Earth Zero: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 2) Read online

  He turned to flee, but he wasn’t going to leave the horse defenseless. There were precious few survivors left from the old world, and every one that died pushed the past that much further away.

  He plucked the pitchfork from the hay pile and swung around, jabbing the rusted tines out before him. The fluttering shape was black and leathery, with beady red eyes.

  A bat, not a Zap-bird.

  But it wasn’t like any bat Franklin had ever seen. This one had wings that were almost translucent, and its eyes burned like backlit rubies. The pointy mammalian nose fronted two large, curving incisors that were like something out of a Transylvanian freakshow. It was as large as a turkey but sleeker and far more aerodynamic.

  It squeaked and flapped toward him, and Franklin jabbed at it, trying to track its flight. But the bat’s pattern was too random and it dodged and veered, swooping around his head. He heard more thumping against the barn’s tin roof, and soon three of the bats orbited him in erratic ovals. The horse reared back and kicked with its front forelegs, and Franklin realized the mare must have figured out a way to live peacefully with the winged mutants.

  Or maybe they’ve already sucked its blood and turned it into a freak, too. Maybe it will sprout wings and a forehead horn like an ass-backwards unicorn.

  One of the big bats grazed the back of his neck, and he wiped at his tingling flesh with one hand. The teeth hadn’t broken his skin. He swung the pitchfork like a tennis racket and the tines whanged against the wing of one of the bats. It spun and tumbled to the ground, awkwardly beating against the dirt, straw, and horse chips.

  Franklin lunged forward and pinned it to the ground, pleased by the distraught squeals coming from that buck-toothed mouth. “Eat shit and die, birdbrain.”

  His mind bifurcated so that a remote part of it was musing on whether this was actually a bird or a mammal, and then settled on “If THIS fucker doesn’t even know what it is, why should I worry about it?” All the while, the primal instinct inside him drove him to skewer the predatory threat.

  Once it was reduced to a quivering bundle of leathery skin, Franklin flung it from the pitchfork and turned the tines to the other bats. The horse’s kicking legs drove them toward the barn door and Franklin swatted one so hard that it slammed into the wall and then winged brokenly toward the sky.

  When the last bat fluttered out of sight, Franklin leaned his weapon against a fence post in case he needed it again. “So, girl, looks like we make a pretty good team. What say we make it official?”

  The horse snorted and neighed as if expelling the last of its adrenaline. Franklin sat on an empty feed box and caught his breath, gazing out at the pastoral landscape that so successfully hid its monsters. Soon the horse calmed down, too, and barely ten minutes passed before it approached Franklin.

  This time when Franklin held out a cupped palm, the horse sniffed at it to see if it held any food. Even after five years alone in the apocalypse, it hadn’t forgotten the treats its former owner must have bestowed.

  “Stick with me and maybe we can find some apples, huh?” Franklin stroked the horse under the chin and then along the side of its head. The horse tensed but didn’t run away. If the bats returned at that moment, Franklin would likely be trampled to death. But by the time he scratched its ears, the horse had decidedly succumbed to companionship.

  Wish it had been this easy with women. Maybe I wouldn’t have been divorced so many times.

  Franklin couldn’t find a saddle, but he found a nylon bridle and leather reins in a wooden box of gear and tools. He draped a moth-eaten blanket over the back of the horse and put some weight on the mare to test its reaction. The horse’s head lifted but it didn’t bolt. It took the bridle and bit, working her mouth sideways in annoyance at the intrusion.

  “I’ll take it off as soon as we get to Stonewall,” Franklin said. “I promise.”

  His track record of keeping promises to his wives wasn’t so hot, but his life had never depended on any of them. Plus the apocalypse had a way of changing a man. He was certainly going to die, one way or another. That was just a matter of time. He could afford to keep promises now, because forever might be measured in hours, not years.

  Franklin opened the pasture gate, giving the horse one more chance to flee if it so chose. Its chestnut flanks rippled in the morning sun, the star-shaped white patch in the center of her forehead giving her a regal appearance. He decided to name her “Princess” even though she was probably ten years old or more. By the time he led the horse over to a sodden stump so he could mount her, she was an old friend.

  As they trotted into the wide world, one of the horse’s front hooves clopped down on the dead mutant bat with a satisfying crunch.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Capt. Antonelli awoke with a headache and soreness caused by more than just the hardness of the concrete floor beneath their bedroll.

  The only light in the room was cast by the three functioning video monitors, and in the dim gray wash, he watched Colleen’s freckled breasts rise and fall with her breathing. This had been a moment of weakness. But that was just fine. He accepted his frailty now, and the emotional relief was almost as palpable as the physical relief she’d provided.

  As he dressed, he debated how he would break the news to the troops. If Lt. Randall wanted to kill him for treason and dereliction of duty, Antonelli wouldn’t blame him. Hell, he’d even respect it.

  When he stepped into the hall, he immediately sensed something was wrong. He took a breath. There was a faint but sickening odor, but also the movement of air.

  Fresh air.

  A breeze not pushed by the bunker’s ventilation system.

  Antonelli drew his pistol and hurried to the entrance. The steel door was ajar, with no sign of Andrews, the man assigned to guard it. Antonelli shouted and ran to the nearest bunk room, flipping on the lights. The room’s occupants lay amid bloody blankets and pillows.

  “Randall? Tidewater?” He banged on the doors as he ran the hall, wondering if he should’ve shut the steel door first. What if monsters had entered? What if Zaps—

  Kokona!

  He sprinted to the end of the bunker and turned the corner to see Tidewater dead on the concrete floor, staring up at the riveted metal ceiling, half a cigarette protruding from his lips. The door to the makeshift brig was open.

  Kokona was gone.

  Antonelli shouted again, the narrow confines of the subterranean chamber swallowing his words. All his previous resignation, his desire to retreat from the battlefront forever, were now gone. He’d lost more men and had fresh blood on his hands. His lapsed patriotism veered toward an unhinged and dark desire for revenge.

  Should’ve killed the little bitch while I had the chance.

  The mess hall was unoccupied, but the next door down was unlocked. He kicked it open, ready to fire, and found four more corpses. He was just beginning to accept that they were all dead except him and Colleen—unfairly spared due to their selfish carnality—when a deadbolt slid open and Randall staggered into the hallway in his underwear, carrying his rifle.

  “What the hell?” Randall asked, still confused in the throes of sudden consciousness, hair frowsy and eyes crusted with sleep.

  “Seven dead. The front door’s open and the Zap’s gone.”

  Randall muttered a curse and sprinted barefoot down the hall to the entrance. Antonelli banged on another locked door.

  “Who is it?” came a muffled voice from the other side.

  “Your captain. Open up.”

  The door swung open to reveal two soldiers, Privates Matthews and Stankowitz. Both of them were pale with fright. “We didn’t know who was out there,” one of them said.

  Antonelli hid his anger at their cowardice. Their behavior was no worse than his. “Get your gear and be ready to move out in five minutes. Pack what supplies you can carry.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Antonelli didn’t even resent the questioning of his orders. After all, just a few
minutes earlier, he’d been prepared to abdicate his rank and betray his country. “Zap hunting.”

  As he returned to the hall, Colleen emerged from the telecom room, her face tense and searching as she tucked in her shirt. “What is it, Mark?”

  “The enemy within.”

  She followed him to the entrance, where Randall stood looking out at the forest. “No sign of anything,” the lieutenant said. “No metal birds, no Zap baby, no Andrews.”

  “What about the girl?” Colleen asked. “Marina?”

  “She was sleeping in the room beside us,” Antonelli said, not caring that he was acknowledging their affair in front of Randall. With almost everyone dead, secrets seemed foolish.

  As Colleen raced to the girl’s room, Antonelli shouted, “Be careful. She might be in on it. The baby might even be in there.”

  Colleen ducked into the telecom room and retrieved her rifle before banging its butt against Marina’s door. “Hey, Marina? Are you okay?”

  After helping Randall secure the entrance, Antonelli hurried to join her. He tried the door knob and was surprised to feel it turn in his hand. He nodded at Colleen, who leveled her muzzle, and then he swung open the door and lunged into the room, prepared to fire.

  The room was empty. Amid the mussed blankets on one bunk were a pink makeup compact and a hair brush. Several wrinkled magazines and catalogs were fanned out across the floor, and a guttering scented candle was burned down to a nub. A limp backpack hung from one of the bunk bed posts.

  Randall conducted a reckoning of the dead while Antonelli revisited Kokona’s cell and searched for clues to her escape. As he stepped over Tidewater’s corpse, he regretted not letting the Zap infant leave with Franklin and Stephen.

  If you’d quit yesterday, all of us would still be alive. Is duty really that addictive, or did you just love the self-image? You thought you were the martyr, but it turns out all you’re good at is sacrificing other people.

  Antonelli found nothing except a couple of soiled diapers, some empty foil packets of milk, and decorations that the teen girl had posted on her walls. Antonelli was fixated on the idea that the baby had somehow lured Tidewater to open the door and then had killed him, but the damage to the corporal’s skull was the work of a very strong and driven killer. He had little doubt of Kokona’s ruthlessness, but her physical limitations made such carnage beyond her power to inflict.

  He threw a blanket over Tidewater as he returned to the others. The two soldiers who’d locked themselves in during the tumult stood near the entrance, talking quietly and fidgeting. Randall came out of the room containing the four dead soldiers.

  “They’re all accounted for, except Andrews and Huynh.”

  Antonelli and Colleen exchanged looks. Antonelli recalled Colleen’s misgivings about the Vietnamese soldier’s miraculous recovery. He wasn’t willing to consider the ramifications yet, not while other explanations remained.

  “What about Franklin and the boy?” Randall said. “They could’ve returned, talked their way past Andrews, and decided to retake the bunker. They might even have brought back those two they were out looking for, giving them a numbers advantage if they caught us off guard.”

  “Maybe,” Antonelli said. “And when they found out some of us were locked in, they decided to grab their people and go.”

  Colleen shook her head. “I don’t know. These men were killed with a knife. That doesn’t seem like Franklin’s style, and it’s hard to see the boy having the stomach for it. I could see them shooting up the place, but a sneak attack seems a little—”

  “Japanese?” Antonelli said. “Like at Pearl Harbor? Andrews was a weak link, to be sure, but opening the door was a huge risk, given the types of creatures roaming around out there.”

  “If someone had been watching the monitors, maybe we’d know,” Randall said, his brow lowered in a challenge.

  “We were…asleep,” Antonelli said. “All of us are worn out and pushed to the edge. I was hoping some down time would allow us to recover.”

  “What about Field Command?” Randall said. “We’ll have to radio and let them know what happened.”

  Colleen stepped forward. “There’s nothing but static,” she lied. “Must be some solar activity screwing up the ionosphere.”

  “Great. Our unit’s down to five, we’re cut off from contact, and we have no idea what our next move is,” the lieutenant said.

  “Our next move is we track down that little Zap shitter and whoever took her, and then we nail them all to the cross and let the crows pick their bones clean,” Antonelli said.

  “And leave the bunker?”

  “Well, they’re not in here, are they?”

  “What about Asheville and the Fourth? That was our orders.”

  “We’ll swing down that way after we finish this job. Nobody wipes out my command and gets away with it.”

  Antonelli’s anger was a little forced. He’d lost plenty of troops during the Earth Zero Initiative. If he ever made it back to Luray Caverns and New Pentagon, they’d probably give him a whole fresh batch to take out and bury.

  “Maybe Huynh and Andrews are behind this,” Colleen said.

  “Going AWOL together, sure, I can see that,” Antonelli said, well aware of his own desire to do the same thing. “But why kill everybody? And why take the girl and the baby?”

  “You should’ve killed her,” Randall said. “When we first took the bunker, you should’ve killed them all. Directive Seventeen. No need to ask permission. Just do what needs to be done.”

  “She might have provided some intelligence,” Colleen said. “And she was just a baby.”

  “Intelligence?” Randall snorted in derision. “She just proved she’s smarter than all of us.”

  “Pack up, Lieutenant. We’re moving out at oh-ten-hundred hours.”

  Randall shook his head ruefully and went to his bunk room. Colleen moved closer to Antonelli so the other two soldiers couldn’t overhear.

  “This is my fault,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. I’m the captain. These deaths are on my head.”

  “No. About Private Huynh…I should’ve known better. Something was off, and I just didn’t want to accept it. I was just so relieved to have this place and enjoy some peace and quiet.”

  “There can be no peace in this world,” Antonelli said. “That was our mistake. We wanted a fantasy. But the truth is we’re living on borrowed time, at the mercy of the mutants. We play by their rules. We never had a chance to conquer them. It was all just chest-thumping and macho bullshit.”

  “It’s not over yet,” she protested.

  “It’s been over for five years. We just don’t have the decency to drop the curtain.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  As the mechanical arms reached for Rachel, she pictured herself taking the same horrible journey as Tara, rolling through the assembly line of death and dissection.

  She decided she’d rather die instantly than suffer that torture.

  She charged for Geneva, determined to snap the baby’s neck or get blasted in the process. DeVontay was right behind her, also realizing the odds of survival were zero.

  The hum of energy around them was like a throbbing pulse, sending electric juice through her veins and charging the air. The walls shook as the plasma sink whined in the center of town, pulling the explosive rage of the sun into its bowl-shaped center and compressing it for use by the Zaps.

  Geneva must have issued a telepathic command, one that vaguely tickled Rachel’s mind before she pushed it away, because her mutant royal guard leveled their devices at her. Squeak let out a bewildered wail, pressing her face into the side of the Zap who held Geneva.

  “No,” shouted the Zap who had led them into the trap. It wasn’t pointing its device at Rachel—instead, it aimed at Geneva.

  “What are you doing?” the baby said, eyes wide and fuming in surprise.

  “Saving my people.”

  “These aren’t yours. They�
�re mine. All of this is mine.” Geneva waved her arms like a petulant child whose birthday party didn’t go as promised.

  Rachel and DeVontay stopped, caught between the Zap that had led them here and the megalomaniacal brat’s troops. She could feel the energy increasing in intensity, raising the small hairs on her forearms. They were firing at each other.

  As best she could tell, the weapons offset each other and she and DeVontay were caught in the vortex. Her strength drained through the bottoms of her feet and she would have collapsed if DeVontay hadn’t grabbed her. He was wobbly as well, and the two of them sagged against one another as they struggled to stay upright.

  The Zap that was now fighting to protect them shifted his aim lower, whipping its arm in an arc toward the door. Colorful beams solidified around them, magenta and chromium yellow and emerald green as if the energy from the devices had oscillated into visible spectra.

  Behind them, Lars bellowed incomprehensibly and the death machines worked their busy arms, feeding him toward the autopsy chute. Geneva shouted something that was inaudible against the whirring and crackling and screaming.

  “Run, Squeak!” Rachel shouted at the child, but the girl just buried her face all the more deeply against the Zap holding Geneva.

  The brilliant beams bounced off the silver suits of the combatants, casting a psychedelic light show against the walls and ceiling. DeVontay slid to the floor and Rachel went with him. They seemed to have been forgotten in the heat of battle, probably because they were no threat to the mutants.

  Rachel’s strength returned as soon as she was beneath the direct glare of the beams. She whispered to DeVontay, “Keep down.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Geneva was twenty feet away, and Rachel wouldn’t be able to close the gap before one of the Zaps disabled her again. She’d have to find a weapon of some kind.

  “You can’t kill us.” Geneva squealed at the traitorous Zap. “It’s impossible. You’re one of us.”