Tankbread: Black Snow

By Paul Mannering

A young leader of the zombie resistance treks across the former United States to uncover a centuries-old secret in this post-apocalyptic adventure.

A year ago, the legendary Else returned to help humanity in its ongoing battle against the undead. A teenage girl set off on an epic journey from the wilds of Australia to the distant land of the old United States. Through tragedy and terror, Gin became a seasoned warrior, leading an army in the desperate war against the legions of the dead.

After their victory in the ruins of old Los Angeles, Gin now leads an expedition to explore the east coast of a long dead nation. The snow-covered ruins hide many dangers, and if the last of humanity is to win the final battle against extinction, she must find the truth behind a secret 200 years in the making.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Oct 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781682612248

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I

Fresh snow lay over the frozen ruins of New York City. The latest fall covered everything in strident layers of black and grey. An icy crust that remained unbroken in all directions and only the wind stirred the mix of ice and silt.

Soon after dawn, the scratching started, the frozen crust cracked and then burst apart. A small head pushed through, twisting this way and that as it scanned the grey horizon in all directions. Finally, satisfied that the area was clear of immediate dangers, the rest of the body squirmed out of the burrow. Wrapped in dark, stained cloth, the features of the head and body were shrouded in layers of insulating fabric that matched the grey clouds and dark snow.

The emerging figure turned and crawled headfirst back into the snow hole, then wiggled backwards until it emerged again with a slack bag of possessions. With the bag slung over its shoulder, the slight shape began to trudge through the snow. The head turning left and right, scanning the area as it walked. The dead stirred as the filtered glow of daylight roused the virus in their cold bodies.

The sun did not break through the dense cloud layer that day, so the figure trudged on under a sky the color of wet stone. The wind blew constantly, rising to an ice-tipped gale that could strip the flesh from the unprotected. The walker ducked under crumbling ruins and climbed over the buried shapes of a time before silt and snow. Every dozen or so steps they scratched at the surface, poking through the snow with a thin metal rod and digging with a small shovel anywhere that looked promising. Probing the surface for the telltale signs that others may have missed. It was grueling work, shoveling, scraping and exploring under the crust. The snow covered a deeper layer of silt, three feet deep and packed hard into a cement like texture that crumbled easily.

Wind torn corpses moaned in an echo of the wind. The clothes they wore had decayed over the decades into scraps and rags. On most of the slow moving dead, their skin also hung in blackened strips and stirred in the cold wind.

For the scavenger, success came later that day when the prod of the metal rod they carried scraped against a metal surface under the snow, but above the thicker silt layer.

Digging with the small shovel revealed the roof of a car. The tool was set aside and the walker took a dull hatchet from the bag and cut a crude hole in the thin metal car top. Peeling it back, they lay down and peered inside. The interior was pristine, untouched by snow or silt. Two bodies sat in the front seats, each dried to a husk on the outside. The digger twisted around until they could slip into the car feet first. Crouching down in the vehicle, they watched the mummified bodies, making sure they were not awake. Turning slowly, the small figure pulled aside crackling plastic bags and rummaged through the contents. Clothes and other items of curiosity were stuffed into the sack the walker carried. The pillaging revealed something interesting in the back seat: a tiny form, strapped into a shaped chair in the back of the car.

The flesh of the baby’s corpse was freeze-dried but well preserved as the burst bags of clothes and other possessions had shielded the infant from the worst effects of the cold air. The walker sawed through the straps and then pushed the small body up through the hole. Further exploration showed nothing useful except a half-empty plastic bottle, the contents swirling in a liquid state. The marks on the outside meant nothing to the walker. Twisting the top off they sniffed and pulled their head wraps aside before taking a taste. With a grunt of satisfaction, they screwed the lid shut and took the bottle back to the surface.

The rising wind and scudding clouds, lit by constant flashes of lightning and growling thunder, added urgency to the movements of the walker. If it really started coming down, being outside would mean a slow death by freezing. They stuffed the dead baby into the knapsack with the tools. Shouldering the bag, they stumbled on through the drifting desert of swirling ice.

The walker moved with the quick nervousness of prey. Their eyes hidden behind wide goggles, but they moved constantly, scanning each rise and drift, looking for signs of threat.

As the last of the daylight faded, the dead grew sluggish. Some responded to an ancient instinct and crawled into shelter. Most ground to a halt like clockwork toys winding down as night fell. By the time the hunter reached the shoreline, the temperature was well below freezing. Where the ruined city met the water’s edge many of the buildings were flooded or collapsed into the dark sea. The channels between them were lethal with hidden reefs of sharp metal and crumbling concrete.

Shivering in the cold, the small figure tugged on a rope that stretched across a flooded chasm. Out there, in the darkness, a tangle of empty cans clattered.

Time passed and the wind howled through the bones of the city. The figure stirred, rising from the bundle they had wrapped themselves in. The rope shook with more than the wind’s constant assault. A wooden box, suspended from the rope by a system of carefully woven straps running through a wooden pulley, came across the chasm. With a last check for anyone watching, the small figure climbed into the box and pulled themselves across the dark void.

II

On the other side, the figure crawled out of the box on their hands and knees. The heavy sack of scavenged goods dragging behind them. They pushed through a flap in the wall with their head and once it flapped shut behind them, they stood up.

Inside, the air was warmer and the wind could not penetrate. The small figure stood up and unwrapped the layers of cloth that covered their face. Pushing the goggles up revealed a boy’s face, stained with grime and a permanently dropping eye that wandered erratically. His frame seemed small for his age, the effect of a lifetime of near starvation.

The area stank of unwashed bodies and damp. Ancient graffiti crowded the stained walls. Voices murmured and people coughed in the thick air.

Clutching his bag tight, the boy hurried down a narrow corridor, ignoring the dark eyes that watched from all sides. The marks on the floor bordered the hearths; small areas for each family group to sleep, live, and store the few possessions they had.

Climbing up a rickety ladder, he emerged onto a second floor, nearly identical to the one below. Babies cried on this floor as their mothers cradled them to the breast or wiped fevered bodies with damp rags.

The boy stopped at one of the hearths. A girl lay there, eyes bright with fever, her belly swollen with the residue of pregnancy. Crouching down, he started to unpack the bag he carried.

Hey, Kasu, he whispered. I got stuff. Good stuff.

The girl on the patchwork tangle of cloth and padding turned her eyes and regarded him.

Stim, Baby come, Kasu said, her voice thick with exhaustion.

Dead? Stim asked.

Dead, Kasu agreed.

Tomin take it?

Yeah, she said and closed her eyes. The boy frowned, Tomin should share-fair.

While Kasu rested, Stim set a soot-blackened tin can over a brick and wire frame. He breathed life into the embers of a small fire and carefully poured water from their supply ration into the can. While the water heated, he opened the sack and twisted the frozen arm off the baby’s corpse. He probed the meat critically with the point of his knife. Unknown seasons buried under the dirt and the snow had turned the flesh to a dark mush. The meat was bad, the baby had died and turned ghosty. Only the cold had stopped him from moving.

He watched over the pot as the water boiled, he couldn’t feed Kasu the meat he had hoped. It would kill her and then she would be a ghosty too. When the water bubbled, he tipped the contents into a battered enamel cup. Taking a spoon from his pocket he went to where Kasu slept. Shaking her awake he helped her sit up then fed her hot water one small sip at a time.

You do good finding? she said.

I got a whole kid, Stim replied. Gone ghosty though. Long time.

Kasu looked sad for a moment. You eat? she asked.

The boy shrugged. There was no food. Kasu first, then he would drink.

Three days had passed since he had eaten anything and Stim’s stomach ached at the smell of the hot water. When Kasu refused the rest of the cupful, he drank it quickly.

Cold out yeah? Kasu asked.

Stim nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Winter keeps ghosties down.

Kasu seemed more alert, the hot water giving her back some of the energy the birth had taken. Winter finish soon. Then the ghosties go walking all night. I’m glad baby dead. No food. Other babies sick till they die.

I’ll go find Tomin. Make sure he share-fair, Stim stood up.

Be careful. Tomin fuck you up.

Stim didn’t respond. Tomin was The Man here. He ruled their small community by right of savagery and strength. People could leave, but in winter the snow and freezing cold would kill most within a day. If they made it to somewhere warm, the ghosties would kill them quicker than the cold.

Stay warm, he said and walked away, the sharp knife tucked into his belt, out of sight but ready for action.

The third level was Tomin’s private realm. Only his most favored lived up here. They had the best food, more water, and treats that were only speculated about on the lower floors.

What you want kid? The guard sitting on the stairs was old, having survived eighteen winters, four more than Stim. His face was painted in black and white streaks that would protect him from the ghosties and marked him as a fighter.

I wanna talk to Tomin.

Fuck off, the guard said and waved the boy away.

Nah. Kasu made meat. Tomin gotta share-fair.

Kasu made meat. Tomin gotta share-fair, the guard mimicked in a falsetto voice.

Stim exploded up the stairs. He covered the short distance between them before the guard had stopped laughing. A knife jutted from Stim’s hand as he punched hard, aiming for the guard’s throat.

The guard was faster, rising to his feet and swinging the base-bat he carried over his head. The bat knocked the knife from Stim’s hand and numbed his arm up to the elbow. He followed it up with a thrust that caught Stim under the ribs. Knocking the air right out of his lungs and sending him crashing backwards on to the floor.

Gonna fuck you up kid, the guard said, swinging the bat in one hand until it hummed through the air.

Stim crawled across the floor, reaching for the knife that lay just out of reach. The guard did a quick step and then kicked him in the ribs. Stim rolled with it, which stopped his ribs cracking from the impact, but left him stunned from the flare of agony.

Gonna meat you up, the guard snarled. The bat raised high and Stim froze in panic.

Hold up! a voice echoed from the stairs. The guard grunted and turned to confirm who was giving the order.

Tomin, dark-skinned, with his shoulder length hair twisted into thick cables tied back from his face. The oldest in the nest at twenty-winters, Tomin came slowly down the steps, his body more muscled and stronger than any of the others. He moved slowly because he was in control and all things waited for him.

What’s the hate? Tomin asked.

Kid attacked me, the guard said. His bat lowering to the ground.

Fuck you, Stim snarled and stood up, wincing at the pain in his ribs when he breathed.

Make your story bro, Tomin said.

I came to see you. Kasu made meat. You took it. Gotta share-fair.

Share-fair, Tomin said and nodded. We all gotta share-fair kid. The nest depends on it. Some hunt stuff, some make babies. Some protect the ones who need it. We all share-fair.

Right, so share-fair the baby-meat. Kasu made it, she needs it.

Others gotta need too, Tomin replied.

Her meat, Stim said.

Tomin shook his head and turned away. With a wave of his hand, he gestured that Stim was dismissed.

You owe her, Stim insisted to Tomin’s back.

My people need meat? Make him meat, Tomin said to the guard and mounted the stairs again.

The guard grinned and swung the bat at Stim’s head. He ducked, the recovered knife cold in his hand. Springing up, he stabbed at the guard. Catching him in the gut and feeling the blade penetrate deep. Blood spurted as the knife punched into the older boy’s warm flesh in a flurry of jabs.

Hey! Tomin shouted. A moment later feet pounded on the stairs. More guards, armed with spears and crude blade-weapons, came down to the landing above Stim’s head. He looked down, the dying guard’s blood was pooling around his feet. Kasu’ll get the meat she needs, Stim thought and bolted.

You dead fucker! one of the guards yelled.

Stim raced across the floor and didn’t bother with climbing the ladder, sliding down it was quicker, and he hit the ground running. With nothing but his knife and the clothes he was wearing, Stim threw himself flat and slid through the heavy flap and onto the frost-covered ledge outside.

Kasu, he whispered. She would be okay. Kasu was strong, someone would date her. She would make more babies and maybe one of them would survive.

The pursuit gave Stim no time to risk the slow trip across the chasm in the box. Instead, he scrambled to the edge and swung out over the darkness. The seething hiss of the sea that surged in and out with each tide sounded loud over the wind. In total darkness the wind felt like knives stabbing into Stim’s bones.

His cloth-wrapped hands gripped the ledge and he swung his legs in the void. The rattle of the flap opening forced him to let go. He dropped, trying not to scream as he fell.

A flash of grey against darkness. Stim snatched hold and his slight weight jerked him away again in an instant. The edge of the next floor struck his hands and he used the momentum to swing inside. At this level, the ancient building was skeletal. Stripped of everything but the concrete and the dried remains of bird’s nests, long since pillaged for their eggs.

Stim rolled to his feet and kept running. There were other ways down from the upper levels. Ways Tomin’s guards would know about. He had to keep moving. He had to find a way to get across the wide gaps that separated this building from the rest of the city. What had always been a sanctuary had now become his prison.

Running through the dusting of frost and dirt, he stopped at the other side. Breathing hard, his breath pluming in the chill, he could hear the boiling ocean and see the dense fog. Just ahead, the waves surged over the wreckage of ancient ships and swirled around the tangled debris of the dead city.

The end of the world lay out there. No one ventured into the waves. Even on calm summer days, they went no farther than the shells of boats to fish and search for stuff.

The stories said that before the ghosties became king, the sea rose up and flooded the land. Great waves destroyed the ancient city and its people. When the flood went down, only the ghosties and a few survivors remained.

A scraping noise overhead alerted him that Tomin’s guards were coming. Lashing out at the guard was stupid, even if Tomin appreciated it and elevated him to guard status, the others would kill him the first chance they got.

When the end of the rope ladder dropped down to the floor, Stim had already moved. The guards searched the floor, lighting their way with flickering lamps and burning torches.

No sign. Fucker’s gone.

Be light up soon. We can find him then.

Nah. Tell Tomin he fell into the sea.

The voices faded as the guards climbed back up into the warmth of the nest.

Stim gripped the corroded reinforcing steel as it pressed into his skin, even through the wrappings on his hands. He didn’t have the strength to climb up to the floor again. Even if he did, there was nowhere to go. No way to escape the building.

Kasu, he whispered as his grip on the frozen steel slipped.

The wind and the sea roared in his ears, drowning out the noise of his own blood surging as he fell. In the time it took him to draw breath to scream, he was jerked to a halt. An outcropping of reinforcing bar had caught the back of his coat and he hung in space, caught and dangling, unable to pull himself free.

Sunlight, brighter than any he had ever seen, shot through the darkness. A white line illuminated a spot on the decaying skyscraper and then trailed across it. Stim squinted his eyes and twisted, trying to see if this was the heaven-bird he had heard about, coming to take him to the better place.

The light dazzled him as it passed over his dangling form. It moved on then swept back, stopping with Stim pinned under the beam like a bug on a card.

Something came through the swirling mist, floating on the water. A second beam of light flared, pinning him as tightly as the first. The light was so bright, Stim wondered why he wasn’t burning.

For a moment, the aching chill was forgotten and Stim wished only that Kasu could have seen this too.

The coat slipped as the patched fabric gave way and he dropped a few more inches. As his weight shifted, the hood of his cloak caught and pulled the fabric tight against this throat until he struggled to breathe.

A small boat made a humming sound as it crested the waves. The occupants bouncing as the hull crashed down. The bright lights they held pointing like accusing fingers through the fog and spray. The boat caught the rising back of a breaker and the growl grew louder as the craft rushed forward on the high wave, clearing the hidden reef of steel wreckage. The boat turned, butting up against the lowest floors of the building. At least four levels below where Stim hung like a trophy on a warrior’s belt.

Are you alive? a man’s voice called from the wave tossed boat below.

Yeah? Stim called back. He could no longer be sure.

Do you need help? the man hollered upwards.

What you want? Stim asked. Who you? Strangers were few and far between in his world. Anyone you didn’t see born was either meat or looking to make you meat.

We are friends, the man called out. Stim almost laughed. Anyone who told you that was asking for a knife in the eye.

Fuck off, he called down. Irritated that the strangers were interrupting his journey to the heaven place, he waved them on their way.

The rusting metal tore through the last scrap of cloth and he dropped.

A freezing rush of air.

The hard impact on the brick-like sea.

Then the searing crush of freezing water.

Stim gasped. His mouth filled with salt and he choked. Struggling violently he reached for the surface. His clothes weighed him down and something had caught him. A pulling sensation at his back strengthened then he burst out of the water. Hands grabbed him and dragged him into the tossing boat.

Ghosties . . . . he managed, sure that the dead were reaching for him. Instead, they turned him over and he coughed and vomited the seawater out of his lungs.

The boat hummed again and turned away from the treacherous shoreline. Going against the breakers nearly capsized the craft. They all gripped ropes as the bow angled skyward and then crashed down onto the icy waves.

I don’t think we can get in this way, someone who sounded like Kasu shouted over the noise of the wind and waves.

We have to make contact with Delta Group, a man replied. They need resupply.

Well they will have to fucking make do until we find a place to come ashore, the girl snapped.

The boat crashed through three more steep waves before reaching the calmer water beyond the hidden reefs. Stim lay on the floor, losing all sensation to the creeping numbness of the cold.

Other lights swept over the water, and Stim heard a drumming sound like a giant heart thudding in a steel chest. In the darkness he saw an actual ship, rising and falling on the waves, not foundered and rusting like the others.

Stim was gagged, his hands and feet bound before they winched him up the side of the ship like a corpse ready for butchering.

He was so cold he couldn’t struggle. Only when they untied him and carried him inside did the pain flare up in his feet and hands. By the time they stripped the layers of clothes from his body, Stim was turning blue and shivering uncontrollably.

Fuck he stinks, someone said. A blanket was wrapped around his thin form and a warm body pressed up against his. Pushing him down onto a soft bed. More blankets. Get some heat in here, the girl who sounded like Kasu spoke in his ear. Stim was too cold to wonder why she was holding him. His body drew the heat of her body out and slowly his temperature began to rise again.

The violent shivering eased as more blankets were wrapped around Stim and the girl spooned against his back. He tried to keep his eyes open, watching the people who came and went from the small room. He could feel the ship moving, rising and falling on the waves. As his eyes closed, he wondered if this might be the heaven-place. If so, maybe dying wasn’t so bad after all.

CHAPTER 2

I

Kurt could never get used to the smell coming from the cages. When the roster came around and he was on cleaning duties, he felt a nausea that nothing could ease. He slid into the worn rubber boots and patched yellow coat of the cleaning crew and marched through the locker room to the access door. The swipe card took three attempts before the door clicked and he could descend the old metal staircase into the lower levels.

Some of the workers complained about the noise and, of course, no one ever talked about what they saw down here in the cages.

The noise started when Kurt clicked the lights on. First the scratching and shuffling as the cages inhabitants stirred. Then, under the rising glow of the overhead bulbs, the screaming and howling started. Kurt unhooked the empty hose that looked like a dead snake, flat and grey. In spite of the regular patching, it still leaked. He worked the pump handle until the pressure built up enough to ensure a strong flow. The water choked and gurgled up the ancient line, swelling the hose until it quivered in his hands.

Aiming the nozzle at the nearest cage, Kurt twisted the valve open. Water exploded out and pounded on the rusted mesh. Scraps of food and waste were swept away by the onslaught as the cage’s occupant shrieked and cowered, twisting away from the freezing torrent. Kurt took no joy in their suffering. If he had any choice, he would have every one of them put down as soon as it became clear another experiment had failed. No one cared for his opinion. Once he had flunked out of the study course, his reassignment to maintenance had been a matter of paperwork and here he would remain until he ceased to be productive.

He moved down the line of cages, hosing one side and then working his way back up the other. Ignoring the red eyes, the snarling mouths, and the clawed hands of the misshapen monsters that watched him from their cramped prison cells.

The water took the edge off the smell, though the worst of it seemed to be ingrained in the concrete floor. The grating over the drain and the pipe beneath it that clogged every day with the shit and filth washed out of the cages.

Back at the pump control, Kurt pushed the lever into the off position. He dropped the nozzle and started dragging the heavy hose back towards the hook. The excess water flowed out of the open nozzle and washed across the floor. He grunted when the hose jerked in his hands. It must have caught on one of the cages. Kurt walked back to the lines of cages and hurriedly sidestepped when the hose moved under his feet as something dragged at it from the darkness beyond the cages.

Steve? Is that you? Kurt stepped out of the way as the hose zipped across the floor, sending a ripple of water into the drain grate. C’mon man, quit fucking around.

The things in the cages went silent and then a low growl stopped Kurt in his tracks. The latch on the last cage had snapped clean and the gate was hanging open on one rusted hinge.

He started to back away, mentally calculating the distance to the stairs, then the door. How fast he could move and how many seconds it would take him to get out.

Six seconds, he concluded a heartbeat later. Six seconds to safety.

The shadows beyond the last of the overhead lights moved in shades of darkness. Paredolia, Kurt told himself. A simple sensory misperception. There is nothing there. His rational thoughts struggled against the rising tide of primordial terror. Six seconds . . . Red eyes