Elixr Plague (Episode 3): Pandemic Read online

  Elixr Plague: Episode 3: Pandemic

  A Zombie Apocalypse Serial

  Marcus Richardson

  Copyright © 2019 by Marcus Richardson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Books by Marcus Richardson

  PANDEMIC

  Author’s Note

  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

  To Be Continued…

  What’s Next?

  Author Contact

  About the Author

  Books by Marcus Richardson

  Books by Marcus Richardson

  THE ELIXR PLAGUE

  Episode 1: Vector

  Episode 2: Infection

  Episode 3: Pandemic

  Episode 4: Apocalypse

  OTHER SERIES

  The Future History of America

  The Wildfire Saga

  Solar Storm

  Elixr Plague: A Zombie Apocalypse Serial

  For my complete catalog, please see:

  marcusrichardsonauthor.com

  PANDEMIC

  The Elixr Plague: Episode 3

  Author’s Note

  THIS IS A SERIALIZED STORY

  I’ll say that again: this is a serialized story. I mean, I certainly hope the shit I write about isn’t real.

  What is real is the choice I made on how to publish the story. This tale of the zombie apocalypse will be ongoing and there’s so much taking place that I didn’t want to try and cram it all into a single book, or even a series of books.

  From the first inkling of an idea that formed in my head, Elixr Plague felt better handled with a broad cast of characters in bite-sized installments.

  I realize this isn’t going to make everyone happy. Those of you who enjoy reading on phones and smaller devices may appreciate being able to finish an episode in one sitting rather than trying to hunt down the bigger device or e-reader and pick up where you left off when you were standing in line at the grocery store. If so, great! This story is for you.

  If you don’t like the serialized format, I may, depending on what feedback I receive, compile the episodes when they reach a certain to-be-ascertained critical mass into books with several episodes, or one big box set. That’s a decision for later.

  For now, I want to focus on the story. And the fastest way to get that story to you is break it up into smaller pieces and publish more frequently. This story is in Kindle Unlimited, so unless you actually buy a copy, I make the same amount of money whether it’s broken up or in one big book.

  When you’re knee deep in the zompoc boogaloo, speed is life.

  To that end, I plan to release the episodes of Elixr Plague every few weeks, to give me time to edit to something approaching professional standards. I’d love to just write an episode and fling it out into the wild, but y’all would take one look at all the typos and walk away. Fast.

  So I’m going to temper my need for speed with a good dose of editorial stoicism and see if I can’t maintain a decent release schedule right from the get go. Hey, if I find it too easy, I reserve the right to speed up.

  Right. Enough shop talk, let’s get to that boogaloo…

  1

  Ward

  St. Charles, Illinois

  At the top of the hill, Seneca Roberts paused to catch his breath. He was only a block from Ward’s house, but the pack on his back weighed about 20 pounds. Seneca grunted. He wasn’t a recruit fresh out of boot anymore, and his days of rucking it through the mud were long behind him, but a sudden burst of gunfire from down the street made him scramble for cover behind a big oak tree like a newly minted lieutenant.

  He recognized the rat-tat-tat of an M4 variant, which had to be Ward, but the responding flurry of small arms fire didn’t make sense. He’d assumed Ward would be shooting the monsters, not engaging an enemy force. Unless the...whatever the hell they were...could fire weapons?

  Seneca made his way cautiously down the street—whoever was shooting, they weren’t aiming in his direction. He supposed he had that going for him, at least.

  When he reached the corner, he saw Ward’s place, two houses down and surrounded by a dozen men in the street. The besieging attackers hid behind abandoned, shot up cars. Seneca crouched low, using a decorative shrub as concealment, and pulled out his phone. He wasn’t going any further without some more intel.

  “Yeah?” Ward answered. “Kinda busy right now, boss…”

  “What’s all this then?” Seneca asked, activating an ear bud. He put the phone away and checked the magazine in his pistol. He had two spares left. He hadn’t expected to be caught in a proper shootout in downtown Saint Charles, or he’d have brought his formal gun, a tricked out MP5.

  “I got an issue with the locals,” Ward replied. “They think I have a cure, or stockpiled food, or some shit...”

  “But you do have stockpiled food,” Seneca replied. “I shipped $10,000 worth to you just a week ago.”

  “I know that, but they don’t,” Ward laughed.

  “We know you got food in there!” one of the men in the street yelled, then fired a shot at Ward’s front door.

  “Yeah, I saw all those deliveries! Give it up and we’ll leave you alone!”

  “Sounds like they do know,” Seneca replied, peering through the bush and trying to see without being seen.

  “You shoulda stocked up while you had the chance, bro!” Ward yelled.

  “Not our problem!” one of the guys behind a truck said.

  Ward laughed. “I think it is—you got nothing!”

  “Fuck you!” the guy screamed back and fired two more rounds.

  “The stores around here all been empty and closed for two days,” another voice said. “My kids are starving, man—I just need a little! I’m not with these—”

  “Get off my property!” Ward replied and fired a shot that kicked up a chunk of asphalt next to the speaker. “First you give a little,” Ward said to Seneca, “then they want more and then they bring friends…it’s a shitty situation all around, but you gotta toe the line and look out for yourself first, am I right?”

  “We don’t have time for this bullshit,” Seneca said through clenched teeth. “We’re on the edge of the fucking apocalypse and we got the biggest job of our lives waiting for us.”

  “Oh yeah?” Ward asked conversationally, before firing a shot out a broken window. The side-view mirror on a car exploded in sparks. Everyone in the street dropped for cover again. “What’s up?” Ward asked as if it were a normal weekend. “Gimme the deets, yo.”

  Seneca shook his head as he watched two of the men in the street crawl together and whisper a new strategy, complete with crude hand signs to the others. “They’re going to try an end run around your place,” Seneca warned.

  Ward laughed. “Let ‘em.”

  Movement down the street caught Seneca’s eye and his blood ran cold. “Ward…” he warned, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yeah?” Ward replied, firing another shot. It was weird to hear it on the earbud and out on the street at the same time.

  Seneca ignored the men in the street. His eyes watched a group of…his mind c
ouldn’t find another word so he latched onto the only one that made sense: zombies. “They’re attracted to the noise…” he muttered to himself.

  “I know, man…fuckers been showing up all day!” Ward replied over the renewed gunfire.

  “No, not these idiots,” Seneca said, still not paying attention to anything other than the approaching monsters. “I’m talking about those undead fuckers walking down the street.”

  “Dammit…I hate those guys…”

  “Wait, what?”

  Ward laughed. “You gotta go for the head with them…tough bastards. Like they don’t feel pain or something, right?”

  “You…you know?” asked Seneca.

  “Yeah, since one broke into my house last night. Why do you think no one’s flanked my ass yet? My backyard’s got three of ‘em locked behind the fence…bleeding all over the place but not dropping. I forgot and left the gate open last night and the stupid bastards just walked in and couldn’t figure out how to get out.” Ward laughed again. “Shoulda seen it, man, funny shit! Anyway, five or six local guys went down earlier, their bodies are still back there…or what’s left of ‘em. The zekes are hungry…” Ward laughed.

  “Zekes?”

  “Yeah,” Ward said easily enough, firing off two more shots. “I just can’t bring myself to call ‘em zombies. I dunno…’zeke’ fits, you know?”

  Seneca rubbed his face. “Jesus.” He thought about warning the locals in the street, but it was too late. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway—they wouldn’t have heard him over the gunfire.

  “Boss, you better get in here with me, it ain’t safe out there on the street. I seen at least three people take it up the ass because one of those freaks snuck up behind ‘em. They’re like undead ninjas or something. Only takes a good bite on the back of the neck to drop a man, you know?”

  Seneca whirled on his heels and swung his pistol to cover the area behind him. The street was packed with cars, but for the most part looked empty. He turned back to the altercation in front of Ward’s house and held his breath.

  The first of the zombies had reached the men in the street. With a scream, the guy who’d wanted food for his kids went down on his knees, a zombie on his back clawing at his neck. The others turned and yelled, but only two started shooting. That seemed only to piss off the monsters.

  They left the unfortunate father in a pool of his own blood, twitching and bleeding out, and raced toward the men shooting. Seneca watched, unable to look away.

  The zombies who’d fed had strength and speed above the ones who just shuffled along, still hunting. It was like they had an adrenaline rush after eating. Seneca filed that away as something important.

  One of the braver men in the street went down firing both his pistols, shell casings flying everywhere as he pumped the monsters full of lead—but it didn’t matter. He disappeared under the onslaught and after two more muffled pops, they moved on to the next man.

  The rest of the locals broke and fled, running for their lives. The zombies who’d fed—their faces, hands, and clothes red with fresh blood—gave chase.

  “There’s a gap at your nine o’clock. You need to scoot through and slip into my backyard. I’ll get the side door open for you,” Ward advised.

  “How the hell did you see me?”

  “For starters, you’re standing there like a rook with your cock-socket open…”

  Seneca looked down and realized he’d stood up while watching the carnage in the street. “But you said there’s three of those things in your backyard,” Seneca said, still watching the one-sided battle disintegrate in the street not twenty yards in front of him. God, the sound of snapping bones and flesh tearing like sandpaper…Seneca’s stomach turned to liquid.

  “Go, go, go!” Ward yelled. He fired a burst out what was left of the front door and the zombies—as one—turned to look.

  Seneca jumped to his feet and sprinted behind the last of the monsters. Only two turned at his passing. They groaned and shifted direction, locking onto a new target. The rest, focused on Ward’s distraction, ignored his desperate run.

  Three more steps and Seneca cleared the curb and pounded across Ward’s side yard. Ahead of him, a shrub blocked the chain-link fence that wrapped Ward’s back yard. He grabbed the fence with his right hand and jumped mid-stride, twisting his torso and vaulting the chain link barrier as smooth as silk.

  Mid-air, he was able to survey the small yard and located all three zombies: two were near the house and one was about ten feet away. As soon as he hit the ground, he’d break right and move straight to the side door. He turned his head and saw the door open and could feel safety just a few steps away as his feet headed toward the ground.

  Until his unwieldy pack snagged on the fence.

  Seneca’s forward momentum stopped with a spine-jarring lurch and he slammed back into the fence, then collapsed to the ground at an awkward angle when one of the shoulder straps parted. Half-supported by his torqued, angrily protesting knees, and half-pinned to the fence by his right shoulder, he struggled against the twisted strap that kept the pack on the other side of the fence.

  “God damn it!” he grunted.

  Moaning from behind him warned Seneca that the monsters in the street who’d seen his botched run for freedom were closing fast. He was trapped between the freaks in the back yard and the ones in the side yard. The door to Ward’s house was only feet away.

  “Fuck!” he grunted, switching his pistol to his left hand. His right arm was entangled in the pack strap, so he’d have to defend himself with his off hand.

  The closest zombie went down with a gurgling sigh after he put a round through its forehead. The gunshot sounded like thunder in his ears. Seneca shifted to the next closest threat. The creature stopped to look at its comrade, laying face down in the grass, soaking the ground with unnaturally dark blood. Those red, bleeding eyes turned on Seneca and narrowed just a bit, but it didn’t move. It just stood there, swaying a little, watching him.

  What the hell are you waiting for?

  Something heavy hit his pack, and the fence shuddered and swayed under the impact, throwing his aim off. He fired, but the round tore up a chunk of grass at the foot of the next closest fiend. Still it waited, watching.

  One of the things clawed at his head, growling and snapping its teeth like a rabid dog as it tried to reach his flesh, but the pack was in the way. He turned his head side to side, trying to find the damn thing and get a clear shot, but it stayed just out of his vision.

  “Ward!” he yelled. “A little help!”

  As his heart rate sped up, and the adrenaline kicked in, a gunshot, loud as a cannon, shattered his concentration. Seneca looked back and saw the zombie that had been watching him topple to the ground just a few feet away, its arms outstretched and grasping.

  Ward stood in the doorway to his house, his M4 pointed toward Seneca. “Danger close, boss!”

  “No, wait—” Seneca said, trying to raise his tangled arm.

  The rifle barked again and Seneca saw a flash of light, then there was the sound of a melon exploding and the back of his head was smeared with warm goo.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, finally getting his feet under him enough to stand and rip his right arm from the bloody mess of his pack. He staggered from the fence and looked back to see five more zombies gathered around the one with the missing head, all clamoring to reach the pack and their next meal. He tripped over the body of the one that almost got him, the sneaky one, and looked up to see the third one in the backyard looming over him.

  Everything slipped into slow motion. He raised his arm, and the pistol came up as the zombie’s mouth opened to reveal red stained teeth and bleeding gums. Its face came down and closed in on his own. He screamed, the pistol roared, the brass casing flew across his vision, and the zombie twitched on its way down.

  The weight of the thing surprised Seneca when it landed on him. Everything went black for a second, then he shoved the body off and Ward was there, rea
ching down with a gloved hand to pull him to his feet. He managed to hold on to his pistol as Ward kept a hand on his shoulder and shoved him toward the house.

  “Go, go, go!” Ward yelled.

  One slow step after another, and Seneca was at the door. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ward laughing, firing off another shot that blew the face off a zombie gnawing on the backpack stuck to the fence.

  Then they were inside, Ward slammed the door, and time snapped back to normal speed. Seneca blinked.

  “You bit? Scratched?” Ward asked, switching magazines.

  “W-what?” Seneca asked. He liked to consider himself pretty hard core as far as operators went, but this…whatever the fuck was going on…this was…the blood…their eyes…their fucking eyes…

  “Are…you…scratched? Did…they…bite…you?” Ward repeated, enunciating each word. “You gotta tell me now, man. Your life depends on it—if they got you, I’m sorry, but I gotta put you down.”

  “N-no. No, I don’t think so,” Seneca said, patting himself down. “Jesus, look at the blood…”

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter. They gotta sink their chompers in before you turn—just like the movies, right? Maybe scratches’ll do it, though...” he mused. “Hmmm, don’t know for sure.” Ward shrugged one shoulder. “It’s all good—long as you take the fuckers out before they get within range, you know?”

  “Turn?” asked Seneca.

  “Yeah—the last guy you shot out there…he was the baby. They turned him this morning. He got bit last night and slumped over in the corner…then this morning he got up and presto-change-o, he’s one of them.” Ward laughed. “Or was, till you put one in his fucking mouth. Savage, boss, savage.” He clapped Seneca on the shoulder and moved into the kitchen.