A Brief History of the Near Future

Book 1: Fire-Lighting Rabble-Rouser

We’re doing a zombie book disguised as a restaurant industry drama. — 25m43s — 2023/03/21

Worked on chapter 1: double. What does Kevin tell the narrator? —1h31m55s — 2023/06/14

Moved chapter 1 to 2 and wrote a new chapter 1: the chase — 2h07m09s — 2023/11/02

Wrote Chapter 5: Avow — 1h11m11s — 2023/11/24

Changed chapter one to simply “Chase” since it is now one of the main character’s names. I changed it so he gets bit, then added Chapter 2: The Itch — 2h34m23s — 2023/12/29

Added several chapter ideas — 3h31m29s — 2023/12/31

Chapter 1: Chase

So I don’t normally go out on Sundays, because I’m one of the few that works on Monday—but Brittney asked me her very own self. I took that as a good sign and decided to go. Having somewhere else to be, I cleaned a little quicker than usual and got out a good twenty minutes faster than I normally do. I was so giddy at the invitation, and I imagined all sorts of possibilities, so I practically skipped both blocks over to Shauntie’s.

Well, It’s Shauntie’s so the place is never empty, but Sunday evenings are one of the few times when it isn’t packed to capacity. I pulled up to the bar and took the empty seat next to Kevin and Jamal.

“I’ll be damned!” Kevin said as he clapped me on the back. “Chase makes the rare appearance!”

“What’s the occasion?” Jamal asked, as he tapped his half-full glass against my own.

“Oh, you know, I just wanted to hang with the crew,” I shrugged, then brightened as I caught sight of Brittney over Jamal’s shoulder. The happy face didn’t last. It took on a sour note when I saw her idiot boyfriend sitting next to her.

Kevin saw what I saw, shook his head, and said, “Dood, you gotta stop makin’ eyes at that one! She’s a shameless flirt, and for whatever dumb reason, she’s stuck at the hip to that vainglorious idiot.”

“Vainglorious?!” Jamal let out with a howl. “You take my boy’s advice! He don’t pay everyone with such expensive words!” he chirped, and clapped Kevin on the back.

Feeling mocked, Kevin turned to Jamal. “You know I’m right! She flirts with everyone—except Alej—she can’t stand Alej.”

“Not Gary,” I added—as if it was any defense.

“Who the fuck would ever flirt with Gary?!” Jamal snipped, as Kevin stared at my stupidity. “Look,” Jamal leaned back and took on a professorial air. “We get it. Brittney’s bright, she’s got a good attitude, and she’s a certifiable smokeshow—but you’re not in the same league! It’s not even a possibility!” he claimed.

“Oh, come on!” I began my defense. “I got a lot to offer! We’d make a good couple! She’s not out of my league!”

“Well—you’re right on the first point,” Kevin leaned in and shook his head. “First off, you do have a lot to offer—and you can pull a hawtie like that—but not that one! She’s in a different league! Not a higher league! A different league!” he continued. “It don’t matter how hard you play at baseball, you’ll never be considered for the Ryder’s Cup!”

“That don’t make any sense!” I countered. “We’re both humans. Neither one of us is hockey people.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Nixon,” Jamal clapped his own head. “Chase, you’re a good guy. You’re a guy’s guy. You go hunting, you tinker with your car, you work on the respectable side of the restaurant.”

“Back of the house!” Kevin called, and mashed his glass against Jamal’s.

“Hoorah,” Jamal replied, took a small sip, then turned his attention back to me. “You need a girl with a bit of tomboy in her. You want a girl that wants to go mudding. You need a girl that knows that a good road trip means at least half the nights will be in a tent,” he continued. “Brittney is not one of those girls. Brittney is a girlie girl. Leave ‘er to the girlie guys.”

“You remember when she broke up with soft hands and you asked if she wanted to go hiking?” Kevin cut in.

“Yeah,” I said, leaning back and crossing my arms.

“What did she say?” Kevin asked. “She said, ‘eww!’ Remember? She said, “who goes outside on purpose?!’”

“And there was stank on it!” Jamal added. “Like, she really doesn’t understand why people go outside!”

“She won’t go outside for less than half a cigarette,” Kevin observed.

Wide-eyed Jamal nodded. “If there were tunnels connecting everything, she’d never see the sun!”

“Guys, you’re being ridiculous,” I replied. “You make her sound like a vampire! Besides girlie-girls—don’t they want to be with boyly boys?”

“What do you talk about with that girl?” Kevin stared.

I didn’t want to answer, so he answered for me.

“You flirt, and she flirts back, and you know why that’s the only talking you do? Because she don’t give a fuck about your activities to the same degree that none of us are talking to her about make-up, yoga, tarot…” Jamal said. “Leave ‘er to her own kind. Leave to to Little Rickie over there, or soft hands, or if you want to give her to someone we actually like, give her to Caleb.”

“She keeps pet frogs,” I noted.

“Is that your plan?” Jamal asked. “You plan to bond over frogs?” He stared. “What is there to say beyond ‘I keep frogs’?” He stared at me for several blank seconds, then turned to Kevin and shook his head. “He doesn’t see it!” He said to our friend. “How… how doesn’t he see it?!”

Kevin shrugged and stared pity at me. “You’re oil and water,” he said. “You don’t mix,” then turned his back on me and began whispering with Jamal.

Bothered by the whole conversation, I left and circled among the others. I had another hazy, and was halfway done with my third when I finally found myself standing next to Brittney.

“Hey there, shortstack,” I began. “How’s your night?”

She turned to me and smiled the smile she wears when everything is getting on her nerves. That face may fool the customers—the ones that don’t know her many looks—but I knew better. My stomach sunk to see it.

Wearing her fake smile, Brittney patted my shoulder. “I’m doing fine,” she said, then walked passed me toward the patio. “What are you up to these days?”

“Oh, not much. Just work, and working on the Jeep,” I said, then began to tell her about all the adjustments I made to my CJ5.

Before long, Brittney yawned, gave me a pat on the shoulder, and interrupted, saying, “I’m gonna get a smoke…”

I stared after her, and Mayze stepped next to me. “Forget about her,” she said. “She’d rather be fighting with her boyfriend than talking to the rest of us.”

“Is she ever going to leave that idiot?” I asked.

“Probably. Hopefully,” Mayze shrugged.

I gave a long suffering sigh.

Mayze grabbed my chin and forced me to look her in the eyes. “Don’t,” she said.

“Did you talk to Kevin and Jamal?!” I accused.

“They’re right,” she stated. “Look,” she turned my chin so I was staring at Brittney once more.

I could see her through the back window, smoking on the patio, as she yelled at her boyfriend. I could just hear her voice, though I couldn’t make out the words.

“Is that what you want?!” Mayze asked. “Is that the kind of girl you need?!”

“She wouldn’t be so mean to him if he wasn’t such an idiot,” I said.

“Yes she would,” Mayze replied. “And do you know why she would do that to you? Because she needs the drama! She craves it! But you’re just not the type! You’re strong! You’re silent! You say what needs to be said!”

“Maybe that’s what she needs,” I shrugged.

“I know you want to paint in some sort of possibility,” Mayze shook her head. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

I shrugged.

With a huff, Mayze pulled me close and kissed my temple. “As smart as you are, you can be pretty damned dumb,” she said. “I suppose its the curse of sex. I mean, it happens to girls too, when they think about men…” she said as she wandered off.

I stuck around for another half hour or so. I got a fourth drink, but abandoned it halfway through when I realized Brittney had left without even saying goodbye. Well, that did it. Defeated, I said good night to the few people that still remained, then began my trek home.

I don’t live far from work—or Shauntie’s for that matter—so I walked, which was good. Mr. Shen would beat my ass if he caught me driving drunk. Besides, home wasn’t far, maybe a dozen blocks or so.

I was walking next to the creek as it passed under the interstate, which can be a bit sketch—but I’m a full-grown man, so the danger is minimal. Anyway, I see some vagrant and it looks like he’s humping some comatose lady. Admittedly, it’s not a sight I often come across, but she seems to be fine with his effort, as she simply lies there and takes it. Either way, I’m not initially bothered, and I don’t see how it’s any of my business. So I walk past, all quiet, because what the people do in the dark is none of my business—even if they do it out on the street. I’m about a dozen steps passed the two when I kick a small rock.

It bounces down the sidewalk, clicking and clacking. It’s the most noise I’ve made yet, and it’s barely anything—but it causes the guy to stop.

I can feel him looking at me and my nerves light up. I turn back toward the man, suddenly sure that everything is wrong about this situation.

He’s staring at me, and I’m staring back. I can see a dark liquid all over his nose, and I realize he’s not making love to some woman that’s drugged to the gills. He’s eating her.

Immediately, I bolted. He stood and ran after me. I turned north, away from the creek, and into the residential neighborhood, where I live. I thought I could distance him pretty quickly, because most the vagrants are in terrible condition.

But every once in a while, you get one that’s young and strong and meth’d to the gills. Still, I’ve never had one chase me! I ran down the alley and ducked into an alcove, between a tree and a fence. The vagrant slowed, smart enough to realize I didn’t have the speed to make it all the way down the alley before he entered. He turned this way and that, but didn’t spot me out.

Still, I saw plenty of him as he stalked down the alley. His face and chest was covered with blood. He had an intense stare that reinforced my notion that he wasn’t fully there. Luckily, he didn’t see me. He continued to the end of the alley, then turned right.

I waited. I must have waited a good ten minutes before I slowly stepped from my hiding place, then slinked my way home. I was unlocking the door when the meth-head grabbed me. We went down in a tumble. He was strong, but not particularly good at fighting, which was a very good thing, because he meant to do me harm. I wrestled him down, all while he scratched and bit me. I was screaming and swearing while he snarled and roared. Lights went on. The neighbors poked their heads out. Mr. Shen and Craig both came to the door. It wasn’t long before police, paramedics, and the fire department were there, lights and all.

It took two cops and a firefighter to pry the meth-head away from me. I stopped fighting immediately—but not the junkie. He bit one of the cops, and even with the three of them, they had a helluva time getting him in the car.

The paramedics checked me out. They told me to call if the bites or scratches looked like they were getting infected, but otherwise told me I should be fine with nothing more than a little neosporin. The cops took my story, and since the junkie was bloody all over, and still banging at the window of the cruiser, they were fairly convinced that I did nothing wrong. They didn’t stay much longer.

Chapter 2: The Itch

Indeed, I had an easier time talking to the cops than I had talking to Mr. Chen. “You dumb boy! You out at all hours! No wonder some druggie attack you!”

“What are you talkin’ about?” I said, as I stepped into the house. “I’ve been out later than this without getting jumped by some meth-head!”

“And how long you expect such luck to last?!” He harangued me. “Mrs. Chen be so disappointed!”

“Come on now, don’t drag her into this,” I pouted.

“You brought the cops and great shame to this house!” Mr. Chen continued his lecture. “How long will we be the talk of the neighbors?!”

“They’ll get it!” I defended. “I was the one that was attacked, and I’m a grown man! They have their nights out!”

“Don’t you give me excuses!” he continued to rage. “You wise up! You still owe me six months rent!”

I hate when people bring up old arguments, and this was an old one indeed—so that got me lit—but I just said the same dumb thing I’ve been saying forever. “You started charging me when I was fifteen!” I snapped. “And I was dumb enough to pay you for the first two and a half years!”

“Oh, boy get lippy,” he glared at me.

I thought it was about to get personal, and even Craig got worried and started to pipe up. “Now, now. Let’s not bend off on old news…” he began to say when a heavy knock at the door interrupted us all.

“Who is it now?” Mr. Chen asked, and peeked out the door. “What you want?!” he called to the strangers.

“Chase Chen?” A heavy voice asked. “We’re hear to talk with a Mr. Chase Chen.”

“And who are you?” Mr. Chen asked.

“We’re D.O.D., sir. If we could have a chat with Mr. Chase Chen, we’d be much obliged,” he repeated.

“And if I say no?” Mr. Chen asked.

“Well…” the voice began. “Please don’t say no. We just have a few questions—and maybe an answer or two…”

“An answer to what?” I asked through the door.

“Chase Chen, do you know the man that attacked you?” the officer asked.

“No sir,” I said. “Just some meth-head.”

“What if I told you it wasn’t just some meth-head?” the officer replied. “What if I told you that man was a high ranking member of the military, a colonel in the US army?”

“I’d be surprised,” I replied. “He sure didn’t fight like a colonel.”

“There’s a reason for that,” the officer said. “Mr. Chase, this would be much easier if we could talk to you face to face.”

“Am I in trouble?” I asked.

“Maybe, but not for fighting with the colonel. He’s obviously not in the right state of mind,” the officer noted.

“Who did you say you were?”

“I’m Special Agent Dodd. This is Special Agent Kenzie. We’re part of task force looking into a new weapon that’s been going around, a biological that makes people crazy,” he said.

“A what?” Mr. Chen asked.

“It’s not of much concern, unless you get bit,” he said. “Chase, were you bit by chance?”

“Oh fuck,” I whispered and covered my arm.

“Not saying that he was—but what if he was?” Craig asked.

“Well, we’d ask him to come with us. Then we’d take him down to Evans Hospital, where we’d administer the cure, and keep him under observation until we’re sure he’s not a threat,” Dodd said.

“And what if I wasn’t?” Chase asked.

“Well, we’d ask for visual confirmation of that fact,” Dodd replied. There was a long pause, while we scrambled to figure out what I should do. As I weighed my options, Dodd continued. “Look, Chase. You’re not in trouble, but you are in danger. Last week Colonel Etienne was a strong, vibrant, normal member of the community—and over a short week, he degenerated into what you saw tonight. What did you call him? A meth-head? A blood-crazed meth-head? Well, that’s not far off. If we don’t get you the treatment, your chances of ending up like that are too high to ignore.”

“What’s the treatment?” I asked.

“It’s called phalanx. It’s a shot and a series of pills, and I can’t tell you what they are, because the science doesn’t stick with me. Even if I knew the names, I couldn’t tell you what they are or how they work,” I could practically hear him shrug.

“If my chances of ending up like your colonel are so high, why are there only two of you to bring me in?”

“It doesn’t happen immediately. Indeed, it’s not certain it will happen at all. But if it does happen, you will be a great danger to everyone around you,” Dodd claimed. “Chase, if you refuse to come out, we will call our friends; and when we feel there are enough of us, we will come in and get you. If that happens, you won’t like it at all. But if you come with us now, we will do everything we can to make you comfortable. You’ll have to stay with us for a few days, maybe as long as a week—but after that, you’re home free. So what do you say, son? Can we come in? You can show us you weren’t bit, and after that, we swear to get out of your hair.”

There was another long pause, as Craig, Mr. Chen, and I all stared at each other.

“We get it,” Dodd continued. “This isn’t your fault, and we don’t blame you for getting bit. We understand your reticence. But this is for the greater good. Please, open the door and let us talk to you face to face.”

With a deep sigh, I unlocked and opened the door. “I was bit,” I said to officer Dodd.

“Well, that’s a damned shame,” Dodd frowned. “If you’ll come with us,” he pointed me toward their car.

I turned to my brother and Mr. Chen. “This is becoming the longest night ever,” I said as I shook my head.

“I tell you not to stay out late!” Mr. Chen snipped, but then his expression softened. “You be good,” he told me. “You come home soon,” he finished, and stared at me with sadness in his eyes.

I gave a nod, then let Special Agent Dodd open the door for me.

Special Agent Kenzie finally spoke. “Was anyone else bitten?” he asked.

“Uh… One of the arresting officers,” I told him. “Are you going to arrest him too?” I smirked.

Special Agent Dodd stared me down through the rearview mirror, while Special Agent Kenzie made a call on his phone. “Hey Patrice,” he began. “Did one of the officers report getting bit?… He did… He’s on his way down to Evans?… Good… Just the one for us. A civilian.”

That was about all the talk that happened. Thankfully, it wasn’t far to Fort Carson. We only stopped for red lights and MPs, and neither kept us waiting for long. Finally, we arrived at the hospital and I was taken downstairs into the basement.

“Hey!” I complained. “This is a cell! Like an actual jail cell!”

“We did gussy it up a bit,” Dodd noted. “We gave you extra blankets, and I’d be happy to get you some books from the library. It’s a small library and fairly limited, but there’s some interesting reads. Also, we’ll turn the lights on and off at your request, but until we know you aren’t a danger to everyone, you have to stay in this little room.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Of no,” Kenzie chuckled. “There is no refusing,” he smirked.

“Please,” Dodd said, and held the door open for me.

With a huff, I walked into the cell. “So when does the treatment begin? When do I get the phalanx?” I asked.

Dodd shook his head. “I’m sorry for the ruse,” he said. “There is no treatment.”

“What?! So you’re saying I just become a blood-thirsty meth-head?!” I snapped.

“Eh…” Dodd hedged. “Your chances are fifty-fifty,” he said as he locked me in.

“So what now? I just sit in here until you’re happy that I’m not going to turn?!”

“Either that, or we watch you go crazy, and then we study you until we do find a cure,” he frowned.

Then, as if on cue, there came a violent banging and the gnashing of teeth from the next door over.

“Fifty-fifty?” I repeated. “Even odds?”

“This week we’ve had 27 turn and 29 that are right as rain,” Dodd said. “We think that’s as long as it goes. We’ve yet to see someone take longer than a week to turn…” he shrugged.

“You telling the truth, or do I just turn, and you keep me here to study?” I asked.

“Look, I’m sorry I lied about a cure,” Dodd began. “I did that to get you down here. But everything else I’ve told you is true. All of it. We had to get you down here,” he said, looking genuinely concerned.

“How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“We’ve been tracking this weapon for three years now, but last month it did something weird,” he whispered. “Last month it became contagious.”

Wide-eyed, I backed away from the door. “A month,” I repeated, my jaw going slack. “How many people?” I asked. “How many sick people are there?”

“Under observation? In this hospital and others?” Dodd whispered. “Over two thousand, and almost all of them in this state.”

I couldn’t breathe. “Where…?” I struggled to ask. “Where did it start?”

“The mountains,” Dodd whispered. “Vail, we think.”

The door to the cell block popped open, and several burly individuals wrestled a cop down the line. I recognized him immediately. It was the arresting officer that got bit. “You can’t do this!” He screamed, as he struggled against his captors. “I got rights, damn you! I got rights!” he said, as they pushed him into the cell across from me. “You can’t do this!”

After that, there wasn’t much that happened. Or should I say, it happened very slowly. I laid in my bed and tried to sleep, but a couple times an hour the lights came on, and another individual was brought into the cell block. Some came peacefully, while others fought tooth and nail. Which is to say, I saw a couple get really bad. One tried to bite an officer, and that brought on such a rain of blows that the man was comatose—possibly dead—when they finally got him into a room.

In the morning, I was brought a decent breakfast. I mean, it was hospital fare, so certainly nothing to get excited about, but it was a step up from potted meat. They gave me a couple books, and I did some exercise—but as the day wore on I could tell that something was wrong. I started getting really angry about little things that shouldn’t have bothered me. I started getting really angry at the dim buzz of the lights—and just looking at the officer across from me made me want to scream. When they put my lunch through the gap in the door, I snarled and yanked it out of the orderly’s hands.

“Oh damn,” the orderly sighed. “You okay in there?” He asked me.

I mumbled and grumbled something unintelligible, then stared at the man blankly.

“Shit,” the orderly said as he shook his head. “You got the itch,” he began. “Listen, this happens, and it doesn’t mean you’re gone—not yet. But you gotta fight it. You gotta try and stay sane,” he said. “You’re gonna get a fever. You’re gonna get irritable as all hell—but you can’t lose your shit. You lose it and you snap. You lose it and you become like the one that bit you, and we ain’t seen anyone come back from the snap. But the itch—well, I can tell you only got the itch, because you ain’t trying to get through this door to me, so I know you’re still struggling,” he said. “You can make it through the itch. It’s going to take a day, or two, or even three,” he shook his head. “But if you snap, then you snap, and it’s all over—so whatever you do, don’t snap.”

Chase finds the lights incredibly irritating.

I was so bothered by the whole episode that I closed and locked all the windows (except for the one in the bathroom). I pulled all the drapes, then checked to make sure the back door was locked. Feeling safer, if not safe, I turned to go to bed—when I caught Mr. Chen staring at me with his shotgun in hand.

With a scold on his face he lowered the weapon. “You dumb boy!” he shouted. “I almost shot you! Why you creepin’ around so late?!”

“I was out with friends,” I said.

“Why you creepin’ around the house. You make a lot of noise!”

“I was trying to be quiet!” I told him. “Some lunatic chased me halfway home!”

“Some one chase you?!” he asked, then pushed past me, brushed aside the drapes, and stared through the back window.

‘He had blood all over him,” I continued.

“Blood” he repeated. “Why would he attack you?”

“He was on drugs!” I shrugged.

“Are you on drugs?” Mr. Chen asked me.

I shook my head and shrugged. “I had a couple drinks,” I admitted. “But that fucker chasing me sobered me up pretty good!” I claimed.

Mr. Chen tsked. “such language! Misses Chen never did like such language!” he chided.

“Some lunatic just chased me six blocks! And Misses Chen ain’t here to hear it!” I retorted.

“Oh, boy get lippy!” He stared, then glared at me. “Don’t give me grief! You still owe me five month’s rent!”

“You’ve been charging me since I was fifteen, and for some reason, I was dumb enough to pay you for two and a half years!” I replied.

He stepped forward and slapped me before I could do anything about it. “You say mean things,” he said, wagging a finger in my face.

For a long second, I simply stared at him. “I’m sorry,” I began. “I didn’t mean to say that about Misses Chen. But I really did get chased halfway home by some bloody lunatic.”

Mr. Chen relaxed. He leaned the shotgun against the wall, then pulled me in for a hug. “Well, that is terrible, but you safe now.” He hugged me for a long second. “Maybe this ain’t such a bad thing. Maybe you don’t stay out so late doing drugs with dumb people.”

With that, he shuffled off back to bed. I brushed my teeth, then went to my room. I crawled into bed, and figured the whole episode was over. Little did I know, it was just beginning.

“Oh, come on, dad. They’re my coworkers. They ain’t such bad people.”

“Even coworkers can be bad people,” he said. “And don’t call me dad. No one believe you are my son.”

“But Misses Chen said to call her mom,” I defended.

“Misses Chen like you

checked all the locks on the door and window

but for your own sake, forget about her. She’s no good for you. She doesn’t even see you that way. She doesn’t want to see you that way. You’re just not the type.”

“

disheveled and uncomfortably satisfied.

Chapter 2: Double

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1.1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

I knew it was going to be a hard day when Craig called in. I could have handled him saying he was sick, or telling me that his car broke. That would have been fine. After all, we’re old friends—not to say he isn’t grating on me—he’s been flaky lately. Well, imagine my surprise when he tells me a zombie just attacked his neighbor and created a mess of the entire block! People screaming, crashed cars… He claimed some a-hole in a macho truck took out a power pole trying to get around the mess, so now the power is out, and he has to help his landlord prepare for the zombie apocalypse—so, yeah, Craig can’t make it in—not because his car broke down, or the house lit on fire, or something remotely possible. No. He can’t come in because of a zombie—and he was supposed to work a double.

Now I’m working a double.

Well, that pissed me off, so I lit into him.

After giving him an earful—including a few well placed curse words, Craig replied, “Yeah, but, zombies—” then hung up on me! Well, I was certain that was the last I’d ever hear of him. If that wasn’t him quitting, it was certainly him getting fired!

I barely hung up the phone before Mayzee was crying on my shoulder. She’s one of my best—normally doesn’t require a thing. But everyone has their bad days, and her’s was just getting started. “What is it, Mayzee star?” I asked. “What’s got you troubled?”

“That four-top of foreigners,” Mayzee frowned. “Germans, I think.”

“Don’t let cheap foreigners get your goat,” I said. “You know half of ‘em don’t understand tipping.”

“No, the tip was fine,” she countered. “But they wanted coke, and, well, they gave me fifty bucks, so I might’ve given them Armand’s number...”

“Oh fuck!” I muttered. “He’s not coming ‘round, is he?!”

“Christ! I hope not!” Mayzee stared. “I told ‘em to leave me out of it, unless they wanted to get charged double.”

“Should of told them his snow is cut baby powder as often as not,” I added.

“I did. Also told them he’s a paranoid asshole,” Mayzee stated. “Hell, I downright tried to talk them out of it,” she continued. “But, fifty bucks, so…” she shrugged. “I guess the people get what the people want.”

“To their own detriment,” I added. I started to shake my head. “Mayzee, Craig’s not coming in, so I need you to watch the bar…” I began to say when I heard a gasp across the dining room—and suddenly the whole place was abuzz. I didn’t see it myself, but apparently two nutters ran down the street at full tilt, one was all bloody and chasing after the other. They disappeared around the corner as the entire restaurant looked on. That was the second time I heard zombie that day.

Next, Tony came in late. “What’s up, Tony?” I asked, and glanced at my wrist, even though I don’t wear a watch. I know it’s only twelve minutes, but it sets a bad precedent if I don’t at least mention it.

“There’s some crazy accident on State and Eighth,” Tony shook his head. “Police, fire, ambulances… there were nine or ten cars all mashed up—blood on one of the cars and all over the street! They were loading a bloody gurney into an ambulance. Don’t know the last time I’ve ever seen something so gruesome!” he continued. “There were a line of rubberneckers, including me!”

“State and Eighth?” Trevor cut in. “That down by Craig’s place.”

“Yeah, I called him up and had a chat while I was creepin’. Crazy bastard thinks it’s a zombie!” Tony’s head just kept on shaking.

Mine started doing the same. I decided twelve minutes was nothing to worry Tony over, and I had to give it to Craig that at least there really was an accident outside his house. “Was there a power line down?” I thought to ask.

“Pole in the street!” Tony nodded. “God damn pole laying right in the middle of the god damn street!” he elaborated as he shuffled down the kitchen line.

From there, I guess we had about a smooth hour before Britney got bit. Yeah! She’s telling the lady about the special—and I told chef that another fish special was a bad idea—and as she’s hearing the terrible special, the old lady starts twitching and flopping about. Out of concern, Britney put a hand on her shoulder. That’s when the old bat freaked out and bit her!

By the time I arrive in the dining room, Britney was on her ass, screaming and cradling her bloody arm. Forrest, the busser, had the old lady in a choke hold. Despite being seriously overpowered, the old woman was relentless. She bit her friend and two other people that tried to calm her down before Forrest intervened. Thank you, Forrest, for being on the wrestling squad—because who knows how many people the old bat might have bit if he hadn’t wrestled her around until the fire truck arrived—then the firemen had to wrestle her into an ambulance. Anyway, I suppose I should have listened when the paramedics complained about the amount of calls they were getting—but then, I already knew about the accident at State and Eighth—and I was about to get seriously sidetracked by my lack of a bartender.

Britney was in the office, taking a sob break while Coco watched her tables. I was helping Coco and generally settling an unsettled room, when another police officer showed up—but this time, it was just the one of them: cute, all of nineteen, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. She sat at the bar wearing an awful lot of make-up and ordered a glass of wine. Well, Mayzee was so off her game that she actually gave it to her. I was on my way to the host stand when Mayzee grabbed me by the arm and said, “I think I fucked up,” with real fear on her face.

Next thing I know, this woman-child cop kicks Britney out of my office, then proceeds to berate me, and even threatens to shut the whole place down if we “can’t do better.”. The little tart with a badge must have thought it was quite a feather in her cap to catch us failing. She didn’t stop berating me until Kevin knocked on the door and said we had a problem. Of course we had a problem! But I guess we now had a new problem, too.

What’s the new problem with Kevin?

The cop claimed my office, so she could fill out her report, while I dragged Kevin back to the kitchen where he proceeded to show me news clips on his phone. I shook my head, “you know, I’ve asked you at least a half dozen times not to play on your phone while we’re at work…”

“This isn’t playing!” Kevin defended. “I’m keepin’ a pulse on the world!” he claimed as he shoved the phone at me. “Look!”

By this point my will to live was just about reduced to nothing, so instead of insisting he put up the phone and get back to work, I actually watched several minutes of tedious news. “Does she ever get to the point?” I asked after the first couple minutes.

“People are biting each other!” Kevin stared. “Like Britney!”

I shook my head. “People are always biting each other,” I said.

“Listen to the last part!” Kevin pointed.

“…what’s worse,” the report continued, “those that get bit often become violent themselves,” she claimed. “So far, outbreaks of this strange condition have been seen in six states, along with France, Turkey, Australia, and China. Some authorities worry that this is just the beginning and are calling for strict border enforcement…”

I shook my head. “It’s just some out-of-context fear-porn, Kevin. Please get back to work.”

“This was posted three days ago!” Kevin’s eyes were wide.

“Just because Britney got bit doesn’t mean the sky is falling,” I looked around. “Where is Britney anyway?”

Kevin shrugged. “Jamal locked her in the dairy fridge.”

“What?!”

“Fuck you, Kevin! You weren’t supposed to tell!” Jamal yelled across the line.

“Guys! You can’t be locking people in the fridge…” I began.

“But zombies!” Jamal cut in.

“If another person mentions zombies today…” I shook my head.

Kevin and Jamal glanced at each other, then stared at me. “Who else is talking about zombies?” Kevin asked.

“Craig…” I began to say—but that’s when we heard the front door slam open. It slammed open so hard that the glass plate shattered—and that’s when the day went from calamitous to absolutely irredeemable.

The kitchen is watching crazy clips on the internet of people freaking out and attacking others.

A lady comes running into the restaurant, chased by a zombie. The zombie bites Brittney then gets wrestled off her. They fight the lady and lock her in a spare room.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

How long until Chase gets over the Itch?

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Craig sets up Mr. Chen, then decides to go to the restaurant. He takes Mr. Chen’s phone, since his own in dead. He finds the restaurant surrounded. He calls Caleb and convinces him to turn off the power. Chef gives a speech, then shuts off the power.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Brittney Freaks Out

Wrote 1.2 — 46m05s — 2023/09/23

“You need to come downstairs,” Mayzee stared.

“If you can’t see, I’m quite busy right now. Can you give me ten minutes?” I replied.

“No, you gotta come now!” Mayzee snapped. “People over paper!” She grabbed my wrist and started to pull.

Well, I may not have liked it—my plate was already overflowing—but she was using my own mantra against me and she was using it properly, so I allowed her to guide me to the basement, to the liquor cage, where the kitchen had Britney locked with some stranger.

Britney was a mess. Her face was red, and she was screaming at the cooks. “YOU LET ME OUT AND YOU LET ME OUT NOW!” she roared as she shook the cage.

“She’s raging,” Kevin claimed. “She’s finally turning…”

At the far end of the cage, was a stranger, someone else that’d been bit. She was jerking and huffing. Britney looked back at the stranger, gave a whine, then turned and began Kevin and Jerome. “YOU MOTHERFUCKERS OPEN THIS GAW-DAMNED DOOR RIGHT NOW!!!” she snapped as she shook the door as hard as she could.

The liquor cage was solid. There was no way Britney was getting out unless she was let out. I pulled the keys out of my pocket and began to fumble through them looking for the proper key.

“You can’t let her out!” Kevin grabbed my hand. “She’s hysteric!”

“She may be hysteric,” I replied as I pulled my hand free, “but the one behind her is turning.”

Indeed, the strange lady behind her was coughing and hissing and contorting all about. As I pulled open the door, she turned to us, blood leaking from her eyes and mouth. Britney turned to the woman as the stranger ran at her. With a curse, I threw open the door and pulled Britney out, then put my body into the strange lady. She was strong and manic—but quite a bit smaller than I—so it was easy enough to throw her to the ground.

The little zombie bit at me, but missed. She scraped my arms, but the thick cloth of my suit jacket kept her from doing any damage. As she struggled to get up, I stepped out and closed the door to the liquor cage. I locked it, then backed away as the lady zombie collided with the heavy gauge wire that formed the cage and tried to stick her hand’s through the tight knit wire.

Behind me was a commotion. The others were jostling each other and making ultimatums. Britney wrapped her arms around my neck as she pressed her cheek to my ear. “Don’t let them lock me back up!” she begged.

“Alright alright,” I began as I gently pushed her off of me. “Nobody’s putting you back in the cage,” I said.

The kitchen didn’t like that. “You can’t just let her out!” Kevin complained. “She’s gonna turn any minute!”

“Fuck you, Kevin!” Britney screamed.

I pulled Britney back, and stepped between them. “Look, Britney hasn’t turned, and we can’t keep her in a cage with someone that has. We don’t know that she’ll turn. We don’t know how any of this works. This ain’t the movies, or some dumb book,” I explained. “This is life.”

“But she’s bit!” Jerome noted.

I nodded my head. “Yes, admittedly, she got bit—two days ago. But this,” I turned to the zombie in the cage. “Does anyone remember her name?”

“Misses Carmichael,” Mayzee nodded.

“Thank you Mayzee,” I smiled. “Misses Carmichael got bit, what? Two? Three hours ago? If Britney was going to turn, shouldn’t she have turned by now?”

“We don’t know how this works!” Jerome pointed. “She could turn any second, and now she’s free!”

I put up a hand. “Admittedly, she could turn any second,” I began. “But she hasn’t—not yet—and she’s not showing any signs. She’s not cavorting, or hissing, or bleeding out her eyes. We can’t keep her locked up with a full-fledged zombie. You want to lock her up, you find another place to do it—and don’t suggest the fridges. We need them to keep our food,” I said.

“This is on you!” Jerome pointed. “Now you gotta watch her!”

“Fuck you, Jay!” Britney snapped.

I pulled her back again. “Fine. I’ll watch her—but she ain’t going back in the cage until she shows some sign of turning. Her look,” I grabbed her arm and held it out to the others. “Isn’t it healing nicely?”

The others scratched their heads. “it doesn’t make any sense,” Kevin voiced their concerns.

“Of course it doesn’t, because this isn’t Dawn of the Dead, or 28 Days Later. This is real life,” I said.

“28 Days Later wasn’t real zombies,” Jerome began.

I put up a hand. “Let’s just leave it,” I began. “For whatever reason, Britney still hasn’t turned, and I’m beginning to think she isn’t going to, so consider whatever theories you want, but include the fact that apparently not everyone that gets bit turns.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Made this off a few notes… P.S. We’re doin’ a zombie book… — 2h23m12s — 2023/02/24

Craig witnesses the car crash, calls in zombies

(move this to before Double)

The zombies came on my day off, and I was sleeping late. I’d ‘tied one on’ as my dad used to say, so I woke with a bit of a headache—nothing coffee and a greasy omelet wouldn’t cure. But it was about to be delayed.

The first zombie I saw woke me up. She wasn’t in my bedroom, or anything like that. She was across the street, kicking at the door, when the mailman came walking by, trying to deliver the mail. I don’t know what he was thinking, since it was definitely a rager banging at the neighbor’s door. He taps her on the shoulder, maybe hoping she’ll step aside so he can put the mail through the slot. Instead, she turns, grabs him, and bites his arm.

Now, the mailman is a fair size bigger than this lady, so he manages to push her off. The zombie falls down several steps—so she’s on the ground, situating herself, getting back on her feet—while the mailman is screaming and staring at his arm.

The door pops open and the frat boy neighbor sticks his head out. “What’s goin’ on?” he snarls, as the zombie starts moving again. Another neighbor, one of the girls, is screaming at the top of her lungs—”close the dooooor!”—but the frat boy ignores her.

Instead of going for the mailman, the zombie hears the scream and throws herself at the frat boy. The zombie crashes into the house, and a fracas ensues. I open the window. Now the frat boy is cursing and screaming, and it sounds like he’s doing some work. He’s fighting back and it even sounds like he’s winning.

In front of the house, the mailman is on his knees, puking up his guts.

We’re just on the edge of downtown, and on a nice day like today, there’s always a fair bit of foot traffic. Others are gathering around—and I’m getting really nervous about what I’m seeing—when the front door to my building opens, and Mr. Chang steps out, yelling across the street, “What’s going on?! Hey you! What’s up over there?!”

The mailman has stopped rolling in his own puke. He’s looking about and happens to hear my landlord. He glares in our direction, so I can see the absolute malice on his face, but he’s not lucking at us for long. There are closer targets. About twenty people have stopped to watch the unfolding drama and more are approaching. Maybe half a dozen are within the yard. Anyway, the mailman turns on them with a snarl and tackles an old man, while most of the others, run off several steps. The good samaritan goes ass up and the mailman bites his shoulder.

Immediately, others move to interfere—while one lady goes shrieking down the sidewalk. Several people have closed in on the mailman. A young lady is the first to arrive, and she does the unthinkable. She sticks her hand in the mailman’s face. The mailman is ripping at the geriatric—until the hand enters his field of vision. He immediately goes for it—and gets it.

“OeOuW!” she screams and backs away.

The old man is writhing. Now people are grabbing at the mailman as he swings at them with abandon. More people shrink in from the edges, while others are walking and running away.

A few simply stand and gape.

Several men are now wrestling with the mailman, trying to restrain him. He’s bit another, and tries to bite a third—but one guy has him around the neck, and two others are getting control of his arms.

In the front yard, Mr. Chang is yelling—and I can’t hear what it is that he has to say—but I’m doubting it’s useful.

Mr. Chang and I, well, we get along and we talk from time to time—but I don’t know what he knows about zombie apocalypses—so I rush down the stairs and out the front door and jump into the yard—and by the time I’ve arrived, things have progressed in a manner that only reinforce my suspicions. Even Mr. Chang is getting cautious. He’s backing toward the house, concern written all over his face, while a full-on brawl has erupted across the street.

It’s pandemonium. Drivers are gaping and honking at the mess. I can hear sirens.

“Let’s go!” I say to Mr. Chang. He’s an older gentleman and a touch slow, so I grab him and practically pick him up as I help him along. He resists and objects. “Mr. Chang!” I complain, and glance across the street.

The mailman is standing on the sidewalk. There’s an unbridled hate in his stare. I shiver to see it, then grab Mr. Chang under the arm, and force him along. Mr. Chang also turns and sees the mailman’s face. He’s suddenly quite thankful for my assistance.

Meanwhile, the mailman steps into traffic. Literally. He steps into traffic. He gets about five feet into the street when a coupe cuts him off at about the knees and sends him rolling over the car. Tires screech. Mr. Chang and I are hobbling up the steps and I can hear several more crashes.

Mr. Chang and I are in the house. The door is locked and I’ve moved to the window while he stares through the little pane at the top of the door. Traffic is snarled. Its utter chaos. The frat boy and several others have came running out of the house, and there’s a general melee spreading out from my neighbor’s front yard, into the street.

A cop has arrived. He blusters, at the edge of things, then pulls his gun as he starts yelling and giving orders. A zombie comes rushing at him and he fires—which draws attention—and he gets off another half dozen shots before he gets mobbed.

How many of these people have gotten out of their cars? So many are still approaching the mess, unaware of the enormity of the situation. A trapped man realizes his perdicament. He slams his car into reverse and tries to push his way out—but he only succeeds in pinning the minivan behind him into the side of a truck. Some in stuck vehicles get wise and abandon their cars, while others simply scream as the zombies punch out their windows. Several doomed souls have weapons—but are slowly overwhelmed. One has a gun. He takes out three zombies before they got into his car. The gun goes off maybe a dozen more times, then goes silent. Zombies keep pushing into the car for several more minutes, until it seems that no more can fit. Eventually, they reverse course and all come crawling back out, but that won’t happen for a while.

Traffic is a snarled mess, but several people try to get through anyway. None of them make it. They simply wreck into other cars, people, or power poles. One gets up on the sidewalk and tries to squeeze between a stone wall and a power pole. I think he knows he’s not going to make it, but somehow hopes he can plow over the pole, so he guns it.

The power pole is old and perhaps not in the best of shape, but its strong enough to mangle this guy’s truck. Unfortunately, the truck manages to break the pole, and it comes crashing down, snapping wires. The electricity goes out.

I turn to Mr. Chang and we stare at each other. It’s been fifteen minutes since the zombie apocalypse started in our neighbor’s front yard, and we’ve already managed to lose the power. With a sigh, I shake my head, as I realize I’m not getting that omelet anytime soon.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Chapter Next: The Long Quiet

Brittney starts her seduction of Caleb. Rescue crews are seen. They force their way through the gate, which really pisses off Chef. come up to the gates and tell everyone they have to leave. Chef declines.

The officer in charge of the rescue effort calls his boss on the phone and gets reamed. “Jesus Christ, Rumpert! The dead have risen—and you’re going to spend your time fighting the living?! If their in good health and want to stay where they are, you sure as shit leave ‘em!”

That night, the internet goes off.

Craig goes home to check on Mr. Chen.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Chapter Next: Mr. Chen Gets Bit

Craig comes home just in time to see Mr. Chen getting attacked in the alley. He throws the lady off, then takes Mr. Chen to his room. He goes to the restaurant. On his way there, the lightshow over Denver begins.

Having witnessed the lightshow, Chef is pressed upon to eliminate the zombies locked in the spare room.

Without power, Old Colorado City grows quiet. The zombies go out to the surrounding city.

After the lightshow, Craig says he’s going to Utah to get his girlfriend. Others offer to go with him, but Craig says he’ll be faster if he goes alone—but first, he asks Caleb to go check on Mr. Chen.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Ordered to go outside, Armand mutinies and takes over the Hospital. He goes into the cells and since the officer that he ratted on got out and actually helped Armand, they decide to do away with Chase. Special Agent Dodd stands up for him and gets executed. Special Agent Kenzie volunteers to clean up the mess, then gets Chase and a few others out.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Next Chapter:

Caleb and Craig go to Mr. Chen—who is still feeling terrible. Craig gets his shit together and goes out early the next day.

Brittney freaks out on everyone following her like puppies. “I can pee alone, thank you!”

Nothing much happens. The survivors at the restaurant hear the occasional gunshot—the occasional screaming and shouting. Many of the people start complaining that their going stir crazy.

Someone provokes, then snipes a straggler. Chef meets the neighbors. They ask how the others are doing, if they need any food, or such? Chef gives them a talk food and convinces them to bring their perishable items to cook. “You bring us food, we’ll cook it!”

He says they can use showers and safe passage among the neighborhoods. One of the customers begs for games, books, puzzles; anything to distract and entertain.

What’s happening with the liquor cop—or does she go with the rescuers?

Chase and Agent Kenzie run. They get to Mr. Chen’s house and find it occupied by Kevin and some of the boys. Altogether, they chase off Armand’s tale.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Next Chapter:

Craig gets over the mountain. He makes it out past Lake George, then loses the CJ5 in an ambush near Buena Vista. He manages to escape. He makes it over the mountains to Gunnison. Gunnison is in good shape. They have news. They tell him this came out of Aspen, and spread east and west from there. Grand Junction is a mess, and there’s not much news beyond that going toward Salt Lake. Last word was that Salt Lake and Utah Valley were a mess, all the way from Payson. On the plus side, Highway 50 is safe all the way to Montrose. Beyond that, they don’t recommend going north. They give him a radio and ask him to look in on Moab. He agrees.

He works his way through town. All he sees are zombies. He radios to his friends, and while they’re talking, he hears a scream. Mid conversation, he turns off his radio. Toward the north end of town, he rescues little Beatrice from her mad mother, and they’re forced to run. They go north, then follow the river.

Back in Colorado Springs, there’s sustained fighting in the B Street neighborhood. The fighting moves into Southgate, then Mill Street. There’s fighting downtown. A few days later, Chef and company see a couple dozen people thrown off the roof of the Holly Sugar Building.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Chapter 5: Avow

“Being in charge of things,” Brittney began as she stepped close to me and stared into my eyes. “Is it hard?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately. “I feel like a juggler, with a thousand issues to address, and if I don’t take care of each one in a timely and efficient manner, then it grows in complexity, and requires even more of me.”

“The power?’ she asked, as she continued to stare into my soul. “Over others?”

“I don’t think of it as power,” I shrugged. “I think of it as responsibility.”

“But you make us do things,” Brittney replied.

“You only do them because you respect me,” I noted.

“Not all of us,” Brittney replied. “Some of the younger ones, you could abuse them,” she said, as she pressed close and continued to make a study of me.

“I could,” I agreed. “But how long until they notice it? How long until they resent it?” I began. “And that’s just the beginning of it! If I abuse my responsibilities, well, that takes time and attention. How many little issues are dropped while I’m abusing my position? How many problems fall into the cracks—and because I’m too busy to take care of them—how many of them fester and begin to devour my little kingdom?” I shook my head. “If that happens, it’s the beginning of the end,” I gulped, and with that, I began to push her away. “Besides, you have a boyfriend,” I noted.

Brittney bowed her eyes and shook her head. “Travis,” she whispered his name. “He hasn’t been my boyfriend in a long time,” she stated—then corrected herself with a shrug. “A little—but rarely,” she claimed, and once more she was staring into my eyes. “I haven’t loved him in a long time, though I might sleep with him now and again; mostly out of boredom, out of fear of being alone,” she said. “Mostly, I kept him around because our relationship was falling apart, because I could keep him at arm’s length,” she shrugged. “If he would have come to my rescue, that would have surprised me. Indeed, that might of been the spark we needed to rekindle our relationship. But that’s putting too much faith in him. He was never coming to my rescue. Besides, my need for him was superficial,” she continued. “There are far better candidates for someone to take care of me,” she smiled and pressed herself close.

“I can’t,” I said as I held her at bay. “I can’t be with anyone that works for me. You need to take care of yourself,” I told her, and now it was my turn to stare into her eyes. “Besides,” I continued. “Don’t fuck where you eat.”

“But everything is different!” she claimed. “The whole world is upside down! We have to rewrite everything!” She said, and tried to kiss me.

I couldn’t let her. “That’s why we have to double down! We aren’t maintaining our vigilance, we’re reinforcing it, so the remains of what was can catch and grow into something new,” I told her. “This isn’t the end! It’s the beginning of something altogether different.”

“I know,” she said as she relaxed away from me. “It’s just…” she began, then said nothing as she stared at the floor.

Were those tears? Was she crying?

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” she confessed. “Why do you think I stayed with Travis? Why do you think I stayed miserable?”

“Complacency?” I shrugged. “Maybe a lack of self worth?”

She shook her head, than gave a bit of a nod. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “Mostly out of despair,” she answered. “I wanted him to be better—but I wasn’t sure how to be better myself. I want to say he was a hazy mirror—but perhaps he reflected me perfectly—my dim and selfish light.”

And now she was most definitely crying.

“Hey,” I wrapped her in a comforting hug. “It’s okay,” I whispered, and wiped the tears from her warm cheeks. “You’ll find someone, a better match. Someone that compliments your strengths, and supports you against your weaknesses.”

“No,” she whispered back. “I already found him.”

“It cannot be,” I shook my head. “Steel your heart. Tomorrow, you begin your hunt again.”

“But I have my prey,” she claimed. “Indeed, I have him cornered.”

“It cannot be,” I replied. “You still work for me.”

“Then I quit,” she smiled and tried to twist me into a kiss.

“Doesn’t work that way,” I began. “You still still owe me two weeks.”

“I walked off the job,” she answered. “In the middle of the shift.”

“Bad girl,” I rebuked and separated myself. “You need work,” I stared her in the eyes. “If you won’t do as I tell you, what will you do?”

“You,” she twisted her mouth into a mischievous smile. “I will take care of you.”

For a long second, we searched each other’s eyes. I could tell she meant it—though I could also see that she had no idea what the job might entail.

And neither did I. I might want it—but I couldn’t guide her. We were at an impasse. For several long seconds, we simply stared at each other.

“Tell me you do not like me, and I’ll leave you alone,” she said.

“How about a compromise?” I began. “In two weeks, I will have processed your application, and we will know if you are qualified for the position—” I was saying—but she closed the gap and had pressed her lips against my own.

“Britney,” I protested. “We—”

“Shshhshhh,” she whispered, then licked my ear. “I found the work, and I’ve made it my own. Now shut up, and let this happen,” she grinned. “You need it.”

“And you?”

“I need it,” she kissed my neck.

“For rich or for poor?” I asked, as she took off my tie.

“We’re have nothing,” she noted. “We’re destitute.”

“In health and in sickness?” I asked as she unbuttoned my shirt.

“I’m already infected,” she shrugged. “Tomorrow, you’ll be a zombie.”

“For better, for worse?” I continued, as she unbuckled my belt.

“How can it get any worse?” she replied.

“There’s always worse",” I shrugged. “What are the chances we’ve hit rock bottom?”

“Shush you,” she said, as she pushed me down to the floor. “Tomorrow, we may die—but until the light of dawn, you belong to me.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Chapter Next:

Chase checks on utilities. Electricity is turned off at night. Some houses have water some don’t. Many neighborhoods have water and gas. There are a couple explosions and several fires over the intervening days.

Craig and Beatrice find Green River occupied by zombies. They skirt south. On the west side of town, they hit up a few houses, hoping to find some better clothes for Beatrice. Going back into the desert, they see a dead man with numerous stab wounds.

What happens in Castle Dale?

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

It’s a binary.

Book 2: The Day the World Turned Over

Book 3: Rabbit Law

Chapter 1: The Day a Billion Indians Died

Before the troubles, my father made his money peddling pamphlets to discontents, stuff like, A Fire-Lighting Rabble Rouser, and Alone and Adrift the Conspira-Sea. This put him at odds with local authorities, especially as the troubles really kicked off in the late ‘20s. Still, dad was a tough man, a fist full of nails and glass, as he would have put it. For this reason, he not only survived the troubles, he prospered.

I was technically alive the day the troubles ended—June 18th, 2031—the day a billion Indians died. That’s the way the media put it: A BILLION INDIANS, DEAD! Father said it was an exaggeration—but not by much. Not that we heard about it for a good week. Everything was fried, all the electronics—anything that wasn’t hardened, or stowed away in a faraday cage.

You see, the Sun set off a micro-nova, or a massive flare, depending on how you wanted to describe it. It was high noon in India, and it was a bad day to be outside.

Of course, nobody really knows just how many people died. Did a billion Indians really die that day? Maybe. The world was such a mess, my dad believes several billion died the next few years—but that was scattered all across the world.

Our little corner wasn’t unaffected, but we survived it rather well. The micro-nova wasn’t all bad. It sure ended the wars in a hurry. Instead, everyone was scrambling just to survive. It was a good time for my father and his friends. There was finally nobody telling us what to do.

I was four years old when the sun exploded, so I remember it vividly, though the abnormality and the accompanying nuance of other events were lost on me. The Sun grew dark and red for several days before the micro-nova. People worried it was about to go out. There was a lot of hysteria about the Sun dying. But our star was just going a touch quiet before it cleared it’s throat.

It was night here when the sun flashed and insta-fried a billion Indians. It was night—until the borealis painted the sky a vibrant green, and rained down lightning on a cloudless night.

When it super-flared, the Sun also ejected the mass of a thousand earths, but almost all of it missed us. There were other cascading effects. For a couple days our magnetic field went wonky and the whole planet slowed in its rotation. Winds ripped across the land. Tsunamis crashed about and flattened the coasts. The sun took a new course across the sky as we wobbled and reoriented. That’s about when the impacts began. I’m told Eurasia and the Siberian Ocean saw the worst of it.

The Earth’s magnetic poles shifted, which is how the Siberian Ocean was pelted. Formerly known as the Arctic Ocean, it was renamed since that sea was no longer trapped at the north pole. Now, Malaysia is at the north pole, and the south pole is just off the coast of Peru. This also freed up Antartica—which became the hot place to war over resources.

My family was well positioned when the Earth flipped and started spinning in a whole new way. We lived in Guatemala, American expatriates among more of our own, so when the cold came, we just went back to our old ways. Father said it wasn’t worse than being in the Rockies. Sissy was born a few years later. She made eight. Momma said eight was enough, then went ahead and had two more. Why not? There was need for people, or so she said.

Fleshing out the first chapter. Expand the central idea of a micro-nova that kills a Billion Indians, decimates the planet, and shifts the earth’s poles. — 37m15s — 2020/09/11

Girl gets in trouble for punching Ebbot Mitchell in the crotch. At court, girl is fined 10$ for hitting him, then Ebbot Mitchell is fined for the value of the rabbits. 5$ a piece. Afterward, Boy tells Ebbot if he hits another one, he’s more than happy to lose five bucks at their next trial.

CHAPTER 2: RABBIT LAW

Chapter ?: Biloxi

Transcribed ?.1 and ?.2 — 24m54s — 2021/09/13

The Deep Dark South

The three family members arrived at the port in (?). “Get the first boat to Biloxi,” uncle said. I got a friend in town that owes me some money. I’ll be back in an hour.”

The first boat was an hour forty-five away. Uncle went into town as boy and girl waited on a shaded bench.

Uncle’s friend was a yapper—still, it was a substantial amount that uncle was owed, so if he could get the money, they could easily make it all the way across Canada. Indeed, if he got the full amount, it should get the three of them to Siberia in relative comfort. He tapped his foot impatiently as his friend yammered and reminisced about the good ol’ days, trying to recollect unimportant details. Finally, uncle interrupted. “This is all very nice, Harl. But I need the money and I need it now.”

Do you now?” Harl’s face turned dark and sinister. “Well ain’t that a crying shame?”

Uncle glared at his old associate. “You ain’t going to pay me?”

Harl shrugged. “Looks like the shoes are on the other feet,” he chuckled, then leaned over his desk. “I know you too well, you dirty son of a bitch, and I know that your all-powerful family is mostly ash,” he shrugged. “Wonder what part you played in that.”

Uncle snarled at the insinuation. “Fuck you,” he snapped, stood, and turned to leave.

Harl’s guard blocked the door. “No, fuck you,” Harl replied. “He’s gotta have a gun no him. Also, bring me his wallet, his watch—what else does he have?—oh those are some nice shoes.”

“You want his hat, boss?”

“Harl shook his head, “that ratty old thing?”

Uncle simply stood there, resigned to be robbed. He only wished it would all happen a little quicker. Finally, Harl and his henchmen were done. The guards got out of uncle’s way.

“I do love seeing you broken,” Harl chortled. “Do you know how happy it makes me, knowing I was the one to take the last of what you had?!”

Uncle shook his head as he stepped into the street and ran for the pier with only his socks to protect his toes. He cursed his stupidity. He knew Harl was a cold, vindictive man—but he was also a coward, and uncle had relied too much on that fear. He wondered how much it would cost him.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ ?.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Heading generally north, but turning west from time to time, Boy and Girl drifted over dirt roads. Traffic was sparse. They had plenty of supplies, and after the altercation in Biloxi, Boy wanted to steer clear of others for a while, so whenever they came to a sign indicating a population of any significance, they turned away. Before long, they were deep in the quiet backwaters of Mississippi.

Several times, Boy and Girl came to a wilderness area, and turned onto a game trail. They spent several days and nights drifting closer to the river as they moved north and camped in the wilderness.

Boy and Girl broke camp, then followed the trail heading north-ish. They’d been on it for a day already, and Boy was beginning to wonder if they’d come out of the wilderness before their supplies ran out.

The sun was only up a couple hours when they came to a road. “What do you say we go to town and load up on potatoes?” Boy asked Girl.

Girl smiled and nodded with her rabbit.

They turned west. They were on the road maybe half an hour when the first car passed them. The second came maybe five minutes later. Boy caught a good look of the driver. The man held a phone to his ear—wide-eyed as he stared at the siblings. About ten minutes later, the third car stopped.

Boy and girl ride a zeppelin from South America to Biloxi, Mississippi. They see a great deal of the ship, and everything is going easy. Boy even makes a few dollars playing his guitar for the other guests in the smoker’s lounge.

From Biloxi, Boy and Girl aren’t sure