Read Four (Their Dead Lives,1) Online
Authors: Zack Scott
Four (Their Dead Lives,1)
episode four EMBRACE THE PRESENT
FOUR
their dead lives
Zack Scott
DISCLAIMER
This is the second edition of
Four: A Zombie Novel
originally published in 2011.
While the overall story remains the same, various characters, events and zombie faces have been changed.
Copyright © 2015 by Zack Scott Gorlick
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writers imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental
for my family and friends
without you, I’d be a zombie
FOUR
Some people are too self-involved to follow fate.
This is their saga.
episode one
REUNITE
JEFF
We leave as four.
Years back, he’d repeated this saying often with his three closest friends:
Alec, Kale, and Scot.
As children and as teens, they always left as four. Then high school ended. A rift in their bond sent them off in separate directions. While Scot headed to college, Alec and Kale stayed in their hometown, Green Hills, but discretely avoided one another. Jeff had joined the Navy before his assignment to the Vault Tactical Force.
While it was the VTF’s biggest mission yet, Jeff couldn’t help but think about his friends.
It’s been a long time, boys, but I’ll be back home soon. Once this is over, I’ll see you again, and things will be better.
As Jeff thought these things, he hoped he wasn’t being overly optimistic, and he told himself to focus on the mission at hand.
The old, cramped armored transport Jeff and the other members of the VTF were riding in rocked back and forth up a mountain trail. Constant bumping made him feel sick, and since he was a big guy, he’d never liked small spaces. He couldn’t help but think,
This junk of a transport is a hand-me-down most likely,
as his large knees nearly touched the specialist sitting across from him.
Another bump and his stomach tightened.
We leave as four,
his mind repeated, trying to keep calm.
Another bump sent his knee into the specialist.
“Buy me dinner first,” muttered Jon Evans.
“Sorry.” Though a large man in his early twenties, Jeff spoke with a deceptively soft voice.
“Relax,” said Evans. “We’re almost there.”
“Getting closer isn’t helping.”
“This is going to be easy.” A short laugh shot out Evans’ nose. “Easiest thing we’ve done.”
That doesn’t mean much
.
Jeff had reported to the VTF almost a year after its creation and had been with them for about a month. Before his transfer to the unit, Jeff had been a submarine technician with the Navy up until a tragic incident cost the lives of his team. Things went poorly for him after that — too many things to count — and he’d been transferred to the VTF.
The Vault Tactical Force.
A unit composed of various individuals from the Army, Marines, Navy, and National Guard. But this was no elite unit. This was not the best of the best. This was a unit of incompetent outcasts, scoundrels, and perhaps, the worst of the worst.
And although the VTF’s sole purpose was to protect the Vaults, Jeff didn’t even know much about these underground sanctuaries, only that they were constructed in preparation for the supposed Doomsday, October 9, and were meant to withstand the deadliest of apocalypses. But October 9 came and went, yet nothing happened. No plagues, no asteroids, nothing. Nada.
People had not learned from the mass hysterias of Y2K, Harold Camping, or that misunderstood Mayan prophecy.
Indeed, those lucky enough to win coveted spots in the Vaults, prior to the supposed Doomsday, became quite unlucky. The inhabitants of the Vaults had been locked in, with millions of people stranded in underground pits around the world. Many months passed before a method to unseal the Vaults was discovered, to release loved-ones lost, to right any wrongs from another apocalypse hoax.
That was all Jeff really knew about the Vaults, and a storm of questions rushed constantly through his mind, but like Evans always said, ‘At least we’re getting paid.’ And so they traveled up the mountain toward Vault number 88. Soon, all Vault doors would be unlocked, and the VTF had the task of escorting out the inhabitants.
What could go wrong?
“Easy,” said Jeff to Evans. “You’re right. This will be easy.”
“I know. Now get your big sexy knee off me.”
Running a hand through his sandy blond hair, Jeff looked at the others squished in the armored transport as it continued to rock up the mountain. Most of the team sat blankly but some jittered with wild nerves, like the rookie, Private Gregory Jennings.
The most likely one to die on the mission,
Jeff mused.
Far from intelligent, Jennings often annoyed the whole squad.
Other members of the squad acted like tough guys, hoping to spit a badass one-liner. Others merely wanted a nap, like Pvt. Cruz, who yawned at Jeff’s side.
Of course, the calmest, as always, was Specialist Jon Evans. Still eyes, focused breathing, strong heart. He leaned forward, arms over his thighs. The sides of his head sprouted short hair, while long strands of straight brown sliced up his skull to his forehead where a little curl hung.
The VTF was pretty lenient on hairstyles.
Another reason for others to mock us.
Evans caught Jeff’s stare. “Hanging tight?”
Jeff gave a slight nod. “Just curious, I suppose.”
“Half a year they’ve been down there. Locked in. Curiosity is natural.”
Jeff averted his eyes from Evans and shrugged.
“Let me guess, your friends from home?”
“I didn’t expect this. My reunion is tonight. Bad timing.”
“Might make it. Hell, I told my uncle I’d meet him at his yacht later.”
Vibrations ran up Jeff’s feet and he blamed the bumping for his stuttered speech.
Fear is the more likely culprit
, his mind argued with him as he said, “Maybe we’ll both make it.”
“Will you two please shut up?” The most horrendous voice in the world had the misfortune of belonging to Corporal Alex Longsong.
“Yes, sir,” they responded out of respect for rank.
The armored transport continued its way up the San Juan Mountains, trekking along a steep dirt trail. They were getting close to the top, close to being heroes.
Another bump.
“All right, everyone, let’s place bets,” Private Alicia Felix announced with a toss of her long hair. “What’s in there waiting for us?”
Corporal Longsong entertained her with lustful eyes. “The inhabitants will be fine and dandy.”
“I bet they’re all hungry and pissed,” said Evans.
“I bet they can’t wait to see their families,” Jeff’s words came out innocently soft. The other VTF members never noticed or bothered to respond.
Put some strength in your voice.
“What about you, Cruzzy?” Felix asked.
Pvt. Cruz yawned. “Sleeping, everyone.”
Then Jennings squawked in his raspy voice, “I bet the whole bunch of ‘em are zombies!”
Corporal Longsong groaned and rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “Why is the rookie always the dumbest?”
“Enough!” a grizzled voice boomed from the front of the transport. His brawny face turned to the side, revealing his grey handlebar mustache. The leader of the mission, Lt. Mark Sampson, announced what they’d all been waiting for: “We’re here.”
In an open valley surrounded by the San Juan Mountains, Humvees, Jeeps, and armored transports were stationed outside the Vault door. The members of the VTF scattered to their respective positions, monochromatically all dressed in black. A standard VTF uniform consisted of cargo pants, thermal undershirts, Kevlar vests, and if wanted, ballistic helmets. Typically, a VTF member could carry their weapon of choice, if they were properly trained. However, the standards were the M4A1 carbine along with a Beretta M9.
Jeff stood outside the armored transport his squad had used. Next to him, Lt. Sampson ordered, “Longsong, lead the interior team. Take Jennings, Cruz, Ramon, Felix, and Faith.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lt. Sampson ordered Jeff and Evans next. “I want you two on that ridge. Make sure there’s no media coverage, got it?”
Jeff turned north to the upper side of the massive steel Vault door. His eyes scanned the ridge and he knew the climb would be easy. He glanced at the Vault door again. Painted across the door in a faded yellow was the number 88.
I hope everyone is okay in there.
Evans said, “You ready?”
Jeff, not knowing the best response, gave a simple nod, and it was not long before they were on the ridge. Dirt from the climb coated their black uniforms. They surveyed the area; mountains, hills, trees, gray sky . . . no helicopters, no cameras.
“Why is this such a secret?” Jeff squinted. He cursed himself for forgetting his aviators. Through the clouds, the sun wreaked havoc on his light blue eyes. “I mean, no media? Strange, right?”
“Eh, so many people screwed up. We get to cover their asses.”
“Yeah but, the Vault inhabitants, they still have family out here, family who have the right to know.”
“I don’t ask questions, Jeff. I only do one thing.” Evans swung his M4A1 from his back and gripped it with two hands. “Follow orders.”
Classic Evans.
“Want to finally tell me why you were kicked out of the Marines?”