Flesh Ravenous (Book 1)

  FLESH RAVENOUS

  BOOK 1

  JAMES M. GABAGAT

  Copyright © 2016 by James M. Gabagat

  This is the work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and events in this book are of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to places or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The reproduction of this work in any form, electronic or by other means, without author’s permission, is illegal and punishable by law.

  1

  The Z Word

  Lawrence

  “How the fuck do you even win this game?” Lawrence stared at the Monopoly board for three perplex-filled minutes.

  He, Sonya, Miles, and France started the game an hour ago. It was a needed distraction from hunger, and a way to tune out the gruff, insufferable moans outside on the street from “those things.” No one in the house was comfortable calling those things the Z word. Miles, the forty-something-year-old, seemed to enjoy playing the nostalgic game of Monopoly. “Wow, I’m pumped,” is what he said when pulling the game box out from the family room closet. Then he chose the top hat as his game piece, got overly excited about it, and said, “Man, you guys are going down.” Miles likely ate coffee grounds with his canned beans again this morning. His wife Helena had told him to stop doing that.

  “Well, I think…” Miles rested his elbows on the breakfast table, keeping his eyes on the board. He pondered, and in five seconds, gave up. “How the heck do you win this game?” He looked at Lawrence and shrugged. His eyes then flicked to his sixteen-year-old daughter seated to the right of him, who’s never heard of Monopoly and probably thought “Monopoly” was a disease transmitted through oral sex.

  “Don’t look at me, Dad,” said France, “I only heard about this game watching TV. I mean, I honestly thought this was a board game TV shows made up or something, but no, here it is…laid out right in front of me…with the little green and red houses and stuff.”

  “I think those red things are barns, aren’t they?” Lawrence said. “Or motels, or duplexes? Man, I don’t know—this game is just pissing me off right now.” He thought Monopoly was a game for the smart, sophisticated types, which was why it didn’t suit him or anyone seated around him. Miles and France would’ve been content watching some ridiculous game show where parents and their kids have shopping cart races or dress up in animal costumes and pillow fight. Lawrence could picture the father and daughter in front of the TV, laughing, enjoying the antics of a program entitled, “Lower Middle Class Families Do Stupid Shit for Money.” But there was no TV, no electricity in this house. Not anymore.

  Lawrence leaned back in his chair, fingers fiddling with his game piece. He chose what looked like a little, metal garbage can or some kind of hat from a European country. He had asked Sonya what it was, and her response was, “It’s a thimble. Are you retarded?” Lawrence replied with, “What’s a thimble?”

  “Why don’t we just read the instructions,” said Sonya, in her usual sharp tone of frustration. In most cases, an irritated sigh followed. “We can all read, can’t we? Where’s the box for this?” She looked back, grabbed the box off the kitchen counter, and sighed irritably.

  Lawrence stuck his tongue out and unleashed his own irritated sigh, which sounded like “Eeeeeehhh.” He tossed the European-hat-looking object down on the board. “Let’s just say Miles won because he sort of knew how to play.”

  “Okay,” Miles said, removing his glasses to rub his eyes, “I’m good with that.” He lifted his arms and took a moment to stretch. “Does anyone know if coffee grounds have an expiration date? I’m feeling a bit nauseas.”

  “Mom told you to stop eating all that,” said France. “It’s disgusting. You gobble it up like some kinda…ravenous, wolf-like creature.”

  “No one else is eating them, so what’s your mom complaining about? I’ll eat coffee grounds by the handful if I want. I’m a grown man.”

  “I’m nauseas, too,” said Sonya, who was gathering the Monopoly parts into its box. Lawrence knew her to have the healthy, annoying habit of tidying up. “We’ve been eating less this week.”

  Kasey entered the kitchen with a lit candle in hand. “It’s three spoonfuls of something for each meal. Y’all know we have to stick to that. Everybody gets three spoonfuls only.” She set the candle upon the counter and grabbed a glass from the cupboard above her. She poured herself water from a one-gallon bottle, filling only a quarter of her cup. Drinking water was also limited daily. “Hey, are y’all playing Monopoly? How do you win that, anyway?”

  Miles and France shrugged in unison.

  “I don’t really know how to play,” Lawrence said. “This whole time I was pretending.”

  “Same here,” said France. “How the hell is this game so popular? It never ends.”

  “I kept saying, again and again,” said Sonya—sighs—eyes roll, “we should read the instructions. You guys would just talk over me and—”

  “Is there anything we haven’t played yet?” Lawrence talked over her.

  “Asshole,” Sonya whispered. Sighs. Eyes roll. Throwing Monopoly pieces into the game box with irate vigor now added.

  Lawrence yawned. It was only early afternoon, but boarded up windows downstairs and dim candlelight gave the illusion of twenty-four-hour darkness. The seemingly nonexistent sunlight made naps in the house frequent. “Maybe I’ll just go to bed.”

  This time, Sonya yawned. “Yeah, I think I’ll join you.”

  “Sonya, did you say you wanted to join me in bed?” Lawrence often riled Sonya with his droll, offhand comments.

  “No, I said, ‘I think I’ll join you.’ I didn’t mean to say—never mind.”

  “It’s fine if you wanna join me in bed.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Lawrence laughed, aware of what his harmless pokes did to Sonya. It once drove her to throw a laundry detergent jug at his crotch.

  Sonya harbored resentment toward Lawrence since Kyle, her boyfriend and Lawrence’s longtime friend, became a Z word. So, every time she called Lawrence an asshole, a stupid jerk-off, or a man-cunt (sometimes she got creative), she did so with pure anger.

  Sonya never understood, or refused to understand, that it wasn’t Lawrence’s fault. I couldn’t save him, Lawrence often told himself. In a way, I did save him. Doesn’t Sonya know this hurts me too? He never told her how much losing Kyle affected him. Sonya was a person who struck at another’s weaknesses. That’s how Lawrence knew her, anyway.

  Kyle’s tragedy aside, Lawrence enjoyed infuriating Sonya. It was a better activity than taking naps or playing Monopoly by candlelight, or beating off in the bathroom and going back to bed for a nap.

  “Hey, Lawrence,” Miles had an extra wide smile, likely due to his consumption of coffee grounds, “I think I’d like to join you in bed, cowboy.” The man always had an array of corny jokes, but Lawrence brainlessly enjoyed them. “Yee-haw. Giddy up there, partner.”

  Lawrence laughed with Miles, soundless, muted laughs, as to not attract the attention of those things scurrying about outside. Sonya rose from her chair with the Monopoly box in hand and stomped off toward the family room. It seemed Lawrence’s laughter upset her.

  “Miles,” said Kasey, “eating all them coffee grounds ain’t good for you. Ain’t good for the people around you, either.”

  “Leave him alone, Kasey,” said Lawrence, “he’s a grown man.”

  “Yeah,” said Miles, “I’m gonna eat it all like a ravenous, wolf-like creature.” He nudged France’s shoulder with his elbow.

  Lawrence and Miles laughed again.

  The laughter cut when Ally appeared at the doorway separating the kitchen from the dining room. Her widened eyes darted from everyone in the kitchen,
to the front of the house, and then to Lawrence. “Lawrence,” she called in a whispered shout.

  “What?” Lawrence whispered back.

  “We heard people outside…” Ally swung another look to the front door and back to Lawrence.

  Charlene came up behind Ally. “Survivors, maybe?” She looked around at everyone, inquiringly. “What do we do?”

  Lawrence got up and dashed over to the drawer near the sink, opened it, and pulled out the pistol. I don’t know what to do, Lawrence wanted to say. Grabbing the pistol was the first step. Was he to shoot someone?

  The last survivor they’d encountered was Kasey. That was nearly four months ago, when the living still inhabited Revel Street. How would the living of this street look now? Lawrence’s thoughts flitted through so many post-apocalyptic movies, where dirty, wild men banded into savage tribes, firing machine guns at the air, howling and whooping, behaving like animals. But that clichéd scenario was hard to imagine in the suburbs of Felipa, a noiseless town on the obscure parts of California. Maybe another group two streets away also lived within a fortified house. Maybe those dead things finally converged on that house, then survivors within could’ve escaped and scattered about. That hypothetical notion made more sense, but Lawrence still wouldn’t rule out savage tribal raiders with machine guns, wanting to steal your water bottles and Vienna sausage cans, and rape your women, or rape whoever. Months of desperation could lead to savagery.

  Everyone would look to Lawrence in dealing with these survivors. There wasn’t a formal announcement of the leader role after Kyle’s death, it was an unspoken vote. Lawrence was unsure why it became him, feeling he was nothing special. He was average in height and build—though his slightly above average looks brought him luck with females—the inebriated ones, as Sonya liked to point out. Lawrence thought of Kyle as the confident and handsome one, the movie heartthrob, action hero. A guy people wanted to follow. In a non-homo-romantic way, Kyle made Lawrence feel safe and secure, sometimes special. Kyle and Ally inherited the house from their father. With Kyle gone, Ally should be in charge, but she was eighteen, a teenager, and was squeamish and fearful at times.

  Right now, squeamish Ally trembled, could be a savage raider scenario was in her head too.

  “It’ll be all right, Ally.” Lawrence put an assuring hand on her arm.

  Miles got up from his chair. “Ally, are you sure they’re…people?”

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  “They were, like, screaming and sounding all urgent,” Charlene said. “It sounded like a man and a woman. They were saying stuff like, ‘Where are we gonna go?’ and ‘Hurry, hurry.’ Me and Ally were like, ‘Are we gonna let them in? We should let them in,’ and I said, ‘Yeah.’ If I were in a desperate situation, I’d want someone to help me. Wouldn’t you guys?”

  Charlene was also a teenager, the kind that talked a lot.

  Holy shit she talked a lot.

  A pounding came to the front door, strident and abrupt, making everyone react with a slight jump.

  Lawrence moved toward the living room with slow, hesitant steps. He felt safer knowing Miles followed behind him, a kitchen knife in each hand. Sonya stood near the fireplace in still readiness like an Olympic sprinter at the starting line. Tristan and Helena stood at the middle landing of the stairs. Tristan held a sword. An actual sword, a replica of some long-ago period in history. Lawrence doubted Tristan would be much use with the weapon.

  “Is anyone in there?” A man said from behind the front door. “Anyone?”

  Sonya grabbed a poker from its stand. Lawrence continued toward the door, motioning for Tristan to come down from the stairs. Tristan did so, holding his sword in two hands with his arms outstretched before him, a familiar fighting stance in many movies.

  “Who are you?” Lawrence shouted to the man outside. “Where are you from?” How many of you are there?” He attempted to sound bold, and was sure Sonya noticed and was laughing on the inside.

  “Please, let us in!” A woman screamed. The rapping continued. “We’ll die out here.”

  “Please,” the man said, “my daughter—my daughter’s out here with us. Please. We ran out of gas—we—I have a gun, I have two bottles of painkillers and other medical supplies. I can be useful to you. Please help us! They’re coming!”

  By now, everyone in the house was in the living room. Lawrence turned to face them. “Okay, everybody, show of hands, who thinks we should open the door for them? He was serious about the vote. He didn’t want to decide alone.

  Everyone raised a hand.

  “Hey, everybody,” Sonya said, “let’s play some more fucking Monopoly—Lawrence, open the fucking door!”

  From outside, a blast of gunfire sounded, a woman’s shriek followed. Everyone in the house jolted or yelped. Ally, Charlene, and France screamed and hunkered behind the couch. Kasey ran to the front door, Miles followed with his kitchen knives. Kasey quickly turned the three deadbolt locks.

  Kasey looked to Lawrence, Sonya, and Miles, who all stood closest to the entrance, weapons held and set to attack. “Y’all ready?”

  “Go!” Lawrence shouted.

  Kasey swung the door open. Sunlight shot into the house like a burst of camera flash, like a sudden explosion without sound. Lawrence caught glimpse of a little blonde girl run inside, cutting through between him and Sonya. There wasn’t a second to look. Instincts told him she was one of the living, and that she was the daughter the man outside spoke of.

  Another gun blast sounded. The man outside, dressed in black cargo pants and a brown fishing vest over a blue long sleeve, caught one of the dead things in the head. The dead man’s head jerked back before he toppled backward. Two more of the monsters approached in a twitchy, high-speed run. One was a woman with one eye and a portion of her face gone, from upper cheek to the scalp. Her exposed skull was caked with black crusts of dried blood. The green blouse she wore was torn and shredded down the middle, exposing a plump, jiggling breast, which was gray and spoiled with slash marks. The other was a skinny, teenaged boy, with a head of large, blonde curls that resembled an afro. The boy’s skin was cadaver blue, other than that, the only defect about him was his missing bottom lip, which looked either torn off or chewed off.

  Lawrence took two steps out the door. “Get inside!” He said to the female stranger, who was crying and panting manically. She had light brown hair, neck-length. She looked twenty-five or twenty-six years old, roughly Lawrence’s age. She might’ve been attractive if her face wasn’t contorted with the expression of horror.

  The female stranger did as told. Sonya grabbed her by the arm and pushed her through the doorway.

  “Get in the house, man,” Miles said to the male stranger.

  The two dead things drew near. Lawrence aimed and fired his gun, catching Dangle-boob in her lone eye. She stumbled down and rolled twice before stopping to become a dead corpse. Blonde-afro never broke his run. Closer the kid came crying out a slobbery roar, like a song with an off tune melody and lyrical gibberish. Lawrence aimed and fired…

  He missed.

  “Oh shit.” Lawrence couldn’t take the time to aim another shot, Blonde-afro was too close now. Lawrence threw his left forearm up to shield himself.

  Sonya stepped to Lawrence’s side and jammed the tip of her poker up the kid’s mouth. The weapon broke out through the top of his head, and his bush of blonde became a sponge for red goop. Sonya must’ve had an abnormal amount of upper body strength to crack a skull with a dull tipped weapon.

  There were roars and moans of the dead coming from several directions now. About a half dozen of the monsters charged out from a broken backyard fence across the street.

  “Come on, Lawrence.” Sonya hooked her arm in his and abandoned her poker in the dead kid’s head. The two of them ran inside the house. Kasey slammed the front door and locked up.

  Lawrence threw himself back onto the living room couch. Across from him, seated on the other couch, was the man and woman survivor
. The child survivor was in the dining room, weeping in Ally’s embrace.

  “It’s all right, Joni,” the man said, “we’re safe now.” He appeared too exhausted to stand. His face pale and gleaming with sweat and not an inch of his dirty-blonde hair appeared dry.

  “Where are you three from?” Miles asked.

  “We came from Antlers, originally. “I’m Richard, by the way.” He made a weak head motion to the woman beside him. “This is my wife Therese, and the little one is Joni, my daughter.”

  “Antlers?” Charlene said. “Where’s Antlers? Canada or something?”

  “It’s here in California,” said Richard. “Way up north, close to Oregon. It’s a very small town, which is why you’ve never heard of it.”

  “You’ve passed by Sacramento?” said Sonya, taking a seat on the couch arm next to Lawrence.

  “We have,” Therese finally spoke. “Sacramento’s become…The downtown area was swarming with the diseased. There was no military or any order, if that’s what you wanted to know.”

  “After leaving Sacramento,” Richard took over, “we decided to head toward San Francisco, but started to run short on food. We stopped here in Felipa, to maybe, scrounge for more supplies. The suburban areas are far less populated with the diseased.”

  “What else have you been doing all this time since leaving Antlers?” Miles asked.

  “Heard any radio broadcasts about San Francisco?” Kasey asked. “Are y’all headed to someplace safe there?”

  “Antlers?” Charlene said. “Are there, like, reindeers around that town or something?”

  “Let’s let these people breathe first,” said Lawrence. “We’ll ask questions later.”

  “Right, right,” Kasey agreed. “Let’s get you three some water.” She started her way to the kitchen.

  “Are you the one in charge here?” Richard asked Lawrence.

  “There’s no one in charge here, really,” Lawrence replied. “It’s a bit of a democracy, I guess.”