Everything Dies: Season 1: Everything Dies, #1

Finite

Everything dies.

Even the maggots

and even the flies

that feed on the corpses

and chew out their eyes.

Everything dies.

Even volcanoes

that rumble and rise

to spew out their life fire

into the skies.

Everything dies.

Even your love

and that look of surprise.

Even blind passion,

that’s fear in disguise.

Everything dies.

Excepting the hatred

and all of those lies;

like dark stars collapsing

to dust in the skies.

Everything dies.

Ian Futter.

Foreword

When I decided to write something in a more commercial sub-genre of horror, I spent a long time agonising over whether that should be zombie apocalyptic fiction. Not just because the market seems so saturated with it right now, but because of my own familiarity with the genre. My interest in zombies goes right back to the eighties, when it was much more of a niche.

About twenty years ago, I even attempted to write a series because I was so convinced that a world taken over by zombies would be compelling as an ongoing story. Not only did my idea come a little too soon, it became so mired in focussing on the mental illnesses developed by the survivors due to their isolation and the concept of sharing their world with walking corpses, it was virtually unreadable. It ended up being about a bunch of people who spent most of their time hidden away, slowly going insane and forgetting how to communicate with one another. Although that may be a more accurate depiction of the way in which humans would behave in that situation, believe me, it made for a mind-numbingly boring read.

Everything Dies is an all together different beast, and I don’t mind telling you, it certainly does not reinvent the wheel when it comes to zombie fiction. In fact, it more or less sticks to the tried and trusted tropes of the genre, with a few notable exceptions. What I have tried to do is focus on creating interesting characters that you will care about or even love to hate, but their surroundings will probably act as a warm comfort blanket for avid fans of the reanimated dead.

I was also conscious that while this is indeed an ongoing series, many readers were getting a bit sick of the standard format. These books are written as a collection of episodes instead of traditional chapters. Each episode follows a particular arc and then ends with a hook into the next one – similar to a television show. Rather than the climax of the book ending on a cliff-hanger, it concludes in a way that should satisfy readers who wish to continue with the series and readers who don’t. If you liked the book enough to finish it, but not enough to continue with subsequent entries, you hopefully won’t feel as though you have completely wasted your time.

As always, thank you for joining me on this journey. I do hope you enjoy Everything Dies, and please share your thoughts on it with other readers – good or bad.

Stay classy, San Diego.

T.W. Malpass

Episode One

Homeland

1

Kristin Graham sat on the hill overlooking the east side of camp. She hugged herself as she felt the chill of early morning and wished she’d brought a jacket with her on her trip outside. She had to squint to watch the haze of the new day’s sun creep over the rows of tents to her left – each roof emblazoned with the same logo: ‘FEMA: U.S. DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY.’

The breeze caught a wisp of her blonde hair, blowing it across her face to expose the darker roots beneath. Three soldiers, leaving the confines of the barracks block, caught her eye. She focussed on the one striding out in front, heading towards the transit station. He was dressed in full combat uniform, but unlike the others, he wore a cap instead of a helmet. Kristin got to her feet and hurried down the hill in order to cut him off before he reached the heavily guarded gates of the transit.

When the officer peaked out from under the brim of his cap and saw her coming, he doubled his strides.

‘Sergeant,’ she called. ‘Sergeant Banks.’

Banks turned to face her, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. ‘Good morning to you too, Mrs. Graham.’

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to avoid me, Sergeant.’

‘Now, why would I want to do that?’

Kristin squinted again, placing the edge of her hand over her brow to shield her eyes from the sunlight. ‘Maybe because you still don’t have an answer for me.’

Banks sighed. ‘I’ve got an answer for you – it’s just not the one you want to hear.’

She moved right up to him, purposely taking an extra step to breach his personal space. ‘I just find it a little strange that we have hot running water, TV broadcasts, medical care, yet we have absolutely no contact with the outside world.’

‘This is a contained unit, Ma’am. It’s not connected to the main grid, and your TV ain’t exactly cable. Besides, we have a SAT phone.’

‘Good – you can let me use that.’

Banks shook his head, still enjoying their exchange. ‘Military channels only.’

‘Look, Sergeant. I know you’re not a perennial hard-ass like Spears. You don’t have to pretend to be for my benefit. My parents are two cities away, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Like I said, when it’s safe to restore commercial communications, you will be the first of our residents to know.’

Kristin curled her lip in frustration and swivelled her hips to half-turn away from him.

Banks glanced impatiently to the transit gates. ‘Your husband might get a real kick out of you being on his ass all the time, but I don’t appreciate it so much. The rest of the folks in here are already gettin’ whipped up over the food rationing. I haven’t got time for another one of your court hearings, but when the lines are back up, you can make all the calls you want. You can even set the wheels in motion for whatever fancy human rights lawsuit you’ve got planned against the military for keeping you people oppressed and safe. Don’t forget to mention the safe part, will you?’

‘I don’t forget things – occupational hazard.’ Kristin stepped out of his space and started to walk away. ‘I do enjoy our early morning chats.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Banks said. ‘Try not to obsess over it, Mrs. Graham. Enjoy the rest of the day with your family. At least you made it out of the infected zone together.’

Before he set off towards the transit again, she saw the sadness cast a fog over his eyes, and it made her feel a little guilty about their latest exchange. She’d set him up as the antagonist from the moment she’d arrived. He was the mouthpiece for Major Spears, and all he’d given her so far was circumvention. Because of that, she’d never even considered that he might have a family somewhere too. She watched the guards open the armoured gate for him and imagined him sitting in his bunk after lights out, staring at a picture of his wife and children. It was the first time in all the time she had been there – almost three months – that she hadn’t thought of him as just a brick wall she had to bang her head against every day.

The transit entrance clanged shut and Banks disappeared behind the steel bulk of the ATVS and transports. A fresh gust of wind kicked up the dust from the arid ground and Kristin blinked to stop it getting in her eyes. Although they were protected on all four sides by ten foot high perimeter fences and several guard towers, the camp always seemed so exposed in the morning, when most people were still asleep in their tents or containers. At least when the daily routines were in full swing and the kids were out playing, she could just about forget the horrors they had left behind in the infected zones, even if only for a moment at a time.

A patrolling soldier nodded in her direction as he walked by, prompting her to head back to the west side of the camp where the refugee accommodation was situated.

2

Emily’s head hung upside down from the edge of the sofa. The ends of her brown hair skimmed the floor, as she adjusted her eyes to the images on the TV set in the corner of the room. The middle-aged man sitting at the news desk reading the report was dressed in a pale grey suit. The colour of the suit was matched by the flecks in his hair; they reminded her of her daddy.

Reaching up to the sofa cushion, Emily fumbled around for the TV remote. She placed her hand on it and pointed it at the set and hit the volume button to increase the sound. She’d been upside down for so long that the blood had started to rush to her head, reddening her cute bubblegum cheeks. Due to the unusual position she’d adopted, she focussed on the top of the newsreader’s head.

‘President Palmer has pledged to release an unprecedented disaster relief fund to help the country rebuild its damaged infrastructure, it was reported today. This appropriation will allow FEMA to respond to any necessary challenges and aid a rapid recovery, according to a White House spokesman.’ The report then cut to some pre-recorded footage of an aerial shot from a helicopter. It captured an incident unfolding on a road surrounded by woodland. At least twenty armed soldiers were positioned behind two armoured vehicles, pointing their rifles at the line of trees. At the bottom of the screen, the news ticker read ‘Bend, Oregon’. The soldiers seemed to be readying themselves for something, and the same news reporter started to talk over the footage again. ‘Elsewhere, National Guard teams have joined the clean-up operation to isolate and eliminate the outbreak within each confirmed infected zone.’

Emily sighed, struggling to swallow on account of being upside down. ‘This TV is so boring,’ she said. ‘All they ever do is repeat the same stuff.’

Vincent Graham glanced up from the sidebar in the kitchen at the back of their open plan container. ‘That’s just the news for you, honey,’ he said, taking a meagre amount of butter and doing his best to spread it over one slice of toast. He placed the toast on a plate and carried it to his daughter. When he saw her tiny feet poking above the back of the sofa, he gave one of her ankles a tap. ‘Sit up. Your breakfast’s ready.’

She did as he asked and flipped herself the right way up to sit back on the sofa next to her stuffed rabbit toy, its left ear folded over itself like it had been badly chewed on. The young girl took one look at the toast, barely moistened by a knob of butter, and screwed up her nose. ‘Dry toast again? Why can’t I have Fruit Loops for a change?’

‘As soon as the roads are clear and new shipments can get through,’ Vincent said.

Emily looked up at him, rubbing the thighs of her purple onesie. Adopting a matter-of-fact tone, she asked ‘are the monsters blocking them again?’

He wanted to reassure her, but no matter how hard he tried to smile, he couldn’t. ‘I’m afraid so.’

Emily turned her attention back to the news report. The soldiers’ targets had already begun to emerge from the woodland. There were seven of them in total – each one ambling slowly, but with deliberate intent towards the armoured vehicles. ‘General Reiser confirmed that the operation is moving forward with great success and stressed that the military response would remain proportionate,’ the reporter said. On his last word, the soldiers opened fire, tearing into the bodies of the amblers. Some fell immediately. The others took the bullets and kept on coming.

‘I told you not to watch this stuff, Emmy. It will give you nightmares,’ Vincent said. He grabbed the remote from the couch and switched the TV to the blank image of an external channel.

Emily shrugged her shoulders, gnawing away at the corner of her toasted slice of bread. ‘It’s OK, Daddy – I don’t dream anymore.’

Vincent stared down at her for a moment. She didn’t realise he was watching her, and he was glad about it. He feared the look in his eyes would make her feel anything but secure. ‘I’ll put on some cartoons for you instead.’ He walked over to a pile of DVDs next to the TV stand. ‘Which one?’ he asked.

‘Erm, you choose,’ Emily said.

Vincent selected the case at the top of the pile and waved it in her direction. ‘What about Dora the Explorer?’

She shook her head. ‘Nah. I’ve seen it about fifteen times.’

‘You’ve seen all of them about fifteen times.’

Emily threw herself back into the sofa cushion and giggled. ‘Then get me a new one.’

Vincent smiled as he removed the Dora the Explorer disc from its case and slid it into the DVD player, built onto the side of the TV. ‘It’s funny. You never complained about watching them on repeat when we were at home.’

The girl laughed again, flashing both rows of her tiny teeth. There was a gap in the middle of the lower set where one had fallen out. She put her arms around her stuffed bunny and hugged him close as the opening titles of her cartoon began.

Before Vincent could return to the kitchen to tidy up, Emily put the piece of toast in her mouth and tugged at it. It caused her to wince sharply and she dropped it onto her plate, reaching up to the back of her right cheek. ‘Ouch,’ she said, almost bursting into tears.

‘Your tooth again?’ Vincent said.

She nodded, her bottom lip protruding.

‘How much does it hurt on a scale of one to ten?’

‘Seven,’ she murmured.

‘Seven doesn’t sound too good. Daddy will get you another painkiller once you’ve finished your breakfast. Try to chew on the other side of your mouth for now.’

They both turned as they heard the rattle of the container’s flimsy front door. Kristin stepped inside, still chilled by the early morning breeze.

‘Hey. You didn’t wake me,’ Vincent said.

‘You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you,’ she replied.

‘Hey, Mommy!’

When her daughter peered over the top of the sofa, Kristin instantly noticed the way she was frowning and how her cheeks were drooping. ‘Hi, sweetie. What’s wrong?’

Emily responded by pointing to the side of her mouth.

‘That wisdom tooth is giving her some trouble,’ Vincent said.

‘When are we going be able to get her to a dentist, Vincent?’

Vincent walked over to his wife. ‘It said on the bulletin that the military are really pushing them back now.’

‘It has been saying the same thing on the news for the past two weeks, but nothing ever changes,’ Kristin said.

‘Before you go off, remember what I said. Try to focus on the fact that we’re safe and together.’

‘It’s a bit late for that,’ she said, taking off her jacket.

‘Christ, you haven’t been venting at Banks again, have you?’

‘Somebody has to. We’re cut off from the rest of the world with no new information. They rarely have the medical supplies people need, and then there’s the rations.’

‘The supply route will be cleared soon. You’ll see,’ Vincent said.

‘Spears should appoint you as their official spokesman. You sound more convinced than they do.’ Kristin threw her jacket over a chair and headed for the other rooms.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To take a shower,’ she said.

‘Fine. No problem.’ Vincent stood in the middle of the room, deep in thought. Then he smiled and winked at Emily when he realised she was watching him. ‘You’re missing the best bit.’ He gestured towards the cartoon playing on the TV.

3

When Kristin opened her eyes it was gone three in the morning. Her mouth was dry. A hot chemical taste stained the back of her throat, like she’d been chewing on tyre rubber. She rolled over and felt around the mattress where Vincent should have been. The gentle whimper coming from the other room told her where he was. She crawled out of bed and reached for her night robe.

Vincent paced up and down on the synthetic fur rug in the living space, Emily pressed against his chest. Her butterball cheeks were damp with tears, but she still managed to smile when she saw Kristin wander in, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

‘Oh, sweetie.’ Kristin brushed Emily’s fringe away to touch the skin on her forehead. Her temperature was high. Not quite at the level of a fever, but she could barely keep her eyes open, let alone speak. ‘How long have you been up with her?’

‘Just over an hour,’ Vincent whispered.

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

‘It’s fine, honestly. I gave her another painkiller, but I don’t think it worked too well. The fact she’s so tired is the only thing that’s helping,’ Vincent said.

‘If that bitch at the medicentre stonewalls us again, I swear to God I’ll flip her upside down and shake her until something stronger falls out,’ Kristin said.

‘I’ll see to it first thing in the morning.’

‘Are you sure I can’t do anything?’

Vincent smiled at her as he gently rocked their daughter to sleep. ‘I got this.’

Kristin leaned in, planting a lingering kiss on his lips. ‘I’m just going to…’

‘Get some fresh air?’

Kristin’s grin separated her lips and she kissed him again.

Vincent flicked his head to tell her to get going.

She wandered back into the bedroom to fetch her pack of cigarettes, then ventured outside. As soon as she’d sat down on the middle one of the steps leading up to their door, she struck up her lighter and pulled hard on her smoke. Placing her head between her knees, she held her breath, only rising to blow out the fumes when they started to tickle her throat.

The spotlights on the north fence gave a strange glow to the trees in the woodland beyond. Their tops swayed angelically. Everything on the outside seemed quiet – peaceful. It was hard to imagine that some kind of horrible death could be waiting for them there. She noticed the body of a guard shifting about in the right-hand tower close to the back exit, but when she examined the tower to the left side, it was empty.

The noise coming towards her almost caused her to drop her cigarette – the sound of feet dragging through the dirt. She relaxed as she recognised the familiar combat fatigues that could be seen on people all over the camp. This soldier wasn’t walking in the usual rigid way. His body hung loose, like he didn’t give a shit. Instead of being down by his side, his rifle was resting on his shoulder. He saw Kristin and altered his direction so he would pass by her on his patrol.

As he approached, she realised her legs were slightly apart and pulled her robe over her knees. ‘You scared me,’ she said.

The private’s expression was sullen, his face squashed into his tightly strapped helmet. ‘No one outside after nine, Ma’am.’

‘I’m sitting on the step of my trailer.’

The soldier took two more paces forward, sliding the gun into both hands, pointing it at the floor in front of her. ‘You gonna make me repeat myself?’

Kristin straightened up, finding it hard to believe what she’d just heard. There were so many things she could say – wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. Taking one more drag on her cigarette, she flicked it at the soldier’s feet, so the embers bounced across the toes of his boots, and marched back inside the container.

Vincent and Emily were absent from the living space. She walked over to the table where they ate their meals and slumped into one of the chairs. A collection of Emily’s crayon drawings were scattered over the table top. Kristin picked one and held it up to the light. As soon as she examined it she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. She tried to cry quietly, but in the confined space the sound carried.

Vincent crept in from Emily’s bedroom and sat in the chair next to her. ‘What is it?’ he said.

‘I saw this picture and realised I’d gotten so caught up in this place, I’d forgotten about Tugger,’ she sobbed.

‘Good ol’ boy,’ Vincent said.

‘We left him out there all alone.’

‘The border patrol would have shot us if we’d tried to force him through the checkpoint. You can’t blame yourself.’ Vincent grabbed her by the hand. ‘Maybe he made it to the woods. You know how much he used to love the woods. Or maybe someone else, another family, picked him up and took him elsewhere.’

Kristin shook her head. ‘That asshole guard. He could see how much it tore Emily apart and he couldn’t turn a blind eye, even when everything had gone to hell.’

‘He was just a boy, Kris. A scared boy following orders.’

‘Like I needed another reason to hate the military.’ She rubbed angrily at her sore eyes and then slammed the flat of her hand on the table. ‘What the hell are we doing here, Vincent?’

‘Taking a breath? Trying to hang on to what’s left?’

‘What is left?’

Vincent gazed at her longingly. ‘We are.’ He kissed her forearm and she responded by running her hands through his dark, greying hair.

4

The next morning, Emily was the only one who looked remotely ready to start the day. Both Vincent and Kristin had grey smudges beneath their eyes and hang dog expressions.

Vincent brushed against his wife on his way out. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ He led Emily by the hand from the container block, heading to the northeast corner of the camp where the medical centre stood.

It was gone eight a.m., so the areas open to the refugees were starting to fill with people, mainly children running around and playing on their bikes and scooters. Once Emily had stopped waving back to her, Kristin took a stroll south towards the transit and military barracks. Before she could get clear of the containers, a thick-set man with thinning brown hair clamped his eyes on her. He quickened his pace to catch her up, struggling to run in his open-toed sandals.

‘Hey, Graham,’ he shouted.

She recognised him on account of his shorts and footwear. His family were staying in one of the containers a few doors away from theirs. He had a gut that hung lower than the seam of his shirt, and he always seemed to be pouring with sweat. She noticed that his ankles were swollen to twice their normal size, hence the sandals. ‘You goin’ down to the barracks again?’ he said.

‘It’s Kyle, isn’t it? I’m not sure why it’s any of your business what I do with my day.’

‘It might be when what you’re doin’ affects the rest of us,’ Kyle said.

‘Excuse me?’

He waddled up to her, pulling a dirty handkerchief from his front pocket to wipe the perspiration away from his forehead. ‘Human rights lawyers. Making money by defending some diaper-head across the other side of the world against patriots who spilled blood for this country.’

‘Wow. You come up with that all by yourself?’

‘I ain’t the only one who is sick of your bullshit.’

‘My bullshit, as you so eloquently call it, is about trying to make things better for all of us here. Don’t you think we deserve a little more transparency? I don’t see anyone else asking the questions,’ Kristin said.

Kyle put his handkerchief away, even though his face was still as shiny with sweat as always. ‘I know most folks are just grateful to have a roof over their heads. I know those soldiers have lost men keepin’ us safe. I know if you keep pushin’, they might decide not to try so hard next time they go out to clear the roads of infected.’

Kristin stood her ground. She’d dealt with plenty of Kyles before, especially in her profession, and she wasn’t about to be intimidated. ‘I don’t think you’ve thought this through. The soldiers need those supplies too. You think they’d starve themselves over a petty dispute? You know, I’m sure I read somewhere that a lack of nutrition can lead to intense paranoia.’

‘Well ain’t that nice?’ Kyle stepped up to her, so close Kristin almost gagged from the pungency of his body odour. ‘You may think you’re somethin’ special on the outside, but behind these fences, you’re just another mouth to feed – a big fuckin’ mouth that needs to learn when to stay shut.’

‘Might wanna step back there, sailor.’ The female voice came from behind Kristin. She turned to see a black woman fixing a steely glare upon Kyle.

‘Why don’t you mind your own? I don’t know you, lady,’ Kyle said.

The woman seemed unperturbed by his comment. ‘Unless you want to get acquainted with me a little better, I suggest you take your anger someplace else.’

Kyle took a second to ponder her advice, and noted how much her stare burnt right through him. He then sneered at them both and pointed an accusing finger at Kristin. ‘This camp don’t need another Erin Brockovich. We just need some food in our bellies.’

The black woman looked him up and down and settled on his bulging gut. ‘Some of us could go longer than others.’

Kyle puckered his lips to respond, but thought better of it and stormed back towards the container block.

As Kristin opened her mouth