Len Barnhart - Reign of the Dead

Table of Contents

Preface

I was very young when the great DeathPlague nearly extinguished humans from the earth, but I remember thosetimes with much clarity and distress. I remember the horror and grief,the sickness of heart, and the sorrow, especially the fear. The fear Ifelt and the fear others expressed through their actions or words.

I also remember the heroes, theones who selflessly gave their lives so that others could survive. Itis to them that I owe my life, and the lives of my sons and daughters, forthey would not exist if I had perished. Their bravery will always be remembered.Not only by myself, but also by everyone whose lives they touched. Forin the early days, we were without direction and they came to show theway.

This account is dedicated tothose courageous few, to their long-lasting memory, so that they may neverbe forgotten.

Part One - GAIAS REVENGE

The Awakening

Chapter 1

The alarm clock broke the silencein the mountain cabin. Jim Workman fumbled in the pre-dawn darkness andfound it on the stand next to the bed. He put an end to the unpleasant racketand then lit the kerosene lamp beside it.

It was five oclock Sunday morning,the final day of his three-week stay. His sabbatical had gone by far tooquickly but he had savored each day, a relaxing departure from hisfast-paced other life. If hed had his own way, the simple cabin nestledin the foothills of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains would be hispermanent residence. But of course real life made that impossible,at least for the time being.

Jim was the owner of a large constructioncompany; he had little time for anything except keeping the ever-growingenterprise pointed in the right direction. Each year he yearned forthe simpler things, and each year his expanding endeavors demanded moreof his precious time. Three weeks of seclusion this year was stretchingthe boundaries.

There was only one person in theworld that knew where his retreat was, his secretary Rita, and she hadstrict orders to notify him only in an emergency. Even Sheila, his ex-wifedidnt know exactly where the cabin was. She was part of the reason he neededthis retreat and the last per-son he wanted to deal with while trying toclear his muddled thoughts, particularly since the divorce hearingshad consumed nearly nine months of his life.

Jim dressed then went to the kitchenand lit another lamp. The small cabin didnt have the convenience ofelectrical power or running water but it was perfect for his yearly getaway.He was after all, what he liked to think of as self-reliant, able to takecare of himself no matter what confronted him.

A fresh-water stream and fullystocked lake kept him fed. An abundance of wildlife flourished in thesurrounding National Park. The four thousand acres of mountain wildernesswas a buffer between him and those who would intrude upon his temporaryheaven.

Jim stared at his reflection inthe mirror on the kitchen wall. His hair was dirty and uncombed. Thereare some advantages to modern conveniences after all, he thought,scratching at the three-week growth of beard. Even so, his love of thiskind of life was beginning to outweigh his drive to be successful.

Jim filled the basin with cold waterfrom a galvanized pail and began cleaning himself up for the trip backto civilized humanity. With each swipe of the razor, more and more ofthe survivalist disappeared, exposing a handsome man of forty, theJim Workman who was a survivalist in the so-called civilized world ofbusiness and commerce.

Jim carried two duffel bags outto his truck and tossed them in the back, then went to the task of roundingup his weapons. Hed brought only two with him on this vacation, a.44 magnumfor personal defense, and a 30.06, his weapon of choice for deer hunting,though rifle season was still two months away. Convinced he had forgottennothing, he blew out the lamps and left the cabin, ready to take on theworld once more.

The sun was rising. It peeked overthe deep purple mountains to the east in splinters of orange and yellowthat sent spikes of light through the fluffy clouds and reflected back towardthe ground like thin, white spotlights. Jim placed the.44 in the glovecompartment and then watched until the ruler of the day topped the mountainand burned the layers of fog away from its uppermost peaks, into nothingness.The sounds of the mountain wilderness filled the woods with soft breezesand bird song. In the distance a large buck chewed at the sweet grass beneathhis feet. They were old adversaries. Jim had hunted the same old boyfor several seasons but had never been able to get a clean bead. Alwaysa step ahead, the twelve-pointer would disappear into the thick underbrushbefore he could squeeze off a shot. Since then he had resigned to thefact that the deer had become part of the landscape, and earned his rightof passage. The sight pleased his eyes.

Jim drove away, leaving behindhis mountain man lifestyle. His retreat would be forgotten-wipedaway for another year replaced with deadlines, bottom lines and thebottom dollar.

The town of Warren was a forty-minutedrive from the cabin down a long and winding country road. The deep bluemountains, a testament to the history and grandeur of the ShenandoahValley, faded further behind as he drove toward town. He would refuelthere and get some much-needed coffee. His supply had dwindled to nothingtwo days ago. If there was one vice he had acquired from his busy life, itwas an addiction to caffeine. After the fill-up he would drive back toManassas and resume his busy lifestyle in the suburbs of Washington,D.C. All in all, it would be a two-hour drive.

Some music would make the trip abit more bearable, but if he could find one of those happy-voiced morningguys it could lighten his mood. There was one in particular that madehim laugh. It was Sunday though, and that guy would still be home in bed.Some music would be just fine, maybe some classic rock.

Jim scanned the dial as he drove,his finger pressing the presets from left to right searching his favoritestations. A light static filled the speakers on some. An irritatingwhistle sliced through the morning calm from others. Discouraged, heturned the radio off and continued down the road in silence.

Jim paused at a malfunctioningstoplight when he entered the town of Warren. Something was wrong. He tooknotice of the sprawling shopping center to his right. The sign warningtruck drivers that overnight parking was prohibited was slightly askew.Storefront windows were dark, gapping holes lined with jagged brokenglass. The tattered remnants of The Biggest Sale of the Year advertisementin one of the store windows fluttered in the morning breeze. Trash blewaround the parking lot, small tornadoes of rubbish. The smell of rottedflesh tainted the morning air. It looked like a war had decimated thetown.

Scores of people milled aboutthe ravaged strip-mall. Some stood on the covered walk in front of theshattered windows, others walked aimlessly around the parking lot, theirexpressions trance-like.

When they began to take noticeof Jim, his first thought was that they might be looters, like the ones hedseen during the L.A. riots, except that these people didnt have thatscurrying, roach-like fervor of looters. These people were different.There was no hurried rush to gather what they could steal and flee. Theydidnt even seem interested.

Tattered and bloody, they turnedtheir blank stares on him and staggered in his direction with an almostconcerted effort. They all looked as though they had been the victims ofvarying degrees of unspeakable violence. The faces of the three who wereclosest to his truck, a teenage boy and two older women, were a dead,bluish-gray. The boys arm dangled grotesquely from his shoulder, as thoughattached by a thread of sinew. One of the women was missing an ear. Repulsedby the strange sight Jim instinctively pressed hard on the gas and spedaway.