Deuce Apocalypse -Chapter 2

The Beginning

Amidst the bustle of the city, a young man squatted at the side of a building.

"Everything's changed."

Commuters rushed by, some showing clear panic on their faces, while the majority simply went about their daily lives. How many of these individuals would lose their consciousness tonight. How many of them would be persuaded by loved ones and family, only to turn into soulless, hungry beings tomorrow?

'Could a person marked as a zombie actually be saved?'

A frightening thought suddenly emerged in his mind.

'What if this time the virus infects random individuals like the first. What guarantee did he have, he would not turn?'

The very thought of turning into a mindless monster caused him to shudder. Shrugging off such a hopeless situation, he decided to at least prepare for the impending crisis. A profitable morning had him visit the small groceries and Depanneurs along the way home. Using his cards, he lugged his recent purchases home by way of a borrowed cart.

Within the comfort of home, he focused on gathering his thoughts. The TV played in the background, commentators discussing the sudden traffic and congestion on the bridges and tunnels. Rumors surfaced, but the networks swiftly discounted them, labeling them as a baseless hoax.

Most of the ones in the know would not spend this gifted, precious time as soothsayers, they busied in trying to save themselves.

He lived in the basement of an apartment near W 135th Street. Not as chaotic as downtown, but busy nonetheless. The rent and location reasonably close to both his job and part-time classes. After spending some quality time debating and sifting through his memories, he hatched a viable plan.

Securing his one bedroom studio, he left and riding the elevator, soon arrived at a fifth floor apartment. Banging on the door, raised an endless stream of curses until a disheveled head finally popped out behind the open door.

"Hey Paul, want to make a fast five hundred this morning?"

The expletives slowed as the ruffled head smelling of stale booze processed the question.

"When and how?"

"Help me do some purchasing for the community center. You will get the payment promptly tomorrow morning. And gimme Sam's fake creds, I have to use it."

Paul nodded in the affirmative as he went to get dressed. This full time student spent his money in booze and drugs. Most importantly--he had a truck. By midday, both of them had hit all the nearby grocers and swept up most of the remaining water, dry rations and bags of chocolate. He did not forget to purchase heaps of outdoor clothing and camping supplies.

"What the hell man, is the center planning on taking some kids out to a survival camp somewhere? And why the rush for crossbows and rifles?"

The nodding reply only served to raise Paul's ire.

The shopping ground to a halt when he approached the limit on his cards. Leaving a sporting goods store, he handed over the keys to his apartment.

"Drop me off here, and don't forget to keep this a secret from others. This is supposed to be a surprise for the community, if others know about this, I'll dock your payment."

"Yea, yea. I'm not that stupid you know."

Paul drove off, anxious to earn this easy money--and just before the weekend to boot. His previous passenger simply watched the truck disappear into the traffic. He then turned towards the closest Metro station. After his previous bout of contemplation, the viable targets lay to the south near the Kips Bay area.

Besides, today would be the last chance he had to ride the subway.

He exited the 21st Street Metro station and hurried down to the Research institute. Climbing the steps of the yet calm building, proved his hunch. Searching for some information on his phone, he slowly entered the doors. He launched his prepared questions and queries at the lone guard sitting on the front desk.

This place had professors who dabbled in small experiments not overly classified. Hence the lack of serious security. As partly funded by the universities, it allowed certain privileges to students. This loophole he sought to exploit.

"Hi, I'm from Columbia University. I'm here for the interview with Dr M. Franklin."

The guard browsed his credentials before making a call. Students and researchers here were all the same.

"The Doctor is not here, but his assistant will meet with you."

It did not take long for a young researcher to meet up with him. The man escorted him to the Doctors office. Along the way they discussed the reason for the interview and the hype on the TV networks. The lab assistant rated these individuals as mere lunatics.

'People should be pulling all nighters like him. Working hard for the future.'

Once inside the office, one of these similar lunatics accosted him and tied him up in a chair. After gagging the man and stealing his access pass, the lunatic left with a few parting words. He also had the gall to steal his lab coat.

"For both of our sakes, pray to wake up tomorrow."

He retraced his steps until the the room in question. Storage 701. Entering and searching inside this cold storage room he found his target. A batch of vials labeled with a word that in the third year of the Apocalypse became synonymous with strength.

"Thrive."

He whispered.

The group who discovered this strange concoction came from over the New Jersey turnpike. That mad mob used themselves as guinea pigs to learn of this enhancement formula. One day he foraged for food under the pavement grating and overheard this amazing secret. At this very moment that group might be racing towards the city, intending to grasp this very formula.

He dropped the vials and syringes into a cooler and left the room. Standing by the elevator, he timed the guard at the desk and walked out. Heaving a sigh of relief on the subway for this escape, he set his destination for home. He considered the contents of this cooler too precious to lug around the city and loose by accident.

As for the cops investigating him, well good luck with that. The cred he showed the guard would have them and maybe the previous users of the formula scouring the Long Island county for the fictional Sam.

Leaving a complaining Paul, he entered his apartment. Navigating the stockpiles, he deposited the contents of the cooler in the small fridge. To use this effectively, one needed a pair of big cahunas. Confident he gained something to help gain an edge over both zombies and humans, the weight of a mountain lifted of his shoulders.

He made one last trip to the south district again.

"I need a box of your steel ribbon rolls. Two inch width please."

The old farrier gave the young man standing before him a queer gaze.

"You must be the twentieth person today looking for those ribbons. Dunno why they suddenly seem to be in such high demand."

He sent the young man off with a box while shaking his head in wonder.

Happy with this progress, he purchased a portable nail gun with some refillable cartridges. In the comfort of home, he enjoyed a relaxing home cooked meal. Considering his abilities, finances and knowledge, this start by him far surpassed his previous life. Back then he succumbed very quickly to a life of scavenging.

Any more preparation would entitle some law breaking activities. At the moment he wanted to steer clear of such things. The law, at least most of it for now still worked. No way he would spend this night--of all nights locked unarmed in a cell with strangers.

Skimming through his thoughts, he searched for other scenarios where those making the discoveries came from out of the city. The next requisite would have to be how great a secret the finder kept it. Rumors tended to circulate quickly among the bottom feeders, since they met often and shared the same status. Exploiting a secret could lead him to gain an advantage, but those chances came far too few.

The fall of this locality into hell, the formation of teams, the mobs and the bullies. Those who robbed him before, and who might do so again. A coward the first time around, he spent most of his time hiding and roaming around the immediate vicinity. Never straying far from home, his only source of information coming from those forced into a live of scavenging.

News from others struggling like him, gave him the edge to survive. Come tomorrow the zombies would move around shuffling and overwhelming through numbers and strength. The real danger however, came from humans. Those still in possession of a calculative mind.

How many times did he see survivors who successfully looted a pharmacy or shop, only to receive a bullet for their troubles. Moving around in the next few days would bring endless troubles. He had to plan his actions carefully.

At five in the evening he called her.

She would have just arrived home from work and taking care of the cat.

"Hey mom."

"Oh, hey son this is a surprise, how come you're calling this old lady."

The tears welled up in his eyes.

"I just wanted to know how your doing."

"Well your mom is fine..."

The conversations continued for as long and as best as he could make it. A sentence from his mother however, caused him to sob on the phone.

"Hey John, what's all that on the news about a mass exodus from the city. Did you hear about it? Even in our small town, folks have been moving around panicking."

Amidst the tears and weeping, he consoled both of them, but mostly himself...

"You won't have to worry about that mom. Just...just lock up tight and have a good rest tonight."