Slacker 3: Slacker, #3

By Aaron Abilene

A cowardly man who was just a boy when the zombies arrived has managed to survive for 20 years in the zombie infested wasteland by being ruthless and selfish.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Syphon Creative
• Release date: Jun 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227395108

Book preview

Slacker 3

Slacker, Volume 3

Aaron Abilene

Published by Syphon Creative, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

SLACKER 3

First edition. June 12, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 Aaron Abilene.

Written by Aaron Abilene.

Also by Aaron Abilene

505

505

505: Resurrection

Balls

Dead Awake

Before The Dead Awake

Dead Sleep

Bulletproof Balls

Carnival Game

Full Moon Howl

Donovan

Shades of Z

Codename

The Man in The Mini Van

Deadeye

Deadeye & Friends

Cowboys Vs Aliens

Ferris

Life in Prescott (Coming Soon)

Afterlife in Love (Coming Soon)

Island

Paradise Island

The Lost Island

The Lost Island 2

The Lost Island 3

The Island 2

Pandemic

Pandemic (Coming Soon)

Prototype

Prototype

The Compound

Slacker

Slacker 2

Slacker 3

Slacker: Dead Man Walkin'

Texas

Devil Child of Texas

A Vampire in Texas

The Author

Breaking Wind

Yellow Snow

Dragon Snatch

Golden Showers

Nether Region

Evil Empire

Thomas

Quarantine

Contagion

Eradication

Isolation

Immune

Pathogen

Bloodline

Decontaminated (Coming Soon)

TPD

Trailer Park Diaries

Trailer Park Diaries 2

Trailer Park Diaries 3

Virus

Raising Hell

Zombie Bride

Zombie Bride

Zombie Bride 2

Zombie Bride 3

Standalone

The Victims of Pinocchio

A Christmas Nightmare

Pain

Fat Jesus

A Zombie's Revenge

The Headhunter

Crash

Tranq

The Island

Dog

The Quiet Man

Joe Superhero

Feral

Good Guys

Romeo and Juliet and Zombies

The Gamer

Becoming Alpha

Dead West

Small Town Blues

Shades of Z: Redux

The Gift of Death

Killer Claus

Skarred

Home Sweet Home

Alligator Allan

10 Days

Army of The Dumbest Dead

Kid

The Cult of Stupid

9 Time Felon

Slater

Bad Review: Hannah Dies

Me Again

Maurice and Me

The Family Business

Lightning Rider : Better Days

Lazy Boyz

The Sheep

Wild

The Flood

Extinction

Good Intentions

Dark Magic

Sparkles The Vampire Clown

From The Future, Stuck in The Past

Rescue

Knock Knock

Creep

Honest John

Urbex

She's Psycho

Unfinished

Neighbors

Misery, Nevada

Vicious Cycle

Relive

Romeo and Juliet: True Love Conquers All

Dead Road

Florida Man

Hunting Sarah

The Great American Zombie Novel

Carnage

Random Acts of Stupidity (Coming Soon)

Born Killer (Coming Soon)

The Abducted (Coming Soon)

Broken Man (Coming Soon)

Graham Hiney (Coming Soon)

Paper Soldiers (Coming Soon)

Zartan (Coming Soon)

The Firsts in Life (Coming Soon)

Giant Baby (Coming Soon)

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Aaron Abilene

Slacker 3

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Also By Aaron Abilene

Slacker 3

Written by Aaron Abilene

––––––––

Jarratt slipped through the skeletal remains of what was once a bustling city with the stealth of a cat, his gaze darting from one shadow to another. He moved with purpose, each step measured and silent, amidst the crumbling facades of buildings that loomed like tombstones under the ashen sky. His backpack, patched more times than its original fabric could claim, hung heavy on his shoulders – a testament to his scavenging successes and the relentless burden of survival.

He paused by a dilapidated storefront, its windows shattered long ago, leaving jagged teeth in place of glass. With careful fingers, Jarratt rummaged through the debris-strewn shelves, searching for anything overlooked by less discerning eyes. A rusted can of peaches, a tattered map, even a half-empty bottle of disinfectant – these were the treasures that could mean another day lived in this desolate world.

As he reached for a dented can of beans wedged behind a toppled register, shadows shifted, and a figure materialized with a quietness that rivaled his own. Jarratt froze, his hand gripping the can like a lifeline as he straightened to face the newcomer.

Didn't mean to startle you, the figure rasped, voice dry as the dust they stood upon.

Kendall stepped into the weak light filtering in through the broken ceiling, his presence an echo of humankind's relentless battle against oblivion. The man's once-uniform was a patchwork of stains and tears, his boots worn down to a whisper of their former selves. But it was his eyes that held Jarratt's gaze; they were the eyes of a man who had stared too long into the abyss, the haunted depths of someone intimately familiar with loss.

Scavenging? Kendall asked, his tone carrying the weight of shared understanding, his stance guarded yet devoid of immediate threat.

Same as you, Jarratt replied, finally releasing his hold on the can to let it drop softly into his bag.

Kendall nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering on his lips as if acknowledging the absurdity of pleasantries in a world where the dead hunted the living.

Find anything good? Kendall's question hung in the air, a thinly veiled probe.

Enough to keep me going, Jarratt answered, his grip on the strap of his bag betraying a tension he couldn't voice. You?

Bits and pieces. Kendall's gaze darted from the bag to Jarratt's face, reading every line of weariness etched into it. Never enough though, is it?

Never is, Jarratt agreed, but his eyes narrowed, silently adding, *especially if you're thinking of taking mine.*

They stood in the skeletal remains of what might have been a convenience store, its shelves picked clean by desperate hands long before today. A checkerboard of light and shadow played across the debris-strewn floor, lending an eerie quality to their standoff.

Careful there, Kendall warned as Jarratt took a step closer, his hand inching towards the makeshift knife at his belt. Wouldn't want to do something we'll both regret.

Jarratt's laugh was a dry cough. Regret's a luxury we lost with civilization.

In a flash, the space between them vanished, and they grappled, each fighting not just for the scraps they'd found but for the upper hand in this new world order. Jarratt's fingers found Kendall's wrist, twisting hard, while Kendall's other hand shoved at Jarratt's chest, pushing him back.

Easy! Kendall gasped, teetering amidst the ruins. I'm not here to steal your last meal.

Prove it! Jarratt spat back, his knuckles white as he held his ground.

Their scuffle was a dance of desperation, movements honed by the countless life-or-death encounters that had become as routine as breathing. They broke apart, panting, each assessing the other's resolve in strained silence.

Look, Kendall finally said, straightening his tattered jacket. We can either keep this up until one of us slips up, or we can try to—

Try to what? Jarratt interrupted, suspicion etching his features. Be friends? Trust doesn't come easy when you've seen what I have.

Nor I, Kendall conceded, rubbing at a bruise already forming on his forearm. But enemies are a dime a dozen these days. I'm just tired of adding to the list.

Jarratt didn't lower his guard, but the knife remained at his side. He searched Kendall's face for a hint of deceit and found only the weariness of a man beaten down by the same horrors that haunted his own sleepless nights.

Fine, Jarritt muttered. But the first sign of a double-cross, and we're done.

Agreed. Kendall nodded, and they stood there, two survivors marked by the past, bound by the uncertain promise of a future neither was sure they'd see.

Jarratt's breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against his ribcage like it was trying to escape the cage of his chest. He eyed Kendall, who was equally winded, his own chest heaving with the effort of their scuffle.

Two against the world is better odds than one, Kendall grunted, breaking the tense silence.

Assuming the other one doesn't stab you in the back first, Jarratt replied, his voice laced with a cynicism born from experience.

Fair point, Kendall said, but you ever hear the saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?

Enemies, huh? A wry smile pulled at Jarratt's lips, the absurdity of the moment not lost on him. Guess we're skipping the friend stage entirely.

Seems we are. Kendall relaxed slightly, his guarded stance easing up as he considered Jarratt. Look, I've wandered alone for too long. And every pair of eyes helps when they come... The zombies, I mean.

Can't argue with that, Jarratt conceded, his mind replaying the countless times an extra lookout would have saved him trouble—or a life.

Besides, you look like you know how to handle yourself. You military or something before all this went down? Kendall asked, curiosity piqued despite himself.

Something like that, Jarratt admitted, though the term felt hollow now. I had a family, too. Had to learn real quick how to keep them safe.

Did you? Kendall probed quietly, sensing the weight behind Jarratt's words.

Jarratt's gaze drifted to the crumbled buildings around them, the ghosts of his past lurking in their shadows. For a while, he murmured, his throat tightening. But there's only so much you can do when the horde decides it's your turn.

Sorry, man, Kendall said, and Jarrat could tell he meant it. Everyone had their story, their private hell they carried with them.

Yeah, well, sorry doesn't bring back the dead, Jarratt snapped, more harshly than he intended. It just reminds you that you're still alive to feel the damn loss.

True enough, Kendall agreed solemnly. So, what do you say? Do we try to beat the odds together?

Maybe. Jarratt's eyes were steely as he met Kendall's gaze. Just remember, I'll do whatever it takes to keep breathing. If your plan ever threatens that...

Understood, Kendall cut in, nodding. Survival at any cost. That's the only rule that matters now.

Then we have a deal—for now. Jarratt extended a hand, not as a gesture of friendship but as a mutual acknowledgment of their precarious alliance.

Kendall grasped it, and in that firm shake, two solitary paths converged, united by necessity in a world where trust was a luxury and survival was the only currency that held any value.

Kendall rummaged through the remnants of a shattered storefront, his fingers grazing over rusted cans and broken glass. He paused, holding a faded photograph that had been trampled underfoot, its edges curled with age. The image was almost unrecognizable—a young girl with a ribbon in her hair, grinning at the world that no longer existed. The sight struck a chord deep within him, tugging at a memory he'd buried beneath layers of survival instinct.

Find anything? Jarratt's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Nothing edible, Kendall replied, slipping the photo into his pocket, a secret talisman against the desolation.

Let's keep moving then. Jarratt shouldered his pack, but his eyes lingered on Kendall's face, searching for signs of weakness or deceit.

Before we go, Kendall started, his voice low, there's something you should know. I used to be a soldier—

Used to be? Jarratt quirked an eyebrow.

Before all this, Kendall gestured vaguely to the city ruins around them. I was trained to protect and serve. But when the outbreak hit... His throat constricted as he forced the words out, I couldn't even save my own kid.

Jarratt's features softened ever so slightly. How did it happen?

Doesn't matter, Kendall shook his head, the weight of the past pressing down on him. What matters is I couldn't stop it. Couldn't protect her. He clenched his fists, feeling the raw sting of guilt anew. Every damn day, that failure eats at me.

Join the club, Jarratt muttered, his usual edge tempered by understanding. We've all lost something—or someone—to those things.

Guess that makes us kindred spirits in a messed-up sort of way, Kendall said, attempting a wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Or just two fools who can't let go of the past, Jarratt countered, but there was no bite in his voice, only the shared recognition of similar scars.

Maybe, Kendall conceded. But we're still here, still fighting. That has to count for something.

Sure, Jarratt nodded. It means we're not done yet. We've got skills, experience. If we pool our resources, watch each other's backs...

Could make all the difference, Kendall finished the thought. I know tactics, combat. You've got street smarts, scavenging down to an art. Together, we might just stand a chance.

Reluctantly, I agree, Jarratt extended his hand once more, this time with a hint of respect lacing the gesture. But let's get one thing straight—we're in this for survival. No heroics, no unnecessary risks.

Understood, Kendall clasped the offered hand, their grip firm and resolute. Survival first. Everything else is secondary.

Then it's settled, Jarratt released his grasp. We work together, stay alive, and keep moving forward.

Forward, Kendall echoed, a semblance of hope flickering in his chest for the first time in what felt like an eternity. They turned in unison, stepping into the long shadows cast by the dying light, embarking on a path neither could walk alone, bound by the unspoken pact of the desperate and the determined.

The crumbling façade of a department store loomed over Jarratt and Kendall as they picked their way through the rubble-strewn streets. Their footsteps were cautious, deliberate—each man keenly aware of the precariousness of their alliance. The silence between them was not awkward but rather charged with mutual vigilance.

Jarratt's eyes flicked to Kendall, noting how the soldier moved with a quiet efficiency that belied his haggard appearance. In return, Kendall observed the other man's gaze, interpreting it correctly as an appraisal of his actions rather than mistrust. They communicated without words, a nod here, a gesture there, each beginning to recognize the value in the other's survival tactics.

A sharp gesture from Jarratt brought them both to a halt beside a rusted-out car. Kendall crouched, his hand hovering above his makeshift weapon—a hefty piece of rebar. He watched as Jarratt reached into his bag, producing a small mirror which he angled carefully to peer around the corner.

Clear, Jarratt murmured, and they moved on, slipping through the shadows like ghosts of the city's former life.

Suddenly, a guttural moan shattered the tense quiet, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of decaying feet dragging across concrete. Kendall's muscles tensed, ready for action, while Jarratt's hand went instinctively to the knife at his belt.

Five of them, Kendall whispered, peering over a fallen beam. Coming our way.

Take point, Jarratt ordered, the words terse but trusting. Acknowledging Kendall's combat experience, he took a step back, allowing the soldier to lead.

Kendall exhaled slowly, channeling the adrenaline coursing through him into focused energy. He moved forward, the rebar held securely in his grip. As the zombies came into view, grotesque and mindless, he swung with precision, striking the first in the temple. It crumpled without a sound.

Jarratt was right behind him, slashing and ducking with practiced ease. Together, they danced a deadly ballet amidst the ruins, each strike and parry highlighting their growing synchronicity.

Left flank! Jarratt called out, and Kendall pivoted, taking down another zombie as it lunged. Side by side, they fought, the living against the dead, until the threat was neutralized and the only sounds left were their heavy breathing and the thud of lifeless bodies hitting the ground.

Nice work, Kendall said, panting slightly as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The compliment felt strange on his tongue, but genuine all the same.

Couldn't have done it without you, Jarratt admitted, scanning the area one last time before sheathing his knife. It was true—they were stronger together. And in this forsaken world, strength was the currency that mattered most.

Panting from exertion, Jarratt leaned against the crumbled wall of what once might have been a convenience store. The adrenaline was still tapering off, leaving behind the familiar ache in his muscles.

Remember when the biggest worry was whether your team made it to the playoffs? Kendall mused, rummaging through a nearby shelf, the faded labels on cans barely legible.

Sports were never my thing, Jarratt replied, but I remember Sunday dinners with the family. That was my kind of religion. His voice trailed off with the memory, and for a moment, the smell of roast and the sound of laughter seemed to fill the devastated space.

Family, Kendall echoed, his eyes distant. That's something worth finding again. A community... where you're not just surviving, but living.

Exactly, Jarratt said, straightening up. This... loneliness, it's like another plague. We need more than just being alive, we need a reason to stay that way.

Community, Kendall repeated, as if tasting the word. Security. A future. Hell, maybe even hope.

Hope doesn't keep you warm at night, Jarratt quipped, though his tone softened. But it might be nice to have others watching your back.

Speaking of which, Kendall said, shifting a fallen sign to reveal an old, partially burned map underneath. Look at this.

Jarratt moved closer, peering down at the charred paper. It depicted the region, but what caught his eye was a handwritten note scrawled across the bottom corner: 'Sanctuary - survivors welcome.'

Think it's real? Kendall asked, skepticism lacing his words.

Real or not, it's something to aim for. Beats wandering without purpose. Jarratt could feel the stirrings of an unfamiliar optimism.

Could be a trap, Kendall cautioned.

Or it could be our best shot at that community we're talking about, Jarratt countered. We can handle traps. What we can't handle is ending up as one of those things we just put down.

Kendall considered this, then nodded slowly. Alright. Let's do it. But we take it careful, yeah? One step at a time.

Agreed, Jarratt said, feeling the weight of decision settle over them. They were about to walk into the unknown, driven by a fragile thread of hope woven into the fabric of a tattered map. It was either the smartest decision they'd ever make or the most foolish.

Tomorrow, we head out at first light, Jarratt declared, folding the map carefully and tucking it into his pocket.

Tomorrow, Kendall confirmed, their pact sealed.

As the sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the desolate cityscape, Jarratt and Kendall fortified their makeshift shelter for the night. Despite the uncertainty of the path ahead, they found comfort in their newfound alliance. Together, they would face the dawn, and whatever lay beyond it, united by a shared vision of a life rebuilt from the ashes of the world they once knew.

Jarratt's fingers