The Plague (Book 0): Day Zero (4 page)

“Kenneth Patterson”

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

2 Miles Outside of Kingston, NY

8:42 p.m.

Simply put… their friend Kenneth was a rager when it came to any sort of video games. He screamed, he cursed, sometimes—a majority of the time, actually—he tossed his controller at the television whenever he was killed or lost a game. Controller fragments from about eight different controllers lay on the dusty, stained carpet that was home to scattered potato chip crumbs in Kenneth’s bedroom.

Matt and Kyle were sitting on the floor, ready to pack it in and call it a night the moment Kenneth restarted another race, blaming his controller for not working. Until he won, then laughed and calmed down.

Matt picked up an empty can of sardines that still had leftover liquid swishing around inside next to him, grossed out. “Umm, Ken, when are you gonna clean your room?”

“Whenever my fuckin’ cock suckin’ mother decides to clean this shit up.”

Kyle and Matt exchanged glances. Kyle replied, “Meat, you’re thirty-two. Don’t you think it’s your responsibility?”

Kenneth gnawed into the bone of a chicken leg, making sure all the meat and flavor was gone. “Fuck off, shrimp. Why y’all call me Meat for?”

“Because you’re a fat-ass and all you do is eat,” Matt said seriously. “We’re surprised you haven’t turned into a cannibal yet.”

“Don’t test me, Matthew. I’ll be sure to eat the meat from your bones first.
”
“That was kind of suspect, Ken.”

Kenneth looks up. The last space on the floor wasn’t occupied. “Where the fuck is that skinny ass at?”

Matt nudged Kyle’s arm signaling for him to speak up. Kyle hesitated at first, then thought of a way out, “Helping your mommy with something… I think.”

Kenneth banged hard on the wall behind his bed, which separated his mother’s bedroom from his own. “Ma! Where the fuck is Skinny at? Ma!”

All three of them could hear faint, yet heavy huffing and rattling going on in the other room. “I haven’t… seen him… Kenneth…,” his mom finally spoke.

Matt and Kyle gulped as Kenneth maneuvered his look to them. Anger consumed him, his nostrils flared, and steam shot out of his ears. His hands closed into fists, he leaned in, demanding that they tell him the God’s honest truth before saying one more word. He pointed at his mom’s room. “Is that skinny fucker fuckin’ my moms’? If neither of you tell the truth, I will bash your fuckin’ brains in with my console. Do you fuckin’ hear me you twat stained maggots!”

Both of them nodded, shaking in fear. Kenneth grabbed his baseball bat and stomped into the hallway. He bashed his meaty hands against the splinter filled door that had endured its fair share of wear and tear over the years. “Skinny, are you fuckin’ my momma again!” Kenneth spat. “Get your scrawny-ass out here right now.”

Skinny held his cowboy hat in place, “Yee-haw, Kenny! Your mom rides cock like a fucking cowgirl, man!”

Skinny and Kenneth’s mom tuned out the banging and cursing that reported into the room. He noticed a soaked bandage wrapped around her thick right thigh. “What happened to you, darling?” Skinny asked.

“Ah, just some homeless guy got a little too frisky with me earlier,” she said, chewing a wad of gum. “Okay,” she said, getting bored, “it’s my turn, sugar plum.” Kenneth’s mom pushed Skinny onto his back. She whispered to him. “Prepare for a real ride, cowboy.”

Outside, Kyle and Matt tried to restrain Kenneth, but were unsuccessful. His strength easily overpowered theirs.

A bright light flashed outside followed by a loud crack and then rain. Within seconds, dirt turned to mud.

Kenneth was fed up. He shoved Kyle and Matt out of his way, cranked his elbow back, then punched a hole above the knob.

His mom and Skinny stopped and turned. Kenneth’s hand was reaching in, searching for the lock. “Shit, dude!” Skinny shouted. “Your son is insane, woman.” She didn’t reply, her body wasn’t moving. “You okay?” By now Skinny was sweating, his heart pounded against his chest, Kenneth was getting closer to the lock.

Suddenly, her body fell on top of him, crushing him with her weight. Oof! Skinny tried to wake her up and get her off him. The door broke off its hinge from an impact. All Skinny could see was Kenneth’s frame come into his view.

There was a pause. Kenneth looked at his mom. “What the fuck did you do to her, Skinny?”

“Uhh, nothing, man, honestly. She just dropped on me. I swear, I had nothing to do with this.”

Kyle and Matt entered behind Kenneth. They were just as shocked as everyone else at the lifeless body.

“Momma?” Kenneth put his hand on her.

Every jumped back as the body sprang to life. Her skin was gray, her eyes pale white. She hissed.

“FUCK!” Everyone yelled.

“Dude, your mom’s a fucking zombie?” Skinny shook. “What the fuck, man! This shit isn’t right.”

Kenneth’s mom took an enormous chunk out of Skinny’s boney neck. He screamed in agony.

Crimson painted the walls, sheets and carpet.

His zombie mom darted her attention to them.

“Talk to her, Meat,” Kyle said.

Matt slapped Kyle in the back of the head. “You can’t talk to a zombie, dumb-shit.”

“Do something, Meat, I’m scared!”

“Shut up already, Kyle.”

His zombie mom launched at them, Kenneth held her back. “Goddammit, momma, get off me, cunt.”

Her craving for human flesh grew. She started to overpower him. Kenneth pushed her off, stumbling back and landing ass first on the floor.

She took three steps, then face planted. A knife stuck in the back of her skull.

Kenneth, Matt and Kyle looked over. With the last bit of strength in him, Skinny managed to grab the knife from the plate of day old steak on the nightstand and plunge it into the zombie’s brain. He collapsed. Matt and Kyle ran to his side as Kenneth exited the room.

Matt took hold of Skinny’s hand; Kyle did his best to stop the bleeding with Skinny’s t-shirt that he found next to the bed. “Stay with us, bro.” Matt said. “We’re going to get you help.”

They could see the life fading from his eyes. His movements got slower. Skinny couldn’t speak, he was gurgling his own blood.

Kenneth returned moments later with his gaming console in his hands. He stood over Skinny; his emotions couldn’t be read. A switch went off inside him, he felt dark, empty.

“Kenneth?” Kyle tried to get his attention.

“Dude?” Matt asked.

Kenneth raised the console up high, and repeatedly smashed it against Skinny’s face. Blood splashed onto his face. Matt and Kyle failed numerous times to get a grip on Kenneth.

His arms finally got tired enough to make him stop. Matt and Kyle were stunned. Kenneth left the console in Skinny’s distorted face.

He made his way over to his dead mother, and cried. “Mommy…
”

“Derek Hanson, D.H.S”

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Training Facility, Syracuse, NY

2100 Hours

Bravo Squad breached into the office. Their ears rang. Smoke filled the air.
MOVE, MOVE, MOVE
!

The squad starts firing until they are cut off by the shouting of
Hold your fire! Hold your fire!

All the gunshots come to a stop. There’s silence. From the other room, the team could see the silhouette of their leader through the thick smoke. Finally it cleared and Derek Hanson entered. “Attention. Line up, maggots, let’s evaluate your performance.”

Bravo Squad lined up, keeping their heads straight. Derek surveyed the room. He examined the bodies on the ground for paintball kill shots. Next, he made his way around the President’s desk. There, he was unhappy with what his eyes showed him. “Private Johnson!” Derek yelled.

“Step forward…”

Private Johnson, the newbie, not cut out to be in this line of work, stepped out of line. He gulped.

Derek got close to his face. “Private Johnson, can you explain to me and everyone else why the
fuck
the President of our great nation was shot in the face? If I recall correctly, the mission was to save him from the insurgents who took him hostage. Not go rogue.”

“I didn’t go rogue, sir,” Johnson stuttered.

Derek got nastier. “Boy, do you speake’ de English? This ain’t no game! You just killed the damn President. Remember soldier, that’s your ass.”

Derek was the most respected agent the President knew. With a former military background, he was asked to join the Department of Homeland Security five years back. There was one phrase all the Presidents Derek had worked for since being in service all agreed on:
He puts the fear of God in you
. The President had asked Derek to set up an elite team that would operate under the radar. Derek himself not only got the opportunity to pick who he wanted and to train them the way he likes, but he was in charge. This was his squad, there would be no mistakes. If you made a mistake—especially a terrible one—he’d make a sure fine example out of you.

“We can’t have those mistakes in the field, understood?” Derek continued. Johnson nodded. “Hope you’re not tired, private, it’ll be a long night.” Derek turned to the rest of the squad. “Squad dismissed. Everyone except you, Johnson. You got cleaning to do.”

A half-an-hour later, Derek returned to his office to disassemble and clean his weapons. An alert came on the screen. He was able to see the oval office in a blur behind the ‘Accept’ or ‘Decline’ call screen. He accepted the call and stood in salute. “Mr. President, sir, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“At ease, Agent Hanson,” the President said. “I don’t have much time to go into detail, but there’s an important mission I have for you.”

In the background, Derek heard one of the Secret Service Agents speaking, noticing a disturbance. “Mr. President, the White House is falling! We have to get you to Air Force One immediately!”

“I understand,” he told the Secret Service Agent. “Agent Hanson, with your skills and your squad, the United States of America rests in your hands now. I must go. I have forwarded the briefing on your mission.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Hanson saluted.

“Oh, and Hanson? Don’t let me down. I’ll keep in touch.
”
The screen blacked out.

Beep
.
Beep
.
Beep
.

Derek opened up the mission message on his communicator. First things first about Derek, he is not one to get chills sent down his spine. As he read the mission log, he felt his hairs stick up. He had seen his fair share of horror while on the battlefield, but nothing, nothing prepares you for his new mission.

2300 Hours

The Humvee engine roared as it sped down the deserted road. Derek road in the passenger seat, his M4 locked and loaded. Johnson was in the backseat, wondering to himself what this mission was. Just like him, none of the other members of the squad had been briefed on the mission. None of them wanted to speak up to ask about it. Agent Hanson wouldn’t speak and they all feared him. Derek craved for people to fear him.

Four miles up the road the Humvee came to a halt. A couple of cars that were crashed into one another were blocking the road.

“Johnson, Silva, take two men and move those fucking cars out of the way.”

Everyone except the driver exited the vehicle. Derek looked around, standing by the car as Johnson, Silva and two other squad members started to clear the path.

Rustling sounds came from the woods on both sides of the road. Those were followed by moans, groans and grunts.
UHHHHHH
…

Derek whistled to his men. Without question, the four of them returned to him, going into their battle formation. He squinted at the shadows by the trees. In packs, zombies emerged from both sides of the road.

“What the…,” Johnson said in low tones.

“What’s going on, sir?” Silva asked.

“This is our new mission, men. Aim for the head and prepare for a fight.”

The zombies closed in on the squad. Derek waited. The members all waited for his signal. Just as the group of zombies were within ten feet…

“FIRE!”

Journal Entry #9

It’s been seven days since the world-wide outbreak that plagued humanity. For seven days

I’ve been searching, scouring this part of the East Coast for my brother who was assigned to a different unit within our organization. Our mission was to prevent an unknown group of scientists who’ve been experimenting with biological weapons on imprisoned soldiers for use on the battlefield. But now, I’ve lost all contact with my organization. Before losing contact with them, I was assigned a new mission. My mission is now to take out a certain target that is working with the Department of Homeland Security—who is responsible for releasing the virus and causing nothing but pain and misery. For causing the end of humanity. I need to find my brother. We need to stop this.

Neversink Reservoir, Day 7

Not only did the mask hide his identity, but it also represented who he worked for.

The mask was made of metal, and black with the design of a dark blue-colored skeleton. The skeleton design didn’t show a sorrowful expression, nor did it show rage—it showed pure determination—symbolizing a man on a mission. He was not tall—but short, around five-foot-seven; not built nor skinny. He wore blue and black camouflage pants with a black T-shirt, boots and gloves. The shark tooth pendant around his neck wasn’t his. It was his missing brother’s
.

For days he had been traveling the deserted roads and highways packed with abandoned vehicles, most destroyed, making him feel like he was in World War I or II… Or even III. Now he was in the woods.

His stomach grumbled and his mouth was so dry his lips wanted to crack off. His supply bag contained mostly ammo for the Barrett M98B that was slung across his body; along with ammo for the 9MM Beretta that was hoisted in place on the side of his belt. Other things within the duffel-bag included; first-aid, two empty canteens, a can of baked beans that would be his last meal for a while, and some accessories for his sniper and handgun; such as a compressor and laser-sight. There was also a bowie-knife attached to the bag’s side pocket.

The Masked Assailant (or “Wolf”—his codename within his unit—as he preferred to be known) finally found a river with no sight of
them
around. A good quiet place for him to rest up. He knelt down, cupping water into his hands, then, splashed it onto his face after placing his mask and duffel-bag—along with his guns—against the tree just a few yards away from him.

The sun was starting to crawl down toward the horizon, creating an orange cream shade in the mid-October sky.

Night was approaching.

With nightfall came uncertainty about your survival. Would you last until sunrise, or will you be bitten and turn into one of them? One of the undead…

A branch snapped somewhere close by. Wolf wiped the water from his face, turned his head slowly, eye-balling the distance between him and his weapons. He didn’t know the exact pin-point of where the sound was coming from. His back was facing crowds of trees and bushes, so it could’ve came from any direction. After a week in this new world, he knew that there was never only one of the creatures—the zombies—lingering around. He reached out for his gun, but stopped himself.
Sound will attract these things
, he thought to himself.
Better go quietly, otherwise I’m fucked
.

Wolf grabbed his bowie-knife from the side pocket of the bag. He held the knife in the ready position. His eyes were peeled, ready to stab the first zombie that attempted to threaten his life.

The zombies weren’t like they were in Hollywood—slow. No. They were fast. The fuckers would sprint at you like a marathon runner.

Wolf wasn’t afraid of much, he was trained to be fearless, but when the dead got back up and ran after you with their only intention being gnawing your limbs off that scared him.

With no sounds from birds or other animals that lived in the forest, he was able to clear his mind in order to focus on where he heard the sound, maybe even hear its feet dragging or stomping along the dirt.

Moments later, he heard a faint moaning coming from his left side. He swung around and the rotted corpse of an overweight man with a grizzly beard wearing worn out, raggedy denim overalls was right in his face. The zombie’s meaty hands gripped firmly on Wolf’s throat. It inched its half completed jaw closer to his neck.

The odor of the decaying corpse was unbearable. Vomit traveled up his throat, pleading to come out, only to be forced back down.

He managed to break free, jabbing the bowie-knife into the brain of the zombie. It wasn’t like those cheesy zombie movies where their brains were mushy and easily accessible for a sharp object to penetrate—no. Wolf had to put a ton of effort and strength into getting the knife to pierce into its skin and dig far enough to reach the brain.

Blood squirted out, some got on his clothes.

Before he was able to retrieve the knife from the zombie’s skull…

Wolf was brought to the ground, his back smacking against it hard. An intensely sharp pain rose up his spine. Another zombie—that of an African-American woman—was already on top of him, eager to have him as a meal.

SHIT!

As he held the female zombie back, he searched for his knife. It was out of reach.

More moans, groans and gawks came from behind the trees. Suddenly, five more zombies came into view. Some slouched their way over, some moved faster. His only way out of this was to get to his guns and waste precious ammo.

He dug his thumbs into the female zombie’s eyes. Blood poured out of its eye-sockets, running down his fingers and hands like the flow of water in a river.
Ugh!
The female zombie’s body was then tossed to the side—still alive, but less mobile, and unable to see.

Wolf rushed over to the overweight zombie and grasped the bowie-knife. Another zombie grabbed onto his forearm, forcing him to release the knife so he wouldn’t suffer the same fate as the rest of these poor useless bastards.

He punched the zombie in the temple of its head, causing it to lose grip on him.

Without hesitation, he forgot about the knife and grabbed his 9MM. He took aim. The gunshots echoed throughout the woods. All perfect head-shots. One thing was for sure: out of everyone in his unit, he was the best shot.

More rustling of branches and leaves, with louder
UHHH
’s, came from all corners. Firing those bullets alerted more of them.

He saw the silhouettes of the undead approaching. With the current clip of ammo being his last, he had no way to fight them all.

Wolf grabbed his duffel bag and put his mask back on. Then, he disappeared into the woods, in a direction that seemed less infested than the others… Oblivious to the unknown
.