With Rotter World, Scott M. Baker pulls out
all the stops in a zombie thriller that is brutal, violent and terrifying.
Definitely not for the faint-hearted. -- New
York Times bestseller Jonathan Maberry, author of Patient Zero and Dead of
Night
Think there are no new or original zombie authors?
Think again. Scott M. Baker provides an exciting voice and fresh outlook on the
undead. Fun, compulsive reading. -- Brian Keene, author of The Rising and City of the
Dead
Scott M. Baker writes in the tradition of J.L. Bourne
and Joe McKinney. Fans of thriller writers like Brad Thor will also find
powerful, welcome similarities in Rotter World. -- Scott Kenemore,
author of Zen of Zombie
Right from the start, this book starts
off at a frenetic pace and never slows down. Scott ratchets up the
intensity page by page until the epic ending at the underground
facility. Scott has managed to bring together the
best of what I love about end of the world, vampire and zombie tales in
one glorious story that I hope he will continue in another book. If you think zombie and vampire stories
are overdone and there is not anything new you can do with them, Rotter
World proves that theory wrong. If you love vampire and zombie
stories, and love great characters you will undoubtedly love Rotter
World and I highly recommend it. -- Pete Schwotzer of Famous Monsters of Filmland
THE ROTTER WORLD TRILOGY BOOK 3
ROTTER APOCALYPSE
CHAPTER ONE
Mike Robson lay beside Natalie on the
beach. Her arm was nestled against his, their fingers intertwined in a tender
embrace. He basked in the warmth generated by the sun as it dried the sea water
that still moistened their bodies. A few yards away, the surf washed against
the sand in a steady, lulling rhythm. The briny smell of low tide filled his
nostrils. He savored every moment, every sensation. At least until sleep
drifted away, making him painfully aware that he was dreaming.
Robson opened his eyes, hoping to find
solace in his surroundings. Instead, reality rampaged through his fantasy. He
was reclined in the passenger seat of the black Hummer H3 they had confiscated
from Price, the leader of the rape gang that they had attacked last night. It
sat on the road opposite the construction company garage that his team had been
using as a makeshift camp. The seatbelt had become wrapped around his right
hand. The air inside the enclosed vehicle had grown hot and stagnant, and sweat
soaked his skin and clothes. Even rolled up, the windows could not keep out the
stench of decay from the pile of corpses one hundred feet in front of him. Tom
Caslow stood between the Hummer and the funeral mound, digging a mass grave
along the shoulder. The fleeting glimmers of Robson’s happiness drained away,
leaving behind the soul-crushing routine that had become his daily existence.
As his dream faded into a hazy memory,
the events of the past twenty-four hours came back into focus. His team had
raided the storage facility outside Barnston that Price’s gang used as their
camp. The main reason for the attack was to rescue Windows, although he did
want revenge on them for destroying their camp at Fort McClary and murdering
everyone inside. Even though Robson’s team had defeated the gang and revenged
the slaughter at their camp, the raid had been less successful than he had
hoped for. They had failed to save Windows. Some of the other hostages had
reported seeing her and a young girl escape during the melee. Despite sending
out search parties, Robson’s team never found her. However, they had rescued
thirty-eight survivors, most of them dehydrated and emaciated from weeks of
being confined to the human defense perimeter set up around the storage
facility. Five were young women who had been forced into being camp followers
and had been repeatedly brutalized. Their psychological wounds would take much
longer to heal. To compound the situation, Robson had lost three of his own
people, casualties he could not afford given their small number.
Worst of all, he still had no idea what
had happened to Natalie and the Angels.
Opening the door to the Hummer, Robson
stepped out and stretched. He had come out to the Hummer to get away from the
hustle going on inside the garage while the survivors settled in. When he had
dozed off for a quick nap, it had been close to dawn, and the sky had a light
blue tint. Now the sky was marginally brighter. Although he could not have been
asleep long, he felt surprisingly well rested for such a short power nap.
Caslow glanced up at Robson and raised
his hand to wave. Robson walked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Caslow slump over and resume digging. Moving around the front of the Hummer,
Robson strolled across the street and entered the construction company’s
parking lot. Roberta Giovanni and Charles DeWitt stood by the main door talking
with Neal Simmons. Roberta was middle-aged and,
at one time, probably quite attractive. However, one year of an apocalypse and
several days on the road had sapped the beauty and vitality out of her. She
stood between the two men, the worn and dirty clothes hanging loosely on her
gaunt frame. Her brown eyes seemed sunken and listless. She had tied her
brunette hair into an oily and frayed ponytail that hung down her back. DeWitt
fared slightly better. He had worked out at camp and kept himself toned, if
somewhat underweight. Yet his face betrayed the wear and tear of everything
that had transpired. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, and a days-long
growth of beard covered his face and neck. DeWitt and Roberta were the only
ones to survive both the massacre at the camp and the raid on the storage
facility, and were lucky to be alive.
Frakes and Allard had also gone into
battle with them, and had been killed during a gunfight. And of course there
was Jennifer, who had been murdered in cold blood by the gang’s leader.
Jennifer’s death hit him hardest of all for personal reasons. Robson bore the
guilt of getting all three of them killed because he knew they lacked tactical
training and should not have participated in last night’s raid. He never would
have exposed any of them to such danger had he not been desperate for manpower.
Simmons and his friend Isaac Wayans were
newfound friends and a godsend. Former Boston cops who barely had escaped the
collapse of the city, the two had moved north and set up a good life for
themselves in the rectory of the town of Gilmanton. When Robson’s group
happened upon them, they had been gracious enough to not only let Robson use
the town as a staging area for the action against the storage facility, they
also assisted in the raid, an act of kindness that left Wayans with a minor
bullet wound in the chest and Simmons with thirty-eight starving mouths to
feed.
Simmons glanced in Robson’s direction.
“It’s about time you woke up.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve barely
been asleep half an hour.”
Roberta shook her head. “You’ve been
asleep all day.”
Well that explained why he felt so
rested. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You needed to rest,” said Simmons.
“Besides, we’re taking care of everything here.”
“At least what we have control over,”
added DeWitt.
Robson knew what DeWitt referred to.
“How many did we lose?”
“Seven,” answered Roberta. “All of them
were those rescued from the defense perimeter. Most died right after eating.”
“What did you feed them?”
“Reconstituted scrambled eggs and bacon,
plus water,” replied Simmons. “They’re all so badly malnourished I doubt half
of them will make it through the next few days.”
Robson turned to where Caslow dug the
mass grave. “I assume he didn’t want to help with the survivors?”
“We
didn’t want him to help,” Roberta nearly spat.
Simmons glanced over at Caslow with
contempt. “Earlier this afternoon he asked if he could help. I told him to dig
graves so we can give the dead a proper burial. He prepared three graves for
your people, plus a mass grave for those from the camp who don’t make it.”
“He agreed to that?”
“I didn’t give him much choice.”
Robson didn’t blame Simmons and the
others for despising Caslow. Even he couldn’t stand him. Middle-aged
and of average height and looks, his entire demeanor reeked of cowardice, from
the constantly hunched shoulders, the inability to make eye contact, and his
avoidance of confrontation. Caslow had allowed his wife and little girl to be
kidnapped by the rape gang, hiding in a store while they were abducted and
doing nothing to protect them. The only reason Robson had allowed Caslow to go
on last night’s raid was to give him a chance to redeem himself. However, his
wife already had committed suicide and his daughter had disappeared, presumably
being the little girl the survivors reported seeing leaving the compound with
Windows. After the raid, he found Caslow cowering in one of the abandoned
storage units.
By now the sun had dropped below the
tree line, leaving a reddish-orange glow along the western horizon. The office
door to the garage opened, and Dravko and Tibor stepped out into the parking
lot. Robson felt sorry for them because of the fate that had befallen their coven,
which seemed ironic considering that one month ago he could have easily been
convinced to feed them to the rotters. The Zombie Virus the vampires released
against mankind to stop humans from hunting the undead nearly made their own
kind extinct. The small group of vampires that had been allowed into their camp
had been granted asylum out of necessity, the humans needing the strength and
agility of the undead to bolster their ranks. An uneasy alliance existed
between the two species that lasted for eight months until the trip to Site R
when the vampires proved their loyalty. None of Robson’s team would have
survived the ordeal at the underground military facility, or last night’s raid
on the storage facility, had it not been for vampires. The past few weeks had
solidified the friendship between the two species, although at a loss of three
members of the coven, a casualty rate of sixty percent. Pockets of humans still
existed across the country. As far as Robson knew, Dravko and Tibor were the
last of their kind.
Robson suppressed a sigh. His team now
consisted of the last two vampires on Earth, a pair of untrained guards, a
useless coward, and thirty-one survivors, most of whom were knocking on death’s
door.
As the vampires approached, Dravko
nodded. Tibor remained his usual stoic self.
“How did the survivors make out?” asked
Dravko.
“Not good,” answered Roberta. “We lost
seven, and will probably lose several more before long.”
Tibor cast a disdainful look at Dravko
that sent a shiver down Robson’s spine.
Dravko seemed genuinely sympathetic.
“Let me know if there’s anything we can do to help.”
“I will.”
“Do you want us to take the Hummer and
go looking for Windows?” asked Dravko.
Robson shook his head. “I doubt you’ll
find her. She’s long gone by now.”
“We don’t mind.”
“I can’t risk losing any more people
right now. Windows is on her own.”
Roberta nudged Robson in the shoulder
and motioned toward the raised door of the garage. “We have company.”
One of the survivors stood by the
opening and peered around the jamb. He recognized her as one of the camp
followers from inside the compound, although he didn’t know her name. She
ducked out of view when she saw him.
“It’s okay,” Robson called to her.
“You’re safe now.”
The woman came out from behind the wall
and cautiously walked across the parking lot. She reminded him of a frightened
deer approaching a campsite. Her time in the rape camp had sucked the dignity
out of her. Unkempt, dirty brunette hair hung past her shoulders and her face
and body were gaunt from lack of food. She had the sunken eyes and vacant stare
of someone who had witnessed or experienced an event too horrific for the mind
to bear. He had seen that stare too frequently in those who had survived the
first few weeks of the rotter outbreak, but never before from someone who had
suffered at the hands of fellow humans. She stopped ten feet away and lowered
her head.
“What can I do for you?” asked Robson.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
The woman raised her head. “My name?”
“Yes.”
“Linda Prowell, sir.” She averted her
gaze again.
In all his years with the sheriff’s
department he had never seen a woman beaten down this badly. He had no regrets
about taking out Price’s gang.
“Linda, my name’s Mike. Please stop
calling me sir. You’re not at that compound anymore. I promise you, no one here
is going to hurt you.”
Linda made eye contact with each of the
men, gauging whether she had anything to fear from them. When her gaze fell
upon Roberta, Roberta smiled, assuring her that everything would be all right.
“Linda, do you trust me?” asked Robson.
“I… I want to.”
“That’s good. Now, what can I do for
you?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the
physical condition of those you rescued from the Line.”
“The Line?”
“That’s what they called the defense
perimeter around the compound. They’re all in pretty bad shape. And while I
know your intentions are good, bacon and eggs aren’t going to help them
recover. We lost seven people, and we’re going to lose a lot more unless you
can get them a proper diet.”
“I take it you’re a nurse?”
“I was a….” Linda paused, and then
proceeded with more confidence. “I am
a doctor. A pediatrician, to be exact. I dealt with a lot of eating disorder
cases in my practice, so I know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not questioning you,” said Robson
in his most reassuring tone. “What do we need to do?”
“To start with, they need a high calorie
and high protein diet. Things like peanut butter, cheese, and beef jerky. Even
though they’re dehydrated, don’t give them too much water. If they take in too
much liquid too quickly it could seize up their stomachs. The best thing would
be powdered milk or protein shakes. Multi-vitamins would help them get back on
their feet, if you have any. Also, because they’ve been out on the Line for so long,
their clothes are soiled with urine and feces and are infested with bugs. I
know all this sounds unreasonable under the circumstances, but we need to get
these people properly fed, cleaned up, and into new clothes as soon as possible
if they have any chance of surviving.”
“Setting up showers shouldn’t be too
difficult,” said Roberta. “DeWitt and I could have them running in a few
hours.”
“That’s all well and good,” Robson said,
running his hand through his hair. “But where the hell are we going to find the
food they need, as well as a fresh change of clothes for everyone?”
Simmons cleared his throat to get
everyone’s attention. “I actually know where we can get everything on Linda’s
list.”
Robson fixed his gaze on Linda. “See?
That was easy.”
Simmons smirked. “Who said anything
about it being easy?”
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