Len Barnhart - Apocalypse End: Reign of the Dead

Table of Contents

Part I - Tangier

Leon Baltimorewalked into the storeroom of the makeshift armory on Tangier Islandand stopped dead in his tracks. Jacob DuBois, a recent immigrant from Louisiana,was swaying back and forth on his knees, chanting a rhythmic cadence. Hisface was upturned and his arms were outstretched, palms up.

You think thatll conjure up somebig miracle? Leon asked. That those bastards will just drop dead againand go away with a little Who-do Voodoo?

Jacob stopped swaying and lookedat Leons black face. Its powerful stuff, man. If it can raise de dead,it can work de udder way, too, he said with a heavy Cajun accent.

Well, how about keeping your littlerituals at home, Swamp Man? He pushed past the kneeling man. JesusChrist, just what we need here, another freak!

Jacob got to his feet and stormedout of the room. A loud echo reverberated throughout the buildingas the door slammed.

Leon shook his head ruefully andset about the task that had brought him there; another recon mission. Hehated them. They always ended the same way, with dead air, dead cities,and wasted time. Washington, D.C., and all of the suburbs within flyingdistance, had been that way for some time now. For the life of him, he couldntfigure out why they still bothered to look.

Leon unlocked the gun cabinetand opened it. The armory was damp and without the aid of a controlled environment,metal was more prone to rust, but hed seen to it that his weapons wereclean. A misfiring gun would not be the cause of his death.

I put my faith in you, he cooed,stroking the barrel of his favorite rifle.

His thoughts returned to Jacob.What the hell was he doing in the armory, praying? It didnt seem right.

Leon locked the gun cabinet andwalked out, ready for battle.

There were two ways to get on oroff Tangier Island, located off the coast of Virginia: by air or bysea. The ferry no longer ran its daily route and as long as the sick anddying were closely monitored, Tangier was safe.

The heavy armory door swung openand Leon stepped out into the cool March sunlight. He tilted his face tothe warm sun, then rubbed the tense muscles on the back of his neck to relievethe tension. What he really wanted was a pair of pretty black hands tomassage his troubled thoughts away. He wondered what Halle Berry was upto these days. Since movies werent made anymore, maybe she wouldhelp him out. He smiled at the ludicrous thought.

The past two years had been morethan most people could cope with, and theyd had more than their shareof trouble, but had man-aged to survive. They were safe enough for nowfrom the walking plague of death that had invaded a thriving world andturned it into an endless quest for survival.

Now he was ready to leave the safetyof Tangier Island again for another fruitless search for survivors.How he hated returning from the hell out there with nothing to show for itexcept a dark mood.

Leon slung his rifle over his shoulderand made his way to the local tavern. He still had time to get a glass ortwo of Julios apple wine before the trip-enough to ease the stiffness inhis neck. It wouldnt hurt to calm his nerves, either.

The bright blue sign on Julios Barproudly declared it to be the most popular social club on the island,never mind that it was the only one on the island. Money was no good anymore.Barter was the new order of business.

Julio opened the tavern at his leisure,sometimes early, some-times late in the evening. Ten oclock this morningwas not at his leisure, since the door was locked when Leon tugged onit.

The anticipated tang of Juliosapple wine teased the back of Leons tongue, but he pushed the thoughtout of his mind. There was plenty to think about with another impendingtrip into the wasteland. He would come back when he returned.

***

The helicopter was readied forflight on the pad in front of the airports main building. It was a modestairport, with one main terminal and several maintenance buildings.There was only one landing strip and it was long enough to handle only smallerplanes. Two hundred yards away, the tides of the Chesapeake Bay lickedthe sandy shoreline.

The choppers rotating bladescreated a strong, steady wind that tore at Leons clothing with a ferocityequal to that of the tropical storm they had experienced a week before.The choppers military green skin was dull but clean. Great care was takenwith the equipment on the island. There was no replacing anything withoutgreat danger to those doing recognizance.

Leon saw Hal Davidson and Jack Lewisin the doorway of the main structure. They would be going on this futileexpedition with him. Hal would fly the big green bird and, as usual, heand Jack would do the grunt work.

Leon tried to shake off his aversionto the trip and smiled at the approaching men.

Jim Workmanstared hopelessly at the guts of the communication console in frontof him. He had devoted countless hours to get it operational again andrefused to accept defeat. It was ironic that the most powerful and advancedcommunication setup within fifty miles had failed shortly after theirarrival at the Mount Weather Underground.

For more than a year he had pulled,poked, and pounded at it in a futile attempt to get it operational. Hehad finally succumbed to the reality that it would never work again.The simple truth was that vital parts had burned out and there were no replacementsto be found.

Jim reclined in the swivel chairand glanced up at the video monitors that lined the wall in front of him.Four of the screens were dead and displayed blank screens. Two werestill live. One had a clear view of downtown Moscow, a desolate place.The only movements were those of walking corpses.

The other monitor was of Washington,D.C., and that scene was no better than Moscows. The other four screenshad ceased to function, one at a time, months before. More than likelythe satellites had spun out of their orbits or had simply stopped working.In any case, they were cut off from anyone who might still be alive outsideof their safe haven.

Dr. Sharon Darney, their residentexpert on the plague, had once told him that the walking dead could remainmobile for ten years, maybe more, before decomposition made movementimpossible.

Two years had passed and he couldntwait another eight to find out if anyone else still lived. They had survived;others, too, must have survived.

Jim knew it was time he stopped beingas stale and stagnant as the air they were breathing in the undergroundcomplex. He needed to do something. Complacency had set in and it had becometoo easy to shut out the outside world and hope for the best. Surely therewere survivors out there banding together to regain control of the situation.It was time now to go and find them.

Amanda would be against the idea.After all the horrors they had been through, she would be content to stayright where she was and say to hell with any other survivors. As they hadall learned, it was not just the well-intentioned, kind, and honest peoplewho had survived the plague. Theyd all had more than their fill of the otherkind of survivors.

Being cooped up in the massive holein the ground was finally catching up to him. It was time to make a move.Surviving was not living.

***

Amanda sat at the corner table inthe cafeteria, pushing powdered eggs around on her plate. She had forgottenwhat real food tasted like. She had forgotten much in the past two years-herlife before the plague, old friends, and old loves. She thought it wasbetter that way, at least for now. Dwelling on the past only brought sadnesswith it.