Outbreak Page 27

  Sheila helped him secure the house, they destroyed the stairs leading up to the second floor of the house. The power had gone out after the first few days so the stove and fridge were useless to them, they took turns sleeping in the bed and ate mostly canned food that did not need to be heated up. They ran out of supplies during the first four days, and had to go searching for help.

  That was the first time they ran into the military. At first, things seemed too good to be true. They were taking people in, protecting them and keeping them all well fed. Their food supply quickly diminished, but they had they weapons, the training and the tools to fight the undead.

  After the third day under the protection of the army, supplies started to rapidly decrease. Many of the civilians they had rescued put their saviours lives in danger. Some of the soldiers started to break, strict rules were put in place and everyone had to obey.

  Some of the soldiers went mad fighting against the unbeatable army of dead corpses. No matter how many zombies they managed to put down, the enemy just kept multiplying. Taking one or two soldiers with them after every battle. Many of the soldiers died after the battles, bringing back the infected, not knowing the danger they presented. There were several outbreaks inside the base, things quickly turned.

  The soldiers started to take the men out, one or two at a time. Every time they returned the people who left with the soldiers never returned, they always managed to find their untimely demise.

  Then just a few days after, the soldiers started to demand favours from the woman. Sheila wanted no part of it, their protection was not worth her soul. So they escaped the army base late one night and ran back to their little hideout.

  The soldiers talked about a plan, using giant fires to lure the zombies into a giant building. They had rigged the local hockey rink with explosives. They would light these fires one by one, luring as many zombies as possible into the building. Once inside they would implode the building, hopefully killing most of the undead monsters inside.

  One night Hank and Sheila decided to head out to gather supplies, but they ended up getting separated when they had been ambushed by a horde of zombies. Hank had searched for hours, but he was unable to discover any sign of her.

  Hank was going to use the distraction of the giant fires the military were lighting to check the stores nearby, and see if he could find any clues to what happened to Sheila. Hank watched as three zombies shambled into the woods, drawn towards the vehicle that rumbled down the main road towards the police station. Perfect, the zombies were heading in the opposite direction. This would be a simple task, the streets should be nearly empty surrounding the stores. Most of the zombies would be drawn towards the giant fire, the rest would follow the roar of the engine. The soldiers from the military would also be distracted, lighting those giant signal fires. This was Hank’s best chance to find Sheila. Even though the zombies had been relatively easy to deal with, it was the evil they created that caused the most trouble. Not the creatures that had resurrected from the dead to join in the endless search for human flesh, it was the monsters that were created by the pain and suffering the zombies wrought upon this earth. The insanity caused by the suffering, which would mold the survivors in a cruel fashion into the real threat.

  As Hank heard the engine rumble closer he climbed down to the first floor, and got ready to leave. Hank waited by the window for the vehicle to pass before he went outside, then as the rumble grew louder, Hank peered through the curtains towards the road. The source of that noise was an ambulance. What in the holy hell was an ambulance doing driving through the city? Maybe there were still good people alive left in the world. Hank couldn’t help but wonder who was driving the ambulance. Against his better judgement, Hank decided to follow the ambulance. They may need his help surviving in the heart of this overrun city, they just didn’t know it yet. Hank grabbed his knapsack full of medical supplies and pulled his black ski mask down over his face. He picked up the ladder, and placed it out the window so he could climb down.

  He grabbed the pickaroon from the floor and strapped it to his knapsack. The curved hook blade rested on the strap, holding it in place. The long, sharp spike sticking up. It was the best weapon he had in the fight against the undead. Most people used some form of sword or axe, but Hank hated getting too close to those monsters. Hank only used his hunting knife in an emergency, his father’s old Glock 19 was the last resort. Hank still hadn’t fired that weapon since the first day, the noise drew too much attention. The spike of the pickaroon was stained red, brain fragments caked into the crevices of the metal. Hank climbed down the ladder, and headed after the ambulance.

  Acknowledgements

  I need to thank my family, for without them I would not be the man I am today. Leah, you made my life whole and allowed me to express myself, encouraging me every step of the way. I love you more than words could ever say. Thank you Mom and Dad, for always supporting me. I love you both. To my sis, Terrilynn, your enthusiasm and selfless promotion of my book has been a tremendous help. To my brother-in-law, Steve, your excitement and kind words are why I consider you my brother. To my nephew Tyson, the one person who actually thinks I’m cool, thank you.

  To all of my aunts, uncles and cousins on both the Carberry and Jones side, thank you all so much for your support.

  To my friend Jason, without your patience taking the time to read a terrible, rough draft of my novel and your encouragement I may have never continued down this path. Also, all of the time we spent brainstorming ideas about the zombie apocalypse, is another reason this book exists.

  To all of my friends and co-workers, it has been my honour to have met you. I am grateful for your kindness, good will, and friendship.

  To anyone who reads my book, thank you for taking the time to read my work. I hope you enjoy it.

  Bio

  Paul Carberry

  Paul Carberry currently works as a pharmacy assistant and will soon be enrolled in the Reserves with the Canadian Armed Forces. He has always enjoyed the whole horror genre and has always had a special interest in zombies. He is currently living in his hometown of Corner Brook, Newfoundland and Labrador, with his wife, Leah. His dream is to finish this story that he has started and to travel around the world selling his books.

  BLACK WOMB

  CHAPTER ONE: SMALL TOWN

  “So, you going to Julian Grendel’s party on Friday?” she asked him, paying little attention to his response or even if he gave one. It was one thing he almost admired about Sara Johnson, she had a way of controlling you without even letting you know you were being controlled. Maybe it was her lips, or how she subconsciously played with her curly blonde hair all the time, but she always did it. She was good at it, and she knew it.

  “Uh, I’m not sure. I was thinking about hitting the Factory with Mike,” Alexander Drew replied, half concentrating on her and half watching out for Grendel himself. For whatever reason, Grendel didn’t like people not coming to his parties. He brushed a hand through his dark brown hair. His eyes darted about skittishly, meeting those of every person who walked past the two of them, then immediately dropped to the floor. Finally, they found her. Her perfect body, not too thin, those lush pink lips, short blonde hair and the way her blue eyes looked right through you, slicing at you.

  “Oh, come on, Xander,” she whined. She said his name like it was some kind of a joke.

  He didn’t remember the orphanage, but he remembered how he got stuck with the name Xander. Every child had been named after a saint. There were three children who had been given the name Alexander by separate caretakers. For identification purposes, one was Alexander, another was Alex, and he was just plain Xander. He hated the name, it was just another thing to make him stand out that tiny bit when all he wanted was not to be noticed. The one person he did want to notice him said his name as if it were a joke.

  “All right, I’ll come. But you have to promise me you’ll make sure Mike and Cathy don’t ditch me like the last time,” he reas
oned, heaving a massive sigh as he gave in.

  “They didn’t ditch you.”

  He gave her a droll, tired look.

  “They didn’t!” she laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

  He frowned, then rolled his eyes and nodded.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t sulk. You know I’m right. They love you.”

  “They do,” he agreed finally. “They really do. They love me and they’re there for me and they are the best of friends - except in public. In public, it’s like we never met.”

  “Drama Queen.”

  “Oh, I’m not saying they try it or anything... it’s just the way things are. I get it.” He forced a smile, making eye contact with her. “I don’t even think they realize they do it.”

  She gave him a little smile, the right corner of her lip curling just enough to make her irresistible as she fixed her black tube top, even though it hadn’t really needed it. In all honesty, it was not so much a tube top as it was a strip of black tape going across her chest. That was the other thing about Sara. Besides having the looks of a goddess and the voice of an angel... she dressed like the devil. Skimpy tank tops and hip-hugger jeans. Fish-net stockings on her legs as well as wrapped around her hands. Large hoop earrings, at least two rings on each finger (silver on the left and gold on the right) and all that was just one outfit.

  “I promise,” she said, after she had spent enough time fiddling with her attire to make him twitch. “They’ll be good little boys and girls, as long as you are.”

  He snorted, rolled his eyes, and closed his locker door with a clang. He pulled his book bag onto his back as the two of them started walking toward the front exit of Coral Beach High, the flat-out boring high school in the mediocre town of Coral Beach, getting ready to walk home together just like they did every day.

  “So, what’s new today?” he asked, shooting her a smile. “Anything scandalous going on?”

  Now it was his turn to know the answer before she gave it. He asked something like that of her every day, because to her there was always something scandalous happening. Everywhere. Always. But to be fair, scandalous things seemed to happen around her anyway.

  “Well,” she started, smirking to herself proudly. “I heard from Julie Peterson today that the reason Derek has been so on edge lately is because Theresa had to take the test.”

  “Yeah,” Xander nodded. “That Family Living test was bad news. I think I must have only gotten an eighty-five or something...”

  She turned and gave him a little slap on the arm. “Not that test, you halfwit. A pregnancy test.”

  Xander’s eyes went wide for a moment as he held open the front door for her, which she barely acknowledged. “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why would Derek be messed up over that?” he asked naively.

  She shot him a look.

  “Ah. Forget I asked.”

  “Done.”

  “Wasn’t she supposed to be with Jamie?”

  “They broke up.”

  “Why? I mean, besides the ‘she may be pregnant from another man’ thing?”

  “That’s just a rumor. The real reason was because he cheated on her,” she smirked to herself coyly.

  “With who?” he moaned, feeling a relationship headache coming on.

  “Me,” she said proudly, and he realized that this would become a migraine before it was over.

  Xander finished walking home with Sara, like always. They lived next door to one another, and had since either of them could remember. Since they were children. Every day he’d remember little things like where he’d fallen out of the tree trying to sneak up to her room when they were six, when she had been sick and wanted to play. Or on his lush, green lawn where she had found out how he felt when they were twelve.

  He had had a huge crush on her that summer and had been sitting on the sidewalk between their houses, burning their initials into a piece of wood. She had started toward him on roller blades and he had dropped the wood and ran into his house. She’d picked it up and looked at it, then thrown it into the trees on her way down the road, never actually speaking of it. He could still remember the scent of the wood as it burned every time he thought of it. It was the way love smelled.

  At that age, most children were confident of their own immortality. That they could do anything, and go anywhere. But it was then that he realized how different he was from his friend. She was a princess in their school. Other kids wondered why she lowered herself to talking to him. He was . . . abnormal. Subnormal. Less than human. Those who actually took notice of him could barely stand him. But when he was around her, none of it mattered. On that ten minute walk from home to school and back again, the world could fall down around his ears and crush him every day, and he wouldn’t care. He would ask for more.

  “So, about the party...” Sara stared, looking up at him, her eyes sparkling.

  “Yeah?” he said, his voice rising with the smallest speckle of hope.

  “Jamie’s going to be coming with me, so you better not get all weird with him... okay? I like him.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said softly, his eyes fading back downward.

  She walked up her driveway and through the off-white door into her house.

  He watched it for a second after she was gone as if she were still there, then walked into his own house.

  He went straight up his stairs and into his room, passing by his father quickly to avoid the usual barrage of questions.

  He logged onto his computer and suddenly he wasn’t a loser anymore. He wasn’t anybody’s doormat. He was the king of everything. He was everything. The ultimate hacker.

  A sly smile spread over his face as he turned on the screen, illuminating his face in bright blue in the dark room, his eyes alive with vindictive excitement as he opened up all of his programs.

  ***

  The Factory.

  A local arcade/club/dance hall where all the teens went when there was nothing else to do. Located in the scenic downtown of Coral Beach, which was roughly a five minute walk from ‘up’ town, the Factory jutted up from the otherwise calm landscape, always loud and exciting and neon.

  Jamie Dawkins leaned over one of the many pool tables that adorned the club, raising an eyebrow as he tried to figure out his shot. His leather sports jacket crumpled and scrunched noisily every time he moved, impeding his ability to shoot. Many times he had pushed up the sleeves in an effort to alleviate the inconvenience, but they always fell back down almost immediately. But he dared not take it off. His brother had worn that jacket when he was captain of the Coral Beach Cougars, and his father before that. Now that he was finally captain, it barely ever left his back. Some even said he showered with it on.

  As good as he was at football (almost undisputed as the best in the entire region) his abilities did not translate into every sport. Pool, as it turned out, was not one of them. His face began to turn red as he huffed in frustration. Standing back up and grabbing the chalk, he fumbled it over the top of his stick and smeared a little onto his hands as he had once seen some pool champ on ESPN do. Nervous and more than a little agitated, the bulky teen rubbed a hand over his close-cut hair, accidently leaving some of the blue powder there as well.

  Across the table his opponent, Mike Harris, snickered a little at the sight. Mike nearly had all of the high balls sunk, but Jamie was still on his third low. It was probably a good thing that this wasn’t one of the high profile tournaments that were held here once or twice a month, or Jamie would’ve been the laughing stock of the school for at least a week.

  Mike glanced into the large, circular mirror that was mounted in the top corner of the room, watching a cute black-haired girl without her even realizing it. She had an adorable round face with rose-red lips and wore a tight top over her slim figure to match them. Her eyes were almost almond shaped, a trait accentuated by how she wore her eye liner. She wore loose, relaxed jeans with frills going down the sides, and held her Coke near her breasts, playing wit
h the straw a little with her tongue.

  Smiling, he turned back to the game.

  On the other side of the room, Cathy Kennessy sipped on her soda subconsciously. She wasn’t really paying attention to the game. She was watching Mike. Very intently. The way he moved with his large, square shoulders and tall frame. The way shocks of his blonde hair fell over his brow, touching his sky blue eyes in places. The way his freckles dotted his cheeks. And his arms, she couldn’t forget his arms. Those large, muscular arms that he used to pick her up and spin her around and hold her when she was cold.

  From across the room, Grendel watched Cathy from the bar, smirking to himself. He was wearing a ratty button-down shirt as a coat over his tee shirt, the sleeves of which extended well over his hands, absorbing moisture from the bar into their tattered fibers.

  He took one last swig of cola from his glass, feeling it sizzle as tiny flickers of it connected with his cheeks. He took notice of the waitress as she wiped a ring of condensation from his glass away even as he picked it up, throwing her a wink. She rolled her eyes at him.

  Wiping the pop from his face, he started across the room.

  He popped up next to Cathy, producing a smile so large it made his ears wiggle.

  “Great music, huh?” he said cheerfully, looking her up and down.

  She turned to him, glancing at his large, innocent eyes for a moment. His bald head and his attempt to grow scruff along the sides of his face and chin made him look just a little silly, enough to make her laugh whenever she saw him.

  She stopped for a second to acknowledge the very music he was talking about. She had been so engrossed in watching her boyfriend that she had barely even noticed it. They were a local band called Ragnarok, playing their own rendition of Superman’s Dead by Our Lady Peace. It was good, but not as good as the original and definitely not as good as the band’s own music.