The Integration (Part I): Still Myself, Still Surviving Read online

  Still Myself, Still Surviving:

  Part I: The Integration

  By: Marlin Grail

  Copyright © 2016 By Marlin Grail

  All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from author. The author assumes no liability for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Credits: (Forest Background) © Skunevski—Depositphotos.com

  (Standing Man) © STYLEPICS—Depositphotos.com

  (Black Abstract Clouds) © Tihon6—Depositphotos.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  Chapter XXVII

  Epilogue

  About Author

  “My performances I gave my fans would dwarf in comparison to the forced performance I give to the dead.”

  -Gary Nillon

  “I used to fall behind in the modern world, and, now, I exceed in this one, and I'm still the same.”

  -Ashton Demall

  “If I knew where my life was going, where the world was going, I would've told myself I'm not the problem.”

  -Lissie Boray

  “You can see right through people, and know who's alive or not.”

  -Will Lorcilis

  “Every dark tale has a glimmer of hope, and someone has to offer that hope.”

  -Janice Edna

  Prologue

  I saw this one heading in the newspaper say, 'Environmental Concerns Arise, So Do Fatal Concerns', but I thought nothing of it. I believe most people thought ideas of problems that affected the environment were simply theories, predictions, and warnings, but not many took them other than over-imaginative speculations. Matters like Global Warming, and tears into the Ozone layer did not impact as much as making a living, relationships, and just getting through the complications that normal life proceeded to bring. I don't believe we expected the worst that would come.

  Unfortunately, I never read that article, so I do not know exactly what the topic delved about. I am fully aware that, had I took the time to see what it shared, the ending of civilization would not have come at a humongous surprise, as it did last December, that late, warm, Winter evening.

  “Gary! Screw California! We have to go!” Ashton sprung up on me, while I was taking a nap.

  “What do you mean? Why do you seem so tense?” I asked, groggy and dazed in my eyes.

  “The whole damn city is spiraling out of control! I just saw what the news channels have been talking about! I saw those smoky things they were referring to! People are becoming infected by them, man! It swooped down from the sky!”

  I didn't really watch the news. I mostly read current events in magazines, newspapers, and the Internet.

  “Talking about it? Smokey things? Ashton, calm yourself.” I said, situating to get up and get my balance.

  “Gary! People are already looting! This isn't because of a play-around protest! This is turning into a full on catastrophic outbreak!” he objected, rushing himself into his bedroom. “We're taking my car! Pack some shit together, 'cause we got to get down the Interstate before the majority of people do!”

  This was really happening? I recalled, from a message I received from my manager a few days before, that my schedule issued me to have an interview later on that night. Now, I had to evacuate from my home?

  “Dammit, Gary! Stop standing there and get packing! I'm not lying to you! We need to go!”

  Ashton did not become riled up on things so easily, and though I had just accepted him to move into my home, so he could get a hold of his life, he was going to have us both abandon it—now I knew he wasn't over-reacting.

  In a flash, I ran myself to put on some shoes. My closet was dazzled with delightful clothes and numerous boots, but most of them weren't durable for quite the physical strain. Because I didn't have any exercise shoes, I tied on a pair of comfortable dance sneakers, which were meant to last.

  I wasn't wrong. I can still wear them, and they haven't broken on me.

  I collected a handful of clothing, hopeful things wouldn't be too long before we could come back.

  “Gary, we should take a weapon. Do you have a bat, or a gun?” Ashton asked, as he anxiously stood by my bedroom door.

  A weapon? He was serious about catastrophe going on outside.

  “No. I have none of those things.”

  “Well, then, take that sword of yours. We need something. We've always imagined if society breaks apart, then the true beasts will come out of their shells. We can't be their food. Take the sword.”

  I rounded up my clothes and piled them into a bag, then, hearing Ashton, impatiently waiting by the garage door, I hurriedly grabbed my sword off of its display, with the sheath that covered it dearly.

  We got inside his car, and he threw our bags into the trunk. “I need to let my band know what's happening, Ashton.” I told him with a more panic-induced tone.

  “Gary, no. We can't let them take more of our time. We must leave!” he argued.

  “Then at least let me call them while we leave! If they don't know about it, then they won't be prepared!”

  He did not conflict my choice any further, and only remained focused on driving out of the state. Meanwhile, I had trouble reaching any of my bandmates.

  “Either phone services are shut down, or they're just not picking up.” I said out loud, informing Ashton why I had not spoken a word at my phone.

  “Why are you worried about them? They haven't spoken to you in well over 2 weeks! They practically exiled you from your own band!” Ashton said, out of confusion, but curiosity at the same time.

  “Because they need to know I haven't left them. If I don't see them again, then let it be because they couldn't make it on their own, but not because they had no idea what's going on!”

  Ashton stayed quiet afterward, and only concentrated on honking his horn at reckless drivers, except he finally revealed where we were going in a stressed exhale. “Nevada, here we come.”

  I finally was able to have successfully phoned one of my members, my bassist, Gabe. He asked why I was stumbling on my greeting. “Gabe, don't freak out. It sounds like you haven't heard much, but... I believe somewhat of an apocalypse is happening.”

  Chapter I

  It is early evening, sometime around November, and our group is feeling the stress for what losses we've dared to face. Our mobile home, a Sunseeker model RV, has been immobilized, and has been taken from us by the living. This form of shelter gifted us all with being able to hide out and escape from the elements that make up this apocalypse, but, especially, did it save us from the dreaded, mystifying, fogs that w
e call hazes.

  These hazes are the backbone of what caused and continues to cause the world to stay as it is. We do not know how, or why they exist, but what we know that is most important is to stay away from them as best as possible, whether they're in the sky or on the ground.

  A living person gets anywhere within these hazes, and most certainly will they face a brutalizing transformation from their current selves to a mindless, soulless, gut-wrenching undead servant. These undead incubate more of these hazes within them, and overtime will explode and give life to another haze, and the cycle repeats.

  Yes, we've encountered these hazes, but we had solid seal-shut walls surrounding us, and a way to accelerate faster than these hazes could keep up with. Now, we have none of that, and worse, our group's leader, Harold, has felt the loss extremely, so much that he left the camp site we currently have setup. He is determined to go back and reclaim the RV on his own. Delusion has hit him stronger than usual, for no way will that vehicle ever move again.

  I, Gary Nillon, Harold's favorite 'consultant', couldn't consult him otherwise, but his last words to me were as such, “If I don't come back within the next few hours, you claim the responsibility as new leader, and keep the group moving. You will learn to throw the punches, instead of taking them—as you've always.” He said this being as subtly-encouraging as his judgmental, haughty, tone would let him be.

  Well, it's been a few hours, and no word from the radio he carried, or visible movement of his stocky-frame has been heard or spotted. One of the people in our group, Will, has had an odd loyalty to Harold, and I believe it comes from faith that, one day, when on his good side, Harold would have crowned him the position as his replacement in a circumstance like this. Now, I must share what will oppose his underlying aspiration.

  “You must be joking. “You? Our new leader?” Will says.

  I post my statement, “Harold specifically said this to me, and I wouldn't make this up.”

  Will and I have never always seen eye-to-eye on certain things, but Harold always saw Will as one who sucked-up, whereas I challenged his leadership and decision-making. I wonder if Harold had known about Will's reasoning for his 'good behavior'?

  “We shouldn't argue on this now, for we have to be focused on moving forward.” I say while looking at the sky—mucky from many different particles of filth.

  “Well that's a given, Gary.” He says, chuckling and shaking his head.

  Ashton, my long-time close friend, shares his movement to accept me as leader. “I've known Gary for a long time, Will, and what you know of him as a former Rockstar is only a sliver of his many handy traits.”

  Will's stiff expression, as he angles in a random direction of the forest, indicates he remains unconvinced, but, after several seconds, I see he looks at a specific tree off in the distance, as he questions me some more.

  “And, how many people have you killed, Gary, especially with that sword strapped on your back?”

  In a calm response, I state, “I don't keep count, Will, but it's because I don't take pleasure with using it for defense... but know I also don't take chance.”

  I look to see if Lissie, another one of our group, is watching, to see if she has her input, but I see she is staring at the dimming sky, which then nudges me to catch her attention.

  “What do want me to say?” she asks in her serious tone.

  “Nothing false.” I respond to her, emotionless, but only because I want to not inflame her already-cold attitude even further.

  We were just starting to improve our interaction skills with one another. The ambush is starting to take its toll on us more—now emotionally so.

  Will dominates the lead voice again. “Gary, you might as well make the wisest decision you could and let me take charge.”

  At a distance, the aged, but strong, voice of Janice comes through, “Will, 1 sign of a good and valuable leader is they don't make statements like that. I think Gary belongs as the leader, for right now, you lack the patience and long-term thinking that he's proven to most of us in the past.”

  Janice brings refilled bottles of water from a stream she says she found not far from where we're currently at. “I stayed far from Harold, because he was near impossible to be with alone, but Gary could. What should that tell you?” she asks, now fully involved.

  Will swings his head, while angled down at the ground, until he raises it and says, “If you can't find us shelter soon, Gary, then I will take charge, whether anyone here likes it or not.”

  I nod my head with agreement to the situation, but not to his subtle threat. Janice bends down to grab more empty bottles.

  I tried to tell her we should stay together at this point in time, but she insisted I not make it seem the outside wilderness is a forbidden zone.

  She starts looking at Lissie's slouched appearance, becoming aware of how unresponsive and withdrawn she is from our discussion.

  “Lissie,” she announces, placing a few of the bottles on the bedrock between both of them, “why don't you come with me and help speed this process along?”

  Lissie looks at her, then to me, which I offer my approval. “If the area is safe as you say, Janice, then by all means you and Lissie provide us with as much water as you can.”

  They move along in the direction Janice went, but she turns to me once more before they continue. “Gary, do what you think will calm everyone's fears here.”

  I accept her, and practically everyone's, expectancy for action on my behalf.

  “Okay, we need to find a place, even if it is in a cave, because if it's not the undead that find us, then it will either be those aggressors, or a haze.” I state, now standing up to define my breakdown of the circumstance. “Ashton, you and I will go forward to see what terrain is ahead. Janice and Lissie are off to refill those bottles. They will come back to this site, and Will, you will remain here and explain this plan to them.”

  “Okay, and why does this plan have us split up more when we should all move out together?” Will asks, already critiquing, as his hands' movement suggests his strong disagreement with my methods.

  “Because time is of the essence, and we will make less noise when split up. If me and Ashton find something, we'll radio you all back and direct you with where to go.” I answer back, reforming my voice to be less uncertain.

  Will comments, with a finger pointed at me, “Find something, or don't come back.”

  Ashton wants to walk up with aggressive intent on Will, but I cuff his closest wrist with my hand. “We must move forward, Ashton, and accomplish what we seek.”

  Ashton gives one last stern expression to Will, and turns back to our combined focus at the land ahead. “I can't believe we all piled in that RV with a man like him and Harold without gnawing at their faces.” Ashton tells me, while pulling out his compass.

  “Harold tamed everyone to behave with one another, and Will wanted so much for Harold to see him with admiration.” I respond, looking back to see Will, noticing him watching us.

  Looking through the mist-infested sky, I am still able to be aware of the orange edges ahead, which indicates dusk approaching. We walk down this untrodden path, already imagining it as a traveled walkway in the making, for we base our markings by carving an ‘X’ we can place on the trees that delicately engulf this scattered array of forest.

  Not only will these markings help lead the current group through this beaten route, but possibly even Harold too. If he does come back, he's sure to remember this own teaching of his.

  The ground is what would be expected in any wilderness environment, but it is void of small life, likely because we are in the winter, though it can never be known now what the animals do, or how they've adapted to the world we all live in.

  It's very warm this winter, just like last winter. Hibernation would not be necessary for them, but would they know that?

  Our outfits are comprised of rugged, but reliable cloth, and pockets that carry our bullets—whatever amount we have. Ashton h
as 2 Elf Ridge knives, with their sheaves to his inner jacket pockets. I carry 2 SIG Sauer P320 pistols, holstered in my back pockets. My other weapon, strapped behind my back, diagonal from my left shoulder to my right hipbone, is my Black Prince sword. I bought it when I frivolously purchased it as a decoration piece to my household, never aware at the time that it would be my most reliable weapon against the undead.

  We jog the uneven ground, and every minute we would stop, for Ashton would slice ‘X's’ on trees—parallel to each other on opposites sides of where the both of us were at.

  We pass logs curving slightly above the ground, and the green moss, leaves, and twigs around us adds most of the images we are seeing, but anything that stands out immediately to our eyes is what we look for the most.

  Actually, snow would be a sight to behold, because that's what Wyoming should be having this time of year—if it could even come though due to this humid temperature.

  “What is the time?” I finally ask Ashton.

  “4:40pm.”

  I raise the need for us to move faster. The slicing of another tree is enacted, and Ashton begins talking as he does it. “I'm sure you'll figure it out.”

  Ashton has always known I can feel pressured with having to triangulate the best actions I can do for others that need of me, and right now, the rest of our group need me to be responsible for what happens next. I can't put our lives in any more danger than we already are. “What I know, for certain, is we need to keep the distance from where our foes may be.” I tell Ashton, palming my face to massage it from stress.

  Those aggressors, those living humans that don't want peace with us, we're not all taken care of at the ambush, and they might still be looking to track us down.

  “I know this plan adds its own issues to our palette of availability, but as long as we're moving ahead of them, it will put us all in less risk than before.”

  I then see Ashton disappear from my side view, having to stop to see he has already done so. “Then, why did you split us up? If you want everyone safe, why put the others behind of us?”