By Jasyn T. Turley
Scifi / Post Apocalyptic Zombie
Phil, Tim, and Dakota are three survivors taking refuge in Atlanta,
Georgia. The year is 2027, ten years after a nuclear fallout decimated
the known world and left it in shambles. With hordes of the undead
flooding their once safe home and a city now depleted of all resources
and supplies the three must make a daring gamble. To trek across the
States and Canada, looking for a new place to call home; safe from the
monsters that plague the lands.
In their daring gamble this trio encounters more than just zombies.
They are relentlessly pursued and hunted by both an old and new
nemesis’. Trying to survive and stick together, no matter the odds, they
must rely on their faith, bond, and past experiences to live through
their tribulations. In this world, a fool’s chance is usually their only
chance.
Amazon → https://amzn.to/2Fw5Jc7
Except from Chapter Three – Present Day
2027
…
He stood there, in the middle of the four-way stop, staring down at the dusky horizon, the growing shadows of the building. There was a reason they had come here, but the beauty of the twilight mesmerized him to the point of forgetting. The fact that nature could still hold its beauty, its color, despite all that has happened, only strengthened his faith in God.
For ten years they had lived off of faith. Living on what they worked so hard to obtain. All the clues, riddles and puzzles they solved to find and unlock caches filled with supplies; their lifeline. For ten years of survival and struggle they found joy with pain, blood with sweet, rejoicing with suffering, repentance with sinning. It was their faith in Christ that held them together, in the darkest moments when the night closed in all around them and the sky seemed as if it was falling on them.
There was no sense of weekdays, calendars. All they knew was based off of measuring the months themselves for the last ten years, since 2017. They knew it was at least ten years that they’ve been together.
Thinking back to his memories always put Phil in a trance, and the twilight hours of day only deepened it. He could best be described as “the lights are on but nobody’s home.”
“Phil. Hey, Pastor Phil!” Tim yelled out louder than he was comfortable with, but he could see Phil was now alert.
“What?” Phil asked, breaking away from the trance of the twilight.
“The Humvees? Remember?” Dakota asked from nearby. Her voice sounded concerned as she pointed to the ancient bodies of metal vehicles.
They were only scrap now, after ten years of rot and decay has set in. All three Humvees sat at the four-way stop, filled with potholes; probably from mortar fire. This was obviously a case of friendly fire as the vehicles too looked like they were hit by mortars. Rubble had piled up on the sides of each vehicle and the area as a whole looked like it had suffered a good deal of mortar fire.
The three Humvees used to be used by the Army. One had a hatch on its roof, where a mount for a machine gun, now long missing, had been positioned. He had the idea to start searching the city more painstakingly, seeing that the last of their supplies was stretching thin. There were no more caches available and their resources were depleting. So Phil wanted to double check everything… again. He hoped these Humvees would make their day a little more fruitful because so far the only things they had managed to find was two MREs and a bottle of whiskey.
“Right,” Phil said, looking away from the twilight horizon again, to focus on the task at hand. “Tim, take the center, Dakota the first. I’ll check the rear one,” he ordered, walking away towards to the Humvee ruins in the back.
Tim and Dakota both shrugged their shoulders casually, but they were both thinking the same thing. Before Dakota parted from Tim, he stepped closer and whispered in a low voice.
“Do you still think he’s just going through a phase?” he asked.
“We all do every once in a while.” Dakota answered.
“In basic, you go through a thirteen-week adjustment period. Guess what, he’s been like this for months now.”
“Tim, it took me two years to adjust to America when I moved here, and three years to learn English. It has to be a phase.”
“Ten years after everything went into the gutter, and now he’s going through a phase? I don’t buy it, sis. Otherwise he would’ve been like this from the start,” Tim said, patting her back and turning his attention to the ruins of the vehicle in the center.
Dakota had the leading Humvee. It felt normal because she always was the one taking point—well, usually she was. Whether it was scouting, reconnaissance or overwatch, her eyes were mostly up front looking ahead. Even when she was in the 75th, she went on frequent scouting missions. Before that she was a field surgeon who knew her way around a needle and the basics of an operation table.
She was no psychologist but she knew something was wrong with someone who was constantly getting stuck in his head. Blaming it on current circumstances was futile: they were all, to a degree, sociopaths. She had shot and killed people within arms reach and still could sleep the same night. Granted, it took some time getting to that point. No, Tim was right. Something else was eating at Phil from the inside.
They would have to worry about that later, right now they only had a little bit of time left to forage what they could from these Humvees and head back to base before other things became more active at night. Though she and Tim both remember that they had already picked these Humvees clean long ago. The whole city was pretty much picked clean. For Phil to forget something as little as that, there had to be something more going on with him; and they couldn’t waste anymore days’ worth of work to let him sort things out in his head.
Phil watched as Tim took to the middle Humvee and started to pull on the driver door. Its long rusted hinges gave way as Tim pulled the door clean off. Of the three, Tim was the strongest. He could overpower Phil in any wrestling match they had. His dark skin was sweating, even though it wasn’t hot or humid outside.
He never knew why but, for some reason, when he was a child Phil was intimidated by black people. It was strange, because just about every black person he met as a child was a nice person, very charismatic.
All that intimidation would change the day he joined the Army, after graduating high school. Just about all the men with him in boot camp were African American. Even later on during active service, most of his fellow comrades alongside him were black, and were the closest friends he ever had. Maybe the intimidation was, in part, due to his sheltered upbringing. That was why he joined the Army in the first place, to toughen himself and discard that timidity he felt; for he was timid of many more things. It was ironic: since the bombs blew and the radiation created abomination from that of God’s creation, he found even more things to be timid of. There was that fear of combat that never did change, his mind just became calloused to it; and now there were unmeasurably more things to fear than other people. But he thanked God every day that he was no longer intimidated by people who weren’t the same color as he, for Tim always gave Phil a sense of security when present.
He liked Marines too, back in his day, they were always fun to mess around with because they could take what you threw at them and dish it back. Mostly. Tim even dressed the role on a regular basis, though more of a casual sense. There was no reason to dress in anything that wasn’t combat friendly. He usually wore the olive drab, or OD, green shirt with matching battle dress uniform, or BDU, digital camo pants and combat boots. But every once in a while, he would adorn civilian attire and a black leather jacket. Some things you just don’t quit doing after everything’s fallen apart.
Then Phil took a look at Dakota. She spoke excellent English for a Brazilian; save for some discrepancies that were so minor, he hardly ever noticed. Nevertheless you knew what she was saying.
Phil could relate to Dakota a lot more then he could with Tim at times. She was dominantly introverted. You’d really have to force her out of her shell to see any extroverted behavior. Fortunately, after knowing each other for ten years, they were all comfortable with one another, so she had long since come out of her shell. He himself was introverted, but at times extroverted.
Tim was extroverted, enough said.
Dakota had an inner beauty of her that reminded Phil a lot of his mother. For Phil and Tim, she was their rock, who could bear all sorts of weight on her shoulders. She too joined the Army, but later on she became a Ranger; Phil went a different path in his career. Phil often wished that the three of their paths had crossed before the fallout occurred, had he retired later.
Phil had mad respect for the Rangers. Hell, he went through Ranger school himself for the honor of the Ranger tab on his uniform. Ever since, he had the utmost regard for Rangers. But he loved harassing them at the same time, he and his buddies he served with. But it was more like picking on your little brother. Just like with the Marines, he could joke with any Ranger and expect them to return the favor, oftentimes tenfold.
Dakota chose a more practical way into the lead Humvee. The doors would not open for her and she knew she couldn’t rip it off like her dingle-dork buddy did. So instead she climbed on top of the vehicles and worked her way in through the hatch. But upon inspection, she came up with the same result as did Tim. There was nothing here. She looked out the busted back window and saw Tim rub his head as he finished his search.
Like Tim, she wore the same type of pants, except hers was a solid green pair of BDU pants, with combat boots. She sported a dark blue tank top with a dark green overshirt. She kept her hair in a ponytail with her bangs framing the side of her face. Neither Phil nor Tim could ever understand how she could stand to have hair as long as hers; though it wasn’t long at all, just more hair than they had.
It was a bust, the whole day. Two MREs and a bottle of liquor, even though the liquor could be used for quite a few different purposes. It could also help them to stomach these age-old MRE’s too.
Phil felt his foot move something, and a metallic clank followed. Looking down he saw a rectangular piece of metal, bent and twisted. The paint that once was green was now faded save for the last three letters spelling “ave”. He recognized this old road sign; it was still scorched and ruined as when he last saw it.
“Shit,” Phil said rubbing his head as he gently laid the metal back down. He remembered now: they had already searched this site, along with the entire portion of this part of Atlanta, at least four times. This place was long since bone dry of anything to scavenge.
Standing back up he looked towards Tim and Dakota and whistled, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to echo down the street. He wouldn’t bother looking into the rear Humvee, there was nothing there.
With a wave of his hand he motioned the other two towards their mode of transportation—ironically, a Humvee. There were plenty of vehicles left once the military abandoned the city, the whole state of Georgia for that matter. Dakota had claims on their Humvee, as she was quite fond of it. But that didn’t stop Phil from climbing into the driver seat, knowing she wouldn’t mind; he needed the distraction of driving. He took a glance at himself: his old brown hiking boots, his blue jeans, black shirt and brown, leather bombers jacket were all dusty. It was time to clean them again—which meant dusting them off as best he could.
Tim climbed into the passenger seat and Dakota into the back with her eyes watching the rear.
Hmph, eyes on back. Nice little mix-up on things, she thought to herself.
“We’ve already been here before,” Phil mumbled, more to himself than to them. He was disappointed in himself.
“Don’t worry about it buddy, we’ll get it tomorrow.” Tim’s voice was solid and reassuring, but not entirely convincing. How do you make up for a days’ worth of scavenging?
“Maybe it’s time we started looking outside highway two-eighty-five?” Dakota suggested, but got no response.
The engine shook and rumbled to life at the turn of the ignition switch before Dakota could finish what she was saying. They all knew what lay beyond the highway encircling Atlanta, and he wanted to avoid another debate—at least for now. Phil took a wide ‘U’ turn and then they were on their way back home.
2027
…
He stood there, in the middle of the four-way stop, staring down at the dusky horizon, the growing shadows of the building. There was a reason they had come here, but the beauty of the twilight mesmerized him to the point of forgetting. The fact that nature could still hold its beauty, its color, despite all that has happened, only strengthened his faith in God.
For ten years they had lived off of faith. Living on what they worked so hard to obtain. All the clues, riddles and puzzles they solved to find and unlock caches filled with supplies; their lifeline. For ten years of survival and struggle they found joy with pain, blood with sweet, rejoicing with suffering, repentance with sinning. It was their faith in Christ that held them together, in the darkest moments when the night closed in all around them and the sky seemed as if it was falling on them.
There was no sense of weekdays, calendars. All they knew was based off of measuring the months themselves for the last ten years, since 2017. They knew it was at least ten years that they’ve been together.
Thinking back to his memories always put Phil in a trance, and the twilight hours of day only deepened it. He could best be described as “the lights are on but nobody’s home.”
“Phil. Hey, Pastor Phil!” Tim yelled out louder than he was comfortable with, but he could see Phil was now alert.
“What?” Phil asked, breaking away from the trance of the twilight.
“The Humvees? Remember?” Dakota asked from nearby. Her voice sounded concerned as she pointed to the ancient bodies of metal vehicles.
They were only scrap now, after ten years of rot and decay has set in. All three Humvees sat at the four-way stop, filled with potholes; probably from mortar fire. This was obviously a case of friendly fire as the vehicles too looked like they were hit by mortars. Rubble had piled up on the sides of each vehicle and the area as a whole looked like it had suffered a good deal of mortar fire.
The three Humvees used to be used by the Army. One had a hatch on its roof, where a mount for a machine gun, now long missing, had been positioned. He had the idea to start searching the city more painstakingly, seeing that the last of their supplies was stretching thin. There were no more caches available and their resources were depleting. So Phil wanted to double check everything… again. He hoped these Humvees would make their day a little more fruitful because so far the only things they had managed to find was two MREs and a bottle of whiskey.
“Right,” Phil said, looking away from the twilight horizon again, to focus on the task at hand. “Tim, take the center, Dakota the first. I’ll check the rear one,” he ordered, walking away towards to the Humvee ruins in the back.
Tim and Dakota both shrugged their shoulders casually, but they were both thinking the same thing. Before Dakota parted from Tim, he stepped closer and whispered in a low voice.
“Do you still think he’s just going through a phase?” he asked.
“We all do every once in a while.” Dakota answered.
“In basic, you go through a thirteen-week adjustment period. Guess what, he’s been like this for months now.”
“Tim, it took me two years to adjust to America when I moved here, and three years to learn English. It has to be a phase.”
“Ten years after everything went into the gutter, and now he’s going through a phase? I don’t buy it, sis. Otherwise he would’ve been like this from the start,” Tim said, patting her back and turning his attention to the ruins of the vehicle in the center.
Dakota had the leading Humvee. It felt normal because she always was the one taking point—well, usually she was. Whether it was scouting, reconnaissance or overwatch, her eyes were mostly up front looking ahead. Even when she was in the 75th, she went on frequent scouting missions. Before that she was a field surgeon who knew her way around a needle and the basics of an operation table.
She was no psychologist but she knew something was wrong with someone who was constantly getting stuck in his head. Blaming it on current circumstances was futile: they were all, to a degree, sociopaths. She had shot and killed people within arms reach and still could sleep the same night. Granted, it took some time getting to that point. No, Tim was right. Something else was eating at Phil from the inside.
They would have to worry about that later, right now they only had a little bit of time left to forage what they could from these Humvees and head back to base before other things became more active at night. Though she and Tim both remember that they had already picked these Humvees clean long ago. The whole city was pretty much picked clean. For Phil to forget something as little as that, there had to be something more going on with him; and they couldn’t waste anymore days’ worth of work to let him sort things out in his head.
Phil watched as Tim took to the middle Humvee and started to pull on the driver door. Its long rusted hinges gave way as Tim pulled the door clean off. Of the three, Tim was the strongest. He could overpower Phil in any wrestling match they had. His dark skin was sweating, even though it wasn’t hot or humid outside.
He never knew why but, for some reason, when he was a child Phil was intimidated by black people. It was strange, because just about every black person he met as a child was a nice person, very charismatic.
All that intimidation would change the day he joined the Army, after graduating high school. Just about all the men with him in boot camp were African American. Even later on during active service, most of his fellow comrades alongside him were black, and were the closest friends he ever had. Maybe the intimidation was, in part, due to his sheltered upbringing. That was why he joined the Army in the first place, to toughen himself and discard that timidity he felt; for he was timid of many more things. It was ironic: since the bombs blew and the radiation created abomination from that of God’s creation, he found even more things to be timid of. There was that fear of combat that never did change, his mind just became calloused to it; and now there were unmeasurably more things to fear than other people. But he thanked God every day that he was no longer intimidated by people who weren’t the same color as he, for Tim always gave Phil a sense of security when present.
He liked Marines too, back in his day, they were always fun to mess around with because they could take what you threw at them and dish it back. Mostly. Tim even dressed the role on a regular basis, though more of a casual sense. There was no reason to dress in anything that wasn’t combat friendly. He usually wore the olive drab, or OD, green shirt with matching battle dress uniform, or BDU, digital camo pants and combat boots. But every once in a while, he would adorn civilian attire and a black leather jacket. Some things you just don’t quit doing after everything’s fallen apart.
Then Phil took a look at Dakota. She spoke excellent English for a Brazilian; save for some discrepancies that were so minor, he hardly ever noticed. Nevertheless you knew what she was saying.
Phil could relate to Dakota a lot more then he could with Tim at times. She was dominantly introverted. You’d really have to force her out of her shell to see any extroverted behavior. Fortunately, after knowing each other for ten years, they were all comfortable with one another, so she had long since come out of her shell. He himself was introverted, but at times extroverted.
Tim was extroverted, enough said.
Dakota had an inner beauty of her that reminded Phil a lot of his mother. For Phil and Tim, she was their rock, who could bear all sorts of weight on her shoulders. She too joined the Army, but later on she became a Ranger; Phil went a different path in his career. Phil often wished that the three of their paths had crossed before the fallout occurred, had he retired later.
Phil had mad respect for the Rangers. Hell, he went through Ranger school himself for the honor of the Ranger tab on his uniform. Ever since, he had the utmost regard for Rangers. But he loved harassing them at the same time, he and his buddies he served with. But it was more like picking on your little brother. Just like with the Marines, he could joke with any Ranger and expect them to return the favor, oftentimes tenfold.
Dakota chose a more practical way into the lead Humvee. The doors would not open for her and she knew she couldn’t rip it off like her dingle-dork buddy did. So instead she climbed on top of the vehicles and worked her way in through the hatch. But upon inspection, she came up with the same result as did Tim. There was nothing here. She looked out the busted back window and saw Tim rub his head as he finished his search.
Like Tim, she wore the same type of pants, except hers was a solid green pair of BDU pants, with combat boots. She sported a dark blue tank top with a dark green overshirt. She kept her hair in a ponytail with her bangs framing the side of her face. Neither Phil nor Tim could ever understand how she could stand to have hair as long as hers; though it wasn’t long at all, just more hair than they had.
It was a bust, the whole day. Two MREs and a bottle of liquor, even though the liquor could be used for quite a few different purposes. It could also help them to stomach these age-old MRE’s too.
Phil felt his foot move something, and a metallic clank followed. Looking down he saw a rectangular piece of metal, bent and twisted. The paint that once was green was now faded save for the last three letters spelling “ave”. He recognized this old road sign; it was still scorched and ruined as when he last saw it.
“Shit,” Phil said rubbing his head as he gently laid the metal back down. He remembered now: they had already searched this site, along with the entire portion of this part of Atlanta, at least four times. This place was long since bone dry of anything to scavenge.
Standing back up he looked towards Tim and Dakota and whistled, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to echo down the street. He wouldn’t bother looking into the rear Humvee, there was nothing there.
With a wave of his hand he motioned the other two towards their mode of transportation—ironically, a Humvee. There were plenty of vehicles left once the military abandoned the city, the whole state of Georgia for that matter. Dakota had claims on their Humvee, as she was quite fond of it. But that didn’t stop Phil from climbing into the driver seat, knowing she wouldn’t mind; he needed the distraction of driving. He took a glance at himself: his old brown hiking boots, his blue jeans, black shirt and brown, leather bombers jacket were all dusty. It was time to clean them again—which meant dusting them off as best he could.
Tim climbed into the passenger seat and Dakota into the back with her eyes watching the rear.
Hmph, eyes on back. Nice little mix-up on things, she thought to herself.
“We’ve already been here before,” Phil mumbled, more to himself than to them. He was disappointed in himself.
“Don’t worry about it buddy, we’ll get it tomorrow.” Tim’s voice was solid and reassuring, but not entirely convincing. How do you make up for a days’ worth of scavenging?
“Maybe it’s time we started looking outside highway two-eighty-five?” Dakota suggested, but got no response.
The engine shook and rumbled to life at the turn of the ignition switch before Dakota could finish what she was saying. They all knew what lay beyond the highway encircling Atlanta, and he wanted to avoid another debate—at least for now. Phil took a wide ‘U’ turn and then they were on their way back home.
and lives in Independence, Missouri. He is an independent author and
full-time custodian. He holds an Associates in Arts degree from MCC KC
Community College. He started WEEKS Book One back in the summer of 2009
and has been continuously working on it, and its sequels, since then. He
has more science fiction and fantasy books in the works that he plans
on releasing in the future. You can learn more about Jasyn, WEEKS Book
One, and future projects at https://turleybookinn.com/.
WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:
Website: http://turleybookinn.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/JayFiction
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19608376.Jasyn_T_Turley
A Word From The Author
History of My Tentative Writing Process
Many things change in life and the process in which I write is one of them. Despite being a first time published author, I’ve been writing since 2009. Ever since I first sat down and started mapping out the story of WEEKS Book One, things changed and now my process is nothing like how it was at the start. Eventually, I had learned to compartmentalize and break down the process into organized phases. In all honesty, it took me up until recent years to realize that I can’t just keep writing like how I first start. So my process changed, and so did I, as breaking down the steps and phases of my projects made them more manageable. However, there were still complications to be met and in recent weeks however, no pun intended, I’ve again altered my process inspired by none other than Stephen King; more on that later.
So starting out, I had all these ideas and I didn’t stop to think. I just wrote, and the story spilled itself out on paper. The Muse had beckoned and I was like a little kid at the playground. I didn’t want to stop and that was the problem. I didn’t stop to reflect and analyze what I was doing. At that point I had rough, and I mean very rough, drafts of WEEKS Books One-Three already mapped and written out; this was somewhere around 2010. Then I embarked on a side project, a future duology I plan on releasing in the future, and again the words just poured themselves out. This was when I was just chasing after that creative flow state, that high, where words pour themselves on paper and the passion and love and all mysterious vigor of writing takes over. I ran myself out of gas and didn’t know how all I knew was that writing was inside of me. It was my calling from God, and I felt hollow without it, and 2013 was where I hit a major curb stomper and my creative meter went empty. Though I still attempted to make new stories, some I’m still committed to seeing through, I did pretty much the only thing I could do with my circumstance. I continued to self & peer-edit WEEKS time and time again.
Perhaps empty is a strong word in this context, but you get the picture. I tried and tried, upon countless other projects. All ending in nothing more than unfinished stories I ended up scraping, and outlines for future projects I still aim to pursue. I was going through college at the time and everything was mundane. Then something happened, a flair for writing sparked and it was as if that meter went back up. A fantasy story kicked in and I had been given enough gas to get me to a place where I could stop and refuel figuratively speaking. So I did research, on other writers and understanding that there existed a process for writing and that the process differed from author to author. It wasn’t until sometime in 2018 when I really began to compartmentalize the process and instead of forcing creativity, I started to learn how to nurture it. Eventually, I came up to this process which I understood was tentative but at least helped me keep my focus:
RDP1: Just Write
RDP2: Expand/Elaborate Plot Points
RDP3: Add Detail
RDP4: Consistency/Practicality
RDP5: Dialogue edits
RDP6: Polish
Where RDP simply means Rough Draft Phase #. And that was as simple as I could make it, though I could describe each phase and what they mean for me I can save that for another time. This simple process helps keep me focused and in check without overloading myself with the full weight of a book at once. Instead, I now know how to break it down in its early stages of conception. Though keep in mind, the above is not the only steps I take in making a book; their simply a guide to help me focus on getting my rough draft made.
Now I come to the most recent change in my writing process. I’ve watched this video on YouTube with Goerge R.R. Martine and Stephen King and they were sitting down talking about writing in front of an audience. Well Stephen King said something that hit me, he said “The way I work, I try to get six pages a day… and every day I work, three four hours, I try to get those six pages neatly polished.” (Note: I paraphrased here). And I have to thank the king of horror for his words. Because when I look at each phase for self-critiquing my rough drafts, all I could see was this daunting task of going over my rough drafts 6+ times. It was a little intimidating, though don’t get me wrong I still love it all the same. But I was inspired by Mr. King’s words, and so now instead of focusing on each phase separately, I instead go over my rough draft by chapter and hit all six phases per chapter at once. I gotta say, it is so less intimidating and daunting; and I have to admit that I feel more excited to self-edit my draft after this last change.
At first, I started out as ignorant as can be and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Writing for the sheer joy of writing is something we should all try and preserve and now let it go. I realize that I’m an aspiring author, with his first book about to be published. But with all the drafts and writing I’ve done over the last eleven years, I hope you find something in my testimony worthy to remember. Whether it’s compartmentalizing your process, listening to the experts of our craft, finding your own path or what have you. But keep in mind, as I now do, that the process may not be set in stone. My process is very much tentative and will continue to get better as I get better as an Author.
