Requiem for Humanity: Last Days, #1

By Joseph Sweet

Book One follows groups of survivors trying to make it in the new world against increasingly overwhelming odds.

But things are changing.

The zombies are evolving, becoming smarter, and regaining their former sentience.

Humans, just barely managing to scrape by as it is - struggling to hold on to hope where there may no longer be any - will soon have to face a more horrifying and disheartening realization.

This world belongs to the dead now.

And there may soon be no place for the last remnants of the human race in the sprawling graveyard that the earth has become.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Sweet
• Release date: Aug 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301870592

Joseph Sweet

Joseph Sweet was born October 31 1976, and has been writing seriously since the age of sixteen. He currently lives in the upstate NY community of Watertown. Aside from writing he plays guitar and keyboard, writes and sings his own songs, and is an amateur photographer. He has worked in Television and radio doing voices and making and editing commercials, played in several bands, and acted in theater, but his greatest passion is and always has been his writing.

Book preview

Part One: Last Stand

Prologue

A YEAR INTO THIS THING you can see that there is little hope for life ever fully going back to the way it once was.

City after city, town after town, it’s all the same all over the globe. Some tried to fight it; some tried to wipe it out. Some even tried to cure it, but they all proved to be fruitless endeavors.

The time for humans in this world appears to be up.

Or so it seems, but who am I to say?

If you look out across the city where this story begins, you’ll see the fires that are burning unchecked, the empty shops, and vehicles left in the street, some wrecked, some fully working but with no one to drive them and nowhere to go if there was.

It’s more important to take notice of the undead. Some lie about during the day, appearing dead, but not. They’re the ones to watch out for, the animals too. Cats and dogs were affected by the outbreak. It wasn’t exclusive to humans.

Street after street, with alleyways, and vacant buildings, very little of the city is free of the infected.

They wander like lost souls, and you might feel sorry for them if you didn’t know that they’d tear you apart with their bare hands if they got half the chance and eat until they’d had their fill.

If they don’t get you, other survivors might. Some will take what you have to ensure their survival, even if it means killing you to do it. They probably couldn’t even tell you what they were fighting to survive for, but that won’t stop them from knifing you or putting a bullet in your head for half a loaf of bread and a bottle of water.

And speaking of water, the public supplies are contaminated from sewage backups, among other things, nothing is safe without being boiled and filtered, and even then, it’s hard to say. There are so many ways to die. Even the simplest wound can easily get infected and good luck finding antibiotics, or any medicine at all for that matter. Disease is running rampant with all the dead bodies, putrid flesh on display at nearly every turn.

The world is dark now, perhaps darker than it’s ever been, and day by day the living are beginning to feel like unwanted squatters in the sprawling graveyard it has become.

It is a land of the dead, a world built by the living, and likely destroyed by them too, but now primarily inhabited by these walking corpses.

And as if that wasn’t enough for the small bands of survivors out there, wandering this vast wasteland to have to contend with; things are about to get worse.

Largely helped by a militarized group bent on curing the plague at any cost before humanity is completely wiped off the face of the planet, the virus is changing.

Soon what is left of humanity - if they survive - will have to face the fact that this world no longer belongs to them.

It has always been a world of chaos and violence and darkness, but there was always something of a balance before. The scales have tipped in one direction or the other in the past, of course, but this most recent change may be permanent.

It may be time to face the facts.

But perhaps there is still hope.

Some still believe that.

And if there are at least a few, there may yet be a chance, but the deck is stacked against them.

Throughout history, there are many examples of a few standing against many and coming out victorious.

Nothing is impossible, after all.

I will show you some of the survivors and you can decide for yourself.

I warn you that it will most likely not be a pleasant journey and you’re free to turn away at any point. Don’t say later that you were not warned about that.

But I hope you will stay with it until the bitter end.

So many people just give up against such terrible odds.

Just remember, most things worth doing are generally a major challenge.

I wish you the best of luck, survivor.

Perhaps you’ll make it.

Chapter One

A Hollow Man

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"MY FIRST THOUGHT WAS that T.S. Elliot was wrong. Way wrong. Not with a bang, but a whimper? But then, I don’t think the poem was about the end of the world as it is so often referenced. Rather, the end of one’s world; individual death, and of hollow, faithless people. I doubt Elliot ever dreamt of this on his darkest day. Still, though, you can’t help where your mind goes, and that was what I thought of the first time I stood at a distance and observed this mess. And I’m no scholar, hell I didn’t even go to college. What do I know? But this fits the hell or perhaps purgatorial wasteland image that he described; I think.

Look there at the bodies in the street. Most of them are dead. The rest are dead in another way, but they rise on occasion. I think a lot of them have grown weak. That won’t stop them from tearing you to pieces and eating you while you’re still screaming, though. I’ve seen it happen.

It’s a miracle, with all the fires, that there is any safe place to stay in this city, not that there’s any way out that I’m aware of. See there? Off to the East. The last of the smoke is fading from a fire that tore through the neighborhood recently. You’d think this monstrosity of condos and apartments and businesses gone to rot, made of Steel and Stone and glass would be hard to burn, but it happened. To the west, there is a large assortment of buildings still in flames.

Ahh, Look. Down there. One of them is getting up. There’s a hollow man for you Mr. Elliot."

He points the video camera to the street below and, sure enough, one of what would have appeared to be corpses is staggering to a standing position. Another sees that one and sits up. In minutes there is a congregation down there. And it is obvious that anyone foolish enough to have wandered into that area, thinking them dead, would have been in a great deal of trouble.

He points the camera back at himself.

They’re going to find me. I know it. He laughs. Not the zombies or infected as the news called them. The Cell. Or maybe it’s just Cell, period. I don’t know what the title stands for, but they’re seeking out survivors. I’m making this video in hopes that someone finds it if they get to me. It’s only a matter of time.

The camera shuts off and the man stands there on the edge of the roof for a moment, shoulders slumped. He hasn’t had a shave in two weeks, he’s dirty and badly in need of a bath, but water is sacred now. He has dared a couple of times in the last two weeks to wet a towel and rub himself down, using some alcohol and then a tiny amount of water when he couldn’t take it anymore. But he looks truly washed out. The hope has gone out of him. It’s there in his posture. His greasy black hair is shaggy, but uneven, as though he may have tried to cut it once and done a poor job, and then just let it grow out. There are rips in the long-sleeved flannel shirt he is wearing, and his jeans have been patched at least seven or eight times. He was a survivor, but he may not be for much longer. He turns suddenly and heads for a roof access door to this building.

NOW THE CAMERA IS ON a tripod, pointed at him.

I was talking about The Cell. He smiles. A weary smile that says he is ready to just pack it in. Do not believe the man on the radio.

He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his side pocket and shakes one out into his hand which looks more like a joint. He flicks his lighter a few times before finally getting it to light. He touches the flame to the tip of the cigarette and pulls it hard, holds it in for a few seconds, and then lets out a puff of smoke.

Weed, He says in his best radio announcer voice, and displays the front of the cigarette pack where a white piece of paper has been inserted with the word Weed written across it in black permanent marker, Sure to get you through even the toughest days; even during a zombie apocalypse. He laughs again, holds up the cigarette, and says, These things will kill you ya know. He looks thoughtfully at the thing in his hand and then takes another long drag, holds it, and exhales.

"Yeah, I listened to the guy on the radio. I followed the list of supply places but kept finding empty buildings. They were always a day away at least from where I was. I spent nights in other abandoned buildings in between and kept coming back and listening more and trying again. Until that was, he said one that was just up the street from me. Did it ever occur to me to ask where the supplies were coming from? Of course not. I was fucking desperate. If I thought of it at all, I figured he was scavenging the city, looking for things, and together with some government forces, was preparing these supply houses. How naive was I?

When he said the old Cedric Theatre, I about shat myself. I mean, I was rationing so tightly by this point that my stomach growling was regular ambiance. I hardly noticed it anymore. But I was going to get food water and other supplies. Damn it, I was going to be alright. Others had cleared out those prior places before I could get there, but that was not going to happen this time.

It was near dark when he came on, but I didn’t dare wait until morning. I just knew that someone was going to find it first. Someone else would have the balls to go out there at dusk and get the shit if I didn’t do it.

It was stupid. I nearly got killed getting there. But if I hadn’t gone when I did, I’d already be dead. Or maybe I’d be some sort of experiment. Who the fuck knows? I’m only telling you all of this because if someone had told me, I might have tried to get out of the city. I might have gotten away somehow.

It was just starting to get dark when I neared the building, and something just burst through the door of a place across the street. It scared the living hell out of me man. I aint never been so scared since this whole thing started. He takes another long drag on the joint, holds it for a few seconds, and then lets it out. They were on me in seconds. The infected, not The Cell. That came later."

The first one must have been watching me. Not all of them are brain-dead, ravenous cannibals. Some of them are fucking smart ravenous cannibals. And this one had some strength to him. No staggering here. He ran right at me, screaming at the top of his undead lungs, and two more came right out behind him. Some of the ones in the streets that I had managed to sneak past began getting up with groans. In seconds, I was surrounded. I tried the alley beside the old theatre, but there were several there already. I had no choice but to attack those. The ones behind me seemed more dangerous.

I took out three before I saw the door. I barely made it in with the fast ones just inches behind. The door had a working lock on the inside and I had it latched quickly. I suppose that I could have turned and gone all Rambo on them, shooting each in the head, but my shooting wasn’t so great, and they were moving so fast. Not to mention that I don’t know how to make bullets and I only had half a clip left in the Beretta nine-millimeter that I’d taken off a dead cop back when this whole thing started.

This was bad news, and I was fully aware of that fact. It was going to be hell getting out of there.

Something moved quickly in the shadows, and I swung without thought.

My machete connected with something hard, and I kept hitting. There was a muffled crunching sound and a sigh before I finally stopped and listened intently for any other sounds.

That’s when I noticed that my eyes had adjusted a bit to a very faint light coming from what I had just killed.

I dropped to my knees and pulled at whatever it was. It didn’t come easily, but after a few seconds, I realized that it was some sort of goggles on the body of whoever I’d just killed. I lifted them, knowing immediately by the green display that it was night vision.

As soon as I had them on, I knew what I had done.

He looked like military, but the patch on his shoulder said C.E.L.L. I took his gun. Some sort of machine gun. I didn’t know enough to tell you what model. It was probably an M-16. I hear that was standard for the military before all of this. He had a few extra clips.

There was a scream somewhere nearby.

I went toward it, confident that I wouldn’t be seen by whoever was in there. Which was stupid, of course, because if one had night vision... Well, duh, anyway.

But I found a group of these soldiers dragging off a woman and I rushed in.

She was not infected as far as I could see.

One turned toward me as I closed the distance and I hit him in the face with the butt of the gun. Next, I turned it and shot two more.

I don’t know if you would call it overreacting or instinct, but I shot all four of the men. The girl was partially conscious.

At that point the banging that I had all but tuned out turned into a crack, the splintering of wood, the screech of twisted metal, and then angry groans and footfalls. There were shots fired and screams.

In the struggle, the woman had knocked something out of the hand of one of the soldiers and it didn’t register until far too late what it was and what it could mean. I hadn’t seen a syringe in quite some time. I’d only registered it at all, most likely, for just that reason. It had seemed like an alien instrument to me. But there were other things to think about. You get used to surviving, to fighting constantly. You react faster, and attack on instinct. There isn’t much time for thinking, just doing.

I grabbed the woman’s arm, and she didn’t fight me as we made our way toward the back of the building where there was a staircase that led past an old stage.

Some old scaffolding at the back of the stage was sturdy enough to climb and we made it up to the top and waited.

There were still a few of