Tales of Courage From Beyond The Apocalypse (Book 8): John Read online

  I had hopes it would hold out longer, but was rather surprised it went as long as it did.

  I had a few flashlights, though, and a rack of fully charged batteries in the Engineer room to work with. They'd last a while, but without windows in the building, it was going to be a problem.

  There didn't seem to be as many zombies below as there had been the day before, but I had noticed that was a pattern with them. They came in cycles almost, finding their way to the building, sensing perhaps that there was food inside, or attracted by the noise of the others milling and thumping. Then they would become distracted, maybe chasing after deer or dogs wandering into the compound.

  It was like the waves of the sea, but this ocean was made of blood-covered and growling bodies all bent on locating their next meal.

  It took a while to get the generator running, but I managed to start the thing up, wincing at how loud it was. It was going to be a beacon to zombies for miles around, and grow exponentially.

  The genny was a fuel-efficient model, though, and I thought I could manage at least a few days use out of the cannisters in the shed.

  I passed through the building and turn off everything I could get away with. I should have done it sooner, but having the lights on in all the chambers, even those completely bare, made me feel a little more comforted. Maybe if I could reduce the load on the generator, it would last a bit longer.

  Aside from food, the major concern I had was staying warm. The nights were getting colder, and without power, the heating system was not going to be there. It's not like the place had fireplaces I could use and starting random fires in empty rooms didn't seem the smartest thing to do.

  I passed by the steel door leading to the parking garage, somewhere I had avoided so far. When I got to it and started to mess with the handle, a huge thud resounded from the other side.

  Oh crap.

  Another thump, and I held the knob tight, my free hand checking to make sure the deadbolt on it was really in place. It was.

  But the banging continued.

  Had something gotten in?

  I went through everything again, racing from one exit to the next, but all were locked and the barricades I had set around most of them were still there.

  I had yet to see any of the things climbing, and I remembered the large door in the garage for the van to drive through was closed when I came in.

  But something was definitely in there.

  I went back to my safe rooms and bolted that door behind me. I had to get control.

  I had to do act or the place would become my coffin.

  9

  Losing power must not have been with my building alone. What little water came through the tap was brown and disgusting, completely undrinkable.

  Even if I had something I could boil it with, there was no way I would be able to swallow it down.

  The remaining food I kept in the refrigerator, too, was beginning to turn, leaving me only a dozen or so packaged snack cakes and four cans of soda.

  Reality was forcing my hand. I had no choice but to find my way out of the mess and to a new place of safety, and that meant going through the army on my doorstep.

  I spent a few hours trying to gauge the best plan of action, damning myself the whole time for not coming up with something sooner. I thought I was so smart hiding in the station, holing up away from the destruction happening to the rest of the world, even feeling a little smug at how I couldn't have done better for myself than the old barracks. I had been able to weather a fierce storm without realizing the gale was only beginning.

  Before the HAM fell mostly into silence, I heard many people talking about traveling south, that there was safety there. Food, shelter, water, all available to those who could make it. I decided the best thing I could manage to do was head that course myself, to find an enclave willing to take me in, if there were any still around.

  I had enough supplies to last me another day, maybe two if I really stretched them along, but getting there would be the issue.

  There was no way I was going to get to my truck. The horde was waiting for the slightest movement from in the building, and I could never fight my way through all of them. One, maybe two, with as weak as the lack of nutrition was making me. Nothing more than that, though.

  There was the van the radio station used for events and spot broadcasts, but the pounding on the door told me there was at least one creature beyond the steel, perhaps more.

  If the van worked, it would be my best option. The thing was relatively new, and bulky as hell. It would be almost like a tank compared to anything else I might be able to obtain.

  Everything I could think of went into a backpack I found in the engineer room. The rest of the food I could trust wouldn't spoil, the cans of soda, a couple of jackets to carry it all safe and hopefully keep me warm if I got stuck walking.

  It would have to do.

  I downed a few candy bars and a bag of chips, hoping the quick boost of energy would get me through the next little while.

  Finally, putting all but two of the flashlights and as many batteries as I could find into the bag, I headed down the hallway to Galen's room.

  It was not far from the thumping. I put one of the lights on the floor and pointed it toward that door before going into Galen's office.

  The long rifle was a collectible, more ceremonial than useful, but it was something. I wasn't sure if it would even work, but Galen won it in a contest years before and was proud of it. He loved any excuse he could to talk about that skeet shoot and how he'd come out on top.

  The box of ammo he kept in the desk was virtually empty, but there would be enough to do the job.

  I'd never fired a piece such as that before, but I couldn't help the vision of myself toting it around like some skinny Arnold Schwarzenegger on a bender.

  I loaded the gun, its single shot chamber cracking as I set the bolt in place. Then I returned to the hallway, thinking I was some kind of pro because of all the movies I watched.

  The sound must have been a tease for whatever waited beyond the door; the pounding was almost frantic.

  I slung the pack to my back and strapped it, then picked the rifle up again and heaved a deep breath.

  It was a bit awkward holding it with both hands and keeping the flashlight in the left one to give me as much light as I could manage, but I thought it would do. My stomach was twirling, the sugar and fake potatoes swimming inside of me like they were surfers out of control, but I couldn't back down.

  It had to be done.

  I stretched out the hand with the flashlight and spun the deadbolt lock free, then bounded backward. My foot kicked the light on the floor, sending the glow aflutter.

  For a moment, there was only the knocking, and I remember thinking what a let down it was to hear that and nothing more. My nerves were on fire, waiting for the door to come open, but I was not about to go closer and do it myself.

  Then the knob turned and the door broke away from the sill with a creak, an overpowering odor of rot and mold passing through with the movement of air.

  I nearly retched, but bit it back as a figure came through the hole, the steel barrier no longer blocking the growling.

  The thing was bulbous and grotesque, the skin coming apart at the seams as the creature that once was Galen entered the hall.

  The eyes, grayed over and useless, rolled as its other senses detected me and it moved toward my trembling gun.

  I pulled the trigger, the bright flash blinding me as much as the thundering crash deafened me.

  A moment later, my vision cleared, and I saw the spot in the ceiling above Galen's head dripping plaster dust and debris.

  Shit.

  10

  Pain shot through my arm from the butt of the rifle ramming into it, but I had to move.

  The gunfire did nothing to stop Galen's approach. If anything, it egged what remained of my former boss on, driving him toward me.

  Desperate, I swung the rifle around, the heat
of the barrel searing my fingers. I screamed as I threw myself into a swing, barely able to see through the haze of smoke and the flashlight facing the wrong way.

  The wooden stock connected with a crunch and my shoulder squeezed with ache as the vibration traveled through the gun into my bones.

  I overbalanced, my torso moving too close to the thing as the zombie crashed backward, careening off of the wall. An arm reached out to claw me as the body fell.

  It grasped empty air.

  I heaved a breath and tried again, my grip tight on the barrel though the heat was terrible. I whipped again, and Galen's walking corpse went down all the way.

  Over and over again I struck, until the rifle's stock cracked, and then I hit some more, each time aiming for the head. Fingers like claws kept reaching for me even with as much damage as I was doing, but I dodged them before they could clutch the fabric of my jeans or the flesh beneath.

  Finally the movements were minimal, guttural choking sounds emitting from the mouth as what remained of blood inside of the thing trickled down into the throat that wanted to swallow me down.

  My pulse furiously pounding, I jumped past the body on the floor and headed for the open door, the darkness hiding whatever might be beyond. The only sound over my own ragged breaths were those coming from Galen behind me, though, and nothing else tried to reach for me as I dropped what was left of the gun and flung myself into the garage.

  I yanked the door closed, the zombie moving toward it like an insane inchworm. It clanged as it slammed shut.

  I whirled, the flashlight shining everywhere I could manage to get it to go, looking for any sign of movement.

  The van, fresh blue paint and large antenna array on the top set down to its travel position, waited at the center of the huge room. I didn't make for it right away, though.

  The keys hung from a pin in the wall near the door and they jangled as I pulled them clear. They made more noise as the uncontrollable shaking in my fingers jostled them around.

  Another series of vibrations as the thing that once was Galen began to scrabble at the door, but if I did as much damage as I hoped, it wouldn't be capable of reaching the knob.

  Not before I got free, anyhow.

  However, the sounds seemed to attract more attention from others, the garage door began to shudder as bodies beyond it pounded. How were these things able to sense so quickly? They were slow, but damn they reacted to new stimuli faster than I would have thought they could.

  A full set of tool chests lined the far wall on the other side of the van. I didn't have a weapon and was loathe to try to do anything without one, so I burst over the concrete to the boxes and began digging through.

  I threw tools everywhere, not caring about how much noise I was making. Those things outside knew I was there. It didn't matter if I was loud.

  Near the bottom of the bigger chest rested a large wrench, and I drew it free with my flashlight shining across its metal surface. It wasn't a fire axe--what I would have given for that--but it weighed a ton and was made of solid steel.

  It would have to do.

  I found the right key and pulled myself into the driver's seat of the van, slamming the door closed while punching it into the ignition. If the thing was out of gas...

  But it roared instantly and I snapped the headlights on, my eyes wide with the adrenaline rush.

  Oh, God. The gate was sealed. How was I going to open it and get the hell out of there?

  The generator on the roof was still running, and I grabbed the remote opener from the visor. If the garage wasn't connected to the generator, I was in for a crap-fest.

  I clicked the button and the rumble of it coming to life distracted me as my heart leaped in my chest. Yes! It was breaking open! I could run free of this place after all.

  Daylight shafted[Tessa E1][Open Eyes2] in, igniting the room with a brilliance that blinded me. I winced away, closing my eyes and dropping the remote into my lap, the backpack slung across my shoulders digging uncomfortably into my spine.

  A mass of zombies poured through the half-opened doorway, feet stomping on the concrete as they slouched and lurched.

  I had to wait longer. I couldn't go until the door was wide enough so the large array on top wouldn't get caught up in it.

  The things came closer, fists and arms outstretched toward me like worshipers looking for a blessing, their faces filled with biting teeth and darkness.

  I shifted the van into drive and crushed my foot into the gas pedal. Screeching echoed as a burning scent filtered through the vents, the tires finding purchase and pushing off.

  For a second, I couldn't handle it, my hands grabbing for the wheel. I grasped it as rough as I could and twisted it, but three zombies in front of me smashed into the bumper. They crunched under the van, and the jouncing threw me off balance.

  I regained control and turned hard, avoiding a few others that were nearby.

  My crazy metal steed hit the parking lot within seconds and I evaded most of the milling creatures around. A few, though, met their untimely undeaths beneath my tires.

  As I whipped the van on the road leading away from the station, I glanced into the rearview mirror and was shocked by how many of the things there were.

  Hundreds. A great mass of bodies carrying death and pestilence in their wake.

  I headed south, unsure of where I would end up, but glad to leave the infestation behind.

  11

  I didn't realize until I got further from the station that I had made my escape in the morning.

  By the time evening came on, I was nearly out of gas and had gone through the last can of soda hours before.

  Exhaustion preyed on me, my nerves tangled up in a mess, but I didn't dare stop anywhere I happened across. The service stations I saw had at least one of the creeping things around it, most of them more. I didn't want to get myself into an even bigger problem.

  There were a lot of cars on the highway, none of them occupied by the living. They had been abandoned, left by people desperate, perhaps, to seek shelter elsewhere. Maybe they were taken by surprise, feasted upon by these beings the pits of hell couldn't have dreamed up.

  I didn't see any survivors. No signs anyone else but me was alive in this wasteland of decay and horror.

  It wouldn't be long before I was forced to leave my steed behind, or find a place to fill it up for the rest of the trip.

  Some of the cars had to have gas. They couldn't all be sitting empty, I thought.

  It would take some kind of tubing or a hose to be able to siphon what I would need, though, and did not think there was anything like that in the van.

  Still, I pulled over in a place I saw no movement and pulled myself into the back, the large set of remote radio equipment taking up almost the whole of the space.

  Masses of wires and tons of electrical gadgets and their remnants were there, but no hoses. Nothing I could use.

  I shifted to the front seat and turned the heat up more, the decaying sun leaving a chill in the air.

  There had been more than a few farmhouses along the way. Maybe one of them would have a hose attached to its exterior. I could probably fashion something together. Hell, maybe they had a tank or two I could drain. Farms had that, right?

  I drove further until I spotted a hopeful place and pulled the van into the long drive, heading for the darkened house at the end. The sun was barely up, mere glimmers of light playing havoc with the shadows.

  I put the van in park, leaving it running and the lights on, illuminating the home. Grabbing the wrench, I pried myself out of the driver's seat and got out.

  The stench was awful. Something was definitely rotting nearby and it was picked up by the breeze and sent into my nose.

  I rounded the flashlight everywhere, trying to find a hose I could use. There were a couple of old trucks, including one that looked big enough to hold half the farm, but I couldn't see any hoses near the driveway.

  I tried to breathe mostly through my mouth
as I neared the house and spotted a few bodies on the ground.

  I stopped and stared, waiting for them to move, but after a few seconds, I realized they were not humans. Instead, they were goats, torn to bits by something.

  I turned again toward the home, and movement there caught my eye.

  An elderly man, his clothing shredded and filthy, held his head up into the air, sniffing like a dog. His face snapped to meet me, and I saw the withered eyes and gaunt skin as he growled and began teetering.

  I wasted no time. Rushing toward the thing, I swung the nearly two-foot long wrench toward the head and almost laughed at the sound of it connecting. I was, maybe, as crazy as that old dead man by then, malnourished, alone for far too long, and desperate to survive.