Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Salvation

SALVATION

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.

SALVATION: 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:  
978-1-502-38059-3

Prologue

It’s
been quite some time since I completed my second narrative, the gripping tale
of how I have thus far survived the stupendously wretched zombie apocalypse. You
might think this is because the intervening months have been rather dull and
boring or perhaps that I have been somewhat lazy. If so, you are mistaken. In
truth, we underwent an extended period of preparation. Understand, we were
going to take back our world, both from the sadistic breathers who were running
rampant and the shambling horrors that wanted to feast on our flesh.

For those
unfamiliar with what came before or who had forgotten in the interim, I am
going to provide a brief explanation of what happened. To start with, the
apocalypse began on August 22, 3:15 AM Central Time. A quarter of the Earth’s
population simultaneously, and without warning, perished. Without exception,
the afflicted suffered terrible, agonizing convulsions before death took them. Seven
minutes later the corpses reanimated and promptly began to attack the living.
The cause was, and remains, unknown. There was no pattern regarding age,
gender, race, location, or health. It appeared to be completely random.

In those
regions where the sun was shining, people tried to help the fallen. Millions
were receiving CPR or otherwise had someone crouched over them attempting to
render aid. With such a short period between death and return, there was no
shortage of unsuspecting prey within easy reach. Things were no better in North
and South America. Large households generally had at least one family member
change, and those fortunate enough to get through the night unmolested woke to
find the world in chaos. They were isolated and trapped inside their homes, the
streets rapidly filling with monsters. At zero hour, well over one billion
zombies walked the Earth. A day later, more than half the world’s population
had turned.

To be
absolutely clear, those bitten will turn. Yes, there are rumors of immunity floating
about, but these are just that. No one we encountered had ever seen such a
thing, only heard from somebody who heard from someone else and so forth. Personally,
I suspect such talk is simply wishful thinking. Sadly, a bite is fatal. The
infection takes hold immediately, and sickness rages throughout the body,
resulting in a high fever along with intense aches and pain. The wound itself
festers, and following roughly three days of ever increasing agony, death
comes. Seven minutes after that, there’s another zombie to contend with.

Regarding
those who die of other causes, whether it be violence, suicide, disease, or
even old age, reanimation will occur in approximately twenty six hours. I have
no idea why there is such a large discrepancy, but I am very, very grateful
such a thing exists. It’s easy enough to identify those who have been bitten,
even if they try to conceal the fact. Their symptoms are both consistent and
blatantly obvious. These unfortunates can be quarantined and eventually dealt
with, after they pass. Imagine sleeping next to your wife who has a stroke and dies
in the night. Think you would last long? No, you would be shambling about
yourself in short order. While still dreadful, the twenty six hour period is
generally sufficient to discover the newly dead and take appropriate measures.

As to
zombies, here is a brief rundown of their primary characteristics. First of
all, they are slow, awkward, and uncoordinated, hence the nickname, shamblers.
What a normal adult would consider a brisk walk is pretty much the best they
can manage. Additionally, they are stupid. To be fair, I know the things are
capable of opening doors and unlocking seat belts, but that’s it. The brain is
too damaged to solve complex problems. Likewise, they do not possess any memory
of their past or of those once loved.

As to
their senses, they can’t see for shit. A gray film, similar to mucus, appears
within seconds of reanimation. It is unclear if this is the cause, but there’s
no doubt that their vision is limited to a few hundred yards. Nothing wrong
with their hearing though, and the monsters will target any sound that could conceivably
be of human origin, voices first and foremost but also cars, machinery, the
banging of metal.

The
accursed things do not rot, and there is nothing to indicate they will ever
vanish on their own. Yes, zombies decay for a day or two at the outset, but
that’s all. It is just enough to ensure they appear dead with creepy, pallid,
cracked flesh. And they are unnaturally durable. If you slash one with a
machete, that wound will still be there months or years later. However, little
things seem to have no effect. A zombie can walk over a glass strewn highway
barefoot, and the feet will show no appreciable damage. Wear and tear simply
does not apply. So unfair.

*
* *

I was
living alone when it began – thank God many times over – on the far northwest
tip of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Turning on the television when I woke,
as was my habit, I quickly acknowledged and accepted all that was happening. My
home was neither defensible nor safe, and after a few days of planning I fled,
accompanied by one of my neighbors, Briana Mills. Together, we traveled north sticking
to back roads and diligently avoiding all but the smallest towns. It was
difficult, but we gathered up other survivors which helped, the most important
of whom were Lizzy and Mary.

On the twelfth
of September, we reached the Nebraska National Forest, having chosen this
location based on its relative isolation, along with easy access to water,
lumber, farm animals to take, wild animals to hunt, and thousands of acres of
cropland that would be ready to harvest in a few weeks. Additionally, it was
easy to hide. There were others already in residence, campers and a church
group who had been on a religious retreat prior to the zombie uprising, but the
people proved pleasant enough and no conflicts arose. In the end, we joined
forces and built a small, but thriving, community.

That
came to a crashing end on November 20. What can be best described as a vicious
motorcycle gang, whom we had taken to calling the raiders, launched an assault
on the castle. This was our home, so named by the children. A walled compound
composed of cinderblock and concrete, it held housing units, store rooms,
latrines, and a large common hall. Anyway, the raiders attacked without
warning. Their motivations were unknown at the time, but their goal was the
total destruction of everything we’d built and the death of every man, woman,
and child in the forest.

It was a
brutal fight, and the noise and chaos brought forth a large number of zombies.
This herd was the biggest we had ever seen, several thousand strong. They came
out of the trees and quickly encircled the raiders. To the best of my
knowledge, every last one of the sadistic bastards fell. Then they broke into
the castle itself. I survived, along with Briana, Lizzy, and Mary. We had been
positioned in the trees on the edge of the meadow acting as snipers, striking
the raiders from the side. Inside, only Steph and a four year old, Johnny,
managed to pull through, and that was because they got up in the rafters,
hiding in a tiny alcove. The others were torn apart or, as often as not,
committed suicide.

Despite
losing near everything, we chose to remain in the national forest. The winter proved
typical for the region – it was cold with plenty of snow – and we spent most of
our time impatiently waiting for spring to roll around. I will also point out
that Briana turned eighteen in December, which, while not really an issue, was
somewhat comforting seeing how she was pregnant with our first child.

With the
weather improving, Lizzy, Mary, and I journeyed to South Dakota. We had
knowledge of a settlement there which had been destroyed by the raiders a few
days prior to the attack we suffered. However, there were indications a few
people had managed to avoid the slaughter, and we wanted to find them. In this,
we were successful. Hurray! Our tiny group doubled in size. The key newbies were
Marcus, an experienced long haul trucker, and the twins, Tara and Dale. The
twins are a bit of an enigma. When it comes to expressing feelings or emotions,
the pair is almost catatonic. They rarely speak and never participate in group
activities. The two are also the best shots I have ever seen and are capable of
killing without hesitation. It is important to note that neither Tara nor Dale
will harm others without cause, but on those occasions when they have killed a
breather, neither showed the slightest hint of remorse.

We also
cut south to Oklahoma and rescued a group down in Anadarko whom Briana and I
had met on our way north the previous summer. With this addition, we finally
had enough people to properly guard our home, maintain regular watches, patrol
the forest, and defend the castle in case there was a second attack.

Such an
attack came of course, but it was fortunately directed elsewhere. It turned out
the raiders consisted of more than the single gang we faced back in November.
They had thousands under their banner, and directed by their shadowy leader, a
man referred to as the prophet, this group invaded Salt Lake City. At the time,
Utah hosted the single largest band of survivors in the continental United
States. Roughly fifty thousand had established themselves in the mountains
around the city.

The
fighting was fierce, and the defenders were hampered by the outbreak of an
unknown illness. This killed close to five thousand with another twenty falling
ill. Roughly another five thousand died as a result of the raiders’ assaults
and ambushes. Demoralized and hurting, the survivors broke. At first it was just
a few who packed up and left, but more quickly followed. Soon it turned into a
flood, and virtually everyone fled. Some headed to Wyoming, but most
disappeared into the countryside.

We were
in contact with the Wyoming Ranching Collective when this occurred. By the way,
that’s the name Mary gave their system of interconnected ranches and refugee
camps. At any rate, the people in Wyoming knew the prophet was coming for them
– he had issued a statement to that effect via radio – and these brave folk
were determined to stand and defend their homes. We helped out in two ways.
First, we took in large numbers of their non-combatants, such as children,
pregnant women, and the infirm. Second, following the birth of my son, Asher, I
joined in the fight directly.

In the
end, we lost. I hate to say it, but there is no way to sugar coat the truth.
Practically the entire state had to be abandoned. The worst losses were
attributed to a pair of large battles where the raiders, being the creative,
insane monsters they are, proved victorious. A few ranchers managed to escape
the massacres, but the number was small. Some skirmishing followed, and
finally, in the town of Casper, a group under my command returned the favor. We
wired a stretch of highway with explosives and lured them in. Several hundred
died within seconds of one another, and we even managed to injure the prophet.
Unfortunately, it was not fatal. Still, they pulled back in disarray, and we
used the opportunity to make good our escape.

Of those
still alive, a little under half ended up in Yellowstone National Park. Deep
within the rugged terrain, they constructed a new community. Our allies are all
but impossible to find and even harder to reach. Briana and I, along with about
a thousand others, chose an isolated valley in the middle of the Black Hills
for our new home. This, we fortified. Our location was kept secret, as everything
indicated the raiders were as determined as ever to exterminate their enemies,
and they defined enemy as pretty much everyone on the planet. These bastards would
never give up. They were going to come for us eventually.

*
* *

Everything
I just related was covered in my first or second narrative. From here on out it
will be new material, so I advise you to pay close attention.

That
first winter in the Black Hills proved difficult. It was bitterly cold with
heavy snowfalls that made travel all but impossible. Worse, we had an outbreak
of influenza. As a society we had been spoiled, but now the vaccines we
depended on were gone, not to mention proper insulation and heating. As a
result, we were woefully unprepared. The illness spread quickly, and the sick
were confined to their cabins with fires constantly kept burning, this being
the only source of heat we possessed. The deaths were fewer than expected –
thank God – and the mini epidemic eventually passed.

As the
weather began to improve and the possibility of attack increased, we initiated
a program of overhead flights. Our pilots scoured Wyoming and northern Utah, both
places where we knew raiders to have recently been, along with everything else
within a couple hundred miles of our little valley. Fortunately, the raiders
appeared to be staying put in Salt Lake City where they had constructed their
own fortified compound. Following a series of discussions with our allies in
Yellowstone, it was decided we would utilize the lull in hostilities and prepare
for their attack, the majority favoring defense over going out and hunting them
down.

Ellsworth
Air Force Base and Rapid City were raided. And how that sucked. The city had an
original population of seventy thousand, and I’m guessing at least fifty
thousand of that, fully zombified, were still in residence. We managed to clear
them out. It was the standard “pull a small group toward you, kill them, and
repeat” stratagem. It’s not worth relating in more detail. Besides, this is the
prologue which is meant to supply a quick and concise summary of events before
the book proper begins.