Zombie Off - The Beginning Read online

  ZOMBIE OFF – The Beginning

  By Scott Lee

  Copyright 2014 Scott Lee

  Smashwords Edition

  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.

  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 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 w
as 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, guns 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 follow us, I believe all your questions will be answered.”

  One of the armed guards quickly walked forward and punched a code into a small box near the fence. Seconds later, the large gate slowly slid open as Morrow and the guards returned to their vehicles. Four of the guards remained outside of their SUV as Morrow’s and the other pulled away. Waving their hands, the guards signaled for the crowd of onlookers to follow.

  Eight vehicles and Connors motorcycle fell into line behind the Chemcorp SUVs as they headed around the outer loop of the complex. Driving past the main gate, the SUVs came to a stop on the backside of the complex where the roadway widened.

  A large chain link fence with barbed wire on top surrounded part of the complex, and that fence ran just feet from the edge of the road in this particular spot. A large grove of trees sat on the other side of the fence.

  But what garnered the most attention as the vehicles pulled up was the horde of zombies gathered at the fence in an open grassy area to the left of the trees. No less than 25 zombies stood at the fence, moaning in anticipation as the various groups exited their vehicles, their hands gripping and shaking the fence as they tried to reach the living.

  Climbing from his vehicle, Morrow walked towards the zombies and stopped about five feet in front of them, the smile never leaving his face. His close proximity to the undead only fueled their desire for flesh, exciting them further.

  “Please. Gather round. There’s enough room for all of you. I want everyone to have a good view of my presentation.”

  Slowly, his confused guests moved to join him, their eyes darting around as they cautiously stood before the undead horde. Connor, meanwhile, calmly walked up and stood with the others, watching intently.

  Once everyone was present, Morrow turned sideways and swept his hand in the direction of the zombies.

  “The undead,” he exclaimed in a dramatic voice. “The new top of the food chain.”

  He paused for dramatic effect as he turned back to the crowd.

  “We, the living, are the minority. The hunted. The prey,” he exclaimed loudly, stirring the nearby zombies into a near frenzy.

  Again he paused, looking across the gathered ranks of survivors, his face grim and somber.

  “But it doesn’t have to be that way,” he said, his facial expression turning to one of determination.

  “We no longer need to run. We no longer need to hide,” he said, the smile returning to his face.

  “We are no longer prey!” he said dramatically.

  Turning to the fence, he placed his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly, the zombies violently shaking the fence in response.

  The gathered guests were now looking at each other with a mixture of confusion, concern, and apprehension. All except for Connor. Slowly he moved forward, a look of curiosity hidden behind his sunglasses.

  As the onlookers stood transfixed, they watched in amazement as two men emerged from the tree line behind the zombies. Gasps could be heard throughout the crowd as the figures moved into the open, for both men wore nothing more than a pair of shorts and boots. What was even more shocking was that neither man was armed. No guns. No machetes. Not even so much as a pocketknife.

  One of the onlookers spoke up.

  “What the hell, Morrow? Did you call us here to witness a massacre?” he yelled.

  Morrow turned back to the startled onlookers, his grin even wider.

  “Watch,” he said with a smug look on his face.

  Slowly, the two men walked forward. Calmly, methodically, they headed towards the fence. There was no fear in their eyes. No worry on their faces. It was as if they were on a simple walk in the park before the apocalypse hit.

  But what really got everyone’s attention was that the zombies never turned around. Sure, the men were being quiet in their approach, but everyone present knew that one of the undead’s primary sources of detecting the living was smell. They should have smelled them long before now, especially since they were upwind.

  The two men were now no more than 20 feet from the fence, yet the zombies continued to ignore them. It was as if the men didn’t exist.

  The two men continued forward, now only 10 feet away. Connor removed his sunglasses as he watched in amazement. Others around him stood transfixed, their jaws open in shock and bewilderment.

  Suddenly, the men stopped, as if waiting for permission to step forward. That is when Morrow spoke, his voice booming over the moans of the dead.

  “Behold! I give you ZOMBIE OFF!”

  With that the two men walked forward the final ten feet, taking their place among the zombies at the fence, their hands gripping the metal as the horrifying abominations next to them continued to focus on the stunned observers, ignoring the living flesh next to them.

  There they stood, two living men, elbow to elbow with the undead. They not only weren’t being torn apart, they weren’t even seen. Not one person watching could believe what they were seeing, not even Connor. As if to drive home the shock value, the men actually moved from spot to spot on the fence, at times forcing their way between zombies to stand between them.

  The astonished crowd stood, transfixed, as Morrow smiled in triumph.

  “Oh, one more thing,” he said as he walked over to a nearby guard.

  Taking two large knives from his soldier, he tossed the blades high over the fence, the knives landing silently in the grass behind the zombies. The two men slowly walked from the ranks of the undead, each retrieving a knife. Walking back to the fence, the two men split up, each heading to the far edge of the zombie line.

  Connor’s eyes widened as he witnessed what happened next.

  As each man reached the end zombie, they walked up behind it, thrusting the knife deep into the back of the skull, dropping the creature instantly. Systematically the two men walked down the line, killing each and every zombie at the fence, totally invisible to the ones still standing. When all was said and done, every zombie in the horde lay dead at the fence, leaving the two nearly naked men standing alone in front of the speechless spectators.

  Turning his attention to the crowd, Morrow spoke two simple words.

  “Any questions?”

  Suddenly the group of onlookers erupted, everyone speaking at once. Everyone, that is, except Connor. Standing calmly in the back, he watched as the others fawned over Morrow and his new product.

  Connor had no doubts as to the product’s validity. He witnessed it with his own eyes. What he wasn’t convinced of was the ultimate motive of the man who created it. Connor was a good judge of people, and something about Abe Morrow didn’t sit well with him. And one thing was certain . . . he didn’t trust him.

  Flanked by his guards,
Morrow headed back to his SUV with the crowd following close behind. As they gathered around the vehicle, Morrow opened the back and pulled out a neon green spray can, about the size of your average can of tick repellent or hair spray. Turning around, he held it out in front of him for all to see. Printed on the can, in large, red letters, were the words ZOMBIE OFF.

  “This, my friends, is ZOMBIE OFF. The product that will level the playing field against the undead. Simply spray it on and the zombies won’t even notice you.”

  “How does it work?” yelled one man from the back.

  “In a nutshell, it blocks the human scent. The details are a bit complicated, but suffice it to say, when you’re wearing it, the zombies simply can’t detect you.”

  “So you’re saying we can just walk among them, worry free?” asked another.

  “Well, there are a few rules you have to abide by,” replied Morrow. “One, it has to be applied directly to the skin, it can’t be applied to clothes. Also, you need to leave the skin exposed. Covering it up minimizes its effectiveness. Two, you can’t get wet. It’s not waterproof, so getting wet will wash it off and leave you exposed. Three, don’t sweat. If you sweat too much, it will disrupt the formula and leave you exposed. Finally, it only hides you from the zombie’s primary means of detecting us, which is smell. If you make noise or move quickly, they will find you, and they will eat you. So never, ever run.”

  There was muttering among the group as they digested the information Morrow just revealed.

  “So, as long as we follow those rules, we’ll be safe?” asked one of the women in the crowd.

  “Guaranteed,” said Morrow, smiling.

  “How long do the effects last?” asked another.