Predator; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse Part 4

Predator

The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse Part 4

By Doug Ward Edited by J.D. Reed

Copyright 2016 Doug Ward

Smashwords Edition

Introduction

This is the fourth book in The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse series. Although you could certainly read this as a stand-alone novel, it would be much better if you read them in order. I refer back to the first book often. The book Saving Jebediah is not a necessary read for this series. I wrote it as fan fiction for a wonderful author, Mark Tufo. I do tie it in throughout this series, but it isn’t a major component.

Many people tried to understand what made the dead walk, but it seemed few had any true science behind their unfounded theories. The radio was full of these people extolling one supposed scientific cause after another. Radiation from outer space, pollutants, cell phones, every possible influence was thoroughly explored, but no one looked at evolution.

I don’t mean our natural progression. Our life span is too long for us to observe it in living humans. Although we understand human evolution from the fossil records, the easiest way to see it is through bacteria. Their short lifespan allows a clear view of how evolution would lead to our modern world’s destruction. It would crush our cities and render most technology useless.

This is the story of how it happened; how I witnessed and uncovered the true cause of the zombie apocalypse.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your 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 Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Other Fine Books by Doug Ward;

Ward's Laws

Ward's Laws Part 2

Ward's Laws Part 3

Ward's Laws Part 4

Saving Jebediah; Another True Story from the Zombie Apocalypse

Parasite; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse Part 2

Creator; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse Part 3

Predator; The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse Part 4

Lich

Horde

Demons

Shadows

Just One Last Dungeon

Acknowledgements

Thank you to all of my friends and family who stood behind me and pushed me forward. You guys are the best. Special thanks to Scott Lee for helping me work things out. I would like to give a very big, special thanks to J.D. Reed for his wonderful editing work. I can't forget my wife, April, who put up with my zombie rambling.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 1

The Border of Alaska and British Columbia

Flurries tumbled through the air, making the distant scenery look hazy and dull. The layers of fine snow falling robbed the distant landscape of color. Two bundled figures silently stalked up to the grocery store and stealthily slipped inside.

Working in well-practiced tandem, they secured the dimly illuminated front portion of the supermarket. Twin flashlight beams probed the darkness, which permeated the deeper recesses of the store’s interior. Scanning their surroundings every step of the way, the two proceeded down the leftmost aisle.

They both sniffed the stale, frigid air. Through experience, the men knew they should be able to smell the presence of the undead, but the stench of rotting food was so overwhelming that it masked all other odors.

I still think making noise at the front will draw them out, the younger one whispered over his shoulder.

Shhh... the other cut him off, heart racing even faster after the unexpected noise of his friend’s voice.

The sound of cans bouncing off the terrazzo floor drew both men’s attention to the next aisle. Their lights move in rapid jerks as their anxiety was heightened. One man turned to watch their rear as they proceed down to the aisle.

About ten steps from the end of the row, a shambling zombie revealed itself. Cornering a little too tightly, it knocked a container of cat litter onto the floor. As its cold, dead eyes locked onto the two tasty morsels, the creature’s pace increased, betraying its excitement. Two shuffling strides and a gunshot later, the zombie dropped to the ground, its unnatural life over.

The men, undeterred, proceeded through the store. Searching for anything edible, the two were quickly disappointed. Even the pet food has been removed from the store’s shelves long ago.

Looks like it’s C rations again, the younger one said in a mock cheer.

Crap! the older one exclaimed. All I have left are lima beans and ham. Do you want to trade?

Chapter 2

Amber

Puffy white flakes of snow blew toward and across the windshield as we drove down the highway. It was still only October, and yet the Alaskan landscape was blanketed in white. This far north, the first snow had arrived early and stayed, not melting away like it usually did in Pennsylvania.

So much for global warming, joked Scott over the CB.

You’re lucky I’m not Hank, I warned. I’d said it as an unconscious reaction to Scott’s comment. It was too soon. We were all still mourning the loss of Hank and Dean, and I immediately regretted saying it. I’m sorry, Scott.

It’s ok, he answered. I could use one of his long speeches about now.

He was trying to sound unaffected, but I heard the sorrow in his voice. The loss of Dean and Henry hit the three of us really hard. They always seemed in control. With both of them around, I actually felt like we were going to beat this thing. Maybe we couldn’t cure the undead, but I was sure we were going to defeat the parasite. We were going to reclaim this world for the living.

Now we were just trying to survive. We’d gone north, to Alaska, in an attempt to find a permanent home. By going to Alaska, we were looking for a place where the undead couldn’t exist.

The snow began to taper off somewhat, so Scott increased the speed of our little convoy. We had been traveling in the two vehicles for weeks now, gauging how fast we could go by factors like the weather and our visibility. Being able to avoid obstacles was one of our main concerns.

It was the third day out from the Ramerez home when we decided to install the CBs. Sure, I had Squeak with me, but Scott had been traveling alone. We felt it was best if we could communicate.

A local RadioShack readily gave way to our needs. Before the apocalypse, I’d never set foot in one of those stores, preferring larger electronic stores to provide computers and other technology-related items, but the more time I spent with the boys, the more I liked RadioShack. They had everything in those little stores; even more than their larger competitors.

Within an hour of raiding an undisturbed RadioShack, Scott had our two CBs installed and running. They were so fun and simple to use that even Squeak was chattering away without any practice.

One of our young companion’s jobs was to scan the channels every so often, listening for other survivors. That’s how we found Ned and Kim. We had been traveling north in Illinois when we picked up their call.

It seems Ned was holed up in his mom’s basement when the whole zombie thing went down. He was one of those guys who never moved out of his parents’ home. Having converted the downstairs into his computer headquarters, doing some small time hacking while hosting websites on an array of servers, he’d pieced together from stuff a local business had discarded.

When the first reports of infected people hit the internet, Ned knew exactly what was going on. He quickly gathered supplies and barricaded himself in. About a week before we found him, he ran into Kim.

She was a former hairdresser who had become trapped at work. Kim had survived off of the internet business she’d been running in an empty apartment above her salon. She distributed gift baskets through various websites. Many of the gift baskets had smoked meats, crackers, and cheeses. She even had a few hundred dozen cookies at the beginning, but as she admitted, they were the first to go.

Kim was one of those hard types of women. Her heavy build made her feel tough, but she was all talk. I’d known her type; feigning strength, but having no real muscle. I doubted she’d ever worked out in her life.

Her short blond hair, tucked behind her right ear, brushed the top of her embroidered sweatshirt. She kept her distance from Squeak and me, preferring the company of the men. After getting some whispered words from Kim, Ned gave us occasional skeptical glances.

I felt she was like cancer in our midst, undermining the bond that Scott, Squeak and I had forged. Scott didn’t say much on the matter. In his eyes, they were survivors, and we had a duty.

I was going to be really happy when we could part ways with the two of them. I just had this nagging feeling that we shouldn’t wait too long to send them away.

The late October weather was cold, but the real winter had not yet set in. I knew our vehicles were going to need some type of modifications to be able to endure the subzero weather to come. Scott changed both vehicles’ oil to 5W-30 and said he’d change it over to a special arctic oil when we had the time. The thinner motor oil, as well as new anti-freeze and arctic-weight transmission fluid, was going to help, but he also said we’d probably need an engine heater to keep the oil pan, engine block, and battery from being harmed by the cold.

We even kept an extra battery for each vehicle, making sure that they were all as new as possible so we would have ample cranking volts. This was all premature since the weather hadn’t become that cold yet, but Scott was always one to be prepared.

Ya know? Scott’s inquiry over the CB snapped me out of my train of thought. Almost every day, Zs are the main topic of conversation, right?

Roger, I responded.

I told you before, my name’s Scott.

You’re like my dad, I informed him.

Rugged and handsome?

No. Just the same old jokes, I corrected him. Over and over and over.

Very funny, he said over the CB. I was just noticing something strange. Where are all the zombies?

I paused for a moment. He was right. We hadn’t seen a ghoul in the last few hours. Scanning the snow-blanketed horizon, I couldn’t see one anywhere. Now that I think of it, the number of undead we’d been encountering had been on the decline lately.

I wonder if it’s the cold, Scott added, filling in the awkward silence I had created while lapsing back into my thoughts.

Could be, I agreed. Or maybe it’s the lack of a densely populated area. There might have been fewer people here, so when the outbreak occurred, maybe they just weren’t as affected.

I tapped Squeak on the arm, waking her from the travel-induced trance. Driving along these barren roads was hypnotic. The mountainous scenery was beautiful to me, but to a child, it would lull a young person into their own little world.

Squeak spun toward me, startled. It’s Ok, I soothed. She must have been having a nightmare. Look at the map and see if there are any cities around.

She stared out the window, waiting for a landmark to go by. I smiled as she took to meticulously studying the roadside for any clue as to where we were.

About a half-mile back there was a sign for some place called Chickamonga or something like that, I hinted.

Placing her index finger on the map, she traced a path along the Alaska Highway from our last position toward Anchorage. Chickaloon? she asked without looking up.

That’s it! Chickaloon. Is it a big city?

It’s really small, she answered.

Is there anything bigger around here?

Ummm, she trailed off, humming. Sutton looks bigger. Anchorage is the biggest, but it’s still pretty far away.

Keying the CB’s microphone, I called for Scott. There aren’t any major population sites around here. Just another podunk town called Chickaloon, Scott.

Roger, he said.

I thought you said you were Scott, I joked.

I thought that was an old joke?

It’s funnier when I say it.

We approached another road sign for the small town. It said, ‘Chickaloon five miles ahead’.

Should we check it out? asked Scott.

Do you need gas? I inquired.

I’m still good, he answered, followed by static.

Let’s go to the next town, I said, looking at the patch of road near where Squeak’s finger indicated on the map. It’s a place called Sutton.

Ok, Scott confirmed, clearly avoiding using the term roger.

I’m going to have Squeak do a radio check on the other channels now, so if you need us, flash your lights or something, I said, half informing him and half baiting him to ‘roger’ that last statement.

Sounds good, he responded. Didn’t get me!

Crap! I said, smacking the palm of my hand against the steering wheel. I thought I could get him!

The girl beside me snatched the microphone out of my hand. Changing to the next channel, she called out for a radio check. Hearing nothing but static for a few moments, she moved one more channel up and repeated her transmission.

I don’t think anyone’s out there, I mumbled, looking at how cute Squeak looked with her short hair. It had grown out a bit and was now a short mass of springy curls.

This is Big Mama looking for a radio check, she said into the mic.

Big Mama? I asked, looking at her with one eyebrow raised.

If Ned can be King Cobra, then I can be Big Mama!

I had to agree with her there. Ned didn’t instill visions of killer vipers. He looked more like a puppy dog.

Ned did have certain skills. The first time he saw our van, he started laughing. He called it the Mystery Machine. That night, he printed a bunch of long, vinyl decals, and in the morning, we saw his joke. The van looked like the Mystery Machine that Scooby-Doo and his friends drove around in.

Scott opposed the addition of the stickers, but was quickly overruled by Squeak and me. Ned called the vinyl decals auto wrap. He said he bought the large Roland printer on Craigslist and used it to make extra money. Since he worked out of his home, his overhead was low, so he could undercut all the local printers by keeping his prices minimal.

I thought we looked pretty badass sporting the decal, but every time Scott saw it, he just shook his head and looked at his feet. I thought it would grow on him. It didn’t.

I was about to ask for the mic when a voice sounded from among the static.

We read you, Big Mama.

Squeak looked at me, eyes wide. At first, she did nothing, but slowly she lifted the mic to her mouth.

Big Mama, are you still there? the voice asked.

Roger, she answered. Who are you?

Corporal Donner, he replied. We are the United States Marine Corps.

Great! I spat. Here we go again!

Chapter 3

Weeks Ago

The Stone Lab facility on Gibraltar Island shuddered as another collapse brought down the rest of Fleming’s laboratory. The old castle had been smoldering for the better part of two weeks. Charred wood sprouted flames, as buried embers found enough oxygen to produce a flame once again.

Two of Fleming’s experiments remained in their glass enclosures. One lay on its table, pinned down by some debris that had fallen during the initial collapse. On the table, beside the destroyed creature, was its companion. Cold, gray flesh mingled with steel and computers, creating an undead cyborg.

Electric leads, which earlier connected the slumbering monster to the now-destroyed solar array, lay on the floor, detached. The Predator experiment, as Fleming had called it, had been a success. The doctor had created two zombies that could be controlled. Separating the creature’s frontal lobe, the mad professor had cut the parasite off from the control centers of the brain. This gave the Predator the ability to remain reanimated, but the computer drove the being’s movements and motivations.

Dr. Fleming created the ultimate soldier. Steel-encased helmet shielding both the computer components, as well as the parasite. This cyborg was his masterstroke. Sadly, he had to use the last of his guards in order to complete the mechanized undead. There would be no witness to his genius, but then, even Fleming was gone now.

The twisted doctor met his end at the hands of his own creations. Thousands of the living dead tore apart the cottage he’d been hiding in. They were creatures drawn by the infrasound device; zombies that he created. Dr. Spaulding Fleming was hired to end the world, and he went to his grave, believing he had done just that.

There was a soft click, and immediately the round, goggle-like eyepieces began to glow lime green. The cyborg that had moments before been in hibernation rose to a sitting position on the stainless steel experiment table.

The cyborg’s head swiveled left, then right, before it shifted off the table and onto the floor. Heavy, steel-toed boots clunked loudly on the soot-covered tiles, crushing black coals underfoot. The metal-infused monster stood completely still.

Inside the helmet, readouts reflected off dead, white eyes. Commands fed through a network of wires issued instructions based on protocols set by its now-dead creator. The inboard computer ran diagnostics on itself, as well as the robotic exoskeleton that covered most of the cyborg’s cold body.

The scan complete, the creature began to maneuver toward the door. Debris from the collapsed ceiling presented hazards to the cyborg, but its computerized brain plotted a path to the room’s exit. A large hole in the floor at the back of the main laboratory was skirted and, after it climbed over piles of stone, some experiment tables, and charred wooden beams, the mechanical zombie gained the door and proceeded down the hall.

The passage was strangled with more wreckage. Stones and beams cause the abomination to traverse small, rugged heaps, while the tight space forced its dead human skin to press against the slight, rekindled flames. The cyborg’s skin sizzled as its unfeeling limbs brushed glowing coals in its quest to escape.

Eventually, the monster navigated its way outside. Blackened in areas, the scarred creature emerged into the bright sunlight of a new day. Head swiveling, it took in its surroundings.

The sound of a motor drew the helmet-clad undead’s eyes to the docks. Two figures aboard a medium-sized boat were