Tales of Courage From Beyond The Apocalypse (Book 5): Roger Read online

  Tales of Courage From Beyond The Apocalypse:

  ROGER

  Jeremy Fabiano

  with

  T. M. Edwards

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2018: Jeremy Fabiano. All Rights Reserved.

  This work may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the copyright holder.

  Contact:

  T. M. Edwards

  Jeremy Fabiano

  [email protected]

  1

  My name is Roger Bennet and I’m having a really bad month. Twenty-four days ago, I watched on television as they broadcasted the bombs falling. I looked outside in time to see the predawn sky light up like the sun. I have no idea if there’s radiation, but there are… things… walking around outside. I’ll call them zombies for a lack of a better descriptive word. After all, I’m not a writer.

  I thought I had it all figured out. I always thought Hey, I play tons of zombie and post-apocalypse games, I got this! Well, let me tell you. I was wrong. Almost dead wrong. I about died five times the first day. I ended up cornered on one occasion and thought I was dead for sure. Out of nowhere, some black kid in his late teens to early twenties ran past with some sort of scythe looking thing and took the zombie’s head clean off. Then he literally ran up a wall and jumped off of a building. I wasn’t sure it was even real, but the head of the zombie rolled and came to rest at my feet. It stared back at me with cold, dead eyes. Apparently, you shouldn’t charge at monsters and try to get the highest kill count.

  The zombies don’t seem to care if it’s night or day. They hunt by smell and sound, so I have to stay quiet and be careful as I travel. Every day is survival of the fittest. I found this out through trial and error. I’d stepped in a pile of something awful and smelled horrible. I ended up bathing in a swimming pool. After that, every time I hid, groups of them would find me. It took almost a full week of running to realize I had to quit bathing as they apparently hunted by smell. Another time I knocked over a shopping cart and made a ton of noise. A few minutes later I was running for my life.

  Okay, so it’s been a few weeks. The power died right after the explosions. So what do I have going for me? A ton of useless zombie trivia and games. A steel pipe that I scavenged from a construction site. A flashlight and some packaged rations I found in a house. I also found a nylon backpack and some basic tools. To add to that, I had some martial arts from when I was a kid. And two survival camp outings around the same age.

  Oh, and I broke into the local radio station. I thought it would be enough to keep me safe, but zombies managed to break down the door on the first night. I led them outside and lost them down the block. When I returned, I put the door back in place and then barricaded it with file cabinets. I did the same for all of the windows that were reachable as well.

  But, even with all that going for me, it’s still only been because of luck that I’ve stayed alive so far…

  ***

  Along with my backpack and basic tools that I’d found at a ransacked camping supply store was a kerosene lantern. It burned dimly as I worked well into the night. I desperately needed power. And supplies. If I could get the radio station working again, I could call for help. But I’d been working at this for days. And I was almost out of food again. “You’re no help, you know,” I said to Ben. I looked at at the pile of 2x4’s I’d built into a rough stick figure with a magazine cut out as a face. It stared back at me with a blank expression. I raised my eyebrow. “What? No snarky comment tonight?” Ben said nothing.

  “Fine. Be that way.” I snapped. I glared daggers at him for a moment before returning to my project. He might not say much, but he’s the only friend I had at that moment and he helped keep me sane.

  I referenced the service manual I’d found for the building’s backup generator. It clearly showed me on the schematic which wire leads I needed to follow. They ran under a panel which I had to remove. “See, Ben? I found the problem. A rat ate the damned wire! And you said I couldn’t do it…”

  Now that I knew what I needed, I added it to my mental ‘to-do’ list. I checked all the entrances to the radio station to make sure the doors were secure. I had boarded up the windows and put furniture in front of that. The only way in or out was from the roof. The only way up was the rope ladder I’d made and attached to the fire escape mounts on the roof. Even that only went down to the first-floor fire escape, which was equipped with a pull-down ladder. Basically, no zombies were climbing up and getting inside.

  The next morning, I ate half of the last ration. It was time to head out. I descended from my fortress of safety and raised the fire escape. I made my way down the abandoned alley. The home improvement store loomed off in the distance. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get in and out without getting caught. I’d have to see when I got there. Trash littered the streets and smoke blotted out the sun. It was cold enough that I could see my breath.

  The city was quiet enough I could make out the sound of the wind blowing through the alley. It brought with it the smell of death and decay. I said I wasn’t a writer. Perhaps I should be? I came to the intersection and stopped short. Peeking around the corner, I saw no movement of any kind. I quickly moved across the massive parking lot, trying to not let my footfalls slap the concrete.

  The door beckoned to me, agape and awaiting. It had apparently been smashed inward by a truck, likely when the looting started. Those first few days were rough. The looters were long gone now. I entered the building, glass crunching underfoot. I took a deep breath and slowed to minimize the noise.

  2

  I could only see a little way in front of me. The flashlight was a bargain-buy cheapie and only illuminated a small cone about twenty feet out. It would have to do. Cautiously, I made my way to the garden department. The shelves and displays were barren. “Damnit,” I breathed. Then I recalled the times the managers made me clean all the inventory which constantly fell behind the shelving units.

  I crawled my way back and dropped between the massive cantilever shelves. It was spotless. It was time to take a chance. I knew this store like the back of my hand. Or so I hoped. I counted the number of shelves to the top, then turned off the flashlight and zipped it up in my backpack. In the dark, I began to climb.

  “Shit!” I yelled as I slipped, almost losing my grip. My voice echoed back to me a moment later. In the distance, something metal clattered to the floor. It was followed by three distinct sets of moans. Shit. Shit. Shit. I kept climbing. I had to get to the top before something came looking for me and grabbed my legs.

  Once at the top, I pulled out the flashlight and took stock of my surroundings. There were several unopened cases of lawn tools of all sorts, ready to be stocked. Next to me was a large riding mower, still strapped down to its pallet. I opened one of the top-stock boxes which were full of machetes and grabbed a pair. At least now I had a real weapon. It was funny, I always hated stacking the surplus equipment on the top shelf, but now it was rather convenient, and the looters never thought to check up here.

  I cautiously made my way across to the next aisle top-stock shelving unit. Right where the camping stuff was stored during last season’s inventory audit. Score! There were four cases of unopened dehydrated meals. That would last me a couple of weeks. I tossed everything into my backpack. I added a few canisters of camping stove fuel as well. I’d have to boil water at some point.

  That just leaves the electrical department. I would h
ave to get closer to where the noises came from earlier. Then I heard the shuffling feet. And the moaning. Shit! It’s right below me! I risked a glance over the edge. A decomposing body wearing an orange vest slowly made its way around the corner, walking toward my general area. It was heading toward the spot right below the mower. Two birds, one stone. I can take out the zombie and attract the others toward this area.

  I moved back toward the mower and waited. Every few moments, I would glance over the edge to see if the walking pile of meat was in position. Then I squatted down and lifted with everything I had. The palette slid off the shelf. A sickening splat and a loud crash rewarded my efforts. Throughout the store, moans and echoing footfalls could be heard. Here they come…

  Then it occurred to me. How the hell am I getting down and past them? Shit, Roger! Think! I moved across to the connecting isle and peered over the edge. All clear. My mind made up, I climbed down and darted to the next shelf. I waited. I heard footsteps shambling by, heading to the lawnmower, no doubt.

  About twenty minutes later I made my way to the electrical department. In one of the aisles, there was a shelf with bulk wire spools. I just needed a few feet of cable. And the machine was off, so I had no way of rotating the assembly. I looked around for options and my eyes landed on a spool of house electrical wire. I hadn’t realized just how heavy these things were until I grabbed it. I really only need a little bit, but this could come in handy.

  I turned around and three zombies were walking toward me. How’d I miss them? I grabbed a plastic junction box and tossed it over their heads. It clattered behind them, causing two of them to turn around and head back. The third one didn’t seem to care. It just kept coming toward me. I turned to run but found myself cut off. Two more were coming down the other side of the aisle. Shit!

  I dove between the shelves opposite the wire rack and began to climb, flashlight in my hand. I didn’t have time to properly put it away. Once at the top, I could see the zombies trying to get into the shelves to chase me, however, they didn’t seem very limber. Shaking from the adrenaline rush I sat down on the shelf.

  I watched the zombies for a while, trying to judge whether or not they would be able to climb up after me. About fifteen minutes later I was satisfied that they wouldn’t. Even still, I moved down to the opposite end of the shelving rack. I was exhausted. The shaking had subsided and my breathing was more normal now. Might as well take a nap.

  3

  Pounding on the shelving unit woke me up. How long was I out for? I checked my watch. 2132… Shit. I slept over twelve hours! I turned on my crappy little flashlight and peeked over the edge. The zombies had spread a bit, but they were still in the general vicinity. Two of them were punching the shelf beams, apparently frustrated that I was out of reach. I would have to be careful.

  I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulders. I checked the ground again. They hadn’t moved. Works for me. I took out one of the two machetes I had grabbed earlier and flung it as hard as I could toward the far end of the aisle. It clattered against something then hit the floor making more noise. I watched several of the zombies turn and shuffle toward the noise.

  I turned toward the other side of the aisle and shuffled as fast as I could while trying to keep my footfalls quiet. Rounding the corner, I crashed into three or four zombies. They grabbed my shoulders and arms. One sank its teeth into my left wrist. I didn’t hesitate. I slammed my palm into its nose, forcing the soft cartilage into its brain. It dropped like a sack of potatoes and dragged me with it. I had to pry my hand from its jaws while the other zombies clawed and bit at me.

  Luckily, I was able to get free, but I was bleeding badly. I kicked one in the face and punched the other in the throat, dazing them both. Now free, I ran for the front door of the building as fast as I could manage. It was dark outside, and raining pretty hard.

  My footsteps splattered puddles the whole way back to the radio station. The fact that I’d been bitten registered and my feet faltered. I tripped, rolling several times in the water. I looked at my wrist. I was fucked. I’d seen my roommates turn from the virus. I had at most maybe six to eight hours before I was a walking pile of rotting hungry flesh. Maybe longer, I wasn’t sure. “This isn’t the way I wanted to fucking go out,” I said out loud as I lay in a puddle, rain pouring in my face.

  I rolled over and subconsciously supported my weight with both hands. My left arm buckled and I fell face-first into the water. I gasped on the way down, taking in some liquid and almost drowning on it. As I coughed it occurred to me that this might not be a bad way to go. However, self-preservation took over and I expelled the water. Slowly, I made my way back to the radio station and pulled down the fire escape ladder. It took forever to climb it between my injuries and the slippery, wet metal.

  I tossed down the backpack and machete and pulled out my first aid kit that I’d looted a few days prior. After cleaning out the wound with hydrogen peroxide I applied a liberal amount of antibiotic ointment. It wouldn’t stop the virus, but at least I wasn’t going to have an infection to deal with. Next, I opened up one of the dried rations I’d picked up from the home improvement store and added water to it. I ate it cold. A dead man shouldn’t care whether his food was hot or cold…

  It was around midnight when I finished eating. I cleaned up the rest of the bumps and scrapes as best as I could and then headed for sleep for the last time.

  I woke up to a headache and checked my forehead and noticed that I had a fever. I checked the time. It was six-thirty in the evening the next day. “Eighteen hours and I’m not a zombie…” I said, checking my wound. “Would I know if I were a zombie?” I looked at Ben

  The pile of 2x4s didn’t answer.

  “Well, you’re no help.” Why didn’t I turn? Am I immune? Oh well, might as well keep going ahead as planned. If I turn, there won’t be a damned thing I can do about it anyway, might as well do something useful with whatever time I have left.

  I was hungry again. Starving even. I ate two of the rations, not really caring about saving them since I was likely done for anyways. With a full stomach, I grabbed the cabling I’d picked up. After separating the outer plastic, I was able to pull out the black, white, and green strands.

  The broken wire on the generator was red, but the color wouldn’t matter as long as I didn’t mix them up. I took some of the white wire and stripped the ends. I also cut out the bad section on the generator and twisted the new piece in, applying liberal amounts of electrical tape.

  The generator’s exhaust manifold wasn’t connected to anything. A pipe stuck down from the ceiling, well out of my reach. I guess they were in the process of replacing the old machine when the apocalypse hit. To quiet the exhaust and not poison myself with carbon monoxide, I stuffed some metal pipe into the exhaust tube and routed it out a window. It wouldn’t be super quiet, but it’d help quite a bit.

  I opened the fuel cut-off valve below the generator’s gas tank and waited a few minutes for the carburetor to fill up. Then I switched on the generator and pressed the start button. It turned over several times, shaking horribly and then sputtered to life. The desk light I had plugged into it glowed to life. That’s something at least.

  4

  I climbed the stairs to the roof and opened the door. The rain fell in torrents, sideways at times. Water rushed through the drain gutter like a waterfall. I looked out over the blackened city and wondered if anyone else was out there. Someone else had to have survived. Am I really the only one left? Am I actually immune? Or am I going to change into one of those monsters at some point? I didn’t know.

  Leaning against the doorframe, I lost myself in the moment and just watched the rain until my feet started to ache. It was time to do something. I headed back downstairs and grabbed the portable transmitter I’d found stashed in the storage room.

  I didn’t exactly know what I was doing, but I had a decent understanding of how electronics worked. The radio antenna was just fine. The transmitter equipment need
ed too much power for the medium-sized portable generator they’d wired in for the building lights. But the portable? It would power that no problem. I just needed to connect it to the big antenna and I could broadcast to the city. I didn’t know what good it would do, but if there were any survivors, maybe I could round them up and give us a fighting chance.

  I set up all of the equipment and got the power connected. The antenna leads and connectors, however, weren’t the same. “Shit,” I said. “Always something…” I went back to the storage room and started looking through all the drawers. Spare parts of every kind filled every storage compartment. I picked up an old tube with a bunch of prongs. “Whoa,” I said, looking at the glass tube. I hadn’t seen a vacuum tube since I was a kid. I tossed it back in the drawer. It was cool but useless.

  I didn’t find the connector I needed. There was an electronics shop about five miles away. I wondered if I could make it there and back without too many problems. I had my machete and my apparent, newfound immunity. “I can do this,” I said.

  It would probably take the better part of a day to reach the electronics store on foot if I had to worry about being careful. I figured if I was still human in the morning, I would set out and get what I needed.