Charles smith the zomb.., p.1
Charles Smith - The Zombie Chronicles 01, page 1
THE ZOMBIE
CHRONICLES:
SURVIVORS
Book One
of the
Zombie Chronicles
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Cassie, Elijah and Travis for the inspiration, love and support needed to complete this project. Billie Dean Shoemate, without you this book would never have come into being.
An Asylum817 Publication
Copyright 2011 by Charles Smith.
All rights reserved.
Manufactured in the United States of America
First edition: September 2011
Table of Contents:
Preface
Afterthoughts
Chapter 1: An Ordinary Life
Chapter 2: Something Goes Amiss
Chapter 3: All Hell Breaks Lose
Chapter 4: Be It Ever So Humble
Chapter 5: The Zombie Chronicles
Chapter 6: Murphy's Law
Chapter 7: Into the Breach
Chapter 8: The Bicyclist
PREFACE
I began writing The Zombie Chronicles over two years ago. As someone who loves the whole zombie genre, I was constantly frustrated by how Hollywood the whole thing had become. Unrealistic scenarios filled with unnecessary violence, sex and whiz-bang explosions were just some of my qualms. The zombie genre has lost its focus in my opinion. The human experience is lost in the mix as recent movies and television go more for shock value than story telling. I wanted to try and change all that even if in only some small way.
I was a decent artist and short story writer for a great many years. A friend of mine was a published author and I spoke to him on some occasions about wanting to bring my vision to life. There were concerns about whether or not I could live up to the challenge as I had never written at length before. Short stories had been my fort-ay for years; it was all I had ever done.
In the winter of 2009, I wrote a rough draft of the first chapter and presented it to this friend of mine. I waited patiently for his critique and finally later that week he called. I was quite nervous, but to my surprise he said that not only was it good but compelling and I should consider finishing it and finding a suitable publisher.
There are joys and pitfalls to writing and with me there were more pitfalls than anything else. Everything I wrote was decent enough but for someone who suffers from a mild case of A.D.D it was simply too easy to write for days at a time then simply “put it down” and walk away for months. I also tend to be very long winded when I write, making for good but extensive reads which require quite an investment from my readers, a task which many in this fast paced world aren't up to. For me it’s about the journey, the quest, the trials and tribulations and personal growth of my characters; it’s not simply about getting to the end of the story.
I wrote for several months and as the story unfolded and what I thought was going to be a simple one-hundred page story easily became an epic tale. As the scope of the work expanded the thought of actually finishing the work in a timely manner became more distant day by day.
The length of the book, the cost and difficulty of finding a publisher combined with a hectic home life left me discouraged and feeling as though it would be one of many unfinished works ending up on the shelf with the vast array of other incomplete projects.
Then during the summer of 2010 the whole concept of e-publishing began to take off and open new doors and new paths that we had never considered before. The costs of e-publishing were lower and you could get your material to print much faster. This inspired me with new vigor to push onward.
The final idea that reinvigorated me came later in the summer when a friend and I were wandering through the many aisles at our musty old bookstore in town. The science fiction section was always our favorite. Among the shelves and assorted titles we came across some little fantasy books that I found to be a novel concept. These little books fit in the palm of your hand, roughly half the size of most paperback books. The artwork was fantastic and the material truly tantalizing, just small “bite-sized” novels. The little books were so good in fact that I purchased one and brought it home with me, I read it in about an hour. Then the inspiration hit me, I could take my unfinished epic and break it up into smaller, simpler, “lunch-hour” reads that would keep the reader coming back for more and also give me something more manageable to work with. In essence you may think of it as an hour long episode of your favorite television show. Each episode is strong enough to stand on its own but keeps you coming back for more, and in the long run each individual episode contributes to the entire series as a whole.
I look at it as a symbiotic relationship with the reader. Rather than taking years to finish the epic novel while my interest wax and wanes or spending who knows how long to find a publisher, I could simply publish it in smaller sections then allow the reader to give feedback and encouragement (or criticism). In the end the epic would be the same or possibly a bit better. It would also reach the reader much faster than would have been possible by traditional means.
The Zombie Chronicles is intended to be a three book series, each book will be broken down into two or three parts with each part being released roughly three to six months from the previous release.
This has been a labor of love; balancing a career, wife, children and everything else life entails while using every spare moment to contribute to this work has been a challenge, so read on I thoroughly hope you enjoy The Zombie Chronicles!
Read on, I hope you enjoy The Zombie Chronicles.
AFTERTHOUGHTS:
From the desk of Alex McKowan
When I sat down to start writing this I did it as a means of self-therapy. It is a way for me to deal with the events that occurred over the course of several months and the after effects we now face. This is was a way for me to work it all out in my mind, to come to terms with all the crazy stuff that happened over those first few months.
For so long I pushed the events to the back of my mind buried them in a sea of daily tasks, cooking, cleaning, working, yard work and paying bills. I tried to stay busy to keep the memories at bay so I could forget what happened. I talked about it with my best friend on many occasions, he was right there with me through it all (which you will read about further on in the book). We talk about it driving down the road, watching movies, or sometimes just on the phone, we never speak of it openly in front of others, it always in a covert nature and we try never to discuss it at any great length.
I suppose it’s still too near and too soon. We just refer to it, what happened, or you know. That is perhaps part of the problem with dealing with it all, I hadn't yet faced the ordeal I/we went through and addressed it directly. Eventually the nightmares, the waking up at 3 a.m. blankets soaked in sweat, it became to much. I knew if I didn't find some way to cope with this the memories would destroy me from the inside out. That's the whole objective of this book.
It’s not really even a book per say. During the events that transpired I started to write a journal of my everyday life. It was a way for me to keep my sanity during a period of time when I didn't have any outside contact, no one to talk to and only my garden to keep me company.
Loneliness can be a dangerous thing and silence can be golden that's true enough; but silence, solitude and isolation that stretches on too long will destroy you. As they say there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.
This book is simply a compilation of the writings from my journal. I didn't at any time change any of the wordings as I wanted to remain as true as possible to what I felt, saw and went through at that time, to do anything less would cheapen what I endured. You will find that I jump around from first person, to second person or third person. Even Shane has had to step in and fill in some gaps that I don't recall or maybe even blocked out of memory. He helped me compile this book as well, neither he nor I are really writers but we muddled through this the best we can.
I want to say this right up front before you begin reading; I am not a writer, never was and never will be. There will be no sweeping panoramas, no ill-fated love stories, dragons, magicians or star crossed lovers, just a simple recounting of the events of those few months and nothing more. Simply a rewriting of my daily diary, with additional facts added in afterwards. I will add a chapter or two beforehand to give you a better idea of who I am, what the situation was and my surroundings. It might help me to figure out why we managed to survive when so many others did not. I may break up the diary from time to time and go back into telling my story more first hand. There will be times when it will be necessary because there are a couple of holes in my journal when there were no entries, and for good reason…but read on and you will see why. Some things may seem a bit confusing at times. Please remember that when I wrote the journal I wasn't in the best state of mind. I will do my best to clarify any confusing points.
As I mentioned I did this for self-therapy, however as I started working on this I realized it could also be useful to others; it could serve as a warning, a survival guide or a lesson in psychology, so read closely. I won't mince words for the sake of entertaining you. I made mistakes during my solitary confinement, and once we did finally manage to escape some of those mistakes nearly cost me my life and the lives my friends. If you listen close enough I hope you can possibly avoid some of these mistakes and save yourself a lot of time and a world of grief if we as a people ever have to go through this again. I would like to think that this will never happen
than just take things as they come.
Chapter One:
An Ordinary Life
My name is Alex McKowan. I had a very normal, everyday life until seven months ago. I lived in Barkley, a rural town in the middle of nowhere. It was the kind of town where everyone knows everyone else and no one's private business is private for very long. A tractor pulls out in front of you on the highway and you know the person on the tractor because he's also the towns' pastor. The sheriff is the guy you drink beer and go fishing with on the weekends, and your lucky if the only gas station in town happens to be open on the day you run out because the next station is thirty miles away. You know the kind of town I'm talking about.
I had a nice home buried back in the country just a few miles outside of town. You head out of town hang a left and drive about five miles out on Cider road; a long winding gravel road that takes you out and drops you in the middle of nowhere. My place was a red brick, ranch style house on a few acres of land. It was about a mile off the road and shielded by a host of large Oaks and Maples, I didn't have a neighbor for miles. It was completely isolated and I did rather
enjoy that isolation, why? Because I didn't care for people; now perhaps that was because of my line of work but I will get to that later.
I enjoyed the simple life, when I wasn't working I spent a lot of time outside. Yard work was one of my biggest past times, I loved being outside. The sun and sky are so bright and blue in the country, that's something you don't get in the cities with all those tall buildings, the traffic and the smog---out here in the country it’s clean and crisp. The warm country air fills your nose with the familiar scent of honeysuckle and freshly mowed grass. I love the smell of fresh mowed grass, nothing says summer better. The feel of fresh soil between my fingers, cool to the touch, earthy, clean and pure.
Night time was cool, dark and peaceful. When the trees mask the sun and the light fades into the night, its total darkness. You can see everything in the night time sky here, people in the city just think of that moon-lit sky as just being a few of stars and a big white orb we call the moon, but it’s so much more than that! From here you can see the Milky Way, swirls and hints of other galaxies, hosts of shooting stars as well as sister planets like Mars and Venus. Your mind goes on an adventure as you begin to think about all the possibilities out there. There is a whole universe to gaze upon which you would never be able to see in the city through all of its street lights, sirens and harsh neon signs.
My home was my oasis, my place of refuge. I could go outside do my yard work and get all the fresh air anyone could want, get enough sun that my skin was beet red by the time I finished. Then in the evening sit outside and enjoy that wondrous nighttime sky.
Inside was no different; a refuge. I had worked many years to get it that way. When I first bought the house it had been abandoned for a number of years and the tale-tale signs of neglect had started to set in; I saved it. Torn shingles, hanging gutters and decaying frame work were just some of the problems to be fixed; but I saw promise in the old property. The renovation process took several years and I had done every bit of it myself, except for the electrical which Shane did, being a certified electrician and all. I felt a great sense of accomplishment in what I had done, but that was a long time ago and renovations had been finished for many years now and were nothing more than distant memories.
One of the things I most enjoyed about my little oasis was the basement. In-ground, surrounded on all sides by earth save one wall with open access to the outside patio. Think of it as a cave in terms of shelter, quite useful during tornado season. I had updated it so that all my little “toys” would be down there.
Upstairs was very much for company and appearances, in terms of design and decorating. All the things you would expect to find in the average person’s home. It was bland with off-white paint and stuffy, clichéd paintings of waterfowl covering the walls, a dinette set for entertaining guests at dinner time. Further back three bedrooms all finely made up with mint condition, seventies era furnishings. An inn table and a lamp adorned either side of the bed, a dresser and of course large bulky queen size beds that saw little use other than by the occasional passing dust bunny. It was all very adult, proper and much like what you would find in a hotel. The upstairs wasn't me at all, it was a formality, something setup to appease the delicate sensibilities and palate of visitors and the infrequent over-night guest.
Downstairs, ah now.....that was very much me. The basement I mentioned earlier; finished to be a home theater for certain. It contained all the varied aspects of my own personality, the outward physical manifestations of my own mind. Opening the door to the stairs leading down, there was a striking difference between what was to be found upstairs and what lied just beneath your feet. As you descended those heavy wooden stairs, movie memorabilia lined the walls on either side. As you entered the basement and rounded the stairs, a pool table and an old arcade machine sat off to the right. It’s one that I had salvaged from an old restaurant years ago. The walls were covered with finely framed posters from all my favorite films. A finished wooden bookshelf which held my DVD’s had been built-in under the stair casing. Further back in a short dead-end hallway, there was a rack which held video game consoles and behind the home theater sat a dark mahogany bar where company could sit on
50's era bar stools and enjoy a meal or drink before watching a movie. Scattered throughout on various stands and shelves were all assorted types of toys and collectables, items I had either picked up in later years or that I had held onto since childhood. In the entire house the
basement was the room I spent the most time in. (Funny that it should end up as the room that eventually saved us all).
I had remodeled the house to be as self-sustaining as it could. Years ago we had a devastating ice storm which crippled the area and I wasn't spared its wrath by any means. Like most people at that time everything I had was powered by electricity; the heat, the lights, even
the cooking stove. It’s funny; you just don't realize how dependent you are on some things until they are taken away and when the power failed I was stranded, helplessly at the mercy of Mother Nature.
We were the last to get our electric service restored. Fourteen days without heat, warm water or any modern conveniences. Those lucky enough to have generators were able to hold out, but most simply couldn't hold out for such a long duration. There was no place to get anything, all the stores and gas stations were closed, every-thing had been impacted, imagine a complete breakdown of state and local government—if that's possible. Those who weren't prepared found themselves struggling through a life or death situation, I was one of them. Finally after four days of no power, constant sub-zero temperatures, and little to no, I packed up my F-150 and on a quarter tank of gas I headed north, last word was that it hadn't been affected as bad what with only the fringe of the front scraping by them, yet it
was still a good sixty to seventy miles away.
I traveled for almost two hours and the roads were terrible. Everything was bathed in a glistening, sparkling sheet of ice. A trip that should have taken an hour and a half took three. I had to be extra cautious, if a tire blew or if I lost control and ended up in a ditch here would be no one to come to my aid, no one to call because even the cell phone towers were down. I would be on my own.
