Shocked
Authors: Casey Harvell
Casey Harvell
Copyright © 201
4 Casey Harvell
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events and companies portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Cover Art by No Sweat Graphics
Formatting by Fancypants Book Formatting
ISBN: 149931566X
ISBN-13:978-1499315660
For those who never give up on me—I’ll never give up on you either
.
Boy oh boy- where to start? My mom for her never ending support. Monica (aka the literary rockstar) for schooling me when I need it. Craig for teaching me to write actively using zombies ;) Rachel for making the electric series shine on the outside! Cathy for all of your support! Cassandra for being there always! Kim- I didn’t forget you either. Thanks everyone <3
I walk aimlessly through the woods and it’s highly frustrating to have no idea where I am. In jeans two sizes too big (and sneakers one size too small) it’s not all that comfortable either. An hour ago I finish off the last of a found water bottle. If I go by the sun it’s been more than a few hours now.
Alone
.
I’m not supposed to be alone—I’m
supposed
to be with Brie, Mason, Jared and Baby Bear. If it wasn’t for the stupid nanobots and dumbass General Carch I would be. But no, I have to get stolen from my friends and brought to medical testing hell. I have no idea how much time has gone by since then or what state the world is in. I’m getting ahead of myself; let me explain.
Before all this crazy nonsense I’m an average girl: I go to school, study for tests and play in a band. I have a kickass best-friend and a great new boyfriend. Then when playing one of our first real shows, I hit a chord on my guitar and find that
someone
(I have my suspicions however moot they are now) crosses my amp wire. When it explodes it drops a few thousand volts of electricity into me. Normally this may really hurt someone. Me? Well, not only am I fine I became sort of charged with electricity. Freaky—but still kinds of cool. Definitely manageable until the creepy little nanobots begin to infect people.
Before this started
a company called BioNano announces that they harness the power of nanotechnology. This allows them to make incredible strides in medicine, amongst other things. The nanobots are supposed to be great tools for us: self-replicating with the ability to change atoms and matter into things we need. They regrow a limb on some dude and the next thing we know self-replicating morphs into an all-out war. These things can make more of themselves faster than we can blink. Suddenly this ‘infection’ is everywhere. People panic and believe me—mass hysteria sucks.
I manage to escape my hometown with a few others. It’s left in ruins. I lose my mom that day. Our home in the northwest corner of Connecticut is close to the original place of the ‘outbreak.’ There’s no warning.
It’s a miracle we make it out. Without my electric charge we wouldn’t have. It’s both a blessing and a curse; the only thing that stops the nanobots. Luckily (before I’m taken away by the evil general) I meet up with a doctor who’s able to replicate the energy I make (apparently my body mutates the electricity into an entirely new form of organic energy—like lightning but not.) I even successfully cure a few people in the early stages of the infection.
What’s the problem with being special when the world ends? You become a hot commodity for all the wrong people.
Out of everything I’ve been through lately this aloneness (and not knowing if the few people I have left in this fudged-up world are okay) is by far the worst. Sure I’m safe from infection and nanobots, but I have no way of finding my friends.
I can’t even figure out where the hell I am!
My self-indulgent pity party is about to hit its peak when I notice a break in the trees. My heart leaps when the cabin comes into view. Please, please, please let there be food inside.
The grass is overgrown and the cabin in obvious abandon. I don’t see any other signs of people, other cabins or even a road. Maybe this place has been abandoned for a while. It’s hard to tell as I climb onto the rickety porch.
The
wood door is weathered and worn. The handle creaks when I turn it, but it doesn’t open. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d try to break it down. Instead I sink to the splintery porch floor in defeat. I’m too tired, too thirsty and too hungry. It’s not until I look up that I see the window: a window just big enough to wiggle my ass through. It’s blessedly open a crack already. I give silent thanks to the window gods.
It takes more than a few minutes. The window is just as weathered and jammed as the door. The old wood of the cabin is swollen from the moistu
re in the air. Finally it gives (though not before I manage to jam my elbow into it painfully.) With absolutely no grace I wiggle myself through the small window and land face-down on the floor with a hard plop. It knocks the wind out of me.
I ignore the pain and hop to my fee
t to look around. A thick coat of dust is the cabin’s most prominent feature. We’re not talking some beautiful vacation cabin. It’s more like a hunting or fishing cabin. Old musty furniture and bare necessities abound the small space. Through the dust a mold-like smell dominates. I spy one corner that houses some cabinets and a small wood-burning stove. At least I’ll be warm tonight.
The
ancient floor creaks in protest when I move to the corner with the cabinets. The doors to them moan when I pull them open. There isn’t much: a few canned goods. I take them and put them on the small table before I repeat the process with the next cabinet. By the time I’m done I’ve got a decent amount of canned goods and even a couple bottles of water—one of which I immediately open and chug down.
None of the cans of food appear to have gone bad. It seems like another life time, but I distinctly remember Mason explaining the first thing to check for (besides rust) is if the cans have popped or expanded. These haven’t so here’s hoping. I rummage through the drawers in search of a can opener and try to stop thinking about Mason and the pain that it causes. I never imagined I can miss my boyfriend so badly. The time without him has been torturous. Same with Brie
. This is the longest I’ve been without her since we were in diapers.
In an attempt at distraction (and out of necessity) I begin a similar search of the drawers. There’s not nearly as many as the cabinets. I scare up some silverware, cooking utensils and
very useful a can opener. I eye the woodstove and wonder how hard it’ll be to operate. The prospect of cooked food and warmth is awfully tempting.
It takes some effort and a bit of smoke, but I get it going. I have to open another window because I forget about the flue thingy. Once the smoke clears I shut the windows shut and it actually begins to get warm. Happy, I move towards food. Warm,
cooked
food!
I settle on a can of beans. Not the fanciest, but chock full of much needed protein and energy. It tastes better than anything I’ve had in a while now. That could be because
it’s hot, another luxury that’s been avoiding me. Even though I’m full after a few bites I choke down a few more. My stomach has shrunk since I haven’t been eating. I’ve probably lost weight too. It’s hard to tell when my pants are borrowed.
My stomach’s fuller than it’s been in some time and the small cabin is now warm from the stove. Darkness falls outside so I move to the small cot. There’s a blanket folded on one end and it all looks clean enough. I don’t even really care with the way I feel right now and curl up on the cot
. I wrap myself in the blanket before falling fast asleep.
There’s nothing particular that I’m able to point out upon awakening. No noise or scent—nothing to give off any type of detection. It’s just the overwhelming sense of another presence that gives the trespasser away. I feign sleep for another moment and keep my eyes closed to take a moment to pull my thoughts together. I open my eyes. It takes just a moment for them to adjust and for the intruder to focus into view.
Definitely army—or ex-army. Who knows these days? His face is cautious and that leaves me a bit uneasy. I don’t move before he speaks.
“I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
“No way! I’m used to weird guys I don’t know watching me sleep. It’s not creepy or anything.” So I’m a little cranky, sue me.
He cracks a smile. “Sorry. You looked like you needed the rest. I didn’t want to wake you. I’m Lucas.”
Part of me is still cautious. A bigger part is ecstatic to see another person. “How’d you get in here?” I ask. He’s still got a big advantage on me height wise, but I have my own advantages.
“The door.” Figures he gets it open. “I saw the smoke…I haven’t seen any other people in a while now. I came to investigate and found you.”
Oh
. “So you’re not in the army?”
Lucas shakes his head. “Not anymore. I was before everything
. I was in a camp towards the south—the last one left that far east.”
I swallow hard before finding the strength to answer. “What happened there?”
Lucas lets out a long breath. “That’s a long story.”
“I haven’t really been able to talk with anyb
ody recently. Why don’t you sit? Give me a few moments and I’ll make some food. You must be hungry and the stove works. You can tell me your story over breakfast.”
“What’s your name?” He pulls out a chair and hovers over it.
I shake my head no. “Not until after your story.”
He gives me an odd look but sits down nonethel
ess. First I go to the outhouse (the only non-luxury though better than nothing). When that’s done I stumble back in to find the stove on and Lucas waiting. He can just be really hungry. Regardless it’s nice not to have to go through the stove-lighting fiasco again. I throw some corned beef hash in a pot and put it on the stove. Instantly it smells amazing. I pour each of us a cup of water and place them on the crude table, then give the hash another stir.
“You said you haven’t been
able
to talk to anyone…why’d you put it that way?” Lucas asks and sips his water.
He’s astute…
I’ll give him that. “Maybe I have my own long story.” There. Chew on that.
“Okay, okay, point made.”
I spoon the hash into two tin bowls and add the spoon to one, handing it to Lucas. I grab the only fork to go with my own bowl and look at him expectantly.
He looks from me
to his bowl and back again. “But I want to eat it when it’s hot.”
“Fair enough.” It does smell damn good so I quickly follow suit when he digs in with fervor. I forgot how good this stuff is.
When we’re done Lucas leans back in his chair a bit and belches as if he’s just finished Thanksgiving dinner. I feel the same way even though we split the can between us. Food doesn’t come as easily as it used to. Lucas takes another sip of his water and begins his tale.
“I really just started in the reserves when the infection started. We didn’t know what to do for the longest time when it first began. We held down a safe zone—had civilians we’d rescued and everything. Our Captain was great. He kept a close eye
on the spread of the infection in case we needed to evacuate. Then one day it just stopped coming. It was the strangest thing.” He pauses and takes another drink. I try to fathom the chances that the only person I’ve run into has come from Captain Jennings’s camp.
Can he know what happened to Brie, Mason, Jared and Baby Bear? If he does, am I prepared to hear it?
It takes him a moment before he starts again. He chooses his words carefully. “One day…we’ll just call them a special group of people—get picked up.
One of them changed everything and for a while things were really good. The infection no longer became a threat and the group was thriving. But this special person was in demand…”
Unable to take it anymore
I continue his story for him. “And an evil bitch general attacked the camp and used her friends as leverage to forcibly remove her.”
Lucas’ brown eyes hold my own. Neither of us speaks for a moment. We absorb the change of emotion in the room. Finally he breaks the silence. “I kind of thought it was you.” He smiles. “I mean, besides the hair you’re all alive and okay
in the middle of the infection. That by itself says a lot.”
I try to smile back, but it comes out weak. I still have ano
ther question I need answers to. “What happened to the others?”
“
Carch didn’t come back—at least not when we were there. We didn’t really stay long enough to find out if she was going to. I stayed a week and I was one of the last to go. The Captain sent everyone in caravans to General Brown’s camp, a new group every day.”
“My friends?” I whisper, “Did they make it out?”
Lucas nods. “They were one of the last to leave, but they went with the Captain to regroup at General Brown’s. It took some convincing to get them to go, let me tell you. Captain Jennings was adamant about it.”
Relief runs through me. “Do you know how to get there?”
