The Fall of Society (The Fall of Society Series, Book 1)

THE
FALL
of
 
SOCIETY

By

Thonas Rand

Copyright © 2012 by the author.

First Edition.

Cover image from istockphoto.com, image
altered by the author.

All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or any storage and retrieval system, without written permission from
the author.

This
eBook is licensed for you personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold
or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This
is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, are product of the
author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, locations, or events
is coincidental or fictionalized.

A Note From The Author

THE FALL OF SOCIETY is my second novel
and the first of my undead series. The film “Night of The Living Dead” influenced
me so much, along with the sequels, that the undead genre is still one of my
favorite movies to watch. And now it is one of my favorite genres to write
about. With The Fall of Society, I wanted to create a world that would scare
and thrill you; I hope that I have accomplished that. I am very proud of this
story and the books in the series to follow.

I thank you for taking the time to read
my novel and I would appreciate it very much if you would leave a review,
whatever the content, I welcome it. Since I am not the type of author that manufactures
his own reviews. I rely on the judgment of good people.

I hope you enjoy THE FALL OF SOCIETY.

—Thonas Rand

Facebook.com/Thonas Rand

Thank Heaven! The crisis
—
the danger, is past, and the lingering illness,

is over at last
—
and the fever called “Living” is conquered at last.

—Edgar Allan Poe

Death is the wish of some,
the relief of many, and the end of all.

—Lucius Annaeus Seneca

The dead only know one
thing: it is better to be alive.

—Private Joker

The hour of departure has
arrived and we go our ways; I to die, and you to live.

Which is better? God only
knows.

—Socrates

You gotta shot’em in the
head, that’s the sweet spot.

—Thonas Rand

THE
FALL
of
 
SOCIETY

DAY
1:

THE
FIRST MORNING

T
he lazy Arizona sun hung low
in the morning on the distant American horizon;
the night was still holding on with long, dark shadows from the nearby hills. The
town of Piedmont couldn’t really be called a “town,” as it wasn’t much more
than a few small buildings nestled between some foothills. There were no paved
roads, just a lot of dirt. The place seemed to be the remnants of an old mining
town that died long ago, but some people decided to stay and call it home. This
dwelling was on its own because there were no other towns or cities for over a
hundred miles in every direction. At this time of morning, the town was quiet,
maybe too quiet, because not even a dog or any other animal stirred.

           
The
thirty or so bodies lying in the dirt were still as well—too still, for they
were dead. Some of the bodies appeared to be torn apart, slicked in blood and
pieces that dappled the area as if debris from an explosion.

           
Movement.

           
A
couple ran out of an old house that was more like a shack and rocketed to an
antique Chevy truck. A dog was under the porch that the fleeing people ran
across, too scared to come out as it watched them run, sunlight split in
between the dusty boards and illuminated the fear in the canine’s eyes. The
woman had a child in her arms, and the man had a double-barrel shotgun in his. They
looked in all directions, trying to see any danger before it crept upon them.

           
They
got in the truck and closed the doors as quietly as possible. The man started the
pickup’s engine, and when it roared to life,
they
came. From everywhere, four people charged the truck; they
threw long, inhuman howls at them as they ran,
sprinted
, for the vehicle. The man shot one with both barrels, but that
only slowed it down a little. Three more appeared, and they converged on the
slow pickup and jumped all over it, they broke the windows with their faces to
get at the couple and their child. The man was killed; they ripped part of his
face off as the woman and child screamed madly. Then, the crazies pulled the
man from the moving truck and went insane on his body; one of them tore an arm
off the man and began to beat the corpse with it. The truck came to a stop in a
ditch and more of them flocked to it in a frenzy of death, the screams from the
woman and child drowned out by the growls and shrieks of the mad people that
they once called friends.

           
Another
woman crawled out from under the porch of the general store and ran for the
hills, but three mad people tackled her to the ground. Their behavior was that
of wild animals: wide-eyed, and pus spewed from their mouths, as if they were
rabid. The woman being attacked screamed, then they ripped out her throat and tore
into her.

           
The
town was in chaos as these mad people were everywhere and attacked anyone that weren’t
like them—and when all the normal people were killed, the crazies turned
on each other. Like pit bulls, they fought until the opponent was dead and the
victor moved on. They ganged up on random individuals in their own groups that
they were hunting with as a pack a moment ago. The devastation had no order and
it was total.

           
A
few of the crazies were running away from the town as they chased another one
down and suddenly, the one they were chasing fell dead as its head exploded. The
others didn’t hesitate as they began to chase the one that was leading
their
group, but one by one, they were
all killed. Silenced rifle shots whispered out with a
THWAP
sound that emulated a nail gun. The shots came from several
different locations in the hills that surrounded the town and they were killing
anything that moved.

           
Military
snipers dressed in desert camouflage were wearing biohazard masks that covered
their mouths and noses, were hidden in foxholes shrouded in camouflage netting,
they were accompanied by cameramen that had high-tech equipment with long-range
lenses to record everything from a distance. They were playing God. “This is Arrow
One, my sector is clear, no movement. Over,” a voice crackled over their radio
frequency.

           
“This
is Arrow Six, my sector is clear. Arrow Four, you have movement in your sector,
behind the barn. Do you want me to clear it? Over.” another voice said.

           
A
reply came through. “This is Arrow Four, negative. I see her. Over.”

           
A
mad woman was breaking out of the back wall of a barn by using her bare hands;
they were mangled and bloody from clawing at the old wood. She got out, that’s
when a silent bullet hit her chest, and she dropped like a rock.

           
“This
is Arrow Four, target down and my sector is clear. Out.”

           
They
killed everyone, the town went quiet, the dust settled, and only the morning
breeze moved down there, as it covered the bodies like the blanket of a
deathbed.

           
“Arrow
One, this is Watcher, what is your status? Over.” another voice asked.

           
“Watcher,
this is Arrow One. All targets have been immobilized. You’re clear for entry.
Over.” the lead sniper said.

           
“Arrow
One, this is Watcher, we are making our approach. Keep your positions to sweep.
Over.”

           
“Copy
that, Watcher, we are holding to cover. Out.”

           
A
few minutes passed, and then a convoy approached as it cut through the dirt
road and left spiraling dust in its wake. Four military Humvees zigzagged
through the bodies and stopped in the center of town.

           
“Watcher,
this is Arrow One, site is secured. There is no movement; you’re free to exit
vehicles. Over.”

           
“Copy
that, Arrow One. Out.”

           
The
Humvees in the front and rear of the convoy had topside mounted .50 caliber
machine guns, and the soldiers that manned them were clad in biohazard suits,
complete with masks that covered their entire heads and shielded their faces in
a dome Plexiglas. They rotated in the gun turrets and searched for anything
that could pose a danger. After a moment, the doors in the third Humvee opened,
and six soldiers in bio-suits armed with M-4 assault rifles emerged, fanned out
and formed a defensive perimeter. The doors in the second vehicle opened, and
four men exited, bio-suits, but no weapons, these were the men in charge. Two
of them appeared to be scientists as they began to take notes with computer
devices that were attached to their forearms. They typed information into the
keyboards and took pictures of the bodies with the same device as they typed.

           
The
other two seemed to be the real men in charge, one was a black man in his
fifties, his face was that of a kind man, but the other, a white man in his
sixties, looked rigid with hard eyes. “Make sure to get pictures and video of
all the bodies,” the black man said to the scientists.

           
“Yes,
sir, General,” a scientist answered.

           
“I
want six different blood samples, equal genders,” the white general instructed.

           
“Yes,
sir, General, we’ll make sure it’s done,” the other scientist said.

           
The
scientists began their work, as the two generals stood and watched.

           
“This
is total,” the white general said.

           
“It
is,” the black general agreed.

           
A
man appeared from a house across the street, he looked Native American, about
seventy years old, in his underwear and a worn out robe. He walked toward the
generals and had a rusted machete in his hand.

           
“Watcher,
this is Arrow One, you have a target approaching you sixty meters from the
east. Do you want me to clear it? Over.”

           
The
generals turned and saw the old man coming at them, but he was weak and his
steps were misplaced. “Arrow One, this is Watcher, negative. We’ll handle
target, keep eyes on perimeter. Over,” the white general said into his mask
microphone.

           
“Copy
that, Arrow One out.”

           
The
old man walked toward them slowly, almost tripped a couple of times, and was shouting
at them, but he was actually talking as loud as he could since he was so weak.
The generals couldn’t hear him clearly, but he grew louder as he drew near. The
soldiers wasted no time and converged on the old man in a defensive posture.

           
“Hold
your fire,” the white general ordered.

           
“You
government people did this!” the old chief said.

           
“What’s
that, old timer?” the black general asked.

           
“You
did this!” he barked.

           
“Sir,
we’re here to help, we need you to be calm and put down the weapon,” the white
general said.

           
The
old man didn’t do what was asked of him and kept walking for them with his jagged
machete. “You did this! You killed my town and all my friends!”

           
“Sir,
please, we’re here to help you, put down the machete,” the black general asked
sincerely.

           
He
limped closer to them, within fifteen feet, and started to swing the machete at
them, but he was so weak that he wasn’t even cutting the air.

           
“Drop
the weapon!” a soldier shouted.

           
“You
bastards killed my town!” he said as he swung and hit nothing.

           
“Sir,
try to calm yourself,” the black general said.

           
Suddenly,
the old man cried out in pain, let go of the machete, and grabbed his face in
agony. He dropped to his knees, and his body began to convulse in a seizure.

           
“Everybody
step back,” the white general ordered.

           
They
all withdrew as the old man writhed in pain, his mouth was salivating so much
that it was a constant ooze of liquid. The seizure stopped, and the old man
removed his hands from his face to reveal bloodshot eyes that were wider than
humanly possible and filled with rage. The frail old man got to his feet in one
hop, howled in a twisted screech, and immediately ran to attack the generals.

           
“Stop!”
one soldier shouted, but he didn’t and they fired.

           
The
gunfire struck his chest; killing him instantly, and he dropped to the ground
face first and slid a couple feet in the dirt from momentum.

           
“Jesus!”
the black general said in disbelief.

           
 
The soldiers checked his body to make
sure that he was dead.

           
Because
of the distraction, none of them saw the other person that came out of a
building behind the generals. It was a crazed man, he was big, 300 pounds worth,
and he charged straight at them silently, forty feet away and closing fast.

           
“What
do you think happened in this town?” the black general asked.

           
Before
the white general could answer—

           
“Watcher,
behind you!” Arrow One shouted over the radio.

           
Arrow
One fired a silent shot that hit the big man in the back, but it didn’t kill
him, and he kept on going. The generals turned just as the crazed man clothesline
tackled the white general, he was thrown back and he crashed, face first, into
the grill of a Humvee—it
cracked
his face shield—but luckily, didn’t break it. He fell hard to the ground,
and the mad man jumped on top of him, grabbed hold of the general’s helmet, and
tried to bite through his splintered face shield. The general watched in shock
as the mad beast tried to gnaw through the thick plastic inches from his face
with rotten teeth and a discolored tongue that smeared bacteria-filled saliva
everywhere. The man growled like a rabid dog and was about to rip the general’s
helmet off, until one of the soldiers fired his weapon at the big madman,
hitting him on the side of his ribs, killing him, and saving the general.

           
The
soldiers got the dead corpse off the general and helped him up.

           
“Are
you okay?” the black general asked.

           
The
white general looked at his suit, checking its integrity. “Yeah, I’m fine.”