Rebirth: an Eden prequel

  He takes another step toward me. He moves differently now. Stiff, slightly jerky. He looks disoriented and empty.

  “This is your last warning,” I say. I’m backing away faster now, across the first two lanes of the highway.

  And suddenly Fraud sprints towards me, every trace of human reason in him gone.

  I bury two bullets in his chest and one in his forehead.

  The man who very likely saved my life collapses to the ground. Blood pools around him on the pavement.

  I pause and look at his body lying there. I’m regretting that I never asked his name. Surely it wasn’t Fraud. Maybe it was Ted, or Giles, or Scott. I feel as if I should drag his body off to the side of the road at least. But the guard’s words come back to me once again.

  Don’t let anyone touch you.

  So instead I turn and jog down the road toward the police car. Change of plans. I’m not walking to Stella’s.

  42°4’47.56”N 71°29’7.04”W

  I hop out of the car as I pull into Aunt Stella’s driveway. I glance back at it as I jog up to her front door. There are dents on every surface of the vehicle. The lights on top have been smashed beyond recognition and the back windshield shattered when one of those things bashed its head against it over and over. I watched as its skull caved in the same time the window finally broke.

  Somehow I made it alive.

  I hesitate at the front door. Stella knew what I was in for and that I shouldn’t be outside of the prison for the rest of my days. But the way the lawn is overgrown, the way her tiny, annoying dog isn’t barking like a maniac tells me that whatever madness has touched the world had made its way into Stella’s house.

  I push the ajar door open.

  There’s a smell that hits me as soon as I walk inside. It’s pretty hard to mistake the smell of rotting flesh. Not something you encounter every day, but you know exactly what it is when you smell it.

  The front foyer is a mess. All the fancy vases and plates and whatever else it was Stella and Rich collected are smashed into tiny pieces on the marble floor. The house is silent as I make my way across the debris toward the living room.

  The main living area is devoid of any life, in the same state of broken chaos. I find the kitchen empty as well.

  It’s been nearly eight years since I’ve been in the house, so it takes me a moment to bring up a mental map of where I might find Stella or Rich. Careful to make sure my feet are soundless, I make my way toward the back of the house.

  The smell grows stronger as I approach the door to Uncle Rich’s office. My weakened stomach threatens to lose the tiny amount of food I have in my system.

  Finally, I step inside.

  Uncle Rich is lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with red, wide, dead eyes. He’s a strange blue gray mixture. And there is a ring of bruises around his throat.

  Someone choked the life out of Uncle Rich and left him here to rot.

  I’m about to leave, but as I turn to go, I freeze in place. Adrenaline burns through my veins.

  Aunt Stella is standing just to the side of the door and she’s staring straight at me with metallic, empty eyes.

  I take a step away from her, back into the office. I’m careful not to step on Rich.

  Stella doesn’t move. She stares out into the room, completely motionless, like she’s frozen in place.

  There’s a big section of skin missing from the lower left side of her face. Where her jaw bone should be, there is a shiny metal plate gleaming in the evening light.

  I don’t dare breathe. I saw what those things did as I made my way to this house. They’d tried ripping the police car apart and very nearly succeeded. As soon as I got to the middle of town they were coming out of thin air, leaping at the car with their dead eyes, disoriented but aggressive.

  But Stella is just standing there, frozen, like she’s not even real.

  I brave a small wave, just a quick back and forth motion in front of her with my hand.

  She still doesn’t move.

  Holding my breath, I step out of the office, and make my way back toward the kitchen.

  Every survival instinct in me screams that I should get out of this house and get back in that police car. But the need to know what happened to my only living family pushes my hand into my back pocket and pulls out the envelope I found on the warden’s desk. The letter addressed to me.

  It was postmarked eight weeks ago.

  NOVATOR BIOTICS WOULD LIKE TO OFFER YOU THEIR CONDOLENCES IN THE LOSS OF STELLA VERREL. HER LOSS WAS A RESULT OF UNSEEN COMPLICATIONS OF HER HEART UPGRADE. ENCLOSED IS A COPY OF HER WILL.

  There isn’t even a signature on the page. Just one other page behind that states that I am to inherit everything. It’s an old document. Aunt Stella and Uncle Rich had it written up before I was convicted.

  I knew Stella had been on a waiting list for years, hoping for a new heart to replace the one that had been failing her. I didn’t know anything about an “upgrade” but it sounds like she’d turned into a killer robot freak because of it.

  A loud slapping sound just about makes me piss myself and the pages fall from my hands as I crouch behind a chair. But I see that it was just a book, fallen off a shelf. There is a pile of books slouching. I dart over to them before any more of them call fall and possibly wake Stella. If she’s really sleeping. I have no idea what is going on with her.

  Not waiting any longer, I dart up the stairs toward their bedroom.

  My nerves are strung out, my hands are shaking, and I’m fighting back emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel for seven years. But I have to get out of here, and I have to prepare.

  Rich was a bit smaller than myself, but his clothes will be better than the gray ones marked CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION. I rifle through his closet, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. As I’m digging through the back of his closet, hoping he’ll have a pair of boots that will fit me, my fingers brush something hard on a low shelf.

  I pull out the rifle, careful to keep my finger off the trigger since the safety is off. I check it and find it loaded. The thing is ancient, but if Rich had it hidden and loaded with the safety disengaged, I have to wonder if he planned on using it on his wife.

  If only she hadn’t choked the life out of him first.

  I find a pair of boots that are tight but will do for now. I also dig up a backpack and store one of my handguns in an easily accessible pocket. Grabbing a few more items of clothing, I silently make my way back downstairs with the shotgun in hand.

  No sign that Stella’s moved, I head back for the kitchen. I don’t bother opening the fridge. Anything in it will be long spoiled. Instead I head for the pantry.

  I load up on canned goods, anything that looks non-perishable. I also shove in as many water bottles as I can. All the while I’m stuffing my face with crackers, my stomach growling ravenously. The backpack is heavy and solid feeling when I pick it back up.

  When I flip the light switch in the garage, the lights flicker. I jangle the keys in my hand for a second, debating.

  There’s a flashy sports car and an SUV parked inside.

  Speed would be nice, considering what I’ve just seen in the city, but I decide something a little more solid and dependable is what I need.

  Opening the garage door makes me flinch. It pops and groans as it lifts. I don’t wait to see if it has woken Stella as I toss my pack into the passenger seat and start it up. I back out of the garage and pull onto the suburban street.

  40°6’30.28”N 71°32’24.79”W

  Darkness falls, making the world outside feel all the more ominous. I keep my headlights off, just to be safe as I drive down the highway. I haven’t the faintest idea where I’m going or what I’m going to do. I just know that I’ve got to get away from people.

  Getting away from people means getting out of the city.

  I flip the radio on.

  The auto search scans through channels. It finds some station playing oldies, but after li
stening for twenty minutes or so, I never hear a DJ come on the air. It must be a recording. I push the seek button again and listen to silence for a few moments.

  “—recorded broadcast,” a voice blares through the speakers. It’s scratchy and threatens to cut out. “The outbreak has spread through all fifty US states. Reports in Mexico, Canada, and many European countries—” The radio starts to cut out. “—ator Biotics is currently under investigation. However, most employees have fallen to the infection. It is being reported the war efforts in the southern United States have ceased, unresolved. No reports on the war in Asia or Europe.”

  The broadcast ends with the time and date the message was recorded. Twenty-two days ago.

  My guess is that there isn’t anyone left to update the broadcast.

  I flip the radio off and stare at the dark road ahead of me.

  It’s been years since I’ve driven in the area so I have to go off of my sense of direction and a mental map of the state to try and avoid the more densely populated areas. But when you live out this direction you can’t avoid city. When I see signs for the next town, I press hard on the gas, watching the speedometer creep up past the one hundred mile per hour marker.

  There are cars abandoned on the sides of the freeway. They’re mangled and crunched, just like the police car I left back at Aunt Stella’s. Apparently I’m not the only one they’re attacking.

  I keep an eye out for any movement. I’m not sure what I’m going to do if I see anyone else out driving, or see anyone who looks like they might still be human. I guess I’ll deal with that when the time arises. But for now I’m just going to get out of the metro area as quickly as possible.

  I drive for another two hours when a loud beeping sound from the car makes me jump violently. I look down at the dash to see a red light telling me to refuel. The needle on the gas gage is overlapping the empty line.

  Pounding a fist on the steering wheel, I curse under my breath. I’ve still got about two hours before I’m out of this crowded part of the country and into the beginnings of the cover of the mid-west.

  I have no choice but to look for whatever exit has gas signs. I keep my headlights off and I can barely see the road as I pull off the ramp and come to a stop at the intersection.

  There are cars on the road everywhere, abandoned. I look both ways, seeing only empty roads. Spotting a gas station to the right, I turn the wheel.

  I roll up to the station slowly. Many of the street lights have been taken out along the road, but there are two still on in the overhead cover. I debate for a second after parking, but end up pulling out one of the handguns and taking the two remaining lights out. The moon is barely half full, but it provides just enough light to see by.

  I grab Uncle Rich’s wallet from my pack and pull out his shiny silver card. Praying the pump is still working, even with no one to attend it, I slide the card in and out. Both to my relief and panic it beeps loudly and asks me to select a fuel type.

  While the gas fills the tank, I take both the ancient rifle and a handgun to scope out the inside of the gas station. Keeping out of full view of the windows, I peer around the corner and inside the building.

  I can’t see anyone inside and there isn’t any movement. Holding my breath, and keeping my eye on the sight of the rifle, I approach. A bell jingles softly as I push the door open. There are goods strewn across the floor, bags and crumbs crunching under my boots. My eyes scan the walls, not having to travel far in the small space.

  The building is empty.

  I feel only a little guilty when I start gathering food up into a box. I set it on the counter and walk around to check the till. Considering the current state of the world, I doubt I’m going to need cash money for a very long time, but it couldn’t hurt to have it.

  My feet stop just short of stepping on the body.

  There is a man lying on the floor. Through the dark I can’t really see many details, but I can tell he’s dead and not sleeping like Aunt Stella. I’m pretty sure the dark halo around his head is blood. He’s got a shotgun lying next to him.

  Careful not to step in the blood and leave tracks that I was here, I cross to the register. It takes me a moment to figure out how to open the cash drawer but it finally pops open.

  I wasn’t the first to find the body. The drawer has already been cleaned out.

  I shake my head as I turn back to the dead man and relieve him of his firearm. I find a box of ammunition under the counter. When the world starts to go to hell, you always chose a weapon over money.

  The tank is filled when I get back outside. I hook the nozzle back in its place and set my new box of food supplies in the back of the SUV. I’m about to hop back in when I notice the building across the street.

  It’s a sporting goods store.

  I’m torn as I look back toward the SUV and then back to the store again. In the end I can’t resist and switch Uncle Rich’s shot gun for the newer one. I check the ammunition and then silently cross the street.

  The glass front door has been busted in and that’s nearly enough to send me unharmed back to my vehicle. But like the man that makes too many mistakes that I am, I step through the broken glass inside.

  It’s pitch black when I get more than fifteen feet from the front doors. There are no windows in the building. One of those warehouse types. I head to the cash registers, and as I suspected I would, find two flashlights under the counter.

  I switch one on, holding it level with my shotgun.

  My blood drops to my feet.

  There is an entire row of those things standing just feet behind the line of checkout stands. Twelve of them. They’re just standing there, their eyes open and empty. Just like Stella. They’re looking right at me, but I can tell they’re not seeing me.

  I have to remind myself to breathe. Breathe quietly.

  I’m about to leave when I see the section where they have all the firearms. It’s only about ten yards away.

  My eyes never leaving the bodies before me, I take one cautious step to the right. None of them move. I take another two. Still nothing seems to notice me. Keeping the shotgun pointed in their direction, I slowly back towards the firearms section.

  I wish I had more time to actually look at the labels and make sure I’m getting the right ammunition, but I don’t dare waste any time. I grab a shopping bag from behind the counter and start grabbing anything that looks remotely correct.

  Daring to dash another twenty yards away, I grab one of the largest hiking packs I can find. After finding the key, I unlock the display case and grab two bigger handguns. I slip the ammunition inside the pack after them. Looking back toward the sleepers, I move silently toward the hunting knives.

  I’ve packed up four of them when I hear the slightest sound. Like clothing brushing against something. My beam of light and the shotgun in my hand flashes back to the sleepers and I curse under my breath again.

  There are only eleven bodies.

  I click the flashlight off and I swing my new pack on, heavy but not as loaded as I’d like it to be. I silently start backing toward the front door.

  There’s that sound again and it takes everything I have to not flip the flashlight back on. I’m only fifteen yards from the entrance.

  My feet move quicker. I’m walking backwards, my back to the door, my shotgun leveled before my eyes. I feel totally blind.

  The back of my heel catches something, and my finger accidently pulls the trigger. The blast nearly deafens me in the silent building and it feels like all of my internal organs disappear.

  I hear them all wake to life and there’s the sound of shuffling feet. I make a full sprint for the door.

  I just clear the glass, a jagged edge catching my left arm, ripping my skin open. I stumble over the pavement of the parking lot, struggling to keep hold on the shotgun. I hear crashing sounds as bodies slam into the metal framework of the doorway. They’re all trying to get through it at once.

  The SUV seems ten times farther aw
ay that it is as I steady my sprint. I hear metal hit the pavement behind me and dare a single glance back.

  Two of them have fallen through the door and are climbing to their feet. Their metal eyes are locked on me.

  I push faster. My pack bounces up and down, one of the guns inside slapping against my spine painfully. I hear more sets of feet hitting the road as I reach the SUV and yank the door open. I shove the pack into the back seat and fumble for the keys.

  The keys. I can’t find them.

  In one heart-sickening second, I look out the door and see they’re lying about ten feet from the car. That first zombie robot is about twenty.

  I fling the door open and start firing. I see tiny holes appear in the first man’s shirt and he stumbles when I spray him with bullets. I fire at the woman right behind him and knock her on her back.

  My fingers close around the keys and I fire another shot at the first man who is recovering and fall backwards into the SUV. I feel like my heart is going to rocket right out of my chest as I yank the door closed behind me just as he slams into the door. His eyes gleam while I desperately try to get the keys into the ignition.

  Glass sprays my face as the window shatters. I slam the butt of the shotgun into his nose, sending him sprawling backwards into two of the others. I yank the gearshift down into drive and stomp on the gas pedal. The front driver’s side wheel runs over a body.

  I’ve just turned left back onto the road when I hear something collide with the car. The next second there’s something banging on the roof.

  One of them is on top of me.

  I slam on the breaks and hear the thing shift forward. White blond hair flips onto the front windshield and I stomp on the gas once again. The thing still hangs on.

  I jerk the wheel to the right and then once again to the left. More pounding on the roof. The next second later, the window to the front passenger side explodes and a pale skinned hand is groping through the dark for my throat.

  Stomping on the break, I jerk the wheel hard to the left. The thing sails off my roof.

  I’m back on the on ramp not five seconds later.