Chapter 1 Code Black
Dale's morning had not been great. A patient had passed away three minutes into his shift at the hospital. Not to mention well over half of the employees either called in or did not show up for their shift. "Man you'd think the world was ending with how today's goin'," he muttered under his breath, chuckling dryly. On his way back from emptying the dirty linens Carla, the nurse on call, yelled for him. "Dale! The powers flickering again, better make sure we have enough oxygen tanks for the patients who need it." Dale offered a crooked grin. " I've already brought up five tanks just in case." Stopping by the nurses station, Dale switches on the radio for some music. A special news report was on. Dale paused with his hand on his drink. "-Violence is spreading rapidly throughout the streets of Columbia! The military is enforcing a full quarantine in Boone County." " It's believed some unknown infection is being spread-extremely aggressive behavior- if you are in the Columbia area proceed to emergency evacuation points immediately."
His heart thudded. He frantically fished his phone out of his scrub pocket. Five missed calls from Anne. "God.." he whispered. He tapped to return the call. Nothing. No service. No bars. Another alert came across the radio: "Do not engage. The infected are highly dangerous. Transmission through blood and bites. Seek military safe zones immediately!." Without a second thought Dale grabbed his backpack and keys and ran out of the hospital. He had to get to his wife and three boys!
The streets were chaotic by the time he reached his truck. Sirens blaring, panicked screams, helicopters cutting across the sky. Dale's hands trembled as he turned the ignition. His Blue Nissan pickup roared to life like it knew the world was ending too. The drive home was a blur of red lights and speeding cars. People shooting other people in the streets and riots breaking out. He kept checking the sky too. It was eerily grey, unnatural. It felt like the sun was afraid to shine.
When he pulled into his driveway, the door to the house was wide open. "No, no, no.." he whispered, bolting out of the truck and rushing inside. "Anne?! Boys?!" silence. The house smelled like coffee and fear. He stepped into the kitchen. A folded piece of paper was taped to the fridge in Anne's handwriting. Dale! He tore it free and opened the paper. Dale, the army came. They said the world has pretty much fallen to an unknown infection. They are forcing us to go. I didn't want to leave, but they wouldn't wait for you. Please find us, we are suppose to be going to Charleston, West Virginia. Please be careful, they say monsters are eating people! I love you so much. The boys say they love you and are worried.-Anne-
His legs went weak. He sank slowly to the floor. Crying, gripping the paper like it could somehow bring them back. A prayer half-formed on his lips. He hadn't prayed in a while. Not really. " Please God, help us!" The sound came from behind him. A step, a creak. Then a wet, snarling breath. Getting to his feet he looked through the kitchen door. The thing in his living room had once been a man, maybe. Now it moved like something broke and feral. Skin pale, cracked, hanging. Its eyes were pure black, and its jaw slackened open, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp for any human mouth. An undead ghoul, not quite a zombie. A lesser vampire. It hissed and charged. Dale backed up, reaching for anything. His hand closed around the small porcelain angel figurine Anne kept by the sink- a praying angel with one wing chipped. He hurled it with all his might. It smashed uselessly off the creature's shoulder. "Sorry, Lord," he muttered, scrambling through the kitchen. The thing lunged, knocking Dale to the floor breaking a chair. Dale yanked open the junk drawer and grabbed a rusty screwdriver. When it grabbed him, its breath stank like rot and death. He stabbed at it wildly, catching it in the neck. It screamed a high shrill, inhuman. Kicking it off him Dale ran to the stove grabbing a cast iron skillet. He swung the skillet into its face-once, twice, until the creature stumbled back. The creature lunged again, knocking the skillet from his hands. Desperate, he grabbed a broken wood chair leg and drove the jagged end straight into its chest. The creature twitched violently, then lay still. Dale lay there, panting. Bleeding from the previous fall. His kitchen was wrecked. His family was gone. Something dark had taken hold of the world. Rising to his feet, he looked down at the broken angel on the floor, glass glinting red in the light. Maybe it was ironic. Maybe it was a message. Either way, he got the point. He didn't have much time, he had to man up.
Later that hour Dale stood in his bedroom, pulling a dusty green hiking backpack from the back of the closet. He tossed it on the bed and started filling it with whatever he could think of: canned food from the pantry. Two water bottles. His Bible. A small flashlight. Bandages and painkillers. A pocket knife, and a photo of his wife and boys. The last thing he added was a map of Missouri and one of the eastern states. Changing his clothes, he took one last look around the house- dining chairs knocked over, the angel figurine shattered, blood on the linoleum. "Please, God," he whispered. "Let them be safe. Let me get to them. Give me the strength and wisdom I need to get through this." With that, Dale stepped out the door and into a world that was no longer his own.
Chapter 2 When the Veins Ran Dry
Dale hadn't seen another soul in over an hour. Columbia, once a city of sirens and screams, had gone eerily silent. The occasional burst of distant gunfire or a car alarm reminded him that death was still on the move-but nothing close enough to see. Just scattered debris, overturned trash bins, wrecked cars, and a few corpses strung about. The weird thing however, there should have been more. He moved quickly down a side street, ducking through alleys and keeping low behind parked cars. He had abandoned his truck when one of the creatures ran head first into his truck. It was like hitting a buck, a brick wall. His backpack bounced on his shoulders with every step. His only goal: was to get out of the city and survive long enough to find his family. It was sheer luck that he spotted the antique store. The window had been cracked open by someone else, maybe a looter, but the bell above the door still jingled when Dale slipped inside. The place smelled of old books and oiled wood. The front shelves were picked clean. But in the back, behind a glass display case, something caught his eye. A knight's longsword. A real one. Not decorative. The blade was slightly nicked, the hilt still perfect. Dale was ecstatic! He and his three boys were huge nerds. They would always cosplay as knights and sword fight each other. This sword could be his salvation, he could cut his way through the monsters and rescue his family! Dale smashed the glass and grabbed the weapon. It was heavier than he expected. As he turned to leave, he noticed a mannequin near the register dressed in what looked like old leather armor, the kind you'd see at a renaissance fair. "God, does provide!" Ten minutes later, Dale walked out of the shop wearing the worn chest piece, gauntlets, and a shoulder pad. He felt protected.
Just outside the store, slumped against the wall, lay a police officer. Dale's heart jumped. He scanned the street. Still empty. Slowly, he stepped outside and approached the body. The officer was young-mid twenties, maybe. Pale. throat torn open. No signs of infection, but definitely dead. He spotted the 9mm pistol still holstered on the officer's hip. Swallowing hard, Dale reached down and unclipped it. It felt cold in his hands. Heavy in a different way than the sword. There was a spare magazine in the vest. He pocketed both, murmuring, "I'm sorry," before walking away. He followed back roads and alleys, avoiding the major intersections. The interstate was probably a trap.