Cape Zero- the Fall Read online

  Cape Zero: The Fall

  By Nicholas Woode-Smith

  First Edition

  Copyright 2016 Nicholas Woode-Smith

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cape Zero

  The Fall

  Nicholas Woode-Smith

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  1. Awakening

  The sun was rising, revealing the vista that was Table Mountain in all her majesty. Sunlight flooded the land, illuminating the grey rocks of the mountain and assorted greenery below. As the sun continued to climb, it revealed more and more of the vast mountain, painting it a majestic gold. Just below, the shadow of dawn was being swallowed up and consumed by the ever growing rays of the sun, and revealing the forests in all their grandeur and splendour.

  It was a refreshing scene, especially after the two weeks of rain which had made this unpleasant event exponentially drearier. It seemed that someone up there had a sense of humour, or at least the knowledge of how to set an appropriate scene. Recent events were not enough for some. Rain, storms and perpetual wind were needed to hone the depression that had sunk into Cape Town. That would be logical for a director, for it must have been a director who had put this all into motion. An apocalypse was never complete without the correct ambience and what was more ambient than a rain storm, coupled with screams?

  The fresh morning air was crisp, the first fresh air that Peter had felt in a while. Standing on the small balcony of the apartment, he could easily see out onto Table Mountain and into Claremont proper. He had spent the morning staring at the mountain, basking in its magnificence. This wasn’t to enjoy it, however, but rather to avoid the scene below. Who could really blame him? There were not many pleasant sights to look at since that day.

  Peter had to admit, since the world died, most things had become very dull. This was especially true from the view of his exclusive penthouse, conveniently located in the centre of what was now one of the hardest hit suburbs this side of the City Bowl. In hindsight, Peter realised that he had doubtless made a stupid decision coming here after the attacks. Granted, he had panicked, and one can seldom think properly while panicking. This made one judge oneself more harshly when evaluating those decisions later. But Peter did remember his feelings at the time of this decision.

  Peter had spent most of his time in the one-bedroom apartment, brooding over whether he had made the right choice. At the time, it had seemed the only one. He had been terrified and it was that mood which he did remember, and it was the presence of this state of mind which was the reason that he was worried whether his decision was the wrong one. Despite this, he had survived for seven days. He must have done something right. He had managed to go to bed comfortably amidst the screams and had been able to get enough to eat from the dwindling supply of food which the previous owner had so kindly left behind.

  Peter Swart was anything but unfortunate in his predicament. While most had died on the first day, from infection or from more mundane methods, he had survived. While most were either hunkering down in a ditch or looking for someone to eat, he had food and a warm bed. This was something he hoped would remain the status quo for a long time, but as most things always did, this was about to change.

  Peter had been staring all this while at the majesty of the mountain which had been a symbol for his city, but one thing always bugged him. Even if he had survived this long, he couldn’t just ignore what had happened. Hell, for the last few days he had acted as he would have in his own apartment back in Rondebosch. The difference being, of course, that this was not his apartment and, instead of pizza and ramen, he was now down to eating cat food. But he persisted, as he always had.

  He had never been a sociable 19-year old student. Many described him as a recluse or an eccentric. Peter didn’t doubt the former, but he had objections to the latter. In his view, he just didn’t like people. He had always been introverted and that had always worked out for him. People required too much maintenance, became too much of an inconvenience. He had gone through life not accepting help and not going out of his way to make friends. It had worked out for him and even driven forward other elements in his life. If he had gone into digs with friends, he wouldn’t have been encouraged to earn enough money to buy his own apartment and, by extension, he wouldn’t have worked hard enough to receive a promotion. To Peter Swart, friends were baggage and people just a necessary irritant.

  Thinking about that day, Peter found himself realising that it was his anti-social behaviour that had probably saved him.

  In accordance with Peter’s personality, his interests all related to having to speak to as few people as possible. It was for this reason that, on 15 March 2022, he had gone to Cavendish Square in the early morning to purchase a new game. Bypassing the traffic, that was almost certainly about to erupt, Peter had arrived at the store at about 7 AM. The mall was near to empty, the only people there being security guards and shop owners opening up for a new day of business in this nation’s dying economy. It was just how Peter liked it.

  He knew that coming this early meant he would have to wait a while, but he didn’t care; it was worth it to avoid the nuisance of people.

  While sitting down in the near empty exterior of the mall, Peter could not help but notice the posters which had been popping up everywhere – posters of red stating that people would need to obey the state if they were to survive the disaster which they were in. They bore slogans commending the actions of the state, as well as condemning the actions of what they called ‘agitators’ and ‘counter-revolutionaries’. Peter had suppressed a sneer. He may not like people and may not care that much about the welfare of the nation, but he could see the posters for what they were: blatant propaganda trying to justify a dystopia. And that was what South Africa was - a dystopia. The state had muscled into everything, destroying the press, the economy and freedom itself; hunger and disease ran rampant, borders had been closed and curfews enforced. All this had been made possible as a result of the eradication of any and all opposition just two years prior.

  The news may have stated that these were necessary precautions, but Peter knew that if the people were not so busy burying their heads in the sand, they would wake up and South Africa would have had a proper revolution on its hands.

  Sometimes, Peter did care about his society, and this was normally coupled with anger. These moments were, of course, rare; he honestly didn’t care what happened, as long as it didn’t affect them. Even when the TV started blazing with the reports of a new disease, he had not cared – it was not affecting him. He should have cared, though, as now it was affecting him.

  At the market area of Cavendish, he had waited for the opening of the video game store, like so many days before. Of course, life had been simpler all those other times. You didn’t have to confirm your identity at every intersection then, and didn�
��t have to put up with a military patrol blocking traffic every other hour. There was a more reliable internet connection, which allowed online purchases. New state regulations had put up a firewall, controlling all content. Now the only legal source of video games was at physical stores, where customs could vet the content.

  That day had ended this tyranny, but led to another. Nobody, much less Peter, could have expected it. Thinking about it still unnerved Peter and he could find himself becoming weak at the knees when he thought about it. He was, by no means, a squeamish person, but even he had found himself heaving up the contents of his stomach after he had escaped what happened that day at the market. Any normal person would have.

  He had been waiting there for about an hour for the store to open. The air had been cool, forcing him to rub his knees together awkwardly to keep himself warm. It had been in that uncomfortable position in which he had been shoved over.

  It had obviously come as a surprise, one-minute standing and the next being barrelled over and landing on the floor. He only recovered from the shock a few seconds later. Pulling himself up, he found the culprit, a woman, running as if for her life. Peter lifted himself up, an angry expression marring his young face as he shouted after her.

  ‘Hey, are you crazy?!’

  The woman had already rounded a corner, but he still felt satisfied that he could get in a little verbal revenge for the totally uncalled for harassment. After dusting himself off and turning in the direction from which the woman had come, he saw the reason for her flight.

  Shambling towards him was something he had not expected to ever see in his life, something he thought was exclusive to video games and movies and, in all logic, should not exist.

  Peter stood stock-still as the figure moved closer and closer. Torn clothes, dark skin and broken teeth – Peter would have thought this a beggar if it was not for other additions. While beggars and the great unwashed were generally dirty, they tended not to be covered in blood stains, and possess eyes of blood-shot red.

  Recovering from his shock, he soon started to doubt if this really was what he thought it was. How could it be? - He found himself thinking, they don’t exist. He reassured himself that his first perception was wrong and decided to confront the man.

  ‘Oi, what you think you’re doing?’

  The beggar didn’t answer and just kept advancing in a slow cumbersome gait. Peter backed away, unnerved.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ he stammered.

  At this outburst, the beggar turned to him with his enflamed, emotionless eyes. Peter couldn’t help but feel a bead of sweat develop on his forehead and drip down to his chin. As the bead dropped, the beggar pounced.

  Peter couldn’t have expected the attack, but he did alright in countering it. One second the man had looked like a mindless drunkard, the next he was hissing and charging. Peter only narrowly dodged the charge and was a split second away from being barrelled over and pinned. The ‘beggar’ hadn’t given in, though, and rounded on Peter with a blow which he also narrowly dodged. Teeth bared, the ‘beggar’ persisted with the attack.

  ‘Are you bloody crazy?’ Peter exclaimed, trying to keep away from the flailing onslaught. He already knew the answer, but he felt that it was necessary to say it aloud. Peter soon understood that he should have focused more on getting away, as one of the beggar’s blows met his side, winding him. The blow knocked him onto the floor next to the seating area of one of the currently abandoned restaurants. The beggar was about to pounce, but even if shaken, Peter had played too many video games to let himself waver. He grabbed onto a nearby chair and threw it with all his might. The piece of furniture made contact and hit the beggar in the legs, toppling him.

  The figure was prone, but breathing, meaning Peter didn’t have much time and would have to abandon his game; he would not risk staying there. Peter lifted himself up as the beggar did the same, but a kick to the head managed to keep the violent degenerate down. After making sure he would make it without being accosted, he bolted.

  He had no desire to be in the area when police started asking questions, and if what he suspected was true, he would need to get out of there for more reasons than avoiding a run-in with law enforcement.

  He had parked his bike about a street away to avoid the exorbitant fees charged to use the mall’s parking lot. This proved to have been a stupid move, as coming here in the first place had proven to be. He had been running non-stop, but as he turned the corner of the street, he found his limited physical capabilities catching up with him. He doubled over, panting furiously. He leant against a nearby wall, fighting nausea as his vision began clearing. After using his sleeve to clear some sweat from his brow, he looked back. The beggar wasn’t following him.

  Peter let out a relieved breath. Of course, his relief was short lived as he noticed something else. Shambling near his bike, which was located just across the empty street, were three people. Each one was similar to the beggar. What was different was that all three of these figures bore something which further proved Peter’s previous assumption. They possessed bites, bloodied wounds which stained their clothes and looked as if they should be pulsing blood by the second.

  Peter was, of course, shocked, but his encounter with the beggar had prepared him for this. He now knew that somehow, beyond comprehension, there were zombies loitering around his bike.

  At that moment, Peter started regretting being an RTS gamer and not a zombie shooter, as StarCraft could never have prepared him for this. He backed away slowly, trying to keep as quiet as possible. The zombies didn’t notice him and seemed content to just groan and occasionally gurgle. He had managed to make it to the far curb by the time a car came screeching down the street, drawing the zombies’ attention immediately. It had gone fast, but Peter had managed to get a glimpse of the cause of the frenzy. The windscreen was already covered in blood, but from the passenger windows, Peter could see the brutal killing as a zombie mauled the driver.

  ‘This can’t be happening,’ Peter murmured to himself without thinking. After saying it, he quickly looked at the zombies, who luckily had not heard him and had instead decided to follow the car, which had since crashed into a tree. The sound of the impact was loud, especially coupled with the sound of the car’s alarm and the hissing of the zombies as they went to investigate. That was when Peter noticed more of them. Zombies, who had heard the noise, started shambling out of corners and buildings, some with bites and clouded eyes and others who ran with bloodlust. Those were the ones Peter feared and he didn’t allow the chance to slip away as he broke out into a run. His bike would have to be abandoned.

  Peter found himself swearing as he ran, swearing at how ludicrous his predicament was and how inconvenient the loss of his bike and game would be.

  For a time, he had managed to convince himself that what he had seen was an illusion of a fatigued mind, but every block he ran, he saw more of them. He also started seeing people trying to fight them, and failing dismally. Puddles of blood filled the streets as zombies clung onto people, seeking to consume them or spread their vile disease.

  Peter felt sick from the running and from the sights, but fear drove him onward. He knew he couldn’t just keep running, and that he would have to stop eventually but, for now, he just wanted to get away from the violence that had ruined a previously peaceful morning. Every so often, he turned a street to find a formerly quiet suburb alight with violence. He heard gunshots, but he didn’t know from where. Police he guessed, as civilians were not allowed guns anymore.

  As the streets grew quieter and all sounds of violence and pursuit disappeared, he started to slow. His adrenaline was dissipating, and as he finally stopped, he doubled over and vomited up the remainder of his breakfast. Swearing at himself for stopping, he hastily turned around to see how far away any zombies were, and prepare accordingly. The street was empty.

  He knew that his time of respite was going to be limited unless he acted soon. He could still hear gunshots and screams in
the distance, but the trees which canopied the street managed to drown most of that out, as well as the fresh sun. On either side of the street were seemingly abandoned apartment buildings and flats; a few of them still had cars parked out in front.

  From all appearances, though, the area looked like a ghost town – just the type of place Peter liked.

  He knew that his predicament was now one of survival, and recounting Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, Peter realized that he would need to start making sure he secured said needs. He needed food and sleep, both of which he would find in the flats. He knew it was illegal to trespass, but in this scenario, he severely doubted that the police would care about squatters. They hardly cared before this madness.

  So he picked the flat on the right to match his political leanings. The front door was wide open and all he needed was to waltz right in and shut it behind him. The front door was an average glass door, with a trellis security gate behind it. Luckily for him, the trellis door was an automatic locking model and clicked into place. The glass door, however, was less convenient and he had to be content to leave it unlocked.

  Feeling safe behind semi-locked doors, he assessed the interior of the flat. It was a small building compared to other apartment blocks, providing only four rooms, two on each floor. The ground floor was complete with only a check-in desk, which was currently unoccupied. It seemed that this building had been abandoned in a hurry, which suited Peter just fine.

  At the check-in desk, Peter found, among other things, a ledger, a computer and a key-ring adorned with four keys. The computer’s screen was currently blue, so he did not attempt to utilise it and, instead, grabbed the keys. He found himself itching for a weapon, as he realized that in his haste, he had forgotten if the rooms were actually truly empty. He surveyed the entry hall, but the only thing he could find which could vaguely resemble a weapon was the large ledger. So he pocketed the keys and lifted the large book up, swinging it to test its weight. It would have to do.