Kellie's Diary: Decay of Innocence (16 page)

The weariness, hunger and thirst crept up on him, giving him a slight bout of dizziness.  In the distance Crane spied an old gas station and mini mart; no vehicles were parked there, and he saw no evidence of zombies or any other person, so he increased his step and shuffled across the desert, trying to cover as much ground as possible.

Crane opened the door of the mini mart, noting a couple zombie corpses a few feet away.  Content that he was safe for the moment, he spent a few minutes looking around the shelves for any remnant of something edible, finding little that would be useful.

As he inspected the shelves and fridges, Crane began to ponder on that day’s events.  The madness of the community had taken hold much more than he expected.  Collective insanity in itself was a disease, no different than the zombie epidemic in contagiousness.  All the work he’d done for the group no longer amounted to anything; his discoveries were nothing but a backburner thought for them.  For him, it merely solidified that furthering human knowledge would create a disruption in the natural order, if not allowed to flow on its own.

Crane’s thoughts were short-lived as he felt a strong hand grasp him by the back of the neck and pull him viciously down to the floor.  He feared the worst, but instead of the snapping jaws of the undead he was face to face with Powell, whose expression had contorted to a shade of raging hatred he’d never seen before.

Powell unleashed a flurry of punches into Crane’s head, spitting at him, cursing, and calling Crane every possible vile name in the language.  Crane, dazed by the blows, found an opening and punched just below Powell’s ribcage, causing him to double over as he lost wind.  Crane crawled out from underneath him and ran; he stumbled a bit, possibly due to concussions, but he quickly tried to increase the distance between them.

Crane scrambled for his handgun, but Powell caught up quickly and tackled him again, knocking against one of the shelves and scattering debris in the process.  The two grappled against each other for several minutes, slamming alternately between the floor, walls and shelves of the store.  By now Crane was bleeding from the nose and mouth, and Powell had received a black eye, and both had various bruises hiding beneath their clothes.

Struggling with his defenses and running out of breath, Crane fought to keep as many of the blows away from his head as possible; the last thing he needed was brain trauma.

Then Powell screamed in pain; he turned around to see the gnashing teeth, empty eyes and decaying skin of a zombie sinking its teeth into the back side of his shoulder.  Before he could fight it off, his opposite arm was pulled back by yet another zombie that took its turn feeding on his forearm.

Crane noticed he had the chance, so he slipped backward and sent his foot into Powell’s torso, throwing him off-balance and into the arms of not just two, but three undead creatures.  Taking a moment to make sure there were no zombies behind him, Crane backed into one of the shelves and immediately found himself captivated by the sight.  He’d never witnessed an attack in such close range, and it was increasingly fascinating to watch Powell’s fruitless thrashing about against the painfully slow feasting of the zombies.  What was once a conflict of strength between two people had quickly regressed to a predator-versus-prey battle – the basic natural action of survival.

Much as it pained Crane, he knew he could not stay long to watch them complete their meal – the zombie hunger never stopped with one person, and he had no plans on being dessert.  He lingered a few extra seconds as Powell took his last breaths, and then he quietly slipped out the front door of the mart.

The gray, chilly sky greeted Crane as he found the highway once again and continued heading southward.  He resigned himself to the fact that he would have to starve a little bit longer since he was unable to gather any supplies at his last stop.

***

Several hours passed and the day came to a close.  The clouds had failed to part, preventing any moon shine from lighting Crane’s path.  Darkness was the new norm, but it was still beneficial to have light during night travel.

Crane had a feeling that Powell would never have understood the plight his children would face as they grew up; none of the adults had any idea what impact the world’s environmental and societal shift would have on their young.  He knew how vulnerable the mind of a child was, but also how pliable and versatile they could be.  The surviving children would be the torchbearers of a new civilization, and he wanted to see to it that they would be ready and willing to face the horrors that surrounded them.  It was a pity he had to die, but his rash actions led to his demise; had he accepted Crane’s help, he’d be alive to see his son grow up.

Behind him, Crane heard the distant sound of a running motor.  He twisted his head around and saw a set of high beams heading his direction.  Gleaning what little light he could, he stepped off the side of the road to let the vehicle pass.  Rather than being ignored, the vehicle stopped about a dozen feet behind him; the driver poked his head out – a middle-aged, scruffy man with a baseball cap.

“Hey, you need a lift?” the driver called out with the typical Texas drawl.

There was a woman in the passenger seat, who didn’t appear to be quite as eager to help; she merely tended to the baby cradled in her arms.

Crane stepped closer to them, realizing they were driving a truck loaded with what he presumed was their possessions.  “Where are you headed?” he asked, trying to read their faces in the darkness.

“Junction,” the driver answered.  “There used to be an airport out there, but it’s a small town so we’re thinking it may be safe for at least a little while.”

Crane felt slightly more confident in this man’s rationale.  “I appreciate it, but,” he looked at the woman, “I don’t want to impose.”  The driver turned to face the woman again and spoke in hushed tones.  Crane suspected the man had already made his decision based on the quiet discussion with the woman.

He stuck his head out the window again, thumbing toward the packed bed of the truck.  “Hop on in the back of the truck.  It’s probably not too comfortable, but you can at least sit and rest for a while.  We’re still about an hour’s drive away.”

“Thank you so very much,” Crane said, climbing up into the truck bed.  He found a relatively roomy spot next to the back window of the truck and across from a crib stuffed with duffel bags.  Through the window he could very clearly see the child in the woman’s lap; she couldn’t have been more than six months old, and it genuinely surprised him that any woman could manage a pregnancy in such a cold, dangerous environment.

The truck revved and pulled forward, picking up speed as it traveled down the road.  Crane would have liked to have a conversation with these kindly strangers, but the window to the truck was closed; he decided that getting to know them would have to wait until they reached their destination.

Sometime later the car slowed to a few miles per hour and the driver knocked on the back window.  Crane met his glance and the driver motioned for him to come out of the truck.  Crane climbed out and met the man as he stepped out of the seat, closing the door behind him.

Crane extended his hand formally.  “I do appreciate the lift,” he said.

“No trouble, sir,” he said, shaking his hand firmly.  “What’s your name?”

“Lloyd.”

“Nice to meet you, Lloyd,” the driver nodded.  “I’m Wade, and the ladies in the truck are my wife Terri and my baby girl Gracie.”

Crane thoughtfully gazed at them through the window.  “I have to commend you for keeping your family alive despite all… this,” he said.  “You have a beautiful daughter.”

“Thank you sir, and we do what we gotta do,” Wade said.  “We’re strong, and we’ve seen hell out here.  You can’t survive out here if you ain’t strong.”

“I agree,” Crane said with a smile.  “So, are we close to Junction?”

“I think so,” Wade said as he turned to knock on the truck window; Terri rolled it down and handed him a flashlight, which Wade offered to Crane.  “You mind taking this and checking out the area over there?  I gotta check my map and mileage, see if I did this right.”

“Sure.”  Crane took the flashlight and shone it ahead of him, finding little at first except for some strewn debris in the road.  He carefully panned the beam into the distance, and he was greeted by the side of a building; he approached closer and discovered it was a warehouse structure.  He aimed the flashlight further ahead and found traces of more buildings.  It was proof enough for him they were in the right direction, so he reported back to Wade; they both got back into the truck and continued driving while Crane kept the light on the side of the road.

The outlines of buildings increased over time, and within a few minutes they found themselves at the mouth of a large parking lot.  As they drove in, the flashlight and truck headlights combined revealed they were in front of a large shopping center.  One of the glass entrance doors was half missing and the adjacent window was completely gone.  Not much else was visible, but the area was completely silent.

Wade got out of the truck first.  “We’re not going to get much done since it’s dark,” he pointed out.  “We need to wait ‘til daylight to scope out the area.  I can take first watch, since it looks like you’ve been on the road a while.  There are some blankets in the back that you can use for cover.”

“Thanks, will do.”  Crane rummaged around for a moment and found a heavy quilt, resting in an upright position against the back window of the truck.  He began to think that maybe a smaller group stood the better chance of survival, as with dozens of people there were too many variables and instabilities.  He dozed off quickly, but not before hearing some muffled arguing between Wade and Terri.

***

3 weeks later

Crane closed the door of the backup generator room, content with its stability for the day.  As he walked back to the security room, he hoped that he could get Camera 3 working again.  It was a shame that Wade and his family weren’t there to see the building fully come to life; perhaps if they were stronger they’d have been able to appreciate the rebuilding process as he had.  Wade, not surprisingly, had survived the longest, and had proven more useful than the others; he had the mechanical knowledge to help him get the generators going in the first place.  Crane knew that as the weak were cleaved, it would leave the strongest to reap the rewards.

He reached the upper level security room and tapped the side of Camera 3 which, after a week of tapping, slamming and cord yanking, finally gave way to a somewhat clear picture.  It was aimed at the lower level toy store, and he was relieved to see the area clear of zombies.  Crane still grumbled at the fact that most of the lights weren’t working, but at least the top sky lights provided visibility.

But the view was not devoid of life itself.  In the corner, Crane spied movement in the form of a warped silhouette; he punched a few buttons to zoom in and focus.

The figure moved into the light, revealing a young girl pushing a bike and carrying an assortment of bags on her back and hanging from the handlebars.

~~~~~~~~~~

Authors' Note

The Downfall: Survive Chronicles #1

              And now for something a little different.  This next piece is the first entry of a planned series of short stories relating to a much greater universe – and has nothing to do with “Kellie's Diary.”

             
Since early 2007 we have been working on a survival horror story called "Survive," which contains elements of high-octane action and drama.  We are aiming to achieve something with this storyline that we have not seen often in typical survival horror stories – a dramatic story without victimized characters and empty plots.  This universe's focus is not truly on the apocalypse/end of days/Armageddon, but what happens after.

             
This prequel series chronicles the final moments of so-called "survivors" at the end of their current life and the beginning of another.

             
We hope you enjoy this preview of things to come.

             
Do you remember the day you died?

-------THE DOWNFALL: SURVIVE CHRONICLES #1-------

C
hapter 1

              I remember the day I died.  Most of it, anyway.  It was my last day as Brandon Williams, the 18-year-old minimum wage construction worker.  I used to think Tuesday was the ultimate boring day; I think this would have been a little more ironic if it’d happened on a Monday.

             
My enthusiasm for work waned every day.  Maybe it was because it was a ridiculously humid summer, or maybe my boss just signed onto crappy jobs, I could never figure it out.  Dallas was no stranger to heat, especially in July, but this summer seemed worse than previous years.

             
It was Day Two of the never-ending room addition, yet another job from hell.  This California-blonde trophy wife apparently demanded of her grandfather-aged husband that she wanted another room and, according to my boss, he just signed the contract with barely a glance at the title.   One thing after another was going wrong: the first guy out there didn’t get the right measurements, she bitched at us when we moved her patio furniture out of the way, her dumb little yip dogs almost got ran over by our truck because she let them run around out front, she kept trying to change where we were going to lay everything out, and that morning we found out there was a ton of rock under the ground where we were supposed to lay the foundation.  We needed a jackhammer for it, and we already knew she was going to flip out.  My partner Jason started counting down on his clock as soon as the boss’ truck pulled up with it.

             
Then the bitch walked up, holding one of her miniature yapping furballs.  “How much longer is this going to take?” she groaned.  “We signed this contract a week ago, and you’ve hardly done anything!”

             
I barely glanced at her.  “As long as it takes to get it done.”  I already hated her.

             
Jason ran down to the truck to get the jackhammer and in pure overdramatic fashion, she dropped her dog and started grabbing her hair in panic at the sight of the tool.  I tried not to laugh.

             
“What the hell is that thing?!” she cried.  “You’re going to destroy my home!”

             
I forgot to mention my suspicion that she didn’t know a damned thing about construction.  Hopelessly, I tried to dumb it down.  “It’s rock down there, we have to dig it out so we will be able to put your room in.”  I wasn’t getting paid to chat, so I removed a chalk line from my tool belt and started marking the border of where we would be digging.

             
“This wasn’t part of the original plan,” she hissed, pacing around the backyard.  Her ‘dog’ yipped again.

             
“Neither was digging into all this rock,” I repeated, watching Jason walk up with the jackhammer and my boss drive away.  “I’m just doing what the contractor told me to do.”

             
“My husband will hear about this,” she snarled, pulling her cell phone from her purse and walking back into the house.

             
“Hope he can hear her over this thing,” Jason chuckled, gesturing toward the jackhammer.  He cleared his throat and brought it near the center of the stone slab where we were working in the back yard.

             
I finally smiled, feeling a little more normal.  I wasn’t generally this depressing; to this day I still blame the heat, combined with the stupidity of the situation.  I was usually the one cracking the jokes and putting on a show for the guys.  I’ve been through enough in my life to learn to get over things quickly and keep life from getting dull.  If I were in a better mood I’d have been mocking the wife behind her back to get a laugh out of Jason.  I don’t shy away from sarcasm, and I pride myself on being well armed with snappy comebacks and goofy expressions.  This day just sucked.

             
To get my mind off things, I took a moment to look over the home; admittedly I was a little jealous, as it was by far the best and most expensive looking house on that street.  It stood three stories up with a slate colored shingle roof, a stone grey exterior with white accents, an ornate wrought-iron fence and perfectly manicured lawn, complete with rose bushes by the front door.  I wondered to whom the husband sold his soul to in order to get his hands on this place.

             
The only thing killing this Kodak moment was the incessant wailing of sirens in the distance.  I’d been hearing them all day, but I didn’t pay it much thought at the time.

             
It was a far cry from my living situation.  I lived with my 13-year-old sister Danielle halfway across town, in a tiny one-bedroom home where I barely made the rent every month and struggled to keep the power on.  My personal belongings didn’t expand much beyond a limited wardrobe and some hand-me-down furniture.  We had a TV, but it was more effective as a coffee table since I didn’t really watch anything and, well, Danielle had been deaf since birth.

             
She was old enough to stay home alone, but the thought always bothered me.  Granted, she was smart enough to handle herself, but sometimes I’d slip it by her that I could get a babysitter to keep her company.  She’d get pissed at me and assert her independence, ending off the argument by flipping the bird in my face.  I would have liked to put her in school, but I had to keep her out of the system until she was grown up.

             
It had been seven years since I took her away from our foster home.  Our parents died in a car accident when Danielle was 6 and I was 11, and we were sent to foster homes.  When I turned 13 I was told that we would be separated and sent to different families; I wasn’t going to allow that.  I packed up our things and snuck us out overnight.  For a while we lived on the street, then I made a few friends and we were able to crash there for a night or two at a time.  When I was 14 I took small day jobs, I even earned a lucrative gig as a McDonalds window jockey for a while.  When I was 16 I landed a steady job with a general contractor, and I convinced a shady landlord to let us live in one of the small beat-up homes he owned.  Not that I’m bragging or anything.

             
“Dude, you okay?” Jason asked me, waving his hand in front of my face.

             
I snapped out of it, blinked a few times and adjusted my tool belt before grabbing a push broom to clear the debris from the foundation.

             
Jason sniffed a little as he moved the jackhammer into place.

             
“You all right?” I asked with a smirk, “you’re not getting all sad because Her Royal Bitchness left, are you?”

             
“Oh yeah, totally,” Jason said, wiping his nose with his shoulder.  “I’m starting to think I caught that flu going around.”

             
“What?  I thought you got a shot for that already,” I reminded him as I swept.  I noticed he looked a little clammier than usual.

             
Jason nodded, “I did, I got it yesterday.  I just think I got it too late.  You ought to get them for you and Dani, don’t want you guys getting sick too.”

             
“We may do that this weekend,” I said.

             
Then it happened - the gunshots.  Three of them.  They were the warning cries of what was to come.

             
“What the fuck was that?!” I yelled in surprise, moving toward the front yard where I heard it come from.  Jason dropped the jackhammer and followed me out, and we both looked up and down the street.  We didn’t see anything unusual, but I know a gun when I hear it and I didn’t want to take the chance.  I grabbed my phone from my pocket and dialed 9-1-1, keeping my voice collected.  I didn’t get the chance to explain because all I got was a busy signal.  Confused, I tried again, and this time I heard in the pleasantly automated voice, “The number you are calling cannot be completed as dialed.”

             
“Jason, you try to call,” I offered, hanging up my phone.  He did as I asked, but reported the same thing.

             
A shriek pierced my eardrums.  I looked at Jason, this time actually feeling worried; we both ran out toward the front of the house, looking around the street.  There was another scream; across the street and up the block a ways, there was a woman running in our direction with a man chasing close behind.  Within seconds the bastard had tackled her to the ground.

             
Jason stepped up behind me, appearing more tired than usual.  “What the hell’s going on?”

             
I didn’t answer; I ran to help the woman.  The attacker grabbed at her violently, and her screaming became more high-pitched and frantic.

             
“Get off her, fucker!” I yelled, and as I got closer I became less furious and more horrified: the guy sank his teeth into the woman’s face and neck, and he clenched into her torso, pulling on her flesh until the blood spilled.

             
It felt like a dream.  Maybe the heat really was getting to me.  I couldn’t even comprehend what I just witnessed, but I knew I was running out of time if I wanted to save this lady’s life.
I ran as fast as I could, then launched forward and slammed into the man, knocking him off of her.  We toppled over each other a few times, rolling away from the woman whose screams had died down to throaty gasps.  I silently hoped that I wasn’t too late.  In my peripheral vision I spotted Jason approaching, though he seemed unusually slow considering the situation.  I planned on ripping him a new one as soon as I was done with this creep in front of me.

             
I gained the upper hand and pinned down the attacker, who had grown increasingly aggressive.  Then I realized that the man was already covered in large amounts of blood, more than what he just drew from the poor woman.  He was missing a piece of his neck, and had a few scratches on his face, and he wasn’t talking.  No matter what I shouted at him, he only responded in grunts and growls, which made his voice sound like it had been grated up.

             
But then I saw the eyes.  Not only did they rival the rage of a feral animal, the whites of the eyes were clouded over in a sickly black, and the irises glowed a bright crimson.  This thing was a goddamn monster.

             
I glanced up for a moment and saw Jason standing over the body of the woman, but he wasn’t moving.  My confusion shifted back to the immediate danger; I braced one hand on the… thing’s neck and swung my other fist into its face.  I landed a few punches before the freak reared his upper body upward and sent me to the ground.  I had no idea why this thing was as strong as it was - it looked pretty sick, to be honest.  My head hit the concrete, knocking me dizzy for a moment; in that time the crazy man regained himself and leaped on top of me.  Instinctively I raised my hands up in defense, and then the lunatic grabbed my left hand and bit down sharply on the outer side.

             
I felt the muscles in my hand tearing and I roared in more pain than I ever recall being in before.  I pulled back but the thing kept its grip on me.  With my free hand, and without thinking, I grabbed the hammer still attached to my tool belt and smashed it into the man’s temple.  The impact knocked him down long enough for me to get back up; I kicked the attacker in the ribs, but he jumped right back up again and knocked me down again.  A small part of me wondered if this thing would ever go down, but I quickly resigned myself to the fact that this thing was out for blood.

             
I yanked him to the side with enough momentum to roll him over and pinned him down; I took the opportunity to swing the hammer again.  Part of the man’s skull caved on impact, but he was still alive.  The adrenaline inside me was pulsing, and I knew I had to take this guy out.  I finally turned the hammer to the claw end and sunk it into the forehead; after seizing for a few seconds it finally died, the blood pooling quickly around what remained of its head.

             
I blinked a few times, still trying to fully register what had just occurred – I couldn't tell if I killed a person or a monster.  Regardless, the fact was I had smashed its brains in.  The pain re-surged in my left hand; grunting through my teeth, I pulled my t-shirt off and wrapped my hand up.  The bite tore deep, but thankfully my hand was still in one piece.

             
Part of me still thought this was a dream, and I started convincing myself to wake up.  I looked ahead of me and saw Jason knelt over the woman, who hadn’t moved from her spot since the attack started.  I started to realize that she wouldn’t make it.  As I got closer, I noticed how still Jason was.  I had no idea what was going through his head, why he was acting like… nothing.

             
“What the fuck, man?!” I spat.  “I was practically getting my ass kicked and you’re just standing there like an idiot!”

             
Jason barely acknowledged me - instead he reached his hand out and touched the woman’s head.  She showed no sign of life as the blood emptied from the wounds on her face and side of her abdomen.  Jason, with some hesitation, pressed two fingers against the gash on her cheek.