ReZolve: The ZurViral Series, #3

By David Viergutz

In the middle of the apocalypse, school is still in session.

 

Brock is at the helm of a group of survivors, and with the herd gone, things were supposed to be looking up. 

 

Unfortunately, the survivors learn that hope has a price, and in their uncertainty they look to Brock to lead them once again.

 

But he's out of plans and the dead are swarming.

 

Facing a long, empty road that would surely mean starvation or worse, an unlikely ally comes forth with new information.

 

A school on the edge of town has flourished, and their doors were always open.

 

Caught between a rock and a dead place, Brock takes a chance on the school and leads his people into what may turn out to be yet another costly mistake…

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Viergutz
• Release date: Oct 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223575047

David Viergutz

Disabled Army Veteran, Law Enforcement Veteran, husband and super dad by nature. David Viergutz is the author of several novels and short stories from every flavor of horror. Take the plunge into David’s imagination as he delivers chill-bringing adventures where the good guy doesn’t always win. David remembers dragging a backpack full of books to class beginning in middle school and leaving his textbooks behind. David takes his inspiration from the greats and fell in love with complex universes from the desks of Nix, Tolkien, King, Stroud and Lovecraft to name a few. David's imagination, combined with his experience in uniform give his books an edge when it comes to the spooky and unnerving. One day, David’s wife sat him down and gave him the confidence to start putting his imagination on paper. From then on out David’s creativity has no longer been stifled by self-doubt and he continues to write with a smile on his face in a dark, candle-lit room.

Book preview

BACK TO SCHOOL

The asylum growing smaller in the distance, a lone military vehicle with armored sides, reinforced glass, and thick tires headed east down a derelict road. The street was a reflection of the abandoned, crumbling, and empty town. Those on board the MRAP couldn’t help but feel like they were being watched.

Brock Skeller, a worse-for-wear United Military Front veteran, sat in the passenger seat scanning the road ahead. He wore a stained T-shirt with the outline of the state with the words ‘I love Texas printed in big red letters. His shorts were one size too big and held up with string.

Carmen Santora, a Spanish beauty with a mess of long blonde hair and brown eyes, looked like she had been dragged through the sewer. Her maroon road leathers were torn about the legs and her boots were scuffed. Her face bore the same look of utter exhaustion as the other passengers in the large truck.

Austin Briggs, a young man with dirty blond hair, scratched at the dried blood caking his arms and flicked it on the floorboards. He sat behind Carmen with Brock’s puppy Beau in his lap. Now and then, Austin looked up at those around him. Palmer, Ed, the pregnant Abigail and her two adolescent boys, and an elderly lady who had mostly remained silent, resting with her head on her husband’s shoulder. Despite being in the truck for just under twenty minutes, they were all asleep, even though the sun shone brightly through the windows. As if feeling Austin looking at him, Palmer cracked an eye. Once a schoolteacher, he now resembled Ed, a hardened criminal in a past life, and was mostly strong and silent.

If it weren’t for the occasional Zee, the crumbling buildings, and decaying world around him, Austin might have considered it a beautiful morning. But as they passed the skeletons of the town, Austin let the air drift in through an open window. He noted no birds chirped or animals called, and the air was humid and ripe with the smell of burning plastic. The puppy stirred in his lap, opened its eyes and yawned, then hopped over into Brock’s lap.

Brock scratched the puppy behind the ears. Carmen looked over and flashed a weary smile.

You were so against her. What changed?

He looked down at the dog. She’s a good dog. Listens. Most run away without a leash, and I can’t handle any more loss than I’ve already had. She’s different. Stays close and understands commands. I think she’ll be with me for a while.

It’s good to think ahead, but it’s hard to with the way things have been. Are you even thinking about retirement?

Brock forced a chuckle. Is there such a thing as retirement when the world’s ended? Besides, I’m only in my forties. I’ve still got plenty of years ahead.

Carmen turned the wheel to dodge a charred car in the middle of the road. You don’t look it. She laughed.

He was about to reply with something snarky, but the building they were looking for was coming into view. His eyes scanned left to right, taking everything in. Up ahead was a three-story red brick structure with a flat roof and a set of doors under a front awning. The road they were on was the only one leading up to it, and a chain link fence surrounded overgrown grass to both sides. Through the fence, Brock made out multiple dead wandering in the fields. The dark windows were shaded by outdated metal overhangs, and evenly spaced about each floor. In the top left corner, a faint light flickered, illuminating a thick black tube sticking out of it. A large bay door to the right of the school caught his attention.

He was about to lean over and tell Austin to wake up Russell, but the burly man was already kneeling between the front seats. He wore a camouflage shirt and pants, and his full beard smelled of cigarettes and the same cheap aftershave he never seemed to run out of. His eyes were locked ahead and he fingered the buttstock of a hunting rifle.

Do you even have any rounds left? Brock asked.

Just one, he replied.

Well, keep your finger off the trigger. We don’t know what we’re walking into.

It’s not for them. It’s for me. Circle around the back. There’s a street that runs along the fields.

Carmen turned right and they continued on until they could turn left and follow the fence line. Brock counted the undead as they drove, losing track around fifty. Not a good sign.

There’s a ton of dead in the fields. Are you sure anyone is alive in there? he asked Russell.

They keep them out there to ward off people they don’t want. There are multiple exits around the back.

Why aren’t they herding? Brock asked, sitting up to try to see better.

They cut out their eyes and fill their ears with wax, he said grimly. Turn here.

Brock let the words linger. Smart, but to capture that many dead and keep them around was incredibly dangerous. He began to wonder what kind of person could stand to do that to something.

They came around the school where they could get a good look at the field. There were two sets of double doors along the back of the building, a playground, and a set of decaying stables off to the right. They turned left and came around to the front again. Brock looked up, noting the light in the window was out and the tube hanging out was no longer there.

Up ahead under the awning, the front doors were now open, and a middle-aged man in a grey two piece suit and shiny black shoes was standing with his arms open, welcoming them. He had a large smile and an even larger nose. His light brown hair was slicked back, and he had a machete strung by his side. He looked like he was ready to greet hotel guests instead of someone barely managing to survive, quite a contradiction.

What the hell? Carmen asked, the brakes squealing as she slowed the truck.

Don’t stop. Get close and I’ll get out and talk to him, Brock replied, sitting up straight and removing a black pistol from a storage box built into the dash. He pulled the slide back, making sure there was a round in the chamber, then dropped the mag.

Two bullets. Crap.

He reseated the mag and tucked the pistol behind his back under his shirt. Get everybody up. Eyes alert. Carmen, if something happens, get them out of here.

What’s going on? Abigail asked from the back.

We’re here. There’s someone out front. I’m going to go talk to him.

Abigail didn’t answer and began rousing her boys, then gently shook everyone else awake. By the time the truck made it to the awning, everyone was peering through the windows. Carmen stopped just shy of the overhang with the smiling man in front of them. He hadn’t moved or dropped his hands.

Brock hopped out and took a wide walk around the truck, then stopped at the back corner with the ladder to his right. If something happened, he could grab on really quick.

Brock held up his hands, showing he was unarmed. Hello, he called awkwardly.

The man in the suit dropped his arms and continued to smile. After a brief moment he replied.

Hello. Who are you? The man’s voice was unusually chipper and higher pitched than Brock guessed it to be.

My name is Brock Skeller.

Hello Brock, what can I help you with?

We need a place to stay for a few days to gather ourselves together. We’ve been through a lot and our supplies are running low.

The man in the suit smiled again. Well, everyone is welcome here. We have plenty to trade and work to be done. Services are an acceptable form of payment if you don’t have anything to trade.

Brock changed tack. What is your Purpose?

My people do not believe in this Purpose nonsense, but we do believe. Enough with these formalities. Welcome to Calgary Middle School. My name is Norman Leach. You may call me The Principal.

Norman turned on his heels, clasped his hands behind his back, and made for the front doors, whistling what sounded like For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.

LIE

Once The Principal walked away, Brock returned to the vehicle and opened up the back hatch.

We can stay, just until we get our bearings and maybe a few supplies. Russell, do you know this guy? He calls himself The Principal.

Russell drank deeply from a bottle of water. Yeah. He runs this place.

Can we trust him?

You ain’t best trust anyone if you be smart.

Brock rolled his eyes. I mean, is there anything about him we should know?

Russell drank again, then belched. Nope. Not that I recall. Like I said, you can’t trust anyone. He got up and walked down the aisle. Brock didn’t move, keeping his hands on the frame. Russell stopped and they locked eyes. Only after Russell averted his gaze did Brock move aside. Russell scoffed, hopped down, and dug around in one of the outside storage boxes. He retrieved a camouflage hip bag, slung it over his shoulder, and wandered inside.

Brock began helping the others out of the vehicle, starting with an older married couple who didn’t move very quickly. He noted he didn’t know their names. The man wore a long sleeved blue shirt and had white hair with a circular bald spot at the back of his head. His wife had a braid down her back and wore a purple button up blouse and an ankle length denim skirt. Brock helped them both down and they moseyed inside without a word. In fact, they hadn’t said much since the asylum. Abigail’s boys jumped down nimbly. She held her belly and took Brock’s hand as she got down.

Do you have vitamins? Brock asked her.

She nodded, looking down. There were plenty in the basement at the asylum. I’ll have enough until he’s due.

Carmen met them at the back of the truck. He? How do you know it’s a boy?

Abigail smiled. Do you see my other boys? It’d be just my luck if I had another. She left it at that, shouldering a little girl’s backpack with purple flowers on it and headed for the door, her kids in tow. Palmer, Ed, and Austin began bringing their supplies inside. After a few trips, they no longer came outside and Brock and Carmen could talk.

I don’t like this, Carmen said.

I don’t either, but we don’t have much of a choice. Russell said these people worship the dead, whatever that means.

Carmen shook her head, glanced over her shoulder, and said, What kind of man wears a two piece suit and still calls himself The Principal? Do you think he was really the Principal here?

Brock replied in a hushed tone. I don’t know, but something is off about this place. They’re too welcoming, and Russell knows something more than he’s letting on. We can’t stay more than a few days, ya know?

Carmen didn’t answer. She jumped as someone walked up behind her and touched her shoulder. It was Norman. He had changed into a white shirt and suspenders and was still smiling his odd smile, sweat beading on his head and stains growing in his armpits.

I’ve been helping your people move, and they await you in the central hall. One of the children has your furry friend.

Great. Is that where we’ll be sleeping? And do you have a problem with dogs? Brock asked, as Carmen moved away from The Principal and faced him.

Heavens, no. Your dog is most welcome. I was simply helping move your things inside. There is a bit of an orientation I must go over; a few ground rules in order to stay at my school.

We appreciate the help and we’ll be happy to comply.

Excellent. Feel free to come in when you’re ready. It’s much cooler inside. The building was built in 1939, but the insulation is fine. Norman strode off whistling, a bit of a beat in his step.

Carmen and Brock looked at each other and couldn’t help but grin, but then Carmen became very serious.

You agreed to their rules before even hearing them.

Like I said, what options do we have? All of our things are inside. If it were that bad, would Russell have come back?

I don’t know, but Russell isn’t all there, either.

Brock didn’t answer and Carmen didn’t seem to mind. It was more of a statement, plus he agreed with her. He grabbed his pack from the front seat, feeling the little green notebook in a hidden pocket along the backside. He’d read it later. He hadn’t thought much of it. Just trying to stay alive seemed more important. It nagged at him in the back of his mind, but not so much he’d risk pulling it out in the open. Not that he didn’t trust the others, but there was much heartache centered around the book and he needed everyone’s focus on the group instead of tall tales of saving the world, one rotting corpse at a time.

As he headed toward the door, Carmen grabbed his hand. I just want you to know we trust you. We believe in you. Even when you don’t believe in yourself.

Brock smiled and snuck a quick hug. She rested her head on his chest.

I’ll try.

Clear your head, she said.

And beware the dead.

They walked side by side, passing into the shade of the overhang and into the front hall of the school. Everyone was waiting just inside the doors. There was another set of doors up a small flight of stairs barring their path. Inside, Norman was standing patiently at the top of the stairs looking down at them. Brock pushed through the group to the bottom steps.

Please stay there, Mr. Skeller. Let me address everyone at once. Norman cleared his throat. My name is Norman Leach. Most call me The Principal. You are guests of Calgary Middle School, and I welcome you here for as long as you’d like, provided you follow our rules.

He paused and looked around, eyes stopping on Russell. Rule One. We enter and exit through the single door here. He pointed at the front doors behind them.

Rule number two. All firearms will be turned over, and all other weapons may be stored on the rack in the foyer. When no one moved forward with their guns, he followed up. Gunfire attracts the dead. Knives do not.

A few people nodded. Brock didn’t like it, no matter the reason.

Rule number three. All telekinetic-enabled people must come forward. This is the time for amnesty. Are there any telekinetic users here?

He paused again and scanned the room. Brock’s heart raced, and he hoped no one would speak.

Brock caught Austin looking at him from the side. Lie. Lie. Lie. The room was silent, and Norman seemed content with their silence as an answer.

"Very well. If you all agree with my