Destination: Human Extinction Level Loss, #4

By Philip A. McClimon

Now part of my podcast DEADLAND. Listen wherever you get your podcasts. Purchase of this book supports the DEADLAND podcast. And of course, I say, thank you.

 

DESTINATION

 

A daughter struggles to reunite with her estranged father. The only problem? She has to get through the zombie apocalypse to do it.

 

An Army Colonel, Steven Bennett represents the last hope for his daughter, but they don't talk much, and when they do, feelings get hurt. With the plague unleashed, he called from a military compound buried deep in the Colorado Rockies and urged her to come to him. Now she must try to remember the things her father taught her if she is to escape the zombie plague.

She gathers a rag-tag group of survivors and together they battle across the Deadlands, formally known as the United States of America.

 

On the road you will meet:

 

Nicole Bennett: Daughter of Colonel Steven Bennett, estranged. Her plans were put on hold by the Zombie Apocalypse. She now seeks the refuge and safety waiting for her in Colorado. 

 

Sam Jennings: A boy in his late teens. His reaction to the Zombie Apocalypse was not a good one. He struggles with the reality of his surroundings and copes the best he can. His life will change when Nicole blows through town.

 

Walter Jefferies: A "Dude" who believes in taking it easy. He likes to drive a bus because buses are for people and people go on trips. He is the happiest oddball to ever survive a Zombie Apocalypse. He's a pacifist who happens to be a pretty good shot.

 

Paul Baxter: An engineer who studies how things work. With his daughter, Jordan, they have it pretty good and aren't that happy to see Nicole...at least not at first.

 

Jordan Baxter: Daughter of Paul Baxter. The only thing that scares him more than the Zombies. She had her fifteen minutes of fame before the Zombies took center stage. It's okay, she's about to meet her biggest fan.

 

Billy Watkins: He prefers Billy, but nobody ever called him that. When the Apocalypse hit, Billy lost alot, but he gained much more. He is Jordan Baxter's biggest fan and will prove his worth.

 

Rubetta Pride: A prime specimen of the "greatest generation". She is a farmer's wife and knows what hard work is. Even at her age she can still manage a shotgun and drive a tractor. She made brownies.

 

Steven Bennett: He has stood on the wall between us and all enemies foreign and domestic. It cost him the love of his wife and his daughter. When the Zombie Apocalypse hits, he hopes to get at least one of them back. He fights the good fight on the other side of the Deadlands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dead Ahead Books
• Release date: Jan 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798224348343

Philip A. McClimon

Philip A. McClimon is an author who likes to write about the end of the world (post apocalyptic, Sci/Fi), mostly because he thinks the shopping would be awesome (No crowds, everything free). He likes heroes that are the strong, silent type and not necessarily male. By silent he means up until the time there is something snarky to say, usually before, during, and after doing something cool. He writes Urban Fantasy. Many of the same rules for his other stories apply: strong silent types, smart mouth, does cool stuff, but these stories take place in a made up town called Hemisphere and involve stuff you only ever hear about on late night conspiracy talk show podcasts, which are, if you think about it, pretty awesome too. So, that's Phil. He's not strong, rarely silent, and isn't known for doing a lot of cool things. But his characters are.

Book preview

1

When Francis Delroney turned seventeen years old, he took his pellet gun and shot out all the windows in the next-door neighbor's house. The damage was extensive and costly.  In an effort to teach Francis some responsibility, and that actions have consequences, his mother took away his money, money that his uncle had given Francis on the occasion of his turning seventeen.  The money was not nearly enough to pay for all the windows, but it was everything Francis had.

Three days later, while she was sleeping, Francis stole checks from his mother’s purse and cashed them for a larger amount than his mother had taken from him.  He absconded with the ill-gotten gain and rode the train into the city.  Casting about for ways to spend the money and pay his mother back, he happened to meet an unscrupulous and most certainly connected low-level thug.  Within moments, Francis Delroney found himself in the back room of a pizzeria that never seemed to do any real business.  With thoughts of turning his small stack of bills into a large stack of bills, Francis joined their friendly game of poker.  He walked out of the pizzeria indebted in the sum of fifteen thousand dollars, the mere mentioning that his mother owned her own restaurant proving sufficient collateral to play with money that he did not have.

When an ultimatum was given to Mrs. Delroney by emissaries of the self same low-level thug, that essentially stated she could keep her restaurant or her son, she resigned herself to a mother’s choice.  Some part of Francis knew he had hurt his mother.  Moreover, while he certainly wanted to convey his lament and did on occasion actually put that lament into words, some other part of him did not let the pain he had caused bother him all that much.  It was not necessarily any kind of dissociative disorder or sociopathic tendency that if allowed to run its course would turn him into a serial killer.  What plagued Francis Delroney was just plain old-fashioned selfishness, a selfishness that always allowed him to justify in his mind everything he did.

They say hope springs eternal, and so it did in Mrs. Delroney.  She pressed charges against her son for the stolen checks, in the hopes that the threat of state sanctioned punitive action would finally jarr him into right thinking.  She had good reason to see those hopes fulfilled when Francis chose the judge’s option of joining the military in lieu of jail time.  Francis was stationed far away in Colorado.  He did not write or call his mother, who was out of his sight and therefore out of his mind.  She died five years later.  A heart attack took her and she went down, washing dishes for minimum wage in the restaurant she used to own.  She never stopped hoping that her son would become a man and learn some responsibility.

Four years and seventeen days after what would have been his mother’s fifty-first birthday, if she had been alive and he had remembered it, Francis Delroney boarded a plane to leave Colorado in a hurry.  Something had happened in the secure military facility where he was stationed, something that scared the living hell out of him.  The same something that put that facility, located deep within an innocuous mountain in the Rockies, on lockdown.  He squirmed into seat 32-B and watched the flight attendant demonstrate how to use the oxygen mask in the event of cabin depressurization.  He was not thinking of the protocols he was breaking by being on the plane.  He was also not thinking of his mother, who had she been alive, would perhaps have finally understood that her son never did learn the lessons of responsibility she so desired to teach him.

2

Sam Jennings could not remember if he dreamed last night.  It was this thought that occupied his mind as he shuffled to the front sliding doors of the Fair Valley Home Improvement Super-center.  More troubling to him than that, he could not remember dreaming the night before last either.  As he dis-armed the security system and unlocked the doors, the store’s lights flickered on.  The fluorescents lit the clean floors and orderly shelves.  Sam prided himself on creating an environment that enabled the customer to have a pleasant shopping experience.   He took the job at the super-center the summer before his junior year in high-school.  By the time he graduated, he had worked his way up to manager of the lawn and garden department.  After graduation, his parents had kept asking him what he wanted to do with his life, but a year later  he still did not have a good answer. Friends of his parents, whose kids had all gotten into college or at least out of the house, would call and invariably ask about their son.  One question that always got asked was, " Did Sam still work at the home improvement center?   The answer his parents always gave was, Yeah, he’s still there. "  Something else that was still there was Sam’s pizza face and gangly pubescence.  It was like his body refused to move on until Sam did, a test of wills, only his body wasn’t blinking.

Sam paused, staring out at the vacant parking lot.  When was the last time I actually had a dream? he asked. 

He searched his mind for several seconds before giving up.  Other, more pressing matters demanded his attention. 

Where was Bob?

He was the assistant manager.  It was really his job to open the store. As a department manager, Sam did not make as much as an assistant manager, so he did not think it was fair to have to take on an assistant manager’s responsibilities.  Sam turned and stood staring at the ceiling.

Did Bob call in? he said.  He stood thinking about it for several seconds.   

If Bob hadn't called, then that was a no call /no show.  You only got three of those, then they could terminate you. 

Not quite being able to remember, Sam shook his head and shuffled on.  Other, more pressing matters demanded his attention.

Mowers and grills. 

Sam leaned against a John Deere Zero Turn Radius lawn tractor and pushed.  To prevent their theft, the mowers and grills had to be brought in every night. He had pushed them in the night before.  He did remember that.  Sam reminded himself that having to close then open was not supposed to happen.  An employee was supposed to have at least eight hours off between shifts.  He planned to talk to Bob about it when he came in. 

The mowers and grills secured outside, Sam went to the Outdoor Power Equipment desk and logged onto the computer. He figured he better check the sales numbers from the previous day.  Sales had been a little flat lately and he wanted to have some kind of answer ready for the morning meeting.  He stared at the screen.  The sad news was there staring back at him. 

Yesterday's sales were zero.

His eyes scanned farther down the screen.

Sales week to date: zero.

He stared up at the ceiling.  A week?  No, that can't be right, I sold a mower to a... 

His voice trailed off.  His mind faltered as he tried to recall the transaction. What week is this? he asked himself.  At the front of the store, the sliding doors opened then closed.  Sam stared at the screen a moment longer. He gave up trying to make sense of what was clearly an I.T glitch with the sales reports.  Besides, other, more pressing matters demanded his attention.

Bugs.

Sam did not know why, but lately bugs were getting into the store.  He tried to get rid of them whenever he saw them.  The last thing he needed was an infestation.  Those kinds of things did not make for a pleasant shopping experience.  Sam went back to the shipping and receiving department and got his hickory ax handle.  He had billed it out for store use from the Lawn and Garden department and carried it on his bug patrols.  Stepping on these things was just not an option.  They were the biggest bugs Sam Jennings had ever seen.

Sam was three quarters around the racetrack , the four main aisles that formed the perimeter of the sales floor. He rounded the corner into the lumber department.  There, half way down the aisle, was a bug.  With its arms, it heaved itself forward as it crawled along the floor. Something had been at it, because its body ended at its torso.  Behind it, a wet reddish-black trail marked its progress.  Sam stared at it.  His faced twitched as, for the briefest of seconds, the bug appeared to Sam as no bug at all.  Horrific images filled his vision:

Blood and screaming, ripping and...  Eating! 

Something like the sound of high voltage sounded in his head. Sam took a step back and stared.  He looked away then back again.  The horrific visions faded.  The bug looked as it had before.  Sam sighed, gripped his ax handle, and took a step forward.   Its back was to him, which he thought was lucky.  He might be able to kill this thing before it saw him coming.  Sam had learned they could be slow but would try to bite.  He approached quietly and raised his ax handle high.  When he got to within ten feet, it sensed him.  It turned slowly, mouth hanging open revealing blackened teeth. Skin fell away from its body revealing white bone in places. It let out a gasping hiss as it tried to turn toward him.  Sam quickened his pace and closed the distance.  In a sweeping arc, he brought the ax handle down hard.  A wet sounding crack drove the thing’s head into the concrete floor.  A final blow with the hickory and the thing lay unmoving.  Sam stared a long time at the bug.  Finally coming to himself, he grabbed one of the thing's arms and dragged it back to Shipping and Receiving.   Raising the bay door, he hauled the bug that was no bug at all outside and left it in a pile with the others.

He stared at the waist high pile of carcasses a moment.  Stink, he said before he turned back to the store. 

He would have to run the floor scrubber now, he thought to himself.  That was the other thing about the bugs, they left one hell of a mess when you killed them

3

"D ad, NO!  I’m not going for your militaristic subterfuge!  Either tell me what’s going on or I’m hanging up...

...Yeah, yeah.  You know that’s why mom left you, Dad, all the secrets.

...I know its the nature of your job, Dad, but me and Mom weren’t your job— Oh, you’re ordering me out there now!?  Newsflash, Dad.  I’m not in your military and you’re not my commanding officer!

...Oh, as my father, uh huh.  If you really thought there was a difference between being a commanding officer and a father to me or a husband to Mom you might be making a dent right now, but you don’t, so...

You know what, Dad.  There’s always something big coming with you, some danger that only you can fight.  Seems like you fought for everything but— You know what, I can’t do this.  I gotta go.  Talk to you at Christmas!"

As Nicole drove her red Chevy Cavalier down the empty highway, she ran the last conversation she had with her father over again in her mind.  She and her father had philosophical differences that went right to the core of who they were as individuals.  It was not that Nicole ever felt like her father would rather have had a boy.  The disappointment she sensed he had for her and the source of contention between them did not spring from her gender.  Nicole had not adapted her father's militaristic utilitarianism, opting for a more charitable and holistic take that all life was precious.  The preciousness of life certainly extended to people in Nicole’s mind, but her true heart went out to animals.  To that end, she devoted herself to their care, enrolling in veterinary school after college.     This choice had completely frustrated her father, who while valuing individuals for their ability to contribute to the mission, hardly registered any value for animals whatsoever.  Nicole's decision to care for them instead of pursuing a military career all but sealed the deal on their mutual self-imposed exile from meaningful relationship.

That had changed six months ago with a mysterious phone call and her father’s frantic plea.  Even if her father had been the perfect Dad, she couldn’t have just picked up and gone to Colorado.  There were mid-terms to think about.  She was interning at a local clinic and her patients were relying on her.  Whenever he would belittle her use of the word patients, saying they were only animals it marked the opening salvo to a new battle in an old war.   Working from such a deficit, Col. Steven Bennett had not a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing his daughter that something was about to happen, that she needed to come to him.

When it became obvious to the world that the something that happened involved the dead rising and eating the living, she did her best to hang on.  Eventually though it became untenable.  Classes were canceled.  Nobody was bringing their pets by the clinic anymore.  In the end, the only humans that were coming by were the ones looking for a fresh meal.   She bitterly concluded that her only recourse was to go to him.

She tried to get in contact with her father to let him know she was coming, but by that time nobody was getting through the phone lines, cell or otherwise.  All lines were down, including the Internet.  With grim resolution, Nicole Bennett packed a bag, got into her Chevy Cavalier and hit the road for Colorado.

4

Nicole drove her Cavalier through the blackness and fought the sleep that wanted to take her.  She rubbed her eyes for twenty miles.  For thirty-five miles she blasted the air conditioning and was reminded that it did not work very well.  She opened all four windows in the hopes the night air would keep her awake.  When it did not, she resorted to slapping herself in the face for the next thirteen miles.  When these tactics did nothing to stave off her fatigue, she plugged her mp3 player into the car stereo and cranked the volume to maximum.   She always liked the classics and so she sang along with Lindsey and Stevie at a volume that woke the dead.  In the dark, a group of twelve of them stood in a field just off the road.  They were fresh, as fresh as dead can be.  You Can Go Your Own Way blasted from the open windows of the Cavalier and Nicole was hitting all the notes, more or less.  While the song meant nothing to the Dead, it did alert them to the only synaptic response they still had left, the need to feed.  Twelve gray heads turned in unison as Nicole cruised past. Clouded over eyes sought her out. While so much had been taken from them, the Dead got something in return, they never grew tired.  Most of the Dead were slow because of decay and damage.  The twelve in the field were fresh.  They could run. 

The road was straight as an arrow and Nicole held out for another sixty miles.  When she came to the end of it, the road branched North and South.  A third option was the motel across the road directly in front of her, Friendly’s Motor Inn.  The buzzing green and pink neon Vacancy sign beckoned, and the battle was over.  She pulled into the parking lot and stared at the squat structure.  Branching off from the center office at shallow angles on either side were the rooms. 

No second story, she said as she slowly drove around the motel. 

There was no sign of anybody or anything.  All was quiet.  Nicole backed the car up to the office and opened the passenger side door.  She got out the driver side and left the motor running and that door open as well.  Nicole approached the office door and looked through the glass.  Inside it was dark. She pushed the door and it opened, a tinkling bell at the top ruining any element of surprise she might have had.  Nicole froze in panic and waited several tense seconds for something now alert to her presence to come stumbling out of the shadows. 

When nothing did, she poked her head in and sniffed the air.

No smell, that’s good, she said and went inside. 

Not being able to see, she ran her hands along the wall until she found the switch.  As her eyes adjusted to the light, the scene before her made her think the motel had perhaps not been abandoned, that maybe the proprietor just closed for the night or stepped out.  The office was neat and clean.  A check-in desk spanned half the room.  Behind it, a short hallway turned left into a back office.  To the right of the desk was the complimentary coffee, regular and decaffeinated.   On a serving tray was an assortment of Danishes.  By all appearances, it looked like the night clerk should pop out from around the corner and with a big homespun smile welcome her to Friendly's.  Nicole was almost ready to believe it, when she went over to the coffee makers. The pots were caked with burnt coffee.  She looked down at the pastries and saw they were covered in mold.  The growth extended beyond the serving tray and looked more like a small shag carpet than the sugary hospitality they once were.  Nicole stared at the pastries.  The sight of them filled her with a sense of sadness.  They were symbols of neglect to her.  Their condition only served to emphasize that there had not been anybody there to eat them.  There had not been anybody around to replace them when they went stale, and certainly nobody had been around to clean up the mess they had become.  The people here had left in a hurry; they took whatever they felt was important with them and abandoned the rest, abandoned the pastries and left the coffee maker on.  In her fatigue, she let her mind wander and she was reminded that the world had become much like those pastries, overrun with something that only viewed them as a food source and would keep growing long after they had been consumed.  Nicole awakened from her revere, shaking off what she knew were useless thoughts. She refocused on the task at hand. 

Although there had not been anyone to clean the coffee pots that did not guarantee there was no one around.  Before her head could meet her pillow, she had to be sure.  It did not matter to her if the rooms were locked from the outside, they did not lock from the inside.  She didn’t think the Dead could  turn a knob if some of them were in one of the rooms.  She also did not want to die being wrong about that either.  She went around the desk and looked for room keys. Shuffling through papers on the desk, she ignored what was written on them.  They were just more evidence that the world had changed and lamenting that fact was not going to get her to sleep tonight or miles down the road tomorrow.  She continued her search and in the top right drawer of the check-in desk found a key labeled MASTER.  Nicole grabbed the key and headed outside.

Nicole looked at her car to make sure it was still running then started opening doors.  Working down the left side, she started checking rooms for signs of the Dead, locking the doors back behind her.  When she got to the third door on the right side, she paused.

What are you gonna do if you find one, Nicole?

She looked back at her idling Cavalier.  Run like hell, I guess, she said, answering her own question. 

She took a deep breath and unlocked the door.  Nothing.  When she finished checking the rest of the rooms, she went to her car and turned off the ignition.  Snatching her bag from the back seat, she closed both of the car doors but did not lock them.  Nicole was about to turn when she paused and looked down at the driver side door.  Grabbing the handle and opening it as fast as she could, she dived inside, pulling the door closed behind her.  She gripped the wheel and stared out through the windshield and the dark. 

This has been a test of the Nicole Bennett zombie emergency evac system.  Had this been an actual attack...I probably would be munched. 

Fatigue washed over her, as she rested her head on the steering wheel.  She sighed then opened her door and climbed out.  Shutting the door behind her, Nicole confirmed its unlocked status then stumbled into the room closest to the office on the left.  This door she did lock.

The room was standard mom and pop fare.  Two single beds were on either side of a nondescript nightstand.  Across from the beds, a television sat atop a scratched up dresser.  She saw the remote lying on top of the television, an old style box set, and grabbed it.  She did not know what she hoped to see, but she turned on the aging set just the same.  As the television warmed up, a color test pattern appeared.  She flipped through a half dozen channels and got the same thing.  The last one she tried had a scrolling public service announcement.  It was urging people to stay in their homes until order could be restored.  Nicole laughed.  As a kid, she remembered learning that at the height of the cold war, children were taught to hide under their desks and cover their heads in the event of a nuclear attack.  She knew then, even as a kid herself, the advice was meaningless. It was given only so that people would feel like they were doing something constructive and life preserving.  The last thing the government wanted when humanity was about to go dark was for people to panic.  Hide under your desk, stay in your homes.  It was the same, all the government could really do was tell you to duck your head and die quietly.  Disgusted with the useless advice and her own cynical thought about it, Nicole switched off the television and tossed the remote on the bed. 

She looked over at the sink against the wall.  To the left of that was a door leading to the toilet and shower.  Though she felt bone weary, she thought a shower would wash away the miles.  She set her bag down and went in and turned on the light.  The shower was clean, so she tried the water, cranking the HOT knob to wide open.  The water poured from the faucet behind a strong pressure.  She put her hand out and tested the temperature; it was still cold.  Waiting for it to warm up, Nicole went to the sink, over which was a large mirror.  She tied her auburn hair up in a loose not and turned on the faucet, splashing the cool water over her face.  The feeling rejuvenated her and made her long for the shower, anticipation of muscles relaxing under the hot spray.  Grabbing a hand towel, she rubbed her face dry.  The towel was plush and it felt good, like an itch finally being scratched.  Long after her face was dry, she continued to rub, feeling the massage ease the stress of hours on the road.  Finishing, she tossed the towel away and looked in the mirror.  Her father’s green eyes stared back at her. 

The eyes are the window of the soul, she thought to herself. 

She doubted her father believed in such things as a soul.  Her mind wandered. 

What if he’s right?  Is the only difference between the living and the dead the stench and lack of speech?  She continued to study her features.  I may have dad’s eyes, but everything else is mom’s.

Sandra Bennett was a beautiful woman.  She was known and loved by her friends for her gracious generosity and quiet dignity.  Nicole was her mother’s daughter.  The qualities of beauty and generosity that she inherited made it easy for Nicole to find friends and meet guys.  Her college years called into doubt whether quiet dignity was a trait passed on.  Nicole was also known for being a partier around campus.  She had many boyfriends but no lovers.  Guys who only wanted one thing, called her a tease sometimes but it did not bother her.  Most of them were probably shufflers now and that would be an improvement.  She smiled at the thought.  That smile was her mother’s too and Nicole recognized it immediately.

Her thoughts returned again to her mother and a tightness formed in her chest.  She bit down hard, fighting back her emotions. 

She stood straight and breathed a heavy sigh, Shower definitely needed, she said. 

Going into the bathroom, she tested the water again.  It was getting warmer, but not yet hot.  She stepped out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed.  Nicole kicked off her cross-trainers and lay on her back.   

Just a minute while the water gets hot she told herself as she drifted off to sleep, the steam from the running water wafting out of the bathroom and fogging up the mirror.

NICOLE WAS IN HER CLINIC.  She wrapped a golden retriever's front paw in a bandage while a woman smiled and lovingly stroked