Innocence Ends

Introduction

Before you dive into this story, I want to share my thoughts on it, and on why this was such an important project for Uncomfortably Dark. I read this story a while back, maybe shortly after releasing my first novel, and it made me love the zombie trope again.

Before I took a chance on my own writing, I spent almost two decades, if not more, reading and watching every zombie book, movie, and show that I could get my hands on. I have read storylines that included every plot imaginable, including man-made viruses gone wrong, biological warfare, sweeping end of days stories and nuclear wars that brought about mutations, and blood-borne infections that reduced mankind to feral savage creatures.

You name it; I read it, but then I noticed something, a pattern. After the initial factor that creates the undead or zombified being, every story began to feel the same. Same types of characters, same motivations, same situations, same shock-inducing scene, even the same gore. I grew bored and unsatisfied. I had finally reached my breaking point with the concept that I had loved for so long and put the zombie books and movies away.

It made me sad, truly sad, because the zombie storyline had been my thing for so long and I felt like it was coming to an end. I even have a zombie novel of my own, penned across several notebooks that are now gathering dust in a corner. Then I came across INNOCENCE ENDS.

I did not know Nik when I read this one, only had heard of his work within the community and had read a couple of his short stories. I went into this one completely blind. Yes, that is correct. I did not know this was a zombie story. This is the story I might have written, if I had the idea.

It has such an unexpected vibe to it, fresh characters with a nostalgic feel to them. A storyline that unfolds so masterfully, so adeptly that you are in the thick of things without realizing what is happening, but once you are there, it is such non-stop action that it leaves you breathless. This is what a zombie story should be, especially one for modern day.

For those of you that like comparisons, if Stephen King’s ‘The Body’, meshed with ‘Silent Hill’ and ‘Train to Busan’, you might come close to a little of what this story encapsulates. For those of us that grew up watching the classics like Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead, to the more modern World Word Z, Zombieland, and Train to Busan, and spent hours discussing their survival plan for the zombie apocalypse, this is a must read. For those of us that have always felt exiled to the edges of society and wondered what it would be like to experience such an event, to envision who we would be or wondered if we would survive, this is a must read.

Having gotten to know Nik over the last few years and hearing how the book did not get the chance it should have, having been released in the heart of the Covid lockdown, I wanted to help get it back out there. There are zombie lovers all over the world; whether they see it as a guilty pleasure, a fantasy to escape into and safely reinvent oneself, or a study of the state of the world and all that is wrong with it, I think this story will bring them out of the woodwork, wanting more, falling in love with the trope all over again, like I did.

-Candace Nola, June 2024

Creator of Uncomfortably Dark Horror

1

Chapter One

Tristan Mullins and his best friend, Hewitt Chambers, had been regulars at the Silver Sage Lounge for many years, drinking themselves into a stupor all through their 20s and into their 30s. Countless weekend nights ended with the two of them stumbling down the sidewalks to one or another’s home. There they would both pass out while watching late-night horror flicks or playing video games, sleeping frequently until the following afternoon.

Mariah Ehrlich, Hewitt’s high school sweetheart, had joined them plenty of times when she wasn’t swamped with homework as a college student or drowning in the endless barrage of other people’s homework once she’d become a professor herself.

Gale Price used to come around, especially after his parents had passed, until he’d gotten too caught up with his education and his subsequent work with the Centers for Disease Control.

Occasionally Miles Williams and Kateb Abidi would surprise them with a visit, and they would spend a weekend drinking and cavorting, reminiscing about the glory days of childhood.

Abraham Kelly stopped coming around after he’d gotten married and thrown himself into his architectural career.

Growing up together in the same suburb with a pretense of being a city, these seven friends had all gotten drunk many times together. Until now, most of them had not gotten together in this landmark bar at the same time since only a few of them had remained in the area until after they’d turned twenty-one, and there would no longer be a chance of all seven being together again. Tristan’s passing guaranteed the whole group could never come together again.

The lighting is subdued, and the music is turned down low in honor of the gathering taking place for one of the bar’s long-time patrons.

The six friends sit around the table together, in the same familiar pattern they’d formed at the gravesite, leaving a seat empty for their missing friend, drinking as much as the situation merits, which is quite a bit.

The evening had started somber enough, and quiet. The conversation felt forced and awkward after the funeral, burial, and reception had taken their toll on all of them. The only thing any of them had wanted to do at first was drink and avoid talking about the elephant in the room, what had happened with Tristan. The conversation felt banal and pointless, after all the fake smiles, uncomfortable interactions, pleasantries, and small talk earlier in the day.

An hour later and a few drinks into their night Hewitt decides they’ve been solemn long enough, Well, here we all are, for the first time in nearly twenty years, gathered in our hometown, and we’re staring at a table and drowning our sorrows. This is definitely not what Tristan would have wanted from us tonight.

You’re right, man, Miles says with a smile. We got all that sad shit out of the way. It’s time to try to be happy.

Emphasis on try, Mariah says, raising her glass in a mock toast, her red hair continuing to slip from the bun she’d had it tied back in for the funeral.

The conversation gradually develops from that, in fits and starts, hardly flowing or smooth at first, but picking up until, just as gradually, the whole group begins to find comfort in one another again and finally feeling relaxed. Their voices pick up, reminiscing about life years before and catching up on everything since they’ve all grown up.

They don’t forget what brought them all together, but they do begin to focus more on the fact that they are together, setting aside the impetus behind it.

Though they have always tried to remain in touch over the years, this sort of opportunity for catching up isn’t something to be neglected or passed up. It’s bittersweet to be together the way they are, incomplete, but they all know Tristan wouldn’t have wanted them sitting around commiserating and sad. While there had been a deep reservoir of sadness within their friend, it was never something he shared or put on display.

Hewitt had witnessed it in Tristan, on occasion, only because the two of them had spent so much time together and the veneer of joviality and carelessness wasn’t perfect, as near as it might have been. It could have had just as much to do with the fact that Tristan and Hewitt had always been the most able to relate to one another, that Hewitt was in tune with things the others might have missed.

Devastated and shattered as he may be, Hewitt was the least surprised when the news of Tristan’s suicide reached him.

As much as they might be trying to avoid the elephant in the room, one truth about elephants is that they can only be disregarded for so long. A couple more drinks into their night leads them from the warmth of reminiscence to the depressing topic they know they need to tackle.

I blame this bullshit, capitalist oligarchy, Gale asserts, pausing to shift his glasses. If you ask me, it’s the world we live in that failed Tristan.

Whatever you say, Marx, Miles replies with a genuine laugh. I’m pretty sure you’re working for ‘The Man’ just like I was for a long time there, like a few of us have.

Gale’s right though, Kateb interjects, this country, maybe even the whole world, doesn’t care for individuals who are different or not cut from the standard mold. You know, unless they can be marketed and mass-produced for wide-scale consumption by the masses.

Miles and Kateb glance at each other pointedly, the expression carrying volumes of words left unsaid, leaving Hewitt and Mariah to wonder if this is an argument the two have had in the past.

Miles shifts his gaze from Kateb to Mariah. What say you, professor? You are, after all, the distinguished representative of the commie elite at our table.

The whole group laughs until they can hardly breathe.

Finally, after catching their breath, the conversation resumes. Mariah never bothering to respond to the dig at her being entrenched in academia.

I’m totally serious here, Gale continues as if he’d never been interrupted.

We know you are, Miles replies.

You always are, Hewitt chimes in with a smirk.

Stop being assholes for a second and think about it. All of those movies we grew up watching, things like Mad Max, Dawn of the Dead, 28 Weeks Later, and so on, you remember all of that. Those movies showed a world Tristan could have thrived in.

Those movies, of course, are fiction, Gale, Hewitt says. Of course, those movies also all show us some awful hellscape of a world too, so I’m not quite sure what your point might be.

As much as my career depends on that fiction, Mariah responds, I have to side with Hewitt here. Apocalyptic themes have always been part of our various cultures. They’re narratives that have been designed to influence morality, poke and prod at faults in society or the ruling class, or to provide entertainment. Admittedly, the latter seems to be a far more recent thing.

Red Dawn is more likely, my friend, and I say that as someone who spent years in various war zones, Miles adds. But that’s still pretty far-fetched.

Miles isn’t wrong there, Kateb adds.

I know how unlikely it is, Gale responds with a self-effacing grin, but his tone implies a seriousness that seems out of place concerning the topic. I’m just saying that some of us would manage to be better off if the world was more like that fiction we grew up with and loved so much.

Mariah chuckles, I don’t think anyone would be better off in any of those scenarios.

She is the expert, Kateb adds.

Hear, hear! Miles says, and everyone at the table but Gale hits their glasses or bottles against the table in rhythm.

Seeing the downtrodden look on his friend’s face, Hewitt interjects, Hey, let’s think this through. Maybe Gale is right, he says. How many years did we spend fantasizing about various post-apocalyptic scenarios?

Thank you, Hewitt, Gale replies, raising his glass with a wink.

We were children, though, Mariah says.

Some of us still apparently are, Miles replies without a beat, gesturing to both Hewitt and Gale with his nearly empty beer bottle. No offense.

Fuck you too, Hewitt says. None taken.

What are your thoughts on the matter, Abraham? Miles asks. As the only one of us with a child of their own.

I think I’d best stay out of this one, Abraham replies. But, in a pinch, I think I’d probably trust Ben to babysit Hewitt if need be.

Hewitt winces, Ouch. You hardly have anything to say all night, and this is what happens when you do finally speak up?

Better to approach the world with some semblance of child-like wonder and open to possibilities than cynical and jaded, Gale adds with a chuckle. Also, no offense taken.

I prefer to think of myself as more jaded than cynical, Mariah replies.

The conversation continues and they spend a while longer reminiscing about their favorite movies and books, moving on to talk about newer material that fits into those same themes. Hewitt and Mariah bring up video games as well, eliciting laughter and mockery from the rest of their friends.

Hey, Mariah defends herself, it’s research for me. I don’t know what his excuse is. She gestures to Hewitt and bats her eyelashes.

Perpetual adolescence, Hewitt spits out without a pause.

The table erupts in laughter again.

Besides, Hewitt continues, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t researching when you were sitting around playing Fallout games with Tristan and me. I’m not familiar with any research methodology that includes alcohol, sleep-deprivation, and taking over your boyfriend’s Xbox for what we’ll call an undisclosed amount of time.

Trade secret, asshole. She playfully slaps Hewitt on the shoulder.

The bartender doesn’t rush to usher the group out at closing time, but they finally let the conversation taper off and make their way to the sidewalk outside.

They say their goodbyes and share heartfelt embraces.

Mariah returns to Hewitt’s place with him, and Gale follows along. The others make their way to the motel to sleep before they have to begin their drive or catch their flight the next day.

The following morning, the group returns to their real lives, still sad over the loss but refreshed from the time they had together.

They remain in touch, but like before, life gets in the way a lot.

Tentative plans are made to get together like this again, but the logistics aren’t in their favor and nothing concrete is established by the time they’ve all gone their separate ways.

Phone calls and emails are made to suffice in most cases and those who already spent time together continue to do so just like they always had. Hewitt and Mariah do manage to see each other more often, largely because she knows how alone Hewitt is feeling without Tristan there, and Miles and Kateb routinely find themselves in the same places and consider that a happy accident. Gale disappears for long periods, but that’s no surprise to any of them. It’s the way he’s always been.

Just like that, they return to their old routines.

2

Chapter Two

Five Years Later

The woods are still; dark and silent in that transitional phase before dawn breaks the horizon. Mariah always insisted that she and Hewitt be out in the wild no later than 5 AM when they were hunting.

It was a habit she’d picked up from her father, who had learned it from his father, and she carried it over into her own adult life.

Hewitt never complained about it, not really, though he loved to give her shit about dragging him out of bed so early. There is something tranquil and cathartic about being in the forest, as the natural world was waking with the sun. Regardless of whether they were close to home or vacationing half the country away, these hunting trips with her were things he always looked forward to.

As much as they enjoyed it when other friends could join them, they both preferred the times when it was just the two of them.

Neither of them had even attempted to date anyone else since high school, but years later they still haven’t applied any labels to whatever it is they have. Hewitt taunts her, on occasion, by calling himself her boyfriend, but even he doesn’t apply the label with any sincerity. Some of their friends found it odd, most notably Abraham, but they had all learned just to accept it as being what it was, whatever that might be.

Mariah looked at the hunting trips as welcome breaks from the softness and surreal life she lived in academia.

She had studied history and sociology in college, loving the study of the world and how people found ways to fit into it, as well as all the ways they failed to do so.

In graduate school, she had focused her studies of history on end times that never managed to come about. She was captivated and engrossed with the sheer number of times the world was meant to end, from the earliest recorded history to modern-day prophecies of cult leaders and less fringe doomsayers. The details always varied, when and why being as myriad as the ways it was supposed to happen.

In the academic world, Mariah found herself a largely untapped niche where apocalyptic eschatology was concerned, and she made herself comfortable there. Her Ph.D. dissertation was on the prevalence of end-times myths in modern culture and media and the symbology thereof.

She, just like her friends, had grown up on a diet of apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction, so it seemed only natural that this was the direction her studies and teaching would have taken her.

Hewitt and Tristan, the two who remained closest to home and the undisputed experts on all things end of days, at least within her social circle, served as the sounding board for a great deal of the material she taught or published. Those brainstorming sessions were rewarding experiences for all parties involved, but she was the one who got to reap the accolades.

Hunting trips like this were an escape for Hewitt as well, just not from academia, though he had spent almost as long studying in college as Mariah had, he just hadn’t stuck with any single major long enough to graduate until he was finally forced to do so by the university after seven years of just bouncing from one thing to another, whatever appealed to him at the time.

What had started as a scholarship to an in-state school ultimately led to him squandering a significant amount of what he’d inherited from his father’s life insurance. His mother had passed in childbirth, so he’d never known her beyond photos and what his father shared with him over the years.

The accident that took his father from him at only twenty-one was the fault of a drunk driver and was the major reason Hewitt never drove drunk or allowed his friends to do so. He drank plenty but was always within walking distance of home.

What Hewitt escaped during these trips with Mariah was a life that seemed to be going nowhere. He was always learning new things and studying anything a random impulse prompted him to study. Still, he consistently felt like he was just spinning his wheels.

He didn’t necessarily need to work. All he had to worry about were property taxes and the regular monthly bills; but he bounced from job to job, changing things up when he got bored or felt like he’d gotten everything he could hope to get out of the various positions he held.

Plenty of times, he and Tristan went to the same places to work, neither of them caring to stay in one place for too long. Both of them had been in an ever-evolving and never-ending search for their places in the world.

Hunting with Mariah made Hewitt feel in sync with the world, in tune in a sense he didn’t feel anywhere else or at any other time. It wasn’t just because he was with her, though that certainly didn’t hurt. It was that things were simpler without all the day-to-day trappings of civilization. Maneuvering through society was exhausting sometimes, and he needed these breaks.

Gale hadn’t been wrong when he suggested that the way of the world was just as much a cause for Tristan’s death as anything else. Hewitt couldn’t disagree. He felt the same.

Tristan had always seemed to benefit from these hunting adventures as well, probably for the same reasons Hewitt did.

During the trips they’d taken since the funeral, like this one, Hewitt often wondered whether things would have gone any differently if they’d just done this sort of thing more often. He knew it would have helped him remain more at peace and more grounded and he couldn’t help but suspect that it would have done the same for Tristan. He knew that was part of Mariah’s reasoning for increasing the number of these trips and he appreciated the effort