Endgame, p.1
Endgame, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Endgame: A Zombie Novelette
by Rhonda Parker
wordsbyparker.com
Copyright © 2022 Rhonda Parker
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
ISBN: 979-8-9852718-2-9 (ebook)
ISBN: 979-8-9852718-3-6 (print)
For those who like a zombie story that is about more than just the zombies…
And for those who like a good story, no matter what the setting is behind it…
May this tale feed your hunger for a good chunk of meat on the narrative bones.
The two men approached the cabin. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but they both knew that looks could be deceiving.
“Stay here,” the older of the two said. “I’ll go check things out.” The other man nodded, and leaned against a tree.
After several long minutes, his companion returned and handed him several sheets of paper.
The young man took the small bundle in his hands. “What’s this?”
“I think it’s a letter. I found it jammed under the door of the cabin.”
He looked down at the pages. So many of her words, ready to leap off the sheets of paper that held her scrawled handwriting. “How did she have the time...” he whispered.
The young man swallowed hard, took a deep breath to prepare himself, and began to read.
To whoever finds this:
My name is Marcy Clayton. I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve been separated from my group for a few hours now, I think. I don’t know who will read this, but I need to capture as much as I can before I forget it all. While I still have time.
Let me start at the beginning. The virus that caused the current state of affairs descended on us seven years ago. It killed a lot of people at the beginning, but a lot of people recovered. Then the virus mutated, and we started hearing reports of people who died coming back to life.
Except they weren’t alive, just reanimated shells. Relatives reported that their loved ones weren’t talking, just staring, and sometimes making strange noises. It unnerved them but no one thought they were a threat. The families were just grateful to have their loved ones back.
The peace didn’t last, though. The nightmare began when a mortician was bitten while processing a new arrival. The mortician died from their injuries and became patient zero. It didn’t take long for the virus to spread after that.
It’s funny, though. I watched zombie movies and television shows for years - even had one of those “survival kits” - and I don’t think anyone saw this coming. Mother Nature apparently wanted to give us a challenge.
Well, boy, did she.
The pandemic turned into a full-blown apocalypse. Here in the U.S., the government couldn’t keep up with the infected, and eventually people started gathering into their own communities and governing themselves. While they still check in with us, and provide us with supplies like food, medicine, and ammunition, we’re mostly on our own. We used to ask the National Guardsmen if there was any news. Eventually we stopped asking because the answer was always the same: “They’re still trying to find a solution.”
There were ten of us left in our group. Our home base was an old summer camp we’d cleared out, reinforcing the gates and walls as best as we could. The main buildings were solid enough, and the infirmary was in decent shape. We used the mess hall as a storeroom for our food and ammunition. The administration building became an emergency shelter of sorts, a place we could all hide if a group of zombies wandered through. While it was closer to the main gate, the walls were thicker and provided a small measure of soundproofing. The cabins served as residences. The smallest one I shared with Sam, my partner and the other leader of our group.
Samuel Harper. A man I love more than anything in this crazy new world. His quiet strength, how he always looked for ways to help someone else, and that beautiful crooked smile. Not to mention his warm, green-tinted hazel eyes that spoke of hidden depths within his soul.
Sam stumbled into our camp one day, blood covering his arms and splashed across his face. His medium brown hair looked dark and wet, and flecks of gore were stuck in it like puffs of dirty gray cotton. He kept shaking, couldn’t speak, and never even looked at us. We didn’t know if he was still human or turning into a zombie.
Henry, our resident father figure, kept me from shooting him on sight. But I targeted my gun right at Sam’s head while Henry approached him. Sam never made a move, other than continuing to shake and ignore the world around him.
Henry checked Sam over for any bites or scrapes, cleaning off some of the blood as he examined him. Once he was certain that Sam wasn’t infected, we moved him into quarantine. He allowed himself to be led inside the small cabin. Henry covered him up with a blanket and we posted a guard outside the locked door. All the while Sam was silent, his shaking now more of a tremor.
A few days later, I was on duty when Sam started talking in his sleep. I heard him telling someone to run, to get away, and as I stepped inside the cabin he sat bolt upright. As he looked at me I saw that his eyes were confused and frightened, but clear.
I explained to him that he wandered into our camp a few days before, alone and in bad shape. Eventually he recovered his wits enough to talk about what happened. At least, what he could remember.
Sam had been with his former group, a small, ragtag bunch that hadn’t been together long. It began as a group of convenience, so to speak; but they managed to keep themselves alive.
When they ran across a crowd of zombies, the first two went down quick and Sam tried to save the third. But he wasn’t fast enough and they tore the last member of the group apart right in front of him. The feast set before the zombies gave him time to run.
He’d found us a few hours later, in shock and drowning in a panic attack. That explained why he couldn’t talk to us.
It didn’t make sense to Sam why he was spared and they weren’t. He had tried his best to save them, but it wasn’t enough. That became something we talked about whenever I was on guard duty. To be honest, we all had some form of survivor’s guilt. Our conversations seemed to help both of us cope, maybe even process things a little. Being only a year or two apart in age helped too.
Sam never complained about the quarantine. Once we decided he wasn’t a threat we let him join the rest of the group. Almost immediately he asked us how he could help. In time, more of his personality started shining through, and before long it felt like he’d been with us forever.
I think our mutual feelings took both of us by surprise. I’d sworn off any type of romantic relationship after the apocalypse started. Why get that close to someone you could lose at any minute? Carpe diem and all that, but I couldn’t risk being vulnerable.
With Sam it was different. I couldn’t help being attracted to him. All of the walls I’d spent so long building just crumbled. We found ourselves taking patrols together, talking whenever we had a spare moment, and became a strong team. We watched each other’s backs, and had a few close calls. We complimented each other so well.
Today started like any other. The early summer sun glinted through the windows as Sam and I shared some quick morning cuddles, our regular routine. We drew strength from each other in those stolen moments. The feel of his fingers running through my hair, our whispers and his quiet breathing - it was enough to get me through the day.
I pulled on a black and white raglan shirt, a pair of dark blue jeans, and gathered my auburn hair into a ponytail. While it was a regular morning patrol, I wanted some longer sleeves despite the heat. Just in case.
“Who do you want with you today?” Sam asked as he pulled on an over shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.
“Alex and Claire. You and Margaret hold down the fort.”
“You sure?”
“We can’t have both of us gone, and I’d rather have you here. Especially if the supply trucks show up today.”
“I could go this time.”
I turned and gave him a look. “It’s my turn to go on morning patrol.” I paused. “Or are you trying to get me to shirk my duties?”
He grinned as he fixed the buckle on his watch. “If I was, I’d be staying here too.” We shared a laugh before he turned serious again. “It’s just that it’s been quiet lately. Be careful out there, okay?”
“We will, Sam.” I picked up my gun, checked the safety, and tucked it into my makeshift holster. I slipped my tactical knife into a sheath on the holster for easy access.
I grabbed my brown rucksack from its designated spot, then walked over to Sam.
“I love you, you know,” I said.
“I know. I love you too.”
I gave him a quick kiss and headed out the door.
The sun was up, promising a warm day ahead as it began to chase away the morning’s chill. The forest breathed with the sound of birds and the scuttle of small animals. It seemed a little quieter than usual, but nothing out of the ordinary.
Alexander and Claire were two of our best trackers. We often sent them out together, as they worked like a well-oiled machine. Alex just turned eighteen a few weeks ago. He had an unruly mop
Claire was older than me, in her mid-thirties. She was a chatterbox once she got to know you. Not when she was on patrol, though. It was like a switch flipped and she became as silent as a wraith. Claire took her job seriously. We never sent anyone out alone, but out of all of us Claire was more than capable to handle it. She was that good. Claire had coppery red hair and pale blue eyes that sparkled with friendliness, striking features that made her stand out in our little group.
We finished the initial sweep, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. As we headed back towards the camp’s front gate, the familiar snarl was our first warning. A zombie. Only one from the sound of it. I slipped the tactical knife out of its sheath and made ready for an attack. I didn’t want to use the gun because it would make noise, and we didn’t need to attract any extra guests.
I looked over to Claire and Alexander, pointing to the sound and signaling my intent. They nodded and hung back as we approached the creature.
As we got closer I heard it. The snarls, the chewing, the tearing of whatever meat it had found. I peeked around a large oak tree and saw a zombie ripping the flesh from a deer carcass, wolfing it down in raw chunks. Its clothes were bloody, but not as torn as I would have expected. It must have been newly turned.
I gripped the hilt of the knife and crept towards it, glancing between the zombie and the forest floor. The crinkle of leaves or a stray stick could give us away and we couldn’t afford to be noticed.
I reached the creature and slammed the knife home, straight through the temple and into its brain. The zombie shuddered, barely making a sound as it went limp and dropped to the forest floor.
The creature fell in such a way that it rolled over and we could see its ravaged face. My eyes widened, and Claire gasped softly.
Connor. Wasn’t that his name? He’d come by our camp two weeks ago, asking for anything we could spare. He had a baby face but he looked like he was in his late twenties or early thirties. We offered to take him in for a few days, give him some shelter at least, but he declined. Didn’t say why, but Sam got the feeling that he wanted to keep moving for some reason. We gave him some food and wished him well.
Now he was lying at my feet as a zombie. I hoped he found some peace.
“Holy cripes,” Alex whispered as he walked over to us. “Is that Connor?”
“Yeah,” Claire said, staring down at the body. “Poor guy.”
“Come on,” I said, eager to keep moving. “He may not be the only one out here.”
It was then that the second zombie struck. The creature slammed into Alex and they both hit the ground. Alex rolled away awkwardly and tried scrambling back, but the zombie was almost on top of him before anyone could react. Hungry, dead eyes glared at us from a rotted patchwork face.
“Stay back, Claire!” I shouted.
Alex managed to get his rucksack between himself and the zombie, but it wasn’t going to keep him safe for long. I ran over and wrapped my arms around the zombie’s torso, pulling with all my might until I managed to get it off of Alex. It roared in that strange howl they all have, the one that makes you sick to your stomach to hear. The creature clawed at my arms, turning its attention to me and away from Alex.
The zombie and I struggled for a few minutes, and I strained to keep its jaws away from my skin. Claire ran over and dispatched the creature just as I had the first one.
“You okay, Claire?”
“I’m fine. It didn’t touch me.”
I ran over to Alex, looking over his arms for any trace of a scratch, a bite—anything that could have broken the skin. Apart from his clothes being torn, everything looked fine.
“I don’t see anything, Alex. How do you feel?”
“I feel okay. Nothing burns or feels sore. I mean, my hip isn’t happy from landing on it, but that’s about it.”
I helped him to his feet. “I think you’re okay. But we’ll look you over back at camp. Come on, let’s make sure there’s no others roaming around.”
Once we were satisfied that no other zombies were in the vicinity, we headed back towards the old camp gate, a reinforced metal entrance that nature was reclaiming little by little. As we got closer to the middle of the camp, to our little “social circle” around the large bonfire area, I saw some military vehicles with the National Guard insignia on the sides. It looked like our monthly supply shipment had arrived.
“Take Alex and get him checked out. I’m going to go speak with the guardsmen.”
“Will do.” Claire said, then her eyes widened. “Marcy…” she said in a soft voice.
“What is it?”
She pointed at my arm. Four angry, jagged scratches glared up at me, just below where my sleeve ended. The brown crust glistened in patches where the blood was still wet. The torn skin was edged with the slightest hint of purplish-blue.
“No… no, no, no…” I breathed as I stared at my death sentence. In the struggle with the second zombie, I must have gotten scratched and not realized it.
“Marcy, what’s wrong?” Alex said as he turned to look at me. Then he got his first glimpse of my wounds.
I was still in charge, infected or not; and I had to avoid a panic. “Claire, take care of Alex. I’m going to talk to Sam, we’ll figure this out. Don’t say anything yet. Please.” Claire’s eyes were brimming with tears as she nodded. Alex stared at the ground as she led him over to the infirmary.
I pulled down my sleeve as much as I could over the wound and looked for Sam. I saw him chatting with someone in a National Guard uniform, and saw someone else talking to others in our group. A few more seemed to be gearing up for a patrol. It looked like they’d brought more personnel than usual this time. But why?
“Sam!” I shouted, waving my good arm. His face lit up as he jogged over to me. “Marcy! I’m glad you’re back, they have—”
“Sam, we need to talk,” I said as I uncovered the wound. He went pale. He looked from my face to the wound, jaw slack and a catch in his throat as he tried to speak. When he found his voice, anger drove the words from his mouth.
“Damn it, Marcy… what happened out there?”
I started giving him the story, keeping my voice low.
“Are Claire and Alex okay?”
“Yeah. They’re at the infirmary. No wounds that I could see.” I paused. “Claire saw the scratches when we got back. I didn’t even feel it. I didn’t know...”
Sam sighed. “We’ll figure this out. But we have to be careful,” he said as he looked over at the guardsmen. We couldn’t be sure what they would do. It had been a long time since we’d seen them deal with an infected person.
From the corner of my eye I saw a figure approach us. A medium-built man in a National Guard uniform nodded to us in a cordial greeting. I slipped my left arm casually behind my back.
“Good morning, ma’am. Are you a part of this group?”
“Yes. Marcy Clayton.”
He looked at his paperwork. “Yep, I see your name right here. Says you’re one of the group leaders?”
“That’s correct. Along with Sam Harper.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Sergeant Ethan Phillips. I haven’t been to your settlement before. Smart move, building inside an old summer camp.”
“We thought so,” I said brightly. “It’s been a safe haven for us, that’s for sure.”
I made the mistake of moving my left arm into his line of sight. Sergeant Phillips leaned around. “Miss Clayton, what’s that on your arm?”
I choked. Tell the truth or try to lie? My sleeve was black, so any bloodstains were likely camouflaged. But hiding an infection was a serious matter. “I got scraped during our morning patrol. It’s nothing, just haven’t gone over to the infirmary yet.” I hoped he wouldn’t want to see it.
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I can ask one of the medics to take a look. I’m sure they won’t mind.”
“That’s okay, I’ll get it checked out in a minute.”
