An Apocalypse Family (Book 1): Family Reunion (2 page)

I shot him a quick reply:
Max, meet me at Sarah’s house if you can!
Sarah, our niece, lived in Seattle. I was pretty sure I was going to end up back on the mainland, where currents in the area would more than likely beach the drifting ferry. I wasn’t sure if Max had made it to the island, but I doubted it. Sarah’s was the only place that made sense right then.

Lisa is Max’s stepdaughter from his second marriage. If it weren’t for her raven-black hair, you would think she was cut straight from his genes, due to her piercing brown eyes and distinctly not-petite frame, with curves in all the right places. She thought of him as Dad and was one hundred percent his daughter.

Max’s e-mail, sent at six o’clock, had me berating myself for not checking my phone earlier. But apparently, my decision not to check a bag had saved me from incarceration at the airport.

It was sheer luck that led me to escape the airport. I browsed Facebook, noticing that I didn’t hear anything outside of my closet door. While Facebook was no longer the be-all end-all with the younger generations, it was still my “go-to” place to find out what was going on with the family. I hated using the app on my iPhone. It was too small to give me the experience I was used to on my laptop, but that was in the trunk of my car and I didn’t plan on heading anywhere until I figured out what was going on.

There were no posts from my wife or our kids. That was not unusual. As I said, the kids didn’t “hang out” on Facebook much anymore, and the wife never really did. There were posts from several others of my family on the west coast, though.

My heart caught in my throat, my pulse raced, and my eyes blurred. My niece, Carla, had married my best friend, Jacob, from high school. He and I joined the Coast Guard together, and right there in front of me was a post from Carla saying he’d gotten sick yesterday and died last night. She apologized for posting it, but she said she couldn’t get through to anyone on the phone. The fact that Jake was gone was like a cold anvil lying on my chest. I closed the app and went to a search engine. I had to find out more about what was happening.

Article after article told of the devastation that the South African Flu was wreaking on the world. A story from early yesterday morning said that the vaccination the CDC had sent out all over the world was being recalled. It was apparently causing some people to become violent and attack anyone around them.

My
god! How many people had rushed to their doctors and clinics to get that damn vaccination?

The government had actually made sure that all doctors, nurses, paramedics, and servicemen were the first ones to get it.

Shit, oh dear! Leave it to the government to turn a pandemic into an epic horror movie.

The nut-jobs outside my closet were apparently people who had received the vaccine and now were some kind of freaks that ate people’s faces off and gorged on their intestines.

*****

Max closed his e-mail and unplugged the air card from his laptop. His brown eyes focused on nothing as he sat for a minute trying to come up with a plan to get Lisa out of quarantine. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to break her out, the only other option was to do what he did best: bluff and bullshit his way through. Max had “the gift,” as his brother called it. With it, he’d gained entrance to places and parties where they had no right to be. It had become a running joke over the years. Of course, it didn’t always go his way, as his time spent in a Mexican jail would attest to.

Max drove out of the parking lot and squealed to a stop in front of the troop carriers. Exiting the Land Rover he rented that day, he put on his angry face. He eyeballed the guy who appeared to be in charge and marched straight toward him. When he was about ten feet away, he could see the rank of colonel velcroed to the front of the man’s uniform.

“Listen, you fucking idiot. You have the goddamn attorney general’s daughter in there! You might survive this flu, but your ass is going to be dead meat if you don’t get her out here immediately!” Max stated.

The colonel looked up from a clipboard in his hand and took in the picture of Max in all his outraged glory. He didn’t bat an eyelash. He removed his M9 from its holster and pointed it right at Max’s forehead. Max halted in his tracks, held up his hands, and started apologizing before the colonel had even cleared leather.

“Sir, I’m sorry as hell. I lost my cool! I’m the attorney general’s brother-in-law, and I was supposed to pick her up. My sister will kill me if I don’t get her home in one piece!”

“Son, I don’t care if you are the Pope’s daddy! No one is leaving the quarantine area until I get word from the governor,” the colonel said, slowly lowering his handgun.

Max patted his pockets as if he was trying to find his cell phone, acting as if he’d left it in the Rover. He held up a finger and turned to go back. He made it a couple of steps before the colonel fired a round off into the air. Max threw his hands up again and asked the colonel not to shoot him, his voice several octaves higher than before.

Turning, Max observed the reaction of the soldiers to the colonel. To a person, they had their weapons aimed at Max, their expressions tense and fingers caressing their triggers. All except two of them; they were in mid-run and tackled Max, slamming him to the ground. Wrenching his hands behind his back, they proceeded to slap zip ties on his wrists and ankles.

The colonel walked over, crouched down, and politely stated, “You do know that I have the right to shoot anyone that doesn’t comply with my orders, son?”

“Uhhh… sir, I uhhh,” Max stammered his reply.

The colonel ordered his men to cut the ties and stand him up. He approached to within inches of Max’s nose.

“If I were you, I would get back in that fancy SUV and depart the area before I decide to use my discretion and shoot your dumb ass!”

*****

After hanging up with Max, Lisa looked out the large windows in the front of the building. Knowing her dad, and knowing how he thought, she immediately scanned the room for a way out. She could see her dad showing up in an ambulance, a SWAT van, or something equally as outrageous in an attempt to free her with some kind of bullshit story. While her confidence in him was high, it was also realistic. She remembered the stories her Uncle Ryan always told about his antics. No matter what the story was, they all had the same ending. The success rate of his schemes was notoriously low.

“You can’t steal a base if you’re afraid to try!” her dad would say.

The meaning of that saying was, as he would go on to explain, that Ty Cobb held the record for stolen bases for many years not because he was fast, but because he was willing to try.

“Do you know who Brady Anderson is? No? Exactly. Brady Anderson has the highest percentage of stolen bases ever, but nobody knows who he is because he only stole a base when he was ninety-nine percent sure he would make it,” he would continue.

With that in mind, she casually walked to the baggage conveyor and sat down next to the luggage chute. Keeping her attention focused outside, she wasn’t surprised when, several minutes later, a black Land Rover squealed to a stop in front of the building and her dad jumped out. She watched as he started yelling at the guy in charge, making a whole big scene. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was apparent he was trying to get her freed. Everyone in the quarantine area watched the display out front, including the young guardsmen who were supposed to be watching the detainees. With everyone’s attention on her dad, she eased onto the carousel and positioned herself right below the conveyor belt, and waited.

BANG! A shot went off. She jumped to her feet to get a better view, fearing her dad had gone too far and got himself shot. She was relieved to see him still standing and apparently unharmed. Taking two steps back, she disappeared down the conveyor belt and out of view. She huddled at the bottom of the conveyor, listening for the yells that would indicate her escape attempt was known.

*****

The Wi-Fi dropped.
Fricken great!
I thought.
Now I’m in the dark, both literally and figuratively.

I turned off my phone to save the battery life, which was hovering around thirty percent. There was no use having it on without a signal or connection. I hadn’t heard anything outside for about an hour. Did I mention that I have a problem with claustrophobia?

I had to get out of this damn storeroom and back to the car. I carried a few survival items in my laptop bag, my knife among them. I’d been surprised when I opened the pack earlier and saw it. I’d completely forgotten it was there when I packed and headed to the airport.

So much for the thorough searches of the TSA
.

The survival knife was a small folding job with an LED flashlight, a whistle, and a fire starter all built into it. Thinking that I should probably find some kind of weapon before I tried the door, I found the light switch and flipped it… nothing. I guessed the power must be out; that would answer why the Wi-Fi dropped. I fumbled around the closet, feeling for something, anything, to use as a weapon. With a shake of my head, feeling a little stupid, I pulled out my phone and turned it back on. Using it as a flashlight, I examined the interior of my hideout. I’d been sitting on the edge of the janitor's sink this entire time. Across from me was a metal cabinet. I opened it, thankful it didn’t squeak on its hinges. Inside was a bunch of toilet paper on the top shelf.

At least I won’t die with a stinky ass!
I thought, as I stifled a laugh that threatened to spill out.

On the second shelf were a few things that could come in handy: duct tape, a hammer, and a couple screwdrivers. The rest of the shelves were full of cleaning supplies. Staring at them, I wished that I had my bug-out bag.
Here I am. All the prep for an eventuality like this, and it’s thousands of miles away,
I thought, shaking my head at the irony. I had a book in my bug-out bag that had instructions for making a bomb out of everyday household cleaners. I’d no clue how to make one without the book.

My dad’s voice echoed in my head.
“If wishes were fishes, no one would go hungry!”
Yeah, thanks Dad.

I took a closer look at the cleaning supplies. On the bottom shelf was a bottle of bleach. I grabbed it, and it felt about half-full—what can I say? I’m a half-full kind of guy. While I didn’t see an immediate use for it, bleach can be used to purify water. I’d been drinking from the sink in little sips throughout the night, but now the faucets would only give a dribble—another sign that the ferry’s power plant was offline. My search of the closet turned up only one other item of use: a mop. While I was not about to swab the decks, the handle was made of thick wood with a rubber coating for a grip. I needed to break it, but hesitated to make that much noise. Weighing the pros and cons, I decided to risk it. I put it on the floor and propped the mop end up on the bottom shelf of the cabinet. I wanted it to break toward the end. I took a deep breath and put my weight on it.

CRACK!
I held my breath, listening for any sign that I’d disturbed the freaks…
nothing. That’s good.

Turning off my phone, I returned it to my pocket. I was now armed with a four-foot spear in my hands, a hammer wedged in my belt, and a couple of screwdrivers in my back pocket. I couldn’t figure a way to carry the bleach, so I placed it back on the shelf. The duct tape went into my North Face windbreaker. I was missing my 9mm, and my dad’s voice threatened to invade my head again. I found the door handle and suddenly had the urge to relieve myself. Fortunately, I had the mop bucket handy.

That will lessen the chance of me peeing myself when one of those freaks jumps out at me from the dark… okay, here goes nothing.

As quietly as possible, I opened the door a crack. A stench assaulted my nose.

Oh jeez, smells like a mixture of crap and carrion!

The door opened outward so I couldn’t immediately see very much of the interior. The main lighting was gone, but the emergency battery-operated lights bathed the area in a pool of lukewarm half-light. In reality, it was better than it had been when I went into the closet. It wasn’t bright, but I could see fairly well. My heart was pounding as I nervously glanced around, expecting to be attacked at any moment. Nothing happened. I opened the door a few more inches and listened intently for any sign of the freaks.

The fact that I didn’t hear anything was just about as bad as hearing something, anything… I stood there for what seemed like an hour, although I’m sure it was probably more like ten minutes. In all of the zombie books I’d read, this was the part where the zombies would grab the door, wrench it from the person’s grip, and proceed to make him into an unhappy meal. My pulse climbed to about 180. Beads of sweat ran down my brow and I had to remind myself to breathe.

Zombies? When did I start to think of them as zombies?

I eased out of the door and stood still.

These things are not like the zombies I was told to expect. Focus, dammit, or you’ll most certainly not get the chance to label the thing that eats you!

I was startled to see the remains of the woman that I’d tried to rescue. She was definitely no longer overweight. Lying in a wide pool of drying blood, there were only shreds of flesh left clinging to her arms, face, and ribcage. Thankfully, the rest of her was hidden by a row of seats. I felt bile rising in my throat and it was all I could do to not heave the remains of my dinner all over the place. After another hour—ten actual minutes—I decided that standing there wasn’t going to accomplish much. Forcing my legs to move, I sidled down the wall, one slow step at a time. Every brush of my clothing, every crack of my joints sounded like a rock concert. The stairwell was about five feet away. In order to get to the car, I would have to go around the end of the wall and then head back down the steps toward the front of the ferry.

Although my car was on the main level, it was sternward. The only reason I chose this stairway to come up last night was because I’d spotted a military Humvee on the same deck toward the bow, and I wanted to check it out. When I’d walked up to the Humvee, I saw a couple of guys in fatigues slumped over, sleeping in the front seats. I decided I would be better off not bothering them.

I laughingly thought at the time,
they probably have my picture broadcast as the one guy that got away from SeaTac.

The five feet to the stairs seemed like a mile. By the time I made it across, my panting breath and the sweat trickling down my sides made it feel like I’d sprinted the distance. I slowly worked my way down to the main deck, listening for any sounds. There was nothing but the creaking of the ferry riding the swells. Descending, I felt the rolling of the vessel.

I have to come up with a better name for these things. Zombies won’t do.
Hmmm… oh, for Pete’s sake man, FOCUS!

I could feel the fear creep down to my very bones. Stairwells are scary enough, but with what I’d observed and the total hush that had fallen over the boat, the one I was currently descending took on a particularly sinister aspect. The swinging doors at the bottom of the stairs were like a mental brick wall. I couldn’t force myself to go through them.

I could hear everyone in the theater shouting at me, “No! Don’t go out there!”

Standing in the darkened stairwell, the faint green light from the exit sign above me barely illuminating the doors, I steeled myself and cracked the right side open an inch. The lighting on the other side was no better, no worse. Moonlight shone through the sides of the ferry, bathing everything in silver and deep shadow. Other than the moonbeams, a few emergency lights cast dim circles of light in places. Staring through the crack, I pictured a freak behind every car.

C’mon Ryan! Are you a man or a mouse?

Taking a deep breath, I crept through the door and scanned the area. I thought of the two National Guard guys in the Humvee. I slowly worked my way to the aisle of cars. WHUMP!

My heart jumped clean out of my chest and I damn near screamed. If it wasn’t for the sharp intake of breath that I held, I would have. I whipped the mop handle around, hitting the car next to me. Inside, one of the freaks was trying to smash through the window to get at me. Its shrieks were muffled inside the Cadillac sedan. Even though I'd relieved myself earlier, I still felt a small trickle of warmth run down my leg.

So much for preventative measures,
I thought, staring at the pale face, its hands hammering the glass.

I turned and ran toward the Humvee, hoping that the guys there could help me. I only took two steps past the Caddy when another freak emerged from between the cars ahead. I didn’t think; I didn’t slow down. I kept running, my makeshift spear out in front of me. The freak launched through the air, letting out a loud and unworldly shriek. My shoulders jarred with the impact of the spear sinking in at the base of its neck. The shriek ended with a gurgle as a shower of hot blood splashed across my face, drenching my jacket. I let go of the spear and did my best fullback impression. Tucking my shoulder down to my knee, I knocked the airborne freak ass-over-teakettle and continued running toward the bow.

Ahead on the right was a bulkhead door. It had a wheel in the middle to lock it down for a watertight seal. I slid to a stop in front of the door and grabbed the wheel. Quickly spinning it, I soon realized that it had already been unlocked and I’d just engaged the mechanism. I glanced up just in time to see another freak bearing down on me from the other direction. As it ran through a pool of light, I saw that it was wearing fatigues.

Oh great, I bet this one knows Judo.

Frantically, I reached for the hammer in my belt. I’d just cleared it when the freak made impact. Falling backward, I twisted. We rolled, and luckily, I ended up on top. Breaking my hand free from the freak’s clawing, I swung down as hard as I could. It sounded and felt like I’d just burst a watermelon like Gallagher. The struggling figure went limp. I wiped the gore off the hammer and stuck it back into my belt. I sat there for a second, looking at the freak's blood oozing from its pale translucent skin onto the deck. I wondered who he’d been, before all of this happened.

Still breathing heavily, I rose quickly and stepped back to the hatch. I released the mechanism and stepped through, slamming it shut behind me and spinning the wheel.

A sudden panicked thought coursed through my mind
: Did I just lock myself in a room full of these things?

I spun around and raised the hammer. Nothing. I slumped to the floor on top of a big coil of rope. I was in the forward storage locker where they kept the lines used for tying up the ferry when it docked.

*****