After The End Read online

  After The End

  Written and Published by Melissa A. Gibbo

  Cover art designed by Melissa A. Gibbo using public domain background from Brett Jordan

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Copyright 2014 Melissa A. Gibbo

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, I would like to thank my wife, Brenna, for all she’s contributed. She has read this story dozens of times, provided me with honest feedback, sacrificed date nights, been awakened by my typing at 4AM, and still loved me enough to allow me to pursue this dream.

  I am also thankful to my family, and close friends for their patience and indulgence. This story absorbed my attentions for long durations and I am lucky to have such support. Thank you to my parents, John and Pattie, and sister, Heather, for always being there and reassuring me when doubt got the upper hand.

  Thanks to the Orange County Library System, particularly Jen and Marianne, for the wealth of assistance they offered. Whether it was a stack of books on writing or kind words of encouragement, it made all the difference.

  Thanks to my friends and readers who have put up with my jabbering over the characters and conflict.

  Thanks to the numerous teachers who made reading enjoyable and to the many authors whose stories give my life joy and inspiration.

  And finally, I would like to dedicate this book to the memory of my Grandma Mary, Grandpa Bob, and Papa Bill. They didn’t get to see me publish, but they never doubted that I could do anything I put my mind to. I’m thankful for the time I had with them and the time I continue to have with my family, who believe in me every day.

  CHAPTER 1 DECEMBER YEAR 2

  I kneel in the darkness, shifting the ashes of our encampment. The vampire watches me intently as I pull destroyed knives and cookware from the rubble, the remnants of our former life. He probably came with me as much to keep Daemon and I apart as to aid me in my recon. The groans of the risen Dead amplified; my burnt journal sits in the skeleton of my cabin.

  “Are you ready, Squirrel? It would seem we will not be alone much longer.”

  I leaf through the pages and find some of the writing intact. The shuffling of a zombie grows nearer. Cal prods some of the ruins, kicking dirt and bullet casings with a frown. Placing the journal in my bag, I stand and rub my cracking hands together.

  “Yeah, I think I’ve got enough info to make the decision.”

  It was barely a whisper, but I know the Undead Roman can hear me. He nods and moves towards me as the fleshie stumbles into view. Florida weather has not been kind to it. We watch the lone corpse as it lumbers on a broken leg and opens its sagging jaw; three broken teeth inhabit the rotting cavity. The stench of decay and mildew reach me and set my stomach tumbling. It’s amazing how much longer they last after the humid summer ends; a little cool dry air and these fleshies get a reprieve from Mother Nature.

  My companion steps to put it down and I wave him off. Closing the distance to the creature, I draw my broadsword up on the diagonal, slicing the head from chin to temple. Black blood arcs through the air; the cadaver crumbles to the ground in a moist thump. Wiping my blade on its torn Disney tee, I turn to leave with Cal. The others will be expecting us.

  CHAPTER 2 SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER YEAR 1

  I’m rewriting my journal of life since the zombie outbreak, using the one I lost in the fire, my memory, and the calendar I carry. I met Chase and Sunny around a month after this Cadaver Fest started.

  The air had begun to grow dry and cool as I hunted for food in the wild lands beyond the Orlando city limits. I trekked further from the Dead-laced asphalt river in search of game; even with the light breezes, direct sunlight kept my tee glued to me with sweat. The books I’d taken from the library shifted in my backpack and dug into my sore muscles; the camp shovel and broadsword each swung awkwardly from my hips. I froze at the muffled sound of footsteps.

  Peering through the brush, I pulled taut the high-tech slingshot — I wasn’t that good with my bow yet. I saw a couple talking: the guy looked like Rob Lowe with a Jim Carrey grin and terrible sunburn, the lady was the girl next door type with a fitted tee and old jeans. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to approach.

  Lowering my weapon, I made sure to tread loudly so I wouldn’t startle the pair. I felt my heart jumping with my empty stomach; I hadn’t dealt with any other survivors in three weeks according to my calendar. That last interaction hadn’t ended well...

  An ax and makeshift spear both pointed at me.

  “Hi. I don’t mean any harm; I just thought maybe we could help each other for a bit.”

  They exchanged glances while I waited and tried to maintain my mellow. The weapons lowered and the guy stepped forward with an outstretched hand.

  “Um, hi. I’m Chase and this is my wife Sunny. Sorry about the standoff; crazy days lately. So what do you go by?”

  At that moment, I spotted a squirrel digging nearby. On reflex, I shot it and announced “Squirrel”. Apparently, they thought I was either touched-in-the-head or that my folks were hippies, cause they just went with it and I’ve been known as Squirrel ever since.

  “Nice to meet you, Squirrel.” Sunny forced a smile. “Why don’t we all have a seat and eat something. It couldn’t hurt to have another human being around.”

  Sunny brushed her auburn hair out of her face while Chase began pulling cans of vegetables from a bag. I cleaned my quarry and we ate a sparse meal. The moans from the swarms of fleshies on the defunct roadway drifted to us sporadically. I tried to push down the memories that rose with each guttural utterance. I decided to leave behind that life and become the survivor known as Squirrel.

  Over the next few weeks, the three of us became a team and we learned more about one another. Each time talk brought us to our losses, we would focus instead on practicing hunting or fighting the zombies who’d driven us together.

  When this chaos started: Chase worked in a call center, Sunny was a server at Denny’s, and I was a minimum wager in one of the local theme parks. Not exactly the kind of jobs that prepare you for an end of the world scenario, but somehow here we are.

  Fortunately, Chase remembered some of his ROTC training from when he was younger and loves camping. Sunny has a far more common sense and foresight than the two of us. Her worries and problem solving keeps us alert and in the game. Her teal eyes seem to soak in the world; except when she wields the “Mom Glare”. It’s that look that your mom can throw your way to make you stop dead in your tracks no matter what you’re doing.

  Sometimes, I tease her that if she’d just use that look on the Dead, they’d wander off all downtrodden and remorseful. It usually earns me the look, but they say good morale and a sense of humor are important to keeping sane under bad conditions. Between our combined knowledge, skills, and gear we have become the underdogs that endure. Even Vegas wouldn’t have bet on us.

  Our first day together, we all agreed on a basic survival plan: avoid staying in major cities, guns, and hospitals, as these were the things we felt the masses flocked to.

  The theory is large crowds of people are likely to draw large crowds of zombies. Not to mention the high odds that someone in their midst is already infected and their friends are simply unwilling to do the necessary deed. Military installations also draw the multitudes, first the living and then the Dead. Before the ne
ws reports stopped, the bases and hospitals were High-def cesspools with crystal clear death rattles echoing through the barricaded homes.

  Every so often, another person or group would cross our path. A guy we call Bubba comes and goes frequently. He says he likes to travel through the wreckage of civilization in search of adventure but I always thought adventure was code for a special someone. Some people joined us, a few moved on, and others died. Life went on.

  It was a month or two after the dearly departed refused to stay gone, before the Vampires decided to announce themselves. I suppose the human overpopulation problem stopped being an issue a lot quicker than they’d originally expected.

  Learning about the existence of a race of people who drink human blood and live for centuries, is much easier to accept once you’ve already come to terms with things like your deceased babysitter chasing you down the street with her intestines snagging debris on the ground. Either that or it will thrust you over the precipice of sanity and you’ll be dead within the week. It happens.

  CHAPTER 3 NOVEMBER YEAR 1

  Cal’s arrival was epic in its simplicity. That fall night, as the three of us huddled around the squat fire planning our guard shifts, he merely: walked between Chase and me, sat next to the pit, dropped a sack, and declared,

  “I brought you all some dinner.”

  Just like that.

  Five silent minutes later, I thanked him as we began cooking our surprise meal. Sunny asked our guest his name as Chase started to watch the darkness for others.

  Over the crackling meat, we heard the reply “My name is Caelinus Gaius. I am a vampire and would like to propose an opportunity for your group.”

  I would like to say we acted swiftly and calmly at these words; but we didn’t. All at once, three things happened while Cal looked on: Chase fumbled with his axe (cutting his hand in the process), Sunny toppled off the rock asking “seriously?”, and I just turned the smoldering raccoon over and stirred the can of corn.

  The vampire held out his hand to help Sunny to her feet and spoke.

  “Yes, it is true.”

  Chase was at his feet — his axe in hand with a drizzle of scarlet along the handle — eyes riveted on his wife. She saw the blood and grabbed the bandages, cautiously keeping from turning her back to our guest. The vampire’s eyes glimmered with a red tinge as he watched the rivulet of blood. I checked around the darkness for signs of more surprises and set out our bowls.

  I was spooning the concoction into dishes when I opted to break the stillness.

  “Well this is awkward. Thanks for the dinner. Um, just to clarify is this a last meal to fatten us up?”

  Cal laughed at me, his eyes returning to a light hazel color; my heart slowed back to a moderate pace.

  “It is meant more as an olive branch to begin our conversation peacefully”.

  Satisfied with his response, I thought with my mouth.

  “Okeydokey. Guess we’d already be drained if you wanted to kill us and you probably wouldn’t have wasted time getting us chow, so I’m willing to listen.”

  I threw the couple a glance, they nodded their consent, and Cal took the floor.

  “I would like to offer my skills and strength to you in exchange for your providing me with sustenance. I assure you, my considerable age allows me to need very little blood to survive. I am also vastly experienced in combat and maintaining an encampment. I can protect you from the rising Dead at night if you cause me no harm during the day. We can aid one another’s continued existence; all that is needed between us is trust.”

  I don’t think I even asked for any proof he was actually an immortal super-being before I blurted out “sure”. It appeared possible given all the other strange occurrences. Sunny and Chase leaned their heads together to discuss their concerns.

  By the time the supper had cooled enough to eat, we’d all agreed to a tentative bargain. Our conditions were basic: Cal would follow our rules about guns and crowds, we would still stand watches with him, and he would drink only what he needed. The pact was born and we became four.

  ***

  Cal was already a middle-aged Roman under-commander in the legion when he was brought across. He maintains his blond-gray hair short and posture stern even centuries after the empire’s fall. The Roman Undead has nearly two millennia of wisdom and experience in camping, combat, and leadership as well as pristine control of his powers. He used a display of his quickness to catch us some extra dinner and seal the deal.

  It didn’t take long to realize that teaming up with a guy wanting to drink some of my blood is a much better deal than facing down the monsters that are trying to consume all of my body parts. Plus, I really like to sleep.

  Knowing that a vampire will keep me safe has allowed me to wake up feeling refreshed and well-rested. You can really underestimate how much a good night’s sleep does for the mind and body until you have gone a few weeks without one. And you definitely need to keep your mind sharp when setting traps or scavenging for supplies. The Dead never sleep or think, they just keep coming like bill collectors.

  CHAPTER 4 DECEMBER THROUGH APRIL YEAR 1

  As other survivors wandered into our little patch of hell, our community began to grow. At last I realized the world was not going to change anytime soon; we chose to build a more permanent fort, rather than a transient camp. The first month, we erected an outer wall of sharpened steel — Cal insisted on getting us metal panels from town instead of using wooden posts. We celebrated a meager Christmas holiday by sharing a dinner of scraps and working together all evening on the protective barrier. New Year’s was spent replacing the chain-link fence section with a sliding steel gate. It was rough work with the dry air sapping the moisture from our hands; I began wearing gloves when Cal started staring at my bleeding knuckles too intently.

  Only in late afternoon and nightfall, would we dare to hammer; it allowed the vampire to dispatch any roaming Dead that found our makeshift home as we tapped with our cloth-wrapped mallets. With each strike, I thought of helping my family with building projects at the house; I held the pain and tears inside as I redoubled my determination to survive this lost world.

  Over the next month and a half, we gained three more people, a cabin, a large fire pit, a weapons chest, a storage shed, and two outhouses. Our two species began to rebuild a (mostly) living society.

  By March, our community had grown to include two more families and Caelinus assured the group children wouldn’t be part of the donation schedule. The familiar Orlando humidity rejoined us and I found it odd to be so comforted by the sensation of drowning on dry land on a warm spring day. We started to plow a field outside the North wall. All winter, Cal raided the nearby city for provisions as we hunted, trapped, fished, and trained for our new way of life; now we would provide for ourselves and arrange for the next winter’s survival.

  We lost a few that first winter to stupid stuff like the flu, but the training Cal provided kept most of the zombie-based deaths to a minimum. I can still see the look of exhaustion and peace in Jorge’s eyes when he accepted his fate; he knew what the fleshie’s bite meant and gave me a weak smile while placing the Colt .45 to his forehead. The smoke from his pyre stung my eyes even as the stink of his burnt remains brought me to my knees retching.

  The next month was a blur of mundane tasks, interspersed with fleeing or combat. During the days, I’d help with the food or training with my sword and bow. Evenings were spent sitting around the glowing trench of embers and discussing our plans or techniques for survival. Entering this life of a fresh new night, or Nova Nocte (Cal’s term, but I especially like it), has given me a new awareness for all the time I wasted drifting through existence — content to be moderately average, if slightly dorkish.

  We only ever talked about our existence since the Nova Nocte began; it’s as though we had no lives before that day. No one asks about pasts, just the current day and maybe the day beyond. People that tend to dwell on the past find themselves surrounded only
by shadows and misery. David was like that.

  When I looked in David’s eyes, I knew he wasn’t going to make it; he was dead when he found us, his body just hadn’t caught up with the truth yet. It’s because of him that I stopped learning names of the new people until I’m sure that they’re determined to survive.

  David was only fifteen; ordinary except for the jewels he wore as eyes. The sadness in his face failed to hide the glimmer of optimism for the world to right itself; his hopes encased him as a shroud.

  That morning the sky had pallor in place of its usual hue. The shade covered the open field we cultivate and air was oppressively still. I stood alert when I noticed the silence, where the chirping of wrens and buzzing of dragonflies should have been. The minuscule hairs on my body danced in anticipation of intruding danger.

  David appeared to be in the spin cycle of his thoughts and unaware of the heaviness in the air. We trudged down the path to check our fishing lines. I maintained the quiet as we walked; my hand clutched my sword hilt while I surveyed the forest edge.

  It was the scream that tore the stillness apart. It leapt above the trees and hung there for what felt like eons, until the blood pounded the nauseating sound from my ears. My partner sprinted towards the screeching without any hesitation. I drew my weapon and followed, arriving moments after him.

  Too many; there were way too many Dead for us. Nearly a dozen of the fleshies were ripping and gnashing apart a small boy who’d been trying to poach our line. The child’s shriek fell hushed, as we came into view. It was too late to save the kid; David had to know that. Still he charged in, swinging his axe at the lumbering corpses like Paul Bunyan in a junior varsity jacket.

  The boy had already been devoured and dissected by the time the young teen reached the assailants. David seemed possessed by fury and grief, belligerently yelling at the zombies who couldn’t understand him as he fought. It was as I called out to him to run – drawing the fleshies’ attention away – that I saw David fall.