“Is this it?” Lucia asked softly, putting her hand on mine. She was very pregnant, so we’d need a place to settle down—soon. At least for a few months.
I nodded, choked up. My house. I was home.
“Are we there yet?” asked a high-pitched voice in the backseat.
“Yes, Viktor, we’re here.” Lucia turned around. “But wait until Daddy opens the door before you get out.” Little Viktor shot us a mischievous look and nodded. He was a calm, alert boy with his mother’s vivid green eyes.
“Is that where we’re going to live?” he asked, wrinkling his brow. “I don’t like that house. It’s old and dirty.”
I laughed and tousled my son’s hair. “Don’t worry, there’re plenty of empty houses. We can live anywhere in the city, I promise. But Daddy wants to pick up something.”
I got out of the car as Lucia checked that our Cladoxpan starter had enough water. Caring for that strange fungus has been part of our daily routine for so many years now.
I walked up to my house with a heavy heart. How many years had it been? Eight? Nine? I still recognized every brushstroke in the paint. Even the smell was familiar. We were back.
A ball of orange fur shot past me. Lucullus didn’t move as fast as he used to, but he could still zip around when something interested him. He meowed, switching his stump of a tail, and looked at me questioningly.
“You remember this place, don’t you, buddy?” I whispered as I petted him.
It was the end of a very long journey. It had been six years since we left the ruins of Gulfport. Six years of constant travel, meeting small groups all over a world that was slowly rising from the ashes.
But the world was still a dangerous place. No one had seen or heard of any Undead for over four years, but not all human groups were friendly or peaceful. Little by little a precarious new social order was falling into place, but it couldn’t hold a candle to what the world was like before the Apocalypse. The Second Middle Ages, some called it.
On top of that, the TSJ virus still circulated through the veins of many survivors. For some mysterious reason, little Viktor was immune, even though Lucia and I were infected. When transmitted from mother to child, TSJ mutated and lost all its virulence. In a few generations, it would be just a bad memory.
The door was still open, the way I’d left it years ago. I carefully entered. Lucullus shot like a rocket to the backyard where he’d spent so many good times.
My house was a mess. A family of foxes had made its den in my living room. A water pipe had burst on the second floor, ruining the rugs. The furniture smelled musty and the paint was peeling off the walls, but I was happy to be home.
I went into the living room and opened the top drawer of the china cabinet. There, in a plastic sleeve, were my family’s photo albums. My last link to the past.
Lucia and little Viktor came in behind me, holding hands. My son looked at everything with curiosity—and caution. He knew that a dilapidated house could be dangerous. Children of this new world knew things that generations of children before the Apocalypse hadn’t.
“What next, Manel?” Lucia rested her head on my shoulder. “Where’re we going next?”
“I honestly don’t know. But it doesn’t matter.”
We were alive. We’d survived the toughest test of humanity. The world was ours.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
After a journey of three years and a thousand pages, it’s hard to acknowledge all the people who made this adventure possible.
First, thanks to the hundreds of thousands of anonymous readers online and the tens of thousands who followed. Your word of mouth turned a little story of a frightened survivor into this trilogy. I’m lucky you gave me such a boost. Thanks for paving the way.
A big thank-you to everyone at Plaza & Janés Editores for your patience, understanding, and unflagging support. You’ve been a great team, from beginning to end, and have made this trip easier and more enjoyable. A special thanks goes to my editor, Emilia Lope. Thanks for having confidence in me, Emi.
To Sandra Bruna, my agent, and her fabulous team in Barcelona for putting up with my ramblings and getting this story read in so many countries and in so many languages.
To Juan Gómez-Jurado, outstanding bestselling author, but above all, my friend. You’ve been my guiding light. I always learn something new from you. And to his wife, Katuxa, for stoically putting up with two writers camped out in her living room.
To Freskor Itzhak in Berlin, and Manuel Soutiño in Santiago de Compostela, Spain, for showing up at the right time and solving problems with the power of a cyclone. To Aurora and Manolo, for giving up their home in that beautiful, remote corner of Galicia so I could finish this book.
To my family, for their patience and support. My parents—steady as a rock, an island in the middle of a storm—and my tenacious, smart sister, who continue to be the pillars of my life.
And of course, to Lucia, my wife, my first reader and harshest critic. Every time I look at her, I understand why men risk death for the sake of a woman with a smile on her lips.
Now brace yourself. The journey has just begun.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An international bestselling author, Manel Loureiro was born in Pontevedra, Spain, and studied law at the Universidad de Santiago de Compostela. After graduation, he worked in television, both on-screen (appearing on Televisión de Galicia) and behind the scenes as a writer. Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End, his first novel, began as a popular blog before its publication, eventually becoming a bestseller in several countries, including Spain, Italy, Brazil, and the United States. Called “the Spanish Stephen King” by La Voz de Galicia, Manel has written three novels in the Apocalypse Z series. He currently resides in Pontevedra, Spain, where, in addition to writing, he is still a practicing lawyer.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Pamela Carmell received a Translation Award from the National Endowment for the Arts to translate Oppiano Licario by José Lezama Lima. Her publications include Matilde Asensi’s The Last Cato, Belkis Cuza Malé’s Woman on the Front Lines (sponsored by the Witter Bynner Foundation for Poetry), Antonio Larreta’s The Last Portrait of the Duchess of Alba (a Book-of-the-Month Club selection), and the short-story collection Cuba on the Edge. Her translation of poetry by Nancy Morejón is forthcoming. She is also published widely in literary magazines and anthologies. This is her third translation for Manel Loureiro’s internationally bestselling Apocalypse Z series.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2011 by Manel Loureiro
English translation copyright © 2014 by Pamela Carmell
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Apocalypse Z: The Wrath of the Just was first published in Spain by Dolmen as La ira de los justos. Translated from Spanish by Pamela Carmell. Published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2014.