Deuce Apocalypse -Chapter 1

The Return

Simon controlled his breathing, as the horde stumbled along passed his hideout.

These sorties by him, for food and precious water grew more frequent in the passing months. The scarcity of basic items now caused countless clashes between survivors. Tightly knit hunting teams broke apart and fought to the death for a once common bottled water.

Death came easily from a backstabbing friend, as from a mutation. Rumors of cannibalism began to surface, while madmen overdosed on prescription pills prowled the apartment buildings. Survival depended on luck and skill.

Simon passed no judgment on the survivors. At the beginning of this horror, his family had also tossed him aside. As a lumbering fat teen, he became one of the first of many sacrifices for the greater good. Three years after the apocalypse, he still lived.

He grabbed the baseball bat in his thin hands and sneaked across the street. Having undergone a weight loss program unlike any other known to man, he sported that elusive skinny build from his dreams. He had shredded fat so fast however, that his body now bordered on the malnourished. A far cry from the once rounded figure.

Beyond the fence, the Hudson river flowed. Ever since the calamity occurred, most of the chemical industries and treatment plants ceased to function. Unprocessed waste of all types flowed into the rivers. The Hudson still offered an abundant source of fresh water.

Providing that one had enough luck to take it.

For desperate souls in the city, the rewards outweighed the risk. The flowing water looked so enticing from this distance. Perfect to refill his empty plastic containers. He hid in the overgrown bushes as the evening sun-scorched the summer sky. Ever since that day, the sky maintained a hazy orange color during the day.

Hiding under the overgrown bushes, waiting and hoping...

Simon had nearly decided to call it a day, when the man arrived. Hallucinating or high under the effects of eating pills, starvation or thirst; or maybe under the influence of all, the man tumbled over the rusting fence and made his way across the stony shore. His aim--the vast water supply before him.

As soon as the guy plunged into the water, splashing and screaming in euphoria, Simon jumped out and rushed higher up the shore, far from him. Picking his way in silence, he avoided crunching on the bleached bones and skulls. Reaching the water edge, he hurried to fill the containers.

"Ahhh!"

The expectant screams from downstream, informed him of the need to leave. Grabbing his half filled containers, he rushed out towards the safety of the higher embankment. One glance across the open shoreline showed others doing the same.

Simon learned that this activity suited bottom feeders like him the most. At least for now, the mobs and little militias did not know of this so as to levy a tax on them. At the moment he depended on these lunatics and sometimes desperate individuals to live.

A cockroach.

For nearly three years he survived in this great, but now dangerous city as a cockroach--a bottom feeder.

He cautiously returned to the empty building. Those screams from earlier, would have attracted more than those slow shuffling zombies. Out in Manhattan--a capital of human civilization, packs of mutated beast roamed wild. Some frequented the river, but the land based ones were home-grown.

Mutated rats, large as a dog hunted in packs. Hiding from zombies, while preying on the living. At the top of that animal food chain stood some mutated exotic beast. Rumors among the bottom feeders saw them even preying against the zombies hordes.

He never did like that Bronx Zoo.

Scavengers tended to hear all the latest rumors, ranging from those absurd powered individuals, to certain scrapped technology that became worth their weight in gold. Bottom feeders like him; similar to the ever enduring cockroach, etched out a living few could imagine.

He gave credit to John, his fellow scavenger. Most of that young man's advice helped him survive. Although the community center they frequented and gathered had been overrun, those had been good times. Living among others who suffered the same, without anything of importance had helped ease his weary mind.

Simon arrived near his apartment building. He hid his containers within his cloak and shuffled towards his home. To any onlookers, he appeared as a typical scavenger. In the first six months of the apocalypse, his kind endured the stereotypical beating.

When the bridges became impassable, and food supplies ran scarce, then living in the city turned into hell. Newly formed mobs and groups used them as bait or as testers. These inhumane actions served to provide lots of information about the creatures roaming the city.

After the winter, the hate died down. The social elites became too busy fighting for supplies among themselves. Thus he and others like him gained a brief respite.

But the mutant threat always existed. With an estimated over three-quarters of the population turned, New York city was not the place to be.

He slowly walked, stopping to listen as he climbed the dimly lit staircase. Living on the higher apartments helped avoid the hunting rat packs that frequented the basements and tunnels. It also helped in avoiding roaming zombies that tend to remain at street level.

A shuffling noise from higher up warranted his attention. He stopped.

Nothing.

His ears might be playing tricks on the stairway. Light beamed through the small windows, constructed on each floor. Simon continued climbing the stairs.

The scuttling noise came again, but this time much closer.

The hairs on his teenage skin raised, his pores screaming danger.

He squinted upwards as he lowered his precious load.

The attack came swift and decisive. A zombie appeared first at the top of the stairs, then pounced on him with a speed that surprised him completely. Before he could retaliate or defend with his baseball bat, he found himself inches away, staring into a pair of mesmerizing glowing eyes.

The putrid face disappeared from view as he then screamed from the pain of ripping flesh from his neck. In a reflexive manner he tried to retaliate, push the undead away, but the bite sealed his fate; death. Simon had witness countless of these killings, so he had full knowledge of his impending future.

Food.

The last thing that crossed his mind--a variant zombie, the rumors were true. Before his soul died, a flash of blue light swept across the stairwell. It came from some unknown origin spreading across the earth like a ping from a sonar.

***

He woke up clutching the quilt in his clammy hands. Beads of perspiration dripped down his forehead, as he hid under the covers. Like a kid awaking from a nightmare, he composed himself before peering out from under the covers.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness. A warm summer breeze blew in from the open window. The LED clock on the bedside displayed 1 am. The date on the display nearly caused him to faint in shock. He pushed the covers and jumped out of his bed.

Yes. His own bed. Through the open basement window, the sound of a train serenaded him. A car alarm activated somewhere down the block.

Two months into the apocalypse, all power and nationwide communication ceased to exist. Two years later and the streets of New York never had a vehicle running on it again. He gasped for breath as he looked at the date on the display. A mixture of joy and fear then assaulted him.

He had returned to a time before the cataclysmic event. The big problem and cause of his fear--today at six in the evening, the apocalypse would fall. He gazed through the window of his apartment, looking at countless apartment lights being flicked on and some people running on the streets.

By tonight the sky would turn orange and all wireless communication rendered useless. Tomorrow many would wake up and find more than half of the city, turned into zombies. He closed the window to block out the increasing noise and shouts.

First he would take a good rest. In the morning he planned on seeking out one of those places that stored some cutting edge technology. Once he got it, the next item on the agenda would be to high-tail it out of this island trap. The young man smiled knowing that this time everything would be different.

In the morning he grabbed his bank card, dressed and rushed out. He knew his target location well. About three blocks down the street in a storage center. A research company had left some cumbersome backpack solar generators and  battery packs for future development.

During a raid on the complex early on in the apocalypse, a group of individuals stumbled across this equipment. This find had them living a better life in the usually dark city. One of the rumors that spread was the generators had the capacity to power a refrigerator and run a microwave.

He walked down the unusually high traffic streets towards the storage units. Rounding the corner, he halted in shock and dismay. A huge crowd gathered in front of the building, cursing and brawling. Police cars parked near the entrance, as cops beat and kept the protesters at bay.

All this while their compatriots loaded the cars with the generators.

WTF!

He trudged up to the group, his face turning grave on the shouts.

"Bastards, you can't take all. Leave some for us."

"Dammit, my brother says a group already hit the site near Battery park. All the flexi-panels are gone!"

He listened in, as his face twisted in doubt.

"Sally, pick me up when you leave the bank, a guy here says the traffic on the bridges are already terrible."

People packed the ATM across the street, while the crowds jostled in the jam-packed streets. Strangers spoke in fright over their cellphones, others yelled in panic. The unusual chatter and movement of people at one in the morning.

His stomach began to feel queasy, bile rushing up his throat.

There was no doubt in his mind.

The world had returned.

The entire world.