Harvest of Ruin: A Zombie Novel Read online

  HARVEST OF RUIN

  Arthur Mongelli

  Copyright 2017 by Arthur Mongelli

  For my wonderful wife, Brenda, without whom, this book would never have been written. And for Freyja, my darling daughter, may the light of my eternal love always shelter you.

  “Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”

  -Mary Shelley

  “Denn, die Todten reiten Schnell. (For the dead travel fast.)”

  -Bram Stoker

  Harvest of Ruin

  Chicago, Illinois, Early 21st century

  “Why would it be dangerous? We’re talking about a number of substances that have all been approved for use in foods.”

  “But has the appropriate effort been put into looking at the effects these substances have in combination? I mean, it’s not as if we are talking about one or two things here, it’s not sugar and flour, you know, not like making a cake. We are talking about cattle that have been pumped with growth hormones and antibiotics, and now we are going to change their feed to introduce wheat and corn. Grains that have been genetically altered to grow larger and faster, all while being infused with pesticides and who knows whatever else they do to it.”

  “Look. The bottom line here is that the FDA says it’s okay. It will cut overhead by nearly fifteen percent. You know how much that means to our bottom line?”

  “I still think we need to evaluate it further. You know as well as I do that the FDA is a political machine. Just think about the potential for lawsuits if something were to happen.”

  “As I said earlier, the Board’s decision is final: we are making the shift to genetically improved corn in the feed. It’s the responsibility of the FDA to regulate this stuff. If they say it’s okay to use and it suits our purpose, we use it. Listen, Phillip, I know that your concerns are coming from a good place, I do. But you are the COO of one of the biggest commercial meat packers in the country. We just can’t afford – our clients can’t afford – the prices of non-GMO feed. We cannot survive without the contracts we have; we can’t risk them shifting to our competitors. Dissent is a dangerous thing here, Phil, and we need a united front to instill confidence in the shareholders. I suggest you drop this now, before I have to speak with the Board about it.”

  Tim DeMott clicked the key into the off position as Laura, his wife, unbuckled their toddler in the back seat. As the engine sputtered and chunked to a stop, Tim stepped out into the chill air of autumn. He stretched broadly before moving to the rear of the car to unload the stroller and diaper bag from the trunk. Little Luna was fast asleep. She normally did not wake well; thankfully, she was in good temperament today as Laura jostled her awake, pulling the little girl out into the overcast October air. The little girl had just celebrated her second birthday a few weeks prior. Laura plopped the wriggling, stretching girl into the awaiting stroller, and with Tim locking the car via key, the three started moving down the promenade that led to the bridge.

  The DeMotts had spent the last two days camping at Riverview campsites and hiking around Lake Minnewaska. It was a trip they had planned to do every year for their anniversary, although they skipped the prior year since Luna was too small. It was a nice reset for them as a couple. They both had stressful jobs that required them to be on-call, both overnight as well as on weekends. Taking vacations was the only break they had to reconnect with one another. It was for this very reason that they chose to vacation in an area where there was no cell phone reception, so their employers couldn’t get in touch with them, even if they wanted to. Although it was unusually cold for this time of year and Luna’s nose had consistently been running, the three had a wonderful time camping. Tim and Laura held hands, sharing the duty of pushing the stroller as they walked along the promenade towards the water.

  Passing underneath a banner indicating that today was the Fourth Annual Green/Ecology Festival, they proceeded past a series of small crowds gathered around a variety of vendor booths distributing pamphlets. Displays of composting, sawdust toilets, and alternative energies were being showcased; one even had a twelve-foot-tall windmill setup, powering their booth. It was the kind of thing that they normally would be into checking out; today, however, they were purpose driven to get across the walkway and back without a Luna-meltdown, so they edged around the crowds. The earth to either side of the walkway began to fall away as they continued along, eventually dropping off completely. A hundred feet below them, they could see railroad tracks that ran along the river and the Hudson River itself, wide and powerful as it swept southwards towards New York City and the Atlantic beyond. The view was dizzying, and although the wind was brisk and neither of them was fond of heights, the scenery was too wonderful not to continue across. Joggers passed in their garishly colored attire, as well as cyclists and people out walking their dogs. There was even a unicyclist swerving around. Tim’s heart plummeted and was certain the man atop was going to strike the handrail and plummet over the side to his death, but as inept as he seemed on the thing, he avoided that fate.

  Their daughter had been asking, “What’s that?” from her seat in the stroller ever since they came clear of the trees and over the top of the river. All they could see was a little hand with a pointing finger waving about. They had reconnected as a family and ignored their surroundings for the most part, enjoying each other completely. Tim and Laura held hands and had their arms around one another, something they hadn’t done much of since Luna was born.

  About halfway across the span, they stopped for a rest on some molded concrete benches and made sure that Luna was doing okay. Tim was breathing heavily, as he had put on some weight over the past few years. Quitting cigarettes hadn’t helped for sure, and as many times as he vowed to take off the weight, it never came to fruition. He blamed the stress of the job and Laura for fixing his plates too big, but knew deep down that he needed to get off his ass more often. Laura took Luna out of the stroller, changed her diaper, and offered a breast for some milk. Laura was slender, even after childbirth, though she could eat like an ox. She was eyeballing him as he breathed.

  “I’m okay,” he said, steadying himself so she didn’t hear him panting the words out.

  “Well, let’s get going then. I’d like to get off the bridge and get to lunch sometime today, old man,” she replied with a wink and a smile.

  They buckled Luna back into the stroller and Tim took control of it, figuring that he could rest a bit here and there while “showing” Luna some boats and such. Laura threw the dirty diaper in the bottom of the stroller and they continued on. Laura rooted around in her massive purse and slotted quarters into a telescope. They took turns looking at the few scattered boats cruising about below, even hoisting Luna, who wriggled and fussed, to have a look. About three-quarters of the way across the span, the river ended beneath them. Many ribbons of railroad tracks lay under the bridge on this side of the river followed by industrial areas. Giant fuel tanks spotted the ground below, as well as storage yards filled with metal and timbers. Tim had been somewhat of an urban explorer in his early twenties, and looking to the crowd below, he thought that it was rare to see so many people gathered in such rarely used areas.

  “Are they racing?” he asked Laura.

  “Huh?” Laura asked in return.

  “Down below, looks like a footrace of some kind.”

  Laura joined him near the railing, both oblivious to the change in noises on the bridge. Sirens wailed in the distance and a far-off scream pierced the strange hush that suddenly came from the city side of the bridge ahead.

  “Weird,” she remarked, looking below. “If it’s a race, there aren’t any markers.”

&nb
sp; Tim shrugged, and after watching for a moment longer, continued walking. They were on the last leg of the trip before heading back to the car. His stomach was rumbling, and he started thinking about an omelet with hash browns and biscuits from Cracker Barrel. The industrial area below them gave way to buildings and the city proper began to unfold all around them. Tim always thought it must be strange for all the people that lived around the walkway to have people looking into their apartments and homes. As nice as it was to have a new purpose for the decaying railroad bridge, he assumed it was a curse for those who lived near it. Telephone timbers held green vinyl mesh across backyards on the left side of the walkway, some attempt at privacy from the thousands who pass by.

  Luna started fussing, stopping their progress as Laura stepped in front of the stroller to attend to her, again changing her diaper.

  “She shit,” Laura announced.

  Tim silently celebrated not having to change her. Being well-trained eight years into marriage, he quickly asked, “Want me to change her?”

  “No, I got it,” Laura huffed.

  Tim leaned lightly on the handle of the stroller, only half-watching as his wife changed their daughter and a peace came over him. He smiled, as much as he despised his job, as much as the rest of life could suck, with arguments, bills and all the other stressful nonsense that entered into it, he felt a sense of contentment. He was truly happy with his life. Laura had finished changing Luna and wrapped the diaper up, first looking at Tim, then past him. After a moment, Tim noticed her lack of movement and looked directly at her. He saw a face splayed on her that he had never seen before, somewhere between confusion, panic, and disgust.

  “Laur?” he asked quizzically.

  She snapped from her reverie and grabbed the stroller. She started running towards the Poughkeepsie side with the stroller bouncing along precariously behind her. Tim, still tired and now confused, stood there with his hands splayed out. What the fuck? he thought.

  “Tim, fucking run!” Laura screamed, her voice shrill with panic.

  His first thought as he stepped forward was that the bridge was collapsing. He had a nervousness about bridges from his childhood, his fear of heights coupled with the fact that he hadn’t learned to swim until he was nearly a teenager had ingrained a natural fear of bridges into him. He heard the sounds of sneakers slapping the concrete behind him and felt the breeze of something swinging past his arm. His sphincter clenched, spurring him into a white-knuckled-fist-clenching run to catch up with his family. He had no idea what was happening, and once the footsteps behind him grew distant, he finally took the opportunity to glance back. His mind reeled at what he was seeing; he couldn’t believe it, and his mind refused to accept it.

  Tim thought it was a terrible prank at first, seeing a zombie shambling towards him. Someone was either filming a prank show or a low-budget movie, he was sure of it. He glanced around briefly looking for a cameraman or a TV host with a microphone. The thought was dashed from his mind when the thing veered at a jogger wearing Oakley sunglasses and spandex shorts. The zombie sank its teeth deep into the man’s chest. Tim knew it was not a prank. No special effects could recreate that sickening tearing of flesh and tissue. His stomach lurched and his heart sank in fear. The thing dragged the jogger, screaming, down to the concrete of the walkway. Another zombie joined the first, dropping onto all fours and starting to feast as Tim stood transfixed. The jogger fought briefly, as the two things came atop him, biting at his hands and fingers as he tried to fend them off. Tim was frozen in fear, and most likely wouldn’t have intervened anyways, not with his family present and at risk.

  Tim stood stock-still as the first undead sunk its mouth around the throat of the man, his final scream warbled, sounding weirdly in the morning air as the airway got pinched briefly. Then the head ripped free of the jogger, tearing out a chunk of flesh, silencing the man altogether. Gooseflesh crept up his spine as he stood, frozen, petrified. Laura grabbed him by the arm and started desperately pulling him away. It was only then that he realized she was screaming at him. He shook his head vigorously, clearing it, finally ripping his eyes from the scene in front of him. All hope faded as he looked down the bridge, back towards where their car was parked.

  Scattered about the walkway were a half dozen or more of the things feasting on the remains of cyclists, pedestrians and even a Chihuahua being eaten like a corn on the cob. Tim stopped, his heart felt like it was on the verge of bursting through his chest. It took him a moment to digest his surroundings, to digest that there was a horde of flesh-eating undead separating them from their car, on the edge of a city they were unfamiliar with. A city that, Tim could now tell, would not be a refuge if they traveled the remainder of the walkway into. The sound of sirens and the smell of fire coming from ahead were good indicators that the city was experiencing some difficulties as well. A smattering of gunfire that sounded from different parts of the city told Tim that their best bet for safety lay on the other side of the bridge, in their car. Laura had stopped a few feet ahead of him and he could hear her mumbling, “Fuck, fuck, fuck” under her labored breathing.

  “The car,” Tim growled at her “We have to move now. Ditch the stroller and follow me closely.”

  He hated the idea of dragging his family back across the bridge, past those things, but he felt in his bones that it was a necessity. Laura began to protest, and half-turning, he could see that she was terrified.

  “Laura!” he said, settling a stern gaze on her.

  Laura just looked at him with her sad, concerned eyes.

  “Move!” he shouted, knowing that his tone would make her angry, and that anger would get her moving.

  Without waiting to see her reaction, Tim moved off, skirting widely around the two undead things as they gorged on the flesh of the hapless jogger. Tim glanced back to see Laura following behind, afraid that she would lose her nerve to run past the gruesome scene. Her eyes were tearing but angry, and her jaw was set in determination as she followed just a few steps behind, clutching Luna against her chest. He slowed his pace so they were aside one another and they continued along at a slow jog. Tim’s breathing came in labored gasps and sucking heaves.

  Against his better judgment, he advanced on the next undead they came upon. The thing was busily eating the innards of a cyclist, and paid him no attention as he edged in close. The thing was so intent on devouring the coils of intestines it pulled through a rough-edged wound on the stomach of the shirtless man that Tim stood within arm’s reach without drawing its attention. He eased his hand in slowly then lunged, grabbing the seat of the ten-speed that lay pinned beneath the body of the cyclist. With a sharp jerk, he yanked it free, jostling the undead in the process of gorging. The zombie’s head snapped around with gore streaming from its open maw. It lunged at Tim, surprisingly quick. Tim held the ten-speed by the seat and handlebars and used it as a shield to keep the thing from him. The thing nestled in between the wheels, its chest pushing against the sprocket pushing towards him, arms reaching around the bike. Tim shoved it backwards towards the bridge railing. As he shoved, the back of the thing’s foot caught on the dead cyclist’s leg, and it tumbled backwards into a heap. His face twisted in rage and disgust, Tim began stomping on the thing’s skull over and over and over until it had completely stopped moving.

  Laura appeared on the verge of shock when he finally turned from his gruesome task, his lip curled in disgust.

  “Get on the back of the bike!” he screamed at her, releasing the rest of his pent-up tension.

  All around them, chaos was breaking out, an inhuman-sounding roar split the air from behind them. Tim and Laura froze, turning towards the source. From the Poughkeepsie side of the bridge, a large gathering of people were approaching them, maybe twelve in all. At the front was a man, or what had once been a man, its face contorted in rage, its shirt hung limply in rags from one shoulder. The thing locked its gaze on the two of them and began running headlong towards them. Its speed was tremendous, closi
ng half of the thousand feet that lay between them in mere seconds.

  “Fuck,” Tim uttered, not even intending to speak the word.

  “Go, go, go,” Laura repeated, slapping at his back with her free hand as she and Luna waited on him to mount the bike.

  Tim leapt onto the bicycle, spinning the pedal to near its apex to get a good start as Laura, holding Luna, climbed behind him, occupying the seat. He hazarded a look back at the fast thing as he stepped heavily downward to get the bike moving. The enraged thing was within fifty yards, and Tim could clearly see that the thing was not living, nor was it corpse-like, like the others. For some reason, this thing was really, terrifyingly fast. He was unable to tear his eyes from it as it closed the gap. He watched as things seemed to move in slow motion. The elevator from the waterfront park below climbed up the last few feet to the walkway. The enraged thing veered immediately as the doors opened and disappeared inside. The sounds of multiple people screaming inside snapped his attention away from the scene and got him focused on their own plight.

  Tim awkwardly pedaled the thing up to speed, using his bulk to force the pedals down each time they rose at him. Looking down, he could see the tires flattening underneath their combined weight, roughly four hundred pounds on a bike meant for a two-hundred-pound man. He held out hope for the tires and redoubled his pedaling as they were approaching the next undead on the bridge, this one was busily gnawing on the wrist of an elderly gentleman whose cane hung limply from his dead hand. The thing barely turned to look in their direction when they passed it, so intent it was on its current meal. A slight relief came over Tim at that moment. We will make it, he thought. As long as the things are still eating, and no more of those fast ones come.

  They weaved across the bridge numerous times to avoid the undead feeding on their victims; on two occasions, the undead stood and began to lumber along after them. Fortunately, the things were slow and they were quickly outpaced, even by the heavily encumbered bicycle. At the point where the river met the rocks below, before the railroad tracks, hope sank for Tim. Ahead of them, nothing but carnage met his gaze, just a couple hundred yards in the distance. The festival area where the booths and bathrooms were located was a sea of gore and shifting, shuffling movement; there would be no riding through that heaving mass of blood, gore, and teeth. He stopped pedaling the bicycle about a hundred and fifty feet short of the melee ahead and dismounted as he quickly came to a stop. Laura’s face began to show her appreciation of the scene ahead, and Tim grabbed her arm to snap her attention away from the scene.