Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Conflict Read online

  CONFLICT

  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.

  CONFLICT: SURVIVING THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

  Copyright © 2014 by Joshua Jared Scott

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

  ISBN 13: 978-1-499-76057-6

  Prologue

  After a surprisingly limited amount of thought and virtually no internal debate, I have decided to create a second volume in my gripping, nerve wracking, unembellished tale of terror, namely how I have thus far survived the thrice accursed zombie apocalypse. I would have cursed the shambling dead four times, but that seems a tad excessive, even for those miserable, flesh eating monsters. At any rate, I shall reveal a single tidbit of what’s to come. Are you ready for it? Are you? You have to be sure. Okay, here it is. I do not die at any point in this narrative. Surprise! Granted, it would be difficult to tell my story otherwise. Ghosts seem to be preoccupied with their own thing, and the corpses that have taken control of our world are not exactly intelligent, much less literary.

  As with the first go around, this story will be divided into chapters, each of which focuses on my personal story. After all, I am the most important person in creation, well, just about. Additionally, interludes will be inserted between the chapters. In some cases, these will focus on what others experienced prior to meeting me. Such back stories are important and provide an understanding of behavior, fears, and so forth. However, a few will instead be used to relate events at the settlement while I was elsewhere. You see, I was occasionally forced to leave for extended periods of time. A great deal occurred during these excursions, but that’ll be explained later.

  By the way, don’t get all worried or concerned or uptight about the writing style. As before, I am not going to compose the entirety in first person. My level of arrogance isn’t that great. No, while there will be periods of reflection, similar to what you’re reading right now, whenever possible I prefer to use a more standard composition, relating dialogue as best I can recall. If that makes no sense, I’m sorry, but you’ll see what I mean soon enough.

  First, I shall provide a short summary of past events. The disaster began on August 22 at 3:15 AM Texas Time (aka Central Time). Without warning, a quarter of the world’s population went into sudden, violent convulsions. This occurred simultaneously across the entire planet and without any noticeable pattern regarding race, age, gender, or physical condition. All died in short order, only to reanimate seven minutes later.

  As you well know, or should know by this point, these were not diseased individuals, but real – I swear it’s true – zombies. Any doubts on the matter were rapidly dispelled once people started fighting back. Chop off their arms or legs, and they keep coming. Shoot them in the chest, even rip out their hearts, and they’re barely slowed. The only way to put a zombie down for good is to destroy the brain. High caliber bullets work the best, but in a pinch a crowbar or tire iron will also serve. Severing the spinal cord results in paralysis, just as with a human being. The current theory is that the nervous system is integral to whatever keeps them going.

  In those regions where the sun was shining, namely the opposite side of the planet, the living reacted quickly and sought to aid the afflicted. In many cases, CPR was being administered when the dead awoke. With prey so conveniently at hand, nearly half the population was dead or infected inside an hour. Think about that for a moment. We are talking about billions here, billions with a B.

  The Americas fared no better. Most were asleep when the change struck, and with a quarter dying outright, the odds were good that each household held at least one zombie. I have no hard numbers, but the percentage of early infections rivaled those elsewhere. Individuals living alone at the time were blessed. Unfortunately, quite a few people tend to wake, eat, get dressed, and head off to work or school without ever turning on the television or computer. Many of these were caught by surprise as they stepped outside.

  Adding to my spurt of things you should already know, here’s some basic information on the nature of zombies. Most obvious is that the things do not rot. Yes, I know that’s not entirely true. They begin to decompose, but this ceases after a day or two. There’s just enough to ensure they look dead, mostly by giving them nasty, pallid skin. The eyes are also covered with a thick, gray film, similar to mucus. I’m not sure if this is the cause of their vision difficulties, but zombies can’t see more than a few hundred yards. In contrast, there is nothing wrong with their hearing.

  The shambling dead are slow, barely moving above an ordinary person’s walking speed, and they do shamble, hence the nickname. Their coordination is lousy as well. They can manage stairs and rough terrain, although they tend to stay on roads or other smooth surfaces whenever possible. Climbing, including ascending a ladder, is generally beyond their capabilities.

  I know these facts are eerily similar to the bulk of the fantastically popular zombie genre. Remember that? It was everywhere, until the fiction became reality. Yet, there is one key item that differs from all the movies, books, comics, and so forth. This is in regards to their method of feeding. Zombies do consume human flesh. They crave it and will target anyone they come across. However, they will not gorge. The monsters take one or two substantial bites and immediately become sated. This period lasts roughly twenty minutes, give or take, during which time they are completely non-responsive. As a result of this little twist, most who are bitten remain intact, enabling them to reanimate and join the ranks of the walking dead.

  To be bitten is to die, following several days of ever increasing agony. Seven minutes later, the person returns. If death occurs without infection, the unfortunate will come back in roughly twenty six hours. I discovered that little nightmare of knowledge in a particularly stressful and unpleasant manner. Also, only bites cause infection. Getting zombie guts or juices, including saliva, on your body, in the eyes, even in an open wound will not do it. There’s something about the teeth…

  Enough of the tedious lecturing and on to a slightly longer review of my personal experiences. Obviously, I was one of the fortunate ones. I lived alone and, as was my habit, checked the news first thing upon waking. After learning what was going on, along with accepting it as true, I began to make plans to flee my home in Denton, Texas. Even ignoring the fact that my house could never be secured – picture windows have their drawbacks – being part of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex meant there were approximately four million people nearby, many of whom were already zombies. The numbers grew even more distressing, not to mention significantly larger, if I included the outlying communities and adjacent counties.

  I was on the northern edge of the metropolitan area with my neighborhood bordering a rural area. This provided me with a clear route out. Additionally, I possess a gorgeous Jeep Wrangler, heavily customized for off road use. I have the ability to get around wrecks and abandoned vehicles, and it is no problem to drive in the grass, dirt, mud, or over rocks. It was another point in my favor. So, with Briana Mills, one of my more lovely neighbors, in tow, I headed north.

  By the way, my name is Jacob Thornton – this is for those who neglected to read my prior tale concerning the early months of the apocalypse. No forgetting who I am. It’ll hurt my feelings. I mean it. I’m very sensitive.

  During the journey we met other survivors, several of whom joined us – most notable were Lizzy and Mary – and we reached the Nebraska
National Forest in early September. From the very beginning, Briana and I wanted to get away from population centers, and the northern Great Plains seemed ideal. Isolation was the key factor. The forest is far from any large cities, with only a handful of small towns in the general vicinity. A second benefit was the temperature. Any idea how hot it gets in Texas in the summertime? When you have no air conditioning or fans? Let me tell you, it’s absolutely miserable. Finally, the multitude of farms in the area ensured plenty of food and the ability grow things on our own, which would become necessary at some point in the future.

  There were others already there, campers and a large church group that had been on a religious retreat. They were friendly folk, and our groups got along fine for the most part. Unfortunately, they tended to be more than a little lackluster when it came to security, believing God would protect them from the zombies, and they were woefully unprepared to defend themselves when a large group stumbled upon their campsite in the middle of the night. I responded, along with Briana, Lizzy, and a few others, and managed to save quite a few. Still, the death toll was horrendous. Many left following this, searching for another location that might offer safety. Those who remained united with my group, and we built a permanent settlement in an isolated meadow, deep within the national forest.

  The raiders, a gang of irrational, insane psychopaths – there is no better description for these bastards – were first encountered on November 15. Several of us were in Chadron, a nearby town, looting some buildings when three men rode up on motorcycles. Steph, a pretty redhead who was outside on watch, alerted us to their approach via radio. I was hurrying back with Lizzy and Briana when we heard the gunshot. Steph managed to wound the largest, but that didn’t prevent her from being pulled to the ground. I shot one with my rifle, the first breather I ever killed. Lizzy ended another. And Steph, well, she stomped the third with her boots, crushing his rib cage and shattering the skull. It was messy and brutal, but considering what they intended, the asshole more than deserved it.

  A few days later we drove to Martin, South Dakota. This was in response to a radio transmission we’d picked up. It was incomplete, but the location, along with the need for immediate assistance, was clear enough. We sent a tiny group in order to better gauge the situation before revealing our own existence. As things turned out, our caution didn’t much matter. The compound had been destroyed, and all the inhabitants murdered, often after being raped and tortured. This included the children. It’s difficult to imagine such evil could exist, but there’s no shortage of historical accounts of similar atrocities, both in antiquity and modern times. Even so, we found it particularly disturbing, and there’s an unofficial policy that anyone wearing a jacket with those distinctive patches is to be shot on sight. Understand, the attackers left their dead behind, and all were dressed in the same manner as the trio who assaulted Steph.

  We hurried back to warn the others, but internal community matters blew up first, making this impossible. I won’t go into detail on all that happened. If you want to know, read my prior account. It’s far too complicated to relate in a short summary, not without leaving huge, glaring holes in the tale. Essentially, we were forced to run away before the shooting escalated and more died. I went from being the leader of the group to an exile. Accompanying me were Briana, Lizzy, and Mary.

  The next day, November 20, we discovered a caravan of several hundred raiders on the highway that bisected the national forest. They likely would have gone right on by – our settlement was deep within the forest after all – but one of our former friends, not known for being observant, passed by in the distance. Outriders spotted him, informed the others, and the entire column moved to follow, every last one.

  Despite being expelled from our home, Briana radioed in a warning. This gave them a chance. By the time the raiders appeared, there were several dozen men and women ready to defend the castle. On a side note, the main structure was composed of cinderblocks and reinforced concrete, having been dubbed a castle by the children. The name stuck. The gang never tried to talk, didn’t even demand surrender. They simply attacked.

  For our part, we took a back trail and exited the woods far to the side. I immediately went into sniper mode and began to target the attackers utilizing a high end hunting rifle. The ladies were gracious enough to provide me with cover and to keep a look out. A few of the enemy noticed us, no way around that, but Lizzy proved more than capable of dealing with the problem. It’s amazing what buckshot can do to a human body at point blank range.

  Things grew even more chaotic when the zombies began to arrive. A large band had been following the gang, and these entered our meadow, joined by hundreds more, all attracted to the sound of constant gunfire and the occasional explosion. The raiders ended up pinned between the shamblers and the castle. None escaped, at least that we saw. Part of this was bad strategy and a determination to stand their ground. Contributing was the fact the zombies swarmed their vehicles from the start, preventing the raiders from retrieving extra ammunition or driving off. Finally, our friends never stopped shooting at the attackers, putting the proverbial nail in the coffin.

  Looking back, continuing to defend the castle was a mistake, a horrible one. The settlement should have taken the opportunity the zombies presented – by this I am referring to the raiders being largely distracted – and made a run for it. They did not. Instead, they tried to secure the walls and gate. Against a few zombies, it was perfectly safe. Even a hundred or more could be dealt with. However, the raiders had caused significant damage, and many of our people were dead or wounded. By the time any realized what they were facing, truly facing, and sought to get out, it was too late. The zombies forced their way inside and that was that. With no other options, Briana, Lizzy, Mary, and I ran back to our Jeeps and drove away.

  We returned the following morning, after the dead finally shambled off. Miraculously, there were two survivors. Steph and a four year old boy, Johnny, had managed to climb atop the rafters of our common room, taking shelter in a shadowy alcove. No one else made it. We immediately began discussing our future. There were plenty of reasons to leave, not the least of which were the bad memories, but winter was just beginning and we didn’t know where else to go.

  In the end, it was decided to remain at the castle. Most of the livestock we’d gathered from neighboring farms was still alive – zombies ignore animals, and the raiders hadn’t targeted them directly – so there was no shortage of ready beef, eggs, etc. The generator was still working, and we had plenty of supplies, including what the gang members had been carrying. Most surprising, Briana informed me she was pregnant. I was going to be a father.

  I’ll go ahead and provide a list of the survivors for your easy reference.

  Jacob Thornton

  Briana Mills

  Lizzy

  Mary

  Steph

  Johnny

  As to our settlement, it is placed on a slight rise at the far end of a long, curved meadow in one of the deepest portions of the Nebraska National Forest. Behind the castle, near the tree line, is a creek which provides most of our fresh water. We also have a large parking area enclosed by a standard six foot wood fence, intended to keep zombies and wildlife out. Finally, there are some corrals for the livestock and a scattering of benches and picnic tables.

  The castle itself consists of a twelve foot high, five foot thick curtain wall. This is composed of two layers of reinforced cinderblock. The area in between has been filled with gravel and cement. Up top, we installed battlements. While not originally intended as a defensive measure, being there to prevent anyone from falling, they did prove beneficial when the raiders attacked. Along one side wall are our townhouses, two story structures with a sitting room and washroom on the bottom and a pair of tiny bedrooms above. Opposite these is a large storehouse that doubles as the armory. In the rear, across from the gate, rests the common hall and a small bathhouse. There are two latrines as well, one near the entrance and another by t
he kitchen.

  Shortly after the attack, Lizzy and I established a series of caches in and around the forest, their purpose to guarantee a ready source of emergency supplies in case we couldn’t make it back to the castle for any reason or if we were forced to flee our home a second time. This system was greatly expanded in the months following, so I’ll leave detailed descriptions for later.

  That about covers the key events described in my first record, along with a simplified explanation of where we stood following the battle. From here on I’ll be relating all new material, some of it good, some bad, a few items dreadful in the extreme. No way around that. Face it, our world sucks. We try to live as best we can, staying safe, taking care of those we love, but the zombies are an omnipresent danger. Add in the breathers who have used the situation as an excuse to exercise their baser tendencies and heartbreak is always right around the corner.

  Chapter I

  Thanksgiving was pretty damn miserable. Most of our friends were dead, along with a large number of assholes who more than deserved their fate. I’m not going to pretend to give a whit about this latter group’s violent demise. However, I will say, as I’ve informed Briana and the others repeatedly, that it’s a crying shame they didn’t have the courtesy to fall in a nice, convenient pile. But no, we had hundreds of bodies spread all over the meadow and nearby woods. It was a mess, and only Lizzy and I were available to deal with it.

  Steph and Briana were taking turns babysitting Johnny and working on the castle proper, and Mary was acting as our lookout, leaving just the two of us. So, we hitched a flatbed trailer to one of the pickups and carted the corpses several miles to an isolated, rocky area. There, we dumped them. We briefly considered torching the things but decided not to. There’d been enough disasters already. Adding a forest fire to the mix was out of the question.