The Dark Times: A Zombie Novel Read online

  The Dark Times

  P. A. Douglas & Dane Hatchell

  Copyright 2014 by P. A. Douglas & Dane Hatchell

  Author's Note:

  Everyone has a grand picture for what the zombie apocalypse will be like. In truth it is pretty exciting. The idea of getting to start over. A new utopian order to the world that lets us come together as equals for once. The sad true however is hard to swallow. The apocalypse will only draw you closer to who you really are. Looking in the mirror at the end of it all would be a very scary thing indeed.

  Acknowledgements:

  P. A. Douglas would like to thank his co-author and friend, Dane, for all the hard work on this project. To Sean Leonard for his valued contribution. To Severed Press for being a great press to work with over the years. And to August Burns Red. Listening to you while I write makes the words flow so much easier.

  Prologue

  The year 2018

  Life can turn on a dime, and sometimes the turn has already come and gone before we even see it coming.

  “Ron, I think I found a movie for us to watch. Hurry up. It looks like it’s already started.”

  Leah put the remote control for the television down on the couch and took a sip of her Bloody Mary. The shaft of celery periscoped from the top and jabbed her cheek. The cocktail was the perfect complement to the bag of popcorn she had pulled from the microwave only minutes before. The saltiness of the popcorn brought out the richness of the spicy tomato blend that cracked the ice in her cup.

  “Yeah? What is it?” Ron poked his head from the kitchen’s entrance into the living room.

  She put her feet on the coffee table and gazed above her blue toenail polish. “It’s a zombie movie. I don’t know the name of this one. I don’t think we’ve seen it. You’re missing it.”

  “I’m making a sandwich—be there in a minute.” Ron hurried back to finish up before the guts started to fly. He tightened the lid on the mayo, gathered the provolone and ham, and stuck them in the fridge. Before he closed the door, he plucked out a bottle of Yellow Jacket Porter from the top shelf, but needed something to open it with. “What’s happening?” He opened a drawer, fumbled through measuring spoons, and carefully parted knives until spotting the onyx handle of the bottle opener.

  “The zombies are wandering out of a cemetery and are walking the streets.”

  “Zombies don’t walk, honey. Zombies shamble, or lurch, or something.” Ron opened the pantry door and scanned the choice of chips to go with his sandwich. After sampling a bag of corn chips and deciding they were stale, he opened a new bag of sour cream and green onion potato chips. “Are the zombies eating anybody yet?”

  “No—hey, this looks like it was filmed downtown.”

  “Downtown, here in Killeen? Why would they come to this town to film a zombie movie? This is small town Texas. Zombies on the beach would’ve had more appeal. It can’t be our downtown. Must be some other place. Downtowns in most cities look alike.”

  He opened the bag of chips and crunched one down, then popped open the beer and chased the chip with a gulp. He folded the top of the chip bag and clamped on a clothespin to keep it fresh before placing it back in the pantry.

  “I can’t hear you. I’m trying to listen. I don’t think it’s a movie.”

  Ron stepped into the living room with beer and plate in hand. He stopped next to Leah and took another chug of beer. “That’s Channel Ten News. See, that’s Meg Gallo. Did you change the station?”

  “No. Those zombies are coming out of Memory Gardens Cemetery. You know, by that big Baptist church. There was some audio in the beginning but now it’s out. Meg looks scared.”

  Ron sat on the couch next to Leah and set his beer on the coffee table.

  So much for watching a good horror movie, he thought.

  The camera panned away from Meg, the reporter.

  “Hey look, some homeless guy just walked out of the alley and those zombies over there are about to get him.” He took a bite from the sandwich. With his mouth half full, he said, “Wow, look at that. They’re on him like a swarm of locusts.”

  The video feed abruptly stopped. The screen stared back with obsidian emptiness.

  “Oh, my God. What’s happening? Ron, what should we do?”

  “Uh, find another channel to watch?” Ron drank more beer and belched.

  Leah shoved his shoulder. “I’m serious. You just saw what happened. What’s going on? What are we going to do?”

  “You bought that? You thought that was real?” Ron chuckled.

  “What else am I supposed to think? It was on the news.”

  “I’ll give you a hint. What’s today?”

  “Tuesday.”

  “No, the date?”

  “The first.”

  “And, what month is it?”

  “April.”

  “Annnnnd, what is April first famous for?”

  The tension gripping Leah’s face relaxed. “Oh, April Fool’s Day.”

  “That’s right. The dead return to life—April Fool’s.” Ron made a victorious smirk.

  “But that didn’t look like a joke. It looked so real.”

  “Do you remember one year when the news did the fake story that the Liberty Bell was getting a sponsor and was going to be renamed the Taco Bell Liberty Bell? What we just watched was the same type of thing. That news story looked like a prank gone south. They were having audio problems and probably pulled the plug from the live feed and the station wasn’t prepared for it. The zombies looked real enough, but when that guy conveniently stepped out of the alley to become dinner, it looked like a set up to me. They needed a better script.” Ron picked up the remote and changed the channel. “Pulp Fiction. I love this movie. Let’s watch it.”

  Leah mindlessly reached in the bag and picked out some popcorn. She mechanically chewed the kernels, seemingly oblivious to what was on the television screen.

  Chapter 1

  “Rico, don’t you think you’ve had enough tonight? Why don’t you go home to your wife?”

  James Connors, better known as Pop, the owner of Pop’s Lounge, leaned on an elbow and smiled with one eye half closed. He had a tint of genuine concern in his voice, like always. Running a bar for the last forty years in downtown Killeen had taught him many life lessons on the power of suggestion. Taking into account the customer’s level of inebriation was essential.

  Rico’s expression didn’t change as he continued to stare through the short, red haired proprietor. Four empty shot glasses set in a neat row on the bar in front of him as he held onto the last shot he had finished some five minutes before. The empty glass reminded him of how he felt as he gripped it tightly in one hand.

  “Rico… Hey, big guy. Whatever’s eating at you, let it go.”

  No response.

  Rico looked away from the barkeep and stared into the distance.

  “You’re sitting here in your police uniform getting shit faced. What if this gets back to your chief? You don’t want to jeopardize your job.”

  The officer’s cheeks puffed out like a bullfrog, widening his mouth as whiskey from his stomach rose to irritate his throat. “I’m off duty. Give me another.”

  “You’ve had five shots in the last hour. I can’t give you anymore. It’s my legal duty as a bartender to stop serving a patron if I think they’re showing signs of inebriation.”

  “Fuck the law.”

  “Can’t do that, buddy. Now you’re talking about my ass. I can’t let you get snookered to the point you leave out of here and hurt someone on the road. I’d get fined and shut down if that happens.”

  Rico closed his eyes, adrift on a skiff through time and space. Th
e bar chatter and music blended into an eerie silence. He had been alone before in life, but he had never felt this alone. Each passing second bled out an ounce of his will to live. The whiskey didn’t replace what he’d lost, as he hoped. His trusted friend that eased the pain had finally let him down. He shifted the glass to the other hand and mindlessly tapped the side with a finger.

  “She’s not home,” he finally said.

  “Who? Oh, your wife?”

  “Not home. Says she can’t live with me anymore. Blames it on my drinking.” Rico turned his gaze to Pop for the first time since he sat down. It had been hard to look other people in the eye these days, thinking maybe if he didn’t engage them personally, then they couldn’t see him. Because if they saw him for whom he was, he would be forced to acknowledge the problem. Pop’s Irish grin melted a dam of bitter emotions. “I blame my drinking on my job. Fuck my job. Fuck the law. Fuck life.”

  The old man nodded. His green eyes sparkled under time-marred eyelids. “You’re not the first cop to sit at my bar and drown his sorrows. I get that the job is tough. Day after day dealing with the worst society has to offer. Long hours, low pay, not knowing if the next guy you pull over for running a red light will whip out a gun and blow your head off. It sounds to me that you’ve just lost focus.”

  “Focus?”

  “Sure, think back to why you took the job some . . . how long ago was it?”

  “I finished the Academy when I was twenty-two. That was eight years ago. Hmm,” Rico grimaced. “Eight years sounds like such a long time. Right now, it feels more like it was yesterday. I wish it were yesterday. I’d have done things differently.”

  “You went into law enforcement because you knew the American dream couldn’t continue without men and women like you. You saw people getting older, like your parents, and wanted them to live a safe, happy life. You wanted your children growing up in an environment where they could play outside and go to school and make something of themselves.” Pop pointed to the officer’s name badge. “Sergeant Rico J. Cruz. You didn’t become a Sergeant by eating doughnuts and directing traffic. You’ve worked your way up from the bottom and hung in there. Showed yourself to be the cream of the crop. The drive inside that led to your promotion to Sergeant is still there. Sure, the job’s tough, but I’ve been in this business long enough to know that finding refuge in the bottom of a glass isn’t all related to work.”

  Pop leaned toward Rico. His gaze cut like a priest waiting for a confession.

  Rico grimaced again as he squeezed the shot glass. His face reddened under the dim, yellow lights above the bar. He had promised himself he wouldn’t cry over the matter. For God’s sake, he was a grown man after all. Tears would be a sure sign of defeat—ultimate humiliation. A deep breath strengthened his resolve.

  “The drinking didn’t start until . . . until Mary Etta started losing interest in me. We were married pretty young. Not more than kids, really. We were so in love though.” His expression softened as he placed the shot glass on the counter. “Things were great at first. We lived in an apartment for the first two years. Those were the best of times. We bought a house, and she went to work. It all kind of started then. She was working with a lot of women her age that weren’t married. Sometimes she would go out with them to bars and clubs. You know, when I worked night shift. I guess I stopped paying her the special attention women need.” Rico lifted his head and with glistening eyes gazed at Pop. “At some point, she got that special attention from other men.” His voice broke, and he clenched his teeth to keep his angst from spilling out.

  Pop reached over and placed his hand on Rico’s shoulder. “That’s a shame. I wish I could say things like that don’t happen very often but that wouldn’t be true. I hear a story like that so much in this line of work that I think it’s become the norm. Sometimes I think marriage licenses should only be good for three years. It’s just the way society has gone. You’re about to enter a new phase in life, buddy. Don’t worry, there are plenty of hot women in the world that’s in the same situation as you. It’ll take a little time. You’ll get over it.” Pop raised his eyebrows. “But you gotta take control of this thing. You’re better than that. Accept it for what it is and move on. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

  Despite the fact Rico looked like his mind was a thousand miles away, he had heard every word. Pop was a kind man, even though he was also the kind you didn’t want to cross. Right now, Pop felt like his best friend. Hell, maybe even more like his own father used to be back when he was a kid. Before his sister Jennifer died.

  Rico sighed, and then said, “I’ve been trying to convince myself to move on for some time. I didn’t know how to do that. I still don’t. But, I hear you, Pop. I hear you, and I know what you mean. Thanks for giving me hope.”

  “You see, you’ve got to get out of the trap in your mind and get back into the swing of things. Not that I don’t appreciate the business… I really do. But push the bottle away. Get some rest. Buy some new clothes and maybe change your hairstyle. You might look good with one of them Mohawk cuts. Seems all the rage these days. Well, at least that’s what my grandson says.”

  “I’d probably look like an iguana.”

  “Some women love iguanas,” Pop chuckled.

  Rico let out a rip of laughter that had half the bar turning his way. When he managed to regain control, he said, “Pop, you slay me. You’re the best.”

  “I’m just glad to see you smile. How about I call you a cab?”

  “Nah, I can call one of my men on patrol and get them to pick me up and take me home. Don’t worry. You aren’t going to read about me in the morning paper.”

  “Good deal. Go home and get some rest.” Pop patted Rico on the shoulder just before turning to attend to the needs of another customer at the bar.

  Pop’s right. Mary Etta shouldn’t ruin my life. She don’t want me? Fuck it. I can’t let her do this to me. I can’t let her ruin my job. I’ve worked too hard to blow it all on that bitch. Rico surprised himself. He had taken the blame for everything until now. She is a bitch. A lying, cheating, good for nothing cu— He stopped himself as he had vowed never to disrespect any woman to that level. From now on, things were going to change. They had to.

  Rico’s stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten since noon. He looked at his watch and thought how a pizza sure would be good right now. It would be hard to get a pizza and not have beer with it. He didn’t need any more alcohol and decided he’d hit the next fast food joint on the way out.

  Pop was at the other end of the bar when Rico waved goodbye. Pop waved back, showing his new set of dentures. Before Rico could rise, someone shouted.

  “Look by the window. What’s that?”

  A thump against the storefront window followed. Someone looking more dead than alive mashed their face against the glass, startling some of the patrons. From the looks of the guy, it was probably safe to assume he was a member of the growing homeless crowd. He looked to be as rough as rough could get.

  Pop’s lounge played a mixture of soft jazz and blues in the background. It was one of the quieter bars in the area where people could meet and actually hold a conversation. Most everyone in the bar had their attention on the homeless man at the front window. He kept pounding on the window as if he wanted in, but was too drunk to figure out he wasn’t actually in front of the door. Not counting Pop and Rico, there were close to thirty people in all watching the strange scene. A few sat at the bar by Rico while others sat scattered about in chairs and at tables drinking and carrying on in conversation. This was, of course, before the show they watched now. Other homeless people must have been drawn to the commotion, because a few more came out of the shadows to join in the banging session outside.

  A bloated hand slapped the glass and left a trail of wet ooze.

  A woman shrieked. “Eww… Gross, what is that?”

  Louis Armstrong’s classic voice sang over the sound system:

  ‘I see trees of green, re
d roses too’

  ‘I see them bloom for me and you’

  ‘And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.’

  “What the hell? I just cleaned those windows.” Pop reached under the bar and pulled out a shiny, maple baseball bat. “Those bums are bad for business!”

  Rico held up his hand. “Let me get this, Pop. It’s probably just some high school kids pulling a prank.” Pop’s talk and the alcohol worked together to stoke Rico’s fire. He was an officer of the law, and he was about to prove to himself and others that the real Rico Cruz was back in control of his life.

  The barstool squealed across the concrete floor when he stood. Whoever this was had picked the wrong place and wrong time to try the patience of a lawman not in the mood to put up with any shit.

  “There are more out in the street. Something’s wrong with them. They seem lost,” a thin girl in a red pencil skirt said, looking out another window. She flipped her long blonde hair to the side and brought her martini to her lips while keeping her gaze toward the street.

  Rico headed for the door and watched his own reflection pass over the pawing vagrant on the other side. The shirttail of his uniform hung over his pants, and his tie was crooked. He looked a mess.

  What a slob. I’m going to change a lot of things in my life—starting tomorrow.

  Rico straightened his tie and approached the bar entrance.

  The background music grossly mismatched the scene.

  I see skies of blue and clouds of white

  The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

  And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

  When he reached the door and opened it, a man in a dark suit waited just outside. The skin on the man’s face looked like worn leather. His cheeks were sunken giving him a skeletal smile. Rico froze—stunned at the sight of the person’s face. The man in the dark suit appeared to be dead, but that just couldn’t be. That didn’t make sense. In the years he had spent on the force, he had run into his fair share of vagrants. The homeless population was always a little beat up looking. A little rough around the edges. But this man took the cake. His skin looked decayed.