The Fall of Society Read online

  “Gregor!” he shouted.

  The undead answered his call, several of them charged at Ivan and he drew his sidearm, he fired and killed three of them, but the fourth one pounced on him, and they tumbled to the ground. A fifth one joined in the kill and then two more.

  Multiple gunshots cracked the darkness, but Ivan was finished.

  Gregor reached the bunker, which was a large concrete and steel dome that protruded out of the grass, suggesting that the majority of it was deep underground. There was a large locked panel next to the oversized double doors. Gregor had a set of keys that opened the panel and inside was a security lock; Gregor typed a code into the keypad, and then the computer asked for his handprint and voice sample to confirm access. He placed his hand on the screen, and it scanned. “Colonel Gregor Krasin, Commander, Levashovo Air Base,” he said.

  “Access granted, Colonel Krasin,” the computer said.

  Gregor stepped into the double doors as soon as they opened wide enough. He closed them and went into the deep of the dark bunker.

  Automatic lights illuminated his path as Gregor walked through this concrete tomb that was cold and musty, his footsteps carried on ahead of him in echoes. He walked down a long corridor that had storage rooms for supplies—food, clothing, blankets, weapons and ammunition—he reached a junction of three security doors in different directions, he chose the center one and repeated the identification process; he was granted access. He closed that door as well when he entered.

  He was in a much wider corridor that had large storage rooms with doors that were the size of a garage. He walked by a dormant freight elevator that could hold a truck—a breeze gave a long howl through the shaft—Gregor approached one storage room and opened its security panel. After he entered the code and placed his hand for scanning, the door opened.

  Inside was a chamber that was a couple hundred feet deep and fifty feet wide. The automatic lights flickered on and illuminated the only contents of this room.

  The green, military steel containers were about ten feet long by three wide and tall, there were eight of them stacked together in two modular groups of four. Gregor got to one stack and undid the straps holding them in place, he untied one and tried to open it but couldn’t. It was too high up, so he grabbed the end of the container and pulled with all his strength. The heavy crate moved until it fell off the stack, Gregor stepped back as the container crashed to the floor in a hard hit, it settled upside-down, so he flipped it over. He undid the lid clasps and opened it—the lid was the upper half of the container—and when he lifted it off, the contents were revealed—

  A tactical nuclear missile.

  A weapon that’s armament for a jetfighter.

  Gregor grabbed some tools from a nearby toolbox and got to work on the missile. He found the weapon’s access panel and carefully unscrewed several bolts, after which, he took off the panel cover and tossed it aside. Inside was the missile’s computer interface, he used a stainless steel key from his key ring and activated it.

  The interface powered on, and the missile’s computer booted up. Gregor began to enter a series of long codes from memory into the computer’s keypad, once he finished, a small compartment next to the computer slid open, revealing a set of three buttons and another key slot. He inserted another key and turned it, causing the buttons to light up in yellow, green and red.

  He pushed the yellow button—

  The arming sequence was primed.

  He pushed the green button—

  The arming sequence was initiated and the weapon armed itself.

  Gregor stared at the red button in hesitation…

  Sweat trailed down his scalp, traveled through the wrinkles in his forehead, and stung his eyes, but he could see clearly and he knew what must be done.

  It was the only thing that he could do…

  He pushed the red button—

  The button blinked every second…

  He pushed it a second time—

  It blinked even faster…

  He moved his finger down to push it a third and final time…

  “Stop, Gregor!” a voice shouted.

  He turned to see Ivan standing at the storage room’s entrance thirty feet from him and he was barely able to stand, it was clear why—he had been attacked by a few of the undead—he had deep bite wounds on his legs, arms and chest. He had a severe bite in his neck that squirted blood with the pace of his heartbeat. Blood gushed between his fingers of his hand that he had pressed against the vicious wound.

  In his other hand was a pistol that he had aimed at Gregor.

  “Stop,” Ivan said with a weak voice. “Don’t.”

  His face was ghost-pale, he was near death, but he mustered all his strength to hold the gun steady on his commander.

  “Ivan, all is lost.”

  “I…don’t care…you can’t…do…this…not this.”

  “Then you should pull the trigger, my friend,” Gregor said with a hard face crowned in tears.

  Gregor moved his finger toward the button for the final push…

  And Ivan took aim at his head. “No,” he said as he depressed the pistol’s trigger.

  Both of them suddenly stopped when they heard—

  Them.

  In Ivan’s desperation to get to Gregor…

  He didn’t close any of the doors he opened to get in—

  And they followed him.

  Inhuman screeches and demon roars approached quickly.

  Ivan turned toward the section entrance and yelled in fear. He rapid-fired his pistol and a second later—

  Twenty of the undead tackled him to the floor and began to feast.

  He screamed in gurgled agony as they ripped chunks out of him.

  Gregor watched with horror-filled eyes, and then they saw him…

  Dozens rushed in with Gregor in their mutated vision…

  He placed his finger on the button…

  He said a silent prayer…

  “Mother…forgive me,” he whispered.

  The undead would not…

  He pressed the button—

  Everything froze in heat—

  And became blinding white.

  The running corpses were stuck three feet from Gregor.

  Their dead skin vaporized, along with their muscles and bones.

  All of it, everything came undone in the blink of a blinded eye.

  All matter blew apart like leaves and every single cell exploded on the molecular level at the speed of light.

  The base and everything within a five-mile radius disappeared and became a massive, superhot white fireball.

  The blast wave pushed out in a circular pattern and destroyed everything in its path for another ten miles.

  The area was dead.

  And everything would settle to dust as the rest of the world struggled to carry on…

  EPILOGUE

  WAITING IN EXILE

  The air was still and the light was dim. It didn’t seem natural that everything was so calm, even though it was night, life seemed serene at this particular moment, and that wasn’t so confusing.

  Even in the current times.

  A person is born into this world naked, kicking and screaming, with no understanding as to why they were torn from their dark and warm refuge. It’s a shock to the system, to say the least, and unfortunately, a necessary one.

  He looked down at the table before him…

  If a person is fortunate enough to make it into adulthood, then a time comes when one may realize that becoming an adult is not so fortunate. That being lost in the abyssal of being a child, especially if one is loved and protected, is much more attractive than losing one’s innocence and becoming one of them. Not a carnivorous cannibal, but an “adult.”

  The table was covered in dust that was aged by months…

  As much as he liked to, he really couldn’t remember his childhood, especially his toddler years. Some people could remember that far back, but not him, even though he
wished that he could. Even now. Not that it would make a difference to his current situation, but it would nice if he had those memories to refer to occasionally. They would comfort him and remind him of what it was like to be back in the womb. Instead of this tomb that he was presently in. He remembered his parents and how they never wanted him to be a doctor. They had other plans for him.

  He ran his finger down the table and carved a line in the dust…

  He quickly realized that those memories wouldn’t give him any real comfort, just a false sense of security, and he didn’t want that. He was content with the man he turned out to be, although be it, he wasn’t the man that his parents wanted him to be, but that didn’t matter.

  He was who he wanted to be.

  And that was the only thing that mattered.

  He looked at the dust on his fingertip.

  He studied it.

  Feeling the texture of it, he wondered what it consisted of? What percentage was human skin, how much was cleaning products, pollution, paper fibers, plant pollen, and other things that inhabit the microscopic realm. He didn’t know why this bothered him, but he needed to know.

  He put his fingers in his mouth and tasted it. He licked his skin to get every speck of it. He swished it around his mouth and then he realized that he knew more about it. His taste buds savored the individual sensations, he knew that was impossible, but somehow, he could taste the differences.

  And that’s when he tasted them.

  Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with images stored in his mind, vast information, pictures, names, dates, places and all other pertinent data of what was important to him. He began to shake a little from anxiety as he stared at the bars. He remembered about what he had said at a certain moment. He didn’t like that he altered the truth of what he had said in a defiant whisper beforehand, but he said it to protect himself. He needed to keep the secret safe, especially from John. He didn’t like him, mainly because he didn’t like it when people outsmarted him, and John had done just that.

  That humiliated his intellect.

  And that wouldn’t be tolerated.

  He would deal with John soon enough, though.

  But right now, he was upset with himself for lacking the courage of his convictions.

  Even though he knew the secret was more important than him.

  It was his master, and he had to abide by it, whether he liked it or not.

  He remembered what he said when John asked him to repeat what he didn’t hear.

  I said that they are my patients.

  He shook worse, and he wanted to scream for not having said the truth.

  He calmed himself for he knew that it would be revealed in the end.

  He knew that all of them would know the truth and that they wouldn’t be able to silence him.

  Or stop him.

  His body slowed to calm spasms and then down to quivers as he stared at the crown of stagnant dust over his head.

  His pupils dilated wide in the dark and they were circles of cold steel. He saw his future just as clearly as he saw their names in his mind.

  He spoke them aloud and with love…

  “Allan Randall—”

  “Andrea Wood—”

  “Andrew Wu—”

  “Andy Cook—”

  “April Garcia—”

  “Ashley Morgan—”

  “Benjamin Candelaria—”

  “Ben Cozine—”

  “Breanne Zelinski—”

  “Candice Moore—”

  “Carmen Murphy—”

  “Carrie Huntley—”

  “Carry Autry—”

  “Dabney Leonard—”

  “Damon Ward—”

  “David Bivens—”

  “Dave Teran—”

  “Davina Mire—”

  “Eddie Place—”

  “Edison De Leon—”

  “Edward Gold—”

  “Fiona Yang—”

  “Frank Marshall—”

  “Gabby Astin—”

  “Gabriel Day—”

  “George Shenouda—”

  “Gina Erwin—”

  “Haley Hall—”

  “Jack Smith—”

  “Jason Hasty—”

  “Jeffrey Castro—”

  “Jerry Sandberg—”

  “Kimberly Matzzie—”

  “Kostas Roundtree—”

  “Larry Johnston—”

  “Lonnie Post—”

  “Mary Worthington—”

  “Margaret Cadwell—”

  “Mark Allen Choi—”

  “Nancy Vazin—”

  “Paul Wayland—”

  “Peter Ramirez—”

  “Robert Da Villa—”

  “Rob Bignell—”

  “Sarah Connor—”

  “Steven Roy—”

  “Tommy Jacobs—”

  He repeated the forty-seven names in his mind, again and again, the same way he repeated what he should have said to John when asked.

  He saw his future…

  He reached down to his ankle and pulled out another set of building keys from his sock.

  He knew his future.

  He held his freedom so tightly in his hand that he almost drew blood.

  His knuckles were milk-white.

  He thought of the lie again—

  I said that they are my patients.

  He looked forward to the moment when he would tell John the truth.

  And then kill him.

  His lips were a tight slash, but he parted them and spoke in a rough, low voice—

  “They are…my children,” Ceraulo said.

  And the smile that accompanied those words was a dark one.

  And the smile that accompanied those words was a deadly omen…