The Dead Years - ORIGINS - Book Zero (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller)
The Dead Years
ORIGINS
Jeff Olah
Copyright © 2014 by Jeff Olah
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales is merely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Jeff Olah
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Pushing through the doorway, Susie’s Café managed less than half of its usual midafternoon crowd. He could easily count the twelve patrons spaced randomly throughout the interior without looking obvious. A lone television buzzed at the far side of the bar with two of the customers seated nearby intently bickering over the images flickering from the lighted box. The cherry red booths and royal blue bar stools held a confusing contrast to the pearl white linoleum countertops that were certainly an afterthought due to the three ownership changes that occurred within the last few years. “
The meals prepared in my kitchen are what bring people here from two cities over, not the color of my chairs”
… at least that’s what Susie always told him. She was probably right.
As Randy moved to the spot he’d unofficially reserved years ago, well before he moved to the neighborhood, the thick smell of bacon carried from the kitchen, giving him hope that breakfast was still on the menu. This end of the bar would typically be the last area filled, even during times of higher traffic. Most days the skylight directly above focused a solid swatch of sunlight on this area of the bar for the better part of the day. Others avoided it at all costs, although Randy looked forward to his time in the sun each day enjoying the best breakfast in the county.
Sliding in behind the stool and peering into the kitchen, he hadn’t yet spotted her. She was the second half of the variant that equaled his frequenting this building no less than three times per week. Always alone and only on the days she worked, Randy made “
Breakfast with Trina
” a regular part of his life. Her close-fitting “Susie’s Cafe” t-shirt and worn denim that bottomed out into her gravely worn sneakers caught his eye the very first time she sidled up to introduce herself and take his order. Leaving him speechless on more than one occasion, her eyes and southern drawl convinced Randy she was something special and her never ending smile closed the deal. As she came through the doors of the kitchen and turned toward him, she wasn’t smiling.
Dabbing the perspiration from her forehead, Trina hurried along behind the bar, ignoring the two men motioning for her to join them in front of the television. Hurrying along, she stood eighteen inches from Randy, biting her lower lip to keep it from quivering as she began to cry.
“Trina… are you… what’s the matter?”
Wiping the tears away and attempting to compose herself she said, “My dad, he’s… my mom just called and he’s… he’s gone.”
He couldn’t find anything to say to comfort her, this wasn’t his forte. He knew she needed someone and he was the closest thing she had to a friend at the moment. “I’m sorry Trina, you should probably go be with your family, can one of the others…”
“I can’t leave; I’m the only one here and Susie won’t be back for a few hours. I can’t do this. My father is everything to me.”
Taking a chance, Randy leaned in and took both of her hands into his. “I’ll hang the closed sign on the door and we can let everyone know you’re shutting down soon. Once they finish their meals you can get out of here. Susie won’t mind… she adores you.”
“Thank you Randy, although I can wait until she gets back. My parents live almost a hundred miles away and I couldn’t leave until tonight anyway.”
“Ok, let me know if I can help,” Randy said.
“You already…”
Gasps and cries from the far end of the bar interrupted, as four additional patrons gathered near the television, one of the older gentlemen openly weeping into his hands. Looking confused, the group didn’t speak as the images rolled on.
Pushing away from the counter, Trina turned and started toward the group. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
Randy watched as the remaining customers all stood and pushed in behind the others, attempting to see what was so concerning. They spoke in low tones and appeared to be confused as to what they were seeing. “I’m leaving,” one of the men said as he dropped two twenty dollar bills onto the counter. “Keep the change.” He was out the door before anyone could answer.
Randy was curious, although wanting to give Trina a moment before getting involved, he paused at his end of the bar and watched the man run into the parking lot. The surrounding businesses appeared to be having a similar problem as customers began piling out of every doorway and into the surrounding parking lots.
Turning to Randy, Trina’s look of sorrow had sunk into horror. “Randy… what is this?”
Making his way across the diner as the others turned from the television and followed the first man out the door, Randy stood speechless, staring at the video feed of three security guards attacking an elderly female shopper. The woman was knocked to the ground from behind as they attacked, not with handheld weapons, but their actual hands and mouths. The grainy video feed cut in and out as the three men appeared to fight one another, ripping shards of flesh and muscle tissue from the woman as she slipped into the grips of death.
Setting aside the thick cast iron pot, George made his way out of the kitchen, pulled off his apron and hung it along the wall with the others. Randy motioned for the cook to join them as he flipped through the many news stations, each covering similar stories from different parts of the country. “What’s going on, where’d everyone go?”
Transfixed by the images that somehow opened a memory he thought was locked away, Randy shook free and returned his attention to Trina and George. “This is bad… REAL bad.”
Moving around the counter as the situation outside escalated; Trina dropped the large glass pitcher and pointed through the windows at the menace heading toward them. “Randy, is that what you meant by real bad?”
Before he had time to turn from the television, the first body launched through the café window and into George.
Every news outlet had either gone dark or started running a constant loop of the destruction set about that day. Station management and personnel headed to their perspective homes, or at least made an attempt to. The internet and, in particular, video sharing sites were overrun with more uploads per minute than they were used to seeing in a day. Traffic to these sites spiked within minutes and most crashed their servers before the worst of the videos were viewed. If you were unlucky enough to gain access to the images reproduced for the world to see, you quickly realized our planet had gone to hell. No area was safe and those who ran or hid only prolonged the inevitable.
The only computer this house shared fought with its equally aged internet connection. It struggled to buffer even the shortest of videos and as Savannah searched for information, the two men she was told to call brothers scavenged what supplies they could. Her Uncle Gene and Aunt Joanne were forced to sit quietly at the table while their nephews raided their home.
“Jason, what are doing? Take what you want and leave us alone… please!” Gene said.
“Shut up old man. I’ll let you know when we’re done and then maybe we’ll leave.”
Intent on finding some form of silver lining, Savannah took to searching forums and social media for any information on what the government and specifically the military wanted its citizens to do. “Lance, what does this mean?” Savannah asked, trying to curb the destruction of her aunt’s belongings.
“Whatta you want. We got things to do. Randy’s place is next. Can’t you figure it out on your own?”
“There is a website that has video feeds from a few different military bases and from what I can see they all look empty, like everyone’s gone. You think they’re coming to help?”
Stepping back into the room, Jason moved in quickly and pulled Joanne up by the collar and shoved her backward into the wall before turning to his uncle. “The police are gone, we already know that. No one… I mean no one is going to come help us out of this mess. It’s every man for himself. Dear uncle, I’m only going to ask you this once. Where are your weapons?”
Looking across the table at Savannah and then to Lance, Gene began with, “I don’t have any…”
Pushing away from his aunt, Jason removed the pistol from his waistband and fired one round into Joanne’s foot, sending fragmented flesh and blood in every direction as she collapsed to the floor. Turning back to his uncle, Jason was met with an enthusiastic fist to the chin. He grabbed his uncle’s arm and tossed him to the floor.
Jumping from her chair, Savannah hurried to her aunt’s side. “Jason, what are you doing? They’re family… have you gone insane?”
Also caught off guard and confused by the sadistic grin his brother now wore, Lance stepped between Jason and the others. “Dude, slow down. We didn’t come here for this. Let’s get what we need and get out. This isn’t right.”
“Don’t either of you get it? There isn’t right or wrong anymore. That ended this morning. We are in charge of our own safety now. No one else. Haven’t you seen what’s going on out there? We’ll all probably be dead before nightfall.”
“They’re family, let’s get the stuff and go… leave them alone.”
Raising his weapon and pushing the warm barrel to his brother’s temple, Jason shook his head. “Lance, I guarantee you won’t see tomorrow if you talk to me like that one more time.”
Lance walked away, although he continued to stare at his brother as he made his way into the garage.
Her face flush and blood pulsing out of the massive wound, Joanne began to slide away from consciousness. Savannah slapped her lightly on the cheek. “Auntie, stay awake. We’re going to get you some help. Someone is coming to help, I promise.
“Get up,” Jason said. “No one is coming to help, especially not for these two. They’re both so old they already have one foot in the grave.” He pulled Savannah away from Joanne and pointed her to the door. “Go with Lance, we’re leaving.”
“JASON, WE HAVE TO HELP THEM!” Savannah shouted.
“No we don’t… now go, before I change my mind about you too.”
She wouldn’t budge and Jason didn’t appear to care as he turned away from her and focused once again on his aunt and uncle. He pulled the acrid stench of spent gunpowder and burnt flesh into his nostrils with two long drags, closed his eyes and savored the moment. Joanne had drifted off, obviously in shock as her husband closed the few feet between them and cradled her in his arms, whispering into her ear. His fate was sealed before he opened the front door for his nephews and although he knew better, he let them in.
“FOUND THEM…” Lance shouted from the garage. “Let’s go, come on.”
Standing over the couple, now completely ignoring him and wrapped tightly in their own fate, Jason tapped Gene on the top of the head with the barrel of his nine millimeter demanding attention. “You should have given me what I wanted the minute I asked you for it. You knew how this would end. This is your own fault.”
Without giving Jason any acknowledgment, Gene spoke quietly as his wife whimpered, crying into his chest. “You have always been a sociopath; this new world is going to be perfect for you. You don’t scare me; my fate was written long before you were born. Get out of my home.”
“Uncle Gene, thanks for the provisions. I’m going to add a footnote to your life story. Goodbye…”
Opening the garage door and heading for the car, Lance and Savannah only made it as far as the sidewalk as two gunshots thundered from inside the house. Savannah wanted to run and looked to Lance for approval.
“Don’t do it… He’ll find you, just get in.”
Lance jumped into the passenger’s seat as Savannah opened the rear door and slid into the back. Both watched as Jason exited the front door gripping the weapon he just used to execute two members of his family.
