Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary

SANCTUARY

SURVIVING THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

Joshua Jared Scott

This
is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel
are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

SANCTUARY: SURVIVING THE
ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

Copyright © 2012 by Joshua
Jared Scott

All
rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions therein
in any form.

ISBN 13:  
978-1-475-15100-8

Chapter I

This is
something I should have done much, much sooner. It’s not that I’m a
procrastinator or that I’m lazy. Rather, there simply wasn’t the time.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. There were always free hours, spread about
here and there, when I could have put everything down on paper. In the interest
of full disclosure, I should state that I’m not writing in the traditional
sense so the preceding statement is also false. You see, I remember high school
and the tedious, handwritten essays which always left me with unpleasant
cramps. No, this is being typed into my laptop, much faster and far easier on
the wrist. The important thing, however, is that I have decided to go ahead and
compose the story, guaranteeing a record is preserved. I’m even going to print
multiple copies for when the computers finally break down. Who knows, maybe
there’ll be someone left alive when that happens. It’s possible.

That was
pessimistic. I know. Yes, I really do. I’d even apologize for my negative
emotions, but let’s face facts. The world has gone to Hell. Not literally of
course, although with all that’s happened that might not be too far a stretch.
But figuratively, the world is not at its best. The vast majority of the human
race is dead, and civilization has collapsed. Only the barest fragments of what
we once were, what we’d accomplished, remain. Yep, pretty damn depressing.

Enough
with the pointless editorials and on to the central matter. Are you ready for
it? Can you guess what I’m going to say? Can you? Probably, yes. There is an
ongoing zombie apocalypse. Actual, real, no kidding, zombies. I’m sure you
guessed correctly. It would be pretty hard not to since the entire planet has
been affected. Oh, I suppose some castaway trapped alone on a tropical island,
or possibly a hermit living in a cave, might not know about it. It’s feasible.
Being alone though… No, there are too many gone, too many dead, and so many
memories. I’ve found the desire to be among the few still breathing somewhat
overwhelming. I need to speak with others, to carry on conversations, to stay
sane. That’s one of the reasons we banded together in the first place. Humans
form communities. It’s what we do. It’s the way we’re wired. Then, there’s the
desire to survive, to not end up shambling about as a mindless cannibal. This
second factor is why I put up with so much crap and chaos and stupidity
regarding the first.

My plan
with this composition, this glorified essay, or series of essays as the case
might be, is to tell my story. The key words are MY STORY. The capital letters
should assist in getting this point across. It is about me. Me. Me. Me. And,
no, I’m not a narcissist, not the in clinical sense, but let’s face facts. I
know my personal story better than any other. I may mess up some dates and
minor details – the memory isn’t perfect you know – but it will be accurate
enough.

I’m also
going to include narratives about individuals I’ve met along the way. These
interludes will relate their personal stories of survival, focusing on how they
made it through the early days of the zombie uprising, and they will be
provided in roughly the order I learned them, injected into my own tale at
appropriate moments that are close to when I obtained the facts. That may seem
a bit confusing now, but it’ll make sense as you read along. Or not. Who knows?
Doesn’t matter though. If you don’t like them, just skip on by. But be warned.
You will be missing lots of sex and violence and gore – this assumes I’m not
lying to entice you into reading the interludes – and you won’t learn the
reasons why I adopted certain strategies and techniques regarding my own
efforts at staying alive.

And yes,
I know that whomever is reading this has experienced his or hers, maybe its,
own horrors. It would be difficult not to considering the whole worldwide
zombie apocalypse thing. You know, I’ve discovered that hearing about people
who had it worse than me is quite refreshing. Realizing your life isn’t nearly
as bad as it could be tends to cheer one up. It also makes a person, me at
least, feel a bit guilty. But human psychology is what it is, so maybe my
horror story will cause you to reflect and feel better about your own
situation. Of course, if you had it worse than me that probably won’t be the
case. In such instances my tale might even make you jealous. I apologize for that
in advance. Sorry.

One last
thing. You may be thinking this has been really wordy thus far, and to a degree
it is. I’ll even admit the paragraphs are somewhat long. You may also be
praying “don’t let it be in this format, not the entire thing, please God
please, nooooo!” It won’t be, so no worrying. Most of this tale will be based
on the events and dialogue as I remember them. Only a few sections, most
notably the beginning, will be my straightforward recollections provided in the
first person.

Now it’s
time to get started with the actual story. First of all, my name is Jacob
Thornton. I am thirty six years of age. I’m in good health with no significant
medical issues, aside from some minor allergies, for the most part. I have no
significant mental issues, although some have commented that my personality is
somewhat off kilter. I live, lived, in Denton, Texas – that’s at the north end
of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex – when the outbreak occurred. I had my own
house without any family, girlfriend, or pets to share it with. As you know,
being alone at the outset was generally a very, very good thing.

My alarm
went off at 6:00 AM, and I dragged myself out of bed. Switching on the
computer, which was standard practice, I left it to boot up and went downstairs
to get some breakfast. There, I turned the kitchen television on, again a
routine of mine. A cable news channel came up, and I realized right off that
something was dreadfully wrong. It was near impossible not to, with a
continuous flashing message advising everyone to remain indoors and to avoid
the infected at all costs.

Increasing
the volume, it only took a few minutes to grasp the essential details. There
were zombies all over the world, and they were attacking the living, eating
their flesh. Acceptance was more difficult to come by. It had to be a hoax of
some sort. This couldn’t be real. It was an impossibility. Yet, the other
stations confirmed everything. Running upstairs to check my computer, I found
the Internet news sites and blogs, even those overseas, telling the same story.
The zombie apocalypse had begun.

Returning
to the television, I watched intently, learning what I could. At 3:15 AM, local
Texas time – that’s the central time zone for those who don’t know –
approximately a quarter of the Earth’s population went into convulsions. There
was no pattern regarding race, gender, or age. It seemed to be completely
random. The effects were nearly identical however. These unfortunate souls
suffered horribly, screaming in agony before they collapsed and died. Seven
minutes later they rose once more. This was recorded so many times on film,
cell phones, digital cameras, etc. that there was no reason to doubt the
reports. Likewise, footage of the infected continuing forward after being shot
or severely injured eliminated any doubts as to their condition. The segment I
remember most vividly was of a man whose heart dangled outside the chest, held
in place by a few shredded arteries. These were not living creatures. They
couldn’t be.

The
media, being sensationalists – as if they had any other mode of decorum – were
using the term “zombie” from the very beginning. I saw nothing to indicate this
word had been accepted by the government or its agencies, but that didn’t
matter. Upon the initial utterance, it went viral and became the default
moniker.

With no
experts to put on the air, the news stations instead gathered up authors,
producers, actors, anyone associated with the extremely popular zombie genre.
This was not at all helpful. These individuals dealt with fantasy. They didn’t
know what was going on. Most hadn’t even seen one of the things firsthand, not
at that early hour. So all they did was quote or reference pieces of fiction.
It was totally, completely useless. In some cases it was even detrimental. I
mean, really, having a man say zombies craved brains and to throw animal brains
in their direction to distract them was not only bad advice – it won’t work –
it was also just plain impractical. How is the average person going to get hold
of animal brains? It’s not like there are slaughterhouses conveniently placed
on every corner. Besides, zombies don’t eat brains. I’m sure they would if they
could get to them, but the skull, being composed of fairly thick bone, does
tend to be rather difficult to bite through.

More
annoying was the fellow who kept swearing that the living dead did not and
could not exist. He was certain that these were human beings driven insane,
along the lines of those in the movies
Zombieland
or
28 Days Later
.
The man even found ways to discount the extensive evidence to the contrary,
mostly by claiming the virus resulted in incredible endurance and the ability
to keep moving after suffering extreme injuries. It was nonsense. Remember the
zombie with the heart on the outside of its body? I don’t care how insidious a
virus is. No one can survive such trauma.

A few
things matched up with the bulk of available fiction however. As already
stated, damage to the body would slow a zombie, knock it down, even cripple it,
but would not kill one. That requires destroying the brain, either by a gunshot
or through some good, old fashioned bludgeoning. It wasn’t clear how much
damage was needed. I still don’t know the answer to that one, and I’ve killed
hundreds of the things. Usually a good whack will do it. Other times, the skull
needs to be really, really crushed. There’s probably some specific portion of
the brain that needs to be targeted. I can’t say for certain, but it’s a valid
assumption.

It was a
bit after 7:00 AM, an hour after I woke, that the power went out. Poof, just
like that it was gone, never to return. I don’t know why it went off so
quickly. Maybe the people at the power station were zombies, and the machinery
shut down from a lack of monitoring or maintenance. Perhaps someone crashed a
car into a power line near my house. Whatever the cause, there was no more
television, nothing on the desktop upstairs, and no more air conditioning. Like
all others living in the southern portion of the nation, I didn’t think of that
issue right away. A few hours later, as the temperature inside went into the
80’s and then 90’s, I began to grow concerned. This was Texas in the
summertime.

Once
everything went dark, I realized, consciously, that I had to act. First, I
checked to ensure all the doors were locked. Then I closed the shutters and
blinds in every room so no one, or nothing, could see inside and notice me. The
faucets were still working, but I didn’t know for how long. I filled every
available container with water, including both bathtubs with plastic wrap
placed over the drains to ensure a good seal.

Guns! I
was unarmed, not to mention still in my robe. Going back upstairs I got my .40
caliber automatic – it’s technically a semi-automatic, but I will be referring
to pistols from now on as revolvers and automatics for convenience – and slid
it into a pocket. Then I peeked out all the windows again. It was pretty quiet,
but I lived at the edge of town. I wasn’t isolated, exactly – I had a sprawling
residential neighborhood to one side and open fields on the other – but I saw
little traffic. Unless you lived nearby or were visiting someone, there wasn’t
much point in driving down my street.

Feeling
safe, I went ahead and took a shower, using the walk in so this didn’t dirty
the water I was storing in the bathtubs, and got dressed. This was followed by
yet more peeking out the windows, quite a bit of it, and a great deal of pacing
about as I tried to decide what to do. Then I had a revelation and grabbed my
iPhone. The wondrous device still had an Internet connection, and the bigger
news sites continued to be updated. I was thus able to gather some more
information, the most startling of which was that nuclear warheads had been
detonated in both Pakistan and India. The details were sketchy, and neither
government had issued any statements, but there was no doubt that several
cities had been destroyed.

I tried
calling some friends, but no one answered. In most cases I couldn’t even get
their phones to ring. Telephone service vanished soon after, and the Internet
was gone by the time lunch rolled around. It was frustrating, but realistically
it didn’t much matter. The news sites had begun to disappear, one by one. I’m
guessing most went offline due to power outages. As you all know, those were
almost universal.

*
* *

The
early afternoon was spent checking my food stores. I placed the tastier
perishables in a cooler, filling it with ice. That would keep things fresh for
a little while. The canned and boxed goods I left in the pantry, along with the
bottled water. I didn’t have much of that, preferring to drink from the tap.
Thinking on it as a survival matter, after the fact, it would’ve been better to
have several cases on hand.

The gas
was still on in the kitchen, so I grilled up a nice filet for my midday meal.
This made the room unbearably hot and rather smoky since the exhaust fan ran on
electricity, but I saw no reason to abstain. Besides, if I didn’t use the beef
quickly it was going to go bad, and now was not the time to be wasteful.