Byron's Legacy Episode 1: Zombie Apocalypse Wasteland Fiction Page 3

  Vallance and Byron’s presence was no secret—they had been spotted as soon as they entered. But it didn’t matter. They only had to last a couple of minutes. Byron slammed the box down and pulled the pin. A chorus of mechanization emanated from the device and the first puff of green gas spilled forth. Byron and Vallance opened fire on the swathes of zombies with what remained of their ammunition. Vallance was abruptly wrenched backwards by an unseen zombie. It had gripped his gas mask, using it as leverage to drag him into its waiting jaws. Flailing, mind in disarray, Vallance detached his mask and the creature staggered back. He turned and put a round in its brain. Then it struck him. He looked to Byron and clutched his exposed mouth, panic took over. The gas cloud was nearly upon him. Byron dashed for the youngster, ripping his own mask off. Though Vallance protested, Byron forced the gas mask onto his face and held it there.

  “I’m not going to lose you.” said Byron, tears welling in his eyes. The gas enveloped them both and Byron’s tears began to turn crimson. “It’s okay,” he managed to croak as he choked, spluttering another fountain of red from his mouth but even then he pressed the mask onto the teenagers face. His veins turned black and his eyes yellow. Vallance watched almost paralyzed by the sight of his mentor fading away before his eyes. Byron’s grip slowly loosened and eventually his decimated body slumped to the floor, lifeless.

  Stunned, Vallance began to stumble through the green fog that filled the room. Zombies twitched and squirmed on the floor all around him. He seemed to wander that misty hellscape for an eternity before he found the edge of the accursed vessel. The light of the sun burned his already aching eyes. He was forty feet up. Vallance took one last look at the nightmare behind him, closed his eyes, turned and leaped off into the wasteland below.

  Old Friends

  Jeff’s corpse thrashed against the metal floor, the terrible racket filling Vallance’s ears. His former friend’s grim visage, grey and twisted, stared deep into his soul. Vallance raised his gun and silenced the old fiend. He holstered his weapon and once again drew his trench spikes. His knuckles burned white as he clenched his fists. He had been getting sloppy. He let that ripper in the casino get the jump on him. That’s all it took—just one moment of weakness. Never again. He had said goodbye to weakness a long time ago. Left it behind. But that wasn’t enough. It needed to die. Back to work. Two more bombs.

  The next target was close, in the staff’s mess hall. There were a few more zombies loitering around the corridors, but they were dispatched with ease. They barely even registered on Vallance’s radar. He was tuning his senses to scout for something else entirely. A serpent in need of slaying. Vallance slowly opened the door to its lair. It was empty, save for dented metal tables and miscellaneous debris. No zombies. I guess a few years without a fresh catch would make you hungry enough to eat anything. There came the faint sound of slime on steel—a bone chilling slither. This time, Vallance was ready. Drawing his knife he spun round and slashed the air behind him, rending a lancing tentacle in two. There was a gurgling shriek of pain as it fell to the floor and began to writhe slowly. Rolling to dodge another attack, Vallance spotted something, something that shone as his flashlight hit it. Bingo. The box was pretty banged up, hanging from a high railing by a weathered strap, but he wagered that it would still work. Byron built those things like tanks. He sprinted for the staircase to the balcony, narrowly avoiding being sideswiped by a second tentacle. As he made his ascent, a third serpentine appendage wrapped around his leg. Swinging his knife, he severed it and scrambled up the final few steps. The box was within arm’s reach. Vallance fired a warning shot into the darkness while he retrieved the device. Leaping from the balcony, he pulled the bomb’s pin on the way down, landing on the floor with a clang. He was still clutching the box when a tentacle launched through the air, ready to skewer him. Just as it was about to puncture the box and drive through Vallance’s chest a spray of gas burst forth from Byron’s device and the tentacle recoiled as if the creature it belonged to remembered the last time one of these things went off. Vallance smirked beneath his gas mask and walked to the door. He had to admit, he was dying to know what those tentacles were attached to, but he had a job to do and besides, it wouldn’t be alive much longer anyway.

  Banners hung from all levels of the shopping plaza, the circular levels emblazoned with more Eidolon symbols. The eastern entrance was in pieces, looking like an explosion had taken out the doorway. Something had smashed its way in here. Something strong enough to smash its way out of an iron cage. There was blood everywhere. Vallance saw the last remaining Zom-B-Gone box across the room but was wary about approaching. It didn’t look like the walking bulldozer was around but a devil-may-care attitude had landed him in enough trouble for one day. Jesus, what a fucking day. Vallance took one cautious step forward and the ground shook. His day was about to get worse.

  A hulking mass of unnatural muscle landed with shattering force onto the ground in front of him. The floor had partially given way beneath its weight. Vallance reached for his gun and the abominable humanoid ogre unleashed a deafening roar. Its hide was thick and calloused, a carapace of organic armor. Its neck had disappeared into the knot of muscle and rage it called a torso. Vallance stared into its obsidian eyes which were set inside a gruesome mask of exposed muscle and bone. Its mouth was devoid of flesh, a ghastly skeletal grin. Even without the acid-eaten face, Vallance recognized Stag’s fury within the beast his old friend had become. There was only one way he was winning this fight. Vallance aimed across the room and shot the bomb’s exposed gas canisters causing the noxious vapor to begin spurting into the air.

  Before Vallance had fired his second shot, Stag was charging him. He got out of his path just in time, diving to the right. Vallance aimed for the rampaging monster’s head and emptied his clip. Stag brushed it off. The gas had already filled most of the immediate area but it hadn’t done anything yet to slow him down. Vallance would be dead by the time the gas was finished working its magic. So he ran.

  Vallance was sprinting at top speed down a long corridor, Stag hot on his heels. The only reason Vallance wasn’t dead was that the hallway was so narrow. The walls were bending and breaking as the berserk creature tore through the passage. But just like the walls, the beast too was slowly falling apart. Flesh was flaking from its body and its leathery skin was sizzling. God bless you, Byron.

  Vallance barged through the exit and kept on running and running until seemingly out of nowhere he saw the setting sun on the horizon and stopped himself just short of falling from the sundered ship. Whipping round, he saw the undead juggernaut bounding towards him. Mere feet away, it swung for Vallance with full force, but he was too quick. Vallance threw himself out of its path as the beast tumbled over the edge and plummeted to the earth.

  Panting, Vallance looked down some sixty feet to see that it was not yet dead. It clung to life with ferocity, even as its body withered into nothing. This gaseous necrosis exposed a frantically beating, purple organ in the squirming monster’s chest. Vallance took his rifle off his back and exhaled. Bringing the sight to his eye, he fixed it on the violet heart, putting his old friend Stag out of his misery once and for all.

  A World Made Safe

  The night air was cool and crisp in Haven while Vallance waited for Jack. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late.” Jack called from down the street. Vallance gave him a half-hearted salute.

  “Surprised she wants to meet so late.” said Vallance.

  “Yeah well she said to send word as soon as the job was done. The second it was done.”

  It wasn’t long before they found themselves once again in the parlour of that inconspicuous building in the Top Bunk, waiting for Andrade; and once again, much to Vallance’s chagrin, Mr. Cadmus was uncomfortably close, smiling with his mouth full of ruby reds. Thankfully Andrade did not waste time with her entry this time. Waltzing into the room, she put her hands out in greeting.

  “I
t’s done?”

  Vallance nodded, and reached into his pocket, producing two large pins, pulled from the Zom-B-Gone bombs. Andrade looked at him with furrowed brow. Mr. Cadmus cocked his head.

  “There are only two pins here, Mr. Vallance. There were three bombs.” Said Cadmus.

  “I finished the job, don’t you worry your pretty round head about that. Had to shoot the last box. There were complications. But that place is good and gassed.”

  “I’m afraid that’s unacceptable. You expect us to take your word for it? It was stipulated that payment would be rendered upon complete clearance of the vessel.”

  “Us?” Andrade interjected. “I do not have to take this man’s word that the job was completed. But I choose to.”

  Mr. Cadmus breathed inwards and tipped his shoulders back.

  “Forgive me, madame.” said Cadmus. Andrade gestured to one of her guards who proceeded to hand Vallance a satchel. Looking inside, Vallance saw the glint of silver. He wanted to count it but thought it best not to suggest any impropriety.

  “Thank you.” he said. “Is there anything else?”

  “No. But who knows. Perhaps there will be?” said Andrade.

  ***

  Vallance slumped down onto his bed and felt his bones ache. It had been a long day. He looked around his meager shack, built of corrugated iron and held together by sheer stubbornness, and kicked off his boots. He was still wearing his armor. Couldn’t be too careful in this town. Laying his head down, he looked up. Hanging from the ceiling above his bed was a piece of yellow cloth. KURT was written across it in a child’s handwriting. Pretty soon, Vallance was out cold. In his dreams, as usual, he heard Byron choking on the blood in his throat.

  Standing on the edge of the ship, Kurt was blinded by the sun. Forty feet up. Breathing deeply. Had to escape the nightmare. Jump…

  He landed with a crunch, letting out a cry of pain. His shin was fractured. He couldn’t stand. There was nothing for miles around. Too tired to go on, Kurt keeled over and shut his eyes. What was there to live for anyway? Misery? Pain? Horror? What had Byron lived all these years for? And in that moment, a thought came to Kurt, in the near-death delirium. Byron had lived for him. For all of them. For everyone. He kept on going because life had become miserable, because life had become nothing but pain and horror. Because we lived in an age of monsters. Byron had kept on going because he had a dream of a world made safe.

  Kurt summoned all his strength and began to crawl along the barren earth, the rough sand and sharp stones clawing at his flesh. He crawled and crawled, inch by inch across the miles of dead land ahead. He crawled and whispered to himself through gritted teeth. “No more monsters.”

  Thank you for reading Episode 1 in the Byron’s Legacy book series.

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