The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Buried Instincts Read online

  BURIED INSTINCTS

  -

  The Zombie Apocalypse

  Lynn Henson

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  BURIED INSTINCTS – THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

  Copyright © 2019 by Lynn Henson

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  For my dad who instilled a love to read in his children by sitting on his butt at home for hours absorbed in sci-fi and fantasy novels.

  For my mom who will never read this book, but would probably love to see the movie even if she doesn't appreciate the subject matter.

  For my sister who is my biggest fan no matter what I do.

  And most of all for Maggie, who lets me be me. Even when that meant dumping my old career and trying something new.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  ONE

  The bus whined to a stop and with a hiss, the front doors opened. Blake stepped out onto the sidewalk. He was halfway through a thank you when the bus doors squeaked closed and drove away. He checked his cell phone for directions and plodded off in the indicated direction. He’d never walked around this part of Los Angeles, not that anyone would’ve gone out of their way to visit this area. People came here with a purpose in mind. After a few minutes, his phone announced that he was where he wanted to be. Even aided with the miracle of GPS, he had to walk back and forth several times before finally locating the nondescript entrance to the massage parlor.

  Blake wondered again what he was doing here. Just getting here, was a challenge in itself. He’d had to take three buses, two of which faintly smelled of piss. He did his best to try to time going inside without letting anyone on the street see him, but after turning the corner in the back alley was mortified to have to walk by the Chinese cooks standing at the back door of the restaurant next door. Blake fought down the urge to pretend he’d taken a wrong turn and willed himself through the entrance of the massage parlor. The old Asian woman manning the shabby front desk looked as if she chain-smoked professionally. It was with great indifference that she took his $50 and directed him into an even more rundown room in the back.

  Peering again around the olive green paint of the room and trying not to look too closely at the thin mat with the discolored bed sheet thrown over it, he tried to find something of interest to distract him as he waited for his masseuse.

  “What am I doing?” he asked himself.

  Two weeks ago he parted ways with his girlfriend of two years. Sherri had been his high school sweetheart and everything had been fine until suddenly it wasn’t. It was her, not him. They were growing in different directions. They had to meet new people, not tie themselves down to one person in their youth. At the time he’d argued every point she’d brought up, but looking back, she might as well have been reading from the standard break up with your boyfriend book of useful phrases that all just translate to, “You no longer do it for me.”

  Why can’t women be more direct? What he’d thought was an opportunity to debate was just a ritual designed to spare his feelings. The reality though? Confusion.

  Maybe he really did need more experience.

  “Hi.”

  He looked up then, he hadn’t heard her come in during his space out. She was wearing light blue jeans and a white t-shirt with words of different colors splattered all over the front of it with no way to make any sense of it. She was thin, and not unpleasant to look at. About the same age as him he thought. She was giving him an annoyed look now.

  “You’re supposed to be undressed and under that towel.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He fumbled for his belt.

  “I thought you’d been here before?”

  “Yeah, of course, I have.”

  She continued to stare at him and he continued to pull ineffectively at his belt.

  “Uh... could you turn around or something?”

  She smiled at this. “Alright, but this is part of the half hour you paid for.” She turned and walked out of the room.

  Once she was gone, he stripped down to his boxers as quickly as possible and threw himself on the mat and arranged the towel over himself. Waiting for the girl to come back, he realized that one of the other charming features of this place was that you could hear everything that was going on in the adjacent rooms. The moaning was pretty obvious now that he was waiting for the girl to come back.

  She peeked in and saw he was now with the program, closed the door, and came over and peeled the towel off his back and proceeded to start digging her hands into his back.

  “You like hard or soft?”

  “Not too hard.”

  “Try to relax, ok? You’re all tense.” Her hands moved up to his shoulders and she tried to squeeze out some of the tension.

  “So, uh, what’s your name?”

  “Jasmine,” she replied as she dug her hands into what felt like his shoulder blades.

  The moaning in the adjacent room was getting louder and more rushed.

  “So, uh, how long have you been in the country?”

  “You sure do talk a lot. Just try to enjoy the tranquility of the moment.”

  How come it felt like he was striking out? Dammit, aren’t I paying for this?

  She started driving her elbow into his back and succeeded in pushing a lot of air out of his lungs.

  “So when do we get to the next part?”

  “The next part?”

  “You know...”

  She stopped. “Oh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You didn’t seem like... the type,” she stood up. The moaning next door had turned into screaming.

  Confused, he rolled onto his front and sat up. “I thought...”

  She cast her eyes down, “It’s ok, it’s just... I’m pretty new here...” The screaming next
door abruptly stopped.

  “Oh, it’s ok,” he felt mortified. “I’m sorry, I, uh, I didn’t know.”

  She looked around uncomfortably, “Should I get you someone else?”

  “Oh, no no! Here, let me give you something for your trouble,” he fumbled for his pants to retrieve his wallet.

  She carefully studied her flip-flops as he liberated a twenty from his wallet and offered it to her.

  She accepted it and opened the door, “Thank you.” and she turned to walk out.

  Suddenly, she gasped and fell backward into the room.

  “What’s wrong? I...” he forgot his next thought as a hand grasped the side of the door frame. Jasmine was scrambling back. One of her flip-flops had come free and she was making squeaking noises as she crabbed her way towards the wall.

  The hand released the doorway, leaving dark red gore where it had touched and collided with the door, pushing the door in. Blake could see the man at the door now. He looked like your stereotypical John, right down to the balding head, wife beater, and ample body hair. What wasn’t stereotypical though was the blood caked around his mouth and covering his hands. His teeth looked horrific in the way they gaped. His eyes were unfocused, but he lurched forward with purpose towards Jasmine.

  Blake snatched the towel and whipped it at the man’s head. The towel covered his face, disorienting him, and he turned and smacked into the wall. The man roared in outrage as he continued to try to walk towards Jasmine and collided with a small end table, upending the vase with the fake flowers on the floor. Blake darted over to Jasmine, grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet. He dragged her out of the room as the towel fell from the man’s face who turned to look for them.

  Blake ran to the end of the hall, dragging Jasmine behind him, exploding through the strings of fake orange crystals hanging in the doorway. The weathered woman manning the front desk shot him a look. “Let go of girl! You think we do take out here?!”

  Blake’s jaw dropped, “The fuck? Some guy walked into our room. He might have gotten hurt or something.” Jasmine peeled Blake’s fingers from her wrist, “Yeah. That guy must’ve been whacked out on drugs.” The mama-san’s face seemed to reset now that she’d figured out what was going on, “Gun! Get in here!”

  A wall of a Korean guy walked into the room. His white tank top proudly proclaimed “Kim Chi” in bright red tagger font. He took a look at Blake and a ripple went up his beefy right arm. He gave Jasmine the look too, ripple going up the left arm. His bald head turned towards the boss. She thumbed towards the back. “Take care of problem customer.” He grunted and walked through the plastic crystals as if they weren’t there. She reached under the desk and pulled up a Dixie cup full of light brown liquid and offered it to Blake. He waved it away and looked over where Gun had gone, waiting for the all clear so he could recover his clothing.

  The John with the bloodied face and hands sprawled through the crystal strings and fell face forward across the room. Blake jumped back while Jasmine edged nervously away. Gun lumbered into the room and grabbed the John by the neck and his wife beater then heaved him outside. Gun followed him out.

  Jasmine brushed aside the crystal strings taking care not to let the ones smeared with blood touch her, and disappeared into the back. Blake looked over at the now disinterested Mama-san and said, “I’m just going to go get my clothes now.” Before she could disagree he went to the back.

  Moving down the hallway, it was easy to see where the sick man had made his way out of the building. Bloody handprints marked his progress from the John’s room to his, then dark splotches covered the floor out to the front. He stepped around the spots, not wanting the stuff to touch his bare feet, and entered his room. The room was much as he’d left it except for what looked like an opera mask smeared onto the wall. Most likely Gun’s work. Blake recovered his clothes but before he could put them on, he heard a high pitched wheezing that seemed to be coming from an adjacent room. The room where the sick John is. He quietly went there and peeked in. Jasmine was standing inside with her back to him and seemed to be the source of the wheezing. She was standing over a half-naked corpse of a woman lying in a pool of blood. Blake inhaled sharply and Jasmine whirled around, eyes wide as saucers. Blake took a step back, aghast. “Whadafuheedis?” she hissed.

  Blake shook his head, “What?”

  “What the fuck is this?!” she screechingly whispered. “Angie’s fucking dead! It looks like a rabid dog tore her throat out!”

  He looked past her, Angie’s throat did bear a striking resemblance to raw hamburger.

  “We should call the cops.”

  Exasperation crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding? We’re not the most reputable business in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “But she’s dead,” Blake persisted, “They should catch that psycho who did this before he does it again.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her, “They’ll shut this whole place down for sure and that’s not going to help my situation.” She looked up at the ceiling, “Fuck, Mrs. Ono is going to shit when she sees this.”

  “Mrs. Ono?”

  She rolled her eyes, “The woman in the front who took your money? I thought you’d been here before?”

  “Er... she’s Japanese?” he changed the subject.

  “Nah, she’s Chinese. Just goes by Ono to make it seem like Japanese people run dirty massage parlors.” She looked down and her eyes became thoughtful. “Maybe we can get Gun to clean this up. Maybe get that guy back here and shake some money out of him to make this go away.”

  Blake stared at her dumbfounded, “You’re joking. There’s no way.”

  Jasmine nodded to herself, “You’d be surprised at what Gun can accomplish. He may not look it, but he’s got a can-do attitude.”

  Soft wet footfalls came from behind Jasmine as Angie rose slowly to her feet and oriented herself towards her.

  Jasmine turned around and relief washed over her face. “Oh shit! Are you alright Angie?”

  She took a couple steps towards Angie but the blank look on her face as she stumbled forward with her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s made her stop in her tracks. Angie closed the rest of the distance between them and grabbed her arms and fell forward, taking them both to the floor. Jasmine struggled uselessly as Angie held her down and moved her face down to her exposed neck. Blake dove forward and shoved his clothes in between Angie’s face and Jasmine. Angie got a mouth full of his jeans as Blake ran behind the topless woman, grabbed her by the pits and tried to pull her off Jasmine.

  For a crazy few seconds, the three people had become stalemated. Blake was unable to pull Angie off Jasmine, who was unable to free herself from Angie who was unable to bite Jasmine.

  Jasmine managed to get her flip-flop adorned foot under Angie’s stomach and kicked up. With the combined power of the kick and Blake pulling back on her armpits, the woman was forced to her feet. Blake took a step backward to keep his balance and turned to one side, dropping her to the floor. They lost no time in getting out of that room and slamming the door shut. Seconds later they could hear infuriated groans and scratching noises on the other side of the door.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. What the fuck is going on?”

  The rustle of the plastic crystal strings made them both look down the hall. The silhouette of a beefy bald guy and a smaller hunched over figure could only mean Gun and Mrs. Ono were coming this way.

  Jasmine sighed in relief, “Awesome! They’ve come at the right time.”

  Gun seemed to react to her voice and seemed to come closer with more urgency. Blake backed away, “Uh, something’s not right. Maybe we should go.”

  Jasmine took a step back, “Gun? Mrs. Ono?”

  The plastic strings sounded again as a third figure entered the hall again. The two in front continued forward. Blake had seen enough and turned and ran towards the end of the hall and ducked into the last room. He could hear the sound of rubber slapping the floor over and ov
er behind him and waited until Jasmine had come into the room before he shut the door and locked it.

  The room looked much like his had when he first arrived. He crossed over to the blinds, lifted them up and looked into the alley. It seemed deserted, so he unlatched the window and pushed it open. A heavy crash behind him made him look back towards the door and saw that Gun’s beefy hand had punched through it. It clawed comically at Jasmine who ran over to the window. Not taking her eyes off of the arm she cried, “Come on, come on, get your ass out the window!” Another arm smashed through the door and the whole door came free and fell in, taking the burly Korean bouncer down with it. The sick John and Mrs. Ono walked over him to enter the room with their same awful gaping mouthed expressions on their faces, Angie followed them in, only to trip on Gun’s thrashing form as he struggled to free himself from the door that shackled his arms.

  Blake grabbed the sides of the window and pulled himself through and flopped onto the alley floor, Jasmine dove out the window and landed on top of him. She pushed off of Blake and looked over at the window.

  Arms were now coming out the window trying to reach them. They pushed themselves up to their feet. She looked at him, standing there in his boxer shorts. “You got a car?” she asked.

  “I, uh, took the bus here,” he admitted.

  “Well, that’s perfect. Wait here,” she ordered and ran back towards the street, disappearing around the corner.

  He waited and waited. His wallet and his phone had been in his pants pocket. He kind of wanted those things back but decided that the major inconvenience of having to get new credit cards, a new ID, and even a new god damn phone wasn’t worth risking getting attacked by deranged masseuses and their muscle. And so he stood there in his underwear and hoped to shit that Jasmine would actually come back.

  When a beat up brown car that looked every bit like it had driven right out of an old cop TV show rolled up, he tried too hard to act like everything was normal. Jasmine’s head emerged from the driver’s window, “Well? Get in!”

  He rushed over and got into the passenger’s seat. She fumbled around with the stick on the side of the steering wheel as she turned the car around. The engine made a hearty crunching sounds as the transmission got sorted and she turned on to the street.