Portance of Fear is a horror fiction podcast
which is intended for mature audiences. Discretion
is advised. Welcome, fearlings, to another weird
and horrifying tale made just for you. I am your
host, Mashulu, and I'll be your guide into the
macabre and mysterious. Tonight, we learn what
kicks off the zombie apocalypse in Death Cloud.
Before we get started... Take a moment to like,
subscribe, and ring that notification bell so
you don't miss a single terrifying story. Zach
Borman, 22, Santa Monica Beach, California, 6
o 'clock a .m. It had been an amazing morning
for waves. The sky was painted with light oranges,
pinks, and purples, signaling the sun's imminent
arrival. Zach sat on his board looking back at
the beach. There were other surfers bobbing up
and down in the waves not far from him. None
of them spoke. This was church, and service was
in session for them all. Zach's gray -blue wetsuit
covered his torso, biceps, and thighs. The water
was extremely cold, but Zach was used to that.
He'd been surfing at Santa Monica since he was
eight. His mother would take him on Saturdays
to teach him how to ride waves. She would paddle
out with him, show him how to catch a wave, and
how to stand up on the board. At midday, they
would grab lunch and head back to the valley.
This went on for three years, until his father
left. The divorce was messy. Zach chose to stay
with his mom while his sister, Tina, stayed with
his dad. With the family split in two, his mom
wasn't able to take him to the beach as often.
Over time, they only went once a year. Zach regarded
those early years as his best years. He would
often lose himself in thought, dreaming of what
had been lost. Surfing with mom was what he was
thinking about that morning. There weren't many
people at the beach. The sun was coming up. Soon,
the July heat would draw people looking to cool
off. Early morning was the only time to surf
and not have to worry about swimmers. Out of
nowhere, the horrific sound of colliding metal
shrieked through the air. It startled Zach from
his memories. A shockwave almost knocked him
off his board. Just past the beach was a row
of three -story homes, and just past those was
Pacific Coast Highway, or PCH. There, Zach watched
an enormous green mushroom cloud climb into the
air and ominously spread out in all directions.
From his vantage point, Zach could make out a
wrecked tanker truck. All the other surfers started
to paddle in as fast as they could. Zach sat
there stunned. The eerie, inhuman green fog rose
from the base of the mushroom cloud and started
quickly blanketing the surrounding area. What
could make that color, he thought. Zach, come
on, we got a jet, Allison yelled from the shore
while waving her hands like a Muppet. He finally
snapped back to reality and started paddling
in. Allison was a surfer girl who Zach couldn't
stand. She was hot, sure, but she was also a
know -it -all who loved correcting him. He also
hated that she was always right. He skimmed along
the water's surface until it deposited him onto
the sand. Allison had a frantic look on her sun
-kissed face. Dude, what are you doing? That
explosion looks chemical. We need to evacuate,
Allison said, hands flailing in all directions.
Sorry, it just weirded me out for a moment, Zach
replied. Allison started to run, but Zach just
stood there, so she turned and grabbed his hand.
Move, dude, she commanded, pulling on his hand
like he was a child. Zach started to run slowly
behind her. She noticed he was carrying his board.
Drop the board. I don't want to get caught in
that green fog. But my mom got it for me when
I graduated high school. Drop it, Zach! Fine.
He dropped the board and started to run. The
thick green fog moved out over PCH, then the
houses, and finally it hit the beach. Allison
could see people being enveloped as they tried
to outrun it. Those who ran straight to their
cars and sped off were the lucky ones, or just
smart. She could have been one of them if she
hadn't stopped for Zach. Idiot, she thought.
Then it came to her. Quick! Get back in the water
before the fog gets to us. We can swim out to
the pier. Zach stopped once again, the green
fog not far behind him. You told me to drop my
board and now... Bam! The impact was hard. Zach
was tackled to the ground. He could hear Allison
scream, No! in the background. He felt a huge
hunk of flesh being torn from his throat. Blood
sprayed everywhere. Zach pushed back, but his
assailant was too heavy. Life drained rapidly
as each heartbeat sent more blood shooting out
his neck. The world became muted. His back was
torn open. His attacker tore his ribs out and
feasted upon his organs. Mom, he whispered with
his last breath. Okay, everything is ready, she
muttered to herself. It was still dark out with
just a hint of the sun ready to paint the sky
with daylight. Sofia was the neighborhood's grandma.
She knew everyone and everyone knew her. Her
donut shop was open from 5 .30 to 10 a .m. every
day but Sundays. After closing, she would go
to the nearby soup kitchen and help prepare and
serve lunch. All her kids lived nearby and had
been begging her to retire and move in with one
of them, but she felt like that was the fastest
way to die. Keep yourself moving was her motto.
Sophia was 5 '1", had short white hair and big
brown eyes. Her skin was wrinkled, which she
was proud of. She was fit and still able to walk
well, another thing she was proud of. There was
a picture of her three children on the wall as
kids. Now they had kids of their own. Every Saturday
night, she would go to Manuel's, her oldest,
for the family dinner. She would always make
a huge production about wanting to cook, but
really, she loved that her daughters -in -law
took over. Donuts for her customers and tamales
for Christmas was all she cared to cook these
days. On her way to unlock the door, she paused,
as she always did, and looked at the picture
of Diego, her husband, and smiled. The sound
of the door unlocking was like a dinner bell.
The line straightened up as Sophia called out
to them. Come in, come in, sorry for the delay.
Abuela's Donuts is open, she announced. Rick
entered first with a big smile and looked like
a happy dog about to get a puppuccino. He was
a long -haul trucker who came by every time he
was in town, about twice a month. These were
the best donuts on the West Coast, in his opinion.
He was 38, perpetually sunburned, and on the
shorter side. He wore a faded, frayed Dodgers
cap and an old Iron Maiden t -shirt, jeans, and
a pair of well -worn boots. His hair was a party
in the back, but all business in the front. He
loved freedom, beer, and complaining about foreign
cars while still driving one. Sophia, you look
wonderful. When will you let me whisk you away
from here, he said as he made his way around
the counter to give her a big hug. She kissed
him on the cheek and laughed. Rick returned to
the front of the cash register. You're too young
for me, mijo. I need a man with more snow on
the roof, she replied with a smile. Half her
customers called her abuela, the other half flirted.
She loved it all. She had seen that he was waiting
in line and had already grabbed three glazed
donuts and a large coffee with four creams and
two sugars. He once asked for four sugars as
well, but she said no. His order had enough sugar.
He never asked again. I would dye my hair for
you, sweetie. You tell that no good husband to
look out. Oh, he knows I have options. That's
why he treats me so well. The line was out the
door and at any other place you'd hear grumbling,
but not here. The donuts were great, but it was
the banter that paid the bills. I'm going to
be gone for at least three months with this shipment,
so here's some extra money for you and that man
that shall not be named. He grinned as he placed
a large wad of cash in her hand. Rick made good
money and truly loved Sofia and Diego, so he
always paid for donuts he didn't eat. This is
too much, Sofia protested. Part of the dance
was trying to refuse the money, but she was always
grateful for it. Rick put his hands up. I insist.
If I can't steal you away, let me buy you something
nice. You're too sweet, mijo. Now you hear me.
I know you drive too fast and I don't like it.
Be careful. I'll see you soon. She took the money
as he grabbed his order. Me? Speed? Never. Bye,
Sophia. Bye, Rick. Rick left Abuela's, crossed
the street, and climbed into his truck. His watch
beat. Damn, he thought. I'm really late. It had
been a gamble to go to Sophia's, but he couldn't
resist those donuts. He pulled a bear claw out
and took a bite. Dear God, I think that woman
puts crack in these, he thought to himself as
he took a gulp of coffee. Being late another
few minutes didn't matter at that point, he wagered.
So why not enjoy the moment? His watch beeped
again. All right, all right, I'm going, Rick
grumbled as the truck roared to life. Time to
put the pedal to the metal. He loved driving
cliches. Rick said he would be out of the city
by 630 before the sun was up and traffic hit.
The company wanted him to be in Vancouver in
20 hours. It usually took 21, and only if the
traffic gods were with him. He pulled up his
traffic app to find that the 5 was already a
mess, so he'd have to take PCH. It was going
to be a long day. Sophia kept serving customers
as Rick sped off in his huge truck. That boy
is always driving too fast, she thought. It seemed
to her he needed a wife, but that was her cure
for all men's issues. Ten minutes passed, and
suddenly a huge tremor rocked the donut shop.
All the windows shattered. Everyone hit the ground.
Their ears rang. Sofia tumbled over, breaking
her hand, trying to stop her fall. Amari, the
customer closest to her, quickly came to her
aid. The sound of car alarms could be heard everywhere.
Are you okay, Sofia? I'm fine, Mika, she insisted.
Amari helped Sofia off the floor. Sophia surveyed
the damage. The customers outside had picked
themselves off the ground and were looking up
at the sky. Some had been injured by the glass.
She made her way out of the store, dazed. What's
going on? She slowly looked up to see a large
green mushroom cloud in the distance. The crowd
muttered with fear to one another about what
it could be. It started to collapse in on itself,
forming a rolling wall of green fog. What the
hell is that? Amari whispered. I have no clue,
but I need to check on my husband, she replied.
In a loud voice that almost seemed to have magical
powers, she announced, Everyone, return to your
homes and quickly check on your families. Stay
out of that fog. Vamanos! She turned back into
her shop to grab her keys. Amari grabbed her
shoulder. What about you? It's not safe here.
That's some kind of nuclear blast. I'm just going
to get Diego from upstairs. I'm sure the blast
woke him. I promise we'll leave. Now. Get to
your family. Get them to safety. I'll be fine.
Do you need help? We can get him and go together,
Amari asked, eyeing the wall of fog on the horizon.
Thank you, Mija. I can handle things here. We'll
leave soon, I promise. Here, take these. She
shoved several donuts into a pink box. Give these
to your little ones. Now go. Okay. Thank you.
Make sure you leave soon. Amari took the box
and hurried home. Sophia watched for a moment
as the sky turned emerald. The green cloud would
be on top of the shop in 20 minutes, maybe sooner,
she guessed. Her right hand throbbed with pain
and was very swollen. She tried to move it, but
couldn't. She went behind the counter and called
her oldest, Manuel, from her old landline. The
sound was crackling. Son, it's Mom. Get your
brothers and the rest of the family and get out
of L .A. now. I'm coming to get you and Dad.
No. If you come to get me, you'll be coming closer
to the explosion. I'm fine. Some customers are
helping us out, including Dr. Mitz. Luckily,
he was here this morning. Can't stay away from
my bear claws. The police are evacuating the
entire area. Get to San Diego and I'll text you.
Dad is fine. I'm fine. Go now. I'll see you soon,
she said in a tone that made it clear no more
argument would be tolerated. Yes, Mom. I love
you. I love you too, sweetheart. See you soon,
she hung up. He's a good man. He would make sure
everyone got out. She hated lying to her son
about the doctor, but if she hadn't, odds are
he'd have done something stupid, and there was
no time for that. Sophia climbed the stairs to
the second floor where her apartment was. She
looked out the broken windows to see that things
were going bad quickly. People panic too easily,
she thought. Sophia slowly opened the door to
the bedroom. She peered in. Lying on the bed
was her husband, connected to a ventilator and
IV, fast asleep. The medication made it hard
for him to stay awake. One of the reasons her
kids wanted them to move in was to make it easier
on her. But Sophia wasn't giving up her apartment
or the care of her husband. He'd spend his final
day at home where he belonged. She lay down next
to him and stroked his thinning gray hair. Outside,
pandemonium had erupted. The sounds reminded
her of the L .A. riots in 92. They had lived
in South Central when it started. and they watched
the whole thing go down. She put her head on
Diego's shoulder and closed her eyes. Baby, I
love you. More than anything, I love you. It's
been an amazing 50 years, but I think this is
the end of the road. She couldn't have moved
him like this, and she wasn't going to leave
him behind. Leaving without Diego was never an
option. It wasn't long until the green fog engulfed
the little donut shop. Greta Goldwyn, 35, speeding
along PCH near Santa Monica Beach, California,
6 .05 a .m. Jerry, I'm on the freeway right now.
I should be there in about 30 minutes. She swerved
around people, flashed her lights, and threw
the middle finger with one hand on the steering
wheel. Why are so many people on the road, she
barked. Get out of my way, Greta yelled. Don't
they know I only have 12 hours to get this event
ready? I hate this city. No, you hate people,
but you also hate not being around the action,
which means living around people, Jerry said
calmly on the other end of the phone, where he
stirred his cream and sugar into his freshly
made coffee. Shut up. I should have just slept
at the studio last night, Greta lamented, barely
missing a Prius trying to get out of her way.
That's what I did. I sent all the fabric changes
you wanted out at five o 'clock this morning.
The seamstresses are working now, but... What?
Greta's butt clenched. Promise you won't get
mad. You shouldn't drive mad, he cautioned. I'm
already driving mad, you twit. Jerry, I will
hang you from your sack and have rocks thrown
at you if you don't tell me what the problem
is right now. She was not kidding in that moment,
and Jerry knew it. Tarjay says they want the
red fabric on the dress, not the blue. What?
Where did they get off telling me what color
fabric to use? She proceeded to swear for a solid
minute at Jerry. Finally, right before she was
going to put two words together that never should
be, he spoke up. They're the client paying for
your work and the event. My guess is that this
came from Josh, the son of the owner. He wants
to be a fashion designer and has no taste, Jerry
said. Greta sped around another group of cars,
putting all her rage into the gas pedal. She
didn't see Rick's truck pulling out ahead of
her. You can call the floor and tell them to
switch it back. A neppo baby twat. Velma Wallace,
52, Secret Lab, 6 miles below Hawthorne, California,
3 o 'clock a .m. Velma watched the tanker being
filled with XV3 -7 on her screen. She had short
blonde hair, blue eyes, and felt she weighed
more than she would like for her height, but
never did anything about it. Her mind ran down
everything that could go wrong. Much was riding
on this delivery. The whole world, in fact. It
had taken years of planning. Huge jumps in technology
and a very unpleasant partnership with mole people
under New Jersey, but finally, everything was
coming together. She was on the cusp of world
domination. It's going to be okay. Rick is a
great driver. He'll get this out of the city
safely, Saul said. Saul had light olive skin,
short wavy black hair, and a tall skeletal frame.
There was no part of him that didn't make one
uncomfortable to look at. He'd better, or guess
who I'm going to skin alive, Saul. No mistakes
will be tolerated. When will he arrive? He'll
be at the depot with his truck at 5 a .m. They'll
hook up the tanker, and he'll be out of L .A.
before sunrise, traffic gods willing. Saul took
a long drag off his chocolate -flavored vape.
In a past life, he smoked cloves. He has worked
for us before, Velma asked, still staring at
the truck being filled with her life's work.
Yes, he's reliable and doesn't ask questions.
He slouched his bony frame down and played with
the vape, twirling it in his fingers. He needs
to understand the cargo is volatile. If air hits
XV3 -7, or there is a major impact like a car
crash, the explosion will be massive and there's
no putting the genie back in the bottle. He must
drive as carefully as he can. Velma turned to
look at Saul to punctuate the importance of the
sentence. He irritated her just by breathing.
But he was an excellent scientist, so she tolerated
his presence. You know what's riding on this.
Act like it and sit up, she said coldly. I do.
Saul sat up on command and put the vape back
in his pocket. He knew Velma could have him liquefied
if she wanted. She turned back to the surveillance
monitor. I take it he will be stopped just after
Sacramento and mysteriously disappear? Yes, all
traces of him and the tanker will be wiped from
the system. Everything has been arranged, Saul
reassured Velma. Good. The company can't afford
loose ends. When will the cargo reach Shanghai?
One week from tomorrow and boom, new world order,
Saul said with a glint in his eye. That's right.
The virus will spread like wildfire throughout
China, but the Chinese government will try to
hide what's going on. By the time they realize
they need help, it will be too late. Billions
of undead will spill into the neighboring countries
like locusts. Governments in their path will
beg for help, but the Americas and Europe are
controlled by us, so none will materialize. Meanwhile,
Russia, too focused on the wars we started along
their borders, will be overwhelmed. While they're
drowning in an ocean of living corpses, we'll
evacuate everyone we've deemed worthy to Canada.
The Middle East and Africa will have no way to
stop the undead flooding in from India. In six
months, the contagion will die out, and with
it, the undead threat. With the undead gone,
We'll have control over the world's resources.
The new world order will be set. The population
will be reduced to just over 2 billion people.
The cherry on top? Wiping out so many will save
us from global warming. Really, if you think
about it, we're saving the planet from overpopulation.
We'll rewrite history to be correct and forge
a new future. She had given that speech to the
bathroom mirror several times. If we weren't
in a secret underground lair, I would say your
speech was a bit unhinged, Saul said in a dry
tone. She turned once again to her screen. Very
funny. I should liquefy you. Allison Hahn, 18,
Santa Monica, California, 6 .30 a .m. Allison
had started to run towards the water when Zach
began to complain about leaving his board behind.
She turned just in time to see Zach get tackled
by another surfer. She screamed when the man
bit Zach's throat and ripped out a huge hunk
of flesh. Then the guy tore into his back like
Zach was full of candy. She threw up. Tears filled
her eyes. She had always wanted to date Zach.
Sure, he was as smart as three -day -old bread,
but he was hot. She heard guttural hisses all
around her as the dead began to reanimate and
look for fresh flesh. The fog bank was advancing
quickly. She had to act. Allison sprinted into
the water, dove in, and swam hard. She was a
California girl who had grown up in the sun and
sea. She cut through the water like a fish. Every
muscle was strong, every curve aerodynamic. She
hoped that the water would act as a buffer between
her and the gas cloud. When she finally had to
come up for air, she was several yards away from
the shore. The fog had settled at the water's
edge. Her theory had been right, thankfully.
Those who tried to follow her were quickly pulled
under the waves. Their lungs filled with water
and they sunk like rocks. She could see Zach
standing on the beach. His throat was just one
gaping wound. He looked sad and lost. The fog
spread toward the north and south along the coastline.
Englewood and South Central were in its path.
She knew she couldn't go back to the shore. Girl,
over here, a voice called. Allison looked around
and spotted a small fishing boat coming towards
her. It was being piloted by a man with a baseball
cap on. The boat stopped a few feet away, and
the man motioned for Allison to climb aboard.
Did you get bit, he asked before pulling her
aboard. No, my friend did, though. A man tackled
him and, and, Allison replied as she thought
about Zach's death. The man grabbed her hand
and pulled her out of the water. It's okay, kid.
You're safe now. My name is Samuel. Here, wrap
yourself in this, he said while handing her a
towel. Samuel was in his 60s and had spent years
in the waters of California. His skin had tanned
into a rich toasted brown. He had a cigarette
dangling from his lips and nicotine -stained
fingers. Thank you. What the hell is going on?
Not sure. I think you and I had the same thought.
Get out on the water and get away from that fog.
I've seen people on the shore attacking others,
viciously biting and clawing. It's terrible.
Is this what happened to your friend? Allison
looked back over the water to the chaos on shore.
Police and news helicopters were flying over
the area. They were close enough to hear gunshots
and screaming. The fog itself now stretched as
far as the eye could see along the beach. She
thought about her mom and dad. Where are they
in this mess? Are they dead? Yeah, it's zombies,
right? That chemical from the truck is turning
them all into zombies, Allison asked, turning
away from the horror. Samuel looked at her for
a moment. That's what I reckon. Why anyone would
create a chemical like that, I have no clue.
I say we go to Catalina Island. It's about 42
miles from here. We should be able to get help
there, Samuel said. Allison nodded her head in
agreement. Seems like a good place to watch the
end of the world, she replied. If Rick had only
left on time, the company's evil plot may have
worked. But a good donut is a good donut. What
do you think? How would you mastermind a zombie
apocalypse? Be sure to tell us in the comments
below. If you liked this Portents of Fear tale,
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your screen now. Good night, fearlings. Sleep
well, if you can.