After The Change Read online




  AFTER THE CHANGE

  by

  Michael J Moore

  First published in the United States in 2019 by MKM Bridge Press

  This edition published in 2019 by MKM Bridge Press

  First published in paperback in 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Michael J. Moore

  Cover Art © 2019 by D and A Productions

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under copyright law. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent from both the author and the publisher MKM Bridge Press (except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law) nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  MKM Bridge Press is committed to a sustainable future for our authors, readers and our planet.

  This series raises the bar for zombie fiction: Arthur Longworth. -author of Zek, an American Prison Story.

  This post-apocalyptic tale transcends its genre, with realistic characters who share a complex relationship. Michael J. Moore is a literary force to be reckoned with:Tom Richey -author of Death Row Scot.

  Although not my usual genre of choice, I fell in love with Michael J. Moore's writing. Not only did it draw me in like a moth to a flame, but it kept me absolutely entranced and spellbound all the way up to its extremely climactic ending. There's very little doubt in my mind that Michael J. Moore is going to become a powerful figure in the literary world! Percy Levy-author of A Ghetto Love Story.

  I couldn't put this book down until I read every last word. I've since been strumming my guitar, patiently waiting for the next one in the series to come out. Where is it? Westin Halvorson, My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult.

  For Kitty

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First I'd like to thank God. Next, my good friend Diego and my partner Kate, who have worked as hard as me on this book.

  Also Mom, Dad, Alice, and my two beautiful daughters. Adam, you might not know this, but you've always inspired me.

  To my mentors, Arthur Longworth, John Hovey, Tom Richey and Percy Levy. I don't think I could have accomplished half of what I have in this last year without your encouragement and advice.

  Anthony, you already know. To all my UBB and LDO brothers and sisters, who've supported me in every way they could, thank you.

  Special thanks to Javier and Juan

  Visit and subscribe to www.facebook.com/michaeljmoorewriting and michaeljmoorewriti.wixsite.com/website for other titles written by Michael J Moore

  Chapter One

  The houses were usually empty. Not always, but usually. Sometimes though, there were people inside. They weren't always happy to see us, and most of them had guns. Other times, we would find one of the changed inside. It would be hungry. It would be happy to see us. That's because it didn't know we had guns.

  In the beginning I didn't think they could think. I still hadn't made up my mind about them to be perfectly honest.

  It was mid-afternoon and foggy outside. I'm not sure how long it had been since I had quit keeping track of time, but I guessed it was sometime in October. Before, it had been my favorite time of year. Something about autumn seemed beautiful to me. Even the word: autumn. Isn't that a nice word?

  I always kind of wanted to start my own band and have that word somewhere in the name. Now, autumn put us at a disadvantage that could easily cost us our lives. Or our souls.

  "This fog," Wes said.

  "Ssshhh," Cali didn't look at him. Her eyes seemed to penetrate the mist as we made our way through it. Cali had the best eyes.

  My breath looked like smoke. I couldn't help but feel a little guilty, like it was adding to the fog. I knew it didn't really work that way, but it seemed like it.

  "Come on," Wes said as we approached the house. He took the lead. Wes always took the lead, which I guessed made him our leader. Just like before the change, when we played together in Disciple. I was lead guitar, Cali was on bass–yeah, we had a female bass player–and Wes was the front man. So I guess not everything had changed.

  Our drummer had turned into one of them. Wes shot him in the head with his Dad's SKS.

  "Diego, you go left. I'll go right. Got your light?"

  I reached into my pocket, brought out the mini-mag-light and shined it in his face.

  "Jesus dude. Not in my eyes."

  "I'll go with Diego," Cali said. She usually went with me. Even though she was Wes's girl. I think she thought I was afraid or something. I wasn't. Not any more afraid than anybody else. I'm just quiet. That hadn't changed either.

  "Cool," Wes said, brushing his long hair out of his face. It was dyed black, but since the change, his blond roots had begun to grow in. I had started using it to keep somewhat of an idea of how long it had been. There was probably a couple inches of blond. "Come on. Let's make this fast."

  He reached into his black leather jacket and brought out a gigantic silver handgun with a triangular barrel. Wes's 50 cal. was his baby. He always seemed to smile when he held it. The same smile he had worn when we found it in an abandoned house. He didn't smile with his mouth though. He smiled with his eyes, something only Wesley Smith could pull off effectively.

  I brought out my black 9 millimeter and hoped my eyes shone too. I doubt they did though. Personally, I preferred a smaller gun that didn't kick so hard. But when I had tried to shoot one of the changed once with a 22, it hadn't even penetrated its skull. It hadn't even stumbled from the force of the bullet, just continued to charge at me. I almost lost my life that day. Or maybe my soul. I'm not really sure. All I know is that I got a bigger gun after that.

  Cali brought out her own gun, which looked a lot like mine, and took my arm. By the time we were moving left, Wes had already gone right.

  Cali holding onto me may have slowed me down a little, but I didn't mind. I hadn't been with a girl since before the change and it felt nice. Even if Wes did make it around his side faster, then cover part of mine. The truth was, he was my best friend and there was never any competition between us.

  There was a fence separating the back yard from the front. I didn't see any latch, so I assumed it opened from the inside. At five eight, it would have been easy for me to reach over and unlatch it, but that didn't work in this world. If one of the bastards was back there, it would have my hand before I knew it and all it would take was one bite–sometimes less–and one of my two best friends would be putting a 50 caliber slug between my eyes.

  In all fairness, I would have done the same for them.

  "You ready?" I whispered to Cali.

  Interlocking my fingers, I made a "U" with my hands for her to step on. She looked me in the eyes and smiled a little before she did. Her eyes were bright green, which was pretty rare before the change, so I imagined it was almost unheard of now. They contrasted with her red hair nicely and reminded me a little of Christmas. Maybe it was past October. Maybe it was closer to the holidays.

  As she put all of her weight on my palms–one hand on the fence, the other clutching her gun–something occurred to me, which had cros
sed my mind more times than I could count since the change.

  (I might die today)

  I looked up and saw Cali peeking over the top, into the backyard. She looked back down at me.

  "Nothing."

  "Come on," I said. "I'll go first."

  As I set her down, she put her hands on my shoulders to balance and looked me in the eyes again.

  (Christmas)

  "You sure?" she asked.

  "Ssshhh." I put my light to my lips. "Hold this. Toss it to me when I'm over."

  We both knew that just because she didn't see one of them on the other side of the fence, didn't mean that there wasn't one. They had proven to be crafty little bastards. I mean, for what they were.

  I tucked the gun into my jacket and grabbed the ledge of the fence. The wood dug into my hands as I hoisted myself up, but it was bearable. I only weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. I don't know what I weighed before, because I never checked, but I'm sure it was more. Luckily, the last house we were in had an old fashion, non-electric scale.

  When I made it to the top, I jumped down and had my gun out before I hit the ground. The fog was thick even in the backyard. I could only see a few feet in front of me, but somehow I was sure there would be a jungle-gym with a swing-set and a slide somewhere. It was that kind of neighborhood. I listened, trying not to even breathe. Any movement and I would be back over the fence before you could say "run."

  There was nothing though. It was so quiet that the quiet seemed obnoxious and loud.

  "Cali, toss me the light. Hurry up."

  The fence rattled and she landed hard next to me.

  "What are you–"

  "Ssshhh." She handed me my light. "Hurry up. I'll cover you."

  In the old world, I might have been impressed by her bravado. In this world, there was no time for that. Only time to go. I moved quickly along the wall of the house, my flashlight in one hand, gun in the other until I came to the first window. Cali watched my back as I shone the light in. It was a bedroom. Sometimes I liked to imagine the rooms with people in them, the way they were before everything changed. I was pretty good at figuring out what kind of people lived there, based on what I saw.

  For example, if I saw pom-poms on the wall, it was safe to assume a cheerleader lived there. Plus, there were usually pictures. This room, however, was despairingly bare. There was a small dresser, a nightstand and a nicely made bed. No TV. No pictures. It was probably a guestroom.

  "Anything?" Cali asked.

  "No."

  "Cool. Come on."

  I looked in the room a moment longer before pushing on–then something moved.

  An unintelligible noise escaped my mouth through gritted teeth. I dropped the light, pointing my gun with both hands. Cali jumped, pointing hers as well. Wes stepped into view.

  "Whoa!" He threw his hands in the air, one clutching his gun, a smile on his face. "Going cannibal? Relax. I'm sure there's food inside."

  I lowered my weapon.

  "How'd you get around so fast?"

  "Fast? What're you two doing? You move any slower and I could've been attacked and changed already."

  He didn't say it with an attitude though. Everything was good-natured with Wes. That's why I loved the guy. They had been two of my closest friends and having them around meant the world to me. Before the change, it had pretty much been them, our drummer Royce and my girlfriend.

  Royce and Trish had been in the unlucky bunch–or maybe they were the lucky ones, since they seemed to be the top of the food-chain lately. We didn't shoot Trish. I told them I would have, but she got away.

  "See anything?" Cali asked.

  "No, this place is clear. It's a one story, so I can't think of anywhere one of those ugly suckers could be hiding."

  "We still need to do a thorough check," I said.

  They both looked at me like they wanted to object. We were all exhausted. Neither did though. Instead, we continued on.

  The backyard didn't have a swing-set after all. It was as bare as the bedroom. One thing that was beginning to bother me about walking through the yards was the wet grass. It's not like anybody had mowed their lawn since the change and the grass came up past my knees. My pants were soaked.

  When Wes couldn't open the door with a credit-card because the deadbolt was locked, we used an axe we found in the shed to break in. As soon as we were inside, I started choking and heaving. It smelled like rotting meat. Cali backed out, her face distorted and unusually ugly. I doubled over.

  Wes made a pug-face and pulled his shirt up over his nose. Then he continued in. None of us were stupid. We all knew what the smell was. We had smelled it more times than any fifteen year old should have.

  Chapter Two

  What's a soul? A lot of different belief systems have tried to answer that question. My parents were missionaries, so I probably have a bias on the topic. At least I would have before the change. If you had asked me, I probably would have said it's the part of you that lives on forever, even after your body dies. The thing that makes you, you.

  But what if that part of you died first and your body went on living? Well, maybe not living, but moving. Eating. Mindless.

  A year ago, I wouldn't have thought it was possible. But maybe people can lose their soul.

  We never got an explanation for why it happened. It could have been a science experiment gone wrong. Or maybe a virus. I'm sure my parents would have said it was from God, if they had been able. They were among the first to change.

  Into what? That's complicated. I've seen the movies and even though Disciple used to sing about this type of thing, I still hadn't resigned to calling them zombies. Zombies aren't real.

  So let me tell you what my parents and my baby brother turned into. Soulless, flesh-eating psychopaths. They weren't corpses though. Eight-month-old Caleb couldn't even crawl before he changed, yet after it happened he was running in his diaper, full-sprint through the neighborhood. I saw it.

  They're contagious too. If they bite you, you turn. If you have a cut and they drool on you, bleed on you–well you get the picture.

  Basically, everything you might imagine about zombies. Still, we didn't call them that. That just seemed to us like an easy way out. It happened so fast there wasn't really time for an explanation. People just changed. Not overnight, but instantly. I can't tell you how much of the population, because I don't know. I can tell you though, there weren't many left. We ran into people from time to time. Usually traveling in small groups like us. We heard rumors of militias forming, but hadn't seen them. We were all pretty content with not seeing them too.

  You didn't have to shoot the changed in the head. That's another reason I knew they weren't zombies. With them, the heart did just as well. Probably because they weren't walking corpses. They could be killed like any other living thing.

  I didn't kill my parents. I was at school when the change happened and as soon as my class-mates started eating each other, I hauled ass out of there. Then, when I got home and my parents tried to eat me, I ran some more.

  The only people I knew who weren't changed were Cali and Wes. We looked for others and had to kill some of our friends before we finally just stopped looking. The hardest for me to see was Trish. Deep down, I think I let her get away.

  Now we just survived, which was harder than you might think. The changed usually didn't move in packs. They moved in huge herds. Hundreds of them. Sometimes it seemed like thousands. The three of us couldn't even carry enough bullets to deal with that. Every time we did catch a small group, or one of them by themselves, we took them out. It became kind of a game. You had to be careful though, because the noise attracts others.

  One thing I didn't think any of us had figured out, is why they weren't eating each other. Maybe they weren't soulless after all. Maybe they were just pure evil. Or maybe whatever it was that had taken them over just wanted to spread.

  Who knows?

  I don't know if it really mattered though. Did discovering
the truth change anything? Maybe all that mattered was surviving and not being changed.

  Chapter Three

  It turned out to be an old woman. Her body was so far decomposed that if it weren't for what she were wearing, I wouldn't have been sure it was a woman.

  She had short, thinning, white hair and her flesh was eaten away so much that her skin hung off of her bones.

  She hadn't changed. She hadn't been killed either. Not by anybody at least. She had known she was going to die and chosen to go in her wedding dress. She lay on the couch, two wine glasses–both containing dark red liquid–on the coffee table in front of her.

  The house was full of flies and maggots still ate away at the old woman's corps.

  How long, I wondered, after the change had she died?

  Wes insisted we could find a wheelbarrow and get her out of the house, but this time Cali and I overruled him. The neighbor's house turned out to be empty.

  "Diego," Wes said once we were inside. "You wanna go pick up the bags? Me and Sheena'll set up here."

  I knew what the deal was. Cali and Wes hardly got any time together without me around. It must have been hard to date somebody during the Apocalypse. Their relationship was a relatively new thing though. Before the change, nobody would have guessed they would end up together. Limited options will do that though. He had also just started calling her by her real name. She always hated being called Sheena. We had called her Cali since she moved to Washington in the sixth grade.

  "Sure," I said. "I'm gonna check around the neighborhood while I'm out too."

  "Why?" Wes looked genuinely confused.

  "Just a perimeter check."