Dawn of the Apocalypse: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel (2 page)

            And now the world was coming to an end.

            "Are we going to go fishing?" Harlan asked.

            "Yes.  Maybe Daddy will teach you to hunt, too," I said.

            Unfortunately, hunting and fishing might be all we had for some time to come.  I tried to push those thoughts from my head.  Must concentrate on reaching the cabin first.  Then I'd worry about the rest later.

            The highway was pretty clear.  Most of the cars were going north.  And most were driving a whole lot faster than me, and I was driving 75 MPH.  All things considered, it was unlikely I'd be pulled over for speeding.

            There were a disturbing number of crashed and abandoned vehicles on the side of the road, wrapped around trees, power poles, and signs.  Bloody and ragged looking men and women seemed to be wandering around in a daze.

            I had to reminded myself constantly it wasn't just a daze.

            "Hold on!" I cried, seeing three cars all try to merge into the same spot on the road ahead.  I slammed on the brakes.  "Oh lord help."

            One of the cars, a sports car, went airborne.  It came down on another car on the southbound side.  The other two sideswiped and went in different directions to flip over and crash.  I noticed that the road cleared before us.  So I hit the gas instead of helping.

            My face heated up.  I was sick to my stomach, but I had two children to worry about.  I couldn't stop and get involved.  Those crazies might steal my SUV.  I hated being so paranoid and selfish.  It wasn't how my parents raised me.

            "Are they alright, Momma?" Timmy asked.

            "I think so, sweetie," I said, my shame deepening.  "Don't worry.  There are lots of people to help them."

            Then I saw them.  A big mob of the infected was heading south down the highway.  There was no mistaking them.  The infected had a certain "look" and gait when they moved.  There was an aura of menace about them.  They looked diseased and feral.

            "Zombies," I whispered when I remembered what Roger called them.  "Absolutely zombies."

            I'd seen them on the news earlier.  The usually unflappable news anchors were all freaking out.  The nicest people had suddenly turned into cannibalistic monsters overnight.  There was something about a combination nuclear and biological attack.  Some missiles got through the defense shield.  Even the anchors weren't clear on what happened.

            All I knew was America was at war.  America was under attack.  My first priority was to protect my children.  Roger agreed the best place to go was our vacation cabin.  I just had to survive the trip.

            "Who are they?" Harlan asked, staring out the window at the zombies.

            "Strangers," I said.  "Not good people."

            The zombies seemed intent on the car crash, but two groups, one on each side of the road, turned toward us.  They rushed out into the road to block the highway.  I hit the brakes, skidding to a stop not five feet from them.

            Both boys started screaming when the infected surrounded the SUV and started pounding on it.  They tried the doors, but I'd locked them.  I always locked all doors.

            I kind of freaked out.  When blowing the horn didn't scatter them, I just hit the gas.  A couple of them went under the vehicle.  That was the worst moment of my life.  There was no way those poor fools survived being run down like that, but they were trying to get to us.  My boys came first.

            A few of them clung desperately to the SUV.  For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what they were holding onto that allowed them to hang on so well.  I swerved and lost one.  Speeding up to over 60 MPH, I hit the brakes and lost the remaining zombies.  And then I hit the gas and got out of there fast.

            The further north I drove the fewer zombies I noticed.  The city of Blue Ridge looked unaffected by the national disaster.  No zombies in sight.  No car crashed.  Yet, everyone I saw looked frantic.  We drove by a small riot outside a grocery store.  Then I heard gunfire.

            "Duck down," I cried, and hit the gas.  Screw it, I was going to speed in town.  "We're almost there, guys.  Don't worry.  Mommy will take care of you."

            Our cabin was pretty remote, yet still in a vacation development.  We had a five acre lot, with a little two bedroom, one bath log cabin.  It had a spectacular mountain view.  The development butted up next to the national forest, so our view and the hunting would never go away.

            I noticed most of the driveways had cars in them as I passed through.  Our cabin was toward the back.  There were some spectacular log cabins on those other five to ten acre lots.  Most of our neighbors were a lot wealthier, and many were older or retired couples.

            I let out a gusty sigh when we finally turned onto the cabin's gravel drive.  It looked secure.  Roger had insisted on sturdy shutters that actually worked.  He always closed and secured the shutters before we left, as if our neighbors would rob us.  I teased him about it in the past, but suddenly felt he'd done us right.

            We were home, and it was very safe.  Then I looked south, towards Atlanta.  We were too far away to see the city, but there was a lot of black smoke on the horizon.

Chapter 3

            It was pure pandemonium in the hotel lobby.  Frantic men and women were vacating the place.  No one, including me, bothered to check out, either.  My rental was in the middle of the parking lot, which was quickly becoming a demolition derby.  Drivers were slamming into each other left and right.

            The radio came alive when I started the car, in the middle of an Emergency Broadcast System alert.  That didn't help.  The news came on after that.  The DJ started with a rundown of all of the police battles and riots taking place, and emphasizing the need for everyone to remain locked inside their homes.

            "Screw this shit," I grumbled, and took the Mustang over the curb.

            I escaped the mess in the parking lot, but everyone was driving like madmen on the roads.  Traffic lights didn't mean anything to anyone, and every intersection had at least one collision.  Since my hotel was actually in Greenbelt, Maryland, I was only blocks from the I-495 Capital Beltway that looped around the city.

            I had to make a decision as I approach the Beltway.  Head toward Bethesda to get onto I-95 or go the other way toward Joint Airbase Andrews?  My decision was made by a radio report of police fighting a large horde of infected where the Beltway crossed I-66.  I turned toward Andrews.

            Traffic was crazy.  All I could figure was everyone was just as out of their minds to get out of the city as me.  I had a goal in mind, a hopefully safe place to go to.  I wasn't so sure anyone else thought it through that far.  I didn't blame them.  I just wanted out of that nightmare that was Washington, DC.

            Gunfire erupted as I approached the Pennsylvania Avenue turn-off.  A mob of people surged across the highway.  Cars and trucks plowed into them, bodies flying everywhere.  I hit the brakes, and some idiot in a pickup slammed into my rear.  That pushed me forward towards the back of another car.  Without even thinking, I turned right and took the off-ramp to Pennsylvania Avenue.

            "Son of bitch!"

            A teenage girl jumped in front of me.  Her face was filled with rage.  Blood was smeared over her face and her tank top and jeans were soaked in it.  I knew she was already gone and undead, so hit the gas and drove over her.  My throat tightened and I felt sick.  What if she wasn't really a zombie yet?

            Others charged my car, throwing themselves at it as I drove.  It was suicidal.  Crazy shit. 

            "The whole world's gone insane!"

            I tried to avoid hitting anyone else, but that was just impossible.  The cars in front of me came to a screeching stop.  I turned off the road to go past them, but slammed into a police car blocking traffic.  Gunfire erupted again.  This time it was all around me.

            Zombies surrounded my car.  They were focused on the cops and soldiers on Pennsylvania Avenue.  I saw cops and soldiers dragged down by zombies.  One of the soldiers was torn apart, with zombies stopping to feast on his flesh.  Then I noticed two cops and a soldier stand back up with rage filled eyes and turn on their former comrades.

            "They are zombies.  I can be turned into one of them if bitten."

            To see confirmation so viscerally made my body tingle.  Not a good tingle, either.  In a few minutes I could be one of them.  Then my eyes fell upon the dropped weapons of the turned soldier.  It was an M-4 Combat Assault rifle.  That was the same type weapon I fought with in Afghanistan while serving with the 82nd Airborne.

            My training kicked in.  The need to survive and reach my family overruled all other concerns.  So I opened the door and came out of that car kicking and screaming.  I just wanted to kill, kill, kill.  Kicking and punching, I fought my way to the dropped M-4 Carbine.

            "Yes!" I cried as I lifted it high, and then brought the butt back into the face of a zombie.  I shattered his teeth, but barely fazed him.  So I shoved the barrel up under his chin and pulled the trigger.  Brains, bone, and blood erupted from the top of his head.  "Get away from me!"

            Fighting my way to the cops and soldiers, I joined them in killing zombies.  One, two, three convoys of black SUVs passed by us heading for Andrews.  Where else would they be going?

            "Come with us, buddy!" a cop called.

            Everyone was starting to fall back.  I was out of ammo.  The soldiers, and some cops, jumped into the back of a duce and a half, while I followed other cops to a SWAT armored car.  Next thing I knew we were on the move.  Only I wasn't heading home.

            "Where are we going?" I asked.

            The SWAT officers were passing out full 30-round magazines.  I took five.  Ejecting my empty, I left it on the floor.  I racked the charging handle, ready to continue the fight.  It kind of felt good to be back in action.

            "Andrews," one cop said.  "We're guarding top government officials as they bug out."

            Everyone, myself included, was covered in blood.  One of the cops across from me started moaning and groaning, holding his left hand.  He looked feverish and was quickly becoming incoherent.

            "What's wrong, Cooper?  Cooper?" a police sergeant asked.

            Cooper threw up as he dropped to all fours.  He was shaking like a leaf, and making all of us nervous.  When he looked up, right into my eyes, I saw nothing but burning, all-consuming rage.

            "Shit!  He's turned!"

            Cooper leapt at me.  I lashed out with a foot, connecting with his face.  That turned him aside, and he locked onto another target.  He attacked the sergeant.  The newly made zombie wasn't an effective fighter.  All he wanted to do was grab and bite.  He bit the sergeant, and then two other cops.  I finally got a clean shot, and blew his brains out.  Blood and brains covered everyone and everything in that tiny compartment.  And then I saw the sergeant looking sick, sweaty, glassy-eyed.

            "One bite changes us into zombies," I said, more to convince the other cops than myself.  "The sergeant and those two are changing right now."

            I wanted to shoot them before they could complete the change and attack us in force.  The other cops hesitated, asking their bitten friends one stupid question after another.  It was as if they didn't want to believe their friends and comrades could be turned like that.

            "Are you out of your minds?" I cried.  "Kill them!"

            "No, we can't just – "

            The sergeant wailed incoherently, and lunged at another cop.  I whipped my rifle around and pumped two rounds into his head, and three more into his heart.  Then I turned my rifle on the other two changing cops.

            "No!"

            I fired.  Hitting them in the chest and head, I ended their zombie transformations.

            "Don't be a bunch of stupid, sentimental fools," I yelled at them.  "If someone is bitten and changes, then you have to kill them immediately or he will kill you."

            "You can't just kill a police officer like that!"

            "They stopped being police officers as soon as they were bitten," I replied.  "Hell, they stopped being human.  It's kill or be killed, boys.  If you don't accept it, then you won't live much longer."

            They looked at me like I was a monster.  I felt like a monster.  I wanted to scream and cry, but I couldn't.  I had a job to do: live long enough to reach my family.  Nothing could stand in my way of completing that mission.  My wife and children depended on me.

            Maybe a few tears escaped.  I hated killing anyone, and those cops probably had wives and children, too.  Because of the all consuming hatred of some foreign terrorists, their lives were ruined.  All of our lives were destroyed.  I didn't even want to think about what it would take to restore the country back to normal.  Could we do it in my lifetime?

           
Time to live off the grid.  Live off the land
, I thought. 
Funny, before the shit hit the fan I kinda liked the idea of it.  Now, not so much.

            Our mountain cabin was the perfect place for that.  Well, it was in a vacation home subdivision of sorts. Everyone had five to ten acre lots.  Last time I was up there I only counted fifteen completed log cabins, most of which were much larger and fancier than mine.  But there was untouched forest and mountain lands all around, teeming with wildlife.  We could live well up there.

            The back door opened and a soldier was waving us out.

            "Hurry!  Make a perimeter," he said.  I noticed a black bar of rank.  A first lieutenant.  I didn't recognize the patch on his shoulder, but he had a 101st Airborne combat patch on his right shoulder.