Nuclear Undead: Wake the Dead Read online

  “With over one hundred thousand in attendance for the night’s festivities, police units were called to the scene to control the crowds, but law enforcement is outnumbered. Reinforcements have yet to arrive. A spokesperson advised us that the governor was contacted earlier, but she has yet to approve calling in the National Guard, citing budgetary constraints after passing yet another tax cut for businesses in the state. Four fatalities have been confirmed so far, but the actual total is unknown at this point.”

  He paused and glanced at the note pad again before continuing. “A spokesman for emergency management has asked us to inform viewers that all residents should remain in their homes at this time and stay away from the Bricktown area. You would only be in the way and impede first responders in doing their jobs.”

  Middleton stepped to the side while the camera panned out for a better view of the scene behind him. I was leaning back against the bed pillows to watch, but now sat up straight in one quick motion, reached down to pick up Coco and held her close to me. “Oh, my God,” I gasped.

  I’ve spent a lot of time in Bricktown, but barely recognized the place. Car alarms blared in the background and walls of flame shot out of windows in buildings housing restaurants and clubs popular with the younger age group. Crowds of terrified men and women were racing back and forth in no discernable pattern, being followed by shuffling clusters of people with bluish gray skin and a look of intense rage on their faces. Something red was sticking to the their clothing, faces and arms. Their eyes were lifeless and didn’t seem to work on their own, but instead followed the movement of their heads. Chunks of meat were torn from various parts of their bodies, but they didn’t seem to be in pain or even notice.

  I jumped and let out a quick scream before covering my mouth with my hand when I witnessed a couple of people being pulled to the ground and become overwhelmed by the group was following them. Coco glanced up at me then wriggled free and crawled back under the bedding to start shaking again.

  A woman wearing a pair of skinny jeans with a thick purple sweater screamed as she sprinted away from the crowd, “Please help me! My God! They’re going to kill me.”

  The camera’s view was flooded with moving forms and it became difficult if not impossible to tell what was taking place. Someone was on the ground. Arms and legs protruded from between the bodies of the crowd. The limbs were moving frantically at first, grasping at the ground seemingly trying to pull themselves free, but later collapsed unmoving. It was obvious to anyone viewing this telecast that the situation in Bricktown is totally out of control. Horrifying screams and desperate calls for help from the injured could be heard in the background, but no one rushed in to save them. Everyone was preoccupied with trying to protect themselves. There was no police presence to be seen.

  Where were the police?

  The panicked reporter, who up until this time had succeeded in keeping up a professional appearance, was obviously freaking out now and kept scanning the area around him. He hurriedly made the “cut” sign to end the live feed, but the camera continued to record the scene.

  The crowd approached, turned and glared in Middleton’s direction as if they just noticed he was standing there, then shuffled towards the now terrified reporter. He tossed the microphone away from him and took off running while yelling over his shoulder, “You’re on your own.”.

  The person behind the camera lens continued filming the group as they halted to look from the fleeing reporter and back, perhaps determining who was the easiest prey. The closeups of the group were unsettling. Their eyes were black with a milky film coating. Their skin that was now wrapped across gaunt frames was the color of a dead corpse and hair fell in clumps from their scalps.

  The horde chose to ignore the reporter and started walking forward again, becoming ever larger in the camera’s view. My first reaction was to shout at the television, “Run, Damnit! Run!” as the recorder fell onto the pavement and lay there motionless as a puddle of crimson blood oozed slowly around it.

  Stomach-turning noises of shredding, slurping and chewing were easily heard. I barely had time to pick up the waste basket next to my bed before I vomited inside of it as I stared at the screen in morbid fascination. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what the sounds were even while my mind worked to accept that what my eyes were seeing was real. Earsplitting screams tore through the other noises nearby. Feet moved rapidly off to the side, but never slowed down.

  A few moments later, a gaunt young man with the look and dress of a college student bent down and stared into the lens of the camera. The dark lifelessness in his eyes reminded me of a horror movie I watched as a teenager with black eyed demons. Someone’s life blood was smeared across this monster’s face and the gray shirt he wore only served to accentuate the pallid color of his ashen skin. He poked at the camera lens for a moment, then in a jerky motion turned away and slowly licked blood from off the ground.

  The live feed lasted another few seconds before it was cut and replaced by the Channel 5 news backdrop. A tear began rolling down my cheek and even though I did my best to breathe slowly and keep from hyperventilating, I found it difficult to keep it together while my world was spinning out of control.

  The anchorwoman gripped the edge of her desk with white knuckled hands tipped with blood red nail polish. After a moment of silence, she sat back up in her seat, cleared her throat and straightened her silky maroon blouse with trembling fingers then focused her attention towards the camera.

  The shock of what took place in Bricktown was evident on her face. It’s obvious that she was doing her best to maintain a professional bearing, but was having a hard time holding it together.

  I’m sitting safely at home watching all this from a distance and don’t know the person who was killed, but it’s all I can do to keep from freaking out. I can’t imagine what is going through her mind. This is her colleague that we watched….no, I refuse to believe he died. That’s not logical at all.

  It hit me like a hammer then. My friends are there!

  The anchorwoman blinked away the tears in her eyes, causing the mascara to begin to run and said with a quivering voice, “It seems we have lost contact with Tom Middleton in Bricktown, but we’ll attempt to reestablish the connection. We are experiencing technical difficulties at this time and have been unable to connect with our reporters in other areas of the state, but as soon as this situation is repaired, we’ll bring you updated information.”

  This was quickly becoming too stressful of a situation for me to handle on my own, but although I tried dialing my family’s cell phones throughout the broadcast, so far the calls hadn’t gotten through. I keep getting recordings that say the lines were busy and to try again.

  To be honest, my first reaction is to just to turn off the TV and hide under the covers with Coco, but logically speaking, that’s the worst thing to do. With no other choices left, I drew in a deep breath to help keep my emotions in check while I flipped through other news channels for an update from a different and hopefully less dramatic perspective. It’s wasn’t difficult to find coverage of the event. The programming on every channel has been interrupted with news of the outbreak.

  I finally stopped on Channel Nine because they were explaining why the sirens had been turned on. The meteorologist seated at the news desk next to the anchorman said that the alarms weren’t rung due to severe weather, but because violence is rapidly spreading into other areas of the city. Police are warning residents to do whatever is necessary to protect themselves, up to and including defending themselves with firearms. Officials wanted to make certain that people weren’t caught unaware in their homes without a way to protect themselves.

  “We don’t know at this time what caused the violent attacks, but what we do know is that groups are fanning throughout the streets and attacking anyone they see outside. Emergency officials are cautioning residents to stay in their homes. Do not open your doors and don’t get out in your car to try and outrun this situation. It is t
oo widespread and you are safer sheltering in place.”

  “Make certain that all doors and windows are locked and secured. Stay away from them and if you have a basement, officials are instructing residents to take supplies such as food, water, medications and anything else that you might need with you, then head down there and take your safety precautions until order is restored.”

  He paused and added solemnly, “Please remember to keep your pets safe as well. We’ve received reports that crowds have attacked and killed animals that have been left to their own defenses. Don’t leave any pets outdoors. Bring them inside with you or they will die.”

  As soon as he finished talking and my mind caught up to what he just said, I jumped out of bed and literally ran through the house in my pajamas to check the locks on the windows and doors and to make certain that all the blinds were pulled.

  Okay, I admit to going to the bathroom to pee first. It was either that or wet my pants, but I checked the locks next. Coco whined the entire time and followed at my heels trying to figure out what was going on.

  If what the newscaster said was correct, it won’t be safe for anyone outside to hear her whine, but this has to be done quickly. It’s a tradeoff. Fortunately, my home is located outside of town on a country road. We aren’t completely secluded, though. I still have a few neighbors down the way.

  As fast as my shaking hands would move, I picked up the rifle I sometimes use for target practice and slung its strap across my shoulder, then put the Glock 19 from the bedside table into the side pockets of a large rolling suitcase along with extra magazines. I hurriedly packed as many additional items as I could fit into what space was left over.

  An emergency supply of food, water and other necessities was already stored in the basement, but there can never be too much in a disaster situation, especially when I don’t know how long we’ll need to stay put.

  My grandmother lived through the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression. Before she passed away, Granny drilled it into me that it’s always a good idea to stock up on provisions in case something unexpected happens. I doubt she ever expected anything quite like this. I don’t think anyone did.

  Since I earn a decent living as an attorney in a reputable law office, I filled the basement with supplies as a precaution in case we ever found ourselves stranded down there in a disaster. I never expected that to be hiding away from people who will not only attack, but according the news clips, eat me.

  People who spend most of their meals eating out and have empty pantries will have a difficult time surviving during this crisis. What will they do when their children are hungry and there’s nothing to feed them? Hopefully, the military and police will get this crisis under control quickly and we can start picking up the pieces.

  Some people might call me a prepper because I stocked the basement like that, but the way I was raised and my chosen profession both taught me to plan for the worst while hoping for the best. I’ve been witness to things normal people don’t realize exist outside the safe bubbles they live in.

  I know that when it comes to crisis situations, most people band together to help each other get through it, but there are always some who take advantage of the situation to create chaos. When there’s a disaster and law is no longer absolute, these same people will become the evil that they always hid underneath all the well-mannered smiles and neighborly waves.

  Personal accounts after Katrina hit New Orleans are proof of this happening. The newscasts filmed bodies floating in the water and families being rescued from rooftops, but what they didn’t go into detail about was the maliciousness taking place away from the rolling cameras.

  The crimes began with the looting of businesses, then escalated into carjackings and guns being fired towards rescue workers. Residents of New Orleans were frightened and felt that no one cared if they lived or died, so they did what they could to survive regardless of the consequences to others. Others broke the law just because they could get away with it.

  The most common image of a prepper is a mullet headed redneck wearing a wife beater t-shirt with dirty cowboy boots who pulls stupid stunts on a three wheeler while chugging cheap beer. I’m absolutely nothing like that. Seriously. First of all, I have all of my teeth and enjoy bathing.

  That’s not to say that I don’t have distant relatives who fit that description, because I do. My rural family called me a “city slicker” a few years back because I put up a fuss when they wanted to shoot their dog for eating a raw egg one of the chickens laid. Find it a new home if you don’t want the dog anymore, but don’t shoot it. How hard is that to figure out?

  After carrying the first load down to the basement, I put Coco in a crate with one of her favorite chew toys so she’d feel more secure and hopefully not whine while I work. As I closed the door to the crate, I scratched behind her ears and softly told her, “Here, you go, little girl. Have fun tearing up your toy while I work.”

  It must be nice to be a dog with nothing to do but eat, poop, get your belly rubbed and chew up toys.

  Maybe I’m going overboard in bringing so much stuff downstairs, but who knows how long we’ll be there? I brought not only the basics of food, water, batteries, medicine, and more ammunition, but I wanted to bring the photo albums, laptop and some good books down as well to keep me company in case the unrest lasts for more than a day or two.

  I didn’t even try to pack neatly, but just crammed as much stuff as possible into whatever I could find to carry it in. If the reporter is right, there’s not much time left to finish. Because I already have the basics stored in the spare rooms and closets in the basement, it took much less time than it could have. That’s the benefit of planning ahead. Prepping.

  Of course, I hope these precautions won’t be needed at all and things will soon be back to normal, but life seems to enjoy kicking us when we’re down. This nightmare is beyond comparison to anything I’ve ever experienced or even heard about and to be honest, my brain is having a hard time accepting it’s is even happening. I keep feeling like I’m in a dream and will soon wake up to the alarm clock buzzing or Coco whining to go outside.

  “Damnit!” I grumbled while tried to engage the locks on the basement door after bringing the remainder of supplies downstairs. It was hard trying to pack because my hands were shaking the entire time, but I was only throwing stuff in and carrying it a few feet, so that didn’t stop me.

  The problem is that my hands are still shaking and I can’t seem to make them work right. After a couple more failed tries, I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths to calm my nerves, then with my eyes still closed, slowly and carefully closed each one until they make a solid click. When the last lock was secured, I leaned back against the wall and rubbed my hands along the material of my pajamas then stood that way until I was able to calm down.

  I dragged the rest of the boxes and suitcases down to the nearest spare room and left them there. I’ll unpack them later after I get myself under control. I’m sleepy, frightened and even with Coco here to comfort me, I feel very alone..

  With the dangers lurking just outside, the safety modifications that were done during the remodeling of this house after I bought it are comforting. First of all, I paid next to nothing for the home and land because the county was planning to tear it down if someone didn’t take it off their hands. The property was foreclosed on for back taxes, but the place had been abandoned for a long time and was in bad shape. No one was interested in buying a dilapidated house that required time and money to remodel in order to be livable. Fortunately for me, I love challenges.

  I bought the place for just the cost of the land and back taxes. Not only is the home quite lovely now, but it’s also one of the safest places to be in a situation like this. When my dad and the contractor talked to me about making the safety modifications, I was so caught up in planning cosmetic changes that I almost decided against them.

  Decorating is a hobby of mine and my mind was filled with paint swatches and tile s
amples. Safety was the furthest thing on my mind. I’ve watched almost every TV episode where houses are being remodeled. There’s just something exhilarating about taking a house that no one else wants and changing it into a dream home that makes people drop their jaws when they walk inside. I hate the new cookie cutter homes. Old houses have character and history. Plus, like I said before, I enjoy a challenge.

  My personal style of decorating is eclectic. I love going to garage sales and thrift stores to look for things that can be repurposed or search for an item that’s undervalued. I’ve been lucky enough to collect a wide range of collectables from garage sales that are now conversation pieces when friends come to visit. For instance, I found hand carved wooden wall hangings from Korea that symbolize the four elements for only $5 and an Italian tapestry for $15 that retails for over $400 new. Yes, I Googled it. A couple water color paintings of delicate flowers with well-crafted framed that are limited edition and signed by the artist only cost another $5.

  My place is decorated in a hodgepodge of items that the owners didn’t need or want, but that have their own individual stories to tell. To me, their value isn’t in their monetary cost because, to be honest, I probably spent less than most people pay for plastic keepsakes made in China. I’ve learned that the real worth is in the history these pieces convey.

  If I listened to some of the televangelists, I would never have bought the home or anything from a garage store or thrift shop. One of the worst tin foil hat wearers said just this last month that there are demons attached to used items. Needless to say, the oily haired charlatan offered to pray for people who had already brought those evil items into their homes if they would send a large donation. These conmen use the profits they make from stoking the fears of their devout followers to buy another mansion or private jet while their followers worry about buying food and medicine. My granny was one of those followers. She sent most of her social security check to one of these snake oil salesmen right before she died. This is why I studied law. It makes me furious to see the weak being taken advantage of.