It Was Them

By Allison Wise

In a world still reeling from the effects of war, an undead enemy arises. Survivors have to decide whether keeping old grudges and prejudices will still benefit them or if forming new alliances is the better way to carry on. Amid the chaos, young drifter, Raena, finds herself leading a large group of survivors and struggles to keep not only her people but also hope alive. But the undead aren't the only enemy. Raena also has to find a way to discover who these unseen antagonists are and discover a way to outwit them while the fate of the world hangs in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885055031

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Life and Death

Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.

—Albert Einstein

Humus. That’s what we call it, like the black soil that’s remnant of everything that’s dead. That’s what replaces their blood and keeps their rotting bodies stuck together. My hands shake as I try to scrub the black sludge off them. Blood was supposed to flow like a liquid. This was something closer to tar and smelt just as bad. I can’t remember the last time I’d seen it. I can tell by my own reaction that it’s been a long time. Perhaps too long. Some people would consider that a good thing. But the kill was clumsy. It took three of us to take it down, and it had barely been moving. The black sludge is still under one of my nails. I’ll have to cut it later in order to finish scraping it out. The reminder that this was once inside an infected body makes me nauseas. There was a time it didn’t use to. But we’ve become complacent.

If you were to look around you now, you’d see a world that has changed so much in such a short amount of time. Walls and fences protect us, and we don’t even question why anymore. Children know not to go out at night or anywhere alone. Everyone knows each other. The world has become much smaller, even though the spaces between are greater. What we have now of the past are stories. Some stories are real while others are make-believe. Most people don’t know the difference anymore. So what is truth, and what is legend?

No one is exactly sure how the Beginning actually started—whether it was an unearthed ancient virus, a deadly microbe from space, or something manmade. The memories of the elders give us accounts of the first outbreaks, and some electronic data has been recovered, but that is all we have. We do know it occurred globally at approximately the same time. No country had time to warn others or even protect itself. It spread quickly and never faltered. Decades later, we’re still picking up the pieces.

Celebrities of previous eras were recognized for their contributions to entertainment, and later their contributions to the war. Now our celebrities are either fictitious or unnamed. In one instance, however, a hero was neither. Raena Rivera Harrison was someone who went unaware of the sickness longer than most. She was in the barren desert landscape in lower Nevada when it started and had been away from human contact for weeks. Cautious and determined, she managed to survive longer than most of the locals in the relentless dry heat. The desert was the perfect place to be in isolation; there was no one for miles that cared to hear her story or wondered what she was doing on her own.

March 28—first day of recorded infection, 8:47 p.m. Weed, California

Rachel Rodriguez is an important person in our history. Not so much a myth as Raena but just as much a reason why we are relatively infection free today.

Mitch, where’d you go? Get your ass out here, or I’m going to the party without you.

Rachel tucked a small package into her bra, which contained three pills of ecstasy. It was a small amount, but it was only a small exchange she was doing that evening. She was shorter than most of the people she did business with, but her matching black eyes and hair gave her angular face a more-menacing look. Her hair, as it always was, was tied tightly in a ponytail. Mitch, short and scrawny, stepped out of the bedroom with his twitchy hands behind his back.

I have something for you. He put his hands in front of him. In his palm was a small velvet jewelry box. As he opened it and revealed a small ring with a miniature diamond, he asked, Will you marry me?

Rachel sighed. She hopped on her heels and licked her lip in an irritated manner. She was hoping their cohabitation wouldn’t give him the idea she wanted to remain together.

I don’t want to. Sorry. She said it so casually. She’d made her position clear when they started getting involved.

Mitch withdrew the box and stomped out of the apartment. Rachel followed minutes later, figuring her short-term partner needed a moment to get over the rejection. He’d been trying to marry her for weeks, and she still refused to take that next step in their relationship. Mitch wasn’t waiting on the passenger side of the Chevy like he usually was when she stepped out. The shoddy apartment might have been his, but the car was proudly hers. Rachel thought she could see his jacket in the shadows of the alley next to their apartments and decided to pay no more attention to him. She’d gladly find someone else to live with.

Rachel unlocked her door and got inside. As she reached for the lock on Mitch’s side, hands slapped at the window, and the car shook. Frightened, Rachel closed her door and started the car as quickly as she could. In her haste to get to the car and ignore Mitch, she hadn’t noticed the turmoil around her. Tears streamed down her face as she dodged burning cars and people running in the street trying to escape the clutches of the undead. She’d always thought it was a bad neighborhood, but this was different. Instead of slowing down to help, she just drove faster to get away. Thoughts ran through Rachel’s mind. If I had said yes, would he have died? Could I have saved him? And one thought she had contemplated many times before, If I hadn’t gotten my sister strung out on drugs and thrown in jail, I’d still have a home. I’d be in Brazil with my mom and sister. I should have told the truth. I shouldn’t have let my sister take the fall. But those thoughts were quickly clouded by the carnage she witnessed on the streets, and the bloody smears on the passenger window from Mitch didn’t go away.

Jamie Patrick O’Malley was at first too shy, for lack of a better word, to be interviewed. He later resigned to answer to a friend, Larry Eben James. He describes many tales, but this is where we should start.

March 28, 9:24 p.m. Redding, California

Classic rock rolled out of the old boom box in the kitchen of The Potato Farm Restaurant. Harry O’Malley washed the last of the dishes with distaste. He had allowed his staff to leave early so they could go to a local concert. Being Irish after the war was a hardship, but the friendly old man was good at what he did, and the locals were tolerant. His son, Jamie, sat on a stainless-steel countertop, playing a handheld video game.

What do ya say we make potato and leek soup tomorrow night? Harry said as he dried his hands on a dirty towel. He’d tried his hardest to hide his accent, but it couldn’t fully be evicted.

I hate soup, Jamie spoke casually without looking up. He had the luck of growing up in the Federation of America, meaning his accent was far easier to hide.

How de hell are yeh gon ter be a chef if yeh don’ like soup? He chuckled to keep the mood light and turned off the music. Sometimes, when Harry was alone with his son, he stopped hiding. Jamie never once returned the favor.

I told you, Harry, I am going to join the federation and prove we have a right to be here, Jamie argued slowly, still refusing to look up.

The war that split the United States of America had been considered a civil war, though it had political shock waves that ruffled the rest of the world. Though no other country provided aid to either side, many countries still publicly declared which side they would have rather done business with. Ireland, however, was adamantly neutral. This caused controversy in the States, with so many Irish immigrants. Ireland had faced an agricultural hardship caused by a well-placed weapon of mass destruction a couple of decades before America’s war and the island had practically been evacuated. Even years after the war, prejudice was still strong.

Harry pointed a chubby finger in warning at his son, who still didn’t look up. Somebody shook the door of the front entrance.

Harry sighed. We’re closed. The banging persisted. Jamie lifted his head for a second.

Hey, asshole! Get the fuck outta here! He got hopped off the counter, sliding his game out of the way.

Yehr foul language is bad fer business. Harry rubbed his balding scalp.

All the more reason for me to leave. He took a step toward the dining area, half hoping to cause a scene. The glass door shattered. Jamie ran back into the kitchen, quickly turning to watch his back. Harry grabbed the most intimidating utensil in sight: a cleaver. The intruder charged Harry. The chef swung the blade to defend himself. The cleaver embedded itself into the flesh-craving lunatic’s shoulder. He kept coming as if he felt no pain. Jamie was frozen in place, not understanding what was going on. Harry swung the cleaver over and over. Blood sprayed in different directions. Jamie stood without breathing. Soon the infected body was twitching on the floor. Harry stood with the cleaver raised. Blood streaked his apron, making him look like a demonic butcher. Newly infected still had red flowing blood. It turned gelatinous and dark after a few days.

The room was silent until the noise outside caught up with them. Distant screams echoed through the street. A burning car rolled down the road with its passengers still strapped inside.

Did you see his eyes? What was wrong with his eyes? Jamie had never seen a dead body and was unaware of the dilation and clouding over of eyes when a body dies. But Harry had seen enough death. He’d lost his parents to the gruesome riots in Ireland that resulted from the food shortages. He’d been a child then, but the images stayed with him.

We gotta ge’ outta here. Head ter Uncle Tommy’s. Jamie still didn’t move. Harry pushed Jamie toward the back exit. Let’s go!

At first, Logan Monaco refused to be interviewed because he had had little hope in the survival of mankind while Raena was in charge and felt ashamed. It took his own son, Larry Eben James, to convince Logan that this document was only to prove the actions of Raena Harrison and her team. Logan was a key member of her life, and it would be wrong to keep him out. So this is where his story begins.

His girlfriend of the time, Ashley Smith, was very wealthy, and her father owned a small section of coastline near Huntington Beach, California. Logan often would surf with Ashley, her sister Cheryl, and a new friend, Lawrence, before school or on weekends.

March 29, 5:58 a.m.

They all stepped away from the overpriced surfboards and began removing their wet suits. The air was cool and brought up goose bumps on their wet skin.

Shit! I left my jacket down by the rocks. Cheryl turned back to the beach. Ashley was drying off her hair with a fluffy towel.

Leave it. We’ll get it after breakfast. She looked up at the sky. The sun was not yet out, but the sky was becoming lighter in the east.

I’m supposed to get a call for a job interview, I need it. Cheryl moved her head lower to her shoulders in a defensive manner. Ashley opened her mouth to say something rude, no doubt, but Lawrence led Cheryl away before the insult emerged. The sisters used to be close, but politics interfered.

It’s disgusting how much time she spends with that transfer, Ashley sneered once her sister was out of earshot. Logan played with the car keys nonchalantly, trying to stay out of the conversation.

At the time of the Beginning, the North American continent had been divided after a long and arduous civil war. The east had been a land of industry and different sections traded with other countries. The west had been mainly farmers and education centers. The war had begun because of differences in opinions on trading, especially with the unconventional dictatorship of Russia. There was no winner to this war, as the sides of the nation agreed to disagree and part ways. The west maintained a federation; however, with a smaller territory, it became stricter. The east became a confederation, with the different production and trading centers acting as separate but cooperating entities. However, the west still held all the schools and much of the agriculture of the continent. Because of this, many families moved to the west before a permanent and impassable border divided the new countries, a stretch of uninhabited land known as the In-Between. The region had been bombed in several places, forcing both sides to retreat during the height of the battle. The people who moved to the west were often referred to as Transfers. While the federation had gladly accepted them as a sign of superiority, the people of the west looked at them as traitors, knowing very well that no one had moved east after the war.

Logan had been raised to see the Transfers as inferior, but as there were no strict regulations about segregation, he didn’t see a reason to waste energy on avoiding them. So even though Lawrence was a Transfer, he was still allowed to be friends with people like Logan and Ashley’s family. But Logan was starting to see the world differently as everyone tried to convince him of what career he should follow, and all he wanted to do was make a decision for himself. Ashley was perfectly content following the federation’s suggestion, and Logan was finding himself becoming more disinterested in her. And now her comment about Lawrence brought things to a point.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to be around you.

And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean? Ashley was halfway into the passenger’s seat. She stared daggers at him, daring him to say something that would upset her.

It means that ever since your dad remarried, you’ve been a real bitch. Your sister can’t even stand being around you for a long period of time. Neither can I, for that matter. You better find yourself a new ride to school ’cause I just can’t handle your shit anymore. He fought a smile. His first step into his own life felt like a good one. No one had ever stood up to a Huntington Smith before.

Ashley scoffed and climbed into Logan’s Classic Hummer, trying to think of how to manipulate the situation. Gasoline fueled vehicles were a perk of the west, the federation often bragged.

You’re not getting rid of me that quickly, you son of a bitch! I will put you through hell! She glared at him through the door window. Her father worked for the federation and had offered Logan any position he desired. Ashley figured her father could also deny him any job he desired if she asked him.

Too late, babe. Been there for weeks. Logan felt giddy for all three seconds.

Just then Cheryl screamed. Logan turned to the beach, assuming she had stepped on a jellyfish or something along those lines. He might have lost what little interest he’d had in Ashley, but he still respected and cared for her little sister. Cheryl and Lawrence came into view. They were running toward the Hummer with looks of utter fear. A dozen infected were chasing them and were quite literally at their backs.

Run! Run! Go! Lawrence yelled. Get out of here! The infected took him down first, as he had been pushing Cheryl ahead of himself. He shouted incoherently as they violently tore him limb from limb. Logan dropped his keys and began to run for Cheryl, hoping to save her. Ashley scooted over into the driver’s seat, grabbed the fallen keys, and shakily put them in the ignition. Cheryl tripped on a hidden rock and fell face-first into the sand.

I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die! she shouted through a river of tears. The infected were on her in seconds. Her screams echoed on the grey beach even after her heart stopped. Logan slid to a stop in the sand and turned back to the Hummer. He could not comprehend what was happening. All he could think to do was get to the car. Ashley had turned the ignition and began to take off; the rubber of the tires burned and left a thick, choking cloud behind. Logan barely made the jump to the back of the vehicle, grabbing onto the spare tire and breaking two fingers in the process. The infected were unable to keep up with the speeding car and divided their numbers.

March 29, 7:13 a.m.

Raena opened her dry, ocean-blue eyes and inhaled deeply but did not yawn. The sun had just spilled over the horizon. The new light made no difference to her. There was nothing much to see except sand and sky. Every dozen yards or so, there might be cacti or rock formation to offer shade, but it all looked the same. Towns were completely unseen wherever she looked, though she knew one was only twelve miles southwest. There was no way to know what was happening across the world. She rubbed her face and unzipped her faded and filthy sleeping bag. Her jeans were two shades lighter from when she first ran away, her high-top sneakers torn, her flannel shirt wrinkled and dusty. Even her hair was lighter, a golden blond. She had never dyed her hair away from its natural copper coloring, so the blond sometimes surprised her when she passed by a mirror in a store or shiny surface. She checked her supplies as she attached the rolled-up sleeping bag to her stiff hiking pack. She only had enough water for the next two days. Food was still plentiful since she had managed to trap and cook up two rabbits. She’d felt bad about it the first time she’d trapped an animal for food. But she reasoned, the small critters met a more-humane end than those led to the slaughterhouses. Animal agriculture was another perk of the west. Sure, the east still raised animals for sustenance, but in much smaller quantities. Raena checked her small, taped-up wallet. She couldn’t even remember what type of wallet it had once been; only that covering everything in the sturdy duct tape was considered cool for a time in high school. It contained: a student ID card she kept out of habit, even though she’d only attended the college for 6 months; a card that read in bold red letters Federation and had two numbers for recruiting stations; a worn picture of her and her two best friends, Shahdai and Riley; and twenty-four dollars. The spare change in her pocket came to $5.36. She wanted to call Riley’s house, wanted to talk to him and his sister, and wanted to come home. But she had no home. Her alcoholic mother was the reason she had initially run away. In her mother’s words, she was nothing but a useless lump of flesh. Raena had been the only one with a job, the one with the education, the only one who had a future, the only one who had to hide how unhappy she was. Her mother hadn’t adjusted well to the move. Raena had technically been living in Riley’s house with Shahdai but still was under her mother’s jurisdiction. Shahdai could have told her the exact article of law that bound Transfer families together. Riley was two years older than her and rented a two-bedroom apartment. With his help, Raena managed to put off running away for two years. Raena thought of the pleasant times the three of them had. She smiled and strapped the heavy pack to her body. The good memories kept her going. And they would continue to do so for years to come.

A few hours later, she rested in the shade of a lone cactus on the side of the deserted road. The paint separating lanes had long since faded away, and the sand was creeping in from the outside. One good storm could hide the road completely. She chewed on an energy bar and closed her eyes. The rumbling noise of an engine from an upcoming vehicle made her open her eyes. It was coming from town and would be no use to her since she wanted into town. The car stopped on the other side of her cacti. Raena sat still and wondered why the car had stopped so suddenly. A CB radio buzzed inside. It could only be a police cruiser, in her mind. She curled up close to the cacti and hoped not to be seen. The door opened, and the driver walked away from the car into the desert. Raena risked a glance at the officer, realizing he was walking away from her. He was a big man in full uniform and was facing away from her. His hands were raised to his face. Raena thought he was drinking something, but then a shot was fired. She screamed and scrambled back a few feet. The officer fell to the ground, crumpling over his left leg and dislocating the left shoulder. Blood had sprayed over Raena’s shirt and face, but she was unaware of it. The shot echoed through the air, and she felt that it was echoing in her head as well. Once she got control of her quivering knees, she jumped up and ran to the car, hoping to use the radio to call for help. A woman was yelling on the other end of the line.

Do not return to the station! I repeat: do not return to the station! The woman was panting and sobbing. Raena paused and leaned closer to the speaker, wondering what was happening. Oh god, they’re coming back to life! They’re getting in! Whatever you do, don’t come back! Head north! Oh god! Bullets echoed in the background, and there was a loud thud, then silence.

Raena pulled away from the car and glanced toward town. Smoke began reaching for the clouds. If the police couldn’t handle a situation, she certainly wouldn’t be able to. The town was no longer an option. The words she heard didn’t seem to make sense, but obviously, something was happening. She slowly walked to the fallen officer. His pistol had landed near his knee. Blood and brain matter were mixing into the dirt around it. Raena fought the urge to get sick and picked up his pistol and brushed off the red sand. She fought her gag reflex even harder as she squeezed her fingers into the compartments on his belt. Finding nothing of use, she grabbed the handcuffs as consolation for her effort and ran back to the cruiser. The keys to the cuffs had fallen on the way, but she hadn’t noticed that either. She started the vehicle’s engine and drove away from town, toward California, toward Riley’s house in Riverside. She needed to get to them if she could. The civilian radio squawked as reception cut in and out.

Civil unrest is being reported in large cities throughout Nevada, Utah, Oregon—there was shaky static —and possibly in foreign countries as well. Though no one yet knows what this is all about, we can only assume… The reception faltered for the last time. Raena searched for more stations but found only emergency broadcasts.

Archive footage recovered from a traffic cam somewhere in lower Washington recorded this following scene, which has been hidden for years due to its content. A bus driver, assumed to be Darla Keenan, pulled the bus to its last stop. She was obviously tired, swaying in her chair and rubbing her eyes. Records show she was up all night with her eldest daughter in the hospital. The daughter was assumed one of the first infected in the state. Children, perhaps eight years of age, run inside the bus, apparently screaming. Darla looked up too late. Infected rushed inside as the bus doors slowly attempted to close. First the attackers went after the driver. Darla screamed and tried to fight off the maniacs but was unsuccessful. The children ran to the back but were too weak to open the rusted exit. The attackers eventually made their way to the back. No one made it out alive. It is said that the team to clean sweep that city found Darla still strapped into her chair, and many of the Creepers in the immediate area were that of children.

There is a legend in Maine of a woman, Diane, and her lost love, Mike. It is a newer ghost story and is quite popular. A fisherman from Maine was kind enough to tell the story his father told him.

Diane observed herself in her mirror and spun around to see her new white silk dress. Mike was going to pick her up and take her to dinner. Their wedding was still a month away, but a destination had not yet been decided upon. The horn of Mike’s vintage hybrid vehicle sounded. Diane pulled on her silver heels and opened the door. Mike was walking up the stone path with takeout food.

Diane scrunched her face. Haven’t you been watching TV? The town is a madhouse. It’s a lot safer to just eat here.

He kissed Diane on the cheek. You look real nice.

She smiled and closed the door behind him.

Which house are we going to live in? she asked as she sat down at the table and unwrapped the burrito in front of her. It was a topic frequently brought up.

I was hoping to move in with you. This house is amazing. Has a perfect view of the ocean. He removed the soda from the refrigerator and sat down next to Diane.

But I love your kitchen.

You are not going to be in the kitchen. I will cook for you every night, and when I can’t, we’ll order pizza or get your sister to make us something. He smiled dreamily. Diane couldn’t help but smile back and leave the argument at that.

A window in the living room shattered. Mike jumped up, knocking his chair over. A low mumble filled the air as a Creeper climbed through the window.

Get to the bedroom, Mike whispered and took her hand. As he closed the feeble door, he knew it would not hold up to anyone determined to get in. The Sleeper pounded mercilessly on the wood. Diane shrieked and looked at Mike for comfort. Go through the window, get to the constabulary. The door cracked. There was more than one at the door. I’ll meet you there. He pulled the dresser in front of the door.

Diane looked into his eyes. He was lying. Still, she did as he said. Taking more time than was necessary to climb out of the large window, to protect her dress, she took a last look at Mike. The dresser was shaking. There were even more bodies thudding against the other side now. Mike put his weight against it. Go, he urged calmly. Diane’s chin trembled as she ran for the driveway. Then something tripped her. She looked up to see three ghouls collapse upon her. Mike heard her screams and moved for the window. The dresser was thrown upon him, and the undead climbed on top and feasted on him. Diane and Mike listened to each other die.

Some say they still see Diane’s spirit running through the yard or standing in the driveway, waiting for Mike to follow. It was the first house to be swept once the People’s Power came into effect in Maine. The sweep was videotaped as an instructional video. Everything on the tape helps prove this story: the front window was missing; one chair in the dining room on its back; the door to the bedroom tossed off its hinges; dresser knocked over, the lower half of a decomposed corpse under it; and the window open. The cleaning crew even said there was a rusted old Ford Mustang that had been retrofitted to run on electricity in the front of the house. The story had been told for months before the house was even investigated. Perhaps this tale is true. There is no way to ever know for sure.

A message was written on the wall of a cellar in Kansas with a permanent marker. It was barely legible when it was discovered. It was written by ten-year-old Cynthia. A diary with her name and penmanship was found upstairs as identification. She did not put her last name, and we cannot find records of what family owned the house