The End: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (3 page)

“Imagine how we’d feel,” George said, feeling a little levity return in his spirit.

“I think the door’s secure, but I’d rather hole up upstairs. Put another door between us and them,” Seth said. He turned and headed for the stairs. “So you say this is the only station that has been broadcasting, huh? That doesn’t sound good. It was smart of you to assume this place was safe since I’m alive, but we’re basically trapped in here.”

“I was listening to the radio, and your station has been the only one left broadcasting for the last two days. I figured… well,
we
figured there must be survivors and safety here. It was Billy’s idea. I knew how to get here because my nephew used to intern here.”

As they reached the top of the second flight of stairs, Seth reached for the single door at the top. “Well, this is it. A home away from home. It’s not much to look at, but it beats being outside. Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting guests.”

As Seth opened the door, a distinctive odor greeted George. He well remembered the herbal smell from his younger days. Inside, the room was larger than he had expected. One large window faced the street. A large desk with the electronic equipment set by one wall and a couple of couches staged across from one another offered a place to sit. A neon sign above the desk showed OFF AIR. Empty beer cans littered the floor along with a few inappropriate magazines for Billy’s age.

“Wow, I’ve never seen so many CDs in my life,” Billy said as he gazed at the rows of shelves above the desk.

George couldn’t help but see a little bit of his own son in Billy despite the age difference, and that made him smile. Even with Billy’s parents gone, he still looked happy and excited about new things.

The innocence of youth
, George thought.

“This place is so cool. I want to be a DJ someday when I get big,” Billy said, awe in his voice. “I think that would be the best.”

Seth picked up a beer can on the desk and swirled it around. He brought the beer up to his lips and turned the bottom up, and then crushed the empty can. “Yeah, kid, if there is a
someday
ever again. You two sure did stir things up out there. There’s twice as many of them out there now. All of the racket you two made must have gotten the attention of some from a few streets over, which means by tonight there’ll be more. Probably a lot more.”

“What does this button do?” Billy asked. He had taken a seat behind the desk and pointed, his mouth hung open.

“Which button, kid? There’s got to be over a hundred buttons on that thing,” Seth said, and then looked over at George who had already planted himself on one of the couches, claiming the entire thing for himself.

“Hey, you want a beer, old man? I’ve got a few,” Seth said.

“Sure, why not. I need something to help me relax a little.”

Seth reached into a small cooler beside the desk and tossed George a cold beer. “As long as we have power, this station is going to be airing twenty-four seven. Someone has got to keep the hope alive… someone.”

“So can the people out there hear us talking now, Seth?” Billy asked.

“Not right now, but we can take care of that in a hurry. Move over, Billy-boy. Let me show you how to be a real DJ.”

Billy hopped out the chair while Seth commanded the seat.

“I don’t usually allow anyone behind the desk while I’m on air, but today I’m going to make an exception,” Seth said.

“Thanks!” Billy said, delight in his voice.

3

As Eric became aware of his surroundings, he peered through strange shadows and darkness. Wherever he was, it was vaguely familiar.

He felt trapped. A dull pain in his head felt like it grew as each second ticked by.

It wasn’t until he stood that he realized he was on the school bus. He had never been on a bus at night. What had happened? Was there a wreck and no one had come to rescue them? Did he fall asleep and the driver was too stupid to realize this and took him back to the parking garage? Mom and Dad were going to be so pissed.

The floor leaned at a strange angle. It took a little effort to maneuver to the aisle. One thing for sure, this was no parking garage. And as his mind sharpened, he remembered the crash. The bus driver had screamed, and then the bus turned abruptly to the right. He remembered bouncing in his seat a few times, and then seeing the ditch through the window. His head smashed into the window before the bus came to a stop. Everything had gone dark.

Squinting to see out of the side door by the driver’s seat, he called out, “Hello… hello, is anyone there?”

Something rustled in the back of the bus. There was nothing there, though. Just empty seat after empty seat.

Less than a week earlier, he had gotten into trouble with his parents when they found out that he had been frequenting small get-togethers on the weekends that involved a lot of heavy drinking. Along with other punishments, his parents decided to take away the car. He wouldn’t be in this predicament now if hadn’t gotten caught.

Another noise startled him—this time from behind the bus. Something slapped the pavement, as if someone ran a slow moving wet mop back and forth. The surrounding darkness held the bus like a cage.

There was no way he was going to step one foot off this bus until he had a better idea of what was outside. Ever so slowly, he moved down the aisle toward the rear, alternating hands touching the tops of the seats as he passed. Tension built, and if this had been in a scene in a horror movie, he would have jumped out of his seat and ran out the theater.

His face neared the back window. A single streetlight a half block away cast its brightness enough to make him feel a little better about what he could see but had him still concerned with what he couldn’t see.

There were two other vehicles not far from the bus, presumably involved in the same accident. It didn’t look like anyone was still inside them. Where had the passengers gone?

The wet slapping sound returned, and Eric saw a dark form emerge from behind one of the vehicles. It was a man, and from the way his body shifted from side to side as he walked, he certainly was injured. The light shining behind him darkened most of his frontal features. There was something not right with the situation. Eric felt his insides shudder a bit.

The man plodded closer, and then another figure emerged from behind the vehicle. It was a woman with long hair. Her left arm had been cut off at the elbow. Her slow gait matched that of the man, and the wet sloshing sounds increased.

Something hit the side of the bus just to Eric’s right. He turned and saw a face fit only for Halloween night right outside the window. Half of the scalp was missing from the head, and Eric saw brain. A large scar ran down the entire length of the left side of the face. The eyes set deep within the sockets and threatened to draw Eric into its wide-open, blood-stained mouth.

He had the urge to flee, but the sight had him anchored to the floor. More fists hit the side of the bus, and as if an early fog spilled onto a field and approached, more of the ghastly creatures appeared by the sides of the bus.

Moans rose through the thuds as flesh hit metal. The horrifying creatures wanted in, and there was nowhere for Eric to run. He was trapped, surrounded, and the very sight of these degenerate people twisted his stomach into a big knot.

“Eric,” a voice said, weak and distant, but with a jagged edge that cut cold fear into him.

“We want you, Eric,” another said, stronger, with unsettling desire.

“No!” Eric spun around, seeing an army only Hell could spawn in every direction.

“We want you, Eric. We want you… we want you…”

*

“Eric… Eric… wake up, dude!” Kent stood over him and shook his shoulder. “Dude, you all right, man? You don’t look so hot.”

Eric sat up in the dusty, old cot and recognized the room right away. Rubbing his eyes with his fingers in an attempt to relieve the headache, Eric sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Had a bad dream.”

Kent backed up one step and put his hands on his hips. A wide grin grew under the bug-eyed aviators riding his nose.

“What the fuck are you grinning at?” Eric asked.

“The radio’s back on, dude. It started broadcasting about the time when we turned on the generator.”

4

The morning sun steadily rose into a cloudless sky. For several blocks on either end of the street, there was no sign of life. Abandoned and crashed vehicles remained as evidence of the aftermath of horror.

The survivors holed up at the radio station made little attempt to hide their whereabouts now that a horde of undead surrounded the building. Zombies endlessly beating the doors attracted even more undead by the minute.

Overnight, the station’s parking lot had filled with an army of rotting flesh and bones. Now, torn limbs oozing pus baked under the morning sun. As the day heated, the rot of maggot-filled bones filled the air with the putrid smell of death.

“Good morning, Panama City Beach, and the surrounding Bay Count area. This is Seth, A.K.A. as the
Spider
. The time now is seven fifteen a.m. on Thursday morning, and we are broadcasting to you
live
from WKBM.

“As most of you know, the dead are returning to life, but they aren’t the same anymore. They are one nasty group of individuals. They aren’t your typical band of looters and street gangs. They are D…E…A…D… dead, and they want to more than just rob you. Yes, indeed. Their sole purpose is to harm anyone they find alive. And by harm, I mean
eat
. Yep, you heard me right. The undead are actually eating anyone they can get their gore-covered fingers on. This is not a prank. This is real. It’s been three days since the attacks started, and there is still no word as to how far across the country this phenomenon has spread. So for now, my advice to you is to stay locked indoors at a safe location. With any luck, the military will make a move and put an end to this mess,” the booming radio voice continued.

“Unlike yesterday where I played a little music and gave a blow-by-blow of the horrors I witnessed outside my window, I’ll have a guest speaker from one of the survivors who has joined me. This survivor tells me WKBM is the only station that has been broadcasting for the last two days. A part of me is kind of proud to say I’m still here and kicking, but the other part is feeling the same thing that you guys must be feeling: Stressed the hell out, wondering where the help is and when it’s going to arrive. Hey, your guess is as good as mine. I’m dealing with the situation one twelve-ounce beer at a time. People deal with stress their own way,
don’t judge me
.” A quick pull from the can resulted in air and liquid slurping down his throat, alerting the listeners that Seth had applied another dose of self-medication.

“We have now a gentleman who has been out in the shit for the last two days with nothing but a truck for cover who found the balls to come knocking on my door. I’m sure you’re eager to hear a firsthand account of his story, here he is.

“Start off by telling us your name and where you’re from.”

“Is this the one I talk into? I’m a little nervous,” George said

“Yes sir, move up a bit and speak clearly into the microphone.”

“Hi, my name is George. George Wellington. I’m from the Lynn Haven area. Uh…What else do you want me to say?”

“Well man, we have all day. How about you start from the beginning? Let’s hear everything starting with Tuesday morning right before the panic really hit.”

As George sat in the radio announcer chair, he felt a little out of place. With a long pause of silence over the airwaves, his mind raced with what had happened those last few days. There hadn’t been any time, or reason, to think about it all over again until now.

“From the beginning you say,” George had said his thoughts aloud. His mind flashed to the moment at his empty home with no sign of his son other than the brief handwritten note on the stand beside the front door that read,
Be home soon.
The ache in George’s heart returned, and he hoped to God that Tyler was safe.

“George…from the beginning. Start by telling us what you were doing when the shit hit the fan and how you managed to make your way to the station,” Seth said.

Realizing that he had just stared blankly at the table in front of him for who knows how long, he came to and locked gazes with Seth. “Sorry, haven’t really thought much about it, I guess. I haven’t really wanted to.” George took a deep breath and heaved the air out slowly. “Well, like I said, my name is George, and I’m from the Lynn Haven area. I guess I will start with my normal events leading up to the panic, like you said, Seth.”

Seth lifted two thumbs up at George.

“Tuesday was like any normal day for me. I got up early, had my morning coffee as I read the paper in the living room. After I read the paper, I watched the news for a little bit before checking the mailbox. When you get old, it’s routine, routine, routine. When I turned on the TV, the news wasn’t on. Nothing was on. I just assumed the cable was out. So, I went out to check the mail. Something seemed odd about the neighborhood as I walked down the driveway. I couldn’t quite place it. It seemed empty, quiet. Normally, Miss Harvey would be up messing with her flowerbeds—likes to weed in the morning before it gets hot. She lives across the street from me. The dogs… there wasn’t a single bark as I walked to the mailbox. Usually, the neighbor’s dog sees me through the wood fence and barks up a storm. Not just that dog, though. There’s at least six dogs on my street and not one of them made a peep. I lingered around the mailbox longer than normal—looking up and down the street—but saw nothing. After that, I made my way back to the house.”