the kitchen, and down the hall to the garage. The hook held three sets of keys.

Kyle cautiously opened the garage door. There were two other vehicles in the three-car garage. Both of them were smaller cars, with what looked like extension cords attached to nearby electrical outlets.

“Fucking hippies,” Kyle spat.

“Yeah, a lot of good an electric car will do us in a world without electricity,” Michael shrugged. Of the three sets, I took the one that had the familiar Porsche emblem on it. When we got back to the front door, we all looked outside, weighing our options. The zombies were still out there, meticulously searching.

“You ready for this?” I whispered, lifting the keychain up so we could all see it. I noticed my hands were sweaty, but took in a deep, steadying breath. Kyle opened his mouth to answer when, in that instant, just before I could push the keychain’s button, the grandfather clock chimed on the hour.

DONG! DONG! The noise was ungodly loud in the silence.

DONG! DONG! DONG!

Michael jerked violently as if shot. I could hardly blame him, nearly having shit my pants as well.

“Are you kidding me?” Kyle screamed over the noise.

Looking outside, it was clear that the zombies could hear it, too. They were all convening on the front porch.

“Hit it!” Michael screamed suddenly.

DONG! DONG! DONG!

I fumbled with it for a second, and then pushed the button to the alarm on the Porsche. Nothing. I smashed it down again. Still nothing.

“We’re not close enough!” I yelled.

Kyle kicked open the front door, and drove his metal weapon down across the closest zombie’s head.

“Come on!” he commanded channeling his inner drill sergeant.

The three of us burst from the house. I was still jamming my finger on the button as I brought my hammer down into the eye of the creature dressed like a nun.

Swinging the metal, Kyle cleared a path for us.

Kyle and I were getting closer and closer to the Porsche, when I realized Michael was not with us. I looked back and could see that he had not left the front porch.

“Come on!” I yelled at him.

He was paralyzed with terror. Two creatures were heading right for him.

“Shit!” I yelled as I pulled the pistol out, targeted the sight right on the first zombie’s head and fired.

“Fuck!” Total miss. I was damn lucky not to hit the man I was trying to save.

Drawn by the noise of the shot, the two creatures turned around, and started toward me.

I leveled the gun again, paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled as I pulled the trigger. Another miss.

“Fuck me!” I howled in sheer frustration.

The movies make it look so easy. The reality is that the head is a pretty small target. Add the complicating factor of moving targets, and you can bet your ass that making it out to the shooting range a few times a year, won’t make you the Rambo of the Zombie Apocalypse.

I holstered the gun, and raised the hammer, my trusty hammer. As Kyle would have said, I’d have to go with hand to hand combat. I finished off the zombies with straining arms.

I took another five steps toward the Porsche, and hit the alarm button with all the strength my thumb could muster.

The most beautiful sound in the world erupted from the middle of the street.

I saw the three dead polishing off what was left of Sophia. They were quickly joined by the accumulating crowd, clearing the front yard just enough for us to navigate toward the safety of the Hummer.

Running over to Michael, Kyle grabbed him by his shirt collar, dragging him along the side of the house. The three of us crawled up into the Hummer, and I hit the ignition. Throwing it into gear as the car seat moved up, and the seat heaters turned on, I accelerated past the pack of zombies crawling all over the Porsche, and sped off down the street. Blowing through the blinking stoplight by the pharmacy, I watched the glow of the neighborhood lampposts through the rearview mirror as we drove away.

Even now, I remember them vividly. They were the last ones that I’d see working.

We spent the night parked on the side of the road near an overpass. It gave us some shelter, yet left us with a three hundred and sixty degree view in case we had need of a hasty escape.

As we hunkered down to catch some sleep, Michael popped a couple more pills and downed them with our diminishing supply of bottled water. I didn’t say anything. After all, he had drawn the shortest straw for the first watch.

We knew we’d have to find more gas and supplies in the morning. It was inevitable.

I was drifting off to sleep, my face turned into the corner between the seat and the locked door, when I could feel a light shine on my face. I opened my eyes to the glow coming from the sky. As the grogginess started to subside, it became clear that something was falling out of orbit.

My initial reaction was that it was a comet of some sort due to its long tail, like you’d see in pictures or the movies. It wasn’t heading straight down so much as it was shooting across the sky.

“It’s a satellite or a space station,” Michael said wearily. “Either way, it’s some sort of manmade space junk.”

“How do you know?” I asked curiously.

“Well, you see how it’s breaking apart, pieces falling all around it? That is the metal burning off. A meteor would be more rounded in the front. There are over twenty thousand pieces of manmade space junk floating around up there. Some bigger than others, obviously.” He was quite knowledgeable about it, telling me about the differences between how comets, meteors, and space debris fell through the atmosphere.

“How do you know about all that?” I asked.

“My son was really into it. We’d go up to our building’s rooftop to watch the stars. Well, watch ‘em as much as we could through all the smog in the city. Hell, with the right telescope you can still see plenty.” Michael paused. “He wanted to see a comet so badly…,” he finally said, drifting off into thought.

He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask, but I knew his son wouldn’t be seeing a comet.

We sat there for a while, watching the glowing projectile. If it was, in fact, a space station, I wondered if there was anybody still alive in there, or in any space station for that matter. Good luck with the resupply.

Looking across the front seat, I saw that Kyle was fast asleep.

I also caught a small movement out of the corner of my eye. The glow from the falling object had lit up a small field with tall grass to our right. There were three zombies out there.

They simply stood there, with faces pointed upward, gazing at the sky. They were completely drawn toward the light.

“Look over there,” I whispered. “With the moon gone, especially after being near full for a number of nights, we may never have known they were out there.”

We watched them from the safety of the Hummer. Each of them rocking in place, trying as hard as their stiff bodies would allow them to look up at the light show.

Following their gaze, I thought back to before Jenn and I had been married. We were out camping with some friends, and she and I had snuck away from the group, lying in the bed of an old rusted pickup truck. A shooting star flew across the night sky. It was the first that I’d ever seen. We kissed for the first time under that spectacle. Her lips were soft as silk, and I remember feeling the warmth of her body against mine. Call it what you like, but I knew right then and there that she would be my wife.

“Looks like it’s landing southeast. The same direction we’re heading.” Michael interrupted my memory.

That observation was a little unsettling to me. Neither of us said anything for a few moments. Drawn toward the light as much as the zombies outside. Michael seemed to feel my discomfort.

“It’s unlikely that we’ll ever see it. It will probably burn to bits in the atmosphere before it ever hits the ground. Probably,” Michael added. I snorted in amused relief.

I woke Kyle then, to let him know that we were moving down the street a ways to find a better place to sleep for the night. He gave a sleepy nod but his attention was on the light. Still mesmerized, the zombies didn’t even budge when we started the car or drove away. I parked in another spot, having used the headlights and alleged falling debris light to scout an area free of zombies.

I fell asleep wondering if Jenn was watching the show from wherever she was.

Chapter 16

You’ve saved my life countless times. You have my word.

The morning hours were spent scavenging other cars on the highway. We tried to stay away from groups of cars, as they proved to be the most dangerous, and likely had crawlers or grabbers.

Crawlers were the dead that crawled across the ground, usually with some sort of physical deformity that would not allow them to walk. Grabbers were what we called the zombies that were still buckled into the cars. They would grab at us when we walked by an open window.

Both would scare the shit out of us, especially because we usually couldn’t see them coming as easily as the ambulatory creatures, who we eventually coined as just plain old Zs, based on what the people back at the neighborhood had called them.

I was on the hunt for some new clothing. I had noticed that morning, aside from my suit being covered in blood and torn, that I was continually pulling up my pants. I had definitely lost weight. A steady diet of snack bars and bottled water will do that to a man, especially one who lives on burgers and fast food.

We had a pretty good routine going around siphoning gas from abandoned cars. Two of us would watch on either side of the car, while one would be on siphon duty. The Hummer took an enormous amount of fuel.

The three of us discussed ditching the Hummer for a car that was more economic. Pros being that we could get further on less gas, meaning that we’d spend less time sitting out in the open siphoning fuel. Cons being that a smaller car would mean less protection from the Zs, and less ability to go off road in a pinch.

We even talked about finding motorcycles. They would clearly be the easiest way to maneuver through all the debris and abandoned cars on the roads. They also used the least amount of gas. In addition, we could hide them much easier than we could hide the giant yellow Hummer we were cruising around in. However, they provided no protection at all.

In the end, we decided that the siphoning stops were worth the extra security and protection. The Hummer had gotten us this far. Besides, at this point, we knew it was reliable. We could easily pick another vehicle, and it could break down on us a few miles down the road.

While we were scavenging, we came across a brown Range Rover. It had already been looted thoroughly.

“Looks like we were not the only ones to come up with this trick,” Kyle said, as we picked through what was left of the SUV.

It had been T-boned by a small Kia, and nearly torn in half. The owner had obviously turned into a Z at some point, but with a bloody gaping hole in his head, we could see that whoever took his shit had made sure he wouldn’t be putting up a fight.

The good news was that I was able to dig through his clothing to find a suitable pair of blue jeans, a new black shirt and a green coat that was clearly made to look like a military jacket. Kyle was quick to point out it was a fake. I didn’t care. At least it provided protection from the elements.

I was also able to pull a new pair of boots from the wreckage. They were still in the box, and close enough to my size. What was ironic, was that there were bunches of boxes strewn around the Range Rover.

Michael looked down at the wreckage and said, “Look at this stuff, a package for a thousand dollar GPS unit, a tag for a fifteen hundred dollar rifle…”

“Sad really. He was prepared with all this stuff. The best in gear, an eighty thousand dollar SUV, but he never got to use it, and it certainly didn’t save him,” I commented.

“Maybe he looted a Wal-Mart or a sporting goods store.”

“Or maybe he was just some rich guy who had the money to buy survival shit, but never learned to use it,” Kyle interjected as he sneered over at Michael.

Eyes connected, they both paused for a few seconds, and then Michael looked away. He clearly didn’t want to get into an argument with Kyle.

“Either way, he’s dead now. You gotta be smart to survive out here. Not rich,” Kyle added.

The conversation ended. One thing was for sure, Kyle clearly didn’t mind letting Michael know that his wealth didn’t mean jack-shit out here.

As I surveyed the area, I made a mental note that the ravaged Rover was actually the first sign of survival on the roads that I’d seen. Sure, there had been those holed up in houses like at Sofia’s. This was the first real proof that other living people had the same idea that we did. As we moved further along, we began seeing dead Zs, really dead, on the side of the road. Each of them had punctures or bullet holes in their heads.

Whoever these survivors were, they were heading in the same direction as us. We were just fine leaving them to clear the path.

In the afternoon, we made great progress toward West Virginia. Although we had to backtrack a few times to dodge large swarms of zombies or roads that were completely blocked, we actually made it out of New Jersey. We passed through a small sliver of Maryland before we came to the Virginia state line.

We slowed down to a crawl, rolling closer to a blue sign with a red bird on it that said “Welcome to Virginia.” As we got closer, we could see that someone had used red spray paint to add a single word: “AVALON.”

Kyle looked back at Michael, the scowl deepening.

“How did you learn about Avalon?” he asked in an odd tone of voice.

“What do you mean?” Michael responded being put on the defense.

“Well, it seems strange that we heard about this magical haven called Avalon from you, a self-proclaimed rich guy who crash lands his helicopter in our lap. Then the following day, we hear the same thing from a psychotic marauder who’s got a thing for cutting off people’s fingers. Now we’re seeing it spray painted here across this sign.”

Michael lifted his head, and moved uneasily, shifting his eyes from one side to the other.

“I mean, seriously,” Kyle went on, “as I sit here, I’m wondering how the hell a place like this just popped up out of nowhere. How is it that everybody we have come across knows about it except for us?” He wiggled his thumb between him and me.

The thought had crossed my mind as well. Kyle was just acting on the question. I found myself twisting my wedding ring.

Michael hesitated. There was an uneasy tension in the car.

“This isn’t the kind of place you get a brochure from,” Michael started slowly.

Kyle didn’t flinch, remaining silent. His expression remained guarded though his eyes shot daggers at the man.

“You know, it’s the kind of place you have to be referred to, and hear about through a friend of a friend… through the grapevine, if you will,” Michael explained patiently.

“But how does everybody know about it?”

“How does news travel in the apocalypse? I’m assuming word of mouth. A few people with tickets are trying to get there. They tell a few people, and then they tell a few people and so on. It’s got to be the only thing people are talking about when they run into trouble. Where can I go where it’s safe?”

Now I joined in on the conversation.

“So how do you know it really exists? How do you know we can get in?”

“You’re going to have to trust me,” Michael said firmly. “I have connections, and these are connections I trust. Avalon is real. I also have enough money to get you and your friends and family in. This may be the end of the world, but green is still green. I have a lot of green. Right now, I have four tickets. I had to buy those right off the bat for my two pilots and assistant.”

Michael padded his left hand on his metal case as he said this, giving us some clue as to what he carried in the confines of his guarded treasure.

He continued, “Listen, I get it, I know. You each have your places to get to. I respect that, and I want to see you get there. I’m asking you, help me get to Avalon. In turn, I’ll help you get to where you need to go. We’ve been through some radical stuff together. You’ve saved my life countless times. You have my word.”

It was quiet for a brief time. Kyle and I didn’t discuss it, but I could tell that he was pondering it just as much as I was.

“So how do we get there now?” Kyle broke the silence as I kept the Hummer creeping along.

Michael pulled up the metal briefcase from the floorboard with a grunt, and set it on his lap. Making sure that neither of us could see inside, he flipped the numeric combination locks in place. He opened it just enough so that he could fit his hand inside. He pulled a small piece of paper out and looked down at it.

Looking up, he said, “We need to get our hands on a GPS device that still has charge. I was passed this set of coordinates when I closed on the deal.”

The paper had these coordinates typed on it:

37°47′38″N 80°18′13″W

“No problem.” Kyle shrugged, as he pointed at the NAV unit built into the Hummer. The in-dash system had a coordinate input, and was much more accurate than some piece of hand held crap that we might find while scavenging.

He reached out, and with some reluctance, Michael handed him the paper. Turning back around, Kyle looked down at the NAV, inputting the coordinates. I glanced at it as a small circle spun in the middle of the screen, while the directions were calculated.

I could hear Michael closing the metal case shut, and rearranging the number dials to lock it up tight. “Route: 87 miles” popped up on the screen, along with a digital arrow pointing us forward on the road we were traveling on.

“Eighty seven miles,” Kyle said. “We’ll know soon enough if this place is real or not.”

“It’s real. We just need to get there,” Michael replied sternly.

Chapter 17

That man is dead to me…

The further in to Virginia we went, the more we saw abandoned military vehicles. Some had crashed and others were merely left in the middle of the road, not unlike the many civilian vehicles we had come across.

All simple reminders that we had lost this war against the undead before it even started. Mankind had no chance. Whoever or whatever cooked up this thing, was either an evil genius or a fucking moron. Either way, it was looking as if it was going to be the end of us.

Just as we passed a large, green army supply truck, Kyle asked me to stop. He told me that he had an idea. Making sure that there were not any zombies too close by, I hit the brakes. He had the door open, and was climbing out before we came to a complete stop.

Michael and I watched as he darted to the truck, flipped open a green tarp door at the rear of the vehicle and jumped in. We lost our visual on him for a moment, but the shocks of the truck rocked back and forth, as he moved around.

A minute later, he hopped out with a belt around his shoulder and two large boxes under his arms. He returned to the Hummer with his loot, and climbed back in, the belt still over his shoulder.

He looked at me with a big smile.

“Ammo,” he exclaimed, as he held up the belt. It contained multiple red shotgun shells. He had grabbed bullets for the two handguns as well. We now had more than we knew what to do with.

As we made our way further down the road, we noticed that more and more of the zombies were wearing various kinds of military camouflage. It became clear that there was a battle somewhere nearby that we probably didn’t win.

One of the military Zs was stumbling alongside the road as we drove by. We watched as he walked up to an American flag, which was plastered on some redneck’s pickup truck, raised his half gnawed off hand up to his forehead and gave it a formal salute.

A somber feeling entered the back of my mind. The salute was a simple reminder that these things were human once. I glanced over at Kyle expecting him to show some sort of emotion by the gesture. I was surprised to see him role his eyes, shifting his gaze out to the other window. In the end, I guess as far as he was concerned, they were the enemy. No more, no less.

Hell, how could we go on unless we believed that? Far be it from us even to consider the possibility that there was some sort of cure. That there was some sort of way that they could come back. We had to push that thought out of our heads. I don’t think we would have made it this far if we let that sneak into out subconscious. We needed to believe that they were no longer human. No longer one of us.

From time to time, one of the Zs would be fast enough to run up to the Hummer, but luckily; we were too high for them to do any damage. Most of the time, we just felt a thump thump as we ran over it with one of the oversized tires. It was a time like this that reassured us that we’d made the right choice in keeping the Hummer, despite its lack of camouflage.

As long as we kept moving, we seemed to be okay.

There were sandbags laid out, and the road was black with various bloody and rotting body parts. Arms, legs, torsos… none of it reanimated because the pieces were not attached to a head. Even through the rancid smell of decaying flesh, there was a hint of the metallic weaponry and acrid remnants of gunpowder left lingering in the air.

The insects had found the body parts, and maggots covered the larger chunks of meat lying lifeless on the ground. I glanced up to the sky, expecting to see buzzards or some other sort of winged predator picking away at the remains, but was surprised to see none. Even the birds seemed smart enough to stay away from this shit.

The Zs were thicker here, and beginning to convene around the Hummer in greater numbers. If we got stuck on anything, we’d have been in a world of trouble. I glanced at a military grade Hummer off to my right, feeling my stomach churn rather abruptly, my blood went cold. I could see that it had flipped on its side. The glass was torn through, and blood covered the seats on the inside of it.

That could have been us, I thought. If the zombies could demolish a military grade vehicle, think of what it could do to our civilian grade. My hands began to shake involuntarily, causing me to squeeze the steering wheel with an iron grip. I decided that we needed to get the hell out of there, and accelerated a bit, knocking through the swarm of Zs in our way. It was a bumpy drive, despite good shocks, as the tires moved up and down popping open skulls and squishing through the dead in our path. We finally pushed through the other side of the swarm.

I had to drive on the side of the road. It looked like the military had dropped everything it had on it. From mortars to missiles, there were holes that would have been deep enough to be a death trap for the Hummer if we accidentally drove into one. It would have ripped apart the undercarriage just as easily as those zombies ripped apart living flesh.

As we passed a few of them, I shifted my body up, and could see creatures stuck in the holes, unable to crawl out. One of them had clearly scratched away the flesh from his hands by repeatedly trying to pull itself out. Stubbs of bone protruded from what was left of the ragged green shirtsleeves.

Most of the trees and grass in the area were either burnt to a pile of ash or blackened from fire and smoke. Along with the bombs, the military must have tried flamethrowers on these things as well.

Everything around us was still hot. There was smoke burning up from the ash, and I wondered if the Hummers tires were capable of passing through the extreme temperatures. I shuddered at the thought of finding out that they couldn’t.

We weren’t sure if the military’s efforts worked on killing the undead, but it sure helped to clear the side of the road; making it easier for me to get the Hummer by. Even with super-sized seats and extra cushion, my ass was starting to hurt from all the bouncing up and down. I sighed with relief as we finally made it past the war zone.

And just like that, we were once again on the road, surrounded with green trees and grass. I released a deep breath that was caught in my lungs, and felt my hands unclench the steering wheel. I could hear Michael, from behind me, let out a sigh of relief as well.

The further south we headed, the less densely populated the landscape became. Gone were skyscrapers and large buildings, now replaced by rolling mountains covered with trees, fields, and suburban neighborhoods.

The real mind-fuck about the “Burbs” was the kids. I didn’t remember seeing any children back in the city or even in Jersey. Now, the Zs seemed to have more teenagers and toddlers joining their ranks.

To this day, it might be the most horrifying thing of this shit-storm we’re calling a world now. It’s simply awful to see the innocence of a child replaced by the raw violence and primal desire for flesh. I’m happy to say that I’d been able to avoid coming across one face to face; where I’d have to make the decision between myself or them.

An hour or so later, we were traveling down the state line between Virginia and West Virginia, right through the George Washington State park. It seemed to span the length of the state.

During the course of the trip, we repeatedly tried tuning on the radio in the Hummer to find any sort of news report. We just needed to get some sense for what was really happening. There were so many unanswered questions about what started this and how it spread so quickly.

What was once filled with music was now mostly dead air or ringing emergency alerts. However, there were a few public announcements we came across, driving people towards school gyms or other adhoc safety shelters. All of the announcements we heard were on recorded loops, and we ultimately decided that we couldn’t trust them. If the Zs could knock through our military like we saw earlier, there was nothing stopping them from the gourmet, all they could eat buffet, of the wounded and sick being packed into those places.

Farther down the road, Kyle eventually suggested pulling over to take a piss.

With no zombies in sight, I seconded that motion and pulled off on the side of the road. There was a field surrounded by barbed wire. The grass and weeds were still low enough that adult zombies wouldn’t be able to hide.

The three of us did our business, but then Kyle headed to the back of the Hummer.  He emerged with a box of ammo, and looked directly at me.

“I saw how great a shot you were back in the neighborhood with that group of crazies,” he said sarcastically with a grin. “If we’re going to have each other’s backs, you gotta learn how to aim properly.”

“What about the noise?” Michael asked nervously. “We’ll draw in the creatures.”

“Look around,” Kyle said, “we’re alone out here.”

Michael slowly spun around, looked back at Kyle and nodded his head.

Kyle looked over at me for approval, which I gave. He then ran over to the fence with an armful of empty water bottles that had been piling up in the back seat with Michael. He placed them on the wooden fence posts.

He asked for the firearm that I had around my hips and then walked me through some basics, including steadying my breathing, where to place my feet, and holding the weapon with both hands.

Within a short time, I was nailing eight out of ten bottles.

In the middle of practicing, I lowered the weapon, making sure to keep my finger away from the trigger and looked at Kyle.

“Why did you leave the military?” I asked curiously. “You seem to be really good at this stuff and you obviously cared about your friends.”

Kyle took a deep breath, as I passed the weapon to him. He thought for a minute while pulling off another couple of rounds. We had become close over the past few days, and I could tell that he was going to let me in on a story that he probably didn’t spend much time talking about.

He gazed out over the field, then back at Michael, who was sitting in the shade of the Hummer, to make sure he was out of earshot.

“My military career was going fine. It didn’t have anything to do with that.” He kicked the toe of his boot against the ground, heaving a sigh.

I didn’t respond, deciding to keep quiet while he continued.

“My mom was diagnosed with cancer. Despite the odds, she was a fighter and went through chemo.” He spoke slowly while he stared out into the grass blowing in the field.

“You wouldn’t know it by my highly refined fucking manners, but my dad had money.” There was venom in his voice when he mentioned his father.

“They say that the therapy is worse than the disease. At first, she just had some nausea, but it soon turned into being bedridden, and she needed fulltime care. My Dad was too busy with his work; too busy to take care of his wife. He dropped her into some fucking home where they put people who are terminal. A resting place for the near dead or dying.

When I found out, I called him from the godforsaken desert I was stationed in and confronted him about it. He told me that he had her in the best facility money could buy.

I pleaded with him, that she wasn’t getting better, and what she needed more than anything was him to be there by her side. I told him money wouldn’t fix it this time…” Kyle trailed off, lifting his gun once again, squeezing off another couple of shots at the bottles.

This was painful for him to talk about. He clearly resented his father, and I could see that this was the root of his anger toward Michael, being a wealthy businessman who was used to buying his way out of trouble.

“Anyway, the bastard never went to see her again. He threw her in that expensive home, decided that she was already dead and took off to live his life. When I tried to head home, the Army wouldn’t give me enough leave, so I had to apply for a hardship discharge to go take care of her.” He crossed his arms, holding the firearm sideways across his shoulder. I didn’t see a tear in his eye, but his face was full of pain.

“I was there by her side every minute, but in the end, cancer is a really nasty fucker… and this was the kind people didn’t get better from.”

I had lost my parents in a car accident when I was a child. I knew the pain he spoke of. There is nothing worse in this world than losing your family.

“The bastard threw more money at us for the funeral, but then didn’t even show up.” He lifted the empty firearm, let the clip loose, and began reloading. “I took the cash he sent and forwarded it the American Cancer Society. If the bastard wasn’t going to help my mother, at least the money would go toward helping someone else get better someday.”

We sat in silence for another moment as Kyle continued to load the gun. Each bullet fell into place with a click.

“So, have you seen him since? Do you keep in contact?” I finally asked.

Snapping the clip into the gun, he looked out toward the remaining six water bottles and pulled the trigger six succinct times, not missing one of them. Handing the weapon to me, he simply said, “That man is dead to me…”

Thinking through his anger, I understood it. What kind of bastard would leave his wife to die? The thought drew my mind to Jenn. Dropping my shoulders, and looking out toward the field, I realized that when I flew to New York for business, I had basically done the same thing.

Chapter 18

White Sulfur Springs, Home of The Greenbrier Hotel.

We spent another thirty minutes or so refining my firearm skills. I’m not going to say that I am a gunslinger now, however, I hit my fair share of bottles that day, and the practice would come in handy sooner than I ever expected.

Despite the terrors of the past week, I woke up the following morning with a strange feeling. I was beginning to realize that I was better at fighting the undead than I ever was at fighting the horrors of corporate America.

The way I figured, at least I knew what the Zs wanted. They were clear about their intentions. The corporate world that I left behind, along with the rest of civilization, was riddled with bullshit, hidden agendas, and red tape.

I was losing weight, feeling better than I had in a while, and most importantly, I was still alive. The feeling was short-lived, however. Jenn and my child popped into my mind. We needed to keep moving. We needed to get to Avalon.

Even I believed, or at least was really hoping that Avalon was real at this point. I had allowed what started as a reluctant agreement to let Michael come along, to transform into an eager anticipation that we’d be okay at the end. Even then, I realized it was because I didn’t know where else we’d head after I found Jenn. I didn’t have any sort of backup plan, and I didn’t see anything jumping out in front of us, except for bloodthirsty zombies. The only thing I could focus on was getting to Avalon, and I was betting big that if it were in fact real, they would let us in with open arms. It was a hell of a wager.

We were just twenty miles or so from Michael’s coordinates. According to the map, they were right smack dab in the middle of a small town named, White Sulfur Springs.

The name sounded familiar to me. I kept feeling like I heard about it on the History or Discovery channel. The thought was eating away at me during the drive. It was something I’d heard of. I simply couldn’t quite place it, and I found myself agitated at my inability to think straight. Lack of sleep and stress was really starting to pay its toll.

The twenty mile trek was relatively uneventful. We saw some Zs, but they were spread out, and of no real consequence to us. I don’t think it would have mattered any way. The three of us were quiet, caught up in our thoughts about our journey thus far, and what Avalon may have, or would bring us.

As we pulled into the town, we passed a welcome sign that read, “White Sulfur Springs Founded in 1900,” in green letters. Once again, AVALON was spray painted on the sign in red paint.

We were there.

“Looks like something may actually be out here,” Kyle reluctantly said, glancing back toward Michael after seeing the sign. He shifted a little higher in his seat, and was looking around the town trying to catch a glimpse of some other indication that we were in the right place. I could tell that even Kyle was sold on the prospect of finding Avalon.

I maneuvered the Hummer through the small town. We passed a pizza joint called Godfather’s Pizza, which had its front window smashed in. We also drove past a hotel called The Village Inn, which was almost burnt to the ground. The sign was the only thing unscathed by the fire, standing up above the building giving the illusion that a person could still stop in and get a good nights rest.

There was a billboard that said, “White Sulfur Springs, Home of The Greenbrier Hotel.”

“The Greenbrier Hotel, that’s where we’re heading,” Michael spoke from the back seat.

Kyle gave me a look I couldn’t decipher, but I guided the Hummer down the street to the far side of town. Calling this place a hotel would be an understatement. It looked more like the White House. It was giant, and completely out of place in the quaint town, much like our bright yellow Hummer. At least the size of a few football fields, the white hotel was lavishly landscaped, and beautifully built. It was clear that this was someplace special for someone.

“Something’s strange here,” Kyle murmured staring out the window. “We’re driving through a town, and there isn’t a single Z.”

“It reminds me of that rich neighborhood Sophia lived in,” I replied and cautiously continued up the drive toward the entrance.

As I braked, I made the comment that the hotel looked abandoned. There was nobody greeting us, or even milling around; the front door was smashed in, and actually had what looked like a hand smear of blood running down the front of it.

Kyle looked back at Michael “Okay, now what?” It sounded like a challenge.

Michael shifted in the back seat, looking out through the side window of the Hummer.

“I’m not sure,” he replied, with a tone of frustration at the repeated questioning. “This is supposed to be it. The instructions I received told me to head to the Greenbrier Hotel, and we’d be escorted to the facility.”

I parked in the roundabout that looped under an awning in front of the half-rectangular front of the building. Kyle opened his door, as did I, and we stepped out of the Hummer.

“Do you hear that?” Kyle asked me.

I paused, and tilted my ear up. Just barely audible over the dull roar of the Hummer’s engine, was what sounded like the beeping one would hear when a garbage truck backs up. It was followed by some ever so light dings in the distance.

“I do. Where is it coming from?”

Michael joined us, saying, “It sounds like construction.”

“You’re right. Those are hammers dinging, and bulldozers moving around,” Kyle agreed.

“I think it might be coming from behind the hotel.”

We were so focused on the background noise that our guard was down. Too down. Kyle was the first to notice them. There were five zombies advancing on the Hummer. They were coming up on the driver’s side, my side, and on top of me before I had a chance to react.

“Look out!” I heard Kyle scream. I had two of them pulling me to the ground when in an instant, each of their skulls exploded in a red spray, followed by the other three. All five of them fell lifeless to the ground.

I sat there completely stunned. I had no idea what had just happened.

Kyle instinctively dropped to the ground, but Michael just stood there looking around.

“Rooftop,” Kyle whispered as he crawled under the Hummer. There were four faceless men with helmets and some sort of black plastic looking body armor looking down at us.

“They have silencers.” No wonder I didn’t hear anything. I noticed them too, but only because they all appeared to be aimed at my head.

“Don’t move. Don’t run. Do you have a ticket?” one yelled down to us in an almost monotone voice.

Michael, his feet still rooted to the ground pulled out a batch of paper, which he waved in the air.

“Yes! We have tickets! Please tell me this is Avalon!”

The armored men lowered their weapons, and three more emerged from the front door of the hotel.

One of them walked over with an outreached arm, asking to see Michael’s tickets. The trooper reviewed them, then stepped back to make a call via his built-in helmet intercom. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I assumed he was checking on the validity of the ticket. Finally, he strutted back towards Michael.

“Welcome to Avalon, Mr. Hoskins.”

Michael stood a little taller for a moment, saying, “Thank you.”

In that same moment, I was surrounded by the other two, who were screaming at me.

“Were you bit? Were YOU BIT?” one of them demanded. Still reeling from the incident, I didn’t say anything. Kyle came to my rescue.

“If he was bit he’d be coming after you by now.”

“Nobody asked you. Keep quiet!” was the response.

I looked up at that one, mumbling, “I’m okay. No bites. Let’s just get inside.”

“He’s covered in blood, but it looks like it’s from the creatures we just took down.”

Another replied, “Let’s put him through the chamber.” We’ll know soon enough.

He ordered me to step away from the Hummer, and to fall in line with my friends. We were marched up the steps of the hotel. Kyle turned back as one of the troopers got into the Hummer. He drove it around the backside of the building.

“Are we going to get that back?” asked Kyle.

“It’s yours. We’re just parking it,” a trooper responded, while glancing at his remaining buddy.

I remember thinking that he had a smirk under that damn facemask of his.

Chapter 19

Just follow instructions, and everything will be okay at the other end…

We were led, at gunpoint, inside. As we stepped into the lobby, the fresh smell of death flooded my senses. A wall by the concierge stand was charred black and glass lay melted on the ground where someone had clearly thrown some sort of homemade Molotov cocktail bomb. Also, a large chandelier had fallen in the middle of the room, shattering atop a creature that was still pinned under the weight of the fixture. Inanimate, its head was bleeding out all over the carpet from what looked like a large caliber gunshot.

We were then directed out the back past a few Olympic sized swimming pools, one of which was tinted with dark, red, blood. I winced when I realized that there was a creature slowly wading around at the bottom of the deep end. One of the troopers saw my facial expression, and said, “Thing fell in there. We haven’t had a chance to pull it out yet.” I wasn’t sure why they wouldn’t just put the thing out of its misery.

The hotel had two wings in the back of the main hotel. Right away, it was obvious that this was the construction that we had heard. There was a chain link fence surrounding the wing on the left. It was reinforced by a series of approximately twelve-foot concrete slabs, used as a perimeter. It was heavily guarded by a bunch more of the armored men, who were now starting to remind me of Storm Troopers from Star Wars, only in black.

The people working on the wall were made up of both men and women. Most of them looked pretty rough, and none of them were exactly smiling.

They were manually pulling up those large concrete slabs with a rope-made pulley system, and their clothing was worn and ragged. I remember thinking that they reminded me of what the Hebrews must have looked like in Egypt as they built the Pyramids. It wasn’t clear if the armored guards were protecting the men and women, or driving them to keep working.

We walked around the side of the building to what one of the armored men called, West Entrance. Passing through a double barbed wire twelve-foot high fence, we came to the door leading to an underground passage. It was a blast door, designed to withstand a nuclear attack. Two foot thick, reinforced metal that sat on two massive hinges.

I suddenly remembered where I had heard of the Greenbrier. My Economics professor in college forced the class to subscribe to the Wall Street Journal. The old bastard would actually pop quiz us to make sure that we’d read it, and were up to date on current events.

I recalled reading a huge spread, about the Greenbrier that we were actually quizzed on. As it turned out, the Greenbrier Hotel was a luxurious hotel where all the celebrities would visit. It was also the home of an underground, government funded fallout shelter created in secrecy during the cold war by Eisenhower.

The Wall Street Journal reporter blew the secret wide open in the nineties. At that time, I couldn’t believe that the government was able to build such a big facility without anybody knowing about it.

Its general function was to be the home for the Senate and the House of Representatives should there ever be a nuclear strike. I couldn’t remember much past that, except that it was supposed to be huge. Since it wasn’t a secret anymore, the government basically abandoned it and the town had it open for tourism these days.

There were more guards, also dressed in black Storm Trooper outfits. They radioed through their helmet com-links announcing that we were coming in. I heard them make the request to prep the “chamber.” I didn’t know what the hell the “chamber” was, and was feeling on edge as we continued along.

“What is this place?” Kyle asked.

I started to answer, but one of our friendly Troopers growled, “No talking. All your questions will be answered after you pass the test.”

Test? I thought. What test? We’d been tested enough since this thing started.

The guards led us down a long passage that was pointed deep into the mountain on which the hotel sat. At the opposite end, there was a hallway where they stopped, though they ordered us to keep going. Peering down the narrow hallway, it was dimly lit and I hesitated before walking forward.

“Just follow instructions, and everything will be okay at the other end,” the leader said. I didn’t find him very reassuring.

The three of us entered the hallway, hesitantly, uncertain as to what we were dealing with. The door shut behind us with a reverberating thud, sealing us in the narrow corridor with tile running up the walls.

“Take off your clothes; put your hands up against the wall to your right,” the demand came over a speaker.

“What the hell is this? I paid a lot of money for this place. Why are we being treated like animals?” Michael bellowed suddenly.

No answer.

The three of us stood there for a few moments looking at each other, wondering just what the hell we got ourselves into.

“Guess we should get this over with. I think they want to make sure we’ve not been bitten,” Kyle said, taking a deep breath.

As one, we did as instructed. Once our arms were on the wall, a black light turned on. It exposed all the blood and gunk that was on our face, arms and hands, whatever was exposed to the creatures’ blood. I remember feeling disgusted by the revelation that I had so much of that crap all over my body.

“Turn,” the voice boomed over the speaker.

We all cautiously turned around.

It was as if we were being moved around like cattle. None of us had any say in what was happening, and despite my anxiousness to get through this, I was beginning to feel a little pissed at the constant demands.

A high pitched screech came from the walls. I had just a moment to look at Kyle, but before I could ask what the hell it was, a burst of cold water shot from both sides of us.

I flinched back, instinctively taking a huge breath into my lungs as if I was getting ready to be submerged. The cold felt like a million needle pricks across my body.

“Warm water cleans better than cold!” Michael shouted. “You hear me? What is this shit?”

I noticed Kyle wasn’t even phased by the water. He had a bar of soap, and was washing away the filth from his arms and hair. Michael and I decided to fight through the coldness and do the same.

When it stopped, the voice commanded, “Move forward. Step through the door. You’ve passed.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if we had not.

Still grumbling about the abrupt cold shower, we moved through the door to find a beautifully furnished locker room. It had mahogany cabinets, expensive soaps, most importantly, towels, and fresh clothing. We dried off, and each picked out a white jump suit that seemed to be one size fits all.

As I put it on, I explained to Kyle and Michael what I thought the place was, based on the Wall Street Journal article.

We sat there for several minutes before a door on the far side of the room opened. A man dressed in a suit and tie stepped through the door. He was an older gentleman with a friendly smile and a trusting face. The perfect person for the job, I thought uneasily.

He introduced himself as Jarvis, and explained that his role was to help ensure our smooth assimilation into Avalon.

“What is this place?” Kyle asked, trying to confirm my earlier thoughts. Jarvis explained what I had, but elaborated in much better detail.

He explained that the Greenbrier bunker, originally called Project Greek Island, was two football fields stacked on top of each other in size, contained one thousand beds, a cafeteria and a working hospital. It had months’ worth of food, water and other provisions, a self-sustaining nuclear power cell and a TV studio that would rival NBC.

It was true that it was no longer in working order, as far as the public was concerned, but a private entity had purchased it in 2000, and had been keeping it up for a profit, in case of catastrophe; it is what Michael had been paying for all these years.

Michael was absently nodding in agreement.

Jarvis asked if we’d like a tour, taking us on a walk around the facility. It was indeed massive. He went on to explain that the government got away with building it in secrecy by what he called, “hiding it in plain sight.” Eisenhower had paid for the second wing of the hotel to be built directly above the bunker, so that they could build without raising suspicion.

Jarvis showed us the cafeteria, where we all grabbed some canned fruit and dried beef jerky. Even though it was dry, and had probably been sitting there for months, it was the first meat source of protein I’d eaten in days, and I relished in each bite.

He then took us by the Communications studio, which he explained was connected to a one hundred foot tower on a hilltop five miles away. The whole thing was designed to allow communication with what was left of the population after a nuclear strike.

Funny thing about that, I thought. Who the hell would be left to communicate with, radioactive mutants?

I noticed that every hallway had a digital LED clock blinking the time in red. Jarvis saw me glancing at it.

“They are to keep people oriented to night and day. It gets confusing living underground.”

My thoughts momentarily carried me to the Morlocks from H.G. Wells, “Time Machine.”

As we began heading toward what Jarvis explained was the sleeping quarters, he said,

“The three of you can share a room. There are three beds per an Elite Suite, which is the ticket you have. You should be a hell of a lot more cozy in there than with the general commoner population.” He winked and smiled at Michael as he spoke. Michael nodded back.

Kyle and I were just taking it in. Jarvis turned to face Michael directly, adding,

“Gordon sends his apologies, but he has urgent business at the moment. He’ll meet all three of you for dinner in the great hall.”

“No problem,” Michael said casually. “I know he’s a busy guy. Tell him to take his time.”

I felt lost. I wanted to know just what the hell was going on. Filled with questions, I finally asked, “What is with everybody knowing about this place? It’s big, but you’re clearly not giving away tickets.” I could hear the tension in my own voice, and made an effort to correct it with the gesture of a smile. If my life was to be trusted to these people, I needed to know what I was dealing with.

Jarvis paused, smiled, and stated that the organization needed skilled labor. Most of the Elite clientele did not have the desire or skills to raise exterior walls, guard the city, or keep the facility running.

“Besides,” he continued amiably, “we all need a little pampering. We’re working toward acquiring some of the more creature comfort services like massage therapists and personal assistants.”

“Gordon and the other private owners spread the word in the initial days of the outbreak via Youtube, twitter, and a bunch of other social networks, that Avalon would provide safety, which we do, as long as you work and obey the rules.”

“Rules?” Kyle asked cocking his head up.

“Yes, rules. I almost forgot…” Jarvis became more serious. “We have three no-exception rules here at Avalon. One, no commoner will ever strike, hurt, maim or kill an Elite customer. Penalty is the Arena. Two, no commoner will ever be allowed a free ride. You must work to be able to stay. Penalty of non-compliance is the Arena. And three, inability to pay for Elite rates, makes you a commoner. Of course, the three of you know this already. You read the agreement before you signed and paid.”

Michael smiled and said, “Of course.”

With that, Jarvis stopped in front of a metal door. With a genial smile, he, cheerfully said, “This is your new home.”

Michael thanked him, and then the three of us stepped into the room. Jarvis bid us good day, with the reminder that he’d be back shortly to escort us to dinner in the great hall.

Once the door closed, Kyle and I glared at Michael. “Who is Gordon, and what the hell is the Arena?”

Chapter 20

Has anybody explained the Arena to you?

Michael didn’t answer at first. His gaze was drawn into the room that we would now be calling home, even if it was just for a short time.

I didn’t know what to expect. I think we all would have been happy with a few bunk beds and a closet where we could hang our respective white jump suits.

This room was a palace, filled with three beds, a large TV stand, which held a much larger than needed TV, and a closet that I think probably could have held another two or three people.

All I owned at that moment was the silly white jump suit.

One of the walls contained a mirror; another had what looked like expensive wall art that featured various trees, oceans and lakes.

We looked around in uncertainty, wondering what our next move would be.

I walked over and hit the power button to the TV. It flickered for a moment, and then the flat screen turned on. The scene was broadcast to look like a window, facing out towards a lake with birds flying by from time to time. It was some sort of continuous loop made to make you feel like you could see out into the wild. So much for the television.

Kyle walked over to the couch opposite the TV and flopped heavily onto it. Lifting his feet up on a mahogany coffee table, he exclaimed,

“This is livin’.” A big smile lit up his face as he pulled his arms up and placed his hands on the back of his head. Michael and I chuckled.

“What is that?” Kyle asked, pointing past his raised feet. Sitting on the table was a basket. It was filled with canned fruits and meats and had what looked like a letter sitting next to it.

Michael reached down and grabbed it. Picking off a wax seal, which had the letter “A” pressed into it, he pulled a piece of paper from the envelope. It read:

Hey, Bud, hope you like the new digs. I know how much you like the outdoors. We didn’t spare any expense in furnishing the place to help ease the assimilation. The TV is the biggest in the place! Our most loyal friends get the best of everything. Don’t forget to look in the dresser. Welcome to Avalon. Let’s catch up at dinner. - Gordon

Kyle stood up and went to the dresser. Sitting in the first drawer were our once blood covered, filthy clothes. They had been completely cleaned and pressed. Michael’s shirt, with the hole in it from the helicopter accident, had been thrown away and replaced by one that looked similar, only more expensive.

“The Troopers outside are assholes, but once you get in here, this place is quite nice,” Michael said as if apologizing for the intrusion.

“So, how do you know Gordon?” I asked, eyeing the television again.

“I’ve never actually met him.” Michael’s voice was quiet.

“How the hell does he know so much about you?” Kyle perked up.

“I have no idea.” Michael frowned worriedly. “I think he is the owner of the place. I know that it’s his name on all the paperwork I had to fill out. I just don’t know how he would know me. I have never seen the guy.”

“What is the Arena?” I demanded more strongly.

“I actually have no clue about that, either. At the moment, you know as much as I do. I’ve just been paying into a “save my ass in case of emergency” fund for years. This is what I get out of it. We’ll have to find out at dinner.”

“The Arena sounds like some medieval shit,” Kyle said. His voice, though guarded, held a touch of excitement. I couldn’t quite share the same feeling.

“Agreed, and what’s with the rules? I like to pretend that I’m one of the “Elite” and all, but let’s face it, without your ticket, I’m might as well be out there working on the wall.”

“I’m learning as you are,” Michael soothed. It wasn’t helping.

“How long is the ticket good for?” Kyle added.

“I think it’s good forever,” Michael replied.

“Think? Think? Think seems like you don’t know,” Kyle challenged.

“Listen, I’ll talk to Gordon, and figure everything out.” Michael played a little defense. “Remember: trust me. I’ve gotten us this far. Could be a hell of a lot worse.” He pointed around the room. “I’m going to bring up getting some resources to help you find your family and friends. Hang in there.”

We did. We hung in there for a few hours. There wasn’t much else to do. We changed out of the silly white outfits, and into our own clean clothes.

Sitting on the dresser were a number of books. Not a library by any means, but around ten to fifteen different novels. There were a few suspense stories, a love story or two, but the most ironic of all was a novel called, “Return of the Living Dead.” It was a novel based on the classic zombie movie from the 1980’s.

I was starting to get sick of the same little, brown bird flying across the TV screen when we heard a knock at the door.

Michael laid down the love story he was reading, got up from his bed, and walked to the door. He looked back at the two of us with an unmistakable look of concern, which at the time I didn’t understand, and then turned to open the door, greeting Jarvis.

“Hello, gentlemen.”

We all nodded towards him.

“It’s time for dinner. Follow me, please. Gordon is eager to meet the three of you.” We followed him into the long hallway. The lights had a green tint, leaving everybody looking a shade sicker than they actually were. In any other circumstance, I might have found that funny.

We continued around the corner, past the Communications room, and up to a large metal door. It had a large circle doorknob. You had to turn it with both hands to open, and Jarvis actually asked for assistance from Kyle. I would have laughed at that, too, but I was too on edge.

As the door cracked forward, we started to hear laughter and chatter. When it was fully open, we could see roughly seventy people sitting at a table in a large open room.

The circular table was gigantic, catching my attention. There were servants bringing food to the people whom were already seated.

With all the food in the room, I expected to be overwhelmed by the smells. However, canned foods don’t have the same kinds of smells as home cooked foods. This whole place ran on canned or dried foods. I was already getting tired of it.

As soon as we were noticed, the room went quiet. Jarvis led us to three open spots on the far side of the table on the opposite side of the room.

I was reminded of a time when I was in college, before I met Jenn. I left a girl’s dorm room after a one night stand early one morning and had to pass about twenty girls eating breakfast. They all stopped and looked at me the same way. Accusing eyes.

Michael was playing it cool. He nodded his head, acted like he belonged. Little did we know what was about to unfold.

Jarvis motioned for us to step towards the chairs. I couldn’t place it at the time, but I noticed that he didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of this group. They didn’t make eye contact with him, or even acknowledge that he was there.

Each of us got to our chairs, pulled them out and stood there, feeling like idiots. A taller guy sitting next to where Michael was standing, who to my surprise was dressed in a turtleneck, jeans and a blazer, spoke.

“Have a seat, gentlemen.”

As one, we sat down.

The man with the turtleneck, who appeared to be in his forties with prematurely grey hair and two to three day stubble, motioned with his hand.

“Welcome to Avalon. This is the Round Table.”

Michael made eye contact, and replied, “Thank you. I’m assuming you’re, Gordon?”

“Why yes, of course, I’m Gordon.” He paused. “You must be, Michael.”

“Yes. It’s great to finally meet you,” Michael replied. He looked as if he should shake hands but was uncertain if that was proper. Gordon smiled, looking Michael up and down.

Kyle and I sat there watching. There was something uncomfortable about the conversation.

“You’re late, one of the last to arrive. We started to think the worst,” Gordon said.

“Yes, well, my helicopter went down. These two pulled me from the wreckage and saved my life.” He nodded towards Kyle and me. Gordon leaned forward, looking around Michael at us, and then sat back.

“Looks like you’re a lucky man, Michael,” he said. “Not too many heroes out there these days. Tough to find a man who will pull you out of trouble.”

“You’re telling me! I had a hole the size of a quarter in my stomach. These guys patched me up and helped me start to heal,” Michael said in a sharp exhale.

The rest of the people in the room were silent, listening intently to the conversation. For the first time, I noticed that the room was made up of all men. There was a guy a few people to my left with a smile on his face, like he was in on a joke that nobody else got.

“So glad you could get here. Has anybody explained the Arena to you?” Gordon asked.

“Nope,” Michael said. Kyle and I shook our heads as if on the same puppeteer strings.

“Oh, I see. Well good. You’re in for a treat. We really have pulled something special together here at Avalon.” Gordon exclaimed, looking out at his friends around the table, as they all shared a small laugh.

“You see,” Gordon went on in a lively, yet almost sinister tone, “we’ve created a unique world. In just days, we’ve built a society that is being run as it always should have been. A world focused on the Elite, with commoners who work for the privilege of life. Gone are the days where poverty destroys this world. Gone are the days of handouts and free rides. The poor were the first to go in this reckoning. The people who want to work to survive are the ones that we will allow to coexist here with us.”

I cast a discreet glance at Kyle. He was looking at an exit door.

“The Arena is our little way of keeping the peace. Anybody who doesn’t follow the rules, will fight in the Arena.”

More people were smiling around the table now. They were all in on it. My hands were under the table. I was spinning my wedding ring to the point of making my finger sting.

“Fight who? You might ask. I think a better question is fighting what.” His tone was definitely morbid. “The people who don’t follow the rules, fight the infected… with one chance and one chance only.”

Gordon paused, and looked around the room towards all his friends. He’d gotten them worked up, and he was going to draw this out for the big conclusion.

“Simply put, survive. Survive the bouts, and the commoner becomes an Elite citizen.”

“Seems like you’re just toying with them,” Michael said, in his best snooty tone.

“Ahh, but that’s the best part,” Gordon replied passionately. “While we have people who are breaking the rules and have to fight, we have also had volunteers. People who are willing to put on a show for the chance to live a privileged life… a life with us at this very table.”

“Has anybody won?” Michael inquired. The table let out a combined chuckle.

Gordon took a sip from a metal gauntlet of wine, wiped his face, and looked back at Michael.

“The truth is, nobody has made it past round one. Let’s face it though, we’ve really only had a handful of battles thus far.” Gordon dabbed daintily at his lips again. “I’m sure someone will prevail. It could even be you.” I saw Michael startle noticeably. My heart was now bouncing between being stuck in my throat and plunging into my feet.

“Me! What do you mean?” Michael asked slightly panicked.

Gordon pushed his chair back, stood up, and started to walk around the table.

“There are rules at Avalon, and all lead to you winding up in the Arena.”

“Yes, we’ve heard them,” Michael replied sourly. “What does it have to do with us?”

“Michael, Michael, Michael.” Our host exhaled, shaking his head. “The first rule is, no commoner will ever strike, hurt, maim or kill an Elite customer.”

Gordon stepped up to Michael, and looked him directly in the eyes. His face turned serious, with his brows arched and eyes wide open.

“I’ve known Michael Hoskins for fifteen years. We’ve traveled to exotic locations, fucked exotic women in said exotic locations, and most importantly, he’s one of my best friends.”

Michael looked down at the table, sweating freely, his face turned ghostly white. Kyle looked as if he were ready to drag our friend out of his chair and beat him to a pulp. I didn’t know what to think. Part of me wanted to believe that what this psycho man said was just a lie, but Michael’s reaction reaffirmed that it wasn’t.

“So my question for you, sir, is where is my friend Michael? Because you and I both know, you’re not Michael Hoskins.”

Chapter 21

Twenty God damn years.

“Michael Hoskins was a rotten son-of-a–bitch,” our friend Michael, or whatever his name was, said from behind the bars.

We had been escorted by the black troopers to a cozy jail cell, complete with metal beds, metal toilets, and no privacy. There was only a back wall. The other three walls were nothing but bars.

“People were pawns to him. He treated everybody like shit. His family hated him. His friends were scared of him. He was a womanizer, and his wife knew it.

His tickets for this place didn’t even include his wife and three kids. They were for him, and whoever he needed to get him to this place. Can you believe that? He left his family to die!” Michael was pacing the cell rapidly in anger.

“I was an accountant in his building. We were all told that if we left early, then we’d be fired. You know, during that first day when the news reports first started to hit. I had a wife and kid; they needed me to be employed. Things were bad enough in this economy without being unemployed as well. That bastard actually had one of the interns from the third flood standing by the elevator, writing down people’s names as they left early that day. They knew they’d be fired, but they left anyway. They were smarter than I was. Many of us stayed, and most of us probably died!”

He stopped for several moments, panting for air. He curled up on the metal bed that protruded from the concrete wall.

I was in a separate cell across from him. Kyle was in the cell next to me. There was another man next to Kyle. He was lying on the bed, and had not said anything since we arrived.

Staring off into space, Michael continued in a distant voice.

“The Internet had basically jammed up in the building. I really couldn’t see what was going on. I would have left. Seriously, I would have tried to get home. I really didn’t understand how bad it was. I was in the middle of a cube farm, and nowhere near a window.”

I knew the cube farm well. They were the norm for the modern businessman in the twenty-first century. The mention of them made my stomach queasy. Michael continued endlessly, rambling on. I was glaring at him from my cell, livid with the shit that he’d pulled over on us. He was up pacing around, my eyes following him accusingly.

“I knew he had some sort of backup. He trusted me with his personal accounts. Every month I would see a bill come through for a company called Avalon. The name Gordon Green was all over it. Evacuation Emergency Contingency Fund. That was the name of the fund where the dollars came from to pay for it. We were a public company. It took some fancy accounting to make sure nobody could trace that personal expenditure back to him. I was good at it. I was always good at erasing financial problems. That’s why he liked me.”

Again, he paused, sticking his arms through the cell bars, never making eye contact with us. I guess he felt like he owed us an explanation.

“I got a call late in the day.” His voice was low, almost pitiful. “My wife had told me that Toby had been bitten by one of those things and was burning up with a fever. She begged me to get home. I told her I’d be off of work in an hour. I was on the phone with her when Toby turned and went after her. She dropped the phone.” Tears began streaming down his cheeks like little rivers.

I managed a look at Kyle. If what he was now saying was the truth, this was some intense shit. We both knew that much. Everybody has someone they want to get back to.

“I remember screaming for her over the phone,” Michael blurted emotionally. “I was in the middle of the cube farm, screaming for her. I felt stupid, screaming like that. What would everybody think? She never picked the phone back up. That’s when I stood up, and saw that I was the last person there. I was so caught up on my work, so intent on making Michael happy, I let my family die! All for him. All in the name of Michael Hoskins.” The name was spat with such vehemence that it gave me the chills.

“He deserved what he got,” Michael grumbled wiping impatiently to dry his cheeks.

I could see him clenching his fists. There was a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

“When I started towards his office, I had not intended to do what I did. There was no malice, no preconceived notions. I just wanted to tell him what he had done. Tell him that I could not get home to my family now. I wanted him to understand.” Michael’s voice was low, slightly hoarse from regret and sorrow. He was taking in deep breaths, his chest heaving slowly as he tried to steady himself.

“His door was open. I stepped in, not knocking. I had worked there for twenty years. Every time I entered his office, I had knocked on that door. Unaware that I was there, he continued to fill up a metal briefcase with some sort of documents and cash that he was pulling from a wall safe. I got his attention. He was surprised to see me, and asked what the hell I was still in the office for.” Michael threw up his arms in furious exasperation. He asked the question again, and then let out a short roar.

“What was I still in the office for? I guess I didn’t get the fucking memo to leave. I restrained myself, and told him that I was just finishing up the day. But I was shaking so hard. I was so pissed that I couldn’t see straight. Maybe it was something in my voice, or maybe the look in my face. Either way, that’s when he knew he was in trouble. He knew it before I did. The real Hoskins stopped what he was doing and looked at me. His puffy, red-rimmed eyes had a way of making you believe him.

“You’ve been a good worker. A loyal servant to this company. Hoskins told me. Don’t ruin a ten year career over one bad day.”

“Twenty, I had reminded him.”

“What?”

“Twenty Goddamn years, I said. I’ve been here for twenty Goddamn years.”

I had often wondered what I would be like after twenty years on the work force. I had done it for maybe ten after college and was already going a bit nuts. Double it… and you turn into this guy. I watched Michael shake his head deliberately.

“When I charged him, he crouched down in a low center of gravity sort of position. He had apparently been trained in some sort of martial art. Using my own momentum, he flung me up into the air. I landed stomach first onto his oversized desk, knocking paper, pens and the metal briefcase on the floor. He stood over me, saying, that I was weak and pathetic. He started in on me about how I was always doing what I was told, not standing up for myself. That was the real reason why I would never amount to anything, because I was afraid to take chances. That bastard said that I had a sad existence. Can you believe that son-of-a-bitch?”

Michael looked at me in outraged disbelief; all I could do was stare at him. I hated my fat bastard boss, but his piece of rotten shit boss sounded like a genuine scumbag. Michael held the bars of his cell in a death grip, his remaining knuckles bright white.

“It was the last thing that bastard said to me,” he snarled.

“I had a pen in my hand. I’ve thought about this since that day. I like to think that it was a BIC, and not a real expensive pen. I would just relish in the thought that I took that son-of-a-bitch out with the cheapest pen on the planet. I like to think that he was killed buy something cheap and disposable.

The truth is, I never looked at it. As he was standing over me, I felt a pain brewing in my stomach. I saw my wife, my kid, my miserable existence… I snapped.

I jumped up and jammed that pen directly into Michael Hoskins’ neck. As soon as the deed was done, I dropped back. Blood squirted across the desk, across the metal briefcase, and across my face. It was shooting out of his neck with every pulse. At first, it was heavy, and then it slowed down, like a water gun running out of water. Until finally, he lay still on the floor… with a pool of the dark red mess just soaking into the carpet.

I looked into his eyes as he died. He couldn’t speak. The only audible noise was a gargle as blood bubbled up out of his neck. Standing over him, watching him die, I simply said, ‘Who’s pathetic now?’

I had killed him. I had killed Michael Hoskins. So many people before me had dreamed of this moment. I got to live it. It was payback for so many wrongdoings. So many people that he had screwed over. I killed him. I got redemption for us all.

In that moment I was liberated.

It was short-lived however.

That’s when he sat up. The Pen was still stuck in his neck. Blood was still trickling out down his shirt. He was crazed. I had no idea that he was the undead.

I started to apologize. I even told him I’d pay for the medical expenses…

As he ran towards me, like a wild creature, I side stepped and gave him a slight push, directing his head right into the wall safe.

As he entered it, I swung the door, with everything I had in me, and it smacked directly across his skull.

He fell lifelessly to the ground.

I got to kill that bastard, twice.”

Kyle and I had not said a word so far. This guy was spilling the story, and we were going to let him. I still had not connected how we were led here.

“It was easy, really. Assuming his identity, I mean. We are about the same age, same height, and same build.

He had everything set up, including greasing the army helicopter pilot to pick him up. All I had to do was play the part. After all, who would be checking my photo ID? I just had to be in the right place at the right time.

Everything I needed was in that metal briefcase. All of the tickets. All of the information on how to get here.

I met them on the roof. There was another passenger, a woman, who was along for the ride. She was meeting her husband at Avalon. She never made it… obviously.”

Kyle and I didn’t say a word. We sat for a long time in silence thinking over his story.

After a while, Kyle asked, “So what is your real name?”

Fake Michael then looked at us, focusing as if finally relieved that someone knew what had happened. He had a twisted enthusiasm in his eyes and a crooked smile on his face. “I’m nobody,” he snorted softly with a shrug. “I’m the man who killed Michael Hoskins.”

* * *

We remained imprisoned for some time. It felt like days, but was probably hours. I kept thinking about the last thing Gordon said as we were being escorted away from the round table.

“You’re going to have fun in the Arena.”

It kept ringing in my mind. What the hell was the Arena? It drew thoughts of the Roman Empire, gladiators, swords, and death.

Kyle and I were speculating when the guy in the cell next to him sat up.

He was big. Bigger than Kyle, and complete muscle. His arms, bulging against a tight shirt, led up to a set of shoulders which made his neck look more like a thick peg that his head sat on.

“We’re all going to die,” he said decisively. “The arena is Death. Accept it, and you can find peace.”

Chapter 22

So, we are going to try something new and exciting tonight.

Mr. Muscle was more talkative once he finally got going. He was solemn in his tone, and had clearly been through a lot. He had an accent that I couldn’t quite place at first, and his giant size was nothing more than a mask over the reserved man that sat before us.

Oddly enough, we learned that he was part of a two-person circus act for one of the Greatest Shows on Earth. His act was called the Amazing Mongolian Strongmen. He and his partner who were both alike in size, dress, and looks, and would get in front of thousands of people a week to demonstrate amazing strength by lifting these giant telephone size wooden poles up in the air.

The finale included lifting two of the poles in the air in the shape of a cross, each with swings on them, where four women dressed as clowns with red shirts and little skirts would sit down and be swung around in a full circle before being placed back on the ground.

Nine hundred pounds; that’s how much the full weight of the women and apparatus was. The two guys would lift nine hundred pounds and fling it around nightly.

The funniest thing was that he wasn’t even Mongolian. He was a giant light-skinned Mexican who shaved his head into a Mohawk, which was mostly grown in by now. Mr. Muscle went on to explain that he and his partner left the circus in Charlotte, where they were on tour when the shit hit the fan. They found their way to Avalon, like so many others. They were the first to put the barbed wire fence up, and practically did it on their own, according to his verbal account. They had helped to protect this place, and were promised a room for leading the efforts.

When they did not get it, his friend got caught up in a fight with one of the guards and wound up in one of the first Arena battles. Mr. Muscle had to watch from the sidelines with the rest of the audience, made up of worker bees from outside. They were allowed to sit along the outside of the arena just below the Elites, who were in throne-like chairs circling around the top of the Arena on a platform just above the chain-linked fence that had been erected around the perimeter of the battleground.

“What room?” Kyle asked.

Mr. Muscle went on to tell us that there was a giant room, like a conference hall with huge pillars. He thought that it used to be used for trade shows or something at the hotel.

“Anyway, the Elites had made a round pen in there, and the rest is history.”

“Why are you in here?” I asked.

“When I saw the three creatures finally take down and start tearing apart my friend… man, I couldn’t take it. I started to knock into the fence, eventually pushed it over, too. One of the Elites fell from above the fence, and onto the floor. I did not mean to hurt the son-of-a-bitch. The zombies ate his ass, too, though. I was eventually caught, and sentenced to the next battle. So here I sit, awaiting my death.”

He pulled a necklace from around his neck and kissed the cross on the end of it as he looked up at the ceiling and murmured, “I’ll see you soon, ese. I’ll see you soon.”

“They told us if we won three battles we would be freed. You buy that shit?” Kyle asked frankly.

“Don’t know. What I can tell you is that they just kept putting more zombies in the Arena until they kill everybody in there. They were all slow as hell too, so the gladiators just kept killing them one by one; until they just put too many in there for them to handle. Wasn’t much chance of winning if you ask me, man,” Mr. Muscle replied. Our attention was drawn to the guard in the doorway, who suddenly jumped up from his perch. He stood at full attention, staring straight ahead. Gordon entered the room with a smile on his face.

“Gentlemen, come on now,” he smirked. “There is always a chance to win. Especially for the strong,” (looking over at Mr. Muscle,) “and the brave,” (looking at Kyle and I).

“Afraid there isn’t much chance for the weak, and stupid,” he sneered at Michael. “I have to know, whoever you are, did you really think we wouldn’t have a clue that you were not Michael? You have big fucking brass balls trying to pull that one off. That is for sure. Should have checked your facts a little better though. I am going to assume that you killed Michael Hoskins. Am I correct?”

Fake Michael met his eyes and gave a slight nod.

“Good. Thank you. That makes this much easier.” He was no longer wearing the turtleneck and jacket. He was dressed in the type of Adidas jump suit you would see mobsters wearing in the Sopranos.

“With the exception of Mr.-I-don’t-know-what-the-fuck-his-name-is, you all get the privilege of trying to earn your Elite status here. Win three times, and you become an Elite citizen.” He spoke as if we should be jumping for joy. Kyle perked up.

“Listen man, not to be a dick, but we just met Michael. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to the guy because we’ve been through a lot together, but we have not done shit. We haven’t broken any of your rules. All we did was get caught up in a lie that was much bigger than what we had any clue about.”

“Ahhhh, yes. So why would we ask you to participate in the Arena as gladiators? That is a good question. Very true, we have no basis for putting you in the Arena, based on what Michael has done. Why, that would not be fair at all.”

That coldhearted prick. He was toying with us.

“But then again,” Gordon continued, “you have broken one of our three rules. You shall not hurt, kill or maim an Elitist.” The words sucker punched me in the face.

“What? Who?” I blurted when a man entered the room. He was wearing a bandage across his forehead and part of his face, which he started to unwrap as he walked. Two layers off, I knew who it was. My heart sank.

Mr. Cul-de-sac Chauffer, that bald asshole from the rooftop who left us to die, finished unwrapping the bandage to display one hell of a gash that ran across his forehead and down his face. It was just barely starting to heal, and it made him look far more crazed that he actually was.

“Remember me, boys?” Chauffer asked mildly.

“You left us to die, you bald fuck!” Kyle spat in anger.

“Not the story we heard, Gentlemen,” Gordon butted in. “Chauffer here says you split his head open with a metal pole and left him for dead in some parking garage. He’s lucky to be here after catching one of the last helicopters out of New York.”

Chauffer’s speech was a little messed up. You could tell that he was in pain when he spoke, but that didn’t stop him from saying,

“I wanted to personally come down here so you would know that I am the reason you’re not being released. When I saw you at that table, I couldn’t believe my luck. You assholes are going to get what’s coming to you in Arena. You’re going to pay for this scar.”

Never trust our leaders. The words reverberated through my head. Kyle grabbed the bars of his cell as if to merely bend them out of his way.

“We didn’t do shit, you coward. You ran away and left us to die!” he raged. Gordon interrupted with a smirk.

“Gentlemen, it is decided. There is nothing I can do. It’s your word against an Elitist.”

I could see it in Kyle’s eyes. That last statement hit him the wrong way. Kyle’s face was dark red in fury, his fingers gripping the bars so tightly that his knuckles were like little light bulbs against his tanned skin.

“This isn’t over Chauffer… or for you, Gordon,” he snarled murderously. Chauffer snorted, his mouth twisting up in another smirk.

“Save your strength,” Gordon said. “You’ve got an epic battle ahead of you in the coming hours. Please do put on a good show. We have something special in mind for tonight.”

As he spoke, two black troopers entered the room with some sort of contraption and a wooden mallet. The apparatus had what looked like a metal helmet with spikes coming out of the top along with a chest shield with a larger metallic spike that hung from a leather strap.

Turning his full attention to the troopers, Gordon said, “Well… time to get this party started.” He then grinned at the fake Michael. The soldiers began to open his cell door. Michael backed away, bumping against the wall. There was a look of terror in his eyes.

My palms were slick with sweat, but before I could speak, Kyle bellowed,

“What the fuck are you doing? Leave him the hell alone!”

Gordon merely waved him off, tapping his foot slowly as he eyed Kyle and me.

“You see, the first battles started to get, well, a little boring. Old zombies are slow zombies. That is the reality of things. Sadly, slow zombies are pretty easy to kill, unless you have a ton of them overrunning the place. That is not terribly exciting either, and it’s very difficult to wrangle them all back in.”

As he talked, the guards entered the cell, and captured Fake Michael by his arms. They started fiddling with the metal apparatus lifting it up, trying to straighten it out properly. I could see that instead of having a facemask, like in a football helmet, there were metal razors sticking out in the shape of teeth. They looked like they would append to the chin of the person wearing the helmet in some way, shape or form. However, I couldn’t really tell how it would work. I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to know.

“So we are going to try something new and exciting tonight. The crowd is going to love it. And you, my dear friend, are going to be our main star.” Gordon smiled sickly sweet at Michael as he struggled wildly. I looked at Chauffer, the fear of what was happening was making me nauseous. He knew what was coming. The excitement radiated from his mangled face. A face that I wanted to finish off for good.

“You see, new zombies are the best,” Gordon chimed with gusto. “They are fast, strong and frankly, they are in short demand at the moment. The ones coming to our walls have been dead for over a week. That just won’t do at all, will it.” It was not a question.

Michael realized what was about to happen just as the troopers placed the metal helmet over his head. I watched as one of the razor teeth gouged his cheek open, his cry vibrating off the walls. His eyes went from panic to crazed terror. The guards held him tight, not allowing him to put up enough of a fight to break free. Blood filled the helmet momentarily, and then began streaming down Michael’s strained neck cords. The metal had opened an inch and a half of the flesh, held in place only by the headgear.

“So we came up with this little device. Ingenious really. It’s designed to make it so that the creatures are not easily killed, and that they have a little more power to their destructive ability.” Gordon raised his eyebrows and glanced towards Kyle and me with a larger than life smile; he was very proud of his invention.

“The trick is to make sure we have the freshest zombie possible. Therefore, we really need to start with a live person to make this work.” He really was one sick, twisted individual. Gordon slowed down now. His words became methodical, and his face had drawn serious.

“I can think of nobody better than the man who killed my best and most trusted friend to give it a test run.” He nodded in the troopers’ direction. They had finished putting on the torso piece, which was made up of a front and back plates, each with a round hole in the middle, right in the center.

One of them slammed Fake Michael against the cell bars facing us, while the other raised the metal spike that was attached by the leather strap. Fake Michael stopped struggling. He was immobile, helplessly staring at Kyle and me. We could see raw defeat in his eyes. We were powerless to do anything to help him. I could do nothing but stand there and watch as the events took place. Kyle shook his bars and screamed for them to stop. His anger only adding to the pleasure Gordon was getting from the frenzy.

Gordon gave a small motion, as if saying, “Let’s begin.” The guard with the larger spike lifted it to the hole in the rear torso plate, took a deep breath, and brought the mallet down on the end of the spike with a muffled thomp, as the spike cracked through the muscle and bone in Michael’s back. After another hard thomp, which echoed through the cell, it slid through the plate, through his heart and then out the front chest plate, protruding three inches.

Fake Michael started to scream as his body went absolutely rigid, his pale face going blank. His eyes remained wide open but unseeing as the life bled out of him. The noise ended in a gurgle, then was silent. His hand with the missing finger fell limply from the bars.

“Hurry up! Get that neck harness on him before he comes back,” one of the troopers barked. The harness had a metal loop in it. They would later use it to move him from the cell to the dreaded Arena.

Fake Michael slumped to the ground as the guards backed up. Kyle and I were speechless. Mr. Muscle slowly lay back down on his metal bed.

Gordon looked over at Chauffer with a smile, and then back at us.

“See you tonight,” he spoke cheerfully, clasping his hands together and then headed out of the cellblock with Chauffer in tow.

Kyle and I looked at each other with a, “we got to get the fuck out of here,” sort of expression.

It wasn’t long before Fake Michael started twitching on the ground. He crawled to his feet, his eyes red beneath the helmet. Crazed and in full war gear, he began wildly running around in his cell. He bounced off of the walls, tried to reach through the bars at Kyle and I. Each time he opened his mouth, the razor teeth opened as well, as a deadly extension of his bite.

I dropped to the metal bench in my cell with a thud, my head buried in between my shaking knees, trying to tell myself that there was nothing we could have done. Michael may have gotten us into this mess. He may have lied to us, maybe even lied to himself, but nobody deserved that fate. Not even Michael’s actions merited being turned into a raging creature solely for the sport. In the end, I really believed he was trying to help us and not just himself. Now he was just another of the dead.

A violent roar erupted from the cell across from me, pulling me from my thoughts. Jerking up my head, I looked from Mr. Muscle to Kyle. We all knew we’d be fighting this thing tonight.

Chapter 23

Our darkest hours were in those first weeks, and we were about to be in the spotlight.

Call it weird, call it insane, call it whatever you want, but it’s true. This group of Elitists went from prominent businessmen, trust fund babies, and top leaders, to a savage group of narcissists in just a matter of days. The world fell apart; rules went to the wayside and from the ashes, arose the worst in mankind, that morbid, primal need for blood. Our darkest hours were in those first weeks, and we were about to be in the spotlight.

Sitting there in the cell, listening to Zombie Michael bounce off the walls across from me, my mind drifted to Jenn. I was absently twirling my wedding ring around my finger. It had been half a week since I heard her voice on the phone. Jenn was my rock, my center, and without her, the world felt undeniably out of control.

I thought to the communication room that we had passed a few times. I had to find a way to make it to that room. If any landlines were still operating, surely I’d be able to get in touch with her at the number she gave me.

We had to survive the Arena. There was nothing I wouldn’t do. Nothing.

There was a guard posted outside of the cellblock, lazily sitting on a plastic fold-up chair, which stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the furniture in the place. From time to time, someone would walk by, and he’d perk up, like he was busy guarding the dangerous criminals.

At one point, we listened as a friend of his, whom we could not see, walked up and started a conversation.

“How’s this batch?” the friend asked.

With a slight British accent, the guard replied, “We have a couple of bulldogs in here. Remember that giant Mexican who got taken down the other night? Well, his mate is in here. You know the one that knocked through the fence?”

“Ohhh sweet!” Friend said. “That’s going to be a good one!”

“The other two look pretty hard, too. They’re not quite as big as the Mexican, but they’ve been through some shit. That isn’t the best part though. Gordon has something special in store. I can’t let you see it, but rest assured that tonight’s battle is going to be one that is for the books.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. I already heard about the Death Armor. Gordon had three of those suits made.”

“Really?” The guard sounded impressed.

“Yeah, there’s going to be three of those fast suckers with razor teeth in the arena tonight. It’s going to be wicked awesome!”

“Okay, since you know so much, how many gladiators do we have?” He sounded a little dispirited, as if his friend stole his thunder.

“Well, by my count, we have an even ten. I think they are going to break it up into two battles. Word around the campfire is that they are going to do a regular fight, with the old zombies first, and then follow it up with the main event. I’m hearing that your cellblock is set for the second bout. Evidently Gordon and Chauffer have a special interest in these guys.”

Lowering his voice, thinking we couldn’t hear him, the guard replied, “Yeah, you should have seen them in here chatting it up with these lads. Let’s just say that I’m glad I’m not in their shoes. Don’t think he’s going to be advancing them to the next round… if you know what I’m saying.”

“I hear you, brother. I hear you.” Friend chuckled. From the cell, it looked like the guard stood up, and gave his friend a fist bump.

“See you tonight, bro. Don’t lose those prisoners! We all want to see that battle!”

“They’ll be there!” our guard reassured him.

He sat back down, poked his head inside the door to peer at Kyle.

“What are you looking at, princess?” the guard asked sharply.

Kyle took his time, looking at the Guard from head to toe then replied coolly,

“Nobody.” As if to imply that the Guard was certainly nothing special.

He stood up like he was going to enter, but then stopped. “You’re not worth it, princess. You’ll get yours tonight.”

Kyle didn’t break eye contact, and didn’t say another word. The guard didn’t advance. Instead, he went back to resting his ass on the plastic chair in the hallway.

I went over to the bars separating my cell from Kyle’s, and motioned for him and Mr. Muscle to move as close to me as possible. It was a little more difficult for the circus performer being that he was on the far side of Kyle’s cell. In a whisper, I stated that we needed a plan of attack.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

Kyle shot a quick look at Mr. Muscle, and then back at me.

“Well, I was thinking back to the gas station. We were outnumbered, but managed to keep the things back with good offensive and defensive tactics.” He turned his head toward Mr. Muscle, “Are there any weapons in the arena, or are they expecting us to use our fists?”

“It’s been a little different each battle, man. They always have some sort of weapons. It looks to me like they raided a museum or something. The Arena has had maces, spears, clubs and some other crazy stuff that I can’t even identify.”

“What’s been different?” I asked curiously.

“That’s the thing,” he shrugged. “Sometimes the shit is easy to grab, like sitting on the ground. Other times, it’s been propped up high on the walls so it’s hard to get to… you know, like needing two guys to work together to get at it.”

“Okay. So first thing’s first, we need to get to the weapons, no matter where they are. Let’s make that our priority.” Kyle went on to explain a few tactics that he thought would work. No matter what, we had to make sure we stuck together. The three of us would be stronger if we formed an alliance, and had each other’s backs. Our best chance was to keep our heads on our shoulders and work as a single unit.

We agreed on the how’s and what’s, but you know what they say about the best -laid plans. Sometimes, they simply go to shit.

* * *

We could hear people passing through the hallway. Every once in a while, someone would stop by, lower their voice, and ask how the guard thought we’d do in the battle tonight. We realized that people were trying to get the inside scoop, feeling out the guard to see how long he thought the battle would last.

We heard one person ask who he should put his money on, and another ask which of us would last the longest. The guard kept talking about the giant Mexican. Everybody graciously thanked him for his help, as if he was giving them some sort of coveted information.

It was clear that there was some sort of betting ring set up. People were waging cash on who would be the first and last to die. Evidently, it was big money, too. We heard numbers like one hundred and two hundred grand being thrown around. They were betting on how quickly we’d die.

This place just got better and better by the second.

I looked over at Zombie Michael. He was still in a frenzy. There were blood soaked scratch marks on the wall, and his eyes had that full red with white haze over them. He would stand against the cell bars, both arms through them continuously reaching towards me like tree branches in a drought reaching out for water. “Not much going on upstairs anymore,” Kyle murmured when he saw me look away from Michael.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied despondently. “Hope we can put him out of his misery quickly.” All we could do was wait, just wait and try to tune out the noise that the new zombie across the aisle from us made. It was no mistake that it was left here with us. Gordon and Chauffer wanted us to watch him, know what we were up against.

The people in the hall outside our cellblock cleared, and the guard seemed to be able to sit back down in his chair.

It started as background noise at first, more of a dull hum, really. We were not immediately sure what it was, glancing at each other then at the door in confusion. It soon became obvious that it was cheering from the Arena. The crowd was getting worked up.

We couldn’t make out what was being said, but someone was speaking through a loud microphone. He went on for a few seconds then paused. The dull background noise was now a roaring cheer.

The guard stuck his head in, spying Kyle with a grin.

“There are sixty-forty odds that you’ll be the last man standing tonight, princess. Sixty for the Mexican, forty percent for you.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“Fifty-fifty odds on you. Same with a woman from one of the other cellblocks. Bets are that you’ll be the first to drop.”

“Shit,” I mumbled.

“We’ll take them all out,” Kyle stated boldly as he rose, jerking his chin in the air.

“Sure you will,” the guard soothed with a crooked smile. “Sure you will, princess.”

Chapter 24

The creeping moments felt like hours. The longer we had to wait, the more tied up my guts felt. My stomach plunged when someone neared the door and stopped. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; he seemed to be the only sane one around here. He gave the guard a glare to get him on his feet and at attention. Jarvis then entered the room with that same glowing smile he’d given us upon our arrival.

With a demeanor that gave me the impression that he was on our side, Jarvis said,

“You boys sure have gotten yourselves into a bit of trouble.” His gaze fell on Michael, his shoulders slumping just noticeably.

“Not much we can do for this poor soul, but the three of you have a shot.”

“That’s not what we hear,” I replied darkly.

“Don’t be fooled. There are only so many of the zombies we can let into the Arena and facility at one time. If you outlast them, you’ll outlast the battle.”

“How many are there?” I had to ask, but didn’t really want to know.

“Hard to tell, gentlemen, but keep your heads on straight. Stay alive long enough and you’ll walk away from this thing.”

We all looked at each other. Mr. Muscle had sat up and shifted his legs toward the door. He made eye contact with Jarvis, then spun back around and lay down on his bed.

It was just a quick glance, but there was something between them; that much was clear. They tried to play it off as if they didn’t know one another. Not so much as a hello. However, there was an unspoken recognition in each of their eyes, and they sure as hell didn’t want the guard to see it.

“Boys, I’m not sure you belong in this fight. Unfortunately, I’m not the one to make that choice. What I can tell you is that if you survive, there will be opportunity for you.”

Nobody said anything. His words were sincere, and caught me off guard. For a moment, I found myself pondering why he would be giving us the insight, and wondered what actual meaning lay beneath what he was saying.

“Well, I’m here to take you to the arena,” he spoke apologetically. “The first battle is in progress, and you’re up next.” He sighed heavily, and then looked over his shoulder toward the door.

“Chop, chop, men.” Seven guards entered the room. Despite a slight struggle, we were forced into handcuffs, and taken from our respective cells.

As we left the room itself, our cellblock guard winked at Kyle while he passed. Kyle gave him a large smile. Then, without hesitation, he snapped his head forward connecting with the guard’s nose. The guard dropped to the ground screaming through his tears.

“You broke my bloody nose!”

Another guard punched Kyle in the back. Without flinching, he looked down at the bleeding guard and said, “Sorry about that, princess.” In any other situation, I would have laughed my ass off. I could always count on Kyle to settle a score.

We were led past the communication center on our way to the arena. With each step forward, I could feel my heart beat increasing. Unfortunately, my knees were getting weaker. The crowd was really hyped up again, seriously into whatever they were watching.

I have been to games before: football, baseball, basketball and just about every other professional sport out there. Never have I heard a crowd hitting the pitch that this one had. They were living it up… whatever it was.

Eight PM blinked on every red LED clock we passed in the manila hallways.

We were taken to a holding cell that already housed two other people. The first was not an unattractive woman, wearing a half ripped red skirt and a skintight white top that showed more cleavage than I would have expected. She made eye contact with Kyle as we walked in. According to the odds, she was my competition for the first to die in battle.

The second person was a smaller man of Asian heritage. He was wearing loose black cargo pants and a black tank top. He was sitting in a corner with his legs crossed, deep in meditation. He didn’t open his eyes or even acknowledge our presence.

The five of us couldn’t see anything through the bars. The arena was to our backs, but we could hear the crowd’s roaring coming in like waves, assumingly, every time someone died in the arena.

“We have to stick together. It’s the only way we’ll survive,” Kyle said hastily, looking over the contestants. Nothing from the Asian, but the woman nodded in agreement.

“I shouldn’t even be in this place,” she growled. “All I did was tell that son-of-a-bitch that I wasn’t going to be his slave.”

We all have our reasons for being in this cell, I thought. None of them was close getting us out. I listened intently to every scream. I was soaked with sweat, and my hands were shaking ever so slightly. Squeezing my fists together, I brought them down to my sides, trying to push the shakes out of my system.

We heard a terrified high pitch screech ring through the halls of Avalon. A final deafening cheer roared out from the crowd, and then silence.

The silence was worse than the screams.

Just as I started to go down on my knees, the guards opened the cell door, and escorted us out towards the entrance of the Arena. The microphone made noise, and then a voice boomed out.

“Fellow Avalonians, now that was a show!” It was Gordon. “These criminals fought valiantly. They had their chance at redemption, but sadly, Lady Justice leaned away from freedom this evening.”

We turned a final corner and came up to a set of steel bars that overlooked the entire arena. We watched as three black troopers were wrangling two Zs with poles that wrapped around their necks, and escorting them back out of the stadium. It was a vulgar version of Animal Control. There was a mess of blood and body parts strewn across the linoleum flooring that some women were busy mopping up.

“I have exciting news, however,” Gordon continued enthusiastically, “tonight’s festivities are far from over. We have a special treat in store for all of you.” He paused to gain momentum.

“A double feature!” The crowd went wild again. Standing there facing my doom, I cursed them all under my breath.

“Five fighters, each who have broken one of Avalon’s three sacred rules, are here to see if Lady Justice is on their side. Facing these criminals, are our newest additions to the Arena. I’d like to introduce the new…” He opened his arms wide to address the crowd, who leaned forward in anticipation. Gordon took in a deep breath and bellowed into the microphone.

“Death Armor!”

The crowd went insane as Zombie Michael and two other Zs dressed in full death armor charged into the area. They were held by chains attached to their leatherneck braces and in turn, attached to a pulley system on a far wall. The troopers holding the opposite ends were in control.

Each of the Zs in death armor paced wildly back and forth, trying to run to the walls. As soon as they would get close, the troopers would yank on the chains, stopping the Zs in their tracks, and in some cases, pulling them off their feet all together. It became a game that the crowd laughed over.

Looking around the arena, it was smaller than I imagined. Hiding places would be nonexistent. We were in a giant indoor room, which did in fact, appear to be the trade show floor of the hotel, just as Mr. Muscle described. The arena walls were circular in nature and spanned maybe three hundred feet in diameter. In the middle, were three white square columns that supported the room, so it wasn’t completely an open space.

Kyle got my attention, and nodded towards them.

“See that?”

I looked closer and amongst the smears of black-red blood, I noticed weapons sticking into the columns. Lower to the ground were simple tools like wooden poles and small clubs. The higher up however, we started to notice a deadlier arsenal including metal spears, swords and spiked maces. It would take two people, one propping the other up to get to them.

The crowd seemed to fade into the background as I spied Gordon, straight across from us. Perched up on his throne at the tip of the stage, he was holding the microphone and dressed in a white, Roman toga with a green crown. In fact, all of the Elites sitting above were dressed in white togas.

“This is fucking sick,” Kyle spat as he noticed.

The crowds around the fence, the commoners, were dressed in torn jeans, ripped t-shirts, skirts, or whatever they were probably wearing the day the world ended. Dirty and broken down, these people were seemingly just as sick as the Elites were. All of them cheering for the death of their fellow man. It was hard to imagine so many of them would just go along with it.

Following the herd would be the death of us.

After all, TV was gone; what the hell else was there to do? Nothing was mundane anymore. Every action, every decision had life or death written on it. It hit me right then and there. This is how Gordon controlled the masses, making sure they were entertained, giving them something to root for, bet on, to be happy about. I felt vomit hit the back of my throat, but managed to keep it at bay, the burn going all the way back down.

There were also a few women up there with the Elites as well. Matching their male counterparts, they were dressed in white cloth, but it stopped at their waist, leaving their breasts fully exposed. They were going from throne to throne, pouring wine and lighting cigars.

It was clear now; this is how many of the women escaped working outside with the commoners. Perhaps this was what the female gladiator in our little imprisoned group was talking about when she said she refused to be a slave.

In his highest and mightiest tone, Gordon continued to drone on. He announced each of us, along with our crimes. Mr. Muscle was escorted into the arena as he was introduced. Our host reminded the crowd about the killing of an Elite in an earlier Arena battle.

“We also have our first female gladiator,” Gordon shouted as she was hefted into the arena. “She neglected her womanly duties here at Avalon, and viciously cut the genitals from her husband as he slept!”

“That’s not true! Liar!” she screamed. Her voice was completely muted by the crowd as they all booed in unison.

“Next we have our little Asian friend, who fancies himself as a martial arts force to be reckoned with. He tried to live here for free, deciding that he’d rather sleep all day than work alongside all of you dear, diligent men and women, who are building a better society for us to live in.”

Who knows what the truth was concerning the Asian. He didn’t flinch at the accusation, and appeared to be meditating even as he was shoved into the middle of the arena. For all we knew, he just simply wasn’t the right color to be at Avalon. Looking around the room, I didn’t see anyone but white males sitting in the Elite section.

Chauffer stood up next to Gordon, looking as if he turned part shark, greedily glaring at Kyle and me.

“And finally, I’d like to take a moment to introduce two newcomers to Avalon. These two idiots thought they could get away with beating my good friend, Mr. Chauffer, here to near death, just to try to steal his tickets to Avalon. They actually showed up, thinking we wouldn’t notice that they each have full heads of hair,” he said with a giant smile. The crowd burst into a hysterical laughter at the joke. Chauffer shot Gordon a look that said he was less than amused.

All five of us were in the Arena now. The Elites and commoners alike were amped up, and ready to go. I was jumping up and down in place, getting my blood going. I was preparing mentally for battle. I was preparing for war.

I could never have prepared what was about to go down.

Chapter 25

I say, we put their little society to the test.

“Let the games begin!” Gordon’s voice rang though the microphone speakers.

The troopers surrounding us in the arena dispersed and retreated to the safety behind the gate to our rear. Another gate opened at the far side of the arena, and ten Zs stumbled out towards us.

The three chained Death Armor Zs were still locked up securely, but going absolutely berserk. The Troopers holding the chains were being pulled forward, and it was taking multiple men to hold them back. They weren’t going to release them right away.

All five of us advanced towards the two closest columns. Kyle stood with his back against one of them, while I hoisted the woman up onto his shoulders. She stood tall enough to grab a spear and a large wooden mallet from above her. Unable to hold the heavy wood, she pried it loose, letting it drop to the ground in front of me.

Reaching down, I placed both hands around the oversized handle. All I could think of was that this was a larger version of my hammer. It was meant for me. A feeling of comfort ran through my body, giving me a much needed sense of confidence.

The woman grabbed the spear, and dropped to the floor. Kyle pulled an eye level wooden club from the column.

At the same time, the Asian and Mr. Muscle were working on another pillar across from us. I watched in amazement as the Asian took a running start and ran towards Mr. Muscle, who was crouched over with his hands clasped in the shape of a stirrup. As he reached Mr. Muscle, the Asian strategically placed his foot in the clasped hands and took a leap, propelling upward. He grabbed a sword and a mace, before flipping back down to the ground with the grace of an acrobat.

I should have noticed it right away. They worked really well together. Too well for guys who just met. With a series of nods, and pointed expressions, they managed to pull down two of the most fierce weapons in the place and retreat toward us in record time. No time to think about it. I was just glad to have them in the fight.

The five of us, armed and regrouped, stood as a solid line facing the oncoming swarm. The crowd screamed for our blood. Amongst the madness, Kyle remained focused with the poise of a seasoned athlete competing in yet another game. It was as if time stood still. He looked out at the crowd and the approaching Zs, then back at each one of us.

“I’m not afraid to die today,” Kyle stated boldly. “If it’s my time, then it’s my time. I can tell you one thing, though. I’m not going to die without a fight.” He raised his voice now. Not in anger, not in distress. It was the voice of a man putting it all on the line, like a warrior rallying his fellow countrymen for the battle ahead.

“Let them throw everything they have at us. Let them throw us into this hellhole. I say, we put their little society to the test. I say, we bring this whole fucking thing down!” He ended in a bellow. As we acknowledged with our own wild cheers, the Asian broke from his trance, and made direct eye contact with Kyle, giving him one single nod. It was the most I ever saw him communicate with anybody. It spoke louder than any words I’d ever heard. Mr. Muscle was twisting his hands around the grip of his mace, the clinking of the chain barely heard. We were ready.

Kyle shouted for us to break into two parallel lines. The Zs were twenty feet away.

No matter what the odds, no matter how bad the cards are stacked against you; a well-played strategy can give you the edge.

I was in the front line along with the woman and Kyle. As the Zs approached, Kyle instructed us to knock the first ones back by hitting them in the chest. As they fell off balance, the Asian and Mr. Muscle brought their weapons down across their skulls. It was not unlike the tactic we had used back at the gas station; we pushed a Z back, and they brought it down.

After just minutes, there were ten lifeless bodies lying in front of us, the arena cleared of free-range zombies. This was easy… too easy. I was certain; this was just a preamble to the main event.

Gordon stood up, raising a glass of wine into the air along with his microphone. Bringing them both back to his waist, he motioned to the crowd to simmer down.

“Well done. Well done, indeed!” he mused as he looked down at the five of us.

“Not a single payment to Lady Justice… so far. That was an impressive display. We have some true gladiators in our arena tonight.” He looked across the crowd. They were hanging on his every word.

For the first time however, I noticed that not all was as it seemed. While the commoners who were cheering certainly made their fair share of noise, there were some who were not making a peep.

I watched Mr. Muscle looking out at a group of people on the southern part of the fence. He ever so slightly nodded to them. His gaze then moved over to the Asian. Kyle and I both saw it. He was planning something. But what, I couldn’t tell.

“Well, Lady Justice has yet another test for our gladiators. This one will surely call upon the greatest of skill, and be a true show of the direction towards guilt or freedom. I call upon you great Avalonians. Are you ready?” The crowd once again came to life.

Gordon looked down at the Troopers holding the Death Suit Zs. He nodded, and they responded by unhooking one of them. It wasn’t Michael, but I could feel my innards quake anyway. At the same time, another wave of Zs was released from the far gate.

The Death Suit Z charged us, making it to our line much quicker than the rest of the creatures. It plowed through our group with the ease of a bullet passing through butter, knocking each of us back. It was the Asian that it honed in on, advancing towards him with a speed and ferocity that was unmatched by any of the dead that I had ever seen.

With his sword drawn, the Asian held his ground barely glancing at the gash on his arm. When the creature tore through us, his faceplate of razors had ripped through the Asian’s flesh. It was unclear if he had been bitten.

As the creature charged him, the Asian pulled back, using his own weight to push the creature off to his right. He then brought his sword down along the Zs back. The creature, without hesitation or indication that it was injured, whipped around. Some coagulated blood fell to the ground like bits of rust.

The Asian pulled his sword shoulder level once again, ready for the next pass. The zombie spun around in a rage, and charged toward him as the man brought the sword down across its head. There was an audible metal on metal shriek, and a spark flew out as the sword bounced off the creature’s helmet throwing it off balance. It spun around wildly, falling back with a thud. Jumping up with the craze of a rabid dog, the beast swung its head from side to side, spitting a stream of dark mucus freely through the razor blades in the helmet.

The other Zs were closing in on our line. Kyle yelled for us to move as a group toward the Asian’s battle just feet away. With each step we took, the fight took three steps back. A roar from the armored Z screeched through the arena as it took a sharp stab to its metal chest plate on the next pass.

With the dead at arm’s length, we turned to the oncoming swarm. Kyle swung his club across the face of the first one to reach us, knocking it toward the floor. The woman brought her spear down through its skull before it had a chance to land. I twisted my mallet sideways, squeezed the handle, and arched my back as I brought it across the chest of the next creature to reach us. Throwing it against one of the pillars, its head split in two as it smashed against the corner; dropping it to the ground for good.

The woman was holding her own. She was tough, and I could tell she had a spirit that wouldn’t be broken, which was probably why she was in this hell with us.

She had one of the Zs coming at her, when she gracefully sidestepped it, and swung her spear across its back. The creature fell off balance, plummeting to the floor. Maintaining her composure, she confidently stepped above it, and with all the power she could muster, let out a primal scream as she shoved the spear into the back of its head, pinning it to the ground.

Kyle looked at her, and then back to me as if to say, “Holy Shit!”

Glancing toward the Asian, he was still locked in battle with the Death Suit Zombie. He was bleeding down his arm, spatters of red and black drops spinning into the air as he swung his sword around his head in a defensive position. The Z was horribly mutilated, with sword strikes and stabs through most parts of his body. The creature was missing an arm, and had been hit in its shoulder. One leg was even shredded to the bone. However, the Asian had not managed to land a blow through its helmet or its neck.

Finishing off the last of the swarm, Kyle rushed to lend aid just as the creature was setting up to charge the Asian once more. Badly bleeding and clearly worn, he was holding his ground with the sword pointed directly at the oncoming beast.

I don’t know if it was because he couldn’t or wouldn’t, but he simply didn’t move out of the way. He was making his final stand. The Asian waited until he could see into the helmet, peering into those red eyes buried deep behind the metal shards. Then, with the grace of a surgeon, he shifted his body forward, driving his blade straight up through the razor teeth and into the skull of the crazed beast. The sword clanged as it pushed through the eye and out the back of its skull, striking the inside of the helmet.

He let it hang there on the tip of his sword for a moment, before kicking it off with his foot. A few of the razors broke off and fell to the linoleum floor as the creature joined the ranks of the lifeless dead.

Kyle rushed to the Asian, and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back on his feet. They stumbled back to our group. We were once again whole.

Taking in long pulls of oxygen, I glanced up at the Elites. I could see that they were drunk on the wine, and high on the violence. Chauffer had one of the slave women bent over his throne. He was holding a cigar in one hand and a mug of wine in another as he rocked rhythmically behind her. Another Elite walked up, gave him a high five, and then reached down and smacked her on the ass. The bastards were screaming and laughing at the death, sex, and horror that they had created.

My eyes were drawn to a man standing in the commoner area. He had noticed the anarchy up in the Elite section, too. I realized that it was Jarvis; his expression gave way to noticeable disgust.

Gordon looked back and forth between the gate and the Death Suit Zs. He held his hand out, his thumb straight up, pausing to get the crowd worked up. As his gaze landed on our small group of five, he slowly pointed his thumb directly at the floor. The entire room erupted in a thunderous explosion of excitement.

Time slowed for a moment. I watched as the chains were unlocked and fell with a thud to the ground. The remaining two Death Suit Zombies were unleashed at the same time. At first, they didn’t move, unaware of their newfound freedom. The Zs suddenly charged us in a frenzy of clinking armor and throaty snarls.

Time sped up… and very damn fast. The truest test of all had just begun.

Our weapons were up and pointed at the oncoming fury. I could see the madness in Michael’s eyes. All traces of humanity were gone. There was no one home.

The other Death Suit Z got to us first. I braced for impact, but watched as Mr. Muscle landed a direct shot to the thing’s skull with his chain-linked mace. The creature was knocked to its ass and it rolled past us across the linoleum floor.

Mr. Muscle, the woman and the Asian surrounded the creature, striking it while it lay briefly on the ground. The mace to the head just seemed to piss the thing off as it bucked up and plunged across Mr. Muscle’s legs, knocking him backward against the arena perimeter. The whole fence jarred back, and the crowd paused in fear as a title wave of metal echoed outward and around, reverberating through the links.

Mr. Muscle surged to his feet, bringing his elbow down on the beasts shoulder. One of the spikes on the chest armor stabbed through his biceps throwing blood across the woman’s red dress. The crowd howled at the sight of blood. Keeping the pain to himself, he tore his arm free, and pushed the Z across the floor toward the other end of the arena. The Asian and the woman were fast to get back in on the attack.

A split second later, my attention was jerked back to Zombie Michael as he slammed into Kyle and me. One of the spikes on his helmet jammed into my shoulder. I felt the sharp stabbing pain radiate through my body as blood welled up. I wasn’t sure how deep it was. I didn’t have time to check.

Kyle was wrestling with Michael on the floor, deflecting savage snaps of his teeth and the razor tooth helmet. I raised my mallet into the air, almost on instinct. There was a numbness shooting throughout my arm, causing my fingers to tingle. I had a savage anger coursing through my veins. Pushed to my limit, I felt the uncontrollable need to kill. All this shit, all the madness, all the horror. I was going to take it out on him. Michael was dead, and this thing wasn’t going to take us with him.

I brought the mallet down sideways, hitting Michael across the torso, knocking him five feet to the right. I grabbed Kyle’s arm helping him back on his feet. A thick trickle of blood oozed down my sleeve from the strain.

We watched as Michael leaned over on his hands and knees, and began to vomit violently. A stream of black blood and bile bounced off the floor. He looked up at us, with chunks of it hanging in the blades.

I glanced over at the Asian and Mr. Muscle. They had worked across the floor just under where Chauffer and Gordon were standing. The Elites were on the edge of their platform, looking over to get a better view of the fight.

Zombie Michael stood back up and charged at Kyle again. It was as if he was ignoring me, with some recognition that Kyle was the one always challenging him, never believing him.

Kyle was ready for Michael this time, and used his own momentum to heft the creature up over his head and throw it into the nearby column.

The crowd screamed with approval.

I watched as Zombie Michael’s back hit solidly on one of the edges. It would have paralyzed anything else, but this creature jumped right back up. Even with a broken spine, it still managed to viciously race at Kyle again. He drove its head into the fence with a clang as the faceplate smashed into the chain links. The commoners crowded closer watching intently as broken razors and teeth shot through the wire.They began cheering for Kyle. He was working the Z over with his bare hands, and they loved it.

“Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!” It was all anyone could hear as they rhythmically chanted. Kyle looked at me as he pushed Michael to the ground, causing him to slide through a bloody mess and into one of the dead creatures laying just feet away. The chant had him thrown off, and he was taken aback by it. I could see, if only for an instant, that he realized that he was fighting Michael, our friend Michael… and the world loved it.

He nodded toward the column where a wooden spiked staff was sticking out of it. I knew what he was thinking before he even turned back around to face Michael, who let out a primordial scream and made his final charge.

I twisted the point of the shaft up at a forty-five degree angle a split second before Kyle lifted Michael into it. There was a crunch of bone and sickening tearing sound as the spike ran directly through his unarmored lower torso. Blood spurted from the cavity, hitting the floor with a heavy pish! The wooden dowel managed to hold the weight of our one-time friend. Its legs kicked violently a full foot above the ground.

Kyle called for my mallet. I fumbled for a moment before tossing it to him. He turned towards the crowd. His name continued to ring out through the halls of Avalon. They wanted to see blood.

He raised the mallet high above his head but didn’t readily strike. He did something that I knew was taught in the military: he hesitated. His eyes flitted from Michael’s to my own, holding my gaze for what seemed eternity. I knew what needed to be done, for our sake, and for our friend’s. I gave a single nod of approval. He drove the mallet straight through the faceplate of the helmet, squeezing what was left of the skull and brains out of the bottom of the helmet like a popped zit. The body fell lifeless on the staff. Michael had been put out of his misery.

Kyle passed the mallet back to me and reached down for his club. He raised it above his head, playing to the crowd. It was hard not to be inspired. The commoners and Elites joined in a wild cheer at the destructive end.

Still, there were some in the crowd that were not carrying on. Once I had noticed it earlier, I couldn’t stop spotting them. Jarvis was one of them, and he was watching the battle waging under Gordon’s platform very closely.

Mr. Muscle lifted the creature above his head and threw it at a support beam. It shook ever so slightly. The Elites looked at each other pausing for a moment, and then laughed out loud. They saluted with their wine glasses and continued to watch the fight.

The woman was standing just outside of the fight zone. She was holding up her spear, making sure the creature didn’t get away from the immediate area.

Mr. Muscle managed to run the creature directly into the same beam. The zombie’s head clanged against it, and the spikes pulled chunks out of the wood itself.

The creature staggered then turned, and gave the woman a feral look. Losing grip of the beast, Mr. Muscle reached back after it as it darted towards her. She tripped sideways, losing grip of her spear, which clanged across the ground out of her reach. Leaping toward her, midair, the creature was coming down on her when she let out a scream that turned the crowd’s cheers silent. Just as its arms were falling through her hair, Kyle came smashing into it sideways, knocking it back across the floor. He rolled a few feet, interlocked with the deadly abomination, before he landed on top, pinning the creature down. It bucked, and arched its back to no avail as Kyle slammed his club across its face, knocking the razors into it the back of its helmet.

Killing was always easy for Kyle. He knew death well.

The woman picked up her spear and stepped toward Kyle extending a hand. He reached up, as she pulled him to his feet. They didn’t exchange words, but there was a moment shared between them that I couldn’t quite discern.

Gordon glared down at the five of us. Some of the wine from his cup splatted at my feet. I could see it on his face; he had grown livid of that fact that all five of us were still standing.

Chapter 26

The horde was fully upon us. There was no stopping it.

The crowd was behind us now. We just stood there listening to the deafening chant of:

“All five are still alive!”

Gordon took a sip from his newly refreshed wine mug before looking around at the eagerly awaiting audience.

“This has been a truly amazing feat, and one like no other that we’ve seen in this arena so far. This group of five have managed to remain alive, thus passing this week’s battle.”

I looked at Jarvis. He was staring directly at Mr. Muscle and the Asian, who were nodding. Whatever it was, I could tell something was getting ready to go down.

“I’d like to give the crowd a choice,” Gordon continued. “You, my dear Avalonians, will decide the fate of these five.” Gordon held both hands out at an even distance to his sides with his palm up, creating the illusion of a scale with his arms.

Lifting his left hand up, Gordon said,

“In one hand, we have two fights left. Two battles like this one. If these five continue along to the end, they earn their freedom and the honor of becoming an Elite citizen. We can stop the battle now, to see each of these gladiators come back next week for the second fight.” He lowered his left and raised his right one into the air.

“On the other hand, we could keep them here now, and give them a shot at being Elites tonight!”

The crowd stopped suddenly; dark whispers arose like wind blowing through trees.

“That’s right; we make this fight overwhelming, but not impossible. We finish this epic battle tonight, instead of waiting for next week. We give this group a shot at freedom now, not two battles from now. Their fate is in your hands, Avalonians!” he cried, equaling his hands.

Holding out his left hand again, Gordon looked out among the crowd, asking for the battle to commence the following week. Some claps and cheers echoed in the room, but the room remained, for the most part, quiet.

“Who wants to finish this tonight?” His voice was high with fervor. The cheers were so loud I didn’t hear them as much as I felt them shaking through my core.

Exaggerating every movement, Gordon raised his right hand up high and nodded for the troopers down on the floor to open the gate. It opened with a grating screech. What started as a trickle, turned into an uncountable stream of Zs that began to emerge from the darkness.

Kyle quickly shouted out directions to split us into three teams spreading out to separate sections of the fence. As the horde stumbled toward us, I looked to each member of our group. Eyes wide, beaten down and bloody, nobody moved a muscle. The crowd was silent, watching in anticipation, waiting to see our next move. We knew the score; there was no escape from this one. It would be a blood bath that left none of us alive.

Mr. Muscle pulled the mace across his body, bits of flesh falling from the rusted spikes, and moved closer to Kyle and me. With a rushed voice, filled with determination, he said,

“Help with this post, ese? You had the right idea. We’re going take the whole fucking thing down, like you said.”

Kyle and I exchanged glances, then nods. If he had an idea, we were in on it. As one, we raced up to the column and started to hack at it with our weapons. Mr. Muscle, the Asian and the woman had a good start to their plan. They had already weakened the post leading up to Gordon and Chauffer, and between the sword, mace and mallet, it was only a matter of time before we crippled it.

Gordon didn’t have time to react; fortunately, the Zs took too long to reach us. Just as he was screaming for one of the guards to shoot us, the beam collapsed, and with it the fence and the floor beneath him. I kept one eye on the zombies and one eye on Gordon, as three chairs, along with multiple Elite citizens slid down into the arena in front of us. Mr. Muscle cupped his hand, and the Asian used it to bound up to the top balcony. Sword drawn, he started to hack and slash anything moving. Trying to flee the mayhem, many of the Elites leapt down into the arena, only to realize that they had jumped into certain death as the zombie horde approached them. When faced with death, people will do anything to escape.

Kyle was busy hoisting the woman up over the fence, when I realized that the group of the commoners, quiet and disengaged in watching the earlier battle, were now attacking the Elites. Even though the troopers tried to surround and defend them, the commoners simply overwhelmed them in numbers. They overran the guards, pulling them apart more savagely than any of the zombies behind us ever would have. There was pure anger in their eyes as they ripped the Elites’ togas off, beating them to death with their own wine mugs.

Mr. Muscle leaned down, and grabbed the broken post. Lifting with his legs, he bellowed standing straight up to dump the platform that Chauffer and Gordon were standing on backwards. They slid helplessly into the crowd. I watched them tumble just as the fence tore completely free. Hearing gunshots, I instinctively ducked my head only to realize it was not man shooting zombie, it was man shooting man.

Some of the Zs from the horde had fought their way to us. Kyle was batting them back with his club. I screamed to run through the downed fence. He looked back at Mr. Muscle, who had recovered, and was sprinting toward us.

We watched helplessly as four of the creatures caught up to him. He swung his thick arms, knocking them back, but not before one of them bit down on his calf. Mr. Muscle let out a startled cry as the creature tore backwards with a mouthful of his flesh. Spinning around, he swung the mace three very succinct times. The first smashed the Z’s face that had bitten him. The second came down on his leg just above the bite mark. I could hear the bone snap like a dry tree branch. The third hit did the job and tore through his leg, severing it from his thigh.

Kyle darted back towards him, knocking away the oncoming Zs. Mr. Muscle, without a sound or scream of pain, pushed up with his giant arms and pulled himself toward the opening in the fence, leaving his foot and a trail of blood across the floor.

The horde was fully upon us. There was no stopping it. They poured around Kyle, and began exiting the Arena through the broken fence. Kyle, who was standing above the broken man below him, twisted his arm back and brought it sideways, knocking two of the creatures down to the floor. Extending a hand down to Mr. Muscle, he winced back and stopped in his tracks. The distinct red eyes had set in.

Kyle turned, stepping away from the creature crawling towards him and pulled his club back up to his shoulder. Surrounded by the Zs, he was clearly outnumbered, but not going down without a fight. He would soon fall, like so many others before him.

This world had gone to shit. Humanity went straight with it. However, I still wasn’t willing throw in the towel just yet, and there was no way I was giving up on Kyle.

Diving into the mix, I drilled my shoulder into a creature clambering on Kyle’s arm. Moving into position, we both went berserk, back to back, swinging at anything that moved, and in some cases, things that were not. My eyes and face were blood-soaked from the gore that we had created. I hit a point where I couldn’t see a thing. I could feel Kyle to my back. Our grunts of exertion could hardly be heard over the moans from the surrounding creatures.

This was it. This was the end. I thought that despite everything, I was at least going down fighting alongside my friend. Just when I started to panic, knowing that we would be taken down and turned into those foul, wretched creatures, we heard gunshots. Red and pink mist shot up all around us. Only when they had all dropped to the ground and the gunshots had stopped, did I realize I was screaming. Through my muffled cries, I heard someone calling to us.

“This way! Come this way!”

I wiped my eyes clear with my filthy sleeve, and squinted through the mayhem. It was Jarvis standing by the broken fence with an extended hand. He had a small group of armed commoner’s with him, lighting up the Zs around us with automatic weapons. Contraband I thought, weapons that had been pulled from the dead fingers of fallen troopers. Kyle grabbed at my arm, and we pulled each other toward the gaping hole in the chain link fence.

Standing behind the line of gunmen, free of the zombies, Kyle and I gasped for much needed oxygen. The place was indeed coming down around us. I could see a woman, her breasts fully exposed, holding a machine gun. She was aiming up at the balcony, taking out anybody in a white toga. The place was on fire with destruction. The Elites created very visible targets as they tried to escape.

There were dozens of Troopers who had been killed. They had gotten back up and were chasing down the Commoners and the Elites alike. In the end, everybody was equal in the eyes of the dead.

Jarvis stepped back behind the line while his gunners were mowing down the approaching creatures.

“Told you, boys, if you survived the fight, there would be opportunity. No time to explain now.” He lifted his gun between Kyle and me and pulled the trigger. I spun around to see one of the Elite, in a blood drenched toga, just as the bullet tore through his throbbing red eye.

“Just know you helped us with a huge distraction. The Arena is the only time the commoners and the Elites ever come together. We have you to thank for giving your fellow gladiators the time to take the place apart.”

Kyle and I stood there with our mouths hanging open, stunned. This rebellion was planned. This is what their quiet, secretive nods and sideways glances were all about.

Looking back on the whole thing, it was only a matter of time. How could Gordon expect to continue along the way this group had been without them staging a revolt? Unbeknownst to us, we had simply helped them do it.

“You boys have been all the help you can be. We’ve got it from here.” He shot us a halfcocked, approving smile before turning back to join the fight.

Kyle and I carried each other to the back of the room. My shoulder was still pouring blood, and Kyle’s shirt was split open from a gash running down the length of his chest.

We were alive. That was what mattered, and at the moment, we intended to stay that way. Avalon was far from secure. Now, we needed to get the hell out of there.

Chapter 27

In this world, some people simply don’t deserve to be helped.

A sea of death flooded the great hall. Between us and the door that led to the communication room, Zs, troopers, togas and the rebels littered the floor. Gunshots echoed through the arena, muting the screams and moans from both the alive and the dead.

Kyle reached down and pulled a machine gun from the grip of a fallen trooper, who had thankfully been struck down by a blow to his head. I watched as he ejected the cartridge, checked how many bullets remained, reloaded, and then raised the weapon. Two Zs, dressed in commoner clothing, violently jerked backward as he squeezed the trigger, placing precisely aimed shots through their foreheads, dropping them to the gore covered floor mere feet from the two of us.

We started to push our way through the insanity, trading the blood of Zs for every inch of floor. Methodically navigating across the hall, we sidestepped past the crippled remains of creatures unable to stand, reaching up with their mangled grips to snap at the flesh of our legs. The wooden mallet was still firmly in my grasp, providing the security needed to keep going.

Just as I reached the door, I looked back at the chaos. I could see a group of the commoners lift Gordon up above their heads. Aside from his inaudible screams, it looked as if he was crowd surfing as they paraded him through the hall. Even from the distance, I could see the inexplicable look of “I’m fucked” across his face. The troopers were all dead or had escaped the melee. We had no idea what the commoners were going to do with him, and sure as hell weren’t going to stick around to find out.

Kyle and I jumped through the door, and raced down the hallway. There were a few of the dead lingering between the Comms room and us. We didn’t pause, knocking them across their skulls, dropping the zombies with the ease of hitting a whiffle ball off a child’s baseball tee.

The light in the hallway was out. There was a body lying on the tile, and blood had splattered across one of the LED clocks. With each rhythmic blip of the clock, the hall glowed pale pink. The door to the room was wide open. Kyle motioned for me to stop as he eased to the doorway. Taking a moment to listen, he glanced back and with the jerk of his head, motioned for me to enter.

Turning back toward the heavy door, I was able to quietly shut and lock it securely. We did a quick sweep of the room, looking behind all of the equipment, which appeared to have been installed in the seventies, to make sure that we were alone.

There were giant box computers with big rolls of cinema-like film hanging from them. Red and blue lights flickered in the darkness, reminding me of the old science fiction movies that I’d seen with my father as a kid.

There was a glass window facing the hallway. While we could see anything that passed, we were also fully exposed to any prying eyes from out there. Despite it being locked, Kyle stood by the door with his club in one hand and his machine gun in the other.

I set the mallet down on a metal table next to a bunch of old keyboards and small computer screens blinking in green text. The pit of my stomach dropped when I realized I was putting way too much stock in this equipment made before I was even born. Reaching down for the telephone receiver sitting next to the mallet, I held my breath as I lifted it to my ear in eager anticipation of a dial tone.

I exhaled as I realized the phone was operational, glancing at Kyle in exhilaration. The dial tone was soon replaced with small beeps, as I keyed in the phone number to the gas station that Jenn had called me from.

The phone rang ten times before I gave up. It was worth a try. Switching gears, I dialed my home number. The phone rang twice before the voicemail started.

“John, it’s Wednesday, I think. Joe and I have been coming down to the gas station each day so I can change the VM. I keep hoping that you’ll call just as I walk in. I’m so worried about you. I hope you get this message. The cabin is boarded up, we have food and we’re doing okay. The baby is kicking. I had a scare yesterday, and thought I was having contractions. I think it was just false labor. What do you call them? Braxton Hicks? The baby seems to have calmed down. I think it wants to wait for its Daddy to get here.”

There was an almost inaudible crash in the background.

“Joe, what did you say?”

She paused for a moment. I could hear a muffled Tim talking in the background. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek as I listened trying to make out every word.

“John, I have to go! Tim can see a few of those things down in the field. He doesn’t think they’ve seen us. Get here soon, we’ll be at the cabin!”

I sat there looking at the green blinking cursor on the old computer monitor for what must have been an awkwardly long time. Kyle finally asked, “What? What is it? Come on man, snap out of it!”

“What day is it?” My voice was small.

“I think it’s Friday or Saturday.”

My eyes went back to the blinking green cursor. The hair on the back of my neck and arms tingled. My thoughts raced as I replayed her message in my head.

“We have to get there now! Her last message was from Wednesday, and she said that she’s leaving daily messages.”

Kyle’s face told me he understood. He started to say something about getting back up to the Hummer as I stood and lifted the mallet off the table. As I started to step around the equipment, I saw a movement through the plate glass leading to the hallway. Ducking down, my brain was trying to piece together what it was. It was only visible for a moment in the blinking red glow from the clock. Kyle had lifted his club in the air at my reaction, his ears trained for the tiniest of noise.

The door handle began to turn, but it would not open with the lock that I had set in place. Moments later, a speaker boomed in the room.

“Kyle. John. It’s Jarvis. I see you in there. We need to get in.”

We recognized his voice, and I let out a deep breath, unclenching the mallet. Nodding toward Kyle, he lifted the latch. Jarvis entered with six other people, including the woman and the Asian.

“Gentlemen, thanks for letting us in. We’re having some trouble pulling this place back together at the moment. We need to use the bunker’s intercom to coordinate the attack. Mind if I trade places with you, John?” Jarvis had calm in his voice, and kept the conversation almost pleasant.

“We were just leaving. I need to get to my wife and child,” I answered. Jarvis squeezed by me, stepped in front of the computer monitors, and turned to face us.

“We’ll have this under control shortly. I don’t have time to persuade you to stay, but know there will always be a place for you here.”

The woman eyed Kyle from head to toe.

“You should come back. We could use a man like you,” she said. Kyle opened the door, and shot her a confident smile. Then we both slipped past the Asian, who quietly held his death-stained sword.

We navigated the iridescent hallways quickly, getting to the bunker entrance. The gigantic shelter door was slightly open. Peering beyond the opening, we saw that the guards had left their posts, no doubt to save their own asses or to help fleeing Elites.

The cool night air filled my lungs as we crept along a dark pathway to the fenced area that the commoners had been working on. We stopped to catch our breath and relish our hard-earned freedom. I felt a momentary calm, as everything was quiet. There were trees swaying in the wind, and there was a sliver of moon peering at us through the clouds, allowing us to see each step. I felt alive, truly free. I would be able to get away from this hellhole, and get to my wife and child. It was a liberating feeling.

It didn’t last long.

Anarchy filled the field above the bunker. Zs were chasing down troopers, who were being overrun by both the dead and the commoners. There were people controlling the floodlights in the towers overlooking the chaos, the beams bouncing around. Surveying the area, Kyle pointed over toward a bunch of parked vehicles.

“The Hummer!”

Even amidst the other cars and trucks, its yellow exterior called out to us like a beacon of hope as we made our way through the free for all, dodging troopers and the Dead.

As we approached the Hummer, I saw Kyle’s head drop in defeat. Like the rest of the parked vehicles, the Hummer had been stripped down. The wheels were missing, and the some of the body parts were gone.

Pulling open what was left of the Hummer’s door, I grabbed my hammer, still sitting safely on the front seat where I had left it. While our guns and ammo had been taken, some food and water were resting on the floorboard next to fake Michael’s briefcase. I felt a pang in my chest at the sight of the metal case. Filling a backpack with the supplies and grabbing the case, I sighed heavily and turned back to see if Kyle had salvaged anything.

Following his gaze, I watched as a helicopter lifted into the night sky. Its lights flooded the ground below, uncovering an armada of helicopters and small aircraft.

“That’s how we get to your wife; tonight!” Kyle yelled. He motioned toward an exterior gate, darting around the Hummer. I followed, the thrill at the prospect of getting to my wife so soon, gave me a much needed shot of adrenaline. We ran past a trooper who was being devoured by three of the Zs. Bellies filling, they didn’t pay us any attention as we skirted past them.

Entering the field, I almost stepped into a deep sand trap. I realized that we were on a golf course. The grass was seriously overgrown. I could see the taillights from a golf cart ahead of us, racing towards the makeshift landing field.

Gunshots rang out ahead of us. We dropped into the grass. The golf cart turned sideways and flipped over. There was an odd noise behind me. I spun around to see a small swarm in tow.

Crouching down, my motion stilled, I could feel my body giving out on me. I closed my eyes tight for a moment and then tried to focus on the whirlybirds. The exhaustion was taking over, despite my best efforts. Kyle could see it.

“You wanna see your kid?” he barked, hauling me to my feet. I rubbed my face briskly. Stepping up the pace, I pulled my shit together for the sprint. The backpack was banging against my shoulders and spine with each step, helping me to keep rhythm. We’d need supplies, but I regretted grabbing the metal case. It was too late to stop now.

We approached the airfield just as another helicopter was preparing for takeoff. The rear door was open, and through the darkness, we could see him. I heard Kyle grunt wordlessly in fury, just as my own lip curled.

Chauffer was sitting down, pulling a radio headset over his head as the chopper’s runners left the ground. He saw us running up on the airfield, being chased by the creatures. I swear I could see him smiling as he raised his right hand to wave at us.

Kyle pointed toward the bottom of the chopper. There was a creature pulling itself up on the landing gear. In an instant, it clutched onto Chauffer’s leg, and pulled him from the craft. He fell at least thirty feet, and landed in a sand trap, a cloud of white sand shooting into the air. The helicopter didn’t bother to pause, and headed off into the starlight.

I started toward one of the helicopters on the ground. Kyle grabbed my arm, shaking his head in rapid little jerks.

“Not that one,” he blurted, turning to point toward another. “That’s a twin engine. They fly farther than single engines.”

He threw the machine gun to me as he dove into the cockpit, then shouted,

“Remember what I showed you!”

I took a deep breath, paused to feel the night sky, and lifted the weapon to steady it on the oncoming creatures. My arms were shaking so hard from exertion that I wasn’t sure I could even keep the gun still. Waiting until I could see them clearly, I fired the weapon. The first one dropped, with a round to the chest, and then stumbled to its feet. My shoulder, once numb from the impalement, was now a fiery agony. I had to take several breaths just to get my bearings. I took another shot; its head snapped back as it fell to the ground for good.

Above me, the helicopter blades began to turn slowly. Three more shots, three more zombies polished off. But it wasn’t enough. Moving faster than I could shoot, they were upon me. Throwing the gun to the ground, I pulled my hammer out and crouched down, preparing myself for the onslaught. I had to buy us just a little more time.

Smashing the first with a swing across its jaw, it slid to the grass only to leap back up and spin around towards me. I gave it my all but it didn’t seem to be enough. I was wearing down faster than the zombies were. My arms and legs felt as if they were made of lead. They were sluggish, not listening to my brain.

I was on my back fighting the monster off, when Kyle jumped from the chopper. He tumbled along the greenway and then came up on his feet, pulling a flag from one of the golf holes. He charged at the zombie trying to take my life and drove it through the creature’s mouth. As it fell, it dragged Kyle down as well. I could hardly get back on my feet, but there were four more approaching. I picked the gun back up, feeling its weight. On adrenaline only, I discharged the weapon. All four zombies dropped, for good.

Kyle jogged over to me. The helicopter blades were swinging at full speed, spitting up tiny bits of debris, stinging my face. He motioned toward the sand trap that Chauffer fell into. With our shoulders heaving in unison, we edged over to peek in. Covered in wet sand, he looked up at us; he was still alive but unable to move. The creature had landed several feet from him though, and was crawling toward his mangled body.

“Help… me…,” came his weak, barely audible plea.

We probably could have killed the creature. We might have pulled Chauffer on board the helicopter. We certainly could have helped him.

Kyle and I made eye contact, and then looked back at Avalon. The shadows of the dead danced in the light from the fence as they moved toward us. Glaring at that bastard for a mere moment, we both turned and sprinted back to the spinning blades of the chopper.

In this world, some people simply don’t deserve to be helped.

The Zs made it to the airfield as we were lifting off the ground. We observed the creatures scatter around and then hone in on the sand trap. At least ten of them dove right in there, spitting up a cloud of sand and gore that we could visibly see in the oversized spotlight on the helicopter.

Safely lifting into the sky, I took a moment to look down at Avalon. I could still see the commoners holding off the dead. Small sparkles of light flashed from their guns. We flew over a group of zombies, who all stopped dead in their tracks to look up at the spotlight from the helicopter. I was briefly reminded of the creatures we had seen in the field, watching the space junk fall from orbit like children fascinated by fireworks.

Higher and higher we flew. Until we were completely engulfed in the night.

Chapter 28

We’d all eventually have to pay for our sins.

A flying limousine, was the best way to describe the twin-engine helicopter we had borrowed. Kyle flipped a switch, and a small doorway opened from the cockpit to the cabin of the vehicle, exposing six leather seats, two televisions, a stocked bar and a small ice dispenser.

I pulled a headset over my ears as Kyle explained that this model was for private charter customers. Bigwig executives would use them to fly back and forth between meetings.

Judging by the small armada back at the golf course, they were also the preferred method of travel to escape the end of the world… in style. What took Kyle and me days of horrific fights and battles to accomplish, they did in hours by simply flying over the horror down below.

Looking at all the buttons, knobs, and dials in the instrument panel, I recognized one to be a gas gauge. It was completely full; I asked through the microphone on my headset about how far that would get us.

He told me that typically these twin engines would go between 400 and 500 miles on a full tank. The navigation system in the panel told us that we were less than 400 miles from the Blue Ridge Mountains, and more importantly, the cabin address that Jenn gave me via voicemail.

He continued explaining that we’d be there in around two and a half hours, assuming nothing catastrophic went wrong. Thinking through the events of the past days, I clinched my teeth realizing that catastrophe seemed to be the norm.

However, maybe it was our turn to take a shortcut.

Looking out the window, letting my mind fall to ease, I felt a sigh of relief shoot through my body. Not long now, before I’d make it back to her.

Just 400 miles to go.

Crawling into the rear cabin, I grabbed a small emergency kit and two cups of ice. My shoulder was still bleeding. I patched it up the best I could and handed a makeshift bandage to Kyle to apply to his chest as well.

Reaching into the bag that I had grabbed from the Hummer, I pulled two bottles of water out and poured them into the cups of ice. Kyle reached up with his glass.

“To your wife and kid. We’re almost there.”

I met his glass with mine, and said, “Cheers!”

We both chugged our glasses in one gulp. I had not had an ice-cold beverage in days, and the cool liquid really hit the spot. It’s amazing what we took for granted before our lives fell apart.

The metal briefcase in the backpack caught my eye, so I reached down and pulled it onto my lap.

“Finally going to find out what he kept in that thing, huh? What do you think? Tons of cash, gold?” Kyle asked.

With a shrug, I tried the latches on either side of the case. Both were unlocked, and it flipped right open.

Grinning at Kyle, I said, “I guess we’re about to find out.”

I slowly opened the top of the case to discover that it was almost empty, except for three small items. The first was a picture, still in the frame, of fake Michael with his wife and son. I set it back down in the case with the realization that they were all now dead. It hit me like a shot to the gut.

The second item was his wallet. Devoid of cash, it contained his real ID. I pulled the driver’s license from the leather pocket and lifted it up toward a light in the cockpit. I read the name out loud.

“Leonard E. Daniels.” Kyle and I both paused.

“Funny,” he murmured with an odd expression. “I wouldn’t have guessed Leonard. Would you?”

“No, I guess not,” I replied.

Setting the wallet down, I picked up the final item. It was rolling around in the back of the case. Lifting it up to the light, it dawned on me what it was. A three inch, blood covered pen. The very pen that Leonard had used to kill Michael Hoskins.

I sat there, crouched in my seat, playing back the events leading up to Avalon. So many people had died horribly, some innocent, some not… some more than deserving.  Leonard was really nothing more than a byproduct of a society built on greed. His lies and deceit felt more like the desperation of a man, who had lost everything of meaning in the blink of an eye. Once he had nothing to lose, he had simply decided that it was his turn to be at the top.

With the price he paid, I found it hard to blame him for his actions. My anger falling to the side, I rubbed my eyes and looked down at the metal case, knowing we would all eventually have to pay for our sins.

I had flown at night many times. It was usually by plane, but the view was always the same from the sky. When the world was still alive, all you could see was light. Headlights flowing down rivers of brightly lit streets. Buildings filled with lights that were left on while the night janitors toiled in their quiet work.

Now, light was shadowed by the dark cloak of the dead.

Crossing into Georgia airspace, Kyle alerted me that we were getting close. Dawn was approaching in a couple of hours, and the navigation estimated that we’d be at the cabin in roughly thirty-three minutes. He looked over at me, the events of the past days showing. The glow of the instrument panel revealed his red rimmed eyes from lack of sleep. Still, there was a determination on his face. Kyle was going to get us to my wife.

“I’m not sure what we’ll be getting into once we hit the cabin.” He spoke softly, his voice slightly hoarse.

“I know,” I replied, rubbing my sweaty palms on my pants.

“Is there a lighter in the emergency kit?” he asked as if to take my mind off of it.

I reached behind my seat where I had discarded the kit and lifted it into my lap. Flipping over the plastic cover, I rummaged through the gauze and bandages until I found a small orange cylinder. Pulling it from the kit, I replied,

“No, but looks like we’ve got a set of waterproof matches.”

“Good, that will do. Now, how many bottles of liquor do we have back in that mini-bar?” he asked. Glancing back, I saw various types of dark and light liquors held in place by small hooks.

“Looks to be six.”

Seeing where he was heading with this, I unbuckled my seat harness and pulled myself back into the cabin saying, “I’ll get started.”

Taking a white custom embroidered blanket, I tore six strips from it, and started to tuck them into the heads of the bottles. With that, we had ourselves six Molotov cocktail bombs.

Returning to my seat, I asked if he had any other ideas. He shook his head, squinting at the gun.

“How many rounds do we have left?”

“None. I used the last of the bullets back at the airstrip. I’ve got my hammer though,” I replied. Kyle thought for a moment.

“Hopefully, we won’t need to use any of it.”

Looking back out at the darkness, I pressed my head against the window and whispered,

“Hopefully.”

Chapter 29

Any plan we’d come up with would be shit, but then again, so were the circumstances.

It was easy to find the address that Jenn had given us. Flying just beyond an open pasture field, we came across the cabin. The moonlight revealed a quaint two-story structure with a deck that overlooked a steep hill and a view of the mountains that most people would have killed for.

As we flew over the tree-line, the house stood high with what appeared to be tall swaying bushes surrounding the base of the structure. Hovering closer and closer to the ground, I watched as the forest spun into a wild dance from the whirlwind of the helicopter. My eyes fixed on the bushes. They were not flapping around. They were slowly shifting back and forth. Closer still, and as the spotlight illuminated the cabin, I squinted, rubbing my eyes, adjusting to the image. This couldn’t be possible. It was worse than I’d ever imagined.

There were no bushes. The entire place was surrounded. There were at least fifty creatures piling on top of each other on every wall, clawing at the wooden logs holding the place together.

A chill drilled deep into my bones. The downstairs windows were broken in. We could see mangled shadows shifting around inside.

We hovered above the home, watching the zombies under the spotlight as they stopped to look up at the chopper, as it slowly hovered around the dwelling. One hundred red eyes staring back at us. My heart sank into my stomach.

Just as I started to feel all hope slip away, Kyle asked in a slightly disillusioned tone,

“What are they after?”

“Huh?” I was only partially listening, the question entering the furthest corner of my mind as I stared out the window, feeling rage beginning to swell. Was I was too late, not being there for them when they needed me the most? Had I had failed them?

“Seriously,” Kyle said louder, snapping me out of my daze. “What are they after? The Zs… why would they be surrounding this house in such force?”

I lifted my head up. Feeling a jolt of hope, I realized that levelheaded Kyle was right. The Zs didn’t chase the dead.

Slapping my hands up on the window, I exclaimed, “Somebody must be in the cabin. Jenn must be alive!” Had the helicopter not shifted in the air at that moment, I might have released my harness and jumped out to see for myself. As we continued to circle around the front of the cabin again, watching for any sign of life, Kyle pointed out a white bed sheet hanging out of a window on the top floor, fluttering in the wind created by the chopper. It was the only movement up there.

I looked wildly at Kyle, my voice in a panic. “We have to get me in there. I have to know!”

Nodding in agreement, we began discussing options, such as dropping me onto the roof, but that did not provide a way out. Being a charter helicopter, there was no ladder or rope to drop down. We also talked about trying to land on the roof, but the pitch was too steep, too much of an angle to be safe.

Ultimately, we decided that we needed to lure the zombies away from the home. The trick would be distracting them long enough to get inside, and back out again. Any plan we could come up with would be shit, but then again, so were the circumstances.

“I have to get into the cabin. I’ll have to do it alone,” I said to Kyle. He knew I was right; we needed him to fly the helicopter.

“What are you going to do to get out?”

“Whatever I have to,” I replied shoving my fist into my hand, punctuating each word. “Every step of the way.”

He nodded with a grin, reached over and extended his hand.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said strongly.

I took his hand. It reminded me of the moment we had first met. I felt like it might be the last hand that I’d ever shake. What better person, aside from my wife, to share my last moments with.

Setting the plan in motion, Kyle navigated the helicopter over the house while I reached down and hit a switch on the instrument panel, turning on the external speakers. Using what we’d learned from the crazies back in the neighborhood, I then pushed a button marked, “ALERT.”

An ear-piercing siren screeched from the crackling speakers sitting below the cockpit of the craft. All at once, the zombies stopped clawing at the walls of the cabin, and reached their arms up toward the sound.

“That’s got their attention!” Kyle whooped through the headset. I gave him thumbs up as he started to maneuver the helicopter backward slowly.

Like the Pied Piper of the undead, we drew the creatures away from the house, easing them toward the pasture.

Peering out the side window, I watched the long grass flatten in the wind from the chopper blades as we started to descend toward the dark earth. The siren was still blaring as the runners hit the ground with a thump. Kyle looked intently at me.

“You ready to get their dead blood boiling?”

Nodding, I shut off the siren, only to push another that said: MICROPHONE. We both began screaming into our headsets.

“Come on you puss filled maggots!” Kyle screamed into his mic. I chorused with,

“Yeah, come get us! Fresh meat over here!”

Resting on the grass with the spotlight off, we relied on our screams for the creatures to find us. It wasn’t long before we saw movement in the trees between us and the house.

“You know you want us!” Kyle taunted the dead. “Come on! You can do it!”

As the zombies closed in, I went back and sat on one of the leather seats; preparing myself mentally. Kyle was busy singing, “Take Me out To the Ball Game,” right up until the horde was twenty feet away. He then throttled up and we darted into the sky. Flipping on the spotlight, I realized that I had grossly underestimated their numbers. There was a stream of creatures flowing from the tree-line, and it didn’t seem to have an end.

Flying over them, Kyle flipped off the external speaker and light. He descended right in front of the cabin. There were just a few straggling Zs still stumbling around in the darkness. They were either too crippled or simply too stupid to follow the noise.

Grabbing the handle to the side door of the helicopter, I pulled it wide open and leapt out as the helicopter hovered just a few feet above the ground.

Landing into a roll, I stood up with my hammer drawn above my head. With the determination of a man with nothing to lose, I moved in rapidly on one of the creatures. Bringing the hammer down across its head, I kept running towards the front door. Kyle pulled the helicopter up and flew in the direction of the field.

I saw the spotlight flip on, shining down on the zombies. I could hear Kyle singing and carrying on to keep the Zs attention. Looking down on the field, it was clear that the creatures standing below the spotlight were stagnantly reaching for the sky, literally paralyzed by the light.

Our plan was working… for the moment.

My gaze was drawn toward the horizon. The predawn light was coming. There was no telling how long the spotlight would hold them off as the sun emerged and canceled out the effects of the helicopter’s light. I needed to move now.

As soon as I realized the door was barricaded from the inside, I ran over toward one of the broken windows. Stepping around a hunter dressed in green camouflage, complete with an orange vest, I jumped through a window into what appeared to be the living room. The furniture was overturned, and pictures of bears and scenic landscapes were crooked on each wall. I almost fell to my back, discovering a seven-foot, stuffed black bear hiding in the shadows of one of the corners.

As I continued through the room, I noticed the windows looked like they had been boarded up before they were broken down, and there were a number of dead Zs lying slumped on the wooden floors. The metallic smell of blood was strong, stinging the back of my throat.

A crippled zombie, missing both legs, was dragging itself in front of a large imposing stone fireplace that took up an entire wall of the cabin. Ignoring the creature, I headed toward the staircase. I noticed a sign on a wall by the front door proudly displaying, “Welcome to Black Bear Cabin.” At the bottom of the stairs, I avoided a small Guest Sign In book, which had a red streak of blood across the front cover.

The dead had signed in…

Racing up the stairs, I fought hard to keep emotion at bay, as images of my pregnant wife struggling through this horrific battle below crept into my mind. It was hard to imagine anybody being able to survive.

Once I reached the second level, I noticed that all but one of the doors were wide open. I didn’t have the time or patience to explore each room, so I honed in on the closed one. Based on the direction it faced, it looked like the room that would have had the white linen hanging out.

I tried the handle, not surprised that the door was locked from the inside. I began banging on the door.

“Jenn! Jenn!” I yelled frantically; I pressed my ear to the wood. No answer, but I could hear something moving inside. I tried again to no avail.

Over the helicopter’s microphone, Kyle stopped singing to warn,

“Hey, John! The sun is coming up.These things are starting to head back in your direction. You wanna move it along?”

For the first time since I had grabbed it from the rooftop, I finally used the hammer for its intended purpose. Wedging the claw between the latch and the jamb, I wrenched it until the wood began to split. It left a scrape of dried blood on the gleaming wood fiber.

More noise in the room. I hesitated, not knowing what I’d find, or what to expect. I had to anticipate the worst. It was easier said than done.

Finally, I stood back, lifted my boot up high, and kicked with all my might, knocking the door wide open. For a moment, there was nothing. No noise, no movement. The spotlight from the helicopter bounced across the window, and revealed someone hunched over on the far side of the room. I stepped in, not saying a word, holding my breath.

The spotlight shot across the room again. The red eyes stared back at me. It was Joe; he was crouched on the floor tearing at human remains. Joe stood up, entrails still hanging from his professionally whitened teeth.

In an instant, he charged me, slamming me into the wall. A nearby mirror fell to the ground, shattering around us. I fell onto my back as Joe’s weight bore down on me. I jerked my head sideways to avoid his snapping teeth.

Jenn was nowhere to be seen. The room was otherwise empty.

For the first time, I let doubt slip into my mind. Maybe my family was truly gone.

“The sun is up. The spotlight isn’t working! They are coming back to the house!” I heard Kyle’s voice, but it was distant, my thoughts were on losing my family and now possibly my life, too. If I lost them, it wouldn’t matter anymore.

It’s a funny thing… losing hope. Hope is all people have. That one thing holds us to life. I experienced its loss just then. Joe was on top of me, his pearly white teeth moving closer to my flesh. A spray of spit and saliva was dripping down my neck, as I thought back to that morning before I got on the plane.

“You’ll miss it. You’ll miss the birth of your son!” Jenn’s words whispered in my mind as I struggled with the will to live. Joe was very close, death even closer.

At first, I thought I was dreaming. Another whisper, not accusing, not irate but more… hopeful.

“John!” The voice was so distant. I heard it again, louder this time. It wasn’t in my head!

“John!”

“Jenn!” I screamed, pushing Joe up a few inches away from my throat.

“We’re in here!” The voice was coming from a closet that had been nailed shut from the outside.

With a renewed sense of hope, I squeezed the hammer tight, and pushed it up through Joe’s face. His jawbone snapped from his cheek, jerking his head sideways. The rage in his red eyes amplified as he relentlessly came back for more. Twisting around, I gained the upper hand. He was pinned down, chomping at me with only his top teeth still intact. Looking at the closet door, I could hear Jenn calling out.

“What’s happening? John… are you there?”

Looking down at this monster, this creature who tried to take my Jenn from me, I felt a fire burning inside. Viciously digging my knee into its chest, pinning it to the floor, I lifted the hammer high above my head. Holding it with both hands, I slammed it down toward Joe’s face. On impulse, I brought it back up, and drove it down again, then again, each blow feeling better than the last. The final blow cracked through the back of its head, pounding loudly against the wooden surface. Breathing heavy, muscles burning, it was then that I realized what Jenn had said.

I called out to her “What do you mean, we’re in here?”

Crawling to my feet, I rushed to the closet. Using the hammer, I pried the boards from the doorframe, and yanked it open.

Time stopped, as the spotlight shone through the window again. She ran toward me through the light, with an angelic glow, before our lips met. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders. I felt no pain, no sorrow. I only felt the two of us, wrapped in that moment. I slid my hand down the small of her back and around to her stomach, preventing us from a full embrace. I had not missed it. I had not missed the birth of our child.

Everything around us faded. There was no house. There were no zombies. There was no death. I only felt her.

Just as Jenn pulled back from our embrace, her face went deathly pale.

“John!” she shrieked in panic.

Spinning around, I brought my hammer down on a zombie that had burst into the room. It dropped to the ground with a thud. Stepping closer, I brought my foot down onto its skull, making sure that it wasn’t going to hop back up.

“They’re at the house! Get out of there! Abort! Abort!” Kyle bellowed into the microphone.

I grabbed Jenn’s wrist as we started out into the hallway. Looking over the banister facing the room below, I could see the zombies approaching the house through the broken window. The shadows disappeared as the sun peaked over the distant mountaintops. We could hear the blades of the helicopter hovering above. A tiny whimper escaped my wife’s lips as she trembled beside me.

“John! You need to get out here pronto! ” We raced down the stairs, as the helicopter landed in front of the cabin. Kyle jumped out of the helicopter with a Molotov cocktail lit, while we made it to the broken window. Slipping out, I turned to catch Jenn coming right out after me. She might have been nine months pregnant, but she wasn’t letting on.

Jenn’s torn jacket flapped angrily in the wind while we scrambled to the helicopter. Kyle covered us by throwing his cocktail bombs at the horde. Inflamed Zs flooded the gravel driveway, running into the helicopter, the house and each other. The sound of primal panic-stricken screeches was deafening just as much as it was bloodcurdling. The house had caught fire and the brush nearby was going up even swifter.

Pulling open the side door to the helicopter, I helped Jenn up and then dove into the helicopter.

I screamed to Kyle, “Pull up!” Just like that, we lifted off, leaving Hell behind.

Higher and higher we climbed, my pregnant wife sitting safely in my arms.

Chapter 30

After everything, you made it back to us.

Kyle looked back through the door of the cabin at us.

“You going to introduce me or what?” he asked into the microphone headset. After flying several miles, I had regained my bearings enough to help my wife get situated in the cabin. She even giggled when I fumbled with the headset.

“Jenn, this is Kyle. Kyle, this is Jenn. Kyle is the reason I was able to get to you. We owe him our lives,” I said earnestly.

“Aw, come on now,” Kyle replied modestly. “We got here together. Good to meet you, Jenn. I feel like I already know you.”

“Sounds like we owe you everything. Thank you, Kyle.” Jenn squeezed my hand with a grin.

I poured three glasses of water, dropping in ice from the machine. Jenn’s reaction to the cold liquid was the same as ours had been earlier that night.

We sat there for some time, holding each other closely. Massaging my hand across the soft skin of her arm, I once again felt complete. After a while, she looked up at me and told me that she’d spent many nights over the past week looking up at the stars thinking about us.

“One night, there was an amazing spectacle in the sky. I don’t know what it was, maybe a comet, maybe some sort of satellite.” She said putting a hand on my leg. “It reminded me of that night when we were camping, you know the one I’m talking about right… when we first kissed?”

I pulled my arm over and set my hand on top of hers, clutching it firmly. “Yes. Of course I do,” thinking back to the same space junk that I’d seen flying across the night sky days earlier. Knowing that we were connected in a way that I would never fully understand, put a smile across my face.

“I realized I was going to marry you that night,” she told me. “I knew it with all my heart.”

“So did I, Jenn. So did I.”

Holding her tightly in my arms, we sat in a comfortable silence, deep in our own thoughts for a while longer, before she finally spoke up. Jenn had decided to explain what happened at the cabin.

She and Joe had spent the days before her last communication boarding up the windows and doors. They wanted to make sure that they would be able to hold off any zombies if any were to show up. With plenty of food and water, they were confident that they would be okay, even when the first few began stumbling towards the walls of the cabin.

There was no way they could have prepared for the hoard that found them.

Each day, more and more of the Zs surrounded the house. By day three, the place was completely surrounded, and there was no chance of escape. There was uneasiness in her voice as Jenn explained the feeling of being trapped, surrounded by the moans of the dead clawing at what she and Joe soon realized was a temporary safety.

It wasn’t long before the monsters outside had enough force to push down the boarded up windows. Jenn and Joe had put up a good fight, as evidenced by the looks of the place when we had arrived. As they were locking the door to the upstairs room, one overly persistent creature pushed its way through the door, managing to take a chunk out of Joe’s arm before he killed it. They had seen enough to know what that meant.

To try to save Jenn and the child, Joe insisted that he lock them up in the closet, hammering boards across it to make sure he couldn’t get in once he turned. I thought that was mighty admirable of him, though I didn’t voice that as she continued in her soft, weary voice.

At first, Joe was still able to speak. In fact, they held a conversation for some time. He talked about his wife, Sue, and how he’d see her soon. There was one point where they even wondered if he had been infected.

Not long after, he broke into the fever. His speech began to change.

She could hear him kicking and hitting the dead body in the room. He was screaming, “You killed me!” over and over again… until he trailed off. She heard a thump on the floorboards. After calling out for him, there was no longer a response. At that point, she speculated that he had died from the wound.

A low moan shattered the silence in the room. She knew Joe had turned and could hear him pacing around trying to get out. She was locked in that closet, not making a noise for almost twelve hours before she heard the helicopter.

Pausing, Jenn once again pulled herself into my shoulder. She told me that she knew I would get back to her, and never lost hope that I would get there to save her and our child. I held her tight, pulling her close, the heat from our bodies providing a warm comfort, helping us both relax.

Safe and sound in the helicopter, wrapped up in a blanket, Jenn mentioned that her stomach felt a little tight before she fell asleep on the leather seats. With the story still fresh in my mind, I decided to move up to the cockpit to discuss our next move. Kyle was heading toward the Army base in Augusta. He told me that we were low on fuel, and that we’d be running on fumes by the time we got there. They would have doctors, and I agreed with the plan, knowing that Jenn would need medical care as soon as possible.

“One more thing,” he said. “While you were in the house saving your wife, I got a radio transmission from Jarvis back at Avalon.”

“Are you serious?” I sat up abruptly.

“Yah, he told me he wanted his helicopter back,” he said with a big grin.

“Really though, he did contact us. Guess they got the place back in order. He told me we would be welcome, even wanted back if we decided to head that way. They have doctors and medical supplies.”

“What do you think?” I asked. I knew that Jarvis was one of the good guys, but I wasn’t really all that excited to return to the place we called a prison.

“It’s an option. It’s definitely an option. Right now, we couldn’t get there on the fuel we have left. Augusta is our best bet for the moment… if it hasn’t been overrun.”

We sat silent for a short while, mulling over that idea. It was a clear day and the sun was glistening through the clouds. Up here, high above the ground, things still felt… okay.

When we reached Augusta, it was clear that Kyle was right; we were running on fumes. He began using the radio in the chopper to hale the base. Static is all that we received over the airwaves. Frustrated, Kyle continued flying closer to Fort Gordon.

Looking back through the small door, I watched Jenn sit up, fully awake. She was holding her belly, with an uneasy look on her face. Worried, I started to unbuckle my harness. She shook her head, letting me know that she was all right. She then leaned forward to grab a cup of water and ice.

Reluctantly, I turned back toward the cockpit. I could see the look of concern in Kyle’s face as we flew over the large Savannah River. Still, no contact with the base.

In the daylight, we could see zombies stumbling through the streets. Highway 20 was infested with them, as they slowly crept around the crashed cars and trucks. I watched whole groups of them get stuck behind a roadblock. They didn’t appear to have the brainpower to turn back or simply walk around it. I remember thinking that they might stand there forever, trying to push through that barricade.

Through the headset, I heard Jenn urgently speak, “I think the baby is coming. These contractions are definitely real.”

Kyle and I shot a quick glance at each other. I must have looked horrified. I know he did.

That’s when Jenn screamed out.

I jerked violently as if shot, fumbling to release my harness. I lurched into the cabin. She was holding her belly and crying that the contractions were really close together, coming almost on top of each other. I didn’t know much, but I knew that meant the baby was coming fast. Even I could tell that this was bad. Usually, she would have had contractions for hours before. The trauma and lack of help from a doctor through this ordeal must have wreaked havoc on her body.

Looking up at Kyle, he could see my panic.

“You know anything about giving birth?” I barked, horror stricken.

“No,” he cried, flicking his hand in the air. “I’m better at taking life out of this world than bringing it in.”

My attention went back to Jenn, writhing in pain. Something felt wrong, completely and utterly wrong. I could feel it in my very core. I let out a petrified cry when her eyes were pulled into the back of her head. She started to bleed all over the leather and carpet. I was helpless; not knowing what was happening and certainly not knowing what the hell to do.

“We need to land. These fumes aren’t going to get us much further!” Kyle snapped in desperation. “Maybe the base has a medic.”

“We don’t even know if there is a base anymore!” I shrieked.

For twenty minutes, we hovered over Augusta, as Kyle frantically called over the radio looking for any sign of life. Jenn was losing too much blood. She was clutching my hand, screaming with each push.

“This is it!” she finally yelled.

Shifting into place, and pulling her legs apart, I looked down to see the crown of a small head. With each contraction, the head was pushed farther out, revealing dark matted hair. Jenn continued to cry out in pain as her body arched up, splashing through the blood that she continued to lose.

My panic-stricken eyes were pulled up from Jenn and toward Kyle, when he suddenly sat up right in his seat, not saying a word as he lifted his hand up to the headset holding it tight against his right ear.

“Yes! Yes, we’re up here!” I heard Kyle cry out in excitement. “We’re low on fuel, and in desperate need to put down. We also have a woman in labor. Request permission to land!”

He went silent waiting for a response. Jenn tried her hardest to mute her cries of pain as we both listened in anticipation for Kyle’s next words.

“Yes, Sir. We’ll be there in five minutes. Make sure the medical unit has what they need for delivery.”

Looking back at us, he gave thumbs up and told us to hang on. We’d be cutting it pretty close and this was going to be a bumpy ride.

“Hold on, baby. Hold on,” I pleaded with Jenn.

“Ahhhngnn,” she screamed. In an urgent and pain filled voice she said, “You’re going to have to pull him out. You have to deliver him, John… we don’t have five minutes. He’s going to suffocate if he doesn’t get out!”

Having gone to a number of birthing classes over the past months, I knew she was right. Hands shaking, I reached down and wedged my fingers around the head, and started to pull.

“We’re two minutes away!” Kyle screamed back.

Jenn pushed with everything she had left in her. A vein was pulsating out of her forehead, and her hands were firmly squeezing on the side rail of one of the leather seats.

The head emerged, followed by an arm. I gently wrapped my fingers under his armpit, and slowly pulled the second shoulder through. A split second later, the legs followed.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Covered in red, pale with blue lips, the baby hung in my arms lifeless. Then, in a moment of magic, a small burst of cries shot from his mouth. With my eyes tearing up, and my whole body still shaking, I wrapped the child in one of the embroidered white blankets to warm him. Jenn looked up at us. Her eyes were half open, and her body was limp.

“One minute,” Kyle yelled back.

I could feel the chopper coming down, the pit of my stomach lurching up.

“Let me see him,” Jenn whispered.

I placed the wrapped child in her arms, which she didn’t have the strength to hold up on her own. She forced a smile, and her eyes widened for just a moment.

“Hello, Baby. You’re more beautiful than I ever could have imagined,” she said.

Unsuccessfully trying to hold back my own tears, I leaned in, kissed our baby on the forehead, and whispered, “Welcome to the world, little man.”

Gritting her teeth, she motioned with a weak hand for me to take the child. I reached down to pull him into my arms.

Her body tensed up, eyes rolling from side to side. She kicked her legs out involuntarily for a moment, and I pulled our son to my chest, protecting him from any inadvertent strikes.

I felt the helicopter hit the ground, and heard Kyle jumping out of the front cockpit. Everything slowed down. I was waving my hands feverishly from behind the window toward the medics who were running with a gurney towards the chopper door. The sound of the chopper blades was deafening, as I yanked the headset from my head, trying to scream toward them to hurry.

Glancing down at Jenn, her body arched up, then fell to the red tinted leather, and stopped moving.

Then, just like that… In a moment of clarity, she met my eyes and spoke softly.

“John, I love you. You came back to me. After everything, you made it back to us. I’m so proud of you. You are going to be a great father.”

Those were her last words.

I let out a primal scream as her eyes closed. Quickly setting the child in one of the seats, I wrapped my arms around her body, yelling, “Don’t leave us. Don’t leave me.”

Glancing out the helicopter window, the medics were just yards away from reaching us.

“You need to wake up! You need to come back to me!” I screamed as I reached down to kiss my lifeless wife on the forehead. Clutching her in my arms, shaking her back and forth as tears poured down my face, I felt a small movement from one of her legs. Lifting my lips, I looked down to see her eyelids move.

Her red eyes opened.

The End

Bonus Content:

To read a letter from Tyler, John’s son, visit this page: www.zombiebook.net/tylersnote

Acknowledgments:

Many of my best friends and family members were subjected to the early drafts of 900 Miles. Whether they read it, commented on it, or were simply a sounding board for me during its creation, I want each of them to know that I really appreciate every second that they spent with me on this journey to publish.

Specifically, I’d like to thank:

Debbie Davis

Phil Davis

Jamie Crosby

Ryan Dunn

Jenaya Cones

Stefanie Oberhansley

Chad Davis

Tim Davis

Sarah Davis

David Michaud

And of course, Gary at Severed Press for taking a chance on me as an emerging author.

Finally, I’d like to thank my wife, Laurie Davis. Without her encouragement and support, I would never have sat down to type the first word.

This book would not have come to life without all of you!

THANK YOU!

About the Author

S. Johnathan Davis lives in Atlanta, GA with his wife and two children.

For more information, please visit www.sjohnathandavis.com

http://www.zombiebook.net/

Read on for a free sample of The Road To Hell Is Paved With Zombies

Chapter 1:

Zombies Need No Introductions.

Jango peeked out the door of his room at the Prescott Sierra Inn in Prescott, Arizona, and then quickly closed it again. “Those sure look like zombies,” he mumbled to himself, as he lifted a corner of the curtain to look out the window. “But then again,” he thought, “this IS Prescott. It could just be a bunch of Liberal Arts students dicking around and doing some kind of fucked up performance art.” Jango coughed into the crook of his arm, and hoped he wasn’t coming down sick with the flu or something.

He continued watching through the window as what appeared to be three blood-covered people, two men and a woman, played tug-of-war with a dead looking fourth person. There was something wrong with the way the three people moved; he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Their limbs moved with a stiff, marionette-like quality that he found funny, creepy and off-putting all at the same time.

Jango hadn’t left the hotel room in several days, and since there was no television in the ratty little room, he had no idea that a real Zombie Apocalypse had started two days before.

Everything he knew about zombies came from movies and books, so the information he had on hand was Hollywood sketchy, “But damn,” he thought, “They sure look like zombies to me!” Their hair looked matted with clotted blood, twigs, and dirt. Their clothing had probably been expensive at one time, but was now torn to shreds. One male, he noticed, seemed to be missing his right cheek and ear, and the other male seemed to be chewing on the un-moving person. The female was gripping one of the maybe-dead-body’s arms in her teeth and hands, while savagely jerking her head side to side, like a wolf does when it wants a piece of meat to go. “Probably definitely zombies,” he thought to himself with the kind of simple acceptance usually only found in children and the seriously mentally ill.

Jango noticed movement from the direction of the hotel office. The foul-mouthed older lady who worked at the front desk had run out of the office in a pink bathrobe and pink, fluffy slippers. She waved an aluminum baseball bat above her head and shouted, “You get away from my guest, you nasty hippy assholes!” She ran toward the three zombie/liberal arts students with the wobbly, hunch-backed, shuffling gait so common with older people.

The zombies heard her shout, noticed her slow-motion advance, and raised their heads. They sniffed at the air, and then rose like marionettes being pulled up by invisible strings. The creatures started hissing and moaning. Saliva ran from their slack lips as they all began making a high-pitched keening sound, “Rhheeeeeeeeee-EEeeeeeee-aaaahhhh-eeeeee.” Then, in a blur of motion, the zombies charged at the old lady.

The zombies’ upper bodies didn’t coordinate well with the speed of their churning legs, so the high speed movement was almost comical as their torsos swayed around atop their legs, and their arms trailed behind them like the tassels on a kid’s bicycle handle-bars.

The old woman suddenly seemed to realize that the creatures were not a bunch of hippies. She dropped the baseball bat, screamed in terror, and turned to run back inside. The zombies, though, were less than fifty feet away from her, and it was obvious that they would catch her before she could shuffle halfway to the office door.

Jango, who was a compulsive supporter of the underdog, would not stand by and watch a little old lady get eaten by zombies. Without thinking, he tore open the door to his room and shouted at the zombies, “Hey, you, over here!” The zombies all looked his way at once, and then, as one, they veered toward him like a group of top-heavy ostriches, and their keening wail became louder as they rushed toward him.

Suddenly, he realized that he didn’t really have a plan for dealing with the un-dead, so, in a panic, he started running toward his car. His panic ended up saving his life.

As a resident of Arizona, a modern version of the Wild West, Jango owned a gun. This being Arizona, he was not going to leave his gun in his hotel room for the maid to steal, so he had stashed his 9mm pistol in the welded lockbox under the driver’s seat of his 1990 Geo Metro hatchback.

He reached his car well ahead of the zombies, got the keys out of his pocket, and opened the car door. He climbed in quickly, slammed the door shut, and locked it. By that time, the old lady had made it back to the hotel office and slammed the door shut behind her.

Jango reached between his feet for his gun box, just as one of the zombies smashed into the side of his Metro. The small car lurched and rocked as the zombie tried to get to him. He fumbled his key into the key hole on the box, twisted the key, and the box popped open. Inside were a Ruger KP 89 pistol, four fully loaded fifteen-round magazines, and four spare fifty-round boxes of ammunition. Swiftly and smoothly, he fitted a magazine into the grip of his pistol, seated it, and worked the slide to chamber a round. He stuck the three remaining mags into his front pockets, and steadied himself.

All three zombies were mindlessly bashing against his little car, arms swinging wildly, flailing with such force that the car’s frame was bending. The doors were buckling in, and the side windows were spider webbed with cracks. Even though it seemed they could not think clearly enough to just break a window and haul him out through the hole, it wouldn’t be long before they opened the tiny automobile like a piñata full of Jango treats.

Jango began breathing faster, hyper-oxygenating his blood as he put his hand on the door handle, and then with a violent surge, he slammed the driver’s side door open and into one of the male zombies. The door rebounded, and closed behind him as he jumped out of the car. The zombie tumbled backward in a disjointed pile, but immediately got back up. He noticed the guy wearing a pinkie ring on his right hand. “Guys shouldn’t wear pinkie rings,” he quipped, half to himself, as he shot the zombie in its head.

The zombie fell and started twitching, just as the other two came around the back of the car. Jango startle-jumped, let out a little scream, and ran around his car away from the zombies.

He suddenly found himself in a high-speed Chinese fire-drill around his beat up car, with two wailing, undead creatures that were intent on eating him. Jango saw no way out of his predicament. He managed to keep perfectly even with the two zombies as they chased him pell-mell around the smashed up hatchback. His only desire was to keep the bulk of his vehicle between himself and the two slavering zombies.

He fired two wild shots at them across the roof of his car while running, and missed both shots. “Shit,” he panted in frustration as he continued running. He had always thought it was bogus how people in movies made running head-shots on moving zombies, and there was his proof.

Jango wracked his brains to find a way out of his predicament, and suddenly he had an idea. He poured on more speed, and started closing in on the still wailing undead from behind. He was getting winded, from fear as much as exertion, but he slowly drew closer to the zombies, and lap by lap, he closed the gap between himself and his pursuers. He came around the front of his car on the passenger side just as the screeching creatures passed the passenger side door. He stopped, steadied his hands on the pistol in a two handed grip, and started shooting at the female zombie’s head.

With his first shot, he hit the female in the head, but his next three shots were wild. The remaining zombie finally noticed that its meal was much closer if it turned around. With an ear-splitting shriek, the thing turned toward Jango and charged. Its mouth gaped open and its tongue flailed around like an impaled earthworm, as it reached toward him.

Jango got set, raised his gun, and fired all in one fluid motion; the bullet hit the monster in the center of its forehead and it collapsed instantly. As he stared at the creatures he had just killed, the full weight of his situation suddenly struck him.

He leaned against the side of his dented, smashed, and otherwise thoroughly abused Geo Metro and sobbed. “What BULL-shit,” he whispered to himself. He leaned against his car, head hung, gasping for air. He was in excellent physical shape, but everyone has limits to their endurance; and the zombies had stretched his ability to endure almost to the breaking point.

Unnoticed by him, several zombies had made their way up the road. The creatures had followed the sound of his gunshots and the wailing of the now dead-again zombies. Jango just leaned against his car, panting, and thinking. He was shell-shocked, unaware and unmoving.

He was thirty-six years old, had no children, a bad case of P.T.S.D., and a built in paranoia that made a meth-head seem stable by comparison. He was average height, brown hair, soft hazel eyes, with big, callused, violent looking hands that looked as if someone who liked to kill had designed them for a strangler. His build was deceptive, average looking, until you looked closely and saw that he appeared to be made of cables and ropes, all hard, dense muscle made for use. All of his spare time was spent making himself into a killing machine, exercising, running, pounding a heavy bag, and practicing with every kind of weapon he could make or buy. He believed that the world was out to get him, and it was up to him to protect himself.

As a child, he had suffered terrible abuse, and that suffering had left a permanent mark on his mind, body, and spirit. The pain and horror of abuse had wrought a change in him, all the way down to a cellular level.

He had spent his entire life preparing for the worst to happen, and now that it had, he found himself shocked into a lethargic numbness.

“Deeeeeee-aaahhhhhh-eeeeeeeeeeee!” a zombie screamed as it rushed at him from no more than fifteen feet away.

Jango jumped like a scared cat, straight up in the air, legs already churning in a full-speed run before he hit the ground again. He ran around his car, and got into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, started his car, and began gnashing his teeth while growling at the zombies through his cracked windshield. Foam flecked his lips and a strange, feral light started glowing deep within his eyes as he continued growling and grinding his teeth.

Jango saw more than two-dozen zombies rushing his way in a loose, swaying formation that made him think of a group of children running while wearing straightjackets. He felt a dam break loose in his mind from the strain of it all.

Snarling and gnashing his teeth, he put his little car in gear, and started driving over his undead antagonists. Driving into them was probably more accurate since the tiny Geo Metro had the approximate ground clearance of a lawn mower, and about the same amount of horsepower as well.

“Thump, thunk, crunch,” as he drove in circles and figure-eights, knocking over, and then running over the zombies until none were left standing. His knuckles were ghost-white from his death grip on the steering wheel as he slalomed around the parking lot on a slimy slick of zombie juice and innards. Twenty minutes later, when Jango finally noticed that there was nothing left standing in the parking lot, he brought his car to a skidding stop, and put it in park. Looking around the parking lot, he was stunned at the level of carnage he had wrought. Mangled, wailing zombies littered the area; some with flattened body-parts stuck to the asphalt like snakes that had been ran over on the highway, but were still alive, doing that messed up, twisting crawl that went nowhere. And the blood… everywhere he looked was blood and guts. The zombie blood was thick, slimy, and an unhealthy shade of reddish-black interspersed with blotchy gray that looked like beef liver that had gone bad and begun to rot.

Jango suppressed the urge to vomit, but just barely. He sat there for a moment, bile in the back of his mouth and in shock. Then suddenly his face split into a huge and genuine smile. “I knew it!!” he shouted out loud, “I just fucking knew it!” He pumped his arms up and down in the air, fists hitting the ceiling of his car.

It had suddenly occurred to him that his psychologist had been wrong when he told Jango that it was pure fantasy to believe the world would just suddenly go to hell overnight, leaving only the strong to survive. All around him was proof that the wheels had come off of some very important shit, and that the meek were not going to get very much in Prescott right now.

Content

S. Johnathan Davis
900 MILES

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Bonus Content:

Acknowledgments:

About the Author

Read on for a free sample of The Road To Hell Is Paved With Zombies

Chapter 1: Zombies Need No Introductions.