And so it Begins…

“A beast can never be as cruel as a human being, so artistically, so picturesquely cruel.”  – Fyodor Dostoevsky

Hello my zombie-loving friends, and welcome to the first in a series of short stories!

To learn more about my inspiration behind these stories and how it all started, click here.

 

And now it begins. The zombie apocalypse is here, and the citizens of Prattville, Alabama, are about to find out that the greatest threat to humanity – is humans.

The Last Day of Normal

Maxwell-Gunter Air Force Base; Montgomery, Alabama

Someone was going to die.

Heat radiated from the gravel walkway as Colonel Allan Dawson headed toward Maxwell’s events center. His dress shoes churned up pebbles and grit, spitting them across the worn path. Scuffing his polished oxfords, no doubt.

The muggy heat enveloped him in a suffocating cloud, but it was stress and aggravation that accelerated the production of sweat beading his brow. As he contemplated his next course of action, a buzzing sound caught his attention, and he snatched his phone from his pocket. His executive assistant’s name lit up the screen.

Maybe his fortune had just changed.

He accepted the call. “Any updates?”

“The, uh, offsite caterer called,” Lieutenant Bosch stammered from the other end. “They’re ready when we are.”

A vein in his forehead throbbed. “You’re calling about lunch? We haven’t even started the meeting yet! What’s the update on the guest speaker?”

Today’s conference with the Joint Chiefs of Staff should have ended by now. Unfortunately, the session had yet to start. The guest of honor, some elite doctor whose presentation was slated to comprise the bulk of the conference, was currently AWOL. The man hadn’t been waiting in his hotel room for pickup this morning, and now half the base was scrambling to figure out the whereabouts of Dr. David Wexler.

And Dawson, already on the receiving end of the backlash, would bear the base commander’s wrath if they didn’t find the guy. Soon.

“No updates on that front, sir. I’ll let you know the second I hear anything.”

Dawson huffed and shoved the phone into his pocket. Entering the events center, he returned a curt salute to the captain who held the door for him. A blast of cold air hit him, and he stood under the vent for a moment, enjoying the respite from the inferno outside.

His pocket buzzed again. He whipped out the phone. “Did you find him?”

“N-no, sir. This isn’t about Wexler. Something’s happened at the school.”

Just what he needed. Ever since his wife’s sister died, he’d been saddled with his troublesome niece and nephew. The girl had more problems than an algebra book, and the boy was a walking disaster. In the past eight years, Dawson had received more school calls than he thought humanly possible. More often than not, it was the boy. Forgotten field trip forms, lost textbooks, late sports fee payments… The kid was a veritable Einstein, but he’d lose his own brain if it weren’t encased in that thick skull.

“Which one of them is it now?” He didn’t have time for this. “You know what? Tell them I’ll try to make it over there this afternoon. Better yet, tell them to call Chelsea.”

“Um, sir, there’s been an attack at Central High School.”

“What?” His pulse kicked up. “Like a shooting?”

Several officers walking nearby halted, darting nervous looks in his direction.

“No, I don’t think it was a shooting.”

Muffled voices leaked through the other end of the line, and Dawson realized Bosch was relaying information from a third party.

He slicked away a rivulet of sweat trickling down his temple. “Then what? A stabbing?” Last year, a knife-wielding student showed up at one of Montgomery’s high schools. The assault injured three people, but fortunately, no fatalities.

“It doesn’t sound like any knives were involved.”

Dawson ground his teeth. “I need more information than what you’re giving me, lieutenant.” What was it? Pipe bomb? Gang activity? Was his niece or nephew somehow involved?

A long pause, more muted noises, and then, “From what I understand, a man broke into campus and started attacking students . . . with his bare hands. They’re telling me he was, oh my God, he was . . .” The lieutenant drifted into horror-infused silence.

“What?” snapped Dawson. “Spit it out, Bosch.”

“Eating them, sir. He was eating them.”

 

Did you enjoy this story? Read more by downloading our free novella, Unbound: Origins, here.

 

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