Decay: The City of Hope Read online

  When Allie went on a scavenging run into town, the last thing she expected was to find another survivor, let alone bring him back to the outpost with her. But something about Benjamin Waters was different. Haunted by his past, Ben must come to terms with who he is and what he has done while trying to survive in the harsh undead world.

  For Bryttany

  Forever and Always

  Table of Contents

  PART 1 SURVIVING

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  PART 2 OUTBREAK

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  PART 3 EVOLUTION

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  PART 1

  SURVIVING

  Chapter 1

  Allison ‘Allie’ Barnes sat quietly while listening to the typical sounds of the world. The shuffling of feet, the thumping of bodies running into each other, and the moaning. Oh god the moaning. She shuddered. It didn’t matter that three and a half years had passed since the infection had hit the States. It didn’t matter that three fourths of the planet had turned into mindless flesh eating monsters. It didn’t matter that she’d come in close contact with them more times than she could count.

  The moaning.

  It was more psychological than anything at this point. The guttural moan, the unnatural quality of it. It shook a person to their core and left them terrified. Even the professional runners who spent most of their time in the wild amongst the undead were still terrified when they heard the moans.

  But Allie was a professional runner, and she couldn’t let her fear get the better of her. People relied on her. It was her job to run into locations most people avoided and scavenge them for supplies that had survived the apocalypse. Anything perishable had long since expired—some of the more processed canned items were still good—but there was a plethora of other valuables still out there. Medicine, batteries, bottled water, building supplies, gasoline; they were tantamount to gold and jewels in the zombie infested world.

  She hastily ripped open the granola bar wrapper and bit down into it. She had been lucky enough to find a box of them stashed inside an old office desk. They were only six months expired but being properly sealed meant that they were still good. Immediately the taste of stale peanut butter and granola filled her mouth. The bar was as hard as rock and she had to suck on each piece for a bit to soften it up, but it still brought a tear to her eye. It was funny how you forgot how good some things tasted.

  A nearby crash startled her and she froze, waiting. The moans outside however remained the same and she allowed herself to relax slightly. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions but she’d grown accustomed to tight spaces and sketchy situations so she made due. It was one of many lessons she’d learned while running.

  Another important lesson; when you went to hide, never take your supplies with you. A full pack could keep you from squeezing into small spaces; it could get caught up on something or it could get in the way. And it wasn’t like the zombies would see her pack and grab it. They didn’t care about an abandoned backpack.

  So there she was, alone, with nothing but a bottle of water and a granola bar to keep her company. Her pack held the rest of her treasure; the almost full box of granola bars, two rudimentary first aid kits, a pack of printer paper and a pair of scissors. She had been rifling through one of the desks when she first heard them. Quickly, she had tossed her bag into the corner and took refuge.

  Her hiding place certainly wouldn’t have won any hide and seek competitions, but it didn’t have to. Scrunched under the desk with a pair office chairs pulled in front to block the opening, she was confident in her shelter. It wasn’t the most luxurious and she was fairly exposed, but Allie hadn’t survived for three years on dumb luck. She knew her enemy and knew what she had to do to best them.

  Zombies were base creatures, relying purely upon the most basic of instincts to hunt. As far as survivors could tell, zombies had lost their sense of smell completely. Adding to that, their vision was poor—no better than an eighty year old with cataracts. It was through sound that they hunted. They were known to follow sounds for miles in search of food without ever seeing their prey.

  Allie knew that if she was patient, sooner or later, something somewhere would make a sound and the zombies outside would disperse. As long as she remained quiet, she’d get out of this okay.

  You didn’t get to survive as a runner for long if you pushed your luck. More than that, you had to know your enemy. Any idiot could tell you the basics; avoid big groups, don’t let them grab you and the most important one, don’t get bit. But it was the experts—like Allie—who really knew their shit. They were the professionals who really understood the common enemy of the new world. The uninitiated thought that they all just moaned all the time and that they were mindless monsters, but Allie knew that wasn’t true. There was a reason that hearing was the only sense they still used.

  They communicated.

  In the early days of the infection, most groups were fortifying their positions, scavenging for supplies and making their way for the supposed safe havens to the north. But one member of her group had spent time studying the zombies and learning all that he could about them.

  Dr. Henry had been a general practitioner before the apocalypse. Most of the group assumed that was why he studied them; trying desperately to find some cure. Regardless of his reasons, Dr. Henry had noticed early on that the zombies still displayed some semblance of their human selves.

  For one, they still maintained social groups. The same zombies were always seen in the same groups unless they were separated for one reason or another. They also hunted in those same groups—similar to a pack of wolves though without the coordination. And they communicated.

  It had been Dr. Henry that first noticed it. A pack of four zombies had been wandering close to their camp but hadn’t heard the survivors. As a result, Dr. Henry had been able to monitor them while they were in a calm state. Even Allie had been fascinated by it. The four zombies were walking one way when one moaned and the others returned the call. They then took an abrupt right turn and wandered away. The close proximity to the moan and the change in direction was too much for a coincidence.

  After several months of dangerous research, Dr. Henry had all but proven his hypothesis. That the zombies were not as mindless as originally thought and communicated with one another in a variety of different situations. And they did so with three very distinct very different moans or sounds.

  The first was a low and slow guttural sound. It was the sound the pack of four had made that night and it was the most common sound you’d hear when running. It was the base dialogue of the dead. They weren’t actively hunting or pursuing a sound or food; it was just a conversation. Allie had sarcastically compared it to people standing by the water cooler at the office to shoot the shit and the name had stuck. The water cooler.

  The second sound was an agitated, excited moan. It was louder than the water cooler and could be heard for some distance—proof that they hunted together. It was still just as l
ong as the water cooler but there was something more ominous about it. Before he’d quit going out on runs all together, Allie’s husband; Kirk; had called it the fire alarm. Like a fire alarm, it sent everything running for a safe place.

  Finally, the most dangerous moan and one you seldom heard except from a distance; was the dinner bell. They had called it that from the start and it was not a joke. A short barking sound and the clacking of teeth; it was only ever made when prey was in arms reach. They only ever made the sound was they were about to catch their prey. When they were about to feed on a person. It was rare to hear the sound and not be in direct danger. It was rarer still to hear it up close and get away unharmed. No, it was more common to just hear it in the distance.

  In those instances where she did hear it, Allie would stop for a moment of silence for whatever poor soul had met their end. And while she hated herself for it, she often thought to herself, better them then me. And the dinner bell did have a nice side effect, it drew all the zombies out of the area.

  After taking stock of her situation, Allie was confident she’d be just fine. The water cooler was still going on, and based upon the noise level, it was only a dozen or so. If she waited, they’d eventually disperse. And if not… well, she was faster than them.

  In high school she had been a star track runner. Five foot eleven, one hundred forty six pounds, and lean. Her body was designed for speed. Long legs, a small bust—much to her chagrin—and a natural sprinter’s gait. If the worst came, she knew she could outrun them.

  Allie quickly and quietly guzzled the bottle of water to keep her hydration up. That was one perk of being a runner. You had first pick of the supplies scavenged, and nobody batted an eyelash at it. A runner wasn’t much use if they dropped dead with a pack full of supplies after all. Not to mention the inherent risk of the trade.

  But truth be told, Allie loved every time she left the security of their outpost. She had been a natural thrill-seeker before the infection—something Kirk had tried in vain to squash—and this world had only enhanced it. She had been an avid speeder—her driving record could prove that—and she loved being a daredevil. Bungie jumping, cliff diving, extreme sports; hell she’d had plans to jump out of an airplane the following summer had the world not gone to shit.

  That had always been a huge issue between her and Kirk. He had tried to change a lot of the things that she loved about herself. If she was being honest with herself, he would have succeeded. She’d been thoroughly beaten back and was ready to give it all up when the end of the world had given her an opportunity to get out again and rediscover herself.

  She smirked, happy for that particular victory over Kirk.

  They had been high school sweethearts. The typical couple. He was the varsity quarterback and she had been the beautiful track star. They were both prom king and queen. They were that couple that were ‘going to last’! It had all been so magical. Everything ahead of them was to be so magical. After high school, they had dated for two years before he popped the question and she hastily said yes.

  But happily ever after had been far and few between. They had been too young and too inexperienced. Not to mention Kirk’s—

  Allie jumped, startled. Fire alarm. Somewhere in the distance, maybe four or five blocks from here. The hair on her arm stood on edge. The dozen zombies in the street immediately returned the fire alarm moan, shuffling uneasily on their feet as they sped off after them. The two in the room with her did the same thing, bumping into each other to get out of the door.

  “Sucks to be you,” she said quietly when they were long gone. It was the way of the world now that she could no longer feel pity for those she didn’t know. One stranger being chased by the legions of the dead was just another opportunity for her. And besides—it was a fire alarm. Not a dinner bell.

  Allie slid quietly from her hiding spot, pausing long enough to stretch out her muscles, and moved to the last door in the office. The makeshift lock-pick set made short work—a skill all runners had mastered by now—of the door and she opened it slowly in case it was occupied. A horrible smell of rot and decay filled her nostrils, causing her to stop. In the early days of the apocalypse, it would have left her gagging, retching, but now, it was par the course. Now she was just waiting to hear the shuffling of feet or a moan.

  Nothing.

  The owner of the smell was the long since expired office manager, his body decayed in the corner. Black dried blood splattered against the wall from the self-inflicted gunshot as a testament to his last act. He’d been here for a while. His body was well past the bloating stage and was now into the advanced stage of decay. He was mainly bones held together by rotting sinew and tendons. A large stain of filth spread around him on the carpet and the husks of dead maggots surrounded him.

  She quickly searched his pockets, coming up with a small set of keys, a wallet, and wad of hundred dollar bills. All useless. She shrugged and pocketed them regardless—Dr. Henry said to bring anything and everything back as it could all have value or a use. At least with the money, they could burn it. But the wallet and keys were useless. Moving to the desk, she grabbed the pens, paper clips and the binder—Dr. Henry loved his office supplies. Searching the last drawer, she smiled.

  A bottle of Jack Daniels and two tumblers.

  Bagging the last of her supplies, she shut and locked all of the doors before stopping to write on the front entrance the word ‘scavenged’. Satisfied that she was done, Allie turned to begin the ten mile journey back to the outpost.

  It was recommended to shut and latch the doors to every building that they looted. It gave the dead less places to hide. And she always wrote on the door that it had been scavenged, in case some other survivor came along. She didn’t want them to waste valuable time searching a building she’d already looted.

  Allie was smiling as she walked, happy with today’s find. On top of that office, she had found three cans of peaches, a can of corn, some canned cat food and four more bottles of water in the trunk of a parked car. It was all expired save for the water, but it would eat.

  She was just passing by Main Street and the burnt husk of a former police car when she heard the footsteps and the moans. She paused and looked over her shoulder. The street was empty yet she could hear them coming her way. But there was something… different.

  The steps were the usual shuffle or thump of a zombie’s ‘fast walk’. These were more rhythmic and coordinated.

  All at once, she saw them. A man came barreling around the corner with a group of thirty zombies following. Each of them was now calling out in full fire alarm, bringing in every zombie nearby to aid in the hunt. The man was easily outgaining them—they weren’t fast, but they were persistent. Where people fatigued and felt pain, the zombies could continue that uncoordinated ungainly walk forever. And with their constant fire alarm calls, it wouldn’t be long before zombies started to come out of hiding in front of them and cut them off.

  She swore and ran from the group. She had gone out alone today and had no backup available to help her. The last thing Allie had expected to find today was another survivor. Other survivors weren’t always a good thing. Some were worse than the dead. And while she didn’t know if this guy was a sinner or a saint, he was leading a small horde right at her.

  The survivor; a man she saw; was still running in the same direction as her. He had to have seen her, had to have known that there was another person here. He’d been running right at her. She hoped he’d do the decent thing and lead them away, but runners didn’t usually go out of their way to save others. Especially strangers. Allie continued on her path, taking a right on Broadway and running for the first cover she could find.

  Yes! She exclaimed in her head. It was the box trailer! The semi-trailer had tipped onto its side and had been left abandoned in the middle of the road, blocking most of the lanes. Thankfully, the road was empty at the moment and Allie knew it would be her best bet for safety.

  The left rear door—now the bot
tom door—was wide open and flat against the ground. Allie ducked into the trailer, turning to pull the door up when she felt a weight holding it down. It was there for only a moment when she felt herself bowled over.

  “Shit!” he yelled, turning at her with a manic look. Allie didn’t realize that she had the same look on her own face. It was that initial fear of bumping into something and waiting for the moan.

  His face visibly relaxed but Allie pointed in anger. “Shut the fucking door!”

  He quickly grabbed the door and pulled it up. And just like that, the room was filled with darkness. The only sound was of the two of them panting and breathing heavily and the distant fire alarm moans. Slowly though, as the zombies caught up, the sound of shuffling feet and fire alarms was all the pair could hear from their place of refuge. The sound was deafening, but she had bigger concerns.

  Allie was pressed into a corner, trying to keep space between her and this stranger. Her group had lost a member to a random survivor in the past and she wasn’t about to add to that number. It had been someone who had wanted what they had badly enough that he took it by force, but not after leaving an eight inch knife in Troy’s gut.

  She grabbed at her bag, feeling around for the long heavy metal rod and quickly clicked the button. The beam of light erupted from the MAG light and she shone it on him. He squinted in response and went to speak but she stopped him. “No talking,” she mouthed.

  He nodded, trying to control his breathing. Allie took a chance to look him over.

  His dark hair was long and greasy and matted to his head. She could tell he hadn’t taken time to wash for a while. A thick tangle of beard sprawled across his jaw. His skin was pale and he was borderline emaciated. He looked gaunt and she could see his skull under the tight skin. She had to wonder how he had survived for this long.

  The two sat quietly, listening to the moans fade from fire alarm to water cooler talk. Now that the zombies had calmed, she took a second to look around. They had never searched the trailer in the past except to peek inside—the risk had always been too high with a zombie trapping you in with no way out.