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ZOMBIE OFF – The Beginning

  By Scott Lee

  Copyright 2014 Scott Lee

  Introduction

  This is the prequel to the ZOMBIE OFF series. Reading it will give you background and insight into the ZOMBIE OFF story line.

  It’s been a year since the initial outbreak of the zombie apocalypse, and for the survivors in the suburbs of Philadelphia, everything is about to change. When a mysterious man shows up at the gate of their safe zone, proclaiming to have “a product of vital interest and importance,” more than a few residents wanted answers, including Connor. Venturing to the nearby Chemcorp facility, survivors throughout the region gather and are introduced to a chemist named Abe Morrow . . . and to a product that would change everything.

  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 Scott Lee;

  ZOMBIE OFF

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost I want to thank my best friend on this planet, Doug Ward, without whom I would likely have never written this book. If not for his constant pushing for me to pen my ideas, I’d likely still be sitting with just a few notes in a leather journal. I’d also like to thank Michael Fallen, Luke Whiteman, Maliki Zbikowski and Cassie Finnegan, the great students of Springdale High School who graciously posed for the cover of this novelette. Great job!

  Finally, I’d like to thank my many friends and family for the wonderful support they gave me through the months of writing. Your words of encouragement did not fall on deaf ears. Last, but certainly not least, thanks to my wife Chris for supporting me through this adventure and listening to my endless talk about preparing for the upcoming zombie apocalypse.

  ZOMBIE OFF - The Beginning

  Connor sat on the couch and scritched the ears of the big gray tabby on his lap, the cat purring happily in response.

  “Come on, Monty. I gotta go. You have to let me up sooner or later.”

  The cat just squinted its eyes and smiled, refusing to budge.

  “OK. Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.”

  Raising his body, the cat defied gravity and managed to stay on his lap until he was nearly vertical before finally jumping to the floor.

  “Sorry buddy. But I need to get going. I have to meet with the Chemcorp guys, and I don’t want to be late.

  Moving to the kitchen table, Connor grabbed his katana and slung it across his back before picking up the belt pouch he had sitting next to it. Opening the pouch, he inspected the contents, double checking to make sure it was all there. Satisfied, he attached the pouch to his belt and headed for the door.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours, Monty,” he yelled.

  But the cat was now lying on the floor, having captured a particularly nice patch of sunlight, and showed no interest in what his person was doing as it washed its face.

  As Connor emerged from the stairwell and walked into the lobby, two old men at a reversible game table looked up, their expressions unchanged as they saw his attire. He was dressed in Kevlar jeans and a yellow and black mesh motorcycle jacket, with black motorcycle boots and black leather gloves completing the ensemble. Heading to the corner of the lobby, he grabbed his mountain bike and headed for the door.

  “Got another run, Seeker?” one of the old men asked.

  “Not today, old timer. Just have a meeting.”

  The old man just nodded and turned back to his chess game, studying the board intently.

  Wheeling the bike outside, he jumped on and pedaled his way to the front gate. As he approached, two armed guards turned to greet him.

  Handing him a clipboard, he signed his name and checked his watch before writing down the time.

  Handing the clipboard back, the guard gave a signal and the bus fired up its engine.

  “Good luck,” was all the guard said as he stepped aside.

  Nodding, Connor watched as the bus backed up to give him room to pass. The gate was actually a school bus with steel plates welded to it that was now used as the main gate.

  Pedaling through, he turned and headed for the Schuylkill River Trail that bordered the complex. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as the bus moved back into position, once again sealing off the apartment complex from the outside world. On the walls he could see more armed guards, positioned at regular intervals, watching him move away. Turning his attention back to his task, he pedaled to the path and headed west toward the Chemcorp plant. As Connor rode along the path, he reflected on the events that set him on his current course of action.

  It was a warm spring day when a representative from the Chemcorp facility near Collegeville, PA had shown up at their gate, proclaiming that he had “a product of vital interest and importance” to the inhabitants of the safe zone.

  He stated that anyone interested in a demonstration should be at the Chemcorp south gate at noon, three days later. He also said not to be late. With that he simply turned and left, leaving everyone who heard him perplexed and more than curious.

  Word quickly spread about the mysterious visit, with most of the inhabitants viewing it as some sort of trick or trap. But Connor had been there when the messenger had arrived, and something about the way he presented himself left little doubt in his mind that there was substance to his claim. Connor had good instincts, and his gut told him he should go and see what this mystery product was.

  Most of the people in the safe zone complex wanted nothing to do with the whole situation, but a handful, like Connor, wanted answers. So three days after the mysterious visit, a small group of people from the complex climbed into a pickup truck and headed for Chemcorp. Connor, riding on his motorcycle, joined them.

  The trip to the plant had been relatively uneventful, with the usual small groups of zombies and the occasional horde causing some minor delays. The men were armed and prepared for these encounters, and easily dispatched or avoided the undead as they made their way to the Chemcorp facility.

  Arriving at the south gate at 11:45, they were surprised to see a host of other vehicles already parked at the gate, with others arriving as they pulled up. Clearly, a representative from Chemcorp had visited the other safe zones in the area, passing along the same message. None of the groups were interacting with each other, which was not surprising, choosing instead to talk among themselves as they pondered the situation. Pulling into an open spot, Connor and the other men sat and waited, watching the gate as the minutes ticked by.

  As they waited, Connor looked upon the other groups. As his gazed scanned the crowd, it was easy to tell which groups were facing the greatest hardship in this post-apocalyptic world. To his far left was a group of five men, all clad in biker leathers, standing around a beat up, full sized Ford pickup. Their clothes were dirty and their faces rough and weathered. As they talked, their eyes darted about as they watched and waited. Next to that group was a Hummer H2, complete with a ram bar on the front. Five clean-shaven men stood around the shiny vehicle, casually discussing the reason they were there. The area near the gate was packed with survivors, and each group’s appearance told a different story. Most weren’t good.

  At precisely 12:00, three large white SUVs with tinted windows approached from the distance, stopping at the gate in front of them. From out of the middle vehicle stepped a well dressed man, about 40 years old, wearing a very expensive looking business suit. As he moved toward the gate, the remaining doors of the SUVs opened and eleven heavily armed men exited and moved to the front of the vehicles, gun
s at the ready.

  “Gentlemen, and ladies. Thank you for coming,” he said, a broad smile crossing his face as he spread his arms wide in welcome.

  “My name is Abe Morrow, and I have no doubt you are extremely curious as to the meaning behind my message.”

  The men and women of the gathered groups nodded in agreement, some voicing their interest out loud.

  “I can tell you that your trip here to my facility will be well worth your time, and that your lives from this point forward will be forever changed.”

  Connor watched the man closely, showing no reaction to his politician like speech. Listening carefully to his choice of words, he couldn’t help but notice he used the words “my facility” in describing the Chemcorp complex. Connor’s brow furrowed as he listened on.

  “Now, if you’d be so kind as to