Armageddonville -Book Two

By Jay El Mitchell

For a while, Thomas Sullivan had it all. A career as a successful novelist, upcoming movie based on one of his books, engaged to a beautiful actress. It all seemed too good to be true, and was. Following the discovery of his fiancee's Infidelity, Sully left it all behind to take a six-week "vacation" to his grandfather's mountain cabin with only his dog Sterling for company. After completing his intoxicant-filled emotional rehab, he returns to town -and to a nightmare. Something has gone horribly wrong during his weeks as a recluse, and it is only now that he realizes that while he was trying to shut the world out, the world ended, and he missed it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay El Mitchell
• Release date: Jun 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311586780

Jay El Mitchell

I am a carbon-based life form who has been on this planet for nearly 30 years. I live near the beach (east coast) and enjoy it, primarily after sunset. I am lactose intolerant but love ice cream. Upon my death I plan to be cremated, with half of my ashes thrown directly into Nancy Graces's unsuspecting face (I have a curse in the works) and the other half kept in an old condiment jar in the back of the pantry.

Book preview

Armageddonville: Book Two

Jay El Mitchell

Copyright by Jay El Mitchell 2014

Smashwords Edition

Note to readers: this is part two of a continuing series.

May marched on toward June, and the temperature rose steadily. Most days were in the 70’s range, comfortable. A few peaked above 80, and Coop seemed to fare better than Not-Amy. Of course, he was a native, and used to the climate. The girl would not tell me where she was from, but based on her accent, it was somewhere further north. She lacked any southern lilt in her speech. I figured once the temps hovered closer to 90 her discomfort might nudge her toward the acceptance of my offer of my cabin’s amenities. She still hadn’t warmed to me exactly, though she and Sterling were becoming thick as thieves. I even let her take him by the leash on occasion, wandering around the empty streets.

One day she asked, Why do you keep him on a leash? Not like anyone’s around to give you a ticket for having a dog running at large.

In my mind’s eye I saw that Q-Pox zombie, shambling along the middle of the highway. Those dull, empty eyes. I said, He’s too friendly. If the undesirable element were to show up, he’d run straight over, and probably get himself shot. I then told her about the gun-happy looters Coop had seen.

Yeah, we saw some like that, she said. Then her expression became strained. I wondered if by we she meant the fake-father, or someone less loathsome, such as family. Recollection of either could explain her sudden change in expression. Usually I would have led her away from those thoughts as well as I could, but I was not just hungry for information. I was starved.

Where? When?

Not-Amy stooped down to pet Sterling on his level. I sensed she was attempting to comfort herself, and I waited patiently. At his usual six feet away, Coop was snoring against a soundtrack of Electric Avenue.

Eventually she said, Outside of Charleston. We saw this bonfire on the beach, so we went to check it out. It was a group of men, partying. Drinking. Smoking pot, probably doing harder stuff, based on their behavior. Or maybe they were just Q-crazy. Her expression darkened as she spoke, and there was something almost frenzied in her petting of the dog, which didn’t bother him one bit. They had this woman who must’ve had the brain-damaging form of the Q, even though women aren’t supposed to get that much. Or maybe she was normal before they got a hold of her. Despite the warm temperature, she shivered. Anyway, it was one of them who chased us on a scooter, throwing the paint water-balloons.

When put into proper context, the incident didn’t strike me nearly as humorous as it did before. Probably helped that I wasn’t at all drunk. On the days she came out to socialize on common ground (or so I thought of the stretch of street where Coop had set up shop) I stuck with soda instead of beer. Some days she had no interest in socialization, not even with Sterling. On those days I’d hang out with Coop, if he was conscious, but if he wasn’t I’d usually pack it in and head back up the mountain.

I asked, Did you come across anyone who wasn’t crazy, Q-type or otherwise?

No, she said. For a while we’d sometimes see people just kind of wandering around in a daze. Brain-damaged people, I mean. They usually just ignored us, or just kind of. . . stared. But we didn’t see much of them the week or so before. . . before we came here.

I wondered what she had been planning to say before that brief deliberation. Before